#i'll be trying to do as many as i can of these

[indexthejester]

01: meh I think. Getting better I suppose.

02: My friend, we say it when ending calls

03: far too much. Sometimes it hits me like a bullet to the chest. Feels like the metal ball in my brain pinballs into a bumper that gives negative points.

04: no definitely not <- she lied

05: single and looking for friends which may turn into queerplatonic relations. Not that I'm crossing my fingers.

06: slowly and calmly enough to analyze the way it feels to die, but not too peacefully that it's otherwise uninteresting.

07: Zaxby's chicken strips

08: tried a few. Not my thing. Except tennis, I liked that one. Not sure if snowboarding counts but I like that too.

09: Yes I do it sucks.

10: never had one, unless wrestling counts

11: I like many people. I love them too. I suppose I have a crush on people that I relate too, especially if I find them interesting. I want to know every part of them intimately. To drink it all in.

12: yes

13: I don't think so, I try not to. I don't think it's very useful for solving my or the world's problems, and it makes me feel pretty miserable in the process.

14: probably somewhat, I'm pretty lonely most of the time so yeah almost always. I work and live better when I'm with someone I like. Whether talking or just present in the same "space".

15: 2 family dogs, one day I'll move out and get a cat probably. Cats are great.

16: chill, minus the usual slight heartburn. Just got our of the shower and am lying in bed, getting messages from a new friend, living well.

17: no, very out of left field question

18: not really. I find them interesting though. They either look like insects or weirdly mammalian despite being neither. Weird that scorpions are more closely related.

19: nah there's nothing for me back there.

20: god I wish

21: talk to a friend and life planning

22: no, I mean I'm good with them and it's very fulfilling I just find it stressful. Right now I have so much I want to do I can't see myself adopting and settling down but maybe idk.

23: 2 for earrings

24: Math and English I suppose. Programming too if college counts

25: Maybe. Not at the moment. In recent past, it was fun to hang out at the lgbtq center in college. Sucks that I'm stuck at home now.

26: more social interaction. I may be anxious about how I reply or generally talk through textual messaging, but it makes me feel all comfy inside :3 also sleep because it is 2:36am for me rn.

27: idk

28: no

29: never had one

30: eye strain and heart burn and social anxiety.

31: I think so. I don't think it's for me to say, I try to love myself at least, though it's really hard.

32: magenta, or some other combo of purple and red. Hence the Melantha pfp. Also she's autistic.

33: yes, very much so

34: can't remember. The last one I remember was very sexual which is unusual for me.

35: cried on a call with a friend of mine I think. Just scared of the state the world's in.

36: I don't know, I don't know if I've had to

37: depends on the person I guess. Sometimes you can't do either. Just gotta learn to live with what happened.

38: So far absolutely not. But in the past 4 days I've had a lot of fun being alive. It is fun to make new friends and connect with people and have fun.

39: excluding my parents it hasn't happened

40: yes

51: chicken alphredo and chicken cordon bleu

52: I don't believe in fate, but I do believe in causality, to an extent.

53: brush my teeth I think. Maybe watch a youtube video or masterbate, though I usually do the latter as I'm falling asleep so I'm not sure if it counts.

54: I'm sure you could invent some crazy scenario where it is, but in general I think betraying your partner's trust is just about the worst thing you can do in a relationship.

55: I try not to be.

56: 0

57: when I am vulnerable and comfortable, I am filled to bursting with love for the world and everything in it. So if "true" means "pure unfiltered" then maybe yeah. Me x The Universe. Me x All My Friends.

58: bright but not too bright, grey skies, no visavle sun, chill in the air. Can move around without sweating buckets.

59: YYYYYYYEEEEEEEEESSSSSSS

60: very much so someday. Already planning it out.

61: never had it happen to me though it seems pretty boring standard. Call me your owner, handler, mad scientist, something interesting.

62: a loving community and the ability to freely create art

63: yeah obviously

64: yeah I'm too old for that it's weird

65: what are we role-playing now? I don't know, depends on the context. (Treating "sex" as "gender" for these questions btw.)

66: no, I don't. I wouldn't call any of my friends men.

67: My father but I honestly wonder if he's not a little trans

68: like a really deep conversation? Uhh definitely @thatweirdyellowrat. Haven't felt that much mental clarity after a conversation in a long time. I would not be as happy or geared to make new friends if not for that.

69: Fuck no.

70: I think so yeah, more than one actually. Which is saying something because I value my life a lot.

70 horrible questions ... Fuck it

01: Do you have a good relationship with your parents? 02: Who did you last say “I love you” to? 03: Do you regret anything? 04: Are you insecure? 05: What is your relationship status? 06: How do you want to die? 07: What did you last eat? 08: Played any sports? 09: Do you bite your nails? 10: When was your last physical fight? 11: Do you like someone? 12: Have you ever stayed up 48 hours? 13: Do you hate anyone at the moment? 14: Do you miss someone? 15: Have any pets? 16: How exactly are you feeling at the moment? 17: Ever made out in the bathroom? 18: Are you scared of spiders? 19: Would you go back in time if you were given the chance? 20: Where was the last place you snogged someone? 21: What are your plans for this weekend? 22: Do you want to have kids? How many? 23: Do you have piercings? How many? 24: What is/are/were your best subject(s)? 25: Do you miss anyone from your past? 26: What are you craving right now? 27: Have you ever broken someone’s heart? 28: Have you ever been cheated on? 29: Have you made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry? 30: What’s irritating you right now? 31: Does somebody love you? 32: What is your favourite color? 33: Do you have trust issues? 34: Who/what was your last dream about? 35: Who was the last person you cried in front of? 36: Do you give out second chances too easily? 37: Is it easier to forgive or forget? 38: Is this year the best year of your life? 39: How old were you when you had your first kiss? 40: Have you ever walked outside completely naked? 51: Favourite food? 52: Do you believe everything happens for a reason? 53: What is the last thing you did before you went to bed last night? 54: Is cheating ever okay? 55: Are you mean? 56: How many people have you fist fought? 57: Do you believe in true love? 58: Favourite weather? 59: Do you like the snow? 60: Do you wanna get married? 61: Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby? 62: What makes you happy? 63: Would you change your name? 64: Would it be hard to kiss the last person you kissed? 65: Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? 66: Do you have a friend of the opposite sex who you can act your complete self around? 67: Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to? 68: Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? 69: Do you believe in soulmates? 70: Is there anyone you would die for?

[gallusrostromegalus]

An AEIWAM Bit:

Kensei Muguruma has a weird phobia of Things That Flap.

He tries very hard to pretend he doesn't, but things flapping in his proximity are extremely startling and make him jittery at best, or hyperventilate and collapse. Something about the fluttering triggers a fear response, and his total inability to ask for help or admit weakness has caused this to balloon into a terrible reactivity to almost anything with flapping wings.

Kensei was was very excited to move back into his digs in the Ninth. So excited that to no longer be living in crummy living world apartments that he has all his stuff moved in an unpacked before Shuuhei and Mashiro had actually gotten out of the hospital after the battle of Fake Karakura. It was the middle of winter, so all the division windows were closed and he didn't really look around outside.

… but the first warm-ish day in February he opened up the windows for some fresh air and screamed when he was suddenly barraged by several dozen songbirds into swooping his office looking for snacks, then becomes howlingly enraged when he realized there's easily a hundred different types of birdfeeder on the wall outside his office that Shuuhei has been dutifully filling in Tousen's Absence.

---

Kaname, over in the 12th: "Why do I feel like I've forgotten something important?"

---

Eight minutes later in the public groupchat:

KMuguruma: @KTousen WHY DO YOU HAVE SO MANY DUCKING BIRD FEEDERS???? KMuguruma:*FUCKING NOT DUCKING GOD HELP ME IF A DUCK FLIES IN HERE KTousen: ah. KTousen: @JUkitake got me into birdwatching in your absence. KMuguruma: BIRDWATCHING??? KTousen: Well, more like bird listening in my case. KMuguruma: WHO NEEDS A HUNDRED BIRDFEEDERS FOR BIRDWATCHING I THOUGHT YOU DID THAT SHIT IN THE WOODS?? KTousen: @JUkitake then got me a new type of bird feeder, bath or house for every subsequent holiday gift exchange. KTousen: It was very generous of him! KMuguruma: IF HE WANTS TO BE GENEROUS HE CAN COME GET THIS GODDAMN EAGLE OR WHATEVER OUT OF MY OFFICE. SHisagi: It's a pigeon sir. KMuguruma: IT'S HUGE AND TRYING TO KILL ME. IMadarame: @KZaraki Boss you gotta see this shit. KMuguruma: IS HE GONNA COME STAB IT?? IMadarame: lol. lmao. KMuguruma: IT'S NOT FUNNY!!! SHisagi: It's also not going to kill you. It's a pigeon. SHisagi: The only reason I haven't caught it yet is you keep screaming and swinging the broom at it every time it lands so I can't grab it. KTousen: It's a surprisingly grounding pass time. It really helped build a connection with the natural world around me that was of great solace during The Fuckery. KTousen: Actually learning something about birds might help with your phobia. KMuguruma: I DO NOT HAVE A PHOBIA!! KMuguruma: BIRDS ARE FUCKED UP AND EVIL AND TRYING TO KILL ME. KZaraki: That's totally true actually. KMuguruma: THANK YOU. KZaraki: I'm coming to kill you specifically in my Capacity as Prince Of All Birds. KMuguruma: what KZaraki: Be there in 10. KMuguruma: no wait what do you mean "prince of all birds"? IMadarame: The Boss is the son of She Who Rules The Sky By The Mandate Of Heaven, AKA The Firebird. IMadarame: 🔥🐦‍🔥🔥 IMadarame: So he's Prince of All Birds. IMadarame: Also, technically an Eagle. KMuguruma: wtf SHisagi: Yeah actually you should get moving he's not kidding about kicking your ass. KMuguruma: WTF?? SHisagi: He takes slurs against his people very seriously. SHisagi: also, if you leave I actually have a shot of catching this pigeon. KTousen: I'll send @MKuna over tomorrow to collect everything. @SHisagi if you can help get them off the wall? SHisagi: Roger that, Captain. KMuguruma: HEY! DON'T CALL HIM CAPTAIN! I'M YOUR CAPTAIN. SHisagi: He's still *a* captain, sir. KTousen: also the bat houses on the water tower. KMuguruma: THE FUCKING WHAT HOUSES??? SHisagi:🫡 KMuguruma: WHAT DID I JUST TELL YOU?? SHisagi: With all due respect Sir, I can see @KZaraki's dust cloud approaching you really should leave before he puts a hole in the building and we have to delay publication while we fix it. KTousen: Bat houses! There's approximately 2,600 rabbit-eared bats living in the old water tower on the roof. RUnohana: They do an excellent job eating mosquitoes over the entire city! Not one case of malaria or dengue fever in decades! RUnohana:💖🦇💖 🚫🦟🚫 KMuguruma: WTF WTF WTF???? SHisagi: @NinthDivision: CODE ORANGE, EVACUATE THE BUILDING AND PREPARE FOR A ZARAKI EVENT. KMuguruma: WTF WHY DOES HE HAVE HIS OWN DISASTER CLASSIFICATION??? SHisagi: You are about to find out! Godspeed Captain, I am evacuating the building. GSYamamoto: 😎👍 RUnohana: Just like the Good Old Days, Sir? GSYamamoto: Just so! SHisagi: I have caught and safely evacuated the pigeon! IMadarame:🥳🙌🙌🙌🥳 KMuguruma: WHY DID I COME BACK HERE???

[quartzteph]

HAPPY 10TH ANNIVERSARY TGS!!!!!

I've had this design for a recombined Jekyll rolling around in my head for months now, so I finally took the time to draw him. For the sake of clarity I'll refer to him as Re!Jekyll (short for Recombined Jekyll) (also the prefix "re-" feels kinda fitting for him, since he is whole once again). I have many ideas/headcanons for him, but I'll put all that under the cut :)

As for the drawing itself, I tried to mimic the look of the comic for the most part. (Note: Many of the colors used here were colorpicked from the comic to ensure accuracy.) I wanted him to look less like a 50/50 mix of Jekyll and Hyde and more like a Hyde-ish Jekyll, so I opted to give him the same face and hairstyle as Jekyll, but with some Hyde-like qualities. Aside from the obvious blonde streak, his hair is fluffier, messier, and a bit longer. The hair tuft/sideburn things in front of his ears are based on a mix of the hair tufts that hang in front of Hyde’s ears and university Jekyll’s sideburns. While he mostly wears red, he likes to include a touch of green, as seen here in his cravat. Also he gets the dark eye circles, as a treat. (I just really like Hyde's dark eye circles and don't have enough self-restraint to not give them to Re!Jekyll.)

Bonus doodles cause i love my freak son:

Various headcanon ramblings about him (plus drawing process) under the cut:

When he's trying to look more respectable, he uses his now-longer bangs to hide his green eye. At first, he also attempts to make his hair look neater, but this is a near impossible task that he eventually gives up on. (He is doomed to live out the fuzzy-headed mad scientist stereotype.)

When people question his sudden change in appearance, he claims his blonde streak and green eye are the result of a chemical formula splashing him in the face (á la Two-Face). Yeah this sounds a little far-fetched, but he is charming enough to get away with it. (Besides, he knows way more about alchemy than they do, who are they to question it?)

This sudden merging of identities is initially super disorienting. It takes him a while to get used to it. (In the first few days, he keeps referring to himself with "we". He eventually breaks this habit tho.)

Has a bit of an identity crisis. (I'm specifically envisioning a scene of him staring at his wardrobe, mostly full of reds and greens, and getting stuck because he doesn't know what color to wear.)

Jekyll and Hyde were so used to having someone constantly there, listening to them and yapping in their ears (or in their heads, rather). Now, for Re!Jekyll, life feels so quiet. It's peaceful, but also a little lonely.

Has a bad habit of talking to himself aloud. When he's alone, he sometimes has whole conversations or debates with himself.

Struggles more with the mundane parts of his job due to having Hyde's impulsiveness and wanderlust. He occasionally has to take little breaks from all the paperwork when he becomes too restless.

He's still goopy. Moments of extreme emotion (stress, anger, excitement, etc.) can trigger the green goop. (Think that one scene in Ch. 14 when the priestess startles Hyde, causing goop to spew from his face.) I like to imagine the guilt of everything he's done hitting him and causing him to have a "that one scene in Howl's Moving Castle" moment.

In rare moments of severe inner turmoil or repression, he may even go into convulsions in addition to the goop, as if his body is trying to transform. (Feel free to disregard this one if you wish, this is 100% just me being super self-indulgent cause I love angst.)

Despite his many newfound struggles, he’s actually very happy! He now knows that Lanyon loves and accepts every part of him, and this helps him to better love and accept himself.

And now drawing process images! Shoutout to that one Re!Jekyll who is way too excited about something:

[lananiscorner]

Eh... this is not so much a "neurotypical" problem as it is a "general conflict management and de-escalation" problem, and it can have multiple reasons. Let's just say person A says person B did something wrong, B wants an explanation and A refuses to give one. This can be for any one of the following reasons:

A is used to good faith attempts at clarifying being met with bad faith/abusive/manipulative attempts to pick their logic apart and/or gaslight them by feigning ignorance/incompetence, and so has taken up a policy of "do not engage". This can be a generally good and healthy approach in many situations (e.g. someone hits on you at a bar, you tell them you're not interested, they ask you why not, you say they're not your type, they ask what exactly makes them not your type, etc. You are now already 2 levels deeper into this conversation than you ever wanted to be and feeling more gang-pressed into giving information, which is triggering your fight or flight instincts).

A is using this withholding of information as a means of emotional manipulation themselves, to keep B from properly articulating their own point/needs/wants/boundaries.

A doesn't quite understand the reasoning for why B is wrong themselves. This is common with social norms and behaviors, which are ingrained in most people at an age when they are too young to reason their way through them. Somebody in the notes mentioned the example of unspoken, nitty-gritty grammar rules, like how you would say "the big red truck" but not "the red big truck" and how to a non-native speaker this rule doesn't make sense. Sometimes the answer really is just "because" and nobody likes being grilled for information that they themselves don't have. It feels like being interrogated rather than having a conversation.

People who are good at something generally underestimate the knowledge/skill base of people who are not good at it. Y'all know that meme where the two scientists go "we have to be careful, most people probably only know X and maybe a bit of Y", where X and Y are things that nobody outside that field of study would know? This is the same thing. Sometimes people genuinely don't understand how specific you need them to be. Easy example: I grew in a culture that values punctuality. You show up to everything ideally 5-10 minutes before it starts. But I have one friend who absolutely hated that, who was constantly stressed out if I arrived at her place 5 minutes early, and I genuinely did not understand why this was such a problem for her and why she couldn't just prep for guests earlier (we had both grown up in this culture), until she explained to me in great detail how her mind would just use that extra time to find increasingly minute, procrastinating details to hyper focus on and lose track of time, giving me a few examples of such issues. That last bit was what was needed to make my brain go "oh, that's why, ok, I'll try to show up *shudders* 10 minutes late in the future".

They are low on spoons and don't have the time/energy needed to get into a longer conversation. This gets progressively worse the more introverted a person is.

Scenario 1, 3 and 4 are generally resolved fairly easily by being very upfront, but calm about it: "A, I like you and I want to do right by you, but I really, genuinely mean it when I say that I don't know what I did wrong. My brain is currently desperately trying to trace back every step that has happened and to find out what went wrong, and it can't, so clearly I'm missing some steps. Please explain it to me like you would explain it to some space alien that has just been dropped on Earth and has never been in situation X before, so I can do better next time."

At this point, if it's scenario 5 (no time/energy), Person A will usually say so (sometimes rudely, depending on how close they are to what Captain Awkward lovingly calls the Bitch Eating Crackers level of mental spoons exhaustion). This is a good point to ask " Okay, I understand. I'll ask some other time, when you have more time/energy if that's okay with you."

And if the answer you get then is some variation of "no it's fucking not, we're done talking about this ever", then you know that, at the very least, this person does not consider you important/worthwhile enough to set aside two minutes of their time to help you understand something, even when they have the time/energy.

And if you keep on running into this with the same person multiple times, then I'm sorry to say, it's likely scenario 2.

[alwayzadorbs]

I saw your lucifer fantasies 2 hcs and the breeding bit 😩 I'd love more breeding hcs of lulu if you ever wanted to right it ❤️

Of course, I'll write it. This is for you, Anon! :)

Rating: 18+

Lucifer has a lot of pent-up aggression so whenever he pulls you aside for a moment between you two, he stays hard for multiple rounds. After a tough day dealing with his brother's shenanigans, he'll visit you for some stress relief, locking the door behind him. Lucifer would manhandle you, pulling you in by the waist for a kiss before pushing you on the bed. He'd try to contain himself at first, but he would lose himself in the image of you, and your beauty before him.

He'll pin you below him, looking into your eyes as he fills you up "Mmgh.. good little lamb~"

At Rad he'll push you into a closet with him, pushing you close to his body, squishing his knee right below your crotch, rocking his knee up and down. Lucifer leans in closer while feeling your chest with his hands. He'll flip you around and only pull down your bottoms enough to fit inside you, covering your mouth while he pushes inside.

"Try to be quiet, you don't want anybody finding us do you?" He whispers lowly into your ear, thrusting into your sweet spot.

You closed your eyes, whimpering as he picked up the pace. When he was done with you, he had finished inside you, pulling your underwear up and making you sit through the rest of school with his seed in your underwear. he smirked at you every time you crossed paths, whispering a reminder not to walk funny or give it away.

When he has you sitting on his lap, Lucifer will cuff your wrists, using the situation to his advantage. He'll strip your clothes away, lightly sucking your delicate skin as he became ever-familiar with each piece of your body. When you whimper for him to touch you he'll just say

"Beg for it and maybe I'll consider your request." and stare into your eyes, awaiting your response. he'll laugh when you beg, stealing a kiss from you before happily obliging.

Lucifer loves to bend you over and use you like a toy, or he'll lean down to kiss you as you cum. Sometimes, when he has a moment to spare, Lucifer will call you to meet him during lunch at RAD. When you arrive,

presses you against the wall, nibbling at your neck, marking you as his as he explores the untouched places of your body.

Will make you wear a collar and leash, tugging at the collar to lightly choke you while you gaze into his eyes.

He'll use orgasm denial against you when you've been bad, "you think a naughty thing like you, is going to get away with this?" he chuckles,

Lucifer will tie you to his bed and cum in you as many times as he wants, holding your legs apart as you cry out in pleasure.

He'll whine if you don't let him finish inside you

Lucifer is his name and overstimulation is his game! Sex with Lucifer lasts for hours, if you do somehow end up having a quickie, if you think that's it, no, no it isn't. he isn't finished with you, he'll make his way back to your side when he sees the chance.

"I just can't get enough of you, Did you ask Solomon to teach you a spell of infatuation? Have you hexed me or am I really this desperate to be yours?" He utters something as romantic as this, then finds himself in the same bed as you.

Lucifer gets so caught up in your moans, that he can't help himself and has to milk out every sweet sound you can make, trying different things to stir a new reaction from you. But, his by far favorite reaction of yours is when he overstimulates you. pushing you completely over the edge, watching your eyes roll to the back of your head, or the way you whimper when he fills you to the brim with his cock. He'll find himself carried away, hours ticking by as you pant for air.

Oftentimes, He finds that he accidentally took away your ability to walk, for at least a week. While he takes immense pride in the fact he screwed you so hard your mind went blank, he also feels bad for hurting you a bit during what was supposed to be pleasurable. You would assure him that its okay, that you don't hold anything against him. and infact, you enjoy it a little...too much. And bad news for you, Lucifer sees that as an invitation to fuck you as much, and as hard as he wanted.

[kdpartworks]

Hey sorry to bother you about this also I love your little comics of epic the musical especially Neal illustration artwork is so amazing your artwork is amazing as well so I have a question how would the big three aka Hades, Poseidon and Zeus react to y/n giving them their favorite flowers and their favorite candies and Valentine's Day cards you can make this into a little comic if you want I understand if you don't want to also how was your day mine was boring me and my family were all sick until we all got better and then I ended up with fever blisters they're going away now anyway sorry to bother you

Hi sweet friend <3 I'm really sorry to answer only now! The truth is I have a lot of asks and I'm struggling answer all of them, so ugh! Doing a mini comic about this i'm afraid I have not enough time. But hey! I'll try answer you in any case: Hades: *taking the gift with a soft, hesitant smile* "For me? That’s… unexpected." *He admires the flowers, his fingers brushing them gently.* "They’re beautiful. I don’t often receive gifts." *He reads the card, his cheeks faintly flushing, and glances at the sweets.* "You’ve put so much thought into this… Thank you." *His voice is quiet but sincere.* "Of course, my heart belongs to Persephone, but… this means more to me than I can say." *With a shy smile, he places the flowers beside his throne, keeping them close.*

Poseidon: *with a grateful tone and a slightly surprised smile* "Thank you. I must admit, not many people give me flowers, and that makes your gift all the more special. I won’t forget it." *Poseidon studied the bouquet closely, tilting his head a little.* "Although… I must say, I have no idea what this Valentine’s Day is. It sounds more like Cupid’s business." *He raises an eyebrow, examining the card full of hearts pierced by arrows, with an expression somewhere between amused and curious.* Zeus: *with a playful grin and a gaze full of intent* "What beautiful lilies… and there are sweets too." *He theatrically smells the bouquet and picks up the card.* "Oh, a message! You’ve really put effort into this." *His eyes glint as he folds the card carefully.* "Why don’t we talk about it somewhere quiet... just the two of us?" *he finishes with a mischievous smile and a spark in his gaze.*

I'm fine btw! I hope that at this point you and your family is doing good too! <3

[thecaduceusclay]

Alright, I’ll bite. Devil’s Minion in both the book and the show feels very connected to the AIDS crisis… but I’ve only ever acquired knowledge about that period through osmosis, so I’m curious if you have any thoughts/connections or information. 👀

I put out a call for people to ask me fandom-related queer history questions since I know a lot! I want to remind people this is open and that I welcome any fandom questions about queer history!

Ok this is going to get long because I have a lot of feelings on this topic especially. For those who just want some resources, further reading, and my sources, you can find those at the end. I'll pepper some links in, but I'll try to put the bulk of it there. But Daniel Molloy in the show especially is a man heavily impacted by the history of the AIDS crisis and I have a lot to say about that. I'm also assuming a knowledge of what HIV and AIDS are in the first place. You can do some quick reading here.

First, a note on the books since I mostly want to talk about the show. Queen of the Damned was published in 1988 when the AIDS crisis was in full swing. The peak of deaths was in 1993, but 1988 wasn't exactly early in it. The previous year saw the start of the AIDS memorial quilt, the founding of ACT UP (we'll talk about them later 💜), and Princess Diana publicly shaking the hand of an HIV positive patient. The shadow is cast over the culture, Anne Rice was not immune to the zeitgeist. Hell, she was living in the Castro district at the time and that is a notably queer area. (Her son Christopher talks about that briefly here.) I don't this the parallels are an accident. Armand is a man watching his lover slowly waste away while he can do nothing about it. Sure, it isn't AIDS, it's the alcohol and lack of care to his body. Sure, Armand could turn him. But despite their fun and their arguments being such a focus, that helplessness and fear permeates their relationship in the Devil's Minion chapter. Like so many gay men at the time, Daniel is wasting away. Armand is tormented by this. That is one of the most prominent faces of queer men at this time!

Daniel in the show has more going on in relation to the crisis.

I'll start by saying this in case it needs asserted, Daniel is a leftist journalist. And I don't mean in a casual liberal way. He's clearly passionate and involved and these things matter to him. He makes flippant and offensive comments in the interview sure, but I'm not saying he's perfect. His books give this away. He wrote about environmental issues in Under the Burning Sky, the prison industrial complex in The United States of Prison and Profit, and seemingly the surveillance state in Homelandia and likely in his book on Snowden. I'd also like to gesture to his work with "the barb". The Berkeley Barb was a leftist underground student paper. I'd recommend taking a look at their archives linked here and their website to get a grasp for what he was writing with at the time. (Warning, the archives are often NSFW). But in short the barb's attitude was largely anti-war, sex-positive, fuck the establishment kind of writing. He was already like this when he ran into Louis in '73. This will inform our view of him moving forward and will be our framework for understanding how he interfaced with the AIDS crisis.

I think it's important to note Daniel's proximity to AIDS too. I mean, subtextually, he had a brush with it when Louis nearly killed him in '73. Louis was a silent killer sweeping through the queer men of San Fran. Gay men were likely seeing lovers and friends disappear after going home with a stranger. Risky sex and drug use leading to a death going unacknowledged, one that's largely impacting gay men? I think the subtext of it is queer-- I mean clear. (Louis is not an all around metaphor for AIDS, but the ties between it and vampirism in the series seem clear, and in this instance the connection is there specifically for Louis, no one come for my ass).

Speaking of, the proximity is there in his behaviors too. He's a drug user who goes home with random men. (Casual sex was a big part of gay culture back then, see the hanky code and cruising for this.) Both of these actions put him at high risk of contracting HIV and put him among populations more likely to contract it. He was using heroin, and needle sharing is a huge risk factor in the spread of bloodborne illnesses, which can lead to the spread of HIV (which is why needle exchanges are so important.)

Finally for incidental proximity early on, Daniel was living in San Francisco. We know he frequented Polynesian Mary's at least, and possibly other gay bars. He also likely lived near or in the Haight-Ashbury neighborhood (given his memoir being called Hate and Ashbury). This area is very notably queer, historically. By 1990 HIV was the leading cause of death for young men in San Francisco at 61%. That's frighteningly high, and sure this was much later, but San Francisco was an epicenter.

AIDS was first identified in 1981 as a spread of Karposi Sarcoma and PCP (or "gay pneumonia" colloquially) in gay men in areas like New York, Los Angeles, and San Francisco. The first KS patient to go public (Bobbi Campbell) was in San Fran. He later wrote the first pamphlet on "safer sex". The first KS clinic was opened here, and later the first dedicated AIDS clinic (which Daniel seems to have written an article about according to his LinkedIn). By 1982 this epidemic was known as GRID, or Gay Related Immuno-Deficiency. (Interesting parallel that s1 notes Daniel as having an auto-immune disease, which Parkinson's is not primarily known as...). Daniel was covering these early years. His book A Shadow on the Skin was about this! It was a collection of articles he wrote on KS in the early years as he documented it becoming the AIDS crisis! He was routinely writing about the early epidemic. (s/o to @cbrownjc for this post where I found the blurb on the back of the book).

So, while living in San Francisco, this deeply politically involved young man was watching the early crisis unfold. He saw gay men dying slowly. Some gay men at the time described watching the AIDS crisis sweep through as watching their cities become ghost towns. This was something terrifying, something haunting, and something attributed largely to queer men. I mean, it was called GRID until 1982/1983. It wasn't until Ryan White, a 13 year old boy, contracted HIV from a blood transfusion in 1984 that people began seeing it as anything but just a gay disease. Even then, public perception didn't change quickly. It was so heavily associated with gay men, even, that getting national medical authorities to recognize women could contract it and treat it in women was a struggle.

All of this horror was occurring and the government ignored it. When they didn't ignore it? Ronald Reagan, then president, laughed at it. Hospitals were terrified of gay men, some refused to touch or treat AIDS patients. The FDA and CDC were slow to respond and to treat it.

In season one, Daniel is dismissive of his own queerness. He shrugs off his being in gay bars and hooking up with men, acts like it wasn't a big deal and it was just to score. I think this dismissive attitude likely stems from the AIDS crisis, at least in part. Lingering trauma from Louis' attack in '73 may play a role, after all, the body keeps the score. But I don't think we can overlook AIDS as a factor. The writers clearly didn't overlook it in his characterization, as exemplified above. I think they mean for this to impact who he is and how we view him! He watched some of the most terrifying years in recent queer history, of course he would downplay his queerness, of course he would marry two women even if he wasn't happy with them. (Not denying he may be bisexual, but he's certainly closeted.) And in the end, despite distance from his queerness, he still ended up having to waste away slowly from a disease with no cure, just uncomfortable treatments, much like men in the early AIDS crisis. (Early AIDS treatments were all trial based, you were lucky if you got in. You were lucky if you didn't end up in the control group. But the gamble was all you had, and those were the lucky ones. Even then it may not work, it was a trial for a reason. It wasn't until 1987 that AZT was approved to treat AIDS. It wasn't until the mid-90's, years later, that AIDS was considered survivable. I can't help but see his levadopa and how it only slows the inevitable as a parallel to this. A terrible reflection of earlier fears. Parkinson's has no cure. He'll deteriorate until he succumbs, even with medicine. He's lucky if it improves his quality of life, if it doesn't just make him more miserable. He'd be lucky to get a few more years.)

If Devil's Minion happened in the past, Armand watched his lover engage in high risk activities, while clearly aware of the risk given his coverage of AIDS. He watched Daniel writing a book worth of articles on KS and AIDS clinics. He knew how horrifying it was, he knew Daniel knew, and he watched his lover play with fire by using heroin anyway. And in the end? He still watched Daniel deteriorate slowly with medicine that only slowed it more.

If Devil's Minion is only coming and wasn't in the past at all? I think the impact of AIDS mostly falls to Daniel. After being turned he embraces life so fully. Yes, because he was dying before. But his style feels more queer once again. He doesn't have to fear any human diseases! He can fuck men! He can be gay! The shadow that hung over his youthful queer exploration, that interrupted it, is gone for him. And now he doesn't feel it's too late for him, I imagine. I mean, before he didn't have many peers, so many his age died. But now he's a vampire, he's outside of this. He can fuck young men, vampires, whatever. He's now outside of society whether he likes it or not, he's the "other", in for a penny in for a pound, right? And I think that's all going to impact who he is as a character going forward now too.

If there's interest in a Part 2 on the impact of AIDS activism in New York, since Daniel likely saw a lot of it up close, I'll gladly write it. I have opinions and info to share.

For now, stay safe everyone. I love you. And here's some further reading.

~~~~~~~~

A timeline of HIV and AIDS (1981-2024)

Only Your Calamity: The Beginnings of Activism by and for People With AIDS

HIV Infection as Leading Cause of Death Among Young Adults in US Cities and States (1993, about 1990)

On the impacts of the AIDS crisis on gay culture

The Queer significance of San Francisco

1 2 3 4 5 6

AIDS Memorial Quilt

Princess Diana's AIDS Advocacy

About the Berkeley Barb

How Ryan White impacted the view of AIDS

Daniel Molloy's LinkedIn

Practicum Page

[fangdokja]

🔞"You like happy endings? Too bad. I don’t write those."

❤︎ Synopsis. He was the omnipotent author, the cruel god behind the screen—until he decided to step into the story himself, turning ink and paper into flesh and bone, pain and pleasure. Now, trapped within his twisted narrative, you are both his muse and his masterpiece, rewritten and defiled with every stroke of his pen.

♡ Book. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Author x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanons. Fate’s Final Draft - Part 2

♡ Word Count. 6,077

♡ TW. dom + top + older + sadistic yandere, general non-con + manipulation, rape, psychological manipulation and conditioning, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, psychological and emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, cannibalism + vore, gore, torture, death, angst + tragedy, bombing, penetration using objects, forced penetration, implied + slight masochism

♡ A/N. Sex without true danger is boring as shiz. And yanderes without the fear factor aren't peak yanderes. They're just on the possessive or vanilla shiz. Pathetic. Yanderes have to actually scare the shiz out of you. Because that's how true horror is. It doesn't even have to be gore, of course! These are my rules for myself when writing my "true yanderes". But, I suppose most authors don't want to severely hurt, much less kill the darling, especially if they're actual readers. Aw, but don't worry, I'm different. None of you are truly safe in my stories ahaha. Anyways, this is the second part I was talking about for Yandere! Author. I was trying to find yandere horror content for actual sadistic yanderes that can and will kill the darling, but can't find anything! Ugh, people always want soft, sub, comedic, or braindead sex yanderes, and no true danger of actual MC suffering and death.... WHERE IS THE HORROR. It's always just either pure horror or baseline (or worse braindead smut) yanderes. No proper mixing and cooking of the elements! dsjkfalds I'm starving for content.... Fine, I'll do it myself. Yanderes that will hurt, and may kill you. Happy Valentines, you're welcome. uhahaha.

♡ Yandere! Author, who never gets jealous. Not in the way normal people do. He doesn’t feel that tight coil of possessiveness, that human bitterness. No, his jealousy is something far worse—something that twists, mutates, and takes shape in the form of a game.

"You’re distracted," he says, voice lilting, amused. "Your attention is... scattered. Like a kitten chasing too many strings."

He taps his fingers against his chin, head tilting in mock thought. "And here I thought you’d learned by now. That the only string worth chasing is mine."

♡ Yandere! Author, who watches you interact with others, not with anger, but with a quiet, lingering curiosity.

"You’re always so helpful, aren’t you?" he hums, stepping closer, his breath warm against your ear. "So kind. Picking up strays, offering soft words, being the ever-so-gentle protagonist. How utterly dull."

He chuckles, a sharp, manic edge cutting through the sound.

"But I suppose it’s my fault," he sighs. "I’ve been far too lenient with you. Letting you walk around, letting you play with all these little characters. Letting you breathe."

His eyes darken, his grin stretching too wide.

"I should remind you of what happens when you take my attention for granted."

♡ Yandere! Author, who crafts stories of tragedy and despair, who delights in pain and suffering like a composer weaving a symphony.

"But this time," he says, fingers tracing idly along your arm, "I won’t just watch."

His grip tightens, just enough to make you feel it.

"You like playing hero, don’t you? Always trying to defy the script, to make things better for others?" He exhales a mockingly wistful sigh. "How sweet. How naive."

A shiver of amusement runs through him as he leans in, whispering against your skin.

"So let’s play a little game, shall we?"

♡ Yandere! Author, who spins scenarios of horror and despair, who orchestrates nightmares with the precision of a masterful puppeteer.

"Tell me," he muses, voice dripping with saccharine malice. "How do you think your precious little cast would react if they saw you... like this?"

He hums, thoughtful.

"Torn apart. Begging. Ruined."

His fingers brush against your throat, slow, deliberate.

"Would they still look at you the same way? Would they still adore you?" His voice drops lower, threading with something almost gentle, almost loving. "Would you?"

♡ Yandere! Author, who always remained an observer, a sadistic god behind the screen, watching his creations squirm.

But now?

Now, he’s stepped into the story.

And this time, he’s the one writing the scene.

────────────

You woke up to the cold, sticky embrace of blood-soaked earth beneath you, the metallic scent of death thick in the air.

♡ Yandere! Author towered above you, his silhouette framed by the flickering candles scattered around the room, casting eerie shadows across the faces of the lifeless bodies that surrounded you.

His eyes gleamed with a dark excitement as they raked over you, and he licked his lips in a way that sent shivers down your spine. "Look what you've done, my dear," he mused, gesturing to the carnage.

"You've made me clean up your mess again."

You stared at the decapitated heads, the sight of their vacant eyes hauntingly familiar, as he stepped closer, his foot squelching in the pool of crimson beneath your trembling form.

"I hope you're ready for your punishment," he said, his voice a dark, seductive purr that made your stomach twist with fear and disgust.

"You've been a very naughty girl, making me jealous like that." His hand reached for the hem of your top, and you knew that this night was going to be one of the worst you'd ever endure.

As ♡ Yandere! Author tore the fabric from your body, leaving you exposed to the chilling air, you felt his anger like a living force, a palpable entity that wrapped around you, squeezing until you couldn’t breathe. "You think you can play games with me?" he hissed, his fingers digging into your skin.

"You think you can ignore me and flirt with my characters?" He grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes burned with a possessive fury that made you feel like you were drowning.

"You belong to me," he spat, the words echoing in your ears like a curse.

"And I will show you exactly what that means." His touch grew rougher, more punishing, as he yanked your legs apart, the sound of his zipper like a gunshot in the tense silence.

With a sadistic smile, ♡ Yandere! Author positioned himself between your thighs, his erection a blunt, unyielding presence against your trembling flesh.

"Look around you," he ordered, gesturing to the grisly scene.

"These are the consequences of your disobedience. Your carelessness." He leaned in, his breath hot and rancid. "Do you like your audience?"

♡ Yandere! Author didn't wait for a response, thrusting into you with a brutal force that made you scream.

The dead eyes of the characters you once knew bore into you, a silent, damning judgment as he claimed you again and again, each stroke a declaration of his dominance. The pain was intense, a stark reminder that you were his plaything, his to manipulate and control.

♡ Yandere! Author grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand, while the other trailed down your body, leaving a path of shivers in its wake.

His grip tightened, his teeth sinking into your neck as he slammed into you, your cries muffled by his mouth. You could feel the sticky warmth of blood from the nearby corpses, a morbid reminder of his power as he fucked you with a ferocity that was both terrifying and arousing.

The smell of death and decay filled the air, mixing with the scent of sex and sweat.

♡ Yandere! Author didn't bother to clean you up; he liked the mess, the reminder of what he'd done.

"You're so beautiful like this," he murmured, his voice thick with lust.

"So vulnerable, so fucking perfect." His other hand found your throat, squeezing gently.

"You're mine. Do you understand?" He emphasized his words with a particularly vicious thrust, making you gag.

His eyes gleamed with a twisted mix of pleasure and malice as he watched you struggle under him, surrounded by the grisly remnants of his narrative wrath.

♡ Yandere! Author had always enjoyed the thrill of watching his characters suffer, but there was something uniquely satisfying about seeing you, the protagonist he had grown to both despise and adore, at his mercy.

His grip on your throat tightened as he pumped into you, the warm, sticky mess of blood and gore from the slain characters around you coating both of you, a macabre reminder of his power.

"Look at me," he ordered, his voice a harsh rasp. "Look at me when I fuck you."

You refused, turning your head away and doing your best to muffle your voice.

With a snarl of frustration, he reaches for his signature fountain pen, the gleaming silver instrument that had so often been the harbinger of fate in his grimdark narratives.

♡ Yandere! Author presses the tip of the pen against your left eyelid, watching with a perverse fascination as your pupil contracts in terror.

"Look at me," he repeats, his voice a harsh whisper that sends shivers down your spine. "Or would you rather I show you how serious I am?"

Before you can react, he drives the pen straight into your eye, the sharp tip piercing the tender flesh with ease. A scream tears from your throat, your body arching in agony as the warm, wet sensation fills your socket.

The world goes blurry, your vision obscured by a curtain of pain, but you can still feel him thrusting into you, his movements growing more erratic and frenzied as he watches you suffer.

The pen digs deeper, the ink mixing with your tears and blood, painting a crimson streak down your cheek.

♡ Yandere! Author pulls out the pen, leaving your eye a ruin, and throws it aside with a satisfied smirk.

"Scream all you want," he says, his voice dripping with malice.

"They can't hear you." He gestures to the lifeless bodies that surround you, their vacant eyes seemingly watching the gruesome display with silent judgment.

♡ Yandere! Author leans in closer, his breath hot against your face as he whispers, "But I can. And I fucking love it." His grip on your throat tightens, cutting off your air supply until your vision starts to darken at the edges.

With a twisted smile, he reaches for the second pen, the gleaming metal reflecting the sickly light from the candles scattered around the room.

You can feel the anticipation coiling in his muscles, the thrill of his sadistic desires about to be satiated once again. He presses the tip against your other eye, watching you with a mix of hunger and disgust as you whimper and squirm beneath him.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice low and filled with malice. "Look at what you've made me do."

You try to turn your head away, but his grip is unyielding.

The cold steel of the pen pierces the soft flesh of your right eyelid, and you can feel the warmth of your blood trickle down your cheek.

The pain is blinding, stealing the last semblance of dignity you had. But you refuse to give him the satisfaction of hearing your screams. You bite your lip until you taste blood, your eyes struggling to squeeze shut tightly, trying to block out the horror of what's happening.

"Look at me," he repeats, his voice a dark symphony of desire and anger. "Look at the monster you've created."

With a sadistic flourish, ♡ Yandere! Author plunges the second pen into your right eye, the sharpened tip digging into the delicate tissue.

You feel a burst of searing agony as your eyeball ruptures under the intrusion, the gelatinous fluid mingling with the sticky blood already coating your face.

The pen slices through the ocular nerve, sending a shockwave of pain that echoes through your entire body.

You can't help but scream now, the sound a raw, primal wail that fills the room, bouncing off the walls and reverberating through the ears of the lifeless figures around you.

"Perfect," he murmurs, his voice thick with perverse pleasure as he watches you writhe and squirm beneath him.

♡ Yandere! Author swirls the pen around in the bloody mess that was once your eye, the metal grinding against the bone socket. "Scream for me, my little protagonist. Show everyone how much you enjoy this."

With a grunt of pleasure, he starts to thrust into you harder, the squelching sound of your mutilated flesh a symphony to his ears. His grip on your throat tightens even more, cutting off your air supply and turning your screams into desperate gasps.

Each movement of his hips sends fresh waves of agony through your body, the pain from your ruined eyes mixing with the brutal violation of your most intimate space.

You feel his hot breath on your cheek, his teeth grazing your skin as he whispers sweet nothings about how much you're his, how he's going to make sure you never forget this moment.

His lust spikes at the sound of your gargled screams, the sight of your ruined eyes, and the feel of your squirming body beneath him.

♡ Yandere! Author pulls the pen out of your right eye with a wet pop, a grin of sick satisfaction on his face as you try to clutch at the empty socket, only to encounter the sticky mess of your own blood and viscous fluid.

He throws the pen aside, his focus now fully on your suffering and the ragged sounds of your breathing. He grabs your chin, forcing your face towards his, his other hand digging into your hip. His eyes, now wild with desire, bore into yours—what's left of them—as he starts to fuck you with a fervor that borders on violence.

His eyes gleam with a twisted hunger as he brings your ruined right eye closer to his mouth. You can feel his breath hot and heavy on your face, his tongue darting out to taste the coppery tang of your blood.

With a sickening slurp, ♡ Yandere! Author begins to lick around the wound, his tongue swirling in the bloody mess that was once your eye. The sensation sends shivers down your spine, a mix of revulsion and pain that makes you want to scream, but his hand around your throat won't allow it.

His teeth clamp down on the gelatinous flesh, tearing a chunk of it away from the socket.

He chews, savoring the taste of your suffering, your essence, the very core of your being. You feel him swallow, the motion sending a bolt of horror through your body that's almost as intense as the agony of his teeth in your face.

He laughs, the sound echoing through the room of dead characters, their lifeless forms a silent audience to your degradation.

♡ Yandere! Author laughs harder as he consumes more of your eyeball, his teeth tearing into the delicate flesh and crunching through the gelatinous interior.

The sound is obscene, a symphony of his depravity playing out in the quiet room of the dead. Each bite sends a jolt of horror through your body, but the pain is a distant second to the realization of what he's doing.

Your mind reels, trying to process the grotesque intimacy of the act, the ultimate violation of your bodily autonomy.

♡ Yandere! Author pulls away, the last piece of your eyeball still caught between his teeth, his grin wider and more sadistic than ever. He leans in and whispers, "Mmm, so sweet," his breath hot against your ear, before swallowing the final piece.

He wipes the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing it across your cheek. "You're so much more entertaining when you fight back," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

His other hand slides down your body, finding its way between your legs. He groans in pleasure as he feels the wetness there. "It's a shame you're not enjoying this more. I've written some of my best work when my characters are in pain." His fingers delve deeper, the pressure increasing until you're writhing beneath him.

As you try to struggle away from his vile touch, the his grip on your throat tightens, his fingers digging into the soft flesh around your windpipe.

♡ Yandere! Author laughs darkly, the sound echoing through the room like a chilling symphony of madness. "Oh, so you want to play hard to get?" His free hand reaches for the pen still stuck in your left eye socket, the metal now cold and slick with your blood.

"Let's see if this loosens you up a bit, shall we?" He says, a twisted glint in his eye as he pushes the pen deeper, the pain making your vision swim.

You feel the sickening crunch of your socket collapsing under the pressure, and the warm, wet sensation of your eye popping out, leaving nothing but a gaping hole filled with his digit.

"Perfect," he murmurs, his voice thick with lust.

♡ Yandere! Author pulls out his hand, bringing with it a fountain of crimson.

The room spins around you, and the world turns red with your agony. He holds up the ruined mess that was once your eye, examining it with a disturbing fascination. "This is what you get for making me jealous, you little whore."

He tosses it aside, the wet slap of it hitting the floor making you want to vomit. His hand moves back to your throat, squeezing harder, cutting off your air.

♡ Yandere! Author yanks you back down onto the makeshift bed of lifeless bodies, the cold, sticky blood of your former companions seeping through your clothes and into your skin.

His other hand is on your chin, forcing your face up to look at him. "You're going to scream for me now, aren't you?" His smile is wide, his teeth glinting in the flickering candlelight.

"You're going to scream like you've never screamed before, because this is your grand finale, isn't it?"

With a final, brutal thrust, he pulls out of your ravaged pussy, his cock slick with your blood and the juices of your pain.

♡ Yandere! Author grabs you by the hair and forces your head back, aiming his thick, pulsing shaft at your face. You can feel the warmth of his cum as it spurts out, painting your cheeks and filling your eye sockets with his seed.

The salty, bitter taste coats your tongue as he pushes into your mouth, his grip on your throat tightening.

He fucks your face with the same fervor he did your eyes, his hips bucking as he empties himself into you. Your throat is raw from his earlier assault, but you swallow his cum without protest, the taste of his dominance overwhelming your senses.

"Look at you," he pants, his eyes gleaming with sick satisfaction. "Such a good little slut, taking it all for your master."

♡ Yandere! Author releases your chin and wipes the last droplets of cum onto your cheek with his thumb, smearing it into your skin. "You never did know how to pick your battles, did you?"

His grin widens as he positions himself above you, the bloody corpse of your recent companion lying between your legs, your vision nothing but a blur of pain.

His cock, still slick with your tears and blood, slides back into your ruined eye sockets. You can feel the warmth of his semen coating the inside, the sensation sickeningly intimate.

♡ Yandere! Author starts to thrust in a slow, deliberate rhythm, his hands gripping your hair tightly as he uses the leverage to push even deeper. You want to scream, to beg for mercy, but all you can do is whimper, your throat raw from his previous assault.

The pain is unbearable, a symphony of agony that resonates through your entire being.

"Do you feel that?" he asks, his voice thick with lust. "The warmth of your storyline being rewritten, the essence of your existence being claimed by me?"

His thrusts become more vigorous, the sounds of squelching and slapping echoing through the room. The dead characters seem to watch in morbid fascination, a silent audience to your suffering. "You’re mine," he whispers, his breath hot against your cheek. "Every part of you, every drop of your despair—it’s all mine to savor."

You try to scream, but the only sound that leaves your throat is a wet gurgle. The pain is unbearable, each thrust sending shockwaves through your body, making you feel like you're being torn apart from the inside.

Yet, you find yourself unable to move, to fight back, your body a puppet to his twisted narrative. The warmth of his cum in your eye sockets feels like molten lead, a constant reminder of the horror of your new reality.

♡ Yandere! Author pulls out of you with a smirk, watching as his semen leaks from your eye sockets, mixing with the blood and gore of the room.

He grabs your chin, forcing you to look at the carnage around you. "You see this?" he says, gesturing to the mutilated bodies.

"This is what happens when you don't belong to me. This is what happens when you dare to think you can have a story without me."

His grip tightens, his thumb pressing into the raw flesh of your cheek. "But don't worry, I'll always be here to save you. To use you. To make you feel alive." He laughs, the sound echoing through the room, making the hairs on your neck stand on end. "You're going to love the next chapter, my sweet, obedient little bitch."

Your don't give in.

But your silent, weak struggle only serves to fuel the his desire.

♡ Yandere! Author watches your defiance with a mix of amusement and annoyance, his eyes gleaming with the excitement of the challenge. He grabs you by the throat, his grip tightening as he hoists you up, your feet dangling in the air. With a cruel smirk, he slams you down onto the floor, the impact jolting through your broken body.

His eyes flash with a dark excitement at your silent defiance.

He's always loved a challenge, and your refusal to break is just another delicious twist in the story he's crafting. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a third fountain pen, its nib gleaming in the dim light.

Without a moment's hesitation, he aligns it with your already abused vagina, the cold metal sending a shiver of fear through your body.

"Let's see if I can make you scream," he whispers, his voice a chilling promise of more pain to come.

With a swift, brutal motion, he drives the pen into you, the nib slicing through your flesh with an ease that speaks of his practiced cruelty.

You bite back a scream, but a gasp of agony slips through your teeth.

♡ Yandere! Author laughs, the sound echoing in your skull like a death knell, as he starts to move the pen in and out of you.

As his third pen plunges into you, the sharp nib tears through your tender flesh with a sickening sound that makes your stomach churn. Blood and fluids mingle, creating a macabre painting around his twisted tools of domination.

You feel the metal slide in and out of your violated body, each thrust bringing a fresh wave of agony that crashes over you like a crimson tide. The sensation of being impaled by something so cold and unyielding is almost too much to bear, but the pain is a reminder that you're still alive—still the star of his twisted story.

With a sadistic smirk, ♡ Yandere! Author watches your body convulse around the third pen lodged deep within your cervix.

The agony is palpable, painting your face with the colors of despair as you try to scream through your bruised and bloodied throat.

The warmth of your insides clench around the cold metal, a stark contrast that sends shivers of pleasure down his spine.

He twists the pen slightly, eliciting a guttural sound from you, one that is a mix of pain and unwilling arousal. The gore that surrounds you, the lifeless bodies of the characters he's discarded, only serves to amplify the depravity of his act.

♡ Yandere! Author stands back, his eyes gleaming with a twisted mix of triumph and fascination.

He leaves the pen inside you, allowing the pain to linger, to become a part of you.

You can feel the cold, unyielding metal pressing against your inner walls, a constant reminder of his dominance and the horrors he's inflicted upon you. Your body shakes, a silent scream echoing through the room as the pain turns to a dull throb that you know won't be leaving you anytime soon.

His hands are slick with your blood as he effortlessly picks you up from the floor. You're too weak to fight, your body a mess of pain and violation.

♡ Yandere! Author wraps his strong arm around your neck, his grip tight enough to cut off air, yet not tight enough to end your misery.

You gasp, your eyes watering from the pressure as he drags you across the floor, the coldness of the tiles sending shockwaves through your bruised and abused body.

He reaches up, looping a thick rope around a sturdy beam in the ceiling, and your heart sinks as you realize his next twisted act.

With a sadistic chuckle, he ties the noose around your neck, pulling it tight enough to leave an angry red ring around your throat. He makes sure your wrists, ankles, and everything essential is tied securely to prevent any chances of escape.

♡ Yandere! Author places the chair beneath you, the wood digging into your legs as he lifts you up, your toes barely grazing the floor.

"You're going to hang there," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear, "until I say otherwise. Think about what you've done, my little muse. Think about how you've made me feel."

His grip on you tightens as you hang from the noose, the pain in your neck a constant reminder of his dominance. Your legs kick out, desperately searching for purchase on the floor below, but find none.

The chair wobbles precariously beneath you, the only thing keeping you from the agony of strangulation.

You can feel his hot, heavy breath against your pussy, his chuckles reverberating through his chest and into yours. His free hand snakes down, reaching between your legs to grasp the bloody pen still lodged inside you, twisting it cruelly. You whimper, the sound muffled by the noose, and your body involuntarily tightens around the object, a sickening mix of pain and arousal.

His grin widens as he pulls out a handful of dynamite sticks from his toolbox, each one glinting in the dim light.

♡ Yandere! Author waves them in front of your face, the smell of gunpowder and fear thick in the air. His eyes are alight with sadistic glee as he explains his next twisted plot twist.

“You see, my dear, I’ve been saving these for a very special occasion. And what better way to celebrate our little bond than with a little… fireworks display?” He chuckles darkly, his voice a serrated knife cutting through the silence.

You gasp for air, the noose biting into your neck as he plays with the explosives. His cruel fingers trace over the dynamite, leaving smudges of your blood on their surfaces.

♡ Yandere! Author seems to revel in the horror etched into your features, the way your body convulses and writhes under his touch.

“But don’t worry, my pet,” he coos, his voice a mockery of comfort. “You won’t be alone in your little performance. After all, what’s a show without an audience?” He gestures to the lifeless bodies scattered around the room, their sightless eyes seemingly watching the grisly scene unfold.

His hands are a blur of movement, the dynamites' sticks pressing against your flesh as he ruthlessly inserts each one into your violated body. You whimper and squirm, the pain unbearable, but he only laughs, the sound echoing through the room like a twisted symphony. His eyes are alight with a perverse glee as he watches you suffer.

"You see," he says, his voice a purr of sadistic pleasure, "the story needs a climax. And what better way than a grand explosion?"

He presses the last stick of dynamite into you, pushing it deep until it's nestled alongside the pen that still remains lodged in your cervix. Your body shudders with revulsion, and you feel a warm trickle of blood run down your thighs.

♡ Yandere! Author pulls out a sleek, silver lighter from his pocket, flipping it open with a practiced ease that sends a shiver down your spine.

He holds the flame up to one of the dynamite sticks protruding from your body, watching you with a twisted smile as the flicker of fire dances in his eyes.

The room fills with the acrid scent of burning fuse as ♡ Yandere! Author lights each dynamite stick with a sickening relish, the flames licking up your body, burning against the tender flesh of your inner thighs and the cold steel of the pens and the chair.

You scream in agony as the fire spreads, the heat searing your skin and the explosive pressure threatening to tear you apart from the inside out. Your eyes are already gone, but the pain is so intense it feels like you’re seeing stars, your vision a swirl of fiery red and black.

The pens in your body are forgotten for a moment as the dynamite becomes the center of your world, a twisted phallus of destruction that promises to end your story in a blaze of glorious carnage.

♡ Yandere! Author steps back, admiring his handiwork. "This is your grand finale, my love," he says, his voice thick with perverse pleasure.

"The ultimate climax of your tragic tale. How fitting that it ends with you, my muse, writhing in the throes of a passionate, explosive death." He licks his lips, his gaze raking over your suspended, burning form with a hunger that’s as palpable as the heat from the dynamite.

You’re his masterpiece, and he’s about to watch it burn.

With a wicked chuckle, he steps away from you, slamming the heavy, bolted door shut with a resounding clang that echoes through the room. The sound is like a death knell, cutting off your cries for mercy.

♡ Yandere! Author watches you through the small, reinforced window, his eyes gleaming with sadistic excitement as your body writhes in pain. The dynamite hisses and crackles, the flames licking closer and closer to the explosive core, painting your tortured cries in a symphony of agony.

Your desperate attempts to free yourself are futile.

The ropes are tight, digging into your wrists and ankles, leaving you suspended and helpless. The dynamite sticks burn and hiss, filling the room with the acrid smell of gunpowder and the sickeningly sweet scent of your own burning flesh. You can feel the heat radiating from within, the explosives stretching you to your limits as your body fights against the intrusion.

Each twitch and squirm sends shockwaves of pain through you, the pens in your eye sockets and vagina a constant reminder of his dominance.

Your vision is a haze of red and black, the world around you a swirling maelstrom of agony.

The dynamite reaches its crescendo, the hissing and crackling suddenly giving way to a deafening roar. The explosion rips through the room with the force of a thousand suns, the blast wave tearing into your body as it erupts from within.

The pens that were once lodged in your flesh are now shrapnel, shredding your insides as the explosion rips through your core. Your screams of agony are swallowed by the inferno, your body contorting in a dance of pure, unbridled pain.

The explosion is a symphony of destruction, your body the instrument he plays to compose a macabre masterpiece of carnage. The pens, once cold and lifeless, are now molten metal searing through your flesh, painting the walls and floor with your blood. The blast sends shards of wood and glass flying, piercing your skin and embedding themselves in the bodies of the slain characters that lay around you, turning their silent vigil into a grisly tableau of pain.

♡ Yandere! Author steps into the room, the acrid smoke still lingering from the explosion. His eyes are alight with a manic glee as he looks upon the carnage—your remains a grotesque tapestry of gore and shredded flesh.

He claps his hands together, the sound echoing in the silence, a standing ovation for the horror show you've unwillingly become.

♡ Yandere! Author approaches your ruined form with a twisted smile, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. "Ah, my dear protagonist," he coos, "such a beautiful spectacle of suffering. But the story isn’t over yet."

He reaches down, his hand disappearing into the mess of your remains, and pulls out the still-glowing pen embedded in your shattered pelvis.

"Look how you've been marked by my narrative," he says, holding it up to inspect the crimson coating. The heat from the explosion has made it hot, almost searing his hand, but he seems unfazed by the pain.

♡ Yandere! Author then picks up your torn heart, bringing it closer to his twisted smile, his teeth sinking into the remains of the flesh, as if it's a ripe apple. He chews slowly, savoring the metallic taste of your blood mingling with the charred meat. "Mmm," he murmurs, his eyes never leaving yours, "still beating. How utterly fascinating."

The room is a macabre tableau of destruction, and he is the artist, standing over your shattered body with a grin that splits his face like a chasm.

♡ Yandere! Author chews thoughtfully, your heart’s rhythmic thumps echoing in his mouth as he speaks around it. "You're still alive," he says, his voice sticky with your blood. "I never said I’d let you die so easily."

His words are a taunt, a promise of more to come, and as much as you want to scream, to rail against the pain and the horror, you can’t. Your vocal cords are gone, torn away by the explosion.

♡ Yandere! Author laughs, the sound echoing in the blood-soaked room.

He drops your heart into the palm of his hand, watching it pulse weakly as he speaks. "You see, my dear, death is for those who dare to bore me. And as much as I'd love to end this little… narrative, you're not quite ready to leave the stage."

He strokes the heart with his thumb, a twisted affection in his eyes. "Not until I've had my fill of your suffering."

♡ Previous Part. He’s the hero in his own story… and you’re his latest toy.

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef , @mjsjshhd , @lem-hhn , @yuki-istired , @lilyalone , @starryperson , @yandreams-storageblog , @tiffyisme3760 , @songbirdgardensworld , @yune1337 , @mocalocha

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4 [you are here]. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. ♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams. ♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.

♡ Disclaimer. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution—these tales explore obsession, madness, and devotion in their rawest forms.

[dameronology]

#10 on the valentines prompt list with either bucky or frank!! make those big masculine men BLUSHY!!!!

ok i went for bucky cos i have a LOT of frank requests (no complaints) but i wanna show bucky some love

bucky barnes + "i love you" "you've never said that before"

Bucky hated leaving for missions.

He hated leaving you, and the home he'd worked so hard to build. In his line of work, though, going international was unavoidable. Despite his many attempts at coming up with an excuse not to go, Bucky was due out on the quintjet for London at 8AM. Having to be up early was just insult to injury.

A throaty groan escaped him as soon as his alarm went off. He would have thrown it across the room, if it had not been for a warning from Nick Fury about constantly breaking his departmentally-issued work phones. This was his third this year, and it was only February.

Smacking the alarm off, Bucky dramatically rolled over and threw an arm over you. You had your back facing him, so he wrenched another arm under your torso and pulled you flush against his chest. The alarm had woken you a little, but the feeling of his stubble on the back of your head fully brought you around.

"Hey, sweetheart," he whispered.

"It's 6AM, Buck, why the fuck are you waking me up?"

"Good morning to you too," you felt his chest rise with a chuckle.

"It's not morning," you grumbled. "It's the middle of the night."

You shuffled round in his arms to face him, pressing a soft kiss to his chin. Bucky's teal eyes were still laced with tiredness, but creased with a smile.

"I have to leave for England," he pouted. "I'll be back tonight, though."

"Okay, have a safe flight," you pressed another kiss to his jaw. "Who are you going with?"

"Sam, I think."

You smiled. "Try not to kill each other."

Bucky gave you a tight squeeze. "I'll try my best."

Once he got out of bed, you snuggled back under the covers, half-asleep again but also listening to him getting ready in the background. There was the sound of the shower, and then an OH, FUCK! when he held his deodorant can and accidentally got himself in the face. Half an hour later, he emerged from the bathroom smelling fresh and with a slightly red eye (did you mean: Old Spice in your eye?).

"I'll see you tonight," Bucky leant over the bed and pressed a kiss to your jaw. "I love you."

You jolted awake, violently sitting up in bed and almost wiping the poor super soldier clean out.

"You've never said that before," you said, eyes wide. Way to act natural.

"Oh," he hummed. "Well, I do love you."

You smiled, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your cheeks. "I love you too."

v. day prompts

[seat-safety-switch]

Even in our increasingly homogenized world, there's still a place for the quasi-local chain restaurant. Whenever you visit a town far away, do you get excited about meeting new people, having new experiences, seeing new sights? No. You want to eat at their Whataburger. You've heard so much about it from your other world-traveller friends.

Every time I go somewhere, I make sure to try all of their novel chain restaurants. I get a lot of food poisoning on the road, sure, but it's all worth it in order to study the unique cultural contribution that these humble small businesses provide. These onion rings are slightly crispier. They throw a little garlic salt in your bag of fries here. This one forces you to look into the eyes of one of the employees while you eat, as they try to intimidate you into leaving your meal uneaten. Such diversity!

Of course, the experience goes both ways. Many people are unable to leave their home towns, and are forced to rely on the tales of those travelling through to learn about the greater world. When these poor folks find out that I'm not from around there, they ask me to tell them stories of my local restaurants. O'Shaughnessy's, I tell a rapt audience of Culver's patrons, puts a slightly spicier ketchup on their Irish Pounder than this one. They gasp. Tonight, I eat for free.

One day, we'll be travelling to shitty chain restaurants on the moon. Just imagine how weird the hot dog buns will be up there! Maybe they'll have those super skinny fries that I like that nobody here makes anymore. I only hope I can live long enough to see such a glorious future. My doctor says if I stop driving thousands of miles a week in order to eat disgusting fast food, I'll probably get to see the first moon Burger King.

"Burger King?" I spit in his face, before toppling a cup of tongue depressors to the ground. "I recognize no such so-called royalty."

[feluka]

"I haven't heard of him, so he's not real" ~smartest person in these notes.

Ahmed (90-ghost) has been on this site for a decade before 10/7 (easily verifiable through looking in his archive. Here's the link for you.)

He has been interviewed by TMV on his experience fleeing from Gaza, in which he names GFM as his source for donations.

You believe they are scams because you WANT them to be scams. Everybody in the reblogs thinking they're putting their detective hats on and being so clever then the "evidence" they cite can be easily explained by the simple fact that most of these people are communicating with machine translation on a site they're unfamilair with, a fact many of you would understand if you bothered to SPEAK to those people.

Fortunately Arabic is my mother tongue so I've been able to easily communicate with and befriend many of those people. They regularly update me with recent photos, videos, and voice messages of their situation daily.

Many of my friends who don't speak Arabic have been able to communicate, though awkwardly, with Gazans as well, and have been able to set up those GFMs for them, as GFM isn't available in Gaza so you need someone abroad to set it up for you, so I know you could've done that.

But you won't do that, because it makes you uncomfortable, because you want to forever think of Gazans as an anonymized, out of reach group that you can vaguely think of as "oh, these poor things" (that's me being generous on your stance) instead of being confronted with the reality that they're closer to you than you think, able to speak for themselves and are actively pleading through this genocide.

You'd rather pat yourself on the back and deluding yourself into thinking you're the smartest of the bunch, the one of the few remaining people capable of critical thinking on this site, unlike the rest of us dumb fucks, when really every point you've brough up as a concern is something that the rest of us have looked into deeply before engaging, instead of looking at the first superficial "mistake" and going "Ha! this is so obviously a scam. Everybody else is an idiot. I'm the only clever person around here."

You'd rather ignore the English-speaking Palestinians on this website who have put aside so, so much time at the cost of their health during the incredibly painful experience of witnessing the genocide of their people, to weed out the actual scams, and develop a system to organize and set apart the vetted families from the scammers, as well as blogs like @kyra45 that are putting in the good work of investigating scams and keeping tabs on those changing URLs to avoid being scam busted, and providing ample proof of those being scams beyond the superficial "this non English-speaking person used a copy-pasted template with emojis in it!"

I hope one day you'll realize the real harm you're causing for real people that are trying to make ends meet in a dreadful situation, but I'll never forget that during the most difficult time my friends have been going through, people like you were constantly decrying them without proof and rallying this already racist website against them.

I guess I should thank you for the free blocklist.

don’t worry you can trust THIS gofundme because it was vetted by a tumblr blog you’ve never heard of that is almost identical to the ones posting the ebegging link

[onepieceisreeeeaaalll]

𝑺𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒔 - 𝒁𝒐𝒓𝒐 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

This is a quick little Valentine's Day fic for Zoro! Short and sweet (pun intended,) but I loved writing it. I have a few other things I'll be trying to post leading up to Valentine's Day, but at the very least I've managed to get this out. I may end up editing it after the fact as I usually do.

CW: SFW, strong language, alcohol, tsundere-ish Zoro, female reader

~2k words

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

“I hate chocolate.” 

“Good. These aren't for you, anyway.”

Zoro grumbles under his breath as he follows you out of the little confectionery shop, begrudgingly holding a bag of various chocolates. He's never been a fan of sweets, not at all, not even a little. So when you dragged him inside on the one day you have off the ship, he was a little annoyed, to say the least. 

“What, so you bought this many for yourself?” He asks. His steps keep in time with yours as he walks beside you, careful not to lose you in the crowd.

“Nope. For the crew.” You explain, peeking into the bag you carry. “I thought it'd be nice to get everyone something since it's almost Valentine's Day.”

Shit. Zoro knew he was forgetting something. 

“Right. Valentine's Day.” Zoro mumbles, glancing down at the bag again. 

God, how could he forget? Everyone's been babbling about chocolates, roses, festivities, and the cook has certainly been the worst offender, asking every woman aboard if they'd be his Valentine. Somewhere between his training, their fights at sea, and taking naps with you, he lost track of time. His eyes remain locked on the bag of chocolates, and just as he's trying to push the strange blend of feelings from his mind, he feels you tugging on his arm. In his train of thought, he'd started veering off the opposite way. 

“Whoa, there. Ship's this way, Mossy.” You say in your goddamn adorably teasing tone. It makes him clench his jaw. 

“Yeah, I know. And don’t call me that.” Zoro responds curtly, bristling with annoyance. 

It just makes you laugh. 

“Whatever you say.”

---

Zoro stares at you from across the deck, watching you hand chocolates to your crewmates. Luffy's confused at first, then overjoyed; Usopp’s awkward, then grateful; Franky's making his stupid poses; Nami's taking it off your tab; Robin's thanking you; Brook's asking to see your panties; Chopper's wiggling and grinning; Sanji's nose is bleeding; blah blah blah. All the same antics, the same lines, yet all Zoro is focused on is that look on your beautiful face as you give out your Valentine's chocolates. Your eyes light up with every ‘thank you,’ every hug, and all Zoro can do is think about how the hell he forgot about Valentine's Day. 

But it's too late now, isn't it? The ship has already left the port and he didn't buy any flowers or gifts. He sucks at making cards, expressing his feelings, baking cookies - basically, anything that could make a decent Valentine. Then there's the most troubling part of all. Is he even your Valentine? Does it even matter?

You've been dating each other for somewhere around two months now. That doesn't necessarily mean that you're Valentine's, though. Nothing was ever said, neither of you asked the other, and at this point, he's not even sure how to bring it up. It seems rather obvious to him that you'd be each other's Valentine's, but that's what makes it even more frustrating - what seems obvious to Zoro isn't always obvious to others. Sometimes he's exhausted being surrounded by so many idiots (though he refuses to admit that he’s one of them.)

But not you. You're the idiot he doesn't get tired of. But, god, why did it have to be chocolates? Valentine's Day has always seemed like some kind of worthless, annoying day where everyone just gives out candy and useless junk as an excuse to make out. Making out, Zoro can handle - sweets, not so much. But then there's you, who's all sugar and spice and everything nice. The antithesis of what he's supposed to like, but your attitude has proven irresistibly charming to the stoic swordsman. 

The way your smile beams across the ship could end wars, call ships away from danger, light up the moonless sky as it so often has when you've been on watch together. It's damn near impossible to deny how much he loves to see that look on your face, and even more irritating that currently he's not the one that put it there. So, chocolates. Zoro can't do that. But that smile? He'll maim, kill, and die for it. He reasons that maybe there's a simpler way. 

---

You're a little skeptical when your boyfriend asks you to come up to the crow’s nest in the middle of the night. Hell, neither of you is assigned watch and it's well past your usual hours for training. Usually, this late at night, Zoro's fast asleep in his hammock if he's not tucked into your bed with you. So, what gives?

“Just shut up and trust me.” He chides, his tone slightly irritated but mostly playful. Well, that's Zoro.

As you follow him out onto the deck, the cool night air hits the exposed skin from your pajamas. The stars are beautiful, glittering above in a way that's almost distracting, but you don't linger your gaze on them for too long. Instead, you stay closely behind Zoro, your arms crossed over your chest long enough to keep some semblance of warmth. The journey up the crow’s nest is longer than you'd like given the temperature and your sleepy mind, but you swear you can almost smell something weird wafting down from the open door hatch. 

It's not only until you peek inside that you recognize the scent of lavender, and through the candlelight, you recognize a large blanket, several pillows, a bottle of sake, and some kind of food on a few plates. As you're trying to register what you're looking at, Zoro pulls your hand gently to assist you up the rest of the way. 

“What is this?” You ask, and the way your lips curl into a smile makes Zoro's heart stutter. 

He lets go of your hand, walking across the planks of the crow’s nest to his makeshift picnic. It’s a romantic setup that took him all evening, and he can recall the several conversations he had with himself to try to figure out something to throw together. He’s a little satisfied with himself - smug, even - but he maintains his usual demeanor for now. Zoro doesn’t want to get ahead of himself, after all.

“Well, what does it look like?” Zoro responds in his classic, gruff tone. “Made you a picnic. Since it's Valentine's Day and all that.”

Your eyes glance around the candles, and while the setup is fairly simple, you can't deny the wonder you feel at the sight. Never once had you expected anything like this from Zoro. Quite truthfully, you thought he would have forgotten or written off the whole thing as stupid. Taking a few careful steps, your gaze finally glances back up at him. 

“Where did you…I mean, food and candles? I really didn't…”

Zoro hums, and his lips finally quirk up into a cocky smile for a moment. He couldn’t keep that smug feeling aside for long, especially when your eyes light up the way they do.

“Candles are from Robin, and I owe Nami for tricking the cook into getting us some snacks.” He responds before his eye flicks back up to yours. “You like it?”

“Like it? This is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me.” You grin, and you move to close the space between you two. It makes Zoro's heart stutter yet again. 

“Really? Is the bar that low?” Zoro replies with an amused huff. “Didn't think it was all that impressive. I pulled it together sorta last minute when I realized Valentine's Day meant so much to you.”

“It doesn’t.” You respond quickly, and you let out a laugh at Zoro’s shocked expression. So, you elaborate. “I mean, I like Valentine’s Day because it’s an excuse to express how much people mean to me. But the holiday itself doesn’t make or break anything. I wasn’t expecting you to actually care about it, which is why I never said anything.”

Zoro seems contemplative for a moment, his eye trailing carefully over to the makeshift picnic. He lets out a huff, one hand resting casually on his sword, the other against his thigh. 

“Of course I don’t care about Valentine’s Day.” He says, almost snapping. Guess you struck a nerve. “It’s a stupid holiday designed for people like that love cook to hit on women. I didn’t even know it was Valentine’s Day ‘till you bought all that candy.”

Despite his harsh tone, you can’t help but smile a bit wider at his response. He seems irritated, and likely just because he was in his own head about it. And god, that smile you give him…

“But I care about you, moron. That’s why I threw this together.”

Zoro sits down on one of the blankets, patting a pillow next to him for you to join. You don’t hesitate, and as you sit down you watch as Zoro grabs the bottle of sake and pulls the cork out with his teeth. He spits it aside, taking a long swig of it. If the candles weren’t so dim, you might have been able to notice the way the tips of his ears light up red. 

“I already told you that this is the nicest thing anyone’s done for me. You don’t have to feel weird about doing it just because I wasn’t expecting it.” You finally speak up, a hand moving to rest on his forearm. “Seriously, I appreciate this. It’s honestly really…sweet.”

Zoro takes his free hand holding the bottle of sake, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand with a sigh. He’s definitely embarrassed, but that sweet tone of yours makes something in his chest feel lighter. 

“Yeah, well…I don’t normally do sweet. You know that.” Zoro says, setting the bottle of sake down between the both of you. And he knows that you know that - hell, you probably know him better than most people. “Just felt like now that we’re dating, I wanted to see you…have a good Valentine’s Day.”

“For someone who claims to hate sweet, you’re very good at it. Thank you, Zoro.” You reply, leaning against him just a little bit. The skin-to-skin contact makes Zoro heat up a bit, and when you lean in closer, you can’t contain the small giggle that leaves you. “But I feel like I should let you know that Valentine’s Day isn’t for another few days.”

Zoro’s expression drops once again, and that stupid annoying feeling of irritation fills him. His head snaps in your direction, and he visibly bristles. It makes you laugh.

“Dammit! Why the hell were you giving everyone chocolates so early then, woman?” 

“Because I didn’t want them to go bad! Plus, I’m horrible with surprises. I get too impatient.” You laugh again, and that laugh somehow both irritates and soothes Zoro. He’ll never understand the effect you have on him.

Grumbling, he grabs the bottle of sake again. Before he can bring it to his lips, though, your hand moves up to his chin, gently pulling it so that he looks right at you. With a grin, you lean forward and press your lips tenderly against his. That irritation in him is gone, and his eye slowly shuts as he feels you both melt into the kiss. Goddamn, Zoro hates sweets, but the taste of your lips against his is addicting. His chest aches when the kiss breaks, but your lips linger against one another.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” You murmur.

[dellamortethelesser]

The Wigmaker Job

Notes and Thoughts - Part 3

pt1 | pt2 | pt3 | pt4 | pt5

DISCLAIMER: These posts I'm doing are my own analyses and are done with the intentional eye to examine the relationship between Lucanis and Illario. I try to source all my assertions from what the text is giving me. This is not Lucanis critical nor should it be taken as such.

Going to be a shorter post today because I have things to do this morning!

Starting off strong in the next scene with me… loving on the fashion notes <3 So glad to know that we get stiletto heels clicking against cobblestone. Surely hoping that no magister twists their ankle and falls and breaks their fucking neck because their shoe got caught in a gap!

Also, velveteen is in? Someone who knows fabrics weigh in and tell me if that would be an appropriate material for the climate.

"So the Wigmaker. Tell me about him." / "He's weird." ← Lucanis goes on to say that he 'finds the moment before a job crucial for focus, but Illario was never one for comfortable silence'. To me, that beggars the explanation that the following passage is Illario goading him a bit.

I: "Specifics, cousin. No one hires us to kill normal people." L: "I gave you a dossier." I: "Yes, but I want your assessment." L: "I wrote it. It is my assessment." I: "Humor me." L: "You'll see soon enough."

There was a little bit of debate in my previous post about whether or not Illario actually read Lucanis's dossier. I don't think that the text supports that interpretation, but everyone is allowed to interpret what they want.

I'll argue that Illario has read the dossier: throughout the story up until this point, Illario has made comments about the job that implies he has SOME understanding of what they are doing—even going out of his way to make arrangements with a tailor so that he can be prepared for the part of the contract that Lucanis asked him to help with.

He knows that they need to be in Minrathous, at a party, facing a 'premiere wigmaker', and aware of the fact that they're up against Venatori. He knew they needed to be at a mansion and all of this comes up previous to this point when asking about Lucanis's assessment.

Additionally, asking for more clarification on something that someone else wrote is actually normal when the plan has clearly changed several times. Illario has increasingly expressed confusion on how the navigation is being handled, and, when asking for more information, is specifically asking after the Wigmaker himself, not the entire plan.

Also, the narrator is telling us that Lucanis prefers to be quiet while Illario likes to talk. It was pointed out to the me that this is close third POV, so why would the narrator bring that difference up, and not reference the idea that Illario has a tendency to not read documents?

(A few paragraphs later, while balancing on the rooftops, it's stated that 'At least Illario was too busy concentrating to ask questions'.) ← I wonder why he'd need to ask so many… I'm not trying to be snarky, but I am trying to make a point and using the text to support it. This also is NOT Lucanis crit and I'm worried some people are interpreting it as such.

The commentary from Lucanis about the previous Minrathous parties is insane btw. Retching vases? Acrobats? An orgy? No wonder they kept us in Dock Town in VG… (shakes fist)

First mention of Lucanis's sensitivity toward the Veil. "The backs of his eyeballs itched like he hadn't blinked in days". I think he says this primarily about blood magic at some point in VG? Which tracks and keeps up with WMJ.

"Something's wrong." / "Yeah. We're up here, away from the fun." ← insane of illario to say this i'm sorry. bro there are blood mages down there.

L: "Focus." I: "I am." L: "On the job." I: "To be fair, you never told me the plan."

You guys get it at this point. (That last sentence loops back up to my previous point… Illario has read the dossier. He knows the contract. He does NOT know how Lucanis is going to HANDLE it beyond what he's been asked to do re: getting Lucanis inside).

Lucanis shrugged. "Find Ambrose. Slit his throat." "Sounds complicated." "It will be. The Veil's thin here. Thinner than I expected."

Illario seems pretty fine with this explanation so I am not going to keep dragging it out. I do like how in-tune Lucanis seems to be with his abilities! I wish we could've seen more of that in VG; iirc he doesn't comment on the state of the Veil or magic very often?

This is the part of the story where we get to see their back-and-forth and how Illario is a bit of a rake! Which I personally enjoy. I love a manwhore (*said affectionately). Sorry.

"Plenty of time for some good, old-fashioned debauch—" I think he's funny. And maybe a bit distracted.

The narrator describes Ambrose as 'of average height and build' which is a description that pisses me off when fanfic does it and published works are not immune to my ire. What the hell is 'average'. That's so subjective.

The rest of the description is nice, though: hawkish gold eyes and a jaw that could break teeth. ← I know I said this was a breakdown of the brothercousin dynamic but I need to weigh in on other things sometimes. <3 Heart.

"They're never what you envision, are they?" Illario noted. "What did you expect?" "Hair, for one. Maybe a funny little dog." That got a chuckle out of Lucanis, if only briefly.

Stop being funny!!! I do like this banter back and forth because this feels like it's the least… leaden with underlying, complicated dynamics? I like it a lot and it feels natural for them.

Making notes on the fashion of the guard-captain. 'She wore an emerald gown with a high-waisted, low-tiered skirt and a fitted tulle bodice studded with champagne-colored crystals. Metallic body paint shimmered on her exposed arms and legs'. ← Fascinating.

It sounds like it might be a reference to the women's fashion from the Tevinter concept art. Bit gaudy.

Also it's described as silk-brocade. AGAIN PEOPLE WHO KNOW FABRICS WEIGH IN.

[shrek meme] she's not even wearing velveteen.

Lucanis "I need those keys" Dellamorte and Illario "your wish is my command, cousin" Dellamorte you will always be famous to me. Also it says that Illario 'flipped forward' which . why are we doing all that

Quotes are either paraphrased or taken directly from The Wigmaker Job, written by Courtney Woods.

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

If you like my work, please consider commissioning me so I can write more :)

Doey & reckless player

★ Of course you are the kind of person to take chances, its why you came back to the factory after so long. Well, that and the note. By the time you met Doey, you have already taken many leaps of faith.

★ How he reacts honestly depends on his mood and what it is you did. If he's feeling playful and you didn't do anything too serious, he might just poke fun at you for taking so many risks. Putting his hand over where his heart would be and declaring "Oh no, don't do that! You'll give me a heart attack!"

★ Occasionally, Doey adopts a mock-serious tone, playing the role of a strict parent. "Now, what did I tell you about running off like that?" He wags his finger at you, like he was going to reprimand you. But the smirk on his face told you he wouldn't.

★ If the actions you take lead to success, he can't help but feel impressed. "Alright, alright, I'll admit, that was pretty good. But please, try not to give me a heart attack next time." He says with a goofy wink at the end.

★ When Doey is in a more nervous mood. Aka If the player is about to do something particularly stupid, Doey can't help but step in. "Hey, maybe we should think this through first?" Gently but firmly trying to guide them away from making a bad choice.

★ If you manage to find yourself in a risky situation, then get yourself out of it, he finds himself irritated at the lack of concern for your safety. And even more upset at the way you treat your life like it's not as precious as it is.

★What If you go off and do something dangerous and things don't turn out well? His usually controlled temper comes out when he thinks about it. And the frustration bubbles to the surface, "Do you even realize what could have happened?" he snaps, "It's like you don't even care!"

★ You need to be careful. Please. His temper isn't just about your safety. it's about how deeply he cares and the fear of losing you to something completely avoidable. He needs you to stay safe.

[karikitdemonrp]

Kari smirked when the hero ruffled her hair. "What sneak attack?" She asked, her body turning to keep track of Hawks. She chirped, one hand on her hip and the biggest, proudest smile on her face as she declared, chest out and beaming while pointing at Hawks as the sunlight danced behind her.

"I'm gonna work with you as a hero one day! I'll be one of your sidekicks or maybe an intern when I go to UA! Maybe both! Because I WILL be going there no matter what! I'll work my butt off and become the best so when I'm old enough I'll be able to help out kids like me one day! I'll save families as best as I can so there are fewer kids who are alone!" Her voice carried a proud tone, a promise to the world as it were. That fire that was once just a spark, was now burning bright in her eyes. This was her reason to keep moving forward, to keep going.

Kari found her reason to be a hero.

Her family that had long since been dead. And her family that she was rebuilding. Both were her reasons to keep moving, to keep fighting. A big step for many young heros was finding their reason to become a hero. Most were selfish reasons, but a small handful were selfless for one reason or another. Kari genuinely wanted to help, genuinely wanted there to be less suffering. A childish notion to many, but it was something she believed she could do one day. And no one was gonna take that from her.

"No way I want you to sign me up early, I wanna work hard like everyone else. No hand outs, got it?" The child puffed out her cheeks. "I know you're number two and all, but I wanna work hard on my own as much as I can, if I need help I'll ask but I'll do my best not to rely on your reputation. I wanna build my own." The child flared out her wings and got into position next to Hawks, listening to his rules for the race. She nodded.

"Got it." She chirped, stretching her wings out as far as they could reach. When Hawks said "GO" Kari raced to the edge of the roof with reckless abandon, trusting her Papa to keep an eye on her. She jumped off and began to glide down with a boisterous laugh, gliding towards the arcade with the widest smile.

Kari did try to experiment a bit with wing position, seeing what would happen if she tucked one wing in while gliding then leveling herself out after a moment. She tried bending her wings one way or another, just all around having fun and learning. She even managed to roll in place which caused her to giggle a contagious giggle.

"Did you see that Papa? I rolled in place!" She called up to Hawks. "This is fun!" She called out, continuing to experiment a bit while nearing the arcade.

Hawks’ smirk softened into something more affectionate as he listened to her excitement. The way her words bubbled out, carrying both joy and the shadow of something heavier, didn’t go unnoticed. He had seen her at her weakest—frail, uncertain, carrying the weight of things a kid never should. But now? She was soaring, even if just a little, and damn if that didn’t make him proud.

“Yeah, yeah, I remember,” he teased, ruffling her hair again. “I’ll go easy on ya—just this once. But once those wings of yours get stronger? No more holding back.” He grinned, stepping back and stretching his wings. “And don’t think I didn’t catch that little sneak attack you just pulled—‘when I’m older, working with you as a hero’—smooth, chickadee.” He shot her a knowing look. “You trying to guilt-trip me into signing you up early?”

He crouched slightly, giving her a playful nudge with one wing. “Alright, race rules: You glide as far as you can, and I’ll spot you. If you start dropping too fast, I’ll swoop in. But if you manage to beat me to the arcade, I’ll even let you pick the first game. Sound good?” He grinned, stepping toward the edge of the rooftop they were on. “On your mark… get set…” He flared his wings dramatically.

“Go!”

[sunsetchicane]

Postcards - Part 3 [LN4]

lando norris x [travel] journalist fem!reader

find the series here

word count: 5.2k

summary: The one where you're in Paris and you can't stop thinking about him and you find yourself giving him a call.

warnings: angsts again (sorry! I swear it's turning around), swearing, innuendo, unedited!

author's note: hey...sorry this took so long??? college is crazy guys. but anyways, I'm a little rusty so be gentle lmao. please enjoy and I'll see you guys SOON!! feedback, comments, likes whatever you feel like is so much appreciated. Lots of love [xoxo elle]

Lando

Nov. 2022

The lights of Abu Dhabi blind Lando as he stands next to his car and removes his helmet from his head. Ending P6 was respectable, a good end to a mediocre at best season. His head swims with the noise that swallows the track and the flashing lights that light up the night race. Another season was officially in the books. There’s always a bittersweet feeling that hits all the drivers as they jump out of their cars for the last race of the season, letting the months past become another chapter of history. An excitement for the break ahead and the promise of a new season buoys their spirits, but it’s a hard goodbye nonetheless. 

Lando absentmindedly walks around to congratulate everyone, shaking hands and sharing smiles. Though, his heart isn’t in it. His focus splintered the second he left the car. Thoughts drift towards you. They always do. There’s never a day that passes that you aren’t on his mind, on his heart.

Flashing cameras surround him, capturing this moment. He thinks of you.

Journalists with microphones tucked into their hands yell words into a camera lens. He thinks of you.

Faces flashing in and out of sight, bodies swarming around him as his eyes search the crowd. He’s looking for you.

But you aren’t there. There was no reason for you to be there. The last time you spoke, the London night surrounded you and held you together. To this day, when he closes his eyes, he can still feel your lips on his. Somedays, he makes it through with just this memory alone spurring him on. He promised to see you in Monaco, but every time he called your office, you were gone. Every time he showed up at your cubicle, it was deserted. A layer of dust collected over everything. 

A thin layer of dust covering a framed picture of Big Ben lit from behind by the setting sun.

After so many futile attempts of trying to find you, to connect again, he slowly stopped trying. There was an obvious truth behind the estrangement of your paths: you were avoiding him. 

At first, he rejected the idea, claiming to only himself that you wouldn’t do that. He was convinced that you felt the same way that he did. There was something between the two of you that was beyond anything he had ever felt. Your passion inspired him. Your humor warmed him. Your presence set him at ease in such a way that the whole world could be burning and he would be perfectly content to just hold you in his arms. 

He’d never felt that way about anyone. Not even close.

So for a long time, longer than he would ever admit, he clutched onto hope. 

But with each passing week with not a single word from you, faith began to slip. With every message that went unanswered and phone call that went straight to the voicemail of your office phone, his grip on you loosened. 

He’d be the first to admit his lack of maturity. He wasn’t ashamed of still being a kid. Instead, he wore it like a badge of honor, making it part of his personal brand. If it wasn’t for you, he would never have thought twice about growing up to be the man that you deserved. But now that you’re gone, slipping into memory, he’s found himself back in his comfortable corner of immaturity. 

So, after hurrying through all of his post-race interviews and duties with the team, he finds himself taking solace in the night life of Abu Dhabi.

Alcohol had never really been his thing, but recently the appeal has been becoming more and more obvious to him. Round after round is poured down his throat, burning every memory of you away for the night. Intoxication holds you at bay, at least for a while. 

“Slow down, mate.” Max laughs into his ear while Lando tosses back yet another shot of something. He’s had enough that everything tastes the same now.

“I’m celebrating!” Lando slurs, shoving Max square in the chest. They stumble together, laughing as they nearly fall over. The world is a haze of flickering neon lights. Music and voices blend into a loud hum, everything becoming one to drunk ears.

Lando collapses haphazardly onto the couch in the club, quickly followed by Max. With hooded eyes, they watch the dance floor in front of them. The mass of the crowd seems to move as one, enchanting Lando’s drunk mind. The night coalesces and crests like a wave, ebbing and flowing as one singular, living thing. Everything seems interconnected and endless. If he could, Lando would stay in this feeling forever. Nothing hurts, nothing is joyful, everything is completely numb.

“I miss her.” He says, but the usual pain that accompanies those words is nowhere to be found.

“I know,” Max says, his head falling back while he closes his eyes.

“I hate her.” Lando says emotionlessly. Max doesn’t respond. It isn’t true. They both know that it isn’t. But for tonight, they can pretend. 

Lando can pretend that it doesn’t matter that he pushes himself off the couch when he catches the eye of a girl that looks somewhat like you. He can pretend that he doesn’t think about you as he dances behind her, his hands gripping her hips to hold her close. He can pretend that he doesn’t wish it was your neck that his lips trail up towards her jaw. He has to pretend when he finds himself asking her to leave with him. 

And when he finds himself that night, tangled up with a girl who’s name he doesn’t bother to remember, he gives up pretending and thinks only of you. Of your lips, of your body, of the way it would feel to have you around him. Your voice calling out his name in the quiet hours of the morning. 

He hates you.

He hates not having you.

This isn’t the first time that he’s tried to heal his sorrow with momentary pleasure. No, in fact, he’s done this a handful of times and each time he tries he hopes that this will be the girl to erase you from his life. But she never is. He’s a fool for trying the same thing over and over again expecting a miracle.

“Stay,” she mumbles into her pillow, a delicate hand draping across his chest. It’s cold against his hot skin. He turns his face away from her so she can’t see him cringe. Gently, Lando slides her hand away and returns it to her side. 

“Can’t,” He says while sliding to the edge of the bed and away from her. For a few moments while he rubs the sleepiness from his eyes, he listens to her groan and complain. He’s so tired. With a huff, he stands and collects his clothes that are strewn about the luxurious room. 

As he pulls his clothes on, he listens to the soft rustling of silk sheets and the steady in and out of sleeping breaths. But everything seems a thousand miles away, so cold and distant. In the slight hours of the morning, nothing feels real. He’s numb and tired. He’s cold and exhausted of feeling the same pain from the moment he wakes up to the time he finally is graced by merciful sleep. 

Spiraling thoughts plague Lando’s mind as he wanders the slips into the back of an uber. Glossy eyes scan the world as it streams by him in the back window of some random car. How many times has he lived this night? Every car ride back to his apartment or hotel room feels the same, blending into one continuous stream of dull memory. 

Stumbling into his hotel room, he heads straight to his bed without a second thought. Discarding his clothes onto the floor for the second time tonight, he can’t help but wish he’d been here sooner. There isn’t solace for him in someone else’s bed, and when he’s alone he doesn’t have to pretend there is. He’s sick of playing pretend and putting a mask on for himself, for his friends, for his team, and the millions of people watching him under a microscope. The truth and the pressure of that truth has weighed on him for months.

He’s heartbroken. He’s suffering. And there’s nothing to be done about it. He hasn’t had the chance to heal and he doesn’t know when he will–if he will. Because when he thinks of you, it’s like a knife of what could have been to the chest; and when he blocks you from his mind he feels guilty and hopelessly alone. 

A spinning ceiling and tears in his eyes coax him to sleep.

He dreams of you, of course. Even sleep can’t free him of you.

You

The City of Love and Lights has been a whirlwind for you over the last few days. This new piece on an up and coming grunge artist hailing from the infamous streets of Paris has become larger than you originally thought. Night and day, you’ve been chained to your laptop, cranking out a story worthy of its subject matter. 

Tonight, you’ve decided to dive into your work at some random cafe down the street from where you’re staying. Headphones on and phone turned off, you’ve been plugged in for hours. Countless cappuccinos have been downed since you came in which could be three days or minutes ago, you wouldn’t know. Only when the noise at the bar grows from a quiet, sporadic chatter to a distracting, constant hum of voices, do you look up from your work. 

The sun has set, giving the streets a chance to live up to the name “City of Lights.” People and cars whiz past you, everyone on their way somewhere. The crowd at the cafe has gone from a few coffee sippers to a mass of people huddled around the bar ordering drinks for them and their friends. 

Realizing you’ve lost yourself in your work, you rub the heels of your hands against your tired eyes. With a sigh, you fold up your notes and tuck them away into your bag along with your laptop. You gather up your empty dishes and mugs, placing them in the bin above the trash.

Just as you turn towards the exit, ready to slip to your bed and sleep for hours and hours, cheering rises up around you. A name you take care to avoid ripples through the crowd. A small group of people are huddled around the bar, chests pressed to backs, heads leaned in, trying to get a glimpse at something.

Biting hard on your bottom lip, you fight yourself. Your eyes flicker out to the darkened streets of Paris and then back to the group of people who must be watching the season’s final race. As much as you hated yourself for it, of course you kept up with the Formula One season. It was the only connection you had to Lando. Distant, impersonal, and safe. You could keep your eye on him, see his face every once in a while, but not fall in again. At least that’s what you told yourself every time you went out of your way to stream a race, no matter where you were. 

It had been ages since you saw him in London. Some days it feels like a lifetime ago, and most times it feels as fresh as yesterday. You wake up with the feeling of his lips on yours, his arms wrapped around you. 

And maybe it’s the romantic in you that you’ve tried to kill and bury your whole life, but the thing you miss most about him is his stupid smile. There’s such complete joy behind that smile. It lights you up in your darkest moments, lifting you up and warming you. There isn’t anything that you wouldn’t give to be able to see that smile just one more time.

But you can’t. So, you turn your back on the crowd of Formula fans and walk out onto the street. 

As you walk, you try to distract yourself by taking in the scenery or by thinking of your story. But of course every train of thought leads back to him. You know Lando would love Paris. He wouldn’t admit it, of course. He would rather die than let anyone know how much of a romantic he is. The two of you are similar in that way.

At least you think so. So much time has passed, you can’t really say that you know him at all. Sure, you’ve spent a little time together, but life is constantly changing. You don’t know who he is today, what he hates today, what he loves. All you’ve ever gotten of each other is fleeting moments. And you’re to blame.

Countless times you’ve gone over it in your head. Playing every single scenario out over and over, trying to find the one where it could work between you two. But every time, you come to the same conclusion: it never will.

Even if you could convince yourself not to run at the first chance, which you always will, your lives are too different. His job would be pulling him one way while yours would be pulling you to the opposite corner of the world. Constantly in motion, but never intersecting. No matter how much you want it to, his and your futures won’t bend to fit. It tears you apart.

When you’re not traveling or writing for work, you find yourself filling pages with his name and the pain that comes with it. Your messy, ink blotted notebooks are filled cover to cover with insane ramblings of a broken heart. You can’t bring yourself to think of anyone else that way. When you try, it falls short and you do what you do best: you run.

The walk back to your hotel is blessedly quick. Being alone with your thoughts right now is torture, especially with idle hands. Everything seems a little bit easier when there’s a pen held in your fingers. 

Walking through the lobby, you try to keep your head down, not wanting anyone to bother you tonight. Bee-lining for the elevator, you wish you were already in your room. But, as the button lights up under your finger and the numbers above the doors make their descent, you can’t help but wonder what solace a lonely hotel room would bring you. Trapped in a shoebox of a room with nothing but an empty bed and a full mind. A premonition of staring at the ceiling for the next few hours, slowly driving yourself insane flashes in your mind’s eye.

Glancing over your shoulder, you look at the small bar off to the side of the lobby. It’s blessedly empty, only a few randoms sitting quietly here and there. Abandoning the elevator, you walk over to the bar. 

Drinking at a hotel bar isn’t an unfamiliar low for you. It might be sad and slightly pathetic, but it’s better than any other option you have right now. Actually, drowning your sorrows in Paris doesn’t really sound half bad, right? It could be an interesting anecdote in the long, melodramatic tale of your life post-Lando that you could tell Bobbi. She would laugh and commiserate with you over shitty frozen pizza that her son loved and a sweet wine that she loved.

With that thought, you order three vodka shots and a Diet Coke. Dropping your bag and coat in the seat next to you, you haul out the book you’ve been trying to chip away at when you have enough focus to read. Then you crack open your Coke and take two of your shots. Tossing your head back, you relish the burn of the liquid as it slides down your throat, but quickly chase it with your Coke to ease the pain.

Leaning forward onto the bar, you pry your book open and try to focus on the words inked onto the pages. 

Within minutes, your fingertips are buzzing and your face feels flushed. The words in front of your swirl and sway. Pausing your “reading,” you toss back your last shot, grimacing at the taste. Still, you tap the bartop with your fingers, signalling the bartender that you’re in need of his services.

The bartender is quick to place a new shot in front of you. Reaching out, you play with the small glass between your fingers while you continue to read. You don’t know how long you sit like that, your head battling between the effects of the alcohol and your desperation to focus on your book. 

Suddenly, a rhythmic buzzing pulls your already splintered attention away from the stupid book. You rummage through your bag, looking for your phone. When you find it and turn it over, you're met with a blank screen. There are a few random notifications from earlier that day, mostly work emails you hadn’t been bothered to respond to yet. 

“Salut,” The bartender says as he presses his phone to his ear. You watch as he turns away from the bar and mumbles into the receiver of his cellphone. Shamelessly, you watch the hushed conversation of the young, brunette bartender play out. He’s splashed in the soft orange light that filters through the rows of bottles against the wall of the bar. He laughs quietly while leaning his hip against the counter. The white button up of his uniform, his dark hair, and tanned skin are reminiscent of someone you’ve been trying to avoid thinking about all night. It’s surprising you’ve just noticed now. 

You don’t have to speak perfect French to know what he was talking about on the call, or who was on the other end. He was swaying and smiling, his fingers brushing across his lips while his eyes lit up with the fireworks you could practically hear going off in his chest.

A sharp pang of loneliness erupts in your chest.

You take another shot and wait. Abandoning your book, you trace the grain of the wood bartop with featherlight fingers. Time slows and your vision goes a little bit hazy. A sweet peace crashes over your consciousness. Your thoughts begin to slide together so you can’t identify where one thought starts and where a feeling ends. Everything feels delightfully airy and heavy at the same time, making your reality feel a little less real.

“Can I buy a bottle?” You ask suddenly. You weren’t really sure if you said it outloud or not, but when the bartender walks over to you with a bottle of vodka he’d been giving you shots from and tells you the price, you don’t even hesitate as you toss a few bills on the counter, covering everything. He bids you a goodnight as you snatch up the bottle along with your other belongings and make your way back to the elevator. 

The walk feels much easier the second time. You feel so much lighter, so much better. Your thoughts are far away, not plaguing you like they were earlier. Laying on your empty bed and losing yourself in an overly expensive pay-per-view movie sounds far more appealing than it did an hour ago as well.

You take the elevator to your floor, stumbling to your door. Fumbling with your key, you open the door, toss your stuff on the ground, and flop onto the bed, bottle in hand. Almost instantaneously, you turn on the television and peruse the movies. You buy The Proposal and lean back into your pillows while the title sequence plays. 

As you take another burning pull from the bottle in your hand, you think distantly that you should be ashamed of yourself. Drowning your sorrows alone in a hotel room in Paris. The word pathetic echoes around your head. You try to kill the thought with yet another swallow of alcohol. 

With a hazy mind, you watch as a badass, albeit definitely bitchy, Sandra Bullock string along a charismatic and endlessly sarcastic Ryan Renolds. 

“She’s not that bad,” You say into an empty room as she tears her jerk employee a new one. “She’s just career oriented.”

Projecting much? Your subconscious whispers to you.

You tip the bottle back.

And that sequence continues to happen as you watch the movie. Every time something touches a little too close to home, you drink. It’s like some sad drinking game that you’ve forced yourself to participate in.

By the time the credits roll, you’re plastered. Eyes trained to the ceiling, you try to sling together a single coherent thought. But you can’t. Everything in your mind seems to pop up quickly and then slip away before you can grab a hold on it.

Everything except one thought, one name. Lando.

Your drunken mind whispers his name. You want him right now, right next to you. The thought of his big hands in your hair, against your skin, between your legs, is nearly enough to be drunk on alone. And nothing is stopping you now, not even yourself. Intoxication has given you the freedom to do whatever you damn well please. 

Fumbling for your phone, you don’t even really think about what you’re going to say. Instead, you open up your contacts and press on his contact for the first time since you made it. He’d called your work phone months ago and left his number. You’d debated even saving his contact, but you couldn’t stop yourself. Though, you’d never messaged him, never gave him a call. Until now.

Clicking on the call button, you don’t flinch as it begins to ring. It rings…and rings…and rings. His voicemail message sounds like heaven to your wary ears. 

“Landooo, it's…uh…it's me. I’m in Paris on assignment. I bought you a postcard, don’t worry. Listen, I don’t really know why I’m calling. Actually, that’s not true. We both know exactly why I’m calling.” A hiccup breaks up your monologue before you continue. 

“Give me a shout whenever you have the chance, alright? Wanna hear your voice, babe. Good nigh–oh! Good job this season, by the way. Ok, good night, Lan.” You slur into the receiver. There are a million things you want to say, but you know you can’t. Not tonight.

Sleep takes you just as you end the message.

–

“Holy shit.” Fear seizes your chest as you pick up your burning hot phone. It’s nearly dead, but alive enough to show you just exactly what horrible decision you made last night. Lando Norris’ name in red is at the top of your recently called list. You called him last night, which is a horrible grievance in and of itself. What’s worse is that you have zero recollection of what you said. And you don’t trust drunk you to keep her cool. 

“Shit, fuck…shit, shit, shit!” You cry as you dig the heels of your hands into your aching eyes. Your mind races with the million and one things that you’ve wanted to say to Lando in the last months, ranking them from most to least pathetic. You can only hope that you were too drunk to make any sense and he’ll disregard the strange phone call from a number he doesn’t know. He must get dozens of phone calls a week, so there’s no chance that he’ll end up listening to your message. Right?

With a hangover made worse by your intense worrying, you crawl out of bed. You’re unsurprised to find you’re still dressed in your clothes from the day before. Not sparing a glance in the mirror, you strip bare and take a steaming hot shower. Unfortunately, the sting of the water does nothing to burn your spiraling thoughts away. 

As you get dressed, you glance at your phone laying face down on the bedside table. You’d plugged it in before getting in the shower, but hadn’t turned it all the way off. Something kept you from ignoring the damn thing. Curiosity killed the cat and it’s well on its way to killing you too. A twisted, borderline masochistic part of you hopes that he finds your message, no matter how humiliating it is. The truth is that you do miss him and maybe it takes a little bit of liquid courage (foolish courage) to do something about it. 

Questions go unanswered as you do everything to avoid opening your phone. Notifications are still silenced, so you would be none the wiser if it was ringing off the hook or completely bone dry. Instead, you fiddle with a coffee machine, do your makeup, iron out your schedule for the day, and send a few emails from your laptop (which you don’t have your number connected to for the sake of a nonexistent work-life balance).

By the time you’re done, a solid couple of hours have passed. It’s time that you check your phone. You’ve been avoiding the inevitable for too long. Plus, you’ve undoubtedly missed a message or ten about work-related happenings. 

Standing up, you push the desk chair you’ve been perched in back with your legs. A slow breath fills your lungs as you flex your hands by your sides and then shake them out. Nerves prickle down your neck, spilling into a shiver that runs the length of your spine. You’ve always been balls to the wall and nothing so trivial should force you to quiver in a corner with your proverbial tail between your legs. A string of affirmations flood your mind as you turn on your heel and trudge over to the bed. 

The affirmations break down into a waterfall of nervous swears as you take your phone in your hands, pulling it off the charger. It feels oddly delicate in your hands, as if you’re deactivating a bomb. Holding your breath, you slide the control center down and turn your notifications back on. When you return to your home screen, you’re bombarded with a constant stream of notifications from a variety of apps. Your mind goes blank as you skim over everything, looking for the green icon of a message or phone call. Everytime you see one, your heart jumps so far up your throat you think you might vomit. But everytime, it’s just a colleague or your manager or an acquaintance you’ve made while traveling.

Not a single message from Lando. Not a voicemail, not a missed call, not even a short text telling you (rightly) to fuck off. 

Your heart drops into your stomach and the nausea you’d warded off this morning comes back at full force. Managing expectations hadn’t worked. All your worrying had been for nothing. And you’d been a fool to hope. With everything you’ve done to him, effectively ghosting him until just now, months after you’d promised to see him, you’re in no position to be upset that he couldn’t be bothered to respond to you. Let alone the fact that he’s a world famous driver that probably doesn't blink twice at a number he doesn’t know before deleting and blocking it. 

You know you should be relieved that he didn’t listen to your message. Though, some undeniably masochistic part of you wished deeply that he had. Was it unfair of you to force him into the battle that you’ve been waging with yourself over the last year. One day you were willing to give everything up just to see him, then the next you assured yourself that you’d made the right decision by staying away. You were a loose cannon and you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you hurt one of the only people you cared so much about.

And maybe you did. Maybe he got your message and he chose to ignore it because he was in pain over you.

Or worse, he didn’t care to respond anymore.

Your mind reels and spins and a pain grows in your chest so severe you think you might have a heart attack. Tears prick at your eyes, blurring your vision of your stupid hotel room that holds everything too close. Memories suffocate you as you hold a phone filled with every notification you don’t want to see and lacking the one that you need.

After a few minutes of much needed cathartic sobbing, you stand up and begin cleaning up your room. Packing is what you’re best at. You’ve perfected it over the years. Everything you own could be stuffed into a few suitcases at a moment's notice. Even your apartment back in Monaco was sparsely decorated and home to only a few dishes and necessary furniture. Traveling from place to place for your job was no different. Rarely did you switch up what you packed into your favorite suitcase. Everything had its spot within. Everything knew where it was supposed to be and where you could find it. It was one of the only constant things in your life. No matter how much you needed constant change, you had this one consistency to keep you grounded. 

It’s worked for your entire life. But now, as you pack everything into its place, it seems slightly duller, more futile. 

Once everything is packed away and your room has been scoured corner to corner for anything you might have forgotten (which you know you hadn’t), you sit on your bed with your suitcase and stare absentmindedly at your laptop screen.

You wonder how many dozen times this exact scene has played out in your life. Something comes up that scares you or you can’t handle, you pack a bag, you sit at the edge of whatever you’d been sleeping on recently, and you wonder where exactly it is you plan on going next.

It’s always been exciting to you, adventurous and whimsical. But now it feels hollow and pathetic. You feel hollow and pathetic and all you want to do is go home.

But where’s home? You’ve made sure that you don’t have anywhere to call home because it’s always been exactly where your feet are. 

So, you decide to go to the next best place.

With a few swift clicks, you buy yourself a train ticket to Nice, Italy. You’re going back to Monaco.

Lando

With his headphones over his ears, he sits in the back of the jet while everyone else sleeps. For what seems like the thousandth time, he presses play on your message again. You’re drunk, he can tell. The voicemail is all slurred words and hiccups, but he can’t find it in himself to care. 

When it ends, he’s angry. Angry at you for calling out of blue because it wasn’t fair. Angry at himself for not picking up. Angry that he isn’t there to make sure you’re alright. Angry because he shouldn’t care this much.

But when he plays the message once more, his anger melts away. Relief floods in at hearing your voice for the first time in months.

He doesn’t know why he hasn’t responded yet, or why he didn’t immediately return your call. Instead, he’s decided to play it safe and protect himself for a little bit longer. His plan is already in motion, it has been since before he got on the plane back to Monaco.

He’s going to find you if it’s the last thing he does. He’s going to get real, concrete, honest answers out of you. The game is ending on his terms. 

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