#writing troupes

[casually-eat-my-soul]

When a character calls themselves a monster there are many different whole responses that can be used to still reassure them.

The classic “you could never be a monster” where you’re not necessarily ignoring all the bad parts of a person but instead not allowing them to other themselves. It isn’t about the monster part but rather how being a monster is a synonym for evil, for being immoral. That their identity being rooted in being a monster damns them into villainous nature; so the responses denys that connection. “You are not a monster, you are not evil, you are not a villain.”

That being a monster doesn’t make you a bad thing. Being a monster means you can protect and defend. It means that your claws and teeth can be used as a sword.

And last but not least one of my favourites “yes, but I will love you anyway”.

You can be a monster, hideous and destructive and I will still look at you lovingly. Your hand may be stained with blood but I will kiss it nonetheless. There is no piece of me that wishes to be rip from you even in your worse. It is about devotion and loyalty. I will stay no matter what you become. A loyal knight, a loyal dog.

You can never be a monster to me because I love you.

[killcel]

new writing troupe, instead of the characters seeing a cult then taking it down immediately without ever believing any of it for a second, they get indoctrinated into the cult they intend to destroy then ruin it anyways by sheer coincidence and continue to refer to it as a "community that is definitely not a cult" the rest of the story. only affects the characters in the takedown plot, conversations go like:

"You took down a cult." "Well, it wasn't really a cult, it was more of a community-" "You tried to sacrifice a person." "Well, the community wasn't perfect but it was mostly helping us, and we didn't *have* to participate in the rituals-"

[theinterventionstudios]

Be eating up that light colored hair x dark colored hair troupe. If I ever make a couple in the future in one of my writings with similar colored hair, don’t expect things to end well. Or, maybe both. Honestly, don’t expect any couples to end up well together. Maybe. Idk.

[risetherivermoon]

i like doing lil polls and getting peoples opinions in reblogs and such, so heres another question for you!

Is it more satisfying for a misunderstanding to be solved quickly and no 'aftermath' (characters having development or troubles concerning it) or for it to drag on and have aftermath?

[confessions-of-an-old-cassette]

i love when the same event changes two characters in drastically different ways. military campaign that shows one character the importance of peace and valuing life while teaching another character how intoxicating the power of taking lives and making people fear you is. a death of a mentor that sends one character to reflect about their legacy while angering the other with the feeling of being left behind. walk with me here.

[moechies]

rrr the yummiest threesome with phinks and shalnark <3 head so fuzzy about big cock phinks pulling your little white panties to the side for easy access to that plush little cunt, and having no remorse despite your little cries of how big he is and how it hurts. and shalnark <3 he’s so baby and yes .. he does feel bad for you in the slightest so he helps to satiate the pain by suckling at that pretty little clit and jerking himself off. he can’t have a pretty lady in even more stress than phinks has bestowed upon you …

ʚ♡ɞ

“stop squirmin’ around…” phinks grunts, readjusting your leg previously propped up onto his shoulder. he tugs at your hips, nudging himself impossibly deeper against your plush walls. “p—phinks!” you mewl, chewing down at your bottom lip to halt your cries. your nails drag down against his bicep, eliciting a hiss.

“fuck,” phinks sighs, peering down at the sight of your swollen cunt swallowing him whole. “t—this is the shit.” the brute grunts, thumbing at your folds and tugging the sticky fabric further to the side.

“no kidding.” the blonde man besides you grins, meeting your teary eyes with a soft hum. “so good for us, girl. mhm.” shalnark hums, pressing down harshly at your clit. “s—shal..” you drag out a whine, a subconscious beg for mercy. “s’—s’mean..”

“mm, it’ll be okay.” he assures with a hum and a soft peck to the tip of your nose. “doing so good for us already. hold out a little, yeah?” he presses a gentle kiss across your eyelids, blocking your view off from the perverted sight of his right hand reaching into his pants. your eyes flutter open anyway — especially when you hear a soft groan fall from the plush lips of the man.

“hnn !” you’re caught off guard by a harsh thrust to your cunt,

“little thing, you best not forget who’s fucking you here just ‘cause shal’s sweetmouthin’ you.”

“s—sorry!” you whine damn sweetly, making phinks scoff.

you’re damn pretty. phinks wouldn’t admit it out loud — shalnark would though — but your pretty little body, the back pliant against the snow sheets, the front against the two men, a gorgeous gleam of sweat painting your soft skin — you’re a perfect little thing. he’s sure shalnark’s thinking the same thing.

he continues his mean strokes to your cunt, humping sloppily against your plush thighs with load groans. you reciprocate with soft whines and hiccups, mewling loudly when you feel warm, sticky balls slap against the fat of your ass.

“fuck, wan’ taste.” shal groans from besides you — removing his thumb from your clit and wasting no time before replacing it with his plush lips. your back arches almost painfully, a shrill squeak elicited from your lips when he suckles meanly at the bundle of nerves, humming against the sensitive flesh. you don’t miss the way the mattress recoils gently from shalnark’s mean pumps to his heavy cock — lewd swipes across the dewy slit of his cock head to soothe the ache. “so shweet,” shalnark whines, “like sap or hh..honey..”

“y’rarely c—cuss, shal. pussy’s got ya in a chokehold?” phinks hisses, not missing the new angle he’s fucking you at after your sudden arch. with another brutal thrust, you feel phinks’ pudgy tip browse across your cervix, causing a loud yelp. “p—phinks h.. hurts!”

“my bad, pretty lady. i can’t say s’all my fault though, y’r asking for it with a damn pretty body like this.” phinks hums, hips stuttering and growing sloppy as his pace quickens. shal’s losing himself too — moaning endlessly around your abused clit — accidently swiping his tongue over where you too connect. “s—shal, damn pervert.” phinks growls, and shalnark only whines in response.

you feel your pussy flutter around the man, stomach aching and yearning for release. “p—phinks, shal.. gon’ cum, gon’ cum, please!” you hiccup, pretty manicure etched into his forearm. “phi—phinks, help me..”

“you got it pretty lady.” the man huffs, pressing his shaft wholly deep into you with no remorse. shal does his job effectively as well — softly nibbling at your clit and that does it.

your pussy clenches endlessly around phinks’ aching cock, slathering the shaft in warm white cream — the two returning the favor. “fuckin’ choking him,” phinks grunts as he cums his thick, viscous spent into your worn cunt, so much that it drools from the sides when he pulls away even in the slightest.

you whimper at the loss from inside, and even shalnark’s detachment from your clit. you turn your head slightly to meet the boy’s cerulean eyes, met with lidded eyes and blushed cheeks. you peer down and don’t miss the viscous nut that coats his hands and dirtied the cloth of his pants —

spiders spin webs after all. ♥︎

[hauntedfawnn]

rafe cameron omegaverse would eattttt i can never find any fics of that

(Ask and you shall receive!! This is sort of a trial run I guess? I’ve never seen omegaverse in the OBX fandom so I’m just not sure if people aren’t into it or if they don’t really know much about it. If you’re confused on any terms/have any questions about this troupe my inbox/DMs are open!!)

✰ When Rafe catches your scent at one of his parties… he just has to have you. (Alpha!Rafe Cameron x Omega!Reader) ✰

𐙚 Possessiveness/jealousy, general omegaverse behaviors (scenting, knotting, marking), biting, a tiny bit of blood, unprotected sex, spit kink, pussy eating 18+MDNI! 𐙚

Rafe smells you the minute you walk into his bustling Tannyhill party. Even if he doesn’t see you quite yet. Your scent is better than any drug he’s ever snorted into his nose or smoked into his lungs. It’s sugary, sweet, strawberry jam. It smells like someone is cooking the most saccharine, mouth watering strawberry shortcake cake ever made. And he absolutely needs to find the source. He feels like a fucking hound sniffing around this party, lingering on each omega’s scent that hits his nose. But none of them are the one he’s searching for. That is until he walks past you standing by the drink table.

The minute your scent wafts into his nose from a few feet away his entire being is locked in on you. He’s never seen you before but you’re here with one of the country club girls so he assumes you’re from out of town. You’re wearing this cute little pink top and this black mini skirt and you have the prettiest face he’s ever seen. Rafe isn’t one to notice small things about people but your make up is done up all pretty and he wants to shove his face in your perfectly styled hair and inhale your scent like it’s the air he needs to breathe.

Rafe watches you for a moment, observing the way you laugh and how your smile reaches your eyes. He’s in a lovestruck trance, that is until some meat head, alpha dude he went to college with walks up to you. His eyes rake over your form and Rafe can practically see the way he’s inhaling your scent.

It immediately fills Rafe with pure, instinctual, jealousy and rage. And Rafe doesn’t do possessive. He doesn’t get attached. He fucks girls, betas and omegas alike before ghosting them without remorse or a second thought. But he felt the need to own you the second he smelled you, before he even caught sight of you. He wants to bend you over and fuck you like a wild animal, fuck his cum into you, and sink his teeth into your neck, claiming you as his own for the rest of your days.

He can’t believe you’re walking around smelling like a goddamn bakery unmated and without scent blockers. You’re practically bombing the entire house with your scent and he can see other alphas looking your way and stalking around you like a pack of horny vultures. He can’t have that, not in his house, not his girl. He doesn’t even know your name yet but he knows for a fact that you belong to him. Rafe walks over to you. He shoulder checks the guy you’re currently giving your attention before standing in front of him, completely blocking him from your view.

“Hi, I’m Rafe.” He smirks down at you with a sparkle in his blue eyes as he offers you his hand. “This is my place. Don’t think I’ve seen you around here before, you new?”

“Hey man, I was fucking talking -“ the sparkle in Rafe’s eyes turns to blue flames as he flips around to face the guy with his lip curled back in a snarl.

“You were just leaving, actually.” Rafe flares his nostrils at the guy, daring him to challenge him. He’s bigger than him by a lot and he’s a hell of a lot more important to this island that some fucking idiot who buses tables for him at the club. Rafe has size and authority on his side. The guy shrinks right before his eyes before muttering an apology and scurrying off.

Rafe runs his hands through his dirty blonde hair before turning back to you. The sight of your pretty face bringing a smile back to his lips. “Sorry about that. As I was saying, are you new around here?”

“Yeah, just visiting my cousin.” You giggle as you give him your name. You’re nervous but flattered he’d chase someone off like that just to talk to you.

You smelled Rafe’s scent the minute you arrived at his house and you’d be lying if you said your eyes haven’t been following him all night. You’ve never smelled anyone like him in your entire life. He smells like a warm night at the beach. With a fire burning and the wind whipping the salty ocean breeze into your nose. There’s a muskiness to it that just adds a little extra something and you want to wrap your arms around him like a koala and shove your face into his neck.

“I figured, pretty girl like you would be hard to miss.” Rafe offers you a flirty smile as he leans down so his face is inches from yours. “Plus I don’t think I’d be able to miss your scent from a mile away. You smell so fuckin’ sweet.”

Your skin heats at his words, your nipples pebble in your shirt and you feel your panties start to get slick. His forwardness is making your head spin. “Yeah? You smell really good too.. I caught your scent as soon as I got here.”

“Can I be brutally honest, baby?” Rafe’s tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip as he lets his eyes slide down your body. Not only did you smell divine, you were wearing that tiny little skirt he wanted to rip off of you. And the minute you started getting wet, he could smell your desire.

“Yeah.” You giggle, feeling shy under his intense gaze. The pet name didn’t hurt either.

Rafe tips his head so he can run his nose along your jaw, inhaling your delectable fragrance. His breath tickles your skin as he brings his lips to your ear. “I fuckin’ want you. Your scent is driving me insane and I want to rip that sexy little skirt right from your body.”

“Do it then.” You sigh dreamily, subconsciously rubbing your cheek against Rafe’s head as he shoves his nose into your neck.

“Fuckin’ look at you.” Rafe licks his lips as he stands over you spread out for him in his bed. He ripped your shirt off and manhandled you into your back the minute his bedroom door was shut. You’re still wearing that sexy little ruffle skirt and you have your legs spread just enough for him to see a flash of your pink panties that are covered in stars. His eyes hone in on the wet spot in the middle and it’s like he becomes a man possessed. He darts between your legs, throwing them over his shoulders so he can shove his face into your pussy. He inhales deeply, his eyes rolling back and a damn near growl escaping his lips.

“God you smell so fuckin’ good. I’ve gotta taste you, baby.” Rafe makes good on his promise from earlier, grabbing not only the hem of your skirt but your panties too and ripping them clear down the middle with his alpha strength. His pupils dilate at the sight of your glistening, wet, pussy. He runs his nose along your dripping slit, inhaling your sweet aroma. He shoves his tongue between your lips, gathering the sweet nectar that’s dripping from inside you. He swirls his tongue around and brings it to your clit, sucking it into his mouth.

“Oh god, Rafe. That’s so fucking good.” You whine as your writhe beneath him. His tongue circles your hole before he shoves it as deep as it can go inside of you, fucking you with it. He brings his thumb to your clit and it has you seeing stars. Your orgasm wracks through you like a tidal wave and Rafe has to pin your hips to the bed so you can’t get away from his sinful tongue.

“S’goddamn sweet.” Rafe moans as he looks up at you with hooded eyes, the bottom half of his face covered in your juices. He holds eye contact with you as he swipes his large ringed finger across his chin so he can gather your slick and then he sucks his finger into his mouth. “Can’t let any go to waste, can we?”

Your pussy clenches around nothing as you watch him, a rush of slick dripping from you, practically begging Rafe to shove his cock inside.

“Please fuck me, alpha?” You whine as you spread your legs, presenting yourself to him. Something fully snaps in Rafe then. He hurriedly rips off his clothes before kneeling between your legs, giving his rock hard cock a few languid strokes.

“Don’t worry, pretty, I’m gonna take care of you. Gonna fuck this pussy so good you’ll never want another dick again. Gonna make you fuckin’ mine.” He runs his tip through your folds and taps it against your throbbing clit a few times before lining up with your entrance and pressing just the tip in. He pushes in a few inches before pulling almost all the way back out and then he thrusts his hips forward, pushing his cock balls deep inside of you.

“Oh, fuck yes.” Your eyes roll into the back of your head and your pussy pulses around his thick length as he starts to fuck into you like a wild animal. Rafe grabs onto your jaw and it makes your eyes fly open.

“Fuckin’ look at me while I take what’s mine, I wanna see your eyes when you fall apart on my dick.” The look in Rafe’s eyes is feral as he lets go off your jaw to shove two fingers in your mouth. He hooks them along your bottom teeth, pulling your mouth open. He gathers some spit in his mouth before letting it fall onto your tongue and his taste lights up your senses.

“Mmm, you taste so good, alpha.” You moan as you swallow what he gave you.

“God you’re so fuckin’ sexy. Good little omega. Gonna scent every inch of your perfect body so every alpha within two miles will know you’re mine.” Rafe shoves his face in your neck and rubs his cheek against your scent gland to prove his point. He runs his teeth along the column of your throat, teasing you.

“Please mark me, alpha.” You crane your neck to the side, giving him more space. “Make me yours forever.”

Rafe has never considered marking anyone, claiming anyone as his own. But right now? He’s never felt more possessive in his life. He needs to claim you. Make you his. Breed you. He growls into your neck, his cock still thrusting deep and hard into your cunt. He flicks his tongue out across your skin, tasting your sweat and something that is just you before baring his teeth and sinking them into your flesh. Your back arches off the bed and you cum so hard you almost want to cry. You feel the bond between you and Rafe settle. That bite on your neck connecting him to you for eternity.

“Mine.” Rafe snarls as he licks the blood that’s dripping from his bite. He leans up, grabbing onto one of your thighs and pushes it up to your chest. The thumb of his free hand finds your clit as he fucks you brutally, without remorse. “Gonna breed this fuckin’ pussy, baby girl.”

“Yes, yes! Please fill me up, alpha! I want your knot!” That does Rafe in. He pounds into you hard and deep as his balls tighten and his cock twitches inside you. Rafe paints your walls with ropes of his cum and the feeling hurdles you into another orgasm right along with him.

“Good fuckin’ omega, such a good girl for me.” Rafe grunts as he feels the head of his cock start to expand and his knot pop inside you. You squeak in surprise at the pinching feeling but it soon turns into pleasure, another mind blowing orgasm that makes you nearly see white, overtaking your entire being.

“Wow.” You giggle and sigh as your body falls limp beneath him. Rafe wraps his arms around your waist so he can roll onto his back and pull you to his chest, his knot still nestled deep inside you.

“Mine.” Rafe growls as one of his hands grabs a handful of your ass and the other cups your cheek, tilting your head up to look at him. He realizes in his frenzy to be inside you he never kissed you so he connects your lips in a filthy, passionate kiss. “Never letting you outta my sight.”

“Good because you’re mine.” Your hand covers his large one that’s cupping your face. You tilt your cheek so you can rub your cheek against the scent gland on his wrist, marking him. It makes Rafe’s cock twitch and harden again inside you and then he’s fucking you again. And again. Until your eyes flutter shut with bliss, surrounded in both your scents, wrapped up in your alpha’s arms.

Tagging mooties: @eerielamb @dementedkittenribbon @cameronsprincess @nemesyaaa @that-sarcastic-writer @eddiesxangel

Dividers by @anitalenia

[sherbet-powder]

playing around with filters~~

[bluegekk0]

🎵 ❤️

[deadghosy]

Childhood best friends to lovers trope with Draco please :)

🌷;✩°𓏲⋆🌿.*

𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐩𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐟𝐨𝐲

Let’s start off with the classic, he thought the slick back hair was amazing while you literally dogged him for it.

You two always bickered. You sometimes apologized to Harry for Draco’s bullying. Then Draco would bully Harry more as Draco was quite the possessive friend towards you.

He always hated when people got close to you. It even got worse when you two grew up.

He hates how you got prettier/handsome. He hates that change.

But everything changes. And you both knew that.

It was that day when you wore that beautiful dress to the Yule ball. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, every second it felt like time slowed so he can see you better. He couldn’t stop thinking about you at night. And you could t stop thinking about him either.

When he admitted that he have feelings for you. You didn’t believe it until you seen that look in his eyes.

You immediately hugged him as he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He felt glad you reciprocated his feelings. It felt a fresh breath of air.

Draco was the first to announce the relationship you two held. He was proud of himself to have such a beautiful partner like you

Draco is 50/50 on pda with you. But he wouldn’t hesitate to kiss the hell out of you if he gets jealous at a boy staring at you

Silent nights where his head against your stomach and you just baby him. He feels safe with you. Other that the fact that’s he’s a death eater. He can’t let you get dragged in. He loves you too much.

[bluerosefox]

Play Along Please

Hmmmmm.

Another DPxDC idea.

Wanna know what troupe I LOVE.

the troupe of 'Hey, I know we just met but I'm being followed by my ex/stalker and need you to pretend to be my lover for a moment, please play along.'

And I can totally see Danny, in a moment of panic, as a college senior in Gotham doing this while at a party/club he got dragged to by his dorm/roommate/friends in college and zero's in on one of the people at the party/club.

He just wasn't expecting to get dragged into an Bat case.

-x-x-

Basically, one of the Batboys (Or we could go Spirit Halloween, maybe around the time Batman is just starting out after returning to Gotham and is undercover at a party/club) is at this party/club investigating undercover and gets pulled into the 'I don't know you but please help me and play along' troupe. Its just luck that the ex/stalker is actually one of the main targets for their case and getting close to the 'ex/stalked' they're still wanting plays into their favor.

[gaylittlebillionaires]

i was thinking some more about dave k’s modern AU and specifically hodgson as a children’s show host. and i was thinking about what his career would have looked like to get to that point and i’m deeply obsessed with the idea of him doing just. ABYSMALLY bad improv and sketch comedy in his 20s. and getting his friends to come see him in absolutely horrible shows at the fringe and everyone is trying sooo hard to be nice about it but also they are genuinely concerned about his career prospects. and when it works out for him in the end they’re all like “always knew you’d make it, mate!” when that was absolutely 100% not the case.

[anticapitalistclown]

okay but imagine a "I hate all men" reader who learned what betrayal was since day one from her womanizer father, who not only him but every man failed her.

Suddenly falls in love with the manliest man, the king of Ansan, Taesoo.

(reader then finds out that the reason of her father's baldness is him <3)

[stxrborne]

PRECISION

|| Feitan x neutral! Reader ||

|| dt to @after-witch @ddarker-dreams @depravitycentral for inspiring me to finally get off my ass and write, and also for their amazing works ofc! check them out! ||

It’s ironic, Feitan thinks, to sew up the wounds of his victims. But they can’t die just yet.

His thin, long fingers push the needle through the victims skin of their inner thigh, and he gives out a light scoff in mockery when they whimper. Little rich boy can’t handle a little pain? He hates these rich types that think they can pull one over on the troupe. They were fun to interrogate, they always worked up his temper where taking it out on them was something he looked forward to. Due punishment, not only for their bratty, pretentious attitude, but their lucky pull in birth circumstances. Feitan acts as their comeuppance.

He’ll give it to this victim, however, still holding on to the information despite it all. Usually his male victims would start spilling whatever they knew when Feitan picked up a hammer and pushed their thighs apart. But here his victim was, crying and whimpering, and now a eunuch, and still not speaking.

Feitan finishes his stitches with a clean knot, and sets the needle and thread aside on his medical tool tables. He likes to pride himself in his efficiency and perfection. After all, torture required just as much knowledge of the human body as a surgeon. The image of Feitan as a doctor, in a different life, flashed in his mind and he laughed aloud. Maybe. Maybe if he was born lucky. Maybe if he didn’t have to learn surgery and amputations from the cruelty of his home.

After all, doctors can’t save everyone. And he didn’t see the point in willingly putting that responsibility and burden on yourself. Especially for ungrateful rich brats.

No, it was much easier to take life than to protect it. Much more fulfilling too. Other people aren’t your responsibility.

How funny though, Feitan thought. To now have something to willingly burden yourself with.

His ears pricked up to his victim shuffling in his chains, and he turned to them. The man wasn’t remarkable, only one person really was in Feitan’s eyes. The only thing noticeable now was the man’s family crest Feitan had carved on the skin above his heart.

How can you claim to belong to something, if you can’t even mark yourself with it? When you die, how will people know where you belonged to?

Feitan takes the man’s face in between his hand, and moves his head around to inspect his work. He debated between leaving the cut next to eye, dropping a few drops of an infectious bacteria into it so the eye would eventually eat itself. It’d take about a week, and then another for the infection to spread to the rest of the body.

Feitan couldn’t help but smile at the image. He gripped his victims face with his nails, and told him so.

“It’d be funny to see you swell up with blood and pus. I wonder if you’d get fat like an ugly cyst, but you already don’t look all that different from one.”

He let him go unceremoniously, and watched as his head fell forward. Feitan will grant him the mercy of sleep. After all, a dog will still endure abuse if you feed it often enough.

“Feitan?”

He heard you before you reached the basement door of course. He knew where you were in the house at all times after all.

You knew you weren’t allowed to open the door. If you needed him, just knock or call his name. You think it’s because he’d have to kill you if you saw what he was doing.

He knows that, and thinks you’re silly. He wipes his bloodied hands with a clean cloth as he walks to the door. His eyes meet yours when he opens the door, and his gaze doesn’t leave yours as he closes it. You don’t even know what color the walls of the basement are.

Feitan looks you over, with the same precision he gives to everything. You’ve been picking at your hangnails again and for some reason you didn’t bother bandaging your thumb, where you had ripped and tore at the skin enough for it to bleed. Another thing is that you’re wearing nothing but a towel, which means one thing.

“I want to take a bath,” you say, your clasped hands nervously squeezing themselves. It was another thing you weren’t allowed to do on your own. You didn’t understand why, and you didn’t understand why he did the things he did. He’d set the water the way you like it, even though you don’t remember telling him. He scents it with fragrances and oils that you can tell are expensive, in your favorite scents too. He helps you in and then holds out your towel so he doesn’t see your naked body, and he swiftly turns and closes the curtain. He does the same when you’re ready to come out.

He has a chair he sits on, quietly and unmoving as he watches your silhouette. Maybe it’s a kink or fetish of some kind, you think. It had taken you a while to get use to. But something tells you it wasn’t that exactly. One time you had slipped when washing your body, and before you could fully gasp out in surprise, you were in his arms with his face to the side.

He didn’t act the way you expected a kidnapper would. But it still didn’t explain why you were here at all.

Feitan nods at you, and you lead the way. You’ve learned he preferred to be your second shadow than to be your leading light.

Your large bathroom was attached to your equally large room. Funny how you’ve started to refer to them as ‘yours’. It’s difficult not to, when he is somehow able to let you decorate it the way you want. Feitan does that often, you’ve found. No matter how expensive your request, and you have tested that, he will get it for you. You’re scared to ask how.

He begins his routine when you both step into the bathroom. He gets the water to the temperature you like and let the bath tub fill. The sound of the tub jets fill the air, and you watch as he drips expensive oils into the water. His movements are methodical, and somehow he’s figured out the ratio of water to oil that’s right for your skin.

Feitan doesn’t dare mix the water with his hand.

Your nose is soon filled with the scent, and you feel your tense shoulders slowly let go and relax. He’s watching you, you know that. He stops the faucet when the tub fills up, and you walk up the small steps and stand in front of him.

A part of you is always tempted to touch. His pale skin is smooth and such a contrast to his dark hair. This close, you can see just a hint of green in his black eyes, the way they don’t seem to blink. You wonder if he is even human.

You nod softly and he moves behind you. You can’t even feel his presence, hear his breath, and you slightly jump when he reaches to gently clasp the small fold that holds your towel up.

Feitan waits until you calm again to continue. He never touches you directly, not even a stray touch from any finger. He takes off your towel and spreads it as a barrier between you and him.

But then you do something that has his heart beating and stopping erratically. His breath catches in his throat, your gaze turning to him and he feels trapped beneath it. How do you not know how much power you have over him?

His eyes instantly move to the way you nervously bite at your lip. Somehow he can know everything about you, how you think, how you word those thoughts, and yet now, he can’t believe what he thinks you’re going to say.

“…help me?” You say slowly, so quietly that a normal person wouldn’t have heard you.

But you know he did. And you don’t drop your eyes from him.

Feitan, in return, lets the towel drop.

[garadinervi]

Troupe Asnimer & JH Burch, Troupe Asnimer & JH Burch, (Vinyl/LP (Limited to 200 copies), Digital album), BS089, Black Sweat Records, 2025

(images via Soundohm)

[gumballavocadoharry]

Lightheaded:

The stark morning light filtering through the blinds had been a cruel awakening, illuminating not just the room but the crushing weight of Yn's actions. The warmth of Harry's bed, the memory of his touch, the simple joy of a shared meal – it had all been a dangerous indulgence, a temporary lapse in the rigorous control she exerted over her life, her body, her very existence. Now, the illness roared back, a furious beast demanding retribution for the brief moment of freedom. The frantic flight back to her apartment, the desperate purging, the hot, silent tears – it was all a ritual of purification, a desperate attempt to wash away the perceived sin of letting go, of being seen. Professor Weaver's words about the messiness of good writing echoed in her mind, a painful parallel to the internal chaos she tried so hard to suppress, a chaos briefly glimpsed and then violently rejected.

Back in his own apartment, the silence was heavier than usual for Harry. He found the note on the bedside table, a flimsy scrap of paper that felt starkly inadequate after the intimacy they had shared. "Had to run, thank you for everything, call you soon." The words were polite, dismissive almost, a bandage too small for the wound he felt opening in his chest. Confusion warred with a deep, unsettling worry. Why would she run like that? After... everything? Their connection the night before had felt profound, effortless. They had talked for hours, laughed, shared stories, and then, the quiet, tender intimacy. It had felt right.

He moved through his morning routine on autopilot, the image of Yn – her bright eyes, the soft curve of her smile, the way she had leaned into his touch – stubbornly refusing to fade. He showered, dressed, and made his way to the restaurant. He had early prep to oversee, deliveries to check, the thousand small tasks that made up the foundation of his world. He needed normalcy, routine, the familiar rhythm of the kitchen to ground him.

At 'The Flourishing Feast,' the air was already fragrant with the scent of roasting vegetables and the subtle tang of sourdough starter. His team was arriving, the gentle clatter of pots and pans beginning to fill the space. Harry smiled, greeted everyone, gave instructions, his voice steady and practiced. But beneath the surface, his mind replayed the night, searching for clues. He remembered her initial hesitation with the food, the small portions she took at first, the way her eyes had lit up when she finally let herself taste and enjoy the dishes. He remembered the surprising ease with which she had relaxed after that, how the conversation had flowed, how vibrant and present she had become. And then... the sharp, panicked departure.

Sitting at one of the small, round tables in the dining area before service began, sipping a mug of dark coffee, it hit him with a sickening lurch. The puzzle pieces clicked into place – the avoidance of food initially, the forced casualness when he offered more, the sudden panic after a full meal, the desperate need to leave. He had seen things like this before, heard stories. It wasn't just cold feet, or regretted intimacy. It was something deeper, something tied to control, to fear, to food itself. Yn, his gentle, intelligent, beautiful Yn, was struggling. An eating disorder. The thought landed heavily in his gut, a cold, hard stone. His heart ached for her, for the hidden battle she was fighting.

He debated calling her, texting, but something held him back. He remembered the note – her need to "run." Maybe she needed space. He decided to wait, to let her reach out, as she promised. He focused on his work, letting the familiar comfort of creating food soothe his troubled mind, but the worry for Yn remained a persistent ache.

Around mid-morning, just as the first few customers began to trickle in for coffee and pastries, the bell above the door chimed, and Yn stepped inside. Harry's heart leaped. She looked pale, tired, lines of stress etched around her eyes, but she was here. She moved uncertainly towards one of the smaller tables by the window, avoiding his gaze. She was trying to look casual, perhaps, like she just stopped by, but her tension was palpable even across the room.

Harry walked over, his approach slow and gentle, trying not to startle her. "Yn," he said softly, his voice filled with concern. "I was worried when you left."

She flinched slightly, finally meeting his eyes for a fleeting second before looking away again. Her face was a mask of forced calm. "Oh, Harry. Yeah. Sorry about that. Just... had a lot to do. Early class." Her voice was strained, thin.

He pulled up a chair. "Yn, look at me." When she finally did, he kept his gaze steady, warm, and non-judgmental. "That wasn't just about class, was it? I found your note. You seemed... panicked." He paused, choosing his words carefully. This was fragile ground. "Last night was... amazing for me. Everything I hoped. But after dinner, after the food... you seemed to change. And running out this morning without a real word... it made me worry."

He took a breath, deciding honesty, gentle as it might be, was the only way. "Yn... are you okay? With food? With everything?"

The mask shattered. Her eyes widened, not with sadness, but with a sudden, fierce anger, a flash of raw vulnerability she immediately sought to protect with defensiveness. "What are you talking about? 'With food'? What is that supposed to mean?" Her voice rose, sharp and brittle.

Harry kept his voice low, steady. "Just... I noticed..."

"You noticed?" she cut him off, standing abruptly, scraping the chair back loudly. "You're 'noticing' things now? After one night? Are you diagnosing me, Harry? Is that what this is? 'Oh, she ate dinner, she must have an issue'?" Her hands were trembling, but her stance was aggressive.

"No, Yn, I'm not diagnosing you. I'm just concerned. Truly concerned. Your leaving like that, after everything... it wasn't normal. And I care about you."

"You care?" she scoffed, a harsh sound that didn't reach her eyes. "Or are you just disappointed I'm not the perfect, uncomplicated girl you thought I was after one dinner and one night? You thought you had it all figured out, didn't you? This easy connection, this chef who loves to feed people, this girl who loved his food... well, guess what, Harry? Life isn't that neat and tidy! People aren't just ingredients you can mix together perfectly!"

Her words were like knives, aimed to hurt, to push him away. Harry didn't flinch, though they stung. He saw past the anger to the fear driving it. "I know life isn't neat, Yn. I know people are complex. That's why I'm worried. Because I see you hurting."

"You don't see anything!" she practically yelled, drawing the attention of the few patrons. Shame burned in her cheeks, fueling her rage further. "You think you know me after a few hours? You think you can just waltz in here and start making assumptions about my life, about me?"

She grabbed her bag, her movements jerky and frantic. "Don't pretend you understand! Don't pretend you care!" She backed away from the table, towards the door. "I made a mistake last night. That's it. A mistake!"

With a final, searing look that held a complicated mix of defiance, hurt, and fear, she spun around and stormed out of the restaurant, the bell above the door jangling violently in her wake. Harry stood rooted to the spot, his heart aching, the words "A mistake!" echoing in his ears. He hadn't handled it perfectly, maybe, but his concern was genuine. He had pushed, and she had retreated, just as he feared.

Outside, Yn walked quickly, the confrontation with Harry a fresh wave of panic washing over her. She had lashed out, said terrible things, but the alternative – letting him see the truth, letting him see the depth of her struggle – felt like certain death. She pushed the encounter from her mind, focusing on her destination: college, her classes. Professor Weaver's advanced writing seminar.

She settled into her seat in the familiar lecture hall, trying to focus on the dense text on the syllabus, but her mind was a whirlwind. Harry's words, "Are you okay? With food?" kept replaying. He saw. He knew. The shame was unbearable. But beneath the shame, a different feeling stirred – a flicker of wonder that someone had seen, someone had cared enough to ask, despite her best efforts to hide it.

Then came the memory of the night before, the intimacy, the warmth, the feeling of being truly safe in Harry's arms. The taste of his food, enjoyed without guilt for a fleeting moment. His gentle hands on her skin. The way he had looked at her. The rush of affection, of undeniable love she felt for him, a feeling she had tried to suppress, to rationalize away, but which now felt overpowering. How could she feel this intense love and connection with someone who represented nourishment, pleasure, food, the very thing she feared and fought against? It was a cruel paradox.

She fidgeted in her seat, her stomach cramping. She hadn't eaten since the purging; the thought of it was abhorrent. Her head felt light, fuzzy. The professor's voice seemed distant, muffled. She tried to take notes, but the words on the page swam. She felt weak, shaky. Her usual routine of restriction was catching up to her, exacerbated by the emotional turmoil.

Just get through the class, she told herself. You can handle this. You're strong. But the strength she drew upon was the strength for denial, for control through deprivation, and it was failing her now. A wave of dizziness washed over her, sharper this time. The room tilted. She felt herself swaying. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead. She tried to grip the edge of the desk, to ground herself, to fight the encroaching darkness, but her limbs felt heavy, disconnected.

Voices rose around her – panicked, startled. A hand reached out, but it was too late. The world dissolved into blackness, the last coherent thought a jumble of Harry's face, the taste of food, and the crushing weight of her secret.

She woke to the unfamiliar smell of antiseptic and the low murmur of voices. A hospital room. Her head throbbed, and her body felt heavy, drained. Her eyes fluttered open. A figure was sitting beside the bed, leaning forward, his dark brown hair falling slightly over his forehead, his green eyes fixed on her face, filled with a familiar, overwhelming tenderness and relief.

"Harry," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

He reached out, his hand gentle as he touched her cheek. "Hey, Yn. I'm here."

Tears welled in her eyes, blurring his face. The carefully constructed walls she had built around herself had crumbled with her physical collapse. There was no energy left for defense, only raw, exposed vulnerability. Harry's presence wasn't a threat; it was a lifeline.

"How did you know...?"

"They found your phone in your bag," he said softly, his thumb stroking her cheekbone. "Your emergency contact list. I was on it." He paused, his gaze unwavering. "I tried calling you after... after you left the restaurant. When you didn't answer, I kept calling. Someone at the college finally picked up and told me what happened." His expression was a mixture of worry and deep affection. "I came as fast as I could."

He carefully shifted, pulling the chair closer, then gently lifted the covers and slid onto the edge of the bed, pulling her towards him. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, her head resting against his chest. His warmth was a balm to her cold, fragile body, a feeling of absolute safety she hadn't realized she craved so desperately.

His presence, his unwavering kindness, broke something open inside her. The anger, the shame, the fear – it all dissolved for a moment, replaced by an overwhelming need to explain, to confess, to finally voice the source of the 'messiness' she couldn't write about, the pain she'd buried for so long.

Her voice was raspy, barely above a whisper. "Harry... I'm so sorry... the restaurant..."

"Shh," he said, shaking his head gently. "Don't worry about that. Just focus on getting better. What happened, Yn?" His gaze was steady, compassionate, inviting her to share without pressure or judgment.

The dam broke. The words tumbled out, raw and painful, revealing a wound that had festered for years. "It's... it's my grandmother," she began, the admission heavy on her tongue. "When I was growing up... she was... she was obese. Severely. And she... she was so jealous of me. Of my body."

Harry listened intently, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. His expression remained open, understanding.

"I was always thin," Yn continued, her voice gaining a little strength as the story poured out of her. "Naturally thin. And she hated it. She'd make comments... all the time. About what I ate, how much I ate. She'd watch me, criticize me." Tears began to stream down her face again, but these were different from the tears of shame and anger. These were tears of old, deep hurt. "She'd say mean things... call me names. Say I was too skinny, like it was a bad thing. She'd make me feel like... like my body was wrong. Like I was wrong, just for being naturally slender."

She squeezed his hand, needing the anchor of his touch. "It was like... every meal, every time I ate, it was a performance, a source of judgment. She'd try to make me eat more, then criticize me if I did. Or if I didn't. Nothing was ever right." Her voice cracked. "She body-shamed me... for being skinny. It sounds crazy, I know, but it... it got inside my head. This idea that food was dangerous, that my body was wrong, that I had to control it fiercely, otherwise... otherwise something terrible would happen. Like I'd become like her, or that I wasn't good enough as I was."

She looked up at Harry, her eyes pleading for understanding. "It started small... just trying to be 'good' with food. But it spiraled. It became about control, about punishing myself, about feeling empty because empty felt safe. And last night... eating with you... enjoying it... letting go... it felt amazing, but then afterward... the guilt, the fear... it just flooded back. It's like... the illness is screaming that I lost control, that I failed."

Harry listened to every word, his heart aching for the young girl she had been, internalizing such cruel, twisted messages from someone who should have loved and nurtured her unconditionally. He didn't interrupt, didn't offer platitudes. He simply absorbed her pain, his grip on her hand firm and reassuring.

When she finished, breathless and tearful, he didn't try to fix it. He just looked at her with those kind, intelligent green eyes, full of compassion and understanding. He gently lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles.

"Oh, Yn," he murmured, his voice filled with tenderness. "That's... that's a terrible burden to carry. It's not your fault. None of it is your fault. What happened to you was cruel and wrong."

He shifted closer, gently pulling her into a hug, positioning himself carefully around the wires and monitors. He held her close, letting her lean against his chest, letting her tears soak into his shirt. He didn't need her to be strong right now. He just needed her to feel safe, to feel seen, to feel loved. He held her like she was the most precious, fragile thing in the world, whispering soft reassurances against her hair.

"You are not wrong," he said, his voice a rumble against her ear. "Your body is not wrong. You are beautiful, inside and out. And you are so much more than this illness. You don't have to fight this alone anymore, Yn. Not if you don't want to. I'm here. I'm right here."

Harry listened, his embrace tightening slightly, his breath warm against her hair. He didn't interrupt, didn't judge. He simply held her, a steady, comforting anchor in the storm of her confession.

When she finished, exhausted and emotionally raw, he just held her for a long moment in silence. Then, he spoke, his voice low and filled with profound empathy. "Oh, Yn. My sweet, strong Yn." He kissed the top of her head. "Thank you for telling me. Thank you for trusting me with this."

He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes again, his own slightly wet. "What you went through with your grandmother... that sounds incredibly difficult. And what you've been carrying all this time... alone... Yelling at me today, running away... I understand now. It wasn't about hating me, it was about protecting yourself from something that feels terrifying."

He smiled, a gentle, hopeful smile. "You are so strong, Yn. So incredibly strong, to have fought this for so long, to have kept going, to be here now, talking to me." He took her hand, lacing their fingers together. "You don't have to fight alone anymore. I'm here."

He paused, his gaze softening even more. "You know," he said, a fond smile playing on his lips, "for me, food... cooking... it's my way of showing love. It's about nourishment, yes, but it's also about care, about bringing people together, about making them happy, about celebrating life's simple pleasures. It's my love language, really. Besides... you know," he squeezed her hand, his eyes twinkling playfully, hinting at the passion they had shared, "other kinds of affection."

His expression turned serious again, tender. "I promise you, Yn. We can figure this out. We can find a way for you to heal your relationship with food, with yourself. I won't push you, I won't judge you. I'll just be here, holding your hand, holding you close, however you need me to."

He looked at her, his love for her evident in every line of his kind face. "That night, Yn... it wasn't a mistake for me. Meeting you isn't a mistake. I... I fell in love with you, Yn. Hard. And seeing you like this, hearing your story... it just makes me love you more. For your strength, for your vulnerability, for you."

Tears streamed down Yn's face again, but these were different. Not tears of shame or panic, but tears of release, of being truly seen and accepted. The love she felt for him, the profound, overwhelming feeling that had paradoxically terrified and comforted her, was safe here.

"Oh, Harry," she choked out, her voice thick with emotion. "I... I love you too. So much."

He pulled her back into his arms, holding her tightly, a promise in his embrace. In the sterile quiet of the hospital room, surrounded by fear and uncertainty, they had found a fragile, powerful certainty in each other. The path ahead would be challenging, filled with healing and difficult steps, but for the first time in a long time, Yn didn't feel entirely lost in the messiness. She wasn't alone. She had Harry, and his love, and that felt like the most powerful nourishment of all.