#i will personally be hunting down those judges though

[psychic-waffles]

I'M JUST SO GLAD HE'S BACK 😭❤😭❤😭❤

[perlukafarinn]

Usually when Claire works the closing shift at Rocky's, she and Dean will wind down with a couple of beers at the end of the night. It's a nice little ritual Claire looks forward to every time she comes around, though she'd never admit as much out loud.

Tonight, Dean has mixed up a batch of one of his specialty cocktails - The Queen of Moondoor. It's bright, a sort of red-orange color, and has a sweet and sour taste that makes Claire's jaw ache.

"Do you like it?" Dean asks, like Claire's opinion really matters.

She nods. "It's good."

She's not lying. Dean isn't really a cocktails kind of guy but he's put a lot of effort into every detail of Rocky's. From the various pride flags carefully hung behind the bar, to the salt painted into the windowsills, every inch of the place is meticulously planned out. Rocky's isn't officially a hunter's bar - though it is explicitly a gay bar - but it's become an unofficial gathering place of queer hunters across the continental US.

Even the cocktails on the menu are Dean's own invention. All of them have a backstory, some of which Claire isn't privy to. She knows enough to understand why the Queen of Moondoor is Dean's personal favorite, though.

It also packs a surprising punch. Two drinks in, and Claire already feels herself tilting from tipsy into full-on drunk. She slows down her pace.

"How long are you planning on sticking around now?" Dean asks, because free booze is never just free booze with him. There's always the interrogation. He's almost as much of a mom as Jody is.

"A few days," Claire answers vaguely. "Maybe longer, who knows. I don't have any hunts lined up right now and you pay pretty well."

She knows for a fact he pays her double what he does his other bartenders. Neither one of them ever mentions it, though.

"Weren't you heading back to Jody's?"

Claire shrugs, uncomfortable. She had been, before last night's call with Kaia. They're good most days, even with the strain of Claire being on the road half the time, but sometimes when they talk, they'll hit on a sore topic for one of them and things will get stilted.

The anniversary of Mom's death is coming up in a couple of weeks. Kaia wanted to join Claire for her visit to the cemetery.

"What's on your mind, Strawberry Shortcake?"

Claire is supposed to roll her eyes now. Tell Dean to fuck off and mind his own business.

She doesn't really want to do that. But she doesn't know how to explain to Dean what she's feeling, either.

"It's stupid," she says. "I'm being dramatic."

"You? Never."

Claire scoffs, and Dean's eyes soften.

"You can talk to me, you know."

"Yeah," Claire says, because she does. He gets her, weirdly enough. They get each other. It probably doesn't say great things about either of them. "I just... I feel like I'm making up problems."

Dean takes a sip of his drink. It's difficult to look dignified, drinking out of a straw, and he does not remotely manage it. "Let me be the judge of that."

"Kaia wants-" Claire stops herself, because that's not the point of it. "I - we're good. Me and Kaia. I don't feel ashamed about it."

Dean waits for her continue.

"I'm a lesbian," Claire adds, even though, duh.

"Congrats," Dean says, and it feels like it could be sarcastic but it's not. He means it.

"I don't think -" no, that's not right. "I know my parents wouldn't be okay with that."

The statement lands heavily between them. It feels bitter on Claire's tongue, an ugly truth held at bay for far too long. She feels awful saying it, like she's failing her parents. Speaking ill of the dead. But it's the truth.

Mom and Dad would make these... comments. And Claire remembers each one with perfect clarity, because she's known something was different about her for a very long time. She knew those comments were aimed at her, even if her parents didn't.

They were wonderful parents in every other aspect. Up until they abandoned her, that is. Claire still can't help but feel like she's failing them, sometimes, being who she is.

"They might have changed their minds," Dean offers. "If they'd known. It's different when it's your own kid."

Claire eyes him, curious. "Was it different for your parents?"

Something crosses over Dean's expression, too quickly for Claire to catch it.

"No," he admits after a beat. He runs his hand over his face. "Maybe - Mom might have been fine with it. She didn't know."

Claire swallows. "But your dad did. And it wasn't different."

She feels cruel, pushing the topic. But there's some perverse part of her that needs the confirmation. Dean reminds her of herself, in a lot of ways. He'd say it was the other way around. If he experienced the rejection that Claire feared as a kid, the one that still scares her even if it's purely theoretical now, then that proves something.

"It wasn't," Dean admits. "But Jimmy Novak was no John Winchester."

Claire's chest aches. There's some hollow triumph at the abstract confirmation of her worst fears. Mostly, she just feels like shit.

"For what it's worth," Dean adds, "I think you're perfect. No notes."

Embarrassingly, Claire's lower lip wobbles. She clears her throat, looking off to the side as she tries to regain her composure.

"You think you're my dad or something?" she asks, voice rough.

Dean shrugs, looking embarrassed himself. "I kind of think of you as my kid, yeah. If that's okay."

Claire crosses her arms, feeling warm and aching and off-kilter. "I - yeah. Yeah, that's fine."

[meldy-writes]

Stupid Games

Summary: Takes place during S2 You’re the eldest of the Greene sisters (about 10 years older than Maggie). You’re mean, overprotective of your family, and overall just kind of a mythic bitch. Daryl can’t seem to keep his eyes from wandering over you whenever you’re around. One day you run into each other in the woods while hunting down the same deer and Daryl finds himself being toyed with. Maybe you’re not as cold and forbidding as you let on, but then again, maybe you’re just luring him into playing a stupid little game with you.

A/N: This is an excerpt from a fic I want to post to AO3 but don’t have anything substantial enough to post a full chapter yet so I wanted to post this here and see if it was good enough to keep working on. Might post another part I have written as a companion piece if people like this enough.

The first time Daryl laid eyes on you, you were just a distant figure on the roof of the Greene family farmhouse as he rode in at the head of the convoy on his bike. You were sitting on the porch overhang, looking out over your father's land with the vigilance of a grizzled soldier on the front lines. He watched you stand up as they drove up your gravel path. You put out a cigarette you'd been smoking in an ashtray resting on an open window ledge before climbing into the house. He and the rest of the members of his group that had stayed behind at the highway the night previous had made it up to the path and met up with the people who were already working on something judging by the pile of rocks they were collecting in a wheelbarrow by the time you reemerged on the porch. You surveyed him and the others with a set and piercing stare, arms crossed defensively over your chest as if daring one of them to cause trouble and give you a reason to beat their ass. You were followed out of the house by an older man in his seventies and the rest of Daryl’s group. You took stock of the new arrivals, starting with him and working your way over everyone, scanning them like you could see everything there was to know about them on their skin and didn't like it. When you were done you fixed your gaze back onto Daryl as if you'd identified him as the biggest threat. He hated the feel of your suspicious stare, though he told himself it was typical of people to see him as nothing but trouble and to treat him like dirt so he should be used to it. The way you tilted your head from your elevated position on the raised porch—like you were looking down at an ant and trying to decide whether it was worth the energy to squash it—made him fidget.

“How is he?” Dale asked after Carl when Rick and Lori came out of the house looking like they’d just been through hell and hadn't slept a wink.

“He'll pull through,” Lori responded, relief clear in her voice, “Thanks to Hershel and his daughter, (y/n),” She said motioning towards you, “and their people, and–”

“and Shane,” Rick added, “We'd have lost Carl if not for him.”

Daryl watched your already cold eyes darken and a snarl twist across your face at the statement, failing to suppress an eye roll before you yanked your head away from the group and the conversation like it disgusted you, choosing instead to stare off towards a barn at a distant end of the property. He wondered what your problem was, but he wasn't wondering long. It was revealed soon after the group arrived that someone had gone with Shane when he went to retrieve medical supplies for Carl and that that person did not return with him. Someone you and your family cared for.

If it wasn't made clear by the way Lori recognized those living at the farm house as not just your father's people but yours as well that you were the oldest child, it would have become obvious by the way your sisters looked to you for comfort at Otis's funeral. The little blonde one bawled her eyes out and clung to you like a child clings to their mother while Maggie, the woman who'd rode up to them on a horse the other day, leaned down to your height to rest her head on your shoulder. You tucked the sniffling teenager under your arm protectively, rubbing at her shoulder and pressing a kiss to her forehead and then turned to bump your head softly against Maggie’s in a comforting way. Your lips pursed like you were sucking on a lemon as you tried your best to stay strong and not start crying like your sisters, pinning Shane with a frigid and accusatory glare that he expertly ignored as he told the story of how he and Otis were ambushed by a group of walkers while retrieving the medical supplies for Carl and that Otis had valiantly stayed behind to cover his retreat, shooting into the herd with a pistol before ultimately being swallowed up by the swarm and getting torn to shreds. Daryl found it miraculous that Shane managed to recover the gun but not the man that had supposedly been firing it in his daring escape—and by miraculous he meant shady. You didn't seem to be buying Shane’s story, either.

After the service your father motioned toward you and told you to show the guests where to set up their camp, as he graciously agreed to let them stay until Carl recovered and they had located Sophia. You nodded dutifly with a muttered “Yessir,” motioning to Rick with your head, beckoning him to follow as you untangled yourself from your siblings and began marching off in a direction with purpose, not looking back to check if anyone was following you. If the group couldn't keep up with your quick gait that was just too damn bad. They did their best to match your pace, some, like Daryl, breaking off to fetch the vehicles and bring them over to where they were meant to stay. When you got to a spot under some particularly shady trees a good distance from your house you stopped, looking around as you waited for the group to congregate. When everyone was grouped up again you addressed them directly for the first time that morning. Your voice was down to business and detached as you pointed out where the boundaries of the camp would be and where the well they could use for water was. “One more thing,” You said with the same rural twang as your sisters, your tone changing to one of warning as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, jutting out your hip and resting your hand against it. Daryl followed the movement, your curves drawing his eyes in a way that made him itch and blush. “My daddy believes we should be good christians—help our fellow men and give ‘em the benefit of the doubt, but I don't share his blind faith. I don't know you people and I don't trust you. I can’t afford to, I have a baby sister to protect. Beth is sixteen, you understand? She's a child. If I catch any of your men lookin’ at her, talkin’ to her—sniffin’ around her in any way, I will rip their balls off like I'm takin’ a part off a Mr. Potato Head.” You made a popping sound with your lips that had Daryl's stare fixing on them instead of your hips, and gave a motion with your hand as if grabbing at something and yanking it down. “Clean off,” you reiterated, staring Glen down who swallowed thickly and tried to give you a friendly and disarming smile that did not change your attitude in the slightest. “Maggie can take care of herself but still, if someone upsets her, with God as my witness there will be hell to pay.”

There was a loud silence from the group after your blatant threats of bodily harm that was broken by Dale, ever the peacekeeper. “We understand where you're coming from, you have nothing to worry from us. We're good people, you'll see. Thank you for letting us stay on your beautiful property while Carl recovers and we look for Sophia.”

You scoffed, “You're only here because we shot your boy,” you reminded bluntly as you turned to leave for your house, “don't thank us.”

Daryl’s first impression of you: You were a bitch, but a bitch who loved her family. The only times he ever caught you cracking a smile or being anywhere close to kind during those first few days was when you were with them. You seemed to disagree with your dad on a lot of things, but it was clear you both respected and loved each other and that you had a bond that had been worked on and cultivated to be strong enough for you to argue and debate and still look at each other with love. After every tiff he’d catch you having in the windows of the front room, spitting and pinching the bridge of your nose and tossing your hands up while your dad calmly spoke back you would sigh, relax your gaze, and kiss his cheek or his forehead before stomping off with a storm cloud over your head. You’d grin wolfishly as you and Maggie laughed conspiratorially on the porch in the afternoon, teasing each other as you ate cherries together, trying to hit each other with the pits you spat out. Your whole face would soften when you looked at Beth, practically glowing with unconditional adoration as you played on the guitar Dale had originally found for Glen and accompanied the little blonde girl as she sang her heart out. Your voice was low, bluesy, raw, and filled with vibrato. There was an untrained authenticity to it that was almost hypnotic. It paired well with your sister who sang like a songbird, pretty and light as if she’d been taught by actual birds. You were happy to let her take the center stage, supporting her through harmony while your fingers strummed frets with a clumsy sort of charm, like you were taught to play at one point but never practiced, and were now making all sorts of mistakes that were going to become bad habits without a proper teacher. It was later revealed that Otis had taught you the basics a few years back and you’d only bothered to pick it back up now that he was gone and Beth needed someone new to perform with. You softened for Patricia, as well, helping her in the kitchen and going out of your way to assist her with her chores on the farm despite having plenty of your own responsibilities to fulfill.

Daryl’s group, however, you continued to treat like shit on your shoe. You made no effort to hide that you wanted them off your property as soon as possible, only showing a hint of compassion when it came to Lori and Carol, the mothers of the group who were distraught over the perils of their children. They were the ones you supplied the group’s meals to, giving them bushels of produce and bottles of milk and sending your sisters over to hand them baskets of eggs, even going so far as to offer Carl some of your late step-brother’s hand-me-downs to wear, but you still had a cold sneer on your face when you handed things over and you didn’t speak to them unless it was to ask how Carl was recovering or if they were making any progress finding Sophia. You were only asking to try and gauge how much longer you’d have to wait before kicking them out, and you grew more and more agitated the more the group settled in. Every time Rick or Dale or anyone tried to appeal to you or your dad about staying longer or staying permanently you’d bristle like a cat being pet the wrong way. You made a point to avoid them most of the time, which was just fine with Daryl because every interaction he did have with you pissed him off, and only fueled his own frustration when it became harder and harder to ignore you or look away.

For instance, the first one on one conversation he ever had with you was out in the woods while he was looking for Sophia. He was about to give up the search for the day and head back when he picked up the trail of a deer. He stalked it through the woods, thinking it’d be better to provide the farm with some venison than to return empty handed again. When he finally found it, he took aim and shot it at an angle that had it sprinting off with a limp in the direction of the farm. That’s when he heard a startled gasp and watched as you rushed out of the nearby foliage with a rifle, taking aim at the retreating deer before realizing you couldn’t get a clear shot on it. You then turned to where he was, gun dropping in your arms as you pinned him with a furious look. “Congratulations, Numb-Nuts, it got away.”

“The hell are you doing out here?” Daryl snapped, face red at the way you were treating him like a dullard with no idea what he was doing.

You seemed flustered by the question, looking down and kicking at the dirt with your horse-riding boot. “Came out to hunt and figured I’d look around for the missing little girl while I was at it,” you said with a casual shrug, avoiding his eyes until you seemed to remember you were pissed at him at which point your head snapped up and that signature sneer of yours was back. “Saw the deer and was gonna take it out but somebody went and scared it off.”

“I shot it in the leg on purpose,” Daryl explained defensively, getting angry and up in your face, “see that trail it left? It’s carryin’ itself back to the farm, less effort this way.” He looked you up and down and scoffed, nodding towards your gun. “What's with the rifle, Annie Oakley? You shoot that thing, every walker in a five mile radius is gonna come here to tear you and that deer apart.”

You slung your weapon over your shoulder and crossed your arms defiantly, “It takes a buck down in one clean, quick shot. The animal feels little to no pain if you know what you’re doin’ so it’s not suffering with an arrow in its ass for half a mile. Plus, I woulda been outta here with the buck slung over my shoulder long before anything came over to check out the noise.” You were confident, clearly convinced you knew better and that your methods were best. Daryl couldn’t have that. He had a good decade’s worth of experience on you and he hadn't had his hand held the whole time he was taught to track the way you probably had. He licked his lips ready to knock you down a peg.

“Yeah, but you’d be so exhausted from caryin’ it the whole way that if a walker came up on you, you’d be too tired to fight it off. Maybe you’d be able to drop the deer and fumble for your rifle, but that’s as far as you’d get. It’d be on you in a second. Would a little thing like you be able to fight it off? You even got a weapon other than that big ol’ Elmer Fudd gun?” As he was talking he saw your expression shift. You tilted your head like something had just occurred to you and you were sizing him up.

Suddenly, you brought your right leg up, bent at the knee so you could lift a jack knife from your boot, and flicked the blade out so it pointed at his chest. That shut him up for a second. He really hadn’t expected the quickness with which you had it drawn on him. “Believe me,” you let out a bored, breathy sigh, a smirk on your face like you knew you had the upper hand, “I’ve got some experience dealing with ravenous things that want to pin me down and devour me, I can handle myself just fine.” …were you still talking about walkers? You were, right? The way you poked the tip of your knife against the skin of his chest peeking out from under his open collar and gently dragged it down until it caught on the button of his shirt had him feeling goosebumps on his flesh and hearing innuendo in your words. You took a step towards him, looking up at him through long lashes with your chest puffed—either in pride or in an attempt to get him to look at your breasts. Regardless of the reason, It was working. “What about you? You sure you can catch up to that deer before somethin’ else does? You said it yourself, it’s hurt and slowing down—a biter could take it down in a matter of moments. Then what, tough guy?” Daryl had nothing to say in defense of that. Partly because your slightly seductive shift in demeanor had his mouth going dry and partly because you had a point and he knew it. He remembered the last time he’d hunted a deer like this, it’d carried itself all the way back to the quarry camp before getting caught on the fishing line of the perimeter alarms they put up and then it’s stomach was ripped apart and it’s innards devoured by a walker that followed the sound of a wounded, frightened animal and jingling cans. You must have seen in his eyes that you’d caught him because your slight smile spread into a full-on Cheshire cat grin. You retracted your knife and returned it to your boot, turning and sauntering off in the direction the deer had run off in. “guess we’d better go find it, huh?”

Daryl stalled for a second, stunned by your behavior. One second you’re spitting venom at him and making him feel like he’s two feet tall, the next you’re purring like a kitten and being the biggest fucking tease he’d ever had to endure. He mentally smacked himself when he realized he’d been so focused on the sway of your hips as you walked away that he wasn’t following you like he should be. He began jogging to catch up with you, falling into step easily as you both picked up the deer’s trail again. “You even know how to track?” He couldn't help but keep trying to pick a fight with you—he didn’t even know why, but as much as bickering with you pissed him off, he also found it fun. You didn’t treat his meanness like something you had to quell or cry about like his group did, you stood your ground and tossed your own barbs right back at him. It was like a game. A game he seemed to be losing, but that didn’t mean he was going to stop playing.

You looked over to him, a brow raised as you scanned him up and down. “Yes, I do. Do you own a shirt you haven’t ripped the sleeves off of?” You nodded to the button down he was wearing. He’d torn the sleeves off a few days ago because it was too hot to wear them and he needed the fabric to tie markers off on trees to denote what parts of the woods he’d already searched through in case the others ever decided to get off their asses and help look for Sophia. He had a few other shirts that had sleeves at some point but no longer did that he wore in a common rotation. He must have had a sour look on his face at your retaliating comment because you shook your head and chuckled under your breath, “don’t play stupid games if you don’t wanna win stupid prizes.”

You walked through the woods mostly in silence after that, not wanting to make an abundance of noise and end up accidentally spooking the deer. That became a competition as well, with you both smirking in triumph every time the other stepped on a twig or kicked up a bit of dirt in your effort to leave as little evidence of a trail as possible. Eventually, as you were coming up on a clearing near the edge of your property where the tall grass almost completely covered the view of your home in the distance, Daryl stuck his hand out to stop you and put a finger to his lips, pointing towards the buck you’d both been after peeking out through the foliage, whining softly and doing its best to lick at the wound in its back leg. You took cover behind a honeysuckle bush and Daryl nodded at you and your gun, “I got the last shot, your turn.”

You hesitated a second, scanning the woods and warily looking towards your farm. “Too close to home to use the gun now, it’d attract the dead to our property. Lemme borrow that crossbow of yours.” You held your hand out for it and Daryl clutched it away from your grasp. You looked at him first confused by his reluctance then annoyed, “please?” you said petulantly. After a beat of studying your face he eventually relented, but only after you’d started pouting a little. The second it was in your grip you hefted it up, remarking that it was heavier than you expected.

Daryl watched you handle it a bit clumsily as you got used to holding it and his fingers itched to show you how to aim it right. In the end, he couldn’t help himself. He came up behind you and put his hands on your hips, angling them the right way so you had a solid stance. He felt you stiffen under his hands and could hear your breath catching in your throat. “You wanna stand like this,” he coached, his arms coming around you to adjust your elbows and help you aim the weapon straight. You leaned back against his chest a little, maybe unconsciously, maybe on purpose. “Then just use the arrow tip like a sight and pull the trigger.” He could feel you shift as his breath brushed against the skin of your neck. The way you acted made you so big and imposing, but actually having you in his arms made you feel so small and demure; like he could envelop you entirely and keep you all to himself if he wanted. The way you’d been acting the past half hour made him feel like you might want that, too. The idea sort of excited him a little—made his pants and his chest feel tight. There was a quiet moment where he expected you to aim and fire, but it passed and the arrow still hadn’t been shot. He turned to look at you and see what the hold up was. Surley, you weren’t that unsure of your aim. He flinched back a bit when he moved his head in your direction and almost brushed noses with you, as you were not looking at the deer and had instead shifted to look back at him, a look on your face reminiscent of a cat playing with a cornered mouse.

“You really are just like any other man, aren’t you?” you crooned out in a teasing tone.

“What?” his mind went blank in his dumbfoundedness and that was all he could manage to utter.

“In my experience, I’ve found that any man who’s attracted to a woman is always willing to believe two things about her: One, that she doesn’t know anything about anything and needs him to help her, and two, that she’s just as attracted to him as he is to her.” Daryl’s mouth opened and closed like a fish at that statement, unsure what you meant or how he was supposed to respond. In that time you yanked yourself out of his grip, redid your stance, took aim with perfect form, and let loose an arrow with absolutely no hesitation. The deer let out a sad bleat as it was shot in the eye and then it crumpled into the grass, dead as a doornail. You handed his crossbow back to him with a nasty, shit-eating grin. “Do I really strike you as the type of person who’d ask to borrow somethin’ I didn’t know how to use? Honestly now, all I had to do was bat my lashes and push up my tits and you were all ‘here, let me get up close behind you and show you how to hold this big heavy tool’.” You said those last three words in an erotic and over dramatic moan, getting close to press your breasts against him as you ran your hand up his chest.

He pushed you away, a heavy blush heating his face while you began to cackle maniacally at him. “How the hell was I supposed to know you knew how to use it when you were fumbling with it like a toddler?” he barked out angrily as you stepped out from behind the bush you’d both been hiding behind and began walking towards the farm, still laughing. “Hey! Ain’t you gonna take the deer? It’s your kill!”

You turned around with mirth dancing in your eyes and a wide happy grin on your face. The light of the setting sun bounced off your hair making it look so shiny as the light summer breeze ran through it, making it float and sway around you in such a pretty way. Daryl felt his heart pound hard in his chest as he glared over your retreating figure. You were walking backwards, tucking a few strands of hair that had flown into your face back behind your ear as you said, “Who, me? But I'm just a ‘little thing’ who’d get tired if I carried it all the way back. You’re the big strong man—use those big strong muscles to carry it back for me. Oh, and since you’re the big strong provider, you can go ahead and string it up, drain it, and skin it, too. Thanks for your help,” you sing-songed sarcastically, “I just don’t know how I ever woulda done it without you!” Daryl began to huff, storming towards you for a second, unsure of what he’d even do if he caught you, but he felt like you’d just tricked him and he didn’t like it. You held your hands up in your defense as you saw him coming. “Stupid games, stupid prizes,” you reiterated with a shrug as you giggled and turned, running back towards the farm and leaving him in the thicket with the dead buck.

Daryl got the sudden sense as he watched you slow your pace to a jog then a brisk walk once you’d gotten far enough away that this had all been a test of some kind. He couldn’t tell if he passed or failed, but you certainly seemed pleased about the results either way. He kicked at the ground, a clump of dirt launching into the air as he did so, and moved to heft the buck over his shoulder. He didn’t know if or when you’d ever come looking to play again, but if you did, he’d make sure he won.

As he strung up the deer in a tree a little ways away from the group’s makeshift camp later that afternoon, cutting at its arteries and letting the blood drain out of it, he imagined what you might look like when he got the upper hand on you. What would you look like when the sneers and the smirks were wiped away and you were pinned down, completely at his mercy—all flustered with your cheeks flushed, trying to squirm your way out from under him. He bet you’d still have bite. He bet you would still spit venom, but maybe he could get you to purr for him, too. Maybe he could get you to look at him the way you looked at your family, all sweet smiles and gentle touches. The thought made him eager to play another one of your stupid little games.

[coryosbaby]

𝑀𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑀𝓎 𝐻𝓊𝓈𝒷𝒶𝓃𝒹

Ramsay Bolton x fem! Reader

Content warning . Acts of manipulation, arranged marriage, Stockholme syndrome, nsfw. Reader is implied to be plus sized but perceive her however you want. 18+, MDNI !!

*. ੈ♡*ੈ⸝⋆

Ramsay Bolton was never someone you intended to love, but it wasn’t long after your arranged marriage that you started to fall for him.

As much as you hated to say it, the man had a specific… softness for you. You knew deep down that it was probably a manipulation tactic to make you more vulnerable towards him, but it was working like a charm, no matter how hard you tried to stop it. When you were both asleep in your chambers— see, he had had a room specifically designed for you to both sleep in the same bed— you would curl up onto his chest, sleepily smacking your lips and muttering a “g’night, Ramsay,” as you drifted off into slumber.

A slumber that you always felt safe in, for some strange reason.

Ramsay would only hum, his grip around your waist almost possessive even as you both slept. If you got too uncomfortable when staying in that position for too long, you would flip over. Ramsay would soon follow suit, his arm slinging itself over your waist, mumbling something like, “keep still, pup,” as he pulled you close against his chest. That was your routine every night after the first month, curled up in each other’s embrace.

During the day he would go hunting. You didn’t dare ask what he hunted for, though you had a vague suspicion. You didn’t mind the handmaidens gossiping around you so you could learn more about your husband, and so far, it wasn’t anything good. Not that there was anything good that you heard to begin with—It was no secret what Ramsay Bolton did behind closed doors. When he would come back from a hunt, he would be giddy, proud, caked in blood and gore, an almost violent smile on his face. You would smile back at him, glancing up with sweet eyes as he pulled you into his arms. He would kiss you hard on the mouth, hands traveling down to the hem of your dress— “Shouldn’t I get a reward for my hard work, lady wife?”— and then he would bend you over the nearest surface and make you cum on his cock for hours, ridding you of any apprehension or thought.

You didn’t mind these things. You were married, after all, and Ramsay Bolton was definitely skilled in a lot of aspects. This included playing your body like a violin, rubbing and licking and pushing in ways that made you squirm. He loved to be in between your thighs and eat your cunt like a man starved, or thrust his fingers into your needy hole until you were releasing messily all over his mouth. He’d bend you in half instead of over on a lot of nights, putting all his weight on top of you so you couldn’t move away from him.

So you couldn’t escape him.

There were hardships sometimes. Ramsay would be in a very angry mood, and you would do something very minor and it would upset him— he’d yell at you, call you names and laugh in your face when you began to cry, or he’d scream some more if you decided to snap back at him. But it was all because he was a blind person when he was angry; you didn’t try and judge him too harshly for that. He had a long fuse when it came to you, compared to the others.

Regardless, he would always return to you the night of the argument, covered in blood once again, with apologies on his tongue and a gift on occasion. Like the wolf pup he had gifted you on your twentieth name day— “A protector for when I’m not around. You look so perfect when you smile, my beautiful girl.”— or his head between your thighs. Whichever worked, really.

When he asked you to accompany him on a hunt one day, your eyebrows had raised in surprise. What could he have awaiting in those woods for you to shoot down with a bow and arrow? You wondered about it, and honestly dreamed of the day when you as a lady would have the freedom to learn the ways of hunting. But when you got there, there was no prey to be found.

None except you, of course.

It wasn’t as scary as it sounds. Ramsay had left his weapons behind, which you noticed once you got a decent way into the woods. Such a ditzy little thing you were, always in your own world and too far gone to even notice. Ramsay had told you to run, that you were both playing tag. When you were It, he had shoved you down onto the forest floor and lifted up your skirts, a growl evident in his throat as he claimed you.

“Mine.”

You had came back to the castle, shy, your dress’ bodice ripped from Ramsay’s rough manhandling. No one said a thing, and Ramsay gave you the reward of keeping his cock warm while you slept.

When you bathed, he loved to watch you. You never understood why, but you assumed it may have been some weird sort of intimacy that only Ramsay Bolton would want with his partner. He would sit in a seat reserved just for him, and he would watch your body sink into the water, bare breasts supple and soaped. He would watch the curve of your ear as you pushed your wet hair out of your eyes and the Cupid’s bow above your lip. Sometimes he loved to admire the thatch of hair between your legs, covering the place he loved most, or the soft tummy you had grown to have because he fed you good, hearty food.

Other times, he would listen to the tinkling of your laugh as he told you something that was funny. He would pass on his information of Philosophy and the fine arts which Roose had forced him to learn, and he would adore how excited you got when he taught you these things. It seemed like everytime, eyes wide with fascination, you would bloom, like a pretty orchid or a wild rose.

Ramsay swooned when you presented your psyche to him this way, but you never knew that unless he told you such.

One night he had even helped you bathe. He had gathered a sponge and a bar of soap, had asked quietly if he could do the work for you. You had been exhausted from the previous day and had nodded your head, sighing in content when he begun to gently rub the sponge over your back. He had ran it over your shoulders, arms, thighs, every nook and cranny just to watch the contortions of your form. He had washed you off, and with a soft voice as sweet as honey, began to speak.

“Do you trust me?”

You didn’t know how to reply to him, though you knew answer already.

“Yes.”

He had tilted his head, something in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place. He resumed his tasks, now moving on to massage your scalp with soft fingers. He had gently pushed your head under the water so he could rinse your hair, and his hands had held you under. Not forcefully, it seemed, but he wanted to.. keep you there. And you let him. Your body relaxed against the warmth of his hands and the waves, and it was then that you realized he could hurt you at any moment. Drown you, hold you under and water board you, beat your head against the tub until your brain splattered to mush.

But he didn’t. And as you stared at him, eyes wide through the water, watching his blue eyes staring back at you, you knew then that you were completely and utterly fucked.

You hated yourself for it, for this revelation that overcame you in that moment: You were basking in this man, in the complete darkness that was Ramsay Bolton. You didn’t know how or why it became this way, but you liked your husband, big and strong, there to keep you and hold you and gift you small trinkets and whisper sweet nothings. It was almost too much.

But that night, you curled up onto his chest anyway, like a kitten, purring in a soft lilt, “I love you, Ramsay.”

He had squeezed your hand tight, a small smile on his face. This is exactly what he wanted.

“I know you do, little dove.”

:: @mysticpenguincreation @nightmare-niko @iheartinkonpaper @becauseseaotters @emmalandry @princesstiti14 @aerangi @kaithoughs @jamespotterismydaddy @wildgirllz

[urgonnaneedabiggership]

Perfume Regret

ExBoyfriend!Miguel O'Hara x FemReader

Summary: A fic inspired by Attention by Charlie Puth. Your ex-boyfriend Miguel O'Hara left you heartbroken and no matter how intense the effect he has on you still is, you're determined to use this party to get even.

Warnings: +18 meaning SMUT AND LANGUAGE MINORS DNI OR SO HELP ME GOD. Also there's angst and good old anger-fueled sex. The ending isn't heartbreaking don't worry.

Word count: 4K

I know that dress is karma 

Perfume regret 

Got me thinking 'bout when you were mine 

Nightclubs had never been your scene. 

While you weren't strictly averse to them, you didn't thrive in that element as much as some of your friends did. Yet, whenever you decided to make an appearance, it wasn't the stroboscopic lights, the promise of a few drinks with friends, or the energizing music that made the night worth it. 

It was the hunt. 

And the preparations began long before you even set foot out of your apartment, from the moment you stood in front of the mirror wearing nothing but a fluffy bathrobe, your face a blank canvas. Getting ready with your favorite, emboldening playlist was usually a luxury but not tonight. Judging by the way you struggled to apply eyeliner over your lids with such shaky hands, tonight, you were in dire need of a crushing amount of confidence. 

So much so that a glass with one remaining sip of red wine stood next to your makeup bag, waiting for you to take that last bit of liquid courage. 

Yes, the mere thought of the chase always made your chest swell with excitement. The stolen glances from across the dancefloor until someone gave in and tried to make contact. Loud music left people no choice but to hold conversations in loud whispers that tickled your ear. The desperate attempts to make themselves worthy of your time and the small concessions you made to make them feel like the most special person in that tiny, packed, overpriced club. Flirting was a tango meant for two, and not knowing what kind of partner you'd be dancing with was exhilarating. 

Not this time, however, you thought as you picked up the glass and poured the remaining wine down your throat. Tonight you were after a much too familiar prey that you'd once been dumb enough to let get away. 

As soon as you got the digital invitation to the Alchemax Innovation Department New Year's Eve party, you knew it was time to settle the score. 

A short buzz coming from your phone interrupted your train of thought as the screen lit up with a text from whom you considered to be your work best friend, Liz. 

Heyy :) u coming? 

Yep. Be there in 20, is everybody there already?

O'Hara is missing. Idk if he's coming, though. 

Oh. 

You felt your stomach drop at the thought of all of this being for nothing. Whatever,. Who cared? You weren't doing this for him. You were doing it for yourself because you wanted to go out and have fun. 

A weak smile tugged at your lips when you couldn't even convince yourself with that blatant lie. God, you felt like a terrible feminist at the moment. Screw you, Miguel O'Hara. 

Those had been the last words you said to him before marching out of his apartment and slamming the door after you. Ever since that week during which he’d vanished from work with no explanation, your boyfriend had started to cancel your dates at the last minute or still be out at odd hours, and when he started to simply disappear and not answer your calls or texts several times throughout the day you began to worry.

When he asked if you could talk about something important, you figured you'd be getting an explanation, not dumped. 

The reason, according to him? He was dealing with some personal issues that he could not tell you about, but he'd single-handedly decided it was in your best interest to just move on with your life, so he'd decided to break things off. His face when he said all of that remained engraved in your brain since that day. Cold. Logical. As devoid of any visceral emotion as a doctor would be when recommending you to give up carbs or red meat. 

Two years of your life you'd given to him. You were planning to move in together. You were happy. For what felt like the very first time in your life, you were in love. 

You took a deep breath to keep tears from running down your cheeks and ruining your mascara. 

Even almost six months later, your heart painfully fluttered at the mention of his name.

Carefully, you dried your eyes with a piece of paper and took another deep, slow breath. Your eyes, beautifully framed by a smoky eyeshadow, slowly traced the reflection of your body in the mirror. A sleek, simple dress with a small slit on the side hugged your figure. You loved the color: a nearly black navy blue that matched your chosen makeup palette. 

At the sound of your phone, your eyes drifted down to the lit-up screen. 

Oh, nvm, he just got here. 

The game was afoot. 

As much as it hurt your pride to admit it, you were decidedly nervous as you made your way into the dimly lit nightclub, your eyes discreetly scanning the crowd in search of a particular set of brown eyes. 

Suddenly, a voice made your face in the opposite direction. 

"(Y/N)! Over here!" Liz called from the bar, waving at you with a huge smile that you returned as you walked towards her after wistfully looking at the busy crowd one last time. It wasn't until you reached the bar that you noticed she was sitting next to a man you didn't recognize. 

"So, this is she," she nearly yelled right next to the man's ear when you got close enough to be heard above the deafening electronic beats. 

"Hi, (Y/N), right?" He said, reaching out one hand, "I'm David. Liz has told me a lot about you," 

"Dave here just joined the team," Liz explained, giving his arm a gentle squeeze, "I thought it would be nice to make him feel welcomed. I'll leave you to it. I have to go say hi to a few people," She continued as she left the bar, not before giving you a certain look that made you realize you'd walked straight into a trap. While David was decidedly handsome, and you could've considered him to be your type under different circumstances, right then, your mind was somewhere else. 

"Sure," You replied distractedly, "So why did you choose to work here?" 

That should be enough to keep him talking for a while about his college education and how all he'd ever wanted to do was work for this company and so on while you focused on the matter at hand. 

Where the hell was he? 

Could it be that he'd just popped in to greet a few people and had left before you arrived? Before the countdown? 

Maybe he was celebrating New Year's with somebody else? 

"Sorry, one shot of tequila, please," You loudly called as the bartender walked past you. 

"Make that two, thanks man," David added with a flirtatious smile that you returned out of politeness, mentally praying for Liz to come back soon, knowing damn well that if she'd done this on purpose, there'd be no way out of this conversation. 

You downed the shot as soon as it was placed in front of you. 

David asked you something, but his voice reached your ears as if he was underwater. For a minute, you wondered if such a small amount of alcohol could make you feel so dizzy until you realized it was something else. Your eyes had landed on the back of a familiar head. Brown, scruffy hair and a hearty laugh that had your hands shaking again as you placed the glass back on the wooden bar. 

"God, I'm so sorry. My head's all over the place right now. You were saying?" You said, leaning closer to David. 

"I asked if Alchemax tends to go easy on the new guys or kick them to the curb at the first mistake." 

You laughed as if he'd just told an amazing joke, your eyes covertly going from his face to your target right behind him. At the sound of your laugh, his back stiffened, and you could see he was about to turn around. Right before he did, you quickly tore your eyes off him and glued them to David's face. 

"Oh, don't worry, you'll be just fine. I'll tell you what, I'll look out for you. How's that sound?” You replied, a more relaxed smile plastered on your face. David's eyes lit up. Poor guy. He probably thought that out of nowhere, his luck had shifted. 

Slowly and without losing the amused grin, you peeked over David's shoulder and found Miguel O'Hara's searing eyes staring right into yours. Unlike you, he wasn't smiling. Instead, he let those same calculating eyes unashamedly scrutinize every inch of your body that your gorgeous dress didn't cover and secretly fantasize about what it did. 

Another loud laughter leaving your lips made him snap out of a trance-like state and look into your eyes. Hunting on grounds you were no stranger to had its advantages, such as knowing what to do and when. And so you didn't look away. You held his gaze, undaunted, as you took David's unfinished tequila and brought it up to your lips to take a sip, barely sticking out your tongue to slowly lick the last droplets off your lower lip. You mouthed an apology to the man before you as you walked away from the bar, both for the stolen tequila and for what was about to happen. 

Trying your hardest not to smile or look at him, you made your way through the crowd straight toward Miguel, whose eyes you knew had remained with you since that intense visual exchange back at the bar. You felt them so intensely that you wondered if he could make you burst out in flames just by looking at you. You clenched your jaw as you got close enough for the scent of his enticing cedarwood cologne to fill your nostrils and travel all the way down to your chest, where your heart beat so strongly that it physically hurted. 

You only had one shot. This was it. 

It wasn't until you walked right past him that you finally acknowledged him, gifting him a faint smile as you stepped around him and walked toward the restrooms. 

As soon as the door closed after you, you found the two stalls were empty. After confirming you were alone, a nervous grin took over your features. Biting your lip, you approached the mirror and distractedly began to comb your hair back in place and even retouched your nude lipstick, your eyes set on the reflection of the bathroom door. 

Almost as if you'd timed it, the second you finished applying your makeup and threw it back into your purse, Miguel stealthily slid inside and shut the door after him. 

A minute that felt like an eternity to him transcurred while you kept patiently tucking strands of hair behind your ears, concealing a smug grin. Something had to give. More often, sooner than later. 

"Mind telling me what the fuck was that?" 

His voice bounced off the walls and reached your ears like a once-favorite song you hadn't heard in months. 

"What do you mean?" You calmly asked, never interrupting your task. 

"(Y/N), stop that and look at me." He commanded, his patience wearing thinner by the second. 

"I am looking at you," You nonchalantly replied, your eyes transfixed on his tense shape in the corner of the mirror as you slowly wiped some smudged lipstick off the edge of your bottom lip. 

Outside, the one-minute countdown began. Neither of you could care less. Inside that dimly lit, empty nightclub bathroom, time was irrelevant. 

In less than five steps, Miguel reached your side and, placing his hands on your shoulders, firmly spun you around to face him. 

"Carajo, ¿Tú no entiendes, verdad?" He hissed, his next leaving his mouth after an ominous pause, "Now look at me."

Not happy with the way you were being handled, you shoved him away and shot him a glare with your arms folded before you. 

"There, I'm looking. What do you want?" 

"I want you to tell me who's that asshole and why you seem to think he's so damn funny," 

"I'm sorry, O'Hara, that's none of your business anymore, is it?" You spat out.

"It was none of my business,' He agreed, wincing at the dry use of his last name, "Until you showed up in here looking like that, laughing like a dumb teen at some guy's dumb jokes, making sure I'm watching after you did some pretty extensive research to make sure I was coming."

Wanting to rebuke that argument, you immediately opened your mouth just for him to interrupt you. 

"What? You thought I wouldn't find out, bonita?" 

Miguel started to move towards you without giving you a chance to explain yourself. Still, you weren't sure of what you would've said had you been given the time. Three seconds later, he was standing right before you, trapping you against the cold stone of the sinks.

"Why are you doing this?" He absentmindedly asked, as if he was actually questioning himself or already knew the answer. Before you could react, he suddenly leaned in, burying his face in your neck and taking a deep breath, taking in the scent of your perfume along with something else that you couldn’t perceive but seemed to pull him forward so violently that he had to use both his strong arms on either side of you to hold himself back. Still, he kept babbling against the soft skin of your neck, “I didn’t want to do it…I didn’t…I shouldn’t have…mi amor, I just wanted to protect you,” 

“Protect me from what?” You asked in a breathy whisper, your self-control flaking when you felt him move even closer until your backside was pressed against the sink and your front...

You pressed your lips together to keep a noise that would be much too revealing from leaving your lips. 

Still, you realized your trials and tribulations weren’t over when his hands slowly moved closer to your thighs until his thumbs were tracing faint circles on them. 

“Do you want me to stop?” He asked in a hoarse voice before burying his nose behind your ear once more. You had to want him to stop. Before you could gather up the courage to tell him off as you should, you leaned forward and feverishly pressed your lips against his in a kiss that was all but sweet. Without breaking the kiss, in a display of both strength and coordination that was new to you, Miguel slid his hands under your thighs and lifted you effortlessly, placing you on top of the sink with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the way he nudged your legs out of the way so he could grind his lower half into yours. This time there was no way in hell you could contain your moans. 

Pleased with the beautiful sounds he was eliciting from you, Miguel’s hands found their way back up to the thin straps of your dress, which he gently slid off from your shoulders before gripping your chin in his hand and tilting your head to the side so he could devour every inch of skin available, occasionally trapping it between his teeth to make sure it’d leave a mark. Even in your haze, you could notice there was something new to the way he was ravishing you. It was as if he was desperately trying to be gentle, to take things slow, just for something primal to take over and coerce him into taking you for himself. 

Once again, you stopped thinking when he pressed the hard bulge in his pants against you, the friction over your barely clothed clit throwing all logical thoughts out the window. 

“We don’t have much time,” You urged him, not even sure if he’d locked the door after himself. However, deep inside, you knew your motives had less to do with the little privacy and more with the way he unhurriedly worshipped your body and peppered kisses all over it, how his hands gently roamed it as if he was trying to commit every detail to memory. It reminded you of what you two had in a way that was still too painful to remember. You wouldn’t lose yourself to the memories of your past and miss out on how good he was making you feel right now. Tonight you weren’t two people deeply in love with one another trying to fight back the regrets of letting go of what was most precious to you, but two strangers about to fuck in the bathroom of a nightclub. 

As if to reinforce that thought, he swiftly pushed you further back onto the sink and pushed your legs apart even more, your dress ridding up almost all the way to your waist. You shivered as new skin was exposed to both the cold beneath you and the heat from Miguel’s skin as he fumbled with the fly of his pants. Meanwhile, you kept yourself busy trying to unbutton his shirt with shaky hands and silently thanked he wasn’t wearing a jacket in the first place. You needed to get him out of as many clothes as possible in the little time you had, needing to feel more of his skin against yours. 

Your desire wasn’t fulfilled until the shirt slid off his tan, broad shoulders, and you were pressed against his bare chest, his hands resting at the curve of your lower back as his head barely slid over your soaked slit, prying a raspy moan out of his throat that sounds almost painful. Still, even when you slid your hands around his shoulders and intertwined your fingers behind the nape of his head, he didn’t move further. 

“What are you waiting for?” You breathlessly asked, arching your back towards him with a huff just for him to move his hips away, escaping your touch, trying to regain some control over himself. 

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” He muttered. Shit. Not right now. Out of the whole night, he had to choose this precise moment? No. He hurt you. He owed you. And now it was his turn to shut up and take it. 

Taking advantage of his low guard, you hooked your feet behind his back and roughly pulled him towards you, another needy moan escaping your lips as you felt him right at your entrance, whatever remaining reluctance keeping him from sinking into you. It took every ounce of willpower to keep yourself from begging. 

“Alright,” He finally says, his hands sliding under your thighs to hold you firmly in place, “If this is what it takes for you to listen to me, bonita, así le vamos a hacer entonces.” 

He accentuated his words by slamming into you and immediately picking up a maddeningly fast pace, the loud music outside hopefully drowning out your endless string of broken moans. 

“I just…wanted you to be happy,” He spoke in a strained voice in between thrusts. 

“Shut up,” You snapped at him. You were happy. And it did nothing but further enrage you to see he was unaware of how miserable you were now without him. Or maybe he was aware because he reached that spot that always made your legs uncontrollably quiver and focused all his energy on it as if he was trying to make up for everything. 

“I love you,” He blurted out as he felt you clenching around his length, his hips stuttering for a second before the sigh that left your lips made him lift your leg further up his torso and slam into you with renewed fire, “God, (Y/N) I love you so much, I can’t do this anymore,” 

“Shut up,” You sobbed, this time as a plead and not an order. Your heart fluttered as you heard the words you’d waited months to hear, and feeling him roughly stroke your walls at this new angle became too much for you to bear. A string of ‘shut ups’ and sounds that resembled his name left your lips as your hands fell to his stomach, trying to push him away while paradoxically needing him to be closer, needing to feel more of him just in case this was the last time you felt him stretch you out in a way you were hauntingly certain nobody else would ever come close to. 

And he wasn’t doing any better. He wanted to pull your head against his chest and wrap his arms around you. He wanted to get on his knees and spend the rest of the night apologizing using his words or his tongue, whatever you wanted as long as you went home with him that night. He wanted you to live a happy, normal life. He couldn’t give you that anymore. Not after that night. Not after the accident. 

But those bad thoughts melted away in his brain when he saw your eyes pressed shut, your beautiful, furrowed eyebrows arching over them perfectly as you chased that high that Miguel knew only he could give you. Something that sounded like an actual sentence left your lips so quietly that he had to lean closer to get it. 

“What was that, bonita?” 

You pressed your lips together, unwilling to repeat yourself until another perfectly calculated thrust pried the half-coherent words out of your mouth. 

“Need you…inside. Please, Miguel, please,”  

Hearing his name being called out like that for the first time in months was all he needed to come undone, his pace faltering as he pressed himself against you, strong arms gripping your waist as he spilled his load inside you with one last labored moan. 

Nothing but extenuated pants could be heard inside the bathroom for a whole, tense minute before you finally moved, taking a few sheets of paper from the dispenser next to the sinks to clean yourself up. 

“What are you doing?” He asked as you straightened your dress and tried to somehow fix your disheveled hair. 

“You wanted to apologize, you did, and I forgive you,” You categorically answered, “But don’t expect me to come running back into your arms as if what you did was nothing,” 

Still, you needed him to know there was hope left for the both of you. So you pressed a chaste kiss to his lips and then his cheek, granting yourself one moment of vulnerability as you looked into his eyes with a gentle smile. 

“I love you too,” You whispered, giving in to the urge to kiss him again. You basked in his shocked look before turning your back to him and going back to the party, where you bumped into Liz less than five minutes later. 

“There you are! Where the hell were you? You missed the countdown!” 

It wasn’t until you looked around at the confetti-filled floor and the large numbers on a screen that you remembered. 

“I went to the bathroom,” You replied, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and reaching out to take a glass of champagne from one of the several trays atop the tables, “Where did your friend run off to?” 

“David?” Liz asked, a deep red blush spreading over her cheeks, “He had to go home. I hope you don’t mind, but we’re getting dinner next Friday,” 

“Don’t mind at all,” You replied with a bright smile, eyes already scanning the half-empty club, once again looking for that same face. The one you knew you’d always look for in a crowd for the rest of your life. This time, thanks to the small number of people left, it wasn’t hard to come across his eyes. Amused, you raised your glass at him with a soft, genuine laugh. He did his best to look annoyed, but the minute you tilted your head and gave him your best apologetic look, Miguel rolled his eyes and shook his head with a reluctant smile that made you laugh again before taking a sip of that cheap champagne. 

This was going to be a great year.

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Holidays! I hope yours are peaceful and joyous.

I would do dastardly things for more identity/porn/gender-is-a-side-dish WWX like the Lady MO story (omg or time travel!!!), but I also love love love your story about Zag and the Prince's court and him helping people 😍 (living blood?). And I also want to read more of FMA Ed in the desert evacuating people (?) and Roy expecting him to be a monster. Ugh and I was just going back through your masterlist and forgot about the series about Godric, but I can't find the name and don't want to run out of time!!! If the untamed still sparks joy, I would love to read a continuation of one of those stories!! If not... dealers choice? Thank you so much for sharing your writing with us!

a continuation of 1 2 3 4

Salazar hasn't had much interaction with the Ravenclaws. His father considers them to be old fashioned, which is the nicest way he's ever called someone poor. Salazar doesn't think the family is particularly poor, even for their status, except perhaps in relation to the level of wealth that marrying his mother gave his father access to.

Or it could be the way certain members of that family never seem to quite manage to give his mother the respect she deserves. Salazar isn't particularly inclined to judge the lot of them based on the actions of a few, but that's not a trait that he got from either of his parents.

Rowena could go either way, considering she's burst down their door and is looking to curse his best friend inside out for the great sin of giving in to his mother's desire to arrange his marriage.

As if he could have stopped her. Salazar wouldn't cross Lady Gryffindor for all the gold in his vault. Godric does it occasionally, as he is the favored son, but certainly not over something like his marriage.

He can tell by Helga's grin that she's far less wary of Rowena, but that's probably because she's delighted when someone manages to take Godric down in a fight. She's disinclined to do it herself unless he really irritates her - beating respect into him is apparently not sustainable.

Personally, Salazar has found it the quickest way to get Godric's head of his ass, but playing mediator between Godric and Helga just ends up with the both of them pissed at him. He's learned to leave them to it.

"Slytherin," Rowena says slowly and Salazar tenses, readying himself for a comment about his father and his choices, then she says, "You've been traveling with him. You know where he is then?"

If anything, Godric's been traveling with him. There are idiots looking to die on his friend's sword everywhere and the books he and Helga are hunting down are significantly harder to find.

"He's at the tournament now," Helga says. Salazar rolls his eyes. "You can probably petition to swap in for his next opponent if you have a personal grievance."

Rowena's eyes narrow. At him, for some reason, even though he hasn't even said anything. "I thought you were his second?"

"I am," he says, then waits for the comment about his scholarly reputation and lack of public duels.

"He's at the tournament," she says slowly, "and you're here."

Salazar tries to think of a way to put this delicately.

"Have you seen the idiots that live around here?" Helga scoffs. "He's not going to need a second. Frankly, he could win with only using his wand or his sword. Subjecting them to both almost seems cruel."

Ah, Helga. A lack of growing up among nobility has left her with all the subtlety of a curse between the eyes.

He wishes he didn't find it endearing, but he wouldn't get along so well with Godric or Helga otherwise.

[purgemarchlockdown]

Kotoko's ideology

(Also Known As: Kotoko has fascist ideals and I read way too many wikipedia pages for this.) (CWs: Discussion centered around Prejudice, ableism, sexism, and other topics that are associated with right winged/fascist concepts)

(Note: I went on this rabbit hole because of This post from Gunsli that covers things I don't cover here. Go read it! Plus this post exists because of a lot of conversations from friends out of fandom, and in fandom, like 74n5n and the affermentioned Gunsli who also helped in proofreading!)

So Kotoko is one of my personal favorites of the cast. There's a lot of things I find interesting and intriguing about her and her characterization and her place in the story.

One of those things is her worldview. I'm obsessed with it to say the least. It's one of my favorite things about her characterization. I find it to be a complex and emphatic look at a specific worldview:

Fascism.

Vigilante Justice

Okay so, fascism as an ideology is something we tend to associate with conservative right-wingers and powerful political parties. In our stories, there's a bit of a mythical edge to the image of fascist dystopia. Something strong and uniform.

Like, a lot of cartoons and shows and comics have the alternate nazi dimension where fascism reigns supreme over the populace, for example. We got many films and shows of the heroes standing up against faceless images of Evil Nazis or Nazi-likes, with leaders who are powerful scientists or soldiers hiding somewhere scheming something.

We can tell if someone is a fascist, we say to ourselves. The aesthetic qualities of fascism are something we can all recognize. Right?

Kotoko Yuzuhira is a (notably afab, put a pin in this) college dropout vigilante.

This is immediately incompatible with how we tend to view it. She's not a faceless drone or general. She's someone working with limited resources trying to hunt down evil because The Law can't do it.

A Underdog Revolutionary, that's how she thinks of herself.

Kotoko: Yes. I hate evil. Hurting innocent people with violence, taking away from others, killing people… I hate all this evil behaviour! The law being unable to judge some sins, there's too many of these cases in this world. Having clearly bullied and torturing the weak, but exploiting loopholes in laws, there's so many sinners who still live in such a carefree manner! Even though I want to change this world, I alone only have this much power.

Kershaw argues that the difference between fascism and other forms of right-wing authoritarianism in the Interwar period is that the latter generally aimed "to conserve the existing social order", whereas fascism was "revolutionary", seeking to change society and obtain "total commitment" from the population.[47]

Robert O. Paxton finds that even though fascism "maintained the existing regime of property and social hierarchy", it cannot be considered "simply a more muscular form of conservatism" because "fascism in power did carry out some changes profound enough to be called 'revolutionary.'"[228] These transformations "often set fascists into conflict with conservatives rooted in families, churches, social rank, and property."

And that's what she...is. I'm not going to say Kotoko is part of a secret evil organization or anything like that. She is an underdog, at least at the start of Milgram. She's a single individual up against society and social order. A Heroic individual standing up against erroneous social structures.

Really, Kotoko presents as very classically heroic, she's directly acting to save people, confident, doing real research, actually finding those who deserve punishment and bringing it upon them.

She's determined, she's strong willed, even when she's suffering she doesn't stop.

T2Q6: Don’t you feel scared of killing people?  A: If it’s for the world. How I feel about it is completely irrelevant.

It's sad and tragic, but she knows that if no one does it then nothing will actually change.

Kotoko: If you brag about hating evil, act against it! Carry on the belief that your actions can change this world! If you only brag about it from afar, the world will just continue to rot no matter how many of you are there!

She holds no attachment, no qualms, no second guesses. She does what is good at the cost of her own self, she's a heroic ideal in that sense. A hero so willing to do what is right even at the cost of their own self.

T2Q14: Don’t you feel a sense of isolation in your current situation?  A: It feels like nothings changed. If the world gets even a little better just by me undertaking this isolation, then that is the role the strong play.

Someone who actually has the strength and intelligence to do the things that no one else can do.

T2Q7: Why did you choose law school?  A: Because I have my suspicions. That’s the majority of my reason to why I chose to study it. Cause it’s unsightly to spout complaints without having proper knowledge T1Q4: When did you start learning martial arts?  A: In elementary school, perhaps. Without enough power, you can't enforce justice and do the right thing, can you?

Who actually acts instead of just waiting around for the world to fix itself.

Kotoko: You keep asking for it, but as soon as it happens near you by your own choice, you all start complaining and evading your responsibility... You're always like this... Always such idiots!

Able to actually handle the problems thrown at her, instead of running away like a coward.

T2Q20: What would you have done if you weren’t forgiven?  A: I’d despise it all. To compromise justice just because you’re unable to withstand the pain that comes with it is unbelievable

Fascism supports the creation of a New Man who is a strong-willed, dynamic archetype, a figure of direct action and bellicose violence. An anti-individualist, he is characterized by a sense of confidence and masculinity, quiet dignity and self-worth, determination, and authoritativeness. With a detachment from romantic love, family background and schooling, his worldview is romanticized, passionate, serious and realist, preoccupied with the honoring of fallen heroes, a strong belief in personal responsibility, national rebirth and renewal.

And there's something genuinely admirable about that intent of hers. It's sincere. She's disgusted at the state of the world, at how horrible it's become. Even implying that this isn't the Normal version of the world, but a distorted, corrupted one.

Becoming light-headed again, it all becomes crazy The normalcy sought for, Fading away, Everytime death comes The soul moves forward

1. The mythical past—used to invoke a nostalgia for a fictional time when the nation was great as it was not yet sullied by the “Other.”

Kotoko's ideology is built on an idea of the world's Unnatural Impurity. The idea that there is something corrupting and poisoning it. That Whatever is causing harm to the world is an External Thing. One that can be beaten if she puts enough pressure on it. At least for a while.

T2Q5: How do you deal with evil that can’t be bested by strength?  A: Force it so that it can. No matter how long it takes, no matter what means I’ll need to use.

So I ask the question, what Does she consider evil?

Sinners

Okay, so she already answered this question, in her T1 interrogations she describes evil as:

T1Q20: What do you think is evil? A: Oppressing innocent weaklings.

Which is a pretty cut and dry answer that she elaborates on in her VDs:

Kotoko: Yes. I hate evil. Hurting innocent people with violence, taking away from others, killing people… I hate all this evil behaviour! The law being unable to judge some sins, there's too many of these cases in this world. Having clearly bullied and torturing the weak, but exploiting loopholes in laws, there's so many sinners who still live in such a carefree manner!

Case Closed! We don't have to think more about this! Everyone go home! The post is done!

... Okay so it's not as simple as that. It's pretty clear that Kotoko's opinions on evil and how it should be treated is a bit...

Kotoko: Treat you like a child? Hah, you’ve got to be kidding. Back when I was your age, I was already the person I am today. I don’t have any plans to let you get away with something just “because you’re a child.” ……remember that.

Extreme, to say the least. She's very "Violence First." Because:

T2Q16: Do you think there are the ‘weak’ among the other prisoners?  A: I’m sure there’s a lot. Those with weak wills will easily turn to evil. The only thing we can do is firmly instil the risk of turning to it.

Which- There's another contradiction! She just defined evil as the ones who oppress weaklings, yet right here she shows her disdain for the weak for so easily turning to evil.

And again, in the same trial, she refers to the prisoners as:

T2Q11: Is there really no chance to start anew for wrongdoers?   A: No way. Once a beast gets a taste for human flesh, it will always come back for seconds.

And continues to discuss the matters of the strong, and how there oppressing the weak.

T2Q10: What is your ideal image of a hero?  A: An ally of the weak. Someone who helps the weak and crushes the strong.

These are two very conflicting ideas. It's almost like:

Fascist societies rhetorically cast their enemies as "at the same time too strong and too weak". On the one hand, fascists play up the power of certain disfavored elites to encourage in their followers a sense of grievance and humiliation. On the other hand, fascist leaders point to the decadence of those elites as proof of their ultimate feebleness in the face of an overwhelming popular will.

And not only that- Kotoko casts herself as an underdog, and the assumption of that role is presuming one as "weaker than" or "having less opportunity/power/skill" than the one above, the elites above her who are stronger and more powerful than her. The Beasts who roam the land. Who will always win, because, in her own words.

T2Q18: What would you do if evil disappeared from the world? A: I see where you’re getting at. But I believe it will never truly disappear.

"Pacifism is trafficking with the enemy" because "life is permanent warfare" – there must always be an enemy to fight. Both fascist Germany under Hitler and Italy under Mussolini worked first to organize and clean up their respective countries and then build the war machines that they later intended to and did use, despite Germany being under restrictions of the Versailles treaty to not build a military force. This principle leads to a fundamental contradiction within fascism: the incompatibility of ultimate triumph with perpetual war.

Kotoko: How amusing! Are you really a warden?  Es: Shut up...  Kotoko: You let their sins off just because they're close to you? You're making the punishment less severe just because they get along with you? What's next? Going to give them leniency for their looks? For their personality? For how long have you known them?  Es: I told you... to shut up...  Kotoko: Why would I? I'm trying to tell you the truth. In MILGRAM, a warden with mindset of yours is just usele-  Es: Shut the hell up! [slaps]  Kotoko: [catching breath] "Violence"... you call it? Being angry at hurting your precious prisoners... [laughs] Ha... It's not even violence at all.  Es: ?..  Kotoko: Weak... You're too weak. With that fragile body of yours, you can't stop anyone. You can't protect anyone. You can't even do your justice. All imperfect.  Es: Imperfect?..  Kotoko: In order to stop someone, you have to squeeze their throat. Without mercy.

There's this sort of...self victimization to it? If that makes sense.

6. Victimhood—casting “Us” as victims of “Them”, who are taking resources from “Us” and demanding special rights.

A sense of frustration and anger at herself and the world for being so weak and pathetic.

A form of political behavior marked by obsessive preoccupation with community decline, humiliation or victimhood

And that these feelings of weakness and shame are real reasons to attack who she views as enemies. No matter if they are strong.

the belief that one’s group is a victim, a sentiment that justifies any action, without legal or moral limits, against its enemies, both internal and external;

Or weak.

Because Kotoko holds a lot of genuine anger at who she considers "weak." As shown above and in Many other instances. She literally calls them "Useless weaklings" in her T2 voiceline. She has this Deep Anger and Bitterness at those who she considers not doing enough to help. To those who are failing to actually do anything of actual substance.

Kotoko: How ridiculous... It's always like this... All of you weaklings always act like this... All of you enjoy seeing someone getting hurt... (...)  Kotoko: You keep asking for it, but as soon as it happens near you by your own choice, you all start complaining and evading your responsibility... You're always like this... Always such idiots!  Es: I acknowledge it. You're the strong one, and we're weak. You're right. But that's how we are.  Kotoko: You have no power, and yet you make no effort to gain it! You're talking about justice, but it just doesn't make sense! You're invested in people's disasters, yet you take a position of "I have nothing to do with it"! You can't even face your true selves!

"Contempt for the weak", which is uncomfortably married to a chauvinistic popular elitism, in which every member of society is superior to outsiders by virtue of belonging to the in-group. Eco sees in these attitudes the root of a deep tension in the fundamentally hierarchical structure of fascist polities, as they encourage leaders to despise their underlings, up to the ultimate leader, who holds the whole country in contempt for having allowed him to overtake it by force.

So, if the words strong and weak just refer to the enemy, and those descriptors of the enemy can change depending on which one is more suitable for the situation. Thus making the idea of the evil that are "oppressing innocent weaklings" be more a subjective concept.

Then...what else can we search for when it comes to determining how Kotoko views who is "evil."

Cause, it's not just because they don't agree with her. It wouldn't have mattered if they agreed with her or not really. Yuno says it outright:

Yuno: Really? If you ask me, Kotoko is someone I would never want to make my friend, though. She’s the type who picks a conclusion from the very beginning and won’t actually talk with you.

Kotoko has stated that she has been tracking Mikoto Kayano since the start. Even though at the time she was semi-amicable with everyone. With Mikoto even being rather insistent that he did nothing wrong at all.

Kotoko: Like me being suspicious of Kayano Mikoto’s actions, carefully tracking his actions, it's all under your permission.

And she's said this again in the interrogation! Saying that she had "her suspicions."

T2Q17: Why did you choose law school?  A: Because I have my suspicions. That’s the majority of my reason to why I chose to study it. Cause it’s unsightly to spout complaints without having proper knowledge

Suspicious about what? About who? She says it's the evil, the sinners, but who is this? Who is this evil? Criminals? That's just the terminology she uses. If it really was just criminals shouldn't she be against MILGRAM? Es? They did kidnap her and she has no Knowledge of their true intentions, and yet she doesn't trust her fellow prisoners but the Guard who locked them up.

"Obsession with a plot" and the hyping-up of an enemy threat. This often combines an appeal to xenophobia with a fear of disloyalty and sabotage from marginalized groups living within the society (such as the German elite's "fear" of the 1930s Jewish populace's businesses and well-doings; see also antisemitism). Eco also cites Pat Robertson's book The New World Order as a prominent example of a plot obsession.

And so, I ask again. Who does Kotoko believe to be evil?

"Your Existence is a Crime"

Chauvinism (/ˈʃoʊvɪnɪzəm/ SHOH-vih-nih-zəm) is the unreasonable belief in the superiority or dominance of one's own group or people, who are seen as strong and virtuous, while others are considered weak, unworthy, or inferior.

Kotoko Canonically Holds Ableist Beliefs.

This isn't up for debate.

22/12/15 (Kotoko’s Birthday)

Kotoko: Hm. The border between the two is getting a lot vaguer. Your entire existence is a crime. And I will see you’re punished for it. That is what Milgram, and Es, and I have chosen.

“UNDER” Doltish “001 Parasite”

Kotoko: “Fufufu, fufufufufu.You’re thinking some outrageous things.To be frank, it’s abnormal. But I don’t dislike it. If only all sinners were like you.”

Kotoko Also Canonically Holds Sexist Beliefs.

This also isn't up for debate.

Futa: Isn’t that obvious? What a stupid question. There’s no way a girl could win in a fight against a man. This is real life, not a manga. There’s too big a difference in body size. And that’s what determines the weight of your attacks.  Kotoko: ……Futa’s not entirely wrong there In a lot of martial arts, they specifically split up divisions based on body weight for that reason. I’m bantam, and he’d probably be either cruiser or heavy.

“UNDER” Obscene “002 Slut”

Now, as much as the phrases "Obscene Slut" and "Your entire existence is a crime" is Loaded. Let's pretend, for a second, that this doesn't necessarily mean that Kotoko, to some extent, believes that mentally ill people are evil/wrong and that women are weaker than men.

For a moment, let us pretend that Kotoko didn't just tell us and go into the finer details of how she views strong and weak.

Cause, there is a bit of consistent framing Kotoko uses when she's talking about "the enemy." Those who contribute something meaningful to society (in her eyes) are ones who "contribute" something meaningful to society mainly through the usage of direct action, physical strength, and physical/mental durability.

T1Q4: When did you start learning martial arts?  A: In elementary school, perhaps. Without enough power, you can't enforce justice and do the right thing, can you?

Kotoko: Es, look. Someone who committed a crime can only realise its severity through losing something. I've seen many criminals, but none of them would give way without pain.

Kotoko: Weak... You're too weak. With that fragile body of yours, you can't stop anyone. You can't protect anyone. You can't even do your justice. All imperfect.

Kotoko: You have no power, and yet you make no effort to gain it! You're talking about justice, but it just doesn't make sense! You're invested in people's disasters, yet you take a position of "I have nothing to do with it"! You can't even face your true selves!   Es: Whatever you say.  Kotoko: If you brag about hating evil, act against it! Carry on the belief that your actions can change this world! If you only brag about it from afar, the world will just continue to rot no matter how many of you are there! If you don't have strength on your own, let me take care of it, Es! I can do it in MILGRAM!

T1Q: What is your ideal image of a hero?  A: An ally of the weak. Someone who helps the weak and crushes the strong.

T2Q14: Don’t you feel a sense of isolation in your current situation?  A: It feels like nothings changed. If the world gets even a little better just by me undertaking this isolation, then that is the role the strong play.

Those who cannot do that and are "unable to contribute" or somehow disrupt the stable world, thus causing it's normalcy to "fade away" are parasites.

“UNDER” Doltish “001 Parasite”

Obscene

“UNDER” Obscene “002 Slut”

An existence that is disruptive to the world at large.

Kotoko: Your entire existence is a crime. And I will see you’re punished for it.

Who are Weak due to a issue in there mental state and need to be warned against the consequences of "turning to evil."

T2Q16: Do you think there are the ‘weak’ among the other prisoners?  A: I’m sure there’s a lot. Those with weak wills will easily turn to evil. The only thing we can do is firmly instil the risk of turning to it.

Or be treated as irrational beasts that need to be firmly put down because nothing else will get through to them.

T2Q11: Is there really no chance to start anew for wrongdoers?  A: No way. Once a beast gets a taste for human flesh, it will always come back for seconds.

Fascism emphasizes direct action, including supporting the legitimacy of political violence, as a core part of its politics.[264] Fascism views violent action as a necessity in politics that fascism identifies as being an "endless struggle";[265] this emphasis on the use of political violence means that most fascist parties have also created their own private militias (e.g. the Nazi Party's Brown shirts and Fascist Italy's Blackshirts). The basis of fascism's support of violent action in politics is connected to social Darwinism.[265] Fascist movements have commonly held social Darwinist views of nations, races and societies.[266] They say that nations and races must purge themselves of socially and biologically weak or degenerate people, while simultaneously promoting the creation of strong people, in order to survive in a world defined by perpetual national and racial conflict.[267]

Social Darwinism is the study and implementation of various pseudoscientific theories and societal practices that purport to apply biological concepts of natural selection and survival of the fittest to sociology, economics and politics.[1][2] Social Darwinists believe that the strong should see their wealth and power increase, while the weak should see their wealth and power decrease.

"The only thing we can do is firmly instil the risk of turning to it."

Kotoko's ideological view is, at the very best, biased against those of marginalized groups or of "degenerate" thoughts and actions, and at the very worst, actively targets them because she personally believes that they Do Not Contribute to Society.

But we aren't done there yet.

Werewolves

Let's take that pin out now.

Kotoko has gone on record that she views Femininity as:

T1Q10: What do you think about the word 'feminimity'?  A: It's one of the means you can take. It's something you can freely choose depending on the scene, so it's not something to cling onto.

Now, as I have shown. She's kinda sexist. Which throws into question how she perceives herself.

Since, I have just asserted the idea that Kotoko does, at the very least, hold some concerning ideas about Women, and I think most people would notice that this is a bit contradictory when she herself isn't really the feminine ideal as decreed by the patriarchy either.

Now, just to be clear here, no, I do not think women should be baby machines. I am a cat who cannot perceive it properly.

However, if we are going by the strict gender binary and the stereotypes associated with it. Kotoko is pretty masculine. She puts focus on physical strength, she's mentally strong in the face of ills, she doesn't show much emotion, so on.

However, as Utena and also The World has proven to us. Just because you present or act in "non-traditional manners" doesn't mean You've Deconstructed the Gender Binary and the Patriarchal View of the World we Learn from the Society around us.

You can be the butchest girl the prison can handle and still hold traditional gender roles.

And the way Kotoko interacts with the world indicates that she still Holds these ideas, even if she has deconstructed them a bit, and since we are talking about her ideology...

Fascist Italy promoted what it considered normal sexual behaviour in youth while denouncing what it considered deviant sexual behaviour.[271] It condemned pornography, most forms of birth control and contraceptive devices (with the exception of the condom), homosexuality and prostitution as deviant sexual behaviour,

Sexual anxiety—as the “Other” embraces non-traditional approaches to sexuality,

But, going further into the way she views masculinity specifically...

"Machismo", which sublimates the difficult work of permanent war and heroism into the sexual sphere. Fascists thus hold "both disdain for women and intolerance and condemnation of nonstandard sexual habits, from chastity to homosexuality".

Machismo, Exaggerated pride in masculinity, perceived as power, often coupled with a minimal sense of responsibility and disregard of consequences. In machismo there is supreme valuation of characteristics culturally associated with the masculine and a denigration of characteristics associated with the feminine.

Futa: Isn’t that obvious? What a stupid question. There’s no way a girl could win in a fight against a man. This is real life, not a manga. There’s too big a difference in body size. And that’s what determines the weight of your attacks.  Kotoko: ……Futa’s not entirely wrong there

"Without enough power, you can't enforce justice" is what she said, isn't it?

Road to Hell

Okay, there was 700 more things I wanted to talk about but because I haven't even gotten into:

Through all of that, there would be one great leader who would battle the representatives of the old system with grassroots support.[1][2] In the fascist utopia, one mass of people will supposedly appear who have only one goal: to create their new future.[1][2] Such a fascist movement would ideally have infinite faith in its mythical hero who would stand for everything the movement believes in.[1][2] According to this utopian ideology, under the guidance of their leader the country would then rise like a phoenix from the ashes of corruption and decadence.[1][2]

Or her ideals of heroism or her view of violence in detail or-

But I think I can leave that to the people reading this. This post is getting really long and I'm trying to still keep it structured. I know all my links are Wikipedia and one Britannica. I had the energy to transcribe my dad's books on this I would.

However, we also do need to ask, where does this leave us?

Y'know, since Kotoko is the Audience Parallel and Milgram is a Social Commentary Webseries.

Well, Kotoko is a character in fiction, and fiction is the safest place to explore this. Kotoko Yuzuriha is a familiar character in the sense that a lot of people are like her actually.

Gunsli has brought up the idea that Kotoko was radicalized by news, and I personally think All the characters in Milgram have underlying right wing ideas and violent views on the world. It's not something...unique to them even. We call them conservative and traditional because to a lot of people it's "just the way the world works." Kotoko’s not special or unique for believing in these things.

She’s asserted multiple times that she’s had a “normal life” and whether or not you doubt the validity of that statement. There is nothing inherent about Kotoko that makes her more susceptible to this. 

And I think those are themes that are worth exploring.

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

First off, love your writing, IT MAKES ME FEEL THINGS😭😭 but…

Can we please get more of yandre emo boy Ashton I JUST READ IT AND IM DROOLING SCREAMING CRYING GIGGLING AMD KICKING MY FEET😭🧎‍♀️🤪🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

THANK YOU❤️❤️🤭🤭🤭

(If not that’s okay, ignore this bae🫶)

Yandere! Stereotypical! Emo and his beloved popular bitch

Ayo, thank you for the compliment! I'm glad my writings made you feel things (I don't know what though LMAO)

Actually, I'm not planning to follow up Ashton, but hey, at least it would break my writer's block (lol it's just laziness) so here ya go!

Sorry that it took days though 😔

FOR THIS ONE, I RECOMMEND READING THE FIC FIRST BEFORE THE DRABBLE (this one).

Read the yandere emo fic here!

💌Little Ashton was misunderstood a lot as a child. He never really liked the same things the other children liked, and he had this morbid curiosity with death and occult.

💌Of course, this undoubtedly scared his family, making him out to be some sort of psychopath.

💌This irked Ashton of course. He's just... That. He still loves his parents, and nothing would change that.

💌But the fact that they're so conservative that it's actually bringing Ashton down is what drove him over the edge to find a school far, far away from his family.

💌A small, quaint town, yet filled with teenagers. It was kind of a nightmare when Ashton found out, but he gritted his teeth and thought that maybe, with the current years, maybe they won't judge him. Maybe.

💌So, he indulged more in his Emo lifestyle. He religiously listened to green day, Panic! At the Disco, My Chemical Romance...

💌He even got into writing poems as a way to put out his feelings that he never got to tell other people.

💌 He's actually very sensitive with emotions and feelings. So technically, he should be a great friend candidate, right?

💌But once he got into the school year, that's when he knew, that his life would be living hell. Stereotypes left and right. Mean cheerleaders and jocks that ostracized his choice of clothing, snobby rich students that turn their noses on him just because he's not that rich, geeks and nerds that keeps getting in his way, thinking he's one of them.

💌"Fuck. Get me out of here. Nobody understands me."

💌He didn't realize himself, but he's also slowly being a stereotype. Always alone, writing poems, and being unnecessarily nihilistic.

💌Until of course, one day, you transfered. You, your pink rover, and your slutty little outfit.

💌God, just looking at you and your charming personality made Ashton hard fall for you.

💌He wants you. So bad.

💌So he dabbled back into the occults. He found an old book in an abandoned "witch's hut" that he went on a mad hunt for weeks. Apparently, the witch that lived there was a matchmaker witch, who gave love potions to those really desperate.

💌At first, Ashton didn't believe it. Especially that it involves sampaguita, a flower not native to his town. How did the witch even get the flowers?

💌But there he was, mixing and creating the potion under the moonlight and putting your hair and his in the pot. Creating a love potion that smelled like the sampaguitas he had to smuggle in.

💌He wrote you letters everyday, obsessing and hyper fixating on your allure and beauty. Confessing over and over again on paper that looks old and aged with writing that looks like it came from a fountain pen. With a spritz of the love potion, he would put it in your locker.

💌God, who knew that it would work?

💌Day by day, he watched you read the letters. At first, you were disgusted (much to his dismay) but slowly, you started to read the letters with a neutral face, then a smile, then with a squeal and then a desperate plea for him to come and fuck you already.

💌Maybe putting his... Semen on your love potion got you desperate for him carnally, rather than romantically.

💌But no fretting, he would just make you fall for him.

💌And as you moan and scream out his name as he pounds into your tight hole like the feral, fuck machine he is,

💌He was pleading to the moon to see his bleeding heart and bare soul to make you his.

💌And if the moon won't allow it,

💌Well, it's nothing more love potions won't do.

💌"my beloved, why don't you drink this sweet tea I made? Why is it pink and smells floral? It's a new tea from Japan. Sakura, from what I know. It's glowing? Nonsense, love. It's probably just the lighting."

💌"Now drink up, don't let a drop go to waste."

[dood-itsradical]

Cool? Cool.

Pairing: Jake Kim x GN!Reader

Summary: An awkward rendezvous with Big Deal's leader.

Genre/Trope: Friends to enemies to friends to more(?). Non established relationship. Can be viewed as platonic as well.

Warnings: Cussing, self/oc indulgence? (I mostly wrote this for myself), no use of Y/n, MIGHT be OOC Jake (judge them yourself, this my first time writing for Lookism).

A/N: It's been TWO YEARS since I post fanfics so I might be lil stiffy, bare with me chat. I DON'T do request btw!

Masterlist

“Man, so what now? We just…went back to stop being allies?” You questioned bluntly.

It's been a few days since the Hunt for Gun event. Everything went back to how it was. Or some would say, for the better. You weren't exactly on any sides of the crew. Scratch that, you were one of the Workers. And to be fair, you sort of still carry that guilt. Like Samuel, you wanted- no, needed money. Again, scratch that, you aren't exactly like him, God bless. You just have responsibilities at home that need to be taken care of.

Because first of all, being a broke college student got you into this shit and you practically worked your ass for it. You just wanted to pay for your student loans, bills and groceries. Second of all, news flash, Korea ain't as great as influencers described them to be. When you first moved here, you were still expecting the struggles of the norm. Not fighting gangsters. Let alone joining one.

Thirdly, you know basic martial arts. You know what, fuck that. You're actually pretty decent at it. Sparring and training with these dudes around you, paid off. And through the journey you gained friendship, learning to understand different types of people. That includes multiple reality checks, unlocking new traumas as the list goes on. Part of you have thought of the alternatives and the what ifs. While the other half is actually grateful.

“It never has to be that way, you know?” Daniel replied, offering a soft smile.

You wanted to ask if the whole fighting and scheming thing is over, now that Charles Choi is gone. So is the matter of the Red Note. But you keep those questions to yourself, knowing it's far from done when Gun is still alive even if he's in juvie. Besides, he's not the only bad guy they need to watch out for.

You shrugged sheepishly, hands shoving into your pockets. “Right.” Your head turned to the ground for a bit. Daniel senses this and continues, “We're still friends, right?”

You looked up relieved by his words, “Of course. You're cool. You too, Jay.” You added. The blond gave you a big sincere smile as you bent down to pet the puppies. They equally ushered closer for attention. Your expression softened before exhaling.

“Hey.” You started, taking a second to collect your words. “You think Big Deal would diss the hell out of me if I go in their turf? I need to talk to Jake.”

Daniel shrugged back, giving his usual reassuring energy. “I don't think so, after everything. You want us to accompany you there?” You shake your head, mimicking his smile, “I'm good. Thanks though.”

It was by then you found yourself stepping in Big Deal’s street. You weren't a coward, but you still hold respect for each of Four Major Crews. If you are being honest, you didn't even belong here. You're just a person who was caught up with your own personal issues and was left with no options but to use physical violence for your own selfish gain. It wasn't selfish, you told yourself. You just have your own goal and achievement like everyone else.

You were immediately recognised and being semi interrogated by the other Big Deal members due to your sudden and random arrival. You kept your tone as calm as possible. Getting straight to the business and voila! There's Jake.

You muttered a thanks to Jerry before turning to your old friend. Ice breaking sucked, this everyone can relate. But man, you acted like an ex begging to get together with him again. “Sooo……”

You trailed awkwardly, eyes darting everywhere in the room except him. “Big Deal's boss doing paperworks, huh? Guess nobody escaping that.” You tried to humour him, to light up the mood, anything. And luckily, he stifled a chuckle. Or a subtle exhale, you counted it as that either way.

“Yeah, well, it's my responsibility now.” Jake replied, shifting in his chair while leaning back.

To put it simply, you and Jake aren't completely strangers. You two were somewhat colleagues, let's put it that way. You never dare ask about the friendship part. Are you two even friends? Buddies? Amigos?

I mean you're very much aware of Big Deal's history. Jake isn't so secretive, mind you. You've privately met Sinu himself before, good man. You're most definitely familiar with Samuel. And by God, you weren't very fond of him. But you didn't judge him either, and as mentioned, everyone here has a personal goal. You've managed to exchange conversation with him from time to time. If I may say so myself, a LOT. Boy, was he an interesting character.

When you first joined Workers, you were clueless. Eugene offered you good deals. Obviously you hesitated in the begining. You were no fool, you knew what you signed up for. Fortunately for you, you weren't involved too much. You did side jobs, mostly undercover. When Jake finds out, he confronts you. Which actually surprised you. You fought him. You fought everyone else while sticking to the white uniform. Although he can definitely tell you held back at that moment.

“No hard feelings, Jake.” You said back then before getting into stance. You took his hit many times, hardly using your full strength before discovering you were just buying him time to let others finish their business. And he didn't blame you either. He felt bad. Guilty even, that he couldn't offer you better hospitality, better support. And yes, he admits that he was kinda cold back then. He never gets the chance to apologize. But he does now as you basically presence yourself to him.

“You aight? You know, after all the…” You trailed, subtly recalling the recent fiasco. He blinked before nodding, “Just peachy. You?” You nodded back. “Yeah.”

As if it couldn't get any awkward, you were starting to regret showing your face here. On top of that, he wasn't any near being his suave self. He had it fine with the others but with you? There's an unfinished business. He thought it's odd. It's exactly the same scenario that happened between him and Samuel, yet the tension wasn't supposed to be this palpable as far as he know.

“I'm sorry-” You both said in sync, now looking at each other weirdly. Chuckling nervously, you both did it again, “You first. No, you. Not me, you. Fuck.”

Sighing, you both let out small genuine laughters. “No, seriously. You first.” he offered.

You nodded, “No hard feelings, right?”

He smiled, “No hard feelings. It's good to see you again.” You returned the smile, the burden finally left your shoulders. “Same here. You didn't break a bone. I'm not surprised.”

He leaned forward, folding his arms on the desk. His arms bulging through the fabric doesn't go unnoticed. “Well, colour me surprised. You didn't either.” He joked back. His mood has lifted as did yours. You rolled your shoulders, pretending to flex slightly. “I tried.”

“Say,” Your expression turned slightly serious, still with a bit of amusement in your tone. “I guess I owe you a jack of explanation, huh?”

He tilted his head, “Oh? Do you, now? Lemme check.” He pretended to go through his paperworks. You just chuckled, shaking your head at his sense of humour. “Asshole. I'm serious.”

Jake faced you again, “I know. And I'm listening. We can get food while we're at it.”

“Let me guess, my treat?” You raised a brow.

He gets off from his seat, his duty now left abandoned. “C’mon, I'm not a monster.” Slinging his arm around your shoulder as he leads you to the exit.

[julieee404]

Kinktober day fifteen!!

Like in your books

❥ Gunplay, dub-con, Roleplay ❥ Mattheo riddle

POV: You've recently read Haunting and Hunting Adeline, and have been completely obsessed with it, ranting to your boyfriend Mattheo and your friends. Even so much that Mattheo decided to look at why you liked it so much and read them. Now he's willing to reenact the infamous gun scene.

Trigger warnings: Use of a gun, improper use of a gun, Gun in V, P in V, Swearwords, Non/dubcon acted ( so with consent but pretended to not have it), Unprotected sex.

I walked into Mattheo's dorm with a book and one of his oversized shirts. Because tonight we'd have a couple's night and then I would sleep over at his.

"Matt?" I asked not seeing him immediately. He walked out of his and Theo's walk-in closet carrying my book Haunting Adeline.

"Why do you have my book?" I asked confused but simultaneously relieved that I hadn't lost it after all. He smiled down at me and gave my temple a kiss.

"Because I wanted to see why you loved this so much, and I understand Zade is hot." I smiled as he said that, loving that he didn't judge me for like a morally grey- no a morally black character.

He grinned down at me "I especially liked the gun scene and the mirrorhouse scene." I nodded enthusiastically as he said "Yes I adored those scenes.

Mattheo lowered his head so he was whispering in my ear "Since I don't have a mirrorhouse here, want to reenact the gun scene?"

I gaped up at him "Wait truly?" I asked full of excitement and shock. He nodded "Yeah honey I bought a gun just for me." It made me smile knowing he went into muggle America all the way from Scotland to buy a gun so we could do this.

"Is it unloaded though?" I asked not fond of having my guts blown out from my vagina. He looked at me slightly offended "Okay I'm hurt by the fact you would ever think I'd put you in harm's way.

He took out the gun's magazine "The mag is empty and It's in the lock, nothing can happen to you love I promise." He gently kissed my temple.

"Now you know our safe words right? the stoplight system." I nodded knowing them even though I've seldom had to use them. "Good girl," he said and then smiled at me wickedly "I'm giving you 10 seconds to hide little mouse."

He had lowered his voice so it sounded a bit more dominating and menacing.

I smiled and hid away under his bed, not really hiding as well as I could since I did in fact want to be found.

It took him about one minute to find me, and that was most likely because he wanted to pretend he didn't see me, but caved because he was just as excited as I was.

I squealed but tried to get away anyway, loving the thrill. He grinned down at me "No no no little mouse you're not going anywhere."

He threw me down on the bed and pointed the gun at me making me freeze. I knew the gun wasn't loaded, and that he would never actually hurt me, but it still looked strange, seeing the person I loved so much pointing a gun at my chest.

He lowered the gun over my body until it pointed at my crotch. With his free hand, he quickly ripped my tights and panties away leaving pieces of fabric around my thighs, hips and on the bed.

He licked his lips and put his fingers on my clit before slowly pushing them inside, wanting to see if I was wet enough to take the gun.

I was in fact wet enough. He put the gun against my clit and I let out a moan at the feeling of the cold metal. He smirked and started to move it in circles.

It wasn't smooth, and it gave a slight pain with the pleasure but I didn't mind even though I did in fact prefer his fingers.

He moved the gun lower putting it against my entrance and I squirmed, my body not sure if it wanted to get away or push closer.

Mattheo chuckled "Ready little mouse?" I went to go answer but before I could utter a word he already pushed the gun inside of me. I let out a squeal at the feeling.

The cold metal against my gummy walls made me clench around it, making me feel all of the edges and ridges.

It was pure ecstasy. He started to move it in and out of me while whispering words that Zade said to Addie in the book. I let out moan after moan and after a little while my orgasm started to approach.

Matheo who knew my reactions better than I knew them myself kept pleasureing me, quickening the pace he had set with the gun until I was about to fall over the edge.

He pulled away suddenly. My eyes widened in surprise as my orgasm was ripped away from me. A whine left my mouth at the empty feeling. Walls clenching around nothing but air.

"You didn't think I'd actually let you cum on the gun did you?" Mattheo asked mockingly, His voice turned into a growl "The only thing you get to come around is my cock."

I let out a gasp or squeal when he slammed home in one thrust, throwing the gun away somewhere to another part of the room.

He didn't give me any time to adjust and started to pound into me swiftly and hard.

His pace was unrelenting driving me closer to the edge of my orgasm.

I was trying not to make it clear I was close not wanting another orgasm ripped away from me. But obviously, it didn't matter Mattheo knew anyway "Don't worry love I'll let you come this time I promise."

His thrust became sloppy and he lost his rhythm, indicating that he was just as close as I was.

"Come, love, let's come together."He said before throwing both of us over the edge. I clenched around his cock milking it as he came inside of me, spurt after spurt of cum entering my cunt, filling me up completely.

Mattheo stayed still inside of me, letting both of us come down from our highs before he pulled out and tucked me into his chest.

I yawned softly "I loved that, can we reenact scenes more often?" I asked softly making him chuckle.

"Anything for you love, and I loved it too" I smiled and started to doze off, tired from our activities.

"I love you, darling" He said kissing my temple and tucking me further against his chest.

Kinktober masterlist 2024

[iamqueenpotato]

Hurts Like Hell Part Two

Azriel x Reader

A/N- I honestly don't have the words for how grateful I am for the support with my writing. ❤️ It warms my heart and I appreciate each and every one of you! Here is part two! I lied when I said this would be the final part. There will be one more! Enjoy!

⚠️: Angst

Word Count: 3.4k

Part One Final Part

The Autumn court wasn’t an ideal place for you, but Lucien let you stay at his personal cabin, one that even his father had no idea of.

It took all of your willpower to stay out of Velaris, it was your home but yet each part of the beautiful city reminded you of the love you once had. You had written to your family, each of them knew where you were, you begged them to not say a word to Azriel. And thankfully they were more than willing to keep it a secret.

It had been a few months since you left Azriel and your home behind. And each second had been absolutely miserable, your thoughts were constantly occupied by the shadowsinger, and you knew his were occupied of you as well. The moments you faltered in keeping your walls up, you felt him. Trying to push his way to you, attempting to hear from you across that bond that still sat within you, dull and lifeless. It tore you apart. If it wasn’t for Lucien, you would have never attempted to piece yourself back together.

He is a great male and an even better friend. He stayed up with you when you had nightmares, made you tea to soothe you, and he listened. To all of it.

The pain that sat so heavy on your chest, began feeling lighter each time he didn’t let you hold it in. Even though his mate was somewhat a part of all of this, he never once judged you, never told you what to do. Never once made you feel at fault. He encouraged you to go outside and explore the beautiful lands around the cabin, he showed you how to hunt, so on the days he wasn’t present you would have enough food til he came back. Lucien gave you the space to heal but was always there when you needed someone to lean on. He was a support you never would have expected but were eternally grateful for all that he is.

But the thoughts of Azriel never went away. The wounds of your falling out were still healing, and you missed him. The times you found yourself crying was not because of what happened but because a piece of you was missing. The coldness was a feeling that you would never get used to, it ate at your soul, leaving a certain darkness within you. You did your best to distract yourself with books and other new hobbies. Though sometimes it wasn’t enough.

Lucien came back home one weekend, holding a bag of pastries you knew all too well.

“Are those what I think they are?” You spoke as you peeked over the book you had picked out from Lucien’s collection.

“They are, I was told these were your favorite. So I decided to grab some before I left Velaris.” Lucien smiled, handing the bag over to you. You grabbed it eagerly, taking a bite before offering the other one to Lucien, which he refused. “Your friends miss you.” He added.

You heard his words but your focus was on the food in front of you when the realization hit. There was only one person who knew what your favorite pastries were. “Lucien, who told you about these?” He didn’t answer, he sat down, taking off his boots, his red hair covering his eyes. You moved from your seat, standing in front of him. “Lucien.” He looked up towards you, a worried expression across his face as if you were mad at him for conversing with your mate.

“Azriel came up to me before I left, handed me that bag. I’m sorry.”

You weren’t hurt by his actions, nor were you bothered. You honestly didn’t know how to feel. “It’s okay Lucien, there’s no need to apologize.” You placed a reassuring hand upon his cheek. Giving him a shy smile. “How is he?” You didn’t know why you asked that, part of you was afraid of his answer.

Lucien stood, walking over to the kitchen to prepare a pot of tea. “If I am being honest.” He sighed. “Not good.”

Your face was still, it wasn’t the answer you were expecting, though it was better than hearing he had moved on, that he was doing better without you. But that didn’t stop the sudden sense of worry that washed over you. “What do you mean?”

Lucien gestured you to sit at the kitchen counter, you moved slowly. “Rhys told me he hasn’t really seen him since you left, he’s buried himself in jobs, hasn’t come to training, they’re all worried for him, but he won’t talk to anyone. And when they try to, he doesn’t give them the time of day.” You sucked in a sharp breath, not muttering a word. “He was forced to come to the meeting today. And Y/N, he doesn’t look well. I dont think he’s slept. Its as if all the life had been sucked out of him. The only color on him was that green pastry bag. He walked in holding it, never said a word to anyone but held on to it the entire time and when I motioned to leave he stopped me. All he said was they were your favorites and part of a weekend tradition.”

You watched as your tears dropped onto your hands that you had rested on the counter, Lucien didn't say anything as he walked around to you, pulling you close to his chest. It had been quite some time since you thought of the bakery. It was a time before things changed between you two. Each weekend you had off he would have to leave early for training, but after he would stop by your favorite bakery to grab pastries for the two of you. He would wake you up, pastries and tea in hand. It was a small thing he did that made you love him so dearly. But you couldn’t remember the last time he did something like that. Mornings lately always seemed more lonely.

Moments passed before you pulled yourself away from Lucien’s hold, wiping away the last of your tears. “I’m sorry, I didn’t expect that to affect me so much.”

“Y/N as I told you before, don’t apologize for these things.” He brushed a loose strand of hair out of your face, before placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “I have a question though.” He moved to the now singing tea kettle.

“What is it?” You asked, gladly accepting the fresh tea he gave you, turning to face him once he sat on the chair next to you.

“Would you ever talk to him again? Try and fix things?”

It was a thought you had internally debated ever since you left. And the answer wasn’t an easy one. As much as you yearned to see him again, to hear him out, if he had any explanation for his actions at all. You werent even sure there was anything to fix. Still, you weren’t ready. As strong as you are, he had wedged his way into your heart, the one thing you had built so many walls around. It would take time to heal, to prepare yourself for whatever would follow. “Not yet, I have considered it but I don’t think I am ready for that conversation.”

“Well you know I don’t mind your company, but whatever you decide, I’ll support you.”

“I don’t know if I have said this enough, but thank you.” You smiled.

“You can say it more.” He joked, you playfully slapped him on the arm, then pulled him in for another hug. He gladly embraced you before pulling away to walk upstairs to his room.

The next day you woke up early, the nightmares never ceased, and it was better to not sleep at all. You found Lucien downstairs, preparing his supplies for a hunt, you always wondered why he didn’t go to the market to buy supplies, but he claimed he enjoyed the peace and quiet. “Leaving?” You asked.

Lucien apparently didn’t see you when you came down the stairs so when you spoke it startled him, causing you to let out a small laugh. “Yes, I’ll be back by lunch but I have a task for you.”

“And that is?”

“Go to the garden once the sun rises, and pick some vegetables for dinner.” Lucien handed you a list, throwing his bag across his shoulder.

“Are you sure I can handle this?” You joked, folding the piece of paper in your hand.

“I believe in you. I’ll see you in a bit.” And with that he was out the door. You had some time before the sun would rise, moving to the couch you opened your book, making yourself comfortable.

Without fault you had lost track of time, a finished book in your hand, you stood, placing it down behind you. Grabbing your coat and a small wooden basket you set off for the garden. The air was chilly but the bright sun warmed your body as you sat picking various vegetables.

You got lost in your task until something in the air shifted as if a sudden gust of wind had rushed across the land. That’s when you saw them. The shadows that moved swiftly along the dirt. Your heart began racing as you looked around for the owner. Grabbing the vegetable basket, you stood, turning towards the exit but there he was. His tall figure standing at the edge of the garden. He didn't look the same, his wings sagged behind him, his shadows encompassed him, and his hair disheveled. Azriel stared at you but did not move, and the eyes that locked onto yours were not of the man you love, but of one who had been broken for far too long.

You moved towards him, your eyes never leaving his figure. Holding your breath as you inched closer to pass him. You would not break, you wouldn’t let him see you falter. Ignoring the way his shadows around his body lept for you as you brushed past him. You felt the pain build within your chest as you felt the cool touch of them, one that was all too familiar. Once you were out of his reach you increased your pace, desperately needing to be back inside.

“Y/N.” Azriel called out, his voice cracking, it pained you to hear the agony in his voice, turning, you faced your mate. You reminded yourself to be strong, to not let him in.

“What are you doing here Azriel?” You hated how harsh your words came out, watching Azriel physically flinch at your tone as if you had just wounded him.

“I needed to see you, Y/N. My world has fallen apart without you. I don’t know who I am anymore.” He attempted to move closer to you, but with each step forward that he took, you took one back.

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you decided to shut me out.” Your voice was calm, though your thoughts ran rapid within your mind. “Please leave.” You added.

“Y/N please, don’t push me away.”

“Don’t push you away?” Your voice was suddenly louder, the emotion filling the air around you felt like a fog, slowly blurring your vision. “I spent months trying to understand why. Wondering if maybe it was my fault you pushed me aside. I always asked myself if I was deserving of love. And maybe I’m not because I lost you. I wasn’t enough to keep myself from being forgotten.” You could feel the tears building up behind your eyes, threatening to fall at any moment.

Azriel was crying now, frantically wiping the tears away, releasing a shuddering breath as he inched closer to you. “You are deserving of love more than anyone I know, you have always had my heart.”

“Did I though?” Azriel stared at you, his empty eyes searching your face for some sort of answer. “Cause I’m starting to think that I never actually had you at all.”

You were aware of the words once they left your lips. And it hurt you to watch as your words cut Azriel like a knife, the pain that you had just inflicted could not be undone. Azriel dropped to his knees, he looked as though all the hope he once had held had been ripped from his soul, leaving him defeated and empty. Tears began falling down your cheeks, you wanted to reach for him, to apologize but your body did not move, you were stuck watching as he suffered.

You saw Lucien in the distance, praying he would come over and save you. Once you locked eyes with your friend, he looked between you and your mate, dropping whatever animal he had caught, and rushing over to your side. Lucien placed his hands on your cheeks, trying to get you to speak. He attempted to turn towards Azriel but you collapsed within his arms, begging him to take you inside. Without hesitation, he listened, but as you moved your eyes never left Azriel, the way his hazel eyes begged you to stay. To forgive him. You saw him winnow away as Lucien closed the door behind the two of you. That’s when you let your emotions free, Lucien held you close, letting you cry until you couldn’t anymore.

Lucien never asked what had occurred that day, it had been weeks since Azriel spontaneously showed up at the cabin, and the pain never lessened, you couldn’t sleep, as much as your body yearned for it, it was a far better outcome than seeing the crestfallen face of your mate every time you closed your eyes. Lucien began worrying more and more, the pieces of you that you had worked so hard to start to put back together were slowly falling apart once more. You haven't left your room, Lucien begged for you to come outside, to walk with him for a little, but all the motivation to get better had left you. Maybe it was because of the memory of your words, how they made Azriel completely fall apart in front of you, or maybe it was the guilt of it all. Either way, you would never forgive yourself for what you had said. You made it sound as though your entire relationship was a lie. And you hated yourself for it.

All the memories the two of you shared, that you created, sat so heavily on your chest in these recent weeks. From healing his wounds, to the nights you showed him recipes from your childhood, the ones that filled your heart with so much love. But then again, they all did. Yet it only made you wonder how it all fell apart. How was it that one moment you two were deeply in love and then the next moment it was all gone?

A knock at your door brought you from your thoughts, you let out a quiet acknowledgment for whoever to enter. Lucien walked in holding a bowl of food, but he was not alone. Behind him Cassian entered, he was smiling but the second he saw you the smile turned into an expression full of concern. Lucien handed you the bowl, your hands shaking as you placed it on your lap. He didn’t say a word to you, only placing a soft kiss on the top of your head, before exiting the room, leaving you and Cassian alone.

“How are you doing Y/N?” Cassian asked as he sat on the edge of your bed. You didn’t answer him, not to ignore him , but you truly didn’t know how you were doing. Your mind felt shattered, empty. Cassian moved closer to you, grabbing your hand to place it within his. “I miss you, we all do.”

“I miss you guys too.” You spoke and you hated how you sounded so broken.

“I heard about Azriel’s visit. I want to apologize.” You looked at Cassian, puzzled about what he was trying to apologize for.

“Why?” You asked.

“I shouldn’t have slipped up about who you were staying with. It came out unintentionally and I wasn’t expecting him to come here. To ambush you in such a way. I am sorry.”

You squeezed his hand in reassurance, letting him know you weren’t mad. You knew he would never purposefully hurt you. “Cas I miss him. So much it hurts. But how can I forgive him? How can I stop these constant thoughts that I was the problem. That who I am made him leave me behind. I want to forgive him but I don’t know where to begin.” You choked out. “Maybe it was all my fault.”

He leaned closer to you, squeezing your hand tighter, forcing you to look him in the eyes. “This was not your fault, do not blame yourself. There is nothing wrong with who you are. You were right to be angry, to feel these things. My brother was wrong to treat you in such a way, but I don’t believe he ever stopped loving you. Forgiving will be hard, I understand that. What happened is not something that is easily forgivable. But healing takes time. And once you’re ready, you will know. But don’t give up on yourself. Please kiddo, for me at least.”

You smiled weakly as the tears flowed freely down your cheeks, Cassian set your food aside before pulling you into an embrace. “Cassian I said something that I regret. How can I live with myself after hurting him like that?”

Cassian held you tighter, rubbing soothing circles across your back. “We all say things we don’t mean. Emotions are a wild thing, sometimes they’re good and sometimes they’re bad but that is life, and it is cruel but it is also beautiful. Y/N I know you will be okay. You are strong. You need to forgive yourself. Don’t blame yourself for things out of your control.”

You nodded against Cassian’s chest, unsure if you believed him, but the more the words replayed in your head, it slowly began to sink in. You still worried for Azriel, Lucien was right when he said he wasn’t doing good and you couldn’t help but feel guilty that you possibly made it worse. “What about Az? Have you talked to him?”

Cassian sighed. “I have not. He isn’t talking to anybody. The last time I saw him was the morning after you left, we uh-” Cassian paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “We sort of got into a fight. He wouldn't talk, and I was getting pissed that he wouldn't tell me why he treated you in such a way.” You let out a breathy laugh through the tears, those boys were always fighting, but it warmed your heart a bit to know that Cassian had defended you like that. “What happened between you two has taken a toll on him. My brother is a fool first of all. But he is a fool in love. Y/N I am not making up excuses for him, for what he did, but he loves you so much, that it's killing him. He regrets what he did. Though he hasn’t said it out loud, we all know. He isn’t the same without you.”

You could say the same for yourself, life without your mate has been difficult, each moment you wish you were back in your townhome, tucked beside him, enjoying the time you shared. It was a warmth you cherished, you could only hope you could feel that again. “I will talk to him eventually Cas. But I need some more time.”

“There is no rush when it comes to healing. You take all the time you need. And when you’re ready Y/N, we will all be anxiously awaiting your return.” Cassian stood, giving you one last hug before he disappeared through the door of your room.

Though there was so much going through your head, so much that you knew you had to work through. For the first time in months, that small part of you that truly believed things would start to be okay peeked through, reigniting that flame of hope you thought had vanished. You would push through this. For yourself. And for Azriel. No matter how long it took.

Taglist: @honestlywtfisgoingon @fanfictioniseverything

[ant1quarian]

In your rain world au, what would Killer be like as a datemate? Particularly with a monk reader, if you don’t mind..

oh, sure!

killer's... a pretty flighty guy. he's constantly on the move, constantly hunting- so rest assured that you will, in fact, be in very good hands

but it's also good to pay mind to the fact that those hands are more than easily capable of killing you, so make sure not to get close to him if he's hunting things down (his sight goes red and the black karma tears get much more intense so he won't be able to distinguish between you and what he's hunting)

if you're following the canon campaign, he's more than happy to help you along your journey. he knows what it's like to lose a brother- and he doesn't mind helping you find yours (if you die he's also going to feed you to the lizards because he's aware you'll just wake up the next cycle anyway)

you'd quickly notice his ingrained hatred for scavengers of all kinds. whenever you try to trade with them, they get a spear (likely explosive) tossed through their midsection, so it's really not much help

hey, at least you don't have to pay the scavenger tolls

never mistake his kindness for gentleness. he doesn't really know how to be gentle very well- sure, he's capable of learning, but it's not something he's had to do for a very long time

will actively grab you if you need to do parkour (he doesn't trust you not to fall)

he's also... a pretty devoted guy. probably "i would die for you" kind of devoted but death doesn't really mean much in Rain World, aside from the fact that basically everyone's trying to find the Complete Death

he's also a whole lot more perceptive and intelligent than you'd probably like to think. he's ran around these creatures thousands upon thousands of times- he knows their reactions and how to judge their personality just from a glance

you're in safe hands with him- though they're mischievous, and the rust-red covering his forearms tell you directly that he's a ruthless murderer, so whatever you do

never fully trust his shenanigans

honestly, it's surprising you've romanced him at all. he's usually the type to uh, y'know, kill other scugs and feed them to lizards to use as distractions

...

yeah, assuming the campaign happens, there's going to be a lot of... angsty situations for the two of you

thank you for the ask, feel free to ask others, too

[trekscribbles]

The Bushwhack Job: Chapter Six

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five

(Disclaimer: This is a relatively rough draft and subject to change when I post to AO3. I'm just overly excited and want to share what I have.)

He dreamed of the blonde woman again. She sat at the edge of his bed, poking the bruises on his side while he struggled to keep his coffee in his stomach. 

“Does this hurt?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “Everything hurts.”

She pulled a combination lock out of the air and started fidgeting with it. “Why are you calling yourself Spencer?”

“Isn’t that my name?”

“I guess,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “That’s what those other guys called you. Janish. You knew him.”

His eyes were heavy, but he fought to keep them open, afraid she’d disappear if he let them close. “I don’t remember.”

“He’s connected to this,” she said. “To me. He’d have answers.”

If it didn’t hurt so much, he would have shaken his head. “I don’t want answers.”

“You can’t come home if you don’t know where it is.”

He did close his eyes then. It wouldn’t be home without her.

“He’ll come back,” she said, ignoring his reaction. “He’ll try to hurt Sunny.”

“I won’t let him.”

She poked his head, and he let out a groan. “You may not be able to stop him.”

“Then what do I do?” he demanded. “Go after him? After his boss? I hunt them down, and I’m just as bad as them.”

“Being bad isn’t all that bad,” she said.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

For a long moment, she was quiet, and when he opened his eyes he feared she’d be gone. But she was still perched beside him, still fiddling, though now there were three locks instead of one. “You and me,” she said softly. “We do the hard things. The things the others can’t do.”

“I don’t want to be bad,” he whispered.

“You might have done bad things,” she said. “That doesn’t make you a bad person.”

She prodded his aching ribs, and he put his hand out, hoping to feel her—but she wasn’t really there, of course she wasn’t, and his palm slid off his side to rest on the mattress. He was so tired. If he could just get some sleep...

“I think he’s finally out,” said a faint voice, and Spencer turned his head toward it.

“J.B.,” he murmured.

“Guess not,” J.B. sighed. “Go to sleep, Spencer. You need to rest.”

“Janish has come by before?” he said.

“On and off for a couple weeks,” Sunny answered. Spencer opened his eyes and found J.B. on a wooden chair beside the bed, with Sunny folding laundry across the room. She wasn’t looking at him directly, and that made him want to curl back up and pretend to sleep.

He propped himself up on an elbow instead. “What do they want?”

“They want me to sell the house,” Sunny said, her attention on the clothes. “Offered me three times what the place is worth, and when that didn’t work, they tried to say I didn’t really own the place, but I have the paperwork to prove it, so I guess now they’re resorting to threats.”

“Why?”

She lifted her gaze, hard and hurt, and stabbed him with it. “You tell me.”

He let the accusation cut, taking a tiny bit of comfort in the fact that he could feel remorse for his part in whatever was going on. Guilt was good; it meant he wasn’t totally lost. But then he sat up, moving his legs over the side of the bed, and waved J.B. off when he tried to push him back down.

He had work to do.

“I know Janish,” Spencer said, speaking directly to Sunny. “At least, I did. I don’t remember exactly, but—”

“Your head injury,” J.B. said.

Spencer shot him a wary look, and J.B. nodded to himself. “I thought so. You said you fell? Judging by that wound, you must’ve hit your head hard enough to cause some memory loss. Pair that with the trauma of losing someone close to you, and you’ve got a pretty good recipe for retrograde amnesia.”

“Let me guess,” Spencer said in a dull voice. “You picked that up when you picked up how to stitch a wound and how to recognize military mannerisms.”

He gave a sheepish shrug. “Yeah, all right. Former Marine, combat medic. I’m guessing Army for you.”

Spencer shook his head helplessly, and J.B. nodded again. “The good news is that your memory should return, if you give yourself the chance to heal. The bad news is I don’t think you’ll give yourself that chance.”

Spencer looked back at Sunny. “It’s not that easy. Someone tried to kill me, after—” After they killed the woman, after he failed to save her—he cleared his throat and pushed on. “I don’t have much to go on. If Janish recognized me, he might be connected. Anything you can tell me could be helpful. If they’re trying to take this house from you, there must be a reason. Maybe I can stop it.”

Her eyes were still sharp, but some of the heat had gone out of her glare. “You could be anyone,” she said, folding and unfolding the same shirt, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles as she spoke. “You could be working with them.”

“I could,” he agreed quietly. “Whoever I was working with, I think it’s pretty obvious that I didn’t go into that building wearing a badge.”

Sunny snorted. “I don’t care about that. You think you’re the only one I’ve taken in who had a past? Miguel’s got a record long enough to fill a city block, and he’s the sweetest boy I ever had stay here—besides J.B. But Janish… His men aren’t like that. They’re cruel. And if you’re with them…”

“He isn’t,” J.B. said before Spencer could agree with her. “Sunny, you know he’s not. You can tell as well as I can.”

The shirt folded, unfolded, folded again. “Maybe now,” she said at last. “But the fact is, that could all change when his memory comes back. We got no way of knowing.”

Spencer eased himself to his feet. “You’re right. I never wanted to bring you trouble; I’ll leave as soon as—”

“Sit back down before you pass out again,” Sunny said. “I’m not going to kick you out for something you haven’t done, no matter how many red flags you got sprouting from you. Everyone deserves a chance.”

“Janish works for Stephen Lancaster,” J.B. said when Spencer stayed upright. “That name mean anything to you?”

He frowned. “The men chasing me mentioned a Lancaster. They said to call him to say one of their guys was dead—he fell out of the window with me, I think. I didn’t stick around to hear any more.”

“Probably a good idea,” J.B. muttered.

Sunny tossed the shirt onto a pile and moved onto a pair of socks. “How does Janish know you?”

“And why were they after you?” J.B. put in.

Spencer shook his head, rubbing absently at a sore spot on his palm. “I don’t know. But I got an idea for how to find out.”

J.B. blinked at him, then at Sunny, and groaned. “Why do I get the feeling this is going to cause me more headaches than it’ll cause you?”

“It won’t cause you anything,” Spencer said. “You and Miguel stay here to make sure Janish’s men don’t try anything again, and I’ll go track down some answers.”

“On your own?” J.B. said.

Someone had removed Spencer’s boots; he found them at the edge of the bed and sat to put them on. “Got a feelin’ that’s not new to me,” he said, his eyes on his feet. He glanced up at Sunny as he tied the laces. “Do you have any idea why they want your house? Anything in the history of the place? Maybe the land it’s on?”

“I wish I knew,” Sunny said. “It’s just a house. Isn’t even that old—my parents rebuilt it in ‘93. They owned the original, but it was torn down ages ago. They left the new house to me when they passed. There’s nothing here Lancaster could want.”

Nothing obvious. Nothing in the building itself, probably—it was more likely to have something to do with the grounds. “How big is the lot?”

Sunny waved at the window. “The yard, that’s it. The original house was smaller, but we added on. I’m telling you, though, there’s nothing of value here. They had to dig out the foundation to pour a new basement.”

The pain in Spencer’s head had returned—or intensified, it was hard to tell—and he closed his eyes against the overhead light while he tried to gather the information into something useful.

You know what to do, said the voice in his head, which sounded suspiciously like the blonde woman.

He sighed. “J.B.,” he said, opening his eyes. “Where can I find Lancaster?”

[ravenmichaelisstuff]

Easter Special??? Kind of?? A funny little thing inspired by a anonymous request 💕

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚗-𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝙱𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚝 𝚖𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 ♥︎

✰✰✰✰

Task Force 141 paints some eggs 🥚🥚 (minus Price)

Ghost didn't think he'd ever end up painting eggs on Price's orders. ON PRICE'S ORDER. But here he was, painting tiny chicks in skull masks to best to his efforts.

His whole morning was a very... peculiar start to the day. He woke up to his alarm, changed from his pyjama pants and everything was normal- except one thing.

When he went to put on his boots he felt something round with his foot inside the shoe. Ghost fucking yelped the moment his foot touched it because his first thought was- snake egg. Some fucking leg-less lizard got into his room and laid an egg in his damn shoe!

Was that embarrassing that he just yeeted the shoe across his room the moment that crossed his mind? Yes. Was he a fully grown man? A soldier? Yes. But he was still scared shitless of snakes. He had his reasons.

He took a deep breath and decided to get a grip.

He nudged the shoe with a broomstick, from like two meters away.

Ghost relaxed when instead of a soft shell snake egg, a chocolate one, wrapped in colourful foil rolled out. He left the broom alone and picked up the chocolate egg.

He didn't need to think long to know who did that. Soap was the last person in his room the previous day and there is no way someone else snuck into his room at night without him breaking their necks. It had to be Soap and he is gonna pay for humbling Ghost's masculinity.

He still popped the chocolate into his mouth though. He had a sweet tooth and it looked like a good kind of chocolate. He had to.

The lieutenant finally put his boot on and walked out of his room. His plan was to hunt Soap down and make him suffer, but then his stomach decided to growl. It was so loud that a private passing by gave him a surprised look before quickly averting his eyes.

He took a turn and headed for the kitchen used mostly by the 141.

In the kitchen sat Gaz enjoying cereal.

"Good morning, Lieutanant."

"Mornin', sergeant." Ghost nodded and busied himself with making a sandwich.

"Any plans to go on leave?" Gaz asked. Ghost noticed that the man was significantly less reserved around him those days- trying to keep up a conversation, asking how his day was. It was nice since not so long ago everyone except Price and Soap were rather... not eager to converse with Ghost. Assuming he doesn't want to be spoken to and that he is always angry.

Which yeah- talking with random people wasn't his thing. Small talk made his skin crawl, never knowing what to say. But he enjoyed listening to what people had to say or just existing around someone, doing his own thing in someone's presence. It made him feel normal.

And when he had that with Soap and Price, it was pleasant to see Kyle warm up to him as well. Maybe that's because he himself warmed up to the man.

"Why would I go on leave?" Ghost said still focused on his bread.

"With Easter just around the corner, I thou-"

Ghost turned to face Gaz. "Easter?"

Well, now the surprise in his shoe made a little bit more sense.

Gaz made a face ready to judge Ghost on his unawareness when Soap entered the kitchen with a bag in his hand.

"We are painting eggs today!" Soap exclaimed, childish excitement buzzing off of him.

"I will kill you for that egg in my shoe." Ghost said sternly, playing with the butter knife in his hand. He probably didn't look intimidating at all or he just lost that effect on Soap judging by the way Soap just smiled his way.

"Oh, you are not the only one. I found an egg in my hat and cracked the chocolate on my head." Gaz crossed his arms.

"Could have put a real egg." The Scot snickered.

Gaz flipped him a bird.

"What do you mean we are painting eggs?" Ghost asked, stopping the sergeants from bantering.

Soap wordlessly started unpacking his bag, putting various dyes and paints on the table. Gaz blinked a few times, trying to understand how this overgrown child got into the military. While Ghost was ready to just head out, food was forgotten because this was just too ridiculous for such an early hour.

"You can't leave. If you leave you are refusing an order, Lt." Soap blocked the doors, smirking.

"Since when are you my superior, sergeant?"

"Not mine order- Price's." Soap waved a fucking printed-out order to paint at least one egg per person SIGNED by Price. Ghost knew Price's signature and this was authentic.

He snatched the paper from Soap and showed it to Gaz.

"How?! How the fuck did you get him to sign this." Kyle shared the same question with Ghost.

"Thanks to my winning smile and a wonderful personality?" Both men looked at Soap unimpressed. Soap pouted. "I talked to him about this for a whole week. Convinced him that it will be a great bonding activity OR he just wanted me to shut up about it."

"So the latter." Ghost said in unison with Garrick.

o***o

So there they were, painting eggs to their best efforts because at some point the whole thing turned into a competition of who will paint the prettiest one.

Looking at the very detailed egg Johnny was working on he is a clear winner, but he would be lying if he said this wasn't enjoyable. Experiencing the activity he never got to do as a child, spending time with his teammates- friends. Hearing Soap's laughter as he jokes with Gaz about something.

It wasn't so bad.

Please don't treat this seriously, I just wanted to have something goofy for the Easter time <3 Sorry for all the mistakes and I hope someone enjoyed it! Love ya all <3

[inconsistent-kuroshitsuji-blog]

Hello. If you don't mind, I'd like to ask for headcanons about the kuro characters and their favourite video game genres/series? ^_^

Absolutely.

Kuro characters and their favourite video game genres/series

don't know why, but he looks like he'd enjoy simulator games

if Black Butler would've happened in the modern day (and someone would've taught this grandpa how to use technology) he would probably used these to learn the things he needs to know as a human

cooking simulator (or Cooking Mama), school simulator, anything that could be useful like that

definitely also enjoys slasher games

simply judging by the way he enjoyed that bloodbath on the Campania, he'd looooooove extremely violent games

idk, I don't know too many in that genre, but Dead by Daylight could be one of his faves

but nothing with guns. Those things are beneath him. He wants the real thrill of the kill

oh, please, as if he'd even know what that is

he doesn't even have time for this

imagine the hours wasted on lines of code and digital pixels

do you know that one game where it's basically like a VR job simulator with different kinds of jobs like cook or office or gas station? Instead of humans, the NPCs are robots that insult you at every given opportunity and set you up for failure. Yeah, he'd like that.

also, Powerwash Simulator

ok, stereotypical, but dress up games

especially Style Savvy (ngl, these games are way too good)

other than that, she seems like a casual enjoyer of Animal Crossing

except that she bullies all the ugly neighbours off of her island and hunts for very specific characters (so basically like me)

another obvious choice is Bayonetta

I mean, have you looked at her? Slashing her way through demons and angels while having chainsaws for arms and legs? The cunty outfits?

Let me tell you: Bayonetta and Grell? An iconic match made in heaven

I can't decide

either he's a die-hard Mario Kart player or a huge Sonic enthusiast (the older games, not the newer ones)

he probably doesn't have enough time to really play though, since he's either out working overtime or out partying

he doesn't seem like a shooter person

okay, this is coming out of me because of a huge lack of sleep (it's currently 1 am where I'm living), but why does he look like he would drunkenly play Fortnite or Roblox?

"You got games on your phone?" No, back the fuck up dude. You're an adult.

Why did I just write that? Inco, what's wrong with you?

this is very specific, but that one Coraline game for the Wii and the DS

he's definitely leaning more towards psychological horror games

American McGee's Alice and Alice: Madness Returns. You can't convince me otherwise

he's an unfairly skilled Mario Kart player, to the point that it almost seems like he's cheating (he's 100% cheating, just like when playing Uno)

on the other hand, he's a huuuuge sucker for Kirby games

doesn't matter what type or gimick, he loves it and has perfected it down to the last frame

but you'd never know unless he wanted you to know (and I know it because I am God and run on my last bar of my batterie and because he's officially and undeniably my husband, deal with it. Omfg, this is so fucking cringe, I'm gonna go shoot myself, I'll be right back.)

well, first of all, you need to explain everything to him because he couldn't even read the instructions on the screen (I'm 100% convinced that his eyesight is pure batshit and he's just cheating his way through the manga through some deus-ex-machina type of shit)

newsflash, but he loves horror games

I really see him with games like Resident Evil or Don't Starve Together

also, Undetale

you know, because of morals and choices and consequences and all that (surely not because of a skeleton with dry humour)

maybe it would help to show him a bathing simulator so this crusty man learns how to clean himself

is it too obvious and on the nose to say The Mortuary Assistant?

omg, look at him! My boy! Finally animated! I love him so much! My boy!

ahem, so anyway...

Trombone Champ

he'd play it on his loudest speakers just to annoy the hell out of everyone

also, you know those really cheap horror games you can find on Steam that are really terrible? He lives for those

idk why, but he seems like he'd enjoy Portal

and Assassin's Creed. Especially the first four mainline games

continueing with puzzle games, he really enjoys Professor Layton, no doubt

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That's it for now. It's almost 2 am and I have to help out at a sports event I only registered for to watch some random kids suffer in the heat. But now I have to wake up early for that... Oh, how ironically bitchy life is. And to top it all of I have to work the graveyard shift today. Coffee and energy will be my best friend today.

So, yeah, that's it for now. Or maybe not, maybe I'll pull an all-nighter simply so I can't oversleep. If you're up for a part 2 just slide into my requests and I'll see what I can do.

Until then~

Your Inconsistent Kuroshitsuji Blog~

[briar-ffxiv]

FFXIV Write #18 - Hackneyed

FFXIV Write 2024 Master Post

Prompt #18 - Hackneyed

Note: How Briar got his first animal friend, his chocobo!

Trigger Warning: Mention of drunks, animal injury, and bullying. Mild, but present, so be aware.

Some years before ARR...

Briar kept his head down, shoulders tight as he tried to avoid being noticed. It was relatively safe at Buscarron's Druthers. Still, there were always those who saw a young, skinny half-Elezen with nervous eyes and wanted to cause trouble. Some of it was just simple mocking, but it wouldn't be the first time a drunk bandit or the like got physical with him. For a mercy, he seemed unnoticed today as he clutched the straps of his pack, full of little odds and ends for trade.

His ears worked back and forth, alert twitches as his gaze darted around, making sure he avoided bumping into anyone or being snuck up on. He should have ignored the voices since they weren't directed at him, but he paused midstep when a gruff, irritated voice caught his attention.

"Nophica's tits!" the man said, half-snarling under his breath. "Stupid bird. You nearly dumped the cart and me!"

The sad 'kweh' Briar heard in response had him turning his head. It was a shabby little cart, pulled by a ragged-feathered chocobo balancing awkwardly on one leg. The apparent owner was dressed in rough clothing and had the slight sway of one who drank often through the day. The drunk jerked the reins when the chocobo shifted, wincing away from a man squeezing and tugging at the bird's injured leg.

"Not broken," the man grunted, ignoring the bird's weak protests. "Don't think anyway. Nasty swelling though. He'll need lots of rest to--"

"Feh!" the drunk said, spitting to the side in disgust. "Like I'm going to waste good gil trying to tend some hackneyed old gelding." He scoffed and shook his head. "Put him down. There's always someone to buy the meat. Might be old, but make all right stew."

Briar sucked in a soft, shocked breath at the man's cold indifference to the chocobo. Especially considering that despite the rough treatment and clear pain the bird was in, it was still docile and obedient. The gelding was doing his best to please, giving a sad little chirrups as dark eyes watched the drunk closely. Yet the person the bird depended upon was going to callously end the gelding's life without even an effort.

"W-wait!" Briar said, surprising himself. For a moment, he almost wanted to take it back at the look the drunk gave him, but the chocobo's stumbling steps as the man started to jerk him toward the forest gave him courage. "Wait," he said again, stepping closer to the pair and the gelding. "I-I'll take him."

The gelding's owner sneered at him. "Take him? Why should I--"

"Buy him," Briar clarified, lifting his chin and clenching his hands around his pack to steady himself. "I'll b-buy the chocobo."

The drunk gave Briar a measuring look and the half-Elezen was used to the disdain. He knew he was small, skinny, dressed in homespun clothing that was too big, and looked 'half-wild' according to most. Being called a 'wildling' wasn't uncommon, even if it wasn't accurate. At the very least, he seemed to be treated as a pariah by most.

"I have coin," Briar confirmed, defiantly meeting the man's gaze.

"...How much?" the drunk sneered, but a look of greed showed in bloodshot eyes.

Briar froze for a moment. He'd never really had experience with bartering and was little judge on the worth of things in coin. He understood people used coins, but his mother had always bartered. He always found it a little strange that people put so much worth on coins since coin couldn't be eaten or used for much of anything. Buscarron had been trying to teach him in the last year, but it was still a baffling concept to him.

When he noticed the drunk's impatient shifting, Briar frantically recalled how much the Quarrymill butcher had given him for a deer he'd hunted. Biting his lip, Briar blurted out a number twice that. "S-surely that is more than his m-meat would bring."

The drunk grunted, but Briar watched his eyes dart back and forth, clearly considering. The half-Elezen tried not to shift nervously as the drunk stared at him for a long moment. He tried not to noticeably release a breath when the man finally spoke.

"Show me the coin."

Briar dug into a small bag at his waist, quickly counting the gil. It was most of what he had, but he didn't let that bother him. He flinched a bit as it was snatched away, examined closely, and then shoved into the drunk's pockets.

"Fine," the man sneered, throwing the reins at Briar hard enough he flinched at the sting of the leather. The drunk marched off. "Take the damn cart too. No use without the bird anyway." The other man followed him with a bored shrug, heading toward the tavern.

Then Briar realized he suddenly had a chocobo. A chocobo he had no real place to keep or idea on how to care for. An injured chocobo that gave a confused, sad chirp as his master walked off. The bird blinked at Briar, giving a questioning kweh as the gelding shifted back and forth, trying to favour the swollen leg.

Biting his lip, Briar moved closer, reaching up to slowly stroke the gelding's neck. The little flinch at the first touch made his heart ache for the poor chocobo. "Hello, friend," he said softly. "It's all right. I promise. You don't have to worry anymore and you're not going to be stew either."

The gelding canted his head to study Briar before giving a soft chirrup and leaning down to nuzzle Briar's arm.

And just like that, it was worth every coin and more.