#It wasn’t even my CW box set. I got VERY lucky with mine.

[f33itan]

💛⚜️Pᴀʀᴛ 1: Tᴏʀᴛᴜʀᴇ ɪs Gᴏʟᴅᴇɴ⚜️💛 (From my Wattpad)

A/N: Ok, this was something a mutual of mine said here on Tumblr, and I decided to write a oneshot about it. Might be very VERY slight angst, nothing bad enough to actually be put under that umbrella though, anyways, enjoy this, and ty for the reads! :)

CW: MENTIONS OF RAPE, DEGRADATION, AND MORE FOUL WORDS THAN USUAL. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

B/N: Your Mother's boyfriend's name

M/N: Mother's name

꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂

"Oi, Y/N! Go get me another pack of beer from the store!"

"Yes father!" Damn that pig looking bitch. I'm just some fucking girl, trying to protect her mom from this demon of a person! Heck, he's not EVEN a person! He's the devil himself!! Man, I wish dad was here...

When you were in about 7th grade, your real father got killed in a massacre a couple cities over. He was not only a police officer, but a great father and husband as well. He treated you and your mother amazingly, and you thought life couldn't get anymore perfect, but soon that all went down hill. After his death, your mother's health depleted and she felt empty inside. She needed somebody else to make her complete. She decided to call an old friend from high school, and next thing you know he moved in. He seemed like a nice guy at first, but soon enough he was beating you guys mercilessly, enough to leave large bruises and scars whenever you didn't do exactly what he asked, in your eyes though, it was more of an order. You hated being ordered around, but you hated your mother getting beaten around even more. It seemed like a blessing that he hasn't tried to rape her, but god knows what he'll do, he's unpredictable

With all of this happening, you decided to tell him you were doing some "extra curricular" classes in college, but what you were actually doing was taking the Hunter's Exam and learning nen. Your biological father was kind-hearted and fun to be around, but he was also strict and sometimes a bit harsh, though he always meant well. Before his passing, all three of you would go out on the weekends to train, exercise, or do something that would enhance your body power and brain power. Because of this, all of you were exceptionally smart, and bodies all well toned. Sometimes your excursions would be going to a park and practicing a sport, driving to the snow and sledding, skiing, snowboarding, and every once in a while going to another state to zip line, try animal encounters, or take a family friendly class in that state's heritage and customs.

Since you were accustomed to hard core training and events, you thought the Hunter's Exam was quite fun, and was a test to your skills. After that, you were scouted out by a strong nen user by the name of Biscuit Krueger. You and her had lots of fun training, and with her pushing your limits to the utmost best, you turned out to be a specialist.

(Whenever I imagine myself in Hunter x Hunter, this is always my nen type and stuff LMAO)

Your power was called, Black shadow. You could have up to 10 weapons on hand, completely subjected to doing your bidding. These weapons were linked to you through blood, and they were surrounded with a substance that appeared to be black mist. The weapons you most preferred to practice with and use were your katana, blood string, and scythe. You could also make a weapon yours by cutting a fingertip and letting the blood drip onto the weapon, altering the appearance then gaining that black "mist", showing that it was now yours. The downside to this technique was that those "shadows and mist remnants" were your sleep. The darkness in your mind and the shadows all around you were taken and used for that power. In turn, you were always tired, yawning, and had bags under your eyes. Another plus side though was that you had a nen created chamber that had every weapon you owned. A girl can have some fun toys, can't she? You had tools for torture (whenever you took an opportunity to try it), many varieties of weapons, and of course, more snacks. But unlike B/N, you didn't have just fatty snacks. You had regeneration potions, healthy snacks, and special nen created "snacks" to help with different things, which all of these you had collected through pulling some strings. Your mother was worried, but you said it was all just college things. Yeah, just college things..

Ill make that pig bitch pay for what he has done to my mother!

Feitan POV -or whats going on with him- :

"What time, is it.."

"8 AM Fei!"

"Shut up, green eyes, too loud."

"Oh Fei don't be rude! It's mean!"

"That's, the point."

"Oh wait, Shalnark, what this?"

"What do you mean?"

"This... gold string?"

"OI SHALNARK, FEITAN, COME ERE' REAL QUICK!"

"Phinks, what, do you, want-" Phinks just ignored his question and pointed to the TV.

This is Channel 12, reporting live from York New City Town Square. People all over the city are claiming to be seeing a string tied to their left ring finger, leading them to some unknown destination! What is this string? Who put it there?-

"AY AY IM ON TV! THE STRING THINGY JUST LEAD ME TO THIS BEAUTIFUL GIRL AND NOW WERE DATING! SUPER AWESOME!"-

I apologize for the interference, but this string appears t be leading people to.. partners? Soulmates? Find out tomorrow morning, this is Amy Starwick from Channel 12, signing out.

"What. The. FUCK."

"OH MY GOD OH MY GOODNESS HOLY SHIT FEITAN YOU HAVE A SOULMATE!!"

"Nope-"

"YESS YOU DOOOOOOO"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP CHEERY BITCH-"

"No❤️" Since Feitan was on his last nerve with Shalnark, he decided to stomp over towards Chrollo in the main room, but Chrollo just chuckled.

"Wanna go find your soulmate? See if that things real?" Feitan just stared at the ground, lightly shifting his feet.

"Go ahead, I don't mind."

"Just, doing it, out of, curiosity."

"Mhm, curiosity, go find them." And with that, he was dismissed. Feitan wanted to say it was curiosity, but deep down he had this feeling there was something else, but what was it? It made his stomach tingle and he didn't like it one bit. He tried to ignore all of this, and just shrugged it off...

꧁꧂꧁꧂TimeSkip to Next Day꧁꧂꧁꧂

Your POV + some Feitan POV:

"Alright, today's the day, he'll be at his work, and on his break, i'll set the plan in motion.." Both me and mom don't like him, and I don't know about her, but I sure hate him, every ounce of him. The plan is simple: 1. Capture mom's boyfriend, 2. Take him to an abandoned building, 3. Torture him and get all of the answers I need, and 4. Kill him. His break is at 12, and he usually goes to get takeout every other Friday, what a pig. I'll give him a taste of his own medicine.

Time: 11:30 AM

Ok, I have everything ready. Fully energized to the utmost extent, Elixirs to bring him back in case he passes out too early, and- what? He's leaving for lunch early? PERFECT! You ran behind some buildings and hid in a two-way alleyway, waiting for him to pass by...

Here we go..

One..

Two..

THREE!

You covered his head with a sack, and took his phone out of his back pocket. Before heading over to your post, you laced the inside of the sack with some sleeping powder and pressed it against his nose and mouth. Within moments he passed out, and you typed in what you hoped to be his password, which was correct. Around 12:30, you were going to text one of his coworkers that he would be "going to a restaurant across town, and ditching work for a day, not wanting to see his stupid good for nothing girlfriend or his dumb daughter." You knew he called you both this because of going through his text messages when he wasn't looking or when he was sleeping. Little did you know that somebody was watching you from afar.

"Hmm... So, she, my, what do people, call it.. soulmate? Seems, interesting..."

Time: 12:00 PM

"Jesus, I new he was a fat ass but I didn't know he weighed this much!" You were tugging him from his legs through the back ways of York New. You wanted to find a secluded area, where once you were done with him you could just toss him somewhere for the birds and maggots to eat. After walking for what seemed like hours, you came across a set of abandoned buildings, specifically the one you laid out some extra things. A couple extra weapons, some towels, a change of clothes, a chair and some rope, a couple of flashlights, and of course, some snacks. Lucky for you, the douchebag you've been dragging around like a rag doll was still out cold, so you picked him up and tossed him on the chair, tying his wrists, ankles and neck to the chair.

"Maaannn, this is boring!! When the hell are you gonna wake up?!" As if on queue, you saw his eyes start to flutter open, and you immediately grabbed your box cutter. It wasn't a weapon used by your nen, but it was quite effective.

"What.. who.. wait- Y/N!? WHAT THE FUCK?! UNTIE ME NOW BEFORE I BEAT YOUR ASS!!" you didn't notice it, but Feitan was watching from the building over.

What, the fuck? Why she kidnap him? That pig? Why? Confusing, gotta keep, watching.

You shoved the box cutter into his left cheek, and you bathed in the glory of hearing his screams of pain.

"How does this feel, you bitch? Everything you've done to my dear mother, everything you've done to me, and heck, YOU WERE PROBABLY BEHIND MY DAD'S MURDER DURING THAT FUCKING MASSACRE!!" B/N noticed the tears in your eyes, and took this to his advantage.

"So what if I was? Both of your parents were pathetic anyways."

"NO THEY AREN'T! YOU'RE THE REASON WHY MY MOTHER'S LIKE THIS NOW! YOUR THE FUCKING REASON FOR EVERYTHING SHITTY THAT'S HAPPENED TO ME!!"

"Heh, hehe.. hahaHAHAHA! YOU KNOW GOD DAMNED WELL THAT ALL OF YOU ARE PATHETIC! WANNA KNOW WHY I GOT WITH YOUR MOM!? BECAUSE SHES HOT. AND SHE HAD GOOD MONEY FROM YOUR FUCKING DAD. YOU KNOW WHAT I WAS GONNA DO?! YOU KNOW WHY I TOOK OFF EARLY TODAY?! I WAS GONNA RAPE YOUR MOTHER AND MAKE YOU WATCH, THEN KILL BOTH OF YOU AND RUN OFF WITH ALL OF YOUR MONEY!! AND YOU KNOW WHAT'S IRONIC?! I DON'T HAVE ONE. SINGLE. FUCKING. REGRET. IF IT WASN'T FOR YOUR DAD, YOU SOULDN'T HAVE HAD THE NERVE TO DO THIS, YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN ABORTED!!"

You couldn't handle this anymore, tears were falling down your face rapidly as you grabbed the duct tape and closed his mouth shut.

"I don't give a fuck about what you say.. I'm going to kill you here. This is your grave. Someday, I'll join you in hell, and when I do, I'll torture you again, and the Devil will laugh. You just watch and ducking wait you, you.. PATHETIC WORTHLESS PIG ASS SLOPPY ASS NASTU FUCKING BITCH!" With that, you grabbed a couple super worms in each hand and shoved them into his ears. Even with the duct tape, you could hear his screams of agony as the worms dug deeper into his ears. You then got our your katana and slashed him across the stomach, and shoved even more worms into that open wound of his. Quickly, you poured a large bottle of the elixir you had brought over him to keep him from dying so quickly. Box cutter still in hand, you carved small lines all over his arms and legs, then ripped off the tape to hear his desperate cries. You imagined he wanted to be dead, but you didn't care. His pain and you pain mixed together and you just started laughing. You through your head back and let yourself laugh. all of the pain this man has caused you and your mom will be repayed today.

But the pressure and stress was too much to handle. Your laughing of victory soon turned into screams and more tears, as you let yourself fall to the ground, not even noticing you didn't hit it hard, something had caught you, or someone..

What the shit am I doing?

Am I really going to kill him?

What's wrong with me?

What will mother think?

What would dad do?

What am I doing with my life?

You soon snapped out of all of those negative thoughts though, as you noticed something caressing your face lightly.

"Rest, now. He, won't die, so quickly. I'm, Feitan." You were a sniffling and crying mess, so all you could do was rush into Feitan's chest and cry. Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around you and held you close. He had no idea what he was doing, for he had only seen this kind of skin on skin contact in movies. So, he did what those people in the movies did.

"Don't, worry... It's all, going to be.. okay."

Word Count (Including author notes, etc) : 2251

-Wrote February 3, 2021-

Unedited sorry about that lol-

Part 1...

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Box Boy: Kauri

Credit for the whole concept here to @sweetwhumpandhellacomf, plus thanks to @shameless-whumper for being cool with me utilizing their ideas and characters for this!

And of course my thanks to you, you filthy enablers, for always being here to tell me to write the new worst thing I’ve thought of that day. Thanks to @dr-dendritic-trees and @iaminamoodymoodtoday for name choices!

I’ll just tag people who have been asked to be tagged in other things: @bleeding-demon-teeth, @spiffythespook, @special-spicy-chicken, @finder-of-rings, @whumpywhumper

P.S. I’m working on the dubcon Danny drabble too so I may get that up within the next couple of days!

CW: Implied noncon, intimate whumper, 

“Shit, I think that’s a new water bottle. Kauri, hold up, do you think this is a new one?”

Kauri drops into a crouch, tilting his head to look at the laptop set up on Owen’s coffee table. “I’m not sure, Mr. Owen.” Owen’s mouth widens a little further into a smile - he likes when Kauri calls him Mr. Owen, like a term of respect. Kauri had known when he left the box that it could be anything - you call them whatever they want to be called - and it could have been different, harder to say out loud, than something as easy as Mr. Owen. “It looks the same as the one you already have?”

He’d been warned his new owner would not want him to talk, but Owen doesn’t seem to care. He lives by himself in this whole big place - a condo, Kauri thinks, but the word doesn’t always stick, it bounces around and dances out and falls right out one ear if he tries to focus on it for too long. Owen lives alone, and that’s why he got Kauri, for companionship.

For company.

Jesus Christ, like my very own combination Martha Stewart and blow-up doll. Except that’d be the grossest fucking blow-up doll in the world. You’re really pretty, though. Are they all pretty?

I d-don’t know, Mr. Owen. I can’t remember-

I bet they are. I wonder how they get so many pretty people to sign up for this.

“No, this one is definitely new. See? I think he changed the logo, since he got his boy.”

Kauri might hesitate - even tense a little - but Owen doesn’t notice. “Right. So you’ll want to get it, then.” He still has the dustrag in one hand, and he nearly moves to stand, but Owen’s hand slides across the back of his neck to hold him, and Kauri instead shifts easily onto his knees on the floor, sitting on his heels. Position Two.

“I might. I don’t know. Do you think it’s worth it? I mean, I know they’re stainless steel, but he’s charging $24 a bottle.”

“You don’t care about money. Plus, you like watching him, Mr. Owen,” Kauri says, voice quiet. Owen’s hand slides up into his hair, catching in the black curls. When they told him he was going to leave, that he had been selected, he’d been told he was a custom order.

Curly black hair, blue eyes, thin build, not tall enough to be intimidating but tall enough to look good if Owen wanted to take him out. He was lucky he’d fit exactly what the customer was searching for.

He’s lucky.

The Roomba is hard at work across the room, and Kauri kind of likes the little thing - it’s like having a pet of his own - a pet with a pet - especially considering he routinely has to fish it out from under the entertainment center when it gets stuck and starts screaming for help.

Man, when they put the active learning language chip in Roombas, that was a game changer for sure, Owen had said when he introduced Kauri to it. The day he got his name. He’d had a number, before…

645898, wake up. 

645898 needs more time. 

645898, Position Twenty-Three.

645898, lights out.

Was there a name before the number, even? There’s something on the sheet of paper they’d given to Owen - the contract he’d signed. Kauri wasn’t allowed to see it, it was too distressing for Box Boys to see their contracts. Kauri can’t grip a pen super well - he gets shaky. 

It’s considered bad form to let a Box Boy see their old handwriting, because they’ll just get upset about how it doesn’t look the same any longer. But it’s not like Kauri even remembers what it looked like before. 

Things must have been really bad, for him to sign himself over, so really he’s grateful he has this opportunity. It’s like a fresh start, and all he has to do is whatever Owen tells him to do - and Owen’s one of the good ones, he thinks. Not that he has a comparison… but Owen is really, really nice compared to what Kauri, as 645898, had worried he’d get.

Owen was really concerned about the ethics, had asked Whumpees-R-Us to provide proof that Kauri - whoever he was, once upon a time - had signed himself over willingly and legally. Kauri was kind of proud that his owner cared so much about it being humane and ethical, because even in just the couple of months he’d been here, he’d seen Owen angrily typing posts out on message boards to owners that weren’t very good to their boys, telling them that you can’t buy real loyalty, real affection, you have to treat the pets right.

Other owners, Owen tells him all the time, are cruel.

He could have been sold to someone vicious or violent, but instead, the worst thing Owen does is make him watch the youtube channel for what must the loudest, most annoying human being on earth.

Not that Kauri knows any other human beings. He only knows Owen.

“Hey.” Kauri blinks, looking up at Owen, who is smiling down at him, the hand still in his hair, fingers running again and again through the curls. “You listening, Kauri?”

“I-I’m sorry, Mr. Owen, I got, um, distracted.”

“By what?”

Kauri’s not supposed to think about anything but now, and he feels himself tense, just a little. Even with Owen, who is nicer than he had any right to hope for, he couldn’t admit that he’d been trying to think again.

You’re an investment. You aren’t made to think. That’s not what I got you for, all right? I don’t mind the talking, I want you to talk. I need someone around me, here, I get pretty fucking lonely. But I don’t want you to think.

“The, um, I was thinking about the way your… the Host got a new boy. That’s all. It’s, um, it’s nice to see other ones.” 

It really had been. Owen had watched the videos with Kauri as they uploaded, excited that his favorite, absolute favorite YouTuber had picked one up, too. 

Lucky bastard got one for free and I had to pay for mine - but fuck it, that’s what the residuals for all that child acting I got pushed into are for, right? Millionaire before sixteen, cover of magazines, all that bullshit.

Had Kauri ever read a magazine? He couldn’t remember.

“Oh, cool. I was just thinking about that, too. You never watched the collar video with me, did you?”

“Um… n-no, Mr. Owen. Remember, we talked about how the, um, the shock collars make me uncomfortable-”

We have a situation with 645898.

645898, you will get in Position Twenty-Six, now, or you will regret it.

Get someone in here, 645898 threw up again.

“Right, right. But I want you to watch it with me, this time. I don’t like that you haven’t, I really want you to be a completionist on this with me.” Owen smiles at him, and Kauri smiles back, automatically. Owen’s smile is warm and wide, and Kauri’s is small and not quite forced, but it’s there.

It could be much worse. Sometimes Owen rants about how the people with pets hurt them, or burn them, in ways they can’t come back from. All Kauri has to do is take care of Owen, every way he wants taken care of. He’s always kind.

It could be so much worse.

Kauri is so grateful to him for being so kind, for caring so, so much about being principled. 

He signed himself over to be what he is now - he can’t remember it, but he knows it happened - and part of the risk you take is that you might get one of the owners who needs more than standard care. 

Owen pulls Kauri up by one arm, and he moves quickly, unfolding himself and then climbing up onto the couch, sitting with his legs across Owen’s lap and his arms around his shoulders, head tucked into the crook of his neck and turned to look down at the laptop, just the way Owen likes.

Across the room, the Roomba gets briefly trapped underneath a rocking chair, and screams three times - HELP, KAURI HELP, KAURI HELP, KAURI - before it gets itself back out and goes back to work.

There’s a part of Kauri that remembers screaming for help, but he’s not sure when he did it, or why. 

Owen finds the video he wants and presses play, sliding his arm around behind Kauri’s back.

Sometimes he thinks he hates that Owen touches him so much, but he can’t think of why he’d hate it, and he puts that hatred away in the dark somewhere else until he can’t find it again. It could be worse. Owen only hurt him sometimes, and then mostly only in ways you couldn’t see.

It could be so much worse.

Kauri watches the Host’s boy, with a hint of familiarity making him feel restless and uncertain. He knows the expressions too well - he probably has a few of them himself. The slight smile and tilt of the head things you don’t have on your own, they’re given to you, trained in. Like the positions, only your owners don’t get to know what the expressions are called.

“Now, see, you already have that one,” Owen says, his voice a low rumble against the side of Kauri’s ear, as he points at the Host’s boy trying on a plain brown leather collar. Kauri swallows hard as he watches the host tighten, and tighten and tighten it.

Then complain that it doesn’t tighten enough.

“Yeah, I didn’t like that one, either,” Owen murmurs, as though he hasn’t watched this video a thousand times already. “Here, look, look at this one - the chain link one.”

Kauri looks, obediently, and tries not to think about the heavy metal weight around his own throat. His didn’t come from the same place - Owen had custom-ordered his collar from a jewelry store and it cost nearly as much as he did, a heavy weighted white gold chain set with dark blue stones that matched the color of his eyes, with his name on a little tag that hung off a small gold ring on the front, Owen’s contact details on the other side. 

Look, I’m never letting you out of my sight, you’re a big investment piece and I’m not going to lose all this money. But still. Just in case you get lost, buddy, this will help the cops know how to bring you back home to me.

It unlocks with some kind of key, but Kauri’s never seen the key - he only felt the lock click into place when Owen put it on him, and it’s never come off again.

Kauri’s muscles lock when the Host and his boy try the shock collar - he remembers those, he thinks, the training for those went on and on and blurs together in his mind. 645898, you signed up for this, this was your decision. You legally consented to everything that happens in this building, and you know it.

645898, you are being very disappointing today.

“You okay, Kauri?” Owen murmurs, turning to press a kiss into the top of his head, tightening the arm that goes around his back. Kauri tries to curl himself up on Owen’s lap even further, because that is what he wants him to do, and if he doesn’t have to be commanded sometimes he can sort of fool himself that he wants it, too.

On the screen, the Host’s boy is wearing a collar with small metal prongs that press hard into his neck. “It hurts,” The Host’s boy says, in a stiff voice, every inch of his posture rigid with pain.

Someone get 687371 out of here, he’s causing a scene

Shit, someone get 645898 out of the way, 687371 is having a moment again

687371, lights fucking out for you

The Host pulled on a chain attached to the pronged collar, on the screen, and the boy’s hands snapped up to grab the leash. “Don’t-”

Don’t-… let go of me! Let go! Get your fucking hands off me!

The scene cut to something else.

Kauri froze, staring sightlessly, until Owen finally noticed the tension in him and shifted forward to turn off the video. “Hey, was that too much?” His voice was low, and compassionate.

“I know him,” Kauri whispered, lips barely moving.

“What? Yeah, you’ve seen the other videos with Colton in them, remember?” Owen reached up to take Kauri by the chin, tilting it up to look right at him, to look into his eyes. “What do you mean, you know him?”

“I saw him in training. We were in training together,” Kauri says softly, and it never occurs to him to lie. There are things he lies to Owen about - what he’s thinking, the way he hates how Owen eats spaghetti with about a pound of grated parmesan on it, that he drinks terrible coffee and someone with so much money should at least have better taste than that - but now, in this moment, he doesn’t lie.

He doesn’t have to.

“Shit, really?” Owen’s eyes light up, and he pushes Kauri roughly off of him, nearly knocking him to the ground until he catches himself on the coffee table. “Fuck, that’s great! That’s really great, Kauri! That’s awesome!”

“It… it is?” Kauri stands, warily, but Owen doesn’t tell him not to or order him into any positions. 

“Sure! Yes! It gives me an in, Kor-bore, I’ve wanted an in since I started watching this guy. Look, he’s got contact info linked in the video description, maybe I can just… you said you know his boy?”

“I don’t… I’m sorry, I meant that I recognized-”

“No, I get it, you’re not supposed to say you knew each other.”

“We didn’t.” Kauri hesitates, shifting from foot to foot, glancing down at the screen where Owen has paused the video, opened up his email, begun rapidly typing. “We didn’t know each other. There were… faces.”

Let go of me! Please!

“Right, right.” Owen waves one hand. “Here, I’m going to ask if he’d be up for playdates or some shit. I’ll just… I’ll just add in here that I was an actor, that I was in… do you think he’ll remember Swing for the Stars or Toast better? Those were my two really big blockbusters.” 

“I, um… Mr. Owen, I don’t-”

“Oh, right, because you don’t remember movies anymore. Got it. I’ll just list ‘em both. Oh, and add Dimmer Switch, that kind of horror didn’t play so well here but it’s kind of a cult movie now and it did fucknuts well overseas… Let’s see what he says.” Owen shoots a smile at him, truly pleased, and Kauri’s shoulders relax, instinctively, automatically.

There’s a pause while Owen finishes his email and sends it.

“Hey, Kor-Bore.”

“Yes, Mr. Owen?” Kauri, already heading back to the bookshelves full of movies to dust, pauses, and looks back. Owen watches him with a look Kauri knows too well, and he swallows against the instinctive sickness that settles into the pit of his stomach, the thing he can’t quite get rid of. The collar sits heavy around his neck, and he thinks, once again, that he’s not sure when he signed that paper that he knew he was signing up for this.

“I know you’re busy cleaning, but let’s take a break, yeah?”

Kauri swallows, and slowly nods, setting the dustrag down on the bookshelf. He turns around, fingertips going to the buttons on his shirt, and waits, his blue eyes settling on Owen’s, thoughtful and empty.

“Position Twenty-Six.”

Kauri’s hands drop from his shirt. “T-Twenty-Six, Mr. Owen?”

“You heard me. You don’t have to deal with the buttons, Kauri, I can handle that.”

“Yes, Mr. Owen.” Kauri shifts onto his knees on the floor, in the middle of Owen’s living room, and slides his arms behind his back, knees spread apart digging into the fibers of the carpet beneath him, and tilts his head back so he’s looking up at the cool brown wood of the ceiling fan, neck exposed.

He doesn’t tense up when Owen’s fingers start undoing the buttons on his shirt.

Owen told him all the time - some owners really hurt their Box Boys. And whatever he had come from - whatever life he’d been living that led him to sign himself over - must have been really, really terrible.

He’s really very lucky.

There won’t even be bruises when Owen is done.

645898, do you know how fortunate you are?

It could have been so much worse for you.

In the corner, the Roomba starts screaming again. Owen throws a shoe at it to shut it up as he gets to his feet but his shoe thumps into the wall instead, and Kauri keeps his eyes focused on the ceiling until the clockwork motion of the ceiling fan is all that he can see.

HELP, KAURI

HELP, KAURI

HELP

KAURI

[satonthelotuspier]

❄️ Untamed Winter Fest 2019 ❄️

Day 31 - Beginning - 2.0k

More Xicheng from my Jiang Family AU - the story leads on from Day 2, Day 4, Day 21 and Day 26 if you missed them.

CW for living with Mental Health Issues.

“I’ve emailed you three properties that might work, will you have a look later and let me know whether you like any of them? I’ll arrange a viewing for the weekend if you do”

Jiang Cheng had his phone on speaker; he took the brief interlude while he spoke to Lan Xichen to fuss Snowdrop who had been sleeping at his feet.

“If I can get this commission sent for approval this afternoon I will” he promised as Snowdrop tried to jump into his lap to investigate his desk. Hearing Lan Xichen’s voice but not being able to see him confused her greatly.

“Are you struggling? Do you want me to stay at mine tonight? I can come and collect Snowdrop”

“No no, I should be finished, I’m just at a roadblock right now; your call came at a great time to give me a break actually”

“If you’re sure...”

“Very, I’m going to take Snowdrop for a you know what once we hang up and treat myself to a trip to the coffee shop on the way back. That should get the braincells firing again” he stretched his kinked shoulders out, spine arching to release the tension of being hunched at a computer screen since first thing that morning.

“Right, I hope you enjoy your Chai Latte or whatever abomination you end up ordering, I’ll be there about half seven tonight, I’ve got a quick meeting with Wangji and Uncle Qiren at six. Shall I pick up some food on the way over if you’re on a deadline?”

“Great, yes, thanks,” he jumped up as Xichen hung up and went to collect Snowdrop’s leash.

They walked to the park and he spent a little more time on training Snowdrop how to play fetch with a suitable stick he found, then back to his building via the coffee shop, where he treated himself to the promised Chai Latte and a muffin for lunch.

They were virtually at the door when Snowdrop spotted another dog and gave an almighty yank on her leash in her excitement, he just about managed to keep hold of her but his Chai Latte was firmly knocked out of his hand and the luckily cooled drink drenched him from head to toe.

He would have been frozen in shock if he didn’t have to wrestle with an overexcited dog, “Snowdrop, sit” and she finally relented, looking at him expectantly for a treat when she complied. “Are you joking? You think you’re getting a treat after your shenanigans?” he demanded in irritation, wiping at his face, futilely as it turned out because his sleeve was just as soaked in coconut milk and chai.

He noticed the man who’d stepped onto the pavement and stood watching then; and fuck but his heart stopped.

Lan Qiren, Lan Xichen’s uncle. What was he doing here? What was wrong?

He didn’t fid out the purpose of the visit. Lan Qiren merely confirmed Lan Xichen was alright, stayed to have tea with him and discuss various bland topics then left, without ever saying much beyond the formalities.

He shrugged it off, showered and changed out of his stained clothes and got back to work on his project, hitting the send button just after six.

Nice, he’d have time to check Lan Xichen’s email before he arrived with food.

He scanned the properties and quickly discounted all of them. They were all beautiful, close to parks for Snowdrop, with generous gardens so she’d be able to run loose when she wanted, but they were well out of his price range.

He wasn’t poor by any standards, he was comfortable and could afford a nice apartment on his own, but the Lans were in the big money leagues. Perhaps Xichen just wasn’t aware of the difference in their means. Some people born to money didn’t have much of an understanding of how it worked in reality, and while Xichen was anything but stupid he could be naive about some things.

It would be embarrassing but he’d have to say something; he didn’t want Xichen to think he was being obstructive and he genuinely did want to move in with him but it needed to be something that wouldn’t bankrupt him in a few months. As a freelancer he couldn’t always guarantee his income and he couldn’t afford to dip too often into his savings.

He set the table so it was ready for when Lan Xichen arrived and grabbed his tablet to do some searching of his own.

The best way to end any conflict positively was to show Xichen he was taking it seriously, so he would present some possible properties of his own.

He’d found one that was a tentative tick for all his boxes by the time he heard the doorbell, so he bookmarked the page and went to let Xichen in.

Over dinner Lan Xichen regaled him with the tale of how his uncle Qiren had laughed for 10 minutes straight during their meeting when he told them of the Chai Latte incident and how hilarious it had been to have Jiang Cheng act formal and serve him tea still covered head to toe in coconut milk.

Jiang Cheng was less than impressed.

“Really, so he turns up for what reason? Sees me at my least glorious, makes me serve him tea then has the temerity to tell my boyfriend and my brother-in-law while laughing his ass off that I looked like an absolute twat”

“Wanyin, honestly it wasn’t like that. And the reason was as we’re talking of moving in together he wanted to come and visit you. He approves, honestly I’ve never heard him laugh like that before, it was like he was possessed. He said you’d make me happy”

“Oh great, your uncle approves because you’re moving in with a fucking clown” he threw his chopsticks down on the table and Xichen reached over to try and take his hand.

He snatched his away.

“Why are you pouting about this Wanyin? It was a funny accident, and my uncle didn’t mean that at all. He did the same to Wei Wuxian when he and Wangji were becoming serious; he didn’t mean any disrespect” he put his own chopsticks down and moved around the table to kneel beside Wanyin and catch hold of his hands. “I’m sorry. I’ll ask Uncle to apologise too if it will make it better, we didn’t mean to hurt you”

Jiang Cheng shook him off and got to his feet, putting space between them, and honestly he knew he was being childish and pathetic, but when had that ever stopped him before? Really Xichen was going to find out about this side of his personality sooner or later, better now before they’d committed themselves to a home together. Lucky for Xichen even.

“Nice, then I look like the petulant child who can’t take a joke, lets not do that” he jammed his hands into the pockets of his battered jeans to keep him from going to town on the contents of the table.

“If it hurt you then we need to apologise”

“I’m not hurt. Stop making me sound piteous”

He saw the moment Xichen realised no matter what he said he was going to get a negative response; it was like shutters went down behind his eyes and his face lost it’s usual expressive warmth. He had never looked more like Lan Wangji in Jiang Cheng’s sight before.

“So what do you want me to do then Wanyin?” he asked with spread hands, but they both probably knew at this point nothing he could do or say would help.

Jiang Cheng moved to the table to take up his crockery, “Stop being so accommodating, it’s pathetic” he snapped and stalked off to the kitchen. He slammed the crockery down so hard some of it smashed, and Lan Xichen had followed him into the kitchen.

Why wouldn’t he back off and leave Jiang Cheng alone to cool down like any sensible person would? If he’d had sense he’d have taken Snowdrop and retreated to his own place by now to let Jiang Cheng rage in peace.

Because he had the audacity to stick around obviously Jiang Cheng wouldn’t let him be. “Oh and those places you sent me, you’ll have to scratch them all off the list. You need to get real and look in a more reasonable price range” You fucking idiot, you know you should do this when you’re calm and sensible.

“Jiang Wanyin, that doesn’t matter, money isn’t an object-”

“Wrong” he snapped, “Money isn’t an object for you, pretty little rich boy, it most certainly is for me. Sorry you shacked up with a prole, Your Highness, but that means you have to take notice of things those of us who live in the real world have to consider, like how much I can seriously afford to sink into mortgage repayments or rent each month”

“I didn’t intend to rent or mortgage”

“How nice for you. As mentioned, however, that really isn’t going to work for me. I’m not your royal whore, Your Highness, I will be paying my share” like he’ll still even be here tomorrow, never mind want to move in with you.

Xichen pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, “Can we talk about this another time please Wanyin, when you’re not so-?”

“Emotional? Brutally honest? Sure, whatever, get lost” he turned his back to Xichen and busied himself in the sink.

He heard Xichen’s sigh, heard him walk out of the kitchen, the rattle of Snowdrop’s leash and the outer door open and close behind them.

Great. That was that then. The end. He’d done it again. Well done Jiang Cheng, your one hundred percent record of self sabotage remains undiminished.

He channelled himself into cleaning up like a demon to work through the remaining anger, and then the pain.

Pain was difficult to deal with when it was purely self-inflicted though, when half of him wanted himself to suffer because he knew he fucking deserved it.

If he went into default depression mode and went straight to bed to lay and brood all night once the cleaning was done then that was now his business.

He must have drifted off (cried himself) to sleep pretty quickly as it was only later, when the bed dipped behind him that he realised he wasn’t alone in the apartment anymore.

He rolled over, confused.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you” Xichen’s soft voice.

“Are you coming to smother me?” he asked tentatively, and Xichen laughed that sweet, soft laugh of his.

“No, but can I hold you? Will it get me eviscerated?” he reached down to tentatively cup Jiang Cheng’s jawline and brush his cheek with a soft, stroking thumb.

“Not now” Jiang Cheng admitted timidly, nuzzling into the caress like a cat. Then he threw his arms around Xichen's neck and squeezed him tightly. “I promise I’m taking my medication. I can usually deal with it, neutralise it, it just took me by surprise tonight. It’s been a long time”

Xichen gathered him close against his chest and made soothing noises, “Soon can we talk about how best for me to help you if it does happen again? I didn’t know what to do and it was worrying for me”

Jiang Cheng nodded against his chest, “Honestly, just get out of my way. I’ve never yet been violent but I’m verbally nasty. It’s better for you to just go leave me be, take a bath and lock the bathroom, take Snowdrop for a walk”

“Alright, we’ll talk about it more later, just cuddle with me now Sweeting, we can deal with everything else another day”

“I didn’t think you were coming back” Jiang Cheng admitted.

“I did. Today is just the beginning of our lives together. Tomorrow will be too. Lets take the things we need to one day at a time, and plan for the things we can” he felt Xichen’s lips brush his forehead and snuggled closer.

[subetaspeaks]

RE: CW WL Trading

So... I'm one of the persons you all love to hate, sadly. And I have been debating if I should or shouldn't reply here because... well, I don't feel like I'm a bad person and I didn't want to be the target of everyone else hate. Mostly because I adore to death a lot of the users who commented on that post. You're all my fellow game companions. And some of you I can even call my "friends", why not? You've been bearing with me through so much.

But... I need to be honest with my feelings. I need to say what I think now, before I regret, and face all the possible consequences, including having everyone else hate. Because otherwise, I would be heartbroken for not being honest with myself and standing for what I am or what I believe.

I was talking to Ursa about this post, because she commented that: "im just passing by to say that i thiiink voltage and varsna’s stories seem to be about the same person (tho i have no clue who it is) and i giggled when i read" and well... I believe I'm the person VOLTAGE was talking about, but I wasn't the one who Varsna spoke about. So I messaged her to say that she was wrong about her statement and I decided to vent.

I will copy what I said to her here. I hope you can... well, respect me and my point of view, maybe? Make an effort to not hate me to death? Please.

To Ursa: "It's somewhat sad, you know? I can totally understand everyone's anger. I've missed slotting on stuff I wanted before... tons of times, actually. I just don't blame other people, that are just trying to pursue their own interests and 'happiness' (even considering that this is an online game!). I honestly don't see why the wish of certain person of having a particular item is better than the wish of someone else to get items out of their WL, for an example. In the end, everyone is just pursuing their own interests, plain and simple. The whole problem isn't caused because people are "greedy"; the main problem is that the market is shrinking and the items are becoming more and more ultra-limited because most people cannot fill slots easily. And the blessed ones, owners of popular releasers, are afraid of rising their batch caps and their beloved items ended up turning common and not filling slots easily as almost every other stuff around. Of course, there're exceptions. There are people who actually just want their items to be rarities after all. People are somewhat quitting Subeta and the CW game for multiple reasons. And the problem is a non-stopping circle. The old rarer popular items will become "trade only" and the new popular items will have tons of slotters that are mainly interested on using them for trading purposes. In the end, all items will be on the hands of people who genuinely like them a ton. But people will still hate each other for silly reasons like "this person has lots of popular stuff that I want but she doesn't accept CSC, I hate her, that [insert bad names here, tons of them]". This is plain stupid and it should stop. Why on Earth is the other person, who is just searching for whatever their want to, is any worse than you that's also searching for stuff you want to? Why the other person is "greedy, egoist" and you're not? I'm failing to see this at all. But.. tell me one thing. Does anything makes you more happy than doing your art? You might find a list of some things, but... isn't it something you love to death? Making your art, I mean? And how do you feel when people start with that bullshit of "you should make your art because you love it, not for money" or "making art isn't a proper job"? And things like that. Everyone that works with art already felt this venom before. The venom of the idiots who can't recognize the value of your job because they don't have interest, talent or simple doesn't know how much you WORK (and you work hard!) to make art properly. Let me introduce myself, then. Four years of Economic college; graduating next May. Will try to get a Master degree whenever I finally set down from moving, I'm going to live in a different city soon. Business courses in accounting and external relations. Six years studing custom laws, especially in terms of taxation and importation rules. Seven years of work with importations and general reselling; two non-official (regular person who buys and sell stuff) and five as a legalized importer/small company. And you know what's the poison I get from society? "Being a reseller/merchant/working with commerce in general isn't a proper job, you're just a greedy parasite of society! You're winning money by extorting others! Your capitalist pig!" Subeta is basically a real life economic/market simulator and that was why I got so interested on it (and on Neopets, previously). The CW market is not very different from the real market. There are the producers (artists), the distribuitors (releasers), the retailers or resellers or the "evil within" as people sometimes name us (in this case, the people who slot on popular stuff for trading purposes or maybe to resell for a little bit more) and........... the customers. The main difference is that in real life you have the government, tons of taxes to pay and rules to follow. Here, things are simple but the prejudice is basically the same. But in the end, you'll still need to rely in your ability to differentiate a bad from a good deal. And you'll be also needing to "be on the right place at the right time" to grab the good opportunities, which isn't not always a matter of luck as people say. I would say that a good part of the times it's a matter of effort. You can be "lucky" to be online in the exact time of a certain ping, but if you want to be there for most of them... you'll have to be updating Subeta's page on your phone at every few minutes (even while doing other things) to check pings. And this is effort, not luck. The same applies to CWs, as well. Slotting is a part of the business game. You'll have to be quick to differentiate a good from a bad deal. Some deals are obviously good, while others aren't that easy to identify. You'll need to observe a lot to see what is trendy, what would be possible trendy and in the end... make a bet. Will you be able to get a trade for that item that the releaser is offering (if you don't want it for yourself)? Or you'll end up giving up and reselling for slot price? Or will you fail completely and end up having to sell the item for even less than slot? That isn't very different from the things I do for a living. The main difference is that when I "bet" here, I might end up losing $5 or so per item (doing the CSC-real money conversion) and in real life, when I bet on the wrong product, I end up with a loss of $5000 and tons of boxes of repeated things that I don't have where to store anymore. My office is small and I don't even have a room in my house anymore. It pretty much looks like a deposit. There are boxes everywhere and I barely can even walk inside of it. xD I believe I have made the house looks like a secondary deposit, honestly. LOL That isn't, in the end, any different from what I do. It's just a matter of scale and the fact that Subeta is a game. That isn't any different from my job. That isn't any different from the only thing I have devoted my life to study. That isn't any different from the only thing that I'm, apparently, good at. That isn't any different from the only thing I really love doing, above anything else. And this kind of judgement that people do hurts, even after all these years. I'm here to have fun as everyone else. I already face enough judgement on real life. I wish I could be free from judgement here, at least. It saddens me so badly that people think that the only thing I am decent at (and love above all) is garbage, an unworthy work. I've been in-and-out depression for years because of that. One day, I hope the society poison doesn't affect me anymore and I can be 100% happy with what I do. One day, I hope that my heart turns into a skyscraper business building, with glassy walls fully sound-proof, so I will not be affected by the opinions of others. For now, I'll have to content myself with being in my small office, opening the windows and trying to breath some fresh, not poisoned air. ^^ Sorry for the huge venting. I should probably have written on Subeta Speaks instead but... I don't want to be the witch during inquisition again. Seriously, I already have to interpret that character a lot. If I have to be the evil on the life storyline, I hope I can at least be that villain that people sympathize with... you know? I hope I can be at least that kind of villain, after all.

You're an artist and I'm a merchant. We've different kinds of poison that we've to face. Can we put them in bowls and have a little toast? To success and good riddance! ^^ "

Oh, Voltage!! I forgot mentioning. The milkshake is still with me, in case you're curious to know where it went. I've put it UFT in my trades and then a lightining striked me: "Well, this one was 4 batches anyway and my WL is at a beyond-hell level of difficulty anyway so... I think that it's time for me to finally keep one of those! Yay!" So I snuggled it and put it back into the Wardrobe. In case you're still curious about where are the other copies that I slotted on, they're with close friends of mine and have found their forever homes. Don't worry.

It's not that I don't like them. I honestly do, a lot. I swear. And I like you too, a lot, I hope you know that. The problem is that while I have 100+ CW wigs that I like in my Wardrobe, I barely even have 30 chest/body/outfits that I like to use. I'm picky with those (or to express myself better: I have bad taste and layering troubles!) and the ones that I don't own and like are "trade only" so.... yep. I hope you're not angry with me anymore. ;-;

Not that the most fun part of the CW game itself, at least for me, isn't the hunt to get slots/selling/buying/trading/haggling thing. It's. In the end, owning the CWs that I like is just a consequence of playing the CW market game correctly.

And the game is fun on itself. As my job is. The fun part isn't in making a huge amount of money, no. It comes from the happiness I feel when I find out that I have chose the right product among many. The profit is just a happy consequence... and hell, losses happen a lot too. But I don't wanna talk about those, please. Let's talk about something else. HAHAHAHA ;_;

And mmmm.... again, I'm sorry everyone. I hope you can understand.

(and sorry for the suck'ish English too, I think it's very clear that it's not my main language after all :P)

TL;DR

I suck. Please love me anyway.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Daniel Michaelson: The Party

Anonymous said:                                                                            Junior executive of the company purposefully setting off Danny to see what happens! Mwahahahaha

This was requested and I put it together! I can’t remember who asked me for this any longer, though. Who was it? IDENTIFY YOURSELF so I can tag you!

CW: Implied/referenced past noncon and violence, forced drinking, Trevor Corey is a dick to a trauma victim, PTSD/trauma flashback, emotional abuse (at the end)

Tagging my people: @special-spicy-chicken, @bleeding-demon-teeth, @spiffythespook

Timeline: Just before The Lucky Ones

“Do you remember me?”

Danny blinks, startled by the loudness of the voice so close by him. His grip tightens on the glass in his hand - rum, St. Germain, lemon juice, and sugar. Little edible sugar violet that had floated on top at first, but Danny ate that. Ryan hadn’t said a word about him drinking flower drinks again, only ordered himself his usual rum and coke and slipped back to the party with a wink.

Danny shouldn’t be here. He doesn’t belong here anymore, with these people - he never did. But Mom and Dad wanted him here, wanted to make a show of family unity.

Like there’d ever been any.

Still, they’d had dinner catered and paid for a bartender and Danny had put on the suit that used to be tailored and now was loose everywhere but his shoulders, even though he’d put some weight back on since he came home. Nate wasn’t here, though - the whole thing about him being at this party was that if Danny agreed to show up and wear his suit and be the dutiful returned long-lost son, they’d give him more money for Nate to go to speech therapy, too, to try and shake the stammer or at least control it.

It was the only way Nate would agree to think about trying to teach again, and Danny would do anything to help Nate start back on building a foundation.

So here he is, at a company party in his parents’ house, trying not to feel his skin crawl with the memory of the way Corrine had kept a hand on his back while reintroducing him to people who hadn’t seen him since a year before he went missing.

Danny had come in and carefully ignored the framed photos in the entryway, family photos, photos of Danny and Ryan as children, the blown-up photos from the People article about his adoption. Michaelson Logging CEO Finds New Purpose With Growing Brood: ‘Family is Really the Most Important Thing in the World’.

Danny had never met the aunt whose startlingly public meltdown and disappearance had been the reason he was adopted. Neither had Ryan - Kells Michaelson, Patrick’s younger sister, might as well have vanished off the face of the earth, although she still sent Christmas cards with no return address.

Wait.

Did he just remember that?

Danny felt a hint of a proud smile on his face, before the hard-edged voice interrupted him again. 

“Hey, are you even listening to me? I’m talking to you. You really are a fucking space cadet now, huh?” The voice is a little annoyed, ragged at the edges, and Danny turns to look at who spoke to him and freezes.

Pale blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin, a flash of white teeth in a smile above a perfectly tailored suit.

(don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me, puppy)

No

(you haven’t been very good for me, have you?)

No no no

(even if I did let you go, I could be anywhere, at any time, you’d never be free)

No, please no

(don’t you ever fucking forget that you’re mine)

In the time it takes for his eyes to widen and his heart to start hammering inside his chest, he realizes it’s not Abraham at all. Abraham Denner is in prison, he thinks, reminds himself, chants inside his head like an incantation. It’s not him, not at all. Younger, his own age, with darker honeyed blonde hair and the eyes are a much deeper, darker blue. Nothing moves beneath the waters.

His skin’s pale, but it’s no paler than Danny’s, less freckled, still perfectly human. The man’s face isn’t eerily pretty like Abraham’s, but has a stronger jaw, a narrower mouth. At first he can’t remember who it is, but then his eyes light on the white teeth and Danny’s brain kicks up dust and supplies the white teeth are veneers, they cost Johnson Corey a pretty penny and were a birthday present for Trevor’s seventeenth birthday.

Trevor. That’s who it is, Trevor Corey.

Trevor Corey has hated Daniel Michaelson his whole fucking life, for reasons Danny never understood, and he’s staring right at him, now.

“T-Trevor,” Danny manages, his voice a little hesitant, shaking a little harder than he intends. Trevor’s smile widens at the recognition, and he holds up his own glass - just two fingers of whiskey, neat - and Danny’s hand moves without him, clinking the glasses together.

Cheers, now what the fuck do you want?

(don’t be rude, puppy)

I’m sorry, I’ll be good

“You do remember me. They said your memory’s fucked all to hell from the blows to the head.” Trevor looks away from him, down the hall and through the doorway at the crowd in the great big dining room. Most of the executives are in the far corner talking animatedly about something that just happened in Japan, while the executive kids (Trevor and Danny being the oldest, the other two dozen or so filtering down year by year to the youngest, little Nathalie - how do I remember all of this but I forgot that I owned a laptop before Abraham found me?) are scattered around the room chatting.

Ryan’s nowhere to be seen - studiously avoiding a group of people that he keeps reminding Danny are his ex’s family and Danny doesn’t remember a single one of them - and Danny feels a curl of nervous fear up his spine.

Alone alone alone.

Ryan’s just going to go outside for a second and be right back, Danny reminds himself. He’ll be right back for you, don’t move from this spot. You used to know this house but you don’t know anything now, you’ll get lost in the hallways by yourself.

Don’t move from this spot.

Stay, puppy.

(that’s my good boy, you’re so good at ‘stay’ now, aren’t you? oh, but see the pretty bruises on your knees)

“I have some, um, my, uh… Dr. Rosa thinks it’s trauma-based memory repression, not, um… not from the concussions,” Danny mutters, more into his drink than to Trevor. “They come back sometimes. Better now.”

He had a dim sense that he’d known his own birthdate for a few hours this morning, the way you just knew things like that. It was gone now - but he thought it would probably come back. Maybe.

If it didn’t, Ryan and Nate would just keep reminding him.

He’d be… whatever the next age was soon enough. Maybe he’d remember that one.

“Glad to hear it,” Trevor replies. He’s close to Danny, too close, and Danny tries to take a quick step back only for his back to bump into the wall, next to one of the large houseplants Corrine kept pretty much everywhere, the ferns and green leaves that grew glossy and dark and silky for her.

Danny had always managed to kill any houseplant he tried to keep alive, even the aloe - oh my god, I remembered the aloe plant.

“So what are you up to these days?” Trevor’s voice, impossibly, is even closer, and Danny swallows hard as the shorter man leans in. His shoulders are hunching, he can’t seem to stop them, and before long they’re nearly the same height. Danny clutches his drink like a life raft.

“I’m, um. I’m at home a lot,” Danny manages. He should tell Trevor to fuck off but he can’t, he’s not that Danny any longer. “I go to, um, to therapy and practice… going out. Sometimes. Trevor, can you, um, can you back up a little bit?”

His voice cracks a little on the question and he sees a light in Trevor’s eyes that he knows all too well. A burst of interest and fascination, and it’s not tempered by concern, not at all.

The scars on Danny’s face suddenly burn as if they’re brand new, like Abraham is shoving the muzzle onto his face right now, while he stands in the corner in a hallway in his own childhood home and Trevor Corey is way too close.

“Do you not like people to stand too close to you, Michaelson?” Trevor’s eyebrows raise, and he leans in even further, taking a sip from his own glass. Danny’s eyes dance to the side and then back, but he’s blocked off by Corrine’s plant, the people in the dining room probably can’t even see him, just Trevor, closer and closer.

Too close.

Too close too close too close

(do you get to choose, puppy? do you get to choose who touches you, ever again?)

“No,” Danny whispers, and the word feels foreign and forbidden on his tongue, coming out of his mouth. He’s not allowed to say no, ever again - but he is allowed to say no, they talked about this in therapy and Nate and Ryan tell him all the time. “No, I, um, I don’t like people to get very close to me now-”

“Why is that?” Trevor raises an eyebrow, and there’s a smirk playing across his face. Danny wants to punch him, to beat the shit out of that stupid smug fucking face he’s had to put up with his entire life - but Red is too scared and Red is sometimes louder than Danny.

“He, uh, he got… he got in my face a lot. I just. Trevor, back off, okay?” He starts out strong, he thinks, but then his voice wavers and breaks again, and he tries to curl his spine, make himself smaller. He could just walk away. He could - just stand up and walk the fuck away. He grew up in this house, even if he can’t remember it any longer, even if the layout is hiding down inside his head with all the things the past four years buried.

He can walk away from this.

But Danny’s legs won’t move, and when Trevor sets his drink down on a nearby little table covered in framed photos of Corrine, Patrick, and Ryan, Danny doesn’t do anything but watch, hear the soft thunk of the glass on the wood, and stare as Trevor turns back to him.

“I heard you flipped your shit at Starbucks a couple weeks ago,” Trevor says conversationally, and leans his hand on the wall, boxing Danny in totally between the plant and Trevor. The condensation coming off of Danny’s drink makes his fingers cold and slippery and he grips the glass as tightly as he can. “Friend of mine was there and told me all about it. Said some girls took pictures of your face.”

Danny’s breath catches and he stares at something over Trevor’s shoulder, feeling the cold slowly wash down from the top of his head, trickling through him, slipping under his skin and into his veins, all the way down to is feet.

“They said you ran to the bathroom with your brother and that friend of yours right on your heels. I have to admit - I’m so interested in what happened in that bathroom, especially since apparently the barista blocked the whole fucking hallway off to keep everyone out. Then, you come out a few minutes later - led out to the car by your friend like a little kid who threw a tantrum - and your brother tips the store a hundred dollar bill. What’d you do, Danny-man?”

I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything after I realized they were looking at me, looking at my scars.

“I hate that fucking nickname.” He manages to get the words out, but they’re small, barely a whisper. The room is getting colder around him. There’s a wisp of fingers through his hair, a murmured (who’s being such a good boy today?) and Danny makes himself take a breath.

Inhale.

My name is Daniel Michaelson.

“You know what, I want to know-”

Hold for five.

“-was it taking the pictures that got you all flustered, or that they were of your fucked-up face?”

His breath stops, caught in his throat, and he can’t remember how the rest of it goes. All he can remember is and I’m the puppy and I want to be good.

Danny’s eyes drift, focus on the wall opposite him, where he can see a photo of himself, a sophomore in college at Ryan’s high school graduation. His hair was cut shorter then, and he’d tried to calm the waves and you could almost see how stiff his hair was with product.

“I don’t, um, I don’t like people looking at my face,” He mumbled, looking at himself, younger, half-smiling at the camera in a deep black T-shirt and jeans, an arm around Ryan who is smiling next to him in his cap and gown, holding his diploma up in the air like a trophy.

I went to a concert later that night. I got so stoned I could barely think, hooked up with somebody. I didn’t know, I didn’t know that I only had a couple of years left. No one told me.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t, either, if I looked like that.”

Danny felt Trevor’s hands close over his around the glass in his hand. “What are you, um-… Trev, you hate me,” Danny whispers, his throat is going to close and he can feel it, can feel the bite of the leather around his neck, the way the little tag bumps against his collarbone sometimes, glinting RED in the sunlight in the clearing…

“Yeah,” Trevor says softly. “And I’ve always wanted to see snobby stuck-up fucking Daniel fucking Michaelson brought down a peg or two without his little brother to nose his way into shit that’s none of his business.”

“Trevor, you have to move, I really need you to, um, to give me space, to stop touching me-”

“No.” Trevor leans in just a little further, his mouth nearly against Danny’s ear. No one can see him behind his mother’s stupid fucking houseplants. No one’s in this hallway. He can hear them talking, just down the hall, but he can’t get enough voice to ask for help.

Ryan, Mrs. Verona… Dad… Mom, even, just somebody, please

(do you get to decide what happens to this body now?)

No, Abraham, no, you decide, you decide what happens now, it’s yours

(who does this body belong to?)

Yours, Abraham, it’s your body, you can make it do whatever you want

Danny’s fingers try to let go of the glass, but Trevor’s are closed too tightly over them and when the rim is tilted up to his lips, Danny opens his mouth and lets Trevor pour the sweet cocktail straight down his throat.

He manages to swallow nearly all of it but some runs down the corner of his mouth, down to his throat, cold liquid warming to his skin.

“Jesus fucking Christ, look at you,” Trevor breathes against his cheek, into his ear. Danny’s heart races, too fast, it can’t beat this fast or Abraham will know, he’ll get mad, he’ll get so mad and then he’ll be in trouble, he’ll be punished. “You’re such a fucking mess now, Michaelson. You used to tell me to fuck off every time you saw me and now you just stand here like a pretty little doll. Did he fuck you up in those woods, Danny-man? That’s what our guy in the courtroom said. The Coreys had someone there every day to see what your dad didn’t want us to know about, but we found out, didn’t we?”

“Yes,” Danny says softly, because that’s a rule. Always answer Abraham’s questions. Abraham always knows when you’re lying.  

“Guess we know why Patrick Michaelson stopped talking about his sons inheriting the company and he only talks about the one now, even though Danny came back from the dead, huh?”

My name is Red.

(I’ll call you anything I want, puppy)

Trevor laughs, tipping the very last drops of Danny’s drink into his mouth. He takes them, he’s good, and Abraham likes to make him drink this way. Danny finds some dim part of him wondering what he’s put in the drink this time, and hopes it’s the stuff that makes him feel good first.

There’s a chuckle - it’s not quite right, it doesn’t shake through him the same way. “We found out that that Denner fucker went up there on the stand and he told everybody how good you are now…”

(don’t you want to be good for me, Red?)

Blue eyes turn to colorless ice in his mind. He sees the monster underneath.

He looks up into Abraham’s eyes. “I am good,” Danny replies, automatically, hearing the edge of a whine in his voice. “I want to be good.”

When Abraham picks the glass of brown liquor up from a small table behind him where it was sitting next to a houseplant, puts Danny’s empty glass down next to it, his eyes follow the movements but he doesn’t move.

It’s not his body, any longer, and Abraham will tell him what to do.

“Drink,” Abraham says, and Danny leans his head forward, moves his mouth to rest at the rim of the glass, and it’s bourbon - it’s bourbon Abraham wants him to drink now. Warmth in his shoulders, burning in his throat. He’ll get to feel good, first, this time.

It’s not so bad, then.

“Oh, you’re fucking gone, now,” Abraham says with delight. There’s still something wrong, something off, but Danny can’t figure out what and his brain moves like mush. He’s struggling under the weight of obedience - he shouldn’t think. He can’t think. If he thinks, he’ll break a rule. Instead, he drinks the rest of the bourbon sip by sip, and feels the world go warm around its edges, while Abraham watches the flush rise in his face, covering over the scars until they nearly look pale in comparison. “Hey, what’ll you do, like this? Shit, I gotta tell someone, I’ve waited my whole fucking life to see your bullshit torn down like this…”

Abraham pulls out his phone - it’s not the one Danny remembers, the black case with the bumpy ridges. This one is camouflage-patterned and something in him knows that’s not right, that’s not what Abraham’s phone looks like. He takes a picture of Danny’s wide blue eyes, dazed and fogged over and frightened, with the glass still pressed against his bottom lip, with the last little bits of brown liquor on his tongue.

“Now that photo I’ll keep close to home,” Abraham says. “That’s for my collection. I wonder if I could find some of the ones they talked about in court, they said that shit put them on the internet… Whatever. Let’s see what else I can get you to do.” He sets the glass back down on the table, empty now, and Danny feels the two drinks, back to back, settling into his veins, fogging the world around him.

“Anything,” Danny says. He knows how this one goes, what feeding him drinks means. He puts his wrists together and holds them up in front of himself at chest level. Sometimes if he guesses what Abraham wants to do, if he’s right, he gets hurt less for being good that way, too. “I, I can do anything you want, Abraham. I want to be good for you.”

“Oh, shit.” Abraham goes still, staring at him. “Is that what this is? You think I’m him now? Oh man. This is even better than I-”

“Trevor Corey, what are you doing with my son?”

Her voice. Danny hears the sudden snap of disappointed irritation and feels his brain click back into place, dropping his hands back down to his sides. Trevor steps back and away from him - not Abraham, it was Trevor the whole time, it was never Abraham - and Danny swallows hard as he sees his mother standing in the hallway, arms crossed, in her black cocktail dress and pearls.

For just a second, he thinks his mother’s eyes are glowing.

And purple.

“Mrs. Michaelson.” Trevor smooths down his suit along the front, clears his throat, standing nervously. “I was just talking to Danny-”

“You were bothering him. Go rejoin your father in the dining room.” When Trevor hesitates, some part of him bristling at being spoken to like a child when he is a grown man, Corrine’s eyes narrow. Not glowing at all. “I said go, Trevor.”

“Mrs. Michaelson, I was only-”

“I know what you were doing to him. I saw you take a photo of his face, and I saw what you did with your drink. You will not push my son any further tonight or you will find yourself regretting every moment from your birth until this second. I’ve changed your diapers, you know. Don’t think you intimidate me for one single solitary moment. Go find Johnson and hope to God I decide not to tell him what I just caught you at.”

When she points down the hall, Trevor shoots a glare full of hate at Danny, but he goes.

Only when he’s gone does Corrine turn her eyes back to her son, who stares back at her wide-eyed, uncertain, feeling suddenly weighed-down and exhausted. “Are you all right, Danny?”

Danny swallows, hard - he can still feel the liquor, the buzz in the back of his mind, making it all feel a little bit smooth and strange. Slowly, he nods, stepping away from the wall, crossing his arms in front of himself and hunching over just a little. “I’m okay,” He says, softly, voice a little shaky. “I’m okay, Mom.”

“Did he hurt you?” Corrine looks him over brusquely, brushes at his shoulder, ignoring the way he shudders a little at the sudden touch. “Do you need to lie down?”

“N-No. I’m, um, I’m fine. Can I… do you know where Ryan is?”

She stops mid-motion, picking a bit of lint off his sleeve. Her eyes go to his - the odd honey-colored amber eyes that she and Ryan had in common. Why had he thought they were purple? Was that part of his flashback somehow? “He went up to his room, dear. I think he got a call from, well, you know who.”

“Oh. His ex called?”

“Yes, well, I assume, since he didn’t want me to overhear it.” Corrine steps back to look at him again, and something in the hard lines of her face gentles, just a bit. “Oh, Danny. What are we going to do about all of this, hm?”

Danny’s eyes drop to the floor. He feels fourteen, not… however old he is now. Twenty-something, at least. “I don’t know, Mom. I’m… I’m so sorry. I’ve been better. I don’t know what happened. I’ll try harder.”

“Hush. That wasn’t your fault. That wasn’t anyone’s fault.” Corrine’s hand pats the side of his face, and Danny is so good, he doesn’t even flinch. “Go upstairs and find your brother. I’ll let Dad know you’ll be heading home in the next few minutes once Ryan is done with his phone call, how does that sound? We’ll keep this between us. No one tells anyone, understood?”

“Sure, I, I won’t tell anybody-”

“Don’t tell your brother.” Corrine’s voice drops into seriousness and Danny blinks at her confused. “I know you two tell each other everything - you’ve always been inseparable - but he’ll only kick up a mess if he finds out Trevor acted that way. And we don’t need that sort of hostility at the company, do we? Over a little misunderstanding?”

“A… a what?”

“Trevor just didn’t understand what he was doing, did he?”

“M-Mom, he fed me my drink, he-”

“He’s always had a thing for you. Clearly he drank too much tonight and made a mistake, that’s all. Go find your brother and don’t tell him anything.” When Danny hesitates, Corrine sighs. “Right. I forgot. Go upstairs, Ryan’s room is the third one on the right. Yours is the fourth. I need to get back to the party. Will you be all right, Danny?”

“Um. Yeah, Mom. I’ll be, I’ll be fine.”

“Good.” She pats him on the back, and he digs his fingernails into his palms to keep himself from pulling away. “Thank you, darling. You’re so different now that you’ve come back to us… It’s odd, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” Danny asks, because he doesn’t really remember who he used to be, before.

“You went through all of that horror… and you came back sweeter. People will always surprise you.” Corrine shrugs and waves him away, turning herself to head back for the dining room.

Danny stands staring after her for a long time before he looks around himself, down the hall, and tries to remember where the stairs are.

Like hell he won’t tell Ryan.

He’ll go upstairs and tell Ryan everything.

Assuming he still remembers any of it by the time he figures out how to get upstairs.