#vicious book imagines

[darling-i-read-it]

Staring

Eli Ever(Cardale) x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: vicious/vengeful spoilers, eli literally killing people (nothing graphic), mentions of elis horrific backstory, angst, pining 

Author’s Note: SHUT UP THIS WAS SO FUN. by the end of the duology I was so in love with eli, i cannot lie. I love victor as much as the next girl but damn i love an awful morally gray (morally black?) man. If anyone has any more request for either of these kings i would gladllyyyy write them <3 in the meantime i hope you enjoy this love!

Request: by anon, YOOOOO i read one of ur victor vale fics, and i am on my hands and knees bEGGING u to write for the villains duology more!! can i rq eli ever x reader where the reader isn't an EO but knew eli and victor in college? and the reader is working with victor against eli bc they don't agree w what eli's doing, and idk eli finds them or smth--sorry if that's too vague!! i am literally BEGGING for eli crumbs and pls include a lot of tension between reader and eli!! ur writing is stellar!!

Song: All I Need by Radiohead 

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

Eli Cardale sat across from you at the table. You had your legs folded underneath you, tingling as they fell asleep. You had been here a long time. You could tell outside the window that the sun was starting to go down. The stained glass windows of the library were tricky like that, never quite revealing if it was as late as it seemed. Eli had his nose stuck in a book still. You wondered where Victor was, if he was studying somewhere. 

“Are you done?” Eli questioned. Your head snapped back towards him. He was staring at you through the thick rims of his glasses. You smiled, shrugging.

“I’m getting sleepy,” you admitted. Eli nodded once, tucking his papers into his textbook. 

“Is that code for you’re going to go find Victor?” There was a gentle edge to his voice, a slight jealous tinge. You shook your head, rubbing your eyes. 

“Truly sleepy,” you promised. “I’ve been reading about boring things forever Eli. I can only do that for so long. You should share some of your brain power.” He shook his head. 

Eli valued these afternoons with you. They were nice and peaceful. Life outside of these walls tended to be chaotic and with complications he could never quite grasp. In here, nothing had happened to him. It was just you and his books. He could spend forever with you and his books. 

Despite the calmness of the moment, he felt the most emotion here. 

“Plus, Victor is probably off studying.” 

“Alright,” Eli huffed, though there was disbelief in it. You smiled as he put your things back in your book bag. You could probably make some shitty coffee back at the dorms and stay up a little bit longer. Make the day last past schoolwork. Maybe even catch up on some of your own reading endeavors. “Are we still meeting up tomorrow afternoon?”

“Yes sir,” you promised. “Same time, same place?”

“Yes ma’am.” You gave him a nod as you pushed your chair under the table. Eli started to leave. You followed close behind him. “Have you studied for the test in Givens' class tomorrow?”

“Enough.” 

“That doesn’t sound like enough,” he admitted. You shrugged.

“What am I gonna learn in the next 12 hours that is actually gonna help me Eli?” He shook his head. He couldn’t believe you sometimes, though he enjoyed having you around. “You disagree.”

“We have different minds,” he said. The air was refreshing. You walked down the steps of the library, the sun hitting your face. It felt nice after being cooped up for so long. You passed other students, people cramming and holding large cups of caffeine. You weaved through them on the cobblestones back to the dorms. 

“What does that mean?”

“It means we have different ways of learning,” he suggested. You grinned up at him. He looked particularly handsome this evening. You knew he always teased you about liking Victor more than him but it was Eli you had always been in love with. It would always be Eli. His stoicism, his mind, his understanding without you having to say anything. 

“That’s not a bad thing,” you countered. 

“Did I say it was?” 

“You did not.” You lifted your leg dramatically as you started to go separate ways. “I’ll see you tomorrow Eli. Don’t work too hard.”

“You know me,” he called. There was a life in his voice he didn’t recognize when he was with you. You gave him a half wave, an adorable gesture, before walking the other way. 

He watched the back of your head for a moment. Your hair bounced in the sunlight. You looked gorgeous this afternoon, particularly distracting. He watched you go like you were taking a piece of him with you. Eli and Victor had decided not to tell you about their experiments, for your safety. That didn’t mean he didn’t want to. He wanted to hear your thoughts and your comments and your reserves. 

He had put his foot down. Victor was more likely to slip up than he was. 

He still wanted to tell you. 

You turned a corner and he lost you. He dropped his head down, imagining someone else seeing him standing alone, staring at a girl who didn’t once turn back to look at him. 

-

“Tracking him has never been easy,” Mitch grumbled. He was sitting on the hotel bed. The adjoining door was open, allowing Dol to come and go as he pleased. Sydney and you had your own separate room from the boys, at Victor’s insistence. 

“Well it’s never been so fucking hard,” you muttered. You looked out the window. Eli Cardale was out there somewhere, among the people and the cars. You had recently narrowed in on him to this city but been unable to get any closer. He was supposed to be obvious when you were close. “He’s killing people. What do you mean we can’t find him now that he’s so close?” 

You looked over at Victor. He was standing at the computer. He had a look of contempt on his face. You had never seen so little life in Victor. He had always been the stoic type but never as much as Eli. Now, years after college, he was almost dead in the eyes. 

“We need to split up.”

“And what? Scrape the streets to see if we find any rats?” you spat. 

You were different too. 

“He had typical haunts. We need to find an EO and narrow them down, knowing he’ll be around them.” Victor looked at Mitch. He nodded once, getting up to go to the computer. You were never quite sure how they were able to find people so quickly but you also could never understand how they couldn't find Eli. Victor walked over to you. 

“We’ll find him,” he promised. His voice was hard. You looked over at him. 

He looked so old. He looked weathered. He looked like a corpse. He had died. 

Eli and Victor had never let you die. They never would, not even after everything happened. You were a human, just like Mitch, and you were stuck here in this purgatory between people who had been your closest friends. 

After he got out of prison Victor sought you out. He knew that to find Eli he would have to find you first. He half hoped the two of you would be together, frolicking off into the sunset, like the ordeal had never happened. That isn’t what happened. 

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because he’s looking for us too.”

“Do you think he knows that I’m here?”

“I don’t think he ever lost you,” he said lowly. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Eli liked having his eye on you. I don’t think he would’ve let you leave his peripheral vision if it wasn’t for me.”

“What a rebel.” 

“Yes ma’am.” Dol walked into the room. He jumped up on Victor’s bed and did a couple circles before lying down with a huff. Sydney was awake. Victor looked back towards the dog, remembering he had a child to care for. “Do you want to go get food while Mitch looks?” He had a gentle tinge in his voice that he saved for you and Sydney. Those in this room were the closest thing he had to family, though he would never admit that. 

“Sure. I need some fresh air anyway.” You cleared your throat and walked back, grabbing some money. “Want anything Mitch? Going to the deli next door.”

“I’m alright. Filled up on protein bars.” You rolled your eyes. 

“Once a jock, always a jock,” you joked. 

“I don’t think-”

“Just go with it Mitch. Vic?” He shook his head. He would rather wallow and die than ask for anything he could get himself. “Syd, I'm getting food!” 

“Can you get me a sandwich?” she called from the other room. 

“What kind?”

“Tuna fish!” 

“Kay!” You opened the door and shut it behind you. The hotel was large but it was cheap. You were okay with the sketchy neighbors as long as no one asked questions. No one got into the elevator with you on your floor and you pushed the down button. You should’ve invited Sydney to come with you. She could use the fresh air too. Dol probably needed to go to the bathroom. 

You thought about how you weren’t that far. You could go back up and grab them, that way you had some company and extra hands for the two sandwiches. Maybe they had dog treats for Dol. You always loved places that thought of that because of how often Dol was around. 

The elevator opened on the second floor. You stepped aside, keeping your head down so you didn’t have to make eye contact. The man walked in and pushed the first floor. The elevator started to move again. 

He pushed the emergency stop button, causing the elevator to come to a harsh stop. You stumbled forward, grabbing the railing beside you. 

“Hey,” you said, annoyed. You glanced up at the floors that were highlighted at 2 still. You finally looked up at him. He was wearing a large black coat with a collar that covered the side of his face. “What the fuck?” you asked, louder this time. He tilted his head towards you so you could see his eye through the thick rimmed glasses.

Your mouth clamped shut. 

“Eli?” When he turned around it was like no time had passed. His face looked exactly the same, exactly the man you sat across from at the library. His eyes were the only thing different, a little less life in them. He and Victor were more alike than either cared to admit. 

The elevator felt too small. You were confined in a small space with someone you had carded as the villain of this story. 

But it was Eli. 

“I heard you were looking for me,” he said, quietly. His voice didn’t seem threatening. There was nothing there that felt wrong. 

“Yeah,” you breathed. “You’re killing people.” 

“They’re not people.” You narrowed your eyes at him. There was a difference. This was the Eli you had never seen, only heard about from Victor. “You…you’re people.” You looked up at him through your hair at him. Your eyes were big, doe eyed, he would say. 

“You’re people too.” He shook his head. There was a sly smile on his face. He had orchestrated his moment, he had thought about the second you would leave and that it would be just you. He needed to see you before he saw anyone else. He stayed in this town to see you. 

He was obsessed with Victor. 

But if he knew love, it was you. 

“I’m a God.” 

“Then what is Victor? What’s Serena?” You could tell you hit a hard note with Serena.

“Serena’s no longer an issue.” 

“She was an issue?” You watched each other for a moment. It was nice to be there with him, even if it hurt to know how different you were. 

“She was an issue.”

“Then what is Victor?”

“Victor’s a defect.” 

“What happened to you?” you asked him, borderline pleaded. You took a step forward and grabbed his hand. He looked down at it like it was a foreign object. He didn’t retreat. 

You didn’t do it to manipulate him. You did it because you had to, because he was right there, before you had to touch him. “What did they do to you Eli?” 

There was no way you could’ve known what they did to him but the question hit him where it would've hurt. It was a touchy subject. He had the sudden urge to hug you, to wrap his arms around you and engulf you in his embrace. To kiss you, to do what he never had the time to do when you were in college. He thought of Victor. He wondered if Victor was with you now, if his worst fear had finally come to fruition. 

“Eli,” you whispered. His eyes had glossed over, lost in thought. He came back, staring at you, studying your face.

“They cut me open. They took parts of me out. They couldn’t kill me.” His voice had no emotion, like he was talking about the weather. 

“I’m sorry.” You knew you should be using this time to convince him to change his ways. You didn’t have him for long. You should’ve been telling him that killing was never the answer and that no matter what happened to him, he should never be taking it out on others. 

But you couldn’t bring yourself to do that. 

Without warning, you wrapped your arms around him. 

His natural reaction was to tense up. He assumed you were hugging him to manipulate him, to get to the buttons, to try and hurt him. Moments passed and you stayed there, head pressed against his chest. You made no ill efforts. 

He wrapped his arms around you. He put his chin on your head. He closed his eyes. 

Why couldn’t it have been like this forever? 

Melancholy filled up the small space. It could never last like this. You had to go back to Victor and you both knew you would tell him that Eli had been here. There is nothing more special than a short lasting mutual agreement to set things aside to have some closure. 

You let him go. Your hands lingered on him as long as you could. 

“You have to go?” he questioned. The tinge of emotion was back in his voice. 

“They’ll come looking for me,” you said quietly. The act of going back assured him some time to leave. You were trying to help him, even now, even after everything. 

He nodded once. He pushed the elevator button to start moving again. It moved down slowly but not slow enough. You both faced the door. You linked your pinky with his, refusing to look at him. 

When the door opened you let out a deep breath. He let you go. You missed his touch already. He walked out the elevator doors. 

Without thinking you reached forward, stopping the doors from shutting. 

“Eli!” He turned back around. His cold face was back, haunting you with the differences in time. You swallowed. “It was always you.” 

His face softened.

The door shut. You watched him until they shut as he turned away from you. The elevator brought you back up to your floor. Like a zombie you walked down the hallway. You had forgotten your keycard and knocked on the door. 

Mitch opened the door. 

“Where’s the sandwiches?” 

Behind him Victor stood, watching your face. He read your numb expression and raised his chin, hardening his face. 

“Eli.”

[sirompp]

every time i think about riverdale i get so incredibly fucking mad and i try and make a coherent post about it to get across why its whole concept of existing is So Shit and i can never do it and i delete the post before its even made.

[girl-bateman]

I exclusively depict God in writing to make sure I piss off and confuse as many religious people and atheists as possible. No one can enjoy my books !!!! My evil plan will soon come to fruition !!!! Victory will be mine !!!!

[isaacathom]

hang on lemme cook

the short of it is that this kingdom is being absolutely ravaged by a chaos mage. the way chaos works in this setting is it can only be redirected, not destroyed, and it often takes the form of this crackling purple lightning, with strong concentrations of it forming these terrifying tornados. for some reason, the chaos mage is strangely unaffected, and seemingly immortal.

in some small town, a brother and sister are both mages. through some means, the brother acquires this ancient golden coin (either as an heirloom or through shenanigans), which it turns out has the power to absorb chaos.

but, again, it can't be destroyed. the chaos has to go somewhere. the way the coin works, i figure, is by absorbing the chaos into the wielder. the first time he uses it it absolutely nearly kills him, but repeated use sort of inures him to the effects of chaos, but also is absolutely doing some Fascinating shit to him.

as an aside, the difficult thing with this would be making it clear that the thing that turns him into a villain isn't like, chaos poisoning, but his personality lmao

but he gets stronger and stronger as he faces more of the chaos mage's manipulated chaos, and having access to all that chaos inside himself incentivises him to learn how to use it as well. like disarming someone and stabbing them with their own sword.

except, of course, the Chaos Mage is practically immune to the effects of chaos, and has been rendered immortal by it. warriors and mages have tried to defeat him the Usual Ways, and have found no luck.

so how do you defeat the Chaos Mage?

by taking the ancient coin and using it to absorb all the chaos from inside him, stealing from him the reservoir of his magic and also the power that has made him immortal. you render him mortal. you kill him.

but only the kid, inured as he is to chaos, could possibly stand a chance of successfully absorbing that chaos. if someone else, like his sister, tried to do it, the chaos entering her body would kill her before it leaving would kill the Chaos Mage.

and so the brother slays the chaos mage, in the process claiming his power.

which means the brother is now immortal, and practically immune to the effects of chaos, while also being the only person who could possibly wield the coin to defeat him. Oh Fuck.

now there is a way that this COULD end well. if the brother voluntarily gave up his power, travelled to some distant realm of storm to unleash the chaos from inside him, then he would lose that immortality, and a decent amount of his chaotic immunity, while still being an unfathomably powerful mage.

but he won't. of course he wont. because the brother has come to the conclusion that, with his power over chaos, he could Fix things. he could make things Right. he could manipulate chaos to remake the world in his image. He has become the Chaos Mage.

its not the inherent nature of chaos that has done this. its the way those around him have responded to this skillset of his, the hero worship he was granted by many as the only person standing between them and the Chaos Mage. his instinct to take charge, to give orders. uhoh!

so he won't give up his power. and noone can take his power from him.

his sister, who long ago figured out that the chaos mage was her brother, somehow, is thus incentivised to, regretfully, fulfill the loop. the chaos mage was her brother, thousands of years older, full of chaos, without the coin, and yet with identical memories of their childhood together. there must be a way to turn her brother into that man. she must be able to send him Back.

however that is, its not that important. she has to trick him to get it to work. she would have told him, prior to the showdown with the chaos mage, that she thought they were the same. he would have used his defeat of the chaos mage as proof that they weren't.

she has to get the coin off him, and she has to send him back.

i imagine it probably involves preying on his ego. convincing the king or whatever to hold a great ceremony granting the brother some title. the sister finding some way to take the coin away from him. in the middle of the ceremony unleashing this spell on him. having to watch his expression change from an arrogant glee to confused horror to bitter rage. and whoosh.

[ltleflrt]

Figuring out I'm on the ace spectrum was so difficult because I have always been a horny bitch. I knew what sex was at a fairly young age, because I'd asked my mom and she's one of those good parents who'll answer questions like those, and as I grew older and would ask more complex questions, her answers would evolve along with my curiosity and understanding of the world. And I remember having fantasies as young as 9 or 10 years old, even if they were hella vague and nothing close to what sex actually is lol

So as I became a teenager, and all my friends' focus turned from playing with dolls to flirting with boys, I automatically thought I was attracted to boys. And I paid more attention to Cute Boys than I did to Cute Girls, because girls were just nice to look at while boys were People To Have Crushes On. Because of heteronormativity. Looking back on it now, I know there were girls I liked to stare at just as intently as boys, although less often because I wasn't trying to pay attention. And I certainly didn't fantasize about girls because I started reading romance novels in 5th grade, so I was fantasizing about male romantic partners because that was the fiction I was consuming. I didn't even realize fantasizing about girls was possible until I was 17, and I had a few "am I a lesbian" internal crises for years because of it.

So when I did start having sex, I had A LOT OF IT with SO MANY different guys, and eventually a couple of women once I started accepting that bisexuality was real. But it was never really fulfilling. Not like my fantasies were. Not like my books were. I was slutty because sex was fun, I was horny, there were plenty of options so I kept searching for that satisfaction I was craving.

Getting married was a relief (even though it turns out I'm aro-spec too lol) because I was tired of hunting, and even if sex with my husband was meh, at least I had someone around to scratch that itch if I had it, and he didn't mind if I occasionally took care of things on my own because I'd read an especially hot scene in a romance.

I learned about asexuality in my early 20s, but I brushed it off. Couldn't be me, I'm far too horny for that. But I think that comes from the fact that everything you hear about Aces is attached to sex-repulsion or sex-indifference. I wasn't either of those things. I was horny all the dang time. I was fantasizing about sex all the dang time. I figured actual sex was meh because my imagination was so vivid that real life could never match up. Which could be true to an extent, but I think not as much as popular opinion would have us believe. If fantasy was really that much better for everyone, then I think we'd have less incels and unplanned pregnancies than we do.

In my 30s I finally saw people talking about The Spectrum, and I started examining my past, and I figured out I wasn't really attracted to anyone I had sex with. I do occasionally find someone attractive; there are men and women and enbies who make my skin feel tight and give me a little wave of lightheadedness lol... but it's always always the fantasy that gets me really going. If given the opportunity I wouldn't have sex with any of those people. Thank you, but no thank you, I'd rather just imagine it than physically participate in the act with them.

(Ok I might go down on them, but that's less about wanting sex, and more about being able to add them to my Tally. Hell yeah I want to brag about making *insert hot person* have an orgasm. There's PRIDE in that kind of accomplishment lol)

I have a lot of respect for aces that are not horny. I understand it even if I don't share the sentiment. And I feel like most of them understand me even if they don't share the sentiment. There's a solidarity between us.

Until I go into a fandom tag for a character that the aces have glommed onto because they're canonically ace or headcanoned as ace. Good lord, the non-horny aces can turn into downright vicious bastards if a horny ace sexualizes their blorbo.

This post is for them.

Horny aces exist. Please look up "autochorissexual, lithosexual, and aegosexual."

Refer to those definitions in regards to romantic attraction as well as sexual attraction.

Some aces may not fall into one of those definitions, because asexuality is a spectrum, but they may still be horny.

Horny aces are not disrespecting you by enjoying being horny on main. We promise we'll wash the stickiness off our hands before we hold your hands in queer solidarity.

And most importantly: Your blorbo is fictional and does not need to be defended from icky sexuality. They exist in an infinite multiverse, so your blorbo and my blorbo are not the same, even if they appear to be on the surface.

AND:

This post is also for the people who are confused about themselves because they're horny but don't actually feel attraction. You're not crazy, you're not wishy washy, you're not "waiting for the right person to come along" (unless you are, in which case I hope you find them). You're just a thin strip of color on a massive rainbow that holds more unique shades than anyone can perceive at a glance.

You're valid. You're one of us too.

And don't be mean to the non-horny aces. Tag your smut so they can avoid it. (But actually so I can find it lol)

[ravencromwell]

Rereading Dickens Christmas Carol for the first time in a long time. And the more I reread, the more it strikes me how seamlessly a queer reading could slip within these pages. Not an especially twee reading, wherein all Scrooge's troubles start and end with grief over Jacob Marley's death. For we know that Scrooge was a "Tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge! a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner!" And we know that he and Marley were "two kindred spirits"

And perhaps that very fact makes the similarities to queer life, unintended as they most likely were by Mr. Dickens, achingly poignant to me. Scrooge is, we're told, "secret and self-contained and solitary as an oyster." How much that resonates, for so many of us who shield our innermost selves but from a select group of friends. And we know that Scrooge and Marley were, at the very least, certainly that for one another. Scrooge is Marley's sole mourner; his sole executor and beneficiary; and even Dickens notes, "friend." How reminiscent is that of queer couples across history, estranged from their families?

Scrooge lives in a set of chambers that once belonged to Marley—clearly Dickens wanted us to believe Scrooge gave up his own dwellings after Marley's death to economize. But with only a flicker of change, those chambers become _their chambers, rented by Marley as the senior member of the couple. The place is so desolate Dickens notes "one could scarcely help fancying it must have run there when it was a young house, playing at hide-and-seek with other houses, and have forgotten the way out again." The perfect abode for two queer misers who wanted no one prying into their business.

Marley's name is still above the door of Scrooge's counting-house: a mark by which, no doubt, Dickens meant to convey Scrooge such a penny-pincher he couldn't bother to have it changed. But a thing can be both! mark of frugality to ludicrous excess and! mark of mourning. "sometimes," Dickens opines, "People new to the

business called Scrooge Scrooge, and sometimes Marley, but he answered to both names. It was all the same to him."

This is why "death of the author" matters so much, in expanding our interpretations of texts. It is vastly far from the lens Dickens would have intended. But, the idea of a ghost of queerness, so taboo in the society it could barely be glanced at sidewise in this tale that is all about the inexplicable and yet that lingers over everything becomes an astonishing lens through which to read this book. Thinking of Scrooge as a queer man, his "melancholy dinner at his usual melancholy tavern" becomes a eerie prefiguring of the hollowness of days spent by Isherwood's A Single Man. In this universe, little wonder Scrooge doubly hates mention of time with family, marriage, etc. when the precise nature of his grief is both unacknowledged and unacknowledgable.

And readings like this are vital, because the uncomfortable truth is, discrimination doesn't "discriminate between sinners and saints", to borrow a Miranda phrase. It is easy, in my liberal circles, to fight for queer people who hold "the good sorts of politics". But what about men like Michael Hess, culpable for supporting Reagan even as his contemptuous homophobia let the aids epidemic run rampant? How much harder is it to remember Michael had a partner? That he deserves empathy and compassion for being practically tarred and feathered out of the party upon his own aids diagnosis?

Expanding our imaginative universes to include queerness, not as redemptive panacea, but merely as one aspect of identity, personality, often in vicious conflict with others. Even! as we consider those stories equally worthy of being told feels vital if we're ever to truly express the complexity of what queer humanity looks like.

[yanderedrabbles]

THE SINNERS WELCOME YOU

TW: noncon and yanderes ahead

Hi! I'm val and this is where you can find everything I've written. Maybe bring protection? These boys are not nice.

Requests: closed for now

Current Anons: 🍪 anon, 🎨 anon, 🐰 anon, ♥️ anon, 🐧anon, 🧷 anon, 📌 anon, 📮 anon, ⚙ 🤖 anon, 🍯 anon, 🦚 anon, 💵 anon, ⭐ anon

What I won't write about: pregnancy

Art & Doodles

Yandere Witch: She adores anything cute and turns you into a plushy just to cuddle.

You on a shelf You getting cuddles

Drabbles, Imagines & Oneshots

Come for me: Drabble about yanderes who force pleasure on you for their own sick enjoyment.

Yandere Pirate Captain [dubcon] A naive aristocrat's daughter, you're crossing the Atlantic in a heavily guarded ship. Pirates assume guns and guards mean treasure but when all they find is you, they decide to make the best of their luck.

Yandere Werewolf: There's something terrorising your town every full moon. And a stroke of bad luck has you running into it more than once.

Yandere Sugar Daddy: Money can't buy love, but maybe it doesn't have to.

Yandere Cyberpunk Mercenary: A ruthless mercenary and you, his spoilt little prize.

Letters from a Yandere Vampire: A handsome stranger seems intent on courting you but his letters hide a darker secret.

The worst sort: Drabble about the most sleazy and perverted type of yandere.

Cheat on me please: Your boyfriend just won't let you break up.

Lovesick Dogs: Drabble about poor fools who love like wretched dogs.

Yandere Mobster: Chicago - 1931 The Height of Prohibition The mafia is earning top dollar smuggling alcohol into the country. And one mobster has his eye on you.

You wouldn't reject him, would you?

Yandere Gladiator: A man can become a god in the arena. But all he fights for is you.

Yandere Cyberpunk Riot Control Officer [noncon] There's nothing he hates more than degenerates and rioters. When he gets his hands on, he's going to pound some law and order into you.

Cyberpunk Yanderes: A little drabble about neon soaked streets and criminals with their eye on you.

Cyberpunk Yanderes with an oblivious country Darling

Yandere Greek Champion x Priestess Reader [noncon] He was chosen by the Gods to slaughter, to strike down all who stand against him. Your city has fallen at last and he has come to claim his prize.

Exploring his villa Finding you asleep

Yandere Stalker/Cop: A vicious stalker has been terrorising you for months. Luckily, your friendly neighbourhood cop is around to comfort you.

Yandere Apocalypse Survivor: The world you know is dead and gone. And he's the only reason you're still alive.

Yandere Soldier [noncon] He knows what he's doing is wrong, but if he closes his eyes, he can convince himself that your muffled cries are moans for him to keep going.

Yandere Soldier - Stockholm Syndrome: It was bound to happen eventually, right?

Softcore Yandere Boyfriend: A guy who has every yandere urge in the book and is trying very hard to be normal about it.

Yandere Boyfriend Surprise Party: How does your Yandere! Boyfriend react when you start acting distant and keeping secrets from him? Yandere Boyfriend as a husband: He might be jealous of the kids but shhh. Way of the yandere house husband: More things your hubby does for you. Yandere Boyfriend as a gym buddy: You're his favourite kind of cardio. Yandere Boyfriend x Coquette Reader: You can put bows on him if you ask nicely.

Yandere Cowboy [noncon] He just wants a roll in the hay. It doesn't matter if he has to hold you down to get it.

Yandere Cowboy - Proposal: Does he ever learn to be sweet with you? Yandere Cowboy - Jealousy: You're his girl and he ain't gonna stand around and let some other bastard steal you away. Picking wild flowers with him If you try running away before your wedding

Yandere Cop [noncon] All you want is to get home after a midnight shift and relax. But a State Trooper pulling you over on an isolated stretch of road is more than you bargained for.

Yandere Cop - Baby Trapped: You're stuck in a position where you just can't say no anymore.

Yandere Ganster x Mafia Boss Reader: He's your loyal dog. Now and always.

Yandere Ganster - Jealousy: For the first time, he sees you be physical with another man. And he's trying his hardest not to punch the bastard right in the mouth. Yandere Ganster - Rainy Days: After a difficult job, he comes back soaked and shivering. Naturally, you think of a few ways to warm him up.

Yandere Desert Bandit [dubcon] When planning to cross the desert, all travellers are warned about the bandits. Heartless, they're called. Brutal. Inhuman. So why has one of them fallen in love with you?

Yandere Desert Bandit - Aftermath: Son of the sand, his touch isn't gentle. But perhaps he can learn. Will he ever be a father?

Yandere Incubus x Nun Reader [noncon] A new priest had joined your convent and you can't help the sinful thoughts you have about him.

Yandere Academic Rival: He'll do whatever it takes to be the best.

The Yandere Boys

Who's your yandere soulmate? [Quiz - coming soon] Their favourite positions Their kinks What are their homes like? What do they look like? When you're sick/hurt yourself Which Yandere boy is the most manipulative? If you cheat on them Their body preferences If you refuse to eat If you try and leave them If you're bisexual Yandere Christmas Special What sort of cars do they drive? Who is the cruelest? Who is the kindest?

Misery - a short story [in progress]

Based on Misery by Stephen King

Stuck in the mountains, you foolishly decide to drive through a blizzard. The man that drags you from your wrecked car brings you to his cabin and patches you up. But as the snow piles up outside, you start to suspect that your rescuer's intentions may be far from pure.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Upcoming Works

Yandere Roommates: With your boss mysteriously firing you and your job applications getting lost in the mail, it's no surprise that you can't afford rent this month. Lucky for you, your roommates have a very generous offer.

Yandere Wild West Sheriff: Ain't you just the sweetest lil thing?

[minus-plus-zer0]

So Pretty

♡ Genre: Fluff ♡ Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

You always knew Bakugou Katsuki was drop-dead gorgeous.

There was something absolutely perfect about Bakugou's looks. He was less intimidating due to his anger and more so due to his rugged face. His body was incredibly fit and strong, always looming over you no matter how tall you grew. And even though he was mean to other people sometimes, you liked his attitude as well because you knew he wasn't all bad. You didn't make excuses for him, but you supported him as he worked to become a better person.

Being around somebody like him was unnerving. Every time you went out to meet him, you dressed your best in hopes that he would look at you the same way. You wanted to fight for his eye contact, making sure you were the only thing on his mind.

Sure enough, Bakugou couldn't take his eyes off you. His thoughts always drifted back towards you, what you were doing and what you were wearing. While you found him intimidating, he found you terrifying. It was as if Bakugou missed out on all the cliche years of teenage romance and hormonal feelings only for those emotions to hit him all at once when he was around you.

This made every interaction between you two difficult. Bakugou couldn't possibly be expected to act normal around you when you were just so pretty.

It got worse when you two decided to study together alone just outside the dorms, and you sat face-to-face with Bakugou. The textbook in front of you could barely distract you. You just wanted to reach up to his forbidden fluff of hair and pet him like you always dreamed, but couldn't.

"Hey!" Bakugou barked. "Focus!" His pencil lightly tapped your forehead. "You're never gonna get this problem right if you don't study!"

"Okay, okay, no need for the pencil violence please."

"Then focus dammit!"

You tucked your head back down into your book to avoid further vicious pencil whippings. Your eyes dragged across the page without retaining any information at all, like a truly dutiful student. A few minutes into this unproductive activity, you caught Bakugou longingly staring at you from your peripheral vision.

You looked up and Bakugou jumped slightly, then quickly re-invested himself into his own unfinished homework as his poor heart raced.

"Were you staring at me?" you asked, meekly.

"HELL NO!" Bakugou barked, his head snapping back up. "My eyes just found your face, that's all. Why was your face in the direction of my eyes?"

"You can't victim blame me for this, Bakugou! If you didn't want to look at me you would've done so. That's on you. If you found me pretty, I wish you'd just say so..."

Bakugou looked taken aback.

"...You're not pretty," he said, and those words broke your heart for the briefest second. "You're fucking gorgeous."

Of course, Bakugou has only ever seen you as beautiful. Not only did he fall first, he fell way harder than you would ever believe.

(I can just imagine him pining so hard for you, he stares a lot but if only you would notice him for once...)

[storywriter007]

HI OH MY GODS!! your writing drives me INSANE in the best way possible and i'm so obsessed with your fics. i was wondering if you could somehow make a fic based on the "no one touches her!" line in the book??

i'm just imagining maybe an argument between percy and reader before the big fight and then the line happens and then maybe end in fluff?? ofc you can take this however you want to!! THANK YOU A MILLION!!

No One Touches Her - Percy Jackson x Fem!Reader

author's note: OMMGGG TYSM!!!! im so glad you like my work!! thanks for the request! i'm sorry it took a while and i hope you like it :)

warnings: cursing, battle, mention of bloof

genre: fluff

word count: 1.1k

-> heroes of olympus masterlist

✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒

send me requests here! (these are my guidelines)

✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒

"you don't care about me!" y/n yelled from across the room. "you never have!"

"do you even hear yourself right now?" percy retaliated, just as loudly. "you know damn well i'd do anything for you!"

a battle was on its way as percy and y/n had their loud disagreement in an unknown sector of camp. she'd loved him for too long. she'd kept faith in him for too long. she'd been "friends" with him for too long.

"really percy! than answer my one fucking question, what are we?"

"you're my best friend!" he answered.

"that's what i mean! you know damn well we're not just 'best friends!'" she said angrily. "i can admit what i feel for you, why can't you do the same?"

"because i don't know!" he confessed. "i don't know."

of course he didn't know how he felt about her. of course he didn't consider the countless nights they'd stayed up and held each other while they wept about their lives. of course he didn't count how many times they'd almost kissed. of course he didn't count her.

"i'll put in words for you." she said softly, her eyes welling up with tears. "more than friends, less than lovers."

a war was about to begin. and now if she died, he would know how she'd truly felt all these years. percy looked at her with empathy and guilt in his eyes, but she turned away, preparing for the worst.

✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒

good thing she had prepared for the worst, because how else would she have been able to fight off four monsters, by herself, with a sprained ankle, blurry vision, and intense fatigue.

she felt herself wobble as she swung her sword, but it made no impact. suddenly, she felt herself drop to her knees as spots of black began to fill her eyesight.

was this it? was this how it was going to end?

she looked around at the hideous faces that surrounded her. she'd die a martyr, a warrior, maybe even a hero. she wondered what her legacy would be; if anybody would remember her. she felt a monster slither closer to her.

"she can't fight anymore." it chuckled. "she's giving up."

"she's worn down." another monster added. "let's finish the job."

dying at the hands of a vicious beast wasn't exactly her top choice, but she couldn't do anything to prevent it. her limbs felt weak, her mind fogged up. she felt herself collapse on the ground. this was it. this was how it was going to end. she took one final look at the warzone around her.

"goodbye y/n." a monster chuckled.

suddenly, the monster began yelling in pain. her eyes fluttered open as she watched the monster float into the air, choking and gasping. then it happened to the next monster, and the next, and the next.

"no one touches her!" an angry, powerful voice yelled.

y/n fluttered her eyes open, squinting so she could see. there he was, in all his glory. percy jackson. she heard a pop sound, realizing that the monsters had exploded. he'd killed them. but he didn't slash and stab them, he bent their blood.

she faintly heard percy's voice as he knelt down next to her.

"y/n? y/n!" he screamed, stroking her hair. "fuck fuck fuck."

she felt herself get moved as her eyes shut.

✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒

she woke up with the same blurry vision. she blinked a few times to clear it up before checking her surroundings. she was in the infirmary. she looked around, and saw someone across from her on her bed. he was looking down at the ground, anxiously bouncing his leg. his hand rested atop hers.

"percy?" she asked, looking at him.

he quickly turned to look at her and his eyes lit up.

"y/n!" he smiled. "you're awake, you're alive!" turning to face her.

will solace came in.

"she's awake!" percy said enthusiathically.

"i know." he smiled. "i heard you from across the hall."

"what happened?" y/n asked

"you were hit, and passed out from losing too much blood." will explained.

percy was still wearing the same tattered clothes from battle.

"i'll give you guys a few minutes, y/n, i'll be right back to check your vitals." will said, exiting the room.

"how long have you been here?" she asked, sitting up a little bit.

"i dunno, twenty-somethin' hours?" he guessed.

"non-stop?"

he shrugged in response.

"percy, i-"

"listen, i know we had a fight beforehand. and the truth is, i wasn't confused, i was scared. i didn't want to ruin everything we had for a relationship. and the thought of losing you freaked me out, so i-i was a dick and i lied."

"percy-"

"just hear me out, y/n. you almost died, and i, i don't know, i just don't think i could live if you weren't here." he admitted. "when you said 'more than friends, less than lovers,' you were wrong. we are more than friends. i love you, i always have, and i'm sorry that i made you doubt that-"

her heart fluttered as the three words left his mouth. she grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him in for a kiss. his arms gently wrapped around her as her hands cupped his face. he tasted like smoke and salt-water. his hair reeked of battle, and she could feel how rough his skin was. he pushed her back a little, deepening the kiss. it was passionate, it was sweet, it was long overdue.

"holy olympus, get off of her. it's been two minutes since the girl woke up." will said as he returned.

percy, very annoyedly, was forced to pull back as will checked y/n's vitals.

"all good, y/n." he smiled. "you're free to go whenever you're ready. stay light on the sugar. don't push yourself too hard just yet. get plenty of rest."

"thank you will." she smiled back.

"where's my thank you?" percy asked, offended. "i saved your life."

"you ruined my shot at a really cool death." she laughed.

"i'm sure the sugar will get to you before the monsters do." he chuckled, before leaning in to kiss her again.

it was a little more needy this time. it was clear percy had heard will's clearance, because he was a little more firm this time.

"sorry, forgot my stethoscop- for the love of gods jackson." will commented, grabbing his equipment and hitting the back of percy's head.

"ow!" he remarked, rubbing the back of his head.

y/n couldn't help but laugh. percy laid his head on y/n's chest.

"i love you." he said, quietly.

"i love you more." she smiled. "but you've gotta get up before will comes in and yells at you again."

[bonefall]

Big question cause I’m so mad about how they were used: any ideas on changing Berryheart and Curlfeather from this book?

I have ONE controversial opinion and you must allow me this;

Curlfeather not apologizing to Frostdawn kinda rocks as an idea.

Obviously it reads as insulting because of how they gave Berryheart a Tom the Wifebeater ass Redemption Death in this book, and the general way that they've not approached her with the nuance she deserves is frustrating. I agree.

But hold my hand and walk with me. Imagine Curlfeather, mauled and bloody before the daughter she died saving. Frostpaw's gone through so much fixing the damage she caused, furious at the state her mother's in, the mess she made of RiverClan, all the suffering everyone's gone through... and Curlfeather says,

"I don't regret anything."

"Really? REALLY? I go through all of that, I come ALL this way, and you won't even give me a rotten little sorry?"

She doesn't give her mother a chance to respond, lashing her tail towards the grimmace that hangs off the side of her shredded cheek, "You're not sorry for how you lead to yourself looking like THAT?"

Frostpaw shoves her scarred throat foward, "You're not sorry for THIS?"

She claws dig into the sodden black earth of the Dark Forest, "You're not sorry you're HERE?"

Curlfeather is quiet, her remaining eye stoic like a stone. Frostpaw begs furiously, "NOTHING?"

"I will vow on our blood that I will not lie to you anymore," the demon's tone is soft and honest, "and I hope that means more than the insincere apology I could offer you otherwise."

Just when it feels like Frostpaw has so much anger that her body can't handle it, pain stuffs itself inside her in equal measure. Her stomach is sick with love, throat choked with affection. It takes her a minute to form the word,

"Why?"

"When my father, Reedwhisker, was taken by the Kin, I saw how they broke him. His uncle, Stonefur, did not buckle under Tigerstar. My grandmother Mistyfoot quietly rescued the Clan from his accomplice, Leopardstar, while Mistystar willingly worked alongside a vicious impostor."

Now that Frostpaw is the one who's waiting quietly, Curlfeather's voice flutters hopefully, "I was willing to do anything to restore my Clan to greatness," the specter pads foward, touching her nose to her daughter's trembling forehead, "except sacrifice you."

She didn't expect to feel the harsh sting of her daughter's paw smacking her across the nose. She reels back.

"You don't get it! It's not about YOU! It's about everyone you hurt! Dont try to pretend it was all worth it, you didn't make anything great, you just broke it!"

"I had to break it so it could be set back stronger. I gave you the chance for the power, and now you are making it better than it was."

"That was in spite of you! You told me to trust no cat and I had to unlearn that!"

"I saved you when I could have escaped with my life."

"From a situation you caused in the first place!"

"It was a warrior's death!"

There is a silence that settles over them. Curlfeather is snarling in offense. Frostpaw looks, again, at her mother's fatal wounds, the defensive stance. She's reminded of how the cats of other cultures don't always see scars as rewards for a fight survived-- just reminders of pain you've gone through.

"...it was a warrior's death," she agrees, gently, watching tattered hackles smoothen out, "...and now you're dead, while I'm still alive."

The emotion in Curlfeather's face is solemn, but otherwise incomprehensible to her daughter. The expression on Frostpaw's is equally unreadable to her mother. This is the only thing they will ever understand about each other-- that there is an irreconcilable difference between them, steeper than the divide between sky and earth.

The last words the demon speaks to her daughter are, "I love you."

It's only years later that Frostdawn can say, "I love you too."

[drdemonprince]

At one point he was down in between my legs, fingering me, and he made a throwaway comment about probably being Autistic. 

I leaned back, trying to relish what pleasure I was getting. “Well, we can talk about that subject, if you like,” I said vaguely, not really wanting to bring my professional life into things. 

He kept working away at my body, kissing between my lips and thighs. “Oh I know who you are,” he said suddenly. “Your book changed my life. In a way, I guess this is me thanking you.” 

I made him exit my body and we went to the kitchen to hash it out. It turned out he was a big fan of many things I’d written. 

“I’ve seen you around the neighborhood many times,” he confessed. “But you posted online that you don’t like when people come up to you, and so I always decided to leave you alone.” 

He said, “Your book is the reason I got divorced, actually. My ex-husband was a therapist, and when I showed him your book and said I thought I might be Autistic, he didn’t believe me. We have been separated for a year.” 

He asked, “Did I just make this weird, telling you when I did that I was a fan?” I told him that if he’d said it sooner, I would have never fucked him at all. 

People never realize that when they approach me, what they are doing is dragging me into work. It doesn’t matter whether I was at breakfast, or an orgy. I was just some guy standing there, enjoying his beer, but now they have made me the known scholar and author. And sure, my job might be meaningful, but that doesn’t mean I like to work. 

I tell my friend that I no longer want to be a public figure, and that I am planning how to make it all end. She tells me, “You’ve got to do what is the best for you, even if it’s something that the rest of us wants and can’t imagine giving up.” 

I ask myself, did I want this? It would be more flattering to say I didn’t, and play the role of the hermetic author whose work developed its own life purely because it was so good. But that isn’t true. 

From the moment I got a Myspace account in high school, I was publishing essays about my political views. I serialized multiple novels on Tumblr, guerilla marketing them with giveaways and custom-made images until they hit the Kindle sales charts. I have made memes, tried starting viral trends, coined phrases, and given hundreds of hours’ worth of media interviews. I write prescriptive nonfiction, for Christ’s sake. Of course people seek guidance from me. I offer it up! 

I have been strategic about how I dress, and my video backdrops, and retaken clips of myself speaking over and over again until they sounded right. I’ve hosted debates with my most vicious critics while I’m in the shower, started public beef with creators who had larger accounts than I did, and rushed to my keyboard when upsetting news broke, because I alone was possessed of the most correct take on it.

I wanted this. I didn’t know what this was, this internet fame I was chasing, but I did all I could to make it mine. I thought that by writing so much, I would one day be able to escape myself, maybe really feel connected to other people. Instead it has meant never being able to stop thinking about myself: how I am seen, what I am working on, how it all fits together, what comes next. It has also meant being spoken about, theorized about, and criticized, and developing a firm exoskeleton of disdain between myself and the world. 

I believe now that that it is immoral for any person to be listened to by ninety thousand other people. Holding authority and status like that runs counter to my anarchic ideals. I am not more important or correct than anyone. I should not be trusted to tell people which commodities to buy, which companies not to support, what to read, what to think, what words to use, or how to conduct their lives. 

All the other animals know there is no one way that a creature “should” live. There is only the way that it does. The world has no consciousness, no beliefs. It cannot pass judgment. We only feel so watched and evaluated because we have covered the planet with so many millions of our eyes. But we can stop performing dignified human goodness at any moment. 

I think that celebrity is an evil, corrupting force that pits the human instinct for bonding against itself. Instead of appreciating the singing of our friends around the fire, we stream Chappell Roan until stalkers break into her house. Rather than playing card games together, we stan Twitch streamers, filling up their chats with highlighted messages until they acknowledge us. We long to be famous novelists because then we would have the social permission to write, and we don’t have the money or time to enjoy the activity on its own. 

I wrote about Chappell Roan, stalker stans, and how turning art into content creation ruins the work, and the creator's life. It's free to read in full (or have narrated to you by the app!) on Substack.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Kickstarting “The Bezzle” audiobook, sequel to Red Team Blues

I'm heading to Berlin! On January 29, I'll be delivering Transmediale's Marshall McLuhan Lecture, and on January 30, I'll be at Otherland Books (tickets are limited! They'll have exclusive early access to the English edition of The Bezzle and the German edition of Red Team Blues!).

I'm kickstarting the audiobook for The Bezzle, the sequel to last year's Red Team Blues, featuring Marty Hench, a hard-charging, two-fisted forensic accountant who spent 40 years in Silicon Valley, busting every finance scam hatched by tech bros' feverish imaginations:

http://thebezzle.org

Marty Hench is a great character to write. His career in high-tech scambusting starts in the early 1980s with the first PCs and stretches all the way to the cryptocurrency era, the most target-rich environment for scamhunting tech has ever seen. Hench is the Zelig of tech scams, and I'm having so much fun using him to probe the seamy underbelly of the tech economy.

Enter The Bezzle, which will be published by Tor Books and Head of Zeus on Feb 20: this adventure finds Marty in the company of Scott Warms, one of the many bright technologists whose great startup was bought and destroyed by Yahoo! (yes, they really used that asinine exclamation mark). Scott is shackled to the Punctuation Factory by golden handcuffs, and he's determined to get fired without cause, so he can collect his shares and move onto the next thing.

That's how Scott and Marty find themselves on Catalina island, the redoubt of the Wrigley family, where bison roam the hills, yachts bob in the habor and fast food is banned. Scott invites Marty on a series of luxury vacations on Catalina, which end abruptly when they discover – and implode – a hamburger-related Ponzi scheme run by a real-estate millionaire who is destroying the personal finances of the Island's working-class townies out of sheer sadism.

Scott's victory is bittersweet: sure, he blew up the Ponzi scheme, but he's also made powerful enemies – the kinds of enemies who can pull strings with the notoriously corrupt LA County Sheriff's Deputies who are the only law on Catalina, and after taking a pair of felony plea deals, Scott gets the message and never visits Catalina Island again.

That could have been the end of it, but California's three-strikes law – since rescinded – means that when Scott picks up one more felony conviction for some drugs discovered during a traffic stop, he's facing life in prison.

That's where The Bezzle really gets into gear.

At its core, The Bezzle is a novel about the "shitty technology adoption curve": the idea that our worst technological schemes are sanded smooth on the bodies of prisoners, mental patients, kids and refugees before they work their way up the privilege gradient and are inflicted on all of us:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

America's prisons are vicious, brutal places, and technology has only made them worse. When Scott's prison swaps out in-person visits, the prison library, and phone calls for a "free" tablet that offers all these services as janky apps that cost ten times more than they would on the outside, the cruelty finds a business model.

Working inside and outside the prison Marty Hench and Scott Warms figure out the full nature of the scam that the captive audience of prisoners are involuntary beta-testers for, and they discover a sprawling web of real-estate fraud, tech scams, and offshore finance that is extracting fortunes from the hides of America's prisoners and their families. The criminals who run that kind of enterprise aren't shy about fighting for what they've got, and they're more than happy to cut some of LA County's notorious deputy gangs in for a cut in exchange for providing some kinetic support for the project.

The Bezzle is exactly the kind of book I was hoping I'd get to write when I kicked off the Hench series – one that decodes the scam economy, from music royalties to prison videoconferencing, real estate investment trusts to Big Four accounting firm bogus audits. It's both a fast-moving, two-fisted crime novel and a masterclass on how the rich and powerful get away with both literal and figurative murder.

It's getting a big push from both my publishers and I'll be touring western Canada and the US with it. The early reviews are spectacular. But despite all of this, I had to make my own audiobook for it, which I'm pre-selling on Kickstarter:

http://thebezzle.org

Why? Because Audible – Amazon's monopoly gatekeeper to the audiobook world, with more than 90% of the market – refuses to carry my work.

Audible uses Digital Rights Management to lock every audiobook they sell to their platform. Legally, only an Audible-authorized app can decrypt and play the audiobooks they sell you. Distributing a tool that removes Audible DRM is a felony under Section 1201 of the 1998 DMCA.

That means that if you break up with Audible – delete your Audible apps – you will lose your entire audiobook library. And the fact that you're Audible's hostage makes the writers you love into their hostages, too. Writers understand that if they leave the Audible platform, their audience will have to choose between following them, or losing all their audiobooks.

That's how Audible gets away with abusing its performers and writers, up to and including the $100m Audiblegate wage-theft scandal:

https://www.audiblegate.com/

Audible can steal $100m from its writers…and the writers still continue to sell on the platform, because leaving will cost them their audience.

This is canonical enshittification: lock in users, then screw suppliers. Lots of companies abuse DRM to do this, but none can hold a candle to Amazon, who understand that the DMCA is a copyright law that protects corporations at the expense of creators.

Under DMCA 1201 commercial distribution of a "circumvention device" carries a five-year prison sentence and a $500,000 fine. That means that if I write a book, pay to have it recorded, and then sell it to you through Audible, I am criminally prohibited from giving you the tool to take it from Audible to another platform. Even though I hold the copyright to that work, I would face a harsher sentence than you would if you simply pirated the audiobook from some darknet site. Not only that: if you shoplifted the audiobook in CD form, you'd get a lighter sentence than I, the copyright holder, would receive for giving you a tool to unlock it from Amazon's platform! Hell, if you hijacked the truck that delivered the CD, you'd get off lighter than I would. This is a scam straight out of a Marty Hench novel.

This is batshit. I won't allow it. My books are licensed on the condition that they must not be sold with DRM. Which means that Audible won't sell my books, which means that my publishers are thoroughly disinterested in paying thousands of dollars to produce audiobooks of my titles. A book that isn't sold in the one store than accounts for 90% of all sales is unlikely to do well.

That's where you come in. Since 2020, I've used Kickstarter to pre-sell five of my audiobooks (I wrote nine books during lockdown!). All told, I've raised over $750,000 (gross! but still!) on these crowdfunders. More than 20,000 backers have pitched in! The last two of these books – The Internet Con and The Lost Cause – were national bestsellers.

This isn't just a way for me to pay off a lot of bills and put away something for retirement – it's proof that readers care about supporting writers and don't want to be locked in by a giant monopolist that depends on its drivers pissing in bottles to make quota.

It's a powerful message about the desire for something better than Amazon. It's part of the current that is driving the FTC to haul Amazon into court for being a monopolist, and also part of the inspiration for other authors to try treating Amazon as damage and routing around it, with spectacular results:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/dragonsteel/surprise-four-secret-novels-by-brandon-sanderson

And I'm doing it again. Last December, I went into Skyboat Media's studios where Gabrielle De Cuir directed @wilwheaton, who reprised his role as Marty Hench for the audiobook of The Bezzle. It came out amazing:

https://archive.org/details/bezzle-sample

Now I'm pre-selling this audiobook, as well as the ebook and hardcover for The Bezzle. I'm also offering bundles with the ebook and audiobook for Red Team Blues (naturally these are all DRM-free). You can get your books signed and personalized and shipped anywhere in the world, courtesy of Book Soup, and I've partnered with Libro.fm to deliver DRM-free audiobooks with an app for people who don't want to mess around with sideloading.

I've also got some spendy options for high rollers. There's three chances to name a character in the next Hench novel (Picks and Shovels, Feb 2025). There's also five chances to commission a Hench short story about your favorite tech scam, and get credited when the story is published.

The Kickstarter runs for the next three weeks, which should give me time to get the hardcopy books signed and shipped to arrive around the on-sale date. What's more, I've finally worked out all the post-Brexit kinks with shipping my UK publisher's books to EU backers. I'm working with Otherland Books to fulfill those EU orders, and it looks like I'm going to be able to sign a giant stack of those when I'm in Berlin later this month to give the annual Marshall McLuhan lecture at the Canadian embassy:

https://transmediale.de/en/2024/event/mcluhan-2024

Red Team Blues and its sequels are some of the most fun – and informative – work I've done in my quarter-century career. I love how they blend technical explanations of the scam economy with high-intensity technothrillers. That's the the same mix as my bestselling YA series Little Brother series – but these are firmly adult novels.

The Bezzle came out great. I hope you'll give it a try – and that you'll come out to see me in late February when I hit the road with the book! Here's that Kickstarter link again:

http://thebezzle.org

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/10/the-bezzle/#marty-hench

[charlottecutepie]

° ❀⋆. Picnic date (William Afton x fem!reader)

tags: outdoor sex, corruption kink, daddy kink, innocence kink, soft to rough sex, unprotected sex, choking, lots of pet names, creampie, riding, missionary

Ah, those beautiful and hot summer days. Mid July.

Nature alive and thriving. The warm sun enlivened the surroundings; the trees shimmered with emerald green leaves as delicate colourful flowers were scattered around, blooming under a clear azure sky. The air was filled with the sweet scent of flowers mixed with freshly mown grass. A quiet and windless day, you can only hear the unobtrusive but beautiful singing of birds nearby.

There were no people around because only you knew this secret place. You loved spending free time here, often reading your favourite book, relaxing in the shade of large trees.

As it is now, nothing has changed, except that you aren't alone now. You were lying on your stomach, on a blanket, as always reading your favourite book in the genre of old novels. William was next to you, holding a small diary for notes in his hands, carefully reading something in there, all concentrated. He was lying on his back, squinting against the rays of the bright sun. Today was a particularly hot day, so he ditched his usual vests and jackets, replacing them with a light linen shirt and knee-length bermuda shorts.

William looked up from his diary for a moment, glancing at you beside him. What an angelic and innocent little creature you are. Truly beautiful, like one of the blooming flowers. Gentle as one of the weightless white clouds in the blue sky. Innocent as a little fawn. Tender baby, pure and adorable, like a little bunny. Daydreaming little beauty, his beauty.

Your hair shimmers beautifully in the summer sun, William wants to stroke it, to run his long fingers through your strands. Your lips, as always so soft, just begging to be kissed, bitten, eaten. Your ethereal eyes, which follow the words in your book, shine with naive curiosity about the plot. Your cheeks, so adorable as they turn slightly pink every time you come to the part where the characters in the novel do something more than just kissing. Your fingers, so small compared to his long ones, turn the page of the book, William wants to bring them to his lips and kiss each one, whispering how charming you are.

His precious girl, dressed in a white dress that accentuates your figure, his heart stops. It perfectly fits every curve of your body, emphasizing your every movement and the beauty hidden inside you, like long-awaited flowers after winter. You're lying here in the warm rays of the sun, reading your novels and waving your legs, so adorable. Your dress is a real dream, short enough to give William a wonderful view of your body.

Blood rushes to his cock. Oh, how he wants to destroy your innocence. How he'd like to corrupt and ruin his precious girl right here, under the sun, on this blanket, where the sweet smell of flowers surrounds you both. All sorts of vicious thoughts roam in his head: kissing your delicate neck, running his fingers along your spine as they finally reach your core. He wants to defame your purity. That angelic voice of yours must break down in sobs and moans as you whimper "daddy" while he roughly fucks you. Those eyes must be filled with tears, those lips parted in moans, those hands around his neck when he pounds you. William's fingers are clutching the blanket, he's frowning. No, he shouldn't do that, just not right now.

"Want me to read it for you?" a cute offer comes from him. Smiling warmly at your nod, he began to read your novel aloud. His voice rich and seductive, like dark velvet, captivating you. He was reading about an intense encounter between two characters that made your heart beat faster; it took your breath away from the passion-filled words unfolding in front of your imagination. Lost in his fascinating narrative, you snuggled closer to William, seeking solace in this newfound sensation pulsing through your veins — an inexplicably sweet mixture of shyness and pleasure intertwined in your feelings for him.

Suddenly, your eyes sparkled mischievously as you took a juicy ripe strawberry from a bowl.

"Want some?" you playfully teasing him. William doesn't even have time to react as you shut his mouth with strawberry. You laugh softly, seeing how he enjoys the taste, and coquettishly run your finger over your lower lip, a wide smile on your face. Such innocent teasing that thrilled him more than anything else.

"Mmm. . ." He murmured, swallowing fruit down as you giggled. Your fingers lightly brushed against his lower lip to remove any trace of strawberry residue. "Thank you, darling."

Oh, so his girl wants to play.

"Someone wants to play, hm?" he cooed, moving closer to you. He carefully put one of the strawberries between your parted lips, looking at you hungrily. William couldn't help but feel an irresistible desire to touch your soft lips, completely covered with the sweet essence of strawberries. "Guess I'll take my revenge sweetly," he murmured before leaning forward and capturing you in a soft, gentle kiss. His tongue teased at your lips, begging for entry, and when you parted them slightly, he slipped his tongue inside tasting the sweetness of the strawberry. William groaned softly, savouring the taste. His hand gently caressed your cheek.

As the kiss stopped being innocent and William put your book aside, you leaned on top of him, devouring his lips in a passionate kiss now. William barely restrained himself from cumming in his pants. His precious girl is so hot, so daring, brave even, not afraid of daddy at all. His innocent girl just doesn't know what he's capable of.

"Oh, daddy. . ." you moan into his mouth, fuck, such an angelic voice you have, your lips slightly swollen from a hungry kiss you both shared. "oh, daddy, daddy, daddy. . ." you nuzzle into his neck, pressing your whole body against him. William's hands stroke your hair, then go down to your back, caressing tenderly. His hardness pressing against you, a pleasant friction that makes your pussy clench around nothing. You grind on his bulge slightly, craving more. William gently thrusts up into you, his clothed erection pressing in your panties, causing you both to moan softly.

"My sweet girl," he whispers. You move your hips back and forth on his bulge, your needy pussy rubbing against his cock through the thin fabric of your panties. His cock twitches in response. "So wet for me, princess, oh my god," he groans in your ear. "I need to be inside you, darling, need to fuck my precious girl, fill you up real good. Right here."

You shuddered at his words, nearly crying from how needy you are. "Yes, yes, please! fuck me, want to feel you, daddy. . ."

His hands immediately and impatiently undid the zipper of his shorts as he lowered them along with his underwear. His hard cock was already leaking with pre-cum, demanding to be inside you. You lifted yourself up slightly, your dress pulled up. William's fingers pulled your panties aside, exposing your wet and leaking entrance. He bit his lip, nearly till blood. Fucking fuck. He can't believe his eyes, his little and innocent angel is so. . . So lustful, depraved, sinful, just begging him to fuck her, to cum inside her and claim her.

"Daddy will fuck you so good, baby," he says, thrusting his cock into your tight pussy. Summoning all his strength, he refrained from cumming in the first seconds. God, your cunt feels like heaven, so tight and warm, just made for him, William moves his hips up and slips into you fully. "Oh fuck, angel, oh fuck! such a good girl for me." he whispers.

Unable to keep your balance as you feel dizzy from his cock, you lay down on him again, clutching the blanket under you with one hand and holding on to him with the other. He groans in pleasure as he lazily fucks into your wet cunt at a slow, but steady pace.

"Mmm," you purr, nuzzling his neck. "Love it when you fuck me like this, daddy, ohh. . ."

He ran a hand through your hair softly. "You're beautiful," he murmured back to you, gripping one of your ass cheeks through dress possessively. "I could spend all day like this."

You gasp loudly at his touch as you dig nails lightly into his skin in response, your cheeks burning, but not from heat of the hot summer. Your pussy tightening around his shaft, feeling how his tip rubs against that sensitive sweet spot deep inside you.

You cling to him tightly, your body trembles as pleasure overwhelms you. He slammed into you harder, your bodies moving in way that took your breath away. "Yes, daddy, yes!" you cried out. "Fuck me harder, please!"

William doesn't need to be told twice. He pulled out of you, staring down at your glistening pussy with lust-filled eyes. You spread your legs wider for him, wanting to feel his big cock filling you up again.

"Lay down." he rasped huskily. You obeyed immediately, changing pose, lying back on the soft blanket as he climbed between your legs once more. He positioned the swollen red tip of his dick on your clit, rubbing, teasing you mercilessly. You bucked beneath him, trying to get more friction, but he abruptly grabbed your wrists above your head, pinning them to the grass and not letting you move. "Patience, angel," he breathed harshly. "Daddy's going to ruin that angelic pussy now."

Finally, he slipped inside you slowly but firmly, stretching you wider as he filled your pussy. You gasped in pleasure, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, he entered deeper from that angle. He began to rut into you hard and fast, your cunt clenching around his cock as he slammed into you over and over again. You let out desperate moans, writhing beneath him as pleasure overwhelmed you. "Fuck, Daddy!" you cry out. "Im close!"

He gave a low growl in response, fucking you even rougher than before. Your pupils blown at his fast pace. Your head fell back on the blanket, your hair messy, eyes teary as you being fucked roughly but lovingly. Your pussy squeezed his cock, coating his base with your slick.

"Cum, angel, cum on your daddy's cock." he groaned, thrusting even deeper where it already hurt. Your pussy flutter around him as you cry out his name and he kisses you, roughly, biting your lips and nearly fucking your mouth with his tongue. God, you taste like strawberry, such a sweet, sugary girl. He's damn dizzy, his cock throbbing inside you as his balls slaps against your ass. "Fuck, fuck! Yes— Oh, fuck, yees, angel!" he moans loudly into your mouth, breathing heavily. You're close, so damn close to coming hard around his cock as you choke on your own moans and squirm under him.

"Daddy— Daddyyyy!" you felt a powerful orgasm building up inside you, your walls clenching down tightly on his cock as if trying to milk him dry. You screamed out in pleasure as it washed over you, your cunt spasming around him hard enough that he almost lost his footing. "Oh, oh! Noo, no, I'm sensitive, William!" he squeezed your wrists harder, leaving a red mark on your skin. Oh yeah. When you call him by his name, it means you're being serious, but he doesn't give a fuck. He knows his little angel can take another orgasm. Despite this, he kept pounding into you relentlessly as if trying to push even deeper inside, his tip brushing against your cervix.

"Take it, angel, fucking take it." you writhing beneath him, your sensitive pussy still spasming around his dick, tears in your eyes from overstimulation. "Again," William growls. "I want to feel you cum again." he slammed into you harder, faster; your body shivering. William let go of your wrists, instead his hand went to your neck and squeezed it. You immediately gasped, grabbing his hand, a little fear in your eyes brought him closer to the edge.

His grip tightened, making it harder for you to draw air. The lack of oxygen heightened your sensitivity, intensifying every thrust that he made into your wet pussy. It was almost too much to bear as his cock rubbed against your sensitive spot again and again. The squelching sounds your little cunt made had William completely lose his mind. His grip on your neck firm as you drooling over his hand, eyes rolling back from pleasure and lack of air.

"That's right, angel, let daddy fuck you stupid." you reply him with choked mewls and whines as your another orgasm grows nearer. He smirks, hand reach down to your clit as he rubs it with his calloused rough fingers, earning sobs from you.

Oh, his precious girl is so cock drunk, so dumb, drooling stupidly as your pussy being ruined. What a sight. William took a deep breath. You were completely at his mercy as he fucked you on the picnic blanked. He stared down at you, captivated by your angelic beauty. The way your breasts bounced with each thrust, nipples perky, fuck, even seen through the fabric of your innocent little dress.

His precious lovely girl. You lie under him and take his big cock, while beautiful flowers bloom and smell around you both, and sunlight falls on your pretty rear-stained face, illuminating the picture of sick yet lovely bliss on it. Everything around you is so alive and natural, tall trees, green meadow, blue sky. Your beautiful moans are mixed with the singing of birds, oh, his precious angel, cry as much as you can, William considers your moans a prayer. His prayer.

"You—… Fuck! Fuck!" his words are slurred as he fell into the abyss of lust and sin, fucking his innocent angel. Your pussy so warm, just too fucking good that he can't stop pounding you. His grip on your throat loosened and you finally inhaled a portion of air. "Oh, princess, gonna cum inside you, gonna fucking breed you."

At such a moment, you wanted warmth from him, despite how roughly and harshly he slammed into your pussy, you needed his hugs and kisses. So you wrapped your arms around William's neck, pulling him to you. He lay down on you with his whole body, continuing to thrust, he left a kiss on your shoulder, inhaling the sweet aroma of ripe strawberries next to you both.

"Ooh— Daddy, so good! Ugh, so good!" you melted under him like vanilla ice cream under the scorching sun. Another powerful orgasm snaps in your stomach. You screamed his name, clawing at the blanket beneath you as your cunt pulsated all over his shaft. William felt it too; your tight pussy milking his cock brought him close.

"Fuck, im cumming." he growled. His body tensed as he slammed into you one final time before releasing his warm seed deep inside your womb, filling you to the brim, coating your walls completely. William shudders against you as spurts of his cum shoots inside you, forcing soft sobs from you.

Sighing heavily, a soft smile appeared on his face, which he gives only to his angel, his precious girl. William pulls out slowly and you whimper at the loss of warmth and stretch as his cum starts leaking out of your little hole to the blanket.

"You did so well for me, darling," he leans down to your face, holding his weight on his hands now. "always such a good girl for me."

"Thank you, daddy." you look at him with innocent yet naive eyes, what nearly makes his already soften cock hard again. "can i have strawberry ice cream?"

William's eyes widen at your question. You've just been roughly fucked and choked and now you're asking for. . . some ice cream? William freezes for a second and then bursts into laughter.

"Oh, angel, of course, of course you can!" he chuckles softly, studying your face. Your fucked out expression, but cute smile. "I love you, princess." William leaves a kiss on your nose and embraces your body.

[mncxbe]

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭...

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚𝒄𝒘: slight obsession/ fixation, fantasizing, creampie

𝐅𝐲𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫 who– because of his religious beliefs and life principles has never been with a woman, but doesn't let this stop him from fisting his cock every night at the thought of you

𝐅𝐲𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫 who knew you were special the moment you recognized the volume of Russian poetry he was reading– who since then always brings a new book to test you. to see just how well-read you truly were

𝐅𝐲𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫 whose thoughts drift to you whenever he goes to bed at night– you in your pretty outfit with the black apron snugly squeezing your hips and waist oh so perfectly as you sway towards him with a cup of tea "Here's your order, sir'" you purr and it's like music to his ears

𝐅𝐲𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫 who desperately bucks his hips into his hand, wishing it was your pretty little pussy instead

𝐅𝐲𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫 who's never been good at envisioning stuff but he can vividly imagine you riding him– your hands pushing down on his shoulders grounding him further into the mattress, the delicious moans spilling from your lips as you trun to putty in his embrace

𝐅𝐲𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫 who cums embarrassingly fast at the thought of his warm sticky cum leaking out of you, dripping down your folds and thighs only for him to force it back inside with his fingers. he just can't have you wasting his precious seed

𝐅𝐲𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫 who can't even focus on his work anymore. he's too distracted by filthy thoughts of you. you bent over his desk, you– with glossy eyes and your pretty lips wrapped around his tip– sucking him off under the table while he works on his computers, you sprawled on his bed oh so sweetly every morning, you wearing his ushanka while you sit on his lap reading him poetry. he wouldn't mind that, really

𝐅𝐲𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫 who tries his best to convince himself that he's not doing anything wrong, but deep down he knows how messed up he is. how much he's sinning and that he's stuck in a vicious cycle of lust and regret– his personal crime and punishment

𝐅𝐲𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫 who's so torn between the obsession with you and his beliefs that he starts questioning his own morals. just what are you doing to him, really?

𝐅𝐲𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫 who, months after, still can't bring himself to ask you out on a date. who prefers to observe from a distance and pray that some day his lecherous acts will be forgiven

[fairycheol]

Always An Angel

luke castellan x apollo!fem!reader

cw:fluff, kissing, mentions of injury, teeny tiny angst. death/murder

It had been exactly three days since Luke Castellan had seen you, his girlfriend of three years, around camp.

The first day of your “disappearance” he simply chopped it down to you being busy taking care of the camp infirmary.

By the time day two rolled around, he began to worry, and unfortunately for him the Apollo campers were no help. Delivering cryptic responses every-time Luke asked where you were, practically avoiding his question.

He began to panic, did you leave camp with no goodbye?, were you secretly seeing someone else behind his back? His mind was running a hundred miles an hour.

On day three he took it upon himself to set out looking you. Leaving his campers with Clarisse he marched through every part of camp before arriving at the infirmary.

He hadn’t tried approaching the building earlier because Mr.D had placed a “do not enter” sign on the front.

Oh my gods, had Mr.D killed her?!?

Shaking the crazy thought from his head he finally opened the door to take a peak inside expecting to find a dead body on the ground but to his surprise it was something entirely different.

Sleeping on one of the beds was a 7 year old boy and hunched over asleep in a nearby chair was you, bow and arrow held limply in your hands.

Luke crept forward into the room when he stepped onto an extra creaky floorboard. The sound had succeeded in waking you up with a fright.

As a daughter of Apollo, you were gentle but you were also a fighter. Which would explain why Luke’s shirt was now pinned to the door with an arrow.

Now fully conscious you came to the realization that you’d just shot an arrow… at your boyfriend

“Luke!” you hissed at him

“What the hell is wrong with you?! I could’ve seriously hurt you!” Walking across the room you ripped the arrow off the door and placed it back in your quill.

“I-I was just coming to check on you, I haven’t seen you in three days.” Luke gave you the saddest puppy dog eyes imaginable. Gods was it impossible to get mad at him.

“Aw, you were worried about me?” Luke passed on a smile as you grabbed his face in between your hands,

“Wait no, i’m still mad at you for sneaking up on me!” Taking a step back you let out an angry huff, but the facade had melted almost instantly when Luke pulled you in by the waist and gave you one very very long kiss.

“I’m sorry for scaring you I just need to make sure you were okay. Your campers were pulling every excuse out of the book to get away from me.” Luke explained twisting an eyebrow up in mock suspicion. With a sigh you began to run your hands up and down his chest, feeling his heart race faster with every movement you made.

“I was gonna tell you were I was but he” you pointed at the young boy still fast asleep, “would wake up in tears every-time I tried leaving his side. He didn’t wake up this time cause I asked a daughter of Hypnos to help me get him to sleep comfortably.”

That’s right. The young boy laying in the infirmary had arrived three days ago. He was chased up the hill of camp half blood by a vicious three headed hell hound. When he got to camp he was shaken up and bleeding heavily. The only person able to calm him down was you.

“That doesn’t really explain you being cooped up in here with him.” Luke huffed putting his hands on his waist.

“Yeah well, after I got his stitches done and over with he begged me to stay in here. Said he could still feel the monsters chasing him.” You turn to look at him with such a saddened gaze that had him remembering of your arrival at camp and the night terrors you’d faced yourself.

“You know better than anyone Luke… I couldn’t leave him feeling like he was alone.” He knew exactly what you meant, and he couldn’t even be upset about it.

A pair of warm hands reached up to gently get a hold of your face, turning you to face him. He gave a smile that read a thousand praises.

Luke takes your moment of silence to give you one more kiss, the gesture sets off a million butterflies in your stomach.

“How did I get so lucky with someone like you” Luke brushes a strand of hair from your face, taking a moment to admire you.

His Angel in disguise.

the ending was lowkey rushed cause i didn’t know what to write 😭

hope y’all enjoyed it tho 🫶🏻

[prythianpages]

Cruel, Wicked Thing | Eris x Reader

summary: you are betrothed to Sawyer Vanserra yet that doesn't stop the eldest Vanserra from wanting you.

warnings: I can't really think of anything? this isn't really fluff or angst, just eris longing. slow burn maybe?

a/n: this can be read as a stand alone imagine but it's a part two to this. I intended the second part to be something else but then I ended up writing this scene and it didn't really fit the vibes I was going with so I decided to just post it separately.

As Eris steps out into the courtyard gardens, his gaze is immediately drawn to you. You’re seated upon one of the stone benches that faces the grand water fountain, the one where he first met you. His steps slow, compelled to take in the sight of you. The sun’s light filters through the clouds, caressing your features with a golden glow as you delicately turn the pages of a book. A gentle breeze rustles through the Autumn trees, creating a ballet of falling leaves and causing loose strands of your hair to dance in the air. As the wind carries the sweet scent of rose and honey to him, Eris inhales deeply.

Among the fluttering leaves, a single one lands atop your head, a delicate crown bestowed by nature itself. Yet, you remain unaware. You’re completely lost to the realm of literature in your lap. The same way Eris is lost in you.

He wonders if he should turn and walk the other way. Much like he has done in the weeks that you’ve moved into the Forest house. He doesn’t want to avoid you but the magnetic pull you exert is thrilling yet fear-inducing. So he's resorted to studying you from afar. He knows you enjoy walking around the gardens, reading and hanging around the stables. He knows you well enough to know you don't belong in a cruel court such as this one.

Yet, the Cauldron has unequivocally marked you as someone special to him and he finds himself wary of the potential depth of affection you might set ablaze within his guarded heart. It’s laughable, how someone as sweet and pure as you is so dangerous to him.

You are engaged to his younger brother, Sawyer. And Eris? He’s engaged in the delicate balance of playing the role of the perfect son—perfect heir—all while conspiring against his own father. He cannot afford to harbor any weakness nor does he want to drag you into the depths of his hell. 

But as he looks around the gardens, he confirms there’s no one else around. He then decides to indulge himself, even if only for a little bit.

As he walks toward you, he deliberately steps on the fallen leaves, allowing them to crunch under his boot. The intentional sound announces his approach and has you looking up. Your eyes widen in surprise as you sit up straight.

“Lord Eris.”

The corner of his lips quirk up and he greets you with the same formality. “Lady y/n.”

His fingers reach out to delicately pluck an orange leaf from the crown of your head. The touch lingers longer than necessary, and “accidentally,” his hand brushes against the softness of your cheek as he lowers it. The lingering contact leaves you slightly flustered, a soft blush creeping up on your face—a reaction he takes delight in.

“I’m surprised you haven’t run away,” he remarks.

Eris knows the past three weeks have been rough for you. He’s not only seen it as you chased Sawyer, your unfortunate husband to be, like a lost puppy but he’s also felt it. On occasion, he sends one of his hounds, Clover, to cheer you up. Even the vicious little creature has fallen victim to you, revealing a softer side in your presence. One she normally only shows Eris.

Your father, a busy and highly esteemed merchant, departed as soon as he signed your marriage contract, leaving you to navigate the Autumn Court alone. Sawyer barely gives you the time of day. It’s a double edged sword because though Sawyer is content with neglecting you, he is the lesser evil of his three remaining brothers. 

Sawyer’s disinterest for you, however, often leaves you vulnerable to his two other brothers, Hunter and Oliver. Hunter, who much like his name, always has a thirst and desire to give chase to anything that isn’t his and Oliver–well, Oliver lusts after anything with two legs. The thought of them touching you–hurting you–sends a fire to course through his veins. It reaches his hand, small flames emerging from his fingertips and the leaf in his hand succumbs to ashes. He brushes them off, feigning nonchalance, grateful that you're unfazed.

With a deft motion, you dog-ear the page you were on before closing your book and gracefully rising to your feet. Upon realizing his attention drifting to the book in your hands, you swiftly hide it behind your back. 

“Why would I run away? Maybe, I’m right where I want to be.”

As his gaze lifts to meet yours, a flicker of surprise and curiosity dances in his amber eyes. Bold words. Unlike you. Despite your hands held behind your back, the subtle nervous twitch of your arm muscles is not lost on him.

“But you’re unhappy,” Eris says and he almost expects the emotions churning within you to come to surface. For you to agree. For you to complain. He leans in closer to you, willing to listen.

You do none of that, though. Instead, you force a smile onto your face. One that fails to reach your eyes. "I'm very happy.”

 “Well, you’re very convincing.” 

“And you’re very nosey.” 

Eris lets out an exhale through his nose and you shrink back, worried you have offended him. The small smirk that lifts the corner of his lips soothes your concern. “I kind of have to be, angel. This is my court and I am to rule over it someday. It is my duty to be aware of everything that goes on.”

“Perhaps, I should start with finding out what had you so captivated earlier.”  Eris adds, eyeing the book you continue to conceal behind your back.

You take a step back, fingers tightening against your book but it’s useless. In a heartbeat, the book disappears from your grasp and reappears in Eris’s thanks to his magic. He holds it up in a taunting manner and you’re running after him.

“Eris!”

A spark ignites in his amber eyes as he recognizes the title, and a chuckle escapes him at your adorable yet desperate attempt to reach for the book. He holds it higher, taking full advantage of his height.

“You shock me, angel. I didn't pin you to be the type to read–”

“Please give it back.” 

Eris pauses for a moment in deep contemplation. You are asking so nicely–begging, more like it. But he finds that he likes the way you’re madly blushing at him too much. He shakes the urge to give into your puppy dog eyes. “I don’t think so…shall I start reading where you left off, hmm?”

Panic flashes in your wide eyes as you desperately lunge forward to retrieve your book. However, Eris's quick reflexes had him turning away, causing you to trip over the pavestone. With Eris's body no longer there to block your path, you found yourself tumbling into the water fountain with a loud splash.

The water is cold and has you gasping, goosebumps rising on your skin. You lift your gaze and though you glare at him, he finds it adorable. Absolutely endearing. He tilts his head back in laughter and the sound softens your gaze.

Eris is still laughing when you hold out your hand to him expectantly. “What?”

Your eyebrows knit together in disbelief. “Aren’t you going to be a gentleman and offer me your hand?”

Unspoken desires stir within him as he gazes at your outstretched hand. In his eyes, there's a subtle ache, a silent wish to offer you more than just his hand. The wave of your hand has him breaking from his thoughts. This time, he takes it. He fails to notice the gleam in your eyes as he does. He doesn’t realize his mistake until it’s already too late–until he’s falling into the fountain and on top of you. Quick reflexes save your book from the water, while one hand is planted at your side to avoid the full weight of his fall.

“Not so funny now, is it?” Your laughter dies in your throat and your voice embarrassingly losing its vigor as you both find yourselves unexpectedly close in the watery aftermath.

Wide amber eyes, bathed in the warm glow of honeyed hues, lock onto yours. His chest is pressed against you and his nose is so close to yours, they’re almost brushing. All you can hear is the soothing sound of running water and his soft breath. You can feel the warmth of it too and the way his chest rises and falls with every breath. 

“You cruel, wicked thing,” he murmurs, voice dripping in velvet, capturing the not so subtle shift in your gaze from his eyes to his lips.

He does the same, also well aware of how close he is to you. Gods, you’re dangerously close to him and as your eyes flutter shut, anticipation charges the air. A mere inch closer, and he could savor the allure of your lips—your pretty but devilish lips. The mere notion sets his heart aflutter. The golden string, binding you both together, seems to tug at him insistently, reeling him in.

Closer, the bond in his chest sings. Closer–

A series of distinct and deliberate chimes has both of you abruptly turning your heads towards the grand clock that oversees the gardens. Eris suppresses a sigh. He has to go but doesn’t want to leave. Reluctantly, he pulls away and rises to his feet, stepping out of the fountain. He then offers you his hand, helping you up. When your shoes slip along the fountain’s tiles, he chuckles and helps steady you by bringing you close to his chest.

“Thanks,” escapes you in a breathless whisper, the frenzy of your mind leaving no room for any other words. 

Once you’re back on steady feet, he distances himself from you, careful not to betray the protest of his heart. While you wrap your arms around your cold, trembling form, your gaze lowers to the book he safeguarded through the entire ordeal. Eris summons every ounce of strength to resist the urge to rush towards you and warm you with his kiss. He has to leave now.

“I’ll return your book to you,” Eris promises, smirking at the small sigh of relief you let out and mischievously adds:  “Once I’m done with it.”

Then, Eris leaves before you can say a single word. Before you can unravel his resolve further. You’re dangerous, he reminds himself. A cruel wicked thing that beckons a wayward soul like his to crave entry into heaven. Not just any heaven, but yours.

a/n: what type of book do we think the lovely reader was reading? lol I do have 2 more parts planned for this little au and maybe more 👀 depending on how the other 2 parts go (they're both inspired by songs and i'm literally just going with the vibes now since I'm really indecisive on how I want to go with this au. I have so many ideas.)