#unrelated to blue issue right now

[homeofhousechickens]

Oh i never updated about Sugar. She is all better now after her course of meds she still has that vet appointment to check her heart and a fecal next month though. Pretty sure it's just a particular nasty strain of coccidosis in this soil that my birds need just need to build up an immunity to.

[peavhyshy]

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ - AFRAID

ᯓᡣ𐭩 paring ─ ୨୧ ─ dark!boyfriend!rafe cameron ⋆ reader

ᯓᡣ𐭩 summary ─ ୨୧ ─ in which Rafe hatches a plan to ensure you stay by his side, by making you dependent on him.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 warnings ─ ୨୧ ─ explicit language noncon/dubcon, smut, rafe drugs reader, substance abuse, toxic relationship, emotional abuse, baby trapping/forced pregnancy, possessiveness, controlling behaviors, threats of violence, loss of virginity, corruption, breeding kink, dirty talk (like a lot), abandonment issues, manipulation, rough sex, hairpulling, fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, powerplay, choking, semi public sex, car sex, creampie (please dni if your sensitive to these topics your mental health should come first)

ᯓᡣ𐭩 wc ─ ୨୧ ─ 8,960

⋆˚✿˖° a/n ─ ୨୧ ─ is there a plot not really, it may seem long but 80% of this is smut. this is unrelated but i think his season 1 & 2 rafe hair were elite to me but I just hate buzz cuts on everyone so my opinion doesn't matter here. The ‘Lila’ is now edited I use it as a placeholder (because for some reason I hate putting y/n while writing) before I replace it with y/n but of course my dumbass forgot to do that when I published this.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔.:･Afraid･:.ೃ࿔.⋆❀°

(༝༚༝༚ lana del rey)

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Outer Banks Masterlist ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Navigation ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Rafe sits across from you at your usual table in the country club, his jaw clenching rhythmically as he watches you flip through the college applications. His fingers drum against the polished wooden table, creating a nervous pattern that matches his increasing anxiety. The sight of all those prestigious university names makes his stomach turn - Harvard, Yale, Princeton - each one threatening to take you further away from Outer Banks, from him. He barely touches his plate of steak, too preoccupied with the growing unease in his chest.

"Why the fuck are you even looking at schools that far?" He snaps suddenly, his voice carrying a sharp edge as he reaches across to snatch one of your fries, popping it into his mouth with more force than necessary. His blue eyes darken with barely contained irritation, especially when he catches Topper's wave from across the room. He returns it with a curt nod, his attention immediately returning to you. "You know there's perfectly good schools right here in North Carolina. UNC's got a decent program."

You glance up from your binder, your eyes meeting Rafe's intense blue ones. You set down your fork carefully on your half-eaten Caesar salad, a soft sigh escaping your lips. The sunlight streaming through the country club's windows catches on your hair, creating a halo effect around your skin. "Baby, we've talked about this," you say gently, "These schools have amazing programs for what I want to study. And it's not like I'm making any decisions yet - I'm just looking at options."

The afternoon sun streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows catches on his rings as he reaches up to run a hand through his disheveled hair, a telltale sign of his growing agitation. The country club bustles around them with the usual crowd of Kooks - women in tennis whites gossiping over martinis, men in polo shirts discussing their latest yacht purchases. But Rafe's focus remains fixed on those damned college applications, his jaw working overtime as he grinds his teeth.

The cocaine from earlier isn't helping his paranoia, making his thoughts race faster than he can process them. The idea of you leaving, of losing control over this one good thing in his life, sends a fresh wave of anxiety through his system. His free hand unconsciously reaches up to rub at his chest, a nervous tick he's developed. The country club suddenly feels too small, too confined, and he can feel his breathing getting slightly erratic. "Just... just put those away for now," he demands, trying to maintain his composure despite the rising panic in his chest. "We're supposed to be having lunch, not planning your fucking escape route."

You reach across the table with your free hand, your fingers brushing against his chest where he's rubbing anxiously. The familiar scent of his cologne mixed with something sharper - probably remnants of whatever he'd been doing before lunch - fills your nostrils as you lean closer. "Rafe, you're spiraling again," you observe quietly, mindful of the other diners around them. Your eyes flick briefly to Topper and his mother as they pass, offering a polite smile before returning your attention to your increasingly agitated boyfriend. "And you know that's not fair. I'm not trying to escape anything, especially not you."

"Besides," he continues, his tone taking on that manipulative edge he's so good at, "You really want to leave all this behind? The island, the parties, me?" He leans forward, lowering his voice to that dangerous whisper he uses when he's trying to get his way. "You know I can't follow you out there. I've got responsibilities here, the family business..." His hand shoots out to grab your wrist, not painfully, but firmly enough to make his point. "And what about us? You're going to throw away what we have for some fancy degree you could get right here?"

The weight of his intense stare makes you shift in your seat, your sundress rustling against the plush cushions. You can see the telltale signs of his growing panic - the clenched jaw, the rapid breathing, the way his fingers keep twitching against the table. Part of you wants to close the binder, to give in like you usually do when he gets like this. But another part, the part that's been dreaming about life beyond the island since you were little, keeps your hand steady on the applications. "What about a compromise?" you suggest, your voice taking on that soothing tone you learned to use when he's on edge. "What if I apply to both - some schools here in North Carolina and some out of state? That way we have options to discuss later?"

Your free hand moves from his chest to his face, your thumb gently stroking along his clenched jaw. You can feel the tension there, the way he's grinding his teeth. The chatter of the country club fades into background noise as you focus solely on him, knowing how quickly his mood can shift when he feels cornered. "And hey," you add, your voice dropping to a whisper as you lean even closer, your lips quirking into a small smile, "No matter where I end up going, you know you're the only one I want, right? These other Kook boys could never compare to my Rafe Cameron."

The familiar weight of the promise ring he gave you three months ago sits heavy on your finger, catching the light as you move. You learned over your time together that sometimes Rafe needs this - needs to be reminded that he's your choice, that you're his. Even if the possessiveness sometimes scares you, even if his mood swings leave you walking on eggshells, you can't deny the way your heart still races when he looks at you like he is now - like you're something precious he's terrified of losing. "Can we at least look through them together? You might see something you like too."

Rafe lets go of your wrist his hand shooting out to slam your binder shut with enough force to make nearby diners jump. "Don't fucking patronize me," he growls, his voice low and threatening despite their public setting. The gentle stroke of your thumb against his jaw only heightens his agitation, like a match to gasoline. "You think I don't see what this is?" He leans forward, invading your space across the table, his blue eyes wild with a mixture of possessiveness and barely contained rage. "First it's just 'looking at options,' then suddenly you're gone, probably fucking some ivy league asshole who doesn't know you like I do." His breathing becomes more erratic, the hand on his chest pressing harder as anxiety mingles with his growing anger. The familiar scent of your perfume - usually calming - now seems to mock him with its potential absence.

"You're trying to leave me, just like everyone else. Just like my mom, just like Sarah..." His voice cracks slightly on his sister's name before hardening again. "Well, I won't fucking let you."

You tense at the sudden shift in Rafe's demeanor, your heart rate picking up as you watch him slam your binder shut. The warmth drains from your eyes, replaced by a flicker of fear you try desperately to hide. Your skin prickles with goosebumps as he invades your space, his paranoia rolling off him in waves. You’ve seen him like this before, but never quite this intense, never quite this threatening in such a public place.

"Rafe, please," you whisper, your voice trembling slightly as you glance around at the other diners who are now openly staring at them. Your sundress suddenly feels too thin, too exposed under his wild-eyed gaze. You can smell the mixture of his cologne and sweat, and see the way his pupils are dilated - clear signs he's high again. "You're making a scene. Can we please just discuss this somewhere private?" 

A laugh escapes his throat at your suggestion of talking, the sound drawing more concerned glances from nearby tables. "Discuss? There's nothing to fucking discuss." His voice takes on that manipulative tone he knows works so well, mixing threat with vulnerability. "You belong here, with me. Do you think any of those places are gonna love you like I do? Understand you like I do?" His eyes flick to the promise ring on your finger, a visible reminder of his claim on you. "Or maybe that's what you want - to get away from the crazy boyfriend, right? Is that what this is about?"

The cocaine-fueled paranoia reaches a crescendo as he suddenly stands, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. He towers over you, his presence intimidating despite the public setting. "You're not going anywhere," he declares, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper as he leans down close to your ear. "And if you try, I'll make sure every single one of those fancy schools loses your application. Don't test me, baby." His lips brush against your ear as he speaks, a twisted mixture of threat and affection that's purely him. "Now get your shit. We're leaving." His hand moves to grip your upper arm, ready to pull you up from your chair, his entire body vibrating with barely contained violence and possessive need.

The promise ring feels like it's burning on your finger as tears start to well up in your eyes. "I'm not trying to leave you," you plead, your voice barely above a whisper. I'm not trying to leave you, I love you, Rafe. You know I do. But you're hurting me right now." You can feel your body starting to shake, whether from fear or adrenaline, you're not sure anymore.

You let him pull you to your feet, knowing resistance will only make things worse. Your college applications lay forgotten on the table as you stumble slightly, your legs weak from the sudden movement. "Okay," you concede, your voice small and defeated. "Okay, we can go. Just... please calm down. Please." Your free hand comes up to rest on his chest again, feeling his racing heartbeat under your palm. "Let's go to your family's place and talk about this properly. Just you and me, baby. Like we always do."

Rafe feels you trembling beneath his grip, and something in your tear-filled eyes pierces through his cocaine-addled rage. His breathing is still erratic, but the feel of your hand against his racing heart starts to ground him. The familiar scent of your perfume begins to cut through the paranoid haze, reminding him of lazy mornings in his bed, of your soft sighs against his neck. His grip on your arm loosens slightly, though he doesn't let go completely.

"Fuck," he mutters, running his free hand through his disheveled hair as reality starts seeping back in. The stares of the other country club patrons finally register, and he can feel his father's disapproval even in his absence. His jaw clenches and unclenches as he struggles to regain control. "Yeah... yeah, okay. Let's go home." His voice is still rough, but the dangerous edge has dulled somewhat. He reaches past you to grab your binder, shoving it under his arm - he's not leaving it here for you to come back to later.

The walk to his truck is tense, his hand moving from your arm to the small of your back - still possessive, but less aggressive. The cocaine is making him jittery, his thoughts racing between paranoia and guilt. Once you're inside his truck, he slams his palms against the steering wheel, making you jump. "I just..." he starts, his voice cracking slightly. "I can't lose you too, baby. I can't." His blue eyes, when they meet yours, are still wild but now tinged with desperation rather than rage. "Everyone leaves. Everyone always fucking leaves."

He reaches across the center console to pull you closer, burying his face in your neck. His breathing is still uneven, but slower now as he inhales your scent. "Stay," he whispers against your skin, his voice taking on that vulnerable quality that only you get to hear. "Just... stay with me. Please." His hand slides up to cup the back of your neck, his thumb stroking the soft skin there. It's the closest thing to an apology you’re likely to get from him, this moment of raw vulnerability between the storms of his temper.

Rafe paces anxiously across Topper's home gym, his footsteps echoing against the polished hardwood floors as sweat drips down his bare chest from their workout session. The late afternoon sun streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the expensive exercise equipment. His muscles are tense not just from lifting weights, but from the constant anxiety gnawing at his insides about your potential departure. The cocaine from earlier is still coursing through his system, making his thoughts race faster than he can process them.

"I'm telling you guys, she's fucking leaving me," he complains, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair as he continues his relentless pacing. The familiar panic starts rising in his chest again, making him rub at it absently. "All these fucking college applications... Harvard, Yale, Princeton. She's planning her escape and I can't... I can't fucking let that happen." His blue eyes are wild as they dart between Kelce and Topper, sprawled across the leather bench press seats, watching their friend's mounting distress.

Kelce exchanges a knowing look with Topper before speaking up, his voice careful as he watches Rafe's increasingly agitated movements. "Man, you need to chill. Maybe if you weren't so fucking intense about it-" Rafe's sharp laugh cuts him off, the sound bouncing off the mirrored walls. "Intense? You think I'm being intense?" Rafe's voice rises as he spins to face them, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "My girl's trying to leave the fucking state, and you're telling me to chill?"

"Well," Topper drawls, wiping his face with a monogrammed towel, "you could always do what my cousin did when his girlfriend tried to leave for college." He pauses for dramatic effect, a smirk playing on his lips. "Got her knocked up. Can't exactly go to Yale with a baby on the way, can you?" He's clearly joking, but something in Rafe's expression shifts, his eyes taking on that dangerous gleam that appears when he's formulating a plan.

"That's..." Rafe stops pacing, his mind racing with possibilities. His jaw clenches rhythmically as he processes the idea. "That's fucking perfect." He starts pacing again, but this time with purpose, his movements predatory rather than anxious. "She'd have to stay. She'd be tied to me forever." His voice takes on that obsessive quality that appears when he's fixating on something. "No more fucking college applications, no more threats of leaving. She'd be mine, completely mine."

"Dude," Kelce sits up straighter, realizing Rafe's actually considering it. "I don't think that's what Topper meant-" But Rafe's already lost in his world, his cocaine-fueled paranoia latching onto this new solution like a lifeline. "She's still a virgin too," he continues, more to himself than his friends, his rings catching the light as he gestures animatedly. "Waiting for the 'right moment' or some shit. Well, guess that moment's coming sooner than she thought."

"No, no, this could work," Rafe continues, his voice taking on that edge that suggests he's spiraling into one of his episodes. "Her parents are traditional as fuck, they'd make her keep it. And Ward's always going on about wanting grandkids to carry on the Cameron name..." He's fully pacing now, his movements jerky and aggressive as the plan solidifies in his mind. "She's been hinting about wanting to do it soon anyway. Valentine's Day is coming up..."

The gym falls silent except for the sound of Rafe's footsteps and heavy breathing. Neither Kelce nor Topper dare speak, knowing from experience that trying to talk Rafe down when he's like this - especially when he's high - is pointless and potentially dangerous. They watch as their friend works himself into a frenzy, plotting the permanent capture of his girlfriend with the same intense focus he applies to everything he wants to possess.

"It's perfect," Rafe finally declares, stopping his pacing to face his friends. His chest heaves with excited breaths, sweat making his skin shine in the fading sunlight. "She'll never leave me then. She'll have to stay here, raise our kid, be the perfect fucking family." 

The thought of you, permanently his, unable to leave him, sends a rush of possessive pleasure through his system. "You guys didn't hear any of this," he suddenly stops, fixing both Kelce and Topper with a threatening stare. "Not a fucking word to anyone, got it?" His voice carries that dangerous edge that reminds them why people are scared of him, why even other Kooks think twice before crossing him.

"Jesus Christ, Rafe," Topper mutters, running a hand through his hair as he watches his friend's descent into this new obsession. "This is fucked up, even for you." But he knows that look in Rafe's eyes. Once Rafe sets his mind to something, especially when he's high, there's no talking him out of it. The gym feels smaller suddenly, charged with the energy of Rafe's newfound determination.

Rafe stands at the door of the l/n estate, his tall frame cutting an imposing figure in his tailored black suit. His blue eyes are slightly dilated from the line of cocaine he did in his truck to calm his nerves, but he's made sure to eye drop and cologne himself thoroughly. The velvet box containing the surprise he has planned for later weighs heavy in his pocket as he shifts anxiously, his rings catching the light as he reaches up to adjust his tie.

When Paul opens the door, Rafe immediately straightens his posture, forcing his most charming smile - the one he uses when he needs to impress. "Good evening, Mr. L/N," he greets, his voice steady despite the cocaine making his heart race. The older man's scrutinizing gaze reminds him uncomfortably of his own father's disapproving stares. The foyer behind Paul gleams with old money - crystal chandeliers, marble floors, and family portraits that speak of generations of Kook legacy.

"Rafe," Paul acknowledges with a slight nod, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the young man's appearance. There's something about Ward Cameron's son that has always set him on edge, though he can't quite put his finger on what. Maybe it's the occasional wild look in his eyes or the way his daughter seems to walk on eggshells around him sometimes. "Y/N is still getting ready. Come in." He steps aside, allowing Rafe into the pristine foyer.

The sound of Rafe's expensive dress shoes echoes against the marble as he enters, his hands sliding into his pockets to hide their slight tremor - partly from the drugs, partly from anticipation of what he has planned for tonight. The house smells of old money and fresh flowers, much like his own family's estate, but somehow more sterile, fitting for a plastic surgeon's home. His fingers brush against the small packet of powder in his pocket, next to the ring box - just enough to keep him steady through dinner.

"I trust you'll have her home at a reasonable hour," Paul's voice cuts through Rafe's thoughts, making him turn to face the older man. "Of course, sir," Rafe responds, that practiced smile still in place even as his jaw clenches slightly. "We just have reservations at Le Rivage, then maybe a walk on the beach." What he doesn't mention is the rest of his plans for the evening - the champagne waiting in his truck, the blankets he's laid out at his secret spot on the beach, the pills dissolved in one of the champagne glasses that will make sure everything goes according to plan.

The sound of heels on marble draws both men's attention to the grand staircase, and Rafe's breath catches in his throat. You descend like something out of a dream, your skin glowing against the deep red of your dress making his hands itch with the need to touch you. His blue eyes darken as they track your movement, his mind already racing ahead to later in the evening, to all the ways he plans to claim you completely.

"You look fucking perfect," he breathes out when you reach the bottom of the stairs, catching himself too late to censor his language in front of your father. But he can't help it - the cocaine making him more impulsive than usual, and the sight of you making his blood run hot. He steps forward to meet you, one hand reaching out to brush against your waist, proprietary and possessive even under your father's watchful gaze. The scent of your perfume mingles with the lingering chemical taste in the back of his throat, making him dizzy with want and anticipation.

Tonight's the night, he thinks, his grip on your waist tightening slightly as Paul insists on taking pictures. Tonight you become his completely, permanently. No more college applications, no more threats of leaving. The thought makes him pull you closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "Ready for your Valentine's surprise, baby?" His voice carries that dangerous edge that anyone else would recognize as a warning, but he knows his sweet, innocent Y/N won't catch it. Not until it's too late.

Rafe helps you into his truck, his hand lingering possessively on your lower back as you climb in. The interior smells of expensive leather and his cologne, mixed with something chemical that makes you wrinkle your nose slightly. He slides into the driver's seat, his movements are precise despite the cocaine coursing through his system. The engine purrs to life, and he immediately reaches for your hand, intertwining your fingers as he pulls away from your family's estate.

"You really do look fucking incredible tonight," he murmurs, his blue eyes flickering between you and the road. His thumb traces circles on your palm, a gesture that would seem sweet if not for the slight tremor in his hand. "That dress is driving me crazy." His rings catch the streetlights as you drive through Figure 8, passing other massive estates and perfectly manicured lawns.

"Thank you, baby," You respond softly, your free hand smoothing down the red fabric of your dress. "You clean up pretty nice yourself." You glance at him, admiring how the streetlights cast shadows across his sharp jawline. "So, are you going to tell me where we're going for dinner? You've been so secretive about tonight."

Rafe's grip on your hand tightens almost imperceptibly. "It's a surprise, remember?" His voice carries that edge of control he can never quite hide. "But first..." He reaches behind your seat with his free hand, pulling out a small gift bag. "I got you something to wear at dinner." Inside is a delicate diamond necklace, the stones catching the light like tiny stars.

"Oh, Rafe," You breathe, reaching for the necklace. "It's beautiful. You didn't have to-" You are cut off by his laugh, that sharp sound that always makes your stomach flip. "Of course I did. Only the best for my girl." He pulls into a secluded spot overlooking the water, putting the truck in park. "Here, let me put it on you."

His hands are slightly unsteady as he fastens the necklace around your throat, his breath hot against your neck. "Perfect," he whispers, his fingers trailing down your spine. "Just like you'll be after tonight." There's something in his voice that makes you shiver, though you can't quite place why. "What do you mean?" you ask, turning to face him.

Rafe's eyes are darker now, pupils blown wide as he stares at you. "Just that I've got big plans for us, baby." His hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing across your bottom lip. "Tonight's gonna change everything." He leans in closer, his other hand sliding up your thigh, pushing the fabric of your dress higher. "You trust me, right?"

"Of course I do," You whisper, even as something in your gut tells you something's off. You can feel his heart racing where your bodies are pressed together and you can smell something sharp and chemical on his breath beneath the mint. "Rafe, are you okay? You seem...different tonight."

"Never better," he responds, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Just excited to give you all your surprises." His hand moves higher up your thigh, possessive and demanding. "Now, how about we have a little drink before dinner? To celebrate Valentine's Day?" He reaches behind the seat again, pulling out an expensive bottle of champagne and two glasses.

Rafe pours the champagne with calculated precision, his hands steadier now as he hands you your specially prepared glass. The moonlight filtering through the truck's windows catches the diamond necklace at your throat, reminding him of how perfectly it marks you as his. His blue eyes track your every movement as you accept the glass, noting how the red fabric of your dress has ridden up slightly from your position.

"To us," he proposes, raising his glass with that dangerous smile playing at his lips. The cocaine makes everything feel more intense - the way your perfume fills the confined space of his truck, the soft sound of your breathing, the sight of your lips touching the rim of the glass. He watches intently as you take a sip, something predatory flickering in his eyes. "And to all the surprises tonight has in store."

"Mmm, this is really good," You comment, taking another sip. You don’t notice how Rafe barely touches his glass, too focused on watching your drink. "But shouldn't we head to dinner? We don't want to lose our reservation." You move to check the time on your phone, but Rafe's hand shoots out to stop you, his fingers wrapping around your wrist with practiced possessiveness.

"We've got time," he assures you, his voice dropping lower as he leans closer. His free hand comes up to trace the line of the necklace, fingers ghosting over your collarbone. "Besides, I want to enjoy this moment. Just you and me." He can feel your pulse racing under his fingers where they press against your wrist. "Finish your drink, baby. Then we can talk about dinner."

He watches as you obediently take another sip, then another. "You know what I love about you, Y/N?" His voice is rough now, heavy with want and something darker. "How fucking perfect you are. How innocent." His fingers trace patterns on your inner thigh, making you shiver. "How you trust me completely."

"Rafe," you breathe, and he notices your words are slightly slurred now. Your eyes are starting to look unfocused as you blink slowly at him. "I feel... strange." The champagne glass slips from your fingers, but he catches it smoothly, setting it aside. His heart is racing with a mixture of cocaine-fueled excitement and dark anticipation.

"Shh, baby," he soothes, pulling you closer as you start to sway slightly. "I've got you. Always got you." His lips brush against your neck, just above the diamond necklace. "And after tonight, you'll always be mine. No more college applications, no more threats of leaving." His voice takes on that possessive edge that would normally frighten you, but the drugs in your system are making everything feel distant and hazy.

"What did you..." you try to ask, your head falling back against the seat as your limbs grow heavy. Rafe's hand comes up to cup your face, his thumb stroking your cheek as he watches the drugs take effect. The moonlight casts shadows across his face, making his expression look almost demonic as he smiles down at you.

"Just making sure tonight goes exactly as planned," he whispers, his other hand already reaching for the blankets he has stashed behind the seats. "Don't fight it, baby. Just let go. Let me take care of everything." His lips crash against yours, swallowing any protest you might have made as the drugs pull you deeper under their influence.

Rafe watches with dark satisfaction as your movements become increasingly sluggish, your normally bright eyes growing heavy-lidded and unfocused. He shifts in his seat, reaching to recline both of your seats back to create more space in the truck's cabin. The moonlight streaming through the windows casts ethereal shadows across your skin as he positions your body how he wants.

"Rafe..." you mumble, your voice thick and confused as he spreads the blankets beneath you. "What's happening? I feel so..." Your word trails off as he captures your lips in another possessive kiss, his hands already working at the zipper of your red dress.

"Just relax, baby," he whispers against your mouth, cocaine making his movements more aggressive than usual. "Let me take care of you." His fingers trace the newly exposed skin of your back, savoring how you shiver under his touch despite your drugged state. "You look so fucking perfect like this. So helpless. So mine."

Rafe's hands slide possessively over your body as he peels the red dress from your drugged form, revealing the black underwear underneath. His blue eyes darken with predatory hunger as he drinks in the sight of you laid out beneath him in his truck, the diamond necklace glinting at your throat like a collar. The softness of your skin, the way your chest rises and falls with each shallow breath, the little whimpers that escape your lips as you try to fight through the fog in your mind.

"Shh, baby," he soothes, his voice rough with desire as his hands roam over your exposed flesh. "Just let it happen. You know you want this." His fingers trace the edge of your lacy bra, teasing your hardened nipples through the delicate fabric. "Been waiting so fucking long for this moment. To make you completely mine."

"Rafe, please," You slurred, weakly trying to push at his chest. "Something's wrong... I can't..." Your protests are cut off by his mouth crashing against yours, his tongue forcing its way past your lips as his hand slides between your thighs. He groans when he feels how wet you are through your panties, his cock straining against his suit pants.

"Look how ready you are for me," he rubs circles against your clit through the lace. "Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind's trying to fight it." He pulls back to admire his handiwork - your lips swollen from his kisses, your pupils blown wide from the drugs, your chest heaving as you struggle to focus. "Gonna fill you up so good, baby. Gonna put my baby in you tonight."

Rafe’s fingers hook into your panties, slowly dragging them down your legs as you weakly try to squeeze your thighs together. The moonlight catches on the wetness between your legs, making him groan. "Fuck, look at that pretty pussy," he breathes, his fingers spreading you open. "All perfect and untouched. Not for long though." 

Rafe's fingers work methodically between your thighs, spreading your wetness as he watches your face contort with unwilling pleasure. His other hand pins your wrists above your head, his rings cold against your feverish skin. The truck's windows are starting to fog up from your heavy breathing, creating a private cocoon around you.

"That's it, baby," he growls, sliding two fingers into you, feeling how tight you are around them. "Gonna stretch you out nice and slow before I fuck a baby into you." His cock throbs painfully in his pants as he watches you arch beneath him, the drugs making you more responsive even as you try to resist.

"No... Rafe... please," You whimper, your head thrashing weakly against the leather seat. But your body betrays you, hips rocking against his skilled fingers as he finds that spot inside you that makes you see stars. The diamond necklace glints at your throat as you gasp, reminding him of his ownership.

"Look at you, taking my fingers so well," he praises darkly, adding a third finger to stretch you further. "Can't wait to feel this tight little cunt around my cock." His thumb finds your clit, rubbing circles that make your whole body tremble. "Gonna fill you up so good, baby. Make sure my cum stays deep inside you until it takes."

The way your walls clench around his fingers, the little sounds you make as he works your body, the perfect arch of your back as you fight between pleasure and resistance. He leans down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth, biting down just hard enough to make you cry out.

"Please," you beg, though whether you're begging him to stop or continue, even you don’t know anymore. Your body is on fire, every nerve ending singing from his touch as the drugs make everything feel more intense. "Rafe... I can't..."

"Yes, you can," he demands, curling his fingers inside you as his thumb speeds up on your clit. "Come on my fingers like a good girl. Show me how much you want my cock." His blue eyes are wild with possession as he watches you fall apart beneath him, knowing that after tonight, you’ll never be able to leave him. 

Rafe’s fingers work relentlessly between your thighs. His free hand moves from your wrists to grip your throat, right above the diamond necklace, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp. "Let me feel that tight little pussy squeeze my fingers."

Your body betrays you even as your mind tries to resist, waves of unwilling pleasure building under his skilled touch. The drugs make everything feel heightened - the stretch of his fingers inside you, the pressure of his thumb on your clit, the heat of his breath against your neck. Your legs start to tremble as you approach your peak.

"That's it, baby," He watches your face contort with pleasure and confusion. His cock strains painfully against his suit pants, demanding attention. But he forces himself to wait, to savor this moment of taking your innocence piece by piece. "Give it to me. Show me how good I make you feel."

The sound of your heavy breathing fills the truck's cabin, mixing with the wet sounds of his fingers working between your legs. Rafe's eyes are dark with possession as he watches you fight against the inevitable, knowing that each moment brings him closer to his ultimate goal. The moonlight catches on the sweat beading on your skin, making you glow ethereally.

"I... I can't..." You whimper, your back arching off the seat as pleasure builds to an unbearable level. The drugs make everything feel like too much and not enough all at once. "Rafe, please..." Your fingers clutch desperately at his shoulders. "You can, and you will," he commands, his voice taking on that dangerous edge that brooks no argument. His fingers curl inside you, finding that spot that makes you see stars while his thumb circles your clit with practiced precision. "Come for me now. Let me feel it."

Rafe watches with dark satisfaction as your body trembles beneath him, your back arching off the leather seat as pleasure builds. His fingers work relentlessly inside your pussy, stretching and preparing you for what's to come. The way your walls clench around his digits, the little gasps and moans you can't hold back, the perfect arch of your spine as you fight between resistance and ecstasy.

"That's my good girl," his free hand moving from your throat to grip your hair, forcing you to look at him. "Watch me while you come. Want to see those pretty eyes when I make you fall apart." His thumb continues its relentless assault on your clit as his fingers curl inside you, hitting that spot that makes your whole body shake.

Your eyes flutter open, glazed with drugs and unwilling pleasure. The moonlight catches the tears gathering in your lashes as you stare up at him, unable to look away from his intense blue gaze. Your lips part in a silent scream as the pressure builds to an unbearable level, your body tightening around his fingers.

"Please," Her hands clutch desperately at his shoulders, leaving crescent marks through his expensive shirt. "Rafe, I can't... it's too much..."

"Yes, you can," he demands, his voice rough with desire and dominance. "Come for me now, baby. Show me how good I make you feel." His fingers speed up inside you, the wet sounds of your arousal filling the truck's cabin. "Let go. Let me see you fall apart before I fuck you properly."

The combination of his skilled fingers, the drugs in your system, and his commanding voice finally pushes you over the edge. Your whole body goes rigid as pleasure crashes through you, walls clenching rhythmically around his fingers as you come with a broken cry of his name. 

"Beautiful," he breathes, working you through the aftershocks as you tremble beneath him. "But we're not done yet, baby. Not even close." His free hand moves to his belt, the sound of the buckle loud in the confined space. "Now it's time for the main event. Time to make you completely mine."

Rafe takes his time unbuckling his belt, the metallic sound echoing in the confined space of his truck. His blue eyes never leave your face as he watches you come down from your high, your body still trembling with aftershocks. Your chest heaves with each breath, the glisten of sweat on your skin, the slight quiver of your thighs as they remain spread for him.

"Look at you," he grunts, finally freeing his throbbing cock from his pants. "All fucked out from just my fingers, and we haven't even gotten to the best part yet." His hand wraps around his length, stroking slowly as he positions himself between your legs. The head of his cock brushes against your sensitive folds, making you whimper. "Been waiting so fucking long for this moment."

"Rafe," You slur, your drugged mind struggling to focus as you feel his size pressing against your entrance. "Wait... I'm not ready..." Your weak protests only serve to fuel his desire, his grip tightening on your hip as he holds you in place. The diamond necklace at your throat catches the moonlight as you try to shift away.

"You're more than ready, baby," he counters, using his free hand to spread your wetness along his length. "Your body's begging for it. Been begging for it all night." He leans down, capturing your lips in a possessive kiss as he starts to push inside your entrance. The stretch is intense, making you gasp against his mouth. "Gonna make you take every fucking inch."

His cock inches forward slowly, savoring the way your walls resist his invasion. The truck's windows are completely fogged now, creating a private world for just the two of you. Rafe's breathing grows heavier as he feels your tight heat enveloping him, his control starting to slip. "Fuck, you're so tight," he groans, his fingers digging into your hip hard enough to leave bruises. "Taking my cock so well, just like I knew you would."

Tears stream down your cheeks as he stretches you open, the mixture of pain and drugged pleasure making your head spin. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into the expensive fabric of his suit jacket. "Almost there, baby," he pants against your neck, his hips still pushing forward relentlessly. "Just a little more and you'll have all of me." His free hand slides between them to rub your clit, knowing the added stimulation will help your body accept him. "Gonna fill this tight little pussy up with my cum, make sure it takes. Make sure you can never leave me."

Rafe's hips finally meet yours as he bottoms out inside you, a groan of satisfaction rumbling deep in his chest. Your walls flutter around his length as you adjust to being completely filled for the first time. The truck's cabin is thick with the scent of sex and sweat, the leather seats creaking beneath them with each subtle movement.

"There we go," he pants against your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. His hands grip your hips possessively as he holds himself still, savoring the moment. "Been dreaming about this for so fucking long, baby. About claiming you completely." You whimper beneath him, your mind is hazy from the drugs as your body struggles to accommodate his size. Tears continue to stream down your cheeks, your fingers clutch weakly at his shoulders as you feel him throb inside you.

"Please," you manage to gasp, though your drugged state makes it hard to form coherent thoughts. "It's too much... I can't..." Your protests are cut off by his mouth capturing yours in a demanding kiss, his tongue invading your mouth just as his cock has invaded your body.

"Yes, you can," his hips starting to move in shallow thrusts. "And you will. Gonna fuck a baby into you tonight, make sure you can never leave me." His movements gradually become deeper, and more purposeful, as he establishes a rhythm. "Watch me while I do it. Want to see those pretty eyes when I breed you." One hand slides from your hip to grip your jaw, forcing you to maintain eye contact as he fucks into you. "That's it," he praises darkly as your body starts to respond despite your protests. "Take it like a good girl. Let me feel that pussy squeeze my cock."

Rafe's movements become more intense, his hips snapping against yours with increasing force as he chases his release. The truck rocks with your movements, his hands grip your hips bruisingly tight as he pounds into you, watching with dark satisfaction as pleasure and pain war across your drugged features.

"Fuck, you feel perfect," he groans, one hand sliding up to wrap around your throat just above the diamond necklace. "So fucking tight around my cock. Like you were made for this." His thumb traces your bottom lip as he continues his relentless pace. "Made to take my cum, to carry my baby."

Your head thrashes weakly against the leather seat, your body overwhelmed by the mix of drugs and unwilling pleasure. Your walls clench around him involuntarily as another orgasm builds, making him grunt with satisfaction. "That's it, baby," he praises darkly. "Squeeze my cock just like that. Show me how much your body wants this." His free hand moves between them to rub your clit, determined to make you come around his cock. "Gonna fill you up so good," he pants, his rhythm becoming more erratic as he nears his release. "Gonna pump you full of my cum until it takes. Make sure everyone knows you belong to me." His fingers speed up on your clit as he feels your walls starting to flutter. "Come for me now, baby. Let me feel that tight little pussy milk my cock."

Rafe's grip tightens on your hips as he feels his release building, his thrusts becoming more desperate and erratic. "That's it, baby," feeling your walls clench around him as another orgasm builds in your drugged body. "Come on my cock like a good girl. Show me how much you want my cum." Your back arches off the seat as pleasure crashes through you against your will, your walls squeezing his length rhythmically. The sight of you coming undone beneath him finally pushes Rafe over the edge. With a guttural groan, he buries himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he empties himself into your pussy. "Fuck," he pants against your neck, grinding his hips to ensure his cum stays deep inside. "All mine now."

He collapses on top of you for a moment, both of you catching your breath in the steamy confines of his truck. The diamond necklace glints at your throat as he finally pulls out, watching with dark satisfaction as his release drips from your used pussy. "No more college applications, no more threats of leaving. You're stuck with me now, baby." Without a word, he starts fixing his clothes, already planning your next encounter in his mind. 

"Let's get you home, baby," he says, his voice rough as he helps you dress on shaky legs. "Don't want your daddy getting suspicious." His hand rests possessively on your thigh as he starts the truck, knowing that after tonight, everything has changed. The drive back is silent except for your occasional whimpers, the drugs still making your head fuzzy as she processes what just happened.

A week later,  

Rafe lounges against his truck at the Boneyard, The beach is relatively empty at this hour, just a few surfers catching the last waves of the day. His blue eyes track your movement, noting how pale you look, and how your usual confident stride seems shakier. A smirk plays at his lips, though he keeps his expression carefully neutral.

"Hey baby," he calls out, pushing off the truck to meet you. His hands immediately find your waist, pulling you close as he studies your face. "You sounded weird on the phone. Everything okay?" The concern in his voice is perfectly crafted, masking the satisfaction he feels as he takes in your distressed state.

Your hands tremble as you pull away from his embrace, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively. "Rafe, I... I need to tell you something." Your voice cracks slightly as you speak, tears already gathering in your eyes. "I went to the doctor today..."

"What's wrong?" Rafe steps closer, his hand coming up to cup your face with practiced gentleness. Inside, his heart races with anticipation, but his expression remains one of innocent concern. "You've been sick all week. Did they figure out what's wrong?"

"I'm pregnant," you whisper, the words carried away by the ocean breeze. Your eyes search his face desperately for any sign of recognition, any hint that he remembers your Valentine's night. "But I don't... I can't remember... The last thing I clearly remember is having champagne in your truck..."

Rafe's eyes widen in perfectly feigned shock, his hand dropping from your face as he takes a step back. "You're... what?" He runs a hand through his hair, the picture of a young man receiving unexpected news. "But we've never... I mean, I thought you wanted to wait?" His voice carries just the right amount of confusion and disbelief.

"That's just it," Your voice rises slightly, panic evident in your tone. "I don't remember! Valentine's Day is just... fuzzy. But the doctor said I'm about a week along, and you're the only one I've been with..." you trail off, tears now flowing freely down your cheeks.

Rafe pulls you into his arms, hiding his triumphant smile in your hair. "Shh, it's okay," he soothes, one hand moving to rest possessively over your still-flat stomach. "We'll figure this out together. I'm here for you, baby. Always." His voice drops lower, taking on that dangerous edge you're too distraught to notice. "Guess those college applications won't be necessary anymore, huh?"

His hand tightens possessively around your waist as you tremble against him, his other hand still resting on your stomach where his child is growing. The setting sun casts long shadows across the beach, the sound of waves providing a backdrop to your quiet sobs. His blue eyes gleam with dark satisfaction as he feels you collapse further into his embrace, exactly where he wants you.

"What am I going to tell my parents?" You whisper against his chest, your voice breaking. "My dad... he's going to kill me. And all my college plans..." You pull back slightly to look up at him, mascara running down your cheeks. "Rafe, I can't remember anything from that night. How did this happen?"

Rafe's jaw clenches as he maintains his facade of confusion and concern. "Hey, look at me," he demands softly, tilting your chin up with his fingers. "Your parents love you. And my family... well, Ward's always talking about wanting grandkids." His thumb wipes away your tears as he studies your face. "Maybe this is a good thing, you know? You and me, starting our own family."

"But I had plans," you protest weakly, your hands clutching at his shirt. "Harvard, Yale... I was supposed to get out of Outer Banks..." You don’t even notice how his grip tightens painfully at your words or the flash of possessive anger in his eyes.

"Fuck those plans," he growls, before quickly softening his tone. "I mean, things change, right? Sometimes for the better." His hand slides up to cup your face, forcing you to maintain eye contact. "You've got me now. Got us. Isn't that better than some fancy college where you don't know anyone?" He’s super hyper-focused on every detail - the way you unconsciously lean into his touch, how your body fits perfectly against his, the slight swell of your breasts that's already becoming noticeable. His other hand remains possessively on your stomach, imagining how it will grow with his child.

"I'm scared," You admit, your voice small against the sound of crashing waves. "Everything's happening so fast, and I can't remember... that night is just blank, Rafe. Doesn't that bother you?" You search his face for any sign of recognition, any hint of guilt.

But Rafe's expression remains carefully crafted a mixture of concern and determination. "What bothers me is seeing you upset," he lies smoothly, pulling you closer. "We'll figure this out together, okay? You and me and our baby. "No more talk about leaving, though. You belong here, with me. Got it?"

"We should tell our parents soon," he says, his voice carrying that edge of control he can never quite hide. "Get everything out in the open. But first, promise me something, baby. Promise me you'll stop looking at those college applications."

Your eyes widen with fresh tears as you stare up at him. "But Rafe, I can't just give up everything I've worked for..." Your voice trails off as his grip tightens slightly on your chin, his blue eyes darkening with barely contained possession.

"Those dreams were for the old Y/N," he states firmly, his thumb brushing across your bottom lip. "The one who didn't have a family to think about. Things are different now." His other hand presses harder against your stomach, a reminder of what's growing inside of you. "You've got bigger responsibilities. To me. To our baby."

The waves crash against the shore behind them as silence stretches between them. Rafe can feel your pulse racing beneath his fingers where they rest against your throat and can see the moment you start to break under the weight of reality. His plan is working perfectly - soon you’ll be completely his, tied to him forever through your child.

"I... I need time to think," You finally whisper, trying to step back from his embrace. But Rafe's grip remains firm, keeping you close as the last rays of sunlight disappear behind the horizon. His expression shifts into something darker, more possessive.

"No more thinking," One of his hands slid up to tangle in your hair. "No more plans that don't include me. You're mine now, Y/N. The sooner you accept that, the better." His voice carries a threat wrapped in velvet as he stares down at you. "Or should we talk about how convenient it is that you can't remember Valentine's Day?"

Rafe's threat hangs heavy in the air as your face drains of color. His fingers tighten in your hair, cocaine making his movements more aggressive than usual. The darkened beach feels suddenly oppressive as he towers over your trembling form.

"What... what do you mean?" You whisper, your voice is small and frightened as you search his face. The familiar warmth in his blue eyes has been replaced by something cold and calculating that makes your stomach turn.

"You really want to know what happened that night?" he asks, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. His hand slides from your stomach to your hip possessively. "Want me to tell you exactly how I made sure you'd never leave me? How I watched you drink that champagne, knowing what was in it?"

You try to pull away, but his grip is iron-tight as realization dawns on your face. "No," she breathes, shaking her head in denial. "You wouldn't... you couldn't..." But the predatory smile spreading across his face tells you everything you need to know.

"I did," he confirms, pulling you closer until your faces are inches apart. "And now you're carrying my baby. No more college applications. No more dreams of leaving. You're mine forever now, baby." His thumb brushes away a tear from your cheek with mock tenderness. "And if you ever think about telling anyone... well, who's going to believe the girl who can't remember her own Valentine's Day?"

The waves crash behind them as your world crumbles around you. You can feel the weight of the promise ring on your finger - once a symbol of love, now feeling more like a shackle. Rafe watches you process everything with dark satisfaction, knowing he's won completely.

"Why?" you finally manage to ask through your tears, your voice breaking on the single word. The hand in your hair tightens as Rafe's expression turns almost tender, though his eyes remain cold.

"Because you're mine," he states simply as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "And I take care of what's mine. You'll see, baby. This is better than any fancy college could ever be." His hand moves to rest on your stomach again, possessive and threatening all at once. "Our little family, together forever in Outer Banks. Just like it should be."

[apas-95]

the more well-known the agency confronting you is, the less trouble you're usually in. like if it's the cops at your door, it could just be a noise complaint. FBI might just be there for tweets. obviously, still bad, but... here, a comparison. if you have a run in with the CIA you're probably in trouble, but if you have a run in with the Office of Naval Intelligence then you've definitely fucked up. did you know the USPS has its own investigative force? and you might be thinking like, oh, as in some dudes in baby blue button-ups who search for missing mail - but no, these are uniformed, armed federal agents with all the authority that entails. they've got squad cars and such. and, like, these guys are serious. back in the late '80s to the early '90s, when electronic mail sorting first started to be rolled out, there were consistent issues with the machines having trouble scanning letters. it wasn't a super common problem, but it happened a lot, in multiple states. anyway, the USPS eventually realised two things - first, that the problems persisted even after the machines themselves were replaced (at great expense); and second, that they were really limited to michigan and some surrounding states, with only rare occurrences elsewhere which might be unrelated. anyway, that was enough to get the United States Postal Inspection Service to take interest. if somebody was sending dangerous materials though the mail which were messing with the scanning machines, it was probably endangering postal workers too. this was pre-9/11, so the idea it was terrorism wasn't taken too seriously, and the investigation didn't get much support. anyway, it takes months of waiting for machines to break down, cataloguing the mail they'd been handling, cross-referencing it, etc, to narrow down the source of the mail to somewhere south of detroit. kinda goes cold for a while, since the mail's scanned in big batches and finding the common link takes a *lot* of data and work. anyway it's like october '91 now and they think they've finally got it. they've found a specific batch that's tripping the machines up, and they're going over it with a fine-tooth comb when an agent's pager starts freaking out. after experimenting, they realise that whatever's fucked with the scanning machines has also fucked with the pager, and they realise it might be putting out radiation. biiig 'oh shit' moment. they isolate the whole batch and get a big medical checkup, but they're alright. geiger counter picks up nothing. what they *do* find, however, is that there are like 60 letters in there that are each putting out small amounts of non-ionising EM radiation. so, basically safe to handle, but together they're enough to flip some bits in the janky '80s tech they've got and cause occasional scanning errors. and, get this, they're all from the same address. they track this place down, and it's this guy running a sort of bird sanctuary in his backyard. he's australian, and sells like, courses for avoiding getting attacked by birds - and he spends a lot of time hanging around these birds, right? so they take the guy in for questioning, and they literally can't even have recording equipment on the table with him without it glitching, he's almost cooking popcorn here. they question him, and he tells them about his business, how he like, teaches people specific hand gestures to scare away birds and whatever, and they start grilling him on whether he's been exposed to any chemicals or anything, because of the letters. and the guy, when he hears about the letters, suddenly goes like 'ohhh', and explains. cus he gives people grades on their performance and sends them a handmade certificate after they complete the course, right? so they're like 'why the fuck are your letters irradiated' and he just tells them 'Thats My Crow Wave Gradiation'

[felinefractious]

Is there anything ethically wrong with breeding cats of colors that don't fit the breed standard? Are there usually reasons (like related health problems) that cause certain colors to be excluded from a breed? :0

It depends.

A major point of controversy in the Maine Coon fancy right now is the subject of dominant blue eyed cats. The breed standard considers blue or odd eyes to be a disqualifying fault with the exception of white or high white cats.

We now know that the dominant blue eye gene referred to as Rociri Elvis (DBE-RE) is associated with deafness and other physiological changes (which are also off standard) similar to Waardenburg syndrome in humans.

Unfortunately this gene seems to be the most common one found in DBE Maine Coon lines, although there are a smaller number of breeders working with unrelated genes - some of which haven’t been fully explored, yet.

So in this case yes, there is a health issue associated with an off standard trait which is exactly what those in opposition of blue-eyed Maine Coon’s from the start were concerned about.

In this case breeding off standard colors - honestly, the entire hypertype is contradictory to standard but I digress - is the cherry on top for an all around bad breeder.

It is especially concerning to see the breeder working with the colorpoint pattern specifically because we know pointed cats are prone to vision issues such as nystagmus and strabismus and thus require very careful, conscientious breeding to avoid.

Additionally these variant cats are labeled as Maine Coon mixes on their pedigrees but if you trace the pedigree back it doesn’t tell you what that other breed is, the data is omitted missing.

There are other situations where someone may produce off standard cats where it isn’t a red flag and has no detriment to the animals health, in particular outcross programs to improve genetic diversity may result in this.

This is a Havana Brown from Broghill Cattery. You might notice he is not, infact, brown (chocolate).

This is because he’s a 2nd generation outcross, his dam is also black and is a 1st generation outcross. The Havana Brown is an uncommon breed and these outcross programs are essential to maintain the breeds health.

There are also individuals who outcross with the intent of introducing off-standard colors into their breed of choice for… whatever reason. This is always controversial and can result in heated discussions within the fancy but, breed preservation aside, is it bad?

Eh, personal tastes aside… it can be done right.

The breeder should be transparent about where the disqualifying trait comes from, ideally it should be a generally healthy breed and one that doesn’t completely contradict standard.

The goal should also be to overall preserve breed type by crossing back to the desired breed with the only ‘incorrect’ trait being the new color/pattern.

[jamneuromain]

A Whiff of Blood

Lloyd Hansen x You

Warning: Mob AU, Mob!Lloyd, Secretary!Reader, Graphic Depiction of Violence (I guess Lloyd is a warning of his own?), Reader has light hemophobia (fear of blood), and ofc, the direction mention and description of blood, sexual harassment

Summary: It is a dumb idea to be working for Lloyd when you have hemophobia.

A/N: Based on the prompt from the bingo challenge. The inspiration came from @rogerswifesblog / @rogerswifesblog-updates when we were talking about business dinners and such.

The whiff of blood drifts out of Lloyd's office. You scrunch your nose and pull out a piece of tissue with a floral scent to cover half your face.

It is a dumb idea to be working for Lloyd when you have hemophobia.

The smell grows stronger, so you uncap your perfume and spritz it all over you.

As long as you turn your head the other way, or mask the scent with something stronger, your phobia will not act up. And considering Lloyd is paying you a hefty salary and bonus, you don't complain.

After all, when choosing jobs, at best, you can only pick two features out of "well-paid", "light work", or "close to home".

You are lucky that you can drive for an hour on weekends to visit your mom who lives in the suburb.

The door to his office swings open with a loud "bang", as if - no, probably, Lloyd kicks it open, and out comes two bodyguards dragging a heavy black garbage bag.

Quite heavy. Like 70 kilograms heavy.

You wouldn't want to speculate what is inside.

You turn your head the other way, facing a rather pleased Lloyd Hansen, the mob boss who pays you to be his secretary.

"Mr. Hansen, I've secured the dinner tonight at 7 pm with Mr. Suza Brewer. He owns the biker gang Hellbend ever since you helped him take out the previous leader Fitzroy. You will be having dinner at the restaurant named Bird. It's adjacent to the Ritz-Carlton, so you can take your pick whether to stay in your suite or go back home. Either way, I'll go tell your driver Denny to get ready." You don't even bother getting up, spinning your chair in his direction, you hand him the files, with a polite smile on your face, "These, I need you to sign so your clubs will be running as usual. Your head accountant Marilyn has an appointment with you in fifteen minutes, and I've called the cleaning crew. They are ready to clean up your office right now."

Lloyd snatches a tissue paper from your desk, wiping his silver blood-stained ring on his middle finger clean, before tossing the reddened, soaked, and irritating odor tissue onto the ground and out of your sight. A small smirk on his lips, Lloyd purses his lips to stroke his mustache with his finger, "Send them in."

You nod, picking up your phone from your desk, when he holds up his hand to stop you for a moment.

"Good job, Y/N." He says curtly.

Lloyd's icy blue eyes zero on you. After a few seconds, he speaks up again, "You're coming to the dinner with me."

You nearly jump from your chair. Shocked, but most importantly, confused, because he has never asked you to present during business dinners.

After all, those who were qualified for "business" are either ruthless or sociopathic. While your boss Lloyd is both, you are neither.

"Mr. Hansen, I-"

"You're off for the rest of the day. Call Denny, he knows where to buy a decent dress." He pulls out his wallet from his inside pocket, and hands his black card to you, "Consider this a bonus." His tone unrelenting, pushing the card on the desk further towards you, he issues his final command, "And tell Denny to find you a stylist."

You swallow your refusal and take his black card.

You know he doesn't take "no" for an answer.

"Thank you, Mr. Hansen."

He hums impatiently, waving his hand to gesture that the conversation is over for him.

For the first hour of the said "business dinner", you try your best to focus on the food in front of you, instead of the Brewer man. He is a few inches shorter than Lloyd, but the look he delivers when he stares at you is simply...

Fearful. Even more than Lloyd.

Having worked for Lloyd for nearly three years, you witnessed he yelled, shouted, pulled out his gun to shoot someone's brain out (you vomited on to his shoes, very unfortunately, for which he yelled at you for approximately half an hour), and of course, being mad at some business partners and the determination in his eyes to eliminate his rivals. But none of his looks scared you like the creepy feeling Suza Brewer brings you.

Lloyd gives off the vibe that he will shoot you alive, while Suza Brewer could skin someone alive. And Suza has not stopped stealing glances in your direction ever since you and Lloyd presented in this dinner.

You look at your plate, cutting a small chunk of carrot in half. Trying your best to ignore the four bodyguards, two from Lloyd and two from Brewer, standing in the back.

Convincing yourself. Maybe this Brewer guy likes to look, similar to many men who passed by your desk to reach Lloyd's office.

You raise your eyes carefully, taking a long exhale as you continue to persuade yourself that Suza Brewer brought a lady to the dinner, probably also why Lloyd has asked you to come along.

After a few glasses of wine, the girl Suza brought sat on his lap boldly, feeding him bites of cherry tomatoes.

"I'll say yes to your proposal. You and me, 50-50." Suza suddenly lets out a laugh, "I just want one tiny thing to sweeten the deal." He squints his eyes, and points his finger towards you, "I want - her."

The small chunk of carrot lingers on your lips as you are about to eat.

The young girl's jealousy could tear you in half, Suza's greasy lips smack together, as if tasting your flesh, and Lloyd simply looks at you, with minimum expression you have ever seen on his face.

"Excuse me?" Lloyd clenches his teeth.

"C'mon, buddy." Brewer smacks Lloyd a bit too hard on his shoulder, barking laughter with his yellow crooked teeth exposed into the air, "You can't keep such a sexy thing all to yourself, eh?" He wiggles his eyes suggestively, "Don't tell me you haven't fucked her yet?"

Now you HAVE to say something.

"Mr. Brewer, I assure you that my work with Mr. Hansen is strictly professional." You smile politely, raising your glass for a toast, "In fact, I think that's what we all want, Mr. Brewer, to have a long-term stable business relationship with Mr. Hansen. Here's to our thriving partnership-"

Brewer gets up from his chair and sways towards you. He could barely walk straight but he still manages to stand behind your chair, lowering his head right where your ear is.

As he speaks, he reeks of wine and meat.

"I'm talking to your boss, bitch. " Brewer snarls, slapping your hand so hard that your wine glass falls to the table. Startling you when you are trying to stay calm. "You are but a plaything to Lloyd Fucking Hansen and I'll have you whether you like it or not."

Now here's the difference between Brewer and the rest of the men who pass you to get to Lloyd's office. For those men, they work for Lloyd, and hence, they wouldn't dare to touch "Lloyd's belonging", which is you. Brewer, on the other hand, is a total wild card, which you understand perfectly as Lloyd worked with him to kill Brewer's adoptive father Fitzroy.

He is as unpredictable and unstable as Lloyd, maybe even more so, because Lloyd certainly hasn't laid a finger on you ever since you worked for him, neither sexually nor violently.

You even your breath as Brewer leans closer He grabs your boobs with his hand, having you freeze on your seat.

"In fact, I'll invite him to watch how I fuck his pretty little whore."

The chill seeps deep into your bones. You urge your body to fight back, but sanity tells you that you would probably end up in a dumpster with a bullet hole on your forehead if you ruin this big deal for Lloyd. For a brief second, you think about begging Lloyd. But in reality, your mind is point blank as the mindset in between "fight or flight" kicks in, and it instructs your body to play dead.

It might be a few seconds. Or a few minutes, before your savior swoops in, saying something that sounds like mumbling to your brain.

"We're done here." Lloyd growls, snatching your wrist with a grip hard enough to bruise, tugging you harshly to leave. Your knee and thigh bump into the wooden arm of the chair, to which you bite your lip in pain, and still too shocked to get your language system back online.

"But our contract-" Brewer shouts to Lloyd.

"I'll get back to you." Lloyd snaps back, pushing and shoving your back to move before him.

Your mind is a blur and cannot recall how Lloyd stuffs you into his limo when he steps outside to smoke. He did, however, throw his coat onto you and shut the car door with a loud "thud", having front-row driver Denny lowering the panel between you, whispering with much concern, "What's wrong?"

You curl your fingers into the black woolen coat. Folding it neatly as you have done hundreds of times when he throws his coat over you or over your desk. Placing it on your legs.

"Here. I'll tune the AC up." Denny showers you with his sympathetic look, as he has never seen you so out of yourself, so soulless, and shivering.

Your mind has been replaying how Brewer grabbed your boobs, and the filth he talked about. You also know that you have nowhere to hide, if Lloyd is determined to get something done, if he wants to deliver you to Brewer.

Though the tinted car window muffled some of Lloyd's angry shouting, you are still able to comprehend that Lloyd just got mad again.

"... CALL ME WHEN IT'S DONE!" Lloyd yells at his phone, opening the car door, and sliding in, taking a big inhale of the warm air inside. Glancing at you, he seems not having returned from his angry state, "AND THIS COAT IS NOT -" He lets out a grumpy huff, "never mind."

After a moment of silence, you feel like you should make your statement, no matter if Lloyd being unreasonable. You simply have to.

It's your life at stake here.

"Mr. Hansen, I just wanted to tell you that it has been a pleasure working with you these past three years. i have gained much experience and knowledge working as your personal secretary and assistant. I want to express my thanks for you cultivating me into a qualifying secretary and no matter what happens, I would want you to know that I cherish our business relationship and accept the consequence."

Lloyd listens through your statement surprisingly patiently, and pinpoints the most crucial idea (he thought that it was) throughout your entire speech, "You want a raise?"

You stutter, "No-No! Mr. Hansen! I wouldn't - What you have given me is well beyond market average and I appreciate your confidence in me."

"Ah. So you want to quit?"

His cold blue eyes stare into you. You gulp in fear.

"Yes, I mean - No, I don't want to quit. But circumstances have ... arisen, which makes me wonder ... uh, if I was able to -"

"I've had enough of it." He grumbles, twisting the ring on his finger, "Your next sentence starts with 'I want' and stop using these big words, sunshine. One sentence. Not another word."

"I - I want you to not deliver me to Suza Brewer." You quickly say, "Mr. Hansen." You did your best to be respectful.

His grumpy expression lingers on his face for a second, before turning into disbelief, "That's all you're asking for?"

"Yes...? I really liked working with you, Mr. Hansen, and I don't want to be put into a position that you are choosing between me and your ... business." Seeing that his mustache is twitching, inching close to a sneer, you add, "If you could just let me go, and claimed that I slipped through your custody or got away as soon as I could, I think that Mr. Suza would not mind that much -"

His index finger points up to shush you.

Lloyd snorts, fishing out a box of tictac and popping two colored-candy into his mouth.

Crushing the sugary treat with his jaw, he closes his eyes and roots his upper body firmly onto the back seat, "Denny, take us to the warehouse by the Westside Pier."

The Westside Pier.

The one place Lloyd would go to if he captures a traitor or fulfills a hitman contract.

The one place he could make a body completely go away.

He's about to end ... you?

The cold October wind does nothing to help you fight against the icy feeling in your bones.

The stylist Denny founded accompanied you during shopping and chose a most-fitting black dress for you, which goes a little over the knees. Along with the warm AC everywhere, the length didn't bother you -

-until now.

You hold Lloyd's folded coat in your hand, following Lloyd out of the car with teeth clattering, more out of cold than of the horrible thoughts of what he would do to you.

Lloyd turns around, grunting in a sarcastic way, "Can't believe your clever brain didn't work out why the coat-" before he stops whatever that's about to go through his lips, roughly taking the coat from your hands and putting it around your shoulders, "Try not to freeze to death."

Your hesitant expression must have been obvious, because he looks at you and purses his lips in slight irritation, "Don't do anything stupid. And follow me."

What does this even mean? That he doesn't want to kill you after all? Or that he has changed his mind and thought you know too many secrets to be alive?

Your mind buzzing with thoughts as you follow Lloyd through the gate of the notorious warehouse.

The swinging lightbulb over your head and the faint smell of blood make you nauseous. You have not stepped foot into this warehouse because you have heard of the cruel things Lloyd has done to his opponents, all of which happened here.

"I don't care how much your boss pays you, I-I'll pay you double!" A man screeches pathetically, taking hit after hit on his stomach from Lloyd's muscle man as two other hold him upright.

Looking at Lloyd's direction, the man's swollen and bruised face lights up in an instant.

"Lloyd! Buddy!" He gobbles in a mouthful of blood, "So glad, ehhehe, you came!"

Lloyd grabs his hair, and punches him in the stomach.

"Fuck you, buddy," Lloyd swings another punch at Brewer's stomach, a cold smile on his lips, "fuck you, alright?"

A sharp scream of pain. "Lloyd, I don't understand-"

Lloyd drags his head in front of you, bending his neck to face you, to which you cover your nose because of the strong smell of blood bombarding your nerves. "There. She's my people. You disrespect her, you disrespect me. Got it, you dumb fuck?"

"Sorry!" The man shrieks his apology, "I'm sorry!"

Oh. So that's what he meant.

You bury your nose under his soft woolen coat. Burying the lower half of your face. Your cheeks getting warm, and a small grin creeps up.

Feels kind of nice. To have someone watching over you.

"Our business," Brewer pants, coughing out blood, losing a few of his teeth, "you need me to do our business, Lloyd."

Lloyd smirks, waving to gesture the removal of Brewer.

The man is still screaming he's sorry, but the two muscles hold him by his arms, forcing him to stand on the edge of the pier and tying a large rock around his waist.

"But Mr. Hansen," You stop him in his tracks, "your business, your deal with-"

You point towards Suza Brewer, now with a gag so all he could manage is some muffled voices.

"Don't worry your head around it, sunshine." Lloyd places his hand on the coat collar and tugging it tighter. The look on his face blank, but somehow more sincere than his cold grins, "I'm working with his stepbrother now. Pal is so grateful that I help him take care of Suza; he decided to offer me 70% of the cut."

You let out a whispered "Oh". Glad that Lloyd's "business" is thriving but also ... not that glad.

He's doing this for his business after all ... while he'd get to ... make it up for you?

A strange feeling tugging your heart. Some sort of relief, but not entirely. You are disappointed, somehow, as if you believed there should have been more to this gesture.

The muffled screaming stops after a loud splash comes from the edge of the pier.

The three muscle men return. One of them announces: "He's been taken care of, boss."

Smelling the whiff of blood on them, you can't help but crouch onto the ground and hurl your guts out.

Lloyd gestures those men to "beat it". And as the air clears from the smell of rusted iron and salt, a white handkerchief dangles in front of your eyes.

"Don't puke over my shoes again." Lloyd stands still, pinching his handkerchief between his index and middle finger, handing it to you.

You gag a few times, covering your mouth with the smooth white handkerchief, turning into another direction other than his shoes.

"Mr. Hansen, I don't know you -" You fight the instinct to be sick in front of him, standing up from your crouching position with wobbly legs, "carry a handkerchief." You take a deep breath to calm your nerves, wiping the corner of your mouth using the white fabric, now stained with the red smudge of your lipstick, "I'll dry clean it along with your coat, and send it-"

He seizes the handkerchief and stuffs it in his front pocket, "Don't bother."

He pats on your shoulder. The same way he would pat his men. A silent encouragement and praise of "Good work".

"Mr. Hansen, I-"

You want to say something. The precise moment when your heart skipped a beat and you've captured something vague in your mind, some terrifying yet imminent. Your bones rattle in the possibility of the blurry idea. But when his blue eyes turn to you, the idea takes its chance and slips from your mind.

"-thank you." Is all you could say.

"Wait for me in the car." He searches his pocket for his box of matches and cigarette, waving his hand, shushing you away, with the cig between his lips. He sounds stern as ever, but deep down, you feel like something has changed.

Lloyd watches you as you head back to the car. You, his tiny, fragile, delicate, poor little secretary who gets sick at the sight or the smell of blood.

He watches you still wrapped in his coat. When the cold October wind sweeps by your feet, you shiver under the warm expensive wool.

He stares for a long time when the match used to light his cigarette burns the tip of his fingers.

"Shit." He grumbles.

[mt-oe]

okok... modern!mizu x reader with mommy issues or has a mommy kink but it factors into their romantic relationship in a good way?... mizu knows that reader doesn't have a good relationship with their mother/was neglected emotionally as a kid; and mizu and reader are both out of college, and mizu is older by a couple years.. could be in any written form but just imagine mizu being more dominant but also being like 'mommy' but still being a romantic partner to the reader. maybe some smut because I feel like Mizu would have such a dirty mouth on her and would use those mommy issues to the fullest? ill take my leave now <3

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Hey dear <3

Thank you so much for requesting! Sorry if this took a while to come out.

I hope that you're doing well right now and if not, I hope I'll be able to provide some sort of comfort with this fic.

Enjoy! Mwa mwa :*

warning/s: not proofread, mommy issues mentioned, smut (mdni!), she/her for mizu and reader, age gap, maybe a mommy kink too?

The ride home was quiet. A bit too quiet.

From the moment she parked her motorbike in front of the cafe you worked, Mizu could already sense that something was off.

It was a small cafe that sold pastries and drinks that you fell in love with despite it being your first job after you had graduated. This was where you also first met Mizu who was already working as contractor for a small engineering firm working on houses and small buildings. The way you carried yourself and the unrelenting smile on your face made her come back every single day, even if she had no work to do.

This time, the odd feeling in the air was so thick it almost slapped her in the face.

Maybe it was the way half of the lights were still turned on, the way she could see you from the window dragging the broom carelessly across the floor, the way you weren't locking up, the way you weren't standing there waiting for her with the usual smile.

There was something definitely wrong.

She made her way inside, noticing your lack of acknowledgement at the sound of the chime as she opened the door. Your eyes looked bothered yet empty all at the same time.

Her eyebrows furrowed, feet walking towards you with soundless steps until she was just right behind you. "Holy shi—Oh, it's just you." You jumped as you bumped against her chest, sighing in relief upon turning around seeing your girlfriend.

"Just me?" She asked, frowning slightly and tilting her head. What do you mean just her?

You scratched the back of your head sheepishly, looking off to side but nothing particularly in focus. "I didn't mean it that way...Look, how 'bout you wait outside while I close up and we'll go home, m'kay?"

Despite how dumbfounded she was, she nodded and went outside, sitting on the curb as she continued to think about how odd you were being. What happened? Why were you acting so strange?

A little while later, you stepped out of the café, turning the lights off and locking up. The same bothered yet empty look was seen on your face while Mizu carefully helped you put your helmet on. None dared talk as both of you hopped on and drove off.

Mizu was definitely a quiet person. She loved the peaceful feeling that silence brought. But there was no peace in the silence both of you shared on your way home. The turmoil in your chest so thick it was almost palpable. It was almost radiating off of you like a heatwave as you held on to her looser than usual, laying your head against her back.

After the two off you arrived home, her eyes narrowed and her frowned deepened as you hopped off and headed straight to the door, even forgetting to take your helmet off. She sighed, following after you and unbuckling the straps off before removing the helmet from your head.

As soon as the door opened, Mizu immediately pushed you against it, pinning you as the door slammed shut with a loud bang that echoed through the walls.

"What's wrong?" she said in a low voice, eyebrows knitting together and blue eyes narrowing further. You looked up at her before letting out a deep breath. You knew there was no getting out of this.

"She visited me today. At work."

A look of confusion painted Mizu's face as she pushed her hand against the wood of the door further. "Who?" she asked.

You bit your lip, resting your head on her shoulder, looking completely defeated. "My mom...She uh..found out where I was working and visited me."

Mizu's eyebrows relaxed a bit at the way you leaned closer to her for comfort, cradling your head softly. It made sense to her. You never really talked about your mother that much except for that time you told her about who was in your family. And even with that conversation, you barely told her anything except for the fact that your mother was 'distant'. However, it was clear to her by the way you looked absolutely bothered, that it was more than just being distant.

She couldn't say a word. It's not like her own family upbringing was the best either. Her own mama signed her up for an arranged marriage with an older dude she barely knew when she was younger. Fortunately, her step-father, Eiji, served as a parent figure for her. He taught her everything she knew about motorcycles and even took her in as an apprentice in his shop. Her stepfather took it as far as passing down her current bike to her, a Honda CB750.

But you never spoke about your father nor did you ever speak fondly about your mother. It must have been very difficult for you.

"Come here." She led you to your shared bedroom, removing your shoes for you as you sat on the bed. "Tell me. What did she say?"

Your hands balled into fists as your eyebrows knitted together. "She's asking for money," you started, glaring at the floor. "My brother is apparently graduating and she wanted to celebrate so she's asking for money."

She looked up at you for a brief moment before sliding your shoes under the bed, then sitting next to you.

"Can't you believe that? She fucking remembered me for money," you said through gritted teeth. "The fuck does she care about my brother's graduation? She didn't even attend mine! She never attended anything when it came to me!"

Your shoulders began trembling as the volume of your voice got louder with each word, prompting Mizu to wrap an arm around you and pull you closer as you told her how cold your own mom had been to you. The way she never even batted an eye when you got sick or injured from club activities, her getting mad at you for asking her to attend even a single parent-teacher conference, each moment she told you "that's what you're supposed to do" for every thing that your siblings would otherwise get praised for, and how you had to teach yourself basic things that a parent should be the one teaching you such as basic hygiene and chores.

It was like you had to parent yourself.

"And now she wants me to fucking send her money?" You sobbed against her shoulder. "She has no fucking clue how hard I worked to get out of that shithole, to be in a place where I actually feel cared for."

Mizu continued to hold on to you, drawing small circles on your shoulder in an attempt to calm you down. Her hand reached up to your face and wiped your tears off. "For now, forget about her."

Your eyes looked at her with an incredulous gaze, clearly still bothered. "But Mizu, she's my mothe—"

"I didn't tell you to forget about it completely,' she cuts you off, grasping your chin to look at her. "But you clearly can't think properly right now, so just forget about her at the moment," she said in a quieter and gentler tone, kissing you softly on the lips.

You kissed back almost immediately, grasping on to the hand she used to wipe your tears away. Bit by bit, the supposedly-comforting kiss deepened, turning hotter and hotter as your tongues tied together.

She pushed you onto your back gently yet firmly, one hand unbuttoning your jeans while the other cupped your breast through your shirt, fingers circling your nipples through the fabric. Who the fuck even let you wear a bra with such thin padding?

A soft, almost whisper-like, whine escaped your throat as she slid your jeans down, tossing it somewhere. You crossed your legs, hands covering your underwear, still a bit shy. It's not like both of you had sex everyday so it was still a bit embarrassing for you.

She chuckled at your shyness, finding it adorable. Her lips captured yours in a kiss once again. "Still shy?" She teased lightly, lips planting kisses from your cheek down to your neck.

"Oh shut up.." You rolled your eyes at her, hands slipping under her shirt and playing with her nipples under her bra before a firm hand grasped your wrists, causing you to stop.

"I'll take care of you, dove," she whispered with a soft comforting smile as she pulled your shirt off. Her eyes scanned your slightly trembling figure as your hands now moved from covering your panties to covering your bra. The slight redness of your cheeks along with the way your lips swelled slightly from crying made you look nothing short of adorable to her.

She grasped your hands gently, kissing them before pulling them away from your chest. "You're so beautiful," she whispered, leaving a trail of kisses from your neck to your chest. A hand snuck around your back and undid the clasp of your bra before tossing the obstructing item somewhere.

An audible deep inhale could be heard from Mizu as she looked over your figure. "So fucking beautiful," she mumbled against the soft flesh of your breast before her lips latched on to your nipple, eliciting a gasp from you.

Her hands pushed your legs open, a sense of held back impatience could be felt from the way she touched you. The tips of her fingers traced your slit through your underwear before pressing down the pad of her thumb against your clit, causing you to gasp followed by a moan as she drew circles around the bundle of nerves. "This wet already?" She whispered in a low voice, the huskiness of her voice sending shivers down your spine.

"Only for you, mommy," you moaned out, biting your lip as you gave her a playful smile.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

"What did you just say?" She almost growled out, one hand moving from your breast to your chin, forcing you to look at her. The way her hands gripped your chin told you that your words definitely did something to her.

You looked at her through lust-glazed eyes, feigning innocence. "What do you mean, mommy?"

A sharp inhale could be heard from her as you called her mommy again. "When the hell did you learn to talk so dirty?" she asked, lump in her throat as your words awakened some sort of newfound hunger in her.

Her other hand pushed the fabric of your underwear to the side, not even bothering to take it off, slipping her fingers in between your folds. You were so wet, so warm for her. "Doesn't matter..." she mumbled, middle finger rubbing across your sensitive nub. The moans spilling out of your lips spreading the heat of arousal through her body. "...As long as you keep being a good girl for me."

Your moans filled the room as she continued to play with your clit, only pausing to change the position of her hand. Her thumb was now on the wet, sensitive nub while two of her fingers sunk deep into you, making you arch your back as you cursed under your breath.

"Mmh..fuuuck.." you moaned out, eyes rolling back as you felt your girlfriend's fingers curl inside of you. A deep husky chuckle slipped out from her throat at your reaction. "You're taking me in so well, dove..." she said in a low voice.

Mizu began thrusting her fingers in and out of your needy cunt as she leaned closer to you, whispering against your ear, telling you how pretty you look getting fuck-drunk on her fingers and how much of a good girl you were for her. Each word making you wetter and wetter as if you were getting high with her praises.

Your visions became hazy with desire and the sounds of your moans mixed with the wet squelching sounds of her fingers thrusting in and curling inside you filled the room. She shifted slightly and moved down until she was face-to-face with your pussy, giving it an experimental lick before lapping over you clit greedily.

Tears sprung up the corner of your eyes as the pleasure overwhelmed your senses. Your hand reached down towards the back of Mizu's head, pulling on her hair tightly as you pushed her closer to your needy cunt.

"M-Mommy please...I..I'm so close," you almost sobbed out, bucking your hips against her tongue desperately. "Go ahead. Cum." She groaned out, tongue eating you out sloppier, as if she too was desperate to please you. "Cum, you fucking brat."

You finally reached your climax, the pleasure overwhelming you, making your mind go blank. Hungry blue eyes watched as your back arched, face scrunched up in pleasure, toes curled, and your fingers pulled on her hair tighter.

Her tongue didn't stop moving until you finally came down from your high and let out a whine from the short moment of overstimulation. She slowly pulled her fingers out, licking the wetness off of her fingers.

You panted heavily, closing your eyes and turning to your side when you felt your girlfriend's weight on the bed. Her rough hands pulled you closer before wrapping a blanket over both of you and placing a kiss on top of your head, making you giggle.

She watched as you opened your eyes for moment before closing them again, your arm pulling her closer as well. "Maybe I will try to talk to her. My mom, I mean," you said, a pensive look on your face despite the exhaustion.

"Are you sure about that, dove?" She asked, brushing her fingers through your hair.

You nodded and opened your eyes to look up at her. "I can't keep running away forever. And I can always say no or reject her if she says something out of line."

Mizu couldn't deny that she was still worried, but she knew you. She knew that you weren't the type of person to back down on your words, meaning you were definitely going to be firm with your boundaries.

She couldn't help but admire your courage. You were definitely her girl.

[ladysomething]

hi mads!!! i’m on a vacation rn and was just thinking about max and charles going on one and what would happen so i just wanted to ask if we are gonna get a scene like that or probably not? 🩷🩷

well I guess we'll get summer break?? that kind of counts??? but I'm not telling you what happens! hahah

instead you can have this completely unrelated fic I started while I was just on holidays!!!

completely unedited, haven't read it back so it might be garbage but have everything I wrote for it anyway

The year Max retired from F1, Charles won his second Championship. 

Max had been going to win it, probably, because he’d had such a lead over Charles going into summer break. Even Charles hadn’t thought he’d be able to overturn the deficit, not with with shitty car Ferrari had built that year. 

And then, two days before the season was going to start up again after summer break, Max had announced his retirement from F1—effective immediately. 

Charles had called and texted, and called and texted, but eventually the number had come back as disconnected. 

It’s been five years since then, and every day Charles wonders what happened. He’d asked all their mutual friends, and then he’d even tried just Max’s friends, and eventually he’d even decided to bother Sophie and Victoria, but nobody would tell him anything. Charles has thought of everything in that time: maybe Max was sick. Maybe his mother was sick. Maybe Red Bull had wanted something Max couldn’t give. Maybe Max had just decided he simply didn’t want to get in a car one more time. 

Without a single photo of Max in the last five years, Charles had even wondered whether Max had died. 

Now, standing in a patisserie, in a tiny rural town in France, Charles finally has his answer. 

“What the fuck?” Charles demands, stalking up to him. Max’s shoulders go tense, and then he spins around, jaw dropped. “What the fuck?” 

Max claps his hands down over the ears of the little girl he’s with, then says, “Language!” like that’s really the biggest issue right now. 

“Don’t you—I thought you were dead!” Charles shrieks, feeling half insane. The staff member and the only other customer in the shop stare at him, but Charles doesn’t care. “Max—you!” 

He rushes towards Max, probably looking half insane, which is confirmed when Max tenses up like Charles is going to punch him, but instead Charles throws his arms around Max’s shoulder and pulls him in as close as he can, hooking his chin over Max’s shoulder and pulling their chests so tight that Charles can’t really breathe. 

Max is clearly surprised, but Charles doesn’t let him go, just pulls him in tighter until Max puts one arm around Charles’ waist too. It’s clearly what Max needed, because he sighs into it and then is hugging Charles back fiercely, face buried in his neck. 

Fuck. Charles has missed him so fucking much. 

He breathes him in deeply, but Max doesn’t smell like he remembers; there’s not even a hint of petrol on him, no smell of oil or tyres. He just smells . . . normal. 

It’s Max who lets go first, and Charles reluctantly follows. 

“I missed you,” Charles tells him, terribly earnest. He’ll feel humiliated about it later. 

Max gives him a small smiles, and then says, “I missed you, too,” with the same raw emotion in his voice. 

Maybe Charles won’t feel humiliated about it, then. 

Beside Max, the little girl tugs on his hand. Max turns to look down at her, expression so fond and open that it takes Charles’ breath away. It hasn’t hard to guess who she is: she looks exactly like Max. 

Blonde hair up in two little pigtails, round, pink cheeks, blue eyes, and dressed in a baby blue and white checkered dress. She has on little white socks with frills around the edges, white sneakers, and a little chain bracelet with a star on it. Charles thinks the star might be inset with diamonds, which he wouldn’t put past Max, really. 

“Papa,” she whispers urgently, tugging on his hand again. 

Max smiles at her and crouches down, letting the girl whisper into his ear. She’s staring nervously up at Charles as she does, but when Charles tries to give her an encouraging smile her eyes widen and she looks away from him. 

“This is Mister Leclerc,” Max says, straightening back up. “Charlie, this is Céline.” 

Lump in his throat, Charles kneels down himself, not caring that the floor of the patisserie is probably going to ruin his white linen pants. 

“Bonjour, Céline,” Charles says softly. “I like your dress. Blue is my favourite colour.” 

Céline lights up, smiling at him widely. She’s got the same smile as Max, her full lips pulling up her cheeks so she’s smiling with her whole face. Charles wonders what parts of her mother she has in her; as far as he can see, she’s all Max. 

“It’s my favourite, too,” she confesses with a heavily accented voice, and then looks like she’s concentrating very hard on something, before she turns back to Max. “Papa, hoe zeg ik in het Engels dat ik de ogen van meneer Leclerc mooi vind?” 

Charles looks up at Max, who looks like he’s about to burst into laughter, and says, “Why don’t you try French?” 

In almost perfect French, she says, “I like your eyes.” 

Charles’ face flushes red as he glances up at Max, who is grinning widely. 

“I like your eyes, too,” Charles answers in French, because that’s clearly easier for her. Max has clearly been putting in a lot of effort with her, if she can already speak three languages. “They look like your father’s.” 

Céline beams at him and leans into Max’s thigh, burying her face into his pants as she giggles. When Charles looks up again, Max’s cheeks have gone pink, too. 

“Are you staying in town?” Max asks Charles as he stands back up. “Céline and I are on our way home from the park for nap time, but maybe you can around for dinner tonight?” 

Charles isn’t staying in town. He’s actually only here because he got hungry and decided to stop for a pastry on his drive back to Monaco—he’s got plans there tonight, and all of tomorrow. 

Instead, he blurts out, “Yes, I’m staying in—I’d love to come over. For dinner. Tonight.” Max stares at him like he’s an idiot, and Charles finishes with a lame, “Please.” 

[uboat53]

All right, the votes are now almost entirely in, so let's take a look at the most recent election, shall we? LONG RANT (TM) time.

THE MANDATE

As you may have already heard, Donald Trump won the election and is already claiming that it was an overwhelming victory which gives him a powerful mandate to govern as he wills.

As with most things he says, you should take all of that with a heaping spoonful of salt. Now that almost every vote is in (CA and WA still have about 3% of their votes left to count, but the rest is pretty much final) we can clearly see that, though he did get more of the popular vote than Kamala Harris, he still fell short of 50% for the third election in a row and he only led Harris by about 1.5%. Not only that, but with the full results we can see that more than 4.5 million fewer people voted in 2024 than voted in 2020, meaning that a good amount of the increase he saw from 2020 wasn't a result of more people favoring him.

(Fun fact, Kamala Harris may have gotten as many votes in 2024 as Donald Trump did in 2020 depending on the last few votes left to count.)

More to the point, Trump's electoral college victory, 312 to 226, is also far more fragile than he would have you believe. As in 2016, his margin of victory rested on the so-called "Blue Wall" states of Pennsylvania, Michigan, and Wisconsin. In those states, a total shift of 232,580 votes, or less than 1.5% of the total votes cast in those states, OR just over 0.15% of the total votes cast nation-wide, would have produced a Harris presidency instead of a Trump one.

(I would note that Biden's margin of victory in 2020 was similarly slim, 1.65% of the votes cast it the blue wall states and just over 0.16% of the nation-wide total. His popular vote victory, though, was significantly larger, he won 51.3% of the popular vote, just about 4.5% more than Trump. I'd say there's a fair case to be made that he didn't have a powerful mandate either, but he had a better claim to one that Trump does now.)

In other words, Trump won, but it's a razor thin victory by any standard. That seems to be par for the course for the last few elections, the last significant victory, one with a margin of greater than 5% in the key states AND where the winner won the national popular vote by more than 2% (admittedly somewhat arbitrary markers, but ones that put the outside the margins of error for recounts or other likelihoods), was when Barack Obama won the presidency in 2008 and the last one before that was Clinton's victory in 1996 or even Bush Sr.'s victory in 1988 if you are looking for one that wasn't confused by the presence of a significant third-party candidate.

THE CAUSES

So why did Trump win/Harris lose? Knowing the answer will allow us to determine both what the winner can/should do once in office and also what the losing candidate/party should adjust in order to do better next time.

One thing you have to know is that there's still not definitive answers on this from the last several dozen elections, so it's unlikely we'll get a quick answer this time around. There's good academic research to show that people respond to the specific messages of the candidates, but there's also good research showing that vote share can shift based on things as unrelated to the candidates as the number of shark attacks in a region in a given year.

A big caution I would give to anyone who is looking to argue that a specific issue, candidate statement, candidate quality, or policy proposal is responsible for the current result is that we've actually seen a very odd thing in elections around the world this year. For the first time in the last 120 years, every single incumbent party that faced election in the developed world lost vote share. In fact, of those incumbent parties facing election, the US Democrats actually had among the lowest decline. As to why, there are a few commonalities; every single developed country that held elections this year saw significant increases in both immigration and inflation in the past two years, for example, but it's hard to make conclusive statements without quite a bit more study.

My point is simply this: before trumpeting this thing or that thing as the definitive answer for why Trump won/Harris lost, be sure that you're not actually just looking at something that's larger than our country or statistical noise. I know we like to ascribe outcomes to definitive and controllable circumstances, but complex events tend to have multiple interrelated causes that can interact in unpredictable ways and one of the lessons of history is that sometimes we're subject to powerful forces that are beyond the ability of one country or its leadership to dictate.

THE PUNDITRY

Of course, by now you're probably seeing dozens of articles and tons of episodes of news programs on TV and radio that are saying a lot more than I am. Just in the last few days I've seen dozens of them ranging from arguing that the election was decided by young men of Gen Z who have been radicalized by right-wing manfluencers, that Democrats didn't do enough to reach out to Latinos in Spanish, that RFK Jr. turned out key demographics for Trump, or that Republican laws and policies in key states depressed voter turnout.

I cannot say loudly enough that we do not have enough data to actually make any of these kinds of arguments. If we're fortunate, we'll start getting the first real results of voter intent studies sometime around next summer, but even then a binary choice like a presidential election based on thousands of shifting variables is far too complex to ever allow us to do anything than note large-scale trends. Detail may eventually be impossible to find an, in an election as close as the one we just had (see above), it's possible to say that just about any small factor may have been the critical one.

My advice is simple, if you don't know what to do or think now, take some time and consider it. Don't overreact and don't be swayed by whoever speaks the most passionately. If you do know what you want to do, start doing it. Don't wait for results that may never come; do your best to make what you want come about. The methods of activism should be shaped by data, but the goals must be set by your own conscience and, if you're already an activist, hopefully you've already figured that part out. Finally, if all of this is affecting your mental health, step away from it. The election is over and there is nothing more that you, as a voter, can do to change anything. There will be time for more voting and activism later.

As for the pundits on TV, radio, and in print; I'm planning to ignore them for the next few months. Yes, even me, who consumes way more political media than is probably good for a person, is going to step away. Over the last few months in particular I've become more and more convinced that quality political coverage has largely disappeared (or been removed) from the American media landscape. I'm going to take some time and figure out where I can still find it.

CONCLUSION

Look, I know the election was a wild ride for everyone and it likely settled nothing as far as the major issues that continue to roil American politics, but if you're looking for a reason why things turned out the way they did, I don't have anything definitive to provide. It was close, about as close as it's possible to get, and there's a hundred possible reasons why. Take care of yourself, figure out where you stand, what you believe, and what you want to/are willing to do and start planning for that.

This is the world now, probably for the foreseeable future. Your job isn't to fix every problem, your job is to do what you can for as long as you can and pass it down to the next generation in as good a shape as you can manage. That's the same job every generation has had, let's do our part.

[slightlyunconventional]

hi snz squad (Sorry. Not funny.) i got some food for the h/awks fans FINALLY sorry for the wait i had writers block for like a month straight 😜 love that. anyway heres about 1.7k of allergic h/awks and some really badly written fighting/sparring LMAO enjoy!!

“You ready, birdie?” Dabi says, his lopsided grin wicked as usual.

“As I’ll ever be,” replies Hawks. The villain’s left hand is swallowed by bright cerulean flames, so hot there’s already faint plumes of smoke puffing out around it. In turn, Hawks draws his two longest feathers and sharpens them with ease, and raises them into a defensive position. He wonders, briefly, who’ll make the first move, then decides that these sparring sessions are for him to improve against fire; Dabi’s skills are perfectly fine as they are (Perhaps. He does sometimes think the man could do with some extra precision training, but he’s here to incinerate, not sauté, so who’s Hawks to judge?). Hawks lunges forward, feather-blades brandished, aiming straight for Dabi. Don’t hold back runs through his head over and over as he moves, the words Dabi keeps having to say to him every time they do this. It’s not Hawks’ fault he’s got such a hero complex. 

“Don’t hold back,” Dabi had said, flexing his wrists after their spar, “There’s no point in doing this if you aren’t gonna show me your full potential.”

Hawks had sighed. “Easier said than done, hot stuff.”

Dabi raised an eyebrow. “Is it?” he said, “You seem to be just fine facing off against any other villain when you’re on fuckin’ hero patrol.”

“That’s different, and you know it,” Hawks had replied, “This is training. I can’t just- make myself fight you properly without good reason.” He let out another long breath and drank from his water bottle.

“It’s cause we fucked, isn’t it?” Dabi had said, smirking. That had made Hawks splutter on his water. He glared indignantly at Dabi.

“Absolutely fucking not,” he declared. “You wish that was why.”

“Relax, I’m just messing,” said Dabi, with that shit-eating smirk still on his face. “Just fight harder next time, or whatever. Ain’t gonna learn anything if you don’t try.” He left the room, and Hawks had frowned after him.

Dabi sidesteps Hawks, but only just. Had he moved a millisecond later, Hawks’ blades would probably have been stuck in him. Whether that’s for the worse or the better, Hawks can’t decide - Dabi’ll probably chastise him for it later, but there’s only so much potential you can exhibit before stepping the boundary of actual murder. The villain’s blue flames have caught on the very edge of Hawks’ feather, and are creeping down its lengths with some pace, threatening to reduce the entire thing to ash. He quickly shakes it out and lifts the blades once again. If he can convince Dabi he’s planning on sticking this whole spar out melee-style, then maybe he can discreetly send some feathers behind for an ambush. He just needs to find the right moment. 

Then, Dabi raises his own hand and throws a stripe of glowing blue fire straight at Hawks. Right as he does so, Hawks takes his chance and releases a few medium-sized feathers, sending them to hover in position behind Dabi, ready to make their move from the rear. He ducks down, and just in time, too, as he feels the searing heat of Dabi’s attack barely inches from the top of his head. He does his best to ignore the sting in his eyes and how every blink threatens to send irritated tears sliding down his face, but it’s unexpected… that doesn’t tend to happen, and there’s normally a whole lot more fire involved in their fights than there is now. But, Dabi’s unrelenting nature doesn’t allow Hawks more than a moment of thought, and he’s almost instantly back upright, sharpened feathers pointing outwards, stalking Dabi back towards the wall. He keeps having to blink against his blurring vision, though, and it’s affecting his focus. If Dabi picks up on it, he doesn’t say anything. There’s still a thin plume of smoke issuing from his feather, too; those flames are no joke. Hawks crosses the feathers in his hands, preparing to drive forward and strike - if all goes to plan, Dabi will assume that’s all he’s going to do, and counterattack accordingly, then Hawks can compromise him with the feathers he has poised behind the villain. If all goes to plan.

And thankfully, it does, if you look past the single tiny snag. As predicted, Dabi releases a billowing explosion of fire straight forwards. Hawks’ blades are both ignited, but that’s neither here nor there, since he’s focused on bringing his other feathers back from behind Dabi, and up to his throat, mere millimetres away from his skin. They aren’t sharpened, but he doesn’t need to know that. Hawks knows he daren’t step into them to test. 

Dabi’s eyebrows lift up, his expression a mix of amused and impressed. “Not bad,” he says, glancing down towards the feathers at his throat. “Not exactly a technique that’ll work every time, but I didn’t see it coming, so that’s gotta count for something.”

Then comes that tiny snag. Hawks stops listening halfway through Dabi’s sentence when his sinuses start stinging like crazy, with such sharpness that it makes his eyes water even more than they already are. He sniffs, half testing the waters, half hoping it’ll make the sting go away, but unfortunately it only makes it worse. Just as Dabi lifts his hands up to incinerate the feathers in front of his neck so they can begin another round of sparring, Hawks sends said feathers rapidly towards the villain’s arms and pins him against the wall.

“Sorry, what–” he begins, startled.

Hawks lifts the fur-lined collar of his jacket and ducks down into it. For a moment, nothing happens, but–

“heHt’sSHHhue!”

Dabi pulls a face. “I swear to God, if you’re doing this and you’ve got a fucking c–”

“ah’hAH-! eH’SHHhyu! No, you cock, I don’t have a cold. I’m not that stupid.”

“You are, but okay,” Dabi says flatly, “Why do I have to be pinned to the fuckin’ wall?”

“‘Cause your psycho ass would probably attack me while I waahhs s-sn-hahh! hheh’sHHh’hiew!”

He pitches forward into his collar again, cutting himself off mid-sentence with a third desperate sneeze. They’re already getting harder to keep in check; and what the fuck is itching this badly? Sure, it’s mid-spring, and his hayfever’s probably acting up a bit, but no way in hell is it this bad. Maybe he’s just… sensitive today. He didn’t bother checking the pollen count this morning, so…

“You think I would do such a thing?” says Dabi dramatically in mock offence, “Sweet, innocent me?”

“Shut up. Yes, you absolutely woul- Jesus– h-haHh!...” Hawks’ breath catches sharply in his throat, but he’s exhaling shakily a moment later. 

“Lost it,” he says, only a little breathlessly, “You are the furthest thing from innocent and we both know that.”

The need to sneeze hasn’t left Hawks, despite the last one having eluded him. It’s laying dormant (for now), an incessant buzzing high in his nose that seems to also be accompanied by profusely watering eyes. He tries scrunching his nose to quell the feeling - it doesn’t help but rather slightly the opposite. Dabi arches an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. You gonna let me go or what?”

“Uhh… oh! Right, sorry. Instinct, I guess,” Hawks says. He withdraws the feathers holding Dabi in place and the villain subsequently takes a few steps towards him. There’s still smoke rolling off of his arms, where he’d used his quirk, and it floats lazily upwards in greyish plumes. That smoke has always been mesmerising to Hawks, the way it curls and twists, almost as gracefully as Dabi’s flames themselves. It seems different to regular smoke, though, realistically it probably isn’t, and Hawks has just convinced himself it is so he has something else about Dabi to admire with childish adoration. The smell of it often clings to Dabi, though, fainter, obviously, but it’s still distinct if you’re up close. It’s filling the air now, the bitter scent comforting, strong, but stinging, and–

“-ah’hHahH-?!” Caught completely off guard, Hawks desperately draws in a staggered breath before he’s truly able to comprehend it. 

“hh’heHSHHh-iihHSCHHh’ue! Huuhh… fucking Jesus–” The double volleys through him with unexpected force, leaving him more than a little winded (but almost certainly not finished).

Dabi’s staring at him now, his expression half concerned, half incredulous. Can’t exactly blame him. He opens his mouth to say something, but Hawks is already cutting him off with another sneeze.

“haH’iihtTSHHhyu!”

“So, about that cold you don’t have?” Dabi says, after Hawks has recovered - for now - with a series of pitiful sniffles and a less than kind rub at his nose with one gloved hand. 

“No, it’s–” his voice wavers slightly as he speaks, “it’s not that, I think it’s, ihh-it’s–”

Dabi shakes his head. “Sneeze first, speak after.”

“Rihhh– right, yeah I– hah-hhaHH’sSHHuuhh! ehHISHHhue! Jeez, okay, done now..” Hawks isn’t one to sneeze loudly per se - they’re usually softer, fairly subdued - but these ones are well on their way there. They’ve got the same intonation as usual, but with the intensity amped up a shocking degree. He’s not quite used to it.

“Done, done?” 

“Yeah, whatever– ‘m not sick, I think it’s your-” Hawks gestures vaguely at Dabi with one hand, and the latter’s eyebrow raises again, “-yourhhHehHTSChhnn!”

“What did I just say?” Dabi says, exasperated, and maybe a little fond.

“Leave me alone, that one didn’t give me any warning-!” whines Hawks in response, “You are so mean to me.”

“I know. Now spit it out, you’ve got me on the edge of my seat,” replies the villain dryly. 

Hawks rolls his still-watery eyes. “Shut up. It’s your smoke, I think,” he finally gets out.

Dabi looks slightly perplexed by this, and he voices it, “Never bothered you before.”

“No, I know, but,” He needs desperately to sneeze again. It’s all-consuming, but he’s determined to at least get a sentence out; “spring allergies’re making me s-sensitive to it.. I think that’s it, anyway–hhah sorry, I reahhllyneedto-hhiihSHHh-ehhH’shHHuue! Ugh.”

“Oh. Okay,” says Dabi, “so probably best we take a break for today, then?”

“Mm, yeah,” Hawks replies, knuckling at his nose. 

“Postmature bless you, by the way,” Dabi says with a funny look. Hawks nearly laughs.

“...Postmature?” 

“Yeah, like the opposite of premature. Is that the opposite of premature? Screw off, you’ve got me questioning myself now,” he replies, trying and failing to hide a stupid smile.

“It is now, I s’pose,” says Hawks, not at all fondly, “Thanks.”

[ectoplasmic-entity]

A chapter from an ongoing fic that I'm posting (mostly) exclusively to AO3. I'm posting it here because it features my favourite duo, Dan and my oc Kai.

Rating: Mature

Content Warnings: Some medical stuff but not graphic, a little angsty

Words: 3.7k+

Quiet, monotonous dripping echoed through the dark hospital room. Bright, green ectoplasm bubbled and sloshed gently inside the plastic bag without care for what was happening around it. The transparent tube periodically gushed with ectoplasm released from the drip chamber directly into a sickly, pale blue arm. The muscles occasionally tensed up, but there was no issue as long as the recipient got fresh doses of the abnormal liquid. Kai twitched under the heated blanket, his gaunt skin stretched painfully as he frowned in his sleep. Dark, poisoned veins uncomfortably stood out on his flesh. Concurrently, an iciness clustered somewhere deep in his body. It ate at him, thousands of tiny sharp teeth ground away. Yet, the icy pit never crept upwards to consume the rest of him. It remained right where it was, snarling and gnashing viciously but, in a sense, wary. A soft breath slipped out of Kai’s mouth. Red eyes widened in attention to the slight sound. They glowed in emotion as Dan opened his mouth, then clamped his jaw shut. Suffocating darkness imposed itself again; his eyes dulled when he closed them, determined to ignore the sight before him. No matter how much it drew Dan’s attention.

An awful mix of a sweet, metallic scent and chlorine burned Dan’s nostrils. His nose scrunched up in disgust, and he held up a hand to block the foul odor. In the back of his throat, a burning welled up. Dan’s ghost core thrummed against his chest as he uncomfortably swallowed it down. In no time, his body jolted violently. An acid-like… substance found its way back up. Dan’s other hand shot to his throat, fingers latched around it. He gradually pressed on the pulsating muscle to regain his cool. An excess of sweat made its way down his jawline. This… wasn’t an emotional reaction. 

Dan’s stomach churned, a scorching fire that lit up his insides. He felt every last bit of it, tiny claws scraped away at him. As unrelenting and viscous as the hot ectoplasm pounding through his body. Desperate to spill out of him. 

Dan wanted to be sick. 

A low hiss snaked past his tongue. Followed by a soft groan as one hand went down to his side, the other moved to massage his forehead. Heat spiked through Dan, sweat stuck to his face like molasses. He shifted around on the spot, his body tensing. He needed to leave. Now. 

“You’re turning pale, do you need help?” Dan startled slightly at a voice. Right. The human surgeon.

He avoided Dr. Chambers’ calculating gaze. One step back, two steps-

White flooded his vision, and Dan skidded to the side, his feet planted firmly on the floor. A dull ache throbbed in his body. Soft colors slowly put his vision back together, though, a slight darkness blurred the edge of it. “Oh god, I’m so sorry!” Jazz’s voice cut through Dan’s mind fog.

A delicate hand held his arm as Dan steadied himself. Inhaling sharply through his nose, his core hammered in his chest. He peered down at himself as if just seeing himself for the first time before his eyes flicked to the side. Eyes wide in concern and frazzled red hair spoke for Jazz. Her slim form heaved with heavy breaths, her complexion paler than usual. It was a wonder she hadn’t passed out already. Interestingly, the gun holster was absent from her hip. 

“M’fine…” Dan mumbled out uncharacteristically. 

Inquisitive eyes stared at him so intently that Dan hastily tore his gaze away after a minute. Right back to Kai’s still silhouette, as calm as can be. He gritted his teeth. There was a pitter-patter of hurried footsteps, and Jazz appeared next to the bed. She hovered for a few seconds before she bent over, her hand lowering to touch Kai’s arm. The gentleness displayed sent a sharp stab of pain through Dan’s core, it came to a lull and grew quiet. His chest panged with emotion, he imagined crushing it down with a twitch of his fist. The hallway was empty for now. As colorful as the walls were, it was still reasonably dim. The overhead panels still cast that eerie, white shroud. No human would be able to walk down the hall without being seen. But ghosts can appear and disappear at will. All the more the reason to slip away. Dan slowly edged away, Jazz and Kai’s silhouettes vanishing behind the wall. His breath was quiet, almost deathly still, and he cautiously glanced around. Outlines of the hallway furniture crept onto the edge of his peripheral vision. Easy enough to avoid. Slinking along the wall, Dan snaked past the leather chairs and benches. Only the faintest shimmer of his spectral form indicated he was there, nothing but a mere shadow. Dan’s eyes peered in all directions.

The same hush followed, seemingly watching Dan’s every move. He hated it, to be honest. He was aware of it more than he would’ve liked. Hovering over his shoulder like a ghost. 

Voices jolted Dan from his darkening thoughts. The quietness crumbled. He recognized Jack's long-reaching voice, booming down the hall and bouncing off the walls. A heavy breath blew out of Dan’s mouth, his chest thrummed with tension anew, he began to back away from the sounds. A female one then overlapped with Jack’s, just as loud. 

Never minding the furniture or the fact that Jazz would realize he had tried to leave, Dan found himself back outside the room. He stood by the door frame, barely visible, should someone look. His eyes rebelliously tried to peer inside. It took far more effort than necessary to stop himself. 

Arms folded, Dan leaned against the frame, his body unusually heavy. With half-closed eyes, he absently listened to Jazz’s murmurings with Dr. Chambers while attempting to will away a mental fog. Despite the surrounding noise, the hall still felt empty. A different kind of emptiness to fall through for an eternity, as it swallowed up everything around it. What seemed like an eternity was about a minute before Dan stirred. He sensed two people by the doorway. Overwhelming enthusiasm permeated the air. Orange and blue jumpsuits greeted him. Seconds later, in whispered voices, they vanished inside. Dan closed his eyes again, content to just hang around out here. The hospital room was already small, to begin with; he wouldn’t have enjoyed being cramped in there. Not to mention, well, he didn’t want to be reminded of Kai’s current state. Quiet babbles flowed out of the dark room, making the silent hallway stretch out in a way that couldn’t be perceived by the naked eye. It wasn’t literal, just a horrible, sinking feeling. Lost deep in his mind, Dan snapped out of it when his body stumbled. He stared down at the squeaky-clean floor before he quickly straightened his posture. Dan tore his eyes away, ignoring the haunting light in his reflection’s eyes. His body tingled with that stare boring into him, even when he turned away. A weak breath escaped his mouth, and slick sweat streaks became known again. More noise came from the room, and hushed voices rose to hurried conversations. Indistinguishable, as Dan hadn’t been paying much attention. He heard his name. 

Jazz’s head popped out of the doorway, her hair swayed to the side. 

“Get in here. You need to listen to this.” Finality in her tone, she popped back inside before Dan could respond. Growling softly, Dan begrudgingly entered the cramped room. He didn’t go in far and propped himself on the door frame. Just enough to placate Jazz; otherwise, she would’ve tried to drag him inside by any means. A heavyset melancholy hung over the room, now bathed in a deep blue light. Dr. Chambers stood to attention. Stoic stiffness to ensure he had a clear headspace to speak the facts. He surveyed the peculiar family before him. It wasn’t every day he saw a dynamic comprised of both humans and ghosts. There was that tension cutting through them like a knife, they clearly had differences between them. “I’ll start with the good, and then we can work our way through the bad,” Chambers said, his arms folded behind him. 

Jazz tensed slightly at the words while Dan’s ears twitched, indicating that he heard. “The good news is that we’ve managed to flush most of the poison out of his system.” Chambers gestured behind him. “It took a physical toll on his body, not to mention afflicted with some kind of fever. Give it a few days, and he’ll come around.” Maddie interrupted, “Wait-excuse me, poison? What poison?”

“It stumped us too,” Chambers replied with an apologetic shrug, “we theorized that it’s harmless to humans, which is why we didn’t detect it immediately, but incredibly harmful to ghosts.” “The bad news is that I don’t think he’ll fully recover from long-term exposure,” the doctor continued, “his muscular and skeletal structures have degraded so much it’s amazing his body didn’t fall apart at all.” “Ghosts have healing capabilities if that’s relevant,” Dan said, cocking his head. “That would explain why his body remained intact as it is…” Chambers rubbed his chin. “De-degraded, how?” Jazz asked in a shaky voice. Her hands quivered violently as she stepped back to give herself space to process the information. Behind the group, there was a slight clatter as Danny finally showed up. He placed a hand on the frame to steady himself, panting heavily. He heaved a breath in confusion after hearing the last bit of Jazz’s question. “About time you showed up,” Dan growled out. “Shut up…” Danny growled back, his eyes flickered a neon green.

Chambers stared at the bickering Phantoms before they quickly became silent. “We’ve determined it’s a slow-acting poison, but the process was sped up with how much of it was injected into his system. It ate away at the muscular and skeletal tissue until it would've eventually broke down.” A loud cough disrupted the explanation; all eyes went to Jazz, who turned away. Her slim figure quailed with every slow, deep breath she took. Silent, she wobbled to the second hospital bed near the door, and slumped down. The frame creaked, weighed down not just by Jazz herself, but the wave of emotions toiling through her entire body. She took another breath, staring blankly down at her equally shaky hands. Rapidly blinking, her face twitched with fresh tears.

Chambers was by her side instantly, prompting the others to react. Namely, Dan was upright and alert. 

The doctor loosely held Jazz’s arm, gently thumbing for her pulse. “She’s in shock, I’m going to get a blanket, keep an eye on her, and I’ll be right back.” Once Chambers left the room, Dan approached Jazz with the grace of approaching a frightened animal. He slowly came to a stop and kneeled down in front of her. Balancing himself by resting his arms on his knees, Dan looked at her. 

“Kai’s…” Dan started weakly and grimaced, “going to need the both of us, you know? He'll need your help reigning me in, or who's going to tell him about my best behavior?” He didn’t even try to smile at the pathetic joke attempt. Dan looked down at the floor, glad to note that it wasn’t as clean as out in the hallway. A creak drew his attention back to Jazz, who blankly stared. She only shifted slightly in response. Just as Dan stood up, the door opened, and Chambers returned with a blanket folded over his arm in a compact size. He unfolded the material, and carefully wrapped it around Jazz’s quaking shoulders. She automatically gripped the seams of the blanket, breath shaky. The conversation fell off, the information weighed too heavily on everyone’s minds to keep going. Dan found a place next to Jazz, his form towering over hers, even on a hospital bed. Jack and Maddie had a hushed conversation while Danny was deep in thought, indicated by how he leaned against the wall. Finally, “It’s late; visiting hours were over a few hours ago; you need to go home now. These two-” gestured towards Kai and Jazz, “will be staying overnight; the younger Miss Fenton can leave tomorrow if she doesn’t exert herself anymore.” Maddie broke away from her husband’s side and bent down before Jazz. “Sweetie, just rest up tonight. I’ll return in the morning with a fresh change of clothes.” With a kiss on her daughter’s forehead, Maddie took Jack in her arm and left. Danny already had one foot out the door as soon as their footsteps faded away. A concerned look back, another glare at Dan, he was gone.

Chambers pinned Dan with a look, “That means you too.” “I���m staying,” Dan said shortly, his eyes narrowing. “If something happens, we need-” the doctor stopped when he heard a growl. One look at his ghostly visitor, and he stepped back.

“I said,” Dan bared his fangs, his body hunched forward. “I’m staying.” “Alright, I suppose an extra set of eyes would be helpful…” Chambers relented, albeit reluctantly, “call for a nurse if you need anything.” At last, solitude reigned. Leaving Dan and his thoughts alone. Mechanical, controlled breathing seamlessly flowed with the stillness while Dan rummaged through his thoughts. He was conflicted. Initially, he wanted to leave for reasons still not yet known to him. An ugly feeling rose up in him before he swiftly crushed it, ignoring the niggling in the back of his mind. Dan stayed because they would’ve noticed he was gone, and right now, Jazz was the only one keeping him here. When she goes, he goes. That’s what Dan told himself, anyway. His ghost core ached with a different emotion. A fuzzy, uncomfortable feeling in the back of his mind.

A weak gasp of air. Dan’s eyes sharply veered to the side. Jazz’s quivering form heaved with every breath, fast and desperate like she broke the water's surface. Her grip on the blanket tightened and pulled it closer around her. Soon, it grew quiet and steady. A contemplative silence. 

“Why won’t you look at him?” Dan stiffened, his ears tipped downwards. His body sagged with the answer weighing down on him. Rather than respond, his hands tightened into fists and pressed them into the mattress. As expected, he never looked up higher than the bottoms of the furniture. A sigh. The disappointment actually imbued itself into her tone. Prickling in unease, Dan kept his eyes down and avoided catching Jazz’s gaze. “You know, they say that talking to someone, spending time with them, or making physical contact," Jazz said, all disappointment suddenly gone, “helps them come out of their comatose state.” Dan still didn’t respond. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. 

“I’m not saying this just because it’s a proven scientific thing,” Jazz continued, not caring if he responded, she missed Dan's sharp look, “you love Kai too.” “How do you know that it’ll work?” Dan finally spoke for the first time. He was rattled when she said… he shook it off.

“I… I don’t…” Jazz fumbled with her words, taken aback by his bluntness. After a moment or two, she finally found the words again. “Something’s bothering you, isn’t it? Want to talk about it?”

“What is there to talk about?” “Don’t be stupid,” Jazz said haughtily, “ever since we arrived here, you’ve been acting like Kai didn’t exist most of the time.” The soft hum of hospital equipment in the background replaced Dan’s voice. He soundlessly moved his mouth, clearly, he had something to say, but the words refused to formulate. The deep blue swirled around him, enveloping Dan in an endless sea of nothingness. Nothing to show the way. Tiny blips of light flickered in the darkness, Dan rapidly blinked to make them go away.  A piece of equipment beeped a steady rhythm from the side.

All this time, Jazz waited in inquisitive silence and patience. She could’ve kept pressing him, but she knew him better than anyone else. Dan was that type of guy who, while powerful, still fell victim to emotional stress, to a point. All the little things that made him tick, his emotional beats, how… “It’s weird, alright, without him,” Dan said with a slight hitch. “Weird, how?” Jazz cautiously prompted. “It’s not a feeling, it’s-” Dan stopped, his jaw clenched shut with a sense of déjà vu hitting him. A conversation he’s had too many times to not tune into her intentions. “You’re not going to psychoanalyze me, are you?” “Depends on how much you tell me,” Jazz replied, cracking a tiny smile. In a blink, it was gone. Dan hummed quietly in acknowledgment. The beeping in the background seemed to sync with the beat of his core. “You have to admit, though, you and Kai have been joined at the hip shortly after you met.” 

Inhaling sharply, ears tilted back down, a light warmth flushed through him. His core beat a little faster. A lull in his mind tempted him to look up at the hospital bed in the corner, if not just a little. Dan still fought it. 

“Yeah, well, he’s familiar,” as soon as he said that, he grimaced slightly. That came out a bit wrong. It was still Kai, just not in the same vein as Dan knew him. “Familiar because you knew him in the other timeline, right?” Jazz already knew this. She hoped the prompting would get the ball rolling and let Dan unload his troubles. That, and she tried asking him about his future before, but he always rebuffed her. What was there to tell, he had told her. Dan nodded slightly. 

“No wonder you warmed up to him so quickly. It usually takes you quite a while to tolerate someone,” Jazz commented. “He and I,” Dan said with a faint chuckle, “I’ve always believed we were stronger together, and we are.” Hook, line, and sinker. Jazz shuffled closer to Dan to hear better. She carefully inched her face around the blanket. “I feel lost without him. Kai kept me from… losing myself,” Dan said slowly. He stared down at his hands and flexed his fingers. “In a world that never cared for me, he was my lifeline because I was also his lifeline; the world broke him, too.” “And you’re not used to seeing Kai like this,” Jazz spoke Dan’s thought out loud. 

The nagging in Dan’s mind intensified with the presence of the beeping. It rang through his head, louder and louder. “I keep thinking he’s going to get up any second now, and he’ll walk it off like nothing happened,” he said with a wry grin. He’s in denial, realization lit inside Jazz like a Christmas tree. With how closed off and agitated Dan became, she wondered if he was trying to emotionally protect himself. And failing. “Are you sure you’re not going to psychoanalyze me?” Dan asked again, disbelief in his voice. 

And there goes my plan to make him talk. Jazz rolled her eyes a little and puckered her lips into a slight pout. She folded her arms and sank back into the comfort of the blanket. She looked up at Kai’s bed, pondering what to do next. 

Well, since they were already here, it wasn’t like Kai would be moved to another room anytime soon. Standing up, wobbling slightly, Jazz held her hand to Dan’s arm. She gripped tightly to keep herself upright. Her body buzzed with a nervous rush of adrenaline. 

“Get up.” “Why?” Dan inquired suspiciously. The beeping equipment relegated itself into the background. He could focus a little better now, he supposed. “Please, just get up.” Jazz repeated insistently. No verbal response, but she felt the tenseness of his muscles moving as Dan slowly got up. His silhouette towered over her, his eyes nothing more than eerie red dots in the darkness. Even without the small room being crowded, the space was still suffocating. The walls shifted around; they stretched as far as their eyes could see, lengthening the room from all sides. It was the shadows playing tricks on them. They were just tired.

Dan’s insides twisted in nausea and apprehension. A sickly sweat replaced the embarrassed flush. He kept his eyes down, absently counting the number of smooth tiles while his blurred reflection stared back at him. Jazz’s hand kept a tight grip on him to keep him from pulling away. It wasn’t like he wanted to fight her anyway. He was too worn down to expend such energy.  In harmony, they walked together. Missing not a step, they crossed the room, and in no time, they were at Kai’s bedside. He never moved or made any sound indicating he knew they were there. Deathly still and eerily calm. Jazz said nothing. She stepped away and let go of Dan’s arm, leaving him to face Kai himself. Her silhouette teetered on the edge of his eyesight. Far enough to give him space, close enough to catch him if something happened. Dan’s chest puffed up with a slow breath, it whistled quietly through his fangs, his core hummed with emotions he had yet to identify. Finally, against his will, Dan looked at Kai for the first time since he entered the room. All this time, he fought the urge. He didn’t have any reason why. He just didn’t want to. Almost immediately, a sense of disgust rose up in him like lava. Blinking rapidly to will the sensation away, Dan saw Kai’s pale skin give a luminescent glow in the wake of the world outside. It was said ghosts were in their purest form during this time of day. The witching hour. For a split second, Dan nearly smiled at the sight. Cautiously, he lifted a hand and glanced at it. Conflict shone in his eyes. They veered back and forth between himself and Kai’s slumbering form. The last time Dan touched Kai, he trembled ever so fragilely under him. It was such a foreign experience that Dan admittedly didn’t want to feel it again.  He guided his hand towards the bed, then pulled it back. Tension tethered itself back into his body. 

Dan missed the look of disappointment on Jazz’s face. His hand fell back down to his side, numb like his ghost core. The spectral thrum came to a lull, and then there was an unspoken yet so easily shattered silence.

[mazeinthemiroh]

paralysis.

Genre: One-shot - Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Hyunjin x Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Requested?: Yes

Warnings: Implicit mentions of mental health issues. Overall, it's just very sad in general.

Synopsis: You reach out to your struggling boyfriend, Hyunjin. He needs your help, more than he could ever imagine.

Author's Notes: Well, well, well. If it isn't all the hurt and comfort lovers, all sniffing out another fic to cry over. Yes, you've come to the right place. I hope you enjoy this piece. Please let me know what you think of it <3

"Hey Y/N."

Han never, ever called you. Like... ever. Sure, you were friends with all the members. Of course you were! You'd been dating Hyunjin for such a long time that it was bound to be close to the others. And they loved you. They loved how happy you made their Hyunne, and how much you took care of him. You were definitely someone they could trust.

"Hey Han," you ask, a hint of confusion laced in your voice. "What's up?"

"It's Hyunjin..."

Your heart dropped. Why did he sound so serious? This wasn't like him at all, no. And to call out of the blue, about your boyfriend? Something was seriously wrong here.

"What? What happened?" It was less of a question and more of a demand as the urgency surged through your voice.

"There's something not right with him, Y/N," Han stated, gravely. "This whole week he's been weird but today was worse. He was at dance practice and barely said a word. even when we tried joking with him or seeing if he was okay: nothing. His energy is nonexistent and this isn't like him at all. You know that."

"I know this," you repeated gently, "this definitely isn't like him."

There was a feeling of dread that bubbled inside of you.

"I'll be over in 10 minutes."

And that's a promise you fulfilled. In no time, you were at their dorms, being let in by Changbin, who didn't seem as bubbly as usual.

"You're here for Hyunjin, right?" He asked gently.

"Yes," you entered the living room area, where Han was, looking preoccupied with his own thoughts, "is he in his room?"

Han raised his head and nodded at you. You could see a slight relief in his eyes when he looked at you. His eyes told you more than you would have ever thought.

"He's been in his room for so long now," Han said lowly, almost in a half-whispering voice. You nodded understandingly; it almost moved you to tears to see him like this.

Composing yourself, you took a deep breath and made your way to Hyunjin's room.

It was darker in there. Colder than you remembered, too. Perhaps that feeling came from the man sitting there, alone, on his bed. Hyunjin sat with his head in his hands and his back was turned away from you. On hearing, you come in, he didn't respond. He assumed it was one of the other guys again. Whoever it may be, he had no energy to dismiss the person coming in. He had no energy to reassure them that everything was fine. Because it wasn't it really wasn't.

So he sat still and in silence.

You hesitated at first. Hyunjin was a sensitive soul and you did not want to make things worse. You thought carefully for a moment.

Hyunjin knew it was you as you came closer to him. Maybe it was your soft breathing that he knew so well or even the sound of footsteps you had left behind that told him 'yes, this is Y/N'. Whatever it may be, he felt your presence.

Which is what made him finally look up. Right into your eyes. And from there, you can see the tear-filled, emotionally exhausted man before you. The pain that swam in those dark eyes of his made tears start to form in your own. You couldn't help it.

Standing in front of him, he collapsed into you, sobbing into your chest. The tears: unrelenting. His sobs were weak but loud in uncontrolled abandon. His whole body moved with his cries. There was nothing much you could do but cry with him.

So you both stayed there in each other's arms, crying for a bit. Until there was a mutual lull, where both of you found a gap in the system of your hearts.

With this silence, you crouched down, your hands drifting from where you had laced your fingers through his hair, now all the way down to his hands as you held them preciously. You looked up at him now, eyes misty and red from the emotional moment you shared. He didn't meet your gaze, eyes fixated on your connected hands. Your touch and tears seemed to have grounded him a bit.

"Do you want to tell me?" You whispered softly, thumbs stroking his cold skin.

He knew if he looked into your eyes he'd start crying all over again. But if he voiced his feelings, the same thing would occur. He tried to control himself.

All he could do was shake his head.

Feeling a bit disheartened by his response, you leaned upward and traces tiny, oh-so-tender kisses over the skin of his neck, trailing up words to his jaw and chin. And then, a couple of soft kisses on his quivering lips.

He sniffed his feelings back, but there was only so much control he had when you touched him. He was in your trusting hands. Melting into you again, resting his forehead against yours to feel the warmth of your contact again, since you had removed your lips from his all too soon for his liking.

"I don't know what to say."

He was finally talking. That was good. You felt a little flutter of relief in your heart.

"I just," he closed his eyes, forehead still pressed against yours. The motion of his eyes closing pulled out a stray tear from the corner of his eyes, trickling down to his lips. You leaned upwards slightly to kiss it away. Why did emotions taste so salty?

"I'm very stressed," he simplified something that was not simple. He generalised an emotion even though there was a kaleidoscope of emotions swirling around inside of him, all to the point of paralysis.

You closed your eyes to mirror his, humming understandingly at his confession. You stroked his hands with both of your thumbs again. It was odd how comforting a simple motion could be.

"I know, baby," you sighed. Why wasn't there an option to take other people's problems away? it pained you; the fact you couldn't prevent him from feeling like this. But you being there was much more important for him.

"I'm going to help you get through this, okay?" You lifted your head up, forehead detaching from his as you wanted to look into his eyes now. He needed to see how genuine you were. How desperate you were for him to understand your endless love for him.

Seeing a small smile form on the edge of his lips sparked an elation in you that you didn't know was there. It would take time for Hyunjin to recover from the barriers of his mind. But feeling you, close to him, skin on his, eyes looking into his soul, he knew isolation wasn't the only option.

[readingsquotes]

"The $13 million that AIPAC has put down on the Bowman race is just a fraction of the more than $100 million it plans to spend on 2024 elections overall.

...A new poll from Emerson shows Latimer has a 17-point lead over Bowman right now. These attack ads are very effective. They tell a very simple story. Jamal Bowman is harming New York. He follows his own agenda. He wouldn’t even compromise with President Biden. He voted no on the bipartisan infrastructure bill just to stick it to President Biden. Like I said, none of this has to do with Israel but the money is coming from entirely pro-Israel sources.

...It’s very effective and it’s a huge wake-up call to, I think, the entire pro-Palestine movement because what they’re doing is they’re [AIPAC] taking two progressive black members of Congress, Bowman and Bush, and targeting them for defeat. They’re doing it with issues unrelated to Israel, but they’re sending out a warning: “If you speak up on this issue, you will be targeted.”

....it’s because AIPAC’s willing to come in and spend $13 million dollars.

...Latimer, because of the dynamics that he thinks are at play, considers himself very empowered to make an unadorned expression for anti-Palestinian racism. He said that Jamal Bowman’s constituency was not in Harrison, Scarsdale, and Tuckahoe, so now he’s really talking about the whitest and richest parts of this district. Your constituency, he said to Bowman, is in Dearborn, Michigan, which we all know has the highest percentage of Muslims and Arab Americans in in in the country.

To feel like that’s an okay thing to say in the middle of a debate just shows that this whole phenomenon, that I call the Empire Strikes Back, where AIPAC is just coming into Portland and crushing progressives, coming into deep blue New York state and Jamal Bowman’s district and trying to crush progressive Democrats who support Palestine. I think the impact is that people like Richie Torres and [NY Rep.] Dan Goldman feel like there’s just no downside at all toward expressing the most hardcore support of Israel that they can. Not only voting for weapons to Israel, but voting to censure Rashida Talib, voting to sanction the ICC, voting for the Anti-Semitism Awareness Act.

That’s going to be the consequence if AIPAC plows through this primary cycle like a hot knife through butter. We’re going to see a very unconstrained period, and that’s just so ironic at a time where, as we’ve said, Democrats, by a margin of 77 to 23, want to stop sending aid to Israel and also overwhelmingly support a ceasefire.

[1moreff-creator]

What do you think about Arei/J switch theory?

I’m not entirely familiar, so apologies if I get some stuff wrong. But the basic gist is that Arei and J disguised themselves as each other at some point, mostly so J could avoid Arturo, and so the real victim of this case is J, right? Well… frankly, while I think it's a fascinating and really enjoyable theory, I don’t believe it.

Let’s start with the base assumptions we have to make for this to work. They don’t necessarily disprove anything outright, but they’re still pretty big assumptions.

•Arei and J’s relationship underwent some major changes, for now off-screen.

•This relationship is so strong now, that Arei practically gives up on her friendship with Eden and her whole “I’ll be nicer to everyone” promise, the line which this entire theory is based on, all for J.

•No one noticed the slight changes to eye color and facial structure.

•Double on the last one because Rose didn’t notice these changes. The girl who noticed a sixteenth of an inch difference in her height between going to Hope’s Peak and starting the killing game, presumably without even looking too closely (because why would she be looking at a mirror for any significant amount of time in her situation?), and has a photographic memory. It’s true she forgets things, but only things she didn’t see. She did see both J and Arei, so it seems odd her weird superpower became unreliable at exactly this time.

•Both Arei and J can make really good impressions of each other voice-wise, and without getting tired of it. It’s not easy to talk with a voice which isn’t yours for a long time, even if they’re not too dissimilar.

•Both of them are pretty good at keeping their personalities consistent. I didn’t notice any lines which seemed OOC for either of them at any point, so it’s odd. I know the line about Teruko stabbing someone 50 times has been brought up as something only Arei would say, but… I honestly don’t have any issues seeing J saying this, so. Different character readings, I guess.

•The wigs in the dress-up room have similar enough colors. The blue one, I feel, is too light for Arei (and I’m not even sure it’s long enough for her braid thing), and the black one may not be fully perfect under closer scrutiny. By the way, remember, this has to go through Rose.

•There is some way to create the green highlights in J’s hair. There isn’t a green wig, and I don’t believe we’ve ever heard of dye in any room, which is odd. Why not set this up?

•The wigs in the dress-up room were restocked before the BDA. This is because Teruko claims to take a look around the dress-up room and the relax room before the trial, and doesn’t find anything noteworthy.

•Arei has some pretty strong reason to not reveal herself post-BDA.

•MonoTV would allow Arei to stand in J’s spot at the class trial, and put up a death portrait of Arei even though she’s still alive. Keep in mind, MonoTV allows this even though I’m pretty sure most theories state the switch doesn’t have anything to do with the murder, so I have genuinely no idea how you convince that dog to allow this.

•If the victim received that note (which I know is up for debate, but for unrelated reasons), then Arei and J must have switched rooms. After all, the note’s sender wouldn’t have left it in J’s room. This implies they had a reason to do this, which I can’t quite envision. Add to that the assumption J went to the playground disguised as Arei instead of, like, telling the real one.

So, with all these assumptions and possibly more, there must be some pretty compelling evidence pointing to the theory to convince people, right? As per the Sagan Standard, extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence.

Well, listen. I’m pretty new to the DRDT fandom, and a lot of this theory has changed continuously over time, so I’m sure I’m missing some things. But as far as my scouring through Tumblr got me, I could only ever spot two pieces of physical evidence being brought up.

One is that “Arei’s” hair is longer in her BDA than it’s meant to be. This is true, and a detail which notates some nice observational skills. It’s a good start, but I feel it can’t be used as conclusive evidence, considering the very real possibility the creators just took some artistic liberty. And maybe her braid was done somewhat sloppily since she may have died only minutes after waking up? Let’s call that a counter argument and move on.

The second is that the switch explains “Arei’s” missing glove in the BDA. If you’ve been reading my back-and-forth with thebadjoe about this murder case, you know I would take practically any explanation for this fucking glove’s disappearance in stride…

Except, I don’t actually know how this explains that missing glove? Even the disguised J (which according to this theory is the one at lunch on the third day of the chapter) has the glove, so I frankly have no idea where it went under this theory.

No matter how much I scoured Tumblr, I couldn't find any other piece of physical evidence beyond some minor lines of dialogue I don't find very convincing. I only ever found narrative arguments. Essentially, arguing that the theory is likely because it's what should happen.

Listen. I dislike narrative arguments in principle. I've been in the FNAF theorizing fandom, and let me tell you, I've seen a lot of people go real nowhere, real fast, just because they tried to argue on narrative. Still, I'll address some of these arguments, though keep in mind narrative logic can only really be countered by narrative logic.

"J should be more important to the chapter because she's in the title screen"

I mean, not necessarily. And especially not with such a vague title screen, which contains a long haired shadow figure who fits neither Arei or J. If anything, you could argue it actually makes sense that J doesn't quite fit the murder, because of the secret title. Behind the "All That Glitters" title, you can read "A Good Person" (inverted in the Deadly Life version). J fits the "All That Glitters" title, as her life as a celebrity isn't as good as it seems ("Not all that glitters is gold"), but she has no direct connection to "A Good Person". So maybe "All That Glitters" is self-referential; just because it appears J will be one of the main characters of the arc, doesn't mean she's going to be important for the murder case.

Is that convoluted as hell? Yes, but so is arguing about this theory based on a title screen IMO, so.

"Killing Arei when she's just starting her redemption arc is wasteful"

Well, so would be killing J before we get anything but a hint of a backstory for her. If anything, one could argue it's the other way around; because Arei was going to die this chapter, she had to speedrun a backstory and the idea of an arc. I personally prefer all the characters in the fangan to be interesting and well-fleshed out, instead of just using some people's deaths as plot points for another's story, but I understand it's Danganronpa. You have to kill someone, you're never going to be able to finish all arcs. Arguably, one of the most tragic parts of this series is the amount of potential lost to the senseless killing; it's why Min's death hurts me so much, even though I think it was written fantastically.

So, yeah. I don't find this very compelling, since I think killing Arei would still be decently good writing in the Danganronpa context.

"[Anything regarding the theme of trust and distrust]"

I lump all these arguments together because, IMO, they all fall to the same problem. Because trust and distrust is the theme of the entire series, you can't possibly know where it's going on chapter 2. We know where we started, where we are, and the general place we're gonna end up on in the end. However, there's no way to know the trajectory the story is going to take on this.

The most common thing I hear is that this disguise idea will end up with Teruko needing to trust someone to solve the crime, to counterbalance the first chapter showing the dangers of excessive trust. However, it's perfectly possible the story's going the complete opposite way. Maybe the events of this chapter will end up with Teruko getting "confirmation" that she's right not to trust anyone, only for chapter 3 to slap her in the face hard for distrusting everyone. Essentially, instead of trust and distrust bouncing along the story, maybe we get one big arc where we start by dwelving into the depths of distrust, only to surface again later on.

Basically; let them cook.

-

Those are the main arguments I've seen. Of course it's possible I've missed stuff (and I don't feel like writing any more thousandths of words), but I hope I covered the most important points. And again, I don't think there's any more significant physical evidence, and I'm not going to be easily convinced by narrative evidence.

With all this in mind, I bring you back to all those assumptions I mentioned in the beginning. Occam's Razor states that the most likely explanation is the one which makes the least amount of assumptions. And frankly, I believe there are many other explanations which do not make even half of the assumptions this theory makes. In fact, the only assumption that the "J and Arei never disguised as each other" theory makes is that the hair in the BDA isn't important. At least, I think that's the only assumption. In this context, I find the "switch" theory extremely unlikely, although I did enjoy reading about it a lot!

Hope that answers your question!

[pinkhairandpokemon]

OFFSCREEN POST

———

(( OOC: uhhhHHH I dunno what to specifically tag this as but SOMEONE GETS FUCKED UP SO. BE AWARE ))

———

Yesterday, Blake’s frustration had been running high, and they’d been more than ready to execute this plan. Put an end to their organization’s schemes once and for all, before any more damage could be done. Throughout the course of the day, though, that sureness had all but completely fiddled out. Especially following that small argument they’d had with N only a few hours prior.

When they saw Cole come up those steps, though, they knew there wasn’t any turning back now. For better or worse, they had to follow through.

“You managed to find your way up here, I see.” N remarked, his gaze on the trainer several paces away cold and calculating. Waiting patiently for the other’s response. Blake stood at the king’s side, looking at nothing, while their heart pounded beneath the fabric of their uniform.

“Yeah, believe it or not, I’m not really all for the idea of you Plasma bastards waking up a Legendary Dragon in order to take control of the region,” Cole scoffed, crossing his arms and keeping that defiant stance he always held when facing off N. Or anyone who tried to stand in his way, for that matter. A Samurott stood at the ready by his side, fur bristled on end and the jagged point on its helmet glinting in the sunlight.

The king didn’t reply for a moment. Rather, he looked down at the Dark Stone nestled safely in his left palm, eyes tracing the lines of light reflecting off its smooth, dark surface.

“You’re definitely brave. That’s something I’ve always admired in you, you know.” N mumbled, gaze trailing back up to his opponent, though he showed no sign of amusement. “Your tenacity, your unrelenting will to do what you think it’s right. It’s a true shame that determination is so… misplaced.”

“Yeah, yeah, haven’t heard that one before,” Cole brushed him off with an eye roll. “Look, I’ve tried time and time again to just talk things out with you. To sort out our differences without a fight. But time and time again, you’ve refused. So here’s how this is going to go- you’re going to surrender the Dark Stone, not awaken an ancient power that’ll release hell upon Unova, and we’re all gonna go home happy! Okay? Please?”

N laughed at that, like he’d just been told a joke. Cole shot him a glare to affirm he wasn’t joking, but the king ignored it. “You’re sorely mistaken if you think unleashing chaos onto Unova and forcing Zekrom to bend to my will is my goal here. I’m not like the monsters who brought destruction down onto places like Galar and Unova. I plan to befriend Zekrom- earn her favor so she’ll help me pave the way for a better world.”

He clutches the Dark Stone tighter. “Once I do, I’ll defeat Alder, then stand at the top of the Pokémon League as its champion and issue out an order to all of Unova’s trainers- to release their Pokémon.”

“How exactly do you expect people to listen to you, then?” Cole argued. “Just because you’ll be champion and have a big scary dragon on your side doesn’t mean people aren’t going to resist… Believe it or not, there’s plenty of people in Unova who aren’t going to crack and give up on their Pokémon that easily.”

“Maybe not,” N concurred with a shrug. “But they will over time. One way or another, I will free the Pokémon of this world-”

“Look, are you just gonna keep monologuing at me, or are we gonna get this over with?” Cole cut him off, balling his fists in impatience. His Samurott gave a snort beside him. “I’m getting really sick of hearing this over and over again. I don’t wanna fight you- but if you won’t stop and listen to reason for even a second, then I’ll put an end to this myself.”

“You think you’re up to the task?” N challenged. Shadows around him began to warp and distort, before a Zoroark emerged at his side. The black and red fox carried a menacing aura, blue eyes seeming to glow in the darkness. “You might’ve beaten me in our previous disputes, but I was holding back for the safety of my friends. Don’t expect me to do so now.”

“So you’ve finally decided to stop being a wet blanket, huh?” Cole huffed, quirking a brow in doubt. He flicked his gaze towards his Samurott. “Looks like we’re doing this, then. Calder, battle ready!”

Without a beat of hesitation, Samurott responded and jumped into action, stomping out onto the stone floor that would serve as their battlefield and unsheathing one of its long scallop blades from the slot on its arm.

Nox didn’t even need a vocal command. He stalked forwards on all fours, red mane bristled up like spines and eyes trained on the Samurott meters away as he awaited N’s command.

The two trainers exchanged a few more words across the field, Cole murmured some words of encouragement to his Pokémon, N and Nox shared an affirmative nod. It all went by in a bit of a blur for Blake, words flying over their head until the first crack of claws and blades colliding together snapped the grunt out of the nervous daze they’d fallen into.

They jolted, alert and present now. Their eyes flicked back and forth between Nox and Calder, the two Pokémon becoming blurs of red, blue, black and yellow as they clashed, leaping here and there across the floor. Then their gaze fixed on Cole, who shot them a knowing look across the room. Then, they shifted to N- and the Dark Stone huddled securely under his left arm. Just barely in Blake’s field of reach from where they stood.

Was this it? Was this supposed to be their chance? The expectant glances from Cole in the corner of their eye didn’t go unnoticed. Their mind raced with questions and second guesses on whether or not they should really go through with this, bouncing back and forth between “Just grab it!” and “Don’t! Not yet!”. Dragons, they wish they had talked this out more with Cole beforehand. They wished they’d thought this through, instead of running off their reckless anger alone.

They froze. They waited. And waited. And waited. They could tell from here that Cole was growing anxious with their hesitation by the second, without even needing to look at him. They waited, watching the Pokémon exchange blow after blow until they both looked like they were at their wits’ end.

Nox, although bruised and battered with his fur sticking out every which way, made another jump at Calder. The Samurott faltered on its paws, but looked up just at the right moment to see the Zoroark closing it. With a mighty roar, Cole’s valiant and loyal starter swung its arm upward and snatched Nox in mid-air, claws digging into the collar of fuzz around his throat. With a just as lethal amount of force, he then slammed his opponent into the floor, cracking the marble underneath.

“NOX!” N shouted, panic bulging in his eyes at the sight of his best friend being crushed under the weight of the armored behemoth.

The Zoroark hissed and pried at the Samurott’s claws, but to no avail. Blake knew he’d be fine, though- Nox had survived way worse. The only reason Cole wasn’t claiming victory now was because this was it. N was distracted. Nox was pinned down. Blake could practically hear the younger trainer screaming “Now!” at them in his mind.

Not a second to lose. Blake’s arms shot forwards, almost like they were moving on their own. The second they felt the Dark Stone’s cool, smooth surface under the fabric of their gloves, they knew it was time to run. The artifact slipped seamlessly out of the king’s grasp in his distracted state, not even giving him a second to realize what was going on before Blake had turned heel and bolted.

“BLAKE!” The sound of N exclaiming their name was almost drowned out by the sound of their footsteps thundering up the steps, and the sound of their own heart practically reverberating in their ears. Fuck, I should’ve went down, the thought quickly brushed past their mind, realizing not only that going up was a ticket to a dead end, but they would’ve had Cole’s protection if only they’d ran the other way.

Too late now. For all they knew, the Shadow Triad could have been right behind them, and turning to stop and look back for even a blink could spell a sword cutting through them.

So, they ran. As fast as their feet could take them, and as swiftly as these narrow spiraling steps would allow. Up, around, up, around, faster, faster, up, around, they repeated the course of their movements over and over again to themself in their mind, if anything as a distraction from the immense strain on their body. Frigid cold stung their throat, turning it as dry as sand, and their lungs heaved violently with every shallow intake of the quickly thinning air the higher they climbed.

Why are there so many stairs? They wanted to choke out and collapse right then and there, but they didn’t. Practically wobbling and rocking from side to side, they continued their frantic ascent to the next floor, the final floor, where there wouldn’t be anywhere to run after that. Hopefully they could come up with something before then. Not likely, but they hoped.

The sky above was cloudy and dark, but there was still enough light out here compared to inside for Blake to be blinded as they erupted through the final passageway and emerged onto the tower’s peak. Squeezing their eyes shut, they stumbled across the flat ground, putting so much focus into not dropping the Dark Stone that they forgot about keeping themself upright. They lurched forwards and landed on the cold, scratchy ground with a thump, Zekrom’s slumbering form still clutched tightly to their chest.

Rolling over to their back, they gasped desperately up at the sky for oxygen, ragged breath almost coming out as pained cries. The wish of having an inhaler briefly crossed their thoughts, until they remembered they were still in the middle of a chase, and were in even deeper water now that they’d reached the top of Dragonspiral. No where else to go but down, and that was where some unpleasant fate- most likely immediate assassination by the Triad- awaited them.

Their best bet was to wait until everyone caught up, try to avoid whatever was bound to be thrown at them and make their escape downwards. Not a very sound plan, but the only one they had. Hopefully their body would hold out until then.

As the grunt stumbled back onto their feet, the screeching wind and their still heavy panting blocked out the sound of footsteps approaching, until a familiar voice rang out from behind-

“Blake! Stop!”

They looked back to catch a glimpse of tea green hair rise from the stairway, and took off like a frightened prey animal. They sprinted clumsily across the tower’s roof, tripping over themself and almost teetering smack-dab into a pillar at one point, miraculously managing to keep themself from getting a second face-plant full of rock.

The edge came up on them sooner than they would’ve liked. Blake skidded to an abrupt halt, scrambling away from the ledge like a newborn Deerling trying to walk. It was a long, long way down. The cloud cover up here was so thick, they could hardly see the expanse of ocean stretching out below the tower. Echoes of thunder crackled everywhere around them, and there was the occasional flash in the dark misty skies looming above. Any moment now, and a burst of rainfall could come crashing down on them all.

“Blake!” They whirled at the sound of his voice, almost knocking themself over with the amount of friction they used to turn. N stood barely a yard away, hair messy and wind blown under his now crooked hat. There were a thousand emotions flooding behind his storm cloud colored eyes, all wanting to burst out, but couldn’t- like they were clogged up in a drain pipe. Confusion. Hurt. Anger. Betrayal. The desperate, dwindling hope that this was all just a misunderstanding.

Nox dashed to his side. Blake noticed Cole and the Shadow Triad appear from the stairs over his shoulder.

It wasn’t until now that they felt the burning of hot tears flooding down their puffy, sweat-stained face. When had they started crying?

“Blake, what are you doing?” N croaked out, eyes searching them for an answer. “Give me the stone back-”

“No,” they sputtered out, taking a step back. Their voice wavered, but still held strong.

N paused, and looked at them with surprise. Then, his brows furrowed, and his tone became more stern. “Blake, give it back-”

“No!”

The wind whistled past. Silence.

“What are you doing?” N rasped out, his voice cracking. He looked ready to either cry or scream at them. Maybe both. It was such a stark contrast to his usual collected demeanor.

For a moment, Blake’s words caught in their throat. They knew exactly why they were doing this. But they knew trying to blubber out an explanation for themself again would be as pointless as it had been before.

“I… I can’t let you do this,” they declared.

There was nothing left to be said.

N clenched his fist, then unclenched again. All sorts of conflicting feelings were rising up in his chest. Reluctance burned behind his eyes, but still, he gave the command.

“…Nox,” his Zoroark’s ears perked up. “Take the stone back.”

Nox stood up on his hind legs, and crept forwards, like a predator closing in on its chase. Blake’s shoulders tensed, and they sucked in a sharp inhale as they took another step backwards. They felt their heel hover over an absence of ground, which caused their heart to do another leap in their ribcage.

Nowhere else to go.

Nox lunged. From the way he moved, Blake could tell he wasn’t aiming to hurt them. He was most likely planning to yank them away from the ledge, while snatching the Dark Stone back at the same time.

But that wasn’t what happened.

A burst of light exploded from the single Pokéball dangling on Blake’s belt. The form of an Axew appeared, but the light didn’t fizzle away like it was supposed to. Encased in a white glow, Petra threw herself onto Nox and tackled him to the ground. Once she was on his chest, her silhouette began stretch and grow. Her rounded tusks grew into sharp points, and new, stronger muscles began to materialize in her arms, legs, and tail.

Soon enough, the light dimmed out, and a Fraxure took her place. Petra’s sudden evolution left everyone around her with a gaping jaw, but the Dragon-type didn’t take a moment to stop and revel in her newfound strength and appearance. Instead, she hauled Nox over her head with a grunt, before throwing him into a nearby pillar without so much as a twitch of struggle.

“FRAAAAAAAA!” She bellowed in triumph, exposing her red-tipped tusks to everyone as a display of power. A warning not to mess with her. Or her trainer, for that matter.

“Petra-?” Blake sputtered out in shock, eyes sparkling at their Pokémon in awe. Of all the times she finally chose to evolve, she couldn’t have picked better.

It didn’t take long though for it to click that now wasn’t the time to stop and gawk, though. Blake felt the Dark Stone buzz under their arm, and gritted their teeth when they realized they couldn’t stay up here for long. The approaching storm was calling to the stone, slowly lulling Zekrom out of her centuries-long slumber.

Petra turned to them and understood- almost like she could sense the draconic energy thrumming inside the orb herself. She gazed at the artifact like a subject would at a ruler- but also with same the sense of urgency to get it out of here as her trainer.

Blake gave her a nod. “Come on!”

In a heartbeat, the Fraxure was at their side, acting as a barricade between them and N before they shoved past the king together. He stumbled around after them, but didn’t break into a pursuit just yet.

Instead, the first thing he noticed was the blue energy pulsing and building up beneath the surface of the Dark Stone. His breath hitched when he realized what was about to happen.

“BLAKE, DROP THE STONE-!”

Blake didn’t listen. They only read his shout as a desperate last attempt to get them to surrender, not as a warning like they should have. Everything happened in a blur around them as they made a beeline back for the staircase- Cole had sent out half his party to hold off the Shadow Triad, clearing a safe path for them. Petra had made it there first, and waited right at the first step for her trainer.

Blake was just seconds away from the stairs. Seconds away from getting away. Seconds away from saving Unova, possibly the world, from putting an end to all of this-

The sky flashed. There was a deafening, crackling boom, and Blake barely knew what was happening before an agonizing, indescribable burning shot down the length of their left arm.

It felt like it had been torn clean off, or maybe fizzled away into cinders like a sheet of paper. But, it was very much still there, reduced to a sizzling black chunk of flesh as Blake’s body hit the floor like a sandbag.

Not everything went black right away. They stayed conscious long enough to hear a scream of their name. Someone rushed to their side to hold them. They couldn’t tell who. They figured Cole, but the voice sounded a pitch too deep.

Raising their eyes to look up took the same amount of effort it would to lift a mountain, but they did anyway. Perhaps they were hallucinating, but their gaze met N’s. Everything was so blurry, they couldn’t discern his expression. But fragments of his voice cut through the haze and reached their ears.

“No no no no, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please- don’t-” They’d heard him sad before. They’d heard him cry before. They’d never heard him so broken before. “Stay with me, don’t close your eyes, just st-”

“…ay…”

“…with…”

“…m…”

…

…

Were they in a dream?

They were on the floor. Their arm felt numb, the edges still simmering with pain. Cole and Petra hovered over them, the former shouting things at them they couldn’t hear while occasionally glancing up at something.

Blake turned their head. More accurately, it tilted off to the side by itself, from the lack of strength to keep it upright.

They saw something. A shadow. No- claws. Scales. Sparks of electricity dancing under jet black hide.

Their gaze trailed up. A towering, dark figure, casting a menacing silhouette against the sky with the membrane of its wings. Rumbling with an ancient, newly reawakened power.

Zekrom.

N was on its back. His hair swayed to and fro in the wind. His hat was nowhere to be seen.

They extended a trembling hand out towards him. He was so far away. But they reached for him anyway. Please, don’t go-

He didn’t even look back.

Zekrom took to the skies.

He was gone.

———

[voidimp]

7, 14 and 21 for alexander

ok first of all i need u to know. i gave cameron a brother named alexander bc of this ask lmao. but i will not be answering these questions about him i will be answering them about oli as intended

7. What's one way your OC has changed since you first came up with them?

well for starters theyre a vampire now lmAO but uhhhh idk!! honestly i feel like beyond just being like. More Developed Now they really havent changed that much, like most of their original traits are still there. visually they look kinda different but thats just bc i got better at drawing them the way i actually intended them to look lmaooo

14. How does your OC want to be seen by other characters?

this is a tricky one because it really depends on the person... theyve got some manipulative tendencies so theyll kind of play up whatever traits they think will get them what they want. in terms of like. public perception, they prefer to be the one observing, not the one being observed, so they generally kind of just try not to draw too much attention to themself. which is not to say they try to be unapproachable, more just unassuming. even in situations where they are trying to attract someones attention, its generally in a way where theres more than theyre letting on.

21. Does your OC have any illnesses or disorders? How do they handle it?

their needing to consume human flesh could technically be considered an illness, or at least the result of one. i still havent worked out All The Lore behind this yet but it was essentially caused by some sort of affliction specific to vampires. its usually fatal, but those who do survive get stuck with some nasty side effects. like eating people.

beyond that they kinda have an unrelated eating disorder? but in the sense that they kind of just... forget. they dont realize that theyre hungry until theyre really fucking hungry. it just doesnt register, so unless they make a conscious effort to keep track of their meals, they usually end up going a bit too long in between them. they were like this before they became a vampire too (whether due to their father just not feeding them enough or bc they were trying to Avoid Him so they skipped meals i havent decided yet) so they just kinda got into the habit of ignoring their hunger & then never broke that habit.

also this ones probably obvious if youve seen any art of them but theyre blind in their left eye. and i guess on a related note they have poor vision & some variety of color blindness in their right eye, although i dont remember specifically which kind (i think it might have been blue cone monochromacy but i cant find where i had that info saved).

they also have a variety of mental health issues which i could probably get into the details about later but this answer is long enough already. they are definitely Dealing With Some Shit tho lmao

[lilisouless]

Nikolai: Halloween party´s theme is "iconic love stories" so group costumes will increase your changes to win the contest. And i know a lot of you will have this idea but i warn you, dressing up as me and zoya will not automatically make you win

Genya: i don't think anyone had that idea

Nikolai: i know we are iconic and whorthy os appearing in history books-

Genya: who said-

Nikolai: but please don't be boot lickers. I know a room full of pure zoyalai seems tempting

Genya: whats a zoyalai?

Nikolai: yet, i would like you to turn off your obssesion with me,ejem,us and be more creative

Genya: No one is obssesed but you

Nikolai: and now i will leave my jacket here, hope no one takes it for their secret costume, right Genya?

Genya: i have no intention to do that...why are you winking?

Nikolai: also, for completely unrelated issues, tell David to not feel bad if the blue doesn't fit him as much as it fits Zoya, he´ll still look good

Genya: now you are just delusional