#what was chances that author is going to be one of them

[somehowukook]

(On going) Jungkook fics that totally worth the wait. PT. 1. *:･ﾟ✧

I decided to share some ongoing FFs that I’m completely obsessed with.

Minors under no circumstances can interact with my posts.

Hi guys,💕

(I usually wait for authors to finish posting so I can hyperfocus, disappear from reality, and binge-read everything in one go—but these are so good that waiting for each chapter is totally worth it).

Let’s go!

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Teach me how to love by @kookooluvr

fwb2l, slow burn

Jeon jungkook, a fellow professor at yonsei university, is your friend, co-worker, and secret bed buddy. you have rules set in place to make sure there are no misunderstandings in your little arrangement. the #1 rule is as clear as day; no catching feelings. simple, right? wrong. let's see how un-simple it gets when a certain economics professor falls for an emotionally unavailable political science professor.

I love how we get wrapped up in the story, how the OC has walls up, and how JK breaks them down so gently. He’s so sweet, so soft, and so sure about his feelings—his patience is top-tier. And when he’s in bed… damn, a whole different side comes out. That duality hits me hard. I need one of these for myself. 😮‍💨🔥

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Wounds we never show by @smartkookiee

E2L

You and Jungkook have always at each other's throats, bound by a mutual disdain that runs deep. You both would rather step into traffic than be alone together. But when a chance encounter at a wedding leads to an unexpected and forbidden arrangement, the lines between enemies and something more begin to blur.

This is one of my all-time faves! I love a good E2L, but the way this one unfolds… you don’t really know how it started—you just piece it together through flashbacks while they’re getting real close with some 🔥 scenes. Seriously, chef’s kiss! 😙👌

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Fuck me up! by @jungkoode

E2L , RoomatesAU

A story about ruined expectations & reckless decisions ˎˊ˗

When your search for affordable NYC housing leads you to apartment 6B, you think you've hit the jackpot. That is, until you realize your new roommate is the guy from that one wild night on January - the one who ruined you for anyone else. Now you're stuck sharing walls with the living embodiment of your worst mistake, and the sexual tension is thick enough to choke on. Between his emotional damage and your trust issues, this arrangement is a disaster waiting to happen.

But hey, at least the hate sex is phenomenal.

What can I even say about the story that introduced me to my fairy godmother of ffs? Kiki is brilliant, and I love how she interacts with us! But about the story- imagine getting stuck in an apartment with the most unbearable roommate... who also happens to be the best sex of your life. Not sure if it's E2L or Enemies with Benefits— your call, haha. Either way, it's amazing! The best part? It's total crack (but also no) but still unfolds so well, and I just know l'll be left face down on the floor for hours.🫠🫠🫠

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2U ⭑.ᐟ by @numinousher

E2L, roommates. SMAU.

The two of you become roommates after being cheated on. how will you and jungkook handle your new life together when one blasts sad music and cries their heart out until they don’t have anymore tears, and the other watches rom-coms movies and cries about the life they could’ve had?

It’s a mess, but this JK? Walking green flag. Absolute sweetheart and so protective… ugh, I’m in love! 🩷 And i love the way he gets her vocabulary haha giiiirl

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Bloodlines entwined by @spideyjimin

WerewolfAU, pregnancy

Having a baby alone was supposed to be easy. but an accidental twist of fate pulled you into a hidden world of werewolves, and ancient bloodlines. navigating your already complicated life becomes even harder as you uncover your past; one tied to a legacy you never knew existed. and in the middle of this chaos stands jungkook, the werewolf king… and the father of your child.  

Look, I'm not really into werewolf stories. I read them, enjoy them, love the possessiveness and all, but for some reason, I've never really gotten hooked. At least, not until this one. Damn, my dream is to acidentally get pregnant by this wolf king right here, haha! WOOF WOOF 👀 🐺

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Colour me in by @taegularities

Fwb, fake dating, college!au

Jungkook's door only opens for you when there's a barter: a trade of lust and haze. But today you knock for something more, as intriguing as it is frightening – and you hope it doesn't close his door forever.

Rid starts with a solid fake dating plot, and before you know it, all your emotions are scattered across Tumblr. For me, this FF is one of the all-time classics of Tumblr. It’s one of those to frame, read, and re-read. I’m telling you, so many scenes made me go back and read them again. When I found CMI, I was find on chap 5 and had no idea what was going on, but it was written so well I couldn’t stop the chapter, then I started from the begining. NOBODY IS GOING TO REGREAT READ THIS. In one scene i was so inspired, that i painted a giant canva.

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This is the pt.1.

Please lmk your thoughts!!!!

Soon I’ll be back with more. Kissus kissus! Beijooooo 💕💕

[luvsferrariss]

˚⟡˖ ࣪. ʚ 💌 ɞ who said that I hate you? - OO2

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Synopsis: Where Y/n, in an attempt to escape from Charles, her rival, fails because Charles keeps getting closer, and Y/n starts to like it.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Charles Leclerc x Female Reader! Red Bull Driver

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Warnings: Cute, Charles has improved from his foolishness, nothing too serious in this one, just fluff 🤍

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Author’s Notes: I didn’t really like this story, it feels like I couldn’t develop it very well, but I hope you like it! English is not my first language, so sorry for any mistakes.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ part one here ! 🤍

You couldn’t deny how Charles’ proximity brought several consequences, like: the media. Everyone was speculating so many things that happened between you two, theories totally out of reality. You tried to avoid him as much as you could or push him away, but he was always there, and that irritated you.

When you thought the wave of bad luck had ended, the universe conspired against you again.

This time it wasn’t your fault. It was finally your chance to make it to the podium, you were in second place, and because of a mistake from your team, you ended up in sixteenth place. After the race, you didn’t want to talk to anyone, and everyone knew it.

Then you hear a knock on the door but completely ignore it.

“I know you’re in there,” Charles says, and you just ignore him again.

After a while, you hear another knock. You close your eyes and take a deep breath.

“Go away, Leclerc,” you say straightforwardly.

After your response, there’s a deadly silence, then you just close your eyes and sigh. But within a few seconds, you get startled when your door opens.

Clearly, Charles hadn’t left, so he decides to check and see how you’re doing, then opens the unlocked door.

“Are you crazy, you idiot?” you say, irritated as he enters, still recovering from the shock. Charles smiles and leans against the doorframe.

“Before anything, I need to know. Are you going to break something? Because if you are, just let me know and I’ll leave,” Charles asks calmly, making your blood boil.

“I’ll break you, idiot!” you say, throwing a pillow at him, which he just catches.

“Look how bold you are,” Charles laughs, and you huff.

“Go to hell.” Your voice is quieter now. “What kind of idiot enters someone’s room uninvited?”

He ignores the provocation and gets closer, throwing himself on the couch like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Stressing yourself out alone won’t help anything, you know?” You squint your eyes at his words.

“Since when do you care about what I do?” He doesn’t answer right away. He just watches you, like he’s analyzing every expression.

“Since when did you stop hating me?” Charles says, and in that instant, you freeze.

And Charles notices.

His gaze locks on you for a second that’s too long, and for the first time, there’s something beyond rivalry there.

You look away, feeling your heart race in a way that annoys you deeply.

“Go screw yourself,” you say, still not looking at him, and Charles laughs softly.

“You’ve said that before, Y/n.”

He stands up and walks towards the door. But before leaving, he throws one last provocation:

“Try not to think too much about me, Y/n.”

And then, he leaves, leaving you even more confused and furious than before, not knowing what to respond.

( . . . )

The tension between you two grows to an unbearable point. Everything explodes in a tense practice, where Charles makes an aggressive move, and Y/n nearly hits the wall.

When you both get out of the cars, she goes straight to him in the pit lane, pushing him in the chest.

“What’s your problem?! You could’ve slammed me into the wall!”

Charles grabs her wrists, stopping her from pushing him again.

“You’re shaking. Are you scared, Y/n?” he asks, almost choking on the words.

You pull your arms forcefully, your face burning with anger.

“I will NEVER be afraid of you!”

He leans in slightly, closing the distance between them.

“Then why is your heart beating so fast?”

You pale.

Charles smiles.

You’re so angry that you almost punch him right there. But instead, you just glare at him with hatred and walk away.

But, for the first time, that hatred doesn’t feel so simple.

( . . . )

After that fight, Charles pulls back a bit. He stops provoking her so much, but Y/n misses it. This deeply irritates her.

Until one night, before an important race, she finds him alone in the pits, sitting with his arms crossed, staring at the car.

Without thinking, you approach him.

“So, you think sometimes too. I thought you only talked nonsense.” You say, stopping beside him.

Charles smiles, but doesn’t make a joke.

“Hey, what’s up, idiot? You’re way too quiet.” Her question makes him sigh.

You frown.

“Tomorrow’s gonna be tough,” Charles murmurs.

She frowns.

“You always say that, and in the end, you go speeding like there’s no tomorrow.” You respond, rolling your eyes, stating the obvious.

He lets out a heavy sigh and rubs his face.

“This time it’s weird. I’ve been feeling bad since yesterday, like I have a fever or something.” His words make you worry, but you don’t show it.

“What?”

“If they find out, they won’t let me race. So you’re the only one who knows, and if you tell anyone, you’re done.” He says jokingly, and you cross your arms, skeptical.

“So you’re gonna hide this until you pass out in the car? Great plan.”

Charles gives a slight smile.

“I thought you’d like the idea. If I pass out, you can finally get first place.” You roll your eyes, but inside, you feel a strange tightness in your chest. He was really sick. And still, he was there, ready to race.

You sigh. You didn’t understand why this feeling of worry, especially since, above all, you hated each other, right? Of course, you hated each other, and could never be friends.

“You’re an idiot. But a fast idiot.” Charles turns his face to Y/n, surprised by the concern.

“That was the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Charles says sincerely, and you just roll your eyes as if you hadn’t said anything, but the truth was that you were really “kind,” and you didn’t understand why.

“Don’t get used to it,” you say bluntly.

But when you leave, you hate admitting that something between you two has changed.

And you didn’t know what it was.

( . . . )

The heat inside the car was suffocating, and Charles felt the sweat trickling down his neck as he gripped the steering wheel tightly. His body felt heavy, the fever draining his strength, but he couldn’t back down.

On the radio, the voice of the team sounded distant.

“Charles, how are the conditions?” The engineer asks, as usual.

He presses the radio button, trying to sound normal.

“Everything’s under control.”

Lie.

Nothing was under control, and Charles knew it, but he couldn’t admit it. The race seemed to last longer than expected, every corner demanding more from him than he was used to. His vision seemed blurry at times, but he was already here, and there was no way to quit.

A few laps later, Y/n had already noticed something was wrong. She saw Henrique in the rearview mirror, struggling more than usual to keep pace. He wasn’t driving with his usual aggression.

“Shit, he’s worse than he seemed yesterday,” you think to yourself, growing concern building up.

You grip the steering wheel, frustrated with yourself. Why were you worrying about him?

On lap 38, a mistake. Small, but enough.

Charles brakes too late in a corner and ends up sliding, losing position to Y/n. You pass him, but, when glancing at the car beside you, you see his hand trembling on the steering wheel.

He won’t make it through the entire race.

Y/n’s engineer’s voice comes through the radio:

“Good job, P2 now. Keep pushing the leader.” Your engineer says happily, but you weren’t on the same level of happiness.

You should be satisfied. But, for the first time, you weren’t.

When the race ends, Charles can barely get out of the car. As soon as his feet hit the ground, his legs give out. The fever, the exhaustion… everything hit him at once. He stumbles a little, trying to hide it, but before he can fall, someone catches him.

You.

You hold his arm firmly, preventing him from collapsing right there.

“I knew you were gonna do this shit,” you say, irritated.

Charles lets out a weak laugh.

“And I knew you’d catch me if I fell.” Charles says, cocky, making you roll your eyes, but you don’t let go of his arm.

The journalists notice the scene and begin to approach with cameras and microphones, sniffing out an interesting moment.

Before anyone can ask anything, Y/n steps forward, blocking Charles from their view.

“No questions right now. He needs rest.” You say firmly, but the journalists don’t leave.

Charles looks at you, surprised by the attitude. He didn’t expect this from you, not really.

You look at him.

“Come on, before I regret helping you.” You say, helping him again, making his body lean against yours.

Charles smiles lightly, liking the idea of being close to you.

“That was the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

You sigh, impatient.

“I swear, if you say that again…” you say, impatient, but a slight blush creeping onto your face. Thankfully, you could say it was because of the race.

Charles laughs, but inside, he feels that something between you two has changed.

( . . . )

The deafening roar of the engines had faded, replaced by the cheers and applause of the crowd. You had won. Your first victory in Formula 1.

It was a dream come true, beyond just proving your ability and strength to everyone. You were radiant like never before, a genuine smile on your face.

You were on the podium, holding the trophy, champagne dripping through your fingers. Max and Lando, beside you, were smiling, but you could barely process anything. The world seemed like a blur of emotions and adrenaline. Your first victory after racing against rumors and trying to prove you were capable. And even more so, you were beside people you could trust and count on forever.

It was so rewarding.

The podium ceremony and trophy presentation, you couldn’t have been happier. Lando and Max, without excitement, sprayed champagne on you, celebrating.

When you were finally ready for interviews, you felt someone pull you by the wrist to a secluded spot.

You had seen this scene before, and your heart sank.

“Lando, please don’t tell me it’s another fake news about me,” you murmur sadly, and when you turn, you see Charles.

He says nothing. He just looks at you with an intensity that makes you forget all the confusion around you.

“You did it.” His voice is quieter than you imagined, but there’s a genuine smile on Charles’ face. You laugh, sighing.

“I did it, didn’t I? This is crazy. Doesn’t even feel real!” you say, like a child who just got a candy. You’re so happy, and it captivates your rival.

Charles hesitates for a second. You notice he wants to say something else, but at the last moment, he just smiles and pulls you into a tight, unexpected hug.

This time, you don’t resist and hug him back.

You both pull away from the hug, and the adrenaline runs through your body. Until you hear someone call your name, you quickly say a “see you later” to Charles and leave him there alone, thinking.

Charles’ heart hurt when he saw your fear that there might be more bad news about you.

It was clear Charles had been a jerk to you since he entered Formula 1, but he really didn’t understand why.

Maybe it was because pretending to hate you was easier than saying he loved you.

But he felt guilty instantly when he saw you broken, crying on Lando’s shoulder, when he saw you more vulnerable than ever.

He hated everyone who made you cry, and from that day on, he made a promise to himself: he didn’t want to be that kind of person.

The team decided to celebrate the win with a dinner. Everyone was there – the engineers, the drivers, even some members of the media. You were sitting next to Lando, listening to some nonsense joke he was telling, but you could feel a gaze on you.

When you looked up, there he was.

Charles, across the table, holding a glass, watching you like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

His eyes didn’t shift, not even when you raised an eyebrow, challenging him to say something.

And then, he smiled.

Small, discreet, but the kind of smile that made something inside you tremble.

You swallow hard and look away.

Damn it.

You turn back to Lando to hide it, but soon laugh at a completely absurd joke, laughing the same way Lando did at his own joke.

Later that night, you were outside the restaurant, enjoying the fresh air. The city lights twinkled in the distance, and the muffled sound of the celebration still echoed from inside.

“Running away from your own party?” You jump, startled, as soon as you hear someone behind you.

But as soon as you recognize the familiar voice, your heart skips a beat. You slowly turn around, and Charles is there, hands in his pockets, that intense look again.

“I just needed a moment.” You reply, looking away from Charles, now staring at the ground.

He nods and steps closer, stopping beside you. The silence between you two feels different now. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s not easy to ignore either. When you look up again and look at Charles beside you, your heart skips.

Then, he extends his hand and, without warning, brushes a strand of hair from your face.

Your body stiffens. The touch is brief, but the skin where he touched feels like it’s burning. You see when Charles notices. You see when he finally understands.

And then, he smiles again.

“This might be a problem,” Charles says, looking at you with a smile. You just breathe deeply and nod, now looking away at the view in front of you. You can feel Charles staring at you.

( . . . )

In the next race, everything seemed normal. Or at least, it should have been.

You were talking with Lando and Max in the paddock, laughing at some silly thing Lando had just said. The atmosphere was light and relaxed, until you felt that gaze again.

Charles.

He was just a few meters away, arms crossed, listening to an engineer speak, but clearly not paying attention. His gaze was fixed on you. You did everything to hide the nervousness he caused, but your cheeks flushed slightly, and once again, your heart was faltering. You tried to focus on the conversation between the two drivers in front of you, but you failed miserably.

When your eyes met, something shifted. Your breath stopped in your throat, and time seemed to slow down. The only thing you could hear was your heart racing.

He squinted his eyes, as if irritated, leaving you confused. You raised an eyebrow and turned back to your friends. After a few minutes, you felt someone tap your shoulder.

You turned around and saw the person you really wanted to avoid.

“Y/n, can we talk?” Charles said, sounding irritated. You were confused and choked on your own saliva. Max raised an eyebrow, surprised by the interruption. Lando looked at you, puzzled, then looked at Max.

“Now?” You asked, suspicious.

“Now,” Charles said firmly, and you nodded, with no real option.

You said goodbye to the others and followed him to a more secluded spot. Charles took a deep breath, as if trying to find the right words, but in the end, he just blurted out:

“What were you doing with them?” He said bluntly, and you blinked, surprised. You opened your mouth and closed it, not knowing what to say.

“Excuse me?” You responded, still in shock.

“What were you doing with them? Max and Lando,” Charles repeated, moving a little closer to make sure he heard you right. You laughed in disbelief.

“Talking? Laughing? Ever heard of that?” You said, obviously crossing your arms.

He didn’t laugh. He remained serious.

“With Max? With Lando?” He asked again, and you tilted your head, still a little lost in all of this.

“Yes. What’s the problem?” You said innocently, and Charles thought it was cute, but then remembered why he was there.

Charles ran a hand through his hair, clearly uncomfortable.

“The problem is that…” He stopped in the middle of the sentence, closed his eyes for a second, then opened them again, now with a determined glint.

“Forget it.” The driver in front of you took a step forward. Now, you were so close that you could smell him, a mix of fuel and expensive cologne. Charles turned around to leave, but you grabbed his wrist, freezing him in place.

“What’s wrong, Charles?” You whispered, your voice softer than you intended.

He hesitated for a moment. But only for a moment.

Then he murmured:

“I don’t like seeing you with them, I don’t know.” Charles shrugged. Your heart raced.

And for the first time, you saw in his eyes what you had only suspected before.

And you stood there for a while, just looking at each other. You sighed, half enjoying the confession, but it made you even more lost.

Then, without warning, Charles stepped closer, and again, you smelled him. You were only a few centimeters apart.

“C-Charles?” You called him.

“Yes?”

“What is this?” You asked, but completely lost in the proximity.

He didn’t answer. He just took a step forward, closing the distance between you. His hand found your face, hesitant at first, but firm enough for you to feel the warmth against your skin.

And then, without waiting any longer, Charles kissed you.

It wasn’t a rushed or uncertain kiss. It was something intense, charged with everything that had been hanging in the air for so long—unspoken teasing, glances that lasted a little too long, words never said but always felt.

You kissed him back without thinking. One of your hands grabbed his shirt, as if you needed something to hold on to. The other found his neck, feeling how he leaned in even more toward you.

The world around you disappeared.

It was just him. Just the two of you.

And when you finally pulled away, your faces still close, your breaths mixing, Charles smiled. That crooked, teasing smile, but now it was different—there was something more there now.

“Now tell me… are you still going to pretend this means nothing?”

You felt a shiver run down your spine, but you didn’t look away. With a small smile, he gently ran his thumb across your cheek before adding, almost like a whisper:

“Because I can’t, I can’t pretend and deny what I feel for you, Y/n.”

( . . . )

The tension between you two had only grown since that conversation, that kiss. You couldn’t deny your mood had undoubtedly improved.

Now, minutes before the race start, you were on the grid, mentally reviewing the strategy, trying to concentrate. But your mind kept drifting back to Charles.

Then, he appeared. The red suit, the determined eyes, but at the same time… different.

He approached without hesitation.

“Good luck, Y/n,” you loved the way he said your name.

You smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Do I need it?” You asked, laughing, and Charles smiled.

He shrugged.

“No. But I needed an excuse.”

You furrowed your brow.

“An excuse for what?” You asked innocently again, and Charles smiled.

And then, again, without warning, he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss on the corner of your mouth.

Not a full kiss. Just a touch, a test.

But it was enough to take your breath away.

Before you could react, he was already pulling away, putting on his helmet, and heading to his car. He turned to you and winked.

You stood there, frozen.

Lando, who had seen everything, whistled. You looked at him, lost, your face turning as red as a tomato.

“That was interesting,” he said, crossing his arms. You hit his arm.

Lando laughed and raised an eyebrow. “When were you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what, Norris?” You said impatiently.

“That you two are… like this,” he pointed to you and then to Charles.

“Like what?”

“Like this!” Lando said, and you rolled your eyes. “Come on, Y/n, you used to hate each other, and now he comes and kisses you in front of everyone, not even embarrassed.”

You couldn’t respond, just shrugged.

Because, in that moment, one thing became absolutely clear.

This was no longer a game.

( . . . )

You won.

Again.

But this time, the only thing you wanted wasn’t to lift the trophy or spray champagne.

It was to find Charles.

And he knew that.

As soon as the ceremony ended, you felt a hand on your wrist. He pulled you into a corner, away from the cameras, the journalists, any distractions.

His eyes were shining, but it wasn’t just from the race.

“How many more times are we going to pretend this isn’t happening?” Your chest tightened because you knew exactly what he meant.

You exhaled, a small smile forming on your lips.

“I think it’s already enough, right? You kissed me in front of everyone, I don’t think we need to pretend anymore.” You said, smiling like a happy little girl.

His smile grew, full of something new—certainty.

“Good.” And this time, when he leaned in, there were no doubts, hesitations, or teasing.

This time, it was real. And you knew there was no turning back, so you continued.

Charles pulled back and kissed your forehead, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, looking at you with love.

“I want to hear that from you.” Charles said, holding your hand.

“Hear what?” You said, pretending not to understand, and Charles groaned, throwing his head back.

“If we’re going to be like this, I’ll say it first. Before anything, I want to apologize for being such a jerk. I thought pretending to hate you was easier than telling you how much I like you.” Charles sighed, and you felt like you were floating. Your heart leaped with joy, and the only thing you could do was hug him, so you did.

“It’s okay, Charles. This can stay in the past.” You said, still hugging him. Charles let go of you and held your waist firmly. You wrapped your arms around his neck.

“And besides, I think I like you a little too.”

“A little?” He complained, pretending to be offended.

“Yes, just a little.” You said, showing with your fingers how small the amount was. Charles laughed and gave you a quick kiss.

“You’re going to be my downfall, Y/n.” Charles said, and you kissed him.

[benz12313]

Delirium - Ridoc x Reader 🌶️

{Images are not my own}

Summary: You and Ridoc have been dancing around each other for months, just on the cusp of becoming something more. All it takes is a rough week and a bit of liquor to have you become putty in his hands, and he's been dying for the chance to carry you to his bed. Too bad you guys don't quiiite make it there, at least this time... ;) [Takes place during Iron Flame]

Warnings: ‼️(MDNI) 18+ explicit content‼️, smut, thigh riding, hinting at feelings, swearing, fem!reader, drunkenness/alcohol use

Delirium - Part 2/3 - links will be added as they...come ;)

Authors Note: I am absolutely living for goofy, sexy Ridoc in this fic. Is this totally a self-serving fic? Absolutely. Do I still hope you enjoy it? Also absolutely. This is my first attempt at smut so bare with me, I'm easing into it. Also I got a little carried away, and will have to break this into three parts...sssooorrry.

Word Count: 2,093

Alcohol coarsed in my veins, the music in the bar was blaring, and my friend’s bodies pressed in on me. Rhiannon and Tara danced in front of me, bumping into me occasionally, yet obviously lost in each other. Sawyer was close too, nursing a beer and dancing with his eyes closed, probably imagining Jesinia by his side. And then Ridoc… Ridoc was behind me, one hand resting seemingly innocently on my waist, setting my entire body aflame. 

Maybe it was the pressure of looming change. Maybe it was the grueling week of classes. Maybe it was the math test I’d failed. Maybe it was the sore muscles from Fayla pushing me during flight maneuvers. All I knew was that when I’d entered the bar that night, my mission was to release every ounce of tension in my body, get absolutely tanked, find someone to warm my bed, and absolutely lose myself to the night. 

And who had been so achingly close to me all night? Who’d been shooting flirty winks and sultry smiles the moment our friends would glance away? Who’s hands had been roaming my thighs under the table as I’d been forced to sit on his lap so all our friends could fit into the booth and socialize? Hands that had pulled and massaged and pinched; but never moving to where I so desperately wanted him to? Always so close to crossing that line, but never quite taking the plunge.  

Ridoc fucking Gamlyn. That’s who. 

The man I’d been dancing around for weeks, toeing dangerously between friends and bedmates. Countless study sessions where he’d huddle a little too closely while leaning over my shoulder. Mouth dangerously close to my neck as he’d stare at my notes, feigning idiocy when we both knew he was much smarter than he let on. Or on the mat, when I’d get him pinned, dagger pressed to his throat, my own aching for air but so deliciously proud of myself as his eyes would be glued to my rapidly rising and falling chest, letting out a garbled “I yield.” as I’d feel him stiffen below me. 

My personal favorite was just a few days ago, when I’d run into him after he’d just finished showering after a long training session with the rest of the squad.

His curls sticking to his forehead, still dripping, the beads of water trailing down his chest. I shamelessly watched them go down his sculpted abs, silently reminding myself to thank Dane for all the extra training sessions he’d been ordering lately, because it was obviously doing wonders for Ridoc. I’d been just about to drop to my knees and lick them off myself, and then maybe, maybe get a peak at what he was hiding under those gray sweats, when Sawyer had come around the corner, calling after Ridoc to wait up. He hadn’t even seen me, but my eyes flashed to Ridoc’s, and he’d given me a sultry smile, exactly like the ones he’d shoot his conquests before dragging them into his room. “Looks like we’ll have to wait some other time Princess.” He’d muttered just loud enough for me to hear before Sawyer saw me, and I innocently waved them off, heading to the showers like I’d originally planned. It didn’t matter how deftly my fingers worked beneath the steaming water, the orgasm that followed fell flat, my body coiled and aching for Ridoc. 

Gods, Ridoc had taken up way too many of my frustrated fantasies lately. Much more than any friend should. 

“Hey Princess, want more shots?” His voice was rough and low, breath fanning on my ear, his hand flexing on my waist, the pressure of his giant hand so deliciously grounding amongst the crowd and music. 

“Fuck yes!” I called back, turning in his arms and playfully pushing his chest back, towards where the bar awaited us. 

He grinned widely down at me, before removing his hand from my waist, using it to grab the hand that still rested on his chest, threading our fingers together as he shot me a wink. He turned without warning, making a path through the crowd, which I eagerly followed him through. In moments or minutes, I was too drunk to tell, we’d made it to the crowded bar and Ridoc pulled me closer to him, my hands now braced to his chest as he pushed forward, trapping me between him and the bar. 

“Same as before Y/L/N?” He shot the question down to me, eyes following the bartender as he took the orders from those around us. 

I reached onto my tiptoes, the corner of my mouth brushing his jaw, mostly unintentionally as I lightly swayed. “Yes please.” I said sweetly and he gulped, my eyes flashing to his adams apple as it bobbed, suddenly stopping myself from running my tongue across his entire damn throat. 

His hands tightened on my waist, jerking me closer to him, “If you don’t stop looking at me like that Y/N,” His voice a downright growl, making me instantly soaked, “We won’t make it to my room tonight.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Across the bar Sawyer, Violet, Rhiannon, Tara, and the first years all stared at Ridoc and you, practically eye-fucking each other as you downed another two shots. The two of you had had way too many to count already, the both of you clinging to each other, not only because you couldn’t seem to stop touching each other as the night trailed on, but because the two of you needed the other’s support to stand straight. 

“Should we…be stopping this?” Rhiannon asked the others as you giggled at something Ridoc had whispered in your ear, head flopping onto his shoulder, delight covering your face. 

“And put an end to their months of pining after each other? No way.” Violet grumbled. 

“Seriously.” Sawyer agreed, “If I have to hear about one more boner that Y/N has given Ridoc I’m going to have to chop off my own ears.” 

“Just let them get it out of their system,” Tara says, giving Rhiannon a quick peck on the lips. “Either they’ll be back to normal in the morning, or they’ll finally do something about their feelings. Either way, no need to butt in where we don’t belong.”

“I suppose,” The squad leader relented, but when she’d looked up to check on the two of you, you’d both disappeared from the bar. “How’d they move that fast?!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Ridoc..” My voice was nothing more than a breathy sigh as his eyes raked over me, his arms rested on either side of my head on the cold, hard wall of the back of the tavern. He groaned, hands balling into fists as he pressed his thigh between my legs, giving me delicious pressure that had me whimpering and sliding my hands under his loose black tee. Just utterly aching for my skin to touch his. He was burning to the touch, and the moment my fingertips touched his abs he groaned, head sinking to rest on my neck and his hands gripping my waist, roughly pulling me forward to grind my clothed core on his thigh some more. 

“Y/N,” he moaned out, tongue lazily tasting my collarbone, before his breaths shakily fanned across my neck. “Fuck, Princess, why do you smell so fucking good. Makes it impossible to-” I moaned loudly as I threw my head back, the constant pressure from his thigh making pleasure coil tighter and tighter in my tummy, and he let out the most tortured fucking groan. “Fuck that, why do those pretty little moans of yours have to drive me so fucking insane?”

“R-ridoc-“ I gasped out barely able to think (let alone speak) beyond the pleasure his thigh alone was giving me. It was too much yet not enough all at once, and he hadn’t even kissed me yet. Gods was I too fucking out of it to even tell him what I wanted? What I needed from him?

“Hmm?” He hummed at me, pulling back and eyes scanning my face before he grinned, teasing and lighthearted, as one hand moved to my head, threading into my loose hair. And then he was fisting it, pulling my head back to expose my throat as his eyes scanned my whimpering form, not needing his hands anymore as I desperately chased my high on his thigh. “Gods, I wish you could see yourself Y/N, looking so desperate and needy for me. Riding my thigh like you fucking own it.” I whined as he adjusted his leg, unintentionally bouncing me on it, and a wanton moan erupting out of me at the jolt of pleasure. He grinned maniacally. 

“Ohhhh,” he was teasing now as his mouth dropped to my throat, licking from collarbone to chin, groaning before pulling back and meeting my gaze with an intensity that nearly had me cumming then and there. “Is that what you wanted Baby? You wanted me to bounce your pretty little cunt on my thigh? Let the first time you cum for me be behind a fucking tavern, fully fucking clothed? Can’t even wait till we get back to Basgaith?”

“P-p-please.” I whispered, pleaded really, and his eyebrows raised, absolute delight covering his face as he froze for a moment before starting to slowly bounce his knee. 

“Well fuck Y/N, how the hell am I supposed to deny you when you ask so prettily?” Pleasure coursed through me, as I removed my hands from where they’d been desperately holding onto his torso. I threaded them into his soft locks, pulling him forward, or trying to as he was currently devouring my neck and collarbone, biting and sucking and surely leaving marks to remind us of everything we had done in the morning. As if I could ever forget any second of this. It didn’t matter how many drinks I had had, Ridoc had brought me past being drunk. He’d sent me into absolute delirium, where all that mattered were me, him, and my fast approaching orgasm. 

“Ridocccc” I whined, the coil in my stomach threatening to burst, “I want-“ I panted and he groaned. “Fuck! Will you fucking kiss me already?!” I finally burst out and he laughed, hollow and short, nipping across my jaw playfully. 

“Sure thing beautiful,” He tilted his head, and smashed his mouth to my own as sparks danced in my vision and that coil finally snapped, white light and stars blocking my sight as I let him absolutely consume me. I was shaking, and whining, with my fingers digging into his scalp as our tongues danced skillfully with each other and I pressed my entire body as close to his as I could get. Like we’d been here a thousand times and we were just settling in, coming home after being apart for millennium. 

As I came down from my high my movements slowed, drinking in the moment, as his hand left my hair, and slid gently back down to my waist. He gently set me down back on flat ground, everything spinning now that he wasn’t holding me steady. 

Our kisses slowed too, until he was just lightly pecking me, not really wanting to leave my mouth, not now that he had finally gotten to claim it for himself. He sighed, resting his forehead on mine, dorky grin spreading across his face and eyes shining with unfiltered male pride. “Ya know, I always knew you were secretly depraved, but I never imagined you’d be this fucking needy for me. What wouldn’t you let me do to you, sweet Y/N?”

“Hmm?” I teased, lightly tapping my chin, his eyes following every movement. “How about you get me to your room, and I show you, every, single, thing, I will let you do to me?”

“Fuck, alright.” He chuckles, “Gods, you’re perfect for me you know?” The confession was raw, and I could see the sentiment in his eyes, but my drunken self wasn’t ready to confront that right now, not when my need was beginning to cloud my reasoning again and liquor burned through my veins. 

“Get me back to your room Gamlyn, before we won’t be able to make it back without enlisting help. That’d be embarrassing.” I joked and he laughed, boisterous and loud and so perfectly him that it made my heart ache. 

“Yeah it would, Sawyer would really be sick of me then.” He laughed, stepping back and grabbing my hand, squeezing it tightly. “Lets go Princess, to my room we fly!”

[pomefioredove]

Hear me out....

Yuu writing a book were the "hero" is just Vil. Like, keeps up the cold professional stunt but cares so much and slowly unravels to be more- not genuine, just more comfortable with the people around him and himself y'know?

Anyway Vil promoting the book (Or it going viral on it's own) and Yuu gets like- a movie deal. (The contract goes through multiple revisions from Yuu, Rook, Azul, Riddle etc.) They only accept on the condition that Vil gets to play the hero.

So imagine Vil just being so proud of Yuu because they wrote a whole book! And they're getting all the attention and admiration they deserve and they feel good.

He picks up a call from his agent or whatever one day, telling him about this brand new movie based on a viral book. Vil asks what book, he's busy with school (going to Ramshackle to watch Yuu get flustered when they read nice reviews on their book). His agent tells them it's for Yuu's movie and they specifically asked for him, though the budget wasn't as big as other movies so if he wanted to demand a higher pay it's totally understandable- And Vil just interrups her, asks her what role it is. Yuu didn't think the villain character would suit him. ...Did they?

His agent tells him it's for the hero, not his usual role so totally understandable if he doesn't want it- It's so diferrent from what he's always done- Vil immediately accepts. He tells her to call the studio right now and tell them to not even think of letting one else audition.

He hangs up- debates if he should calm Yuu or re-read the book to make sure he wasn't going crazy- And calls Yuu, demanding an explanation.

Yuu tells him that yeah they did base the character on him, and that part of the reason they wanted to write the book was so that Vil could have a chance at being in a movie where he could be the hero one day. They weren't expecting it to be so soon but...

And Vil just stands quite for a bit, baffled at how??? Adorable and determined and sweet and ridiculous and considerate and amazing and all this things his partner is. He tells them he'll be over at Ramshackle in half a hour and they should be ready for the consequences of their actions. (Marriage)

Idk man writing a whole book for your partner so there's a CHANCE that'll get turn into a movie and he'll star in it and fulfill his lifelong dream is some "I'll be devoted to you for the rest of my life kind of shit"

Ps. You can tell the entire book by the descriptions and writing that the author lives this "hero" so much.

Idk just a VilYuu fanfic thought I've had since book 6

Dropping my VilYuu fanfic ideas in the number one VilYuu inbox is terrifying but whatever I've done it befire an I'm too tired to funtion or fell so whatever ✨✨✨ Whatever go my scarab/ref Mentallity unlocks at sleep defficiency

this is really beautiful though... oh to write a book that people read and like... that's the dream, romance aside lol

this is very cute and I like it very much!!! I really like muse x artist with vilyuu too and this really captures that (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ when the when the the when the love is so profound you can't hold it all and it makes a home in everything you create

[cosmicmunsonwrites]

i just wanna be one of your girls

mean!rafe cameron x desperate!fem!reader

cw — mdni, sexual content, slight manipulation, kind of dark!rafe

summary — things mean!rafe would do to desperate!reader

authors note — i’m trying my hardest to get back into writing guys i swear

do not copy or post my work anywhere else.

mean!rafe who absolutely loves the power he has over desperate!reader. how he can just snap his fingers and have you right at his fingertips willing to do anything he asked.

mean!rafe who thinks the crush you have on him is absolutely adorable and loves to rub it in your face. he gets a sick kick out of teasing you and keeping you close enough to still want him, even though you know he’s just out of your reach and you’ll never fully have him.

mean!rafe who hates seeing you talk to other guys at parties but will blatantly flirt with other girls in front of you. all just to see you whiny with glassy eyes and begging him to take you home where you’ll know he’ll fuck you just right.

mean!rafe who calls you at any moment for a quickie of some sort because he knows you’ll always pick up and speed over to anywhere he was to do whatever he wanted, no matter how far.

mean!rafe who’d always fuck you any chance he got in the dirtiest way to show you just how much power he had over you.

mean!rafe who’d go raw every single time simply because you let him. even begged him for it.

mean!rafe who didn’t kiss you at first because he didn’t want you getting anymore attached than you already were.

mean!rafe who’d take pictures of your face full of his cum and store them away in his hidden album to brag about with his friends later.

mean!rafe who marked you up every single time just to keep everyone else off of you. he loved seeing the deep purple bruises that littered your skin because of him.

mean!rafe who sometimes found himself getting soft with you when you cried about how you never felt good enough for him after seeing him with so many other girls. it made him feel a little guilty, something he was never used to.

mean!rafe who owned a key to your house and would show up whenever he pleased just to feel you wrapped around him.

mean!rafe who always ran back to you no matter what, even if he’d trick you into thinking it was the other way around.

mean!rafe who eventually started to develop feelings for you. he loved the clingy, desperate nature of you and it made his heart full whenever he’d stay the night after you cried and begged him too.

mean!rafe who was whimpering into your ear as he drilled into you from behind and accidentally let a soft “i love you” slip out. he later gaslit you into thinking you were so desperate for any form of affection so you made it up in that delusional head of yours.

[rizzoreads88]

Lucien is not In love with Elain.

I see this going around a lot lately and it is not true. Lucien barely knows Elain. I am one of the biggest Lucien Stan’s you could meet but I see E/ucien Stan’s say this and I’m like where?

The first time Lucien gets to talk to Elain yes his mate instincts kick in and we find out he is physically attracted to her and he notices she’s thin and hasn’t been eating. That’s the most we get about how Lucien feels about Elain.

I think Lucien wants a chance to get to know Elain because they are mates but that doesn’t mean he’s in love with her. I think this quote from Acowar backs this up as well- “My mate is engaged to a human male.” He spoke more to himself than to me. “I’m sorry if—” “I want to see her. Just once. Just—to know.” “To know what?” He hitched my damp cloak higher around us. “If she is worth fighting for.”.

He’s not saying hey she’s my mate im in love with her I need to get to her to be with her… and like why would he? He knows nothing about Elain at this point. He didn’t ask for this mating bond either and it was just thrown on him.

Does he care for her well being? Yes he’s a good guy he cares about people. Does it make him sad she’s uncomfortable around him? Yes it does frustrate him. Does he look at her with longing once? From Cassians POV in acosf yes but again longing does not equal love. It’s a desire…looking at someone with desire.

Lucien is never actually happy around Elain. They do not bring out anything positive in each other. We do see him laughing and relaxed talking with someone else but it ain’t Elain.

Just because someone are mates does not mean they are in love. Does not mean they are a love match. The author herself wrote this. Elriels didn’t make this up it is actually canon. Even the mated pairs that do turn out to be love match it was not love at first sight. Feyre didn’t fall in love with Rhysand until much later after she got to know him. Rowan and Aelin didn’t fall in love until they actually got to know each other. (Now obviously I think e/ucien overall is alot different than feysand or rowaelin but im just using them as a example to show you just bc someone are mates doesn’t mean they are instantly in love)

So IF SJM Does have Elain and Lucien end up together obviously down the line she will have them fall in love. We have seen them together and talk alone is few times in the series now and nothing has come of it so I don’t see this happening either. Either Way Lucien is not in love with Elain now and people really keep trying to push that he is. But he isn’t.

[trippiexlove]

Heart of a Woman

Author Note: Based on the song Heart of A Woman by Summer Walker. Y'all chose it! I hope you enjoy. If you want to leave a song request for a one shot please comment on this post. Check out my master list for other one shots / stories.

Warning: Smut, Angst, P in V, Oral (f! receiving), Profanity, Praise, Toxic Relationship

Pairing: Zilla Fatu x Black OC

Word Count: 3,210

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Only thing that saving you...

Is a Heart of a Woman…

Indya leaned over the large island in the kitchen of the house she shared with her boyfriend of three years, Isayah. 

Pissed wasn't even the word. She was livid. 

Moments ago she received a random message from an unknown number. It was a message every woman dreads to get. 

A coming to you as a woman message. 

Normally she would ignore it, majority of the time it was just women trying to ruin their relationship. She knew how popular Isayah has become in the last year. His wrestling career really taking off this past year. She knew groupies came with this lifestyle. She had trusted him. But this was a constant cycle they went through. 

But this message was different. It had actual concrete proof. Pictures, screenshots and screen recordings of multiple messages and FaceTime calls.

She couldn't help but to feel the hurt and betrayal. Most of all she was more upset with herself. Knowing that this wasn't the first time, but continuously keep giving him second chances. 

She was so focused on the messages. Continuously scrolling through them, in denial, trying to find something that didn't make this true. The more she kept looking it the more she became upset. Indya was so focused on the messages until the familiar ringtone, signaling an incoming FaceTime from Isayah, came to her phone.  

When she answered the phone she could see he was outside somewhere. Seem like he was talking to someone beside before his focus turned to the phone. "What's up ma, you good?"

"I'm coo'" she was very short with him. Her attitude evident as he furrowed his brows together. She walked into the living room, propping the phone on the table before sitting on the couch. 

Isayah could sense her energy through the phone. "You sure? Yo' tone says otherwise" concern laced in his voice. 

"Who's Erica?" She didn't waste any time, crossing her arms waiting for an answer. 

Isayah scrunched up his eyebrow, a look of confusion on his face "What'chu talkin' about?"

She rolled her eyes before continuing to speak. "I won't ask again Isayah," she stated pointedly "who is Erica?"

He looked away briefly before looking down into the phone "I don't know what'chu talkin' bout Indy"

"So we're going down the route of acting like we're dumb" she nodded her head. She grabbed her phone off the table, going to the message thread. Once she pulled it up she sent all the messages and screen recordings to him. 

Isayah phone dinged from the other end. She watched his face as he read through the messages. He kissed his teeth, exiting out the thread. "Indya that's someone I used to deal with a long time ago. Haven't seen that girl in years"

"Do you really expect me to believe that?" Indya frowned. "You must take me as a dumb bitch if you think I'ma just let you sit here and lie to me when there's fucking proof!" she raised her voice. Getting more and more upset. 

"You just gon' believe her over what I'm tellin' you. I'm yo' man right?" Isayah voice rising with every word. 

"Are you my man though?" Indya lifted an eyebrow. She stared right back at him as he shot dagger through the screen. 

"Indya, stop fuckin' playin' with me. I told you I ain't seen that girl in years, the fuck you trippin' for?" Indya was token back from his words, before nodding her head.

"You know what since you wanna play dumb, I'll act fucking stupid. Go be with that bitch and stay the fuck away from me. You're single, fuck you!" Indya hung up before he could get another word in. She threw her phone down, before placing her head in her hands. She felt the tears that have been threatening to fall for a while. The constant ringing of her phone, as Isayah kept calling and texting, sounded throughout the living room. 

After a while, she wiped her eyes before grabbing her phone and blocking his number. Heading upstairs to sleep the night off. 

[Few Days Later]

Indya was out on a girl's day with her best friends, Sabrina and Tara. They got her out the house to take her mind off the fight she had a few days ago with Isayah. Refusing to let their friend to wallow in her feelings. 

They spent the day shopping, getting their nails done, and were currently at their favorite restaurant to have lunch. 

After placing their order with their server, Sabrina looked over at Indya. "We've been avoiding this conversation all day, but I think it's time to address it" Tara nodded knowing what Sabrina was getting into. "How are you feeling Indy?"

Indya sighed, throwing her head back slightly "I think I am just more mad at myself for continuing to keep taking him back."

"You can't be upset with yourself about that," Tara grabbed Indya's hand "It is not your fault that he can't grow up and see what an amazing woman he has and to treat you accordingly"

Sabrina nodded in agreement before adding in her two cents "You have been nothing but great towards him and will literally drop everything just to make sure he's ok. We all make mistakes but it's just how we learn from it"

Indya nodded. Taking in her best friends words. "It's just so hard because I really do love him." she sniffled a bit, wiping the tear that fell. 

"We understand girl," Tara sympathize with her best friend "but sometimes love isn't worth the hurt he's causing you" 

"What do you plan on doing now?" Sabrina asked as she leaned back in her chair. 

Indya sat in silence for a moment, she knew what she had to do. The decision didn't come so lightly "I'm done and forreal this time. I can't keep doing this"

"We your girls, we love you and will support you" Sabrina smiled grabbing her other hand. Tara nodding in agreement.

Indya blinked back more tears smiling at both her best friends. Truly appreciative of them. "Thanks I love y'all"

Soon the server brought over their food and the conversation shifted to something lighter. For the first time in a last few days Indya felt a weight lifted off her shoulders. Forgetting about the drama and enjoying the rest of the time with her best friends.

They paid the bill once they were done. Hopping into Sabrina's car, she started heading towards Indya's house. When the pulled up Indya sighed when she noticed Isayah's car in the driveway. 

He was back after being gone for a week due to having shows and appearances. Sabrina looked over at Indya, a certain look in her eye. "Do you need us to come in with you?"

Indya shook her head as she grabbed her keys out her purse "It's fine"

"You sure?" Tara leaned up from the front seat "We can just go in and beat his ass real quick and get your stuff"

Indya softly laughed at her friends "I promise I'll be fine. I'll text y'all"

"Ok," Sabrina said unsure "you better text us"

Indya promised she would text them as she got out, Tara taking her place in the passenger seat. She waved bye to them before walking up to the front door. She blew out a breathe before unlocking the door going inside. 

When she walked in Isayah was standing in the middle of the living room. She turned to the door locking it. 

"Where you been?" Isayah questioned, watching her every movement. Indya ignored him, throwing her keys in the bowl by the door. Walking right by him. He furrowed his eye brow as he watched her walk towards the stairs.

With quick movements he grabbed upper arm, making her turn towards him. "You hear me talkin' to you" 

"Unless you're here to admit to what the fuck you did, we don't have shit to talk about" she tried ripping her arm away from him. This caused him to grip tighter. 

"I keep telling' yo' ass that ain't shit happen between me and that girl" His frown deepened looking her dead in the eyes. 

"She literally sent me screenshots of y'all messages!" Indya felt her temper slowly increase the longer he held her arm. She was beginning to become frustrated.

"Her ass could've faked those messages and yo' goofy ass sitting here believin' them!" He raised his voice slightly. 

Indya widen her eyes in shock. In disbelief of what he said. She pushed on his chest, finally releasing herself from his grip. "Explain the pictures and videos of y'all on FaceTime then Isayah! Do you think I'm dumb?!"

"Indya tread lightly on how you speakin' to me. This is your warnin'" He squinted his eyes her direction. This only fueled the petty side of her. No longer caring how she was making him feel. 

"I don't give a fuck, you ain't scaring shit over here. You can go be with that bitch and y'all both can be hoes together!" She turned to go up the stairs, but before she could, she was pulled back. 

Isayah wrapped a hand around the based of her throat, pulled her close which made her look up his towering frame. She slightly shuddered at the the look in his eyes. His eyes going completely dark, a mix of anger and lust lingering inside them.

"I done let'chu get fly at the mouth one too many times. Now it's time for you to listen to me" Indya was getting upset with herself for just how quick she submits to him. Knowing that this was the issue in the ever ending cycle of their relationship. 

First their good, then she catches him cheating, he uses his manipulative ways, he dicks her down and then the cycle starts over. 

He could see the wheels turning in her head. Knowing she was going to try to resist he quickly scooped her up, making his way up the stairs to their shared room. 

He plopped her on the bed, hovering over her. Placing both hands on the sides of her head. He leaned down placing kisses along her neck and behind her ear. 

Indya didn't want to fall into the same old pattern again. She took her hands, pushing against his chest. "Isayah we can-" her breathe hitched as he sucked on the spot right below her ear. 

Surely leaving a mark, he took one of his hands trialing down her sides til he reached the hem of the shorts she was wearing. His hands found their way in, brushing against her wet folds. 

Indya softly moaned, arching more into his touch. He entered one finger in her, groaning at how wet and tight she was. He leaned up to look her in the eyes, entering another finger. Indya moaning out as he quickened his movements. 

"What were you sayin' baby?" Indya couldn't make up any coherent sentences, as her core tightened. "You want me to stop?" When he didn't get a response he slowed down "Do you want me to stop?" his voice deepened. Indya eyes popped open looking at him.

She whined as she moved her hips, desperate for any type of friction. Isayah took his other hand, placing them on her hips to still her movements. "No I don't want you to stop" completely submitting to him.

Satisfied with her answer he pulled her shorts and underwear off, leaving her lower half completely bare. He removed his shirt, throwing it across the room.

He left wet kisses trailing down her chest and stomach til he was leveled with her intimate area. 

He skipped all the teasing, quickly latching on to her sensitive bundle on nerves, switching from flicking his tongue across it and slightly sucking on it. His fingers entered her once more. 

Indya loudly moaned at the double stimulation. She grabbed at the sheets on the bed, trying to ground herself. "F-fuck Isayah .. I'm cumming" 

Isayah sped up the strokes of his fingers. Hitting her spot continuously, Indya reaching her climax soon afterwards. 

Isayah sat up, cupping her chin with his hands "open up for me baby" Indya stuck out her tongue, knowing exactly what he wanted. He stuck his fingers in her mouth, letting her lick off all her juices off his fingers. Once she was done he brought her into a searing kiss, tasting her sweet essence. 

He pulled away looking her deep in her eyes. "Face down. Ass up. You better arch how I like it"  he stated in a commanding tone.

Indya wasted time doing exactly what he said. Arching her back just how he liked. Isayah let out a groan of approval, sending a smack to her backside. 

As Indya waiting in anticipation, she heard the soft sound of a zipper, as Isayah shredded the last bit of clothing, coming up right behind her. She felt Isayah glide the tip between her wet folds. 

He slowly pushed in, Indya moaning out as he stretched her out. He stilled for few moments to allow her time to adjust. "Fuck, you're so tight for me ma" 

Craving more, Indya moved her hips back. Isayah taking it as a sign, picking up his rhythm quickly. Indya screamed out as he practically fucked her into the bed. 

She brought her back against his abdomen, trying to slow him down. He quickly grabbed her wrist, pinning it against her back. "Ain't no running. You been talkin' yo' shit, talk it now" 

Indya couldn't think, her brain clouded by the immense pleasure he was giving her. 

"I-Isayah I can't!" she moaned out loud. Feeling that familiar burn in the pit of her stomach. 

"Shut the fuck up and take it. This what'chu wanted right" Indya moaned loudly, Isayah groaned as he felt her clench around his length. He knew she was getting close and stopped all movements causing Indya to whimper. "You don't get to cum til I tell you to"

Isayah grabbed her other arm, holding both in one hand. He rammed back into her, causing Indya to gasp loudly. Isayah's strokes were relentless. 

The only sounds throughout the room were their skin slapping together, "Fuck, look at'chu takin' it for daddy so well" He sent a smack to her backside, Indya moaning at the stinging sensation. 

"Baby I can't hold it," she let out a breathy moan, her climax being so close "I need to cum please" she begged desperately. 

Once again Isayah stopped his strokes abruptly, pulling out of her. He laid down, pulling her on top of him. "You want yo' nut, you gotta earn it" 

Indya straddled his waist, reaching back grabbing a whole of his length. She slowly slid down, both groaning at the contact. He took a hold of her hips, bringing her down more, engulfing all of him.  "S-shit"

Indya placed one hand on his chest as she slowly went up and down. She moaned at the new angle she was in. Isayah hitting a new spot. Indya threw her head back as she picked up the pace. 

"Who pussy is it" Isayah wrapped his hand around her throat "hmm, tell daddy who pussy this is"

Indya gasped, feeling that burn in the stomach "Fuck daddy it's yours"

She rotated her hips, earning a deep guttural groan from Isayah. "Fuck, you ain't leaving' me." He moaned out again, feeling his release brewing "Damn, you feel so good baby keep it right there." 

She smiled inwardly. Feeling a little motivated sped up her movement, the grip he had on her hips tightened. "Isayah I'm cumming" she whined out. 

Isayah felt her movements slow down, he sent another smack to her backside causing her to whimper. "Keep goin' and you better not fuckin' stop, daddy cummin' wit'chu" 

With his hands wrapped around her waist he assisted by moving her faster up and down. Indya let out a drawn out moan as she released.

Her released triggering Isayah's own, pulling her into a searing kiss as they both came down from their euphoric high. 

Indya woke up, feeling extremely groggy and sore from the events earlier. She groaned as she turned over, seeing Isayah still sleep. She heart feeling heavy, remembering everything that happened. 

She reached for her phone seeing she had multiple missed calls and messages from Sabrina and Tara. 

Bri🔥: Indya are you good? Bri🔥: I swear if something happened I will sliced tf out of that big ass Samoan idc Tara❤️: Girl you need to call us back. Tara❤️: Bri is going crazy over here. You better call soon or we're pulling up.

Indya quickly texted them both back, telling them that she was ok and that she would explain in a little bit. She noticed it was a quarter after midnight. She quickly but quietly got up, throwing her clothes from earlier back on. 

When she looked back at Isayah, she felt rage start to build inside of her. Many thoughts were going through her mind. Then an idea clicked. She acted quickly, going into the closet and started grabbing his clothes. 

She moved quietly, not wanting to wake him up. She walked outside going over to Isayah's Mercedes, stuffing the clothes in there. She repeated this process about 3 more times. She grabbed the keys, backing the car away from the house. 

She went back inside grabbing the bags she had already packed, putting them in her car. Turning towards Isaiah's car once more, she took a lighter out of her pocket, flicking it on. 

She hovered the flame over a piece of clothing til it caught the flame. Quickly spreading to other article of clothing. 

Indya stood there for a moment, staring at the flame. Feeling it burn away all the hurt Isayah has cause her, feeling a sense of calm. She was quickly token out of her trance when she heard noise come from the house. Knowing it was Isayah coming, she quickly got in her car, starting it. 

When she started backing up she saw him run out the house with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. 

He saw his car in-flamed, his eyes widening in shock and rage "Indya what the fuck?!"

"Have fun with that bitch!" She quickly pulled off as he tried running towards the car. 

Indya couldn't help but laugh but also cry as she felt the overwhelming feeling of freedom and her shoulders feeling lighter. 

She didn't know how she did it but she found herself pulling in to Sabrina's house. Grabbing her things, she walked up the short walk way, knocking on the door. 

The wait wasn't long, as Sabrina quickly opened up the door, staring at her friend. Eyes drifting to the bags beside her. Without saying a word she grabbed a bag, leading Indya in the house and to the guest bedroom. 

She turned towards Indya, stood in the middle of the room. Silently crying. She brought her into hug as Indya began sobbing on her shoulder. 

"I am here for you. I am so proud of you, finally choosing yourself" She let her cry on her shoulder for a while til she stopped. She pulled out the hug, wiping her friend's tears. "Get some sleep and we'll talk in the morning" leaving the room. 

Indya sighed, going into one of the bags, changing into a pajama set. She crawled in the bed, engulfing herself with the pillows and blankets, sleep finding her quickly. 

[quiet-night-sky-writers-blog]

The bodyguard

Chapter 1

Pairing: Marc Spector x fem!Reader

Rating: 18+

Word count: 2 649

Summary (for the entire work): imagine you are the only daughter of a really rich man. To your father, there's nothing more important than you, so he decides to keep you safe in a way that you find excessive and unnecessary at first. You change your mind quickly, though.

AU, in which Marc got a timely chance to leave his mercenary job.

Warnings (for the entire work): description of sex scenes, superficial mention of injuries, swearing, mention of alcohol consumption. Author chooses not to state the warnings in more detail so as not to reveal the plot of the story in advance. But please be mindful of age restrictions.

*Y/N - your name, Y/L/N - your last name

Another shot of whiskey was not a really good idea. Marc was well aware of that when he gave the bartender a sign to repeat. He was well aware of what a hangover awaited him tomorrow. Still, he drained the glass in one gulp - and yet felt disgustingly sober. He wanted - no, he needed to forget the last two days and this damned case. He needed his head to shut off, at least for a while, but the alcohol was stubbornly refusing to work for its intended purpose, and Marc was already starting to get mad: at the bartender, at himself, at the whole world around him.

Out of his gloomy thoughts he was pulled by an ingratiating voice.

- Good evening, mr. Spector.

At the bar counter, to his left, settled a short man in a gray suit; he looked too groomed and tidy for this kind of establishment. Marc eyed him up and down, and then turned away again.

- Do we know each other? - he strained through his teeth.

- You don't know me, but I know a lot about you. I speak on behalf of my employer, who greatly values your expertise and talents, and is interested in you utilizing them while working for him, - his speech was soft but insistent, carefully rehearsed. It was obvious that the suit was a professional.

- Ah, that's how, - Marc replied dryly, - and who is your employer?

- I'm afraid I cannot tell you his name now. You will meet him if you agree to accept his offer.

- And what exactly does his offer include? - Marc barely kept his remaining composure. The suit pissed him off so much that he wanted to smash the empty glass on the counter in front of him against his balding, egg-shaped head.

- My employer wants you to provide for his personal security. You may not worry about the pay - I assure you it will be more than generous.

- Not interested, - Marc snapped. The suit gave a feigned sigh of sadness, then pulled a pen and a white card from his pocket. Carefully scribbling something on its back, he pushed the card toward Marc and stood up from his chair.

- This is my business card. Please contact me if you change your mind. I've indicated on it the amount my employer is willing to offer you. And just to clarify, this is the monthly fee for your services. Have a good day.

Marc didn't touch the card and didn't even dignify his interlocutor with a sight as he left. Probably, he decided, he should go, too. On his way home he was going to buy a bottle of something cheaper and stronger at the nearest store and finally get properly drunk. Rising to his feet, he glanced again at the white piece of cardboard lying lonely on the bar counter, and curiosity took over after all.

- Fuck me... - he muttered to himself.

What did that moron say? This is how much Marc would get in a month..?

That's how Marc started working for your father.

He never found out how these people got to him, but it wasn't surprising: power at that level, and most importantly, money, gives almost unlimited access to any information.

Frankly, Marс was glad that he hadn't made a complete fool of himself and had accepted the offer. He finally got rid of the scumbag Bushman and all the crap they'd been doing. His job as a bodyguard allowed him to keep his hands almost clean, both figuratively and literally: he rarely had to use his fists, much less weapons, and even in such situations it was enough just to scare, but not to put it into action. And most often his job was simply to stand by with a stern look and monitor the occasion.

It had been just over a year since Marc had got this job when you came home.

After graduation, you could have got your own place, of course you were able to afford it, but your father insisted that you live in the family mansion, at least for a while, and you agreed. You loved your father, and, admittedly, you missed him very much - for during your years of study you had seen him only a few times. He had his quirks, but you two never had any serious disagreements. And, after all, he was the only family you had.

Since your father directed to have Marc around all the time, he was allotted a spacious room in the west wing of your mansion. Mr. Y/L/N never treated his bodyguard as a servant, and besides, they got along well - your father had also been in the military a long time ago, and it had brought them closer together. Marc was allowed to move freely around the house, to use the impressive library, the swimming pool (which he avoided because he hated any body of water and preferred not to get into it unless necessary), obviously the gym (which he visited with enjoyment). And, of course, the kitchen, which was the only one in the house. It was exactly where he saw you for the first time.

After the time zone change, you had a terrible night's sleep on your first night back home. Awakening at about 6 a.m., you tossed and turned all over in bed, but couldn't go back to sleep again. Resigned and sighed irritably, you climbed out from under the covers, slipped your bare feet into your fluffy slippers, and, yawning, headed for the kitchen in search of caffeine.

Marc always woke up at the crack of dawn - an old army habit. He knew no one would have got in his way at that time: mr. Y/L/N was still asleep, and the maid, cook and gardener's workday started much later. Yesterday he had heard bits and pieces that miss Y/L/N had come home, but had not yet had the pleasure of being introduced to you in person. And as he entered the kitchen this morning to have breakfast, he stood frozen in the doorway.

You rummaged through the top shelves of the cupboards looking for coffee beans. So far you'd only found a packet of your favourite almond biscuits, which you planned to do later, when you'd finally managed to brew some coffee. You stuck out the tip of your tongue and stood on your toes, trying to reach the cherished can. You didn't realise that at that moment there was a man standing behind your back, and your silk nightgown lifted slightly from your efforts, exposing, even just a little bit, the lower part of your butt to his gaze.

Finally coming to his senses, Marc coughed quietly, signalling his presence. You shuddered and turned round, holding your precious find - a golden-black tin filled with aromatic beans - to your chest. Marc realised that he was now staring at you in the most unconscionable way, but he couldn't find the strength to stop. Besides, he noted, you were staring back at him almost exactly the same way.

With a hoarse mumble of “excuse me” he disappeared out the door, leaving you, with your cheeks flaming in embarrassment, alone.

Hastily striding toward the west wing, Marc unsuccessfully struggled with the irritation and horniness that combined in a rather nasty way. How the hell is he supposed to work here if you're going to be carelessly strolling around, flashing your obscenely pretty arse left and right? No, seriously, he'd never seen such a perfect, such a...

- Fuuuck... - with a hint of despair, he moaned quietly, feeling his boner grow even harder. It had started out so well... Now he could only hope that you'd be busy with your own stuff, he'd be driving around to meetings and business trips with your father, and your crossing of paths would be kept to a minimum. Hope, and try not to imagine him kneeling behind you, covering your sweet butt with kisses and delightfully licking out your juicy pussy.

After lunch, mr. Y/L/N invited you and Marc into his cabinet. This time you had a sensible amount of clothes on, but that didn't hinder Marc's brain from relentlessly, over and over again, replaying in his mind the marvellous picture presented to his sight that morning. He was standing at attention with his hands behind his back at a respectful distance from you, comfortably nestled in one of the big armchairs. You furtively glanced at him, mistakenly assuming he didn't notice it, while your father talked on the phone. Studying Marc, you wondered how someone could be so sexy. No, seriously, dude just stood there, staring straight ahead with a frown, and you were ready to melt and spread yourself into a puddle at his feet, if it were physically possible.

Finished conversing, your father finally turned his attention to the two of you.

- Marc, I suppose you've already met my daughter, Y/N.

You looked over at each other.

- Actually, not officially, - you smiled. Mr. Y/L/N nodded.

- Y/N is my only child, she is the most precious thing I have, I live for her, - you felt tears welling up in your eyes, - Marс, I am extremely pleased with your service, and moreover, I trust you completely. So I've made a decision: now, that Y/N is back, you will be ensuring her safety, and not mine.

- Dad! - you threw up your hands, - we've already talked about this! I don't need a babysitter!

- Of course you don't, sweetheart, because you're a little too old for a babysitter, - you pouted, not appreciating the joke, - that's why we're talking about a bodyguard.

- But what's that for? No one has ever tried to harm me!

- And I want to keep it that way.

- Well, what about you? - you've been running out of arguments.

- I've already found a worthy replacement for Marc. It's my decision, full stop. And please don't argue.

You sighed irritably and scowled, crossing your arms over your chest.

- Marc, do you have any questions? - you gave him a slanted look. He didn't react to the news at all, didn't move, except that he didn't seem so composed anymore, as if his outward bravado had cracked. Like he was a little - bewildered?

- No, sir, - he reported, quickly pulling himself together again.

- Good, - your father responded contentedly and glanced at you again, - sweetheart, I'm busy today, but I'd like to spend more time with you tomorrow. I'll take you out to lunch, pick a place of your choice.

The next day, while you and your dad were enjoying lunch at a exquisite Italian restaurant, Marc was watching you closely. Of course he needed to realize, who he was going to be dealing with. And he couldn't help but admit that he liked you - really liked you. Sure, you were stunningly beautiful - in fact, you were probably the most beautiful girl he'd ever met. But that wasn't the point.

You were nothing like a typical spoilt rich bimbo. Every your step, every gesture, every look was full of dignity, but at the same time you never seemed arrogant. In addition, you were incredibly intelligent - Marc had realised that, when he listened up you two discussed your father’s work, and caught himself thinking that he had no idea what it was all about. And also you had an amazing quality: wherever you were and whatever you were doing, you seemed to light up the space and the people around you with your presence. It was as if there was a warm, tender sun hiding inside you.

After lunch mr. Y/L/N kissed you on the cheek and headed off to meet another business partner, leaving you and Marc alone on the street outside the restaurant. Your bodyguard, who was standing behind you, coughed softly.

- Where would you like to go now, miss Y/L/N?

You turned round, meeting the gaze of dark-brown, almost black, eyes that seemed to be studying you intently.

- Home, I guess. I have a job interview tomorrow, I want to get a good rest and prepare properly.

Marc nodded mutely, and, stepping around your car, opened the passenger door for you. Before you climbed in, you gave him a grateful smile.

The silence in the cabin was broken only by the quiet grumble of the engine, but this silence was not oppressive. Strangely enough, you were comfortable around this man. You'd met him only yesterday and knew nothing about him at all, but you liked the way you felt around him. He was enveloped in an aura of calmness and reliability. He reminded you of a majestic, monumental rock, with the ocean splashing at its foot; a rock that could withstand any storm and remain unbroken. And though, like that rock, he seemed as sombre, cold, and impregnable, it didn't frighten or repel you.

- Marc, - you called softly.

- Yes? - he echoed, not taking his eyes off the road.

- Please, call me Y/N.

He glanced at you briefly, as if in doubt, and then concentrated on driving again, and after a moment's silence, he uttered:

- Okay, Y/N.

At first, the only feeling you had about the idea of having a bodyguard was annoyance. You highly valued your freedom and privacy, and you weren't enthusiastic about the idea of someone looming around watching you all the time.

However, as you looked at Marс more closely, you decided that you probably wouldn't mind his presence around. The reason for that was not only the feeling of safety he gave you, which wrapped you up like a warm blanket, and not only the way he treated you like a princess, which was the dream of if not any girl, then almost any. The reason for that was also the fact that you'd never met a sexier man, the fact that you'd never been attracted to anyone with such a furious force.

Of course, you held your own as best you could - and usually you succeeded. But there were exceptions to that rule, like any other: the moments when you were alone together. As he drove, you stole glances at his focussed profile: the habitually furrowed brow, the large eagle nose, the strong jawline. You wondered: did his thick black curls feel stiff or soft to the touch? What his lips tasted like?

Within the walls of your home, away from prying eyes, the situation became even more complicated. Your roles seemed to smudge, their borders blurred, and you became essentially just a man and a woman living under the same roof. And no matter how much you wanted the opposite, you tried to avoid him by any means necessary, and when you did cross paths, you called on all your self-control. That self-control, however, was rather tentative: all your emotions were literally written on your face.

You absolutely knew that you would not take any action towards him, because in your “boss-subordinate” relationship he might feel pressurised, if not coerced, and that was certainly not acceptable.

What you didn't know was that your feelings were 200% mutual.

You didn't know how strong was the desire that gripped him when you were near. The desire to lavish you with all the affection and tenderness he was capable of. To worship you. To give you as many orgasms as you could handle. And then fuck you roughly until you were hoarse from screaming. You didn't know you were causing his boner over and over and over again.

And you didn't know that he swore to himself that he would never cross that line with you.

Next >>

-Intro-

Comments / reblogs are incredibly meaningful! Please support your content creators!🫶🏻

[thedeskofaltoclef]

Clef as 'Clef', from what I've dug up, is not a SCP. From my understanding Doctors in themselves tend to not get their own SCP articles from their authors. It took Author Cimmerian till 7k con to make one for character Cimmerian and that is all because he was inches away from IRL death and wrote about it to cope (my opinion). There is another but keep in mind the ban shotgun goes hard here over that doctor being brought up by anyone but me.

Francis on the other hand, provided you follow the D.I.D. cannon, is a whole different animal and not so lovingly tucked into SCP-4231

(Trigger Warnings for SCP 4231. Uxoricide, SA leading to full on rape, torture, animal abuse, domestic abuse, child abandonment, victimization of the mentally ill, and I could probably go on with more but it makes me depressed thinking about it sometimes.)

Though, in respect, Alto Clef's facial changes could in fact have nothing to do with an anomalous ability manifested by him.

It has been noted in multiple stories that the G.O.C. would use their tools and tricks to, for a lack of terms, upgrade their units. I consider them magical cyborgs at times. Implants, tats, what have you to aid in their destruction of the unnatural. An example I give is Sam and Dean from Supernatural but they are on the low end of what is capable for the Global Occult Coalition. So theoretically there is a chance that Clef has 'magical'-based cybernetic implants which cause him to not be able to be photographed.

Though, as it is Clef, one of my favorite things about the character is the speculation of what he can and can not do. Some people believe he is a reality bender, some people believe he is so good at lying that he gaslights you into full believing these things are happening right before your eyes, some think he is the actual Satan. To paraphrase the wrestler Sting "The only thing for sure about Alto Clef is nothings for sure."

If there were to be a Clef SCP article ever written it should be left to Author. I personally don't think anyone should write it. He is one of the few men of mystery left. I am so bias on it that I wouldn't even write it unless anointed to do so and then it would have to pass the Triple C Test which is a whole story for another day.

Though again I don't think there needs to be a whole Clef article written about his past unless a team, and I am talking at least 5 people, work together and post an article for each member that are different from one another. Kind of like the whole '001 is a catch all because we cant let anyone know which is true and which are lies'.

One final quote, and this is from the Joker, "If I'm going to have a past, I prefer it to be multiple choice."

Didn't expect this to go that long and off topic but a Desk breakdown of Clef is a good thing right?

RIGHT?!

*ARACHNOPHOBIA WARNING!!!! SCROLL DOWN FOR THE ACTUAL POST!*

Hey, why isn't Clef an SCP? Because I just remembered that this is what happens whenever someone attempts to photograph him:

Yeah, his face is replaced with a spider whenever someone tries to photograph him. Isn't this considered anomalous?

[sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan]

Farmer's Daughter

Featuring Matt Sturniolo

This song goes with the story ↓

Author's Note¹: I'd like to start out by saying that this is based on @st7rnioioss Farmer's!Daughter!Reader x Cowboy!Matt AU. Special shout-out to her & @sturns-mermaid for their inspiration, hype-ups, and motivation for this one shot! Go check out their lovely accounts and AU's!!

Contents/Warnings: Second person POV, fluff, suggestive descriptions, protective father, marriage, & possibly more !

Word Count: ~850 (give or take)

I do NOT give permission for my work(s) to be copied, translated, or re-uploaded to ANY site !

Want more like this? Visit my masterlist !

Taglist: @ariastur9z @watercolorskyy @daniel-is-bae @starryiris27 @conspiracy-ash

Comment, personal message, or ask via my inbox to be added/removed to my taglist !

Divider credits → Pinterest ! Will have significance to the fic !

Reblogs are always appreciated, but never needed !

Matt was simply reading the newspaper one summer morning when he stumbled upon an advertisement. An older gentleman needed help around his farm; baling hay, feeding his animals, fixing up the garden. Just things that he wasn't always able to do so much by himself anymore.

Matt wasn't afraid to get his hands a little dirty. Sure, this might've been new but he was willing and able. The job called for two strong arms. Plus, he figured helping this man would be good. The guy seemed like he could handle his own. Like he wouldn't be asking around for help unless he truly needed it.

When Matt went to meet this man in person, it was almost instant. They shook hands and agreed for the two of them to start working together as soon as possible.

There Matt was, hauling hay and feeding the hogs. That summer sun had him sweating like a dog, so he cooled off in the creek. Then he was back to work in that dead-gum heat. He was cussing out loud and thinking about quitting. Until you came along, that is.

Just when Matt thought the heat couldn't get any hotter, he had caught a glimpse of you — the farmer's daughter. You were just getting home from Panama City, all tanned-up and his kind of pretty. When your eyes met his, he was thinking that he sure loved his job.

Matt was a strong man, sure. It was evident in the way he was able to do the manual labor your father put him up to while the scorching heat plastered onto his skin. But every man has urges. A weakness. And you? Well you were his.

You weren't a weak girl. Growing up on your father's farm was proof of that. You were strong minded, stubborn in your own right, willing to stand your ground, and overall able to hold your own. Oh, but Matt. Matt was your weakness.

As the days got shorter, your talks with him got longer. The kisses got sweeter and the feelings got stronger. You hop in his truck and get tangled up every and any chance you'd both get. You were down by the river with him all night long.

Yet when the sun came up, Matt was sneaking you home and he was dragging his butt to work; all with the smell of your perfume on his shirt. He would be on the tractor, and you'd be on his mind; just as you would be doing your things, and he'd be on your mind.

After sneaking around all summer, one day your dad had caught the two of you. He had an inkling suspicion of what was going on between the two of you. Sure, he was mad. Pissed even. But when you pleaded with him, saying “But Daddy, I love him,” your father couldn't help it.

He gave you both the go ahead, but warned Matt: if Matt had ever broke your heart, hurt you in any type of way, your father would hurt Matt even worse. When your father walked away you had both let out a breath of relief. Matt nudged your side playfully, quirking up and eyebrow. “Ya love me, huh? Mean that, honey?”

You shoved him off of you at his teasing, smiling despite it all. Your nod and smile only made Matt fall harder for you. He loved you, that was for certain. He had loved you the second he laid his eyes on you. Pulling you closer by your waist, Matt placed a sweet and tender kiss on your lips. His forehead resting against yours as his thumbs brushed your exposed skin from your tied up flannel due to the heat. “I love you, sweet thing.”

A couple summers and years pass, your love for Matt and his love for you only grew. Which is why it came as no shock to your father when a nervously wrecked Matt asked for his blessing to marry you. Your father gave him the same warning the day he gave you two the okay to date. Only this time, it was with a smile, a pat on the back, and a firm handshake.

If Matt was nervous to ask your father, then asking you would be an indescribable feeling. You – of course – said yes, and got married last Spring. Now, it is summer again. Matt was still hauling hay and feeding the hogs for your father. That summer sun has got him sweating like a dog, so he cools off in the creek.

Only this time? You bring out two glasses of sweet iced tea, joining him in the creek as a married couple. Splashing and cuddling up with each other in the water as you sip on your iced teas.

He's on the tractor again, you're on his mind, but he just can't wait until it's quitting time. Cause just when he thinks it can't get any hotter, he comes home to the farmer’s daughter.

When he finally came home to you that evening, smiles of contentment, joy, and love are etched onto both your all's lips. Happy with each other and the way everything played out in the end.

Author's Note²: Need me a cowboy 🙂‍↕️ Preferably Cowboy!Matt 🫣 I had to go back and southern-check this not even gonna lie 👀 When I typed out the rough draft for this, there were so many typos, southern sayings, and overall incorrect grammar 😅 I'm surprised that the sweet girlies who read this weren't utterly confused 🥲 If you've made it this far, drop your thoughts in the comments ! Thank y'all, love y'all !!

[an-angel-so-called-satan]

2025 and I still laugh when someone complains that the author made a VADTD character dirty... And by this I mean that the author gives them problematic characteristics.. For example, Eckles, a guy who was chilling in his royal palace with his family until everything changed when the Eorka empire attacked...

To this day you can still read comments saying that if Penelope had been more empathetic and paid attention to him, he wouldn't have become like this or that without Laila's intervention, everything would have been fine... LOL

He is a victim of slavery with a lot of pain and post-traumatic stress, who clearly shows a resentment towards the empire, plus is canonically described as taciturn...

HOW THE HELL DO YOU THINK HE'S GOING TO RECOVER FROM THAT? With the power of love and friendship? With an epic tale of salvation and revenge?

... Yeah, it probably works in fanfics, but NO on VADTD. That's not how Gwon Gyeoeul's characters are.

Even in the same story, after the side stories, Penelope, who had a happy ending, still worried that someone would want to attack her family or that she would disappear from that world since she was a transmigrate. That's how PTSD works.

Eckles is Eckles precisely because of his painful past that shaped him into what he is in the future: someone with trauma who became obsessed with the one person he interacted with most often... and later an adrenaline junkie and mercenary lol

Derrick is Derrick for being an obtuse man who took refuge in his title of heir and in work from a young age, since he never healed the loss of his sister.

The funniest thing is that some people think the author was unfair to them and then, on the author's blog, you can see how she speaks affectionately of Eckles or Derrick lol

And all the other characters are like that because their cursed past made them distrustful, even cruel in some cases... or even with dark desires... And yes, I speak of dark desires because some turn a blind eye to the dark lock that certain characters have on their affection score and are visible in the manhwa. Each character has a twisted quality to a greater or lesser extent, a product of the author's decision, not necessarily influenced by Penelope or Laila, but by the author's taste and whim.

I mentioned it once and I do it again, while some believe that the author is making them dirty, what she actually does is pour honey on them... In a twisted way... I know, this is probably uncomfortable for someone who doesn't know the author's previous works, but I do...

And let me tell you that one of her first works was "미친 새끼 (crazy kid/bastard)". Do you know what it's about? According to the Naver reviews, because this book can't be found anymore, it's about a teenager who falls in love with his schoolmate and innocently fantasizes about her as his girlfriend, until one day by chance he starts spying on an apartment of lovers who sometimes have intimacy... Everything is more or less normal up to this point until the reviews say that there is a plot twist in the story:

The protagonist, after interacting with the female lover, realizes that she is actually kidnapped and is suffering from s*xual abuse. He then decides to help her escape, but at the climax of the story, while trying to free her and struggling with the kidnapper, he accidentally kills the victim and the kidnapper also dies in the event... Do you want to know how it ends? Traumatized by the event, he repeats the same patterns as the kidnapper and kidnaps his classmate and locks her in a place where no one can find them... THE END.

This peculiar story is just one of many stories that Gwon Gyeoeul has written with this theme of thriller and dark romance. And not to mention her works where the victim becomes the victimizer, because in almost all of them, her characters have a gray morality.

VADTD is by far a work with one of the few conclusive and happy endings in Gyeoeul's work history. So next time, don't tell me the author is dirtying the characters in VADTD, because by far, they are innocent next to other more twisted characters she has written.

[hailturinturambar]

This is loss, my dear.

Pairing: Elrond x Galadriel

Word count: 3.183

Author's Notes: English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes or confusion. It's also my first fic in years. Requests are formally open, for trop x reader, or any trop x trop character. I won't write them all, obviously, I'll still post a complete list of who I'm going to write for, but you can still send them.

Warnings: Angst, emotional distress, injuries, blood. Mention of Sauron.

Summary: On the brink of war, Elrond recalls the moments he spent with Galadriel, his best friend and most secret passion, while he must make a decision: choose the safety of all Middle-earth or protect the one he loves.

The blood reminded Elrond of a ruby, he thought, watching the dense trail soak Galadriel's robes. The dirty blade continued to sink into her neck, her elven blood gushing like a spring from the purest river in Valinor. Elrond took a deep breath, trying to concentrate, as he galloped towards Adar's battalion.

He couldn't let Galadriel get hurt, he wasn't going to. And Adar knew it, watching him intently, almost as if foretelling Elrond's next steps. He was deeply confident, Elrond understood. Why else would he look at him with such satisfaction? Oh, he knew perfectly well what he was doing.

Exposing Galadriel before Elrond, as a spoil of war, a bargaining chip. Because Adar knew Elves like Elrond. Good, honest, selfless. Always trying to protect everyone, always determined to play the hero. But Elrond didn't feel like a hero, stopping his gallop, shouting at the troops not to go any further. How could he?

Galadriel's eyes opened and she took a deep breath, the blade no longer pressing into her neck. That was when their gazes met. Elrond looked at her for a few seconds, before keeping his attention on Adar, never letting his guard down near his enemy. Galadriel was afraid, why had he stopped? Why hadn't he left her, even after promising that he would never let Nenya get to Sauron?

“Welcome, Commander Elrond.” Adar said. He sounded so formal to Elrond, so composed. So different from the Uruk who had kidnapped Galadriel.

“You are in Elven lands.” Elrond shouted, staring at the Uruk. “And in possession of one of the most esteemed warriors in the kingdom of Lindon.”

Adar agreed, looking at Galadriel, who remained silent. So this was Elrond, the current protector of Nenya, one of the Three Elven Rings. Adar remained silent, facing Galadriel's cage. She shuddered and turned away, disgusted by Adar's betrayal. Disgusted by his trap.

“And that makes her valuable, Commander Elrond.” Adar didn't suspect, he knew that Elrond cared for Galadriel, that he wouldn't be able to move on, not while she was at risk. “Come, Commander. Let's talk like civilized allies.”

Elrond sighed, looking at Gil-galad. The High King was suspicious. He didn't want to bargain with Adar, with an Uruk, a former ally of Sauron and Morgoth, who would soon be leaving for Eregion. On the other hand, they were at a disadvantage. Only Elrond could get information out of Adar.

Gil-galad nodded to Elrond, who dismounted from his horse, following the Orc who had just pointed the blade at Galadriel's neck. He didn't set off alone, but it didn't matter in the end. The putrid stench of the camp clouded Elrond's senses. He grumbled when one of the Orcs bumped into him, pushing him to hurry. It was almost impossible to walk in the camp. Mud, armor and bodies infested the place, making the air heavy and malevolent.

Vorohil and Elrond were pushed into the largest and furthest tent in the camp. Elrond smiled with disgust, wondering if that was Adar's tent. Adar, however, was not there. Neither was Galadriel. They would leave them waiting, increasing his despair, his mistrust.

All Elrond could think about was Galadriel. If she was all right, if she was safe. Of course Adar wouldn't kill Galadriel, not if he believed he had a chance of convincing Elrond to give in. But Elrond had seen too much pain, too much death to trust Adar, no matter how much the Uruk stood to gain from Galadriel's life.

Sitting in the dark tent, listening to the battle cries of the Orcs, Elrond closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He began to cough, the air impregnated with evil affecting his elven senses, his blood pure like that of his ancestors, free from the evil of Morgoth's creation.

As a child, Elwing taught Elrond and Elros to fight their fear. When the night was dark and sinister, and the wind seemed alive, she sang to her children, stroking their hair, holding them protectively. She would say “When you're afraid, when you can't stand where you are, close your eyes.”

“Close my eyes?” murmured Elros, confused.

“Yes.” She smiled, covering Elros' eyes with her hands. “Think of a place where you were happy and forget the world around you.”

“What if I can't?” Elrond asked fearfully, squeezing his small brown tresses.

“Just think of someone important to you, and you'll be fine.”

Vorohil spoke to Elrond, but he didn't open his eyes, he didn't answer. His mind was too far away, too focused to hear the elven warrior's words. Because now, Elrond was in the past. Trapped in his memories.

Elrond was there, when Galadriel introduced Celeborn as her husband to Gil-galad. She smiled so much, so carefree and happy, stroking the arm of her husband, who smiled at her with deep affection. Gil-galad blessed them, wishing Galadriel and Celeborn all the best. And indeed he did. The High King was concerned for Galadriel's well-being, his concern for Galadriel was almost paternal.

Elrond understood Gil-galad's concern. Since her departure from Valinor, Galadriel, according to those who knew her in earlier days, had never been the same. She deeply resented her relatives and their cruelty. But, whether through the work of Eru or the Valar, she found happiness again. As she danced with the Elves of Thingol's court and was watched by Celeborn.

Celeborn won Galadriel over immediately with his kindness and intelligence. And Elrond was happy for his friend, of course he was! She deserved to be happy, to feel safe and protected, loved after losing so much. How could Elrond not be happy for her?

Yet Elrond was miserably unhappy. He smiled, courteous as ever, and greeted Celeborn, welcoming him with open arms. And the Elf returned the affection, soon becoming Elrond's friend. Elrond had to drown his words, his feelings, as he smiled and chatted nonchalantly with the couple.

In the back of his mind, in his sadness, Elrond thought he had fooled everyone. But he had never fooled Gil-galad, who looked at him confused and worried. The golden days had left even the court of Lindon and Elrond had other worries.

When war came, Galadriel despaired at Celeborn's departure. She wanted to fight by his side, to protect her husband. But Gil-galad forbade her, separating them in the war, fearful that proximity would do her more harm than good in times of war.

Elrond stayed by Galadriel's side, comforting her, promising that Celeborn would return to her. But Celeborn never returned, despite Galadriel's efforts, despite the troops sent by Gil-galad. Celeborn was lost, as was Galadriel for Elrond. She set out, determined to find Sauron, the Dark Lord, and take revenge for the murder of her brother, for the loss of Celeborn, for all her suffering.

For countless centuries, Elrond waited for Galadriel to return. Alone in the flowery, illuminated halls of Lindon, covered in the golden petals of the Great Tree of Lindon. Elrond wandered alone, alone once more.

In the silence of the night, when the castle of Lindon was at peace, Elrond thought of Galadriel. How he had stopped being lonely when she had found him and helped him.

Until now, because Lindon was too big without her, without her stormy temper and melodic laughter, like the Song of the Valar at the beginning of time. Elrond hadn't heard Galadriel's laughter for longer than was fair, even for an Elf.

In fairness, Elrond did try to move on. After all, Galadriel is his best friend, his best friend who is married and completely in love with her lost husband. It was a waste of time, Elrond knew that, but he couldn't resist, couldn't fight the feeling.

He felt so selfish, each day that passed and Celeborn didn't return, believing that it was one more day without Galadriel being taken away from him. So he felt deeply guilty, weeping against his scrolls. It became too heavy a burden to carry.

Elrond knew that when Galadriel arrived, she would have to leave for Valinor. Gil-galad was firm and didn't let worry flood Elrond's mind. Galadriel would arrive soon, after her troop had reached the kingdom of Lindon before her.

And when she returned, Elrond felt as if, for the first time in a long time, the light of Valinor was shining down on him. Despite Elrond's feelings, it had not been an easy reunion, Galadriel was resolute, unable to give up her pursuit of Sauron. Long ago, when Galadriel had met him, she had been his foundation.

And now Elrond would be hers. But Galadriel refused Valinor's blessing and left without saying goodbye to Elrond, never to return.

Elrond left with Celebrimbor for Khazad-dûm. Elrond still remembered how the light of the Great Tree of Lindon shone against Galadriel's hair, but he pushed those feelings aside, focusing on his mission, his fight to protect the fate of the Elves from eternal damnation.

It was a surprise for Elrond to find Galadriel in Eregion after so long, when he believed she was living in Valinor, and what's more, accompanied by a Man. Elrond should have known better, Galadriel never gave up fighting easily, never abandoned battle without good reason. Elrond was afraid of Halbrand, a Man with no past, no history.

But he trusted Galadriel's judgment, trusted her word. The wet parchment in Elrond's hand was proof of all his fears, of how he had been right all along, even if he hadn't known it. Galadriel had lied to him, of all people. He felt betrayed.

Perhaps Galadriel would hate him forever. But when Elrond saw her enchanted gaze at the Rings, he knew he had to protect her, protect everyone in Middle-earth. Elrond ignored his fears and set off from Eregion with the Rings. If he was lucky, Gil-galad would listen to him, but that wasn't the case.

Even with Galadriel in Lindon, swearing she didn't know about Sauron, Elrond still felt so disappointed. He trusted her and knew about Sauron's powers, he didn't blame her, he just wished she had been… honest with him.

Gil-galad asked Elrond to leave with Galadriel, and he accepted. He would never let her face Sauron alone because of a small mistake. Elrond tried, tried with all his might to drown his sorrows, but he couldn't understand why she refused to trust him. When Galadriel was taken by Adar's army, he finally understood. Her shame was so great, so cruel, that she preferred to hide it from him.

Elrond opened his eyes, hearing the tent cloth being moved. The Uruk that Adar called Glûg, pushed Galadriel handcuffed into the tent. Elrond clutched the arms of his chair, hating himself for not hiding his discomfort.

He sighed, pulling his hands away before Adar noticed his reaction. The Uruk whispered something to his Orcs and sat down, facing Elrond. The tension in the tent was palpable, possible to cut with the smallest blade.

"The Ring you carry. Show it to me." Adar said, looking intently at Elrond, Galadriel's eyes widening.

“A foolish act if I had brought it here.”

Well, Elrond almost wanted to pat himself on the back. It had been his best lie yet. But he didn't really have a choice. Galadriel had entrusted Nenya to him, he couldn't leave without the Ring.

“You are a courtier. More suited to wielding a scroll than a sword.”

“You've never seen me wield either.” Elrond sneered.

Adar didn't know the real Elrond, the one who would fight for his kingdom, for his king, for all the innocents of Middle-earth at the first sign of danger. Still, Adar held all the cards here. Galadriel spoke, trying to help Elrond, but Adar was quicker.

Elrond and Vorohil reacted quickly. They wouldn't let Adar hurt Galadriel. Elrond wouldn't allow him to hurt her. And Vorohil, a loyal soldier, also recognized Elrond's true concern.

No matter how hard Adar tried to bargain, Elrond would never trust him. Elrond knew that the same had happened to Galadriel. She wouldn't have been shackled if she had given in to Uruk.

Elrond cared little for Adar's false promises. He was more concerned with the cost that his supposed alliance could cause to all the Elves of Eregion.

Adar was right, Elrond knew more about the court than the battlefield. Elrond also knew the power of words. His clear eyes followed the Uruk's movements intently, the curved sword still pressed against Galadriel's throat. Elrond moved closer to Adar. In war, words can cause as much ruin as sword strokes. If possible, Elrond would turn Adar's sons against himself.

“Not before you have painted the sands of the Glanduin black with the blood of your kin.”

Grunts filled the tent, the motivations of the sons of Adar being shaken. Elrond noticed when Adar's most trusted Uruk faltered.

“My children have endured cruelties your bravest couldn't bear to hear spoken aloud.”

“Are you prepared to spend their lives so freely, Adar?”

Elrond noticed the fruit of his words, how calling Adar by his true name weighed on his actions, and above all, how uncomfortable his children were with Adar's ease in sending them into Sauron's hands.

“Are they?”

The sword left Galadriel's neck, while the Orcs watched Adar, waiting for an answer to Elrond's words.

“The Ring for Galadriel's life. What is it to be?”

Elrond had been expecting this since the second Adar had observed him on the battlefield, when he alone had attracted the Lord Father's attention.

Elrond turned his back on Adar, glancing briefly at Galadriel to prevent the Orcs in the tent from understanding his intentions. His hand went up to his cloak, loosening the pin calmly, his movements as discreet as possible. Galadriel stared at Elrond, frightened that he would choose her instead of the Ring.

Seriously, Elrond stared at Adar, approaching the Uruk.

“Ask me on the field, when the neck with a blade against it is yours.”

“Very well.” Adar said, oblivious to Elrond's words. Cruelty hadn't frightened him for a long time. “I will meet you there, with her head on a pike.”

Elrond stood his ground. Adar wanted him to give up, to protect Galadriel, to be weak. But Elrond wasn't weak, and he wouldn't risk so many lives. He didn't even believe that Adar would keep Galadriel or him alive if he got what he wanted.

“If that is to be the way of things, I should like to bid her farewell.”

Adar watched Elrond, pondering his words, looking for the deception behind them. But not even Adar could understand Elrond's attitude, the genuine concern. He still hadn't agreed, until his Uruk confirmed that Elrond was unarmed.

Taking advantage of the truce, Elrond moved away from Adar, hoping that the Uruk would leave Galadriel free. And he did, keeping his sword away from her as Elrond approached.

After so many centuries together, so many sorrows and joys shared, Elrond never thought he would find Galadriel in the hands of the enemy, bound by chains and shackles like a beast. He hated what Adar was doing to her. Was this the end of everything? Defeat? No, Elrond would not accept it.

Elrond walked slowly towards Galadriel, firm and brave, implacable in his gaze, until the last Uruk was gone. Galadriel looked defeated, waiting only for Adar to decide what he would do with them. She sighed, relieved for the first time, looking at Elrond.

“Forgive me.” Elrond whispered in Sindarin. Those words were for Galadriel and her alone. Not for Adar. Not for his children.

Elrond felt the tears pricking at his eyes, the weight of all Adar's words, of everything that had happened recently, falling on his shoulders. He felt so helpless at that moment.

Galadriel, it was the opposite. He was wrong, she wasn't defeated. She looked firmer than ever, stronger and more beautiful than ever.

“Win.” She said.

Elrond would do it, for her, for him, for Celebrimbor, for everyone in Eregion.

Elrond's breath wanted to leave his body, his nervousness wanting to take over after so much calm. He was bluffing, of course. He wouldn't let Galadriel be killed, no matter what she said. But would Adar really trust his bluff?

Elrond's hand reached for Galadriel's face, uncertain. She was delicate to the touch, a contrast to his fierce, warrior spirit. But she was everything at the same time. Maiden. Warrior. Princess. Prisoner. His best friend. Her secret and impossible love. Galadriel's eyes closed briefly as she waited for Elrond's next move.

If this was the last time he would see her, he wanted her to know how he felt, even if they might not survive. Elrond moved closer to Galadriel, letting their lips meet. He would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about what it would be like to kiss Galadriel.

But for Elrond, it wasn't out of mere desire. He loved her, deeply and eternally. And he wanted her to know that he was really sorry, that he was sorry for getting angry with her, for walking away. That he understood what she had done, and that he forgave her and hoped she would forgive him.

What Elrond didn't expect, of course, was that Galadriel would respond to the kiss with the same intensity. Elrond could dwell in that kiss, drowning forever in the sensation of feeling Galadriel's lips against his, of their spirits seeking peace in each other, when they were all that was left of each other.

Elrond didn't want to go away, he didn't want to be away from Galadriel ever again. But Adar couldn't think that he loved her so much, that he would take such risks for her. But, for the Valar, she was addictive to his soul and he felt at home after a long time.

Elrond forced himself to stand back, panting, his heart racing for the battle to come. Galadriel stayed close, still as unable to move away as he was. Her free hand found Elrond's, taking the pin he offered her. His job was done, he had managed to distract Adar, but why couldn't he move away? Why couldn't she move away?

Elrond's hand caressed his face one last time. Galadriel looked at him in surprise, not understanding the overwhelming feelings that were taking hold of her. Unable to cope with all the love and affection that had been trapped in Elrond for so long. Slowly, reluctantly, Elrond's hand moved away from her.

This is loss, my dear.

He didn't look at Adar as he walked away from her, calling for Vorohil. No, he wouldn't let Adar see his feelings in his eyes. Elrond just left. Adar, too surprised, didn't stop the Elves from leaving.

Vorohil followed Elrond, questioning why Elrond felt so confident. The Dwarves would come to his aid, not even Adar could defeat two armies. Vorohil nodded and left.

Elrond took one last look at Adar's camp, wondering if Galadriel had a chance of escaping. He hoped so. He really hoped so. They would meet again and maybe things would be different.

I hope you enjoyed it. Reblogs, comments and likes are always welcome! And please don't copy my work or post it anywhere else.

tag: @valar-did-me-wrong @redrosesandcharmingsouls @queenwholovestoread

[lrlamauthor]

Hello, spamming every platform with the B&N sale because hey look, my weird, queer dragon books got fancy exclusive editions with sprayed edges (feathers and clouds!)! They're currently chilling in the top 200 on the website just behind SJM, which is surreal. These both come out March 4th, so in just under a month! Emberclaw is a brand-new release, the (somewhat delayed) follow-up to Dragonfall, and I was pretty excited that B&N decided to give the first book a glow up, too. It had a standard hardcover and I know people really like matching sets.

Pantomime comes out in September and is my revised and revamped preferred text of my debut, which first came out all the way back in 2013. Thanks to Dragonfall taking off in paperback, I got the chance to go back to R.H. Ragona's Circus of Magic, which is pretty cool. This was the first YA book with an intersex protagonist in any genre, as far as I can tell, though Micah has now been aged up to 17/18 and it is slightly more adult in this re-release.

A month before Dragonfall's launch the first time, I was a freaking wreck. This time, I am anxious, not least because releasing a trans book in today's climate is, well...it's something. I fly to the US at the end of the month for my little tour to New York, Rhode Island, and Boston, and who knows what will be going on in the country by that point. But there's lots to look forward to, and I've gotten really nice messages from people who love the series. Links if you'd like some pretty copies for 25% off (the code is PREORDER25), and it ends Feb 7th, 2025. Any help spreading the word would be great. You can also pre-order from your favourite indie store, too, if you prefer, or request from your local library.

Link to Dragonfall Exclusive Hardcover

"In Dragonfall, Lam has forged a fresh and intricate world, a smoldering romance, and a fire-new take on dragons."—Samantha Shannon, New York Times-bestselling author of The Priory of the Orange Tree

Long ago, humans betrayed dragons, stealing their magic and banishing them to a dying world. Centuries later, their descendants worship dragons as gods. But the "gods" remember, and they do not forgive.

Thief Arcady scrapes a living on the streets of Vatra. Desperate, Arcady steals a powerful artifact from the bones of the Plaguebringer, the most hated person in Lumet history. Only Arcady knows the artifact's magic holds the key to a new life among the nobles at court and a chance for revenge.

The spell connects to Everen, the last male dragon foretold to save his kind, dragging him through the Veil. Disguised as a human, Everen soon learns that to regain his true power and form and fulfil his destiny, he only needs to convince one little thief to trust him enough to bond completely—body, mind, and soul—and then kill them.

Yet the closer the two become, the greater the risk both their worlds will shatter.

Link to Emberclaw Exclusive Hardcover

"What you will find here may be exactly what you love in fantasy: Dragonfall is an intriguing blend of magic, a thief, trickery, and an unexpected dragon." —Robin Hobb, New York Times-bestselling author of Fool’s Assassin

Arcady faces their greatest heist yet: posing as a noble student at the arcane University of Vatra. When the University announces the reinstatement of archaic trials of magic, the ever-penniless Arcady seizes the chance. If they win, they not only prove their worth, but the scholarship will give them more time to unlock secrets and reveal, once and for all, that their grandsire was not the Plaguebringer. Yet grief still leaves Arcady broken, and when they close their eyes, they dream of a certain dragon.

Everen, once the hope of dragons, is now hated by his kind. When he is eventually released from his prison, the Queen is clear: while he may help protect the island from wraith attacks, he is no longer a prince of the realm. As he struggles to find his place in Vere Celene, visions of the past, the future, and tantalizing glimpses of Arcady still haunt him. If he steers the wrong path through fate’s storm, he may never be able to create a future where both humans and dragons live in harmony.

Arcady soon realizes that to survive the rising threats from both their old life and their new one, they must use every trick at their disposal—even magic stolen from a dragon they thought dead. And as time runs out before an ancient danger awakens, Everen must fight his way back to Arcady, earn their forgiveness, and learn what it truly means to be an Emberclaw.

Link to Pantomime Paperback (dunno yet if it's getting an exclusive edition--fingers crossed!)

"Pantomime is a fantastical, richly drawn, poignant take on a classic coming-of-age story . . . a vibrant tale told with surety and grace" — Leigh Bardugo

In a land of lost wonders, the past is stirring once more . . .

Micah runs away from a debutante’s life at home and joins the circus, harboring two secrets–one: he was born between male and female, and two: he may have powers last seen in mysterious beings from an almost-forgotten age.

Micah discovers the joy of flight as an aerialist, courting his trapeze partner, Aenea, and confiding in the mysterious white clown, Drystan. He finally feels free. But the circus has a dark side, and Micah’s past isn’t done with him.

Meanwhile, the strange 'ghost' of a woman with damselfly wings whispers to Micah that only he can help magic return to the realm, and he fears she may be right…

Micah has much to learn, and he must do it quickly—before his past and future collide, with catastrophic consequences.

[lsunstreakerl]

how does Charles feel about Oscar touching/being with Max? We see with Pierre that he can’t stand the thought of it, so how does he deal with his mole doing it?

also SH on the brain, rip FOPA you had no chance in darkbull but now it’s confirmed 😔

Me on AO3: man I wonder if SH will update in any form, I miss them. Wonder if the author is working on anything

Me on Tumblr: darkbull is all that’s on the brain, for you and I

oscar is signed right before max is kidnapped, and everything after that is a spoiler now that I'm thinking about it so I'm going to shut up.

FOPA is waaaaay too cute and goofy, they couldn't be in the darkbull universe. just not possible. they love each other too much to be evil about it

everyone on ao3 thinks I'm dead 😭

for what it's worth, I am still working on other things, I'm just not forcing myself to write if I'm not feeling it, because burnout is bad enough elsewhere in my life and if I give it to myself over rpf it'll be one of the dumber things I've done.

also because I do love my other works, and if I force myself to write just to hit a word count I won't be happy with it later, and it's hard to recover a plotline from that :(

so lots of darkbull right now because it's what I'm inspired on, but I'm kind of nearing the end of the ficlets and we'll be back to regular posting sometime soon-ish. like in a week or two probably.

[sapphiresonstrings]

It's true, you caught me, I didn't read it. You see, I have powerful psychic abilities that allow me to know everything I need to know about this paper just by glancing at the title.

You may object that psychic powers aren't real, but actually many studies through the years have demonstrated the existence of ESP. Critics object that "P <= 0.05 isn't a magic number" and "if you repeat the same study over and over again then it's not surprising if one or two of them barely squeak over the 0.05 line by pure chance," but you and I both know better. We know that as long as a paper uses big words and is published in a fancy-looking journal that makes it Science, and reading Science is how we demonstrate virtue.

It's true, I didn't demonstrate any virtue here, but not because I'm not virtuous! You see, I already know everything I need to know, because of my aforementioned psychic powers.

For instance, I can tell you which political party the authors support - I can say this without even knowing their names, or how many of them there are. All of them vote Democrat.

I'm sure you don't believe me, so I'll prove it.

Here are the three authors. The first two are an Asian woman and a black woman, which is basically cheating, so I'll use the white man instead.

Conveniently he has an X link in his bio, right here on the Urban Institute's website. I'm tempted to declare victory now that I've seen the pronouns in his bio and the fact that he's a Senior Fellow for the "Race and Equity Division," but let's check out his tweets anyway.

Oh? He deleted his social media. I wonder why.

It's not on the Wayback Machine, but Google did cache some of his Tweets. We can only see them through the browser preview, though, so that's all we have to go on. Maybe someone more technically skilled could get more, but this is all I have. I hope it's enough to prove the existence of my psychic powers.

This is the most recent tweet I can find, from 3 months ago. It seems like something happened about 3 months ago that convinced him to delete his Twitter account. Hmm, I wonder if anything interesting happened around November-December of last year that might make a totally neutral scientist doing neutral research want to hide his social media?

Let's see if his other posts give us any clues.

I rest my case. I'm sure you agree that with psychic powers as potent as mine, I don't really need to read the paper.

But of course we both know that I don't have psychic powers. The real reason I can tell is because the title of the paper uses the phrase "Racially Minoritized," which a left-wing shibboleth of the highest order. It's a step beyond "Racialized," which was what they were saying last I checked.

And I don't need to read the paper any more than I need to read any of the hundreds of papers "proving" ESP is real (p = 0.0499) to know that those papers are all bogus. In a world where so-called scientists churn out hundreds of p-hacked junk papers that don't really prove anything every day, it would be an act of self-mutilation to try to read them all.

Nevertheless, my fantastical psychic powers are telling me with absolute certainty that this activist organization should not be receiving taxpayer dollars.

Now that we've cleared that up, let's see if there's anything else I should address.

Did you...did you link, in your argument about how it is scandalous that the US government shouldn't be funding "DEI nonsense", a paper that isn't funded by the US government?

First of all, you should only use quotation marks when you're quoting someone. I do not believe I actually used the phrase "DEI nonsense."(My use of quotation marks is acceptable because I'm quoting you.)

Secondly, I don't think it matters where the money for this particular paper came from. Money is fungible. Same pants, different pocket. The Urban Institute is promoting the paper, everyone involved in writing the paper works for the Urban Institute, and the Urban Institute apparently gets 1/3rd of their money from the government (or 1/3rd of their budget is impacted, whatever the fuck that means). If the Urban Institute didn't have the money to pay them and these researchers had to get jobs working as window cleaners or accountants or whatever, they wouldn't be able to spend their time writing all these Guides to Equity:

Ergo, they are receiving government money. It's in the form of awards, salaries, promotion (such as this website, for instance), office space, or whatever else they get from being fellows at this institute. Same pants, different pocket.

Next:

I would oppose the government doing that to begin with, but the fact they spent money doing it wouldn't be a shocker in the slightest.

Just so, I am staking out my opposition to "the government doing that to begin with." Part of getting the government out of the race business is cutting off the flow of funding to the people who spend all their time talking and writing about race (or, as I like to call them, racists).

Just as, presumably, if the US Government were to be taken over by pacifists, they would shut down all the think tanks that the Defense Department pays to spend all their time talking and writing about war.

Raise your hand if you are hearing about the Heritage Foundation right now for the first time.

I agree, the Heritage Foundation also shouldn't receive any taxpayer money. In fact, I'll just use my incredible psychic powers to reshape the course of fate and history...

Pow! Your wish is my command, and retroactively, too! The Heritage Foundation doesn't get any government money. Cool. Now let's do all the other think tanks that are obviously just activists for one party or the other.

I know, I am really on a "mocking Tyler Cowen" kick, I will move on from this soon. I just think the ways he is failing these days is very symptomatic of the zeitgeist faux-intellectualism and the ways thinkers are struggling to slot into an openly anti-intellectual movement.

He starts with "USAID is probably good", but in a very compliment-sandwich way. You taught me what a Straussian read is my dear Cowen, so when your "it is good" section is two lines of link dumps, and the rest of the piece is criticism, I am getting the message. So let us set that part aside and dig into those criticisms:

To be clear, I consider this kind of thing to be scandalous.  And I strongly suspect that some of the other outrage anecdotes are true, though they are hard to confirm, or not

The link is to the think tank The Urban Institute putting out a donation call because 1/3rd of its budget is from the Federal government. Which is scandalous...because...uh, why? It is the Urban Institute. They analyze government policy for hire. Their biggest customer is the government. What the fuck? Their latest research - just chosen randomly, top of the list - is an impact evaluation of a program to help at-risk youths graduate high school. Is that bad now?? Does Tyler Cowen no longer think impact evaluations of policy are good??

Imagine describing consulting firms this way: "Oil Well Advisors has hit significant headwinds now that Exxon Mobile is suspending all outside contractors", is that a scandal? Or just absolutely normal behavior for industries with large institutional clients? What is the alternative here? Does he want - in a post subtly praising the Trump Admin - the government to in-house all impact evaluations? I don't disagree that they should do more but, uh, read the room buddy?

I know I am harping on this point but I really wanna emphasize how much of a bad writing call this is - taking an actually insane position (orgs specializing in government contracts shouldn't exist lmao) and because it is so indefensible you instead just handwave it as obvious so the audience maybe doesn't notice. Very cringe.

Okay, moving on:

It does seem Nina Jankowicz and her work received funding, and that I find hard to justify.  It seems to be evidence for something broken in the process. 

The money went to her work with the Center for Information Resilience, which does investigative reporting on war crimes like in the Ukraine War. Maybe her project sucked, I don't even know, but come on. This is incredibly normal behavior for USAID.

 Or how about funds to the BBC?

You mean the BBC Media Action charity, which trains journalists and helps build out mobile & communication networks in developing countries? Should the US build 100% of its own orgs and never fund effective, international partners from US allies? Is that a coherent foreign policy goal I can just wave my hands about and never explain because it is so obvious?

He then goes into the "reforming USAID" angle:

The Samo piece is excellent.  For one thing he notes: “The agency primarily uses a funding model which pays by hours worked, thus incentivizing long-duration projects.”  And the very smart Samantha Power, appointed by Biden to run AID, “…is in favor of disrupting the contractor ecosystem.”  Samo also discusses all the restrictions that require American contractors to be involved. Here is a study on how to reform AID, I have not yet read it.

Which is totally fine, I agree if I ran USAID I could totally like boost efficiency by 50%. I bet a lot of spending is inefficient. But why are you pretending that the current admin is, in any way, aiming for technocratic reform?

Why bother bringing this thread up? That isn't what they are doing! It isn't relevant.

I love this classic trick:

According to the very smart, non-lunatic Charlie Robertson: "My data suggests US AID flows in 2024 were equivalent to: 93% of Somalia’s government revenues, 61% in Sudan, just over 50% in South Sudan and Yemen" While I do not take cutting off those flows lightly, that seems unsustainable and also wrong to me as a matter of USG policy.  Those do not seem like viable enterprises to me.

You can think whatever you want is wrong, your call. But unsustainable? All of USAID is half a percent of the federal government. Payments to Somalia are a rounding error. This is the definition of sustainable! You could run this forever and never even notice.

But okay, maybe you mean like it is creating a culture of dependency or somesuch, not the same thing but I will humor you. Let's look at the latest USAID impact assessment of their work in Somalia:

Oh whoops, looks like our ability to even evaluate programs has been stripped away by the current admin's mass purging of databases like impact assessment reports! Fortunately I have the Wayback Machine, so I can get around this:

"Culture of dependency" this money went to food and clean water for starving people. You can say whatever you want about priorities and all that shit. That it is "unsustainable". But if someone doesn't do this then some of these people die. I notice "let them die" does not appear in your bloodless discussion of "aid dependency". Maybe we should cut aid because they will be forced to get their state together and be better off in the long run. I understand that logic, I really do, you can make that case.

But fucking say it. Say "let them die" to my face. Man the fuck up.

Alright, last one since this is going on too long:

There are various reports of AID spending billions to help overthrow Assad. I cannot easily assess this matter, either whether the outcomes was good or whether AID mattered, but perhaps (assuming it was effective) such actions should be taken by a different agency or institution?

I love this one because it is a peak "attack of opportunity" moment. At the beginning of this very post he says this:

Here is a Samo analysis...The Samo piece is excellent. 

The linked piece, by the Samo Burja, is this:

The piece, to clarify, explains that USAID is not an aid agency, but fundamentally an extension of US foreign policy and conducts itself to achieve foreign policy goals. That this is its explicit, stated purpose. And Tyler Cowen says it is a great piece.

And then proceeds to say that pursuing those goals in Syria should maybe be at a different agency because that isn't "aid".

Bro you don't give a rat's ass about that! You just wanted to score points, you don't care about this at all. It was just on the list, you didn't even think about it, you just said something that sounded plausible. It is pathetic, you don't have to comment on every headline if you don't have a hot take. Just post a meme instead like a normal person.

But he does have to comment, because this post exists to ingratiate himself to the vibe shift. It as transparent as it is embarrassing - it is so limp-wristed, saying things like "the 'Elonsphere' on Twitter is very much exaggerating the horror anecdotes" when their most viral claims are just naked fabrications. Come on, man. You used to be better than this.

[wardensantoineandevka]

Midst is about a murder the exact same way that Disco Elysium and Pentiment are about a murder.