#and i get a library!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! anyway.

[katya-goncharov]

Some other great online book resources specifically for British people:

If you want to buy books for amazon level prices and support your local bookshop too, Hive Books is a very affordable online bookshop that donates money to an indie bookshop of your choice every time you order a book from them

And if you're looking for particularly niche books, Bill & Ben Books is great. They basically operate as an outlet bookshop, and sell books that would have otherwise been pulped for cheap. Great for finding brand new books at really cheap prices, or tracking down remaining copies of books that have just gone out of print (they also have in-person bookshops in Oxford and Bristol you can visit!)

If you want American books that haven't been printed in the UK yet, you can usually order them from Blackwells - delivery is usually free, too! (though bear in mind Blackwells is owned by Waterstones now so it's technically not an indie bookshop - still a lesser evil than Amazon, though)

And don't forget that in the UK, libraries pay authors every time someone borrows one of their books too! And if your local library doesn't have a book you want, you can usually reserve one online and wait to get an exciting email to tell you it's arrived and then go and collect it and it gives you exactly the same high that going and shopping for books does, only for FREE!!

Non Amazon book resources

Look, I know Amazon is a sensitive topic. It has been allowed to dominate the market, and for indie writers, it is a huge (if not their main) source of income. Personally, as an indie writer, I have tried to always keep my work available elsewhere (because you can't trust Amazon not to screw you over, I mean just look at Audible. For those who don't know, Audible royally fucks over authors, and the narrators don't do that great either). But even for me, the loss of Amazon sales would highly affect my ability to keep going without getting another job or three. So I get it. Nonetheless, they cannot be trusted not to drop queer writers and readers, so it's best to have alternatives now.

If you are a reader or an indie author looking for different platforms to buy and/or sell books, even if only to start branching out a little, here is a list.

I doubt it's comprehensive. Feel free to reblog with more.

Kobo and Kobo Plus -Kobo is the biggest online 'Zon alternative. Kobo Plus is sort of like KU. On either one, you get points for buying books and can use the points to get more books. Works for ebook and audiobooks. (And, if you have a non-Kindle ereader, it works for Kobo but it also works for like, fanfiction. I'm just saying. I got a refurbished Kobo a while ago and it's lovely.)

Bookshop.org -print as well as ebooks (authors, make sure you click "expanded distribution" on your bookselling platform of choice if you want your stuff for sale with Bookshop--which also benefits local bookstores!)

Smashwords/Draft2Digital - mostly ebooks but D2D does have a print option

Itch.io - ebook only (but gives a larger chunk of profits to authors than 'Zon does. Authors take note.)

Gumroad

Rainbow Crate -special edition print queer books. (I know there was some controversy with them but I am out of touch and don't know what it was, and most people who use them seem happy with them??? but if you know other queer/romance book crate services, lemme know)

The Ripped Bodice -brick and mortar stores but you can also shop online

Check out your local bookstores---many will order print copies for you if you request them

The authors' websites if they do direct sales

Barnes & Noble- yeah, it's a corporation and they are not great either, but it's not Amazon and sometimes a well-meaning relative gets you a gift card. And, for the moment, they do in fact sell queer romance and queer fiction. I know because I just used a gift card to get a paperback of The Prince and the Assassin. lol

Powell's Books- Portland's famous book store sells new and used books (and you can browse the stock online) --print only. They sell queer romance as well. I got a copy of Drag Me Up by RM Virtues there. That's not super relevant, but I was pleased :)

New link: Queer Books Weekly-- free and affordable books with queer protagonists

Tubby & Coos Bookshop: curates pocket bookstores featuring underrepresented voices

And from user @bobthebenevolentpirate (thank you!)

Giovanni's Room in Philadelphia was founded in 1973 and is “The Oldest & Very Best LGBTQ & Feminist Bookstore in the Country.” They ship to US addresses, but you can also email them about international shipping. The people who run it are lovely humans and have started providing harm reduction supplies/info to people to respond to the needs of the community! They deserve all the support

Also consider library books!

And for those in America--you can use library apps to read books. Yes, the authors still get paid! Libby is a big one. You can get audiobooks too, AND it can connect you with the Queer Liberation Library.

Also there is Hoopla - digital content

In Europe, I know there is Vivlio, which is French and I believe sells ereaders and also ebooks.

[stargazedwinchester]

ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `unseen, sam winchester

Summary: You're Charlie's sister, and you get way less attention from the boys regarding that. Sam wants to change that dynamic. Word Count: 1,003 Pairing: Sam Winchester x fem!reader

Being Charlie Bradbury’s sister has its pros and cons. She’s so cool and carries fun wherever she is. The cons, though, Charlie brings you to them.

You’ve never really got on with the Winchesters, but realizing they’re close to Charlie, you can’t really escape seeing them. She practically forces you along, knowing that you won’t say a word.

You arrive at the bunker with Charlie, exiting her sunshine yellow vehicle. She shoves the iron door open, allowing herself inside. You lock the door behind you and shuffle down the stairs behind her. Dean stands in the lobby with open arms. “Charlie!” He exclaims, and she rushes toward him. “Sup, bitches!” She releases from Dean’s grip, moving over to Sam to give him a hug as well. You stand there awkwardly, making eye contact with Dean. “Hey, Y/N. How’re you doin’?” Dean pats you on the shoulder before moving over to join Charlie and Sam in conversation.

This always happens. She leaves you for them and it’s almost like you slip away into nothingness. It’s like they don’t even notice you’re there. Thank God you bring your laptop, headphones and book with you every time. As you make your way to the library where it’s quiet, you don’t notice it, but Sam’s focus is on you. Pulling out your laptop, you set it down on the table next to you. You connect your headphones and turn on some music. Taking your book out of your bag, you flitter through the pages to find your bookmark.

“Y/N?” A tall figure stands before you, making you jump. “Oh! Jesus,” You slide your headphones off of your ears and place them on your lap. “Yeah?” You look up, seeing Sam tower above you. “Can I?” He motions over to a seat next to you, and you nod. He pulls the chair up and plants himself on it. His eyes dart over you, unclear of where to begin. He huffs. You purse your lips awkwardly.

“Can I help you?” You ask, ready to put your headphones back on and drown them out. Sam hesitates. A slight smirk appears on his face before he starts. “I feel so guilty from the past times you have come here and retreated away from us. Even Charlie. I’m not sure if anyone else has noticed, but I have. And I want to say I’m sorry.” His pretty hazel eyes look up at you; genuine apology shines in them. It’s not like the brothers make you feel uncomfortable, or that you hate them. It’s the pure fact of never wanting to get to know them or having the effort to talk to them. Charlie gets along with them famously and surely that’s enough, right? Guess not.

You attempt to avoid eye contact with Sam, but he’s leant forward with his arms resting on his lap. He’s looking at you, waiting for an answer. You frown, shaking your head. “You don’t have to apologise, Sam. I enjoy being alone.” You admit. He sighs. “That’s not the point I’m trying to make… I-”

Charlie makes her way over, glaring at Sam. “What’re you doing with my sister?” She shouts at him playfully. Sam runs a hand through his hair and chuckles. “Nothing. Just, uh, talking.” He says, glancing over at you. You smile shyly at him. Admittedly, Sam is very good looking. He’s smart, careful and considerate when he needs to be. You’ve known him and Dean for a couple of years, and from what you know, he’s not allowed himself into a relationship for a long time. It’s hard to understand why, but guessing from his chaotic lifestyle, he’s avoided it all completely.

There’s a weird silence. Like Charlie just interrupted something. She stands there next to a bookcase, eyeing you both sitting next to each other. “Well, anyways. Sorry to cockblock, Sammy, but we’re heading out now.”

“Really? This hour's drive for us to just stay for two minutes?” You whine, closing your laptop and getting your bag ready. “Oh, so now you’re complaining that you don’t want to leave?” She remarks, folding her arms across her chest. You scoff. “I don’t want to stay, it was-”

Sam stands up, clearing his throat. He smiles down at you. A warm, friendly smile that you see occasionally. Sam is definitely the friendlier one compared to Dean, but this smile felt more… personal.

“I know. I’m kidding. Gosh, sisters, huh?” She mocks. You zip your bag up, glancing at Sam, who’s still looking right back at you. You lug the bag over your shoulder, and pass him a quick grin. “See you,” you hush, and he replies the same. You also say goodbye to Dean before leaving the bunker.

Entering the car, Charlie buckles her seatbelt and faces you immediately. “He so has a crush on you.”

You shove the seatbelt into the lock. “What?” You ask, completely taken aback by her comment. “Did you see the way he was looking at you when I came to speak to you? Damn, wish I had a lady that would look at me like that,” she laughs, and you internally facepalm. “No, he doesn’t have a crush on me. He came to check on me and apologise for not being more welcoming. That’s it. That doesn’t mean a thing.” You shut the idea down completely, even though you wouldn’t exactly go against it if her judgement was true to real life.

Charlie turns her whole body and folds one leg under the other, fully facing you this time. “Listen, my little Y/N. I just know when Sam has a little bit of passion for someone. He’s not very obvious about it, but when you know him…” She rolls her hands as if to allow you to finish her sentence. “When you know, you know.”

Charlie clicks her fingers. “Exactly.” She turns around and flips the engine over, a smug smirk is plastered on her face.

“Sammy and Y/N sitting in a tree…”

“Shut the hell up, Charlie.”

[deansbeer]

birthday boy ・ COWBOY!JENSEN ACKLES. ៸៸៸ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ! ♡ library

eighteen plus. minors do NOT interact.

୨୧ synopsis. jensen's birthday turned out perfect, but he wants more—stealing you away from the bonfire to claim you in the barn.

୨୧ warning(s). smut | oral (m!receiving) | unprotected sex (are we even surprised LMAO) | semi-public sex | barn sex | praise | mild dominance | dirty talk | slight roughness | orgasm control | birthday sex.

୨୧ word count. 1.1k

୨୧ kari notes. it felt necessary to do cowboy!jensen for the prettiest birthday boy ever !!!!!!! i miss him dearly and i know i've left him + the christmas series to collect dust (my bad 😔) i promise it was not intentional <3 i hope to get back to it someday and FINALLY wrap the series up. anyway! enjoy this somewhat of a revival of cowboy!jensen and happy birthday to jensen <3 my sugarplum pookie wookie princess butt 🤍 i love him so very much. 🥹

the fire crackles, casting a golden glow over the field, laughter ringing out as jensen's friends pass around beers and swap stories. the air smells like burning cedar and summer grass, the heat of the flames licking at the night breeze.

you've spent the entire day making sure his birthday is perfect.

his favorite breakfast in bed, a homemade cake, little surprises scattered throughout the day—things only you would know he'd love. but this? the bonfire, the laughter, the way his friends are all gathered around, celebrating him? this was the part he didn't expect.

and from the way he keeps looking at you—warm, lingering glances, like he can't decide if he wants to say thank you or take you apart—you know he appreciates every second of it.

he looks damn good tonight, too.

the sleeves of his tan flannel are rolled up to his elbows, the fabric unbuttoned revealing the white wife beater clinging to his chest. his old levi jeans sit low on his hips, worn in just right, and his brown cowboy boots are planted firm in the dirt, like he's the only thing keeping the earth steady.

but it's his eyes that get you the most. green, sharp, locked onto you every time you move. like he's waiting. like he's hungry.

so when he finally makes his move, it's not subtle.

a warm palm at the small of your back. a quiet, "come with me, sweetheart."

no one notices when he leads you away, his fingers curling around yours, guiding you past the parked trucks, past the wooden fences, into the barn where the scent of hay and leather lingers thick in the air. "been waitin' all damn night to get you alone," he mutters, voice low, gravelly, sending a shiver straight down your spine. "you spoil me too much, darlin'."

"only 'cause you deserve it," you tease, fingers tracing slow over his chest, feeling the heat of him through the fabric.

his lips twitch, eyes darkening. "yeah? think i deserve somethin' else too."

the way he says it—the weight behind those words—makes your stomach tighten, anticipation thrumming through your veins.

"yeah?" you murmur, letting your hands drift lower, teasing at his belt buckle. "what's that, cowboy?"

his breath hitches, just slightly. his hands flex at your waist.

"get on your knees, baby."

heat floods through you, pooling low in your belly, and you don't hesitate—not when he's looking at you like that.

the dirt is cool beneath your bare knees as you sink down, your hands sliding up his thighs, slow, deliberate.

you undo his belt, pop the button, drag the zipper down with aching precision, just to watch his breath stutter.

"teasin' me now?” he rasps, fingers threading into your hair, tilting your chin up.

"maybe."

but you don't tease for long.

you pull him free from his jeans, his cock already hard, thick and heavy in your palm.

"fuck, look at you, sweetheart," he mutters, thumb brushing over your cheek, voice rough. "prettiest damn thing i've ever seen."

you smirk, pressing a slow kiss to the tip, then licking a teasing stripe along the underside, feeling him twitch in your grasp.

"jesus," he mutters, his head falling back for just a second before his gaze snaps back down to you, dark and demanding. "c'mon, sweetheart. know you can take it."

so you do.

you take him into your mouth, slow at first, letting him feel every inch as your lips stretch around him, your tongue swirling just right.

his groan is deep, raw, his hips jerking slightly as his grip tightens in your hair.

"yeah, that's it, baby," he grits out, watching you, his chest rising and falling faster now. "too damn good f'me."

you hollow your cheeks, take him deeper, until he hits the back of your throat, your hands gripping his thighs for balance.

"love this mouth," he mutters, his voice thick with need. "gonna make me come if you keep that up."

you hum around him, the vibration making him curse under his breath, his hips stuttering forward.

but before he can get too close, he yanks you off him, his breathing ragged, his cock slick with your spit.

"as much as i'd love to finish like that," he says, voice uneven, "need to be inside you, darlin'."

before you can even respond, he hauls you up, spinning you around, pressing you up against one of the thick wooden beams.

his hands are everywhere—pushing up your dress, ripping your panties off, gripping your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as you wrap your legs around his waist.

"hold onto me," he orders, and you do, arms looping around his shoulders as he lines himself up, teasing you with the head of his cock, watching it drag through your slick folds.

"jensen—" you start, but the words die in your throat as he thrusts into you, stretching you open in one smooth, deep stroke.

"goddamn, baby," he groans, his forehead pressing against your shoulder for a moment, his breath hot against your skin.

"you feel so good."

you whimper, nails digging into his shoulders blades, your body already trembling from how deep he is, how perfectly he fills you.

"been watchin' ya' all night," he mutters, his voice rough as he picks up the pace, his grip on you tightening. "watching you in that little dress, smilin' at me like you knew exactly what you were doin'."

he drives into you harder, deeper, the friction sending sparks up your spine. the rough drag of his jeans against your thighs, the way his body presses firm against yours—it's too much, too good, setting your nerves on fire.

"wanted you to want me," you manage to whisper, and his responding growl sends a shiver straight through you.

"always want you," he rasps, his hands gripping tighter, his pace turning relentless, desperate, like he's making sure you feel it, like he's carving himself into you.

"fuck, baby, mm—"

his fingers slip between you, rubbing tight circles over your clit, the pleasure winding sharp and fast in your belly.

"do it f'me, sweetheart," he urges, his breath ragged, "wanna feel you—wanna feel you come all over me."

you shatter, your orgasm crashing over you, your walls clenching around him, making him curse, his rhythm stuttering.

"mmm, good girl," he groans, burying himself deep one last time before he follows, spilling inside you with a shaky moan, his body tensing before finally relaxing, both of you breathless, clinging to each other.

for a long moment, there's nothing but the sound of your heavy breathing, the distant sounds of the bonfire happening outside.

jensen chuckles, pressing a lazy kiss to your lips.

"best damn birthday ever, sweetheart."

៸៸៸ 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. @titsout4jackles @daylighted @bluemerakis @honeyryewhiskey @figthoughts @dollyfiles @starzify @ultravi0lence14 @soldiersgirl @sunsbaby @abox-of-rocks @whisperingdaze @eepwtf @chris444evr @deanswidow @voidsuites @jasvtsc @cowboysandcigarettes @beausling @stereotypicalbarbie @bejeweledinterludes @jensenacklesballsack @h8aaz @sunsbaby @jjmbbg @freeluigihesbae @suckitands33 @ultravioletrayz @unfortunate-brat @a-lil-pr1ncess @notsocoqquete1 @deerlysacred @benscumgluzzer @chevroletdean @deanangel @bluestrd @rubyvhs @ohsc @deansw1fe

[apatheticsunday]

Dead Tired College AU

AKA "Danny Fenton and Tim Drake go to college at Gotham-U together" headcanon!!

Maybe Danny moved to Gotham to avoid his parents finding out about Phantom and Tim is a part-time college student trying to get his business degree so people stop accusing Bruce Wayne of nepotism after Tim inherited WE. (It absolutely still is, but at least this way Tim is at least somewhat more qualified on paper.)

Anyways, they both took Anthropology as their humanities/pre-requisite elective and they're discussing death rituals, afterlife, etc. Now imagine Danny, officially Half-Dead, and Tim, who's brothers (Jason and Damian) literally died, getting into a heated discussion about spirits.

I also find the idea of them arguing via fucking Canvas (or whatever discussion forum/platform Gotham-U uses) so, so funny.

Imagine it's like 3am;

Danny, insomniac, been awake for 42 hours and popping melatonin gummies like gummy bears, furiously typing: i'm literally THE KING of infinite realms?? i know what i'm talking about, i fucking died

Tim, also been awake for 42 hours, chugging an energy drink, sending a response in 0.2 seconds: Half of Gotham has died at some point. You're not special, dumbass.

Give me "group of scientists losing their minds and climbing over the table to assault one another during scientific conference" vibes!!

And then they get paired up to do a group presentation (and Brad, who they ignore because they're both Experts, so this poor frat dude just slowly sinks into his chair between two sleep-deprived maniacs screaming at each other in the library). But Tim notices something weird about Danny, aside from his insane views on afterlife. Danny... glows? And sometimes doesn't really touch the floor when he walks. They're going to get coffee (so they can keep arguing debating, obviously, not because they enjoy each other's company or anything), and Tim watches as Danny just kind of... floats. Like, he's still walking but he's not really touching the ground.

Danny's hands are also super cold. Tim knows this because he grabbed Danny's hands once or twice (or more) to do... something, idk. But since his hands were so cold, Tim figured he should probably keep holding them; y'know, to warm them up.

And when Tim leans in to ask a question or insult him, Danny's breath comes out almost like a mist. Visibly white, like exhaling a hot breath in winter. Which... what. Holy shit, is his presentation partner actually sort of dead??

Danny, on the other hand, has no idea that Tim doesn't know. He literally said he died? And Tim took it so well, snarked back that he's not special - it was so nice to just feel normal. So he lets his guard down a bit. Maybe isn't as tangible, maybe is a bit more floaty, lets his body temperature drop enough to be comfortable. Doesn't put a whole lot of effort into making himself look so alive (because it's really tiring to pretend to be something you're not) when it's just him and Tim because Tim already knows, right?

They could be friends or they could be more! Whatever floats your boat.

But I could totally see Danny squinting at Tim holding his hand, remembering how Tim bought his favorite coffee, saved him a spot a the library, constantly texted him (because, c'mon, Tim is a bit obsessive and you don't think he'd be texting his new "friend ;)" every minute he has the chance?), and always leaned in super close to "ask a question"...and be like, are we flirting?? Oh, Hells, am I into him??

For plot reasons, Danny could be like, "I can't tell Tim I like him! What if I ruin our friendship? It'll be my secret."

And then, one day, Tim is like, "Hey, I know you're keeping something from me. I think I know what it is." And Danny's like ohshitohfuck. This cumulates into them saying, at the same time, I know you're a ghost and I have a crush on you.

Tim and Danny: *shocked Pikachu face*

Then, Danny's like, "I can't believe I have a crush on a fucking idiot."

[cheyisagirlkisser]

Plsss another part of the librarian x vi fic !!! It was so sweet !! Maybe how reader reacts when vi is released?!? anyways ur writing is so beautiful so even if u don’t do a second part thank u for just writing that first one, it was AMAZING

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐚��𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨. (𝐕𝐈)

warnings: fem reader who works at stillwater's library, former prisoner vi, angst (and comfort of course), making out but mostly tame.

a/n: this may suck i'm going through a bit of writer's block. trying to write this to help push through it so i hope it's still good!!

part one link here

You didn't know what Vi was released for, only that she won't be coming back. Overcrowding is the usual suspect, of course. An influx of criminals since the Jinx riots means there are cells that need filled. Vi's behavior saw a steady improvement. You can't be surprised that she was released.

Still, you think about her. Many times have you sat behind your desk and wondered what she has been up to. You try not to miss her because you want to be happy that she is outside of the suffocating walls of Stillwater, but it's hard when your natural instinct is to look up with hopeful eyes anytime the library door opens. It's never Vi that walks through.

She didn't even get the chance to say goodbye. Only a matter of seconds, and she was back in Zaun. You're left in confliction, and the days pass without a word from her. Is it so selfish to want her to reach out? Or maybe it's you who should be seeking her out. You're not sure anymore. The whole situation feels like a pressing headache.

Each day you work in Stillwater feels unique. Many office jobs are predictable: you sit down on a chair with wheels and type away. You organize papers or make copies when your boss asks so of you. Everything is predictable and organized. The days are same, and you imagine that they blur into one big timespan of a career. You can't exactly say the same for Stillwater on any occasion.

Sometimes, there are times when you seriously wish you could put your two weeks notice in. The time a prisoner threw a hardcover book at you was one of those times. Other times, you are reminded of why you signed up for the job in the first place. You get that feeling of motivation to keep on.

Today has been the former.

You finally walk through the streets of Piltover post-shift, your body ready for sleep, but your mind elsewhere. You think about Vi in these mundane moments when there are no other thoughts to fill the void. The tall buildings surrounding you feel almost suffocating, and you find yourself subconsciously take a left turn, crossing the bridge that binds the two contrasting cities.

You've always thought about the differences between Zaun and Piltover. When you were younger and impressionable, you were constantly warned about the undercity as if it was the boogeyman or bloody mary. It was something out of sight, out of mind. You were never given any reason or initiative to experience the horrors of poverty.

Now, you see it surrounding you. You see children in the streets in town clothing, weary mothers and the occasional father trailing behind them. You hear the violence like a ringing in your ear. You hear catcalls, some of them even towards yourself. As you take in the undercity with wide eyes, you pick up your pace. The alleyways are often empty, but you wonder if anything could be lurking within them. It's too dark to see anything but what luminates the streets and buildings, not the hidden passages that seem to overwhelm you even more.

Suddenly, your body is yanked into one. You open your mouth to scream, but the sound is muffled as you feel a warm hand cover it. You can't see exactly who it is in the darkness, but the voice sends a familiar warmth throughout your body.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Vi asks you, obvious annoyance in her tone. Something like worry or another indescribable emotion is hidden underneath the attitude, though.

You pull her hand away from your mouth, gasping for breath. "You scared me, jesus!"

"That doesn't answer my question." She presses. "Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to be down here? Especially with a target on your back."

"I've been wondering about you, okay? You haven't reached out, and I didn't even get to say goodbye!" You wrap your arms around her body in a tight, desperate hug. The embrace you expected her to return was met with a stiffness, but she didn't pull away.

"I didn't think you'd want me to." Her voice isn't as soft and sweet as you remember it to be. It makes you pull back.

"What? What do you mean?" When your questions are met with silence, you cup Vi's face. "What is going on? Did I do something wrong?"

Vi scoffs at that, but the bitterness in the expression isn't towards you. "You didn't do anything wrong. It's me."

"Vi, what do you mean? You didn't do anything." You try to search her face for answers. Your eyes trace over the sharpness in her jaw that seems to be even more carved from before, and you notice the emptiness in her cheekbones. You used to be worried for her in prison, and now you can't help but wonder why she isn't eating as much as she can now that she is free to do so.

"You don't understand what I mean. You really think we could ever work? You're a Piltie chick, and I'm just another piece of undercity trash. I'm not going to be anything more than that. You shouldn't be here with me." Vi tells you, voice wavering through she tries to say it all firmly. It's clear that the feelings that were there back in the library, the ones that turned into countless stolen kisses and promises of care are failing to be repressed.

You don't let her, though. You pull her in closer. She doesn't protest, even as you hate the tense feeling that settles deep within her due to her own insecurities. All you want is to wash away the rigid Vi, and replace her with the softness that you know still exists. The real Vi.

"Look at me." You softly say. Vi meets your eyes for the first time in a while. "I don't care about some stupid social dynamic. I just want you. I don't fucking care if I have to bring you back up to Piltover with me. I don't care if I have to stay down here with you! I just want to be with you. Don't leave my side again. Please, Vi." The desperation is there, and you don't try to hold back. You feel tears form in your eyes.

You don't get a verbal answer. You don't get much of any answer at first, as Vi stares back at you with wide eyes that remind you of just a few weeks ago, when everything seemed much more simple. Within the walls of the prison, things might've been difficult, but the feelings came easy. You just had to remind her of what it was like to feel them with you.

But the answer is exactly what you've been needing. Vi presses you against the alleyway and kisses you with all of her pent-up longing. Her lips are chapped, but it doesn't matter. She is real, and you feel her warmth travel to your body. Her tongue parts your lips in an act of desperation. She needs to make sure this isn't a dream. She needs to feel your tongue against hers and to know that you aren't just another drunken hallucination. The kisses lasts forever, and you feel each other everywhere. Her hands cups your face before trailing down your body and landing on your hips. Yours find the back of her neck and your fingers part through her hair, tugging at it when she presses against you in the right ways.

Eventually, Vi pulls away for air. She doesn't leave you in that alleyway, though. You feel her breath on your lips and her hands holding you close. Her embrace is tight and reassuring: she isn't letting you go this time. She isn't pushing you away, not after she has spent so long yearning to feel you again.

TAGLIST: @witzs, @bewareofmyglock, @ruelezz, @daughterofthemoons-stuff. want to be on my taglist? click here!

[moonlight-joy]

The Hunter's Heart

MASTERLIST

Fandom: Kraven the hunter

Summary: You’ve lived in Kraven’s mansion as a caretaker of his exotic animals for years. You’ve seen his cold, ruthless side, but you’ve also seen glimpses of the man beneath the hunter. When Kraven returns home from a particularly brutal hunt, wounded and vulnerable, he lets his guard down for the first time. Slowly, you start to break through his walls—and he finds himself falling for you, despite his instincts to remain distant.

Pairing: Reader/Sergei Kravinoff

The grand estate was eerily silent, the air thick with the scent of rain and damp earth. You stood in the dimly lit corridor, your fingers curled around the tray of medical supplies, listening to the rhythmic ticking of the old grandfather clock in the hall. He was home.

Kraven had returned.

You had seen the signs the moment you stepped into the foyer—muddy footprints leading toward the west wing, a discarded hunting knife still slick with blood. He had come back from another hunt, and by the looks of it, it had been brutal.

You hesitated before knocking on his door. In the years you had lived in his estate, caring for his exotic animals and tending to the house he barely inhabited, you had learned one unspoken rule—Kraven did not like to be tended to. He was a man who carried his wounds in silence, both the ones on his skin and the ones buried deep within.

But tonight, something felt different.

You pushed open the heavy door, stepping into the dimly lit room. The scent of iron and sweat lingered in the air. Kraven sat on the edge of his bed, stripped down to his trousers, his upper body riddled with fresh wounds. His breath was heavy, and his golden eyes flickered toward you in silent acknowledgment.

“You should have let me know you were back,” you said softly, setting the tray down on the table beside him.

“Didn’t think I needed to,” he murmured, wincing as he shifted.

“You never do,” you replied, carefully pouring antiseptic onto a cloth. “But I still come anyway.”

His lips twitched in something almost resembling a smirk, but it was fleeting. As you pressed the cloth against the deep gash along his side, he tensed, a sharp intake of breath breaking the silence.

“You need stitches,” you observed, glancing up at him.

“It’ll heal,” he muttered, but he didn’t stop you when you picked up the needle and thread.

The room settled into a strange sort of quiet as you worked. His skin was warm beneath your fingertips, muscles coiled with tension. You had tended to his wounds before, but tonight, there was something different in the air. His walls, usually so impenetrable, were cracked.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said after a while, his voice quieter than before.

“I know,” you murmured, focusing on each precise stitch. “But I want to.”

Something flickered in his eyes, something you had seen before but never dared to name. Vulnerability.

For years, you had known Kraven as a hunter, a man of sharp instincts and lethal efficiency. But beneath all that, you had glimpsed moments like these—moments where the weight of his existence pressed too heavily upon him, where he allowed himself to simply be.

“I shouldn’t let you get close,” he admitted, voice strained.

“You already have,” you replied, tying off the last stitch.

He exhaled deeply, his posture loosening, as though he had finally resigned himself to something inevitable. And for the first time in years, he didn’t send you away.

The days passed, and something between you and Kraven began to shift. He sought your presence more often—watching as you tended to his animals, standing by the doorway as you read in the library, lingering in the kitchen when you prepared meals. He was still a man of few words, but his actions spoke volumes.

Then one evening, as you sat by the fireplace with one of the great cats curled at your feet, he finally spoke.

“I never thanked you,” he said, his voice quiet but certain.

You looked up at him, studying the way the firelight softened the hard angles of his face.

“For what?”

“For staying.”

Your chest tightened.

“I didn’t think you wanted me to,” you admitted.

Kraven sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I didn’t. Not at first.” He met your gaze then, something raw in his expression. “But now, I can’t imagine this place without you.”

The fire crackled between you, filling the silence with warmth. The air felt heavy with the weight of unsaid things.

Slowly, cautiously, Kraven reached out. His fingers brushed against yours, hesitant but deliberate.

And you didn’t pull away.

But happiness, you learned, was fleeting.

The night the attack came, you had been preparing the animals for the evening, the air thick with the scent of rain. You never heard them enter, never sensed the danger until the sharp, unfamiliar voice echoed through the halls.

“Where is Kraven?”

Your breath caught. Armed men stood in the doorway, their expressions cold, their weapons gleaming under the lantern light.

And then it hit you. They weren’t here for Kraven.

They were here for you.

A sharp realization coursed through you—Kraven’s enemy had found his weakness.

You.

As they seized your arms, dragging you toward the estate’s entrance, panic rose in your chest. But before they could take another step, the air shifted—silent, deadly.

Kraven was there.

He moved like a shadow, like a storm unleashed, his blade flashing as he struck down the first intruder with ruthless precision. The others barely had time to react before he tore through them, his golden eyes burning with fury.

When the last body fell, silence returned, save for the ragged sound of his breathing. Then he turned to you, his expression wild, desperate.

“You’re hurt,” he rasped, his hands ghosting over your arms, checking for injuries.

“I’m fine,” you whispered, your heart still hammering.

His jaw clenched. “They came for you.”

And in that moment, something inside him broke. The walls he had spent years building shattered under the weight of what he had almost lost.

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against him, his breath warm against your hair.

“I won’t let them take you from me,” he murmured, voice raw with emotion.

You pressed a hand against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promised.

And for the first time, he believed you.

Please support my work with like and comment

[crystalshard]

"So how'd you find this place?" Tucker asked, leaning over Danny's shoulder as he brought the Specter Speeder to a halt. The machine was easier to drive now that Danny had shot up in height and bulk; not quite his father's size, but at seventeen he looked like a Hollywood action lead. (He'd been so smug the day Dash realized Danny was taller than him.)

Danny tapped his fingers on the console, refusing to look at his friends. "So, uh, you know how the dead reside in the Ghost Zone? Turns out that sometimes buildings end up here too, especially if they're important to history. Notre Dame before it burned down, the Kryptonian Science Council building, the Library of Alexandria—Ghost Writer claimed that one—and a bunch of others. And then there's this place. Some old office block, a former newspaper publisher or something." He gestured at the skyscraper, topped by a rusting sphere that leaned forever precarious towards the edge of the building.

Beside him, Sam hummed. "Old historic buildings. You're wondering what makes this one so special."

Danny huffed out an unneeded breath and nodded, white hair flickering in the corners of his vision. "Exactly."

Sam grinned fiercely even as Tucker groaned. "Boys," she said gleefully. "Get your flashlights locked and loaded."

~

The building was dimly lit, even with the eternal swirling green glow outside. If Danny hadn't known that this was the Ghost Zone, he'd have thought he was back on Earth; worn carpet gray with dust, old CRT monitors hulking on the desks, computers that wouldn't have a tenth of Tucker's PDA's processing power even if you combined them all together. No real change to the keyboards. An old cork noticeboard held faded messages and sun-burned photos, a whiteboard laying out news from decades ago. But nothing special.

Tucker poked around the old tech like an archaeologist who'd just found a thousand-year-old pile of trash, making noises that varied between impressed and horrified. Sam and Danny left him to it, Sam using her Human-in-the-Ghost-Zone powers of intangibility to wander through walls.

"Hey, this is fun!" Sam stuck her head through a table. "Do you think we can find a plate? I want to do the head-on-a-plate thing—whoa!"

Faceplanting on absolutely nothing, Sam fell through the ceiling. Shifting back to human, Danny followed, phasing through in a more controlled manner. It seemed attic space was attic space, even in office blocks; racks of broken computers even older than the ones downstairs, shelves groaning with filed and forgotten paperwork, cardboard boxes dotted here and there, a pile of cotton t-shirts all marked 'Daily Planet'.

"Sam?" he called.

Tucker poked his head through the floor, rising like a bad 50s Hammer Horror ghost. "Are you guys oka—wow, is that an old 80s overhead projector?"

"Danny!" Sam rocketed around the corner, holding up a mass of red and blue fabric. "Put this on!"

Danny shook the fabric out, letting the giant S-shaped symbol hang clear. "Uh, Sam?" His voice shook. "Do you know what this is?"

Sam huffed. "Of course. It's Superman's costume from before the heroes and villains all vanished. Come on, put it on, it's not like he's around to complain!"

"This is going to look stupid," Danny complained, but he took the costume and vanished behind a pile of boxes anyway. A couple of minutes of muttering and the occasional swearword later, and he emerged from his hiding place. "Here, Sam, hold these."

"Ewww, stinky pants." Sam wrinkled her nose, but also bundled his regular clothes under her arm like the good friend she was. Eyeing him up and down, all she had to say was, "Huh."

"Huh," Tucker agreed, his gaze equally as assessing.

"'Huh'?" Danny echoed, narrowing his eyes.

Tucker's voice was gentle, like a doctor giving bad news. "Uh, I don't know how to say this, bro, but you're a dead ringer for Superman."

"The costume fits perfectly," Sam agreed. "You should keep that for next Halloween."

"Ugh, he wears his underpants on the outside," Danny grumbled, but he didn't argue. It was safest not to, once Sam had made up her mind.

Tucker took a step back and bumped into the overhead projector.

Something clicked.

The projector hummed to life, the text blurry and uneven against the shelves but nonetheless readable.

Help us, said the handwritten words. Bring them home.

"Bring them home?" Sam echoed. "Bring who home?"

The projector might have had answers, but the ground crumbling under their feet had all three teenagers screaming as they fell. Danny's instinctive attempt to fly failed, and he tumbled to the ground along with the rest of them in a cloud of shattered concrete and broken ceiling panels.

Uh. There were people staring at them. Real, living people. And sunlight outside. This was a real office. With real, working 90s technology. Danny could smell the faint, sweet smell of ozone coming from the CRT monitors.

And a tall, well-built man in glasses was looking at Danny in something approaching horror.

Danny has no idea how Sam convinced Tucker and himself to go urban exploring in this creepy old office building that belonged to a local newspaper that went bankrupt sometime in the 90s and yet here they were, flashlights in hand, walking up the dusty unkept stairs to reach what used to be an office space on the top floor.

Danny also has no idea what happened after he and his friends opened the staircase door into the decrepit and run down office space and started to wander around, looking at old nicknacks and and abandoned technology left at office spaces, when suddenly he heard a cracking sound and all of them were suddenly falling as the old buildings floor gave way to the trios weight.

———

Jimmy Olsen doesn’t really register what happened. One moment he was talking to Clark about the front page worthy photo he took yesterday on Intergangs illegal weapon trade, and the next a horrible cracking sound was heard. Before Jimmy even registered what the cause of the noise was, Clark already had his arms around the photographer, tackling him out of the way of crumbling concrete and ceiling panels and,,, teenagers?

The entire Daily Planet Office were staring in shock and surprise at the three teenagers who were somehow not gravely injured from the fall, instead just groaning in annoyance like they accidentally rolled off of a bed mid sleep instead of falling 50 feet through the Daily Planet’s vaulted ceilings and onto the tiled floor.

[radsoldier]

you're a bad idea - Part 2

Pairing: Cairo Sweet x Dom!Fem!Reader

Summary: Y/N tries to avoid Cairo while the latter finds herself falling deeper.

Words: 1.1k

Warnings: cursing

a/n: hi guys, sorry for the eternal delay but a lot of shit happened and i'm not sure how i made it out alive but hey! i'm back! anyway, hope you enjoy :)

(poem's "did you think i was a city" by rupi kaur)

part 1

You were never one for gossip. You were simply not interested. Being the center of rumors for as long as you could remember was no fun at all so when all the stories about Cairo hit your ears you were annoyed. You didn’t really care if it was true or not, it was none of your business. But you knew she was bad news and that’s why you chose to let things cool off and tried your best to ignore her. 

You moved here to avoid drama, to start fresh or however your old therapist would like to call it. You knew you were just running away from it all. 

_______________________________________________________________________________ 

A week later, soft rain was pouring as you got off your bike, some students scrambling to get to class before getting soaked. 

You opted for lighting up a cigarette under the small roof right at the entrance. You were already late, might as well enjoy the little time you had outside of the college halls.  

Wishing you had stopped for some coffee, you started walking towards the library, not feeling like enduring another creative writing lecture. It felt like the perfect excuse to keep avoiding Cairo. And you also had to rehearse your piece for the poetry reading later today. 

“Fuck me” you thought. 

________________________________________________________________________________ 

Cairo was annoyed. No, she was outraged. You were ignoring her yet she couldn’t keep her thoughts from drifting to you. It was torture, you were pestering her mind like she had no control over it. She hated it. She hated how you seemed unfazed every time you caught her staring while she had to hold her breath as if even the smallest movement would make you disappear. She had replayed your interaction over and over in her head getting little to no answer as to why you could go from hot to cold just like that. It made no sense to her. 

That’s why when your professor asked for someone to deliver some notes on your most recent work, she volunteered to be the one doing it. 

He told her where to find you, given that he knew about your poetry reading and she began to gather all her things and started walking toward the auditorium. 

She hesitated at the slightly open door, the dim light making her unsure but the sound of your voice coming from the inside was enough to shake her doubts and stride into the room. 

“Did you think I was a city 

big enough for a weekend getaway.” you paused. 

“I am the town surrounding it 

the one you’ve never heard of 

but always pass through.” 

“There are no neon lights here 

no skyscrapers or statues 

but there is thunder 

for I make bridges tremble. 

I am not street meat, I am homemade jam 

thick enough to cut the sweetest 

thing your lips will touch.” you glanced around the room, letting the words sink in. 

“I am not police sirens 

I am the crackle of a fireplace. 

I’d burn you and you still 

couldn't take your eyes off me 

cause I’d look so beautiful doing it 

you'd blush.” Cairo was taken aback by the emotion in your voice. 

“I am not a hotel room I am home 

I am not the whiskey you want 

I am the water you need. 

Don’t come here with expectations 

and try to make a vacation out of me.” 

you finished as the few people in the room stood up, clapping. 

“You never cease to amaze me, Y/N” a young professor started. “Can’t wait to read your small piece for your assignment” he smiled like you were the only one in the room. 

Cairo watched as you exchanged pleasantries with a few peers, looking relieved when someone else took the spotlight. And then you saw her. Doe-eyed and slightly parted lips, she looked like she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t. 

“What are you doing here, Sweet?” you spat.  

She tried to hide her disappointment at your cold demeanor but you could see the small changes in her face even if it was just for a split second. 

“Professor Brooks wanted me to give this to you” she said, gesturing towards the folder she held out. “You know, since tomorrow is the deadline and he left some corrections and notes for you” 

“Fuck” you sighed. 

Only then did she look at you, a teasing glint in her eyes, the ghost of a smile over her full lips. You took the folder from her, your hands barely touching. The moment felt charged, none of you ready to break the eye contact. It was almost like both of you were fighting to see which one would cave in first. 

You cleared your throat. 

“Thank you” 

She nodded, not saying a word before leaving the room as you stood there, still reeling from the tingling sensation you felt when your hands touched. 

‘Did she feel it too?’ you thought. 

________________________________________________________________________________ 

Cairo laid awake well past midnight. Her laptop long forgotten on the side of her bed, a cigarette on her lips. Her thoughts kept drifting towards a certain someone. 

You were right: you had burned her, yet she couldn’t take her eyes off you. 

Your eyes haunted her, that piercing stare that made her feel like she couldn’t hide from you even as you were a complete mystery to her. It was unnerving. 

She remembered how your hands moved during your reading. The same hands that held her waist and throat just a week ago. The very same hands she couldn’t stop dreaming about, doing unholy things to her. 

She kept thinking about your low, rough voice and how good it would sound moaning her name. 

God, she needed to get laid. 

It had been a while since she felt this kind of obsession over someone. Last time didn’t end well. It kind of scared her, in retrospective, the lengths she was willing to go in the past. But this time it was different, she could feel it. Or maybe it was just a stupid white lie she told herself so she could avoid the guilt that was slowly eating her up. 

That night Cairo dreamt about you. 

[karmanun]

OTP Questionaire

1. Who pulls the other closer while sleeping?

Jinx. She’s very touchy-feely and wants to be as close to Lux as possible. In her more vulnerable moments, it’s to reassure herself she’s still there.

2. How do they wake up next to each other?

Jinx is either spread-eagled or curled around Lux like a baby monkey and she definitely drools. Lux doesn’t move much in her sleep unless she had a bad dream and yet she always manages to have the worst case of bed head

3. What movie do they watch when they both had a bad day and want to turn their brains off for a little while?

Something dumb with a lot of explosions and B-list monsters, like a silver-age Godzilla sequel

4. Who picks something up, says a pun with the object and then laughs like it’s the funniest thing they’ve ever heard?

Lux easily. I can totally picture her making dinner, holding up a bean, then telling Jinx it’s them because they’re lesbeans. She’s such a huge dork and it never fails to make Jinx smile

5. How do they hype one another up?

Jinx enjoys giving Lux things, so she tells her she has a surprise for her and refuses to elaborate until Lux is practically bursting out of her skin with anticipation. Jinx doesn’t like surprises as much so Lux just talks about every little detail and exaggerates as much as she can because the bigger, the better in her partner’s mind.

6. When one of them gets a new outfit, how does the other react?

Jinx gets uncharacteristically shy. She’ll blush furiously and fumble her words as she tells Lux how pretty she is. Lux enjoys taking Jinx shopping and buying her new clothes, but even when she sees them beforehand they never fail to make her blush and get her horny

7. Who tries to playfully scare the other person and who always knows where the other person is?

Jinx can never resist pulling pranks like this on Lux when she’s absorbed in a book or has been working too long. Lux tries to get her back but because of Jinx’s enhanced Shimmer-hearing and lifetime of looking over her shoulder Lux is never quite able to sneak up on her, but she pretends to be surprised anyway

8. When they go to the grocery shop, what is one section they like to mess around in?

Oh, they’ll totally just run around and ride shopping carts up and down all the aisles (they are banned from several stores because of this) but specifically Jinx will deliberately loiter in the candy aisle with armfuls of candy until Lux has to playfully (but sometimes unironically) drag her out.

9. When their partner has a bad day, what is something the other picks up to try and make their day better?

Lux will order Jinx’s favorite dish from Jericho’s! Jinx will rent a cheesy movie or take her to the library

10. Who runs up and hugs their partner while the other catches them?

Smol gremlin bean Jinx is always childishly excited to see her partner and will straight-up jump on her - good thing Lux is so tall and strong and can carry her around

11. What song reminds them of each other?

Rebel Rebel by David Bowie and P.U.N.K Girl by Heavenly never fail to remind Lux of her little wildling Jinx. Jinx doesn’t normally listen to love songs but I Wanna Be Yours by Arctic Monkeys is her special song for her flashlight

12. Who presses their nose against their partner’s cheek before kissing them?

They both do! And they touch foreheads, and nuzzle their noses into each other’s necks and each other’s hair, and give each other butterfly kisses, and Lux will trace Jinx’s tattoos… they have so many little gestures of affection and can never get enough of each other

13. What small quirks do they love about each other?

Jinx makes faces (like scrunching up her nose) without realizing when she’s deep in concentration, which Lux could stare at all day. Lux trips over her words when she gets excited and has an ugly laugh, both of which Jinx could listen to all day. Honestly I could go on and on about this one, they love everything about each other.

14. Who accidentally snorts when they laugh and that makes both of them laugh harder?

Lux! Her laugh is one of the few unrefined things about her and that’s why it’s one of Jinx’s favorite things about her

15. What are some things they do for each other because they know the other hates it?

Lux talks to strangers (except when it’s a confrontation, Jinx is absolutely the “excuse me she asked for no pickles” girlfriend) and does the laundry - Jinx would rather (and does) live off the dirty clothes on her floor than do a load of laundry. Lux is also the better cook between them but it can be a chore for her, especially after she’s had a long day, so Jinx relishes every opportunity to make dinner for her sunshine

[julieverne]

Cailin watches Jane.

Cailin is no detective; she's not even a doctor. But the situation at home--a babysitter for a full adult.

What happened with Maura really did a number on Hope, Cailin knows that intellectually, but she still resents Hope for the ever-tightening grip Hope had on her. She's so afraid to lose another daughter, even though she got the last one back. Has both of them now, because of Maura's kidney. Cailin touches her stomach, over the scar. Maura is part of her now, but they've never been further apart.

Maura hadn't exactly offered. Cailin had ignored the social cues that Maura exhibited; anxiety, nervousness. She hadn't ignored the way Jane's hand had touched Maura's lower back to steady her, to offer support.

She's not here because of the babysitter--well, not just because of the babysitter. She's nineteen, she can take care of herself. She rolls her eyes, even though she's alone. She's here because she wants to know for sure whether Jane is her sister in law or just a really hot woman obsessed with her sister.

Cailin gets it. Maura has the Martin genes; she's gorgeous. Cailin isn't sure she wouldn't be obsessed with Maura if she didn't know they were related. Well, she is, but not the way Jane is obsessed with her. Cailin wants to know more about her sister; Jane wants to eat Maura with her eyes.

She settles back on the bed, tucking one arm under her head. Jane had been here when she got home from the library. Maura hadn't called the police when she hadn't checked in this time. Cailin feels kind of bad about that; she probably should have texted last time too. She knows Maura's job is to pick apart the last moments of women who stayed late at libraries or even stayed home. It's kind of sweet to see that Maura worries about her. Something familial. Cailin hadn't expected how anxious Maura was. Jane had explained it was because Maura wanted Cailin to like her, but that seemed silly because Cailin already did. She'd grown up all over most continents in the kind of places that documentaries got made; she'd learned pretty early to judge people for their intentions. The only vibe she got off Maura was uptight anxiety, and as Jane had said, a deep and abiding need to be liked.

Cailin hadn't done herself any favours there. She'd believed she was dying, and this woman Maura had come in. The daughter Hope had wanted, the daughter Hope had grieved for. She was waiting to take Cailin's place when she passed.

But she hadn't been. She'd offered her kidney; anonymously, of course, but Cailin had known. God, how selfless. Cailin had been a right bitch to get back then, and Maura had offered anyway. Maura really was lovely.

But when Maura was mad, Cailin was reminded that Maura had Doyle blood in her veins too. That their mother loved a mobster and Maura was an unknown quantity.

There was a soft knock on the door.

"it's your house," Cailin says. "Come in."

It wasn't Maura after all. It was Jane. She looks tired and is still in her detective pants with the gun and badge and phone on the belt. They're chunky and make her look even slighter than she already was. It does something to Cailin, Jane being a detective. She wonders if it is genetic.

Jane's also wearing a tank top. It's white and clings to her in a way that makes Cailin bite her lip and look away quickly.

"Thanks for having the talk with Maura."

"I know where babies come from, Jane."

Jane looks startled, then chuckles. She sits on the edge of Cailin's bed and yawns. Cailin sits up beside her.

"I mean the talk about houseguest behaviour. You might not have noticed but she likes certain things a certain way."

"And me being here is upsetting her. I can go home. I just wanted to..." Cailin looks down at her hands. She never fidgeted but Maura did. Must be a Doyle thing. Cailin had seen the way Jane had looked completely devastated in the papers. They had to be lovers. "I just wanted to get to know her. Have a sleepover, I guess, but she's working and I'm studying and we're both adults, even if Hope doesn't think I am."

"Maura says the something vortex doesn't develop until twenty six."

"Cortex," Cailin corrects her. "She's right, but legally I can sign a lease or go to war."

"I would have thought you'd seen enough wars." Jane's voice was low and gentle. She only used that voice for Maura and TJ, who adored her, and sometimes Cailin. Once for Hope. Cailin looks up at Jane. Her smile is so soft, her eyes kind and empathetic. Cailin remembers Jane had dated a soldier and seen another one blown up in front of her.

"Do you ever really feel like the world is an okay place to live in? I know you see the worst of what people do to each other."

Jane sighs and rubs her face. She yawns again.

"You're a good thing in this world. Maura is a good thing in this world. If what I do can protect either one of you, I'll bare-knuckle fight any gangster or deadbeat in Boston."

"Not the Doyles though."

Jane swallows and looks away. "Not the Doyles. They...it's complicated. You and Hope are being watched."

Cailin inhales sharply; she somehow hadn't expected that.

"Look, it's not my place to tell you...but Maura autopsied her half brother. Before she knew who he was, of course. And she had to recuse herself--it was a whole thing. But if you think she's anxious or overbearing or overreacting, I think you should know that she very much doesn't want to have to cut you up too."

Christ. No wonder she'd been so worried. Cailin feels bad now, about making Maura worry. No wonder she'd given up a kidney. Christ. Her own brother. What would that have made him to Cailin? A quarter brother? Like a quarter horse?

Jane watches silently. "That's just scratching the surface of what Maura has in her brain when she looks at you. She's never felt wanted, and when you and Hope didn't want her, I think it broke everything she'd been hoping for. She'd been so scared to even reach out. She's a bad liar, I don't know if you noticed. She just didn't spell out the connection. She wants..." Jane trails off and closes her eyes. "She wants so badly to be loved that she doesn't know how to be loved. She doesn't believe she deserves it."

That's surprisingly deep from casual Detective Jane Rizzoli.

"She was scared of being rejected, that Hope wouldn't want her. She'd met Paddy already by then."

Jane says the name of Boston's biggest crime boss like she likes him, like she hasn't shot him at least once. She'd said Cailin was being watched but she didn't sound concerned. Maybe Cailin shouldn't be either. Jane has a moral compass and she's been a good judge of character so far.

"She was adopted. I mean, of course you know that. But I think she was always scared her parents didn't love her, that they'd made the wrong choice. She was always scared that they'd want to return her. Of course, there was no way they could have returned her, and they love her in their own weird little ways. Constance saved her life. Usually she's not very demonstrative, but she showed Maura how much she has always cared for her. But before then her love for Maura was stiff and formal--she's British. You know what they're like. So seeing you with Hope was something she'd always wanted, something she knew she could never have and she gave you a kidney anyway. So if she says to text her, can you just text her, please?"

"That's a long story for a short message. I'll text her, okay? I didn't know..."

"That's why I told you." Jane's smile is small but she's so pretty that Cailin looks away, suddenly aware that Jane and her are on a bed. She blushes, and Jane chuckles.

"She's not trying to take Hope from you," Jane says gently. Cailin rolls her eyes.

"Somedays I wish she would. She's too much. If Maura can take half, she'd be doing me a favour."

"You've met my Ma, your concept of too much is underwhelming."

"Angela's nice," Cailin protests but not too harshly; she knows what Jane means. The humiliation of having a mother who cares too much. Cailin has always taken it for granted and resented it, but she sees now that Maura can take some of the slack. Hope is too much for one daughter and if Maura can share her house then the least Cailin can do is share her overbearing, anxious mother. They can anxiety at each other. Leave Cailin out of it.

"Ma needs someone to mother, and Maura never got much mothering. They'd both drive me crazy if they didn't have each other." It's so close to Cailin's own thoughts that she laughs. She looks over at Jane. God, those cheekbones, those deep, soulful eyes, the shape of her in that tank top.

"Are you dating?"

Jane looks at her in shock.

"You're, like, half my age."

Cailin groans and buries her head in her hands. She hadn't been asking like that but with the way she was looking at Jane she can't blame her for misinterpreting her.

"I mean, are you guys dating? Each other."

"Ma and me? Not my type." Jane's grin is cheeky.

Cailin knows Jane is being deliberately obtuse. There had been many nights Cailin and Hope had wondered aloud about their relationship. Jane was always there. She was here now.

Cailin meets Jane's eyes with a glare. Jane slumps.

"You'd better ask her," Jane says so quietly that it almost breaks Cailin's heart. It's not a no, but it's as close to an answer as she'll get.

"I'd better go. Sorry to lay all of that on you, I just want to explain. She likes you--she doesn't want to lose you. Not now she's found you."

Poor Jane. Knowing she's single should lift Cailin's heart but she's not wrong; Jane is twice her age, and even though she's gorgeous and funny and kind, dating her would feel wrong because she knows Jane is Maura's. Maura is Hope's, but she's Angela's too, and Paddy's and this Constance's--but most of all Maura is Jane's.

"I like her too. I wish she wouldn't worry so much about that. I wouldn't have come here if I didn't want to spend time with her. She's smart and successful and she's so kind. She's nice, too, if a little uptight at times."

"When you go missing." Jane chides her with no ire. She puts her hands on her knees and yawns again. "I'm going to bed."

"About that. Where do you sleep?"

"The green room," Jane says smoothly, but Cailin has heard Jane's door creep open late at night, Jane's uneven footfalls head down the hall and not come back. Jane gets to her feet and stretches and god there's so much of her, she's so tall, her shirt rides up over her flat stomach and toned abs and Cailin can feel the blush staining her cheeks. Jane tucks her shirt back in.

"Goodnight," Jane says, and then she's gone. Not to the green room, but down the hall towards Maura's bedroom.

Cailin's no detective, but she knows love when she sees it.

+++

In the morning Cailin wakes early to make the coffee. An apology, of sorts. She makes sure the counter is wiped down and the coffee machine is clean when she's finished and packs the dishwasher as Maura and Jane blearily come into the kitchen.

"Keep her," Jane mumbles at Maura, tilting her head at Cailin. Maura nods and yawns and takes the coffee thankfully.

"I just might," Maura says once she's sipped her coffee. "Thank you."

"I'm sorry. I didn't realise how much of your routine I was throwing off."

Maura nods. "And I'm sorry if I've made you feel unwelcome. It's these long hours--I have so little time at home. I've wanted to spend time with you."

Cailin's heart warms her.

"I want to spend time with you too," Cailin says softly, and Maura's eyes crinkle as she smiles--not uncertainly, the way she smiles at Hope and Cailin, but relaxed and honestly, the way she smiles at Angela and Frankie.

Jane's hand is on Maura's hip, squeezing softly, then sliding up Maura's back. Maura leans into Jane like it's breathing, like it's easy and natural and something they do every day. Jane welcomes her, bracing her weight and pulling her closer, hand running over Maura's side, then resting on her hip again. Jane sips her coffee and sighs.

Whatever they are, Cailin doesn't know but she won't ask again, because they're comfortable enough to be themselves with each other around her and Cailin had never been gifted anything so precious.

Jane presses a gentle kiss to Maura's temple and Maura's eyes close. Cailin's not jealous; she's glad. From what Jane said last night, Maura had a tough start. Jane had said Maura didn't know how to be loved, but it sure looked like she did when Jane held her like that.

[theinheriteddutchess]

Flattery will get you anywhere😂

I started of intending to have Lee be darker, but really along the way, they flowed so nice together that I realized that even if he's a selfish man, he intends to be a good husband and I believe he softened when they started interacting.

Oh my god yes! I really picture her living in her own world dancing around the reality😭 I love what you said here! And he watches her so much now, building up over the years, no one else seems to notice this, they just judge. But he sees that vulnerability and the qualities she does have.

I think I wanted to make him even older but he's probably about 9 years older? He wasn't seeing her like a possible match right away because she was a teenager. He just felt some sympathy for her and noticed that she was actually well behaved and sweet. And then after a few years started to see her differently. He was early twenties when he helped her. Not as bitter and shady as he is when our story starts. He's just the kind sheriff that treats her nicer than the others. Also he's not pretending to be nicer, she brings that out in him. He just thinks people are too mean to her.

Now after, now she's in her 20's he's acting very nice...👀 Now he wants to pursue her😂 before their interactions were short and spontaneous. Now he's searching her out.

I definitely tried to make it seem that while she's desperately trying to go along with people, they are rejecting her for how she is. She can't help it, but they are sure to let her know she simply doesn't fit in.

And I love reactions like this because as someone often feeling like I was also not really fitting in, that I was different, it's so nice to hear that people read this and get it! 💕

She reads mostly romance, she's still very sheltered, so the smut is really vague and non-descriptive 🤭

But Lee in that library🥴 he probably never set foot in it before 😂 he's really trying to get in her spaces.

Okay so to answer your question, he's helped her when she was about 16 and then kept an eye out for her because he knows she's struggling and people are being mean. They ran into each other off course because it's a close community, but it's all fleeting and shallow meetings? So she did grow up with him but he was not constantly involved and he definitely didn't see her this way until a few years after. It started with him thinking she's just a good girl and then that she would make a good partner and then it changed in that she would make a good partner for him. And as soon as that thought sneaked in, that's when he really started looking at her differently. And he then was basically waiting for the right time to pursue her.

The chairs... Wel i noticed I can get really upset about changes that make no sense sometimes so I just changed certain examples but I can relate to that feeling. That chair was something she was used to, safe and now what was taken from her and she couldn't even really express her feelings because she knows they're "not normal" so whenever she struggles and tries to hide, well it doesn't really work. And those women are so brutal. I love everyone had the same reaction to these mean girls. It's so so relatable.

I just want to say that she feels bad for her parents but get parents do nothing but love and accept her, don't worry. But Lee is the first person to truly be nice and compliment her outside her parents😭😭

I really loved how he was trying to hint at her being the one to cure his loneliness and it flew right over her head. She's so sweet, but Lee needs to be very clear with her. I love those awkward moments where he's left unsuccessful lol.

Anyway you got me ranting as well! Because I love this story so much. And I really loved your enthusiasm, so thank you so much for reading and reblogging and the excitement because it means so much!💕

Dream Of A Girl

Part 1

Summary: The sheriff had his eyes on you for a while, the town's joke of an Omega. You never thought you'd find love, but around him you just can't help acting on your inner instincts.

Pairing: Lee Bodecker x reader

Word count: 3899

Warnings: Lee, small town gossip and bullying, neurodivergent reader, slurs\insult of neurodivergent back in the day, no cats🥺, turns slightly non-con at the end, Alpha\Omega

Notes: absolutely loved writing this, got really into it, I hope you'll enjoy it, and make sure to drop me a comment, I would love to hear what you think!💕

Series masterlist

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

He was watching you again. Inside his car, on his lunch break, slurping from his milkshake as his eyes never left your form. Your head was turned down, watching the pavement as you moved, yet you seemed to be aware where everyone else was because you never bumped into anyone. He noticed that about you. How your body moved almost fluently away from others. You didn't like to be touched. You flinched if someone did.

You were alone a lot. Listening to the noises around you, or he would sometimes hear you murmur to yourself. Sometimes you made strange noises if you were excited. He knew what they said about you.

They thought you were weird.

He didn't mind. Everyone talked about him too. Granted, he was a bit shady sometimes, with his secret businesses here and there, but it was something he had in common with you. Both of you fell outside of what was appropriate.

Of course, he was the sheriff, so no one dared to say it to his face. But they did to you. He had watched you for years. With your pretty hair, and that body…

He shuffled in his seat uncomfortably. You always had an effect on him.

He loved your eyes, although you barely look up to him. You do that. You glanced past people, or talked with your face turned a different way. Some people looked at you funny when you did.

But he knows why. Your parents told him once. When you got dared into doing something naughty. You didn't like it, but told him you had said you would do it before they told you what you were supposed to do. And you needed to keep your promises.

He talked to you sternly about how wrong it was of you, and you sat there with tears in your eyes. Head down. Like you had committed the worst crime. You were a good girl. Your parents told him that. It wasn't your fault. It was those kids. They thought it was funny. School talked to them. They left you alone. But you didn't make many friends.

Too different, too quiet, or too loud. You didn't say the right things, you didn't like the right things. You were too honest.

He liked that about you. He didn't need to wonder what you thought. You weren't two faced like all the other bitches. Who smiled at him in hope for favors, or in hope he would turn his eyes away from what they were doing. You were, you.

When you were alone, or thought you were anyway, your shoulders relaxed and he could sometimes see you smiling. Most times you would if you spotted an animal. Talking to it, like it was your friend. And you were good with kids. Really good. They flocked to you and you easily handled them. You didn't like sudden noises, and you were very clear about that, and they listened to you.

That's something people did like about you, they had no problem ditching their kids on you. You were a natural.

It was one of the things he noticed first about you. That drew him towards you. Your natural motherly instincts. He knew you would do excellent with your own. And the idea of you, one or 2 kids by the hand, belly swollen with another, made him rock hard each time.

God, you would be so pretty. He imagined your children; babies with brown hair, maybe a cleft in their chin, like his. The family Bodecker. You, all soft and sweet smelling. A ring on your finger. It made him come so swiftly once he touched himself.

He was happy no one snatched you up. They all couldn't look past your different behavior and see the gem underneath. They were blind to your qualities. What fools. But it worked in his favor though. Such a good, sweet girl. All ripe for the picking.

You were growing and seemed to not be aware of him. That was okay, he was fine with letting you have this time for yourself. Just out of college, young women needed to find their own way. He didn't want you to feel like you missed out on everything once he married you. That led some housewives to turn a little crazy, he saw it all the time, married at 18 or even 16 at times, high school lovers, and by the time baby number 2 was on the way, they looked worn out and disappointed in life.

Not you though. You finished school, you had a nice job, good parents. He gave you that time. He never was far away though. Watching you. Making sure you stayed out of trouble. Or trouble didn't find you. There weren't many boys to approach you, but those with eyes did, those who were too eager to be bothered with your quirkiness. He made sure to scare them off. He didn't need the competition.

He had a good job, a job that gave him power over this town, a nice house. He could afford a family. When the time came, he could convince your parents he was a good match. But most important was he needed to convince you.

📖

You walked into the library to return your books and pick up new ones. You came here at least once a week, often twice, as you loved reading. It was the time that you could disappear in a story and live a life you were never going to get. Experiencing all the emotions and adventures safely from your own home. Romance, and travels, fighting dragons or being a ruling Queen. In real life you liked things simple, but in your head you were free to do whatever you wanted. In your head people liked you. You belonged.

Lately you got very into fairytales again. Consuming every book you could find, rereading classics, daydreaming about the magic that was both wonderful and scary. The Alpha King, and Omega and the false mate, Sleeping Beta…they were all lovely stories and you couldn't get enough. You walked through the rows upon rows of books, feeling calm and like you were amongst friends. Here you were safe. Here you were liked.

Your hands occasionally picked up a book and read the cover, lost in thought. You didn't even notice the presence next to you, until a voice shook you out of your thoughts.

“Excuse me.”

You froze and looked up. Sheriff Bodecker looked down at you.

“Oh”, you said, stepping away.

He chuckled and shook his head. “I didn't mean for you to leave. I just wanted to grab this book.”

You watched him as he picked up a faded green book. He flipped through the pages. You hadn't expected him to read. You scolded yourself after the thought. You didn't know him. It's just that…he didn't seem the type. You heard stories about him. They said he liked the booze and he loved the ladies who gave it away for free. He had always been pleasant if you ever saw him, devoted to his work, but gossip still followed him.

Gossip was tricky, though. For years rumors went around that you were stupid. That you were rude. That you were mentally challenged. They didn't understand you. And you honestly often didn't understand them. Luckily your parents loved you and stood up for you. They might not always understand but they didn't punish you the way other parents would have. They didn't make you feel bad for not always looking them in the face. Or for being blunt and too honest. How your head was in the clouds at times. Or how people overwhelmed you sometimes. But other people, they didn't get it. And they didn't like what they didn't get.

You watched everyone around you making friends and falling in love. Easily getting through events you struggled with. They got married, and started a family. It was difficult at times, to realize you wouldn't have that, but eventually you accepted it. You were comfortable with your life. You had your family, and one or two acquaintances, and you were okay. It was nice being alone. Quiet. When you were alone, no one expected something of you.

You watched out of the corner of your eye how he assessed the book, before he looked at you again. “Do you know if it's any good?”

You glanced at the title like you had to think about it. “It's a little boring. But I don't know what you're looking for.”

“Just a little something to entertain me in the evenings. I was never much of a reader, but I thought why not read a book once in a while instead of always putting the telly on, ya know?”

You nodded. “What genre are you interested in? Action? Or mystery.”

“Romance.”

You blinked. “Romance,” you quietly repeated. You're eyes gliding past the titles of books and thinking to yourself.

“I don't mind it being a little…naughty, might motivate me even more to be honest,” he chuckled.

Your cheeks heated, but you tried not to show any signs of your discomfort. A heated romance. Of course you could list a few, but it felt awkward sharing that with him. You hummed softly under your breath, more out of nerves than anything, but you grabbed a book eventually. “A little naughty, and definitely romance,” you told him.

He hummed and turned the book in his hands. “Thank you, I didn't know where to start.”

“The librarians are happy to help if you can't find anything.”

“Yes, I'm sure they are, but you seem like you know more about this stuff.”

Maybe you did. Maybe it was easier to approach a visitor than the strict ladies running this place? You continued your search, but he did not leave.

“Don't you have enough books?”

You frowned. How could anyone have enough books? And why was he criticizing you? “I like reading.”

He laughed. “ No, I can see that, but do you really read all these in a week?”

“No. Sometimes I read them in a few days.”

“Oh, really. Okay. That's impressive. I really need to catch up if I were to compete with you.”

“It's not a competition. You can read how you want.”

“Oh I know, I was just joking.”

It wasn't a very good joke in that case. “Oh.” You thought, then replied. “Do you need anything more?”

There was silence, then he answered awkwardly. “No, you helped enough.”

You nodded.

He said your name quietly and when he didn't continue, you looked to the side at him. Your eyes locked and you blinked before you looked away.

“Tell your parents hello from me, will you?”

You nodded. You would, if you remembered.

He walked away and you were left feeling a little weird about the whole conversation. Sheriff Bodecker, reading a romantic book. It seemed a little silly. But maybe he was a little lonely. He was unmarried and didn't seem to be in a hurry to get settled.

He asked for something a little naughty, though. If he wanted anything naughty he should've gone to a different section of the library. They had a few of those, although most people didn't dare to pick them up and give the ladies anything to gossip about. Sheriff Bodecker, with a naughty book. You smiled to yourself. It would be the talk of town.

🤎

You wrapped your scarf around your neck, it was a little chilly today. Maybe you were just tired. It had been a long day at work today, your hands were cramped from all the typing, and your colleagues had left you feeling a little upset. Normally you tried to not listen to their chatter and ignore if they were ever negative about you. But today…they had stood a little nearer and you had more trouble filtering their voices.

They had talked about Marcie, who had found herself a beau. If only it had stayed about Marcie, it would have been fine. But they had looked over at you and pretended to lower their voices.

“Spinster”, they had used. They giggled slightly during it. You pretended not to see them staring at you. Or how they didn't care if you heard it.

“She’s never going to find anyone, I mean did you hear her talk about the different office chairs to mr. Johnson? One would think she had to sit on spikes.

You bit your lip. You did not want to cry in front of them. They had changed the chairs two days ago, the old ones too worn out to be pleasant. But you had liked them. You were used to them. And it felt like an old friend had been ripped away from you. So you had talked to your boss if he could make an exception, if you could keep yours, and store the new one. But of course he hadn’t wanted to. And you admittedly got a little upset. Word got out, or maybe they heard you. You had cried on the toilet, but tried very hard to gather yourself and continue like nothing was wrong. It didn’t matter. They knew. And they thought you were crazy.

And now they kept bringing other things up in their conversations. Like they enjoyed your discomfort.

You did your job well, however, so you were pretty sure if you laid low for a while, mr. Johnson wouldn’t fire you. You always made sure to finish all your work, even if you had to stay longer. Got the job done.

But now, at the end of the work day, you felt exhausted. It was tiresome keeping up pretense. The constant noise of the workplace around you. A short break to try and relax and be alone wasn't enough. You knew maybe things would be easier if you sat with them and told them things you heard, so they could gossip about someone else for once. But you didn’t like them. And they were too much. You needed your break to rest before getting back to work. You often sat outside on a bench alone, or took a walk.

You took a deep breath. Tonight you were going to read your new book, and ask your daddy if he wanted to play the piano. He didn’t do it as often as he used to, but you always enjoyed his music. He would do it for you, you knew it.

As a single Omega, you still lived with your parents. It was common to do so. You couldn’t live alone with your designation and it didn’t seem like you would ever move out and get your own home to look after. Your parents were disappointed, no doubt, but they always assured you they loved you, and that it would be nice in their old day to spend it with the three of you. You wondered if they had a different child than you, if they had wanted to get another. Someone easier to handle.

You walked past the shops, occasionally looking through the windows. You liked window shopping. Seeing all the new things on display, even if you didn’t buy much. You didn’t need it. But sometimes you saw something pretty and pondered if you should get it. You should buy a new dress. Most of the ones you had were getting a little old. But they were so comfortable and new dresses felt a little tight and rough. Perhaps your mother would buy some fabric and sew one for you. She knew your tastes.

A car honked next to you and you startled. When you looked around with a beating heart you noticed the car of the sheriff. He had rolled down his window and called out to you.

“Sorry, little lady, didn’t mean to scare you. I saw you walking and thought maybe you wanted a ride home?”

You blinked. A ride with the sheriff. You had never done that. “I’m fine walking.” You replied and tried to smile.

“You just look tired, is all. And it is going to rain soon.”

Was it? You didn’t feel much like getting wet. Still, this was weird. Different. What were you even going to say to him?

He opened the door from the inside though, clearly expecting you to get in, and you didn’t want to be rude. He meant well.

You clambered in, fixed your dress and your hair.

“Long day?” he mentioned. “You look tired.”

“Yes.” you answered.

“I get that, I’ve been busy since 5 this morning myself.” he sighed. “Got a call in for a robbery. Those damn Callen boys always stealin’ them chickens from the Bookers farm. Not exactly the most exciting job.”

You blinked, thought of how to reply. “Did you get them back?”

He chuckled. “Well some of ‘em. They ate at least two, but I arranged for them to work a few weeks at the place to pay them back. And I'll make damn sure they're going to show up and do the work.”

You nodded. The Bookers were cheapskates, but a theft was a theft, and you were sure they enjoyed the free labor. Those chickens couldn't be worth that much.

“You look nice today,” he mentioned suddenly.

You looked down at your dress. A little frayed around the edges. Your hair must've been less than proper because you tended to play with it if you were in thought. Maybe he was being nice. “Eh, thank you,” you mumbled.

He hummed. “That dress is a nice color.”

“Blue is my favorite,” you blurted out. You wore red today, you didn’t know why you said it.

He chuckled. “Is that right? Well I love blue.”

Your eyes looked anywhere but him, at the passing buildings and bushes. What else were you going to say? It was polite to talk back, your mother had told you. Ask about something!

“Ehm, this is a nice car,”

He turned to look at you again, not keeping his eyes on the road and you swallowed. “Well, it comes with the job, but it does its work.”

You nodded.

“Do you know how to drive?”

“Oh no. No, no. I do not.”

“I could teach you.” he offered, and your heart rate increased.

“No!...no. I don't think I can, I get nervous.”

“Well everyone gets nervous the first time, but you’ll learn soon enough, you’re a clever girl.”

You blinked at him. No one had ever called you clever before. You weren’t stupid, you werent, but no one thought you were particularly bright. “I get nervous.” you told him firmly.

He hummed “Well alright, If you change your mind, I'm more than willing.

“I don't mind walking.” you told him.

“Yeah, I see you walking around. You like looking at things don’t you?”

You looked down, ashamed, but his finger lifted your chin. You startled at the contact.

“Wasn't mocking you. I just see you sometimes. Gotta keep an eye on the crowd to make sure nothing happens, part of the job, I can’t help it. So I see you walking and befriending the neighbors cats.”

“Oh.” You didn't know what to think of this. Being watched. You always felt like you were. “I like cats.”

“I like them too. They’re a little feisty. You got one at home?”

You shook your head. “No, my parents don’t want one.”

“I was thinking about getting one. Might be nice to come home to something, you know? House is all empty.”

You understood. You’re parents rules, however, nothing you could do about it.

He sighed “ Yeah…. gets real lonely for a man by himself. You got someone waiting on ya?”

“Eh no. No, no one.” You felt nervous. You knew it was common for a girl your age to settle, or have settled already. It was embarrassing to admit.You had never even kissed before.The thought of it made you anxious though, How to even do that with a tongue, and how to move? It seemed mighty complicated.

“Me neither,” he admitted. “It’s a hard job, and not everyone can deal with being the wife of a sheriff. I’d treat her right, though. Yessir. I’d be a good husband. For the right woman. I always wanted that. A house, a wife, some kids. A nice meal when I get home…”

You hummed, like he had done before.

"You can cook?”

Your eyes moved rapidly over the car interior. “Why, yes?” it came out as a question.

“Yeah I expected you to. You’re a good girl after all. Momma raised you right.”

You felt warmth shoot through you. You didn’t know why. He was being nice. And you weren’t used to that. You actually were a pretty good cook. And you liked doing it. Relieving your mother from the hard work running a household was. And showing you cared. You know you weren’t always good with that. Often absorbed in your own head and your own feelings. So cooking was something you could do.

“Would love to have a home made meal again. It’s been so very long.”

You nodded.

He eyed you. And as the silence lingered he tsked. “Well, who knows, maybe someone will invite me someday.”

“Oh. Yes. I'm sure,” you were quick to agree. It would be nice for him. Someone cooking. Maybe Miss Oleson would, the woman was all alone and about 70, she probably would love the company.

You would ask her, so he wouldn't feel embarrassed. Miss Oleson would watch you sometimes when you were younger, and she was kind to you. She always gave you candy even if your parents had told her not too. You were fond of her.

You arrived at your house soon and you got out. He leaned towards the window again.

“If you want, I can come pick you up again tomorrow.”

You blinked. Why? Was it going to rain again tomorrow?

“You don’t have to.”

“It’s my pleasure.” he grinned. “Unless i’m being called away, but if so, I’l call you.”

“I don’t have a phone.” You eyed the laces of your shoes.

He laughed. “No silly, at your office, I can call the company.”

“Oh. Yeah that would work. I guess.”

“That’s settled then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay.” you mumbled and turned to walk towards the door.

As you heard him leave behind you, you suddenly remembered you hadn’t said goodbye, or thanked him. You felt your cheeks heat. You were supposed to thank someone for helping. You messed up again. Tomorrow, when he picked you up, you would make sure to thank him then. Maybe he wouldn’t think you rude anymore. And maybe you should find some questions to ask him about. So he didn’t ask you weird ones when there was silence.

You hung up your coat at the door, suddenly smelling a nice scent coming off it.

The fabric had absorbed some of his that lingered in the car. You sniffed carefully and then reared back in shame. It was kind of improper to just smell someone. You only did that to someone you knew better. Like family, or…or a suitor.

Still, the scent lingered in your nose as you walked away, and it was pleasant enough for you to feel a little lighter for the rest of the evening.

Part 2

[cleolinda]

Weekend links, March 2, 2025

Silent Hill 2 update: If you sneak over to my Patreon, you can watch the first commentary video already (I'll be replacing it with an updated version). I’m still working on the timestamp writeup (links, sources, etc.) and, uh, that updated version with some corrections at the end. I’ve also been formatting the writeup for Tumblr and, uhhh.... it’s like four posts. It’s honestly just embarrassing. But I know what the carving on the church door you might not even notice says, I know why all the oscillating fans are turquoise blue, I’ve found a thematically relevant Goya painting hidden in a shop you don’t even have to enter, and now we all have to suffer for it. 

The second video’s been recorded but isn’t uploaded anywhere, and I’ve finished taking notes for the writeup. I’m taking so long that I might honestly just clip out a few excerpts and put them on my YouTube channel (I have a YouTube channel) (in theory).

(Yes, watching other people play video games IS a valid way to enjoy them, and it’s how I got into playing in the first place.)

Meanwhile: I just wanted to address the idea that medication obscures your real personality, and I ended up writing a memoir.

Reblogs of interest

It was a bad week for celebrity deaths: Roberta Flack ("Killing Me Softly"), after two years diagnosed with ALS; Michelle Trachtenberg (Buffy, Gossip Girl), after a prior liver transplant; and then, under circumstances that still haven’t been explained, Gene Hackman and his wife Betsy Arakawa.

Now, it’s important to know about the political protests happening in the U.S. (and I hope people run HARD with “Impeach President Musk” for maximum in-fighting), but it was “Vermont insults” that gave me the most joy.

"NASA released the clearest pictures yet of our neighbours in the solar system"

What Queen Nefertiti may have looked like in real life, improved

Microsoft is shutting down Skype

Joann Fabrics is going out of business (+ online alternatives)

“YOU FREAKS CRASHED THE DASHCON SITE AND THEN SOLD OUT THE TICKETS IN UNDER 30 MINUTES” (“I need you all to understand this is a post from February 22, 2025”)

“Help your local library; get books out even if you know you can’t read them all!”

Ursula K. LeGuin: “As you read a book word by word and page by page, you participate in its creation”

This full-series retrospective of Animorphs, however brief, is so unhinged that I went and legally downloaded the entire set of books. 

“Good night to only the team names at the Seattle women’s hockey club” (personal favorite: Rink Pony Club)

Sometimes I wonder what the Victorians would think of “naked” dresses. Anyway, I really like Elie Saab

All they know is charleston, shake cocktail, eat hot chip & lie

“stop what you’re doing right now and look at archaic period terracotta fox scratching its head”

“The bath house duck spirits from Spirited Away, taking a dip in this lava lamp”

Tumblr: Where “Pelican Childcare” is inherently funny

Crow Time: Business bird

Gorgeous Dominique Ramsey art with a Langston Hughes quote

Grocery cats (“but then you scroll down and it’s like oh, there’s a team of cats ringing up that lady’s tea and jam”)

Look this bunny in the eyes and you will understand why I tagged this “become ungovernable”

“where is that cat with the kind and reassuring face”

Paint me like one of your French bears

Hi. 1 quastion

Video

LOTR film fandom has been going strong for 20+ years and we’re not gonna stop now (re: Pippin’s song in Return of the King)

Zelenogorsk is sand bathing

The sacred texts

Periodic reblog: this massive catalogue of parody lyric tweets

“The neurodivergent urge to do this,” or: the origin of a very popular reaction pic

Personal tags of the week

Wet Beast Wednesday is worth a look, plus the newest Beneficent Chain Post (happiness will come to you. “When You Least Expect It. Probably Late March”).

[fangdokja]

Where do you get most of ur headers that are panels from manga n shit? Like the art is superb nd the yandere looks hot asf like yessir 🙂‍↕️🫡🫦

This comment had me wheezing ahahahaha 😭 YESSIRRRR.

So, just to clarify for everyone—most of the headers I use aren’t actually yandere males (usually). The ones I’ve released so far definitely aren’t. I didn’t like the plot because either the guy or girl explicitly slept with someone else… yeah, no. Not my thing. Loyaltyyyyy. If it’s not a reverse harem trope, I don’t want it.

Also, I cannot stand younger male leads or crossdressers (or men in dresses). I’m sorry 😩. The art might be top-tier, but I’m super picky about certain things.

At best, these guys are just slightly possessive—not yanderes. Just smut.

But listen, the character design?? That dead-eyed, exhausted man aesthetic?? That does something to me. My husband has those tired, handsome eyes, and I promise it’s my favorite physical feature about him. I love him so much 😭💖.

Anyway, I explained where the manga banners are from in this POST, but for the other banner, it's this one:

Drabbles

You wake to something wrong.

Manga Used: Hachisuka's Family Kotoribako

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ For Reader-Inserts. I only write Male Yandere x Female (Fem.) Reader (heterosexual couple). No LGBTQ+:

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World.

♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.

♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.

♡ Notice #1. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution

♡ Book 6 [you are here]. The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood.

♡ Notice #2. This masterlist is strictly for non-con smut and serves as an exercise in refining erotic horror writing. Comments that reduce my work to mere sexual gratification, thirst, or casual simping will not be tolerated. If your response is primarily thirst-driven, keep it to yourself—repeated violations may result in blocking. Read the RULES before engaging. The tag list is reserved for followers I trust to respect my boundaries; being included is a privilege, not a right. You may request to be added, but I will decide based on trust and adherence to my guidelines. I also reserve the right to remove anyone at any time if their engagement becomes inappropriate.

[leiatalon]

Author Update: Spring Slow Down

Greetings, fabulous people! After taking a week off writing, I realized how much I've needed it. I've been focusing on family, home, and health, and it's been so good!

Fear not, I still plan to continue writing The Eternal Library and hope to start chipping away at the next chapter(s) soon.

However, I'm going to pause Patreon billing for a month, or until I feel I have something worthwhile to share.

Some benefits of this decision:

It takes the pressure off so I'm not stressing out.

It means I can focus on writing the game rather than bonus content. POV scenes need to match with the game chapters anyway, so I'm not ready to do more of these until the game has progressed.

It gives paid subscribers a break from monetary support as you're waiting for the next update.

Am I going completely dark? I don't know. We shall see. I might put out a progress report when I feel I have something worth talking about, or I might just get to work and say nothing until I have a shiny new update to share. I will update the public demo mid-month, as promised.

I'm a mom, first and foremost, and homeschooling takes up a good chunk of my days. I wouldn't have it any other way. It's super enjoyable! I get to spend quality time with my kids and learn about interesting subjects as we explore the world together. This will always be my priority, as it should be. I'm also hoping to take a road trip with my family in the next month or so. My days are busy, and I go through cycles where I have time for writing and others where I really don't have much free time for writing at all.

That said, I feel the most honest thing to do right now is to pause Patreon billing so I'm being fair to everyone.

If you're currently a paid member, you won't be charged your renewal during the month while billing is paused, but you WILL still have access to all the content.

If you are not a paid subscriber and choose to subscribe during this time, you will be charged the initial member rate to access bonus content.

If you're not a Patreon subscriber yet, you can always sign up for the free tier to get updates like this before I post anywhere else!

Thank you for your understanding and continued encouragement. I sincerely appreciate your support and do not take it for granted! 👑

I'll be in touch once I've had a chance to make progress on The Eternal Library. I will also be announcing the public update on Tumblr once that's live.

I hope you have an amazing month! 💞

[samiholloway]

Undergrad, no, I knew exactly what I wanted for that since I was 11. Words like "laser like focus" were used about me back before the ADHD burnout happened.

Grad school was a toss up. It was either an ma in writing popular fiction, or I was going to be a librarian, and then an archivist. The writing program accepted me first. I would love to get the library science degree anyway, but I don't think I'm allowed to have anymore school loans and I'd have to win the lottery or marry rich to afford it without loans, so.

a poll for the aging tumblr user base

**edit: forgot to add a "no, because I didn't go to college" option....pls consider yourself included in the last one.....and if you wish you *had*, share it in the tags!!

[alexanderwales]

Pitchposting: The Yearbook

I just finished the expanded section of The Roottrees are Dead, and it reminded me of an idea that I've had kicking around forever. This will not spoil either of those games, but it'll spoil some of what it feels like to play those games.

In Obra Dinn you're an insurance agent attempting to figure out what happened on the titular ship, filling in a logbook with names and fates based on what you see in the past. It's a lot of fun, I highly recommend it.

In The Roottrees are Dead, you're an inspector or a genealogist or something, filling in the Roottree family tree, using your 1990s internet connection to comb through periodicals and books from the library and half-finished websites. It's a lot of fun, I highly recommend it.

Anyway, the idea came after I'd first played Obra Dinn, and thought to myself "wow, they should make like a million more of these" and then started thinking about what the low-hanging fruit was.

Here, you're trying to fill out a yearbook.

There are a bunch of names and pictures, and yes, there's a full grid, but there are also pages with the various clubs, and other pictures of life at school, and it's your job to complete basically full dossiers on at least the most interesting of the kids, with some of the less interesting ones reduced to "easy" puzzles.

And the mechanism of doing this? Teenaged text messages, poorly composed cell phone shots, a handful of websites, all the digital ephemera. This absolutely works best in the early 2000s, when our social media was fractured and you would naturally get a lot of variety, but the idea is to have a lot of variety and texture to what the player gets to sift through, whether it's AOL Instant Messenger, the robotics team's amateurish website, or a bunch of text messages.

Who are these people, how do they relate to each other? All the answers are out there for you to find and record, and you get to know these people in the process of unraveling everything.

One of the things to consider, in this sort of detective game, is how you open up new information to the player, because at least some of the information is going to be just sitting there, waiting to be entering, with the journey to get to the data source the thing that was most interesting about it.

And I think in this case, maybe the thing that you're slowly gaining access to is phones.

Early 2000s is a transitional era, so maybe you have iPhone equivalents living alongside Blackberry equivalents and Nokia bricks and flip phones and all those sorts of things, and you gain access to them one by one, for those who have one, or maybe their computers. I'm a little on the fence about the best way to do this, but having a picture of a phone/computer would at least be funny way to do it, so you're combing through pictures not just for the people and information contained in them, but for someone whose phone you've never seen before, since that will magically/technologically allow you to read all their messages.

And if you're looking through someone's phone, there are mysteries to solve there, cryptic conversations to unravel. There are aliases. You get a conversation that you know must be important, but the name is saved as just "T-Dog", and that could be anyone! And you have to wander through solving all these little issues, trying to decrypt the local dialect of emoji use, figuring out the timeline for when this guy was dating three girls to see whether he cheated or not. You can realize that someone was being catfished!

The thing that I like most about these games is that you have such great opportunities for organic storytelling, having a guy who you get to know from having seen him in a few places, forming a picture of people from the scraps you can see. And here, there's a high school's worth of personalities to unfold, to get your stereotypes corrected, to have thundering revelation after revelation, and all the ambiguity that crops up where the digital realm doesn't allow you to see the full truth.

I'm picturing 50 or so students, a graduating class that's small, maybe a tiny college town in the Midwest where there's a mix of the students of professors and farmers and lots of variety in terms of class, a place with homecoming and prom and sports teams and all that kind of thing. And somewhere in the early 2000s seems good in terms of what it brings to the table. Am I exactly describing my own small Midwestern hometown and the time period when I was going to high school? I mean, yeah. But I do think that's the best for gameplay purposes.

This is one of those things that I really would like to just throw a few years of my life at making. It calls to me. But while I have the programming skills necessary to figure out that end of things, and I'm a good writer, it would also call for a lot of art and UI design that would be extremely unfun and detail-oriented in a way that does not suit me. Why must we have finite lifespans?

(I think the very first time I noodled this idea, it was with supernatural elements, a single giant party that you would spend your time unpacking, one with cultists and sadists and things from the deep, all kinds of calamities killing these teenagers off, with the player being a supernatural inspector coming in after the fact. And this would ape Obra Dinn more closely, but calls to me a bit less.)