#especially by someone pretty
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I need a gifset of the moment from Gem's vlog where she tells Scar to roll over the scary glass floor on Midway. And then he does it with SUCH a look in his eyes. I'm having thoughts.
#that man could be dared to do anything#especially by someone pretty#just saying#jo talks to herself 2k24
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my love, why have you forsaken me?
if you had only wanted the crown and spared my life, i would have still been your truest, most loyal disciple.
bonus doodle. if you got narinder by sparing him but get the trophy from mystic seller afterwards haha
#veradoodles#digital art#my art#artists on tumblr#illustration#art#narilamb#cotl#cotl lamb#cult of the lamb#narinder x lamb#cotl narinder#cult of the lamb narinder#the lamb#the one who waits#wanted to do some angst comic but all i could muster up was an illustration waughhh#i really like the person who worships someone and has a statue of them trope. especially pretty fucked up if u kill nari after the battle#hi narilamb nation if ur reading the tags
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apparently pjotv twt was being weird about book!Percy's eyes being green because they don't think the ocean can be green (???) so consider this a sequel to my Grace siblings eye colors post and here is some visual references of green water for all your Percy inspo needs:
And for reference, the water around New York-ish where Percy is usually is somewhere around this color:
or some alternatives:
or here is a nice hazel green if you want his eyes more on the brown side, which is very common in freshwater ponds and streams:
or if you want him to have totally brown eyes - water rich in tannins will appear brown, greenish-brown, or very dark brown - this is sometimes called "blackwater" due to often appearing very dark or having low visibility:
#pjo#percy jackson#riordanverse#i am eternally amused by old pjo fandom's tendency to interpret ''sea-green'' as ''tropical seas / neon aqua''#mostly just cause as someone who grew up around boats when i think of ''sea-green'' i have a very particular color in mind#and its that kind of murky desaturated green#like sometimes ur at the docks and are just shoving your hand into low visibility green water to catch jellyfish yknow#thats the vibe. thats what i think of whenever i hear ''sea-green''#reach into your local harbor and you may find a friend and a boy (jellyfish)#and i respect not everybody is as familiar with the ocean but ''Percy's eyes being blue is *better* because the ocean is blue not green!''#is. just a ridiculous statement to me.#like. just. first and foremost. claiming blue eyes are ''better'' and the implications in that (bleugh)#secondly - claiming that ''the ocean isnt GREEN'' is just. well you're just wrong so jot that down#it is in fact not uncommon for the ocean to be green. this is very normal actually#the ocean not always being blue does not feel like particularly groundbreaking news????#like gonna be real my guy usually the ocean is actually pretty. idk. greyish.#especially if its not actively a very sunny day in the summer#cause a lot of the time if the water is just reflecting the sky and is not being particularly affected by whatever is actually in the water#then. well. the sky is usually greyish! on your average day the sky is usually kinda grey! it usually only gets really blue when its sunny#but usually water has. yknow. stuff in it. a lot of the time algae and such. so it ends up murkier/greenish#anyways this has been: AALV's oddly specific nitpicking about Percy's eye color
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some simple (but plentiful!!!) sprites for you all today. just some outfit swaps! the alpha kids did not get nearly enough cool outfits, so i decided to see what they'd look like with some modified beta kid outfits. some look decent, but others look very nice! i also did it the other way around too, because whynot.
(sorry i think i'll stop with the colored text thing in default text, it was So Cool but it was also really time consuming @_@)
JANE
ROXY
DIRK
JAKE
JOHN
JADE
ROSE
DAVE
#tada!!!#i feel like the lab suit and the vriska outfit look good on jane especially#roxy has the Source Engine Missing Texture dress#dirk's puppet tux suit and orange soda suit look so cool! though i guess the former would be hal's?#jake in a dress. it is unusual to see but pretty cool nonetheless!!#john hmmm... i associate that outfit with jane so much it's weird to see him in it. someone get that girl (John Egbert) a skirt#another unusual style for jade. neat to see though!#rose looks very nice too! it's hard to tell but i did actually switch some colors on that dress. check the original!#dave. hmm. no thanks#homestuck#homestuck sprite edit#jane crocker#roxy lalonde#dirk strider#jake english#john egbert#jade harley#rose lalonde#dave strider
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not enough stonjourner art out there
#stonjourner#carbink#nacli#archen#dwebble#pokemon#i got so many opinions on that guy but it makes me so sad that if the design was left to cook for longer we'd have something really cool#it's such a shame it ended up being mostly forgotten due to its pretty literal design and not being great in PvP matches bc its lore is fun#you mean to tell me the rocks just walked there ? and also that they can punt you across the field if you mess with them ?#the power spot gimmick could be so cool if it was explained in spinoffs or the anime#like imagine someone that feels pretty weak pairing up with one to get that oomph to push a little further than their limits#or i'd see it being used in pmd by sandwiching stonjourner between strong allies so they benefit from power spot#i think a new form with a different typing or different stats could do it justice tbh#especially since the UK is far from the only country to sport pretty megalithic sites that have folklore around them#i don't feel bad about writing novels in the tags
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Bnuy Engerland for the soul :)
#hetalia#hws england#aph england#hetalia england#hetalia bunny england#aph italy#aph america#my art#yapping ahead -> -> ->#I went to Oxford and Cefalonia this summer đ#I need to make a whole post about it at the end of the summer perhaps#I took such great photos#especially the oxford photos despite going there in the middle of a heatwave lol#I was pretty bummed out that I didn't get to meet Ruby Granger or the lord of blenheim palace#but Oxford is my favourite holiday of all time#I also sent someone on a sidequest to travel miles to manchester to get me the FFXIV boba keychains and pig mount lmao#I even got a new ipad for (potentially) A-levels. Ive never spent so much in my life.... its the latest one........#thats my summer so far lol
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Take any opportunity at all (Patreon)
#Doodles#UT#Handplates#Sans#Papyrus#Sans was being silly and annoying and then The Consequences lol#He got Papyrus to lean down for a hug and then refused to let go so he could stand back up#So he stood up anyway lol#Sure he could teleport - or could he? He seems to be able to choose if he teleports someone with him even if they are touching#But Papyrus also has his glitch abilities :0 Also funny to think about him hovering around while carrying Sans haha#They combine their hovering-teleporting and noclip right out past the Barrier Oops#Anyway lol#Hanging on to him tired Sans out and then Papyrus picked him up - double whammy on naptime lol#Didn't even finish cooling off before knocking right out haha#Not that Papyrus /really/ minds - he's always got Sans! Even when he's being annoying and silly!#Also his forehead is resting halfway into Papyrus' jaw in the last one haha#Comfy and strange! Them to a T#The plates really make their hands look so delicate - especially Sans' - probably because of how small his hands are#So many details that are fun to draw! They have such pretty designs!! Then again Undertale is just Like That haha#Everyone so well designed âȘ A treat :)#And their dynamic is so fun to bounce off each other just fjdsklafdf it's all fun!! I love when it's so enjoyable <3 <3#Sans trusts him and Papyrus takes care of him so he trusts him and Papyrus feels needed I'm fine#Not just supporting underneath him but throwing an arm over his shoulder so he'll be comfortable and can hang onto him hehe âȘ#Sweet siblings <3 S'why I keep pulling bits and pieces from my own sibling silliness it just fits! Haha
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Masquerade
You've come to this masquerade ball to finally dispatch the man you've wanted dead for nearly ten years, but he's always ruining your plans, one way or another.
Contains: 2nd POV OC (sorry about all the blushing), werewolf MMC (sadly he doesn't do any fun werewolfy things he's just a guy with sharp teeth here), vague fantasy setting, murder attempts/reminiscence of murder attempts, a long and storied history only alluded to, what do you do when your bitter enemy turns out to be a silly little guy who just wants you to love him?, oral sex (w receiving), P in V sex, this spawned a whole ass novel and it's so so different but this lowkey holds up.
See end for Notes
~10k words - NSFW - 18+ MDNI
âMy, donât you look exquisite,â a voice purrs in your ear.
You freeze in place, glad that the mask hides the colour that springs to your cheeks. You feel like a naughty child caught with your hand in the cookie jar, an unwelcome guest at his masquerade. You thought you could escape notice, slip through the crowd of finely dressed nobles and plunge your knife into his chest at last. But he had managed to find you first. You werenât ready. You hadnât been to the garden to pick up your hidden cache of weapons, you had nothing but your silver hair-stick to dispatch him with.
His heavy hands land on your shoulders. âDonât muss up your pretty hairstyle just yet, darling,â he whispers in your ear, his voice rasping like sandpaper. Itâs as if he can read your thoughts. Or perhaps, after all these years, youâre simply predictable. âThere will be plenty of time for that later.â
You flinch at the cold press of his mask against your bare shoulder. You shouldnât have disguised yourself as a guest. You feel defenceless, wrapped in silk and sheer chiffon, a neat little morsel delivered straight into the wolfâs jaws. He could shift in a second and shred you into little pieces, like he had threatened to do so many times before. You try to still your frightened, thumping heart, and pull away, turning to face him at last. âIâm afraid Iâm not sure what you mean,â you say, because itâs worth a try at least, but heâs laughing before you can even finish, the smiling mouth of his gold wolf mask mocking you. His yellow eyes glitter from itâs depths, watching you.
âOh darling, I would recognize you anywhere. I hoped you would be unable to resist my invitation.â
âYour invitation?â
âYes, dearest. All of this was for you. I knew you could not resist the chance to get so close to me again.â
âTo kill you,â you remind him hoarsely.
He chuckles and takes your hand. âPerhaps. For now, a dance, I should think. You havenât danced all night.â
You dig in your heels, trying to resist his insistent pull, but he simply wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you closer. âI donât dance,â you tell him sharply. âLet go of me.â
âYouâre a liar,â he replies, spinning you into place, one hand on your lower back, pinning you against his chest, and the other still clasped around your wrist, sliding up to engulf your hand. He simply tugs you along with him as he moves, sweeping you along to the music, holding you so unbearably close. He could lift you off your feet with ease, if he chose to, and you donât have enough power to resist. His scent clouds your mind, cedar soap and clean, animal musk, one of many hints of the wolf that dog him even in his human shape. âYou forget, I knew you in your past life. Or have you forgotten that I once sat in your fatherâs halls? I have seen you dance.â
It was so long ago now, another life, before he was only the wolf to you, and before you were the thorn in his paw, that you almost had forgotten. You had hardly given him a second thought at first, he was just another visiting knight, here one day and gone the next, handsome, but beyond the concerns of the girl you once were. âYou failed to make an impression,â you tell him sharply, although itâs not true. You do remember his yellow eyes watching you one night, though he never asked you to to dance. He never spoke to you at all.
Not until after. He saved you, of course, from the bloodbath, because he had claimed you. He hadnât so much as said a word to you before he burst into your bedchamber, monstrous jaws dripping with your fathers blood, yellow eyes wild. You still remembered beating him back with the fire-placeâs iron poker, and jamming the tip into his chest before you ran for your life.
âI knew you were mine from the first,â he continues. He seems frighteningly aware of your thoughts, as if his own version of the memory is playing out behind his own eyes. âMy lioness, avenging her wicked father with a poker. I still bear your mark, just above my heart.â He presses your entwined hands to his chest for a moment. âIâm certain you remember that, at least.â
âUnfortunately.â
âThe only unfortunate part,â he says patiently. âIs that I did not take you as my mate that night.â
His words lance through you like lightning, burning everything in their path. Your knees nearly buckle, and if he were not holding you so securely, you would sink to the floor in a useless puddle of silk. How dare he make you weak, after everything heâs done to you? But anger gives you strength, reinforces your spine with steel, and you wrench away, glaring at him, wishing you could set him ablaze with your eyes.
The music falters. You look up, at the musicians gallery, then around the room. Everyone watches, pretending not to, jewelled masks concealing furtive eyes and whispered words. Your own mask feels insufficient, lightweight and flimsy under the wolfâs eyes when your eyes return to him. He takes your arm, his grip tight, but not bruising, and guides you out of the ballroom, into the cold night air. The dark gardens are just a little too far for you to jump down from the wide stone balcony, and there are no stairs leading down. If you jump, youâd probably break your leg, and then youâd be helpless.
âWhat do you think of our home?â he asks. âHave you snooped around yet, my darling? Planned all your exits and hidden away your weapons and armour? I made sure youâd have plenty of opportunity. I know how you love to prepare.â
âIâm surprised you havenât found them already.â
âI have been busy with other preparations,â he says mildly. âBut I thought I smelled something of you in the corridor by the library.â
You flinch, only confirming that you had in fact been there, hiding your leather armour inside a large vase. âPreparations for what?â
âYour homecoming. The king has made it clear that itâs time to reign you in, or he will have someone else deal with you.â He pulls the mask off at last, setting the golden wolf on the balcony. Sweat glimmers at his temples, catching light from the ballroom behind them. He offers you a wry smile, his sharp white teeth flashing. âIâve been too lenient with you.â
âLenient?â you ask, incredulous. âIâve been trying to kill you.â
âThose who attempt such things do not usually live long,â he reminds you. âI donât often show mercy. Iâve allowed you to live free, in the hopes that you would come to me willingly, in time. Now it seems I can no longer afford to continue our little game. You will stay with me, or someone else will be sent to arrest or kill you.â
You press your palms into the smooth railing, wishing desperately that you could absorb the cool, dependable steadiness of stone through your skin. You look at him for a moment while he stares out over the dark gardens, his yellow eyes tracking movement you canât see.
Heâs always dressed in black, like a man in mourning, his black curls cropped short around his slightly pointed ears, beard neatly trimmed. He wears little jewellery for a man of his station, just the yellow-gold signet ring with itâs heavy, dark blue sapphire on his finger, and the gleam of jet buttons down the front of his tunic. You were more used to seeing him in his armour. The heavy black plate suits his brutality better than black-embroidered silk.
Silk offers no protection, no shield over his wicked black heart.
You pull the hairpin from your own neatly arranged curls and move fast, striking at his chest, but he catches your hand easily, his amber eyes meeting your fury with amusement. âYou just canât help yourself, can you?â he asks. âStubborn creature.â
He plucks the pin from your hand and spins you around, pushing you into the railing with the oppressive weight of his presence. Your protests are weak and hardly noticed, but you fall silent when you feel the rough pads of his fingertips on the back of your neck. He gathers your hair up and pins it back in place, not as neatly as you had done earlier, but sufficiently.
âWhat are you doing?â you ask numbly.
He turns you around, still standing far too close. You stare forward, at the point where his skin meets the collar of his tunic, your eyes glued to his pulse. You wish for teeth as sharp as his own, so you could tear out his throat. His fingers curl under your chin, nudging your face up, forcing you to look him in the eye again. âJust returning your pin,â he says, smirking. âWhy do you seem so flustered, darling?â
âWhy donât you just kill me?â you ask. Your hand lifts up to knock his away, but you touch him instead, fingertips ghosting over his knuckles. You know heâs capable of crushing you with hardly a thought. Youâve spent the last ten years learning all you could about him, hunting him down again and again and again with a single-minded determination. He likely could have killed you a thousand times over, if youâd been just a little less careful, or he a little less eager to capture you instead. He should have killed you. You donât know how to stop anymore, you donât know how to let go of the terrible anger that burns you up every time you think of him. You want him to suffer, to lose everything, to hurt the way he hurt you. âIâll never stop.â
There is a flicker of sadness in his eyes, and it pings against your heart uncomfortably. âI never could,â he says, all traces of his smirking, superior air gone. His thumb strokes along your jaw. âI begged the king for your life. Your father may have been a traitor, but you were an innocent girl, and I do not enjoy killing innocents.â
âIâm not innocent anymore.â
âNo, I suppose not. But youâve committed no crimes that I cannot forgive.â
âI donât want your forgiveness.â Your voice is hardly more than a hoarse whisper. You want to shout, but his hand on your skin seems to leech all the power out of you.
âYou have it regardless,â he whispers back, low and intimate as a lover. He touches his forehead to your mask, his eyes boring into yours, twin suns scorching everything in their path. âAnd someday I will earn yours.â
âNever,â you hiss. You return to your senses and push his hands away, shoving hard against his chest. âI hate you. Iâll always hate you.â
He tugs your mask off and tosses it to the side, tired of pretense. âIf you hate me so much, why does your heart beat like that?â
âIâm afraid of you,â you snap.
He laughs harshly. âNo youâre not. Youâve never been afraid of anything, my darling. It is one of the things I love best about you.â He leans in closer, the tip of his nose just brushing yours. You can feel his breath on your skin, the sharp smells of whiskey and mint setting your nerves on edge. For a moment, you think heâs going to kiss you, and you freeze, heart pounding, face turned towards him, waiting for the axe to fall.
But he withdraws instead, leaving you to face the consequence of unrealized want. His words prick at you like the point of a sword. Love. As if he would know the first thing about it. As if he knew you.
But he does know you, you realize with a start. He made you. His actions had set you on your path, and his choice not to kill you, each time that he should have, had created the determined, single-minded, furious woman that you had become. The carefree girl who you had been was long gone, dead the first time the wolfâs jaws closed around your throat. It burns you to think that heâd shown you mercy all along, that you had escaped capture or death by his leave, rather than by your own cunning and skill.
His eyes remain on your face, reading your thoughts like youâre a book laying open, waiting for him to happen by and discover all your secrets. âYou have become worthy of me,â he continues ardently, pressing your hand to his chest again, anchoring it with both of his own. âI would have kept you like a bird in a cage if Iâd taken you then. A pretty thing to amuse me and adorn my halls. But you are no trophy, my love. You will not survive in captivity. Even now, with the kingâs sword hanging over your head, I will not force you to stay.â
âIs this some sort of trick?â
âI used to wonder the same thing. A cruel trick of fate, that my mate would hate me so fiercely.â
âYou killed my father,â you hiss at him. You yank your hand away, desperately stoking the anger that has kept him at bay all these years. Each time he calls you mate and darling and love your resolve quakes, and you have no sword in your hand to make him regret it, like you usually would.
âHe was a traitor. I had orders.â
âAnd what comfort will that be when your orders are to kill me?â you ask, sneering up at him. âWhat will you do when your orders are explicit and undeniable, and you are to kill me on sight?â
âIâll never see you again.â
You arenât sure what you expected, exactly, but it always trips you up when he speaks plainly. âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â you snap.
âWhat do you think it means?â He hurls the words back at you, his anger lighting from your own. âIt means I would pluck my own eyes out before Iâd kill you. If the king ordered me to hunt you down Iâd stay one step behind you until we reached the very ends of the earth. If he came outside this very moment and told me to snap your neckââ He shudders, shaking his head like a dog shakes off the rain, and when he looks back at you the anger is gone, hidden away again behind his steely resolve. âLoyalty only goes so far. He knows not to make an order I cannot follow. If he truly wants you dead, heâll ask another.â He glances over his shoulder, keen yellow eyes fixing on a point somewhere inside. âI hope it does not come to even that.â
âBut why?â
He lets go of your shoulders and turns around, stalks a few feet away, and turns again, pushing both of his hands through his hair in frustration. Because I love you!â he snarls. âYou had me the first day you tried to run me through. Oh I wanted you from the first moment I laid eyes on you, beautiful thing that you are, but it was the first moment that you tried to cut my heart out that I knew there could be no other. You have no idea what itâs like, to love such a stubborn, foolish, bitch of a woman? Do you understand what it will do to me, when you leave? But I have never been able to keep you by force.â
âBut you let me go,â you say numbly. âYou saidââ
âLet you go?â He laughs, striding back towards you. âOh my love, you misunderstand. Just because I couldnât kill you does not mean I didnât try to keep you. But you have slipped every chain Iâve placed upon you. Iâve never pulled my punches. I would not disrespect you so.â
âYou called it a gameââ
He inclines his head towards you. âI did. Perhaps I should not have. But it was easier to think of it as a game. A test of my own worthiness. I admit, I have always looked forward to your attempts on my life. Itâs good, I think, for a man to be beaten once in a while, to keep him sharp. Otherwise he forgets to be vigilant.â He sighs, touching the edge of an old, silvery scar on your shoulder, brushing a loose strand of your hair out of the way. âBesides. Weâve both made our marks upon the other.â
âIâve gotten you more times than you have me,â you say, lifting your chin imperiously. âTwo or three times I really thought Iâd finished you off.â
âAre you so certain of that?â
You think about it. âYes.â
âCare to make a wager, dearest? If youâve left more marks on me than I on you, you may ask anything of me.â
You draw in a steady breath. âAnd if I lose?â
He grins. âNot so confident now, are you? I only want what is freely given, so you neednât worry. You can name your own penalty.â
âHow magnanimous.â
âI can be,â he says. âNow, shall we inspect each other here, or would you prefer somewhere more private?â
The thought of being alone with the wolf makes you shiver, but itâs not revulsion that you feel, itâs something far worse. The dark, cold balcony seems a world away from the golden ballroom with all itâs legions of beautiful, elegant guests, but itâs only panes of glass that separates you from them, hazy from condensation, opaque enough that you doubt anyone can see through them. It makes no material difference, in the end, but itâs winter, and the cold seeps through your dress easily, your skin only warm where he touches you. âAh, yes,â you say nervously. âPerhaps somewhere more private.â
âAnd warmer,â he adds. âAs stunning as you look, I do not believe you are dressed for the weather.â
As if on cue, a snowflake descends from the dark sky. You reach out your hand, catching it against your palm. A moment later, the sky is thick with snow, fat, fluffy flakes catching the light and turning the world white. You look back at him. He looks softer, somehow, with that little dusting of snow catching in his thick curls, melting flakes glittering like diamonds on his shoulders. For the first time, youâre struck by how young he looks. He was a man grown at your first meeting, and you had always thought of him as much older, but you know now that he couldnât be ten years your senior. You suspect itâs much less than that.
It changes something in your perception of him. Softens him.
âWhy are you looking at me like that?â he asks, stepping in close again. Although youâve hardly moved an inch since you came out to the balcony, heâs full of restless energy, moving away and back again like heâs tethered to you by some invisible string. He tilts his head to the side, his keen predator eyes practically glowing in the soft light.
You were glad your face was already flushed from the cold. âI was just thinking. You look soâŠâ You trail off, thinking of the best way to phrase it.
âHandsome?â he suggested. âStrong? Irresistible?â He wiggles his thick black eyebrows, grinning wickedly, making you laugh despite yourself.
âI was going to say young, actually,â you say. âI was wondering what sort of boy you were.â
He holds a hand out to you. âIâm sure thereâs a portrait somewhere, if youâre curious. Now come along, pet, I donât want you catching a cold out here. I do have a wager to win.â
You hesitate. All the ancient, bitter anger and sadness wars with something new in your chest. Itâs been so long since you wanted anything more than vengeance. Ages since the last time you felt deep, aching want for someoneâs hands on you, if you ever even had. The obsession between you, at least, was mutual, and you had traded the excitement of romance for the thrill of the hunt, the clash of your sword against the wolfâs. His taunting sounded better than flowery poetry to your ears, and you could not help but seek him out every time the loneliness of your new life became too much to bear. He had been your focus, your centre, your reason for existing for so long that you can no longer deny what this is.
Love is not always kind. Between the two of you, itâs become a desperate, wretched thing, living on scraps of attention and hungry looks traded in battle.
His fingers close around yours, and you realize that youâve reached out and taken the offered hand. You look at him, and heâs smiling in a way you havenât seen before, half-hitched up on one side, almost shy.
He twines his fingers through yours and leads you back through the ballroom, slipping around the edges of the crowd like the wolf he is. No one seems to pay either of you any mind, although you feel curiously bare without your mask, as visible as a hare in a field to the eyes of a hawk. But your hunter is holding your hand, his thumb stroking over yours soothingly, like he can sense your unease.
Despite that small reassurance, youâre grateful when you step into a nearly empty corridor. A few well-dressed servants carrying trays bustle between the ballroom and the kitchens at the far end, but your wolf leads you the other way, through a few hallways littered with decorative items and portraits of long-dead nobles with eyes that seemed to follow you. You had been there only a few days earlier, but it looks different now. Perhaps itâs that you arenât on constant guard for the wolf. Heâs already here, holding your hand, pretending that heâs not watching you, just as you pretend to look at the portraits and statues and expensive looking vases you pass by, stealing glances at him only when you think you can get away with it.
The silence between you is almost comfortable, both of you too caught up in your individual tumble of thoughts to put anything to words. Itâs impossible to tell what heâs thinking. You wonder if he feels like heâs won already, but thereâs none of his usual taunting or his infuriatingly handsome smirk. He looks serious, black brows lowered in a sort of pensiveness that youâve never seen from him. Of course, you had only once gone so long in his company without attacking him physically, and you had been tied to a chair, at the time.
âDo you remember, a few years ago, the hunting lodge just above Lake Pym?â he asks.
You laugh. âI was just thinking about it. Why?â
He stops in front of a door and leans against the frame. âDo you think youâll be able to go as long without trying to stab me this time around?â
âThat depends on whether or not you tie me up again,â you quip back.
âDonât say such things,â he warns you, opening the door and holding it open, letting go of your hand for the first time in ages. Your fingers feel cold without his touch. âYouâll give me ideas.â
âYouâve made far too many confessions tonight for me to believe that you didnât already have ideas,â you tease. Funny how easily that comes, like youâre old friends and not enemies. A tidy little fire burns in the stone fireplace, with a cozy arrangement of rugs and furs laid out before it. A low table sits ready, carrying wine and glasses and a few plates of the sort of interesting finger-foods that they had been serving in the ballroom. Raising your eyebrows, you look back over your shoulder at him. He hadnât spoken to anyone on the way in, which meant that it had been all prearranged.
He closes the door behind himself and leans against it, grinning sheepishly. âI live in hope.â
The room - his room- is neat, a big bed with four posts carved like small trees, green-velvet curtains tied back neatly, is the first sign that he might actually like colour. You imagined him always in sombre black and white, dark hair, white teeth, dressed like the reaper and often so employed. But perhaps he isnât as stark as youâd always thought. His furniture is solid and well-made of warm-toned wood, and the bookshelves that flank the fireplace are stuffed with books, the odd space cleared out for knick-knacks and trophies. You had never considered that he might like to read. It isnât something that has ever come up before.
The wolf sits down on the furs and nudges a black lump by the fire. The shape uncurls into the biggest, fattest, blackest cat youâve ever seen and pads over to you, sniffing your skirts suspiciously.
âYou have a cat?â you ask, because it seems unlike the picture youâve built up of him over the years. Another thing you missed. You had been so focused on him as an enemy that you had hardly stopped to consider him as a man. You sit, and the cat drapes itself across your lap, purring already in anticipation of a good scratch.
âI donât have a cat,â he corrects you loftily. âSmudge is the matriarch of a proud line of excellent mousers, and she is a valued member of the household. One cannot own a cat, I have learned. One co-habituates with cats.â He leans over and gives the cat a little scratch under the chin, his knuckles just barely brushing your knee as he withdraws. âShe isnât usually very friendly, but she must recognize a fellow assassin when she sees one.â
âIâm not much of an assassin, Iâm afraid sheâd be terribly disappointed in me. Iâve failed to kill my only target, and I have been at it for quite some time.â You give the cat a scratch behind the ears. âIâm sure her record is much more impressive.â
He frowns and looked at you in a funny way. âHave you never taken a life?â
âIâve tried very hard to avoid it. Youâre the only person I ever wanted dead, and Iâ I wanted to be better than you. I wanted my hands to stay clean, so I could beat you and still keep my sense ofâŠâ You look down at the purring black puddle of fur in your lap rather than at the wolf. âOh I donât know. Righteousness, I suppose.â
âSo sweet that you wanted me to be your first,â he teases.
You know he means first kill, but you turn pink anyway, and there is no cold wind to blame for your rosy cheeks this time. There were many firsts that you had missed out on, in your bid for vengeance. âPerhaps I still do,â you snap, not thinking about the double meaning until after the words have left your mouth. You scramble to clarify. âMy first killâ Notâ Ugh.â He begins to laugh, and you cover your face with both hands, wishing the floor would open up beneath you and swallow you whole. âStop laughing!â Your voice is muffled by your hands, but there is no way that his keen wolfâs ears donât hear you perfectly. âThatâs not what I meant!â
He snorts. âI know, pet. Itâs a bit late for that, I should think.â
You peek at him between your fingers, and his eyebrows shoot up.
âDarling.â He leans over and gently takes hold of your wrists, prying your hands away. He is mercifully no longer laughing, but the look in his eyes only makes your face burn hotter. âPlease donât tell me that youâve never taken a lover.â
âThere was never a good time,â you manage to squeak out. It was half true. There had been offers, and moments when youâd been sorely tempted to share someoneâs bed for the night, but the few fumbling kisses youâd shared with young men had failed to thrill you the way that crossing swords with the wolf did.
He sits back with a groan. âYouâre always throwing wrenches into my plans.â
âHow on earth could that have anything to do with your plans?â you ask hotly.
âDarling, donât be so naive. My plans were obviously to seduce you into my bed so I could out-perform every man who had ever touched you, forcing you to admit to yourself that we belong together. But I suppose that would have been too easy.â
âToo easy!â
âI would never imply that you would be easily seduced, my love, only that I am fairly confident that you would have a harder time denying what we are if I were to employ my considerable athletic ability with the task of making you come undone.â He smiles ruefully. âBut seduction isnât fair if youâre a virgin. Iâll have to win your heart the old fashioned way.â
âThe old fashioned way?â You stare at him, incredulous. âWhat, youâre going to court me?â
âIâm certainly going to try,â he says, turning toward the table to pour you a glass of wine. âItâs the long road, but youâll find Iâm usually more than willing to take the scenic route.â
âYouâre insane,â you say weakly, accepting the offered glass. âYou must be.â
âMust I be? Like you said, Iâve made far too many confessions tonight, you must know that I do not mean this as some passing fancy. I think it would be a waste to continue this bloody crusade of yours. For both of us. I confess my bias in the matter, as I rather enjoy living.â He shrugs, looking at you over the rim of his own glass. âDo you? Has your life been all you wished for, these past ten years? Youâve forgone comfort, education, friends, romance, childrenâ Do you want none of those things?â
âOf course I doââ
âThen take them. Everything you want is yours if you stay.â He takes a sip of wine and winces, face screwing up like a child tasting something bitter. âUgh, I hate wine.â
âI know. I was wondering if you were going to drink from that glass youâve been waving around.â
âI just wanted to indicate that it wasnât poisoned.â He sets the glass to the side, still grimacing. âJust in case you were wondering if I was still trying to trick you.â
âIt had crossed my mind.â
âPerish the thought, my love.â He stretches out in front of the fire, propped up on one elbow. âIâve laid down my arms. If you must end this once and for all to free yourself, so be it. But I do think my alternative is better.â
You set your wine to the side as well and reach back to pull the silver hair-stick from your curls. You consider it, for a moment, pressing the point into your fingertip, not quite hard enough to draw blood. He watches with an inscrutable expression, making no move to disarm you. The cat slips out of your lap and stretches, moving off into the shadows again, either unaware or uncaring of the danger to her house mate. Or perhaps sheâs simply more aware than you that there is no longer any danger.
You reach out and place the make-shift weapon on the rug in front of him.
The crackle of the fire is the only sound for a long moment. The wolf was rarely rendered speechlessâ getting him to shut up was usually the more difficult task. But he simply looks at you, like youâve performed a miracle in front of his very eyes.
You slide one of the plates of food off the table and set it on the floor between you, something to hopefully distract his attention a little. You pick up one of the little triangle pastries and take a bite, catching crumbs with your other hand. You eat two more, realizing that you havenât eaten in hours, and wait for him to break the silence.
He sighs and rolls onto his back, tucking both hands under his head. Firelight dances over his skin, burnishing his features like well-polished bronze. Although you have known him a long time, youâve never studied him like this, while his eyes are closed and his usual grin is smoothed out into a peaceful smile. He looks noble, like a hero from the epics you used to read as a girl, more like you remembered from the days before everything changed.
âYouâre staring,â he says without cracking an eye.
âHow would you know? You havenât opened your eyes in ages.â
âAnd how would you know that, if you havenât been staring?â
He has you there. âAlright, fine. I suppose I was. I was just thinking about⊠about before.â
He opens his eyes. âHow long? We do have a rather storied history, donât we, love? I myself have been thinking of Lake Pym.â
You smirk. âI bet you have. I had a feeling you were rather enjoying yourself.â
âI was. It would have been more fun if you were a more willing guest, or if I at least didnât have to keep you tied to a chair the whole time.â
âYou wouldnât even let me feed myself,â you lament, though you canât help the traitorous note of amusement in your voice. âIt was terribly humiliating.â
âRevisionist drivel!â he snarls playfully. âI did untie you so you could feed yourself, and you tried to stab me. You forced my hand.â
You blink. âI suppose I did.â
He leans closer. âI suspected you just wanted me to take care of you. You were too proud to ask me for what you wanted, so you forced the situation. And snapped at my fingers the whole time like an absolute menace.â He holds up his right hand and displays a white mark around the first knuckle of his thumb. âThatâs one, by the way.â
âI only bit you because you stuck your finger in my mouth,â you reminded him.
âAh, I suppose I did get a bit carried away, didnât I? There was just this moment when I touched your lipâŠâ He reaches out as if he wants to repeat the remembered gesture, perhaps hoping for a better outcome, but he hesitates, dropping his hand. You almost wish he hadnât. âAre you still too proud, my love?â
âYes,â you whisper.
He senses your weakness. The way the answer drips with doubt like blood from a wound. âWill you let me kiss you?â He moves closer, anticipating your answer before it leaves your lips.
Your breath catches in your throat. âYes.â
At long last, he closes the distance between you, hands cradling each side of your face. He just barely brushes his lips against yours, and holds you back when you try to chase him, his familiar wolfish smile lighting up his face. âNot so fast, my darling. Youâll have to ask nicely, if you want a proper kiss.â He unbuttons the cuff of his black shirt only a moment later, his eyes dropping away from yours for a moment, and then rolls up his sleeves. âTwo and three, respectively,â he says, pointing out two more scars along his forearms. They were both from similar situations. Two times that you had disarmed him and made him bleed for it. You reach out and touch the silvery marks, feeling the smooth gap in his arm hair and the fully repaired muscle underneath the flawed skin. âYouâre a better swordsman than I,â he says, reaching up to unlace the top of his tunic. âI might have had the edge of experience, at the beginning, but you quickly caught up to me, didnât you? It was a good thing you were so scrupled about killing people other than me, or Iâd have lost far too many good men to your blade.â
âYouâre just trying to flatter me.â
âIs it working?â He pulls the tunic and shirt off in one go, baring his chest. There are a few scars there that you could not claim, and two that you can, although your eyes are drawn to one in particular. The ugly, uneven star right next to his heart, where you had run him through with the iron poker on the night of the wolf. âThis one is my favourite,â he tells you, pressing one of your hands to the scar. âThe first time you tried to kill me. Jon had to half-heal me himself, or I wouldnât have made it to a proper healer in time. Itâs partially why thereâs such a scar. Heâs always been terrible at the more subtle magics, but if you want something blown up, Jonâs your man.â
You laughed. âIâll keep that in mind.â
âMake sure you also note, in that treacherous little mind of yours, that he will not employ his considerable magical gift with the task of making me explode. He is still rather fond of me, even after all these years.â
âIt is good, I think, to have a king that is so well-versed in the art of restraint,â you say mildly.
âOh yes, I imagine it is.â
âSo is it really just the five scars?â you ask. âThatâs all?â Despite the truce the two of you had settled into, you felt strangely disappointed that your obsession with killing him over the last decade had resulted in only a handful of scars. It all felt like a waste. You try to console yourself with the knowledge that he heals more rapidly than most men. The scars you have left are despite that.
âThereâs one more, on my thigh, but I imagine you probably donât want me to take my pants off.â
You do want him to take his pants off. âYes, thatâs very thoughtful of you,â you say instead. âI suppose youâve won, anyway. I have a lot more than six scars from you.â You had expected that his life as a warrior would have marked him more significantly. Youâre covered in scars, faded and fresh alike, and there is no getting around the fact that you feel like youâve stitched yourself up so often that you look as worn down as your oldest, ugliest shirt.
The disappointment in his eyes is gone so quickly that you arenât entirely sure you hadnât imagined it. âWell, I suppose Iâll have to take your word for it, wonât I?â
âYouâre just trying to get me out of my dress,â you say hotly.
âObviously. You look very lovely in it, of course, but I have been hoping for the chance to peel it off of you.â
You shake your head. âI think youâll be a bit disappointed.â
âNever. What would possibly deter me at this point, darling? If stabbing me through the heart didnât erode my affections, what could?â
âOh I donât know,â you say thoughtfully. âI could have scales, or a tailââ
âI have a tail,â he reminds you. âAnd Iâm quite positive that youâre human, so Iâm not worried about scales. Or strange birth-marks or stretch-marks or scars, either, by the way.â
You take a deep breath and stand up, turning your back to him. âIt would help if you could undo all these buttons for me,â you say, sweeping your hair in front of your shoulder. âThere are so many of them.â
He jumps to his feet and scrambles to help. A few buttons plink to the floor, torn free in his haste. âIâll have it fixed,â he says hastily. âAnd Iâll buy you new gowns. As many as you can stand.â
You glance over your shoulder, nervous laughter stilling on your tongue when you see the look in his eyes. You turn forward again, sliding your arms through the sleeves and shimmying the gown to he floor. He gives you a hand to steady yourself as you step free. âIâ I donât wantâ I wonât stay.â
He hums in response, gathering up the gown and laying it over the back of a chair.
âI wonât,â you repeat yourself, as if the words will sound convincing the second time. They donât.
âI already told you, darling, I wonât make you stay. Itâs up to you.â
He draws you back to your seats in front of the fire, and you offer him your arms. Youâre riddled with fine scars, most of them faint, little nicks from his blade. His hands slide up to your shoulder and gently tug the capped sleeve of your chemise to the side, baring the imprint of his jaws. His thumb runs across the marks, his other hand landing on your knee.
âI wondered if Iâd bitten you that night.â He moves closer, his tongue moving over his sharp canines as he sighs. His fingers trail down your arm as his touch drops away. âYou never turned, so I wasnât sure.â
âIt doesnât always take,â you say, using his shoulder to help you back up to your feet. âI think it depends on the moon. New moon, that night. If you were any other wolf you never would have shifted.â
âI suppose that makes sense.â He settles back on his heels, looking up at you. âI canât say Iâve thought about why some bites take and some donât. Iâm not as observant as you, my love.â
Laughable, when his senses are many times greater than your own. Itâs not his observations that are the problem, itâs the connecting cause and effect, thinking about consequence for more than a moment. Heâs faced so few consequences in his life that it doesnât come naturally to him. You, on the other hand, are a mess of consequence, action and reaction measured and weighed, failures poured over until you can see every mistake youâve made, follow the tracks to how things could have been, if youâd done it all just a little differently.
You pull your skirt up so you can untie the ribbon that holds up your stocking, and he slides it down to your ankle. âThis oneâs only indirectly your fault,â you say, angling your leg so he can see the trail of pocked scars that wrap around your knee and up your thigh. âWhen I jumped down that ravine. Scraped myself up on the rocks.â
He tuts, hands reaching for these scars too. Itâs just an excuse to touch you, certainly, but you make no move to stop him. You just hold your skirt up, giving him unfettered access to your skin. His amber eyes flick up to your face, and he leans forward, pressing his lips to your knee.
Thereâs no halting the soft âOhâ that falls from your lips, but he would have heard even the softest catch of breath. Thereâs no hiding from him, and it terrifies you, leaves you so unsteady.
His eyes flutter shut for a moment, his exhale warm against your skin. âYou shouldnât show me any more,â he tells you. âI find myself wanting to kiss every inch of skin you show me, and I worry that you wonât stop me if I try.â
You sink back to his level and pull your stocking back up, tying the ribbon around your thigh again. âWould that be so bad?â
He groans and lays back on the furs, hands neatly folded on his stomach. âI am trying to be a good man for you, darling. You deserve more than I can give in one night. I need at least a few weeks to make you fall hopelessly in love with me before I can do anything that would tempt me to take you to bed.â
You run your palm over his stomach, feeling the soft pelt of hair over his warm skin, letting your curiosity guide your fingertips. You feel the expansion and contraction of muscle as he breathes in and out, tucking one hand under his head so he can watch you more easily, his eyes barely open.
You have to admit, he is handsome, especially relaxed like this. Only a few short hours ago you would have found the idea of him kissing any part of you abhorrent, but now you find yourself similarly compelled. You take his hand and kiss his knuckles, the tips of his fingers, the palm of his hand.
âCome here, you little minx,â he growls, trying to pull you down on top of him. You pull back, and he lets go, still worried about pushing you when youâve made so many overtures in such a short time.
You had expected him to hold on tightly, however, and overbalance, tipping over the other way with an inelegant little squeak. He laughs as he sits up, and you do too as he helps you back upright. He lays back again, and thereâs no resistance when he takes you with him this time. He tucks you into his side, and you look down at him, chin propped on your hand.
âI rescind my earlier statement,â he says.
âWhich one?â
âYou donât have to ask nicely for a kiss, darling. I worry that youâre too prideful to admit that you might like one, but if you can steal one whenever the mood strikes you, I might be lucky enough to receive a few impulsive ones that your good sense isnât fast enough to stop.â
You huff. âIs this your way of asking for another?â
âItâs my way of asking for as many as you might want to give me,â he says. âThere is, of course, a standing offer of anything you might like that is within my power to supply. I think it prudent to remind you.â
Heâs a ridiculous kind of man. Youâd always thought his tendency toward verbosity was just him grandstanding, but now you see it for what it really is. He wants to be understood by you so desperately that each sentence becomes overwrought, less clear for his efforts to imbue each word with meaning. Your own tendency toward blunt, inelegant language is an almost laughable counter. You say little, and hide everything you can, and he reads you plainly. He speaks like a poet, puts everything out in the open, and you misunderstand him on purpose.
Perhaps thatâs why you didnât see this for what it is a long time ago. If you were not so determined to make an enemy of him, perhaps you would have noticed the softness in his eyes, the way he looks at you as though youâre the sunrise and set, like youâre the moon and all the stars in the sky.
You kiss him, before he can open his mouth to speak again. Thereâs nothing lacklustre about the way your lips slide over his, the way your breath mingles, the way he makes little noises of satisfaction, unable to be quiet even with his tongue flicking over your top lip, encouraging you to open up for him. Angling your head to keep your noses from smushing together, you oblige, letting him lick into your mouth, his arms circling you, holding you tight against his body.
You can't put a name to the feeling that sparks between you, but it's the thing that's been missing from every kiss you've had before.
The heat, the need of it all burns away all that remains of your carefully maintained resolve. He loves you, fool that he is, and you're not sure you could survive without him now. Is that what love is? To mourn even the thought of their absence from you, to cling tightly and never let go? To sink into each other until you're one, two halves of the same whole?
He kisses you until you're breathless, lips swollen from the tug of his sharp teeth, jaw curiously sore from moving in a new way. You pull back first, braced on one arm as you look down on him. He's beautiful, more than human, wild-eyed and fey, but solid and warm beneath you in a way only a man could be. His imperfections make him dearer to you, not just the marks you've drawn on his skin, but the gap between his two front teeth, the way one brow arches a little more than the other, giving him that permanently skeptical look that had always made you feel he was making fun of you. The crooked smile, the notch in one ear.
You know his face more intimately than your own, but you still want to look at him, especially through this new lens.
âI donât think I want to wait,â you admit. Youâve waited long enough, havenât you?
âAre you certain?â he asks.
âI donât see what difference it makes, really.â
âIt makes a great deal of difference. Iâve taken enough from you, I donât want you to regret it.â He gazes up at you, tracing along your jaw with careful touch.
Your heart races rabbit-quick in your chest, and although you're the one looking down at him, you feel pinned in place by the wolf's eyes alone. "Then make sure I don't," you say softly. "I can even promise not to make another attempt on your life until the morning."
"DarlingâŠ"
"Please. I don't know how I'll feel tomorrow, but tonight I think I want your hands on me."
"You think?" His fingers catch around the back of your neck, as though he's waiting for some cue before he pulls you back into his arms.
âI know.â
He pulls you down for another kiss, rolling the two of you so his big body stretches over yours, your underskirts bunching up as he slots his thick thigh between yours, pressing against your core. He holds most of his weight off of you, but youâre still trapped beneath him. For the first time in a long while, there is no panic, no desire to fight furiously for freedom. You feel quite content where you are, especially when his thigh flexes, rubbing against you firmly, sending a shower of sparks through your belly. You gasp against his mouth, your hands skimming down his sides gingerly. When he does it again, you dig your fingers into the muscle of his back reflexively, murmuring apologies as his lips leave yours and slide down your bared throat.
âDonât,â he growls against your pulse, dragging his tongue roughly over your skin. âDonât apologize. You wonât hurt me.â
His teeth graze the slope of your shoulder, finding the older scar from his lupine jaws. You let out a shuddering gasp when he bites down lightly, not even hard enough to leave a mark. Thereâs a part of you that wants him to leave a mark, a bruise if not something more permanent, but youâre not sure youâll be able to convince him out of gentleness tonight.
He kisses down your chest, grinning up at you when he reaches the top edge of your corset. âYou are still wearing far too much clothing, my love. Come here.â He stands in a smooth movement, and youâre untethered without the weight of his body against yours, but only for a moment. He helps you to your feet and leads you to the bed, taking a seat on the edge and pulling you between his knees, turning you so he can loosen the laces of your corset.
You shed the garment as soon as youâre able, as well as the extra petticoats. Your chemise is thin, loose material, obscuring little, but you leave it on while you sit beside the wolf, toeing your heeled slippers off and nudging them under the bed and out of the way. Hands folded, you wait, heart beating like a drum. You feel so strange, almost outside your own body, watching him unlace his boots and tug them off impatiently.
He stands to strip off his trousers, and you quickly avert your gaze, looking down at your hands rather than see him in his fully undressed state. You have a rough idea of what youâd find, youâve been in the public baths more than a few times, and even doing your best to be respectful, itâs hard not to see something. But seeing something in a setting where everyone is minding their own business is a lot different than seeing something up close, especially when you might be expected to do more than just look.
âWe donât have to do this, love,â he says, kneeling in front of you, clasping his hands around yours. Your eyes fly back up, landing on his face. His chuckle makes your cheeks burn. âIf youâre nervousââ
âNo,â you say quickly. âI want to. Iâm justâ I hate not knowing what Iâm supposed to do.â
âI wouldnât worry about that darling. Itâs your first time, I should think the responsibility rests on my shoulders. All you have to do is tell me when you like something and when you donât.â He leans forward, forcing your thighs apart to accommodate the bulk of him, and kisses you, all sweetness. âAnd if you want to stop, we stop. Anything more than that can wait at least until the second or third time.â
It sounds so simple, put like that.
âBesides,â he adds, giving you a wicked grin as his hands move to your hips, the movement rucking your chemise up further on your thighs. âYouâve always been a quick study.â
Well, heâs right about that. His lips find your throat again, pressing languid kisses down your chest until he reaches the edge of your chemise. His eyes flick upwards, seeking permission before he goes further. You untie the simple knot with one hand, the other petting through his soft curls.
He noses aside the thin fabric to find your nipple, latching on with a contented hum. The act sends tremors down into your core, intensifying as his tongue flicks across. You pull in a shuddering breath, and your exhale becomes a whimper when his teeth nip at you, his other hand coming up to grope at your other breast, his touch warm and appreciative before his grip slides down to your hips and he tugs you to the edge of the mattress.
He pulls away from your breast and kisses you properly again. âDo you want more?â he asks. âCan I taste your pretty cunt, darling?â
The desire in his words sends a shiver down your spine. You nod, and he sits back on his heels and kisses all the way up your thigh, although he pauses and pulls back to your other knee, kissing his way up again, this time sinking his teeth into your inner thigh, not hard enough to really hurt, just enough to make you jolt, your pearl begging for any kind of friction. When he passes over your cunt to mouth at your other thigh, you whine, shifting even closer to the edge of the bed. You can feel your cunt dripping, the air strangely cool on your wet skin.
A pair of mischievous eyes glance up at you. Heâs doing this on purpose. He started all of this, and now he has the gall to tease you. Glaring in response, you grip him by the hair and pull him in, determined to put his clever mouth to better use than smirking and biting you when you need him elsewhere.
To his credit, he makes no complaint and does what heâs directed, slipping his tongue between your folds, lapping up the slick arousal. His big hands push your thighs up so he can get a better angle, and he kisses your cunt with as much passion as he did your lips, if not more.
The feeling is electric. His mouth scorches, sets you alight in ways youâd never imagined, the occasional scrape of his too sharp teeth against you thrilling. Itâs too good, has you fighting his grip even as your fingers are still tightly wound into his hair, holding him close. Itâs too much, but if he stopped it would be so much worse.
If he minds your writhing, he doesnât show it. You canât help the sounds he pulls from you, but heâs louder, as though this is more for himself than for you. He groans when your hips buck against his mouth, pants when he lifts himself away enough to breathe, his amber eyes gleaming, fixed on your face, except the few times they flutter closed, just for a moment, savouring your taste.
His nose nudges your pearl as his tongue presses inside you. You grip him so tightly to your core, your hips shaking so hard that youâre surprised you donât break his nose. The hot, molten cataclysm thatâs been pooling somewhere behind your belly button overtakes you, sweeping you away, limbs seized, unable to out-swim the current. You canât see past the stars in your eyes even after your legs relax and you force your hand to unclasp his hair, finger by finger, so you can lay back on the mattress, breathing hard.
He crawls up onto the bed and pulls you toward the centre, a self-satisfied grin on his face. His cock presses into your thigh, insistent for attention, the tip peeking out and leaking against your thigh. He ruts against you when he kisses you again, his close-cropped beard soaked with your arousal. You can taste yourself on his tongue, tangy and bitter-sweet.
You lay twined together, forehead pressed against his as you both catch your breath. One hand gently brushes up and down your spine, the other pulling your leg up over his hip. âHow was that?â he asked.
There may not be words for what you feel. Maybe there are, but theyâre beyond you right now, washed away with all the resistance in your body. You settle on nice, which makes him laugh.
âOnly nice, hm? I suppose Iâll have to work harder.â
âBetter than nice,â you assure him. âIâ I liked it a lot.â Itâs still insufficient, so you kiss him again, hoping he wonât ask any more questions.
He does, after a long moment. âAre you ready for more?â
âThereâs more?â you ask. âOrâ for you? Do you want me toââ
âNo, thereâs no need for you to do a thing, love. The next part is for both of us.â He rolls onto his back, taking you with him effortlessly. He reaches past you with one hand while he kisses you sweetly, tongue pushing into your mouth at the same moment you feel his cock slot against your entrance. He pushes in gently, halting when he meets resistance, fucking shallowly into you until you relax enough to let him bury himself deeper into your body.
You tuck your face down against his chest, focusing on the feeling of his cock stretching your cunt, so deep inside you that his presses against your womb. He tries to keep himself still, but his hips buck slightly, tearing a groan from your chest. Thereâs no stopping the way your cunt squeezes down on him in response, nor the way your hips grind against him. He makes a choked sound, breathing out shakily when you push yourself up to look at him.
The angle change nearly has you collapsing back down, but he takes pity on you and flips you both so he can take the lead. âHello, pretty thing,â he says, giving you another kiss and a firm grind into you before he starts moving his hips, slowly working himself in and out of your cunt, lips settling against your ear so he could tell you how well youâre taking him, how good you feel around his cock.
Any ability to respond is quickly fucked out of you, your breath punched out with every deep thrust, your world shrinking down to a handful of sensations: his lips on your ear, the weight of his body and the delicious drag of his cock against your inner walls.
He works his hand between you to rub at your pearl, the heel of his hand pressing down on your lower belly. The thought that he can feel himself inside you with your hand is one of the last fully formed ones that cross your mind, because he growls and picks up the pace, unrelenting until youâre shaking and babbling and clinging so tightly to him that youâre certain youâll leave permanent marks.
He drags you up another precipice and throws you over, his forehead pressed to yours, watching your face as you shake and cry out. He ruts into you, and you can feel him fill your cunt, his cock twitching, rooted firmly inside you. He doesnât pull away, just throws himself onto his back, holding you tight to his chest.
His heart beats like a drum under your ear, slowing gradually as he catches his breath. His cock slips free, and you stiffen slightly as his spend leaks from your swollen cunt, spilling onto his belly. He pops his head up as soon as you tense, and huffs out a laugh, kissing the tip of your nose.
âSex can be a bit messy. Come on, love. Letâs get cleaned up.â
Your legs wobble when you try to stand, but he happily slides a supportive arm around your waist, leading you into the adjoining tap room. Once youâre both cleaned up, he coaxes you out of your sweat-soaked chemise and wraps you in one of his shirts and you both sit back down in front of the fire.
You pick up your abandoned wine glass, holding it with both hands as you eye the wolf. He looks content, satiated, like heâs had his fill of you. Thereâs a little tremor of unease that settles in your belly. Now that the chase is over, will he still want you? Do you still want him to want you? At the beginning of the evening you had been determined to kill him, and nowâŠ
He looks back at you through half-closed eyes, and unfurls his arm. âYouâre too far away,â he tells you, voice a warm purr. âAnd youâre thinking too much.â
Itâs still unfair, how easily he reads you. An open book, pages left open for him to flip through at his leisure. Despite your trepidation, you walk forward on your knees and sit against him, knees tucked under his arm. His fingertips trail up your thigh, over your knee, down your calf, and back, over and over, as he waits for you to speak.
âWhat happens now?â you ask at last. âDo we go our separate ways?â
Hurt flashes across his face before he can hide it behind a neutral mask. âIf thatâs what you want.â His fingers continue retreading their path while silence builds between the two of you. At last, he pulls in a fortifying breath. âIs that what you want?â
Thereâs raw desire in his eyes, not tempered in the least by your coupling. He offers you everything so easily that it feels like it must be a trick, but he wouldnât work so hard to hide his feelings if he didnât care for you, if this were a trap. If you stay, it has to be your choice, not made because of his own want for you to remain by his side.
The anger that kept you warm in all your years out in the cold is gone. Killing him wonât bring your family back from the grave, it would just place another soul in one. The desire for revenge truly burned out a long while ago, and you couldnât admit that only embers remained. It was why you were so desperate to end it tonight, to close the chapter and look forward to something new.
Itâs so like your wolf to ruin your plans. This time, youâre not sure you mind.
âIâd like to stay,â you say at last.
Heâs on you so fast that you drop your wine glass, spilling red over the furs. Itâs hard to stop laughing enough to kiss him back, trying to point out the mess to him. He growls something about not giving a damn as he gives up trying to kiss you through your smile, and presses his lips to your pulse instead.
In the end, with all the history between the two of you, whatâs one more mess?
It's been almost five years since I started writing this short story, and I had fully expected not to finish it. I was caught up in the story in the peripherals, the potential history between Cat and Valter. This scene no longer fits in the overall narrative, even if there are still threads of it that remain unchanged, so I feel like it's safe to share. I'm working on the third draft of The Night of the Wolf, sorting out the mess of my second draft (so many changes it might as well be a second first draft) and I think there's a very real possibility that I can actually finish it, and that's in no small way thanks to all of you. I have been writing for a long time, but it's only been in the past year that I've shared my work with anyone, and it's been a really lovely experience. Thank you for reading my silly fanfictions, thank you for reading this, and I hope to share more bits of original work going forward, if there's any interest. (But don't worry, I'm still gonna finish the fanfictions. I show no signs of stopping yet)
C. T. Cutter
(Also, special thanks to my best human person @dragonnarrative-writes for making me finish this and being so so kind to me about my work and encouraging me always. I am bad at accepting compliments but I appreciate them all the same)
Image Credits: 1 - 2 ~ Dividers by @/cafekitsune
#Cave Writing#original works#enemies to lovers but in a you can't hate someone without also loving them way#in a âI keep my nemesis' picture in a locket around my neckâ way#Night of the Wolf#OC: Cat#OC: Valter#This is the sort of work that can happen when you dare to ask the question âWhat if Rahul Kohli was a hot werewolf?â#This is pretty much my one year writing and posting fanfiction-aversary! How time flies#I've written more this year than the previous 4 combined and it's been so much fun#And I've learned a lot#especially about putting myself out there#Writing other works definitely stretches a different muscle but fanfiction helps with dialogue and characters and writing sex lmao#I have sooooo many stories that stop right before a sex scene because I used to be so bad at writing it#But now? I'm all over it#Anyway these tags are not helpful to anyone I am just dithering to delay posting at this point#It's written in second POV because I was in the monster romance circles before the COD circles and it's popular there too#but I was never brave enough to post anything anyway lmao#Thanks for helping me be brave!#monster romance#but only kind of because when werewolves aren't actively shifted they're just some guy#He spends a lot more time being wolfy in the actual novel
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I canât believe a boyfriend made a silly sex joke to lighten the mood after both partners had a moment of vulnerability. The audacity. The horror. The normalcy! Unbelievable. How dare a conversation about feelings turn to levity. How dare a couple have a light chat about trauma-related things over dinner that doesnât turn into an incredibly deep heart to heart instead of a joke and moving on. Unbelievable. Iâm never watching this show again! đđ»
#911 spoilers#bucktommy#Evan buckley#Tommy kinard#look#as a queer person in a relationship with another queer person#both of whom have major familial trauma#trust me when I say you generally DONT WANT ever reference to your feelings and trauma to turn into a huge deep discussion#sometimes you just say something vulnerable#and the other person does too#and then you joke about it and move on#humour is powerful coping mechanism as well#one that is pretty common especially among guys#people need to freaking relax ffs#Tommy is not a horrible person for making a flirty joke#things were said and feelings were acknowledged#and then they moved on#this is all perfectly freaking natural#Buck is not some sensitive flower that canât handle a silly joke about daddy issues#please I beg you all to look at this at a distance with some common sense#rather than the âbut Buck is traumatized and must always be treated delicately!!â lens#and I am saying all of this as someone who really doesnât give two fucks about the joke itself#Iâm not into daddy kink idgaf#but if the idea that a queer couple isnât allowed to insert a flirty joke to lighten a moment of vulnerability#then I donât know what to tell you#you personally finding something innapropriate does not mean itâs actually innapropriate#please just chill out ffs#no one wants to hear about how evil Tommy is for hitting on his boyfriend for months and months to come
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i really wish v for vendetta (both the movie and the graphic novel) hadn't become associated with deeply irritating (and often reactionary) online political subcultures bc it really does slap so fucking hard
#re: the movie someone needs to write something about how two very famous and popular wachowski sister projects#(i.e. the matrix and v for vendetta)#became these loci for online far right symbolism and narratives#it's especially weird since both the matrix and v for vendetta could be read as pretty trans-coded#and are both VERY explicitly grounded in left-wing politics...........#i just don't get it tbh#anyway i'm reading the graphic novel now and really enjoying it#v for vendetta#text
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Would you guys burn me at the stake if I say that I think Chrysalis is actually a really important insight into Julian's character and his view on his own life and the people around him at the time it takes place. It's an episode that doesn't hold up today cause of the very ableist writing and kind of shitty moral but I think it's necessary that it's there and also occurs at the time it does in the show
I'll have a more insightful analysis on it one day cause I really want to talk about it (I want to make better researched ds9 analyses with actual clips from the show and whatnot instead of just vaguely referencing events from memory that could be completely wrong but unfortunately I do not have the time to be doing all of that. I would really like to in the future though)
#this is my ds9 hot take#I have more#ds9#ferry yaps#star trek#deep space nine#julian bashir#hiding this deeper in the tags I get why people don't like chrysalis it is definitely an uncomfortable watch#especially if you are neurodivergent or close to people who are#because of how awfully the writers handled it#but I think it does work from a canon perspective as well#even if the writers didn't intend it#it's a pretty good representation of internalised ableism#at least in my opinion#Julian doing to someone else what his parents did to him#and not realising it#is something that needed to happen to his character#in order for him to realise that his perceived moral superiority and saviour complex#is actually an issue that he needs to address#or something sorry this is kind of weak#whatever u get the idea
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Rest
Guess what? I've got more Jamil x reader for y'all. You can also find this on ao3. No warnings, just 866 words of kinda fluffy(?) caretaking stuff with gender-neutral reader.
At this point, you know Jamilâs schedule almost as well as he does. So, when you have the chance, you head to Scarabiaâs kitchen, hoping to spend some time with Jamil while he and the other students prepare dinner.Â
However, when you enter, it takes you but a moment to notice Jamilâs uncharacteristic fumbling and the tired look in his eyes. The way Jamilâs chopping the vegetables has you worried about him cutting himself with that knife heâs usually so adept with, and it seems itâs only force of habit thatâs keeping him on track.
You frown, and when your eyes meet Jamilâs, you can already see him put his guard up.
So he knows what state he is in, huh? And still, here he is.
It seems Jamil is reading your thoughts, all of him telling you drop it before any words are even said.
At least he still lets you lean in and give a quick kiss to his cheek in greeting.
âHello love. Do you still have a lot on your agenda for today?â you ask, keeping your tone low for at least some semblance of privacy in the busy kitchen.
âNothing I canât handle,â is the response you get.
Of course.
It takes a little more pestering before Jamil actually answers your question. Your lips purse. That list is far too long to your liking.
You take a moment to think, juggling your own plans and to-do list against the urgency of the things Jamil mentioned.
âWill Kalim be eating from that?â you ask, pointing at the food Jamil is preparing.
âYes.â
âAlright, I wonât be touching that one, then. Iâve gotta do a few things but Iâll be back when youâre done here.â
âDonât,â Jamil says with a glare, clearly aware of what youâre thinking.
Yet even his disapproving look doesnât have the usual weight behind it.
âYes. I will,â you say firmly, even as your heart curls inwards with another bout of concern.
Really, when did he get so tired?
And how did you not notice it earlier?
You leave the kitchen before Jamil can protest further, hurrying through the dorm corridors to find Kalim.
Soon you have an enthusiastic â and concerned â supporter for your plans. You have Kalim point out a few reliable Scarabia students to help with a few of the most urgent matters Jamil mentioned â cleaning up the common areas, delivering some paperwork to Crowley, preparing some dorm-wide notices â while you see to Kalim getting his school supplies in order for the following day. You even recruit a couple of third years to help Kalim with his homework.
Youâll see to the rest tomorrow â after all, you do also have a boyfriend to look after.
Your conversation over dinner can hardly be called anything else than an argument â despite Kalimâs best attempts at acting as a moderating force between you two. It is very tempting to ask Kalim to tell Jamil to take the rest of the day off â itâs not like Jamil would be willing to openly disobey a direct order. Still, you really donât need to remind Jamil of his position on top of everything else that youâre already doing more or less against his wishes.
Eventually, however, Jamilâs had a square meal, the most urgent things on his to-do list are being taken care of, and youâve managed to drag him to his bed.
âI really wish you wouldnât push yourself so hard,â you murmur, your arms wrapped tightly around Jamil. Youâre telling yourself you really do just want to cuddle, to offer some respite to Jamil. Still, there might also be a part of you worried that if you were to let go, heâd just jump up and get back to working himself to the bone.
Yet, for all his protestations, just the fact that youâve gotten Jamil to lay down with you speaks volumes of his current exhaustion.
âI canât just leave my duties, albi. You know this.â
âMaking yourself too indispensable, is what youâre doing,â you protest.
Oh, you know itâs not so simple. Not with his background, not with all the expectations and assumptions.
But sometimes you really wish it would be.
Jamil merely scoffs in response to your words.
Still, it is undeniable that he is slowly beginning to relax in your arms, slowly bringing his head closer to yours. His eyes are starting to flutter, too.
âI will still need to help Kalim with his homework, at the very least.â
You wonder who he is trying to convince more, you or himself.
âAmin and Khalil are helping him. Theyâre basically top of their classes, arenât they? Iâm sure theyâve got it.â
Still, Jamil frowns.
You sigh. He really is not letting go, is he?
âDo you want me to go supervise?â you ask.
And leave you, unsaid yet hanging there right after your words.
âDonât,â Jamil eventually says, the word barely more than a breath.
It seems he has accepted his fate.
You softly caress Jamilâs hair, listening to his softening breathing.
And when you wake up, wholly unaware of having been lulled to sleep in the first place, itâs to the lightest of touches from Jamilâs fingers.
Tagging @diodellet @twstgo @crystallizsch @jamilvapologist @jamilsimpno69 as per request If you'd like to be tagged for any future works, let me know!
#twisted wonderland#jamil viper#twisted wonderland x reader#jamil viper x reader#woop it sure has been quite the burst of creative energy lately#especially since this has apparently been sitting in my drafts since last august#but now you have it#I certainly canât promise to keep up with this rate of writing (in fact I can promise I won't) but hey let's enjoy it while it lasts#and yes Iâm hopping on the âjamil using arabic terms of endearmentâ train#Iâve read so many fics doing that that at this point it feels more natural than english ngl#even if english would probably be more canonical#also is it a *good* way to go about it to just pretty much just force someone to rest like this? probably not#is it sometimes the only way to get stubborn people to stop for a bit? perhaps#and is it something I might do?#...possibly#also oh boy can you tell that I'm avoiding jamil's dialogue like the plague lately?#I really need to reread so much of his stuff to get a hang of his voice again#(also if you notice typos pls tell me because they always bug me)#(or other wonkiness because I'm not a native speaker and sometimes things just go silly)#anyways hope y'all enjoy!
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So basically ATLA brain rot has hit me like a truck
#atla#avatar the last airbender#zuko#toph beifong#what happened was I was forced to watch the live action#which is actually pretty good if you get past the first few episodes#and if you donât have someone in your ear telling you itâs awful the whole time#first episode is definitely the weakest and thatâs 50% gran granâs fault#aang and katara are also pretty flat but whatever#sokkaâs good and zukoâs fantastic actually#they did goof on a few things but overall I think itâs a fun time#just donât expect it to be as good as the cartoon and youâll be okay#ANYWAY it got me missing toph#so i rewatched the blind bandit episode#and then wound up watching the entirety of books 2 & 3 in a few days#and now Iâm brain rotted#which is especially weird considering when I first watched it I was like#yeah that was good! and then never thought about it again#i dunno what changed but i need help itâs taking over my life#wanted to draw Sokka too but he looks hard to draw#and i had enough trouble with these two#maybe someday#sorry for rambling in the tags goodbye
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Voice actors are NOT the same as actors.
It takes a specific kind of skill-set and training to be able to warp and meld the voice. It takes a certain kind of talent and dedication to hone that talent into the ability to meld the voice and invoke emotion with one's voice alone. Actors are used to using their voice secondarily to their body language and their facial expressions. It's all mirrored back on camera. They do have nuance. But it's a different kind of nuance and a different kind of training to produce that nuance.
Voice actors might get their likeness transposed on their character's design, and maybe their mannerisms might seep into the character's animation. But when it's all said and done: their presence is in their voice. They are bringing a character to life, showing that emotion in their voice, trying to keep a specific accent, drawl, pitch, tone in that voice and keep it consistent for their recording sessions.
The voice actor is like a classically trained musician who can play first chair in a competitive, world-renown orchestra. The actor (who fills the voice actor's role) is like a moot who played violin in beginner and intermediate high school orchestra and thinks they can get into Juilliard with that 2-4 years of experience.
This doesn't mean that the HS orchestra moot can't play. They can even be really good at it. Maybe they won competitions and sat first chair. But they are not in the same league as the person who's been training their whole lives and lives and breathes to hone their craft using the instrument and all of the training they've ever acquired to perfect it. They are not meant for the same roles. They are not in the same caliber. You do not hire the HS equivalent when you want to play complex music in a competitive orchestra.
Actors are not the same as voice actors.
And furthermore, actors - especially big name actors - taking the roles of animated characters for big budget films or TV pilots makes no sense anyways when - at least in the case of TV pilots - there's not a point to hiring a big budget actors anyways. That money could be used elsewhere (like paying your animators), and the talent that is brought onto the screen for X character could then be hired on to voice said character no recasting required.
I wouldn't say voice acting as a profession is in danger exactly, but it's certainly being disrespected and overlooked for celebrity clout, and this has ALWAYS been an issue. Shoot, even Robin Williams knew that much - which is why he tried so hard not to be used as a marketing chess piece for Aladdin and got royally pissed off when it happened anyways. People shouldn't go to any movie (but especially not animated films) because "oh famous actor is in it". People should go because it's a good movie and the voice acting is good.
People who honest to god think that voice actors are replaceable because "oh well anyone can voice act" or "I like xyz celebrity so naturally it'll be good" ... Honestly I just wish you'd reassess your priorities because you're missing the point and are part of the problem.
Voice Actors â Actors.
#(i am incredibly passionate about this)#(and seeing celebrity voice actors in what should be a voice actor's role completely burns my buns it doesn't matter WHO it is)#(hemsworth as optimus? someone tell me one good reason why they couldn't get a good v/a to replace mr. cullen properly for the future)#(ben shwartz as sonic? dude literally isn't even a good voice actor OR actor anyways-)#(- A N D jason griffith AND my boy roger craig smith are still RIGHT HERE)#(jason griffith IN PARTICULAR would have pulled back SO many sonic fans that went to watch the film anyways. if not /more/.)#(and on top of that he has the same tonality and energy they tried to force this moshmo to try and emulate anyways so GET THE REAL THING)#(chris pratt as mario? i can at least defend /him/ and say that barring his failure to do a NY accent consistently he wasn't terrible)#(but mario's new voice actor could've been used instead and people would've clearly appreciated that WAY more)#(vanessa hudgens as sunny starscout in mlp g5's pilot movie? literally why. they replace her and hitch's va in the show.)#(don't even get me started on the concept of hiring celebrity singers to do musical theatre roles or not letting musical theatre singers-)#(-dub the celebrity voice actors you just HAD to hire for your film bc you're so worried about not getting enough clout to get ppl in seats#(that you're putting it all in this (1) big name hire bc turns out that you have no faith in your writing ability much less-)#(-animation as a medium.)#(and no before anyone says anything : no this is not me saying that ALL celebrity voice castings are bad.)#(there are some that aren't that bad and others that are actually pretty good.)#(i especially appreciate it when actors are damn well aware they aren't voice actors and try to LEARN from voice coaches-)#(-and/or their va predecessors if applicable.)#(that does not change the fact that the celebrity shouldn't have been hired just because the film wanted to have bragging clout-)#(-oh look at this FAMOUS PERSON we were able to hire â yeah ok. sure wendy. i want to know if this film is quality or not.)#(and 9/10 times the SECOND there is money spent on a non voice actor to voice the main character especially)#(that usually means somewhere along the way animation IS going to get shafted. if not w the animators themselves then in the way of-)#(-the actual animation itself and ESPECIALLY the screenwriting because it's especially been so dogshit lately even before the strike.)#(a celebrity being hired to fill a voice actor's role is such an immediate red flag to me and it is VERY rare that i get to be proven wrong
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While browsing Vogue magazine, SĂ©bastien Mitton found a photograph of Ruby Aldridge from the CĂ©line Fall 2011 fashion show. He said, âBoom! We have the direction!â Her beauty and her unsettling gaze drove the first concept art for Emily.
#dishonored#emily kaldwin#arkane studios#ruby alridge#i thought this was pretty interesting in terms of backstory#esp compared to some of the earlier sketches#especially given how little they deviated from that silhouette and hair!#even her final character face is barely different#i hope someone's like. thanked ruby alridge for this at least#i've had a pic of me used as art reference for a large public thing before without my consent lmao its like. THE backhanded-est compliment#anyway frustratingly when I try to add proper links in here tumblr has glitched. but the quote is from the bethesda site#Celine pics from Vogue#and the gorgeous pic of aldridge from an article about her band diet choke which I will try to link tomorrow. Tumblr why
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Spoilers for Nightwing #50/69 and Joker War
I was reminded of this during my re-read of Tom Taylor's Nightwing. But anyone else just a little annoyed so many people seemingly forgot Dick's amnesia and Ric Grayson wasn't from KGBeast?
I mean, yes, the bullet in his head definitely didn't help and it was the catalyst for essentially everything that happened after, but it wasn't the actual cause for his prolonged memory issues-- it was Dr. Isabella Haas, the doctor who had been treating his brain injury since Day 1 who oops was actually a member of the Court of Owls with access to a magical crystal that could warp someone's sense of identity (Nightwing #69). Yeah that might be important.
"I built a new you inside your mind, Richard." I don't know about you, but with an admission like that, it seems pretty clear to me who's responsible here.
But then I see so many comments like "I'll never forgive KGBeast for Ric Grayson" and ??? Literally the moment Dick gets a hold of that crystal and uses it, his memories return to him. This was 100% a Court of Owls thing. And I thought this misconception was only fandom at first, but Tom Taylor totally glosses over this too in Nightwing #91.
Hello? I know Joker War didn't get the best reception, but we're ignoring some pretty significant context here! And if you know Nightwing, then you know just how important he is to the Court of Owls. Gray Son of Gotham anyone? There was a whole prophecy about him. The Court has been after him for years. But yeah sure, let's just throw that away and put all the blame on KGBeast.
#spoilers#joker war#dc comics#nightwing#dick grayson#ric grayson#court of owls#gray son#gray son of gotham#kgbeast#btw#dick still has every right to be mad at him#i would be pretty mad too if someone shot me in the head lol#he was the reason for needing the doctor in the first place#i'm not arguing that point#it's just everyone and taylor ignoring such an important plot#especially taylor cause like#how are you supposed to write a character with depth#if you ignore their traumas and history#but i digress#ronan cliquet#geraldo borges#dan jurgens#tom taylor
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