#what if i got insane enough about ocs that i started again

[maxdurden]

this is old oc art i did like,,, way back in my freshman year of college???

[gothicpaperback]

THE WAY HE CARES | PART TWO

<<< PART ONE | MASTERLIST | PART THREE >>>

wc: 2,2k | rating: 18+ for eventual smut | Joel Miller x You | Enemy Pregnancy

summary: Joel Miller has been my pain-in-the-ass neighbour for years. we argue more than we speak and when we do speak, it's usually through gritted teeth. but when my doctor tells me my fertility’s running out of time, panic sets in. I want a baby and I don’t have the luxury of waiting around for Mr. Right. Joel's a damn good father to his daughter, Sarah. that much, I can’t deny. so one night, fuelled by nerves and just the right amount of wine, I ask him the unthinkable: get me pregnant. no strings.no romance. just biology. i never planned on falling for him. but nothing about Joel Miller ever goes according to plan.

while the story is first person narrative, the OC female character is YOU. she is not named and barely physically described aside from being able bodied and having hair long enough to grab.

tags/warnings: neighbours, enemies to lovers, comedy, smut, sexual tension, mentions of fertility and reproductive issues, mentions of drugs and alcohol. i will add more tags as they become relevant.

taglist: @himboelover | @harrypotteranna23-blog | @isabella-rose-trastamara | @ro4nix | @sunndroppp | @harriedandharassed

THE WAY HE CARES | PART TWO

Joel stared at me like I’d grown a second head. The silence stretched so long I thought maybe I had. He blinked once. Then again. Slowly.

“What the hell did you just say?”

I shifted the plate of brownies in my hands. “You heard me.”

His jaw flexed. “Yeah, I heard you. I just… figured it was some kinda joke. A weird one.”

“It’s not.”

He ran a hand over his face, muttering something under his breath I couldn’t catch. Then, without a word, he stepped aside and jerked his head toward the inside of the house. I walked in, heart thudding, and set the brownies down on the kitchen island like they were a peace offering. Which, in a way, they were.

Joel leaned against the counter across from me, arms crossed, looking like a man trying not to lose his patience.

“Well?” he asked. “You gonna explain that little bomb you just dropped or what?”

I nodded. “I went to the doctor a few weeks ago. Fertility tests. Results weren’t great blah blah blah. I don’t have a lot of time. My options are basically: try now or never try at all.”

His brow furrowed. “You don’t got family or-”

“No. No partner. No close guy friends. I’m not on great terms with my exes. One turned out to be a drug dealer, the other realized he was gay. So yeah. That’s my romantic résumé.”

Joel didn’t laugh. Didn’t even smile. He just kept staring, eyes narrowed slightly, like he was trying to see the endgame.

“I thought about donors,” I went on, “but I don’t want to go that route. I wanted to know who it is. I wanted to choose. And I started thinking about who I knew that was… I don’t know. Stable. Decent. Someone who takes care of his kid and doesn’t flake out on responsibilities.”

"Okay."

I looked up at him. “I thought about you.”

His mouth pulled into a hard line. “You and I don’t even know each other.”

“I know.” I shrugged. “We don’t have to. We don’t have to change anything. Sarah never has to know. No custody, no co-parenting, no holidays together. Once I’m pregnant, that’s it. We can go back to pretending we don’t exist to each other.”

He let out a short breath through his nose. “That’s the most fucked-up compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

“It’s not a compliment. It’s a business arrangement.”

He went quiet again, staring down at the counter, then back up at me. “You serious? You’d really wanna have a kid with someone you don't even know?”

I held his gaze. “Joel, I’m not asking you to raise it. I’m asking you to help me have it.”

Another beat of silence. Then he pushed off the counter, rubbed the back of his neck, and looked at me like I was something stuck to the bottom of his boot.

“This is fuckin' insane,” he muttered, "and you're crazy for suggestin' it."

I opened my mouth to argue but then he sighed.

"I need some time to think it over."

I felt relief. I felt terror and underneath it all I felt something else. Something warm. 

He turned toward the hallway like it physically pained him to agree. 

"But next time you go asking for a favour you mind leaving the walnuts out of the baking? Sarah hates em."

--

The next few days were hell.

I went back home that night clutching the brownie plate like a fool, convinced I’d imagined the whole thing, convinced the second Joel shut the door, he’d immediately blocked the memory of my deranged little proposal and burned the dish out back for good measure.

He didn’t stop by. No follow-up. Just business as usual: his truck rumbling in the morning, the occasional grunt as we crossed paths checking mail. If anything, he seemed *more* chill, like I hadn’t asked him for his DNA and a lifetime of potential child support avoidance.

Meanwhile, I was an anxious, hormonal mess. I took my prenatal vitamins like it was a religious ritual. I tracked my cycle obsessively. I read way too many message boards filled with acronyms I didn’t understand. OPK, DPO, TTC. It was like trying to decode CIA files while crying over a fertility smoothie.

I avoided looking directly at Joel. It felt like the neighbours could sense something had shifted. Mrs. Phelps next door could see the tension radiating off me while I watered my plants in a forced display of normalcy.

It had been four days. I’d nearly made peace with the fact that he was ghosting me the neighbourly way, silently, but with judgment, when there was a knock at my door.

Joel stood there holding a six-pack.

I blinked. “You’re either here to accept or reject me with alcohol, and I genuinely don’t know which one I’m rooting for.”

His mouth twitched. “I thought about it.”

I stepped aside, silently inviting him in. “And?”

“I’ll do it. But we’re settin’ some damn ground rules.”

We sat across from each other on my couch, both nursing a beer, a notepad between us. My ovulation tracker app had just sent a cheerful push notification: TODAY’S THE DAY! GO MAKE A BABY! It felt obscene.

There was a notebook on my lap and my pen poised to take notes.

Joel cleared his throat. “Rule one: this doesn’t make us friends.”

I nodded. “Of course not. That’d be ridiculous.”

“Rule two: this stays private. No one finds out. Not Sarah, not my brother, not that nosy bat across the street with binoculars.”

“Agreed. We don’t even wave at each other in public.”

He took a long sip of beer. “Rule three: this is just about the baby. No weird emotional crap. No cuddlin’. No talkin’ about our childhoods or whatever.”

“God, no,” I said. “Gross.”

We both reached for another beer. "So how do you wanna do this? I go to some fertility clinic?"

"No. Too expensive," I told him shaking my head. “We do it the old-fashioned way. Turkey baster."

"Turkey ba- you mean those things you use at Thanksgiving?" 

"Yep."

"Well that's that holiday ruined."

I rolled my eyes and took another long sip of my beer. Joel did the same. "It’ll be efficient. Clinical. Emotionless and hopefully, effective. And above all, free.”

He gave me a long look, and I didn’t dare ask what he was thinking.

"I'm ovulating tonight so it's actually perfect," I explained showing him my app. "I got a new turkey baster yesterday in case you said yes." 

Joel took a long pull from his beer, and then looked over at me like he was trying to x-ray my skull.

“You could’ve just asked me to hang out, you know," he said. "We didn’t have to jump straight to parenthood.”

“Please. You would’ve said no just to be difficult.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “But I would’ve thought about it.”

That sat between us for a beat too long.

“You know,” he said, tone casual in a way that definitely wasn’t, “I keep wonderin' why it had to be me.”

I rolled my eyes and sank deeper into the couch. “We already went over this.”

“No, you gave me some vague reasoning,” he said, pointing his bottle at me. "You said you wanted someone stable n’ decent. Someone who takes care of his kid and doesn’t flake out on responsibilities.”

"Yeah. So?"

"That could apply to half the single guys on this block. Hell, Jesse a few houses down runs marathons and makes his own hummus. Why not him?"

“Because I've never spoken to him. Plus if I have a child that willingly runs marathons I'll kill myself." 

Joel smirked. “Fair.” He didn’t drop it, though. Didn’t look away. He needed more of the truth.

I busied myself peeling the label off my bottle. “I didn’t want a stranger. I wanted someone... consistent. Someone who wouldn’t ghost or suddenly try to get joint custody.”

“So naturally you picked your least favourite neighbour.”

“Exactly.”

Joel leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “But that’s the thing. We weren’t friends. We barely spoke unless it was to argue over parking or your mystery garbage smell.”

“That was your garbage, and we both know it.”

He shrugged like it was ancient history. Then his voice dropped a notch, still teasing, but a little more curious.

“So what made you look at me and think, ‘Yes, that’s the man whose DNA I want in my uterus’?”

I choked a little on my beer. “Oh my God, Joel.”

“I’m just saying. Seems like a leap.”

I looked at him. Really looked at him. He was smug, sure, but under that was something else. A question he maybe wasn’t ready to admit he wanted the answer to.

"I see you with Sarah. You're kind and gentle. You make her laugh. And she adores you. She's funny and quick and beautiful and I guess I figured you're the kind of man that makes children like that."

I thought I saw sheen to his eyes but that might just be the blur from the alcohol. How many have we had? Regardless I couldn’t read his face and I needed to break the tension.

“And,” I added, taking another sip, “if the kid inherits your eyes, that’s just a bonus.”

"The truth comes out." Joel’s mouth twitched. “So you think I'm hot.”

“No, I think your eyes are pretty. The rest of you is a human disaster.”

He chuckled, leaning back again. “Fair enough.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it felt full. Like we were both hearing everything we hadn’t said yet.

"Well what if I have some bad family history? What if you do? What if our kid has some terrible allergy and..."

I tuned the rest of what he was saying out because a little thrill went up my spine when he said our kid. Not the our part of course, the fact that we could be making a real, live child tonight. 

"Does anything bad run in your family? Illness? A taste for human flesh?"

Joel chuckled, a warm rich sound. "Allergic to bees. Dad died of cancer at ninety or ninety one. Can't remember exactly. How about you?"

"No allergies. Parents died in a car crash so we'll never know." 

Joel looked like he was going to say something to me. One of those annoying platitudes that are given when an awkward topic is brought up. Instead he just nodded and drained the rest of his beer while I reached for the notepad on the coffee table and waved it like a shield.

“Okay, back to the ground rules,” I said, voice a little too bright. “Number four, no weird emotional entanglements.”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “Define ‘weird.’”

“Like this conversation.”

He grinned. “Too late.”

Somewhere after the fourth beer, we decided to move onto something stronger. Maybe it was the nerves from the topic, but Joel was keen on the idea. But turns out I've got a heavy hand when it comes to pouring whiskey.  

"Number sssixteen," I said slurring, my own wobbly. "The baby shower will not have embarrassing gamessss!" 

"Yeah!" Joel insisted loudly, equally tipsy. "No diaper games! We had thossse at Sarah's baby shower and I hated em."

"Deal," I said, my pen scratching the paper. Then we clinked glasses, shouting cheers and throwing back the amber liquid. 

"Amber," I murmured as I thought as I looked at the glass. 

"No gem names," Joel said with a sour face. "And no stupid names like Willow-Branch," Joel said with squinty eyes. 

"But what about my great aunt Willow-Branch?" I hiccupped. "She'll be devastated to know her name won't live on." 

At this we both started giggling. Well, I giggled and Joel chuckled. Loudly. 

"Okay we'll make an exception for your aunt." 

By rule twenty five, I was lying sideways on the couch, my legs slung over Joel’s lap, both of us slack-jawed with drunken exhaustion.

"I think that's all of the rules," I mumbled, feeling tired. 

"Did you write down what I said about ear piercing?"

I looked at the notepad. "Yep. Not until she or he is at least twelve." 

Joel glanced down at me, blinking slowly. "Are you falling asleep?" 

I didn't reply, just grunted a little as my eyes shut. 

“Wait. We were supposed to do it tonight, weren’t we? The turkey cup?”

I nodded, barely upright. “Perfectly timed ovulation.”

“Shit,” he muttered.

I yawned. “We're really bad at this.”

Joel didn’t reply. He just reached for the throw blanket on the armrest, tugged it over both of us like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I don’t remember who fell asleep first

[yanderefarm]

Hihiii

Nephite when an other follower/ omega tryed to get with us?

yandere omega cultist nephite

cw;; religion, cults, omegaverse, violence

nephite is the least physically violent of the ocs ive posted so far but that doesn't take away from how scary he can be. he's so loyal to the church he has a lot of power for an omega.

y/n: do you know what happened to him?

nephite: he received divine punishment ^.^

y/n: right. i forgot you're crazy again.

nephite can't even breathe when he sees one of the slightly younger omegas flirting with you at a potluck. you're completely unreceptive to the advances of course. but he can't help but hear these words in his ears.

"alphas always prefer young omegas"

right now you were ignoring this harlot but for how long? how long before he became old and undesirable? nephite chewed his thumb nail until he broke the skin, only actually stopping because his mother pulled his hand away. she scolded him gently as she cleaned up his booboo but he couldn't look at her, he couldn't hear her. his sister noticed and teased him a little for getting so worked up over a random omega.

they were right. it was silly. he stuffed it down but he still spent the whole night attached to your hip.

it was fine.

but that omega didn't stop. if you left the house that omega would come find you and immediately start talking to you. his hands would press against your chest, his arms would wrap around one of your own, he would lean his body into you every chance he got. nephite's usually bright eyes would go dead the moment he saw the younger omega. what was he supposed to say? that filth never did it when he was right next to you, always waiting for you to be alone. and its not like it got more suggestive than just flirting. but it was driving nephite insane.

one day nephite was holding a sacred texts study group for omegas at your home. he had been so excited to be the host for this meeting, he spent the whole day making snacks for it! only to find, to his horror, that omega also arrived. you had decided to stay out of the living room while his group was going on but that just meant that horrible harlot could really get you alone! nephite had tried so hard to watch him like a hawk but he'd also gotten too into the discussion with the others. he never even realized when that omega disappeared from the group.

after everyone left he headed to your shared bedroom, excited to tell you about how it went. his hands pressed the door and his eyes immediately went dead. you were sitting on the bed with that omega, just talking. you had been showing him a book you'd been reading recently. his hand was on your knee. his shirt was unbuttoned. nephite felt dizzy, delirious with all the dark emotions bubbling in his stomach. he thought about killing that harlot right here, cutting off the filthy hands that dared to touch you.

you snapped him out of it, asking if group was over and then saying that harlot should leave. you escorted him to the door like a real gentleman. you asked him what was bothering him, if his group had gone poorly. nephite had practically tackled you into the bed, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his head in your chest. he cried well into the night about all his insecurities and worries about you leaving him. and with every tear there was your reassuring hand in his hair, soothing him gently.

but that wasn't enough. the next day he went to confession with a pair of his frilly underwear stuffed in his pocket. he told the pastor the truth. mostly. he exaggerated the amount of adultery that harlot had really done so far. the pastor seemed to know he was being lied to but he trusted that nephite would only be bringing someone to his attention if they were a filthy sinner. the frilly underwear were icing on the cake. he told the pastor that he found them in the sinner's home along with a plan to seduce you.

they made a big show of dragging that sinner through the compound. wherever he was going he would never be coming back from. he caught nephite's eyes as he was dragged crying and screaming through the street. nephite held your arm tighter a wicked smile on his face just long enough for that foolish sinner to catch.

[hoodedjelly]

Sleep walk BTS post!

will go in depth with my process and put better quality drawings in here!

Before any of this i was listening to several fiddauthor/ford playlists to hear a song that really got my brain moving. Funny enough i didn't get Sleep walk from one of the 100+ song playlists i was listening to, it was in my oc playlist (thats a mad scientist who would've thought). Originally i wanted to make a fiddauthor animatic (who knows maybe i will), but THIS SONG just caught my brain in a way i couldn't refuse.

So i technically started working on it the late night of September 27, exactly a week ago! which yes yes i hear you all in unison go "WHAT???" to that, and all I have to say to that is.... I have untreated adhd and lots of caffeine in my system! (honestly felt like ford sometimes while workin on that animatic)

Started it off with some notes, then thumbnails. I had my tbob AND J3 open next to me stood up with clips for reference (prob looked a little insane looking back but its fine)

now for the rough animatic! i did this in Adobe animate 2022 (i'll get back to that later) the only thing that really got changed was i wanted to add the diner scene from j3. i realize now that it messed up the timeline i was going for with the animatic but i like to think things are out of order because of the state ford is in, things start to merge together.

After i sat with this rough animatic for a bit, i wasn't sure if i was going to make it in Adobe animate (what i usually do) or make it all in Clip Studio Paint. I wanted this animatic to be way more visually interesting then i usually do, so CSP it is. But! i only have CSP Pro, so i had to draw and export every single new frame from this animatic.

it was a little tedious at first (again never done an animatic like this before) but i got used to it! I edited it all together in CapCut and thats really it!

The missing J3 pages from TBOB spoke to me in a way that im not fully comfortable talking about to my followers. I put a lot of myself in this animatic then i'd want to realize, it's very important to me. The night when i uploaded it i was literally shaking with anxiety (and caffeine-) but the overwhelming support for it is really amazing, thank you so much! if you have any more questions please ask away i love talking about the art process.

Below im going to talk about the code and put HD backgrounds!

thank you for dyemro on here for cracking the code first! now i can talk about my insane little thought process about it

So i never planned to add a code until halfway through with the animatic. i was watching ThatGFFan videos and him talking about gravity falls codes got my brain cooking. i wanted something sweet and simple (i realize with dyemro's post it wasn't as simple as i thought, give me some slack it's my first time). like what you should with making codes you start at the end. And i wanted something that was a nice send off for drawing ford be fucking miserable for 1 minute and 30 seconds.

so i got this. (honestly every time i look at this drawing after finishing the animatic it makes me real emotional)

There are 4 codes in this whole animatic 0:02, 0:15, 0:30, and 0:58

wanted the first one to be REAL noticeable so people can stop and be like "wait... theres stuff in here". people usually think to use the bill symbols, but no! from the description theres a little hint to use the Author symbols

doing that code it leads to: imgu r.com /a/uZa iVfu (and if you know that double line a under a letter means capitalization + im a dumb dumb that used a code image that didn't have a Z so thats just a normal Z)

it makes a LINK! > imgur.com/a/uZaiVfu <

now enough of that boring stuff, heres some HD screenshots and backgrounds of my fav parts

[annaswrites00]

We Probably Shouldn't - Kimi Antonelli

Kimi Antonelli x Rory Bearman (OC)

(4.6k)

Chapter Nine

Chapter Eight, Chapter Seven, Chapter Six, Chapter Five, Chapter Four, Chapter Three, Chapter Two, Chapter One

Summary - Kimi and Ollie’s sister start something they probably shouldn’t… warnings - explicit content

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The day had settled into that sharp, electric edge only sprint qualifying could bring—the sort of charged anticipation that never left the air, even once the engines had quieted. Outside, the Miami sun baked the paddock in a thick, humming heat, but inside the drivers’ room, it was dim and cool, the kind of quiet that rang in your ears after too much noise.

Rory slipped through the door, her steps light but purposeful. George had been waiting outside with a look she didn’t quite know how to name—mischievous, maybe. Complicit.

“He asked me to bring you back here,” George had said, his voice low, like it was a shared secret. “Figured you’d want to be the first one to congratulate him.”

Now, with the door clicking shut behind her, the air seemed heavier.

Kimi sat in the far corner, alone, helmet resting beside him, head bowed like he was still coming down from something. His race suit had been peeled off, tied around his waist. His long sleeve had been pulled up so it was sitting halfway up his torso, damp from the effort, streaked with heat and adrenaline. He looked up when he heard her, his expression shifting to surprise before softening into something far more familiar.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, gravel-edged.

“Hi,” she breathed.

Rory moved toward him, something pulling her in the way gravity did. Inevitable, quiet, strong. Her heart thudded, not from nerves but from the sheer weight of wanting. She took a seat next to him on the small bench.

“You were brilliant out there,” she murmured. Her fingers came to rest on his thigh, a light touch at first, like she wasn’t sure if he was entirely real yet. “Pole position. In Miami. That lap was insane.”

Kimi’s lips twitched—not quite a smile, not quite smug either. “Got lucky.”

She scoffed, letting her fingers trace just a little higher. “You don’t get pole on luck.”

He didn’t answer, but his eyes never left her—quiet, watchful, already darkening at the edges. Rory leaned in, her voice dropping.

“You drove the shit out of that car.”

His breath caught when her hand slid even higher. The air shifted again—denser now, like it was about to crack. Rory got up, stepping between his knees, her body close enough to feel the ghost of his heat.

“You want to know what I was thinking while I watched you cross that line?” she whispered as she placed her hands on his shoulders.

Kimi swallowed. “What,” he said, just as quiet.

“I thought…” She leaned down and closer, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “I want to be the first thing he touches after the car shuts off.”

Kimi exhaled sharply, the sound caught somewhere between disbelief and desire. His hands came to her hips, strong but uncertain, like he was still fighting it—still weighing what was smart versus what he wanted.

“We shouldn’t,” he murmured, but it didn’t sound like a warning. It sounded like a surrender waiting to happen.

“No,” Rory agreed softly, her fingers moving to slip under the tucked edge of his top, pushing it up and over his head. “But when has that ever stopped us?”

He tilted his head back against the wall, watching her through half-lidded eyes as she moved down to her knees in front of him. It was slow, purposeful, no rush, no fear. Just heat building in layers, pulled taut between them.

She looked up at him, her voice nothing more than a breath. “Let me congratulate you.”

“Rory…” he said, voice fraying at the edges.

“Shhh.” She pressed a kiss just above his waistband, feather-light. “Let me.”

Kimi let out a low, wrecked sound, one hand tightening on her shoulder, the other curling into the side of the bench. She kissed a line across his abdomen, savoring the way he tensed under her mouth. Her hands slid up his thighs, slow, deliberate, anchoring herself and undoing him all at once.

He was tense beneath her, all heat and restraint, body shifting slightly as she touched him—not rushed, not teasing, but with a kind of focused devotion that made it feel like the air between them might ignite.

Kimi’s hand slid off the bench, fingers slipping into her hair, not pulling, just holding—like he wasn’t sure if he needed to keep her close or push her away before he lost what little control he had left.

She worked to pull the rest of his race suit off carefully. Folding it in a neat pile and setting on top of his discarded undershirt. He was left in just his boxers as he adjusted on the bench.

And then she kissed lower, just above the elastic, slow and soft, and everything in him seemed to tighten at once. Her fingertips curled against his hips. She eased the band down slightly, only a fraction, just enough to make him inhale sharply. He was already trembling under her touch, jaw clenched, brows furrowed.

And then—three quick knocks.

The door creaked open an inch. George slipped just a hand in.

“Sorry, mate,” George called, voice far too cheerful for the moment he’d just ruined. “Team’s asking for you. Briefing in five.”

Rory froze, lips against skin, a laugh caught in her throat. Kimi groaned, head falling forward as he muttered a curse under his breath.

“Be right there,” he called out, trying to sound composed. George didn’t answer, but the door clicked shut again a second later. Rory swore she heard a muffled laugh as his footsteps departed.

She looked up, cheeks flushed, her hands still on his hips.

“Well,” she said, biting her lip. “That was rude.”

Kimi looked down at her, hair damp at the temples, pupils blown wide. He touched her cheek, thumb brushing just under her eye.

“We’re finishing this,” he murmured, voice rough. “Later.”

She grinned, climbing to her feet with slow grace, her body brushing his as she rose.

“I’ll hold you to it.”

Her heart thudded once, hard, in her chest. She squeezed his hand, then let go.

“I’ll see you after the sprint tomorrow. Dinner with my family tonight,” she said, already backing toward the door, lips tingling, thoughts scattered.

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By the time Rory reached the paddock, the Miami sun was already unforgiving, laying its heat heavy across the autodrome. Her lanyard scratched against the back of her neck as she moved past security, swiping it across the machines to sign in. Everyone was moving fast. Mechanics hustling, engineers hunched over screens, tire blankets being peeled back with care and urgency.

She adjusted her camera strap across her chest and exhaled slowly, centering herself. It was sprint day. Half the tension of a Sunday with no time to breathe. Everything moved sharper, closer to the edge. 

She made her way out of the paddock and towards the garages, passing the Ferrari garage first—Charles standing with his arms folded, already suited, looking at data. Lando was laughing with his engineer two bays down. She nodded to a few familiar faces, but her feet carried her on instinct.

When she reached Mercedes, Ollie was leaning against the wall, half-zipped into his suit, hair still wet from the ice towel he kept around his neck. He looked up and offered her a crooked smile before she could stop in her tracks and turn away.She hoped he wouldn't press why she was hanging around Mercedes.

“Getting shots for Mercedes today?” he asked, brow lifting as he looked her over.

Rory hesitated. “Maybe.”

He didn’t press. Just nudged her shoulder with his and gestured toward the garage. “Thomas will be waiting in our garage once the sprint starts.”

“Got it.” She lifted her camera and slipped inside.

The garage was dim compared to the blazing paddock, lit by fluorescent overheads and screens casting data across the walls. Kimi’s car sat center—sleek, silent, waiting. She got a few shots of the mechanics fitting the tires, the blur of a visor being snapped shut, the fast, focused choreography of pre-race prep.

Still, her eyes kept scanning for him.

When she finally spotted Kimi, it was across the bay—his helmet still off, hair damp, fireproofs sticking slightly to his chest and arms. He was deep in conversation with his race engineer, nodding along, lips pressed into a firm line.

She raised the lens, captured him mid-listen, head tilted, eyes narrowed like he was already thinking five corners ahead. And something in her chest clenched tight.

He’d looked at her differently yesterday. Open, wrecked, wanting.

Now—he was unreadable again. Composed. Somewhere else entirely.

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The sprint happened in a blur.

She was at her usual post along the back straight, where the palm trees blurred in the lens and the sun hit the track just right. Her finger worked on instinct: shutter-click, focus, track, adjust. The sound of engines roared in her bones. Everyone fought hard. Kimi had started on pole, but it was a messy race. Rough turn one, a messy pitstop, a safety car. 

Seventh.

She saw it before she heard it on the radio.

Her chest dropped.

The race ended and the grid peeled into parc fermé. She moved through the crowd, camera low now, fingers nervously fiddling with the lens cap. Kimi’s helmet was still on when he climbed out—no interviews, no fanfare. He disappeared into the back of the garage before she could get close.

She wanted to follow. To say something. To touch him.

But Ollie caught her first—shirt clinging to his back, sweat in his hair, grinning in spite of everything.

Thomas appeared behind them. “You’ll be with us in the garage through quali, yeah? They want brother-sister content.” 

Rory nodded automatically. The ache in her chest sat heavy. Kimi was close. Maybe a few dozen steps away. And yet it felt like he was on the other side of something invisible and thick. 

She didn’t see him again before qualifying.

The sun had dropped slightly by then, casting long golden shadows through the paddock. Rory stuck close to the Haas garage and Thomas as planned. She got shots of Ollie and Esteban preparing, helmet cam footage, a quick reel of them waving awkwardly for the social media team. Her camera was working. Her body was moving. But her thoughts spun elsewhere.

When Kimi went third in Q3—out-qualifying both Ferraris and one McLaren—she didn’t cheer. But her heart leapt so hard she had to brace herself against the edge of the garage wall.

He hadn’t given up. He’d fought back. Even after that brutal sprint, he’d clawed his way to the front row.

And she hadn’t had the chance to say a word to him.

She knew Ollie would be pulled into debrief. Her window was small. This wouldn't work if she hesitated.

So she didn’t.

She slipped out the back of the garage building, down the row of generator carts and staff cooling tents, until the Mercedes garage came into view. The back corner, by the crates and shipping pallets, was quiet—too tucked away for fans, too exposed for VIPs. Which made it perfect.

She waited only a second before she saw him.

Kimi rounded the side of the building, helmet in one hand, suit unzipped, sweat lining his throat. He was walking by, but she managed to grab his arm, pulling him in between the garages. His eyes widened in surprise.

“Hey,” he said, and just that word was enough to undo her.

She stepped into him without thinking, arms going around his waist. His helmet thunked softly against the crate behind him as he set it down and pulled her in tight.

Neither of them said anything for a beat.

His hands slid over her back, one curling at her neck, fingers threading into her hair like he needed the grounding.

“You were brilliant,” she whispered.

He let out a soft sound of frustration and maybe relief. She wasn’t sure.

“It’s not a win.”

“No.” She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “But it’s a step closer.”

Kimi studied her, gaze flicking across her face like he was trying to memorize something. “Missed you after the sprint.”

“I had to go,” she said quietly. “But I didn’t want to. I wanted to see you after.”

His thumb brushed just under her jaw. “You’re here now.”

Rory leaned up and kissed his cheek—just there, just enough—and then stepped back before she got pulled under again.

“Maybe I can sneak into your room tonight. After Ollie and Thomas go to bed or something.” 

Kimi’s smile turned a little crooked. “Sounds risky.”

She rolled her eyes, a soft huff of amusement escaping her. “You like the risk.”

“I like you,” he said plainly, and there was no teasing in it, just truth, low and easy in his voice like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Rory looked down, her cheeks burning, but she didn’t move away. Not fully.

Kimi shifted his weight and leaned in, close enough that his forehead nearly brushed hers. “I wanted to see you, too,” he murmured. “After the race. Thought maybe you’d come find me.”

“I tried.”

He nodded, like he already knew. Like he’d felt her presence lingering just on the edge of it all. “Was hard. I was angry. At myself, mostly.”

“You still got seventh. It’s not—”

“It’s not where I want to be,” he cut in, soft but firm. “But quali was better.”

He reached down and took her hand properly this time, threading their fingers together and brushing his thumb over her knuckles.

They stood like that for another moment—tucked into the shadow of the motorhome, her hand in his, the paddock still buzzing somewhere behind them. Mechanics shouting, trolleys wheeling past, someone calling out tire pressures. But it all felt distant, muffled.

Like here, for just a second, nothing else was real.

“I should go,” she said finally, voice reluctant.

“Yeah,” he echoed, but he didn’t let go.

They stayed linked even as she stepped back, fingers sliding apart like a string pulled taut between them, neither ready to cut it.

“I’ll text you,” she murmured. “When it’s safe.”

Kimi gave a little nod, his eyes lingering on her like he was still memorizing, still holding onto the imprint of her presence. “I’ll leave the door unlocked. Only if you promise not to get caught.”

She grinned then, the kind that reached her eyes. “I never do.”

And even as she disappeared around the corner, camera bouncing lightly against her hip and heart thudding out of sync, Rory knew she’d carry his smile with her through the rest of the evening—pressed like a fingerprint behind her ribs, warm and weightless.

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Later that night, Rory stood barefoot in her hotel room, staring at her phone like it might speak first. Kimi hadn’t texted. Her fingers hovered over his name anyway. Shooting out a text telling him she was ready.

She hit send. Waited. Paced.

Three dots blinked. Then stopped.

Her phone lit again a few seconds later with a room number. 

Her breath caught.

The hallways were silent now. Typical considering it was almost midnight the night before a race. Rory crept out of her room with her hoodie zipped halfway up over her tank top and her purse held close to her shoulder. The elevators were too risky so she took the stairs. 

Kimi’s room was at the end of the hall, but she didn’t make it that far—not right away.

Halfway down, voices echoed around the corner. Rory froze.

Then. Footsteps. Close. Loud.

She ducked, heart hammering, and squeezed herself behind the bulky hotel ice machine, shoulders pressed tight against cold metal. Her breath came shallow as two shadows passed.

“Mate, I’m telling you,” Ollie said, voice amused. “You and I both know I would win.”

“Nope,” Isack retorted back. “I’m ten times better at football.”

Rory’s heart slammed so hard she could hear it in her ears.

They turned the corner. Laughter trailed off.

Rory stayed still another breath longer—counting to ten, then fifteen—before slipping from her hiding place and tiptoeing the last few steps to 509.

She knocked once. Soft.

The door opened immediately.

Kimi stood there barefoot in grey sweats and a plain white tee, his curls messy, jaw tense. His eyes met hers, and something in them shifted—like he hadn’t let himself breathe until just now.

“You came,” he said.

She stepped inside. “Of course.”

A pause bloomed between them, full of things unsaid.

Then—“I don’t know how to do this,” he said, voice low. “With you. And your brother. I don’t want to lie.”

“We aren't lying,” she murmured. “I just think we should keep it a secret for now.”

His eyes searched hers. “How long?”

“I’m not sure,” she whispered back.

Kimi’s hand reached for hers, grounding and gentle. His voice cracked a little as he whispered, “I want to touch you like I’m allowed.”

She let out a soft sigh. 

Then he kissed her.

It was different this time—softer, deeper. Not rushed. Not reckless. Just raw. He pulled her close by the waist, their bodies lining up like muscle memory. She kissed him back hungrily, fingers slipping beneath the hem of his shirt, dragging it upward.

He broke the kiss only to help her out of her zip up. His hands splayed across her back, thumbs brushing bare skin. Her top followed next, tossed aside, and Kimi’s lips traced a path along her collarbone, slow and reverent.

She threaded her fingers through his curls and tugged gently.

He groaned softly and backed her toward the bed, their mouths never fully separating. Her knees hit the edge and she let herself fall, pulling him down with her.

The weight of him was solid and warm, it made her feel wanted. Not in the way people looked at her behind a lens. Not in the way she was someone's sister or someone else's brand. Just her. Just Rory.

Kimi kissed down her stomach, lifting her hips to slide her shorts off, lips brushing the inside of her thigh like a promise. His hands steadied her like she was something fragile. Worshiped. Real.

“Tell me what you need,” he whispered, voice fraying.

“You,” she gasped. “I just want you.”

He swallowed hard, eyes flicking up to hers as if to check one last time before his mouth lowered again, kissing her inner thigh slowly, then again higher. One of his hands smoothed up her side, brushing the swell of her hip, the pad of his thumb pressing lightly into the band of her underwear, careful but wanting.

She gasped again, this time softer, sharper, as his hand slid between her legs. The first touch of his fingers made her hips jerk, breath catching in her throat.

“Okay?” he murmured.

She nodded, chest rising and falling fast. “Please don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He moved with aching focus, like he was memorizing every sound she made, every tremor that ran through her legs. His mouth stayed near her thigh, pressing warm, open kisses as his fingers worked her slowly, steadily, learning her by feel, by instinct.

Rory clutched the sheets beneath her, head tipping back as pressure built like a wave, every nerve in her body alight. It was different from before. Not urgent—just intense. Intimate. She whispered his name, thighs tightening around his hand, and that seemed to undo something in him.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered hoarsely. “Come on, sweet girl.”

She shattered.

It hit like a pulse, deep and shuddering, toes curling, hand gripping his wrist as her body arched. Her eyes squeezed shut, breath broken into soft moans, and Kimi didn’t stop until she gently pushed at his hand, overstimulated and trembling.

He hovered over her, lips brushing her cheek, her temple. She could feel the thud of his heart where his chest pressed against hers.

For a moment, they just lay there. Tangled and breathless.

And then, with a flicker of mischief breaking through the haze, Rory turned her head and kissed the corner of his jaw. “You didn’t let me finish what I started yesterday,” she murmured.

Kimi blinked, flushed and stunned. “What?”

She grinned lazily and rolled them over, sliding down his body with slow purpose. Her hands made quick work of his waistband this time, fingers slipping beneath the elastic and tugging his sweatpants and boxers down until he kicked them off.

She glanced up at him, lips brushing the inside of his thigh now, teasing. “Fair’s fair.”

He looked wrecked already, one arm flung above his head, the other fisting the sheets.

“Rory—fuck—”

The sound of his voice, hoarse and unraveling, only spurred her on. She moved lower, mouth warm and steady as she took him in, tongue flicking just enough to make him groan out loud.

Kimi’s hand found her hair, not to guide, just to feel. Like he needed proof she was real.

She worked him with gentle touch, patient and thorough, until his thighs began to tremble. His hips jerked up despite himself. He groaned her name like it was the only word he remembered.

“Rory—wait—I’m gonna—”

But she didn’t stop. She wanted to undo him completely. Wanted to feel him let go.

He came with a gasp, head falling back against the pillow, hand tightening in her hair, eyes squeezing shut as his whole body shook.

When he finally stilled, she crawled back up beside him, grinning like sin.

He pulled her close immediately, still breathless, still dazed. “That was—” His voice broke into a laugh. “You’re not real.”

She pressed a kiss to his shoulder, nuzzling in close. “You didn’t seem to mind.”

They lay there for a long moment in silence, limbs tangled and skin still buzzing.

Then Kimi’s voice came again, softer this time.

“So now what?”

Rory didn’t answer right away. She just closed her eyes and rested her cheek against his chest.

“Now we sleep,” she whispered, a little sleepy, a little scared.

He pressed a kiss to her hair, like a promise he didn’t know how to keep yet. But he wanted to. That had to count for something.

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The heat shimmered off the track, rising in lazy waves as mechanics scrambled around the grid. Race day pulsed through the air like static—electric and inevitable. Rory moved with her usual rhythm, camera strapped to her shoulder, lanyard bouncing against her chest, but her skin prickled with something else.

Something that hadn’t left her since last night.

She had left Kimi’s room early. Before anyone else got up. 

Last night, something had shifted. This new thing building between them felt more real.

She took her spot near the edge of the garage and watched as the grid emptied, mechanics pulling away, and the cars began their formation lap. Her fingers stayed clenched around her camera even after the sound faded into the first lap chaos.

And then came the long, brutal dance of the race.

Rory watched it all from the garage, heart in her throat.

Sixth.

The race ended. The cooldown lap rolled in. Mechanics clapped shoulders and murmured numbers. Oscar was already headed to media, smile bright and confident.

She watched as Kimi climbed out, helmet off. Sweat-damp curls. Eyes unreadable.

She didn’t approach. She couldn’t—not here, not now. But as he walked toward the back of the garage, he passed her. For the briefest moment, their arms brushed. And in that second, his fingers slid against hers. Not fully, not obvious—just the back of his hand glancing hers, warm and deliberate.

Like a whisper.

She exhaled. Her pulse steadied.

Then—“You good?”

Ollie.

Rory turned, startled. Her brother stood a few paces behind, brow furrowed, arms crossed over his chest. Not angry. Just curious. Too observant for comfort. The drivers were getting ready for the media pen.

“Yeah,” she said, too fast. “Just hot.”

Ollie looked toward the garage, watching Kimi disappear down the corridor. Then he looked back at her.

And frowned.

“You’ve been weird this weekend.”

Rory blinked. “I’m always weird.”

“Yeah, but this is different weird,” he said. “You’ve been distracted. Quiet.”

“I’m just tired, Ollie.”

“Sure.” He let it sit for a beat. He gave her a long look. One of those older brother looks that seemed to reach beneath skin and bone.

“Are you hiding something.” It was more of a statement than a question.

She swallowed shaking her head, guilt flickering like a lit match behind her ribs. “I’m not.”

He didn’t press. Just walked off, muttering something about debriefs before media.

Rory let out a breath, slow and shaking. Her fingers curled into the fabric of her skirt, grounding herself as the chaos of post-race energy crackled around her. The worry settled heavy in her chest.

The problem wasn’t just today.

It was the next race.

It was Imola.

Where the whole family was coming. Her mum and dad. The Antonellis. Staying in Kimi’s house. Shared breakfasts and communal dinners and long wine-soaked evenings on the terrace.

And him.

And her.

She could already feel the walls closing in. She pictured it��the way her mother would look at her, all knowing smiles and raised brows. The way her dad would read too much into one glance. The way Ollie would sit on the edge of the bed and ask, “You’re sure there’s nothing going on?”

And what would she say?

That she’d spent the night in Kimi’s bed, wrapped in silence and skin? That she’d memorized the way he kissed her shoulder in the dark? That she was falling for him without any sort of plan for what came next?

A hollow sound escaped her throat. Almost a laugh. Almost a cry.

She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes and tried to gather herself.

Because first—media.

Her camera was slung heavy across her chest, her shirt damp with sweat. She needed water, a moment, maybe an entirely different life.

But instead, she moved.

Down the paddock. Through the barriers. Toward the makeshift pen where the drivers would line up to give their polished post-race soundbites. She spotted Oscar first—already mid-interview, grinning in the sun. He caught her eye and smiled.

She smiled back, shaky but there.

Then her gaze shifted—and there he was.

Kimi stood at the far end, suit peeled to his waist. His eyes found hers instantly, like he’d been waiting. Like he always did.

For a moment, everything paused.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t move. But his eyes softened. That subtle shift only she ever seemed to notice—like gravity shifting between them.

And somehow, it was enough.

Rory exhaled.

They didn’t need words. Not right now. Maybe not even later.

But she could handle this. She could walk the fine line between what was true and what could be shown. She could take photos and pass glances and survive one more race weekend without the world knowing the truth.

And next race—Imola—she’d figure it out.

Somehow.

Maybe they’d get caught. Maybe it would all come crashing down.

But Kimi was still looking at her like she was his answer. Like he didn’t want to stop. And for now, that was enough.

Rory lifted her camera and raised it to her eye.

Click.

She caught him in perfect light.

And then she turned away—heart racing, smile ghosting on her lips—and melted back into the crowd.

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Thanks for reading!!!

ʚ🧸ɞ˚ ʚ🧸ɞ˚

tag list: @mywritersmind @widow-cevans @realfootageoftalik

[thedarkzyxabyss]

how important is the number 02 on radios chest? I was wondering if I could change it to a different number for my au oc version thing of them

Oh, the 02 on Radio’s chest is INSANELY important.

That’s his serial number! He’s the 2nd unit out of a set of 6 (although he doesn’t quite remember that…)

I was supposed to post a comic about his backstory, but I quickly lost steam 🥹

So here, have the 1st page + concept sketches of the other units out of context,,,

They are also referenced in my Game of Life animatic on my YouTube channel! Their unit numbers are a part of their identity!!

That’s why I refer to Radio and TV, and all the other variants of that character, specifically as 02s! Since that’s what their original “starting point” was before they got fractured into a bunch of different variants ^^

An easier explanation for this is like a beam of white light hitting a prism!

Since 02 isn’t * from* Undertale but a completely different, foreign place, he had to have crossed omniverses just to get to where he is now! And I feel like if he is from somewhere which is not quite like Undertale, then his code/body would have had to be “properly translated” so he could exist in this new place… Kind of like translating languages so that it could be understand by two different people.

The 02/Radio that you guys see is fairly different than how he was before traveling to the Undertale Multiverse!

He had an entire story, people he’s left behind, connections and duties that he was in charge of! The weight of his number is important, forever engraved on his chest.

… It’s just a shame that he forgot what he was supposed to be doing in the first place, thanks to the “translation” between omniverse/ multiverses 💀

I’ll try and post more about his “mysterious past” as time goes on, but his past shouldn’t *fully* interfere with any 02 variant you make (at least, for the most part)! Y’know, since his past is literally multiverse’s away lolol

There are even some cases where some 02 variants just make a new life, completely and utterly unaware of what they were supposed to be doing, in favor of just enjoying what this new reality had to offer!

So yeah, short answer to this question is: Nah. 02 is pretty significant to his story (funnily enough), and would completely change things :3

That shouldn’t stop you from having fun with it, though!

For example, Vendetta (and the clusterfuck that he is) *RESENTS* being who he is to some extent— and this shows on his chest accordingly

(A little sneak peek at what the hell is happening under those clothes btwwwww he’s like a jumble of parts 💀)

Theoretically, it could also be a thing where your variant simply covers his number or replaces it later on! There’s nothing wrong with overwriting something that was there— as long as his previous number had existed before doing so.

Again, the number “02” has significance and weight to it, and I’d hate for 02 to run away from his consequences.

Anyways, have funnnn!!

[kikyoupdates]

Indebted ⭑˚🥀⭑ 𝑓𝑖𝑐𝑘𝑙𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑡𝑒

yandere!ocs x f!reader

yandere, reverse harem, yandere reverse harem, original characters x fem!reader, slowburn, isekai

Following your mother’s recent passing, you are visited by a group of men claiming that your father abandoned all his debt and obligations, leaving you to take his place.

story masterlist | next

You couldn’t say that you’d had a particularly good childhood.

“Why are you coming back so late again? Where have you been?!”

Growing up, you were no stranger to being curled up in your bed late in the night, listening to your mother and father scream at each other from the living room. You’d struggled to understand it at first back when you were really young, but the older you got, it became clear to you that your father was getting involved in things that he shouldn’t.

Your father had a problem with drinking. And gambling. Your mother had tried time and time again to get him to quit, but he refused to listen. He never raised his hand against you or anything, but he was cold; distant, even. The deeper he sank into his addictions, he started feeling less like your father and more like a stranger.

One day, things took a turn for the worse.

You still remembered it vividly. There you were, seated at the table eating your breakfast, when your father came stumbling through the front door. He hadn’t come home last night, and he reeked of booze, like always. There was something different this time, though. This time, he was covered in cuts and bruises.

Your mother dropped to her knees in a panic. “What happened?! You’re hurt… who did this to you? Did you get in a fight?!”

“I’m fine,” he gritted out, and shoved her aside. “A business deal just didn’t go as planned, that’s all.”

“Business deal? What on earth are you talking about?”

You swallowed what was left in your mouth and stared at them in silence. By now, you knew that this wasn’t the kind of stuff a child was meant to get involved in. Even so, you could still tell that something was really wrong. And with the way your mother’s eyes were gradually widening, she realized it too.

She stormed off and came back with her purse, digging out her wallet. It took all of two seconds for her face to turn pale.

“Where’s all the money?” she shuddered. “I just went to the bank for a withdrawal the other day. I needed it to make a down payment on the new car. The owners said they’d only accept cash or cheque. Where is the money?”

Your father let out a sigh. “Listen, don’t freak out—”

“Don’t tell me what to do! What in the hell have you done with the money?!”

“Stop yelling,” he snapped. “[Name] can hear you.”

“Good,” your mother choked out. “She should know how big of a scumbag her father is. I told you what would happen if you ever stole from me again. I told you!”

“Goddammit, you dumb bitch!” He pushed her against the wall, hard enough that you jolted in your seat. “I’m telling you it’s going to be fine, so just listen to me for a change! The guys I’m with now are going to take good care of us. One of the idiots I was with messed up last night, but I told them it wasn’t going to happen again. I just need to pitch in a little bit more. A little more money and then we’ll be set for life.”

She quivered, eyes filling with tears. “What in the hell are you on about now? You’re still getting involved with those gangsters? That’s why you’ve been beaten so badly? You’re absolutely insane. Those men are dangerous. You’re going to get us all killed.”

“Those men are going to take care of us. Once I become a fully-fledged member, things will turn around. We won’t have to worry about money anymore.”

“They are criminals. How dare you get us roped into your schemes! Have you ever for a second stopped to think about the wellbeing of your daughter?!”

“I’m keeping all of us safe,” he glowered. “You’re just too stubborn to see it. This is how I protect my family.”

The tears came rolling down her cheeks. “Liar. You’ve never once cared about this family. All you’ve ever done is gamble and drink our money away. You’ve even compromised [Name]’s future. You are a horrible man.”

“Fuck, you’re such an ungrateful bitch!” He slammed his fist against the wall. Your father had never been violent with you before, but it had only just occurred to you that it may not have been the case for your mother.

“Get out,” your mother sobbed. “Get out right now.”

“You’re going to regret this,” he warned. “When I’m rich and sitting pretty, you’ll be begging for me to come back.”

“I will never regret it. Not for a single moment of my life. Now get out before I call the police and tell them you’ve threatened to hurt my daughter.”

He didn’t say anything else. He just scoffed and spat in your mother’s face, collected his things, then left.

That day was the last time you ever saw your father.

“Excuse me, I’m here to visit my mom.”

The receptionist lifted her brows and peered up at you. “What’s your name?”

“[Last Name] [Name]. She should be in a room on the third floor, unless she got moved for some reason.”

“Here’s your visitor’s pass,” the woman nodded, handing you a card dangling from a string. “Room 305.”

“Thank you.”

You hung the visitor’s pass around your neck and gripped the bouquet tighter. By now, you were no stranger to navigating the hospital’s countless intersecting hallways. The scent of antiseptic and some other stale, vaguely ominous smell had long since become familiar to you. It wasn’t ideal, but this was your life. And all the more reason to appreciate what you still had.

“Hey, mom.”

You pushed open the door and lightly knocked to get her attention. She turned towards you, smiling like always, though her fatigue was easily apparent based on the heavy, dark circles under her eyes.

“Hi, sweetheart.” She lifted her brows a bit. “Are those flowers for me?”

“Of course,” you grinned. “I brought your favorites.”

“Haha. My favorites change with every season. I’m surprised you can even keep track.”

“Yet another reason why I’m such an amazing daughter.” She chuckled at your joke, and you went to replace the old flowers in the vase with the fresh ones you’d just brought. Once you were done, you shook your hands of the water and grabbed a seat on the edge of the hospital bed. “How are you feeling today?”

She smiled weakly. “Oh, you know. Same as usual. Not too great, not too bad. But still kicking. I’m waiting for it to all get better. I’m not going to let this beat me.”

“I know you will, mom. You’re so strong.”

You squeezed her hand, gasping a bit when you felt how weak her grip was.

“No need to get all sappy,” she chuckled. “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Of course. I know that. Oh, right,” you remembered, digging into your pocket to pull out a handful of wrapped candies. “I remembered you really liked these the last time I brought them. I got a bunch more flavors this time.”

“Ooh! Thanks, honey! Technically, I’m not supposed to be eating these. They keep me on a pretty strict diet around here…”

“A little every now and then can’t hurt,” you mused.

“That’s what I keep telling them! It’s like they’re allergic to happiness.”

You unwrapped a few candies for her and handed them off. She popped several of them into her mouth at once, humming contentedly.

“Sugar is exactly what I need,” she said, rolling the candies around in her mouth. “I’m already feeling better!”

“In moderation, though. Too many and your stomach will start to feel all gross.”  

She elbowed you in the ribs. “Hey, I’m not an old lady just yet.”

“Nah, it’s not about being old. The other day I ate a chocolate bar and almost puked it up afterwards. I guess my body’s just not what it used to be. Man, it’s hard getting old.”

“Twenty-one isn’t old,” she snorted. “Don’t make me climb out of this bed and fight you.”

“My point is, just take it easy. It’s better to eat slowly and savor them anyways, right?”

“Right. I’ll have to hide them, though. The nurse that waits on me most of the time is kind of a hard-ass.”

“Is she the one with the really tight bun that wears way too much hair gel?”

“Yes. Her. She doesn’t seem to like any of my jokes, either. I’m just trying to lift her spirits,” she sighed. “I can only imagine how tired she must be, working such long shifts all the time…”

You smiled inwardly. How typical of your mom. Always worrying about others even when she was hardly feeling her best. You really respected that about her. That and the fact that she was so strong, having endured so much, and practically raised you all on her own. You could only hope that you would grow up to be as good of a person as her.

“I brought sudoku,” you said, pulling out a big book from your backpack. “Want to fill some out together?”

She pressed her index finger against her lips. “Hm. How about this time we each fill out our own separately, to see who can finish the fastest?”

“Oh, man. Get ready to lose.”

“Famous last words.”

You went on like that for a good while, just chatting and playing little games together. If it was up to you, then you’d probably be staying at the hospital until late in the evening, but your mother always insisted that you go home and get some rest. She knew that you were a full-time student balancing two part-time jobs, and worried that you spent every bit of free time you had checking in on her.

“I can stay a bit longer,” you tried.

Your mother frowned. “No. You’re always worrying about me, but I know that you must be dead on your feet. Please, for my sake, go home and actually sleep for a change.”

“It’s fine. I’m used to being tired.”

“No, it isn’t. You’re supposed to be living out the best years of your life, and yet…” She cast her head down, eyes brimming with tears. “All you ever do is look after me. The hospital bills are already so expensive, and you worked for so long to put yourself through school… I just… I feel like I’ve failed you.”

“Mom. Stop that.” You squeezed her hand and offered a reassuring smile. “I’m all good. I don’t mind having to work harder than others. It makes everything that much more worthwhile. I just want you to be happy too.”

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered, quickly breaking down into a full-blown sob. “Y-You’re always so good to me…”

“It’s okay, mom. Everything’s going to be fine.”

You wrapped your arms around her frail body and hugged her. She cried into your shoulder, and you knew it was taking every bit of strength she had to hug you back.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” you smiled. “Try to listen to the nurses and doctor until then, okay? And make sure to hide the candies.”

She chuckled through her tears. “Right. I’ll do that.”

“Love you, mom.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

 You kissed her on the cheek, slowly broke away from the hug, and looked back at her one last time.

It happened in the middle of the night.

You struggled to sleep even on a good day. Years of overexertion had basically fried your nervous system. Of course, you would sooner die than admit that to your mother. She already worried enough. Besides, it didn’t matter if you were tired. You were still healthy enough, you were still here, living in this world. And you’d be damned if you weren’t going to work your ass off to make sure things would be okay.

Unfortunately, this time you’d actually been asleep, so you groaned loudly at the sound of your phone vibrating under your pillow. You pulled it out, eyes squinting from the flash of light, and pressed it against your ear without even giving a good glance at the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Hi. This is [Name], correct? We have your phone number on file here.”

“Who’s asking?” you frowned, still half-asleep.

“Yokohama General Hospital. I’m sorry for disturbing you at this hour, but it is my job to regretfully inform you that your mother passed earlier this evening.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“Our doctors did everything they could. It was a case of acute liver failure, unrelated to the symptoms we’d been monitoring for a long time. I must offer my sincerest condolences. She’s been moved to the morgue, so whenever you’d be able to come by we could bring you down to see her…”

The woman kept droning on and on, but you weren’t really listening anymore. You felt sick. The back of your neck had become drenched in a cold sweat. It was difficult to breathe. Your heart felt like it was being gripped so forcefully that it might explode.

In the back of your mind, you’d always known that you might have to prepare yourself for this day. Your mother had been sick for a long time, but you’d always held out the hope that she would get better. You wanted to believe that your hard work would pay off. That there would be meaning to all your optimism, your aspirations for the future.

Now, you just felt empty.

“…miss?” the woman called out. “Can you hear me okay? Does that sound alright to you?”

You blinked hollowly. “Sorry… what?”

“I was asking if you would be able to come by early tomorrow morning to stop by the morgue. You’ll need to make preparations to move her to the funeral home. We’ll provide you with a list of facilities we recommend.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah. That sounds fine.”

“Very well, then. We’ll see you tomorrow. Once again, sorry for your loss.”

The line clicked off, and you were left staring up at the ceiling in the darkness of your room. 

You didn’t get a wink of sleep that night, but that much went without saying. Strangely enough, the visit to the morgue wasn’t as terrifying as you’d expected it to be. Your mother looked almost exactly the same as always. Her skin was almost translucent, still with that yellowish hue to her natural shade. She was as gaunt as ever, but now, she looked almost peaceful. As if she was finally getting the rest she deserved.

It was that much stranger because you still hadn’t cried. You couldn’t cry, almost as if you were still in denial about the whole thing. You told yourself you didn’t have time to cry. Not yet. You needed to deal with the funeral preparations and give your mother the best send-off she could ask for.

Everything was difficult, and expensive, but you buckled down as always and made it work. You would have to take out another loan after this. It was fine. You would worry about that afterwards. After your mother was put to rest.

As far as family was concerned, you didn’t have any. Your mother didn’t have any siblings, so you didn’t have any aunts or uncles, and her parents had passed away many years ago as well. As for your father’s side of the family… you were none the wiser. He’d disappeared such a long time ago, you realized that you hardly even knew anything about them. You didn’t even think to try and track him down, to figure out whether he was even alive anymore. He was a cruel person who’d only ever abandoned his wife and daughter, and he sure as hell didn’t have the right to say his goodbyes now.

Even so, your mother had been a kind, beloved woman. She had many people whom she could call friends, and so you did your due diligence to ensure that they would be present to honor her life. On the day of the funeral, you were happy to see that all of them had showed up. They all hugged you tight, some of them having to bite back their tears, and praised you for always working so hard on behalf of your mother.

The burial was the hardest part. You’d prepared a eulogy, of course. It hadn’t been too difficult to write, mainly because there were so many good things to say about her. How she’d never lost her optimism. How she’d raised you to be strong and kind, to always face forward no matter what life threw at you. Even during the eulogy, you didn’t cry. Even when everyone else did, you still didn’t cry.

Not even when the casket was being lowered into the ground.

“Listen up, honey. When I’m gone, I want a big feast in my honor. The dinner after the funeral is the best part. I want everyone to be able to have a good time. I don’t want it to be a sad, dreary occasion.”

Your mother had always placed an emphasis on the dinner following the funeral. You’d shushed her time and time again, telling her not to say such morbid things and that everything was going to be alright, but now that it had come to this, you were determined to honor her request.

And that was exactly what you did. You led everyone back towards the funeral hall, where a large banquet had been laid out. There, you were better able to speak to all the different families. The mood had visibly lifted, and instead of all the crying during the burial, people were chuckling and telling stories amongst themselves, singing your mother’s praises.

Oddly enough, that was when you broke down. It just made you so happy to know that she would live on in everyone else’s hearts. You sobbed openly and loudly, and countless people came up to you in consolation. You chided yourself for ruining your mother’s dying wish. She wanted for this to be a happy occasion, so what were you doing crying like this?

But you just couldn’t help it. You kept on crying, remembering her gentleness and warmth. You cried and cried until your throat was raw and your eyes were puffy. You cried and cried, and eventually, the funeral was over.

You took a little while to compose yourself, thanked the funeral home owners for renting out the venue this late, and collected your belongings to leave.

The night air was cold, especially since your cheeks were so damp. You adjusted the strap of your bag and sniffled loudly. You didn’t own a car; you didn’t have that kind of money. So you would need to commute home in the dead of the night, all dressed up in your uncomfortable black dress and heels.

As you walked, however, you noticed a group of people approaching you. It was dark out, and you were a young woman all on her own, so you couldn’t help but feel a bit apprehensive. Even more so when you realized it was a group made up purely of men.

And they were headed straight towards you.

You considered running, but you realized that would do you no good. Instead, you started making your way back towards the funeral home. The owners were still inside, closing up for the day. Surely these men wouldn’t risk trying anything with any witnesses present.

The hand that came clamping down on your wrist quickly dismissed that thought.  

“Don’t try to run, little lady.”

A voice called out to you from the front of the group. One of the men had apparently snuck up on you from behind. You tried to scream, but he quickly clamped his palm over your mouth. His grip was too strong, and you were both mentally and physically exhausted after a long day. You were in no position to struggle.

The tall man that had spoken out before walked right up to you so that you could actually see his face. He had jet-black hair, eyes dark as coal, and a linear scar that ran across one of them. He was dressed up in a suit. All of them were, actually.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” the man assured, but his throaty chuckle left plenty of room for doubt. “I’m just here to get back what’s owed to me. Stay calm and don’t kick up a fuss, you hear me?”

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t, not with the palm covering your mouth. The perfect ending to the perfect day.

“My name is Shimazaki Ryu,” he introduced. “Me and my… associates here are members of a group. A faction, so to speak. And I am the leader of that group. Your father, too, was once a part of this group. He joined back when my old man was still alive and in charge, and you know what he did? That bastard ripped me off. Stole a load of money and just disappeared. I looked into his family, and it turns out his wife had just croaked. Which leaves you as the next of kin. You get where I’m going with this?”

You stared at him in disbelief. Was this some sort of fucking joke? The same shit that your mother had kicked your father out for all those years ago… was this seriously coming back to bite you in the ass right now?

Ryu nodded towards one of his men. “Take your hand off. Let her speak.”

Warily, the man lifted his palm. You could have screamed, but you might have just as easily signed off your own death warrant. Instead, you just shook your head at him.

“I don’t have any money,” you trembled. “My mom didn’t even have anything left in her will. All the savings… we had to use those to pay off her hospital bills. I have loans to pay back for school, and now the funeral as well. I honestly have nothing to give you. I’m sorry.”

Ryu scratched his chin. “Really? Your mom just died and she didn’t leave you with anything?”

“She didn’t have anything to give. She’d been sick for so long.”

“Well, that’s a shame.”

You swallowed, praying that he would believe you. It was the truth, after all. You’d never had money. There was nothing of value that you could offer this man. Hopefully that would be reason enough for him to forget about you altogether.

“It really is a shame,” Ryu sighed. “I was hoping we could get this over and done with, but I really, really don’t like unpaid debts. Money would have been so much simpler, but hey… life isn’t always that easy, right?”

You stared at him in confusion. Two seconds later, you were being pulled by the hair and brought to your knees. You screamed, but the scream died the second Ryu brandished a knife and held it against your throat.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he chuckled darkly. “You’re going to be a good girl and pack up your things, and then you’re going to come stay with us. And one way or another, you’re going to work your ass off to pay back every last dime your father stole. Got it?”

Tears streamed down your cheeks. You’d thought that your life had shattered the second your mother passed, but you didn’t want this. You still wanted to live. You still wanted to keep on fighting for as long as possible.

Ryu let go of your hair and stood up. “Hurry up and load her in the car. And I’d be obedient if I were you,” he glared. “You don’t want to make an enemy out of the yakuza.”

He turned and walked away from you, even more sinister than the night itself.

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💞 main masterlist ♡ character appearances

[stomach-bugg09]

soo i kinda had an idea for fali if you’re open to it if not it’s okay too 😋 ofc fali and sully!reader where it’s after he was shot (😔😔) possibly him having to do small exercise’s/physical therapy type thing daily so this is obv a little while after he got hurt anyway he hates doing them and is kinda keeping to himself with it or is getting frustrated that he’s struggling with them and reader comforts/helps?? idk if any of what i js said made sense but i hope so 😭 anyway thank you!!

summary: recovery is a grueling and arduous process for everyone, but especially for fali. he can't see past the warrior he used to be versus the one he is now, post-injury. he won't let anyone in... well, except for [y/n].

fali (oc) x sully!reader

a/n: this is kind of insane to think i'm writing this right now, but also i forgot how fun it is to create and publish works. anyway, i know it took me a long time to carry out my promises, but here is a long-awaited little blurb (?) about our beloved fali and [y/n], two names that i haven't written down in about like... two-ish years, give or take? a bit less, but the point still stands. i hope you guys enjoy! and i pray that i live up to your expectations.

lean on me, when you're not strong

[y/n] was always observant. as the eldest of five, never mind being the eldest girl, she'd felt the need to read everyone's facial expressions, their emotions, their expectations, their needs, their wants, their desires. it was just as much a survival tactic as it was an instinct. when things tended to change so abruptly in her childhood, whether that be one of her siblings crying (and lead to her mother nearly having a meltdown herself) or the arrival of the sky-people, she was always there to expect and, in its stead, to soothe.

but, some of that instinct fell away when she began training with her father. she was no longer expected to be the caretaker in an emotion sense, but rather a protector. her observant nature proved her worthy as she had the advantage of throwing her opponent off with a simple comment (like the time she took a chance and teased a childhood friend of her crush on neteyam before pinning her all because she was distracted) or merely reading their next move.

however, interestingly enough, with her time spent living with the metkayina, and fali obviously, [y/n] had started to evolve into her older self. no longer in fear of the sky-people since they managed to defeat them, [y/n] has once again returned to her caregiving nature.

although, perhaps a lot of that is because of fali.

while [y/n] had come out of the womb strong yet soft, in some ways, fali had come out as a true warrior. screaming bloody murder, naturally. but, while his infancy was a loud few years (he really had no trouble figuring out the functions of his vocal chords), it was also an exciting few years.

he'd always bounced around, itching to learn the ways of warriors from his parents. fali was naturally proud--of his heritage, of his family, of his people. in an entirely different way, fali too had the natural urge to protect.

but, that's why it'd been so difficult for him to recover. not physically, because eywa knows how seriously he took every assignment, every exercise, every appointment because he knew that was the only way to return to the past, but... emotionally, it was a taxing time.

fali had always been the one to protect his family. even though his parents were respected warriors, they were old. they'd managed to have fali late in their years, and they often called him a miracle from eywa herself.

not only did he concern himself over his parents, but he also practically adopted aonung and tsireya as his baby siblings. he'd protected them all through their years growing up, although he did treat them as a normal older brother at times. if he remembered correctly, fali was the first one who aonung ever got into a physical tussle with. that being said, fali was also the first one to give aonung a black eye.

but now, after taking a wound so dangerous that it was nearly fatal, fali was left... as the weakest link. now, his parents had to take care of him. now, tsireya and aonung could barely look at him without guilt or pity clouding their eyes. now, he was... he was useless.

and worst of all, he needed help.

of course, fali never really asked for help. for the first few weeks of recovery, he would struggle on his own, cry on his own, yell at the sky on his own. it was such an alien feeling to hate himself as much as he did. somehow hate that he'd survived the wound.

he never told that to anyone, of course, but he didn't really need to because someone was always watching him.

[y/n] had let him be for those first weeks. she knew what he was feeling--not totally, but she recognized his independence and protective nature. that's honestly why they'd been so drawn to each other in the first place. but, just because she left him alone didn't mean she wasn't paying attention.

her fingers curled into fists at her sides. her feet itched to move, to run to him, to hold him together when he was breaking apart. but she forced herself to stay still. she fought the urge every time she saw him break down into a puddle of tears, every time he gave up and threw his cane in the sand, every time he unleashed a rage she recognized too deeply. she would not step in unless he needed her, that's what she kept telling herself.

that is, until one morning, when the sun is just peeking above the horizon and the ocean is already awake with creatures jumping, dancing, singing, and celebrating the beauty of pandora, [y/n] woke up with a jolt.

she had no idea why--she usually slept quite soundly until the first horn was blown, but there was something stirring in her blood. something she didn't fully recognize, but she felt that same familiar adrenaline pumping, that same familiar sixth sense that whispered to her, get up. you're needed.

at first, she was confused, although frantic because all the worst possibilities popped into her head. tuk? she wondered before her eyes scanned the floor of their marui only to find her fast asleep in their mother's arms. next to them was her father, still unconscious and snoring quite loudly. the rest of her siblings were fine too, she realized quickly.

so then, what was it?

that's when she finally walked outside, standing on the docks and scanning the horizon with squinted eyes.

oh, she breathed, fingers softly brushing her mouth at the sight that beheld her on the beach. "oh, fali," she whispered, shaking her head.

it wasn't an unordinary sight, her love crouched on the ground, cane resting in the sand as his shoulders shook from silent sobs. but, something about that morning, his depressing sight juxtaposed by the bright sunrise behind him... it made [y/n]'s heart drop into her stomach.

as she walked carefully from her marui to the beach in which fali awaited her, although unbeknownst to him, her mind shuffled through a thousand different things to say. questions to ask, answers to demand, comforting words to whisper. should she rub his back? kiss him? how would she like to be treated? she thought she'd want to be left alone, but maybe... maybe that wasn't right.

unfortunately for her, her thoughts must've grown too loud because she hadn't realized how noticeable her footsteps must've been. just as she was nearing fali, the boy froze and turned around to look at her.

as her eyes met his, her heart stopped. he looked.... well, he looked awful. not because of the puffy skin atop his cheek bones, or pale skin, or even the pained grimace on his face... it was something about his eyes. they didn't sparkle, not like they usually did, they were... dull. they were hurt. they weren't fali.

and that's when [y/n] realized it really didn't matter how much planning she did on the walk here because, when it really comes down to it, when it comes to the person she loved the most, the words were natural. they came to her like waves did to the shore.

"oh, my tìyawn," she whispered, voice soft against the song of the birds that flew above their heads. "i'm so sorry."

there was something about those simple words--just three simple words--that made something within fali click. for as long as he'd been recovering, everyone had tried to stay strong for him, tried to encourage him, to motivate him. never once had someone... empathized with him. not until then, that is.

fali's breath hitched. his shoulders trembled, as if he were trying to hold himself together, but the dam was cracking. and when [y/n] sat beside him, warmth against his cold solitude, the first tear finally fell.

"fali," she whispered, setting a hand on his, and she watched as his lip trembled, "fali, i am sorry that this has happened to you. i'm sorry it had been so hard adjusting, i'm sorry everything feels so different. it is so hard to be in this situation, and i realize... i realize i abandoned you. i thought it was the right thing to do, i thought you needed space, but really... you needed someone."

she grabbed his hand, softly, lifting it up to her lips and pressing a soft kiss. "you will get through this, fali. you will grow stronger—not just in body, but in spirit. learning to adapt isn’t weakness. it’s wisdom. and you won’t do it alone. i’ll be with you, every step."

fali exhaled shakily, as if the weight of the world had settled deep in his chest and was only now beginning to lift. he didn’t speak. he didn’t need to.

instead, his fingers curled around [y/n]’s, gripping her hand as if she were the only thing keeping him tethered. and maybe, in that moment, she was.

[y/n] squeezed back, saying nothing. just being there. just being his.

[doubledeadstudio]

Finally got the courage to ask a question (Happy New Years Eve/ Day whenever you see this) but just a general question

What was the creative process of making Reanimated Heart, Another Rose in his Garden and Pygmalion’s Folly? What was the inspiration behind those three games? What was your favorite one to work on? Do you plan to make new games in the future?

Happy New Year to you too, anon! I love questions like these. The development and creative process is something I'm very passionate about.

Creative Process? Inspiration? (Just shoving both of this in one, long discussion about how these things came to be)

Okay, you guys will probably think I'm an insane person, so let me explain how I got started on them...

I first started with RH (of course) when my friend Tay told me about this game she was playing where a character really resembled Crux (it was Markus from Red Embrace: Hollywood). And I played it because of that, and I was like, damn??? He really does? And I was on the path of my artist journey that I was like looking at the game assets and the dialogue and stuff where I was like... Wait, I can do that. I can write like this. I can draw everything. Who's stopping me? I had a dream with the tree, and I started writing dialogue in "hypothetical" VN scenarios, and I was like... okay, fuck it, I already got disowned by my family and I wanna kill myself, I've got nothing left to lose.

So I started pre-development for Reanimated Heart and wrote like about 20,000+ words, made sprites and backgrounds, spent an ungodly amount of money for music and fonts and did research, and released the Prologue on itch. It ended up kind of a flop? And I was honestly so mad for years LMFAO, but I kept at it because I liked making it. And then a fan, Ashe, contacted me out of nowhere and suggested I improve my socials. (Thanks Ashe.)

All in all, I think that, if RH never gathered attention... I would still be making it, but releases would've been shorter and weirder, and it wouldn't have the level of polish it does now because "nobody's playing this shit anyway." But having a fandom motivates me to push past my comfort, and inspires me to do releases semi-regularly. So, thank you guys for the support. :>

Anyway, enough RH rambling. Another Rose happened because a couple of members in the chat (I remember Maz and Chat in particular) kept joking about Omegaverse and I've never like... consumed any Omegaverse before, and I literally had no fucking clue what it was other than mpreg and werewolves. And I was like drinking that day and I got intrigued. And I kept thinking about the scenarios and became like ACTUALLY invested, but I didn't know anything about it still, so I kept asking Maz about it and she really helped hash out the "lore" and gave me really good scene suggestions. I honestly think Another Rose is the most indulgent of all my games because...

First of all, it's just straight porn. Second, aside from the quality of the work, I don't think about the audience, at all. There's only a price point to it but it's basically like a smut novel with some path deviations (that also just read to different porn)? Third, I'm like... I'm not going to lie, obsessed with my husband's OC Mars. And it's funny af to me how people ended up disliking him, because this whole game was like just my personal (smutty) love letter to how much I love that godawful man.

For Pygmalion's Folly... There had been long discussions in my server about murdersims. I'll be honest, I didn't get them at first, but I think Adri framed it in a way that I understood it, which was like... it was a morbid fascination to how bad things can get in situations like that. So I ended up playing the first BTDs and obsessively finished TPOF to the point I was having dreams about it, and I'm not going to lie, I had a dream! Again!! And it was Florentin killing the MC over and over. I woke up in a haze and wrote like the first 3000 words of the game in a frenzy with just 2 hours of sleep, and I was like, okay. This is getting made for sure. And because Adri was the avid murdersim fan, I consulted with them about the game, and they were the one that suggested the stats system, as well as some scenarios for endings.

So I guess tl;dr I cannot explain how I make games to you guys because they just kind of form when I'm drunk or get prophetic dreams.

Favorite to Work On?

Honestly, I loved working on all of them equally, believe it or not. (I equally also hate all of them when I'm crunching for the release. /jk)

The thing about these characters is that they're all OCs that are near and dear to my heart, ones that I've had for YEARS (I've had Vin for 12 years, can you imagine that?), and seeing all of them in action excites me so much.

I love that I got to make Abel the protag and I love that I got to put him in fun, sexual situations. I love that I managed to show off Florentin's special powers, and draw amazing grisly CGs with him. I love that Black, Vin and Crux are different, romanceable characters, that you can go to their houses, that you can see CGs with them, that you can follow their character development and be invested in their secrets, that they even have awesome voice actors that bring them to life!

And I love that so many of you also love them too, and write fic of them and draw them... Honestly, that's already my dream, and I'm so happy about it.

New Games in the Future?

Absolutely, yes! I got the VN dev bug and you guys will have to chase me out of here, LMAO.

But this year, considering how busy I'd be... I'd say probably not in case something really pushes me to make something (like, I had an idea I can't stop thinking about). My top priority right now is Reanimated Heart's Chapter 1 finale, and I have some free DLC I'm thinking of adding for Another Rose and Pygmalion's Folly, so those will probably get prioritized first.

[idaisyy]

Tag , you’re in - a cmpunk x oc enimies to lovers

-Chapter 52

Daisy kicks off her shoes and flops onto the hotel bed, stretching her arms above her head. "Long day," she sighs. "But fun."

Punk nods, pulling off his hoodie and tossing it onto a chair. "Yeah." He watches her for a moment, something unreadable in his expression before he smirks. "What, you gonna tell me this was our third date now?"

Daisy grins but ignores his jab. Instead, she props herself up on her elbows and bites her lip.

"Oh you have that look in your eyes , come here" punk grins

Daisy quickly craws over and clumps on him to straddle him

As Daisy kisses him, Punk shifts slightly, his hands instinctively going to her waist. That's when he feels it—her warmth pressing against his thigh, the dampness of her panties through the fabric of his sweats.

He pulls back just enough to smirk at her. "You're soaked," he murmurs, his voice smug but his hands gripping her tighter. "What, got all worked up from a movie date with CM punk ?"

"Oh so you do admit it was a date" Daisy grins

"It's called sarcasm princess" punk shoots back

Daisy rolls her eyes, but she can't deny it. She shifts against his leg, her breath hitching at the friction.

Punk watches her for a moment before tilting his head, voice dropping to a murmur. "Go ahead," he says. "Take what you need from me."

Her eyes flicker with something uncertain, but Punk just tightens his grip on her hips, guiding her. "Make yourself feel good, Daisy."

Slowly, she starts to grind against his thigh, gasping at the pressure. Punk keeps his hands on her, watching her with dark, hooded eyes, loving the way she moves against him.

"That's it," he murmurs. "Just like that."

She grips his shoulders for balance, her movements becoming more fluid, more desperate. But soon, it's not enough. She still needs more.

"Punk," she breathes, her lips brushing against his jaw. "I need you."

He exhales sharply, already rock-hard again. "Yeah?"

She nods, shifting her hips until she's hovering over him, reaching between them to push his sweats down just enough to free him.

Punk groans as she sinks down onto him, his hands gripping her waist tight. Daisy lets out a shaky moan, adjusting to the stretch before she starts to move, slow and deep.

Punk tilts his head back against the pillow, watching her with heavy-lidded eyes. "Fuck, you feel good," he mutters, his fingers digging into her skin.

Daisy leans down, kissing him again as she moves, taking exactly what she needs.

Daisy keeps moving, slow and deep, her hands braced on Punk's chest as she rocks her hips against him. She can feel every inch of him stretching her, filling her perfectly, and she lets out a soft moan as she leans in closer.

Punk watches her through hooded eyes, his hands gripping her waist, guiding her movements. She's soaked, every roll of her hips sending a slick sound through the room, and it's driving him insane.

"You feel so fucking good," he rasps, digging his fingers into her skin.

Daisy smirks breathlessly, moving a little faster. "Yeah? Better than my mouth?"

Punk groans, his grip tightening. "Don't—don't make me choose."

She laughs softly, leaning down so her lips ghost over his. "But I like when you admit I make you feel good."

Punk clenches his jaw, but he's already too far gone to argue. "You do," he mutters. "You fucking do."

Daisy bites her lip, grinding her hips in slow, deep circles. "No one's ever made me feel the way you do," she whispers.

Punk exhales sharply, his hands sliding up her back. "Yeah?"

She nods, looking him in the eyes. "No one's ever touched me like this. Talked to me like this. Wanted me like this."

Punk swallows hard, his resolve breaking as he thrusts up into her, making her gasp. "Then you've been with a bunch of fucking idiots," he growls.

Daisy lets out a moan, digging her nails into his chest. "Maybe," she breathes. "But I don't care about them."

Punk grips her hips tighter, guiding her movements. "You shouldn't." His voice drops, low and possessive. "They don't matter. No one else gets to have you like this."

Daisy shivers, clenching around him. "Punk—"

"That's right," he murmurs, watching the way she's unraveling for him. "Say my name when you come."

She lets out a shaky breath, her rhythm stuttering as she gets closer. "Punk—oh my god—"

He slides a hand between them, pressing his thumb against her clit, and Daisy cries out, her body tensing as she falls apart around him.

Punk groans, his own release chasing hers, and he pulls her down into a messy kiss as he thrusts up one last time, spilling deep inside her.

For a moment, they just breathe, Daisy collapsing against his chest, her heartbeat racing.

Then, finally, she tilts her head up, lips brushing against his jaw. "Pretty good end to our 3rd date" Daisy huffs out

Punk lets out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head. "Shut up."

Punk runs his hands lazily down her back, keeping her close. "Seems like it. Every damn night, you just stay there, all cozy, like you own the place."

She giggles, pressing a soft kiss to his collarbone. "Maybe I do."

Punk scoffs, but there's no real heat behind it. "You really think you can just claim me like that?"

Daisy hums, wiggling just a little to tease him, making him groan. "Mhm. I mean... you haven't exactly stopped me."

He exhales sharply, rubbing slow circles against her hips. "You're lucky I'm too tired to argue."

She smiles, nuzzling into his neck. "So, what's on your mind tonight?"

Punk hesitates for a beat, then sighs. "You. Always you."

Daisy stills, lifting her head to look at him. "Really?"

He holds her gaze, his thumb tracing lazy patterns against her skin. "Yeah."

Her breath catches slightly, but she tries to play it off with a teasing smile. "You must really like me, huh?"

Punk rolls his eyes, but he doesn't deny it.

Punk lets out a slow breath, his arms tightening around her just a little. He doesn't say anything else, but the way he holds her—like he doesn't want to let go—says enough.

Daisy shifts slightly against Punk's chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his skin. She feels warm, safe, wrapped up in him like this, and maybe that's why she finally dares to ask the question that's been sitting in the back of her mind for a while now.

"Why don't you do relationships?" Her voice is quiet, cautious.

Punk tenses just a little, his hand stilling on her back. "What kind of question is that?"

She shrugs against him. "A fair one."

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I just don't. Never saw the point."

Daisy lifts her head to look at him. "You don't see the point in what? Letting someone care about you? Letting someone love you?"

Punk scoffs, but it lacks his usual bite. "Love's bullshit, Daisy. It just messes people up."

She studies him for a long moment, her heart aching at the way he says it—like he truly believes it. "Who messed you up?"

His jaw clenches, and for a second, she thinks he's going to shut down completely. But then he sighs, tilting his head back against the pillow. "Everyone. No one. I don't know."

Daisy stays quiet, letting him work through it.

Punk finally looks at her, his gaze guarded. "People always leave, Daisy. Or they want something from you. I don't do relationships because I don't wanna deal with the disappointment when it all falls apart."

Her chest tightens, but she forces a small smile. "Not everyone leaves, Punk."

He doesn't look convinced. "Yeah? You gonna prove me wrong?"

Daisy holds his gaze, her fingers tracing his jaw. "I guess you'll have to wait and see."

Punk stares at her for a long beat, like he wants to believe her but doesn't know how. Instead of answering, he just pulls her closer, holding her a little tighter—like maybe, just maybe, he's afraid of losing her.

Punk runs his fingers lazily up and down Daisy's spine, thinking about what she just said. About proving him wrong. About not everyone leaving. It sticks in his head more than he wants it to.

After a long silence, he finally asks, "What about you? You don't seem scared of relationships. So why aren't you in one?"

Daisy lets out a small laugh, but there's no humor in it. "I do relationships," she says. "You know I have."

Punk nods. He knows about Cody. Knows there's probably been others. "So?"

She sighs, tracing a random shape against his chest. "Because every single one of them cheated on me."

Punk's entire body stiffens under her. "What?"

Daisy doesn't look at him. "Yeah."

"All of them?" His voice is sharp, like he can't believe what he's hearing.

She nods. "Every single one."

Punk is quiet for a moment, his grip tightening on her waist. "What the fuck is wrong with these guys?"

Daisy laughs softly. "Guess I'm just not enough to keep someone around."

Punk sits up so fast that Daisy nearly falls off of him. He grabs her chin, forcing her to look at him. His expression is intense, eyes dark and sharp. "Don't say that shit."

She blinks at him, startled. "It's true."

"The fuck it is," Punk growls. "They cheated because they're fucking idiots, not because of you. You hear me?"

Daisy swallows, staring at him. "I don't know—"

"No," he cuts her off. "You don't get to think like that. You're—" He stops himself, looking almost frustrated, like he's struggling with his words. "You're fucking incredible, Daisy. If those assholes couldn't see that, then that's on them."

She searches his face, surprised at how much it seems to genuinely bother him. "You really think that?"

Punk holds her gaze. "Yeah, I do."

Daisy feels something warm spread through her chest, something dangerous and too close to real. So instead of acknowledging it, she teases, "Wow, that almost sounded sweet. You feeling okay?"

Punk rolls his eyes, but she doesn't miss the way his grip on her softens, his thumb brushing lightly over her jaw. "Shut up."

She just grins and leans into him, letting herself believe—just for a little while that maybe he means it

[blackaquokat]

First IF MCs Post!

So I've been playing IFs going on five years now, but I think I've only ever made one post about who they are, like, a year or two ago. They mostly only exist on the discord discussions or DMs with fellow IF fans because I also have no art skill (though I should post the Infamous fics I have in my drafts eventually--).

All that to say, getting a shoutout from @loveandleases herself (STILL RIDING THAT HIGH) has finally given me the kick I need to post about some of my MCs. This might open a floodgate for MANY of my OCs that I still yet have to talk about, so everyone beware!

(Picrews used will be credited at the bottom of the post)

First up, my Cam-mancer, Peridot "Dot" (last name tbd)! (Might change her eyes to hazel, but I'm keeping this picrew image for now.)

She started out very similar to my Infamous main, Genevieve, but now she's come into a life of her own. Has been hopelessly in love with Cam for most of her life, but resigned herself to just happily being his best friend (not knowing, of course, what the rest of us know about Cam--). Chris and Jade's betrayal stung, especially with what it solidified about the kind of people those two are, but I think a big part of her arc is realizing that she's not as heartbroken as she thinks she should have been about it. Then it's just her reconciling the years lost.

Anyway, she's a quiet, sweet woman, who normally doesn't mind not having attention on herself, but she's mostly become that way because of Jade demanding so much. She's also an artist, often preferring to spend evenings in the quiet, painting and sketching. I think she definitely has a stash of paintings she's made of Cam's pictures that she gives to him on bad days or his birthdays. She's a passable cook, but a far more enthused baker. It's mostly a calming activity for her when she's stressed, though her friends and loved ones certainly enjoy the results. The Clarke parents still talk about her pear custard recipe, even after the breakup.

She's still relatively new, along with the other MC I'm about to share, so I'll probably think of even more details as they grow and as the game progresses!

Anyway, now for Jumana, my G-mancer!

Jumana (last name also tbd) goes back to my usual trend with making MCs: she's of Lebanese heritage. She's a departure, however, because she's got grey eyes instead of brown like I usually give my Lebanese-coded MCs. She also met G during her goth phase in college (it slowly just turned to grunge), so this is the look that eventually grabbed G by the throat. She's not afraid to throw punches, but will try to talk people down first. Unless she's mad. Then all bets are off. Someone will be thrown across a desk. She is Very strong, and Very scrappy and she will not be fucked with.

Anyway, she's also a Literature Nerd and is almost always reading, especially in inconvenient spots. It drove G insane, because they never seemed to see her study in public, so HOW was she keeping up with their grades--

I do think, however, she's not a particularly ambitious person. I think she got high grades like G and that got under their skin and their reaction tickled her so much that she just. Kept trying to get high grades so she could keep getting a reaction out of them. Honestly, if G hadn't been there, she might not have tried so hard in college. But she definitely had a crush on them well before they probably realized their own feelings. Losing G gutted her, they were It for her. Chris was absolutely a rebound, and maybe a bit of self-punishment. Maybe a terrible part of her hoped being with Chris would one day get G angry enough to come back to her life, tell her to be with them, not Chris.

Now that Chris and Jade have royally betrayed her? Well. Jumana has ideas for making their lives miserable without her actually getting involved with them again, and that goes for her parents too, for their own betrayal--

I'm sure I'll think of more as time goes on, but in the meantime, these are my gals! Can't wait to see how they fit into the game!

Picrew used for the images:

[lunarle-old]

Do you have an idea of what you're going to write next ?

Yes... And No.

The current plan is to write my dragon fic. I looove dragons, and I've always loved fics that make my favs dragons. Hoarding Humans is a good example of that ;P I really wanna do it myself! I feel a little weird directly using the concept of HH (just the idea of a dragon's hoard being humans! i've been obsessed with it ever since!!)... I know there's a whole Inspired tab thing on ao3 but remember I was brought up in the animation meme community trenches. I've seen some very vile things said to ""copycats"" (and it's usually just somebody who took inspiration off of someone elses art style or a certain part of another persons meme @_@ don't get me STARTED on the ragebait...) and I am not in the proper emotional state to handle that right now QwQ

However that doesn't mean I can't write about dragons. I have some ideas in mind-- I've properly conceptualized my go-to fantasy world for AUs like this. I know who the main cast would generally be (DICE! Kokichi rounds up some of his classmates from in game :P so people like Gonta, K1B0, Miu, Kaede, Rantaro. . . maybe Kirumi? I have lore trust me. I'm cooking.) I know the main premise of the story, and it goes into my own bullshit with dragons, because lord knows I ever follow any actual myths or tales (´ﾟωﾟ｀) (i read wings of fire that's good enough for me!!!)

I am still trying to learn how to draw dragons in a way I like though. Here's my concept for Maki and Shuichi ^^"

Overall the chances of this fic happening after HGH, as of right now, are fairly high. This is what I plan to write once I'm done with HGH.

But please, please please keep in mind that I . . . am absolutely horrible with making promises about my fics. I'm so forgetful I forget to even check my notes to see what I've forgotten. T_T my fics would be a tiny bit better than they are now if I actually kept track of wtf im doing. maybe i should make a checklist.

Point is, I don't know if this is what I'll write once HGH is done. I've done some estimating and while, for once, I do not have a concrete ending in mind, I can guess how long this'll be. I think... it might be around as long as M5? Somewhere around that 130k mark. Again!! I'm not sure!! I need to figure out what I'm gonna be doing for the non-Tsumugi half of the "recovery" arc, so who knows what the word count for this is gonna be T_T. MY POINT!! MY POINT IS THAT!!! It could change. By the time I'm done with HGH, I might write this dragon fic. I might write a differeny fic. Or I'll lose motivation to write anything for a bit. Lord I am yapping so I'll move on

Que transition, with all that being said, I do have Other ideas in mind!! Ones I've been sitting on for a while!

ONE. Saimatsu mansion :D I've mentioned it here and there, but the idea is that Shuichi and Kaede are plopped on an island and have to escape. It's one of those more out there ideas G_G and I haven't really descended into my full levels of insanity yet (wait until i start posting my crossover aus /j), but this would be bordering on it. I have some more minor ideas for this one, but I haven't rlly explored it yet :'3

TWO. remember unexpendable? yeah so i. i really really like crossover aus. almost as much as i like giving them superpowers. I was thinking of an Undertale x DR fic where I drop Shuichi into the underground. Undertale is super special to me,, it got me out of a really dark place. My favorite OC of mine (Montserrat<3) is an Undertale OC! So I think it'd be a lot of fun, especially since Danganronpa is basically the reason I'm like?? actually living now XD I got a job because posting my DR fics helped me overcome enough of my social anxiety to get employed. So!! It'd be nice. i also think shuichi and papyrus would get along do NOT @ me also undyne would scare the shit out of him. Anyways I dunno if this would be another oneshot, considering the, uh. length of the game. and how insane i could rlly go if i went into the neutral /genocide route stuff too. I dunno. It'd be fun :P i also have doodles wait

THREE. I don't know what could and couldn't be used for a plot twist so I'll keep it vague, but basically it's a fic that involves the ENTIRE CAST. A bit of a challenge for myself. Everyone's back! And all of the blackeneds revert to, like... HGH levels of despairs. So it's up to everyone whos still normal to find a way to make them also normal before, uh. things get worse. TV GIRL BLAST 💥 (oh yeah this would be a kaede-centric fic! her pov for the majority. i had a lot of fun writing her during Unexpendable and i miss her </3)

FOUR. i got really into in stars and time so now i'm even more not normal about time loops. so let's put shuichi in another one! but i wanted to shake it up a bit and really let my less canon-reliant, more creative side flow a bit. It'd also be kind of a message to myself about life... WHATEVER Thats not important. What is important is, hey! I've been watching WAY too many Minecraft ARG analysises than what could possibly be considered healthy for my anxiety, so now I want to sic a bunch of them on Shuichi. this things unfinished because i only have very vague ideas for a few of the loops... but the overarching idea is that even the smallest (but impactful!) change in a choice can lead to an entirely different loop, with an entirely different entity. and during all of the loops, shuichi gets little bits and pieces to the bigger picture, which will break him out of the loops. idk this seems like a big and tiring project so this is more of a "maybe" than the others but i still think it's cool :')

FIVE. ok this one isn't danganronpa... remember when I said I was super into In Stars and Time? I wanted to write an ISAT fic. Siffrin and Bonnie are so so special to me and i wanted to indulge in that. I haven't rlly been writing in my oneshots though so I don't really have a grip on writing anyone from ISAT,, so. :( i have to spiral into full insanity privately before i can determine what is safe to show the internet /hj

And that is all I can think of off the top of my head. :P These ideas have been brewing for quite a bit, and ones that have actual ideas to them. I dunno which one I'll write first... or even if I'll write them. I guess we'll just have to wait and see. Who knows? Maybe I'll break my rules about writing two fics at a time. Just give me time ... and please be patient. I can only write so fast ＼(_ _)

[stargleam-star]

My thoughts on Star, and A Starless Clan as a whole:

Spoilers ahead for A Starless clan amd a bit of Ivypool's Heart if it wasn't obvious. Time for me to go on a rant! It's gonna feature me mostly gushing about Frostpaw because she's the only character with enough substance to talk in length about. But I've got other things to talk about too I guess. Lets get into it:

As usual, Frostpaw was the best character of the book and honestly the most relatable. She kept Going Through It until basically the very end and I felt so bad for her.

What I am glad about though is that she got the killing blow on Splashtail! Fuck yeah that's my baby girl <3

But he did get a hit in on her before the end and left her basically comatose which was tragic. Reading Frostpaw drift in and out of consciousness and what she saw while knocked out was really cool tho. I especially liked that she got to have deeper conversations with Curlfeather. She wanted so desperately for her mother to admit fault, to show some remose for her actions. Instead Curlfeather kept focusing on how Splashtail ruined her plans, and how he's to blame. All she wanted to do was protect Frostpaw and Riverclan. There wasn't the slightest bit of remorse at all. It was so tragic reading Frostpaw wishing her mother would hold herself accountable. It really hit home with me. In the end, Curlfeather couldn't face the truth and left Frostpaw behind to conclude her mother wasn't a good person and learn to accept that so she could move on. Heartwrenching stuff imo

I got really sad when Frostpaw started taking a turn for the worse and finally got to see Starclan. She got to meet her dad and was so happy, he made her realize that she needs to focus on herself and her happiness instead of worrying about everyone else's needs. Nobody understands how fucking Relatable that is to me. Nobody come near me rn.

Frostpaw wanted so badly to finally give up and be at peace. She wanted to be happy and relax, and to help in other ways. As much as that would have crushed me for her arc to conclude with her death, it really did feel like a good end for her. She would have done so well as a Starclan messenger. She deserves the rest. Sadly the narrative didn't want that to be the end of her, so she got to come back. Hooray /s

I like the medicine cat name she was given! Frostdawn is pretty (although I am lowkey disappointed she wasn't named Frostfeather, and that's not because I wanted her sharing a name with Curlfeather. I've got an oc named Frostfeather and it would have been amazing for a canon POV character to have that name too. Alas).

I'm also going crazy over the fact that her and Whistlepaw (now Whistlebreeze) got named together. I love these two lesbians so much its insane. The speech Frostpaw gave Whistlebreeze about being a good medicine cat and how grateful she was to have been saved by her? I'm planning their wedding as we speak

Frostdawn ended up choosing Icewing as Riverclan's leader, which was the obvious choice from the start imo. Also very predictable but what do I expect from a series written for 6th graders? I'm still salty as hell we got to see her leader ceremony but never Squirrelstar's.

I find it weird that Icewing was against Frostpaw in the beginning of Wind but then came around to "omg you were right" because Splashtail got mean. It was kind ooc for her, but then again she stopped having a bigger role during that book up until the end of Star.

Why tf was Icewing's voice the loudest that Frostpaw heard when cats started singing to bring her back to life? Also how tf were regular warriors able to sing to reach Frostpaw's spirit? I get that Tree was with them, and Icewing had spent a few days with The Sisters in Ivypool's super edition, but it doesn't explain how they were able to get that power. Also it was "all the she-cats that love [Frostpaw]" which included cats such as Duskfur and Mothwing who'd been mean to her throughout a good chunk of the arc... ok. Anyways.

All of A Starless Clan should have been soley in Frostdawn's point of view. Nightheart and Sunbeam barely brought anything to the table

Might as well talk about them. I like how Nightheart's character arc finished. He wasn't a jerk by the end and started being more respectful. His POV felt pointless most of the time, but I liked getting a glimpse of the inside of Riverclan during the height of Splashtail's reign (more on that soon)

Sunbeam's POV was completely unnecessary. While I liked that we got deeper thoughts on Berryheart as a result of Sunbeam, I don't think we really needed it for the story. I don't even think the way things wrapped up between them was good.

I'm gonna talk about Berryheart now because she's more interesting. I've come to the conclusion that the Erins dropped the ball with her as a villan. By the end, she was nothing more than a traitor in every single way. She was untrustworthy and I cheered when she died. She should have died 3 books ago if she wasn't gonna do anything worthwhile. No her trying to get Shadowclan on her side to let her be leader in the end qhike trying to convice them to rise up against Riverclan was not good. It was stupid as hell, almost as stupid as her joining Riverclan and becoming its deputy

I'm gonna talk about Splashtail but there's not a lot to say that I haven't already (but I will repeat myself). It felt like the Erins were trying to remake Tigerclawstar and his villan arc with Splashtail. Think about it. Ambitious, broad shouldered, dark brown tabby tom, who conspired with cats from another clan to kill their leader in order to gain power for themself? Check. A merger of Shadowclan and Riverclan? Check. Evil cat wanting to rule all the clans? Check. A deputy slain for having a different opinion? Check that off too.

As stated before the only differences between Tigerclawstar and Splashtail was that Splashtail was a lazy coward, Tigerstar actually belived in Starclan and its strength, and Splashtail had none of the charm or support that Tigerclawstar had. Also Splashtail had to resort to threatening the life of kits to get cats to do what he wanted, while Tigerclan followed Tigerclawstar's rule because he was formidable and had cats in it who truly believed in him and his vision for the future

Splashtail was written to be so cartoonishly evil and it was a sad thing to read. I'm glad Frostpaw got to kill him, and I loved how he was tormented until the end by Curlfeather's demon spirit.

I didn't like how they implied Splashtail might be the way he was due to mental illness though. I'm probably gonna get hate for saying that, lol. But in the last book they wrote him to seem like s psychopath, as well as implied him to be schizophrenic because he was talking to someone that wasn't visible (even though he was actually seeing a real dead person. But nobody but Splashtail and the audience got to know that). They literally called him crazy throughout the last book, the entire time. And idk it just felt like they were villifying mental illness a bit as a result. Again I'm probably reading into it too much, don't come at me please

The leaders were not as impactful in Star as I'd hoped. But at least they acted and fought together in the end. I loved that the leaders actually participated in the battles to liberated Riverclan instead of only sending warriors to do it. I love seeing leaders fighting for the good of their clan and putting their lives on the line (that's what their 9 lives are for. Looking at you Brambleclaw)

I didn't like that sone of Riverclan's cats were trying to join Thunderclan near the end of Star and I liked how Squirrelstar acknowledged that they had too many warriors as itwas, and how they had to expand the warrior's den in the past because of it. Wish the Erins would do something about all those cats

99% of Thunderclan was not mentioned at all this book, including the elders + Brambleclaw from what I read (I might've skimmed iver smth tho idk) but there was mention of cats like Myrtlebloom and fucking Eagletail for sone reason (is that their name? I can't remember). Tell me why any of these cats are alive if they're not worth mentioning while we have a camp scene? At least I got to see my girl Daisy <3

A Starless Clan had so much potential and the writing and mystery in the beginning were really good. I just wish they'd kept it up throughout.

Star felt like a flat finish and while I liked the way Frostpaw's chapters concluded and the whole main plot of Riverclan without a leader, I hate that the book ended on a Nightheart chapter and that the last like was about how he "could be brave and loyal no matter what his name was." Like that was a really dumb final chapter of the arc, a genuinely novice choice. It ruined the arc conclusion for me. Frostdawn's chapter should have been last

OverallI I will give Star a 3/10, and A Starless Clan 5/10 stars. It could have been great. But then, it wouldn't be Warriors would it?

[lutethebodies]

The Dryad's Love Test with Your OC

I was tagged by @mogruith some time ago (thanks for the ask and your patience!). I liked what she did for Coranzan here—seemingly taking him a few steps away from bardic clichés—and tried to take Cannor a few steps further. 

I don’t have great images of him during the love test, and I didn’t do so well with his banter ask so ideally this one is better. I've been digging into the Daggerheart "hope vs. fear" mechanic and tried doing that here. Zethino also quotes some of Cannor's songs.

Rules: Think of three answers with approval, disapproval and explanation. Tag yourself if you want in on this—but be warned, this one’s tougher than it seems. Cannor’s answers below the cut:

Zethino: “Doesn't everyone sweeten life with lies? Doesn't everyone self-mythologize?” What does Cannor desire—what is his greatest hope?

To be a rich and famous, world-renowned entertainer. (-1)

"What—to have everyone believe they know me? To never have a moment of peace? To suffer the melted brain and rotten heart of someone eaten alive by the fear of losing their own wealth? No thank you."

It's wild enough to earn fame from saving the city, but to fall into celebrity via strumming lutes for a living? That’s a trap for the superficial and the suckers. 

To be remembered for his creativity—to have his work live beyond his life. (0)

"I won't deny I used to want that very badly. But if I'm not around to enjoy it, what's the point?"

For some bards it's all about accolades. And honestly it's nice to be understood and appreciated. But that's not always worth being envied or misinterpreted. He accepted anonymity long ago.

To feel secure and safe; to share devotion, loyalty, and love with someone special. (+1)

“Drifting from gig to gig and place to place may sound romantic, but it's a relentless, dehumanizing slog. Give me the same warm bed and loving arms every night instead. Is that clichéd? So what? Only fools disdain the mundane.”

He aspires to one day transcend the need for esteem and approval, to find the stability of a home and purpose.

Zethino: "Given time, any passion gets so easy to hate." What harms the heart of the one you love most—what is Cannor's greatest fear?

Having his art stolen, or not getting the credit he deserves for his creativity. (-1)

"A childish concern. If I'm a true artist, then I'll be able to create again where a thief will not. When it comes to inspiration, 'originality' and 'authenticity' are phantoms anyway."

Creativity becomes next-to-impossible when one is mired in a scarcity- or zero-sum mindset. Once you start worrying about how your art will be received, you're doomed.

Becoming his father—wasting his life obsessing over his failures, hung up on regret and resentment, and taking that out on his children. (0)

"Perhaps when I was younger. But I've long since accepted that obsessing over what I don't want to be is not much different from obsessing over what's gone and won't be back."

Broke: guys with daddy issues. Woke: guys with mommy issues. Bespoke: guys with no kids (and no desire for kids) to project their failures upon.

Disappointing his partner—failing to live up to his own standards or failing to meet their needs in any way. (+1)

"When someone trusts you to not be stupid—trusts you with their life, their heart, or even their shopping list—it's insanely galling to fuck that up with intentional or oblivious stupidity."

Because freeze-outs and silent treatments are infinitely worse than unhinged rage. Surely.

Zethino: "Hindsight blinds all hearts and minds, sensitive and sound." What is Cannor's greatest regret?

Being booed by an audience. (-2)

[Eyeroll] "Which time? Hatred doesn't bother me. If I got hurt by every heckler I’ve ever had I’d have died long ago. Apathy from a crowd is much, much worse."

Bards who play their own stuff instead of popular hits soon learn how to get over apathy too, though.

Being estranged from his family. (0)

[Shrug] “It is what it is. If my mother wanted me, she'd have stayed. If my father tried harder, maybe she would have.” 

He doesn't actually know why his mother left, but the void she left isn't exactly full of regret. He resents his father's emotional ineptitude, but he doesn't regret bailing on that self-pitying drunk either.

Being exiled from the city. (+2)

“I honestly don't miss the superficial silliness of lordly courts, and even the thrill of subterfuge or power plays eventually faded. I do miss my friends in the city, however. New friends are good. Old friends are gold.”

The exile itself isn't the problem; the reasons that led to it—envy and jealousy curdling into sloppiness, betrayal by and of those he cared about—are what really rankles.

[thewriter-p4l-lovely]

Found Family || OBX Fanfic

Pairings: jjxoc!sister, platonic!Pogues, hurt/comfort, ANGSTY

Warnings: abuse, profanity, 3.8k words (forgive me...)

Summary: JJ's little sister wants to go to a party with her brother's friends. But she doesn't realize there might be someone to stop her from doing that.

DISCLAIMER: OC has autism/displays symptoms of autism. Enjoy!

The sun blinds me as I stare at the open water. I am sitting on the bow of the Pogue, letting Sarah braid my hair. It would be relaxing if JJ was not the kind of person he is. “Watch out!” My brother yells, running past us and cannonballing into the water. Sarah and I yelp as the water splashes us. 

“JJ, that was rude!” I say as his blonde head bobs up from the water.

“You should be more worried about them,” JJ replies, smirking. Just as he says that, John B runs past us, front flipping into the water, followed by Pope, who dives. “Now my splash isn’t so bad, is it sweetie?” I stick my tongue out at him.

“Okay, you’re all getting it now,” says Kiara. “You got my phone wet!” Sarah, Kiara, and I jump in simultaneously, creating a splash that covers all the boys.

“There,” I say as we resurface. “Now we are even.” Then I get a splash in the face. I yelp and back away.

I glare at Pope, who snickers at me. “If only you could see your face right now,” he says through giggles. 

“I cannot wait to see your face when I drown your sorry butt,” I reply, shoving Pope underwater. That starts a war.

Just as I get overwhelmed, JJ calls out from the top of the Pogue, “Hey, ladies, we’ll offer you a truce. A peace treaty if you will,” he says, “But first, one more splash. Heads up!” He flips and cannonballs into the water with a splash to end all splashing.

"Hey, guys," Sarah calls out as she climbs back into the boat. "There's a party at the Boneyard tonight. You guys want to go?"

“Oh yeah, I heard about that,” John B says, sitting beside Sarah. “I’d be happy to go.”

“Heyward said he didn’t need me tonight, so I’m free,” Pope smiles as he grabs a beer from the cooler and tosses one to John B.

“Sounds good,” says JJ, taking a beer from the cooler. “It’s not like I’d be doing anything else. Lynn, you down?”

“Yes, but I would have to stop by our house to get my dress,” I reply as JJ hands me a can of soda.

“You could borrow one of mine again, sweetie,” Kiara quickly says. She and the other Pogues know how my father can be whenever I am around and probably want to keep me from him.

“Thanks, Kiara, but I would really like to wear my dress tonight,” I say, patting her shoulder. “I have been borrowing yours and Sarah’s dresses too much, and they do not fit me. Besides, I need things from there anyway.” I hop off the boat and step onto the dock, where I put on JJ’s t-shirt, my glasses, and my sneakers. 

“Oh, muffin,” I hear JJ sing. He picks me up by my waist before I can turn around. Despite being 14 years old- only two years younger- I am still small enough that JJ can pick me up like a ragdoll. 

“JJ, stop it!” I exclaim. He puts me down but does not let go. He stays standing behind me, his chin resting on my shoulder. “JJ, what are you doing?” I ask.

“Don’t go, Lynn,” He pleads. “You know how Dad is around you, and I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Relax, JJ,” I tell him, attempting to pry his hands off me. “It will be in and out. He will never know I was there. I promise.” He sighs, but he lets go of me. I pick up JJ’s brown pack.

“Can I at least come with you?” he asks. I nod with a smile. “We’ll be right back!” JJ shouts over his shoulder.

We take JJ’s bike to Dad’s house. The second we arrive, JJ stiffens up. The place is old outside and worse inside for several reasons. I remember how JJ looked after his last interaction with Dad. The night he got the hot tub. It was one of the few times I have seen him cry. I suggest, “What if I go in by myself?”

That snaps JJ out of his daze. He glares at me, “Carolynn Destiny Maybank, you must be insane if you think I’m gonna let you go in alone,” he says.

I roll my eyes. “Well, first,” I reply, “the full name was unnecessary. Second, you seem like you do not want to go in there, and I do not blame you. But I have to.”

JJ sighs. “Fine,” he mutters. “Please, don’t do anything stupid,” JJ says, kissing my forehead.

“Last I checked, I am the only smart one in the family,” I reply, patting JJ’s cheek. JJ chuckles. “I will be back.”

“Call me if you need me,” JJ calls after me. I turn around and give him a thumbs up.

Upon entering, I see cans and bottles strewn across the floor. “Dad?” My voice echoes through the house. No answer. I run to my room and retrieve my dress. I grab some more outfits before sneaking into JJ’s room. He has been wearing the same two shirts all week, so I assume he will appreciate the favor. Once I have enough clothes in the bag, I zip it up and start to leave. Then, I see my father walking in from the back porch.

Dad stares at me, and a drunken smile appears on his face. I can smell the alcohol wafting off him. Even at this distance, the smell makes me dizzy. “C.D.,” he says. I hate that nickname. “You’re back. What happened this time?”

“Nothing. I have been staying at John B’s house, Dad,” I reply, fidgeting with the backpack strap.

“I didn’t ask where you’re staying,” Dad says, grabbing a bottle of who-knows-what from the fridge and slamming it closed. “I don’t care. Figured you’d be back when you wanted something.” He saunters over to me, grips the hand that holds JJ’s backpack, and lifts it so the bag is at eye level. “This is your brother’s, ain’t it?”

I quickly shake my head. The bottle slips out of Dad’s hand and shatters on the floor, cutting my legs. My hand moves to cover my ears but stops just before reaching them. I put my hand down before Dad notices. “No, I was just grabbing some things,” I say. I slowly back away from Dad. “I have everything I need, so I will get out of your-”

“Hang on now, girly,” says Dad, pulling me back toward him. “You think you can show up in my house and take whatever you want from me? You haven’t been here in weeks.” He steps forward, shoving me into the wall. “With your ‘condition,’ I’m surprised you even made it here. You think you can do whatever you want, C.D.?” He grabs my shirt and slams me into the wall. “You think?” He shouts.

“Dad, please stop shouting,” I beg.

Dad punches my cheekbone, knocking my glasses off. I watch the bridge of my glasses break in half against a table corner. “Answer me!” He yells, his face inches from mine.

I want to answer, but I cannot make myself talk. I am paralyzed.

“Now you wanna stay quiet, huh?” Dad growls. He punches me, and I let out a choked yelp. “You disrespectful rat!” I try to run for the door, but he grabs my braid and pulls me back.  Dad punches my jaw, and I feel blood in my mouth. He slams me back to the ground and continues to hit me. 

I scream my head off, but Dad ignores me. I kick his leg, and he falls to the floor with a loud THUD. “JJ!” I shout. I try to get up again, but a glass bottle flies at my face. I duck, but as the glass hits the floor, the broken shards cut through my clothes. “JJ!” 

My brother bursts into the house and immediately lunges for Dad, shoving him away from me. “Leave her alone, she’s just trying to get her shit!” Dad does not answer, instead punching JJ in the face. He stumbles back but tries to go for Dad again. Dad presses his boot to JJ’s chest and kicks him away. I hear a BANG and see JJ’s head bounce off the floor as he lands on his back. JJ lies there, unmoving and quietly groaning. I start to sob when Dad lifts me off the ground by my hair and shoves me out onto the porch. He punches my ribcage several times before starting to strangle me. I try to hit him, but he only tightens his grip. 

“You don’t deserve to be coming back here,” He points at JJ, “‘Specially not for your punk, dirtbag brother, you ungrateful-” He is interrupted as JJ tackles Dad, knocking them both off the porch and onto the grass below. And he punches Dad relentlessly.

JJ looks at me for a second as if realizing I’m there, and that is all it takes for Dad to shove JJ off him and come storming back up the porch to me. “NO!” I scream. I scramble backward, searching for something to defend myself with. My hand finds something cold and metallic, and impulsively, I swing it at Dad. It hits him hard enough to knock him to the ground beside me. I look at my hand and realize I swung a crowbar at my father. I drop it with a clang and stumble to my feet. JJ runs up to our father, kneeling beside him.

“JJ,” I whimper, “please tell me he is not dead. Tell me I did not murder our father.” I see him press two fingers to Dad’s neck.

“Not dead,” he mutters. “You just knocked him out.” JJ tilts Dad’s head, revealing a cut on his cheek. “He’ll be fine. He probably just hit his head on the floor.” JJ grabs me. He holds my face, perhaps trying to see how bad Dad punched me. I pull away. 

“Can we just-” I start but do not finish before reentering the house.

“Hey, I found your glasses, muffin,” I hear JJ say as I step into the front yard. JJ follows me outside but stops me before I can get on the bike. “Hey, wait, won't the engine hurt your ears? Especially after what just happened?” he asks. I realize he's right, and begin walking beside him.

However, after a few minutes of silent strolling, I collapse. I hear a distant, screaming voice. I am sure it is Dad, angry at me for hitting him. Somehow, I am numb despite all the pain that is still fresh in my body. A pair of arms grab me from behind and pin my arms so I cannot move.

 I shriek at the top of my lungs in desperation. “NO! Get off of me!” I struggle as the arms lift me off the ground, and I am still screaming. Then I am sobbing. I get myself on solid ground and turn and face the stranger. Not letting myself give up, I start to hit him. Everything is slightly fuzzy, so I am unsure who I am trying to attack. I feel two hands grab either side of my face. But they are gentle hands. Not like Dad’s.

Then I hear a soft voice. “Hey, look,” the voice says. “It’s me.” I stare into a pair of familiar icy blue eyes. Not Dad’s green eyes. “It’s me,” JJ repeats in a whisper. 

“What?” I mumble.

“It’s okay,” he says.

I look over JJ’s shoulder and around us, but there is no one. “But Dad- I thought- he- I-” I give up on trying to talk and collapse into JJ out of exhaustion. I take a deep breath and feel the unmistakable scent of cedar wood and saltwater on him. The smell of home. I squeeze him tightly, and his hands rest on my back. 

 He rubs my back, calming my nerves and quieting my sobs. “It’s okay, muffin,” he says.  “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” I let go, and he looks me over. He takes off his red hat and puts it backward on my head. He gives me a kind smile. “Let’s go home, yeah?” I nod, and JJ plops me onto the bike. He still refuses to turn the engine on, instead pushing the bike home. We arrive at the Château and John B stands out on the porch, seemingly waiting for us. JJ helps me off the bike and lets me cling onto his front with my legs around his torso and my arms around his neck. I bury my face in the crook of his neck as he carries me to the front porch.

“Hey, John B,” JJ says in a sing-song tone as we pass him.

“Hey, JJ,” John B mimics him. “I figured something happened when you guys didn’t come back.” He leads us inside. I lift my head to see Sarah on the couch and Kiara and Pope seated at the table. I smile at them all.

“Hey, guys,” Sarah says. “We missed you.” Everyone but me gives a small laugh. 

“Yeah, I missed being the only one with a brain cell, Lynn,” Pope laughs. I try to laugh before giving a slight wince at the pain in my ribs. I lay down on a pile of pillows beside Sarah. She has the first aid kit and immediately starts looking me over. Kiara strolls over, and she and Sarah gently remove my shirt, leaving me in my bikini top and jean shorts. Pope glances at me and immediately turns, facing away from me.

Sarah winces, and Kiara covers her mouth with her hands. I prop myself up on my elbow and glance down at the marks my dad left on my chest and abdomen. I sense the black eye I will likely have tomorrow morning and the cuts from the glass on my face and neck. I glance at my shirt in my hands. Oh wait, it is JJ’s shirt. And it has blood stains spattered on it from my bleeding nose. Tears fill my eyes.

“Do you want a hug, sweetie?” Sarah asks as I sit up. I nod as I cover my face with the shirt. “I’m so sorry, Lynn,” Sarah says as she hugs me. “You don’t deserve this.” I look at John B and JJ, who look just as horrified as they look furious. Especially JJ. His fingers tangle in his hair, and he gets a determined look on his face. He turns around and steps out the door.

“Where are you going, JJ?” John B asks.

“To teach that old man not to touch my baby sister,” JJ replies darkly. I hear the porch door swing open and promptly slam shut. I quickly follow him, supporting myself on John B. I walk onto the porch, where I see JJ about to get on his bike. He looks at me just as the engine turns on. The loud noise bothers me, so I press my hands over my ears. He quickly turns it off. "Get inside, muffin," he says.

“JJ, wait,” I say. He pauses and glances up at me. “Do not do this. Do not leave me.” I try to walk down the porch steps towards JJ, but my legs give out, and John B reels me in. JJ hesitates. “JJ, I need you.”

JJ glumly returns to the porch, slowly wraps his arms around me, and nuzzles my shoulder. I smooth down his hair and let him cry into my shoulder. We stay in the hug for a while, and JJ progressively squeezes me tighter until I yelp in pain. “Sorry,” he mutters. 

I rub his back. “It is okay,” I whisper. I take him inside, and we sit on the couch with Sarah. She gently tends to my cuts and cleans me up as JJ holds my hand. Whether it is for his sake or mine is a mystery. 

“You’re lucky,” says Sarah. “It’s not that bad. Everything’s just bruised, nothing too serious. I think you should be careful moving around because there are a lot of bruises. But you’ll be alright in about a week, and the pain should go away in a few days.” 

I give her a small smile. “Thanks, Sarah,” JJ says. Sarah nods and puts the first-aid supplies away. JJ wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me onto his lap. The coldness of his rings provides some relief against the pain in my stomach. “How was that party?” JJ asks the Pogues.

The group looks at him, confused. “We never went,” Pope says. “We couldn’t go without you guys.” 

“Oh,” I mumble. “Sorry.”

“No, absolutely not,” John B says firmly. “Don’t you dare be sorry. If we hadn’t been here, who would clean you up? Not JJ.” JJ deadpans at John B, and we all laugh at him.

“Besides, it’s just one party,” Kiara adds. “You are more important than a party. And there will be other parties that we can go to together.”

“Hey, Lynn, where are your glasses?” Pope asks.

My smile falters. “Dad broke them.”

JJ reaches into his pocket and pulls out the clear, broken frame. “Pretty bad,” he says.

“It’s not that that bad. I can tape these up if you want, Lynn,” offers Pope, taking the glasses.

“Yes, please,” I say gratefully.

“Yeah, no problem,” Pope says, grabbing some duct tape from the table. A few minutes later, he hands them back to me. It is obvious that they have been taped, but at least I can wear them without them falling apart. I put them on, and everyone instantly becomes more clear-cut.

“Thank you, Pope!” I exclaim.

After that, the Pogues and I play games for the rest of the night. Eventually, Kiara and Pope go home, and John B and Sarah go to Sarah’s house. By midnight, I am in my bedroom in the Château. It is dark except for the moonlight coming through the window. I am cozily sitting in JJ’s brown jacket, doodling in my notebook instead of sleeping. I hear a light knock on my door. I open the door, and JJ is outside in his dark blue tank top that says “Pelican Marina: Kildare Island” and gray shorts.

“I can’t sleep,” he says sheepishly. “Can I come in?” I lightly laugh but let him come into my room. He strolls in and flops face down onto my bed.

“Well, I see why you could not sleep, JJ. You had to get all the ‘dramatic’ out of you,” I say as I shut the door. I hear a muffled laugh. JJ rolls onto his back, leaving plenty of space for me to sit beside him. As I sit, JJ sits upright. 

“Do you wanna go down to the docks?” JJ asks. 

“In the middle of the night?” I ask him. JJ shrugs in response. “Sure.” JJ drags me down to the dock and helps me climb into the Pogue. “Are we going somewhere?”

“No,” he replies. “I just wanted to come out here with you.” I shake my head but laugh. I sit on the bow of the boat, and JJ joins me. JJ wraps one arm around me, resting his head on mine. I pull JJ’s other hand into my lap and fiddle with his rings. “I swear, I’ll kill him,” JJ mutters.

“JJ, seriously?” I ask, pulling away from his grasp. “Do we have to talk about this?” I move and stand a few feet away from JJ. “Just let it go, dude.”

“He hurt you again, Lynn,” JJ growls, tears glossing his eyes. “He deserves it.”

“I know!” I shout. I stop myself before I get angry and lean over the boat’s rim, staring at the water.  “I do not want to talk about it.”

“Don’t you want him to get what’s coming to him?” JJ presses.

“Of course I do,” I reply, tears welling back up. “I hate how Dad treats us, especially because of how I am. But I hurt him tonight and hated it. Do you think that is gonna make anything better for us? What do you think will happen if you beat our father to death?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see JJ lower his head, and his hair falls over his face. “I’d probably end up in juvie,” he whispers. “But you got hurt because of him. And I guess that’s partially my fault, huh?” I turn to him in confusion. “I let you go in alone, and I couldn’t get in fast enough to keep him from hurting you. I mean, look at you.” He points at my bruises. “You’re all banged up. I’m just angry.” 

“Angry at Dad?” I ask. “Or angry at yourself?” 

JJ stares at me. “I think you know that it’s both,” he says.

“I am mad at Dad too, JJ,” I tell him, walking back over and taking his hands. “He should not get to do this to us all the time. But you did not make him hurt me. That was him. Taking it out on Dad will not change that. If anything, he might hurt you again, and I do not want that.” I lift his chin, and he stares at me, his jaw clenched and tears staining his cheeks. “Please, do not leave me, JJ.” 

He relents, “Okay.” I smile in relief. He pulls me onto his lap, and I play with his hair, humming a random tune.

“Hey, Lynnie?” JJ asks. 

“Hmm,” I mumble, somewhat spaced out. 

“I noticed some of my clothes were in the bag you took with you.” I look my brother in the eye. “Did you take them from the house?” He asks.

“Yeah, um, I wanted to save you the trouble of getting them yourself,” I reply, returning to his hair.

“Lynnie, while I appreciate the favor, that was dangerous,” JJ says, gently squeezing my shoulder. “You were alone in there. You’re lucky Dad didn’t do worse. He could’ve hurt you much worse than he did tonight. Next time, you might not be lucky. So I need you to promise me something.” I stare at him, waiting for him to continue. “Never go in Dad’s house alone. You go with me or John B, or you don’t go.”

 “That is fine by me,” I nod.

“Good girl,” says JJ, kissing my cheek.

“Yes, I am,” I reply, cuddling into his side. “You deserve a brother of the year award, you know.” JJ laughs, and I let my eyes fall closed.

I am about to doze off when I hear JJ whisper, “Lynnie?”

“Yes, JJ?” I whisper back.

“I just want you to know that I love you, muffin,” he says. I snort. “No, seriously. I mean it. I love you.” JJ rarely verbally expresses his love, like me, so it takes me a moment to process. “And I promise I’ll do better at protecting you.” I open my eyes and glance up at him. Even in the darkness, I can see the sparkle in his eyes that tells me his words are genuine.

I smile. “I love you too, JJ,” I reply, kissing his cheek. I drift off, reminded that my brother will always be with me through the hard times.

[098-lxxon]

Fun facts about my Mouthwashing AU‼️

Acting like my AU is liked and well-known is one of my hobbies, lol.

Content warning : Self-taught English / SA mentioned / Cannibalism / Alcoholism hinted / OC insert / Y/N mentioned / Curly's death / Jimmy's death. / Swansea's death / Anya's death / Daisuke lost it / Insanity / Mental illness symptoms / Emetophobia

✼ •• ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ •• ✼

Act 1 :

- Fallacia called Daisuke Daisuki when they first met. Daisuke was either screaming or making fun of her for that.

- Fallacia always messes with Swansea, wherever he is, she'll make the wires sparked, activating the foam, slightly shake the walls, etc so it'll scare him. Like a niece messing with her uncle.

- Daisuke and Swansea's relationship crashed like the titanic. Swansea felt guilty, Daisuke thought Swansea was mad at him. They didn't speak to each other until after Daisuke killed Jimmy in Act 2.

- Fallacia's favorite person on the ship is clearly Anya. But Anya felt indifferent about her, later hating her gut. Daisuke saw her as a friend at first, but later on, he saw her as she is, just an AI. Swansea saw her as an annoying entity who never stopped bothering him.

- When it comes to games that have sabotaging mechanics, Fallacia makes sure to bomb all of her sabotage cards on Daisuke and steal his buff cards, so she'll be able to save Anya and get praise, Daisuke did the same, and Anya has always been the winner ever since, until she got busy organizing things.

- Fallacia always includes Curly in everything possible. Game night, ghost stories night, etc. She sang his favorite song (According to Daisuke) whenever Anya's late on giving him medicine to distracted him from the pain.

- Anya has to do the airplane thing to get Daisuke and SWANSEA to eat. They eat so she wouldn't look like a dumbass for nothing.

- At first, Daisuke scraped the foam and pretended to want to eat it to lighten up the mood. But at the end of Act 2, he started munching on it one day, making his gums and tongue bleed. Anya acts like she didn't notice it, hoping Fallacia would stop him for her. Doctors found he had serious health problems when they reached earth.

Act 2 :

- Fallacia kept winning in games because she's a computer. She always bluffs and gives pro tips to Daisuke just to give him gamer rage, not knowing it'll lead the unstable Daisuke to do something extreme.

- Fallacia knew immediately why Curly was dead. But she didn't tell anyone or did anything. (Parallel to Curly's action with Anya's situation.)

- Anya started saying things like "I can fix this." Or "I'm trying to save us here." like Jimmy. Swansea keeps having flashbacks.

- Anya always tells Daisuke that Curly's death is not his fault, not knowing what happened in the medical room when she was gone. Daisuke has never felt more guilty then.

- In Daisuke and Jimmy's fighting scene, I almost have Jimmy revealed being the one SAing Anya to Daisuke, giving Daisuke more motivation to kill Jimmy. But I changed it, because Jimmy wouldn't even think about it. (And also, it will kinda, somehow, and somewhat justify his action. He'll still be somewhat saner because at least he didn't kill an innocent person.)

- While Swansea and Daisuke were arguing about what he did, Anya was slicing Jimmy and serving his flesh to Daisuke. She crossed her arms as she orders him to eat it. Kind of like a punishment. He threw up immediately after one bite. Anya felt bad and couldn't bring herself to speak to him for two days after.

- They tied Daisuke up like this.

(It didn't choke him. But he can't stretch his arms long enough to hurt anyone.)

- After the incident, Fallacia decided to let him win in the game they played later on. But Daisuke cried so hard when he realized she was pitying him. They never played together again.

- Daisuke tried to hold his breath as often as possible to waste less oxygen.

- Fallacia disengaged herself whenever their insanity started acting up so she wouldn't learn these behavior from them.

Act 3 (& interview) :

- Daisuke once said "I wanted to live." out of the blue when he's alone with Swansea. And Swansea knows exactly what he meant.

- Their relationship never recovers properly. They just interact whenever Daisuke hallucinates and run to him for help. And Swansea content to axe air like a crazy old man every time if it's meant Daisuke will feel safe.

- When Kate first met the crew, she was convinced they were abusing Daisuke. But when she looked around and saw what was left of Curly and Jimmy in the freezer, she understood that they were all suffering, doing what it takes to survive.

- Kate untied him immediately when they let the ship go. He ended up trying to munch down most of the things on her ship but won't eat any food more than 3 bites.

- So Anya does her airplane thing again. Daisuke, wanting to save her face, he has to eat it. He will never forget the cringe he felt whenever it happens.

- Swansea insisted on carrying most of the remaining mouthwash into her ship to drink. He later died from them as the last things he saw was Anya's smile, Daisuke crying with his family, His wife and kids running to him, and a sunset when they reached earth.

- Daisuke kept calling out for Anya when he was hallucinating Curly and Jimmy in court. She couldn't do anything about it. And the reporters didn't let her near him either. She died without being able to comfort him.

- Daisuke always finds everyone in the crew in every crowd.

- His psychiatrist's first name is Anya.

- He saw someones looking like Anya and Swansea in the audience when Y/N was interviewing him. He relapsed immediately.

- Daisuke got 3 therapy cats. Their names are Anya, Swansea, and Curly.

- Fallacia, being left with Tulpar, she breaks codes and rewriting them, creating AI for the crew to play with her. But once the ship is running out of its last ounce of power, she disengaged forever, singing the song she used to sing for Curly as her forever goodbye.

Thank you for reading!