@evermetnotforgotten / evermetnotforgotten.tumblr.com
The story of the first time Lev was kidnapped. Read on AO3.
Set six weeks after the events of Felt, Not Seen. Read on AO3 (unfinished).
Cut Open, Pulled Loose: The story of the second time Lev—and Graham, and Niels—were kidnapped. Resurface: The aftermath of that year-and-a-bit captivity. Vicious Little Things: Various character backstories. Read on Google Docs.
This might be a nothing question but.
I’m very much wanting to get back into posting things, even if it’s just finishing off things I’ve already started. This story feels so big in my head I’m a) not sure what there’s a hunger for, and b) also genuinely unsure about what I have and haven’t shared with y’all. It’d be great to know if people are wishing they could see certain things so I could potentially have another entry point back into my own story
Found some old pieces and decided to put them up. Thank you to @whatiswhump for the encouragement and for always being so lovely. These don't really fit with anything anymore, but who cares :-) Enjoy.
content warnings: noncon, kidnapping, torture, murder, drugging.
Lev was dreaming.
Or—or he was spinning, but he was standing still. Definitely. Maybe. He wasn't sure. His head was light but for a brief moment, when gravity pressed down, and his chin flopped forward to his chest before bouncing back up again.
dude i don't wanna make anything weird between us or anything lol like i just wanted to say that i think i would make a good and pretty offering for you bound on a cold stone slab. but like as a bro
My favorite ultra-specific character type is "this fucked up little man clearly just needs a consensual BDSM relationship and some therapy and he'd be fine, but that is very much not what happens in this story."
technically a follow on from this piece. could probably stand alone. this piece has been 80% done in my google docs for three years so if you see any big holes in it uhhh. no you didn't.
if you've ever wanted some vague exposition on cass' powers or choices, then this is for you
content warning: mentions of death, victim blaming, aftermath of violence/assault, referenced dubcon/noncon, brief mind control
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The common room at Bergen Estate gets quiet at night. Most of the charges prefer their own rooms as it gets dark. Hiding from the bogeyman.
But Harley liked the large, dark emptiness of the common room.
The curved chairs, the pillars, the rows of books and video games lined up along the shelves. The big oak tables. Bean bags in the corner. Rugs here and there. The whole place had the energy of some sort of bizarre combination between a kid’s playroom and a university library. But Harley wanted a space to think, and this was the easiest one.
Their intuition had been right and wrong in equal amounts tonight. They’d known they would be called to Christopher’s lounge tonight. And they were. And they knew that they would be fine after. And they are. But… if they were so fine why do they feel so God fucking awful?
this is for anon, who requested some cass angst. and for @wildfaewhump who single-handedly tipped the poll in this piece’s favour. thank you for the excuse to get this bad boy into existence! it’s lived in my head for… so so long.
strong content warnings: grief, loss, death, suicide, guilt, self-blame, whumper as caretaker (please note - this piece is heavy. if you are wanting to read but are cautious of the warnings, please shoot me a message or an ask and i’ll happily elaborate)
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Ace is still putting his shoes on when Tucker comes in to collect him.
“Do you know what day it is today?”
He looks very proud of himself. Tucker feels exhausted already. “What date is it today, Ace?”
Cass gives him the biggest grin he’s seen on him in weeks, “You really don’t remember?”
“No.”
“It’s our anniversary.”
“…Our anniversary,” Tucker repeats, unamused by the notion.
“Of the day we first met,” Cass beams. “It was a year ago today.”
Tucker can feel the shape of the quip he might’ve used to shut him up or shut him down. He can’t bring himself to use it today. He just sighs, chest tight and uncomfortable, “Is that right?”
knight/lord ships are like. what if i would die for you. what if i wanted you to live for me. what if i wanted to touch you but could only be satisfied with being near you. what if i could touch you but only through the safety of our gloves. what if i couldn’t stop thinking about you right next to me. what if i bloodied my hands for you and never looked back at the wreckage. what then
what if i wasn’t allowed to love you. what if i loved you anyway. what if you knew and i knew but we wouldn’t dare to take that step. what if we made meaningful eye contact as i knelt at your feet and devoted my whole being to you. what if i whispered your name for only you to hear
“my lord” is actually something that can be so personal
what if i said “my lord” but i actually meant “my love”
nothing sluttier than lighting up a cigarette immediately after an absolutely brutal fight and inhaling deeply before exhaling the smoke with a sigh of relief while still disheveled and covered in blood and coming down from the adrenaline high. you could literally have sex onscreen and it would be less erotic.
and getting someone else to light the cigarette for you because you're too badly injured/exhausted to do it yourself... that's gay sex baby
hey don't be sad handsome butches in glasses ok?
my favorite romance trope is like. you dont want to hurt me but i am asking you to hurt me. i need you to stab me. i need you to carve this out of me. i need you to cut something off of me. this will hurt both of us in incredible ways. yours are the only hands i trust enough to weild this knife. you do not want to hurt me. i am asking you to hurt me.
I love your writing so much! How you're able to say and show so much with a single sentence . Your characters are amazing and I love them all . I hope you're doing well, take care of yourself .
Ah, thank you so much! Hope you're doing well too :-)
Set in the far future.
In many ways, Graham's relationship with his parents was quite simple. Firstly, be kicked out at sixteen because you were a delinquent little shithead who was well on the path to either being shot up on a street corner, or thrown in prison for being the one doing the shooting. Spend twenty-odd years in the wind. Then call dear old mum and dad up on a whim one day asking whether they're free for a coffee and a slice of cake—their choice, your shout.
They’d picked the key lime pie.
🥺
You balanced the tension and the sweetness so well in this one. I love how the two of them are able to communicate so easily without words through the whole encounter. The way they each check in and reassure. This is so, so sweet.
Thank you ☺️ means a lot to me!
content warnings: explicit (drunk) consensual sex, alcohol
It's the fourth time his phone flashes that he realises—shit, it's a call, not a text. Graham doesn't need to hear a voice to know that his late-night caller has taken a trip down the neck of a bottle tonight, but as soon as he does, it’s crystal clear.
"Heeey."
Stifling a sigh Graham rubs his cheek, his jaw. He suppresses the ‘bit early to have reached the bottom, isn't it?’ "Hey, Lev."
"M'lonely." The sound of something soft hitting the floor—a pillow, a pile of clothes. "Y'should come over."
Get your robot whumpee infected with malware.
Ransomware that hijacks their body, preventing any interaction with the outside world, while making demands- if you just do as I say, you can have your friend back. Bonus points if the whumpee is still in there, aware, but unable to do anything or stop their friends from giving in to the demands. Because if it's advanced enough to overcome a robot who's sentient enough to feel pain, I don't imagine its creators just want money…
Spyware that tells the creators everything about the whumpee- their favorite things, their loved ones, their weak points. Everything that they can use against them, with the whumpee completely oblivious.
Adware that blocks the whumpee's actions and words and thoughts and replaces them all with mindless advertisement.
Rootkits that can access the whumpee's most personal systems, and even allow their creators to take control of the whumpee.
And if all else fails? Just slowly override their code, the core of their existence. I'm sure they can feel it all. I'm sure even if they're saved, it will affect them forever.
(Note this was made from cursory knowledge from Google, so if I made any computer scientists cry I apologize)
