#the great thing about this fairy tale is that it's one of the few with an mc who has a character arc

[fictionadventurer]

Coming to the conclusion that the two most valid ways to retell "King Thrushbeard" are:

Good-faith retelling that understands it's not meant a story about humiliation but about learning humility

Screwball comedy

[mee-op]

Facts about in-game Yuu (Twisted Wonderland):

NOTES:

This is an ongoing list and will be updated with new information. I'm not caught up w/ chap 6 and I'm not very perceptive. This list is so long because of all the people who commented/sent asks, so thank you Last but not least, some of these might be a stretch/be slightly incorrect so bare w/ me plz :] More Yuu facts [ ONE / TWO ] <- not mine

They've been good friends with Heartslabyul ever since Book 1.

They're forgiving/don't hold any bad blood with the people who've overblotted (at least on the outside).

According to the Harveston event, they can play the flute.

They don't like mentioning that they might return to their world (Deuce's Wishing Star vignette).

Many people consider them a "goody-two-shoes" (Leona, Ruggie).

A good listener.

Based on Malleus' interactions with them, Yuu talks to him a lot more off-screen as he states that he values their opinions.

Loves Grim to hell and back.

It's implied that Yuu invites Malleus over frequently enough that he visits unprompted.

They can be snarky and brutally honest when they're pushed into it.

Comes up with stupid plans that nobody believes will work but it somehow does.

They're insecure about not having any magic.

They want to be able to help their friends.

Has a sense of self-preservation.

Does not actively seek out danger (*cough* om mc *cough*).

They've cleaned up Ramshackle since living there, however, it still looks "abandoned & ancient" on the outside.

Crowley doesn't give them more money than "needed".

Silver states that Yuu is good with swords (PE Uniform).

Both Jamil and Silver seem to think that Yuu is somewhat weird/strange.

They don't know much about mushrooms (Floyd's Camp Vargas vignette).

They're very patient.

Used to be afraid of ghosts until they got to Twisted Wonderland.

They adapt to new/difficult situations quickly and calmly.

They don't complain much.

Very much so the silent type.

The audience doesn't really see anyone helping them out with their situation, so I assume they fix most of their problems themselves.

They don't have any memories of the Great Seven before coming to Twisted Wonderland.

Fluctuates between being observant and not noticing really basic stuff.

Doesn't hesitate to say cheesy things.

Keeps calm in harsh situations.

They know how to play a blowing horn (White Rabbit Event).

Good with instruments.

Not a very good singer (NRC Uniform).

It's implied that they have high stamina.

They're interested in horseback riding and wants to play soccer with Sebek (PE Uniform).

They recommend a few books to Sebek, implying that they read in their free time.

They're short in comparison to Floyd (he calls them Shrimpy).

Grim comments that they're shorter than Vil.

Crowley mumbles that Yuu looks effeminate.

They're a bit of a romantic since they seem to often ask about love stories/fairy tales (Epel & Jade chats).

They have a habit of poking, tugging, tickling and just touching people in general. This is proven through the Home Screen character interactions.

Their love language seems to be physical touch.

They get scared easily but is bad at scaring others (Halloween voice lines).

Vil notes that their uniform is baggy.

Malleus says that Yuu has gotten better at dancing (Masquerade Event).

It's implied that Yuu is good/decent at cooking since they have to make meals for both themself and Grim every day.

Yuu is decent at basketball (Ace Halloween).

Deuce remarks about a tiny piece of furniture in Ramshackle and asks if it's for Grim, meaning Yuu makes small furniture for him.

They're a good photographer.

Takes part in photography competitions (Rook Port Fest).

It's implied that Yuu carries their ghost camera everywhere because Crowley constantly makes them record events.

It's said that the game cards are actual photos that Yuu took with the ghost camera. [I don't know if this is true but a lot of people have said so]

Most, if not all the characters tell Yuu to hurry up when choosing a class, which suggests that they're indecisive.

Ace, Deuce and Cater tell Yuu to relax during classes or else they'll run out of energy.

Jack says that he got tips from Yuu while he was working in Monstro Lounge, implying that Yuu might've worked in customer service before (Book 3).

According to Grim, they have a hard time saying no to people, but when they absolutely need to-- they're very serious and a bit intimidating. "You're a real sap sometimes, you know that? Then again, when you bare your teeth it's no joke."

While they won't say no to helping others, they prefer to keep to themselves and avoid drama.

Yuu is sometimes a bit distrustful of Ace and thinks he's tricking them if he offers to do anything nice (2024 Player Birthday Greetings).

It doesn't take much to make them happy. (Deuce & Idia 2024 Player Birthday Greetings).

They became nervous when Riddle invited them to a salon for their birthday. Riddle response saying "I'll be right there with you, and will instruct you in etiquette every step of the way."

They're competitive in class-- at least when it comes to Jack (2024 Player Birthday Greetings).

They took chess lessons to try and beat Leona in a match (2024 Player Birthday Greetings).

For their birthday, Yuu asks Azul to get something that's supposedly hard for an average collector to acquire.

They're surprised when Kalim gifts them a pop-up card for their birthday.

They own a pair of fingerless gloves (gifted by Epel).

They personally invited Vil over for their birthday party and made sure to have healthy food options for him.

Not very close with Idia.

Owns a glass tumbler that reads 'Happy Birthday!' (gifted by Ortho).

Lilia gives them a CD with his screamo performances.

They were gifted so many presents on their birthday that they had trouble carrying the gifts around. (Malleus 2024 Player Birthday Greetings).

[blindmagdalena]

All That Glitters

18+ 15.7k words. Dragon!Homelander x F!Reader fantasy au, messy world building, referenced cannibalism, handfeeding, super dubious consent, sexual coercion, monster anatomy, size difference, cunnilingus, breeding kink, dirty talk, marathon sex, mating bond/bite, knotting, tongue baths, virgins, scent kink, overstimulation, body betrayal, fairy tale schmoop. AO3 Link!

Summary: In a world where the only currencies that matter are gold and blood, the gods are lavished with both. Your regions god is a fearsome beast said to reign hellfire from the skies should his appetite not be satiated. When the demand for human sacrifices increases, you make the choice to volunteer yourself, determined to bring an end to the bloodshed, and ascend into the jaws that await you in the old stone tower deep in the woods.

illustration by the ever incredible @anon-nee, who was instrumental to the writing of this fic. see the full piece here! originally written for Monsterlander Mania, but obviously spiraled wildly out of control.

For as long as you can remember, there have always been sacrifices.

Such a thing is not unique to your village. Gods–and the creatures worshiped as such–throughout the world demand all manner of recompense for protecting the lands of those who idolize them. If the slaughter of a single lamb ensures green pastures in which the herd may thrive, few ever think twice before they lift the blade.

Not all townships worship for benevolence, however. Yours has always worshiped for mercy.

For generations, stories of hellfire raining from the sky have been passed by your people. A great, terrible beast with wings as wide as ten men were tall once patrolled the skies above you, wielding power so devastating that not even ballistae firing bolts the size of tree trunks could fell it.

It had a hundred names, each more terrible than the last. Scourge of the Skies, the Red Death, Flame’s Maw, and perhaps most unfortunately, the Devourer. Named as such for the countless lives it began to claim when treasures were deemed an insufficient tribute. Sacrifices were initially sparse, required only every dozen or so seasons. As time went on, the Devourer grew greedier and greedier, with the timespan between sacrifices shortening.

By the time you offer yourself to the council, there has been a sacrifice every month for over a year.

The wagon hardly jostles on this well-trodden road. You imagine it used to be a rougher ride, but with the increase in frequency of travel, it has smoothed. The thought worsens the feeling of icy weight in your stomach. One might think the exquisite fabrics you’re dressed in would bring some measure of comfort–softer than anything you’ve worn before–but the extravagance of them only serves to further alienate you from yourself.

You have become a thing. A finely adorned offering, and the fabric makes your skin crawl for it.

The tree cover breaks, revealing a monolithic stone tower that stands so tall, it splits the sky in two.

The Tower of the Seven. It’s been generations since anyone knew exactly what it was named for, but legend speaks of mythic creatures that were once held in such reverence, this tower was built in their honor. It served as both a temple and home to these venerated beings.

The years have not been kind to it. The stone pillars have become wild with overgrowth, and the air about this place reeks of stale, old death.

It stands now as a graveyard.

Even the horses refuse to venture much further than the threshold of the treeline, forcing you and your attendants out of the wagon to tread the remainder of the trek on foot. The men who walk with you carry short swords, but they serve no practical purpose, their edges having long since dulled. They are not here to protect you, they are as much a part of the ceremony as your fine clothes.

You shield your eyes as you look up at the staggering height of the tower, but swiftly drop your gaze. Best not to think of what awaits you.

On paper, sacrifice seems a simple thing. Slitting one’s throat upon an altar, floating a burning pyre across the river, or feeding the tribute a concoction of sleeping death and burying them into eternal slumber. Murder can be a righteous thing in the hands of a believer, or so they say.

For you, and those who have come before you, martyrdom is not as effortless as lying down and dying for the cause. The tower presents a trial to you. You must willingly climb the hundreds upon hundreds of large stone steps in order to prove yourself a worthy tribute.

Why you must prove your flesh worthy of consumption is beyond you. You’ve never heard of a farmer who sends his cattle to run laps before the slaughter. It seems a petty thing to demand. Perhaps the Devourer has grown indolent and slovenly in its feasting.

It’s easy to dream up nightmarish images of such an awful creature. A legless winged wyrm with a ribbed body, fat and slimy like an oversized earthworm. It would have an enormous maw with hundreds upon hundreds of jagged teeth, its breath reeking of charred flesh and sulfur. Such a wicked beast would stink like the layers of hell. 

Somehow, tormenting yourself like this is an oddly calming distraction. The more nightmarish it becomes in your mind, the less real all of this feels. It’s just a bad dream.

No one speaks as you reach the base of the tower. There’s nothing left to say. You’re one of a dozen in the last year alone these men have ferried to their death. It almost seems cruel to expect eye contact, let alone sympathy. For that reason, it catches you off guard when one of the older of the three, a man named Hector with a thick set of troubled brows furrowed above kind but bloodshot, watery eyes puts his hand on your shoulder, offering a light squeeze.

The last sacrifice had been his own daughter.

In his gaze you find grief and gratitude in equal measure. Neither brings comfort. You return a small nod and move your eyes back to the ordeal that awaits you. 

The tower is like an optical illusion: the proportions make it seem a reasonable size at a distance, but the closer you walk to it, the more mythical a thing it becomes. The archways curve high above your head, sized for creatures of legend, and the head of the building disappears completely into the sky.

In the center of it, a spiraling stone staircase beckons you. The masonry is exquisitely smooth despite the age of it, carved in an era when magic was a hundred times more prolific than it is now. It’s wide and open, the steps so large that you’ll be taking them one at a time. Worse than that, however, is the complete absence of any kind of protective railing.

If you sway, you very well may fall to your death.

At the center of the spiral stands a pile of debris. As you approach, a rustling catches your attention and you freeze, eying the pile warily. The head of a creature suddenly pops up, startling your heart into a thunder, but after a beat you recognize it for what it is: a small fox, its muzzle dirty. The two of you stare at one another for a long moment before one of the men behind you calls out, “Shoo, shoo now.”

Everyone keeps hushed, as if terrified of disturbing what is yet unseen.

Moving closer, you anticipate you might see a dead rabbit, or perhaps a chicken. Anything would have been a more welcome sight than the gnarled half-eaten body of a woman dressed just like you piled amongst the debris. You gasp, both hands flying over your mouth as you stumble a few steps backwards.

For a horrifying moment, you swear you see your own face in the rotten remnants staring back at you with black, empty eye sockets. It’s the hair that gives away the delusion, however, and with a chill down your spine you recognize the sacrifice who came before you; Hector’s daughter.

“Nadja,” the man groans morosely, the weight of grief in his voice palpable. You move away, towards the stairs, and watch with a morbid sort of fascination as the man weeps over the corpse of his daughter, touching her hair and her clothes, the only parts of her not twisted and rotted with death, the body left for maggots and scavengers. It’s sick, nothing like the beautiful and noble gesture sacrifice is always said to be. You look up at the dizzying height of the spiral staircase, following the line of it until the stone disappears into darkness. Did she fall, or was she cast away, having somehow proven herself unworthy?

In a strange sense, watching the men wrap her body in cloth to be carried home feels very much like playing the part of voyeur to your own demise. You stand at a distance, hand braced upon the stone, unable to shake the dread that you’re witnessing a vision of the future. Your future.

No. You will not be left for the insects and carrion-feeders. You turn your back to the sound of Hector’s weeping and, without another world, determinedly begin your ascent one large stone step at a time. Although you feel the men’s eyes heavily upon you, they remain silent, as if already grieving you.

Do not, you think brazenly, skin flushed with unexpected fires that bring your blood to a boil. Do not dare mourn what isn’t dead.

Those flames burn hot enough to carry you easily up the first several floors, indignantly stomping your way. You’ve heard stories of this tower all your life, but nothing could have prepared you for the true scale of it. Most of it is in a terrible state of decay, full of overgrowth and rot that, centuries ago, may have been wood and cloth.

You stop for a breath beneath the remains of what looks to have once been a vibrant mural. You can see trace evidence of beautiful paints, but whatever it depicts has been brutally clawed from the stonework. You lift a hand up high to trace one of the deep gouges in the stone; the marks are spread too far apart for your fingers to reach, but you can make out five distinct patterns nonetheless, like drag marks from a hand three or four times the size of your own.

Beyond the ruined mural, there are statues, too. You pass a grand monument of a woman who stands over seven heads tall wielding a sword of equal might, the statue adorned with steel bracers. You think she might have been beautiful in the same way a frightening storm is, but the head of the statue is long since gone.

On the next floor, you see upon the ground the ruins of a statue of a mermaid–at least, you thought it was. Upon further inspection, however, you see that the statue depicts a man. He has the lower body of a fish and strange indentations along his ribs, just beneath his bare carved chest. He, too, is headless, torso split horizontally, stone strewn across the floor.

This temple must have belonged to these lost figures, their monuments as desecrated as the rest of the tower. Whoever the Seven was, the world has since forgotten.

You wonder if the Devourer did this, defiled this temple to erase whatever history of heroes came before its tyranny.

Ultimately, you only find six statues. None of them have managed to keep their heads, and some are in worse shape than others. You imagine the seventh might have been destroyed entirely. It’s easier to imagine how or why these things might be than it is to focus on how badly your body aches, how you started this venture with the morning sun barely upon you, and yet you barely feel any closer to your destination as the darkness of night encroaches.

Every limb screams for rest. You stop occasionally, but you feel you must not sleep. Was poor Nadja pitched to her death for sleeping through her trial? You’d rather not find out. You’re not even sure if you would wake with the same angry conviction that drives you forward now, climbing step after unforgiving step. It’s gotten colder the higher you’ve gone, too. There’s a chance if you slept amidst the stone, you would turn to it yourself.

“Grant me strength,” you whisper to whomever may be listening. Be they fae or devil, benevolent or malevolent, it would be a boon to know there was some manner of being on your side.

You lean on the wall far from the edge as you ascend the spiral, too nervous of a fall to look over the edge and gauge your progress. A brisk wind chill has begun howling through the tower, whipping your clothing about and biting at your skin. You hug one arm tightly across your chest, bracing against the cold. At this rate, you’ll make for a crunchy meal not just for your bones, but for the frost you arrive covered in.

Your foot slides on something on the step that shifts and clatters. You nearly fall, heart hammering in your chest as you manage to catch yourself. Looking down, you’re shocked to see a pile of shining gold coins spilling down the steps amongst the debris. There is enough wealth discarded on these steps to see a dozen families fed for years and years to come.

You must be getting close. Carefully, despite the tremble running through your body, you shuffle your way through the mess, kicking it aside when you need to clear more of a path. The sound of rubble and gold and the like falling off the edge of the steps makes you flinch, the prolonged clattering of it serving as a reminder of just how agonizingly high you’ve managed to climb.

The familiar flicker of fire light draws a gasp of relief from you, tears gathered in your eyes from the sheer pain of moving your body forward. You can see shadows dancing across the walls, beckoning you from the cold with the barest hint of a warm draft. You’re practically crawling up the steps now, every part of you aching horribly. The tremble in your body is so severe, you worry you would fall to your death if you continued trying to walk through the hoard of treasures that have spilled down the steps.

You practically sob with relief when you reach the final step, limbs quaking beneath you as you haul yourself up onto the top floor and away from the awful railless edge of the spiraling stairs. You bury your face in the fold of your arms. The mixture of relief and exhaustion is so intense, the rest of the world falls away briefly, and the only thing that matters is catching your breath while you all but dry heave on the floor.

“I’ll be damned. I didn’t think you were going to make it,” purrs a resonant, honied voice, snapping you immediately back to reality. You shoot into an upright position so suddenly your head spins, blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear your blurry vision.

Before you rests an enormous circular hall lit with dozens upon dozens of torches. The walls are lined with beautiful arched windows, and the interior is piled nearly to the vaulted ceiling with obscene amounts of coin, weapons, artifacts and similar treasure. Your gaze drifts towards the center of it all, where the source of the voice awaits you.

As it turns out, The Devourer is no oversized earthworm.

Reclined upon a magnificently carved marble throne, you behold a creature made of equal parts man and beast. Even sitting, his stature easily brings him heads taller than you. He is adorned exquisitely in gold embellishments–jewelry and piercings alike–and rich navy slacks, serving as a fine centerpiece to the lavish, untidy wealth that surrounds him. He wears a crown fit for a king, the jewel of it a radiant blue that matches his sharp predatory gaze. His lips spread into a wolfish grin. You’re utterly bewitched by the flash of his fangs.

“Rise,” he orders you, gesturing with a clawed hand that’s easily the size of your head. His rings shine beautifully in the firelight. “And speak.”

Shakily, you fight to climb to your feet. Worm or not, this man–this creature has been preying upon your people for generations. You remind yourself of the countless lives lost, of the mourning families, of Nadja’s desecrated corpse and the sound of her father weeping over the rotten remains of her. You steel yourself. 

“You who the people know as Scourge of the Skies, Red Death,” you begin, blinking rapidly. Your head began swimming the second you stood. You’ve never been so worn out in your life, and though there are flames here that offer a slight degree of warmth, the cold has sunk deep into your bones. As you speak, your vision gradually begins to tunnel. “Flame’s… Maw… and the Devourer,” you address, fighting desperately to stay focused even as he fades in and out of clarity. “I’ve come to pay my village tribute, and to… to…”

The darkness at the edges of your vision thickens. Your words feel heavy and slurred on your tongue. You sway, feeling your own head slosh like a bucket of water, and before you know it, you’re pitching forward, and the world goes black.

That was anticlimactic.

There was a time he would have been met with awe. Reverence. He didn’t expect you to simply black out.

Scourge, Red Death, Flame’s Maw… Maw. He’s always despised that word in particular, and the ugly imagery it evokes. Just a handful out of hundreds of names he’s been called over the years–if you can call them that. Many border on insults, if not are so outright. The most tolerable name he can remember is Homelander.

They called him that in celebration, he recalls. Those were the last of the days he had any care left for them.

He blows a smoky little raspberry as he stands, hands clasping behind his back beneath his wings. His tail sways idly as he approaches, tentatively intrigued by your splayed form. It’s rare that a sacrifice makes it all the way to the top at all, let alone in a single day. The last one only made it halfway before she decided falling to her death was a kinder fate than him.

Truth be told, he should have reigned hell upon their little village for her insolence. Fortunately for them, her display filled him with far more apathy than it did fury. He crouches down near enough to touch, though he hesitates, hand ghosting just over your body. He tilts his head to the side. Your breaths are shallow in your sleep, a slight wheeze to each one. Your body is clearly overexerted.

Delicately, he slips his hand under your cheek to turn your face to him, examining your features. You’re prettier like this, the tension drained from your expression and replaced with peace. Certainly not the worst tribute he’s been offered. You were at least determined to reach him.

The corner of his mouth twitches.

He won’t kill you. Not yet.

Homelander lifts you up into his arms, supporting your comparatively slight form with ease. You feel as frail as any mortal might, but the weight of you in his arms strikes him with a peculiar sense of melancholy. He takes pause, more closely observing the shape of you cradled in his arms, head lolled against his chest. You fit there nicely, small as you are. He can almost pretend you’ve simply fallen asleep in the crook of his arm; somewhere you’ve always belonged.

It’s an intriguing little fantasy. He hasn’t felt the need to indulge in one of those in a long while. He keeps his eyes on you as he walks you to the collection of pelts gathered on the far side of the room, where he lays you down atop them.

What had you been intending to say before you passed out? Your departing words spin round and round in his mind while he looks you over, lowering himself until he’s on his hands and knees above you. Tributes used to come richly adorned in jewelry and glittering things, but such pageantry has long since vanished. He’s surrounded by enough of it that the absence doesn’t bother him anymore.

The glitter of gold hardly catches his eye these days. He doesn’t call for sacrifices to add to his wealth. He only seeks to quell his boredom. Perhaps you will prove useful for this, at least for a time.

Pressing his clawed thumb lightly to your chin, he tilts your head away and leans in, nosing up the line of your throat, lips barely ghosting your soft flesh. He inhales the salt-sweet smell of you, a mixture of sweat, the dusty stone steps you’ve scaled, and the sweet herbal oil bath your kind always receives before you’re sent to him. The blend is strangely intoxicating on you.

It makes him wonder if you taste as good as you smell. Parting his lips, his split tongue spills past them and drags a slow serpentine pattern from your neck to your jaw. Mmm, fuck. You taste better than you smell, the rich oil you were bathed in still clinging to your skin beneath the salty tang of your sweat.

It would be too easy to devour you. He groans quietly at the thought, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He’s known few things more intimate than sinking his sharp teeth into warm, pliant flesh. The feel of a pulse slowing against his tongue. The metallic rush of blood down the back of his throat. He hasn’t craved human flesh the way he does right now in years, yet something in the scent of you has ignited that primal aspect of him. Salivating already, he swallows it away and draws back.

Not yet. He still wants to hear what you were going to say.

It makes him smile to see the goosebumps that have erupted on every inch of your exposed skin. He cocks his head to the side and trails his index claw down the center of your chest, dragging down the pretty white fabric of your sacrificial dress, stopping just shy of the swell of your breasts. More goosebumps there, too.

None of it compares to the sound that you make. In your sleep, your brows furrow, and you exhale a noise somewhere between pain and sheer exhaustion, your small hand brushing his as you adjust against the pile of plush fur pelts. His gaze drops sharply, hand lifting tentatively. After a beat, he sets it down lightly atop yours. Captivated, he watches your whole body respond to his touch, turning and curling in towards him like a flora bending to the light of the sun.

Fascinated by your innate reactivity to him, Homelander lowers himself onto his side next to you. After a beat of hesitation, he encircles your wrist with his thumb and index finger and brings your palm flat to the warmth of his bare chest. A tantalizing shiver rolls through your unconscious form. Just as he had anticipated–hoped?–you follow the feel of him, moving completely onto your side and into him, breathing out a shuddering little exhale while the fire that runs through his veins warms you.

It isn’t enough to stop you shivering, though. Shifting, he spreads out his wing and curls that over you, blocking the draft that spills in from the surrounding windows. Only then does the tension in your body begin to ease, warmth chasing out the chill from your bones.

Homelander smirks, feeling inexplicably accomplished over this mundane little feat. He’s never particularly cared for the comfort of his tributes before; they’ve never served as anything more than playthings and meals. You should be no different. He knows you would be a delectable thing on his tongue, warm and wet down his throat, yet the thought of you in pieces–cold and unmoving–instantly vanishes his appetite.

He wants you in a new way entirely. Against him, with him. He wants to taste more of you, drag his tongue along the plains of your body and see how else you’ll react to him. He wants to find the places that quicken your breath. Would you sing your pleasure for him? He’s barely heard your voice, but already he can imagine it vividly.

You would. You will.

He’s begun to pant at the thought alone, smoke wafting from his mouth, his eyes softly aglow with crimson light. The smell of you has filled his senses so thoroughly he feels intoxicated by it, and between his thighs, his cock has begun to throb. He leans closer and nestles into your hair, inhaling deeply, a rumble leaving him on a warm exhale.

His entire body has taken on the heavy pulse of his heart, alight with the most visceral feeling he’s had in centuries. This is more than hunger, more than carnality–you mean something. Never before has he felt compelled to find pleasure in the frail body of a human, yet his blood sings it voicelessly in the back of his mind, his every instinct screaming one word again and again and again.

Mate.

Homelander had given up on the concept of a mate a long time ago, given that he’s… abnormal. Sterile. As an unnatural creature, there could not be a natural match for him. Someone who would call to his very blood and set it aflame. Yet here you are, seeking him as desperately as he once sought you. Is that why you were able to accomplish what so few before you had, pushing your body so clearly beyond your limits?

A low, possessive rumble leaves him. Reckless.

He pets your hair, testing the texture with his fingers awhile before letting his hand roam down the back of your neck, between your shoulders, up over your hip, down your leg. You’re no longer cool to the touch or shivering. He flattens his palm to your back and closes his eyes briefly. He’s never heard of a dragon bonding to a human before. He wonders if you’ll feel it too, recognize it for what it is, or if your mortality will make you oblivious to the depths of it.

It takes every ounce of his restraint not to shake you awake to find out. 

Instead, he patiently learns the cadence of your heart. He commits your scent to memory, weeding out the natural musk of your skin beneath the herbs and oils you’ve been lathered in. Soon enough he’ll be able to pick you out of a crowd by the thump of your pulse alone, track you down from miles away with nothing but the barest whiff of you. 

Not that he’d ever let you get so far from him now that he has you.

All you’re missing now is his scent. Leaning down, he licks a line adjacent to the one he had prior, and then another, mindful of his horns. The sweet taste of you makes him moan. He spends hours with you tucked in against him, idling away the time by learning your body as well as teaching you his. He nuzzles his cheek lightly against yours just so that he can turn and taste that same spot, something deep and primal in him appeased by tasting himself on your skin. 

“My mate,” he half sighs, half growls. 

He can’t wait to meet you.

Consciousness comes back to you in a gradual slew of sensation. Your fingers twitch, flexing in what feels like a lush, thick pelt of fur beneath you. Your whole body is pleasantly warm, as if you’ve fallen asleep in front of a crackling hearth, the cold of those awful stone stairs a distant memory.

The stairs…

Your eyes snap wide open, your spine going stiff. You’re laying on your back. Something wet and hot is dragging along the exposed skin of your shoulder–your dress pulled askew–in repetitive swipes. Looking down, all you can see is a mess of flaxen colored hair and one long, angular horn, the tip of it adorned in gold. The press of what you can only imagine to be a tongue is unnaturally smooth, as hot as settled coal against your skin. The beast gives a growl, and sharp teeth graze your skin. Your throat feels tight, the scream that bubbles up locked behind the tension of your jaw.

Oh gods, you think, beginning to shake. He’s eating me! 

“Good morning,” purrs a familiar voice, the words vibrating against your skin. He lifts his head from your shoulder, though he doesn’t go far. You half expect to see his maw bloodied with your entrails from all the horror stories you’ve been told, but his grin is as clean as it was the first moment you beheld him. Up close, he’s even larger than you had initially realized. His face is well defined, with strong cheekbones decorated with smooth red scales that ascend into his hairline, where a golden crown sits neatly behind his horns. “Mmm, someone got their beauty sleep,” he says, the words a low, pleased rumble. You’re speechless, watching in bewilderment as he cups your face, hand so large it covers most of your neck, too. “You were out for hours.”

Your eyes dart to your shoulder, where your dress has been tugged down, but your skin appears unmarred. Around you, one of his enormous wings is curved over, shielding you both from the light and the cold beyond. You can’t move your legs, and with a glance, you understand why: his enormous tail is draped across both of them, pinning you in place. You look back at him, eyes wide in fear and confusion. You wonder if he’s been with you like this through the entire night. “You’re… You’re not eating me?”

The broad smile he flashes makes your heart skip a beat. His eyes, though sharp and a shade of blue you’ve only ever seen in the sky, are disarmingly human. Beautiful, even. They crinkle at the corners with what almost looks like fondness.

“No.”

“Why not?” You ask instantly, adrenaline making your voice sharp. “Not that I wish for you to eat me,” you say just as quickly. “But do you not–were you not–” He cuts you off with a noise that you belatedly realize is a laugh, the resonance in his chest so unearthly it gives every sound he makes an inhuman quality. “No, I was not eating you,” he says, sounding far too amused for your liking. “Tasting you, yes. And you do taste divine,” he says, leaning in again. You push your head back into the furs as much as you can, but he moves to the side, bringing his lips to your ear. “I knew my mate would.” Mate?!

Your hands fly up to his chest–gods, he’s as warm as hearth stones–as if to push him back, but you may as well attempt to push an oak tree aside. “What?”

He draws back, glancing down at your hands pressed to the bare skin of his chest before his gaze returns to yours, eyes narrowed in distinct pleasure. “Mate,” he says again, deliberately drawing the word out. “Dragons bond only once in a lifetime. Usually to another dragon. Clearly exceptions can be made, and you, precious little thing that you are… appear to be mine.”

His eyes fall shut, he leans in, and with a lurch of your stomach you realize he means to kiss you, his lips pursed and rapidly approaching. Your own lips part and a noise wholly outside of your control escapes you; a scream so shrill and sudden that it knocks even him back in surprise. 

Blinking several times, he gives you a quick once over, visibly expecting to see you wounded and bloody somewhere. He looks back to your face when he finds nothing amiss. “What?”

“I can’t–I don’t know you,” you blurt out, equal parts flustered and alarmed. You can feel yourself burning up, and it isn’t just from the heat of him against you.

“So?” He dismisses, smiling with an array of sharp pearly teeth. “I’m your mate.”

“Humans don’t have those,” you counter, squirming under the weight of his tail. It’s like he’s draped several sacks of grain across your legs. “My lord Devourer, I–”

He scoffs, tail lifting as he shifts, bringing himself up onto his hands and knees over you, his wing unfurling and allowing the sun to spill in, washing you both in its light. “Homelander. If you must use one of those silly names, use Homelander. I’d prefer beloved, though,” he says with a sly lilt to his mouth.

A shiver rolls down your spine. Along with light, brisk morning air has slipped in between your bodies. 

“Homelander,” you repeat, a name you’ve never heard before. It’s a great deal less menacing than the others, but that doesn’t change the fact that he has been eating your townsman for as long as anyone can remember. “I–”

He takes hold of your jaw with just his index finger and thumb, the rest of his fingers curling lightly over your throat. “You talk too much,” he tells you, eyes hooded and hungry. “Are you going to scream every time I try to kiss you?”

“Maybe,” you choke out, fists clenched tightly in the furs beneath you. He leans closer, tilting his head, his nose barely brushing the tip of yours. “I’ve never been kissed by a dragon before. Like I said, we don’t have m-mmm!”

It happens so swiftly you don’t have time to gather the air to scream. He presses his lips firmly to yours, making a noise so close to a moan that, despite the relative chasteness of the kiss itself, you flush with the indecency of it. It feels… hot. The heat of him is nearly too much to handle, like touching your lips to a hot mug of tea, but there is something intoxicating about it. He uses that heat to mold you to him, pulling you closer, his body sinking down against yours.

You’re too dumbstruck by the whole of the situation to struggle–not that it would accomplish much–which leaves you to simply experience it. His lips are tentative against yours, not harsh or demanding. He coaxes yours with his as if to dance, luring you into something that almost feels good.

Your heart hammers in your chest, his warmth pooling in your belly and spreading slowly through the rest of your body like boiled water poured into a lukewarm tub. He’s immovable, inescapable, and to your dismay, not entirely awful.

 “I want to claim you,” he all but growls against your lips, his other hand clawing slowly down your side, tugging at your dress. 

Your heart leaps painfully against your ribs. “Homelander,” you say, though he’s hardly paying you any mind, kissing your cheek now, your jaw, carving a wicked trail with his lips while his hand dips lower and lower, seeking the bottom hem of your dress. Heart racing, you breathlessly cry, “Beloved!”

That gives him pause. He rears back to look down at you, head slightly cocked, eyes bright and attentive. Your breaths are shallow, pulse pounding in your throat. You swallow dryly. “I’m thirsty,” you tell him, which is no lie. Your throat is so dry it almost hurts to speak. “Horribly. And hungry, I’ve not eaten since yesterday’s breakfast. You mean for me to survive, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” he says, expression twisting like he finds offense in your words. “You’ll want for nothing.”

“Then please. Water?” You push, praying that he is more man than beast.

He regards you quietly, eyes subtly darting back and forth. There’s a petulant kind of impatience to his gaze that catches you off-guard, like a boy who’s been told he has to wait before he gets to play with his new favorite toy. “Water,” he echoes eventually. You nod. He startles you when he exhales a little plume of smoke from his nose, reluctantly lifting himself off of you. The chill of his absence is immediate. “Don’t move,” he says, suddenly looking displaced. You’ve caught him by surprise. Perhaps you’ll survive this yet.

You watch him rise to his full height, standing easily eight feet tall. You sit up, pulling the furs over your legs to combat the cold seeping in. The muscles of his back give a mesmerizing flex as he stretches his wings out, the span of them just as jaw-dropping as his height. He wears furs over his shoulders held in place with thick leather straps that cross over his back and chest, emphasizing his musculature as well as the crimson plating that covers his body. Spines run down the length of his back, transitioning down into a tail that’s even longer than he is tall. It moves along the ground in zigzags, almost like a serpent. You don’t realize how intensely you’re staring until you look back up and realize he’s looking at you over his shoulder, those piercing blue eyes keenly set on yours.

The corner of his mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smirk. Something about his expression makes you feel like you’ve been caught doing something naughty. You drop your gaze. “Back in a jiffy,” he says. You look up just in time to see him step off the ledge, those brilliant red wings fanning out behind him. He disappears so suddenly that you can’t help but gasp, sitting up on your knees. You hear the beat of wings against the air, and then a second later see him lift back up into the skyline, twisting in the air before gliding back down out of sight. 

You sit in stunned silence, listening to the fading thrum of his wings. It doesn’t feel real. You don’t know if this is some kind of twisted game he pulls with every sacrifice, or if you’re truly somehow different. You weren’t entirely expecting him to listen to you, but he did. He’s gone, presumably to fetch you food and water. You don’t know how, but you just commanded the Devourer to not only let you go, but bring you a meal.

In hindsight, you’re a little concerned that it was never specified what kind of meal. As far as you’re aware, he primarily eats people.

Adjusting your gown, you haul yourself up to your feet, crossing your arms in a vain attempt to protect the heat of his body lingering on your skin. When that doesn’t work, you pick up one of the several fur pelts strewn on the floor and drape it over your shoulders, sighing in relief. The pelt still holds some residual warmth; a boon over the lovely but ineffective fabric of your ceremonial gown.

In the light of day, you can make out a great deal more detail throughout the lair. The floor to ceiling archways deter you from venturing too far beyond the center, but still there is plenty to investigate. For example, the throne catches your eye immediately. The size of it makes you feel like a child again, navigating a world not built for you. The masonry of it is exceptionally smooth beneath your fingers, save for a handful of deep, jagged gouges that marr the arm rest. Tilting your head, you realize that you recognize these marks: they match those that you’d seen on the ruined murals.

You trace them with your fingers, connecting them now to the draconic claws that, just moments ago, had so delicately followed the curve of your body. He could so easily tear you apart, and yet in that moment you had never known a gentler touch. You pull your hand back beneath the pelt, feeling a shiver roll through you that has little to do with the morning chill.

Mate. That word sticks in your brain like a wad of gummy tree sap.

Circling the throne, you carefully step around the glimmering mess of gold, silver and jewels that litter the stone floor. There’s so much of it that it doesn’t even look real, stacked over itself like forgotten hay bales left to rot. There is more wealth here than you’ve seen in your life. A single satchel of it would keep you comfortable for the rest of your life, and yet here it serves as little more than clutter. As far as you can tell, it means nothing here.

The Devourer stopped seeking material treasure generations ago.

As you explore, part of you expects to find the corpses of all those who have come before you. Dozens upon dozens of bodies stacked up in varying states of consumption or decay, or maybe a monument built of their bones. You find no such construct, though. In fact, nothing about this place seems put together. You can’t imagine the madness that living like this for a week would induce in you, let alone decades.

To the east, movement catches your attention, startling your heart into your throat. It looks like a silhouetted figure at first, but your brain catches up quickly, and you approach the gently billowing fabric. It’s draped over a statue, giving it the illusion of a person, and your curiosity gets the best of you as you tug the drape down off of it.

You suck in a sharp breath. Once again, you find yourself faced with a legend given form– a painstakingly and intricately carved statue in the Devourer’s perfect likeness. It comes as no surprise that this is the only in-tact statue you’ve seen, but what you don’t understand is why it’s even here. If the Devourer was a usurper, some vicious interloper, why would there be a monument to him in the same vein as all the others?

The plaque beneath it reads: Homelander. Son of the Skies, Protector of the Earth.

Devourer, Scourge, Flame’s Maw–these names are all you have ever known, and yet this is the name carved in stone. He was once worshiped not out of fear, but reverence that you can see in every gentle curve of stone.

What happened?

Shuffling closer to the statue, the discarded fabric gathers at your feet. It’s not quite to scale, but it’s a handsome likeness nonetheless. It’s certainly been cared for more than anything else in this place. You wonder if it’s just vanity or if it’s something less obvious. You trace the smooth stonework, letting yourself get a better look at this version of him that’s less likely to eat you.

Objectively speaking, it’s a handsome visage. The resemblance is uncanny, clearly the work of an intensely skilled mason. His jaw is strong, eyes set forward in unerring determination. Tentatively, you touch the lips of the statue. He’d been so certain that he wanted to kiss you. Just the thought of his closeness and heat makes your stomach erupt in a flutter of butterflies.

Mate.

“I thought I told you not to move.”

You barely hear the full sentence, your own scream ringing loudly in your ears. You move to spin around, but your foot catches on the pile of fabric you had dropped to the ground and suddenly your whole body is pitching backwards, the back of your skull destined for the smooth, unyielding stone behind you. Fortunately for your brain matter, your descent is halted just shy of contact, one familiar clawed hand cupping the back of your neck while the other lands at your back, steadying you.

Homelander stands over you, a curious quirk to his brow. With his hand at the small of your back, his claws press lightly through the fabric, effortlessly upholding your weight. He holds you as if you’ve been caught mid dip in a dance.

“Gods, you scared me,” you say, eyes wide. “I didn’t hear you.” You had been so certain you would hear his return based on the sound of his wings when he’d left, but his approach had been terrifyingly silent.

“Yes, I know. It makes me a very effective hunter,” he says, dipping down to nuzzle at your neck, taking advantage of how the pelt has slipped off of your shoulder. He inhales the smell of you, prickling goosebumps all over your body. “I missed you.”

“You’ve barely been gone,” you reply impulsively, awkwardly trying to adjust yourself out of this arch he has you in. No use. His size makes him impossible to maneuver around, and your foot is still tangled up in the fabric that he’s currently standing on.

He gives another one of those rumbling sighs, drawing back to look at you. “You’re supposed to say that you missed me, too,” he chastises you, and though his tone seems light, you’re sure you see a flicker of impatience or irritation in his gaze. Maybe both. Despite how fearsome the sum total of his features make him, you’re once again caught off guard by his eyes. Though the color of them is icy, there’s a distinctly human warmth to them that grounds you in his gaze.

Still, the last thing you want to do is make him angry.

“Oh,” you croak quietly, realizing he’s actually waiting for you to say it, staring down expectantly while he holds you. “I… missed you, too,” you return stiltedly, unsure your hesitant delivery will be satisfactory. Shockingly, his expression lightens, lips curving into a smile. He lifts you off of your feet, untangling you from the mess beneath you and turning around to set you back down on relatively clear flooring. 

“Good,” he purrs, stroking his hand down the back of your head like he’s petting an animal. He seems determined to touch you, but entirely unaware of how to. He cups the base of your skull and tightens the gap between your bodies, enticing you with his warmth as much as he terrifies you with the hunger in his eyes.

You put your hands to his chest, soaking up the heat of him as you vainly try to maintain an ounce of personal space. “Ah, the–the statue, it’s beautiful. Why do you cover it up?” You ask, the words leaving you in a flustered tumble.

He pauses, glancing over his shoulder, looking at the statue like he’s only just remembered it exists. “Oh, that. Mmm. Don’t always like what he has to say,” he replies, fitting his hand over top of yours, pressing it to his chest. You blink. What in the world does that mean? “You humans chill so quickly. I’ll have to light the hearth next time I leave you,” he says, earning a yelp from you as he abruptly lifts you up into his arms, tail slithering audibly along the floor as he carries you back to what you suppose for all intents and purposes is his nest. His touch instantly warms you to your core, making the fur you wrapped yourself in seem like a thin sheet in comparison. Despite your apprehension, you can’t help the way the tension in your body naturally eases with his warmth. Upon returning to the collection of pelts, you see the fruits of his labor.

Literal fruits, in fact.

Homelander has returned with a small bounty consisting of apples, two melons, and even a handful of peaches, all of it held in a beautiful–albeit aged–woven basket. You don’t get the chance to eat those often; the trees they fall from grow high on the surrounding mountains, and the farmers in your village are content enough with the established agriculture that no one bothers to grow them.

In addition, a tall golden pitcher stands filled to the brim with water. You’re once again hyper aware of just how incredibly thirsty you are, lips dry, throat parched. It’s the only thing you care about, clambering towards it the second Homelander sets you back on your feet.

The pitcher is heavy. It appears made of solid gold and it’s three times the size of any you’ve ever seen before. You don’t lift it so much as you just tip it back slightly, sighing loudly as you drink back the crisp, clear water.  You sputter as the flow abruptly increases, water spilling from the corners of your mouth. Homelander has lifted the pitcher to help you drink, holding it one handed as if it’s no more than a drinking cup, his other hand settled upon your waist. He looks thoroughly pleased with himself, eyes half-lidded, lips gently curved upwards. Once you’ve drunk your fill, you push against his hold and he relents quickly, unnerving you with just how attentive he really is. He sets the pitcher back down and watches you wipe your chin dry.

“Thank the gods,” you sigh habitually, finally not feeling as though there’s grit in your throat with every word.

“I’d prefer you thanked me,” he says coyly, his gaze drifting down to where the water has wet your gown. The fabric clings to your skin, sheer where liquid has touched it.

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry. Thank you, Homelander,” you correct. It’s taking every ounce of your fortitude to speak in full sentences with the way he’s staring at you, let alone the idle way his thumb is stroking your hip. No one has ever touched you with this mixture of ease and clear intent, the weight of his hand practically thrumming against you. The magnitude of him is a difficult thing to parse both in terms of his sheer size and the legend he represents. You don’t know how to reconcile him with the monster you grew up dreading.

No one warned you that monsters could be warm and handle you gently.

“Time to eat,” he says, setting the pitcher back down. He takes hold of both of your hips and pulls you down with him as he sits cross-legged on the pelts, the circle of his legs large enough that you fit perfectly inside it, your own legs hanging out over his crossed calves. His tail loops around as well, encircling him and draping over your legs. The underside of his tail is not unlike the belly of a snake, with large overlapping scales that layer down the length of it. It’s just as warm as the rest of him, and feels like an unnaturally soft stone that’s been baking in the sun.

Reaching over, Homelander plucks one of the peaches from the assortment. It looked perfectly average in the basket, but between his fingers it looks almost comically small. With a deftness that you wouldn’t expect from a creature of his size, he begins to slice through the peach with his blackened claws, delicately cutting out a wedge that he does not hand you, but he instead brings it directly to your lips. 

You stare for a moment, struck by the rich red center of the fruit, how the juice of it drips onto his hand in sweet smelling rivulets. You turn to look at him over your shoulder, and he quirks a brow, nodding towards the slice of fruit. You decide that of all the potential battles you have in front of you, this one in particular isn’t worth fighting, and you part your lips, watching him as you do.

His own lips mimic yours, falling apart in quiet entrancement. He slides the wedge between your teeth and watches with rapt fascination as you bite down on it, holding his gaze in an exchange that feels so unexpectedly raw and intimate, your pulse ticks up a notch. You swear he notices it by the way his head tilts ever so slightly, almost as if he’s listening.

“Good?” He asks, voice little more than a rumble.

Gods above and below, it is good. Despite the preternatural heat of his hand, the succulent flesh of the peach retains the morning chill, sweet and cool on your tongue. It’s perfectly ripe, yielding easily to the cut of your teeth and flooding richly across your tongue as you chew. He feeds it to you until it disappears, pressing the last of it in with his thumb, which then follows the line of your bottom lip, smearing the sweet juice on it. You nod and lick your lips, tongue narrowly missing his thumb, and what that does to his expression makes your stomach flip. 

He’s quick to cut another slice to offer you. You repeat this process in silence, the air thick with tension that feels so palpable you’re sure you could swim through it. The sounds of the world have narrowed entirely to the sound of his claw cutting through the delicate flesh of the fruit and the tip lightly scraping the pit inside it. His hands have a sticky shine to them by the time he’s tossing the pit back into the basket, stripped as clean as a bone. 

You chew your final bite, jaw slowing as you watch him take his fingers into his own mouth. He’s unabashed in the way he slurps the nectar off his digits, tongue slipping between them. That’s when you realize that his tongue splits down the middle, dexterously sliding over his fingers to lap up every drop of juice. Not only that, but you spot a flash of gold; the same kind of piercing he has on his ears. Watching him stirs something hot in you, a radiating heat that lights a flickering pulse between your thighs. You audibly gulp the last of your bite, tensing subtly when Homelander looks at you.

Slowly, his lips curl into a devious smile. “See something you like?”

You flush, fighting the urge to look away. Don’t play into it. Change the subject. “What happened to your last mate?”

His expression shifts to something slightly more incredulous. “There wasn’t one. You’re my first, my last, my only. Dragons only bond once,” he says, that split tongue rolling along his sharp teeth, that gold tongue piercing clicking against them. You wonder where else he’s decorated himself with gold.

Wait, what did he say? Your gaze snaps back up from his mouth to his eyes, which are once more set into that self-satisfied slant. He’s closer to you now, and nearing by the second.

My first, my last, my only.

“But I am no dragon,” you say, leaning away subtly, though there isn’t far to go. He’s got you trapped nicely in place, like a butterfly beneath pins. “How could such a bond form?”

“I’m as mystified as you are,” he says, his hand sliding up the small of your back. “I didn’t think a bond was even possible for me. Apparently there’s something different about you,” he says, and you notice a brief twitch of his lip, a flicker that looks just a touch like disdain. It disappears as quickly as it had appeared. “Something special,” he murmurs, close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath on your cheek. 

Your heart races, your capacity for thought slowly disappearing the closer to you he gets. New subject, new subject! You think, frazzled by the warm spiced smell of him. His hand flexes on your hip, claws prickling your skin through your dress. “Aren’t you hungry?” You ask, eyes darting to the basket full of fruit just to his side.

“Yeah,” he rasps, voice so low you feel it reverberate. His nose brushes your cheek, trailing down from your jaw to your neck. You shiver, and the pulse between your thighs grows into a steady throb. He inhales deeply. “I’m famished.”

The world around you spins and the next thing you know, you’re on your back staring up at the aged banners draped along the stone ceiling, the fur pelts warm and plush beneath you. Homelander pins your arms down at your sides, once more poised on his hands and knees over you. His tongue draws a wet molten line from the collar of your dress to your throat, and you let out a soft, nervous cry as his teeth graze your skin.

Perhaps he’s going to devour you after all. 

Oh gods! Gods, gods, gods, please no!

“Wait, wait! Don’t–please don’t eat me,” you plead in a panic, pushing up against his hands with all of your might. He doesn’t yield at all. You may as well be pushing against the stone walls of the tower itself.

He does laugh, however. It’s that same rumble of amusement that travels through your skin and into the core of you. “For the last time, I’m not eating you. I can smell your arousal, though. Practically taste it in the fucking air,” he says, trailing lower down your chest with every word, brazenly nuzzling the space between your breasts before continuing down. A wave of humiliation rolls through you at his words, and you look away. He releases your arms in favor of sliding his hands up your bare legs, pushing your dress up with them. “I’m just going to have a little lick.”

Frantically, you try to grab at him as soon as your hands are free. “Hold on, stop–”

“Enough!” He snarls suddenly, startling you quiet. You swear for just a moment that his eyes flash crimson. You clutch your hands to your chest. “You’ll not be harmed. Understand? Just… let me,” he says tersely, gaze hard before gradually softening as you silence yourself, watching him with wide, uncertain eyes. Satisfied, he lowers back down.

His sharp claws kiss harmless welts all the way up your legs, up to your hips, where he catches the band of your undergarments. He hooks his fingers over the waistband and drags them down, seeming to enjoy the way you pant and writhe under him, your heart racing.

“Have mercy,” you slip in quietly, squirming beneath the hot press of his hands, though you’re no longer struggling against him. “I’ve never–no one’s ever–I’m inexperienced,” you desperately explain, your mind running wild with what his size will mean for you if he decides he wants more than to taste you–to claim you, as he’d said before.

“Good,” he replies simply, pushing your knees up into a bend on either side of his head. “As you should be. As am I,” he says, turning his head to drag his split tongue in swirling patterns on your inner thigh, moaning at the taste of you.

You grip the pelts beneath you, brows furrowing. You stare down at the top of his head in confusion. “You are?”

“I told you. I’ve never had a mate. I’ve never felt the need to put my cock into what I intended to eat,” he says against your skin, erupting goosebumps all over your thighs. That should horrify you, but you’re instantly distracted by the sheer burning heat of his breath wafting over your wet cunt, a gasp slipping from your lips when he eagerly presses his tongue to it.

His tongue feels as smooth as glass, like liquid in the way it contours to your every curve. The split of it rubs on either side of your clit, massaging it between the two sides in a way that makes your knees shake. “Ffffuck,” he groans, immediately pushing his tongue into you, licking up the wetness of you twice as eagerly as he had that ripe peach.

You buck against him, a moan escaping you. The sound only encourages him to plunge his tongue deeper, that golden stud on his tongue brushing hotly against your inner walls. He drags it up and pushes it flush, half inside you and half grinding against your clit before pushing back in deep. It feels unlike anything you’ve ever known, so much better than your own curious, clumsy fingers. He laves attention on you like he’s starved for it, drinking just as thirstily as you had from the pitcher.

There’s no rhythm to the way he moves, no sense of consistency. He slips his hands under your ass and tugs you forward with ease, lifting you to push his thick split tongue even further inside you, plunging it in and out, growing greedier with every dive. He growls low in the back of his throat, tail thudding repeatedly against the floor. Instead of the little lick he claimed he was after, he’s working himself into an obvious frenzy feasting on you.

“H-Homelander, please,” you keen, his relentlessness rapidly building an unfamiliar pressure within you. He’s as sloppy as he is voracious, the wet sound of him obscene and loud in the enormous lair. His claws bite into your ass where he holds it firmly to his mouth, but he doesn’t seem to hear you. If he does, he’s taking it only as encouragement. 

His tongue touches something inside you that makes your whole body jolt. You grab hold of both of his horns, your back arching as you desperately cling to them. You’re certain you meant to shove him back, to struggle. Instead, your body is ablaze as you yank hard on his horns, hitching your leg over his shoulder and riding his tongue with a shaking gasp.

The pressure bursts, and the wave of euphoria that crashes down on you is unlike anything you’ve ever known. You convulse against his mouth, walls tightening around the intrusion. You don’t recognize your own voice in the sounds you make as he continues to ruthlessly fuck you soaked and open with his tongue, his breaths so hot they nearly burn. The waves of your climax feel like they’ll never end, spurred on by every deep, wet thrust.

“Homelander! It’s too much, Homelander, too much, please, please–beloved, please, I can’t, I can’t,” you beg, desperate to get his attention. You’re on the verge of sobs when he finally withdraws his long molten tongue from you. You suck in a shuddering breath, releasing his horns and collapsing back against the pelts, sweat prickling along your hairline.

However, your shallow breaths are nothing compared to the sound of Homelander’s ragged panting. He looks entirely wild, smoke billowing from his mouth and nose, his cheeks flushed a dark red, the lower half of his face shiny with a mixture of your slick and his own drool. He takes his hands from under you and yanks the sash around his waist loose, dropping it to the side. Reaching behind him, he unfastens his pants.

Your mind is still a haze, but even through the delirium, you’re shocked by what you see when that rich navy fabric falls from his waist: his cock is as large as the rest of him, thick and dripping. The underside of it is strangely ribbed, a feature you’re certain is to be attributed to his draconic nature. Not only that, but he’s adorned in gold here, too, with a ring pierced into the head of his cock and studs between each ridge. Your eyes widen.

It’ll never fit.

Nevertheless, he looks entirely undeterred. Homelander adjusts himself between your legs, eyes thoroughly glazed over with lust, and presses his nearly scalding palms to your inner thighs, pushing them into a wide spread and down to the ground. Arousal and fear lance through you like a twin bolt of lightning.

“H-hold on,” you stutter, lifting a trembling hand. “I–” Bending over you, he silences you with a firm kiss. You press your hands to his chest and feel it thrumming beneath your palms, the heat of him more intense than ever. You can’t help but moan softly into it, overtaken by the smell of sex and something akin to burning incense. His tongue slips as deftly into your mouth as it did your cunt. Even after having felt it inside you, it’s thicker in your mouth than you’re prepared for, sliding in deeper, like he means to fuck you with it here, too.

It wholly distracts you until you feel a heavy, blunt press to your wet cunt. You make a half-hearted noise of protest, but his only answer is a low rumbling growl, claws biting into the meat of your thighs as he holds you still, effectively gagging you on his tongue.

His cock is as hot as the rest of him, but a great deal more solid than his malleable tongue. The thickness of it slowly spreads you wide, an aching pressure. You’re not sure if the burn of it is from the stretch or the heat, but either way it’s driving you insane. It’s hot and painful and good, frictionless with how thoroughly he soaked you, and despite your nerves, your cunt is loose with orgasm. It’s as if your body, independent of your mind, is eager to welcome him in.

You make a keening noise, the sound of it muffled in this devouring kiss. You grab hold of the leather straps across his chest and yank on them, twisting at them, but nothing takes your mind from how intense it feels to be split apart on the fat head of his cock.

The sounds Homelander makes in response are downright bestial, low and rumbling from his chest. Your only relief is when the widest swell of his cockhead finally breaches you, just the tip of it settling perfectly inside you. You cry out when he gives an exploratory backwards pull, and then shivers as he begins to rock gently, breathing heavily from his nose as he fucks you with nothing more than the head of his cock.

You’re starting to feel lightheaded, pitchy little noises leaving you with every exhale. Homelander sharpens his pace, breaking the kiss with a loud, carnal moan as he tips his head back. He’s barely even inside you and yet the girth of him is overwhelming, the ridges of his cock stimulating you in ways you didn’t know possible, the fat curved head rubbing against that same spot inside you that his tongue had previously made you see stars with.

Thoroughly overwhelmed by the incomprehensible assault of sensations, tears gather in your eyes. That pressure is building back up in you once more, starting at the base of your spine and slowly crawling up it. Desperate to tether yourself, to feel connected, you move your hand from the strap at his chest and touch his face. To your surprise, that instantly snaps his attention down to you, his beautiful blue eyes lost in a crimson glow.

Homelander meets your gaze, some level of cognizance returning to him, and whimpers, something hidden and vulnerable escaping in that exchange. He bends down, his nose brushing yours, and rests his forehead against yours while his thrusts grow more and more erratic, but never deeper. He fucks you in shallow, jagged snaps until finally that mounting pressure overwhelms you and you come again, simultaneously squeezing him into his own sudden release. 

The flood of him inside you is burning hot, spilling into your core even from here, and he practically roars with it, burying that loud primal cry into the crook of your neck while his body stills, releasing pulse after pulse of thick, hot seed into you.

His breath billows hotly across your neck, the burning scent of him thick in the air. Your mind is so addled by your own euphoria that it takes you time to realize he’s speaking, fervent murmurings against your skin. “M’sorry, still, be still, I’m–don’t move,” he rasps, fractured little noises leaving him in between his words. You choke on your own breath when he sinks in, working you open slowly, shivers pitching up and down your spine. Gods above, he isn’t done.

Surely he doesn’t mean for you to take all of it… Does he?

You moan weakly, pushing your hand up into his hair and grabbing hold, which elicits a rumbling sigh from him in return. It’s silkier than you expected it to be. “Too big, it’s too much, it’s not–it’s not going to fit,” you pant out, screwing your eyes shut tight. While his release had initially softened him some, you can already feel his cock filling back out. Every bit he slips in further, you feel the mess of his release being forced out of you, come dripping down your thighs, slicking the way for the rest of him.

“It will,” he says at your ear, kissing the spot just below your earlobe, then your neck, his tongue slipping out to taste the sweat there before he kisses that same spot. He’s set upon you like an animal, lost to the drive of instinct, determined to fulfill his promise to claim what is his. “It will because it must. Because it’s yours. Because you’re mine.”

Homelander releases a breathy whine, sounding just as overstimulated as you are, nuzzling at your throat while he slowly works his way deeper, practically vibrating with restraint. He sounds as overwhelmed as you feel, but he refuses to stop, to lose. He holds you in place, growling whenever you squirm or struggle against him. The feel of it is dizzying, unbelievably hot and heavy, like fire given form, filling you in ways you didn’t know were possible. You’re feeling it again, the slow rise of that carnal pleasure building to an inevitable climax, and your whole body trembles with it.

You make a desperate keening noise, and Homelander hushes you, kissing your shoulder. “Sshhh, good, you’re doing so well for me. Don’t move yet, it’s almost over. You were made for this, for me. You feel it, don’t you? How easily your cunt opens to me. Nnngh, hah… Fuck, you fit me. You fit me. You do, and you always will,” he pants, voice hitching.

He slides his hands from your thighs to your waist, the press of his claws just shy of painful. With one final move, he lets out a quaking moan as he pulls you down onto the last of it, finally burying himself completely in your snug, come-soaked cunt. 

The fullness of it breaks you–snapping the last tether that was holding you in place–and you come again, your velvety walls seizing up around him impossibly tight before spasming your pleasure around every vein, ridge and piercing he has. You can feel the shape of him so viscerally that you’re sure your body will remember it, carved out in the shape of his cock forevermore.

He cries out with your release, a reverberating sound that you feel all the way down to the marrow of your bones. You don’t know if he’s more in pleasure or pain, but he makes no move to retreat. Instead, he brings you that tiny bit closer, pressing every inch of your body to his. He rides out your pleasure, panting a wet spot into the crook of your neck.

Tears roll from your eyes to your temple, disappearing into your hairline as you breathe roughly. You’re overwhelmingly hot, oversensitized and raw, but as the aftershocks of your orgasm fade, your body steadily loses that quiver. You feel as if you’re melting down into the furs, struggling to even keep your eyes open as a gentle ecstasy sweeps over you.

Once he recovers enough, he lifts himself up onto his hands, and then sits  back onto his legs, his hands on your hips to lift you partially into his lap to keep himself buried deep, hitching your legs around his waist. His eyes are completely glazed over, lips parted around heavy, hungry breaths. He doesn’t look at all sated. If anything, the look of his desire has only intensified, despite his obvious sensitivity. Sliding his hands up your body, he pushes your pretty white dress all the way up over your head, tossing it to the side so that he may finally see all of you.

“Look at you,” he breathes, voice utterly frayed. He stares at you as though you’re a vision sent from the gods, a nymph plucked from the heavens and nestled snugly upon his cock. His hand sweeps down your stomach, settling low on it, where he lightly presses down. You both moan with the pressure, with how keenly you both feel it. “Told you it would fit,” he says, but his voice is not smug. There’s a breathless wonder to it, like he’s awestruck by the look of your body against his.

His tongue rolls out to sweep along his lips. He opens his mouth, and you can see threads of saliva snapping between his sharp teeth, his mouth wet with hunger. He continues to reverently stroke your stomach, his large splayed hand easily covering the expanse of it. “You’ll make a beautiful mother,” he says, a concept you don’t even know how to begin to unravel, but the way he says it makes you feel worshiped. “Perfect. So fucking perfect for me,” he says, a shudder in his voice. His crimson wings spread and curve in on either side of you, the hooked tips of them bracing on the stone floor.

“Mother?” You slur belatedly. You feel dizzy, your body as warm as burning coals and tingling all over. He lifts your legs one at a time, bringing each one up parallel to his chest. They hook over his shoulders as he leans forward, wasting no before time kissing you. His wings support his weight while he grips your thighs, squeezing possessively.

“Mother,” he confirms between kisses, bending you practically in half as he begins to rut against you. He’s not thrusting so much as he’s grinding into you, wringing a low moan from you. “You want that, don’t you? I’ll keep you safe. Feed you. Fuck you. I’ll take care of you, be yours, and you’ll be mine, won’t you? Sweet little thing, fucked happy and heavy with my children. Tell me. Tell me you want that.”

“Yes,” you moan, kneading the furs on either side of you. He paints a beautiful picture in your mind of fresh fruit, crisp water, and this dreamlike pleasure for the rest of your days. Beneath him, any thoughts of the world outside this moment melt away. There’s only the two of you, resplendently warm and living amongst the clouds. “I want it. I want–I want you,” you say, touching either side of his face. He leans heavily into your touch, his eyes falling shut. A soft noise that sounds like relief escapes him as you kiss him, coaxing that long, clever tongue out to meet yours.

The eagerness with which he reciprocates nearly chokes you, his tongue slipping over yours and halfway down your throat before pulling back, practically devouring you in this kiss. In your fever, this consuming passion feels so much like love it makes your head spin, makes you forget where, when and who you are.  He breaks the kiss to moan unabashedly,  shifting to put his lips to your throat, mouthing at your skin like he’s trying desperately not to sink his teeth in. The thought thrills you. You almost want him to.

“Again,” he pants, grip tightening on your thighs. “Say it again, please.”

“I want you,” you say again, more certain now. The desperation in him is disarming, and despite the animalism of him, you can clearly see the man in him now, hear it in the way he pleads for you to indulge him. That and the euphoric spill of pleasure electrifying your every nerve imbues you with some kind of sense of power, and however misplaced it may be, you immediately feel drunk on it. You can feel your body beginning to build back towards that ultimate swell of euphoria again. “I want to be yours. I want you to be mine.”

He groans, dipping lower to suck a mark at the junction between your neck and shoulder. This time, when you feel the brush of his teeth, you don’t shy away. You cup the back of his head and drag your nails down his scalp. Homelander thrusts his hips jaggedly, wringing a throaty gasp out of you. “Keep talking,” he demands, but you hear the plea for what it is.

“You feel good. Y-you fit,” you say, echoing his own words, though it’s getting harder to speak with the way he’s starting to fuck you in earnest, just barely withdrawing before he drives back in, as if he can’t bare to be more than an inch outside of you.  You moan for him, chasing the bliss swelling rapidly between your legs.

Wait… Something really is swelling.

“What is that?” You ask, voice reedy. You whimper. Somehow, it feels as though he’s getting bigger. “What’s h-nnngh, what’s happening?” Your words are starting to slur together again, your mind split down the middle between your mounting orgasm, and the surreal feeling of the base of his cock growing inside you.

“Knot,” he explains between swipes of his tongue. “Keeps every drop of me inside you,” he says, giving a shuddering moan as that swell catches on the rim of your cunt when he tries to draw back. Just when you thought you had adjusted, that swell makes you ache, has you whimpering and squirming under him.

He could have told you it would get bigger!

“Oh gods, it–mmm, I’m–it feels–” You stop and start again and again, writhing, but he keeps you firmly in place, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh loud in your ears as he fucks you harder and faster, spurred on by the quiver of your cunt as your own climax nears.

“Come for me again. Show me that you want it. I want to feel your pretty little cunt squeeze my cock for my come,” he urges, voice reduced to a rough growl in your ear. He sounds like he’s barely holding himself together, every word more strained than the last. “Give it to me. Give yourself to me.”

The tug of his swollen knot bouncing off of your rim and the feel of his thick ridged cock massaging your walls completely overwhelms you. “Y-yes, okay, I’m–oh gods, gods, I’m–I’m coming, Homelander, Homelander!” You call, lips falling open on a silent scream as your throat locks up, a third orgasm crashing down on you with a force that knocks the air out of your lungs.

Homelander muffles his own cry into the crook of your neck, stilling halfway through your orgasm with one final slam. This time, the rush of his release is pressed tightly against your cervix, pooling inside you with nowhere to go, his knot doing precisely what he said it would. The heat of it fills you in hot, rushing spurts, his cock jerking against your spasming walls with every load he empties into you.

A sudden stinging pain makes you gasp, confusion seeping into the euphoria that has thoroughly addled your brain. Fuck, you realize he’s biting you. His teeth sink in as smoothly as a knife through fresh butter, the sting giving way to the sheer heat of his mouth, the stroke of his tongue, and the inexplicable way it intensifies your orgasm.

The room falls deafeningly quiet save for the pound of your own heart in your ears and the heavy way you’re each catching your respective breath. Your arms fall bonelessly to your sides as you pant, your vision slightly blurry. Homelander begins lapping at your shoulder, soothing the spot he’d bitten. Your whole body feels heavy, stuffed fuller than you ever could have conceived possible. All you can do is whine as he adjusts you, gingerly bringing your legs down to settle on either side of him.

You’re not sure how you’ll ever get off of his cock now that you’re on it. His knot feels like a permanent part of you, fitted so snugly that, just as promised, you don’t feel a single drop spill.

Homelander doesn’t stop at your neck. He drags his tongue down to the dip of your clavicle, where it splits apart slightly anywhere it moves over bone. It feels surreal, but somehow different from the first time you woke to him licking you. For starters, you’re not terrified he’s going to eat you. That has an entirely new connotation now.

He moves down further, slinking down into the valley between your breasts, sighing as he pushes them together to lave his tongue between. He’s languid, practically purring with each breath as he savors the feel and the taste of you. You don’t have it in you to feel much more than exhausted, your limbs as heavy as stone, but it does feel good. Your breath catches when he opens his lips around one of your nipples, sucking almost half of your breast into his preternaturally hot mouth. His pierced tongue swirls over your nipple while his teeth flex precariously against the tender flesh. You lurch, letting out a breathy noise.

“Careful, please,,” you exhale, earning a glance up from him. His eyes are completely glazed over, soft and dark in a way that takes your breath away. He hums quietly in some weak acknowledgement before his eyes flutter closed, his throat bobbing with every swallow as he sucks your breast with unexpected gentility.

Watching him stirs a wash of strange feelings in you. With what little strength you have, you bring your hand up to touch his horn, contemplating the texture of it beneath your fingers. You follow the line of it down to his skull, tracing his hairline just beneath the crown that adorns his head, slipping behind his sharply pointed ear. He’s truly incredible to behold up close like this, beautiful without the lens of terror you had been viewing him through.

On some level, you know you should still be afraid, but it’s a difficult feeling to muster when he’s warm and lax on your chest with his cock buried inside you, suckling on your breast as you’re still riding the high of three consecutive climaxes.

You push your fingers into his flaxen hair. You’ve never seen hair this color before except in very young children. In your experience, age always darkens it away to a sandy color, but his is as bright and warm as sunshine. There doesn’t seem to be any part of him that isn’t golden. He exhales a deep sigh as you run your nails along his scalp, nuzzling sweetly against you. You smile despite yourself.

Who would have thought that a dragon might be so very much like an overgrown house cat?

When Homelander lifts his head, his tongue is the last to leave, returning to his mouth with a wet slide across his lips. He’s left your skin shiny with saliva, but he isn’t finished. He immediately lowers himself to your other breast, taking it into his mouth in precisely the same way. You bring your other hand up into his hair and continue to massage his scalp, earning yourself an appreciative little moan from low in his throat, his tail sliding audibly back and forth on the stone floor.

The two of you lay like that for an indeterminate amount of time. You drift in and out of consciousness, worn thin and soothed by the heat of his body seeping into your muscles, fairly certain you’ll never be able to sit up on your own again. Homelander eventually releases your breast with a soft pop and settles his head on your sternum, narrowly avoiding taking one of your eyes out with his horn. You continue to stroke through his hair as your strength gradually returns.

The swell of his knot, too, lessens, but even soft his cock fits snugly inside you. It isn’t until Homelander gingerly lifts himself off of you that it slides out, coming free with a significant gush that soaks your thighs and puddles beneath you. You flush, making a strained little noise. You feel carved out and left hollow by the sheer size of him. His wings withdraw and tuck in behind him while he sits back on his legs to admire the splay of you beneath him. 

“You’re beautiful,” he says, smoothing his hands up and down your thighs. You’ve never felt as exposed as you do in this moment, laid bare under his gaze. Even now, visibly drunk on pleasure and thoroughly satiated, there is an undeniable lingering famine in his stare. He sinks down and slowly spreads your legs apart, leaning in to run his tongue up the crease of your inner thigh. He laps languidly at your skin, earning hitched little breaths and sounds from you as his tongue deftly cleans the mess he’s made of you. He’s much more tame now than he had been, focusing not on overstimulating you, but simply washing you. It’s a strange and animalistic thing to do, but it’s intimate, too. Sweet, even.

Gods, he’s really done a number on your psyche.

Once he’s satisfied with the state of you, he climbs back up and settles on his side, looking at you with his hand poised over you, hovering like he isn’t sure what to do with it. His expression starts to shift, concern seeping into it. “You’re quiet. Did I hurt you?”

You huff a little breath. You’re quiet because you’ve just been fucked within an inch of your life by a dragon’s cock, but aside from that, of course he had. “You bit me, for starters.”

He turns somewhat sheepish at that. “Instinct. I wanted to mark you.”

“You succeeded,” you say, touching your shoulder tentatively.The skin is still raw, but it isn’t bleeding. It doesn’t even feel like it’s going to scab. 

You must wear your confusion plainly, because Homelander is quick to explain: “I sealed the wound. It should be fully healed by sundown.”

“How did you seal it?” You ask, bolder now with how you touch it. It feels like simple indentations, a perfect mold of his teeth.

“My saliva has particular properties. There was a method to my debauchery,” he says, pointedly licking his lips.

You suppose that’s far from the most miraculous thing about him. “That’s convenient,” you say, to which he smiles. It’s bizarre how easily this comes now. You’ve heard of breaking the tension before, but this is certainly the most intense way you’ve ever broken through that initial barrier to more casual conversation. 

Seeing that his hand is still hovering over you, you make a choice and take it, pulling it down to settle on your hip. Relief and excitement flash in his eyes in equal measure, and he takes that as permission to tuck you the rest of the way against him, settling on his side. He rests his head in his palm, propped up on his elbow. You curiously explore the plains of his chest with your fingertips, testing where flesh meets scales. They feel almost like bone, crimson colored protrusions that catch the light as prettily as rubies. They’re smattered along his body in the same way a human might have moles or birthmarks, incidental and seemingly without rhyme or reason.

His ribs are guarded by stiff plates that aren’t as solid as the scales, but look to serve as hardy protection. You let your fingers swoop down the ridges of them, comparing the textures along different parts of his body. It’s fascinating.

“I’ve never seen anything like–” you begin to pull your hand away as you speak, but Homelander takes hold of your wrist, bringing it back to his chest.

“Don’t stop.” You look up at him. His expression catches you off guard. He looks wounded, those fiercely blue and ever human eyes of his intensely focused on you. Swallowing, you nod. He lets go, and you begin to traipse your fingers along his chest again, following the line of the leather straps that cross over it. He lets out a heavy breath. “No one’s ever touched me like this,” he tells you after a long few beats of silence. “Not that I can remember.”

You glance up at him, but he’s staring down at your small hand tracing patterns on his chest. “What happened to this place?” You ask, because that seems politer than asking what happened to him.

“Guess it’s been too long for anyone else to remember. They’re all dead,” he says, the mood of his words difficult to discern. He inhales a contemplative breath, clicking his tongue at the end of it. “Time happened. I used to be something else to my people. I was… war. I brought fire down on their enemies, and they loved me for it. I won them their home. Homelander. There were others like me, but I was the best of them,” he says with conviction, though you sense bitterness in his voice, too. “When all the wars were won, they built this tower. They built monuments to their gods, and they placed us here with them as though we ourselves were relics.”

The end of his tail has begun to slap lightly against the ground. You can feel a slight uptick in the heat of him beneath your palm. 

“They placated me with gold. Adorned me in it. At times they would summon me to festivals. Use my strength to build their stone cities, but they didn’t celebrate me. They had forgotten their love. They treated me as you would any other tool. Something to be taken off the shelf for work and put away when the task is done.”

The seething resentment is more clear in his voice than ever. While you didn’t ask it, it seems he understood what you really wanted to know. You’ve never heard this story before; The Devourer had only ever been a tyrant upon the people. No one ever spoke of a Homelander. No one ever spoke of a hero.

“When treasure failed to keep me impotent and obedient, they tried meat instead. They sent me livestock, as if the simple act of killing a cow would satiate me,” he snarls through his teeth, smoke wafting between them. He sucks it back, tipping his head up slightly in a bit to regain his composure.  “They thought they could control me indefinitely. Out of sight, out of mind. It worked for too long, but only because I allowed it. Because I thought things would change. They never did. So I took their gold and their cattle and their crops and demanded more still. I demanded until they couldn’t ignore me any longer. When they failed to provide, I reigned fire down on them as I did their enemies two hundred years ago, and I gave them no choice but to look at the monster they made.”

His tail cracks like a whip against the stone floor. His anger is so visceral it makes your heart race, but there is more in his gaze than just fury. You feel as though you’re watching him rip apart the stitching over a wound that has been festering for far too long. “After that, they sent people. Simpering peasants who had no fucking idea who or what I really am. They bathed them in oils like slaughtered lambs basted for roast,” he growls, the blue of his eyes fading into an eerie crimson glow. “So I did. I devoured them, and I spat their own blood in their faces. If they wouldn’t have me as a man, they would have a beast instead.”

The Devourer.

You sit in stunned silence, watching as the glow of his eyes gradually fades, though his temperature remains the same. He looks at you, his expression braced, as if he anticipates a specific reaction. Rejection, you suppose. It seems to be the only thing he’s known for centuries. Within his gaze, you recognize a profound need to connect, to feel you, to hear that there might be a single soul in this gods damned world that wants him.

What does one say to such a story? The anger in his voice strikes such a wounded chord, you can practically smell the blood. The rawness of it alone makes your eyes prickle with tears, a lump gathering in your throat. How warped he has become not for the absence of love, but the deprivation of it. It’s clear in the way he speaks of them how desperately he wanted them to still love him.

“I’m sorry,” you say so quietly it’s a wonder he hears you. His expression flips completely, morphing into bewildered surprise.

“What?” His voice sounds small.

“I’m sorry that they abandoned you.”

If his own words are a knife in the wound, yours twist it deeper. He flinches like he’s been struck, staring at you with such bruised incomprehension. He opens his mouth to speak, but it’s as though he doesn’t even believe what you’re saying enough to formulate a response. He kisses you instead, holding your jaw in his claws. “I was good once,” he says against your lips, voice hushed as if he’s confessing a far graver sin. “I’ll be good for you. Let me be good for you.”

The desperation in his voice sets loose your tears. You nod, kissing him just as fervently. Centuries of bloodshed on the back of willful neglect is difficult to stomach, but you believe him. You believe the love that went into this tower–this beautiful prison–that they made for him, and you believe the love that you saw in his face carved in stone. You have no doubt that the wonder of him once inspired all those who beheld them, and that they were fickle enough to grow weary of him. Desensitized and disinterested.

When he rejected their apathy, they rejected his humanity.

Homelander lifts you up into his arms, sitting up, kissing you properly with a hand cupping the back of your head, his arm around your middle. His wings curve in around you, and he kisses you until your lips turn sore and you have to protest, your words melting into muffled laughter. He draws back with a brilliant grin. It’s different from the others you’ve seen; it’s the kind of smile that brings deep warmth to his eyes, crinkling them at the corners. He lingers close to you, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“I stopped believing a long time ago that you could be real,” he murmurs, unable to stop himself from stealing another quick kiss, his nose purposefully brushing yours. He’s thoroughly starved for every little touch.

“I am. So are you. Not the Devourer, the Scourge, nor the Red Death,” you say, tucking back the stray locks of hair that have fallen over his crown. This, too, had been carved for him. He had been loved once, and as he said, he had been good. There is love in you enough to help him find that goodness again. There’s no reason you cannot live for the being you intended to die for. “Just you. Just Homelander.”

He kisses you, and suddenly you feel as if you’re free falling. From this point on, your life is something new. Something inexplicable and unpredictable. It’s yours, but it’s also his.

All that glitters is not gold, and sometimes the monster in the dark is just your reflection.

phew. thank you SO much for reading. this fic took me almost a full month to write, and it often felt like it was never going to end. that said, i'm already kind of chomping at the bit to write more in this universe. i feel like these two have a ton of potential, and there's just so much more that i want to do with them now that we have the groundwork done. once again, a huge shoutout to the amazing artist @anon-nee, who not only illustrated our dragon boy himself, but these awesome environment sketches as well. please be sure to go give them some love! The Tower of the Seven

The Dragon's Lair

[mammomlette]

OBEY ME YOUNGER BROTHERS AS SOULMATE TROPES!

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3(WIP rn)]

Includes: Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Belphegor, GN!Reader/MC

Warnings: Spoilers for lesson 16 in Belphies (not explicitly said but obvious foreshadowing for a twist), implied manipulation (Belphies) (not sure if that needs a warning but better safe than sorry)

Notes: I’m still quite new to fanfics and Tumblr, and honestly just writing in my free time in general so constructive criticism is defo encouraged!! Also I won’t lie to you, Satan did seem a tad ooc erm…

SATAN: writing/drawings on hands appear on eachother

* As soon as you turned 18, you noticed small phrases and notes appearing on your right hand

* It started off with small things like “page 562” or “British shorthair.” Just things to keep as a reminder or to be able to search it up later

* However, as time went by, the notes became a bit more… concerning

* Concerning book quotes from old literature, sometimes in other languages, and nefarious plans to prank someone called ‘Lucifer’

* Your soulmate plans to prank the devil himself. Haha. What a great idea.

* You brushed it off for a while, appreciating the occasional cat fact or chapter reminder and just ignoring the angry words about Lucifer.

* Eventually, you began to build up the courage to respond. Small things relating to things your soulmate wrote, like cat doodles (good or bad as your art skill may be) or going over the writing of the reminder when you notice it started to fade

* Not knowing if it was your place to write down your own notes or just not quite having that amount of bravery, you still did those little things to let your soulmate know that hey, you’re there and you’re always reading what they have to say.

* Satan thought he was hallucinating.

* Thousands of years spent just jotting things down to remind himself of things at a later date, frequently on his hand, and suddenly things started to change?

* He had wrote “British shorthair” on his palm in hopes of being able to look it up later, and a few minutes later he looks down to his palm to search it up and sees a… cat?? It’s really not clear. It’s round, with two points on the top of its head… yeah thats a cat.

* He’s become so obsessed he’s hallucinating badly drawn cats, which is probably a cause for concern, so naturally he confides in his brothers about this and is comforted that no he’s not hallucinating, however cats are just randomly appearing on his hand.

* They continue to appear, circles with two triangles, some looking better than others and some with more odd features likes birthday hats or weird outfits

* He finally decided to read up on what could be happening and was quickly met with the term ‘soulmates’

* He had heard of this a long time ago from one of his brothers while he was still young (for a demon) and brushed it off as a fairy tale. Why had his soulmate only started communicating with his just now?

* He moved on eventually and time passed, a new human being introduced to his home and his family.

* It took an embarrassingly long time to realise that his human was also his soulmate, it wasn’t until you were both just chilling in his room and you were doodling something next to some words on your arm that he noticed a cat appearing on his own arm.

* “Look! The cat thing is happening!” He shouted, a lot more emotion out into it that he would’ve liked due to the sheer shock

* You stopped what you were doing and look at his arm, the cat drawing having ceased its being drawn while you stared at the cat, face turning into shock and then seriousness. Because that is the cat that you just drew.

* “Satan.” You said, just staring into his eyes without any expression

* “Yes, MC?” He responded, worried at your monotony. His mouth then gaped open and you showed him your arm, cat half doodled next to the words “page 236, sticky notes needed”

* You both just made dead eye contact for a second before your eyes both began to flick back and forth and your lips slowly started to quiver

* Both of your sweet laughters filled the room, how ironic that such a common book trope would be what flew under Satan’s nose for so long.

ASMODEUS: soulmate telepathy

* Ever since you turned 18, you had been hearing a voice in your head.

* Not necessarily in a concerning way! In the way it happens when you and your soulmate have both turned 18 and can finally communicate.

* At first, you thought that you were hearing things. Things like “Ooo, this would be a great touch to my outfit! ♡” and “Can’t believe my bath wasn’t 3 hours long today…” flooding your mind. Since when were you SO picky about your clothes and hygiene, even when not in the process of dressing or washing? And since when were your baths 3 hours?

* Quickly though, you realised that this voice wasn’t your own. It was a melodic sounding voice that felt like honey and most definitely did not belong to you.

* You had heard from your family growing up and your friends recently that once you had become an adult you would be able to communicate with your soulmate through your thoughts, proof of the bond your souls shared, thoughts intertwining together.

* You found that whenever you were deep in thought and rambling to yourself you’d be met with a “hon, slow down” in your mind or that whenever you were trying to figure out an outfit your soulmate would chime in to offer their expert advice without hesitation

* No hesitation at all, because Asmo had waited his entire life for this.

* Thousands of years of life believing that he had no soulmate, destined to forever be a player

* So long spent reading and gushing over cute romance stories where soulmate meet and finding comfort in romcoms about that very topic, and here he was finally with his own soulmate in his mind

* The way you would thank him for his advice before his mind went quiet from your thoughts again until you later told him how well everything went and the way you would ramble internally to him without even realising you were connected to his mind made his heart flutter, even without your face your voice and soul were beautiful

* One day he had been summoned alongside his brothers to the student council room to welcome the new human exchange student. It was a hassle that could be spent doing something more productive like his skincare or extra time in the bath, but he was still just so excited he had to tell you how excited he was to meet the new human!

* “New human?” You thought, but had no response from your soulmate before you appeared inside of a council room in front of 5 attractive strange men.

* You panicked and were kind of in autopilot mode as a tall man in all red introduced you to your situation and a slightly-less-tall man in black started to introduce you to his brothers

* You still had small responses in your shock, and a certain demon recognised your voice.

* You were immediately snapped out of autopilot when you heard the voice of the second brother you were introduced to, an admitted handsome man with slightly-pink-tinted light brown hair and stunning orangeish eyes said “Oh come now. Really? You should be that you get to introduce such a sweet and charming little brother like me!” And you froze.

* You looked like a deer in headlights to lucifer who was trying to introduce you to a blonde demon, but to Asmo, you looked like the most beautiful creature to ever walk the three realms (asides from himself, naturally) and the only person worthy of him.

* Asmo saw beauty in everyone, but everyone else paled in comparison to your face in this moment and your voice every other previous time he had heard it.

* He looked at you with knowing eyes and your eyes finally softened from your shocked face, finally understanding what he meant earlier by “new human”

* It would take time for you to get used to being in a new world with a demon as your soulmate, it would take time for him to get used to loving someone more intimately than as lust, but you both had eachother and the bond that ties your minds together and that’s all you needed.

BEELZEBUB: you share (some of) your soulmate’s pain

* It was growing unbearable.

* The slight yet constant ache in your stomach, a pit that was never quite full.

* For years you mistook it for your own hunger, not sure if you should be eating more or not

* It was always there, always something that disctracted you whenever you were left alone in silence or trying to sleep at night, always waiting for you to finish a meal just to make you feel that familiar ache again.

* It was just insufferable.

* It wasn’t just the hunger, though. There would be times where your muscles would ache like you had been working out without a proper cool down or your arms felt like they had bruised from defending or blocking against something

* You inquired with your friends about this and were just told that it would be your soulmate. You shared pain with your soulmate, and your soulmate always seemed in pain

* It wasn’t a pain that came from attacks or falling, just a pit that always felt so empty it hurt but could never be filled.

* Was your soulmate starving to death? You wished there was a way to help them, to soothe the pain, but without knowing who they are there was no way to fix it.

* As of present, you had been sent into the devildom a few weeks ago and had began to slowly feel adjusted to the devildom and your roommates and you had grown fond of one in particular: Beelzebub, the avatar of gluttony.

* You sympathised with him and his constant hunger since you yourself always felt a small bit of this hunger, even if you’d learnt by now that it wasn’t yours to fix

* So naturally, you hung a round him more

* You spent time with him whenever you could just because you wanted to, accompanying him to the gym or treating him to Hell’s Kitchen or even just sitting with him when he was lonely and missing his brother who had gone to the human world

* And it felt like every time you gave him the food you were craving so much, that pit in your stomach was filled just a bit

* Always there, never going away, but it felt just that bit more bearable and ignorable for a short while

* Who knew you were such an empath?

* Of course it crossed your mind of that Beel could be your soulmate, but what are the chances? You dismissed the thought whenever it appeared, not wanting to get your hopes up

* However, your hopes were validated one night in the kitchen with Beel.

* You were preparing him a small snack, just cutting up some devildom-style bread for him when you accidentally put your finger down at the wrong time in the wrong place and cut it

* You hissed at the pain, putting down the knife to look at your finger and you thought you heard Beel grunt.

* “MC, are you okay?” He inquired, approaching you to look at your finger while slightly cradling his own for some reason

* “Uh, yeah, I just need a plaster or something, would you mind..?” “Yeah, of course.” He continued to clutch his finger while reaching for the cabinet, letting go for a second to open it and grab you a plaster

* “Are you okay? You’re holding your finger too.” You were slightly worried by his mannerisms even though you didn’t see a cut on his fingers.

* “Yeah, my finger just hurt all of a sudden. It’s fine though. Here, I’ll put the plaster on for you.”

* You fell into comfortable silence as he opened the plaster and began pressing in down, but he pressed down a bit too hard which hurt you, causing both of you to hiss.

* “Seriously Beel, are you okay?” He nodded. “Yeah, it’s just like whenever you get hurt my finger hurts too.”

* Lightbulb. You realised finally that those slight considerations were valid and the connection you felt with Beel was real. The hunger you felt wasn’t yours and the reason it was numbed when you gave him food is because it was his.

* He seemed to have realised this too, because he paused and looked at you, slowly smiling.

* “MC, I just realised something. I think that-“ you cut him off with a kiss, smiling now too.

BELPHEGOR: you have a countdown until your soulmate’s death

* Surely there was an error in the system.

* Call you crazy but you didn’t quite think that 378,691,205,018 seconds is applicable to the human life span.

* You had come to the conclusion that your soulmate was either non-existent and the universe was fucking with you or they were some kind of non human entity and obviously both of these answers were stupid but at least the former was possible.

* You’d grown accepting overtime that you didn’t have a soulmate unlike how most of your friends did and that you’d never have that sort of unconditional love

* Not having a soulmate wasn’t unheard of, just uncommon.

* And you got the short end of the stick. That’s all there was to it.

* UNTIL you got randomly abducted one day into literal hell where pretty much all beings there loved for thousands of years.

* ‘Maybe I have a chance now?’ You crossed the thought out from your mind. First of all, these were demons and most of them had made attempts on your life at some point or another, and secondly almost all of them either a) didn’t have a timer, which meant no soulmate, b) had an insanely high timer that you’d never be able to reach or c) had already found their soulmate

* You sighed to yourself and began to lose hope again, walking up the stairs to the attic

* A short while ago, you had found a human locked in the attic, who had asked you to help him. You clicked, something in that moment just felt like it had been put in place like the final puzzle piece so you trusted him without really knowing why

* But you had even more recently found out from his brother that he was bulshitting you and that he was probably the demon Belphegor, so now you just wanted to figure out what was going on

* You continued to march up the stairs and finally arrived at the attic to confront him or at least question him

* “Are you Belphegor?” You cut to the chase not wanting to bother with any more of his lies.

* He was silent for a second before grinning, devilish look that you’d expect from the decent ruler or the underworld gleaming in his eyes as he said “Aww, so you’ve already figured me out, have you? Well, you’re no fun at all.”

* You glared, and tried to decide whether declaring he was a liar or asking why he was a liar would be a better idea

* But he spoke up again before you could decide.

* “That timer on your neck, what does it say?”

* You paused, not knowing the exact number. “Um, like, there’s hundred billion seconds-ish? Why?”

* “Because I’m a demon. I’m going to live long enough to fulfil that. Look at my timer, here. It has 13,140,014 seconds. No demon would live that short.”

* “And is thirteen million a lot of time?”

* “About a human lifespan, bit under.”

* You hummed. It made sense to you looking at it at the moment, though you could’ve sworn it was a little bit under your guess, you trusted him.

* Why? He lied to you about being a human, so why do you trust him?

* Because he’s your soulmate. There’s no doubt in your mind. The click, the need to trust him, even seeing him in your dreams. It was right.

* So you believed him, and didn’t give the thirteen million seconds much question. You were going to save him, save your soulmate.

* Because thirteen million seems like a long time, and I guess it was long enough for you to save him. Just not enough to do much more.

[cyb3rtarot]

Pick a Pile: A Cycle You Have an Opportunity to Complete

Disclaimer: tarot readings are not replacements for professional advice. Take what resonates; don’t force a reading to fit! Readings are based on current energy; your future’s in your hands.

pile 1⇘pile 2 pile 3⇘pile 4

⇘⇘⇘

Pile 1: 

What’s the cycle? [the tower, ten of wands rx, the high priestess, Indecision (Venus in Libra, 7th house), the empress (bottom of the deck), Elk rune]: hello pile one! I feel like you guys take on too many burdens at once, both your own as well as others’. You give so much until you can’t take it anymore, and this leads to a cycle of burn out. You’re well aware of this. You know when you’re carrying too much or need to reprioritize. Even though you can see the burn out coming, you cling on. Some of you get so stressed that you take sudden, impulsive actions to escape, like quitting a job or lashing out at others. I feel like the fall out or consequences you endure afterwards tend to be good learning experiences that open up new paths, but the continuous crashing is not sustainable. A few people in this pile also experience this cycle through romantic relationships, for example not being able to commit to one person and eventually losing multiple people.

Why is it repeating? What lesson do you need to learn? [two of cups, Change]: this pile has such amazing intuition, but you don’t listen to it! You ignore bad feelings and red flags and try to keep working through them. There’s a lot of people pleasers or recovering people pleasers in this pile which could partly explain this habit. You don’t have to immediately act on your feelings, but if something seems off, it’s important to note what your body and mind may be trying to tell you. It’s also important to balance out your giving and receiving sides, not only doing one or the other (especially giving).

The opportunity to close it [ace of wands, the emperor rx, ten of swords, Enthusiasm (Sun in Sagittarius, 9th house), Laguz rune]:  this pile is going to get an opportunity to do something for themselves. This could be an opportunity for a personal project, to travel, or just something that will make YOU happy. However, it seems choosing yourself in this situation may feel hard, and it may upset others. You might have to pull your energy and time back from other commitments to take this opportunity. You might feel bad for choosing yourself, or others could try to manipulate you. This can include guilt tripping, passive aggressiveness, or using whatever method you usually respond to. It’s important to put your foot down against toxic people as well as your own toxic thoughts. This will also be a great opportunity to follow your intuition, and you may find it getting stronger if you don’t ignore it this time.

Extra details: fairy tale, carriage, tomatoes? You may feel like Cinderella, love the story, or similar movies. Or you may feel like you’re swept up in a fairytale when this opportunity comes to you (for some it’s meeting a new person). For those meeting someone new, they could be higher up in position than you. You may have people around you who try to attack your work ethic, morals, or credibility when you choose yourself.

⇘⇘⇘

Pile 2:

What’s the cycle? [four of cups, knight of wands rx, the hierophant rx, Control (Jupiter in Capricorn, 10th house), Jera rune]: hi pile two! this pile feels very ambitious and capable. You guys have a lot of energy and talents that can be honed in many ways, but it feels like you’re put off by the actual process it takes to get to the end goals. You tend to daydream, contemplate, or brood about things you could be doing with your life, but then hesitate to actually do those things. For example, you may get really interested in certain fields of study, but then get discouraged by the academic or training process needed to work in that field. You want the end result but not the steps. You may feel stunted by society, like your dreams or creativity exceed the bounds of the “normal” paths you’re expected to take (like higher education, or a 9-5 until retirement). This cycle of piqued interest and disappointment leads to a lot of restless energy and melancholy; a feeling of wasted time, potential, and dreams.

Why is it repeating? What lesson do you need to learn? [king of wands, New Vision]: this pile will not be satisfied with being bound by convention nor letting all their potential go to waste. You guys are being pushed to realize your capacity, your endurance, and that you have a lot of power to do what you desire. You already see the limits and shortcomings of how the world operates; you’re encouraged to use this ability constructively. Break outside the box set for yourself and don’t underestimate your ability to see things through to the end.

The opportunity to close it [king of pentacles, two of cups, temperance, Speculation (Jupiter in Cancer, 4th house), Mannaz rune]: there’s a few different things going on for this pile. It seems like most of you are currently in a situation that could prove to be financially beneficial or otherwise a good opportunity. It seems like a new environment where relationships are forming, for example (but not only) moving in with roommates, a family move, or a new relationship (romantic or platonic). If this isn’t current then I feel like it's on your mind. Either way, the main focus for you is patience! Patience is necessary to nurture the parts of your life you want success in. It’s especially important for this pile to support their mental health as they work towards what they want; your perception and willingness to be patient gets filtered through your mental state. By waiting when necessary, you allow sustainable avenues to channel your energy. For some of you who are entering new relationships or communities right now, I feel like one person in particular will be significant to you in these matters, such as someone who offers help in your business or creative ventures.

Extra details: Jupiter may be a prominent planet in the birth chart, as well as the signs of Cancer, Capricorn, Sagittarius, Pisces. Heavy oppositions or squares in your chart related to the push-and-pull feelings. Road blocks. Forests. Journaling, writing, or wanting to be an author. Traveling across a body of water. Feeling discouraged by travel delays (some of you may have travel delayed by family?). Wanting a career that needs a degree but not wanting to go to school. Family pressure to take conventional paths. Fear of life commitments. Some of you in relationships (or your partner) are wanting to step up the seriousness, like by meeting families.

⇘⇘⇘

Pile 3: 

What’s the cycle? [four of wands, wheel of fortune sideways, queen of pentacles rx, Harmony (Sun in Libra, 7th house), Protection (Moon in Aries, 1st house), Sowilo rune]: hi pile three! You guys seem to have a generational or family cycle; you may notice very similar themes or lessons throughout your family’s relationships. There’s a cycle of relationships coming together to a high level of commitment, and then ending very significantly. This may play out as a cycle of divorces or broken families, especially where one partner cheats or otherwise neglects the family. In particular, I feel like the feminine energies in these relationships (so if not you, your female relatives/loved ones) are usually left in worse positions than before. This feels like cycles where someone is ambitious, skilled, talented, or financially stable, but after they experience a relationship, it’s very hard for them to get back on their feet. I also see this could have played out as one parent or guardian taking on more work to offset the neglect of the other parent. With this popping up as you guys’ cycle, you may notice traits of your relatives manifesting in you, or you have experienced similar relationship cycles.

Why is it repeating? What lesson do you need to learn?: [the devil, the fool]: much like pile one, you also seem to ignore red flags. You may be drawn to people and vices that you know are not good for you. Putting on rose-tinted glasses and falling into the thrill of something new. The enthusiasm and passion is wonderful, but you must still protect yourself. Be observative when things seem too good to be true. If something feels off, identify what makes you feel that way, and also what you’re going to do about it. You may need to reflect on how you self sabotage and why.

The opportunity to close it [the magician rx, temperance sideways, ace of cups, Status (Jupiter in Taurus, 2nd house), Friendship (Moon in Cancer, 4th house), Othala rune]: this pile seems to have went through an event that made them feel destitute or powerless, and for a lot of you this is a breakup (of any kind). There’s an emphasis on relaxing and being very gentle with yourself, especially if you’re trying to make some kind of quick rebound. This is a time to pour love into yourself and find what makes you feel balanced and stable. Many of you are being pulled back towards something you’re passionate about, whether this is personal projects or your career. You may be interested in self care through creating material stability and comfort right now, as these bring a sense of security. This might manifest as nurturing relationships with family, and those of you that are focusing on material comfort may find your family helps provide that at this time. Some of you are also focused on building generational wealth, and others are directing more energy into socializing. These are all great ways to create a strong foundation for yourself that is not so easily shaken. The important thing is investing in what makes you personally safe and fulfilled. 

Channeled details: Europe (especially Southern), impatient, some may be getting drinks out a lot—especially with friends (this can include cafes), shadow work for harmful habits, gold, orange, crystals, working out, going to church (especially with family), returning to a religion, glow up, luxury, wearing a lot of jewelry or going to a jewelry store, family business, Mediterranean, dark brown hair and olive-toned skin, oceanside town, jogging/running, single mothers, generational cycles, talking to your mom or aunts more

⇘⇘⇘

Pile 4: 

What’s the cycle? [judgment, two of wands rx, queen of wands, Excitement (Mercury in Gemini, 3rd house), Mannaz rune]: hello pile four! Like pile two, this pile feels stuck in a cycle of wasted potential. However, it feels you have ongoing expectations placed on you; some of you may have to look after family members or are expected to “stay in your place.” This pile’s cycle feels the most directly influenced by their environment. You might feel trapped or stuck, maybe at home or even by your own self doubts. Deep down, most of you know you could succeed at what you want and this makes you more frustrated when chances pass you by. For example, some of you may feel disappointed in yourself for not going to school for what you actually wanted to do. There’s a lot of mental energy and anticipation with no outlet. A specific detail for a lot of people in this pile: troubles physically communicating or reading in school could have hindered your studies and contributed to your present day hesitancy. It feels like you want to change the world or feel called towards a bigger purpose, but as of right now this remains a feeling and not action.

Why is it repeating? What lesson do you need to learn? [six of pentacles rx, Sharing (queen of action)]: there’s two different groups within this pile. Some of you are very generous with your time and energy when it comes to taking care of others, and you must learn when to pull back and direct those resources into your own life. There’s a tendency to always put your self on the sidelines. Others of you are very reserved and closed, but on the inside you have a lot of ideas, love, and creativity to share. You might flip-flop between a lone-wolf stance and wanting community. Fears are understandable, but don’t deny yourself space to be intertwined  and vulnerable with others.

The opportunity to close it [the magician, eight of pentacles, five of wands, Concentration (Saturn in Gemini, 3rd house), Tiwaz rune]: the overall energy for this pile is success, excitement, and talent, though I am picking up on a lot of different things going on here. For most of you, it feels like your opportunity is actually already here—or imminent. Some of you are finally going after something you’re passionate about or good at, whether in an institution (school, for example) or by yourself. Similarly, some of you may have gotten recognition for something, or been accepted into a program. There’s a strong willpower in you that’s been hampered, and I feel that something is triggering you to come out of your cocoon. For those of you that do have learning or speaking difficulties, I see you wanting to power through this. This might manifest very literally, like by having a long-delayed argument or conversation with someone that you feel you must do no matter what. Or, your opportunity may literally be working on your communication, like through speech therapy. Whatever your individual situation is, the energy got much lighter and more excited during this part of the reading; there’s a lot of positivity surrounding your pursuits! Please don’t feel you have to give up on your dreams!

Channeled details: bladerunner, “do it even if it’s hard,” boosts in confidence. Many different communication difficulties in this pile: anxiety, social/family pressure, neurodivergence, mental illness, speech impediments (this is the main one I was picking up on), language barriers, deafness, volume control. Vocal stimming or repeating oneself constantly. Sibling dynamics where one has to be taken care of by another. Unsupportive parents. Hyperfixations. Big arguments. Mediators (some of you are interested in diplomacy or law). Announcements, recognition. Returning to a hobby. Past difficulties in school. Perception anxiety. Overthinking. Strategy. Court cases. Finding things funny no one else does. Glasses, round face. Mami tomoe? Doing something for the greater good; social justice. Chess. Memes, vine. You may really like the Burger King foot lettuce meme lol?, courage the cowardly dog, Tinker Bell. Tea parties (or party planning). You may like things others find childish.

⇘⇘⇘

[if-whats-new]

What's New In IF? Issue 3 (2024)

By Erika, Marjorie, Axelle, Zach and Noi

Now Available!

Itch.io - Google Drive - Keep Reading below

EDITORIAL

A proper (re-)introduction

As mentioned in our first edition, this zine became a thing after a 2am- fuelled frustrated rant. We were just so excited with the idea that we ran with it without thinking properly about a format or rules or even…

Doing a proper introduction.

So, two issues later, we're hoping to remedy that…

Hi! We are Erika, Marjorie, Axelle, Zach, and Noi. A tiny groupe of IF fanatics wanting to bring something to the community, and hoping to help it connect more together.

We're not authors (this is as far as you will read our writing) or coders (except Noi, but not IF) or illustrators. We're just avid readers/players wanting to talk about what's out there. A big dream, a lot of will, and a bit of sillyness.

If you want to know more facts about us, check out this post!

We hope you enjoy this issue!

ERIKA, MARJORIE, AXELLE, ZACH, AND NOI

ADDENDUM

The game mentioned as Midnight Market is actually Night Market. Apologies to @night-market-if.

31st March, midnight was not made in Ren’Py, but in Unity. Apologies to Prof. Lily.

It was also pointed out to us that we have been writing Ren’Py wrong all this time…

REWIND

BECAUSE WE MISSED SOME THINGS LAST WEEK

"THE TORTURE AUDIENCE IS NOT SERVED IN TODAY'S ECONOMY" is a recent interview with Porpentine, formatted in Twine.

Phantasmagoria: Nightmare’s End (CScript) released Chapter 5 and part of Chapter 6 (Forum).

Wayfarer (Twine) released a new Route for its Alpha Build (announcement). @idrellegames

EVENTS

Spotlight on: The Text Adventure Literacy Jam

VERB + NOUN makes the world go round!

The TALJ is a yearly parser-based text-adventure competition, where participants have to create a text-adventure suitable for players with no or little prior experience. It is part of the TAL project.

The goal of this competition, and the project as a whole, is to encourage authors to create games targetted at beginners, be more inclusive in game-making, teach new generations the skills needed to play text-adventure games (and potentially inspire them to create their own!).

Each game submitted to the competition must be a parser text-adventure, with clear instruction on how to play the game, include a tutorial, have at least five puzzles, and should not lead to a losing ending. Some games will go even further, including a hint system, a walkthrough or other type of help.

This year, the optional theme was “Fairy Tales”, which was followed by more of the 10 entries submitted to the jam, ranging from old folk tales, mythology, and, of course… fairy tales!

You can play the entries and vote for them with an itch.io account until the end of May. The competition is looking for beginner players!

CONFERENCE

You can now register for the Narrascope! It is happening June 21-23, in hybrid. They've also released the schedule of talks!

ONGOING (VOTING)

Only one week left to vote for your favourite games of the Spring Thing! Since the votes are still pretty tight, they are looking for players and voters to help determine the winners!

[And the Text Adventure Literacy Jam too!]

ONGOING (SUBMITTING)

On the Choice of Game Forum, the Diversity Jam is running. They accept any CScript game… as long at is not in ENGLISH! The deadline is already tomorrow!

As well, the deadline for the BITSY JAM, is coming up in a few days! The theme is No Dialogue!

The Really Bad IF Jam has just started. For if you're tired of always making great games. Come make a terrible one instead! The worst you can!

If Spanish is in your wheelhouse, the Spanish IFComp (Rayuela) also started this week! You can submit a game until the end of June, with the themes Es un sólo botón and/or Conexión.

Also started this week is the ParserComp, which are looking for parser games, both with a classic feel or a more experimental approach.

If you are looking to make a Visual Novel, the Otome Jam will be looking for entries for the next two months.

🔥 Fuck Capitalism Jam 2024 🔥 is also a fun jam to participate in, where you can submit stories critiquing capitalism (as a whole/aspects of). (We know it's not technically IF, but they took IF entries before)

ENDED

The annual Grand Prix has announced its winner. Congratulations to all participants!

The Dialogue Jam by the Neo-Interactives (@neointeractives) group ended just a few days ago. Check out the three dozen entries released!

Another jam that ended this week was the Amare Games Festival 2024, with 34 entries all about love!

OTHER

The Interactive Fiction Showcase is still running, with new submissions, since last week! It is happening on itch!

GAMES

NEW RELEASE

009 Lives (Ren’Py) is a short VN about how far we can go to save a friend. (@lavendeerstudios).

Offseason 7.75 (Twine) is an interactive piece set around a collection of lost reports (@rogercheetoofficial).

The Tulip Field (Twine) is a calming slice-of-life short story, with maybe just a hint of something is not all right there (@shytulipghost).

NEW RELEASE (WIP)

ATLAS (Twine) is a sci-fi game about succession science, where your goal is to restore a planet to a natural state. (@if-30x30).

Velocity: The Race Begins (CScript) is a YA slice-of-life project about street racing.

The Underdog (CScript) is a slice-of-life project about highschool.

Halls of Sorcery (CScript) is a high-fantasy project where you play as a young mage, with great power at your fingertips.

HBreaker Hub (Twine) is project about internet communities, interactions and relationships.

A Hero's Start (Twine) is a slice-of-life project (@beanmochiii).

GAMES UPDATES

Children of Iseir - Book One (CScript) has added three new scenes.

Speck (CScript) has added five chapters.

Chains of Destiny (CScript) added an update with 27k new words (@chains-of-destiny).

Voiceless: A Siren's Song (CScript) has included its first chapter to the demo.

Agents of Lucifer (CScript) has added chapter 6 and 7 to the demo (@aprismaticodyssey).

The Bureau (CScript) has completed its Fourth chapter (@morbethgames).

Summer of Love (Twine) added one chapter, of 86k new words (@summeroflove-if).

Wings of Ink (Twine)'s demo was updated with the release of Chapter 3 (@wings-of-ink).

The Story of Sin (Twine) completed its most recent chapter (@devilishmango).

Vice Virtue (Twine)'s demo has has new content added (@dam-peace).

Signal Hill (Twine) is back from hiatus, releasing 4 new routes (@signalhill-if).

OTHER

Dragon of Steelthorne (CScript) is now officially released through Hosted Games.

THE SPIRITED: ORIGINS (Twine) is back, with a public relaunch of the demo (@yuveim)

In Game-Making related news, Golmac (@golmac) is continuing his Inform7 for beginners article series. You can find all the tips and tricks for Inform 7, with the # I7 for beginners.

We apologize if we missed an update or a release. We are but volunteers trying to find as much info as possible, but sometimes news pass through the cracks.

Please, let us know if something should have been added to the zine, and we will shout it out next week!

HIGHLIGHT ON...

A couple of games that we thought were cool.

Sweetpea by Sophia de Augustine (Twine) @thesophiades

“A true Twine hidden gem. Simple but freaky. Sweet and super sad. The contrast between the rude reality and the surreal dreams gave me a whiplash, but I couldn't take my eyes away from the screen. Outstanding horror indeed!”

submitted by [anonymous]

Lesson in Fear by @epykslion and @junibu-art (RenP’y)

A twist on the take of the yandere trope, this short VN mixes different kinds of horror, from psychological to body, showcasing the true potential of unreality. It crawls through your skin.

recommended by [anonymous]

The Familiar by @groggydog (Adventuron)

A short and sweet parser where you can play as a witch's crow familiar, on a quest to save your ailing master, a terrible hex having been cast upon her.

Aside from the cute story, it has amazing pixel art!

recommended by Clark

Your favourite game here?

Do you have a favourite game that deserve some highlighting? Tell us about it! A old or recent game that wowed you so much you want to spam it to everyone? Tell us about it!

We'll add it to the page!

FINAL WORD

Before we end this issue, we would like to thank:

Clark, @kris-mage-fics, @manonamora-if, Sola, Vik, and all you six anonymous posters!

Your shared news, helpful tips, cool links, filled form, written Sheet line, sent emails… all these little attentions toward the Zine has helped us tremendously!

We also would like to thank all of you who told us of cool recs that didn't appear this edition. We'll try out best to fit them in next week!

And a final thank to all of you who not only read our zine, but liked it, shared it with others, left a little sweet reply or dm, or even rated it on itch! Those little bits of support really help us so much!! Thank you for cheering us on this journey!

~

As a final parting word, we have a little challenge for you all. If you enjoy a game or project, or find an author cool, why not send them a little message of appreciation? or leave a nice comment on their page?

A little kindness goes a long way! It is the best motivator!!

See you again next week!

ERIKA, MARJORIE, AXELLE, ZACH, AND NOI

WHAT'S NEW IN IF? 2024-ISSUE 3

[exhuastedpigeon]

Buddie Hiatus Fic Rec Oct 16 - Nov 15

yet another list full of some of the most amazing fics I've read. It's wild how talented the writers in this fandom are.

0-5k

take control (mind, body, and soul) by honestlydarkprincess / @honestlydarkprincess Explicit | 2k the one where human Buck wants his vampire boyfriend to compel him during sex. They get nasty with it.

think about all the places we could go by hammersmiths / @henswilsons Teen | 2.4k Athena just looks grieved. “Why, then,” she says, “did you get military-grade handcuffs? Were the pink fuzzy ones not macho enough for you?”

blackout by rainbow_nerds / @rainbow-nerdss Explicit | 3.4k Buck wakes up hungover on Eddie's couch, with no memory of the night before. Eddie's at just as much of a loss as he is, but their friends seem to know something they don't.

The One with the Admissions by BekkaChaos / @bekkachaos Mature | 4.4k After an accidental slip up from Eddie, he's forced to admit that he's dating someone, but he and Buck are still determined to keep their relationship between the two of them. Things do not go smoothly, hidden thoughts and feelings are revealed, and Buck and Eddie have a short lived argument about their relationship.

5k-10k

you saw me (i got nowhere to hide) by buckleyseddie / @buckleyseddieTeen | 5.6k while Buck’s in a coma, Maddie finds herself at the loft one afternoon. There, she finds a heartbroken Eddie and they have a moment.

Out Of Order, Still In Line by callmenewbie / @puppyboybuckley Explicit | 6.2k When Buck finally gets to the Clinic, the long awaited release doesn’t seem to come; cue Eddie to the rescue.

if you go down in the woods today by oklahoma / @sunshinediaz Teen | 6.3k bad things happen bingo—tranquilizer dart (this fic lives rent free in my head. Amanda you’re a genius) 

i have dreams where i kiss you and it’s pink by fleetinghearts / @shitouttabuckTeen | 6.3k jee-yun buckley-han's third birthday party is in dire need of some fairy tale magic and buck's attempt to save the day might just be the thing that finally kills eddie

swinging for the fences by inbetweenthestacks / @organizedstardust Teen | 6.4k Buck takes Eddie to a baseball game. (this fic has a line “Is baseball just…math?” that make me laugh so hard)

You, all the way down by justhockey Not rated | 8.3k Suddenly, between one moment and the next, there are hands on him. Hands that Buck would know anywhere; hands that Buck knows maybe even better than he knows his own. The touch is exquisitely gentle - tender to the point of devastation, even though the calloused palms scratch against the soft skin of his cheeks.

It’s Eddie, because of course it is. Because who else would it be.

i'd swim to your call on my phone by heartbeatdiaz / @loserdiaz Teen | 8.5k Buck's daughter keeps calling 9-1-1 for help with her homework, Eddie is smitten and apparently 9-1-1 works better than Tinder.

10k-20k

Got Weird by Daisies_and_Briars / @cal-daisies-and-briars Explicit | 10.5k Shortly after Buck and Natalia break up, Eddie gets tipsy and makes a rather forward move. Then immediately panics (not that Eddie panics, of course) and backpedals. Eddie spirals, Buck is confused. Lots of spontaneous kissing ensues.

aching for anything by addandsubtract / @postoperation Explicit | 11.3k “Here,” Hen says, holding out a covered paper cup, steam gently wafting from the mouth opening. “It’s lemon ginger tea. I know you said you’re not getting sick, but you don’t sound great.”

Buck takes the cup and holds it up to his nose, saying, “I’m really fine.”

Hen’s pointedly raised eyebrows are all skepticism.

past the curses and cries (there's me and you) by MonsterRae1 / @monsterrae1 Mature | 11.3k Buck's a witch, Eddie's cursed, can I make it any more obvious?

30k +

remember to remember me by Daffi_990_ao3 / @daffi-990 Explicit | 31.4k

Buck and Eddie finally get together only for lightning to strike a few days later, leaving Buck with no memories of them ever becoming a couple.

Don't They Know It's the End of the World? by Daisies_and_Briars / @cal-daisies-and-briars Mature | 32.4k After being put in a cryogenic sleep for over a hundred years to wait out an apocalyptic event, Eddie Diaz wakes up, too early, to find his son has been stolen from his cryo-chamber. Scared and alone in a frightening world he doesn't recognize, Eddie is willing to do anything to get his kid back.

blue eyes and bare walls by Underhung_Aura / @eddiebabygirldiaz Explicit | 45.8k Buck and Eddie are newlyweds and looking to paint their new bedroom. What ensues is the butting of heads, some arguing of both the fun and not fun variety, and desperate paint-filled sex on the floor.

Feels Like Magic by 42hrb Teen | 47.8k An urban fantasy AU where most things are the same, except there's magic

the blue house by ProsperDemeter / @prosperdemeter2 Mature  | 65k Eddie Diaz wants nothing to do with the paranormal. He would be perfectly happy if the spirits of the world stopped showing themselves altogether, actually. But when Adriana and Sophia come to town to film on location for their popular YouTube ghost hunting channel and the ghosts in Eddie's life start becoming much more loud and frequent, he gets roped into figuring out just why things in the Los Angeles spiritual world are changing, and not for the better. The children are crying, and Eddie might be the only one who can hear them.

Your Love is an Oil Slick (It Glows like Rainbows, It Stains My Soul) by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels / @letmetellyouaboutmyfeelsExplicit | 67.1k When Eddie's son claims he has an imaginary friend, Eddie doesn't think much of it. Christopher is seven, it's what kids do. But then weird things start happening around the house, and Eddie starts dreaming about a handsome blue-eyed man. Turns out, Christopher's friend isn't so imaginary. Their house is haunted.

Month 1 (May 15 - June 15) Month 2 (June 16 - July 15) Month 3 (July 16 - August 15) Month 4 (August 16 - September 15) Month 5 (September 16 - October 15)

[tfyoulookingatgiuxs]

Hello!

Could you possibly do a cute opposites attract for Billy Hargrove? Not like a nerd reader, more like a flower child in a way. I think the idea would be very cute and funny.

I hope you have a great day!

•Interesting. I've never written something like this but I'm determined to be happy to try. In any case, I am ready to satisfy your request again. I want to point out how the word "flower child" stuck in my mind, making the reader a true flower child, in the literary sense. I hope you like it!

Sunflower

Billy Hargrove x FlowerChild!Reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: The late warm spring afternoon in Hawkins looked spectacular. The flowers were blooming and the sweet breeze touched you making you feel like you were in a fairy tale. But the day had other plans in mind for you and you never thought you would find him.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Fluff, slight angst? fem!reader, no use of Y/N, your surname is Williams, bad language, opposite attract, sigarettes, daddy issue.

𝐀/𝐍: Request from @unamused-boss ,I hope I have satisfied your request! I apologize for any errors and I also hope that I have exceeded your expectations. Sorry for my english this is not my native language. Please support and reblog! Hope you enjoy this one. (DIVIDER NOT MINE)

It was a late afternoon in Hawkins. Spring had just begun and the flowers had just bloomed, coloring an isolated part of the forest forgotten by everyone. It was like an enchanted place, you had to go through the woods to get there but you didn't mind walking a bit. It felt like a real paradise, it was like your secret place. No one could get there, only you knew how to get in and you knew how to get out.

Every day after school you go there. School could be hard and going there among the greenery and flowers made you happy and let your emotions shine through.

The flowers that surrounded you were all sunflowers, a truly infinite field, with the presence of a few daisies.

You had always been a girl with elegant feminine tastes, high grades but also a strong and difficult character. Nothing could make you happier than nature and flowers in general. You had a nice green thumb, you knew how to grow and plant. This is due to the fact that your uncle worked for a long time in the countryside and when you went to visit him for the holidays there was always something new to learn.

Today you headed there once again, full of happiness. The sun warmed you as you walked through the green tall grass. You sat down, letting the fresh air and surrounding sounds carry you away. The wind, the birds singing..."Holy shit!" you heard in the distance. You reopened your eyes in confusion and saw something you never expected to see. Someone had managed to get to your secret place. The worst thing? It was Billy Hargrove.

Billy Hargrove was a boy who went to the same school as you, he was lazy, didn't work hard at school and only thought about having fun and going to parties drinking like crazy. Besides this, he was also a very attractive boy, with long blond curls and crystal blue eyes and a nice physique. In short, aesthetically he was very handsome, you couldn't deny it, but otherwise he wasn't really your type, he was your opposite, you couldn't hope to get along with him.

You hadn't spoken to him much, you had only tutored him last year to help him with his grades. Needless to say, he tried to persuade you by convincing you to do his homework but luckily you were smarter than him. Now he had improved, but it was clear that he didn't want to study or think about his future.

From the way he was fidgeting you could tell he got lost "Hey!" He screamed as soon as he saw you, most likely he didn't recognize you. You stood up from where you were sitting as the skirt of your white dress fluttered. Billy looked at your figure, you were more enchanting than ever and perhaps he had never noticed it until now. You got closer and Billy did the same thing. "Look who's here, Williams." he said sarcastically "Nice to see you Hargorve" you also added a note of sarcasm but still keeping a certain lightness in your words "You can call me Billy" he winked at you and you rolled your eyes.

To be clear. You don't hate him. You know he was teasing you and obviously you didn't get carried away by his games. He was just different and as much as you might hope for redemption from him, you had to accept the fact that Billy Hargorve was the same old bad boy who will never change, and that everything good he had is gone.

"Did you get lost by any chance?" You asked looking at the field and he took a cigarette out of his pocket and you ignored him "What do you say? Do you think I'm a guy who loves remote places?" He looked at you with an obvious look as he lit his cigarette. The nauseating smell of tobacco pervaded you while with one hand you tried to get rid of the bad smell "No, but apparently you love the woods. In short, to come here you have to go through the woods, so excuse me if I ask you, but what do were you doing there?" Billy didn't answer you for a moment, he could have said "it's none of your business" or "Don't mind any fucking business that doesn't concern you Williams" in a more vulgar way, but he didn't. Even though he could be harsh, he wasn't that bad after all and it wasn't appropriate to use such forced language in front of a damsel.

"I was... walking" he didn't add anything else while his curls fluttered a little from here to there. From his tone you felt like he wanted to tell you something, but he decided not to. Maybe he had a rough day? Or maybe he's just in a bad mood? You've started to speculate. Although curious about what that walk meant, you decided not to say anything else and responded with a simple "Okay" and then silence fell.

"And you? Why are you here? Is the little damsel lost too?" You crossed your arms at his typical womanizer nickname "Oh no. I'm not lost. I come here often" He raised an eyebrow as he blew smoke from his plump lips "Why? What's great about being here looking at nothing?" You laughed slightly "You can't look at anything! Being here relaxes me and helps me to... detach myself from reality" you said the last words with a sense of sadness.

Life could be really mean and even cruel, and the worst thing is when you have no one to ask for help. When you think that nothing can help you get up and move forward, but in the end you understand that even something abstract or something concrete like an object, or anything that is not human can help you in your difficulties. Yours was nature, this secret place of yours that you wished you had discovered sooner. Few perhaps couldn't understand what you find so beautiful in plants or landscapes, and honestly not even you could explain it. Billy, on the other hand, remained silent and looked at you and then threw his cigarette on the ground and crushed it with his foot "Nonsense, you can't detach yourself from reality" his tone was serious and you looked at his features, he was angry? No. He was injured.

"As much as you try, reality is always there, you can't ignore it, much less detach yourself from it..." he continued and then he met your eyes and let out a cough "...so, Here. I find it difficult to understand what you find here Williams, maybe you're strange" he finished the sentence as if nothing had happened, as if what he had said before didn't matter. You approached him and Billy looked at you carefully "Can't you? Or maybe you don't want to?" Hargrove looked at you as if shocked "From the way you speak it's as if you want to detach yourself from reality, but you decide not to, is it perhaps because you're more worried about what happens in reality? As if every little distraction could cause something bad than not can you ignore it?" At that moment, a face never known to you formed on the face of the boy with golden curls, a different Billy you had never seen before. It was like vulnerable...

“I'm sorry, maybe this makes you uncomfortable.” You panicked. You hadn't even realized your words let alone that maybe it might make Billy uncomfortable in some way. You tried to compose yourself and walked away, changing the subject "Now I can take you back out of the woods, I know the way to-"

“My father” you were interrupted by his voice which now seemed to have taken on a different tone “What?”

"My father i can't ignore." You didn't say anything, letting him continue "I always tried to think about other things, maybe focusing on going out for parties or going to basketball games. But when I did that, my father made my life even worse, making it total shit" the wind blew was lowered and Billy in the meantime leaned with his back on a nearby tree "You're right when you say that 'I would like to detach myself from reality but I can't' because I realized that I can't do it..." his words were so genuine, so sincere, but at the same time so suffering. It was as if the Billy you knew wasn't there. They weren't his words, yet they came out of his mouth.

Instinctively you placed your light hand on his forearm and he looked back into your eyes "It's never too late to try again Billy. Don't let just one person ruin you, because then you'll end up regretting it" you replied and then you smiled. He wasn't convinced, but you were willing to let him know. You gently grabbed his hand and he let you do it, as if he was enchanted by your touch "Come with me" you said and together you walked through what was the field of sunflowers.

"You know, the first time I ended up here I thought how the day couldn't get any worse. I was lost too. But I don't think I found a better place to be" the blue-eyed boy looked around and he was like carefree "Here you don't have to fear anything, here you are safe and not even your father can hurt you" you reassured him and your hands melted. Hargrove continued to remain silent and then sat up enjoying the wind caressing his face and simply nodded.

"Can I tell you something Williams?" You nodded "Sure" he got up and took a sunflower and cut off the stem. You felt bad when the flowers were pulled down but you decided not to say anything. He looked at it carefully and then glanced at you "You like flowers right?" You nodded again "So much" Billy continued to stare at you and then with his free hand he placed a lock of your hair behind your ear, placing the flower in the same place "Then you will know what the sunflower means" your cheeks turned red admiring Billy's face with enchantment "I'll give it to you, it suits you" your heart stopped beating for a moment when the boy with golden curls smiled at you and then walked away.

You watched his figure. The sunflower symbolized the sun, therefore the light of life. When you gave a sunflower to a person it was to tell them how sunny and cheerful they are. You didn't think Billy was capable of such a gesture or even that he knew the meaning of the flower. Apparently you didn't know Billy Hargrove for all intents and purposes.

What was it you said? "As much as you could hope for redemption from him, did you have to accept the fact that Billy Hargorve was the usual bad boy who will never change, and that everything good he had was lost?" It turns out you were very wrong.

"So, will you help me out of the woods or not?" He turned around noticing that you weren't following him "Yes" You shook your head coming back to earth "You must not tell anyone what I told you, I would like it to stay between us, clear Williams?" You nodded, laughing.

From that day on you began to see Billy Hargrove with different eyes.

[batneko]

A "wicked enchantress" is running around inflicting people with fairy-tale-inspired curses. Peach's castle gets hit with a Sleeping Beauty curse, and the usual solution doesn't work so Mario and Luigi go chasing down the enchantress.

They catch up easily enough, but she blasts Mario with a spell that turns him into a wolf in a red hoodie. Luigi has just enough time to think "wait a minute, Little Red Riding Hood isn't about a curse," before he's zapped with a "Cinderella" curse. He's stuck in a green ballgown and masquerade mask that won't come off.

Of course, that doesn't bother him much, and turning Mario into a wolf only gave him natural weapons, so they kick the enchantress's butt for a few rounds before she runs away.

Meanwhile, Bowser's castle was hit with a Beauty and the Beast curse... while Bowser wasn't home, meaning Junior is now stuck as a beast and honestly having a great time. The servants are pretty unhappy though and it'll be a pain having Junior shed all over everything (and privately Bowser feels bad he wasn't there to protect everyone, plus kissing Junior's newly-fluffy head didn't break the curse which makes Bowser terrified that he doesn't fully love his son and really is as selfish as people say) so he sets out to find whoever did this and rip them apart.

Soon thereafter he runs into what appears to be a princess with very cool taste in pets, and can't resist turning on the charm.

Luigi would have cleared up the misunderstanding right away, except Bowser is so bad at being charming that it loops around to actually being charming. Telling him who he is after flirting back would just make things awkward and maybe get Luigi set on fire. And Mario, despite lacking thumbs or proper vocal chords, is making it extremely clear that he doesn't approve of Bowser and "Princess Emerald" getting too close. Better to cooperate until they find the enchantress and high-tail it out of there as soon as she's defeated.

Unfortunately it turns out the curse still follows Cinderella rules, so at midnight the ballgown disappears and Bowser finds out after all. He's just as pissed as Luigi was afraid he'd be. There's some fire breath tossed around. But he's more embarrassed than anything else, and the fact that he's the only one without a curse (and that the "dog" is actually Mario) cheers him up enough that he decides to stick it out as part of the team.

He doesn't admit that he'd really started to like Princess Emerald in the afternoon they spent together. She was nice. She listened to him. She laughed at his jokes. And he can admit he's got a thing for big blue eyes. The fact that all those traits are the same whether Luigi's in a dress or in overalls is not one he wants to think about.

(The curse affects Luigi from noon to midnight so he still gets mornings to look like himself. Honestly it wouldn't be bad at all except a ballgown isn't very practical and Luigi's mildly offended that the curse also shaves him.)

So they go on, Bowser tries not to flirt, Luigi tries not to fall for his flirting, they both fail and wolf!Mario suffers.

Eventually they do catch up with the enchantress (probably after a lot of other curse-induced fairy tale shenanigans) and try to fight her. The gang is winning when she suddenly blasts Bowser with something that seems to kill him outright. Luigi, devastated, kisses him before getting up to keep fighting.

The enchantress sees this and goes, "Eewww!"

Turns out she's a little girl who got her hands on a powerful magic artifact. True Love's Kiss didn't break any of the curses because she's seven and kissing's gross! Now that they know she's a child (and that Bowser is just sleeping like Snow White) Mario and Luigi are reluctant to fight at full strength. Instead Luigi distracts her with his pretty pretty princess accessories, so Mario can dash in with wolf speed and steal the artifact.

Bowser is extremely confused when he wakes up, saying something about a weird dream he had, but all the curses are broken and everyone can go home. Problem solved. Definitely no lingering feelings and awkward secrets.

Definitely nobody is going to keep thinking about that teary goodbye kiss when Luigi thought Bowser was dead...

[perpetual-stories]

Six Ways To End Your Story

Hi, everyone! Someone kindly asked for advice on how to end a story so here it is for everyone!

Six Types of Story Endings

While every story has to end its own way, there are six general types of ending. Which one you go for will depend, of course, on the story you’re telling, and maybe also on the tropes or conventions of the genre you’re working within (if you’re working within a genre at all).

The six types of story endings include:

Resolved ending

Unresolved ending

Expanded ending

Unexpected ending

Ambiguous ending

Tied ending

What Is a Resolved Ending?

A resolved ending leaves the reader with no lingering questions or loose ends A resolved ending is part of most classic fairy tales (“And they all lived happily ever after…”), but also of countless classic novels.

Consider the ending of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, a classic of literary fiction and the inspiration for countless romance novels. At the end of the book, Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy marry, and we’re led to believe that their marriage will be long and happy. Not only that, but the rest of Mr. Bennet’s marriageable daughters have settled down in matches appropriate to their characters. In other words, there are no lingering questions or tensions.

Remember, a resolved ending isn’t necessarily a happy ending. Think of any of Shakespeare’s tragedies, in which the protagonist and most of the other major characters usually wind up stabbed, poisoned, or executed.

What matters most in a resolved ending is that all of the threads of the novel have been clearly and satisfying resolved.

What Is an Unresolved Ending?

Sometimes, the end is not really the end. That’s the case with an unresolved ending. This is the kind of ending that leaves the reader with more questions than answers. Ending on a cliffhanger has the potential to be a frustrating experience, but that frustration can also be satisfying if the story calls for it.

Unresolved endings are popular choices for books in a series, because it leads the reader to the next book.

What Is an Expanded Ending?

An expanded ending often takes the form of an epilogue. As the name implies, it expands the world of the story beyond the events of the narrative itself. That usually involves a jump forward in time, and occasionally a change in perspective as well. (Dostoevsky’s classic Crime and Punishment ends on just such a note, as does Tolstoy’s War and Peace.) Like an unexpected ending, an expanded ending may reframe the way the reader has been thinking about the story.

One advantage of an epilogue is that it allows the writer to answer questions that might not be possible to answer in the space of the main narrative (for instance, how things turned out a decade or more after the main events of the story).

What Is an Unexpected Ending?

An unexpected ending is one the reader likely didn’t see coming. The twist ending can be earth-shattering, or clever and subtle. The trick to pulling off a great surprise is that it should seem inevitable in hindsight. Very few readers are likely to be on board for an ending that seems to truly come from nowhere, but if the ending makes sense they’re more likely to appreciate the subtle machinations and plot twists it took to get there.

A good ending avoids deus ex machina, a Latin expression meaning “god from a machine.” In the context of fiction, a deus ex machina is a heavy-handed device that abruptly and definitively resolves all the story’s problems in a way that doesn’t feel natural to the story.

For instance, a previously unknown rich uncle appearing from nowhere to give the poor striving protagonist a vast fortune may certainly be a surprise, but it’s not likely to satisfy your readers. Remember, a good twist is one that the writer has left clues for all along.

What Is an Ambiguous Ending?

An ambiguous ending is one that’s open to interpretation. While an unresolved ending doesn’t give the reader enough information to say what’s going to happen next, and an ambiguous ending might allow two different readers to come to two completely different conclusions. Of all the endings, the ambiguous one demands the most involvement from the reader, since they are actively invited to think about the significance of events for themselves.

Take a quick look at the ending to Charles Dickens’ classic Great Expectations. In the last lines of the novel, the main character Pip takes the hand of the widow Estrella and says he sees “no shadow of another parting from her.” But is Pip’s vision reliable? Do they stay together or is another parting in the future? The novel leaves the reader with both tantalizing possibilities.

What Is a Tied Ending?

A tied ending is on that brings the story full circle—it ends where it begins. This type of ending follows the classic Hero’s Journey, which is common to many myths and folktales from around the world, but it’s also a popular choice for many works of literary fiction trying to capture the cyclical nature of time. James Joyce’s famously beguiling Finnegan’s Wake even ends on a sentence fragment that literally completes the very first sentence of the novel.

As a writer, you’ll need to make sure that the journey to this point felt worthwhile. Ending up right where you started can feel pointless if the journey there and back wasn’t meaningful.

There you have it folks, and kind ask, I hope this helps anyone who is struggling with their story endings!

Follow, reblog and comment if you find these helpful!

[hometoursandotherstuff]

The 1912 Butterfly House has fairy tale grounds. It's located in Rose Valley, Pennsylvania, 7bds, 3ba, $1.250M. The interior is delightful, but the grounds are amazing. I would call it a Mission Revival style b/c of the interior.

Looks like the stairs were refinished. Very nice, all the wood looks freshly redone.

The living room is quite spacious and airy. Love the bookshelf wall.

Beautiful old stone fireplace.

This home has some gorgeous architectural features.

I wonder if they removed the doors on those corner cabinets.

The kitchen's okay, it appears to have the original imprint.

Since this room is right off the kitchen I wonder if it's the original dining room.

Cute vintage powder room.

The primary bedroom has a separate sitting room.

Love this original vintage blue tile and the tub and sink, too.

The bedrooms are nice and light. This one has a ducky thing going.

Lovely, big and bright guest room.

What a lovely little office in the attic.

There's also a funky shower up here. I wonder what that carpeted thing is under the window.

Another spacious bedroom. The bedrooms are all so cheery.

And, this one has a door to a wonderful deck.

But, we have to look at the grounds. Beautiful rear patio.

There are so many beautiful things to see.

Here's a sweet little covered bench structure.

And, look at this great greenhouse. I love this.

This is nice, a basket planter.

It's like exploring an enchanted forest.

What I like about this is that it's not perfectly trimmed. It's a little messy and looks natural.

Here's a little waterfall.

There are quite a few water features.

The .90 acre property is gated.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/1-Porter-Ln-Wallingford-PA-19086/2061726303_zpid/

[gallusrostromegalus]

Do mermaids exist in tpof?

There's exactly one "Classic" Mermaid. A pregnant woman on the west coast of Ireland was afflicted by a curse where she'd give birth to a Lingcod instead of a human baby, but since she was carrying twins, the curse was split between them. One sister has a human head, chest and abdomen, and from her pelvic girdle on she has the powerful and beautiful tail of a Blue Lingcod. She's the current record holder for long-distance swimming, starred in several movies and holds multiple modelling contracts- but she's always been notably jealous of her sister, who has the head and chest of a Lingcod but the pelvis and legs of a human and (the source of her sister's ire) a devoted husband.

There's a few things that European sailors could have mistaken for human women while they were on long voyages, dying of syphilis and scurvy too- Dugong and Dolphins both exist in great numbers in TPOFATGIF, along with some very large Mimic Octopodes. But the most likely, or at least, most startling candidate is a creature only described in 1996- Ziphiius andersoni, or "Anderson's Beaked Whale", after the first ...semi-credible witness.

Ziphidae is a family of deep-diving whales whales known almost entirely by beached corpses, and Z. andersoni holds the peculiar title of the most and least seen member of the family. No body has ever been found to examine, but the animal is (apparently) the subject of many amateur sightings.

Like most Beaked Whales, Z. andersoni is about 13 feet long, and shaped like an extremely hydrodynamic sweet potato- a sharply tapered head, tubular body with small pectoral fins and a minimal dorsal fin, and an similarly sharply tapered tail with small fins, and a mouth with only two teeth- a pair of overdeveloped lower canine teeth that form a pair of tusks. Unlike most marine life, Z. andersoni has reverse Cryptic camouflage- where most marine animals are darkly colored on the dorsal side and pale beneath to hide from predators in the open water, Z. andersoni has a large, bright white pattern on it's back that starts at the head and runs the length of it's spine and across the tail fin, and includes both pectoral and pelvic saddle patches. between the whale's darkened and unusually anterior blowholes and the gloom of the twilight waters they inhabit, Z. andersoni's peculiar markings bear a STARTLING resemblance to a human woman with a piscene tail.

The species is named after the famed Fairy Tale Author, Hans Christen Anderson, who in 1835 saw what he described as a "Mermaid" swimming near the surface of the North Sea coast near Hanstholm, Denmark, when out in a rowboat with a cousin on a summer holiday. The Mermaid was "Ghostly pale, with large, dark eyes that stared up at us as she passed. She circled the boat thrice, seemingly regarding us with sadness, before she vanished into a cloud of sea-foam and we could not find her again." This encounter inspired him to write The Little Mermaid the following year. Despite his and his cousin's insistence that the event took place exactly as described, it was largely written off by the general public, and Anderson was discouraged from sharing it by his publisher.

In 1996, a family had a similar experience while Kayaking, save that this time the encounter took place in the sunny clear waters off Baja, Nihofornia, and the family had a video camera. A juvenile Z. andersoni approached them, circled the family a few times and even hung out under them for almost 12 minutes. This video proof sparked international interest, with dozens of other pictures, videos and oral accounts coming forward about encounters with these strangely friendly yet elusive creatures.

Most Recently, an exceptional individual, thought to be an old bull from it's size (i and scarring was seen following underwater welders as they repaired an underwater naval installation, picking off the curious squid that came to investigate the lights. The Naval Engineers have nicknamed the animal "The Duke", short for "Ducolax" on account of one of the engineers realizing there was 16-foot long, multi-ton carnivore floating just over his shoulder and (understandably) shitting himself.

[lavendermunson]

i could see you as my addiction - steve harrington

chapter 3 of miss americana and the heartbreak prince

summary a perfect date makes you forget about all the worries, the insecurities and the future. even if this time you weren't careful, who's keeping tabs anyway?

content warnings +18. some mentions of insecurities, so much fluff. allusions to sex. dry humping. slight nipple play. heavy make out, touching. no p in v next time babes.

w.c 3.5k

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter (soon)

Something is wrong, something is definitely wrong. 

You find yourself sitting on the sofa at your private studio, no one joined you today since you came in a rush trying to come up with the melody for a song you wrote, about him. 

But it’s odd, nothing comes out of your head, and you let your fingers linger on the strings of one of your favorite guitars, the one with flowers painted by one of your artist friends. It’s been two hours and nothing comes to your head, not even the first note. If you could, you would smash this guitar right on the floor so it breaks, you are sure it’s some type of curse, usually, you lose sleep working but right now you are too tired to do so, and truthfully, your mind has been thinking about another thing, Steve.

Not necessarily on his large hands, his cute face, or his soft lips. No, it’s the worry that eats you alive. You wish the sofa could swallow you whole and teleport you to another universe where life is easier, when your life is not printed in newspapers and your face isn’t in every corner of the city. You love your life but it’s overwhelming, more so when it comes to dating, to love. Past mistakes tattooed in your head, dreadful memories and bad luck, seems like you are not worthy of love and you’ve been believing in it until you saw him.

Robin is right, she always is. Some things look like a fairy tale. Like it’s a dream and you are going to wake up, empty-handed and never knowing if someone would ever love you for who you really are. 

Your heart starts to ache, your teeth now biting off the rest of the old nail polish making it look chipped now. The buzz of your phone makes you flinch, you look at your hands in disgust and realize you are more than nervous. You catch a glimpse of the screen and see his nickname, causing a smile to spread across your face.

little secret: hey beautiful :) 

about tomorrow… i decided to skip practice, i know, don’t lecture me about it

it would be better if I took a day off to be with you, does that sound okay?

unless you have other plans, i’ll understand but i kind of have a plan so i hope i am lucky enough for you to take a day off with me

The typing bubble goes away indicating it’s your time to reply. Steve never sends so many texts in a short span of time, was he nervous? Anxious? Excited? You had a combination of the three emotions sitting right at the top of your belly.

you: hi handsome <3 yes, absolutely! all day with you sounds perfect. 

don’t worry, no lecture for today because I know how good you are at what you do. where are we going? 

little secret: do you wanna make me blush? 

uh, it’s a place a couple of hours away from the city… a farm, garden… i don’t know a friend owns it and we can have all the privacy we want

Perfect, privacy. Not that you don’t want to scream the world that you are dating the most perfect guy, but it’s exactly what you need, some moment alone with him.

you: privacy? to do what? ;)

little secret: oh i have a few things in mind…

You joke, trying to get rid of your nerves. But you blush at his reply.

little secret: eight am sounds good? Is it too early? i’ll pick you up

you: no, it’s perfect. i’ll send you my address!

little secret: great, have a nice day beautiful

you: you too, handsome <3 can’t wait to see you again

——

The next day comes, and you are hyper-aware of your nerves as you look in front of the mirror. You’ve changed your outfit at least five times, the room is full of clothes on the floor. You shouldn’t worry about it but you are, you want this to be perfect. 

It’s almost eight am and the only thing you can think about is how are you going to get out of the city without being seen and followed. You guess Steve has it covered but… what if he doesn’t?

Sixth change of outfit and last, you fix the hem of your skirt and put on some cherry chapstick, this time you went for a natural make up look to be more comfortable. You get your purse closed and sit on the couch while you check social media. It has never been your favorite hobby but it’s quite gratifying to see your friend’s faces and their new adventures. 

Robin’s “good luck” text pops up on your screen, You thank her and moments later Steve arrives.

You prepare yourself for what's coming, praying everything goes well and that your nerves won't eat you alive.

“Hi, beautiful. You look amazing” he says, standing close to the black SUV. He leans in to leave a kiss on your cheek and hand you a bouquet of flowers.

“Hey handsome” you blush at the feeling of his lips against your face, something you are addicted to. “These are so pretty, you really didn’t have to”

“Or course i did, i have to spoil you”

He winks and takes your hand to help you get into the vehicle, you see it’s completely dark so no one can look into it.

——

After the total chaos of switching cars in an empty dark parking lot and Steve’s driver keeping the secret of you two together, you are now in a quieter part outside of the city. The road looks empty, it’s a place you’ve never visited but you get intrigued at how calm it is. Your hair flows with the wind thanks to Steve’s old and classic convertible, the sun hits his face when you look at him. Sunglasses sit on the bridge of his nose and you miss that spark in his eyes whenever he sees you. His hand lingers on your thigh, feeling your hot skin under his soft fingertips, his hand keeps moving up with seconds and you let your body relax, your back pressed against the seat. 

The radio has been playing old songs and there’s a quick change to modern songs. The first one is a new song from your friend Vickie, following up it’s one of Corroded Coffin’s most popular songs and then you hear a melody too familiar.

“Oh, I love this song” his hand travels from your thigh to the radio’s tuning knob to turn the volume up. Missing the feeling of his warm hand on your skin, you take his hand in yours and place it on your thigh again. 

He grins at you while the song starts to play louder and you hear your voice.

“No, no, no!” you cover your face with your palms, shaking your head as you hide the red tint on your cheeks. 

“What? I love this song, it’s fun” Steve sings along, surprised he knows the words when you look at him with a smile on your face. A laugh falls off your lips when he gets to the chorus, screaming the lyrics of your song. 

“It's time, oh-oh. I don't know about you, but I'm feeling twenty-two” he keeps singing, taking your hand up in the air and dancing. “Everything will be alright if you keep me next to you” he takes a quick look at you, dedicating your own words to you.

You eventually join him, not only singing your song but a few that pop up on the radio, making the ride smoother, feeling like it went away quicker and you finally arrive at your destination. 

“I’m sorry about your ears,” he says, letting go of the steering wheel and taking the keys out of the ignition. A frown forms on your face, watching every one of his movements. 

“Sorry for what?”

“Your ears, I know I am a really bad singer but I do love music!” His laugh is contagious, seeing him smile so much is a thing that will be in your head forever. 

“Don’t worry, I don’t know how to play baseball so I think we are even”

“Are you admitting I'm a bad singer?”

“No, no I didn't mean it like that”

As soon as the car comes to a full stop, he gets out and rushes to your side, holding the door open for you and extending his hand to assist you in getting out. You take his hand and step out of the car, accidentally bumping chests with him.

“I didn’t mean it like that” you repeat. 

“I know, honey” 

He takes off his glasses, placing them on the collar of his shirt and his free hands find your waist. You do the same and tangle your arms around his neck, getting closer to him and brushing your lips with his in a quick kiss.

“I can teach you to play and some other things” he whispers on your lips, you nod and close the gap between you quickly.

As his lips move against yours, his hands squeeze your waist and his tongue finds its way into your mouth, it bumps with yours making him groan. Your head leans to the side to give him more access, the kiss becomes quicker, hotter and you feel so desperate to get more of his taste. Cigarettes, mint and a dash of cherry from your lips. He pulls away to take some air and looks at you with a smile, your chest rises up and down quickly as you try to do the same. 

“I- we should get inside and eat something. I’m starving”

You pinch your brows together, knowing how you both seem to push each other when it gets too much. Just like you at the concert, afraid that anyone will see you and start to scream. Anxiety sits on your stomach again, knowing that even if no one is watching you there is always a wall between you and Steve that will be hard to break.

You join him inside the house, it’s small but pretty. Pictures of his coach, Hopper with his wife and kids are all over the walls. They look so happy.

When you ask for a vase for the flowers he shows you where they are, not leaving his sight of what he is getting from behind the kitchen counter.

“I’m ready, let’s go!”

Steve has a picnic basket in his hand and a bottle of wine in the other. You follow him to the back door after placing your flowers in the vase along with some water. There’s a nice, big garden and to a big tree that casts a big shadow that looks like the perfect place for you to sit down and eat, you look around and see a lot of vegetables, fruits, and flowers planted on the floor. You notice the family likes to do gardening and eat fresh food, it all looks perfectly placed and taken care of.

You find Steve on his knees, taking the food out of the picnic basket. There are sandwiches, fruit cut into tiny pieces, a cheese board, and some chocolate truffles. You sit close to him to help him, getting the plates out along with some cutlery and the wine cups.

“You… Did you prepare all of this?” a smile shows on your face, which Steve loves. He nods, pressing his lips together to hide a grin.

“I had a little help but… yeah I did”

“Help? From who?” you ask.

“Uh, my friend Nancy”

You remember her, noticing how she was so close to Robin and it made you smile. 

“Nancy, yes. I haven’t officially met her but my best friend, Robin… she couldn’t stop talking about her the other night and I-” Your pause makes Steve’s brows form a frown. 

“You okay?” he asks you, not knowing if it’s something he did or hasn't done. He doesn’t know what’s happening but you are completely frozen in your place and your smile disappears. 

“Your friend, Nancy. Does she know about us?” 

“No, she just- I told her I had a date but I didn't say with who” He lies.

“Does your friend Robin know about us?” he asks, you can see his curious eyes scanning your face. 

“No, I- nobody knows. I haven’t told anyone” You lie and it feels very wrong.

Robin is your best friend, you tell each other everything and it is inevitable for you to not tell her but you lie because, of course, you don’t want Steve to be disappointed. He told you this was a secret.

“Oh, yeah, same” he sits down, his back pressed against the tree while he takes a sandwich and starts eating. He looks at you, taking pieces of fruit on your plate and being quiet.

If you asked Steve’s friends, they would tell you he gets distracted pretty easily whenever he is outside his games. He isn’t used to catching when someone needs to be comforted until the other person mentions it, because for him it has to be obvious. If someone is mad, they have to be screaming or making aggressive gestures because that’s how Steve grew up. His parents were always tossing things at each other, when Hopper gets mad he yells, and when Eddie is pissed he calls him an idiot.

But with you, it’s different. When your smile fades away, Steve thinks that it is normal but you are now quiet and not looking at him, he is missing your attention and his brain finally wakes up.

“Is there something wrong?” 

When you finally look at him, you get closer to him. Your arms bump with each other and Steve’s arm comes behind your neck to rest on your shoulders and leaves a small kiss on your cheek. He lets out a sigh knowing that he knows you still want to be close to him.

“Speaking hypothetically” Not ready for the answer but pretty impatient for it, you decide to rip the band aid off. “If I told someone else about us, would that be bad?” 

You lied to Steve. He lied to you. It’s a rough start but it’s a little lie, something you can manage.

“No, not if you trust that person” Steve bites his lips, your head rests on his chest and he rubs your thigh. “But I think we should keep it between us, still. I- I think it’s more special that way”

But it’s not, and Steve knows. He is used to lying to protect himself, lies are better than saying what he actually feels.

“Totally, it’s more special this way” You try to convince yourself but it’s not working, yet, you try to change the subject and ask him about this house, Hopper, and his kids. 

He tells you all of their stories. From meeting him to meeting his kids to his fight with Jonathan and Will’s friends hanging out with him as if he were the babysitter. Eventually, he found a family in all of them even if they aren’t connected by blood.

He asks you how you met Robin, and you start by telling him she has been your friend since you were kids and even though you had nothing in common she has been your rock and you’ve been hers. She is the one you trust more than anyone else.

The sun has been setting down, leaving the sky in a shade of pink and orange but the warmth of the day never leaves. You are not sure of when you got to this, your legs straddling him as his back presses against the tree, the empty plates scattered all over the place while you sit on his lap. His hands are all over your skin, fingertips traveling all the way to your breasts to give them a light squeeze. 

You stop kissing his neck leaving soft kisses on his sharp firm jaw and leaving a peck on the corner of his mouth before entangling your lips with his. After giving him permission, your head leans to one side as you cup his face gently, thumb tracing his cheek where his moles rest. Your lips brush against his tenderly, he savors the taste of your cherry chapstick and the remnants of strawberry, chocolate, and wine that make his heart flutter as the way he is becoming addicted to your lips, to you. 

As the kiss deepens, your tongues meet for the first time, dancing in a perfect rhythm leaving a trace of passion and longing, an intimate moment you both needed so much. The world seems to disappear around you when one of his arms goes under your skirt to touch the soft skin of your ass, his hands are soft but the warmth of his palms elevates you. His other hand sneaks to the back of your body to unhook your bra with one hand, impressive, you help him get rid of your bra and he breaks away from the kiss to admire your hard nipples under your top.

"You are so fucking pretty" he whispers against your lips, his words tingling on the bottom of your lip before they touch his mouth again.

His hand goes back to squeeze your breasts again, pinching your nipples with his fingers to give you extra pleasure but it's not enough. Your hips start to rock involuntarily against the hard bulge in his pants making him hide his groans over the kiss combined with your low moans. Wetness pooling on your panties as the rough material of his jeans gives you a pleasant ammount of friction.

He is lost in you, in the way you move over him and the way you are kissing him. He has never felt this, he has kissed other girls but no one has earned a place in his heart like you. He is putty in your hands, goosebumps adorning his arms as his heart beats as fast as when he is playing. It's a feeling he has never felt outside the field, the power you have over him is something unmeasurable.

As one of your hands rests over his cheek, the other goes under his shirt to touch every inch of his skin and try to memorize it. You feel the same, lost in him as your heart bumps against your ribs like a hammer. You swear you can see the stars, the questions, and the doubts fading into insignificance as you explore each other's bodies with warmth and desire. 

You break from the kiss, both trying to catch your breath as your chest rises up and down. His gaze is heavy on you, looking at your pretty eyes with so much desire and admiration, his hands leave your body to cup your face and squeeze the soft skin of your cheeks.

Steve looks at your face, your perfect glowy eyes making him feel warm. 

He smirks at the sight of your flushed cheeks and your pink puffy lips knowing he caused this. You are an angel, he thinks, you are here to save him and to make him happy and he wants to keep you forever. 

"If you could look at you the way I do, you'll see how much I want to scream to the world that I like you a lot" Steve hesitates for a moment, being trapped in the lavender haze of your presence and your bodies being connected, tangled.

"I like you so much too, i'd give up the stars just to see your face every night" You look at him with the biggest smile on your face, he leaves a peck on your lips and smiles with the same happiness you are feeling right now.

"Do you think we could-" He gets interrupted by a ring on the kitchen phone, is incredibly loud it makes you both jump. He freezes in his place, not wanting to leave his position, he is so close to you that it makes him crazy. 

"You should get that, it could be important" 

Steve helps you get up, telling you to wait and not move from where you are. His unfinished question is still on your mind. Do you think we could... what? Have sex? Tell the world we love each other? Wait, does he love you? Do you love him? Already? Is it too soon?

He comes back to you jogging, short of breath and with a sad frown on his face. 

"I'm sorry, Nancy just told me I have to get back. Hopper wants to have dinner and if I'm not there he is... I'm sure he is going to kick my ass"

You nod, looking at him with the same sad frown but trying to smile so he doesn't get to read your mind and see your worries. "Don't worry, it's okay Stevie" You know how much Hopper means to him, how Steve feels he owes him so much for helping him get to where he is now.

His heart skips a beat at the nickname, Steve sees you reach down to get your bra back. He is quicker than you and grabs it for you. 

"Let me help" A mischievous grin shows on his lips.

You turn around giggling as you take your top off, he sighs when he sees your naked back and the soft fabric of your top on your hands he misses the view he was waiting for, dreaming of.

"C'mon! you are not doing this to me!" Steve yells, defeated as he gets closer to you and helps you put your back on.

"I'm sorry, maybe next time handsome" You tease, a soft chuckle leaves his lips and helps you get dressed, hooking your bra and helping you get your top on again. He hugs you from behind, hiding his face on your neck and kissing it. 

His wet kiss turns into a bite, where he starts to suck on your skin to leave a mark. You shut your eyes, appreciating the little sting on your neck, but the smile never leaves your lips knowing he is marking you. No one will know who did it, but everyone will know you already belong with someone. 

"I'm sorry we have to go, i really wanted you to stay" his arms lock you in with your back pressed against his chest. "I hope we can see each other again and soon"

"We will, we will see each other many times from now on" Your hand finds his face and then his hair, you play with it for a moment just enjoying this hug before he takes you home.

The night comes, and the day ends. But this is just the beginning.

tags @eddiesguitarskills @hipsternerd9 @afraidofshrimp @rexorangecouny @crowssixof thank you for the support!! (comment if you want to join the tag list!!)

I hope you like this series, feedback is appreciated! don't forget to REBLOG TO SUPPORT THE AUTHOR! . ♡

this chapter is very cute but there's some angst coming...

[aspoonofsugar]

Do you think Adam will come back as a demon, having to redeem himself? It kind of feels like that's where the few hints at smth deeper going on with him are going.

Hi!

I mean, there is this:

As Charlie and Emily sing about amoral angels staying in the sky, the focus is on Adam and he looks very triggered. I also personally hope he comes back because I think his character offers great opportunities to explore others. Like Lucifer, Lute, Sera, Lilith and Charlie herself. That said, I am also okay if he is meant as a one-season villain tbh. In this case, I trust it is because the story has other plot-lines to follow. Also, it would be an hilarious call-back to his line:

A man only lives once, we'll see you in one month Gotta say, I can't wait to Come down and exterminate you

Adam, you're either right in how THE man only lives once, or you are so wrong and Charlie is so right, that you yourself get a second chance :P

That said, I think there is clearly more about Adam, Eve, Lilith and Lucifer's dynamic that needs to be addressed (either through Adam coming back or in other ways):

The series starts with the retelling of the myth of Eden in the form of a fairy tale. Still, it is clear that we are given only partial information.

Lucifer: Well, your first wife didn't seem to hate what I had to offer…or the second! Bowchicka pow pow!

Sera: He was the first human soul in heaven…

It is very unclear what happened with Eve and Adam himself is judged a "virtuous soul", after his human death. Not only that, but he affirms what brought him into Heaven is:

Vaggie: reading list "Act selfless, don't steal, stick it to the man." Are you fucking serious?

Except that Adam never once acts selflessly throughout the whole season. So, I wonder if an eternity spent being spoilt in Heaven made him worse.

In short, the things I am interested in when it comes to Adam are:

If and how Heaven has changed him

His relationship with Lucifer and Lilith (Eden + his pact with Lilith)

Let's now try to analyze Adam, starting with what we have in the series.

ADAM THE ANGEL

Adam: Call me, Dickmaster.

Adam is introduced as a powerful angel and a jerkass mysoginist. Both things are important, as they tie to different conflicts:

Adam is a genocidal maniac, who mistreats everyone. Still, he is considered a virtuous soul and holds some authority in Heaven.

Adam is "the man" and is shown discriminating and dismissive towards women. According to Charlie's recount in Overture, his mysoginy might be at the very root of the conflict behind the forbidden fruit and the birth of Hell.

These two sides of Adam come together in his interactions with Charlie, who is both a demon and a woman.

1- He dismisses Charlie's ideas of redemption in his song Hell is Forever, which is full of Christian references:

'Cause it's cut and dry Fair is fair, an eye for an eye And, when all's said and done (said and done) There's the question of fun And for those of us with divine ordainment Extermination is entertainment! Guitar solo, fuck yeah!

In general, he sees himself as superior to demons because he was judged worthy of Heaven. In his mind, this makes him automatically the "good guy", while people who exhibits virtues like Charlie or Angel are still beneath him, as they are demons. In short, he has a black and white mentality:

'Cause the rules are black and white There's no use in tryin' to fight it

2- He flirts with Charlie and calls her with sexist names:

Adam: I got you again, bitch! *laughs* Fuckin' hilarious!

Not only that, but his overall characterization highligths his sexism to hilarious degrees. Some examples:

His favourite food is ribs because Eve was born from one. So, it is as if he likes "eating women up"

He leads an army of hot and lethal women, who follow his orders in battle (classical male fantasy)

He gives Vaggie the name "Vagina" and calls it "the best thing ever"

So, Adam is a combination between a zealous religious fanatic and the patriarchy. All neatly tied up with jock imagery (his tunic resembles a letterman jacket). As a result, his interactions with Charlie explore two different power dynamics:

Heaven vs Hell or to better say Hell is Forever vs A Happy Day In Hell. Is Hell a place of eternal damnation or is it a chance of redemption?

Man vs Woman - Adam is far more childish and less intelligent than Charlie, but she has to kiss his butt because he is in a role of power. As it often happens in human society.

The question is: "How can such a person be worthy of Heaven?"

SERA THE MOTHER

Sera: I thought, since I'm older It's my load to shoulder

Sera is Adam's authority figure, as she is the only one Adam shows respect for. He asks for her validation and is ashamed after disappointing her. Considering Adam was created by the angels, it is easy to infer Sera is probably the closest thing he has to a mother. This also ties with Sera's overall role in the narrative, where she is framed as a parental figure to Emily and to the other angels and souls:

Not only that, but her parenting style seems rooted in the determination to protect those in her care, no matter what:

Sera: It is my position as the head Seraphim to protect our people at all costs.

Even if she has to lie to them:

I wanted to save you, the anguish it takes to Do what was required

Or if others end up hurt in the process:

Sera: Heaven needs us, Emily. Everyone looks to us… and we can't doubt ourselves or worry about the fates of demons when we have our own souls to protect.

She keeps Emily and the rest of Heaven in a Gilded Cage and chooses to exterminate the Sinners. In a sense, she too sees the world in black and white, just like Adam. Her loved ones. All the others. This attitude is present in her relationship with Adam too, as she enables him. Some examples:

She gives Adam permission to lead the exterminations. Even if Sera thinks killing Sinners is necessary, there is no reason to entrust it to Adam, who has a very obvious grudge against Lucifer.

He lets Adam boss around the exorcists and mistreat them. Like he did with Vaggie. In general, Sera gives him no rules, if not a generic "do not embarass me" one. And even then, Adam faces no consequence after he reveals the secret.

Sera is angry at Adam's cruelty towards Charlie and reproaches him for targeting the Hazbin Hotel. Still, this is all she does. She could have stopped Adam from attacking the hotel. And yet, she only makes a single remark.

In general, Sera gives Adam free reign and even fulfills all his cruellest requests. This is made clear during Charlie and Adam's questioning.

Since the beginning, Charlie is set up to lose and the seating arrangement shows it. Sera and Emily are at the very top, as they are the judges. Below them there is the jury and then there are the two sides. Still, Charlie and Adam are not at the same level. Adam is higher, while Charlie is at the very bottom.

Sera sustains Adam's petty objection:

Adam: Objection, lame and unoriginal. Sera: Sustained. No further dictionary references please.

But she is about to refuse Charlie's request and only agrees to it because of Emily:

Charlie: Angel will make good decisions, come on! We have to keep watching! Please? Sera: sighs Yeah, I don't know. Emily: Yeah, let's give him a chance. Sera: Very well, the court will allow it.

Finally, when Adam reveals Vaggie's secret (which is irrelevant to the matter at hand), Sera allows it to happen:

She is the one projecting Vaggie's angelic shadow on the wall. Once again she enables Adam's cruelty, instead of stopping it.

in short, Adam is a person who ascends to Heaven, but once there he spends millenias without anyone questioning or disagreeing with him. All his self-serving fantasies are fulfilled and he is never punished nor called out. As a result, he clearly becomes complacent and grows worse:

Lucifer: So, this is what you been up to since Eden? Gotta say, you've really let yourself go, buddy.

Lucifer's taunt mostly references Adam's physique. Still, this is metaphorically true for Adam's soul, as well. In the end, Adam regresses in Heaven, instead of evolving. Moreover, he never addresses nor solves the key event, which defined his life.

LUCIFER AND LILITH

Adam: You judging me? You're the most hated being in all of creation!

Adam's sense of self is clearly warped by what(ever) happened in Eden. Specifically, he is hurt that both his relationships with Lilith and Eve ended up badly (apparently). This is why:

He overcompensates by being overly masculine. He insists he is THE MAN and keeps blubbering about his love adventures. And yet, he has still no wife, that we know of.

He projects his own feelings on Lilith and Lucifer, to the point that thousands of years later, he chooses "messing their home", as his hobby. Specifically, he tries to steal Lilith away (through their deal) and to make Lucifer as miserable as possible ( which is why the King of Hell sends Charlie to meet Adam at the very beginning - he doesn't want to deal with the Exorcist).

This behavior is mirrored in how he treats the Princess of Hell too.

On the one hand Adam associates what he considers Charlie's positive traits with Lilith:

Adam: To think someone as worthless as you landed Lilith's little hottie. 'Grats on that I guess.

On the other hand Adam links what he believes to be Charlie's negative traits with Lucifer:

Adam: Risking your immortal life for sinners? That's some crazy shit, even for Lucifer's brat!

So, it is implied he still wants Lilith and despises Lucifer. These emotions are mirrored in his design, specifically his horned mask:

The horns ironically show that Adam was cheated on by (both?) his wife(s)

The horns give him a demonic-like appearance, which may be just another way Adam tries to appear more badass than what he is. All while trying to look more like a demon (Lucifer) to begin with

In other words, Adam is nothing, but a man scorned. Even moreso he is a person, who deep down could never really like himself. Hence why he chooses to wear a mask 24h/24h. Adam wants to be either a Demon or a God, but deep down he is just the Man. Ironically, this is what he could never truly accept about himself.

ADAM- A MAN

In the final fight, Adam is unmasked and we get a glimpse of his real self. What is he like? His design is far more average and human-like than other angels and demons. It is even inspired by his real voice actor, apparently. Why is that so? Because deep down Adam is no-one special. He is just a dude. He is the man. Not even that. He is a man. A person.

Sadly, though, he refuses this truth and tries to be more:

Adam: I started everything on Earth! All of mankind came from these fucking nuts! You all should be worshipping me, you ungrateful, disgusting, fucking losers-

He tries to be God and in this way he becomes worse than a Demon. He dies pathetically, after refusing mercy:

Adam: No… you don't get to end this! I'm fucking Adam! I'm the fucking man, and you're just some fucking clown or something!

He sees Lucifer as his enemy, but the King of Hell barely registers his presence and only considers him in relation to Charlie. His true opponent turns out to be a small woman of low status. And even she barely considers him as someone worthy of her attention.

And yet, Adam is still a man and he shows humanity in death:

Lute: NOOOO! Sir! Sir! Stay with me sir! ADAM!

Lute is his one genuine bond and probably the only person who earnestly makes him happy.

If only he could have pursued his humanity, he might have not turned into a monster. He might have developed a healthier sense of self and could have become happier. Instead, he could never love himself for being just a man and has spent eternity trying to be someone different.

HEAVEN ISN'T MEANT TO SUCK A LOT

Adam embodies the anti-theme.

Charlie thinks that everyone can redeem themselves:

Charlie: If I can show them the dream I've dreamed That any soul can change! Then they will know everyone can be redeemed From the evil to the strange!

Adam thinks nobody truly can:

'Cause Hell is forever Whether you like it or not Had their chance to behave better Now they boil in the pot

Charlie tries to grow into her own person:

Gotta come into my own Gotta come into my throne Gotta take charge and defend my only home

Adam turns himself into an idol:

The golden exorcists bring to mind the golden calf from the Bible.

Charlie thinks happiness and beauty can be found even in Hell:

I can hear all their stories The lost and displaced And I know that they're more of an acquired taste But if I open the door and I give them a place At my Hazbin Hotel It'll be a happy day in Hell!

Adam can't find happiness and beauty in Heaven and his only source of joy is knowing others suffer more than him:

Fuckin' Hell is forever And it's meant to suck a lot!

And yet, Hell might be meant to suck a lot, but Heaven shouldn't:

St. Peter and Emily: 'Cause every single day in Heaven is a happy day Welcome to Heaven

Still, Heaven could not make Adam happy. And if Heaven can't make its own people happy, then what is the point of such a Kingdom?

Sera: It's your position to keep them happy and joyful. Emily: How can I bring joy when I now know we are bringing misery to thousands of innocent people?

Adam is a character that embodies Heaven's problems, not only because he is an evil monster, but even moreso because he is an unhappy and unsatisfied man.

Here are my two cents on him :D We'll see if he comes back and manages to get some development!

Thank you for the ask!

[bittenbyyou]

Stolen Moments

High School!AU | MCU!Peter Parker x Best Friend!Reader

genre: fluff

description: You and Peter’s first kiss didn’t go the way you planned.

word count: 2.6k

warnings: references to Spider-Man: Far From Home, Peter not knowing any fairytales/Disney princesses and being a lovable dork

a/n: Another snippet based on real life events of how my bf and i got together lol. Enjoy the fluff and please feel free to let me know if you liked it!

One thing you loved most about your best friend was his inability to remember classic fairy tales. No matter how many times you summarized them, Peter would find a way to botch it every single time. Even going so far as to invent alternative story lines, which never failed to crack you up. You would tease him endlessly for it, but then he’d grill you for having never watched Star Wars or any of the Harry Potter movies. That’s what we’d call balance in your friendship.

“Fairy tale pop quiz!” Peter groaned dramatically as he plopped down on his couch, phone in hand with your big grinning face on FaceTime. 

“Not fairy tales… anything but those. They’re my weakness,” he whined. You laid on your side in bed, giggling.

“The great Peter Parker who’s in band, robotics, and the decathlon can’t recall a few simple fairy tales?”

“Well, I actually quit those,” he shared, ruffling the back of his hair with a sheepish grin. Your face fell, eyes wide and concerned. 

“Wait, when? Why?”

It’s not like Peter could tell you he was Spider-Man even though he really, really wanted to. The less you knew, the better. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if anything happened to you.

“I’m really busy.”

“Stark Internship?”

His eyes lit up when you gave him a reason. “Right, yes!” 

Thank god for your incredible memory. “Makes sense. It’s been a while since we’ve even FaceTimed each other. You’re usually so busy at night.”

He saw the way your lips pouted as your crestfallen eyes looked away from the camera, making his chest feel tight. “I miss you too.”

Your gaze flickered back up to meet his own. Peter gulped, wondering if he sounded too emotional. Too affectionate. Too… obvious.

“Touché, Parker,” you said, rolling onto your back. “Okay, no more stalling. Tell me… which fairy tale princess ate the poison apple?”

Peter shut his eyes tight, thinking carefully. You both went to LegoLand one time and there was a display case that had the poison apple. You had asked him the same question then, pointing at the apple excitedly.

“Before we’re old would be nice,” you teased. Peter lifted up his index finger and shushed you. 

“Hold on, I got it,” His eyes fluttered open after remembering there was a small sign next to the poison apple display. “Little Mermaid.”

“Why would The Little Mermaid eat a poisonous apple?!” You bursted out into laughter at his confidence. “Dude, you said the same thing back when we went to LegoLand. The sign was in the wrong spot.”

“Darn it,” he muttered with a snap of his fingers. 

“I’ll give you a hint. Weather.”

“... Tornadoes?”

“What princess has “tornado” in her name?!” you exclaimed, trying your best not to wheeze. Peter couldn’t help but join in the laughter, knowing he was making a fool of himself. 

“You snorted,” he said in a taunting voice. “Gross.”

“Shut up, you love it.”

It’s true. He loved your laugh. Mostly because you always laughed with your whole body and sometimes would keel over. Even in public. In fact, you were probably about to fall off your bed right this second because your face suddenly became blurry and shaky. 

“Did you almost fall?” 

You successfully caught yourself and your phone before it fell on your face. “No,” you readjusted your position and cleared your throat, “Try again. It’s cold weather.”

“It can’t be Frozen… I think I’d remember that. You’ve never said anything about an apple in Mulan the many times you’ve told me her story…” You nodded many times, appreciating the fact he remembered your love for Mulan. You saw how his brows furrowed in concentration, loving how serious he was taking this. “Snow White.”

“Good j—”

“Oh!” he shouted all of a sudden, almost giving you a heart attack. “She’s the one with the seven smurfs, right?!”

Oh Peter Parker….  You’re the cutest human alive, you thought. 

Another wave of laughter overcame you, which intensified tenfold once you saw the big dumb smile on Peter’s face. The boy really thought he got it right.

“No… honey, they’re dwarfs,” you said once the laughter subsided.

“... Same thing,” he said, followed by a shrug. “I knew that.”

“Oh, we’re in for a long night. How about Jack and the Beanstalk?” That one should be easy.

“Ooh! Um… wait, I got it, quit laughing, I haven't even started,” he said, chuckling at how you placed a hand on your mouth to refrain from laughing more. “A guy sells a dog or cow or sheep for beans that grow into a big bean stalk and climbs up there and I think there’s a giant in the clouds? I don’t know.”

“I like how you completely disregarded the part where he was persuaded to sell his animal for magical beans, but okay. Pretty good.” You gave him a wink, which he returned. 

“Told you I’m good at this.”

“Uh huh. Last one.”

Peter gave you a nod. “Go for it.”

“Cinderella.”

“Easy. She’s the one with long hair, with the glass shoes that’s supposed to be a perfect fit but somehow falls off and I think the guy uses her hair to find her and climb the castle before midnight when some magic wears off…”

You didn’t have enough energy to laugh and risk your abs becoming a liability, so you opted for parting your lips open slightly, shocked at how someone could be so, so wrong. 

“I think there’s some sisters or step sisters in it too!” he added, giving himself a pat on the back. “Nailed it.”

“Quite the opposite,” you said, shaking your head. “I love your dumbass sometimes.”

He knew you were using the word as a term of endearment, so it made him smile. He loved you too. So much. 

“What’s occupying all that headspace of yours these days that you can never remember the stories?” you teased. 

You are… and Spider-Man, Peter thought to himself. 

"Oh you know, there's an ongoing battle between my inner monologue and my stomach's incessant cravings for Aunt May's chocolate chip cookies. Spoiler alert: the cookies usually win."

“Oh my gosh, her cookies are the best.”

“Right?”

You both laid on your sides, a comforting silence blanketing the two of you for a few seconds. 

“So um…” you started to say, a twinge of nervousness in your voice. “Because your knowledge on Cinderella is so—”

“Awesome?”

“Awful,” you corrected, smiling at his lame joke. “I was wondering if you wanted to go see the school play this Friday. They’re performing Cinderella.”

Peter sat up from his couch. “You mean, you and me, g-going together?”

“Yeah. MJ didn’t want to go because seeing a damsel in distress who solely relies on a man saving her kills her vibe.” Peter chuckled at that. “Are you and Ned doing anything?”

“No.”

“Oh good,” You paused. “You can invite him to come too!”

Oh. 

Peter hid his disappointment by placing his phone down on the couch for a split second, gathering his thoughts. Why was he assuming that this was a date? Of course you’d ask Ned to come too. He was so silly.

“Peter?” you said. “Peter~, are you still there?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m here.” He picked up the phone and gave you a thumbs up. “I’ll go. And I’ll ask Ned about it.”

“Cool. See ya then. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Peter was so nervous. Which he knew was ridiculous because this was not a date, yet he spent hours picking out an outfit. What does one even wear to a school play anyway? In the end, he slipped on a white button-up with some jeans and headed to the school. 

He saw you standing by the front doors, wearing a pretty blouse and shorts. Simple but cute nonetheless. You always looked pretty to him. 

“Hey! Sorry I’m late,” Peter said while running up the steps to get to you. “Were you waiting long?”

You shook your head. “Not at all. The play starts in five minutes, so you made it on time.”

“Good. Good…” Now that he was up close, Peter noticed how you styled your hair differently from what you usually did. “Did you do something to your hair?”

“Yeah… is it weird?”

Peter shook his head rapidly. “No, you look good.”

“Just good?”

“Great. Spectacular. Fantastic,” he said with exploding hand motions.

You giggled. “Okay Mr. Thesaurus. Where’s Ned?”

“Ned told me he didn’t want to go.” Which Peter was secretly thankful for, but he’d never let you know that.

“Okay. Then it’ll just be us two. Let’s go.”

The two of you walked to the front doors and you didn’t miss how Peter practically ran in front of you just to open it first. You thanked him and then made your way to the school’s auditorium. Peter always suggested sitting in the back, claiming it had the best view but in reality, it’d be the easiest for him to slip away if duty called.

You did notice his backpack, finding it slightly odd he brought it to school after hours. However, you didn’t think too much of it because Peter always carried a backpack. It was handy when the two of you hung out at the mall and snuck in snacks into the movie theater or when you accidentally bought too much stuff at Target after claiming you only needed one thing.

“I bet Betty is going to look so beautiful. She’s Cinderella,” you said as you sat down on Peter’s left side. 

You’re beautiful. 

“Really? And Ned’s not the prince? I wonder how he feels about that.”

“Oh, they broke up,” you informed him. “I found out yesterday.”

“What? Dang, we could’ve had a double date,” he joked, testing the waters with you. You playfully smacked his arm. 

“In your dreams.”

The lights soon dimmed, letting you and Peter know the play was about to begin. Honestly, the play was far more entertaining than expected because it turned out to be a parody of Cinderella, much to your horror. Peter was relishing at how upset you were, whispering to him every few minutes on how the story “wasn’t accurate.” Honestly, it was super adorable seeing you so worked up.

You leaned close to Peter’s ear, causing his breath to hitch. “This is so ridiculous. It’s supposed to be a pumpkin carriage, not pumpkin pie.”

“... There’s supposed to be a carriage?” he whispered back. 

“See, this play is tainting your mind.”

“But you can’t tell me you’re not enjoying it.”

“It is pretty funny,” you admitted, noticing his arm on your shared armrest. You were about to place your hand on top of his when Nick Fury’s stern voice echoed loudly in his ear.

“Parker. Are you in position?”

“No,” Peter said loud enough for you to hear. You immediately retracted your hand and Peter realized what you were about to do. 

“No…?” you said softly. The look of hurt in your eyes made Peter panic.

“And why the hell not?” Nick Fury interrogated. Peter slapped his ear/earpiece to shut it up. 

“I-I didn’t mean that. Um… I need to go to the restroom.”

“You okay?”

“I’m…” His mind raced for an excuse. “I’m feeling sick, um, I ate dairy and you know I’m lactose intolerant and all that.” He got out of his seat awkwardly, your eyes never leaving him. It pained him to see you so worried. “Oof, I’m feeling it now. Gonna be a while.”

He held onto his stomach to make for a convincing act. 

“Okay. Feel better.”

He apologized to you and then ran out of the auditorium.

“Parker, you better be on your way,” Fury’s voice warned.

“I’m coming,” Peter huffed, looking at the backside of your head one last time before disappearing. 

Peter finished his mission by the time the play had already ended. He saw you were sitting at the front of the school on the steps, so he had to go through the back and exit as if he had come from the restrooms. 

“Whoo~! That was painful,” Peter said as he approached you, hand on his stomach and backpack on his back. He let out a sharp exhale and watched your expressions to see if you were buying it. “I really shouldn’t have eaten that ice cream… I’m sorry. I left you all alone.”

“It’s okay. Betty says hi by the way.”

“Oh. Hi.” He held his hand up and waved at you as if you were Betty. That earned a chuckle from you. “I really am sorry. What did I miss?”

He took the seat next to you on the steps. “Well, it’s safe to say you’ll never learn the real story of Cinderella. Or at least the Disney version.”

“Was it that bad?”

“The worst.” 

He nudged his shoulder against yours, flashing you a warm smile. “Are you mad at me?”

“A little. I waited outside the restrooms for you, but you took so long.”

“... It really hurt my bowels. The battle was rough.”

You rolled your eyes. “Uh huh. You know what, I’ll forgive you if you can answer one thing. What’s something pretty much all the Disney princesses have in common?”

Peter pouted his lips in confusion, searching his brain for a possible answer. “They’re… girls?”

“No… they all get kissed by the end of the movie.”

“O-Oh… Oh. Oh~,” he shot you a perplexed look. “Have you… ever been kissed?”

You nodded. “Yeah. By my ex-boyfriend.” Ah, right. Peter was not fond of him at all. “What about you?”

“Me? No…” he looked down at the cement. “Not yet.”

“Didn’t you and Liz date? You guys didn’t kiss?”

He shook his head. “No. And I’d probably messed it up anyway.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Well in the movies and stuff it’s always perfectly well executed.”

You scooted a bit closer to him so that your knees would touch. “That’s only in movies. Most people’s first kiss is awkward.”

“Was yours?”

“Yeah. But I’d like to think I’m way better at it now.”

That made Peter’s eyes widen, but he still kept his gaze glued to the ground. “I-Is that so?”

“I mean… Do you want to find out?”

He finally lifted his head up to look at you. You reached your hand over, caressing the side of his face and he leaned into your touch right away. Was this a dream? Because his heart felt like it was about to burst out of his chest. Having his first kiss was one thing but having it with you? That’s all he ever wanted. 

“There’s no such thing as a perfectly executed first kiss. But I’d like to try to give you one if you want,” you said softly. 

“Y-Yeah… that’d be nice.” 

You smiled and leaned in closer, but Peter got too eager and pecked you on the lips first. He couldn’t help it. He’s been wanting to kiss you since forever. So yeah, it was sloppy and unplanned with zero technique. He honestly almost missed. You stared at him, too stunned to speak for a moment before your face twisted into frustration. 

“Peter!”

“What?”

“That's not how it was supposed to be! I was going to kiss you soft and sweet and slow and it was supposed to be romantic. You ruined it!”

“I’m pretty happy with it,” he said nervously. The look you gave him screamed murder. 

“Ugh. Well, that’s all you get. Your first kiss. Rushed and terrible.”

“I can live with that.”

You blushed for the first time that night and Peter had to stop himself from doing a backflip out of joy. 

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I've been dreaming of the Knight of Dreams.

He pledged to see his father off with a smile. That last wish, he could not fulfill.

This isn’t the happy ending he wanted—open your eyes.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

He wakes to the woods.

Silver automatically recognizes his surroundings. He'd laid out at the base of a great oak, planted right in the center of a lush forest glen. Sunlight filters through the leaves, granting the place an ethereal glow.

A stream threads around a cottage with a roof of straw, shuttered windows open and smiling at him. Where the water rounds at a bend, there's an arched bridge that leads to a path winding up to the cottage. It's picturesque and cozy, an illustration right out of a fairy tale.

It's home.

Silver rubs at his eyes, dispelling the remaining shreds of his drowsiness.

I must have dozed off again. Father must be worried.

He stands, dusting himself off. There's a few blades of grass clinging to his clothes, some petals coming loose. As he runs his hands over fabric, they snag upon something small and hard in the pocket of his pants.

"Huh? What is this...?"

Silver's voice trails off as he fishes out the object. It's a chunky ring in the shape of a crown, which hangs off of a golden chain. Embedded into the ring are many small, clear jewels. In the center is a large gemstone--and when it catches the sunlight, it refracts the colors of the rainbow.

A dull pain starts in the back of his head. He frowns, gently rubbing at the spot to soothe it.

Strange. I don't recall owning something like this. Did I find it lost in the forest?

For reasons unknown to him, the vague image of a smiling man is conjured. The owner? He gropes around in his foggy memories, but comes up with no answer.

Even so, his fingers close protectively around the bauble.

"Silver!"

He looks up, finding his father in the doorway. Lilia wears a shamelessly frilled apron, KISS THE COOK emblazoned upon his chest. The fae happily waves for his son to approach, and his heart melts.

Silver jogs up the path, barely breaking a sweat when he arrives on the porch. "Father."

"Silly boy, you're going to be late for your own birthday party," Lilia teases, lightly booping him on the nose. "Well, come on in! Everything's just about ready."

Silver curiously peers inside. The cottage is clean and neat--a rarity when left alone with his father, though Silver suspects he must have enchanted a broom to do the tidying.

It seems that his father has been hard at work in the kitchen, whipping up many of his... signature dishes which radiate a noxious aura. The most edible looking thing on their tiny dining table is a tiered vanilla cake with 18 candles stabbed into it. It's leaning over, blue frosting dribbling down its sides.

Tucked in one corner of the room is a fine suit on a mannequin, stitched together in shades of pink, blue, and green. Silver raises a brow at his father, who shrugs.

"I couldn't decide on just one color!" Lilia admits.

"You didn't have to go out of your way for all of this."

"Oh, but I wanted to," his father insists, giving him a quick hug. He pulls back, but keeps his hands on Silver's shoulders. "After all, this birthday is a very special one: you're finally considered an adult."

An... adult?

There it is again, that throbbing pain. It comes stronger this time, blinking in and out like a warning light.

Silver grimaces, bringing a hand to his forehead.

Lilia frowns. "Oh dear, are you still half asleep? Maybe you ought to sit down. We can't have you feeling unwell, especially before Malleus and Sebek get here."

"Yes, I think I'll do that," Silver agrees. "I apologize for the trouble. I feel like I haven't been myself lately. Like something is... wrong."

"I didn't realize you were so anxious about aging!" Lilia jokes, steering him over to an open chair. As soon as Silver is safely seated, Lilia goes in for an aggressive ruffle of his hair. "Chin up, m'boy! There is no shame in maturing. Why, I've raised you to be an upstanding young man if I do say so myself! You've got nothing to worry about."

Silver attempts a smile. "Of course."

His clutch on the ring and its chain instinctively tightens.

Lilia notices. "What's that you've got there? You're clenching your fist rather hard."

"Oh, this..." Silver unfurls his fingers. As soon as Lilia lays his eyes upon the piece of jewelry, a shadow passes over his expression, clouding it.

"Where did you find that?" he asks softly. Lilia leans over, a hand hovering, as if preparing to snatch it up. "You weren't supposed to receive this yet. Here, give it back to--"

"NO!!"

Silver says it louder than he means to, startling his father. His body turns from him and toward the ring, intent on guarding it. He doesn't know why--but everything in him is screaming that he must not let it be taken away.

Lilia stops, then shakes his head. "... It's fine. You were going to be gifted it sooner or later."

"You know what it is?" Silver remains alert, still shielding the ring.

"It's your birthday present, from me to you. I've been saving up for quite a while to afford it for you--I wanted it to be a big surprise," Lilia pouts. "Ah, but in the end... I suppose it doesn't matter what the method of delivery is, so long as you're still happy with it."

Silver's brows crease. Something about the comfortable narrative does not quite roll of the tongue smoothly.

A present from his father...

He stares down at the large gem laid in the center of the ring. It's facets twinkle, pink and blue and purple. Just like his eyes.

My... eyes?

A buzzing sound rings in his ears. His father's deep voice rises up through the white noise.

"It must be what your parents wished for. That their child's eyes may remain like this jewel, clear and unclouded... It suits you, Silver."

That is...

Silver sits up straight.

All at once, everything looks different. The world, shifted, and the glowing filter over his lens, gone. This house is not his home, and this man is not his father.

"Hm? Why are you staring at me like that, Silver?" Lilia giggles. "Don't tell me you're daydreaming again."

"... No. No, it's not that."

Silver's eyes flick to the door. It seems so far away.

"I... just remembered something. I forgot to greet the bluebirds." His stomach sinks as he speaks the lie into existence.

"Oh? That's not like you. You're becoming forgetful at age 18!"

Silver nods. "I won't have the time to speak with them once the party begins. May I quickly go to them?"

"Oh my, you're heading out already? So eager to leave the nest."

"... Yes. But please don't worry about me." Silver closes a hand around Lilia's and squeezes. Even if this is all fake, a facsimile, it's still very much the face of his father he is gazing into. He offers reassurance. "I'll be back soon."

"Kufufu. Alright." Lilia squeezes in return. "I'll be waiting then. Don't be late now."

Silver heads for the door.

At the threshold, he looks back one last time. At this, the happy ending crafted for him. A quaint little cottage in the woods, where he would spend the rest of his days with his beloved family.

But it's not what Lilia would have wanted for him. For everyone.

Silver painfully looks away. "Farewell, father. I promise... I will see you again."

Out there. In the real world.

He shuts the door, putting the dream behind him. Silver takes a deep breath.

"Those I've met and will someday... Meet in a Dream."

And then he is gone.