#So if I am quiet on here and discord that is why

[closetcasefabray]

jesus saves (i spend)

i have been writing parts of an avatrice college au for two gd years now. the ideas & writing are scattered between here (one of the tags below should work), my whatsapp convos with @snowandwolves, on discord, my dinosaur laptop that crashes, & my email. it’s a fucking disaster but whatever so am i & not once in my life have i had my shit together so this is all unsurprising.

SO what i’m saying is, here’s the only part i have ‘formally’ written in fic form bc i posted that other ficlet. doing this made me almost throw my dino laptop & my phone out a window on several occasions—that’s why there isn’t more. but i just wanna share this.

more notes & rambles at the end.

//

You notice her because it's syllabus week of your freshman year, it's an 8 AM class, and you're fairly confident you're still drunk from the party you attended last night, but she raises her hand and correctly answers a question posed by your theology professor without hesitation. Your professor, Father Vincent, was likely hoping for a good guess at best, but there she is, exceeding expectations from the moment she speaks. You pickup on an accent, which you would find incredibly attractive if you weren't so thrown by her perfect and concise response, like a well-prepared speech is always readily accessible in the back of her mind—a girl with all the answers. A young woman, really. 

You, however, are not—you're just a girl. You're just a girl who shows up to her morning classes smelling like the bar or the house party from the night before, like the weed you started smoking almost immediately upon arriving to university during orientation week, like the cigarettes you smoke because it affords you a little more quiet outside and an excuse to borrow a lighter and talk to a cute boy or a pretty girl.

You're just a girl who technically died, existed in nothingness for a whole minute before being ripped back into a reality of blank ceilings and the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. You're just a girl strangers prayed for after they heard about the American child pulled from the wreckage. You're just a girl who didn't get any credit for teaching herself to stand again, to walk again—and if you’re being completely honest, you’re a girl who’s incredibly bitter that a god you never saw in that one minute got all the credit and none of the blame—for taking your mother from you, for taking years from you that had to be spent healing from god’s grace or lack thereof. 

You're just a girl who is tired of being told to look at her life as an expression of holiness, who thinks it is more so the consequence of indifferent stardust. But you still look for the beauty in that, in humanity and its flaws—these meaningless beings in a vast universe, creating and destroying their own little, myopic worlds on this spinning rock. Some will dream of poetry for their lovers, and some will dream of arsenals to level cities. You wonder how many lips were pressed together in a final kiss versus hands clasped together in prayer when fire fell from the sky in the name of God. You wonder what that says about faith.

You'd like to think if your mother could see you, she'd laugh at the irony because once you were baptized, she never took you to church. God finds a way, so you spent five miserable years in a Catholic orphanage before you were sent back to America. People said you were lucky to have two years in a foster family at your age, but it felt like living with strangers who were tasked with the minimum of keeping you alive. Then you were moved into a home for teen girls with a nun at the helm, and that’s where you actually felt fortunate for the first time in years. It was there that Mother Superion helped you with your studies and college applications. So here you are, tipping into a hangover in one of the oldest buildings on campus, learning theology from a priest.

But your mom would understand. (You don’t remember much of her, and you try not to think about that too deeply, or else you have to deal with the resulting ache that comes from reaching inside yourself for something that’s gone.) You have spliced together what you can recall into a short reel—you mom buckling into your car seat while humming a show tune, showing you how to fold a pizza slice and telling about a city famous for their pizza, and holding your hand in a museum in Spain, promising to take you to another big museum closer to home, the home you never saw again. So you promised yourself and the parts of her you carry that you’d make it here.

You would have had to pay almost full tuition if you wished to attend your reach, requiring immense debt, so you ended up at the school that offered you a ticket to the city and a hefty enough scholarship you could get through four years without requiring loans or a full-time job to afford it. (You first refused to use your mother’s death as a sob story in you application letter, but Mother Superion put her hand on yours and said, So rarely do these letters contain truth, but do not be afraid to tell yours. In telling your truth there is a sadness, yes—and I know you detest pity—but of all the things that have been taken from you, do not feel guilty for taking some of it back to live a better life.) You remember getting your acceptance letter, and looking up at the sky and flipping it off, praying whatever god hears you, No thanks to you!

But your bitterness temporarily takes a backseat in your mind as you look at your classmate, beautiful in the refracted light shining through the stained glass window, speaking so graciously of god you'd think Jesus were in the room, about to hand her his latest work. It's poetry, bordering on scripture in a new tongue, and you'd almost be a believer if it didn't sound as if she had repeated these words—practiced—enough times to believe them herself. You wonder what that says about her faith.

If the nuns at the orphanage had spoken the gospel as she does, maybe you'd be here for different reasons. You're fascinated.

Behold, you are beautiful…

//

i promise this fic gets lighter & has some silliness. so some notes/tangents:

this is 100% self-indulgence bc i heard ‘write what you know’ & ran with that shit. when i visited a friend at a state school in a college town i was so so confused bc it was just a diff campus culture entirely. then i was going to make this set in an ambiguous city, but i literally have saved places in google maps that would be great places to kiss someone sooooo you get NY avatrice.

likely setting this before instagram & smartphones bc i’m old/lazy & i can.

the title is from st. vincent who my friend introduced me to in college. “paris is burning” changed my brain chemistry & so i listened to her music on repeat for ages—“jesus saves, i spend” is on the same album.

father vincent will not be a bad man or evil professor. he will be as he was before adriel—a lost man who found himself through god & still a little broken but caring & devout.

also song of songs/song of solomon is like… the only part of the bible i fucked with in theology class so that’s the reference at the end. also another line used in another scene with JC, chanel, & ava written in v rough form. maybe will share that later.

this is meant to be a fic with a post-grad sequel as well. not much written of that but a lot of ideas everywhere.

once i figure out where i’m moving (hahahaha i’m so stressed), i’ll consider a ko-fi or something (i wish emails & names weren’t shown though). but mostly i will likely need a second job to save up for an actually good computer/macbook. once i have that i’ll be able to post on ao3.

anyway thanks for reading & being here :3

[siixkiing]

Sorry for delays and such...puppo still getting use to the new house and such. It’s been an all hands on deck situation with her, but she is such a cutie pie soooo she gets a pass.

[struwberrii]

suna headcanons 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

here are my silly sunarin headcanons!! hope you guys likey

ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ (also is mostly relationship stuff but not all)

has the craziest sleep schedule like he stays up all night, falls asleep at 5am, wakes up at 8 am and just goes to school fine

buys you snacks from the vending machines daily

teases you a lot but is really flirty about it

probably most active at night and invites you out when it’s dark, he just likes how much emptier everywhere is

has the best music taste and always puts you onto his music

nonchalant dread head of japan

would probably sneak into your house through your window just to see you

says the funniest things with the most deadpan expression which makes it 10x

if you dont reply to his messages fast enough he hits you with the "why do you hate me"

he’s too honest sometimes and has a bad habit of saying things that are rude when he really didn’t have to

randomly tackles you and play fights

bros the type to pick you up and jump into the pool with you

does the bare minimum with all his school work

starts talking like you and using your slang when you guys hang out long enough

he’s the guy people talk shit around bc they think he’s quiet and a loner but he’s lowkey a shit starter and shares what he hears

slacks/lazy in most things but he carries you guys in fortnite

his bed is covered in stuffed animals from you, even all the cute sanrio ones

ur his profile pic online

i feel like he’d use discord and get paid as a mod on some server 😭😭

calls you stupid as a term of endearment

he can always tell when something’s wrong, like he can sense if something’s off with you

probably wears a lot of sweat pants

always smells really woody and fresh (yk like generic men’s cologne idk 😭)

very touchy, loves having an arm around you waist :3

allergic to drinking water, ik his piss is acid (honestly same here….)

his sister loves you so much

lowkey the worst at soothing you/cheering you up so he just hugs you

let’s you do skincare on him, he thinks it’s relaxing

i feel like he’d own at least one of those stupid tiktok fidget toys that he swears works but everytime he uses it he can’t stop laughing thinking about how stupid he looks

has a bad diet only because he’s too lazy to actually cook

burps SO LOUD and SO OFTEN like hold it man

has a tiktok account that he rage baits people on and reads the comments to you pretending it wasn’t him who wrote them (smh)

tries to teach you volleyball so you guys can kinda play together

i feel like he’d know a lot about the stars and like the constellations

i also feel like he’d really like coke floats (ice cream + coke in a glass) a lot for some reason

acts like he doesn’t really care but he cares so much

he’s only vulnerable and emotional with you

randomly attacks you with kisses

i feel like he'd know some really good unknown dessert spots all around town

i feel like hes an adidas guy

says out of pocket stuff on purpose with no reaction just to see you panic (he thinks its funny)

[chiyuuchu]

Kenma gets a gamer girlfriend <3 (31st July 2024)

Kenma Kozume x Reader

Prompt! Kenma who has an obvious crush on his fellow classmate who has a gentle personality. Once he gets to know her, he realises she does indeed have a more intense side.

Kenma Kozume had always preferred the quiet company of his video games over the bustling chatter of his classmates. However, there was one person who managed to divert his attention from the screen—a girl in his class who was both cute and mysterious. She rarely spoke, always keeping to herself, and that intrigued Kenma more than he cared to admit.

For weeks, he admired her from afar, sneaking glances during class and wondering what kind of person she was. Her name was Y/N, and she seemed to float through school like a ghost, leaving Kenma with a growing curiosity.

One afternoon, as Kenma and his best friend Kuroo Tetsurou sat on a bench during lunch, Kenma's eyes once again drifted towards Y/N, who was sitting under a tree, reading a book. Kuroo, ever observant, followed Kenma’s gaze and smirked.

“You’ve been staring at her for weeks, Kenma. When are you going to talk to her?”

Kenma blushed, tearing his eyes away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Kuroo rolled his eyes. “Come on, man. You like her, don’t you?”

Kenma sighed, knowing it was pointless to deny it. “Yeah, I guess I do. But she’s… she’s different. I don’t know how to approach her.”

Kuroo’s smirk widened. “That’s why you’ve got me.” He stood up, grabbing Kenma by the arm. “Come on. Let’s go talk to her.”

“Kuroo, wait!” Kenma protested, but Kuroo was already dragging him across the campus.

As they approached Y/N, Kuroo called out, “Hey there! Mind if we join you?”

Y/N looked up, slightly startled, but she nodded. “Sure.”

Kuroo plopped down on the grass, pulling Kenma with him. “I’m Kuroo Tetsurou, and this is Kenma Kozume. He’s in your class.”

Y/N smiled softly. “I know. I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

Kenma managed a shy smile. “Hi.”

Kuroo nudged Kenma with his elbow. “Kenma here was just wondering if you’re into any games.”

Y/N’s eyes lit up with interest. “Actually, I am. I play a lot of different games. Do you play too, Kenma?”

Kenma’s heart skipped a beat. “Yeah, I do. What games do you play?”

“A bit of everything, but I’ve been really into Valorant lately,” Y/N said, her smile growing.

Kenma’s eyes widened in surprise. “Really? I play Valorant too.”

Y/N’s smile turned into a grin. “Maybe we could play together sometime?”

Kenma felt his cheeks heat up, with his newfound yet hesitant confidence he decided to take the shot. “That would be great. Do you have Discord? We can exchange usernames and play tonight.”

Y/N nodded, pulling out her phone. “Sure. Here’s mine.”

Kenma fumbled for his phone, quickly adding her on Discord. As they exchanged usernames, he felt a mixture of excitement and nervousness. This was really happening.

As they said their goodbyes Kuroo slaps a hand on Kenma’s back. “Way to go kenma!” he smirks. Kenma just ignored him as usual.

That night, Kenma sat at his desk, staring at his computer screen, waiting for Y/N to come online. He was so nervous that she would ghost him or forget. Maybe he was overthinking it but he couldn’t help it. When her username finally popped up, he felt a surge of anticipation.

He clicked on her name and sent a message: “Hey, ready to play?”

Her response was almost immediate: “Yep! Let’s do this.”

They joined a voice chat, and Kenma’s heart pounded as he heard her voice through his headphones. “Hey, Kenma.”

“Hi, Y/N,” he replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

They launched Valorant and joined a game. At first, Y/N’s voice was calm and collected, much like her demeanor at school.

“Hey I hope you don’t mind but I’m gonna instalock Reyna.” She said in her gentle voice. “That’s fine with me, I can play Sage or Omen.” Kenma responded with his signature soft spoken voice.

But as the game progressed, Kenma began to see a different side of her. She was incredibly skilled, her movements precise and strategic. And when she spoke in team chat, her quiet exterior melted away, revealing a fiery and competitive spirit.

“Get on site!” she commanded, her voice filled with intensity. “Cover me, I’m planting the spike.”

At some point she started insulting the bottom frags. Which he found hot.

Kenma was taken aback by her sudden aggression but found it strangely captivating. She wasn’t just good; she was amazing. Her calm demeanor at school had given no hint of this fierce competitor lurking beneath the surface.

As the game continued, Kenma found himself drawn deeper into their teamwork. Y/N’s commands were sharp and effective, and he followed her lead without question. They dominated the match, and by the end, their team had secured a decisive victory.

“GG EZ, well played,” Y/N said, her voice returning to its usual calm tone.

Kenma couldn’t hide his admiration. “You’re really good, Y/N.”

She laughed softly. “Thanks, Kenma. You’re not bad yourself. I had a lot of fun.”

“Me too,” Kenma said, a smile spreading across his face.

After logging off, Kenma lay in bed, replaying the evening’s events in his mind. He had always admired Y/N from afar, but now, after seeing her in action, he felt something deeper. Her mysterious allure, combined with her fierce gaming skills, had captivated him completely.

The next day at school, Kenma spotted Y/N in the hallway. Gathering his courage, he walked up to her. “Hey, Y/N.”

She turned, her smile lighting up her face. “Hey, Kenma. Ready for another game tonight?”

Kenma’s heart raced. “Definitely.”

As they walked to class together, Kenma realized that his admiration had blossomed into something more. And for the first time, he felt like he had a real chance to get to know the mysterious girl who had captured his heart.

Over the next few weeks, Kenma and Y/N spent countless hours talking and playing games together. Their bond grew stronger with each passing day, and eventually, they transitioned from friends to something more. Kenma had never felt this way about anyone before, and Y/N's presence brought a new warmth to his life.

One evening, as they were wrapping up a gaming session, Kenma had an idea. "Hey, Y/N, what do you think about playing with some of my friends next time?"

Y/N smiled through the voice chat. "Sure, that sounds fun. Who do you have in mind?"

"Just a couple of guys from the volleyball team. Kuroo and Bokuto," Kenma replied. "They’re pretty good at games, but I think they'll be in for a surprise."

Y/N chuckled. "I’m looking forward to it."

The next day, Kenma met up with Kuroo and Bokuto. Akaashi was there too but he didn’t say much. They were having a game of volleyball at kuroo’s backyard. With a slight grin on his face. "Hey, you guys up for a game of Valorant tonight?"

Kuroo raised an eyebrow. "Sure, but why the sudden invite?"

Kenma shrugged, trying to appear casual. "I thought it’d be fun to play with my girlfriend."

Bokuto's eyes widened. "Girlfriend? You have a girlfriend?"

Kenma nodded. "Yeah. We’ve been playing together for a while now. Her name’s Y/N."

Kuroo smirked. "Well, well, Kenma. Didn’t know you had it in you. Sure, we’ll play. But you know, we’re pretty good. Hope she can keep up."

Kenma’s grin widened. "Trust me, you two are the ones who’ll need to keep up."

That Evening Kenma, Kuroo, Bokuto, and Y/N joined the Valorant lobby. Kuroo and Bokuto exchanged greetings with Y/N, their tone friendly but skeptical.

“So, Y/N,” Kuroo said, “Kenma tells us you’re pretty good at this game.”

Y/N’s voice was calm and confident. “I do alright. Let’s see how we do as a team.”

As the game began, it didn’t take long for Kuroo and Bokuto to realize that Y/N was not just good—she was exceptional. She led the team with precision, her strategic calls and sharp shooting turning the tide of every round. Kenma supported her flawlessly, their teamwork a testament to the hours they had spent playing together.

“Nice shot, Y/N!” Bokuto exclaimed after she single-handedly took down three opponents. “You’re amazing!”

Kuroo, usually confident, was uncharacteristically quiet, his respect for Y/N growing with each headshot she landed. By the end of the match, Y/N was at the top of the scoreboard, Kenma second with Kuroo and Bokuto trailing behind.

As they exited the game, Kuroo let out a low whistle. “Kenma, you weren’t kidding. Y/N, you’re incredible.”

Bokuto chimed in, “Yeah, Kenma’s a lucky guy to have you as his teammate—and his girlfriend.”

Kenma felt a surge of pride and happiness. “Thanks, guys. I told you she was good.”

Y/N laughed softly. “It was fun playing with you all. Let’s do it again sometime.”

As they logged off, Kuroo and Bokuto couldn’t stop talking about Y/N’s skills. Kenma, content and happy, realized just how lucky he was—not just to have Y/N as a girlfriend, but also as a partner in gaming and in life.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 23

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: what up my slutty butties!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You help Leslie bring out the plates. You set one before Mr. Laufeyson as Leslie puts one down before an empty chair. You can hear your dad muttering at his puzzle. Your boss is unfazed as he smugly sits waiting.

"Offer him something to drink while I get your father," Leslie lowers her voice, turning her back to your guest, "I know you didn't have a mother around but have some common courtesy."

You flinch, injured by her unnecessary remark. Sometimes she says things that sting, just like your father. You suppose that's why they get along so well. She sidesteps you and enters the front room, announcing her presence gaily as she calls your father's name.

"Mr. Laufeyson," you face him sheepishly, "would you like something to drink?"

"I suppose you haven't any cabernet," he snorts. You clamp your lip tightly in humiliation. "I am driving so I suppose it wouldn't matter, you have water, yes? It will suffice."

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson," you answer and spin away, fleeing to the kitchen behind the shield of the simple task.

You take a glass from the cupboard, checking to make sure it's clear and clean, and fill it from the filtered jug in the fridge. You return to the dining room as Leslie helps your father in. He bats her hand off his arm and grunts as he drops into an empty chair across from Mr. Laufeyson. You put the water in front of your boss and peek over at your dad.

"Dad, do you want something--"

"No," he barks as he snatches his fork, poking at the seasoned turnip, "what is this shit?" He sniffs, "smells like garbage."

You sit and balance at the edge of your chair, not paying any mind to the food before you.

"Charlies, don't be rude," Leslie claims a seat of her own, "Loki's mother was so kind to send this over to us."

"I don't know her," your father growls.

"Can't complain for free food, can we?" Leslie girds gently and sends a smile to Laufeyson, "it's been a tough day for him. The humidity really bothers him."

"Would you be quiet?" Your father snaps, "I can speak for myself and I'm just damn fi--"

Your father breaks out into another storm of coughs. He hits the table and braces it, his fork clattering as he struggles to catch his breath. Mr. Laufeyson sits placidly, picking up his knife and fork, and cutting into the pork loin.

"My, you do sound rather terrible," he says as he pokes a morsel of meat in the air on the tines. 

"He'll be fine, he just needs to catch his breath," Leslie assures.

"Mm, have you thought of an air purifier? It might do this place some good?" Laufeyson suggests with a curl of his lip, biting into the pork.

"Mr. Fucking Fancy Pants," your dad slaps his own chest as he finds his voice, "what do you know? You ain't some doctor walking in here telling me how to breathe."

"I have several degrees so I could claim the title, I suppose," Laufeyson taunts, "I always thought it a bit pompous, however."

"Ah, go off and buy another set of tits," your father snarls.

"You are such a loving father, aren't you?" Laufeyson goads.

"Good enough to know yours never smacked you hard enough," your dad retorts.

Silence. You look at Leslie as she peers between the men, a frigid smile frozen on her face. You bat your lashes as you teeter and grip the table.

Your dad takes his fork again and scoops up a soft chunk of turnip. He puts it in his mouth, making a face as he tastes it then gags and spits it out. It flies across the table onto Laufeyson's plate. Your brows rise as Leslie's expression mirrors your shock.

"Tastes like garbage too. That mother of yours must be just as much a disappointment to your father as you," your dad chortles at his own insult, hacking into another fit.

Mr. Laufeyson sets his fork down. He sighs and slides his plate away. He stares down your father as he sets his back straight.

"As much as you are to your daughter, I'm sure."

"Mr. Laufeyson," you squeak.

"Get--" your father coughs and chokes, fighting to get to his feet, his stomach hitting the table and rattling the dishes, "the fuck--" cough -- "out of my house."

"Is that what you call this place?" Laufeyson remains seated, glancing around derisively.

Leslie gasps, "sir, now you are too much, we welcomed you in--"

"I wasn't aware your job included nursing his bruised ego," Laufeyson shoots in her direction, "don't remind me of etiquette. I brought you all more than the scraps you have in the back of that dingy fridge. Of course, you wouldn't have the taste or sense to know good food."

"I said GET OUT!" Your father hollers so hard he sways, his voice scratching at its peak.

"Dad," you stand up, "Mr. Laufeyson, please, you need to go--"

"Take your own advice," he stands and scoffs in your father's direction.

"Stop, please, he's my dad--"

"Oh yes, I've heard it before," Laufeyson sneers, "and I heard you beg him just the same before he--"

"No!" You exclaim, "no, leave. Now. Please--"

"You needn't convince me further," Mr. Laufeyson strides around the table, "Chuck," he stops next to your father as he puffs, grasping the chair for support, "try not to choke on your own vitriol."

He pats your dad arm, causing him to recoil and fall onto the chair. Leslie rushes over to him as you stand dumbfounded. You hoped the day wouldn't get worse and yet, you can't say you didn't expect it. Even so, it hits you like a car at full speed and knocks the wind out of you. You don't know what to do.

"Have a good night," Mr. Laufeyson says at the door, "however pleasant it could ever be in a rat-infested hole like this." He looks at you, "thank you for this lovely dinner."

He turns and struts out. You shake your head as adrenaline courses through you, burning around your lungs and hammering in your chest. You look over at your father as he continues to cough violently.

"Dad..." you try to go to him.

"Haven't you done enough?" Leslie snaps as she lashes you with a glare. You wince and stumble back.

"I didn't--"

"He's right about you, isn't he?" She snarls, "you're just an ungrateful brat."

"No--"

"Go!" Your father forces through his choking gasp, "you little bitch!"

Your lip trembles as the room spins. You twirl away without a second thought, horrified and humiliated. You run out into the hallway and barrel up the stairs, sobbing by the time you get to the top step. Mr. Laufeyson has ruined everything. Your job, your family, and your entire life.

You thought you had nothing before, how wrong you were.

✨

 You cry yourself to sleep, just like many nights before. Your head swirls with rippled visions of angry eyes and shadowy figures. You drown in the thick unconscious, nearly suffocated with terror as you're paralysed against the virulent nightmares.

You wake only as a crash splinters your sleep. You sit up, heaving for air as you see a dark figure eerily similar to the one in your dreams. You blink until you can, the light of the hallway glowing in the limn your father's portly figure.

He drags out the next drawer from your dresser and dumps it over the pile mounded on the floor. He staggers as he drops the plywood and kicks it aside. He leans on the handle of his oxygen tank as you reach for your lamp.

"Dad? What are you--"

He struggles to reach for the bottle by his feet. He lifts it and wobbles as he untwists the cap. He overturns the bottle of bleach onto the heap of clothes, kicking them around as the stringent chemical spills out. You watch as he ruins the layers of new clothing and cry out as you bounce to the foot of the bed.

"What are you doing!?" You shriek.

"Whore's clothes," he tosses the bottle on top, "you... bring your pimp in here like the slut you are--"

"Dad," you whimper but have no words. He's not so far off after all. You look down at the clothes and the pale stains of the bleach patching across the fabric, "dad, I'm sorry. I tried-- I was only--"

"I don't care," he grits, "I'm done with you. You been..." he takes a deep breath, clasping his chest, "mooching off me for thirty years. You sucked the life outta me--" he gasps again, "look what you done to me," he tugs at the tube that trails down his chest, "this is your fault. You killed me just like you did your mother."

"No, no, no," you touch your cheeks as they burns and your tears fall free, "please, don't say that."

It's another nightmare. It has to be. You're still sleeping. This can't be real.

"Dad," you stand and reach for him, "don't be mad--"

He hits you. Not hard, he can't. He's too weak. You flinch and back away, cowering as you cradle your head. He looks around, his head bobbling and grabs the hardcover book from atop your dresser.

He nears you as you shrink down, stunned into helplessnness. He grips the book with both hands and swings it at you. The first strikes doesn't wake you. It's real. 

He hits you, over and over, the sharp corner jabbing into your cheek and chin, then the side thumping across your shoulder and against your side. He keeps on until he can't.

He drops the book and coughs, bending over as he slips to one knee. You watch him, tears streaming into your hands as you babble like a child. 

"Daddy," you murmur.

"You get out or I'll call... the goddamn... police," he braces the oxygen tank and forces himself up. "This isn't your home no more." He limps and drags the tank to the door, "it never was.”

✨

You don't know what to do. You can barely stop crying long enough to think. The heavy bags weigh down your steps as you wander mindlessly to the corner and stop, the reality of the moment crashing down like thunder.

You drop the duffle bag and sit on it, letting your work bag hit the pavement by your feet. The sun has barely come up as you sit in the dim hue of dawn. Where do you go?

You feel yourself sinking. Your lungs are reading to shrivel and your head is going to cave in. You're lost. You have no home, you have no father, you have nothing... well, you still have a job.

You cry a little longer, until you hear the first sign of life from across the street. You get up as a man comes of a house. He doesn't notice you as you hitch up your work bag and grab the duffle from the sidewalk. You just need somewhere for a night or two. Let dad cool off and you'll apologise. It will be okay.

You walk down to the main road and catch the first bus. You have no direction, no destination. You get off as you see the marquee of the Holiday Inn. You've never stayed in a hotel, hopefully they have room for you. It seems like no one does.

You shuffle inside, tired and worn out. There's a woman behind the front desk, sitting on a chair so you can only see the top of your head. You hobble over under the weigh of your bags and wait for her to notice you. When she doesn't, you tap the bell on the counter.

"Eh?" She stands up, almost tipping over, "sorry," she yawns, "didn't hear you come in."

"Mm," you hum and chew your lips, "that's okay. Erm..."

"Do you have a reservation? Bit early... or late, to be checking in."

"No, uh, I don't," you lower your eyes, "do you have anything available?"

"Sure we do," she answers chipperly. You look at her name tag; Mindy. "I got a few singles clean and ready."

"Okay, that's good," you answer, "how much?"

"Hundred and twenty for tonight. Credit on file or three hundred cash deposit."

"Oh," you try not show your surprise, "okay, I er, think I have enough but I don't have a credit card."

"Now worries, there's an ATM," she points across the lobby.

"Thank, can I leave my bags here for a second?"

"Sure, sweetie," she turns to the computer and clicks around.

You cross to the machine and dig out your debit card. You slide it into the slot and push the firm metal buttons. Your stomach plummets as you punch in the custom amount for withdrawal. You were saving that for the mortgage and Leslie. You hit Yes and the machine whirs, spitting out a stack of bills and a receipt.

You return to the counter and hand it over. Mindy asks for your name and phone number. You give her your info, growing more weary by the moment.

"Here are your keys," she hands over a tiny paper folio, "checkout is 11am tomorrow."

"Thanks."

"Wifi info is in there, along with information about breakfast. Coffee in the room and a kettle. Oh, and microwave."

You thank her one last time and collect your bags once more. You go to the elevator and check the folio for your room number. You hit floor six and wait for the box to rise. You step off, following the wall plaques to the matching door. It's yours, just for a little bit.

You swipe the card several times before it unlocks, struggling to make it register. You push your duffle inside with your feet and put your work bag beside it as the door shuts on its own. The room is small, the walls are pasted in faded wallpapers and the bed is made with sheets that remind you of another decade.

You put the keys on the table against the wall and drag yourself to the bed. You don't really have any time to nap, you just need to get off your feet for a little.

Your restlessness doesn't let you sit long. You wear some of your old clothes, of the few pieces you salvaged from the ruin. You check yourself in the mirror. You don't bother with the makeup. Mr. Laufeyson will be disappointed either way. Besides, you shouldn't care so much what he thinks. You're just his house manager after all. You're there to do a job.

If only believing it would make it true.

You find a route that goes towards his neighbourhood. It lets you off a few blocks away and you take your time. You almost don't have a choice as your body is achy from your father's attach, new bruises rising tenderly to the surface.

You're early despite the fractured night. As you pass the cafe, you slow and glance through the window. Just one more quiet moment before you face the inevitable.

You push inside and see the same woman as last time. You give the same order as you doubt she even recognises you. She hovers her finger over the touch screen of her till, "we have a special, a rose tea latte, if you're interested."

"Oh?" You scrunch up your lips, you've never been good at saying no. "Sure, I'll try that."

You got the change to pay and frown. You shouldn't be spending what's left on a tea. You should be smarter. Maybe if you were, you wouldn't be such a loser.

You sit and stare at the pink foam. You don't know if you can do this but what other choice do you have? You could just disappear but for how long? You'll run out of money. As hard as it was to get this job, you don't think a new one would be any easier when you have one reference. A reference who you don't expect a shining review from.

You sip carefully. It's delicious. You drop your forehead into your hand as hot tears brim your eyes. You fight to constrain them, nearly quaking with the effort. Your eyes are swollen enough as it is.

You continue to drink, keeping your head down, and finish before you resign yourself to fate. To face Mr. Laufeyson. You can do this, not because you're strong, but because you have to.

[genericpuff]

I've been seeing you say/speculate Rachel Smythe has been cut loose from webtoon, could you elaborate what you mean by that?

It's only a tinfoil hat theory that people should take with MOUNTAINS of salt (seriously, I'm more likely to believe that Rachel really is just done with LO), but there's a general suspicion that LO wasn't meant to end here and that Webtoons decided to cut the cord. I've made a post about it before but some new stuff has surfaced since then.

1.) The announcement the series was ending was made quietly at NYCC and not shared to either Webtoons' socials or Rachel's socials.

The only way fans initially knew about the series ending was through a screencap from the Discord where someone else who had been attending NYCC passed on the info from a Q&A that LO would be entering its final arc.

For a good while the only other way to know the series was ending was through the Discord, a Cosmopolitan article, and my own post.

Though it sounds odd for a series to get cancelled halfway through its third season, it's not uncommon for Webtoons to suddenly axe series while they're on their midseason hiatuses, it's happened before. So there's a general suspicion that Rachel may have found out during NYCC that LO would only be given one more arc.

2.) The actual finale announcement was made in a text post on Instagram that suddenly announced it would be ending on May 11th, despite the fact that there was still lots to wrap up in the story.

What this implies is that Rachel was given one more arc, with no concrete end date... until Webtoons told her to wrap it up in a limited number of episodes, hence why despite us knowing it was in its final arc, the end date still felt too soon. This is also supported by the fact that her initial announcement was vaguely "early/mid 2024" - she couldn't give a more accurate end date because she didn't plan for the actual ending.

3.) Things that Rachel has said implies that she was either hoping for the final arc to go on longer, or that she didn't think LO was going to be ending now.

(that "nothing is set in stone" quote further supports the theory that she may have been hoping to get renewed in spite of the lukewarm ending announcement - that the only reason the announcement was so quiet was because WT hadn't fully committed to it yet and wanted to see how the series would do upon its return; now that they see it falling behind to other series, it might mean WT became more sure in their decision to cut it and gave her an actual deadline to wrap it up by.)

4.) Webtoons has stopped promoting Lore Olympus despite it ending.

Any promotional spots that it has gotten have been stuffed into the dead zone of the banner reels (seriously, anything past the 3rd spot is practically useless because it takes actual committed scrolling to get there vs. the first 1-3 banner spots which can be seen as soon as you open the app/site) and the banner art itself does not in any way advertise the series being in its final arc. These banners also only seem to be appearing for a day at most, compared to the days upwards of weeks they used to get.

Webtoons also hasn't been doing any sort of promoting on their socials for it. Considering The Mafia Nanny has been consistently beating out LO in the top rankings for weeks now, and that LO's rating and view count is still dropping, it appears that Webtoons has finally given up on shoving it down people's throats and put their focus elsewhere.

Again, this is all tinfoil hat speculation, so take it with massive doses of salt. Considering this is Webtoons, I wouldn't be surprised if they finally decided to put LO out of its misery, but this is also Rachel and I wouldn't blame her in the slightest if she finally wanted to be done with it after the past two years of people clowning on it. And I say that knowing I, myself, am a clown LOL

Either way, I feel like either outcome is plausible in its own ways, but whatever is the true reason, it doesn't change the fact that LO is ending and has 3 episodes left to wrap itself up. And whatever comes after will likely involve the launch of Inklore which was estimated for the spring.

[not-fortune-cookie]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

                Upon the vast Silver Tree that concealed a Corrupted Beast within, a small Cookie dawned in Pearly White robes stood upon the roots. Their gaze softened as a hum of a song uttered solemnly as they put their forehead on the trunk, whispering a woe towards the shame they felt for the Cookies befallen under the Witch's cage.

                They had witnessed the fall of the former heroes. The corruption that darkened the heart of the now-Beasts. They never foresaw the torment and destruction to be inflicted towards their fellow cookies.

                Their dough soured as the time passed in memory. They never had seen this outcome to protect the peace from the Beasts that was hidden beneath the roots of the Tree. For their once friends had become strangers. Let alone foreseeing the transformations of these fallen heroes from their closest companion to be a... MONSTER.

                At the sound of soft cracks near them, the Cookie perked up. "Elder Faerie Cookie..." they muttered, knowing his identity upon his quiet steps. "Fret not of my being... For I am grieving..."

                "I would assume so, starlight," the Fairy King softly said, his arms placed behind his back as he approached the sorrowful Cookie. "Since eons of protecting this Silver Tree, you still mourn the imprisonment of these Beasts."

                The Cookie winced at the reminder of the true colors of the ones they had longed to reunite. Their crystal eyes melted in shame, gripping their weapon tightly, and thoughts grew with agitation.

                The betrayal. The broken promise. The heartbreak they suffered to see their closed Cookies locked away...

                "Elder Faerie Cookie... They have been my allies." They said, tone keeping their solemn tune. "My companions. My... friends."

                "Friends that turned their backs to all Cookiekind..." The Fairy King said, albeit harsh held the truth. "Come now, starlight. Why haven't you let go of the memories of these Beasts? You are to rule alongside me, to prevent them from harming anyone once more."

                "Is it wrong for me to reminisce the past, dear friend?" They said as they break contact from the tree, staring at the roots that White Lily Cookie bound when the Beast almost broke free.

                "Even with time, the bonds that I have with them were not easy to sever..." They clenched their hands with their lips quivering.

                "But it's time for you to open your eyes, starlight," Elder Faerie Cookie said as he reached over to them and lifted their head to meet his gaze. "They are no longer what you paint them to be. For as long as our dough is crisp, we are to prevent them to cast discord."

                He sighed, "We have a duty to uphold, [Y/N] Cookie. I need you to keep strong. To assist me to rule the Faerie Kingdom. Please, I cannot lose you, too."

                [Y/N] Cookie's gaze softened, their thoughts lingering with the slumbering White Lily Cookie they and Elder Faerie Cookie protected. In an eternal sleep, hanging into the life energy she still has, the Ancient Hero had helped strengthen the Silver Tree when the Beast almost broke free within.

                They had lost their precious friends, and now they're also losing the one close to them once more. Elder Faerie Cookie spoke the truth. The Kingdom needed them, they cannot lose their current people.

                "You're right..." They muttered, looking towards the banquet. Most faeries singing praises, "I must focus on events of today."

                Even with the hollow feeling in their chest, they couldn't help but ponder. A pit in their stomach gnawed with dread, making them glance towards the Silver Tree.

                They dismissed it, looking towards Elder Faerie Cookie as they offered a small smile, they held his hands and squeezed them in reassurance. "I'll be here with you. You will not lose me."

                'I cannot bring them down.' They thought as they glanced around with a smile and wave as they watched the festive faeries continue to sing praises.

                However, no one noticed the crack into the seal and a peal of giggle escaping from the Silver Tree...

[flaneur001]

14 Days with you Royal Au (ongoing series) [Pairings- Enemy Duke! Redacted x GN Reader]

[Word count- 3172] [CW- Angst, Smut, Knife play] [A/N- Previously posted in the 14dwy discord server. Redacted belongs to @14dayswithyou]

[part 1] [part 2]

Part 2: The Evasive Enemy

You sat picturesquely at the ornate oak desk, absentmindedly twirling the quill in your hand as you stared blankly at the parchment resting before you. 

‘Whatever will I write?’ You mused silently as you dipped the tip of the quill in the open ink pot and scribbled the first words that came to your mind after an hour-long of dilly-dallying.

The dimly lit marital chamber was quiet save for the occasional scritch-scratch of your quill. 

Dearest Father, I am in good health. I know you have been worried about my prolonged silence to your lettered inquiries. But I find myself at a loss for words at the way I have been so utterly taken care of here.  We were mistaken to assume that he would fall for such baser fancies. A week has passed by and he has not visited since. Never laid a finger upon me. Always quiet and busy with his own devices. I am at a crossroads. The azure-eyed Duke seems even more mysterious now that I live under the same roof as him. Father, I have been granted permission to peruse his archives, without any surveillance. This seems suspicious, almost like a well-set trap. Though he is yet to show any animosity towards me. But I would be foolish to look a gift horse in the mouth. Keep your worries at bay father. I shall always keep myself and my safety first.  I have received the information about the article through your trusted aide, and I will bide my time until it's safe to infiltrate his study.  Until then, take Care. I will keep you informed.

Sealing the letter and putting it in the drawer, you stretched languidly and gently pushed the chair back. Your long robe billowed behind you as you trudged towards your four-poster bed and plopped upon the welcoming plushness of the pillows. Unbidden your face lolled to the side and your eyes landed upon the golden ring that rested atop the pillow on his side of the bed. The ring that he had left behind for you. It was the only evidence that he had actually been here. In flesh. 

The whole week, you were treated to rich meals, dressed in the finest of silks and jewelry, yet amidst all the niceties something constantly felt amiss. At first, you brushed it off to mere homesickness, but as time passed a cruel understanding dawned upon you. 

On those rare occasions when you caught glimpses of the Handsome Duke walking in the hallways, you felt this forlornness tug at your heart. Even back at your family residence, although you were loved, the brunt of all the responsibilities fell upon your shoulders after your mother’s death. You were always expected to be the guardian and the responsible oldest child for the five of your younger siblings. 

So gentleness and affection were seldom directed towards you. Hence when the Duke showered you with so much tenderness that first night, in his warm embrace you felt like you belonged. Like you had finally found a tether for your wandering soul.  His cold gaze slowly travelling the length of your body like a hidden caress, still lingered fresh in your mind and you felt guilt simmer in the back of your throat.

You were not here for this. Your life was far from normal and he was the reason why your great noble house had perished. Yet you simply couldn’t will yourself to forget the touch of his hands, the graze of his warm lips on the sensitive spot on your neck, or the way he hugged you when you slept. You hated to admit it, but you were downhearted to find yourself alone the morning after. The whole estate was abuzz with the news of the Duke consummating his marriage with the oldest child of the rival clan.

You were not a fool, nor were you naive enough to avoid the snarky gossip that always bubbled under the pretense of politeness in your presence. 

“His Grace has not visited them after the first night…”

“Maybe he was not satisfied?”, the servants chortled as they flitted about your room while cleaning or serving you meals.

You let them babble because your target was something else entirely. The Duke had something in his possession. Something that linked him to the murder of your mother and the conspiracy that destroyed the reputation of your house. Your initial plan was to seduce him and distract him enough that he began trusting you to let his guard down. Yet here you were, trapped in a golden confinement, with every treasure in the world laid at your feet. He even went ahead and granted you access to his archives and his office, without even batting an eye. This gnawed at your mind and slowly chewed you up on the inside. 

‘Does he not care?’ You wondered. 

You were named, ‘The prized possession’ by the people in the estate. Compared and downgraded to the several expensive objects that the Duke won and then instantly got bored with. Lay in some deep recesses of the estate gathering dust and forgotten. They said that you will soon be treated like that. And somehow this line of thought added to your insecurities.

“Or Maybe I’m not as important as I thought myself to be…” you murmured, suddenly regretting not putting in more effort that night. Regretting not begging him to stay. 

A flurry of activity and noises caught your attention breaking this downhill stream of thoughts. Rising fluidly you walked towards the bay window and nudged it open checking for yourself what all the ruckus was about. The young maids giggled and chattered under your window, pointing towards the practice grounds for soldiers. 

“Look, the Duke is out sparring today” The ladies squealed and peeked from behind a bush. Your interest piqued, you walked towards your balcony and leaned on the vine-covered railing to get a proper view. Surely enough, the young duke was in an intense sparring match. He was wearing black leather pants with high boots, his torso left completely exposed for all to see. You gulped unconsciously, eyes traitorously following the way his muscles rippled when he threw, blow after expert blow with his war sledgehammer. His long black hair swished around and beads of sweat rolled down his pale skin making you shiver involuntarily, at the way your degenerate mind imagined him sweaty and panting atop you in bed. 

Before you could make a hasty exit, the Duke’s eyes flitted to the balcony as if sensing your presence and his mouth lifted in a half smirk like he somehow knew what was going through your mind. Blood rushed to your face and you quickly ducked inside.

Evening fell. You were bathed and dressed by the chambermaid Iansa. She was very sweet and you two had bonded over this last week, getting familiar with each other through the little interesting anecdotes she shared about the Duke’s estate. 

As she took your leave, you began your daily routine. Sitting half-dressed in the center of the bed like some common whore waiting for the Duke to visit. Only that he took much pleasure in keeping you on your toes and never visiting.

A beat of silence passed. The oil lamps lining the walls flickered. Until the last shred of your patience cracked and you rose from your bed. Putting on the lush slippers you pushed open the giant double doors and walked outside into the cold and empty hallways of the Duke’s mansion. You marched towards the Duke’s office throwing all caution to the wind. 

“This is enough, I’m done waiting” you mumble as you neared the entrance to the office. Slowly, you entered inside finding it absurd that nobody was guarding the entrance to this room. You smirked to yourself, reveling at the idea of seeing the surprised expression on the Duke’s face once he realized how you, whom he thought so insignificant, was the one responsible for putting him in his rightful place. The tyrant deserved nothing but to rot in a prison. Strangely enough, the thought of getting revenge helped keep this gnawing urge to kiss the smirk off of his smug face at bay.

“Serves him well for treating me like a plaything” you mutter under your breath as you eagerly work through the rows and rows of documents filed neatly for your tampering. A chilly air from the open window, nipped at your exposed skin, the scant lace outfit not providing much to shield you from the cold temperatures. You suppressed a shiver as you grabbed a few files and took them to the window to get a better look at, under the moonlight pouring in through the glass window.

As you skimmed through the documents, a warm hand snaked around your waist, spinning you. Surprised, you were about to let a scream fall from your lips when another hand pressed tightly on your mouth, muffling it effectively. 

“Shhh Angel, we don’t want to alert the guards now, do we?” A husky voice asked. Moving from the shadows, the moonlight bathing his figure, Duke Ren smiled down triumphantly at you, like a predator who had just caught his prey.

Slowly, he released his grip on your mouth only to rest both his hands behind you on the desk effortlessly trapping you between his arms. His face inched closer as his ice-blue eyes burned into yours, “So you finally grew weary of waiting, I assume” he purred. His deep baritone made you think of unspeakable things.

You clenched your teeth, staring back at him defiantly, “Why ask me to wait if you were never going to visit” you hissed, mulish and miffed.

His eyes widened by a fraction, warm chuckle spilling through his cherry-tinted lips, bringing your attention to them. 

“Why, Angel such…temper” he tsked, “One would think you missed me.” His hand shot out, trailing a slender finger on your temple, down your cheek, only to come to rest at your chin. His calloused hand cupped your jaw, bringing his thumb to your mouth to trace the shape of your lips. 

Your breath hitched in your throat, as he rubbed the pad of his thumb across the seam of your lips, pushing and prodding until it entered your mouth. His thumb moved around, exploring the warm wetness, as his face came impossibly closer to yours, “Let me in, Angel” he breathed.

And you don’t know if it was the curiosity or the way his eyes held your gaze so enticingly, that made you want to obey everything that fell from those lips. Closing your eyes you opened your mouth wider, wide enough for him to push three fingers in, pumping them in and out as your greedy tongue lapped against them. Unbidden a moan escaped you, and his other hand grabbed your hip, fingers digging into your flesh as he roughly pulled you closer to his body, thrusting your cores together.

“Look at me love” he whispered in your ear, nipping the shell playfully before his mouth descended to your neck, to leave open-mouthed kisses.

You groaned and opened your eyes, breath already coming out in shallow pants.

“For someone who claims to hate me, you sure love me touching you. You like to think of such debauched fancies don't you?” he snickered with roguish pride, “Driving you wild. Taking you to the depraved depths and back…defiling you” he spoke hotly in your ear, his erection tenting temptingly in his leather pants.

“Please” you begged, not knowing if you wanted him to release or ravish you. 

“Please what Angel?” He challenged smirking cruelly as he, all too soon, removed himself from you, and folded his arms across his chest, regarding you with thinly veiled amusement.

A wild blush rose to your cheeks. He waited in silence as if he expected you to actually utter the vulgar words. Your chest still heaved, body warmed up with his skillful ministrations. And suddenly your mind painted an image of him in bed with other people. Jealousy like never before threatened to take over you. 

‘How is he so skilled? Has he been going to others every night?’ You mused darkly.

“Let me go” you whimpered, angry tears pricked your eyes half from humiliation and half from longing. Pulling the lace robe tighter to cover your modesty you whispered, “I do not belong here” carefully avoiding his eyes.

“Hm, I see” he began, as he leaned down, slowly sliding a dagger out from his leather boot. He balanced the blade on his fingers as he almost toyed with the weapon.

“You are right about one thing, Angel”, he drawled, as he stepped into the moonlight giving you a good view of the dagger in his grasp. Its silver blade glinted sinisterly in the dark, bejeweled hilt looking magnificent, fit for a person of his stature.

His blue eyes flit to yours silently daring you to break eye contact, “you don’t belong in this room” he murmured, pointedly staring at the scattered documents around you. 

“Bu-but you gave me access to your archives without surveillance” you sputtered, licking your lips as you felt cornered by his unrelenting gaze. A quiet dread filled your guts.

He tilted his head, regarding you with an inscrutable expression, and you took him in for the first time this evening. He was wearing all black like always. A silk shirt with the laces half done that exposed his broad chest. Tight high-waisted bottoms that accentuated his shapely midsection. His long black hair was loosely tied in a plait, making him look like a vision. 

But something about the way his sapphire eyes glimmering with that melancholic look, made him appear vulnerable in this moment.

A beat of silence passed, and he waited, the air simmering with the heavy tension between you both, as he looked at you with hopeful anticipation. For what, you didn’t know.

Slowly, tentatively he walked, closing the distance between you both again.

“Angel” he breathed. And somehow that one single word broke you. For it was spoken with such disappointment and fragility you never expected from this tyrannical Duke.

“I gave you access to my archives because I trusted you.” He ground, “I went against my advisers, against the whole estate, vouching for you, marrying you. Why do you think there was no guard stationed outside this room?” With each uttered word he stepped closer until you both were hairsbreadth apart.

“So tell me, was it all for naught?” He stressed, and the accusation stung like he had slapped you.

But you couldn’t lie to him. Not when you have been so perpetually lying to yourself. 

“This was a marriage of convenience between our households and nothing more, your grace” you replied curtly, ignoring the way his grip tightened around the dagger or the way his gaze darkened at your blatant aloofness. But you pressed on, delivering the final blow you knew would break him.

“You were and will continue to be nothing to me”

A snarl escaped his lips, and he was on you in an instant. You could feel the cold metal of the dagger pressing against your neck as he hissed, “Go. Take it all away. Whatever you were here searching for, take it. But do not lie to me Angel” his voice cracked, gaze softened, eyes searching your face desperately. 

“Not when the longing in your eyes so plainly mirrors the longing in my heart”  

Maybe it was the way the dagger pressed into your throat, a slice away from stealing your life, or maybe it was the way your face reflected in his ocean-blues, as if you were the only thing his eyes saw, that you yanked him close, pulling his mouth to yours in a needy kiss.

A low groan escaped him, sending a shiver down your spine. His hot tongue slipped into your mouth roughly entangling with yours in a sensual dance. 

You arched into him. The metal of the dagger sandwiched between your throats,  pricking your skins, was an ironic symbol of the enmity and the dark lust that often surrounded you both.

Every caution, every coherence fled your mind when his other hand raked through your hair, angling you into a deeper kiss. As the scant distance between you diminished, the blade broke your skin, sending you into a frenzy of pain and pleasure.

The heady aroma of mint and cherries invaded all your senses, mingled with the scent that was uniquely his. You were drunk off of him, intoxicated and utterly lost in depravity.

But when his teeth clamped down on your bottom lip, a whine reverberated deep in your chest and your hips involuntarily bucked forward, rubbing into his engorged arousal. He groaned and your eyes snapped open at the loss when he stepped back and moved the dagger away from your throat. 

Your mouth involuntarily chased his, earning a soft chuckle from the man.

Catching you by surprise, he suddenly dropped to his knees. He grabbed your wrist, placing the dagger in your open palm, as he stared up at you. 

“I am at your mercy now, beloved” he whispered, hands coming to rest at your thighs as he blinked at you, azure eyes glinting like precious gems in the dark.

“So slice my throat and reduce me to nothingness. But do it while you hold my gaze. For that’s the sight I want to remember when I die” he spoke with a rueful smile upon his face and a fierce anger bubbled inside you at the sight.

You were angry at the way he toyed with your emotions, angry at the way you were lusting after a man who was responsible for your family’s destruction. Angry…at the way you were falling for him.

‘Why did you have to meet me like this?’ was the last thought that flashed in your mind as you flung the dagger across the room vehemently, shattering the ornate mirror adorning the wall. 

You gave him one last searing look before marching to the door, not wanting him to see the lone tear that had rolled down your cheek.

The moment your hand reached for the handle, his slender fingers wrapped around your wrist spinning you around, as he pulled you flush to his chest. 

A hand cupped your cheek as he leaned in kissing the tears that fell traitorously from your eyes. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. He simply rocked you in his embrace peppering kisses on every inch of your face. 

Then his head ducked down, languidly licking the little wound left behind by his dagger. His own neck held the same marks as yours.Just when you thought he was done, he tilted your chin making you face him fully as he whispered against your mouth, “Poor choice to keep me alive. Now I shall remind you every passing second of the day, that you are mine” he purred, “Mine to love and mine to ruin”

[purple-dreams9]

If Thea was Theo, a controversial opinion

I want to preface this post by stating that this is not meant to change anyone's mind or opinion. I am not here to tell you to like a character or to ship a certain ship. You are free to hate Thea, write her off your fics, ignore her existence, and ship Kevin with the milkman if you so desire. This is also not an essay. Instead, think of it as the thought dump of someone munching over it for days.

This all started with a conversation about Thea with a couple people on a Discord server. I've been mostly neutral about Thea, not understanding the overall hate but not knowing much about her either. It led me to read Nora's most recent post about Thea, the replies and the "Why do you not like Thea?" poll, and I've seen plenty of Tweets about her, too.

In general, I noticed one main element when people explain their stance: it is not because Thea is a woman and people want to ship Kevin with male characters. The real reason(s), branched in different directions: the age gap, the lack of building of her character, how little she shows up/how little we know about her/the feeling of her being shoo-ed in out of nowhere as Kevin's love interest, and her attitude (inc. her lack for communication with Kevin after he left the Nest, her comment to Jean in TSC, etc.)

I have been in many fandoms for over a decade, some with more prominent mlm ships, and to be honest, none of those reasons seemed to truly justify the dislike of Thea to the degree she is disliked in the fandom as a whole, especially as the romantic interest of a main character. It seemed to me that most of it is rooted in the desire for Kevin NOT to be straight, but to be gay and be with a guy (or bi, but I see more people using "gay" for Kevin. And some prefer Aro/Ace Kevin, but these fans are a bit more quiet and subdued with their headcanon.) See, even taking Thea out of the equation, there are no popular mlw ships for Kevin with characters from canon, and even in fanon ships the counterparts are mostly (if not all) men.

That got me thinking: "What if Thea was Theo? How would that change how fans interact with this character, even if her personality was the same? What about the relationship with Kevin? Would fans approach the ship differently if he had had Theo as a boyfriend instead of Thea as a girlfriend?"

Of course, it is all hypothetical. For one, a big part of her character is that she is a woman of color (note that I am not black, so I am in no position to talk about how her race plays out with her character) in a predominately male and white team (violent cult) that had to fight her way to the top. It wouldn't quite have the same weight or the same background if she was a male. For two, I am aware it would bring another discourse to the table, that of the "predatory gay men stereotype" (even though there was nothing predatory or "grooming" in their relationship, but that conversation is not for this post.) I am sure plenty of fans would still hate the Kevin/Theo ship, and Theo himself.

Still, I allowed myself to picture it. I read, once, that women used to ship male characters together because female characters were underdeveloped and were not interesting. I wondered if this applies to fandom as well, how certain fandoms prefer to develop and grow male characters.

Things like "lack of canon information about Theo" would not be an issue. Fans are very good at filling in the blanks and building a character from the few spare parts given by the source. This also applies to "there is almost no interaction with Kevin" because let's be honest here, guys, ships are sometimes made from nothing. Rarepairs exist, and even ships like pre-TSC Jerejean can explode in popularity.

With how big of a part Kevin plays in the books and how big his shipping fandom is, if Theo was a thing, I truly believe we would have seen him bloom in fanon spaces. He would have given space and opportunity to grow, change and develop both as a character and in his relationship with Kevin.

The "forbidden relationship" trope and the possibility for angst would have fans foaming, fics working around Theo's past and how he had to fight his way to the top would be written, AUs where he leaves the beliefs of the cult behind and reunites with Kevin would also exist. We would see stories about how his and Kevin's love story played out before and after Kevin left the Nest (at least one primarily focused on the notes they used to pass each other in secret). His mean comments and bitchiness would be ignored, played down, understood, forgiven, or found charming (like Andrew's throughout the series, or even Abby's in TSC.) In a few words, he would be more present and less disliked.

AFTG is a predominately queer fandom, and there is nothing wrong with wanting representation, but I also think it's necessary to use the same scale for female and male characters that are romantically or sexually involved with more popular ones. It's fine not to like Thea, but also to sit and think: would I asses a male character in the same way? How would my view of them change regarding their gender? Just food for thought, I guess.

Again, this is not a call to action of any sort. It is just me, rambling and putting my thoughts down. I can't see different realities so this is basically all fiction. I wanted to take it out of my brain, hear what others think and that's it. Ship what makes you happy. Create what inspires you. Curate your experience. All that being said, Id love to hear your thoughts, but I wont debate anyone's opinion because that's truly, not what Im seeking.

This got longer than I intended so I'll end this here. If you made it, thanks! I hope you have a nice day.

[blakbonnet]

AUTHOR OF THE WEEK: @clairegregoryau 💕

Everytime the topic of fandom kindness and community comes up, of helping each other out and fostering a quiet corner where people can be themselves, most people in our little fandom think of Claire. She's written over a million words of OFMD fic and read even more, and you can always see so so many recs over on her twitter. Incredible good vibes, and an author who truly lives to lift other authors up. She also does SO SO much for fic authors over on the OFMD Fic Club server <3 And she was incredibly kind and shared her entire writing process with me:

What's your writing process like? Do you start with the beginning or the end? Do you write in order or as the scenes come to you?

I’m a huge advance planner, which is a process that has developed for me over more than 25 years of writing original fiction. I’ll get whacked with a story idea, then I’ll sit down and set out the central kernel of that idea, and where it needs to start, where it needs to end, and what the turning points need to be to get there.

A lot of the time I use a three-act structure, largely because Jenkins has talked about OFMD using that structure (one example here). So that makes it easy for me to hold to the canon beats when I’m writing AU stories, or to mirror them in canon-era stories, which is also something I try to do most of the time. With long experience (and now 1.7 million words of OFMD fic written (!)), I find this part of the process really easy. I’ll usually do that plotting by hand-writing out my notes, because it really fires up a different part of your brain.

Because I am such an advance planner, I do tend to write in a completely linear way from start to finish (I also pretty commonly post my long-fics as I write- each chapter goes up as soon as it’s finished and has a final editing pass). Punching through it in a linear way, knowing the ending that I’m working towards and being enthusiastic to get there, really keeps me motivated.

I do all of my writing in 30-minute sprints at the OFMD Fic Club Discord, where we’ve built a lovely and LOUDLY enthusiastic writing community that anyone is welcome to hop into 24/7. For those who find the constant chat a bit overwhelming, we also have a Quiet Focus Sprints channel. Again via long practice, I’m a very fast writer, but that’s accelerated a lot more over the last couple of years, paradoxically because I couldn’t write the way I used to anymore.

I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease that includes some fun brain impacts at times, and it’s really hit my working memory especially. I used to be able to hold all the strands of a complicated story together in my head as I wrote, but now I can’t do that as easily. So that’s why the outline is important for me, so I never lose track of the idea- I’ll also do a quick outline at the start of each chapter I’m writing that notes what needs to happen, and then I’ll write in what I call layers, getting down whatever I can first, and then doing sweeps back through it to add internals, narrative detail, sensory details and so on. I make a LOT of notes and square brackets as I go to remind myself of things to look at later.

I also use a plot matrix [Twitter thread, Example Matrix] that you may have seen floating around- I mostly use it to keep track of plot details that have already happened within a story, so that I can check it out at a glance, but I will sometimes plan certain elements in advance (as in the case of Tree Change, which covered 87 of the 93 Kinktober prompts last year across 12 carefully planned chapters). There’s always space when I’m writing for the characters to surprise me within that plot framework- as a final plotting thing, once I’m at the halfway mark I’ll often plot backwards from the planned end to make sure that I’m on course, and to see what I need to adjust.

Favourite trope or headcanon you like to explore while writing?

I really like to dig into the friends-to-lovers trope that sits at the heart of the show. The Ed and Stede relationship reminds me immensely of my own- like Rhys and Taika as friends, we’ve been yes-anding each other for over 25 years (all of my least hinged fic ideas come from bouncing thoughts back and forth with my husband), and it’s been a steady mix of constant silliness, curiosity, and care. We’re best friends first and that’s one of my favourite things about Ed and Stede, that they are, too.

What I really love about it is the vulnerability of these two people who’ve been hurt so much by others in the past, who’ve never been fully appreciated for all the things that they are, and in each other they find the one absolutely perfect person who just gets them, and it makes all the difference. It’s always fun to play with that and variations on it in fics, and it’s usually the beating heart of my stories.

Whose voice is easier to write - Ed or Stede? Why?

I want to say that I find them both equally easy depending on the story. Ed as a character speaks very much the way I think- he has that ADHD buzz, the high swear level, and a very AoNZ turn of phrase that’s also very familiar to Australians (like me). Writing Ed is like turning the inside of my head out and it always flows easily.

But I have always said that I see myself in both characters in equal parts, so I find Stede pretty easy to write as well. I feel like I pretty solidly understand him as a person, with his history of rejection and his commitment to trying anyway, and trying to be kind, and letting himself be fascinated by things, from piracy to books to moths to Ed (that one’s not hard).

Your personal favourite thing you've written that you'd like more people to read

This is a near-impossible question with 69 OFMD fics up on AO3 😅 I really do love them all, and I have a lot of smaller one-shots that haven’t been read as much, but overall I’m incredibly lucky with readership and so so grateful for everyone who enjoys my work.

But my recent Reverse Bang fic The Broken Lines is hugely important to me and I think it’s probably one of the best things I’ve ever written anywhere. It’s set in the aftermath of the First World War (my professional zone of expertise), and features a Stede who’s lost his voice, his memory, and as far as he knows, his Ed. He gradually remembers what happened with the help of the crew and another Ed, who appears in his mirror from 1719, searching for his own Stede. It was a beautiful collaboration with artist Gerlinde to begin with, but I also got to work with one of my longest-term writing friends Jill @followedmystar as my beta, and then with Boy, who made a truly transcendent podfic that I can’t yell about enough.

What is the one word that you think you use a lot?

I think the word I have to zap more than any other is “actually”, and there are still a million of them in there when I’m done. The main reason is that to stick close to canon voice, I try to incorporate a lot of the less iconic/ more ordinary turns of phrase that the characters use a lot in their speech (I’ve watched every episode of the show… way too many times), and both Ed and Stede actually use “actually” a surprising amount. I just use it an even more surprising amount 😂

(This just sent me on a QUEST to find a specific number because I am that kind of nerd- Stede says it 15 times in S1 and 12 in S2, and Ed says it 8 times in each, for totals of 27 and 16, many of them in distinctive moments; it just gives that little buzz of recognition for me. I started out screenwriting before I moved to prose, so my writing tends to lean pretty strongly on having a recognisable, almost audible voice to the dialogue, as well as a cinematic visual style for the big adventures especially).

Do you have a beta reader? Have they made you a better writer?

I quite deliberately don’t use a beta reader for most of my OFMD fics, because being in this space is an exercise in recovering from lifelong paralysing perfectionism around writing especially. I’ve spent so many years not finishing original work because it never feels like it passes the invisible bar for perfection that exists in my own head. So when I started writing OFMD fic, I set out to accept good enough as good enough, and to get back to enjoying writing as fully as I can.

Obviously this means that my work could be better, but I’m actively working on letting that thought go and loving everything I’ve made just as it is. When I have worked with beta readers on projects that require them, like the Reverse Bang, it’s been with friends who I trust and adore, who I know will listen to what I need (cheerleading, mostly), and will do their best to work with me on improving the story without letting me spiral into hating it all because it wakes the perfectionist beast back up.

That doesn’t mean I’m without regular support, or that I’m not trying to improve my writing! I read an absolutely insane amount of fic, and I’m always in awe of the talent we have on this ship, and always learning from what other people do well. In lieu of beta readers, we share snippets of work all the time in our sprints team, so I get feedback there; I also get it from readers in progress, who often give me a sense of what’s hitting the way I hoped and what needs a bit of tweaking. I also have lovely group chats and individual friends like Kerry @communionnimrod and Lis @ghostalservice and Jill who I can run to if I need an opinion on whether an idea feels right or not, which I will often ask.

I’m very very careful with my writing, but in a couple of rare instances readers have also DMd me to note spots where I’ve inadvertently included something that doesn’t reach the sensitivity standard I’m aiming for. I’m always grateful for that gentleness and bravery in reaching out and I’m always happy to change something or to add tags or notes as needed.

Why OFMD 🥹

I watched the whole show in one hit a week after the final episode aired, and I loved it immediately, but I thought I was going to be normal about it. The unravelling into complete, unrelenting obsession happened gradually as I rewatched it with my husband and teen, then again, and again, then started to read fics and hunt up art, then started joining fan spaces, and then dived into writing my first fic in two and a half decades (all original writing between The X-Files and here), thinking it would also be my last.

I’m still here, still writing constantly, and a major portion of it is the show and how distinctly it reflected all the many parts of me, some of which I’d never seen so clearly before. I had a tough childhood in a few different family respects. I didn’t understand that I was neurodivergent until I turned 40 and my own kids were heading for diagnosis, and I’d been rejected constantly throughout my life for being too much. I was a high achiever who was in the process of crumpling under pressure right when I watched it, and while I’d been figuring out my sense of my own queerness for a few years, I’d never had a community that helped me feel at home with that.

And in the end it’s the community that’s been the reason I’ve been fully sucked into fandom for the first time since my teens- the writing in this space is top-tier wonderful, and the community is such a found family, just like the Revenge. Being able to write and have people actually want to read that writing, being able to cheer others on and hype their work, being able to help set up the OFMD Fic Club Discord and make it a safe spaceship for so many people, has been incredibly fulfilling and lovely. 

Please head over to @ofmdlovelyletters (who also made the header) and send your love to all your favourite authors (and authors of the week 😈 watch that blog for some special letters coming your way)

[bwabys-scenarios]

Safe and Sound

Pt 1

Yandere!Kurapika x Fem!Reader

pt 2

warnings: reader is kidnapped, she was drugged, Kurapika masturbates to the sound of reader sleeping in the next room

A/N: I’m not sure how long this series will because it’s purely for my own enjoyment, so… yeah. Also if you’d like to see sneak peeks or share your ideas for my series, come join the discord!!

if you’d like to be ADDED to the taglist, please comment a red heart ❤️, make sure you’re able to be tagged/mentioned, and have your age in your bio(IF YOU ARE ALREADY ON THE TAGLIST, YOU DON’T NEED TO ASK TO BE ADDED AGAIN!!)

The sound of raindrops hitting the window was enough to wake (Name) from her nap. She stretched, her head and limbs feeling strangely heavy.

She sat up and rubbed her eyes, her free hand patting the nightstand next to her bed for her phone… but it wasn’t there. (Name) immediately sighed, thinking she may have fallen asleep watching a video and forgot to put in on charge. It would be annoying having to charge it at work, considering the only outlet was usually taken up by her creepy coworker.

“Damn it…”

She finally opened her eyes, only to blink a few times, her foggy mind trying to make sense of the strange layout of her room. All of the furniture was the same, her books and plushies were the same, but they were in different spots. The walls were pink, like they’d always been, but she didn’t remember having a window…

“So you’re awake.”

The door to her room was open, a familiar head of blonde hair peeking in. “Kurapika..? What are you… doing in my house? I thought you were out of town for work…”

She rubbed her eyes again, taking a look around the room again and finally realizing something. “This… this isn’t my room. Where… where am I?”

He didn’t speak for a moment, looking away from her questioning gaze. The blonde looked… conflicted, almost guilty. “This… this is your new home. I…”

He cleared his throat, his face returning to its normal calm, and collected state. “I decorated this room to… be as close to your old one as possible. I even found those stuffed animals you’ve been…”

Kurapika went quiet when she stared at him, still trying to process what he was getting at. “Wait… Kurapika, I don’t… what are you saying? Why- no, how did I get here?”

The door creaked open, Kurapika stepping in. He was wearing his usual blue tabard with the golden embroidery, though his hair was tied back in a ponytail. She had noticed his hair getting longer, it was usually a sign that he wasn’t taking care of himself again and putting his mission before his health.

“… that isn’t important, (Name). What is important is that you’re here, and you’re safe.”

He stood in front of her, his soft brown eyes gazing down at her with a feeling she couldn’t quite place. (Name) blinked when he pushed a piece of hair out of her face before pulling his hand away. “I know this… will be difficult to adjust to, but just know I have your best interests at heart. You… are very dear to me, and you already know I would never hurt you.”

She was incredibly confused, her eyes darting from his unreadable expression, to the room, then down to her leg…

“I… see you’ve noticed it.”

There was a chain keeping her secured to the bed by her ankle. She lifted her leg a little, eyes widening when she realized she barely had any slack in the chain to move. “Kurapika… why..?”

He patted his tabard, slipping his hand into his pocket and taking out a key. Kurapika kneeled in front of her, his eyes lingering on her plush thighs for a moment before his hand hovered over her ankle. “May I?”

Without much choice, (Name) nodded and held out her leg for him. Kurapika held her leg gently, his slender fingers grasping onto her ankle as he unlocked the cuff on her leg. “It was just a precaution, in case you woke up when I wasn’t around… and… freaked out.”

She didn’t respond, just lifting her leg to rub her ankle. (Name) didn’t even notice because she had barely been awake, but she hadn’t had a lot of movement in that leg, only just able to lay it on the bed.

He let out a soft sigh, placing the chain under her bed after locking it to make sure she couldn’t do anything with it. “… do you… have any questions? Any requests?”

“… did… did you kidnap me?”

It was a stupid question she already knew the answer to, but it was hard to wrap her mind around the possibility that the sweet boy she knew had the capacity to take her away from her home without her consent and lock her in chains. This wasn’t something she ever expected from him, someone she considered a friend.

He was quiet for a moment, as if in deep thought. Kurapika stood up, brushing off his tabard before answering. “Technically? Yes, I did, but please (Name), don’t be afraid. You aren’t a prisoner here. Your every need and want will be met, you’ll be taken care of properly. You’ll never want for anything, not food or drink-“

“What if I want to see my friends and family?”

Kurapika went quiet again, his eyes half lidded. “… with good behavior you can call them once a week. You haven’t just disappeared, I made sure to… inform all of your close friends and family that you moved to a new country to start a new life.”

She started to tremble, her eyes filling with tears. “I’ll… never get to see my family again?”

The way her voice cracked broke Kurapika’s heart, his shell of composure breaking for a second when his lip twitched down into a frown. “(Name)… I…”

He reached out to cup her cheek and wipe her tears away, but pulled back before he could reach her. Did he even deserve to touch her right now, after putting her through all of this?

‘She… probably needs space,’ Kurapika thought, turning around and heading towards the door.

“… please, familiarize yourself with your new room. You have plenty of books, a TV with access to cable television and sites for streaming, and art supplies. There’s also a few journals and pens, if… writing out your feelings may help you feel… better.”

Kurapika had attempted to gather all of her favorite things and decorate her room to look as close to her original one to make the move as seamless and stress free as possible, but he knew no matter what he did to make her as comfortable as possible, he was still keeping her there against her will.

He hesitated for a moment, considering giving her another dose of the drug he gave her to bring her there, take her home, and convince her it had all been a bad dream. She was home, her friend hadn’t kidnapped her, and their relationship didn’t have to change. Her hating him was one of the things he feared most after all.

But he feared her untimely demise even more. Steeling himself, Kurapika reminded himself why he did what he did. Above all else, her safety came first. Above her own free will, above her happiness, above his own selfish need to be the one she cared for most.

Kurapika was okay with becoming the villain, of killing potential threats and stealing her away if it meant she would live out the rest of her life in safety and comfort. Although her safety would always come first, he did want (Name) to be happy, he cared about her more than anything!

“Kurapika?”

He paused in the doorway when she called out for him, turning his head slightly to look at her. She seemed so vulnerable and small on the soft bed he picked out for her. “Yes, (Name)?”

“… am I stuck here forever?”

His heart thumped against his chest. From the look on her face, she already knew the answer to that question, but he didn’t mind confirming it. “… yes. This is your new home, please… try to get used to it. If you need anything, I’ll… be downstairs. Just call for me and I’ll come. This room is yours, and I won’t come in without knocking unless I fear for your safety.”

She nodded, sinking into her bed and clinging to one of the stuffed animals he snatched from her home. It was a Cinnamoroll plush Kurapika had gotten for her a year ago for her birthday, along with some baked goods from the bakery she liked. He had always been so thoughtful and sweet, just looking around the room he meticulously prepared for her was evidence enough.

“… alright…”

(Name) was still tired and her body felt heavy. She wasn’t sure why, but it felt like she’d taken a muscle relaxer or something of the like. Kurapika watched to make sure she got into bed okay and was off to sleep before he gave the smallest of smiles and closed the door behind him.

————————

When she woke up, there was a sandwich and a bag of her favorite chips sitting on her nightstand, along with a bottle of water. Parched and starving, she ate quickly, before noticing there was a note under her plate.

‘You’ve been asleep for nearly an entire day. When you wake up, eat this then come downstairs so I can show you around the cabin.’

(Name) finished her bag of chips before throwing the trash away in the strawberry shaped trash can by her bed. It was the same one she had at home, and she wondered how Kurapika was able to find a copy of it, considering she got hers in a garage sale.

She noticed there was another door in her room besides the one Kurapika came from. Feeling curious, she decided to check it out before wandering downstairs.

It was a small bathroom, with a shower, toilet, and sink. When she peeked behind the pink shower curtain, she saw all of the products she used when bathing, down to her favorite brand of shaving cream.

The tooth brush she liked and the flavor of toothpaste she preferred was set neatly by the sink, and when she checked the medicine cabinet she saw her prescriptions, though the bottles were mostly empty. ‘Probably to make sure I don’t… take them all at once.’

The thought was morbid, but she could understand why Kurapika would be cautious. Humans could get desperate when pushed into a corner, and if she broke, she might try and kill herself.

To test her theory, she looked around to see if there was a razor to shave with, but saw none. She wondered why he would give her shaving cream but no razor. Maybe he… was going to watch her when she shaved? That thought made her face heat up in embarrassment.

(Name) washed her face and brushed her teeth, trying to take solace in the mundane. She knew she wasn’t currently in any danger, so she tried her best to relax. Kurapika wouldn’t have gone through all that effort to make her happy and comfortable if he was going to brutally murder or assault her, and… she didn’t want to think the sweet friend she knew was capable of hurting her like that.

Though (Name) had her reasons to be cautious, he was an incredibly strong person with privilege and power due to being a hunter, she didn’t feel afraid, just… confused and a little betrayed. Sad as well, but what could she do? Right now, she couldn’t do anything, so she might as well relax while she could.

By the door to the hallway, there was a pair of pink bunny slippers. She remembered telling him that she wanted to get herself a pair of slippers because of how cold it was getting. It was strangely sweet to know how much he listened to her random tangents about things.

She put them on before opening the door and stepping out into the hallway. Kurapika had said something about being downstairs if she needed something, so she wasn’t surprised to see wooden railing 5ish feet from her door.

(Name) walked down the stairs, holding onto the railing. She could smell the familiar scent of vanilla in the air, mixed with a bit of cinnamon and pine. Kurapika must have snagged some of her favorite candles to make the cabin smell closer to home…

The living room was decorated sparsely, with just a maroon couch, an oak coffee table, and large flat screen TV. She wondered how long it took him to get this place set up and how long he had planned on taking her away.

“(Name).”

She nearly jumped out of her bunny slippers when she heard Kurapika’s voice behind her. Thankfully he was able to catch her before she fell on her butt, the blonde surprisingly strong. He held onto her shoulders, steadying her before letting go.

“Sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She glanced at him, seeing the softness in his eyes as a sign he was telling the truth. “It’s alright, you’ve alway moved so quietly, even… before…”

Kurapika looked away, a frown on his face. “… now that you’re awake, I can show you around. This is your home now, you’ll need to know where everything is so you can fend for yourself while I’m gone.”

He walked past her, the blonde glancing back to signal for her to follow him.

(Name) was lead to the kitchen, where Kurapika stood awkwardly in the center. “You can look around. Open the cabinets, search through the drawers, just familiarize yourself with the place. I want you to be completely comfortable here.”

She didn’t say what she wanted, tht she would never be truly comfortable when she was trapped. (Name) couldn’t say it, not when she wasn’t completely sure she was safe. He may never physically harm her, but there were other ways to deal with people besides hurting their bodies.

Instead, (Name) did as told, opening the drawers. She blinked when she saw all the utensils were hard plastic, like the stuff you’d use for babies. The knives were understandable, but the spoons and forks?

“Why… is everything plastic?”

Kurapika peeked over your shoulder, his expression unreadable. “It’s safer.”

“Safer? How could I get hurt using a metal spoon?”

He didn’t answer, simply closing the drawer. “Just… keep looking around.”

She sent him a concerned look before continuing to look around. There was plenty of food in the pantries, and the dishes were also all hard plastic, with the plates being those plates with sectioned parts to put different sides of your meal.

Every dish was a soft pink, even the pots and pans. He had really gotten everything in her favorite color, and she almost wanted to laugh when she spotted a pink sponge by the sink.

“Well?”

Kurapika was hovering around (Name) again, his eyes looking over her face to see if she liked the kitchen he set up just for her. He went through great lengths to make sure everything was safe and pink, trying to please her.

“Well, everything is very pink.”

Kurapika waited, staring at her with those intense brown eyes of his. “And?”

“And… it’s nice, thank you.”

The blonde wasn’t expecting that, and before he could hide it his eyes widened slightly as a the lightest of pink graced his cheeks.

“I’m… glad you like it,” he said softly, watching her with adoring eyes as she looked in the fridge. It was hard not to stare when she was finally here, where no one but him could gaze at her.

After a thorough tour of the kitchen, he lead her to his room. Compared to hers, it was pretty empty and dull. The sheets were a plain gray color, the walls white. There was not a single decoration in sight, just an empty cup on his nightstand.

The only furniture in the barren room was his nightstand, bed, a dresser, and a small bookshelf tucked away in a far back corner. “If you need anything, just come to my room. Knock if the door is closed.”

He watched as she looked around, smiling a little when she peeked at his books. “There’s nothing you’d find of interest there, (Name). Just a few history books.”

She glanced at him. “Is this all you wanted to show me?”

He shook his head, offering her his hand. “There’s one more thing.”

It hurt a little to see the hesitant in her eyes, her hand trembling slightly as she reached out to take his. Kurapika made sure to keep his grip on her hand as gentle and tender as he could manage.

“I’m… not going to hurt you. You know that, right (Name)?”

She didn’t answer, looking away from him. He felt his stomach twist into knots. Kurapika didn’t want her to fear him, it hurt too much to bear. He would have to build up her trust all over again, if he could even get her to trust him at all after kidnapping her.

“… come on, we have one last stop.”

He guided her to the back of the cabin, taking a key from his pocket and opening the door. She watched nervously as a dark hallway was revealed, making her tremble in fear. Kurapika seemed to notice this, taking out his phone to use as a flashlight. “I… was planning on getting lights installed in this hallway before I brought you here, but…”

He went quiet, shaking his head. “Never mind, come on.”

As he took her hand, she jumped slightly when his thumb brushed against her palm, as if he was trying to comfort her. Before, the action would have made her blush and giggle, but now it only filled her with dread.

The irrational side of her feared he would take her down to a dark basement and leave her there to die, but she had to tell herself that if that’s what he wanted to do, then why would he try so hard to replicate her room and make her comfortable? For gods sake every dish and pan in the house was pink and the silverware was hard plastic, if he planned on keeping her in a basement, why go through all that effort?

But sometimes the brain doesn’t listen to reason. (Name) found herself shaking uncontrollably, audibly yelping when she was suddenly engulfed in a bright light.

The light hadn’t actually been that bright, her eyes had just adjusted to the darkness. She had to blink a few times to get used to the change in light, and when she did she was pleasantly surprised.

She stood in the middle of a lush garden, with flowers, vegetables, and trees bearing all kinds of fruit.

There was a bench, along with a table and chairs so she could rest and eat outside if she wanted to. The only think that made her a little uneasy was the fact that the garden was in a glass dome, the only thing connecting her to the outside world being little vents that allowed the outside air in.

“I… figured you wouldn’t be happy stuck inside at all hours of the day. Humans need sunlight and fresh air to be happy.”

She nodded slowly, letting go of his hand to investigate the garden. Kurapika watched, holding his breath to see if she would like it. “I thought you may like to take up gardening as a hobby. There are many varieties of plants here, meaning fresh vegetables and fruit. I had… a friend make sure these plants will produce all throughout the year, so you don’t have to worry about them going in and out of season.”

With a soft sigh, (Name) picked an apple from one of the trees, looking it over. It was a brilliant shade of red, probably the most beautiful apple she had ever seen. “You… really put a lot of effort into this…”

“I did. I wanted to make sure you were as happy here as you could possibly be.”

(Name) rubbed the apple on her sleeve before taking a bite. It was good, better than any store bought apple she’d eaten. “You… didn’t have to do this, you know. You didn’t have to kidnap me… I don’t… I don’t understand. I was perfectly fine, living a normal, happy life. Why… why, Kurapika?”

He didn’t seem angered by her question, not even surprised. Kurapika only sighed, not meeting her eyes. “I… can’t tell you everything, all I can say is that I did it for you. I’ve already told you how important you are to me. I can’t bear the thought of losing you.”

Silence overtook the garden, and (Name) took that as a sign that he was done talking. “Alright… you probably already know I’m not okay with this. I see no reason to fight with you, seeing as we both know who would come out as the winner.”

Kurapika stayed silent for a moment, knowing what she said was true. “… I will never hurt you. You don’t have to worry about that.”

(Name) let the half eaten apple fall the ground, her eyes fixed on the fruit. “… take me back to me room, please. I… want to be alone.”

Kurapika nodded slowly, letting her walk ahead of him. When she was looking, he picked up the fallen apple and dusted the dirt off. ‘I… don’t know if she’ll ever see me the same way again. Do I even deserve her love and trust? I…’

He stared at the fruit, his eyes and cheeks turning scarlet as he pressed a kiss into the bite mark she left.

‘I’m doing this for her. No one will ever harm her, not on my watch.’

As the blonde placed the apple in his pocket, he tried not to think about the more selfish, and immoral thoughts he had about her. The need for her touch, her love, her kiss… these were all things he wouldn’t allow himself to want.

But being pent up like that wouldn’t do him any favors in the future, especially not when he already had his own share of anger issues.

He never wanted to hurt her, never… but as he watched her walk up the stairs and to her room, he had the sickening thought of how much easier it would make keeping her hear if she had a broken leg.

These thoughts weren’t his own, he told himself. It was the result of anxiety and stress. Everyone had intrusive thoughts, he didn’t actually want to hurt her.

Despite knowing this, it still filled him with dread and self hatred every time his mind drifted to ways of keeping her complicit and obedient through fear and pain instead of love and care. It would be easier to hurt and scare her into behaving, he knew that, but he didn’t want to hurt or scare her. He wanted her to be as happy and comfortable as could be, and he wanted her to at least view him in a positive light.

How would he be any better than who he was trying to protect her from if he hurt and scared her? It wasn’t worth it, and just the thought of causing even the smallest wound to her pretty skin made him want to vomit.

This was part of the reason he didn’t want to touch her too much. When he did, his mind ran rampant with obsessive and irrational thoughts. Some were about wanting her to be his, to love him, and others were more on the naughty and immoral side.

It was no secret to the blonde that he had feelings for her of the sexual nature as well, but he pushed those feelings down with the bad thoughts as well, hoping they would go away. He didn’t even know if she would come to see him as a friend again, much less a sexual partner or lover. Kurapika didn’t want to get his hopes up.

But as he laid in bed that night, listening to her soft breathing in the room next to him, he couldn’t stop the hand that drifted below his belt, gently stroking his leaking cock. She was right there, sleeping just beyond the wall, and it made his entire body tingle with excitement. He knew that this was wrong, that it was only feeding into his desires, but he couldn’t help it.

When he came, the obsessive, nagging thought of filling her to the brim with his cum, impregnating her and continuing the Kurta clan through her womb made his brain fuzzy and his body warm.

He had to shake away the thought, hitting his head until the pain got too overwhelming. ‘Stop, stop it! No… I can’t think like that. She may never want that, and… and that’s okay. I did this for her safety, having her around me and being happy about that is only a side effect.’

Kurapika curled up under his blanket, his eyelids dropping. He had trouble sleeping ever since his clan was massacred, the nightmare making sleep almost impossible, but since he met (Name), her presence alone was enough to stave off his bad dreams.

The only problem was being away from her. Before he kidnapped her, when he had to go away for long missions, not only did he have nightmares about his clan’s massacre, he also dreamt of (Name) being brutally murdered or tortured. It was enough to leave him trembling, sometimes even vomiting after waking up.

The anxiety made it hard for him to function and focus on his work. He kidnapped her for her safety first of course, but also so he didn’t have to worry himself to death. Now that he had her to come home to, to protect, he would be much more careful and focused during his missions to collect the scarlet eyes and find the Phantom Troupe.

When he finally fell asleep, Kurapika dreamed of a happy, normal life with (Name), a life he could never give her.

[lowkeyrobin]

hiii I was wondering if I could request a sorry boys x reader? (Totally understand if not tho! Just Tommy, ranboo, Charlie, and Philza (: )

but the reader is like a streamer who just does art streams? I like to think of it as crumb-like streams? Anyway, the reader also has an idea for a possible indie show or comic or whatever they wanna make one day and they sometimes draw or animated stuff for that?

(also do you mind if I be the ⚠️ anon?)

oooo yeah of course! ; and welcome to the hotel ⚠️! love the reference haha ; anyways thank you for requesting, hope you enjoy! ; again, apologizing for how short this is

SORRY BOYS ; auti-artistic

summary ; youre an art streamer chilling with the sorry boys

warnings ; language

word count ; 504

masterlist

You were currently live with Tommy and Phil at your sides, watching you draw. You usually streamed when you were working out the blocks for your upcoming comic, wanting to get some outside opinions from friends and chat as you worked.

Charlie and Ranboo's voices hung in your head over the Discord call, where you'd repeat their words to Tommy and Phil as they talked. Those two were streaming some weird simulation game, so you were listening to them babble with your volume on 10 as you worked, more so listening to Phil and Tommy. The blondes were giving you suggestions, compliments, and were talking about some movie they'd recently watched together.

You place your pen back down on the iPad screen, coloring in the blocks as you worked. You had numerous amounts of pallettes to make sure all the colors were correct, plus it made life easier in the long run.

"No, no, no!" Tommy waves his finger dangerously close in front of Phil's face, "That movie sucked. The dad can kiss my ass!"

"The dad was trying to save his kids, Tom!"

"By shooting their mum?!"

You slowly look up at your webcam, your jaw slightly agape, eyebrows furrowed. You listen as they both blabber on and on, talking about whatever plot there was to this random apocolypse movie that they'd seen.

"What are you talking about...?" You finally ask, looking slightly back and up at Tommy.

"Explaining to Phil about how he's wrong!"

"Okay, pal"

You turn back down to your iPad, continuing to color in the boxes as you had been. You flinch and push yourself back in your desk, hearing Charlie and Ranboo both scream into your ears.

"Jesus fuck, why are you screaming?!" You exclaim, bringing your mic closer to you to become louder.

"Charlie!-"

"No, that was your fault!"

You look over at chat, seeing some users explaining why you just got jumpscared with screams. Tommy and Phil had quieted down, looking at chat as well.

"No way you got that scared over a game." You deadpan at your webcam, knowing one of them had your stream up.

"Don't give me that look!" Charlie exclaims, "These ghosts are fucking scary, Y/n!"

"That's not my problem." You joke before deafening. The Discord ping rings in your ears before you're greeted by silence.

Tommy blinks before looking down at you. "So, like, what happened?"

"Some ghost scared them." You shrug, twirling your digital pencil in your fingers.

You glance at chat, seeing Charlie's green username and VIP star tag pop up. "tell ranboo to stop sumging them HLP ME"

You slowly nod, seeing that he was clearly typing in a rush. "Have fun with that, my guy"

Tommy chuckles, "Is he that desperate?"

"Guess so" Phil shrugs, "What are they even playing? I thought they were playing some stupid simulator game"

"No idea" You shrug, "But that gives me an idea for this comic-"

"Here we go again"

"Tommy, be supportive"

"I am supportive, I'm a fifth gay!"

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if i cut off someone reaching out for help on tumblr? i am a very anxious person. ive been on tumblr a very long time because most all other social media terrifies me as someone who grew up with the wild west internet a decade past (im in my late 20s) so i feel sometimes with how reckless and spurractic people can be online in chatroom and especially clearly public platforms where any stranger, malicious or otherwise can just archive your digital presence for personal use.

more recently as someone who has been here during the pornban and as an asexual really enjoyed the quiet with no drama farming and a slow pace to talk about more unique political topics in a measured way it is something im strangely nostalgic for and a great example of my sensibilities to people when they insist that i use other platforms like discord or twitter or whatever clone for these services comes out of the old guard introducing feature creep to copy everyone else or any other indi "were the anti corporate version" of the endless scroll apps. i just dont want it. tumblr is special because im desktop only, been here for years, and i have kept track of every single change made so i have manually adjusted the change through hacks to evade every bad decision on here and make my set up look identical to how it was in 2010. so let it be understood that i tend to be a loney person because of this stubbornness. web 3.0 is too dangerous to people with addictive tendencies that my adhd brings out and my need to wear my heart on my sleeve. so i hope i defended my personality type enough to show why someone like me would see a post about some horrible abuses they have fell victim to who also share alot of the marginalized status as me and writing depressive things in the replys of others posts as to attention seek about it.

i directly interact with this person, not only to check if they are real (but wow, modern chat bots make this part horrifying for me. we really cant ever know for sure what is real anymore. trying to find warmth on the internet feels impossible now a days) i have multiple conversations at this point both venting and just casually shooting the shit. but the begging for me to constantly repost their paypal makes me so nervous in a way that i feel so guilty for because it reminds me of all the scams that get associated with this kind of ebegging and the reminder that capitalism takes away all warmth from human interaction to make them purely transnational and conditional. but then it just has been escalating where im so scared that now its not enough that im reposing on my 8 follower, all mutual blog, they are asking me to share it on other socials. accounts i do not have i have a flip phone and a laptop and i am tinkering with a windows 7 tower that will never be connected to the internet so i can always have software sit perfectly in its time capsule for when i need it. i do not have a way to help this person outside of what i learned from collage psyche classes. a part of me is so scared to just abruptly cut them off and just delete my entire account like i tend to do often on tumblr for a multitude of reasons, its a part of what lets people survive being here this long but i worry that would crush them if i did that, i dont want to make them feel more hopeless and unwanted then they already talk about. but i am text on the internet through a screen. i can only do so much. so would i be the asshole if i just deleted my account with a "i hope you hang in there, the world is a harsh place but keep moving" to cut someone so similar to me who is struggling out of my life?

What are these acronyms?

[amitiagailec]

Wowie what's this? Me active in Tumblr (and Discord again??)

I am still uncertain how I want to go with this but I am motivated by the idea of making an AU in CRK. Look if you want content you gotta make em yourself.

Not much is decided but here's the idea so far:

Fragment!AU. SM is named Ternate Milk Cookie/Fragment!SM

•Inspired from how a part of WL (or WL herself now) "survived"/stayed lingering despite DE, I just decided maybe the Beasts will have a manifestation of their own, be it just remnants/manifestations of them that continues to walk Earthbread despite their true selves being sealed.

Just as how the soul jams can kinda imitate and preserve the will of their holders it seemed, I think they'd be somewhat like that in that regard, in the middle of the Darkness and Light of the Virtues.

•TM Cookie as manifestation of SM is often at Ghost City and Blueberry Yogurt Academy, because of connection to his past, a continuation of what he started as the Virtue, and the source of power/dimension of this place.

•There's also SM's territory in Beast Yeast. But he doesn't always do so.

•This decreased after PV inherited the Light of Truth, but not completely.

•Every headmaster of the academy is aware of TM. From every predecessor to a new one he is to be regarded as a "guest" providing him things when he needed it, and only be cautious when he is displaying...tendencies. Every once in a while, some professors would find an unknown Cookie wandering the school and disappearing before they could find him. Most times they'd forget but the quiet rumor of a ghost lingers from time to time.

•Students when familiar are very much warned when they were found to have seen or interacted with him for there have been a few cases of...luring.

•Despite the wariness, TM still provides support every once in awhile. Correcting formulas for spells and potions by professors, returning books to the library when someone forgot and often arranging them, making suggestions to the headmasters themselves, and teaching young cookies when they passed by him. The last one be how he will bond with a certain Cookie.

•As a manifestation, TM cannot interact with anything in his surroundings unless he puts his effort into it, drawing from what energy and magic he can, another reason why the place is important. Appearing alone draws a lot from him if he were anywhere else.

•He can recall what knowledge he still has from before, but anything related to Beast Yeast, his comrades, and his own deeds are always blocked from his mind. Any trigger makes him uncomfortable. He'd eventually forget that happened.

•TM is still connected to his real self SM, who would often show when his attitude changes. Just another way of SM to interact and spectate outside of his prison, mostly showing when his expression darkens. What TM forgets, SM remembers very well.

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

Promise

We will pretend it hasn't been 3 weeks since I made this post asking for writing ideas.

Anyway, @wangxian-stan here's the idea you suggested, I hope you like it and sorry for the delay!

Here's the prompt:

It is so quiet in the jingshi that, if Lan Wangji tried, he would even be able to hear the sizzle of wax melting under the gentle flames of the candle wicks. The silence rings in his ears – and not even the sounds of the night outside are doing much to fill it.

It’s unnerving. Such undisturbed silence reminds him of times he would rather forget. Of loneliness, pain and the discordant notes of songs ending in tears, the bitter taste of alcohol and regret.

The dull sting of his wounds being cleaned adds on to that – especially since the claw marks on his back cross over the faded scars of the discipline whip. It feels almost uncanny, some kind of déjà vu – except it is not a healer or his brother that is helping clean and bandage his wounds, but his husband.

However, for all the teasing and talking Wei Wuxian does, the energy and the liveliness that Lan Wangji loves him for – he is being unsettlingly quiet as well. He has been this way ever since Lan Wangji returned from his night hunt with the back of his robes torn into, red painting the edges. The injuries do look worse than they feel and Lan Wangji made sure to tell his husband this much from the start – but Wei Wuxian seemed a bit too shaken by the sight to really listen, his expression darkening and his voice waning until he decided not to speak anymore at all.

And so, he is now tending to Lan Wangji’s wounds, with the gentleness and care of someone that has known far too much pain, his fingertips trembling on the washcloth as he cleans the injured skin. The beast had hurt him not out of an oversight, but rather, as a choice – he had not thought much about it, intercepting the hit in place of Lan Jingyi more out of instinct than anything else. Whilst a hit like that would do little more than inconvenience him, someone as young as Jingyi could have been incapacitated by it for a long time – so it was a small price to pay, in hindsight.

But it does make Lan Wangji’s heart squeeze to see his beloved be so affected.

The ointment Wei Wuxian uses on him next smells of herbs and the faint scent of disinfectant – again, much too familiar. A very effective cure, developed by the Lan healers long ago, though unkind to the touch. It stings terribly being placed on an open wound, Lan Wangji knows it better than anyone.

Which is why he’s tried to keep his reaction contained, not wanting to worry his husband any more – yet  a faint hiss does still leave his lips as Wei Wuxian applies some of the medicine to his wounds. His fingertips lift off the sensitive skin, and a gentle current of cool air blows over the sting to soothe it. The knowledge Wei Wuxian is so gentle moves Lan Wangji to finally speak.

“Wei Ying…”

The other makes a questioning noise, continuing to gently blow over the wound and alleviate the sting.

“It is alright. I feel fine.”

“It’s important to make sure you heal properly. Do you know how easy it is to get an infection from something like this? Open wounds must be treated seriously even if they’re not bad.”

Lan Wangji feels like those words are not Wei Wuxian’s own, rather repeating what he himself has heard a long time ago, a lifetime ago, from somebody that had been too good at her craft to die the way that she had.

“You need to be more careful.” Wei Wuxian adds, the tone of his voice softer, worried and loving all the same.

“I am.” Lan Wangji replies, and he’s being truthful in this simple, confident reply. He is careful, calculated and precise – but not when it comes to protecting the people he cares about. There is no time for him to weigh his options when danger befalls somebody he considers part of his family, and he knows Wei Wuxian cannot blame him for it – because he does the same.

Wei Wuxian carefully covers the wounds in bandages, his touch light. “You know what I mean. You got off easy now, but what if it won’t be like this next time?”

Lan Wangji sighs, fondly, warmth blooming in his chest at his husband’s worry. “Wei Ying…”

“I know, you’re the great, peerless, undefeated Hanguang-Jun…” he smiles as he says it, “…but you’re not immortal.”

“Not yet.”

That pulls a light chuckle out of Wei Wuxian, and it is the first time that night that the heaviness in the jingshi lifts. “Well, since you promised me forever, that means you have to make sure you get there in one piece.”

A smile tugs at the corners of Lan Wangji’s lips. “I will. I promise.”

He feels a soft pair of lips at the nape of his neck, Wei Wuxian’s lips whispering into his skin. “I’ll hold you to that.”

[lilyrizzy]

jealous max who won’t let himself come off jealous but failing my beloved… an essential headcanon in these times lol. also reassuring daniel…

"You are still coming to Monaco, yes?"

It's the third time in just as many days that Max has asked him this. Over phonecalls that he initiated too. It's- Strange. Normally, getting ahold of him while they're in different places is impossible. Daniel once downloaded fucking discord in a desperate attempt to check his boyfriend really was just too busy on the sim and not like, dying in some corner of their apartment.

"Max, of course I am coming," Daniel tells him. For the third time. Then, because hopefully it will remind Max that he can't exactly get out of it- "It's in my contract, remember?"

Instead of the reasuring 'of course,' Daniel is expecting, followed by a mile a minute play-by-play of his charity race on Sunday, there's silence.

Or, at least no words from Max's mouth. Daniel can hear him breathing, the soft drag and drop of air, the rustling of sheets. It's easy then for Daniel to picture him shifting in their bed, and the familiar ache of missing him blooms in his chest.

"Maxy?"

"You can, of course, probably get out of it," Max says after another pause, voice casual in a way Daniel knows him well enough to have nicknamed his 'fuck the media' voice.

Why do you think you have crashed so many times this year, Max?

"Why would I do that?" Daniel asks with a startled laugh. Then, "come on, don't you miss me?"

Their joke that never quite felt it, not when Daniel has had so many things to miss over the last few years. Max, when they're apart. Family. Driving. The version of himself he used to see mirrored in Max's eyes as he watched Daniel climb up onto that top step.

It's even less funny now, when Max asks like he really is uncertain, "I don't know. Do you miss me?"

"Of course I do, baby," Daniel insists, sitting up from where he's been sprawled out on his back, the shitty pillows of the hotel bed too hard. He doesn't know where this is going, but he knows it's nowhere good.

There's more quiet, just the sound of Max wriggling. If Daniel was there, he could roll himself into Max's lap, hold his wrists above his head. Kiss him, tell him he's not letting him go until he turns that frown upside down.

Over the phone, all he can do is wait. Say his name again, until-

"You just- With Scotty, I think you have more fun. Than with me."

Max's voice is small, but his words knock the breath from Daniel's chest.

"Max," is all he can croak out for a moment, unsure of how to fix this.

Clutting the phone harder with one hand, his other comes stupidly to his mouth, knawing. In his mind, he tries to retrace his steps, to work out how they got here, but he knows he and Scotty have been hanging out a lot. And-

And there's some truth to it, Daniel can't lie. It's just not in the way Max thinks. It's not a question of fun, more-

"Sometimes, I just need- I don't know baby, to get away from it all," he rushes to explain around his bleeding nail bed, hating that all has to mean Max too. "The reminders that I'm not driving. That- That I failed."

Scotty is good for talking about everything but. His one good friend that never came with him to every fucking race, wasn't employed because of his career. Didn't see every crack, tear and scream that way Michael, Blake, Max did.

Somebody he can still be Danny Ric with, when he's sick of being Daniel Ricciardo, washed up and left out to dry.

"You did not fail," Max says, petulant, and Daniel doesn't deserve the smile he can't quite bite back, the way Max defends him even against himself. "You- I love you. I do not want to be something you need to run away from. It- It frightens me, feeling not so close."

Daniel is such a cunt.

"We are close," he insists, desperate, because they have to be. This can't be another thing he loses. "We- I'm going to get in the car and drive home right now, and show you how close we are. I'm going lie on top of you, squash you until we become one person, I- Fuck, Maxy, I'm sorry. I love you too, you- You know that, right, that I love you?"

To his relief, Max lets out a noise that's close to laugh, though it sounds wet like he's crying and Daniel wants to wring his own neck.

Instead, he gets up and starts packing.

"Yes?" Max says, checking. "Even if I remind you of all the bad things."

Daniel shakes his head though Max can't see, pausing where he'd been shoving his wallet into his pocket.

"Maxy, you are all champagne showers," he promises, and sometimes he can lie when he's sure that one day soon it will be the truth. "Champagne showers and Monday lie-ins. Just- Fuck it, I'll drive back in my PJ's, just give me a few hours, yeah?"

"You are coming home?" Max asks, hopeful through his tears.

Daniel so badly wants to kiss him.

"Yeah, baby, I'm coming home."