#she defines him as he defines her. they share the same blood. and one comes from the rib of the other. so on and so forth

[worshipfulmercy]

11amy are seriously like a play on adam and eve to me. in the sense that amy pond dreamt up & created the doctor and that will always be integral to who he is.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Creature Feature.

Yandere: Yandere!Miguel x Reader.

Word Count: 1.3k.

TW: Non/Con, AFAB!Reader, Unhealthy Relationships, Manipulation, Mentions of Non-Human Anatomy, Obsessive Behavior, and Rough Sex.

You weren’t sure when you decided the man living in your house and fathering your daughter was not your husband.

It might’ve been last week, when you caught him sitting in his unlit study hours after he’d promised he would come to bed, his eyes glowing vaguely red as he fiddled with a device you didn’t recognize with tools you’d never seen him use, before. It might’ve been two months ago, when Gabi’s teacher called you into a conference to discuss your daughter’s worrying new obsession with spiders and superheroes and the holographic women that, if what she’s been telling her classmates is to be believed, read her bedtime stories when her father wasn’t home. It might’ve been that first night – when he came home from work hours late and doting a black eye, missing the glasses you would never see him wear again and too shell-shocked to do anything more than stand in Gabi’s doorway and let you fuss over him. You’d done everything you should’ve, kissed his cheek and begged him to tell you what happened and pretended to believe him when he said there’d been an accident at the research facility, but it hadn’t felt right, hadn’t felt like it would’ve if you’d been taking care of the man you’d loved for most of your life.

And, when he snapped out of his daze long enough to drag you into his arms and pull you into a kiss more forceful than anything your Miguel would’ve been capable of, you couldn’t help but shudder, but draw back when his hands started to drift lower and he proved to share your husband’s instability, if only that. That was what made the final decision, really. He wasn’t your husband, but it wasn’t as if you couldn’t see a glimmer of something you recognized when you looked at him.

Or, it wasn’t as if you couldn’t normally see a glimmer of something you recognized.

Right now, you knew the man on top of you was a total stranger.

He wasn’t Miguel. He couldn’t have been. Miguel would never hold you so tightly, never dig his fingertips so deeply into your waist, never be so determined to keep you so suffocatingly close to him. His nails would never be so sharp – pointed claws piercing your skin, drawing blood that dripped down your sides and pooled on the sheets beneath you – and he’d never been so massive, either, bulging muscle lining his arms, his defined chest heaving with every ragged breath and strangled moan, both a far cry from the borderline malnourished lab-rat that was the love of your life. His face was malformed, misshapen; curved fangs poking past his parted lips, distorting the shape of his mouth and leaking drops of luminescent venom that fell onto your chest and coated everything they touched with the same numbing, buzzing static. Even his eyes – the eyes you’d always loved, the eyes you would’ve known if nothing else of your husband remained – were gone, drowned out by the shadows cast over his face, the darkness you couldn’t seem to shake when he was around. What little remained was tinted red and bloodshot, pushed miles past the point of remote familiarity. You’d let this stranger, this thing into your home. You’d let him drive your daughter to school, look after her when she was sick.

You hadn’t let him fuck you, but he was fucking you, and you hadn’t been able to stop him.

The sounds he was making were awful, too. Your husband had been adorably shy, prone to biting his tongue and repeating your name over and over and over again, as if the feeling of your cunt milking his cock made it impossible to remember anything else. This Miguel was, in comparison, couldn’t seem to stop making those terrible noises; throaty grunts and airy moans spilling past his lips, only partially muffled by your skin as he buried his face in the curve of your throat. One of his hands fell to your thighs, curling around it and forcing your knee against your chest, making it so he could force himself that much deeper into you, so he could thrust into you with that much more raw strength. You were glad Gabi was staying at a friend’s, tonight. Her room was next to yours, and you would’ve been surprised if there was an apartment in your building that couldn’t hear your headboard beating against the wall, couldn’t make out every pitchy rise and fall of the drawn-out whine choked out of some deep, vulnerable pocket in your chest as he buried those pointed fangs in the crook of your neck.

You felt him force something into you, your vision blurring as the blood seemed to smolder in your veins. Suddenly, the feeling of his pelvic bone catching on your clit was unbearable, your own slick now burning as it dripped down your thighs. It wasn’t a whine you let out, this time, but a sob – ragged and broken, hitched as it emerged from uncooperative lungs and further fractured by the way his chest pressed into yours as he straightened his back, as he drew back just far enough to smile down at you, to let those cruel eyes go soft and half-lidded. “Oh, mi amor…” You didn’t notice you were crying until his hand cupped your face, until his thumb swiped over your cheek and came away wet. “I could fall in love with you all over again.”

Your husband would never say that. Your husband would never imply that there ever could’ve been a world where he wasn’t in love with you, that there ever could’ve been a life he would’ve led that wouldn’t feature you at its center. Your husband would never grow fangs and claws and force himself on you with all the care and tenderness of a rampaging monster. Your husband—

Your husband wasn’t here.

Your husband wasn’t here, and it didn’t seem like he’d ever be coming back.

You curled into yourself, sobbing unabashedly. Miguel (or, whatever the creature on top of you called himself) welcomed your devastation with open arms, leaning back and pulling you onto his lap, bouncing you on his cock as a low, reverberating purr sparked in the base of his throat and filled what little empty space was left in your bedroom. He watched on as you scrambled to wrap your arms around his neck, letting out a breathy laugh as he nuzzled into the dip of your shoulder and went on. “Fucking beautiful,” he groaned, his cock practically throbbing against the walls of your cunt. “I don’t know how I got by without you. I’m never—” A fractured moan, the tips of pointed teeth ghosting over your jugular. “I’m never letting you leave my side again.”

It was a promise, a threat, spoken with enough dedication to send a cold shudder up the length of your spine. You only realized your mouth had fallen open when you heard your own voice, distant and distraught. “Who... who are you?”

Some part of you expected him to devolve, for what was left of his disguise to fall away and reveal rows upon rows of jagged teeth that would tear into your skin, countless eyes that would stare you down like some trapped insect, half a dozen more arms and hands he could use to grab and grope and pull and maim. You expected blood to spill by the bucketful, flesh to melt away like candlewax, rough edges and broken anatomy and all the terrible monstrosities that had to be lingering inside of a creature like him. You expected all the worst things you could possibly imagine, but in the end, what you got was so, so much worse.

His manic grin melted into a softened smile. He pressed another open-mouthed kiss into your throat before pulling away, staring down at you with more love than anything human could’ve spared. “I’m your husband.” And then, again, as he settled so deeply inside of you, you could only pray you’d be able to forget the feeling of him, one day.

“I’m yours.”

[poisonlove]

Hello! Not sure if you’re taking requests or not. I was wondering if you could do afab reader x Wednesday aaand Wednesday’s twin brother? Doesn’t have to be smut or can be, no preference. But Wednesday and her twin are immediately obsessed with reader, brother maybe having a more Gomez (Raul Julia) like way of showing his love (Cara Mia😍) and reading falling for both of them?! 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

ADDAMS'S TRAP | w.a

Pairing: wednesday Addams X William Addams X reader

"Come on, Wed! It's just a small favor," William, Wednesday's twin brother, drawled. Despite sharing the same last name, the two were like day and night. William was outgoing, charismatic, always at the center of attention. Wednesday, on the other hand... well, she was just Wednesday. If it weren't for their dark eyes, black hair and pale skin, no one would ever suspect they were related.

And yet, Addams blood ran through both of them.

Wednesday rolled her eyes with disdain and turned to face her brother. William stopped abruptly, flashing a sly smile. She stared at him with her usual coldness, sizing him up from head to toe.

"I'm not letting you copy my notes," she said in her characteristic monotone, her icy eyes challenging William's.

William stepped closer, pulling out his best puppy dog eyes. He always hoped it would soften her, as if she was susceptible to such nonsense.

"It's not working," Wednesday replied, predictably bored.

Her brother was smart, she acknowledged that. Yet, she couldn't understand how he could be so annoyingly lazy. She bit her lip slightly, her gaze unwavering as she regarded him with detachment. William, on the other hand, straightened his posture, his shoulders rising in resignation. His eyes, however, sparkled with disappointment that Wednesday didn't even bother to consider.

This, she thought, was the natural consequence of spending nights chasing fleeting pleasures and arriving late to class.

"That's why you have no friends," William muttered casually, rubbing his tired eyes to shake off the sleep. The dark circles under his eyes were a clear sign of a sleepless night.

"And you know perfectly well that I don’t care," Wednesday snapped, as cutting as ever. "I can barely tolerate Enid’s presence." Her jaw tightened. Just that morning, Enid had persistently asked her to accompany her on a tour of the school for a new student—a request Wednesday had quickly dealt with by coldly saying, "get out of my room."

"Wow," William gasped, his mouth falling open in mock surprise. His gaze was now locked onto something behind Wednesday. Curiously, she slowly turned just in time to see Enid approaching with the new girl. But William’s eyes were glued to the newcomer.

Well, Wednesday thought, I couldn’t have expected anything less.

The girl had something... intriguing about her. Wednesday wasn’t sure what adjective to use. Her y/c-colored hair and y/c-colored eyes naturally drew attention, almost effortlessly. She was slender, tall, with a defined jawline and a radiant smile that strangely irritated Wednesday.

"She's hot," William muttered, dumbfounded.

Wednesday sighed, rolling her eyes at her brother’s comment. Superficial, as always. Enid waved enthusiastically at them, walking toward them with the new arrival. William straightened up, adjusted his tie, and flashed his charming smile as he prepared to greet the two girls.

"Don't make me look bad," William hissed through gritted teeth, his eyes glued to the pair.

"Screw you," Wednesday retorted, not looking up from the book she was holding, completely dismissing him.

"Hi, Enid," William greeted warmly, leaning in slightly to kiss the blonde’s cheek.

"Hi, Will!" Enid replied, blushing and smiling broadly.

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?" William asked with his usual charming grin.

"Oh! This is y/n," Enid said with enthusiasm.

William gently took y/n’s hand, brushing it with a kiss on the back. "Welcome to Nevermore Academy," he murmured with an irresistible smile. Y/n looked at him, confused and slightly embarrassed, but returned a shy smile.

"And this is Wednesday," Enid continued, gesturing towards her roommate with a hint of hesitation. "My roommate."

Wednesday barely lifted her gaze from the book, meeting y/n’s eyes. "Wednesday," she said in her typical frosty tone.

"Y/n," the girl responded sweetly.

As soon as their eyes met, Wednesday felt a strange sensation ripple through her body, like tiny spiders weaving webs in her stomach. She was confused but also strangely drawn to the girl.

She pressed her lips together and, without another word, turned her back and walked into the school, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling creeping over her. William smiled awkwardly, apologizing in a flat tone: "Don’t mind her, my sister’s always like that."

Y/n didn’t respond immediately, and Wednesday disappeared into the shadows of the building, attempting to ignore the slight quickening of her heartbeat.

(...)

In the following weeks, y/n quickly found herself caught up in the subtle conflict between the Addams twins. Surprisingly, Wednesday had begun spending more time with her, either in the library or during fleeting moments between classes. William, on the other hand, continued to court her openly, with his usual charm.

Y/n felt flattered, but there was something about Wednesday's cold, penetrating attention that left her perplexed... and perhaps a little captivated.

Each day, William seemed more determined to court y/n, showing off his usual array of gallantries. If he wasn’t reciting poetic verses under the trees, he was showering her with attention in a theatrical way that Wednesday found unbearable.

One morning, sitting in the courtyard with a gothic novel in hand, Wednesday watched her brother from a distance. As usual, he was playing the role of the "charming gentleman." He had just handed y/n a black rose, and she smiled, shy but visibly flattered. William, with that sparkling gaze, so similar to Gomez’s when he looked at Morticia, gazed at her as if she were the only person in the world.

Wednesday felt a tightness in her stomach. An unusual annoyance she couldn't quite explain. It wasn’t jealousy, she thought. She wasn’t the type to feel such trivial emotions. And yet, every time she saw them together, something stirred inside her, a sort of cold, sharp irritation.

Next to her, Enid watched the scene with a mischievous smile. She knew Wednesday well enough to understand what was happening, even if her friend would never admit such a thing.

"You're jealous," Enid said with amusement, glancing at her.

Wednesday slowly turned toward her, her face as impassive as ever. "Don’t be ridiculous," she replied, her voice sharp as a knife. "Jealousy is an emotion devoid of logic. And I don’t feel irrational emotions."

Enid giggled. "Sure, sure. So why are you gripping that book like you want to throw it at your brother?"

Wednesday didn’t even bother to respond. Her dark eyes returned to watching the scene from a distance: William and y/n were talking, and he gently touched her hand, laughing at something she had just said. The sight of that gesture was enough to make Wednesday’s jaw tighten.

Later, as she walked down the shadowy halls of Nevermore, Wednesday decided to act. She couldn’t continue allowing her brother to monopolize y/n’s attention. Not because she was jealous, of course. It was simply a matter of control. Or so she told herself.

When she crossed paths with y/n near the library, alone for the first time in days, Wednesday decided to put her plan into action. She approached her silently, like a shadow, and stopped in front of her.

"Y/n," she called, her voice low and monotone.

The girl turned, surprised to see her. "Wednesday! Hi... is everything okay?"

Wednesday observed her for a moment, her dark eyes cold and impenetrable. "Tomorrow night. We don’t have classes. Come with me to the cemetery," she said, as if she were suggesting something completely normal.

Y/n blinked, puzzled. "The... cemetery?"

"I need to collect herbs for research," Wednesday explained in her usual detached tone. "Your presence will be... tolerated."

The truth was that Wednesday had no need to collect herbs. Her research had been completed days ago, but the mere thought of y/n spending another evening in William’s company had become unbearable. She needed to pull her away from that dynamic. And obviously, there was no other reason but logic and practicality.

"It will be useful," she added, further justifying her request, even though a small part of her wondered why she was doing this at all.

Y/n looked at her for a moment, then smiled sweetly. "I like the idea. Sure, why not?"

Wednesday’s heart, which she would never admit to feeling such a frivolous emotion, gave a slight jump. She nodded with her usual coldness, satisfied that she had gotten what she wanted. She was about to turn when y/n added, in a casual tone, "It'll be nice to spend time just the two of us."

Wednesday froze for a moment, almost stumbling over her own feet. She wasn’t used to hearing such words. She wasn’t used to spending "pleasant time" with anyone. And the idea that y/n might actually want to be with her alone confused her more than she was willing to admit.

With a brief nod, she turned and walked away down the hall, disappearing into the shadows. Her heart, despite everything, seemed to be beating harder than usual, though she would never, ever let anyone know it.

[love-that-we-were-in]

indelible scars, pivotal marks

pairing: luke castellan x implied apollo!reader

summary: you might be the only person who actually knows luke castellan. you don't think anyone else is willing to try.

a/n: what if i told you i got yelled at a lot after writing this. enjoy! oh this is also my first x reader in the 5 years i've been writing who cheered. have fun !

Luke is fourteen the first time he can remember sleeping through the night. He’s barely been at Camp Half-Blood for three hours, skin still splotched purple and blue, Thalia’s yells echoing in his skull. There’s no silence, a steady hum of nature that’s leveled by the voices of people he doesn’t know, and he knows he shouldn’t sleep. They’ve lost Thalia, left her just beyond the borders of an unknown place, and it’s a risk to welcome the flimsy pillow they gave him. He does it anyway, eyes closing to the sound of Annabeth’s soft breaths. 

The respite lasts one night.

By morning, he’s recounted the last five years more than he ever wanted to. Annabeth clings to him then, a known comfort. She knows the broad strokes of the story, could recount them herself, but there’s gaps from before her time, and there’s things Thalia made him swear not to tell. If she notices, she doesn’t comment, just keeps her fingers close to her side. He knows that’s where she keeps her dagger - he wonders if Chiron can tell as well.

Chiron brings them to Thalia, explains what happened and how lucky it is. Luke looks at the tree, the first time Thalia has stood taller than him since they met - something she always swore she would do one day - and leans back against it as Annabeth sobs into his shoulder. 

Mr D sends Annabeth to the Athena cabin before lunch. Luke doesn’t need to be told to make his way to Cabin 11. He knows who his father is. His backpack is left at the base of a bed in the far corner of the room, a group of boys gathered around the area turning to watch him the second he walks in. They move away but they don’t stop their stares.

Sleep doesn’t come as easily to him that night.

*

You meet Luke Castellan when you’re fifteen, standing on the edge of the lake as a golden sun rises in the horizon. It’s your first morning at camp, your first morning admiring the sunrise in months, and you think you could find a home here. Within the hour, you’re sure the calm won’t be the same – too many kids in the same space, swords and satyrs and strawberries guiding the day along – but for now there’s sunlight. 

“Breakfast isn’t for two more hours,” someone says from behind you. It should be scarier than it is, put you on high alert with the way he creeps into the space without a sound. “Just in case someone forgot to mention that.”

He’s pretty. Strong chin, dark eyes. On most people you’ve met, that’s where pretty ends. Not him. There’s this way he stands in your periphery; comfortable in his worn camp t-shirt, like he was made to live in it, to have it define him for an eternity. Very few people are pretty in a way that speaks of forever.

“I like to watch the sunrise.” 

He hums. “I’m Luke.”

He waits, steps away, until you offer him a seat beside you on the grass. It was something you were told once, an eclectic art teacher draped in shawls and chunky jewelry, how the sun is only as beautiful as it is when shared with another. As Luke sits next to you, you enjoy the quiet you’re positive isn’t built to last.

*

Luke becomes a counselor that summer. Everyone saw it coming, the way he’s known to everyone and not just the Hermes kids. Whispers of a legacy, of a potential legend in the making, followed him already, two years at camp creating grand ideas for his future – counselor status just helps to further them. It’s not that big of a deal normally. It’s potentially defining when you’re the best swordsman in almost three hundred years.

You find him on his way back from the Big House that evening, heading in no particular direction but with a clear idea of where he doesn’t want to be. It’s something you’ve learnt to read in the last few weeks, the way Luke fluctuates. How he dips in and out of personas as if it’s possible to switch them out. It comes with renown, you suppose. 

“Counselor Castellan, is it?” 

He smiles something bitter. “So they tell me.”

Without hesitation, you take hold of his hand. It’s warmer than yours and you feel the difference in your bloodstream. Luke doesn’t look at you, doesn’t comment, and you lead him away from the cabins and down to the lake. 

There’s maybe an hour until sunset. You’re almost attuned to it now, mornings spent watching it with rapt attention. Luke normally joins you, sword dropped between you. Some mornings, the thud of metal onto stone is the only reason you know he’s arrived, still so silent in his arrival that you wonder if it’s on purpose. 

“Does it make you anxious?” You ask when the silence stretches on for too long, when Luke stares unblinkingly at the horizon for longer than he should. He blinks, irises shifting from a glassy bronze and back to muted brown as the film clears. “Did they even ask if it was something you wanted?” 

He scoffs and you wonder if this is where everything changes. Luke always has things he wants to say, balancing on the tip of his tongue until he figures out how to swallow them down and burn them. It’s like you can see it play out in real time, his jaw shifting, arm tensing.

“Mr D told me it was a great honor. Chiron told me it was long overdue.” 

“You weren’t given a chance to say no.”

It’s a pattern you’ve noticed, not just within camp but with all the Gods. Clarisse was sent a spear with no note, but everyone knew who had sent it. Annabeth’s hat was exactly the same. Gifts. All gifts. No receipts or return addresses provided. Life at camp was something to be grateful for, always, considering the alternative most of you had already been forced to live. To comment on it would make you an enemy of those too powerful to consider.

Looking at the tense set of Luke’s shoulders, you kind of want to say it anyway.

“I’m about to have all the glory Camp Half-Blood could offer me,” Luke says and the sun begins to dip below the surface of the lake. His palm is warm in yours again. “Why would I complain?”

*

There’s a flurry of new arrivals no one anticipated the next summer They come in pairs, mostly, with the odd trio. Always one unclaimed within the group. Always one who gets marched to Cabin 11 in the middle of the night, sometimes after hours of questioning.

You know the nights that it’s happened, taking in the way Luke’s movements are less sharp, the way he breathes more shallowly. A conservation of energy. It doesn’t affect you much until it does, the sharp sting of Luke’s sword on your arm as he loses his footing, turns too suddenly at the sound of your footsteps. 

“This is insane,” you say as you press your shirt into the cut. It’s not bad, something that will heal quickly and fade into nothingness, but Luke locks his gaze on the red dotting your skin as if he doesn’t understand how it got there. “They can’t keep waking you up in the middle of the night for this.”

“The only other place they can go is the med bay and none of them have been beaten up badly enough to be worth waking an Apollo kid.”

“I’ve seen some of the kids when they’ve gotten here, Luke,” you mutter, shirt hem dropping as the wound stops bleeding. You glance up at him. “They could do with being patched up.” 

He sinks down to the floor. You stay on your feet. “This is what I signed up for when I took the position.”

There’s this way Luke’s voice gets sometimes, sharp and low and just a little spiteful. A build-up of years with little mercy granted. That’s how it is now, speaking through clenched teeth, completely biting back the vitriol and pretending there’s no heat to his words. 

He’s always been pretty in the sunrise, from the day you met, but you think he might be prettiest right now – lying to himself more than he can lie to you in the moments before there’s any sunlight at all. When you would let darkness spill into itself, Luke forces light to filter in. If you caught him at the darkest hour, you wonder if that would remain.

Taking in the way he digs his nail into the fabric of his pants, you doubt even he would know how to stop himself then. 

*

You aren’t chosen for Luke’s quest. He finds you after the ceremony, face pulled taut and bag thrown over his shoulder already. There’s no regret in his eyes, no determination either. You stand straighter when you hear him approach, grateful that he cared enough not to take you by surprise for once. 

“Don’t be mad at me.” 

“Why would I be mad?” You say. It’s disingenuous to your own ears, the way it pitches, so you fold your arms across your chest. “Chris and Ethan will be great questmates. A band of brothers.”

Luke swallows. “Is that really what you think this is? That I wanted to make my quest a guys trip?”

“I don’t think anything of it, Luke.” 

In the middle of the day, you can see him clearest. See the golden boy of Camp Half-Blood the way everyone else does. In broad daylight, there’s few things more noticeable on Luke Castellan. The slope of his nose, the straightness of his back, the comfortable weight of his sword on his hip – almost a tether to who he proclaims himself to be. It’s your least favorite version of him.

“I would’ve chosen you. In a heartbeat, I would’ve chosen you,” he says, brown eyes shifting from dim to desperate in moments. A plea to be heard. You know you’re the only one to ever truly listen when he speaks.

“Doesn’t really seem that way.”

“I just needed a reason to come back when it’s over.”

It stills the air around you. The words tangle themselves together in your brain, drown out the archers in the distance, the birds overhead. They echo and twist and they maintain their tone, the low pitch Luke uses when he’s decided to say something he doesn’t want to be heard. They bury themselves in the corner with the other times he’s used it, forever ingrained, and you don’t know what to make of them. How to define them at all.

He waits, gaze firm, until you nod slightly. You keep your chin low, determined to give little satisfaction to the situation. To Hermes giving Luke a reused quest, to the possibility of losing him because you aren’t there. It curdles deep in your gut, refusing to remain unknown.

There’s a moment where Luke hesitates, his hand twitching slightly, arm moving minutely higher from where it hangs down by his waist. Instead, his fist clenches and he exhales long and low. 

“Promise to be here when I get back?” 

“I’ll be really annoyed if you’re not the one knocking on my cabin door.”

He turns back to face you after he joins Chris and Ethan at the border. They’re all capable, with a history of working together. They’ll succeed, return to praise and glory and everything they deserve to have. The sun beats down on Luke as he nods goodbye and you wonder if it shines on anyone else at all.

*

The scar becomes a part of him. 

It fades into his skin with time, going from raised and rotten to a streak of pale across his cheek. You overhear some of the Ares kids praising it as symbolic of his win, a prize of sorts, and some of the Aphrodite kids saying it makes him more appealing, makes him look stronger. You’re not sure what you think of it, tracing it with gentle fingers as it heals. 

It becomes a habit, running a knuckle down Luke’s cheek each morning. Feeling where the skin tied itself back together. He never comments. You want to ask if he minds, that you’ll stop if it’s too much. The first few times you did it, in the days right after his return, he had flinched, features pinching together. Your hand had dropped, all too aware of the matted skin, how it probably still ached but Luke had taken your hand and placed it back where it had been. 

His scar becomes a statement, a badge of skill that everyone at camp can recognise. There had been little debate on the truth of his swordsmanship before but now it hardly existed, undeniable proof the first thing people noticed when introduced to him. 

Most people don’t bother to ask Luke about it. Percy Jackson isn’t most people.

“You got attacked by a dragon?” 

It’s the first time in years that anyone has joined you and Luke at the lake this early. Annabeth used to, on the rare occasions the worst of her nightmares returned. It’s different with Percy, like being close to the water rewires him completely. It makes sense days later when you watch him push open the door to the empty Cabin 3.

“Last year,” Luke hums, one hand resting softly in yours and the other keeping a loose grip on the sword handle in his lap. Percy had wanted to see him in action after hearing the stories, so you’d both obliged. “I made a wrong call and I paid for it.”

“At least it looks pretty cool.” 

The way Percy says it is different to everyone else. It’s not ingrained with this odd lust, whether for adventure or the story or Luke himself. It’s more muted, a fact of life. He’s not saying it to make anyone feel better – he’s saying it to disregard. A scar is just a scar to Percy Jackson, as if he’s known too many to care.

“I guess it kind of is,” Luke says and the three of you listen to the morning begin.

[forthewomenonly]

You Belong to Me

Warnings: NSFW, smut, Sam Carpenter x reader, Sam Carpenter x Fem Reader (implied, no pronouns used), choking, semi exhibitionism, fingering (R receiving), oral (R receiving) , Top!Sam, jealous Sam, R’s really a pillow princess in this one (Sam gets nothing)  a/n: Lowkey hated on Ethan this entire fic sorry guys. Made him sound like a bitchy pervert...he is.

Sam was jealous. This isn’t a surprise Sam is always jealous, but she’s seething watching him shamelessly flirt with you in the comfort of her own home. Him being Ethan Landry. Sam hates Ethan Landry and his feigned innocence, she sees the way he looks at you. Of course she sees it, Sam looks at you the exact same way. He’s not the innocent virgin angel he claims to be, and the thought of him thinking of you in anyway other than platonically makes Sam feel violently nauseous. Ethan comes over twice a week to study with Tara, meaning that twice a week he gets to see you. How could he be so blind? Obviously you were Sam’s, everyone knew that. Yet it doesn’t stop him from throwing an arm over your shoulder, or complimenting your outfits in ways that are far too descriptive to be seen as friendly. Sam wants Ethan out of her home, and she briefly considers asking Tara if they would relocate their study sessions elsewhere. She quickly dismisses that thought as she realizes she doesn’t want her baby sister anywhere alone with that perv. She narrows her eyes, grimacing as she notices Ethan lean over and whisper something in your ear. The fit of giggles that you erupt into is more than enough to soften her gaze. But how dare he. How dare he make you laugh like that, that was Sam’s job. You aren’t Ethan’s. You belong to her. You belong to Sam. She grips the kitchen counter tightly, knuckles turning white and her hand veins bulging. Sam’s huffy and irritant, counting down the seconds until Ethan leaves her apartment. Her ears perk up as she hears Ethan finally begin to pack up his belongings, she walks up to the front door in long strides, opening the door to speed up the process of his departure. After hugging you for much longer than necessary he meets the angry Carpenter at the door. “Bye Sam!” he waves. Sam grumbles some distasteful words under her breath in annoyance. Not that he could hear her anyways as she slammed the door in his face the second he stepped out of the apartment.   --- The next time Ethan comes over, Sam is prepared. He doesn’t get a chance to say hello to either of you as Sam drags you into your shared bedroom the very moment Ethan walks in. You laugh as she shuts the room door in haste turning to face you. “What’s got you all riled up today” you say playfully poking at her chest. “You.” She growls. Your teasing grin wiped off your face instantly. Sam lunges forward capturing your lips in a heated kiss, moving downwards to kiss and suck at your throat. She all but tears your clothes off leaving you naked in front of her. “Sam- slow down.” you gasp out. You’re unsure of what has her so excited at the moment but you welcome the lustful attention, reaching your hands down to the hem of her shirt, lifting it over her head. You stop briefly taking a moment to gawk at Sam’s shirtless body. God she looks so hot. Her arm muscles are so defined and her forearm veins are so attractively visible, blood pulsing through her hand and arm veins from how hard she’s gripping your hips. She removes herself from you, settling down on the bed and propping herself up on her elbows. Immediately you follow her to the bed climbing on her stomach. Sam inhales sharply when she feels your wet cunt against her skin. Placing your hands on her chest, you rock yourself against the ridges of her abs. You let out a loud moan rolling your hips faster against her, Sam’s hands guide your hips in a steady rhythm. She flexes her abdomen and quickens pace making your body shudder, your moans increasing in volume. Usually Sam would have slapped her hand over your mouth by now to keep you quiet, but when you look down at her she just smirks at you, moving your hips faster against her. “Sam I c-can’t” you whine out desperately. The corners of her lips quirk up into a smile and she flips you onto your back. Sam knew that you wouldn’t be able to cum just from grinding on her stomach, you needed her help. You always do. You need Sam to make you cum, not Ethan, not anyone else. Sam. She prides herself in the fact that you’re no longer able to get yourself off properly. You can’t make yourself cum anymore, your own fingers incomparable to Sam’s fingers, tongue, or strap. Moving her hand down, Sam harshly presses her thumb against your puffy clit and you cry out loudly. Since she has decided against quieting you, you reach your hand up to cover your mouth yourself as Sam continues playing with your sensitive bundle of nerves. She can see you biting your hand and is not at all impressed. Sam grabs both of your wrists and pins them above your head with one hand, while using the other to roughly shove two fingers inside your dripping cunt. The muscular girl removes her hand from your wrists and uses it to squeeze your throat, she feels your pussy flutter against her fingers as she drags them through your gummy inner walls. Your moans are loud and frequent, making Sam quicken her pace and curl her fingers, massaging your g-spot with each thrust. You cum with an obscenely loud pornographic moan, soaking Sam’s fingers and grinding into her hand. Sam moves down the bed, using her strength to pry your legs wider open. Opening her mouth to messily lick up all of your juices, she has a mix of her saliva and your wetness dripping down her chin and onto the bedsheets. Licking wide stripes through your folds and up to your clit. She takes the pulsing nub between her lips, sucking vigorously. You’re close to orgasm again and you buck your hips up trying to press yourself harder against Sam’s tongue. “Gonna cum Sam, gonna c-cum so hard.” you whine. Her fingers press harder into your thighs and you’re sure they’ll bruise. She lifts her head up looking you in the eye before pushing her fingers back inside of you, in place of her tongue. “Say my name.” “ W-what?” “Say. my. name.” she repeats. “Sam. Feels so good Sammy.” you moan breathlessly. You clench impossibly tight around her long, thick fingers and Sam knows you’re about to cum. “My name, say it again when you cum. I want to hear it.” “Fuck Sam! I’m cumming!” you scream out, rolling your hips out in time with her slowing thrusts. She pulls her fingers out, pushing them into your mouth making you taste yourself. Sam stands up brushing your damp hair out of your face delicately and  kisses the tip of your nose. She pulls a shirt on before exiting the room to grab you water. Walking up to the fridge she can see her younger sister’s disgusted expression and has to fight the urge to snicker. Turning her head she sees Ethan. It was her name you moaned, not Ethan’s. He’ll never get to have you like this because you’re all Sam’s. His jaw is slack, eyes wide, and his gaze flitters everywhere in the room except for Sam, he avoids eye contact with her desperately. Clearing his throat he packs up his belongings and gives Tara a meek “goodbye”. Sam smirks in victory, before turning to walk back into your room, water bottle in hand.

Tara rolls her eyes exasperated, now she has to study all alone just because her sister got jealous. Sam can be a real dick sometimes. 

[galesdevoteewife]

Gale may not be so typical squishy wizard/scholar?

-My Galeology study note-

Looking at his character sheet in the Deluxe pack gets me thinking, maybe our wizard is not exactly designed to be the typical squishy one...?

[Act2 spoiler warning]

2 things caught my eyes:

1) Great physical fitness, and good reflexes. (For your reference, Gale & Wyll are the two companions who have the highest Con: 15. I put everyone's sheets at the bottom of the post.)

His Con and Dex are... very high?? I mean, higher than Karlach and Lae'zel...????

Note 1: I suspect it could have something to do with his background as Mystra's chosen, as they are somewhat "transformed" when they agree to become the goddess's chosen. A topic for another day since I haven't quite figured it out yet, for anyone who is interested there's a chapter about it in The Seven Sisters. Also, I have little clues on how much chosen lore credit Larian was taking into account while designing him, or how Mystra's "taking back the given ability" works. Note 2: Again, Mystra's chosen are often sent on missions that involve a lot of traveling according to Elminster's series. Mystra also mentioned that Gale and she used to have adventures together, which leads to an assumption: despite his preference he might be traveling quite a lot until he was cast aside and quarantined himself in his tower. Might be the type of scholar who is very keen on field studies?

Note 3: Can someone undress Elminster to exam my theory please??xD Neh won't work I think all human might share same body model in game

Come to think of it, there was a party banter between Karlach & Gale that went like :

Karlach: Whoa! Almost slipped there. Gale: You wouldn't be the first, I'd wager. It's been some time since these walkways felt the carpenter's hammer. Karlach: You gonna catch me if I eat a brick? Gale: With my reflexes? I'd catch you before you so much as stubbed a toe.

At first I thought that was a sarcastic joke but, seems like it wasn't? Also this:

Karlach: Ready to enter the belly of the beast? Gale: It's the stairs I'm dreading. I shall close my eyes, and pretend I'm climbing my own, far superior tower in Waterdeep. Karlach: In that case, welcome home.

...So it seems when I pictured him as a homebody, I should reimagine the concept of home... His has...lots of stairs? Just walking around in the tower could be counted as a workout, sort of thing? Note: I don't think the place he shows in the Act 2 cutscene is his tower. Otherwise, aren't these neighbors pretty much doomed?

2) Not THAT smart. Well, I love him, so I will speak in his defence: [1] He has a warm(s) digging holes in his brain. [2] Poisonous magical bile running in his blood. Maybe he's just not at his best, makes sense, eh? Wyll mentioned he is nerfed after tadpole too. After all, this man obviously memorized a DICTIONARY:

Gale: You promised to stay in Waterdeep. 'Promise,' verb, meaning to swear something will or will not be done. Tara the Tressym: And I decided 'will not'. And a good thing, too. You look like you haven't had a good meal in days

Player: When I said we could be more than friends, you answered 'perhaps'. What does that really mean? Gale: If I recall correctly, the Waterdhavian Dictionary of the Common Tongue of Faerûn defines it as an adverb that conveys the meaning of 'it may be that', or 'possibly'. Gale: Sorry, sometimes I just can't help being quite insufferable. In seriousness, I'm glad you asked that question.

Along with a bunch of you-may-never-need information:

Everything about ceremorphosis? Myconid? Why in the world have him read about Cazador??? And how can he not know the distance between Waterdeep & Baldur's Gate, even Karlach ―who spent a decade, which is likely half of her life in hell― knows better geography than him. Gale either totally ignored the subject or portaled everywhere; distance meant nothing to him?? Uh, but you can't take party banters too seriously; it's buggy. How could a bug bit Karlach in the swamp? It should've been burned into ashes before it even reached her, no?

Anyway, just rambling some thoughts <3 I would have gone to Harvard if there was a major in Gale...

-DISCLAIMER- Brought to you by a brainrot wife, Galerian missionary. Be warned the article might has (strong) bias because the writer is braindead and she thinks Gale is the most awesome character in the world.

[lucysarah-c]

Second question!

(sorry for the delay, work got in the way >___> Once again, there is absolutely no rush to reply to these <3 Especially because I know I will make a mess of this ask in particular lol) I think you mentioned in one of your previous posts that you think Levi would very much be of the opinion "my past is my own, and just because we are together does not mean you are entitled to know it". Or something on those lines.

Now, imagine Levi and Y/N have been together for a while and, despite not pressing him, she has made clear that she is interested in where he comes from, in understanding "all of him". Do you thin Levi would still be tight-lipped about his past? Or do you see him randomly dropping things whenever he feels comfortable, like he told Nifa about Kenny?

And finally... do you think he would ever talk voluntarily about Furlan and Isabel? How would that conversation go? And, how do you see Levi replying to Y/N saying somethig like "I think they would be proud to see how far you got"?

That's it, I promise my questions should be done for a while uahahaha I know I did it in my previous ask, but thank you very much for taking the time to read these and for the patience you have when replying to all of us and for putting up with the fandom in general! I wish you a lovery day Lucy and I send you a heartfelt hug <3

Hi, Feris! It's always a pleasure to see you in my inbox, sweetie <3

I love it when I have clear answers for asks, haha. I think Levi would first start by casually dropping little details about his life. Like, maybe one day they’re both lying in bed, and she’s playing with his hair when she notices a scar on his head. She could ask about it, and Levi would just go, “Oh, that? It’s from when Farlan and I stole our first 3DMG. It was so broken that even after I tried to fix it, it went berserk. I hit the corner of a roof and left blood everywhere, haha. But Farlan couldn’t stop laughing long enough to help me—the idiot.”

I imagine Levi doing this a lot—sharing the most heartbreaking stories like they’re funny memories. And she’d be there like, “…sweetie, that’s actually traumatizing and sad.” I feel like, as you mentioned, he’d drop these things randomly when he felt comfortable enough.

This next part is based on personal experience since one of my parents is really secretive about their life. I don’t think Levi would avoid talking about Farlan or Isabel, even on a daily basis. If he’s comfortable with her, I feel like he’d bring them up in conversation more often than we might expect. But I don’t see him sitting down to explain everything in detail, you know? Like, Levi wouldn’t act like they never existed or try to hide them, and the same goes for his mother or Kenny. He might mention them casually in conversations, but I don’t think he’d willingly go through the vulnerability of talking in-depth about the experience of losing them. If that makes sense?

Levi’s past would be like a puzzle she’d slowly piece together. He’s the type of partner who would share the most character-defining story on a lazy Sunday while making pancakes, all because something in the moment reminded him of it, as if it were nothing.

As for the comment you suggested Y/N make, I think he’d definitely be touched by it. He’d probably go quiet for a moment, breaking eye contact as he tries to process the feeling. Then, in a quiet voice, he’d murmur, “Thank you. But I’d still prefer it if they were here… those idiots.” Softly, almost under his breath. If they were close, maybe he’d squeeze her hand or rest his forehead against hers for a moment while he gathered himself, not wanting to show too much vulnerability.

Thank you so much for all your sweet comments, T-T! Truly, I appreciate them. Sending you a big, tight hug back!

[ramielll]

I was waiting for you -Part 1

Benjicot Blackwood x fem reader

Summery: Y/N Stark travels to the Riverlands to spend time with her cousins, only to be met with unexpected turn of events.

Wourd count: 1151

Tw.: nothing yet, I think. Everybody is aged up.

A/n: This is my very first time posting a work of mine. This one is going to be a bit short, but the ones coming are going to be longer. I hope you'll like it! I will be posting the next chapter soon. (English is not my first language)

part 2

≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫

Growing up in Winterfell as a young lady meant a sheltered life. Being secluded with one’s family up in the north. The lady Y/N was lucky for not only being born into a noble family, but for being closely connected to another, through her mother. Sharing blood with the Tullys earned not only for her brother but for her also, to spend time in the Riverlands. Allowing Y/N to see a bit more of the realm before being whisked away to another house, to another family through marriage.

Riverrun was a stark contrast to the always white lands surrounding Winterfell.She welcomed the gentle change in temperature as they travelled to see their cousins in Riverrun and to spend a few months there. The carriage came to stop as they crossed the bridge to the castle overlooking the broad river there.

Their cousins stood at the front of the welcoming party assembled for their arrival. Oscar, always with a smile, quickly stepped forward to offer a hand as lady Y/N stepped out of the carriage, while her brother went ahead to greet Kermit with a hug.

„Good day cousin. I hope your travels were pleasant.” the young man she come to know during their times here, now looked taller, his features more defined, losing some of his boyish charm to give way to a more serious appearance, though his smile was all the same as he looked at her.

„They were.” she sighed as she looked up the familiar towers over her. „Its always worth the journey if it means spending time with you two.” she smiled back at him.

„Well, seems it’s not going to be just us four this time. We have guests from house Blackwood and Frey also. I’m sure they’re eager to meet you.” She could hear the mirth in his voice as he finished his sentence with a breathy laugh, but before she could ask for the reason behind it, her brother and Kermit already walked up to them, and her attention was quickly turned towards greeting her youngest cousin.

Oscar escorted her to her chambers and before the young man left her to refresh and settle in a bit, he informed her about their plans to have a sparring session with the other boys in the courtyard and that she would be welcomed to choose a winner if she wishes.

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

Y/N turned towards the room she stayed in the last couple of years when she would visit, since her and her brother became too old to share one. She opened the windows looking over the neighbouring forest before she walked to the basin filled with water to wash her face and change into a more comfortable, deep blue gown and to let her hair out of the tight braids she wore for their arrival. Then she made her way outside.

The loud laughs and clinging of swords could be heard from the stoney hallway even before she stepped out onto the low balcony overlooking the yard. She found Kermit already seated there with red cheeks and sweat on his brow, clearly done with his turn of the pretend fighting.

„Which one of these fine warriors bested you already cousin?” Kermit only laughed. She seated herself beside him and looked down onto the match before them. Her brother was trying his hardest to beat the Frey boy as they dance around one another. Meanwhile Oscar and another boy stood with their backs turned to onlookers. From the sigil sawn onto the back of his clothes, it wasn’t hard to realise it was a son of house Blackwood. She just didn’t know which one.

The four of them clapped as the fighting eventually ended with Edmure Frey coming out as victorious.

„Let’s get on with the next one so that we may make it to supper! Especially now that we have a lady watching your sad efforts!” Kermit’s boisterous voice rang through the yard, turning all heads towards the two of them. Y/N could feel her face flush, even though she was trained to get used to the attention she naturally garnered through her life, she never really did well under it. She gave a small smile as she made eye contact with Edmure. The young man bowed his head with a much larger smile than hers. Then she looked at the Blackwood boy, who now stood fully facing her. It was only then she recognised him. The young man standing beneath her looked very different from the scrawny boy she spent time looking at small fish and trying to climb tress with a summer age. She could see the mutual surprise in his dark eyes as he bowed his head before looking back up at her. Their stare was broken when Oscar grabbed the man’s shoulder and they walked to the centre to begin their own match. Y/N kept her eyes on him, thinking about all the time they have spent together before Kermit spoke again, interrupting her thoughts.

„You should have seen his face when I told him you’ll be arriving soon. I swear he was restless ever since. Benjicot Blackwood, fierce swordsman and heir to house Blackwood, reduced to a grinning fool in his excitement.” he said laughing as he leaned closer to her. „He never said it, but I would bet my favourite horse, that it has to do with something about your fathers plan to betroth you.”

Y/N’s eyes widened as she whipped her head towards him, her body stilling. Kermit’s smile slowly fell at the shocked expression on the young lady’s face. Realisation hitting him.

„They did not tell you?” he asked, clearly confused.

„Tell me what?” she asked with a tight face.

„Their plans to betroth you. With you, might acquainting yourself with one of the young lords here, so that your brother can choose a match for you. I’m sorry cousin, I thought that you were made aware of these plans.” he sighed, scratching the back of his neck.

She felt dizzy, confusion turning into shock, turning into anger inside her so quickly she could barely keep up with her own emotions. She looked down again, just as Oscar and Benjicot finished with their sparring, shaking hands. She turned her gaze towards her brother then.

„My brother told you this.” It wasn’t even really a question. Disappointment and betrayal colouring her voice as she kept looking ahead. She was aware of the fact that she soon, rather than late, had to marry someone. It was inevitable. Even if she wished to avoid that more than anything. She didn’t want to leave her family, her home, her own room, just to be thrusted into a strange life with a husband chosen by the men around her. She was also aware that her wishes did not matter in this case as a daughter of house Stark.

„He did.” Said Kermit with a much quieter voice.

„I see.”

[scekrex]

Ring the bell, baby

pairing: Poolverine

warnings: language, sexual tension, implied sex

note: not beta read bc fuck you

See, living with a person like Wade Wilson was special. Special because it was more exhausting than Logan had ever imagined. But it was also rewarding in many, different and surprisingly tasteful ways, as the Wolverine was granted to find out.

Wade was a freak. So when Logan entered the kitchen one morning he had found a bell. The thing was pink, even had a cute little bow on it and white letters read ‘ring for sex’. It was a simple thing, really, one of the less freaky things Wade had bought over the short period of time the two mutants had been living together. And oh lord have mercy, Logan was able to give people an entire list of freaky things the merc had ordered ever since the Wolverine from another earth had agreed to move in with Red. And the list was long, so very long and partly disturbing.

And that same pink bell that Logan had found on the kitchen counter a week ago, was now filling the apartment with the softest and yet annoying sound the Wolverine knew. Because Wade had just gotten home from a mission and the merc had turned it into a little tradition to ring that bell after every little adventure he went on. Actually, no scratch that. Wade was ringing that bell whenever he got his greedy little hands on it - which was often. And that was the reason - to Logan’s sensitive ears - the sound was highly annoying.

Then a groan from the living room was heard - Logan’s groan. The fabric of the old, worn out couch shifted, moved over the equally old and worn out cushions and the wood of the couche’s frame creaked under the heavy weight of Logan’s bones. Slow, heavy steps made their way towards the kitchen of the apartment and Logan was grateful for Al to be out of the house. The old lady could be quite lovely - at least to the Wolverine from another earth she was - but she couldn’t stand the noises of sex. Him and Wade had to learn that the hard way.

Wade was sitting on the counter. The bell was set down on the flat, clean surface next to him. His legs were dangling, his suit still drenched in blood from the mission he had been on for the entire day. The merc’s head was tilted to the side and even though he was wearing his mask, the grumpy, old Wolverine knew that underneath that red fabric there was a massive smirk.

And so the brunette grabbed Wade’s waist, hauled him off the counter and tossed him over his shoulder with zero effort, like Wade was just a sheet of paper, like the man wasn’t packing a bunch of muscles and strong bones himself. And so they made their way over to the only bedroom of the apartment - with Logan, who was carrying Wade thrown over his shoulder and Wade, who was dragging a chair behind them to put in front of the closed - and later locked - bedroom door to give Al a heads up in case the lady got home early from playing bingo with her friends.. Neither of them liked it very much when the old lady walked in on Logan and Wade. Especially Al - and she couldn’t even see the impure things Wade and Logan were doing in the bed all three of them shared. And she was grateful for that, God knew it, at least that’s what she said.

“About damn time your ass comes back to me,” Logan growled out in a deep, grumpy voice and yet Wade knew he didn’t mean it, wasn’t actually as annoyed as he acted. Because - believe it or not - Logan could be a little drama queen if he wanted to. At least that’s what Wade said, but who knew how true those words actually were - probably only Wade and Logan themselves.

“Sorry,” Wade responded in a tone that reflected his cheerfulness as much as his legs that kept happily kicking against Logan’s so well defined abs - at least they did so until Logan wrapped his other arm around them strong calves, pressing them to his chest with such force that it caused them to stop moving. Logan released a single, low grunt. “Some cockblocking shitface kept me on my toes, told ‘im I have a feisty little Wolvie waitin’ for me, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“Keep the cheerful bullshit up, Wilson. We both know you won’t be able to walk after this. Not even with your healing factor.”

[bonefall]

tawnypelt honor title pleeeease she deserves it tigerstars daughter with the burden of a million expectations on her but who who has always adamantly gone her own way. maybe tawnysun or tawnydusk. also, whats her relationship with mothwing like? in the books their heritage as tigerkin was super neglected (misogyny) but it ended up creating two very indepentent characters who defined themselves outside of their fathers, unluke hawk and bramble who never could

I wish I could justify a four-tiger pileup at the Snare Scene, but it would change the events waaay too much to stay in the spirit of BB. Like, have it somehow be Tawnypelt who was targeted for ultimately rejecting her father so she's in the trap, somehow this would give Brambleclaw power or expose him so he hesitates, Mothwing jumps in to save Tawnypelt, Hawk and Bramble fight, and then Hawkfrost impales himself on the stake Mothwing is holding.

Especially since BB!TNP is now from the perspective of the Tigerkin-only. It would be really cool for it to be the ultimate confrontation between the four tiger cubs.

But, it is what it is.

I wish there was more space to explore a Tawnypelt/Mothwing dynamic, but I think there's a reason beyond just misogyny tbf (tho it is also present). When you have two half-siblings who reject their shared dad, what really connects you?

Nothing. I've seen it irl too. People don't like to hear this, but family IS a choice. The associations and expectations put on you because of your family aren't, and WHO you are born TO isn't a choice. But whenever your family comes to support you, every instance where you stand with them through hardship, the monumental task of being there for each other, time after time, IS A CHOICE.

It always has been.

When Brambleclaw learned that Hawkfrost was only connected to him through his bloodline, even after (canonically) being told Hawk never faced the same discrimination he did, he was CHOOSING to act as his brother. He was CHOOSING to accept that Tigerstar is something to unite over.

Tawnypelt and Mothwing don't. Nothing makes them sisters besides a man that one of them never even met.

Now dgmw. I don't think the Erins believe this, they're obsessed with magical, innate blood emotions. I think they didn't explore Tawny and Moth because they care less about girls, bottom line.

But I think this is why it wouldn't really make sense if they tried. And it's something I'd say on purpose if I had the chance.

[babyblue711]

Redemption

Will (Salad Days) x Reader - Part 2 Read Part 1 Here Summary: You and Will reconnect after spending some years apart and learn that each of you has gone through their own difficult circumstances in that time. Your friendship develops into something more as you help each other heal from the past.  Words: 7.2K

Warnings: NSFW, language, sexual content (18+), mild BDSM, miscarriage, prison, divorce, alcohol, infidelity, mention of death A/N: I am absolutely overwhelmed by the response to Part 1. Thank you all so so much. My heart has never been so happy reading your comments. Things get steamy here, it was my favorite part to write - I hope you all enjoy! Thank you to my beta readers @megatardisbaby and @arcielee; And thank you to @myfandomprompts for making those incredible gifs for me. Dividers by @firefly-graphic Distance, inches in between us I want you to give in I want you to give in Weakness, tension in between us I just wanna give in And I don't care if I'm forgiven - "Shameless" by Camila Cabello

A Couple Months Later

Late summer is in full swing and you are the happiest you can remember being in a very long time. Your mental state has greatly improved. Although you still had plenty of dark days and hard nights, they no longer held you captive as they once did. You didn’t feel as crushed by your grief anymore and had begun to feel hopeful again, waking up and looking forward to the day.  

You still hadn’t defined your relationship with Will yet, worried about messing up your dynamic. Although you very much acted like a couple since you spoke every day and saw each other almost every weekend, sharing a few more sweet kisses and intimate make-out sessions. You could tell Will wanted to take things further, but it was important to you to take it slow and he respected your wishes. You were finding it more and more difficult to hold yourself back though, with a fire that ignited in your chest and desire pounded through your blood anytime he was near. 

A pivotal moment came when he invited you over to his house to have tea with his Nan. Observing him doting on his aging grandmother was a testament to his kindness and compassion and it melted your heart. Despite the decline in her physical health, her mind and spirit remained undimmed, a fierce flame that illuminated the room; engaging with her had always been a delight, her wit sharp and her laughter infectious. You felt so comfortable sitting in their tiny kitchen, sharing a cup of tea together while listening to her tell stories of the past. With her, it felt like “home”. 

Before you departed his house that day, his Nan pulled you to the side, gripping both of your hands with her wizened ones and looked up at you with watery eyes. 

“Now you be sure to always take care of my boy as I know he will take care of you,” she said when Will was out of earshot, a small tremor to her voice. 

The weight of her words carried an unspoken gravity, a plea for your unwavering care. Your throat felt tight. What would become of Will once his beloved Nan departed this world? Your heart constricted with worry as you felt he had suffered so much already, but you knew this day would inevitably come. 

In response to her heartfelt plea, you squeezed her hands in return, smiling warmly, and vowed that you always would care for him too. The weight of that promise settled upon your shoulders, but you didn’t feel burdened by her request. You wanted to be there for him the same way he was there for you. The commitment of your pledge resonated deep within your soul, but your heart had never felt so full as you made your way back home.

It’s a beautiful day in mid August and you are back in the city for work, when you glance down at your phone and see a text from Will:

[Will]: Hey, fancy grabbin’ a pint at the pub in a bit? Drinks on me.

You smile as you reply.

 [Y/N]: Sure, looking forward to it - let’s say around 7pm and maybe we can make Happy Hour? 

Summer was quickly fading into autumn and you were eager to catch the last of the warm summer sun. You text your parents quickly that you would be home late and not to expect you for dinner, then gather your things and leave for the pub.

Your phone buzzes as you approach. 

[Will]: I’m back in the pub garden. 

As you make your way through the crowd towards him, you can’t help but admire just how good he looks in this moment. He’s trimmed his hair a bit and combed it back, the summer sun adding a few copper highlights to his usual light brown. His freckles stand out on his tanned, toned arms. He’s chosen another white t-shirt today with black jeans and black Adidas trainers, while you had taken advantage of the last days of warm weather to wear a cute sundress, navy with small vertical white stripes, buttoning down the front and tied at the waist with a cute little sash. 

He’s relaxing in his chair with ease, something about his posture is mature and confident. It suits him so well and you can’t help but smile to yourself, pleased to have known the boy that this man has grown into. He already has a half-finished pint in front of him, his phone occupying his attention. He takes a drag from his cigarette as you approach. 

His eyes light up when he sees you. “Took you long enough,” he says and playfully blows the smoke in your direction. Having never been much of a smoker, he knew that you hated it. Amused but slightly irritated, you arch an eyebrow at him and give him a sharp look, which soon dissipates as he leans in and gives you a kiss on the cheek, a smug smirk lifting the corner of his lips. Between the warmth of his lips on your cheek and his scent washing over you, smokey with the hint of his masculine shampoo, you couldn’t find it within yourself to be mad at him. 

You cough a little for emphasis of your feigned irritation, “Thanks, you fuckin’ wanker, now where’s the pint I was promised?” You try your best to sound stern but you know he sees right through you. He continues to smirk at you, amused, then turns to go to the bar to get your drink. 

You sit down and take in your surroundings. The seating arrangements are thoughtfully organized, with long communal tables and cozy nooks tucked away amidst lush greenery. Wooden benches and wrought-iron chairs invite guests to settle in while soft lighting from twinkling string lights adds an enchanting ambiance as day transitions into night.

Sun-kissed faces dot the outdoor seating area, as the other patrons try to catch a breeze in the shade, sipping on chilled beverages and enjoying idle chatter. You turn to see Will approaching with your drink and another for him in his hands. His eyes are on your tanned legs and you were glad you had chosen a light cotton sundress to wear that day.

Several hours later, darkness has fallen and several rounds of drinks have been enjoyed, laughter echoing through the air. A game of pool had turned into a friendly competition between you and Will. 

You both had flirted incessantly with each other the whole night. As he showed you the proper way to hold a pool stick, you couldn’t help but notice his body heat radiate off of him, a tingling at the bottom of your spine at his proximity. When he leans over you and adjusts your grip on the pool stick, you give a small wiggle underneath him and he immediately notices. Leaning in close, he whispers “behave” into your ear while a long fingered hand squeezes your hip. Feeling sassy, you side-eye smirk at him, letting him know you absolutely did it on purpose and catching his shy, smug smile in return.

As the final ball sinks into the pocket, punctuating the end of the game, a triumphant smile spreads across your face and you declare yourself the winner. 

“Taught you too well I guess,” Will teases, crossing his arms. “Or maybe I just let you win.”

“Oh, don’t be a sore loser,” you say playfully back as you nudge him in the ribs just for good measure. “I won fair and square!” You giggle and lean into him, the alcohol making you feel a little giddy. As you look up at him, you notice the way the string lights create a halo effect around his head; he looks like an angel fallen from heaven and you have to catch your breath for a moment. 

He smiles down at you and hums in amusement, rubbing your bare arms from the chilly air now that the sun has set. You can’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction and contentment, safe in his arms, and you wanted him to know it. 

“Thank you for the drinks and good company tonight,” you say sweetly. “I had a lot of fun.”

He seems pleased, his eyes warm. “Me too. Are you sure you didn’t just meet me here to pay for the drinks?” he banters, smiling. 

“I bought the third round!” you exclaim in mock outrage, hitting his arm in jest. 

He chuckles, surprising you with a quick kiss on the lips. The small gesture lights a fire in your belly; you can practically feel the heat of his gaze burning right through you. 

You gather your things and he takes your hand as you make your way out of the bar, both of you feeling as if you didn’t want the night to end. You don’t want to let go of his hand. 

Once outside, he hesitates a little, “You know, Nan and I live right over the way, it’s a short walk from here. Given the hour, would you want to come and stay?” You consider him for a moment; it was later than you intended and you aren’t looking forward to taking public transportation back home alone at this hour. 

“Are you sure we won’t be bothering your Nan?” you ask in a hushed tone. 

“Nah, not at all. I have the whole downstairs to myself since Nan lives upstairs. She’s a sound sleeper, won’t hear us at all,” he reassures you. 

You look up into his pleading puppy dog eyes and agree to go home with him, never having been able to turn down those eyes. Will lights another cigarette as he walks you home, burning end in one hand, the other placed on the small of your back, guiding you home. You swear you can feel an electric current thrum between the two of you as you walk side by side in a comfortable silence.

A short while later, you arrive at his doorstep; he unlocks the door and steps back to let you in. The threshold reveals a small landing, offering a choice of stairs that split in opposite directions. To the right, the stairs ascend to the upper level and to the left, they descend to the basement. 

“Do you mind if I check on Nan real fast? Since it’s late, she probably won’t be in the visiting mood, if she’s still up. I’ll be downstairs in a minute,” Will says.

“Of course,” you say easily, as you wouldn’t want to be disturbed by visitors at this hour either. You wander downstairs and flip on a light, the soft glow of the lamp illuminating his space, tidier than you would have thought for a guy. A black leather sofa sits up against the wall, furnished with squashy grey pillows, opposite a big, flat screen TV. Trinkets and old photos adorn the bookshelf in the corner of the room. There’s a door to the left to what you are assuming is his bedroom. You sit on the sofa and make yourself comfortable while you wait. 

Within a few moments, you hear footsteps on the stairs and Will reappears carrying two glasses of water for you both. “Nan’s fast asleep, didn’t even hear us come in,” he says. “Thought you might need some of this,” he gestures to the water. You accept your glass gratefully and take a few sips, the ice cool on your tongue.

Emptying his pockets onto the coffee table and kicking off his shoes, Will plops down on the couch next to you and makes himself at home. You follow suit by removing your sandals, still feeling a little chilly from the cool nighttime air. He notices you shivering slightly and gets up, heading into his room to get you a hoodie of his to put on. 

You can hear him rummaging around to find you something acceptable to wear. You sip your water, eyes glancing to the bookshelf in the corner. Framed ornately in gold, the largest photo catches your eye and you can tell, even from a distance, it is probably the last recent photo Will has of his mum and dad. You wander over for a closer look, studying their happy faces, smiling at how much Will resembles his mum.

“Think this’ll do?” he says suddenly from behind you and you turn to see him holding up a grey hoodie; you are fairly certain it is the same one he always wore when you were in school together.

“Yeah, that’ll do, thank you,” you say, reaching for it. He moves closer, noticing the photograph that must have caught your attention.

With a deep sigh, he stares at the photograph for a moment before turning his eyes on you. Without saying anything, he cups your face in one large hand, staring intently into your eyes. You gaze back steadily, worried that you had upset him by looking at this photograph, afraid to have accidently brought up the past. For a moment, you both breathe in unison together, you inhale his exhale and he, yours. Finally, he leans down and kisses you. 

The kiss starts out slowly but quickly becomes heated. At last, you think to yourself with a sigh. You didn’t come home with Will with the intention of hooking up with him; you were pleased at his generosity to invite you to stay the night rather than traveling home alone by yourself. But, now that you were getting lost in his kiss, you didn’t know how you were going to stop, reveling in the feeling of his lips and the taste of his tongue on yours. 

You suck his bottom lip into your mouth, pulling on it slightly before giving him your bottom lip to suck on in return. You gently slide your tongue along his lower lip, enjoying the smoothness of the kiss as he languidly pushes his tongue into your mouth. He slides his tongue over yours and you do the same back to him. After another moment or two of blissful oblivion, he pulls back, looking down at you with hooded eyes. 

Desire stirs in his blown pupils and you are certain he can see the fire reflected in yours as the savage storm inside of you threatens to spill over from your carefully maintained control. You have tried to be good...have tried to give your heart time to mend before going any further, but tasting his kiss was slowly breaking your resolve. 

Setting his forgotten hoodie down on a nearby armchair, he leads you by the hand towards the leather sofa, pulling you onto his lap to straddle him. His head tilts on the back of the couch as he watches you settle yourself in his lap, your dress riding up on your thighs. Staring into his fathomless blue eyes, you find yourself getting lost, sinking to the bottom of those ocean-blue depths. 

Time seems to slow down. Your fingertips caress his face lightly, over his cheekbone and down his sharp jaw, ghosting over his perfect lips, tracing their shape, and reaching up to run your fingers through his hair, tugging a bit at the back. His large, warm hands rest on your hips, squeezing lightly. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows; his breathing steady, he seems content to watch you while you stroke his face. 

Your eyes flicker back to his and you both simultaneously resume your kiss; you trail kisses along his jawline towards his right ear, purposefully tickling it lightly with your breath. He shifts slightly under you, fingers tangling in your hair, and he huskily whispers in your ear, “Tell me how you like it.”

Those simple words ignite the fire in your chest. You chuckle softly while unbidden, dark thoughts race through your mind. Oh…you knew perfectly well what you wanted him to do. The deepest part of your subconscious mind ferally roars to be let out of her cage. Your heartbeat picks up as you momentarily remember what it feels like to be alive again and your hunger for him quickly begins to overpower any common sense you still possess. 

Slow down, don’t move so fast, your inner voice whispers to you, echoing in a distant chamber of your empty brain.  

You pause, pretending to contemplate his question as you lick the outer edge of his ear, needing to taste his skin. You press your body close to his, absolutely sure he can feel your heartbeat thunder in your chest. 

Ignoring your inner warning completely, you whisper into his ear in turn, “I want you to hurt me.” The words escape your lips before you have a second chance to think about it. You bite down on his neck, not enough to hurt but definitely enough to get his attention by emphasizing your meaning.

He jumps a little at the unexpected pain and sucks in a breath. “Hurt you?” He pulls away, his blue eyes searching yours, a slight frown creasing between his eyebrows. You knew it was not in his nature to be rough with a woman and what you were asking was probably pushing his limit.

“Please, Will?” you beg sweetly, not wanting to completely scare him at this point. 

Your mental sanity was slipping but you knew he could help you, you just had to show him how. How could you tell him that, by wrapping his long fingers around your throat and squeezing, you could finally have clarity again? How do you explain to him that you want to see bite marks and bruises on your skin without sounding like a total psycho? That, by giving yourself completely to him, when he has total control over you, releases your anxiety and frees your mind? You are sick of the mental anguish, the voices in your head, always at war with yourself, always trying to do the right thing, the pain of your past always simmering just below your surface. All you wanted was for it all to stop. Just for a moment. 

He regards you intently, his tongue darting out, moistening his bottom lip as you see his decision form in his eyes. “Are you sure you want me to do this?” he asks quietly as he studies your face. His change of tone is subtle but you immediately pick up on it. He’s turning the tables like he’s the one asking for permission now. 

“I’m sure,” you breathe, voice barely above a whisper. “Do your worst,” you challenge. “But I gotta warn you, I may bite and scratch a little,” you tell him seductively.

He smirks. “Good, because you’ll crawl and beg too,” he promises ominously, his gaze darkening so his eyes almost look black in the low light as his face hardens. “Well, well, well, who knew you had this side to you, Y/N?” he purrs at you, voice low and deep.

Considering just how quickly he acquiesced, you silently find yourself thinking the same thing about him. You didn’t expect this side of Will, but the sultry tone of his voice has your heartbeat racing, longing to know more of what he could do to you.

His hands roam over your body, up from your hips, over your ribcage and back down your spine, moving lower to grab a chunk of your ass and squeeze. Lifting you suddenly by your ass, he suddenly flips you over, so that he’s on top of you on the couch. Propping himself up on his elbows, he kisses you deeply, his tongue moving over yours as he dominates your mouth. You feel his length stiffen against your core and you can’t help but grind your hips into his, seeking friction, moaning involuntarily at the way he is consuming you. Moving from your mouth down your body, he places hot, open-mouth kisses and sharp bites to the delicate skin of your neck and collarbone.  

Hindered by your cotton sundress, he reaches for the buttons that lace the front, undoing them slowly, kissing and sucking every inch of new skin that he exposes. He unties the sash at your waist, continuing lower as you run your fingers through his hair, squirming underneath him.

Suddenly, he stops and sits up. “I have an idea,” he says as he finishes the last button on your dress, laying it open, exposing your matching bra and lace panties to him. His eyes roam over your curves, dark with longing. “And I’ll need the sash on your dress,” he adds. 

He rises from the couch to allow you room to remove the sash from your dress and you wonder what’s coming next. He moves to the coffee table where he had dropped all his things earlier and you notice him picking up his lighter. Eyeing him apprehensively, you think to yourself "what the hell?”

“Will…are you sure we won’t get caught?” you ask, feeling like a teenager all over again hooking up in your parents’ basement while trying not to make any noise.

“Nah, Nan doesn’t do stairs well anymore,” Will shrugs, unconcerned. You hand him the sash from your dress.

“One more thing,” he says as he cleverly unhooks your bra with one hand. “Good, now lay back down,” his tone leaves no room for argument. 

Obediently, you do as you’re told, shivering slightly as your bare skin rests on the cool leather of the couch. You feel open and exposed as you watch him drink in the sight of your appearance, his eyes lingering on your breasts. Being topless on his couch where anyone could see suddenly feels so erotic. Your breathing picks up speed as you realize he intends to blindfold you with your sash and you decide to play along. Once it’s secure, he kisses your lips lightly, abruptly biting down on your bottom lip. You gasp in surprise, pleasure coursing through your body at the unexpected pain. 

“Remember, you asked for this,” he growls into your ear.

Straining your other senses, you feel him move away from you for a moment, hearing the sound of clinking ice. “Now, don’t scream and stay still,” he says in a low tone as ice cold liquid suddenly moves over your skin, first near your neck at your collarbone, and then down between your breasts, circling each nipple, their peaks stiffening immediately. You jump and gasp at the unexpected cold sensation, a shiver running through your body as your skin melts the ice. 

You moan quietly and almost miss the next sound, the snick of his lighter. You freeze in place, fear momentarily clutching at your heart…Surely not? Did he intend to burn you? You curse internally, Does he know what he’s doing? Your breath becomes rapid as you wait for the pain, senses heightened by the blindfold. 

Instead, a warm liquid drips onto your skin, everywhere the ice cube had been moments before. It immediately hardens upon contact and you realize what it is: candle-wax. You feel the liquid drizzle on your breasts and stomach, warm but not unpleasant, it cools almost instantaneously when it touches your skin, cold from the ice.

Repeating the process, Will continues dripping some down your inner thighs, alternating between cold ice and hot wax. You quiver and whimper in pleasure, your chest rising and falling with each breath. You unexpectedly feel his breath on your left nipple as his warm tongue caresses the sensitive bud, while he massages the other breast with his hand. Your back arches off the couch, the sensations between hot and cold and his mouth on you starting to become overwhelming. 

You squirm as you feel him climbing on top of you, settling between your legs, brushing away some of the hardened wax. Tantalizingly, you feel his fingertips skate under the band of your panties.

“God, you are so fuckin’ beautiful,” he breathes and you can feel the heat in your cheeks at his compliment. “Lift your hips for me,” he murmurs as he pulls your underwear off, discarding them on the floor while placing a pillow under your bottom, elevating you for him. Panting as the cool air hits your hot pussy, you ache for him to finally touch you there. 

“Hmm, such a pretty, perfect little pussy you have,” his fingertips part your folds, opening you up to him, “Already so wet for me,” he growls as you feel him gather your slick on his fingers, bringing it up to your pearl, rubbing it with light circles. As much as you want him to touch you, it takes everything in you not to close your legs, keeping them open for his inspection, his actions made ever more sensual as you are still blindfolded and can’t see his expression at all.  

You feel him lower himself between your legs as he wraps his strong arms around your thighs. You hear him inhale, then he blows cool air directly onto your aching core. Jesus Fucking Christ, you think as your pussy automatically clenches down around nothing, and you mewl pathetically, practically begging for more. 

Ignoring your wishes, he begins kissing the insides of your thighs, biting and sucking and making sure he leaves bruises behind, just like you secretly want him to. After what seems like eternity, you feel his sharp nose run through your soaked folds, his luscious lips attach to your pearl and he sucks deeply.

Ecstasy at finally being touched the way you want, you slap a hand over your mouth to stifle a loud moan, fearful of waking his Nan at the most inopportune time. You know you’re in trouble as you’ve never been quiet in bed and you hated the thought of having to start now. You quickly shove a pillow over your face, muffling your noises as he fucks you.

Will chuckles at your struggle, his tongue pushing into you, lapping at your folds, sucking your clit. You suddenly feel a finger at your entrance, sliding in easily given how wet you were for him. He strokes inside of you for a moment before inserting a second finger, wiggling them on the way in, stretching your pussy and brushing that spongy spot inside. Electricity zings through your core and into your chest with his touch, causing you to let out a muffled cry. You’re sure your heart skips several beats as he continues stroking inside of you, curling his fingers and beckoning your orgasm forward. Writhing and moaning like a slut, you buck your hips up into his face, the pleasure consuming you. 

“Hmm, so tight. Just the way I always imagined,” he whispers, almost to himself. The fact that Will, your sweet Will, was talking so dirty turns you on even more. The room is full of your pants and moans and lewd noises coming from your wet core.

Expertly alternating his tongue between flicking your clit and sucking on it, he sets a steady rhythm with his fingers, consistently brushing that rough patch inside of you, your orgasm approaching almost embarrassingly quick. Breathing heavily into the pillow, you let out a muffled cry as your release washes over you, shattering in his face, legs trembling uncontrollably. You feel your walls pulse around his fingers as he continues to fuck you through your peak. 

Coming down from your high, you remove the offending pillow from your face, panting heavily and muttering a string of curses. You rip your blindfold off so you can see his face. He’s still crouched between your thighs, his lips wet from your slick, looking indecently triumphant at making you cum so quickly. Without hesitating you reach for him, pulling him back up your body, slamming your lips against his. You revel at the salty taste of yourself on his tongue.

You can’t remember the last time a man ate your pussy so well. Crazed with lust, you reach to undo his pants, with Will suckling at your neck. There was nothing that you wanted more in this moment than to have his cock in your mouth as you unzip his jeans. 

Realizing what you are trying to do, he rises above you, assuming control once again. “So eager for my cock now, are you?” a devilish smirk plays on his lips. “I need you on your knees.”

Christ, you think to yourself as you hastened to obey. You had never experienced this dominant side of Will, but you could feel the slick forming between your thighs again from his simple command. 

Sitting on the couch, knees spread, he’s pulled his cock out but his jeans are still on, pumping himself with his right hand. He watches your expression, breathing deeply through his long, straight nose. 

Your hands slide up his thighs and you finally get a good look at his cock - thick and veiny, his length stands proudly erect against his stomach, the head weeping slightly; he’s impressively large. His patch of hair is kept trimmed and neat, his balls round and smooth with a light dusting of finer hair.  

You gulp involuntarily at the sight of him; you had no idea he was so big. Your eyes flick up to meet his own and he raises his eyebrows at you, as if to say yeah, I know it’s big. 

You smirk at his audaciousness as you tug at his pants and he lifts his hips, allowing you to pull his jeans and boxers completely off. You were naked, why shouldn’t he be too? you reason with yourself, eagerly removing his clothes, although he still had his t-shirt on.

Kneeling between his legs, you gently wrap your hand around his cock, enjoying the soft velvety texture of it, swiping your thumb over the weeping head, watching his face. You pump him a few times, feeling the weight of his impressive length heavy in your hand. 

He sucks in a breath when you wrap your lips around his cock and begin taking him as far as you can, your hand continuing to pump the rest that won’t fit in your mouth. You breathe through your nose and relax your throat, attempting to take him further. His breathing is quick and shallow as he moves his hips gently, matching the rhythm of your mouth as you move up and down his length. You can feel the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat and feel momentary pride that you never had much of a gag reflex. Your other hand gently cups his balls and gives them a gentle massage. 

He groans in pleasure and closes his eyes, tilting his head on the back of the couch as you continue your ministrations. Slurping noises fill the room as you repeatedly swirl your tongue over the tip. Flattening your tongue, you lick a strip up the vein in the middle of his shaft like a lollipop before fastening your mouth around the head and sucking harshly. You moan around his cock as you feel your core start to ache all over again, so turned on by giving him pleasure. 

As you work him, his fingers tangle in your hair; he doesn’t use force, only guiding your motions as you slurp and suck on him. After a few more passes with your mouth and tongue, his fingers tighten on your hair, pulling you away from his cock. Confused, you look up at him with pleading eyes, wanting to continue.

“If you keep doing that, I’m not going to last very long.” He stands suddenly, dragging you up from the floor by your hair. You whine at the pain but an insane smile plays on your lips, impressed how committed he was to this dominant role and you secretly love the pain.

He hauls you towards his bedroom, flipping on the lamp at the bedside table. Letting go of your hair, he turns to you and removes his shirt, grabbing from behind his neck and pulling it up over his head. The first thing you notice is the silver necklace he’s always worn, even years ago during your school days, hanging around his neck. You glance at the cross, before your eyes drink in the sight of his naked body, admiring his strong shoulders, muscular chest, and toned abs. 

Prowling towards you, he presses his body to yours, the heat coming off of him in waves and warming your naturally cooler skin. His hands reach for your hips as he holds you close to him, a moment of tenderness, your arms circling around his neck. 

Just as you think he’s leaning down to kiss you, suddenly he’s bending down, grabbing you by the thighs, and unceremoniously throwing you onto the bed. The bed makes for a soft landing but it momentarily stuns you as you crash down upon it, having no time to recover as he’s suddenly on top of you again, caging you in with his muscular arms, resting between your thighs. He lowers his mouth to yours, ravaging you again, his fingers in your hair, holding you still for him. 

You whine loudly into his mouth, needing him, your core aching for him, desperate for more. You want to feel his large cock stretch you, the anticipation eating at your patience. He’s moving back down your body again, biting harshly on your nipple, then moving his tongue over the sore spot to ease the pain. His thumb finds your clit as he repeats the bite to your other breast. You arch your back towards him as he continually switches between giving you pain and pleasure, your mind going blissfully numb. 

Suddenly, he's kissing back up your body, but your core is still aching to be touched. You mewl, rubbing your thighs together. “Don’t worry, I’m not done with you yet,” he whispers darkly.

Laying down on his side next to you, he slides a hand between your breasts, down your stomach and onto your aching core where he doesn't waste time, inserting two fingers and setting a brutal pace. The palm of his hand rubs your clit and his long fingers reach deep inside you, repeatedly stroking that rough spot. Your heart jolts again at the sensation, you’re panting and moaning uncontrollably as he fucks you ruthlessly with his fingers. Just as soon as your walls begin to pulsate, he takes his hand away and you look up at him in horror.

“Oh, no worries, love, you’re gonna cum again, but it’s gonna be on my cock,” he purrs into your ear.

You huff and pant, deciding to tease him a little in return. You reach for his fingers that were just inside of you, his middle and ring fingers coated with your slick. Maintaining eye contact, you watch his face as you insert each finger into your mouth, licking him clean. You close your lips and hum around his fingers, enjoying your salty taste. His mouth hangs open and you observe his chest rising and falling more rapidly as he stares at your hot mouth sucking on his fingers.

“Fuck,” he murmurs hoarsly, suddenly positioning himself between your legs once his fingers are clean. Laying his body on top of yours, you relish in the feeling of his warm weight pressing you into the bed, chest to chest, skin to skin, your hips cradling his. Your hands caress the broad planes of his back and shoulders as he sucks on your neck, leaving a hickey you know you won’t be able to hide. Your hips buck up into his, your patience gone, you need him to be inside you.

“Will, please,” you beg pathetically, reaching down and stroking his cock, attempting to guide it to your entrance.

“Didn’t I promise you would beg for it?” he whispers, a smug smile on his lips as he knows what a pathetic, mewling mess he has already made of you. 

Sitting back on his heels between your legs, he pumps himself a few times, his eyes hooded and dark, raking over your body that’s laid out on the bed before him. He takes his thumb and circles your clit, guiding his cock with his other hand to your entrance. He teases you, sliding just the head in and back out again. His mouth is open slightly and he pants a little as he tortures you by not giving you what you want. You inhale sharply at first as his thick head stretches your pussy, but soon start to squirm and whine, needing his cock to fill you up. Without warning, he grabs you by your hips and thrusts into you, your pussy clenching down on his cock at the intrusion, your back arching off the bed, you suck in a sharp breath and let out a small cry at the pain of the sudden stretch as he hurts you so good. 

He lowers his body back onto yours once he’s buried himself to the hilt in your wet heat where he pauses, allowing you to adjust to him. You take a few deep breaths through your nose, pulling him closer to you, nibbling on his neck and shoulders to distract yourself from the stretching of your pussy around his thick cock. You can feel every ripple, every vein, every ridge of his cock inside of you. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” he groans into your neck at the sensation of being squeezed, filling you so deliciously. Capturing your lips again with his own, he doesn’t move above you, hips still against yours.

You moan into his mouth, tugging at the back of his hair, raking your nails down his back, ready for him to finally move. He gives a few shallow thrusts, watching your face, making sure you’re okay. Satisfied that you aren’t in any more pain, he pulls out and slams his hips back into yours and you cry aloud as another jolt of electric pleasure courses through you.

His hips roll into yours with a steady rhythm and you pant as the drag of his cock continually rubs against your g-spot, sending more electric currents through your pussy. His face is still in your neck and you grab the back of his hair, breathing harshly into his ear, overwhelmed at the sensation of his cock inside of you.

He adjusts positions to hover over you, his damn silver necklace swinging in your face. He grips your thigh with one hand as he drags it up over his hip, the other hand slides up your chest, his long fingers wrapping around your throat as he slams into you relentlessly, holding you in place for him. He’s careful not to push on your windpipe, rather putting pressure on the sides of your neck, giving you room to breathe. 

The noises of heavy breathing and skin slapping erotically fills the room, the smell of sex in the air. You grip the wrist that’s wrapped around your throat, the better to hold on as he picks up the pace, snapping his hips into yours. You feel the strength of his arm holding you down, corded with muscle, watching as his abs flex with every thrust into you. The primal knowledge of his strength and power, the thought that he could easily crush your windpipe without even trying, the feel of his cock stretching your walls, the scent of his body, the heat radiating off of him takes over your senses until there is nothing left but him. Your body submits to him, your numb brain surrendering as you allow him total control over you.

Grunting and breathing heavily, he curses under his breath, “So tight…..fuckin’ hell,” he says between thrusts.

With his punishing pace, you can feel your walls fluttering around his cock, constantly sucking him back in as he repeatedly hits your spongy spot. You reach between your bodies to rub circles on your clit. 

He glances down at your hand, “You gonna cum for me, love? God, I can feel you clenching, your pussy doesn’t want to let me go,” he groans, voice seductively deep. “Look at you taking this dick so well. Who does your pussy belong to?” he asks suddenly, squeezing around your neck a little for emphasis and thrusting into you harshly.  

Your breath coming out in gasps, his question only fuels the pleasure building deep within, his possessive energy consuming you.

“Y…you, Will,” you whimper his name, barely able to form a coherent thought. 

“That’s what I thought,” he grunts back, never slowing his pace. 

You can feel your orgasm approaching, ecstasy building steadily, you start babbling uncontrollably, willing him to keep going. 

“Will,” you pant, your breathing harsh, “I’m - I’m coming, Will. Please… don’t stop….” 

A moment later he practically growls as your cunt clenches around his cock, pistoning his hips into yours as your orgasm hits you like a freight train, waves of pleasure crashing over you, one wave rolling into the next. You cry aloud, hardly hearing the volume of your own voice, your eyes rolling into the back of your head, your breathing fast and labourious and you don’t think you’ve ever come so hard in your life. 

He pounds into you, sustaining your pleasure through your peak, somehow managing not to cum himself until your cries die down. He pulls out of you, pumping himself the last few strokes, squirting his hot seed all over your belly. “Fucking perfect little pussy, took me so well,” he pants, breathing heavily. 

Your body feels like a limp noodle and immediately your eyes feel heavy, all you can manage to do is continue laying there, trying to catch your breath while Will retrieves a warm, wet washcloth from the bathroom. He cleans himself off of you, gently rubbing over your stomach, even wiping the mess of slick from between your thighs. You jump and whimper a little at the sensation as he brushes over your abused pussy, so sensitive after multiple orgasms, but you can tell he is trying to be as gentle as possible. 

After your thorough cleaning, you both slide down into the sheets of his bed, still naked, facing one another. Neither of you speak, content to only gaze at the other. Reaching for him, you trail your fingertips over his shoulders and chest and down his arms, as if by touching him, you are making sure he is real. His eyes blink at you slowly, calm and content. 

“Was that too rough for you? I didn’t do too much?” he asks quietly after a moment, you can hear the concern in his voice, worried that he took it too far with you.

A smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. You lean over to him, placing a sweet kiss on his lips. “Not at all, you were perfect. You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for that.” 

He gives you a small smile of satisfaction in return, brushing the hair from your face. You snuggle back down into his chest, both of you falling into a deep and peaceful slumber. Wrapped in his arms, curled into the heat of his body, enveloped in his smell, it was the best night’s sleep you had had in a very long time.

>>>Part 3

Tags: @sylas-the-grim @peonamay @quinnquinn317 @multyfangirl @aemondsscar @highinthetower @cyeco13 @chainsawsangel @boundlessfantasy

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

One small pet peeve I have about Chapter 7 is that it's making Maleficent look like "a victim." This is a personal thing but I always considered the Evil Queen to be Disney's most evil villain, but the title has Maleficent being considered "evil incarnate." And I understand, she has powers and transforms into a dragon. What a cool thing. But on several occasions I feel that content creators who partly work for Disney do not respect that she is an evil being and end up softening her character, either giving her a tragic background or making her a mother. Going back to TWST, the part that bothers me the most is right at the beginning of the chapter, when Yuu dreams about Maleficent and the only option to choose implies that they feel bad for Maleficent for not being invited. And it's like WHAT? Didn't you see that she cursed a baby? Or better yet, why didn't you feel bad for the other villains? And seeing the theories of the most recent update, with the inclusion of the senate and seeing that almost the entire fandom hates them, it makes Maleficent's descendants seem more like victims (which they partly are). Sorry, this is something personal that I wanted to share with someone. But in conclusion, no other medium outside of the original film can well portray Maleficent as the embodiment of evil that she is supposed to be. And yes, I know the Draconia family is not Maleficent but they are still related.

Disclaimer: I’m coming at this from the POV of someone who has no attachment to Maleficent as a character and is frankly confused as to why she’s the Big Bad that Disney chooses to promote as their villainous icon 🤡 so take my opinion with a grain of salt!🧂

To quickly correct something before the discussion: Malleus being a relative or a descendant of Maleficent is NOT canon. It is a popular headcanon, especially during the early days of the TWST fandom when we didn’t have a lot of lore about the Draconia family. From the way Malleus speaks about the Thorn Witch, she is considered a separate ancient entity and not someone he personally knows or has blood ties with.

Knowing that, it somewhat detracts from the points made in this ask 😅 since it seems like the Anon was trying to draw a parallel between Maleficent and Malleus… Conflating Maleficent with Malleus may be the result of mixing up the dreams with the differing mediums and presentations of Maleficent and Malleus in the context of their own works. I feel they can be treated like two entirely separate cases, and with different intentions behind them.

Maleficent has been written as a tragic antihero in the live action movie(s) of the same name. That is one interpretation of her, just as the Descendants Maleficent is much goofier in attitude. They are Disney’s properties and so they are free to twist Maleficent however they wish to suit the circumstances or to chase a modern trend of redemption, even if it’s different than the “mistress of evil” she was introduced as. In my opinion, there is nothing inherently wrong with this (although that doesn’t mean you’re obligated to enjoy or to agree with every iteration of Maleficent or the new direction she’s being led in). This doesn’t automatically make her a “victim” (for lack of a better term) either, she feels more… “girlboss” to me, if that makes sense?? Tragic things do happen to her, but they don’t define Maleficent as an individual (if I recall correctly, she acts on her own and rises up + regains power in spite of humans hating her). I think it’s just a different way to spin a story. However, I can see why maybe this doesn’t bode well to some people who like her for being evil and not for being redeemable.

Malleus is the “final boss” of a gacha game. The intention behind his design is to endear the players to the character so they’re willing to roll for him. That’s why Malleus in particular has a “special” role compared to the other boys, and why they try to establish a friendship with Yuu early on in the main story. He is treated differently in the narrative because of that. We may not necessarily like it or find the method effective, but that’s the design TWST went with. (I’m personally not a fan of this either, it grants Malleus specifically a lot of grace and favoritism that I’m not on board with 😅)

I also want to point out that when the other villains were introduced in Yuu’s dreams, it’s not really in situations that would immediately warrant sympathy. The Queen of Hearts is unreasonably mad, the King of Beasts is plotting against his brother, etc. It’s not that Yuu doesn’t “feel bad” for the others, it’s that the others didn’t give Yuu anything to “feel bad” about right away. For the dream with Maleficent, it’s different: Yuu first learns that she is “unwanted” and THEN she casts her magic. Yuu then fixates on the reason behind Maleficent’s curse (because at this point in the story, we’ve seen 6 cases of how one’s motivations and past fuel one’s actions in the present). The other villains don’t get similar scenes or lines to show off the potential reasoning behind their behaviors (no showing of how the Queen of Heart’s rule benefits her people, no jeering at Scar, etc.) so of course Yuu won’t be as gracious about them.

We should also consider that each of these dreams is prophetic and ties back to the current OB boy’s troubles. In Malleus’s case, loneliness is a huge issue and he’s been Yuu’s “friend” since book 2. These will naturally play into Yuu feeling more sympathy towards Maleficent, who resembles Malleus and is left out like he is. The other OB boys didn’t have this “special” connection, and their issues don’t center so strongly on wanting companionship. If you refer back to Yuu’s dreams of each villain, Yuu’s reactions to each reflect the ongoing dilemma of each boy and their dorm mates, such as wondering why the card soldiers don’t intervene and not understanding why Scar used the methods he did.

That being said, I’m not sure if I agree with the use of “victim” to describe the Draconias. The term’s definition varies by person (and I’m not sure what the asker’s own definition is, so there may be some disagreement here), but personally I see “victim” as a binary. It puts one person in a weak and passive position—with them being the one acted on—and the other person in a position of power—the one doing the acting. It creates an easy “us vs them” narrative. I don’t believe this is the case for any of the TWST characters; to call them “victims” implies a lack of agency to act and a clear good vs evil worldview.

Back to the Draconias. Yes, bad things have happened to them and some of those bad things were the result of the senate’s decisions. That doesn’t make the Draconias (or even Maleficent, in my opinion) “victims”, and certainly not “victims” to the senate alone. There are so many other factors to consider in Malleus being isolated and turning out the way he did. These include, but are not limited to: Maleficia being too busy to spend time with him, his parents being absent, Malleus still managing to meet and interact with Lilia anyway, Malleus himself being so powerful/high status he scares his servants and peers, royals having duties to tend to and thus limited freedoms, previously existing tensions with humans, etc.

TWST does do a lot to make you feel bad for and to pity Malleus. From the moment we first saw him, the “loneliness” of Malleus was a major part of his character. Many factors outside of his control compounded as an unfortunate situation that… wasn’t very conducive for him to grow up feeling normal and loved. It’s not that he was just now made a “victim”, it’s that we’re now getting all the context for why his character is the way it is—and it’s a whole slew of traumas and personal experiences. I would argue the same happens for all the OB boys; this isn’t something exclusive to twisted Maleficent, Malleus. TWST is trying to present these issues with more nuance than the classically evil G7 they were inspired by; the OB boys in general they aren’t defined by their “victimhood, but rather how they respond to and cope with those experiences.

[viinas]

First 6 of my tarot series for my fire and silver characters. If you want to know a bit about them i'll throw some explanations below!

(from the Rider Waite tarot guide) I THE MAGICIAN - Helena Zairi Skill, diplomacy, address, sickness, pain, loss, disaster, self-confidence, will, the Querent himself (if male). Reversed: Physician, Magus, mental illness, disgrace, disquiet Helena’s character journey is largely about coming into her own as a spell caster. She goes from using magic as a nomad solely as a method for survival to finding peace in the connection her power gives her to the elements. Then, after the dust settles and the war ends, she realizes that she is, to her soul, a healer. Naturally, her journey comes with many setbacks as well as debilitating losses in a war created by the generation before her that she is now forced to shoulder and clean up. Her lineage and their connections to greater things throws her onto the center of a battlefield that she, as a peaceful spirit, must learn to navigate.

II THE HIGH PRIESTESS - Kithara Alva Secrets, mystery, the future as yet unrevealed, the woman who interests the Querent (if male); the Querent (if female), silence, tenacity, wisdom, science Reversed: Passion, moral or physical ardor, conceit, surface knowledge She’s the psychic! Of course she’s the one with all the secrets, mystery, and future yet unrevealed. Really, though, Kithara’s journey centers around uncertainty. Like Hel, she is a young girl forced onto a battlefield despite her own gentle heart. She has experiences the others in the story can’t even comprehend, having died and come back fully corporeal, heart beating anew. With that resurrection came the price of her own humanity slowly eating away at her from within. Kithara must hold onto who she is and where she comes from, finding her own reasons to fight that aren’t dependent on her lineage. She has a quiet, tenacious fire brewing inside of her that has propelled her into making reckless self-serving choices that she isn’t certain are hers or the entity inside of hers. Her passion is a double edged sword of altruistic love and aimless hatred all at once.

XII THE HANGED MAN - Ilum Griam Wisdom, trials, circumspection, discernment, sacrifice, intuition, divination, prophecy Reversed: Selfishness, the crowd, body politic Ilum’s biggest struggle is not allowing his trauma to define him. As a little kid, he was thrust into a world he knew nothing about, wielding a power he couldn’t understand. He carries his regrets like a penance for what he’s done, as if he doesn’t deserve peace. Of everyone in the group, he is the most knowledgeable as he has an insatiable need to be armed with all available information to make up for the time he spent in ignorance. He forces himself through trials of his own making, be that emotional or physical, as retribution. This toes the line between being selfless and selfish, where he’ll gladly sacrifice himself without considering the collateral damage that will cause to those who love him. Ilum prides himself on being a leader and sharing his knowledge where it’s needed just as much as he is loath to allow himself the fruits of his own labors. The card illustration shows him being hung by ghost hands, both a nod to his necromancy and his regrets.

XIII DEATH - Charity Winters End, mortality, destruction, corruption Reversed: Inertia, sleep, lethargy, petrification, somnambulism Charity is a child of corruption, her biggest fear being to succumb to the very same darkness that took her father. As such, she is very careful with how she navigates her necromancy and deals with dark spirits. So while she focuses on keeping her mind and soul guarded, her physical safety is easily compromised. Charity’s fire and silver storyline involves her having been incorrectly used as a sacrifice in a blood ritual, thus, she’s at the top of the enemy’s hitlist since she’s the only thing keeping them from achieving their goals. She is forced to confront her own death and mortality in an especially morbid way, having such a connection with the after world and personal experience with what once-innocuous spirits can become. She throws herself head first into danger without considering what all it means for her physically, so long as she can keep her loved ones safe and her mind intact.

XVIII THE MOON - Ellard Charaux Hidden enemies, danger, calumny, darkness, terror, deception, error Reversed: Instability, inconstancy, silence, lesser degrees of deception and error He’s a werewolf! He gets the moon! Ellard’s arc is about decision and honesty both with himself and with others. We start the story with him getting close to Helena because he is tasked with killing her, despite himself, but as he gets to know her and realizes that he’s living in in a pack that’s basically a cult, he has to decide whether it’s more important to stay with the poison he knows at the expense of himself or live a life on the run where he won’t have the community and certainty the pack grants him. Ellard fights with his inner demons a lot and has trouble defining his own moral code. His life was essentially stolen from him since his infancy and his defection comes with the new challenge of figuring out who he is outside of his pain and trauma.

XIX THE SUN - Aero Strynx Marital happiness, fortunate marriage, contentment Reversed: The same in a lesser sense Aero is the antithesis to the wolf packs. He stands for everything that is getting in their way. I gave Aero The Sun instead of The Magician because as a great sorcerer, I feel he represents a sort of overarching power and light that everybody else can draw strength from. He is Helena’s mentor. Ilum’s confidant. Avril’s savior. Kithara’s last ties to her family. He represents something so different to everyone in his life yet with equal importance all around. He is stability. With that, of course, comes his own turmoil and history that he is desperate not to repeat. He is a widower who watched everyone he loved die in his name. He knows great love just as intimately as devastating loss. His wisdom, experiences, and resilience marries everyone around him to their own strengths.

[soartfullydone]

"rebel moon is just a bunch of disjointed character intros with no substance---"

[loud fart noise in your face]

Anyway, what connects all of the characters together is Honor, a major theme of the movie. It's the reason that These People In Particular are all chosen, beyond their reputations or even their skill sets (which are still important).

What does your personal honor look like? How do you uphold it? What do you do when you lose your honor? Can you ever truly regain it once it's lost? Can you find redemption, or is revenge the closest thing you can get? Can revenge and honor ever be the same?

After her indoctrination and service in the Imperium, Kora deserts, but it's for her survival, not the recovery of her honor. That's the journey she's currently on in the defense of her new home and the people there, triggered by the conflict of choosing her personal safety or rescuing Sam from further assault. She found the line of her honor and refused to ignore it any longer.

Gunnar placed personal gain over maintaining a united front about the grain surplus. His dishonorable actions lead to Sindri getting killed and their village placed under the Imperium's thumb. Noble's culpability aside, Gunnar feels responsible for his role in all this and seeks to make amends. It's why he's the only one who jumps in to protect the child from potential collateral damage in Nemesis' fight with Harmada. He is transitioning from being a selfish character to being more selfless, defining what he wants his personal honor to be.

Speaking of Nemesis, she is the most samurai-coded character here, complete with their version of honor. Her failure at being able to protect her children drives her to defend others, and shoulder the burden of killing once a peaceful resolution cannot be reached. It's why she has an entire conversation with Harmada, to understand what drives her, to attempt to find common ground and shared empathy. It's why she fights first with naked steel, to try to convince Harmada to back off, to value her own life, and it's for the lives of others that she finally ignites her blades when she cannot. Nemesis is not an emotionless cyborg who assassinates in cold blood, but one who is deeply attuned to her pain and that of others.

Tarak is a prince, and yet we learn he's nowhere near his home or his people. Whether he's failed them or abandoned them (or feels like he has) is still a mystery, but we still know that he is an honorable man, regarding his servitude to Hickman with utter seriousness. Tarak will honor his word and any agreements once given, including a life debt, and his connection with nature both demonstrates and resonates his nobility. He even has the whole "honor them" speech to Millius, revealing that he knows the guilt of surviving when all the friends you swore to fight beside are now gone.

General Titus fought proudly for the Imperium until his honor wouldn't allow him to stomach their methods. The price for that included his men's lives, his station, and his dignity. Unable to protect any of it including his ideals, he turns to drink and hopes fighting as a gladiator to the death does the rest. And yet, he cannot bring himself to just lay down and die. He dwells on his mistakes but does not succumb to them. The kernel of honor was still within him, and it's no wonder Kora and the other idealists at her back were able to ignite it again.

Jimmy is from an order of robotic knights, who all laid down their arms in dishonor and disgrace when the Imperium's royal family was murdered. He embodies old and forgotten chivalry, and in case you missed that, they got Anthony Hopkins to voice him. These knights haven't fought back since, even when they are attacked---and yet Jimmy retaliates to protect Sam before himself, finding something honorable to fight for again.

Darrian Bloodaxe has his honor as a rebellion leader tested and rightly concludes that the revolution is meaningless if they will not come to the aid of the most defenseless among them. (But he and his men die anyway!) Indeed, that is the point. Hedging your bets and picking your battles might be the smartest option, but it's not the most noble or honorable. Honor, in case you haven't noticed, often demands a choice and a price.

And yes, even our villains share in this theme in their own twisted ways. Kai is a mirror to Gunnar, but where Gunnar is growing into being a less opportunistic person, Kai is deliberately shrouding his true intentions from the get-go. At Kai's betrayal, Kora demands after his honor, to which Kai dryly replies, "What did happen to it." It isn't a question. Kai long ago saw honor as a death sentence and chose survival over everything, and in an ironic twist, is killed once he tries to tempt Gunnar into choosing his own survival over Kora's. Like Kora before him, Gunnar finds his line that he will not cross as well as what he fights for.

Finally, there's Atticus Noble, who wields the honorable memory of the Slain King and his dishonorable death as a blunt weapon against all that isn't the Imperium, much like his cane. The one time the Imperium was gracious, and they were betrayed for it. Never again, and everyone will suffer for this humiliation until the Imperium's honor is restored---and it never will be. Because honor is not the point; conquest and control is. Revenge is the point.

Literally all of this is in the film btw. But then, I wasn't fast-forwarding or looking down at my phone the whole time or playing Paint By Numbers: Star Wars Edition. I was actually watching the goddamn movie and letting it tell me its story. And then I reflected on it afterward. Whooooaaa!

[kayawolfhorse]

Blood in the Cut | Read on Ao3

— ☾ —

The nightmares are back.

Soft laughter, growing louder as Pearl’s grip on wakefulness slips further, fills her ears all the same as it does her mind with dread. Her body grows heavy, her brain fills with fog. Desperately, she thrashes about, opening her mouth to scream herself awake.

Her limbs refuse to answer her demands, and her voice remains unyieldingly silent. The syrupy lull of sleep has Pearl trapped, and she is defenseless as it pulls her under.

— ☾ —

The little green cottage has snow on it today, frost creeping over every azalea leaf and tuft of moss that makes up the roof, collecting on the spruce beams of the walls. The sky above Pearl is obscured by thick, grey clouds, and her breath comes out in little puffs of steam. She hates to be back here again.

It doesn’t take long for Pearl’s gaze to land on Scott, busy putting the finishing touches on the cobblestone accents that line the roof. The muscles of her jaw twitch, as if she’s about to speak, and Pearl fights against the action. Don’t talk to him, he left you! He doesn’t deserve your companionship, least of all your pleasantries. All that comes out is a friendly greeting.

Scott responds by waving in kind, placing the last few blocks and sliding off the roof, landing in the snowbank piled below. Pearl flinches inwardly, prepared for the bite of cold. She hopes it hurts.

Scott gives his deep blue coat a firm shake to dislodge the settled snow and walks forward all the same.

Don’t come over here, don’t come over here. Scott stops in front of Pearl, sharing the grin Pearl can’t wipe free of her own face. “So, what do you think?”

Pearl wants to say how much she hates it, how much she hates how pretty it is. She hates that Scott has built them such a lovely house and calls Pearl an ally when he wants nothing more than to get rid of her entirely; how this version of herself gets all the love withheld from her.

Pearl hates how much she still yearns for such kindness.

She says none of that. Instead, through that same damn smile, Pearl exclaims, “It’s absolutely beautiful! I’m glad you were able to finish up before the storm hits.”

Scott shrugs, glancing up at the sky. “It wouldn’t matter too much. It’s just a prop, but it looks rather nice, doesn’t it?”

“I meant for your own sake, not the empty house’s!” Pearl shoves lightly at his shoulder, and it’s a terrible, terrible thing how Scott laughs and jostles Pearl back as if they were friends sharing a joke and the mountain of hurt between them didn’t exist.

Pearl’s learned by now that this Scott, and the version of Pearl that goes with him, is very different from what she’s used to.

They decide to head inside before what something Scott calls “the boogeyman” is chosen. Pearl had heard of it, in the previous dreams, but it had never been defined.

“We’ve got to continue the tradition!” Scott says over his shoulder as they descend down into their underground base. Pearl hopes whatever “tradition” he speaks of isn’t bad. Actually, maybe she does. Scott would deserve it.

As they reach the base of the stairs, Pearl lists everything she’s learned about this world so far.

It’s another death game, like Double Life, and Pearl and Scott are allies. Lives are not the same fixed things they are usually; here, they can be traded between players. In the last dream, Scott was yellow, and Pearl gave him a life. That bit was particularly hard to watch.

Pearl isn’t sure who all is in this game, but based on who she saw running around last time, she figures it’s the same group as Double Life. Though, at one point she could’ve sworn she heard Lizzie’s exclamation of surprise. Maybe they’d added new players to spice things up.

Swathes of red pulse around the edges of Pearl’s vision just as they reach the skeleton spawner, and Scott says, “almost time!” Dread coils at Pearl’s core. If she had any control over her body, her palms would be sweating. Is this the boogeyman thing…?

Not long after, the red flashes once more, and Scott pauses in his smelting to turn and stare at Pearl. Pearl’s disconcerted, unsure of what to do, but her head swivels to meet Scott’s eyes as the red pulses again.

They both make nervous oooh’s as the third bit of red comes and fades, and then…

Pearl is met with darkness. Her limbs are leaden, but the space around her is weightless, as if she were floating in the void. Pinwheeling her arms, Pearl tries to find hold on something, anything, but it’s no use. Pearl’s body is still stubbornly asleep, and her mind is thrown into another dream.

— ☾ —

Pearl’s inside the cottage this time, a sword in her hands and an explosion of items scattered at her feet. Joel, inexplicably sporting a long beard and dressed in green robes, thrusts his sword at Pearl, parrying her attacks from where she has him cornered, shouting, “I’m cured! I’m not the boogeyman anymore!”

Clearly, whatever being the boogeyman means doesn’t matter to the Pearl of this game, and it only takes a couple more swings until Joel’s dead, his inventory bursting from where he was standing moments ago. Pearl crouches down to sort through the mess, tossing away junk and gathering Joel’s gear in a neat pile, when Scott breaks through the blocked up door, saying, “Thank you, Pearl!”

“He’s on red now!” Pearl laughs in disbelief, still clutching her sword. The adrenaline buzzes in her ears, and her breaths come fast. This, at least, is familiar. Worry and triumph tug at Pearl’s gut. “Scott?”

“He is, but he also killed me!” Scott tugs on his armor. “I was getting worried, he was being weird.”

“Yeah, he got very forceful,” Pearl agrees. So this is what the boogeyman is, then. A player is chosen after the countdown, then they must kill? It’s an odd mechanic, but if Grian is behind this game as he is Double Life, Pearl wouldn’t put it past him. “And he had the audacity to blame Mumbo!”

“Yeah, Mumbo’s kill had to have been self defense, then.” Scott nods, looking toward the window.

“Oh, for sure.” Glancing back down, Pearl catches a glimpse of something red and black amongst the mess of items. With a gasp, she grabs it and holds it up to Scott. “Look what we have here!”

Scott’s eyes widen. “He was seriously carrying around the enchanter on him?”

“Guess so!” Pearl says, tucking it under her arm. To be honest, she’s not sure what’s so important about the table, but who is she to argue against perfectly good leverage? “There’s no way we’re giving this back.”

“Of course not.”

Soon enough, Joel returns for his stuff, a dangerous red gleam in his eyes. After he’s equipped his armor and tucked his sword into his belt, Joel stops in the doorway. “All I’m gonna say is, make sure you two stick together like glue, because if you’re ever alone with that thing, I’m coming back with my axe.”

“We won’t be keeping it on us, don’t worry. We’re not idiots,” Scott rebuts with a scoff. Joel smirks in return and gives the enchantment table in Pearl’s arms one last pointed stare before whirling on his heel and stalking off. Pearl and Scott both shout their goodbyes and, after waiting until Joel’s out of earshot, turn to each other.

“That was certainly something!” Pearl remarks, and Scott gives an incredulous chuckle in return.

“Yeah. Now the only thing I’m worried about is, obviously Joel was after you, but I died–” Scott starts.

“So now you’re yellow,” Pearl supplies, briefly meeting his eyes.

“That’s my worry.” Scott nods. “How many lives do you have? Because you had six.”

“I have five,” Pearl confirms. The amount isn’t news to her, having learnt it in a previous dream, but it still boggles her mind. It feels wrong to have more than three lives.

“Would you be willing to give me another? Put me to three and you on four?” Scott asks, to Pearl’s dismay. “We’ve got such a monopoly as a duo, if one of us goes out we lose it all.”

Pearl tries to stop the “you’re right, you’re right,” that leaves her mouth. It’s not enough for Scott to ruin Pearl’s life in one game, he wants to take it in another?

“I wouldn’t want people knowing I’m down a life, though,” Pearl points out. “Don’t want to make me a target.”

Scott nods. “I’m thinking if you give it now, before everyone sees me running around as yellow, we can just say that we scammed it out of somebody, and you can tell everyone you’re still on five.”

“Oh, that’s a good plan.” No! Pearl prepares the command, fingers dancing across her communicator. Try as she might, Pearl can’t even tremble her own hand. “Okay, for the alliance, I’m gonna do it.”

“For the alliance!” Scott cheers.

Command finished, Pearl asks, “You ready?”

As if Pearl herself is the life ripped from her body, she is yanked from the dream and plunged into darkness again.

— ☾ —

The void Pearl floats in is stagnant no longer, crackling with white veins of energy that remind her of shooting stars. The trails avoid Pearl, swerving around her form, but when Pearl holds her arm out and brushes her fingers against one, she flinches at the sound of her voice echoing around her, saying, “I have picked the most amazing partner in this season of Last Life, I’m telling you.” She knows who she’s saying it to. Pearl snatches her hand back.

Suddenly desperate for something solid, an escape, Pearl closes a fist around the next bit of light she can reach, and the image of Scott, standing in the underground base, handing Pearl a bucket of a brown axolotl with a goofy smile on his face, burns against the back of Pearl’s eyelids. All Pearl can see is his cruel, taunting smirk as he and Cleo rejected her.

“Why are you showing me this?” Pearl cries out, to no one that can hear her.

The moments turn frantic as Pearl’s despair grows and she reaches out again and again, fingers aching for a hold. Scott and Pearl, curing a zombie villager. Racing through a dark forest, hand in hand, after raiding the red lives’ secret base. Pearl, Scott, and Cleo, in a tower with a moss roof, looking down over the server as Scott says, “don’t worry ladies, I won’t betray you.”

Scott saying goodbye as his yellow eyes turn red, and he leaves Pearl standing atop a cobblestone wall, watching him go.

— ☾ —

At first, Pearl doesn’t register that she's been pulled into another dream. The endless void around her gives way to a midnight sky, the veins of light replaced with twinkling stars. Her vision spins as the Pearl of this game turns wildly about, and with a jolt Pearl realizes she’s flying, coasting just above the treeline below her. Had Pearl somehow managed to get wings? She catches a glimpse of her arm, a familiar red cloak turned transparent.

So that’s that, then. Pearl has died, and is now spectating whatever’s left of the game. It’s been a while since she’s died in a hardcore world, and the floaty feeling is hard to get used to. She doesn’t have time to adjust before her ghostly body moves against her will, eyes fixed on a tiny figure below.

Scott. Scott, with his cyan hair and crown of crystals is covered in blood that matches the red of his eyes. Following the line of his drawn bow, Pearl watches as Ren comes up over the crest of the hill and Scott lets the first arrow fly, sinking into Ren’s shoulder.

“Leave me alone! Go kill Martyn! Why are you coming for me?” Ren shouts as he fights off Scott’s blows, tripping over a dip in the terrain.

“I have to! You killed Pearl!”

Pearl, in both of her forms, freezes in shock. She’d never expect Scott to be fighting for her, least of all crying her name in a final battle. Her heart clenches in the tower of her ribcage. She begs herself to wake up. Her body refuses to move.

The final battle is brutal. Scott lands the final blow on Martyn before turning back to Ren, knocking him back with another arrow. With a sharp cry, Ren stumbles back, and a zombie emerges from the trees to finish him off. One last boom sounds, and Scott is alone in a silent world, surrounded by ghosts.

“Well, I guess there’s only one more thing I have to do,” he says slowly, after a moment of shock.

Whatever Scott has to do, he doesn’t get to, cut off by a searing bolt of lightning that kills him in a flash.

The game is over, and Scott has won.

— ☾ —

Pearl gasps awake to the crack of thunder. Heart pounding, she jolts upright, struggling to keep her ragged breathing in check.

Tower. Pearl is in her tower. A cool summer breeze wafts through the windows, gently rustling the vines that grow off the red ceiling above her, and moonlight casts a silver grow upon the spruce floorboards. At her owner’s distress, Tilly, curled up at the foot of the white duvet, picks her head up to look inquisitively at Pearl, yellow collar jingling with the movement.

“Oh, Tilly.” Pearl leans forward and gathers her beloved wolf in her arms, burying her face in Tilly’s side. Her hands shake where they clutch at Tilly’s fur.

Tilly, for her part, simply curls around Pearl and presses her nose against Pearl’s side. Pearl whimpers and hugs Tilly tighter.

They stay like that until Pearl’s breath steadies, and after one final sigh, Pearl pulls back enough to look out the window. The server below is quiet and still, and the horizon promises a sunrise to come.

Sliding off of her bed, Pearl directs Tilly to sit by the wheat farm, and pulls the blankets from the mattress. She arranges them in a heap on the floor and sits down with her knees pulled up to her chest, patting the space next to her when she’s satisfied with the nest. Tilly trots over and circles the spot, plonking down with a content sigh after a couple spins. Pearl pulls a blanket over her shoulders and casts it over them both, leaning back against the bed frame and watching out the window to her side.

She and Tilly remain sat side by side as the birds start their morning song and the sun creeps into view. Pearl knows Scott’s awake when she takes a slight tick of damage, tingling at her elbow. She smirks as she imagines him accidentally hitting his own against something stupid.

Pearl’s not ready to face him, or anyone, for that matter. Scratching Tilly between the ears, she closes her eyes, savoring the few moments of peace that’ll inevitably be disturbed soon enough.

Visions of a Scott with kinder face than she’s ever seen on him and an outstretched hand that’s never reached for Pearl dances across her eyelids. It’s difficult to reconcile them with the reality of her soulmate, and she finds she doesn’t care about trying to. Pearl pulls Tilly closer and waits for the world to rub the sleep out of its eyes, taking with it the remnants of a heart’s wishful thinking and a nightmare that could never come true.

(Reblogs do more than likes!)

[laughing-drawing-aces]

I am SO glad I'm not the only one that remembers that post about Robin lying about her crush on Tammy because she secretly had a crush on Nancy. It made me want to SCREAM because I've said before but it's taking away the vulnerability of the moment. The fact that Robin Chose to tell Steve. That she was honest with him and opened up to him and he accepted her! That she decided to come out to someone and hope she didn't lose a friend she "really, really liked."

By making it about anyone else, especially by having Robin lie about the object of her affections, it snatches away the trust that is built between them there. It takes away what the moment means to Robin. What it means to be able to tell someone and let them see her and for Steve to accept that and joke about it with her. What it means to her to be known!! To trust! To be accepted and loved for it all the same!!

And it taints their friendship in such a way that feels like a betrayal? That the moment of vulnerability shapes their friendship into something beautiful and trusting and mind sharing. It, to me, DEFINES stobin, that's the core of them they are vulnerable with each other, and honest, and in that honesty and vulnerability they make each other laugh and be comfortable. By making it about someone else, by having Robin lie, creates space for hurt or betrayal that doesn't belong in that scene. I know I'm preaching to the choir but oh my god why would someone take that away from characters they supposedly love.

oh my god that post annoys me so much espcially because like why would robin lie about who her crush was at first? it honestly just doesnt make sense and also just gets rid of robin's choice to tell steve about this. also it just doesnt even make sense to begin with to lie about it. YEP YEP ITS ABOUT HER CHOICE to tell steve!! people just love to take away the vulnerability of this scene - also for people who scream about steve fans hating women or making the women characters about steve the people who claim this sure love taking away women's choices in st.

literally this moment is about robin and no one else. this is about robin finding someone who she trusts to tell this about herself. it is about her finding someone when she has been lonely for years in hawkins. and people love to make this scene about their ship (ronance or stobin) which lets be real ronance especially when people bring it up in this scene is to just make nancy look perfect and for someone to worship nancy which theyre just self inserting themselves and want robin to do what they already do

oh it absolutely paints their scene as betrayal. both of them are trusting each other in this scene to a degree where they're in a bathroom covered in blood (at least steve) and they just threw up. this scene is vulernability and even in the situation it is so vulnerable that having robin lie just makes this moment about distrust. also they are willing to lay down their lives for one another before this moment so robin lying would discredit everything that they've been through. also what reason does robin have to lie? she has no reason to lie to him so it just doesn't make sense