#he has plagued me for nearly 3 years now

[efingcod]

It needed to be done.

[meyousing]

𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐀 𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: you’re used to light being distant, so when he decides to lay the affection on heavy and proposes a new idea to you at the same time, you’re helplessly intrigued. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: nsfw, yandere light yagami x reader, idk if this matters to say right off the bat but you’re wearing a skirt :] also mentions of death like always lol but none fr! alsoalso this idea has probably been done to death by now but to be fair I started this A YEAR AGO!! pls enjoy despite that lol ily <3

“What is it?” his eyes sharpened as they narrowed at you from across the room, voice laced with blatant boredom. That was what you told yourself anyway, truly hoping that it was boredom and not annoyance because the look he always gave you at times like this made you cave in on yourself, instantly regretting whatever you had done to be such a bother. All that you were doing now was laying idly on his bed, legs swinging out of habit as you were on your stomach and flipping through a magazine that he had given as a pacifier. Maybe he knew that you were actually keeping your eyes on him this entire time, rather than the sheets before you.

“What do you mean?” playing dumb never worked with Light, but you would always do it anyway. It could provide a delay of the inevitable if nothing else. 

You heard the tap of his pen as he dropped it on his desk, followed by the soft thud of his notebook closing before he stood from his chair. A regular notebook, you noticed, thankfully.

“Trying to outsmart me again?”

Right, his interpretation of your playing dumb was much less simple than what you intended to get across. Of course, he knew that you knew better, so your deception was instead seen as defiance; a flaunt of superiority. 

“Of course not,” you shut your magazine, sliding it to the side of the bed and cringing when it slid off of the bed, crumpling up in an ironically tense pile on the floor. Surely Light wasn’t too attached to it, as he merely spared it a passing glance before casting his eyes upon you once more. Then he began to approach, making you swallow a newfound lump in your throat as you scampered back to sit up on your haunches. 

“Then what is it?” he leaned over you, his hands resting at your sides with your faces inches apart. His breath was slow through his nose, soft and cold as each exhale blew onto the tip of your nose. 

How to tell him that the stupid magazine didn’t pacify you at all, that only his attention could soothe you? And how embarrassing it could get if you admitted to the exact type of attention that you needed. 

He began leaning closer as your mind raced, thinking of a different possible answer, but then it went entirely blank as he was close enough to brush his lips over yours. Tantalizingly, the gentlest nudge and he only did it once before pulling back slightly, you could have missed it had your brain continued thinking so hard. The sensation nearly made you crumble, a chill shooting down your spine as you inhaled and resisted the urge to wet your now trembling lips, focusing on maintaining your posture. He knew how to break you, you didn’t want him to see it happen this soon.

“Nothing” was all you could say without simply blabbering out every dirty thought plaguing your mind.

“You never stare at me like that for nothing,” he said pointedly, even adding a cheeky but very slight tilt of his head. Had your stare really been so obvious? You truly did try to be subtle. Either way, you found it humorous how he could go from cold with seemingly deadened emotions to a teaser within minutes. Finding it humorous helped you cope with how scary you knew he could be. 

With the lightest shove to his chest you could muster alongside a bashful turn of your head, you tried creating some space between yourselves to alleviate the fast beating of your heart.

“Really, it’s nothing. I didn’t mean to distract you from your work…” Your hand lingered on his chest after the little push, kneading the material of his shirt idly as you hoped this excuse would suffice. This mannerism alone proved the opposite of your hopes to him. 

When the full press of his lips fell upon yours in a genuine kiss this time, you knew that you had failed. Even more so when you subconsciously deepened it with a lean closer, making your grip on his shirt firmer to keep him from moving away. Though it seemed he had no intention of doing so, instead easing you down to lay your back against his mattress, crawling over you as soon as you were horizontal. 

This kiss, unlike all of his others which would be quick and half-assed–your lips barely meeting before he was already turning his head away to tend to some other matter–was compassionate. One of his hands found the side of your face and he caressed your cheekbone with his thumb, his other fingers which became entangled in your hair from the placement were massaging your scalp soothingly. The sensation lulled you and had you sinking even deeper into his bed while pulling him along with you, your fingertips meeting at the back of his neck and fiddling with the ends of his hair. While this kiss was unusual, it was not unwelcome. 

You didn’t know that there would be a catch to this sudden affection.

You could feel Light smirking against you, his entire aura darkening once he did, so much that you could feel it–and your reaction to such a peculiarity was communicated with a tensing of your shoulders. Upon sensing this, Light was quick to groan and prod his tongue against your bottom lip, which surprised you further and allowed him to invade your mouth. The intimate sound he let out and the way he just seemed so infatuated with you right now had your heart racing. 

This moment ended almost as quickly as it started though, he pulled away from you and nudged his nose against yours. You tried not to show your disappointment, but you knew that it must have been obvious when a frown graced your lips. 

“I want to try something.”

This could go in any direction. He was always so unpredictable, mood changing on a dime whether it was for better or worse. 

“What’s that?” you asked with a small voice, indicative of your anxiety about the unknown. You were already playing right into his hands.

“I want to reward you for being so obedient.”

A reward? Who is this and what has he done with your Light?!

His hand on your cheek rubbed it once more before he lifted himself off of you, steadying himself with hands on your waist as he did. You remained in your place, only watching with your eyes as he leaned over to reach into his desk and a drawer.

The drawer.

You turned your head with a gulp as you watched him retrieve his arm, now holding the dreaded notebook that you had tried to shield yourself from, trying to stay ignorant for the sake of keeping your relationship peaceful with the man you couldn’t help but love. 

“So long as your obedience remains the same, you’ll be rewarded. We’re going to test it right now.” 

He placed the book by your hand which had fallen to your side once he moved, putting his pen between your loose fingers and adjusting it until it stayed still there without tipping over. Your limbs had frozen, so it was no tough feat for him. You were shocked even further when Light’s expression altered somewhat once he actually took notice of how tense you were. Last you could remember, he couldn’t care less when your discomfort was so obvious. 

“It really is going to be rewarding for you. Don’t you trust me?”

He always had to ask you that. How much more obvious could you be about your unequivocal devotion to him, your infinite trust? You’d been by his side all this time, yet he would still ask, nearly daily, most commonly before asking you to do something that you didn’t want to do. As if anyone else would remain with him when finding out his secret, and he still doubted you.

“You know I do.” You murmured, fingers twitching around the cold pen in your grasp. 

“Then at least hear me out” he chuckled dryly, not with any sense of legitimate humour. You tried to be subtle as you swallowed the lump in your throat, having heard such an impatient laugh come from him countless times before.

“This won’t be going away any time soon,” he patted the notebook, “and I can tell that you won’t be either. I mean, as long as you keep following along with me, here.” He glimpsed at you differently then, as if his eyes were asking you to challenge that statement.

You only nodded. Light grinned.

“Good.”

His fingers moved to peel open the book, and you glanced away from it as he skimmed past so many pages that were filled from margin to margin with names. The crisp sounds of paper brushing together stopped once he found a blank one.  

Your eyes stayed on him, and you could feel some burning bile churn and slosh around in your gut as a little smirk pulled at his lips. His eyes darkened when they met yours.

His free hand, which was out of your line of sight, traced the waistband of your skirt. You flinched slightly in surprise, and Light’s smirk widened as he leaned closer to you.

“Write your name.”

Despite being unmoving already, you froze even further, stiffening like a stone and watching him desperately, trying to detect any hint of jesting in his demand. But the wickedness surrounding Light was unrelenting; he meant what he said. 

“What?” you asked quietly, needing to hear it again to really believe that he meant it.

“Start writing your name. Trust me, won’t you?” 

“I-I do–”

“I know. So do it.” Light’s tone was more firm now. 

You could only hold your breath when your eyes flitted over to your hand, your fingers readjusting the pen as you tried to point it toward the paper. The book itself felt alive, you could sense its unreal gaze–like it was taunting you, mocking and laughing at you, tempting you to write, and calling you a coward if you dared to show any hesitation because it shouldn’t be that hard. 

Having been with Light for so long now, you fully understood the notebook’s functionality. Knowing that, would it really be so crazy if you were being a coward about this? 

“Any time now, love” Light’s voice became impatient, and when you looked up at him, his kneeling posture was equivalent to being on the edge of his seat. He looked like he could implode had you made it this far and chose to back out now, he was so eager. You’d hate to disappoint him, even if his little pet name for you was clearly insincere.

Your body went cold and numb once you pushed the tip of the pen against the page, watching the smallest droplet of dark ink soak into the lines. Your hand remained stagnant following this, and you spared a short glance up at Light, noting how his eyes were stuck on the pen. You took in a breath, holding it and letting your lungs fill so you’d become a little lightheaded–a little less aware of this horrible reality–before moving further with utmost reluctance to drag the tool, lining the shape of the first letter in your name.

You could hear Light exhaling as you finally did. You couldn’t let out that breath of your own just yet. Maybe your cause of death would be suffocation, then.

Your focus was ripped away from the note in an instant once you felt a cold fingertip trace over your clit from above your panties, making your body jolt as you met eyes with Light. He wasn’t looking at you yet, only doing so once you stopped writing. 

“Go on. I’m staying true to my word.” To emphasize this, he pressed down against your clit again, his push firm but gentle–leaving you on the cusp of craving more as the sensation gave you chills, yet also sent heat through your lower half. 

So pathetically, that small second of pleasure was enough to incentivize a continuation, and you managed to finish printing that very first letter. 

“Good…”

He resumed what he had been doing, gently circling your bud and using the advantage of that added layer from your panties to optimize the friction; encouraging you. You could feel the way that you were starting to get wet, soaking the material and only making such movements smoother for Light. 

You paused as the feeling grew slightly more intense, coping, and your pause made Light do the same. You two were playing a little game, it seemed, and you obviously didn’t want it to stop–you had to keep going. You had wanted him minutes before this, after all, and you were finally getting what you craved.

Letter two manifested; your grip on the writing utensil weakened as he pulled your panties aside to touch your skin directly. 

You shuddered from the sudden cool air that brushed along your exposed skin, and he dragged some of your slick up from your pussy, using it to make rubbing into your clit that much easier, that much more pleasurable. Your limbs shuddered and you had to breathe out a more vocal huff of air in exasperation, your lungs aching while your muscles tensed in delight from Light’s direct tending to such newfound sensitivity. 

You remained paused with your eyes shut firmly as you became accustomed to the bliss that he inflicted. Light, seeming to understand exactly what he was doing to you, was a bit more forgiving now–continuing his ministrations even when you stopped, but not changing his pace or furthering the intensity enough for those feelings to grow, to bring you closer to any type of climax. It still made you moan though; still made your heart skip a beat and made your walls tighten around nothing. 

Perhaps you had been successfully swindled into playing with fire because now your mind understood a simple formula; if you wanted more, you had to keep writing. Would he let you come if you wrote your entire name down?

Would you even feel the aftershocks of your release before you died?

The prospect of death hit your lust-fogged mind like a truck, and your eyes shot open–that slowly building knot in your abdomen became a tightrope clenching out of fear rather than anticipation. This was a death note, and you were already on track to penning yourself down within it. 

Light could sense your change in stature and returned his gaze to your face once again. His hand slowed, but it was as if he could detect your worry and didn’t want to let you succumb to it–he wanted to keep you within the cusp of pleasure, to keep you malleable and submissive to his desires, not whatever lies your mind was telling you. So he kept touching you.

“You know that you can’t stop now that you’ve started, right?” He looked cocky, like he had you right where he wanted you. And it seemed that he did, because now with such confusion and so many conflicting feelings plaguing you, you weren’t sure about that–could you back out now? Was the damage already done now that your first name was almost down entirely?

Your drying lips parted as if to ask, but you couldn’t find your voice. Light let out a short, dry laugh and nodded his head, his face inches away from yours, like he fucking knew.

“Mhm. You have to keep going, now. You’d better hurry, too. You know that there’s a time limit… don’t you?”

Your lungs were burning and your hips squirmed as he traced his fingers around your core, swirling them within your copious wetness and gently prodding his fingers, hardly getting inside of you, yet you still writhed from the sensitivity of such a precise, close touch. 

You shook your head deliriously in delayed response to his words and all Light did was nod his own head toward the book again. Suddenly you were reminded of the pen in your grasp which had now absorbed the growing heat from your palm; hot to the touch. 

Noting that apparent time limit, you felt your heart thrumming as it raced and you started writing again. The pace of your fingers scraping the pen back and forth was a little quicker than before, yet you couldn’t shake that lingering hesitance even while knowing that you really should have been rushing. Light hummed as he watched, nonchalantly pushing a finger inside of you as you progressed, which made a whiny sound catch in your throat, and made your back lift slightly off the bed. 

Your arm trembled and your chicken scratch ceased again, but Light knew that he had you, because you hurried to carry on with haste once more, and he didn’t bother to stop stroking inside of you anymore. He even slid in another finger following the last time he pulled out, the added thickness made your thighs attempt to close from the new nerve-tingling pleasure that it gave, even despite the way that his body between your legs kept you nice and open for him. 

“Please,” you bartered, voice muffled and representative of the state you were in; wholly weak. He grinned and kept going, his body solid in its place on top of you, forcing you to take it even as his skilled fingers overwhelmed you so deliciously. You wanted the end result now–you wanted to come, to feel that sweet release by his hand. 

Light initiated this entire thing, he set his rules, and you knew that finishing wouldn’t happen just like that, because it wasn’t what he wanted. 

“Please what, Y/N? You already know what you have to do. Don’t play stupid.” 

The little jab at the end hurt only a little bit, making your stomach drop, making you feel as stupid as he said–but his fingertips rubbed along and pressed into your sweet spot which made you whimper, and that feeling was all you could focus on now; remedying the sting of the insult with the soothing cradle of his fingers. Oh, how successfully he was able to distract you and change the path of your thoughts once again. You could hardly bring yourself to care about such blatant manipulation, because release was getting closer and closer, and that was all you wanted.

You couldn’t even tell if the pen was pressing into the paper hard enough to leave any writing behind at all; your hand was hardly moving because your eyes remained shut in elation, and you chose to squeeze the pen in your fist as you coped with his touch, but Light just seemed content with the fact that you were resuming any transfer of penmanship at all. He was certainly rewarding you as he promised, keeping his fingers inside of you until his knuckles pushed into the plush of your pussy lips, and they rocked into you so good that you could almost feel that hard pressure in your stomach. 

It was starting to become too much–you knew how close you were getting, but you didn’t know if that’s what Light wanted. He liked to be in control of most things in his life, and you were at the very top of that list. 

“I-I can’t, I’m gonna–” 

A gasp-like mewl left you once you felt a hot, wet stroke against your clit at the same time that Light pushed rather hard against your g-spot, holding his fingers there and making you squirm. Your eyes shot open and you craned your neck off of the mattress to look down, watching as his lips closed around your clit and sucked it into his mouth, rolling his tongue over it and keeping his eyes on yours the entire time. Your entire body shuddered, it was so intense that you had to try and pull away, but he wasn’t having it, using his free hand to pin your hip down and keep you still.

“Light,” you whined, a warning to him that he was pleasing you too well too quickly, you were about to come and you were hardly finished with writing down your first name. 

His eye contact only became bolder, he didn’t relent, if anything he was trying to get more out of you; intent on making you come now. He hadn’t instructed you otherwise, so you felt safe enough to finally give in–with a weak, raspy whimper you felt yourself release that buildup of desire, your vision turning into static behind closed lids as your body writhed and churned even while he kept you down, putting himself against you with more force. Your hips rocked into his mouth to ride out every last remnant of your orgasm until you felt no more, the only sound that you could hear was your own heavy breathing and Light’s last few caresses against your audibly sopping wet pussy.

 Light moved off of you slowly, and you noted that his eyes were trained on the book rather than your body that now glistened with a light sheen of sweat. Before you could say anything to him (but even then, what could you say?), his eyes scanned over the page and your writing while he nonchalantly wiped your release off of his fingers, onto the material of your skirt. 

You followed his line of sight and looked over your work, seeing how scribbled and disastrous it was. You had probably produced better writing back in kindergarten. 

Now that your heat had finally been tended to, however; your arousal sated, you blinked a few times, then realized exactly what you were looking at: part of your name, written in the death note. 

What about the time limit? Was your first name enough to make it work either way? Your heart began to race and so did your breathing–were these the side effects of the incoming, inevitable heart attack?!

I suppose the cause wasn’t suffocation after all, a fleeting voice said so sarcastically in the back of your head, making you grimace. You propped yourself up on your elbows in a panic and your eyes flew back to Light, who was still skimming over the page with a look of maintained scrutiny. He was so… calm. Were you not about to die? Did he not care?

“That’s a good start,” he murmured, reaching out to trace his index finger (the one that wasn’t just buried in you to the hilt) along the shaky lines that hardly resembled any of the alphabet. 

“Wha–” You could only heave the word out since it felt like your heart was beating in your throat, though your body gradually relaxed as Light seemed completely neutral to the situation. The longer that he did nothing, the more time passed, and you realized that… you were still here.

When silence fell completely between both of you, Light looked over with such casualty that you felt like none of what just happened even did. 

“If we can get to your last name next time, too, maybe I’ll actually fuck you.” He slid off the bed as he spoke, his tone so normal as if he was just talking to you about the weather, making your jaw drop. He grabbed the book and closed it, walking over to the drawer and taking his sweet time ensuring that it was properly put away. 

All you could do was lay there in silent disbelief, watching him with wide eyes while he acted like nothing even happened.

“I’m fine, then?” you asked, your voice firmer and a little louder than normal, more demanding for direct answers. Light glanced over at you and laughed coldly, standing up straight once the drawer was closed once again, his hands on his hips lazily.

“I like that you’re a little dumb, Y/N. It makes things like this more exciting, don’t you think?” 

Before you could respond verbally–only able to scoff for now–Light turned to leave the room, murmuring a nearly inaudible “I’ll get some water” before the door closed behind him. His muffled footsteps became more distant as he descended downstairs, isolating you to the top floor.

Helplessly flumping back against the bed, you stared at the ceiling, reliving everything that had just happened in a mental state that you imagined neurosis to feel like. Although, you didn’t have to worry for long… you would get used to it. You understood that this was not going to be the first time something like this would happen, Light was truly only getting started with you. 

© meyousing 2023. do not share/export my work on to any other platforms. do not translate my work. 

[m-itsukikoga]

w/c: 1.3k tw/s: gn!reader (no pronouns, descriptions of afab anatomy), oral (f!receiving), masturbation (m!receiving) notes: happy birthday to the love of my life!!! it's only been a little more than a year of knowing you but i am so grateful for all the joy you've already brought me and how you make me laugh, i can't imagine being an animanga fan without u and i hope you have the best day ever <3 dedicated to @cottoncalicoes ilysm

"are you okay, megu?" your knuckles brush over his forehead, soft, electricity and heat blooming beneath where you touch him, a tiny pout on your lips when you brush his hair back to press your palm to his head, "you look hot, you sick?"

the apples of bachira's cheeks positively burn, pink shining through when meeting your eyes: dark with concern, darting between his as you worry, the back of your hand brushing down from his head to hold his warm cheeks in each hand, the pads of your thumbs stroking over the flush at the centre of his cheeks.

he wasn't really the type to fumble over his words, typically speaking a million miles a minute, especially with you. now, he feels stuck, frozen in time staring up at your concerned expression; eyebrows drawn together in worry, large pupils reflecting his flushed face back at him while you worry over him like a good friend does.

he flushes impossibly hotter at the thought, groaning and wriggling out of your grip to avoid you as best he can.

you're so perfect, such a good friend to him, fussing over him while he's sick, all the while he tries to hide his hardening cock from you.

good friends don't do this, they don't blush at the slightest touch, smallest brush of hands. they don't daydream about the same hands cradling his hot face sliding down his chest, or groping his hips. if he was a better friend he wouldn't think about your lips on his neck, your fingers creeping beneath his waistband, tugging him closer, closer, closer.

"you need some water? you're going really red, meguru." he doesn't trust himself to speak any more, only nodding his head as his bright eyes glazed over, nearly rolling back staring at you, his gaze roaming over your figure, the shape of your thighs, your ass the flutter of your eyelashes when you turn to check on him once more.

the second you're out of his sight, he buries his face in his pillows, groaning as his eyes roll back into his skull. his skin burns, like he's fallen ill with the worst plague. he might be dying thinking about you; molten lava rushing through his veins, sweat sticking his clothes to his skin at the mere idea of you, his eyes blurred and the hairs on his arms standing straighter the more he dreamt of you.

he thinks lovesickness must be a fate worse than the plague: his hair sticking to his forehead all the while you moved around the kitchen, getting him water, the ice tinking against the rim of the glass, and he's certain you're preparing an assortment of food on a plate for him, mostly fruits to snack on, to keep his hydration up while he recovered from the ailment you think he has.

wordlessly, he thanks you and whatever force in the universe he can think of for leaving his bedroom door open, for your low humming under your breath, for letting him track your movements around the apartment while his hands dipped lower over his torso.

guilt almost bubbles in his chest, the sensation drowned by the spark of adrenaline when he slips his fingertips over his abdomen, scratching his blunt nails over each muscle, your saccharine voice echoing in his head like it's your hand tracing over his underwear instead, your breaths shallow and quick, panting, breathless when you say his name, when you plead for him to touch you, to let you touch him.

would you want him to touch you like this? fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your clothes? to leave a trail of burning electricity in his wake?

would you touch him like this? scratching your nails over the sensitive skin low on his abdomen? would you tease him over his underwear? stroking and groping him until his hips would jump into your hands, until he was so overcome with need he flips you beneath him, pressing your clothed bodies together, staying like that until you say his name in that addictively sweet voice of yours.

bachira thinks of you like that far more often than a friend should; below him, hips grinding into each other, breathing each others air, lips brushing against each others while you gasped and groaned. stroking himself over his pants, he thinks of you now, his deft fingers touching and groping and feeling your cunt, amber eyes locked on yours just to watch it change the more he'd tease (he knows you'd think of it that way, but he knows he's just taking his time to really appreciate all of you, your face, your skin, each and every one of your sounds).

now, with his hand gripping his cock, stroking over the material of his shorts, and you worrying over him in the kitchen (he hears cabinets open and close, no doubt searching for a thermometer to check his spiking fever), he's thinking of your thighs.

he thinks of peeling your underwear down your thighs, soaked from kissing and grinding, from his tongue sucking yours, from his cock bumping against your clit before either of you could strip. he thinks of the way you'd lock your thighs around his shoulders, thinks of how you'd taste on his lips, on his tongue, how you'd squeal when he buries his nose in your cunt to swallow down every last drop of your slick.

his fever spikes thinking of how you'd gush on his tongue, knowing he'd be addicted after you grant him one taste, the heat inside his veins only growing thinking of begging to have you beneath him, to eat you again and again, to breathe you in, to suck at your thighs and lap up every last drop he can bear. he's impatient, desperate, aware of how his chest would tighten when you'd part your thighs for him, tighter than it feels right now thinking of you splayed on his bed, your limbs thrown over his shoulders, thighs tightening around his head the closer you got to cumming on his face, the louder your moans grow, how your fingers would twist in his hair to pull him with you has your hips jump and grind into his face.

stroking himself faster, focusing on the tip of his cock, your face flashes in his mind; your concerned expression, the way your pupils shrink and grow staring at him. under his tongue, bachira knows your eyes would widen, pupils dilating until all he could see was the inky darkness taking over your iris. he knows fireworks would explode in the depths of your pupils when his mouth closes around your clit — the only thing he's curious about is if your waterline would well with tears when he sucks at your skin again and again, if you'd buck and cry as he overwhelms every sense you had.

swiping his thumb over himself, he's torn from his fantasies with the jarring sound of your footsteps growing closer.

he's never moved faster in his life, in a match, in training, never did he move with such speed to drag a pillow into his lap, the pain of pulling his hand away from himself nearly making him regret thinking of your face slick with tears, your thighs wet with his cum, his chin dripping with a mix of both, lips swollen from relentless kissing, his cock sinking into you again, again, again and again—

nearly regrets it.

"these should make you feel better, megu."

you're fussing over him again, your hand at his head, pushing him to sit up in the bed, reaching for the pillow in his lap to place behind his head again while he eats and drinks. batting you away, meguru successfully distracts you from the only thing still keeping his modesty intact, by feeding you one of the pieces of fruit you'd cut for him as he sucks the thermometer (undoubtedly telling you he's in perfect health, that the only thing he's infected with is lovesickness, and he can only pray it's contagious).

© all works belong to @a-ikuoliver, @gwen0m, and dlirious on archive of our own, do not plagiarise, translate, repost, feed my works into ai or recommend my work on other platforms, or bind my fanworks for sale.

[quinnysnursery]

could you write something with reader and cg!Matt where she has accidentally hurt herself (broken bone or something) and it triggers her (abusive household filled with times she has broken bones in the past) to regress to an age of around 2 or 3 and she's terrified to regress while at the hospital and then eventually she's still regressed while Matt takes her home and then maybe its just super fluffy and cute and with lots of physical touch and nicknames?

[🩹] sticks and stones can break my bones, but you would never hurt me | matt sturniolo one-shot

paring : cg!matt sturniolo x fem!little!reader

summary : an unfortunate incident leaves you and your caregiver struggling with the ghosts of your past

warning/extra tid-bits : ANGST FOLLOWED BY FLUFF, injuries, blood, stitches, talk of abusive/neglectful childhood, hospital trips, matt and y/n are dating outside of regression- this does not make age regression nsfw, ptsd, i think that's all!! plz let me know if there is anymore!!

word count : 1,979 + not proofread

divider credit : umm i found all the photos on pinterest :3 (line from @mikeykuns)

a/n : kinda strayed from the request just a bit but i hope you still enjoy it :)

Matt cursed under his breath as he slammed his foot on the gas- much too full of adrenaline to care about traffic laws. 

Your cries and sniffles echoed throughout the car, your shoulders racking as you attempted to muffle your cries.

He’d been preoccupied on something that, in hindsight, was not important at all. Blissfully unaware of his little’s attempt to cut an apple in the kitchen. He felt absolutely terrible- like he was the scum of all caregivers. 

Beside him in the passenger seat, you were trying to focus on keeping the dish cloth wrapped tightly around your bleeding hand. Your caregiver was talking, but you couldn’t hear him- flashbacks of your childhood had already wrapped around your brain, making it nearly impossible to focus on anything else.

Your childhood was far from a happy one; filled with constant yelling, crying and on occasion, injuries. 

It wasn’t rare that your younger self got into something you shouldn’t- whether that be by climbing a tree to escape your screaming parents or accidentally burning yourself while attempting to make dinner for you and your younger siblings.

It was safe to say you’d had your fair share of hospital visits in your youth. It’d been years since you had to be driven to the emergency room, it wasn’t really something you, or anyone, enjoyed.

Now though, you were sitting in the passenger seat of Matt’s van with a blood-stained dishcloth wrapped tightly around your hand. You’d asked Matt to slice up an apple, but he’d responded with a simple “in a moment.”

To anybody else, it would’ve been easy to wait but you had been regressed in the moment and it was not easy to wait. Nor did your regressed-self believe it would be a “moment”. Your parents had always said they’d cook dinner, “in a moment”- only to fall asleep and leave you and your siblings hungry.

The injury occurred when you, in the haze of littlespace, had decided you could slice your own apple. The pulsing pain in your hand tauntingly reminded you that you could not.

God, you were such an idiot. You knew Matt was better than your parents, that’s the whole reason you entrusted him with the responsibility of being your caregiver. If you had just listened, you wouldn’t be in this position right now. 

You still couldn’t process what Matt was saying, but in the midst of trauma-response plagued thoughts; you spoke. 

“I’m sorry, I…I don’t even know what I was thinking.” You stammered, voice hoarse from crying. Matt furrowed his brows as he exited the freeway, turning to face you for a split second.

“What?” He asked, baffled at the fact you were sorry. He was sorry! He was the one who’d neglected his responsibilities as a caregiver for some stupid social media thing.

“I’m sorry. I…I know it was…it was a stupid thing to do.” You admitted, fresh hot tears burning your eyes- the sensory only adds to the stinging pain from the injury on your hand. 

Matt couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He hadn’t just met you yesterday, of course he knew of your past and the habits you still carried from your trauma- but it had been months since you apologized for something that was so blatantly not your fault.

“Sweetheart, I’m not mad.” Matt said, his words continuing to fall on deaf ears. 

The brunette man didn’t have much time to continue to reassure you, as he’d just pulled into the nearest parking spot he could in front of the emergency room.

Matt jumped out of the van, rushing over to your side door and helping you out. His heart broke at how lifeless you appeared. There were no small smiles, no commenting on the flowers planted outside the emergency room- nothing.

Just you, shuffling beside Matt trying to make yourself as quiet as possible.

It broke him that he’d caused this for you. If he’d simply held off on trying to find photos for Nick’s stupid photo dump, you’d be happily at home munching away on your apple slices.

“Sir?” The receptionist asked, snapping Matt out of his self-pitying thoughts. “She uhm- she…she needs stitches.” Matt explained, motioning to the dish towel he’d panicky-wrapped around your hand before rushing you into the car.

The receptionist nodded diligently, asking for your name and Matt’s relation to you. 

“Y/n L/n…and he’s my boyfriend.” You spoke up, earning another nod. Matt anxiously looked around, adrenaline still pumping through his veins.

“You two can follow Nurse Buckley to an exam room,” The receptionist pointed to a female nurse dressed in sage-green scrubs, smiling toothily at the couple.

“C’mon sweetheart, we’ll get you stitched up in no time.” Nurse Buckley promised, leading you two to a secluded exam room- Matt helped you onto the uncomfortable bed, you mumbled out a “thanks”.

You weren’t mad at him, not at all. It had been your own stupid decision to attempt welding a knife while regressed, not Matt’s. You didn’t really understand why you felt so…small.

Not in the regression way though, you wouldn’t dare regress in a hospital- terrified of what your little-self would think. 

You felt small in a completely different sense, like your words carried little weight on the world. Despite Nurse Buckley and Matt being in the room with you, you felt shunned away from everyone.

It was then that it dawned on you, you’d triggered some sort of PTSD haze. A trauma response.

Sadly, the realization didn’t fix it- it only made you feel deeper shame. 

“Y/n?” Nurse Buckley called out, grasping your attention. “D’you feel okay hun? You don’t appear to have lost too much blood but if you feel dizzy-” 

You shook your head, “I don’t like hospitals.” You told the nurse, earning an understanding nod. “I understand.” Nurse Buckley looked towards Matt before meeting your eyes once again, “If you want your boyfriend to sit with you on the bed, I won’t tell.” She smiled cheekily.

You flashed her a small inauthentic smile. Matt noticed- the nurse didn’t.

“I’ll be right back, need to grab gloves.” Nurse Buckley told Matt, who nodded.

After the nurse left the room, Matt went straight back to apologizing.

“Hey…baby, look at me.” Matt cooed, carefully sitting in front of you on the stiff hospital bed. Your eyes shot up to meet Matt’s, you hated that.

That wasn’t how you behaved around Matt. With Matt you were playful and softhearted- right now, your stupid brain was forcing you to act like a scared child.

“Can you take a breath for me? You’re shaking.” The brunette boy’s voice was soft as silk as he brushed his fingertips against your tear-stained cheek. Those words broke the dam. 

Your face wrinkled up as you began crying once more, painful memories playing on repeat in the back of your mind. 

Matt’s heart broke for you, “Oh sweetheart…can I hug you?” He asked, you nodded quickly- wanting nothing more than for this awful haze to go away. As soon as permission was given, Matt’s arms wrapped around you tightly- careful to avoid your injured hand.

Your caregiver shushed you, rubbing soothing circles into your back. “I know, this must be so scary for you- right?” Matt cooed, you nodded into his neck. 

The fact your brain had decided to cope with a scary-situation in an unhealthy way combined with Matt’s soothing touch and voice, you felt a familiar safe, fuzzy, headspace lingering near. 

No.

You couldn’t regress. Not in a hospital. Maybe you would consider it if your littlespace wasn’t as young as it was- but sadly, that wasn’t the case.

Matt had been your caregiver for the better half of a year and in that year, he’d come to recognize the signs of an upcoming regression. The way you melted into a hug like a small child would, how you hid your face deeper into the crook of his neck- trying to bury yourself into his skin. 

“Feelin’ tiny?” Matt asked, lowering his already soft voice. You shook your head, trying to convince yourself that you weren’t. Matt frowned, pulling away from the hug and gently lifting your chin to make your eyes meet his.

“Sweetheart…what’s goin’ on? It’s okay to be tiny, I’ll keep you safe.” Your carer cooed, rubbing the pad of his thumb against your cheek. You whined, feeling the fuzziness grow over your mind more. 

“Alright! Let’s get you sewn up and on your way!” Nurse Buckley’s words washed a whole new wave of anxiety over you.

The stitches were not a fun experience. Even if Nurse Buckley had given you a local anesthetic, just the thought of a needle going in and out your skin was enough to make you bury your face into Matt’s sweater. 

Now though, you were both home with strict instructions to “take it easy”. 

And take it easy you would, because you were currently sitting atop the couch- various fluffy blankets surrounding you as Gravity Falls played on the television. 

You smiled gently- feeling much better than you had earlier- as Matt came back to the living room, a small pink bowl full of apple slices. Your heart warmed as the sight, eyes watering with love.

“Hey…what’s going on?” Matt asked, quickly setting the small bowl onto the coffee table and crouching in front of you. You shook your head, wiping your eyes with your uninjured hand. Matt frowned softly, still feeling guilty from the incidents that took place earlier in the day.

“Do you not want apples anymore? I…I can get you something else? Or, order something?” Matt offered frantically, causing you to shake your head once again. “No…Matt this is…you’re so sweet.” Your voice broke as you launch yourself into your carer’s arms, wrapping your arms around him tightly.

Matt sat in shock for a moment before latching onto you, pressing gentle kisses to the top of your head. 

“I’m so sorry, I should’ve cut up the apple when you asked.” Matt said, ashamed of his actions. You furrow your brows, pulling away from the hug- “What? No, I’m sorry. It…it was a stupid decision.” You said, ashamed of your actions.

Matt’s brows mimicked yours, knitting together in confusion. “No. I’m…I’m your caregiver, I’m supposed to look after you and I failed that. I’m sorry.” Matt explained firmly.

You smiled at your caregiver, feeling the scared little girl inside of you heal.

Matt pulled you back into a hug, running a reassuring hand up and down your back. You felt the familiar fuzzy feeling from earlier return, but this time- you were more than happy to welcome it, especially after this stressful day.

Matt realized this instantly, his smile growing. “C’mon sweet girl, I think this show is too big for you.” The brunette cooed, grabbing the remote off of the coffee table and finding a much more age appropriate cartoon for you. 

You hummed excitedly, resting against your caregiver’s chest- eyes heavy with sleep. 

Matt hummed along to the theme-song of the cartoon, earning soft giggles from you. The two of you sat tangled together, a pile of fluffy blankets keeping both of you cozy, warm and safe.

You whined softly, rubbing your tired eyes with a balled fist. Matt cooed softly, pressing gentle kisses to the top of your head- pulling you closer. 

“How’s your hand feeling?” Matt asked, earning a soft shrug from you. You lifted up your hand, pout on your lips.

“Dada ‘ss it.” You murmured, giving your caregiver your award-winning puppy dog eyes. Matt’s lips curled upwards at your words, pressing a gentle kiss to your hand- hoping his caregiver-magic would help the wound heal faster.

“I’m really sorry sweet girl,” Matt apologized for a final time. You thought for a moment before snuggling further into Matt’s chest, “...’s okay. Still’da best dada ever.” You smiled.

taglist !! :

@mattssturnz @littlestar44 @graceslittlecorner @zivall

@hrtz4alex2211 @bimbob1tch @sturnsxplr-25 @cherry-red-heart

@pr3ttyf4wn @frlinbruh @jazminepetit-homme @raynaaxx

@tyummyz @starri-nightss @cyberskulzzz @nicksbestie

@urfavbestiee @nicksloverrr @babybatxxx @ivysturnss

@natedoeswife @blahbel668 @nicksloverrr @flow3rsturns13

@pkfferoo @pixxiies @mattsturnswhore @17welch17 @pinksikhewei

@v33angel @conspiracy-ash @hoes4matthew @elislytherpuffsturn

@mattsturnsgirlie

[httpsserene]

𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞'𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐬 (𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟-𝐬𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠!) - 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐜.

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: maybe this time, the natural distance between them concerning their now different job requirements would help max get over his small, miniscule, tiny, fractional, microscopic, miniature, little, itty-bitty crush on daniel. it didn’t work the first time, when younger-max had avoided his ex-teammate like the plague after his move to a different team—if anything that absence made his heart ache for daniel more, even though he tried his hardest to hate him. so now, maybe that max isn’t the one causing the growing gap between him and daniel, this space might dissolve max’s fondness. 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. idiots in love. mild angst. fluff. happy ending. attempt at humor. plot with a side of porn. the timeline is mostly accurate. max verstappen is an oblivious idiot. daniel ricciardo is an obvious idiot. 5+1 things (in a way). the three musketeers: charles, pierre, and lando. light praise kink. light dom/sub undertones. mild orgasm delay/denial. 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 9.5k 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: max verstappen x daniel ricciardo

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: so....how's life been treating y'all while i disappeared for two months :) ? no, um, sorry for ghosting you guys; i know, i'm surprised that i didn't forget my login info. life started being life for a good amount of time and i got really sucked into school and work. aside from the boring everyday stuff, i've got an internship this summer (yay!), i'm pretty sure i have a bit of a mutual-crush with this boy in my morning lecture, and i've started playing final fantasy sixteen.

anyways, this is my longest work ever! and i'm dedicating it to one of my sweetest betas, bianca. you requested this long before my disappearing act in december, and i told you i was nearly finished with a 6k-word fic for your request. to make up for my unexplained absence, i rewrote the entire thing into a near ten-thousand word feel-good masterpiece.

i hope this fic is of good enough quality for all of you wonderful f1-stans to forgive me because, i'm back, and hopefuily here to stay lol. enjoy reading, loves &lt; 3.

requested & written by/for @biancathecool

join taglist | feedback & requests | table of contents↻

milton keynes, red bull racing headquarters, pre-season 2023

daniel looks happy. max doesn’t know why that surprises him—maybe he’s projecting his emotions (his therapist says he does that quite often) onto the man. the surprise makes sense though, max thinks, as he watches the australian chatter away with the engineers, the largest toothy smile spread across his face like he never left red bull behind in 2018. if it were max who had gone through the mclaren bullshit along with not having a guaranteed seat for the upcoming 2023 season, and he had to settle for a third driver position: he would scourge the world with his fury.

but: it’s not max, it’s daniel. it’s daniel, who was warmly welcomed back into navy blue (papaya did not suit him), it’s daniel, who doesn’t snap at the marketing team when they ask how he’s “coping” with not being on the grid. it’s daniel, who becomes friends with checo easily. it’s daniel, who’s scheduled to fulfill the pr activities that the two red bull drivers refuse to complete. it’s daniel, who has clocked in insane hours in the sim and factory while max has been enjoying his off-season. 

it’s daniel, who hasn’t shown any signs of disappointment about not having a seat this year.

if he won’t show or admit it, max will. having a race weekend without daniel doesn’t feel right. max knows this, even though the season hasn’t started yet: he’s going to be miserable. it’s like when daniel left him the team. of course, max had pushed daniel away after he signed with renault. what was he supposed to do? react calmly with the emotional intelligence he didn’t have? max thought the man hated him when he didn’t tell him that he was leaving before the news was released. 

regardless, instead of the australian leaving, this time around he’s coming back, which max had originally believed was the best thing to ever happen. he’s not so sure of that anymore. daniel belongs in the car chasing him with the smell of burning rubber and petrol surrounding them. max doesn’t appreciate how the smell of race tracks has already disappeared from him. he could tell it was missing when daniel made a show of giving max the biggest hug as soon as he stepped foot in the factory.

maybe this time, the natural distance between them concerning their now different job requirements would help max get over his small, miniscule, tiny, fractional, microscopic, miniature, little, itty-bitty crush on daniel. it didn’t work the first time, when younger-max had avoided his ex-teammate like the plague after his move to a different team—if anything that absence made his heart ache for daniel more, even though he tried his hardest to hate him. so now, maybe that max isn’t the one causing the growing gap between him and daniel, this space might dissolve max’s fondness.

“max, kid,” christian waves a hand in front of max’s face with an unimpressed look, “did you hear a single thing i said or were you too distracted by the sight of daniel in red bull gear again?”

the tips of max’s ears redden, and he snaps his head away from where it was turned to watch daniel’s constant smile, to face his team principal. max doesn’t know what he was thinking; his crush is going nowhere.

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐎𝟑.

taglist: @saintslewis @cherry2stems @lorarri @inloveallthetime @mindless-rock @biancathecool @barnestatic @my-ylenia @katekipshidze @darleneslane @lovingaphroditesworld @smoothopz @vetteltea @tallrock35

© httpsserene 2023

[ashton-sano]

HxH: Feitan w/ a Strong! S/o Pt.1(?)

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`>When I say strong, the reader, in this case, would be as physically capable and have nen and/or abilities comparable to Feitan. I see a lot of headcanons but not many like this

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`>Getting back into the HXH fandom slowly so while I'm working on some more Food Wars! Content, have these since this gremlin has been plaguing my mind lol. If this gets enough love, ill make a part 2 so tell me what you all think :3

Warning: Murder, Stalking and Strong language

So if you a minor, beware.

.

-To start, he might be a tad put off

-It's pretty rare to find someone with such prowess, especially ones that don't have less than-savory intentions

-Id assume you met on a battlefield of some kind or while he was on one of his missions with the troupe

-Just like him, you aren't exactly the upstanding citizen type and are committing crimes of some sort when you encounter

-Whether stealing the same things or killing the same people, you two have similar goals, regardless of the reason

-To be fair, he didn't think much of you when you first appeared

  "How. Troublesome...."

-An annoying obstacle, someone to dispatch quickly

-However, after a rather tedious fight and a good amount of bruises, he realized it might not be that simple

-Your moves were calculated and precise, and your battle iq no doubt honed over years of experience with nen abilities that even he found difficult to handle

-His interest was certainly piqued, as much as it can for Feitan anyway

-You’ll hand it to him; its been a while since you've seen his level of strength

-A true master of his craft, no doubt

-Regardless, that isn't why you were here

-You came to rid of a target and with your mission accomplished, there was no reason to stay, no matter how curious you were about the extent of his ability

-You were swift at your exit, swift enough that Feitan only caught your figure leaving from the corner of his eye

-Admittedly you've sparked more than enough of his interest

-something about your very being itched him in a way he couldn't describe and lingered his thoughts for moments too long

-Like it or not, your existence loomed his mind awkwardly and gave his chest a tighten

-Indescribably annoying

'Must. know. about. Her. Get rid of stupid feeling.”

-now we all know Feitan is no short of deranged and sadistic so it is no telling if he wanted to know for devious reasons or other

-Whatever the case, it led to him talking Shalnark into researching deep (and I mean very deep) into you

-Playing it off as a simple inquiry, he found you, a picture attached to your profile albeit a very blurry one

-All that he could get was your name and Age

"Y/n. Interesting. Name."

Shalnark is confused

-That's how he got here, peeping from your window as you rest

-Even with such little information, finding you was trivially easy

-Your apartment was small, compact he’d say

-Nothing compared to the places he’s layed his head: cold, dark, and filthy on a good day

-He spent the night watching you sleep, noticing every ministration, every time you got up abruptly and checked your surroundings, nearly certain something was amiss

-He didn't expect peeping on you to be so trepidatious

-That didn't stop him from stopping by every time he wasn't busy to check up and watch you

-Days became weeks and months flew by as he kept this cycle going

-It eventually got to the point that he'd follow you to and from your house

-He was searching and, surprisingly, unsure of what for

-He's never felt any particular connection to people outside of the spiders so it was usually easy to write it off as mindless curiosity

-He just wants to know why you interest him so much, and nothing more

-That's how he ended up in your house when you left for your 8 am morning run, which took you approx. 30 minutes to finish as of this week

-He was just checking your clothes because he wished to know where you frequented, perhaps he could lie in waiting as you shopped, snatching your jugular and relenting this pounding in his chest that paces just a few beats quicker

-He only checks the food you eat to see what your diet consists of, perhaps to poison you as your gaze falters from your plate, even if just for a second, permanently killing the heat that rises against his skin at the thought of you

-He doesn't care about you; he just wants to know your weaknesses to exploit, that’s all

-If that were true, then why was he in your room when you weren't? Taking in your scent as if an attached dog 

-Surely he could've killed you thousands of times over in the dead of your sleep; a slit to your throat would've ended this and yet he feels pulled to let you live 

“Just. one. More day.”

 -If it didn't matter, if you didn't matter, why did he effectively remove any potential romantic partner from your life?

-It's just to make you easier to kill; it's just to make you easier to kill, it's just to make you easier to take. No! Kill...not take...

-What was once curiosity became more of a crippling obsession.

-He had to know everything—what you were doing, who you spoke to, and what you ate in the morning

-You captivated him and even if he couldn't understand it, you had him wrapped around your finger without so much as a word 

-Ever since your mission 4 months ago, a certain feeling has lingered your consciousness and kept you on edge with no clue as to the source

-Things went missing, your associates became distant—well, more distant than you kept them—and your kills have become suspiciously easier.

-To the average person, such a prospect would strike fear and cause for trepidation

-Did you think I wasn't aware that he'd been watching me?

-All credit goes to him, spotting him was the hardest part

-He only let his presence be known through peeks of his bloodlust spilling before he vanished in the same motion, which gave away how seasoned he was

It was hard to tell if he wanted me to find him with how obvious his actions became; no, the word would be bold. His actions have gone from stealing articles from the back of my closet to lacing food when he was sure I hadn't seen him 

-Playing dumb was the easy part; actually avoiding his kidnapping attempt(s) was certainly a challenge 

-Before long, you could see the desperation in his nen

“You're getting sloppy, Stalker.”

-I suppose you've worked hard, stalker, I’ll let you win just this once

[theheartmold]

Fic Masterlist

Dragon Age (Series)

"Born Again in Blood" - A mostly canon-compliant take on the events of Dragon Age: Origins that follows the path of my Tabris warden; how he deals with the weight of responsibility while trying to figure out his own identity in the midst of a crisis. Picks up post-City Elf Origin. (Multiple relationships explored).

"endure what you deserve" - A series about my Antivan Crow oc, Andrea De Riva. Andrea is a mage and a spirit healer who has never had the chance to express what they want: until the opportunity arises to work with House Dellamorte. Canon Divergent but delves deep into Crow politics. (Illario Dellamorte/OC).

"The Contracts Eight" (Endure What You Deserve) CHAPTERS 2/9 Andrea De Riva and Illario Dellamorte are working on a series of contracts together. Failure isn't an option. Whether or not one of them might kill the other along the way remains to be seen.

Dragon Age (One-Shots)

"sunsets and silhouettes" - Andrea De Riva recounts a fond memory with Illario Dellamorte, parsed among a myriad of others. (Illario Dellamorte/OC).

"wear me down it's not in my hands now" - Andrea De Riva is accused of conspiracy and treason by their fellow De Riva, Emil. Emil, Antivan Crow and Rook of the Veilguard, struggles to believe that someone he thought of as family could've had a hand in ruining the life of the man he loves. (Rook & OC).

"everything outside i love is melting" - Lucanis speaks to an old rival after Treviso is saved from the dragon attack. (Lucanis Dellamorte/OC).

"over tea" - Caterina Dellamorte & Andrea De Riva discuss house politics over a cup of tea. Set post-canon Veilguard. Illario/OC referenced.

"in bloom" - Andrea De Riva reflects on their own emotional state after helping Lucanis, Rook, and Illario hunt down Zara Renata. Very short one-shot I wanted to post to characterize Andrea more.

Pathfinder (Series)

"everything in me, about me, lost" - Mathias Silanus goes to Kenabres in search of his wayward younger brother. What he finds is something so much more than he bargained for: a Crusade that takes him far away from everything he's ever known, and, more importantly, far from his brother. What he finds in the wake of himself might be enough to change his own life, even if he can't save everyone else. (Multiple relationships explored).

Pathfinder (One-Shots)

"you've got the wool over my eyes" - Adrigo Livianus is an ex-hellknight, now an antipaladin whose work and goals are tied closely to that of Isore Cygnarus. Unfortunately for him, his companion has been away on business, and there's no one to come to his aid when former friends, foes, and memories almost drag him away in chains. (OC/OC).

"sick among the pure" - A short fic that details the backstory of my pathfinder OC, Adrigo Livianus. In this fic we see how he handles the aftermath of an ambush that nearly cost him his life. (Gen)

Baldur's Gate 3 (Series)

"1,001 Years" - A collection of stories about my tiefling Piety, an Archfey pact bardlock who struggles to break himself free of their pact to the Prince of Frost. (Multiple relationships explored).

"i betray you like a man" - The Dark Urge -- a tiefling named Gabriel with no memory beyond a bruised ego and a honed instinct to kill & The Morningstar -- an aasimar named Bedivere whom has been locked away in a monastery for nigh on twenty years. Bound by inscrutable fate and the deeds of men who play at being gods, they are brought together after a fateful nautiloid crash upon the Sword Coast. From there, it is a race against the clock to uncover the cure for tadpoles that plague their company, and the truth of the bloody past that Gabriel has left trailing behind him. Whispers from dark urges plague his mind, while the earnest pleas of Lathander guide Bedivere's steps. Time and fate are both poised against them. (OC/OC)

Baldur's Gate 3 (One-Shots)

"memento mori" - Enver Gortash interrupts Adin'hrae--The Dark Urge--during a busy evening to make a request of him. Smut ensues, but it is not loving or warm. (NSFW)

"missing the mark" - Halcyon, the Dark Urge, is a very busy man as the High Primaster of Bhaal's church. Being on time for a meeting with his new ally, Enver Gortash, is a difficult task when everyone seems to be intent on stopping him from doing so. When he finally arrives, he wants to make a reverent display out of his associate. (NSFW)

[girlactionfigure]

Debunking the antisemitic  Talmud quotes meme promoted by @DanBilzerian and boosted by @RealCandaceO and her ilk

A thread.

Preface: None of this is new; most of these fake quotes originate from a couple of antisemitic German books that are over a hundred years old and they've been debunked over and over in many places. Sadly, most of them are not so accessible so I'll go over them myself. 

As far as my credentials, I'm a Rabbi who is in his second decade teaching Talmud for a living. This is something that occupies a large part of my day.

It's truly an eye-rolling moment whenever I see these quoted. Let me show you why:

1) Soferim 15

Mistranslation + taken out of context. 

In a discussion about generalities, Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai said that even the best members of your enemy nation, you should kill in a time of war instead of having mercy on them. This is rooted in the exodus from Egypt:

It says that after the plagues, when the Jews were in the midst of the sea, they were pursued by Pharoh and the rest of the egyptians on chariots. Now, how could they have chariots if all of their animals died in a plague?

Those who feared G-d brought them inside as per Moshe. 

So, they believed in the words of Moshe, they believed that G-d was sending those plagues on Egypt, and yet they still decided after seeing everything all the miracles they saw and knowing what they put the Jewish people through, to pursue them at sea in order to kill them. 

This is why Rabbi Shimon says that, in a time of war, don't have mercy on 'the best' of your enemies but rather kill them. We can see from this that they might have been the best members of their society but they still ultimately wanted to go through with their murderous intents. 

 Yevamot 98a

Fake translation, and out of context. 

There's a discussion about what happens when identical twin brothers converted, one marries a Jewish woman and he dies without having an heir: does his existing brother perform levirate marriage, or give her a form of divorce. 

There's a whole debate about whether or not he's permitted to do a levirate marriage.

One of the arguments that is brought is that since there's so much licentiousness in the non-Jewishness nation at the time, we don't know who is anyone's father as such, we don't allow it. 

To back this opinion, a verse from Ezekiel about the licentiousness of the Egyptians that compares their views on relationships with the way animals mate with each others without caring about who they mate with. 

So, in no way does it say that "children of non-Jews are animals." 

3) Bava Metzia 114b

Fake translation, and completely out of context. 

In short, there's a discussion about the idea of ritual purity, and whether the corpse of a non-Jew renders you impure if you touch their grave or not. According to Rabbi Shimon ben Gamliel, no. Here's why: 

He quotes a verse in relation to ritual purity that says that only Jews are called "Adam." 

Now, antisemites translate this as meaning man. Except, there are four terms that define man: Adam, Ish, Enosh and Gever. They all have different spiritual meanings.

So, Rabbi Shimon is not saying here that "non-Jews are not human", there's nothing about how non-Jews are beast at all mentioned there. In fact, the ones being compared to animals here are Jews (sheep). 

4) Gad Shas 2:2 

This is a fake quote. There's no such thing as Gad Shas.

In fact, both the Bible &  Talmud prescribe lashes for a Jewish man who engages in relations with a non-Jewish girl whether for pleasure or "marriage" (such unions are not legally recognized as marriage). 

5) Avodah Zara 36b

Fake translation and out of context.

Yes, non-Jewish girls are considered niddah from birth. So is the status of any non-Jewish woman who is unmarried as well. And married women for nearly half a month. 

It has nothing to do with "filth" at all. 

In fact, the reason why the Rabbis decreed that non-Jewish women are considered to be in a state of niddah from birth is to make it an even worse punishment if a Jew were to stay and have relations with one of them.

The Torah is really big into not intermarriage. Lots of verses. 

6) Sanhedrin 54b

Fake translation & wildly out of context.

This is a discussion specifically about *forbidden relationships* and whether it makes you susceptible to the death penalty. What's debated here is whether a person who engages in such horrible actions is put to death. 

The Sages determined that before the age of 9, children are completely unaware & don't understand what relations are. Between the ages of 9 & 13, while they do understand, they are not considered guilty whether passive or active. 

The whole discussion is about their victimizer. 

So here, the Jewish that is codified is that if a man forces someone between the ages of 9 & 13 to engage with him, that person gets the death penalty (and his victim does not) and under the age of 9, he does not get the death penalty but rather he gets lashes in public. 

The fact that he gets lashes for it instead of the death penalty doesn't mean that it's less than a crime. It's because it's considered something other than having relations, because a child that age is unable to understand what is happening and as such it's a different crime. 

For the record, Halacha also permits you to straight up kill this victmizer if you catch him in the act and it's necessary to stop, so it's not like he's being protected or we don't believe his crime is not something heinous. 

7) Sanhedrin 58b

Fake translation

The opinion of Rabbi Chanina is that if a non-Jew strikes a Jew, he is worthy of receiving the death penalty, as we saw when an Egyptian struck a Jew and Moshe killed him. 

Jewish law, however, says that a non-Jew is not executed for this. 

This is why so many of these are infuriating. This is one opinion talking about how someone "ought to" get something for doing something, but somehow it becomes transformed as "This is what Judaism believes." 

8) Sanhedrin 57a

Fake translation, plus out of context. 

Here, there is a whole discussion about the 7 Laws of Noach and whether a non-Jew who transgresses them is liable to the death penalty or not. 

Here  the Talmud states that laws against murder are stronger for non-Jews. 

As is codified in Halacha, a non-Jew who kills a fetus for example is going to be put to death, while it might not be the case for a Jew depending on the case. Same if he killed someone who was dying, or put them in a situation where they died indirectly because of him. 

So, if a non-Jew hired a hitman, locked someone and left them to starve to death or pushed them in front of a lion, they will be put to death while a Jew might not be in this situation.

That doesn't mean that a Jew is allowed to do such a thing; the Jew will in fact be punished. 

The only distinction here is that "7 mitsvot you can't violate, you can do whatever you want but otherwise you deserve the death penalty if you violate them."

Think of it like Adam in the Garden being told he has one thing to do, and one thing only. Breaking it is much worse. 

Since for Jews there are 613, there are more punishments than just the death penalty/nothing, which means that in certain cases, a Jew might be punished with lashes or spend the rest of his life in prison versus being put to death. Doesn't mean that non-Jewish lives don't matter. 

9) Tosfot  Yevamot 84b

Fake quote. 

I mean, I went through the Tosafot on that page twice and there's absolutely nothing even close. 

It's also confusing, because why with a dog specifically? That has no meaning to us, dogs aren't seen as particularly bad in Judaism. 

10) Bava Metzia 24a

Out of context. 

This is the closest one to being accurate, and yet at the same time wildly out of context. We start by discussing a case where a man saves a lost object from a wild animal, at sea, the flooding of a river, or finds it in a public place. 

There's a debate: did the owner despair of finding the object and, as a result, it is considered ownerless so the person who saved it is permitted to keep it, or does it still belong to his original owner who still hopes to retrieve it eventually. 

"Is the item owned or ownerless?" is the basic gist, and the answer is that if you find it in a place where it's a majority of non-Jewish inhabitants, it is considered ownerless (even if it belonged to a Jew in the first place) because it is not the way of people to get them back 

So it has nothing to do whether the owner of the object isn't Jewish (so you can keep it) but if he was Jewish you'd give it back. 

It has to do with whether the majority there are likely to give back such lost items or not, and it simply was not the case in those societies. 

11) Bava Kamma 113a

Fake quote, and out of context. 

This is a discussion that has to do with tax collectors who were ripping off people at the time and enriching themselves on the back of citizens by claiming taxes that didn't belong to them. Doesn't matter if Jewish or not. 

So there is a discussion about whether you are allowed to lie in order to protect yourself and your money from those thieves. 

The same way you'd be allowed to lie to "circumvent" a non-Jew about whether you were hiding a Jew in your attic during the Second World War. 

12) Avodah Zara 22a-22b

Mistranslation, and out of context. 

Basically, it says that you're not allowed to leave your animals alone in the inns of non-Jews at the time since you're putting a stumbling block in front of the blind as they commonly engaged in bestiality back then. 

I mean I don't think there's much to say about this, it's clear that in many places in the world this is just as common today as it was back then, and even in the more rural areas of the "developed" world it's still something that happens. 

The less said, the better. 

Conclusion:

This wraps up this ridiculous piece of propaganda. None of the quotes were 1) accurate, 2) complete and 3) in context. Some of them, straight up lies. 

Don't learn theology from memes, people. 

[ikilledmyocs]

MONTHLY WRITING UPDATES 2025 / three months late edition

back in january i put on my wtw bingo board i wanted to start posting monthly wip updates inspired by @veneritia, but as you can tell, it is march. i'm channeling my inner sloth. especially since i haven't really written... anything.

JANUARY WORDS: 0

DAYS WRITTEN: 0

WIPS WORKED ON: NONE

FEBRUARY WORDS: 3490

DAYS WRITTEN: 3

WIPS WORKED ON: we are unsuper, sims wip

MARCH WORDS (SO FAR): 1616

DAYS WRITTEN: 1

WIPS WORKED ON: secret wip, sims wip

yea so one of my other goals was complete a word crawl and as you can see, i dropped out of the writeblr garden's event halfway in because i wasn't going to write anymore than what i did sorry gardeners 😔 i've also been going through probably the longest sims fixation i've had since i was 10 and got my first laptop, so i've started working on a little short story i'll be telling through the sims, but still writing on the side. it's inspired by probably one of the only contemporary wips i've had jingling around my head, so why not play it out in the sims ✨ it's nothing special, but i'll eventually be posting about it on my simblr @commitmentissue if that sounds interesting to you! that's literally all i've got except for this little except of callista getting her surprise makeover before unsuper's final big mission (in book one 😳)

After about thirty minutes, Kenna finishes blow-drying my hair and spins me back into the mirror, taking off the black sheet with a dramatic fling. “What do you think?”

I’m stunned into silence. She cut off much more than a trim. My hair that once fell to the middle of my back now sits just above my shoulders. My mother’s pure, straight black hair has been turned into a midnight blue with some waves added in. Kenna bites her lip, cleaning up her station quietly as I take in what she’s done.

“I may have lied a bit, but we can’t risk people recognizing you before tomorrow.”

More than a bit. I bite my tongue, choosing to instead wave at my face. “Like my scars and my eyes won’t be enough?”

“The scars aren’t a big deal, they’re basically the same as any other Plague-Keeper, and with the new contacts Xander has for you, you can pass them off as the scars of a rebel.”

She says it's as if it’s that simple to hide. And while she’s right that scares are very common around here, everyone knows what they did to Plague-Keepers to get us these scars. They’re not accidental.

A knock draws me out of my overthinking about my haircut. I haven’t cut it since getting back from the Academy and that already felt like too much. But my hair was a matted mess. That had to be done. Before that, it had been four years. It already felt like I lost one of my connections to that place, but now I've lost one to my mother. She loved me with long hair.

A blonde head peeks around the corner, holding open the sliding door with a screen key. “Are you done yet?” Xander asks, shaking the key around in his hands, making it glitch as Kenna glares at him. She slams her towel off her shoulder and onto my chair, giving me a jump.

“I told you to stop using our hallways to cut through stuff,” she says, waving me towards the door and holding it open for me as Xander gives her a warm, cheeky grin as if to say, I’m definitely doing it again. “And I suppose we are now that you’re here.”

Xander throws a stack of clothes my way as the door to the salon jiggles close. I barely catch them, Kenna saves the day by catching a nearly fallen sweater. “Did you catch her up to speed?” He asks, striding past the flustered workers in the supplies room. Someone tries to ask him a question about the mission tomorrow but he waves them away, saying everyone will be told what they need to know tonight.

“I’m going on a mission with Britta to the shipping docks,” I state, plainly. “Why do you get to skip this one?”

He turns back to me, shoving his gloved hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt. “Who said I’m skipping it? I won’t be there, yeah, but someone has to hack the security and make sure their cameras are jammed. Can’t have another mistake like yesterday happen again.”

[yanderecrazysie]

Yandere Deku who falls for the UA traitor darling ~ bonus if you add how he reacts to the news!( Darling can be female or gn)

I tried to make this as different from the Shinso x traitor as possible! And I always do female reader, sorry if that disappoints anyone >3<

Title: How to Pretend

Pairings: Izuku x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, hints at future violence, no spoilers, Izuku honestly creeped me out in this

Summary: Izuku doesn’t want to believe the awful truth, not when it’s coming out of your mouth.

“When I look into your eyes I see

A façade, you are not trustworthy

You are my enemy, faking your empathy

I was right to be wary when you know

How to pretend”

- from “How To Pretend” by VocaCircus

“Tell me you’re not the traitor.”

Izuku’s eyes are blown wide and it’s clear from his tone that’s he’s not looking for the truth. He’s demanding you say it, not asking a question.

Yet, your eyes fill with tears as you’re consumed by the guilt that’s been filling you for nearly a year now. You break down, crying too hard to answer him. He has every right to hate you now that he’s somehow found out.

You’re going to jail, aren’t you? For how long? Doesn’t matter, you deserve it, after all.

Izuku should be furious, rightfully angry about all you’d done to betray him and your classmates. You want to tell him why you did such a thing but even the best of reasons no longer seem to hold any water. How could you be so cowardly?

“Don’t cry, (Y/n), it’s okay…” Warm fingers slide across your cheeks, disturbing the flowing tears and cupping you gently. You stare blurrily at Izuku, watching him come into focus.

It’s not a pretty picture.

He’s crying too, even harder than you. But other than his tears, there’s no sign that he believes you’re the traitor. An unnaturally wide grin is stretching his cheeks apart, teeth shining in the hallway light. His eyes are shining too, and his pupils are going from pinpricks to enveloping the green iris and back to little black dots. He’s trembling from head to toe, almost as if he’s holding back from doing something. You’re not sure what that “something” is, but you’re not sure you want to know.

You’re frozen, terrified by this sudden, unnerving sight, but Izuku strokes your cheek gently with his thumb and mouths something over and over. It takes you a minute to catch what it is he’s mouthing: “Not the traitor”.

This wasn’t how you pictured his response to be. You just pictured your friends looking horrified and betrayed as you’re hauled away into a cop car, not… not this. This was almost worse than what your nightmares had plagued you with.

“I’m sorry, Izu-”

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” Izuku’s voice is suddenly deathly cold, a stark contrast from the cooing he’d been doing before, “What do you have to be sorry about?”

He let out a small, harsh laugh that turned into a slight giggle at the end, “What would you ever have to be sorry about? You’ve done nothing wrong. You’d never do anything wrong. You’re perfect! Perfect!” He burst into hysterical giggles.

You felt sick. This was your fault. You’d broken him with what you’d done. You were a real horrible person, weren’t you?

“I’m sor-”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” The way he said it sent chills down your spine. It was so forceful and harsh, like he was threatening you somehow.

You kept your mouth shut and instead searched for a way out of this situation. There’s the elevator on one end, but it’s far away and probably won’t close quickly. That’s if you could even make it there with a pro-hero-in-training like Deku on your heels. The door on the other end is closer, but Izuku stands between you and it, and you didn’t want to try to squeeze past a broken man in a narrow hallway.

Izuku had gone still, mumbling something to himself at top speed. You couldn’t catch his words since they were so quick that they ran together. He was staring, unseeing, at the ground. His hands retreated from your face, and one grasped his chin in deep thought.

You weren’t sure what to do. Should you run or would that be like resisting arrest somehow? You didn’t want to get in more trouble than you were already in.

But you also didn’t want to stay here, with Izuku.

“You aren’t the traitor,” Izuku said, his eyes lifting from their gaze on the floor to stare into your own startled ones, “Which means, someone lied.”

A chill shot down your spine and, suddenly, you felt afraid not only for yourself but for whoever had found you out.

“Let’s go back to my dorm room. You can lie down for a little bit while I take care of some things.” Izuku was smiling again, but this time it was… almost normal. Like it was just an average day and he was greeting you with that cute freckled grin that always made you melt a little.

“Um, why don’t I just go back to my own dorm room?” You suggested quietly.

You immediately regretted it because Izuku’s smile froze and his eyes glazed over once more. Softly, to the point it was almost hard to hear, he replied, “(Y/n). Follow me.”

Did you really have a choice? You nod, hesitant and reluctant.

The coldness melts from him like ice on a hot day. He’s all sunshine and smiles once more, grabbing your hand and tugging you along. But you can tell he’s hurrying and trying to stay quieter than normal. You have no doubt that he’s desperately hoping that everyone stays inside their rooms and doesn’t poke their head out to stop him. You’re desperately hoping the opposite.

When you get to the dorm room, you’re relieved that all he does is make you lie down and pats your head gently a few times. But, as he leaves, he says something that makes your blood run cold.

“I’ll go take care of those liars now, don’t worry. Just sleep well and I’ll be back in a little bit.”

You try to get up and protest but he just closes his eyes and smiles, grasping the door handle tightly and pulling it hard.

SLAM.

Left in complete and utter darkness.

Why couldn’t you just get what you deserved?

[meyerlansky]

twenty questions for fic writers!

tagged by @redbelles AND @inkpot-demigod 🖤💙🖤💙 took me eighteen years but i figured i ought to get it done before the emoji asks >_>

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

39!

2. what's your total ao3 word count?

133,253

3. what fandoms do you write for?

right now it's just masters of the air, because i really only focus on one fandom at a time but i also don't really LEAVE fandoms so much as they go dormant for a bit. in the last year i've at least TOUCHED wips for boardwalk empire and the witcher, and once bachelor route drops i will probably go back to some of my pathologic 2 fics and maybe come up with new stuff. same with HotD s2, although i don't know how much new stuff will come out of that vs finishing up things in metamorphoses.

4. top five fics by kudos

keep safe broad shoulders, warm hands keds and tube socks vestis virum facit denuo

so mostly burakhovsky smut, except for keep safe which is outsider pov nearly-gen lambden (from the witcher and specifically witcher 3) fic, and i have NO idea how it's my most-kudosed fic; and keds and tube socks, which is a long-ass (for me) steddie fic that i WILL finish at some point i am so sorry to everyone who's subbed to that fic /o\

5. do you respond to comments?

I TRY MY BEST ;___; i really like talking to people about fic, mine and others', so every comment i've left unresponded-to haunts me, but sometimes i can't get over my own anxiety enough. the only time it's deliberate is if the only content in the comment is "you have to write more of this" or anything similar and phrased EXCLUSIVELY like a demand, because It's Rude and also i have no idea how to respond to that.

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

explicitly angsty is probably with my ash-stained palms or broad shoulders, warm hands because neither ryuzo or daniil get what they want in those ones, though i think bswh!daniil would get what he wants eventually. ryuzo, maybe not >_> dancing cheek to cheek (to cheek) is also probably up there, but that's more interesting because it's not angsty on the page! and i WAS planning on leaving it as is, originally! that's why it has the canon compliant tag! but now i'm 8k deep in a canon-divergent sequel so idk if it counts anymore. genuinely i was planning on answering this with "i don't write a lot of unresolved angst" but. hm.

...wait, also hot blood, deep roots. which is the dark mirror nightmare counterpart of bswh and is... definitely worse. and i have something even worse in my wips okay i guess i write more angst than i thought

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

probably vestis virum facit, since the final section is implied to be far-enough post-plague that they're Gonna Be Okay. but like the angst question, i don't really think of too many of my fics as the And They Lived Happily Ever After, The End type so much as like... they're happy In That Moment and that's what matters

8. do you get hate on fics?

i got put on the patho fandom blacklist for associating with Freaks And Criminals, and then i wrote hot blood, deep roots to cement my spot on it, so if that counts that's the extent of it afaik. i do worry about catching flak for stuff down the line, but honestly haters tend to be cowards, sooo

9. do you write smut?

LOVE WRITING SMUT. LOVE IT WHEN MY GUYS NAIL EACH OTHER. IT'S MY FAVORITE. i had like a year-long stint before stranger things s4 where i only posted genfic and i was SO disappointed with myself, even though the stuff i posted was GOOD genfic

10. craziest crossover:

don't really do crossovers! but entertaining daemon au thoughts is how i know i'm in a fandom deep enough that it's gonna stick for a bit, even though i've only posted daemon au fic for bwe thus far

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

not to my knowledge

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

also not to my knowledge!

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

i'm not opposed to spitballing with people, and some of my best bwe work has come out of very long headcanon exchanges with @goatsandgangsters and @therestisdetail in particular, but i am not a consistent enough writer to saddle anyone else with my habits, so that's the closest i've gotten to cowriting anything.

14. all time favorite ship?

L A N S K I A N O. they are my forever boys. nothing will topple them. ever.

15. what's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

NONE OF MY WIPS ARE ABANDONED THEY ARE ALL GOING TO GET DONE EVENTUALLY DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT

16. what are your writing strengths?

snappy dialogue and the internal character work involved in a tight third person pov, which is good since a tight third is the only way i like to write

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

speed. if i don't finish something inside of a week of starting it, it will drag out for an infinity and a half and i'll have to chip away at it and hate myself for being slow the whoooooooooole time. i also... i have no idea how to explain this, but i don't consider myself an especially creative person, so i have trouble if i don't have a jumping off point to start with? most of my fics have pretty solid touchpoints in the canon and tend to be one-shots, if not single-scene. coming up with new shit for my dudes to do can be a struggle. which, tbh, adds to the speed thing, especially for stuff that tilts off into canon-divergent territory

18. thoughts on dialogue in another language?

alright, listen, i might have an entire buryat dictionary database downloaded onto my hard drive to spice up patho fic, but i'm in agreement with previous answers on this one: it can get dicey to write in a language you don't know, and if your readers don't know it it will interrupt the flow in a way that's not usually what i'm looking to do in a fic. that said, most of my fandoms have at LEAST one non-english language involved, if not multiple, so i do end up doing a lot of research into those languages, and i'm absolutely not opposed to pulling out single-words or phrases after either a. checking with someone who speaks those languages, if it's a real one, or b. pulling them from their usage in the canon itself and/or sometimes extrapolating out a bit, like the high valyrian i peppered into chrysalis

19. first fandom you wrote in?

boardwalk empire my beloved 🖤🖤🖤 i played around with some stuff prior to that—i think i'd noodled with what would technically be alice in wonderland fic in high school, although i don't remember what happened in it—but nothing substantial enough to count as Actual Fic, and definitely not anything i have access to anymore

20. favorite fic you've written?

MAN. HOW TO CHOOSE. it's maybe a little bit of recency bias to say dancing cheek to cheek (to cheek), but i think it's a tie between that and junkyard dogs, and both for the same reason, which is that i am really proud of the character work they do with curt and eddie, respectively. i'm not SURPRISED jd is as low on the hits/kudos/etc scale as it is since it's genfic and billy is...... divisive........... but i really think i nailed eddie in it. with dctc(tc) it was fun to get to play with curt, who's... look, i'm just gonna say it, i think he gets mischaracterized in a lot of the other fandom stuff i've seen involving him, so it was fun to get how i read him down on the page. it's also interesting to not only develop curt internally but to look at the buckies from an outsider POV, because they are UNDENIABLY the love story at the center of MotA's narrative, but they're both IN IT so they can't SEE IT. i also don't usually do scene breaks? like most of my fics are single-scene but i dragged dctc(tc) out and shockingly it WORKED? so yeah idk i'm just really proud of it.

OKAY. WHOOF. TIME FOR TAGS. let's seeeeeeeeee i will tag @goatsandgangsters @hosseinis @chirpybirdy @sweaterkittensahoy @reiverreturns

@samuelroukin @stoportotouch @notgrungybitchin @adriennefrombrooklyn and anyone else who wants to, but no pressure as always!

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

the rise of sira | sci-fi!rhett x oc

Summary: Sira, a planet in the Far Reaches of the known galaxy. With a plethora of natural resources, the planet has been fought over and ruled by warlords, pirate kings, galactic empires, star princes, and the Order of the Nine. Over the last millennia, the people of the planet have grown restless. Tired of their oppression and the occupation of their lands. A rebellion has risen up, fighting against the Order for over 200 years. But has the long and good fight been all for naught? (wc: 3962)

Requested: YES by @dancinginsepia

Warnings: made-up sci-fi lore, flashbacks, grumpy rhett abbott w/ a bionic arm, violence, angst, whump, gore, injury, cliffhanger

✎……MASTERLIST

✎……listen, i don't know what this is as much as you don't know what this is. it came out of nowhere, but the prompt just really inspired me and i cranked this out in like four hours. so here we are. please please PLEASE come into my askbox or my dms to talk about this one cause i am plagued by Thoughts and dare i say Thots of them. i hope you all like this as much as i do &lt;3

Rhett ripped off his helmet and shook out his hair, drops of sweat falling onto his shoulders as he surveyed the battlefield.

The fight was over, that much was certain. Golden grains of wheat and whey flattened to the ground — off in the distance, some of the crop still stood. Mangled bodies of mechs and alien guts covered the earth like a blanket. Whoever was left of their forces gathered  the wounded, beginning to shepherd them back to base. It had been a long fight, but a rewarding one. The Order’s battalion had been defeated at long last. It nearly brought a smile to Rhett’s scarred face. But he couldn’t celebrate. Not yet. Not when their fighters were still out on the field and the Order could very well command an airstrike at any minute. Bombing whoever was left into a million pieces before they could even regroup. Before news of their victory could even travel back to their people. 

He had seen it happen before. Joy and a moment’s peace ripped away so suddenly. Good people — friends — lost. 

But there was really only one person he cared about now. 

Rhett stepped into the medical hut with a huff, pulling back the heavy curtain and letting it fall behind him. He didn’t think he needed to be there, but his commander insisted. His arm wasn’t working right again. Twitching and spasming. Don’t want that happening out in the field, his commander had said, Should be some specialist in medical.

It was dimly lit inside the hut. Lamps turned down low and some incense burning to cover the smell of death and decay. It wasn’t really working. In the main room, there were ten beds lined up in a tight row along one wall. Injuries or illnessses nearly healed, ready to head out the door. A few medics milled amongst the beds, changing out cups of water and bringing food or fresh bandages. Further back, he could hear wailing and coughing and medics talking quietly but hurriedly with one another. Rhett gripped at his left arm, all metal and screws. The last time he was in a place like this was when he lost the real one. The flesh and blood. Replaced with something that still didn’t feel like his own — just so he could keep going. Like the good soldier he was. 

He could still feel the pain. All consuming, a fire and a flood. He could still see the hanging bits of flesh, the dripping, pouring, blood. The question about where his friend was on the tip of his tongue before he passed out from it all. He felt the metal fingers of his left hand twitch of their own volition.

“Captain Abbott,” a medic said as they approached, a ramshackle data tablet in their hand. “Do you need help?”

Rhett let go of himself and straightened his shoulders as he grumbled out, “Arm’s actin’ up.”

“Oh — of course, um — I-I’ll go get Tessa. She’s our new bionics specialist, just arrived last night,” the medic replied quickly. 

“Y’always talk when y’re nervous?” he asked quietly as he narrowed his eyes at them. 

The medic gulped then looked sharply down, cheeks darkening. “Just wait here.”

Rhett grunted as they turned on their heels and walked away. A soldier from one of the beds stiffled a laugh. Another whistled awkwardly. He knew his reputation around base. And he liked it that way. It kept people at a distance, arm’s length, close enough for him to trust with his life but far enough away that he didn’t mourn when they got blown to pieces.

He pushed a hand through his long hair and leaned back against the wall. How long was this going to take?

A minute later, one of the curtains at the far back of the hut was pulled open and a small woman stepped out. She was still shrugging on her coveralls overtop a skin tight undershirt, she didn’t bother zipping it up the rest of her chest as she picked up a spare data tablet from a table she passed and kept on walking. She looked frazzled. Light brown hair pulled back but messy, dark circles under her eyes. Her pink mouth downturned in a thoughtful frown as she messed with the tablet and walked. 

In another life, Rhett would have thought she was pretty. 

She came to a halt only a few steps in front of him, eyebrow quirking triumphantly when the data tablet finally showed her what she was looking for. Through the translucent screen, he could see it was his file. Then she looked up at him. It nearly shocked him how brilliant blue her eyes were, like so many oceans on Sira he had flown over on his way to recon missions and battles. Infinite and calm — but holding some danger he could never understand. 

But there was something else in her eyes that he couldn’t quite place. A softness that he hadn’t seen since he was a boy. 

“Captain Abbott?” she questioned as she looked him directly in the face, unafraid.

He grunted. She grinned. It made the dark circles under her eyes seem less prominent.

“Come with me then,” she said, turning, and he pushed away from the wall to follow. “Still settin’ up my workstation — but she’s enough to check y’r arm out.” 

Rhett didn’t reply, and she didn’t say anything more. They ducked back under the curtained doorway she appeared out of. It led to what appeared to be a small break area. A table with playing cards and a set of shelves with mugs and a coffee maker, dried portion packs stacked up in rows. No one was in there now. She led them across the room to the door in the far back, with the swipe of her keycard the metal door slid open and she stepped inside. Rhett followed in after her.

There was natural light in this room. The high set window open, letting in the autumn breeze. A cot was shoved into one corner, blankets haphazardly tossed aside and pillows askew. Boxes were strewn about all over the floor. A large desk took up an entire wall, there were already mechanical parts, tools,  and blueprints laid out on it. 

“Learnin’ somethin’ about me, Captain?” she asked with a coy smile as she sat down on a rolling stool in front of the desk, setting down the tablet as she went. 

Rhett felt his cheeks heat up in the slightest at being caught. “You’re right. Still settin’ up y’r stuff.”

She cocked her head, messy bun flopping to one side as she narrowed her eyes at him and patted the stool across from her. “You from Obrana? Wabang?”

“Wabang…How’d you know?” he replied slowly as he lowered himself into the stool.

“S’the way you talk.” She gestured at her own mouth, picked up the tablet again and scooted herself closer. “I’m from there too.” 

Rhett felt his heart clench, his chest tighten. He didn’t think there was anyone left. Last time he heard, Wabang was raised to the ground. Nothing but ash and rubble and charred bones. Part of him itched to know more. But the other part of him just wanted to get this over with. Take a step or even several steps back. Most people on base didn’t even know what part of Sira he was from. People had asked, but he refused to answer, and they learned not to. 

Why had it been so easy for him to hand over that information to a complete stranger now?

“So, says here, that you got the arm three years ago. Shoulder socket down. Replacement after a battlefield explosion, that correct?” She looked up at him from the tablet. 

He nodded. Tried not to linger on the images of metal hiding in dirt and his friend’s surprised, accepting face. The hand pushed to his chest to get him further back. 

“Okay. What seems to be the problem?”

Rhett raised his left arm, looked towards it with disdain. “Hand won’t stop twitchin’.”

As if on cue, his digits flexed. She cocked her head curiously. 

“Did you have a twitch in that hand before?” she asked.

“No. Why?”

She shrugged. “The parts may be different, but the brain remembers n’can send electrical signals to the hand.”

“I’ve always had steady hands.”

“M’sure you have, Captain.”

There she went, pulling information from him so easily with a smile like they shared some secret. Rhett clenched his jaw and looked away from her.

She reached for his arm, but pulled back at the last second. “Mind if I take a look?” 

��Go for it,” he answered, staring down at his right hand, cinched in a fist. 

Getting up from her stool, she took another step closer to him, nearly between his spread legs. Rhett straightened his spine to create some distance between them. But it was no use, she didn’t seem to mind at all, as she gripped his left arm with both hands. One of them ghosted up the metal plating and cables along the outside, the built in sensors screaming at him at such a delicate and new touch. When she reached his shoulder, around at his back, she pressed the release and his arm popped out of the artificial socket it was housed in. The arm now firmly in her grasp, she stepped back from him and set it down gently on her workbench.

Rhett hated taking his arm off. It left him feeling like a piece was missing. Like he was incomplete. Unbalanced. He didn’t dare look over at his left side, eyes trained on her as she worked.

As she grabbed her goggles from one of the hooks on the wall and slid them over her eyes. A small tool already perched delicately in her small hand. She looked in her element. Confident and assured. Her movements were swift and precise as she used the electrified tool to test the delicate sensors, artificial muscles, tendons, and nerves. Starting at the elbow and working her way down. 

“So…” She glanced over at him from beneath her goggles, blue eyes nearly ten times larger under the magnifying lens. “How’d you end up here from Wabang? Don’meet many of us these days…”

His story was on the tip of his tongue. Ready to burst out of him after years and years of keeping it locked in a vault somewhere deep in the shadows of his chest. But he bit it back with a grimace. “That’s none of y’r business.” 

She laughed, quiet and fleeting, but it sounded beautiful. A reprieve. 

“Fair. I don’mind tellin’ you how I got here though. If y’r just gonna sit there while I do this.”

“Great.” Rhett popped his jaw to one side and tried not to roll his eyes. 

“Oh, don’t sound so excited, Captain. Someone’s gonna think y’r a real chatterbox,” she replied with a smirk. 

He scoffed, feeling a laugh bubbling away somewhere in his chest. “I could just leave.”

“Course you can. But you won’t.” 

“How d’you know that?”

She shrugged, moved on to the next piece of his arm. “‘Cause…Y’don’t want people t’see ya weak…No offense.” 

Rhett glanced over at his left side. Where he felt there should be something but there was currently nothing. His teeth grinded together as he stared down at her booted feet propped up on the footrest of her stool. Knowing that his silence was answer enough for her. She was right. One of her booted feet tapped against the metal for a second, and then — 

“M’sorry,” she sighed, lifting her goggles and turning to face him. He looked up into her face, and there was that softness again. “I shouldn’t have said that. I just…If you don’t want me to talk, I won’t. It’s been a long time since I’ve met someone from home, s’all.”

After a moment of looking at him, she went back to her work. The consistent small electric buzz and the distant sounds of the clinic the only things filling the silence.

It had been three years since Rhett met someone else from Wabang. Everyone he knew was either killed in the war or when the Order burned the place to the ground. Everyone who was left was scattered to the far corners of Sira. And he knew there couldn’t be many of them. The village was small to begin with. Just a group of farms and not much else. He barely remembered his time there anymore. Part of him wondered if that was by some purposeful design on his part. Or the only gift his years of war had given him. 

He looked at the side of her face. He knew the other medic said her name, but he couldn’t remember what it was now. Thinking it held no real importance to him. She was hunched over the workbench, tongue poking out between her teeth as she worked. The goggles masked most of her profile, but he could still see the easy slope of her nose. The delicate curve of her chin. The light scar on the edge of her jaw. 

How did she get that? How did she…End up here? On this rebel base of all places? They were hidden all over Sira, in every corner and region of the planet. Yet she ended up at the same one as him. Someone else from the same village that had been gone for over a year. 

Rhett found he was opening his mouth before he could stop himself: “Talk.”

“What?” she looked over at him with those magnified eyes, brow clearly furrowed beneath the goggles. 

“T-Tell y’r story, I mean…” he trailed off quietly, adjusting in his seat. 

She grinned like she had some joke at the ready but chose to keep it to herself. For that Rhett was thankful. He knew his people skills were rusty, but Maker. 

“I grew up on a Falcora ranch. Family raised ‘em for ridin’ and workin’ all over, not just in Wabang. My family…My dad…Tried to do everything by the Order’s rules so we could keep our land and keep our lives, but — he just couldn’t take it anymore. They-They ordered our ranch to supply Falcoras for their battalions, to use against the rebellion. Either we complied or they’d take ‘em by force. 

“My dad refused, so one day one of the Order’s drop ships came. I’ll never forget it. Big metal box with that symbol on the side in red. Soldiers came out and my mom — my mom grabbed me and my sisters n’hid us under the dining room floor. Didn’t even know that hole was there ‘till I was in it.” She glanced over at him and smiled sadly. “Heard the banging. The blaster fire. The screaming. Felt like we were down there for hours. Just…Listening. When it was finally quiet we came out of hiding. All the Falcoras were gone. Barns burned. Mom and Dad…”

She trailed off, took a shaking breath and swallowed hard.

“I — I remember hearin’ about that,” Rhett spoke quietly and low, she turned to look at him sharply. “Abernathy…Right?”

“Yeah, that was us.” She turned back to her work, lips pressed into a thin line. “I was only ten…My oldest sister decided we should go to the Sapphire Sisterhood. At least until we were of age.” 

He stiffened. “Those Order supportering religious zealots?”

“I never said she was smart. And I was too young to understand any of it. So I went along. The Sisters were cruel and I left as soon as I could. Barely sixteen. Went to Neo City and joined the Academy. Learned all about bionics and medicine and…About the Order and the Rebellion. I got recruited three years ago, at the end of my studies. Been bouncing around bases ever since.” 

“Y’r sisters? What about them?” 

This seemed to give her pause, a kind of sadness taking over her that Rhett could nearly see. “Rachel stayed with the Sisterhood. Shiloh…I don’t know where she is.” 

“M’sorry.” 

She only hummed in reply and said nothing more. She was testing down at the wrist now. Poking at all the various cables and metal mesh that acted as tendons and muscle. But when she pressed her tool into the center of the wrist, the hand twitched.

“Oh! There we go!” she exclaimed as she did it again, all the fingers clenching and unclenching as the electricity was applied. She set down her tool and inspected the area further. “Looks like you need a new transverse carpal ligament cable. Your current one is pretty much shot to shit.” 

“How?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed. “The thing’s supposed to be indestructible.” 

“Just normal wear and tear. You’ve had it for three years. Honestly surprised you haven’t needed maintenance before this.”

Getting up from her stool with a light groan, she opened up one of the many boxes scattered about and started digging through the contents. After a minute, she pulled out a bit of metal cable with a noise of success. 

“Knew I had one of these in here somewhere.” She sat back down with the new part and a few other tools. “Just gotta replace this, Captain, and you should be good to go.”

“Rhett.”

He didn’t even know he had said anything until he heard his own voice echo in his ears. It made his guts twist up in a knot, some heat prickle at his neck. He wanted to take it back. But he also wanted to hear her say it. Hear that voice of a stranger that also sounded so much like home say his name. His real name. Form those pretty pink lips around the words and hold onto it forever. The only person he’s ever allowed to call him that. 

“Rhett,” she repeated with a smile and it sounded like honey. “Suits you. I’m Tessa.” 

He spoke her name in a whisper to himself, determined to remember it this time. And he wasn’t even sure why. But he watched, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, as her cheeks became dusted with pink. He wanted to make her do that again. And again. And again.

Tessa finished the repair on his arm and popped it back into the socket. After a few tests to make sure everything was working properly, she led him back through the clinic to the front doorway. 

“If you have any more trouble, just let me know,” she said as she stepped through the thick curtain and out into the sun with him.

“I will.”

“See ya around, Rhett.”

Surveying the field one final time, Rhett put his lips together and whistled a tune. A simple four note thing, but one that carried on the wind easily across such an open place. It was a call. One that expected and anticipated a response. Rhett waited, breath held just in case that made him hear it better, for the responding whistle to come. The echo of that same four note tune.

But it didn’t come. 

Ice flooded his veins, froze his heart and let it sink into the pit of his gut as he scanned the battlefield yet again. He couldn’t see her either. Couldn’t pick her out amongst the other soldiers and medics who were quickly trying to gather those that they could. He swallowed down the panic as best he could as he shoved his helmet back onto his head. His viewfinder taking over his vision once more. 

“Search: Sergeant Tessa Abernathy.”

The viewfinder scanned the field for a second. Green lines going out in a grid, mapping the carnage and the trackers set into each rebel’s uniform before battle. 

Maker, she wasn’t even supposed to be here.

“Location acquired,” the robotic voice spoke in his ear as a marker for her location popped up. 

In the middle of the field, no other survivors around. Rhett took in a shaky breath as he moved forward. He whistled again as he got closer. 

But still, there was no echo.

A few months after Tessa’s arrival on base and her subsequent fixing of Captain Rhett Abbott’s arm, people began to notice things.

How the new bionic engineer sat next to one of the rebellion’s most famous soldiers and highest ranking officers at every meal. 

How Captain Abbott seemed to need a repair after every mission since her arrival. 

How Tessa would sometimes be escorted to his quarters after the sun went down and curfew was in action. 

How at victory celebrations, as few and far between as they were, the two of them seemed to be glued to one another's side.

Rhett kept repeating the whistle as he walked closer to her marker. Desperately. Brokenly. By the time he broke out into a run it was nothing more than a faint noise on his lips. 

She wasn’t going to respond. 

It felt like a rope was tied around his neck. Tighening and tightening the closer to her he became. He couldn’t feel his arms or legs but knew they were carrying him to her location. 

He threw off his helmet when her marker was only a few feet in front of him. 

And he could see her. 

Wearing a medics’ poncho because they had lost too many field medics and she stupidly volunteered to go. Despite his telling her not to. Despite him telling her to just go against orders and stay behind. But she was so stubborn. Always had to be. 

A giant pain in his ass and the sunshine of his entire life. 

Her face was pale, cheeks ashen. Eyes closed. 

The sun can’t go out. It just can’t. 

Rhett dropped to his knees at her side, uncaring of the bits of mech that dug into his flesh and cut his skin. Ripping off his gloves and tossing them uncaringly aside, he took her into his arms. Propped her up in his lap. Her head lolled to one side and he adjusted it to look up at him with one big hand to her cheek. Her skin was still warm. 

“Tess? Sunshine, you hear me?” he questioned quietly, afraid if he spoke any louder it would be a scream.

His eyes roamed her form for injuries. He didn’t find any until he got to her legs. Bile rose in his throat but he couldn’t. Her entire right leg was gone, blown off at the top of her thigh. Her left leg was missing below the knee. Both nothing more than charred stumps, like the end of a stick used to stoke a fire — coated in a thick layer of ash. It must have been one of those new fire bombs that the Order had been using as of late. Not caring that their own soldiers were killed with their use. Now that he looked around, many other bodies and bits that remained were burned black. The fires long put out.

A darkness consumed him. Weighed him down. It felt as if he would never rise from this earth. That he would stay here, with Tessa, as he should be. Forever. With a shaking breath, all hope draining from him like a plug had been pulled, his other hand slipped down to search for her pulse.

He gasped sharply. He clung to her tighter. 

Her pulse was weak, but it was there.

Bending down, he pressed his lips to her forehead, hard. Like that would embue her with some power to hang on. Just a little bit longer. 

“I’ve got you, sunshine, just hold on,” he whispered as he lifted her from the ground and started towards the transport that would take them back to base.

The sun can’t go out. It just can’t.

just tagging a few people who may be interesting, if you don't wanna be tagged in the future, just let me know! @arrthurpendragon @nerdysuperchick @bobfloydsbabe @crescentwolf @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @onebigfangirlworld @yanna-banana @blue-aconite @gigisimsonmars @laracrofted @a-reader-and-a-writer

[l1xvanter]

Blueberries // Lee Felix x Reader

genre: distopian au

sypnosis: A meteor struck down on your country, completely destroying all sense of what you had previously known to be normal. Because of the effects, you are now forced to collect a substance called Ortaux to continue surviving. You're struggling to stay alive, and you nearly die, but someone saves you right before you do.

word count: 4.4k

contains: gn reader, angst, a bit of fluff, no happy ending (sorry), strangers to lovers(?), felix loves baking, reader is scared of lightning, lmk if I missed anything!

note: This is my first time uploading a story, and I'm kinda excited haha. This isn't proofread, and is really just an extreme edit to a school assignment I turned in last year lol. It's 2am and my mind is blurry, so let me know if there are any mistakes!

Your body felt numb, all You could feel was the pounding in your head, your mind was in a frenzy, and your vision had become nothing but muddy blobs of color. On the bench of what used to be a busy bus stop, you sat alone, experiencing what you thought would be your last moments alive. It had been 3 weeks since you had taken any Ortaux, and while desperately trying to find anything, anyone, to get some from, you could feel your body becoming more and more unstable every morning when you awoke. You could barely keep your eyes open, and thinking about trying to hunt any animals, or crawl your way to a store, made you feel even more hopeless. ‘Maybe this isn’t all that bad’, You thought. You had lost your family when the meteor had hit, and since then you’ve just barely managed to survive this long by scavenging for random items and exchanging them for some Ortaux. Everyone in your country has been experiencing this, dealing with it in their own ways. With no help from anyone else, may you add– they were scared that whatever modification had been made to our bodies by the meteor would spread to them if they ever let you out. It's been like this for the past 5 months. It felt like an eternity, and it’s exhausting. You could feel your body completely giving up, and you swear your heart stopped for a second before you felt something poke into your neck. Suddenly, the pain in your head was fading away, the blurs that made up your vision were readjusting themselves back into defined shapes, and your mind was no longer plagued with panic, but confusion. ‘Huh? What just happened? You could’ve sworn–’

“You okay?” A deep voice came from behind you. You turned your head to catch a glimpse of the body accompanying it, and You were met with the sight of a boy-- a man, actually.  He looked around your age, maybe a bit older, his fair skin had been coated with smudges of dirt, his ashy blonde hair not in any better condition- it reached down to about his shoulders, and from what you could make out right now,  it looked like a grown out mullet. He was wearing some very worn out clothes, his jeans were ripped all over, clearly not because of a fashion preference, and his thick black sweater fit loosely around his figure. 

“Hello?” It took a second call from him for you to snap out of your little trance. You finally met his brown eyes, looking up at him with curiosity.

“Sorry, you just.. Scared me a bit.” You didn’t know how to respond to him. You were just dying about 30 seconds ago, your mind didn’t seem like it could really process anything at the moment. …Why weren't you dead? You looked around, when your eyes finally landed on a syringe in his gloved hand, drops of shining blue liquid still dripping from the tip. Then it hit you. 

“Did you just inject that into me?” When he nodded in response You started to panic a bit, but was mostly in shock. What had you done for this miracle to come to you? “Oh my god, thank you so much! What can You do to make it up to you?” You said in disbelief. 

He smiled at you, his eyes crinkling into little crescent shapes. “It's nothing, I have a lot at home, and I always bring some with me. Besides, you’re the one who always leaves the blueberries here, right? I’m the one who keeps coming back for them, they’re great for making muffins.” He explained, in a light tone “I came by to pick them up, but I found you here instead.” 

Your eyes grew even wider than before, if that was even possible. ‘Oh yeah… You were supposed to go out for berries today.’ Truth be told, the first time you had left them here was because you had accidentally picked some while you were out on your weekly berry- collecting trip. It was a bit darker than normal, so it was harder to tell them apart from the others you would normally get. You're allergic to blueberries, and cursed yourself in the morning when you saw that you had accidentally picked so many. You didn’t want them to go to waste, and you highly doubt anyone would trade anything for some measly blueberries, so you left them on a bench at a bus stop the next morning on the way to go look for some Ortaux plants, ‘maybe someone will want them’, You thought. When you passed by the bench again on the way back home, you stopped for a second when you saw that they weren’t there anymore. As a little experiment, you picked some more again the next time you were out, left them on the bench again, and waited until the evening to check if someone had taken them again. A slight smile grew on your face when you saw that they were, once again, gone, leaving the bench empty. Since then, it was routine for you to spend a little extra time each week picking blueberries for this mystery person who seemed to enjoy them. Now, the said mystery person was kneeling in front of you, and just saved you from dying. 

“Anyway, from the looks of it, You assume you’re out of Ortaux?” You could only nod your head hesitantly in response, “Well if you want, you could come to my place so I could lend you some.”

You were reluctant at first, who wouldn’t be? A guy you just met was not only inviting me over to his place, but was also offering me some Ortaux? Just him saving you was a miracle on its own, his offer seemed too good to be true. For god’s sake you don’t even– 

‘oh my god.’ 

Sheepishly, You muttered, “You don’t even know your name.”

All he did was let out a breathy laugh before responding, “It’s Felix. I don’t think I know yours either, do I?” 

“Hah.. my bad…” You replied to him shyly, telling him your name. He smiled at you, holding out his hand for you to shake, which You accepted.

 “Nice to meet you.” 

You nodded in response to him, and after thinking about his offer again, you concluded that the worst thing that could happen was that you die, and that didn’t seem like that much of an issue to me just a few moments ago, so you decided to go with him. 

The walk there was, admittedly, a little awkward. It consisted of mostly silence, but there was a bit of small talk thrown in there too. With your mind no longer in shambles, You were able to get a better look at him. And he was way prettier now that you could see him clearly. He had a sharp side profile, and from the side you could see, he had multiple piercings on his ear. A silver chain hung from his earlobe, his other piercings decorated by matching silver studs. Even in the dark, you noticed that he had faint freckles adorning his cheeks. 

‘Cute.’

The walk didn’t take long, it only took about 5 minutes to reach a small one-story house. When the two of you entered, a faint smell of Vanilla entered your nose. Although the cream colored walls and furniture were covered in a bit of rust and dirt, he sure did a decent job of keeping the place organized. There was warm light emitting from the fairy lights that had been hung up, the shelves in the kitchen were filled with jars with labels on them; mostly ingredients, you noticed. The wooden bookshelves in the small living room were filled with literature, You wondered if he’s actually read any of those. You were shocked at the quality of the place. There weren’t a lot of places that had working electricity, so he must’ve gotten really lucky finding a house like this. It seemed cozy-- comfortable. It was somewhere someone could actually consider to be a home in this area. 

“Here, let me get the Ortaux, it’s in my room, I’ll be back.” He disappeared from your sight, and into the hallway.

You examined the area a bit more, looking through a window and seeing what seemed to be someone’s former backyard- the white picket fencing was still somewhat intact, along with the remains of some sort of garden. That’s when you noticed it had gotten a lot darker outside in the short time that you had spent here. Summer had just passed, so you were still adjusting to the shorter days, and sun setting earlier. Your eyebrows scrunched together, now a bit nervous about having to walk home while anything outside was barely visible. 

“This should last you about another 2 months or so,” he informed, returning from his room.

You turned around to face him,“Thank you so much, this means a lot, really.” You said with a smile. 

He walked you to the door, and as he was about to open it for you, you could feel your stomach start to churn. Walking in the dark was never ideal. Just looking out into the dark yard in front of his house gave you an unsettling feeling. You always made sure to get home quickly before the sun left the sky, but that clearly wasn’t how it worked out today.

Apparently he had sensed your uneasiness, and turned to look at you, “You know, if you don’t want to walk in the dark you could stay here for the night. Only if you’re comfortable, of course.”

You turned back to look at him, waving your arms in protest, “No way. You’ve already done a lot for me today, I don’t want to burden you too much.”

“It's fine, really. I wouldn’t be offering if it wasn’t,” he reassured. “The couch pulls out to be a bed, I’ll just go and get some spare blankets from the closet for you.” And before you could say any more, he was already walking into the hallway again. You sighed in defeat, making your way to the couch, moving the table in front of it before stretching it out into a bed. Not too long after, he came back with a blanket and a few pillows; even a cute little stuffed bunny.

Grabbing the items from him, You asked with a playful grin, “What’s its name?”

He chuckled lightly, a boyish smile on his face, “Bubbles.” 

You thought it was a little silly, but kind of endearing in a way. You set Bubbles down against a pillow before thanking him once again. 

“Take it as a thank you for all the blueberries these past few months,” He laughed, “Get some rest. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Felix.” You greeted him back, pulling the blanket over yourself as he left the room. It didn’t take long for you to drift to sleep. 

You woke up the next morning to the smell of something sweet, and the sound of someone in the kitchen. You sat up slowly, looking towards the source of the noise, just to see Felix at the stove cooking something- breakfast, maybe?

My thoughts were interrupted by his voice, “Good morning! I hope you like pancakes. If not, I guess you’ll just have to miss out on breakfast today.” He joked, turning back to look at me, the sun from outside illuminated his face as he flashed a small smile. He even had a cute flower apron over his pajamas. 

“Good thing I love pancakes then.” You said, returning the smile. You sat there for a while in disbelief while he had his back turned to you. You had been struggling to find food and to just, survive, these past few months, and here he was; cooking breakfast like it’s some normal Saturday morning, as if a meteor didn’t crash and change everything around 5 months ago. You got up and sat at the dining room table, and you started chatting a bit more. Just casual conversation, which eventually led to him asking you why you always left the blueberries instead of eating them. You quickly explained that you were allergic, and he gave a tiny pout at the information. 

“Guess I can’t make you any of my blueberry muffins then, huh?” He complained, scraping the warm pancake from the pan and onto your plate.

This guy really liked making sweets, didn’t he? “Guess not. A real shame.” You breathed out, frowning playfully while thanking him for the pancakes. 

Breakfast was mostly quiet, but unlike last night, there wasn’t a screaming sense of awkwardness, it was calmer now. The pancakes, by the way, were delicious; that’s how they tasted to you, at least. You can’t remember the last time you had eaten, let alone eaten something that was actually prepared and wasn’t some scrap you found in an old grocery store. Felix had chuckled lightly at you when he saw how quick you had finished the sweet meal he had cooked for you.

“I was going to ask how the pancakes were, but I feel like I don’t need to.” He teased, taking a bite off his fork. 

“Yeah, they were awful, actually.” You told him, matching his tone. He smiled at your response and continued to finish what was left on his plate.

  After you guys were done, the two of you washed the dishes together and put away all the ingredients he had used back into their places on the kitchen shelves. While you went to the living room to put the couch back to how it was, you couldn’t help but feel relaxed at how normal it all felt-- how domestic the whole situation was. You wished that everyday could be as calm as it was right now. 

Gathering all the Ortaux he had so graciously gifted you the night before, he gave you a bag to carry all of it in, and guided you to the door. 

“Thank you for everything again, if you ever need anything at all, I don’t stay too far from the bus stop. It's a small blue shed that's about a 2 minute walk away, don’t hesitate to drop by if you need anything,” You expressed your gratitude, glancing at him, “Or if you just want to come visit, that’s fine too.” 

“Good to know, You’ll keep that in mind.” He spoke with a toothy smile. You grinned at his bright expression, deciding then that you wanted to make him smile like that again someday.

With that, You stepped out the door, offering him one last wave before strolling your way over to your place with a fond smile on your lips. 

The next few months were…a bit different. You had gotten back into your normal routine, but this time instead of constantly being by yourself, you had Felix accompanying you. In the first few weeks after he had met you, he would come to visit a few times a week, and when he wasn’t visiting you, the two of you would sometimes run into each other at the bus stop. After a while, you had started to wonder if these were just coincidences anymore, it happened pretty often. On those days you would just take a break from everything to talk for a few minutes.. Or a few hours. 

Because of how put together Felix has been compared to you, you didn’t have to go out and scavenge nearly as much as you used to, giving yourself a lot more free time. Guess where all that free time went. You almost spent no time in your tiny shed that you had previously found solace in, but now found yourself spending your days-- and nights-- at Felix’s cozy house. Sleepovers were a regular thing, spending nights together on his bed talking about everything and nothing, which would normally end in the two of you falling asleep next to each other. You won’t ever forget the first time you woke up in his bed. 

Slowly opening your eyes, you felt a weight around you. You blinked the sleep away from your eyes, and when you finally came to your senses, you realized that Felix’s arms were wrapped around you, and his face was right in front of yours. Your breath got caught in your throat, but calmed down a bit when you fully processed that he was still asleep. You observed his features with a soft look; your eyes traveling all across his face. You scanned his long lashes, his soft lips that were slightly parted, releasing steady breaths, and the freckles scattered across his cheeks. Your eyes darted from one freckle to another, connecting them like stars. The sunlight leaking through the window behind him casted a warm glow on him, making his blonde hair glow. You smiled, thinking that you could get used to this view every morning. 

It wasn’t until after you were finally done staring at him that you noticed the slight twitch of his lips. You sighed, slightly embarrassed. 

“Please don’t tell me you’re awake.” He chuckled at you and finally opened his eyes, his lips curing up into a smile.

“You were staring at me, weren’t you?” He smiled, his voice slightly deeper than it normally was, since he had just woken up. 

You buried your face down under his chin, into his chest, “I wasn’t.” You denied. 

He brought a hand to the back of your head to run his fingers through your hair, laughing at your response. 

“It’s okay, I think it’s cute.”

You learned a lot about him during the time that you had spent with him, and now your mind had a list of random things that you had remembered about him. 

Apparently the house he was currently living in was actually his, and he lived there with his parents and two sisters before everything happened. Like you, he had lost them, and now you were the only other person who he had any interaction with. He had gotten his cooking skills from his older sister and mother, and he even taught you how to bake some of those sweet treats he loves so much; turns out he has a whole book filled with his mother’s handwritten recipes. 

He actually had, in fact, read a lot of the books that sat on display in his living room, and he even lended you some of his favorites for you to read. You didn’t even like reading that much, but you still had ended up finishing a couple of them for whatever reason.

 He had a bunch more stuffed animals in his room, scattered across his shelves and bed. He had names for all of them, and could tell you exactly where he had gotten each one, whether it had been a gift from someone, won at an arcade, purchased at a store, all of it. He had dyed his hair blonde when he was younger, and hasn’t gone back since, which you laughed at. He did complain, however, since considering your current situation, he hasn’t been able to dye it anymore; his roots growing out, revealing a decent amount of his brown hair. 

“It looks awful.” He whined, his fingers reaching up to run along his scalp. 

“Nonsense. It looks a little silly, but I don’t think it’s awful.” You teased him, laughing. 

“You’re so mean to me!”

Felix had basically become part of your daily routine at this point. 

The weather had been really bad these past few weeks, which made a few things significantly more difficult— actually everything had been more difficult. Hunting and collecting  plants had been your guys' main source of Ortaux for the past 3 months or so, but the constant rain and heavy winds gave you quite a bit of the struggle. You were running low, and you hadn’t run into Felix for about 2 weeks, which had been really concerning you. Whenever you went to his house to check in on him, there was never an answer to your knocking. You told yourself that perhaps he was sleeping, or out collecting plants, anything. However, you knew something was wrong when the batch of blueberries you left for him the last time you visited was still outside his door the next time you found yourself back outside his house three days later.

That night, the rain was heavy and the thunder outside did nothing to calm your senses. Normally when the weather was this bad, you were at Felix’s house sleeping over, cuddled in his arms while he comforted you through the storm. It was dark and cold, and you were terrified out of your mind right now, your mind only taken up by  the ruckus outside and the feeling gnawing at you regarding Felix. You tried to calm yourself down by breathing, and told yourself that you would go back to his place in the morning when the storm had hopefully calmed down by then; but that got changed when suddenly a bolt of lightning struck dangerously close to your tiny shed. You jumped up from your lying position on the cheap futon, and smelt something burning not too long after. Your eyes darted around, trying to find the source, only to see the left side of the ceiling burning. Feeling your heart begin to race, you quickly grabbed everything you could carry as fast as you could, and you started running towards Felix’s place. Rain was clouding your vision, or maybe they were tears, you didn’t know, you didn’t care. Your breath kept getting caught in your throat, your legs feeling like they could give out at any moment, and it was starting to get hard to breathe- You don’t think you’ve ever run this quick before in your life. 

As you finally reached his porch, you started to bang on the door, no answer. You were cold, terrified, and him not answering his door did absolutely nothing to calm you down. With each knock he didn’t answer, You could feel your heart dropping deeper and deeper. ‘Is he asleep? No way, everything is way too loud for him to be asleep right now. Why isn’t he answering me? Is he okay?’ Your harsh breaths scratching your throat, and your hands trembling, you gave up on knocking, grabbed a spare bobby pin, and tried your best to pick the lock. The rain made it hard to control it in your shaking hands, but eventually- 

Click

Your hands fumbled as you roughly reached to turn the doorknob and opened the door to his house, your presence being met with nothing. Absolutely nothing. Slamming the door behind you, you looked around in a panic, running around the house trying to find anything of him. The dishes in the sink were dirty, a mess had been scattered around his living room, clearly having not been cleaned in a while. You checked every single room, closet, bathroom, the backyard, but you were left empty handed. 

Your sore feet brought you back to his room, and you practically collapsed on his bed, your legs giving out from exhaustion. You were so tired. The area used to bring you so much warmth and comfort, but right now it brought you nothing of the sort. You felt...hollow, You didn’t know what to do. Tears pricked in your eyes, and it only took about a second for you to completely break down into a sob. Your breathing uneven and tears clouding your vision as your shivering form laid on his cold bed. You didn’t know what exactly it was that you were crying about. Was it because Felix wasn’t here, leaving you with absolutely nothing? Not even a single note, a single sign to where he was, if he was okay or not. That you were worried about him? As far as you knew, he could be dead right now. You pushed that thought out of your mind before it ate you up any more. 

After what felt like hours of just crying, you made yourself get up and find some dry clothes. You definitely  needed rest, and if you laid here any longer you were sure you were about to pass out from exhaustion on his bed, still in your drenched clothing. You went through his closet, your tired eyes scanning through his clothes. Your hands found a random hoodie and some sweatpants, and changed into them with slow movements. They still smelled like him.

 You grabbed Bubbles close to you as you laid in his bed, trying your best to fall asleep. My mind was clouded by your thoughts, and you finally realized something you had noticed while searching for him. All the Ortaux in the house was nowhere to be found when you checked earlier. ‘Did he take everything and leave to live somewhere else? Everything else of his was still here… did he..?’ You didn’t even notice the tears starting to fall from your eyes again until You felt something wet drip on the hand that was holding Bubbles. You shook your head, and tried to get comfortable in the bed you had only ever shared with Felix. You fell asleep after endless tossing and turning, tears staining your face, and thunder crashing outside. 

Waking up the next morning, you had initially refused to believe that the previous night was real. You turned over to face the other side of the bed, where Felix should’ve been, but your heart ached when you found it to be empty. You don’t even remember anything you did that day, and the next few weeks felt like a complete blur to you. 

Felix never came back, you don’t know what happened to him, and you probably never will. You started living in his house after that night. Really, it’s not like you had anywhere else to go anyway, your shed was long gone by now. Besides, Felix’s house was way more spacious, it was filled with ingredients, food, entertainment, a place to cook food– it had everything you needed. Except for a certain freckled boy with blonde hair. You tried convincing yourself that all the practical things were the only reason you stayed there, but deep down you know there’s a part of you that finds comfort in living here, and that same part of you is the same one that’s aimlessly hoping that he’ll return.

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 5/5

Book Blurb:

NEW from bestselling and award-winning author Andrew Joseph White! A queer Appalachian thriller that pulls no punches—following a trans autistic teen who's drawn into the generational struggle between the rural poor and those who exploit them.

Preorder now and recieve the LIMITED FIRST EDITION featuring specially designed photo endpapers—only while supplies last!

On the night Miles Abernathy—sixteen-year-old socialist and proud West Virginian—comes out as trans to his parents, he sneaks off to a party, carrying evidence that may finally turn the tide of the blood feud plaguing Twist Creek: Photos that prove the county’s Sheriff Davies was responsible for the so-called “accident” that injured his dad, killed others, and crushed their grassroots efforts to unseat him.

The feud began a hundred years ago when Miles’s great-great-grandfather, Saint Abernathy, incited a miners’ rebellion that ended with a public execution at the hands of law enforcement. Now, Miles becomes the feud’s latest victim as the sheriff’s son and his friends sniff out the evidence, follow him through the woods, and beat him nearly to death. 

In the hospital, the ghost of a soot-covered man hovers over Miles’s bedside while Sheriff Davies threatens Miles into silence. But when Miles accidently kills one of the boys who hurt him, he learns of other folks in Twist Creek who want out from under the sheriff’s heel. To free their families from this cycle of cruelty, they’re willing to put everything on the line—is Miles?

A visceral, unabashedly political page-turner that won’t let you go until you’ve reached the end, Compound Fracture is not for the faint of heart, but it is for every reader who's ready to fight for a better world. Hand this story to teens pushing for radical change.

Review:

A queer Appalachian thriller following a trans autistic teen thrown into the general struggle between the rural poor and those who will exploit them. Miles Abernathy is a sixteen year old socialist who has just come out as trans to his parents... and when he sneaks off to a party carrying evidence that would turn the tide in the feud in Twist Creek.... proving that the county's sheriff has been killing people and purposely injured Miles's father, things take a dark turn as the sheriff's son faces off against Miles. Miles just wanted to go unnoticed but its too late when the sheriff's son catches him with the evidence and proceeds to beat him to near death to keep him silent... and when the Sheriff threatens Miles into silence, Miles accidentally kills one of the boys who had hurt him. Everyone is under the sheriff's heel but maybe Miles will be the one to finally break this cycle... even if it means bodies will start dropping and blood is the only way to end the feud. This was a bloody brutal story about a small town feud, the toxic treatment of queer individuals, and the lengths people will go to to control others. Miles was such an interesting and compelling character who is constantly being handed terrible situations and must find a way to endure and survive them. This was a twisted fun read and one I would absolutely recommend for anyone who enjoys a good thriller and complex characters. I have been a huge fan of Andrew Joseph White's stories and writing and this one did not miss at all for me. I would absolutely recommend this book!

Release Date: September 3, 2024

Publication/Blog: Ash and Books (ash-and-books.tumblr.com)

*Thanks Netgalley and Holiday House / Peachtree / Pixel+Ink | Peachtree Teen for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

[krenenbaker]

Stop the World - 2: Seize the Moment

Pairing: Malleus/Cater

Warnings/Features: Angst (eventually with a happy ending), mention of death, (somewhat?) posessive Malleus Draconia

Summary: Cater and Malleus have found a comfortable rhythm to their lives in their last year at Night Raven College. But as the threat of change creeps closer, their fears about the future do too.

Malleus: Clinging onto the present

Notes: I've been working on the third and final part of this (thanks mostly to Inky!!), but I realized that I haven't actually posted the second part here yet, only on my AO3! If you haven't yet, you can read the first part here, which can be read before or after this one. Now just to finish the final part... And I will actually post the third part here in a timely manner once it's finished, instead of a month later! ^^;

Tags: @dove-da-birb, @inkybloom-luv, @silvers-numberonefan, @azulashengrottospiano (if you'd like to be tagged, or not tagged, in the writing I post, please let me know!)

Part 1 | Part 3 | AO3 Version (ft. all chapters)

When Malleus made a commitment, he put everything he had into it. He was aware that this intensity could be off-putting to some. It tended to scare people away. Even more so with everyone already fearing him for his name, strength, size, and social position.

Everyone, it seemed, but the human sitting beside him that very moment, leaning into his side. The one who was brave enough to approach him with a smile and, curiously, gentle taunts a number of months ago. The human who slowly opened his heart, gifting everything from his tears to his name, and let Malleus - no, "Mal" - make his claim, finding true warmth, and laughter, and love within. The little human who became his most precious Treasure.

Despite their differing positions - and shared masculine identity - both of their families were generally supportive, as were his future subjects. Or they would be, were Malleus not the next, and last, Draconia in line for the throne. He knew that he was expected to marry and subsequently sire an heir. Or two. Or five. And though his people held no prejudice against same-gender love, his heart had been captured by someone who - as he was - could not produce children. (There were ways, of course, which would be discussed when the time was right.)

While there were also very few issues with marriage between nobility and other classes, the same could not be said for relationships between a fae and a human... especially a human foreigner.

(Perhaps it was time for that to change. For the kingdom to begin to heal from the past and enter a new era.)

Even so, another thought plagued his mind. Malleus also knew that time would continue to pass, and it would not be kind. He would see his partner, his Treasure, his Cater age and wither and die as he continued to live on. He would barely even reach middle age as moss would inevitably begin to creep onto a slowly weathering gravestone.

And even now, their time together at Night Raven College was passing terribly fast and was nearly through. In mere months there would be no more lazy afternoons at each other's dorm for tea. Visits into town to try spicy ice cream or the newest artistically prepared coffees would end. There wouldn't be any more weekends in the school library studying with their legs softly pressed together as they sat sharing a textbook. And quiet moments at dusk, watching the sun dip down over the trees in the courtyard, like this evening, would cease.

He would never wish to admit so, but it hurt.

Malleus just wanted things to stay as they were. No royal duties to fulfill. No judgements. No cruel time eating away at their bodies. Just him and Cater, sitting side-by-side as the stars slowly appeared above them.

He feels a slight tenseness from his companion. Well, the sun has set; it must be becoming cold for a human. He gently grabs Cater's hand, both to offer some warmth, and in an attempt to quiet his own worried mind.

In that moment, Malleus swore that he would keep Cater Diamond by his side. He was committed to his human... no matter what comes.

[cyrereads]

October Releases (2023) - Indie Authors Edition

Here is a list of a few indie authors who have releases this Oct! Please check them out and support our small authors <3

The Erstwhile Tyler Kyle - Steve Hugh Westenra (Oct. 13th) A washed-up thirty-year-old actor and reluctant cryptid investigator, Tyler is used to playing the Scully to his best friend Josh’s Mulder on their stupidly popular YouTube channel. But when Tyler receives previously unseen footage of the B movie bombshell mother who abandoned him eighteen years ago— genre(s): horror

Posthaste Manor - Carson Winter, Jolie Toomajan (Oct. 18th) Everyone has a story about Posthaste Manor. None of the stories end well, but that doesn’t stop the hopeful from hoping and the desperate from trying. This composite novel stands as both history and eulogy of one very haunted house, as recounted by artists, real estate agents, and beloved family pets; by the debauched, the dead and the dying, and anyone looking for one last chance. genre(s): horror

Blood & Flowers - mars adler (Oct. 31 🎃) No one has been able to set foot in the D’Arcy family’s ancestral home for the last twenty years. The family was forced to relocate, and the only place they could find was close to their rival family, the Kanes. Proximity and years of anger have brought the situation to a boiling point, and it’s only so long before all-out war ensues. As a last attempt at peace, the Kane patriarch sends his half-witch, half-vampire advisor, Elio, to help one of the D’Arcy sons try to unravel the house’s mysteries. The only problem? Elio and Valerian D’Arcy hate each other. Years of mediating for their families have left them embroiled in a bitter rivalry, and unable to trust each other. genre(s): vampire, queer, novelette

Δάιος: A Call Me Icarus Novel - Andromeda Ruins (OUT NOW!) The Elysians are here to protect us. They uphold order, they keep citizens safe… unless you are their kid. When you are the child of an Elysian you get to see what they are truly like. You get to see their fears, their anger, their hatred. You get to be subjected to their wants and whims. Most importantly, you get to be trained by the ‘best of the best’ to become an Elysian yourself. At least that’s what we were told. We weren’t told what that training would cost us. What it would do to our bodies and our minds. How it would make us into what the Elysians really are, mindless abominations. genre(s): retelling

Herald of the Witch's Mark - Kellen Graves (Oct. 20) Saffron finally has the one thing he's always a chance to attend school. To be able to do so alongside Prince Cylvan, even while glamoured as a high fey and pretending not to know one another, Saffron is eager to finally experience the education he's always dreamed of. But the expectations of being a perfect fey lord are suffocating enough, and are only made more difficult as the unfettered rowan magic in his body runs wild. genre(s): fantasy, queer, romance, m/m

The Witch of Borygen Marsh - Lysander Arden (Oct. 31 🎃) Corliss is a witch, but their specialty is black magic and necromancy. And there's nothing sexy about that-or is there? Atticus makes a deal with them, but can he survive three nights in that dark cabin in the marshes? The appearance of an undead ex-boyfriend, nightmares that plague the two of them, and the promise of ultimate pleasure may be more than Atticus can handle.

In The Garden Of Echo - H.S. Wolfe (Oct. 31 🎃) Echo and Ender have existed nearly as long as the earth itself. They’re hungry, in love, and indestructible. For centuries they’ve wandered across continents feeding from their favorite food source - humans. But the mess they’ve left in their wake starts their prey on the path of discovering that they are not what they seem. After being forced to curb their feeding and go into hiding, a tragic incident leads Echo and Ender to learn about what they are, and the power they are truly capable of. genre(s): horror, queer

Rosemary & Iron - Dorian Valentine (Oct. 22) When a ritual to restore Mana goes wrong and sends him into the distant past, Célestin Edevane seeks the help of a strange man inhabiting an even stranger estate in order to prevent the calamity that destroyed Mana. Faced with a fascinating world unlike his own, filled with vampires, fae, witches and old gods and an unexpected love affair...will he even want to return to his time? genre(s): fantasy, queer, vampires, romance

The Misfit Mage and His Dashing Devil - M.N. Bennet (OUT NOW!) Apprentice mage Wally spends his days cataloging rare artifacts and dreaming about finally mastering his magics and living the adventures he’s always desired. Bez, a once mighty devil who craves the freedom of the outside world again, despises his confinement inside a powerful object. His only company now comes from the mages working within the archives he’s stored. Among them, the most annoying of them all, an anxious and considerate Walter. genre(s): fantasy, queer, paranormal, m/m, romance

As The Light Goes Out - Olive J Kelley (Oct. 31 🎃) When Boston born and bred Simon Abbott buys an obsolete lighthouse on the coast of Maine, he envisions turning it into a short-term rental with nothing but a HGTV understanding of renovation and heaps of gay audacity. The current caretaker of the lighthouse, Bruce Cadogan, sees right through Simon’s confidence and, in a last ditch attempt to save his quaint New England hometown’s charm, asks for three days to convince Simon not to go through with his plan, or he’ll help him with the renovations himself. genre(s): contemporary, mental health, queer, novella

Knight - Elle Samhain (Oct. 31 🎃) Avery isn’t sure she should even still be alive after Morgana’s Legion left two Reapers dead… and one Saved. She and her friends have located the fifth and final Knight of Od placed in the realm of the living by the Beldam - the Knight of Spirit. The oddball Princess Yumi has waited with bated breath and uncertain heart for the Berserker Witch. Can she be trusted to resist the demon she harbors? The ragtag band of Reapers must confront the monsters of their own pasts before they can ever hope to save the future.

Reborn - Seth Haddon (Oct. 24) When the Rezwyn Empire mysteriously cuts diplomatic ties with the Kingdom of Usleth, merchant lord Oren Radek is sent to investigate. But when he discovers a coup brewing against the emperor, Radek's life and his country's safety is suddenly under threat. Izra Dziove, visionary advisor to the Rezwyn Emperor, is trying to hold the turbulent Rezwyn court together while being plagued by dreams of his fated man. But when Izra’s adversaries launch an attack on the diplomatic party from Usleth, he is forced to take action to protect them and prevent a war. genre(s): fantasy, queer, m/m, romance

King of Hell - Morgan Dante (Oct. 17) Still need to scratch that Good Omens or Supernatural itch? Laurențiu, a vampire staked by his ex-lover's husband, only craves one thing: revenge. In Hell, as a courtier for one of the kings of Hell, he's consumed by it and willing to make a deal to kill the man, Anthony, who turned him into a vampire and abandoned him. genre(s): queer, romance, fantasy, vampires

Devour - Dae Storm (Oct. 17) When Renee Reynolds finds herself dumped by her long-term boyfriend in the middle of the pouring rain on her birthday, she wishes she could escape from her life. Standing furious in the middle of the street, Renee sees something she was never meant to, bringing herself to the attention of a very hungry... feline monster. Unable to outrun the creature from beyond the realm of her beliefs, Renee is left in the claws of her captor: Hale. Hale cannot let a human go knowing what she is; but there's something different about this one.

Outfield Assist - Cat Giraldo (Oct. 17) Outfield Assist is an MMF polyamorous romance with a guaranteed HEA. It's book 2 in the Dominating the Diamond series and can be read out of order or as a standalone.

The Ghosts of Reeser Morrigan - Amara Lynn (Oct. 13) Robert Wutherford is a warlock who runs a shop in the town of Yverwood, though his services as a warlock mostly go unneeded in a town filled to the brim with magically gifted. He spends most of his days with his nose stuck in romance novels, wishing he were in one. When a mysterious client shows up at his door claiming to be in need of his services, Wutherford doesn't believe him. Reeser Morrigan has a ghost problem, so he claims. A warlock couldn't be what he needs… Wutherford agrees to observe Reeser for one night to assess the situation. Once Wutherford witnesses what the true problem is—that Reeser is visited by a new spirit out to devour his soul each night—he realizes he might be the only one who can help, as he possesses the rare wender affinity with souls.

a special thank you to Monster Manor on twt for providing some of the titles on this.

please SHARE and spread the word so we can show our indie authors some much deserved love <3