#god this fic is so damn good

[intheafterall]

So this is from a fanfiction by @inkykeiji that lives rent free in my brain called You Can Always Take More Than Nothing.

https://inkykeiji.tumblr.com/post/734169012022476800/you-can-always-take-more-than-nothing

[b4kuch1n]

making of a feathered thing

[imagine-shenanigans]

hey guys i haven't even had a chance to see atsv yet i just know spoilers and i want this man biblically, i'm talking carnally, i want him in a way that hurts feminism, i want to bring the whole damn movement down so i can be his stupid little housewife and raise his damn kids so i can watch him be happy and then also get railed into losing every brain cell i have

anyway here's some abo headcanons, they include spoilers for the movie/his backstory probably because idk what is and isnt a spoiler because i havent seen it yet.

also this one works a bit differently than my normal layout, it goes SFW and then dips NSFW and ends with more SFW but they're all clearly labeled!

Reader is written gender neutral with they/them and the nsfw section has afab and amab sections, but since I'm Nonbinary and AFAB that's probably how it's gonna come off for most of the reading, just to warn you!

Miguel O'Hara x Reader N/SFW ABO Headcanons

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5k words

Content Warnings (tell me if I miss any): Dubcon, ABO, Obsessive Behavior, Toxic behavior, Omega reader, Alpha Miguel

For these headcanons we're gonna exist in a weird liminal space where Gabi is like, five to six or so and he brought her home with him or some shit idk man I just think he's a hot single father anwyay, also this is assuming omega reader because i think it's hot

if anyone wants a version where Miguel follows more canon and he still lost his kid and came back you're free to request that too i love that shit, just for this specific one i wanna raise his damn kids so-

SFW

Alpha, big alpha energies.

Miguel is the type of guy who's pretty obsessive with what he claims as his, I would honestly say borderline yandere vibes without fully delving into it - his mental state in this au/situation is also a lot better since he still has his daughter, so he's genuinely a lot less "feral" than he tends to get without her, even though in this we'll say he did almost lose her.

So when he claims someone, he's going to be damn sure he means it.

This ones a bit of a general headcanon but he doesn't really have a type when it comes to the people he likes, other than he needs someone who's interesting to him. Whether it's because you're hotheaded, or even keeled, whether you're snarky or sweet, he just needs something for his brain to latch onto.

Not a love at first sight guy but he is an "obsession I can't place" kind of guy.

Miguel has really enhanced senses when it comes to scenting, so it takes some damn strong suppressants and scent blockers to completely block him out... which if we're pretending reader here is falling with the abo trope of "hiding being an omega" (which we are because I love tropes) is just what gets him obsessed. Clothing and perfume that masks your scent, suppressants and scent blockers, and a confident attitude are all enough to throw most people off the (forgive my pun) scent.

But not Miguel.

His spider DNA has the animalistic side to it that fucks with his hormones regardless, makes it easier for him to pick up on the pheromones that even most attentive alphas can't, he's damn near a personal lie detector with how smart he is and how attuned he is to what his nose and instincts tell him, even when he's using serums to keep the more feral urges at bay.

He can only get a whiff of you, fainter than most betas, and it drives him fucking insane knowing he can smell something but he can't figure it out. He can't place it, and it nags at his brain. He can smell a whiff of flowers, or sugar, or something undeniably citrus (depending on what you headcanon your own smell to be) but he can't place it and he hates that shit.

Ends up pulling some traditional alpha shit and he can't even help it, starts trying to crowd you until you kick him in the shin or Peter B or Jess shoos him away. He has to figure out what it is, he has to know.

It only gets worse when he brings Gabi in (a babysitter fell through) and you end up butting your way in to play with Gabi and Mayday, delighting in watching them for the day instead of whatever you were supposed to be doing. They're both so cute and sweet.

Gabi smells primarily like cinnamon and a bit like dewey grass - she's not old enough to have presented yet, but her basic scent, unaffected by the secondary gender hormones, is simple and sweet, reminds you of a summer morning.

She takes after her father in that regard - Miguel smells *warm* and a bit musky, like trees and cinnamon and, a bit like a camp fire. A small tinge of oil, when you pick it apart, and you can't tell if its from the lingering scent on his skin after fixing a broken machine nobody else could, or if that's part of his natural scent.

(Mayday smells like marshmallows, and carmel, funnily enough)

When you take care of Gabi and Mayday, your scent lingers on their skin, mixes and twists in a way that Peter B can't notice but Miguel can. It's all he can do not to be a damn freak and pick his baby girl up and sniff her hair to try and figure out why she smells like that (not in a creepy way, to clarify because there are some freaks on here, but in the same way a dog gets baffled by smelling you use a new perfume, or in the way of when you pick your kid up and go "WHY DO I SMELL CANDLES ON YOU WHAT WERE YOU DOING")

He almost can't stand how his head swims when he watches you pick Gabi up and gently throw her up in the air a bit, watching you let her climb onto you while you're distracted just like Mayday does. Soothe her tears when she accidentally breaks a toy because she's still learning to control her super strength.

He doesn't know that he wants you either, not until long after he's already manifested feelings. Doesn't realize how protective he is, doesn't realize how differently he treats you. He doesn't realize he's lingering in your area just long enough to make sure he can fill his nose with the faint scent you give off.

He assumes you're a beta - not that it mattered to him, really. Miguel would just as soon marry another alpha as he would a beta or an omega, as long as it's you.

He doesn't realize what he's doing until he's got a piece of your clothing in his hands, holding it in the dead of night up to his nose. A scarf or a glove or a jacket you'd leant to Gabi during the day and she'd spilled her juice on it and he'd taken it home to wash it.

He can smell his daughter's scent, louder than life, so familiar he could have a handful of pepper thrown at him and he'd still be able to wrap his arms around her and move her out of harm's way in the direst of straits.

And then there's yours, linger, mingling with his daughter's scent, and it's the parent of his child.

It's not, it's not the woman who birthed Gabi, it's not the woman who contributed to making her. It's you, the only other person he ever wants near his child in that capacity. And it's intoxicating. It's infuriating. It's overwhelming because the full breadth of his own emotions is so strong as he realizes what he's been doing. And he can't even tell you because he holds himself to a specific standard, a specific code of ethics, and even though he wants to risk it all just so his hindbrain (both alpha and spider and his own human instincts all mingling in one) can have his little loves all wrapped up in his arms, safe where he can protect them.

He only just has the strength to wash the piece of cloth and return it. It takes everything he has not to cling to it, to make a pretty little nest to protect his family in, webs and pillows and fabric, a basis of protection so you can properly make it your own and -

He controls himself, and returns the scarf the next day, leaving it on your desk because he can't bear to look you in the eyes.

The days struggle by, a stark contrast to his normal snark, to lingering in your space and snorting and rolling his eyes. To being by your side more than he normally is. It's disheartening, it makes you feel rejected, and he knows it.

But he doesn't stop, this tension that can cut through the air lingering. Even Gabi and May notice it, the older girl frowning and the younger fussing when the two of you are in the room together.

And then your heat happens.

(brief bullet point break because there's a limit to how much you can have in one bulleted section on tumblr and I don't remember what it is but I'd rather just break here)

You've been on suppressants and scent blockers for years now. Being in your line of work (whether you headcanon this as a spiderperson version of you, or a different kind of superhero, or a civillian all working in the society) it's necessary. Omegas aren't rare but they're not the majority of the population like betas are. In Nueva York, it's a coin toss if you'll be fought over in the streets like some prize to be won, or if you'll be coddled like a child who can't figure out what's best for them.

It's half safety half preference at this point, from your original universe's standard (before it had burnt to cinders before you), and this one's. Your suit, your meds, and your behavior, they're all meant to mask and confuse.

But you can only make it so long on the prescription you've got, the long-lasting shots that were more reliable than a pill. The scent blockers go first - not by design, but by chance. You'd been giving yourself lower doses since you'd wound up in Nueva York, supplementing it with deodorants and lotions swiped from stores and hospitals that could afford to spare the supplies when you can't buy it covertly. But you'd still been low in comparison to your suppressants.

You shower more frequently, lather yourself with soaps and deodorants and lotions of different scents and ones that have blocking effects, and for the most part it works. You can't quite fool Gabi - too smart, too tuned in to your emotions like her father could be. She's got a sharp nose, and she wrinkles it when she can smell how confusing your scent is. She asks questions, and you can't lie your way out of it, but you are able to bribe her so she's distracted long enough that she forgets the question. Miguel notices, when he picks up Gabi, but he can't quite figure out exactly what's wrong, and you leave so fast (he assumes with the tension that lingers between the two of you) that he can't figure it out.

You're so certain you're in the clear.

But then your shots run out, and even you can't get more without a prescription. And while your health information would never go through Miguel, you know that the medispiders have to go through him or Lyla for any heavy duty things like suppressants, because they have to be resourced more carefully.

And your last doctor, although wildly shady, and incompetent, and operating out of an apartment, was right about one thing - suppressants will rot you from the inside out if you're not careful. If you don't let a natural heat occur, it will only be worse in the long run. (Although you suppose he probably had a greasier, grosser reason for telling you that.)

And rot you from the inside they have - all your natural reactions to a heat, all your normal bodily functions don't work properly, when confronted with something they haven't seen in years. You know within seconds of your suppressants flushing out of your system what's going on. You're still in the pre-heat phase of things, and you feel like you're dying. You aren't, and you know you aren't, but you feel nauseous and feverish and incoherent within an hour tops. Only long enough to let you panic and send a text to Miguel that you can't watch Gabi like you'd planned. That you're going out ad you won't be back awhile. You leave your phone in your room, when you pack your bag and head for the nearest somewhat reputable hotel that you can afford. You brace the door with the dresser, explicit instructions left for the front desk to, under no circumstances, contact you for the next week.

You get an order of pre-made meals to slap into the fridge, water and juice and all sorts of drinks and things shoved haphazardly inside once the bot brings it in through the window. You're barely coherent enough to retain control to crush the landline, rendering it inoperable, before you barricade the rest of the room.

You're definitely not in control when you nest, blankets and pillows and clothing all thrown haphazardly around as you go fully out of your gourd.

You're damn well out of your mind by the time you would have normally realized the card you were using was in Miguel's name.

(another very brief line break in this portion for drama but also so I don't hit any limits)

Miguel is pissed when you leave so suddenly.

Sure, he's been avoiding you, and sure, you aren't actually together, but you're his damn it. You don't know it, and sure, he's not going to acknowledge it out loud until something happens, but you can't just leave him and your child and his child who loves you high and dry like that!

It's laughably easy to find you, to find the hotel you've checked into. He doesn't even wait to figure out the reason you left, he's so quick on his honestly kinda toxic bs.

Gabi is left with Peter B and Jess for a bit, and Miguel is honestly so smug that he finds you so fast. You were so sloppy about it. So quick to leave that even though you left your phone behind, in a moment of clarity, you barely bothered to take back streets. You used his own damn card he'd given you to pay for the hotel for two weeks, and to order food.

If he weren't half out of his mind with concern and anger about how quickly you left, he'd be angry you used the card without asking like you normally did.

(His hind brain purrs with it though, knowing he's provided for you)

He doesn't know what did it. Miguel genuinely doesn't know what he did to earn your ire in such a way, but he can guess. He doesn't think it's how cold he was, in the beginning, but he isn't sure that it's not how he'd warmed up to you. How, when he'd let his guard down without realizing it, that he'd flirted with you. Had that made you uncomfortable? Had every 'innocent' brush against you turned you against him? Certainly, it could be his absence, his sudden coolness and stonewalling. It could be how he refused to look at you, when you were in the room. Tried to hold his breath after he'd realized what he was doing.

He doesn't really listen to Lyla when she tries telling him things. He heard where you where, found out the room, and swiped a key before Lyla could finish talking about vital signs and behaviors. She knows to set his alerts to emergency only for the foreseeable future, because she's figured it out much quicker than he has, and she figures she'll at least spare herself the trouble. Gets Gabi set up with Jess for the night, and is on her way so she doesn't have to deal with what's about to go down.

He's surprised by the dresser in front of the door, when he tries to get in the first time. It's easy for him to move - he just lowers his center of gravity and pushes his way into the room, slamming the door shut before he can inhale.

The hotel room is nice, with a kitchenette and a small entry area with a couch and a television. The bedroom is just tucked out of sight. Exactly what he expected when he'd heard the hotel's name - he'd never been, but he recognized it.

And it's when he inhales, that he realizes why.

Your scent hits him hard and fast, chokingly sweet in the back of his throat in a way that makes his hindbrain roar. His pupils blow wide, and if he didn't have such a strong self control, he'd have torn the damn door off its hinges looking for you.

He remembers, in that moment, why he recognized the hotel. It was one that was best known for its handling of customers in heat and rut.

NSFW INTERLUDE

(We're gonna start with general headcanons and go back into the specifics of the scenario in a sec but it's all relevant fjasdkl;)

Miguel is a Dom-leaning switch, he prefers to be in control as often as possible, regardless of whether he's topping or bottoming. Nine times out of ten, he wants to fuck his partner until they're an incoherent, babbling mess, because he enjoys the power and control it gives him, enjoys the dynamic of it.

As he gets more comfortable with a partner, he's more willing to accept the idea of subbing, enjoying it more when he has someone he trusts behind the wheel, so to speak.

(Because yes, Alphas can be subs too - that's a whole thing I could get into and might if someone asks)

And Miguel, even normally, is already a possessive guy. He's needy, and stakes his claim, and when we're talking about abo Miguel?

Sheeeeeesh

The moment he scents you in the air, the moment it clicks in his brain that you're going through a rut or a heat, it goes straight to his dick.

He damn near loses it, fighting not to tear the door off its hinges as he stalks to your room. Your scent is so strong in the air that even though he knows he should turn around, he still at the very least wants to make sure you're okay. So the sight of you, face down, ass up, fingers pressing into yourself, he almost loses his damn mind.

His pretty little wife/husband/spouse coworker, his crush, is an omega. It's almost too good to be true, and he can feel his fucking fangs extend, his mouth watering as he stares at you. You're too blissed out to even realize he's there, slick dripping down your thighs like a fucking faucet... and his name is on your lips.

He could cum untouched, could die a happy, happy man after seeing this.

He has dignity, and self control though, even as the force of your hit heats him. He's genuinely concerned, a moment later, his instinct to breed to claim tampered down by his need to care.

You cling to him, hazy, feverish, and incoherent. You beg him to claim you, to mark you, to fuck you. Miguel wants to, he does... but he instead kicks his shoes off but otherwise stays fully clothed, his cock so hard it hurts as he grabs the closest bottle of water, and an ice pack, and climbs into your haphazard nest with you. He probably should have left by now, but instead he seats you against him, your back pressed to his chest, and he presses the ice pack to your forehead, ordering you to keep it there as he makes you drink water, sip by sip.

You whine, and beg, and squirm, but you obey.

He fucks you on his fingers, once he's gotten some water into you. Hard and fast, leaving you breathless, tense, until you cum all over his fingers, oversensitive as he fingerfucks you into another one, and another, arms like steel wrapped around your waist as one hand pounds into you, the other wrapped around your dick or circling hard on your clit. It's not enough to genuinely sate your heat, but it's enough to help. And he doesn't trust himself to put his own mouth to use - barely trusts himself to speak, even though most of what he growls into your ear is, strictly speaking, complete and utter nonsense as he's caught in the moment. Every time you cum, he praises you, telling you how good you are for it. How sweet you look, with tears streaming down your face, cumming so well for him.

When there's enough coherency for you to have a conversation (but not coherent enough to be mortified), Miguel is able to get the rough gist of the situation. He really can only piece together that the heat is going to be a strong one, that it came fast, and that you had panicked. There's a confession, to be had there. He agrees to help you through your heat, but only under the condition that you're his.

It's toxic, and of dubious consent at best, but he'll pull as many orgasms out of you as needed to keep you coherent enough to talk to him. He's helped an omega through a heat or two, and he knows what he's doing. He's not exactly clearheaded himself, in making the decision - but he does make sure that this is truly what you want before he proceeds.

When he's sure that it's not just the heat speaking, that you truly do care for him, that you want him to stay even after your heat has subsided, he allows himself to indulge.

Sympathy ruts are common, and it builds slowly inside of him as he indulges in his instincts. Holding you, kissing you, pressing his fingers inside of you over and over and over again until you pass out. He keeps you wrapped up in the nest, adding his shirt to the mix while you sleep, but not trusting himself to completely strip quite yet.

Miguel is an attentive alpha.

(While you sleep, he excuses himself from the nest to call his daughter, to assure her everything will be okay, and he just explains simply that you'd gotten sick, that you needed him for a bit, and that he'd be back once you were feeling better. He promises to call every night, and he works out a schedule with Peter B and Jess in the meantime.)

(When you overhear him, voice so soft, so protective, so gentle, it half makes you want to swoon, and half want to climb on his lap and fuck yourself stupid on his cock until he fills you up so you can give his daughter a sibling.)

This man is going to spend a good majority of his time pre-sympathy rut fucking you open on his fingers and his mouth. He wants to make sure you're ready, wants to make sure he can enjoy this for as long as possible.

By the end of it, he makes sure to fuck you, nice and steady, a hand on your throat and his lips on yours. He makes sure you're nice and coherent for it. He wants to make sure you remember it, when he claims you. When his (fucking horse cock, the dude's packing like ten to twelve inches which is great for my chubby bitches like me) dick fills you up so full that you're almost certain you'll break, hiccupping and sobbing as you keen and wail, the nest below you soaked as he fills you up. His fangs sink into your neck and you cum, right then, his hands grabbing your thighs so hard he's sure it will bruise. He fucks you through your orgasm, knot catching until it slips inside. He rubs your clit/tugs on your dick as he finally knots you, making sure you cum just one more time for me, cariño.

normal Miguel definitely has a claiming and breeding kink, so it's fucking intensified by ten when he's omegaverse Miguel... let alone when the man's subject to his rut. You'll be covered in scratches and bites and hickies by the time you're both coherent enough to function properly again.

Which... for Miguel, is a solid few hours of coherency at a time.

For you? You're only ever coherent in short bursts, and it's like the peak of your heat constantly for almost the full week.

This next bit just mostly borders on nsfw/has some nsfw parts so i'll put it at the end here before going back to sfw

Like I mentioned before, Miguel is a very attentive alpha.

He's going to fuck you seven different ways in an hour with his superhuman stamina, but he's also going to make sure to actually take care of you.

He makes sure you drink electrolytes and water in equal measure, makes sure you eat, and sleep, and he bathes you himself, carrying you into the shower and keeping you pressed against him as he massages your muscles and washes your hair and body with a soft cloth, using completely unscented soaps and shampoos so it doesn't overwhelm you. Presses bandages to your scrapes and bites so you'll heal faster. Cool cloths and ice packs and fever reducing medicine.

He finds he has to bribe you, during this time, even for the most basic tasks like eating and drinking, and he would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy having to plug you up with his cock just to get you to eat wasn't hot as hell. The fact that you need him so badly you'd rather forgo basic necessities... it's addicting. Granted, he doesn't actually let you - he's got enough control that he can make sure you're taken care of in all regards.

Back to SFW time!

After your heat itself passes, you're subject to the suppressant sickness that comes with it. Your fever has broken, but you're still nauseous and dizzy and fatigued as your body flushes everything out of your system.

Miguel is beyond pissed when he finds out why you're still sick.

It's reckless to not even have a natural heat once every six months, let alone taking your suppressants so solidly that you hadn't had one in years. If he'd known, he'd have said consequences be damned and would have bitten you the moment he walked through the door, and taken you to the hospital.

He doesn't care how embarrassed you are, when he packs all of your things back up into the sealable bags, and dresses you in his own clothing. He's almost out of his mind when he takes both of you back to HQ - only just remembering to take back corridors to the medic so they can check you over properly.

You've then got two spider people who are pissed, as the medic rants about how dangerous that was, how stupid it was that you did that, instead of just swallowing your pride and letting them help you control things. They order you on house arrest for a full month, to make sure your body can recover properly. No suppressants, no scent blockers (at least the medical kind) for a couple years, and only medicine that's medically necessary, and even then it has to be monitored more carefully.

Miguel lets the Medispider tear you a new one for a moment while he steps into the hallway, giving you privacy and space to figure things out with the doctor while he catches up with Gabi.

When you're done with the Medispider, it's not a question on if you're staying with Miguel or not - you really don't have a choice in the matter, he tells you. When you're recovered, you can decide if you want to move in or not, but until then he was going to personally keep an eye on you.

Gabi, who lacks the complete understanding of the why and the how behind it all, is just glad that the person they've been trying to scheme their father into confessing to is actually going to live with them. (Even if only for about a month.) She grins smugly when she realizes you smell like her dad.

Miguel lets you have pick of the house, when he carries you back to his beautiful, cozy suburban home. He leaves the proper tour up to Gabi, as he carries you both, letting Gabi tell you about everything excitedly. You stay in his bed (you two had claimed each other, and although Miguel does give you the option of your own room... you'd rather die than lose the comfort that comes with being around your mate.)

Miguel cooks properly for you while you stay with him and Gabi.

No more prepackaged meals, he sneers, instead making you chicken noodle soup from scratch, with bone broth and lots of vegetables. Breakfast every morning before he takes Gabi to school, tucks you in to sleep while he pops into the HQ to check on things. He's out of commission from missions while he cares for you, but he still makes sure things go smoothly. He's home by lunch, sometimes bringing you fast food instead of cooking so you can have your fill of a greasy burger or fries or something to sate the part of you that needs something unhealthy and indulgent. Holds you in his lap while you both eat, watching TV on the couch.

He finishes his work and goes on emergency-only mode when it's time to pick up Gabi from school. He tucks you into the passenger seat if you feel up to it, buckling you up himself and pressing a kiss to your lips, even though he doesn't need to. He knows you can buckle yourself up, and lets you do so when you insist, but it makes him happy to know he's taking measures to keep you safe.

He does force you to take a blanket with you, just in case though.

When all three of you get home, he makes dinner, sometimes with Gabi helping him, sometimes you, sometimes just himself. He has a pretty wide range of foods he ends up making, but it's primarily because they're foods he likes, or Gabi likes, and he learned to make them. He's a good cook, overall.

It's the best work-life balance he's had in a long time.

When you're better, he all but begs you to stay.

And god, how could you say no to him?

(Also for those who it matters for, if you do end up pregnant from the Heat Adventures he obviously loves kids and would love one with you, but if you don't feel ready/don't want to have kids other than Gabi, he absolutely respects it, and will talk about options with you. Granted, he'll be disappointed, but at the end of the day it's not something he CAN'T move past. Discusses birth control options with you almost immediately when the two of you get intimate again.)

[howlonomy]

Following the Toriel ask, did Clover explain that they willingly sacrificed themselves and if so, how did she react? If not, how did Toriel think they died?

i think they did. toriel would be the first and probably only adult for a while that they would tell their true feelings too.

they would tell toriel it was alright, because they got to meet so many new friends and got a family out of it. they sacrificed themselves for THEM, for monsters. that dying was terrifying, but they dont regret it, so its alright, she shouldnt feel bad about it.

but toriel would still tell them that no, it was her job to protect them. they never should have died in the first place. she should have left the ruins, tracked down clover, and save them herself. because she is an adult, and they shouldnt have had a choice like that put on their shoulders. because clover is just a child.

and clover would cry, and sob, and agree, because dying and making that choice was so scary, it was the ONLY choice, and while they dont regret it they never thought they would come back. they thought it was over forever. but they’re grateful for toriels support and comfort and for telling them that it was unfair. because it was, and they hadnt heard anyone tell them that

[hayaku14]

me opening the kaishin tag on ao3 rn:

[seleneprince]

A Court of Shadows and Blood Chapter 2

If there's really a Mother up there, she definitely has a twisted sense of humour.

He still doesn't know whether to laugh or punch a wall at his discovery. Laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Rage because he should've known much sooner.

No humans cross the Wall and live to tell. The natural Fae essence devours them eventually, their fragile mortal bodies unable to resist it. Unless they're not normal humans, unless they have some special ability that gives them an advantage.

Now he knows why his little pet managed to pass the Wall despite her obvious weakness.

She has the Sight. Or the True Eye, according to ancient references.

It's a rare gift. Humans born with an innate immunity against Fae magic, allowing them to see through glamours and spells as they're not affected by them.

It also makes them immune against daemati.

He lays against a wall, his head down as he chuckles silently, humourlessly.

Curse his luck. And curse his own foolishness. He should've known from their first meeting. He should've realized her mind was eerily silent. Normally, he can hear people's minds from a mile away, even more if they're humans. But he didn't hear anything back then, and it didn't catch up to him until he finally tried to enter her mind back at his chambers.

Instead of images and feelings, he encountered a solid wall. And silence. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't even cause a small crack in her shield, to catch a glimpse of her mind. Just darkness and silence.

What was she said back there?

'You'll get nothing from me. I'll never give you anything'

She was right.

He inhales deeply through his nose, the realization leaving a bitter taste. It’s laughable how he’d thought she was just a feisty human with no sense of self-preservation. But turns out she's so much more—a rare gem hidden behind the stain of mortality. The answer had been in front of his eyes and he missed it, distracted by her sharp tongue and burning eyes.

The Sight, a gift so uncommon it's nearly a myth, granting her immunity from all Fae influence. He can’t unravel her with his usual methods. No amount of pushing and twisting would break her shield.

His gaze flickers toward the room where she's bound, chained in his bed, a slight grin of resignation crossing his face. This little twist supposes a change in his original plans, but certainly not an obstacle. She’s an enigma, and he can't wait to peel her layers back, find what else she's hiding from him.

There’s still tension, a frustration he can’t fully shake. After all, this turns the game on its head. He is no longer in complete control here. He can't keep her in check the way he's used to. Can't just make her play along easily.

No. This is going to be harder than he imagined. He'll have to take a different approach this time around.

The idea excites him more than it should.

We're going to have fun, little thing.

Ever since he brought the human to his chambers, he's been waiting for the shoe to drop. To be questioned about his intentions, and maybe bring his new pet to her, to judge whether she's worthy of staying in her court.

But nothing.

Amarantha hasn't asked him anything, just expecting the same usual 'service' from him. The Attor, that annoying pest of hers, tries to get under his skin here and there, but overall he hasn't let on any hint that he knows something. If anyone is aware of the human in his chambers, they've keeping the information to themselves.

He's being actively concealing her scent with the wards he set on his quarters, but it's not permanent. His magic is not what it used to be. If she so much takes a step outside the room, anyone within a ten-milius radius would smell her. And then it'll be only a matter of minutes until she knows.

Maybe it's for the best, he thinks. It was a pain to bring the fiesty creature here, in the utmost secrecy. The bitch's security is sharp, and while his loyal shadows helped him, he knows he wouldn't do it a second time.

Then why does he still bother? What's stopping him from letting the truth out?

'Because it's my first chance in fifty years to have something that's entirely mine. My own, untainted secret.'

Everything he's loved has been taken from him or ruined while he's been here. All that surrounds him is her property, her domain. Even the privileges he enjoys above the others are only thanks to her authority. It's the rule.

But this human, this mortal creature with fire in her eyes, will belong to him. As long as no one else sees her, she's his.

The thought both thrills and haunts him. He's taking a huge risk by keeping her hidden like this, perhaps the greatest he's ever taken in fifty years. It’s foolish, bordering on suicidal. Yet the satisfaction he feels at knowing she's beyond her grasp is something he hadn’t felt in a long while—a small, defiant act of control.

The shadows swirl around him, shifting and almost restless. It's like they know him, understand the stakes even without words. The shadows don’t question, don’t judge. They’re the only things he can trust in this wretched place. But keeping this secret requires something even they can’t provide—carefulness, patience. Traits that he's always possessed in abundance, yet have been stretched to their limit since she appeared.

He casts a glance toward the hall that leads to his quarters. According to Cerridwen and Nuala, she has fallen asleep already, her exhaustion finally taking over her fragile body.

Her life hangs by a thread every moment she’s here. If anyone found out… it would be over in an instant. It'll be harsh punishment for him, and gruesome death for her.

Still, he can’t bring himself to regret his choice.

He sends a message to their minds, a new order regarding his little pet. As much as it amuses him seeing her thrash in that wild, messy state of hers, he can't allow his toys to remain so dreadfully...unkempt.

A wicked grin spreads across his face as he imagines her reaction. His new gift is intended to placate her a bit, but it's mostly for his own personal enjoyment. She's clearly someone who holds her pride above all else, so she’ll undoubtedly reject his present with all her might, despite the honor it represents

But there’s nothing she can do against the wraith sisters. Cerridwen and Nuala have been given permission to use force if his human proves too stubborn—not that she’ll get the chance. His maids’ shadowy hands are impossible to repel or escape from, even for other Fae.

How he wishes he could be there to witness it.

His thoughts are interrupted when the familiar, off-kilter music reached his ears as he stands in front of a well-known door. His body tenses in anticipated disgust, fully aware of what's expecting him on the other side.

With a sigh, he fixes his clothes again and hides his hatred with the usual mask. The doors open before him without his hands touching them, and he strides in with a confident smirk as they close behind him again with a loud bang.

The music comes to a halt as soon as his presence is noticed. The assembled crowd take up most of the space, and most have stopped whatever they've been doing to stare at him. He can't help but find some delight in their attention, the fear that shines in their eyes at the sight of him. It gives him life.

He walks with purpose, barely sparing them a glance. Some bow to him, others just stare in silence. They all make sure to step out of his way, creating a wide path just for him. It only takes him a few minutes to reach his destination.

There, lounging on her black throne, is his punishment. His nightmare. The reason he endures all of this in the first place.

Amarantha. The High Queen of Prythian. Self-proclaimed, which only makes it more ridiculous in his mind—but only a suicidal fool would dare say so aloud.

She taps a long, red nail against the stone.

“There you are. I was worried you got lost along the way.”

Her voice is soft, almost tender, but he’s memorized every angle of her to read between the lines. He detects the underlying disdain beneath her words; she’s not pleased with his lateness.

He bows to his waist in a show of devotion. It makes his skin crawl, but he's already used to it.

"Apologies, my queen," he knows how much she likes the title. Appealing to her ego is his tried-and-true method to keep her at bay. "I got held up by some last-minute affairs."

She hums but doesn't inquire.

"Be more careful next time, Rhys. It's not polite to make a female wait."

A sense of déjà vu hits him at her words. They don’t sound nearly as charming from her lips as they did from the human’s, but the irony of it makes him want to laugh.

He clicks his tongue, masking his reaction.

"Believe me, I know it," lowering his head just enough to hide the shadow of a smile tugging at his lips.

He's not sure how to feel about his pet sharing some similiarities with the person he hates most in the world, but there's no denying the terrible humor in it.

Amarantha waves her hand lazily, and the music resumes. The crowd gradually returns to the party, trying their best to ignore them both. She beckons him to come closer, aand he has to steel himself to keep from snarling at her.

Of all the hells he’s endured over fifty years, this is the one he still can’t stomach. Being reduced to a mere servant, a slave, for this wretched female. He, the strongest High Lord in all of Prythian, turned into a harlot for a delusional tyrant's entertainment.

Just thinking about it makes him blood boil in pure, murderous rage.

The only thing keeping him from lashing out completely is the comforting fantasy of tearing this usurper apart with his own hands and warming himself by the fire of her burning remains.

But now he has something better than fantasies. Waiting prettily in his room, locked away from Amarantha’s corrupting hands, surely cursing him with all her might in her sleep.

The thought of seeing her again gives him the motivation to endure whatever Amarantha wants from him now.

"What can I do for you, my queen?" he asks, standing beside her with his hands clasped behind him. She looks up at him from her throne, not bothering to adjust her posture.

Everything about this is wrong. He should be the one sitting on a throne, and she should be on a leash, draped over his fist, begging for her worthless life. But now is not the time.

She regards him with a smile that would make a weaker male’s skin crawl. In truth, it’s not so different from expressions he himself uses regularly. Curious how this particular detail about her has never really bothered him.

"I have a job for you, Rhys."

"I’m always at your service, my queen."

She chuckles.

"Of course, you are. Such a good boy." She twirls the cup in her hand, red liquid spilling as richly as the color of her lips. "Tell me, how do you feel about paying a visit to an old friend?"

He knows exactly who she means before she even says it. The smirk that spreads across his face is entirely genuine this time.

"Oh? May I know the details?"

Amarantha’s expression shifts into one so similar to his own that it could almost be a reflection.

"Go to Spring and bring me the human filth that Tamlin is hiding from us."

Seems like the fun is about to start.

After another long, excruciating party to satisfy Amarantha's ego, she doesn't waste time in bringing him to her chambers as soon as everyone leaves.

He knows his part. Fifty years playing this role has given him the steel to hide his shame and resentment so deep into him that she can't notice it. His mind turns off, letting his body follow what's expected of him.

She's as brutal in bed as she's in the battlefield. And today she's in a rather enthusiastic mood. Probably at the idea of torturing the pitiful human Tamlin has found at last.

By the time he leaves, his body carries the scratches and bruises of Amarantha's favouritism under his clothes.

At least he's not tormented by the humiliation and self-hatred as he was the first times. Now, he can only feel a mild sense of relief and exasperation that it's over.

He straightens his clothes, leaving the top button undone. Now it’s only him striding down the hallways, aside from the occasional servant. Moving through the shadows, he’s intent on reaching his quarters as quickly as possible.

He’s eager to see his little pet, to tease her until she bares her cute claws and tries to bite him. Right now, she’s the only thing he has even a remote measure of control over—and he plans to savor it. Besides, he’s curious to see how she liked his latest gift.

As his door comes into view, he steps out of the shadows. He briefly considers slipping in silently, like last time, just to feel her fear spike again—but he decides it won’t be as amusing a second time.

Once more, the door opens for him without so much as a gesture, and he steps inside.

"I’m back, my dear. I hope you didn’t miss me too much this time?"

She’s right where he left her: on his bed, unmoving, glaring up at him through her lashes. Her knees are drawn up to her chest, chin resting stiffly on her crossed arms.

Like a curled up cat ready to pounce. Adorable.

But it's hard to appreciate his gift in that posture.

"Now, don't you have anything to say? I took the time to choose this design just for you. Do you like it?"

She doesn't respond. Not even a huff. If only he could get a peek of her mind, just a little bit. It annoys him not know what it's going through her head.

He clicks his tongue.

"Show me. I want to see how it looks on you."

"You're already seeing it."

"Ah, there she is. I was worrying you lost your voice."

Her glare intensifies, which only makes his smile widen. He grabs a cozy armchair from its spot near the fireplace and moves it closer to the bed, taking a seat directly in front of her.

Crossing one ankle over his knee, he rests his chin on his fist and stares at her intently. A quiet laugh exhales from his nose when she frowns, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze.

Her discomfort is a delight he savors, though he keeps his expression masked behind a lazy smirk. Every small twitch, every subtle hardening of her glare, only deepens his amusement. She’s resisting him, but her unease is a victory all its own.

"Your silence does little to hide your thoughts, you know," he says, voice low. "There’s only so much I can ignore when it’s written all over your face."

"You can read how much I want to kill you written on my face?, she says, her voice sounding low and dripping with venom.

Cauldron bless him, she's such a joy.

"Charming," he coos. "I actually meant your thoughts about my present. I've been eager to see your reaction all day."

"Is that why you're sitting there like an idiot?" she mutters, raising her chin. "To rejoice in my misery? Or is it just that you don’t have anything better to do with your time?"

He laughs, soft and slow, as if savoring a rare vintage. He wouldn't tolerare this kind of talk from anyone else. He’s torn heads from bodies for words more respectful than hers. But with her, he only wants more of it. It’s like watching a puppy bark and bare its teeth at him—a futile effort, but amusing all the same.

"It’s not every day I get a creature with such spirit gracing my quarters. It was getting lonely here, you know? I simply want to make the most of this opportunity."

She rolls her eyes and turns her head away. "Right. As if you couldn't summon other people to keep you company."

That catches his attention.

"What do you mean?"

"Those...beings from before. They're yours, right? Why don't you ask them to help you with your loneliness instead of pestering me?"

He's genuinely perplexed for a moment. She means Nuala and Cerridwen? They serve him, sure, but it has never crossed his mind to rely on them for...those kind of needs. They're beautiful, skilled, and wouldn't dare to deny their High Lord anything, but they're still mere servants at the end of the day. Below him and his bed.

"They're not nearly as charming as you," he replies, leaning forward. "You'll warm up to me soon enough, dear. And then you'll finally realize how incredibly lucky you are."

He lets the silence stretch between them, thick with an unspoken challenge. For a moment, her face is still, but then, her brows lower, her lips pressing into a defiant line. She meets his eyes again, her glare sharper than before.

"You’ve taken my freedom, maybe my dignity as well," she says evenly, "but that's all you'll get from me. No loyalty, no obedience, and certainly not my respect."

He holds her gaze, feeling the familiar thrill rising as her words sink in. A part of him expected this—relished it, even. He could break her down, push until she yielded, but another part of him wonders: How long will this fire last? How much can she endure before she crumbles?

"Well," he says, grinning, "we’ll see just how long you hold onto that resolve, won’t we?"

He stands up, walking to the side of the bed. He reachs out and plucks a stray curl that had fallen over her face, tucking it behind her ear. She stiffens, her eyes narrowing as he studied the sisters' creation.

She looks much cleaner than when he first brought her. Gone is the dirt and sweat from her face, now replaced by a graceful touch of makeup. Her eyes are accented with shadow, her lips painted a sparkling pink, and a soft blush colors her cheeks, accentuating her cheekbones. Though her position makes it difficult to fully appreciate the dress, he notices how it cascades over her shoulders and waist in black folds.

His gaze follows the chain peeking out from beneath her long, dark blue skirt, where the fabric drapes down to cover her feet.

"Sit up straight. Don't hide yourself."

She huffs, turning her gaze to the fireplace in a show of stubborn defiance, completely ignoring him. Her stupid pride is really starting to piss him off. If only he had access to her mind, he’d make her move with a mere thought. Curse the Cauldron yet again for giving humans the Sight.

He’s tempted to drag her to her feet himself, but just then, she stretches out on the bed, leaning back on her hands and showing off the dress in a much better light.

He chose the dress with her specifically in mind, but it looks even better than he’d imagined. The fabric clings to her torso before flowing down in soft waves to her feet, creating a shape that cups her figure elegantly. The cloth is a blend of black and deep blue, with sparkling gems resembling stars embroidered throughout, like a recreation of the night sky. The neckline grazes the valley of her chest, leaving her collarbones and part of her shoulders exposed.

Her hair has been brushed off her face, pulled back with a silver comb and the rest drapping down her back. She almost looks like a different person, if it wasn't for the permanent scowl on her face.

Cerridwen and Nuala have done a brilliant job, as usual.

"Well, what do you think?" her voice takes his attention off her shoulders, dripping with disdain. "Does it meet yout expectations, sir?"

Fuck, there's something about her calling him sir while dressed like that, laying in his bed. It only amused him the first time, and pleased his ego a bit. Why is it different now?

Maybe because she's laying there so prettily, drapped in his court's colors in an obvious claim of his ownership, and when she moves a little the slit in the skirt reveals part of her thigh, making his fingers twitch to trace over the pristine skin.

A low growl escapes his throat before he can stop it.

She widens her eyes at him, fear flashing in them for a second. He coughs and composes himself, chastising himself for losing his self-control.

He sits at the hem of the bed, schooling his features into a mask of casual indifference, though his pulse still beats thickly in his throat. His fingers brush against the fabric of the dress as he settles. She makes a show of moving away from him with furious eyes, as if his mere touch offended her.

Her defiance, cloaked in elegant silk and starlit jewels, unsettles him far more than he’ll ever admit. It irks him, how her insolence remains unyielding even when he’s draped her in the finest dress this wretched court could provide, marking her as his.

"Oh, it exceeds my expectations," he says, his voice a touch darker, unable to resist letting her see a hint of the effect the dress has on him. "You look… magnificient." He smirks, gesturing to her as though she were a painting, a work of art on display just for him.

Her mouth presses into a thin line, but she lifts her chin, the hatred simmering behind her eyes unmistakable. "Good to know. I’d hate for all this"—she gestures to herself, her hand lingering over the exposed skin of her thigh—"to be wasted on you."

The comment lands, hitting a part of him that both resents and respects her tenacity. He finds himself leaning forward without thinking, the intensity in his gaze causing her to shrink back just the slightest bit.

"Oh, make no mistake. Nothing about you will go to waste here, darling. I’ll make certain of that."

She glares at him, but something shifts in her expression, a flicker of trepidation quickly masked by steely determination. It sends a thrill through him, a potent mix of irritation and attraction. How satisfying it will be, one day, to see that unbreakable resolve bend, to see her finally yield beneath him.

"Now," he murmurs, straightening. "Behave yourself, and I might surprise you with more gifts in the future."

"And if I don’t?" Her voice is barely more than a whisper, but he catches the challenge there, hanging in the air between them.

He chuckles, low and menacing, running his thumb along her round earlobe thoughtfully. "Oh, I wouldn’t test that, if I were you." His voice drops, a hint of a threat lacing his words. "I’d hate to ruin that pretty dress."

She blinks at him, her expression suddenly going blank. Her heart is beating too rapidly for him to believe she’s truly indifferent to the situation, but the way she so quickly masks her feelings and thoughts is worthy of some admiration.

Then, she does something that catches him entirely off guard.

Her hands grip his shoulders and pull him down, right on top of her. He feels the outline of her breasts press against his chest, and his nose grazes her collarbones for a brief moment. His mind goes blank. But before he can say anything, she maneuvers herself out and shoves his face down against the bed, throwing her weight onto his back.

"What in the world are you doing now, little thing?" he grunts, but then he hears a familiar metallic clicking as she moves frantically.

The realization hits him when he feels something cold binding his wrists together in a very tight knot.

His mind snaps back into focus with a jolt. For the briefest moment, he’s caught off guard, tangled in the suddenness of how everything has happened. She’s quick, too quick for a mortal in her state. His body stiffens beneath her, the sharp tug of the cold metal biting into his wrists—binding him to the bed.

The chain. She's using the chain against him. The same chain supposedly keeping her locked in place.

When, and how the fuck did she got out of it? Without anyone noticing?

The wood of the headboard creaks when he pulls. It’s a ridiculous move, the kind of desperate attempt he’s seen from lesser beings, yet somehow... it feels different. Her strength, the way she pushed him down with such determination, it unnerves him. No human should be able to think this quickly, to turn the tables on him in such a bold way.

He growls in frustration, trying to pull his wrists free, but the chain hold fast. This situation feels too disgustingly familiar, making his skin crawl. His first instinct is to use his magic and break the damn metal, but there’s a brief, agonizing moment of uncertainty. He hasn’t lost his power entirely, but it still feels drained, distant. The realization sends a deep sense of frustration through his chest.

When he lifts his head, she’s already standing by the edge of the bed, breathing hard but calm, her eyes alight with that familiar, fiery glint. She watches him, studying him like an experiment, her lips curled into a satisfied smirk.

"You... chained me?" He can barely mask the disbelief and fury in his voice. It's absurd. She shouldn’t have the knowledge, the courage, to even consider something so reckless.

She doesn’t respond right away, but there’s a satisfied gleam in her eyes. Her hands, still trembling slightly from the rush of adrenaline, clutch the fabric of the skirt. "I’d say it’s a fair trade, wouldn’t you?" Her voice is like cold fire, biting yet controlled, a mirror of his own in certain moments.

He glares at her, the intensity of his gaze locking with hers. His body tenses as he tests the chains again. "Oh, you have some fucking nerve, you filthy, worthless thing. You seriously think you can contain me?" His growl is low, dangerous, the tone he reserves for those he's about to torture endlessly.

She just shrugs, stepping away from the bed and almost relaxed. "You got me chained here like an animal since I arrived," she says softly, almost teasingly. "I thought you might like a taste of it."

The words sting more than they should. He shifts his weight, anger mounting, but he doesn’t break eye contact.

He’s going to kill her for this. No. He’ll hand her over to Amarantha first, in front of the entire court, and let her be turned into a plaything for the sadistic bitch. And when the ungrateful thing is too broken to move, he’ll drag her back to this room, tie her down from head to toe, and watch as she writhes in agony from the mind-blowing pain he inflicts. He won’t lift a finger to heal her. Let her suffer and learn her lesson.

He's clearly understimated her all this time.

She doesn’t spare him another glance as she runs to grab the pocket from the fireplace and then straight for the door. He lets out a low, dark chuckle at the sight.

"Oh, yes, Run, little thing. Run as fast as you can. Because once I get out of here, I'll find you."

"And I won't be gentle anymore."

She freezes for a moment, hand already on the door handle. The hand holding the iron rod grip it hard enough for her knuckles to grow white.

The door opens and she slams it close behind her.

[desceros]

now i can finally leave surprises in your inbox HEHEHEHE

[slavhew]

Hello!

If you're not too busy, would you mind listing some of the things you think count as death flags for Mr. Spender?

There's the obvious fact that he's the "old" mentor to group of young protagonists, but what else do you think would count?

OHH BOY ok so I'd think I'm a crackpot for this but since we're talking about Zack "Foreshadowing" Morrison. I have some thoughts

No harm in leading with the (chronologically) first thing that jumped out at me:

This one IMMEDIATELY made me antsy whenever I came back to it after my initial read, and considering Zack has referred to it on twitter in the past as one of their favorite jokes it's definitely not been forgotten about.

Second, the sheer amounts of near-misses, jokey or not, of Spender narrowly avoiding specifically lightning

Again, not much, but it's weird that it happened thrice, latter two of which had real gravitas rather than an one-off joke.

And third, Spender himself. He's repeatedly shown himself to be kind of a self sacrificing idiot, as well as prideful to a fault. Granted, it's both him and Mina trying to take on all the responsibility of saving Mayview and its inhabitants from their fate.. But Spender is exactly that right measure of doesn't-value-himself-enough (chest footprint aftercare or lack thereof), having an obscene amount of power (enables his loner act + pride) and poor judgement that has the capacity to put him at great risk. And it has!

Spender has not only shown low enough self-esteem to view himself as the de-facto scapegoat for the safety of the town, but also prideful enough to make very bad calls that end up in people, often himself, hurt (COUGH FORGE INCIDENT COUGH)

This is all conjecture, but it's definitely enough to make me worried about him :') Even if all this doesn't mean he'll necessarily die he's definitely getting (even more) seriously injured at some point. I love the guy but he's so far doing a horrible job of convincing me he wants to live bad enough to circumvent at least that

[frecklesandpoverty]

you ever read a few chapters of one of the best fics you've read recently, only to finish the 3rd chapter and realize the story is unfinished, and thennn you see it hasn't been updated in like 2 years, and thennnnnn you see that the author orphaned the account, and thennnnnnnnnn you follow the user's notes with their twitter and tumblr tags and see that they've apparently deleted both of those accounts too?

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

strangling my past self How Did You Write Reasonably Sized Fics So Easily

[some-pers0n]

Every once in a while I think about the ship I've been obsessed over for close to two years now and feel like I'm ascending to another plane of reality. Like sometimes you just encounter a ship that hits every single mark and is perfect in every regard and you're left stunned how something like that can even exist

[s1nful-sa1nt]

okay hear me out

Brienne x werewolf reader

She's tasked with getting the reader from point A (their home in the middle of bumfuck nowhere probably) to point B (a doctor/witch who might be able to cure them) safely, but is warned that the reader is afflicted with a terrible curse that makes them transform into something beast-like and otherworldly by moonlight.

Brienne scoffs at this thinking it's nothing more than a cruel joke, and she goes to fetch the reader.

They embark on their several-some measure of time-long journey, almost arriving at their destination, and they have to set up camp for the night.

Of course, the reader is terrified because this particular night happens to be THE night, but Brienne has absolutely none of it. The sun sets, they eat, and both crawl into their respective tents for the night.

The reader, however, feels the beginning of the transformation nagging at their bones and they burst forth from the tent, stripping their clothes as they charge deeper into the woods to avoid becoming a beast in front of Brienne.

The commotion is fairly loud and wakes Brienne, so she grabs her sword and heads out to see what was happening. Immediately, she notices the readers tent wide open and nobody inside. Looking further, she spots a trail of... clothing? What on earth happened? So she decides to follow the clothes that have been strewn about the forest floor.

Meanwhile, the reader has found a clearing large enough to transform without hurting themselves, and they finally let go. Their bones snap and painfully rearrange themselves, their teeth fall out and are replaced by bright white fangs. Dark grey fur races across their broken and bloody skin, nails elongating and turning black. Eyes going from their normal color to a striking gold.

Their shift is complete after several agonizing minutes, and it's just in time for them to notice a presence behind them. Brienne. How did she find them, and more importantly, why hasn't she started running away yet? So the reader turns to face her and lets out a deep and guttural snarl. Fear washed across Brienne's face but she stands her ground.

This has never happened before. Their whole life, reader had been treated as a monster by everyone they knew. Even now, they were trying to get rid of this curse to live out a normal life.

And yet, Brienne stayed. In fact, she stepped closer and closer. The reader let out deep growls with each step but remained hunched over on all fours, still too weak and pained to move.

Finally, Brienne is less than an arm's length from the great beast. She reaches out, drawing back slightly when the reader pulls their head back, only to place her palm directly onto their forehead.

She sets her sword down and sits on the ground to try and show the reader that she isn't afraid of them, and the reader moves to sit down in front of her. Their eyes are locked, and Brienne brings both of her hands to cup the readers cheeks.

The reader has never felt affection like this before, and it's almost too much. They want to run away, but something in Brienne's eyes convince them to stay. Is it... love?

Over the course of the journey, the two had become close. The reader had almost immediately fallen for Brienne because who wouldn't, but Brienne fell harder when she realized the reader truly cared for her and saw past what she perceived as a "hideous appearance"

Finally, it ends when the reader curls up around Brienne and wraps their tail around her arm, convincing Brienne to sleep on top of them. She accepts and curls into the giant mound of fur before rather quickly falling asleep. In the morning, they return back to the camp where the reader decides they don't want to be cured if it means they can stay with Brienne.

She simply laughs and pulls the reader in for a kiss

(like of course this is gonna be more fleshed out and I'm not totally sure if all this makes sense bc it's like 1AM here and I should be asleep but I'm not)

[non-un-topo]

This was supposed to be 3 thousand words........

[cherry-pop-elf]

“Want to grab a bite?”

I’m telling you, THIS FANFIC CHANGED MY BRAIN CHEMISTRY SO DAMN MUCH! Istg I am not the same person I was when went into it. I’ve re read or so much. Dude dude READ IT! It’s so good 😭

@galaxostars YOU ARE A BRILLIANT WRITER NEVER LET ANYONE ELSE TELL YOU OTHERWISE!

READ THE FIC YALL

[elialys]

Calling my own readers out on AO3. I wish I didn't have to do this. I've been sharing fics online for 20 years and it's never been this bad. It's always been bad, but 10 years ago, you at least got 5% of readers giving a shit.

This current fic is one of the most popular I've ever written. It's got close to 300 subscribers, and every time I update, the hits go up by a 1,000 within a week or two. I shouldn't have to beg in my notes so that more than 10 people will actually engage with me.

Fic writing was all about sharing & discussing, once upon a time. It was a community. It was not about shaming writers for being upset over low engagement. I spend an average of 20 hours working on each of my chapters. That's almost a whole day. So yes I am going to be sad and upset when I see hundreds of people reading, yet barely a dozen of them acknowledge me. Ask me how my imposter syndrome reacts to low engagement.

It thrives, I don't.

Be kind to your fic writers. Engage. Write comments.

[umbraastaff]

But before he could reach his intended altitude, a few yards short of the stalactite-dotted ceiling, something pulled him to a stop — not a bony hand at his shoulder this time, but a fuzzy constricting sensation around his scythe-bearing arm. When he looked down, he saw a web of tangled red threads, impossibly thin yet ensnaring him from wrist to mid-biceps — and every single one of them led back to Barry Bluejeans.

- Fear The Reaper A Lot, Actually by @anistarrose