#but catalogue it under self help

[gghostwriter]

Knots of Yearning

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer lies by omission or in which Spencer acts like he doesn’t know how to tie a tie just to get you to do it for him Trope: Yearning/Angst; think season 1 Spencer Reid w.c: 1.3k a/n: when i thought of this idea, i was thinking it would be some cute light hearted fluff but when i started writing it, it became angst, filled with pining and tension so I dunno what happened but i finished writing it and thought it would be a waste not to post my rambly written fic. I might write a part 2 for this just to close it out to a happy ending. Let me know if that would interest you. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💗

Two halves of a whole, the perfect pairing and yin & yang. Those were just some monikers that Spencer Reid had heard describing his partnership with you that started during the academy. He, being a genius in all things academic and psychological but severely lacking in the physical and combat department. You, on the other hand, filled those gaps—acing all physicals and being well known for being a shy but killer shot. Not to say you were lacking in the other categories, no, you came only second during written exams. 

So it came as a no surprise when graduation came and you both were cherry picked to join the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Spencer being chosen by SSA Jason Gideon and you being selected by Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner. 

The two geniuses of the BAU and the apprentices were added to the roster of nicknames.

Ever since then, he had traded in his standard issued trainee uniform to a button down and a matching tie—a tie that he badly struggles with or so Spencer made you believe. He didn’t mean to lie at first—didn’t mean it to go this far but by the time he felt the need to tell the truth, it had been too late. Each moment you’ve spent close to his space, invading it really, had become the highlight of his days and fuel for his nights. 

He often wondered if you catalogued his reaction just like how he did yours. Did you notice his staccato breathing just like how he noticed your subtle inhalation of his perfume? What about the reddening of his cheeks and neck in contrast to your trembling fingers? Or how about his eyes that convey his utter devotion as yours focus on any exposed skin in between his tie and collar? 

It seemed like a dance between him and you, to see how the other reacts and to figure out who would cave under the mounting attraction that had been building since the first ‘hello.’ 

With his choice of tie for the day hanging loosely on his neck, you would shyly smile and as if spellbound, he would shuffle to your orbit in silent plea for help that he needed.

Each glide of your finger made his encompassing thoughts about the mundane stutter into a halt. How his mind would then bombard itself with questions as to how the universe created such perfection. Each loop of your hand became vivid imagery of his own nimble fingers caressing your palm and all its engraved lines as if they contain the maps to all hidden mysteries of the world. And each tug to secure the knot transformed into a loud beating of his chest, encased within it’s cavity, with chants of waxing prose on how your very being, mind, body, and soul, call to his in a way that even his expansive vernacular could never explain. 

But no matter how much he wished for time to slow down for these intimate moments to last, it never did comply. So here he stayed, lying by omission—yearning for you to notice him, memorize him, and end his pining for the woman who seemed too unattainable for his clumsy, stuttering self.

———

 You accepted the lie well. Maybe too well.

The first time a blue striped flimsy piece of accessory hung around his neck, a sudden burst of courage took over, bringing you to a stop in front of his lithe, towering body and hands reaching up to whisper caresses on the silk to mold it into a secure neck tie that centered itself on his reddening neck—the color matching the one that bloomed on your cheeks as you realized what you’ve done. 

Your mind had rationalized someone as smart as he knew how to fix a tie but your body had moved on it’s own, having have spotted a once in a lifetime chance to invade his well protected space—the same way he had invaded your mind in every waking and sleeping moment.

That same chance turned into a routine. A blessing that you had come to look forward to, your steps having a bounce in them as you enter the bull pen and spotting a different pattern tie hanging undone on his neck every work day.

You knew, with no backing evidence that Spencer has to be doing it on purpose but didn’t want to spiral much into thought as to why he would leave that intimate action up to you.

Did he take note of every reaction you had to his presence the same way you did? The slight rocking on your heels as he inhaled your carefully chosen perfume? The biting of your lip as you felt his honey dripping eyes on your face? If he felt the same, you wondered why nothing has been done and if you had another burst of courage, would you have acted upon the tension? 

Maybe. Maybe not.

Maybe that was why you settled for accepting his poorly crafted lie of not knowing how to tie a necktie. 

It wasn’t really a lie if the other party knew the truth, right? Or was it a double lie now that silence has stacked between you and him? 

If you were being slightly honest with yourself, Spencer Reid had always fascinated you. Among the sea of gym built muscles during the academy, his gazelle stature has stuck out like a sore thumb and that intrigued you. How was it that a male, younger than any of his peers, that looked like he could grace a runway was in an institution that reeked sweat and masculinity? That very same question answered when you found yourself seated beside him in a profiler career talk. His intellect, that was why and although it seemed to alienate the others, not once did you feel inferior beside him. Rather, it pulled you in more. His quiet, unsure demeanor was the next to capture your attention. It was an invisible coat that he wore everywhere he went, sewn from years of bullying and ostracizing—similar to your experiences of having skipped a grade. Here was a comrade you thought and so, you silently orbited around his gravitational pull until he took notice and uttered the words ‘hello, I’m Dr. Spencer Reid’ in a low, trembling voice. 

You didn’t know when that same fascination turned into adoration. There was never a specific moment in time that you could pinpoint when it all changed. It just happened, one day you woke up and the past truth had transformed into a half truth—and the whole truth now being, you falling and yearning for a man who had a bright future in reading people’s actions but seemed too oblivious to the call of your aching heart. 

———

Morgan and Elle shared an exasperated look as they noted the two youngest members of the team silently flirting in the middle of the bullpen, yet again. They didn’t get how obtuse the two smartest people in the room were with their feelings for one another. 

“You think we should give them a push?” He whispered to his female partner.

Elle scrunched her face. “At this point, we might just have to confess for the other.”

And in that moment, another moniker was added to the roster. The dense lovers of the BAU, a nickname that the remaining members use only behind both the duo’s back as they become bystanders to what could be a match made in heaven. If only one would admit to the other. 

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[2-dsimp]

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Yandere Spin-offs

Introducing the photographer

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(Bimbo Fem reader!)

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Cw: 🔞MDNI🔞 mutual masterbation, praise, degradation, coercion, dubious consent, thighjob, cum facial, slight humiliation

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Yandere photographer who asks you upfront to model for him in exchange for a hefty fee. Handing you his business card with his name and address in fine print. His name was Covu, he had dark messy wavy hair which covered his tacky circular glasses showcasing dull emerald green eyes. While his body adorned casual baggy clothing with a professional camera slung across his lean shoulder.

Truth be told Covu had his eyes on you for awhile now, so he knew your day by day schedule. From the countless stakeouts outside your job working as a retail worker. With his prized scrapbook dedicated to you, he jotted down everything from your little quirks, habits, to the overall actions you did throughout the day from the photographs he took of you every instance he gets. And from what he already gathered you fell under the ditzy bimbo category who was so sweet and yet so stupidly naive. The perfect match for him.

The photographer couldn’t help but grow enamored with you in every type of way. From your soft sweet curves to your adorable smile and especially from how you make his hands itch with the urge to take candle lit photographs of you in 69 different lewd positions. So today was the day he approached his lovely model, Covu made sure to take extra care in grooming himself to seem like an functional human being just for you. Even though he still looked like a hot bum he was at the very least a presentable one.

“Hey if you’re ever interested in modeling for me. Ring me up and I’ll pay you however much you’re willing to receive”

Covu’s voice was small but blunt and straight to the point as he stared intensely at you trying to burn the sight of his future private model into his lecherous cold eyes. But before he could turn away to head somewhere else to let you think about it, he was abruptly stopped by a short tug of his arm sleeves.

His heart thumped loudly at the sight of you looking criminally cute. As you brightly accepted the offer from a stranger such as himself right off the bat without any care for your self preservation. Licking his lips he couldn’t help but hide the ravenous smirk that spread from ear to ear at your innocent response.

He could feel artblock magically vanish as artistic inspiration began brewing in his mind all thanks to his dearest bimbo of a model. And boy did he have a lot of ideas in mind so best believe he was going to take advantage and put you to work.

"Oh fuck...you're so fucking sexy. Pose just like that for me."

He mumbled under his breath, his delirious green eyes fixated on your enchanting body as you put on the lingerie. You had agreed to model for him under the pretense that the photos will be used for the catalogue of Victoria secret. Diligently he snapped pictures of you from every delightful angle, paying no mind to the tent he was pitching in his baggy sweats. Until Covu couldn't resist the urge to touch himself, his slender hand palming the bulge as he kept his attention on you.

It was time to have you switch positions,

"Now... For this photo shoot we’re focusing on a erotic theme so I need you to start touching yourself down here babe."

Covu uttered, his voice barely above a whisper as he struggled to keep himself under control. The temptation of making you his was driving him crazy. As he reached out and guide your hand to your scantily clothed pussy, from observing your confused expression his fingers trailing over your skin as he gave you a tiny devilish smile. From seeing how flustered you were, oh you were just so endearing he couldn’t help but want to tease you even more.

"Yes that’s it work your fingers and follow the natural curves of your body...don't be afraid to explore. Hmm? Why’s my dick out you say? Well that’s to get the sexy mood going on. I am a pro after all and I want to get only the perfect shots”

He announced shamelessly his voice calm and steady as he furiously jerked off at the sight of you obediently touching yourself as per his detailed instructions. Skillfully multitasking between getting nice shots of you in revealing outfits as he continued to work both you and himself into completion. Feeling himself teetering off the edge Covu gritted his teeth and got closer to you, his cock throbbing with need as he jerked off over your body. You both moaned out loud in his art studio unable to hold back any longer.

He watched with foggy glasses as you laid there breathless your juices dripping down your legs. While his mind was consumed with pornographic images of you covered in rivers of his pearly white cum. Taking extra care to examine the thick globs of his cum sticking on your cheeks as it began to slide down. And without saying a word he gently crouched down in front of you shrugging his camera to the side as he angled your blissed out face towards his giving you a sleazy mean smirk.

“You look gorgeous all glammed up in my cum doll but snap out of it. We still got tons of photoshoots to do”

Covu cooed lazily as he relished the sight of you trying to gather your bearing but ultimately failing when he pressed his cold lips against the column of your neck. Leaving a kiss mark on your skin before pressing his forehead against yours staring deep into your eyes as he said in a soft commanding tone.

“Now for this next photo shoot I want to see you on all fours. Presenting yourself to me like the cute little slut you are.”

Once as you got into position, Covu wasted no time in slotting himself behind you under the pretense of fixing your posture via his long. Yanking his sweats down to sandwich his weeping hard long dick between your sweaty plush thighs. Rutting against you in fluid strokes, he made sure to bump the tip of his throbbing cock against your clothed budding clit. Taking out his phone, he recorded your lewd expressions as he messaged and groped at your jiggling fat tits with his other hand.

“Cmon my pretty model~ you need to arch your back and keep squeezing them thick thighs for me. I’m not one for paying slackers you know?”

He rasped in your ear with a impish grin as he toyed with you by bombarding you with his lewd demands. As he stripped you from your lingerie bra to pinch and pull at your full nipples, rolling them between his two fingers. Covu nipped the nape of your neck with his sharp canines. While he pumped his hips, smacking his pelvis against the fat of your ass as his long dick continued collecting the slick from your wet cunt which constantly dribbled down, covering his shaft.

"That's it, baby... just like that you look so fucking erotic does feeling my dick rub up against your wet cunt turn you on that much?"

He chuckled darkly as his nimble fingers found themselves at the hem of your lacy panties, slowly dragging them to the side exposing your quivering pussy. Using his thumb to press against the winking drenched hole, collecting a string of slick your so he could smear it all over his lips. So that he could smell and taste you when he prepared to take things a step further…

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Part 2? 👀

[downbadf0rficppl]

still here in the evening

Nikolai Lantsov x Reader

Summary: Part 2 of still here in the morning - Nikolai's mad at you. You don't know why. Maybe an injury will help secrets come to life?

Word Count: 2.2K

Warnings: Violence - guns, gangs and bullets, Blood, Injury, Misunderstandings.

The wind whipped through your hair as you looked out over the deck. You were less than half a day’s travel away from West Ravka - where you’d dock and stock up on supplies before heading back out to Novyi Zem.

You sighed. The past few weeks had been weird - ever since you and Nikolai had woken up together, he’d been ignoring you. It was almost as if you’d ceased to exist for him. No matter. Things should be back to normal after this stop in West Ravka. You could both forget it ever happened. 

It was almost midnight when you finally tethered the ship to a dock in Os Kervo. Tamar and Tolya grabbed your arms and practically dragged you to a local inn to celebrate. You’d had a lot of successful missions over the past few months, and just because the Captain was opposed to any kind of revelry, doesn’t mean you should be. 

You knew the truth. Nikolai was too scared of being discovered here in West Ravka - where people still knew what the monarchy looked like, even if they had been hidden away on the other side of the fold for years. Still, you let Tamar and Tolya drag you away and had a few beers to celebrate. Maybe more than a few beers. 

Meanwhile, Nikolai was sat at his desk on the ship, nursing a pint of ale. He’d tried to distract himself with work - checking the ship’s logs and inventory, making a detailed list of everything they needed before they set off on their next adventure. This would be their longest trip yet, and they were going to need a lot of supplies, especially if they kept picking up new teammates. It wasn’t enough.

His mind kept drifting back to you. Mouse. His Mouse. Nikolai couldn’t recall when you went from being just another shipmate, to the only person who was ever on his mind, but he wasn’t complaining. Still, the words that passed between you and Tolya rung clear in his head.

“He’s no one… Someone from back home.” You didn’t like him like that. You were waiting from someone back home.

Nikolai shook his head trying to clear his mind. Obviously, a girl like you had someone waiting for them back home. That was why you chose to take an extra long pit stop every time you were back on Zemeni soil. It was obvious, wasn’t it? He turned back to his logs, trying to catalogue everything they had done over the past few months since they had been here in Os Kervo. 

He had thought you were the one. The past few weeks had been difficult, trying to avoid conversation with you, trying to avoid being under your gaze. Nikolai knew that he had no self-control when it came to you - one look in his direction and he’d crumble again. And he deserved better than someone who just used him to ‘break his 'I don't sleep with crewmates' rule.’

He should’ve known something was up when you disappeared from his bed in the middle of the night, he thought, putting his journals away for safe-keeping and taking another swig of his ale. People don’t just disappear when they actually like someone.

He just didn’t think you capable of leading someone on so maliciously.

But maybe he read the signs wrong. You never explicitly said you wanted to sleep with him, did you? Nikolai racked his brains for anything you’d said to give him that impression, but nothing came to mind. Maybe his own feelings clouded his judgment. 

Nikolai took another swig of his ale. The light buzz that accompanied every thought of you now made him reckless. Nikolai clenched his jaw, determination etched across his face, as he set out towards the bar where Tamar and Tolya had taken you, his mind racing with concern and unresolved questions. The dimly lit streets of Os Kervo blurred around him. He just wanted to get to you.

You slipped out of the bar, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to keep your steps light and silent. Tamar and Tolya were relentless, always watching, trying to stop you from seeing Nikolai. They insisted that he wasn’t worth your time, that he was just in a bad mood, though they wouldn’t tell you why. 

The moon hung high and cold above the narrow streets of Os Kervo, casting long shadows in the alleys. You didn’t dare look back, afraid that one glance would reveal your escape to Tamar and Tolya. The bar’s raucous laughter and clinking glasses faded behind you, swallowed by the city’s nighttime murmurs. 

You turned a corner, your mind racing with thoughts of Nikolai. What had you done to deserve his wrath? Every attempt to remember came up empty, a frustrating blur of confusion. You didn't see the men until it was too late.

A flash of metal, the sound of a gun cocking—it snapped you out of your reverie. You stumbled, your boot catching on the uneven cobblestones, and you fell to your knees just as the first shot rang out. The alley exploded into chaos, bullets whizzing past you, ricocheting off the brick walls.

"Get down!" someone shouted, but the voice was lost in the cacophony. You scrambled to your feet, ducking low and trying to find cover. Two rival gangs, by the looks of it, were locked in a deadly exchange, their faces twisted with rage and fear.

You pressed yourself against the wall, breathing hard, your eyes scanning for an escape route. Another shot grazed the wall near your head, sending a shower of brick dust into your face. You wiped your eyes, blinking rapidly, and saw an opening—a narrow gap between two buildings, barely wide enough for a person.

Without thinking, you dashed for it, your heart pounding in your ears. A sharp pain tore through your shoulder, and you gasped, stumbling but not stopping. You squeezed into the gap, your shoulder screaming in protest, and kept moving, pushing through until you spilled out onto another street.

The shootout was behind you, the sounds of gunfire muffled by the buildings. You leaned against the wall, panting, clutching your shoulder. Blood seeped through your fingers, warm and sticky.

You collapsed to the ground, arm still covering the wound on your torso, but you couldn’t keep your body up any longer. You were close to the docks. Someone would find you. 

“Hey, hey, hey…” A familiar voice floated across the heaviness, bouncing around in the back of your head. “Don’t move. I’ve got you.”

What did he say? Why couldn’t you move? You didn’t try though, instead nuzzling into the warmth of their hand. 

“…didn’t hit anything important, you’re okay…”

What didn’t hit anything important?

“You’ll be fine. We’ll get you back to the ship and get you right.” A warm hand pressed down on your abdomen, putting pressure. A sharp pain cut through the fuzziness in your mind. Your eyes met familiar muddy green ones. Ones that you knew all to well.

Everything came rushing back, your train of thought screeching back into coherence, and you gasped, face pressed against a warm shoulder. Nikolai’s shoulder. Pain flared in your abdomen like lightning, and you cried out, gripping Nikolai’s arm. 

“Easy, now, sweetheart,” he grunted, gathering you further into his arms as his hand turned more and more red. “Can’t have you move right now.”

Fuck, it hurt. You let out a small whine as Nikolai adjusted his hand. This pain was unlike you’d never felt before - you’d been stabbed before but it didn’t hurt like this.

“Nik- I- I…-” you stammered.

“Hey, it’s okay, mouse. You’re okay. Just focus on breathing.”

You bit down another cry, forcing air out through your nose, burying your head further into his shoulder.

“Good, that’s good… Can I move my hand, mouse?”

You caught a glimpse of him ripping off a section of his shirt - somewhere in the back of your mind, you were disappointed. You liked that shirt. It was a shame to ruin it.

“Nik, it- fuck…” You were really feeling it now, warm and sticky blood seeping down your stomach. Nikolai tried to tie the strip of fabric as tight as he could but the pain seemed to deepen with every movement, spreading up through your torso to the rest of your body, and you gritted your teeth to halt a pained scream.

Nikolai glanced down at your fear-stricken face with a mix of guilt and shame, but quickly offered you a tight-lipped smile. “Nothing new to us, huh, sweetheart?”

The nickname wasn’t lost on you, but you didn’t have the energy to comment on it. You felt woozy again, as if you were slowly floating away from your body. His muddy green eyes were getting harder and harder to focus on, your body begging for the respite of unconsciousness.

Nikolai moved quickly, carefully lifting you into his arms, his expression tightening as you winced. Despite the urgency, his touch was gentle, his concern evident in every movement. The streets of Os Kervo blurred past him as he made his way to the ship, his mind racing with worries and questions.

By the time you reached the ship, Tamar and Tolya were already there, alerted by some unspoken bond or perhaps just the unmistakable sense of something gone wrong. Tamar’s eyes widened when she saw you, and she immediately set to work, her hands moving quickly as she tried to staunch the bleeding and mend the torn flesh.

“They need to rest,” Tamar said, her voice firm despite the strain of her efforts. “They’ve lost a lot of blood.”

Nikolai nodded, his face a mask of controlled emotion. He watched as Tamar worked, feeling a knot of anxiety tightening in his chest. The thought of losing you, without ever understanding why you had caused him such pain, was unbearable. As Tamar finished and stepped back, Tolya helped her move you to a more comfortable position.

Nikolai paced the small cabin, his thoughts a whirlwind. He needed answers, but for now, he needed to be prepared for the worst. Turning to the twins, he took a deep breath. “I need to ask you about their… person back home,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “In case they don't make it.”

Tamar and Tolya exchanged confused glances. “Their person?” Tolya echoed, frowning.

Nikolai nodded, frustration creeping into his tone. “I overheard the three of you talking. They mentioned someone. If something happens, we need to know who to contact.”

Tamar's eyes narrowed slightly as she tried to recall. Then, a look of realisation dawned on her face. “Oh, you mean Nikolai.”

Nikolai’s heart skipped a beat, but he kept his face impassive. “What do you know about him?”

“Not much,” Tamar admitted, glancing at Tolya, who nodded in agreement. “Just that his name is Nikolai. They mentioned him once, but not in detail.”

Nikolai’s mind raced, connecting the dots. They didn’t know. They had no idea that the Nikolai you spoke of was him—Sturmhond, the privateer. He felt a strange mix of relief and guilt. Relief that his identity remained safe, but guilty that all of this had been a misunderstanding. “Thank you,” he said finally, his voice softer. “That’s… helpful.”

Tamar frowned, sensing his unease but not pressing further. “They’ll pull through,” she said confidently, more to reassure herself than anyone else. “They’re strong.”

Nikolai nodded absently, his gaze fixed on your pale face. As the night deepened, he slumped into the chair, needing to be near you, so he could apologise.

When you next awoke, the pain was pretty much gone, and you were decidedly not dead. It was a good start.

You were lying in a bed. For a second, the sun filtered through the windows and you thought you were in your bed. All the way back home in Novyi Zem. Your sister would run in in a moment asking for you to make her tea - you did it the best, not too milky and not too sweet. You opened your eyes to the sight of dark wooden panels. You were on the ship. The bed was familiar, though. The last time you were in it, a warm heavy arm had been resting across your chest. Your heart ached at the thought.

You looked over to the sight. The Captain was curled up in an armchair next to the bed, head cupped in his palm, his hair, loose and unkempt, clearly having had a hand run through it over and over. He must have nodded off at some point during the night. You were happy to see him sleep - he looked so calm and peaceful, unlike the past few weeks. 

His eyes fluttered awake, almost as if he felt your gaze over him. His flickered to your covered waist before meeting your eyes. His gruff expression melted into one more sympathetic, and he reached out to squeeze your hand.

"You're still here?" You croaked. 

"I promised you I'd still be here in the afternoon."

fin.

[forgeofthenine]

Oooo if you’re still taking requests, how about how the boys would respond to coming home after a long day, resting against their partner, and their partner removes their hair tie for them and gives them a little scalp massage? I love how they all have their hair tied up it’s so cute :))

This request was absolutely adorable and I love seeing our tiefling men experiencing a little domestic bliss, I hope you enjoy the headcanons <3

The bachelors when you massage their head after a long day

Dammon

Dammon is no stranger to long days spent in his forge, sometimes the thought of you is the only thing bringing him inside

You can hear as he hangs his apron up by the door with a loud sigh of relief

Call him over, ask him to come sit with you on the couch for a bit, he can never say no to you

And he falls back into the couch heavily, fatigue sinking deep in his bones as he feels your hands pull him down into your lap

Bright blue eyes close as his head meets your thighs, feeling fingers deftly taking apart his bun and freeing his hair

"Spoiling me now?" He asks with a light chuckle, switching to a rumbling hum as your fingers run over his scalp

Dammons more than happy to lie there in your lap as you give him a scalp massage

He lets out little noises of happiness, small pleased groans and self satisfied purrs at the soft treatment

An simple way to draw pleased moans from the tiefling is to massage around the bases of his horns, a particularly sensitive part of any tieflings scalp

Dammon sees nothing wrong with letting out a low moan every now and then before slowly falling silent

It's easy to think he's fallen asleep with the way he melts completely under your touch

When you've finished helping Dammon relax he'll finally open his eyes again, grinning as he pulls you down for a thank you kiss

Zevlor

This paladin works so hard to protect the tiefling refugees, spending hours bent over his desk looking at maps

You barely get more than a "Good evening, my love" when you come in to see what's keeping your lover

His shoulders relax instantly as you rest your hands on them, leaning your front against him as you look over his shoulder at the spread of maps

As your hands move up to his head you can feel the way Zevlor tries to lean back into you, seeking your touch

The pleased sigh that leaves him as you pull his hair free from its tie almost sends a shiver through you

It's deep and quiet, the pleasant type of sound that settles in your bones

You can feel his soft, long hair pooling over your fingers as you start to massage him, Zevlor leaning back even more into you

He looks the most relaxed you've seen him in weeks, eyes fluttering closed and lips parting ever so slightly as you work your magic

All the wrinkles that are normally set in his forehead disappear with each passing second

As his head leans back and reveals the paladins face to you it's entirely too hard to resist pressing a small kiss to his brow, feeling the warm skin against your lips and long hair around your fingers

Zevlor gives you a sheepish smile as you pull back to look at him again, and soon he's speaking again

"It might be wise to retire for the night now, and maybe you'll let me repay your kindness."

There's no way you can say no when Zevlor looks at you like that

Rolan

Your darling wizard has tucked himself away in his study as he tries to catalogue and organise all of lorroakans many tomes

It's easy enough to slip past the large wooden doors and into the large room, your frame dwarfed by the massive bookshelves lining the room

You find Rolan hunched over his wooden desk writing on parchment, not noticing as you come to stand beside him

It's only when you use a hand to lift his chin and right his posture that you reveal the tieflings bleary eyes

It's a simple thing to drop into his lap, fingertips brushing over his jaw before you let his hair loose and watch it frame his tired face

Your fingers drag lightly through his hair, shifting to rub against his scalp as a loud purr breaks the silence

As you rub gentle circles near his temples you can feel a familiar tail wind around your leg, the very end of it thwacking gently against your thigh

Rolan soaks up all of your attention in his sleep deprived state, hands holding you firm on top of his lap

He loves feeling you work any knots out of his hair with only your fingers, murmurs of how pretty he is leaving his lips

It's one of the few times you see him so genuinely pleased, relaxed and tired enough to not put up any fronts

"I might slip off to sleep right here, trapping you with me at my desk."

Rolans voice has a light rasp to it, eyes cracking open as he chuckles

[kaeyx]

Yandere!Chuuya drabble

Warnings: kidnapping

Notes: Reader is gender neutral. Proof of concept more than anything else, a sort of overview of what I think it would be like for Reader to live with him long term. Feel free to come ask about the concept, or offer input of your own!

He never lays a hand on you.

His home is gorgeous, a penthouse far larger than you could ever imagine, somehow managing to look honey despite the fact that it looks like something out of a catalogue. Trinkets from all over the world and books of poetry line the walls of his room, and the sheets of his king size bed often have vibrant colours or nice patterns. The shackle sort of shatters that coziness though. No matter how hard you tug, how much you scream and scrabble at the manacle around your ankle until your skin bleeds, it doesn't move an inch.

You look up from your folded hands, from the solved Rubik's cube in your lap, out the floor to ceiling windows and over the city. You'd never imagined you'd see the inside of an apartment like this, much less live in it. You'd never imagined you'd do anything to get out. The chain is infuriatingly, mockingly long, long enough that you can go to the ensuite bathroom and even open the door and step into the hall if he doesn't lock the door. The shackle around your ankle is also loose -not enough to let you slip your foot out though. It doesn't stop you from struggling and tugging at it though, even though he always looks disheartened when he sees the long scratches and reddened skin around your ankle. He always offers to clean you up, if he notices. Looks at you with the eyes of a man defeated and asks to help you in a tone so much softer than what he was known for. You refuse him each time, sometimes with spite, sometimes just retreating into yourself. He never pushes, never forces you.

Chuuya always looks a little sad now, whenever he slides the deadbolt and opens the door to his room to bring you food or gifts, or a new book. You don't know why you're in his room, or why he doesn't take advantage of the situation and shares the bed. His fiery halo of hair seems duller somehow, his strides less quick and self assured than you remember from before. It seems like an age now, when you knew him as a loud, intense, deliberate person; a man who liked his expensive wine and expensive clothes and his family and job as an executive. There's always a spark missing in his eyes now, a quirk missing in his brow. He used to nod or smile at you as he walked by even though you weren't his subordinate, and now he can barely look you in the eye.

You don't even ask for explanations anymore, you don't plead for him to let you go. You did, once. In the beginning. When you still had hope that this was all a horrible prank or a nightmare. It had shifted to rage eventually, and some vindictive, animal part of you had taken savage joy in seeing the hurt in his eyes when you yelled at him and berated him, and how all his usual bright emotions would fall away and leave a man who was carefully quiet and solemn, never rising to your baits, never joking or complimenting or attempting to reach out to you. Eventually you ran out of hope though, and with no hope you also ran out of motivation. You couldn't escape, you couldn't fight him, you had nobody to come looking for you. He wasn't letting you go.

The view of Yokohama is breathtaking, buildings and sea glittering under the sun, completely out of reach. Your hands reach for the cube and, with a sigh, you start to shuffle it again.

[ampd]

<1996.10.31> Slipknot - Mate. Feed. Kill. Repeat.

CD, Pale One Music - 000-2 [counterfeit]

Mate. Feed. Kill. Repeat. is the independent debut album by Slipknot, released on October 31, 1996 with a pressing of 1000 copies. The band self-distributed the CDs until June 13, 1997, when Dan Schlissel took the remaining 386 copies for distribution under his -Ismist Recordings label. Those copies received a new catalogue number (-ism CD 0032) and a very limited number of copies were unwrapped and opened to add a promotional ink stamp by the label, and later a promotional sticker. Mick Thomson and Craig Jones joined after the album's recording and as such do not appear on it. However, Jones helped with the concept and graphics of the sleeve. Although Slipknot considers the album to be a demo nowadays, its small number of copies has resulted in a lot of interest by collectors. Engineered in the winter '95-'96, Mixed during March '96, All songs written in fall '95.

Middle panel by Corn Wallace. Calligraphy by Nathan [Joey Jordison]. Sleeve graphics and concept by 133 MHZ & Kong. Sleeve layout, photo concept and photo cage created by Colsefni [Anders Colsefni], Nathan & Kong. Slipknot logo created by Nathan. CD picture distorted by Kong. CD picture, Cover photo: "Patiently Awaiting the Jigsaw Flesh" and All panel and band taken by Stefan Seskis.

[sapphires-and-silver-linings]

Tend The Light | One-Shot

For the first time since being dragged into this hellscape… you finally had something to look forward to.

A chance encounter with your fellow survivor, Alan Wake, leads you to make an offer he can't refuse.

Pairing: DBD!Alan Wake/F!Reader

Tags: Fluff, Romance, Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Smut, Infidelity

Notes: Hey guys! I recently finished Alan Wake 2 and I play him almost exclusively these days on Dead by Daylight, so I've become a little obsessed with him lol. I like that he's sad and just some dude suffering indefinitely. I also like that he tries to be a good person but still makes self-serving decisions that affect others, and just how introspective he is (though he gets in his own way). It doesn't help that Ilkka Villi is both attractive and an incredible performer and his voice actor, Matthew Porretta, is just so pleasant to listen to. ANYWAY, this is the first of many brain worms I've been infected with and is currently the only Alan Wake fic I've finished. Time will tell if any others fall out of my head. I hope you enjoy it!

Masterlist Catalogue

--------------------

Do not take for granted daybreak’s warmth  For when the night comes, we must tend even to the light

The Entity’s Realm was not an easy place to get used to.

You had been there for a couple months, scrambling to escape the trials you were forced to endure with your many fellow survivors, failing far more often than not. But you were surprised by your own resilience, quickly discovering your strengths and weaknesses and doing your best to help those around you.

Even so, to make it in this world was exhausting, the trials almost near-constant. You felt like you barely had time to breathe before you were being sent to the next one, having to brace yourself for yet another fight for survival.

Today, however, you were given the precious gift of rest, and you were desperate to make the most of it. 

You started off by lounging around in the office building you and the other survivors made a home out of. It was amongst a cluster of city structures sharing a street, a seemingly endless fog surrounding the area, keeping you from wherever the killers might be stalking.

You were thankful for the separation outside of trials, but it did little to truly alleviate the horror of this new reality. Facing the deaths of your teammates and yourself everyday was a hell you couldn’t have come up with even in your worst nightmares.

You wanted to sleep, but you only felt tense. Getting up, you decided to find something to occupy yourself with while you waited for the next trial to pull you in.

You chatted for a bit with some of the other survivors, though they were eventually called on by the Entity, leaving you alone for a short time with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company. And dark thoughts they were, mostly a looping montage playing in your head of every death you had suffered in this place that just got longer and longer with each new one to occur.  

Now that was something you didn’t want to dwell on.

You decided it would be a good time to explore the area. You idly wished you could run off and find a way out of this place, but there wasn’t much use in fleeing. No matter how far you wandered, the Entity would always have you in its clutches.

You moseyed about for a while, first in the building you resided in and then in the surrounding ones. Every structure in the area was a corporate facility and they all seemed to look exactly the same, boring you quickly.

However, you reached the very top floor of the building across the street and realized there was a stairwell up to the roof; something the others didn’t possess.

Mildly enthralled by the revelation, you found yourself under a dark sky, night quickly falling overhead. You took a step toward the half wall that separated you from the sheer drop to the ground below but were startled when you realized someone else was already there.

Alan Wake, you recalled, thinking back to the brief introduction he gave you upon your arrival.

He seemed like a very kind man from what you could tell, but quite distant. Beyond helping in trials, he didn’t interact much with anyone except Saga and Rose, who had apparently joined him from their shared world.

He braced his elbows against the top of the wall, looking over his shoulder at you as you stood there awkwardly.

“Sorry, I didn’t expect anyone would be up here. Hope I’m not disturbing you,” you told him. 

“Not at all. I don't own the place, you can stay here if you like.” He offered you a small quirk of his lips before turning his gaze back out over the horizon. His tall, lean form was stiff and his expression contemplative. 

Taking his words at face value, you approached his right side, keeping a couple of feet between you to give him space. You studied his profile from your peripheral vision, noting just how handsome he was, what with his long dark locks and big blue eyes, now slightly obscured by the furrow of his thick brows.

He seemed to glance your way and you were quick to avert your gaze, settling on the sky instead. You were surprised to see a smattering of stars decorating the night, a lovely window into the vast darkness beyond this horrid place.

“It’s beautiful…” you whispered, more to yourself than anything.

Alan followed your line of sight to the heavens. “Yeah, it really is.”

“I do wonder, though,” you started, half-facing him as you spoke, “is it even real? Or is it just another one of the Entity’s tricks?”

“Hard to know what’s real here,” he stated, “but I like to imagine it is. Seeing the actual sky gives me the hope that there’s somewhere beyond this place.”

“And maybe even a better chance of escaping.”

“What do you mean by that?” he asked, titling his head as he looked at you fully.

“If the sky isn’t under the Entity’s control, then maybe there are… I don’t know… holes in its design? Maybe even weak spots to exploit if we get lucky.”

He let out a quiet huff. “I see you’ve heard some of the conspiracy theories going around.”

You laid your cheek against your palm, supported by your elbow atop the concrete wall, looking at him with an amused grin. “You a nonbeliever then?”

“Anything’s possible, I guess. I just don’t think we should put all our eggs in one basket.”

“I don’t disagree, but as a working theory, it’s pretty solid. I mean, think of the fog. The Entity uses it to transport us not only around the Realm but from our worlds, right? There’s bound to be some wiggle room in between.”

He shook his head, chuckling lightly. It was a nice sound. “You make a compelling case, I admit. Were you a lawyer in your past life?”

You rolled your eyes at that. “No, no. Nothing so prestigious. What about you? You have an interesting career outside of this hellhole?”

He stared down at his hands, folded in front of him. “I was—or I am a writer. Did pretty well for myself before things fell apart. You know how it goes.”

You raised a brow. “Were you famous or something?”

He scratched his beard, looking almost diffident. “Uh, yeah, you could say that. But that was a long time ago. Saga and Rose are the only ones who really know that about me here. And, well, I guess now you do too.”

“Wow, I didn't realize I was in the presence of such a celebrity. How exciting.” Your voice was teasing, but you were being genuine, finding it quite enjoyable getting to know him.

“No pictures, please,” he joked, flashing you an easygoing smile. And what a nice one it was, the sight filling you with butterflies.

How had you never noticed just how attractive he was until now? You supposed survival was somewhat higher on your priority list up until this moment. He was quite a bit older than you as well, but that wasn’t much of a deterrent in your eyes.

You felt disappointed, however, when he rubbed his arm with his left hand and you caught the gleam of a golden wedding band on his finger.

Well, you could settle for friendship. It was the least you could hope for in a place like this, and you’d take what you could get.

You laughed airily at the quip before asking, “What genres did you write?”

“Horror and crime thrillers mostly.”

“Impressive. Stories like that aren’t the first ones I usually reach for, but I definitely enjoy them.”

“Yeah? What’s your preference?”

You were a bit surprised by his curiosity, not expecting him to be as willing to socialize as you currently were. You wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, however.

“It’s a bit embarrassing, but I’m more of a romance enthusiast. Though I’d say poetry is my favorite kind of writing above anything. I dabble in it myself, actually,” you admitted sheepishly.

“A poet, huh?”

“I know, it’s pretty pretentious,” you said with a laugh.

“No, not at all,” he assured. “What do you usually write about?”

“Hm… a little bit of everything, I suppose. It’s honestly a great way to express some difficult emotions in an abstract way. And there’s a fun challenge in figuring out how to structure it and whether to make it rhyme or not.”

“Not my personal strong suit, but I respect it. You publish anything?”

You shook your head. “No. I always thought about it. Even compiled all my work into a manuscript, but I never had the guts to.”

“Afraid to put yourself out there?”

“Yeah, pretty much. Got a mixed bag of insecurities, I guess. Fear of rejection and imposter syndrome are the most notable. But I think the hardest part is knowing I’d be baring my soul to the world. That kind of vulnerability… It's scary.”  

He nodded. “I understand what you mean. Once you show your face to the masses, there’s no going back. When I first started out, I really wanted the fame, you know? But I realized too late just how overwhelming it all was. It felt like…” he paused, trying to find the words. “It felt like I was drowning in it.”

“I could only imagine,” you mused solemnly. “Do you still write, though? Even if there’s not much of an audience to share it with?”

“Guess I could. But no. It’s been months since I’ve tried. Since I ended up here, actually.”

“Same here. Hard to find time or focus on creating something when we’re all being stretched thin by these damn trials. Not exactly high on the priority list.”

He chuckled at that. “That’s definitely part of it.”

You fell into an unexpectedly comfortable silence after that, the two of you returning your gazes to the sky. Your mind ran amok with questions you wanted to ask him, hoping to continue this pleasant exchange a little longer. Then an idea popped into your head.

“I have a… proposal for you,” you said, facing him again.

“And what’s that?”

“What if, over the next—oh, I don’t know—few days or so, we both write something brief that we can trade when we see each other again? How does that sound, Mr. Wake?”

“You can just call me Alan,” he replied with an amused laugh before considering your offer. “Something brief, you said? Would a short story work?”

“Yeah, of course. Write whatever’s most comfortable for you. Maybe no more than a couple pages? I’ll just whip up a poem on my end if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all. I like the idea. It sounds—”

“Fun?” you interjected with an impish smirk.

“Yeah, it sounds fun.” The smile he returned with was relaxed, a far cry from the clearly troubled man you normally witnessed him as.

For the first time since being dragged into this hellscape… you finally had something to look forward to.

***

The day arrived when you had a moment of respite, yet again visiting the roof of the building across the street.

You were buzzing with nerves, the realization that an actually published and well known author (in his world at least) would be reading your work hitting you like a brick to the face. But you felt good about what you had written, spending every moment of the last few days not in trials scribbling furiously in the notepad you had found. Fortunate to be surrounded by office supplies, you mused.

The poem itself was about your time here in the Realm, and all the pent up emotions that came with it. You ended it on a hopeful note, however, both for your own sanity and the fear that if you went too off the rails with what you felt, you’d somehow scare Alan off.

You waited for quite some time for him to meet you, the sky darkening like it had the night you first spent in his company. You were suddenly worried that maybe he forgot, or that he never intended to participate in this silly little exchange you came up with from the start.

Just as you were about to call it quits, disappointed thoroughly, the door to the stairwell burst open, Alan huffing as he jogged over to you.

“Sorry I took so long, I just got caught up in editing,” he told you breathlessly, leaning against the roof wall as he held out a notebook in his hand.

You were both relieved and giddy that he not only showed up, but clearly rushed over to meet with you. You had to hide your bashful smile as he stood to his full height, looking sheepishly down at you.

“It’s no problem. Just thought you got cold feet on me for a minute there.”

“No, nothing like that. I was pretty curious to see what you’d bring,” he replied earnestly. “And I wanted to know your thoughts on my own work.”

He seemed excited, and that had a warm feeling bloom within your chest.

“It might be a little too soon to think so highly of my opinion, Alan,” you said with a laugh.

“Then let’s not waste any time.”

He offered you his notebook, and you gave him your notepad in return.

“One thing I’d like to ask of you,” you started, feeling shy now that your hard work was in his hands.

“Sure, anything.”

“Could we check these out… later? The idea of you reading my poem right in front of me is a bit embarrassing.”

He chuckled at that. “I won’t judge you harshly, I promise. But yeah, we can just meet up again tomorrow if you’d prefer that.”

You let out a relieved sigh. “Thanks, I appreciate it. And I’m quite excited to dig into whatever you made. I’m sure it's great.”

“What did you just say? It’s a little too soon to think so highly of me?”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Hey, you’re the famous one out of the two of us. Not exactly the biggest gamble there.”

“You never know. Plenty of shitty authors have a big following. The typical reader isn’t looking for a masterpiece.” He shrugged. 

“And neither am I,” you countered, giggling.

“Touché.”

Despite agreeing to meet again to talk about your prospective pieces, the two of you stayed on the roof for a couple hours longer, idle chatter turning a bit deeper as time waned on.

You shared the highlights of your life before, describing the night you were taken and what you had left behind. Who you missed more than anything.

Eventually, he told you an abridged version of his own life. Your heart broke for him as he explained he spent the last thirteen years—going on fourteen now—trapped in what he called the “Dark Place”, away from his wife. He tried desperately to escape and get back to her, but he only managed to swap one prison for another. A worse one, which was something he didn’t think was possible.

“So many years I could have spent with her… wasted.” He sighed heavily, and you could feel the weight of his experience just by looking into his tired eyes.

You ended the evening on that somber note, promising to meet again the next night.

As soon as you were alone, you opened his notebook, hunkered down in the corner of the conference room you made your home, eyes greedily taking in every line.

It was only three pages long and his handwriting was a bit messy, but it was really good. It seemed to be a horror retelling of The Scorpion and The Frog parable, and the way he crafted ambiance in every line—not wasting a single word to express exactly what he wanted to—was masterful. How he could make something so subtle yet so succinct was a mystery to you.

You felt both jealous of his ability and humbled by it. You almost regretted giving him your poem, believing it couldn’t possibly live up to his standards, but that would have meant you’d never have gotten to experience such a gem.

Your one critique, however, was this clear bitterness that seemed to permeate every sentence. You didn’t expect a happy little fairytale from the man, of course, but you would have loved to see more range in the expression of the characters at least.

You could barely sleep, not only going over what you wanted to discuss with Alan about his story, but battling with the abject fear of what he’d have to say about your poem.

You were even a little distracted the entirety of the following day, fumbling a bit more than usual in your trials and probably pissing off a few of your fellow survivors. But hey, everyone has had an off day at some point.

You could barely contain your nerves when the time finally came to regroup with Alan, rushing over to what was now officially your meeting spot.

He was already waiting for you when you arrived, leaning his lower back against the wall of the roof, facing the stairwell door. His eyes jumped up from your notepad in his hands as you approached, a warm smile on his face.

“Glad you made it,” he greeted, beckoning you over. “So… what’d you think?”

Amused by his eagerness, you went ahead and jumped right into it.

You explained to him your thoughts on his piece, though you tried not to let slip the true degree of your zeal for his talent while praising his strengths or sound too harsh while offering your criticism.

He looked thoughtful at your words, simply nodding as you finished your verbal annotation. “I’m glad to know you enjoyed it, and I appreciate the honesty.”

“Of course,” you replied. “I doubt my opinion holds too much weight, but I figured I’d offer it anyway.”

“Well, now that I’ve read your poem, I think I get to decide just how much weight your opinion holds,” he told you, a brow raised.

Your gut lurched a bit at that, apprehensive of just what he’d have to say about your talent as a writer. “And what did you decide?”

He stroked his beard thoughtfully, contemplating his words. “I think you have a knack for setting the tone you want to express, and your descriptions are so vivid, they’re almost tangible. I also think the way you’re able to show your emotions through the text is as impressive as it is relatable.”

Your eyes widened at his praise, completely shocked that he enjoyed your work so much. You sensed the pit of anxiety that once formed in your belly morph into butterflies. An elatedness coursed through you, making you feel like a teenager with a crush on her teacher, basking in his approval.

“My only real gripe is that you handhold your audience a bit. There seems to be a tendency to over explain yourself. I also think you could benefit from a little more subtlety,” he added, grounding you back in reality for a moment. “But I’m no publisher or poet, so take that with a grain of salt.”

You nodded, storing his words for later, your mind flitting over all the ways you could have changed your poem to make it better. “Thank you, that’s great to know. You’re the first person I’ve ever shown my writing to, so it’s nice to get an opinion outside of my own head.” 

“I’m the first? Really?” He seemed surprised by your confession, brows furrowing.

You nodded, feeling timorous yet again. “You know, beyond assignments from my school days. I’ve kept my poetry under lock and key for the most part.”

“And you were willing to show me?”

You chuckled lightly. “Well, you’re a famous writer, who better to get an appraisal from? Not to mention, I thought maybe this could help me get closer to you.”

You weren’t sure, but you could swear you saw a blush color his cheeks. His tone as he replied was self-effacing, however, “Not sure why you would want to. I’m just a lonely old man after all.”

You rolled your eyes, feeling a pang in your chest at his statement. “You’re not old, Alan.”

His lips quirked up into a small grin. “Well, I’m certainly getting there.”

Shaking your head, you looked down at the notebook in your hand, ready to return it to its owner. “Regardless, I was wondering if you still want to do this. Keep writing for each other, I mean.”

You practically prayed to whatever out there might listen that he would agree, not wanting to lose this friendship building between you. You never thought you’d find someone you were so intellectually compatible with in a place like this—or ever.

A selfish part of you wanted to see if this could bloom into something more despite him making it clear he still loved and missed his wife. You didn’t think you could stand giving up these late night rendezvous, talking into the small hours of the morning and getting to see the warmth of his smile and hear the sound of his deep laugh. If you could swim in those bright blue eyes, you would have already dove in.

What had gotten into you?

You braced for his answer, preparing for the deep-seated disappointment that would inevitably follow in the wake of his rejection.

“Yeah, I’d like that very much,” he answered instead. “I have to admit, writing for an audience again after a decade of only doing it for survival has been… nice. Sure, there’s freedom in it no longer being a necessity, but I had lost all motivation until you came along. This last week has been the most normal I’ve felt in years. Though… it might be selfish of me to want to hold on to it.”

Your heart raced in your chest, relief and an overwhelming joy filling you whole.

“I’m happy I could do that for you,” you told him earnestly. “And it’s not selfish at all. We should hold on to the few good things we have. Nothing wrong with that.”

He offered you a fond smile at your words, and you knew in that moment you would give anything to keep it gracing his handsome face.

“In any case,” he replied, voice soft, “thank you.”

“Maybe I should be thanking you for being so willing to play along with my silly game. I don’t think anyone else would have given me the time of day.”

He chuckled, placing his large hand on your shoulder and squeezing it gently, to your surprise. “Well, I look forward to what comes next.”

The contact was warm and sent you reeling despite how little it was.

The two of you then exchanged your notebooks once more and he retired for the night, leaving you to your own devices, your gaze following his tall form as he retreated to the stairwell.

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding and looked back up at the sky, stars still twinkling in the night. How strange it was that those constellations would remain painted in the heavens during your entire existence, and yet your life was just a stream of ceaseless change. Like a tide. Like the wind. Impermanent. 

You knew what you would write next.

***

You and Alan continued your little exchange over the next several weeks, the two of you growing closer with every evening spent in each other’s company. His gentle guidance in helping you hone your craft was appreciated greatly, and you could tell your work was improving.

Although you didn’t spend much time together outside of your allotted meetings, the two of you would still chat in passing, and it appeared like you were the first person Alan tried to help when you wound up together in trials.

You were happy that you had finally found a good friend here. 

However, your crush on the man was forming into full-blown feelings, which were getting harder and harder to ignore. Sometimes, in the quiet, intimate moments shared between you, you considered telling him the truth. But one glance at his wedding ring had you biting your tongue, yearning filling your days more than fear, it would seem.

You savored every conversation made under starlight, keeping all the easy banter and every dark confession locked away inside of you. The fact he was willing to confide in you, that he thought so highly of you and your opinion… you would never take it for granted. 

Tonight you brought with you a tin of stale butter cookies you found while scrounging in the area, wanting to indulge in this little treat with Alan. He deserved this small comfort after all.

“Hey, you,” he greeted affably as you came through the stairwell entrance, patting the spot beside him on the ground where he had placed a quilt he found a couple weeks prior. “What do you have there?”

You sat with crossed legs next to him, face heating up just by being in his proximity. You opened the tin and held it out to him. “Brought a snack for us to split.”

His eyes seemed to soften at your words, grabbing a cookie from the top. “Thank you. I appreciate you willing to share your treats with me. God knows they’re far and few between.”

You shrug, your gaze unable to meet his, feeling suddenly shy. “Least I could do for you taking pity on me,” you tease.

“And here I thought you were taking pity on me,” he replied with a chuckle, taking a bite out of the stale confection. He smiled at the taste, sighing in contentment as he leaned back on his hands, his legs stretched outward.

His reaction made you happy, warmth settling in your belly along with the treat. You glanced over at him, seeing a crumb stuck in his beard. You giggled, leaning over to pluck it from his hair.

“Saving some for later?” you joke as you flick it into the distance.

He looked abashed as he laughed awkwardly. “I promise I’m not usually this much of a slob,” he assured. “Maybe I should just shave the damn thing.”

“No!” you said far too quickly, your eyes widening at your own outburst.

“No?” he questioned, quirking a brow.

“Sorry, it’s just that I like the beard. Call me a sucker for facial hair,” you admitted sheepishly.

“Is that so?” He was clearly amused, making you let out a puff of air.

“What can I say? I like the rugged look.”

“What else are you a sucker for?” His voice dipped low, the rasp of it sending a tingle down your spine.

Was he messing with you? You couldn’t be sure, but the butterflies in your belly made it hard to think clearly, especially with the way he leveled his gaze on you.

“Pretty eyes,” you let slip. His surprise at your words emboldened you to elaborate, “You definitely have a pair of those. Like looking at a clear blue sky.”

He huffed out a laugh, the corners of those lovely eyes creasing as he grinned at you.

“Well, I think your best trait is your smile,” he told you. “You could light up a room with it.”

Your breath hitched at the compliment as he leaned closer.

“Speaking of, you have something…” he paused as he placed his large hand against your face, dragging his thumb delicately across the side of your mouth to clean it, “here.”

Your heart hammered in your chest at the contact, the man never having touched you like this before. The air suddenly shifted, thick with an unexpected tension. Breathlessly, you tried to alleviate it by joking, “Guess you’re not the only slob here.”

His thumb then began to stroke across your bottom lip almost experimentally, rendering you frozen in place.

“Seems we have a lot in common,” he replied, voice distant as he seemed to contemplate something.

You could see the way his eyes drifted between your own and your lips, the silence between you heavy with what might come next.

As if possessed, Alan rushed forward, moving his thumb from your mouth just as he kissed you.

It was firm but gentle, and there was an evident desperation clawing up and out of both of you as you finally jumped into action, returning the kiss with equal fervor.

This was all you had wanted since that very first night under the stars with him, unable to stop the whimper that escaped you as his tongue invaded your mouth. Both of his hands now cupped the sides of your face, and you gripped the lapels of his suit jacket for purchase, losing yourself in the moment completely.

Suddenly, Alan ripped away from you, scrambling backwards as if struck.

Your brows furrowed in confusion and concern, seeing the way he breathed hard and his eyes widened. Before you could speak, Alan jumped to his feet, holding the back of his head with his hands, evidently distressed.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he muttered, refusing to look at you before he turned, already retreating to the stairwell. “I—I’m sorry. Goodnight.”

“Alan!” you called, dismayed by the way he was hurrying off.

But he was already gone, leaving you alone with nothing but the sky for company. Tears pricked your eyes as you shuddered, the warmth from his touch now replaced with the chill of the night creeping back in.

You couldn’t stop the way your cries echoed in the dark.

***

A week passed, and every night you went back up to the roof, waiting.

He never came.

He avoided you in common areas and even in trials now, refusing to look you in the eye or speak to you.

Another week passed, and your visits to the roof dwindled to every couple of days.

Two more weeks passed, and you stopped going altogether.

You had felt heartache before, but this… this was different. The connection you had, the way your minds and bodies seemed to move in sync when you were together—even outside of the romantic longing you held for him, you had never experienced anything like it.  

Losing this nameless thing you shared with Alan felt like a void sitting inside of your chest, slowly eating away at you until eventually there would be nothing left.

And the kiss. Even a month after your separation, you still couldn’t get the sensation of his lips off your mind. You felt stupid for holding so tightly to something that never should have happened in the first place.

Unable to hold it in any longer, you decided to write.

After finishing the poem, agonizing over every detail, you went up to the roof one last time. You set the folded piece of paper on the quilt that was still laid out on the concrete, placing a heavy bookend you found on top of it to prevent it from blowing away.

If he had washed his hands of you without so much as giving you a chance to speak to him, you could at least tell him through pen on paper. He was a writer after all. That might be the only thing to make him understand.

The next day, though, you felt a sudden embarrassment for giving him even the slightest indication of how you felt, believing that he might not see the page if he stopped visiting the rooftop to avoid you anyway. Worse still was the thought of another survivor finding the poem, which was addressed to Alan and had your name written at the bottom.

When you had the chance to get away from the trials for the day, you snuck back up to the roof, desperate to grab the piece of paper you had left. You wanted to try your best to go back to the way things were before you ever stumbled upon Alan in the first place.

Your heart halted in your chest, however, when you stepped through the stairwell door.

Alan was there, leaning against the edge of the roof wall, staring out at the darkening horizon just like the night that started it all.

You were frozen in place, simply standing there, questioning if you were imagining things for a second. Before you could pull yourself together and spin on your heels to escape, Alan had turned around, the soft call of your name from his lips making you pause.

Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, unable to even speak as he beckoned you over to him.

“Please…” he said, voice tight. “We need to talk.”

Hesitantly, you nodded, joining him by the wall. It was silent for a long while and he seemed to be avoiding your gaze. You wondered what he could be thinking.

Slowly, he pulled a folded piece of paper from his breast pocket and your stomach dropped when you realized what it was.

“I read it,” he confirmed, “and it got me thinking.”

You felt a surge of panic at that, terrified that he was about to rub salt in the wound—tell you how little you truly meant to him in the weeks you spent in each other’s company.

“I shouldn’t have left it here, I’m sorry,” you said quickly, finally able to get words out of your mouth.

“No, no, don’t be,” he urged, glancing down at you, “I’m glad you did.” His eyes moved away from you again, looking pained as he quietly added, “I’m sorry for how I handled things. It wasn’t fair to you.” 

An apology. It wasn’t something you really thought would be said in this moment, but you could tell it was genuine—if the anguished, deep frown marring his face was any indication. 

“I appreciate it,” you told him. “And for what it’s worth… I’m sorry too.”

His eyes were wide when they met yours. “What are you apologizing for? You’ve done nothing wrong.”

You swallowed thickly, dropping your head. “For wanting you even when I knew I shouldn’t.”

Glancing up at him from your peripherals, your shame apparent, you could see the way his expression softened. 

“There’s something I want to tell you,” he started, “and I would like for you to just listen.”

You turned to him and simply nodded, watching as he sighed deeply and placed his elbows atop the wall, staring at his hands in contemplation.

“All these years, wandering in the dark… the only thing that pushed me through was the thought of Alice and getting home to her.” As he spoke, you felt your heart sink into your gut, both in guilt and the renewed heartbreak of believing he was about to end things between you for good.

Still, you remained quiet.

He continued, “Despite the hopelessness of it all, I felt some sense of control in the Dark Place. My writing could affect reality, and that meant that if I just wrote the right thing, I could get out. But here… it’s different. The rules are different. My writing has no effect, and when I first arrived… I just panicked.”

He sighed again, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms as if to wipe away the vision of all the years he believed had been wasted. “The change—it made me feel like I was losing the very last of my hope. That I’d never make it out of this alive.” He paused to look down at you, that blue gaze reflecting his misery like the surface of water. “If I lose it, this stubborn thing that’s pushed me through thirteen years of madness and terror and the drowning loneliness… what would I have left?”

You could feel tears welling in your eyes, his sadness palpable.

He let out a shaky breath and a soft chuckle, a hint of a smile gracing his lips. “Meeting you, spending time with you—it reminded me of better days. It reminded me that there is still hope, still a flicker of light in all this darkness. I think, in many ways, you may have saved me from throwing in the towel completely. It was hard not to be drawn to you because of that.”

Your lips parted in surprise at his words, the warmth of them settling upon you like a blanket. It may not change the outcome of this night—he may still choose to keep his distance—but now you knew the truth. You meant something to him too.

“But,” he started, “giving in to the temptation of pursuing you… It was an admission that being trapped here might be a more long term situation than I wanted to believe. The kiss—of course it felt like betraying Alice, but what it meant was somehow worse. It felt like I was giving up on her. On getting back to her.”

His brows furrowed. “After a few years, I began to wonder, you know? Wonder if she had moved on in my absence. She had every reason to believe I was dead, and each passing year must have been like tossing more dirt on my empty grave.”

You regarded him morosely, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he took another shuddering breath, running his hand through his hair the way he always did when he was particularly distressed. You wanted to reach out and touch him, but you refrained. 

“If she’s moved on, I understand. The thought stings, but I would forgive her. I’ve made my peace with that.” A beat. Another breath. “Since meeting you, though, I began to wonder about something else.”

His eyes were swirling with the shadows of his grief, like souls caught in the river Styx. Perhaps you were caught now too.

“If she knew of my circumstances… would she give me that same grace?” he asked. “And even if she did, could I forgive myself for letting her go?”

He fell silent then, gaze cast down as you took in every word. The heaviness of his confession weighed on him like gravity, and you wanted to help him carry the burden of it. His feelings for you were the cause of this after all. You couldn’t help but consider yourself partially responsible, even if he adamantly denied it.

“Regret…” you began, choosing your words carefully, “is a starved thing. You don’t have to let it eat at you.”

He looked at you quizzically at that, the slight tilt of his head the only indication you needed to continue. “Thirteen years is a long time, Alan. I know how tired you are. You’re sick of fighting.”

“Are you saying I should just give up on ever going home then?” he questioned, an edge to his tone.

“No,” you replied, shaking your head, “don’t give up. None of us should.”

“Then… what are you saying?”

“Let yourself have this.” Your voice was low, gentle. “You wonder if Alice would give you the grace to accept comfort where it can be found, but why don’t you give yourself that grace? You know better than anyone how hard it is to come by in a place like this.”

He let out a puff of laughter, though there was no real humor in it. “I just wish I knew what she’d think. If she’d hate me for it.”

“I know I’m biased in this situation,” you told him honestly, “but I think Alice would understand.”

His lips parted, momentarily stunned, before he moved closer to you, his eyes full of hope as he placed his hand tentatively against your cheek. His palm was warm, a welcome feeling in the cold air.

“As much as I want this,” he whispered, “I don’t know how much of myself I can give to you. Alice… I am wholly hers.”

Your eyes fluttered closed, a pang of disappointment and jealousy carving into your heart knowing that she would always come first. Knowing that if the two of you ever did escape, he would be going home to her and not with you.

You released a breath, letting the feeling wash over and off of you. There was no use in worrying about the future now. You had to live in this moment. It was all that mattered.

“I know,” you replied. “I accept that. Whatever this is, it doesn’t need a name—it doesn’t need to be a promise. I’m just here for you if you need me.”

The tension between you was thick, the yearning in his expression making your heart race.

“Okay,” he murmured, yet made no move to close the remaining distance between you.

“Alan,” you coaxed, bringing your hands up to cup his face, “would you feel better if I kissed you first?”

He closed his eyes, swallowing thickly as he moved to grip your wrists. He kept your hands firmly planted against his cheeks, looking as if he was basking in your warmth.

“I’m not sure,” he replied candidly, though his voice was soft, “but we can try.”

You smiled at that, pulling him down as you stood on your toes to make up the difference, your lips pressing into his. It was chaste and sweet, more of an invitation than anything.

When you pulled back to gauge his reaction, his eyes were opened, half-lidded, and dark.

Suddenly, his hands moved from around your wrists to tangle into your hair, pulling you back to him and kissing you deeply. It was as passionate and desperate as that very first one, but this time there was no holding back.

His tongue pressed against the seam of your mouth and you easily opened up to him, craving nothing more than to devour and be devoured.

If regret was starved, then what did that make want? Perhaps it was a forest fire or a black hole—all-consuming. 

Before you could react, Alan grabbed you by the hips, pulling you up with surprising strength to seat you on the wall. Out of instinct you wrapped your legs around his waist and clutched his shoulders, separating your lips from his as a gasp of fear left your mouth at the thought of dropping down, down, down to the concrete far below.

His wide palms braced against your spine, holding you close to him as he looked at you, a playful smirk gracing his handsome face. He leaned forward to kiss the line of your jaw, the hair of his beard tickling your skin, before he whispered, “I won’t let you fall. Trust me?”

The deep rasp of his voice was your siren’s call, your body and mind helpless to the way they were drawn to this man standing between your legs.

“Yes, I trust you, Alan. Always,” you replied, voice small but undeniable in its conviction.

He let out a wavering sigh into the flesh of your throat, your words having had an effect on him. He withdrew from the crook of your neck to smash his mouth against yours once again as you ran your fingers through his dark, thick locks, combing them gently out of his face. You shivered as his hand crawled underneath your shirt, callused skin scraping deliciously against your side.

You pulled away for a breath then, your lips swollen from the barrage of forceful kisses.

“Alan,” you breathed, his eyes opening at the sound, “how far are we taking this?”

He paused, pressing a kiss against your cheek as he considered his response. “It’s been a long time since… well, you know,” he said, letting out a low chuckle. “But I want this—want you—if you’ll have me.”

The words emboldened you and you tugged his face forward to give him another searing kiss on the mouth, desire coursing through your veins like your own blood.

“Need you,” you murmured against his lips, what little self-control you might have had draining out of you as though a stopper had been prised from the inside.

His breath hitched at your reply, and he gave you a final, hard kiss before pulling away.

“Not here,” he said, voice like smoke. 

He helped you back onto solid ground then, grabbing your hand to lead you to the quilt stretched across the floor. Between sweltering crashes of your lips, the two of you ripped off your shoes and you laid atop the blanket, which was folded over and thick enough to cushion you a bit from the harsh, cold concrete under you. Alan dropped to his knees to follow you down, crawling over your supine form.

You reached out to touch him, yanking off his jacket and tie. Afterward, you unbuttoned the dark blue shirt beneath, relishing in every inch of his toned chest and abdomen exposed to you.

Alan let out a guttural noise as he pulled off your top and released your breasts from your bra, cupping them in his hands. His fingers were firm as they pressed into the flesh there before rolling your nipples between them, eliciting a wanton sigh from you.

“My little poet,” he spoke on the crest of an exhale, bringing his lips down to your chest to kiss and nip at the skin there, “you are so fucking beautiful.”

Despite the desperation vibrating through your every cell, it was clear that Alan wanted to take his time; wanted to soak in the feel of you and the sounds of pleasure he pulled from your mouth. He wanted to savor this moment. Savor you.

His hands and his lips traveled down your body until his fingers slid into the sides of your jeans, peeling them slowly off of your legs along with your panties. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he stared at your exposed heat, dark blue eyes filled with hunger.

He fell back over you, supporting himself on one arm as his hand lowered slowly, watching your face as he grazed his fingertips along your slit. You were already breathless from the intensity of his gaze upon you, the small gasp you let out at his touch making you nearly dizzy.

He teased you for a while, biting his bottom lip as he took in your every noise and expression, the sight of his teeth pressing into the skin the most erotic thing you thought you’d ever seen.

“Please…” you mewled pathetically, needing him to take this that little bit further before you went mad.

He smirked down at you, lowering his head to rasp into your ear, “Please what?”

You let out a huff, equal parts a laugh and a frustrated sigh. “Please give me more,” you replied, hoping your words satisfied him.

He grinned at your begging before kissing you hard, pulling back just as he sunk his fingers into your already soaked entrance. You cried out at the intrusion, the delicious stretch of his two digits making you paw at the quilt beneath you for purchase.

“That’s it…” he cooed, tone both teasing and fervid, “I want to hear how good I make you feel.” 

A clever stroke of his thumb made you keen loudly, back arching. Your eyes screwed shut, feeling yourself getting nearer to the edge with every stroke of his fingers.

“I’m close, Alan,” you whined, your body beginning to tremble.

To your dismay, however, Alan stopped completely, pulling his fingers from your heat. You let out a complaintive groan and Alan chuckled, capturing your lips in a deep kiss.

“Not yet,” he said lowly, pulling back, “I want to be inside you when you come.” 

Your breath hitched as he licked his fingers clean of you, clearly enjoying the taste, before sitting on his haunches. He reached down, undoing the belt on his slacks, slowly unzipping them and tugging them down far enough to release his hardened length.

You bit your lip at the sight of it, appreciating its size. Alan moved to hover over you again, tracing his nose along your cheek as he lined himself up with your entrance. Just the feel of him pressing against you had you swallowing in an anticipation so blazing, it made your skin flush.

“You still want this?” he asked in a whisper. “Because there’s no going back.”

You grabbed the sides of his face, making him look at you, “Do you?”

You could see the storm in his eyes—cyclones of azure blue—so disquieted, yet so full of hunger.

“Yes,” he murmured, searching your visage as if to find your answer there.

“Then I do too.”

A ghost of a smile danced across his features before he was kissing you again, almost bruising in its vigor. He pulled away just enough to watch your face when he pushed forward, slowly sinking into you with a shaky exhale. You gasped at the stretch of him and your head lurched up slightly, your open mouth breathing heavily into his.

He closed his eyes as he buried himself to the hilt, opening them only to stare into yours and utter, “God, you feel incredible.”

You weren’t his and he wasn’t yours, but you joined together like you were made for him. Like a final puzzle piece slotting into place. You had never felt so whole. 

You knew then you would be ruined for anyone else.

He caged your head between his arms and your hands dropped from his face to the back of his neck, just as he drew his hips back and thrusted forward again; slow and deliberate.

He kept this measured pace, his length dragging against your inner walls in a rhythm both excruciating and exquisite. If it wasn’t him, you would have begged for it to be faster and harder by now. But you knew how precious your time could be—knew that this might be your last and only moment in his embrace—and you wanted to enjoy it. The sounds you let escape from your mouth were just sighs of pleasure, your fingers grasping at his skin and hair in desperation.

He hitched your legs over his waist, lowering his body to press against yours, his hands sliding under your head to cradle it like it was porcelain. His nose brushed against yours, his gaze so intense, you could feel it burning through you.

“What have you done to me?” he rasped, his hot breath billowing across your flesh.

You let out an airy laugh at his words, replying, “Nothing you haven’t done to me.”

He smoothed a thumb against your cheek, his lips quirking into a small smile that you could feel when he kissed you again.

He began to quicken his pace, his thrusts firmer—deeper. You moaned into his mouth and he only grunted in response, slipping a hand between you to rub circles against the most sensitive part of you.

“Alan,” you breathed, digging your fingers further into his hair, panting between every heated kiss, “I’m so close.”

He drew back, voice rough like sandpaper as he demanded, “Then come for me, sweetheart.”

He held you nearer and your eyes screwed shut, overwhelmed by all of the sensations, your nerves ablaze.

“Look at me.” The command was spoken softly, but it left no room for argument, his free hand sliding down to grip your jaw. When you peered back up at him, the sight of his intense gaze—blue irises swallowed by the black of his pupils—left you gasping for air.

It took only a couple more strokes of his length before you were coming undone beneath him. Your back arched and your eyes watered both from forcing them to stay open for him and the ferocity of your climax.

You cried out his name as he worked you through your high, growling, “That’s it, sweet girl.”

His grip tightened on you, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he drew closer and closer to the edge. He captured your lips in a fervent kiss, a low moan spilling into your mouth as he came, warmth flooding into your depths.

He melted into you then, letting out a shaky exhale as he pressed his sweaty forehead against your own while the two of you caught your breath. His hands caressed your hair, and he let out a contented sigh before drawing back to look at you.

“Are you okay?” he asked gently, a softness in his gaze that still managed to make your heart skip a beat, even after everything.

He told you he wouldn’t let you fall, but didn’t he know? You already had.

“I’m more than okay,” you replied, tone wispy and teasing.

He grinned down at you, eyes crinkling at the edges, before kissing you again. This one was different, though; far more languid than the fever that had just consumed you both. So tender, it left you aching for more when he finally pulled away.

Carefully, he removed himself from you, the two of you hissing at the feeling. He zipped his slacks back up before laying beside you, tugging you into his arms.

“Here, let me keep you warm,” he said, feeling you shiver now that you were exposed to the chill of the night air.

You let out a quiet giggle as you rested your head upon his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat beginning to slow to a steady, soothing rhythm. Every sensation you felt in this moment was a reminder that this was real; that you weren’t alone anymore.

A comfortable silence fell over you, simply breathing together in the dark. In a small voice, you couldn’t help but wonder aloud, “What comes next?”

“I don’t know,” he responded honestly. You felt him kiss your hair, arms squeezing just a little tighter around you. “But what I do know is that I want you here with me. Whether that’s just tonight… or the rest of eternity spent in this hell.”

You ran a hand across his bare chest, smiling while you turned to look up at the sky above. The stars seemed closer somehow, as if you could reach out and pluck one from the heavens like a diamond from its velvet display.

You faced Alan once more, propping yourself on your elbow, “Then I suppose we should make every second count.”

He reached out to graze his knuckles against your cheek, a flood of emotions filling you both as you looked at each other. He tugged you toward him, kissing you, all the things he couldn’t seem to say bleeding into every movement of his lips.

He finally drew back, eyes pulling you in like whirlpools as he murmured, “I intend to.”

When you fell into him once more, bodies molding together, you failed to notice that the piece of paper folded neatly and tucked into Alan’s jacket pocket had come loose, sitting upon the concrete.

A breeze swept across the roof and caught it, blowing it off into the night. It wouldn’t be until the next morning that either of you would realize it was gone, a minor disappointment shrugged off and soon forgotten as you kissed under sunlight for the first time.

If anyone were to come across the page, however, curious as they pulled it open, the words that might greet them would read:

I was a shadow in the times before But when I met you, something sparked A flicker became a burst, became a wildfire And the breadth between us contained entire galaxies  An entanglement of a million stars heating up inside of me When our lips met, every sun erupted into a supernova And I knew what it meant to feel warmth  Your absence is a black hole  The cold it leaves in its wake settles bone deep Your faraway gaze betrays the ghost that now takes your shape And your pain is a sacrificial dagger Thirsting for a little more of your blood I can share in your darkness if you let me Harden every molten spill that lingers between us Let our dreams be dreams in such a nightmare But know this: If ever you turn to me, the glittering constellations in your eyes renewed I will always be here, Tending to the very light you once gave me  I will remind you of what it means to feel warmth

--------------------

Masterlist Catalogue

[raekensarcher]

Thiam fic rec <3

I’ll probably keep coming back and adding new ones in the notes, but here’s the list I have made so far :)

(in no particular order)

1. Handle with care 190.1k words, completed

Summary: Theo's back from hell and there's a lot of shit to sort out. Liam helps with that, sometimes.

2. Stray Dogs  2 fic series, completed?

Summary: *basically Theo is like I would break so many laws for u if u just ask*

3. The things you notice 2 fic series, completed

Summary: It’s literally just Theo and Liam loving each other in their pov’s. so special to me, actually.

4. You are stuck with me (so I guess I'll be sticking with you) 30k, completed

Summary: a look into how theo and liam’s relationship built up in the background of teen wolf 6b

5. when I watch the world burn, all I think about is you 6k, completed

Summary: Theo wakes up on the McCall couch and Liam is inside of his shirt. Asleep. On Theo.

6. liturgy for an atheist 2k, completed

Summary: “I don't want to hurt people,” Liam says, eyes flashing bright and blood dripping from his clenched fists, every line of him pulled taut like it's all he can manage to stand there destroying only himself. His rage smells like gunpowder and gasoline, ready to spark and burn the entire school down around them if someone doesn't put it out.

So Theo says, “Okay, then hurt me instead.”

7. a catalogue of spectacular alive things 4k, completed

Summary: In which Theo makes breakfast, goes to a baby shower, shows up late for dinner, falls into bed with someone he loves, and drowns in contentment.

8. coordinates (we are two points in space)  4k, completed

Summary: Liam can’t control all the leaving but he can control his not-knowing where. 

9. smoke rises, and with it the truth of ourselves 4k, completed

Summary: In which Liam invites Theo out into the middle of the woods, gives him a stale s'more, rambles about death, and teaches him to scream.

10.  old ghosts gather in liminal spaces 6k, completed

Summary: Liam asks, “What are you doing here, anyway?” 

“Same thing you are,” Theo says. Avoiding, searching, not-thinking, maybe. 

His answer seems to appease Liam. Or maybe he’d just rather not elaborate on the circumstances that made him seek shelter in a bus stop with a boy that he only spends time with when danger is making a home for itself in the corners of their lives. 

(Theo thinks everyone might be a little out of place, trapped.)

11. and I'll find my way back to you, party of two 2k, completed

Summary: On Theo Raeken’s nineteenth birthday, he is gifted three bullet wounds, two flat tires, and a grilled peanut butter and jelly sandwich made by the boy he might love. None of it is as bad as it sounds, really.

12. coming out of my cage and I've been doing just fine 5k, completed

Summary: The funniest thing is -- most everyone seems to be under the impression that Theo's driving Liam.

Like most things in Liam's life, it doesn't quite work out that way.

13. lovers alone wear sunlight 8k, completed

Summary: Liam comes home, in more ways than one.

14. when oblivion is calling out your name, you always take it further than I ever can 8k, completed

Summary: In which Liam is terribly high and completely smitten, Theo is allergic to emotions and totally whipped, Mason has the patience of a saint, and everybody wins, except for Stiles.

15. tell me no more secrets, I'll tell you no more lies 1.4k, completed

Summary: "Look at me," he says, and Liam almost can't. "Liam."

Liam looks. "You were attacked. It was self defense."

"Okay," Liam says, and feels the blood trickle from the corner of his mouth, the iron coating his throat catching in his lungs. "What if it wasn't."

Home is the first grave.

[hyalithium]

The newest chapter of my Tomarry time travel fic is up!

Fic Description:

On December 25th, 1991, Harry found two very special things that would become his very first secrets.

The first was the strange room, stuffed wall to wall with treasures and objects teeming with magical energy.

The second was the boy in the mirror.

(or the one where first year Harry & first year Tom become friends across time though a magic mirror and harry emotionally manipulates the horcruxes to break the time travel paradox and get a cute bf)

Excerpt from Chapter 3:

...

At some point in his life, Tom made his own face into a mask. Buried the person he had been under layers of curated perfection. His every emotion carefully controlled. Displayed only in the most deliberate way. Brought out when convenient or useful.

The world saw what he wanted them to, and nothing more. Harry couldn't help but wonder. Where did his real self go? Was he lurking, just under the surface, waiting to emerge in quiet moments like these? Or had it never truly existed in the first place?

Tom was an enigma. One that Harry was desperate to pull apart. To understand in every single way.

Had he been anyone else, he wouldn’t have seen anything other than the mild irritation Tom displayed. Would have been irritated, maybe hurt by the callousness he was being treated with. The thought made his heart ache. 

It probably made Tom feel more secure. Knowing that his weaknesses were so well hidden. But unfortunately for Tom, he hadn’t accounted Harry. Hadn’t taken his obsession, his need to understand the man under the mask into consideration. 

Because it was obsession. Maybe not the scary murder kind, but obsession no less. He couldn’t deny as much. Harry had never been so enamoured by anyone or anything. Maybe it would have been difficult to embrace - but he had a feeling it was mutual. At least on some level. 

Harry spent hours staring. Observing the boy. Watching when he should have been researching. He catalogued every new expression, every twitch of his brows, and remembered what caused it. 

There were lists in his mind of everything he had seen. Noted the things that make Tom crack a genuine, dimpled smile. How long each one last before it was deliberately smothered. One day, he promised he would know him well enough to cause that expression to happen every day.

Harry had only seen him truly laugh once. Desperation clawed inside him. A primal need to hear that abrupt melodic sound again. It sounded unused, stilted, and based on Tom’s reaction, he had surprised himself with it.

While Tom researched relentlessly, Harry watched. Learned. Obsessed. Catalogued. Eventually, he gave up on appearing to do work. Motivation to help might come back when they were doing more than just re-reading. He barely managed to get through the books the first time - he wasn’t going to waste energy reading them again when he knew they contained nothing relevant.

...

[xelasrecords]

Locus of Pain

Kim Jihyun x MC

NSFW

MC doesn't tell Jihyun she's hurt. He finds out anyway.

I'm back with smutty and messy ambiguous relationships! With GE Jihyun's personality. I will forever campaign for his GE personality until it becomes mainstream in fics and I don't have to put a disclaimer anymore.

TW: discussions on adult child abuse, self-destructive thoughts and actions, brief mild gore imagery, self-harm

Words: 4.5k

Masterlist Read on AO3

She stumbled into the apartment with a pained grunt.

She ought to feel bad for staining the floor with her blood, but she had more important matters to attend to. Her back was burning with lacerations and every step she took was straining the bruises that had burrowed into her muscles.

She tried not to swing her hands too much as she headed for the bathroom, disposing of her jacket at the foot of the bed. For once she was thankful for Rika's cramped apartment. It could be suffocating at times, but it was easy to live in. Jihyun said Rika had a taste of unassuming minimalism. She thought building a gilded emerald cult with thousands of followers was pushing the definition.

Gripping the edge of the sink, she clenched her jaw and started peeling off her blood-crusted shirt. The injuries shouldn't be too deep since the blood had stopped flowing down her back like a free-flowing motherfucker. But as she pulled the shirt over her head, it tore the barely knit skin apart, and warm blood started to trickle down again.

She cursed her thin epidermis. It was not supposed to tear over a mere picture frame thrown at it, even if the frame was large enough to cover half of the bedroom wall.

Her father had excellent aim and strength. He had proven that to her many times.

Sometimes she fantasised about breaking his skull in with a scorching hot pan, wondering if his hair would melt from the heat or if his eyes would bulge out of their sockets. Would he scream for her help? Would he plead for mercy or curse her for being a demon spawn? Then, she could blame him for fathering such an evil inside her.

Her stomach curdled with guilt. The resentment was hers alone, and he had loved her despite her selfishness. She couldn't shed away the primal care she had for him. She was her mother's daughter, after all.

Twisting her body in the mirror, she made a quick work of cataloguing her injuries. Two long gashes that dipped into her flesh but wouldn't require stitches, one blackening bruise near her ribs, and several cuts and bruises that stippled across her back. She tested her breathing. No wheezing. No punctured lung. An improvement from the last time. Jihyun wouldn't need to know.

She stepped into the shower and washed off the blood. The cold water chilled her bones. But it had to. It was better to feel all of it. She had asked for his wrath and now she dealt with the consequences. Besides, it helped with closing the wounds.

After she put on a pair of shorts, she reached for a bottle of alcohol from the medicine cabinet. Sharp gasps escaped her mouth every so often as she tried to pour just enough. Medicine was costly and she shouldn't waste it. The burn blinded her vision white and she hunched over the sink, focusing on the cold ceramic under her fingertips and the slicing of tiles beneath her bare feet.

When her sight had stopped swimming, she took a deep breath and bent her arm behind her in awkward angles to slap adhesive bandages to the wounded area. She grunted in frustration. It was tougher than she'd thought. She was nauseous from constantly looking up to check her reflection, the evening autumn draft was pricking at her exposed skin, and the plasters kept sticking to the wrong place.

She glared at the mirror. Do not faint.

How many nights had she spent patching herself up? And yet she still struggled. Her lack of progress was almost laughable.

She didn't think there were any glass shards embedded in her though. One good thing that came out of this. She tried not to think about the larger shard she had pocketed when the picture frame glass shattered, now buried under the bloody heap of clothes.

She froze when she heard someone punching in the door passcode.

She was about to kick her bathroom door close when Jihyun entered and switched on the lights from down the hallway. Their eyes locked, and he stopped in his tracks. Her throat constricted.

This was not how she wanted him to ever see her.

His face grew horrified, and he dropped his satchel in his rush to get to her. She had a fleeting worry that his satchel might have dropped onto the blood-stained floor and she might have ruined his fine leather bag.

Jihyun stood before her, his mouth opened and closed. She schooled her face into indifference and waited.

"You—" he started, "what happened?"

The impulse to lie was on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't find a good reason to when he had caught her like this. She doubted he would believe her excuses. The day had been long and she was so tired.

"A jolly good ol' catch-up with my parents." Her tone was casual.

Jihyun watched her with a worried frown, then squeezed into the small space and ran the tap water through his hands. He was moving with a surprising efficiency as he lathered his hands with soap before scanning her injuries and her first aid supplies.

"Please let me help." His teal eyes were desperate. She had forgotten how luminous they were from up close. "You can't do this alone."

"You shouldn't have come here tonight."

"I'm well-versed in healing people," he urged. "I used to heal my own injuries when I was with Rika. I treated hers as well. I know enough, so you can trust me." His fingers twitched, almost reaching for her before dropping to his side. "Please."

More than the fact that she was found out, she hated that she had made Jihyun worry about her. The only thing she excelled at was to instil negative feelings in people who cared about her. Always wrath in her parents, sometimes concern in Jihyun.

Jihyun had never lost his head at her, but she was waiting for it to happen. No one had the patience of a saint, not even him.

It was a pity she had condemned him to another relationship where he had to play the caretaker. Letting him treat her would be an appropriate compensation for his scare. "Go on," she said. "But I should probably lie down."

Relief flooded his face. "That would be the best. Can you walk on your own?"

She nodded, but he held her arm and assisted her to the bed. He sat her down, slowly, and helped her settle into a comfortable position to lie prone in. She buried her face into the pillow that smelled faintly of mint leaves. It was Jihyun's side of the bed. It comforted her that he was permanent enough in her life that she could find traces of him in her private space.

"Has it always been this bad?" Jihyun asked quietly. The feeling of his lithe fingers inspecting her skin with clinical precision was unfamiliar. His touches were always loving, adoring, not stiff with anxiety. He had never seen her with weeping wounds. She had never let him into the truth.

"Only when I deliberately provoke them. Mother goes off the rails, father blames me for not caring about my own parents, I try to save myself before things escalate." She raised her head and smirked at him. "I don't always succeed though. Got a picture frame to my back, as you can see. Took being backstabbed by your family to the next level. They were supposed to hang it where their guests could see, but I doubt they'd hang it without the glass now. People would ask."

There was a brief silence before he spoke. "That's terrible." His voice was soft, barely a murmur. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know they are violent."

She shrugged. "You're not the one who should apologise. And they will anyway, once they think I've iced them out for too long. Not that it means anything."

He shook his head, and strands of aquamarine hair fell across his forehead. They softened the distress that wrought his features. "You're not a mouse they can play with."

"No, I'm just their daughter they can hurt," she said. Jihyun pressed a bandage against the grisliest gash across her back and she winced. "Do you think it'll scar?"

"It most likely will. Had it been any deeper, you would have needed stitches." He paused, his palm resting on her spine. "Why didn't you call me?"

"It didn't occur to me," she lied. She wanted to lay down her defences and curl into his arms. She didn't want to keep fighting for herself. There were times when escaping was better than fighting for nothing, but it wasn't something she could ask from him. Her cage was her own.

Jihyun's fingers curled against her skin, and she could sense the waves of sorrow unfurling around her. "Can you think of me from now on? It doesn't have to be all the time, moments when you are hurt will do. If you call, I will come."

"I think of you all the time, Jihyun."

"Oh. I didn't know that." The surprise was evident in his tone. He applied another bandage to her back, smoothing it cautiously over the raw wound. "But I know no one is meant to bear their burden alone. You have been through so much."

"So have you, love. I'm not special." She gave him a bitter smile. "Now, why did you come here unannounced?"

Jihyun studied her for several seconds. "I wanted to see you," he said. "You've been withdrawn lately, so I thought something had happened."

She chuckled. "I suppose this counts as something."

"I never had to imagine you in my position before," he said. "I thought you'd confide in me when you're hurt. It's what you always urge me to do. You taught me to be more trusting. But seeing you like this makes me realise how much fear you and Jumin must have felt when I took matters into my own hands." He let out a ragged sigh. "I don't know how I would cope if I came here one day and saw you unconscious on the floor."

Lucky he wasn't here when she blacked out from a concussion a few months ago.

She made a dismissive gesture. "Do as I say, not as I do."

"Only if you let me do the same thing."

She levelled a glare at him. "Definitely not."

Jihyun snorted but worked silently after. The stinging pain was dulling into low throbs. She had lost count of the bandages he used, but it must have been more than necessary. She felt the adhesives even on the spots that didn't require them. Jihyun was being excessive. After everything she had gone through, she was confident that a small, uncovered cut wouldn't be her reason to die.

He should know. He had been stabbed and was still alive fretting over her.

She heard him uncapping an ointment and felt a cool sensation on her skin. He carefully massaged the salve into the bruises, sending shivers throughout her body. How nice he was. How patient. How kind.

When he pushed her hair aside to tend to the base of her neck, her breath caught. His fingertips sent fire down her synapses. It had been so long since they did anything. The distance she put between them was growing taut. The farther she pulled, the harder she would crash back into him.

Her arm moved on its own accord when she grabbed Jihyun's fingers and pressed her lips to the back of his hand. The strong herbal scent from the salve burned her nose, but this smooth hand was his. Hers.

Jihyun was always there for her to come back to.

He was not home. Home, to her, was not something that she ever longed to go. It was the misery that strangled her into obedience and shrunk her world into a dark, bleak place to survive in.

He was her sanctuary on a far-off island. Nothing could get to them when they were together.

Jihyun let out a light chuckle that sang to her heart. "Let me wash my hands. I don't want to make you any more ill."

She squeezed his hand. "I missed you too, you know. I'm glad you're with me."

He stilled, then crouched beside her head. He tucked the hair that obscured her face behind her ear and kissed her temple before gently wrestling his hand out of her grasp. The shape of his lips was just as she remembered it.

She watched him rinse the blood from her clothes and exhaled in relief when he didn't stray to her trousers' pocket. She watched him clean his hands with water trickling down his forearms, the brown sleeves of his sweatshirt pulled up and collecting water at the elbows. She watched him storing the first aid kit and medicines in the cabinet to her preferred arrangement. She watched him doing useless things for her.

When Jihyun climbed into the bed and rested against the headboard, she asked, "Do you know what the worst part of this is?"

He stared down at her, eyes carrying a heavy sorrow. "That your parents don't know how to love you?"

"Not even close." She rolled her eyes. "I've known that all my life. Not being able to lean against anything is the real tragedy. Look at me, I can't even sit comfortably beside you."

"But you can come closer," he said slowly.

She raised her brows but let him guide her to lie on his chest, his fingers resting on her bare shoulders.

He was clothed and she wasn't and it was something she needed to rectify.

She tangled her leg around his and relaxed her head against his beating heart. It was thrumming to a rising tempo that mirrored hers. She toyed with a loose thread on the neck of his sweatshirt. "I wish you weren't so good at fixing up injuries like mine. I wish you never had to learn."

"It's all in the past now." He slipped his fingers into the gaps between hers and clasped them. "I'd go through it again if I had known it would help alleviate your pain."

She snapped up at him. "Your martyr streak needs to stop."

"I have stopped. Just allow me this one exception." He planted a chaste kiss on her mouth, then cleared his throat. "Will you meet your parents again?"

She tightened the thread around her forefinger until it looked like diagonally dissected blocks of meat and she could barely feel its existence. "I know they do horrible things sometimes, but I can't cut them off. It's not that easy. I still love them. When they're not mad, they can be easy to love."

Jihyun frowned at her finger and gently untangled the thread before snapping it off. "That's what makes leaving harder, isn't it?" The haunting in his face revealed the extent of horrors that he had experienced. An angel with a darkened, torn soul who was still rising high above. He was not her. She liked that about him. "It's easier to hate someone when they have only been awful to you. It's their residual goodwill that gives you hope that they will change. When I look back to how stubbornly I stood beside Rika, I understand. Left in the dark, we cling to the light. We forget who trapped us there in the first place."

She didn't want to admit that Jihyun was right. That he was right, yet it would not change anything.

She wondered if she had been drawn to him because the subconscious part of her knew he would understand. Jihyun knew how to make her feel less alone in the guilt and resentment and twisted love that she couldn't untangle herself from. Most people were not like him. She learned from a young age that if people found out about the abuse, they would either urge her to leave—which added unnecessary pressure on her because it was never an option—or give her pitiful looks while stumbling over their words.

"Jihyun," she said.

He drew his thumb over her chin. "Yes?"

"Don't go." She pushed herself up and crashed her lips into his.

It was fervent, maddening, and she poured all the tension from their time of separation into it. The yearning to see him. The stress from her parents meddling with her happiness. Everything she had been missing after being alone for so long.

Jihyun reciprocated with more caution, treading her lips like they were a treasure trove. He gave in eventually when she didn't show a sign of discomfort, his kiss matching her intensity.

She bit his lower lip and slipped her tongue into his mouth. He gripped her shoulders, pulling her closer until she was pressed against him. His hands were not sliding down her waist and everywhere else like he tended to. He kept his hold staunchly on her arms even as he deepened the kiss.

It hit her what he was doing. He was being considerate of her battered body.

She let out a sob into his mouth. Nobody had ever cared for her like this. She could stand all the violence flung at her, but one act of kindness felled her to her knees.

Jihyun pulled away in an instant, his glazed eyes searching across her face and body. "Are you all right? Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head. "I was just thinking about you. You're wonderful. I missed you." Jihyun's expression was guarded, appraising her, and she let him. She had spoken the truth. She offered the truth so rarely that she would not omit more of it if it concerned his regard for himself. "I'm fine, Jihyun."

He gave a slow nod, and she tugged off his cashmere sweater. With a tender touch, she ran her hand through the ragged red patches of skin that stood out against his pale torso. Burn scars from a house fire. Both of them had childhood wounds woven into their very being. The past was made permanent on their skin.

Jihyun squirmed, seemingly self-conscious, despite her being familiar with the scars, but he made no attempts to stop her. He was beautiful, body and soul, she thought. He had more love and forgiveness in him than anyone she had ever known.

She trailed kisses along his jaw and sucked on the juncture behind his ear. He moaned and curved his body against her, and she smiled into his neck. It was amusing, the reactions that she could elicit out of him. No one could touch him as she could. He did not let anyone else know him intimately like this. He was only for her.

She suspected all of this played into his pleasure as well.

She twined her fingers around his hair, marvelling at the softness of it, and pulled it back to bare his throat. He had such a beautiful throat.

She didn't apply much pressure as she wrapped her hand around it, but his breath hitched. Her lips curved into a sly smile, her other hand wandering down his hard bulge. "I don't know why being choked always turns you on."

Jihyun held his gaze on her despite his reddening complexion. "I can feel you wanting me when you hold me like this."

"I do want you." She swung her leg astride him, straddling his hips and rested her forehead against his. The hard-on beneath her was hard to ignore. "It drives me out of my mind when I can't be with you."

"You shouldn't have pushed me away," he murmured. "I'll still want you, however you are, whatever condition you are in. You're always just you to me. Nothing can make me want you less."

"I'm sorry," she said. Jihyun closed his eyes, and she kissed his eyelid with a gentleness that she reserved only for him. "I'm sorry I left you alone."

He cradled her cheek, and she basked in the warmth of it. The safety of him. He was here and she couldn't fight the temptation to lose herself in him. "You didn't leave me alone. I belong with you. Anywhere you run to, you take me with you. I'm yours."

She tightened her hold on his throat to see his reaction. "You're mine," she whispered.

A slow smile graced his delicate face. "I am. I'm yours."

Jihyun drew her closer by the elbow and peppered kisses on her mouth, her chin, her throat, and her collarbones. He palmed her breasts and sucked her nipple while tweaking the other with his fingers. They hardened at his touch and she moaned his name, demanding him to be harder, rougher.

She needed to feel everything.

He bit her nipple and her hand slipped to the base of his skull, grasping at his hair. He was hers. His action and devotion were hers. It sent a deluge of pleasure down her core. Jihyun could be gentle, but he was also earnest to give her the satisfaction she sought.

She wanted him. She wanted him. She wanted him more than the freedom from her wretched life.

"I love you." She tipped his chin back. "I love you, Jihyun. Remember it."

He smiled up at her, his pupils blown wide with lust. "I love you, too."

She reached down and unbuckled his trousers. She had done more strenuous activities in a worse state, so fucking him wouldn't damage her already mangled body. But Jihyun stilled her wrist when he saw through her intention.

She narrowed her gaze. "I'm on the pill."

"You're hurt," he said. "I don't want to worsen your injuries."

"Have you not treated them?"

His grip wasn't loosening. "You need more time to heal. The wounds may open again."

"Then go slow."

Jihyun hesitated.

"Please," she croaked.

As soon as she uttered the word, she knew she had him. He sighed, but let go of her wrist. "You'll have to be careful. I'm stopping this if you push yourself too far."

"Brilliant."

Jihyun pulled down his trousers while she discarded her shorts. She lowered herself into him, relishing in the feel of him filling her. He ran his hands up and down her waist tentatively until he was sure that he wasn't touching any of the injuries on her back. Only then did he allow himself to move into her with practised ease. She held onto his shoulders and rolled her hips in tandem, burying her face into his neck and letting him control the pace. Jihyun had meant his warning and she was not eager to risk it.

It felt new. It felt familiar. It was what she had yearned for. His low grunts, her body slanting forward to hit the right spot, their skin sticking to each other in sweat and slick wetness.

Jihyun was slow, unhurried, with faint caresses down her back. His concern for her was easy to read. He was tracing back the pain that he couldn't protect her from. He might no longer bear a debilitating guilt, but she didn't think he could ever eradicate his need to shield her from misfortunes.

She couldn't blame him. It was the same with her, though the abuse done to her wasn't something that anyone could simply take away, and they both knew it.

She bit his earlobe, mumbling, "It's not your fault."

Jihyun tilted his face, and his lips brushed her cheek. "It's not yours either."

She stopped caring whose fault her source of agony was and thrust into him, picking up the pace while she dug her nails into his arms. He didn’t stop her, his hand snaking down to find her bundle of nerves instead.

She gasped and arched her back when he rubbed her. She was vaguely aware of the sharp jabs of pain in her back, but she welcomed them. Pain grounded her into him.

Jihyun's fingers were vigorous, and his thrusting was getting rougher that it twisted the coil in her lower abdomen. She writhed with need, whispering to him not to stop, and he listened, and it brought her higher and higher until the coil snapped.

She cried out in ecstasy.

Jihyun kept to his pace as she rode out the climax, not stopping despite her trembling legs and clearing haze. She focused on him overwhelming her in a way that annihilated her need for anything else. The alkaline tang of paint that lingered on him. His tightening grip on her bottom as she felt him reaching his climax. Him twitching inside her when he finally did, his muscles tensing as he came inside her. His pleasure-struck face that entranced her every time.

He was a marvel to look at, to have. He was hers. He had proclaimed it. He was the forest that shrouded her from the vultures circling above, the soft sand that sank her deeper into him with each pull of the waves, the hearth that kept her warm through the barren cold. With him, she could breathe.

She would give him everything he wanted. She would not let him go.

She slumped against him, their mixed fluids seeping down her thighs. He slipped out of her and she kissed the underside of his jaw. "I love you."

Jihyun's breath was still racing as he drew circular patterns on her shoulder blades. "Your parents didn't hurt you because you provoked them. They hurt you because they're abusive. It's not your fault."

She sighed. She had hoped he would let it go, but nothing could stop him once he made up his mind. "Knowing it doesn't make it any better."

"Do you really think so?" He ran his thumb up her inner forearm. She flinched and tried to jerk away, but he held onto her. The deepest scars had faded to silver, but the fresher ones were raised ridges along her skin. She had been careful, small cuts scattered on an easily hidden spot. She didn't realise he would notice. "Isn't this your form of penance?"

Her chest tightened. "It's the only thing I have control over. If I blame them and direct all my anger at them, I will hurt them. This way, the only person I hurt is myself. I'm not a weapon. I'm not a threat."

"Don't you think you've been hurt enough?"

She wore a thin smile and looked away. "Sure."

Jihyun's hands slid up her jaw and tilted her head back to him, his fingers resting on the pulse points on her neck. "You can be angry around me. It's natural to want to express your emotions. They're not something you're supposed to keep to yourself. Talk to me when you feel like turning to self-mutilation. I'm yours, remember? My ears are yours to talk to. My shoulders are for you to lean on."

She surveyed his pleading gaze with a twinge of pity. Jihyun was asking for more than he was supposed to receive. In time, he would see it.

Another waiting game had begun. She almost did not want to see the ending.

"All right. I'll do that."

-

Footnotes:

I went with Jihyun because I thought he'd be an interesting choice. The role reversal and all. He's forced to confront how he is seen through MC's eyes when he's involved in dangerous situations and refuses help.

MC's relief for living in Rika's suffocating apartment at the beginning parallels her feeling trapped in the familial cage that she doesn't want to leave. There's a reason why she doesn't move out of the apartment even after the cult drama is over. She's a bird caged too long that she can't take flight even if the door is open. She's not capable of leaving things behind, so she hoards everything she can (Jihyun) to herself.

MC thinking that her father "had loved her despite her selfishness" is the product of her parents' manipulation. Her belief that she's selfish if she feels negative emotions and wants anything at all is what drives her self-destruction, and ironically, her possessiveness.

With Jihyun, it's easy to make him fall into the rescuer role when the partner self-harms, so I was very mindful of depicting the discovery scene. I didn't want to romanticise it and make MC feel like if she got hurt more, she'd get more attention from him. Since this is GE Jihyun, he wouldn't default back to his old enabling methods.

I was dubious about making MC self-harm since I don't want this to be a gratuitous checklist of trigger warnings, but it makes sense for her to turn to cutting. If she has to be hurt, it might as well be by herself. Might as well be on her terms.

The nature metaphors are to show Jihyun's and MC's common interest in nature.

Are they actually in love or is it just oxytocin and loneliness? Who knows?

I felt pressured to write a romantic fic, but I haven't been able to these days so I turned to this. It brought relief somehow. This was cathartic.

I used to think I'd never write a possessive character in a non-antagonising light yet here we are. I compared this MC to the one from Wedge the Knife Under My Skin, but this one is blunter with her words and well, more possessive. She's bitter and sarcastic and resigned to her suffering. Fortunately, Jihyun is secure enough to see through her sharp defences.

The title is a twist on the locus of control concept in psychology, which is about a person's degree of belief on how much of their internal force governs their external life.

I don't know why I like to throw Jihyun into ambiguous relationships either.

Header Corner:

A quick process breakdown! Add a directional blur to the base footage > duplicate the footage, slightly shift the position and change the blur direction to get the hazy look > add a red filter overlay to fit the fic's bloody mood but retain the magenta in the background to resonate with the romance aspect > choose the appropriate angsty text and font!

-

Buy me a glass of something that's definitely not coffee because I can't stand it but it is the website's name if my story touches you in some way? No worries if you don't. I'm still grateful you've read all the way through here.

[wordsinhaled]

For the spotify thingy:

13 or 42 or 69

13 is "desire" by bob moses... the song they used at the end of 1.06... and honestly if there were a fic purely inspired by this song it would be about modern-day hob and dream clubbing because. i don't know what else they wanted us to think with that song choice???

like... the vibe of this song... impeccable...

-

Dream occupies a corner of the nightclub, existing in that fuzzy, liquor-soaked no-man's-land between the Dreaming and the Threshold. Humans weave many a story about themselves and one another in dimly-lit liminal spaces such as these.

And it is in this place that Hob Gadling is presently dancing his life-loving heart out.

Hob doesn't yet know that Dream is there. He wishes the stranger he's currently getting acquainted with were his Stranger. He's subconsciously cataloguing all the differences between them and the person he hasn't seen in a hundred and thirty-two years. It's long enough to make an ordinary person's recollection fuzzy, but Hob isn't an ordinary person and he can still remember all his Stranger's precise angles, the exact dark depth of his eyes, the perfect pinkness of his mouth.

He aches to see them now, the way he always does in the most raucous and anonymous of places—where it feels almost as though he might slip out of existence at any moment, spin right off the surface of the planet, and only his Stranger's presence could tether him properly to himself.

In Hob's eternal, ever-changing, vibrant life the shape of his Stranger is a constant. And his Stranger is not this stranger, even under the forgiving rainbow of the strobe lights.

But this stranger will do.

Dream nurses his gin and tonic, the glass sweating in his hand as much as the crowd sweats along to the heavy, pounding bass. It is his first drink since 1916 and the bitterness it leaves on his tongue is not unlike the acrid bitterness he holds in his heart towards the people who took his freedom from him. His choice from him. His time and his kingdom and his tools from him. His self from him.

He cannot help but notice his friend's daydreams. They were loud enough that when Dream resolved to find him again, their clamor brought him here. It is not often that someone daydreams of him with such clarity, or with such single-mindedness of focus.

Men forget in waking hours, but not Hob Gadling.

Hob Gadling has not forgotten him.

Even now, surrounded by alluring dancers, Hob thinks of him. Dream cannot see Hob amid the throng, but he can see what his friend imagines. Dream has not been touched in more than a hundred years, but Hob Gadling would hold him by the hips, in this place that is a shrine standing firmly half within his sibling's realm.

Dream has not been kissed in several ages of man, but Hob Gadling would kiss him on the mouth, here. He would kiss him sweet and slow, to belie the urgency of the other bodies, which strive longingly, yearningly against each other.

Yet there would be no less yearning in Hob's eyes despite his softness. It is a learned softness. A deliberate softness he wears like a second skin over the rough interior Dream has already known lies within. A practiced and honed softness, that Hob would now direct at Dream to devastating effect.

Hob Gadling's daydreams say he has wanted Dream for six centuries; Dream has almost lost the sensation of what it is like to be desired thus.

The choice of softness where there once was cruelty; where there could be cruelty again. Sweetness in the face of vitriol. Warmth and light, after the bone-deep chill and darkness of that cursed oubliette where he had been discarded by all others save this man.

Dream thinks he would accept devastation once more.

That it could look like freedom, in this place, tonight.

[r4v3nr0s3]

HELLO!

SEPTEMBER 22 is my B-day, I am trying to get my completed series THE EMERALD FORMULA, published.

So I’ve started a GoFundMe! Please check out my story below and if you could like, share, or donate it would mean everything to me.

LEARN MORE BELOW

I'm Raven Rose a queer, Latino, chronically ill, and disabled author and artist. Welcome to my journey as I get ready to be on my own for the first time in 15 years, go back to school, try to get on federal disability in the United States, and get my first novel published. September 22 is my Birthday month so if anyone is feeling extra festive, in lieu of gifts, I'd appreciate help here!

I’m restarting from scratch after a near decade of health problems, and despite great efforts to re-etner the workplace, 6 months time doing what I used to love, put me back in the hospital. For more about me visit my web page !

My lifelong dream has been to become a writer, but I can't do it alone. You can help me reach my goals and achieve my wildest dreams, and I could not be more grateful! Please do whatever you can do - like, share, and/or donate. I'm finally investing in myself and I believe my ideas and this story deserve investment too, so that's why I'm asking for your help.

Now for the goods!

THE EMERALD FORMULA is a series I've been working on close to 20 years.

The Working BLURB for novel 1 is as follows:

Renata Salcedo has never made a wave in her life. In the last few years though, she's broken up with her long term boyfriend, moved into her own place, and was diligently working towards the career of her dreams: a spot at the Smithsonian.

Fine... Adrenaline Junkie, Renata was not. She learned to stay small and figured out how to move quietly enough to stay unnoticed and survive. But it wasn't like she was unsuccessful. Her carefully planned path of baby steps lead her to exactly where she wanted to be: living her boring life and people leaving her alone to do her job. If anything, the job provided her all the excitement she needed. Unearthing old civilizations? Cataloguing the past through objects and art? Thrilling stuff! All done from the safety atop of an orthopedic pillow from behind a desk.

There was only one teensy problem with Renata's goals.

An entire world she knew nothing about existed right under her nose, and it's going to disrupt her boring little life whether she's planned for it or not. And really she can't complain too much, as it all starts with one of her absolute, most favorite things...

A Book

(Story EXCERPT at the bottom too)

REALM OF MATTER is the first novel in a complete 3-Book series called THE EMERALD FORMULA. At this point, the series needs refinement and editing, so both developmental and line editing. Funds will go towards paying the editors. Whatever is left over will go towards my publishing goals, and my intent to get an art degree and start doing marketing and making book covers. The three mock ups below were all created by me in Vector and Photoshop.

This Epic tale is a paranormal adventure with elements or horror, humor, fantasy, and an underlying slow burn human/humanoid monster romance. It features a diverse cast of human characters who break the mold of the Hero's Journey, and reject its sanctity all-together.

Its universe is heavily based on the History of science, magic, and folklore, focusing mainly on Pagan and Catholic mythology to give this Hero's journey a darkly poignant and comedic edge that digs in and punches up. The magical system is highly elemental, and dives deep into Alchemical and Spiritual theory from thousands of years ago. All of the artwork you see was done by me, a self taught artist (thought I'd like to go back to school next year).

I created my own language and phonetics system, also an alphabet.

All so I could make these transmutation circles based on sacred geometry.

YOU CAN READ CHAPTER 1 HERE

THE EMERAD FORMULA: REALM OF MATTER is a snarky thriller that features a bunch of traumatized, relatable saps often thrust into magical and extraordinary circumstances with not much but found family and magic on their side. But if they can't find hope in a hopeless situation against the ultimate evil, no one can. If you vibe with sacrilege, and enjoy flawed, funny characters, family antics, awkward slow burn romances, complex but accessible lore, legacy heroes, ancient monsters, chaos, magic, and mayhem? You've found the series for you.

Please do whatever is accessible to you: liking, sharing, and donating are all extremely important to make this project a reality. This means a lot to me and I greatly appreciate your support.

Thank you for your time,

Raven Rose

[mintmoth]

OKAY I'm gonna do a big ask response here! There's a few I didn't grab which are mostly just people saying sweet things- to which honestly I can't thank you all enough 😭 it's so wild to me to see people enjoying my art so much

I'm gonna keep most of the replies under the cut since it's gonna get a bit long but I wanted to touch on this one real quick-

Absolutely anyone is free to use my art as an icon wherever! Just be sure to have something crediting somewhere and yeah absolutely go for it!

OH ALSO my submissions don't work on mobile for some reason? The formatting messes up I guess, but check out this awesome coloring!! I love how the layers of shading look 😭

LMAO okay so I've seen a good handful of older/mafia au designs for Floyd and Jade and a lot of them have either both of them with double sleeves or Floyd with sleeves and Jade with a back piece- though I've also seen somewhere both of them having one sleeve on the opposite side

Right now I'm just messing around so I don't have any official tattoo designs for either of them, but I do know I want Floyd with at LEAST the double sleeves, and Jade with some pieces he keeps hidden by mostly wearing business attire lmao

XBSISNK THANK YOU 😭😭 honestly drawing hair is one of my absolutley FAVORITE things to draw lmao, most of my ocs have long hair I just can't help it honestly

YES ABSOLUTLEY probably not too often but I could definitely see Azul going to bed and waking up to a very full bed lmao. Funnier yet because I think all three of them are the type to cling in their sleep when they have someone else beside them. They're just weird sea creatures used to small comfy spaces

I actually haven't thought about this! Honestly I think that would be really cool! Or even if he found that he had a specific shade range of color blindness as a human- though I could see Jade and Floyd taking advantage of that by doing something like giving him the wrong color shirt to wear that day or something lmao

Though you also reminded me! Eels also have terrible eyesight! So I've seen people both having the headcanon that the twins wear contacts, and also the headcanon that Azul needs glasses now because he did a deal to give part of his vision to both of them

Honestly it's really cool to think about! I don't know which headcanons here I like the most, but I love seeing them

Okay honestly I absolutley have to draw this because I LOVE this idea and part of why I'm answering this is to mentally catalogue that I need to draw this lmao

I also love this idea! Like at lunch, after classes before they go to work at the lounge, and after the lounge closes up for the night it just becomes the twins' gossip hour lmao

Because yeah they do spend a lot of time together, but they're still apart a lot, and there's no way they're not telling each other about all the nonsense they're getting up to once they meet back up

DBSISNSK DONT CRY LMAO I got a handful of questions about Niles I want to try to touch on here

Absolutley he wouldn't mind helping anyone set up games on their computer lmao, especially if it's a hard to get visual novel that he's a fan of because he's the type to want everyone to play and love the games he loves

He's definitely dropped hundreds of hours into "creature crossing" with one of those islands with tons of customization and cute shit, and his "island creatures" are mostly cats with a couple dogs and the pegasus LMAO

Also while he's not directly inspired by any specific character, since he's in Ignihyde he does have a little Greek mythos theming and has some inspiration from Eros, which is also why he's very "love" themed/romantic

OH MAN I'm actually not 100% sure which moray I think the twins would be, I'd have to look more into them specifically

But I did want to mention that my idiot self is tempted to make Yet Another Oc (though I probably won't post this one since I feel very oc heavy already) that's also a moray- but specifically a snowflake just because wow I want to make a design around the coloration they have 😭

ALSO!!! Regarding Eel Anon!

I wasn't able to screenshot everything you sent but it was absolutley fun hearing about the dorm idea you have!! I love hearing about new dorm concepts and I've seen a couple nightmare before christmas dorms so it's neat to see the different ideas people have! Also no way do Eri and Rika sound like knock offs of the twins lmao they both sound really fun and I like how they juxtapose one another- also how you have their whole family worked out??? It just reminded me I need to do some more backstory work for my group lmao but honestly it was really cool reading about them so don't even worry about long asks or anything!

[sitp-recs]

Happy happy birthday darling @wolfpants! I’m so excited to be finally doing a reclist with my Wolf faves. I still remember the sense of awe I felt reading the magnificent Hollow (my very first Remus/Draco, so brilliant and poignant it got me immediately sold on the ship and also obsessed with that verse). Whether it’s Drarry or rare pair goodness, Wolf always delivers top notch cottagecore porn romance with gorgeous settings, captivating characters and a perfect mix of angst, fluff and smut, what else could we ask for? I’ve had so much fun selecting my own favorites for this list. The Drarry section might look small but that’s because I wanted to give a massive shoutout to Wolf’s delicious catalogue of rare pair shorts, which seems to be carefully crafted to meet my personal tastes (you’ll find that I got a soft spot for age gap and Ron thirst but I’ve tried to include a bit of everything and there are quite a few treats from Wolf’s stellar Kinkuary23 collection 🔥).

Dear Wolf, thank you for sharing so many great stories with us. We’re so lucky to have you on this fandom! It’s been amazing to follow your work as you evolve as a writer and explore my most beloved characters and tropes in your unique, creative, fun and self-indulgent way. I hope you’ve had a lovely day and ami excited to see what this new year brings you next! 🎉💜

🐺 Drarry:

Edges (E, 1.5k)

Draco explores the limits of Harry's edges. Harry lets him.

The Farther I Fall, I'm Beside You (E, 2.3k)

What happens when you accidentally kill your friend during a birthday prank gone wrong? You ask your Master of Death boyfriend for help, of course. Check out @getawayfox’s gorgeous art here.

The Holly and the Ivy (E, 4.6k)

This year at the Annual Ministry Yule Auction, Magpies Seeker Draco Malfoy's time is up for sale. When Harry places the winning bid, will their contracturally-binding weekend together heal old wounds, or worsen them?

Look For Me In The Sun (M, 9k)

Harry and Draco are on the run in America after a mysterious string of werewolf-like attacks in the Muggle community causes the Ministry to impose new and harsh anti-werewolf legislation. Giant trees, crashing waves, seedy motel rooms, and the long and winding coastal road awaits them, but will they ever be able to go back home?

Under Giant Mountains (E, 33k)

Harry doesn't know where he's going. Everyone else has their life paths figured out; he doesn't even know where his map is. Who'd have thought Draco Malfoy bathing in a Norwegian forest would be the guidepost Harry needed?

Pages of You (E, 101k)

Summer, 1980. Harry is floating between university and becoming a Real Certified Adult. He's not ready. He really isn't. In a desperate attempt to have the Best Last Summer ever, he takes a casual job at his godfather's bookshop in London, starts an illicit pen pal affair with a wordy posh boy that he's catching feelings for, all while dealing with the son of Sirius's business rival, one Draco Malfoy, insufferable know-it-all extraordinaire. Check out @homoaesthetics ‘s fabulous rec post for this fic here.

👖 Rare pairs:

The Classics (E, 1.1k) - Draco/Sirius

Sirius gets more than he bargained for when he heads to bed after a long day and night in Grimmauld Place.

Viridian (E, 1.7k) - Draco/Blaise, implies future Harry/Draco/Blaise

There’s just something about Draco. Blaise can’t quite put his finger on it, but it’s—an impulse. To poke, to prod, to pick his delicate wings off. To teach him some humility.

Love is a Verb (E, 1.7k) - Harry/Teddy

These days, Teddy loves and hates being alone with Harry. He craves it, and he dreads it, and he thinks Harry’s starting to notice. He wants him to notice.

Hymn to Apollo (E, 2k) - Teddy/Scorpius

It's the night of Harry and Draco's wedding, and Teddy learns Scorpius has an enormous crush on him.

Seat You Higher than the Stars (E, 2k) - Rarry

When Harry tells Ron he's ready to reveal their relationship to their friends, he lets out another confession: that he wants to be completely vulnerable in bed.

Yours & Mine (E, 2.3k) - Dron

Just another Sunday lunch at The Burrow. Featuring French dessert, fond Molly Weasley, flirty Drarry, and Ron's incredulousness.

Like A Brother Would (E, 5k) - Rarry

Ron wants to tell him, again, that he’s not focused, that he’s not planning this whole thing through properly, that he keeps missing things. That they need more structure, that he wouldn’t have lost his temper like he had if only they had the safety of a strategy.

A Bigger Splash (E, 7k) - Dralbus

It's his dad's 45th birthday in rural Sicily, and all Albus wants is to be seen by Draco Malfoy.

The Hollow (E, 12k) - Remus/Draco

They both drink, and Remus wonders how much longer he can stay here. His eyes are already moving around slowly, looking for an escape. Anything to get away from the eerily familiar slope of Draco’s cheekbones, from the richness of the voice that sounds so much like the ghost inside his own head.

Trillium (E, 13k) - Dronarry

Harry and Draco are shagging. Ron’s got a hunch, and the only way to find out is to volunteer his services alongside Harry’s in the Big Malfoy Manor Cleanup of 2010. What could possibly go wrong?

Precious Metal (E, 28k) - Dronarry

Precious metal awaits in an abandoned, cursed cottage on the Isle of Jura. Ron’s illegal hunting ring is on it, but disaster strikes when he runs into a jumpy and suspicious Draco Malfoy, camped out where the treasure is hidden. What happens when they accidentally unleash a bond curse when both of them harbour feelings for the same man?

Tiny Home (E, 30k) - Dronarry

Harry and Ron left the Aurors years ago to travel the world and make up for lost time. When they finally decide to settle roots back in England, together, building a tiny home in the Lake District by hand seems like the perfect plan. What they don't realise is that Draco Malfoy already lives on the plot of land that they choose to build on. Check out @slytherco’s scorching art for this fic here.

[archivist-crow]

On this day:

THE SLEEPING PROPHET: EDGAR CAYCE

On March 31, 1901, Edgar Cayce of Hopkinsville, Kentucky, put himself into a self-induced hypnotic trance and gave his first medical reading, correctly diagnosing an ailment and prescribing a cure—for himself. Totally lacking in medical training, Cayce nevertheless went on to give over 14,000 readings over the next forty-four years. His recommended treatments— often simple solutions consisting of diet changes, exercise, massage, relaxation, poultices, plasters, and homemade tonics and teas —miraculously healed thousands of people who were without hope.

The first sign of Edgar's abilities showed up when he was nine years of age. Squire Cayce, Edgar's father, frustrated by his inability to teach Edgar simple spelling skills, knocked the boy off his chair. Lying on the floor, Edgar heard a voice say, "If you sleep a little, we can help you." Edgar begged his father for a rest and fell asleep on his spelling books. Upon waking, Edgar could spell every word in the book. The talent stayed with him. As a young man, he worked in a bookstore in Louisville and, having slept on their catalogue, he was then able to refer customers to any book in the store and all related titles. Much to the manager's delight, this ability won the venue the patronage of the richest lady in town.

In 1900 Cayce lost his voice and was told it would never be regained. He worked with two prominent hypnotists, to no avail. At this time, Edgar's sister, Annie, worked in a millinery shop with Al Layne, who was studying osteopathy and hypnosis by mail order. He met with Edgar, who put himself "under" and began to speak in a clear, unafflicted voice, saying, "Yes, we can see the body. He described to Layne the cause of the partial paralysis of his vocal cords and instructions that led to his cure.

Text from: Almanac of the Infamous, the Incredible, and the Ignored by Juanita Rose Violins, published by Weiser Books, 2009

[parasitefun]

How do you do it?

Do you have plot armor?

in a sense, yeah, i have a lot of weird life circumstances that i haven't really seen other people talk about very often, and i have the decision making capabilities of a trailer park boys character, so my whole life has just been about trying to stack as many advantages as i can to balance out the setbacks.

very short answer: shoplift and apply for government assistance whenever possible (AND NEVER SAY YOU SHARE YOUR FOOD/EAT WITH OTHER PEOPLE OR THEY WILL DENY YOU FOOD STAMPS, also hrt is often covered by medicaid)

further context under cut, because i'm a lil self conscious to talk about myself in depth lol

both severely neglected by and obsessed over by my mom, grew up in unpleasant environment due to hoarding>supremely sensitive and dissociative, very attuned to other peoples' feelings (sometimes)

left in front of tv and books and unrestricted internet use (when i had access to these things)>get really into art and language and develop a strong mental catalogue of concepts and preferences

dropped out of hs and became a shut in>focus all my energy on writing fanfic/drawing fanart and eventually meet osman thru the hotline miami fandom

can only connect with crazy people>form bond so intensely with osman that he flees from his abusive family to live with me and my mom after knowing me for less than a year, we become inseparable and help each other learn how badly we were fucked up by our childhoods/societal lack of support for abuse victims

no ged so i have to take manual labor jobs to get us away from my mom>bodily dissociation and crazy work ethic make me a fairly competent worker drone

my mom actively demands i buy her shit and fucks up my credit score and fucked up my general life prospects>other family feels bad and helps us out in emergencies (not anymore now that mom has taken so much)

get injured a bunch/be malnourished and dehydrated/develop illnesses>have to take health seriously and work thru my dissociation so i can take care of myself because i have no other option

develop weed dependency to deal with issues>smoking weed is very cool

work shit jobs with disenfranchised people>gain a sense of dignity and respect for everyone at the bottom of the food chain, stop being self deprecating and work on liking myself because the world already looks down on me and treats me like an idiot so i'm not gonna just agree

shitty attitude towards myself makes me have a shitty attitude in my relationship, i struggle with being osman's caretaker so so badly and lose YEARS to being severely miserable and trying to shoulder my problems on my own>osman telling me directly how badly i was doing forces me to start dismantling my internal self harm mechanisms and i am able to be in the moment and take things as they are for like the first time ever this year

have no idea where i'm going in life>go all over and learn the hard way how i'm supposed to act