#havent worn it in years through

[sovereignsystem]

Every now and then I remember the one Unus Annus merch I could afford ended up growing mildew on it before I even had it for a year.

I think it's kind of fitting.

[buckiverse]

Sweet Surprises

inspired by eternal attachment :3

contents: fluff, suggestive if you squint, angst if you squint. friends-to-lovers vibe. confession *heart eyes*. 

summary: you tried to surprise zayne for his birthday but it failed. 

word count: 1.4k

notes: I havent written in so long, forgive any typos

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★It was the day before Zayne’s birthday, and your procrastination caught up to you as you stared at various ingredients. “Vanilla…chocolate…strawberry… maybe I bought too many base flavors,” you muttered. You sorted through the assortment of toppings—macaroons, blueberries, even edible flowers. Who knew you could flavor a cake with flowers? 

★You and Zayne had often talked about his love for sweets, but nothing compared to the day you both stood before the macaroon display at your favorite cafe. 

“What flavor are you gonna get, Zayne?” you asked, already eyeing a few of your favorites. 

He grinned slightly, “what if we get them all?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Get them all? And put them where??”

“In my fridge, of course,” he replied as if it was the most obvious solution in the world.

“Even so, we can’t finish all these by ourselves. How about we pick a few.” 

Zayne leaned closer, his voice softening, “Each macaroon not only tastes good but tells its own little story. Let’s try them all, hmm?”

★You smiled at the memory, whispering, “He’s so cute,” but your smile faded as you remembered the decision ahead. Zayne’s tastes in desserts made choosing the right one for his birthday even harder. And time was running out—this was supposed to be a surprise. 

★Another critical mention: you are a terrible baker. Between your hectic schedule as a hunter and lack of practice, you barely had time to eat properly, let alone learn how to bake. You glanced at the cookbook, the pages worn from your frantic flipping. Then it struck you—why not combine two things he loves? A macaroon cake! A… “cakaroon,” you mused.

★You decided on a chocolate base, grabbing flour, eggs, sugar, and cocoa powder. You mixed them, clumsily splashing batter onto Zayne’s counters. As you worked, one of your favorite songs began to play, and you softly sang along, your mind drifting back to memories with Zayne. 

★It all started when you were kids playing together. Zayne was always the quiet, stoic type, making teasing him all the more fun. As you both grew older, life pulled you in different directions. You moved to another part of Linkon with your granny; years had passed without seeing him before you knew it. One day, you landed a job at the Hunters Association, which came with a new health plan and a new doctor. You still remember the shock when you realized your new primary care physician was Zayne. At first, you thought it was a coincidence—after all, Zayne isn’t an uncommon name. But then, he walked in, the same Zayne you’d known since childhood, standing before you—a man now. 

★The truth is, you always liked Zayne. But you never quite knew how to communicate that. Maybe this cake could be a way of saying, “Happy birthday—by the way, I like you.” 

★You finished mixing the batter and poured it into two cake pans. “Mmh,” you nodded as you slid them into the oven. “Things are going good. I hope he likes this,” you thought, allowing yourself a moment of hope. 

★You sat on a stool by the kitchen island, glancing at the clock and humming to music. Suddenly, you heard the click of the front door. “Shit!” You thought, leaping out of your seat so fast you nearly slipped. During your panic, Zayne walked into the room. 

“y/n?” he called, his voice laced with confusion. He approached, reaching for your arm. 

You turned, face flushing. “Hey…” you said, trying to keep calm as you stood up slowly. 

“Why are you here?” Zayne asked, his brows furrowed. 

“I—I was going to surprise you,” you stammered, feeling your cheeks heating up.

“But it seems you got off work sooner than I thought….” 

Zayne looked at you, his gaze softening. But that didn’t stop you from talking. “I—I planned to surprise you, you know. Your birthday is so soon, and I know you love sweets. So I bought all these ingredients, lost track of time because I couldn’t decide what to do, and then looked up. You got home sooner than I thought, but I wanted the cake ready when you got here because this is supposed to be a surprise.” You stumbled over your words, going on and on about your plans for his birthday. 

Your cheeks heated up when you realized Zayne was smiling at you—that half-smile he always did when amused. 

A playful glint struck his eyes, “Should I leave and come back in an hour to give you more time to finish?” 

His teasing made your face even hotter, and you couldn’t help but laugh nervously. “No, no! I—well, I just wanted it to be perfect, that’s all,” you mumbled, looking down.

Zayne flashed that half-smile and stepped closer, gently lifting his hand to touch your cheek. “I don’t dislike it.”

The alarm for the forgotten cakes went off, breaking the tension between you two. You quickly turned and rushed to the oven, pulling the cakes out before they burned.

“Why don’t we finish the cake together?” Zayne suggested, his voice still light with amusement.

You placed the cakes on the counter, almost burning yourself as the hot pans grazed your fingertips. Zayne leaned over to inspect them, a teasing grin on his lips. “These are quite lopsided,” he remarked.

You blushed profusely, realizing you didn’t level out the batter earlier. Still feeling a little embarrassed, you watched Zayne walk over to his cabinets, pulling out a small container of toothpicks. 

He took one out and handed it to you. “Try this. Stick it in the center. If it comes out clean, they’re done.” 

You took the toothpick and gently pushed it into the cake. Relief washed over you as it came out completely clean. “Looks like it’s ready.”, you said, glancing up at Zayne’s emerald eyes. 

He carefully lifted the pans and placed them on the stove burners to cool. “What flavor were you thinking for the icing?” he asked, his tone more curious now. 

“I was planning on a raspberry filing,” you replied, your voice softening. “Like the macaroons we got a couple of weeks ago.” 

Zayne’s eyes lit up at the memory. “Indeed, that’s an excellent choice.” 

The two of you worked side by side, mixing fresh raspberries, chocolate shavings, and cream. The icing filled the kitchen with a sweet and tangy scent. As you stirred the ingredients together, a thought crossed your mind, and you couldn’t help but voice it.

“Do you ever get lonely?” you asked, your tone more vulnerable than intended. 

Zayne paused, his brows furrowed slightly as he considered the question, “Why do you ask?” 

You hesitated, then continued, “I was just thinking…  You’re working the day before your birthday. Doesn’t that get lonely? You spend so much time helping others, but who’s there for you?” 

He sighed softly, his gaze dropping to the mixing bowl. “I love my work. It’s fulfilling to perform surgeries and make a difference. But, yes, I suppose there are moments when I feel alone. What about you?” 

You stared at the swirling mixture, the vibrant red of the raspberries reminding you of the warmth that had once filled your life. “Sometimes, I’m too busy hunting wanderers to notice how I feel. I often convince myself I’m okay because I don’t have time to think otherwise. But lately, especially since Granny and Caleb passed—it’s been harder. Their absence is always there, even if I try not to feel it. “

Zayne’s hand reached out, gently covering yours. The touch was soft, but it broke through the fog of your thoughts. You looked up to find his eyes filled with sincerity, a quiet understanding that words couldn’t convey. 

“I’m here for you,” he whispered, his voice steady and reassuring. 

The loneliness that weighed so heavily on you seemed to lift for a moment. You moved your hand to hold Zayne’s fully, feeling the warmth of his palm against yours. In that shared silence, you knew you weren’t alone. 

Zayne gazed deeply into your eyes, wanting to see the soul that lay beneath. Tranquility filled the room, and the gentle strings of music were the only sound that broke the silence. 

Zayne leaned in closer, your lips almost touching; the tension between you was palpable. 

You lifted yourself, balancing on your tiptoes. Gently, you kissed Zayne's lips, feeling your heart skip a beat as your lips met his.

The kiss was soft, yet it carried an intensity that spoke of the emotions brewing deep within you. Your heart raced as he held you close, your veins pulsating beneath your skin. 

He slowly pulled away from the kiss, his emerald eyes never leaving yours.

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what did ya'll think :333

planning on writing a pt 2 maybe

ignore that I did not finish coding the stars LMAO

[rafesapologist]

the setback ─ rafe cameron; part sixteen

summary: it's been two years since your departure from the outer banks and rafe cameron has seemingly convinced himself that he can go on with his life as if you never happened, except now more than ever his addiction is at an all time high. whether he was snorting lines of cocaine at wild parties or drowning himself in alcohol to numb the pain, rafe couldn't escape the memories of you. despite his efforts to bury his feelings, your absence lingered like a shadow, haunting him at every turn. meanwhile, you've been navigating life outside the outer banks, trying to carve out a new path for yourself. but no matter how far you've traveled, the memories of rafe cameron still linger in your heart, leaving you with a sense of unfinished business. as you find yourself facing new challenges and opportunities, you can't help but wonder if fate will eventually bring you back to the place where it all began.

warnings: drug use, alcohol, plot twist

author's note: okay i have to admit i havent sat down and wrote in awhile so pls forgive any errors, love u all

The following days felt rather protracted for Rafe since your sudden egress that morning at the Cameron's residence. His father was still absent as usual, likely plotting some sort of reprisal for the threats Rafe had made at the dock since it was unlike him to let such a thing go that easily. Truthfully, Rafe couldn't have cared less about whatever vengeance his father was brewing in his depraved mind, he could only seem to think about one specific thing as if his thoughts were a record that only had one track to play. You.

The hypothetically 'reasonable' thing to do would be to reach out to one of your friends, but knowing them, they'd glue their mouths shut before giving away where you were to him. But aside from the Pogues, there was really no one else to go to for answers besides them. Rafe knew you had a tumultuous, basically non-existent, relationship with your parents, therefore they'd be rendered no use in the search for you. Every option seemed to lead to a dead end for him, seeing how you kept your circle of friends diminutive and your family disconnected. It was practically impossible to find you.

Rafe realized he had made a mistake showing up unannounced when you had returned to the island, and that it had nearly drove you to despise him even more than you did before. He couldn't make the same mistake again, not when your view of him was now dimmed and tainted by the allegations that he was out to destroy you and your friends. The relationship between you and Rafe was more fragile than ever, and Rafe wondered if the situation itself was enough to diminish any chance he had of being with you again.

It felt like a cruel joke was being played on him. He finally had you back after two years of longing to see your face again outside of a chipped pixelated phone screen, an agonizing wait that was worth every minute of affliction he endured while you were gone. But now, it was like the past was repeating itself, a horrid nightmare that haunted Rafe like a bitter old friend.

Rafe did the only things he knew to do to cope with your disappearance—coke and parties. Like retracing the steps on a well-worn path, every turn feeling like deja vu with every line he inhaled. Sure it didn't make him forget about you, but it sure did make the pain more manageable.

"Damn Rafe, I haven't seen you rage this hard since your dad tried kicking you out last year," Topper's drab tone rang through Rafe's ears, although fortunately for him, his friend was far too high to pay it any mind.

Rafe responded with a half-hearted chuckle while he carelessly bent back down to the table to inhale one last line of the white powdered substance before him. He breathed it in with an ease only a seasoned addict could do, a shameful talent he acquired in an attempt to mend his affliction.

"Yeah, well," Rage shrugged, wiping his nose of residue, "he's good at bringing that side out of me."

Topper's brows furrowed at the remark, feeling as if it was a subtle hint at what Rafe was going through. It would only make sense if Ward had been the reason his son was becoming a full blown addict again, since Rafe held his father's words to a much higher degree than anyone else's.

"Hey, why don't we lay off for a bit and get some drinks?" The blond added, a pang of worry coursing through him at Rafe's flushed and disoriented complexion, his pupils dilated to the max.

With droopy eyelids and a gaunt look on his face, Rafe's hazy gaze met Topper's with a faint smirk present across his lips, "Yeah, I could use another drink." He slurred while he gave his friend an inept pat on the shoulder before wandering off to the bar.

As he strode through the crowd of people, Rafe's usual posh appearance was replaced with disarray. His hair had fallen into uneven tufts, his face pallid and streaked with sweat. His azure colored eyes were glossy and unfocused, darting around the room with an unsettling lack of coordination. His typical arrogant, assertive demeanor stripped away by a slack-jawed, dazed expression. If it weren't for the fact that he was surrounded by a hundred other intoxicated people, perhaps someone would've been concerned by the way he looked.

The more steps he took, the more he could feel himself go in and out of consciousness. The loud, thumping music and flashing lights only heightened the symptoms of his high as he reached a euphoric state. The world around him was hazy and blurred but he felt a blissful peace as his once-racing thoughts suddenly went silent. It was the first time in days Rafe had felt anything besides grief and anger. Between you and his father, he felt like a burden under the scrutiny he faced by the ones who knew him best, and figured, maybe you two were right; maybe he was the problem.

Before he could reach the bar, Rafe felt a finger tap him on the shoulder, urging him to turn around. He sluggishly turned to face whoever it was, only to be met with disappointment at the sight of a familiar brunette standing before him.

"Holy shit, what happened to you?" Sofia looked in horror at the sight of Rafe's sickly complexion.

He rolled his eyes, annoyed by her comment, "What do you want, Sofia?" Rafe grumbled through his slurred speech.

"I.. came to say hi cause I thought I saw you across the room. Didn't expect to see you here," she replied hesitantly while she continued to observe his bloodshot eyes.

He scoffed at Sofia's remark, his voice dripping with a mix of anger and derision. “Haven’t you done enough?” he shot back, his eyes narrowing into sharp slits. “It’s bold of you to even come up and talk to me right now.”

Sofia’s eyes widened at the venom in his tone, her brow furrowing with a blend of hurt and frustration. “Look, Rafe, I know what I did and I’m sorry but—”

“No,” Rafe cut her off sharply, his voice like a jagged edge. “A bullshit ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t going to fix what you did. And besides, you should be apologizing to Y/N, not me.”

Her face fell, the weight of his words hitting her like a cold splash of water. “I know,” she said quietly, her voice trembling. “I made a mistake and I let my emotions get the best of me, Rafe. I was just so angry seeing you with her that I lost it.”

Rafe rolled his eyes, a harsh scoff escaping his lips. “I don’t give a fuck how you felt. You had no right shoving her into the pool like that. What if something worse happened to her? Then what? Your apology means nothing to me.”

Sofia's eyes filled with tears, her lower lip quivering as she struggled to hold back her emotions. “I didn’t think... I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was so caught up in my own pain and jealousy that I didn’t see how wrong I was.”

Rafe’s face remained a storm of anger and disappointment. “It’s not just about you and me anymore. It’s about her, and the fact that you let your anger turn into something so cruel.” His voice cracked slightly, betraying the depth of his frustration and helplessness.

Sofia’s shoulders slumped, her voice barely a whisper now. “I’m sorry, Rafe. I just… I can’t stand seeing you with her after all we went through together. You promised me forever.”

The words hung in the air like a heavy fog, muffling the chaotic noise of the bar around them. Rafe's face softened slightly, a mix of weariness and regret settling over his features. He looked at her, seeing the remnants of a pain he once knew intimately, but now felt so distant.

“Forever?” Rafe echoed, his voice rough with a blend of bitterness and exhaustion. “That was a long time ago, Sofia. Things change. People change.”

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, the weight of the situation pulling him down. “What we had is over. I’m with her now, and you forcing yourself into this situation only makes things worse. I need to focus on fixing what’s broken.”

Sofia’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as she shook her head slowly. “I know it’s over. I just didn’t want to be forgotten like this, to be left behind so easily.”

Rafe's expression hardened again, a wall of frustration rising between them. “It’s not about forgetting you,” he said, his tone sharp but tinged with a hint of sorrow. “It’s about moving forward. I’m trying to make things right for her, for us. But right now, all I see is a mess that needs fixing. And you’re only adding to it.”

Sofia's plea cut through the din of the bar, her voice cracking with desperation. “Please, Rafe, I only want what’s best for you. Please don’t shut me out like this.”

Rafe hesitated, his hand gripping the edge of the bar as he struggled with his own conflicted emotions. He turned back to face her, his eyes weary and clouded by the weight of everything that had transpired.

“Best for me?” he repeated, his voice hollow. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me, Sofia. You had your chance, and you made your choices."

Sofia's face hardened, a steely determination replacing the remorse in her eyes. "Then I’m sorry for what’s going to happen, Rafe. I truly am."

Rafe’s brow furrowed, his inebriated mind struggling to grasp the gravity of her words. "What do you mean by that?" he asked, a chill creeping into his voice as he sensed the shift in her demeanor.

Sofia’s expression grew somber, her tone taking on a more serious, almost threatening edge. "I was going to tell you that your dad came to me and offered me a proposition. If I did something for him, he’d pay me a large sum. At first, I wanted to reject his offer, come to you, and do the right thing. But seeing how you reacted tonight... I really need the money, Rafe. I’m sorry."

The words hit Rafe like a sledgehammer. His heart pounded violently in his chest, the alcohol-induced fog momentarily lifting as fear and anger surged through him. “What did he ask you to do?” he demanded, his voice sharp and urgent.

Sofia’s gaze dropped to the floor, guilt and fear mingling in her eyes. “I can’t say,” she whispered. “But it’s something that could hurt you and... someone you care about. I didn’t want to, but I’m desperate, Rafe. I’m sorry.”

Rafe felt the room spin as his mind raced. The reality of Sofia’s admission was like a brutal awakening, the weight of his father’s manipulative schemes crashing down on him with full force. He took a step closer, his face inches from Sofia’s, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “No, Sofia. You aren’t going to touch her. I swear to God, if you do—”

The threat hung in the air, taut with menace, each word charged with a volatile mixture of fear and fury. His fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white, the intensity of his emotions almost palpable.

Sofia’s eyes widened, her fear evident as she recoiled slightly from the raw intensity in his gaze. “Rafe, I—I don’t want to hurt anyone. I’m just... trapped. I didn’t know it would come to this.”

Sofia’s shoulders slumped under the weight of her decision, her eyes squeezed shut as if to block out the gravity of her choices. “Sof, don’t do this,” Rafe pleaded, his voice raw and desperate. “You don’t have to do what he says. No amount of money is worth this.”

Her head shook slowly, each movement punctuating the anguish on her face. “I didn’t mean for it to come like this,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “But I already made the deal. So now it’s either my life or hers, and I have to look out for myself, Rafe.”

The words struck Rafe with the force of a physical blow, his heart clenching painfully at the realization of the desperate position Sofia had put herself in. The intensity of his feelings for you surged anew, a fierce protectiveness that burned in his chest. “You’re choosing your own safety over someone’s life,” he said, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and heartbreak. “You know what that makes you?”

Sofia’s gaze remained fixed on the floor, her tears tracing a path down her cheeks as she wrestled with her torment. “You have no idea what it’s like to live like a Pogue, Rafe,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “This is my only chance to have a second chance at a better life for myself. And if this is what it takes, then… so be it.”

Her words cut through Rafe like a knife, the raw pain and desperation in her voice mingling with the weight of her choices. He could see the conflict etched into her features, the inner struggle between her dire circumstances and the moral cost of her actions. It was a choice born out of desperation, not cruelty, and the complexity of her situation only deepened his own anguish.

Rafe took a step closer, his voice soft but resolute. “I get that you’re in a tough spot, but you don’t have to sacrifice your own humanity to escape it. There’s always another way, Sofia. We just have to find it.”

Sofia shook her head, her eyes still lowered, as if the weight of her decision was too heavy to bear. “I wish I could believe that,” she murmured. “But right now, this is all I see. I’m sorry, Rafe. I never wanted it to come to this.”

Rafe’s voice trembled with desperation as he reached out to Sofia, his eyes pleading. “Sofia, I can’t let you do this. Just tell me where she is, please. I’ll do anything.”

Sofia’s shoulders sagged further under the weight of his plea. She looked at him with a mixture of anguish and resignation, the fight in her fading as the reality of his desperation sank in. She took a deep, shuddering breath, her resolve crumbling in the face of his earnestness.

“I… I can’t,” she said softly, her voice cracking. “It’s not that simple, Rafe. I’m bound by the deal, and if I break it, there’s no telling what might happen to me—or to you.”

Sofia’s eyes were heavy with the burden of her choices, her face etched with torment as she looked at Rafe. She could see the raw desperation in his eyes, the plea for her to help you cutting through the veil of her own fears and guilt.

“Rafe,” she began, her voice trembling, “I know you’re begging me, and I wish I could give you what you want. But I can’t jeopardize my life like this. You don’t understand—”

Before she could finish, Rafe cut her off, his voice strained with emotion. “I don’t care about your life right now, Sofia. I care about hers. You know what you’re doing is wrong. There has to be another way.”

Sofia’s gaze softened momentarily, tears brimming in her eyes. She took a deep, shuddering breath, struggling to keep her composure. “I can’t tell you, Rafe. I’m sorry. I... I have to go.” She turned away, her footsteps echoing with the weight of her decision, leaving Rafe with a suffocating sense of dread and urgency.

As she walked away, Rafe stood rooted to the spot, the last remnants of his resolve dissolving into an all-consuming fear. The finality in Sofia’s voice was a harsh reminder of the time slipping away, the enormity of his task pressing down on him like a relentless storm.

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[blackdollette]

HI!!!

Soooo i have a request for charlie🤭🤭

I was thinking maybe the reader has had a crush on charlie since, like, the beginning of the school year or something, but she’s seen him flirting with Kirby on and off. Charlie ends up seeing the reader pissed after he flirts with Kirby and teases the reader about it…which ends up with them in an argument/memoir session maybe? maybe soft dom charlie? idk idk🤭 anywho have an amazing day!! xoxo

omg this request made me realize that I havent written for charlie in ages!

"when you gonna ditch that stupid (*)" | charlie walker

meet me in the pale moonlight. - lana del rey

✮⋆˙ [tags] @faesucksass @lustkillers @mayathepsychic1999 @josibunn @si1nful-symph0ny @mayathepsychic1999 @@romanroyapoligist @livingdead-materialgirl @auggiethecreator @oliviah-25 @vanlisbon @lankysimp @livingdead-reilly @yungbloodsuxca @kashmirclam @imoonkiss @nom-nommmm1 @xxbl00d-cl0txx @wildathevrt @mommymilkers0526 @greenxgloss

female!reader x charlie

word count: 913

contents: smoking, jealousy, charlie being a loser

you didn’t care much for school. classes were redundant and monotonous, there was always some sort of drama that you got yourself roped into, and unfortunately for you, you’d always be the second choice for charlie walker. truly embarrassing.

if the flannels and button-up shirts didn’t classify him as a nerd, then the fact that he was a complete film geek and could quote every line in the scream franchise verbatim definitely did. so it was completely lost on you how he’d managed to score a girl like kirby reed.

as you hastily put in your combination into your rusted lock, down the hallway you heard charlie crack a stupid joke to kirby, earning a forced laugh out of her. you glanced at them through your peripherals as they passed by, seeing the way he looked at her with such infatuation and that stupid grin on his face.

you bit your lip, looking into your locker as a sting of envy coiled in your gut. it wasn’t like you were undesirable or anything. you frequently got your fair share of being asked on dates and cute little notes in your locker, but your heart knew exactly what it wanted.

kirby and charlie parted ways, their interaction ending with kirby giving him a playful slap on the chest before walking away. he stood in the center of the hallway, looking like he had just won the lottery with the way he was beaming. you rolled your eyes, slamming your locker shut and trudging out of the building. you had a class right now, but any intention you had of showing up had vanished instantly.

the sun blinded you momentarily, the warmth of the outside wrapping you in a gleaming blanket. you made your way to the fountain, sitting down on the edge and setting down your bookbag. you dug into your pocket, fishing out a nearly empty pack of cigarettes and a hot-pink lighter with a worn-out ghostface sticker on it. a stupid little gift charlie had given you in freshman year.

you tucked the cigarette in between your teeth, lighting it and taking a long drag. you fiddled with you lighter, your mind starting to wander to how you got in this position in the first place. you could’ve sworn that he liked you back. just a month ago, you two had gotten drunk at a party and he’d asked if you wanted to see his movie collection. a strange request, yes, but it was his own way of showing his affection. but now it seemed like he was just playing you like a cheap yoyo.

“smoking on school grounds? how scandalous.” his geeky voice snapped you back to reality. you looked up to see him standing above you, his auburn hair looking like pure gold in the sunshine. you rolled your eyes, exhaling a thin ribbon of smoke. “sue me.” you muttered as he sat down beside you.

you were angry at him but god, why did he have to look so ethereal? his ice-cold irises were swallowed by his pupils as he looked at you, his thigh brushing against you. “i… i haven’t seen you in a while. h-how’ve you been?” he plastered a smile onto his face, obviously uncomfortable by this interaction.

you scoffed. “save me the small talk, charlie. what do you want?” he pouted a little, looking more pathetic than ever. “you mad at me or something?” you turned away slightly, not wanting to see his face or else your cold demeanor may break. he snaked an arm around your waist. “you’re too pretty to be mad, y’know?”

you twirled the cigarette between your fingers. ”i bet you say that to all the girls…” he froze for a moment before smirking a little. “oh, that’s what this is about. you’re jealous, huh?” he pulled you in closer, almost pulling you onto his lap before you began to squirm. “quit it, will you? you can’t just pretend to like me then go ahead and eyefuck kirby everytime you talk to her.” 

he raised an eyebrow. “so it’s fine for you to get asked out by every guy in school but when i talk to another girl you get all mad at me?” he scoffed. you shook your head, putting a hand on his shoulder to turn him back to you. “i reject every single one of them in hopes that one day you’ll gather up the balls to ask me out.” you froze up. you hadn’t meant to reveal that much to me.

but a hint of a smile lit up his face. he glanced down, looking at the lighter in your hand and taking in the sight of the conspicuous sticker on it. he took your hand into his, opening yours to get a better look. “w-woah… you still have this..?” you rolled your eyes a little. “don’t get any ideas. i’ve tried to get it off but it wouldn’t budge.”

he laughed a little, holding you close to him. you felt his faint heartbeat against your back, letting a moment of silence drape over you two. then he spoke again. “h-hey, i never finished showing you my movie collection. are you down tonight to take a look at the rest of them?” it was your turn to roll your eyes. “i swear, you’re the biggest loser in the world.”

he beamed with joy, giving you a tight squeeze around your waist. “i’ll take that as a yes.”

author's note: i'm so sorry that this took so long to get out, I've been so unorganized lately :((

[f1crecs]

Fic Rec List - Action AUs (Giveaway Winner Post)

if your fic is on this list and you don’t want it to be, please let me know and we will remove it immediately, no questions asked. we have contacted most of the authors on this list, but sometimes people fall through the gaps - just pop us a message🤍

have a pairing you want us to do next? please read the faqs and then head to the inbox.

don’t forget to give the authors featured on this list some love in the form of kudos, bookmarks, and comments!

hi @onboardsorasora thank you SO MUCH for your request, and congratulations again for winning the giveaway ❤️ we are so sorry that this took such a long time to get to you... unfortunately the mod team have been rather busy with all sorts of things: wedding planning and driving lessons and travelling abroad and writing copious amounts of smut. we hope this was worth the wait ❤️

Daniel/Max

nsfw: I struck a match and blew your mind by @33max | Not Rated | 4.1k

Max is a getaway driver and starts to work with Daniel on jobs. I loved the pacing of this fic. There's so much detail and progress within this and the author really did a great job of picking which parts to highlight for the plot progression. I loved Max's commitment to Daniel.

“I am, I promise. I think it’s just a broken rib or two.” Daniel says, and his hand comes up to squeeze Max’s shoulder from the backseat. There is blood on his knuckles. “C’mon Maxy, be a good boy and get us out of here.” So Max does. He gets them out of there, but he feels sick. Not because they almost got caught, but because he knows that if Daniel really had needed to go to the hospital he would not have been able to leave him there. He would have let them both get caught over leaving Daniel alone and hurt on a hospital doorstep.

nsfw: strangers by bloodmoonforme | E | 37.9k

Daniel, a detective, is on a not-quite-dead-end murder case when they bring in Max from out of state to help him solve it. They have history and havent seen each other in four years. I loved the tone in this so much. The author has a very coherent narrative that build just right, its really intriguing. I also love how the reader almost solves the case too. Not only the murder case, but the /what happened to Max and Daniel/ case that gets revealed throughout. Its a truly well written fic with a lot of action and feelings!

He gets up, his stomach feeling heavier and colder by the second. There's something creeping all the way from his fingers, up his arms and to his belly, a prickly sick thing. Then he looks towards the center of the room, marked by a well-worn rug. Daniel stands there, alone in Esther’s bedroom, standing in the half-light. He's there, and suddenly he’s not.

nsfw: Bite Down and Taste Red by @mysticalbreadcollective | E | 46.5k

Max works in a bar, and Daniel is the Mafia Boss who keeps buying drinks. This story is absolutely captivating - from beginning to end, it is so beautifully written and paced, with just enough angst to make things truly delicious. Daniel is so much fun here - hot and charismatic and so very head over heels for his bartender!

He finds out that Max speaks several languages, and he’s from a place called Hasselt, which means absolutely nothing to Daniel. He’d looked it up later, on the map on his phone, squinting at it. Compared with the US, its miniscule. He can’t imagine Max being born in a place so small. When Max is so – much.

Carlos/Lando & Daniel/Max

i'll race you for pinks by @chubbydinosaur | M | 30k

Lando is brought on to a heist by professional criminal, Carlos. Sparks fly. This story is such a fun ride - as always, this author perfectly balances humour, emotion, and high stakes action, and it makes for a thrilling read. Lando is so disarmingly charming in this - I adored him!

Daniel/Lando

til the bone crush by @clementiaes | T | 19k

Pacific Rim is perfect for Formula 1 AUs, and this is one of my favourite examples. Daniel and Lando are paired as Jaeger pilots. Both are coming off of other drift partners with baggage - Daniel from Max after Max’s career ending injury, and Lando from something that could have been a relationship with Carlos, had Lando’s insecurities not buried it before it started. Lando is prickly, closed-off and miserable at the start of this story, convinced he is unlovable. This story is about him gently and gradually being opened up to the realisation that people love him, and that he deserves to be loved.

The point is, no one is getting tired of you any time soon,” Daniel says. “Seriously, who even told you that?” Lando looks down at his hands, picking at a hangnail. “No one. I just — I know I’m not easy to get along with.” Daniel frowns. “You deserve to be happy,” he says, finally. “You know that, right?” Lando looks down at his knees. “Look at me, Lando,” Daniel says, but Lando doesn’t. His shoulders are starting to creep back up near his ears again. Daniel’s moving before he quite knows what he’s doing. He gets one hand on Lando’s shoulder and one on his chin, turning his face so that he’ll look at him. Lando sucks in a sharp breath, eyes wide, but to Daniel’s surprise, he doesn’t pull away. “I don’t know how you got it into your head that you’re like, unlovable, or something, but it’s not true,” Daniel says. “Really. You think you can believe that for me?”

Charles/Sebastian

He Is All, And He Is More by @effervescentdragon | M | 15k

In this AU of The Old Guard, Sebastian and Charles are immortals that meet on the battlefield during the Crusades. They kill one another over and over, until they reach a tentative understanding. Their relationship deepens over the centuries. It can be difficult to write characters as ancient and make them feel ancient, and Akira really does. I love the tentative way they negotiate one another, and the understanding they gradually come to. Battlefield enemies to lovers is quite the relationship arc.

"And if we only met a thousand of years from now, you would still be wearing red.” “Why?” Sebastian shrugs, a grin evident in the dark. “Your red string dictates it. Fate, or something. Destiny. Red suits you. You look good in red.” Charles bites his tongue. “So do you.”

Lewis/Nico/Sebastian

on golden sands by sionisjaune | T | 6.2k

Lewis Hamilton is planning the heist of the century and he wants Sebastian Vettel on his team. The target - Baron Nico Rosbergs car collection. Sounds simple on paper but reality never is. Oceans Eleven heist!au. Who doesnt love a good heist!au? This author writes some of my favourite sebcedes, the characterisations are spot on and the vibes are at turns wholesome and rancid. Perfection in a fic!

Rosberg greets Seb at the gate, behind the windshield of a pale blue Bentley. The paint job sparkles in the golden sunlight, and the hood ornament gleams chrome. The gates roll open at his whim with an ear-splitting, metallic sound. Rosberg beckons animatedly from behind the wheel, and Seb gets the message that he should leave his car and join Rosberg in the Bentley for the ride up to the house. […] Before Seb can slide into the passenger's side of the Bentley, Rosberg has to shoo a pudgy English bulldog into the backseat. It clambers, ungainly, over the console and waddles into the back, collapsing in a happy, wrinkly lump on the leather seats. “Who’s this?” Seb asks, watching long strings of drool ooze from the dog’s flabby mouth onto the pristine interior of Rosberg’s classic Bentley. Seb once saw an R-type Bentley much like this one go for two and a half million at auction. “This is Roscoe,” says Rosberg, long-sufferingly. “The result of an unfortunate affair.”

Charles/Pierre

Hic Svnt Leones by @cerona10 | M | 32.6k

Charles is different to how Pierre remembers him. The world-building in this fic is second to none - it’s absolutely stunning! The world feels so full and alive, and it’s easy to get completely sucked in. The way they build in exposition is so clever and natural feeling, and the action is exhilirating and fun to read. Perfect!

His shadow isn’t his own, not anymore. It shakes and shimmers, fighting against its own shape. His shadow’s head twists and breaks before mending itself into that of a horse, neighing and trashing, a single horn jutting out from its forehead. Its jaw unhinges and it begins breathing heavily, drool escaping its mouth like a waterfall.

Fernando/Lance

nsfw: Venus Flytrap by @pitconfirm | E | 25.7k (wip)

Professional criminal Fernando Alonso is recruited for a job. His mission: seduce Lance Stroll. This fic is RED HOT. From the very first few sentences, Fernando exudes this confidence that is so much fun to read. Contrasted with Lance - pouty, privileged, and surprisingly vulnerable - the dynamics are gorgeous. This author is so fantastic at dialogue and pacing, and this fic flows so beautifully. I can't wait to read more!

Once they reach the games room, it’s easy to spot him among the crowd. For the past few days, Fernando has been memorising every freckle on Lance’s skin. He could recognise him from just the curl of hair on his tender nape, but the most striking thing about Lance is his demeanour—elbows rested on the roulette table while he boredly holds his head in his hands, huffing in disappointment when he loses again. His carelessness stands out starkly against the opulent golden trims and old paintings covering every wall. A boy like Lance doesn’t belong in a place like this, but money talks.

nsfw: green light, red wine (and i don't feel fine) by @vicsy | E | 18.8k (wip)

Fernando is the Mafia boss who owns the club that Lance Stroll - son of his biggest rival - wanders into. This story is SO HOT. The tension between them is palpable, and they bounce off each other so well. You get the feeling that both of them are underestimating each other, and it makes for so much delicious tension. Amazing!

There aren’t many opportunities Fernando deliberately missed in his life. He wouldn’t be on top if he did. Right next to him, clad in a tight white t-shirt, sits an opportunity for a power move, the one Fernando would take all the way.

[astranite]

What would your oc’s carry in their bags/have on them in everyday life?

This is changed a bit from the original school bags to while adventuring/going through Plot, as this fits with being general enough to work with my mediaeval-ish fantasy setting and story, while still in the spirit of it. Heres the original: https://www.tumblr.com/rainydaywhump/751678125911490560/thanks-for-the-tag-tagging-if-you-havent-already

Thanks for the tag @rainydaywhump! I've put this in its own post since it got long and this was from a while ago.

I have recently become incredibly unhinged about my ocs, or as I like to call them limited edition little guys (gender neutral) from my brain, that I’ve never mentioned anywhere before. So here! @silverstarfics behold.

Edvin

A bound notebook journal for their notes on magic research, ideas and all their stray thoughts. It’s practically falling apart these days, with loose extra pages shoved in everywhere and a cover made from a scrap piece of leather the only thing holding it together and protecting it. Edvin’s writing in it is getting progressively tinier and more difficult to decipher (their handwriting started off as bad enough as is) because they are worried about running out of space. They use charcoal pencils to write with as a bottle of ink would be too likely to get smashed in their pack.

Their cloak. Though they are near constantly wearing it, so mostly its technically not in their bag: 

Edvin has this cloak that they take with them everywhere and wear near constantly. its deep blue-purple of a night sky with stars on it. it started off as very obviously a mages cloak, a sign of authority and with a bit of mystique that strengthens that impression, clean and bright as it was fairly new and only worn by Edvin inside libraries, castles and the magic university district of the city. it was just a pretty normal, everyday thing for Edvin as a mage, but over time and adventures and hardship it becomes more and more of a comfort item. 

It’s confidence, when Edvin wears it to look more imposing and properly mage like and because the familiarity of it helps them stand up tall as they pretend they still know what they are doing. its comfort when they are ever so far from home and from the life they used to have and the person they were that they cant ever return to. As all gets further and further away the cloak is still with them.

Over the years, it becomes more and more worn, the fabric fading, holes and tears patched and sewn together and stains that wont come out such as from when Edvin bled all over it. they've put it together again, needle and thread in hand and clinging to it, because its the only thing holding Edvin together too.

At one point they took all the still conspicuous silver white stars off of the outside and resewed them on the inside, back into constellations, because it was too obvious and dangerous and a plain drab blueish cloak is easier to hide, but they couldn't bring themself to give them up.

It’s safety and it keeps off the cold when they are sickest from magic overuse, ever so lonely and feeling awful, lying curled up until they are hidden by it. with the hood pulled up, no one can see whether edvin is shivering or trembling from tears.

They do their best to keep high calorie and easy to eat food on them because using magic burns through energy like nothing else and it’s hard to eat when they are exhausted and have no appetite. It’s often something sweet if they can get it, carefully wrapped up like its precious, plus salty stuff because they need that and it keeps well.

Edvin keeps fairly light on with armour and weaponry as their magic is their most used defence but they have some. 

When they were a mage and a scholar before everything happened, they were definitely the person to carry around half of the giant library’s books in a bag that was straining at the seams. They had piles of research notes and ready access to paper and ink and never had to worry about it. Edvin had their cloak, but it was a largely unremarkable every day object to them. They loved the stars but they didn't really think about it much. It was near new with only a few tiny ink stains.

Val

Sewing and repairs kit, versatile enough to be applied to the tack for the horses, armour and weapons, clothing or what ever else is falling apart on the road this time. He made the extra leather cover for Edvin’s notebook for them.

Heavier duty armour and weapons as they still have it from when they were in training to become a knight and were allowed to keep it even when due to injuries that didn’t pan out. Val fights best from horseback so that is kept in mind. Despite being generally brash, loud and angry at the world, he takes patient, careful care of his gear because he knows how important it is to fighting well and surviving.

The rest of what he carries is mostly soldiers kit as that’s where he ended up for years as that was really the only place he could put his skills to use, fighting for whatever cause he was ordered to no matter that what he cares about most is defending and helping those who cannot fight themselves. He also has most of the gear needed to take care of the horses.

Matilda

She would definitely be the type to go out with whatever is in her pockets and nothing else if she could get away with it. She totally would wear her keys on a carabiner in a modern au.

Her weapons and armour are important to her as they are what allow her to fight, to walk into battle and be a powerful force in her own right. But she regularly gets frustrated by the upkeep needed to keep things in good condition and to prevent problems becoming serious before its unavoidable. While Edvin mentors her in magic, Val is most often the one who sits down at the end of the day with her to get across that you can’t run and fight without stopping all the time because the slower parts have just as much bearing on the battle as being right in the thick of it.

She doesn’t want to be weighed down by objects of her past, so doesn’t tend to hang onto things. She tells herself she doesn't need that comfort and only who she is now matters. When she left to join the fight, she left anything she didn’t strictly need in the moment behind to try to cut anything that tied her to that ordinary life and forge a path ahead as her own person.

Otherwise, all of them have packs, camping gear and general stuff needed out on campaign.

*Addendum because of course I have more to say. They all have some medical/first aid supplies, though Val has the most kit prepared, for people and the horses both. Matilda's healing magic skills are rough and ready but she might pull you back together through sheer stubbornness. Edvin's are far better technique-wise but that doesn't help if they are needing it because they've burnt out their energy reserves from magic.

All of them tend to pick up and carry around things to fidget with, from beaded bracelets made for it, a smooth stone found on the road or a small item to toss from hand to hand. Yes there is definite neurodivergency!

Tagging @idontknowreallywhy and @squiddokiddo as I know you have ocs plus anyone else who wants to talk about their limited edition little guys, I'd love to hear about them!

[b0rtney]

ALL im saying is if u gave me fuck u money i'd write a fanfic where, for some reason i will come up w later, katniss doesn't/can't volunteer for prim during the reaping.

so we get prim and peeta in the hunger games, hamish and effie coaching them as best they can. and prim is, ofc tiny and scared and like. 11 or whatever (i forgor ages), and peeta is like ":) ok new plan: make sure katniss gets her little sister back!" meanwhile hamish is like "do i even know a kind of self defense that works for someone the size of perhaps a small potato or large hamster????" and effie is like "oh dear lord. oh jesus. she's just solidly gonna die huh??? oh god i need a career change???" and prim, after the shock has worn off, is like "oh shit i have a sister (and mom ig) to get back to. i gotta live thru this."

so prim is like solidly understanding she's not winning against careers in combat. she focuses on any other skill she can get-- medicine to patch herself up, camouflage from peeta, shmoozing for sympathy points (with incredible success, bc she knows who she is and what she looks like), and once she meets the other tributes she manages to worm some useful info on a few things out of a few other tributes who r like "oh poor thing won't survive the cornucopia" and, most notably, she becomes besties w rue.

and so peeta plays his angle of "i just wanna get back to the girl i love uwu," but doesn't bring prim into it as katniss's sister v much bc he knows that would put a target on her back, he instead paints himself as this big ol' sap that'll be easy pickings (if you can find him) so it looks like district 12 just spat out some softies this year (everyone back home is preemptively mourning). maybe he drops one line abt "i will do anything to get prim home safe" w kinda a looking-directly-into-the-camera-kubrick-stare moment.

meanwhile prim is like "rue. bestie. it might be great for us to play our friendship to the camera a bunch? for ratings?? ppl send us things for free??" and rue is like "aight sure yea lets do it" so they do it-- and if my lesbian ass has her way maybe they have little tiny baby crushes and like. hold hands or somn. idk ceasar would play it up and soon we've got the whole capitol like 'THE BABIES OH GAWD NO' and so the star-crossed lovers thing still happens, but with prim and rue. the capitol loses it's shit, bc they're on the way younger side, with baby faces, who have been playing up how tiny and defenseless they are to anyone who will listen for clout and donations.

with a push from peeta/haymitch/effie, ceasar's little-babies-who-will-never-even-get-to-be-fully-in-love-bc-there's-no-way-they're-surviving-the-next-24-hours shtick for prim/rue gets spun wildly out of control before the games even start and suddenly the capitol is demanding the games be called off since "so many of them are so young!" at most extreme, or wondering if the minimum age for the hunger games isn't too young at most moderate.

district 13 was not ready for such a prime revolution moment to happen so quick, but they make the best of it in a somewhat disorganized way. They sway public opinion into spinning this story up, up, and away from capitol control, which eventually (through difficult to succinctly summarize PR bullshit) has everyone calling for snow to step down, and he can't very well use the cattleprods on the supposed upper crust, can he? not when every other district is already twitching for an excuse to revolt and has been for a while. so he 'gracefully' steps down (repercussions to be written in fic). district 13 is like damn they r fr handing us this one wtf.

coin(? i forgor names lol) is just barely too slow to neatly slot herself into power, bc now the capitol+districts is like "WE should get a say *insert democracy/anarcho-communism/republicanism/alt-govt.png*" idk maybe panem fractures into smaller govts that stop being affiliated w one country idk. i havent written the fic yet bc i dont have fuck u money.

what i DO know is katniss is honestly too involved in watching the games and subsequent bullshit to notice gale breathing, and peeta comes home w prim who is like 'can we go visit rue in the spring?' and katniss is like '....... u just restructured the govt...... sure yea wtvr' and peeta goes back to pining bc i just dont think he knows how to make a move when not on a death-related timeclock. maybe prim throws him a bone and wingmans him in there.

[irotinmyroom]

creepypasta oc art + backstory dumpp

i havent really posted anything of my own for a while now soo.. yeah! ive had his story put together for a while now, but im finally putting it out there!! (ive delayed it for the longest time)

so his story / details about him are just gonna be put together in categories since i havent really fully made a fleshed out backstory for him yet, its just really a bunch of ideas i wanna put together once i get back to writing again

ok now heres my actual oc, sorry for the yap session 😭

Name “Elias Finn Collins” 

Birthdate “August 27, 2006” 

Appearance “Right eye blind because of manically scraping the skin off with his nails of that side of the face in a panicked state, scar of scraped off skin still there” + “Peeling and loose skin around the scar due to the depth and long-lasting effects of the injury” + “Since the wound was originally caused by fingers scraping and digging into the skin, all different layers of skin are somewhat exposed, varying from a lot of reds and salmons” + “Also makes the depth of the scar vary“ + “Has a habit of picking the healed area, which is mostly scabbed over due to so much picking, so it is usually bleeding.” + “Ragged scarring around the scar due to what caused it” + “Ragged scarring around the neck as well due to scraping with his nails under the belief that something was under his skin” + “Picks and scratches at his neck too, causing it to always be raw and/or scabbed over” + “Slight stubble on chin” + “Left eye is green, right eye is a greyish-white (Blind)” + “Wears a leather, black and worn out motorcycle jacket with brown fur on the hood” + “White t-shirt underneath” “Worn out denim jeans” + “Dark blue/Black converse with fur on the inside” + “Hair is dark brown fading to a dirty blonde” + “ 

Personality “Introverted” + “Takes a while to warm up to anyone” + “Feels paranoid most of the time” + “Anti-Social” + “A bit childish in the way he acts sometimes” + “If he gets upset or mad, he’ll usually resort to physical violence, whether that be aimed towards someone or just throwing things around”

Habits “Picking his skin/unhealed scabs” + “Fidgeting with his fingers and anything else he has in his hands when anxious” + “Bouncing of his leg whenever nervous or just impatient” + “Talks to himself sometimes” 

Backstory (Unfinalized, just a bunch of ideas) “He had an average life up until he was around 11” + “Though, he was constantly being picked on by other kids due to his awkward nature, parents being split apart and him living with his father, etc.” + “His older brother, who is somewhere around 4 years older than him, wasn’t around his father’s place much though. His brother was always out with friends, breaking into cars and stealing them, coming home drunk, etc. The little time that Elias did spend with his brother was pleasant, through a shared interest of gaming, etc. His older brother was pretty caring for Elias though” + “His father and him were close up until when Elias hit about 10 years old, as Elias became more distant and started lacking interest in things he used to enjoy.” + “Elias wasn’t really into what his father wanted him to do though, leading to his father becoming somewhat bitter towards him. This was due to the 'lack of masculinity’ that Elias had, and because as Elias grew older, he reminded his father more and more like his mother” + “Him and his mother had a very good relationship up until when his mother and father split. She would always be there for him, and always told him that nothing he did could stop her from loving him. To say the least, she was caring towards him and was definitely more open than his father”

“Him and his brother had to stay with their dad due to financial troubles on their mom’s side. Their father split away from their mom due to constant arguing” + “After they split, (they were never married, only dating since they both had commitment issues) their mom couldn’t find a job and couldn’t keep providing for herself, leading to her overdosing on pills and dying. This took a huge toll on Elias, who was only 10 at the time. Not so much his brother, since his brother was more of his father's child” + “Elias had been the one to pick up the phone, hearing from a policeman about his mother's overdose” + “He immediately broke down into tears, disappearing into his room for a few weeks, only coming out late at night to get food and water” + “Eventually, after he finally came back out of his room and saw his father and brother, they could immediately tell a difference. He was no longer interested in anything he used to enjoy, seeming more paranoid and anxious. He barely talked at all anymore, a small contrast from before but still there nonetheless.” + “His life went on like this for a while, as he kept more to himself rather than going out and talking to people” + “Behind closed doors, he started seeing things. He had started seeing figures out of the corner of his eyes, varying in shapes and sizes, but mainly, a slim tall man. He never got a good glimpse at it, though” + “Eventually, around 14 years old, the seeing things, hallucinations and delusions got worse for him. He went a bit manic, thinking worms were under his skin, causing him to hastily grab at and scrape off the skin surrounding his right eye in an attempt to ‘get them out’.” + “His brother found him in his room, sprawled out on the floor and passed out with scraps of skin and a puddle of blood beside him. This freaked his brother out, immediately calling for his father as he looked at Elias’ unmoving and bloody face on the ground” + “They took him to the hospital, diagnosing him with Schizophrenia and being unable to treat his wound. This would leave a scar for life on Elias, including partial blindness in his right eye” + “The doctors at the hospital talked to his father and brother about sending him to a mental hospital for his safety, so that’s what they did” + “He fought back and expressed how much he didn’t want to go, and that ‘they’re out to get him’, yet his father and brother still just sat there and watched as the truck Elias got shoved in took off, taking him to the mental hospital” + “His life was an endless loop for around two years, until one day, he went manic again” + “Under belief that there were ‘spiders crawling down his throat’, he once again hastily scraped at his neck, causing a ragged bleeding wound around his throat. A few security officers rushed into the room as he was in this state. In delusional haste, he quickly and angrily dug his nails into one of the officer's faces, cutting through the skin. At the unintended distraction, he quickly sped out of his room, heading towards the nearest exit with blurry vision” + “He was quickly reported as missing, a police search being sent out but them being unable to find him.” + “After he got out, he ran and ran until he was far enough away. He ran into a nearby forest, it being nighttime by the time he got there.” + “He had to survive there for another year, living off of animals to eat for survival. Until he turned 17” + “He didn’t know he had turned 17, as he had already lost track of time. He had still been seeing things for the past two years he was in the forest, having more small manic episodes where he would pick, scratch and bite at his skin. But he had still been seeing figures. Specifically, the tall one. One day, eventually, the tall figure approached him, and despite obvious resistance, the tall figure took him back to his broken-down manor in the woods.” 

anndd heres my art of him

most recent art of him vVv

still very unfinalized but i really wanted to share him cause i love him <3

[fairys-dream]

wrote a vent piece using origins victor. yea.

actually its short enough i can probably just put it here too soooo under the cut ⤵️⤵️⤵️

When his Father died, Victor stole a pair of his jeans.

He went through his Fathers drawers and took it.

They were baggy at first, but with age, he grew into them.

The eventual rips and stains were his, but the jeans were still once worn by his Father.

He didn’t ever want to become Him.

Never wanted to hurt Jimmy like he had been at the hands and words of his Father.

But when he yelled, he heard His loud voice. And when he hit, he felt His fists as his own.

Jimmy never fought back.

Never even struggled the times he tightened the grip around his throat.

Victor wished he would.

He ached for him to show some hint of them being the same, selfishly, so he wouldn’t have to feel so guilty.

But part of him barely even registered it was wrong.

Jimmy was his family, his friend, and they needed eachother. They could never leave eachother, so why worry?

When the moment came that finally pushed Jimmy enough to fight back, he could tell the kid was giving his all. It wasn’t enough, but he was trying.

Victor laughed as he took the punches Jimmy threw at him, which only urged the other on more, to Victors delight. He wanted to see that same rage he showed the night he killed their father.

But, as the tears started to fall down Jimmys face, he knew it was time to stop.

As much as he internally wanted to keep pushing him, to keep feeding his own ego, he knew better than to make him cry any harder.

Anger Victor could deal with, but it pained his heart to see his little brother upset.

His father never seemed to notice anyones tears, but Victor saw Jimmys, and that gave him a sense of pride, even when being the rare cause of them in the first place.

Victor wrapped his arms around his brother held him close, nuzzling his face into his wild hair as a silent apology. And, as usual, Jimmy held him back just as tight.

The jeans he wore would always be his Fathers, regardless of the years spent owning them.

His genes would always be His.

Notes:

while at work today, i was thinking about how even though i had ripped holes into the jeans my father gave me as a teenager (that i was currently wearing and still wearing as i write this), they were still technically once his, even though i had made them my own.

so i put my thoughts of my own daddy issues + older brother issues through origins victor.

i dont remember much from my childhood or teen years, so i did my best to remember the reasoning behind the things i did and the ways i felt. i would like to think i was more good than bad, as we were once eachothers closest friend, but i really can only remember small bits and pieces. victor had a different experience since he had to actually take care of jimmy, and i sometimes wonder if i would have been nicer if that were the case with me and my younger brother. im better now, stopped being mean when i was 14, but we dont hangout anymore. my father never hit me, as far as i can remember, so im not sure where i got all the violence from….he was always blind to my tears though. that i do remember.

i had dinner with my father today. i havent lived with him in years and he feels like a stranger now. as we were leaving, he asked if the rips in my jeans were made by me. i said yes, and that the jeans used to be his. he didnt remember giving me them, but i swore that he did. thats probably symbolical for something.

[siriusblackisdead]

Easthaven

Winter break

The room was cold and dark despite its white walls. There was something lurking in the shadows, creatures from his nightmares full of hands trying to reach him, to touch him and take him apart piece by piece, ruining everything he worked so hard on for the past few years to put together. He tried to ignore them, but every time he closed his eyes he could feel their deathly touch burning imprints into his skin, pressing him deeper and deeper into the stiff mattress. He tried to move, get away from them or fight, he havent decided yet, but it was meaningless. The leather straps around his arms and legs were firmly holding him in one place, not letting him move, not letting him to do ANYTHING other than endure what was about to come, what Andrew KNEW was about to come. They became his trap, his own twisted cage and Andrew couldnt get away, he couldnt get away, he couldnt get away, he couldnt get away…

A voice echoed down the hallway, Andrew could hear it clearly even through his ragged breath. A voice which could not belong to a human being, no, it couldnt. It was a nightmare, a living fucking nightmare, one of the worst kind. A hallucination, he thought at first, naive and desperate as he was. A hallucination from the withdrawal, it must have been. But luck was never really on Andrews side and he soon had to realise that the demons werent only haunting in his head anymore.

The door opened with a disgusting creak, letting some light into the room, making the shadowy hands dissapear, only for them to be replaced with real ones. The light dissapeared and the world became dark again as the old man started to undress and Andrew was seven and eight and nine and ten and eleven and twelve and thirteen, scared and desperate and hopeless all over again. He was hiding under the kitchen table, praying to whatever gods would listen, for Drake to not find him. He was praying to them, for him to not take him to his bedroom, to not throw him onto his bed, to not touch him. He was praying to them for him to not press on his gashes, pulling on them until they were bleeding again and the only thing Andrew could feel was the pain of old wounds being open again, ripped apart.

None of those gods ever answered though and Andrew was left alone, as so many times before. To bleed out, if he had to. Die of a broken heart, broken body, broken soul.

He didnt scream “no” that night. He didnt scream anything. He couldnt; not anymore, not after everything. The only thing left for him was to feel the hot blood running down his hands and the burning of a touch that didnt belong to his family, that didnt belong to Neil.

Hes been through this too many times to not get used to the pain, used to the idea of being “Andrew Doe” again, the child he tried to kill so hard for the past years, but failed miserably.

Somehow, he got used to the pain; and even if he didnt, there would be more to come, because there always was. Just when he finally started to believe - such a stupid thing do to, really -, just when he started to hope and live again, his demons woke up and came back again to try to finish what they couldnt, what they failed to do before. To kill him, because thats what was going on here, wasnt it? To break him, over and over again until there was not enough left of him to put together, until the pieces were too tiny and worn out to fit, until their edges were too sharp to touch, and Andrew would bleed out trying to save them. To save himself.

He shouldnt have hoped. He never will, not again, he knew that for certain. He couldnt. He was smarter than that. So sad he wasnt smart enough to save himself when he still could.

When the man finished, he put his jeans back on and left without another word, without another glance, leaving him behind broken and lifeless. Not like it was the first time and not like it was the last. And then, a single tear rolled down Andrews cheek, something so strange he didnt even recognise it at first.

But just like his screams, just like his desperate ‘no’s and ‘please’s, his tears werent heard out. They didnt matter anything more than another weakness.

They didnt stop the man from coming back.

They didnt stop the shadow hands from torturing him.

They didnt help at all, and all Andrew wanted at that moment, was to die. To stop existing.

And so he did.

[k-ru-h]

theres something to be said about inherent human kindness and art and all that

i had an absolute trainwreck of a day and an hour long gap between classes, so i decided to plop by the local art store thats too far away from my home but maybe a 10min walk from school. they had really good prices and i wanted to buy the pretty pastel watercolors for myself and my friend, to make the day less miserable.

the storeworker, a kind-looking old man (surely at least in his 60s), picked up all the aquarelle boxes, saying he didnt want me, a seemingly abled person, to have to kneel on the floor to look at them. and he told me how he doesnt stock all the colors but he explained to me in detail, umprompted, how to order them for myself, with or without paying him. and he told me how hes owned this store for 28 years and hasnt changed locations (despite the location being horrible) because hes genuinely attached to this one. this shitty, tiny little hole in the wall place with no AC or even proper ventilation. and he started talking about his days as an artist, and all the incredible people he met, and how stores from the capital monopolizing certain brands ruined his once proud selection of products, and how to properly use watercolor paper, how to use distilled water and stick to one paper brand and how his personal dream is to get his hands on the aquarelles created only by and for that one russian college, and he treated me, a fucking infant baby child (18) whos been doing aquarelles for like two days (4 years) as a genuine peer and worthy conversation partner. and i almost started crying from the genuine love i felt for him.

and the day after, i got hungry between classes and decided to stop by the bakery. the bakery itself is overpriced - for the same price as other ones, you get maybe half the product. and its been closed for tax fraud maybe a month ago.

and this storeworker is an elder woman - not as old as the artist, but surely near or in her 50s - and she sometimes wears the bracelet i made her. the other students call her the "empress" of the store (named "empress"). she is the only reason i go there, and i only go when shes working the shift. at first it was because of the free food shed give us. shed always toss in a few cookies, she even remembered my favorite, and shed wish you a "royal" day (pun intended). soon, we started going there outside of the rush hours, and actually talking to her. her dream has always been to be an opera singer, but this is a poor country, and she has a sickly mother and a son who lives abroad to take care of. but she told us she found her fulfilment in work through the kindness she spread - not just the free food, but the compliments and kind words. and i almost cry every time i remember she didnt know she was so loved by the students. when i told her everybody only goes there for her, she actually didnt believe me, and when i noticed she dyed her hair (we now have similar haircolors!), she put it down and posed in front of the little hanging mirror with the biggest smile ive ever seen on her.

and i havent seen this person lately, im assuming because i havent been to one of the two places she frequents and she, probably, has, but theres this wonderful woman - i cant tell if shes old or worn down by hard work and stress - who always has the most vibrant, colorful jewelry and carries a little cardboard box.

and she approached me one day, i was going to meet up with some friends to talk about lord of the rings, and she stopped me to tell me how beautiful my hand made jewelry was. and she was holding a puppy under one arm, almost cartoonishly, and told me all about how she used to have a jewlery stand right here in this street. all of the money shes ever made shes invested in taking care of stray cats and dogs. even if it meant shed go hungry, she always made sure the animals she took care of were fed and warm and happy. but the stand was closed because of tax issues, and no cop was sympathetic towards the little kitten or puppy shed always take with her, so she was forced to make ends meet however she could and beg for money or pet food donations. and this wasnt her pressuring me for money - i hadnt even brought my wallet that day, i had my phone and some tea. this was her genuinely just wanting to stop and compliment me, and being delighted to have someone to talk to, and whenever i see people treat her like dirt i want to cry.

my point is, i met a painter and a singer and a craftsman, and all of them were the kindest people ive ever met. and i don't really look approachable, i usually only get hateful looks in public, but these three people, with far more experience than me, just genuinely wanted to talk about the things they cared about, and what they create, and i think creation makes you kinder. i think painting and singing and crafting, no matter if its a life long profession, a dream, or a failed venture, makes you more than the summ of all your parts. or something cringe like that idfk

[spawnradio]

... ill be honest man. i havent fully, i dunno if i ever will fully get used to it. but the difference between us is that i grew up there, yknow? you had like. normalcy before you were there, a kinda baseline for what life is like that i didnt have. and youve been there for a long time, so like, that baseline gets worn away, and you lose your sense of normalcy where like. i never had it to begin with. im starting from scratch here where youre like. relearning to walk almost.

its hard. i think its always gonna be a learning curb. fit, my dude, i didnt know what a microwave was until i was off that server for like 3 years. but i can say its gotten better. yknow i didnt sleep in a real bed until like. fuck. not quite a year ago i think? ive been off of 2b2t for almost 4 years now i think? give or take. for the first while i just... never stopped treating things like 2b. there was always a catch, always danger, nothing could ever just. be. but i found people who i was. maybe not stable with but who helped me. and given, that kind of. ended badly when my closest friend got beheaded. fun fact, apparently we have a wikipedia page bc of that shit. but i really didnt get like... better? until i was taught that anarchy didnt have to be Bad. that i wasnt inherently destructive because of where i was from. and i mean. im still not normal. im never gonna be normal. if i ever die theres a decent chance im gone for good bc of my client bullshit, which is something i can never get rid of. its part of me now. its always gonna inform the way i act, how i see the world, even after ive worked past a lot of it. hell, my name was picked because of it. i think, now, i can say im mostly used to it. i sleep in a bed. i have friends, loved ones, i have a room and its permanent and mine with decorations and personal touches and my bed is In There and not hidden somewhere else. its safe and i dont even have a lock on the door. i have a real place i call home, with people in it i care about, and i feel safe there. i think thats about as used to being off 2b as i can get. i still dont like loud noises, and gapples kinda make me feel sick nowadays, but yknow. a little nausea is better than losing a leg so ill take it. long story. sorry this was a lot, and it doesnt really fully answer the question. i think, personally, youll get used to it. it just takes time. you'll never be quite the same as who you were before. thats okay. 2b, as much as its home for us, really hurt us. you can love something that you know hurt you. it had its good and bad, and we can take that good with us forward. give it time. i know it sucks to hear, but time and good people will help you more than anything. trust yourself and trust your loved ones, and you'll get used to it. its like... a leap of faith almost. 🌕

[His voice, when it comes through, is choked up. It stops after the first few words, though-- radio smooth.] Alright. I let this sit for a few days. Thank you. Shit, thank you. Okay. That's... yeah. I feel better now.

[giftsforus]

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[dontpunchdogs]

thoughts for today ! under a read more bcos it got long. yelling into the void.

ive always been hard to deal with - too sensitive to sounds, lights, temperature, texture, easily hurt by words, easily overwhelmed by other people, easily feeling left out among friends, too annoying, too loud but too quiet, needing too much reassurance, needing to feel wanted, needing needing needing. ive known this a long time. ive heard it from my parents countless times, had friends say they only hung around me out of pity, had partners say i was the most supportive partner theyd ever had; yet i need too much, my feelings are too confusing or too hard to consider, "i knew youd be upset but i didnt want to tell you and make you more upset" again and again and again.

no matter how small i tried to be, how light of a burden i made myself, its really never enough. i dont get what i need, my patience is worn thinner and thinner, and "suddenly" i snap. "suddenly" i disappear. as though there werent signs. as though i hadnt been begging for someone to care. as though i havent put others feelings and comfort above my own for years, been intentional, been thoughtful, been honest (in fairness, honest about everything besides the extent to which id been hurt) and made it clear how i love and how i want my efforts to be reciprocated.

i'm tired of it. i always thought i shouldnt live if nobody cared about me enough to pick me first. thats all ive ever wanted, really. someone to walk in a room full of people they care for and choose me out of everyone. someone who id choose over anything, even my own comfort when reasonable, and to know they'd do the same. just one person, and then i can handle everyone else letting me down, just one person, please, just one, one person, please, for once, just once.

i always find myself so fucking disappointed. maybe my standards are too high - the fact no one can meet me there makes me sad, but the idea of lowering my standards made me sadder. i can take disappointment, a lot of it, and i don't expect perfection. sometimes you cant give even 50% of your energy. sometimes you need to pick someone else. sometimes you need to pick a friend over a partner, or yourself over anyone else. but i cant handle the degree to which people constantly ignore my needs, or disregard them to indulge their wants.

im trying to rewire my brain now! im going to live, whether someone picks me or not. im going to care for others as much as i can, as hard as i can, but im going to limit those who disturb my peace. im going to put myself first, often as i can, or at least as often as id put others. i know what i need, and id do it for someone else - why not do it for me? why continue trying for people who cant be assed? why continue trying when im just difficult and draining?

today i had an overstimulating day at work. i still went to the grocery store, as id planned, because i needed to. when i drove home, i felt like id have a meltdown. instead i made myself laugh by seeing just how many bags i could carry at once. something stupid and simple, but i felt like i was good company. i put everything away. i made my lunch for tomorrow. i tried a new tea that i picked out and actually finally found one i liked. i ran a hot bubble bath. i washed my hair, my back, my body as though i was someone i loved. and i felt loved.

it was really nice. im holding onto that joy.

ive realized just how much pain other people tend to put me through. why, then, should i hinge my right to my life on my relationship with others?

im going to live. fuck anything else. fuck everybody whos ever made me feel like a fucking burden. if its soooo hard dealing with me, imagine fucking being me. i deserve so much better.

[sharksfood]

.

im utterly exhausted and drained, i feel completely hollow. shambling around work after crying and screaming and [redacted] myself in the car.

ive been pulling 17 hour days and sleeping only 5-6 hours for 2 weeks. im preparing for BLFC by completing remaking my fursuit’s head (that which i started in February but fucked off until September), working 3 nights a week at a haunted house, and also working full time at my day job.

i love the haunt, i love creating, work is fine, but it was a complete mistake to do all 3 at once. now im a candle burnt on both ends with the wick exposed in the center. i know im worrying my girlfriend and she keeps asking to help me, to make things easier, but its so hard to accept that help. if i do i wont feel accomplished, but if i dont i may burn out permanently.

i keep telling myself “this will get better once im at the con, i can let go and rest and have fun” but thats not true. i’ll fly home and immediately go to the haunt for two more nights, then its back to my day job. i guess after the haunt is over i’ll be at peace. save for the mental strife in my friend group/roommates, feeling like i havent matured past 18 years old, my body falling apart, and life just kicking me in the balls repeatedly.

but you know what? i have one big beautiful amazing thing to look forward to; my girlfriend.

without her i definitely would be [redacted]. and i dont want her to know that, i dont want her to know im that delicate. i haven’t put her on a pedestal or anything, at least i dont think so. i just love her so much. and love really is the best thing ever.

so this month has fucked me up. will i get through it? probably. but i will still be hollow and worn and burnt.

[quotesandstories]

As i was sitting in my room i heard a song play, It sounded different than any music i heard. the sound, so vaguely familiar yet so unrecognizable. That song, it was calling to me. I had to figure out where its coming from. I make my way out of my room and quietly creep down the hallway to the front door. I silently left the house and followed the music. It was leading me down paths i havent crossed since i was a kid. As a reached a clearing, one i knew greatly, the music stopped. The night was quiet, only the wind could be heard now. I decided to look around the clearing, clearly no one has been here since i was young, old toys were scattered around in places i remember setting them in. I admire the toys, the memories. Memories of when you were still here. I was about to leave as i saw something shimmering in the moonlight. A musicbox, your. Musicbox... A while back we lost the key to it so we werent able to dance to the song anymore. Yet the key was somehow in the key slot. I crank the handel and twist the key as the box open's. The tiny ballerina slowly appears, looking worn and withered from years of non-usuage. It starts to play a song. The. song.. The one that brought me here in the first place. This song was your favorite, your mother's lullaby. You told me it could be my mother's lullaby since my mother was never around. The song got us both through tough times, but the music can only do so much. Shortly after the music started, it stopped just a quick. I hope you can still hear this song, wherever you are..