#boy can’t wait to watch

[wild-karrde]

Yes, I have been very fine and normal about the TLOVM S3 teaser, why do you ask?

[m1ckeyb3rry]

GUESS WHO FINALLY CAUGHT UP W THE BLLK MANGA 🤩

[heyimkana]

Untitled

Pairing: Yuuta Okkotsu x Female Reader

Word Count: 5K (I feel like I should apologize but if you’ve seen my other works, this is considered super short I’m being fr rn)

Summary: Yuuta is your new neighbor, and everyone loves him because of his sweet and kind personality. He has a crush on you, but you’re a married woman, so you can’t reciprocate his feelings the same way. But when your husband starts cheating on you, you can’t help but turn to him for comfort.

Content Warnings: alcohol, swearing, adultery/cheating, age gap (Yuuta is in his early twenties, reader is almost in her thirties), unprotected sex, also Yuuta going down the yandere route at the end I'm not playing so if it's not your cup of tea don't read

A/N: wrote this in one sitting after aleks @yuutito said something about yuuta and older woman that rewired my brain (how dare she went to sleep after casually telling me this like I wasn't going to just just sit there thinking about *redacted*-ing this ver of him in 124352 different positions). i was supposed to be watching my kids playing in my backyard but i wrote this instead. pls don't call child support. this is also supposed to be a drabble 🤡 🔫 i was going to send it to her on discord but a few people were asking if i was dead (girl, only on the inside lol) cause i haven't posted in a while so hi everyone guess who came back from the war (i'll go through my inbox asap i promise ily)

P.S: don't use your brain when you read this cause i certainly didn't use mine when i wrote this only my dick

Yuuta Okkotsu is your new neighbor. 

He lives across the street, and you’re not close to him, not yet. He’s younger than you, much younger than you—a fresh graduate from a reputable university who’s lucky enough to be able to work from home. He doesn’t go out much, but he’s friendly, always leaving good impressions around the neighborhood. Everyone knows Yuuta. Everyone loves Yuuta. 

The first time you asked about him, purely out of curiosity, was when you greeted your neighbor next door, an older woman living alone ever since her late husband passed. She just got home from, what you assumed, another trip to the clinic. You saw him stepping down from her porch after making sure she was okay and bidding her with a polite bow. You traded smiles with him, but he didn’t stop for a conversation. You just saw his face turn scarlet at the sight of you, and he dropped a quick “Hello” before he bolted.

“Who was that?” you asked.

“Oh, he’s our sweet neighbor Yuuta.”

“Sweet neighbor Yuuta,” you laughed a little. “He just moved here like three days ago, and everyone calls him that.”

“Because it’s true!”

“Uh-huh, and what did he do that was so sweet to you?”

“He’s helped me with my chores—washing the dishes, bathing my cat, mowing my backyard. He saw me having trouble crossing the street yesterday, so he offered to take me to the clinic today. Such a sweet boy, that man. Very handsome, too.”

That last part you could agree with. Instantly. 

You see Yuuta occasionally, always by coincidence, like maybe in the morning when you leave the house to put out your trash or grab a newspaper. He always seems like he’s eager to strike up a conversation but gives up before he can, simply because his heart can’t take it. You know he has a crush on you; it’s clear as day. He’s young, and he’s in love. It’s cute. But you’re married and committed, so that’s that. 

You meet him more frequently when he starts going to the same local supermarket. You bumped into him in one of the aisles, with him approaching you first because he saw you struggling to get that ketchup bottle on the top shelf. He’s so polite, and he’s, indeed, very sweet, especially to the elderly, always taking his time to humor them when nobody else seems to pay them any attention. He grabbed the bottle for you, and you ended up chatting with him while waiting in line. He offered to help carry your groceries, and you were thankful because you weren’t sure you could bring everything alone. He walked you to your car, bade you good night, and told you to take care. 

He’s your sweet neighbor Yuuta. 

Things haven’t been going well with your husband. It’s fight after fight after fight.  At first, your relationship became so strained because you couldn’t conceive even after two years of marriage. The truth is, you don’t want to have a baby, not too soon, not when you still want to focus on living your life, but he wants it terribly, and if you want your marriage to work out, there’s no other choice but to try. You’re somehow glad that the universe seemed to work in your favor, at least for now.

You’re unsure if it’s your fault or his—you don’t have the money or time to get yourself tested. Nevertheless, he kept trying, turning your sex life into a string of dull experiments, one after another. It didn’t come as a surprise that after a while, he gave up. What did come as a surprise was when he started cheating. 

You have reasons to back your assumptions from all the evidence you’ve found along the way. The lipstick stain on his shirt, the hint of female perfume in his car, the way he never left his phone out of reach, terrified of you looking into it. It’s enough. 

It’s Friday night. Your husband won’t be home until late. Still got a bunch of stuff to do at work, he said, which is another way of saying, I got my secretary sucking my dick since you barely even bother anymore. Which is true.

You’re tired of him. You’re tired of having sex with him where he only cares about him cumming inside you and nothing more. You’re so tired of fighting. And now that he's cheating on you, you grow too tired to care. About him. About your marriage. About everything.

So, you head down to a bar one night just to distract yourself. And there he is again. Yuuta. Sitting by himself, watching a football game on the big screen with a beer bottle in hand. He looks rather… lonely, a new face that makes your heart twitch a bit. His solemn look makes him more gorgeous in a way, more mature, more mysterious, and girls love that, don’t they? A slightly dangerous aura to a very sweet face, unapproachable yet inviting.

But that doesn’t last too long because the moment he sees you, his face brightens entirely. He smiles, standing up from his seat to greet you, and you meet him halfway. You end up chatting all night. He’s a fantastic listener, and he’s so kind and thoughtful with each word, comforting you the way you need the most. It’s embarrassing that you nag about your husband like this, but he seems genuinely interested in helping you convey your emotions, and you just can’t stop. It feels so liberating.

Yuuta buys you your favorite drink but also reminds you not to get too much alcohol in your system. You begin to trust him, knowing for certain he won’t take any advantage of you. He walks you home right after. It’s true that he lives right across your house, but he makes sure you get inside safely. He leaves only after he sees you close and lock the door behind you. You spy on him from the window, wanting to see what he does after you’re gone. You see him rubbing a hand over his face, flushed from ears to neck, looking extremely happy that he got to spend time with you. 

He’s so cute, you think to yourself. Like a high school lovesick boy, kind of cute.

Yuuta then notices your husband’s missing car, meaning that you’re alone in the house. He looks sad on your behalf, which is so kind of him to think about your feelings that much. Then he turns upset, as if he was thinking, how dare he stay out so late, leaving her without protection like this. Looking visibly worried, he then texts you, “Let me know if you need anything, okay? My door is open for you anytime.” You smile and promptly reply to him with, “That’s so kind of you, thank you.” 

He’s your sweet neighbor Yuuta.

These friendly sorts of private meetings between you and him go on for a while. Your husband often arrives late, usually drunk out of his mind or too tired to stay for a chat, and he heads straight to bed without even giving you a goodnight kiss. It hurts, but it’s fine. The more your husband breaks your heart, the harder Yuuta will try to mend it and make it whole again. And he did. Every night, when you’re lucky enough to see him, you’ll feel like a heavy weight is lifted from your chest. You feel… happy, even in this terrible situation, and it’s all because of him. 

You usually hang out with him at the bar, but sometimes you don’t feel like going for a ten-minute drive, and you choose to just cross the road and knock your fist against his door. No matter what hour you visit, day or night, for a morning latte or evening tea, he always greets you with the prettiest smile.

He’s your sweet neighbor Yuuta.

Weeks passed by, and now you spend most of your free time chatting with him, sitting on the couch in his living room, and talking about yourself more than you ever did with your husband. He likes listening to you talk about yourself, and he tells you that you shine so brightly when you talk about the things you’re passionate about. He always stammers out his praises, looking like he’s seconds away from combusting into flames just from calling you beautiful or something. He’s so young, so inexperienced yet passionate when it comes to love and romance, and it shows.

You ask questions about himself, too, and you can understand why it’s addicting for him to watch you speak, because the second he does that, he’s breathtaking. 

You find out that he likes the things you like, he’s watched the movies you’ve seen, and he’s read your favorite books. It’s not just a coincidence, is it? Maybe you’re a match made in heaven. But even so, nothing happens. He’s too respectful, and he makes you respect yourself. You’re married, and he’s a close friend of yours. That’s it.

He’s just your sweet neighbor Yuuta.

One morning, you find a bouquet sitting on your porch. Oh, right, today’s our anniversary. Your husband has this habit of sending you your favorite flowers on your anniversary. He does this every year, which is nice of him, but you really didn’t think he’d send you one this year, seeing how he barely exchanged more than three sentences with you. So now that you receive his flowers, you’re beginning to think, oh, maybe he’s trying to fix things between us. You’re not sure if you want that, though, not anymore. Most of your heart already belongs to someone else, which is terrible since you’re married, but you can’t help it. 

You pick up the flowers anyway; too pretty to be thrown away. You open the card attached to it. I will love you forever, it says, written in his handwriting. The way he wrote the letter f is a little different. Looks like he wrote in a rush, you presume. Either that, or he just didn't care enough. And it’s whatever; you didn’t expect much anyway. You appreciate the thought until your eyes land on the name he wrote.

That’s not my fucking name.

He must have sent flowers to his secretary at the same time and had his card switched. That fucking cheater.

You thought you didn’t care about him anymore, but God, now you’re livid.

Yuuta shows up at the perfect place and at the perfect time. He invites you over to have dinner together at his place. “J-just, you know, as friends,” he says, unconsciously giving you the confirmation that he does not think of you as a friend. Not at all.

So you come over in a beautiful red dress later that evening, and he stares at you, completely in awe, for a good three seconds. “You, umm—” He blushes madly, his head so full of steam he could barely think. “You look like… like a goddess.”

“Thank you,” you simper. That was so corny for him to say, but he meant every word, which makes it endearing. “You look amazing, too.” And he is. God, he looks so handsome in his black buttoned-down shirt, and his parted hair, and his sweet, sweet smile.

I want to fuck the shit out of him.

It’s the monster inside you who speaks it. The part of you that’s been neglected for so long, that’s never been touched in the way you wanted to. And it’s screaming, begging for Yuuta to love you.

But no. We’re friends. We’re just friends, aren’t we, Yuuta?

Yuuta cooks, too, apparently. Every dish looks fucking delicious, and everything else is perfect. The table setting decorated with your favorite flowers. The scented candles with your favorite fragrance set up romantically on top of the cozy fireplace. The soft music playing in the background, a piano instrumental of your favorite song. It’s like a date. A celebration. Like something you should’ve had with your husband today.

“You did all of this on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Hmm?”

You gesture to your surroundings. “We’ve read the same books and watched the same movies. Okay, fine, maybe we have the same taste. But this song, those flowers, everything you’ve set up in this room, you did all of these for me, didn’t you?”

He pauses before he tucks his chin, avoiding your gaze. “I just… wanted to make you happy,” he confesses bashfully. “Is it… Is it too much? Do you not like it?”

“Yuuta, of course, I love it.” You stroke his arm, washing his worry away. “I just… I’ve never had someone care about me this much before…”

He melts under your touch, and there’s so much he wants to say, but his lips form nothing but a sad smile. He caresses your face with tender hand, his fingertips quivering slightly when they land on your cheek. His heart must be beating like crazy right now, you smile to yourself, leaning further into his touch to soothe him.

“I would do this every day for you if you let me,” he whispers, promise behind each word. “I would make you happy, so happy you’d forget what sadness feels like. What loneliness feels like.”

That stirs something inside your chest. “And what do you want in return for that?” You slide up a hand, testing his limit.

He stops your hand by covering it with his own. For a second, just for a brief second, he emits a different feeling. There’s intensity behind his gaze that burns you as if he wanted you all to himself. And that’s understandable. No man, especially one who’s so desperately in love like him, would want to share his woman with someone else, but he knows the situation they’re in, doesn’t he? It’s just not possible for you to be together, not now, not completely. Maybe that’s why he switches back in a blink, smiling until his eyes crinkle adorably. “Nothing,” he answers. “As long as we can be friends like this, it’s more than enough for me.”

He’s a terrible liar, you think, slightly amused. It’s cute how he tries so hard to conceal his feelings and you still can read him like an open book.

The food tastes as amazing as it looks, even down to the last bite. You don’t talk about the bouquet, afraid that you’ll ruin the mood, but Yuuta is always so attentive when it comes to you. He asks you what happened, and he hugs you the second he sees tears brimming in your eyes. You’re not sad. You’re fucking angry. And thank God Yuuta is there to let you vent your frustrations. You go as far as telling him almost every little shitty thing your husband did to you behind your back, as well as the slutty secretary that’s been sleeping with him for money. It feels relieving to finally say their names out loud, with so much hatred, so much rage, and to have Yuuta respond with, “No matter how pretty she is, she’s nothing compared to you. Your husband doesn’t deserve you. If I were him, I would’ve—” he stops himself, just in time, flustered and mortified under your gaze.

You’re older. You’re older than him by eight, no, nine years even. You know what’s going to happen if you encourage him to say the words he’s been dying to say. You know what it’s going to do to your relationship. But fuck that. If there were one man in this world who knew how to treat you like you deserve…

It’s your sweet neighbor Yuuta.

So, by the time the two of you move to the couch with some wine in your system, you lean forward, letting your fingers trace the protruding vein on the back of his hand. His eyes widen at the way your dress does very little to hide your cleavage, but he averts his gaze right away, being the gentleman that he is. But tonight, you want him to be the opposite of that. You don’t want him to be sweet; you want him to let his desire win. There’s a monster hiding inside him, something much more terrible than your own. You sometimes caught its glimpse when he thought you weren’t looking his way. The amount of obsession that fogged his eyes, his fixation over you, turning his sapphire blue eyes so dark, so deep, so intense, like he wanted to have you locked up in his room, tied up and used and thoroughly fucked until you found no strength to stand and no will to escape. It should’ve been a scary thought, but it wasn’t. It was… exciting.

“I want to hear it, Yuu…” Seduction lays thickly in your voice as you lay a gentle hand on his cheek, guiding his eyes back to you. You stare up at him from underneath your lashes with this look in your eyes that makes his breath hitch in his throat. “If you were my husband…” You wet your lip, your tongue a sinful dance to his eyes. “What would you do to make me feel…” You purposely drop your gaze to his lips, letting him catch your message. “…loved?”

You watch him gulp, goosebumps breaking on his skin. You watch his eyes fall to see the way you rub your thumb over the bumps on his knuckles. You watch them turn half-lidded as they linger a second too long on your lips. And you watch him break all control he has over himself, and you let him devour you the way you’ve been wanting him to.

He’s your sweet neighbor Yuuta.

And he tastes even sweeter with your cum on his tongue.

It’s happening too fast, yet it feels like it’s not going fast enough. He starts by holding you by the face, slotting his lips against yours, passionate and gentle at the same time. He pulls away for a moment to see your reaction, and when you kiss him back, he lets out this sinful moan that causes your stomach to churn.

He’s so fucking sexy. Even without trying, he is. 

In the next second, he’s eating you out on the couch, spreading your legs, and kneeling on the floor with his head trapped between your thighs, wanting to get as much of you as you can give him. When his tongue circles your clit, and he’s moaning against your heat, it feels so good you almost run away, not used to experiencing this much pleasure. It’s scary how easily he plays with your body. How fast he can tell which part of yours likes to be licked, which ones want to be sucked, and which ones want to be fucked. He moves agonizingly slow, but each touch feels so right that you find no reason to complain. He’s sure to take his time with you, to make you feel loved in the way a wife should be when her husband makes love to her.

He takes hold of your thighs, holding you tight, but you want it even tighter to the point of leaving bruises all over your skin so you can show them to your husband later. His gaze is intense, constantly keeping his eyes on you. Your expression turns him on, making him ache so bad within the constraints of his pants that his eyes turn watery, desperate for release. He’s too ashamed to ask you to touch him, and maybe he doesn’t want to be touched, not yet, he just wants to focus on pleasuring you for now. So he keeps sucking your clit into his mouth, and he slides one hand into his own jeans to grip his cock tightly. He fucks his fist as fast as he fucks your hole with his tongue, groaning, whining, whimpering against your cunt. He’s pathetic. You love it.

You push him down to the carpeted floor after you drench his mouth and chin with your juice, and you push his fingers, coated with his own cum, into your mouth. He curses once at the sight, and it’s so sexy when he does it. After all this time hearing him talk so softly, so innocently, hearing a low, “Fuck, you're making me lose my mind,” tumbling off his lips is such a fucking turn-on. 

You tear yourself away from your dress before you rip open the buttons of his shirt, not caring if the two of you are in the middle of his living room, visible for anyone to see if they dare take a peek through the window. You wish the light in the room were brighter. It would’ve been a lovely show for your husband if he came home to see you riding another man’s cock, using Yuuta to your own satisfaction, and watching him make you cum the way he couldn’t. 

Yuuta, oblivious to your thoughts, is gasping out your name, one arm hiding his beet-red face while his other one is gripping your thigh. “W-wait,” he flinches, his breathing tattered. “You’re going—too fast—”

You know you are, but it’s so good that you can’t stop. His cock rubs your walls so deliciously as if it was made solely for this purpose. You cum so fast, so hard, and he follows almost right away, unable to hold it even longer when he sees you looking like that when you cummed. 

Your body is still trembling when he suddenly lifts you off his cock and guides you to his face. “Ride me again,” he says, begging. “Please, Angel, I want to taste you again.” And you do, sitting on his face and letting him lick, suck, and lap at everything that seeps out of you.

He’s staring at your swollen clit, licking his lips and seemingly dazed as he rubs his thumb softly over it. “I’m sorry I came inside you,” he says, genuinely feeling guilty about it despite you giving him permission to.

You shiver, still feeling so sensitive for receiving so much stimulation at once. “It’s okay. I can’t get pregnant anyway,” you laugh it off. “I haven’t gotten myself checked yet, but we’ve been trying for two years, and nothing has happened yet, so…”

His gaze darkens. “I see,” is the only thing he utters before he scoops you in his arms, carrying you to the bedroom. You’re surprised; you really thought that was it. Both of you came twice already in, like, fifteen minutes. That’s enough, isn’t it? But he’s still young, and he has a lot of energy that leaves him insatiable. If you let him, he’ll have you for the entire night.

It’s not a bad thing, not at all.

So you kneel in front of him on the bed, bite the corner of your lip to drive him even more insane, and stroke him slowly with your hand. “You still want to fuck me?”

“Yes,” he breathes out, the muscles in his abdomens tautening. “Yes, Ma’am, please…”

Ma’am? You almost laugh. How does he keep getting cuter and cuter?

“Okay.” You reward him with a little kiss on the head of his cock, robbing a soft whimper out of his mouth. Lying down on the bed, you spread your legs, sliding two fingers down your body to do the same to your cunt. “Come here and love me again, Yuu.”

He obliges in a split second. Yuuta has so much love to give, and he lets his mouth, his tongue, and his cock paint a perfect picture on your body.

Everything feels like heaven until he suddenly stops in the middle of thrusting his hips, earning himself an impatient whine. His blue eyes have lost their warm, pretty light. They’re as dark as the night, but lust and greed are the perfect colors for him. He sits on his knees, resting your ankles on his shoulders, breathing heavily. 

“Yuuta?”

He’s not listening, too captivated by the way his tip slides in and out so easily. You’re so fucking wet for him; it’s embarrassing, but Yuuta would take a picture of you like this in a heartbeat, with your wedding ring still wrapped around your finger and his cock sheathed deep inside you, should you allow him to.

He splays his hand over your stomach, giving a little pressure to your womb. You squirm, suddenly feeling like you no longer have control over anything, over him, not like the way you did before. It’s frightening and thrilling at the same time. “Yuuta, what are you—” Your jaw turns slack at the sensation when he thrusts inside, just once, just to see how far it goes within your walls. He’s so hard and thick and throbbing that you could practically feel him poking from inside of your stomach. And perhaps he’s thinking the same thing, his eyes glistening when he feels a bulge forming under his palm. He swallows. He looks… hungry.

“You said you couldn’t get pregnant,” he says, running a tongue across his lower lip, his eyes still fixated on the way you’re taking him so well, all stretched out and tight around him. “You know what I think?” He pulls himself out completely, shivers in his breath. “I think you’re wrong.” He slams his hips forward so abruptly, and with so much force, you have one hand shooting past your head to keep a safe distance away from the headboard. 

“Yuuta—” You gasp out, struggling to match his rhythm. “Wait—”

He only smiles a little, chuckles a little. He’s so far gone. He leans forward until you’re pressed chest to chest, folding you in half before he laces his fingers together with yours. “I think you can get pregnant.” He moves closer to your ear, whispering with his lips caressing your lobe, “And I’m going to show you how.”

He fucks the breaths out of you, swallowing each cry with his mouth, embracing you so tightly you can feel his heart beating against yours. “I’m sorry,” he pants, “It hurts, doesn’t it? I—” He’s interrupted with a low groan, feeling you clenching around him.“—really am sorry—” He smashes his lips against yours, smothering you with his kisses, too. “I know I’m being too rough, but I can't—”  He has one hand gripping the top of his headboard, giving him more support to drive his hips even deeper. “I can’t—stop—” He fucks you again, and again, harder each time until you find yourself unable to make sounds. “You’re so good... You feel so good around me... My angel…” You’re being folded, handled, trapped, and he fucks you until you’re drained, until you’re filled, until he’s spent. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry... Just a little bit more..." He kisses your forehead and your cheek to soothe you down, cradling your head as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. His hips start to move erratically. “Don’t ever leave me… I will love you forever, so—ah, God—” He chokes out a sob when he feels you spasming around him again, reeling in another wave of orgasm that hit you so intensely, you see white.

It takes him a little over an hour until he finally lets you go. For now, at least.

But once he gives you a chance to breathe, he cleans you up so gently, dabbing a warm towel over your skin, peppering kisses as soft as butterfly wings down your back, your thighs, your chest, before ending his journey at your stomach. He rubs the supple flesh of your belly and smiles, completely satisfied after giving you his everything. And it scares you a little bit because… You might really end up getting pregnant this time.

“I have to go before he comes home,” you say, feeling your body ache terribly when you try to raise yourself off the bed. They’re not shown vividly yet, but there will be bruises in the morning in places you’re not sure you can cover. 

Yuuta hugs you from the side when you barely have one foot on the floor, whispering against the bare skin of your hip, “I’m not letting you go.”

It makes you happy. You feel so wanted, so loved, even after all the affection he gave you all night. The truth is, you don’t want to leave. Ever. To walk into your own home after experiencing what heaven feels like… It would be torturous.

“I wish I could stay with you, too.”

“You do?” He looks up with big, round eyes, hope residing in each one of them. “Would you stay with me forever?”

“If I could,” you reply and it’s true. God, if only you could stay forever with him, let him love you this way, forever. That would be perfect, wouldn't it?

“That makes me happy…” He takes both of your hands, kissing you on each wrist before he does the same to your palms. “That makes me so happy…” 

It tickles, so you laugh a little. He makes the same sweet sound, the sound of a boy in love. 

“I really need to go, though…” You whisper, hypnotized when he starts pushing your digit past his lips. It’s warm and wet inside his mouth, waking up the butterflies in your stomach. He keeps his eyes on you, looking so sensual as he sucks around your finger, enveloping it from base to tip. “Yuuta…”

“I understand.” He pulls away, ending it with a kiss. He seems disheartened, his smile doesn't shine as bright anymore and it hurts you. "I guess you left me with no choice."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay." He returns your embrace, just one more time before you have to let him go. “Can you turn around for me, please? I want to give you something,” he softly smiles. “A present. It will be quick, I promise.” 

You do as he says, excited at the thought of it. What will he give you? Knowing him and how he went through so much effort to prepare a dinner for two friends, you just know it would be something incredibly romantic. Yuuta kisses your nape, open-mouthed and lingering. You nibble on your lip to suppress your moan as he trails his lips from between your shoulder blades down to your spine. 

“Yuuta,” you sigh, squeezing your thighs together. You’re aching for him again, and it’s dangerous. Your husband can come anytime soon. “I know what you want, and really, I wish I could stay,” you say from the bottom of your heart, looking over your shoulder to see him, and you’re immediately answered by a kiss. He presses his chest to your spine, one hand cupping half of your neck and your jaw to keep you in place so he can deepen the kiss. His mouth moves with fervor, filling you up with desire, and if it weren’t for the sound of your husband’s car moving into your driveway, you would’ve let him take you there for another hour or two.

“I need to leave. Now.” You break away to gather your clothes quickly. Except you can’t.

You can’t move your hands.

Robbed out of your balance, you fall face-first to the floor. Your breath catches, your heart plummeting to your stomach when you realize you have your hands tied behind your back. You feel something rough grazing against your skin. There’s a rope ensnaring your wrists together, and it’s digging painfully into your flesh every time you struggle to break free. 

Panic rises quickly to your chest. You look up, your body froze with terror at the sight of him smiling at you. 

He’s not your sweet neighbor Yuuta. Not anymore.

This is the monster you caught a glimpse of before, in full form. His handsome features suddenly feel unrecognizable, not when you can no longer witness the warmth in his eyes.

What is happening? You breathe fast, frightened beyond your mind. Why is he doing this?

“I told you I’m not letting you go,” he says, walking slowly toward you. With every step he takes, your urge to escape grows bigger.

The second the dread sinks in, you part your lips to scream for help, but he clasps a hand over your mouth just in time. “Sshh shhh shhh,” he whispers, bringing you back to your feet. “We wouldn’t want your husband to find out, would we?” 

You try to kick and toss your body around, but he’s strong, much stronger than you could ever imagine him to be. From your peripheral vision, you see him taking out a syringe from a drawer behind him, fitted with a hollow needle to inject the clear liquid into your skin. You feel your heart pounding in your throat, your scream muffled as he sinks it into your skin. “There, there. Off you go, honey,” he whispers in your ear, as you begin to lose your will to fight. Your consciousness slowly wanes away with each second passing by. “I’m so sorry, Sweetheart. It’s only scary at the beginning, I promise.” He tosses the syringe away, now empty. “Oh, I almost forgot to ask. Did you like the card I gave you?”

The card? What card?

Oh.

Oh, no.

“I’m sorry for tricking you like that,” he says with a little pout. “Truly, I am. I didn’t want to lie to you, but I had to do something to push you over the edge. I knew you liked me too from the start, but you wouldn’t make the first move. You kept staying faithful even when your husband was cheating on you like that. I admire you for that,” he sighs, utterly smitten by you, but only for a second before his tone drops. “But I was getting impatient, you see. And I knew you were, too. I watched your favorite movies. I read your favorite books. I learned everything about you and did everything you liked, but you still wouldn’t leave your husband for me. So you left me with no choice. I have to make you understand,” he slides his hand up your stomach, passing the valley between your breasts before he chooses to linger there, squeezing, teasing, pleasing. “That no one can touch you like I do. No one can love you like I do.”

You can feel him kissing your neck, licking a stripe up from your collarbone to the spot below your ear. “It was quite tricky copying his handwriting like that. There’s one letter I still can’t do very well even now. But it was enough to trick you, so I think everything’s fine in the end,” he chuckles, the sound filling your chest with horror, though you could barely register it now, not with the drug flowing in your system.

“You asked me what I would do to make you feel loved if I were your husband.” He carries you closer to the window, letting you see, with all the little power you have left, your husband closing the door of his car. Yuuta embraces you from behind, his hands tangled around your waist as he lets you rest your head on his shoulder. “I’m gonna show it to you.” You watch your husband make his way to your porch, oblivious to what’s happening in the dark room across the street. “I’m gonna love you, Angel. I will love you forever. With all my heart. And I’m gonna take my time. I’ll be so thorough with you that once I’m done, you won’t be able to spend a second of your life without me.” 

Your husband closes his front door, and with it goes your last chance of escaping, if there was even one.

You start losing strength in your legs, in your arms, but you’re still able to cry, and so you do just that. It won’t help you, nothing will help you, no one will help you, and no one will know what he’s doing to you, not when everyone thinks so fondly of him. 

“Oh, Sweetheart, don’t cry.” He kisses your tears away, landing an even softer one on your temple. “Don’t be afraid of me, my love. After all, it’s just me.” He meets your eyes in the reflection of his window, smiling with his hand holding the front of your neck.

“Your sweet neighbor Yuuta.”

***

[doodler16]

There's nothing wrong when a character fucks up and either gets rightfully called out on or knocked down a peg in order for them to learn a lesson.

But in the case of Blitz and Alastor, there gets to a point where all this dogpiling feels more mean spirited than something that's actually deserved.

The whole Stoliz situation wants us to think they're BOTH in the wrong who can't communicate properly due to their issues, but the narrative puts ALL the blame on Blitz for hurting the stupid owl's feelings and dogpiles him in the form of his exes hosting a hate party and being reminded of his trauma for the millionth time.

And then there's Alastor. Even as a fan of him, I'll admit it was stupid of him to think he can go head to head with the head of the exterminations WITHOUT an angelic weapon mind you... but regarding the leaks, it's getting onto him about that but in the WORST WAY POSSIBLE!

It's not treated as a wake up call for him to kick down his ego a notch, it's not treated as him getting his just desserts and open a possibility for him to get some character development. It's treated more as a way to bully him and make him look more pathetic than he already kind of was. And watching a character I love being treated this way is NOT FUN!

But back to the topic.

Point I'm trying to make is the characters that gets shit on for stuff they do gets to a point where it feels like character bashing than something actually deserved, while those that DO deserve it only get a slap on the wrist. (IE Stolas and Lucifer)

Consequences are very important in a story, without it the character wouldn’t learn to grow. So when a character, who is a piece of shit gets knocked down a peg it is satisfying because they had a long time coming. I’m purposely going to ignore Alastor for the time being because I know I will mention him and (REDACTED). I am just playing the waiting game because Vivziepop can change a situation at the snap of her fingers.

But the way Vivziepop handle Blitzø is very draining and not in the good way. The writers love using any chance to remind the audience multiple times that Blitzø hates himself, everyone around him is better without, circus incident™️. And it’s like “can we move on, I get it.”

Then there’s the Stoliz situation where Vivziepop on Twitter likes to allude that they are both the problem but in reality like you mentioned one person (Blitzø) is getting dogpiled and blamed for dumb reasons. And you can’t help but root for him. Stolas, however, does get knocked down a peg but shown in a sympathetic light, very unserious from Satan’s side, gets coddled and taken by Blitzø.

As much I like Lucifer, dude gets away Scott free. Immediately, the exposition in episode 1, Lucifer is treated as sad misunderstood bad boy who has big dreams and aspirations. Like bohoo I don’t care 😂 Actions have consequences, that’s what you get for dooming humanity. Then episode 5 rolls around and he’s depressed (I really hope they address this instead of it being plastered on Hot Topic duck merch) yada yada. In the playbill, Lucifer is all like family is important, I miss my wife, blah blah. But dude doesn’t try to visit Charlie or hang out with her when she is an adult. The closest thing he does is call her randomly or for dumb requests which is the bare minimum. 💀

Lilith also doesn’t have any excuses, she’s a hottie but I’m calling her out. I don’t care what kind of WW2 plan she has for Heaven and Hell. Go visit your daughter it’s been 7 years, she’s making Lucifer look like a saint. And the Vivziepop somehow be making the moms look cartoonishly evil. Charlie and Lucifer’s situation was chalked up to a dumb misunderstanding or miscommunication between the two.

When there could’ve been an interesting predicament where Charlie calls Lucifer out for being a negligent father, ruler, and asked why he allowed the killings for the extermination or his opinion about it or the part in episode 1, that Charlie and other hellborns are alive because of Lucifer. All that stuff was brush aside and “resolved” so Lucifer could piss off in order for Charlie to get up to Heaven since he is a plot device.

But yeah, I agree Lucifer and Stolas do get a slap on the wrist while Blitzø gets KYS merch and repeated trauma dumped onto him for the 5th time.

[arc-misadventures]

Streamer Au:

Considering just how down bad our dear Errantry Paladin's chat is

Has his fair Maidens ever devolve into a donation war to show who was the most dedicated sim-I mean lover of our boi Errantry or have they unionized into just agreeing to simp hard and donate harder together?

The VTuber: Bidding War

~~~ Stream Chat ~~~

“20 Lien Donation”

KinderGurl: let me become your girl!

“20 Lien Donation”

—Lydin—: I’ll be your baby girl!

“20 Lien Donation

LittleDoggo: I’ll be your bitch, just say the word~!

“20 Lien donation”

OverYander: Get in line skank, I’ll be his bitch!

“20 Lien Donation”

Kirbylord: I’m already his bitch!

“25 Lien Donation”

Triffity: 2 for one deal: Me, and my sister will be your bitches!

“25 Lien Donation”

Vilipin: He wants a real woman to be his bitch, not you kids

“25 Lien Donation”

DragonQueen: You wanna go skank!

“30 Lien Donation”

KettleDown: Bring it whore!

“25 Lien Donation”

BittyDitty: Can’t we just share him instead?

“20, 30, 25, 25, 20, 20, 30, and 20 Lien Donations”

Chat: No. No! Yes! fuck no! Kinky~! Dibs on first go! He’s mine! Fuck off!

“50 Lien Donation”

ShadowsofDesires: Why don’t you play with an older lady instead of these children~?

“50 Lien Donation”

Lollipopdva: I’ll be your mommy~!

“60 Lien Donation”

Kitty6840: Ara Ara~!

“75 Lien Donation”

Monarch: The kids are sleeping, lets have some fun dear~!

“80 Lien Donation”

Fillerton: Fuck off you old hags!

“100 Lien Donation”

Stichsayshi: You wanna go brat?!”

“100 Lien Donation”

Kindergurl: Bring it slut!

~~~~~~

Errant: …

Errant: Haaa… Here we go again…

Errant could only sigh in defeat as he watched his chat feed delve into chaos as a bidding war for his attention erupted. Again.

Errant: I didn’t do anything, but log on, and say: “Hey everyone, welcome to the stream!” And, boom… another damn bidding war…

His voice went a touch higher as he made fun at his plight as he looked down at it with a tired eyes, and a lamenting voice filled with dread, and regret.

Errant: I mean, one of these events gets me a lot of money. Not a hundred percent of it mind you, I get more like seventy percent of it. The rest gets split between my mods, and the platform for their cut. But, I never ask for these!

Errant: I would ask the mods to stop them, but even they can’t do anything to stop them. It’s like stopping a broken dam: You can’t, all you can do is run, and wait for it to stop…

Errant looked at his monitor as the numbers were rising higher in the triple digits. He could only grin, and bare this oncoming nightmare.

Errant: I know a lot of the girl VTubers have unapologetic simps following them. But, you people… You people are something else!

Errant: I think the worst evidence of simping, bar this is the ones that follow… That follow that one, Schnee sister… The black sheep of the trio. The self proclaimed… Haaa… ‘The slutty one…’

He shook his head as he said that, he hated saying stuff like that, but there was footage of her saying that, so he wasn’t bad mouthing her.

Errant: I’ll level with you chat, I try not to think about the Black Sheep of the Schnee’s. Why you ask, simple; She’s scares me… Good lord does she scare me… I mean… Those eyes…

Errants looked away with fear stricken eyes as a dreadful shudder escaped his bodies.

Errant: Okay, let’s pop up a game of solitaire, or something while we wait for these people to… (Ping~!) Haa… See! All these bloody notifications popping off, I can’t con… Eh?

~~~Stream Chat~~~

“1000 Lien Donation”

Grimmdesires: I’ll buy you a hot tub for us to cuddle in darling~!

“1000 Lien Donation”

SunshineDolly: I can get you a huge one where we can have (Redacted) in it!

“2000 Lien Donation”

FallenLust: Hot tub Streams~!!!

~~~~~~

Errant: …?!

Errant: What?! No! No, no chat I am not becoming a hot tub streamer! It doesn’t matter how much you pay me! I’m not doing that! Besides I live in an apartment, I don’t have the space for one! So stop going on about hot tubs?!!

Errant swiftly lost it as he tried to reign in chats depravity for him. It was a losing battle, but it was a battle he would die fighting for.

Errant: No stop trying to get a train of, ‘hot tub streams!’ I’m not going to do that so enough with this hot tub non…?! Who’s calling me?

Errant’s model seeming picked up something in its hands before inquisitively staring at the screen.

Errant: My sister? What does she want…?

Errant: Hey sis, I’m in the middle of streaming; did something happen, or can this call wait until later?

Errant: …

Errant: Eh…?

Errant: Give the hot tub to you? N-No I’m not getting you a hot tub! I’m not getting the hot the either! Wait? You connected our call? To who?! Oh, hey sis what’s…?! No I’m not giving you a hot tub either. I’m not getting one, so why should you?!

Errant: …

Errant: ‘To pick up chicks?!’ The hell are you talking about; You’re married?!

And, thus swiftly ended, Errantry Paladin’s calm, and relaxing stream as it swiftly descended into an unmitigated disaster once again.

At this rate, the idea of a normal stream was just a fleeting phantom memory of his imagination.

Peachy.

[autisticempathydaemon]

Tokyo Calling by ATARASHII GAKKO! it's just FUN

Enneagram type four.

YES. and my fave is the ABO copyright saga, but I enjoy having these on in the background while I do other things, and I use them to learn about online drama mostly hehehe

To fall asleep, either thinking through scenarios or audiobooks. if the brain won't shut up, then audiobooks!!

I wouldn't change my name, but I'm also not super duper attached to it haha

Favourite redacted audio!! Davey proposal, or the one where angel steals david's hoodie. there are a lot of call backs in both of these, and my favorite line: 'with you, I'm just- David.'

Zero appeal is Ollie!! I've tried. A few times. but No.

Muppet Christmas carol, I know all the words hahaha

Platonically, besties with Elliott! He'd be a great friend?

Go to ramble is whatever media I've been really into lately. I've gotten really into hockey and PWHL lately, and get me tired, I will ramble to you about it hahaha

Favorite playlist atm is an amalgamation of my daylists, but I'd summarise it as 'bisexual yearning pop'??

Guilty pleasure media is SMUTTY MANGA.

Ooh, this is a cute one. Like, I think there are parts of you that could work so well with different parts of different redacted bois. Yet, when I look at all you’ve given me as a whole, I like you with Gavin most.

Type Fours tend to be creative, emotional, and reserved, an introverted sort of person; I think Gavin is uniquely suited to you in that he’s extroverted enough to pull you out of your shell but not so much you two don’t have a grand time by yourselves. Also, “bisexual yearning pop” one hundred percent sounds like Gavin’s vibe, so I think y’all could have a great time sharing playlists.

The main thing I love about y’all is that I think you and Gavin would like a lot of the same things, that he likes all the things you like. Like, can’t you imagine reading a smutty manga and shoving it in Gavin’s face like “babe, you’ll love this one”? Can’t you imagine watching hockey together and Gavin loving the hot people speeding across the ice and checking each other? Can’t you imagine your first Christmas together with him, showing him the Muppets Christmas Carol for the first time?

Song:

Every other boy’s on to the next one/ I hope that you stay, 'cause I think you′re so fun/ Everyone is asking if we're a thing now/ Are we going somewhere?/ Waking up my friends and texting my sister/ I wanna tell the world the things that we whisper/ Everyone is asking if we're a thing now/ Are we going somewhere?

To find a song for y’all, I searched Bisexual Yearning Pop in Spotify, and I quite like the result! This song is really catchy and cute and paints a really fun picture of a flirtationship on the brink of something more and the sweet, fuzzy feelings of having a crush in that situation. This song is new to me, but I’ll be saving it, and I hope you like it too!

Runner-ups:

Guy is a runner-up because I do love the idea of pairing you with an extrovert but not that much of an extrovert, ya know? Lasko is a runner-up because I think he’d love your smutty manga recommendations most of all the boys. You and he and Gavin should have a fun, little naughty book club.

note: thank you so much for waiting; please feel free to send me some manga recs if you’d like to share. I love a good 18+ Josei 💕

Read this post and send me an ask if you’d like a match-up of your own! 💌

[firetrucks-fastcars]

Pole Position (F1)

Summary: Charles gets on pole at Spa. The boys celebrate the best way they know how (Pairings: Max Verstappen/Daniel Ricciardo/Charles Leclerc/Lando Norris; Oscar Piastri/Logan Sargeant [background])

Read on ao3 here

Daniel barely restrained himself from cheering as he watched Charles cross the finish line and clock the second fastest time in Q3. He knew that standing in the Alpha Tauri garage, shoulder to shoulder with Yuki, was not the time to loudly celebrate his boyfriend’s success, but seeing him bounce back at a track he loved so much made Daniel want to jump around like a lunatic. He knew that due to Max’s grid penalty, Charles would be on pole Sunday. Lando had also managed to qualify P7, which wasn’t quite the achievement he’d had in Silverstone and at Hungaroring, but considering the floor damage done when he’d hit the gravel in Q1 it was an impressive feat. 

He could feel himself itching to get out of there as he made his rounds in the media pen, wanting to be with his boys to celebrate. His phone was buzzing in his pocket, no doubt texts from Max, who wasn’t in the media pen, but instead was waiting to participate in the post-qualifying press conference before he was finally allowed to go home. He could see Lando glancing at him occasionally, which made him think Max was also texting him. Eventually Daniel was able to excuse himself and pull his phone from his pocket as he huddled in a corner away from the media circus. Max had started a group chat with just him and Lando, and it seemed they were on the same wavelength.

Super Max: Come back to my room tonight. We’re celebrating Charles on pole

Muppet: Good. I have ideas

Apparently Lando had also escaped back to the comfort of his driver’s room and was able to text back.

Danny: Ooh do tell

Muppet: Redacted, redacted, redacted

Muppet: Sorry Danny, not safe for work

Danny: Guess I’ll find out myself tonight ;)

Super Max: Stop flirting please, I’m gonna vomit before the press conference

Muppet: Like we didn’t all see you giving Charles heart eyes when you got out of the car

Super Max: You saw nothing

Super Max: Gotta go, press conference is starting. Love you both, see you soon

Muppet: Love you <3

Danny: Love you too Maxy

Daniel waited at the back of the Mclaren motorhome for Lando to come out. He was sure his boyfriend was changing out of his race suit and fireproofs and also talking to Oscar before they went their separate ways. Sure enough, he heard Lando before he saw him, coming around the corner with Oscar not far behind. Their voices echoed back to Daniel as they walked, though they hadn’t seen him yet.

“What are your plans for tonight?” Oscar asked.

“We’re celebrating Charles being on pole,” Lando said, wiggling his eyebrows at his teammate.

“Gross mate. I’m not sure if that’s a euphemism or not but I don’t want to hear about you having sex with all three of your boyfriends.”

“Don’t pretend you aren’t on your way over to Williams. You’ll be in Logan’s room tonight helping him lick his wounds and we both know it. You’re just jealous I get laid three times more than you do.”

“Shut up Lando,” Oscar’s face went bright red at the mention of Logan. “Also how do you know about that?”

“Alex is the one that lets you in. He can’t keep a damn secret to save his life.”

Oscar groaned and looked up, blushing when he met Daniel’s eyes. “Oh hey Daniel.”

Oscar noticed him first, waving awkwardly, assuming Daniel had heard most of their conversation.

“Hi Oscar,” he greeted the younger Aussie. “Congrats on P5 mate, that’s awesome.”

“Oh thanks,” he said. “Shame about your lap time, I’m sorry man.”

“Eh,” Daniel shrugged. “Shit happens. I’m just proud of these guys.”

He pulled Lando into his side and pressed a quick kiss to his curls. Lando bumped his nose against his jaw before turning back to Oscar.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Have fun with Logie bear.”

“I hate you,” Oscar said, flipping Lando the bird.

“Love you too Oscar.”

*****

Max and Charles arrived at the hotel an hour later than Daniel and Lando had. They were tired after the long day they had, but that didn’t stop Max from pushing Charles against the wall of the elevator and kissing him.

“What was that for?” Charles asked, slightly out of breath when Max pulled away.

“I’m just so fucking proud of you.”

“You’re not upset about the penalty?”

Max raised an eyebrow at him, “Schatje, do you really think a five place grid penalty is going to stop me?”

“No, I suppose not,” Charles laughed. “I’ll give you a good fight though.”

“I expect nothing less,” Max pressed a single quick kiss to his lips as the dinging sound signaled they had reached their floor and the doors slid open. Max led him down the hall to his room where Lando and Daniel were waiting for them. Max had said in the car on the way over that they had plans and Charles wasn’t getting his hopes up about what they were but he knew his boys probably had some ideas. 

As soon as the door opened he was all but tackled by Daniel who swung him into his arms and pressed kisses all over his face.

“Daniel,” he laughed, grabbing his face but making no move to push the older man away. “What are you doing?”

“Giving you love,” Daniel settled him back on his feet but didn’t let go. “We’re so proud of you baby. Pole position, that’s fucking incredible!”

Charles felt arms wrapping around his waist from behind and a cheek pressed between his shoulder blades. The curls tickling the back of his neck told him it was Lando.

“You did so well today Charlie.”

Charles reached an arm behind himself to fist in the fabric of the younger man’s hoodie and pull him close. 

“We have plans for you tonight,” Max said, pressing in from the side to get his hands on Charles. “We’re celebrating you schatje, whatever you want, you’ll get it.”

Lando pressed small kisses to the back of his neck and Charles had to take a deep breath to be able to concentrate. Daniel cupped his chin and tilted his face up so he was looking in his deep brown eyes. 

“Tell us what you want, baby.”

“I want You and Max to decide.”

“Yeah?” Max pressed a soft kiss to his jaw. “You want us to decide for you? You trust us to make sure you feel good?”

“Yes.”

“Sweet boy,” Daniel praised. “Tell me your colors.”

“Red to stop, yellow to slow down, green to keep going.”

“Good. Get undressed and get on the bed. Lando, you too.”

They both obeyed, pulling away from the other two to take off their clothes and discard them haphazardly around the room. They climbed on the bed together and Charles settled back against the pillows. Lando curled up against his side and kissed his neck softly, biting gently at the skin but taking care not to leave marks that wouldn’t be covered by his clothes. He could almost guarantee that his body would be covered in hidden hickey’s by the time the night was over. As if to prove his thoughts correct, Lando moved his head down to suck a mark on his pec, flicking his tongue against his nipple teasingly. Charles groaned and grabbed the back of Lando’s head, keeping him close.

“Lando baby,” Max called his name, distracting him. “Do you want to suck Charles off?”

“Yes please.”

“Go ahead.”

Lando reached up to give Charles one last kiss before moving down to where his cock was showing an interest in what was going on. Lando moved to take him into his mouth, but was stopped by Daniel.

“Nuh uh,” Daniel made a spinning motion with his finger. “Turn around, let Charles make you feel good too.”

Lando whined, scrambling to turn around and straddle Charles’s chest. He backed up slowly until his ass was at eye level with Charles, who immediately grabbed two handfuls of it, silently thankful for all of the extra training he had been doing lately. Once he was settled, Lando resumed his earlier goal and took Charles into his mouth, sucking lightly on the head and using his hand to hold the rest. He went slowly, almost teasing, knowing exactly how to drive Charles crazy. Daniel joined them on the bed, kneeling by Charles’s head and leaning down to talk quietly in his ear. 

“I want you to get Lando ready. Stretch him out on your tongue and your fingers yeah? Then he’s going to sit on your pretty cock while Max and I fuck you. Does that sound good sweetheart?”

“Yes,” Charles moaned.

“Good boy. Get to it.”

Charles did as he was told, grabbing Lando by his hips and pulling him back so he had better access. One of Daniel’s big hands grabbed one side of Lando’s ass, exposing his hole. Charles licked a wide stripe over it with the flat of his tongue, getting him wet. Lando moaned around his cock and pushed his hips back further.

Daniel tightened his grip,” Stay still Lando. Keep making Charles feel good and he’ll take care of you.”

Lando groaned again, the vibrations sending shivers up Charles’s spine, but otherwise stayed still. Charles continued to lick into him, getting him wet and relaxed before carefully rubbing one finger around his rim, testing the waters. His hand was stopped by Daniel, who produced lube seemingly out of thin air and coated two of his fingers in it. Charles massaged it between his fingers for a few seconds to warm it before slowly pushing on finger in. At the same time, Lando sank further down on his cock, one hand moving to gently cradle his balls as he bobbed his head up and down. 

“Fuck cheri,” Charles moaned, flopping his head back against the pillows. “That feels so good.”

Daniel stayed by his head, running his hands through his hair and whispering dirty things in his ear. 

“Does that feel good baby? Lando gives good head, doesn't he? You’re making him feel so good baby, he’s drooling for it. You’re such a sweet boy Charles, I’m so proud of you. We’re gonna make you feel so good tonight baby.”

His words made Charles whine, biting down on the back of Lando’s thigh, which made the younger boy whimper. 

“Are you getting close, baby?” Daniel asked. Charles nodded his assent and Daniel gave Max a look over Lando’s back. Max was somewhere by Charles hip, presumably making Lando just as turned on as Daniel had made him. Max grabbed Lando’s curls, tugging lightly to make him stop. 

“Charles is getting close schatje. We don’t want him to come before we get to the good part do we?”

“Nuh uh,” Lando wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and turned to look at Charles over his shoulder. “Was it good?”

“So good,” Charles praised, rubbing his hip. “You always do so well.”

Lando preened at the praise and maneuvered himself so that he was no longer straddling Charles, before leaning down to kiss him, obviously not caring about where Charles’s mouth had just been. 

“Lando, do you want to help me prep him?” Max asked. 

“What do I need to do?”

“Come here and I’ll show you.”

Lando joined Max at the end of the bed, eager to learn. Daniel kept his position by Charles's head but moved so that he could see his face and kiss him. 

“First get a pillow so we can prop his hips up,” Charles heard Max say. Daniel reached behind them and handed one to the younger boy, who passed it to Max. “Lift your hips for me liefde.”

Charles followed directions, planting his heels into the mattress and pushing himself up so that Max could slide the pillow beneath him. Daniel passed the lube down to them and Charles could hear Max giving Lando instructions. 

“He likes it when you tease a little,” Max said. “Use one finger without any lube and just rub him gently.”

Lando did as he was told and Charles whined against Daniel, pushing his ships down into the touch.

“Very good baby. Now get some lube and start with just one finger. He can take it.”

Charles heard the sound of the cap opening and closing and Daniel pulled him in for another kiss just as Lando breached him with one thin finger. They continued trading kisses as Max talked Lando through it, working him up to three fingers. 

By then, they weren’t really kissing, more like Charles breathing against Daniel’s mouth as Lando opened him up and praises flowed from Max’s lips. 

“You’re doing so well my loves. Making each other feel good. Such good boys.”

“Is he ready?” Lando asked when three fingers were moving easily and Charles was whining shamelessly. Max reached down, feeling where his hole was stretched around Lando’s fingers, making Charles moan and cum suddenly. It spurted against his belly and Daniel moaned into his hair.

“Fuck baby, look at you.”

“I think he’s ready. Be gentle,” Max told Lando as he helped him pull out. “He’s sensitive right after he cums.”

Lando crawled up Charles’s body, carefully avoiding his now sensitive cock that was still partially hard, to kiss him.

“That was so hot,” he whined, grinding his own leaking dick against Charles’s abs. 

“Do you still want us to fuck you sweetheart?” Daniel asked.

“Yes please. I want it.”

“Okay baby. Do you still want Lando to ride you? It’s okay if you don't, you can still make him feel good while we fuck you.”

“Sit on my face?” he asked Lando.

“Fuck yes.”

“Slow down for a minute,” Max laughed. “Let us get settled before you do that okay? Who do you want first, Charles?”

“Daniel.”

Daniel and Max traded places, swapping a few dirty kisses along the way. Daniel slicked up his cock, pushing into Charles gently, letting him get used to the stretch. He wasn’t massive, but he was bigger than Lando’s fingers and it burned a bit as he slowly bottomed out. Once Daniel was fully seated, Max helped Lando straddle Charles’s face. Charles grabbed his thighs and pulled him down so that he was seated properly. He began licking him open, his hole still tasted somewhat of the lube he had used on him earlier but he didn’t mind. Under that was a taste of soap and something that was distinctly Lando. Charles was silently grateful that Lando had taken care to wash well when he was in the shower earlier. Something told him they had planned this, all of them knowing how much Lando liked to be eaten out. 

Max had taken up Daniel’s role, laying next to Charles and whispering dirty things in his ear as he gently fisted his cock that was hard once again. 

“You’re so perfect schatje. So good for us, making all of us feel so good. I’m so proud of you Charles. You’re fucking amazing.”

Charles whimpered, before resuming eating Lando out with vigor. He wanted to make him feel good, wanted him to come just from Charles playing with him. 

“Fuck,” Daniel groaned. “Charles, baby, you feel so fucking good. I’m gonna cum baby.”

A few more thrusts and Daniel was cumming, filling Charles up. He continued to fuck him slowly through his orgasm, riding out the aftershocks before pulling out slowly. Charles clenched to keep his cum inside, which was one of the hottest things Daniel had ever seen. He expected Max to follow right behind Daniel and pick up where he left off, but was disappointed when Max stayed where he was.

“Max,” he cried out, pulling away from Lando enough that they could hear his voice. “Please.”

“Make Lando cum first. Don’t be greedy baby, he deserves to feel good too doesn’t he?”

“Yes,” Charles whined.

“Good boy. Take care of Lando then I’ll take care of you.”

That spurred Charles on, and he removed one of his hands from Lando’s tight, wiggling it between his chest and Lando’s ass to get fingers in him. It might have technically been cheating, but neither Max or Daniel said he couldn’t so he continued. It wasn’t the most comfortable and his wrist started to cramp fairly quickly but he didn’t care, working two fingers inside of him and moving them until he found his prostate. It only took a few sharp jabs to the bundle of nerves and a few licks where he was stretched around his fingers for Lando’s legs to shake and him to cum over the pillows behind Charles’s head. 

Daniel helped him off of Charles, holding him close to his chest and whispering praise in his ear as he came down from the high. He settled them down on the other side of the bed, close enough that Charles could still reach him if he stretched his arm out but far enough that they had space for Lando to sprawl out across Daniel’s lap and make himself comfortable. 

Finally, finally, Max positioned himself between Charles’s legs, slicking himself up with the lube and cum that was slowly starting to drip from him. He hooked one of Charles’s legs over his arm and pushed in, not stopping until he bottomed out. Charles came immediately, sensitive and worked up.

“Fuck,” Max groaned, pulling back before fucking back in slowly. “That was so hot. You’ve done so well for us tonight Charles. You’re perfect.”

“Fuck me please,” Charles whined, grabbing at Max’s shoulders to pull him in as closely as he could get him. 

“I will baby. I’m going to make you feel good because you deserve it. You’re done so well, and I’m so proud of you. We all are.”

Charles turned his head to look at Daniel and Lando. Daniel smiled at him and reached out to take his hand.

“I love you sweet boy. You’ve done so well, just a little more. Make Max feel good sweetheart.”

“Je vous aime.”

“I love you more.”

“I love you Charlie,” Lando whispered.

With a few more thrusts, Max was spilling inside him, pressing soft kisses over Charles’s face as he rode out his orgasm. He pulled out carefully, mindful of how sensitive he probably was after taking both of them and having two orgasms himself.

“I’ll take Lando next door to shower in my room,” Daniel said quietly, so as not to disturb the two boys currently feeling very fucked out and floaty. “You take care of Charles here yesh?”

“Of course.”

Daniel leaned over to kiss him and cradled the back of his head gently, “I love you Maxy. You did so well tonight too. You take care of our boys so well. I’m so proud of you.”

“I love you too Daniel.”

Daniel pressed another quick kiss to his lips and pulled away. He gathered Lando up and herded him through the door that attached his room to Max’s, silently praising whatever Red Bull executive thought that it would be a good idea. He stopped briefly to grab clothes for both of them before getting the younger boy into a steaming shower. 

Max gave Charles a few minutes to recover feeling in his legs, taking the time to get the hot water running and pick out comfortable clothes for both of them. Once he was steady enough to walk with minimal assistance, Max got him into the shower, pushing him under the spray so he could wash his hair. They took their time, holding each other in the steam, trading soft kisses back and forth until they got tired of standing. Once they were dressed and had their teeth brushed, they made their way back into the bedroom, where Lando and Daniel were already snuggled up in bed. They had stripped the dirty sheets and replaced them with the ones from Daniel’s room, since they wouldn’t be using them anyway and housekeeping would come to change them in the morning. Daniel was laying on his back, scrolling on his phone with Lando mostly on top of him, the younger man drifting in and out of sleep. Max pushed Charles into the middle, where Lando moved himself partially off of Daniel to snuggle into Charles more. Max hugged him from behind, sliding one hand under his t-shirt to rub gently across his chest and stomach.

“Did you enjoy your night schatje?” he asked quietly so as not to disturb Lando, who was snoring softly now that they were all in bed, and Daniel who was well on his way to being asleep as well. 

“Very much.”

“Good. I am very proud of you Charles.”

“I know Maxy. Thank you for showing me that, but I am tired. Sleep now.”

“Of course. Goodnight Charles.”

“Goodnight cheri.”

*****

Lando woke a few hours later, warm and comfortable in Daniel’s arms with his head on Charles’s chest. He laid there for a while, hoping he would drift back to sleep. However, that was not the case. So he wiggled around, being careful not to wake his partners until he could reach his phone where it had fallen between himself and Daniel.

He scrolled through his chat notifications, responding to an offer from Carlos to play a few rounds of golf when they arrived back in Monaco before leaving on their holidays. As he clicked out of his chat with Carlos, preparing to put his phone down and go to sleep, he noticed the green icon by Oscar’s name, indicating that he was active. He acted on a whim and shot off a quick text.

LN4: Must have been a pretty good night if you’re still awake (wink, wink)

Oscar read it almost immediately and began typing, the gray dots appearing on his screen before disappearing again. Just when he was about to put his phone down, a message appeared from Oscar that made him want to laugh and coo at the same time.

It was a photo of Oscar in a hotel bed that looked very similar to the one Lando was currently occupying. Except Oscar wasn’t alone, instead Logan Sargeant was curled up against his side, hair a mess, sticking his tongue out at the camera while Oscar laughed.

OP81: Pretty damn good

Lando smiled to himself and snapped a quick photo of his own. It was hard to get them all in it at this angle but he managed to catch where Daniel was drooling into the pillow and Max’s face squished against the back of Charles’s neck. He sent it off to Oscar with a short caption underneath.LN4: Yeah us too

[xentari94]

Okay so I’m going to put in my 2 cents on the matter of the mwiii ending. I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t write some semblance of a theory post. Maybe I’m in denial. If so I don’t. fucking. care. Soap may not be my personal comfort character in the same sense like he is to so many others, but finding out about the campaign today has left me depressed as fuck over this ngl. I love Simon and Johnny so much 💀 🧼 ❤️ And quite frankly this was some steaming FUCKING bullshittery that I will never accept. So… without further a-due

SPOILERS!!!!

SPOILERS!!!!

SPOILERS!!!!

SPOILERS!!!!

———————————

Now I haven’t watched all of the campaign yet, so I can’t get a solid feel of how rushed it is like people are saying. I started watching the first mission before I got distracted with the comment section on YouTube, and that’s when I found out what happens and the whole damn thing snowballed from there. Might go back and watch it later for the boys sake mainly, and to gather more accurate information. But I’ve seen enough to form a theory that Soap may not actually be dead.

Again… I know I’m probably just denial typing but if it helps then it helps ya know? And I like to put a bit of faith behind these, else there would be no point in making them.

So to start, we see Soap get shot and fall but to me personally our view of him was never close enough to determine if he was actually breathing or not. Man just got shot twice, at least once critical, any breathing gonna be labored as fuck I’d take it. Our only thing to go by is Price saying k.i.a out loud which- later I thought- Makarov may have been injured and ran, but he could still have men in the area watching the boys, reporting back to him anything that could have occurred after his bitchass self made his little bitchass exit. Soap could still have been alive, but in the moment the need to announce aloud that Makarov did him in was needed to keep his true status unknown to any potential unnecessary ears or planted bugs to help keep Soap that way until the rest of the boys could get him to medical.

The whole scene with Laswell redacting reports? At least I’m assuming that’s what that was, keeping information about the mission secure because the enemy is still out there. I tried reading it as it went, I’ll have to go back later and really pay attention to what was typed before it was marked out. Labeling Soap k.i.a again as possible cover up to keep him safe.

The ashes scene, while heart wrenching, is such an odd thing to jump to imo. Did Soap not have a family waiting for him? Never known otherwise unless I missed something along the way. I mean being realistic here the bodies of soldiers are usually sent back to the families if able. And Soap was still intact. So the team scattering ashes really doesn’t make sense if you really think about it, if Soap was actually dead. Just automatically cremating him would be cruel. Yes Soap was a part of their team family … but not letting a possible blood family get their son back… unless there was a time skip and they were allowed some of Soaps ashes… idk.

On the other hand perhaps a possible family couldn’t be notified of their son’s condition due to their safety potentially being in jeopardy. Now there is the matter of Soaps dog tags of course, who has those? Soaps family? Or maybe Ghost? I didn’t see them nor hear mention of them so it’s still too soon to say what happened with them. And if the boys needed a way to make soaps death look real. Needed to really send it and make it seem untraceable well… tossing what looks to be ashes would be the best choice. While Soap is kept hidden away under constant surveillance as he hopefully recovers. Makarov could have eyes always on them. I wouldn’t doubt that he did.

Just too many plotholes. Too many what ifs. Too soon to tell. Am I mad? Upset? Pissed? You betcha ass I am. I let my hopes get too high in believing the 141 would get some strong plot armor this go around. Ghost survived, can you blame me? A part of me just refuses to accept and believe Soap is gone. That my favorite duo is done. Big chance I’m wrong I know. But always a chance I could be right. A chance I’m willing to take.

[purplebass]

The Sound of Silence - Gracetopher

Canon divergent. It is a follow up one shot of my scene fix-it/rewrite called "Five". I attached the link in this fic but you don't need to read it to understand the context of this story. You should just know it deviates from Chapter 26 of CoT and [redacted] never died. :) This one shot is set after "Five" but it can be read as a standalone. Grace is waiting for Christopher to wake up. Anna also makes a brief appearance. Read "Five" (Grace kills Tatiana) Read "Hold it Together" (Lucie and Jesse talk after "Five")

Read this story on A03 💙

“I guess you stayed here enough, you know.”

Grace barely registered Anna’s voice, in a room otherwise silent aside from the tension rolling off her in waves. She could easily ignore the electricity in the room and focus on the silence. 

Grace liked silence, even though even the lack of noise had its meaning. 

For one, it could mean that the situation was stable. Unchanged. This kind of silence was a good silence, in a way. It was a silence that meant: wait. The tide could change soon, but there wasn’t an indication of when that would happen. It could only get better, but also… she didn’t want to think about this.

The second type of silence was more dire. It was the silence that lurked in the shadows, the kind of quiet followed by a storm. Grace was almost sure this type of silence was already upon them, upon the whole city, and that Tatiana’s attack was just the beginning. That soon, the apparent quietness would turn into chaos and it would crush and slice them open. She knew that even silence had an aftermath. Consequences.

The stillness in the room where they had taken Christopher was overbearing, but it couldn’t be helped. They had to go through that, she had to go through that. Through that silence. She was sure it wouldn’t have an unpredictable outcome. No one of them was a doctor, but they were shadowhunters, and Kit’s friends had assured that he would make it, so she would try to believe them. His chest still rose and fell, and this was enough to make her believe. To believe in him. 

“I want to stay,” she replied firmly, uncaring if she would sound brazen. “You can’t tell me what I should do.”

Anna scoffed, her arms crossed on her chest. She had her back to the wall, and hadn’t sat ever since they had taken Christopher in this room. Grace could understand her. He was her brother, and she cared for him. Grace had found herself in such a position years ago.

“Your presence won’t help him wake,” she said bitterly. “If any, he would be reminded of how he got his wound.”

Grace wasn’t sure, but she had expected Anna to utter such words of disdain. She had shared similar words to Jesse before he left and assured himself Grace was fine. She imagined the reason. She knew she wouldn’t be spared either, solely because she was also linked to that woman, but she hoped that Anna would wait. That she would keep silent. 

The anger radiating off Anna filled the silence and it was unnerving. It became stronger after the boys had left and she had offered to stay to watch over Kit until he woke up. Anna had clearly not liked that, but Grace did not care about her. Christopher was the only one who mattered in this room. She was doing this for him. 

“Nor will your animosity,” Grace said coldly, her eyes focusing on Christopher’s sleeping figure. 

Anna rolled her eyes, and she was ready to comment on that when Kit stirred in the bed, and she sauntered to the opposite side to where Grace was sitting. He was finally waking up.

“My shoulder,” he cried. “I can’t feel it. I guess I still haven’t healed?”

Grace couldn’t help but laugh, tears of relief blurring her vision. “I’m afraid not.”

“It’s a miracle the knife barely grazed you,” Anna said, underlining the word barely. “But it still did some damage. Thankfully, you will just need a few days to go back to normal.”

Christopher frowned at his sister and then glanced at Grace. “I apologize, my eyesight is not good. Can you get my glasses?” Anna was already moving to the other side of the bed to get them, but Grace, who was closer, beat her to it. “There, there, this is better. Why are you glaring at Grace, sister?”

Grace turned to her, but Anna had already schooled her expression. Now she was managing a tight smile and she seemed taken aback by his comment. “What gave you the impression?”

Kit shrugged, but he hissed when his left side throbbed in pain. “Are you okay?” Grace wondered softly. She brushed Kit’s hair from his face, a hint of surprise in his eyes. He didn’t reply.

“Anna,” he said instead. “Can you leave us alone?”

She looked scorned, but she tried not to show it. “Are you sure?” She glanced at Grace again as if she was a threat, but she was looking at Christopher so she didn’t see her. “What if you need help?”

“If I need help, I’m sure Grace can provide me with a glass of water, if I need it?”

“But –”

“I am fine,” he reassured her. “You can tell the others I woke up, but hold them off from coming here for a bit. I am still recovering, after all.”

Anna wanted to object to her brother’s requests, but her expression sweetened. “Call me if you need anything,” she muttered flatly, and then she left the room.

“I don’t think she took it well, but she’ll manage,” Kit grinned. Grace suspected this was a dynamic that happened often between them. Again, she could understand. He was her younger brother, after all.  

“She was worried sick about you,” Grace confessed. “She hasn’t left the room for hours.”

“And so haven’t you,” he guessed. “I remember seeing your face when they brought me here.”

“Did you?”

“I was wounded but I still had my glasses on,” he giggled, but he cried in pain and had to stop. Grace had already taken her stele from the pocket of her dress, ready to draw a healing rune on him. “I imagine we should hold off from jokes until I’m healed.”

“Does it hurt?” Grace wondered, her hand still mid-air, reaching for the place where the knife had wounded him, then retreating it on her lap. She sighed.

“A little,” he confessed. “But I’m still here, aren’t I? First the poison, then the knife,” he began to chuckle but had to stop when Grace frowned at him. “I’m sorry, I’m betraying my own words, but it was too funny not to mention. I avoided death twice. Perhaps I’m immortal. Maybe I have seven lives like cats!”

Grace rolled her eyes and managed a tiny smile. “Only you could make fun of your near death experiences,” she shook her head. “I just hope you won’t try your hand at finding that out,” she said with concern.

“Oh, Grace,” he said. “I didn’t mean it for real,” he apologized. 

Grace hadn’t realized she had started crying, not until she felt her thumb wet with tears. She gazed up at him and he was frowning, clearly worried. He had never seen her cry, nor had she ever cried in front of someone who wasn’t her own brother. She felt vulnerable at that moment, but he had to know. He had to —

“Do not joke about death anymore,” she bawled, keeping her eyes leveled with his. As if this was an order more of a plea.

“I won’t,” he replied. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I wanted to lighten the mood, but I failed. I guess I’m still shocked by whatever happened to me.”

She sniffled, and Kit offered her his handkerchief. For some reason, he still had it in the pocket on the side of him that hadn’t been wounded. Grace accepted it gladly, and wiped her face. “I cut that woman’s – mama’s throat,” she confessed after a long silence. She didn’t know why she still insisted on calling her mother, but old habits die hard. “I ended her.”

“Oh,” he simply said. “I don’t like to speak ill of people, most of all dead people, but can I say she had it coming?”

That was an answer she didn’t expect, but Christopher was never predictable. Grace smiled despite herself, and her current mood. “It’s just that,” she sighed, unable to find the right words, “after she threw that knife on you, I – I lost it. She was distracted and I knew I had to do it,” she turned serious now, still shaken by it all. Her hands trembled in her lap. “I had to do it for a lot of reasons,” one for me, one for my brother, one for you. One… “Otherwise –”

“She would have escaped again,” he completed for her. “That woman was out of her mind.”

Grace nodded, feeling lighter that she had shared this information with him. Kit yawned.  “Are you tired? Should I…?”

“My shoulder is sore,” he admitted, “but otherwise, I feel decent. Just a little worn out. Unless you want to leave, you can stay as long as you wish, Grace.”

“Okay, then I wish to stay,” she admitted. “Do you want me to read to you? I could get something from the library.”

“Do you happen to have the notes I gave you about fire messages? Perhaps we could try to understand why they don’t work yet,” he suggested. “My mind won’t quiet until we make them work.”

Grace smiled again, this time with excitement. It wasn’t lost on her that Christopher had referred to them as a duo. “Yes, I kept them in my dress pocket,” she said, and produced the crumpled papers. “I was afraid I would lose them.”

“All right, where were we?” he pondered, and then they set to work. 

Grace wished she could always fill the silence like this.

*

I hope you like this <3 Know that this isn't the last one shot of this "CoT Rewrite" I'm writing :)

[deathxproof]

Get To Know Rory Williams & The Master!

It’s an AU where Rory Williams is actually, gasp, the Master in a fobwatch! Verse and timeline dependent. That’s it. All natural whole ingredients you can pronounce. Sometimes. Established in 2013, Various Verses to choose from. Before jumping in, Here Are My Rules! Please check them out! Now! Come meet Rory Williams. Come meet the Master. Come meet Rory!Master. 

Name: Rory Williams

AKA: [REDACTED] Williams, Rory Pond

Age: ~26-33

Gender: Trans Man

Sexuality: Bisexual

Species: Human

Occupation: Nurse. Time Lord babysitter.

Faceclaim: Arthur Darvill

Rory’s Playlist!

Record Scratch

Name: The Master

AKA: Koschei Oakdown, Koschei, and an entirely too-long list of stupid aliases. 

Age: ??? ??? 2500 ?? 3000? 3500??? He isn’t really sure anymore after Rory’s Auton Stint

Gender: Masculine-Adjacent (** If it ever comes up, I write Rory & Rory!Master as, what can best be described for an alien Time Lord as afab trans masc. If that bothers you or somehow rubs you incorrectly, I can’t believe I have to point it out, but you’re on the wrong blog.)

Sexuality: A flavor of psychosexual obsessive Space Queer

Species: Time Lord 

Occupation: Being A Menace 

Faceclaim: Arthur Darvill again!

The Master’s Playlist!: Destroying Planets Out Of Spite

Rory!Master !

Disaster TARDIS: The Master Edition (The Master’s Music Taste?)

Bonus!(older playlists): I Got Stuck In A Fobwatch & All I Got For It Was This Lousy Found Family && Help! My Husband Is A Time Lord With A Really Weird Thing For My Best Friend!! :(( && I Am So Old And So Tired Of My Ex’s Shenanigans

Background—

 Rory Williams— 

Current Residence: Leadworth, otherwise the TARDIS Parents(Living): Brian Williams  Parents(Deceased): Mallory Williams

Significant Others: Amy Pond 

Children: Melody Pond/River Song

Other Significant Friends: The Doctor (friend, pain, technical son-in-law)

Rory Williams’ timeline falls(or ends?) sometime between early Season 7 to post-Angels Take Manhattan when the fobwatch opens- just sort of depends on the timing. As usual I’m pretty fine with adapting if it comes into play— but even then, that mostly just falls for Elevens, Amys, Rivers, and those applicable to those seasons I guess yknow ¯_(ツ)_/¯.

Verses—

Super flexible with verses and situations to throw Rory & The Master in! His(and thereby the Master’s) five main-ish verses are—

Default- exactly what you imagine. Fobwatched!Rory comes up the same way in the show— he dates and marries Amy, they travel with the Doctor.

Rory A Little To The Left- a catch-all verse for… A lot of other stuff. Do you want your character to generally be in Amy’s place? Does Rory have a friend who he confides in about his time traveling and the weird watch dreams he has because of it? Rory as the Master’s companion, somehow? Anything else A Little or A Lot To The Left?

The Boy Who Waited- Pretty much what it says on the tin. Rory’s exactly in Amy’s place. A fun barely-used exploration in throwing the Doctor into Rory Williams’ backyard instead of Amy and the results of that.

The Girl Who Didn’t Have To Wait- Oops! Oopsie! Rory opens the watch incredibly early! Amy Pond(or your character) gets offered to be the Master’s companion.

Rory’s Back- Oops! Something else went wrong! The Master’s the Master again, but Rory Williams… Comes through sometimes? They share a body? Rory is essentially condemned to a personal hell?

Want to work out something else? Have something else in mind? Let me know dude!

The Master— 

Current Timeline: Post-Missy, Pre-Dhawan, Post-Season-6A

Current Residence: TARDIS

TARDIS Appearance: Busted up Vending Machine, otherwise a pretty gritty and grimy Payphone Booth. 

Parents:

Significant Others:

Children: Susan Foreman (Granddaughter?)(Weird daughter?)(Step-something?) River Song???

Other Significant People: The Doctor (arch enemy, messy ex, millennia-long-object-of-obsession) 

The Master… Well. Missy— the Master- never intended to be anything more than a simple human for a handful of decades. It almost felt like vacation, but instead it came across more as insurance that they wouldn’t… Run into… Any versions of themselves. Or more importantly: the Doctor.

Alright, failed step one.Just went a bit backwards.

It all happened rather fast in hindsight. A last-minute decision to go under the chameleon arch, just before Missy was regenerating. The change was supposed to happen post-regeneration, in a new body, a new Master. It happened, instead, mid-regeneration. It produced a child. No name, no backstory, no plan.

The night Amelia Pond settles into a house with a crack in the bedroom wall in Leadworth, a TARDIS crashes in Brian and Mallory Williams’ backyard a few streets over. A little girl comes wandering into their kitchen from the backyard. And suddenly both of them remember that they were supposed to be renovating their daughter’s bedroom (that strangely looks like a home office at the time), and put Mallory(it means unlucky, ha.) Rory Williams to sleep on the couch. 

The Master, meanwhile, sits inside of an old and tarnished up wrist watch. What was supposed to be a 90-odd-year excursion maximum accidentally turned into a 1000+ year technicality due to the Doctor, of all people.

Default is that he releases from the watch sometime before Angels Take Manhattan. The longer they stay in the TARDIS, the worse Rory gets, the more things start to stick out in the end… 

Darvill!Master weasels his way out eventually, usually after Rory’s attention is turned to the wrist watch that’s conveniently come with him throughout weddings and moves and the Pandorica and all of his deaths and the TARDIS and—

When he comes out(ha.) there’s a lot of mixed feelings. Nothing has been processed fully from Missy, he’s suffering from a strange millennia-old regeneration hangover that hung on in the watch, the Master was human for entirely too long. Rory was around for entirely too long and managed to get his life wrapped up in one of the two people in the universe he was hiding out from.

What could possibly go wrong with that? 

[idahofallshq]

wow, orion's backstory and upbringing is truly unique! in some ways, orion is one the lucky ones, being able to grow up at sea, away from the reaches of the infection, where it's calm and quiet. we love the idea of someone so sheltered going from the stillness of the sea to the fiery turmoil in idaho falls. we wonder how his non confrontational tendencies will hold up in the face of a new uprising, will he be able to sit back and watch alexei break down the zone?

welcome to idaho falls, orion lum! please make sure to complete the accepted checklist so we can invite you to our servers. we can’t wait to start writing with you!

OOC.

Name: Yen

Age: 27

Pronouns: she/her

Timezone: hst

previous roleplay blog: redacted

wanted connection?: n/a

IC.

 Name: Orion Lum

gender & pronouns: Cis man, he/him

faceclaim: Daniel Henney

age & birthdate: 45, 12 February 1999.

Occupation: Mechanical Engineer

immunity: Yes, but he doesn’t know it.

skills.  

Mechanical Engineering. Orion grew up learning about engines and heavy machinery many times the size of himself, and things he works on these days are far less difficult to understand by comparison. He finds it a bit fascinating to see it all in smaller scale, though he will admit it can be slightly infuriating at times because things are so small.

Radio/Communications. His mother was one of the communications specialists aboard the cargo barge he grew up on, and she spent many an hour teaching a fascinated little boy about all things communications and radios. Given enough time and the right parts, he can usually MacGyver old and decrepit radios into working states.

Metal Working. Orion knows how to weld both underwater and above water. Gotta learn how to patch the holes in your ship when you can't take it in for dry dock maintenance, and it's a skill that's become quite valuable to know how to do it well with minimal waste.

 positive traits.

Patient. If there's something the monotony of being at sea for weeks at a time brings, it's an astounding amount of patience. He's resilient and dedicated in his work, and rarely does impatience or frustration shake his convictions.

Clever. Perhaps it started with an obsession with a rubix cube as a kid, but Orion often finds himself fascinated by puzzles and the challenge of finding and fixing unknown problems with machines. He's always enjoyed the puzzle of finding out what makes a machine tick (or not tick), and any time he gets a new machine to dig around in is always rather stimulating for his intellectual curiosities. The more obscure the problem, the more eager he is to look for that unexpected or unconventional answer to the riddle.

Gentle Giant. He's often been told that when he works he often wears a rather intimidating look of concentration that's often mistaken for the colloquially named "resting bitch face". He doesn't often intentionally put on airs of intimidation often, but combined with his height and stature, on the occasion it's called for it comes in quite handy. Otherwise, though he can fend for himself, he’s a bit more pacifist in nature, with actual violence as something as a last resort.  

negative traits.

Non Confrontational: Finds a certain comfort in routine and relative safety. If his bubble isn’t actively threatened, he’s not likely to test actions that he perceives could potentially upset his status quo.

Self Sacrificing. Doesn’t often let himself say no enough. He has a tendency to put others first, perhaps a little too often.

Defensive: Though he doesn't always act on it, he hates being condescended to by holier than thou individuals who let their perceived rank blow their heads up with bravado. The value of being humble with your fortune was something instilled in him from a young age, and to see many enforcers let their designation of power get to their head grates on his nerves, especially when it’s directed towards himself.

 Cw: parental death

You've spent more of your life on water than land, at least, that'd been the case when the world went to hell. Your father had been the captain of a cargo freight liner, your mother part of the crew, and as long as you can remember you've always called the sea home. The story goes they took you out to sea as soon as the doctor gave the okay, and you took your first steps on floors that rolled with waves. You said your first words somewhere between Hawaii and Guam, learned your alphabet where A was for, not Apple, but Alpha. B was for Bravo. Charlie, Delta, Echo, and so on. Some kids learned to count with blocks, you learned to count shipping containers, your maths with shipping manifests. Some kids learn their first bad words on the playground, you learned them in the galley with the colorful vocabulary of a crew of seamen.

By the time you’re 12 or 13, most kids are entrenched with the dramas of middle school, but you’re arms deep in engine grease and welding masks because you’ve made friends with the old geezers that keep the ship together. They teach you all there is to know about mechanics, but of course they have the sense to start you off on small watercraft before they let you at the bowels of the engine rooms. With it all of course, comes the knowledge of how to take apart, put back together, and of course operate a dozen or so different water vehicles and heavy equipment. You're even getting paid for it. It's a life on the open seas and you love it.

Mom unexpectedly passes you when you're 14, and you and the sea are all there is to keep dad together. But the world falls to pieces before he can, and it all happens with a single radio transmission.

At first you stay out at sea because the ports have closed temporarily. At first you and the others of the small crew grumble, because you've been at sea for weeks and the desire for shore leave is just beyond their reach--there’s much to catch up on, after all. Friends to see, food to eat, new movies to watch--but you remain aboard even though you’re all not happy about it. But then, the radio transmissions become more dire. "Closed for an abundance of caution" becomes "closed for containment" and so on. Disgruntled impatience with the bureaucracy of Port Authority turns from disbelief, to shock and horror. Eventually they stop receiving transmissions. And the silence ends up being far more unnerving than receiving patchy news of the infected was.

There had been a line of freight liners, posted for weeks outside the port as commercial trade came to a standstill, and a choice had to be made. Some, like your dad, wanted to turn the freight vessel around and get back out to open sea. If things had gone bad enough that transmissions had gone down, being a stone's throw away from the shore surely wasn't a good idea. But some all the same wanted to get to land. And so the crew divided. Your dad lets some of the crew go off for shore, the rest of you remain, the ones that look to silent and smoking shores with too much unease. You weigh anchor, leaving the congested water lanes at the Port of Los Angeles far behind you for open sea. They'd been lucky enough to have enough fuel to get them a fair distance out to sea, because news carries from other radio frequencies used by other freight carriers--the situation gets monumentally worse on the continent. Very, very quickly.

A temporary retreat to the sea becomes permanent for the foreseeable future. The cargo you were all once so eager to offload, but hadn't been allowed to, miraculously carries your survival for over a decade before they're scraping the bottom of the barrel. There's no more food. The non-perishables they'd been lucky enough to be transporting when it all went to hell runs out. The meager crops they’ve managed to grow from seeds scavenged from your containers get swept away or drowned in sea water after a bad storm. Fish, though a logical source for food, isn’t reliable when you’re not best equipped for it. You’re on a frigate, after all, not a fishing vessel.

Moral isn’t good. It damn well tanks with your father’s unexpected death. He'd been a stubborn man, and a storm at sea had the man hitting his head in just the wrong way. He'd been fine, initially, just a sore bump, he'd said. But he dismisses the seriousness of it all, doesn't tell anyone of the throbbing bruise beneath his hair that simply gets worse.

One day he doesn't wake up.

It's not long after that, supplies are basically nil, and the state of the engines is becoming more and more of a concern. You’ve done your best, but there’s only so much you and the crew can do without your ship seeing a dock for proper maintenance for over a decade. It’s time.

So they make the tough call to fire up the engines properly and weigh anchor. These days you operate using minimal power to get by, only firing up the engine enough to make sure she doesn’t corrode - keeping her in good enough shape so she could meet the inevitable task of one last journey. You dip into that last reserve of fuel that’s just enough to get you close enough to shore to take a skiff, and the first step you take on land in years is to the sight of unrecognizable shores.

The world you find yourself in is a wasteland that finds you desperately missing your oasis at sea. Gods how you wish you'd found a way to stay there. It’s one thing to hear about it on the radio, to not hear about it for years in the silence of the radio waves. It’s something else entirely to see just how understated it all was.

You'd once thought the trappings of the mainland hell in a handbasket, the stillness of the unmoving earth unnerving. Now it’s unnerving for an entirely different reason and hell has long escaped the handbasket.

The west coast is obliterated and a minefield of undead to navigate, you make your way up the California coast. And it doesn’t take long to figure out that FEDRA is bad news. You take to the mountains, sticking to the old Pacific Crest Trail that your parents once told you stories of. You walk the same trails they once hiked, the journey under the stars and trees a novelty to hold tight to your chest. That odd bit of sentimentality follows you and the remaining crew  as you march along the mountain ridges, making camps of relative safety at old firewatch towers, changing locations periodically for a few years. You cross the border into Oregon eventually, and the forest and woods you’ve claimed safety in become more treacherous.

You’re fewer in number and several years at land when you hear of Jackson Town on an old radio you manage to tap into at one of those old firewatch towers. After an especially difficult winter, you all decide it’s time to take the risk of a settlement, and you plot the journey to Wyoming. But through an uncontrollable chain of events, you end up in Idaho Falls instead.

And gods, do you hate it here. Alexei’s reign is absolute, and rife with a cruelty and authoritarian obsession that turns your stomach. You’ve been here for a few years now, managing to earn yourself a position of minor importance with all the mechanical engineering knowledge you’ve picked up aboard the ship. Truck engines… boiler heaters… the water pump station -- it all seems like child’s play compared to the immense inner workings that allowed freight liners to cross oceans.

The tools and your minimal welding kit you’ve lugged across several states and over mountains have paid their weight in gold, because it’s bought you the value of your life and skills in a tyrant’s domain for several years now. You long for the sea, long to leave for greener pastures even if Jackson Town may not be it any more, and something tells you that opportunity lurks around the corner.

Unrest and whispers of a people that have had enough reach your ears, and though Alexei responds as he always does, there’s something different this time around. You’ve walked a careful line of indifference and subservience, playing up a preference for machines and engines instead of people or politics to provide a bubble of safety for you and your own--but that armor of neutrality may not be enough any more.

As terrifying an idea it may be to consider, it may be time to stop keeping your ear to the ground and act.

 Arcs

A close call; too close. He doesn’t know he’s immune, and the close calls that he’s had with the virus he unknowingly attributes to extraordinarily good luck. Would love to see him (or another) have that realization that something’s not quite right when he gets an injury and/or has an encounter that seemingly does nothing to him but cause a little bit of inconvenient pain.

Put it together, take it apart. He knows how to keep engines from blowing up and knows how to patch them together to keep the gears and motors spinning. Would love to see him use this mechanical knowledge to cause a bit of intentional chaos.

Some random little headcanons:

Can’t fucking stand Cheetoes or Cheerios. They’d had containers full of them and yes, they didn’t let a single one go to waste despite how sick of them they became. The mere thought of them makes Orion a little green.  

Even though he’s been on land for years now, sometimes he still gets bouts of land sickness and a somewhat related insomnia. The stillness of a mattress is unnerving, and if the weather is decent enough, he’ll lug a makeshift hammock up a few meters in a tree. It almost feels like home.

Has a necklace he keeps tucked under his shirt with a few old stripped bolts from the cargo ship he’d called home for much of his life.

Was narrowly almost named Polaris by astrology obsessed parents. He thanks whatever gods there might be that they decided on Orion instead.

In the summer months will regularly go for a dip in the river if only to pretend for a moment he’s at sea.

[bradshawsweetheart]

Here we go, me yelling again🤠

But this thing lying before you, the one wearing the skin of the man that loves you like a sacrilegious coat, does not deserve peace. Bradley does. Wherever he is, if he is alive, if he is dead, if he is asleep, if he is awake…Bradley deserves peace.  

The complexity of what’s going on is so masterful and I just want to cry LOL

Everyone is waiting for him to do something, save everyone. 

He wonders if they’ll remember him saying that. He wonders if they’ll remember anything he said or did. He wonders if they’ll remember the way his voice trembled. 

Javy baby😭 literal weight of the world on his and Nat’s shoulders

They will always remember what Miss Phoenix sounded like when Mister Bob died right there in front of everyone, his body pale and bloody and her wails deafening.

This is so heartbreaking and reminds me of the behind the scenes fact of the [REDACTED] movie where they had to cut the audio of Daniel Radcliffe’s wailing over Gary Oldman because it was too gut-wrenching🥲

“I’m a boy scout,” he answers incredulously. Like, duh. Of course. That’s how. 

I just cackled LMAO

But you. You’re someone he can help. You’re someone that just shot three times.

And she’s the someone with only one bullet left now ono

“Look at these guns, huh? Who’d wanna tussle with me?”

He’s trying so hard to reassure them I’m so sad LOL

He wonders, momentarily, if it will sound like that forever now that you’ve been choked within an inch of your life. 

My name is Katniss Everdeen. I’m from District 12.

Coyote’s eyes fall to the ground. You can see it written across his face--the grief, the shock. His brows knit and his lips turn down.

Oh baby :(((((

“He hasn’t done anything except crop his own shirts and-and make goo-goo eyes at Gale. Right? Something isn’t right here.” 

LMFAOOOOO SO TRUE!!

“Bradley isn’t my best friend,” Phoenix whispers. “Bob was.”

Oof, poor word choice Javy🥲

“You mean you?” Phoenix asks--her tone is pointed and frustrated, but you’re not angry with her. 

Natasha pls😭😭

“If he’s possessed…” Phoenix starts, scratching her head and wilting beneath the sun like a flower. “Could we get him back? Or is he gone for good?”

Phoenix is me messaging Millie after every update LMFAO

“What if we burned the ax?” Coyote says. “Like, that’s what happens in The Evil Dead. They burn the book and--!” 

So true Javy!! Become Ash Williams!!

“Look,” Coyote starts, glaring at Phoenix. His palms are sweaty. “We all know that you’re aching real bad about Bob, okay? But you’re not the only one who lost someone today. We all lost people today. We all lost Bob today.”

I mean… he has a point. Sorry babe. :(

“I need you guys to move the rock and lock me in there with him,” you tell them. Your fingers are numb. “And don’t let us out until it’s over.” 

I’m going to throw up I’m so tense

It’s been a cruel, cruel summer.

She said it!! She said the thing!!

“Birdie…” 

No. Stop right now.

“Birdie--what…what’s going on? Why am I tied up?” 

No more pretending to be him you stupid mf I will literally suplex you

“Please, I know this summer hasn’t been stellar, but don’t do this! Birdie, please!” 

I did laugh at this though LMAO

“You fucking whore!” He screams. “God--look what you’ve--you fucking bitch! You’re killing him! You’re killing him!” 

I would literally start sobbing I’m not going to lie

“Do you think I can’t find you again? I’ve been watching you for three summers…I saw what you did with him in the woods. I saw what you did with Jakey-boy in your cabin, you whore. I see everything you do. I’m always here. I live in your nightmares!” 

😦

“You’re leaving your friends again,” he whispers softly to you. “The ones you abandoned before…they’ve been calling out your name. They’ve been waiting for you. They want you to come to them. They’re all alone. And they’re so scared, dolly…they’re so scared without you there.” 

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck

“Hold on,” you whisper to Bradley’s body. “Just hold on, alright?” 

I CRY!!!!!

So like… Jake’s dead, right? No one’s gone back for him and he’s surely bled out by now🥲

𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 — 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

—𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐒. 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐍--𝐈𝐓 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃. —𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 𝟔.𝟗𝐊 —𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 —𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐀𝐊𝐒, 𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟐𝐍𝐃, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

Panting, you stand over his body. He’s alive--his chest is rising and falling, his lashes are fluttering, and his fingers are twitching. Already there’s a violet bruise beginning to blossom in the middle of his forehead, one that will rise and ache. But for now, as you try to catch your breath and stop the ringing in your ears, he’s out cold. 

And for one fleeting moment, as everything around you becomes muffled from the blood cottoning your ears, you’re overcome with envy. Envy that he is lying down, with his eyes closed, and his body at rest. Envy that he can just be. 

What you wouldn’t give to just lie down and be.

His lashes flutter again--Bradley’s lashes. He doesn’t wake, doesn’t really stir. He looks, almost, peaceful. But this thing lying before you, the one wearing the skin of the man that loves you like a sacrilegious coat, does not deserve peace. Bradley does. Wherever he is, if he is alive, if he is dead, if he is asleep, if he is awake…Bradley deserves peace.  

The envy fades just as suddenly as it appears--replaced with an immeasurable, gut-wrenching rage. One that dominates the ache in your muscles and the tired in your bones and the heaviness of your eyelids and the thumping inside of your chest. It burns your fingertips--singes the ends of your hair and makes all the blood come rushing to your face. 

“Fuck you,” you whisper to all this flesh and bone. Your voice does not sound like it’s coming from your mouth--it sounds like it’s coming from the mouth of a woman disturbed, pushed to the brink, close to the edge, enervated, frantic. And with a resounding and overwhelming heave, you realize that all of this is true. “I got you.”

Of course, you’re not talking to Bradley when you say this. You’re only looking at him.

He does not respond. 

Reaching into your pocket, your grip still firm on the shotgun, you finger the casings you have left. Four. You have four bullets left. And for the first time today--for the first time in a few days, really--you feel lucky. Lucky like you’ve just plucked a four-leafed clover beneath a double-rainbow beside a heads-up penny.

Okay, you think. I have to move. 

Coyote is standing at the bus doors, eyes narrowed on the crease as if Bradley is somehow going to slip in when he’s not looking. 

It’s been almost thirty minutes since the two of you left the bus barn and you haven’t come back. Bradley hasn’t come back either, which he’s sure must mean something good. But everyone heard it--the gunshot. It’s been very quiet since then.

His fingers are beginning to tremble as he grips the butcher knife. He keeps repeating it in his head, chewing over it like a mantra: c’mon, Gale. C’mon, Gale. C’mon, Gale. 

Phoenix is huddled up with all the campers at the back of the bus, her eyes wide and her mouth closed tight. She cannot rid herself of this horrified expression--and she hasn’t been able to stop crying since Bob died in her arms. 

Time keeps flitting forward--children keep whispering, Coyote keeps careful watch over the entrance, Bob grows cold at the front of the bus beneath a pile of donated jackets, palms grow sweaty on the grips of knives--and she can do nothing to stop it. The world just keeps moving and she’s staying right where she is; on this bus.

You’re not back yet. And with every aching moment that marches on, she grows more accustomed to the thought of you lying dead in the woods. It is not a comfortability with which she settles into this--but merely a placid acceptance. Something she cannot change. Something she cannot fix. Another one of her friends dead and gone. 

She’s just here on this bus. 

“Anything?” Phoenix asks--her voice is thin and muffled from all the children crowding her, each one elbowing another for a spot beside her and away from the windows. “At all?”

Coyote doesn’t look away from the bus doors. 

“Nothing,” he whispers. 

It’s quiet. A few of the campers are whimpering--Phoenix doesn’t have it in her to comfort them right now. Not when she can’t stop crying herself. Not when this terrible numbness is crawling up her legs like leeches in warm, waist-deep water. 

“Is Miss Nightingale going to come back?” A quiet voice pipes up from the back. Phoenix can’t tell who’s talking--doesn’t even turn her head to attempt to find out. “Or did Mister Rooster do something…do something real bad?” 

“She’ll come back,” Coyote answers, his tone even and serious. He holds onto the handle of his knife harder. C’mon, Gale. “She always does, right?” 

“So far,” Phoenix whispers.

She thinks of you, splayed out on the dirt, not quite fast enough to outrun Bradley. Dying just within the reach of his fingertips, your hair caught in his fists when he lunges forward, your foot slipping on a rock and giving Bradley the opportunity to come forward and take you. One minuscule mistake, one lapse in your stride, one wrong placement of your foot on the earth and you’re gone. Just like that. Just like Bob. 

“C’mon,” Coyote whispers underneath his breath. He’s a few moments away from clasping his hands together and praying out loud--would even drop to his knees right now to see you again. “C’mon, Gale. C’mon, now. Get on back here, girl. C’mon.”

“Should we go looking for her?” Another camper asks. 

“Mister Rooster would get us!” Another returns. 

Coyote can hear it now--the way in which this will all become folklore. Another story to be told around a fire, one inexperienced mouth to another, hands sticky with s’mores as they gesture. Chocolate thick on their tongue when they utter the words he got four of the counselors and the groundskeeper. 

For the first time since you left, he peels his gaze from the door to look at all the wide-eyes staring back at him. Everyone is waiting for him to do something, save everyone. 

“It’s alright,” Coyote says to them. His voice is quivering. “She’s gonna come back.”

He wonders if they’ll remember him saying that. He wonders if they’ll remember anything he said or did. He wonders if they’ll remember the way his voice trembled. 

The younger ones will have faint memories of this, like fingerprints pressed in drying clay--not fully molded, only an impression. The older ones will remember this all, yes, but it will become muddled and fragmented as the years roll forward. They will imagine more blood and less time. They will imagine phantom cuts and bruises and that it was night instead of day. Little details like this--like your hair color and what shoes they were wearing--will change constantly.

But certain parts will be true: they will always remember Nurse Nightingale pointing a gun at Mister Rooster, covered in blood and screaming for him to get away from the bus, from them. They will always remember what Miss Phoenix sounded like when Mister Bob died right there in front of everyone, his body pale and bloody and her wails deafening. They will remember being crowded in the back of the bus, waiting for the other shoe to drop, shoulder-to-shoulder. They will remember the frenzy of lanterns and flashlights as they scrambled from their cabins into the mess hall because there was an emergency. They will always remember Mister Coyote standing at the front of the bus and waiting for you to come back. 

“Are you sure she’s coming back?” One of the children asks Coyote. Just a small little thing, barely tall enough to see over the seat. One of Rooster’s, he’s sure. Two little brown eyes peering into Coyote’s. “Or did she leave--did she leave us?”

“She wouldn’t leave us,” Coyote says instantly. 

He swallows hard, looks back at the doors. You’re still not here. 

“Maybe she ran,” one of the older campers offers, shaking his head as his eyes fill with tears. “Maybe she--maybe she got away!”

“No,” Coyote insists, eyes screwed shut. “She wouldn’t leave us.”

“I hope not,” Phoenix whispers. But she knows, just as well as anyone else, that if you’ve left them behind it is because you are not alive anymore. “I really, really hope not.” 

A gunshot suddenly ripples across camp--so loud that it startles Coyote. 

“Oh, my God,” a camper shrieks. “She shot Mister Rooster!” 

“He probably got the gun!” Another says. 

“Hush,” Phoenix urges. She swallows hard. “Be quiet now.”

And then another gunshot rings out--vibrates the gravel and bounces off the loudspeaker that is still playing a jumbled Kate Bush tape. 

“Fuck,” Coyote whispers, his heart beginning to hammer. “Shit--what does that mean?” 

The third gunshot blasts through the air before anyone can answer. 

“Wait a minute,” Timmy Creighton suddenly says from the very back of the bus. “Wait a minute--that was--wait, that was three gunshots!”

“Miss Nightingale shot Mister Rooster three times!”

“No,” Timmy says, shaking his head. “That means help! Three times--S. O. S.. S.O.S!”

Coyote turns to him, eyebrow perched, hope springing to life in his chest like wildflowers after a rainstorm. 

“How do you know that?” Phoenix asks, brows furrowed. 

“I’m a boy scout,” he answers incredulously. Like, duh. Of course. That’s how. 

“S.O.S.?” Coyote asks. “So, that could be Gale--!” 

“--Or it could be him,” Phoenix interrupts, brows furrowed. “We don’t know.” 

Coyote stares at her. 

“But it could be her.” 

Phoenix swallows hard. 

“We don’t know that it’s her,” she says, shaking her head. 

“We don’t know that it’s not,” Coyote says back. 

They stare at each other for a moment. 

“I’m not leaving the bus,” she says softly. She gestures to the children. “None of us are.” 

Coyote’s brow furrows. He adjusts his grip on the knife, holds it tighter. 

“But Gale is out there,” he says. 

“So is he,” Phoenix returns softly. “And he’s already picked off five of us.”

Now Coyote looks at the ground. Bob’s body is only a few feet away from him. And Jake--God, he can’t even think about Jake right now. He won’t let himself think about him. If he thinks about his best friend dead, bloody, axed--he might just crumble. He might just fold. 

But you. You’re someone he can help. You’re someone that just shot three times. S.O.S.. And what if he were the one that shot three times? You would come running with open arms and wide eyes. He knows it. He does. He can feel it in his soul.

“You stay,” Coyote finally says, glancing back up at Phoenix and the campers. “I’ll go.”

“But Mister Coyote, what if he gets you?” Timmy asks. 

“Yeah,” another camper agrees, nodding earnestly with their brows drawn together. “Then who’s gonna save us?”

Coyote swallows hard, heart thumping. He shrugs, feigning a cool attitude.

“Couldn’t if he tried,” he says. He limply points to his bulging biceps and gives everyone the only smile he can muster--which is a very weak one. “Look at these guns, huh? Who’d wanna tussle with me?”

No one responds. 

“Be careful,” Phoenix says quietly. She won’t allow the fear she’s feeling to spill over and into the air around her--not around the children. “Don’t…don’t die.”

“I won’t,” Coyote says. 

And he means it.

Coyote, simply put, is more frightened than he’s ever been as he begins to tread through the woods. He’s walking as carefully as he can, trying not to snap twigs or kick stones. He’s holding the knife and his breath, glancing out the corner of his eye at every sound that isn’t Kate Bush. 

The sun is high in the sky--he’d guess it’s not even noon yet. The heat pours down over him, holding him in a flannel blanket as he treks carefully. His grip on the knife is harsh--he knows for certain that it’s not going anywhere.

“Gale?” He whispers--he knows you won’t be able to hear him with his voice this low, but he’s too afraid to speak any louder in case Phoenix was right. “Gale?”

You don’t respond. His heart is pounding his chest, his blood is rushing through his ears.

He’s expecting, partly, Bradley to suddenly jump out at him. He must be ducked behind a tree, his ears perked, waiting for the precise moment to collapse Coyote with brute strength. And if he goes down, if Bradley gets the upper hand, Coyote knows that it will end in his own bloodshed. 

The thought makes him dizzy. 

“Gale,” he calls again, a little louder. 

Again, though--nothing. Just the sound of flittering mosquitos and bumbling bees. 

And it’s a few more paces, a few more steps, when he suddenly feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end like something is watching him. Like someone is watching him. 

Quickly, his head is on a swivel. And at first, he doesn’t see you. Covered in blood and mud and barefoot, you almost fit in right up against the oak trees and the leaves. But there you are, yards away from him, holding the gun and the ax as you stare at Bradley’s collapsed body on the ground. 

“Gale?” Coyote asks wearily, eyebrows raised. 

At once, you find his eyes. Your face is calm and flat, your hair matted and your clothes thoroughly dyed with blood. But there is a ring of your flesh on your throat that is on total display right now, all flesh and no blood--and he knows it’s from where Bradley tried to strangle you. Kill you. 

“Javy,” you whisper--your voice is ragged and raw. 

He wonders, momentarily, if it will sound like that forever now that you’ve been choked within an inch of your life. 

Neither of you move for a moment as Coyote takes in the scene. There is too much sunlight for such a nasty sight. Too much gore and blood and bugs for the sun to be shining down on you the way it is right now.

“He’s not…dead…is he?”

“No,” you answer, shaking your head. “Just out cold. For now.” 

Coyote nods. 

“Any of that blood yours?” Coyote asks, gesturing to you with the knife. 

Swallowing, you begin to shake your head--but then you remember. Your shoulder. 

“Some,” you whisper to him, sniffling. “Not a lot.”

Coyote takes a deep breath. 

“Whose is it?” 

He’s terrified for you to answer him--but he needs to know.

Your bottom lip wobbles suddenly. You shift all your weight to your left hip and hold the ax closer to you, glancing down at Bradley. Still out. Then you take a deep breath. 

“Jake’s,” you answer. “It’s his.” 

Coyote’s eyes fall to the ground. You can see it written across his face--the grief, the shock. His brows knit and his lips turn down. And then he takes a deep breath. 

“Yeah, I figured as much,” he says. “And Bradley…?”

“It’s not…it’s not him,” you whisper. Sucking in a deep breath, you suddenly choke. You’re not sure what else to say, how else to explain it. “Well, it’s him, but it isn’t. He isn’t--it’s…it’s the maniac.”

You’re worried, for the first time today, that someone will accuse you of losing your everloving mind. That Coyote will scoff at you and try to get far, far away from you and your insanity. 

But when you look at him, he’s just looking back at you in total earnest. 

“And you know that…how?” 

Shaking your head, eyes fluttering closed, you sigh. 

“He told me,” you whisper. Your voice is still so hoarse--and your breaths are ragged. “When he…after he hurt Jake. He told me everything.” 

“The maniac did?” Coyote asks. His fingers are tingling. 

If anyone else were to say this to him, anyone in the world, he’d disbelieve them. But it’s you--and he knows, deep in his heart, that you have been closer to death and gore here than anyone else. And he believes you as firmly as his feet are planted on the earth. 

“Yes,” you answer. “Please believe me. Please, I know how it sounds--!” 

“--I believe you,” Coyote answers, brows furrowed. He looks down at Bradley’s body again. “So…what do we do now?” 

You follow his gaze. The bruise on Bradley’s head is growing into a deep, deep purple now. Purple like the irises that have suddenly sprouted up everywhere. 

“Tie him down,” you whisper. “Don’t let him out again.”

Coyote nods. 

“I can drag ‘im if you can carry the weapons,” Coyote offers. He knows your strength must be waning, knows that you must be fading fast and hard at this point. “Deal?”

“Deal,” you whisper, relieved. 

♀

Phoenix looks between the two of you, tired and scared and in mourning, her eyes heavy-lidded and her lips twisted. 

“So…he’s possessed?” She asks. 

You nod, can’t even muster the strength to utter yes. 

“I know it sounds crazy,” Coyote starts, sucking in a breath. 

“Yeah, it does,” Phoenix agrees. She looks at you. “I want you to tell me what you told him that’s made him so gung-ho on this possession idea. Alright?” 

“She didn’t have to tell me much,” Coyote says, hands on his hips. 

He glances at the nurse’s cabin, where Bradley is tied down to the bed. He still isn’t awake yet--you got him good. A pride swells in Coyote when he thinks about it; you slamming the butt of the shotgun down on Bradley’s head, preserving his life but halting his maliciousness. 

“I don’t get it,” Phoenix says. She sighs in exasperation, pinches the bridge of her nose. “What about…this says possession instead of just Bradley lost his fucking mind?” 

“I mean--look around us, Nix. Does this seem like a normal summer to you? Has Bradley ever so much as killed a fucking bug before this summer? Or the one before? Or the one before that?” Coyote asks, throwing his hands up in the air. Phoenix blinks at him. “The answer is a big, fat no. He hasn’t. He hasn’t done anything except crop his own shirts and-and make goo-goo eyes at Gale. Right? Something isn’t right here.” 

“But why does that mean he’s possessed by the fucking maniac?” Phoenix asks, groaning. “Maybe he…maybe he hid the crazy until this summer.” 

“We’re his best friends,” Coyote says, scoffing. “We would see it before.” 

Phoenix’s lip twitches. 

“Bradley isn’t my best friend,” Phoenix whispers. “Bob was.”

No one speaks for a moment. You take a deep breath--nearly wobbling on your feet.

“He was cut with the ax thirty years to the day of the original murders,” you point out. You think of the newspaper from earlier. July 19th--that was the publication date. But the murders had to have happened before then. “And he told me. Alright? He told me everything.”

“Well, crazy people like to talk,” Phoenix says. Her fingers are tingling. “Why are we believing him? He killed Bob!” 

“We know that,” Coyote snaps. He throws his arms in the air, eyes wide. “He fucking killed Jake, too! And Reuben and Mickey. Fucking--he killed Paul, Phoenix! We know that!” 

Sensing thats things are going to become too heated between Phoenix and Coyote, as her cheeks redden and his eyes grow wider, you put her hand up. 

“Let’s not lose our heads,” you say, voice soft and even but still gravely. “Listen, all I know is that before this summer, Bradley never so much as…he wouldn’t ever hurt anyone.” 

“You mean you?” Phoenix asks--her tone is pointed and frustrated, but you’re not angry with her. 

She softens when you nod, raise your blood-rimmed eyes to hers. 

“Yes,” you whisper. “He would never hurt me.” 

She shifts all her weight to her other hip, sighing deeply. Coyote is still looking at her, arms crossed, waiting for a fight. But then she looks up at you, eyes deep and sorrowful. 

“Tell me what he told you,” she whispers, really meaning it. 

Coyote’s shoulders fall--thank God. Thank fucking God. 

So, you tell her everything. Every bit, every detail, every morsel. Jake’s body on top of yours. Bradley’s quiet and calculated plan. The mask that slipped. The chase through the woods. The blood that was shed. 

And by the end of it, the three of you are standing out in the courtyard, your gazes listless and your guts empty and aching. Phoenix’s brows are blanched and her heart is racing and she can’t believe this is happening to her. Not here, in Maine of all places, at camp at all places. How is this happening to her? To all of you? 

“So, what do we do now?” Coyote asks, voice soft. 

“I don’t know,” you answer, eyes screwed shut. 

“I mean, you guys tied him to the exam table pretty good, right? Will it hold him?” Phoenix asks, glancing up at the two of you. She knows, as soon as she sees both of your faces, that the answer is a resounding no. “Okay…so, what? What do we do?”

“We have to…” Coyote starts. He stops, sighs, shakes his head. “I can’t even say it.” 

“What?” Phoenix asks. 

You clear your throat and swat a mosquito away from your face.

“We aren’t killing him,” you say to Coyote, sad and quiet. There is no anger in your bones when you say it--he’s doing what he can. All of you are. No one knows what to do and you don’t expect anything any of you says to be right or wrong. “We can’t…I can’t do that.” 

Phoenix shakes her head. 

“I mean, he killed everyone…” she whispers. “Wouldn’t it be…I don’t know, just? If we did it.” 

“No,” you answer. Your fingers are trembling--you clasp your hands together and sniffle. “No one else dies.” 

“But--!” 

You look at Phoenix right in the eyes, squinting slightly as the blood clumping your lashes flakes off. Again, you’re not angry. You understand her grief. You understand her desire for justice. You understand where she’s coming from. 

“Please don’t make me kill anyone,” you whisper to her. “I can’t…I can’t do it.” 

All three of you know that you would be the one to do it, because as strong as Coyote is and as vengeful as Phoenix is, you’re the only one that can stomach death. Death and its scent and its touch and its taste. Only you. 

“So, we don’t kill him,” Coyote says. “That leaves us with…what options?” 

“If he’s possessed…” Phoenix starts, scratching her head and wilting beneath the sun like a flower. “Could we get him back? Or is he gone for good?”

The thought of Bradley being gone forever makes a deep, endless pit open up in your belly. You feel like it will swallow you whole--so you bat it away, shake your head. 

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “He said he was…gone.” 

Coyote leans forward. 

“But in…like, in The Exorcist, they say the demon fights psychologically. Maybe that’s--maybe that’s what he’s doing, right? Lying.” 

“Well, if this were The Exorcist, we’d be short a couple priests. All we have is Mable,” Phoenix says. “And I don’t think it’d be the same.”

“Oh, real nice, Nix,” Coyote says, shaking his head. “That’s a great attitude to have.”

The tension between them is beginning to grow warm--only a spark now, but you feel that it will soon be an ember glowing orange on this sunny, blue day. 

Staring at the ground, squinting, trying to remember what happens at the end of The Exorcist, you’re hardly breathing. 

“What happens?” You ask suddenly. “What happens, like, at the end of that movie?”

“The demon moves from one body to another,” Coyote answers, brows drawn together. “And then…the new host kills themselves.” 

It’s quiet for a moment between the three of you--quiet except for the jumbled Kate Bush tape still playing over the loudspeaker. The lot of you have almost entirely tuned it out by now. 

“No,” you whisper. It’s not an option. “What else can we do?” 

No one says anything for a long moment. 

“It was his blood, right?” Coyote asks. “Like, that’s what started the whole possession thing? He cut himself on the ax--well, he cut himself on the ax.” 

“Yes,” you answer. “That’s at least what he--what he told me.”

“What if we burned the ax?” Coyote says. “Like, that’s what happens in The Evil Dead. They burn the book and--!” 

“--Are we just going to keep suggesting things that happens in movies?” Phoenix asks. “Because this isn’t a movie, Javy. People are dead.”

“He knows that,” you say, heart squeezing. “Do you have any better ideas, Nix? Really.” 

She doesn’t say anything. 

“I mean, if blood starts it…blood’s gotta end it, right?” 

“Oh, the Chekov’s gun of it all,” Phoenix grumbles. 

But then her spine prickles--it’s what Bob would say. 

Blood. You think about it as you look down at your hands--they’re covered in the stuff. Vital to life, but so commonly on the outside of flesh. A skinned knee. A bump on the head. A knick while shaving. A papercut. 

“Virgin blood is strong--pure. Untainted. That’s what…that’s what happened last time, you see. Nurse Abbott was waiting until marriage. I picked ‘em off one-by-one until she was alone…”

“We could bleed him out,” Phoenix sighs, not serious. Her tone is sour, bitter. “That oughta show him.” 

“Look,” Coyote starts, glaring at Phoenix. His palms are sweaty. “We all know that you’re aching real bad about Bob, okay? But you’re not the only one who lost someone today. We all lost people today. We all lost Bob today.”

Phoenix, her brows furrowed and her lips twisted, begins to respond before you suddenly stand and interrupt them. 

“We used to use leeches,” you say, eyes wide. 

Phoenix and Coyote blink at you, their eyes heavy and their mouths flat and their brows furrowed. You can see plainly on their faces that they’re wondering if you’re losing it finally--if the exhaustion is finally settling in. 

“What?” Phoenix asks. 

“We used to use leeches--like, whenever someone had a sickness or something, medical doctors would use leeches.” 

Coyote blinks at you. 

“What do you mean?” 

Your fingers are tingling as you wring them together, clearing your throat. There is a film of phlegm there that is making your voice hoarse still. 

“Bloodletting,” you tell them. “It--I mean, it’s been around forever. We’re talking, like, 470 B.C. kinda forever, right? Of course, like, at first everyone had a really simple view of what it did and diseases and everything. But then--God, was it like two or three years ago? Some coat from Harvard attached a leech to a tike’s ear after it’d been bitten off by a dog. It was big news. And, I mean, it’s kind of the same idea as replacement therapy.” 

“Like dialysis?” Coyote asks. “My grandpa does that.”

“Yeah,” you answer. “Just--just like that.”

“Okay,” Phoenix says, trying to digest your ramblings. “And what does that have to do with us?” 

Slowly, you sink back down. They watch you carefully. 

“If it starts with blood, it ends with blood,” you whisper. “We don’t have a lot of other options or ideas, do we?” 

“No,” Phoenix answers. “But where the fuck are we gonna get leeches?” 

“Yeah,” Coyote echoes, scratching the back of his head. 

Shaking your head, you breathe out shakily. 

“I can bleed him out,” you say. “I can do it.” 

With wide eyes, Phoenix sucks in a surprised breath. Her heart is hammering. 

“I was just messing,” she says, shaking her head. “Damn, I wasn’t serious!”

“I don’t think you should go near him,” Coyote says. He’s staring at the naked bit of your throat where your life was almost taken away from you. “I don’t think any of us should, really. It’s not safe. We’ll be dead meat if we do.”

“Look, if we don’t do something, we’re dead,” you say very seriously, looking into both their eyes. “Our friends are already dead. It’s just--it’s just us now, okay? No one is coming to help. Penny and Mav--shit, they’re still a while away from the next supply run. We’ve gotta do something. We can’t just keep running. We can’t just--we can’t just keep sitting here.” 

Phoenix’s tongue is totally dry. She’s watching you very carefully right now--you seem somber and sober. You seem, she realizes, more stable than you have since this all started. A certain calm has come over you, one that wraps you up in its arms and keeps your ragged voice even. 

“We can take shifts,” Coyote offers, his voice soft. “You can teach us how to shoot.” 

You shake your head. 

“No,” you whisper. “You two--you’ve gotta keep those campers alive, alright? That’s your job.” 

“What even is it that you want to do, huh?” Coyote asks. He settles his hands on his hips. “Give us the download.” 

“I’m gonna bleed him out,” you whisper. It all sounds so much crazier out loud--it feels like you’re talking to them from behind a thick fog, one that smells sweet and dampens your hair. “And then I’m gonna--fuck, I’m gonna stitch him up. Give him blood from the blood drive.” 

“Shit,” Coyote hisses. “We don’t know if that’ll work.” 

“No,” Phoenix agrees. “We don’t. And what if he doesn’t wake up? What if the blood isn’t enough?” 

Spine tingling, you chew on your lower lip. The blood you’re tasting isn’t your own. 

“Timmy Creighton,” you whisper. 

“What?” Phoenix asks. “The kid who’s allergic to nuts?” 

“That’s our savior?” Coyote follows. “We’re fucked. The kid tried to eat a Snickers bar last week!”

“No,” you answer, shaking your head. “Epi--it’s adrenaline. It’s what we use at the hospital when we resuscitate.” 

Phoenix furrows her brows. 

“So, it can help like…” 

“Bring him back,” you say. Your stomach turns, but you persist. “If I lose him, I can bring him back.” 

Coyote shifts uncomfortably, the thought of losing another friend today boggling his mind. His temple pulses. 

“So, what do we do?” He asks. “How can we help?” 

Taking a deep, deep breath, you glance at the nurse’s cabin. You know that he’s in there--and he’ll be waking up soon. 

“I need you guys to move the rock and lock me in there with him,” you tell them. Your fingers are numb. “And don’t let us out until it’s over.” 

“Nightingale,” Phoenix says, shaking her head. “I don’t want to do that.” 

“Yeah,” Coyote agrees. “Me neither.” 

“What choice do we have?” You say quietly. “We have to do something. We have to do something.”

Coyote sighs, leaning forward to hold his head in his hands. If he loses you, too--he doesn't know what he’s going to do. He’s so tired, he’s so scared and the thought of you locked in the room with Bradley is turning his stomach sour. 

“Why can’t we do it together?” Phoenix asks. “I mean, really!” 

“You would just get in the way,” you whisper solemnly. “I can do this.” 

“But can you?” Coyote asks, his tone edged but not malicious. He shrugs at you, mouth ajar. “He almost got you, Gale. He almost got you.” 

“But he didn’t,” you whisper, still feeling Bradley’s fingers wrapped around your throat. 

“Because of him,” Phoenix defends. “You shouldn’t do this alone.”

“I have to,” you whisper, shaking your head. Your eyes are wet. “You two…you have to keep the kids safe. Nothing can happen to them, alright?” 

His words ring in your ears.

“And when I’ve finished the kiddos off, I’ll come back for you.”  

“And what if he gets you, huh?” Coyote asks, his tone biting your ears. “Fuck--I mean, Jesus, Gale. What about us?” 

“I’ll kill him if I have to,” you say, though your tongue burns when you say it. “He isn’t getting out--!” 

“--We can’t lose you, too,” Phoenix interrupts. Sincerity drips from her tongue. “Please.” 

Turning away from them, you shut your eyes for a moment. In all the hustle, in all the grief, you completely forgot that the Kate Bush tape is still playing over the loudspeaker. It’s loud enough for you to hear over the cicadas. 

Like the sun coming out

I just know that something good is gonna happen

“Lock me in,” you whisper. You can’t look at their grief-stricken faces. Two tears fall from your cheeks. “Don’t let me out.” 

“Gale…” Coyote whispers. 

Glancing around camp, desolate and quiet, your heart squeezes. Only a few days ago, you were warding off Bradley and Coyote as you took Jake’s blood. Only a few days ago, you’re biggest concern was who you were going to end up with at the end of August. Only a few days ago, Bob and Phoenix were leading a game of Red Rover. Fanboy and Payback hosted finger football at their lunch table. Laughter echoed off the gravel. The lake lapped at the rocky shore. The trees were tall and sweet as they scraped the sky. You were bandaging scraped elbows and pulling out splinters. You were running your fingers through Jake’s hair, the sun warm on your cheeks, the crickets singing you a song. You were singing Joni Mitchell around a fire. You were smoking marijuana with your friends and sinking into the soft grass. You were reading Carrie by lamp-light. Lightning bugs used to land on your shins. Cicadas and owls used to sing you to sleep. Jake used to take you by the hand and dance with you in front of everyone, even if you were too shy, even if you were too embarrassed. Bradley said he loved you. So did Jake. 

But it’s all over now. 

It’s been a cruel, cruel summer. 

“Do it,” you whisper softly. “It ends now. It has to end now.”

“You’re gonna kill him?” Phoenix whispers. 

Nodding, your tongue quivers in your mouth. 

“It doesn’t have to be big and scary,” you mutter. “It doesn’t have to be violent.”

“Death is always violent,” Coyote says, thinking of Jake and Reuben and Mickey and Paul. “There’s nothing peaceful about it.” 

But they’re wrong. You know that they’re wrong. You’ve seen it--you’ve seen it so close that you’ve tasted it. It can be peaceful. It can be as easy as falling asleep. It can be as easy as exhaling. It can be as easy as coughing. You’ll make it easy for Bradley. 

“I’ll make it peaceful,” you whisper. 

It’s more of a promise to Bradley wherever he is. You’ll be gentle. 

“Gale,” Coyote says, shaking his head. “I just…” 

“She has to do it,” Phoenix says now, her tone soft. She looks you in the eyes, hers rimmed with red and tearful. “Bring him back, okay?”

“Okay,” you say. “I will.”

♀

He isn’t awake yet. 

From where you’re standing beside him, your body numb and your eyes stuck on his placid face, you could almost mistake him for sleeping. Eyes fluttered shut, brows unknit, lips flat, body still. Except for the blood splattering his clothing and skin and the welt on his head, maybe anyone could mistake him for sleeping. 

Exhaling, you look over at everything laid out beside you. Swiss army knife. Gauze. Suture kit. Adrenaline injections. Bags of blood--your blood--on ice. Universal donor. Morphine tablets. Everything you need to drain him of this evil and then bring him back. 

It’s sweltering in here--that’s why you usually always keep the door open. But now you’re locked in, the door barricaded and the windows reinforced. The heat seeps in like a wave. 

This will be better if he doesn’t wake up. 

And with that thought, you reach for the latex gloves, slowly slipping your hands into them. No movement from Bradley. It’s not until you shakily hold the Swiss army knife that his brows come together. 

A low groan falls from his lips as you bring the blade out. 

“Birdie…” 

Your belly turns itself inside out. 

When you don’t answer, too petrified to move, too scared to say anything, Bradley’s eyes open. And your chest feels empty when you see those eyes: no flecks of gold in his irises. Just a deeper, darker brown. Void of anything except rage. 

“What’s going on?” He asks, sounding remarkably like Bradley. He looks down, realizes he’s tied to the examination table, then looks back up at you with a pitiful expression of confusion eating his features. “Birdie--what…what’s going on? Why am I tied up?” 

“Stop calling me that,” you whisper to him, shaking your head. 

He brings how brows together, mouth ajar, then sees that you’re holding a knife. And he jerks away--a real show of wide eyes and gasps. 

“What--what are you gonna do with that?” 

“Drop the act,” you whisper, shaking your head. “You’re cornered.” 

“Birdie, please don’t do this!” He says, beginning to wail. The heat is turning his cheeks bright red. “Please, I know this summer hasn’t been stellar, but don’t do this! Birdie, please!” 

“Stop calling me that,” you demand again, your voice louder. You look deep, deep into his eyes and keep your gaze there besides the chill that climbs your spine. “You’re not him.” 

He’s about to argue--about to fight you on it--when it dawns on him that you aren’t scared right now. No, no. He can tell. He can feel it. There is not even an ounce of fear in your being right now--just rage. Blinding, serious rage. 

“Fine,” he says, tone calmer than before. He smiles softly. “What’re you gonna do, dolly? What’s the plan? What’re you gonna do with that?” 

 WIth a firm grip on the red handle of the knife, you breathe deeply. 

“I’m going to cut your radial artery,” you say softly, just like you would to a patient. “It’s in your wrist. I’m gonna bleed you out…let you die. And then I’m going to bring Bradley back.”

He laughs--a big and booming thing. 

“Oh, is that so?” He says tauntingly. “Well, you’ve got it all figured out, then. As if you would be able to do it, dolly. You don’t have the guts.” 

“I do,” you whisper. “I’ve got the guts.” 

“You love him,” he whispers. “You’re weak like that.” 

Swallowing hard, you shake your head. 

“I’m bringing him back,” you say. 

“He’s gone,” he argues, brows knit. He tugs on the restraints--they’re tight. Too tight to get out of right away. “And he’d need a blood transfusion.” 

You point to the few bags of blood on the table, still cold from the ice. 

“I have it,” you whisper. “I’m a universal donor.” 

“But not a virgin,” he answers, smiling still. 

You lean forward, eyes pouring into his. 

“I was when I donated,” you tell him. 

And before he can respond, before he can do anything at all, you bring the blade down on his wrist. It’s sharp--sharp like a scalpel in the operating room. He gasps, warm blood suddenly flooding the bed, but doesn’t have time to respond before you cut the other wrist. 

Writhing, panicking, he looks at you. 

“You fucking whore!” He screams. “God--look what you’ve--you fucking bitch! You’re killing him! You’re killing him!” 

“I’m killing you!” You grunt.

Slamming the knife back down on the tray, you step back and watch for a moment. There is hot, wet blood on your hands again. Vaguely, distantly, you wonder if you’re going to have to scrape all this blood off. It clings to you like a second skin. 

The hair on the back of your neck prickles as Bradley desperately pulls at the retraits, blood dripping from his body in a steady river of red. 

“You fucking bitch,” he seethes. “Do you think I can’t find you again? I’ve been watching you for three summers…I saw what you did with him in the woods. I saw what you did with Jakey-boy in your cabin, you whore. I see everything you do. I’m always here. I live in your nightmares!” 

Saying nothing, steeling yourself against his words, you continue watching. You’re counting to two minutes. 

“Fear is what keeps me alive, dolly,” he grunts, struggling still. “And I will be alive until the world sinks into Hell. I’ll be here, waiting. Watching. Ready to crawl under the skin of another lovesick orphan.”

Shaking your head, you just keep watching. It’s strange watching Bradley bleed out--but it’s not him. It’s not him. It’s Damien. You have to repeat it to yourself over and over again. It’s Damien. It’s Damien. 

And then, suddenly and completely, he goes entirely still. He’s just looking at you as blood covers the exam table and puts metal beneath your nose. He frowns, his eyebrows coming together. His face is beginning to grow pasty. 

“You’re leaving your friends again,” he whispers softly to you. “The ones you abandoned before…they’ve been calling out your name. They’ve been waiting for you. They want you to come to them. They’re all alone. And they’re so scared, dolly…they’re so scared without you there.” 

Lip twitching, you stay completely still. 

“Jake needs you,” he whispers. “And he’s the one you chose all along, right? It’s always been him. Why even bring Bradley back if it’s not him that you love?” 

Saliva gathers beneath your tongue. It’s approaching--you know it is. Can’t be long now. 

“I can’t die,” he whispers. His voice is weak. His eyes are beginning to shut. “You can’t…you can’t…” 

And then his head lulls to the side and he is dead. 

It isn’t Bradley, but a sob rips from your throat anyway. He lies completely still, blood still flowing from his wrists. And without another moment to waste, you jump into action. 

Packing his wrists with gauze with one panicked hand, you reach to feel his jugular with the other. It’s weak--probably just residual blood flow. 

He’s gone. The evil is gone. 

“Hold on,” you whisper to Bradley’s body. “Just hold on, alright?” 

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: OMG WHAT'S GONNA HAPPEN NEXT......

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

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[uidbmgmt]

Trigger Warning: PTSD, DID, CSA, RA

I’m back, bitches! House sitting in Ohio was just wonderful. My roomie’s family is super nice, open and accepting. Their pets, Connor and Sophie, were such a treat to watch. No issues whatsoever. We were pretty much alone for two weeks, just my roomie, her girlfriend, and I, and we enjoyed the open house instead of a shitty mobile home for once. We were able to sample some of the local food and were able to travel to places we wanted to go.

Sadly some of the places we went to didn’t work out, but that’s okay. Stuff happens and I’m not gonna let it get in my way.

I’m happy to be back now. I got home from the airport at about 11:30 AM, started unpacking my stuff and got thrown smack dab into a full on PTSD flashback. It was terrible, a memory I had forgotten about, or had blocked from me. So I was definitely told by my [redacted] that I was going to hell if I ever told anyone, but since I’m not a good listener, I didn’t listen and I told my parents. They both yelled at the [redacted] while I was in another room, but I could hear their raised voices.

The feeling in my body was powerful. I was fuzzy all over and my head felt like it was going so fast it would just explode. I remember feeling very small in a big, open space, probably the smallest I have ever felt. Being relatively new to the system, I had not felt anything that intense before, it was scary. I feel so sorry for my child alter, because they’ve been sitting on this shit for YEARS. I wish I knew how to help them through this, except to offer hugs and reassurance that it wasn’t their fault and they’re not going to hell.

It took hours to come down from this and it did not go away. I feel so sorry for people who have these intense flashbacks on a constant, because they are gnarly and terrible. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. I felt so helpless and pathetic under all that burden. My dear, child alter, you are not broken or worthless. You are worth so much love and compassion. You deserve happiness. I will not forget your pain.

I also made a realization! My child alter, Laura Lorraine, and my teenage alter, May Vashal, both feel like boys inside their hearts. They wish they had been able to live life they way they felt inside. I know I can’t redo the past, but I can make the future more comfortable for you. Got a double mastectomy and a hysterectomy in my future. I look forward to it, along with most of the system. I gotta start listening to my heart more instead of just my head.

On a brighter note, I was able to open the many packages I had waiting for me. Half of them were for my friend’s cosplay but I got some goodies. A tote bag, a Moon Knight keychain, wings for my cosplay, and a build a bear we’ll be making for my Bitch Buddy’s bachelorette party this weekend. I have so much going for me right now, it feels almost shameful that I don’t feel the enthusiasm I wish I did. I guess the PTSD flashbacks took a lot out of the system, but important things were learned and I won’t soon forget it.

I hope you all weren’t too bored without me, not like I post much, and I’m happy to be back home amongst my stuff and my friends. Shop is back open now, however commissions will remain closed for a short bit. I’m working on a lot of stuff before Everfree next month and I wanna make sure I finish all that before I even consider opening commissions again. I’ll probably open them back up around Everfree.

Thanks for listening to my story. It helps me to put it out there, maybe I can learn from someone else’s experience, or someone will learn something from me?

[fregget-frou]

Soooo regarding the new video I literally JUST watched it

And

Still processing but OK??!???

(spoilers in tags)

[rookthorne]

I’ve already said this multiple times but imma say it again.

I fucking adore that header.

You had been placed in them when she threw herself from her window, plummeting to her death instead of facing a world where her husband was dead and a new king would reign.

Her blood painted the white roses red. And you’d never been able to look at the expansive flowerbeds since.

oh, fuck 🥺 starting off strong

Lee visited you every night. His cruelty never got easier, his hand heavy and cock painfully big. If you weren’t beaten, you’d be fucked – or sometimes both.

You were the king’s punching bag. The sole daughter of his dead betrothed.

Sometimes his son would visit too, and it’s on those nights that you truly wished to join your mother.

GIRL NO YOU GOT A GOOD THING COMIN’

Hal had shown you the possibility of happiness. A sweet farm boy you met while sneaking into the town’s markets. He’d given you a handful of fresh raspberries, a soft smile on his lips. “Pretty dames shouldn’t have to pay.”

After tonight, you would be gone. No more blood. No more tears. Just life, the way it was meant to be lived. Free and without conviction.

this gave me chills

You cried out to deaf ears, writhing underneath your king as he tried to claim you. What Lee didn’t realise was while he may have taken your body, he would never have your heart and soul. They were for Hal only.

can Hal run his sword through Lee, please?

When you looked down, you were met with the smiling face of your saviour. Hal stood below, dressed in a dirty tunic with a blade strapped to his back. Your knight in muddied armour.

I can’t I sobbed oh my god please 🥹😭

Your fall was broken by two burly arms catching you, allowing you to crash into him, sending you both to the ground.

“Hal! Gods, are you alright?” You quickly sat up, hands bracing on Hal’s solid chest.

He just laughed from his spot on the ground, holding your sides gingerly. “I’m wonderful. My dream came true. The gods have gifted me a beautiful damsel.”

AND HE’S CHARMING AS FUCK?!

where’s my marriage certificate?

WHERE IS IT?!

“But we didn’t. And now we have the world ahead of us, princess.” Hal’s hands cupped your cheeks, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “Sorry, I couldn’t wait.”

“Then let’s not waste time. I’m impatient to taste your sweet lips again, princess,” Hal said cheekily, grabbing your hand and beginning to sneak you through the castle grounds.

“I’m not a princess anymore. I renounce it,” you whispered to him, ducking behind a barrel when a knight walked past.

Hal’s eyes twinkled in the moonlight. “Ah, but you’re still my princess. The ruler of my heart.”

jfc Amber what the fuck

I am OVERWHELMED WITH EMOTION RN

HELP

Unbeknownst to both of you, King Lee watched from above, arms crossed with a smug look on his face. Freedom would not come without a fight. Nothing was ever that easy.

LET THEM BE FREE THEY DESERVE IT YOU ABSOLUTE FUCKING [REDACTED X100]

𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒄𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒏

✧˚ · . Tortured under King Lee's reign, you make your escape.

pairing — farmhand!Hal Carter x princess!reader w/c — approx 1k this is a dark fic. 18+ only. listening to — ♫black crown warnings —non-consensual king!lee bodecker x reader, non-graphic non-con, non-major character death, reference to suicide, skin scarring via candle wax, but it's all okay because Hal is a sweetheart a/n — written for @the-slumberparty's warm up drabble challenge. i got the word 'neck', which inspired this drabble. not beta read, we die like men.

The subtle amber glow from the candle on your bedside table casted a beautiful horizon across your quarters. The quarters which were once your mother’s.

You had been placed in them when she threw herself from her window, plummeting to her death instead of facing a world where her husband was dead and a new king would reign.

Her blood painted the white roses red. And you’d never been able to look at the expansive flowerbeds since.

King Lee had come into succession, bringing darkness with him, covering the whole castle in an ominous aura.

To the town, there was an illusion of grandeur, one your stepfather and his son, Prince Carter, were good at upholding.

Lee visited you every night. His cruelty never got easier, his hand heavy and cock painfully big. If you weren’t beaten, you’d be fucked – or sometimes both.

You were the king’s punching bag. The sole daughter of his dead betrothed.

Sometimes his son would visit too, and it’s on those nights that you truly wished to join your mother.

Perhaps you were cowardly that you hadn’t already followed her footsteps out of the window and into the garden below. But you still had an inkling of hope.

Hal had shown you the possibility of happiness. A sweet farm boy you met while sneaking into the town's markets. He’d given you a handful of fresh raspberries, a soft smile on his lips. “Pretty dames shouldn’t have to pay.”

He was the first sincere person you’d met. And he was your ticket to freedom.

Hal would be waiting for you in the gardens below tonight, and you would flee with him. You would be free. A bird to the wind with endless routes ahead.

The candle flickered as your door opened, the hinges groaning as you were met with the sight of your king, a nightly occurrence you dreaded. “Miss me, princess?”

Like muscle memory, you lay back on your bed as Lee pushed up your nightgown, hands rough against your sensitive flesh as the familiar dance begun. “Always so soft. Makes me just want to mark you more.”

Your gaze turned to the candle, listening to the slight crackle of the wood wick as Lee mounted you.

The wax had begun to dribble down in the catch below, droplets falling like a body from a tower.

Black crows cawed outside as you felt the painful stretch, your core stinging. It never got easier.

Lee spoke to you, but you just listened to the rustling oak trees outside as the candle burned lower, glazed eyes looking to your king when he ordered you to do so.

After tonight, you would be gone. No more blood. No more tears. Just life, the way it was meant to be lived. Free and without conviction.

Time passed, the pain didn’t stop, and neither did your king. You always cursed his stamina.

Eventually, Lee came with a shout, his seed spurting across your stomach. But he wasn’t finished with you.

He never was.

The candle had burnt nearly to the hilt, with a large reserve of wax at the bottom.

“Show me your neck, princess,” Lee ordered, forcing your head back before you could even heed his words.

The movement exposed your marred neck to him. Littered with scars and old burns, you wore a collar of pain.

While you may escape, there were some things you would never get back. Your dignity, your innocence, and your purity.

Lee took the candlestick, tilting it over your neck, so the smouldering wax dripped over your skin.

You cried out to deaf ears, writhing underneath your king as he tried to claim you. What Lee didn’t realise was while he may have taken your body, he would never have your heart and soul. They were for Hal only.

Your flesh warbled under the heat of the wax as it cooled and hardened on your skin, tears dropping down onto the cotton below. Lee always liked to see you cry.

“Cover this up tomorrow. We have a banquet in the evening,” Lee ran his fingers against your wounds, admiring his work for a moment before leaving you. “I will have a dress readied for you.”

Thankfully, Lee left, giving you a chance to prepare for your escape.

Ignoring your soreness, you dressed in a simple black dress, the same you wore to your mother's funeral. It was nondescript and would help if you needed to hide.

From under the bed, you pulled out the rope you had stolen from the knight's storeroom, securing it to a load-bearing pillar before throwing the rest out of your window.

When you looked down, you were met with the smiling face of your saviour. Hal stood below, dressed in a dirty tunic with a blade strapped to his back. Your knight in muddied armour.

You hoisted yourself out the window, trying your best to scale the side of the castle.

What seemed like an easy task was far from it, and two-thirds of the way down your arms gave way, letting go of the rope and your only lifeline.

The wind whooshed through your hair, and for a moment, you accepted this was where you’d die.

Your fall was broken by two burly arms catching you, allowing you to crash into him, sending you both to the ground.

“Hal! Gods, are you alright?” You quickly sat up, hands bracing on Hal’s solid chest.

He just laughed from his spot on the ground, holding your sides gingerly. “I’m wonderful. My dream came true. The gods have gifted me a beautiful damsel.”

“Oh, stop it. We could have died!” You gently whacked his chest before Hal got up, helping you to your feet.

“But we didn’t. And now we have the world ahead of us, princess.” Hal’s hands cupped your cheeks, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “Sorry, I couldn’t wait.”

“You can have a lot more kisses when we get out of here,” you smiled, body in a world of pain, but it didn’t matter. Your heart was content.

“Then let’s not waste time. I’m impatient to taste your sweet lips again, princess,” Hal said cheekily, grabbing your hand and beginning to sneak you through the castle grounds.

“I’m not a princess anymore. I renounce it,” you whispered to him, ducking behind a barrel when a knight walked past.

Hal’s eyes twinkled in the moonlight. “Ah, but you’re still my princess. The ruler of my heart.”

“You’re a sap.” You took a deep breath as you reached the edge of the property. From here, it was the open world. “I’m scared.”

“Me too. But the fear will guide us. We’ll get through this.” Hal kissed the back of your hand.

Hal pulled out a silk scarf from his back pocket, your eyes widening at the beautiful floral pattern. “Hal. How did you afford this?”

“Years of workin’, princess.”

The soft material was looped around your neck, covering your scarred skin and protecting it from the elements.

Hal secured it, his touch gentle and full for adoration, before you snuck through a hole in the castle walls.

Unbeknownst to both of you, King Lee watched from above, arms crossed with a smug look on his face. Freedom would not come without a fight. Nothing was ever that easy.

To be updated on when I post please follow @sgt-seabass-library and turn on post notifications.

[witchbinchstories]

Home is wherever you are tonight

Pairing: Damien x Freelancer x Gavin x Huxley x Lasko (Redacted ASMR), Damien x Reader x Gavin x Huxley x Lasko

Summary: After finishing finals, the Freelancer goes to Damien's apartment and is surprised with a cuddle session from all of their boyfriends.

Words: ~3.3k

Contains: Light angst, lots of fluff, my 4 am brain

A/N: @sealriously-sealrious​ made a post about DAMN boys cuddle pile, so... I had to write a cuddle fic. I hope you guys like it :)

The title is a lyric from the song Apple Pie by Lizzy McAlpine

—————————————————————————

Finals are done. They’re finally over and now the Freelancer can relax. Or they should be able to relax. It’s winter break, campus is less crowded because students and teachers are going home for the next month, but the Freelancer doesn’t have a family to go home to. They don’t have a familiar, cozy home with freshly baked cookies and generational recipes in another town to return to. They’re exhausted and they’re sad about the fact that for the rest of break, they’re probably going to sit alone in their apartment in sweatpants and eat junk food while they watch terrible Hallmark movies. Who knows, maybe they’ll manage to pull Lasko away from whatever TA scheduling he has to do over break and spend a little time with him and Gavin. Maybe Caelum will visit too. But they know that they’re most likely going to be spending the holiday season alone because Damien and Hux are going home to family, Lasko and Caelum will probably both be busy (for different reasons), and because any time a big holiday is coming up they usually have an emotionally rough time, so they can’t expect Gavin to want to be around them with their emotions all out of whack, even though they’re dating. They try to push the thought away, knowing it’s just their mind trying to make things harder for them.

The Freelancer feels their phone vibrate once in their back pocket and quickly grabs it to check whatever notification it is. They’re surprised when they see that it’s a notification from Damien— it reads: “You just got out of your healing final, right?”

The Freelancer stops in the middle of the sidewalk to respond— “Jesus, I got out like one minute ago, what are you, a telepathy expert?” —then continues walking to their favorite coffee shop in all of Dahlia, “Inchoate”. Almost all of the drinks and foods that they make there have some sort of magic imbued into them, mostly mood-enhancing magic of all sorts, repping the name well since inchoate demons can feed on all emotions. It’s also run by an inchoate demon, so that’s part of the reason for the name too. But the magic food is the biggest reason.

They reach the cafe and are dismayed to find that the line is, of course, out the door. With students finishing up finals, there are lots of people looking for something to uplift them more, and the Freelancer doesn’t blame them, since that’s exactly what they’re here for. They get another text from Damien while in line, so at least they’ll have something to do while waiting. They’ll just have to keep their fiery boyfriend engaged in the conversation and make sure he doesn’t abandon them in their time of need.

“It’s your only final today, and your last one at that. It’s not that hard to remember,” the text reads.

“Ok, whatever. I’m still not convinced that you didn’t just make in depth copies of each one of our schedules when we all started dating so you could know what we’re doing at all times,” the Freelancer sends back.

“Do you want to come over? Since we’re finally both free and done with the semester.” The fire elemental opts to ignore his partner’s accusation.

“Shouldn’t you be packing?”

“I can do it later. Just answer the question.”

“Woooow. Mr. ‘I have a strict schedule for everything I do’ is putting off packing? Finals must’ve really gotten to you this semester,” the Freelancer teases, then gives an actual answer: “Sure. But I’m stopping at Inchoate first. Do you want anything?”

“Shut up, I don’t have a schedule for packing.”

“I don’t believe that for one second.”

“Just get two of the Joy To The World lattes. One of them iced, please. And the hot one with two shots of espresso and extra foam. I’ll pay you back.”

The Freelancer instantly recognizes the one with espresso and extra foam as being the order of their air-inclined boyfriend.

“Is Lasko with you?” they send.

“Yeah, he’s here.”

“Ah. Does he really need that much espresso this late in the day?”

“Probably not. But it has been a rough couple of weeks. And it’s what he always gets from there.”

“True. Ok. I’ll be over as soon as I get the orders.”

----------

The Freelancer knocks on the door to Damien’s apartment with their hand that isn’t holding disappointment-in-a-cup, aka the cafe was (not surprisingly) out of anything with joy essence in it, so the Freelancer had to order something else. They reluctantly went with some relaxation lattes.

Expecting Damien or Lasko to answer the door, they’re slightly surprised when Huxley answers the door.

“Hey, babe. C’mon in, the water’s fine. Well, there’s not actually… water… it’s just Damien’s apartment, but— you know that already,” Hux chuckles at his own words. “Here, lemme grab those coffees from you.”

The Freelancer gladly hands the coffees to their boyfriend so that they can take off their backpack and set it next to the door, along with their coat and shoes as soon as they get them off. “Hux, I didn’t know you were here or else I would’ve gotten you something too.”

“Oh, it’s alright. I was here when you were texting Damien and he asked. I didn’t need anything, I’ve already got one of my classic protein shakes.”

“Well, good, I’m glad he didn’t leave you out or anything,” they joke before gently making Hux lean down so that they can kiss him on the cheek.

Together, the two of them walk into Damien’s living room, drinks in hand, to join Damien and Lasko.

“Whaaat is going on here?” the Freelancer asks at the sight of a bunch of blankets and pillows gathered on a large mattress topper all laid out on the floor, with the coffee tables and other furniture pushed aside to the edges of the room.

“We thought that you, and— well, all of us, really, could use some comfort and relaxation after this week. But, um, it was Damien’s idea to surprise you,” Lasko informs them.

“You always do so much for us, I just… thought that we should return the favor,” Damien says, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck as his cheeks flush a darker shade.

“That’s— I don’t deserve this, you— this is so sweet of you guys,” the Freelancer laughs to themself.

“Dude, you deserve this and so much more,” Huxley sits down onto the comfy nest and grabs the Freelancer’s hand to carefully pull them down with him. Once seated, he hands them their latte before handing Damien and Lasko their respectives lattes as well. The Freelancer gladly sips from their drink.

“Especially with how much you bake for us. I-I swear, every time I finish some batch of cookies or loaf of bread you’ve made me, I suddenly have a new treat to replace it as soon as it’s gone,” Lasko adds.

“Well I enjoy baking a lot, so I feel like that shouldn’t really count—”

“Freelancer,” Damien gently scolds, “it counts.”

The Freelancer rolls their eyes but a small smile grows on their face at the thought of having people that care about them like this. An old part of them still wants to say that their boyfriends are just with them to get something out of them later, or that they’re just using them. Wants to pull away from them to protect themself from an inevitable future disappointment and heartbreak. But they know that’s not true. Damien, Lasko, Huxley, and Gavin aren’t like that. They’re kind, and loving, and caring, and they would never do something like that. But old habits die hard, right?

“Is Gavin going to be here too? Or is it just us today?” The Freelancer, asking both out of genuine curiosity and caring, and to change the subject. They take a sip from their drink.

As if he was somehow listening in, Gavin rifts into the living room, comfy attire already donned rather than his usual clothing or just being completely naked.

“Am I on time?” the incubus asks, dramatically falling into the empty space between Lasko and the Freelancer and stretching out.

“No, not at all, actually. It’s been years. We’re all dead and you’re talking to our ghosts,” Damien says deadpan.

“A little strong with the sarcasm today, don’t you think, Firecracker?” Gavin takes the Freelancer’s hand from beside him and presses a kiss to the top of their hand, all while maintaining eye contact with Damien to continue the banter, of course.

Damien playfully rolls his eyes in response. “Shut up…” he says, taking Gavin’s lead and also laying down to get more comfortable, setting his iced coffee to the side but still within reach. The three still sitting up take the hint that it’s now time for that “comfort and relaxation” Lasko previously mentioned and lay down as well.

“Well, how was this week for everyone? You all seem pretty tired,” Gavin asks, genuinely concerned for how the others fared in their classes. He turns on his side to face Lasko, snaking his arms around the air elemental and earning a deep blush from him.

“I-it was okay for me. My, uh— my classes weren’t too bad. It’s honestly these next couple of weeks of planning that are going to be hard for me,” Lasko answers. On the other side of him, Damien scooches closer to him and wraps his arms around from behind.

“I wish I could say the same for my classes this semester,” Damien starts. As he continues answering Gavin, Freelancer cranes their head around to look at Hux.

“Spoon?” they whisper to him.

“Spoon,” Hux answers, grinning. The Freelancer gently takes his arm and wraps it around themself as the both of them press closer to each other and to Gavin.

“—it sucks that they make you use break time for planning, though.” The Freelancer manages to catch onto the end of what Damien was saying.

“Maybe that’s another change for the better you can make once you’re the one in charge here, Damien,” Hux points out. The Freelancer can practically hear and feel him grinning from behind them. It’s adorable.

“Yeah, I… I guess,” Damien flusters once again at someone else having the genuine belief that he’ll bring good changes to D.A.M.N. someday.

“What about you two, how were your finals?” Gavin asks, referring to his two partners behind him. Hux answers first, so the Freelancer takes the chance to grab another sip from their latte. They’re finally starting to feel the effects of the mood magic and are feeling a bit more relaxed than when they had just finished their last final.

“Mine were good. I mean, I’m pretty much only doing earth focused classes this year, so it’s already stuff I’m pretty confident in. Don’t get me wrong, though. I was still way nervous for every one of my finals.”

The others hum in agreement. It’s the Freelancer’s turn.

“I think mine went okay… I kind of want to get my mind off of classes, though,” they say, lazily pressing a kiss to the back of Gavin’s neck before nuzzling closer into it.

“That sounds like a good idea to me,” Hux laughs. “Does anyone need any blankets? I think we have most of ‘em over here.”

There’s a chorus of affirmative answers from all but Damien, who is perfectly warm just as he is and being pressed close to another person. Hux pulls away from the Freelancer, who is disappointed by even the briefest lack of contact, and unfolds some blankets to lay overtop himself and his three significant others that requested them. Once Hux finally returns to being wrapped around the Freelancer, they are able to take a deep, content breath in, and finally relax.

The group falls into a comfortable silence as the five of them cherish the feeling of being near one another. It’s quite rare that all five of them get to relax together at the same time. Usually at least one of them has something going on that steals them away from the others, so they can’t take any moment all together for granted.

The Freelancer closes their eyes, listening to the slow breathing of all of their boyfriends, feeling the ends of Gavin’s hair tickle their face, the softness of Huxley’s lips resting against their shoulder, the rise and fall of bodies they’re sandwiched between. It’s all incredibly comforting, and the Freelancer never wants it to end. They hear the sound of Gavin pressing a quick kiss to somewhere on Lasko’s face as they feel him lean the slightest bit forward to do so. Then there’s a sound of another kiss, this one farther away, most likely of Damien kissing Lasko’s neck or cheek.

“Guys, stop,” Lasko laughs happily. More kissing. More laughter from Lasko. The Freelancer feels Huxley smile against their skin and feels the small blow of air from his nose as he huffs out a small laugh as well. They feel his arms tighten the slightest bit around them, and then feel a kiss on their shoulder, then Hux’s nose lightly dragging up the side of their neck as he moves to be able to sweetly kiss their neck a couple of times. The Freelancer feels laughter bubble up in their chest and throat, and soon the five of them are all a giggling mess.

“We’re supposed to be relaxing!” Lasko points out.

“Fine, I suppose I just won’t kiss you then,” Gavin jokes. The Freelancer opens their eyes to see Gavin sitting up and pulling Damien towards him by the hand, leaning over Lasko, from where their hands were previously laced with one another’s and resting atop Lasko’s waist. “I’ll just have to kiss everyone but you.”

Gavin and Damien lean in, meeting in the middle for a kiss while looking like they might fall over on top of Lasko, but surprisingly they don’t. When they pull away, they smile at each other for a moment before Gavin moves to face the Freelancer and Damien returns to laying behind Lasko, but props himself up on an elbow to watch the sight of Gavin struggling to kiss everyone.

Gavin leans down to kiss the Freelancer. His lips are soft against theirs, and provide a familiar warmth that leaves the Freelancer even more comfortable and blissful than before. After he pulls away, the incubus doesn’t move away just yet and instead gives his partner’s forehead a kiss before moving on to Huxley.

Gavin cups the side of Hux’s face with a delicacy that many others do not show Hux because all they see is his tough exterior, and expect him to either not be interested in the softness they could offer, or just be used to rougher things. Not these four, though. They treat Hux with all the softness and sweetness he shows them, and all the tenderness he deserves and could ever want. As Gavin leans in to kiss the earth elemental, the Freelancer gets a full face of Gavin’s shirt and chest, earning back some of the laughter from before.

“Gav, I, uh, don’t know that I appreciate your chest in my face right at this moment,” the Freelancer jokes.

Gavin hums in response, still kissing Huxley. “Oh, you love it,” he says as he finally pulls away. The Freelancer doesn’t deny the claim.

The five of them return to their previous cuddling positions, all holding each other just the slightest bit tighter than before. All giddy with the perfect reward of being with one another to end a rough couple of weeks. However, they somehow manage to return to the quiet stillness from before despite the giddiness. After a few moments of silence, Damien speaks up.

“Hey, Freelancer…” he starts, “Hux and I… want to tell you something.”

That causes them to furrow their eyebrows. What could the two of them want to tell them?

“Are you sure about doing it right now, Damien?” Hux asks.

That scares them.

“Yeah, I think so,” Damien replies.

“What… do you guys have to tell me?” the Freelancer asks hesitantly, mumbling the words against the back of Gavin’s neck.

“Well, the four of us were all talking…” Damien states vaguely.

“And we wanna spend the holidays together. All of us,” Hux finishes.

“Yeah…? But… you both have families to go home to. If you’re implying we all come along to one, then one of you won’t be able to see your family,” they say, guessing as to what Damien and Hux could be implying.

The Freelancer doesn’t see a look exchanged between Gavin and Lasko. A look that wonders how the Freelancer is going to react to what comes next.

“Well, we decided that we’re not going to go home for the holidays. We’re going to stay here so we can spend them together,” Damien says. So that’s why Damien wasn’t concerned about packing. The Freelancer tries to sit up to be able to look him in the eyes and tell him that that’s a sweet yet stupid idea, but Hux’s hold on them doesn’t allow them to do so, and he speaks up before they can.

“Yeah, I think my moms are gonna take the chance to have a relaxing holiday instead of hosting for our whole family, and I’ll go see them for New Year’s so… I’ll get to spend time here with my favorite people, and then… I’ll still get to go spend time with my other favorite people. It’s wins all around!” Hux explains, lightly squeezing his arms tighter around his partner.

“And my family celebrates Hanukkah, which has already passed, so I really don’t have anything I’m missing by not going home until New Year’s,” Damien adds.

“But… you both should still spend time with your families, that’s what break is for, and besides, Lasko and I have each other here over break and Gavin can join any of us anytime he pleases, so you really don’t have to stay—”

“Freelancer, they wouldn’t be doing this if they didn’t want to,” Lasko cuts them off.

“He’s right,” Gavin nods at his boyfriend’s words, who smiles back.

“Damien and I just have two families now. One right here, and one not in Dahlia,” Huxley’s voice is soft when he speaks. “And we want to spend break with the family that’s here.”

“We want to be here, all together,” Damien finishes. 

And then the Freelancer finally understood. Home isn’t back with their own family. Home is here, with the four people that care about them most. With the people they care for the most. The Freelancer tries to suppress a smile, but then they decide to let themself smile. They decide to let themself be happy. They know they’ll be happy for the holidays this year. And if that means that they’re now living in a crappy Hallmark movie rather than watching one… then that’s more than okay with them. Even if it’s cliche.

“Alright… thank you both, for doing this for us,” they say, their voice barely above a whisper.

The two of them say their versions of ��it’s really nothing” and with the effects of the magic lattes completely taking over, the group begins to drift off to sleep, guided by the warmth of their partners, the comfort of the blankets, and the safety of being all together in Damien’s apartment. The Freelancer sighs contently at the feeling of being safely sandwiched between two of their boyfriends, and the thoughts that they now have something to look forward to for the rest of winter break. They finally drift off to have the best sleep they’ve had in a while, the happy thoughts and feelings bringing them much more comfort than any stupid sold-out latte.