#most threads from a minute ago will have to be dropped

[thecursedraven]

.

[bookofbonbon]

ours is the hunt - daemon targaryen.

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Reader.

Warnings: 18+ Cheating. Hunting. Death/Killing. Mentions of pregnancy/ending a pregnancy. This is kinda fucked up, read the summary. Probably major spelling and grammar mistakes. Tense/POV mix ups.

Summary: Based on a request from the lovely @holy-minseok. like how westerosi kings warn the people of the consequences if they move out of line, reader presents daemons mistress to him on a spike with her swollen belly as a final warning for his betrayals.

Word Count: 2.8k+

A/N: This took on a life of its own and didn't play out exactly as the request but, hopefully it's still enjoyable (well... as enjoyable as it can be). Italics section is a flashback.

The Kingswood is eerily silent in the minutes before sunrise. The party, like many of the woodland creatures, still slept, peaceful in their oblivion as servants moved quietly around the camp to prepare for the rush that daybreak would bring. You take a deep breath, the crisp forest air a welcome change from that of the stench of King’s Landing; the smell of the previous afternoon’s rain also lingers but it would dry with the promise of good weather and a bright sun. 

“My Lady,” Ser Eadric Qyle calls, your most loyal, your sworn sword. “Everything is prepared to your instruction.”

“How many?”

“Three total. Two in the woods as we had hoped now, one. We will release the last one on your instruction.” 

The snap of a twig, a slight breeze, the distant wail of a wounded animal and the flutter of wings as the early morning bird sings its song as it flies across the waking sky. The forest whispers your name and you answer its call. 

“Let the hunt begin.” 

-

Your horse slows to a trot and eventually, to a stop as you approach the camp; an accompanying stablehand taking hold of the reins as a stool is brought to aid your dismount. 

“I had wondered where my wife had gone,” Daemon’s voice comes from beside you with a hand held out. “I should have known to check the woods.”

Your smile is wide, eyes lighting up at his presence as you take his hand and dismount. He is still dressed in his sleeping robes, the Targaryen Prince having obviously just woken not long ago. The thought that he immediately came to seek you out upon waking endears you. 

Steadying yourself with a hand on Daemon’s shoulder, you find your balance and firmly plant your feet on the stool; with the added height you find yourself at eye-level with him and greet him with a kiss to the side of his head. 

“Good morrow, my love.”

Daemon returns the greeting by leaning into you with a groan, head dropping into the juncture between your neck and shoulder, his arms wrapping around you. 

“Remind me again why we must be here at this bloody thing?” 

You wrap an arm around his shoulder, hand soothing his back. 

“You cannot get out of this, Daemon,” you tell him with a small laugh. 

Daemon groans again, his breath hot against your neck as he attempts to burrow his face deeper, grumbling all the while. He doesn’t get far however, when you thread your fingers through his unruly hair and pull. 

“What was that, my love?”

“When you said you arranged a hunt for my name day, I thought it would be just us. Not a whole fucking camp for a Royal Hunt.” 

While Daemon was content to revel in celebrations of his victory, a Royal Hunt and a Royal Tourney were two entirely different things. Besides, he could think of much better things to do on his name day and he makes it known, allowing you to hold his head in place, a familiar glint in his eyes that you force yourself to ignore.

“Did you really think your Lord-King brother would allow that? You have him to thank for-” you release his hair to gesture at the several tents. “-this.” 

“Hm. How generous of him.”

You hum in agreement, adjusting the top of his robes.

“Very but, worry not, my love. Despite reports of only one stag, Ser Eadric and I managed to gain the trail of one other.” 

A grin pulls at the corner of Daemon’s lips.

“The Royal Hunt will track one stag and we will hunt the other,” you finish. Using your grip on his robes to pull him closer, you brush your nose against his, before pressing your lips to his for a brief moment. He tries to deepen the kiss but you don’t allow him. 

“Now, come,” you step down from the stool, taking his hand in yours. “Let's get you ready for the day.” 

“Very well,” Daemon agrees, pressing a kiss to your hand with a charming smile. 

You return the smile before turning and leading him back to the centre of the camp with a tight jaw. 

Daemon’s mood lightens considerably thereafter. The Rogue Prince noticeably happier after you broke the news that the two of you would separate from the Royal Hunt because while Daemon loved to hunt, he hated not being the one to actually do it. He didn’t need someone else to track down the game just for him to land the final blow in some false display of strength and authority. He could do it himself. He wanted to do it himself. He liked to do it himself. And though his mood had lightened, you noted that it didn’t stop his eyes from wandering around in search of someone else.

-

By mid-morning, the camp is teeming with life, the several Lords and Ladies of Westeros who gathered in celebration of Daemon’s name day dotted all over the grounds and inside tents. You yourself enter the main tent with Ser Eadric, the grand structure larger than that of most of the homes of the smallfolk. 

You don’t have to look far to find Daemon, Viserys’ great laugh leading you right to him; the two brother’s seated beside one another at a long table surrounded by other lords. 

Turning to Eadric, you place a cloth in his hand. “Release the last stag and give this to the bloodhound,” you instruct. He nods, taking it in hand and departing.

Taking a deep breath, you roll your shoulders back to loosen them, a delightful smile gracing your lips as you approach Daemon and Viserys. Daemon immediately reaches out for you out of habit once you're seated, and you cradle his strong hand between your own. 

“Ah my Lady,” Viserys greets you and you, him, with a bow of your head.

“Your Grace.”

“I have been meaning to offer you both my condolences following the death of your brother and my congratulations, I hear you have been named heir of Blood's End.”

You tighten your grip around Daemon’s hand then loosen it, both hands releasing his as you begin instead to fidget with your own fingers. Daemon notices immediately, taking hold of one of your hands in his, his grip firm in silent comfort as he sends you a reassuring look. 

“A regrettable hunting accident,” you pull at the collar of your riding jacket. “But, please, accept my thanks for your congratulations, Your Grace. It is an honour and I can only hope to be half the ruler my Lord-father is of Blood's End.”

“Well, I cannot say what type of ruler you will be but, from what I heard you are double the hunter of that of what your brothers were and rival even that of your father-”

“Better,” Daemon interrupts proudly with a squeeze of your hand. 

“Better?” Viserys’ repeats in amusement. 

You breathe a laugh at Daemon’s antics, “I am able to hold my own somewhat.” 

Daemon scoffs at your downplay of your skill, “my wife is humble, brother but, I am not. She is the better between her and her father. Perhaps one of the best in all the land.”

You make a show of balking at the declaration, forcing a meek laugh “I- that is not-”

But, Viserys’ cuts you off, holding one hand up in surrender, “if Daemon says you are one of the best then I believe him. I mean what good is it if House Chase’ words are ‘Ours is the Hunt’ if they cannot do exactly that?”

Viserys’ laughs heartily at his own joke and you spare a glance at Daemon who grins at you playfully.  

The conversation teeters off soon after that as Daemon and Viserys’ listen to the report sent by the Royal Huntsman. You in turn, turn your attention to one of your Ladies-in-waiting, Lady Millicent. While the custom of having Ladies-in-waiting was unusual outside of the Great Houses, the custom was needed within your own House as it was in fact greater than even that of your liege lords, House Baratheon. House Chase commanded both a larger army and fertile lands that weren’t felled by the terrible weather that surrounded Storm’s End. House Chase was second to Baratheon in rank only. 

“My Lady, I’ve been meaning to ask but, where is Lady Gwendolyn? I’ve not seen her around the camp all morning, I fear-”

“Yes,” Daemon interrupts abruptly. “Where is Lady Gwendolyn?”

You delight at the question, ears burning as you turn your attention to Daemon about your newest Lady-of-waiting of six, maybe seven months. 

“I did not know you had such a keen interest in my ladies of waiting. Husband.”

“My only interest is that she attends to my grooming every morning and yet, when I needed her this morning, she was nowhere to be found.” 

Daemon shrugs the question off with a practiced ease while your lips almost pull dangerously downwards, mask hanging by a thread and nearly slipping completely at the brazen statement. Instead you fix your smile, reaching across to smooth the neck of his hunting attire. 

“I have given Lady Gwendolyn leave while we are here, she is likely with her kin in the woods.”

-

A dull light permeates from the lantern in your hand, bathing its immediate surroundings - including yourself - in a warm glow as you carefully navigate the unfamiliar bed chambers that your husband had come to frequent as of late. Shadows bouncing off of the walls, the silhouettes of the two figures in the bed become clearer the closer you get. 

See, you weren’t naive to the ways of men and their crude sexual appetites; the way they would seek out other women when their wives could not sate them. 

‘It is the way of men, he will have his whores and his playthings but you are his wife and no whore can take away from you.’ is what your mother had told you but, you would not heed her words. You would not lay down while your husband took mistresses and whores alike and you had told him so, warning him once of the consequences.

Placing the lantern down on the bedside table, you peer down at the Baratheon beauty laid in the bed with your husband; a few drops of milk of the poppy in their goblets and it was keeping both husband and whore sedated. 

The mattress dips slightly under your weight as you settle yourself beside her sleeping figure, hip to hip as you take a closer look at your Lady-in-waiting, who had also taken up position as Daemon’s mistress, stealing both his time and attention from you. 

Lady Gwendolyn of House Baratheon, the niece of a cousin of a second son nobody; a distant relative carrying the Great name of the Great Stags of the Stormlands. 

“Ser Eadric,” you call on your sworn sword; fingers ghosting over her abdomen. The swell is slight but it is there. “Our Prince’s name day is fast approaching. Ensure arrangements have begun at first light. We will celebrate like none before.”

-

The sun sits at its peak in the sky, streams of its light filtering through the tops of the forest's trees. The crossbow is heavy in Daemon’s hands as he sits astride his horse, sweat gathering on his forehead as he watches his surroundings; the reins of your own horse in his other hand. He had led the first few hours, and now you had taken over. 

As planned, the two of you went out with the Royal Hunt and eventually broke off under the guise of returning to the camp. 

Daemon’s ears perk at the sound of a nearby wail and the flutter of several wings as a group of birds seem to scatter. Dismounting, Daemon joins you on the ground, coming to stand behind you as he scans the woods for any signs of danger. There is no danger however, just your blood hound.

Daemon moves past you and calls the hound to heel at his side. 

“We’re close,” you toss the hours old droppings back onto the ground and pick up your own crossbow. “These droppings are fresh.”

“Very close.” Daemon calls you over to where the bloodhound sits obediently by his feet. There is blood around its jowl. A thrill goes down your spine at the sight, knowing that the two of you were close now. 

“We go on foot from here,” he declares, trying the reins of your horses to a nearby tree and you agree.

Moving silently ahead through the Kingswood, what was once vibrating with life, has now come to standstill with your approach. All the woodland creatures recognising the two predators hunting in their territory. 

Your eyes flitter from the ground to up ahead as you follow the Stag’s tracks, Daemon trailing behind you and then- the sudden trample of hooves to the left of you and a blur of brown and then silence. 

“Daemon,” you whisper and nod up ahead. 

There in the distance stands the Great Stag the two of you had been hunting for the better part of four hours, its mammoth antlers moving frantically as it turned its head over and over. 

Daemon places a hand on the small of your back and you turn your head toward him. 

“From here?” you ask and he nods, stepping carefully in front of you.

The Stag stumbles around clumsily, which Daemon can only assume is from when the bloodhound must’ve sunk its teeth into it but it otherwise remains in the same area, believing itself to be safe.

“Let us test out the might of these crossbows from here,” Daemon croons quietly. The armourer had declared it the single most powerful crossbow, capable of bringing down the greatest creatures from an even greater distance. 

Positioning himself, Daemon presses his body against yours, your hand touching his collar before you slide it down and place it on his waist. The only thing that could be heard was the sound of both of your breaths as you watched over his shoulder. He lines up the shot, finger on the trigger, your breaths in harmonious sync, his back against your chest as your hearts beat as one. You slide a hand underneath his arm, steadying his hold and with a kiss to his shoulder blade, he pulls. 

Thwack!

The recoil is slight as the sound reverberates with a sickening crunch. The Stag cries out but, before it can make a move to run, you’re passing Daemon your own crossbow and he sends another arrow straight through its neck with perfect precision. 

There’s a beat of silence as the entire woods including yourselves come to a halt, your breaths the only sound that could be heard. It’s soon broken however, by your laughter, the sound building into something hysterical as you step away from Daemon. Catching Daemon’s attention, he turns to you, initially in concern, it doesn’t take long however for him to join you when he sees how delighted you are. Catching you by the back of your neck, Daemon pulls you into him, his mouth covering yours in a searing kiss which you happily return. 

“Shall we claim our prize?” you break the kiss, foreheads pressed together.

Daemon nods, taking your hand into his and eagerly leading the way. 

You hum happily beneath your breath, keeping a keen eye on him as the two of you get closer, watching and waiting, watching and waiting until finally- there’s a catch in his breath, footsteps faltering as his head tilts, bemused. You feel the way his hand twitches in your hold, grip loosening as he glances back at you, confused until- a sharp intake of breath and the realisation of not, what he has killed but, who.

You slip your hand from his hold as he chokes on a gasp at the sight of his mistress, his whore, the Lady Gwendolyn. She is covered in a layer of mud, her usual gown replaced with a dirty and ripped tunic and pants, a strip of cloth tied around her mouth and gagging her. One arrow shot through her chest, nailing her to the tree behind her and the second through her neck; on the floor beside her lies the head of a stag. 

Three total. Two in the woods as we had hoped now, one. We will release the last one on your instruction.

“What is this?” Daemon speaks in abject horror.

“The last one,” you tell him grimly. 

Daemon continues to stare at Gwendolyn, dazed and not understanding what was happening as he watches blood drip from her wounds and onto her swelling belly.

“What have you done?”

“What have I done? What have you done?” you tut, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Do not fret, I granted her this small mercy, my last mercy,” you inform him, hand adjusting his collar. “A quick and clean death.”

Your words seems to bring him back to himself, horror and confusion short lived and replaced with a fury you had never seen before. It does naught to frighten you though.

“She was with child,” he turns on you, jaw impossibly tight as he spits the words at you; crowding you against a tree. “My child.”

“I know,” you tell him softly with a nod.

Your placidness unsettles him. You can see it in his eyes and the way he flinches at your touch when you brush his hair back from either side of his face.

“So heed this as my final warning for your betrayals. I won’t be so nice if there’s another one.”

Steadying yourself with a hand on his arm, you reach up and press a kiss to the side of his head, “happy name day, Daemon.”

-

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

bookofbonbon 2024. All rights reserved.

[slytherinshua]

YOU, ME, AND BULBASAUR

genre. fluff. warnings. neck kisses. gunwook is extremely cute and i'm extremely delusional and in love with him. mention that reader wears makeup and dresses. pairing. gunwook x fem!reader. wc. 700. request. no. a/n. i saw gunwook like indirectly kiss taerae's neck and it made me think of just how much of a neck kisser he would be 😭 and if you know me you know i'm a neck girl and that just made me so delusional like i'm feral rn it's not okay??? also can we talk abt how fucking cute gunwook's rosy cheeks are LIKE HES THE CUTEST EVER IM GONNA CRY.

“why are you getting all pretty? you going somewhere?” the tired husky voice of your boyfriend makes a smile start to form on your lips. gunwook had been sleeping peacefully until 2 minutes ago, hugging your pillow to his chest, still tangled under the sheets. you wished you could’ve stayed in bed with him, but you had a meeting early in the morning.

“just a work meeting. wish i could’ve slept in with you, wook.” you glanced up at him apologetically through the mirror, frowning at his sleepy pout and messy hair.

“not fair…”

“i know, baby. but i’ll be back in 2 hours and then we can cuddle.” you assured him, finishing the last touches on your makeup and hair. you turned around to face gunwook properly, ruffling his bed head as you stood up.

“can’t you just stay?” gunwook asked, following you to your closet like a lost puppy.

“it’s an important meeting…” you tried your best to stay firm and not let your boyfriend have so much affect over you. but it was hard, especially when he started planting small kisses on your neck as you sifted through your hangers to find a dress. you felt a small nip land to the dip in your shoulder and neck and you gasped.

“gunwook!” you hadn’t realized he was this clingy this morning. he didn’t stop despite your reaction, pressing a softer kiss over the spot he had nibbled. you willed yourself to not get too focused on his lips on your skin, to instead figure out what you were going to wear to your meeting. but he made it so hard to even remember why you were trying to get up in the first place.

“wouldn’t you rather just stay here? with me? and bulbasaur?” he pleaded, pressing a kiss to your neck between each word. you smiled at the mention of his bulbasaur plush that you had gotten for his birthday— he slept with it every night, opting to cuddle it when you couldn’t sleep with him.

you gripped the side of a navy blue dress, hanging on your last thread, gunwook seconds away from snapping it. was the meeting more important than your clingy boyfriend? did you actually want to spend the morning in a room with a bunch of grumpy middle-aged men when you could be cuddling with your boyfriend?

“you’re lucky you’re cute in the morning…” you sighed, dropping your hand from the dress, and your boyfriend knew he had won. you could feel his victorious smile against your neck as he pressed one last kiss behind your ear. and then he started steering you towards the bed until you both fell onto the soft mattress, him laying on top of you. he nuzzled his face in your chest and closed his eyes, completely content now that he was sure he had you for the entire morning.

you looked at his sleepy face, dark hair falling over his eyes, cheeks dotted with rosy stains, cherry lips formed into the most beautiful smile. you brushed his bangs away from his face, feeling his warm skin underneath the palm of your hand. god, he took your breath away even when he wasn’t doing anything.

“since you made me miss my morning meeting, at least give me a kiss.” you nudged his chin with your hand, and he opened one eye to look up at you. he didn’t waste time after hearing your request, quickly picking himself up to hover over you and press his soft lips to yours. he sighed, finally being able to taste your lip gloss that he had watched you apply minutes ago. he had been tempted to steal a kiss from you then as well, but he was considerate enough to not ruin your makeup until he was sure you were his for the morning.

gunwook’s lips always felt like pure bliss against yours. the weight of his body on top of you was like a weighted blanket, and you were determined to not move from the position for at least another hour. gunwook was right, you would always much rather spend the morning with him… and bulbasaur. 

↳ zerobaseone taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @okshu,, @chewryy,, @haecien,, @sobun1est,,

@emmylksblog,, @talkingsaxy,, @thesunsfullmoon,, @chenleszone,, @sxmmerberries,,

@talking-saxy

[withleeknow]

happy place.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff; unedited, just me being self-indulgent and word vomitting again word count: 0.8k listen to 🎧: you are in love - taylor swift

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

one of your favorite things that minho does is when he drops everything just to hug you. unprompted, out of nowhere.

you like to call these sporadic moments your silent hug time.

it started not too long ago, maybe a few months back, on a random sunday afternoon while you were all snuggled up with soonie on the couch and lazily flipping through the pages of the book you were reading. it had been gloomy and miserable all day; you and minho were supposed to drive to the beach and soak up the last rays of summer sun before fall announced its arrival.

the weather had other plans though. no more beach day, that was for sure.

your boyfriend quietly walked into the room, not saying a word as he grabbed the novel in your hands, slid your bookmark into place and unceremoniously dropped the book onto the carpeted floor. soonie was promptly handled - much more gently - and placed somewhere next to the couch, which earned minho a controlled hiss before the cat just wandered elsewhere in the house seeing that your cuddle session was so rudely interrupted.

you’d learned not to question why minho did the things he did or how that peculiar brain of his worked, so you just quietly watched him with a puzzled look on your face, curious to see what he would do next.

you didn’t know what you expected, but to have him quite literally flop onto your body, pinning you underneath him as he rested his head on your chest, was definitely not something you had in mind.

“you good?” you asked, threading your fingers through his hair to play with the soft floofy mess, holding him close to your heart.

minho just hummed in response as he hugged you tightly. he didn’t sound upset or anything; there was nothing for you to worry about.

he then stayed in the same position for roughly fifteen minutes before pushing himself off of you. “recharged. thanks,” he announced curtly, pressing an appreciative kiss to your lips and leaving the room without an explanation.

that’s kind of how it became a thing. minho would randomly surprise you with silent hug time every now and then, always without warning and reasoning. you suppose that he does it whenever he wants a little boost of energy and affection, whenever he feels down and needs a little pick-me-up, or simply whenever he just wants to be close to you for a while before returning to his day. to “recharge,” as he would call it. it doesn’t even matter what you're doing when he wants it; any time can be silent hug time.

you’re making dinner? not anymore. minho already has the stove turned off before holding you hostage between his body and the kitchen counter, his arms around you keeping you flush against him.

you just got back from grocery shopping and the ice cream needs to be put in the freezer? nope, minho doesn’t give a shit about that. your two tote bags full of produce and snacks can stay on the floor for all he cares. all that matters to him the second you walked through the front door is bombarding you with a bear hug and flooding his senses with the scent of your shampoo and the perfume he loves most on you.

you’re both running late to changbin’s housewarming party? too bad. what minho wants, minho gets and minho gets right now. you can only sigh in defeat as his hands slide around your waist to pull you to him, his face finding refuge in the crook of your neck where he gives you a quick kiss there. you wrap your arms around his neck, turning occasionally to press your lips against his temple. changbin will definitely be fussy about your tardiness, but if you’re being totally honest, he’s lucky that you’re able to drag minho there at all.

in all fairness, it’s cute. it’s wonderfully endearing and such a minho thing to do. in true minho fashion, he would rather manhandle you and let your ice cream melt than tell you that he wants a hug, because god knows that minho would never willingly admit it on his own.

nevertheless, even if you you might not be able to hear him ask a simple question like “can i get a hug?” in this lifetime, you still have the privilege of being the one he goes to when he needs peace and comfort, and his actions speak more than his words ever could.

minho thinks of you first because he associates you with nothing but goodness. because you’re his happy place. you’re the calm amidst every storm, the safe harbor he can always return to when he needs shelter. every pretty color he sees and every beautiful adjective in his vocabulary? that’s all you.

to minho, you aren’t even synonymous with love. you are love.

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos @mjnhoz @caitlyn98s @piercidh34rts  @stayceebs97 @linocz @yaorzu-blog @biribarabiribbaem @kayleefriedchicken @extrhotjne @caitxx1 @palindrome969 @todorokiskitten @azuna-sz @meanergreener @nxzz1skz @jazziwritesthings @poutypoutybin (italicized = can’t tag)

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 09.02.2024]

[genericpuff]

All That Glitters is Not Feminism - An Analysis of LO's Brand of "Feminism" and What Remains of its Fanbase (The Twist)

Alright y'all, I've been waiting a hot minute to talk about this because I wanted to see how it fully panned out before saying anything about it. And it's not even specifically about LO, but I do think it's very adjacent to it in a way that I'm sure you'll be shocked to hear. Much of it speaks to how we prop up white writers even at the expense of POC.

This is 'the twist' attached to my first post that I made just a couple hours ago that concerns an entirely other topic but I feel ties into this subject very well.

If you haven't heard, there's this author who recently fucked around in the Del Rey publishing scene.

Her name is Cait Corrain.

In the original tweet calling this person out, names were not dropped, but it was made very clear that what Cait did was unacceptable behavior.

You can read the entire thread that started it all from Xiran here:

There's also a GREAT recap thread from one of the affected authors, Bethany Baptiste:

I want to make it clear that Cait Corrain isn't just a debut author.

Cait Corrain is - or now, was (foreshadowing is a literary device that-) - a debut author who had an agent, a publishing deal with Del Rey (an imprint of Random House which is a MAJOR publisher) and even an upcoming Illumicrate deal - meaning, her book was going to be packaged in a monthly loot crate subscription shipped directly to people's doors, quite possibly one of the best marketing deals a debut author could ever get, usually unheard of in this industry. All the pre-reviews were strong and positive.

Cait's book was literally set up for success. All she had to do was sit back, relax, and watch the fruits of her labors roll in. She had written the book. It was ready for release. The hard part was technically over.

But I guess the racism brainrot got to her because as it turns out, since April - for EIGHT MONTHS - she's been making alternate accounts on GoodReads to review bomb the indie and debut works of her friends and peers, most of whom were POC and did not have the same opportunities set up for them as she did. There are loads of receipts to back this up that you can find in those above threads ^^^

To say that this is appalling is an understatement. This was an intentional and deliberate act of racism by a white queer writer who claimed to be "jealous" - of what, I can't imagine - so much so that she deliberately sabotaged her peers, people who had supported her and her book.

And then when she got caught? She doubled down on it and claimed it was a "friend", also an alternate account she made up.

The exchange between her and this made-up person is actually the funniest shit out of this entire thing, it's so poorly written and as soon as people noticed the time stamps were out of order, that was when it truly cemented her newfound clown status.

"oooooh he's standing right behind me, isn't he?" energy right here LMAO

yes keep expositing cait, that's really selling the "this is a genuine conversation that really happened with a real person" bit 🤡

Anyways, it became abundantly clear that Cait was just going to continue to dig her heels in over something she caused.

This has been a hot topic in the UnpopularLO Discord, not just because of how crazy of a situation it is that we had to talk about it - and we have people within the community who work in the literature and media sector - but because we noticed one very telling thing in the list of series that she had review bombed in her very own personal act of wrath.

You see, Cait made one fundamental mistake that led to her undoing - she didn't just review bomb the works of her peers, she positively reviewed her own book and others.

What's her book about though?

It's an Ariadne x Dionysus retelling set in space.

It's literally another "modern retelling" of Greek myth.

And wouldn't you know it, guess who else created a modern retelling of Greek myth that she included in her positive review raiding while she was sabotaging the work of her actual peers?

Now, I think it goes without saying that what I'm about to say should be taken with MOUNTAINS of salt, I'm sure a lot of you are reading the headline and going, "Ugh, really? You're gonna make this about LO? Could you give it a rest already???"

I need you to understand, with the current state of Rachel's fanbase and 'modern' Greek myth literature as a whole, at this point Lore Olympus - and the works that are literally inspired by it such as A Touch of Darkness - has basically become the shopping cart litmus test of basic decency. It's like when someone says they like Harry Potter - you can't take it automatically at good faith anymore, because there isn't a whole lot separating someone who simply liked Harry Potter as a kid and still rewatches the movies from time to time from someone who fully supports the politics and agenda of J.K. Rowling. No, not everyone who still watches the movies or reads the books fondly is a TERF by default, but it's justifiably a reason for suspicion when the consequences are often too dire to risk.

There's this thing that's been happening in the LO fanbase that I frankly saw coming, but has really recently started to hit its peak. It's what I call the "Kanye Effect", where the comic has become so absurd and backwards in its misogyny and white feminism that the only people who seem to be left supporting LO are the people who are legitimate white feminists and misogynists - because all the normal level-headed people fell off the comic ages ago (or transitioned into the critical side of the community).

I mentioned it in my last post, but it bears repeating - Rachel's fanbase has literally been shipping Hera, a victim of abuse, with her abuser, Kronos. I'm really hoping a lot of them realize how fucked up that is now that Hera herself has called it what it is - abuse - within the comic, but I also can't count on the LO fanbase picking up on that or even noticing it with how quickly people swipe through it each week, it's very apparent at this point that most of LO's readers don't know how to chew their food and don't pay attention when Persephone and Hades aren't onscreen.

But I'm digressing. Or am I? We're talking about Crown of Starlight after all. The debut Dionysus x Ariadne sci-fi/fantasy romance that was quite literally advertised using Lore Olympus as its baseline-

This. This is what the ongoing cultural erasure and white feminist uwu-fication of Greek myth is doing to the literary zeitgeist surrounding Greek myth as a whole. This is why we criticize Lore Olympus and works like it that are created by disingenuous people who only seek to use the assets of Greek myth material as a way to shoot themselves up into fame and stardom. This is why we demand better standards in the literature and webcomic industry, so that people like Rachel and Cait can't use their privileges to quite literally erase the source material that they used to make themselves famous in the first place.

If anything, Cait's actions didn't just affect the people she negatively review bombed, or the people she was affiliated with, but also the people she positively reviewed. While I don't support what Rachel creates, she wasn't the only one who Cait went out of her way to review positively from her alt accounts, there were many others as evident in the Google Doc - but all this really does is tarnish the legitimacy of these books and their ratings by artificially jacking up their numbers that are advertised to others.

Making Greek myth fanfiction or fun creative retellings was never the problem, but it's now being sabotaged alongside so many other genres and mediums by toxic white individuals who can't even keep themselves from committing hate crimes, let alone create something purely for entertainment that's transparent in its illegitimacy, lest it destroy the illusion that these people are qualified to speak over those whose voices are being stifled, often by these very same people. Many of these writers get caught and are still allowed to continue what they're doing - that was certainly what we feared with Cait.

Until today.

It was revealed today that Cait's book will no longer be featured in the Illumicrate May 2024 box.

Del Rey has dropped Crown of Starlight from their publishing schedule.

Daphne Press will be hopefully following suit.

And, most telling of all, Cait's own agent has severed ties with her.

For anyone not familiar with the inner workings of the publishing industry, Cait has essentially been blacklisted. Without an agent or a publishing house, she'll have to entirely rely on her own resources through self-publishing. Unless she manages to sneak her way back in under an alias (which I wouldn't put it past her to try) she no longer has access to the mainstream publishing industry that was already guaranteed for her before she let her 'jealousy' get the better of her.

Her career was already made for her. She had a red carpet laid out for her debut. Her book was getting good pre-reviews and she had quite literally nothing keeping her from her success. The best thing she could have done was nothing. Somewhere in her head, she made up a threat that didn't exist, and sealed her fate in acting on it, a self-fulfilling prophecy.

I think in these situations such as with Cait Corrain, Rachel Smythe, and - also recently and relevant - James Somerton, we need to become increasingly aware of how white voices are still overpowering POC voices, not just in their actions, but in the opportunities they're given over others which they then use to further stifle the voices of those they feel "threatened" by or feel entitled to speak over. While neither James nor Rachel have used sock puppet accounts to "take out the competition" (at least as far as we know lmao) James did quite literally steal the words and voices of queer writers who were deserving of their time in the spotlight, and Rachel's work is being quoted as "rewriting Greek myth" as if its blatant gentrification and appropriation should be marketed as some sort of positive.

It's all too common for these deeply-rooted prejudices to rear their ugly heads and for the people who carry them to act out in this way while justifying it as "jealousy" or "a mistake". This isn't jealousy. This isn't a mistake. This isn't someone "starting drama". This is genuine, targeted hate, with the intention of snuffing out the voices of others who should be empowered, not silenced.

All that time and effort, and for what? Racism and petty jealousy? It just goes to show, it doesn't matter how many opportunities you're given, how high up on the ladder you already are - it won't fix the deeply-rooted insecurity and racial pettiness that spurs people on to do such horrible things.

I've spent enough of my time and words today talking about Cait, and James, and Rachel. So to end this off, I want to join in with all the others who have highlighted the books that were review-bombed by Cait, and help in uplifting them so they can have successful debuts. I'll be pre-ordering a few of them, so I'll be happy to make dedicated posts for them in the future after they release. Please consider purchasing them for yourself if you want some new reading material <3

The Poisons We Drink by Bethany Baptiste:

So Let Them Burn by Kamilah Cole:

To Gaze Upon Wicked Gods by Molly X Chang:

Mistress of Lies by K.M. Enright

Voyage of the Damned by Frances White:

(I'm sure there are plenty others so if I missed any here, please let me know so I can add them here and check out their books!)

If there's any silver lining to this, I hope that it makes people aware of the media they consume and who it's being created by. I hope it makes people more willing to seek out the books that aren't getting the same opportunities as Cait Corrain and Rachel Smythe. I hope it's a wake-up call to the industry that matters like this need to be taken seriously and that POC writers are still being silenced under their own noses. And most of all, I hope it's a reminder that we shouldn't even need at this point that this behavior is not okay, no matter what level a person climbs to - that just because someone is part of one minority doesn't mean they're not capable of sabotaging another. It sucks that that has to be said, it sucks that despite these groups being so intersectional there are still people within them who submit to their deeply-rooted insecurities and find ways to feel threatened that they use to justify hateful behavior.

Having a platform is a privilege. It should never be weaponized against your own peers or those who you simply feel "threatened" by for no reason beyond your own imposter syndrome or doubts or internal struggles. Because as much as you may feel like you've earned where you are, that never gives you the right to weaponize your opportunities against others who were never given those same opportunities in the first place. "Feminism" is not using your power to crush "other women". "Progressiveness" is not exclusive to the progress that only benefits you.

I wish only the best to those who were affected by the actions of Cait Corrain. You deserve to be heard and seen and appreciated for the work you do and the abuse you've had to tolerate. I look forward to your debuts in 2024 <3

[surielstea]

No one, But you

Based on this request.

Pairing: Cassian x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader feels as if she isn’t cultivated enough, Cass comforts her.

Warnings: Slight insecurities | mention of a pregnant reader | pure fluff

2.1k words

The cold wind nipped at my cheeks as I walked along the cobble stones of Velaris.

My mates hand intertwined with mine, the only thing heating me up. Cassian and I were doing some last minute shopping for solstice presents, he had four bags on his right arm and in his left, his fingers were busy being intertwined with mine, refusing to let me carry anything.

Amren is the only person we have yet to buy anything for, so we had one more stop at the jewelers before going home.

It wasn't often the General of the Night Court roamed Velaris so casually, especially not with me. It was rare I went out at all, but with Cassian? That was once in a year. I was a quiet person, liked to mind my business and hated being approached by strangers. So I typically left the house with Azriel or Amren, civilians knowing better than to talk to them. But Cassian, he was a seven foot tall beacon of light practically calling people to gawk at him, and they did.

I was young, only a century or so years old and had nothing on Cassian. He'd had enough stories to fill a library, all before I was even born. We mated nearly a decade ago but still, people were lost on who I was or what I was to any of the Inner Circle. Even if I liked to keep my peace it had some negative sides too; for example, every girl I've ever met thinks Cassian is single.

Which has become glaringly obvious now that I've become attentive to it. The cashier that bagged our gifts wouldn't peel her eyes off of him, even when he was talking to me.

At another store we bumped into a gorgeous female who Cassian supposedly bedded for a few nights in his twenties.

We walked along the streets and people straight up ogled at him, ignoring me at his side. I didn't want the attention, but it'd be nice if I was at least noticed.

Palace of Thread and Jewels sat on the bank of the Sidra that was frozen over this time of the year. Cassian reached out and opened the door for me, letting go of my hand as I entered the toasty shop.

Neve, a dear friend of Rhysand's, stood behind the display of gems and jewels, she was one of the only people outside the Inner Circle who knew of me and Cassian.

"Neve, afternoon." I smile at her. "Hello you two, shopping for Amren I presume?" Her glowing eyes flash with knowing and I shyly smile. "Have the rest of them already been here then?" I tilt my head and she nods. "I'm certain it's your group that keeps my shop in business." She claims and I shake my head with a small breathy chuckle. "Though we did just get a new collection in, the delivery men were just here I have yet to even unpack the items." She admits and my brows shoot up. "We'd like to see those." Cassian's arm slings over my shoulders. She gives both of us a smile before going into the back room.

I look at the display while I wait for her to return, peering down at a pair of tear drop ruby earrings that reminded me of Cassian's siphons. They matched the wedding ring on my left hand, I twisted it subconsciously, fiddling with the red gem. Cassian seems to notice, his eyes trailing to what I was staring at.

Neve returns in a flurry of shadows, carrying a long display shelf filled with large rocks and gems, placing it on the counter in front of us. I take in the collection, eyes glancing over every glimmering stone, freshly polished and gleaming like a star. Then I halt when coming across a black diamond bigger than my fist and most likely more expensive than an entire months’ paycheck. But this is the one.

Cassian seems to get the hint. "We'll take this one." He gestures to it, learning from last time not to touch. "Splendid." Neve smiles and plucks the gem up with a gloved hand before wrapping it and placing it in an ornate box. "Anything else?" She arches a brow. "That's it—" I begin. "Those ruby earrings as well." Cassian interrupts, pointing towards the jewelry I wanted. "Cass, it's too much." I shake my head with creased brows but he only waves me off and nods his head at Neve. She smiles and fetches those from the display, placing them in their own box with a delicate white bow tying it all together.

Cassian paid without so much as a blink while I grimaced in the background, the price far more than I had in mind— and if Cassian is buying me stunning earrings just because I looked at them, it made me wonder what he got me for solstice.

I had yet to tell him I'm pregnant, planning it all out so the last gift he opens tomorrow night will be a small pink pacifier. I was nearly a month in, barely even showing so Cassian hadn't noticed. We had been trying for a child for a few months now. I've had my scent glamoured and Madja told me last week we're having a girl, I was so excited I nearly told him, nearly came home and attacked him onto the floor with the amount of pure joy I was overwhelmed with.

But I maintained it, telling the shadow singer instead— who was the only person I knew could keep their mouth shut, the spy-master happened to be awfully good at guarding secrets. Lucien found out as well, somehow able to see through the glamour on me with his whirring golden eye.

We left the shop with a farewell to Neve and I wrapped my hands around his bicep as I look up at him with a bright smile. "You didn't have to do that." I say and he shakes his head. "It's all worth it for that smile." He hums, not watching where he's going as he mindlessly stares into my eyes. "Thank you—" My words are cut off by Cassian's head whipping up and pulling me back from a group of girls who were about to run into me. "Sorry ladies," He nods, flashing them a polite smile that could easily be mistaken for something else. "We don't mind." A blonde blushes as they pass by us, giggling amongst each other. "That was weird." Cassian mumbled as he continued our walk home, pulling me along.

Was he really so oblivious to not notice that every single one of those girls were prepared to open their legs right then and there for him? So blinded that he didn't even notice the way any of them looked at him?

Something like dejection overwhelmed me, perhaps Cassian should be with girls like that, girls who radiated pure joy and high energy, not someone's who's social life consisted of a close circle of friends and occasionally a shopkeeper.

Every girl I've met who used to have a thing with my mate has always been the sheer opposite of me. Perhaps that's what he preferred, just settled on me because we're cauldron willed, mates. Sometimes I thought that fate got it wrong. He was too good, too fun and upbeat, the life of the party. I couldn't be further away from the Generals type. He needed someone who has just as much experience as him, someone who loves to go out and dance until daylight— not someone who cuddles into bed with a book and a cup of tea.

His hand squeezes mine and he tears me from my thoughts, looking up at him confused. "Did you hear me?" He asks and I curse myself. "I'm sorry," I shake my head no. "Don't be sorry. I said, do you want to grab food or are you ready to go home?" He raises a brow and I swallow. Wondering what he truly wanted.

"Is it okay if we go home? I'm tired." I admit and he nods. "Of course sweetheart." He smiles down at me, I was foolish to think he'd ever want something I didn't, foolish to think he'd ever want someone other than me, but still, those thoughts lingered in the back of my mind at a constant.

Once arriving back to The House of Mist, food is already on the table. The residence seemingly knowing my growing cravings because every dish on that table held breakfast food. "Pancakes for dinner then?" Cassian hummed and I blinked, then shrugged.

I sat myself at the table as Cassian went to our bedroom to put down the gifts. I quickly thanked the magic House for the meal and it replied by placing a plate in front of me, eager to help me in any way it can.

I stack a tower of pancakes onto my plate, then nearly drowned it in maple syrup sourced from the Autumn Court. My mouth watered at the meal and Cassian returned, freshly changed into lounge clothes before sliding into the seat beside me, plating his own meal.

"I wonder what sort of crazy gift Mor will get me this year," Cassian thought absentmindedly and I shrugged, still a little down from my lingering thoughts— though the pancakes helped. "What's got you down, my sweet?" His knee nudges mine and I glance to him, his eyes searching my features for any clue as to what's wrong.

"It's hard to explain," I shake my head, looking back to my plate. "I've got time." He excuses and a sad smile tugs at my lips. "You're just very, experienced." I try to simplify but his brows crease, clearly confused. "Forget it." I mumble, picking up my plate and carrying it into the kitchen, he's quick to chase after me.

"Talk to me sweetheart," He pleads as I place my dish in the sink. "Please." His words seem to kill any doubt I have and I turn to him, looking up, and up, into his warm, hazel eyes. "It's just, when we were out shopping today you got approached by ten different females." I explain and he blinks.

"Which is fine, I know that's not your fault but— I don't know, they all seemed so exotic and fun. Seemed like the kind of person for you." I shrug and his gaze softens. "Oh my love," He sighs, hands going to mine, guiding my palms to his jaw. "There's only one person for me," He shakes his head, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

"Mates or not, I truly believe you were made for me, and I for you." He hums. "And there's something so attractive about the fact that I'm the only male you've been with." He purrs and I roll my eyes with a flush. "But if you think for even a second you're not the one for me then you've been lied to." He rules, finally pressing a kiss to my lips.

"Opposites attract right?" He arches a brow and I shake my head with a soft giggle. "You're awfully nice to me." I say with a meek voice and he presses another kiss to my lips, his mouth slotting over mine and fitting me like a puzzle piece. I smile against the action and pull back with a wide grin. "There's my pretty girl," He whispers, hands on my cheeks as his thumb brushes over my bottom lip.

"Solstice is tomorrow." He reminds and I nod. "Did you get me something special?" He flutters his lashes. My hand subconsciously goes to my stomach. "Maybe," I say evasively, twirling out of his grasp and walking down the hall. He whined and wrapped his arms around me, his heavy body being dragged along with my movements down the hall.

He’s been trying to coerce what I got for him for days now. "You're relentless." I roll my eyes. "Just tell me." He groans and I shake my head. I've held out about being with a child for a month now, he'd have to wait one more day.

"Sorry Cass," I shake my head, leading him into our bedroom as he continues to drape himself over me. "Why don't you distract yourself by preparing for your annual snowball fight?" I offer and his arms snap away from me, scowling as I recall his losing streak.

"Maybe you'll win this year, General." I wink at him with a smirk and he grumbles a curse, flopping down onto our large bed then opening his arms for me. I smile and crawl into his embrace, allowing his large muscular arms to twine around my body as I pulled a book from my nightstand and opened to the page I was on.

Perhaps I didn’t need to be fun or exotic, maybe he liked the tranquility of all this. He pressed a reassuring kiss to arch of my neck, peering over my shoulder as he read along with me.

General Taglist: @fxckmiup @olive-main @iluvyewman-blog @gaymistakeboi @glam-targaryen @going-through-shit @fauxdette @impossibelle @amara-moonlight @webecheesy-blog @sarawritestories @tele86 @rogersbarnesxx @loviseamms

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[shalotttower]

Fractalize (part 2)

Title: Fractalize Fandom: Hunter x Hunter Summary: "You do this sometimes," he continues, tugging a bit harder. "When I ask a question and it takes you longer to respond. When we watch a movie, and I'm sure you stopped following at least twenty minutes ago." Word count: 2100+ Characters: Chrollo x Reader (female) Notes: yandere Chrollo, kidnapped, depressed and miserable Reader, Reader is dissociating, morbid pondering, morbid imagery, psychological manipulation, intrusive thoughts, non-con touching, non-con kiss. I start thinking that sad is probably my favourite genre to write at this point. Part 1 Part 3 is in question. I have some drafts, but not sure if it'll become anything.

Fractalize - making things into smaller copies of themselves over and over again.

Your mother always smelled of fresh linen and something powdery, like her face cream which you tried once in secret. The fragrance held you mesmerized, and when the jar accidentally dropped from your hand, shattering into pieces, it lingered everywhere: on the bathroom tiles, in the cracks and narrow space under the sink. Her silent disappointment was so overpowering that you cleaned the mess three times.

That scent clung to her knitting needles too when she sat with yarn on her lap. It made way into your mind place, waiting for the most inappropriate of moments to resurface: she would show you how to knit, loop after loop, and eventually you were able to create your own tiny scarf.

Hideous, that's what it was.

But also the first thing you ever knitted, so you cherished it, not caring for the holes and loose threads. She called it pretty, mothers do lie like that.

"I was thinking," Chrollo begins. Clean plates are stacked next to a dish rack, ready to be dried. You help him sometimes with this mundane chore out of boredom or a faint allusion to the life you had.

"Mm."

When you stand so close, his shoulder occasionally touches yours, and a lump forms in your throat, a very unimportant physical aspect of your being that you've stopped paying attention to long ago. You swallow it away, like every single morning before putting on the same shirt for the eighth day in a row.

Dry and repeat.

"Is there anything specific you'd like to do today?"

You pick up another plate. How odd. A few months ago this question would've made you ecstatic. Not that there was a real chance to sway Chrollo's plans, but it was a gesture, the pretence that your input mattered, and you took everything from it, until it started tasting stale. A shy kind of feeling, misplaced and fragile, would bloom in your chest, and prompt you say something soft, silly and naive: 'maybe we can have a picnic?', 'I'd like a carrot cake', 'yes, I want to watch that period drama for the hundredth time.'

And he would agree sometimes. Or suggest his alternative instead, which turned out more often than not to be less favorable, but you accepted it because what else was there? In-between the walls decorated with expensive paintings, books you already read three times, between Chrollo who listened intently to every word and a faint buzz of some high-end place, you chose to take whatever you could.

It doesn't bother you anymore, going or not going. Doing nothing or doing something. Being with him in a room or being alone, even though the last one is more compelling. The initial excitement that came with having small choices has passed. You think sometimes that if you took a knitting needle and sunk it deep into your chest, the surface around it would start crumbling and bare a hollow cavity with just ribs and dusty spaces.

Chrollo's suggestions are very thought out. Aimed to convince you that this arrangement isn't that bad after all, but also aimed to bring him something from it, be it sitting uncomfortably close to you on a sofa or holding your hand the entire walk. His presence is stifling in more ways than one, and you've been choking, choking, choking on it for so long, that finally all those cracks running across your insides started to feel liberating.

"No," you say. "Not really. Anything you want is fine."

Chrollo's been asking this more often lately. What you want to eat and what you want to do. Even whether you want to go out sometimes (with him, of course, never alone). Perhaps he's trying to figure any new preference you might have. Or a part of him can sense this deterioration that's slow to set in, but once it does - it stays.

"Dear," there's a tone in his voice. It's not worry per se. Chrollo doesn't worry for you, he worries for that little world of his, made of forced interactions, silk bed sheets and fake domesticity, which you're a part of, an intricate cog he can keep closely tucked to his side. Sheltered, protected, cared for - these words don't fit. So you use other instead, like imprisoned, kept, thing. He likes to have them, from trinkets he steals to human beings - you. Maybe it comes from years of owning nothing at all, having nothing at all, and now the allure of having much and more is like second skin.

You've heard stories about children abandoned to their own devices. Those who were left to roam the streets, scavenge through trash and fight other kids for a half-eaten sandwich or a can of beans. You wonder if he was like that, with messy hair, bony limbs and a desperate need to own something that no one could take.

Bit by bit you slip.

That tone means he's sensing it already, that bit by bit you're trying to leave him behind.

Chrollo always catches up with things easily. From the way he grips your arms, you wonder if that's what he did just now, caught up.

"Yes?"

The dishes are all done, clean and sparkling. The sink shines too, almost mocking you with its perfectness - there's nothing to do anymore. Your mind space of fake wooden floors and wide windows is waiting to be occupied, but it would feel wrong to retreat there so soon. Chrollo will ask questions, and if you're not able to keep up, he'll notice too. He slides both palms down your skin, squeezing a tad harder at the elbows; and so you stare into the sink.

His hands aren't soft at all. They're a little dry from soap, callused around fingertips. How effortless it would be for him to break your bones, one by one, starting from the wrist, but that won't happen; no, all that comes from him is words whispered in your ear, caresses and cruelty wrapped in kindness - it sounds poetic when phrased this way.

Your reflection stares back from the stainless metal. She doesn't look bad. Chrollo takes good care of her, makes sure she eats balanced meals and drinks enough water. She looks alright, with shiny hair and healthy nails.

The eyes is what doesn't match this picture of okay-ness. Not empty. Not vacant. Just frozen in time and very, very still.

Chrollo presses closer until his chest is touching her shoulder blades. You wonder if he considers it a victory, this silent compliance. It's not acceptance really, because that should be accompanied by a sense of peace or fulfillment and none of the two are currently present. It's not even resignation - that requires energy to acknowledge defeat.

If neither of those, what is it then?

"You've been awfully quiet today."

A drop of water falls from the tap and slides down the drain.

"The whole week in fact," his thumb strokes her stomach through the fabric. Slow circles, up and down. Chrollo enjoys physical closeness so much that it should be surprising for someone like him - reserved, calm and collected - to thrive on such things, but you suppose when it comes to her there's an exception.

"Not that I mind it, but if something's bothering you, you know that I'm always ready to listen."

There is something bothering you actually. Many things. You want your cat back. You want him gone, away, to see your mother again and bake with her. Eat fresh pastries while listening to old songs on the radio and talk about silly things or whatever she liked to ponder over before you were swept off your feet like in those old fairy tales. You want your phone and accounts unlocked so you could message friends. You miss your grandmother with her apron, the way she laughed at corny jokes and told stories about her youth. You want many things that Chrollo would never agree on - you're well aware of that, that's why you keep them safely tucked away and rotting.

You also want him to stop pressing against your back, and this is far easier to achieve. Slowly you untuck yourself from between his body and the counter, then turn around. He watches your face calmly like always, with this unblinking gaze full of strange fixation; there are small lines in the corners of his eyes, barely noticeable ones. You count them - six in total, three for each eye.

Then you blink.

"I don't think there is anything."

"Really," Chrollo hums, playing with the hem of your shirt, and you wonder if he knows something you're not aware of him knowing. "You've spoken less than ten sentences in two days, yet there's nothing bothering you. I must say I don't believe that."

So this is how it's going to start. This is how the conversation begins, and it'll flow from here until Chrollo finds what he's searching for.

"I've been paying close attention."

You don't doubt it.

"And what did you notice?"

"Nothing pleasant," his finger finds a loose thread and wraps it around. The pull is light, as if testing whether it'll prompt you to move closer into his space. "Quite concerning things actually."

You don't budge an inch.

"You do this sometimes," he continues. "When I ask a question and it takes you longer to respond. When we watch a movie, and I'm sure you stopped following at least twenty minutes ago. Or when you go over the same page until it's clear that I'm looking."

Chrollo's collarbone is a crisp line with a faint old scar; your attention skims over it to the sharp edges of his jaw. No smile today.

"And I wondered where you have been going."

He tugs a bit harder and the thread snaps.

It should've stunned you how fast everything crumbled - the imaginary wooden floors, Miss Whiskerton on your lap and the lizard, the wide windows - but no, it's surprisingly anti-climactic. Nothing breaks dramatically, just splits the middle, leaving you with cold kitchen tiles underneath your bare feet. You thought about this scenario - Chrollo cornering you, many times, and the words you would choose when he did, yet they fail to manifest and nothing fills the silence except a mute sensation of acknowledgement which settles over your head and shoulders. Your knees don't buckle. Your breath doesn't hitch, there is no shivering, and perhaps that's the most terrifying reaction of all.

So what, you think. And it's such a simple thought, plain and ordinary, so what.

Chrollo has his ways, but you have yours; they are slow and small, and squeeze you very tight. You can't comprehend this new expression on his face, haven't seen it before.

"My dear," he says in a quiet voice, so unlike his usual smooth, charming tone. "Broken thoughts and forlorn dreams can't fix what you want them to."

He taps your forehead, as if to engrave those words into the soft tissue of your brain. They slip away though, like running water.

"Wherever you choose to wander, there's not a single spot where I'm not right behind. Delusions don't suit you and it's simply sad to watch."

The kiss comes without warning; Chrollo doesn't bother to say anything else, just cups your face. It's warm and deep, a full-mouthed kiss that tastes faintly of tea you two drank during breakfast.

It's rot, you realize with a ten minute delay; and this slack mouth he's caressing isn't yours. There's a plant behind his shoulder, some small cactus with white needles sitting on a windowsill. The sunlight creates patterns on the glass, soft yellow circles and lines. They shift every passing second.

He's going to do this now, isn't he. Kiss you when you slip too deep as a way to break the pattern and remind that this is where you're supposed to be - with him. In the kitchen wearing a thin shirt above the knee, with cracks that spread across your insides, seeking for every small space they can fill. You'll grow older by his side, he'll bring you material pleasures to compensate for the lack of mental ones - books, clothes, jewelry, a pet if you decide to ask (you won't). Chrollo is going to kiss you often until age creeps onto your faces, and you'll watch each other turn old together.

The plant on the windowsill looks so dry.

"Dear."

He pulls back a few inches. You meet his eyes.

"Mm?"

You will let the rot dig under your nails and wait for it to eat away until his hands eventually become empty; rot is something to grab onto. It's slow to set, but spreads fast once does and never runs out of supply.

[strawberrymochin]

I will be back soon~

Genre- fluff, angst...umm yeah whatever synopsis- kento's baby fever (sorry)

Kento Nanami having a baby fever was sort of unexpected. Ever since you had known him from his emo canon phase, till his enlightenment of every job in world being shitty, he's a person to get straight to the point. Speak his mind without any barriers of people's opinions.

when you first saw him, among the busy crowds of the station along with bunch of people in similar uniform like him, you chuckled a bit to yourself noting his golden bangs. He looked at you once with a glare as you drop your head down, embarrassed, trying not to make the fact that you were staring at him obvious.

You never saw him after that day of rush hour in 2006.

As time went by, this encounter of you with the sullen guy with blonde side swept bangs had dust fallen over till the memory of it blurred completely from your vision.

Up until 2016, where in a buisness trip back to Tokyo led you to a person, striking a sense of familiarity. 'The Emo Blondie' you recognised from ten years ago.

"Is something wrong, miss? You've been staring at me for past five minutes." He said maintaining a calm demeanor, as blood rushed to your cheeks, ears red burning with embarrassment. "Oh no, I'm fine.....I was ah kinda zoned out." You say blocking your face from his view with the flies you held in your hand.

Insignificant. The memory was totally insignificant— however the evocation came out vividly crisp. As if the picture of that past encounter was engraved in your mind and this meeting with him blew gust of wind, blowing off the dust accumulated over it.

He has always been straight to the point. As mentioned earlier, he even voiced out whenever you got flustered working with him; when he bends down to your desk, hands caging you from both sides as he uses one to show you what changes shall you make in the proposal; his breath would brush on the nape of your neck, sending shivers down your spine, "I think you should focus on the proposal, rather than shying away."

"Huh?"

He would simply walk away. And what annoyed you the most was his same neutral calm expression. Does his manner never falters? He drives you in such embarrassing situations that you would effing wish to die on that moment. Such a menace.

Better start to avoid him. That was your initial plan, which you put to use, ignoring nanami and cutting out any situation where you have to face each other; going for help to other employees rather than the one you're assisted to— 'kento nanami' ofcourse; refusing on lunch together with the group whenever he used to join; avoiding even to look at him.

You thought you were doing good. There were no more embarrassing situations, now that you keep your distance from the so called past emo guy. You were happy life was back in track again.

That night you were working overtime. Finishing it you strech yourself, gathering your bag to go back home, humming to a tune, walking up to the elevator.

The gate opened and your smile dropped. Inside standing was kento nanami— same expression. The air went awkward, tension rising, he kept staring at you with a frown.

"Are you getting in or not?"

"Ah— I am." You give in, actions suddenly involuntary. The doors closed. None of you spoke for a while, till his velvet voice broke the threads of stillness tangling around.

"Are you purposely ignoring me?" His voice sent shivers down your spine, as your eyes widen to look at him. Oh no— you're going red again. I mean how the fuck you're not supposed to, if he's leaning on the elevator walls, with that tight shirt, two buttons open from the collar with a loose tie looped around showing off his pretty collar bones.

"Wha— no" you blatantly lie.

"Lie," he comes closer, dangerously closer till your back touches the cold surface of the elevator, "you obviously seem to avoid my presence."

"Th— that's not the c-case. You see I ahh" your voice falls as his tongue swipes over his pursed lips. "Mhm? I see what?" You want to answer, but the words won't just come out throat.

"You know what I see? I see you having a crush on me which you are hesitant to act upon...." That's it you were done. You passed out of embarrassment. And the next thing you know, when you regain your consciousness is you laying on a bed with warm blankets draped upon, in an unknown bedroom, which you now recognise as your boyfriend's.

"Dating is shit," He said, "but we can try."

It's been two years now you're dating. Nanami started being a sorcerer again as it suited his tastes and you were happy you won't have to listen him venting "work is shit."

You held your pregnency test, hand shaking, as it showed two lines— positive. Nanami wanted a baby, though he never said it directly, but through these blissful years you have learned to pick up on his unspoken words.

You were not ready for a baby. You weren't even married yet. You still had a career, goals to fulfill. However, tears brimmed up your eyes, of unmatchable joy. You couldn't wait to see the look you on your boyfriend's face as you reveal it to him.

Will he be happy? You were nervous. But indeed there was no doubt he wouldn't. His face would creak up, eyes creasing as lips form a huge smile, grabbing your waist spinning you around with joy. Kissing you telling you're the most beautiful blessing to him.

You remember once he told you about his dream when you asked about it randomly. He said he wanted to settle somewhere in Malaysia, with you. So simple yet so beautiful. Maybe it's time to fulfill it. You and nanami, settling in Malaysia as a mini version of you both joins soon. Have a family.

You couldn't wait to see him in the evening near Shibuya as you had a date night with him after he finishes with something that got him engaged real quick. He kissed your forehead before leaving, "I will be back soon." He said inhaling your scent from the crook of your neck.

You hurried to Shibuya, making sure not to forget the pregnancy test with you— a bow wrapped around it. You chuckle being impatient to see his reaction.

Your eyes scanned around to spot the familiar blonde hair. You don't know why people seemed to be in a rush. Unable to find your boyfriend you tilt your head in confusion.

You stroll around trying to find him. The air smells weird, sort of metalic, like— blood. A unsettling feeling crossed your heart. The station seems oddly quite, you turn your head trying to spot people, till you step on something mushy— a hand. It was a human hand you stepped on.

You stumble back, wanting to scream. Blood is scattered everywhere with sliced dead bodies of people. Dread strikes you—"Please don't be here. Please don't be here. Please nanami." — and among the dead bodies you spot him, standing covered in bruises. Half body burnt as a guy had his hand on his back. A wicked smile on his face.

You stilled as nanami looked at you for a second then looking somewhere else. He didn't recognise you from far. It seemed like he's in a daze.

No— you can't just stand there. You have to go and tell him. Tell him that he's going to be a father. Tell him you guys will be shifting to malaysia. Living his dream life.

You take one step towards him, trying to voice out his name— but it's useless. You couldn't.

Your boyfriend's body burst into pieces— the one you cuddled with every night, his crimson red blood splattered everywhere, just infront of your eyes— and you could do nothing. Nothing but stand.

The guy behind him noticed you, smirking deviously, but decided to ignore and run after a pink haired guy as you fall on your knees.

You crawl upto the bloody mess, of your boyfriend. Tears fell down your face as you hand touches him— his blood— smearing it on your face. He looked beautiful— even when he was half burnt. His blood was the darkest shade of red you've ever seen.

Why does everything has to be like this? You didn't even get to tell him about his baby, growing in your womb. You didn't get to see him smile. You didn't get to start a family with him.

'I will be back soon.' He said before leaving.

"You lied." You manage to let out between sobs.

Years passed after that incident. Nanami left this world, but his baby joined it. Your son has the same hair as him, which you like to style in the emo hairstyle in which you first saw his dad.

You shifted to malaysia after that, protecting your son, the only reason for you to live— living namami's dream, which you made yours.

a/n- sorry | ごめん なさい

[dulceackles]

Ambivalent Part three- The crime

Previous part: (x)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader

Warnings: angst, strong language, sex, violence, enemies to lovers, alcohol, all that. Mention of dead body, a little bit of horror. English is not my first language, so sorry for typos. Also, it is a Y/N, but I've created a background story and a fictional place around it for creative and storytelling reasons. Will not be describing exterior characteristics, tho!

Summary: Dean used to be really important to Y/N but ever since he suddenly left her without telling her why, she's been avoiding even mentioning him. Now, after years, he's back in town, but not because of her. There's a case. The only things she's certain is that she doesn't like him being back.

Word count: 4.1k

Y/N had left her apartment about 5 minutes ago. Joselyn and she had decided to meet up in front of the bar. Luckily the bar wasn't too far from her apartment but then again, nothing in Dimdale was that far.

Y/N: gonna be there in 10 mins!

She texted her friend. It was mid-spring, but the weather had been freezing for the past two weeks. Y/N wrapped her jacket tighter around her as a breeze of wind ran through her hair.

The streetlights flickered once, then twice. The streetlights had not been fixed in years. They were old and rusty, and it was not one bit surprising they lived a life of their own when it came to nighttime. A few citizens had made complaints about them to the mayor, but the reply was always the same; The electricity crisis is the most real thread this town has. We have to keep that in mind. By saving electricity and redirecting our funds carefully, we assure to postpone the catastrophic effects the crisis as it worsts could provide. Every time, every election, and always the same mayor. If you asked Y/N, she thought it was all bullshit. The town was broke, it was obvious. Lost of all founds to keep even the streetlight in order and apart from couple new apartment buildings, public park and a shopping center, everything in Dimdale was rotting in place. It was like a ghost town, yet the townies kept it alive. And the moving out rate was surprisingly low, it was like something just kept them there. A love for a familiar hometown, perhaps.

The light flickered again, and then suddenly all the yellow streams of light disappeared. The lights went off.

"Damn it." Y/N went through her handbag to find her phone to check the time. 10:53pm. It isn't even midnight yet, why the lights go off already? Y/N thought while continuing to walk. Luckily she had lived Dimdale her whole life, and she knew the roads like her own pocket even in the dark. She hoped Joselyn didn't have to wait on her. Sure she wasn't late, but she hated it when she arrived last even if she wasn't late. She hated to be the one to make others wait. She made her way on a dark sidewalk until she heard a shrill rattle behind her. She turned around. Had she dropped something? She pointed a flashlight from her phone to a ground but saw nothing. She kept walking.

"He is drunk as a skunk! How are we going to get anything out of him." Sam studied the man sitting a few bar stools from him.

"Hey, it's not my fault, dude is lightweight;" Dean shrugged his shoulders and took a ship of his beer.

"I didn't say it was your fault, I'm just point out a fact," Sam said.

"Let's just try it out, work it or not. Nothing to lose here." Dean voiced his plan, already on his way towards the drunken shell of a man, Victor.

"Hey man! Having fun I see," Dean greeted Victor, taking the barstool next to him.

"Dë'éaån...! havEen't sEeN YuO in Agesss!" Victor launched himself to hug Dean like he was his life-long friend. Dean awkwardly hugged him back and waited for Victor to get back to his seat. Sam took a stand next to Dean, trying not to laugh at the sign of his brother and Victor reuniting.

Victor finally leaned back to his barstool, and only then he noticed Sam standing next to him.

"This is Sam, my brother." Dean introduced him.

"SäM! I'VE heard Of YoU!" Victor nearly giggled excitedly, "YeaHH DéaNie told ME a lot ábout you!"

"Oh Deanie? He has?" Sam looked at Dean amused. Dean gave him a look that clearly said, "shut up".

"So, Victor, How's it been?" Dean asked, smiling to Victor and leaning his elbow against the dirty bar counter.

Victor went on excitedly telling about his new job and new car and how they were expecting a second child with his wife, Hilda. He told them about his dump ass boss who thought he was a little bit more important than god himself and how he was planning on proposing to Hilda (Even tho they were already married. Dean knew it, but he had no heart to break it to Victor. That's how excited he was about proposing to her.) God, this dude had had about ten drinks too much.

"Hmm interesting. We heard about Sandra. Such a terrible thing." Dean shook his head.

"Yeah, must have been hard for you too, to be witnessing it." Sam added.

"Yup, I saw it with my own eyes too," Victors demeanor changed into a more serious one. It was clear the man was terrified of the memories he had.

"Saw what?" Dean asked, pretending not to know everything.

"The thing," Victors eyes locked with the wall in front of him. "It was not a human, I could tell, and no one, even the police, believed me. They said that maybe the killer had just dressed himself in a costume, but it was not a costume. It was floating, and it appeared out of nothing and disappeared into thin air."

"So Victor.. What did it do? Just came and left with Sandra?" Sam asked.

"No. I was walking behind her, not close to her, but the road was straight so I could see her all the time. I don't think she knew I was behind her. It was late...or early, a little bit before 4am. The streetlight were off, but the sun was just about to start rising so it wasn't pitch black, I swear. I SAW HER FINE." Victor started to yell suddenly and hit his fist into the bar counter.

"Woah, dude, we believe you." Dean tried to calm him down. Few people in the bar turned to look at them.

"Sorry it's just.. I saw it and no one believes me. The police claimed that I was drunk, and it was dark but...," Victor sighed. "She turned around, she was looking for something from her pockets, but she couldn't find it so she started to look from the ground and walk back. Towards me, she looked panicked even from far, and I was planning on asking from her if everything was fine once she came close enough but then.. Then the thing appeared. It was behind her, she never saw it, she was looking so closely to the ground. It reached out to touch her and then they both just disappeared. I called the police immediately, but they did nothing. They came and took me to jail for "prank calling". Then the next day Sandra's mom called about her being missing just as they were to let me go, they were about to take me as main suspect but then they took it back. I mean, for fuck's sake. And then her body was found."

"Hmm, That's something." Sam thought outloud.

"But there's something more weird." Victor looked betrified.

"And what's that?" Dean asked, taking a ship of his beer.

"Before the thing took Sandra, before it even appeared, the streeth lights... they all just blasted on, like fully on. The whole road was lit on like it was on fire." Victor said his voice shaking.

"The streetlights went on? Really? at night, aren't they supposed to be on?" Dean asked, a light amusement and disbelief in his voice.

"You don't get it, you outsider. They never ever put them on after 12am." He turned to look at Dean for the first time during their talk.

"Who's they?" Dean asked.

Victor was about to answer but then his eyes locked to the front door, right behind Dean. His face changed, it was like a new man morphied into him. This... a smile came to his face, like something super amusing was about to happen and he completely forgot the previous conversation that had brought this man into a state of true fear.

"Victor?" Dean asked, he was about to turn himself to check what had just walked through those doors but he didn't have to.

"Y/N, GIRLLL! Check who's hereee!" Victor yelled, he fully nearly screamed across the whole bar.

"God damn it, Victor." Dean

"Okay pal, It's your time to go home." A doorman walked over to Victor and grapped him by his upper arm.

"No please, we'll look after him, he'll behave." Sam tried to save Victor from being kicked out.

"Trust me, this one never does. I'm doing you a favor, you don't want to watch after him." The doorman laughed before escorting Victor out. Man he was drunk.

Dean's eyes locked with hers. She's so beautiful, He thought. She was wearing a black maxi dress, casual but sexy. Her hair was carefully done and she was wearing this...a god awful look on her face, like she had just withnessed something so disgusting it was classified as a crime. Oh, right, she had locked her eyes with Dean himself.

"Okay pall, it's your time to go home." A doorman came to stand next to Victor and grapped his upper arm.

"No, please. We'll look after him, he'll behave." Sam tried to save Victor from being kicked out.

"Trust me, he won't and you don't want to." The doorman said and escorted Victor out.

How dare he be here ruining the night? The one night I decide to go out and he's here, Y/N thought. She had been glaring the back of his head for 20 minutes now. He and Sam were still sitting in the same spot next to a bar counter they had been sitting since she and Joselyn arrived. They had took a table across the room but the bar was not big enough for Y/N to forget his presence.

"Like I will go get you some binoculars if you want me to." Joselyn commented. Joselyn had been sitting silently next to her friend.

"Sorry, I just... Why the fuck he needs to be here?" Y/N sighed, breaking her glare and turning to look at Joselyn.

"Free country I guess.. Anyways, I say we forget about him and have fun. Who's with me? I know I am." Joselyn grinned.

"suree," Y/N smiled. She promised she was going to try. She came to have a good night and one fuckboy wasn't going to stop that. besides, she know how annoying she was being and unfair to Joselyn. She too had had and experience of asking a friend out and then the friend is all obsessed over some and completely forgets her friend and original conversation subjects exist.

"I feel like im too old for this, sitting in a bar and beefing with a fuckboy. Like I didn't know fuckboys at this age existed anymore but apparently they do." Y/N shook his head.

"Trust me, they never go out of style. I bet there's a 87-year-old guy named Larry going around a nursing home breaking them old poor hearts." Joselyn giggled, "Let's go get drinks."

"No we can't" Y/N grapped Joselyns hand in panic, "He's literally right there next to a bar counter."

"I know and he's there for a purpose trying to pretend he didn't even see you but secretly waiting for you to go get a drink." Joselyn pointed out, "I'll go, you wait here."

"Okay but don't say anything to him." Y/N wasn't sure if she trusted her friend with this task.

"I would never!" Joselyn acted like she was hurt by her even thinking she'd do such a think and then winked at her and turned on her heels to trot to the bar counter.

Y/N pulled her phone from her handbag and started scrolling through it. She had no notifications, not a single text or anything but she still went through her phone, pretending she had like atleast thousand messages to reply. To her defence, feeling awkward when left alone at a bar was a really common feeling and distracting yourself with a weather app was a common response.

She had already checked next week's weather in Dimdale, Vancouver and Dallas when Joselyn finally came back with a tray with four drinks and four shots on it.

"Woah, what's all this?" Y/N looked at the tray in shock almost.

"Our drinks! Two drinks and two shots for you, same for me." Joselyn said and started to sort out the drinks on the table.

"Are we gonna like crawl back home from here?" Y/N giggled.

"No I was planning on passing out on the toilet and then taking a ambulance but you can take build-in the four-wheeler if you feel like it." Joselyn joked.

"truth or drink?" Joselyn asked, "But even if you pick truth you still have to drink tho."

"Okay, sure." Y/N was pretty sure she knew what was coming so she just picked up the first shot she got and downed it.

"What happened between you and Dean? You never talk about it and don't take this the wrong way but it was only like under a year old undefined long-distance relationship and you''ve been like shit about it for years after." Joselyn asked, she had always been curious.

"Well, I just.. It just sucked." Short but effective answer.

"Breakups usually do...And?" Joselyn didn't settle for that.

"I just really liked him. Like really, truly liked liked him.." Y/N continued

"Huge crush you had, I remember," Joselyn added. She knew Y/N maybe even had fallen in love but she knew better than poke at that. But two years crying over it was still a bit much she thought.

"Yeah, sure.," Y/N took her second shot and then drank little bit of her mixed drink to get the taste of alcohol out of her mouth, "He was the first guy I truly liked liked and I felt like it was mutual and I knew he had this job and all and he was away a lot and he never really even lived here but I feel like it was worth the wait and maybe even worth like you know.. eventually moving with him if it got that serious. And before he left me he gave me this ring.."

Joselyn gasped and took a sip of her drink. She was really into the story like she was watching a reality tv.

"Not a engagement ring you idiot!" Y/N laughed at her friends shocked expression, "It was just an old ring, he said it was special to him. It was really pretty tho. he said that he wanted me to have it. However, then two weeks later, he was supposed to be back in a week yet he calls me that he's not gonna come and that I should lose his number."

"No way!" Joselyn gasped again.

"Yeah, the way that he did it, like he couldn't even wait a week to get here and dump me face to face. I just know he lied about something and you know what I think it is?" Y/N turned to look check if Dean was still sitting where he had been. He was, he said something to Sam. "I think he lived a double live. I mean think of it."

"Yeah it does sound suspicios." Joselyn agreed.

"I tried to google this so called 'Family business' and nothing, not a single result nanywhere and his whole story was that the business was one of the fields best so kinda weird it's nowhere to be found.I think he had another woman, or like I was the another woman. And she must have found out and he panic because clearly he chose her." Y/N secretly wished she had third shot but she didn't.

"in that case not your lose girl, not your lose." Joselyn shook her head.

"I guess." She didn't see it as black and white, "Anyways, I think I know why he's now back. I think he wants to propose and needs the ring back."

"NO WAY" Joselyn yelped.

"shhhhhhh!" Y/N didn't dare to check who had turned around to look at them.

"Yup, I think he wants to propose with it and have it back but because he's such a dump ass liar he can't even be honest and ask it back but he has to put all of this show of being back in town with his brother. Sam even came talk to me and was like 'Idk what happened but I'm sorry blaahblaah' and trying to befriend me. I think Dean has put Sam in the business so he could ask the ring back because, i don't know, maybe they think i wouldn't give it back to him." Y/N said.

"Would you tho? Do you even have it anymore?" Joselyn knitted her eyebrows.

Y/N laughed a little bit, "Of course I have, I mean all of his other stuff he had left I threw away but I wouldn't throw away something he said was special to him. It's just a ring i mean, if he said it was special it had to have background story.."

"But don't you think it's bit weird he'd give the ring to you if he planned to propose with it one day?" The way Joselyn worded her gueston hurt Y/N feeling a little bit.

Truthfully, Y/N had felt her whole life that she was somewhat 'unloveable', like she just wasn't good enough for someone to love. And before Dean she had felt nearly invisiable and like she had to plant herself infront of people for them to even notice her and like beg for them to be with her and even then, if they happened to see her, they only wanted sex, sort time pleasure from her and nothing else. But with Dean, it had felt different. It had felt like she didn't have to try so hard to be loved and valued. She wasn't gonna admit it outloud but she thought she had loved him and that he loved her too but when it had begun clear that was not the case, it had broke her in ways she didn't even know her spirit could be broken. So for even Joselyn to guestion why he would give the ring to her made her feel stupid. Like had she fallen for a stupid lie? What it that transparent that he hadn't loved her,

"I don't know why he gave it to me. Maybe he was trying to keep the show on. I thought that maybe he lied and the ring was just a ring but why else would they be back? There's literally nothing else here for them exept the ring?" she replied, she felt herself getting drunk and she also felt a lump starting to form in her throat. Great.

She hated him, more than anything. She felt stupid, like she had walked around with rose pink glasses on thinking she had a love of her life next to her and he had let her believe that. And then she maybe was just a side chick. She couldn't proof it but she knew he had lied about something so if not that then what?.

"Yeah so that's that. That's his crime, that's what happened" Y/N leaned back in her seat. She wasn't feeling too well.

"I have to go to toilet," Y/N said and got up.

As she walked to the toilet she could feel her eyes watering and legs thumbling. She was more drunk than she thought she had been. But she was not going to cry in public, not over him.

But as she reached the bathroom and the door closed, she just felt tears escaping her eyes no matter how she tried to fight it.

"Stop it, you crybaby." She whispered to herself and she was going to insult herself more but she heard the door open. It was probably Joselyn, she probably noticed Y/N was crying.

"What happened?" concerned voice asked.

"I -" Y/n was about to start sobbing to her best friend but then she realized she was not in the room with her, "You nasty donkey what are you doing here? It's women's bathroom.

"Why are you crying?" Dean asked again, crossing his arms infront of her. Y/N tried to go around him and leave but he just stepped infront of her, blocking her exit.

"I'm not crying!" It came out in a full angry sob.

Dean trying to take a hold of her face and wipe her tears with his thumb but Y/N pushed his hands away.

"Don't touch me:" She hissed.

"Y/N please, I'm begging you. Don't be like this," Dean plead.

"Like what?" she asked him. Secretly she was glad she had done something that bothered him enough for him to ask her to stop.

"Don't be so angry and passive-agressive all the time and don't push me away constantly. Just tell me what happened?" He grapped her by her arms gently but firmly.

"I'm crying because..." Y/N started, "I just learned that when sloths mate the female sloth will climb up a tree and scream till a male finds her. And that just really moved me to tears."

"Very funny, very clever Y/N" Dean rolled his eyes.

"Isn't it." Y/N gave him a sarcastic smile and she could tell he was not happy at all about her behaviour. She thought that maybe he was getting a little bit angry too, "Would that work on you?" She asked.

"You can try." He looked her up and down.

"Do you want just like a full scream or would you prefer some pronunciation in there? Like maybe even a full phrase like ´somebody help me, There's a man in wome's bathroom!´ or something like that."

"You're in men's bathroom." Dean pointed out.

"No, i'm not."

"Yes, you are you sloppy drunk." Dean smiled a little bit but not in a malicious way. He thought it was cute how disoriented she was now that she was not fully crying anymore.

Y/N looked to her right, there indeed was a row of urinals that had not caught her attention earlier.

"So did you follow me here or did you just come here to have a shit?" Y/N asked and now she felt like crying again. She really thought he had came in for her.

"Maybe I came in to watch out for my fellow pals," He smirked, he had that smirk. Y/N stared at his lips. He noticed. She was going to tell him to go fuck himself just out of habbit at this point but then he pushed her against the bathroom wall and pressed his lips to hers.

She was going to push him away but her hands betrayed her, instead, they wrapped themselves around his neck. His skin was soft and his lips moved gently with hers. She could smell his musky aftershave. She tried to take a step and leave but her legs didn't listen to her either. Instead her right leg lifted itself up and pressed her thigh against the side of his hip. She could feel tingles at the bottom of her stomach. Dean grapped the back of her thighs and her legs, without a premision, wrapped themselves around him. Her hands wandered into his hair, pulling his soft hair a little bit. She could feel his tongue slid into her mouth and his stubble rubbed against her chin. she loved hated the taste of him so much. His fingers digged into the flesh of her thighs as he hold her body, pressing her more inbetween the wall and himself. she wanted him to kiss her deeply and tell her that whatever he had done before was a mistake and he loved her and wanted to be with her and he was ready to do what ever it took to proof to her that she was worthy of her trust and that there was no other woman and that she was everything to him fuck off, she wanted him to fuck off.

Someone moaned and Y/N realised it was her. Did I just fucking moan?? She thought, oh no.

He smiled into her lips, he had heard that. He was about to break the kiss and ask her if they should leave it for later and if she'd let him by her a drink (non-alcoholic because she had had enough) but she broke the kiss first.

"What do you think you're doing?" She sounded angry, again, per usual.

"Uhm.." Dean looked genuinedly suprised, and a little bit hurt. He put her down, carefully holding her till she found her balance.

"Y/N, I thought..." Dean started to apologize but what cut off.

"Don't think." She hissed and stormed out of the bathroom...

Next part (x)

// this chapter was literal hell to write. I lost it like 2 times because tumblr hates me and had to rewrite it so sorry if there's apnormal amount on typos, I tried to edit it the best I could.

[5sosangell]

Long Hair Harry

ahhh this is my first ever smut and proper fanfic!! Ive gone over a few times to try to make sure there isnt any mistakes but i'm only human. A little bit of smut is in this so 18+ (guys its really hard writing sexy times things omg) y/n x long hair harry (one direction era) kind and helpful criticism would be much appreciated thank you!! <3

You were waiting. You knew it was a struggle sometimes for the boys to get back to the bus after playing. You were specifically waiting in the back of the bus, where there was the most room to stretch out, watch telly and study. You would have joined everyone else backstage but after a full day of study you opted out and wanted to just relax and have some me time. You had stood at the sidelines every other night so far this tour. The boys had just finished another night at the same venue so everyone knew where to hang outside the venue for a chance glimpse of the boys.

Just before the show finished you got up and started to make yourself look at bit more put together, putting on some mascara and lip gloss. After a day spent studying you wanted to do something special for harry. He had been worn out, between finishing another album while also touring it was taking a toll. You wanted to do something just for him tonight, something to ease his stress and help him calm down after another night of adrenaline. Even if its just for one night and you knew just the perfect outfit...

you had just finished cleaning yourself self up and the room to make it as cosy as possible when you heard the door to the bus open and a bunch of voices filled the once quiet bus. You pulled out your phone and slipped harry a text "come to the back room, alone x" you only heard part of the conversation but you got the understanding that the boys wouldn’t interrupt. Within a few minutes the door popped open and there he was standing. He quickly closed and locked the door behind him once he saw what you were wearing. A slightly see through slip and the tiniest black thong (an outfit you had picked up a few days ago when shopping with the girls) Harry stood in awe, pupils expanding only black left in his beautiful once green eyes. "baby, what is all this. all for me" he groaned as he stared you down. You bit your lip and walked up to him putting your hands under his top, running your hands over his beautiful tattoos, paying close attention to the ferns. Pulling him towards the couch and pushing him gently so he's sitting down "all for you and i know you've been stressed lately so tonight it's all about you baby"

You gave him a few kisses and kissing him down his neck before kneeling down before him. He was still wearing jeans and a belt so you got to work quick. He lifted his bum up and helped you pulling his pants down past his ankles. His shoes were already discarded at the door of the bus. You started teasing, rubbing him over his boxers. "baby please" he wined. You pulled down his boxers and he sprung up free slapping his lower stomach. You gave some kisses to the head of his cock before you lazily started moving your hands across him. Then you started to move your mouth from the tip to his base. He threaded his hands through your hair and started to push. You loved this, there was no need to communicate anymore. You knew what he needed and did it. You let him fuck your throat for a bit, while your hands were caressing his thighs. You could tell he was being quiet and holding back the beautiful sounds he normally makes because of the closeness to the rest of his bandmates on the bus.

He tapped at your cheeks, that was his signal that he was close. You kept going, adding more tongue, moaning on him sending vibrations through his cock. It sent him crazy. You looked up at him, you looked wrecked and it sent him over the edge, he came in your mouth. You savoured every drop, opening your mouth to show him before swallowing. "fucking hell, woman you'll be the death of me"

You crawled onto his lap and started to cuddle him, running your hands through his hair and peppering him in kisses. You knew he was getting to his limit on tiredness. "sleepy time baby?" you asked "what bout you, i didn’t even get to taste you" his accent was getting stronger, it always does when he's sleepy. "we can do that once you've rested, you had some really busy days don't want to burnout babe" he agreed, already half asleep. You pulled up his boxers and moved him to lay on the couch. You normally being the big spoon when he's all sleepy and exhausted. Until he turned around and put his head in your boobs. "mmm much better" you giggled. You spent the rest of the night playing with his hair and having the tv on a low volume. This was perfection.

[scarabies-real]

I’m fully “the newest episode of game changer has clues for an arg and the puzzles are unreleased” btw here’s my reasoning

A lot of it kind of ticks at my brain like “wait a minute” but I think the fact that FixItMan78 is still up as a channel even after episode release REEKS of a plant that will dropping clues and/or a trailer and guiding us through the ARG.

But the main thing that cements it to me is actually Zac’s role as grant, where it is specified that this is Literal Grant O’Brien. He is still called Grant, he acts like Grant. Could it be just for the humor factor? Sure, any of these could be, but if that were the case, why not just rewrite the wacky character to be called Zac Oyama? If he were just a funny character to give an opportunity to earn points, why the trivia? And if it were just a time loop, wouldn’t his trivia be the same each time?

Then we add in the fact that a moderator of the dropout discord (beam.) suggested the idea of hiding a season of game changer behind an arg 3 years ago and THAT VERY SAME MODERATOR made a thread called “Deja Vu ARG is Definitely Not Real” but we’ve had

No announcement from any team members that there Is No ARG

No moderators trying to shut down ARG talk

Multiple moderators reacting with winky faces and other such things to theorizing

Sam himself saying before he is interested in an ARG and he would tell us (eventually) if he ever did an ARG

So from my experience of ARG building and being a plant, this suggests to me either one of two things

There is an ARG, but it’s technically “unreleased.” Most likely being released on Sam’s birthday.

There is an ARG, and we have all the answers, but now we need to put together and/or find the puzzles.

Other possible options include:

There is NOW an ARG when there wasn’t before in Escape The Greenroom, but they may have built clues from Escape The Greenroom into the ARG

There is an ARG and we’re not going to get the season finale until we solve something, if not the full ARG itself then one of the puzzles. The season finale will have more clues for the ARG.

There is an ARG and we’re not going to get the season finale until we solve something, if not the full ARG itself then one of the puzzles. The season finale will have the storyline/ending for the ARG all tied up and the rest of the puzzles will just have Easter eggs.

The entirety of season 6 has been an ARG.

There is an ARG, and we have all the answers and the puzzles, but we need to find the story.

There is no ARG and this is just Sam fucking with us on purpose

There is no ARG and we’re all just going insane without a big ARG to keep our little puzzle oriented brains kicking

[criminalamnesia]

The One I’d Come Looking For

warnings: mentions of blood and death, mentions of past trauma, no use of y/n, reader has an unnamed sister, reader has powers and goes by “phantom”, not proofread

summary: you and peter had fallen out months ago because of your different lifestyles. now, he’s back in your life and trying to save you from Kraven’s hunters.

author’s note: I’m down bad for insomniac!peter. anyways I wrote this quickly and in a blur. it’s also my first step back into writing for fun in a while so I’m sorry if it’s awful and messy! I definitely started this with a different ending in mind but what’s done is done.

—

You thought you’d put your life as a criminal behind you. You’d been doing good for yourself without the help of your powers. You’d gotten out— but Kraven pulled you right back in.

You were on the run now, constantly looking over your shoulder as you attempted to find a way out of New York. It’s times like these you’d wish those experiments had given you the power of flight— maybe even invisibility. Anything to get you out quickly and unscathed.

Your phone rings for the third time in ten minutes. You don’t need to check the caller ID to see who’s calling. You know it’s one of the spiders— probably Miles, as you and Peter had a complicated history.

You ignore the ringing in favor of focusing on pushing the needle into the skin of your thigh to sew up the gash there. Kraven’s hunters were no joke. You’d faced worse, but they’d caught you by surprise. One minute you’re sleeping peacefully, the next your eyes are flying open to the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

You’d taken out most of them as you escaped, but one had taken a sword to your thigh. You were lucky— those blades were sharp enough to cut through bone. The one that hit you had skimmed you, but it had still cut deep enough to need stitches.

You bit your bottom lip as you worked on stitching yourself up. Your first aid skills were a little rusty, but it was almost like riding a bike. You never forget how to patch yourself up after a fight, right?

The phone rang again and you scowled. You should’ve left the damn thing behind, but maybe your subconscious made you take it in hopes that he’d call.

You and Peter hadn’t spoken in months, not since you stepped back from a life of villainy. In hindsight, it’s ironic. Peter hated your lifestyle when you were together— it’s one of the reasons things ended. You’d think he’d be interested once you were on the straight-and-narrow, but he was radio silent.

You could understand. You had done a number on him— and he on you.

Again, the phone rings. You pull the needle through your skin a final time, tying the thread and reaching for the bandages beside you. A knock on the door startles you out of your thoughts.

The bandages are forgotten as you raise your hands. Green light swirls around your fingertips. You’re ready to send a barrage of green spikes through the air when whoever is knocking speaks.

“Phantom, I know you’re in there.”

Peter.

“It’s open,” You sigh, dropping your hands and turning your attention back to the bandages.

The door slowly creeps open a crack to reveal an unfamiliar suit. The red and blue you once knew are gone, replaced by an eery black that unsettles you. You raise your eyebrows as he enters the room and pushes the door shut behind him.

“New suit?” You ask, looking back down at your leg as you start wrapping the bandage. You grit your teeth as you pull the fabric tight around your thigh. You couldn’t afford to start bleeding again.

“Why don’t you answer your phone?” He counters, his voice lower than you remember. It almost didn’t sound like him.

“Kinda busy here, Pete. Fuckin’ hunters know what they’re doing. I’m sure they’ve got my trail again, it’s only a matter of time before they come busting in here. I’ve gotta patch myself up and get going— excuse me if I don’t have time for chatting,” you huff, not bothering to look at him as he approaches you.

“I saw them on my way over,” he says. “Said hi.”

“Did you?” You said, ripping the last of the bandages and patting your thigh. You’d have to stay ahead of them now. You’d lose a foot race, but you may win with some distance. “How kind.”

“I was trying to buy you some time.”

“I don’t need your help, Peter,” you spoke, pushing yourself off of the floor while minding your hurt leg. “I’ve been doing fine on my own.”

“You should be grateful,” he said. There was an angry edge to his voice, and it was unnerving. You’d never heard him speak in such a tone, especially towards you. No matter how mad you made him when the two of you were together, he never reached that point.

“Should I?” You questioned, getting a good look at him now. He still had the white spider you recognized, but the rest of the suit was a slimy looking black. “I don’t owe you shit, Spider-Man,” you threw the title in his face, watching as the off-white slits of his eyes narrowed. “I didn’t ask for your help. I can handle myself— I have been handling myself for months, and last I checked, you wanted nothing to do with me. So, why are you standing here now?”

He exhaled sharply. The two of you stared at each other for a moment before you gave a small laugh and shook your head. “This angsty, brooding act isn’t cute, Pete. Tell me what you want or get lost.”

“I’m trying to save you,” he spat as his face started to come into view. Black tendrils of the suit slinked away until his mask was completely gone. There was a look in his eyes you didn’t recognize.

“Save me from what, the hunters? Little too late for that, incase you haven’t noticed,” you gestured a hand to your thigh.

“Kraven,” he spoke, his voice rough. “He’s killing villains. He’ll kill you.”

“I’m not scared of Kraven or his hunters,” you said, reaching down to swipe your bag off of the floor. You shrugged one of the straps over your shoulder and looked back at Peter. “And you should know I don’t need saving.”

“Can you not be so stubborn for once?” Annoyance was clear in his tone as one of his hands reached out to wrap lightly around your wrist.

“Since when do you care about my well-being?” You countered, pulling your wrist from his grasp and stepping around him. “We didn’t end on good terms. We haven’t spoken in months. I don’t think you could hate anyone, that’s not who you are—” you gave a small laugh as you shook your head, “but I’m pretty sure you got close to hating me.”

“I never hated you,” he told you, and his voice almost sounded normal again, but you were already walking towards the door. Your hand grasped the handle, pulling it open, but making no move to step out.

You ignored him. Although you would never tell him, those words meant a lot to you. You had loved Peter— for fuck’s sake, you were going to marry him. But you got caught up in some bad shit, and he couldn’t forgive you for it. You didn’t expect him to.

The last time you had seen him, you’d limped away. Broken and bleeding, abandoning him on a rooftop, ignoring his pleas for you to do the right thing.

You had never raised a fist to him, nor he to you. In fact, he had saved you from death at the hands of Kingpin that night— and still you’d finished the job you were assigned.

The clarity that came after was crushing. Missing him was crushing, but you were too proud and he was too tired. You know that if you’d gone back to him, he would have eventually forgiven you. Peter was good like that. It was one of the reasons you had loved him.

It was one of the reasons you still loved him.

“Goodbye, Spider-Man.” You spoke softly before stepping into the hall and shutting the door behind you.

You hobbled down the hallway and desperately tried to ignore the pain in your leg. The hunters wouldn’t stop just because you were injured, meaning you couldn’t stop either.

Whatever. You’d been through worse.

As you approached the end of the hall, the irises of your eyes shifted to a light green. It was a subtle tell that you were using your powers. As if the occasional glowing-green structures you created weren’t enough of a tell.

You shifted through the wall, your eyes fading back to their original color as you inhaled deeply. You knew Peter was probably still lurking somewhere close by. He was never one to sit back and let something happen, especially if it involved someone he cared for.

Well, used to care for. You supposed it was just the heroic-ness of him that kept him glued to your shadow. He couldn’t leave in good conscience, not when the hunters were on your tail.

You limped deeper into the alleyway you’d shifted into. It reeked of rotten food and you swore you saw a rat run by, but life on the run was never glamorous. Besides, the darkness of the alley made you feel the tiniest bit safer, even if you knew the hunters had tech that would make the dark surrounding you look like daylight.

Speaking of…

An arrow whizzed by your head, embedding itself into the metal of the overflowing dumpster a few feet ahead. You sighed.

“Can’t you guys take a hint?” You turned and raised your hands, ready to defend yourself, and—

“Run!”

Peter had been following you. He landed between you and the quickly approaching squad of hunters, sparing you a glance over his shoulder before turning to unleash his wrath on Kraven’s lackeys.

“Can’t run even if I wanted to, Spider!” You shouted, shrugging off your bag and tossing it to the side.

What happened next was a blur.

Green light swirled between your raised fingers, materializing into the green spikes you’d almost impaled Peter with ten minutes ago. You sent them flying towards the hunters who weren’t preoccupied with the spider currently ripping them to shreds.

One hunter screamed in pain as one spike met it’s mark, piercing the woman’s abdomen.

Peter may have a no-kill rule, but that didn’t mean you did.

Another grunted as a spike met his shoulder, but he soldiered on with a sword raised.

“Really? Still coming?” You huffed as you formed a sword of your own, the green light it was constructed of illuminating your battlefield.

The man roared a battle cry as he brought his blade down towards you. You parried swiftly, but the man you were fighting was much more experienced with a blade. He swung again, and as you attempted to move out of the way, the blade sliced into your other leg.

“You guys don’t fight fair, huh?” You groaned. Green light dissolved as you lost your focus on your own weapon. Now you were just trying to keep your balance as you dodged the hunter’s strikes by the skin of your teeth.

“Not as strong as we thought,” the hunter spoke as his blade made contact once more, this time cutting into your arm. “Kraven will be disappointed.”

“You caught me on an off day,” you rolled your eyes. “Maybe try again next week?”

“Phantom!”

The shout caught you off guard, and you made a stupid, careless, rookie mistake. You would later blame it on the horrible concoction of events leading to that moment. Peter popping back into your life, the cut on your thigh, and the fatigue you felt after being on the run for days.

Your head turned to follow the voice because you knew it was Peter’s. Old habits die hard, right?

The hunter raised his sword again, and then the world went black.

—

When you woke up, you were in a cage. An honest to god cage. You snorted as you lifted your pounding head from the ground. The hunters took their shtick seriously, you had to give them that.

You blinked your eyes rapidly in an attempt to clear the spots clouding your vision. Probably a concussion. Just another injury to add to the list.

As you slowly pushed your body up into a sitting position, you mentally noted your other injuries. Deep cuts to one arm and both thighs, including the cut you’d stitched— which was now bleeding again. Your right leg also felt broken, which you guessed was something the hunters had done after you’d fallen asleep so you wouldn’t escape.

“Kudos to them for trying,” you mumbled under your breath as you shakily— and very carefully— stood.

You limped to the bars of the cage and grasped onto them for support. As you surveyed your surroundings, you realized you were in a zoo. It almost made you laugh.

“You guys are cute for being so committed to your little hunter thing. Really, it’s adorable,” you spoke as you caught sight of the hunter standing a few feet away.

The woman didn’t acknowledge you. She kept her back towards you as she watched the small fire crackling in front of her.

“Even the spider talks less than you,” a man’s gruff voice startled you. The hunter stepped out of the shadows as he approached the woman by the fire.

“Speaking of the spider,” you called out, “where is he? Do we have adjoining cages, or does he get special treatment?”

The male hunter didn’t bite. He came to a stop beside the woman, leaned down to whisper something into her ear, and then he turned and left.

When the sound of the man’s boots hitting the ground could no longer be heard, the woman turned around. She snarled as she looked at you. One of her hands reached to unsheathe the hunting knife strapped to her hip.

You watched as she began to walk towards you. Your mind raced as you thought of different ways to escape. If she opened your cage, you could use your powers and dispose of her— but how big was this zoo? You had only seen the two hunters, but you weren’t naive enough to believe they were the only ones here.

“Lucky for you,” the woman finally spoke. Her voice was thick with an accent you couldn’t place. “Kraven wants you alive.”

“Yeah,” you said. “Lucky for me.”

The woman raised the knife in one hand and reached the other towards your cage. You struck in an instant.

Green light contrasted the orange of the fire as a spear materialized in your hand. You shoved it forward between the bars of the cage, right into tj woman’s stomach. Before she could attempt a scream, you wrenched the weapon from her gut, raised it in your grasp, and shoved it into her throat.

She dropped to the ground, the only sound escaping her throat a quiet gurgle. You were done playing games— and you didn’t want to prove Peter right. You didn’t need his help. You would get out of here on your own.

You phased through the bars of the cage and raised your hands in anticipation. The only thing you heard was the sound of the fire. It was too quiet.

“Need some help?”

You scowled as you turned your head to look at the man who landed beside you.

“I don’t need you to save me,” you spoke.

“You were locked in a cage,” Peter replied, throwing a thumb over his shoulder towards the cage. “I think you needed a little help.”

“I’m not in the cage anymore, am I? And whose doing is that?” You retorted as Peter’s face slowly revealed itself.

“You just can’t say thank you, huh?” He said, and you rolled your eyes.

“Fuck you, Peter. I told you to stay out of it. I know you feel like you have to intervene, but you don’t, so—”

“Of course I have to intervene,” he cut you off. “I can’t let you die.” His tone was almost angry as he took a step closer to you.

“Are you doing this because it’s me or because of your need to save people?” You said, and he went quiet.

“You feel like you can’t let this go because you have to save everyone. I get it, Peter. But you don’t have to save me.”

“I can’t let you die,” he repeated, his voice soft. His eyes met yours.

Back in that abandoned house, when you’d seen Peter’s face, he hadn’t seemed like himself. But now, as you stared into his eyes, you saw the Peter you knew. The one you loved.

“Peter—” you began, but he shook his head.

“Just let me talk. The way things ended… it shouldn’t have happened like that. I was angry. First May and then— then you. And you went back and finished that job and I just couldn’t— I couldn’t do it. I could barely look at you.”

He paused, and you waited for him to speak again.

“I didn’t understand it at first, why you did it. But now I do. Ganke found out what you did with that money a few weeks after. I wanted to say something— but you were in the wind, and I knew you didn’t want me to come looking. So, I let you go. I had Ganke keep a lookout for any calls that might’ve related to you, but none ever came. You went clean, and I wanted to reach out, but—”

“Peter, whatever end this whole big speech is coming to, I don’t need to hear it.” You interrupted, and he shook his head.

“No, you do. You weren’t a… good guy. Not all the time. I know that. But some of the things you did, and who you worked for, I understand now. Your sister—”

“How do you know about her?” You spoke, eyes wide.

“Please don’t be mad— I had Ganke do some digging after… everything.”

You were shaking now. Peter knew. He knew everything. He knew that you worked for big bosses like Kingpin because you were sending money to your sister.

He knew that you became a criminal because of your anger and your desperate attempts at finding the man who experimented on you. Mob bosses have connections, and you thought you could work out a deal.

He knew that the reason you still finished that job for Kingpin, even if the villain had almost killed you, was because your sister’s life was at stake.

He knew your sister was dead, and that’s why you had tried to disappear.

“We had our problems when we were together,” Peter said after a beat of silence. “And I’m not excusing your past— but you could’ve told me. I could’ve helped you.”

You shook your head. “No, you couldn’t have. He would’ve killed her sooner. Besides, you’re not my therapist, Peter. No one could’ve help me with that anger I felt— that I still feel. I’m still who I was, I’m just trying not to take it out on innocent people anymore. I don’t want to be the reason someone else loses their sister.”

You could hear police sirens in the distance. You gave a small shake of your head as you pushed back the thoughts of your past.

“We should go.”

Peter reached forward, his hand finding solace on your shoulder.

“I can’t forget what you’ve done. I can’t forget the fights and the disagreements between us. But, I also can’t forget the love I have for you. I can’t forget how much I’ve missed you over these past few months. I can’t forget, but I’m willing to forgive.”

Your eyes met his once more. “Peter—”

“I will always come looking for you, over and over again. Even if it takes me a little bit,” he gave a small laugh, and you rolled your eyes.

The sirens were getting closer. You inhaled deeply.

“This doesn’t fix us.” You told him, and he nodded.

“It doesn’t. But maybe one day soon, we can try again.”

A small smile etched its way onto your lips. You gave a small nod as one of your hands came up to rest on his hand.

“Now, let’s get you out of here,” he said as his mask reformed. He moved his hand from your shoulder to you waist and pulled you tightly into his side.

“Still remember how to do this?” He teased, and you laughed.

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget the fear that comes with your horrible steering.”

“Just for that,” he said with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, “I’m going the long way.”

Peter shot a web and the two of you were pulled into the sky. You held onto him tightly, and even though you knew the two of you had a long way to go, you’d never been more excited to see where the journey would take you.

[jungle-angel]

The Cowboy's Christmas Gift (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Summary: Rhett gets an unexpected surprise when he comes in one day

Warnings: SMUT (18+ only), kinky bedroom shenanigans, a whole lotta kinks etc.

Tagging: @floydsmuse @sebsxphia

"You're sure we've got everything we need?" Rhett asked his father as they drove back home through the snow that had begun to fall.

"Rhett I checked, double checked and checked again after that," Royal told him. "Trust me, we've got everything."

"Everything?"

Royal was trying to hide the cheeky grin as he pulled a little something out of the brown paper bag between the seats, a bottle of Grand Marnier to make mimosas. Rhett went bug-eyed, his jaw dropping upon realizing what it was.

"No fuckin way!" he laughed.

"Yep," Royal told him. "Your mother and I will most likely be plastered Christmas Day so we're gonna need that 'do not disturb' sign ya'll made for when you and (y/n) stayed at the hotel after ya'll got married."

"UUUUGH!!!" Rhett groaned, completely disgusted at the image Royal had put into his head.

"Will ya'll relax?" he said. "Wouldn't be the first time we caught each other after the bedroom shenanigans."

Rhett made a gagging noise as they pulled into the driveway and followed Royal into the house. Royal and Cecelia had decided to take Amy, Hannah and the boys out to do some last minute Christmas shopping, leaving Rhett to his own devices and wouldn't be back till dark.

He flopped onto your shared bed and tried to put that image out of his mind but it didn't do any good at all. Only when he felt a set of hands rubbing across his shoulders did he forget it, albeit for a few seconds.

"Darlin?" he asked. "Whatcha doin?"

"Nothing," you purred, kissing his cheek.

"You sure?" he chuckled.

"Got a little surprise for you," you told him.

"Good because I really need to forget what just happened on the ride back."

You scrunched your eyebrows together, unsure of what he meant. "Everything ok?"

"Yeah until Dad put a nasty image in my head of him and Ma."

"UUUGH!" you groaned.

Rhett chuckled a little.

"Oh yeah," you concluded. "You definitely need it then. Wait here and I'll be right back."

He didn't have to wait too long, but the moment you emerged from the bathroom wearing a devilishly red lace slip, he somehow managed to forget most of what happened in the last half hour.

"Merry Christmas Cowboy," you purred, twirling your hair a little.

"Holy fuck," Rhett hissed.

"Oooh, didn't your mama ever tell you that swearing will get you on Santa's naughty list?" you teased.

You yelped a little when you felt his hands grab your hips and pull you in. "Don't tease me darlin," he chuckled. "Cuz I made that list a looooong time ago."

You threw your head back and laughed, even as he kissed your stomach and trailed along your thighs, his lips warm against your chilly skin. You let out a bit of a moan when his head roamed up the skirt of your slip, leaving wet, sloppy little kisses along your folds.

"Aw shit, what are you up to now?" you laughed when you felt his teeth tugging on your panties.

You felt an embarrassing heat rising into your cheeks when he pulled your matching underwear down to your ankles, leaving plenty of room for you to step out of them. Rhett released them from his teeth and into his hand, balling them up and throwing them into the laundry basket near the adjoining bathroom door.

"Alright Missy," he teased. "This reindeer needs a good ridin."

He fervently kissed you as your deft hands slipped up the back of his shirt and pulled it off in one go, the two of you never once breaking the kiss. Rhett helped you with his belt and then his jeans until his shorts were the last thing to come off, his monster hard-on practically flinging itself from the threads.

Rhett fell backwards with you on top of him, guiding your hips onto the throbbing stiffness that awaited your center. "Oh darlin, there we go," he groaned. "Good girl........aw honey ya'll just take me so well don't you?"

A rather unladylike moan fell from your lips as his cock went deeper and deeper in. You and Rhett worked together with each other's rhythms, rubbing against each other and feeling and immense amount of pleasure as the unholy moaning from you both rose and fell in different pitches, echoing throughout the room.

You moaned the loudest when you felt that hot, liquidy bursting between your legs, the both of you falling against each other and your heads clouded by the sensations you had just experienced together.

"Feel better Rhett?" you asked him.

"Oh I feel fuckin perfect darlin," he chuckled.

"Good," you said, kissing his cheek. "Because at any rate I think we'll need to go for round two if everybody's still out of the house and assuming those nasty images are still there."

"Believe me sweetheart," he said. "I'm hell bent on havin'em fucked outta me if you are."

"Challenge accepted, Cowboy," you purred, kissing him again.

[auxcordlawd]

Part One: Wandering Thoughts of a Ravenclaw

Summary: 18 year old Ravenclaw student is dating Miles Bletchley (Slytherin), and gets on Professor Snape’s bad side

Warnings: French Kissing, Heavy Petting

Side Note: I prefer long drawn out stories, and this has been a fantasy of mine for quite some time. This is my first time writing fanfic, so lmk any comments, suggestions, feel free.

The snow was finally melting outside the castle, a sign that Easter break was near. After Easter break you only have one more term at Hogwarts, which gives you mixed emotions. You’re excited to start your career, debating between teaching at Hogwarts for Potions or working at St. Mungos as a healer. Both are realistic options due to receiving O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s in Potions, Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, and Charms.

You were now sitting in Defense Against the Dark Arts which is now taught by none other than Severus Snape. An ornery, greasy haired, hooked nose professor whom most students either feared or despised. Thankfully you never saw his worst as you followed the rules, yet he seemed annoyed by you. Maybe it was because I’ve typically done well in his courses. That is until this term.

You, a Ravenclaw, recently started dating Miles Bletchley, a Slytherin in your same year. He’s been walking you to classes, and just kissed you for the first time while dropping you off at Defense Against the Dark Arts. You can’t quit thinking of it, and are having trouble paying attention. It’s not until Professor Snape drops books heavily in front of you that you realize you completely zoned out.

“Miss (y/l/n)?”

Snape says looking down at me with a scowl.

“Yes Professor?”

You say while blushing, feeling uncomfortable under his harsh gaze.

“I asked you to repeat the spell you would use to lure a dragon to sleep. The one I mentioned not ten minutes ago.”

“Umm.”

Is all you can get out. You completely missed that part of the lesson.

“Detention with me after class. Perhaps you should concern yourself less with boys and focus on your studies Miss (y/l/n).”

Snape said while lowering his voice for the second sentence.

His concern gave you an odd rush.

After class was over you stayed sitting in your seat, holding you breath for what was about to come.

After the last student left he slammed the door, and briskly walked to your desk, his dark cape flowing behind him.

“Miss (y/l/n), I expect this behavior from the hormonal 4th year girls, but you, an 18 year old young woman, should not be daydreaming about a boy during my lecture. I truly could care less about your personal life, but since you have applied to teach Potions next year, I must question your competence.”

“Professor-“

He cuts me off before you can try to defend myself.

“You will be assisting me to grade papers for the 3rd and 4th year students for the next week starting tomorrow. You will arrive directly after dinner in my office ready to work. If you can get though this simple task I will not immediately remove your application from our files.”

“But-“

“All you need to say is ‘Yes, sir’.” He says in a commanding tone telling you the conversation is over.

“Yes, sir.” You say before grabbing your belongings and heading the Ravenclaw common room to process what just happened.

Your career now hanging on a thread by the most temperamental professor at Hogwarts. It took this for you to realize how badly you wanted to teach as opposed to being a healer. As you process this you start to feel angered by the entire evening.

You feel your stomach growl and realize you've almost missed dinner. You run down the spiral staircase and fall into Miles, who catches you with a smile.

“Woah there (y/n), where are you off too so fast?”

Miles states with a smile, still holding your waist. His blue eyes twinkle in a sexy way as he looks at you. You can’t help but admire his short blonde hair and athletic build, no doubt from all those hours on the quidditch field.

“I am starving, ravenous even.”

You say with flirty grin, liking the feel of his hands your waist.

“Come with me.”

He says pulling your hand away from the Great Hall. You follow without question excited for the distraction from the earlier encounter.

He leads you down the grand staircase and whispers the current password to the Slytherin common room. As the door opens you see a delicious looking spread of food being brought by disgruntled looking house elves. You feel a pang of guilt for the elves, but your grumbling stomach wins.

Miles gestures to a green tufted loveseat, and begins filling up a plate for you. He plops down next to you, handing you the full plate. You start scarfing down the delicious meal as Miles watches with amusement.

“Do they starve you over there at Ravenclaw?” He says with a smirk.

You laugh with a full mouth and elbow him in the ribs.

You finish your meal and start chatting with Miles. Your legs draped over his, his hand on your thigh. You start feeling the building desire to kiss him as the common room empties. You climb onto his lap and start to lightly kiss him as he pulls you closer. His tongue slipping into your mouth, your tongue lightly pushing against his as the heat between you builds. One of his hands slides to your ass under your skirt, the other on your ribs just below your breast under your uniform shirt.

“Ahem.”

You jolt up causing Miles to quickly remove his hands. You turn towards the common room door to see a tall dark figure standing there watching you.

“50 points from Ravenclaw, and Miles you will be reporting to Professor Sprout for detention for two weeks directly after your classes.” Professor Snape said with a smirk seemingly directed at you. “Miss (y/l/n), go straight to your dormitory.”

[banannabethchase]

weird little smut prompt: Matt needs help getting out of his very tight jeans and oh no now he's bent over with his pants stuck around his knees. (spin the wheel for who he's with or just go with whoever your heart desires)

Stuck

~

I finished this days ago and thought I posted it. I did not. WHOOPS.

~

Matt, he has to admit, is stuck.

“Nick?” he calls. He tries to wiggle his hand out, but even that is pinned. Stupid skinny suit pants. Stupid fan servicing. Stupid him, frankly, for reading the comments about his suits being too loose. Now he’s effed. “Jack? Anybody?” He hobbles, bent over with one hand pinned to his thigh. “Okada, are you out there?”

His humiliation quota for the year apparently isn’t over yet, because the person who walks by is quite possibly the last person he wants to see him so compromised. “Hanger!” he says. “How, uh. How are you?”

“What the fuck are you doing?” His frown is far more menacing with that absurd mustache, and it’s the one thing that has Matt hanging to his last thread of dignity.

“A new dance,” Matt says. “The kids are doing it. It’s a bit for BTE.”

Adam frowns and stares. “You don’t run BTE anymore.”

“I was joking!” Matt says. He thrashes a little, hoping the action is enough to dislodge his hand, at least. It backfires. He flings over and, without his right hand free to grab at the wall, he goes flying and crashes directly into Adam. “Very clearly, I’m stuck.”

“No shit.” Adam shuffles out from under him and there’s a rather rude thud as Matt goes ass first onto the floor.

“You could help,” Matt says, pretending he’s not pleading. “You know. A show of good faith.”

“A show of good faith would be leaving you here to be trampled by the crew after the show,” Adam says. He folds his arms across his chest. “The fuck are you trying to do, anyway?” He slaps at Matt’s hand stuck in his pants. “Looks suspicious.”

“I – I was not jerking it,” Matt hisses. “Help me up so you can help me with my pants in the EVP room.”

“I said I’d never set foot in an EVP room and you said you’d calm the fuck down, so I guess we’re both liars.” With a sigh, Adam squats down, gets his arms under Matt, and stands to bring him into the room. It’s – well, weird is the easy way to call it.

“Is this you seducing me or something?” Matt asks, trying not to sound too hopeful. “Because you could if you wanted. Look at me, all helpless and stuck with my pants halfway down my legs.”

“You’re fucking impossible.” Adam drops him on one of the couches. “You good?”

“Literally no,” Matt says. The movement managed to push the pants a little farther down, which is good for how the waistband was cutting into his skin, but now his hand is even more stuck, which is decidedly not good. “I think my circulation is getting cut off. I might lose my hand if you don’t help.”

“I thought I did help by bringing you in here.” Adam’s face is blank enough that it has to be intentional. It has to be.

Matt sighs. “Well, if you’re able to live with yourself, knowing that you could have saved me from amputation and possible gangrene and you didn’t, that’s on your conscience.”

Adam groans and throws his head back. “I can’t fucking stand you.”

Between the two of them, Adam gets his elbow into the suit gear pants and manages to pull the fabric Matt’s hand can slip out after about five minutes of arguing. Adam’s almost smiling through most of it, though. That feels like a win.

“Thank God,” Matt says. “I think I can get them off now.” He shuffles his pants and boxers off. His final hail Mary.

“Good,” Adam says. He walks backward toward the door, but his eyes stay on Matt. He hesitates briefly, glancing behind him and then back at Matt. Matt sticks his ass out a little bit more. Arches his back. Licks his lips.

“Don’t move,” Adam says. “Don’t pull the pants up.”

Matt grins, but tries to keep the smug glee in line. He doesn’t want Adam to change his mind. “I knew you couldn’t resist.”

[fancyfeathers]

op can you give an insight into how the darlings were found ?? Like whose most likely to make a careless mistake and leave a loose thread?

The Games We Play of Dust and Ash (Yandere Moriarty the Patriot Masterlist)

I think they would split up, their lives should have never met, in no other world would they have been friends. Albert’s darling has always been dependent so going to someone she trusts would be the only option in her eyes. The sister of Albert’s wife is staying with a well off family friend, a widow, since the death of their parents. She has been staying with her in Mayfair, trying to figure of the mystery of the death of their parents.

So when she arrives at the estate, her sister welcomes them with concern in her face and tries to tell her that she had to go and-

“Ah dearest, we were just talking about you.”

Her heart drops to her stomach as Albert steps into the main foyer from the drawing room along with the widow who her sister is the ward of. He knew where she would go and a carriage is much faster than walking on foot. He smiles at the caretaker of his sister in law as he slips on his hat…

“I think my wife and I best head home now, it is late after all.”

As he approaches his wife, his sister in law steps in and takes his hands and smiles, as if to give a friendly goodbye, she leans in and whispers…

“I know you killed them…”

She then lets go, excepting that he would falter but he just merely nodded and smiled at her and her confident expression melted away as he wrapped his arm around his wife’s waist. Her sister can only watch as Albert drags his wife off to his carriage.

Meanwhile Louis’ darling, being the most intelligent of the group knows not to go any locations they may suspect her to be at, mostly familiar locations. But there is one place she has never brought Louis or even mentioned the address of to him. She runs off to her old friend’s apartment, a doctor who has happened to caught the attention of a certain weapons engineer. The doctor, or otherwise could be called Von Herder’s darling, already knows a bit due to her doing the autopsy that her old college friend asked her to do on the parents of Albert’s darling, so she welcomes her into her house and lets her stay in the guest bedroom. She is able to avert the longest, about half a week, as she plans how to get out of the city, if not the the country. Then when she is getting ready for bed one night she hears a loud thump from the doctor’s study but as she steps into the hallway to investigate she is grabbed in a chokehold by someone who covers her face and the smell of chloroform hits her and she is out in a minute just like before.

“I am sorry, love… this is for the best.”

When she comes to, she is back in their shared bedroom at the Moriarty estate with the door locked so tight that it might as well been bolted shut. There is no note or anything and she assumes that Louis must be fuming at her and she would be right in that assumption. When he comes in for bed that night, she asked what he did to her friend and he just tells her coldly that she had been dealt with and to be grateful for her own situation

It kills Louis to be so cruel to her, but she needs to learn…

William’s darling, she doesn’t have anywhere to go, no friends, no family, no one left who actually cares about her. Her old apartment is gone, sold off to the next person in line, she has no job, the opera house she used to work at burned down thanks to William. She had no one else outside of that house, all of her friends from the opera were dead or moved on to the next thing and her family abandoned her years ago.

So William doesn’t have to do anything once he knows they split up, he just leaves the front door of the estate open. Soon enough when he is sitting in the drawing room, reading over exam papers, he hears the front door open followed by the faint sound of crying. So he just stands up and walks over to the front door to see his darling standing there, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“I…I-I’m sorry.”

“It is okay, I forgive you, my darling.”

He hushes her and welcomes her into his arms as she cries her heart out. William had made her believe that she has no one else to go, that no one else would care about her, that the people here were her family. She understands that they are horrible people and even warns the others of this truth, but she doesn’t heart to leave when that’s all she has. She didn’t run away, she was just a puppy on a long leash.