#her only way out anymore is to DIE and she KNOWS IT. and she's willing to risk that if she can take bitches down with her

[sleepingfancies]

Prithee, tell me which one of your OCs haunts your mind most today?

AUAUHGHGHGHG i've been sucked back into dragon age hell and i've been thinking about my Rowena Trevelyan all day . major inquisition + trespasser dlc spoilers and an extremely long ramble under the cut im so so sorry beloved mutual </3

she was just a KID like.... Rowena was permitted to go to the conclave as a budding apprentice mage. as an OBSERVER she didn't even get a vote. she was wandering around during a break when she happened upon the ritual . it was like an academic field trip for her, a chance for her to see the politics behind the scene and nothing more. and within hours her mentor and everyone she knew was killed in the blast and she was the sole survivor. and then she became surrounded by people she didn't know and handed responsibility and divinity she never asked for and had no clue how to handle !!!!!!!!!!!!

and this is AFTER she was essentially abandoned by her Trevelyan family for being a mage in the first place. 5 generations of non-mages and her parents thought they were safe for sure and then they had Her. a recessive gene last seen a century ago resurfacing . they threw her in the circle at the first opportunity. she sent letters for the first few years - they never answered. her family became her mentor and her fellow mage children. she learned young that the Maker didn't want her, that her magic was a mistake. her family would've loved her just fine if she hadn't been a mage.

so she's just so ANGRY about it all deep down. everyone she knows is killed and these strangers have the NERVE to call HER - a mage, a mistake, an affront to the Maker - the Herald of Andraste. one cataclysmic event and suddenly everyone thinks she's not only special for her magic, but a gift from the Maker. and how dare they!!! how dare they respect her and beg for her help now after so many years of neglect and lies and abuse!!

the first thing Cassandra does is question whether she believes in the Maker. and what is she supposed to say? "He believes my existence is a mistake, so I believe He exists as a tyrant" is what comes to her mind. but she grew up around templars and learned not to speak her mind around people she couldn't 100% trust. so she holds her tongue and says she isn't sure what to believe anymore. it's not entirely a lie, and it placates Cassandra: the person who could most easily decide she was more of a liability than a blessing.

as time passes in Haven, Solas becomes her new mentor; a surprise to both of them, really. but he knows more about spirits and the Fade than she was ever taught - she doesn't even know how to use the mark on her hand. He teaches her how to close the rifts, how to navigate the Fade in her dreams, how to learn all that spirits have to offer. She looks up to him. between him and Dorian and Vivienne, she has finally found similar company. Dorian never questions her caution about believing in the Maker. Vivienne never judges her for not knowing much about the world outside the circle. Solas is helping her grow and learn.

the other companions help, too. she latches onto Blackwall - he's like the father she never had. Iron Bull and the Chargers take her in and give her social sanctuary. Sera agrees not to call her the Herald, and knows exactly how to make her laugh. Cole helps her process her former mentor's death and her separation from her friends at the wycome circle. Varric won't let her overwork herself, he knows she didn't want any of this. for awhile, things seem okay.

and then Corypheus comes. Haven is destroyed. she's lost in the wilderness with cracked ribs and a broken leg and she's freezing to death. she doesn't even remember how the advisors found her, or where. "we saw our hero fall, and rise again" Mother Giselle says. if people didn't believe Rowena was sent by the Maker before, they do now. she doesn't believe it herself. she hates it. she's angry at them all

then comes Skyhold. a throne, judgment over prisoners, occupying Crestwood, deals with Starkhaven and the Antivan Crows and Kal-Sharok, "Inquisitor," traversing the Fade physically, the Chantry asking after her companions as Divine candidates, all of it. Every decision that should be brokered between entire countries comes down to one barely-in-her-20s apprentice mage who didn't even know what Val Royeaux looked like 6 months ago.

the bubbly attitude she tried to keep up starts to crack. her parents write her a letter asking if she could set aside some of the Inquisition's coin to cover their legal fees after they had a property feud with the Selbach family. she never writes back. "get to the point," she tells Morrigan, something she never would have said before all of this. the judgments come down harsher. the executions get a little too easy to carry out. she closes the rifts more aggressively than before.

and then Corypheus is beaten. the Breach is sealed. for one brief moment, the thought crosses her mind: 'I can finally leave.' she can go back to the wycome circle and hug her old friends, tell them what happened. she can go see the world she never could before. the mark on her hand can stop making people bow to her even when she begs them not to. she did what the Inquisition set out to do. it's over. it's done.

and then they never let her go.

even as her new friends scatter to the wind, dusting their hands off, their moral obligation fulfilled, Rowena sits on the Inquisition throne and feels herself rotting. Solas abandoning her without so much as a goodbye after Corypheus fell stung, but a part of her expected it, too. she caught on quickly that he wasn't the type of person to linger once he felt his role was done. so that was fine. she made peace with that. but the others? Sera, Blackwall, Vivienne, all of them? one by one, they left with an urgency that felt like a dagger to the heart. only Dorian admitted he lingered for the sake of her friendship, but even he was called away eventually.

and then another glimmer of hope: Orlais and Ferelden disagree on the Inquisition's future. for the sake of her advisors, Rowena puts on her old bubbly attitude, claims the Inquisition isn't going anywhere. deep down she rattles the bars and begs Bann Teagan to demand the Inquisition be dissolved. she has one more chance to be free of this. to be someone - though she has no idea WHO anymore - outside of the Inquisitor.

and then the mark flares up. the Qunari have reached the end of their patience with the Inquisition. they dont realize how badly Rowena wants to agree with them. and then the breadcrumbs lead back to Solas. and Solas wants to end the world.

she can do nothing but break down. one more thing she'll be expected to stop. another ambiguous number of years she'll be expected to spend on it. another problem she's not qualified to solve. she's so angry and so sad and so sick of it all, and for the first time in her life she misses the stupid teenager she used to be in wycome whose most pressing issue was figuring out how to frame a templar for her petty thefts.

she doesn't remember having her arm amputated, or her advisors even coming to that decision. being without the mark feels odd, but not unpleasant. as if a nagging splinter has finally been removed from under her skin. Varric promises he'll find someone who can make her a prosthetic. she doesn't care one way or the other. at long last, what made her "special" is finally gone. the world has given her permission to close this chapter of her life for good.

Bann Teagan gets what he wants. Rowena dissolves the Inquisition. finally, at last, she can tell everyone involved to go home. she can figure out who she is. maybe she'll go to Rivain, Varric always said he heard it was lovely there. when the world collapses she'll be hundreds of miles away. maybe she'll be vaporized, maybe slow radiation-like sickness will claim her life, maybe a demon will finally best her. she doesn't really care.

and then her advisors won't let her leave. the Inquisition's dissolution was only a preventative measure, Josephine says. we can operate against Solas without risking his spies infiltrating our ranks, Cullen says. Rowena doesn't have it in her to argue anymore. she doesn't want this. she wants to be anywhere but here. she thought she was free. "okay," she says blankly instead. "that sounds like a good idea."

ten years tick by. Rowena is in her 30s now. she still has no idea what Rivain looks like. Dorian and Vivienne and Blackwall have kept in touch. the others, not so much. she hasn't heard from Cole or Iron Bull at all since they left. she doesn't try to put on that bubbly facade anymore. she's too angry and tired and bitter to bother. no one asks if she's alright anymore. they know she isn't. whatever soul searching she intended to do before won't happen now; this is who she is after all this time. a young woman with a stern brow and stress-induced grey hairs, a prosthetic arm, and no patience for small talk.

she doesn't think about that kid she was before the conclave exploded. that person might as well be a stranger. she can never go back, and there is no future where she isn't the Inquisitor. the only chapter of her life that ever really closed was the one where she thought escape was still possible.

Varric tells her he found someone called "Rook." he thinks they'll be perfect to fight back against Solas. Rowena believes him. she tells him to wish them the best of luck. but she knows she won't be able to stay out of the fray forever. and by now, she doesn't want to. her resentment has festered for a decade. Solas robbed her of her last chance to have a life as Rowena Trevelyan - not as the Inquisitor, not as the Herald, not as anything else. his plans aside, his abandonment of her aside, that robbery is the real betrayal that she could never let go of. and at this point, she never will.

[sajdd]

how chapter 4 revealed the true horror of deltarune and why it's more unsettling than undertale's genocide route

so back when chapter 2 came out and people had just discovered the weird route, i did not agree with the sentiment that the weird route was worse than geno route. as horrible as forcing noelle into "killing" others was, i didnt think it was somehow worse than watching the struggle of the entire monster race trying to face what was essentially an unkillable eldritch god (the player)

but how kris conducted themselves in chapter 4, ESPECIALLY the weird route has really changed my opinion. the darkest part of this story is not the "murders" or the manipulation or any of that. it's kris' loss of autonomy.

In undertale, it is well established that frisk and the player are two seperate beings, just like in deltarune. but what sets frisk and kris apart is that frisk doesn't seem to mind being controlled, and later down the line ends up taking actions of their own to further the player's wishes

whether its the pacifist route - refusing to die to asriel's attacks, or the genocide route - walking towards sans in the judgement hall and then slashing him for the second time to get the kill. all this without the player's input

frisk is their own person who shows their personality quirks here and there, but they are ultimately a blank slate who is willing to go along with whatever the player wants

kris is not that at all.

kris defies the player in many different ways, from small actions of defiance that twist the player's command into something literal or comedic, showing distaste towards our choices, to stopping themselves from speaking/acting by resorting to self-harm in various ways.

they want to be their own person, but they can't. and they are already scared, but they become downright terrified when the player decides to got down the weird route and involve their friend noelle.

they are fighting SO hard to not hurt her here anymore. they took their few moments of freedom away from the player to warn and comfort noelle, and now it's all falling apart right in front of them and there is nothing they can do about it.

they are shaking and cannot do anything as they watch noelle dig her own grave. they can only watch. they cannot move, cant shout cant scream. cant do anything but obey.

and the worst part is that this is no longer the darkworld. this is real life to them. kris can no longer give the comfort of the terrible things happening being just a dream, or just a prank.

the darkworld was a magical fantasy setting where you could technically claim nothing too terrible is happening. the darkners they're killing? theyre just inanimate objects in the real world. using snowgrave on berdly? he's not dead, just got a cold and recovered later in hospital just fine.

but here? this is reality.

noelle was already shaken enough by what she perceived to be a fake world. what on earth will the realisation that all of this was reality do to her? especially now that we as the player are gaining the ability to influence not just kris, but noelle too.

how far do you think she will go now that this has expanded beyond the dark world? just how far do you think a girl can be pushed by someone she considered a friend?

and by god, how much guilt and horror must kris feel. knowing they do not want this, but watching their words, their actions, their body being used to hurt those they care about. and there is nothing they can do but watch.

this is a story of a child being forced to hurt their friend, as they watch from behind the prison that is their own body. and the worst part is that noone seems to notice. noone knows.

noone is coming to save them.

[partoffantasy]

Playing Dirty - Liam Mairi

⸻ image credits to mybookishdoodles ⸻

summary: when their latest round of flirtation turns into something more, reader finds herself on the losing end for the first time. Because Liam isn’t just playing anymore. And when he finally makes his move, she realizes—maybe she never stood a chance to begin with.

pairing: liam mairi x fem!reader warnings: MDNI!, smut, swearing, unprotected p in v, oral (f & m) word count: 3.1k

⸻⸻⸻✦ ♡ ✦⸻⸻⸻

–Liam’s POV–

I am going to die. Not from battle. Not from a wyvern attack. Not even from the war. No. I am going to die because of her. Because Y/N just peeled off her shirt like it was nothing, revealing a tight black sports bra and an equally tight pair of shorts that should be illegal. I feel my brain short-circuit.

Every thought evaporates from my head, leaving only one very obvious fact: She is wearing that on purpose. And she knows exactly what she’s doing. I catch the way her lips quirk when she stretches, rolling out her shoulders, pretending she doesn’t notice the way half the damn training grounds are watching her.

I definitely notice. And so does everyone else.

Sawyer whistles under his breath. “Oh, she’s playing dirty today.” Ridoc snickers. “Wonder who she’s trying to kill.” “Me,” I say immediately. “The answer is me.” Violet, standing beside me, hums knowingly. “Well, it’s about time someone made a move.” I shoot her a look, but my attention snaps back to the mat as Y/N steps up to her opponent—another first-year I don’t recognize.

And then she smirks. Oh, fuck me. Because I know that smirk. That smirk means trouble. That smirk means she’s about to put on a show. And I should look away. I should not let myself get sucked into this game she’s playing. But then she moves. Quick, sharp, precise—like she’s dancing, like she was born for this.

She dodges her opponent’s first hit with ease, twisting gracefully, using her smaller size to her advantage. And then she strikes—landing a hit so fast the first-year doesn’t even see it coming. He stumbles back. She smiles sweetly. And gods help me, I am not okay. Sawyer nudges me. “You’re staring.” I don’t even deny it. “She’s doing this on purpose.” Rhi grins. “Of course she is.”

“She’s trying to get in my head,” I mutter, watching as Y/N dodges another attack, her body twisting in a way that is absolutely illegal. “She thinks she’s winning.” Ridoc snorts. “Well… she kinda is.” I shoot him a glare. “Not for long.”

Because two can play this game. And the second Instructor Emet calls my name, I don’t hesitate. I grab the back of my shirt and tug it over my head, dropping it to the mat before stepping forward, letting my shoulders roll loose, letting my muscles flex just enough.

I hear the sharp intake of breath behind me. And when I turn to face Y/N, her eyes are locked on my chest. I smirk. Got her. Her throat bobs. I raise a brow. “Something wrong, Y/N?” She blinks fast, clearing her throat, forcing her gaze up. “Not at all.” But her voice wobbles. 

–Y/N’s POV–

Oh, he thinks he’s so smart. Thinks he can one-up me. Thinks that just because he took his damn shirt off—and yes, okay, it’s annoyingly distracting—he has the upper hand. But what Liam doesn’t realize? I like a challenge.

Instructor Emet doesn’t waste time. “Cadets,” he calls, stepping back. “Begin.” And I don’t hesitate. I lunge first, aiming for his left side. He dodges. I spin, barely missing his grip, and twist—using the momentum to aim a sharp kick at his ribs.

He blocks me with his forearm, but his smile widens. “You’re fast,” he murmurs. I smirk. “You hesitated.” And then I strike again. We move like clockwork—fluid, sharp, precise. Attack. Block. Counter. Strike. It’s a deadly, dangerous dance, and neither of us are willing to give in. But the thing about Liam? He’s stronger.

And the second he catches my wrist, I know I’m in trouble. Because I might be fast, but he’s got sheer, unfair brute force on his side. He yanks me forward, using my own momentum against me, spinning me midair before pinning me flat against the mat.

And suddenly—He’s everywhere. His chest pressing into mine, his breath warm against my cheek, his fingers tight around my wrists. I freeze. Because fuck. Because he’s really close. Because his pupils are blown wide and his golden-retriever face is looking far too pleased with himself.

“Pinned you,” he murmurs, way too smug. I swallow hard. “You think you’ve won.” His grip tightens. “Haven’t I?” Oh, hell no. He’s playing dirty. So I do, too. I shift beneath him—arching just enough, pressing against the solid weight of him, letting my breath hitch just slightly. His whole body tenses. His jaw locks.

And I see it—the brief flicker of panic in his eyes, the moment he realizes that he might have just played himself. I smirk. “Not quite,” I whisper. And then I flip him.

He grunts as his back hits the mat, and before he can react, I’m on top of him, straddling his waist, pinning his wrists to the ground. His eyes go wild. “Oh,” he breathes. Just that. Just oh.

Like he finally understands.

Like he finally sees me.

Like he finally realizes that this game we’re playing? Neither of us are winning.

Because we’re both already gone.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

The second classes end, I don’t hesitate. Liam is still talking to Ridoc about something utterly irrelevant—something about lunch, maybe? I don’t care. Because I have one goal.

I grab his wrist, fingers wrapping tight, and yank. “Whoa—Y/N?” His voice is confused, but his feet follow without hesitation. I don’t stop until we’re behind the massive stone statue near the edge of the courtyard—tucked away from prying eyes, away from everyone.

Alone.

The moment we’re in the shadows, I turn, my back hitting the cold stone, Liam right there in front of me, confused but very interested. “What are you—” “I’m tired of this game,” I cut him off, my voice low, breath coming fast.

His expression shifts—just slightly. His head tilts, watching me closely. He’s amused. That should infuriate me. Instead, it makes my stomach tighten. “Oh?” His voice is soft, teasing. “What game, exactly?”

Infuriating.

I step closer, closing the space between us, looking up at him through my lashes. He’s so tall, so broad, his shoulders blocking out the light. “The one we’ve been playing all day,” I whisper-shout at him, getting angry.

I see it—the flicker in his eyes, the moment my words hit. But then he does something I don’t expect. He laughs. Soft. Low. And then, in one slow movement, he steps closer. And closer.

Until I’m fully pinned against the statue, his hands braced on either side of me, caging me in.

Until I have nowhere to go.

Until his mouth is just at my ear, his breath warm against my skin.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice lower, rougher than I’ve ever heard it. “Stop calling this a game, you know it isn’t.” My breath catches. Oh, fuck. My heartbeat slams against my ribs. I refuse to break eye contact, but my fingers betray me—curling slightly, gripping his bicep just a little too tight.

He notices. And he smiles. A slow, knowing, dangerous smile. “Here’s the thing, baby,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing just barely over my hip. “I see you. I see right through you. You act like you’re in control. Like you’re the one calling the shots.” His fingers tighten slightly. “But that’s not what you really want, is it?”

I don’t react. I can’t. Because he’s right. He knows he’s right. And fuck, that should scare me. But all it does is set me on fire. I open my mouth, but he’s already there—tilting my chin just slightly with his fingers, making me look at him.

“You need someone who isn’t afraid to take control,” he continues, his voice like gravel and heat. “Someone who doesn’t let you push them around. Someone who knows exactly what you need and isn’t afraid to give it to you.”

I suck in a sharp breath. His thumb brushes my lower lip, just barely. And then he pulls back. Just enough to make me feel the distance. Just enough to make me ache. Then he smirks. “Are you going to finally give in, Y/N?” I stop myself to think. Because if we start—We won’t stop.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Liam pulls me into his room, the door falling softly behind us, the sound of the lock clicking in place. The air between us crackles with anticipation. Before I can even process it, he presses me against the wall with a force that leaves me breathless, his lips crashing onto mine in a searing kiss. His hands grip my sides, pulling me closer, and I can feel the heat radiating off him. I tangle my fingers in his soft blonde hair, tugging at the strands as if grounding myself in the sensation of him.

His lips move from my mouth to my neck, trailing hot, wet kisses along my sensitive skin. My head falls back, instinctively giving him more access, and I shiver, feeling his warmth spread through me. His breath is ragged against my throat, and when he sucks gently on the skin there, a quiet moan escapes my lips. His grin is audible as he murmurs, “Fuck, I’ve been waiting to hear that.”

The sound of his voice makes my pulse spike, and the desire that has been simmering between us finally erupts into something urgent. I pull back slightly to look at him, my eyes locking onto his as I tug his shirt off. The moment his chest is exposed, the dim moonlight catches on the sculpted lines of his body, the muscles flexing under his smooth skin. My hands trace the ridges of his abs, traveling lower, grazing the waistband of his pants, and then finally dipping to the v-line that dips below. My breath catches in my throat as I look up at him, and his eyes are burning with something almost dangerous.

“You’re perfect,” I breathe out, my voice low and full of need.

Liam’s hands travel down my body, undoing the buttons of my shirt with an ease that speaks to how well he knows me. As the fabric slides off my shoulders, I stand before him in nothing but a delicate lace bra, my skin flushed and my heart pounding in anticipation. His eyes drop to my chest, his gaze dark and hungry, and I can’t stop the flush that blooms in my cheeks.

“You’re fucking stunning,” he mutters before his lips crash back onto mine in a kiss that leaves me breathless. I respond, hungry for more, my hands slipping to his belt, undoing it slowly, teasingly, my fingers brushing against the hardness I can feel through his pants. He groans into my mouth, and I smile against his lips as I slide down to my knees before him, feeling the heat of his body against mine.

I look up at him, his body towering above me, and my hands work swiftly to undo his pants. I hear the rustle of fabric, and then he’s free, his cock already thick and hard. I bite my lip, unable to suppress the smirk that tugs at the corner of my mouth.

“Someone’s eager,” I tease, my voice breathy with desire.

Liam’s breath hitches, his hands threading through my hair, pulling me closer. I look up at him one last time before I lean forward, brushing my lips over the tip of his cock. The taste of him is divine, and I slide my tongue along the length of him, savoring the salty, intoxicating flavor.

His hands tighten in my hair, guiding me slowly, and I take him deeper, inch by inch, until I can feel him at the back of my throat. My mouth moves with precision, hollowing my cheeks as I take him in completely, every inch of him filling me. Liam’s breathing becomes ragged as he watches me, his eyes dark and stormy.

“Gods, Y/N,” he groans, his hips thrusting slightly, urging me to take more. I hum in approval, the vibration causing him to shudder beneath my touch. “Fuck, you feel so fucking good.”

I hollow my cheeks, sucking him in deeper, my hand gripping his thick thighs as I let myself fall into the rhythm, sucking and licking in time with his movements. I can feel the tension building between us, the heat intensifying as I take him deeper, pushing him to the back of my throat.

“Fuck,” he curses, and the sound of his voice is raw with need. “I can’t hold back much longer.”

He pulls me off him, and I gasp for air, my lips swollen from the intensity. Without missing a beat, he pulls me up, capturing my lips in a kiss that tastes like fire. He moves with purpose, his hands guiding me onto the bed. His lips travel down my neck, his breath warm against my skin. He’s moving with a controlled urgency, as if he’s trying to savor every moment of this.

He pauses, his eyes darkening as he looks at me with that intense, commanding gaze. “You’re perfect,” he breathes, his hands slipping to the waistband of my panties. In one swift motion, he pulls them off, throwing them aside. He looks down at me, his eyes hungry, and I feel a thrill of anticipation rush through me.

“Gods, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss the swell of my breasts. His lips tease along the lace of my bra, and I arch into him, desperate for more. My hands slide into his hair, tugging him closer, urging him on.

Without warning, his lips trail lower, and he places a soft kiss on my stomach before continuing downward. My breath catches as he reaches my inner thighs, his breath warm against my skin. I squirm beneath him, and he chuckles darkly, the sound making me ache with need.

Then, finally, he’s there, his tongue sweeping over my most sensitive part. A gasp escapes my lips, and I feel my body tremble at the sheer sensation of his mouth on me. He’s slow at first, his tongue exploring, teasing, before he presses harder, his lips suckling gently. I can feel the tension building inside me, a knot coiling tight as his fingers slip inside, stretching me as he works me open.

“Liam, please,” I whisper, my body arching into his touch.

He responds with a low groan, his fingers moving faster, harder, as his tongue works in rhythm with his hands. I can feel myself unraveling, the pleasure building to an unbearable height. “Cum for me, baby,” he urges, his voice a breathless command.

That’s all it takes. My body shudders as I reach the peak, and I scream his name, the force of my orgasm taking me completely. Liam doesn’t stop, continuing to stroke me through my release, his fingers pumping slowly, drawing out every last tremor.

When I finally collapse back onto the bed, panting and spent, he moves up beside me, kissing my forehead before trailing his lips down to my neck. His breath is ragged, and I can feel his heart racing as his hands roam over my body, grounding me back in the moment.

“Good girl,” he whispers, kissing me softly as he brushes his thumb over my lips. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you come apart for me.”

I smile up at him, hazy with pleasure, my body still tingling from the aftershocks of my release. I run my finger along his jawline, tracing the lines of his face as I catch my breath.

But there’s no time to recover. He’s not done yet, and as he pulls me closer, I feel his cock pressing against my thigh, hard and ready once more. “You good?”, he asks, looking at me with those big blue eyes. My body responds to him instinctively, nodding and craving more of him.

He pushes my legs apart, settling between them as his tongue tangles with mine in a deep, hungry kiss. I feel the heat of him at my entrance, the weight of him pressing against me before he enters with a single, powerful thrust.

"Oh, fuck!" I cry out, my nails digging into his back, leaving crimson marks that I can’t bring myself to care about. He grins at me, eyes dark with desire.

"I couldn’t hold back," he murmurs, his breath ragged as he pulls out slowly before pushing back in, inch by inch.

I moan in response, my body aching for more. "Faster, please."

He obliges, his thrusts becoming relentless, the sound of our bodies colliding filling the room. The rhythm of it—raw, urgent—has me gasping for air, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper. My hands rake over his back, leaving trails of fire in their wake as he kisses my neck.

But I push him away, a spark of something wild igniting within me. I twist, flipping us so that I’m on top. He smirks up at me, his hands settling on my waist, gripping hard. I move my hair from my face, letting it fall over my back as I use my hands to steady myself, planting them on his abs.

This position drives him deeper, and I’m sensitive, every inch of him sending waves of pleasure through me. "Fuck, you look like a goddess, Y/N," Liam moans, his voice strained, and he helps guide my movements with his hands.

I move faster, hips circling, driving him wild. His moans, raw and primal, spur me on. "That’s so good," he groans.

After a few minutes of blissful, unrelenting rhythm, he flips us again.

"Get on your knees, head down," he orders, voice thick with need. I bite my lip and obey, shivering with anticipation.

His thrusts come from behind, a new angle that has us both gasping. The intensity of it makes me push back, meeting each thrust with frantic urgency. His hands find my arms, guiding them to my back, holding me still as he presses my face into the pillow.

The scent of him—warm, familiar, intoxicating—fills my senses, and then his hand lands on my ass, a sharp slap that has me gasping, a strangled moan escaping my throat. It’s so damn sexy, I can’t help but cry out louder.

He drives into me, relentless, and the pressure builds—faster, stronger—until I’m teetering on the edge.

"Can you come for me, baby?" Liam groans, his hips faltering for just a moment.

"Yes, gods, Liam!" I moan, feeling the waves crash over me as my orgasm hits, intense and overwhelming. Moments later, he follows, his hips stuttering as he spills into me, the weight of his release pushing me over the edge again.

For a moment, we both lie still, breathless, before he gently pulls out and falls back onto the cushions beside me. He takes a deep breath, his body still trembling with aftershocks. I move toward him, resting my head on his chest as he wraps his arms around me, pulling me closer, his bare skin warm against mine.

“That was fucking incredible,” he mutters, his lips brushing my temple.

I smile against him, my eyes fluttering closed. “It was. So, so good.”

[disco-troy]

I don't feel like people have a nuanced enough view of Kory what she thinks about killing. She's not blindly wanting to murder criminals, nor is she delighted by the actions of murder. She sees murder as a necessity because of her upbringing in the middle of an existential war, and also as a way to regain autonomy on her life. Autonomy is a key theme in many of the people Kory chooses to kill.

The idea of autonomy over the body and her life is extremely important to Kory. This makes sense, Kory spends six years in slavery, her life not her own, and grew up knowing her planet could lose its own autonomy and freedom at any time.

When she was a slave, the few times that she was able to control her life in those times. Her first kill was her kill of what would become her last master, starting the chain of domino that would result in her freedom.

Note her words: "His very touch sickened me". It wasn't just about her imprisonment or her anger, but about her body, her autonomy. She couldn't handle being touched like that anymore, and killed knowing that it would solve nothing, knowing that it would lead to more punishment for her later down the line.

Her next kill allowed her to escape, securing her freedom and her own autonomy.

To escape she must pretend Kory has completely given in to her captors. That she is fine, even happy with the Gordonian touching her. But by doing this she is bringing him close, giving him the illusion of control over herself to secure her own freedom.

She is pretending to be a slave, while affirming to herself that she is still a soldier.

In this way we can see a dichotomy that has ruled Kory's life until now. On one side, you have succumbing to subjugation, which involved a loss of bodily autonomy. On the other side you had her claiming her freedom and her autonomy which comes with the need to kill or be destroyed.

In addition to this, you need to think of the context of Kory's upbringing. Of course Kory is used to killing her enemies. She grew up in a climate of fear in which there was a real possibility of total annihilation. Millions of her people died in the war that eventually lead her to being sold as a slave.

She grew up during a society that could have been destroyed in war, where everyday killing was not a questions but an existential threat. Killing and war was literally the only way for her people to conserve their autonomy.

This disconnect between Dick/Donna and Kory is not because Kory is an alien, but because the Titans are living in a world where they are superheroes and Kory is living in a world where she is a solider. Would a Kory that didn't kill even been able to come out alive from war? From her enslavement? To her its about her autonomy and her independence, she doesn't have the luxury of morals, of thought, of choice.

Later we see Kory not change, but shift. She realizes that killing will never be easier for her again.

This makes sense! her interpretation of killing has changed a lot because she's been exposed to a new environment. On earth she is not facing a literal war, she has real power, she has backup, she doesn't have to fight every second for her freedom and autonomy.

I think this is demonstrated in an incredibly narrative compelling way in Titans (1999) when Kory kills to give another character autonomy over her own body; Adaline Kane. Adaline is about to die, but her blood can still be harvested for Vandal Savage's experiments. She begs for death, instead of living that fate.

Kory gives it to her.

(much like Slade gave Joey in Titans Hunt but this post only has the space for one parallel right now)

When it comes to protecting the greater good, and especially when it comes to bodily autonomy Kory is not only willing to kill, but sees it as her duty.

She's never stopped being a soldier, she's never stopped being the Tamaranian who was forced to kill and see her people die to preserve her home, but more than that, she never stopped being the little girl for whom killing was her only way of reclaiming her autonomy.

[shapelytimber]

Ok hear me out.......... wlw Wilhuff Tarkin and Orson Krennic-

the dynamic very much is unhinged creative vs rigid control freak in a context of evil bureaucracy- and personally the context is why I love to read stories with imperials jdjdkd nothing is more crack cocaine literature for me than to make drama in a space office filled with awful people

More flavor text and me trying to sell you on why this ship of two truly terrible people is great below vvv

For Krennic, lean more into the evil genius artist. She's been up for 46 hours straight drawing schematics, she's rambling about incomprehensible shit, her only meals have been cigarettes and energy drinks, she's so full of herself she might one day think she's god, she's gonna die by 60. She doesn't care much about the politics of the empire, but they don't bother her either. She works for the imperials because they have a lot funds to give to engineers willing to build them a battle station the size of a moon capable of blowing up planets. Before that she worked on a lot a architectures on imperial center/Coruscant.

The imperial uniforms are a bit boring- so I'm taking full advantage of the fact Krennic is more of an engineer/architect to tweak her uniform a bit (and the cape was already not respecting regulations sooooo) For Tarkin I'm keeping it tho, this woman won't be caught dead without it.

For Tarkin, lean less into the whole buff survivalist aspect- she very much was in her youth, but she *is* a 65 year old woman based on *Peter Cushing*, and has been in a very high and prestigious position within the empire for the past 20 years. She still as an extensive knowledge on how to survive in nature, and fight with her bare hands or a knife, but that doesn't come up very often in her line of work anymore. She still killed a space bear unharmed when she was like 17 tho. She hates chaos and developed the main philosophy that drove the empire to this day : to govern with fear and impose order. She is a bloodthirsty woman in her sixties, with a never ending hunger for power, currently cheating on her wife with a coworker she hates.

They both love the death star more than they tolerate each other, but they did end up bonding over plotting the demise of one coworker they couldn't stand and digging out rebel spies. Make no mistake tho, this is very much a love triangle/trouple between two women and a giant battle station.

In the end, Tarkin killed Krennic by shooting her from orbit with the death star, the project was finally finished, she didn't need her anymore and she might have gotten in the way of her control of the station.

Tarkin dies a few days later during the battle of Yavin, along the death star, not willing to back down in her moments of glory.

PS : a lot of this is inspired by the fic "Propagating structure" by oneinspats ! it's what made me like and understand this pairing, and is truly a great work of fiction. I really think this fic is a masterful work when it comes to expending the character of Krennic, and extrapolating on existing things. Exploring his more creative side, his passion for his work, his truly abysmal lifestyle, giving him a hatred of nature and a background as an architect on Coruscant. While also keeping his horrific aspects, like reading his internal (or external) monologues sometimes makes my skin crawl with how disgusting his ideas are and how deep they run, but making him an interesting and compelling protag for the story. While all of it is surrounded by this delicious dramatic irony, because we know that no matter how hard they try to scheme (or fuck), the death star will blow up and it's incredible.

[ilions-end]

i finished statius' ACHILLEID. thoughts thoughts thoughts:

i knew going in it was a VERY short unfinished epic, but i didn't know it would be FUN?? if i ever get that time machine, FIRST THING i go back and find one publius papinius statius, i lock him in a room, and i'm NOT letting him out until he's finished the achilleid!

achilles is statius' BLORBO in a way neither homer, quintus nor virgil have blorbos. statius likes achilles to be strong and pretty and graceful, but most of all ENDEARING even when he fails. and he fails a lot, because this is him still figuring out how to be an adult, not to mention a prophesied legend literally everyone is waiting for to step up

the one thing that gets tiring is just how many prophecies permeate the achilleid. nothing's left to chance, there are so few unknowns. even ODYSSEUS was aware that from peleus' wedding there would come a child destined to be a central warrior in an upcoming gigantic war.

as it stands, the achilleid is more of a... thetisiad? she is very centered in the narrative (we spend more time looking at things from her point of view than achilles') and there is SO MUCH SYMPATHY for her, oh my gosh!! she loves ONE person, her son, the only worthwhile thing she got out of a traumatizing marriage, and she despairs that he's fated to die young in a silly human war.

also i'm a deidamia defender forever now. so three-dimensional, so clever!

aughhh i love how much characterization statius puts in, even in the small scenes! my favourite example is odysseus and diomedes as they walk up to lycomedes' place (literally just moving characters from A to B). diomedes teases odysseus, and odysseus is delighted to be teased. that night we're told odysseus CAN'T SLEEP because he's too excited about showing off his plan the next morning!

the unveiling of achilles is completely different from the chagrined defeat/"achilles is a fucking idiot" ways i've heard it retold! i love that it's collaborative, it's a mutual triumph. it's just as much achilles (who's been suffering in gender dysphoria hell for a year) longing to be exposed as it is odysseus LIVING for showing everyone (especially diomedes?) how clever he is. it's not just the shield and the spear and the bugle, it's odysseus playing the part of the siren, whispering in achilles' ear that he knows who he is and describing how glorious he will be on the trojan battlefield. it's achilles' grateful relief at being ALLOWED not to pretend anymore as he rips off his own dress even before the bugle calls

also it's very important to me that the moment he's no longer hunching over trying to make himself look small and inoffensive, we're told achilles is taller than both odysseus and diomedes

i KEEP IMAGINING how good statius would have made the rest!! especially because as book ii ends, achilles regards odysseus as a cool uncle; he's the guy who rescued him! i want to think statius would have put in the big mystery quarrel achilles and odysseus are said to have had early in the war, something to drastically change that affection. i want to know how statius would have handled troilus, and the gods. augh statius you roman BLUEBALLER

an assortment of story beats still revolving in my head:

chiron is such a sweetheart!! he's SO gallant with thetis, he's so affectionate with achilles. he HIDES HIS TEARS when achilles leaves, awww

statius writes out phoinix completely. as a phoinix stan i object. sure chiron can raise young achilles, but i NEED phoinix to tend to him as a baby

i enjoy how achilles EXPLODES into a mess of teenagerly hormones when he first sees deidaima. it's so funny that thetis is looking on (and we get my favourite simile of the achilleid, of a herdsman delighting in a young bull snorting and foaming at a beautiful heifer) like "aaaaand there's my son's sexual awakening. i see! well, we can use that" and THAT explains why achilles is so willing to commit to the female disguise

(listen. listen. few things mean more to me than the love between achilles and patroclus. but achilles is a teenage boy at the age when a fucking breeze will give him a boner, and deidamia is the most beautiful and the cleverest of her sisters. i really enjoy a story where achilles and deidamia are neither "fated eternal true love" or one's a sneaky opportunist. it's much more compelling that they're both knots of budding emotions and bodily feedback)

i notice that statius never uses the name pyrrha, he doesn't seem to have a fake name at all, just "achilles' sister"

lycomedes is SO honoured and proud that thetis is entrusting her daughter to him. i feel sorry for lycomedes, he seems so earnest and hasn't done anything to get tricked

the one thing i can't forgive statius for is that after spending SO much time establishing that achilles and deidamia (who knows he's a guy) are genuinely into each other, it feels like statius goes OUT OF HIS WAY assuring us that their first sexual encounter is rape. sure they talk right after, deidamia forgives him, AND i understand there are social rules that makes deidamia more "honourable" and "worthy" when she resists, but like. sigh.

aLONG with the previously mentioned interplay between odysseus and diomedes as they walk up to lycomedes' court, there's a simile where they're both starving wolves on the hunt. so sexy it's almost illegal

the feast scene is SO FUNNY omg. all of achilles' careful feminine training dissolving because odysseus and diomedes are there with their boundless masculinity for him to feed off of. deidamia practically WRESTLING achilles back down on the couch every time he forgets himself and behaves too much like a man. odysseus chatting with lycomedes SPECIFICALLY trying to rile up achilles, and then after the women have left (achilles dragging his feet and looking back, YEARNING for their male company) odysseus specifically praises the maiden's "almost masculine" beauty (because ohh he suspects. he just needs to prove it in the morning. he can't SLEEP for it)

when they depart, achilles earnestly swears to deidamia that no other women shall ever bear his children. i find it interesting as a reminder of the social rules of its era. neither of them expect achilles to be sexually exclusive, just not fathering potential heirs. which again makes me wonder about the contraceptives in ancient greece

on the ship towards aulis, diomedes begs achilles to tell them all about his feats and training with chiron, and achilles is so shy about it! who can blame him! diomedes has a WAY more impressive track record

odysseus is SO good at firing up achilles' outrage at paris even as he's just catching him up on what the war's about. and he's so pleased at how easily achilles' outrage can be directed! you KNOW that would have developed in such an interesting way AUGH THE REST WOULD HAVE BEEN SO GOOD.

[bwat5-blog]

Caitlyn Kiramman's Strength

**Spoiler warning for all of arcane**

“You will never rest knowing that she’s out there. Or maybe I underestimated you. Maybe you have the strength I do not. To forgive, and trust in tomorrow”- Ambessa

Caitlyn's commander arc has been a HEAVY topic of debate. I have written plenty as have many others. I am writing this after reading a wonderful exchange between some other users who added even more to my understanding of this story.

For my purposes today, I am thinking about Caitlyn's strength. The question of true strength is one pursued in many ways throughout this story. Vi learning she deserves to be loved for more than the strength of her arm, Huck explaining to Caitlyn that he became addicted to shimmer because he just wanted for someone else to be afraid for once. So what of Caitlyn? Her strength to achieve, is the strength to forgive.

There are many kinds of strength. Caitlyn is agile, and a great fighter. Her mind is sharp and creative. Even as a rookie enforcer she has the force of will to follow a mysterious tattooed Zaunite into the undercity, never knowing how her life would change. What she would lose, and what she would gain.

People have made many ham-handed attempts at demonizing Caitlyn's character arc in season 2. Their failure to grasp the ways in which grief can warp us is their cross to bear. In Caitlyn's story, we watch as a kind, clever, idealistic and brave young woman is terrorized and almost murdered by wanted terrorist, only to watch helplessly as her mother falls to the same killer. Because remember my friends it's easy for us to look at Jinx's actions and try for understanding. We were there when Powder was a scared little girl holding her sisters hand on that bridge. Caitlyn wasn't. And in a span of mere days, all for the crime of believing she could make a difference, her reality is violently transformed in front of her.

This show gives us many depictions of the illusion of strength. My mind goes to the breaking of Powder and creation of JInx, in which Silco lauds the strength she has achieved by "letting Powder die". When the truth is that no matter how strong her body has become, her mind has only grown more fractured.

Caitlyn's takes control of her house. She demands her seat at the council, and forms a strike team to go into Zaun all of her own accord where they actively engage in combat against the Chem Barons. Strength? On the surface yes. But the unfortunately reality is that she is not an agent of law and order, bringing peace and safety to troubled streets. She is on a crusade. And with every step she takes down that road, she destroys more and more of what really matters to her, until even the woman she loves lays heartbroken and alone. All culminating in her glorious rise to Commander. Strength..

It is during this bleak time in Caitlyn's story, that she and Ambessa have a conversation. Caitlyn is questioning the Noxian's brutal tactics, and if the ongoing occupation of Zaun is really worth it anymore. Ambessa says the quote at the top to remind her of her rage.. and of her fear.

“You will never rest knowing that she’s out there. Or maybe I underestimated you. Maybe you have the strength I do not. To forgive, and trust in tomorrow”

And it works! For the time being. Because what neither of them could have known is Caitlyn was soon to be reunited with the woman who reminded her of inner strength. The woman who believed in her, who supported her, who sacrificed for her. Who at the moment of their reuniting, even with that emotional chasm between them and all of Caitlyn's wrongs known, trusts Caitlyn to save her father.

Trust... that single word from someone so important to her and Caitlyn begins to find herself again. Ambessa taught her to kill, to trick, to oppress and debilitate. Caitlyn's physical body growing stronger and more dangerous while her soul was buried deeper and deeper beneath the waves. But it was not until Vi was still willing to believe in her, to give her a second chance, that she truly began to breathe again.

It is in this time, that Caitlyn's true strength emerges. When face to face with the woman she knows captured her heart, and who calls her to account, the question of who deserves who gets a second chance is left in the air. What Jinx took from Caitlyn cannot be undone. And Vi is not asking her to love Jinx, or to love what she did. She is asking her to let go of the hatred, and the fear, and the pain. To live not just for Jinx's benefit but for Caitlyn herself as well. To carry the same strength in her heart that Vi demonstrated by telling her about Vander. And in so doing, for the sake of herself, and the woman she loves, Caitlyn sets aside that rage, and opens the way for them all to start healing.

Our story ends with Vi, and Caitlyn enjoying a quiet moment together. Violet's journey was never about physical strength, but about the strength to admit she deserves to feel loved, and protected, and safe. To know that she is worth more to her partner than the strength of her arm. Caitlyn was almost swallowed by her darkness, never having been more alone than when she was one of the most powerful people in the city. Now here, at the end of things, it is because she found the strength to forgive the person who wronged her, and in aspiring to be the person Vi deserves has begun to forgive herself, that she finds peace.

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 1 part 4

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])

well, well, well, if it isn't the consequences of my own actions

do you think it took Rio a long time to choose her revenge dress? did she agonize over every detail? I picture her process like, okay I need an outfit that says fuck you (threatening) but also fuck you (horny) and fuck me (very horny) and then circle all the way back to FUCK YOU THOUGH (VERY threatening)

as to why Rio goes from super soft to *that* - I see it as the equivalent of the TV trope where someone almost dies and their loved one is very concerned, but as soon as there's no danger they slap them around the head and call them a fucking idiot. this is Rio's WELCOME HOME, CHEATER moment (Agatha has been kiiiind of been cheating death, lbr)

this is the best way rio could choose to approach agatha too, and not only because it lets her express all that pent up anger. what would be the alternative? sit Agatha down and have a honest chat? Rio knows her too well, she knows it would be simply too much. Agatha *is* more comfortable with big bombastic scenes, with violence that is a lot like foreplay. Rio is looking out for her right now, she is making it as easier for Agatha as she can, while also not letting her get away with her bullshit any longer.

one little sentence, so many ways to read it

only physically. she's not letting you in. not anymore. you'll have to save her from herself kicking and screaming. dear god she's actually honestly crying. this is a WHOLE fucking deal. and it's also the first time she sees Rio while knowing WHO rio is. she's feeling all the feelings

girls. GIRLS. how am I supposed to take decent screenshots if you keep flinging each other at walls. keep STILL! (look at the furniture btw, isn't it a bit curved? I think they're still using a fisheye lens. reality is still shifting. almost as if we're in the presence of an otherworldly being)

oh the metaphor of it. sometimes you just have to reach out and connect, even if you get hurt in the process.

BECAUSE SHE'S BEEN SHIELDING FOR SO LONG TO HIDE FROM PAIN. OH MY GOD. did a 2000s emo kid write this

every other MCU fight wishes it were this perfect storm of hot and emotionally devastating

Rio cannot physically kill Agatha, it's not allowed, she's only the collector. So what is she trying to do, exactly? Has Agatha really been cheating death for so long that Rio has no choice but to bring her in? Or is she not here to collect at all and this is just her way to get back at her ex (and possibly win her back)? I adore both options, they're tragic in different ways.

time to bullshit! time to bolt! time to get to that escape route! this is what Agatha does best. anything but face the truth

funny how agatha usually has no problem looking undignified. it's almost like this is not the point at all. so let's review: wanda has stripped agatha of the powers that have been keeping her hidden from rio. rio comes over to confront her - and not kill her, she wouldn't be allowed anyway. she does it in a way that agatha would find less scary than having a mature convo. still, agatha has to face things she's been escaping for so long and it's simply too horrifying, too overwhelming. the fact that she's joking around so much (while her future conversations with rio will be sad, soft, dramatic) tells you just how scared and how miserable she is. She's begging rio to stop, because even fighting and flirting, which is their comfort zone, is proving too much. And what does rio do? She listens and goes away. only temporary, she won't let her off the hook now that she has found her. but she's still willing to go at Agatha's pace.

aubrey plaza I would die for your evil little face

can I just say that agatha trying to flirt right now is devastating? she is at the end of her rope. she does NOT want rio to stay, doesn't trust herself around her in so many ways. but she knows how much rio wants her and just... she tries to manipulate her with flirting. it's a desperate gamble, completely undignified, completely in character for agatha. she offers herself to rio, but only physically. when what they had was infinitely more than that, it was beautiful, it was sacred.

and rio... forgives her. she laughs another one of her little soft laughs and lowers the blade. plaza is so good here, the way she says "okay, agatha," is a perfect blend of resentment and tenderness. she knows agatha better than anyone ever had or ever will. she knows why she does everything she does. and she follows her lead. one last time.

agatha's relief. she's trembling, deflated but still on her guard. she looks completely traumatized. the masterpiece that this scene is: you feel smart when you realize that they're flirting rather than fighting. when it finally dawns on you the real weight of their encounter... it's too late.

"by the way there's a bunch of scary witches after you and I totally want them to kill you, that's why I'm telling you exactly who they are and when they're coming"

agatha tries with all her might to believe that rio is heartless. because anger is easier than sadness.

we're leaning, we're leaning, we're leaning!

rio licking agatha's wound to heal it perfectly encapsulates her feelings: anger, horniness, and infinite tenderness. what a power move. rio was the one in control this whole scene, and it wrecked agatha.

"te veo" (I'm gonna go scream in a pillow)

she's gone, honey, she's gone. breathe.

Billy walking on the two of them having sex would have been less awkward than this

she was a BIT preoccupied, kid

and episode 1 is in the bag!

next stop: IT'S LILIA TIME

go to episode 2 part 1

[prongsiepotter]

down bad | j. potter

summary: you're so in love with james potter but he's a little too good at giving you mixed signals that it might actually ruin you

pairing: james potter x reader

warnings: angst, a little fluff if u squint, and so much longing & yearning. omg so much of it

a/n: i am unfortunately completely obsessed with taylor swift's new album, so everything i'll write in the near future will be based on one of the ttpd songs (yey!) & this one's based on 'down bad.' feel free to send requests if u want pick the next song for me x

──────── 𑁍︎ ‧₊°

"So he just said no?" Mary all but hisses. Marlene shushes her, glancing around the classroom before leaning down from where she's sitting on your desk.

"Are you sure it didn't mean something else?" She rests her hand on yours. "Maybe it was just a misunderstanding. He wouldn't…he just wouldn't, right?" You smile weakly at her, then shake your head. She squeezes your hand.

"The note was pretty clear," you say with a soft sigh. The sentence rolls off your tongue with unhidden bitterness. "Sorry, can't. Need to catch up on some assignments."

You would show it to them, so they could see for themselves and maybe divert their sympathetic gazes from you. But you had set it on fire right after reading it, just like the other two notes friendly rejecting you. You still aren't sure why you did it. After all, you did just tell Mary and Marlene that you're fine. At least you will be. You should not be this devastated over some guy.

Even if that guy is James Potter.

James who is now strolling into the room with his mates, looking as invincible and full of life as he always has and always will.

Quickly, you force a smile at the girls and pull out the chair next to you. Marlene, bless her, gets the hint and lightly shoves Mary's shoulder to have her take the seat. You're going through your book bag, pulling out your inkwell when four bodies make their way past your desk.

"Ladies," comes Sirius cheerfully loud voice as he bows at the waist because, of course, he does. Peter and Remus aren't as dramatic with their greetings. The latter, however, does take the time to slow down in front of you until you look up and return his kind smile. Belatedly, you realise perhaps you shouldn't have done that. You lock eyes with James, who's right behind him.

He sends you an easy smile and a wink. Like he's letting you in on another one of his rare secrets. You're not sure if you're smiling back, but it's almost a given that you are.

He takes his seat behind you, laughing blithely at a joke Pete just told, and it's all so painfully charming that you want to die. You fear he will always make you feel like this. Like you're somehow the chosen one. It's such a sickening feeling, you can't help but whip around and look at Mary, pleadingly. Though, you're not sure what you're pleading for anymore.

She shoots you another unbearably sympathetic smile, looking like she's close to cooing at you. You sigh, hiding your face in the crook of your arms.

You can't help but think how easy it would be to just cry right here. It's embarrassing to admit, but you've done it plenty of times over the weekend after you had seen James out at Hogsmeade with the others. Miserably, you had realised that he was, in fact, not too busy working on his assignments. He just didn't want to spend time with you.

You almost let out a sob.

A hand rubs your back and you know it can only be Mary, but you let yourself believe that it's the universe consoling you, as if to say there, there because there's nothing fair about this and she knows it, but there's nothing she can do it about now, can she?

History of Magic passes in a blur. Before you know it, you're in the library, pouring all of yourself into an essay that you normally couldn't have cared less for. But you're willing to do whatever it takes to keep yourself busy. You know your thoughts will stray the moment you're lying quietly in bed anyway, awaiting another sleepless night.

You finish the sentence and look up, satisfied with your work. Apparently it's been a while since you've torn your gaze away from the parchment before you, seeing how stiff your neck is. You knead at the uncomfortable knot in your shoulder while looking around the library. It's relatively full today with every other seat being taken.

Which makes it all the more irritating when your gaze snatches on a figure sat at the other table right across from you. He's not even looking up, head bent over a book, but you would recognise that mop of unruly dark curls anywhere. James must've seen you when he came in, but that might have just been your hopeful self speaking.

Begrudgingly, you resume your writing and it takes everything in you not to look up every few minutes. To glimpse the slight furrow in his brows and the small pout of his lips as he's carefully reading every paragraph. You know he's likely looking for something to prepare for a prank. Normally, you would simply go over and ask him what he's up to. You know he'd happily tell you. But you're glad to have at least a little bit of pride and dignity left that keeps you rooted in your spot.

Seemingly not enough though since all you can think about is that there's no way he doesn't know that you're right there. It really does make you want to bang your head against the table. Maybe that would finally catch James' attention.

Pathetically, you glance at him only to notice that he's packing his things to leave. The tip of your feather goes back to the parchment so fast, it almost pierces it. You haven't got a clue what you're writing, too busy tracking James' movements from the corner of your eyes.

You watch him stand up, walking down the length of his table towards the door down the hall on his right. Then he stops. You hold your breath. James seemingly hesitates before fixing the strap of his bag on his shoulder. He turns left and walks towards you. You're staring at your hand as it writes illegible words, completely out of your control, when you feel a tap on your shoulder.

"Hey," James whispers when you look up, giving you a familiar grin and small wave. It's an innocent gesture, sweet, but there's almost something hostile about this encounter. Like you have no choice but to let him occupy every single one of your senses. You stare up at him, a matching smile sweeping over your lips before you can think better of it.

That's when you notice the scarf he's wearing and its frizzled ends. It's yours. You know it is.

Did he not give it back to you after one of your nights out together on the stands? After you had flown on your brooms, so close to the sea of stars that you could've dipped your fingertips in them? You could almost hear the echoes of your windblown laughters as the memory pushes itself into the foreground of your mind.

James is sitting still, rosy-cheeked, watching you with curious eyes while you babble on about the Leo constellation. He had just told you that you could do whatever you want to him—another quite maddening thing to casually say to someone—and now he's apparently keen on staying true to his word by letting you wrap your scarf around his neck.

It took some convincing before he'd finally accepted it from you. You promised that you wouldn't be cold with your high collared sweater, but James only gave in when you had accepted his wool hat in exchange.

He had carefully put it on you, smoothing down your hair and pulling out some loose strands to frame your face, mumbling something about how much lovelier his hat looked on you than on him. You told yourself that he surely must've known what it did to you when his knuckles brushed your cheeks. Right? Surely.

James pokes your side, chuckling, as if he sensed that your mind was drifting elsewhere. He cracks another joke, saying that if you were the one to teach him Astronomy, he might actually pay attention in class. He says it like it's a deal and you feel inclined to do whatever it takes to hold up your side of the bargain.

You laugh helplessly, feeling drunk on a little bit of everything; the stars above, James' gentle laughter, the familiar smell of broom wax and crisp winter air. This must be cosmic love, you think to yourself. Your breath clouds in front of you, becoming one with his. All the while, you're too aware of James' shoulder bumping into you, his leg pressed against yours. There's no one out here but you two.

You have all the room in the world, but James chose to sit this close to you. Probably close enough for him to hear your heart pounding. Did he do it for a reason? You'd love to know.

"You don't need me to pay attention in Astronomy," you find yourself saying in response, something daring laced in the drawl of your voice. His eyes flash, bright and a bit wild. It's the same look he gets after you challenge him to a race on your brooms. His grin grows wide, carefree, and oh so lovely.

"Please." His face comes impossibly closer and you lean in without another thought, eager to take whatever it is James will give you. You feel his breath on your lips.

"I will always need you, Y/N."

Somehow he makes it sound genuine.

Then he winks and leaves you a horrid, forsaken mess. Somehow he makes that feel like a nice gesture too.

Incredulously, you stare at him as he leans back, elbows resting on the seats behind him. James Potter, you think weakly, what are you doing to me? Not for the first time you ponder what you would do if you can't have him. You almost double over from the striking pain in your chest.

Then he points out another constellation and you nearly forget all about yourself. He's good at that. Never ceasing to show you that the world is bigger than the two of you. Making you forget and remember that you might be in love. Because what if you were in love?

James cups the back of his neck, then points towards the door of the library, almost shyly letting you know that he's leaving. You nod slowly, still dazed. A small smile crosses his lips before you watch him round the corner, his back disappearing from your sight.

You blink, letting out a ragged breath. You feel like you got the wind knocked out of you. Like you just lost your twin. Someone who knows you like no one else ever will. Someone who might just be your better half. Someone who sometimes makes you feel like they want nothing to do with you.

It's ridiculous, you think bleakly to yourself, you're so down bad.

And James Potter makes it feel like a curse and a blessing.

[yawnderu]

Infatuation — Nikto x Reader

Cold, icy blue eyes stared at her from afar, examining her every single move as if he could read each atom that made her who she is. Nikto could feel his palms starting to sweat, the scarred skin on his face itching, yet he stayed still, not even daring to blink in fear of missing anything important.

His obsession was irrational, yet his mental state didn't help much when it came to her. He wanted to keep her safe from the horrors of the world, horrors he lived firsthand, horrors that had him clawing at his skin, horrors that completely fucked his head up, that keep him awake every single night, unable to sleep without his heavy medication.

She was a breath of fresh air; a sight for sore eyes, something new from the big and hairy men he was always working with. Can he really be blamed for his disgusting obsession when she treated him with so much kindness? When she gave herself up to him every single night, coming undone under his rough grasp? When she allowed Nikto to possess her body and soul? When she kept his head on his shoulders, letting him seek shelter all the way inside her willing cunt whenever he was losing himself?

How can he be blamed when she's his safe haven? When she allows him to use her body for relief without protesting? Always willing to please, always willing to give, and he takes and takes greedily, sometimes he even gives back! His scarred lips latched onto her cunt as his gloved hand keeps her eyes closed, never ready to let her see just how disgusting his disfigured face is. He's sure once she sees it, she'll scream and never talk to him again. Hell, he wouldn't blame her, yet she's the one thing he can't afford to lose.

"ангел." He called out, the grit and gravel of his voice traveling all the way around the room, bouncing off the walls, announcing his presence before his imposing behemoth body rested on the doorframe, taking up all the space.

"Nikto!" She exclaimed happily, the tone of her voice slowly healing him, though he will never be a regular man. No, Nikto is a monster. One who doesn't have claws or sharp teeth, but a face so disfigured it doesn't even look human anymore. He keeps himself disguised with his face cover, never taking it off, silently praying she will never see the pathetic scarred and mangled skin he doesn't dare call a face.

Her hands come up to hold his, fingers intertwined as he looks down at her. Her loving gaze is met with nothing but pure coldess just like mother Russia, yet he knows she can see the fire starting to burn within. A flame ignited by nothing but pure, unconditional love, love that Nikto knows they don't deserve, yet he will continue to take and take, giving it back so that she's never empty.

He frees his hands, removing his gloves hesitantly before preparing himself, hands already going up to hold her cheeks with the same care people have when restoring ancient paintings. He can see the tears dotting her eyelashes, beautiful parted lips slowly forming a proud smile at his first attempt on skinship.

"моя радость дорогая." He whispered softly to himself, finding comfort in the fact that she couldn't understand him. His rough, calloused hands kept softly caressing her soft skin, his sweat mixing in with the tears falling down her cheeks non-stop, yet Nikto is in a trance that is broken only by a choked sob, looking down at her with the slightest shift in his mask as his arms wrap around her, whispering sweet nothings in a thick Russian accent.

We would kill for her, die for her.

[maxdibert]

Pretty messed up how some people are fans of a creepy and obsessive guy who didn’t care if a man and a child died just so he could get the girl.

Alright, let's break this down, anon, because there's a lot to unpack here.

I think I've mentioned this in several posts already, but I'll repeat it: Severus owed James Potter NOTHING—no compassion, no empathy, no mercy. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. James Potter was a rich, popular brat who abused his social and economic capital to torment a poor, unsupported boy for seven years just because he didn't like him from the moment they met on the train to Hogwarts, and from that moment on, he had it in for him. He was a terrible bully who used his friends to join in on that nasty bullying. So if Snape didn’t care that he died, well, Snape had every right to feel that way. Do you go to victims of domestic violence and tell them they should feel sorry for their abusers? No, right? Well, this is the same thing. James was an abuser, Severus was his victim. Severus did more than enough by not telling Voldemort to torture him to death with Cruciatus, because I would have. Honestly, I don't understand why Snaters always bring up the whole "James was dead and Snape walked over his body" as if it were some horrible thing when, hello! You're talking about an ABUSER being dead, mate. Of course, he walked right over his body—what surprises me is that he didn’t throw a party.

Harry had to die. I know this sounds terrible, but it’s basically what the prophecy indicated. He was a target that Voldemort wasn’t going to let slip away, his fate was sealed. And yes, it’s unethical. And yes, it’s immoral. But the truth is that wars are unethical and highly immoral, and horrible, monstrous decisions are often made. Harry was not an option—asking for mercy for him was pointless because there wasn’t going to be any.

I don’t think Severus ever believed that if James was out of the picture, Lily would go to him or anything like that. I mean, they hadn’t spoken for five years—about six by that time. Severus NEVER harassed or stalked Lily. The only time he went after her was when the whole SWM incident happened, and he tried to apologise. Once she made it clear she didn’t want anything to do with him anymore, Severus respected her decision, and as far as we know from canon, they never interacted again. So, I don’t think, after six years of not talking, with his supposed former best friend having married and had a child with his personal bully, Severus had many expectations of them ending up in any sort of romantic relationship. I think, quite simply, that Lily always represented the only good part of his childhood—the only happy memories, the only moments of peace amidst the hellish violence he endured at home. I believe this was crucial for someone like him, whose childhood and teenage years were marked by violence, and he wasn’t willing to let the one good thing in his life end up murdered.

I agree that Severus is highly obsessive, but haters tend to frame this in a derogatory way, referring to his "obsession" with Lily, and I think it needs some clarification. Yes, Severus is obsessive, and he’s terribly immature at times, and he overreacts enormously when confronted with something that really triggers him (just look at how quickly he loses his temper with Sirius, for instance). This is obviously because he’s someone who never had the opportunity to grow up normally or develop cognitively as he should have, because his whole life was marked by violence. His home life was violent, and at school, he endured violence, and then at 20 years old, he handed his soul over to Dumbledore’s cause and had to work for nearly two decades at a school that was the epicentre of many of his traumas. He literally had neither the spaces nor the environments needed to heal and grow into a functional adult, and you can clearly see this in his behaviour. I’ve always said Severus is more of a diva than the cold, mysterious character people often make him out to be in fanon. To me, he’s someone who, on a personal level, hasn’t been able to grow emotionally in a healthy way and doesn’t know how to manage certain situations, especially those tied to his emotional issues. That said, I also don’t think he was romantically and/or sexually obsessed with Lily. I do think he loved her or was infatuated with her in his youth—first love, crush, whatever. But I don’t believe his need to avenge her death was due to romantic or obsessive love. I think it’s more about his obsession with repaying his debt to her. Severus always felt partially responsible for Lily’s death, and that’s where his obsession lies: it’s not that he’s obsessed with her, per se, but with the fact that he feels guilty for what happened. He feels, in some way, responsible for the death of the one person who showed him kindness, affection, and care during his childhood, which made her the most important person in his life at one point. And guilt often leads to obsession, much like grief that is not properly processed, and I don’t think that kind of obsession is creepy. I think it’s a very human kind of obsession.

Lastly, I don’t find Severus creepy at all. Why is he creepy? I mean, Harry was running around with his invisibility cloak, spying on everyone. The Marauders had A BLOODY MAP that allowed them to track everyone at Hogwarts 24/7 like some kind of magical GPS. Is Severus really the creepy one here? There are literally Animagi who turn into animals to spy on people—I have to laugh at the whole creepy argument.

That being said, if you’re going to come into my DMs to complain about Severus, at least bring some convincing arguments because it’s a bit tiresome hearing the same nonsense over and over again.

[daisyjonesgf]

andante, andante // finnick odair x f. reader

masterlist

3.3k words

request: could you write a oneshot where finnick and reader have always had a flirty relationship. the reader got taken and tortured by snow during the quarter quell, and she was brought to thirteen and when finnick sees her lots of fluff (and maybe smut?) ensues. i love your work, happy 700 followers!

warnings: smut, lots of it, there's some angst in the beginning Captiol related, confessions of feelings, hurt/comfort in the beginning, pnv, some degredation, teasing, use of good girl, unprotected sex, no use of y/n, unedited

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

There was no energy left, not a single part of your body had any form of passion left. Long ago you'd grown immune to the effects that Peeta and Johanna's screams had once had on you, probably once the starvation and dehydration had kicked in. Not to mention when you were trying to fight off the rats you could swear where in your pitch black cell, sometimes you'd swear you saw other creatures as well, but you tried to tell yourself it was hallucinations.

So when the team from District 13 came to rescue you all, you desperately willed the energy to return. You couldn't see him like this, Finnick. Technically you were just friends, but your relationship hinged on the flirtatious, playful banter which you didn't know if you had anymore. You hadn't spoken in a while, maybe you wouldn't even recognize your voice, it's not like the Capitol had much information they could get out of you. No one had thought to inform you of the rebel plan, for a while part of you was terrified that Snow would just have you killed for not knowing anything, but you were kept alive.

You'd had endless time to spend, when you weren't hearing or seeing things in your hazy state, to think about Finnick. How you weren't sure if he felt the same way about you that you'd felt about him for years, but should've said something before all this. Wishing that before you surely died in the Capitol he would know you had always cared for him, loved him from afar. You'd rather die with your love unrequited, but known. Yet now you'd see him again and you hoped if there was a chance he had feelings for you that you were half the woman you once were.

Of course, once all the fluids the medics were pumping you full of had taken effect you'd probably feel some of the spirit you'd had return. The universe seemed to look down on you because the first feeling you did feel in full force was anxiety about Finnick. You'd heard whispers of his names from guards so you knew he wasn't dead, but hadn't a clue how he actually was. Maybe you'd made up the voices of the guards and he actually was dead, what a cruel fate that would be, but with the way your life seemed to pan out it wouldn't have shocked you. Although if he was alive it condemned you to living the rest of your life in silent adoration, but he was the only person you would ever do that for.

When you entered the District 13 base on that medical bed the next full force feeling hit, overstimulation. The only noise you had been used to in weeks were the cries of Peeta and Johanna which you'd learned to tune out regardless of how loud, and the occasional order from a guard or a whisper. The flurry of doctors ready to fully assess injuries, people standing around full of questions, all the chatter and noise had your hands flying up to cover your ears. It was too bright, too loud, the bed was rickety in the floors little bumps, and you actually longed to be back in the familiarity of the cell.

“Hey, you're okay, honey." A much softer voice, much closer, warms ringer delicately brushing the hands covering your ears. Finnick. Your eyes snapped open as you slowly observed him.

“Finnick?" Your voice was much quieter, scratchier than you'd remembered it, but he seemed to hear you just fine. His kind smile blessing you as he slowly nodded, the next emotion was relief. You hadn't cried in a while, no water to allow yourself, but the fluids must have been working miracles because you felt like there was a flood about to break through your tear ducts. “You're real right?"

His hand landed more firmly on yours, assuring you with his very real body heat. “I'm real, I'm right here with you." Slowly you moved your hands from your ears, forcing yourself to take deep breaths to handle the noise. He looked like he was going to cry, “God, I'm so glad you're okay!" Finnick's warm embrace surrounded you and it made you want to melt into him forever. “They kept sedating me because I was so worried about you."

It confused you, to hear him talking about worrying about you with so much passion, of course he'd consumed your every thought, but you'd doubted you would've been on his. “Oh, come on, you would've found someone else to banter with, Finn." The first laugh you'd had in so long forced itself out.

“Good thing that the only person I want to banter with is you, and here you are, pretty face and all."

There was a pause before your voice came out again, delicate like a flower petal floating on the waters. "I missed you.” It came out sounding more vulnerable then you'd intended, maybe even too fond and he'd pulled his arms away. Before you could retreat though you were shocked when his lips were on yours. The kiss was soft, and spoke a thousand words you could only ever wish to translate.

When he pulled away you could only stare at him stunned, he'd felt the same way you'd felt all along. “I'm sorry, I-" Before he could finish you pulled his face back in, kissing him, it was addictive, you could drown in his lips. “You know, it's rude to interrupt." He muttered out before kissing you again.

“Sorry." You weren't, there was no time to be when it was like you living in a dream. Maybe this was a dream, maybe you were back in the Capitol and had officially lost it, but the heat of his touch was too real for you to believe that.

“I've loved you for so long." Finnick's hand cupped your face which must have been burning up.

“Me too, I didn't think you'd ever even noticed me that way."

“How could I not have noticed my pretty, sweet girl that way?" His smile was so perfect it made you feel like you were floating. The doctors insisted on doing an official check up on you which Finnick stuck by you diligently for. Fluids and food was all you really needed besides further psychological evaluation, but there wasn't much time for that when apparently Peeta was turning out to be the biggest problem imaginable.

Finnick had sat by your hospital bed, slowly feeding you a soup that felt like the best thing you'd ever eaten with all the time you'd gone without a scrap. He filled you in on life in District 13, how much protocol there was, but it would be worth it to end all of this so you could be together. Apparently he'd been assigned his own compartment which he rarely used when the breakdowns hit, so he'd spent nearly every night sedated in the hospital wing.

Eventually the doctors agreed to let you take a shower, you'd still be sequestered to the hospital wing, but you were grateful for the chance to finally be clean. You could sense that Finnick hated that you would be out of his sight again, like the moment you walked away he would realize this was all a dream he was having that had slipped away under the cover of night. “Do you wanna come with?" You whispered to him as the medic on the other side took the IV out of your arm, “Somebody's gonna have to show me the way there."

“Can I?" He whispered back and hurt you to know that he'd been this hurt over you, that you'd both gone so long without a confession to the other.

You nodded slowly as you pressed a quick kiss on his lips and he smiled, maybe this wasn't a dream after all. Finnick guided you through the drab underground of District 13. It was stuffy, but you were overtaken by giddiness. The Finnick Odair was holding your hand, the Finnick Odair had meant every flirty comment he'd made, Finnick Odair loved you back, Finnick Odair wasn't just a dream you could never have, Finnick was here, Finnick was yours. He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not. And the final petal had determined he loved you.

He turned the water on for you and Finnick respectfully turned around so you could undress and get inside of it. Your heart swelled to think he missed you so much he would be content to just sit outside, to feel your presence in the room. The feeling of the water hitting your skin was a relief, to feel the grime being washed away. It was lonely though, to think of him patiently waiting for you, how long he's waited to know you were safe, how long he'd waited for you to confess. “Are you gonna make me be alone in here?” You cringed at the way no matter how quiet your voice was it seemed to echo.

You'd hid behind the curtain, so you didn't have to confront the question. Maybe he didn't want to, but you'd also thought he just wanted to flirt as friends. The curtain swept to the side as he peeked his handsome face in, eyes glued to your face. "Not if you need my help, honey.” You would've sworn the way he said those endearments always made butterflies flutter in your stomach, even if it was something you'd felt guilty about when he initially began using it.

The hot water should have relaxed your muscles, but staring at his perfect, handsome face was making you feel a similar sensation that you despised. Whether he knew it or not, the sound of his voice, the things he'd say, and that smile of his all did unimaginable things to you. Things you'd felt guilty for when the fantasies flashed in your mind. He'd been your friend, so it must've been wrong to imagine him with his hands between your legs. Now though, he wasn't just your friend, and the feeling was back. “Maybe I do." It was embarrassing, but just being by his body would help you or maybe it would make the feeling worse, but you didn't care.

He grinned at you and disappeared for a few seconds before he'd opened the curtain again, slipping into the shower. “What do you need my help with, sweet girl?" Now you'd have to come up with something, you tried not to let your eyes trail over his body, he wasn't looking anywhere but your face. But it was hard when it felt like some tingling part of your body was now controlling your actions.

“Can you help me clean myself off?"

"Of course, honey.” He went to grab the shampoo bottle, eyes never ducking down. Part of you wanted him too though, so that this felt less like a dirty fantasy.

"You can look at me, you know? I won't bite, unless asked, promise.” You tried to sound like it was playful, soft and he laughed.

"Yeah, sorry, I just didn't want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable either." You reassured, “I'm not making you uncomfortable though, am I? If I am-" One of his hands grabbed yours making you pause.

“You're not making me uncomfortable either, you're okay." His sweet smile made you feel more than just like melting, you hoped the wetness pooling between your thighs wouldn't be noticeable in the water. Finnick softly turned you around to wash your hair, he was so particular, taking his time and the feeling of his breath on your neck, clever fingers in your hair. It was so calming, “This okay, honey?" You could only hum in approval as his hands moved so delicately across your scalp. Your brain so easily fell into an easy blissful state as you let his hands move your head with ease. He finished with your hair soon enough and was moving onto washing your body. You shuddered when he carefully pushed your hair off the back of your neck, “You sure you're okay?”

"Yeah.” It comes out more strained than you'd meant it to and you pray he's not put off by it, which he doesn't seem to be as his hands keep trailing downwards. He's soaped and rinsed you off, moving you with so much care that you wish you could absorb each second of it, but you're trying to leave the moment. If you let yourself think about it you're sure you'll give yourself away with the way you'd be responding to his touch. Then it's nearly impossible when he's washing your face, his hands seem like they were perfectly meant to hold your face and suddenly so do his lips when he's kissing you again. Instantly you're pulling him in closer, basically inhaling whatever he gives you. Then you're pausing when his hands start slipping down the small of your back.

Much to your chagrin he pulls away, pausing his hands descent, as he looks at you, “Are you okay with this?" He asks, his eyes speak depths on how much he cares. You nod trying to lean in again, but he leans back, “Need to hear you say it, sweet girl."

"Yes, Finn.” It's barely audible, but he rewards you by kissing you again. Fingers continuing their trail down your back, grazing over nerves that make you shiver. His hands finally land on your hips and you can barely breathe, but you won't let yourself pull away from his lips. They're too addictive and you're too scared you'll wake up to realize you never left the Capitol. And then his hands are slipping lower, your thighs pressing together.

His hands are slowly spreading your legs apart and you let them. Whimpering into his lips when his fingers start tracing over your pussy. His lips pull away and you whine more, even if it gives you a chance to gasp for air. “You're dripping, sweet girl, I haven't even done anything. I bet…” Finnick trails off and you gasp when the tips of two of his fingers are lightly pushing into you. You're instantly clenching around them and he's smirking. “Were you gonna tell me I was making you this dizzy?" You hum out something incoherent when his other fingers start rubbing you. “Seems like someone doesn't know how to use her words, sweet girl, I just have to look at her and understand how needy she is…” He kisses your neck, "Doesn't tell me she feels the same way about me, I have to do it.” Another kiss to another sensitive spot and you gave up on any idea of suppressing the wanton sounds you're making now. He was rubbing you faster now, “Someone's gonna have to teach you to use your words, like a good girl. Not today though."

"Finn-” You moaned out, head tilting back. "Need you, need you so bad. Need you inside me.” You clenched around the tips of his stationary fingers and he thrusted them upwards, the sound you let out was guttural with shock.

“You sure you can take me, sweet girl? Want me to split you open instead of helping you open?" He sounded condescending as he kept moving his fingers inside of you as you whined, before letting out another moan as he slipped a third finger in you.

“Don't care, Finn, don't care if it hurts, need you cock in me. Please, please, please.”

He slipped his fingers out and your eyebrows scrunched together as you whined, he was opening your mouth with his fingers soaked in your juices. “You're my pretty little cock slut aren't you? Gonna let me break you on my cock?" You sucked his fingers in confirmation, licking off your own juices and he smirked. “Did you fantasize about me? Were you not able to tell me how you felt because you were too busy making yourself dumb thinking about my cock?" You nodded, moaning as his other hands began making even more aggressive circles. His hand titled your head up, “If you want my cock, then you're gonna tell me what you thought about when you were fucking yourself stupid."

It was hard to form words when you wanted to do nothing but whine at the pleasure rushing through your body, "You, I thought about how much I wanted you-” Your head fell back when his circles got rougher and then was forcing your head back up, "Wanted you inside of me, touched myself thinking about, oh my god, Finn, please I can't it's too much, wanna cum when you're inside me.”

He was quiet for a second before sighing, “When you beg like that how am I supposed to refuse you anything? Just because my sweet girl just got back to me and must be being so brave, using her words like that. But you're not getting out of it next time, honey." Finnick removed his hand and you let out an involuntary whine.

"Thank you, Finn.” You said breathily as he finally lined himself up with your entrance. “Already so close."

“So needy." He clicked his tongue as he started pushing into you, you clawed into his back. “Jump." You obeyed and he hoisted you up, legs wrapping around his waist. Trying not to hit at his back when caused more of him to push in, but you couldn't stop yourself from the scream you let out when he carefully pushed your back against the shower wall and he bottomed out in you. “So tight, this pussy was made for me, feels so good." He groaned, “Can I move?"

“Please, you're so deep in me, feels so good. Wanna be yours, Finn, want you to do what you want with me." His face planted itself in between your neck and shoulder and you could feel him smiling into your skin.

“You're so sweet, honey." Then he was moving again and you were instantly crying out, “Everyone's gonna find us if you keep this up, know you're mine now." At your insistence he let himself be fast, pound in and out of you as you tightened around him.

Finnick moved a hand up to protect your head as he thrusted recklessly into you. It felt like an eternity of his perfect noises and seeing stars with each movement, you were so grateful that it was your cunt making him groan like that, that he wanted to be inside of you. “Oh my god, Finn, I'm gonna come."

“Good girl, come undone on my cock, sweet girl. Wanna look at your pretty face when you let go for me.” You could've sworn that you'd left the planet when he brought you past the edge. He must have felt it too because your ecstasy doubled when you felt him releasing inside of you, how full you were of him.

You don't know how long you stayed like that, listening to each other's breathing, but nothing had ever felt so perfect. “They're gonna wonder what happened to us." You eventually let out a breathy laugh and he nodded into your shoulder. He tapped your leg and you unhooked them from around his waist. Feet falling onto the cold tiles below.

“Good, I've got to make up for lost time." He kissed your forehead before finally pulling out of you and you hated how empty you felt without him. Finnick pressed his forehead against yours and you watched the steam from the water gather around him, “I should've told you sooner, if you hadn't been okay and here with me again, I don't know if I could've lived with myself knowing you never knew I loved you." And the way he kissed you sealed your fate, you would forever be making up for the times that neither of you confessed to how hopelessly you adored each other and you would relish every moment of it.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

thank you for reading! I'm going to try and get chapter two of the river out before I do the next request, working on scheduling these each out! if you enjoyed it feedback is always appreciated, comments, likes, reblogs, and my asks/requests are open! thank you again and love you all 💋

taglist: @wowzabowza69

[tennessoui]

32. “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.” --- pleeeeeeease <3

of course!!

[from this list of prompts]

[5. 'are you jealous' - 27. 'i'm pregnant' - 44. 'if you die, i'm gonna kill you' - 41. 'you did all of this for me?' - 46. 'hey, have you seen...? oh']

32. 'i think i'm in love with you and i'm terrified'

Anakin looks torn to see him, flesh fingers flexing on the edge of the door. "Obi-Wan," he acknowledges, voice strained. "I'm not--really in the mood tonight. I'm sorry, but..."

"I'm not really in the mood either," Obi-Wan is quick to assure him, stepping forward in a calculated movement that brings him much too close to Anakin's body. He doesn't think Anakin will go so far as to close his door in Obi-Wan's face, but it's been a long day for everyone involved. Better to be safe than sorry, better to get an elbow over the door so it can't properly be closed.

Not, it's important to say, because Obi-Wan wants to fuck Anakin tonight. Or--alright, yes, a part of Obi-Wan always wants to sleep with Anakin in whatever way and form he's allowed. Having discovered two months ago that Anakin is both willing and desperate for the same sort of stress-relief that Obi-Wan has been needing since the start of the war, they've fallen into bed together more than twenty times. Almost every night of every mission they've completed together since that very first night where Obi-Wan'd almost knocked over the walls of his canvas tent pushing Anakin up against it to kiss him filthy and grimy and beautiful.

Something about what he's thinking must flash across his face because Anakin frowns at him distrustfully even as he steps aside and allows him entrance.

That look--equal parts disbelieving and skeptical--gets under Obi-Wan's skin almost more than anything else Anakin could have said. "I'm not," he snaps as he steps further into Anakin's quarters.

They're unpersonalized, the quarters of a war general rather than Anakin Skywalker, but that's to be expected. One does not make a home on a warship; not even Anakin.

Anakin gives a lopsided shrug, purposefully insouciant. His mech arm had taken a heavy hit today, a blaster bolt that would have seared through flesh had he not already lost the limb years ago. The connectivity must still be damaged. It is, all told and considering the near misses they've encountered today, an easy fix.

Obi-Wan clears his throat and cuts his eyes away from Anakin's figure, turning instead to examine the tiny room that is a perfect match for his own. "I am and always will be your master first, Anakin," he says stiffly. "And today you almost lost your padawan. Of course I came to check on you. I know intimately well how you may be feeling."

"Don't say that," Anakin says, crossing his flesh arm over his chest. The mech arm twitches again, though it doesn't move. "That's banthashit."

His response and the vehemence behind it makes Obi-Wan blink and move towards him. "I visited the medbay first," he says kindly, cupping his hand around the muscle of Anakin's bicep. "Kix says she will be out of the bacta tank first thing tomorrow, back to full capabilities within the week."

But Anakin's dissatisfaction does not waver, and his eyes only narrow as he moves away from Obi-Wan. "You're not my master anymore, Obi-Wan," he says instead. Spits the words out in fact.

They land like a blaster shot to the heart. "Of course I'm not," Obi-Wan hears himself say woodenly. "I--I know that you are a Jedi Knight of your own standing, I just meant---"

"I'm your equal," Anakin says, rounding on him with a strangely bright fire burning in his eyes. "I'm your equal now, and I refuse--you are not my master--I am not your padawan first. If I were, I'd have no idea what your spit felt like on my cock."

Obi-Wan blinks again at the sudden vulgarity and then understands. Anakin, who has almost lost his padawan in a firefight, who allowed his padawan into a speeder only for her to crash it into a rock ledge and almost fall to her death, is not in the mood for sweet words tonight. He is not in the mood for gentle touches or desperate sex.

He is in the mood for a fight.

But Obi-Wan has just spent an entire week fighting in a campaign that has almost ended so disastrously that he doesn't even have the words for what could have happened. He doesn't even have the heart to think them. He is tired of fighting.

He just wants to care for Anakin, on any level and in any way the other man will allow.

So he dips his head and says quietly, "Of course not, dear one, I only meant that in my time as a Jedi, I have also experienced incredible amounts of worry about my padawan being in harm's way and getting hurt because of it. Just because you are many, many things to me these days that you never were then does not mean I've forgotten how it felt to worry over you. I--"

I love you, are not words he's ever had to swallow down before, simply because he's never truly felt the urge to say them.

Except now. Except since they've started this exercise in stress relief that has given Obi-Wan a thousand new ways to learn and explore his padawan and the man he's becoming. Has become.

Thankfully, Anakin doesn't seem to notice the sudden end to his sentence, too caught up as he is in the remnants of his fear. The anger has left him as suddenly as it arrived, and he runs his working hand through his hair in futile dismay.

"I couldn't do anything to save her," he says. His voice is raw as a wound whose scab has been picked to bleed a hundred times over. "If the battle hadn't finished when it did--I wouldn't have been able to--I could do anything. What sort of master does that make me?"

Obi-Wan takes a risk and lets his hand rise to cup Anakin's cheek. The man's eyes lock to his immediately, naturally. "It makes you a master like all the rest of us," he murmurs. "You'll save her later. And in the coming days, you'll take care of her as you can. It won't make up for her pain, but there is no scorecard, truly. Eventually, you'll realize that on your own."

Anakin's eyes slide closed as he pushes his face into Obi-Wan's touch, allowing it. Obi-Wan wonders how many more months have to pass before the simple fact that Anakin allows his touch does not feel like a miracle.

"Now, may I help you ready for bed? It's late--you should wait til tomorrow to finish work on your arm."

And, miracle upon miracles, Anakin allows him to strip him, help him wash, brush his hair, dress him, and help him into bed. When he turns to leave, mission of taking care of his padawan thoroughly accomplished, Anakin's working hand reaches out and catches him around the wrist.

The plea in his eyes is silent, though loud in the first. Obi-Wan quietly disrobes himself and slides under the utility covers next to Anakin.

The boy falls asleep in minutes.

I am not your padawan first, Obi-Wan thinks privately with a silent scoff as he brushes a loose piece of hair away from Anakin's eyes.

Anakin will always be Obi-Wan's padawan first. He will always be Obi-Wan's to care for, provide for, teach and comfort. His capability to become many, many other things to Obi-Wan does not diminish that one truth.

Anakin will always be Obi-Wan's padawan first, because--because that is the one label Obi-Wan has for him that he knows he'll never lose. It is the one way that Obi-Wan knows he is allowed to care for him that Anakin will never turn away from.

No matter what other feelings about him Obi-Wan finds himself choking back and drowning in. No matter how Anakin may feel about the fact that Obi-Wan has gone and fallen in love with him despite the casual nature of their sexual encounters. One day, he may lose Anakin's attention. One day he may never again be invited to share Anakin's bed, breath, and spit.

But he will always be his former padawan, no matter how else he loves him or loses him.

"Anakin," he murmurs quietly, just to check. The boy doesn't even grumble, doesn't even twitch.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan says again, just to taste his name. Stress relief is one of the stupidest phrases in the entire galaxy, he decides. right up there with I am not your padawan first.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan whispers, sure now that the other is asleep. Sure now that he may speak the words he has swallowed for far too long. "I believe...well. I'm in love with you. It terrifies me."

Anakin is silent, sleeping soundly, his Force signature tangled around his master's--so entwined that if Obi-Wan took a measure less comfort from it, he'd be terrified by that as well.

[multi-oc-tourney]

Free For All: Round 1

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Nanaya

(she/they)

oc by: @tibialtybalt

Propaganda:

They were supposed to be a sacrifice to the gods. They were rejected and brought back to life as a saint. It's said she has no memory of who she was before. But it's said that what she does have is clear vision of the future. It's said that she can change your fate. Only the first of these is true. They fled the town that held all this piety for them and hoped to become anonymous, even with the god of fate's eyes on them. - they're lucky they were rejected because they have a greater purpose, not because they are tainted in some way. They could've been killed again - she's fairly soft-spoken. Her position as a saint makes her nervous because she doesn't want to lead anyone astray, but she wasn't willing to outright reject anyone asking for their fortune, either - before they died, they were quite the opposite. A pedantic bitch, quick to argue, sure that they're always right. Firmly believed that the gods were forces of nature, not thinking beings, so who cares about priesthood or worship??

-----------------------------------------------------------

Adriana

(she/her)

oc by: @hihello-what-are-you-doing-here

Propaganda:

One night after school, Adriana gets attacked by a thing called The Void, but instead of it instantly killing her like it does most people, it absorbs into her body. The government shows up and whisks her away to a safe house, and scientists at the safe house tell her that she is more likely than not going to die, and that as far as her family knows, she's already dead. But her friend, Cobalt, who witnessed her getting attacked and being whisked away managed to follow the vehicle they put Adriana in, and shows up at her window. He invites her out and they hang out in a field nearby the safe house, which turns into a regular event every few days. But slowly The Void starts to destroy Adriana's mobility, and she can't walk for as long or climb as well anymore. At first, Cobalt carries her to there and back, but eventually they begin hanging out in Adriana's room for her sake. One day, Cobalt sneaks into Adriana's room, only to find her in a coma and dying. He takes her hand and begs her not to leave him yet. A scientist comes in and pulls him from the room for his safety. When he gets older, he becomes a scientist researching the void, to try and prevent what happened to Adriana from happening to more people. (Also, Image is from Aluada's picrew on picrew :3)

[ghostlymarauder]

I feel like there's a lot of people in the Yellowjackets fandom (especially on tiktok) that don't understand the girls' trauma. I've seen so many people say the girls are 'bad people' and to me that's insane because a big part of the show is their fear of people finding out what they did in the woods because they would've been ostracized, yet that's exactly what some people do.

I feel like it goes without saying that, yes, plenty of the things they do out there in the wilderness are wrong, but that doesn't necessarily make any of them bad people, you know why? Because they were in extreme circumstances. They were teenage girls, left to their own devices, in very extreme circumstances, and I feel people don't realize that enough.

For example, Lottie is not only in a extreme situation because, well, she's stranded in the middle of nowhere, but she's also an schizophrenic child without her meds. And what people don't consider about this is that the girls are very young, but Lottie had been medicated for a while by the point their plane crashed, so perhaps she wasn't even used to having her symptoms anymore.

Another character I hate when people act like she's the devil is Shauna, because, yes, Shauna does cause a lot of her own problem but she's a TEEN, not only that, she's a TROUBLED TEEN. Like, people act as if fucking her best friend's boyfriend is just as bad as eating Jackie when the first is stupid and immoral at most and the other is a fucking crime.

So, yes, her fallout with Jackie IS her fault, but people think she doesn't know that?? Even if it deep down??? And do you know what that can do to a person?????? Knowing you not only were the reason you're best friend die but also that you betrayed them in the worst way possible and they found out right before they died. Like, if that happened to me, while also being stranded in the middle of fucking nowhere, I would've also gone berserk

Also, I don't think people take into consideration the trauma caused by losing a child and especially after hallucinating said child was alive. Like, I've had dreams that I wake up from and doubt if they're real or not, now imagine those kind of dreams while starving and with all of the stress of, then again, BEING STRANDED IN THE MIDDLE OF FUCKING NOWHERE.

Now, I also don't think people even remember the freaking bear when they talk about the cult and why everyone believed Lottie. First of all, whether there IS some supernatural entity or not, I strongly believe all of the girls were experiencing a collective psychosis, so that plays into the reason everyone decides to trust Lottie. But other than that, they all have a very valid reason—a freaking bear collapsed in front of her like it was offering itself to her.

If I'd seen that, I would've also been praying and talking to the trees with her, man.

And when it comes to the actual crazy things the do—eating Jackie, hunting Nat, letting Javi die, eating Javi, kidnapping Coach Scott, killing Coach Scott, eating Coach Scott. I think that if you really think about it, many of those things are somewhat reasonable within their context.

When they're cremating Jackie and she essentially turns into a make-shift human barbecue, they're hungry and had been for a while, they were also sleeping and most of them probably didn't even think the consequences of what they were doing until it was too late. But even then, they were starving and in the middle of the woods, completely lost and with no way to go back to civilization, so I can look past Jackie.

Then there's the Hunt with Nat, which I personally think is sadistic, but if you really think about it, they were once again hungry and probably hallucinating or at the very least in a terrible psychosis, so I can also look past that.

When it comes to Javi, I think so people might think Nat was wrong, but I want anybody who might think that to imagine you're a teenager, surrounded by other wild, feral teenagers willing to kill and eat you and then tell if you comply if they were letting other person die in your place. Because I, personally, don't think I would have the strength to be selfless enough to save Javi and put myself in danger.

The only thing I truly find disturbing about the Javi situation (once again, when I look at it with the whole context and through the lens of what they were living) is Travis biting his brother's heart. BUT. BUT. BUT, then again, if I was him and I'd seen what they did to Javi, I don't think I would've told them I wasn't going to bite my brother's heart either.

Then, there's Coach Scott, and now, this is a truly complicated situation where several people can and ARE wrong and right at the same time.

On one hand, there's Coach Scott, who makes a shit ton of mistakes from the start and loses any authority he might've had. And don't get me wrong, I'll be a Coach Scott defender till the day I die, because he was just a young man who was in the same scary situation the girls were and had just lost a leg, but did leave the girls to do as they pleased and they eventually got out of control.

Then, there's two girls I find the most relevant when it comes to Coach Scott and those are Shauna and Nat. Firstly, there's Nat, who had an idea of where Coach Scott was and decided not to tell because the other were going to want him dead, which shows that, yes, you can still your humanity out there, but I don't think that means the others were necessarily wrong for feeling angered by the thought he burned their cabin down.

Nat does everything she can to protect Ben until the end, but inevitably realizes the human thing to do is to kill him. I think she didn't want to kill him sooner is for two main reasons: to protect him and to protect the girls, because Nat knew that if she killed him, the girls would've taken the position of leader from her and that would probably cause chaos which is what inevitably ends up happening.

On the other hand, there's Shauna, and, honestly, I don't think she's evil for wanting Ben dead—she's wrong, but she's not evil. She's traumatized, and she's hurt, and she's angry, and she needs to take it out on something or someone. Is that correct? No, it isn't. Can I blame her? Nope, again, middle of the woods, a bunch of trauma, killed and ate her best friend.

Again, I am not under any circumstances saying that they were correct, just that nothing they did out there makes them bad people. And even their adult versions have solid defenses for a lot of the things they do.

Anything Shauna does can be explained on the base that she hasn't got the proper treatment for her trauma and she's basically an adult teen.

Taissa leaving Simone and Sammy is partly caused by her double personality.

Melissa faking her death, creating a new personality, and marrying the daughter of one of the victims of the cult is a whole flavor of trauma in itself.

Lottie creating a new cult was a desperate attempt to recreate the freedom yet safety she felt out there.

Travis accidentally killing himself was a desperate cry for help.

Surprisingly enough I think Misty, Van and Nat were the only one who actually don't do crazy thing for their trauma's sake. Because, I mean, yeah, Misty killed that woman in season one but I think that unrelated to her trauman.

Actually, notice how I didn't defend Misty in this post? That's because she IS insane from the get-go, and I love her for it, but I can't defend her.

So, my point is—yes, they are insane, yes they do things that are wrong. But that DOES NOT make them bad people, because they were and are in extreme situations or severely traumatized. And I don't think any of the characters get enough credit for that.

[houseofthedragonn]

I heard you wanted some spicy HC inspo and im here to deliver.

Spicy Benjicot Blackwood HCs where reader has heard about the "Blackwood passion" ie they are basically OBSESSED with the person they are in love with. In a gomez "look at her. I would die for her. I would kill for her" kind of way (and in the cases of blackwoods they sometimes do) and Benji has asked to be married to reader BY NAME and they are a little nervous about it bc they danced with him like once or twice at a party or something and they dont know much about him. (Though in the end they also grow just as obsessed)

I hope thats enough detail!

Benjicot Blackwood might’ve been more prone to being shy and reserved, but not when on the battlefield. And definitely not when around you, until you become just as obsessed with him and also start taking control in the bedroom…

Ben could not take his eyes off me at the feast, both times, hosted by the Great House our houses both served as primary vassals for, the Tullys—I felt his burning gaze

All night his dark eyes followed me before interrupting my first dance with another lord, some Bracken or other, who Benji didn’t think but knew was “far less deserving of a dance” with me

Knowing Ben felt that way after he said as much, even drawing his sword on the Bracken boy after threatening a duel just to dance with me, and he did, twice

I admit I hardly knew him or anything about him, nothing except for the notorious passion of House Blackwood’s men for their lovers

So much so that they would die for their loves, or sooner kill for them—which proved true that night after Bracken didn’t like being embarrassed after having his dance partner poached by his rival house, and drew his blade

A fatal mistake as Ben’s blade was unsheathed faster, landing a lethal plunge into Bracken’s side in no time and with such ease and yet passionate fervor

Proceeding to finish his dance with me after the commotion died down and the Bracken boy’s body carried out, who was rude to me anyway, and only danced with me as he knew how much Blackwood wanted to

I guilty felt a strange feeling I never have before, that felt good, as no one had been so obsessed with me in such a way they were willing to die or kill for me until Blackwood

For the rest of the feast, we were together, but not dancing anymore—as after our second one ended with my tightly corseted chest pressed flush against his, I felt him press against me through our layers of fine clothes

Taking me inside Riverrun, Benji found us a private room all to ourselves, meanwhile the rest of the feast goers kept dancing out in the Great Hall, being so loud that we could be as loud as we wanted to be

Sloppily, Ben kissed me messily against the door after slamming it shut, letting his hands roam and explore my body than he could in the Great Hall with all the eyes on us, watching as his hands already pushed how far they sat on my hips

And my fingers snaked into the tufts of dark hair at the nape of his neck as I wrapped my arms around his broad shoulders as his tongue took claim of my moaning mouth

Practically rutting against each other over our clothes as he did not want to ruin my honor before marriage; so he asked to be married to me by name after only those two dances and an unforgettable kiss stolen in secret

And I grew to be just as obsessed with him, fucking him angrily out of jealously at another feast after another Lady insisted on “just one dance with the handsome Lord Blackwood” despite Ben’s insistence that he was already happily betrothed

You found yourselves a private room in whatever castle you were in that time, slamming the door shut, and pushing him onto the couch, Ben pleasantly surprised as he was used to being the more dominant one in bed, but now you made him as shy and reserved as he could be

Flushed, he just said “No,” whenever you asked if he liked the other Lady and thought she was pretty as you undressed completely, but left him fully clothed, only freeing his aching cock

Straddling his hips, I rode him for the hours left of the feast there like that on the couch, hard, fast, jealous, and angry sex as I was just as obsessed with him now…