#its been so long i never thought we'd get here!

[captainsophiestark]

Crib Construction

Cassian x Reader

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Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: ACOTAR

Summary: Cassian and his mate have been tasked with putting together Nyx's crib. Unfortunately, it's a harder task than they thought it would be.

Word Count: 1,282

Category: Fluff, Humor

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"Cass, come here. Does this look right?"

My boyfriend didn't waste a second before joining me on the floor, kneeling behind me and looking over my shoulder. Neither of us spoke for a minute, then I heard a rustling of paper as Cassian sighed.

"Yeah, it looks right. That hasn't stopped it from being wrong before, though."

"Well, let's just hope for the best."

I could feel through the mating bond just how little Cassian wanted to do that, but he knew as well as I did that we didn't have much other choice. I took a deep breath, then gently pressed the two pieces of wood before me together, trying to get them to link like they were supposed to.

Of course, it didn't work. I added slightly more pressure, but still nothing. I put my entire weight and all of my strength into it, and when the damn thing still didn't budge, I let out a scream and shoved both pieces away from me before I could really lose my temper and accidentally break something.

"This is bullshit!" I shouted, whirling around to face Cassian. He had a look of grim resignation, meeting my eyes with sympathy. Our positions had been exactly reversed about ten minutes ago. "Rhys set this up as a way to get back at you for winning the snowball fight last time, and I'm getting caught in the collateral. This sucks."

"Honestly, maybe he did," Cass said, sighing and leaning back on his hands. "Or maybe Az did something to break this one too before he got kicked off the job."

I groaned, flopping over and into Cassian's side to lay against his chest and stare at the ridiculous contraption that had been defeating us all afternoon. Rhys and Feyre had asked us to assemble Nyx's crib, and at first, we'd been honored and happy to help. But hours later, when nothing was going right and none of the pieces were fitting together the way they were supposed to, I was about ready to throw all of it out the window and into the Sidra below.

We'd been given the task in the first place because Az had shattered the same type of crib to pieces after spending a day being stumped by the puzzle. Cassian and I had inherited the task for our ability to keep each other calm, and because we were generally less destructive when continually frustrated by a puzzle. This crib was about to ruin that reputation.

"Okay, maybe we should just start over from the beginning," I said, sitting up and turning to face Cassian after our brief rest. "Like, take everything apart and lay it all out on the floor again, then start back from step one."

Cassian groaned. "Honestly, I hate that idea. But what we're already doing clearing isn't working, so..."

"So let's try it. Deep breaths, and then a total reset. A fresh start."

"...Alright. Let's do it."

With a lot of heavy sighing, Cassian and I took apart what little progress we'd made, separating the crib back into its individual parts, the way it had come. Once we got it all laid out again, I took the instruction manual from Cass and laid that out in front of us, too. With one last deep breath, we started in again at step one on page one.

I wish I could say this attempt went better. But it didn't. Cassian and I almost destroyed the whole thing Az-style in a fit of frustration three times each, one of us barely managing to pull the other back every time. We were just lucky our destructive streaks never lined up, or the pieces of the crib before us would've already become nothing more than a pile of ash.

"Alright, that's it!" Cass finally shouted, standing up abruptly from where we'd been trying to wrestle together the corners of the crib with no luck, despite using both our strength at once. "I'll be right back."

"What?" I flung my arms out to either side of me as Cassian headed for the door. "You're abandoning me? Seriously?"

"Not abandoning! Changing tactics."

Before I could ask for clarification, Cassian was out the door. I stared after him, waiting for him to reappear or say he was kidding or something, but he didn't. I huffed, then shook my head and turned back to the crib, its pieces still mostly laid out on the floor.

I sat there and stared at the pieces for a few long beats, contemplating my next move. Honestly, I'd just about decided to throw them out the window and tell Rhys the thing'd never been here when the door came swinging open again.

I turned to find Cassian striding towards me, the confidence and determination back in his step. I raised an eyebrow at him, but he just grinned.

"I've solved all our problems."

I snorted, but smiled at Cassian all the same as he came to a stop before me. The fact that he'd managed to make me laugh at all in the middle of this nonsense was exactly why we were mates, and it made me love him even more.

"Cass, you know I love you, and you know I trust you, but... I'm having a hard time seeing how that could possibly be true. Unless you convinced Mor to take over for us...?"

"No, but just as good." I raised an eyebrow, and Cassian's grin widened as he dropped down next to me. Slowly, from behind his back, he pulled out a hammer, tape, and a few other supplies.

I just stared at everything for a moment, then snorted and leanded into Cassian. I closed my eyes and shook my head.

"Babe... we can't use that stuff to put this crib together."

"Why not?"

"Because it won't be sturdy enough! We don't want it to give out while the baby's in it. We both know we can't risk that."

Cassian hummed, rocking forward just enough to get a few of the pieces of the crib into his hands. He lined them up like we'd been doing all day, then raised the hammer in his other hand.

"Maybe you're right about the tape," he said. "But all we need to fix this is a little extra power. We can't force it together with our strength alone, so we'll use a hammer."

"Cass-"

Before I could get another word out, Cassian swung the hammer. I could see him putting his full Illyrian strength into it, and sure enough, the pieces whacked together. Unfortunately for us, they also splintered into more pieces than would be fixable, even with tape.

Cassian and I just stared at the wreckage for a moment, neither of us speaking. Cassian was the one to break first.

"Shit."

I laughed, all the stress and ridiculousness of the past few hours disappearing along with our hopes of actually succeeding at our task. I leaned into Cassian, and a moment later, he joined me.

"Well, that didn't go like I was hoping," sighed Cassian. I laughed again.

"Really? That's not what you were going for?"

"Not quite."

We shared a smile, then slumped back together, Cassian's arm around my waist as I leaned into his chest. I sighed, staring at the ruins of the crib before us. Not a single part of me wanted to do something about fixing it.

"So... how about we call Mor and find a way to pass this on to her?"

I laughed, then nodded as I leaned even further into Cassian.

"Baby, I was thinking the same thing. You, me, and Az have had to tear our hair out over this thing already, I think it's her turn."

"And even better, if any of us has to call Amren in, it'll be Mor."

"Exactly."

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen @misshale21

Maasverse Taglist: @lilah-asteria

[comicbookddr]

After 5 months and a lot of writing, it's finally out. You can now check out the most definitive MBAV video on all of YouTube (according to me).

I tried my best, thank for watching!

[sirfrogsworth]

We moved into this house back in the early 90s. We bought it from an old man named Fred Salmo. As we began living in the home every once in a while we'd discover some weird new thing wrong with it. Never anything catastrophic, but small frustrations that my dad had to deal with all the same.

Fred thought himself quite the handyman.

He was not.

He was a union sheet metal worker and I guess he thought that translated to home repair. But in actuality he would usually try to fix things with sheet metal even when that was not an appropriate solution.

And so whenever we'd find one of these issues we'd joke that we got "Salmo'd" again.

Almost all of the electrical outlets were wired backwards. "Looks like we got Salmo'd again."

A heating duct would have some terrible patchwork (with sheet metal). "He really Salmo'd this."

There was a bedroom ceiling fan that was not securely attached to said ceiling. "He's going to Salmo us to death in our sleep."

We kept finding these inept fixes for many years. One by one, my dad (who was an actual handyman) would properly fix them.

Eventually, we were pretty certain all of the Salmo'd shit had been addressed.

Until last night.

I noticed something looked off about the big light on our garage workshop on the back of the property.

It was... lower... somehow.

I walked back to figure out what was wrong and discovered this.

The wind was blowing pretty hard and the light fell off of its mount and was dangling by the electrical wiring.

Upon closer inspection I noticed something.

It was mounted to a piece of thin metal decorative trim. I could see nothing structural it could have been attached to. No stud or beam. Just that trim.

That light was here before we moved in. Which means it has lasted over 30 years without falling down. And knowing how it was mounted, that is kind of incredible.

But it definitely feels strange getting Salmo'd again after all this time.

I'm not entirely sure what to do about this yet. My brother took our only ladder a long time ago and never returned it. I'm not even sure how to power off the light without turning off all the power to that building. But I guess I should make that a priority today and go from there.

Replacing that light is one of the first things I wanted to do if I got some money to fix up the house. It has a horrible green tint and for as big as it is, it only lights up a small area. Hopefully that won't be a super costly repair.

Fucking Fred Salmo.

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Nightshifter | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader (Eventual ;) )

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, hostage situation

Word Count: 5149

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You eyed Dean angrily as he flirted with the attractive woman in front of him dressed as an FBI agent. You knew he was teasing you, and it was pissing you off. You had long since finished your interrogation of the store’s manager. Helena had apparently been a patron of the store for years. Then, one day, she went crazy; the police caught her clearing out the jewelry store’s cases and the safe before shooting someone in the face and killing herself in her bathtub after the crime. You had a sneaking suspicion you were dealing with a shapeshifter; a monster that you were quite over dealing with.

Dean approached you, triumphantly waving the piece of paper with the phone number he’d gotten from the woman he was interviewing.

You snatched it out of his hands. 

“Aw, you jealous?” he teased, leaning into you.

You deadpanned, “Keep it professional, Agent Hetfield, wouldn’t want the bureau to hear about this, right?” You ripped the paper up and shoved its tatters into your blazer pocket.

He deflated slightly, but still smirked at you. “I’m gonna make you crack, sweetheart, just wait.”

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed, turning away from him and heading out to the Impala. Admittedly, you were strutting a little bit to tease him.

Sam met you at the car, and the three of you drove to the home of the man whose police statement had been a mix of sci-fi nerd gibberish and the only eye-witness account of the incident.

As you approached the small house, Sam began talking about another piece of the case. “Uh, Milwaukee National Trust. It was hit about a month ago.”

Dean raised a brow. “Same M.O. as the jewelry store?”

“Yep, inside job, longtime employee, the never-in-a-million-years type. Dude robs the bank, then goes home and supposedly commits suicide.”

“The guy, Resnick, he was the security guard on duty?” Dean questioned.

Sam nodded. “Yeah. He was actually beaten unconscious by the teller who heisted the place.”

“Jesus,” you grimaced.

“Yeah,” Sam nodded. He knocked on the screen door. “Mr. Resnick?” A bright flood light turned on, momentarily blinding you.

You raised a hand in front of your eyes. “Holy—”

Sam was apparently unfazed. “FBI, Mr. Resnick.”

Through the screen door, a chubby, nerdy-looking man in his late twenties approached. “Let me see the badge.”

You slapped your badge against the screen next to Sam’s and Dean’s. 

Mr. Resnick, whose first name was Ronald, squinted at them carefully. “I already gave my statement to the police.”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, listen, Ronald, um… just some things about your statement we wanted to get some clarification on.”

“You read it?” He seemed surprised. “You come to listen to what I've got to say?”

“Well, that’s why we’re here,” Dean said.

“Well, come on in.” He opened the door and led you through a narrow hallway to a room cluttered with conspiracy theory paraphernalia.

“None of the cops ever called me back. Not after I told them what was really going on. Uh, they all thought I was crazy,” he rushed out. You were beginning to think the same. “First off, Juan Morales never robbed the Milwaukee National Trust, okay? That, I guarantee. See, me and Juan were friends. He used to come back to the bank on my night shifts, and we'd play cards.”

“So you let him into the bank that night, after hours,” Sam noted.

“The thing I let into the bank…” Ronald trailed off, “wasn't Juan. I mean, it had his face, but it wasn't his face. Uh, every detail was perfect, but too perfect, you know, like if a dollmaker made it, like I was talking to a big Juan-doll.”

You nearly choked on a laugh. “A Juan-doll?”

“Look, this wasn't the only time this happened, okay?” He scrambled through papers on his messy desk and handed you a folder. “There was this jewelry store, too. And the cops, a-and you guys, you just won't see it!” You flipped through the folder; it almost looked like a hunter’s profile of the case. You were half impressed. “Both crimes were pulled by the same thing,” Ronald finished. 

Sam pressed, saying, “What's that, Mr. Resnick?”

He picked up a copy of a magazine labeled “Fortean Times” and held it out to you. The headline read, “Birth of the Cybermen.”

‘Jesus Christ,’ you thought, suppressing a grimace.

“Chinese 've been working on 'em for years,” the man explained. “And the Russians before that. Part men, part machine. Like the Terminator. But the kind that can change itself, make itself look like other people.”

Dean smirked. “Like the one from T2.”

“Exactly! See, so not just a robot, more of a- a- a- a— Mandroid," he said finally, a bizarre twinkle in his eye.

“A Mandroid,” you deadpanned. “And what makes you so sure about this, Ronald?”

He held up a finger at you, smiling a little wildly. Your eyes flicked to Dean’s in concern, and he just wiggled his eyebrows at you. 

The man returned a moment later holding a VHS tape labeled “M.N.T. Camera 4— Juan.” He inserted it into a player, saying, “See, I made copies of all the security tapes. I knew once the cops got them they'd be buried. Here.” He fast-forwarded a bit in the tape. “Now watch. Watch. Watch him, watch, watch! See, look! Th- th- there it is!” He paused it on a clip of the man with a silver in his eyes. “You see? He's got the laser eyes.”

You gave Sam a knowing look that he returned.

“Cops said it was some kind of reflected light. Some kind of ‘camera flare’. Okay? Ain't no damn camera flare. They say I'm a post-trauma case. So what? Bank goes and fires me, it don't matter!” You eyed Ronald uncomfortably as he continued to pace around and rant. “The Mandroid is— is still out there. The law won't hunt this thing down— I'll do it myself.

"You see, this thing, it- it- it kills the real person, makes it look like a suicide, then it sorta, like, morphs into that person. Cases the job for a while until it knows the take is fat, and then it finds its opening. Now, these robberies, they're, they're grouped together.” He pointed at the map on the wall. “So I figure the Mandroid is holed up somewhere in the middle, underground, maybe. I dunno, maybe that's where it recharges its, uh, Mandroid batteries.”

Dean nodded, seeming impressed. You just looked between Ronald and Dean in confusion. 

“Okay. I want you to listen very carefully. Because I'm about to tell you the god's honest truth about all of this,” Sam began.

Your head whipped to him, confused as to where he was going with this.

“There's no such thing as Mandroids. There's nothing evil or inhuman going on out there. Just people. Nothing else, you understand?”

You kept a straight face, but were startled. 

“The laser eyes,” Ronald tried desperately.

“Just a camera flare, Mr. Resnick. See, I know you don't want to believe this. But your friend Juan robbed the bank, and that's it,” Sam mollified.

Ronald immediately became angry. “Get out of my house! Now!”

***

You and the brothers found another tacky, cheap motel to stay in for the time being. You lounged on Dean’s bed in a pair of comfortable sweatpants and an oversized band t-shirt. 

Dean paced around the room, chuckling. “Man, that has got to be the kicker, straight up. I mean, you tell that poor son of a bitch that— what did you say, remand the tapes that he copied? Classified evidence of an ongoing investigation?” He laughed harder. “That's messed up.”

Sam sat on the foot of the bed and inserted the tape into the television’s player. “What are you, pissed at me or something?”

Dean shook his head. “Nah, I just think it's a little creepy how good of a Fed you are. I mean, come on, we could have at least thrown the guy a bone. He did some pretty good legwork here.”

“Mandroid?” you deadpanned.

“Except for the Mandroid part,” Dean added. “I liked him. He's not that different from you or me. People think we're crazy.”

“He’s not a hunter, though, Dean,” you challenged. “He ran into something real and let his conspiracy-theory-brain-rot get the best of him.”

“Better to stay in the dark, and stay alive,” Sam finished.

Dean shrugged, “Yeah, I guess.” He put a paper down on the map on the table and began marking it with a red pen. 

You shuffled forward to Sam and hit the pause button on the remote just as the man’s eyes flashed at the camera.

“Shapeshifter. Just like back in St. Louis. Same retinal reaction to video,” Sam informed.

“Eyes flare at the camera. I hate those fuckin’ things,” Dean grunted.

“You think we don’t?” you scoffed.

“Yeah, well, one didn't turn into you and frame you for murder.”

You shrugged. “Well, look, if this shifter's anything like the one we killed in Missouri—”

“Then Ronald was right. Alright, they like to layer up underground, preferably the sewer. And all the robberies have been connected so far, right?”

Sam nodded.

“With the, uh, sewer main layout. There's one more bank lined up on that same sewer main,” Dean continued.

“Awesome,” you grumbled.

***

Later that evening, you and the brothers headed to the bank Dean referenced, the City Bank of Milwaukee, to see if the shapeshifter would be hitting that one next. You posed as Sam and Dean’s boss, and the two boys wore security camera technician outfits. 

The guard of the bank informed you as you walked along, “Well, we haven't had any flags go up on our system yet.”

You shook your head. “No, sir, this is a glitch in the overall grid. I just need to cover all my bases and make sure the branch monitors are okay.”

“Well, better to be safe than sorry, I guess,” the guard shrugged.

“That’s the plan,” you nodded.

He opened the door to an observation room flooded with monitors for you, saying, “Alrighty. You guys need anything else?”

“Nope,” you replied. “We’ll be in and out before you know it. Just a routine check.”

“Okie-dokie,” he said, leaving the room.

Dean chuckled. “I like him. He says ‘Okie-dokie.’ “

“What if he's the shifter?” worried Sam.

“Well, then we follow him home, put a silver bullet through his chestplate,” the older brother replied simply.

You sat down in one of the desk chairs to watch the screens. You kicked your high-heeled feet up on the desk in front of you, leaning back in your seat. “Anybody got popcorn?” you yawned, preparing for the hours of work ahead of you.

***

You and the Winchester boys were beginning to go cross-eyed after searching for the monster for so long.

“Well, it looks like Mr. Okie-Dokie is… okie-dokie,” Dean commented upon seeing his eyes appear normal in the camera screens.

“Maybe we jumped the gun on this, guys,” sighed Sam. “I mean, we don't even know it's here.”

Something caught your eye. “Wait a minute.” A middle-aged man turned toward the camera, and his eyes flared. “Got him.”

“Hello, freak,” Dean growled.

Sam immediately jumped up, as did you, but Dean lingered behind. “Guys, wait!”

“What?” you and Sam spun around.

You then saw Ronald scurrying up to the door of the bank with a chain and a padlock, chaining it shut.

Dean scoffed. “Hello, Ronald.”

You immediately began running down the hall, ignoring the protesting of the soles of your feet as your heels clacked against the floor. As you approached the main lobby of the bank, you heard Ronald screaming for everyone to get on the ground. And then, gunshots.

“Fuck!” you cursed.

“And you said we shouldn't bring guns,” Dean scolded Sam, nearly bumping into someone fleeing past him.

“I didn't know this was gonna happen, Dean,” Sam replied.

“Just let me do the talking,” the older brother commanded. “I don't think he likes you very much, Agent Johnson.”

You saw Ronald standing in front of a group of people huddled together on the floor. “Now, there's only one way in or out of here, and I chained it up. So nobody's leaving, do you understand?”

Your eyes flicked to Dean concernedly as he stepped forward. “Hey, buddy. Calm down. Just calm down—”

Ronald wheeled around. “What the— You! Get on the floor, now.”

Dean began to crouch to the floor, as did you and Sam. “Okay, we're doing that. Just don't shoot anybody, especially us.”

“I knew it. As soon as you two left. You ain't FBI. Who are you? Who are you working for, huh? The men in black? You working for the Mandroid?”

“We’re not working for the Mandroid!” Sam exclaimed.

Ronald shakily aimed his gun at Sam. “You, shut up! I ain't talking to you. I don't like you.”

“Fair enough,” the brunet mumbled.

“Get on 'em. Frisk them down, make sure they got no weapons on them. Go!” Ronald commanded one of the hostages.

“Oh, hell, no, you’re not fucking touching me,” you struggled against the man as he tried to feel you up. 

“(Y/N), (Y/N), stop, stop,” Sam pleaded.

You shoved the man off yourself. Your struggle was strategic, though, as it kept him from finding the knives you had planted on yourself; one in your sleeve and one alongside your thigh.

The man moved over to Dean and found a knife stashed in his boot.

“Now what have we here?” Ronald’s question was meant to sound intimidating, but his wavering voice gave him away.

Sam shot Dean a look.

“I'm not just gonna walk in here naked!” Dean hissed back.

“Get back there,” Ronald ordered. You did so, following his pointing of the gun to the group of people behind him. He dropped Dean’s knife in the deposit box, and Dean winced.

“We know you don't want to hurt anybody,” he said. “That's exactly what's gonna happen if you keep waving that cannon around, and why don't you let these people go?”

“No!” Ronald shrieked. “I already told you. If nobody's gonna stop this thing, then I've got to do it myself.”

“Hey, we believe you! That's why we're here,” Dean replied.

“You don't believe me. Nobody believes me! How could they?” he cried.

“Come here,” Dean said.

Ronald scoffed. “What? No.”

“You're holding the gun, boss; you're calling the shots. I just want to tell you something. Come here.”

Ronald approached cautiously and leaned into Dean. You assumed he was telling him who the shifter was.

“Why do you think we've got these getups, huh? We've been monitoring the cameras in the back. We saw the bank manager. We saw his eyes,” Dean whispered.

The shorter man’s eyes widened. “His laser eyes?”

“Yes.” Dean seemed to realize what he’d said. “No. No! No, look, we're running out of time, okay? We've got to find him before he changes into someone else.”

“Like I'm gonna listen to you. You're a damn liar,” Ronald grumbled.

Dean stood cautiously, hands out.

“Dean, no!” you said.

“I'll shoot you! Get down!” Ronald ordered, pointing his rifle at Dean.

“Take me. Okay? Take me with you; take me as a hostage. But we've gotta act fast , because the longer we just sit here, the more time he has to change.” Dean paused. “Look at me, man. I believe you. You're not crazy. There really is something inside this bank.”

Ronald finally nodded. “Alright, you come with me. But everyone else gets in the vault!”

You stood on shaky legs as the people around you gasped and cried. You helped Sam herd everyone into the vault, and Dean tried to calm everyone down when Ronald ordered him to shut the door.

“It's okay, everyone. Just stay cool.” He threw a lingering glance to you before locking the vault completely.

A young redhead stared after Dean. “Who is that man?” she asked breathlessly.

“He's my brother,�� Sam replied; you could hear the worry in his voice.

“He is so brave,” she practically moaned.

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms.

The redhead went silent for a few minutes, and you took some time to thoroughly think your situation over. ‘Cops are gonna be all over this place by now. Dean’s been accused of murder, and the three of us have already been arrested once. Dean’s on the FBI’s radar. Surely, after our escape on the danashulps case, the feds are on us again. Now, we’re smack dab in the middle of a full-on hostage situation. And who are they likely to blame? Us!’ Your anxiety was beginning to get away with you as your thoughts began to swirl in your head. You were then acutely aware of how hot the room was, and unbuttoned the top two buttons of your shirt to keep some circulation moving. 

The woman next to you who seemed infatuated with Dean introduced herself to you.

“ ‘Scuse me, sorry. Uh, hi, I’m Sherry,” she said. “You’re, uh, with those guys, too, right?”

You nodded. 

“You known them a while?”

You nodded again.

She grinned. “Oh, gosh. What’s it like being around him?”

You snorted. “ ‘Him’ who?”

“That guy! The one who saved our lives!” she beamed. “What’s he like?”

“To tell you the truth, he’s a pain in my ass most of the time,” you giggled, arms crossed over your chest. 

“Oh, really?” She deflated a bit before her floaty, trancelike inflection in her voice came back. “He just… He seems so wonderful to be around. I mean, staring down that gun. And, you know, the way— he played right into that psycho's crazy head, telling him what he wanted to hear, I mean—” She trailed off, turning her attention back to you. “He's like, a real hero or, or something.” She tucked a hair behind her ear as she continued to gush.

You nodded again, feeling weirded out. 

“Sorry, I just,” she sing-songed, “I’ve never met anyone like him.” She paused, seeming to consider her next question carefully. “You ever… done anything with him?”

You nearly choked at her statement, uncomfortable with the objectification of Dean. “What?”

“Y’know,” she drawled, “How good is he in the—”

You were grateful to hear the vault door unlocking, revealing Dean holding a handgun.

“Oh my god, you saved us! You saved us!” Sherry cheered.

“Actually, I just found a few more. Come on, everybody, let's go. Let's go.” Dean ushered the guard from earlier and a few other people inside the vault.

“What are you doing?” Sherry questioned.

“Sam, (Y/N), look, uh, Ronald and I need to talk to you,” Dean said.

You shot Sam a confused look, and Dean shut the vault door behind him, shrugging apologetically.

“It's shed its skin again,” Dean explained. “We don't know when— it could be in the halls, it could be in the vault.”

“Great,” you sighed. “Y’know, Dean, you are wanted by the police.”

He nodded.

Sam seemed to catch onto where you were headed with this. “So even if we do find this damn thing, how the hell are we gonna get out of here?”

“Well, one problem at a time,” the older brother replied. “Alright, I'm gonna do a sweep of the whole place; see if we can find any stragglers. Once we get everyone together we've got to play a little game of find-the-freak, so… here.” He handed Sam a silver letter opener. “Found another one of these for you. (Y/N), I know you have weapons on you. Best use ‘em.”

You grinned at how well he knew you. You slipped your silver-bladed knife out of your sleeve.

Dean turned to Sam. “Now, stay here, make sure Ronald doesn't hurt anybody, okay? Help him manage the situation.” He turned to you. “C’mon.”

Sam’s voice began rising in outrage. “Help him manage? Are you insane?”

You turned your head to Ronald who seemed shaken, attention caught by Sam’s voice.

“Look, I know this isn't going the way we wanted—”

Dean was cut off by his brother nearly shouting, “Understatement!”

“But if we invite the cops in right now, Ronald gets arrested, we get arrested, the shifter gets away, probably never find it again, okay?” Dean finished.

Ronald peered out of the window in plain view of whoever was down below. You snapped, “Ronald! Out of the light!”

Sam scoffed at his brother, “Seriously?!”

Dean sighed. “Yeah, Ron's game plan was a bad plan, I mean, it was a bit of a crazy plan, but right now, crazy's the only game in town, okay?”

Dean slapped Sam on the shoulder and grabbed your hand, bringing you along with him. ‘If only Sherry could see us now,’ you thought bitterly.

Dean looked over his shoulder at you. “What’s that face about?” he questioned.

“Nothin’,” you replied, still grinning in self-satisfaction, scanning the hallway ahead for anyone or anything.

He just hummed at you, turning his head forward again.

“I hate this case,” you whispered after a few minutes of tense walking.

“Yeah, me too,” he replied, still scanning the ceiling. He seemed to notice something, and you followed his gaze upward. A panel in the ceiling had been left askew. You eyed Dean curiously and took the gun from him, pointing it at the panel while Dean dislodged it with a coat rack from nearby. Suddenly, a naked body fell to the floor. Dean turned the body over with the end of the rack.

“Wait, Dean, wasn’t that?—”

“Yeah, I just let that guy in the vault.”

***

You and Dean hurried as inconspicuously as possible to inform Sam of what had just happened. Sam told you that man had been trying to get the front door unlocked and helping Mr. Okie-Dokie who may have been going into cardiac arrest when you and Dean found the body. 

You turned to Ronald and his cocked rifle. “You know what, Ronald? He's right, we've got to get this man outside. Come on. I've got you.”

The shifter tried to help, too. “Yeah, yeah, let me help you.”

“Oh, we got him, it's, it's cool. Thanks,” you replied. You helped the guard out of the way, and Sam took the man’s other side.

“Thank you. Thank you,” the guard told you between labored breaths.

“Sure,” you smiled politely.

You could hear Dean talking to the shifter and a sudden crash behind you. You turned with the guard still on your shoulders at Ronald yelling, “Stop! Come back here!” You noticed a red laser pointed on his back, and your breath caught.

“Get down! Now!” you screamed, but you were too late. 

The bullet from the sniper rifle hit Ronald squarely in the chest. You watched in horror as he fell to his knees before hitting the floor dead.

You took in a sharp breath at the sight, forcing yourself to keep your composure for the sake of everyone else in the room with you.

It was bedlam at that minute. All of the hostages began running out of the vault toward the door. You put Mr. Okie-Dokie on the ground next to you and just kept him talking until something could be done to help him. You weren’t quite sure what Sam or Dean were doing, but you made it your priority to keep this man from going into cardiac arrest.

Dean suddenly came over to you, holding a rifle.

“Dean, what are you doing?” you questioned.

“(Y/N), trust me on this—” he pleaded before helping the guard stand.

“Dean! I can help him, don’t bring him outside—”

“I’m not taking that chance, (Y/N). C’mon,” he told the guard. “I gotcha.” He held the man out in front of him and pushed him out the front door with the rifle at the guard’s back. You stayed out of the light, back pressed against the pillar next to the heavy door. 

“No, don't shoot! Don't shoot! Please!” you heard the guard yell.

Dean commanded, “Don't even think about it! I said get back! Now!” He paused a moment before you heard his voice again. “Okay, go, go!” The older Winchester slipped back inside, shutting the door and latching it.

“We are so fucked,” he mumbled to you, helping you up from the floor. 

“Fuck, why?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “There’s about, I don’t know, eight thousand cops out there. Helicopters and search lights and everything. We are fucked, (Y/N).”

You dropped your head back, groaning, “Great.”

Dean’s phone rang, and you assumed it was Sam. “Yeah?” he answered. “What?... God, it's like playing the shell game. It could be anybody. Again… Alright, you search every inch of this place, we’re gonna go round everybody up.” He hung up the phone.

“I think this is the most stressed I’ve been on a job,” you said as you and Dean began searching for the hostages. 

“Yeah? Even more so than the demons in New York?”

“Oh, definitely. That was just a sad one; not super stressful,” you replied. You noticed a herd of people toward the end of the hall. You gripped the handle of your knife, knowing the shifter would likely be in the mix of all the hostages. 

You and Dean rounded them up; Dean pointing the rifle he picked up from Ronald at the group. You guided them back to the vault.

“And I thought you were one of the good guys,” Sherry, who held up the back of the group, told Dean, who was trailing behind her.

“What's your name?” he asked.

“Why would you care?” she scoffed.

“My name's Dean,” he said. Your heart melted a bit at his gentleness with her.

She hesitated but still answered. “I'm Sherry.”

“Hi, Sherry. Everything's gonna be alright. This will all be over soon, okay?” He assured her, shutting the vault door and spinning the lock shut. The landline of the bank rang and you picked it up. You didn’t say anything when you answered the phone.

“This is Special Agent Victor Henriksen,” a commanding voice stated through the phone. “Is this Dean? Sam?”

You didn’t respond once more.

Dean mouthed to you, “Who is that?”

You shook your head, holding up a finger to gesture for him to wait.

“Oh, or is it that pretty girl? Our very own criminal Jane Doe. Some people have been calling her Ghost since no one can seem to find any record of her existence.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, but you still didn’t say anything.

“Well, whether you’ve got the Bonnie to your Clydes with you or not, it’s my job to bring you boys in. Alive's a bonus, but not necessary. I want you Winchesters out here, unarmed, or we come in.”

You still didn’t say anything.

“I know you’re still there,” he said, almost taunting. “I know everything about you two. I've been looking for you for weeks now. I know about the murder in St. Louis; I know about the Houdini act you pulled in Baltimore. I know about the desecrations and the thefts. I know about your dad.” 

Dean was trying to get close to the phone, but you kept pushing him away because you knew he’d explode at the mention of his father.

“Ex-marine, raised his kids on the road,” the agent continued, “cheap motels, backwood cabins. Real paramilitary survivalist type. I just can't get a handle on what type of whacko he was. White supremacist, Timmy McVeigh, to-may-to, to-mah-to. You have one hour to make a decision, or we come through those doors fully automatic.” With that, he hung up the phone.

You slammed the phone down, cursing in frustration.

“What? Who was that?” Dean asked.

“The fucking FBI agent who’s been tailing us since Missouri,” you replied, beginning to pace anxiously. “He knows everything about you guys, man. Even about your dad. That’s why I didn’t let you talk to him; I knew you would’ve ripped his head off.”

“Damn right,” the man growled. “They have a positive ID on you yet?” 

“No, actually,” you said. “Ironically, some of the feds labeled me ‘Ghost’ cause they can’t find anything on me. Which makes me even more nervous. Anyway, we’ve got an hour till they come in here and pump us full of lead,” you informed him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

Moments later, Sam appeared at the entrance of the vault room.

“Hey. We've got a bit of a problem outside,” Dean said.

Sam snorted. “We got a problem in here.”

“What?” you questioned.

Sam hushed his voice. “The girl that was gushing over Dean in the vault? It’s her,” he told you. 

“Who, Sherry?” you questioned.

He nodded. “Just found her body.”

Barely needing to flick a glance at the boys, you unlocked the vault.

“Sherry? We're gonna let you go,” Dean called as the door swung open.

“What? Why me?” she questioned.

“Uh, as a show of good faith to the feds, come on,” he replied.

The woman hesitated. “Uh... I think I'd— I'd rather stay here, with the others.”

Dean approached her intimidatingly. “I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist.”

You clutched your blade at your side. After a tense moment, she approached you. Sam and Dean pushed her back to the hallway.

“I thought you were letting me go,” the woman you thought was the shifter said.

Dean shoved her forward, holding her head and forcing her to look at the body of Sherry Sam had brought back with him. She began screaming hysterically.

“Is that community theater, or are you just naturally that good?” Dean gruffly questioned.

“This is the last time you become anybody. Ever,” Sam added.

“No! Oh god!” she cried. She fainted almost immediately.

You stared at the two Sherrys in disbelief. One of the bodies was dressed, the other, half-naked. ‘Poor lady,’ you thought. You took off your blazer and laid it over the woman’s body, trying to spare her dignity. 

“Wait, why did it do that?” you questioned. You leaned over the undressed body of Sherry covered only by your blazer and put your finger on her neck, trying to find a pulse. The body immediately jolted up, grabbing you by the throat. You struggled, stabbing at it frantically. You got a lick in at its upper arm with the knife before it kneed you in the chin and bolted.

You coughed when it released your throat, clutching at your neck and coughing.

“(Y/N)!” Dean cried.

“Dean, no, I’m fine! Follow it!”

He nodded, taking your knife from your outstretched hand and running after it. You kicked off your heels and took another moment before standing and going to follow Dean. Sam had taken off somewhere with the real Sherry. 

You didn’t know what else to do besides stay with the vault and Dean’s discarded handgun, prowling in front of it with the gun at the ready. 

***

You had no idea how long it had been. You just continued to pace in front of the vault, tension overtaking your body and anxiety keeping your eyes flickering across the room rapidly. You suddenly heard approaching footsteps and dove on the ground behind a desk— unsure if it was Dean, Sam, the shifter, a cop— and were panicked at the sight of S.W.A.T. sniper rifle lasers and flashlights on the wall in front of you. Your breath quickened as the footsteps continued approaching you. Then, a masked man ducked under the desk in front of you.

You shrieked.

“Here’s Johnny!” he yelped.

“Dean! Fuck you!” You shoved his shoulder harshly when you recognized his face. He and Sam were donned in S.W.A.T. outfits that they had definitely taken off some poor bastards hidden in a broom closet somewhere. 

“C’mon, we gotta get outta here, now,” Dean told you. You grabbed your heels and followed the boys out of the building and to the Impala. Dean and Sam had their stolen guns at the ready as you sprinted up to the third floor of the parking garage. 

The three of you sat in the Impala, completely breathless, as you grappled with the reality of your situation.

“We are so fucked,” Dean murmured.

You and Sam nodded minutely.

You looked out of the window at the rising morning sun. Exhausted, you let the rumble of the Impala soothe you into a restless sleep as Dean drove you away from the bank. 

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: 2 Fisted Tales

Stephen King: hey patricia is it true you used to write comics? Patricia Highsmith: [long cigarette drag] Highsmith: who told you that

King: well, i just heard- Highsmith: was it stan lee? Highsmith: musta been stan lee Highsmith: never met a cat who talked so much Highsmith: might as well be a dame with all the yap yap yappin

Dean Koontz: wowwwww did you really meet stan lee, patricia? Highsmith: yeah Koontz: wowwww! what was that like? [flashback] Stan Lee: hey there comics fans its me, stan lee Lee: how bout a date? Highsmith: no dice

Poe: steve King: i just thought she'd like to tell us about her Poe: steve Poe: just no Poe: no King: ok fine Barker: i'm gonna hear the comic story Poe: CLIVE NO

King: ah but patricia i think we'd all like to hear a comics story Patricia Highsmith: i ain't gonna tell no comic story King: well maybe I can't convince you King: but I bet I know someone who can! Alan Moore: [appearing in a flash] who dares summon the arch magus? King: the arch magus! Poe: the arch magus! Koontz: the arch magus!

Moore: speak! what boon ask ye of the arch magus? King: hey alan you've worked in comics King: how about you tell patricia that comics aren't stupid Moore: Moore: i cannot tell her that

Moore: comics are the bane of my existence! a curse upon them! Highsmith: now this guy, this guy i like Highsmith: he's got a real noodle in his noggin Moore: the arch magus would do well to hear your counsel, mortal Highsmith: sure, we could jaw a bit

Highsmith: how you feel about snails, archmagus? Moore: be these your familiars? Highsmith: "familiars" Highsmith: listen to this cat

Highsmith: ok fine you mooks wanna hear about my comics Highsmith: i'll tell ya Highsmith: but only cuz i'm here among bros Highsmith: long as its just dudes Highsmith: cuz these stories Highsmith: they get a little rough Highsmith: and you know how dames are

Highsmith: so this story's just for us dudes Highsmith: so franz Franz Kafka: what? Highsmith: you gotta go Kafka: huh? what? Kafka: why? Highsmith: you just gotta go Kafka: i don't understand Barker: oh my god franz get a clue Poe: clive

Highsmith: submitted for the approval of the midnight pals Highsmith: i call this the tale of the crime puncher Highsmith: it's about this real swole square headed guy who punches criminals Highsmith: pow! punch! bam! Highsmith: that's what comics are all about

Highsmith: so there're these 2 palookas who fight crime Highsmith: named steve and ploopie Barker: i'm sorry what Highsmith: steve and ploopie Barker: steve and WHAT Highsmith: what, you got cabbage in your ears? ploopie Barker: Barker: i'm sorry WHAT

Highsmith: anyway steve and ploopie gotta do some punching Barker: there's a lot of punching in these stories Highsmith: that's what kids want in comics Barker: huh sure yeah Barker: Barker: i'm sorry steve and WHAT Poe: let it go, clive

Highsmith: so this world war i playing ace crashes into a polish swamp Highsmith: when he dies, it creates a big mud monster Highsmith: who goes to america to harass some kid for his model air plane Barker: i'm starting to see why you didn't want to tell these stories Poe: CLIVE

Highsmith: i didn't just do action comics tho Highsmith: i wrote educational ones too Highsmith: like the two-fisted tales of oliver cromwell Highsmith: or don't mess with galileo Highsmith: or catherine the great takes out the trash

King: why didn't you stick with comics, patricia? Patricia Highsmith: eh you know how the comics biz is King: but I've heard its actually a growth industry Highsmith: is that so King: yeah they tell me that there's lots of opportunities in comics for girls Highsmith: ugh pass

[hyewka]

*ೃ unconventional sex

synopsis. where they'd like to fuck outside of the boring ol’ bedroom.

warnings/notes. mostly sub!reader (beomgyu's a tad bit subby), no protection + creampie, mention of impregnation for soobin, dry humping, fingering, groping, bulge kink, reader's older with beomgyu (use of noona honorifics), barely proofread + varying lengths with each extract, does not include yeonkai !

★ choi soobin |

ever since the overwhelming amount of layoffs widespread throughout your entire company had started to hit your specific department, you've been coming from work exhausted, ready to slip off your torturous heels the moment you key your door open, stumbling over to your bedroom to finally throwing yourself on the comfort cushion you've been drooling about all day. usually, you'd take the time to stare up your ceiling contemplating the day, and the day before, and the day before...until your brain picks up the overly familiar rattle of the door—each time, startling you awake with the realization that you were about to drift to sleep in your work clothes, without taking a shower, makeup still very much on your face. during these days are you especially grateful with your boyfriend's struggle with the door despite living here for the past two years has persisted, because god knows soobin would've opted to let you sleep instead of waking you up.

soobin gets home, you go take a shower, then prepare yourself for bed as he enters the bathroom. its a routine you've grown accustomed to. today was no different— your brain is on its own lookout of soobin's signal entrance. when you hear it, your shut eyes immediately fly open like muscle memory, your half-nap reached its inevitable end. you don't expect the moment you sit yourself up, for soobin's large figure to come through the door, wobbly as he walks over to you and engulf you in the biggest, most suffocating, loving embrace, basically tackling your body back down on your bed. "soobin?" you whisper, his cologne overpowering your sense as you quickly realize that your body compared to his would not survive if he stayed another full minute on top of you.

"i have to go shower baby." you wheeze out, "and you're about to crush me." he nuzzles his nose in the crook of your neck as retaliation, his breathing pattern almost immediately syncing to yours. "shhh, i missed you." he whispers groggily— you sure weren't the only one drained after work.

soobin was a big baby in that sense, feeling his lips forming into a pout against your neck. the paradox of him being a broad man with a towering figure makes it a lot more endearing, and also hilarious, making you burst into a series of giggles...but not enough to let him continue crushing every bone of your body. "soobinnn," you whine trying to wriggle yourself off his hold but failing for the hundredth time, "i really, urgently, seriously need to take a shower."

after a few beats of silence, and you thinking you might just give up and fall asleep under him, he speaks up, lifting his head from the comfort of your breasts, his eyes doe-like, "let's take one together then." you think he's joking and so naturally you're sent to another fit of giggles and half laughs...until it quickly dies down with his very more-than-serious face, making your brows perk up in disbelief, eyes wide. "hey, you're acting like it's the first time!" he defensively retorts at the judgy expression spread across your face before his lips form into a comically exaggerated pout, his bottom lip sticking out, making sure to force his dimples as bonus. "plus, we'd be saving up on water bills ...you know?"

you should've known better, and really thought it over, because a shower with soobin would never end without having your cheek pressed against the shower's glass panel, steam long fogging up the view, his fingers tightly intertwined with yours, palm flat against the panel, head drooped down to your neck, sloppy purple splotches displayed all over, feather kisses on your overly fresh hickeys, his hips unrelenting, fucking your cunt closest thing to doggy style space would allow— the brutal, pornographic sound of skin slapping on skin mixture with your uncontrolled moans almost loud enough to drown out the shower head.

his length slips in and out of your cunt in a rhythmic speed, his breathing so heavy and whines so loud, getting your legs to buckle when he hits your cervix, "shit, soobin— soobin, slow down" your mewls hitch when water runs down from your face to the entrance of your mouth, choking momentarily. your head is foggy, light with ecstasy the more he drills his dick far deep inside you— eyes slowly rolling to the back of your head, feeling your energy quickly replenish. but soobin isn't done yet, oh, far from it.

you're too far gone to differentiate between water and your tears as soobin turns you around swiftly, making sure he doesn't slip out as his dick's still far buried in your warm pussy, switching positions as he pushes you to have your back against the tiled shower wall. you muster the energy to weakly shake your head, your chest heaving, "c-can't, binnie, i can't—no more-!" but soobin can't help himself, so horny over the reveal of your messy face, red with a mixture of drool and water seeping out the corner of your pink swollen lips as a result of his rough kissing. his calloused finger display over the bulge in your tummy and soobin loses the last bit of his sanity. "sorry baby," he says with much pity, his large hands positioning your wobbly legs to cling around his waist, "i just missed you...just need you—need my pretty's cunt so, so bad."

the steam enough to make both of you light headed as soobin's thrusts slower than before, thrusts calculated so surely and patient, your hand claw at his bare back every time he roughly hits a spot, hyper aware of every vein against your walls, soobin's head falling back as he groans, mouth slightly open at feeling your tight pussy clench around his dick, the running water hitting his face, hair further plastering to his forehead, his slippery hands bruising your waist the tighter his hold gets—soobin's never this rough, to the point your body jerks when his large hands start fondling your perked up tits, lips parted as he blatantly stares down.

"gonna fuck a baby into you," he breathes out crazed, his long lived fantasy of getting you full and big with his baby driving him to roughly land a passionate, wet kiss before attaching his lips to your hard nipples, sucking so earnestly while his thrusts become unrelenting, picking up, erratic as he detaches, eyes fixated on the long string of saliva connecting his mouth and your swollen nipple, oh how addicted to you he was. with every frantic thrust, your breasts bounced, slapping together, a lewd view he could stare at for hours...and hours...and hours.

you could almost pass out from the overwhelming sensation, your body long overheated, fog submerging around your feet, but soobin's degrading laugh gets you to flutter your eyes open, "fuck, these breasts would look so pretty swollen—don't you think? you'd like that right?" your lids are heavy over your eyes as you sniffle your runny nose, not exactly processing his words. "you want me to get you pregnant, don't you?"

bonus. soobin who bathes you, a sweet, caring boyfriend making sure to keep your smaller figure protected, washing your hair so in love with every aspect that makes up who you are—knowing he made the right decision with choosing you. your loving boyfriend who whispers in your ear, with your back against his chest, the bubble bath both healing and relaxing, "keep it in." the transition of his cute giggles to the low rumble of his voice near your ears has you blinking confused, yet you still find yourself nodding, completely under his trance. soobin who's giddy, having your body completely engulfed by him, no space between the two of you with his hand wrapped around your waist, snuggling close to you, a grin so wide as you both quickly fall into sleep, some of his seed leaking down your leg, your swollen abused cunt unable to fully follow through your boyfriend's command.

★ choi beomgyu |

beomgyu was never known as being an overly... patient fellow which would explain a lot. like the time he burst into a woman's bathroom because he just could not wait a few more minutes until the janitor could unlock the jammed door for the mens', or when he downed a spiked drink a second before he could be told that he was supposed pour it down the sink, or...now, when he has you pinned on the floor, clearly not in the mood to stop and take it to bed. "beomgyu—" you gasp when he starts nibbling on your earlobe, grounding his erection in between your legs. you start laughing nervously when he slowly trails his kisses down to your exposed collarbones, "let's get up, beomgyu, baby stop playing around."

he whines, starting to teasingly suck, slight nip on your skin. and you just...can't wrap your head around the position you're in—a few seconds ago, you were watching a cute movie with your beloved, adorable boyfriend and suddenly the teasing jokes started, then the addition of pillow fights on each other had you both toppling to the floor, giggling like little children. and now you had your boyfriend on top of you, not willing to negotiate and do the deed on the couch at the least— something a little more comfortable than a hardwood floor with no carpet furnishing. instead he busies himself, already rutting his hips against the aching need between your thighs, soft groans magnified to your ears, his breathing getting heavier and faster by the minute.

"beomgyu, we're on the floor." you repeat for the hundredth time— in between the startled gasps every time he got just a tinge bit rougher—thinking it'd get to his head this time. "who cares?" he whines, his sly hands already finding their way under your shirt, ministrating, fondling like the horny dog he was. "you're so fucking hot noona, can't control myself."

patience was never beomgyu's thing. having your shirt haphazardly pulled over your tits because he was just too goddamn impatient to undress you properly, your panties bunched to the side in frantic urgency as he finally prods his leaking tip at your entrance, sliding it in and out to prep, light headed as he bites down on his bottom lip, before he decides he just can't wait any longer, voicing his sorries over and over again as he fully takes you in unexpectedly, stretching out your tight pussy, earning him a delicious, drawled, loud moan of his name. and oh, does he fucking lose it. "louder, say it louder."

beomgyu who pounds you senseless, hand reaching up to grope your breasts every time he gets close, strained groans when he spills inside you again, hips still unrelenting, fucking his seed into you, his sweaty shuddering body looming over you when he stops for a second to catch his breath, you similarly worn out, head hazy, barely able to use your strained voice as you had lost it by the...you could barely keep count. "such a fucking cumslut, huh? taking everything so well noona," he babbles with each sudden thrust to your pliant body, you unable to arch your back from utter exhaustion, "love you, love you so much baby."

bonus. beomgyu's favorite locations? many, but the floor always takes the cake. the animalistic nature of just pure horniness and sweaty backs on the cold wooden floor—it's beomgyu's thing.

★ kang taehyun |

it starts off with the subtle brush of his hand on the roundness of your ass, a few times and you pretend it's nothing. then came a squeeze, right as you were washing dishes with your mom, the suddenness of the action making you freeze for a second, the polite gentleman facade he put up with your mom as he converses, leaving yet another good impression. it all confuses you— how he's able to play it off like nothing while you were practically breaking out in cold sweat. it couldn't be accidental. nothing is accidental with taehyun.

you weren't nervous about introducing taehyun to your (rather conservative) family—he was unanimously picked as your best partner thus far by even your closest friends, which you trust the judgement of. you believe it too, that he's the nicest, most genuine guy you're lucky having to call yours...but it seemed that with each passing minute, you were questioning your decisions.

taehyun isn't a fan of typical pda: hand holding, kissing, embraces that overstayed its welcome, but oh was he particularly bold with everything else. sitting at your family's home dining table, the one you grew up with, reminiscing the countless mornings of rushed breakfasts as a teenager— even recognizing the initials you carved by the edge of the table, it all rushes back to you and you feel guilty for not visiting as often as you should have. your mom who displays a feast on the table, ranging from delicates to turkey and fried rice—your father sitting right by her, uncles and aunties filling the remaining seats, everyone joyfully eating and conversing amongst themselves before your mother clears her throat to finally quench her curiosity.

occupation, the college he graduated, plans for marriage, kids, all of which he answered with perfectly satisfactory answers earning him a few swoons from the older women, to which he tried to be humble making the women get even more swoonful over the generous flaunt of his pearly whites...all the while you sit there at the edge of your seat metaphorically and physically, more than aware of the hand toying with the hem of your dress, dangerously inching closer and closer to your inner thighs.

you could barely hold up your glass of wine without having your hands shake just so slightly at the dangerous game taehyun was more than willing to play. you try to clear your throat, anything to get him to wake up, and remind him where you were, but he seemed nonchalant, picking at his food, eating at small portions, participating in conversation when prompted.

"why aren't you eating y/n? i cooked you your favorite foods!" your mom pouts, drawing the attention of the entire family, all eyes on you—which was just great. just great as taehyun's hand hid under the tablecloth, finger long stuffed in your cunt, your panties bunched to the side as he had his way with you, insanely slow as he decides to shove a second finger making your eyes widen, quickly reaching for the glass to drown out any noise you might slip up—but taehyun's gaze is focused on you, following the crowd, awaiting your answer to the pending question. "um, uh—yeah, sorry, i-i ate a few hours ago."

lies. when it's time for a movie and conveniently, you get to the living room last as you went out to fetch everyone a soda, realizing that you'd have to sit on the floor. taehyun catches you looking for a place to sit, pulling on your dress to catch your attention. when you turn around raising an eyebrow, he pats his lap, motioning to you to come sit, but you shake your head.

you can't, and frankly you don't trust taehyun to not...do something. but he tuts at you, patting his thighs again, this time, mouthing it to you, "sit."

"aww, you guys are so adorable, y/nie go, go, sit." you snap your head to see your mother, who's been invested with your relationship the entire dinner night. "no, mom, i don't want to make him uncomfortable i-"

"what kind of man would be uncomfortable with his girlfriend sitting on his lap?" your uncle speaks up and now all of a sudden, everyone's pitching in the conversation to the point you might just be driven to insanity with all the back and forth. when everyone settles down and the lights are shut off, you feel taehyun's chin resting on your shoulder, a cute gesture until you hear him whisper, "try to stay quiet baby."

the real intentions of kang taehyun were always less than pure.

bonus. spilling juice on your white dress with purpose, unknownst to everyone else who're quick to take out napkins and dab it on the stain, panicked over the ruined white—taehyun taking it as an opportunity to come off as caring as possible to your family, heightening his approval ratings, excusing you both to the bathroom so he can try and clean it off. it was a win win, getting your parents approval, and pounding you in the same bathroom you got potty trained.

a/n. my obsession with soobin + pregnancy talk is detrimental to my mental being holy shit 😂 wanted to try out some footing with different settings, a little bit of a headcanon practice and dom!txt as i have practically almost nothing of the sort in my masterlist that isn't totally fucked up. thoughts and overall feedback are extremely helpful and appreciated, it motivates me greatly. to all those who wanted sub soobin, i promise i'll serve a full fic soon ❤

[devilfic]

girl. the honeymoon series. LIVING FOR IT. this is a really like loose request, but could you do like a charity event night? not really sure what to happen but the thought of having to reallllly sell the whole marriage thing to everyone at the event is just quite interesting. thriving rn

❝honeymoon❞

IV. sugar-coating.

parts: previously / next plot: an ex corners you, bringing up bad memories. bruce offers you super illegal catharsis. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: arranged marriage, friends to enemies to (fake) lovers, implied history between reader and bruce, angst, eventual fluff, reader has a scummy ex, bruce is allowed to be a little bit chaotic as a treat and so are you. words: 2.8k.

"So. Wayne, huh? How's that going for you?"

You laugh behind your glass, feigning innocence with a light and fluttery "What do you mean?"

Coulson is a family friend, as much yours as he is Bruce's, and even though he's the competition, he treats you and Bruce with as much respect as you could hope for in your line of work. Bonds formed in boarding school tended not to break easily, "It's just... gotta wonder what you did to make it up to him. Last I checked, you didn't even exist to him."

You swallow your champagne, just for something better to do than flinching, "Yeah, well, he found it in his heart to hear me out. Love like that doesn't really go away."

Coulson's eyes narrow for a second. He doesn't fully believe you. In an attempt to steer toward calmer waters, he elbows you in the side, "Must've learned some impressive tricks if it got that skirt-chaser to commit." But calmer didn't mean desirable.

You really don't want to discuss what you and Bruce (don't) do in the bedroom right now, so you steer the conversation a different direction, "And how is your new girlfriend, Coulson?"

He has a lot to say about her. A violinist in the Gotham City Orchestra with two degrees and a tour coming up later this year. He tells you he'll send you and Bruce tickets, tells you that one of the tour dates is in Spain and it will line up with your anniversary next year. The mention of your anniversary makes your stomach knot up a bit; the wedding was still weeks away, and you'd only just gotten on decent speaking terms with Bruce.

If anyone here knew how thin your marriage's facade was, it would be more than an embarrassment. Your mother would waterboard you in your own blood and tears.

It helped that most people didn't have a clue. Sure, there was gossip and the occasional rumor, but it was all for "fun". It never went anywhere, and any whisper that got too big for its britches could be easily stamped out with a little effort.

But Coulson? He was a friend. He'd known you a long time. If anyone were to put weight to a rumor about you and Bruce, it would be him. Which is why you couldn't let him figure you out.

"...For a while there, I swore you and Bruce weren't on speaking terms at all." Your ears catch the last bit of Coulson's rambling, right as he settles into a silent, knowing smile. "Care to catch me up on the rekindling?"

Well, you see, there's this little thing called blackmail- "When the board appointed me as acting CEO, I felt it time to reach out and make amends. It'd been years since we'd even talked, and with him so busy with his projects, we never really saw each other either. I was surprised that he even had the time, so we met up and just talked. About everything. About the company, about his work, about... what happened. It was a little while after the flood, so it just sort of lined up at the right time."

Coulson nods, impressed and seemingly unaware you'd just pulled that out of your ass, "Damn. Near-death experiences really do wonders for the heart. And now you have a wedding coming up." He catches it before you do, the micro-expression of discomfort. You swear his smile gets bigger, "What's that? Don't tell me there's trouble in paradise already?"

"No, sorry. Not trouble. Just stress. Lots of wedding planning and company business at once. I was kind of hoping to get away from it all here, focus my efforts on alleviating others' stresses." You tip your glass in the direction of the giant banner at the entrance that reads, "Hope For Homes: Housing Gotham's Youth One Helping Hand at a Time".

Coulson doesn't take his eyes off you for a second, "Had I known you were ready to settle down, I wouldn't have let Bruce beat me to it."

“I’m sorry?”

Your friend's smile doesn't waver. You feel a chill settling in your chest, a warning that he’d taken control again. You try to casually scan the crowd for Bruce but you find him in deep discussion with some business partners and your stomach twists. He’s turned, he can’t see you. You can’t call for help.

“Ah, you know,” Coulson steps forward, a friendly distance to anyone else, “saw you and Brucie together and just got to thinking about us. You remember, don’t you?” You keep a solid expression, much to his amusement, “Or was I just a step on the ladder too?”

It’s supposed to be a joke. You ought to laugh it off. You do, stiffly, pressing your sweating glass to your inner wrist to ground yourself, “We were… 17. Weren’t we?”

“The first time, yeah.”

“How could I forget?”

“You did always like Bruce better.” Coulson comes closer. He’s close enough now that anyone would think you were just two childhood friends gossiping, reminiscing on your youth and laughing all about it. Coulson keeps up a pretty smile even as your heartbeat accelerates, “Always worried about him. Always running after him. He didn’t even give you the time of day.”

You keep smiling, “He was angry. I understood-“

“Bullshit,” and he says this so loud that a few people turn and look, but with such a joyful expression that they don’t look long, “you were obsessed with the guy! Couldn’t stand the idea of him knowing what you really are.”

Your blood curdles. You know you should correct him, but your jaw is locked tight.

"That's okay. Bruce is... fickle. One day he's in love with you, the next you're a bug on a windshield. You're no bug now, are you?"

Now he's pushing it. The hand that captures your chin is lightly scented with cardamom, what should smell pleasing and sexy and disabling. It should sweep you into familiar arms, whisk you off into a whirlwind affair that gets the whole party talking. It should spark controversy. It should make you excited to ruin your mother's plans.

Your heart pangs as you remember the look on Bruce's face. Standing in the hall, one hand on the door to the library, yours and your mother's faces illuminated in flickering candlelight. You must've looked like a monster to him the way he fled-

You grab his wrist and tug, peppering a laugh in as if this is all just one big joke, "Let go."

Coulson's eyes spark alight, "I like you the way you are. You know what you want."

"I am not a gold-digger."

"But you are. Even if mommy's pulling the strings, you like being pulled. Only someone with something to gain would play along."

He'd looked at you once like you'd hung the sun in the sky, and now you were the devourer of light. You had consumed it, put out its burning devotion in one fell swoop. And then nothing. As if you were nothing before and would never be anything after. You were nothing as he told you, in no uncertain terms-

"Coulson, let go."

"I wouldn't mind, you know. Brucie is too soft for you. My girlfriend, you know, love her to death, pretends she's not in it for the money. People like that? They come into our world and think that we don't see how it changes them. How they're driven by it just like the rest of us are. She thinks she has to prove to me that she's different. You don't have to. You're committed, I respect that. But it doesn't have to be Bruce."

Your hands tremble at your sides. Almost more than you've ever wanted anything in your life, you want to give him a shiner that would put you out of high society. Your dominant hand curls into a fist, delighted by the idea.

You go to bat off the hand that touches your hip, but when your skin meets theirs, you recognize it isn't Coulson's. You feel the coolness of their ring against your sweating palm and almost sag into it, "I leave you alone for one second, and vultures descend." Bruce places a cool, gentle kiss to your temple. His lips hover there as he turns ever so slightly towards your ex. Coulson releases your chin. "Coulson. How's Lydia?"

You shouldn't delight in the way Coulson tightens up as much as you do, "Bruce! Good to see you. She's fantastic. Tour starts later this year. You lovebirds should come."

"It's a shame she couldn't make it."

"Oh, you know how it is. I'm still in good company. Right?" Coulson turns to you, winks. His smile is rigid.

When others are around, Bruce would snap back into a Wayne: all propriety and good will. You take a look at his expression and it is unreadable. There's a faint smile there, but nothing else he gives away. He is studying Coulson quite intensely though. You don't think he's blinked in a minute.

His eyes flicker down in fake-bashfulness, "I should thank you for that. You know once the board starts talking numbers, they can't stop. Not even for a good cause." Coulson nods politely along, half-listening, "You did good seeking this one out instead. I'm sure you've heard more than enough about numbers after this past month."

It was a simple statement. Most of the people in this room had been spending their days stuffed into board meetings for the end of the fiscal quarter, talking about finance, watching the stock market, money and more money... but it was the bit at the end that did it.

Coulson's eye twitches just so. He hesitates on asking but just can't help himself, "How do you mean?"

Bruce's smile takes on a patronizing color, "Oh, the boys and I were just discussing... sorry, I thought... I assumed it was public knowledge by now, forgive me." He laughs, just a touch awkward enough that it looks like he didn't mean to say anything at all. Now Coulson's smile is falling.

Even you are curious.

Coulson crosses his arms, hugging himself, "It was... a minor error reallocating funds. Nothing more. It isn't public knowledge because it's been handled. Who told you about it?"

"Has it? Been handled, I mean."

You glance between the two of them. For the first time since he'd come over, Bruce looks back at you.

Coulson clears his throat, "It has. Anyone saying otherwise must not have anything better to talk about."

Bruce hums. His mouth falls from your temple to your cheek, placing another kiss there, then another behind your ear. The hand on your hip moves to close around your neck, holding you close so not a word slips out of the space between you and him, "Let's go."

You keep your eyes on Coulson's, watching the gentle flicker between annoyance and politeness. You throw in a giggle for good measure, "Sure thing."

Bruce peels back from you, acknowledging Coulson with little more than a nod, "Good seeing you, Coulson. I'd stick around longer but I think I'm gonna steal them home, if you don't mind."

"Not at all! I envy how much you two are obsessed with each other, truly." Coulson sips his champagne and in a bitter tone, shifts his focus to you, "Think on what I said, hm?"

The nerve.

Bruce is whisking you toward the front doors without giving you a moment to respond. He kisses you more, leans into you with an arm thrown around your shoulders and a giddy smile as he sets his barely-touched champagne on a waiter's tray.

It isn't until you two are outside by the curb that you break your silence, "Thank you."

Bruce doesn't fully acknowledge you with his body, even as his arm remains slung about you, helping keep the chill of the night off you. He sends off a message for your driver, "What for?"

That was right. You'd never actually gotten to talk to Bruce about Coulson, "He... he was questioning the marriage. Questioning if you were the right fit for me. Saying that maybe I'd be better off with someone who understands me," you grit the next part out, "the real me."

"And?"

You look at him. He's watching cars pass as your eyes prick with tears. "I don't think he understands me at all. He never did."

He appraises you out of the corner of his eye, "Could've told you that years ago."

"You wouldn't even give me the time of day four months ago."

You've got him there. You're shocked to find that he isn't annoyed, or defensive, or even ignoring you. He sucks his teeth and shrugs. Presses the bottom of his shoe into an old cigarette on the sidewalk, snuffing out a flame that had died a long time ago. "You were going to hit him. I saw you." You feel heat crawl up your neck as you remember. "I don't know what he said, but he would've deserved it."

"I... couldn't. You know I couldn't."

Bruce turns up his nose as if he's smelled something foul, "It would've felt good, though."

"Yes."

The two of you wait there, just wobbling in the wind, watching cars go by as music and chatter and people flutter out of the ballroom behind you. You don't know what you're waiting for, but you can indulge yourself once in a while. If Bruce wants to stand on the street with his arm around you doing nothing, then maybe you ought to take the time to do nothing.

A few minutes pass before Bruce releases you, nodding for you to follow him up the street. You do, even confused.

He stops right in front of a bright red convertible, a shiny and expensive thing, parked just far enough out of the way that the music is fainter here. "C'mere," Bruce instructs, walking around the front of the sports car, and you follow him, watching your step lest you fall prey to a puddle, "hold this."

He removes the handkerchief from his front suit pocket and lays it over your open palm, much to your bewilderment. Then, reaching into the inside of his jacket, he drops a batarang into your hand.

"Bruce-!" You instinctively close your hand around the thing to hide it, thankful that his handkerchief kept you from slicing your palm open, "what are you-"

"One tire is a spare. Two is a tow."

"Have you been drinking? Like actually?"

You're startled by the grin he gives you, "If we stand here all night, someone'll catch us."

You go to argue when you recognize something hanging from the car's rear view mirror. A pair of dingy, fuzzy dice. Dice you've seen before in older, just as expensive cars. This is Coulson's car.

You grab Bruce by the arm and turn him to you, "Are you insane?"

"It's better than punching him."

The batarang weighing in your hand feels a little lighter at that.

"Couldn’t stand the idea of him knowing what you really are.”

Who Coulson thought you were wouldn't slash the tires of a backup option. They'd be nice, wait it out, play the game for maximum benefit. Jump ship at the first sign of trouble. They wouldn't risk making enemies. They'd let their mother keep pulling their strings.

You sink the batarang into the first tire's sidewall sharp and quick. If Bruce is curious as to how you know how to slash tires, he doesn't ask. He moves beside you and blocks onlookers from seeing what you're doing. When you move onto the next, the entire left side of the car is beginning to sink toward the ground.

Bruce confiscates the batarang from you and quickly tucks it back into his suit pocket, calmly walking you back down the street to where your ride is waiting.

As he is holding the back door open for you, you turn to look up at him and find your breath catching at the still present grin on his face. You haven't seen him this happy to be alone in your presence in a while. It feels... familiar. He meets your eyes and you're reminded of a younger you. A you that could kiss Bruce with all the bubbling adrenaline in your veins. A Bruce that would let you. A Bruce that thought you hung the sun in the sky.

That grin of his softens but doesn't fully go anywhere. You drink it all in. You don't know when you'll see it again.

Bruce touches the small of your back as a taxi whips by, driving cool air up into your faces and breaking the moment. You indulge in the touch for as long as he lets you.

[strawberries-and-summer-days]

THE WORD NO ‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅

| percy jackson x popstar au

| au masterlist ☽

warnings: swearing

a/n: hello there!! im actual having so much fun writing this series and every so often a new idea will come to me and im just like YES I LOVE THAT WRITE U LAZY SHIT. (does the screaming at myself work? sometimes like right now) hence why we're here on a randomly tuesday. also this is shorter because im dying and need to sleep so bad

☾. ⋅

"i'm gonna throw up!" lia groans from her chair.

"get over it you oversized walrus."

"WALRUS?"

you sit back in your chair watching as your two friends bicker over cake. not even fighting over who gets the last piece, but who ate the most and who is gonna be the sickest.

"I AM NOT A WALRUS THANK YOU VERY MUCH-"

"do they always argue this much?" the voice of the person you'd hoped to forget about asks. you barely contain your eye roll as you turn to him.

"yes. it gets rather annoying when they start to act like middle schoolers." i say getting louder with each word. lia shoots me an offended look and riley all but leaps out of her chair and launches the throw pillow she was sitting on at me. she says high school was the worst years of her life and never wants to hear us talk about her from back then.

"i'm sorry i can't hear you over here talking about shit i don't know about," she smiles fakely and sits back down returning to her bickering.

"did that answer your question?"

"...yeah."

"y/n! percy!" stacey calls walking into your living room.

both of you groan in unison when you see stacey and lauren walking towards you with serious faces. you shoot percy an annoyed look and smile - painfully - up at stacey. "whats up?"

"its your birthday this weekend y/n."

percy's eyes flick to you clearly not knowing that.

"and what would you like us to do about that?" you ask stacey.

she pauses and looks at lauren for conformation, when lauren nods she continues on. "we'd like you to announce your relationship. go public. on your birthday. or well more like at your birthday party."

another pause.... "with a kiss."

"what the fuck?" both of you say again. stacey and lauren hid grins behind obviously faked sincere looks.

"I know this might suck-"

might suck. right cause we're obvisouly besties that have been joined at the hip from the womb and are secretly in love with each other. sure.

"but, with y/n's new album announcement coming out soon we thought it would boost both of your statuses." stacey smiles trying to convince you.

"i don't need the extra publicity!" you snap your head to percy. "oh for the love of god, can you shut up while i'm trying to talk? you're acting like we're old withered and grey and trying to sync our sentences so we say the same shit as we die."

a snort erupts from across the room where the bickering has now stopped and lia and riley have their heads buried in a pillow to stop from laughing.

"just think it over yeah?" stacey says to you as lauren drags a reluctant percy away to talk. "we literally came to this resort so we could get pictures for the two of you, it was a four hour flight. a kiss shouldn't be too bad."

"yeah for you," you grumble as stacey walks out shaking her head.

"believe me i would love to take your place," lia says plopping down in the seat next to you.

"of course you would."

"i could never not do something like that how could you?" she huffs.

"the word 'no' lia, its pretty cool."

"besides your party is the best place to do it. and the theme is going to be amazing. black and white baby!"

"shh walrus clearly y/n is going through something right now!" riley shakes her head.

"excuse me?"

you groan. its going to be a long night.

☾. ⋅

next week.

percyjackson posted

yn.official posted

☾. ⋅

☾. ⋅

TAGLIST‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅ [if you're name is white it mean i couldn't tag you]

@lauptimist, @itzmeme, @mariaaaaaahhhh, @paankhaleyaar, @maybxlle,

@azure-drag0ness, @cxp1d, @user-3113s-blog, @pleasingregulus,

@avihashearts4lix, @inlovewithmorales, @brokecollegebitch, @user-3113s-blog, @officiallyalbino

@gloryhaddock, @kozumesphone, @moonlightwonderlan, @starxshining, @taintedrosee

@lovelyygirl8, @cleothefrogo, @sungjinwoomybeloved, @hearts4li, @amandareids

@mirrorballdickinson, @gabrielle-tia, @riordanness

[rosanna-writer]

Out of the Woods (1/3)

An AU that diverges from canon after Rhysand leaves a head spiked in the garden. Aware of the unsnapped mating bond and unwilling to get between another High Lord and his mate, Tamlin hands Feyre over to Rhysand. Panicked, shocked, and desperate, Rhys scrambles to gain Feyre’s trust, find her a hiding place, and cover his tracks before returning Under the Mountain. And then learns the hard way that Feyre Archeron can never leave well enough alone.

A huge thank you to @amnevitahwritesstuff for the beta read and encouragement, and to @thesistersarcheron for dropping a casual "huh I wonder what would have happened if Tamlin knew Feyre was Rhys's mate the whole time?" in my comments section like a year ago. And a happy @officialfeysandweek to everyone!

Some text is lifted directly from both A Court of Thorns and Roses and A Court of Mist and Fury, and just a note that I've chosen not to use warnings for this fic.

Read the first chapter Here on AO3 or under the cut.

We'd been speaking of the blight, and Tamlin shot to his feet so quickly that for a moment, I thought I might have summoned it. His claws gleamed in the midday light as he snarled at the open doorway, canines elongating.

The house, usually so full of busy footsteps and servants chattering and so much life had gone silent.

The way the forest did when a raptor passed overhead.

And like a field mouse, I wanted to scurry under the table and tremble until it was safe to emerge. Or just start running and hope for the best. Lucien swore and drew his sword.

“Stand down,” Tamlin growled, all command. The voice of the High Lord. “He’s here to collect what’s his, and we will not stop him.”

“You can’t be serious,” Lucien hissed. “We’re not really going to—”

“No one will ally with us if we try to stop him. You know the laws.”

Lucien sheathed his sword, even as the baldric of long, serrated blades appeared from thin air across Tamlin’s chest. I snatched one of the knives from the table, and neither one of them made any attempt to stop me.

Perhaps because a measly steak knife would do no good against whoever was coming. Someone awful enough to frighten them, even as Tamlin slouched in his seat and picked at his nails in a vain attempt at looking unaffected.

They hadn’t been like this with the Attor. Or the naga or the Suriel or the Bogge. My grip tightened around the knife.

Footsteps sounded from the hall. Even, strolling, casual.

Tamlin continued cleaning his nails, and Lucien sat down, tension radiating off his body. He’d curled his hands into fists and bent his knees like he was ready to fight or flee a moment’s notice.

The footsteps grew louder—the scuff of boots on marble tiles.

And then he appeared.

No mask. He, like the Attor, belonged to something else. Some one else.

And worse…I’d met him before. He’d saved me from those three faeries on Fire Night.

With steps that were too graceful, too feline, he approached the dining table and stopped a few yards from the High Lord. He was exactly as I remembered him, with his fine, rich clothing cloaked in tendrils of night: an ebony tunic brocaded with gold and silver, dark pants, and black boots that went to his knees. I’d never dared to paint him—and now knew I would never have the nerve to.

He stopped in the doorway and stared and stared at me. For a moment, I could’ve sworn pure shock flashed across his features, but the look he leveled at me was pure predator. As if I were nothing more than prey to him.

“I remember you. It seems you ignored my warning to stay out of trouble,” he purred, like a cat playing with its dinner. He turned to Tamlin. “Who’s your guest?”

“Feyre Archeron,” Tamlin said. He said my name with a heavy finality, like a judge delivering a death sentence.

“Did you really just give that— that bastard her name? Lucien cried.

“Names have power. It’s Rhysand’s right,” Tamlin said.

I braced myself for an attack—slashing talons, snarling and growling. But Rhysand just laughed—a lover’s laugh, low and soft and intimate. A shiver skittered down my spine.

“A bastard? Is that really something you ought to call a High Lord of Prythian?” he said.

My heart stopped dead. This High Lord, with darkness rippling from him and violet eyes that burned like stars, could only belong to one place.

The High Lord of the Night Court had come to Spring.

With the hand that wasn’t holding the knife, I gripped the table as my knees threatened to buckle under me. Rhysand’s eyes slid to me, and his perfectly shaped lips twitched for just a moment.

But Lucien was undeterred. “This isn’t the Night Court—you have no power here. So scurry back to Amarantha’s bed where you belong.”

“Enough. If you can’t behave yourself, leave us, Lucien,” Tamlin said.

Lucien moved slowly, as if he were fighting the High Lord every step of the way. I’d never seen such anger smoldering in his expression. Rage and, if I wasn’t mistaken, a hint of betrayal.

But he obeyed. And cast one last apologetic look at me before the dining room door shut behind him. Something told me I’d just lost my only ally.

I tried not to tremble at the thought.

Tamlin turned back to Rhysand. “My apologies, High Lord. The Spring Court wants no quarrel with Night, and we won’t keep you from taking what’s rightfully yours.”

“She’ll be pleased to see the brutal war-band leader finally learned his manners. And just in time for you to join the rest of us.”

“I’m obeying the old laws, nothing more and nothing less,” Tamlin said tightly.

“Now?” Rhysand said, arching elegant, groomed brow. “They’ve been dead for centuries. I don’t see what would cause a change of that stone heart of yours after all this time.”

“What are you talking about? I burned them when— Oh, you wouldn’t know, would you?” Tamlin barked a humorless laugh, the harshest sound I’d ever heard him make.

Rhysand’s face became a mask of calm fury—terrible, fearsome, and heartbreakingly beautiful—as he stalked towards the High Lord of Spring. Tamlin raised his claws but made no other move to attack. I nearly ducked under the table to shield myself from whatever was coming, but I didn’t dare so much as breathe.

“Explain yourself.”

“I hardly believed it myself when Lucien told me he saw the mating bond—a High Lord and a human girl are far from equally matched. The clever magic of his mechanical eye doesn’t lie, but I thought it was a trick nonetheless. You and your mistress, forcing me into a war with the Night Court if I dared attempt to save my lands.”

I’d hoped they’d both forget I was there, but Rhysand turned and stared at me again. Really looked, as if he were searching for answers written in my eyes, my face, my body.

I raised the knife, though I knew he’d kill me long before I could bury it in his chest.

An invisible, talon-tipped hand pressed its way into my mind. I couldn’t move. Against my own volition, my muscles went taut, and the knife dropped from my hand and clattered against the floor.

One swipe of those mental claws and who I was would cease to exist. And I could feel them rooting around in my mind, flipping through my thoughts and memories like the pages of a book. Everything laid bare to him, no matter how private or personal.

I would have vomited if I had enough control over my body to do so.

“Leave, Rhys,” Tamlin said. “You can do this elsewhere.”

It wasn’t—I noted—a plea for Rhysand to release the magic binding me. No, Tamlin hadn’t lifted a finger. Perhaps I meant so little to him that he’d hand me over to appease a monster. Perhaps…he hadn’t cared, after all.

I would have whimpered at the thought if I’d had the freedom to draw breath. But even my heart only beat as Rhysand willed it.

“Tell me who she is,” Rhysand demanded, a slight frantic edge to his voice. The first crack in his cool demeanor.

“Feyre Archeron is your mate.”

The talons in my mind stilled but did not release their hold on me, and Rhysand’s eyes widened in pure shock. Tamlin grinned wolfishly.

Like he’d just delivered devastating news to his worst enemy.

I heard Rhysand’s voice inside my head, far softer and gentler than anything he’d said aloud. If I’d been able to move, the sound would have stopped my trembling.

Has he hurt you at all? You can be honest with me, love.

No. If anything, he’s protected me.

I felt a rush of relief—Rhysand’s relief, not my own. Whether he’d deliberately shared it with me or it had just traveled along some sort of connection between us, I couldn’t say.

Those invisible claws caressed my mind, then pulled out gingerly and vanished. My knees finally gave out, but Rhys moved with inhuman speed and caught me by the shoulders before I could sink all the way to the floor.

He hooked his other arm under my legs, cradling me against his chest. Too overwhelmed to fight, I merely tried not to sob or scream. Rhysand had seen everything—I hadn’t known it was possible to be violated so deeply in my own mind.

And yet, I had the strangest urge to bury my face in the crook of his neck.

“We’re finished here,” Rhysand said coldly. “Needless to say, if you breathe a word about her to Amarantha when we meet again, I’ll reduce your court to ash and skin your pelt for fur-lined mittens.”

He sounded like he’d go to war over me. I could barely understand it—faeries looked down on mortals, and a human girl should have been far below a High Lord’s notice.

But Tamlin had called me Rhysand’s mate. A bond so deep, it made even marriage seem insignificant in comparison, he’d once said. But plenty of husbands considered their wives little more than property—and I had no doubt Rhysand guarded his belongings jealously.

If I was no more than a thing to him, then perhaps I was a valuable one, at least.

“I have no desire to see Feyre harmed, either,” Tamlin said, though he didn’t even get up from his seat. “Take care of her.”

Rhysand inclined his head. “I’ll see you Under the Mountain.”

And with that, he carried me into the void between worlds, like a bride over a threshold.

***

We emerged in a wood. Somewhere I could feel in my bones was older—more aware—than anywhere in the Spring Court. The Night Court, perhaps. But I wondered if we’d left Prythian entirely.

“I’m sorry,” Rhysand said, before I could ask. “Fuck. I am, so so sorry.”

“Put me down. Please,” I said.

I’d almost expected him not to, but he did, moving slowly and bracing an arm behind my shoulders until I was steady on my feet. Then he stepped back and left a healthy distance between us.

His violet eyes had gone wide and wild. Desperate.

And yet…when he spoke again, his tone gentled, as if I were the feral creature that might bolt or lash out at any moment. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

I believed him. But nothing else made a lick of sense, and I’d never known a forest as quiet as the one where we stood. No birdsong, no distant breaking branches, no hum of insects. It set my teeth on edge.

“Then what do you want with me?”

“My first priority is keeping you alive. There is quite a lot you don’t understand and very little time to explain. So…may I?”

The invisible talons hovered at the edge of my mind but did not pierce it. Rhysand looked at me expectantly.

The silence between us stretched on and on. But those talons did not encroach any closer. I waited to feel them slashing through the very core of myself, but…they never did.

He was waiting for permission, I realized. It set me at ease just enough to say, “Alright.”

A party, somewhere underground. A throng of fae dripping in finery—jewels, elaborate clothes, displays of wealth and power. The crowd parted, and my eyes landed on a surprisingly plain, redheaded female.

Amarantha. The woman I’d come here to kill tonight.

I gasped, realizing it had been a memory. That he had been the one intent on killing Amarantha.

Gods, hadn’t Lucien said that was the woman whose bed Rhysand warmed?

“It’s a painful memory, but one you need to see,” Rhysand said.

There was a gentle pressure against my palms. Caught up in the vision, I hadn’t realized I’d reached out and clasped his hands, and he’d squeezed back. I didn’t let go; the touch was…grounding.

It was a wonder my hands didn’t shake with rage as I plucked a glass of wine from a try proffered by a passing servant. How unfair—how monstrously unfair—that she sat here tonight in a gown of glittering rubies smiling and surrounded by sycophants, thriving and unpunished after all the lives she’d ended. The human slaves she’d killed, the soldiers she’d tortured in an attempt to break me…they all deserved justice.

I couldn’t wait to see her brain leaking out her nose.

But her mental shields were damned difficult to tunnel through. I slunk to a corner of the room, grateful for once that no one wanted to come make small talk with the High Lord of the Night Court. Breaking her defenses would take all of my mental concentration.

I didn’t bother listening to the speech as a toast. It was probably some utter bullshit about ushering in a new era of peace. No, I just kept digging, desperate for a way in. But to avoid arousing suspicion, I lifted my glass along with everyone else.

I sipped my wine and realized my mistake the second the bitter taste hit my tongue. Poison. The well of power I drew from, a vast sea of magic, began to drain away.

In the last few seconds my power was wholly my own, I wiped memories, flung out shields, and cried desperate mental warnings to my friends to stay away. And then it was done. I’d become her slave.

The memory faded, and when I came back to myself, I realized my nails were digging into Rhysand’s hands. He didn’t seem to notice or mind—his violet eyes bored into mine with single-minded intensity. “She intends to help the King of Hybern tear down the Wall and invade the mortal realm. Now do you realize the danger you’re in?”

I nodded weakly. “She’ll kill my family.”

“It gets worse,” he said, and the next memory sucked me under like a riptide.

Another party, a masquerade this time. I sat at Amarantha’s right side, and the lingering scent of what we’d done together in bed still clung to me. She hadn’t let me bathe—had wanted the smell clinging to me, marking me like a brand.

I might as well have attended the revel with a sign around my neck declaring me her whore. And if it continued to keep my court and my family safe, I’d endure a thousand more humiliations.

But I wasn’t the one she was most interested in that night. Tamlin had been foolish enough to slap her hand away when she’d tried to touch him. He should have known how badly that would enrage her.

“I’d sooner touch a human—sooner marry a human—than ever touch you,” he said, the fool. “Even your own sister preferred Jurian’s company to yours.”

The crowd tittered at that—some in shock, others in excited anticipation of the coming bloodshed. By bringing up Clythia, Tamlin might as well have been digging his own grave.

“You’re lucky I'm in a generous mood,” Amarantha drawled. Dangerous words. “I’ll give you a chance to break the spell that binds your power to me.”

Tamlin, the idiot, spat in her face. She laughed.

“I’ll give you seven times seven years before you join the rest of us Under the Mountain, my dear Tamlin. If you want to break the spell before then, you’ll have to find a human girl to marry you. And not just any girl, one with ice in her heart, willing to kill a faerie. Maybe after sending your sentries across the wall like lambs to slaughter, you’ll learn your lesson. Your courtship can only begin after she’s murdered one of your men in an unprovoked attack, killing for hatred alone. Perhaps then, you’ll understand my grief for my sister, and you’ll change your mind.”

This time, as the memory faded, another one pulled me in immediately.

In the dream, I saw a hand. A beautiful, human hand painting flowers on a table. Such a simple thing, but whoever she was, she was living in relative safety if she was painting something entirely ornamental. Something beautiful.

There was still hope.

I tried pushing back an image—the night sky. Stars and the moon. It had been so long since I’d seen an open sky, but the thought of it had kept me going for nearly fifty years. I wasn’t sure the human would receive it, but…I had to try.

“There’s more,” Rhysand said aloud, as the talons in my mind retreated again, “but that’s the gist of it. There isn’t time for me to explain the details right now.”

I just gaped at him as I tried to process all of it. The girl with ice in her heart had been me. But so had the painter from his dreams. His mate.

No wonder Tamlin had thought it was a trick—he’d known I was another male’s mate. Winning me would save his lands…only to earn the ire of the wicked Night Court.

Lucien’s words came back to me. The Night Court, of course, manages to remain unscathed.

But that was all due to Rhysand’s sacrifices. I didn’t quite understand what it meant to be mates, but I had his loyalty. That might be enough to keep me alive. And I needed to get a warning to my family, a message to flee to the Continent before Amarantha made it below the Wall.

I straightened my spine. “What are you planning?”

“To fake your death. Enough people have seen you that I’m sure word of your existence will get to her eventually. When I go back Under the Mountain, I’ll say you fled for the Wall and were eaten by some creature before you could make it home.”

As sound a strategy as any, I supposed. He’d need evidence if it was going to work. My blood, perhaps. Locks of my hair, torn up clothes with my scent still clinging to them. Anything to fake a struggle.

“I don’t know what happened to the body that belonged to the head you left in the garden,” I said, reaching for the buttons at my collar, “but if you’re in need of a mangled corpse, a faerie bled out in the manor after Amarantha took his wings. Tamlin buried him nearby.”

I slipped off my tunic, leaving me in just my pants and the thin undershirt I wore beneath it. And despite the gruesome turn the conversation had taken, I watched Rhysand’s eyes trail down towards my chest, then very quickly back up to my face.

Pig.

Rhys laughed—a real one, I realized, not the affected one meant to intimidate that I’d heard in the dining room. It might have been the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard. “Oh, most definitely. But you didn’t have to think it quite so loudly.”

I tossed the tunic at his face, and he caught it handily. In an elegant movement that spoke to refined manners, he folded it over his arm like a dinner jacket.

“If we’re faking my death, where am I to hide in the meantime?”

“Here, in the forest to the east of the sacred mountain Amarantha claimed as the seat of her court. Neutral territory. In this wood, there is no High Lord, and the law is made by who is strongest, meanest, most cunning. She does not dare touch these creatures or disturb this wood.”

If Amarantha wouldn’t set foot here, I shuddered to think what monsters lurked among these trees. Something far worse than the Bogge or the naga or even the Attor.

So much for thinking Rhysand wouldn’t throw me to the wolves.

“You won’t be entirely without help,” he said, sounding almost…affronted. If he had wings, they would have rustled. But he’d clearly been listening to my thoughts again, so I couldn’t help but scowl.

A tang of magic stung my nose. I shivered at the way the spell skittered along my skin, though there was something oddly familiar about it. Like I knew Rhys’s power.

I glanced down at my arm, which had become a blur of color, like I was made of half-mixed paint. When I tried to focus on a specific part—my fingers, my elbow—my attention merely bounced elsewhere. I’d seen something similar before.

“A glamour?” I guessed.

“The scraps of power at my disposal aren’t enough to completely glamour you, but you’re…camouflaged. Not entirely invisible, but the creatures here will pass you by as long as you don’t draw attention to yourself.”

I’d manage. Out of habit, I moved quietly through the woods anyway, intent on not scaring away any game. I knew how to keep myself hidden.

A pack appeared at my feet, laden with supplies. A small tent, some rope, a flint, a bedroll, a bandana, another set of clothes. The sort of things I would have killed for when I was hunting in the woods.

“There’s no knife—she limited my magic so I’m unable to summon weapons. And I can’t give you food, either. But this should be a start,” he said.

I picked up the pack and slung it over my shoulder. “Will I see you again?”

“I don’t know,” he said, face darkening. “She rarely lets any of us out from Under the Mountain. And give it a wide berth—get too close, and her sentries guarding the entrances will spot you.”

I’d be alone in the woods—besides the more fearsome creatures, it wasn’t all that different from my life below the Wall. And at least this time, there was only one mouth to feed.

“So is this…goodbye?” I said, hating the way my voice wavered.

“For now. If you stay in the forest, you’ll be close enough that I’ll be able to reach your mind. We can speak that way when I’m not…” He trailed off, but his wince and the memories he’d just shown me spoke volumes about whatever duties he carried out in Amarantha’s hellish court.

“And you’ll answer my questions?” There was so much I needed to know.

“I won’t keep secrets from you, especially not after rifling through your mind earlier. I’m sorry for the harm it caused.”

Something told me Rhysand didn’t apologize very often. That he’d bothered, with time running so short…

“Thank you,” I said with a nod. “You should go.”

My jacket was still folded over his arm. He lifted his other hand and started to reach towards me, then dropped it as if he’d thought better of it. His fingers curled into a fist at his side.

“I’ll find you again as soon as I can,” he said. It sounded like a vow.

His violet eyes held mine until he faded completely into mist. It was just me and the moss and gnarled trees and lichen. And somewhere…the unholy creatures that called this place home.

Day after day, I’d survived and kept my family alive by stepping into the trees and putting my feelings aside. Without even a sigh, I set off to find somewhere to camp.

[mustainegf]

‘86 james taking your virginity but its sweet morning sex :(

OKAY I KNOW THIS REQ IS SO OLD AND IVE REWRITTEN IT SO MANY TIMES, I FINALLY THINK I COOKED UP SOMETHING REALISTIC AND EQUALLY YUMMY!!!!

𝐈 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ¹⁹⁸⁶

I gently woke to his heartbeat in my ear, firm hands safely holding my waist to his body. I hum tiredly with a smile, scooting closer to James' warmth.

It felt too good, me all tangled up in his arms like this. And here I thought that would never happen.

So instead of moving, I just lay there staring at the ceiling, smiling.

"Mmph... baby.." James grumbled, shifting slowly beneath me, our bodies still clinging together.

He tucked one arm around my back as he brought his other hand over top of me, which he rested against my forehead for a second.

"Good morning, sleepy head." His voice was a little bit rough. My smile widened. "I love you," I whispered. I couldn't help it. I had to tell him. "I love you so much." He made a soft sound in his throat.

I exhaled happily, slowly kissing his neck. I always loved laying with him like this in the morning.

Then, without warning, something poked into my inner thigh. I froze. But it wasn't painful. It was... warm? I frowned, unsure what to think or do. And then suddenly, it came to me. Of course.

Because it couldn't be anything else, right? I took a deep breath and said through my teeth, "James?" His response was more of a grunt. I swallowed and continued, "You're hard." This time, he actually did chuckle.

"And your point is?" he asked, sounding amused. I paused, trying not to laugh myself, but realizing the predicament we were in. We weren't naked; but we also weren't exactly fully clothed either. And I could feel a lot through just the fabric of his briefs.

Which meant I knew exactly how hard he was.

That didn't make me uncomfortable though. In fact, I loved the feeling of his hardness pressed against me. God, it was so hot, thinking about us doing things like this.

So the only thing I could really say was, "I'm getting harder too." I heard a slight pause before he spoke again, his voice deeper than usual now. "Are you?" I teased, a blush creeping up my face.

I smirked, knowing full well that he was already listening to every word I was saying. He huffed.

"You know damn well I am," he said. My cheeks flushed, my smile widening even more.

I reached down between my legs and found the tip of his cock, tracing a line along its length. I let out a satisfied sigh. "Mmm..." James let out another low growl. "Baby, I thought you weren't ready?"

he asked. "It's fine." I mumbled, shyly blushing. "I mean, I am." There was a long moment where neither of us moved or spoke. A mix of nervousness and anticipation settled inside of me.

"What if I don't want to wait anymore?" I asked quietly. This time he didn't respond at all. I stayed completely silent, waiting, hoping. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, James pulled away from me.

The chill in the air stung as he leaned forward and took my chin in his hand. His eyes searched mine, almost pleading. "How sure are you?" he asked softly. "I can wait until you're 100 certain."

His gaze softened as I watched him speak. "But if you don't wanna-" My lips parted as I quickly interrupted him. "No! I want to." I was practically begging, trying to communicate how bad I needed him.

All the uncertainty I'd been feeling about this decision melted away. I wanted this, I needed this. With him. Now. Not tomorrow, not next week. Now.

Right now. "Please..." I whispered, letting go of his hand. James nodded, finally understanding. He lifted himself off the bed and reached down, pulling off his boxers.

His cock sprang free and bounced a little with the movement. I stared at him, fixated. He looked incredible.

The tip glistened slightly with precum, perfectly poised and ready for whatever happened next. My eyes trailed down his toned body. Yeah sure, I'd seen him naked before, we'd been dating for a few months now, but this is the first time we'd actually be having sex. Or me at least.

James grabbed a condom from his drawer and rolled it onto his erection. When he finished, he turned back toward me. "Come on," he urged, reaching out for me.

I nodded and sat up, reaching down under my shirt to pull off my panties. James watched intently as I removed them. Once done, I laid back down on the bed, spreading my legs open wide.

His view drove him crazy, immediately dipping down to gently kiss my clit. "Mh!" I whined, not expecting the sudden feeling.

He chuckled. "That ok, baby?"

"Y-yeah, it's good. Just keep going," I moaned. He grinned against my skin and kissed me again. "Whatever you say."

I shivered at the sensation. This felt better than I ever imagined it would. I squeezed my thighs together around his head and he groaned, clearly enjoying my reaction.

"Oh yeah, that's perfect." he hummed, sending delicious vibrations across my entire pelvic area. I whimpered at the intensity of the pleasure he gave me. "Good girl..." he praised me. "So fucking wet."

I moaned, loving the compliment. The way his tongue slid over my pussy made me squirm uncontrollably. Everything felt so amazing.

His mouth was everywhere, licking and sucking. I held tight to the sheets below me, unable to hold myself still anymore. I had never felt this good.

After a while, he stopped eating me out and moved up higher. His mouth hovered above my earlobe, and he started kissing me there. Each kiss sent shocks straight down into my core. I bit my lip as he continued, desperately trying to remain quiet. It was no use though.

"It's okay baby, don't feel bad about those pretty little noises," he hummed, kissing down my collarbone.

Oh god, it felt so good. My body tensed with excitement as he continued kissing me lower, working his way towards my tits. When his mouth finally closed around one of my nipples, I couldn't help but arch my back.

He only sucked for a short while before pulling back, his mouth making a wet popping noise against my nipple. I felt a little nervous as he slowly began to position himself between my legs.

"Ready?" he asked, staring deep into my eyes. I smiled and nodded. He placed his hands on either side of me, leaning in to give me a quick kiss.

His hips pressed forward slightly, nudging the tip of his dick against my entrance. I tensed up. "Just relax, sweetie. Take a deep breath." His words were soft, gentle.

As I did exactly what he said, he pushed forward slowly. I gasped when I felt the pressure of him stretching me open. The slow progress was agonizingly pleasurable.

It wasn't long before I could feel his length fully inserted inside of me. James let out a low groan, holding himself still for a moment. "Are you okay? We can stop if you need too." I shook my head.

"Just... just give me a second..." I whimper. James took my cheeks in his hands, caressing my skin with his thumbs to comfort me, doing his best not to move whilst seated inside me.

I felt him throbbing gently within me, the sensation causing my own arousal to spike. A tremor ran through me as I instinctively tightened my inner muscles.

"Oh fuck... shit." I heard James whisper as he clenched his teeth, fighting hard to stay put. I knew how much effort it took for him and I loved him all the more for it.

"Sorry.." I giggle, knowing my clenching must have him going insane. "You can go now, just... be gentle."

He grunted in response, seeming to understand the task ahead. Carefully, he withdrew until just the tip remained. Then, he pressed back inwards, causing me to release another small moan.

He repeated this process several times, each time sliding further inside until he reached bottom.

With every thrust, I wriggled my hips underneath him. Soon enough, he found a steady rhythm.

Up and down he went, filling me over and over again. The sound of our bodies meeting was exhilarating. James leaned forward, placing his palms flat on the bed on either side of me.

Our foreheads touched and he looked me right in the eye. "How does that feel?" I couldn't speak, words failing me at this point.

Instead, I simply nodded frantically, completely overwhelmed by everything happening at once. He grinned proudly. "Good." The speed increased as his thrusts became harder. "I'm so proud of you... doin' so good."

I whimpered and arched my back. James kept pumping slowly into me, pushing me into the mattress with every stroke. My breasts bounced gently with the pace.

"Keep going baby, keep being a good girl," he panted into my ear. "Are you good to keep going? Need a break?" He asked gently, sweat trickling down his forehead as he continued with gentle pumps.

"I-it's okay... please don't stop..." I whimper, taking one of his hands in mine, clutching it tight.

"Gonna—fuck—make me cum..." James groaned, his head falling into the crook of my neck, focusing what was left of his energy.

I felt him pulsing inside me, sending jolts of pleasure throughout my whole body. I lay there beneath him, completely spent. Even after he pulled out, I still felt full.

My pussy throbbed, demanding more. "That was amazing," he whispered, wiping some hair from my face with a loving touch.

James groaned and reached down to slip the full condom off of his pulsing length. He quickly tossed it in the trash before turning back to me with a smile. However, my fingers are still working at my clit.

"What are you doing, can't help yourself, huh..." He mumbled sleepily. I blush. "I haven't cum yet..." I whine.

"Baby, you should a said something," he chuckled, dipping back down between my legs again. "Let me help."

He wasted no time in finding my clit, circling around the sensitive nub as my fingertips slipped from my body.

I spread myself wide for him, keeping my eyes shut tight as his tongue swirled around my swollen bud.

His lips wrapped around the fleshy hood and he sucked firmly. Instantly, a wave of pleasure washed over me.

My knees bent and I threw an arm over my face, stifling a scream. He started to suck even firmer, using both hands to pull the flesh taught, driving me wild.

"Fuck James! Stop, I-I'm gonna cum!" I yelp desperately, grinding my crotch against his face.

James made a loud, satisfied 'humph' noise into my soaking cunt. It sent shivers down my spine.

One last flick of his skilled tongue across my clit and I collapsed back onto the bed. I laid there, quivering and panting like a dog, staring up at the ceiling.

I hear James chuckle and get up from between my legs, pulling me up by my waist. We end up in a sloppy pile of limbs in the bed, kissing slowly.

James finally breaks away from me and sits up, patting my leg. "Come here..." I shuffle up the bed and crawl over, wrapping my arms around him.

James embraces me tightly. So here we lay, naked, breathing slow, tangled and sweaty. I took in a deep breath of his smell, kissing his cheek gently. "Thank you, Jamie..."

"Was it good? Hope I could satisfy my girl," he smiled, scoffing teasingly.

[immaturityofthomasastruc]

#23: “The Miraculous Ladybug Movie May Give You What You Want, but My Show Gives You What You Actually Need! You Don’t Work in Television, so You Wouldn’t Understand.”

I've been running this blog for almost three years at this point, and I've seen Astruc talk trash about various things while claiming his show is better, like Winx Club, Paw Patrol, Pokemon, and Pixar as a whole. I never thought I'd see Astruc act like his show was better than a movie based on his show though.

For those who don't know (and you'd be forgiven, seeing how Astruc has barely talked about it on his Twitter), there was recently a movie that hit theaters based on Miraculous Ladybug called Ladybug & Cat Noir: The Movie. Supposedly, it's meant to be a retelling of how Marinette and Adrien met as civilians and as heroes. While I haven't seen it, it seems to be getting good reception, with some saying it's better than the show it's based on.

Of course, Astruc had something to say about this.

Okay, I sort of get what he's trying to say here. It's hard to compare the experience of watching an hour and a half long movie and a TV show with five seasons under its belt, but at the same time, the way Astruc phrased it still made it seem like he was trying to say the show was the better option because it “gives you what you need”. Nobody was expecting the Love Square to be resolved in a few episodes. Most people at least wanted more stories about the two to be told that don't involve constant padding. Astruc also acts like the Love Square is the only draw for the series instead of, oh, I don't know, the superhero action? You're really telling me they couldn't have tried focusing more on that after resolving the Love Square? I'm just saying, if The Office can continue after Jim and Pam got together, you can at least try to actually write other stories after the Love Square becomes canon.

One user in particular had some things to say in response to Astruc's claims, and you can guess how well Astruc took that.

Again, nobody is saying that working in television is all sunshine and rainbows, Astruc, but just because someone isn't familiar with dealing with network constraints and test audiences, it doesn't mean that they're unable to provide any meaningful criticism.

Also, Astruc is once again using a psychology term, in this case, the Dunning-Kruger Effect, to act like he's smarter than the critics. This man took psychology as an elective in college, didn't he?

But then again, this is coming from someone who doesn't think constructive criticism is a real thing.

Funny how he once again acts like anything that isn't positive feedback of his show is delusional, isn't it?

Eventually, this devolved into Astruc posting a little tangent about how fandoms have only gotten more toxic, which would have been a decent point... it if didn't come after all the things he said about fans not being able to criticize his show.

Again, there's nothing wrong with what he's trying to say here, but it feels less like a critique of how fans have become more toxic with the advent of the internet, and more like he's complaining about how mean people have been to him lately.

And, of course, this led to the usual fare of people calling out Astruc for his close mindedness, and Astruc once again saying how people aren't allowed to criticize his show in any way that isn't blind praise.

And here's the thing. We're still not done yet. This little tangent only warranted more comments about how Astruc handles criticism, only this time, it's also about calling out the people who think they can do a better job handling the show.

First, do you mind giving us an example of what kind of constraints you have to deal with, Astruc? We all know that TV executives suck, but I think we'd have more of a reason to understand your struggles if you actually explained some things that needed to be changed because of executive meddling.

Second, nobody wants a beach episode, Astruc, especially after that one issue of the comic you're choosing to ignore. We just want a more consistent story that doesn't rely on endlessly padding out the Love Square.

And finally, did you just say you have to be French if you want to rewrite Miraculous Ladybug? What does being French have to do with any of this? I remember seeing a little tweet a few years ago suggesting you would be a good choice to write a Superman story, but last time I checked, you aren't American.

Let's review in case you got lost. Someone tweeted that they thought the Miraculous Ladybug movie did a better job at the story it set out to tell than the Miraculous Ladybug TV show, Astruc tried to explain how his show is still good in its own way while justifying how long it's been going on for, he ranted and raved at fans for daring to criticize his team's writing before going on a tangent about how the internet has made people more hostile over the years, and when people still weren't happy with him, he claimed that you could only criticize or rewrite the show if you're an experienced French TV writer like him.

So just keep that in mind, fanfic writers. Unless you're French and have experience writing for television, you don't have a chance in hell to successfully write your own version of Miraculous Ladybug.

[milliesfishes]

⋆౨ৎTender is the Night (Part Two)⋆౨ৎ

[fem reader] contains: mentions of death/dying, angst pairing: billy the kid x fem reader summary: fem reader x ghost billy the kid author’s note: (modern au) based partially on @goosita ghost billy au (which I've been dying for an excuse to write for) which is based on lisa frankenstein (love) Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

The threads separating life and death are gossamer, as fine as spiderwebs and nearly as breakable. It is a ragged veil that hangs over mortality, fluttering in an invisible wind and offering those encased a glimpse of the other side.

He was nearly a shadow, clinging to the edges of the graveyard, haunting without really haunting. It was as if he’d been swallowed except for the final drop left in his shape, retaining the same pain as someone breathing.

All this time he'd thought the world cruel for keeping him here with no purpose- just aimlessly wandering with nothing but his own thoughts to accompany him. He was well aware that punishment was reasonable- he hadn't exactly been a good man.

Maybe not so bad a man as he'd thought. Not if you'd come his way.

You spent your free time with him, lying side by side with him on the grassy expanse of his grave. Sometimes you brought homework or a book with you, sometimes you played music. And sometimes you abandoned all of it in favor of listening to him.

Slowly, he began to tell you about his few years on earth. Of his passage to America. Of the deaths of his family. How he was thrust into the life of an outlaw without so much as a say. You listened fascinatedly, like nobody else had. Even while he'd had a beating heart and air in his lungs he hadn't been such a point of fascination to anybody. No, he'd been simply existing, no better than his current ghostly form.

Billy felt more alive with you than he ever had when he was breathing.

“How do you think we’d have met in your time?” you murmured one day, lying on your side with your hair tumbling down over your shoulders like a waterfall.

Billy hummed, his hand half wound through a strand. "Maybe at the bar one night. I'd buy you a drink 'n we'd get to talkin'."

You giggled, leaning your cheek on your hand. "I'd have liked that."

"Me too," was his response, murmured as he watched you watch him. Suddenly the great divide between life and death didn't seem as prominent. It was such a delicate thing, yet unbreakable.

Two souls, existing in the wrong space of time. Maybe that was the reason he was made to haunt the earth so long after his supposed permanent disappearance. Maybe all these years of being lonely and feeling neglected were paid for the gift of you.

"I wasn't a good man," he confessed, tracing stars onto your arm and imagining them taking shape, leaving patterns that marked the fact that he was real to you. It was still unclear why exactly he was able to touch you now. Or why you were able to see him. But you were the common denominator. It couldn't be a coincidence that the best thing to happen to him in a century and the revelation of his existence had overlapped. "Dunno if that's been absolved...with death 'n all. But it stays with me. 's if it was yesterday."

You hummed, fingers twiddling with a blade of grass before your wrist. He knew nearly every quirk about you at this point, could read you like a map, chart the nature of what you were about to say. But he'd never deem to guess exactly what that would be. You had a way of surprising him in the best of ways. "You know...I don't believe in the idea of people being good or bad."

"Hm?" Billy blinked at you, the pads of his fingers pausing their motions on your skin.

Turning your head to face the sky, blue in all its glory with fluffy white clouds adorning the expanse of it, you let your eyelashes touch your cheek once before continuing. "People are full of a million intentions and thoughts and feelings. Not all of them can be defined. Not all of them are ever revealed. I don't think it's all measured up against us."

Billy let the quiet talk for a moment as he thought about it, the idea taking space, filling the gap more wholly than guilt ever could. His features lightened, and you smiled at the sight, moving forward and reaching for his hand. He expected your fingers to pass through his form, occupy the space inside the outline. But instead your warm palm sat atop his knuckles, making you both look up.

“Did…?” your question trailed off, as if you weren’t exactly sure what you should be asking.

“Yes.” Billy turned his palm over, letting yours touch it. He was in utter disbelief. First he could touch you and now you could touch him. Something was brightening from the inside, warming him and lighting everything up. It intensified when he looked at you, watching the way your lips parted, the wonder fill your eyes. It was like you were seeing him for the first time.

After that, it was like you couldn't keep your hands off each other. Whenever you came over you were touching him in some way; holding his hand, rubbing his arm, or his personal favorite- lying with your head on his chest. It almost made him feel like a person again, lying among the flowers with a pretty girl in his arms.

With every day, he could feel the weight of emotions he hadn't felt in decades holding him to earth, as if heaven or hell wouldn't let him in due to his love.

Due to his love.

He realized it one day as you were lazily resting with your hair spread across him, and he was thumbing your cheek. In your hands was a copy of Romeo and Juliet, one of your favorites, you'd told him. Every now and then you'd stop and read a passage to him, and he'd smile, enchanted by your love for it.

“Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night,” you recited, and he could hear your smile in your voice.

My heart didn't love until now, he thought casually. And then it hit him, a rod of lightning from the sky.

You were his sun, his moon. You were the light after centuries of darkness. You cared for him, astounded him with your sweetness, with your view of the world. This had to be the reason he could now touch you. because you were his reason for everything now.

You made him feel alive again.

Once he realized it, he felt frozen. He was a ghost in love with a living girl. Billy had never heard anything more hopeless. He felt as though he were yelling into a void. Before he had thanked the higher powers for gifting you to him, but now he was sure this was some kind of torment. Bringing the sweetest, kindest girl he'd ever known into his afterlife and making it so he couldn't have her. Was there ever a crueler thing?

You looked up at him with the most darling of smiles then, shifting on his chest and reaching up for his hand while keeping hold of the book. Billy couldn't help his smile, and he tangled his fingers with yours. An abundance of that old familiar glowing feeling warmed him again, and he disregarded all previous thoughts.

You were worth every bit of it.

tagging @kellielovesmovies because <3 also HAPPY BIRTHDAY QUEEN!!!!!

[pennyblossom-meta]

Gale/Wyll banter

Here's a collection of Gale/Wyll banter that I found in the dialogue files. I hope this is useful as both fanfiction resources and general curiosity :)

Help: I'm fairly sure there's a line from Wyll (?) mentioning how Gale doesn't ever eat vegetables, but for the life of me I can't find it. UPDATE 30/12/2023: Found it and added it to the post, the banter happens with the MC during the tiefling party. Also added a couple more interesting tidbits of dialogue.

Warning: long post.

Act 01

Loss of powers

Wyll points out that he used to kill big monsters, and now a few goblins are a challenge. What gives? Gale remarks it must be the tadpole. Wyll: Was a time I tussled with hill giants without breaking a sweat. Wyll: Now, a mere werebear could swat me halfway to Amn. devnote: Amn = city on the Sword Coast. Pronounced "AAHM" like UK Eng "arm". Gale: Strange things are happening to us. What festers in our minds may well impel our bodies.

—

Netherese magic

Wyll recalls the hag said 'Netherese' and asks Gale what he knows. Astarion adds a thought if he is present. Wyll: Ethel mentioned Netherese magic. What in blazes does that mean? Gale: Magic from the fallen empire of Netheril. Ancient, exceedingly dangerous, and quite unrivalled. Astarion: Wonderful! I'd hate to be destroyed by any common old magic. devnote: A little sarcastic. You've been told the dangerous magic inside you is ancient and unrivalled

—

Goblin raids

Wyll: I've known goblin raiders to slaughter entire villages and strip them for loot - but I've never seen one ravaged like this. Gale: It's hard to imagine anyone who'd willingly inflict such devastation, be they zealots, marauders, invading armies... A sign of far worse to come, I fear.

—

Act 02

Mountain Pass

Gale: These cragged hillls make for weary soles. I see why most headed inland prefer the smooth sailing of the Chionthar. Wyll: More importantly, the land west of here suffers under a terrible curse. Gale: You've seen it for yourself? Wyll: I've glimpsed that doom during my travels, but never dared get close. Wyll: If we continue this way, we may get too close for comfort.

—

Scary woods

Wyll: What a dismal forest. Monsters could be lurking behind any and every tree. Gale: We'd be wise to fear the trees themselves. It feels like the forest itself longs for our destruction. devnote: serious Wyll: Frustrating, that. Wyll: Monsters, I can fight. But I can no more sever these shadows than I could the wind or the sun.

—

Approaching Moonrise

Gale: Moonrise Towers lies ahead. We're nearing the Heart of the Absolute, I'm certain of it. Wyll: Then let us push forward, heads high, weapons in hand, and turn this tower to rubble. Gale: Your confidence is encouraging but a little premature. Let's keep our eyes on the task ahead. Or eye, as the case may be.

—

Tollhouse

Gale: A tollhouse like this would only be merited in the most prosperous of settlements. This was once a thriving trade route. Wyll: Should it be any wonder? The Chionthar's waters carry merchant vessels from as far east as Berdusk. devnote: bur-DUSK Wyll: And they wouldn't have brought just trade goods, but song, dance, and custom. Riches of the mind and the spirit. Wyll: So much was lost when the darkness fell.

—

At the Mason's Guild

Gale: The masons here thought they were building something to last. How wrong they were. Wyll: Perhaps it's a blessing that none of them survived to see it fall to the shadows. Gale: No need for such a grim assumption. Halsin helped many to escape these shadows before the town was consumed. Wyll: Then some masons were more blessed still, if they could put their talents to use elsewhere. Wyll: Perhaps some of their work even graces Baldur's Gate.

—

Guildhall

Wyll: It might seem a bit ramshackle, but this place has a boastworthy bar. Gale: A bar is only as good as its cellars. Which vintages can we expect to find on their racks? devnote: Anticipating a nice drink Wyll: Here, a bottle is judged more by its ability to crack heads than the quality of its contents. Gale: Ah. If that's the main criteria then I shall reset my expectations accordingly. Water it is. devnote: Good humoured

—

House of Healing

Wyll: This was a hospital? Feels more like a prison. Gale: A common enough interpretation. Sickness has a nasty habit of making you feel trapped, if only within the confines of your own body. Gale: I once spent weeks convalescing in the Hospice of St Laupsenn (*) after a nasty bout of ruddy pox. For all their kindness, leaving that place behind felt like freedom to me. Wyll: I've always relied on the kindness of the healers and menders of the Coast. Better a cleric's healing touch than a chirurgeon's scalpel.

(Lore note*): The Hospice of St. Laupsenn is a temple of Ilmater in the North Ward of Waterdeep.

—

Moonrise General_AssaultState

Wyll: This is it, Gale - today, we annihilate the heart of the Absolute's power. The bards will sing of our victory here. Gale: Entirely unnecessary. Though if they are so inclined, I might be convinced to share a stanza or two of my own for inspiration. devnote: Feigned modesty

—

Moonrise General

Wyll: This is no aimless horde - the Absolute's forces are organised. What do you make of it, Gale? Gale: All enemies have some chink in their armour, no matter how much they like to believe themselves invulnerable. That's what we must find. devnote: Cheery/determined Wyll: And if we don't find any clear weakness? Gale: Then we hope our mutual strengths are enough to dominate them. Or, we die nobly in the attempt. devnote: Cheery/determined

—

Moonrise Prison

Gale: Not a devil in sight. How disappointing. COL_MizorasRescue_State_SavedMizora = False, TWN_Wyll_State_MizorasCaptureHappened, MOO_MizorasRescue_Event_WalkedAway = False Wyll: I doubt a few iron bars are sufficient to hold one of Zariel's. Gale: True enough. But an illithid pod? That would probably do the trick. devnote: Cogs whirring Wyll: I wager you're right. Ah, Gale - what a pleasure to see a genius' mind at work.

Wyll: Of course Mizora was Zariel's captured asset. How did I not see it coming? TWN_Wyll_State_MizorasCaptureHappened Gale: It's in a devil's nature to conceal the truth - you can't fault yourself for that. Wyll: I've been pacted for seven years on, Gale. I should be able to read between Mizora's lines by now, no matter how narrow the gap.

Gale: How long have you been pacted to Mizora, Wyll? Wyll: Seven years. Seven years of hunting the monsters of the Sword Coast - and seven years of Mizora's tight leash. Wyll: And seven years of wondering if I'd ever rid myself of her - or if I even should.

—

Act 03

At the Basilisk Gate

Gale: The history of the city itself is captured in the archives here - a fascinating resource. Wyll: I wonder what those archives will reveal about us a hundred years hence. Gale: Only the most excellent and complimentary things. With some encouragement from us, of course.

—

Morphic Pool

Gale: Whatever the outcome of what's just ahead, it will be the stuff of legends. Wyll: In that case, someone needs to survive to tell the story. Gale: My money's on you, Wyll. Wyll: I'm betting on all of us.

—

Misc banter

Gale's ticking time bombs

Wyll points out that Gale has two ticking time-bombs inside him - but he's holding together pretty well. Wyll: I admire your courage, Gale. Gale: Thank you. Any particular reason? Wyll: Between the orb and the bug, you've got more than your fair share of unwelcome passengers. Gale: What can I say? Mother always taught me to be a gracious host.

—

Wyll thinks Gale has potential

Wyll tells Gale he's got potential, and suggests he rename himself something more... heroic. Gale finds Wyll quite the tryhard. Wyll: You're an impressive fighter, Gale. You should consider a new name. Gale: I take it you have some suggestions? Wyll: 'The Wizard Wonder!' Or how about, 'The Master of the Weave'? Gale: Tempting. But I think we might already have the maximum number of theatrical titles.

—

With Laz'el and Wyll

Lae'zel notes that Gale knows a lot about mind flayers. He responds with information about his training. If there, Wyll chimes in as well. Lae'zel: You strike me cleverer than most istiki, Gale. Multiple tutors, I should guess. devnote: istiki - non-gith. IH-stick-ee Gale: Many a wise man and woman indeed. Waterdeep is the home of myriad scholars. Wyll: Ah, the City of Splendours. Spent a whole Fleetswake there with my father. What a delight.

—

Romance

The following dialogues are marked as ROM, which I assume is a flag for triggering when there's an active Romance with the MC.

Romance banter, Act 1

Gale: If your natural charm isn't quite up to scratch, Wyll, there are magical means of adding a little flourish of charisma. Wyll: A kind offer, but I think I'd rather pursue things the old fashioned way.

Gale: Have you noticed any attachments of the more, erm, romantic variety flourishing in our camp, Wyll? devnote: Fishing for info, a bit awkward. Wyll: I think I'm not the right person to be asking. Wyll: I can recognise a troll's silhouette on a far horizon, but I wouldn't know a flirtation if you whacked me alongside the head with it.

—

Romance banter, Act 2

Gale: I knew you were a graceful man, Wyll, but I hear you're quite the dancer too. Gale: I've been known to trip the light fantastic myself. Mine was a popular hand at the annual Blackstaff's Ball. Wyll: I'd have love to have witnessed it, Gale. I wager you are as elegant on the dance floor as you are on the battlefield.

Gale: I've heard that in Baldur's Gate, 'wizard' is also a term used for one who eschews their more, ahem, carnal desires. Is that true, Wyll? devnote: Fishing for info, a bit annoyed about what he's heard Wyll: Where are we going with this, Gale? Gale: Oh, nowhere. I just think it a rather cruel misnomer. Not at all reflective of the glamour wizarding life affords. devnote: A bit sulky/sensitive about it

—

Romance banter, Act 3

Wyll: I'm probably going to regret this, but Gale - if I'm to be wed, would you like to make a speech? Gale: You've asked the right wizard. My oratory skills have left many a wedding guest weeping in their seat. devnote: Honoured/very excited at the prospect of speaking at length. Oblivious as to why his previous listeners might have been left weeping… Wyll: Promise it will last less than half an hour? Gale: I can promise it will feel like less than half an hour... devnote: Trying to avoid committing to a short speech

Wyll: I used to believe the beauty of first love was unable to be surpassed. Wyll: But Gale - you are so much more tolerable now you've found your second. Gale: I'll take that comment with the sincerity and good will I assume it was intended. devnote: Not rising to it, cheerful

—

Misc quotes

Tiefling party

Gale: Wyll's a good man. He may actually be a tried-and-true storybook hero. Gale: Then again he's so full of himself it's a small miracle he hasn't resorted to self-cannibalism yet.

Wyll: You're running away from Gale's cooking. Wyll: It's delicious, don't get me wrong, but that man wouldn't eat a vegetable unless Mystra herself commanded it.

Other

Gale: So, you didn't fancy sharpening up the old moniker? I'd have thought the 'Blade of Frontiers' might be feeling a bit dull after all you've been through.

Player: Sounds heavenly. Mind if I join you? Wyll: Not at all. You hunt the deer, I'll scrounge up the ale. Prepare your belly for roast a la Ravengard! Wyll: Let's hope Gale doesn't take offence if I assume cooking duties, just the once.

[maybecoffeemixed]

MAIN PLOT LINE OF DLC HAS BEEN FINISHED, SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT (long post, be warned)

7.8/10, kieran doesn't actually kill us.

Seriously though, I enjoyed it!! Since I don't actually own the game (we poor), I watched a no-commentary playthrough so there are plenty of things I very likely missed, including optional dialog, side-quests, and whatever that thing with the professors is (still lookin' for a video without some guy over it), so I can only comment on the bits I saw! That being said, here we go.

First of all, the BATTLES!! Despite not being able to play them myself, they looked SUPER fun!! I screamed when I saw Lacey's tailwind/lightscreen prankster whimsicott, and even MORE so when I saw it was sashed! I loved the usage of competitive items, and the fact that all their teams weren't completely mono-type, each having one exception to their type (Lacey's excadrill, Crispin's Exeggcutor, Amarys's Reuniclus, and Drayton's Sceptile) that they DIDN'T terrastalize was lovely touch!! Amarys's fight was super hype in particular, despite having an over 20 level advantage, the person I watched still nearly wiped to her! Her trick room AI does appear a bit goofy, but it's a small flaw. Finally, Kieran's battle... I personally adore a good rain team, but unfortunately Kieran's politoed was frozen at the start of the battle, and remained that way all the way til the end, so I can't honestly say how difficult it looked. The one thing I will say is that before the indigo disk was out, I created a hypothetical team for Kieran, and I CALLED that Grimmsnarl!! Literally even the focus sash. If anyone's curious, here was the hypothetical team I made. I'm a nuzlocker, not a competitive player, so it very well may be shit. Apologies in advance.

Next is the characters!! Every design slapped as always, and I enjoyed their personalities! Lacey was adorbs, Crispin was fun, and Amarys might just be one of my new favorites! As for Drayton? Let me tell you, I was side-eyeing him the whole time the MOMENT after he said THIS to Kieran.

After all the hype around dokutaro/peechikeen (now know as pecharunt, apparently), and all the speculation that Kieran would fall victim to its influence, him saying "that's just peachy" made my rat brain go into overdrive. In the end, I think it was just Legends Arceus giving me Volo flashbacks.

Now, the main event... KIERAN! Let me tell you, he gave me GOOSEBUMPS. Every time he appeared, I could feel a chill run up my spine, and his battle had my heart RACING. ESPECIALLY his breakdown at the end of it! One of the best times I've had in a good while. The animation, his reaction, all of it was GREAT!! It was so refreshing to see him not immediately heel-face turn.

Unfortunately, though, what happened after that all disappointed me. I admit I got too attached to the Dokutaro Posession theory, buy it was still disappointing for Dokutaro (I know that's not its name, leave me be) to not play any role in the main story. It felt like a natural conclusion to what the game was setting up, I thought he'd throw the master ball at terapagos, it'd fail, and he'd become so overwhelmed with everything that has happened that he'd succumb to Dokutaro's control and we'd have to fight the Dokutaro-Kieran with Terapagos's aid. That's not what happened, and I felt a bit sad. His recovery from his breakdown was still set up nicely and had some atleast sufficient justification, but it still felt like too-little too-soon. It felt more like he just gave up all together rather than defeated his demons. He'd never be as strong as the player, and that's that, which is a sour note to leave off on.

We see that he legitimately has nothing. All the other students left the MOMENT he was defeated. No one came to help the kid who was clearly having a panic attack. The BB league cares about him, sure, but I wouldn't consider them his friends. They all thought Kieran getting defeated would "fix" him, and even when he clearly wasn't any better after being defeated, they didn't do anything to assist him. Sure, sometimes when someone has climbed so high, you gotta let them fall, but once they do, you can't just leave them lying on the ground. You need to be there to lift them back up before they start digging.

This isn't an attack on the BB league at ALL. Like I said, I really enjoyed their characters! In fact, this reaction is part of the reason I like them so much. It adds depth.

I just wish that Kieran DID start digging, and that it led to something bigger. Even if Dokutaro wasn't involved, I atleast wanted the final battle with him to be that big thing, and not just a turtle that can't do anything but throw out weak earthpowers.

Though the biggest failing to me is that Kieran apologizes to us, but we don't apologize to him. We as in the player, and Carmine

Kieran's actions are his own and I'm not saying he shouldn't have apologized, but he wasn't solely culpable for how things turned out. We and Carmine purposefully lied, kept a secret that was dear to him, and were the straw that broke the camel's back. Even if we the player didn't apologize, Carmine should've!! Her treatment of Kieran heavily impacted him, and he mirrored her abuse (Kieran telling Carmine to "Shut it", just like she did to him, for example).

Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, was in the wrong here. Kieran took things too far, Carmine behavior is a serious problem, and the played character was complicit.

I'm not demonizing anyone here, I am the number one Carmine defender after all, but everyone needs to take responsibility. Not. Just. Kieran.

I relate heavily to both Kitakami siblings, as both an elder sister with younger siblings who she's accidentally mistreated, and as a little sister with an older sibling who treats me like I'm lesser.

I've lashed out at my older sibling, and while my reaction wasn't proportional, it doesn't mean my emotions weren't justified.

I have severe genetic anger issues (that I'm now thankfully medicated for), and have unjustly taken them out on my younger siblings.

Carmine needs to apologize too, or the cycle will just continue. Maybe she already did and I missed it, or maybe it happens in the post-game. However, if she didn't? It makes me feel unresolved.

Anyways, that all I gotta say on it!! Hope someone enjoyed this overly long rambling!!

(P.S. I still don't trust dragon boy. "Thats just peachy" my ASS, you know something ya toothpaste haired cunt. Why did they request to bring ya along to area zero anyways, ya plot relevant FUCK.)

[pokemonshelterstories]

Even after reading your FAQ and a bunch of asks you've answered, I'm still not sure if a shelter blog is the best place to ask this, so do feel free to delete this (or tell me privately that you won't post it, but only if you have the time and energy), but I can't think of anyone else, and if you do post it, you or some of your followers might have some interesting thoughts, so here goes:

How would you feel about using Pokeballs to catch Pokémon you're planning to eat?

For context, I and my siblings grew up in a small, mostly off-grid community, and while most details aren't relevant, we did hunt for food occasionally. We never used pokeballs, but instead bow and arrow, fishing rods, nets and traps.

These days I live closer to a big city, sharing a house with my brother, his husband, and their teenage son (my other nibling, their older child, has moved out a while ago, so they're not part of this story).

Last month, we visited the community my brother and I grew up in, and during our two week stay, I took my nephew on a hunting trip. He was decently enthusiastic to train his archery, but he asked why we don't just use pokeballs. Wouldn't it be easier? I didn't have an answer for him then, only that we'd been taught this way and that I'd never considered using pokeballs.

But I've been thinking about it. It would be easier, but wouldn't it also be more cruel? After all, by catching it in a pokeball, you're giving the pokemon false hope of a nice life with a trainer, only to then kill it. I feel like killing it quickly while it's still in the wild and doesn't know any better is more, like, honest maybe?

What do you or your followers think?

(If any angry vegans find this post, don't even waste your energy on a mean response or lecture, because most likely I have you blocked already, and if I don't, I'll correct that when I see you being rude to me)

oooh, this is an interesting ask to get...

i think this is really more of a matter of personal comfort with the idea of eating a pokemon that's been caught in a ball, but as long as it's done properly, i don't see anything wrong with it. after all, pokemon for the most part don't really have any concept of what's going to happen to them in the future.

as someone who hunts, you (i assume) understand our duty to give the pokemon we eat as painless of a death as possible. then, as trainers, we have a duty to maintain the 5 freedoms for our pokemon, which includes freedom from psychological stress. provided you meet those requirements, i think it's ok to catch a pokemon in a pokeball for the sake of eating it. it's more humane than certain types of traps that leave the pokemon struggling until the hunter comes to check them, and pokemon tend to relax in pokeballs, since they mimic the way pokemon curl up when healing. when the pokemon is released from its ball, you then just need to humanely slaughter it. there are some pokemon that i wouldn't do this with, since they don't immediately take well to being caught in a ball; buneary is a good example. but many common game pokemon do just fine.

i've actually used a different tool to help out with culling food pokemon- my styler! there are a lot of farms out near artazon, and rangers do sometimes get asked to help with keeping livestock mons calm in the moments leading up to slaughter. i've met rangers who aren't comfortable taking on those cases, and i've definitely gotten fussed at by my share of pokemon rights activists, but i think pokemon raised as food deserve as calm of an environment as possible. so, no, i dont think using pokeballs to trap game is cruel as long as you know what you're doing and don't stress the pokemon out. but if you're used to the way you already do things, don't feel like you have to change it up either.

[untitledmemes]

Dune: Part One Prompts

Part I An assortment of prompts taken from the movie Dune: Part One (2021). Adjust as necessary to fit pronoun and/or descriptor. In case of Multimuse, don't forget to specify which one/s. Reblog, please do not repost or add.

“ Dreams are messages from the deep. ”

“ Their cruelty to my people is all I've known. ”

“ Who will our next oppressors be? ”

“ It's good you're up early. ”

“ Why do we have to go through all of this when it's already decided? ”

“ If you want it, make me give it to you. ”

“ There is no call we do not answer, there is no faith we betray. ”

“ I'd like you to take me with you. ”

“ Can I trust you with something? ”

“ It felt like if I had been there, you'd be alive. ”

“ You're not taking me seriously. ”

“ Dreams make good stories, but everything important happens when you're awake because that's when we make everything happen. ”

“ I've been training my whole life. What is the point if I can't face an actual risk? ”

“ I need you by my side. ”

“ I told my father I didn't want this either. ”

“ A great man doesn't seek to lead. He's called to it, and he answers. ”

“ I found my own way to it. Maybe you'll find yours. ”

“ Don't stand with your back to the door. ”

“ The slow blade penetrates the shield. ”

“ You fight when the necessity arises, no matter the mood. ”

“ I see you found the mood. ”

“ You don't understand the grave nature of what's happening to us. ”

“ Don't be too sure it's an act of love. ”

“ When if a gift not a gift? ”

“ Defiance in the eyes. Like his father. ”

“ An animal caught in a trap will gnaw off its own leg to escape. What will you do? ”

“ I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little death that brings obliteration. I'll face my fear and I'll permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past, I will turn to the inner eye and see its path. And where the fear is gone, there will be nothing. Only I will remain. ”

“ If you had been unable to control your impulses, like an animal, we could not let you live. ”

“ You inherit too much power. ”

“ Do you often dream things that happen just as you dreamed them? ”

“ Did you have to go that far? ”

“ Do you see so little hope? ”

“ How does it feel to walk on a new world? ”

“ Don't be fooled by the welcome. ”

“ Let's get you out of the sun. The heat can kill in this place. ”

“ They see what they've been told to see. ”

“ If you mean to harm me, I must warn you that whatever you're hiding, it won't be enough. ”

“ When you have lived with a prophecy this long, the moment of revelation is a shock. ”

“ Sire, I failed you today. There's no excuse. ”

“ It must never be known. ”

“ Thanks for the humiliation, old man. ”

“ I have never come so close to dying. ”

“ I respect the personal dignity of anyone that respects mine. ”

“ I believe your people and mine have much to offer one another. ”

“ Name what you want. If it's in my power to grant, I'll give it and ask for nothing. ”

“ Honor requires that I be elsewhere. ”

“ You have good eyes. ”

“ If we take one step out there, we're as good as dead. ”

“ I recognize your footsteps, old man. ”

“ Everything they left us is in shambles. We've been set up to fail. ”

“ I had a vision. My eyes were wide open. ”

“ You can't know that. I barely know that. ”

“ I trusted you completely. Even when you walked in shadows. ”

“ Why are you having these thoughts? This is not you. ”

“ I thought we'd have more time. ”

“ Why don't we just cut their throats? ”

“ Don't! You are not ready. ”

“ For hundreds of years, we've run blood for blood. But no more. ”

“ Here I am. Here I remain. ”

“ I am commanded to say nothing. To see nothing. ”

“ Tell me, please. What do you fear? ”

“ Somebody help me, please. ”

“ You know who you are. ”