#I will keep everyone updated whether you like it or not. likely not but fuck it

[bootleg-nessie]

Rating band names based on their accuracy:

(I keep updating this list so check back later)

The Beatles: 3/10. None of these people are beetles, they’re just a bunch of fruity guys from Liverpool with matching haircuts

(Edit: changed from 0/10 to 3/10 because John Lennon beat his wife)

Pink Floyd: 4/10. There is not a single person named Floyd in the band, but some of the members do arguably look kinda pink

Nirvana: 10/10. Getting high and listening to Nirvana is roughly what I imagine actual nirvana to be like

Foo Fighters: either 0/10 or 10/10. I have never seen foo in real life so either they’re pretending to fight a problem that doesn’t exist or they’re doing an absolutely fantastic job of fighting it

The Eagles: 0/10. Same as the Beatles, there is not a single eagle in this band. The name is misleading and we have all been lied to

Queen: 6/10. Partial points for Freddie Mercury

Led Zeppelin: 0/10. I don’t think any of these guys have ever even seen a zeppelin, let alone one made of lead. A lead balloon would crash faster than my hopes and dreams

The Rolling Stones: 3/10. There is not a single stone in this band. Some points added because I’m pretty sure they rolled quite a few

U2: 0/10. Despite what the name says, I am not a member of this band

Metallica: 9/10. Naming a metal band “Metallica” is like naming your dog “doggy”

Red Hot Chili Peppers: 2/10. These guys are not chili peppers. They’re not even that hot, let alone red hot

Guns N’ Roses: 0/10. How the fuck could a gun or a flower play music

Backstreet Boys: ?/10. Depends entirely on their current given location

Simon and Garfunkel: 10/10. No notes

The Doors: 1/10. Jim Morrison is kinda shaped like a door tho

Chicago: 4/10. The number of people in this band does not come even remotely close to the population of Chicago. Points added because it originated in Chicago

Earth, wind, and fire: 2/10. This is even more innacurate than Chicago. Points added because wind instruments were often used

Def Leppard: 3/10. There is not a single leopard in this band. Some of the members are probably kinda deaf by now tho

The Beach Boys: ?/10. Accuracy depends entirely on location

The Black Eyed Peas: 6/10. Not sure what the hell an ‘eyed pea’ is but the black part is pretty accurate

Imagine Dragons: ?/10. Depends entirely on whether or not they’re thinking about dragons.

Cage the Elephant: 1/10. Why would you do that. Let the elephant go

Green Day: 0/10. They’re not even green

The Police: 0/10. There is not a single cop in this band

KISS: 5/10. I’m sure they probably kissed sometimes

The Monkees: 0/10. Are you fucking kidding me

We Butter the Bread with Butter: 8/10. I can’t verify this but I have no reason to suspect that they’d lie. Butter seems like the most logical thing to butter bread with

King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard: 0/10. I got really excited about the concept of a lizard wizard only to be let down. My disappointment is immeasurable

They Might Be Giants: 5/10. I googled everyone in this band’s height, the tallest guy’s only 6’1 so I wouldn’t exactly consider him a giant. Then again, I can’t really argue because the claim was only that they MIGHT be giants

The Presidents of the United States of America: 2/10. None of these people are Joe Biden nor are any of them former presidents. This is incredibly misleading. I’m pretty sure “Lump” was written about my first girlfriend tho so I’ll give them a point or two

Gorillaz: 2/10 Not quite but we’re kinda close genetically so I’ll give them partial credit

The Killers: ?/10. I have no way of verifying if they’ve actually killed before but the fact that they’re not in prison tells me probably not

The Offspring: 10/10. These guys are definitely somebody’s offspring

Arctic Monkeys: 1/10. They are neither monkeys nor are they from the arctic

Thirty Seconds to Mars: 1/10. It takes WAY longer to get to mars than that

Beastie Boys: 8/10. They’re pretty beast on the guitar

Jimmy Eat World: 1/10. Slow the fuck down Jimmy, you’re biting off way more than you can chew

Hole: 9/10. One point deducted because I’m pretty sure they had more than one hole

Rage Against the Machine: 10/10. They did exactly that

Alice In Chains: 0/10. This is illegal. Let Alice go

The Band: 10/10. This could not possibly be more accurate

Nine Inch Nails: 1/10. I can’t find any good pictures of their feet but from what I can tell their fingernails definitely aren’t nine inches long

Bush: ?/10. Not quite sure about this one, felt uncomfortable asking

The Who: 2/10. I’m not dealing with this “Who’s On First” bullshit

Radiohead: 0/10. Not a single person in this band has a radio for a head

Queens of the Stone Age: 0/10. This band should be called “five random dudes from the modern era” but FRDFTMA is a bit of a mouthful

Soundgarden: 2/10. Sound does not grow in the garden

Sonic Youth: 5/10. They’re not exactly youth anymore but the sonic part checks out

Talking heads: 8/10. There’s more to the band than just a bunch of disembodied heads but the heads do tend to talk

The Cranberries: 0/10. Decent music but I only added them so that the Beatles and Freddie Mercury weren’t the only fruits on this list

The Wiggles: 8/10. They do tend to wiggle a lot

Blue Man Group: 10/10. Yep!

Weezer: 5/10. They all look like they definitely have asthma

Limp Bizkit: 3/10. While the visual image of baked goods playing the guitar is hilarious, Fred durst is not a biscuit. Points added because he probably has erectile dysfunction

Stone Temple Pilots: 0/10. None of these people are accredited as being licensed to pilot anything, much less an entire stone temple. Stone temples don’t need pilots anyways

Wasted Youth: 8/10. I guess it really kinda depends on how you frame it but yeah, they probably wasted a lot of it

Them Crooked Vultures: 3/10. These are people and not birds but Dave Grohl’s posture is kinda bad and John Paul Jones is so old that his neck kinda looks like a vulture’s so I added some points

Audioslave: 0/10. Slavery is illegal

Traveling Wilburys: 4/10. Sure, they traveled a lot but not a single one of those lying bastards was named Wilbury

D12: 6/12. There were only 6 people in this band

NWA: 10/10. I’m a little too white to safely comment on this one but I’d say they nailed it

Jet: 1/10. A real jet would be way too loud

Goldfinger: 0/10. Not a single person in this band has a finger made out of gold

No Doubt: ?/10. I can’t really be too sure how Gwen Stefani felt but I think it’s probably a safe assumption that she had some doubts

The White Stripes: 3/10. I bet if you stripped them down naked and made them stand shoulder to shoulder and squinted really hard they’d probably look more like white stripes

Screaming trees: 3/10. They scream occasionally

Garbage: 2/10. I think they’re being a little harsh on themselves, their music isn’t THAT bad

Butthole Surfers: 5/10. Not even gonna touch this one

Megadeth: 3/10. To be fair, some of the former members are dead but only a little amount of death, not mega death

Dead Kennedys: 2/10. Last I checked Kennedy was still dead but neither he nor his clones are members of this band

Cake: 0/10. The cake is a lie

Cracker: 8/10. Most of them are

Tool: 7/10. I don’t know much about their music but they sure look like tools

Counting Crows: ?/10. Is this what emo kids do instead of counting sheep? Accuracy depends on whatever bird they happen to be counting at the moment

Dave Matthews Band: 10/10. It certainly is

Oasis: 1/10. Their music is the opposite of an oasis

Blur: 2/10. They are not that fast

Barenaked Ladies: 0/10. If I wanted to be this disappointed I’d reestablish a connection with my biological father instead

Meat Puppets: 10/10. Technically, aren’t we all?

Live: 8/10. Apparently they still do live shows but I deducted some points because I’ve only ever heard their music on Spotify

ABBA: 9/10. I’m still not giving any points to Guns N’ Roses but that’s mostly out of spite

5 Finger Death Punch: 8/10 I guess it probably depends on how hard you hit them but this seems to be the usual amount of fingers to punch somebody with

All American Rejects: 9/10. They’re all rejects from America so I don’t really see any issue with this

T. Rex: 0/10. Even if any of these people WAS a T. Rex I don’t think their arms would be long enough to play their instruments

Free: 0/10. Unless you steal their music, in which case it becomes a 10/10

The Strokes: 3/10. To my knowledge, none of them have had a stroke but I still added a few points because the name was probably accurate for other reasons

The Smashing Pumpkins ?/10. Another thing I have no way of verifying but this seems like a waste of perfectly good pumpkins

Therapy?: ?/10. The hell are they asking me for? I don’t know their medical history

Twenty One Pilots. 0/10. There’s only two of them and neither is a licensed pilot

Finger Eleven: 0/10. Leave the poor Stranger Things girl out of this

Fall Out Boy: 9/10. I conferred with an expert on this one who confirmed that they are in fact boys who had a falling out

Cream: 8/10. Considering this was the OG supergroup I’m sure a lot of people did in fact cream when their music came out

Edit: humans aren’t fucking monkeys. Stop saying we are

#r/196 #r/196archive #196 #/r/196 #rule #meme #memes #shitpost #shitposting #music #rock #rock music #the Beatles #pink floyd #nirvana #foo fighters #the eagles #queen #led zeppelin #the rolling stones #metallica #red hot chili peppers #rhcp #guns n roses #backstreet boys #simon and garfunkel #the doors #Chicago #earth wind and fire #def leppard

[jellogram]

Really weird how many of you worship Shane and Ryan so hard that you're like "They have a right to be paid for their art!! Stop being a brat and support them!!"

Like it's not about whether or not I want them to make money. Obviously I do. It's about how they:

teased this as a big exciting update

have been dropping serious amounts of cash on shows that no one asked for

hinted in the video that they are doing this so that they can continue to do the big expensive shit that no one asked for

keep reminding us that Steven drives us a Tesla for some godforsaken reason

are acting like everyone on earth can afford the subscription and that international exchange rates don't exist

skipped over a million other options like patreon shows and ad-supported independent streaming before jumping straight into thinking they deserve a streaming service

Like can you stop being parasocial for one second and realize how fucking terribly this has been handled. They are showing zero respect to their audience both in their decision and how it was presented. Can you not look at that and think "Huh, maybe my guys fucked this one up?"

#yeah that's right I'm still on this #watcher

[kierahn]

NO KISSING THE MILKMAN. [ y! milkman x m! reader ]

[ NSFW, minors DNI ]

yandere! francis mosses ? (that's not my neighbor) x doorman! male reader

warnings :

NSFW content (18+)

Dubcon

Asphyxiation

for my fellow milkman enjoyers, i decided to push out an update before my classes start back up. i'm tempted to make a dom reader version, but we'll see if my motivation can push me enough to do it. 🙆‍♂️ (no beta read)

✧˚ | "don't go around kissing the milkman now," your supervisor jokingly warned you when you first started your job as a doorman in your building. you wave her off with an unbothered laugh, confused by what she meant. but your questions were soon answered when you finally had the chance to meet this milkman that you were advised not to smooch.

✧˚ | he wore the usual milkman uniform with a black bowtie around his neck and a white hat sitting on top of his head. he had dark auburn hair, a hooked nose, and a pair of droopy bedroom eyes. normal people wouldn't exactly consider him as an 'attractive' guy, but he had a certain charm to him that drew you in somehow. maybe it was the drowsy look he always seem to wear or how his uniform clung onto his arms tightly, the build up of his muscles from consecutive days of carrying trays of milk. he was quite the eye candy that you easily took an interest in.

✧˚ | but of course, you had to stay professional if you wanted to keep your job.

✧˚ | your interactions with the guy were kept to a minimum and was limited to a greeting or exchange of questions whenever you would ask him for his id and entry request.

✧˚ | from the list of basic information about himself that he had given you so far, you’ve learned that his name was Francis Mosses and that he lived alone in one of the apartments on the third floor.

✧˚ | you knew that living alone can get pretty dull and lonely sometimes, given that you were also living by yourself. so you did what any normal concern neighbor would do— deliver tupperwares containing food to his doorstep whenever you made too much for you to eat by yourself. whether you did it with the intention of hitting on him or simply out of kindness, you two gradually ended up becoming good acquaintances.

✧˚ | your exchange with francis ended up expanding to casual conversations and short banters. if you're lucky, he would slip you little trinkets like pieces of candies along with his entry request. you found it endearing that the quiet male wasn't as intimidating as you first thought he was.

✧˚ | weeks soon passed with you working as a doorman at your apartment complex. you now knew everyone like the back of your hand and were getting used to seeing deformed versions of your neighbors every now and then. you also found it easier to differentiate the doppelgängers from your real neighbors.

✧˚ | knowing that you held the life and safety of your neighbors in your hands, you took your job pretty seriously. you would always check their files and appearances thoroughly to make sure that no dopplegangers slipped past your watchful eyes.

✧˚ | so imagine your surprise when the day where you make a mistake finally came.

✧˚ | you made sure to check everything; his id, his entry request, his appearance— you even called his apartment to make sure. he talked to you so casually that it left no room for suspicion.

✧˚ | "gh– fuck !" you cursed loudly, panicked as you find yourself restrained by a bruising grip around your neck that temporarily stopped your airflow. 'francis' had you pinned down against your desk, documents flying all over the room from the sudden impact of your body hitting its wooden surface.

✧˚ | your first instinct was to immediately reach for the landline that sat next to your waist, but the other male was quick to stop you.

✧˚ | his grip around your neck tightened, leaving you to arch your back slightly as you attempt to gasp for air. the landline slipped from your grasp and fell to the ground with a slight crack, leaving the device to continuously beep as it waits for a number to be placed. gargled sounds were the only sounds you could make as your fingers instinctively wrapped around francis' wrists, attempting to pry his hand off your neck.

✧˚ | "you really think your silly little D.D.D friends can save you ?" the doppleganger's voice was exactly how francis sounded like, coated with a slight distortion.

✧˚ | 'how is he so bloody strong ?' you hissed in frustration inside your head as you engage in a battle against him.

✧˚ | but then again, he wasn’t human, overpowering you proved to be an easy task for someone like him.

✧˚ | his endless days of being driven away by the D.D.D after you coldly send him off each time was over. 'francis' couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction; couldn't help but marvel at the sight below him– the stonefaced and ruthless doorman who reported him every chance he could get was now at his mercy.

✧˚ | "what's this ?" francis' gaze moved lower, landing on the tent that had unconcsiously formed at the base of your trousers. he knew that you held some affection for the real francis, but to get an erection by being strangled by someone who was a spitting image of him ? how naughty.

✧˚ | "do you really like this face that much ?" francis teased as his free hand wandered up your thigh. "took me a few tries to capture it perfectly."

✧˚ | francis loosened his grip around your neck slightly to give you a chance to catch your breath. he didn't want to kill you. not when he worked so hard to be able to get this close to you.

✧˚ | he'll admit, he had long been jealous of the real francis. the look of admiration directed at him whenever you two conversed; it was a look that contrasted the disgusted one you gave the doppelgänger each time he attempted to deceive you.

✧˚ | he found himself longing for whatever affections you had for that human. he was much better than him in every aspect. he could be whoever you wanted him to be.

✧˚ | "say less," his hand fully left your neck to tug on your tie that came with your uniform, bringing your face closer to his. you feel your face flush at the close proximity. using francis’s face proved to be useful in keeping you somewhat compliant. "i'll be nice and let you have a taste of him."

✧˚ | after he was done with you, he'd be the sole owner of this face for you to enjoy. he'd be the only 'francis mosses' in existence.

✧˚ | the metal window blind behind you slid down with the press of a button, francis having pressed it while you were distracted. now you were completely trapped with him.

✧˚ | you'd expect that a creature like him would have no idea on how humans reproduced, let alone with both parties being male, but oh was he so far from being clueless. francis knew exactly where to place his hands and lips to have you writhe so beautifully under him.

✧˚ | he didn't solely focus on imitating the real francis' appearance. he went far as to probe into both his love and sex life.

✧˚ | he once shifted into some random human female to seduce francis and bed him. he went far and beyond to ensure that he would be able to satisfy your needs (isn't he just the cutest).

✧˚ | francis didn't expect you to be so cooperative after he had literally tried to strangle you to death. he could clearly tell that you loved the real francis so much that you'd be willing to settle for his doppelgänger to satisfy your desires. that thought somehow made francis feel slightly annoyed.

✧˚ | he prepared you carefully with his fingers, just like how the real francis did it. he drew circles with his fingers inside your walls as his lips muffled your needy moans, his fingers stretching you out carefully.

✧˚ | for a doppelgänger, he was being surprisingly gentle with you. after all, he wanted you to genuinely like him; to need him.

✧˚ | “francis–“ his name spilled from your lips like a chant, and as much as your lewd moans sounded lovely against his ears, francis couldn't help but tighten his grip around your waist as he thrusted into you. he hated hearing you use his name.

✧˚ | "don't call me by that name," francis hissed, his thrust getting harsher as he ignored your pleads for him to be gentler. he was obviously ticked off. "hoon, call me hoon, y/n."

✧˚ | his other hand left your waist to squeeze your smaller cock in his fingers, matching his strokes with his thrusts which made you into a trembling mess under him. your words were barely coherent at that point, whines and whimpers the only sounds escaping your lips.

✧˚ | hoon leaned down to capture your lips in his. drool spilled from the corned of your lips, but he could care less. he wanted to savor you as much as he could.

✧˚ | you sobbed against his lips when you came onto his fingers. he pulls away from you, allowing you to breathe and removing his hand around your softened cock. he stared down at his hand that you had stained with your own cum and curiously licked his fingers, his tired eyes staring down at your fucked out state.

✧˚ | he never once stopped thrusting into you, trying to chase his own release. his stamina was not one of a human's, making it much harder for you to match his pace and leaving you to feel overstimulated with all the sensations that coursed through your body and all the orgasms that were forced out of you.

✧˚ | it took him about four rounds before hoon finally spilled his seed inside your walls for the first time, painting them a clear white. he could feel you tighten around him, your abused hole begging for a break, but that was a luxury that hoon wasn't able to give you.

✧˚ | he still had many things that he wanted to try out now that he had you wrapped around his fingers. now that he had gotten a taste, he didn't think he could stop there.

✧˚ | flipping you over so that you were now bent over your desk, hoon resumes his thrusts, his nose buried on your nape as he inhales your intoxicating scent. you chanted his name like a prayer, prompting him to hit your deepest parts which left you panting and begging under him.

✧˚ | he had no plans of stopping until he was fully satisfied and had milked you of every single drop. he had to stick to his role of being the 'milkman' afterall.

#yandere x male reader #yandere male x male reader #yandere x reader #yandere male #yandere #that's not my neighbor #kiahndere #x male reader #male reader #francis mosses

[kinopio-writes]

Hi!!!! I’d like to request Vox and a reader who just refuses to get like new technology at all because they’re like “I don’t wanna waste money when it still works!” Like their phone case could literally be hanging on by a thread and they’d still refuse to get a new one

You don’t have to do this request if you don’t want to, take care of yourself and drink water❤️

A/N: Thank you. I keep forgetting to drink water every day. The only time I remember to drink is whenever I eat. Take care of yourself, too. And I’m the same as the reader you’re describing, lol. I still have an iPhone 6 and it’s still working. The battery drains so fucking fast though.

Warnings: None

———

Vox x Reader who’s a minimalist

• while Vox is someone who owns (I think is) a multi-billionaire company and never had to think of not buying things he needed or wanted, he might agree with you about the money part

• he’s like Grunkle Stan from Gravity Falls or Scrooge McDuck (rich as hell but doesn’t like wasting money)

• but the thing is, he owned technology

• if it were any other stuff, he would be okay with it (it’s your money, after all. You do you)

• but it’s literally what his brand is built around

• he could just…give you a new one

• “No! I don’t want a new one.”

• he’d take offense to that

• because he already put all of your personal information in, from the apps you downloaded to your photos and, heck, your passwords, too

• and he did all of that without syncing it with your old phone (yeah, he knows everything—it’s not creepy at all)

• he knew you were complaining about the darn thing and decided to give you one

• so…why didn’t you want it???

• “Because it still works.”

• he’d just give you the deadest pan (not a word) ever

• your phone was old as hell, so the battery is pretty chemically fucked up

• it was also a device that he no longer puts any new updates in (because everyone else already moved on from it), so your phone was pretty outdated

• like, extremely outdated

• all of which meant that there would be some slight difficulty with communication

• and this man thrives from Facetiming you (he’s a busy guy)

• there would probably be more times you Facetime him than actually seeing him in person (assuming you don’t live with him. He probably has cameras there regardless)

• you’d keep complaining about how he keeps bugging out after a certain time has passed in the call or how it’s already gone down to 5% or how your phone is overheating because you’re charging it while calling him or how it’s just searing hot in general every time you use it—speaking from personal experience, lol

• it’s the reason why he decided to give you a new phone (he wanted longer calls without you having to hang up every 20 minutes because you needed to charge it)

• but noooo—your stubborn ass still insisted on using it because ‘it’s still working’

• ...yeah, no, he’s not taking any of that shit

• he’s still going to give it to you whether you like it or not

• his proposition is that, okay, you can use your old phone, but you have to use the new one for calls

• that’s all he’s asking for, really

#hazbin hotel x reader #vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox #kinopiowrites

[bloodpen-to-paper]

Gonna throw my hat into the ring here, as someone who very recently had a streamer they loved and supported go down for serious allegations and crimes. Feel free to skip around my long ass response, I'll break it down into parts:

---Public Reception

Part of the reason I despise these situations is because people online don't ever know enough to make 100% accurate assessments, but will act like they do anyway (I don't care if its authoritarian, I want a bill where people on Twitter can't post about drama until after at least 5 minutes of being forced to critically think). Having said that, here's my opinions on how everything should go forward:

-Shelby shared her story in order to spread awareness on domestic abuse and the signs, so that others can read those signs and keep themselves safe (or leave an actively abusive situation they've been convincing themselves isn't that bad). That is the priority here, that is what people should be focusing on. If you make this situation about stirring drama with the other CCs, you're a dumbass and you need to stop posting. Give support to Shelby, uplift the voices of women like her sharing their stories, spread awareness on what domestic abuse can look like so everyone can learn, and wait for more information. Its that simple.

-CCs don't owe statements for conflicts they weren't involved in. Philza, Tommy, Quackity, Charlie, and other CCs close to Wilbur who aren't part of this don't owe you an explanation. They're people, they're most likely having to come to terms with the fact that a dear friend, someone who could've been like family, isn't who they thought he was. Have a fucking heart and cut it with the parasocial entitlement. I'm hoping Quackity will remove Wilbur from the Qsmp, but just like with Forever, he probably won't make a big announcement of it, and that's perfectly ok. I understand wanting to make sure you're not supporting a CC who would defend someone guilty of committing domestic abuse, but its still not your right to get anything from these people. If they share, they share. If not, then they don't. If you can't handle that, then leave.

-Having said the above, its worth noting that CCs aren't just a fun group of friends, they're coworkers. Much of what they say publicly and when they say it can be shaped or restricted by situations that can affect their careers or get them in legal trouble. You don't know these people personally or what goes on behind the scenes, its a network and you can't measure their responses the same way you would your own opinion piece. The CCs will always need to be careful about how they respond to an issue, and they will most likely respond in "safe" ways considering what's on the line. Not accusing anyone of anything, nor demonizing them for it, just something to keep in mind. They're human, but they're also working a job.

-If you have Lovejoy or Wilbur-related merch, DON'T THROW IT AWAY OR DESTROY IT. I've seen lots of people pointing out merch can be donated to thrift shops or shelters, and its more eco-friendly than burning or trashing. Remember, anything can be repurposed; a book, a hoodie, there's always someone who can find a use for it. Likewise if you want to keep your old merch, that's fine to. You can wear it if it brings you comfort, or if its something you just like the look of. As long as you're not supporting the source, you already have the merch so don't let people pressure you into thinking you're bad for keeping it if you're not ready to let go/throw away those $70.

---My Opinion Regarding His Response

Everyone and their cousin has been dogpiling on Wilbur's response (rightfully), but I think people online don't understand how public responses work when there's legal team and PR interference. The tweet for me had a weird lack of personal touch and emotion from the guy I've observed to be very personal in his writings, whether its his music or a community post about a life update (blah blah parasociality I know, but I'm letting you know the observations I've made of his behavior simply as someone who notices these things). He also never explicitly stated Shelby's name, rather saying "that person" (you even had the textbook 'black text on a blank white background' screenshotted response). Finally, there was a consistent standing on Wilbur 'not being aware of how the other person really felt' regarding his actions. What I'm trying to say is... y'all really gotta start putting two and two together. Its a textbook PR response. As in, I'd be surprised if Wilbur had over 50% involvement in making it because the wording is exactly how it reads when a response has been initiated by someone's lawyers rather than themselves. The reason he doesn't take more accountability and openly admit to having abused Shelby (other than the obvious public backlash) is probably cause his lawyers are banking on the feigning ignorance angle, that Wilbur didn't intentionally abuse Shelby and was ignorant to how his actions affected her. Its the best way to get him out of hot water on the legal side, because again, this isn't messy drama; its a genuine accusation of a crime. I don't think the response is tone deaf and unaware, I think its a deliberate and measured legal move not even fully created by Wilbur himself. This isn't to say I think he's innocent, but I do know that Shelby and others have brought up some serious accusations, and Wilbur is lawyering up as a result.

---Nuance

Prefacing this part by saying that things are not looking good for Wilbur in regards to what other CCs have brought up about him, and I fully believe and support Shelby, hence why I support that the community should start distancing from him and his work. But I would like to take this opportunity to look into the greater aspects at play. We are within a system that brings up men to do what they want without teaching them to be considerate and aware of the consequences. Men are taught their harmful behavior is perfectly fine, often at women's expense, which makes these situation a very different story depending on who's telling it. Its because of this that we need to critically analyze the system and how it causes men to turn out as they do, instead of giving an immediate opinion without any nuance.

There's a possibility that Wilbur is being genuine in not realizing how bad his actions were. There's a possibility he truly is a manipulative liar who knew exactly what he was doing. He could be a piece of shit. He could be genuinely trying to improve and do better. We don't know. I'd say its pretty cut and dry that he hurt Shelby, and for that I'm glad she's getting justice for herself and spreading awareness. But if we're to entertain the idea of redemption, we need to look at situations like these with nuance so that we can understand the "why". I'm not trying to justify Wilbur's actions or even give him the benefit of the doubt, I have no idea what's going on in that guy's head. I'm just putting this out there because its something I want everyone to think about, especially when it comes to topics regarding narcissism and mental health issues. Don't support him or Lovejoy, just keep something like this in mind for the future.

---The Community/Now Displaced Fans

To everyone who's immediately telling Wilbur's fans (the ones that don't support his actions and are actively mourning no longer being able to enjoy his stuff) to just listen to other music or move on, and who are celebrating each negative new thing that comes out about Wilbur's current status, sincerely, shut the fuck up. You are completely lacking in empathy or emotional intelligence, and what you're doing is the last thing the community needs. Wilbur and his work could have and for many did get fans through some of their hardest moments, and losing that wonderful sense of community you get from streamers and their work (especially with the roleplay stuff) is awful. It fucked me up losing that after almost a year, for some of his fans its been even longer.

If you're a (former) fan of his, its ok to feel like shit. We're human, we get attached and we grieve losing something like this because that's how capable we are of loving. Take your time, as long as you know where to stand (supporting Shelby and raising awareness on domestic abuse), you're doing good. You can keep enjoying his characters and work and making content about it, separating the art from the artist (though don't stream his music from platforms that would give him the money, find a way to pirate it).

This sucks. I feel it as a casual fan who was once hugely into his content, I can imagine what its like for those who were huge supporters all the way up until now. You didn't do anything wrong supporting someone you thought was a good person, its just a thing that happens and its so fucking shitty. You ain't alone though, I know some of you have that knee-jerk reaction to avoid anything to do with him but reaching out to others in the community and actually processing it all is way better, you won't be bottling it all up. Don't be afraid to continue engaging with this part of your life until you're ready to move on from it in your own time, and be kind to yourself. From someone who went through exactly what you are now, trust me, you'll get through it.

#shubble situation #wilbur soot #psa

[astrophileous]

Love Bugs (Pt. 06)

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Female Reader

Synopsis: You and Derek Morgan have an arrangement. At work, your relationship is strictly business. Under the sheets, it's all about pleasure. Nothing more, nothing less. Until, of course, your feelings start to get involved. Your situation is complicated enough without the unexpexted predicament that suddenly befalls upon you. But with a maniac serial killer on the loose, will you ever get the chance to make everything right?

Warning(s): cursing--there's a lot of it--like a lot, psychopathic behaviors, being held captive, verbal and physical violence, degrading nicknames, talks of death and unaliving someone, strangulation, PLS READ WITH CAUTION BECAUSE THIS PART IS REALLY GRIM I'M NOT EVEN KIDDING

Word Count: 4200-ish

Tag(s): I'm tagging everyone who requested to be tagged prior to the long hiatus, pls tell me if you'd like to NOT be included in the tag list for future updates, thanks! @marvelousgoldroses @jay-2s-world @whore-of-the-pumpkin-patch @maxinehufflepuffprincess @cat-or-kitten @littleshadow17 @itzz-me-duh @geeksareunique @paisleebubbles @whateverrrrrrrrs @crazyunsexycool @louderfortheback @wifeyofeveryone

Author's Note: HI EVERYONE HOW ARE YOU?? I know this is long overdue, but pls enjoy the new part of love bugs! I'm so happy to be posting again and I hope you like what I've got in plans for this series. I think we only have one or maybe two chapters left for this story (depending whether I want to write an epilogue or not lol) but in the meantime, pls enjoy this part and don't forget to LIKE+REBLOG+COMMENT !!! thank you 🌹

Love Bugs Masterlist / Criminal Minds Masterlist

The bullpen of FBI headquarters was still reeling in the aftermath of a Derek-Morgan-shaped hurricane.

Emily was just about to enter the vicinity again when she heard the tail end of Derek's furious words, right before Hotch had ordered him to retreat.

"What was that about?" Emily asked as she approached Rossi's side, eyes never straying from the two men who soon disappeared into Hotch's office.

Rossi never addressed Emily's question. Instead, he gestured for her--and everybody else in the room--to be quiet with a finger on his lips, before he pressed the unmute button on the telephone.

"Hello?"

The UnSub's head jerked at Rossi's unfamiliar voice. You were barely successful in getting him to calm down following Derek's unexpected outburst, but the sound of Rossi's voice was threatening to throw all of those poor attempts straight out of the window.

"Who is that?" he demanded warily. "Where's Agent Hotchner?"

"He had to step away for a second," Rossi notified. "I'm SSA David Rossi. I also work with Agent Hotchner and Agent (Y/L/N)."

"I know who you are."

"Yeah? I still don't know who you are, though."

A responding groan vibrated from the other line. "Why does everyone keep asking me that? Do you think I'm fucking dumb?"*

"No one thinks anything here, pal. Just wanted to know who I was speaking to, that's all." At the UnSub's clear signs of agitation, Rossi quickly added, "It'd be nice to know the person who clearly means a lot to (Y/N)."

Rossi's reassurance obviously managed to trigger the intended effect it had sought. Everyone could see how the UnSub physically deflated at Rossi's words, meaning that hopefully he was soon going to let his guard down.

"I can't tell you who I am," your assailant said, still adamant, although his resolve was wearing thin with each word he had stated. "You're just gonna use it to track me down and keep us apart."

The last syllable of his sentence was emphasized by the weight of his dagger on the side of your neck. You instinctively winced at the unwelcomed touch of the blade before schooling your expression once more so your captor wouldn't notice.

"I promise you, no one is going to do that," Rossi said.

"He's telling the truth," you decided to chime in, surprising everyone including the UnSub whose grip of the dagger had teetered dangerously closer to your pulse point at the sudden proclamation. "They are good people. They don't break promises or tell lies. I promise you, nothing will come between us."

The silence that fell next was heavy with the UnSub's hesitation. Bracing yourself, you forced your head to tilt back, locking eyes with him who was still standing like a guard dog right behind you.

"I swear, Darling," you vowed.

The lull in your voice--or perhaps the fact that you had called him darling in front of your team, which he could arguably take as a display of affection--must have stirred up something in his twisted mind. He actually preened at you before his eyes went right back towards the direction of the camera on the wall.

"My name is Arthur," he confessed.

A particular thread of memory in your brain immediately lit up.

Back in the bullpen, JJ and Spencer were finally returning with documents containing your phone records that they had promptly asked Kevin to gather. Spencer didn't waste any time before perching himself on his desk to start rummaging through the thick pile of files.

"Arthur?" Rossi repeated the name, eyes flicking over to Garcia with a silent request to start cross-referencing the name with the other names they had acquired so far in the investigation.

The tech analyst didn't need to be told twice. She began typing furiously on her laptop as Rossi's attention was drawn back towards the projector.

The UnSub hadn't moved an inch. His hand was still just as sturdy on your shoulder. The blade was also still just as cold as it pressed onto your skin.

One wrong move, and you would end up no better than a slaughter animal on the cold hard ground.

"Do you have a last name, Arthur?" Rossi asked.

The entire bullpen held their breath in anticipation. Rossi had planted the bait as strategically as he could. It was up to the UnSub to take it and slip up the one information that would give them a major lead to end this case once and for all.

But before the UnSub could respond, a muffled beeping resonated in the air, through the telephone line, and finally into the bullpen. The sound was enough to make your assailant faltered.

"I have to go."

It was the last thing he uttered before the line, along with the livestream, went completely dead.

The atmosphere was laden with restlessness as everyone tried to make peace with the fact that they had just lost the only mean of communication they had with you. Without the feed from the livestream, no one could possibly know what was going on. The team would have no idea if something were to happen to you.

They would have no idea how to determine whether you were alive or dead.

"Did you find anything yet, Garcia?" Rossi questioned, although in all honestly, it sounded more like a desperate plea.

The thick regret behind Garcia's eyes gave Rossi the answer he needed to know.

"I can't find any Arthur in our files, sir," Garcia informed.

"Anything from her phone records? What about the hospital?" Rossi tried again.

Emily shook her head almost remorsefully.

"Nothing yet," Spencer spoke up from his place on the desk. "Not a single thing stands out from her records."

"What now?" JJ sighed, exhaustion and worry beginning to decorate the lines on her face.

The whole bullpen stood still, as if everyone was waiting for a slice of miracle to descend into the room, holding a map that would eventually lead the team to where you were still being held captive. But such a map didn't exist in this piece of reality, and the BAU knew that they were running out of time.

"Garcia, did you record the livestream by any chance?" Spencer asked at last.

"Yeah, of course I did."

Penelope punched a few keys on her keyboard before the projector once again came alive with the footage from the livestream.

"Can you fast forward to the very end?" Spencer requested. "And then play it again backwards to the beginning."

"What are you thinking, Spence?" JJ wondered.

"I don't know. I just... maybe there's a detail we missed. At this point, even the smallest piece of clue is worth pursuing."

Several pair of eyes glued themselves on the screen as the livestream footage ran backward at a faster speed. Bated breaths waited in tension for just the tiniest hint that the team could scour to determine your location.

"Wait. What was that?" Spencer interjected. "Garcia, play that again."

"What? What is it?" Emily spoke up.

"Look at her hand." Spencer stood up from the desk, approaching the screen to get a better look. "She's knocking against the chair. Garcia, zoom in on her hand. The left one."

Penelope did as she was asked. "Is that--"

"It's morse code," Rossi muttered, realization overtaking his countenance.

"What is she saying?" JJ questioned.

"A-U--" Spencer began spelling out loud, "--T... Auto. She's spelling auto."

"Auto?" JJ's forehead creased. "As in... auto shop?"

"Her records said she went to a mechanic a week ago," Spencer recalled. JJ immediately rummaged through the papers on Spencer's desk, but the pages flipping inside of Spencer's mind moved at a thousand times more speed than any normal pair of eyes ever could. "Dinozzo's Auto Service, 894 Southwell Street."

"Got it," Penelope chimed in from her place in front of the laptop. "Dinozzo's Auto Shop. Originally owned by Carlo Dinozzo before it was passed down to his two sons after his death a year ago."

"Any of them named Arthur?" Rossi asked

"Nope. Luca and Piero."

"What about the employees?" Emily suggested.

"No. I'm not seeing any Arthur anywhere near that place."

"We profiled that the UnSub could be holding down a steady job in his everyday life," JJ said. "He might not even be related to that place. Maybe (Y/N) encountered him there by chance?"

"Nah, I doubt it." Rossi shook his head. "The bastard's too sophisticated to leave anything up to chance like that. He must have found a way to orchestrate it one way or another."

"There must be a connection somewhere, then. No way he just chose a random place off the map," Emily muttered. "We should cross-reference the name to anyone associated with the Dinozzos."

Penelope began to frantically type something into her laptop. "We've still got three names here. Oh, never mind. Two names, 'cause one of them is dead."

"What do we have on them?" Spencer asked.

"First is Arthur Doyle. He went to high school with Luca and Piero Dinozzo, works in a local company, and looks like he travels a lot for his job," Penelope explained. "There's also an Arthur Harrison, works as an accountant in the heart of Arlington. His dad and Carlo Dinozzo were long-time pals. Apparently, his dad was an accountant too and used to handle the shop's finances before Arthur inherited the office. Oh."

"What? What'd you find?"

"Arthur was engaged," Penelope murmured, "to a Claire Dumont. They were gonna get married last year but the wedding was called off just one month before the D-day."

"Where's Claire now?" JJ asked.

"She moved to Ohio shortly after the breakup, and... oh my God. Guess what?" Penelope looked up, her eyes widening almost comically. "She just announced her engagement three months ago."

Spencer hummed. "That could be the stressor."

An image of a woman suddenly appeared on screen, right above the paused footage of your hand. Everyone stared at the picture in shock.

"That's Claire Dumont," Penelope murmured.

JJ held her breath. "She and (Y/N) could be sisters."

"We've found our guy," Rossi declared. "Garcia, pull up every known address associated with this man. And hurry, we don't have much time."

"I have three properties so far connected to Arthur Harrison. Sending the addresses to all of your phones."

As JJ, Spencer, and Rossi rushed to exit the bullpen, Emily turned around and called out to the others, "I'm grabbing Morgan and Hotch!"

Without stopping to knock, Emily pushed open the door to Hotch's office, ignoring the slivers of tension dancing around in the air.

"We may have something," Emily announced to the room. "We think we know where (Y/N) is."

Your assailant--Arthur, as it turned out--pulled his phone out and pressed a few buttons in, silencing the beeping. Once the noise was gone, the room was quiet again.

He looked at you, then. Piercingly. You squirmed underneath his scrutiny.

"Wait here," he eventually said. "I'll be back."

Without taking a second to breathe, Arthur flew past you and towards the direction he had appeared from earlier.

"Wait! Wait. Where are you going?"

The sound of steps ceased on top of concrete. You waited with bated breath for his response. But the only sound ever came was that of the metal door, and as quickly as you could count to three, he was gone.

At last, you were alone once more.

The traces of adrenaline had begun to dissipate out of your system, leaving you in a shivering mess inside that damp concrete room. Once again, you attempted with all of your might to free yourself from the state of confinement you were in. But the metal cuffs binding you to the chair only dug further into your skin the more you tried to escape, while the chair itself stayed nailed in place no matter how hard you tried to rock it.

After a few more minutes of futile attempts, you were forced to face the reality of your situation.

You were never going to get yourself out of that dingy place alone.

Huffing a breath, you knew that there was nothing more you could do except to hope that your team found the hidden message you had left for them to solve.

And with that last thought conquering every room your head, you let yourself succumb to the impending darkness.

You woke up gasping for air.

It took you a few seconds to remember where you were, to remember that you weren't back in the comfort of your apartment and instead, you were still holed up in the darkened cold room where your abductor had been keeping you captive.

It took a few seconds more to realize that the drowning dream you just had might have been a tad bit more real than you initially thought.

Still reeling in shock, you peered up and locked eyes with your abductor, eyes barely registering the empty bucket he was holding in one of his hands. It didn't take a genius to conclude that he was the one responsible for your drenched state.

"W-what?" you stuttered meekly. "What's going on?"

He only stared at you in response.

"Arthur?"

You shrieked loudly when Arthur threw the empty bucket against the wall, sending a resounding "bang" throughout the whole room and breaking the plastic object into two misshaped pieces.

"Arthur--" you gasped, searching for your voice that seemed to have disappeared beneath the layers of brewing fear, "--w-what... what are you... what's going on? Talk to me."

"I don't want to talk to you, you fucking bitch."

The beating inside your chest fastened. Before you could ask yet another question, Arthur had lunged forward, grabbing a fistful of your hair and tugging your head back so you could stare directly into his eyes.

"You're a fucking liar," he seethed. "You lied to me. Everything you said was a lie, wasn't it?!"

"I don't--" you hissed, trying to ignore the biting pain in your scalp, "--I don't understand what you're talking about."

"Stop fucking lying!!!"

A sharp smack reverberated in the air.

It was only when the ringing in your ear grew louder did you realize that Arthur had slapped your cheek.

Hard.

Ignoring the tingling on the side of your face, you lifted your head once more. The room was spinning, tilting your balance left and right, but you held your ground through it all.

"What did I lie to you about, Arthur?" you asked carefully.

He threw something at your feet. It clanged against the hard ground below before landing face up near your toes.

It was your phone.

But the fact that Arthur somehow had your phone in his possession wasn't what caused the sick feeling to stir northward in your belly.

It was what you were seeing on the now cracked screen of your phone: a picture of you and Derek. A selfie that you had impulsively taken of the two of you in bed after one of your nighttime escapades.

For awhile there, you had briefly forgotten about that photo. It was another lost memory in the ocean of rubble left behind in the wake of your fallout with Derek. Seeing that photo again after such a long time triggered waves of emotions that you had been desperately burying for the past few weeks.

The longing, the guilt, the heartache.

The regrets.

The regret of ending your little arrangement so abruptly in such a hostile manner. The regret of not telling Derek sooner about the baby. The regret of maybe never being able to see Derek for one last time.

But most importantly, it was the regret over not revealing the truth of what your heart felt for him that was eating you alive.

"You're fucking him," Arthur fumed, eyes blazing with an indescribable fury that made your entire body shudder.

"Arthur, please... I can explain--"

"Shut the fuck up."

He stepped forward once more, crowding your personal place and rendering you helpless underneath his psychopathic gaze.

"Tell me the truth, and if you dare lie--" Arthur paused, his hand disappearing behind his back before it appeared again with a dagger that he promptly pressed against your abdomen, "--don't ever dream of meeting your child."

"Okay. Okay, I'll tell you the truth."

"You're fucking him, aren't you?"

The bile in your throat had tripled in size. Swallowing it down, you tried to even your voice out as you answered, "I was."

"Ha," he scoffed. "I knew it. You fucking whore. You're no better than any of them."

To your relief, he eventually chose to retract the dagger and stepped away from you, opting to circle the room like a distressed lion in a cage. But even with the blade no longer touching your skin, you knew very well that the danger wasn't over yet and that things could escalate even further in a matter of seconds if you weren't careful.

"Arthur," you called out to him softly, slowly, as to not startle him and risk doing something that would trigger a psychotic break. "Arthur, please. You have to listen to me. That arrangement ended long ago. It meant nothing to me. It happened long before I met you."

Arthur's voice echoed coldly as he replied, "I don't believe you."

"Please, Arthur--"

"That's his child, isn't it?" he cut you off, pointing the tip of the dagger at your belly. "What he said on the phone. He said my child. That's because it's his. You're having Derek Morgan's child."

"No--"

"I thought you were different. I thought you were the one." The dagger in his hand shook with venom. "But you're just the same as the rest of them."

"I'm not. Please, I'm not--"

"I have to start searching again. For the one. You're not her, which means she's still out there."

"Arthur--"

"I'll have to get rid of you."

"Arthur, please!" Your voice cracked, leaking of terror and desperation larger than anything you had ever known. When something wet touched the side of your nose, you realized then that you had started to cry. "Arthur, you have to believe me. I've ended everything with him. There's nothing between us anymore."

The words you uttered kept lingering in the air in a bubble made out of despair. But as if every single one of them had fallen on deaf ears, your captor paid no attention to them. Not even a single acknowledgment to your pleas.

Instead, he had begun taking careful steps forward. Silent and deadly, like a predator stalking its prey.

"Arthur, please! I choose you!"

To your shock, his steps faltered upon your words.

For a moment, you could taste relief on the tip of your tongue before it was washed away by the knowledge that you were not entirely out of the woods yet. But from the corner of your eye, you could see the slight loosening of Arthur's grip around the dagger. It filled you with enough hope to push forward.

"I'm choosing you, Arthur," you stated confidently, trying to convince him of your sincerity. "I don't care about Derek. I'm done with him. I'm done with my old life and everyone in it. I'm ready to leave everything behind to be with you. I choose you."

"You choose me?"

"Yes. I choose you to take care of me. To take care of this baby. The three of us can be a family. How does that sound?"

Seconds ticked into minutes. Minutes stretched into a long silence. The anticipation threatened to break your chest in half.

When he finally began to move once more, Arthur surprised you. He threw the dragger towards a darkened corner in the room, far away from his reach and, most importantly, far away from the possibility of it harming the growing life inside of you.

When Arthur took off the ski mask he had been wearing since the first time you opened your eyes in that harrowing place, you weren't at all surprised to see the face staring back at you. After all, it was the same face belonging to the man who had stopped his car for you when your own car had mysteriously broken down in the middle of the road just around two weeks prior. The same face who offered a business card of his friend's auto shop where you eventually went to get your vehicle fixed.

In retrospect, you should have been at least a little bit suspicious by the whole ordeal, but was it really your fault for choosing to put your trust in the good of humanity?

You knew there was no point in dwelling over what-ifs anymore. Arthur would've found a way, like any psychopath would, and you would've still ended up being tied up in this dismal room with him.

"Did you mean it?" Arthur asked.

You put on your best fake smile before answering, "Yes."

He grabbed you in his arms in just two long strides.

You wanted to throw up. You hated the feeling of his fingers stroking your back. You wanted to kick him away and get this piece of shit as far away from you and your baby as possible. You wanted to rid yourself of the lingering smell of him that had now undoubtedly transferred into your skin.

And maybe, you would've done all of those things if it was only your life that was on the line.

Unfortunately, fighting back was a luxury you couldn't afford anymore. So, you were forced to stay quiet instead, letting your captor whisper sweet nothings in your ear as if it didn't repulse you even being in the same room as him.

You were close to counting towards the 200s in your head when, suddenly, a clanking noise in the distance ripped your attention away.

In a split second, Arthur had peeled his arms from around you and got back on his feet. You knew then that he must have heard it, too.

You watched as he stepped away, dragging a crate from one corner of the room and placing it strategically underneath the only opening on the walls. He got on top of the crate to allow himself to peek outside, but whatever he saw must have startled him greatly. Because the next thing you knew, he had backed away from the wall in the blink of an eye, face crumpling in what could only be described as panic.

"The cops are here," he managed to sputter out.

"What?"

Your heart was hammering inside of its cage. The cops are here. You realized then that the team must have solved the clue you left them. They had solved the case, and they were coming to save you.

Derek was coming to save you.

"What did you do?!"

In a moment of weakness, you had allowed yourself to rejoice in the promise of freedom that you momentarily forgot you actually hadn't possessed it yet. The slip-up was miniscule, but it wasn't fleeting enough to escape the attention of your captor.

"You tricked me!" Arthur's voice boomed throughout the room, carrying rage unlike anything you had ever known. "I trusted you, and you lied to me! Again."

"Arthur--"

This time, there was no room for negotiation.

Arthur didn't even waste a millisecond before he dove forward. He was a lion, and you were the deer. His sharp teeth were calloused fingers, and they dug into your skin as Arthur tightened his grip around your throat.

"You lied to me. You lied to me."

He repeated those words like a mantra, his voice drowned out by desperate gasps as you tried to scour for what little bit of air you could still revel in. Your feet and arms shook beneath their restrains. Your head pounded from the pressure that had gathered inside your skull.

In that moment, death was imminent.

You could feel it coming. You could feel its claws clutching every single drop of life that was still remaining in your bloodstream. It was a battle between the two, and unfortunately, death was winning.

As the dark spots in your vision spread into a massive blotch, you allowed yourself to say goodbye. To life. To the world. To the memories of your loved ones whose faces you wished you could've memorized one last time.

To Derek, the one who could've been, the one you wished had been.

And to the child in your womb, the one you wished you could've met, the one you wished you could've saved.

When darkness came, you expected it to be cold and unforgiving, but as it turned out, darkness was easy. Simple. It welcomed you into its home with open arms, shielding you from the cruelties of the mundane world.

As it pulled you deeper into its abode, you could faintly hear the sound of your name being called repeatedly. It sounded similar. It sounded like home.

But this was your home now, so without turning back, you allowed darkness to lead you further down the dim path. Away from the pain and the heartbreaks of life. Far from the evil that lurked in the streets behind their well-crafted masks.

In the darkness, there was nothing.

In the darkness, you were nothing.

And nothing was exactly what you were going to be.

#derek morgan #derek morgan x reader #derek morgan x you #derek morgan x y/n #derek morgan self insert #derek morgan fic #derek morgan fanfiction #derek morgan imagine #derek morgan fluff #derek morgan angst #derek morgan smut #criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds angst #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #shemar moore #love bugs

[froggibus]

The Death of Peace of Mind - Stu Macher! Ghostface

Pairing: Stu Macher! Ghostface x f! reader (reader uses female/she/her pronouns + has a pussy), Billy Loomis! Ghostface x f! reader (at the end), Billy Loomis x Stu Macher

Genre: smut/NSFW

Word Count: 2k

Summary: after finding out your boyfriend is the masked killer who’s been plaguing Woodsboro, you only have one request—you want him to take out his darkest urges on you

CW: Dark content ahead!!! dubcon, knife play, blood play, bondage (use of handcuffs and blindfolds), Stu cuts reader, bloodloss, oral (f! receiving), unprotected sex (yk what im gonna say), creampie, Stu chases you with a knife, exhibitionism/voyeurism, mentions of a threesome, overstimulation, multiple orgasms

incredibly self indulgent fic of my favorite Ghostface & the idea of being railed by him <3 this is a bit darker than what I normally write lol, also very tempted to write about getting railed by both Billy & Stu now

update ish? self indulgent part 2 w both Stu and Billy here

————

The minute the phone rings, the blood rushes to your ears. The entire town of Woodsboro had been warned against answering calls from unknown numbers after what happened to Casey and Steve. You weren’t worried, though. 

Why fear the boogeyman when the boogeyman is the only person who makes you feel safe?

Stu always insisted on never letting you see the darker parts of him, on never sharing the weirder things he was interested in. He wanted to protect you from himself and the fucked up things he wanted to do to you. That all changed this morning when you stopped by his house to make sure he was awake in time for school, and saw the Ghostface mask in his closet. 

You had grabbed it and tossed it at him, forcing him to explain himself. 

The boy had stuttered over his words before he finally confessed: he was the one who had been killing people all around Woodsboro. Even more surprising than that was that he had a partner. Everyone, even the police, had only suspected one person was doing it. 

He mumbled countless apologies, begging you not to leave him and begging you not to tell anybody or else ‘he’ would be mad. In all of his grovelling, though, he never mentioned who his partner was. 

You cut him off. “Is this the dark stuff you didn’t want me to know about?”

He nodded slowly, tips of his ears burning red. 

“Stu, I’m not going to tell anyone,” his head snaps up at your words, eyes lighting up. “But I have one condition.”

“Anything.”

You take a deep breath, biting your lip. “I want you to lose control. Do whatever you want to me, just let go. Don’t worry about whether I like it or not…just, show me those parts of you.”

“Y/n…”

“I mean it, Stu. Please?”

He’s reluctant to give in. He knows he would never hurt you, at least not severely, but the thought of showing you who he really is and what he wants to do makes him shiver. He doesn’t want you to stop looking at him like you do now. 

Still, he gives in. He tells you to go home and relax, and maybe stock up on first aid supplies.

The thought of what he’s going to do to you fills you with excitement. 

And now you’re sitting next to the ringing phone, knowing when you answer it that things will never be the same. 

You press the phone to the side of your face, the cold buttons raising goosebumps on your skin. “Hello?”

“Hello, y/n.” The voice on the other end is deep and raspy, so masculine it has you clenching your thighs together. 

“Who is this?”

Stu can’t help but smirk on the other end of the line. You’re playing the part of the innocent, dumb victim perfectly, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t turn him on. God, the things he wants to do to you. 

“You tell me your name, I’ll tell you mine,” he responds. 

“I don’t think so.”

You lay down on your back on the couch, playing with your hair, with the collar of your shirt, anything to keep you focused on the man talking in your ear. 

“Come on,” he almost growls, “why don’t you tell me your name?”

You can’t help but giggle at the frustration in his voice. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because I want to know who I’m looking at.”

You suck in a breath. Smooth, you think. If you were anyone else, if you actually thought there was a chance he would kill you, his words would make you freeze. But tonight, all they did was make you shiver in anticipation. 

You can feel your underwear soaking through with your arousal, your whole body warming. “L-looking at?”

Stu almost laughs at the way you nervously stutter. You sound so cute, so innocent…he really can’t wait to ruin you. He stifles his laughter from inside the closet. 

“You heard me,” he says. “Don’t you want to know where I’m hiding?”

“You’re…you’re inside?” 

A wave of fear washes over you. How had he gotten inside without you noticing? Is this how he had gotten to Casey, too? You hate how much it turns you on to think that he’s been here the whole time. 

“Take a guess, come find me.”

Stu watches through the crack in the door as you stand from the couch with that puzzled look on your face. You spin around, the phone still pressed to your ear. 

“What happens if I find you?”

Stu stays silent for a minute, watching you look around the living room to find him. Just as you get to the closet, your palm resting on the handle, he responds. 

“I get to see what your insides look like.”

He pushes the closet door open and shoves you against the wall. You squeak, letting the phone clatter to the ground. Stu grabs your wrists in one of his hands and pins them above your head. 

His other hand reaches for the knife in his waistband, holding up at eye level so you can see it. Your heart speeds up, your arms shake, your knees threaten to buckle. 

He presses the knife at the centre of your collarbone, just above where your t-shirt begins. You can feel the sharp tip press into your skin, just enough to cause a bead of blood to roll down your chest. 

“The things I’m going to do to you,” he breathes. 

You almost call his name, but you know he’s not your boyfriend right now. You know he needs to let go, and part of that is to let go of himself, too. 

He drags the knife down, cutting into the fabric of your t-shirt. He applies just enough pressure to easily slide the fabric, but not enough to actually hurt you. Still, you can feel the cool metal on your bare skin and it causes you to whimper. 

Stu groans. You’re being so good for him, standing so still and just letting him do what he needs to do. He digs the knife into the soft fabric of your shorts, taking his time in slicing them down the middle. 

Both pieces of fabric fall to the floor, leaving you in just your underwear in front of him. “I-I—” you’re not sure what you’re trying to say, but the words won’t come out regardless. 

“I-I-I,” he mocks, holding the blade against your throat. “I’m gonna fucking ruin you.”

You whimper and kick against him, your knee grinding against the bulge in his robe. He drags the knife just above your collarbone. He presses in hard, hard enough to draw blood. 

The warm blood leaks down your chest, dripping down your stomach and your underwear. The slight sting makes you whine even more and rub your thighs together. 

He releases your hands. “Run,” he whispers. 

You don’t waste a second in obeying him. As soon as your feet are on the ground, you’re tearing away from him. You can hear him walking at a leisurely pace behind you, laughing mockingly. Something about him chasing you, cutting you…it’s overwhelming, it makes your head fuzzy with pleasure. 

You run up the stairs, turning away as soon as your feet meet the plush carpet of the landing. You turn around, only to see that he’s gone. You suck in a breath. Where could he have gone?

Arms wrap around your waist, a knife pressed into your side. “Got you.”

You squeal, kicking against him. He’s much stronger than you, though. He pushes you against the wall, using it as leverage to lift you up. 

You wrap your legs around his waist and let him carry you to your bedroom. He tosses you onto the bed, slamming the door behind him. You squirm, your sheets staining with the blood that dripped down your body while you ran. 

You look up at him with those damned eyes, blinking slowly. His robe is stained with your blood, the knife in his hand slick with the red. 

He crawls on top of you, yanking your underwear off and tossing them into the corner of the room. Your pussy is soaked as it is, but your blood has started to run into the juices, and the smell is fucking intoxicating. 

He moves his face between your legs, the white mask looking up at you. You whimper and roll your hips against his face, staining the white with your red. 

He tears off a strip of fabric from his robe and ties it around your eyes. “No looking,” he orders. 

He tilts the mask up just enough so that his mouth and nose are out before licking up the blood from your thighs. You taste just as good as you smell, and it only makes him want more. He flicks his tongue across your opening and you whine, bucking your hips against his face. 

He goes to work licking and sucking at your clit. He’s drunk from the taste of you, and all he wants is more. He presses the knife against your thigh, digging it in hard enough to draw blood. The pain in your thigh mixed with the pleasure in your core has you crying out, forcing you over the edge. 

You finish hard, your slick coating his mouth and nose. He doesn’t stop, though. He keeps eating you out like you’re his last meal. 

“P-please,” you whine. 

“Please what?”

“Stretch me out, ruin me, just…please?”

Your breathless begging is so fucking cute that he can’t hold back anymore. He pulls the mask over his face again, laying on top of you. He pulls out a pair of plain metal handcuffs, and gets to work securing them around your wrists. He does it tightly enough that it digs into the skin and makes it impossible to escape, but not tight enough to be painful. 

You struggle against the restraints, unable to see or feel him now. He shuffles against you awkwardly, pulling his cock out of his pants. He’s already rock hard, the tip coated in precum. 

He lines up the head at your entrance and shoves his way inside. He’s so perfectly sized, always stretching you out perfectly. You whine, instinctively going to reach out for him before remembering the restraints on your wrists. 

His thrusts are desperate and needy. All he wants, all he needs, is to bury himself inside of you. To fuck you like he needs to and absolutely ruin you. 

“F-fuck,” you stutter out, forcing your hips against his to meet his thrusts. 

His hands grip your waist tightly, his mouth hovering over your pulse point. He licks up the remaining blood from the cut on your collarbone, and the copper taste on his tongue only drives him to fuck you harder. 

The way you're so wet for him, just from him cutting and fucking you. Hovering above you, fucking you like it's the last time, he's never felt more content. It's like the darkest parts in you pacify the darkest parts in him, and that's all he's ever needed.

You can feel yourself getting close, your muscles contracting with every deep thrust. You feel slightly lightheaded, but you’re not sure if it’s from your last orgasm or the blood loss. 

Stu holds you closer, his body collapsing onto yours as his thrusts get sloppier. You know he won’t last much longer, either. 

You squirm, bucking your hips to try and get him as deep as possible. He hits that sweet spot one more time and you come undone, your muscles spasming around him. Your pussy clenches around his cock and that’s all he needs to spill hot cum deep inside of you. 

Your head rolls back, your body going limp. Stu pulls out, kneeling on top of you. “Think you can go another round?”

“C-can you?” You breathe heavily. 

He reaches his hands around the back of your head to remove the blindfold. It takes a minute for your eyes to focus, fixating on the masked man above you. 

“Not me,” he grabs your jaw in his hand and turns your head to the corner, where a man in an identical costume stands. “Him.”

“Him?”

The masked man steps forwards, slowly pulling the mask from his face. Billy Loomis is smiling at you like the devil, “hello, y/n.”

He pulls the mask back on, coming to rest on the bed next to Stu. Both of the Ghostface killers have their eyes fixated on your bound, writhing form on the bed. 

“I think she can do one more,” Stu says. 

“I think so too. I think she could take both of us.”

“B-both of you?” 

Neither boy acknowledges you, too busy talking as if you’re not laying right in front of them. God, they’re going to be the death of you. 

#ghostface x you #ghostface #ghostface smut #ghostface x reader #ghostface x female reader #stu macher ghostface #billy loomis #stu macher #stu macher x female reader #stu macher x you #stu macher x reader #Billy loomis ghostface #Billy Loomis x reader #scream x reader #scream smut #scream x you #scream #x you #x reader

[flowerandblood]

ONE YEAR OF FLOWER&BLOOD

✨🎉🌙✨🎉🌙✨🎉🌙✨🎉🌙✨🎉🌙✨🎉🌙

Exactly one year ago I posted my first chapter of the My Best Friend series. Nowadays I think it's something awful and I don't even try to edit it because I'd have to write everything from scratch, but I've left it for people who feel attached to the story. I remember getting about six likes and one comment on the first day and that huuuuge interest made me eager to create chapter 2 and then all the others.

I remember the excitement with which I waited and then replied to comments, not believing that people were actually waiting for the next chapter. At the time I was literally not following anyone, which was good because I wasn't comparing myself to anyone.

Eventually I felt I was ready to try writing other series and a few were successful enough that I decided to stay here permanently and create because it made me happy. Up to that point, everyone had been very kind to me and I started following more and more blogs, wanting to feel part of the fandom, to make friends with everyone. Now I know that was the biggest mistake I made.

Seeing things that didn't interest me, fanfic's whose way of writing couldn't draw me in, I felt frustrated, while at the same time fearing that if I stopped following someone, that person would see it as an affront. At the same time, The Impossible Choice, my biggest project until The Fall from the Heavens (which I'm currently editing and re-editing, while inserting on AO3), began to be written.

Just when I thought I had reached the pinnacle of my abilities (which wasn't true), I also started to clash with anonymous hate messages, probably the worst of which were those vilifying me and my husband, and those regarding my one-shot with Micheal Gavey. I know now that taking it personally and getting involved was my big mistake, and the fandom was shaken by drama that got out of hand.

I was a few steps away from deleting my blog at the time, but my husband talked me out of the idea (thankfully, as my stories aren't saved anywhere else − I'm only now moving them to AO3).

That's when I first realised that some people here I don't even like, and they probably don't like me. I wondered, why are we following each other then? Why are we pretending to have any courtesy? It was only later that I realised that to be considered someone's friend, you have to reblog their work and preferably agree with them even when they write hurtful things.

Since I've depleted my circle of those I follow to about 20 people, since I've blocked dozens of people and tags, there's been blissful silence (with the exceptions of when I write about behaviour in the fandom that I find toxic and someone accuses me of causing drama, but I'm used to it now). I've also never written happier than I do now.

Ideas come to me on their own, I don't feel uptight about what other big people will think of me, whether they reblog it, approve of it or not. I don't give a shit and life is beautiful! Although I can be emotionally unstable, I'm only 70 people short of crossing the next milestone of 3,000 followers, and that's BIG for me. It amuses me that I keep getting messages that someone is going to block me or stop following me, and you guys keep coming. It's gratifying.

I'm going to keep writing for you guys, and I'm sure during season two you'll also see my posts describing my impressions after the episodes in which I hope to involve my husband. I'll also keep you updated here on how I'm doing with my book I'm creating in my private life.

Apreciation

@ewanmitchellcrumbs

Ange. I know that sometimes I'm fucked up, but I want you to know that you've made this place so much more bearable for me that I can't imagine it without you. What I appreciate most about you is that you can talk and discuss, that you always try to understand the other side, that you are empathetic, warm and kind. I feel that, like friends in everyday life, we can also tell each other about things we disagree about, and there are not many people like that here.

On top of that, you are very talented and your stories are always a pleasure to read, even when they are short, you are able to build the plot and atmosphere perfectly, something I have always admired. Thank you for every kind word and understanding.

I still remember your first message to me via ask, referring to the fact that I didn't want to write a pairing with a mermaid because someone else was writing about it at the same time. My heart melted then, it was so nice!

@targaryenrealnessdarling

Liz, Queen of Angst! Your calmness and composure puts me in awe. You're disgustingly talented when it comes to writing and you have a super-sweet personality. When you started following me I began to squirm with delight, and when you started reblogging my stuff? My goodness!!!

@persephonerinyes

You've been engaging and reblogging my stories for as long as I can remember. Always involved, your thoughts make me smile. Thank you for being with me for so long!

@zenka96

You've been here with me since the dawn of time. You know that I love you. Your support from the very beginning really makes me feel like I have a friend here.

@huramuna

I am so proud of you! I remember your asks when I wrote Glass Cuts Deepest, your illustrations for me and your uncertainty about whether you should start writing yourself. I'm so happy for you and that you are so successful! You deserved it.

@black-dread & @aegonx

You are my favourite gif makers. Your work always leaves me in awe, you are amazing! I know how much work you put into it and somehow you make even the worst lit scenes look wonderful!

@summerposie; @0eessirk8; @melsunshine; @immyowndefender; @bellaisasleep; @kckt88; @thedamewithabook; @happinessinthebeing; @queenofshinigamis; @travelingmypassion; @mefools; @fan-goddess; @toodlesxcuddles; @ammo23; @troublesomesnitch; @mariahossain; @out-of-life; @apothe-roses; @heavenhatesme; @whitearemydarkestnight; @liv-cole; @blackswxnn; @echos-muses; @watercolorskyy; @at-a-rax-ia; @tssf-imagines; @snh96; @hiatuswhore; @exitpursuedbyavulcan; @darylandbethfanforever9; @the-dendrophile-bookdragon; @opheliaas-stuff @zaldritzosrose

Your comments and reblogs make me want to keep writing. You make me laugh, you comfort me and you support me. I know I'm definitely forgetting someone, but I want you to know that I love everyone who comments on my stories and there is nothing better for me than responding to your reactions and questions! I have known some of you for so many months that I truly consider you my good friends!

lottie-blue-star; aveatquevale-; aemondtargaryenwifey marvelescvpe; alphard-hydraes-blog; herejusttostan; li0nn3stuff; alexandrawho; vilmakamunen; angelinap09; theloveablestargirl; rose-blue-19; xxxkat3xxx; flosaureum; mandiiblanche; librawh0re; jasminecosmic99; ivvypg; rojocarnation; killmanduh; tokkiiidoll; wolfdressedinlace; angelofvivianne; nina2697; starwarsgirlsimmer1; katsucker; ipostwhtifeel; aemondsdelight; ilswemoon; tigrigri; pasta-rask; roselibrary; lystargs; gemini-mama; nikstrange; tempo-rary-fix; coffeeobsessedtrencher; gwuinivyre; dreamerbythewayx; diiickbrainn; mothmankit

And everyone else I missed and whose icons I would recognize from afar. I know that you have been with me for many months, often in silence or communicating anonymously. Your silent support and presence is something wonderful for me, knowing that you have been with me for so long and read all my posts!

Thankyouthankyouthankyou!!!!

#one year anniversary #celebration

[ieatangstforbreakfast]

Pairing ೃ⁀➷ 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝟒𝟐! 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ i thought about this plot over and over, and I hesitated publishing it since i don’t want to deviate so much from everything but i said fuck it, so now ere i am, greeting y’all with ‘wassup villain’

Tag list ೃ⁀➷ @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @luvjunie @noetophat @proudgojofucker @depresssedcowboy @shuna-boin

⚠️ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⚠️ Mommy issues, mention of death,, profane language, plot progression. Pronouns keep shifting bc Miles thinks you’re a guy. A bit confusing? Anyways, congrats with your debut. I’ve got uh.. A little surprise? Enjoy.

FIC MASTERLIST

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

"Park behind the building B, McLaren. I’ll have to deal with a separate matter, for now, call backup."

"Yes, miss."

Ring. Ring.

Your head pivots at the sound of your phone’s ringing, eagerly answering the call without having to look into the ID, knowing a thing or two about a certain someone’s timing.

“What’s going on so early in the morning?” Your father haggardly asks. You could already smell the stench of his morning breath from the car.

“We have trespassers in the Warehouse.” You start. “Two of them, partners. The duo we know as the Prowlers.”

“What?” You hear the morning grogginess laced in his voice. “Who leaked the information?”

“I’ve updated Morrison and he’s currently investigating the black market. I suspect a traitor.”

“Evidence?”

“There’d been no reports of outsiders entering the vicinity. All employees have been given fake addresses and all of their gadgets have been monitored— and so far, no one’s been flagged, so my guess is.. A higher up who’s sold us out.”

There you go.

“… I’ll look into it.” Your father mumbles. “Make sure that nothing is released into the media. The election is coming soon, we don’t want to do anything that’ll stir the public.”

“Understood.”

And the call ends just like that.

You blankly look at the road ahead of you, skin itching from the tightness and texture of your leather coat. Laid before your lap was a flat screen, in it were nine boxes— each playing a variety of scenes brought to you by the hidden cameras. Across every box, two swift figures maneuvered past the rooms with incredible ease. Several workers and scientists were sprawled across the jagged floors, motionless like corpses. You grimaced at the possibility of them being dead, but after seeing the thick gas emanating throughout every crevice of the building, you safely assumed that they were simply knocked out.

The Warehouse housed one of your father's investments; an Oscorp-Alchemax experiment funded by the elites, done underground and tested on prisoners to find some sort of super serum. When the new money folks thrusted themselves into the world of High society, most of the higher elites came to applaud the idea of one man.

Harry Osborn.

As a kid, you grew up aspiring to be like Harry. Always so friendly and approachable to anyone and everyone he’s ever met.

He did it so effortlessly that you recognized his niceness as a talent.

Harry came from second generation money— hailing this scientific empire called Oscorp. Having been brought up by his father, Norman, who was an industrialist, Harry was all things sciencey.

After his father's death, Harry sought out a blueprint of his father's past works, finding a journal containing the records of several hypotheses in regard to a variety of drugs. A sort of instruction to turn into a superhuman being, he claims, that his father had put into mind but never really practiced.

A handful of the higher-ups adored the impressionable idea, one of its primary investors being your father. You never really understood his reasons, but when the drug seemingly began showing fruitful results, your father set you up under Antonne's name to supervise Warehouse 317 after Harry entrusted your family to house the experiment.

So at that moment, you weren't you.

And Miles wasn't Miles.

He didn’t know what he was doing here. But he never bothered to really ask since his Uncle seemed tense all throughout the journey.

When Aaron told him to strap up for a sudden mission, he wasn't expecting a raid— nor was he expecting him to bring him to a hidden laboratory containing all these alien-like fuckeries. From glass beakers to drums filled to the brim with some sort of neon liquid, it all varied in levels of strangeness. Everywhere he looked, he could find the same circular, yellow warning sticker staring right back at him. Behind his digital mask, he skims past the unconscious workers— checking every crevice to see if anyone had escaped the incapacitating agent.

“According to the drive, the stuff are located in the north building.” His uncle’s voice snaps him out of the haze. “I’ll be heading there. I’m sure you can fend for yourself?”

“F’course I can,” Miles answered. “I can knock a bitch or two out with these.” He grinned while unfoldding his claw.

“You kiss your mama with that mouth? Watch yo tongue.”

“Yes, sir.”

Aaron pats his shoulder. “Record the evidence, I’ll go find the blueprints.”

With a single nod, Miles sets off with his mission in mind. When the holographic interface materializes from his wrist-mounted control panel, he activates the scanner with a light tap. The digitalized purple light cascades over the room, gathering physical data with each passing step.

He prided in his cut-edge tech— developed into great usage by his and his uncle’s hands. In a way, it reassured him that he had epically great potential, despite the current crisis going on in the city. But of course, his greatest pride was the fact that you liked the idea of the Prowler. That alone harbored him confidence he never knew he had.

Miles never initially thought of himself as a hero, no matter how much he’s worked to save the lower class of New York. Heroes existed in the confines of comic books and kids’ TV shows. He wasn’t super, and he wasn’t a hero either. The term was black and white. Narcissistic, as you would put it.

But he liked playing along to the idea of being a superhero to you.

He wanted you to gawk and admire his vigilante identity. He wanted you to look at the TV early in the morning with a mug of coffee in your hands, pointing at the screen with a squeal, ‘It’s the Prowler!’

Most of all, he wanted you to know about it eventually.

When he passes by the computers, Miles heads straight for the manila folders, unraveling his gauntlet just to grasp the files better.

[ 11 | 10 | 2020 ]

•[𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝: #𝟷𝟷𝟹𝟸] 𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝟻𝟼

𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎. 𝚜𝚞𝚋𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛. 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚞𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜. 𝚍𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚗𝚡𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗.

𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚎𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝. 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝.

With the slightest jolt of his palm, the paper crumbles, and behind it sat another file. He peers through it diligently, only to find a name signed at the bottom.

And it crumples from the clamp of his fist.

Anthony Primo-Chávez.

The surname, Primo-Chávez, was the household name of the family who owns the Primm Hotel, and a single mention of it alone only reignited the anger he was sparing for the upcoming plans. All of the rage he kept to himself was seeping out the cracks of his still-grieving heart, and the grief remained a permanent scar.

And with a whisper of the wind, the warehouse falls into darkness.

There was this chill crawling up his back, and it haunted him. And in the silence that surrounded him, he calls out for his uncle.

And it echoes, and echoes. No one replies. Only the silence answered to his desperate calls. At that point, all that he could hear was the sound of his own heart beating out of his chest— a sort of morbid reminder that he was still alive. It made him wonder if that was all his father heard when he was trapped beneath the fallen carcass all those years ago. Just like that carcass, in the midst of all that darkness, screams begin to bellow.

Oh. One of the scientists have woken up.

But all Miles could picture was all what could’ve happened that night, when everything fell apart. Did they scream like this? Call out for help like this? Did his father struggle to breathe like this?

A lone light shines above the metal rails— a watch window, large and square, gleaming in this daunt violent that flickered and flickered. There was a figure there, dark, willowy, and invasive in the way it stared.

Unmoving, watching. A gaze that lingered like the chill running down his back.

What did they do in here?

Like a croak, the question bubbles up his throat and releases.

“Who are you?”

Like a growl, the voice changer emits the query a too many tones lower. At that question, the being tilts its head.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

Velvety, low, exhausted— and it oozed from the broadcaster mic like a tease. You stared at the Prowler, almost amused by his size. From above, he seemed much tinier, like less of a threat. You feel your breath cascade against the lenses of your gas mask, sweat sticking to the leather of your gloves. There, you see the digitalized magenta and the gleam of his steel claws, as though he meant to intimidate. You stood partially befuddled at the fact that the vigilante everyone revered and loathed was likely a teenager.

“… You don’t know what this place is, don’t you?”

Ｂ　Ｏ　Ｏ　Ｍ.

The wall beside him crumbles into dust.

Miles shields himself from the impact, the cement’s fumes blinding his sights. Upon the activation of his night vision, he searches in behind the violet screen, finding only his uncle emerging from the smoke and debris, rushing with a USB in his hands. Behind him, a flock of guards came rushing in with their ray guns— flames of red bursting into a shower as the man signaled him to run.

Miles casts a quick glance at the window above.

No one’s there.

“ＥＶＡＣＵＡＴＥ ＡＬＬ ＥＭＰＬＯＹＥＥＳ

ＩＭ ＭＥＤＩＡＴＥＬＹ. ＩＭ ＭＥＤＩＡＴＥＬＹ.”

The digital voice commands along with a blaring alarm.

The warehouse that housed this elaborate labyrinth, it continued on and on like a maze. Bland green tiles and white walls, glass screens— like a pattern he immediately grew to dislike. It all went on and on like a fever dream, but Miles’ head was ringing with the sight of the man he saw up the window.

And he lays it all out in his mind, trying to piece it altogether.

Ｂ　Ｏ　Ｏ　Ｍ．

The walls click and collapse, and the floors shake, but Miles doesn’t look back. The sound of the guards’ heavy stomps cease though, eventually replaced with a sort of screech that irked his ears.

It was unfamiliar to him. He’s faced over a hundred bad people, but only the sight of that being unsettled him more than the rest.

“Up ahead!”

He watches as his Uncle heads right out the window with a fall, the shards ricocheting behind him like specs of snow as he throws a carabiner right back at Miles to snatch. His fingers thinly reach for the cord when he’s suddenly assaulted to the ground with a powerful force.

Ｃ　Ｒ　Ａ　Ｓ　Ｈ.

“Agh!” He grumbles in pain, rolling down to the ground. But even then, it wasn’t the pain that made every hair on his limb stand, it was the sound of your heeled boots clicking against the tiles, and the sound of your metal blade scraping against the wall.

“Mornin’, Prowler.”

Exhaustion made the delivery deeper. He senses it in you, and you sense it him. Though he was unaware of what your head was actually filled of, I’ve got a lecture at nine, I still have to do my literature essay, and I want to sleep. Miles wasn’t all that interested at all in what your mind bore. To be fair, from where he was, Miles only saw this figure towering over him with a long knife poking out its sleeve. Some gas mask, and a black leather coat. Even then as you stood above him, he could only watch as you fixed your gloves, pulling farther beneath your sleeve.

“It’s an honor to meet you like this.”

Fwip. With a crisp cut, the cord that connected him to his partner was severed. You throw it out the window along with the metal piece. “I’m not so usually cruel, but you’re trespassing my family’s property—“

“So this is your family’s property.” He stands back up, hands aching to fight. “Primo-Chávez. As I recognized.”

He claws at you, but instead, the metal meets the end of your unsheathed blade with a clink!

“You’re smart.” And when you pull away, he stumbles backward. “Let’s see if that’ll save you.”

Crack! The walls quivered as Miles narrowly avoided the blade aimed for his neck. He raises his gauntlets, lunging right at you with swift punches, to which you countered gracefully with quick blocks. Eventually, he manages to take hold of your shoulders, shoving you back with feet tangled like knots. You lower down and hook your heel over his ankle, pulling with force as he falters.

You crack your neck, pressing your heel over his shoulder to keep him down. “I’ll be honest with you, I think you’re awfully underwhelming.” You lean down to his level, musing yourself in the way he heaved.

“But I can forgive all that.” Your fingers fiddle with the strap of his backpack. “You’re useful in a way—“

With a gauntlet over your neck, he slams you against the wall.

“I ain’t working for nobody,” He churned. “And I definitely won’t be fucking working for people like you.”

“I never said you had to work for me.” You calmly replied despite his grip. “You just have to make better decisions from now on.”

“Fuck you mean by that?”

From the ache your neck bore, you knew it was gonna leave a bruise.

“Aren’t you supposed to be smart?”

He furrows his brows at that statement, holding himself back as he taunts. “… I wonder how your father is going to abandon you once I set this little investment of his on fire.”

Rather than the silence or panic he hoped, Miles heard you laugh.

“Do it.” You playfully suggest. “Do it, and kill all the other interns, employees, and guards in here.” Despite your façade, he could still sense the smirk creeping up your lips. “Then think to yourself, ask yourself; are you any better than my family?”

That alone catches him by surprise.

“… You’ve got a lot to learn.”

“What do you m—“ Before he could even finish off his sentence, a powerful strike ricochets into his stomach, sending him off to the other wall. A loud grunt emanates from his lips, hands gripping the lower of his belly as you set your foot down. “The next time we meet, do promise me that you’ll be much more of a promising opponent. Today was.. Eventless.” Your gaze sets sights on the camera hidden in the corner.

“For now, I’ll have to let someone else do the job.”

As though on cue, you see his partner rush in with the broken cord in his hand. The same broken cord you’d thrown out. Without another word, he lunges at you with lightning speed, and the way you collide with the glass wall sends ripples across the corridor.

“You goddamn son of a bitch.”

“Long time no see.”

Ｃ　Ｒ　Ａ　Ｓ　Ｈ.

And from then on, Miles watches as this figure and his uncle battled amidst the labyrinth. But your words struck him hard, ‘Long time no see’— what did that mean? Did his uncle have a sort of connection to the elites, or has he worked for the upper class before?

With how his punches flew, Miles sensed this sort of undying rage that crackled with the quiver of his Uncle’s fist.

Why did this battle seem so natural? Like the two of them know each other’s moves too well.

“I see you’ve resigned.” You curtly brought up, grunting as he mercilessly charges at you. “And seems like you’ve brought a little something with you.” Upon the mention of Miles, Aaron struck back with a blow, feigning ignorance at your words. Despite your state, you managed to put up a great fight. “Why did you bring him here? He doesn’t seem fit for the job—“

“Stop the small talk, Antonne.”

Antonne.

Anthony Primo-Chávez.

“I’m simply being polite,” You grinned. “It’s been a while, don’t you think so too?”

With that alone, Miles somehow confirmed that the figure was the heir of the hotel in the flesh. The man responsible for the deaths of many— the man responsible for the death of his father. But something felt wrong, like a sense that was gnawing at his guts.

He couldn’t pinpoint what it was exactly.

Just of now, Miles realizes that he had no place here, at least, not yet. But he was just as confused as the other guy, why did his uncle bring him here if it was too dangerous?

“Is your sister also a piece of shit like you?”

Sister?

“She’s a little more pacifist than all of us.”

You lie so naturally, it was like second-nature to you— as though it was your second, utterly ridiculous hobby next to scheming. To play the part of Antonne was excruciating enough, but it was enjoyable in a way. You haven’t seen the Prowler for about four years— last seeing him when you were twelve, when he worked for the Fisks until his abrupt resignation. Next thing you and the elite knew, the mercenary who once worked for the high-class was now a vigilante working against them.

No one particularly knew the reason why. You somewhat guessed what it was.

And when the both of you crashed past the danger zone, you knew that the situation was way beyond your grasps from this point on, and the best you could hope for was a perfect gamble.

The man grabs all that he could in his anger, from glass beakers to steel rods, he figures splashing you with whatever thing he could find can help in making you perish from his sights.

You fight back, without the usage of anything else except the blade, only until Aaron repeatedly smashes your head inside a closed-off frozen cage. The two of you fall right in, breaking some sort of container in the process.

“What the fuck?”

Like a flame, it sears your skin— causing you to panic and recklessly pat away at the tar-like substance enveloping you in its sticky embrace. Without even a shriek, it consumes your system entirely, sending you down on your knees.

And the next thing you know, everything else fades into black.

Aaron pulls away, in shock of the dark matter unveiling before him. Immediately, he places a hand over Miles’ eyes, ushering him away.

From afar, they could hear the police sirens coming.

“Let’s— let’s go.” Aaron hurriedly commands.

“Uncle Aaron.”

Miles exhaustively calls out to him.

“Uncle Aaron!”

As his mask unfolds, Miles squints as the sunlight seeping from the tall trees welcomes him, shielding his face with his hands while trudging across the stones to meet his Uncle’s steps. Aaron pauses for a moment, taking only one look back.

“Why’d you bring me there?” Miles directly starts. “I wasn’t strong enough to be there— who was that guy? How- How did you suddenly know about the location of the warehouse, how did— I don’t— I-I have school in three hours, I don’t get why you had to bring me along—“

“That girl you’re seeing,” Aaron intervenes without a waste of breath. “What’s her last name?”

Miles takes a step back, furrowing his brows.

“[L/n].”

Aaron nods. “… It’s the same as the file.”

“What?”

“Bring her to dinner.”

Now everything further confused him, what did you have to do with all of this?

“I-I can’t bring her to dinner yet— what do you mean part of the f— we haven’t even gone on a date yet!”

The date set for tomorrow. The trick-or-treating date Miles had always longed for. Aaron tosses his hand upward. “Just make it quick and let me meet her.” He commands in a rush, pacing his steps faster. “We’ve got to get moving before they find us.”

“But— I don’t get it. What does [Y/n] have to do with all of this?"

Aaron stops for a moment, looking up before heaving a long, jagged sigh.

“… I got a file last night. Sent by an anonymous number. Someone managed to take a picture of you and your girl earlier when you were walking her home.”

Hearing this, a bundle of worries begin to churn in Miles’ mind. This whole night enough was messy for him, and he couldn’t understand why things were getting so complicated. Like what Antonne said earlier, it was ingrained into his mind, Aren’t you supposed to be smart?

“Along with the pictures, I got sent a file. [Y/n] [L/n], is..” Aaron consequently looks into his nephew’s eyes, a sort of hesitation imbued in his system. “Somewhat connected to the Primos.”

Miles halts entirely, and over and over, like how he’s always asked for the last hour. “What?”

“I.. I’ll just tell you when we get home.”

It was many years ago, when your mother endowed this habit of sitting you down by her vanity just to comb your hair and fix you up like a doll.

At that time, you were a tiny little girl with tiny little legs that were unable to reach the floor, instead opting to dangle them with light kicks from your seat— thinking you were some kind of mermaid. During those times, you could only spot at least the whole of your head staring right back at you, but rather than yourself, you marveled at the sight of your mother and her clothes.

The colors she wore were patterned in dates. Mauve, pink, white, and sometimes vermilion in special occasions. Those were the days she used to pick out your clothes for you, and whenever you complained about the color being too bright or dull, your mother would claim that she'd know your colors the best.

As you got older, and when you started dressing for yourself, in the colors you liked, and in the sort of mauve and pink that suited you, you watched as your mother would stare at you from afar with an irate frown, and silently, you'd think to yourself.

Even in the way I rebel against you, you still see yourself in me, because when you look at me, you see only a mirror of your younger self grimacing in disgust. You'd come so far to convince yourself that you're at the height of your being, but your daughter and your child-self only sees mediocrity.

…

“Miss?”

A flurry of people. Lots of talking. You despised that.

“Miss, are you awake?”

“[Y/n], wake up this instant!”

And at your father’s instruction, your eyes peel open almost immediately. You’re greeted with the sight of the ceiling, and your skin covered in warmth. You look at yourself, finding bruises all over your arms, still wearing your white dress shirt and formal pants. Silently, you force yourself to sit up despite the ache you felt, wincing as you spot several faces surrounding you. There was your father, pacing back and forth, certainly distressed about something; Antonne, with his arms crossed, sitting by the edge of your bed; some physician, silently standing by the side with her hands clasped together; and Harry Osborn standing alongside her.

“What’s going on in here?” You haphazardly asked.

“You almost died.” Antonne stirs the silence. “The Warehouse was set on fire, and you were still inside.”

“The warehouse was set on fire!?” You jolt up, only now realizing the dirty looks from your father. “That’s impossible, how could—“

“There were traces of gasoline.” Emerging from the doors, your father approaches you with a sort of chagrin in his glare. “Since you failed to capture or at least slow down the perpetrators, that happened.”

“… You’re placing the blame on me?” You ask, hardly believing your ears.

“We’re not—“ Just as Harry’s about to speak, your father intervenes. “Yes, we are. Because of your incompetence, we lost millions worth of money in damages!”

“Sir, calm down.”

“Father, this is what I’ve been telling you about.” Antonne pinches the bridge of his nose. “She’s sixteen! How could she have possibly fought against a mercenary!?”

“I did better than you.” Poison spewed from your lips, losing all sort of rationality. “This has never happened before. Whenever there was something any of you asked me to do, I did my very best. How could I possibly perform my best when I lacked sleep and I was dependent on coffee!?”

“Your brother is right.”

Hearing that alone was a nightmare.

“Although you’re talented in upkeep and information, you’re too young to fight against an ex-assassin.”

You helplessly scramble off the bed. “Daddy, you’re being unfair.”

Daddy. It’s like you were a ten-year-old fighting for his attention once again. You looked at Antonne, and then your father, shifting in complacency. “I worked for three years, ceaselessly. Even if it meant giving up my weekends and studying so hard that it made my nose bleed. I got the job done, even if no one paid me or thanked me, I still did everything.”

“We’ve lost a lot of resources,” Harry begins. “And we’ve been brought back to square one because of the fire.”

Before Harry could even finish off his explanation, you lift a finger and point at him accusingly. “This is because one of your people decided to leak information—“ In between your rant, Antonne attempts to soothe you. “Had it not been for the fact that you decided to let untrusted people into the faction, we wouldn— stop it, Antonne— we wouldn’t be dealing with this sort of thing. Mother warned you about it, and you brushed off her every warning— STOP IT, ANTONNE!” You finally yelled out. Your brother ceases, lifting his hands off of you after he sees that you’re shaking.

What’s wrong with me?

Why am I being more emotional than usual?

The way the rage consumed you left you in dismay. At a short moment of epiphany, you run your hands across your face and, like a switch, all of your emotions reboot.

“I apologize. I spoke out of line.”

That line alone was chilling.

“I’m sorry, [Y/n].” The tender way Harry called out your name was unfathomable. “I know it’s upsetting that your job is being taken away from you, and you have every right to get upset. However, for your sake and your health, you can pass on these responsibilities to Montrell for now.”

“Montrell’s in London.” You add. “He can’t possibly take over—“

“He’s not in London.” Antonne confesses. You furrowed your brows, shaking your head. “What are you talking about?”

“… It was going to be a surprise but..”

Oh no.

“Oh,” You blankly state, your mind rioting. “I see.”

“It’s an unplanned decision, really,” Your father explains. “Montrell also has no idea that you’ve taken Antonne’s place in taking care of the hotel for the last three years. It’d be better for you, as well, to take a break.”

You wanted to scream, break down, curse at everyone.

“I’m sorry for being too harsh on you, [Y/n].” Harry eases, placing a hand over your shoulder. “However, you have to understand that it’s also for the best.”

“I understand.” Fuck you, and fuck all of you.

“We’ll leave you to rest for now.” Yeah, leave me the fuck alone before I melt the fuck down.

As they step out, all the tension in the room leave along with the squeak of their fine, leather dress shoes. You’re left with the silent physician, whose presence you’d completely forgotten despite the wildness of her dark curls. She shifts uncomfortably, parting her lips to speak, only to find that she didn’t know what to say.

“What is it?” You ask, lowering your voice so as to not intimidate. Prompting to break the silence in her place.

The woman blinks at you, somewhat relieved by your words.

“Can I be direct, Miss?” She sternly asks.

“It’ll be better off that way, frankly.”

She leans a little closer, tugging on the sleeve of your arm. “When you first got here, your body was riddled with cuts, bruises, and broken bones around— oh, can I touch you?”

You squirm. “I’m not a relic.”

“Sorry ‘bout that. Most of the rich people I’ve worked with were usually snobby douches who think their skin shed gold.” She subtly laughs, raising the fabric up higher. “Initially, I believed you were exactly that kind of rich kid, but after seeing what happened, you don’t seem like anything they say.”

You raise a brow. “.. Have we met each other before?”

She looked at you as though you’d just insulted her, her eyes about to pop off her thick-rimmed glasses.

“.. I work at Alchemax. I’m the head of the research team in the particle accelerator project— we’ve spoken many, many times before.”

“.. You’re not my physician?”

Her lips tighten into a line. “I take what I said back. You’re exactly like all those other rich kids.”

“W-well, I’m sorry.” You grumbled. “I work with a hundred different people almost every single day, my mind usually shuts down when I’m at work.”

“Well, your father did just drag me out of the line and forced me to fix you up since they didn’t want to risk calling for a doctor who doesn’t know that you’re parading as your brother.” She spoke so quickly, it made you rethink what she just said three times. “Anyways— I needed to tell you that under my observations, you’ve healed yourself in a supernaturally fast rate that it’s groundbreaking.”

“What?”

“Six hours ago, you had broken bones in here,” She points her fingers at your shoulder. “Here,” Followed by your thigh. “And here.” Then your calf. “But after seeing your little drama session with your father, you were able to move yourself without any sort of pain. Initially, I concluded that you must’ve had some very high pain tolerance, but I noticed that so many of your cuts and bruises have all been healed, and that,” Her fingers trace a line over your neck. “That was red as hell just moments ago. Now, it’s gone.”

Oh, the mark you got from Prowler Jr after he choked the hell out of you.

You liked calling him that. Prowler Jr— a smaller, rustier protégée of the Prowler you grew up with.

“.. I wonder why so.”

There was a wily grin on her face that unsettled you tremendously.

“Well, without your father looking, I ran a test on you.”

“You what?”

Without even a single second to lose, the woman takes out few samples from her bag, laying them all out before you with a couple of handwritten documents.

“Here.” She states so proudly.

You marveled at all that she’s written— unfortunately for you, her handwriting was so messily done that you couldn’t understand a single damn thing.

“… You could get sued for this, you know that?”

“Your father wouldn’t. Unlike his children, he can’t find a replacement for me.”

Your mouth hung in disbelief at what you just heard. Rather than acknowledging the insult, however, she plucks out a print of what you assumed were tiny splotches of black tar on a petri dish.

“What the hell is that?”

“I got that swabbed out of your mouth.”

“Oh fuck, I thought I’d dieted enough for the performance!”

“It’s not sweets, sweetheart.” She answered defeatedly, clearly full of your unsure-weaponized-incompetence. “It’s a mysterious symbiote that we’ve recently caught hold of four months ago, and during your fight with the Prowler, it forged itself into your system.” Her fingers trace down your arm, grasping the center of your wrist while grinning. “And it can make you do this.”

As she squeezes your hand, a black matter ejects from your palm. You jolt away, slapping her hand off as you curse.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT!?”

“The symbiote.” She casually replies. “Isn’t it amazing?”

It retreats like a slimey being, pushing itself back into your skin as though it’d all been a mere hallucination.

“You mean to tell me there’s some alien slime living inside my body!?”

“Well, yes—“

“GET IT OUT OF ME!”

She winces at the loudness of your voice, moving back an inch away. “That’ll take a while for me to dissect. You have to come to my lab tomorrow if you want me to find a way to pull that away from you.”

“I can’t go tomorrow.” You had a date with Miles, and that alone was reasonable enough to miss anything and everything else. “I-I have practice for the fundraiser on Sunday, and I’m still the hostess, so I have to make sure that the preparations are seamless.”

“… I have a comment, but I’m not sure if you’ll like it since you probably hear it all the time.”

“What? That I’m just like my mother?”

She scrunches her nose. “I was going to say that you’re too young to be acting so old.” The woman turns away, beginning to pack up her things again. “You’re sixteen. You should be going out to parties, creating fake IDs, sneaking out to make out with your boyfriend— whatever other shit girls your age like to do.”

You try your hardest not to react at the last mention, since that was definitely what you just did a few hours before. You begin to rub your hands, the friction warming you up as your shoulders shrug.

“Well, as much as I want to do all that, I’ve got too much to do.”

“You won’t be sixteen forever, Miss.” She tosses the bag over her shoulder. “Take that from me. I’m forty-six, and I’ve went through a lot. I’d give everything to be your age again.”

As you watch her head for the door, you call out to her one last time.

“.. Call me [Y/n]. I don’t like it when people way older than me call me ‘miss’.”

She raised her brows. “Alright then, [Y/n].” Your name rolls off her tongue gently.

“How about you? What do I call you?”

With a hand over the knob, the woman beamed.

“.. I’m Olivia Octavius, but you can call me Liv.”

#miles morales #astv x you #42 miles morales #42 miles morales x reader #astv x reader #astv miles #astv #astv x y/n #miles morales x reader #miles morales x you #earth 42 miles morales x female reader #earth 42 miles x you #earth 42 prowler #earth 42 miles fluff #earth 42 miles morales x you #earth 42 miles x reader #miles 42 #earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles morales 1610 #prowler miles x reader #prowler miles #miles morales prowler #prowler x reader #atsv prowler #astv fanfic #spiderman astv

[vaspider]

Pete Buttigieg is not the fucking point.

Truly amazed at the people whose big takeaway from that thread is "you hate Pete Buttigieg" like buddy did you not... read... all of it?

I genuinely don't give a shit about Pete himself. If you think this is about Democratic self-devouring or whatever the fuck, please mentally substitute Ellen or George Takei or Rachel Maddow or your favorite Other Respectable Gay. I hear some dude named Rubin is even a conservative who is getting turned on for adopting a baby? I don't know who he is and I don't care (do not tell me, I do not care) but if it makes you feel better, substitute any of those names.

I think the ones that actually make me sad are the people who keep insisting that 70% of people support gay marriage, and that I'm just 'acting out my trauma', and we won't see things turn against us, we're perfectly safe now, how dare I say that cishets won't put themselves out for us when it counts, it's different now.

Honey, 99% of people want tomorrow to go on pretty much like today, and what they'll support when it doesn't cost them anything has nothing to do with what they'll support when it does. Those of us telling you 'we were abandoned before, and we were the ones who took care of us then' aren't telling you because we're incorrigibly bitter misanthropes. I am annoyingly hopeful, actually, and in love with humanity and the beauty of life. Seriously, I have to write poems about it because I love the universe and all of humanity so fucking much. One of the things I love about humanity is its fragility and its uncertainty. I love the ways in which we fail.

And humans, over and over again, turn our eyes away from tragedy.

If you are lucky enough to have cishet friends and family who will put themselves out for you when it really matters, that is fucking fantastic. That's not nearly universal, and I'm afraid that you're going to find out sooner rather than later that it's far less universal for you than you'd like to believe.

At the end of the day, you can believe me or not about all of this. You can say that I'm just a bitter old transfag, an angry old dyke, a traumatized old queer if it lets you sleep better at night, if it allows you to just close your eyes and say 'this is all going to be fine, because 70% of people support marriage equality!' and get some rest. I can't make you pay attention.

And the thing is? I'd love to be wrong. I would absolutely love for every cishet who has ever said "one of them" or said "well, I mean, I just don't want to see it, they can do whatever they want in private" or whatever to turn out to be the raddest fucking ally the world has ever seen. I know it can happen! My in-laws went from being Baptist homophobes to getting weekly chatty update phone calls from the two trans women refugees from Latin America who they housed and helped get their papers sorted and who are now living in New York and call them Mom and Dad. Like, truly, it can fucking happen!

But you can't count on that from the vast majority of people, because when it comes down to it, most people want tomorrow to go on pretty much like today. You're much more likely to be able to count on someone with a dog in the hunt.

More than that, though, the point of that essay -- which, when people miss it, they miss it so hard that it feels deliberate, honestly -- is that all of our bullshit infighting doesn't mean dick. I've been saying that for years, begging people to think inclusively about our community, begging people to stop all the bullshit infighting because I could see this shit fucking coming, you didn't need to be Cassandra to see it coming but sometimes I felt like I was screaming until my throat was horse, the fucking tsunami is coming, it's coming, motherfuckers, can't you see the way the water is pulling back?

And here we are, and all the arguing about whether bi lesbians are "valid" doesn't matter, and everyone's attempt to gatekeep butch and femme doesn't matter, and everyone's arguments about whether neopronouns are bad doesn't fucking matter because we are all just fags, dykes and trannies to them, they do not care for one fucking second about any of this. None of them care for one second about our infighting. No one is going to stop and ask you what your orientation is so they can call you the right slur when they're gaybashing you, kids. They. Don't. Care.

So now here we are, and people are acting like the point of the essay is that I wanted to call one particular dude a fag, rather than that it doesn't matter how perfectly primed you are to fit into Respectable WASP Society, it is your queerness which is objectionable. It is your gayness. It is your transness. It is your bisexuality, your asexuality, your lesbianism. You will never be granted rights and respectability. You have to defend your rights, and stop giving a shit about respectability as a metric of whether or not someone deserves them.

I mean, for fuck's sake, some Iowa voters tried to withdraw their caucus support once they realized that Pete was gay. It literally fucking happened. There's video. Someone they supported above all the other candidates in the Iowa primary was immediately disqualified for them to the point where they tried to retract their support the minute they found out he was gay.

That's the fucking point. I don't care who you use as your Proxy Respectable Gay.

Pete Buttigieg is not the fucking point.

[gallavichthings]

It's time!

How would you all like 21 22 fics on the 21st 22nd of December?

The Gallavich Masquerade Ball 2023 is now open! Grab a glass of champagne or anything else you'd prefer, some hors d'oeuvres, and choose your (first) dance partner for the night!

You can check all the fics in our AO3 collection or on this post, after the cut. A list of all authors with links to their profiles is also included. This post is pinned so you can check it whenever you want.

And here's the link for the form where you can put your guesses. It's only one form for all the fics, so please wait to submit your guesses only after you've read them all.

Here's the updated point system:

Points for readers: Correct guess on first choice: 5 points. Correct guess on second choice: 2 points. Incorrect guess: lose 1 point. (Please note that you only lose 1 point per story, even if you guess incorrectly on both choices.)

Points for writers: If someone correctly guesses your fic (regardless of in the first or second choice): 1 point. If someone wrongfully guesses your fic: 3 points.

Leaving kudos and comments is allowed and appreciated! Writers are also allowed to answer, but it's up to them whether to already do it or wait until everyone's identity is revealed so as not to give anything away accidentally. Oh, and if you want to post something about the fics here on Tumblr but can't tag them, I can serve as buffer for now lol.

Oh, and the surprise? The winners will get some great fanart, courtesy of the talented @doshiart! Isn't that awesome?! 🥂

Cheers!

Keep reading to get a list of all the fics with their summaries and word count, as well as a list of all the authors, with links to their AO3 profiles.

FICS:

AITA?  (2,072)

AITA? My new clients (29M and 31M) threatened me and I want to fire them. I know that’s not official therapist speak. TLDR; I want to encourage them to have healthier boundaries and find a new therapist, but until then, what do I do?

Attitude adjustment (4,483)

Post-canon Ian and Mickey figure out some relationship issues. That includes insults, (play-)fighting, more insults, and orgasms. Or: Mickey is having an attitude. Thank god Ian knows exactly what to do.

Black Charcoal meets Fiery Red (1,838)

Ian poses in a life drawing class. A straight forward job, if not for the guy with the blue eyes who can't stop staring at him.

Carnival (3,136)

Ian and Mickey spend the evening at a carnival... "Ian locked the car’s door, and put his arms around Mickey’s shoulders, as they walked towards the carnival. He had brought the leaflet home a few days ago, wiggling the colorful sketch of a carousel and the outdated font under Mickey’s nose with some hopeful glee. Mickey had protested for habit sake, but had caved in pretty easily..."

Five Dates with Brad f*cking Pitt (4,269)

Sometimes things may not be what they seem. Especially when there are assholes around who add fuel to the fire just for the sake of a fucking joke.

Groceries (2,260)

A routine trip to the store turns into a trip down memory lane.

The Guardians (4,879)

3,000 years ago, they had to join forces to defeat an evil sorcerer. Now, the sorcerer was back, and more powerful than ever. Could they defeat him for good?

i'll find a new place to be from (5,947)

They stand in silence for a couple beats, unspoken words lingering above their heads. The cig in his hand has long burned out and Ian resists the temptation to light up another, and another. He feels his mouth open, and close, then open again–but nothing comes out. Time’s up. "See you inside, Red," Mickey finally says before pushing the door open, and Ian remembers how to breathe.

Infused Attraction (3,434)

Mickey has to receive Iron infusions. Ian is a student nurse who is assisting the other nurses with the infusion. Mickey is interested in the redhead. Ian is seemingly interested in him too. Let's see how it goes!

Italy (I Trust And Love You) (3,183)

"Ian closed his eyes and ran a hand through his damp hair. He sighed and straightened his shoulders. Took a deep breath, as if to steal himself for some monumental task, and walked off down the sidewalk. The rain made quick work of drenching him. Ian didn’t seem to notice. In the dirt beneath the tree, drawn in crude blocky letters made with the toe of his boot: I + M." OR A story mostly told through Debbie's eyes during world war two, as she worries for all her brothers, but particularly the one sent home much before the rest.

Jump To Recipe (5,977)

Hiring Mickey Milkovich - Freelance Photographer to shoot the photos for his food blog was the best move Ian’s ever made. Mickey’s a fantastic shot, plus he’s committed to the success of Ian’s blog. (He’s fucking hot, too. But that’s just an added bonus.) And the best thing about him, is that in all the ways he’s professional behind the camera, he’s refreshingly unprofessional to Ian’s face. Which means when he comes around, Ian always knows he’s in for a good laugh, intriguing conversation, and an ego boost - Mickey never shy about how much he loves Ian’s food when they dig in after the shoot. Ian’s made chocolate lava cake today. But when extra time leads to their at-home appointment going way off script - Mickey wanting to update Ian’s headshots, but with a twist - who will the spicier photos leave wanting more, the “housewife army” from his blog’s comment section, or Ian and Mickey?

A Lot (4,245)

What could have happened if Ian had told Mickey that he was worried about going to Mexico with him?

The man in the van (2,141)

“Suppose I should thank you for the compliment then,” Ian teases, smirking a little. The guy snorts. “Don’t mention it, Red. I just call ���em like I see ‘em.” He proceeds to shamelessly check Ian out again, licking the corner of his mouth as he does. or Ian Gallagher wouldn't mind some excitement in his life. Enter one Mickey Milkovich, ready to oblige.

ole red (5,596)

Mickey is out of prison and walking the straight and narrow with help of his cheering section, P.O. Larry . It’s hard being tough in a pastel polo and dad shorts. Old Army is just a paycheck until he meets the assistant manager, Ian. Finally he figures out Ian was Mandy’s Ian from their teen years. Mickey is attracted to the redhead but is still closeted. Ian responds to Mickey lashing out by revealing he knows Mickey’s secret. Mickey decides to be brave and the reward , huge 😈

The Reason to Exist (4,851)

lieutenantcolonel [18:22]: can you stop stealing my loot lieutenantcolonel [18:22]: this team only needs 1 sharpshooter anyway 😐 mm1234567890 [18:23]: shut up u f** lieutenantcolonel [18:23]: WHAT

Red Hot (4,364)

Ian's workday has been shitty... but his afternoon might just be very different. Thanks to his favorite nephew and a certain mouthy and opinionated stall owner at the winter farmer's market.

A Salute Before We Sink (4,601)

The world will end tomorrow. Ian's only chance at survival is to earn a spot in an underground bunker. One man stands in his way.

Snowballs and Sneaking Out (2,441)

Mickey shows up to the Gallagher House in the middle of the night with a surprise for Ian.

So drunk on you (3,878)

"Then Mickey launches himself into quite a detailed account of the previous evening and there goes Ian’s sanity. He’s learned over the months to hone his selective hearing. That is, he’s not tuning Mickey out completely but he’s trained his brain to gloss over the facts that fall under the TMI category and focus on the highlights. Again, for the sake of his sanity. Because the thing is, he’s so gone on Mickey it’s actually embarrassing. And he’s been gone pretty much from the very beginning." Just another friends-to-lovers story.

Span the Distance, Bridge the Border (4,988)

Ian and Mickey are happy, living on the West Side and adjusting to life as husbands in their new apartment. Things are going well, really well, until one day Mickey’s brothers show up. And God only knows what they could possibly want.

weight of the world (3,360)

Mickey thought he was fucked for life and that he’d never see his mom again. Turns out he was wrong about both of those things.

Wonderful- a Gallavich Christmas Mini-fic (5,030)

In which Mickey learns the reason for the season or How the Mick gained Christmas.

AUTHORS:

Blodeuwedd

Calli_Writes

Captain_Jowl

energie_vie

Gallabitch73

gallawitch

Gembu

GrandSelfMythology

IanGalagher

JuliaKay

lingy910y

MissSnowwhitepink

mmmichyyy

My_Brain_Melted

NotHereNJ

Rayrayor

sam_writes_fics

Suzy_Queue

sweet_perversion

Sweetbee78

whatthebodygraspsnot

whatyouandihave

#Gallavich #Ian x Mickey #Shameless #Shameless US #Gallavich fanfiction #Gallavich Masquerade 2023 #Events #Mod post #now updated

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

SKZ DRABBLE-OT8

The one where presenting triggers an avalanche of unknown roles. And Minho was definitely not meant to be a scientist.

or

The Twenty Third Installment of the SKZ!Pack Prequel Series.

Tags: Skz, Stray Kids, Stay, OT8, SKZ!pack, SKZ!abo, Poly!Skz, Omegaverse, FemReader, SKZ x you, SKZ x reader, OT8 x you, OT8 x reader, Bang Chan, Lee Minho, Seo Changbin, Hwang Hyunjin, Lee Felix, Han Jisung, Kim Seungmin, Yang Jeongin, Y/N, SKZ!pack prequel, Pack!Prequel, prequel series, new, update, Skz drabble

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Mentions of vomit

Title: Scientific Method

“What do we do? Is there someone we should call?” Jisung paces frantically, his fingers buried in his hair, his expression panicked. 

Hyunjin scoffs from his spot on the couch, his arms folded over his chest, his whole posture stiff and screaming anger still. “What do you think there is? Some sort of ‘Presentation Police’?”

“Hyunjin.” Changbin warns in a low tone from beside the omega, eyes flashing to the distress obvious on Jisung’s face, in the souring of his scent. 

The distress flooding everyone at this point. 

“He’s right though.” Seungmin comments from his spot against the wall, watching everyone warily, as if he’s studying you all. “We will have to get the appropriate paperwork from the Heat Clinic to excuse him from studies.” 

The beta shifts slightly, clearing his throat. “And delayed presentations, from what I’ve read, are like a heat, but on steroids. So whether he knows it or not, he’s gonna need an alpha-a knot-sooner rather than later.” 

You don’t miss the way Changbin and Chan stiffen at his words, a muscle flinching in Chan’s clenched jaw. 

Minho sighs, reaching out a hand to stop Jisung’s endless pacing, tugging the beta to him and tucking him beneath the safety of his chin. 

Jisung’s body stills, but his foot still taps anxiously against the floor. 

“What do we do now though? At this exact moment?” 

Seungmin shrugs. “We’ll have to ask him-what he needs, what he wants. Every omega-especially newly presented ones-are different. No two are the same.” 

Hyunjin snorts from his position on the couch, anger flaring to life in the dark recesses of his eyes. 

“He’s in no fucking condition to talk, Seungmin. Kid can’t even keep water down. He’s miserable.” 

You know why he’s angry-and he has a right to be-but your alpha growls warningly in response at the slight bitter flare to his scent, as if he’s challenging you. 

You discreetly put a hand over your nose and breathe through your mouth, because the scents colliding in the room right now-heightened by uncertainty and rampaging emotions-are threatening to overwhelm you. 

You can feel a headache starting to pound behind your eyes. 

“He’s probably scared.” Felix whispers, eyes large and dark, expression grave and worried. He’s picking at a string on the blanket across his lap, and Hyunjin breaks his inactivity to reach out and place his fingers comfortingly over the other omega’s. 

Felix gives him a grateful look before he continues. 

“Someone needs to be there for him. I don’t know what late presentations are like, thank god, but I do know what heats are like, and he’s not going to want to be alone.” 

Chan clears his throat, resignation in his eyes as he steps forward, glancing between you, Changbin, and Minho. 

“We have responsibilities as the alphas of this pack to take care of our own. We need to ask him who he wants, before he suffers needlessly.” 

“He’s already suffering.” Hyunjin mutters bitterly beneath his breath, and Chan turns to him, eyes suddenly flashing, but his voice steady. 

“Hyunjin, you have a right to be angry on Jeongin’s behalf, we were boneheads, I get that, but no matter how stupid we’ve been going about it, we’ve always, always put this pack first, and that’s what we’re trying to do now. Please give us a little slack, and if you don’t have anything helpful to add, find somewhere else to be until you can get control of your emotions.” 

You see Felix squeeze Hyunjin’s hand, and finally the omega nods once, curt and short. 

Chan blows out a long breath and glances back to all of you, and you see the dark circles forming beneath his eyes, slowly bruising the tan skin. 

“Okay. How do we do this?” 

You feel something heavy sink into the pit of your stomach at his words, and you immediately hold out your hands, your voice quiet as you announce, “Well, he definitely doesn’t want to see me. So I’ll take myself out of the running.” 

Chan opens his mouth to say something-maybe to agree with you, maybe not-but Seungmin beats him to the punch. 

“Not necessarily.” The beta pushes off the wall and comes toward you, studying you with a sharp gaze that seems to look right into everything you’re so desperately trying to keep hidden. “You may have been a straight up alpha asshole, and Jeongin may be upset with you right now, but his omega is an entirely different story.” 

You stare at him, and he gives you a slight smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he shrugs. 

“Biology’s a bitch, remember?” 

You sigh. “So you keep telling me.” 

“I’ll just go and talk to him.” Hyunjin announces sharply, pushing up from the couch with a slight glare. “He’s used to my scent since I helped him down here to his apartment, so it shouldn’t trigger him too much or make him too territorial if I enter his nest-” 

Suddenly, the omega sways on his feet, and Changbin is up in a flash, steadying him with an arm around his waist. 

“Jin.” Changbin murmurs, his face pinched with worry and confusion as he stares at the omega. “You good?” 

“Fuck, I don’t-” Hyunjin starts to say, shaking his head slowly, before he groans and leans over to clamp his arms around his midsection. 

“Fuck.” He repeats again, and it’s a whimper this time, as Changbin takes all of his weight with a grunt and holds him upright. 

“What the fuck is going on?” Chan asks, voice tight, as he kneels down in front of Hyunjin and tries to look up into his face, his hands going steadily on the omega’s hips. 

There is the sudden sharp scent of lemons flooding out all the other smells in the room, and saliva starts to pool behind your teeth. 

Your wolf begins to pace in agitation. 

“I think I-” Hyunjin starts to say between gritted teeth, before doubling over once more. 

And then you smell it, clear as day. 

It makes your jaw ache, spit flooding your mouth, your wolf suddenly at full attention, hungry. 

Slick. 

“Aw, fuck.” Minho growls out, dark eyes growing more serious as he stares at Hyunjin. “Are you in heat?” 

Hyunjin shakes his head violently, as Changbin helps him toward the door with slow, unsteady steps. “No! I’m diligent with tracking, I’m not even close-” “Wait.” You say, hurrying after Changbin and helping Hyunjin slip his feet into his sneakers. You glance up at the pained look on the omega’s from where you’re kneeling and suddenly, you feel stupid for not putting it together sooner. 

“The same thing happened when Felix experienced his first heat as part of the pack.” You glance at Felix for confirmation, and he gives a quick nod, his eyes never leaving Hyunjin’s crumpled frame. “And now Jeongin-” 

Seungmin’s eyes light up like he’s just put the puzzle pieces together too. 

“Oh my god. We’re so fucking dense.” 

You nod, and Hyunjin lets out a harsh breath, glaring as much as he can between the two of you. 

“Spit it out. I’m dying here.” 

You smooth a palm down his thigh, and the muscle trembles a little less beneath your touch, your pheromones blooming in the air between you. 

“You’re our Luna.” You murmur, and your wolf growls with the rightness of it all. You can’t believe you hadn’t realized it sooner. You glance back up to Hyunjin’s pinched face. “You’re the Luna of the pack.” 

Understanding crosses Hyunjin’s face, followed by panic. 

“Fuck, I think I’m going to be sick-” He chokes out, and you don’t know whether it’s the sudden news of his position in the pack, or the impending heat, but he does suddenly look a bit green. 

You stand, and open the door so Changbin can usher him into the hall. 

“Take care of him, yeah?” You say softly as they pass you, and Changbin glances at you, nodding stiffly. 

“I’ve got him, baby girl. Don’t worry.” 

You nod back, holding his gaze. “I know.” 

Hyunjin whines, and you have to tamp your wolf back down from answering the call. 

You lean over once more to glance at his face, smoothing a hand over his hair. 

“If you need me, baby-” You assure quietly, staring at him unwaveringly, your scent backing your firm words. “-I will be there immediately. Okay?” 

Hyunjin nods, whimpering slightly beneath his breath, clutching his middle, and then you let them go, watching as Changbin helps him down the hall and out of sight. 

You glance back in through the open doorway, to where the rest of the pack is still discussing how to help Jeongin, and now Hyunjin, and feel something heavy and forbidding settle into the pit of your stomach. 

“Fuck.” You mutter beneath your breath, just to yourself and whatever God may be listening, before you go back into the apartment and shut the door. 

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

In the end, you all come to the decision that it’s for the best if the two betas go in to talk to Jeongin and see what he needs from all of you. 

“Our scents are soft and faint, they won’t trigger him like the alphas’ or Felix’s would.” Seungmin had assured, looking between all of you seriously. “We’re also neutral ground, so his omega shouldn’t feel the need to be territorial over its nest either.” 

 And now Jisung was looking like he wanted to follow in Jeongin’s and Hyunjin’s footsteps and promptly hurl his guts up in the bathroom. 

“I’m having a fucking panic attack.” He chokes out, leaning over the sink, palms flat against the cold marble of the counter, face red and sweaty. 

You shut the door quietly behind you and approach him slowly, watching the way his chest heaves as he breathes in and out. 

Well, gasps in and out. 

“Jisung.” You murmur gently, coming up behind him and carefully sliding your hands over his, pressing your chest against his back, if only to ground him a little. “Breathe.” 

“I can’t-” He stutters out, fingers clenching beneath your own, his whole body trembling, as he drops his head and gasps for breath, repeating again desperately, “-I can’t.” 

“Jisung.” You echo, voice firmer this time, pressing more tightly against him, pinning him against the counter, hoping to settle him with your body weight. “Look at me.” 

He lifts his head, just enough to meet your eyes in the mirror from beneath the dark fringe of his bangs, and you hold him steady with your gaze, watching the panic swirl in the depths of his eyes. 

“Breathe.” You admonish again, softer once more, and Jisung manages to take in one deep, shuddering breath. You nod, squeezing his hands. “Good. Again.” 

He takes in another breath, followed by another, and you wait in silence, until his heartbeat is no longer thundering through his back and into your own. 

“Good boy, baby.” You praise quietly, rubbing your fingers over his own, as he ducks his head once more and takes a few more calming breaths. “That’s it. You’re doing great.” 

You watch him carefully in the reflection of the mirror, gauging his condition, and after another beat of silence, he lifts his head and says hoarsely in a halting voice, not quite meeting your gaze, “I’m sorry.” 

You immediately shake your head, snaking your arms around his waist now that he’s a tad calmer, squeezing him to you as you continue to both stand in front of the mirror. 

“You have nothing to apologize for, ever. Not with me, not with any other member of the pack. We love you, baby. That will never change.” 

You squeeze him once more, just for good measure, and he finally meets your gaze, his own large, dark eyes still slightly more shiny than normal. 

“Thanks.” He whispers back, taking in another long, trembling breath. 

You nod silently, still watching him, and then ask softly, “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Jisung blows out the breath he had been holding, and his fingers tighten again against the lip of the counter, his knuckles whitening. 

The scent of drying laundry filling the bathroom grows slightly moldy. 

His body tenses beneath your hold, and you sink your chin onto his shoulder, just to remind him you’re there. 

“I-” Jisung starts, biting his trembling bottom lip. “-don’t think I’m the right person for this job.” 

You say nothing, waiting for him to continue. 

He sighs, and releases his hold on the counter finger by finger, as if he just now realized how tightly he was clenching the stone for support. 

“I don’t know what to say, or what to do, and I’ve never even dealt with someone during their cycle before-well, that’s not true, I’ve been with Minho-hyung for rut, but a heat is completely different according to Seungmin-and a whole lot is riding on this going well, and I-” His panicked rambling dies off into a groan, and he leans over the sink once more. “-Fuck, I think I’m going to be sick-” 

You cling to him more tightly, and try to pull him back from the brink. 

“Jisung.” You say firmly, keeping your voice calm and steady, your expression never wavering from his as you stare him down in the mirror. You mimic a deep, long breath. “Breathe, baby.” 

He manages to pull in another breath at your words, and then another, and when he looks at you once more, he doesn’t look quite so intent on vomiting up his breakfast. 

You let him calm down in silence for another beat, and then you ask quietly, voice firm, “Who made you feel like that?” 

Jisung’s eyes flick up to yours, and there is surprise written on his face, mixed now with the panic. 

“Like what?” 

It’s your turn to take in a deep breath, something cold and final settling between your ribs now that you’re truly paying attention, as if your wolf knew what was happening before you did, growling low and threatening, ready to protect the beta enclosed in your arms with its final breath. 

“Like you’re not good enough. Like you’re somehow lacking.” 

You’re not just talking about the anxiety attacks either. You’re talking about the fact that someone made him feel as if he didn’t have anything to contribute to serious situations. 

The thought makes you see red. 

Jisung visibly winces, and you know you’ve hit the nail on the head. 

“Jisung.” You say firmly, reaching up a hand to cup his chin, so he can’t duck his head and avoid your gaze any longer, your palm against his throat, the rapid flicker of his pulse speeding up beneath your touch. 

His eyes are large and dark, and a silent tear rolls down one of his cheeks. 

“You are an important, valid, loved member of this pack. When I say you can do anything you set your mind to, I mean it. And there is no one, no one, better for this job than you.” 

His bottom lip quivers and you swipe your finger tip across it gently. 

“You were the first one to make Innie feel welcome. The first one to help him get comfortable. The first one to invite him to hang out in a casual setting. You were the only member of the pack he trusted from the absolute very beginning. You, Jisung, no one else, you. And he needs you now. And we wouldn’t have asked you to do this, if we didn’t believe that you could.” 

Jisung takes in one more deep, shuddering breath, and then nods, straightening his shoulders with a determined look. 

“You’re right. I can do this.” 

You give him the hint of a smile as he turns in your arms, and lean forward to press a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, swiping away the track left behind by the rogue tear. 

The scent of laundry is cleaner now, giving hints of a warm summer day and fresh detergent.

“Yes, baby, you absolutely can.” 

*********

“Stop pacing.” Minho snaps out, glaring at Chan, as he takes another circle of the room. 

Chan shoots him an apologetic look and flops down beside you on the couch. “Sorry, Min.” 

He glances at his watch and then to the empty hallway. 

“They’ve been in there a long time. Do you think they-” “No.” You shake your head, knowing where he’s going, and let your hand rest on his jiggling thigh, stilling the nervous movement and hopefully keeping him place for a moment longer. “They’re okay. Jisung and Seungmin have got this.” 

Chan sighs and nods, sinking back into the couch, but he doesn’t look happy about it. 

The hand he covers your own with is trembling slightly. 

“God, you’re like a nervous mother hen, hyung.” Minho remarks with a slight smirk, though you can tell, by his grip on the arm of the couch, that he’s not as relaxed as he’s pretending to be. 

This whole thing has put everyone on edge. 

“I can’t help it.” Chan protests, throwing his hands out helplessly. “He’s always on edge, but today it’s like ten times as bad.” 

You know he’s talking about his alpha, and something in his words catches your attention, making you think for a moment. 

Hyunjin being the Luna of the pack made sense after you’d put everything together, maybe Chan-

Your train of thought is interrupted by the reappearance of Seungmin and Jisung, and a fresh wave of a scent you’ve never smelled before. 

Something yeasty, like rising bread? And spiced with cinnamon around the edges. 

Your wolf immediately pricks its ears, growling possessively. 

At the same time, Chan covers his nose beside you, pupils going wide and dark almost immediately. 

“Fuck.” Jisung goes directly to Minho, curling up into his arms and snuggling his head against his chest, and Minho rears back, hissing slightly between his teeth. 

Jisung glances up, expression offended. “What the fuck, hyung?” 

Minho carefully deposits the put out beta onto his own cushion of the couch, and scoots closer to you and Chan, his own palm going up to cover his nose and mouth. 

“No offense, Sungie, but you’re gonna have to shower before you come near me again.” 

Now all three of you are crushed onto the furthest end of the couch, and Seungmin is watching from the doorway, open amusement on his features. 

Jisung glances at the other beta with annoyance on his face, and Seungmin takes pity on him, coming to sit beside him as he pats his hand once in sympathy. 

Minho practically climbs on top of you and Chan to get away. 

“It’s Innie’s scent, hyung. It’s all over us.” Seungmin says, glancing over to the three of you with humor in his dark eyes, his brow arched. “He didn’t have one before, but now that he’s presenting, it’s kinda strong.” 

“Kinda?” Chan chokes out, trying to breathe through his mouth, and you have to agree with his outrage. 

You literally can’t take a breath of the yeast laden air without your entire body prickling with want. 

“Well, fuck me, I guess.” Jisung grumbles, lifting the hem of his shirt to his nose as if to smell what Seungmin is talking about, then letting it fall in open disgust. 

“Oh, I will.” Minho retorts back, his hand never leaving his face. “But only after you shower.” 

“Well?” Chan asks impatiently, and Seungmin gives him a sharp look, to which he slumps back on the couch. “Sorry.” 

“Wow, first you say we stink, now you’re taking tones with us?” Jisung wails dramatically, flinging himself over Seungmin, even as the other beta wrinkles his nose and tries, unsuccessfully, to shove him off. “The pack is being torn apart by this!” 

“You don’t stink-” You start carefully, glancing at Chan and Minho, who look just as desperately frazzled as you feel. The saliva in your mouth echoes the truth of your words. “-quite the opposite actually.” 

Jisung immediately ceases his wailing and sits up right. 

“Oh?” He arches a brow, and a saucy look comes over his face. “So you’re telling me I shouldn’t do this-” 

He makes a move to playfully lunge toward the three of you, piled on the end of the couch, and swear to god, you all visibly flinch. 

“No!” You all shriek at the same time, and Minho’s elbow hits you square in the face and Chan takes your knee to his ribs as you all scrabble to get away from the smirking beta and the overwhelming, incredibly tantalizing scent of warm bread. 

“Fucking hell, Jisung.” Minho groans, pinching his nose and screwing his eyes closed as if he’s getting a migraine. “Do you have a death wish?” 

Jisung’s smirk grows wider. “Death by fucking? It’s my ideal way to go.” 

“Yeah, well-” Chan sighs deeply. “Don’t play with fire right now, okay? Or our alphas are liable to jump you and never let you go. They’re-” He shifts uncomfortably beneath you, and you feel his hardness between your legs. It makes your mouth water more. “-incredibly riled.” He finishes lamely, and Minho scoffs and rolls his eyes at the obvious understatement of the century. 

  “Speaking of,” You turn to Minho, who is practically sitting on top of you, Chan on the bottom of your unfortunate dog-or wolf-pile. “Can you get your boner out of my face?” 

He levels you with an even gaze. “Only if you get yours out of mine.” 

Chan groans. “Seungmin, for the love of god, please just tell us who Jeongin wants so the other two of us can get the fuck out of here.” 

Jisung’s face grows serious, and Seungmin lets out a long breath. 

“He doesn’t know.” He lifts one shoulder in a shrug, even as your stomach plummets at the grave words. “You’ve all gotta go in there and see who his new omega responds to the most favorably.” Seungmin’s face darkens slightly. “But hurry up, because even if he doesn’t know it, he’s gonna need a knot, and soon.” 

Chan nods resignedly. “All right. Do we get Changbin?”

“We can’t.” You immediately shake your head. “You know how Jinnie is in heat. He won’t let anyone else near him for the first twenty four hours.” 

“Guess we’re the lucky Three Musketeers then.” Minho grunts, shoving himself up from the couch and offering you and Chan a hand. “C’mon Porthos and Aramis. Let’s get this over with.” 

“How come you get to be Athos?” You grumble beneath your breath at the other alpha, but allow him to pull you to your feet regardless. 

Minho arches a brow at you and gives you a look that brooks no argument as he pulls Chan to his feet as well. 

“Because I said so. Now quit your whining and c’mon. Let’s go.” 

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

When you enter Jeongin’s bedroom, the first thing you’re hit with is the wave of scent. 

It’s so thick you can taste it, warm and spicy on your tongue, saliva instantly pooling, teeth aching.

Your wolf is instantly pacing your insides, whining long and low, begging you to do something. 

You clench your hands into fists at your side and glue yourself against the wall, because you’re not sure you can trust yourself to take another step. 

Not yet. 

Minho files in after you, his expression neutral, the only signal he’s taken notice of the new omega’s scent a slight flaring of his nostrils as he steps inside, leveling his gaze on the curled boy on the bed. 

He crosses without hesitation, and crouches down beside Jeongin, careful not to disturb the carefully curated nest of blankets and pillows surrounding the omega, lining the edges of the small twin bed. 

You admire his calm confidence, back hard against the wall. 

“Hey, pup.” Minho says in a low, gentle voice, and Jeongin cracks open an eye, staring at Minho in slight confusion before recognition dawns on his features. 

“Hyung?” He croaks out weakly, not moving from the fetal position, his arms curled around his middle. 

His scent flares in response to Minho’s presence, and you grit your teeth, willing yourself to remain firmly in place. 

Chan appears at your side, the last to come through the door, and you glance sidelong at him, noting the immediate change in his demeanor as the scent laden air washes over him. 

His whole body stiffens, and you can see it, the alpha coming to life in the depths of his eyes, erasing the dark circle of his pupils as fiery gold washes in. 

“Chan-” You start to say, not sure if you should reach out and touch him in his current state. 

Minho reaches out to swipe a hand across the sweaty hair plastered to Jeongin’s forehead, and Chan growls, low and threatening in the back of his throat, the dangerous sound filling the room and making your every hair stand on end. 

Minho glances over his shoulder at the other alpha, expression hard, lips pressed into a thin line. 

“Christopher.” The name Minho always uses for your mate must snap him out of his alpha mindset for just a moment, because Chan is suddenly back, stumbling backward to plant his back firmly against the door beside your own, his eyes wide and dark, chest heaving, expression panicked. 

A harsh wave of thunderstorm, so thick it threatens to choke you, rolls over the room. 

This time, you reach out and lay a hand on his arm, and his frantic gaze snaps to your own. 

“I can’t be here-” He chokes out, eyes flicking around the room, as if he’s looking for an escape route. He clutches at the fabric of his shirt covering his chest, as if his heart is pounding so hard he has to stop it from escaping. “-not with the two of you. Fuck, I need to go-” 

Minho stands, slow and certain, staring Chan down. 

Behind him, Jeongin whimpers. 

“Do you want to rip my throat out, Christopher?” Minho asks so calmly, you have to double take on his words, his fingers pinching the skin of Chan’s wrist, his whole body stiff once more. “Rip it out for touching your little omega?” 

Chan gulps, the sound loud in your ears. 

“Minho, don’t.” You warn in a low voice, hand tightening to keep the alpha beside you in place. 

Minho ignores you, cocking his head and arching a brow at Chan, completely relaxed. 

“C’mon then. I won’t resist.” Minho smirks, baring his throat for Chan and going completely still. 

Beside you, Chan freezes, and when you glance at him worriedly, his entire pupil is swallowed in a sea of roiling gold. 

Minho snorts. “Oh? So you don’t care if I-” 

He holds Chan’s gaze steadily, and reaches out to swipe a hand once more across the sweaty, pink skin of Jeongin’s flushed forehead. 

A low growl emanates from Chan, and all of his muscles coil, as if he’s readying himself to pounce on the other alpha. 

“Minho.” You repeat, harsher this time, and Minho finally looks at you. You stare him down. “Don’t.” 

“I’m testing something, sweetheart.” Minho murmurs back, his gaze flicking back over to the other tense alpha practically vibrating beside you. 

You have the silent thought that he could probably ‘test something’ when none of your lives are in danger, but you don’t say it out loud, choosing to keep a steadying hand on Chan instead. 

“He’d just as soon rip your throat out too, you know.” Minho remarks, taking a step forward now, his searching gaze scanning Chan’s face. “Just because you’re his silly little moonmate or whatever Seungmin insists on calling it, it won’t stop him from turning on you with teeth bared if you so much as touch that omega currently on the bed, sweetheart.” 

You glance to Jeongin, still curled into a ball, and then back to Chan, eyes wide, every breath a pant through his parted lips. 

“Minho.” You try one more time, staring down the other alpha, who looks triumphant now. “Please stop.” 

Thankfully, Minho listens to you this time, shrugging his shoulders easily, before he steps away from the bed and Jeongin and back toward the door. 

Chan’s hackles slowly lower. 

Minho smirks. “C’mon, sweetheart. I think I’ve proved my point.” He takes your hand off Chan’s arm and leads you around him to the door. “We’re not needed here.”

You stumble after him, still in a partial daze from Jeongin’s scent and Chan’s behavior, and let him pull you from the room, glancing over your shoulder as the door shuts behind you. 

In the hallway, your head clears, and you’re whirling on Minho in an instant. 

“What the fuck was that?” You demand angrily, the other alpha leaning against the wall and holding your gaze steadily, ignoring your obvious fury. 

“What, you don’t know?” Minho inquires cockily, arching a brow, and you suddenly want to punch him in the face. He jerks his chin toward the room where you’d left Chan and Jeongin. “That, sweetheart, was a little test for Christopher, just to prove my theory right.” 

You stare at him, something itching at the back of your brain, and Minho rolls his eyes at your silence and sighs, like he needs to walk you through it. 

He pushes off the wall and closes the gap between you, reaching up to take your face in his hands and shake you a little. 

“Sweetheart. Let me spell it out for you.” He slows down his words dramatically and you glare back at him, even as his lips curve upward into a smirk. “Christopher is a Head Alpha. More specifically, our Head Alpha.” 

It clicks into place, and you remembered wondering, briefly, earlier. 

You continue to stare, and Minho sighs again, releasing his hold on you. 

You instantly miss the warmth of his skin and the sweet smell of bergamot in your nose. 

You realize with a start that you’re still slightly riled from Jeongin’s overly strong scent, your wolf pacing restless, relentless heat slowly building beneath the surface of your skin. 

“Minho.” You say as he turns to walk back to the living room, and he pauses, glancing over his shoulder at you with a raised brow. 

The itch is growing, spreading over your body in prickling waves. 

Staring at the full swell of Minho’s lips, bitten slightly between his sharp white teeth, is certainly not helping. 

“Yes?” Minho goads, and you realize you’ve gotten lost in your own thoughts again. 

You shake away the cobwebs and stare him down. 

You can feel the gold creeping in, your alpha emerging. 

You glance past his shoulder to the living room where the betas most likely wait, then back toward the spare room of Jeongin’s apartment. 

Minho follows your gaze, and something predatory comes into his own. 

“Oh?” You shrug a shoulder and take a step backward, toward the empty bedroom. 

“I mean, they’ll expect us to be gone a bit longer-” Minho smirks dangerously, taking a step in your direction, and your pulse picks up, anticipating the game as the spicy scent of amber hits your nose. 

“You’re absolutely right, sweetheart.” He purrs, taking another step as you take a step back to match, watching him warily. 

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, making your core clench pitifully.  “And lucky for you, kitten, I’m in the mood to take my time.” 

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

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[artiststarme]

Hey Brother Part 2

Here is the long-awaited Part 2 of Hey Brother! I don't know how many parts it will be but I will make sure to keep everything updated. I tried to tag everyone that asked but if I missed you, please let me know. I hope you guys like it!

~*~*~*~

They didn’t get to say goodbye. Even with Phil speeding down the expressway at 90 mph, it wasn’t enough to be able to see their grandma before she passed. With one look into the room, Steve knew it was too late. The rest of the family was already there, surrounding her sheet-covered body with tears in their eyes and damp Kleenex clutched in their fists. They’d just missed her. Steve took one look around the room before storming back outside. 

Why couldn’t he ever do anything right? Tonight was supposed to be a fun, relaxing night and ended up being nothing short of a horror show. His boyfriend thought he was bullshit, his grandma was dead, and his entire family now knew that he was a piece of shit that missed being able to say goodbye. Fuck, why couldn’t anything ever go well for him?!

Steve punched the brick wall next to him, not even noticing the pain, and slid down the wall to hug his knees. He sobbed as he thought about how he’d never hear his grandma’s voice again or feel her love through gentle touches that no one else ever quite managed to match. He hadn’t visited her as much as he’d wanted to recently due to the craziness of the last few months. Did she know he loved her? He wasn’t there with her in her last moments so how could she have known? The thought brought a new wave of tears into his eyes and his knees just barely muffled his sobs of pain. Oh god, his grandma was dead and he hadn’t said goodbye to her. 

Steve felt strong arms wrap around his shoulders and struggled slightly to escape the grasp before quickly succumbing. It was just Phil, his older brother who had also missed his chance to stay goodbye to her because of Steve. His older brother that had wanted to move closer to his grandma and aunt years ago but had stayed in Hawkins for Steve. He stayed so Steve wouldn’t be alone in the empty house that his parents rarely visited. The reminder only served to make Steve feel worse. 

“Phil, I’m so so-sorry! This-this is my f-fault. You didn’t get to say go-goodbye to her because of me! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

Phil just hugged him closer and shook his head into his hair. There were tears streaking down his face as well and the lenses of his glasses were fogged. He didn’t say anything in response, there was nothing that he could say to make the situation any better. Nothing was going to bring their grandma back or stop their hearts from hurting. But he could sit on the dirty floor of the hospital corridor and hug his brother with all of his might. That he could do and that he did. 

~*~*~*~

Phil watched Steve talk to his parents through the windowed walls of the waiting room. With every word his mom or Dick uttered, Steve seemed to shrink in on himself even more. They were obviously mad at him for not getting there in time to say goodbye to her and Phil wasn’t going to stand for that. So he made his way in to talk to his mom and stepdad for the first time since being kicked out ten years ago. 

“Hey, why are you screaming at him? Haven’t you done enough? Just let him grieve in peace, Jesus Christ.”

Martha spun around to look at him and gasped when she saw him. He was still in his police uniform having not had the chance to change yet in the fray. Knowing that that was the reason she disowned him made him feel all the more vindicated. 

Her face paled when she realized it was him and she muttered a quiet, “Phil?”

Dick stepped around Martha to point an accusing finger in his face. “What the hell are you doing here, Phil? You’re not family and you’re not supposed to be turning our son against us either!”

“Get your finger out my face, you dick. I’m here because my grandma was dying and my brother needed me. Now, step back or I’ll arrest you whether we’re in my jurisdiction or not,” Phil told him. He couldn’t actually arrest him or do anything more than annoy him outside of Hawkins but the threat did seem to land where he wanted it to. Dick ambled back a step and glared between him and Steve. As if it was their fault their parents sucked. 

Martha started hissing unintelligible nonsense to her husband so Phil focused back on Steve. His kid brother was still shaking as if the adrenaline of speeding all the way up here was still flooding his veins and his trademark hair was hanging against his forehead limply as if it too couldn’t handle the stress of dealing with the Harringtons. 

Phil couldn’t help him in the parent department but he could make sure he was looked after the best he could. 

“Come on Steve-o, I got us a motel room up the street. Let’s get some rest and handle things in the morning,” he picked up Steve’s jacket as he spoke and nudged his shoulder to get him moving. 

“What?” Steve asked him in confusion. “What about mom and dad?”

“I’m sure they’ll figure it out, they always do. But they’re not my concern right now, okay? You are. So right now, I’m going to take you to Denny’s for some food and then we’re going to get some sleep at the motel. We’ll figure everything else out later. Sound good, little bro?”

Steve just nodded at him with the ghost of a smile. “Yeah, sounds good.”

~*~*~*~

Eddie knew he had fucked up. As soon as Steve walked through the door, he knew he’d messed everything up, just like he always did. He knew Steve was sensitive about high school happenings and people calling him bullshit but he’d still done it. What kind of boyfriend did that make him? Not a very good one, clearly.

He rehearsed apologies all night instead of sleeping, determined to fix things with Steve as soon as the sun rose. He couldn’t stand the idea of Steve being mad at him or upset for any longer than he had to be. It felt like it was a contest being in a relationship with Steve. He was the perfect boyfriend and made Eddie feel inferior in every aspect without even trying. Eddie felt like he was constantly playing catch-up and just as he started to get close to where he should be, he’d fuck everything up and go back to the starting point.

At half past three in the morning, Eddie couldn’t wait any longer. He wrote a barely legible note for Wayne and sped off towards Loch Nora. Knowing Steve, he wouldn’t be sleeping either. After the Upside Down, it was hard for them to sleep alone hence why they spent so many nights together. The image of Steve laying in bed alone with tears stained on his cheeks only made Eddie feel worse. Holy fuck, he had a lot to make up for. 

But when he pulled the van up to the Harrington house, all the lights were off. Even the porch light that Steve always kept on was dark and Eddie got a bad feeling. Something was off here, he could tell. Nausea swirled in his gut and his chest felt tight, something was wrong. 

Eddie parked his van in the driveway behind the Beemer and pulled out the key that Steve had given him to open the front door. Everything appeared to be fine as he walked through. The foyer was as spotless as it always was, the living room was clean, and the kitchen was untouched. But when Eddie walked into Steve’s empty bedroom, it looked like a bomb had gone off. Steve was missing, his clothes were scattered all over the floor, and his bed was made like it hadn’t been slept in. Jesus Christ, had Eddie run Steve out of town?! 

Eddie ran out of the Harrington house like a bat out of hell and sped all the way to the Hopper-Byers’ where he pounded on the door until Hopper answered it with threats of violence. He couldn’t focus on the horror dawning on Will’s face or El, the panicked glances between Jonathan and Joyce, or the aggrieved sigh that Hop let out. All Eddie could focus on was the fact that this was his fault. He was the one who yelled at Steve over some stupid game and caused him to leave. Now, Steve was missing. He was alone and Eddie couldn’t blame anyone but himself. 

Hopper promised to look for him right away even though Steve was probably just off sulking somewhere. He even called in Officer Powell early and tried to call Officer Callahan too but he didn’t answer. He left with his gun, an extra large thermos of coffee, and a promise to Eddie that he would find Steve. Then, Eddie was left with the Byers to try and explain the stupid argument he’d started that caused this entire mess in the first place. 

He just hoped that Hopper could find Steve soon because he didn’t think he could function anymore without Steve by his side.

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[ghouljams]

Look im down for wild hormones fuckery but also the way I always looked at omegas has been less "oh uwu soft fluffy baby" and "the scariest thing in the world is a parent looking for their kid". Omegas absolutely fucking shit up because That's *their* home, that's *their* people- just baked in "I'm the last line of defense between myself and my everything in danger so if you are a Problem you will Stop Being The Problem Or Else."

So yes. Grabby hands. Shoving this in my mouth and scurrying away

Yeah I've always seen omegas as the ones that wouldn't start a fight but would finish one. There's a reason they're the emotional head of a pack, and it's because they're the ones trying to make sure everything is working the way they need it to. I always think of Omegas as weird little freaks. They're blunt and needling because they need to have open lines of emotional communication or they start getting itchy. They bite the hand that tries to feed them because they don't know the hand. They're territorial (more so than alphas), they're stubborn(more so than betas), and they're getting things done their way or not at all.

The post I linked in my other a/b/o post talks about Omegas being active rather than reactive, and I don't know whether I entirely agree, but I think omegas are expected to know what they want and how to vocalize that want. I see Alphas as hard, line in the sand, decision makers. They're quick and decisive, but they're also going to be emotional. Omegas need to be able to say what is in the pack's best interest and be certain about it.

Ghost fits my view of omegas very well, he's in tune with the minutia of his team, he's a solid leader acting over reacting, he's territorial and stubborn, he needs things done his way. But I also think his fluctuating hormones would be (in large part) the reason why he finds himself feeling disconnected from pack dynamics. He never knows where he stands or how long he'll stand there. While he's an omega everything is good, it feels natural (as much as he hates to admit it) and he knows that the 141 needs an omega. When his hormones slide to alpha... all his anxiety gets kicked up to 11. Suddenly he's more worried about getting people out of situations than keeping a handle on the situation, he's more worried about Soap's injury than the fact that they secured the objective, he's overbearing with Gaz, he's pushing against Price's careful order of things. It's a level of control that doesn't fit him right, as understanding as the 141 is of this, it's hard.

I think it's also just interesting with the way stereotypes would work in the military as well. Everyone assumes alphas are drawn to the military, that desire to protect, to act as peace keeper in a pack, makes for a good soldier. Ghost is big and impossible to ignore, people assume he's an alpha if a really poorly adjusted one. I like Ghost as an omega because I don't think it takes anything away from his character, I think it actually adds a layer to his self imposed isolation. He wouldn't even have his endotype listed on documents if he doesn't have his photo. That way the next time he slides he doesn't have to update his records.

#ghoul speaks #not to be like Price would take care of his heats but.... #he would be the one to call #Anyway I think it's a very lonely existence trying to play the part of alpha #and knowing that he could flip at any time #but also knowing in his heart that he would stay an omega if he could #a/b/o #simon ghost riley

[viviennevermillion]

we just now got the feeling that we're meeting for the first time

note: loosely based on the vibes of the song for the first time by the script. starts with an argument. reader and leona both are pretty harsh here but they'll get there eventually. ♡ this took me two days and idk what possessed me but I really like how this fic turned out and I appreciate comments or asks about it. ♡

contains: leona kingscholar x gn!reader, relationship development, angst to fluff, fighting and making up, bonding experiences

word count: 7.6k words

warnings: argument, leona's crippling depression, some hurtful things have been said

dark content creators & consumers do not interact

It was the middle of the winter holidays and Night Raven College was probably as quiet as it could be. You had left behind the festivities of late December and for now you decided to take some time to focus on yourself and rest up before school would resume in about a week. On a particularly cold Friday evening you had made yourself some pasta for dinner and laid down in bed after putting away the dishes. The night sky was clearer tonight than it had been for a while and your room was lit up only by the stars and the dim light of the magical ignis fatuus lamp on your nightstand. You took out your phone and checked the messages your friends had left you; keeping you updated on the presents they had received and the activities they engaged in during their well-deserved vacation. 

You didn’t know if it was just a whim or the fact that you may or may not have missed a certain someone…but you eventually decided to reach out to Leona to check up on him. You remembered how annoyed he had sounded when you saw him leave for his homeland through the dark mirror. It was no secret that the second prince of Sunset Savannah was anything but keen on going back to the palace over the winter holidays. His abrasive behavior was quite off-putting sometimes and you had to admit it made you hesitate sometimes to reach out to him even though you wanted to. You were long past the point of considering Leona your friend. His perspective on the matter, however? A mystery to you. 

It could just be that you were a nuisance to him. That he didn’t necessarily dislike you but rather had you minding your own business instead. Or maybe that was just the way he was. You found him hard to read sometimes; never knowing whether a question would get you a snarky comment or a calm and serious answer. Leona was more than capable of both. Still, especially after his overblot and having seen a glimpse of how he was feeling inside, you had decided to push your pride away for a while and put some effort into being his friend; even if he had a tendency to push everyone away. You presumed it was because at least, if he pushed people away, he was the one who’d have the last word. He could retain the reputation of someone who simply didn’t care, rather than risking to be seen as someone who just wasn’t wanted. You didn’t know how much Leona was aware of the extent of his feelings that he divulged while in an overblotted state. It was probably best if he remained largely unaware. 

Still, you decided to shoot him a quick “Hey, how are you doing?” over your messaging service. Leona didn’t seem very busy at the moment, as his answer came not soon after. “Oi, herbivore, what do you want?”, he texted back. 

“Just wanted to know how you’re enjoying your winter holidays so far. I haven’t heard from you in a while. Thought I’d text you so close to the new year to check how you’re doing. You didn’t seem too pleased to go back to the palace after all”, you replied. Leona shifted his position on his bed, staring at the words on his phone for a while. His expression darkened a little. The fuck did it matter to you how he was doing? 

It wasn’t particularly well, that was for sure, but you didn’t have to know that. However, Leona didn’t really feel like talking at all. Contrary to how easily he could try to sleep away his problems for a while when he was at Night Raven College, they seemed to always catch up to him when he was back home. He hadn’t slept in 48 hours; not since the annoying political gathering Farena had dragged him to on Wednesday. His days consisted of laying in bed and trying to avoid his brother’s nagging and Cheka’s attempts at playing games with him as best as he could; trying to get some sleep but consistently failing to. He let out a bitter laugh, wondering what Ruggie would think if he saw him like this. The hyena beastman had tried multiple times to get him out of bed after Leona had slept for more than 10 hours and failed miserably. And now Leona couldn’t even take a nap for a couple of hours. 

“Yeah, it sucks, dunno if that’s the answer you expected”, Leona typed and ran a hand through his dark hair, slumping back into the pillow and holding the phone above his face, “there’s nothin’ to do here except fancy crap and arguing with my brother, the beloved king. Only good thing is my personal chefs; their food is fantastic as usual.” Leona held his head in pain, the headache from the sleep deprivation getting to him more and more. He turned the brightness of the phone down and reached for another painkiller on the nightstand, downing the medication with a glass of water. 

You had no idea of the beastman’s predicament; comfortably resting under the covers of your own bed. “Let me guess, you’re eating nothing but meat again?”, you chuckled and clicked on ‘send’. 

“Heh. The chef told me I need to eat more greens. I told ‘em I’d rather starve than touch some leaves and eat like a herbivore.”

You rolled your eyes. He always had such an attitude. The poor chefs were probably just doing their best to keep their prince healthy. “Classic Leona”, you replied with a chuckle, “do you plan on handing your essays in after the holidays this time? We don’t want you to repeat another year.” You remembered how Ruggie had teased him that if he didn’t pass his finals again, they’d be in the same class from next year on. Leona furrowed his brows and rolled his eyes. As if he didn’t have other things to worry about than schoolwork at the moment. What idiot even came up with the idea of giving students homework over the holidays?

“You sound like Farena”, you got your next answer, “‘You need to pass this class’, ‘You need to get better grades’, ‘What are the citizens gonna say if Prince Leona can’t even graduate from school?’ Gimme a break. Ugh. Can’t a guy take a vacation? I don’t wanna worry about stupid essays now.”

You sighed. “You’ve pretty much taken a vacation since the school year began…you’re hardly attending classes because you’re always nappin’ somewhere in the greenhouse”, you turned on the light of your room, knowing this conversation was likely not taking a pleasant turn anytime soon, “I’m sorry I remind you of your brother. But I’m not saying this to pester you. If I didn’t give a shit about you, I’d have long since ignored you.” It was true. You hardly would have bothered with him if he hadn’t grown on you overtime. And if it weren’t for the feelings you secretly harbored for him; getting stronger with every passing day. Most people would have probably advised you against falling for Leona. But it was not like that was something you could control. Sometimes you felt like it wasn’t a good idea at all to keep trying to stick around when he wasn’t willing to let you in. But there were moments where Leona was one of the most pleasant people to be around; regardless of how much your classmates would have raised their eyebrows at you for admitting that. He was calm, honest and all the shallow things people around you were obsessing over, Leona was hardly interested in. His demeanor was refreshing sometimes and his jokes were funny. But on other occasions he just had to be so difficult. The worst part was that you knew he could do better. But on most days he wasn’t even willing to try.

Meanwhile Leona wondered what your reason was for reaching out to him if you were just going to lecture him anyway like everyone else did. Why didn’t you just let him mind his business and leave him alone? It wasn’t that Leona was annoyed with your presence. He too felt quite comfortable around you most of the time. But you had the same criticisms for him as everyone else did. And even though he knew deep down you were right; he just kept standing in his own way. It was frustrating sometimes, but he hardly had the energy to do the 180° turn others expected from him. He felt inadequate. Especially for you. What was he expecting from you anyway? That you’d love him and choose him over everyone else you knew? All the people who were responsible and had their lives figured out? So for the sake of his pride he did the one thing he knew best how to do: Keep pushing you away. 

“Fineee, I’ll turn in my essay. I’ll go to class. I’ll even go find some herbivore friends just to humor ya”, he shut you down and it was evident from his phrasing that he was hardly serious, “now shut up and let me go back to sleep for a bit, eh?” He ignored the twinge of guilt in his heart for being so rude to you; who had been nothing but kind to him since the year started. What did he care for anyway? He felt like his emotions were getting the better of him; all the frustration and anger and hopelessness of the past few days creeping into his mind like a shadow that was taking hold of him. He reached for the lamp on the nightstand; knowing full-well he probably wouldn’t be able to take the nap he told you he’d take under these conditions; knocking the glass of water to the floor in the process. “Ah shit”, he groaned, sinking back into the bedsheets. He supposed he could clean that up tomorrow. Or get one of the staff members to do it for him. He just hoped Farena wouldn’t lecture him about it. That’s how far you’ve come, huh? Don’t even have the energy to pick some glass shards up. Pathetic. 

He tried to push down that voice inside him as best as he could, putting his phone aside and burying his face in his pillow to muffle the quiet sobs that he couldn’t stop from escaping him. Though he doubted anyone would hear them anyway. There was another small gathering in the garden below his window and he could hear the upbeat music and some of the chatter from the guests. At least his attendance wasn’t required for today’s event. Leona hated crying. He hated how vulnerable and weak it made him feel. He’d much rather lie to himself and convince himself that he really didn’t give a damn and just enjoyed being lazy and provoking the people around him. In those moments, somewhere deep inside his heart, Leona wished for someone to be there for him. But it wasn’t like anyone out there cared; they were busy with their small garden party to honor his homeland’s coexistence with nature. And you? You had reached out to him and asked him how he was and Leona just couldn’t have given you a normal answer. Instead, he just pushed you away to guarantee that you’d probably stop caring about him too. Your newest message confirmed his suspicions, reading: “Fine. Whatever.”

You were tired of the constant back and forth. You had reached out to him with good intentions and care and this was what you got in return. Maybe it truly was time to leave Leona Kingscholar behind for good and make sure you wouldn’t have to deal with interactions like these on a peaceful night. This was exactly why you had hesitated to text him anything. But instead of taking his nap, Leona replied back. You had the feeling he wouldn’t do that if he had no interest in talking to you whatsoever.

“You really gotta learn to lighten up a little. Not everything’s all serious, ya know? Sometimes a nap is just a nap”, he tried to de-escalate the anger he caused with his previous messages; attempting to play it off as just his usual demeanor and nothing personal. What he didn’t get at the moment was how much that played down your own feelings and words. 

You rolled your eyes, debating whether you should just log off and leave him to his own thoughts. Maybe that was for the better. You sighed. “You didn’t have to start it with ‘shut up’”, you answered, just hoping anything you said wouldn’t make things even worse. 

Leona had gotten up from the bed and sat down near the window, gazing out onto the garden; wishing anyone at that gathering would actually care about his thoughts regarding the development of his homeland. The cheerful laugh he could hear from Farena and his guests filled him with a sense of anger so strong that it hurt nobody but himself. He felt stressed; just wanted to finally go to sleep and actually manage to drift off into the land of dreams. But life seemed to have other plans for him. He had gotten himself into a fight with you, one of the only people who seemed to genuinely care about his feelings; the royal court was just proceeding with their schedule as if he was nothing but a ghost sometimes lingering at them and he knew he had to do the damn essays if he wanted to pass this time. 

“Yeah, you’re right. I should’ve said something more polite like ‘I’m trying to get some shut-eye here, would you kindly shut up so I can rest peacefully?’ or perhaps ‘Excuse me but I have some slumber to catch up on, would you please cease talking so I can focus on that?’ Better?”, Leona snapped, his expression darkening.

His rude behavior and disrespectful reaction to you just trying to be nice to him frustrated you. So much so, that you waved the idea of being polite and holding back your thoughts about the matter a friendly goodbye. If it’s a fight he wanted, he can have one, you thought with a bitter mood. So you replied something you knew you probably should not have said.

“And this is why people don’t put you first.”

Your words stung. You hit him right where it hurt and both of you knew that. The crying that had stopped, resumed again as tears ran down Leona’s cheeks. He knew he got himself into this mess but admitting that seemed like the hardest thing for him right now. Not with how angry you had made him over the past 30 minutes.

“Because I’m sarcastic? Wow. Really settin’ the bar high there. Not everyone needs to be a happy-go-lucky sunshine boy, ya know?”, Leona replied with a spiteful feeling in his chest, “maybe I just express myself differently. What do you care ‘bout it?”

Okay, we’re really doing this, are we? You took a deep breath and shook your head. 

“The problem is that you’re rude as fuck and then you’re complaining about only ever being the second choice. Yeah, sure, it sucks for you that you can’t be king or win the Magift tournament against Malleus; I get that; but everything else is your own doing”, you reached a point where you weren’t holding back your thoughts anymore, “you’re literally not even letting people be nice to you. That’s like, the bare minimum. I’ve been trying to be your friend for the whole school year and sometimes you’re really pleasant to be around but other times you’re just taking your bad moods out on people who care about you and I’m tired of it. I tried. I really did. But you push everyone away and then you go sulk in your bed about how no one understands you.”

“I don’t need you to care about me”, a lie and a pretty damn pathetic one; Leona knew that. But he was in the wrong headspace at the wrong time and on top of everything else, he was panicking because he felt like you were close to abandoning him. And this time it would be his own fault. 

“Goodbye Leona. See you in school, I guess.”

Leona frantically started typing again; not feeling like he’d be able to tolerate the silence. To just be left alone with his thoughts again. To have lost you.

“Fine, fine. I’ll be there. I’ll be the best prince ever. Good, hardworking, loyal, reliable…then everyone will love me, huh?”, he let out a bitter laugh, clutching the pillow he was holding, “is that what you wanted?”

His response was as sarcastic as ever but he was in luck that you were not one to just let him put words into your mouth. 

“No”, you texted back, having calmed down a little and gotten yourself a tea, “I just want you to at least be respectful towards the people who care about you and not lash out at us like this. That’s literally all I ask for. Ruggie and I stuck around even through your stupid overblot and all your depressive episodes where you locked yourself in your room and slept for 14 hours as if that’s gonna solve anything.”

Under normal circumstances, Leona would have been a lot more careful with his words. He was hardly one to even remotely talk about his feelings; always keeping them to himself to make sure no one had anything they could use against him. But the sleep-deprivation, emotional distress and headache put him in a state of mind where he was a lot more honest and open than he intended to be.

“Oh? It must be a real burden on you that I’m not just one of those happy, energetic herbivores, huh? If I was nice and polite; if I just did what I was told, everything would be fine, wouldn’t it?”, he could hardly even still see the screen as his vision got too blurry, “then you wouldn’t have to be burdened with being nice to someone like me….someone who can’t even smile genuinely. Someone like me should just disappear, right?”

As soon as he sent that, he wanted to take it back. This was too much. More than he ever wanted to let you know. He had given you a glimpse into his heart and he was certain that this had been a grave mistake. And simultaneously it made you realize what was really going on here.

Oh god, he’s not doing well at all…shit. You realized Leona hadn’t reacted this way towards you because he hated your presence or saw you as an annoyance…this was his own self-doubt talking and he obviously was not okay right now. You saw that now. 

“Leona…that’s not what I’m saying at all…did something happen at the palace? You’re a bit of an asshole sometimes, but it’s usually never this bad…you okay?”, you messaged him and Leona let out a bitter laugh. Even through all this…even after how rude he had been to you and how hard he had tried to push you away, your first response to his accidental self-deprecating talk in the heat of the moment was to worry about him. You deserve better…, he thought.

“Listen, I don’t expect you to smile or be happy all the time or do what you’re told”, you continued, “and I’m sorry you feel the way you do. I understand and I respect your feelings. You don’t have to be all smiles and super friendly to everyone or fulfill anyone’s expectations. Just don’t let your anger and frustrations out on your friends. Hell, i don’t know, rant to us about how much life sucks or whatever; maybe we’ll end up with a bitter joke about it or something….anything’s better than this.”

He had to admit that…did sound more pleasant. You weren’t done yet.

“I’ll be there even if you’re not feeling well. Even if that lasts weeks or months at a time. But if you don’t give me the basic respect and kindness a friend deserves, then I’m out”, you added, “and I’d never want you to disappear, Leona. That’s the furthest thing from the truth.”

Leona remained silent for a moment. Minutes passed by and you were wondering whether he’d even reply at all. It had started to rain outside and for whatever reason the thunder seemed to calm you down. You put your phone aside and tried to distract yourself by reading a book you grabbed from the school library. After a while, you heard the notification sound of your phone again. You checked the display to see a new message from Leona.

“...heh. You really got me down to a t, didn’t ya?”, it read, “Sorry if I hurt your feelings. I didn’t mean to. I’m just tired. Tired of all the things I have to do, tired of always being second pick, tired of being angry. I guess I took it out on you and that was wrong. I apologize for my rudeness.”

You knew it took a lot for Leona to ever apologize for anything. He had decided to swallow his pride for the sake of fixing the mess he made. You were exhausted from the fight and this was the first time you had heard him apologize to you for being rude. It had never been this bad before; but Leona could be quite dismissive on a regular basis. You had more to say but it was probably best for you to indulge him for now and let him rest and calm down. 

“Thank you. Wanna talk about what happened?”, you asked.

Leona hesitated for a moment. He remembered the gathering two days ago. Farena had pressured him into attending; saying the whole royal family was expected to be there. So Leona had begrudgingly put on the tight, fancy clothing and sat at the dinner table with dozens of politicians and investors. He heard them talk to his older brother and the queen about the current status quo in Sunset Savannah; even acknowledging Cheka as the heir to the throne. But Leona? Leona was meant to sit there for the whole evening and look pretty. Farena shot him a glare when he attempted to take out his phone to distract himself; as it was not proper etiquette for a prince. 

Leona couldn’t remember anyone but his own family members having attempted to talk to him that night. No one had cared about his opinions or the fact that he was even there. For all the talk about how crucial it was that the whole royal family attended, Leona sure felt like an extra at the event. There were many investors who were advocating for a better infrastructure and to develop more parts of the country aside from the capital; making use of its natural resources to achieve a bigger state of welfare. Leona had many thoughts on the matter. He had visions and ideas on how to make them happen. He did care. But it didn’t matter what the loathed second prince said about any of this. Farena would probably scold him for trying to butt into the official state affairs. Not that it mattered whether he said anything or not. His brother’s opinions and his own differed greatly; that much he knew. He’d never listen to any ideas Leona brought to the table. He had tried often enough.

So all Leona did was sit there and listen. Not saying a word; just holding his tongue when he had so many thoughts wanting to be said. He listened to everyone else; let everything happen whether he agreed with their decisions or not. Eventually he just blended the voices out, concentrating solely on trying to keep his act together when his facade was threatening to crack because it occurred to him just how much he didn’t matter. Cheka had tried to climb onto his uncle’s lap and show him a bracelet he crafted, expecting a response from Leona. He knew he had to react somehow. He couldn’t just ignore when someone was talking to him; especially not with so many people right next to him. But he feared, were he to say something now, his voice would crack and he’d break.

So he took all his strength to keep it together, gently placed Cheka on the ground again and walked over to his brother, excusing himself and saying he was feeling sick. Not a lie technically.

Leona took a deep breath before replying to you.

“No, I’d rather not. That’s…my own personal life, y’know?”, he answered, “I’ll stop being such an angry prick towards you and Ruggie all the time. I guess I needed that wake-up call, harsh as it was. At least I know you’re not one to lie to my face, heh. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to try to catch up on some shut-eye. I’ll talk to you later.”

You leaned back with a slight smile on your face. That was a lot more genuine than what you were used to from Leona. Maybe it was just your imagination, but you were beginning to feel like, bizarre as it was, today had brought you closer to one another. That Leona had reached a new level of trust towards you he didn’t have before.

“Heh…see, that’s much better than ‘shut up and let me take a nap’”, you replied with a relieved smile, “get some rest, Leona. Hope you’ll feel better afterwards. ❤️”

“Did you just send me a heart emoji?”

“That was an accident. Go to sleep. :)”

Leona realized he had a smile on his face. He chuckled, burying his had in his hands. You were really getting to him, huh? You had said a couple of things that really stung and yet somehow at the end of the day he treasured you enough to smile at a sign of affection from you. I better make sure to treat ‘em properly from now on, he mused and smirked, laying down on his bed again. He wondered if you actually had feelings for him or something of the sort. Somehow with the thought of you on his mind, he fell asleep easily, relieved you were able to sort things out. And he was already looking forward to talking to you again… 

You didn’t hear from Leona again for at least half a day. You were already suspecting that the sleepy lion may not have gotten any sleep at all lately, so you were glad he was resting. What you didn’t expect was for Leona to call you when he woke up. He’s calling? That’s a new one.

“Mornin’ Herbivore”, his voice was raspy and was cracking slightly. He sounded a little bit like he had cried but you didn’t dare to comment on it. “It’s 3pm. Sleep well?”, you chuckled and had a smile on your face again. “Hmm, I’ve had better nights but yeah”, he responded, rubbing his eyes and running a hand through his hair, “sorry again about last night. I had a bit of a moment there…I’ll do better. If you forgive me that is. But only if you wanna. I was kind of an ass.” Leona turned on the camera of his phone and so did you. He gave you a triumphant grin when he saw how your reaction to seeing his face was just smiling instantly. 

You sighed. “It’s fine. You’re lucky I like you. You’re an acquired taste.”

Leona chuckled. “I’m glad my terrible sleep schedule and awful personality can be considered an acquired taste in this day and age”, he winked at you. You let out a laugh. You looked at Leona’s calm expression; the way his hair looked messy and his ears twitched a little. He was wearing a simple black t-shirt and you thought he looked absolutely ethereal. You had to admit you missed him.

“Okay, you made me laugh, I give you that”, you chuckled and grinned at him, “feeling better?”

“A bit”, Leona answered, “Thank ya for being so patient with me. You’re a real one. I guess I’m just used to people not sticking around long enough to deal with my bullshit…..it feels weird….having someone care.” Something had definitely changed inside Leona. He was still weirdly genuine about his feelings. Maybe he was also still very exhausted. 

“Well, you’re in luck. I’m really stubborn and I always want to have the last word. You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Even if you hiss at me like a feral housecat”, you teased him. “Heh”, he laughed and you could see his ears move along with the rising and falling of his chest, “fine, I won’t try to get rid of ya then. Still gonna be a bit of a prick tho. Maybe I will start hissing at people. Make a reputation for myself. The hissing prince of Sunset Savannah.” 

The two of you laughed and Leona ran a hand through his hair, trying to adjust it somehow. “You know what? You just gave me my first real laugh of this week”, he gave you a genuine smile and you could tell he was feeling better, “normally I don’t hang around herbivores that much. But I like ya. Thanks for stickin’ with me.”

You gave him a kind smile. “See? You’re pretty fun when you’re not being an asshole. And I assure you, you already have a reputation. Not a particularly good one, but it’s certainly….something.” 

Leona chuckled and excused himself for a moment to open the blinds on his window. He put his phone aside and all you heard from him was a sharp hiss of pain and him cursing under his breath. “The fuck happened?”, you looked at him with concern once he was back. “Stepped in glass shards”, he mumbled as if that explained anything. “Why the hell are there glass shards on your floor?” “Ancient royal trial that every member of the royal family has to go through at some point in their lives”, he commented dryly and you were pretty sure he was making this up. 

“Anyway, you should probably get first aid for that”, you raised an eyebrow. “Alright”, Leona smirked, seeming as tough as ever, “don’t miss me too much.” He winked at you before ending the call. He’s certainly growing bold now, hmm? You laughed and went to make yourself some food, awaiting his return eagerly.

It took about 30 minutes for Leona to return and start making fun of you for worrying about him so much. “I’m not made of glass, y’know?”, he smirked, “I just step in it sometimes.” 

You sigh and put your friend on speaker, tending to your kitchen appliances once more. “Did you get first-aid for your injury?”, you asked, throwing some carrots, broccoli and zucchini into the mixer. “Yeah. Staff bandaged my foot and told me to be more careful. Got a whole lecture because they’re so considerate”, Leona rolled his eyes and then cringed at the sudden loud whirring, “fuck is that noise, herbivore?” “Oh…sorry”, you apologized and turned the mixer off, “I’m making a soup. Noticed I haven’t had lunch yet today.” 

“Ew with like, vegetables and shit?”, Leona shook his head in disappointment. You chuckled. “Yes, not everyone has the strength and insanity it takes to attempt to solely live off meat”, you teased. 

“Anyway, to get back to our conversation from before, it’s nice to know I have a reputation for something, heh. Even if it’s just that”, Leona chuckled, “I don’t get people sometimes. ‘Ugh, he’s so pretty! Too bad he’s a jerk!’ Why do people keep sayin’ that? Am I supposed to be flattered or pissed?”

You laughed. “Well, I think they’re having a crisis because they’re attracted to a guy whose personality is like a matryoshka doll where you’re kinda intimidated to take off another layer because you’re not sure if it’s gonna get better or worse.”

Leona snorted. “Okay, that was a fun analogy, I’m not even gonna be mad. I’ll remember that one”, he smirked, “so, given that you have first-hand experience now, do you have the feeling it’s getting better? Or worse?” So he’s acknowledging that he’s opening up to me more than he did before, you pondered and smiled, that’s good. “Better”, you admitted, “now I know I didn’t go that wrong with giving you a chance. Anyway, what do you do all day over there?”

“Oh, nothin’ much”, Leona shrugged, “sleeping…trying to sleep, avoiding my nephew, avoiding my brother, avoiding the chamberlains, playing chess against a computer…when I arrived I drove around a bit and stopped by Elephant Legacy to take a bath in the secluded hot springs only the royal family has access to. I guess that counts for doing somethin’”

“And you made fun of Idia for being a shut-in?”, you raised an eyebrow. “I also nap outside, that disqualifies me from being a shut-in”, Leona grinned, absentmindedly playing with an old yoyo he got from a market when he was 7, “but yeah it’s pretty boring. Night Raven College is a little more interesting.”

After a week of hardly doing anything, Leona had to admit he was growing quite bored of the winter holidays. You didn’t have many plans either, so that was how the two of you ended up playing online chess. “God, with that strategy or lack thereof you have, your king is gonna be down in less than five minutes”, Leona held his head in second-hand embarrassment and reached for a glass of water to take a sip. “Oh so you think you’re close to losing?”, you smirk and heard Leona choke on his water, coughing frantically. Did you really just call him your king?, he thought with a surprised expression, his ears laid back against his head.

“What’s the matter, Leona?”, you asked and he could hear your teasing tone through the speaker, “did I perhaps fluster you?” You were really playing with fire today, huh? Leona smirked. He didn’t admit it, but he did absolutely like that. “Why don’t ya focus on your shitty ass playstyle instead, you just lost the best piece you still had on the board”, he hissed back, his tail swishing back and forth. “I didn’t see your queen there”, you whined. “What do you mean, you didn’t see it there? It was literally right next to where you were standing-”, Leona shook his head and held it with his hand, “I don’t even know where to start with this one…”

As the day went on, you got Leona to play a couple of other online board games with you, mostly luck-based ones because you insisted you were “good at them”. He also agreed to teach you some chess strategies, arguing that even with knowing them you wouldn’t be able to beat him. He never let you win. Not once. 

He had to admit that your company brought him amusement and joy. That you distracted him from the problems he was worrying about. So he didn’t mind spending his days with you. He was looking forward to seeing you again at Night Raven College. 

“Leona, it’s your turn. Leona?”, you asked when he wasn’t responding. It was already evening and the sun had set. You could hear soft breathing and some light snores coming from the phone. You smiled and closed the game the two of you were playing. Something inside you didn’t have the heart to just hang up on him. So you put your phone aside and went to bed yourself, feeling somehow closer to Leona this way.

He woke up with surprise upon finding out you were still there. He wondered whether that was intentional or not. He quickly pushed away the idea of waking up beside you; of pulling you into his arms and falling back asleep in the comfort of the blankets and your warmth. Leona pouted when he noticed the smile on his face. Then, upon having another fantastic idea, his expression turned into a mischievous smirk as he made his way over to the wardrobe where he had hidden a plastic aerophone that he confiscated from Cheka after the latter had attempted to “play a song” for him and followed him through the entire palace. He sat down next to where his phone was laying on the bed and blew into the cheap instrument; causing it to emit sounds with a terribly loud volume. He stopped just in time to hear the angry “WHAT THE FUCK, LEONA????” from your side of the call. “Rise and shine, herbivore”, you could hear him snicker. “You’re such an asshole”, you muttered.

The days went by fast when you had each other’s company. Leona kept you updated on what was happening at the palace; the stuff that wasn’t confidential at least. This mostly happened in the form of him ranting about how much it annoyed him. He had ditched the Sunset Savannah New Year’s ceremony and spent it on the palace roof, turning his camera on and letting you see the fireworks of his homeland and how the city was lit up for the celebrations. “If you ever visit, I’ll show ya around”, he had promised you.

Your presence in his life made the holidays pass by fast. When Leona stepped through the dark mirror on his way back to the school, you were already waiting for him on the other side. Both of you felt a little awkward at first. Things had changed a lot between you since you had last seen each other, after all. Leona rolled his eyes at your attempts to make smalltalk, waiting for the rest of the students to exit the mirror chamber before he opened his arms. “Come on now, y/n, don’t be a stranger”, he sighed and you stepped into his embrace, wrapping your arms around him. You hoped he didn’t have a sliver of an idea how much you had wanted this over the past few days. What you didn’t know was that Leona felt exactly the same. He held the back of your head with his hand and let you bury your face in his shoulder. Leona had his tail wrapped around your waist and you got goosebumps where it touched your arm. A strand of his hair was tickling the skin of your face and you noticed how much you liked the smell of his cologne. 

The two of you walked back to the dorms together, Leona staying closer to you than usual. Much to your surprise, the lion beastman actually showed up to class on the first day. It was his most hated lesson, even. He sat down next to you. “Glad you showed up”, you said and reached for the cup standing next to you, “I got you a coffee.” Leona inspected the beverage with surprise, not expecting you to get him something to drink on the off-chance that he came to class. You raised your eyebrow at him when you saw him sniffing at the coffee. “If you’re gonna complain that you don’t like this kind, I’m never getting you anything ever again”, you threatened and Leona patted your head. “Don’t worry, herbivore”, he smirked and took a sip from the coffee as the lesson began.

Reunited at Night Raven College, Leona still enjoyed spending his time with you. He had invited you over to show you some more strategies in chess; as it was easier to teach you anything if you were there in person. You had eaten dinner together (a bunch of meat that Leona ordered from a take-out restaurant in the village on the isle) and decided to take a breath of fresh air on the roof of the Savanaclaw dorm. Leona looked at you as you gazed at the stars. 

“Do you think the sky is fake?”, Leona was caught off-guard by your question. “The hell?”, he raised an eyebrow and sat up. “Like, the ones over the dorms. What even are the dorms? Are they actual locations the mirrors just teleport us to? Are they weird pocket dimensions? Why do I never hear anyone talking about this?”, you asked. Leona chuckled. “Considering they’re never locked and we haven’t seen anyone try to rob us yet, I thought it was pretty obvious they’re not just standing around somewhere in the wild”, he shrugged, “but yeah, this isn’t the actual night sky. The constellations are super off.” “I see someone actually paid attention in astronomy class”, you commented. “Not really”, Leona replied, “in my homeland there’s the belief that the stars are the great kings of the past who are watching over you from above. Heard the story a million times. Learnt about the constellations as time went on. If you’re worried or in despair, you can ask them for guidance and supposedly they would answer you. Personally I think that’s a bunch of humbug.” 

Leona shrugged and you thought about his words, having learnt something new about his culture. “If you believed in it…what would you ask them?”, you wondered and looked into Leona’s emerald eyes. “That’s a little too personal, don’t ya think?”, Leona smirked but then conceded, “I suppose I’d ask them why I pulled such a dumb result in fate’s lottery, among other things.” “Idia called it ‘god’s rigged gacha machine’”, you chuckled. “That’s one way to put it”, Leona mused. “Then again, you never know what life’s gonna give you”, you tried to add a more positive point of view, “who knows maybe you’ll soon receive a great deal of luck or something. You never know.”

Leona let out a bitter laugh. “Then I suppose, I’ll have to thank the great kings of the past”, he crossed his arms, “anyway, it’s getting late. We should probably head inside again.” He got up and so did you, making your way towards Leona’s room again. 

You couldn’t even react fast enough when you stumbled on the roof and fell over, Leona catching you just in time and pulling you back into balance. You were leaned against his chest and Leona was holding onto you to keep you steady. “Geez, herbivore, first you’re all talk about stickin’ by me and being my friend and now I have to prevent you from breaking your bones every 5 minutes”, Leona sighed. You pouted. “Name ONE other time where you had to prevent me from breaking my bones”, you rolled your eyes.

You only noticed then how close the two of you were. Determined to tease him back, you spoke before you realized what it was you just said. “Are we about to kiss now?”

The smirk left your face when the realization hit you. Leona, on the other hand, was having the time of his life with this. He grinned at you and let out a laugh. “My, you’re getting bold now”, his ears twitched as he laughed, “I mean, go ahead if you wanna, I ain’t gonna stop ya.” He was challenging you, part of him thinking you weren’t going to do it anyway. 

His eyes widened and he was caught off guard when you took him up on the offer and he found himself with your lips on his instead. 

Leona closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, kissing you back softly. There was a sense of relief to his kiss; as if he had waited for this to happen for centuries. He wouldn’t ever have dreamt that you might feel the same for him as he did for you. Not with the behavior he had shown to you before. Not with the way he went about his days. And yet, you had given him a chance. The chance to prove to you that he was worth it. And he swore in that moment that he was going to make the most of that.

Leona sighed against your lips and cupped your cheek with his hand, deepening the kiss eagerly. He furrowed his brows and pulled you as close to him as possible. 

When your lips parted from each other, Leona still held you in a tight embrace, resting his head on top of yours. “So…”, you began, nuzzling his neck and relaxing into his embrace, “are we going to get on people’s nerves together from now on?” “You still have to ask that? Take a hint, herbivore”, he hissed and then chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

You remained like this for a while, just holding each other as Leona looked up to the night sky. “You’re more quiet than usual”, you said softly, “what’s going through your head, hmm?” Leona rolled his eyes. “Life clowned me with irony and now I gotta thank the great kings of the past for ‘a great deal of luck or something’”, he sighed and laughed. You pressed another soft kiss to his lips and held his face in your hand, looking into his eyes with a loving expression. 

“I love you…and at the risk of sounding incredibly cheesy”, you confessed and brushed a strand of hair out of his face, “you’re my first choice, Leona. Always have been.” Leona hugged you tightly and squeezed you slightly, holding onto you like he feared you might disappear any second now. He buried his face in your neck. Your words had touched his heart and made him feel a sense of happiness and closure he was longing for for god knows how long. He kissed you once more, pouring all his pent-up attachment and care for you into the kiss as the stars gazed down on you.

#twisted wonderland #leona kingscholar x you #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar x mc #leona kingscholar x yuu #leona x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #leona kingscholar #twst leona

[yellowanz]

camp camp is my whole entire fucking life

fuck you warner bros.

I hate you so much.

PLEASE if somebody has an archive of camp camp's episodes, specials, streams, etc, AND EVEN CAPTIONS, PLEASE DO TELL ME. TELL ALL OF US.

SCREAM IT FROM THE ROOFTOPS BECAUSE WHO FUCKING KNOWS? ROOSTER TEETH'S WEBSITE MAY SHUT DOWN AND WE WONT SEE CMAP CAMP AGAIN.

AT THIS POINT, THIS IS JUST CONTENT PRESERVATION.

I love you, camp camp fandom. please stick together even if we won't get s5. we all need each other to get through this.

hell, all of rooster teeth fans.

we all need to stay together to get through this terrible fucking news. I'm so sorry for EVERYONE who has to go through the news of rooster teeth shutting down, whether it be a fan of a niche show, a rwby fan, or even a person who has had rooster teeth since they were a kid.

I'm so sorry this happened.

I came home today with two camp camp plushies in tow and I. definitely wasn't expecting this news.

please remember, though, that this news is as sudden for employees that it is for all of us. don't beg writers for answers because they're experiencing this all in real time just like we are! rooster teeth WILL keep us updated, please do not fret.

It's scary, especially for me because camp camp is my entire life. but I promise we can all get through this.

this was a mess of a text post but I think that states all that's in this poor old head.

#camp camp #campcamp #cc rooster teeth #roosterteeth #rwby #warner bros #david zaslav #rooster teeth #text #text post #anz's thoughts