#see me in december when i have the time to commit to this idea

[bloomzone]

2025 #8 The Power of 3: Divide Your Year, Reclaim Your Time

Happy New Year—it’s 1st January, and 2025 is finally here woooooaaaaah. A blank slate, full of possibility. But this isn’t about resolutions. This is about creating a system—a life strategy that works every single day, not just for a few weeks in January. (This is my mindset rn !)

✒️..That’s why today, we’re talking about the 3-3-3-3 Method. Your year isn’t one overwhelming block of time. It’s not a marathon you burn out on halfway through(trust me). It’s a cycle of seasons—each three months long—designed for you to grow, adjust, and conquer in stages.

[You don’t need to control 12 months at once. You need to master each quarter.]

Why 3-3-3-3 Works

The biggest mistake people make is thinking success is linear. It’s not . Life happens in phases. When you divide your year into 3-month blocks, you give yourself permission to focus, recalibrate, and restart four times a year.

[Three months is long enough to see results but short enough to stay motivated.]

Four separate quarters means you have four fresh starts. No wasted time, no excuses.This structure keeps you accountable, productive, and adaptable.

Breaking Down the Year

Let’s go quarter by quarter !!

Q1: The Groundwork (January-March)

This is your foundation. These three months are about clarity and direction. You’re building the systems and habits that will carry you through the rest of the year.

Set specific, actionable goals for Q1—just three.

Focus on discipline, not motivation. Build habits that align with your goals.

Start small, but be consistent. Every day you show up, you’re stacking bricks.

Your mantra for Q1? “Brick by brick, I’m building my future.”

Q2: Growth Season (April-June)

This is where the seeds you planted in Q1 start to sprout. Now it’s time to double down.

Push yourself harder. Challenge the systems you built.

Evaluate: Are your habits working? If not, adjust them.

Stay consistent—this is the quarter where most people quit.

Your mantra for Q2? “I don’t stop when I’m tired; I stop when I’m done.”

Q3: The Grind (July-September)

This is the toughest quarter—it’s hot, it’s long, and the novelty of the year has worn off. But this is also where champions are made.

Stay focused on execution. Don’t lose sight of your goals pleaaaase I know u can do it

Keep your pace steady. This isn’t about speed; it’s about endurance.

Reflect: What’s worked so far this year? What hasn’t? Cuz we are not perfect!!!

Your mantra for Q3? “I thrive in the grind. I grow in the struggle.”

Q4: The Finish Line (October-December)

This isn’t the time to coast. These last three months are your chance to finish strong.

Tie up loose ends. Complete what you started.

Celebrate your wins, but don’t get complacent.

Plan for the next year. Use what you’ve learned to set bigger goals for 2026.

Your mantra for Q4? “I finish what I start. I don’t quit—ever.”

Tasks (ideas) for Each Quarter

1. Q1: Build Your Base

Identify three goals.

Break them into daily and weekly tasks.

Track your progress daily.

2. Q2: Expand Your Reach

Push your comfort zone.

Evaluate and adjust your systems.

Focus on consistency, not perfection.

3. Q3: Commit to the Grind

Keep going, even when it feels tough.

Reflect monthly: What’s working? What isn’t?

Stay disciplined, no matter what.

4. Q4: Reflect and Rebuild

Finish strong—don’t leave anything undone.

Celebrate, but use failures as lessons. FAILURES ARE TEACHERS !

Set the stage for a powerful 2026.

1st January: it's a Now or Never

It’s easy to get caught up in the excitement of a new year. But here’s the truth: excitement fades. Discipline doesn’t. If you want this year to be different, you have to act differently.Today isn’t about January 1st being special. It’s about what you do with every day after this. Divide your year. Build your plan. And most importantly—execute.Because when December 31st comes around, and the world is reflecting on what they’ve lost or didn’t achieve, you’ll stand tall knowing you didn’t waste a single season. You didn’t just live through 2025—you mastered it.

one quarter at the tiiiiiime!!

@bloomzone 📇

[forevamark]

3. i'm gonna yak! | time lapse l.mk

Pairing: mark lee x fem!reader

Tags: pre idol debut to idol au, christmas and new years time line, slice of life moments, college student reader, substantial plot leading to smut, very dialogue heavy, angsty moments, slow burn, relationship struggle, lovers to exes to lovers

Intended for 18+ readers, minors do not interact.

masterlist for time lapse

previous ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ next

Word Count : 6.3k+

Summary: Mark has always had the dream of becoming a big music star, meanwhile your aspirations lied with academics and coexisting with Mark. Mark struggles with telling reader that he will be leaving for Korea to pursue his music career very soon, in fear of losing what they have.

warnings are under the tab for chapters that apply.

—-

December 1, 2023

“So you have slept with him… right?” Kathy interrogates ignoring her stacks of papers.

You two were situated in the library cramming for the last exam of your undergraduate career. 

“I have not,” you responded lazily while flipping through the textbook in front of you, “As I told you before, I don’t even know if I’m ready for a relationship yet.”

“It’s been almost a year y/n! Don’t let this go because of He Who Shall Not Be Named…” Kathy groans while attempting to loosen your grip on your pencil, “Seungcheol is so hot, plus he’s a gentleman!”

“I feel like those should have been reversed,” you giggle, finally setting down your things and looking at her, “But yes, he is indeed very hot.”

“Stop holding back! Bring him to the annual Christmas hangout! I’m sure seeing him with all of us will make things a bit more realistic for you. Izaiah is hosting Christmas and New Year’s again. Hopefully, we can rewrite some sour memories and replace them with some sweet ones.”

It wouldn’t be a bad idea. Seungcheol is everything that makes sense as a long-term commitment- not to mention he is someone who wants a long-term commitment with you.

“Okay fine, maybe I will bring him.”

Kathy cheered a loud burst of excitement that elicited a few shushes and glares from around you two.

“Now can we go back to finishing our work? I want to finish all my classwork before the Christmas party this weekend.”

Kathy smiles and nods in agreeance.

Kathy: He will be there this weekend, right? 

Izaiah: Yes he will. Is she prepared? 

Kathy: I think she will be okay 🙂

December 2, 2023

“Red or white?” you ask Seungcheol as you hold up two different dresses in your room, him lying on your bed scrolling lazily before looking up at you.

“Red, it is Christmas after all!” he smiles before continuing to scroll.

Today is the day that Seungcheol will be introduced, properly, to your friend group. As you tugged the mascara through your eyelashes you couldn’t help but wonder what you should even introduce him as. 

“Hey guys! Merry Christmas! This is my friend that I don’t know if he’s more than a friend, sir-friend, Seungcheol!” 

Ick. You shook your head and pulled your pajamas on. You walked out meeting Seungcheol at the door as he laced his shoes, him in matching pajamas.

He grabbed his keys and the mac and cheese from the kitchen table before meeting your anxious gaze, “Ready?”

-

The crisp winter air filled with the aroma of pine and chimney smoke greeted me as you both approached Izaiah’s house. His neighborhood was adorned with twinkling Christmas lights, and the anticipation of warmth and joy hung in the air. You two reached the doorstep and knocked on the festive wreath-adorned door.

The door creaked open, revealing Izaiah’s smiling face. His eyes sparkled with excitement as he welcomed you both inside. The cozy living room was transformed into a winter wonderland, adorned with tinsel, ornaments, and a beautifully decorated Christmas tree that stood proudly in the corner.

“It’s about time!” Izaiah exclaims while pulling you into his warm home, “I was wondering when you would show up.” 

“Hi Izaiah, it really has been a while huh?” 

He chuckles as you and Seungcheol shuffle in from the cold and take your shoes off.  The boys share a hug and close the door.

“Yes, far too long! Congrats by the way! Finally done, welcome to the alum life!” 

“I’m so happy I’m done. Now let’s just hope I don’t fall on that stage.”

Friends surround you two greeting you two with holiday cheers and introductions.

A smile creeps onto your face as Seungcheol brightens the room even further with his charisma and charm.

"Hey there! Merry Christmas!" Kathy exclaimed, giving you a warm hug. The sounds of cheerful holiday music and laughter filled the air. The room was bathed in the soft glow of fairy lights, casting a warm and inviting ambiance.

"I love what you've done with the place. It's like stepping into a Christmas dream," you say, taking in the festive atmosphere.

"Thanks! I went all out this year. Come on, let’s eat," Izaiah said, leading us through the festively decorated rooms. The fireplace crackled with a gentle warmth, casting a comforting glow over the room. 

In the kitchen, the scent of freshly baked cookies wafted through the air. A plate of gingerbread men, snowflake-shaped sugar cookies, and chocolate truffles tempted you from the counter. Kathy pointed proudly at the treats.

"I spent all morning baking. Help yourself!"

You two settled into the cozy living room, surrounded by the glow of Christmas lights. The flickering flames in the fireplace danced to the rhythm of the laughter and conversation. Festive ornaments dangled from the tree, and wrapped presents nestled beneath its branches.

As you all shared stories and caught up on each other's lives, the joy of the season was evident. Seungcheol’s energy felt like he was always a part of your little group. He was extroverted, making jokes here and there and telling crazy stories from his fraternity. Everyone loved him, and maybe you were included in that everyone? The room echoed with the warmth of friendship, and the spirit of Christmas was alive and well. 

The memories of the year prior hung heavy in your heart as you saw the same curtains you hid behind as you played with the little kids. The way Mark would stand against the counter, his eyes never leaving your frame as you held a baby. You remember in that moment you wanted so badly for that baby to be yours, to be his. 

Your mindless thoughts were shaken away as Seongcheol laid a lazy arm around your shoulder and gave you an ‘Are you okay’ eyebrow raise. You gave him a thumbs up before trying to settle between his arms on the couch. 

A doorbell cut off Kathy retelling a story of how you both got lost during your study abroad trip in Peru.

“Terry my boy!” Kathy shrieked as she was nearing the penultimate part of the story, “Get the door!” 

“I need to break the seal!” He shouts back, running towards the bathroom, “I’m going to pee myself from laughter!” 

You chuckle before standing up. “I’ll get it don’t worry.”

“Actually! How about I get it!” Izaiah squeaks while standing up quickly almost racing you to the door, “I am the host after all!” he sings.

“I’m already here!” you giggle pushing him out of the way.

“Please I insist!” He chuckles uneasily, starting to shove you harder, “Go get a drink!”

“I have one I���m fine-” you shove back playfully.

“Then get me one,” he grips your shoulders tightly, “please?”

“Okay…” you eye him wearily before walking backward, “Who is late anyways? Everyone is here.” 

Walking back into the living room everybody is tense. Kathy hurriedly meets you at the minibar as you pull out a glass, “So Seungcheol is assimilating in nicely I see!” 

“Yeah, I guess he is…” you mumble while pouring the gin. Commotion came from the door, greeting the new face to the party.

Kathy turns your frame to face her, “I’m so glad you brought him! You two are like perfect together!” 

“I don’t know if perfect is the word…” you bump into her lightly, “It’s only been like a month.”

“Well, a lot changed in a month! You’re finally all smiley after a year of Miss Grumpy, I’d say let’s cheers to that!” She raises her cup to meet yours.

“This isn’t even mine,” you chuckle before clinking glasses with her.

“Well trust me you’re going to need that shot!” She hurriedly lifted the cup to your lips and felt the liquid burn down your throat. 

“That sucked!” you yelled while making a face.

“Not as much as this…” She mumbled while pouring you another.

“Woah slow down!” you laughed about to stop her, but she handed you the glass again.

“No no… you’ll need that!”

Before you could protest you heard something from behind that made you drop the glass on the floor, everyone’s head turning towards you, the silence deafening. 

“Merry Christmas everyone!” the voice rasped out before turning towards the mess of a noise you made.

There he stood. Looking more amazing than ever. His hair was a light brown, not put together but gorgeously effortless. His cheeks were dusted pink, growing more red by the second as you two stood there taking each other in. The room seemed to start spinning as you took in the man you once knew so fondly. 

He’s changed a lot, yet not at all. His posture was better, long gone was that slouch that used to slump over his guitar in your apartment. His style was still the same, baggy sweaters and sweatpants only this time adorned in name brands that probably cost the same as your semesterly tuition. But his hands. They gleamed in the silver jewelry, rings stacked with bracelets to match. 

Your hands shook as he felt time still staring at the woman he never stopped loving. Your curves hugging your silk red pajamas, fluffy socks with small snowmen. It’s you. It’s always been you.

“y/n” he breathed out. 

“Mark-” you whispered. 

“Oh my God! It’s thee, Mark Lee!” You heard from across the room breaking your eye contact between you two, Mark’s unmoving.

“Dude, you are a legend!” Seungcheol said while motioning to Mark to dap him up. Mark doesn’t look away as he accepts his handshake and mumbles a small thank you. 

“Babe, you never told me you know Mark Lee?” Seungcheol says while wrapping an arm around you, “The pride of our town, man, thee, Mark Lee.”

“Babe?” Mark scoffs while narrowing his eyes at Seungcheol, finally breaking eye contact to take in your two matching pajamas. 

“Not official,” Seungcheol laughs before heading towards the fridge, “But don’t worry, we’ll lock that down soon,” he winks at you before turning back to Mark, “Yo bro, want a drink? I bet you have so many stories, you know, with you being famous and all.”

Mark shook the thousands of angry thoughts away from his mind and managed to shake out a stiff nod accepting the beer and taking a hefty gulp.

“Let me help you clean that,” Mark marches over to your still frozen yet shaking self.

“It’s fine.” you squeak as he kneels starting to pick the glass up with his bare hands.

“Like I’m going to have you hurt yourself…” Mark mumbles while picking the large shards.

Anger began to resurface, along with pain and hurt, “It’s fine, you already did.”

Pushing past him, you run to the bathroom to finally get some air that your lungs didn’t seem to be taking in. Sliding down the door you let the tears fall.

It’s him. It’s him. It’s him.

—

"So, Mark, how do you know y/n?” Seungcheol asked, taking a sip of his beer in the living room. He sat adjacent to Mark, your friends scattered across the room, eyeing the scene in front of them carefully.

Mark forced a smile, hiding the twinge of discomfort. "We've known each other for a few years. We’re friends. Met in grade school. We were… best friends.”

Seungcheol nodded, genuinely interested in getting to know the famous man better. "That's cool. She is a great person. What made you two so close?”

The room took in a quick gasp, Seungcheol too oblivious to notice.

Mark hesitated for a moment, carefully choosing his words. "We just crossed paths naturally, you know? Izaiah and I were friends, played basketball together, and she would always be there. She was always there.”

Seungcheol smiled, oblivious to any underlying tension from Mark’s response. “That’s crazy, dude.”

Mark nods.

“She like, never mentioned you. I always just thought it was her and Kathy as the 4lyfers.”

Mark's eyes flickered, masking the unease he felt. "Yeah, we've always been on good terms. It’s just you know… the new life as an idol and all…”

Mixed knowing looks were exchanged around the room as everybody tried to not scoff at his words.

Seungcheol had no problem talking about himself. He chatted about work, hobbies, and shared interests. Seungcheol's excitement grew, not only did he achieve another level with you today by meeting the rest of your friends, but he also met your longest best friend. He had been contemplating asking you to be his girlfriend, and he couldn't help but share his thoughts with Mark.

"You know, Mark, everyone, I've been thinking about something. Christmas is just around the corner, and I'm planning to ask y/n if she'd like to be my girlfriend. I enjoy spending time with her, and I feel like it's the right time to take things to the next level," Seungcheol confessed, a hint of nervousness in his voice.

Everyone oohed and ahhed at his confession, but everyone’s attention was on Mark.

Mark's forced smile faltered for a moment, his internal struggle evident. "That sounds like a great idea. I hope it works out for you two,” his words tasted like vinegar, his voice laced with jealousy and hurt.

Seungcheol grinned, oblivious to the conflicting emotions in Mark's mind. "Thanks, man. I appreciate your support. I'll make it special for her."

Little did Seungcheol know, the conversation had stirred a storm of resentment within Mark. As he contemplated the upcoming confession, Mark couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy and regret, concealing the complicated history between you two. The holiday season seemed to hold more than just festive cheer; it carried the weight of untold secrets and unspoken feelings.

–

You couldn’t wait in this bathroom forever. You knew that. 

But why the fuck was he here?

He was supposed to be gone at least for three years. At least.

You were still trying to figure everything out with Seungcheol. And how dare he just claim you like that in front of everybody? You weren’t even ready to be in a relationship yet… right?

But why not? Why couldn’t you be?

You took more deep breaths while staring intently in the mirror trying to level yourself. 

You’re fine. You’ve been fine for a long time. He’s old news, and truthfully you’re probably even older news to him. 

Patting under your eyes and straightening out your clothes, you said some affirmations before tugging on the door handle. 

I’m fine. It’s all good.

“There she is!” Kathy shouted while rising to her feet, and rushing over to you, “How are you doing?” she whispered while pulling you softly into a hug.

“You fucking knew didn’t you?” you sneered back with a fake smile.

“So sorry! But no way to get over it completely without ripping the bandaid off completely!” she pouts, “Plus…” she wiggled her eyebrows, “What is the best way to show your ex that you’re doing great? How about a hot new boyfriend?”

You sigh as you mull over her words… maybe Seungcheol would be a great way to rub it into Mark’s face.

“Sorry, y’all!” you present to everyone while making your way to Mark, “Just couldn’t believe my bestie boo was back after all this time!” you shove him hard as you pull him into a threatening hug, “What a Christmas miracle huh?”

“Haha…” Mark chuckled with a confused tone while returning your tight embrace taking in a deep breath of your scent, “Guess Santa came early!”

“Coal would have been just as fine…” you hum pulling away and walking towards Seungcheol and plopping right onto his awaiting lap.

“So Mark,” you start in a sickly sweet voice, “How’s Korea been treating you?”

“It’s good.” He flatly says while throwing daggers towards your happy frame sitting on a more than glee Seungcheol.

“Hmm… And being famous, how’s that?” you uninterestingly reply while playing with Seungcheol’s hair.

“It’s great. But I don’t love having to hide just to go to the store and get some snacks.”

A few laughs ricocheted off the walls from your friends.

“But you’re used to that right?” you turn to him, “Ya know, hiding?”

“Something like that,” he whispered through tight lips. 

“How about being a big-time idol? What’s it like reaching your big dreams?” you make a show of jazz hands emphasizing your sarcasm.

“Not my dreams, not yet,” he sighs his eyes becoming sad.

“Always wanting more, right? Never could be satiated here right?” you felt your anger starting to bubble while you eyed down Mark.

“Woah, y/n, calm down a bit yeah? Mark has probably been through a lot to get where he is now. You gotta respect that!” Seungcheol eased into your ear trying to deescalate the palpable uneasiness from you.

“Oh no, yeah Mark has done a lot!” Izaiah chimes in cutting the tension, “Now enough catching up! Welcome back, Mark! Now let’s play some music, karaoke maybe? And let’s get this Christmas party started!”

Everyone seemed to snap out of the drama scene that was happening in front of them before finally cheering along and dispersing toward different parts of the room.

–

“Y/n,” Seuncheol cleared his throat from behind you during a game of cup pong, “I think Mark might have like a thing for you or something…” 

You turned to him with frantic eyes, “No! No! No, he wouldn’t. That’s dumb. You’re dumb. He’s dumb. Why would you say something so dumb?” you quickly spew.

“I don’t know… He keeps staring at you like he wants to eat you or something…” he whispers into your ear pulling you closer, his hands wandering down your backside before landing on your rear, “I mean I don’t blame him, you are very attractive and the best girl I’ve been around in a long time, but he probably has millions of girls begging at his feet. He’s got to leave you alone.”

Mark stood at the other end of the table watching the interaction, the cup he was forced to chug about to succumb to his tight grip. 

“Yeah, millions…” you whisper before aiming at one of his cups and it ultimately missing.

“You know I’ve been thinking about something, something about us…” Seungcheol says as he reracks the cups, “I was thinking about locking us down before Christmas time, how does that sound?”

Seungcheol’s words felt uncomfortable as they sat in your heart. You didn’t like having this conversation with Mark just a yard or so away. It didn’t feel genuine. It felt like a petty attempt to ward Mark away from you. A trophy to hang off his shoulder. 

“What a weird thing to bring up now, hm?” you dismiss him before taking aim once again.

“Come on! We’ve been seeing each other for a few months now! I’m into you, and you are definitely into me, what’s holding you back now?”

His words deemed to be a bit too loud as Mark interrupted Seungcheol’s confession by hitting him right on the forehead with the ball.

“Whoops! Sorry dude.” Mark muses disengenuinesly. 

“Watch it bro,” Seungcheol mutters tossing the ball back, “If I didn’t know any better I would have thought it was on purpose…” 

“Just… get your head in the game,” you whisper to Seungcheol as you take the shot that Izaiah seemed to sink in the meantime. 

Seungcheol shook his head. Shortly after, you two admitted defeat as Mark sunk the last cup on your side.

The drinks seemed too keep flowing down your throat, each drink blurring the feelings of Mark and Seungcheol. You just needed to make it through the night, after that you can deal with the mess. 

As the night progresses, you start to realize that maybe you have had  indulged in one too many drinks. Your laughter became louder, your movements became slower. Seungcheol starts to notice the change in your behavior, concern etching his features.

“Hey, you okay? Maybe you should slow down on the drinks a bit yeah?” He says while steadying your rocking frame.

“I’m fine, Seungcheol! It’s Christmas, the end of the semester, let’s enjoy!” 

“Alright little angel, your wish is my command!” He chuckles before grabbing your hand and making his way towards the minibar.

The alcohol, however, takes its toll, and your antics became increasingly unpredictable. Everything seemed to happen so fast, you almost didn’t realize what was happening. Seungcheol accidentally bumps into someone while trying to guide you through the room. The person, annoyed, confronts Seungcheol.

“Watch where you’re going bro!” Yelled Mark as he stands up quickly and starts wiping at his now stained sweater.

“It was an accident okay, calm down big shot.” Seungcheol annoying says while pulling you forward.

“Didn’t seem like an accident,” Mark retorts while pushing Seungcheol.

“What the hell is your problem dude?” Seungcheol says while letting go of your hand to size him up.

“Absolutely nothing.” Mark seethes while getting closer. His eyes shift to your spinning inebriated frame.

“Let me just give my girl a drink Mark.”

“I think she’s actually ready to go, come on y/n” Mark replies while grabbing you before you fell to the floor.

“Dude, what the hell? Get your hands off of her, she’s fine. Izaiah, pour me two more shots! One for me and one for my graduate!” Seungcheol hollers while trying to pull your other arm.

“Woah I’m on a cruise!” You drunkenly sigh as they pull you both ways.

“Yo! Let go of her, she’s going to yak!” Mark shouts before just lifting you up to run you outside.

“I’m gonna yak!” You shout as Mark’s running had you bouncing up and down.

Mark made it just in time to Izaiah’s front yard before you started throwing your guts up.

“My-“

“Don’t worry I got your hair,” Mark coos as he gathers up your hair into a ponytail.

“You always know what to do Markie,” you sigh as you fell onto your side, hands massaging your stomach.

Seungcheol rushes outside with a water bottle in hand, knees falling to the ground to hold your head up.

“How did you know she was going to throw up?” Seungcheol asks quietly while feeding you the water slowly, “Did you two drink a lot before you left?”

“She says she’s on a cruise then she’ll throw up right after,” Mark smiles then joins you two on the floor, “Never surprised me.”

“Mark just tell me straight up.” Seungcheol clears his throat, “do you want my girl?”

“I’m not your girllll…” you slur with saliva dripping down your chin, “Stop calling me that!” You hiccup before starting to drift off into sleep.

Seungcheol sighs, “Mark, if you two are best friends, why did she never mention you? Why did she all of a sudden start acting weird when you showed up today? What is everyone not telling me? So tell me, are you in love with y/n?”

Mark finally took his eyes off of you to meet Seungcheol’s accusation, “Yes I love her. I never stopped.”

Seungcheol clicks his tongue, “I knew it, just from the way you’ve been staring at her! Look bro, just so we’re clear-“

Mark cuts him off, “No, just so we’re clear, she’s mine. She always has been. It was a mistake to leave her a year ago. But I’m back, and no matter how hard you try to come and take her from me, she’ll always know that I’m the one for her.”

“I won’t let you take y/n away from me. Now go back to Korea and keep singing your little songs. She’s moved on from you.”

Everything was still as the two stared each other down. Despite your in and out consciousness. You heard every word. He still loves you. After all this time, you had to admit you still loved him too. But he left, and soon he’ll leave again. You have to move on.

“What’s her favorite song?” Mark whispered.

“Sunday Morning, easy.” Seungcheol shrugs

Correct.

“What’s her favorite color?” 

“Pastel blue.”

Correct.

“Why did she want to become an English major?”

“Because she loves to write.”

“Sure, but why does she love to write?”

“I don’t know man, she just likes to write, she’s always writing.”

“She likes to write because,” Mark sighs while staring at the sky, “she has all these thoughts in her head and she needs to let them out on paper for her to think straight. She writes because she thinks if she talks, no one will remember, and her words will outlive her. She writes not because she likes it, but because she needs to. It’s her dream to have others listen to her and feel something.”

You tried to stifle the tears in your eyes, so neither of them would notice you were awake. Mark was right. He always was, he understood you in ways that you never had to convey, he just knew. 

“You’ve known her since you were kids, of course you would know that. I’ve known her for a couple months, I’m sure in time she would have told me.” Seungcheol scoffs.

“She never told me,” Mark whispers while sparring one last glance at you then brushing off his jeans, “Make sure she gets home safe, Seungcheol. She’ll want kimchi fried rice, an iced coffee, and a cut persimmon with the skin off in the morning. Take care of her for as long as she’ll let you.”

Mark leaves as Seungcheol lifts your tired frame, your eyes unable to stop the tears coming out any longer until you fell asleep on the car ride home.

—

December 9, 2023

“What do you want for Christmas?” Seungcheol asks as you two lay on the sofa at your apartment watching some cheesy Hallmark movie. You haven’t been able to move all day. Somehow the lingering feeling of a hangover lasting a week, keeping you rooted to your couch huddled in blankets.

“Ah, nothing really,” you sigh huffing as the main female protagonist kisses the lead male, “not really feeling the Christmas spirit this year.”

“What are you actually going on about?” Seungcheol laughs, “you put your Christmas tree up on November 1st. You baked snowman cookies and set up a hot cocoa bar? That is the penultimate Christmas experience!” 

You blew at your bangs and rolled your eyes before turning the TV off. 

“Christmas just presents unrealistic expectations and and gets people’s hopes up for nothing. So overrated.”

Seungcheol sighs then begin pacing the room, “I think you need to get out of the house. I know you got sick after the party, and although you can be quite the messy yet funny drunk, I have cleared you well enough to leave the apartment!”

Hungover is now an understatement. The mention of the Christmas party glazes over your eyes and your throat feels tight. 

“I miss you, y/n.”

I miss Mark.

Hold on. What the fuck are you saying? No you don’t. 

“Let’s go shopping!” Seuncheol yells while heading into your closet to find you an outfit, “head to the shower, respectfully babe, you lowkey stink.”

There’s no point in fighting him. Maybe you need some fresh air.

The mall was packed. It was buzzing with Christmas cheer, lights twinkling in every window, the smell of cinnamon and pine wafting through the air. You pull your coat tighter around her, trying to shake off the heaviness in her chest. It should’ve been the perfect day to soak in the holiday spirit, especially with Seungcheol by her side. He was grinning ear to ear, pointing out everything from festive scarves to ridiculous holiday mugs, clearly enjoying himself.

"You think you could pull off this reindeer sweater?" he teased, holding up a bright red knit with a goofy-looking reindeer plastered across it.

Y/N chuckled softly, her heart not quite in it. "You’d look way better in it," she replied, nudging him gently.

Seungcheol laughed, oblivious to the sadness clouding her thoughts. Every corner of the mall felt like a reminder of Mark. This was where they used to spend hours just loitering until they were forced to leave by security. You remembered being young and dumb teens trying different mismatched outfits and forcing each other to wear them around the rest of the day. The bright green sign of Yogurt Mountain reminding you of Mark not being able to turn off the machine ending in the frozen yogurt spilling all on the floor. The memories felt like ages ago, so nostalgic but painful. It had been a year since you two broke up, but the memories still lingered, tugging at you as you tried to shake them off.

Seungcheol’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts. "Hey, let’s check out this store! I think I found the perfect gift for you," he said with excitement, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward a small boutique.

You forced a smile, wanting to be present, wanting to enjoy this moment with him. But your gaze always seemed to drift, catching a glimpse of the jewelry shop across the way. As luck would have it…

Mark.

He was there, casually browsing a display of bracelets and rings, completely unaware of your presence. His frame was unassuming, all dressed in black. His face was hidden beneath a baseball cap, the perfect disguise for an idol unwanting to be seen and regain even a fraction of normalcy. But you would recognize him anywhere. You froze, unable to pull your eyes away.

Seungcheol, still focused on the display in front of him, started talking about a delicate silver necklace he thought would look good on you, but you weren't listening. You watched as a few people started to notice Mark. Then, in an instant, everything changed. Paparazzi flooded the scene, cameras flashing, voices yelling his name.

Mark’s expression shifted from calm to panicked. Y/N could see the tension in his shoulders as the crowd pressed closer. He backed away, his hands shaking as he tried to escape the chaos. The noise seemed to blur, and all you could think was how this was the side of his life he probably hated most—the relentless pressure, the invasion of privacy.

Mark’s breaths became shallow, his eyes wide as he struggled to keep it together, and before you realized what you was doing, you had started toward him, concern overtaking you.

But Seungcheol called your name softly, pulling you back to reality. "Y/N? Are you okay? You seemed distracted." He looked at you, concern written on his face, and for a second, you considered telling him everything—about Mark, about how hard it was to shake the past.

But you didn’t. Not yet.

You glanced back toward the jewelry shop, but Mark was gone, swallowed up by the crowd. The moment passed, and you turned back to Seungcheol, offering him a soft smile.

"I’m fine," you said, trying to mean it. "Let’s keep looking."

–

Mark was not fine.

“Mark! What’s it like being home?”

“Mark! Who are you shopping for? Someone special?”

“Mark! Care to comment on rumors of you and fellow idol Miyeon dating?”

“Mark! Is it true you will be the new leader of the next subunit of NCT?”

Mark really though he could just keep his head down as he walked through the mall. 

“All you need is a hat to cover your face, maybe a face mask, and you’ll be fine!” He can hear his older member, Johnny in his ears. Obviously, the terrible advice from over the phone proved to be very wrong.

It was supposed to be a quick trip—get a few Christmas gifts, maybe grab something to eat, and get out before anyone recognized him. But, of course, that was too much to ask.

It started with a couple of fans who spotted him near the jewelry store. A few whispers, a camera phone raised, and within seconds, it spiraled. The murmurs grew louder, and the crowd thickened, flashing cameras following every step.

"Mark! Over here!" someone yelled, their voice cutting through the noise.

His heart raced as the mob of paparazzi and fans surged around him, closing in too quickly. They were everywhere—voices overlapping, questions hurled at him, hands reaching out. The flashing lights blinded him, the noise overwhelming as they shouted his name, desperate for a reaction.

He tried to move away, but there was no escape. His breaths came faster, shallow and uneven, his chest tightening painfully. The world spun, and his pulse thudded in his ears, drowning out the chaos for a brief moment.

He can’t breathe.

Mark’s hands trembled as he pushed through the crowd, his vision narrowing, everything becoming a blur of faces and flashes. He needed to get out. He needed air. But every step he took, the crowd pressed in closer, suffocating him.

His legs moved on autopilot, driven by the single thought of escape. That’s when he saw it—the bright, colorful sign of a Build-A-Bear store up ahead. Without thinking, he bolted toward it, slipping through the doors and collapsing against the wall just inside, the noise of the crowd finally muffled by the glass.

The smell of soft fabrics and the sound of cheery music greeted him, a stark contrast to the madness outside. His breathing was ragged, his hands still shaking as he pressed them against his knees, trying to calm the rising panic.

One of the employees, a young girl with a Santa hat on, looked up from the counter, startled. Her eyes widened when she realized who he was, but instead of rushing over, she stayed where she was, giving him space.

Mark closed his eyes, focusing on the sound of his own heartbeat, willing it to slow down. He took a deep breath, then another, the plush toys around him oddly soothing. The calm atmosphere of the shop felt like a small bubble of peace, a stark difference to the chaos outside.

"Hey," a soft voice called from nearby. He opened his eyes to see the employee standing a few feet away, holding a small teddy bear. "I thought you might want something to hold," she said gently, offering it to him with a kind smile.

He hesitated for a moment before reaching out and taking the bear, the soft fur comforting beneath his fingertips. His breathing steadied, the tension slowly easing from his body. He sank onto a nearby bench, clutching the bear to his chest like a lifeline.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, still catching his breath.

She nodded, understanding in her eyes. "Take your time," she said before quietly retreating back to the counter, leaving him in peace.

For a few minutes, Mark just sat there, cradling the bear and letting the panic subside. Outside the store, he could see the paparazzi through the glass, still waiting, still searching for him. But for now, inside the Build-A-Bear, he was safe, wrapped in a strange, quiet comfort that he desperately needed.

After some time, Mark was finally able to stand. With wobbly knees he lifted his eyes, his sweaty palms finally loosening his grip on the small bear. Taking in his surroundings, he finally realized how pathetic he felt. How alone he felt. Most of the crowd has disappeared by that point, probably escorted out by security due to the safety concerns. 

“I’m sorry for the startle,” he finally spoke to the girl at the register.

“No need to apologize,” she smiled, “it can’t be easy living like this huh?” she softly says. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this.”

Mark felt like he needed to pace so he roamed the plush store, feeling comforted by the empty skins of the various options. In a weird way, he related to this sad, sad, shell of a bunny. 

He held up it’s limp body, it’s smile sewn on, never to be changed. But it was empty. 

“This is the life I chose, this is the life I will love,” he whispers holding the sagging brown bunny close.

“Do you wanna stuff it?” The girl from the register asks from behind, “they’re kind of weird when they are all sitting there sad and limp like that, but I swear they come out very cute. Great presents too!”

Mark contemplated for a moment before agreeing. 

“I’ll lead you through it okay? It’s kind of weird but I am obligated to do the heart ceremony with you,” she giggles. 

“Rub your heart in your hands for warmth.” 

Mark closes his eyes and rubs his hands imaging warmth. The last time he felt true warmth was an embrace from you.

“Pat your heart, for your friends heart beat forever,”

Mark pats his chest while clearing his throat. Has his heart really kept beating since leaving you?

“Rub it on your head, for smart thoughts,”

Mark chuckles at the thought. His little scholar… he can imagine you with your hair up in a claw clip chewing at the tip of an apple pencil planning out your paper… his little graduate.

Fuck. 

His graduate. 

You graduate next week.

“I see that you have someone in mind…” the girl laughs while she picks up the bunny, “if you’re looking for a sign, I’ll say it. Yes, you should give it to her.”

Mark perks up, “do you have any graduate outfits for the bunny?”

She laughs while taking the bunny out of his hands prepping to stuff it with fluff, “slow down there mr. romantic, we will dec out this bunny in no time.”

Mark walked out 30 minutes later with two boxes and a new pep in his step.

It’s time to get his girl back.

---

LET'S GO MARK!!! orrrr are you team seungcheol???

have a happy new year everyone <3

xoxo

foreva mark

[yeahyeah88]

i want to make ultrakill stickers so so bad!!!!

[eye-scream-girls]

I've been keeping a video diary for the past two years to help with my ruined 🌟 mental health 🌟 and I officially stopped on new years day this year, as it served its purpose perfectly and Oh My God I am loving not having to capture something everyday, it's been a big relief to just exist and let time flow without reminding myself to document anything. It was exactly what I needed in 2022 to help me reconnect with my physical body and recognise my face and see myself in my own life the way I needed it, and in 2023 it was perfect for capturing my joys and loved ones and everything I was grateful or proud of, and now I'm ready to just live organically and I am Loving not having to take a video everyday!! Ugh its so good.

[b0r3dtod3ath]

Survived a cricket match!

♡ navigation / request info / f1 masterlist

♡ warnings: none

♡ an: requests are open and give me some feedback on this!

It was one of these rare weeks where Oscar wasn’t tied up with racing commitments, and he’d managed to snag a couple of tickets for the big game.

You, on the other hand, knew nothing about cricket. Sure, you had caught a glimpse a few times when Oscar was watching a match on his phone but you never fully grasped it.

You two arrive at the sun-soaked stadium that was filled with team colors, waving flags and chanting. Oscar tried to explain the basics of the game during your walk to the seats but most of it went in one ear and exited through another.

As the match started you tried to follow along but failed. You looked at Oscar, whose eyes full of excitement and anticipation looked at the field. You didn’t want to interrupt him but you were really lost. Finally you spoke up in a half-whisper “Oscar, I don’t think I get it. So it’s like baseball? But longer? I have no idea what’s happening”.

He chuckled and squeezed your hand, finding your confusion cute. "Okay, so the bowler-" he pointed to the man with the ball, "-is trying to hit the stumps behind the batsman. And the batsman-" he shifted his finger, "-is trying to score runs by hitting the ball and running back and forth between the wickets”.

You blinked. "Runs? Wickets? What are stumps again?"

"Alright, let’s start simpler," he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.

For the next twenty minutes, Oscar patiently explained the rules. You tried to follow, but every time you thought you understood something, a new term would pop up and scramble your brain.

At one point, you leaned into Oscar. “Why is it called a ‘googly’? That’s not a real word”.

He laughed, “It’s a type of delivery by a bowler. Trust me, it’s a real thing”.

"Oscar, this is so confusing. Can’t they just run laps or something? That’d be easier to follow”.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "You’re impossible” he teased.

"Not my fault! Who even decided to make a game last this long?" you shot back and slumped in your seat “I think I’m going to bring a book tomorrow”.

The next day, you showed up armed with a book and a thermos of tea. Oscar saw you take out your stuff and burst out laughing. "Tea now? Are you setting up a whole library in the stands?"

"Hey, cricket’s long. I’m prepared for the marathon," you replied, holding up your supplies. "You focus on whatever this is, and I’ll focus on my chapters. Deal?"

"Deal," he replied, clearly amused. "But don’t come crying to me if you miss the best parts".

"Don't worry, I won't" you say opening your book.

Throughout the game, you occasionally peeked up at the field when Oscar got particularly animated. "See that?" he shouted at one point, gesturing wildly.

"Totally," you replied without looking up from your book.

"You didn’t see a thing," he accused, narrowing his eyes.

You grinned. "But I heard the crowd, so I know something good happened." He shook his head, laughing, and gave your hand a squeeze before turning back to the game.

When the final innings began, you leaned over to him. "So… are we winning?".

He sighed dramatically. "You don’t even know who we are, do you?"

"The yellow ones?” you asked hesitantly.

Oscar laughed, shaking his head. “Yes, the yellow ones. You’re lucky you’re cute”. He winked. Despite your disinterest, he didn’t seem annoyed.

Apparently the game ended with your team winning and the two of you were making your way to the car. "So, what do you think?”

You smiled, “Honestly? It was long and I still don’t think I get it. But I had fun just being here with you”.

Oscar wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “That’s all that matters. Besides, now you can say you’ve survived a cricket match”.

You laughed, leaning into him “Survived is the key word”.

“Thanks for coming with me, even if it’s not your thing”.

December 29, 2024

[neferaskingdom]

♡ The Great Christmas Yard-Off | MV1

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: Y/n decides to join the neighborhood Christmas yard decorating contest. Somehow it ends with Max and George at war with each other.

A/N: I wanted to try my hand at a Christmas series. I plan on uploading 12 fics but we'll see. I choose to do this with George because apparently George and Max are beefing now?. Also guys please send some inspiration my way cuz deciding to make this series was a totally impulsive decision.

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

The holidays had always been your favorite time of the year. The twinkling lights, the smell of gingerbread, the comforting hum of Christmas carols — it all felt like a warm embrace. And this year, you and Carmen were determined to make it even more special. You both had signed up for the neighborhood’s annual Christmas yard decorating contest. 

Max on the other hand didn’t give two shits about Christmas. He tolerated your festive spirit because you loved it, and every December, your shared home transformed into a holiday wonderland. You handled the decorations, baking, and cheesy Christmas playlists, while Max provided the occasional muscle for hanging lights and reaching the high shelves. It was a system that worked.

Until George Russell opened his big mouth.

It started at a padel game. You and Carmen were sitting nearby, swapping ideas for the neighborhood Christmas yard decorating contest while Max and George squared off on the court. You weren’t even halfway through explaining your plans when George’s ears perked up.

“We’re doing the yard decorating contest?” George said, wiping sweat off his forehead as he approached. His interest was piqued, and that was never a good sign.

“Yeah,” Carmen replied cautiously. “Why?”

George grinned, leaning casually on his racket. “This is going to be fun we’ve got this in the bag”

You and Carmen exchanged a look, bemused. “We do?” Carmen asked, crossing her arms.

George beamed. “Obviously we do! Especially since I’ll be helping”

You snorted. “What does that even mean?”

“It means that I have impeccable taste,” George said smugly.

At this, Max snorted from across the court. “It’s just inflatables and fairy lights. Relax, mate.”

George turned to him, his grin widening. “Says the guy who probably hasn’t even untangled his lights yet.”

Max froze, narrowing his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like,” George replied, clearly enjoying himself. “I’m just saying, you probably lack the creative vision to pull off anything more sophisticated than a blinking Rudolph.”

“Creative vision?” Max repeated incredulously

“Exactly. It’s not just about the lights or the inflatables!” George replied, puffing out his chest. “It’s about taste. Sophistication. Something you wouldn’t understand, Verstappen.”

Max just glared, his jaw tightening. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” George said, the smugness practically radiating off him.

It was at that moment you saw the shift in Max’s demeanor. What had started as a casual exchange turned into something much more dangerous: a challenge.

By the time you got home, Max was fully committed to the cause.

“Okay,” he said, pacing the living room. “What’s the strategy?”

You stared at him blankly from your spot on the couch, where you’d been happily sipping hot chocolate and scrolling through Pinterest for DIY ideas. “What strategy?”

“For the yard. To beat George,” Max replied, as if it were obvious.

“Max,” you began slowly, “this isn’t about beating anyone. It’s Christmas.”

Max stopped pacing to look at you. “It is about beating someone. George thinks he’s going to win, and I’m not letting that happen.”

“Why do you care?” you asked, genuinely baffled. “You didn’t even want to help decorate two hours ago.”

“That was before George made it personal,” Max said, grabbing his phone. “Right. I need to order lights. Big ones.”

You groaned, already sensing this was spiraling out of control.

“Max,” you said, trying to keep your voice calm. “You don’t even care about Christmas.”

“I care about not losing to George bloody Russell,” 

The first couple of days were peaceful enough. You stuck to your original plan of simple, tasteful decorations, while Carmen did the same across the street. But then George upped the ante.

“Have you seen this?” Max stormed into the kitchen, waving his phone at you.

On the screen was a picture of George’s front yard. He had installed a massive inflatable snowman wearing a Santa hat and, inexplicably, a Mercedes team jacket.

“Is that…branded merchandise?” you asked, squinting at the screen.

“Oh, it’s on,” Max growled, grabbing his coat.

“Where are you going?”

“To the hardware store.”

“What for?”

“To buy everything.”

“Max, let it go,” you said exasperated,

“Let it go? Let it go?” Max repeated, scandalized. “You don’t let things go when you’re trying to win.”

You sighed. “We’re not trying to win. We’re trying to have fun.”

Max ignored you, muttering something about needing to rent a ladder.

Across the street, Carmen was facing her own struggles.

“George,” she said firmly, “I thought we agreed this was my thing.”

George was busy attaching halos to his newly erected nativity scene. “It’s our thing, darling. A team effort.”

“You’re hogging the team effort!” Carmen snapped.

“Nonsense,” George replied, stepping back to admire his work. “Do you think the fog machine is too much?”

“Fog machine?” Carmen repeated, aghast. “Are you kidding me?”

“It adds character,” George insisted.

“It looks like a rave!”

It wasn’t long before the antics escalated.

One morning, Max woke you up at the ungodly hour of 6 a.m., shaking your shoulder. “Y/n, wake up! Emergency.”

“What?” you groaned, sitting up. “Is the house on fire?”

“No, but George sabotaged Santa!” Max exclaimed, holding his phone up to show you the security footage of the animatronic Santa in your yard. Its mechanical arm, which was supposed to wave cheerfully, was instead frozen in a position that looked suspiciously like it was flipping people off.

“Sabotaged?” you repeated, rubbing your eyes. “Max, it’s probably just broken.”

“It’s sabotage,” Max said with absolute certainty.

That morning, George’s inflatable reindeer mysteriously deflated.

“Max,” you hissed when you caught him sneaking back inside with scissors in hand. “What did you do?”

“I’m was just trimming the hedges,” he said innocently.

“With kitchen scissors? At five in the morning?”

“I just wanted to be done with it early,” he replied, giving you a cheeky grin.

George wasn’t innocent either. That evening, Max’s synchronized sleigh started playing an obnoxiously distorted version of "Jingle Bells."

“That son of a—” Max growled, storming out to fix it.

From your vantage point on the porch, you saw George leaning against his front door, sipping tea and waving smugly.

By the weekend, both yards were unrecognizable. Max had rented a cherry picker to string lights on the trees, creating a display so bright it could probably be seen from space. George retaliated by adding a life-sized nutcracker army to his yard, complete with sound effects.

You and Carmen sat together on the porch, sipping mulled wine and watching the madness unfold.

“They’re insane,” Carmen said flatly.

“Completely unhinged,” you agreed.

“Do you think we should try to stop them?”

“Not a chance,” you replied, taking a sip of your drink. “They’d probably turn on us. Just let them tire themselves out”

When judgment day arrived, the tension was palpable. Max and George stood in their respective yards, glaring at each other like two prizefighters about to enter the ring.

Then Sebastian Vettel pulled up in an electric car, stepping out with a clipboard in hand.

“What the hell is Seb doing here?” Max whispered, frowning.

You shrugged. “I have no idea”

“Why would Seb be judging a Christmas contest?”

“Why are you treating this like a world championship?” you shot back.

Across the street, George was equally confused. “Seb?” he called out, waving. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m the judge,” Seb replied simply.

“Why?” George asked.

Seb shrugged. “Why not?”

For the next hour, Sebastian walked up and down the street, inspecting each yard with an inscrutable expression. When he reached Max’s yard, he tilted his head.

“It’s...bright,” Seb said diplomatically.

“It’s also synchronized!” Max said proudly, hitting a remote to start the light show.

Seb blinked as the display erupted into a cacophony of lights and music, the animatronic Santa jerking its arm wildly.

“Interesting choice,” Seb said, jotting something down.

When he got to George’s yard, he paused at the nativity scene. The fog machine puffed dramatically, obscuring the baby Jesus.

“Very…cinematic,” Seb commented.

“It adds to the atmosphere,” George corrected with a grin.

Seb nodded slowly. “Hmm.”

Finally, he reached Nico Rosberg’s house. Honestly speaking you had kind of forgotten he was even in the competition. Nico’s yard was a chaotic mix of DIY decorations—crooked garlands, hand-painted ornaments, and a slightly lopsided tree. His two young daughters were bustling around the yard, stringing up a series of haphazardly cut-out stars and paper garlands. A few hand-painted reindeer made of cardboard were scattered across the lawn. It was the polar opposite of both Max and George’s gaudy, over-the-top displays.

“What’s this?” Seb asked, intrigued.

Nico poked his head out the door, a mug of coffee in hand. “Oh, the girls did the whole thing. It's kind of last minute cuz I forgot all about the competition.”

Seb’s face lit up. “The girls? They did this?”

“Yeah, they love this kind of stuff,” Nico said with a shrug.

Seb nodded approvingly, turning back to the yard. “It’s heartfelt and homemade. Captures the true spirit of Christmas.”

Max and George stared at him in horror as Seb marked something on his clipboard.

“I think I’ve found the winner,” Seb said. “Yup, this is the one.”

“You’re giving it to that?” Max sputtered, gesturing wildly at Nico’s yard “He’s got two cardboard reindeer! You can’t just—what?”

George stared in shock, unable to process the sight. “This... this looks like a kindergarten craft project.”

Seb turned to them with a calm smile. “Your yards look like a commercial for overconsumption. Nico’s daughters made something meaningful.”

Nico just stood there confused, while his daughters proudly adjusted the crooked garlands and DIY decorations they had made. “What?” Nico said, looking around. “Wait, we won?”

Sebastian smiled. “Yes. This yard shows the real spirit of Christmas. It’s genuine, heartfelt, and doesn’t rely on flashy lights or over-the-top theatrics.”

Max was in absolute shock. “We lost... to Nico Rosberg?” 

George looked equally scandalized. “But we put so much effort into this!”

“Effort doesn’t always mean better,” Seb said sagely.

Nico laughed nervously. “I mean, my daughters just wanted to make something fun. It’s not that great.”

Sebastian held up a trophy. “It’s perfect. And you’re the winner.”

Max flopped down on the couch next to you, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, and his face twisted in frustration. He was still sulking about losing the Christmas yard competition, and it was clear he wasn’t letting it go anytime soon.

“I can’t believe we lost to Nico Rosberg,” Max grumbled, throwing his head back dramatically. “Nico. Nico won because he brought his daughters into it. It’s like they manipulated Sebastian with their cuteness! That’s not fair.”

You bit your lip to hold back a laugh, but you could tell this was no laughing matter to Max. He was seriously upset. You scooted closer to him, putting a hand on his arm in an attempt to comfort him.

“Max, it’s just a silly contest,” you said softly. “It doesn’t really matter who won. You had the best lights and decorations, okay?”

Max let out a heavy sigh and turned to look at you, his eyes filled with exaggerated indignation. “No, it’s not okay! I worked so hard on that display. And then Nico just... has his little girls do all the work, and bam! They win! What was I supposed to do? I’m not going to bring a bunch of random kids to decorate for me!”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, nudging him playfully. “Yeah, I don’t think that would have been a good look.”

Max’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “You know... maybe I’ve figured it out. Maybe that’s what we’ve been missing. If we had a kid, they’d be adorable, and there’s no way Sebastian would resist that kind of cuteness. I’m telling you, we would definitely win next year.”

You blinked, staring at him in disbelief. “Wait... what? Max, are you seriously suggesting we have a baby just to win a Christmas decoration competition?”

Max shrugged, a sly grin creeping across his face. “Why not? If Nico can win by using his daughters, we could do the same. Imagine it: one little Verstappen decorating the yard, all wide-eyed and cute. Sebastian wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Your heart nearly stopped. “Max, no. Absolutely not. You cannot possibly think about having a child just to win a Christmas contest.”

Max didn’t pay any attention to your protests. He was already scheming, his eyes lighting up with excitement. “I’m telling you, it’s genius. We get the kid involved, and next thing you know, Sebastian’s giving us the trophy. It’s foolproof.”

You grabbed his arm, still flustered, but now more worried about where this conversation was going. “Max, no. You’re not thinking straight. You can’t just—that’s not how things work.”

Max leaned back against the couch, crossing his arms behind his head, looking far too pleased with himself. “I don’t know, Y/n, I think I’m onto something big here.”

Max grinned mischievously, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Well, if we want to win next year’s Christmas contest…” He paused, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper, “maybe it’s time we make that baby, schat.”

Before you could even respond, Max pounced on you, wrapping you in his arms and planting a playful kiss on your lips, causing you to squeak in surprise. You pushed him away lightly, laughing. “Max, you’re impossible!”

He just smirked. “Maybe. But think about it—one little Verstappen running around decorating. We’d definitely win.”

You rolled your eyes, still flustered, but couldn't stop the smile that crept onto your face at that thought. "You're ridiculous."

Max winked. "But you love me anyway."

[highblkfemsociety]

Finishing Strong: A Guide to Ending the Year with Intention

Hello Beautiful,

As we enter the final quarter of the year, it’s time to reassess, realign, and step into our power. For the high-achieving woman, Q4 is the perfect opportunity to manifest abundance, success, and peace. The last stretch of the year can be incredibly transformative if you take the time to focus on intentional growth and clarity. This guide will help you make the most of it.

Vision Boarding: Your Visual Blueprint for Success

A vision board is more than just a collection of inspiring images— it’s a visual roadmap to your goals. As the year draws to a close, this tool can help you stay aligned with your deepest desires and prevent distractions from trends that may not serve your higher purpose.

Why Vision Boarding Works:

Clarifies intentions: Visualizing your goals helps solidify them in your mind.

Amplifies focus: It’s easier to stay on track when you can see success every day.

Boosts motivation: A visual reminder reignites passion when the journey gets tough.

Tracks progress: As you achieve goals, you can reflect on how far you’ve come.

Encourages self-reflection: It’s a tool for assessing what truly matters to you, even as life shifts.

How to Create an Inspiring Vision Board:

Set your intentions: Before you begin, ask yourself what you truly want to manifest in the final months of the year. Be specific. Is it financial abundance? Career growth? Deeper self-love?

Gather visuals: Find images, quotes, and affirmations that align with your intentions. These can come from magazines, online, or even personal photographs that symbolize your goals.

Display with purpose: Place your vision board somewhere you’ll see it daily. It could be your workspace, bedroom, or even your phone wallpaper—wherever it can regularly inspire you.

Review regularly: As the quarter progresses, check in with your board. Adjust it as needed, whether adding new goals or removing old ones.

Vision boarding is not just about aesthetics; it’s a way to stay grounded in your purpose and connected to your inner desires. This practice empowers you to remain authentic and committed to meaningful objectives, ensuring you don’t stray from your path as the year winds down.

Journaling for Clarity: Unlocking Your True Potential

Along with vision boarding, journaling is an essential practice for self-discovery and personal growth. It allows you to access your innermost thoughts, uncover desires, and identify areas where you need to pivot or push harder.

The Benefits of Journaling for Clarity:

Fosters self-awareness: Writing helps you process emotions and ideas, leading to deeper understanding.

Refines your objectives: Journaling can reveal what’s most important to you, helping to prioritize goals.

Uncovers hidden strengths: Often, we don’t recognize our capabilities until we reflect on them through writing.

Helps you strategize: By identifying potential obstacles, you can develop plans to overcome them.

Enhances focus and motivation: Regular journaling keeps your objectives clear, making it easier to stay disciplined.

Journaling Prompts for a Powerful Q4:

What do I want to achieve by the end of this year?

What obstacles have held me back in the past, and how can I overcome them?

What are my strengths, and how can I leverage them to reach my goals?

How do I want to feel when I look back on this year in December?

What am I grateful for right now, and how can I use that energy to propel me forward?

When you make journaling a part of your daily routine, you create space for clarity and creativity. This practice is especially powerful for manifesting success and growth because it fosters a mindset of continuous self-improvement and reflection.

Mindset Shifts: The Power of Affirmations and Mental Resets

The final quarter is not just about working toward your goals but also about transforming your mindset to support your journey. Affirmations and mental resets are two key strategies for doing this.

Why Mindset Matters:

Success isn’t just about hard work; it’s about believing you are worthy of the results. Affirmations are a daily tool to remind yourself of your power and potential. Whether you say them in front of a mirror or write them in your journal, affirmations help shift limiting beliefs into empowering ones.

Examples of Affirmations for a Powerful Q4:

I am deserving of all the abundance that is coming my way.

I am capable of achieving everything I set my mind to.

I am worthy of success, love, and happiness.

I trust the process and know that everything is unfolding for my highest good.

I release any doubts and embrace my power fully.

Daily mental resets can also help you stay grounded when challenges arise. These can be as simple as taking a few deep breaths, practicing meditation, or taking a short walk to clear your mind. By intentionally resetting, you can approach tasks with renewed energy and focus.

As the year draws to a close, the fourth quarter provides an opportunity for reflection, growth, and manifestation. Whether through vision boarding, journaling, or affirmations, reclaim your power and finish the year with intention.

How are you planning to end the year with intention? Share your goals and insights below!

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[cinnamonest]

Pulchritudinous

Tohru Adachi x Reader

Words: 9.5k

Finally the day has come. I can write a character as a misogynist incel and know it's genuinely 100% canon. What a blessing.

for this I did a teacher! reader, therefore reader is of unspecified age but older than the main cast.

//VERY DARK, female reader, major p4 spoilers, heavy misogyny because it's Adachi how could there not be, implied stalking, near-death experience, major noncon (”have sex with me or die” scenario), threats of death and bodily harm, references to homicide, hair-pulling, choking, firearms, abduction, TV set shenanigans, Tohru likes pointing guns at people

Also I was too uncreative to think of a different slip of tongue so darling makes basically the exact same mistake Adachi makes in December lmao

Synopsis: As the homeroom teacher of the late murder victim, you’re called into the Inaba police station to answer some questions.

“Okay. Just a few questions.”

You forced a polite smile.

“Sure, go ahead.”

In truth, you felt like you were wasting your time.

You already knew most of what was going on. You already knew things that the police didn't. Sitting here was pointless, answering these questions was pointless — you could give him the truth, sure, but that presented a world of problems. It pretty much went without question that that would be a poor idea — you'd be written off as crazy, especially if it somehow didn't work when they tried to replicate your story. You couldn't risk getting fired, or worse, involuntarily committed over psychiatric concerns or something along those lines.

“Konishi was in your homeroom, right?”

You nodded. “That's correct.”

��And you've been to the Junes she worked at, right?”

“Mhm. Once a week or so.”

“Was she ever working while you were there?”

“I recall seeing her there once or twice.”

Yes, it was such a waste of time it felt frustrating. There was nothing you could say — well, nothing you could reasonably say — that would actually be of any help, as much as you wish there was.

“You were one of the last people to see her alive, right? The school said she came into your classroom right before she left.”

You nodded again. “Yes, she forgot to turn something in earlier the same day, so she came back to give it to me. It was only for a few seconds.”

“Did she say anything about where she was going?”

“Not that I recall. I just assumed she was headed home, or to work.”

“Did she seem to be behaving oddly?”

“Well, ah…” you thought back to the day, hit with a twinge of pain at the recollection. “She did seem like she was in a hurry. But not particularly.”

He wrote a few things down, pen scratching at the notepad.

You fidgeted in place, awkwardly clasping your hands together. “Sorry… I know those answers aren't very helpful.”

“No, no, it’s appreciated,” he assured you, albeit seemingly distracted by his task. You gave a weak smile in acknowledgement.

You hadn't intended to become involved in any of this. Hell, you just wanted a nice, quiet life as a teacher, away from the big cities, a small, quaint school. That was it, that was all you'd asked for — a place where you thought life would be slow and peaceful.

Serial murders were not the sort of thing that was supposed to happen in towns like these.

And even then, at this point you wished the murders themselves were the worst part of it all. You never wanted to be exposed to it all, wished you never slipped into that TV. You wanted a normal life, fully within the realm of reality. Not things that defied reality, things that made you pinch your flesh until the bruises were so numerous you knew you weren't dreaming.

Those kids had saved you then, sure, but now you bore the burden of knowing. Having to be aware of such a thing, the way it weighed on your mind, the endless confusion and disbelief as you still struggled to accept it, having to see those kids’ faces in class each day, having them awkwardly come up to you in town outside of school — a routine by now, wherein they assured you that they were working hard on “the case,” and of course, in awkward roundabout ways, always seeking assurance that you hadn't said a word to anyone else.

You took a deep breath, clearing your mind of such thoughts, turning your attention back to Adachi.

He was trying his best, you told yourself, even if you often felt like he was perhaps not particularly well-suited for police detective work. That dopey smile, that scatterbrained nature, it didn’t seem quite aligned to most people’s idea of a cop — someone who was supposed to be stern, observant, competent.

As for you, well, you'd felt pity for him, between seeing him barked at by Dojima day in and day out, and the general stress the man seemed to be under. You'd gone out of your way to try and be nice to him, even greeted him in public when you saw him — which, given the small world that was Inaba, was fairly often.

You'd been called in for questioning a total of three times, counting today. The first two had been at more convenient hours of the day, whereas today, the detective asked you rather last-minute if you could come in right then and there — inconvenient, sure, but when you considered that it was ultimately for the sake of the poor murdered girl, you couldn't bring yourself to reject coming. Besides, you were the one that found her, it was only natural that you'd be questioned extensively.

Still, there was an issue, one you had noticed as soon as he’d started questioning.

“I don't mean to be rude, but, uh…” You gave your best attempt to be polite, “didn't we… go over most of these questions before?”

He stopped writing. His eyes widened for a moment, but then, they closed as he gave an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his head in a sheepish gesture.

“Well, ah, I may or may not have misplaced the notes from last time… I was hoping you wouldn't notice… haha.”

You did not like the knowledge that this man was responsible for public safety.

Still, out of awkward politeness, you waved your hand dismissively, maintaining the pleasant, not-too-exaggerated smile plastered to your face. “Oh, no worries.”

He looked down to the ground, turning his head a bit to the side wistfully.

“Well, now that you say that, more importantly…”

He trailed off. You raised your eyebrows, tilting your head in curiosity.

He turned his head back towards you, giving you another sheepish smile.

“…To tell you the truth… there's, ah, something else I wanted to ask you about.”

There was something off about the tone with which he spoke those words, an audible indicator that whatever the subject matter he referred to was, would be something uncomfortable, unpleasant, rather than an inquiry of a neutral nature.

You blinked a few times, taken aback by the unexpected shift in atmosphere.

“Oh, uh, okay. What is it?”

There was a moment of pause, as if hesitant. He leaned back against the seat cushions, holding his hand out in an explanatory gesture.

“Well, you know, I'm a pretty observant guy, and the higher-ups have me keeping tabs on various people involved… I tend to notice and remember details, take in everything around me, you know, stuff that goes right over most people's heads.” He paused and, catching the confusion on your face, added, “just to preface. I wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea.”

Yes, something was off. There was a tension in the atmosphere, anticipation making you increasingly uneasy.

But still… polite. You had to be polite. He was a good guy at heart, even if awkward.

“Oh, I'm sure it's fine.” You closed your eyes for a moment as you waved your hand again. “Don't worry, I'm not sensitive or anything.”

He seemed to take that reassuringly, as his posture seemed to relax, but still hesitated a moment more before leaning forward, coming to slouch over with his elbows resting on his thighs, resting his head against one hand.

“…What's a teacher doing hanging out with a bunch of teenage boys so much?”

You hadn't been expecting any one question in particular, nor even had the slightest idea of what he could possibly want to know, but nonetheless, the question he asked was so out of bounds of normality and social appropriateness that it blindsided you completely, leaving you to sit there completely still, slack-jawed and blinking. Still, you forced a smile as you replied.

“…Ah, I… what?”

He smiled as well, seemingly oblivious to your awkward unease.

“Narukami and his friends, I mean.” He tilted his head, gazing off to the side, seemingly trying to present the matter in a nonchalant manner. "I, ah, couldn’t help but notice I saw them talking to you outside of school several times, in all sorts of places.”

“…Narukami?” You tilted your head. “A-ah, well, those kids all… go to Yasogami. So, they're all my students…”

Your thoughts shifted to the kids — your own students, the ones who saved you on that day not long ago at all. And with the thought of them, everything else, all the memories and disbelief and bewilderment, the things you'd tried to push out of your mind for the sake of your own sanity, came rushing back. Your body went stiff.

But of course, you could never even begin to tell Adachi the truth. As much as you wanted to help, you'd be written off as crazy within seconds — saying people could enter an alternate dimension by stepping inside the TV screen was not exactly within the bounds of sanity.

Besides, you still weren't even certain how all that stuff worked, having decided to rid your mind of it and not ask any questions. Even if he was willing to humor you enough to experiment with your claims, what if it didn't work for him? You could envision it now, putting his hand on the TV screen, only for nothing to happen, and the horrible embarrassment to follow.

Then again, the alternative could be even worse — if it did work, what kind of Pandora’s Box would you be opening? Would you be putting people at risk? He was, in the nicest way you could put it, a bit of a dimwit, and you wouldn’t want him doing something rash and getting himself hurt trying to go in.

No, it wasn't even worth entertaining the thought. You clasped your hands together, looking down at the ground, coming up with an explanation on the spot.

“And ever since Konishi was…” You shook your head, pausing for a moment before you continued. “…A lot of those kids have been talking to the faculty… they need someone for comfort… counseling. It's been hard on them. Hanamura and Narukami just happened to come to me.”

“Right, right.”

The phrasing itself was assurance, but somehow, his response didn’t sound entirely convincing, as if insincere, and pressed you to stammer out whatever further defense you could find.

“A-and, ah, Narukami himself is still getting adjusted to living out here and all. He's… from the city, you know.”

“Ah, aha, that makes sense.” He kept up the awkward smile. “I was worried for a minute there… that you were one of those kinds of teachers.”

You blinked, eyes going wide open as the response came out of your mouth on instinct, without any real thought, simply the obvious thing to say to such a statement. “No, no, nothing like that, I…”

You trailed off, not even sure how to continue. The sort-of-accusation hit you with total bewilderment, felt completely unexpected. In what world was that an appropriate thing to ever say to someone, especially with so little evidence? Why would his mind even go to such a trail of thought? It was only the sort of conclusion you could imagine some kind of perverse deviant drawing, and you couldn't imagine him as someone like that.

But you refrained from any strong negative reaction, outwardly at least.

You liked to give people the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was just one of those people that had difficulty understanding social conventions and standards of appropriateness — you'd had students like that in the past, and you liked to think you were a particularly empathetic and understanding person when it came to things of that nature.

“Ah, well, don’t worry, I get it now. Sorry about that… now I feel a little dumb for having asked, hah…”

"Oh, it's, ah, it's fine."

Your response was equally awkward. You knew your discomfort had to be palpable.

He flashed you an awkward smile, but it only lasted a mere second.

And then—

“Well, guess that's it for questioning.”

With those words, he reached over to the small table beside the couch, and turned the light off, leaving the room only dimly lit by lights in the outside hallway, coming in through the half-open door. He then stood up, the dated leather of the couch on his side of the table making a slight sound at the moment.

“A-ah, um, what are—”

Your jaw clamped shut as he quickly ventured around the table and sat down next to you — directly next to you, your thighs touching each other’s. You went rigid, hands clasped together on your lap tightening their grip on each other.

“Don’t worry, I had a feeling you weren’t that sort,” he said, a much lower, more hushed voice. “Still, you should really be more careful… it'd be easy for someone to get the wrong idea.”

Your mouth felt dry. You sensed that the pause was intentional, giving you room to say something in return, yet the utterly bizarre and off-putting shift of the conversation, combined with the sudden proximity and invasion of your personal space, left you silent, slack-jawed, and thus, he filled the silence when you didn’t respond.

“…Speaking of, you're getting kinda up there, age-wise, you know. Kinda surprising you're all by yourself.”

He leaned back against the couch. Alarm bells sounded in your head. You didn't want to be rude, you didn't want to risk overreacting — maybe you had the wrong idea, maybe you were misunderstanding, and then it would look really bad on your part if you acted on that misunderstanding, maybe he wasn't aware of how it was coming off, the possibilities of what was happening flew through your mind all at once. You sat still, but stiff.

He didn't seem to notice.

“You really should start thinking about your future.”

You felt every nerve ending in your body ignite with the discomfort and alarm of unfamiliarity as his arm wrapped around the back side of the couch, coming to touch the back of your neck, forearm resting on your shoulder. The casual hold around you grew tighter, his arm pushing you inward towards him.

“You know, ‘cause most women your age are getting into serious rela—”

You moved on pure reflex.

Your body sprang back in the opposite direction, feet scrambling against the tile. Your hands reflexively pushed outward, shoving against him, and you found yourself tumbling off the couch and falling flat onto the floor, grunting as your tailbone hit the harsh surface.

For a moment, the pain that it sent up your spine consumed your attention, distracting you for a few seconds as you winced, pulling yourself to sit upright.

And then, you processed what you'd done. Your head snapped back upwards to look at him. “A-ah, I…”

He looked caught off-guard, momentarily wide-eyed with the sudden startle, having been moved slightly to the side by the force of your push.

And then, his face fell.

His eyes went half-lidded, smile disappearing. A total shift in expression, to one you had never seen the young officer wear before — one you wouldn't have thought his face was capable of.

His voice dropped low, a flat and empty tone.

“…You too, huh.”

You blinked rapidly, heart only beating harder and faster at the feeling of dread and alarm that began to rise up in your stomach. You pushed yourself backwards, hands pushing at the ground to move your body away from him.

“What… what do you—”

“And here I thought you were such a sweet girl.” His voice interrupted yours as he took a step forward, a cold dramaticism to his tone. “So nice… you really seemed to get me.”

You blinked in bewilderment, cold dread beginning to bloom in your gut. You barely knew the man, having only spoken to him a handful of times, most of which were about the case, and a few passing words when you ran into each other in town.

He stopped once he reached you, his shadow looming over your sprawled form. His eyes narrowed.

“But no, you're just another snobby little bitch, aren't you.” His nose wrinkled with his expression of disgust. “Think you're too good for me, don't you?”

You scrambled up to your feet, stumbling on unsteady legs. You pulled your hands up to your chest, curling them into fists, a defensive reflex. Confusion and panic rapidly began to take over, you could feel your heart beginning to pound heavy and fast as the reality of the situation settled in.

“No, no I—” you swallowed, shaking your head in an instinctive reaction to the sudden hostility. “I didn’t mean to—I was just startled, don’t…”

You found yourself trailing off, unable to summon coherent words through your alarm.

He looked you up and down, expression of apathetic disdain unwavering.

“And to think I gave you a chance.” He sighed. “Thought you'd be different from those two.”

You blinked. Something about those words hit you like a punch to the stomach, but you couldn't tell why. Like a siren going off in your head, a chill that ran through your blood, your gut instincts unmistakably commanding you to get away — and you would, except for the fact that, as you realized with the sense of alarm in your chest growing exponentially, he stood between you and the only exit from the room.

“What… what do you mean those—”

Your words cut off.

Time itself came to a standstill. You stood, motionless as a corpse, as a chill pierced your chest. A deep, profound sensation of cold that spread out from your heart, into your blood. You were certain you could physically feel the ice spread out through your veins, to every cell in your being, an all-consuming cold.

You realized that, as he said those words, his gaze shifted over to the side. Your eyes followed his line of sight.

He was looking at the TV, tucked away on a stand in the corner of the room.

Why was he looking at the TV?

You could feel your pulse in your chest. You could feel your pulse in your neck. You could feel it in your head, your fingertips, the way the blood began to rush through your body, the way your heart began to pound, an electrifying sensation setting every nerve in your body alight.

The direction of his gaze, his words, the sudden shift in demeanor so drastic it felt as if he’d swapped places with a different person entirely— it made the hairs on your body stand on end, goosebumps spreading across your skin, and a deep, unnerving sense of nauseous dread as your frantic thoughts began to align. Your muscles went tense, shoulders bunching up.

Words came out between your lips, words you heard more than you spoke, as if your mouth moved on its own. A low murmur, just barely above a whisper.

“…Did…”

You took a step backwards. Your body twitched, shivered.

“…Did you…?”

Silence hung in the air.

You would expect someone in his position to look shocked, panicked, regardless of the truth of the matter. To rush to their own defense, to immediate respond.

But he did not.

There was a few seconds of pause. For just a moment, his eyebrows raised, but his expression was otherwise neutral.

And then, the officer's eyes fell half-lidded, and ever so slowly, the corners of his mouth pulled upward.

Something inhuman stared down at you, a malicious, sinister grin spread across his face, stretched just far enough to look inhuman, uncanny.

Your heart began to speed up. Your voice grew louder, but it audibly wavered with panic.

“You… you put them in there?”

That time, it was his turn for his eyes to go wide, an eerie smile slowly spreading across his face. He tilted his head, the motion seeming almost mechanical.

“Oh…?”

A jolt of panic ran through your veins as you caught your mistake. Your hands instinctively darted to cover your mouth, but it was too late. He took ominously slow steps towards you, each one making a harsh clack as his soles made contact with the tile.

“’Put them in there…?’ What an odd choice of words…” His voice grew lower, deeper, eyes still plastered wide open. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you know some things you have no business knowing.”

You took a step back.

He took a step forward.

“How might that be…? Those kids, maybe?” He cast his gaze over to the TV once more. “I had a feeling something like that might be going on, with you talking to them so much.”

Then, his eyes slowly turned back towards you.

He kept smiling. The same expression, yet so far removed from the cheerful, dopey one you were so used to, the face almost didn't register with your recognition, as if you were looking at a different person.

And then, it grew so much it made his eyes narrow, from mere malicious amusement, to sadistic glee.

“…Intentionally withholding information from the police is a pretty serious offense, you know. ‘Obstruction of justice.’ It’s a felony.”

Your stomach churned, you felt nauseous, muscles tense with the urge to move, but forced still by lack of option. You could only move back further, further away from both him and your only way away from him.

“What… what about the other people that went in? Was that you, too?”

His face fell, almost comically, shifting from eerie to unamused, as if your question was so exasperating it made him drop the intimidating act.

“…God, you are really, really stupid, you know that?” He sighed, shoulders falling. “You just realized that saying too much is a bad idea, and then you immediately do it again?” He shook his head, letting it fall downward with mock exasperation. “Geez, lady.”

But then, you saw his expression perk up with amusement once more.

“But, guess that means I was right… you are collaborating with those brats. I had a feeling.”

Your heart pounded harder still. You kept stumbling back as he crept ever closer, torturously slowly. You held your hands up to your chest in a natural, reflexive instinct of defense, shrinking back.

“…You’re not… saying you didn’t… do it…?”

He shrugged.

“Don't see much of a point in that now.”

He wasn't denying it.

But the simple fact itself was not what made every hair on your body stand up. It was a slow buildup of dread, blooming in your chest, and as the thoughts processed, it was those words, more than any others thus far, that made your blood run cold.

He didn't care if you knew.

He didn't see you being a threat. He wasn't worried about you telling anyone.

Then—

You felt cold. Time seemed to slow down. You were hyper-aware of every muscle, every nerve, you could feel the blood rushing through your body.

“Guess we were both hiding something,” he said in a low tone, taking another step, forcing you further back.

And then, the inevitable happened, causing your blood to run colder still, the fear in your system amplified tenfold in a single second.

Your back hit the corner.

You pressed into it as hard as you could out of instinct to get away, as if it would give way if you did.

But it did not. You were trapped, a little animal cornered by its hunter.

“Ah… ah…” Your breathing grew ragged. Your body trembled, your eyes began to water. “I… Adachi-san…”

The only light was that which came in through the hall, hitting his back, casting a shadow over his face, only the whites of his eyes and grinning teeth standing out — nightmarish, something that could only be recognized as sadistic ecstasy. Pure, unadulterated malice.

He was going to throw you in. He was going to throw you in there and you’d die. The image ran through your mind, so quickly retrieved now that it was irreparably burned into your brain, the shape caught up in the wires, a black outline in the early morning light, how you’d told yourself you were just seeing things, that your brain was spooked from the news of the prior murder, before the rising sun made the image undeniable.

The way you’d squinted and facial recognition hit your body like a punch to the stomach, taking the breath out of your lungs, how you felt the horror slowly rise up into your chest like ice cold water filling your body, how you’d dropped your phone and struggled to dial the police from how hard your hands trembled.

It would be you. You’d be strung up on the wires, dangling by your limbs in a manner almost graceful if not for the entrenchment in death.

You could tell that he could see it all playing out on your face, the thoughts and realizations and terror, by the way his smile split at the line, whites of his teeth standing out in the darkness.

“Well then.”

You didn't have time to move. Before you could even react, he had the collar of your shirt in his hand, twisting the fabric, pulling you upward.

You stumbled around, only the balls of your feet able to even touch the ground. “Wait, wait, stop— I’m sorry—”

“What was that?” He said, voice mocking, cynical. “You said you were sorry?”

You nodded profusely. You weren't thinking too much about it — your only instinct was that trying to appease him might save you.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to— I was just startled, I wasn't trying to push you, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!”

You spoke so fast your words slurred together, your voice was shrill and cracking. Tears began to pour down your cheeks. Your body shivered beyond your control, a fear unlike anything you'd known in your life.

There was no movement, no harsh dragging and jerking and inevitable pushing you might have expected.

“…Hm.”

You could only make out the shape and colors of his face, unable to see his exact expression through the blur of your tears. But his voice was hesitant, pensive, as if the blood-pumping rush of the moment were brought to a sudden stop.

Your heels connected to the ground as he lowered you, but he didn't let go of the fistful of your shirt. His other hand reached up, and although you winced in anticipation, all he did was wipe at your eyes with his sleeve. Trembling, teeth chattering, you slowly turned your head up to look at him, his face now so much closer than it had ever been.

The smile was smaller, fainter, but still present nonetheless.

“…You know what? I like you, Little Miss Teacher.”

He reached up to grab your jaw, a harsh and painful grip.

“Look at you, apologizing like that… so meek.” He leaned his face closer to yours, lowering his voice to a husky murmur. “You seem like you know your place, recognize your mistakes…” His voice lowered to bitter mutter as he finished, “instead of doubling down on being a bitch.”

He pulled your head to tilt further upward, forcing a degree of eye contact no matter which way you looked. He spoke lower, quieter.

“Self-awareness is a good trait to have.”

You couldn't bring yourself to speak. Your throat was strained, your mind ran blank. You could only stare with wide eyes, fighting every instinct to claw at his hands, what little rationality you had left telling you it would only worsen your situation.

“But I still think you're a little full of yourself.” His fingernails pushed into the flesh of your face. “You could use some humility.”

You whimpered, a pitiful little sound. You could see his smile grow as it met his ears.

He let go.

You crumpled to the ground, knees hitting the surface painfully, hands pressing to the floor to keep you from toppling over entirely.

He took a few slow, nonchalant steps back towards the center of the room, pausing as he reached a small table close to the door, turning back towards you and leaning against it.

“Hey, how ‘bout I give you a chance to redeem yourself?” He titled his head. “If you can prove you're sorry, I think I can let this slide.”

He reached one hand over to the opposite hip. Before you could even make out in the dark what he pulled out from underneath the veil of his suit jacket, the recognition hit as he extended his arm back out to point the object at you, and a heart-stopping, unmistakable click.

“Go on. I'm waiting.”

You trembled, reaching one hand to clutch to your chest again. “What… what do you want me to do…?”

His face turned unamused once more, voice equally so as he gave a blunt, low-voiced reply.

“You’re not that stupid.”

You could feel your heart pounding in your throat. You swallowed, looking down.

For a moment, you hesitated. Your mind scrambled for reasons why he couldn’t kill you. He couldn't — right? Your blood would get on the floor, he wouldn't have the ability to clean it out well enough, right?

But no one else knew you were here. No one would know to look here. If he cleaned it up and threw your body in, that would be the end of it.

There was no other option.

Your trembling hands reached down to your outfit — a cardigan, a button-up and a pencil skirt, the general standard for your profession — and slipped the outermost layer off. After a moment of uncertain hesitation, you resolved to simply throw it into the floor. Then, you began unfastening the first button at the top of your shirt, struggling with how hard you shivered.

“You wear that to school?” His words broke the momentary silence. “In front of a bunch of teenagers?”

You clenched your jaw. You didn't think it was in any way inappropriate. “I… it’s not bad…”

“Wonder how that's even allowed,” he continued, as if you hadn’t spoken. “You get off to high school boys staring at you, is that it?”

You shifted uncomfortably, shaking your head. “N-no, I've never—”

“God, you are that kind of teacher after all. Haha!” He laughed aloud, reaching his other palm upon to his face. “I knew you were. I could tell just by watching you walking out the school gates every day… always talking to that brat.” He shook his head, then sighed. “No wonder girls these days are such whores, with role models like that.”

You stopped mid-motion, hands clenching at your shirt as the meaning of his words registered. Images flashed through your mind, all the unique and loveable young girls in your class, and of her. Even in your dread, you found spiteful anger bubbling up in your chest, voice coming out weak and wavering, but defiant nonetheless.

“Don't… don't say things like that, you—”

“Did I tell you to stop?” His head snapped back in your direction, nose wrinkling with an expression of disgust.

You winced, mouth snapping shut. With tears prickling at your eyes, you continued.

Your jaw was clenched, face growing warm as you undid the last button, hesitating for a moment before you let it fall off your shoulders, weakly tossing it to the floor as well before going for the zipper on the side of the skirt, shaky fingers pulling it downward.

“So mechanical about it…” He sighed, disappointed. “If you're not gonna even try and make this part entertaining, the least you can do is hurry it up.” He gave the pistol a light shake to emphasize. “C'mon.”

You bit your lip, forcing your pace faster. The skirt hit the ground, and you pulled your tights off your legs so quickly that one side split open as you did. Your feet pulled out of your shoes, tile cold against your bare soles.

Then, you hesitated. Embarrassment washed over you as you looked down at all that was left.

Your eyes darted up to the man pointing the gun at you once more. He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head with that cocky smirk on his face, nudging the pistol in the direction of the pile of clothing now by your side.

You closed your eyes and reached your hands behind your back, elastic material snapping as you undid the clasp. You pulled the waistband around your hips downward, and tossed both to the side.

The air was cold against your skin. Goosebumps covered your body, far more for from fear than the chill.

You reached a hand up over your chest, pressing your legs together, trying to find some semblance of dignity.

“Aw, shy? That's adorable.” He chuckled. Snide grin unfaltering, he reached his other hand up, gesturing with a finger for you to come forward. The other arm didn't move, deadly weapon still pointed directly at you.

You tried, but your body wouldn't move. The instinct to stay away was too strong, an inherent gut reaction bred into your brain by who knew how many millions of years of survival of your species.

Prey animals didn't run right into the gaping maw of their predators.

But you had to. You had to.

You took a deep breath, and forced one of your legs to move forward. Then another, forming a forward momentum that you just had to keep going, more a matter of letting your weight glide forward and catching it again and again, rather than forcing each step individually. You kept your gaze at the ground. If you looked up, you knew you'd freeze again, and you didn't know if you had the willpower to force movement from stillness again.

You stopped when his legs were visibly right before you. Your heart was pounding, beating so fiercely you could physically see the pulsating of your wrist moving with the flow of blood.

“There, see?” He reached forward, placing his hand atop your head. “You know your place after all.”

Even through the overwhelming sensation of heavy dread, the burn of humiliated fury made its way through. You clamped your jaw harshly, teeth grinding, but not letting that anger lead you to any foolish action.

You inhaled sharply, closing your eyes as his hands then brushed against your shoulder. The touch was cold, leaving a trail of sensation as his hand trailed down your arm, the electrifying feeling lasting on each spot even after it was touched. You winced at the gentle clack sound as the gun was set down on the table’s surface.

And then, you went tense, inhaling a sharp breath as his hands harshly grabbed at your arm and your neck, roughly turning you around and pushing your upper body downward. Your feet stumbled to steady your stance, and your hands reached out to the nearby wall. The panic in your chest felt as if some accumulating bubble of emotion had burst, the intense chill of suddenly rushing through your body, leaving you unable to do anything but stand there — a bitter helplessness, a burning fury at your own pathetic weakness beneath the terror.

“Oh, and hey,” his fingers dug painfully into your arm, “feel free to scream or whatever. I made sure to pick a night no one else would be here.”

You stiffened. Even in your fear and panic and confusion, you managed to make the words out well enough to infer the implication. You turned your head over your shoulder to the best of your ability.

“You—you… planned…?”

“Mm?” He raised an eyebrow. “Obviously. I needed the station to be empty in case you made me kill you, y’know?” He said it nonchalantly, as if it were a trivial matter. “But hey, it was only insurance, just in case… I knew I probably wouldn’t need it. You seemed like you’d be good for me.”

He pulled harshly at the fistful of your hair.

“And whaddya know, I was right. Third time's the charm… or whatever that saying is.”

Bitterness welled in your chest. Your head hung heavily against his hold, pulling at your scalp.

“Now…”

You winced and yelped as he turned you around and your face hit the table, pain radiating from the spot of impact. Your immediate reflex was to put your hands on the table and push upward, but his hand in your hair kept you shoved downward, with an added hand pressing your back into an arch.

You didn't get any moments of mental preparation, much less physical. No sooner had you grunted in pain from the impact than you felt the sudden harsh burning sear of friction to the most sensitive flesh, your body being forced apart by sudden intrusion. You inhaled a sharp, gasping breath, instinctively trying to lurch forward away from the sting, but his hands easily pulled you back, pushing further inside of you until you felt the fabric at the front of his thighs meet the back of yours, hips pressed up against your ass.

“God, fuck.” You heard his voice from behind you, spoken more like a harsh whisper of breath. “…’s warm…”

He pulled back. You gasped and whimpered at the sensation of flesh dragging against your insides, onto to squeal, body jolting as he slammed back inside in one swift motion. Twice, a third time, each making you go tense, shivering, walls spasming.

“M-Maybe you're not such a slut after all…” he murmured. “You feel good.”

You said nothing, unable to summon any words, merely letting out a miserable little sound as the rough motions continued, pressing your forehead to the flat surface below as tears fell down your face and a soft string of under-the-breath curses made their way to your ears.

And then, the motion came to a halt.

“But you're so noisy… listening to you squealing like that is giving me a headache.”

A moment of pause, heavy tension, deliberately drawn out. You felt the faintest shift of muscle against your backside as he turned his upper body over in the direction of the television.

You grunted as he pulled out, leaving your hole twitching. His arms wrapped around you waist, lifting you just enough that your feet left the ground, somewhat awkwardly making a few steps over to where the screen sat in its place on the stand. Your heart felt as if it were going to burst out of your chest, a cold rush ran through your body.

His hand reached up, taking a fistful of your hair once more.

“And you know what else…”

He came to a halt, sheathing himself back inside of you with a harshness that made your jaw clench in pain, taking a few heaving breaths before practically growling into your ear.

“You're not afraid enough.”

Your own breath was ragged, more panic than you'd ever felt in your life causing your heart to pound like it never had before. “No, no please don't—don’t—”

And then, taking a fistful of your hair in his hand once more, he shoved your upper half through the screen.

Out of pure logical instinct, you tensed and squeezed your eyes shut as to brace yourself for brute impact, for shattering glass that would cut your scalp and scrape your arms.

But instead, there was a sudden void. All the noises of your scuffling movements and the low hum of the air ventilation system in the station was suddenly gone, replaced by only hollow quiet, only broken by the low, eerie groan of the atmosphere itself.

Your arms reached out, desperately seeking something to grab, to hold, to push back on, but you felt nothing, limbs merely frantically flailing into the yellow void.

You squealed, but that time, it echoed around you, surrounded by a thick, heavy fog. You could make out the deep yellow atmosphere around you, but you were being jerked back and forth so harshly, and the tears in your eyes and the fog itself so deeply blurring your vision, to the point it was impossible to make out anything.

You couldn't hear him anymore — but even so, you could still feel him pounding into your body.

He tilted you forward. You felt his arm, having pushed through the screen, latch onto the back of your shirt to keep you from falling. Your feet left the ground, your weight shifting from being mostly on the other side, to most of it falling forward on the side of your upper half. You were entirely suspended by his strength.

If he were to let go, you'd fall in completely.

You shrieked. A high-pitched wail that echoed all around you, a sound of pure terror. Your hands reached out in an attempt to push yourself back, but found nothing, merely flailing in the air.

And then, you were jerked backwards.

Your squealing continued until he slapped his hand over your mouth.

You could hear it again, the slapping of skin on skin. Your body was fully back in the real world. Your back hit his chest.

“Was that the sound you were making the whole time your head was in there?” There was mirth in his voice, laughing out the words themselves. “You wanna go back in? Kinda nice in there, isn’t it?”

“No, no!” You shook your head rapidly. “D-don’t, please, I don't want—”

“You could go all the way in, you know.” He pulled on your hair harshly as he jerked his hips forward and came to a halt, holding you still, pain shooting through your scalp. “It would be so easy,” he hissed into your ear. “All it would take is one little push.”

You gasped for breath, unable to respond beyond shaking your head further.

“You haven't been on the Midnight Channel, either,” he added. “Those little brats wouldn't know to come looking for you ‘till it was too late.”

He chuckled, a deranged, low sort — and then went quiet. His torso leaned further forward, face brushing against the side of your neck in a gesture that, in any other context, could have been affectionate. Still sheathed inside your body, he slowly rolled his hips again, a long-drawn out movement, savoring the feeling. Your face scrunched up with uninhibited despair as he spoke again, through labored breaths, as he began to speed up the pace again.

“…But you know what? I don't need the TV to kill you.”

Then, his voice lowered. The playful mockery vanished, something far darker that had been bubbling beneath the surface finally broke through — a low growling voice, a deep, furious malice.

“Stupid fucking woman. I could snap your neck. I could put my hands—”

His hand reached up—

“—On your throat and just—”

It squeezed hard. You jolted and gagged as your airway was cut off.

“I could kill you with my bare hands, right here. Is that what you want?”

You didn't give a verbal response, merely shaking your head rapidly, animal-like whines of fear coming out of your throat.

But that wasn't enough. You heard a low, growl-like sound in your ear, and his voice came out equally so, almost inhuman.

“I said, is that what you fucking want?!”

“No! No, please, Adachi-san, please don't—”

Tears, snot and saliva coated your face. You shook your head, whimpers fragmented by each harsh, rapid thrust that shoved your body forward, each jerk of his arms that pulled you back, and muffled by your asphyxiation.

You could feel his breath on your ear as he continued.

“Then you want me to keep fucking you, don't you?”

It was obvious, of course, that that was what he meant — the only alternative to death. You nodded, choking out your words.

“Yes, please…”

He didn’t respond immediately, moving fast enough that he had to take a few heavy, ragged breaths before hissing the words into your ear through clenched teeth.

“Then beg for it.” His fingers curled further, nails digging into your flesh — yet lightening the pressure on your throat, allowing you to breathe, even if only with heaving effort. “I wanna hear how good you can beg for me.”

You whimpered, mouth hanging open as you tried and failed to summon any words, emotion and stimulus so overwhelming it hindered your ability to even think. His cock stretched you apart, the circumstantial fear causing you to clamp down so hard that he was practically constantly pushing inward with force, rather than your body pulling him in as it might have done with someone you were willingly allowing to do these things to you. Each movement drug against your insides with coarse, burning friction.

He huffed in impatience.

“C’mon. Do it—”

He snapped his hips forward especially harsh, ramming your whole body forward with the force.

“—Like your life depends on it.”

The jerking motion snapped you out of the momentary stupor. Your voice trembled.

“Ah, ah, Adachi-s-san, please, I—”

“Oh, come on. Is that how you call your lover?”

Your brain scrambled to rectify the matter, but he was such a near-stranger to you, you couldn't remember. Maybe he'd said it once, but even as you desperately tried to recall, you couldn't.

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“I don't… I don't know your…”

There was a pause. You heard the soft, disdainful tch from his mouth.

“Tohru.”

You swallowed.

“T-Tohru…” You squeezed your eyes shut, words coming out uneasy, blatantly forced and foreign. “Please, Tohru, don’t… d-don’t stop, don’t…”

It must have been good enough, as you felt his fingers dig into your hips harder, felt his body shudder against yours.

“Heh… haha…” The amusement in his voice made a bitter burning swell in your chest. “You get off to this, don't you?”

Your mouth opened to protest, to say no.

But you stopped short, a throaty whine coming out of your mouth. Your priority was survival.

You nodded your head.

“’Course you do,” he mumbled, voice growing increasingly husky and laden with labored breaths. He jerked your hair again, pulling you even further towards him, ensuring his chest was firmly pressed to your back. “Little whore… it's always the girls that look so wholesome that are into the freakiest shit, huh."

You could hear the strain in his voice as it began to waver. He leaned in closer, breath hot on your ear.

"This was probably what you wanted, wasn't it? The whole hard-to-get shtick is fun for you, isn't it?"

Once more, you ignored any emotions or knee-jerk reaction of such an accusation, repressed the bitter fury, merely nodded your head. "Mhm, mm..." Your lip trembled, tears leaking out and trailing down your cheeks.

His hips moved faster and faster still, the movement growing frenzied and erratic.

“Of course you’d turn— turn out to be such, such a slut… I knew you’d want it, I knew you—shit—”

He came to a sudden halt, one final jerking pull of your hips to meet his, sheathed fully inside. You felt his cock twitch inside your body.

And then, everything was still.

With the sudden end of the slapping of skin on skin that had reverberated around the room, there was a sudden void of quiet, near silence, barring ragged breathing. You kept perfectly still, the shock and emotion that still coursed through your body so intense, you didn’t even shiver.

Your mind felt as if in a fog, a heavy daze that left you feeling cold and numb, everything felt far away, not real, distant. You kept still, staring forward.

It wasn’t until you felt him slide out of your body, releasing his hold, that you snapped out of the daze, stumbling forward, falling to your knees, legs far too weakened and stiff to support you.

For a moment, you kept your gaze at the ground. You tried to let your mind slip back into the stupor, desperate for some sense of escape, to savor the few precious seconds you could let yourself be anywhere but here, that you could shut him and the reality before you out, that you could delay facing having to look at him again.

But it was only the briefest of seconds before the light from down the hall was cut off again by the shadow looming over you. You began to shiver, chest heaving with breaths that burned your lungs.

Slowly, with eyes and expression blank with the remnant shock and daze, pathetically curled up on the floor, you turned your head upward.

“…Congratulations, Miss Teacher.” You could see the smile once more, the whites of his teeth practically glowing against the shadow, the cruel mockery in his voice crawling under your skin. “You’re way too meek. I've decided killing you would be no fun. Aren't you happy?”

Each gasp for breath burned in your throat, your chest. The words didn’t register immediately — several quiet seconds passed as you slumped over, staring up at him in a dazed stupor, body shivering with aftershock and weariness.

“Th-then… I…” you swallowed, body trembling beyond your control. “I can… go…?”

His eyebrows raised, a momentary look of surprise.

“Huh? Oh, no, no, you—” he cut off with a small bout of laughs, holding his palm to his face and tilting his head upward as if you'd just said the stupidest thing he'd ever heard. “Ahaha, don't tell me you actually thought I was just going to let you leave? That's—” He cut off with another laugh.

Your heart felt as if it sank. You felt cold.

And then, he went quiet. He slowly turned his gaze back to you, voice growing lower, quieter, a dramatic ominousness exuding from his body with his words.

“What kind of protector of the public would I be if I just let such a suspicious person walk right out of here?” Hands on his hips and eyes closed, he tilted his head downward and sighed, slowly shaking it back and forth in a mock gesture of exasperation. “You withheld information from the police, regarding a murder at that, and you seem to have knowledge of the killer’s M.O…. that’s what we call a ‘person of interest’ in cases like this, you know.”

And then, despite his momentary attempt at mock seriousness, his restraint seemed to crumble away as the corners of his mouth turned upward, malicious glee breaking through the act. His eyes opened just enough to look at you, narrowed by the grin spreading across his face once more.

“I’m afraid you’ll just have to remain in police custody for the foreseeable future.”

You curled in further on yourself, shoulders hunching up, hands curling into fists before you brought them up to your chest in a meek, defensive instinct. Your throat felt dry. You felt your heartbeat pounding in your throat.

The way the smile on his face curled further made it clear the despair showed on your face. He chuckled.

“Well, c’mon. Put some clothes on.” He tilted his head in the direction of where they sat on the floor. “You can't walk out there naked.”

Your eyes widened. The words gave you a sinking feeling in your stomach. “…Out… there…?”

He sighed.

“God, you really are dense. Did you not get that? I’m taking you home.”

You didn’t really know what you expected, as the conclusion from his earlier words was obvious, yet hearing him say it so directly made another surge of panic course through your body. Instinctively, and perhaps against better judgement, you shook your head.

“But, but I can’t— I don’t want—”

“…Oh?” His eyes narrowed, unamused and dark expression on his face. “Well, if you don't wanna come with me, then…”

His eyes trailed back over to the television.

Even as exhaustion wore over your body, fear still gripped at your chest, and your answer came on instinct.

“N-no, I'll go with you, I'll…” You swallowed, squeezing your teary eyes shut for a moment before looking back up at him. Your body was shivering. Your next words came out in a hushed, high-pitched whimper, audibly verging on tears. “…I'll go…”

The smile returned to his face.

“Good girl.”

The words made you shudder, revulsion and disgust a twisting feeling in your gut.

After a brief pause, he gestured to your clothes again.

You looked over, but the fear kept you frozen. After a few still seconds, realizing you weren’t moving, he sighed, walking over himself, grabbing the bundle in a few swift motions before throwing the loose pile over to you. You swallowed, hands shaking and dropping the pieces more than once as you forced yourself to put them on, little by little, albeit now dusty, wrinkled and disheveled. You kept your gaze to the floor as you did, but you felt his piercing gaze on you all the same.

And the moment you fastened the last button, with no hesitation, you felt his hand latch onto the back of the collar of your shirt, harshly pulling you upright.

“Come on. Don’t try that stalling shit.” His voice was now impatient, irritated.

You stumbled on shaky legs, forced to grasp onto him to steady yourself. “I, I’m not—” you swallowed. “…Sorry…”

He didn’t respond for a moment, merely wrapping his hand around your upper arm in a tight, bruising grip, jerking you forward harshly. You stumbled as you were rapidly dragged forward, quickly exiting the room, out into the hall.

“And don’t worry,” he spoke again, “I’ve got a nice little closet to keep you in ‘til I can work something better out. Won’t that be nice?”

You didn’t respond, until you felt a sudden harsh squeeze in the grip on your arm. You closed your eyes and nodded. “I, yes…”

He seemed satisfied with the answer, continuing on, “Besides, being a cop has it's advantages. I can get more handcuffs, monitoring devices… it'll work out just fine. And hey, if you're really good, maybe I’ll hurt you a little less, yeah?”

You bit your lip.

It was all happening too fast to sink in, your mind struggled to process. You were leaving, he was taking you, you had to get away, but you had no way to get away, it wasn’t real it wasn’t happening it wasn’t right—

He halted as you reached the front of the police station. The sudden stop made you stumble forward in your momentum, clinging to him to steady yourself once again. You looked up at him in fearful confusion, and he cast another heinous grin down at you.

“Now, I’m not gonna cuff you just yet, ‘case we run into someone, that would give people the wrong idea and all… but don't think about trying to run or scream or some other stupid shit, either. I dunno if you’re dumb enough to think you could outrun me, but…”

He reached his hand over so that the edge of his jacket was brushed back, unveiling the same gun from before that had since been holstered back to his belt.

“Personally, I'm pretty content with the holes you already have… but I'd still be happy to blow a few more into your legs, if need be.” He tilted his head. “And that river down at the edge of town’s real nice and deep, if you decide to go screaming and drag some poor bastard into this. Got that?”

You lip trembled. You squeezed your eyes shut and nodded.

“Good, good. Now…”

He pulled you forward again, the stride bringing you close enough to the front that the automatic doors slid apart. The cool, humid air hit your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Oh, right. One more thing.” He cleared his throat, turned to you with that godawful grin of cruel amusement, and in a mocking, dramatized voice, said, “you have the right to remain silent, miss.”

Your chest burned with fury. Tears welled in your eyes, your face pitifully contorting with bitter anger.

It was the reaction he wanted. He laughed once more, holding the hand that wasn’t gripping your arm up to his face.

“Ah, that’s adorable. You’re fun to mess with, you know… that’s good.”

With that, he drug you forward again, out through the door.

Your shoulders jerked with a silent sob. Your fingers curled into a fist, and your lip quivered as you spoke in a hushed, but hissing tone, filled with fear and hatred.

“You're a murderer.”

You got only a sigh in response.

“Yeah yeah, sure, whatever.”

With an iron grip on your arm, the police detective led you out into the rural streets, the night air freezing against your bare skin. You followed with stumbling footsteps, legs trembling in trepidation. Unable to do anything but follow.

You realized, as the last strands of hope in your chest faded away, that even if there was someone out there, they might not even see you, with the visibility so low.

Likewise, you turned your head back towards the station, but within just a short distance, it was already completely obscured by the fog.

[itsphoenix0724]

Hold Me Gently (Azriel x Reader)

Summary: Azriel knew exactly what he signed up for when he became the court's spymaster, but sometimes everything gets too much for him to handle.

Warnings: Smut, angsty, negative thoughts about oneself, some dark stuff mentally

Word count: 1.6k

Bonus Chapter!

A/N: Hi loves! I'm excited to put this out for you guys I've been working on it for kind of a hot minute. Please read the tags carefully. I hope you all enjoy it, and as always constructive criticism is welcome. Plus I've got a special surprise coming in December that I may announce later this week so keep a look out. <3

Azriel swore sometimes he could still hear the screams that echoed off the stone walls of the Hewn City rattle around in his brain for days. Rhys had been clear this time. 

Get the information through whatever means necessary, no matter what. 

So that’s exactly what he had done, and it had taken hours. He sent Rhys a message with the information and winnowed directly into your bedroom. He knew you were downstairs in the kitchen because he had sent his shadows earlier to watch you, but he couldn’t bear to have you look at him right now. To have you look at him like he was the most amazing thing in the universe when you had no idea what horrors he committed just an hour earlier. Azriel hides his shame from the portrait of his mating ceremony, turning away from even your painted adoration. He is not the smiling male in that picture. He is not the male who deserves to put his blood-stained hands around your waist. He doesn’t deserve any of it. Not your kindness, not your comfort, not your kiss, or your smile. Not when he spent half the day ripping a man apart. 

Maybe that male had a mate waiting at home too. 

He sneaks carefully into the bathroom, turning the bathtub's faucet to boiling and letting the tub fill. Az peels off his leathers layer by layer, and they hit the clean white tile with a sickeningly wet sound, none of the blood is his. As he watches the red slowly seep onto the floor he knows that the tile’s just another thing he’s ruined. 

He wishes he could peel his skin off as well. 

Azriel sinks slowly into the tub, letting the sting of the hot water work every muscle. He wanted to erase everything, to let the water cleanse away his disgusting actions. His shadows send a whisper of you humming quietly from the kitchen and he almost bursts into tears. How had the cauldron given him someone someone so gentle? How did you wake up in their bed every day and not know you slept next to a monster? Az sinks under the surface, unable to bear the rushing in his head, and doesn’t come back up until his lungs are screaming for air. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You knew something was wrong when your mate didn’t immediately come to see you after returning from his mission. You had heard the faucet start to run while chopping vegetables for dinner, and you assumed Az was quickly rinsing off before he joined you. After half an hour had passed you started to become concerned. You knew your mate, and even though he never told you specifics, he sometimes needed time after his return from the Hewn City. You silently creep up the stairs of your home, avoiding all the creaking floorboards that might tip Azriel off. You swing open the bedroom door, but he is nowhere to be found the only evidence of him is a trail of blood that sends your heart into overdrive. You follow it to your bathroom door, now more worried about his safety than anything. The bond beating in your chest is dark, and it has been since Az left your bed this morning. Throwing open the door you’re met with a wall of crushing darkness. You fight through the swirling blackness, trying to call Azriel’s name, but you can’t see two feet in front of you. A rouge shadow comes to circle your wrist dragging you to your mate’s hunched form in the bathtub, base instinct takes over as you climb into the water hissing as the burning water scalds your thighs. “Azriel,” You call his name, taking his head in your hands. His hazel eyes seem unfocused like he’s looking through you than at you. “Az,”  you rush out again. “Are you bleeding? Are you hurt?” You tilt his head this way and that way before scanning the rest of his body. You shake him at the shoulders trying to get him to see you. Finally, as if Az just realized you were there, he looks at you. 

“The blood isn’t mine.” is all he says before his head thumps back against the porcelain as if it’s too heavy to hold on his own. Your shoulders sag in relief. “You shouldn’t be in here. Go back downstairs I’ll be there in a minute.” He runs the wet silk of your nightgown in between his fingers. You have no intention of leaving this bathtub until you figure out what's wrong with your mate.

“What’s happened?” You push running your fingers through the threads of his inky black hair. “Did the mission not go well?” Azriel scoffs, looking unbothered, but you can see the muscles in his throat tightening with effort to keep something hidden. You try to pull at the bond again, begging him to lower the obsidian shields he builds around himself, his hands shake with the effort of keeping them impenetrable. He still avoids your eyes, yet you try again refusing to yield. “Sweetheart…” you whisper softly and the Shadowsinger cracks before you. His walls rush down and crash against you like a tsunami, the wave of self-hatred that he had been holding in barrels against you with enough force to bring down the mountains. Silver lines his hazel eyes and your heart almost cracks in two. Wrapping your arms around Azriel you cradle him to your body, his hands tighten around your waist seeming torn between pulling you closer and pushing you away. His shoulders shake with the force of his sobs and all you can do is keep stroking his hair and make soothing sounds, trying to calm him down enough to speak. Az takes a shuddering breath, but the tears still stream down his face. You chase them away with the pads of your fingers. 

 “I do not deserve you,” he grinds out, voice rusty from the tears. You rub soothing circles into the joints of his shoulders and it makes Azriel want to throw up. “I am the monster mothers warn their children about at night. I’ve committed horrors that should make you run away in terror” You shake your head with feverance. 

“I would never run from you Azriel. There is nothing too dark or too ugly that would make me love you any less. I promise you I can handle it.” Azriel does nothing but collapse back against you shaking his head back and forth. “Just talk to me please.” He takes a deep inhale, trying to calm his racing heart. 

“I bled a male dry today. Rhys needed information, and he was harder to break than anticipated.” It’s all the information Az is willing to give. You have to stamp down the fury rising in your own chest. Both at Rhysand for putting your mate through this and at the Hewn City itself. 

You’d tear this court apart brick by brick for making Azriel feel like he’s less than deserving of his life. 

You’ll have to talk with Rhys later because for now, your focus is Az and Az alone. You refuse to allow him to continue to carry on like this, cursing yourself for not realizing the effects of this position wearing on him sooner. 

“Look at me.” You pull his jaw towards you, forcing him to meet your eyes “There is no universe where you are not deserving of happiness. You have a job to do, and I understood that when I accepted this bond. I do not fear you, I do not balk from you, and I do not love you any less because of that.” The bond sings with light as the weight finally starts to leave your mate's shoulders. Golden eyes study you intensely before he hauls you against him in one fluid motion and crashes his lips to yours. He tastes like burning whiskey, and kisses you so fiercely you’re afraid your lips might bruise. You hold him together the best you can, afraid that if you let him go he will shatter into pieces before you. “Are you sure you want this right now?” You ask, you’ll give Az whatever he needs, and if he needs a distraction from his head then you’re happy to provide it to him. He nods, leaning down to press his lips to your collarbone. You run your hands along his back grinding yourself into him, and pour love and devotion down your side of the bond to him. His hardness presses against you as he nudges aside the scraps of lace before sheathing himself into the hilt. You let Azriel take what he needs, fucking you on his length, rocking you back and forth. He’s hitting the spot inside you that makes you see stars with such force water sloshes over the edge of the tub, washing away the blood from Azriel’s leathers. You run your hands along the edge of his wing and he roars, one hand almost cracking the porcelain of the bathtub. He changes his pace to pure brutality, using you like no more than a toy. Your thighs shake with the effort to keep yourself upright. He’s ruthless in the way he moves like a hungry predator finally tearing into its kill. Your orgasm tears through you with blinding energy, and you unravel faster than you’d like to admit, but Az always manages to have that effect on you. He loses himself soon after you, tumbling over the edge with so much force he rips the bottom of your nightgown into ribbons. You stare at each other for a long moment, relishing in the afterglow and grateful for the hot water in the tub. 

“I’m sorry for ripping your nightgown,” Azriel rumbles and you laugh a beautiful golden sound. 

“You can buy me a new one later,” you promise, “but for now let me wash your hair.” 

[homestuck-archive]

HOMESTUCK: BEYOND CANON 6/12 NEWS POST

Hi, James here. Happy American Karkat day. European Karkat day, of course, being on the 6th of December. That’s how birthdays work. Don’t look it up.

Some of you may have noticed I am going to be on a stream with a “Virtual Tuber.” Depending on when exactly this goes up, that might actually be going on right now. If you are coming from over there it is very likely you are just now learning we are still doing Homestuck in 2024. Welcome back. You missed a lot but don’t look any of that up either.

What news for the birthday boy? As you may have seen across various platforms we’re partnering with Makeship, and launched a petition for a Highly Marketable Karkat Vantas Plush! The way this works is, they gauge interest by seeing if we can get 200 people to pledge they’ll buy it before the company commits to producing anything. Their business model allows them to do this at no up-front cost to us which is good because it takes a lot of money to manufacture and ship things. Once we reach our initial goal they then move forward with production and do design revisions, prototyping, etc. They send us a little sample and once we’re all approved and on the same page they do a limited pre-order run. For the first 399 pre-orders we get a 10 percent revenue share, which then changes to 30 percent once it hits 400. You might be thinking “Hey man, that's not very much!” and you’d be right, but they cover all manufacturing and fulfillment and shipping costs. And I don’t own a warehouse. So. This is fine with me.

I did promise to try and be more transparent with what's going on behind the scenes, even when it is boring. The thought process here is that, while less lucrative overall than producing and shipping ourselves this will allow us to try out more merch options. We’ve designed some apparel, and are working out something with Andrew and the usual merch guys. This might take a while, I am still new to this. That Vinyl is still on the back burner as we wait for a few holdouts that sort of make or break things. (There are people who are notoriously hard to get in contact with, so it is taking a while and I overestimated my ability to get this done in a timely manner while in poor health. That's on me.)

The whole idea here is to get you guys some cool stuff, and to pay my team more. Right now the Patreon is doing alright, and we’re trying out some new exclusives over there. Music previews, merch previews, and things like that for paying members. Nothing required to enjoy the comic, and things people will all see eventually. Since I’m trying to pay my team as fairly as possible I split everything we make evenly. Right now, for each team member it comes out to a few hundred bucks each per month which is pretty nice for getting to work on Homestuck, but isn’t exactly a liveable wage. And you see how much work they put into it. I want to give them the world, short of that at the very least a fair wage for all the work they do. Also I don’t know if you’ve noticed but a sandwich costs $19 now for some reason. That in mind if you are a company or private individual and want to pay me to promote your product let's talk. We can work something out. I will put it in Homestuck. I will make Rose Lalonde say she loves the bold refreshing taste of Diet Mtn Dew G’raha Tia Blast. I am not joking. This is my solemn vow. Maybe it's time to bring back the “Your Fantroll Gets Put In Homestuck” deal.

Anyway, two updates this month. I Like this schedule, so it looks like we’ll be keeping it up for the near future.

So to Summarize the key points so there’s no room for confusion:

Karkat Plush Makeship petition (the pre-pre-order, even) is now live

Trying out this style of limited run merch to see what's possible

Apparel incoming, not sure when

Still trying to work out details with musicians, sorry.

Fun new Pateron exclusives, including music and merch previews. Maybe more?

Open to more collabs

Sticking to shorter, more frequent updates for now.

Ok, thanks everyone have a good one.

[hey-august]

It's been a bit, so let's have a life and writing update! ✨

(Spoiler alert: I'm still writing! It's at a slower pace than I'd sometimes prefer, but I'm trying to embrace it.)

Life update:

To start with something that was both obvious to me but also a recent revelation - my irl imposter syndrome has been off the charts and unhealthy. While I thought I was taking care of myself, I was actually giving into the languishing and stagnation.

I knew I didn't feel as comfortable or confident as usual, but I didn't realize there were signs that were becoming obvious to others. Thankfully this came from people I trust and feel supported by. (Of course, now I'm fighting with the thoughts that say "this is proof you're not good enough, because you couldn't do it" and "you are enough, others see your potential and want you to succeed." 😅)

I'm also still digesting something I learned about myself in therapy, which I think contributed to the languishing - I don't share my feelings, including reaching out for help when I need it, because I (falsely) believe that my feelings don't matter.

While I know it isn't true, it's hard to let go of a belief and the wall it created while I was growing up. But I am still growing and I will replace that belief.

There are a lot of other thoughts and feelings I have right now, each with their own ups and downs, but I'm feeling more optimistic and clear-headed. And, finally, ready to reconnect with myself.

This feels like a right moment to bring us to the..

Writing Update:

I'm still writing and I don't plan on stopping. I know I churned out a lot of things much quicker earlier this year. As fun and enjoyable as that was, I think it's time for me to accept that wasn't normal or average for me. 😅 It's not healthy to keep comparing my present to my past.

All that to say, I'm still moving along! Also, one of my favorite childhood books was "The Little Engine That Could," so I'll keep embodying that cute blue steam engine. (But not in a way that will result in burnout. 😌)

Also, I'm going on a weekend trip to check out an Animal Crossing Aquarium Tour, so, uh, I probably won't post much this weekend too.

Alrighty, let's get in a WIP update:

A Line From Me to You is still in the works. I posted a poll and the results were to hold on until it was finished before posting the next part. I might interpret that as "wait until there's more smut," since I have a plan to wrap up this story with more than one steamy session.

...I started a Halloween fic a bit ago. It's mid-November, but I'm afraid that if I stop, I'll never go back to it. The story is like half or two-thirds finished at this point.

I'm thinking of doing a small December event. I have a topic in mind (cough double penetration december cough cough), but I'd like to have some sort of interactive element, while still being able to prepare ahead of time. I'm not completely committed to doing the event yet, but there's one idea that I'll definitely share no matter what. 🤭

I have a few things in my Inbox to get to! One is a request that I have written out, although it'll be in bullet points rather than a full fic. (Maybe I can get that out this weekend...)

CG Carnival. Jeez, this has been fighting me, but I have a good bit written, and outlines for everything else. I feel this story in my bones and I need to let it out.

---

Wow, this turned into a whole LiveJournal update, huh? I guess it's time to wrap it up and get sappy.

Thanks for looking and for all of your support - no matter how visible or quiet it is. Truly, I really appreciate it all. 🩷🩷🩷

Keep caring for yourselves, even when it's hard or uncomfortable. Your feelings matter. Go at the pace that is right for you. And **** the clown.

[bananaofswifts]

01 - Taylor Swift

No one in the music industry wielded more power over the past year than Taylor Swift, who made history at stadiums, movie theaters and on the Billboard charts, leaving even the most seasoned executives speechless. While they’d long celebrated her staggering popularity as a singer, songwriter and performer, her force as a strategic business leader suddenly came into sharper focus — and industry veterans took notes as they watched some of her bravest and most innovative business risks reap remarkable rewards.

At 34, she is one of the music industry’s most charismatic and influential leaders — and she rewrites the rules.

“The piece of advice I would give to the other executives on this list is that the best ideas are usually ones without industry precedent,” Swift tells Billboard. “The biggest crossroads moments of my career came down to sticking to my instincts when my ideas were looked at with skepticism. When someone says to me, ‘But that has never been done successfully before,’ it fires me up. We have to take strategic risks every day in this industry, but every once in a while, you have to really trust your gut and take a flying leap. My rerecordings are my favorite example of this, and I’m extremely grateful to my team and fans for taking that leap with me because it absolutely changed my life.”

Sage advice for an industry in which instinct has largely been supplanted by metrics and data analysis.

In December, Time named Swift its 2023 Person of the Year. In September, after encouraging her 279 million Instagram followers to vote and linking to vote.org, the nonpartisan nonprofit said it received over 35,000 registrations. She appears on the cover of this issue of Billboard and in the No. 1 spot of our annual Power 100 issue because her force across the business of music is now unparalleled — and because she models commitment to innovation that the rest of the business will need in order to tackle the big challenges ahead.

Swift’s gambles have paid off handsomely over the past year.

Her massive The Eras stadium tour, which began in March after she controversially put all the tickets on sale at once, crashing Ticketmaster and sparking mass hysteria, grossed an estimated $906.1 million in 2023 and is poised to become the highest-grossing global tour of all time before it wraps in December, according to Billboard.

The Golden Globe-nominated Taylor Swift: The Eras Tour film, taped during her six-show run at SoFi Stadium in Inglewood, Calif., in August, has grossed over $261.6 million worldwide since its October opening, according to AMC Theatres Entertainment. In January, the publicly traded movie-house chain announced that the film’s box-office take made it the highest-grossing concert/documentary picture ever released, surpassing Michael Jackson’s 2009 This Is It. Once again blazing a new path, Swift made a groundbreaking distribution deal directly with AMC Theaters instead of linking with a film studio.

Swift has shaken up the catalog market, too. When Scooter Braun infuriated her by acquiring the master recordings of her first six albums through his Ithaca Holdings and then sold them to investment firm Shamrock Capital at a profit, Swift rerecorded the albums with loving precision and added bonus tracks to the new releases. They performed phenomenally well, as she deftly used her tour to promote them. When her latest rerecording (and 14th studio album overall), 1989 (Taylor’s Version), spent its fifth week at atop the Billboard 200 at the end of 2023, Swift beat Elvis Presley’s record for the most weeks at No. 1 by a solo artist. Her industry market share last year was 1.72%. If she were her own genre, she’d rank ninth for 2023 — bigger than jazz.

“She’s the smartest artist I’ve ever worked with,” says Messina Touring Group’s Louis Messina, who promotes Swift’s tours and has worked with her since 2005. “She outworks everybody and she has always had this vision. If you’re around her, you can’t help but believe in her.” —Melinda Newman

[your-magloving-satinwhistle]

After today's convos I think I made my choice.

Im dating Arthur and BFFing with Aoi. I love then both a lot, and I want in my heart of hearts to say "Aoi and I are gonna Mag together forever", but first of all I don't want to break up with her ever... and I messed up a dialogue cuz I misread a question and she quickly left after that. It felt terrible and Im like "I would rather not exist if I disappoint you again in a relationship", but that's part of the problem. I put her too high on the pedestal cuz she's Mag and she's cute. Our personalities are similar enough that I dont think we had a bad conversation until now (omfg that hurts), and talking to her is like talking to the me I'd love to be... but then I feel like I'm objectifying her and that has its own problems. .... Yeaaaah, no I'm not doing that to her.

Arthur is different enough to me that he's grounding... or... I feel like we (Arthur and Flo... who is kinda me. Before i was speaking as Me) could be anchors to each other. Keep us tethered to reality. Also, because I'm not biased towards him I don't feel like I have to be perfect all the time or that he is perfect all the time... .... I think I'm trying to say that he I feel normal around him and it makes me feel secure. It's comforting. Granted I also feel bad when I mess up with him but it's not the end of the world. I'm gonna process, reflect, breathe and be confident that I can go back and we can recover instead of doom spiral and never show my face again.

Eleanor I like a lot, but she's in a similar boat as Aoi in the "Ah shit, I hate having a bad interaction with her" but it's not as severe. It's more like... "I love talking to you, but I feel bad because I keep missing your point". Given time I think I can understand her better (AuDHD be damned, I'll get there! I'll be on the same page one day!), but until then I need to understand her mind better so she doesnt keep ending conversations in distress.

Quincy? ... Yeah Im not gonna date him. Saw a lil spoiler that made me feel terrible with the idea of breaking up with him and it made me take a step back and look at how I feel about him. Now I could be messy (and maybe Flo will be messy cuz why not?), but then I thought "As much as I am overjoyed to have a black love interest with long locs (like me), has at least some Jamaican in him (I'm half Jamaican/Haitian, American born and raised), is a Sagittarius (he's December Sag and I'm November Sag), not as dreary as Arthur can be but still more grounded and I like his humor and honesty.... I hate the favors. I'll give in cuz I want to know more about him and I like talking to him, but it's approaching pet peeve territory and this recent conversation made me realize that it's part of his world-view. Now, could I commit and push through his conditions to see if he'd open up to me unconditionally? Yeah... but as a non-confrontational people pleaser I know the process would chew me up and spit me out while I feel bad for even daring to challenge the mindset that he most likely developed to survive in a world that could destroy you for a weakness. Tis not healthy.

Now Lettie surprises me. I'm not great when it comes to people who are more harsh with their no-nonsense and her interest in religion was a bit of a turn off. What gets me is that when we talk, I'm uncomfortable but because I dont want to blow her off I engage with her and accidentally find myself getting along with her. It was awkward at first, but then... I understand her views the most out of all the Hex. Aside from Aoi. She's the me I'd be if I dropped the smile I use to survive irl and didn't let my shortcomings rule me.

Now Amir... Amir is cute but he's just like me but actually good and videogames and technology and I hate it. He's the oddball with ADHD and insecurities, a love for games and funky jokes when surrounded by tired and defensive veterans who would rather fucking not and I see him and I'm like. "Hello brother... Tell me about your games cuz literally no one else takes about games. Let's game! Let's go nuts! Let's go buckwild!" I say I hate him but I don't, I just hate the idea of dating him cuz it'll be like dating me or my brother. Brother energy. Eugh... I miss my brother. This made no sense and I know that, but idk how to make this make sense.

... So yeah those are my feelings as I understand them so far. As lovely as it would be to date and romance everyone, or date Aoi and just go Mag all the way... I have to go with what feels best. And right now I feel best with Arthur.

[banannabethchase]

Finals and Snowflakes - also on AO3

~

Adaine is panicking about whether or not she passed her finals for the fall semester, and Kristen has an idea.

~

For Damn It December days 19, and 20: 19) Completing paperwork before school gets out (I Schrodingered this a little) and 20) Making new ornaments or decorations.

~

“Okay, put it away.”

Adaine jumps about half a foot in the air. “What the hell?!”

“Put it,” Kristen says again, “away. We’re done with finals. I have no idea what you’re doing.”

“I’m studying in case I have to do the retest,” Adaine says, reaching up for the book and study guide Kristen whipped out of her hands. Kristen leans back. It’s only an inch and a half of height she has on Adaine, but she uses it when she needs to.

“You set the damn curve, Adaine. Put it away. Actually…” Kristen looks up into Adaine’s bunk bed. “Better idea.” She chucks Adaine’s study book up on the top bunk. “There.”

“This is my bedroom, Kristen.” Adaine says. “I can go up and get that book back.”

“Sure you can.” Kristen says, and it’s mellow enough that Adaine’s first response is pure concern.

She was right to worry. She barely has time to shriek before Kristen has hauled her up in a fireman’s hold over her shoulder. “Come on, you big baby,” she says. She really is absurdly strong. It’s almost as impressive as it is annoying. “Let’s get downstairs. We’re going to make doorway ornaments.”

“I don’t want to make doorway ornaments!” Adaine says. “I suck at drawing!”

“Ah, see, that’s the thing,” Kristen says, making her way down the stairs. It’s terrifying, but also weirdly soothing. Adaine can’t remember the last time she was carried outside of a battle or something. “The point of the Greeting Ornaments is they aren’t perfect, but they’re here to welcome to Moonar Yulenear into our homes.”

“We didn’t celebrate like that,” Adaine says, voice is a bit strained. “Ours was a, like, thirty minute reading from my father about the importance of new beginnings and starting over with pointed looks toward me.”

“My mom did that to me too,” Kristin says. She puts Adaine down in front of the kitchen table. “But it was more ‘this is the year to finally commit to Helio fully’ as opposed to whatever the hell I was doing as, like, a middle schooler. But now we get to decide how to celebrate.”

“With what?” Adaine asks.

“I don’t know. Snowflakes? We’ll make snowflakes.”

It takes some digging, but the two of them find some old colored pencils and a bunch of paper. They steal a pair of scissors from Jawbone’s office and another from the kitchen that they wash up, and get to work. Adaine finds herself drawing swirling patterns on the snowflakes, a little disconcerted by the fact that no one is directly telling her what to draw or what her goals for the new year should be. The swirls never take a true shape, but they are pretty colors and Adaine is having fun. Kristen is chatting along the whole time, about nothing in particular, but the conversation is comforting.

There’s a bleep of a crystal that Adaine barely notices as she’s working on a blue and purple themed snowflake she plans to give to Kristen in honor of Cassandra. It’s her tenth one and she’s really gotten the hang of these spiral designs, and she doesn’t even look up until she hears Kristen says, “Oh, shit.”

“Hmm?” Adaine asks.

“Uh, check your school email,” Kristen says. “Final grades are posted.”

“In a minute,” Adaine decides. “I’m almost done.”

It’s weirdly silent while Adaine finishes her drawing, and all she hears is scrolling from Kristen and tiny little clicks.

“There,” Adaine says. “This one is for you. And Cassandra, if you think she’d like it.”

“Aw, Adaine, that’s really pretty,” Kristen says. She reaches out and carefully takes the snowflake. “I think Cassandra will love it.” She clears her throat. “I, uh. I passed. Pretty well, actually. I aced my Theory of Clerical Methodology class, which is kind of cool.”

Adaine puts her pencil down. “I knew it! You’re so good at understanding so many gods and you have so much practical knowledge. Well done.”

Kristen nods toward Adaine’s phone. “Are you gonna check yours?”

Adaine is shocked to realize she doesn’t feel any of the anxiety she’d been suffering from before. All the paperwork she’d filled out preemptively requesting the retake, scheduling the test, making and taking practice tests now feels a little excessive. “Yes,” she decides. “Yes, I’ll check.”

She opens her phone. She logs in to her email. She opens the document.

“Oh my gosh,” she murmurs.

“What?” Kristen asks. She gets up and peers over Adaine’s shoulder. “Holy shit!”

“I aced all of my classes,” Adaine says. “I – I could graduate right now, if I needed to, from the scores I received on my Wizardry Qualification Exam.”

“Is that a perfect score on the WQE?” Kristen says. “How did you even take it so soon?”

“I thought – I figured I’d fail it miserably, so taking it last week was sort of a practice? But now…” She trails off, and Kristen’s face is carefully blank. “Oh, I don’t plan on graduating now, of course. I will be graduating with the Bad Kids. But now all my courses can be elective. If I want to change them for next semester, I can.” She smiles. “Maybe I can pull a Fig and multiclass into something else. Become a Bard in her honor.”

“You’d have to be able to sing to do that.”

“Oh, be nice.” She reaches out and pinches Kristen on the ribs, like she used to do to Aelwyn. But Aelwyn’s never had the muscles that Kristen has, so it doesn’t really work. “What the – do you have, like, forty abs or something?!”

Kristen grins and flexes. “Been cutting, just to see what the definition looks like. What do you think?”

“I think you’re insane, and I love you for it,” Adaine says. She gestures to the table. “This really helped. Thank you.”

“Now to hang them up!” Kristen says. “Come on. We can steal tape from Jawbone and put them all around the house before they get back from their date.”

They move as fast as they can, and every doorway in the house is decorated with the snowflakes they’ve made, including the passage to Ayda’s and the weird portal to hell Fig uses to get from place to place more quickly.

“I’ll bring Cassandra hers later,” Kristen says, as they admire the three snowflakes adorning the front door. “These look great.”

Adaine scoots over to Kristen and nudges her until she moves her arm. Kristen laughs a little, pulls Adaine in, and squishes her tight.

“Don’t tell Aelwyn,” Adaine says. “But you guys are tied for favorite sister.”

[reasonsforhope]

Russia’s invasion of Ukraine has galvanized Ukrainian society in many unexpected ways, but perhaps one of the most remarkable is how it has advanced the rights of LGBTQ people.

On Tuesday, in a move that would have been nearly unthinkable a year ago, a Ukrainian lawmaker introduced legislation in the country’s parliament that would give partnership rights to same-sex couples. This legislation, along with a prohibition against anti-LGBTQ hate speech abruptly adopted in December, reflects a sharp rejection of Russia’s effort to weaponize homophobia in support of its invasion.

Russian President Vladimir Putin has said repeatedly that he attacked Ukraine last year partly to protect “traditional values” against the West’s “false values” that are “contrary to human nature” — code for LGBTQ people. Perhaps he hoped this would rally conservative Ukrainians to Russia’s side — it’s a tactic Kremlin allies have tried repeatedly over the past decade. But this time, it instead appears to be convincing a growing number of Ukrainians to support equality and reject the values Putin espouses.

--

Recent History

I could not have imagined the LGBTQ movement building such momentum when I first visited Ukraine as a reporter in 2013. Ukraine was then on the verge of consummating its long-negotiated “association agreement” with the European Union, a step Russian President Vladimir Putin bitterly opposed. As the deadline to sign the agreement approached, an oligarch close to Putin funded a campaign with billboards reading, “Association with EU means same-sex marriage.” Anti-EU protesters dubbed the EU “Gayropa.”

This effort failed to dissuade Ukrainians from a European path...

But the past decade has also seen Ukrainians standing firm in their commitment to democracy, and a growing understanding that this includes protections for fundamental rights.

There was an explosion of organizing by LGBTQ people in the years that followed the Revolution of Dignity, and some slow advances were made. But it’s been the stories of queer Ukrainians fighting and dying in the war with Russia that have truly helped other Ukrainians to see them as full citizens.

Pictured: Territorial Defense member Romanova shows a unicorn insignia, a mythical creature that has become a symbol of the LGBTQ community. This patch, which depicts a "valiant" unicorn breathing fire, has become the unofficial symbol of Ukraine's LGBTQ+ military.

Today

Ukraine’s current LGBTQ rights debate is unprecedented; never before has a country under siege had such visibly out soldiers who have so few formal rights under their own country’s laws. LGBTQ rights supporters have successfully framed the question on same-sex partnership as whether Ukraine will recognize LGBTQ people as equal citizens, which has become the norm throughout much of the European Union, as well as North and South America. They are successfully flipping the proposition that, as one Ukrainian politician once infamously put it, that “a gay cannot be a patriot.” ...

“I actually think that the Russians did a good job in terms of raising awareness and changing attitudes towards the LGBT community in Ukraine,” Sovsun told me in an interview. “The more Russia insists on [homophobia] being a part of their state policy, the more rejection of this policy [there] is from inside Ukraine.”

The aspiration of many Ukrainians to join the European Union has also helped move more Ukrainians to become supportive of queer peoples’ rights, as Ukraine attempts to define itself as a European democracy in contrast to Russian autocracy. A study conducted last May by the Ukrainian LGBTQ organization “Nash Svit” and the Kyiv International Institute of Sociology found nearly 64 percent of Ukrainians said queer people should have equal rights. Even among respondents who said they had a “negative” view of LGBTQ people, nearly half said they still supported equal rights.

The current push for same-sex partnership rights began with a school teacher from Zaporizhzha named Anastasia Andriivna Sovenko. In June, Sovenko registered a petition with Ukraine’s government demanding same-sex couples be granted partnership rights. It said simply, “At this time, every day can be the last. Let people of the same sex get the opportunity to start a family and have an official document to prove it. They need the same rights as traditional couples.”

Sovenko said she was inspired to file the petition after reading a story about different-sex couples getting married before one partner went off to war. It felt unfair to her that queer people couldn’t take the same step to protect their rights. Signatures quickly poured in, stunning even Sovenko herself...

Under Ukrainian law, the president is required to formally respond to any petition that gets 25,000 signatures, and the partnership petition quickly cleared that threshold. But in a sign that the politics of the issue remains complicated, Zelenskyy ruled out full marriage rights in his response, arguing that this required a constitutional change that could not be carried out under the rules of martial law. Instead, [Zelensky] punted to the Verkhovna Rada, Ukraine’s parliament, to examine the creation of civil unions. His language implied support, but he stopped short of using presidential powers to make it a reality.

“Every citizen is an inseparable part of civil society, he is entitled to all the rights and freedoms enshrined in the Constitution of Ukraine,” Zelenskyy said in the referral."

-via Politico, 3/7/23

Notes:

While the fight is still ongoing, I can't underlie enough how massive this shift in public opinion is. Russia and Ukraine have generally been incredibly unsafe places to be LGBTQ, including in very recent history. This is huge, and it sounds like it will only get bigger.

This could also help bring about a wider sea change throughout Eastern Europe, which in general has a very pervasive culture of homophobia, often tied in with both religious conservatism and ethno-nationalistic conflict, though thankfully things have been improving significantly over the last decade.

[this-daydream-is-dangerous-13]

Taylor’s use of 7 is Haylor, including seven: a thesis

Buckle up, friends. Ever since hearing the seven poem aloud on the Eras tour—with its explicit link to Wildest Dreams—it confirmed my long-held suspicion that *seven* is Haylor.

Some data:

- all track 7s post Red seem to be Haylor

- 7 is Harry’s number (added to hers you get 20, hence all the references to 20)

- seven is track 7 on folklore, the album Taylor released on 1D’s 10th anniversary. What? Harry had released Fine Line on her previous bday (#30, Dec 13/19) and she’d missed his Feb 1st day already.

But bestie, you might ask, how is it possible? Let me explain, drawing from details of the song.

We know that Anne and Des Styles divorce when Harry is 7. Anne has primary custody of H and Gemma in Holmes Chapel, but they remain close to Des whom they see on weekends.

But then, there is a period in their lives that no one knows much about and no one speaks about. Even this gem (which I am currently citing) - a 1D origin story has very little.

Harry has another stepdad whose last name is Cox (which was Anne’s name during 1D X factor time). His name was John. They family move to Great Budworth in the Cheshire countryside where Anne is landlady in a pub (and Harry talks fondly of ice cream runs and first girlfriends).

But then when H is around 12, Anne and the kids are back in Holmes Chapel. Anne eventually dates and gets serious with Harry’s beloved, now late stepdad Robin Twist. And Harry sometimes mentions his overwhelming desire to protect his Mom and Gemma at all costs.

No one ever mentions this guy. Ever.

Fast forward a few years to the magical December of 2012. After work commitments, Harry and Taylor spent 4 or 5 days in the north of England. They stay with Anne, and they Christmas bake and go on double dates with Gemma and her then boyfriend, and grocery shop and hang out with his friends. He takes her to the Lakes, where she’s dreamed of going.

It’s her 23rd birthday and be showers her with surprises and 23 thoughtful gifts (she’s not writing The Moment I Knew on his watch!). He gets her food from his childhood fave Chinese place and the bakery where he worked! He is showing her his life. It’s documented here…

Including their visit to a pub in Great Budworth and a drive around the area.

We have no idea what happened, but maybe Taylor does?

Taylor never got to take him to Pine Tree farm in rural PA, as far as we know. But in the depths of the pandemic, when no one could go anywhere, she paints him a picture of her PA childhood.

And in it, we find a fictionalized friend who has a difficult and maybe scary father figure. One from whom Taylor wishes she could save and protect her friend, despite crossing her heart and promising not to tell.

What a gift, to affirm the struggle this child went through, and to show her care and desire to *be with them in it*.

She wanted to scoop him up and take him away from the closet tears to play pirates and “run away to India”. What kid in rural PA wishes to go there? Come on! 😭😭😭

And then, here are the lyrics she pens:

“Passed on like folk songs, the love lasts so long”

“And just like a folk song, our love will be passed on…”

And most significantly - *love you to the moon and to Saturn* 🌙🪐 !!!!!

She wasn’t kidding in Gold Rush - “my mind turns your life into folklore, I can’t bear to dream about you any more.”