#if I was planning on actually writing a whole thing for it Id need to come up with actual names for them but Im not so I wont

[liquidstar]

a friend who'd wait :)

[arolesbianism]

Finally got around to looking at some french butterfly names for new game+ purposes and I thinkkkk I've narrowed down some options for most of the party. We'll see if I fully switch over to calling them their butterfly nicknames once it's set in stone but otherwise I'll probably just use them for dialogue and stuff if I ever write them more

[cleolinda]

Phone scam gothic

So my mom sits down and starts telling me about two weird-ass phone calls she had today—she was returning a missed call, and the woman who answered just… sobbed for a minute. I’m sitting here asking, like, a whole minute? Nothing else, just sobbing? Who did you THINK you were calling back?

“United Healthcare, they have my Medicare plan. They’ve been calling me for weeks without leaving any voicemail.”

(Are you sure it was United Healthcare? “It was the same number that’s on my card, I checked, and that’s who the caller ID said it was.”)

Are you sure it was a whole minute? Did YOU say anything?

“Yes, like sixty seconds while I kept going ‘Hello? Hello?’ It sounded like she was having a nervous breakdown, I kept waiting to see if she’d tell me what was even wrong. Finally I just hung up.”

And then my mom turned right around and called back again, because she was gonna get to the bottom of this.

This time she got a different woman, perfectly calm, who wanted to set up “your in-home direct patient care home health visit.”

At this point (at this point?) I’m staring, because no one here currently has anyone coming to the house to help with any kind of medical care. My mom might honestly be the healthiest member of the household, but even I don’t use any home services, herniated discs and all. “Did they have you… confused with someone else?”

“No, she repeated my full name and phone number back to me.”

This lady then started ARGUING with my mother. Why don’t you want us to come to your house to manage your direct patient care? Don’t you need home health care to be managed? Why don’t you need home health care? Why would you not want home health care? “I JUST KIND OF HAVE HIGH CHOLESTEROL?” But don’t you want us to manage your home health care? “WHY DO YOU NEED TO COME TO MY HOUSE TO MANAGE HEALTH CARE I DON’T USE?”

My mom finally hung up on this lady as well, without giving her any real information.

The more we talked about it, the more things we started to notice:

I was incredibly creeped out by the unsolicited use of the word “manage,” for some reason. Very sinister “write me into your will” vibes for some reason—I don’t know what these people want, but they’re gonna get you to sign something over.

My mom got especially stuck on “WHY DO YOU NEED TO COME TO MY HOUSE?!”

My mom has used home health services before… years ago, before she was on Medicare. But this company wouldn’t know about that. However, if you’re on Medicare, you’re over 65. Having not ever dealt with my mother before, someone calling a Medicare user might be playing the odds that a person over 65 is 1) in frail health and 2) old enough to get easily confused.

Fair play to my mom, she’s the one who thought of number spoofing. I’m so busy not answering the phone ever and arranging all my medical communications to happen through passworded portals that I didn’t think of it.

Hey, are you guys, like… holding someone hostage…?

So at this point, I google “United Healthcare scam.”

The “health insurance counselor”

This fraudster will offer help navigating the health insurance marketplace for a fee, capitalizing on people’s confusion about the state-based health exchanges created through the Affordable Care Act.

What to know

This sort of assistance is indeed available and is legitimate, but the people who offer it – also known as “navigators” – aren’t allowed to charge for their services. Also, remember that people with Medicare coverage don’t need to use the state health exchanges. The exchanges are for people under the age of 65, who are looking to enroll in an individual health plan.

Change “navigate” to “manage,” and I think this is it, although the lady on the phone never mentioned any fees. Either my mom didn’t let her get that far, or this is the point of actually getting into someone’s house: persuading them face-to-face to pay something, and potentially refusing to leave until the scammer has worn their target down.

Medicare does not make unsolicited phone calls.

Okay, so it was a scam no matter what it was about. As far as I’m concerned, my mom should contact Actual United Healthcare about it, and I’m here to spread the good word of Never Believing Anyone on the Phone 2k24. I don’t know what to tell you about the lady having the nervous breakdown though.

[chuellas]

Shut Me Up | The Housekeeper generally stays in her lane. You mind your business and run the cleaners’ division of the Port Mafia with scary efficiency. But a particular Executive forces your hand and you finally have to put your foot down.

⤷ Ft. Nakahara Chuuya

Warnings | Fem!reader, mentions of alcohol, cussing, term “Doll” is used, possible minor spoilers to SB if you squint, edited but who knows how well andjajsjjas, WC: 4.5k

A/N | LONG TIME NO FIC POST I AM SO PROUD OF THIS ONE I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY READING IT AS MUCH AS I ENJOYED WRITING IT <33 Stay tuned at the end for a description of readers ability !!

Working for the Port Mafia has always been messy — having a whole division dedicated to cleaning up the chaos that this organization's members create is a testament to that. Most days are busy, dispatching several teams in an hour is normal for you when you’re head of the division and work directly with the elite teams and the executives. Well, the executives minus Ace, he evidently prefers his subordinates to do the cleaning up for him. You’ve always been suspicious of the vile and loathsome snake, but that’s above your paygrade and qualifications to worry about. You’re sure the boss knows what he’s doing.

With all that being said, despite the nature of your role, you generally like to mind your own business. That’s one of the reasons why you were given this division in the first place, you’re efficient and you never asked any questions. You’ve been commended for the trait and pride yourself in not getting involved in your assignments.

But even you have your limits. 

Today has been particularly busy — obscenely busy actually. You’ve been nonstop taking dispatches for the Black Lizard and one specific Executive. He just got back from a mission in the west and apparently things didn’t go as planned. It’s par for the course, you’ve heard he’s been known to have a bit of a short temper, one that he likes to take out on the Port Mafia’s enemies but it’s never been this bad. Usually it’s an extra one or two teams being dispatched, not your entire crew. You have to wonder what set him off so badly that he’s dropping bodies left and right, much to your dismay. 

Whatever it was, Nakahara Chuuya has now successfully made it your problem too.

Your phone rings again and the same caller ID pops up for the fourth time this hour, which causes your left eye to twitch in vexation as you reach over to pick up the line. “This is the Housekeeper.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, displaying a clear signal of irritation—not that the person on the other side of the phone can tell—and you can feel the telltale signs of a migraine coming on. Your vision whites out for a split second and when it comes back, everything is rimmed in a multi-colored aura. You were supposed to go out with a few colleagues for dinner and some drinks tonight but at this point you think that plan has gone straight out the window. All you want to do now, after this dreadfully long day, is go home and rot on your couch or in your bed.

You internally curse Nakahara Chuuya for ruining your rare after work plans. You’re not even sure you’ll get out of the office at all tonight with the way things are playing out, let alone in time to meet up with your colleagues. Why do you have to pay the price for this grown ass man’s tantrum?

Men.

“Hello, Otetsudai-san.” Your mood lifts a little at the sound of Akutagawa Gin’s gentle voice, but then you can feel the way your body physically reacts, blood pressure spiking at the reminder of why she would would be calling and the pressure goes right to your already aching head—you’re officially nursing a migraine. “I’m sorry for all of the trouble you’ve been put through today, but we do have another scene that needs to be cleaned up…”

You let out a heavy sigh. “Right. Text me the coordinates and I’ll send my final team. You better let your executive know that this is the last team available. He needs to slow down. Your only other option is having myself personally come out to get my hands dirty and, trust me, he doesn’t want that.”

Gin swears to deliver your message and hangs up to promptly send you the promised coordinates. You’re quick to dispatch your only available team and sit back in your chair. You should be checking on the progress of your other teams but you need a break. A shooting pain runs through your temple when you think about the amount of reports you’re going to have to fill out just from the executive and his team alone.  

You think you wouldn't be so bothered by all of this if it wasn’t for the fact that the executive hasn’t bothered to personally call or contact you himself. He’s made his mess yours and his subordinates' problem, as if he’s too good to be bothered himself. The thought alone makes you scowl. His obvious arrogance puts you off and works you up even more than it probably should but you’re tired and annoyed and your head hurts thanks to this man. The least he could do is talk to you personally and thank you for your hard work.

You think it’s far too often that your division is taken for granted, as well as the mailmen. No one has proper appreciation for your work. No one seems to understand that without the cleaners and the mailmen, this organization wouldn’t run as smoothly as it does.

It’s insulting, you really need to have a word with the Boss about this and maybe devise a plan in which each member (including executives) takes a day to work in each division to better appreciate the hard work you all do, but before you can do that you have to get through this god awful day. You pick up your phone for the umptieth time and check in on the crews you have assigned to the several messes that have been made today and none of them have finished. You could pull some teams from other assignments but that would run the potential risk of falling short in staff for other divisions just because some ginger with questionable taste in head accessories is having a bad day. You refuse to let that happen.

Maybe you should consider cutting the executive off, for the day at least. You’ve been allowed the liberty by Mori himself to cut anyone off from your services that gives you a particularly hard time. luckily, you’ve never even considered it, let alone been forced to exercise the right to cut someone off. You cannot believe this carrot topped, below average height, freckled freak of a man is making you consider changing your stance on your right to refuse services.

Not even twenty minutes after Gin called, you receive yet another message from her alerting you of another scene that needs your attention. 

That’s it, you’ve had enough of this. If the ginger wants to throw a fit that’s fine by you but you’ll be damned if you continue to let him make it everyone else’s  problem, but more specifically your problem. You decide this man is going to get a piece of your mind whether he  likes it or not. You request both the coordinates and that Nakahara Chuuya be present for your arrival at the scene before getting up from your desk and calling for an escort.

Chuuya is irritated beyond belief, his patience is nonexistent today and now he has to wait for this “Housekeeper” person to show up. He doesn’t have the time for this. The longer he spends waiting around to speak with this asshole, the more time the Yokohama branches of the organization he met with abroad have to flee. He can’t let that happen. The traitors need to face the consequences of their actions for sloppily selling Port Mafia secured information to their rivaling organizations.

He’s already taken care of their overseas branch, now he needs to wipe out their entire domestic operations. He’s already behind schedule, he should’ve been done by this time, but now he has to send out more teams in his place because someone needs to have a word with him and apparently he isn’t allowed to leave the scene until that conversation happens in person. At least, that’s what Gin told him and she’s not one to exaggerate unlike her brother who frequently gets carried away.

The current scene is an abandoned factory building—or, the remnants of an abandoned factory, Chuuya has no time to care about how neatly things are done right now, he just needs to get them done. Although, he does have to admit, this job was particularly messy and maybe Chuuya shouldn’t have used his ability to knock down the entire structure, but again he is in a hurry and it’s not like anyone was using the building. Really, he was doing the city a favor by demolishing that factory for free. However, the ginger knows that the Housekeeper isn’t going to be happy about it.

“Is this a goddamn joke?! What the hell is all of this?!” A shrill voice pierces through the sound of waves hitting the nearby cliffs. 

Chuuya winces, he hates how right he can be sometimes, and whips around to find the owner of the voice to be a neatly dressed woman no older than himself—maybe even younger. He’s not sure why, maybe it has to do with the fact that Kouyou is the only woman of power that he knows in the Port Mafia (one thing that has really never sat right with him due to the fact that it reeks of misogyny) or maybe it’s because of how efficiently the cleaners run, Chuuya has always been under the impression that the Housekeeper was an older man. One that held the same stature as someone like Hirotsu. It makes the executive wonder who her predecessor might have been and what they did to have such a young woman set to replace them.

Thankfully Gin has intercepted her and is seemingly trying to deescalate whatever fit the division head seems to be having. Why Chuuya has to be here for that is a mystery to him. His patience is waning even further at the fact that this Housekeeper seems hellbent on wasting the executive’s time.

The division head and Gin exchange a few more words before the (possibly?) older woman’s head swivels to the side, her sharp gaze narrowed in his direction. Suddenly he feels uncomfortable in his own skin, entirely too seen, a chill running through him that he can only explain as a sort of intimidation. Chuuya doesn’t get intimidated easily, he finds it hard too when he is both the strongest fighter and ability user in the entire organization. He hasn’t felt something like this in quite some time. Only one other person that still resides in the Port Mafia has made Chuuya experience this feeling and that was Mori Ougai himself, the boss of the entire Port Mafia. Besides the older man, there is only one other person that has elicited this kind of reaction from Chuuya.

Now he has to add one more person to that list. 

She moves with a sort of elegance that the ginger would expect from a dancer or a fighter, but with her stature and fragile frame, Chuuya couldn’t imagine this woman ever fighting. So a dancer then, she has to be, with movements as calculated and light as her’s there is no other explanation. The ginger realizes he’s blatantly sizing her up just a little too late, the expression on her face tells him she notices. The deep set scowl etched onto her face gives that away pretty easily. 

She crosses her arms over her chest and looks at him in obvious contempt. “Nakahara-san.”

“Housekeeper, I assume?” You nod your head at him, confirming his obvious suspicions about your identity, clearly it wasn’t really that hard to figure out with the way you made your entrance a bit of a spectacle. 

If your outburst when you first got here wasn’t an indication, the look on your face solidifies your clear annoyance with the executive. Chuuya internally flinches at the thought, he generally tries to stay on the good side of other members of the Port Mafia, always being respectful no matter the position, unless otherwise provoked. The last thing he wants is to have offended someone so vital in how efficiently the Port Mafia operates. 

Chuuya can’t imagine the delays in assignments if they didn’t have the cleaners to sort the messes for them or the mailman division to deliver important messages that cannot be delivered through a phone. Judging by your appearance here though, he has decidedly not made a good impression on you. Your presence alone was already a huge neon sign displaying that, the scowl on your face is enough to let the executive know he has in fact disrespected you in some way or another. The thought alone is enough to make the nausea settle in, feeling physically ill as his stomach churns uncomfortably.

“…You’re upset.” Admittedly, that’s not the brightest vocal observation Chuuya has ever made but something about you makes him nervous and it’s the best he could muster at this moment.

Your jaw tightens and your left eye twitches ever so slightly. “How very astute of you, Nakahara-san. It doesn’t matter who you are, where do you get off on ordering your subordinates to do the dirty work for you? Poor Gin alone has contacted me more in one day than she ever has in her entire time with the Port Mafia. Your arrogance truly astounds me. Y’know, I have never had someone so blatantly disrespect me and my division quite like you have today, congratulations. I’m highly disappointed, I’ve heard countless people rave about how respectful you are, but I suppose everyone has their limitations, right? Your courtesies clearly only extend to members that join you on the field and not for the aftermath.”

Your words cut into Chuuya’s chest like razor sharp blades. He does pride himself in his ability to respect others so outwardly, his words and actions always carefully mapped out. He didn’t start learning about proper etiquette until his mid to late teens, going from a street rat running a gang of other children from the streets to attending high society galas was a culture shock to say the least. It was hard for him to adjust, took years of constant guidance from Ane-san to completely sand away at the rough edges that once defined him.

So the notion that he would look down on anyone lower than him in the chain of command in the Port Mafia is laughable at best. However, the executive isn’t too sure that now is the best time to bring that up. Your anger is tangible as is, maybe it’s best that he keeps his mouth shut and lets you get your frustrations out. 

The longer you prattle on about your grievances toward the executive, the more Chuuya finds himself shocked at just how much he’s okay with it. His lips are parted slightly as he watches you in awe, waving your hands around to emphasize the way you’re harshly scolding him. It stirs something inside of him that’s slightly concerning.

Is he attracted to this? Or are you really just that beautiful when you’re angry?

Chuuya decides he would like to find out.

The ginger has to find out.

“Not all of us live, breathe, and eat the Port Mafia. Some of us would like to have a life outside of this organization and what you’re doing here today is hindering me from being able to obtain that healthy work to life balance ratio. I don’t care if you’re an executive—I wouldn’t care if you were the boss himself—I deserve the decency of getting a heads up from you personally that my teams were going to need to be prepared for a tantrum of this magnitude. Wouldn’t you agree?” Your shoulders visibly deflate, the tension in your body dissipating after finally voicing your issues with the way the ginger was handling this operation, but your gaze is still sharp and expectant, clearly wanting an answer to your question.

Chuuya can’t say he disagrees, after reflecting he has acted like a huge dick, making a mockery of you by not extending any sort of common decency towards you. Instead of speaking, Chuuya removes his hat from his head with his right hand and crosses his arm over his chest to rest the head accessory over his heart. He kneels down to bow formally and suddenly all the chatter from his subordinates ceases, everything going eerily quiet.

You splutter in embarrassment at his show and look around awkwardly. 

“I deeply apologize, Otetsudai-san, for both the disrespect and for ruining your after work plans. I agree, I should have allowed you the courtesy of being prepared for this—” Chuuya can’t help himself and peers up at you with an amused grin as he chooses his next words. “What was it that you called it? Tantrum.”

You bristle at his words, already flustered as your face flushes deeper. “You’re a Scoundrel, Nakahara Chuuya. I will be veiling this mess you’ve made and any others from this point forward until my teams can finish up at the other locations. I expect a direct phone call from you and no one else. Unless you feel like cleaning up your own messes. Do I make myself clear, Scoundrel?”

Chuuya chuckles at your retort and nods his head as he raises back to his feet, placing his hat back on his head. “Crystal clear, Otetsudai-san.”

You roll your eyes at him with a huff and spin on the balls of your feet, waving dismissively at him as you walk away. Chuuya relishes in your reaction, finding it quite endearing with the way a blush blooms at the tips of your ears and travels down to the back of your exposed neck. Even in your plain clothing and slicked back hairstyle, there’s no denying the fact that you have this natural beauty that shines through all of that. Maybe that’s why you make him so nervous, the executive doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone quite like you. 

He’s utterly captivated. 

His phone ringing lifts him out of his stupor, eyes never leaving your figure as he reaches into his pocket and answers the call. It’s Akutagawa—he’d stepped in for Chuuya when he couldn’t resume with this assignment himself thanks to your request. The executive picks up the phone, only half listening to the younger man’s mission report as you activate your ability. He watches in wonder as you make the rubble from the fallen factory completely disappear. 

Dangerously captivating.

It’s been a week since you personally met the notorious executive/scoundrel, Nakahara Chuuya, in the flesh and you no longer know what to think of him.

Maybe you’d have a better chance of doing any sort of thinking if it weren’t for the overwhelming floral scent swirling around inside of your office. Thirteen bouquets, all a variety of flowers from lilies to carnations to even dahlias. This was getting ridiculously out of hand. The first few deliveries were a pleasant surprise, but by the seventh delivery, you were completely out of surface area to set the massive and intricate bouquets down onto.

You feel like you’re swimming in a sea of petals. What’s worse is that, whether it’s a specific flower or all of their scents and pollen being combined together like this, something in here is making your allergies act up. Your sinuses are either clogged or leaking like a faucet, there has been no in between, and your eyes. They were starting to become unbearable with how itchy they’ve become. You’ve tried opening the windows but the clutter in your office is masking the fresh air and hardly doing anything to help.

The clutter is so bad that you had to start using chairs to house all of the flowers that were slowly but surely infesting your work space. The absolute worst part of this all, though, is that your subordinates have started whispering about the relationship between you and Chuuya. You too would love to know what that is because as of right now you’re completely unaware of your own standing with him. Last you checked he was simply some stupidly overpowered arrogant asshole that just so happens to have a pretty smile and striking eyes. Of course you don’t tell them that last part but you’re quick to remind them of the first part. 

They clearly don’t buy it, how could they when the flowers continue to flood in, the evidence overwhelmingly stacked against you.

Treacherous flowers.

Nakahara Chuuya is truly a pain in your ass, a bug crawling under your skin, a thorn in your side. 

Your secretary scurries in with an unusually nervous look on her face and you check the time while letting out a sigh. Six in the evening on the dot. That’s when the second bouquet has been arriving every day for the past six days. 

You close your eyes and pinch the bridge of your nose in exasperation, you take a deep breath but it only serves to wound you up further when the strong floral scent causes your head to spin. “Sign for the flowers and you can just keep them at your desk, I couldn’t care less.”

“Aw…You’re breaking my heart, Doll. Did you not like my flowers? Would you have preferred I sent you treats from Paris instead?”

Your eyes fly open at the sound of his smooth voice, you’re sure it’s comical how they almost bug out of your head because even your secretary has to stifle a giggle. To her credit she does catch herself but it’s too late and you give her a wilted look, completely mortified. She bows her head and backs out of the room, probably on her way to tell the others what just transpired.

He said Paris. As in, Paris, France? As in the City of Love? Who does this guy think he is? Casanova? It’s bold of him to assume you’re easily swayed by grand romantic gestures. Jokes on him, you aren’t huge on the lover girl aesthetic or mentality. You’re simply exhausted and maybe just a little emotionally unstable.

You thought your outburst and chewing him out last week was enough of an indication of that.

Your gaze finally focuses on the ginger and what he’s holding. A bouquet of red roses. You want to roll your eyes—you do roll your eyes at him, you can’t help it considering the absurdity of it all. Red roses. Seriously? And of course he’s standing there with that stupid ass smirk and a mischievous glint in his bicolored eyes.

You let out a scoff through your nose. “You expect me to believe that a scoundrel like you had these flowers flown in from France?”

You’re decidedly unnerved by the way his smirk turns into an amused grin and his eyes soften with a fondness that catches you off guard. You don’t think anyone has ever looked at you that way. It makes you want to crawl out of your skin.

“You think too little of me—kinda hurts, y’know?” Chuuya fakes a pained expression that’s surprisingly convincing—or it would be if it weren’t for the fact that his tone gives away his clear amusement. “No, I expect you to believe that every day for the last seven days, I have been personally going to France myself and picking out the bouquets and traveling back.”

You blanch at this revelation, eyes once again turning into cartoonish orbs on your face and mouth hanging open in utter disbelief. “Why would you go through all that trouble just for me?”

Suddenly you feel a pit in your stomach churning and it makes you nauseous. Guilt starts chewing you from the inside out as you realize all that he’s done to try and prove to you he’s sorry. You start to feel bad about ever thinking ill of him.

You looked into him. Two days ago your request for Chuuya’s personal files were authorized and Mori called you up to his office to hand the folder to you himself. You were shocked, having expected your on-a-whim request to be denied. So, when he had a strange gleam in his eye, his amusement palpable, you knew something was suspicious but you couldn’t figure out what. He sensed your hesitation and an even more unsettling grin curled at his lips.

He said something about how years ago, Chuuya’s files had been taken, unauthorized and this was his way of repaying that.

It was an odd interaction and maybe Mori was actually telling the truth. Or maybe the man was just bored. It doesn’t matter now, because either way you regret reading his file. Knowing where Chuuya came from, that he was not only a child abandoned on the streets, but he was…God you can’t even think about it without a wave of sadness washing over you. All of that contempt you held for him previously has completely dissipated.

You definitely shouldn’t have read his file.

Chuuya’s entire face softens, he almost looks embarrassed—no, he does look embarrassed. The slight dusting of blush blooming onto his cheeks and his free hand rubbing the back of his neck are all telltale signs of how flustered he is by your question. Maybe even the answer he has for it too.

“I think it’s pretty important for you to like me, or at least to tolerate me. Someone in your position deserves respect and I’m sorry my first impression was lacking. I’m also sorry for fucking with your plans. Let me make it up to you?”

He looks at you expectantly and you can’t help the incredulous laugh that slips past your lips as you shake your head, an involuntary smile creeping onto your face and brightening your features. “If these flowers were just the precursor to your apology, do I even wanna know what the real apology is? Anyone ever tell you that subtlety isn’t your strong suit?” 

“Nah, don’t think it’s ever come up. But…Let me take you out for dinner and drinks. On my dime of course.” 

You watch him fiddle with his bottom lip, scraping it nervously between his teeth, not quite biting it. You ponder on his question before coming to a realization. Today was oddly slow for you, which means it was a slow day for the mafia altogether. You can’t help but wonder if that had anything to do with the man standing nervously before you, still holding that damn bouquet of roses. You let out a sigh of defeat and tip toe over to the ginger, plucking the bouquet from his hand.

You bring the flowers up to your nose and inhale deeply, the scent of roses overpowering the rest of the other flowers. Despite never being a romantic, the scent of roses has always been your favorite. You peer up at Chuuya through your lashes and you swear you hear his breath catch in his throat.

“I suppose I can spare one night to dine with a scoundrel.”

⤷ More on reader’s ability |  Fukai Mask (Masks by Fumiko Enchi) - An ability to mask objects or a surrounding scene. This ability allows its user to also mask herself from others but she cannot apply her own ability to other living things apart from plants. The mask acts as a veil that hides things from the naked eye as well as making the objects or user permeable. When the user has the ability activated only she is able to see what’s been hidden. The ability can be activated in more than one scene at a time as long as the user has physically been there before but while the ability is being used externally, the user cannot mask her presence and vice versa.

[porcelainstarrr]

CHAPTER 9

⌖ continued scene from chapter 8

We didn’t speak after that.

Not really.

Not after the tension, the storm of it, the weight that threatened to swallow the room whole. Not after the heat in his eyes and the way he stepped away like I had done something wrong. Like I was the one who crossed a line.

We stood there for a moment.

In silence.

And just before I turned to leave, before I gathered the last pieces of my self-respect off the floor, he said it-

“You were right to end the session early.”

That sentence.

That fucking sentence.

It rang in my ears like a slap. It was the gentlest knife I’d ever been handed, and I walked straight into it. I didn’t respond. I didn’t look back. I just walked out, head high, heart somewhere on the floor behind me.

─────── ⌖ ───────

CHAPTER 9

⌖

Hours later, I was home.

At least, that’s what I told myself.

But it didn’t feel like mine tonight. The lights stayed off. The curtains stayed closed. My coat never made it to the hook. I didn’t eat. I didn’t shower. I didn’t even change. I just lay there on top of the covers, limbs loose, mouth dry, breathing shallow.

No music.

No TV.

Just the sounds of Hell’s Kitchen outside my window muffled sirens, distant yelling, engines, footsteps, laughter, the city doing what it always does: moving on.

I stayed still.

I couldn’t get the scene out of my head.

Him.

His voice.

The way he looked at me.

The fucking nerve of him pulling away after everything. After weeks of building something that felt… real. Present. Emotional. The way he made me feel like I was losing my mind for noticing, like I was imagining things.

Like, I was the problem.

I turned my head on the pillow, eyes dry and wide. And then I saw them.

The cards.

Tucked between a stack of books on my nightstand. Two of them. One from the lilies. One from the cake.

Happy birthday.

Again, happy birthday.

No names. No handwriting analysis needed. Just... the ache of knowing.

I sat up slowly. Reached for them.

Held them in my hand like they were evidence.

And that’s when it hit.

Like a match dragging across bone-

Fire.

I was on fire.

Chest tight. Breath sharp. I was so goddamn mad. At him. At myself. At the silence. At the confusion. At how he toyed with the line between vulnerability and manipulation, like it was a game only he knew the rules to.

He watched me from the windows.

He gave me lilies.

He improved in our sessions.

He kissed me with his eyes and then made me feel ashamed for even noticing.

And then tonight? That writing task? That smirk?

“You were right to end the session early.”

Like, I embarrassed myself. Like I overstepped, like I was delusional for feeling the shift he started.

No. Fuck that.

I was done playing nice. I had something to say. A lot, actually.

Before I even realized what I was doing, I was already moving. Shoes. Keys. Phone. No plan.

Just fury.

Fury and muscle memory.

I don’t remember the train ride. Or the streets. Or the cold.

But somehow, I was there.

At the gate.

Back at the facility.

It was quiet. Different. The usual daytime buzz was gone. No receptionists. No admin. Just night shift guards, most of them tucked behind glass booths, drinking from thermoses, rotating posts. Fewer eyes. Fewer rules.

Lucky me.

I didn’t badge in.

I couldn’t.

My ID swipe would leave a timestamp, an automatic entry log. Questions. Reports. I’d be done. So instead, I went around. I knew there was a service access near the north wing used by maintenance staff, emergency exits, and deliveries. It had a motion-sensitive lock, only used during security drills and authorized reroutes.

Most people didn’t know about it.

I did.

Back when I first got this job, I obsessed over the building layout. Learned its corners like I was preparing for a siege.

So I found it.

Dark alley. Locked door. I crouched low, slid the card from my coat sleeve, an emergency override given to internal psych leads. For crisis evaluations only.

Tonight felt like a crisis.

The green light blinked once.

Click.

I was in.

Dark corridors.

Dimmed lighting.

Silence like a held breath.

I moved quickly. Soft steps. No badge scans, no cameras in this wing, only periodic guard rotations every half-hour. And judging by the echo down the hall, they were somewhere near the south end.

His wing was clear.

I reached it. The hallway was long, sterile, all metal, and muted in color. The last door on the left.

My breath was hot in my throat. My fingers curled into fists.

This wasn’t just about answers. This was accountability.

I reached for the handle, still furious, still burning, and I heard it-

Footsteps.

Not far.

Shit.

I opened the door, slipped inside, and shut it fast.

No sound. No slam.

Just in.

Safe.

And then-

There he was.

Dex.

Sitting on the couch, legs stretched out, black headphones over his ears, his recorder resting on his lap.

So fucking casual.

He didn’t react immediately. Probably thought it was just a guard.

But then… he looked.

And his expression shifted.

First confusion. Then awareness. Then, concern.

He sat up straighter.

Took the headphones off slowly.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, low.

I stared at him, frozen.

“I have a lot to say,” I said, my voice quiet but sharp.

He stood. Fast.

Crossed the space between us in two long steps.

“Get in the closet,” he said.

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

His voice dropped. Urgent now.

“Get in. Now. Go.”

“What-”

“Trust me. Go in. Now.” 

He nudged me gently, but firmly, toward the side door. For some reason some insane reason, I listened.

I stepped in.

He closed the door behind me.

Darkness.

Tight space.

A few peepholes near the slats.

I crouched. Waited. My heart is in my throat.

I heard the door to his room open, a guard. Muted conversation. Dex’s voice. Calm. Cool. Nothing suspicious, once the guard was gone. I heard the door shut, his footsteps retreating down the corridor, fading into the kind of silence that only exists in high-security buildings after hours, sterile and suffocating.

Then-

Click.

A loud one.

Heavy. Mechanical. Final.

It wasn’t from Dex.

It wasn’t from the guard.

It wasn’t just the door.

It was every door.

The entire hallway.

Shit.

The lockdown.

My breath caught mid-inhale.

No.

No, no, no. I forgot.

Midnight sharp.

Every night, without fail.

The system initiates automatically. Total lockdown of the isolation wing. Every reinforced door seals shut. No override. No access until morning. It’s a security protocol part of the psychiatric containment standards. No staff are allowed in after midnight. No staff are expected to be here.

I am not supposed to be here.

And now I’m trapped.

Inside. With him.

As the realization rolled through my chest, I heard another sound, a low mechanical hum. Overhead, the lights shifted, dimmed slightly. A subtle change, but it made my skin crawl. Less clinical. More... bedtime. Like the building itself was telling me to lie down and sleep. My fingers curled into my knees where I sat, still crouched in the darkness of the closet. My back pressed to the wall. The air was already too warm. Too close.

I had no plan for this.

What was I thinking?

What the hell was I trying to prove?

I hadn’t moved. I hadn’t said a word.

I was frozen in place.

Then, from somewhere in the room, I heard his voice. Calm. Low.

“You can come out now.”

I didn’t respond.

I couldn’t.

His voice came again, a little closer this time- 

“Are you going to sit in there the whole night?”

Still nothing from me.

My tongue felt heavy. My thoughts were running in circles.

What have I done?

I’ve never broken a rule before. Not really. Not like this. I’ve always been the follow-every-policy, double-check-my-clipboard, get-it-approved-in-triplicate kind of woman. And now I was hiding in a patient's closet. At midnight. In a federal facility. I curled into myself slowly, my limbs folding tighter. My forehead met my knees. My hair fell forward like a curtain, shielding me from the tiny slivers of light filtering through the wooden slats. I breathed through my mouth, quiet and shallow.

I was spiraling.

Hard.

You’re going to lose your job.

Your license.

Everything.

You’re going to be reported.

Fired.

Discredited.

You’re going to be a headline.

I hugged my knees tighter. The closet was small. Uncomfortably so. I could feel the cold wall of the closet pressing against my back, and the cold floor beneath me. I thought I might cry- just let it out, just a little. But I couldn’t.

There was too much.

I was too full of it.

Embarrassment. Shame. Anger.

Why am I like this?

Why did I come here?

Why can’t I stop thinking about him?

Then-

Light.

The closet door opened.

A sharp burst of brightness flooded the tiny space, cutting through my cocoon of denial. But I didn’t flinch. I didn’t lift my head. I stayed right where I was, hoping that if I stayed small enough, still enough, this would all just-

“Well…”

His voice.

Dry.

Low.

A little too amused.

“…You’re well-adjusted.”

The motherfucker.

I still didn’t move. Not at first.

But my voice found its way out of me, muffled against my knees. “I’m not supposed to be here.” The words barely filled the space. But somehow, he heard them.

A pause.

Then, softer now-

“I know.”

I felt something shift. I don’t know if it was in him or me. Slowly, I lifted my head. My eyes squinted against the light overhead, harsh at first, then clearing, he was standing over me.

Tall. Still. Just looking.

And in the way the light hit him from behind, casting a faint glow around the edges of his hair, his shoulders, he looked almost unreal.

Like a fucking angel.

An angel with a high kill count.

My breath caught for a second. My chest tightened, my arms still hugging me.

He didn’t say anything else.

Just stared.

And that’s when it hit me.

All over again.

That white-hot rush.

The rage.

The thing that brought me here in the first place.

The gift.

The drawing.

The smirk.

The look.

The writing exercise.

‘You were right to end the session early.’

That sentence burned its way through my brain like acid.

He made me feel like I had done something wrong.

Like I was weak.

Like I was imagining all of this.

When he was the one who started it.

He watched me from the goddamn window.

He sent me birthday gifts and left me guessing.

He started talking. Opening up. Trusting me.

He kissed me with his eyes and made me feel like I was spiraling for it, and now? Now I was locked in his fucking room for the night like I was the one who lost control.

And maybe I did.

But I wasn’t going to sit in this closet and cry about it.

Not anymore.

I remember why I’m here.

The moment slams back into me like a goddamn freight train.

"You son of a-“ I hiss, shooting up from the closet floor so fast I almost lose balance.

My palm hits his chest.

Hard.

It’s the only thing I can think to do, push him. Get him away from me. Shove all the weight off my chest and into him.

He doesn’t budge.

Didn’t even flinch.

Of course, he didn’t.

“a- bitch!" I finish, voice cracking through the syllables as I storm out of the closet like it was a prison cell. “You’re the reason I’m here!” I spin around to face him fully now, my hands gesturing wildly as all of it, every emotion, every thought I’ve swallowed, erupts from my chest in one long, tangled mess of anger and pain. “I came here to yell at you! That’s what this was! That’s why I walked through those fucking gates like a lunatic, like a psychopath because I needed to scream at you! I was mad and confused and humiliated.”

He doesn’t move.

Just watches me.

His expression was unreadable.

Too unreadable.

And that only pisses me off more.

“You made me feel like I was in the wrong,” I spat. My voice trembles, not because I’m scared, but because I’m done trying to keep it together. “You made me feel like I crossed a line. Like, I was unprofessional. Like I imagined, everything! Like I made this whole thing up!” I’m pacing now. My fingers curl into fists, nails biting into my palms as I talk louder, faster, angrier. “You started this. You. You watched me from the window like some kind of stalker, and I let it slide. I thought maybe it was my imagination, maybe I was losing it until you started acting like you gave a damn. You started engaging in our sessions. You gave me the damn writing prompt answers like they meant something. Like I meant something.” My voice breaks. I catch it. Force it back. “But then you sent me the flowers. The card. The cake. Don’t pretend you didn’t. And then the drawing. A lily, Dex. A fucking lily. My favorite.” Still, he doesn’t speak. He’s just standing there, still as a statue, watching me burn alive in the middle of his room. And I hate how steady he looks. How quiet.

“What was it?” I demand. “Some twisted test? See how far you could push me? See if I’d crack and become just another case study? Did you think I wouldn’t notice? Did you think I wouldn’t put the pieces together?”

Nothing. No answer. Just that same maddening look.

“And then today, today you made me feel like a fucking idiot.”

I stop pacing.

I look him in the eye.

He’s close enough now that I can see the faint scruff on his jaw, the sharp line of his mouth. His chest was rising and falling slowly. Controlled. Mine isn’t. “I tried to act normal. Like this was normal. Like writing those questions was about treatment and not about my fucking heart exploding from not knowing where we stand. And how do you respond?”

I take a step forward. My voice is lower now. Sharper. Deadly. “‘You were right to end the session early.’” I mimic. I stare at him, my throat tight, the ache blooming behind my eyes like pressure trying to escape. “That sentence made me feel like I did something wrong. Like I crossed a line I shouldn’t have crossed. Like I should be ashamed for feeling something.”

His jaw ticks. Slightly.

But he still says nothing.

“You pulled me into this, Benjamin. You did. And then you pulled away. And now I’m stuck with whatever this is. This fucking mess in my chest. This guilt. Like I should’ve kept my distance. Like I should’ve known better. Like I asked for this.”

My voice breaks on the last word.

It cracks right through the air, sharp and splintered, like something inside me finally gave out. But I don’t care. I’m shaking now, not visibly, not the kind of trembling anyone else would see, but I feel it. In my fingers. In my throat. In the tight coil behind my eyes that threatens to snap if I blink too hard.

He doesn’t respond.

He doesn’t flinch.

He just stands there. Still. Watching.

And I hate it. I hate how calm he looks. I hate how much effort I’m putting into not falling apart in front of him, while he stands there like he hasn’t wrecked me from the inside out. Like, I’m the one making this complicated. Like I’m the one who crossed a line that he drew in the first place. My chest is a battlefield of conflicting emotions, rage, shame, confusion, something stupid and warm I don’t even want to name. My skin feels too tight. Like I’m being squeezed from the inside out. I can’t even look at him properly. My eyes are blurry, not from tears, but from heat. From humiliation. I’m not crying, not really, but something hurts.

And the worst part?

I don’t even know if I want to scream at him or pull him closer.

So I just stand there.

Burning.

Breaking.

Waiting for something, anything to snap.

And maybe he feels it too.

Because when I look up again, he’s changed.

He’s... closer.

Not much. Just a step. A single, silent, careful step.

I blink, heart skipping.

When did he move?

He’s not rushing. He’s not charging toward me with some dramatic declaration. He’s just there, closing the space between us like it always belonged to him.

Another step.

And still, nothing from him. No words. No explanation.

Just that look.

That intense, searching stare that’s felt like a weight on my skin since the very first session. It’s the way he sees me, like he’s always been able to see right through my skin, right into the nerves and chaos beneath it. I open my mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out.

I can’t breathe.

He takes another step. And now I can feel him. Not touching. Not yet. But present. Close enough that the air between us feels charged. Denser. Like the oxygen itself knows what’s about to happen.

And still, he doesn’t touch me.

Not yet.

Instead, his gaze drops to my mouth.

Just for a second.

Then it flicks back to my eyes, and I feel my knees nearly give. He’s reading me. Studying. Looking for permission, or maybe waiting for me to run.

But I don’t.

I don’t move.

And then finally-

His hand.

Slow.

So slow, I feel every second of it before it happens. 

His hand lifts. Barely more than a twitch at first. Then higher. Past his chest. Past his collarbone.

And then, 

My face.

His fingers find my jaw with a gentleness that makes my breath stutter.

His thumb brushes just beneath my cheekbone. Careful. Measured. Reverent.

Like I’m something fragile.

Like he’s afraid he’ll spook me.

And then the other hand follows up, resting just behind my ear. His palm cups the side of my face. Warm. Solid. Real.

I blink.

Once.

Twice.

And I swear the whole world shifts beneath my feet. I feel the tremble of his breath before I hear it, soft, shallow. Like this moment is costing him something. Like he’s holding back so much, and this is all he’s letting himself have.

And then, finally-

He leans in.

Not fast.

Not dramatic.

Just… closer.

And then, his lips.

They meet mine like a question.

Like a secret.

Like a fucking prayer.

He doesn’t devour me. Doesn’t claim. Doesn’t take.

He just kisses me soft, slow, aching like this is the only way he knows how to apologize. Or confess. Or admit everything he’s refused to say out loud.

My heart breaks open.

My breath catches in my throat, and I swear for a moment I forget where I am. I forget who I am. I forget the world.

Because he’s kissing me and I’m kissing him and suddenly, nothing else matters.

My hands, shaky, hesitant, rise on instinct. One curls around his wrist, grounding myself against the heat of his skin. The other finds his chest, resting over the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

He tilts his head, deepens the kiss just slightly. Just enough. His lips part, and mine follow. It's still gentle, still patient, but there's a weight behind it now. An ache. A quiet desperation that says I've been waiting to do this since the moment I met you. His thumb brushes the corner of my mouth like he’s memorizing the way it feels. His fingers tighten, just a little, like he’s afraid I’ll pull away.

But I don’t.

I press closer.

I kiss him back like I’ve never kissed anyone before.

Because I haven’t.

Not like this.

Not with everything. Not with all of me.

I melt into him. Slowly. Fully. My body sways forward on instinct, and his hand slips to the nape of my neck, cradling me like he’s anchoring us both.

Our foreheads touch when we break, barely. A breath apart.

His eyes are still closed.

Mine, too.

And then-

He exhales.

Like a confession.

Like a surrender.

My hands are still on him. I don’t move. I don’t want to.

Because if I do, this moment ends.

And I’m not ready.

Not yet.

Neither of us speaks.

We just breathe.

Together.

The silence is loud now. Full. Sacred.

His lips break from mine for only a second.

Barely a breath.

And in that breath, I hear it.

His inhale. Sharp. Through his nose. Like he’s trying to reel something back in before it breaks loose.

But it’s too late.

Because when he kisses me again, it’s different.

It’s no longer tentative. No longer searching.

It’s need.

It’s possession.

It’s him.

His hand tightens at the back of my neck, not hard, not forceful, but secure. Claiming. Like he’s grounding himself in the feel of me. The other hand moves slowly, but sure from my cheek down the side of my throat, across my collarbone, his fingertips barely brushing the skin beneath the neckline of my shirt.

And God.

That touch.

It’s feather-light. Barely there.

But it sets something on fire.

I gasp into his mouth, and the sound, raw, startled, pulls a sound from him. A low, barely-there hum deep in his chest. He swallows it, breath stuttering against my lips like he hadn’t meant to make a sound at all.

Then, he steps forward.

And I’m backing into the wall again.

But this time, not in panic.

This time, it’s like instinct. Like we need to be closer than close. My back hits the cool concrete with a quiet thud, and he follows—presses into me, chest to chest, thigh between mine. Solid. Unmovable. There. 

My hands are in his hair before I can think.

God, it’s soft.

I curl my fingers there, tug just enough to feel him respond, his lips part, his body surges forward. And suddenly I’m being kissed like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. Like the dam’s broken, and this is all he’s ever wanted. His mouth is warmer now. Slower, but deeper. He’s kissing me with more tongue, more breath, more intention. Like he’s memorizing the shape of me, the taste of me, how I move against him. Like he’s been starving. His hand skims down my waist, fingers dragging over the curve of my hip, and I feel him hesitate.

Just for a second.

Like he’s asking without words.

And I answer just as wordlessly, my hips roll against him just enough, my hand sliding from his hair to the nape of his neck, guiding him back to my mouth like I need him there.

He groans.

Quiet. Deep. Resigned.

Like fuck it, like this is happening, like finally.

His mouth is everywhere now, my lips, my jaw, my cheek, down to my neck. He kisses like he’s starved for it, but still careful. Still holding back the worst of what he could be.

Still not taking too much.

But God, I want him to.

“Benjamin,” I whisper against his ear, against the corner of his mouth, I don’t even know.

And something in him stutters.

Like hearing his name said like that did something to him.

He exhales hard through his nose, and then his hands are on my thighs, sliding up, firm, and I feel my knees almost buckle from the sheer force of want building in my spine. His body presses harder. Not crushing, not overwhelming, but present. Like he’s everywhere at once. My chest. My stomach. My hips. The heat of him, the weight. His scent. My mouth opens wider beneath his, inviting, matching his intensity now, our kisses turning wet, deeper, sloppier.

Breathless.

My hand slips beneath his shirt, fingers splayed against the warmth of his stomach, and his reaction is instant his whole body jerks just slightly against mine, and he kisses me harder, rougher, teeth grazing my bottom lip before he catches it between his and sucks.

I moan, actually moan.

And that sound.

That sound wrecks him.

He grabs both my hips now, holding me firm, his body moving against mine with more friction, more need, more intent.

I don’t know where this is going.

I don’t know if it’s going to stop.

I don’t know if I want it to.

All I know is-

We’re not the same people who walked into this room hours ago.

And I’m not sure we ever will be again.

His lips are on mine again.

Desperate now.

Hot and open, the kind of kiss that doesn't ask permission anymore, it takes.

And I let him.

I let him take.

Because I want it just as badly.

His tongue brushes mine again, deeper this time, and everything around us disappears. The walls, the lights, the rules, the job. It all slips away, buried under heat and the weight of us. His hand moves back to my jaw, fingers spreading along the side of my neck like he’s anchoring me there. Holding me in place, and God, I don’t want to be anywhere else.

He presses harder. Chest to chest, thigh between mine again, holding me open and still while his mouth maps me like he’s been waiting for this moment his entire life.

But then-

He stops.

Just a breath. Just a flicker.

His lips barely pull from mine, but it’s enough.

Enough to feel the ache of separation.

Enough to feel that sharp pang of panic, don’t stop.

He leans his forehead against mine, chest heaving, so close, but not kissing me.

Not yet.

His voice was low. Ruined. Begging.

“Tell me to stop.”

I blink.

I can’t process the words at first. My brain is slow, heavy with want. It’s like trying to think underwater.

His thumb brushes my cheek, so soft it makes my throat close.

“Please,” he whispers, more desperate this time. “Tell me to stop.”

And the way he says it-

It’s not control.

It’s not about asking for permission to go further.

It’s a plea.

A final, fragile attempt at doing the right thing.

Because he knows once he crosses that line-

There’s no coming back.

But I don’t say anything.

I just stare at him. Eyes locked, heart a fucking drum in my chest.

My hands slide down his chest slowly, resting flat over his ribs, and I shake my head.

Not once.

Not twice.

Just once.

But it’s enough.

He exhales, like he’s collapsing from the inside. His body bows slightly, tension snapping like a fraying wire.

And then?

He loses it.

His mouth is back on mine, but there’s no hesitation now. None.

He kisses me like he’s been starved for years. Like he’s dying and I’m the only thing that can save him.

And maybe I am.

Maybe he is.

His hands roam urgently, searching. Down my sides, around my waist, gripping my hips like he doesn’t trust himself to let go. He pulls me flush against him, and I feel every inch of him, feel just how badly he wants this, wants me. I moan into his mouth, hips grinding instinctively against the pressure of his thigh, and it makes him groan, deep, guttural, feral.

His hands are under my shirt now, hot palms splayed across my bare skin, dragging up my spine, leaving heat and goosebumps in their wake. He’s not rushing, he’s savoring. Like he’s been dreaming of this, fantasizing about how I’d feel beneath him.

And me?

My hands are everywhere. In his hair, across his back, under his shirt, I can’t not touch him. His body is like a live wire, thrumming with tension and restraint and need. Every muscle is tight. Every movement is deliberate.

He kisses me again. Slower now. But deeper.

Like he wants this moment to burn into us.

Like he knows this might be the only time.

But it doesn’t feel like that.

It feels like the beginning.

His hands slide beneath my thighs suddenly, lifting me without warning. My legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and he walks us backward, careful but determined, until my back hits the wall again, harder this time. He pins me there with his hips and kisses me so deeply I nearly forget how to breathe.

I can feel how badly he wants me.

And it makes my head spin.

My fingers twist into the back of his shirt, knuckles white, dragging him even closer, even tighter, until there's no space left at all.

And I don’t want space.

Not now.

Not ever.

We kiss like it’s war.

Like it’s confession.

Like it’s the only thing keeping us alive.

And maybe it is.

Because right now?

In this room?

With him?

I’ve never felt more alive.

His mouth never leaves mine.

Not even for air.

Not even for a second.

It’s relentless, the way he kisses me now. Like he’s been waiting too long. Holding back too much. And now that the leash is off, he can’t bring himself to stop.

I don’t want him to.

I grip him harder, my nails catching the fabric of his shirt as his body grinds into mine. Every point of contact burns. Chest to chest. Thigh to thigh. Mouth to mouth. My breath is ragged against his, but I’m not pulling away. I’m sinking. Spiraling.

And still, he doesn’t let go.

His hands roam, one braced beneath my thigh, the other sliding up the arch of my back, fingers splayed across my spine like he needs to memorize the feel of me. He breaks from my mouth just long enough to kiss the corner, then my jaw, then down to my neck, and my head falls back against the wall with a soft thud, a soundless gasp catching in my throat.

He groans.

It’s low. Guttural. Desperate.

And the sound is enough to make my knees go weak.

His grip tightens instinctively as he feels it, as if he knows I need him to hold me upright right now.

And he does.

God, he does.

But even through the heat, even through the pressure building like a storm under my skin, there’s this ache in my chest that grows and grows. A knot of something else. Something deeper. Something rawer than lust.

I blink through it.

And I look at him.

Really look at him.

His eyes are darker now. Dilated. But focused, locked on me like I’m the only thing that exists in this room. His lips are parted. His chest is rising too fast. And for a moment, for one flicker of space between us, I see the tremble in his restraint.

He’s holding back.

For me.

And maybe that’s what does it.

That’s what knocks the wind out of me.

Because this isn’t just about wanting.

It’s not even about needing.

It’s about trust.

It's about the unspoken thing sitting between us like a live wire, something neither of us has said out loud, but both of us are bleeding from.

And I can’t take it anymore.

“Come here,” I whisper.

He doesn’t hesitate.

He carries me to the couch with a kind of care that makes my heart throb harder than my body ever could. He sits, settling with me still wrapped around him, and I shift, careful, slow, and straddle him, legs bracketing his hips as my knees sink into the cushions.

He exhales like he’s unraveling.

I lean in, kiss him again, slower this time. Not desperate. Not frantic.

Just… full.

He kisses me back with that same weight, hands resting on my thighs now, thumbs moving in slow, firm strokes. Like he’s grounding us both. Like if he stops, we’ll float away.

My fingers slide up the back of his neck, into his hair. I tilt my head, deepen the kiss just slightly, and he groans into it, his hips shift, just once, but I feel it. All of it.

And then-

It hits me.

All at once.

The gravity.

The intimacy.

The vulnerability.

My lips falter against his.

I pause.

I blink.

And suddenly, I can’t breathe.

Not from the kiss.

From the feeling.

The knowing.

That I’m here. On him. In his arms. In his world.

And there’s no pretending anymore.

No distance. No walls. No structure to hide behind. I’m not just crossing lines, I’m obliterating them. Letting him touch parts of me I don’t even let myself touch.

It overwhelms me.

It terrifies me.

My hands drop from his neck. I pull back, just slightly. Just enough to break the kiss. He opens his eyes slowly, immediately alert. His brows furrow, not in frustration, but in focus.

He feels it.

He sees it.

And then he speaks.

Soft. Quiet. A whisper only for me.

“Hey…”

I look down. My hands press against his chest, still on him, but not pushing.

“I’m okay,” I whisper. “I just-”

His hands slide up my arms slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid I’ll bolt if he moves too fast. His touch is so tender, it makes something in my throat sting.

“You don’t have to explain,” he says.

And I believe him.

He rests his forehead against mine for a moment. Breathes me in. Let me sit there with it. With all of it.

And when I finally exhale, when I finally let the weight in my chest go, I shift off of him.

He helps me. Doesn’t make it weird. Doesn’t ask for more.

Just opens his arms as I curl next to him, my knees pulled up, my head resting against his shoulder.

He lets his arm wrap around me.

And then he strokes my hair.

Again and again.

Soft. Steady.

I don’t know how long we’ll sit there like that.

Maybe an hour. Maybe five.

Time doesn’t exist in this room anymore.

Only the sound of his breathing.

Only the feel of his fingertips in my hair.

At some point, I stop thinking.

Stop remembering what I came here for.

Stop counting the mistakes I’ve made.

And I sleep.

I let myself sleep.

Because it’s the only time I’ve ever felt safe and undone at once.

Because it’s him.

─────── ⌖ ───────

Heyyyyyyy….. I KNOW. I hope the slow burn and build-up were worth the wait but of course, we’re not done yet. Chapter 10 is dropping today because let’s be real… I can’t make you wait when I can’t even wait

I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I loved writing it. I’d love to hear your thoughts, seriously!!!

Enjoyyyy,

Yours truly,

Raey ♡

─────── ⌖ ───────

[ next chapter ]

[penvisions]

dev writes even more now {dave york drabble}

working title: work conduct

pairing: dave york x coworker! reader

summary: you're just his coworker, so why does he feel compelled to unravel all your secrets?

word count: 1k<

a/n: in honor of being told my writing is terrible and i need to stop pushing an 'agenda' here's a little thing i wrote to get out of my head. this is a new character for me, but i'm proud of the vibes i captured here.

-> navigation

He's good at reading people. Figuring out who they are in the spaces where words and titles can't fill. The habits they exhibit when they first get into the office for the morning, whether they immediately go to the breakroom to start a coffee or exchange morning pleasantries with coworkers. the habits they exhibit in the afternoons when the work day is done, if they linger about talking to the same people as in the morning or if they quickly pack up their stuff and rush off to their cars in the parking garage.

But for the life of him, Dave York cannot get a read on you.

You're not...fake, per se. But he sees the way your smile drops when you turn away from a conversation or how your voice drops an octave when you hang up a phone call. He tracks the coffee you have in the morning, the water you sip on all day long, and the diet soda you always have after lunch. He never actually witnesses you eating lunch, but he knows your energy perks up a bit after the hour you disappear for in the middle of each day.

It reminds him of how his daughters both find their high-pitched, excited voices after a good breakfast shoved into frowny faces.

The thought brings a smile to his face as he watches you press your ID badge to the sensor to be let in the door through the thick glass wall. The office is on an upper floor, blocked off from the general public that can access the building.

You look up right then, catching his eyes and the smile you give him is dazzling. He blinks, slightly taken aback by the bright expression and then your heels are clacking on the gleaming tile as you head in his direction. Just as you cross over onto the thin carpet that cushions area of cubicles, a loud snap sounds into the air.

Both your smile and leg buckle downwards at the same time.

He's moving quickly, instincts firing on the highest setting at all times. His arms circle around your waist and the thigh of leg donning the now broken shoe. He's got you tugged close to his body, dark eyes gazing down at you as the scent of your perfume wafts over him. Cirtus and rose swirls in his lungs and his fingers curl into your skin where he holds you.

"Easy now."

"Who knew a meet cute like this was on the agenda for today?" Your voice is sultry, paired with a wink that has him taken aback for the second time in as many minutes. Your nails dig into the front of his dress shirt, startling in how they catch the light and shift from what he initially thought was black to a dark, deep red.

"Gotta say, I don't think I warrant the whole 'falling at your feet' display." His voice is slightly raspy, the pitch of it reverberating deep on his chest.

"Alright, Agent York. Because that was totally planned." You huff out a breath as you begin to push off of him. Your nails sliding over the fabric that guards his middle from the smooth feel of them. It's a hobble that you do, one hand firmly gripping his shoulder as you lean down to take the broken heel off of your raised foot.

He gets more of that intoxicating scent as your hair brushes underneath his chin as you remove the other, still intact heel as well.

"Aw, hell. Looks like it's completely snapped." He watches as you inspect it with a sad tilt of your head and of course his fingers twitch to reach out and see if he could fix it for you.

to be continued...

taglist: @evolnoomym @clawdee @guiltyasdave

[ranchclan]

📜 ❔📝⛔️

📜 How does your clan’s warrior code differ from other clans?

Ranchclan in particular has a pretty lax warrior code! Especially compared to Valleyclan who can be rather traditional, Ranchclan is much more welcoming of outsiders (doesn’t allow daylight warriors though, you can be an ex-kittypet but your focus has to be on your clan, not your folk), Obviously clerics are allowed to have kits, as are the leader and deputy even if there’s talk about it. I reference a lot of @/bonefalls work and their expanded warrior code, including stuff like Queens Rights.

❔Do you have any suggestions for people looking to start their own clangen blogs?

Include everything in your notes, don’t include everything in your notes. Which doesn’t make much sense, but what I’m saying is like, look at Everything. The relationship tab, cats thoughts, patrol beginnings and events, and you don’t have to write All of it, because a lot of it is probably useless, but when you’re able to string a couple of events relating to a small group, it really works out in your favor for connecting dots and plot lines.

Play 24 moons ahead, and DRAW 24 moons ahead. This may just be a me thing, but having the buffer pages of regular updates on queue, and giving me time to work on 25-48 and 49-72. It also helps with plot writing because you don’t get attached and have big introductions for loners who join the clan only to die from redcough the next moon. This way you can track important plot lines between multiple moons and be able to set the scene for how and when events happen, it’s also great for me making bonusranch content for inbetween because I get interactions from people who inspire them the week of posting ya know.

Speaking of, don’t be afraid to move around small events in the timeline or diverge from clangen as much as you’d like, it’s just the base, and for the most part it doesn’t matter if someone comes out of the closet on moon 23 or 24 if it fits with your pacing better.

Keep your clan small. It’s going to grow rapidly, as clangen is wont to do. Ranchclan in particular has smaller litters for whatever reason, but don’t be afraid to cull kits (sorry), loners, or other clan-joiners to reduce your population and keep only the characters who have plot lines and investments. Otherwise! Save them for mass extinction fodder.

Typefaces, typefaces, typefaces. So many clangen blogs suffer from the fact that some of y’all have ass handwriting or pick really swirly cursive fonts, or write too small! (not to call out anyone specific, many blogs do this and I get the reasons for it!) but making a clean, concise, and legible typeface is going to up your engagement, and makes your panels look cleaner. There are nice handwritten fonts out there, or making your own like ranchclans custom typeface from Calligraphr. Same thing with actually labeling characters in your panels, it’s really useful especially when you’re just starting and introducing characters, and/or when your clan gets large asf and needs reminders. Something I really want to do for Ranchclan sometime is go through and make image ids for the whole thing, captions in the description, and I want to go through with a colorblind filter to make sure that my type doesnt blend in with the background

📝 What do your notes look like?

These are some of my older notes, and like I said previously , a lot of these events get moved around to different moons where less happens. I’ve also started taking more in-depth notes since I started, and events I don’t use but still like, I save for bonusranch content. I sometimes have notes like if someone is injured and it later leaves a scar, I go back and mention where the injury in placed in my notes for future reference.

⛔️How long are you planning on making your comic? For as long as you feel like it, or is there a set end? Also @nimbusclan for asking this question too!!

So I was actually just talking with my partner about it, and I think the goal for Ranchclan is 1000 moons!! I’m not holding myself super strongly to that if I end up losing passion about it, but so far I’m having the time of my life working on Ranchclan and will keep doing it till I’m bored, no set end, just the cats daily lives. I’ll be working on other projects in the meantime, like Dungeonclan (sorry I started Houndclan and did get bored, dogs are less interesting to draw despite their variety), and expanding ranchclans world with Valleyclan and Wanderingclan. Maybe someday I’ll post about my human specific ocs (*cough* dnd characters *cough*)

Thank you so so so much for all the questions!! I really appreciate it my dude 🧡🧡🧡

[losver07]

okay so im planning (JUST PLANNING) a canon-compliant fic and im making a list of spells or details id like to add (because writing magic is shit hard but it's soooo much funnnn)

so yeah enjoy??? these WILL go into my future fic

remus enchanting muggle books, lycanthropy research or personal notebooks's covers to look like textbooks or really boring titles (sirius is still interested even if it's, like, "advanced latin grammar" and it pisses remus tf off that he always asks to have a look)

peter using his pocket watch to calculate what proportion of a class slughorn actually spends teaching them stuff vs the time he spends divagating

pre-transition reg throwing a spell so that every time someone refers to him with his deadname he hears 'regulus' in his head. he doesn't use it at home, though

james enchanting his glasses so he can physically see a dark shadow near people who are not feeling okay, his little secret to helping everyone. also, sirius jokingly puts them on once and let's just say james isn't looking so bright

remus lending sirius one of his jumpers and casually mentioning that it's enchanted to always smell like him (sirius MELTS)

the valkyries sharing tips and spells to do their makeup, such as ways to make their mascara waterproof or their lipstick to stay on for a whole night

peter always carrying pieces of parchment with him to draw and document bugs he finds, as well as plants

sirius asking the rest of the marauders from time to time to let him be alone with remus in the shack the morning after a full moon. he just stays there to make remus feel better and hides with the cloak when madam pomfrey comes (i have so many ideas for this type of scenes)

lily using the map for her prefect rounds with remus and finding james and regulus making out in a corner of the castle, then screaming "I KNEW IT!"

peter sneaking out into the ravenclaw tower as wormtail to see gilderoy

boggart angst. like, sirius expecting to see his mother but he sees himself instead, dressed in his elegant black heir clothes, back straight, hair short, acting just like he is "supposed" to act, according to his family and still being HAPPY somehow (did he get it wrong? would he be better off if he had obeyed? would that have fixed all the things that are now wrong with him? ...who knows)

also, remus's boggart being greyback because i have so much of the plot planned around that its insane (thank you elaborate metaphors, thank you psychology classes)

peter deafening himself when he's annoyed & wants to sleep in study sessions, making a piece of parchment levitate over his head saying "wake me up when you stop snogging, you WHORES"

i know i have mentioned this before, but regulus using magic to hide the white streak in his hair. this is so important to me i swear to god

obviously, all members of the marauders & co. converting their silver jewellery and overall possessions into tin or steel as soon as they find out about remus

james getting distracted by having conversations with the paintings in the halls and being late to class (especially first and second year)

(from 4th year on) remus taking potions near the full moon, not just for the physical pain but also his temper. also, asking peter the spell he uses to go deaf (that man does NOT stand people the week of a full moon)

all of them somehow coming up with a spell that makes their records' lyrics mute so they can have a karaoke, this is so silly but so real (it was james' idea, too)

in one of their birthdays, making the candles impossible to blow—every time they are put out, the flame reappears. bonus points is the birthday boy's wish was something that will never happen in the fic, e.g. an impossible romance

...

i will be adding more to this because not only is this so fun i also kinda need to lay all my ideas down before i start writing

[cripplecharacters]

I'm writing a character with intellectual disability and I can't find much about how the different skill areas affected will be affected based on the level of ID. He has mild ID, IQ measured to be between 60-69, but I was wondering if I made his symptoms too severe and if what he has would actually be moderate. Are these realistic for someone with mild ID, or would these indicate more severe ID?

He started copying sounds at around the same age most babies do, maybe a month or so late, but didn't really understand what they meant until he was around four, when he made the connection that certain sounds had certain meanings. He picked up language decently after that, a bit slower than most but he did eventually hit language milestones, just a few years late

He's not good at problem solving. If he's seen a similar problem get solved he can usually replicate the solution, but if he's never seen this problem or the solution to it he'll struggle to come up with a solution that works. If the solution he's seen work in the past isn't possible, that's also something that'll throw him through a loop. Like if he drops and breaks a plate and he knows the solution to this situation in the past, get his dad and then go find the broom and dustpan so his dad can clean it up, isn't possible because his dad isn't home, it'll take him a little bit before he can adapt that solution to "I need to get the broom and dustpan to clean this up." He can get there, it just takes him a minute.

He was very late to reading and basic math, picking up reading at writing at around seven, addition and subtraction a little bit after, and multiplication, division, and fractions at around ten. Once he gets it he can start growing the skill, it just took him a while to get it.

Planning ahead is also something he struggles to do well. He can come up with unrealistic plans easily, but coming up with an actual plan on how to spend a day out is hard for him and when he does have that plan, any deviance from the plan really stresses him out because now he needs a whole new plan.

He's good at abstract thinking, but there are some things he can't understand. He gets that ableism is a thing, that people see him and think less of him for being disabled (outside of the ID, he is visibly disabled,) but he can't for the life of him figure out why people are taking their observations and using them to be cruel.

His ability to learn from experience is good, it's one of the easiest ways for him to learn things and it's the way his parents taught him some things. He can also learn from the experiences of others- if his dad cuts his hand on a knife while cooking and is thus injured, he can understand from that that knives can hurt and that if they hurt his dad, they'll hurt him, so he shouldn't mess with them without being very careful.

He is also very bad at picking up on body language and facial expressions.

Because he was homeschooled (the elementary and middle school didn't have a good special education system,) a lot of this was kind of brushed off as "Oh, it's because he was homeschooled" when he did start going to school as a teenager. His teachers knew, of course, but the people he befriended didn't really notice, brushing off the things they noticed him struggling with as being products of him being homeschooled. So he's not extremely obviously intellectually disabled to the untrained eye, but teachers and people who know other people with ID can usually pick up on it.

I feel like all of this might be a bit too severe for mild ID, but I also worry that if I change it so he has moderate ID I'll be underplaying what moderate ID is. Sorry for the long ask.

Hey!

A lot of the traits remind me less of myself (mild end of mild) and more of some of my ex classmates (moderate). Some of the points are more universal (understanding of body language can be really hard or really easy depending on the cause of the ID, e.g. intellectually disabled people with autism will usually have a hard time regardless of ID level) but most to me read as "more disabled than me" so either he's on the severe end of mild, or just moderate. The only one that reads pretty strictly as mild is the last one, if someone only has ID with no comorbidity then often others can't tell for a while or brush it off as something else (I'm autistic and people sometimes guess autism, sometimes ID, sometimes things I don't have). I feel like if he experiences all the other points, other people would probably be able to notice rather quickly, if not as "obviously ID" then they would notice that he's developmentally disabled in some way (though, from interacting with moderately ID people in SPED, pretty much everyone could tell, especially abled people).

Other than his classmates not being able to tell, this sounds like a pretty good representation of someone with moderate intellectual disability. I wouldn't hang on what exact number or exact severity he was diagnosed with, just saying "intellectually disabled" is good. ID is a spectrum and it doesn't have hard edges (IQ measurement is deeply flawed), sometimes it can be hard to tell where someone exactly lies on it. There's not that much difference between me, very close to the "normal range", and someone else, very close to the "ID range". I just wouldn't say that your character has mild since it does sound like it's probably in the moderate range rather than in the mild or Ambiguous one, but focusing on the exact label isn't that important in my opinion.

If you want him to have mild ID because he has a condition that causes ID that is specifically mild and not more severe, then I think it would be easier to change the condition than the character. Many of these traits seem thought-out and impact the character a lot, so changing them could be almost like rewriting the entire character.

I hope this helps,

mod Sasza

[choccy-milky]

hey! They already asked you but I don't know if you forgot hehe, what are the mbti of Clora and Sebastian? 😸

OK, I FINALLY HAVE AN ANSWER!! took me a hot minute to figure out sebs, but after reading all the pages and comparing, i do think entp fits him the best. also i saw this picture on pinterest about a relationship between isfj and entp and its so true, esp the "do not listen to each other's advice, still get each other out of trouble" LMFAO. also the 'protecting isfj at all costs' 🥺🥺🥺im soft. (ALSO DONT COME AT ME I KNOW I SPELLED KNOWLEDGEABLE WRONG IM TOO LAZY TO FIX IT😭) OKAY!! and its been a while so i'll be using this ask to reply to a buncha others🙏🙏

my fanfic does follow the plot of the game, but with sebastian added to every sidequest/story mission. and then from around the third (niamh's) trial, it starts to branch more into (mostly all) original stuff!^^

yes actually LMAO, clora's lawley-slap wasn't even planned. but as i was writing it i started to get so offended on her behalf i was like GIRL, SLAP THIS BITCH🤬 so she did😇😇 id say its normal, yeah! even tho i stick to my outlines, a lot of what happens just kinda happens without my prior planning as i begin to write bahaha, especially dialogue scenes.

aw, im glad u like my blog so much and that it can help u even in the smallest of ways 😭thank u!!💖💖

BAHAHA AWW TYY IM GLAD U LIKE IT SO MUCH!! i saw u re-reading it recently on wattpad and ur comments always have me dying. also im just gonna address your other ask here in this one, but as u know seb has now met mr.clemons, and you 10000% nailed the dynamic between seb and clora's dad LMFAOO, they will absolutely bond over disagreeing with how careless she is and wanting to protect her/stressing over her LOOL. ty again for all ur messages, i love seeing how much u love my art/fic😭💖

OMG u are so right i need to draw this

also god idk....following the sebinis example, i guess they'd be...sebora?? reminds me of sephora LMAO. ive also had someone call them "alliteration shipping" which i think is so cute BAHAHA. HONESTLY PPL CAN JUST SAY WHATEVER THEY WANT, i aint picky.

oh god its been too long since ive read the books (tho i do really wanna re-read them esp in the winter) but my fav movie is half blood prince, just because i love all the ron/hermione moments and the highschool drama BAHAHA. what do u mean harry potter isnt a romcom??? ok and last but DEFS not least

THE UNHINGED ENERGY OF THIS ASK CRACKED ME UP SO MUCH WHEN U SENT IT BAHAHAH, couldnt even fit the whole thing in my screenshot. IM GLAD U LIKED/HATED THE CHAP, and also your pfp just makes everything you say funnier, i love it LMAOOO. ty🙏🙏

[s3raphimssins]

hi hi! :3 idk if you take chuu requests but id really like if you could do like a relationship reveal where the ada find out that reader is dating chuuya?? :3 much love <3

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷summary: they weren't supposed to know! but now that they do how do you make it less awkward.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷pairings: chuuya x fem!ada reader

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷warnings: none!

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷Felix's note: yes! ofcourse! i write about chuu! sorry i took too long! <3 have a great day/night! hope you like it! heart divider by: @cafekitsune <3

the taste of wine lingered on your tongue as the gravity manipulator was holding you on his lap. His tongue roaming your mouth, the kiss never seemed to stop. You were making out since a few minutes and you pulled away to breathe.

"missed ya" he said putting his head on your shoulder.

"I missed you too, but i have to go"

You were in his tinted car in the backseat with him .This wasn't the first time you two met like this. You two had kept this relationship a secret for a while now. You were out to buy some stuff for the agency when chuuyas car stopped by and he pulled you in. Thankfully no one thought you were getting kidnapped this road was always silent, no one really passed here at 8 in the morning.

You two talked for a bit before you opened the car door to leave, when all of a sudden you heard someone whisper. "gotcha"

You yelped in surprise to see your co-worker Dazai standing behind you. "DAZAI?!" you heard chuuya scream as he got out of the car ready to launch at him.

"i see the chuu chuu here has got himself a girl, took you long enough" he smirked.

Chuuya grabbed his collar and asked harshly "you've been stalking us haven't you sly bastard"

You didn't even bother hearing their little bickering because what really took over your thoughts was the sight of the whole agency standing before you disappointed. You suddenly asked "does...everyone know?"

the pair stopped arguing and Dazai said "Ranpo had already figured it out, after i had my suspicions he agreed, i haven't told anybody but ranpo probably has" he said in an oddly cheery tone. Chuuya pushed Dazai away and put his hands on your shoulder "it's-kay doll, don't worry, it'll be okay". You nodded and smiled.

⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇

You and Dazai walked back to the agency. You were mostly the one talking asking questions and everything. As you came to the door of the agency you stopped in your tracks when you heard

"THEY'RE GOING TO REGRET THIS" as a fuming Kunnikida rushed out as if to tackle you. "DO YOU REALIZE THE SEVERITY OF YOUR ACTIONS?!" you let out an awkward chuckle and slid past him. Ranpo pointed at you "nothing can hide from the greatest detective!" as he shoved a lollipop in his mouth. You are so screwed. Kunnikida angrily wrote something as Dazai only fueled this anger making his pen snap.

Yosano on the other hand was not fazed. Like seriously at all. She came over to you and started asking questions about your relationship. "If he ever lets his anger get the best of him i wont hesitate to make him my next patient" she cracked her knuckles. "haHA! I can assure you um everything will be fine" you said awkwardly and held her hands down. Naomi and Tanizaki were doing..there own thing. Kenji was actually very happy and said "that mister was very nice! i would like to have lunch with him!" mind you they did. Atsushi on the other hand didn't know how to feel about it. He didn't have an opinion on it but also was a little intimidated by Chuuya, He congratulated you nonetheless.

Everything was going...well? no one really cared except for Kunnikida who keeps scolding you and literally has smoke coming out of his ears.

"i need to meet him" he says angrily.

"woah there old man, relax, slow down" you pat Kunnikidas back as he gently but passive aggressively smacked your hand away.

atleast it went well...you hope the agency does not have secret murder plans against Chuuya; as if they already didn't; but now Dazai seems more set on annoying Chuuya the next time they meet.

[clockwayswrites]

I saw that you had some very in depth organization methods when planning your fics. I am working on one now and realized how much I need something like that. Could you give an explanation and tips on how you organize your ideas?

Oh, sure! I can try my best.

For me, the desire to actually write it usually comes with a scene (or few scenes) I need to bring into existence. I don't care if it's the first scene or last or in the middle, I let myself write it! I know some people don't like writing out of order because they feel it's a 'waste' if they have to change it when they get there, but for me it's never a waste because it helped me find a mood!

I put those scenes down and then try to build a fic around them. If it's a short fic (>15K) I just start working. Medium to long I outline! I like to write the scenes I have and want out on cut up post it notes and this allows me to physically move things around, find the plot gaps, and write down the scene that I wan to go there!

(image id: post it notes cut into thirds with a scene summary written on each one. Some are grouped together as chapters and there are holes where I feel there needs to be more).

3. I take each of those scenes and make a placeholder file in my writing program! I use Scrivener so this is really easy to do because they have an outline function. Before I used scrivener, I would write them out in a doc and then also copy and past it around the parts I had written.

In Scrivener, I can also color code them and/or use the status to say if it's started, written, edited, etc! You could do this in another program by highlighting the outline different colors.

4. As you are writing, remember your outline might change! You might have scenes that no longer work (Ex lbfd I had a whole Tim & Danny bonding bit where Danny revealed he knew about the Bats I cut cause it seemed clunky) or you might need to add bits for a better flow! (Ex one chapter of lbfd split into three, but then other things got cut). And this is okay! Some things you can't know until it's written.

The more you do this the better you'll get! My first big fic (150+K) doubled in chapters and tripled in length! I needed a lot more time on the slow parts than I thought and added some things based on reader comments. For lbfd, even though things changed, chapter 22(?) was still chapter 22 when I got to it!

Hopefully this helps!

[void-botanist]

Author ask tag

Thank you @vacantgodling for the tag <3

What is the main lesson of your story?

I'll do this for Nicea since it's been on my mind but if you tag me back I'll do other wips :3 (anyone is welcome to tag me back)

I'm not trying to teach a lesson, but if I were to extract one, it's that grief will change you but it doesn't have to control or ruin you. And maybe that you should let the people who matter most know that, even if it's hard.

What did you use as inspiration for your worldbuilding?

I wrote a whole post about this once but a bunch of different sci-fi media: Cowboy Bebop, My Dad the Bounty Hunter, iD-0, The Expanse books, almost certainly other stuff I am not thinking of.

What is your MC trying to achieve, and what are you, the writer, trying to achieve with them? Do you want to inspire others, teach forgiveness, or help the reader grow as a person?

There are some exceptions but I usually don't think of my characters in terms of what I'm trying to achieve with them. There's always an element of "queer and disabled people rule" in there though.

The question of what my MCs are trying to achieve is juicy because Nicea has six POV characters and as far as I'm concerned six MCs, and they all want different things.

Declan: get his husband Cady back alive. literally everything else is secondary.

Tristan: honestly she wants to not get into too much trouble with anyone. her fiancee, her boss (Declan), her best friend who is stranded on a faraway planet...

Isabel: make it through this space trip unscathed so she can retire to be a planetside musician. also low key get back at her mom for suggesting they didn't need her on this trip.

Spinder: find the guts to tell his bff, Isabel, that he's in love with her, but maybe more importantly, don't fucking die on this trip.

Rodney: survive this space trip so that he can take over Isabel's job on the ship and continue his perfect streak of being Declan's right-hand man.

Cady: he wants to be rescued and go home, but based on his actual behavior it seems like he wants to self-flagellate until he can forgive himself for needing to be rescued and kinda make it everyone else's problem.

How many chapters is your story going to have?

No idea! I don't write by chapters currently, nor do I tend to write full outlines, but maybe that will change as I'm changing writing setups.

Is it fanfiction or original content? Where do you plan to post it?

Original! When it's done in seven million years, I'll probably just like. make an epub/mobi/pdf on itch.io and you can pay me ten bucks for it if you feel like it, or just read it if you don't.

When did you start writing?

Since I could write, basically, so probably like. three or four. But I didn't start trying to write novels or writing Seriously until I was eight.

Do you have any words of encouragement for fellow writers of writeblr? What other writers do you follow?

Sometimes it's not that the thing you haven't written yet is So Boring You Can't Ever Write It. Sometimes it just feels boring to your brain at this moment and next week or next month it will flow. Don't pressure yourself and enjoy the process.

I follow a ton of writers, but here's a few off the top of my head (consider yourself tagged if you want to do this!): @vacantgodling @multi-lefaiye @writernopal @outpost51 @theskeletonprior @ink-flavored @chayscribbles @gullwrites @calliecwrites @writinglittlebeasts @omniblades-and-stars

(if I follow you and you're not on this list I still love you I just couldn't think of everyone at once)

[plan-tq]

Glitch duo rambles, please

-♠️

YESSSS okay so sory this had been in my draft for like... A bit, but Oh my god glitchduo and their stupid "we're dooming eachother" in every universe what the actual hell... (Probably ooc warning ahead!!)

Lets say ls s5, the fact that ash always seemed to have just... Too much to deal with, too many people around him while squiddo constantly pinpointed her world on HIM, like, name one instance where she DOESNT consider ash when doing something. Its like its written into her code to overwrite ash over whatever other thing/priority she's doing alot of the times

Speaking of that, the arcs!!:

The NUKE ARC she only felt bad because it was going to blow up spawn, because ashswag told her that he cared about it. Birthday party? Whole thing planned around not letting ash die. HER SO WHOLEHEARTEDLY BELIEVING THAT ASH WOULD VOTE FOR HER IN THE ELECTIONS?? It was like her world narrowed down into a pathway to him whenever he was involved personally...hell, the EXPLOITS because she wanted to save him (and others i suppose), everything s5 ls!squiddo cared about was somehow always linked to the man, whether he was involved or not.

I call them doomed because ls!ash well isnt a person like her, as much as they're besties and do silly things together and have fun she's not his top priority capable of pushing back everything else, because he's more focused on survival, from what ive seen. (This is extremely ooc probably but its okay)

Now uu! glitchduo is....uh .. weird, me and yakultoomf had been theorising their canon partnership since the first time ash showed up. there's not much to say about them so you can have the funky little hcs that we've made for them like how ash would prepare his big speeches to squiddo before he goes to the uu!protags, or that they just... Hang out when everyone else is going through hell because hey, people arent ever worried that squiddo might do something and no one expects ash to be doing something as weird as hanging out with such a overlooked person.

S6 ls glitchduo however... Ohhoho we're in the good stuff, Its MUTUAL??? WE'RE GETTING MUTUAL CONTENT??? I need them gone i need them gone i need them gone i need...

S6 is just silly and whimsy and ash sticking so loyal to squiddo makes me want to EXPLODE okay im writing this at2am i should probably stop.... There's alot more i jst think its getting TOO LONG id love to hear what u think of them too....

[inkyblinkyarts]

Hi hello

Hope you are doing good,

Love your work ,discovered it literally just 3 days ago and I'm obsessed with the daiki daisuki saga

Are we to expect more ? Especially comics ?

And for how long do we have to wait , if you don't mind me asking that

Thanks for your ocs and art I'm absolutely in love with the concept cause I'm a sucker for popular x nerd ship

And to make them both stalkers and Vinnie with a really interesting backstorie is just too good to be true

Much love 💕

✨️

ah im glad ppl like them!!! 💜the concept was really fun to make (albeit, specifically for me) since I didn't see it like... anywhere. and anything resembling it sucked or was super concerning, so I made my own and uh... certainly didn't expect this many people to also like it- I'm incredibly flattered avfsjhajasfkavf

as for expecting more- absolutely 99.9% guarantee! I'm insane for them. They were in my brain for a year before I even made anything of them. Chronically.

Id love to really get into comics, but I think for my scatterbrained adhd ridden approach to everything, it may be multiple short comics showing the sequence of events instead of a single comic telling the entire story. in theory, if they're all lined up in order, the whole story will be told- but breaking it down into bite sized chunks I'm pretty convinced is the only way this'll ever leave my skull. I don't have the mental fortitude or patience or writing and artistic skill or a team for something like webtoon or a full comic- so I'm meeting in the middle lol. Symbolic YouTube videos also scratches that storytelling itch. expect more of those.

wait time however I cant give you an answer for. I have no idea. I always have plans for stuff to make, its just a matter of when I'll get to it. I need time to actually make the stuff yaknow? plus I'm flying by the seat of my pants juggling like 20 things so it'll get done but cant ever tell ya when cause even I don't know LOL

[myfairkatiecat]

nightfall was crazy, but I'm also kind of confused??? It went by sooo fast I was like WHAT? WAIT, WHAT? WAIT WAIT WAIT-

Love the fact that they went on with keefes whole "I'm not worth it, but you are, so I'm going to take over decisions we need to make (as a team) and screw them over so that they cause harm to me and not you!" Kinda vibe, honestly thought that after he came back from the neverseen in lodestar they were just going to forget about it, yk??

Only thing I really didn't like is that like...everyone has a slight distrust to keefe (at least in the start, till he apologized ) but Sophie, the person who was (in my opinion) most affected by his 'betrayal' never once had a doubt???? Like, if someone betrayed me, right? Yk they're my friend whatever whatever, ID STILL HAVE SOME KIND OF LIKE ISSUES WITH THEM???

I feel like her distrusting keefe and then slowly learning to trust him would have made the book MUUUCH better!!

Also, I'm still not getting where the Fitz discourse is coming from, like, his sibling just betrayed him, fell unconscious and WOKE UP WITH NO MEMORY OF ANYTHING?? I can see where the anger issues come from

Holy shit this was long, sorry!

-- @localburntoutkid

Had a blast reading this!

You’re so right about Keefe. That definitely doesn’t get dropped after lodestar, or even nightfall—it’s one of his character’s main flaws, and while it does shift and evolve as the series moves on, it’s kind of there, you know? And I’m really hoping it resolves in some way by the end of the series, because his arc is just… so interesting to me. Because it is NOT arc-shaped. At all.

I get what you mean about Sophie being the only one who doesn’t distrust Keefe when he comes back. I really like that too acknowledge that it’s a Sophie-specific thing, though! Too many people forget that this is a third person limited story told by an unreliable narrator, and act like Shannon Messenger herself is telling us Keefe deserves to be fully trusted. Sophie Foster decides, at the end of Neverseen, not to hate him, and Lodestar is where she has her moments of doubt and distrust, but even in Lodestar, she always believes in Keefe’s good intentions. There’s even a scene where she says something like “Yes, Keefe’s plan is horrible and I hate it, but his heart is in the right place. I have to believe that.” The part about keefe’s plan is paraphrased, but she did say she needs to believe his heart was in the right place, in that wording, and it’s fascinating to me. She’s very attatched to Keefe (obviously) and I think it’s mostly for her own sanity that she chooses over and over to believe that there’s something right about what he’s doing, because letting him go sounds excruciating, even by his own fault.

I actually have no issue with this being Sophie’s perspective, and I actually find it interesting especially in the context of sokeefe, but I wish we got to see this portion through another character’s eyes. For example, Fitz. Someone who does distrust him afterwards, and rightfully so.

As far as Fitz discourse goes, that stuff stemmed less from nightfall and more from flashback and legacy. I don’t hate Fitz in either of those books, but you’ll probably notice the moments that made people kind of go nuts about hating him and ran away with his character (personally, I think Fitz is fully understandable in both books, but don’t fully condone the way he acts in a few scenes, particularly in legacy. I’ll explain later after you’ve read it)

Don’t apologize for length, I’m literally Katie, have you met me? Everything I write is longer than I intend

I’m glad you’re having fun with the KOTLC series. Keep me updated!!!