#there's still explanation for what's up with ruby

[syndrossi]

Hey, after reading the latest AU Restoration, I’d like to ask you—could you add a short scene between Dany, W Jon, and the kids?🥺

Standard disclaimer that this is not necessarily how Restoration will go but it's a possible meeting of Dany and the boys.

x~x~x

The wait was the worst part. Daemon had promised Daenerys that he and Caraxes would be victorious over the Usurper’s forces, and yet his confidence had not extended to allowing her to ride alongside him into battle to free his sons at Winterfell.

My brothers, she reminded herself. The tale that Daemon had told her was a strange one, and yet there seemed no other explanation. He was Daemon Targaryen, son of Baelon Targaryen, rider of Caraxes, wielder of Dark Sister—a man two centuries dead, yet alive and breathing before her. He and his young sons had been drawn here by sorcery, separated.

Viserys had told her what histories he recalled from his lessons at the Red Keep, and he had greatly admired Daemon Targaryen. His first marriage had yielded twins, she vaguely recalled. Girls, and yet these were sons, Jon and Rhaegar. Viserys must have been mistaken.

Stranger still had been his insistence that his sons had been reborn, one as her slain brother, Rhaegar. The other he had not yet found, though Daemon’s face had seemed carved of grief when confiding that he believed him to be dead as well, betrayed and murdered at the Wall.

You were Rhaegar’s sister, so you are as to me a daughter, Daemon had declared.

Viserys had been Rhaegar’s brother, though that had not stopped Daemon’s dragon from swallowing him when he had tried to kill their kinsman in the night, adamant that he was little more than an upjumped Blackfyre who sought to steal their birthright.

If he speaks true, we are descended from his line. His claim seemed no less than Viserys’s, and he rode a dragon.

The wind was cold in the kingdom of the North, even in summer, penetrating through the cracks in the walls of the abandoned tower they had claimed as a temporary outpost. Daenerys shivered, moving herself and her precious cargo closer to the fire.

Dragon eggs. They had been meant as a wedding gift to her from Magister Illyrio, but the magister had very quickly surrendered them to Daemon under threat of dragonflame. She ran her fingers over the tops of each, and whenever she caressed the darkest of the three, a deep black with swirls of ruby, she could swear that she felt something: a flutter of her heart, a flicker of warmth.

Her head jerked up at the familiar sound of dragon wings flapping from a distance. Daenerys closed and latched the chest that contained the precious eggs, gathering its hefty weight in her arms, and hurried to the tower’s entrance.

Daemon was already half dismounted, his hair grey with ash and his face light with joy. He ran to her, and she set the chest down just in time for him to gather her in his arms, spinning her around as he roared victory. She found herself grinning with him as he set her down, his fire infectious.

“You found them,” she said.

“I found them,” Daemon said, and she could see trails of gray down his cheeks, where the tears must have flowed. “I found Jon,” he added, with an emphasis that told her he meant the other Jon, the one he had thought dead along with her brother. His smile contorted briefly into a snarl. “And that pig of a Baratheon is dead. Come.”

The dragon eggs and the remainder of her belongings were loaded into Caraxes’s saddlebags, and Daemon told her of his triumph. It had been a slaughter, the Usurper and his men caught entirely off guard at Winterfell. There, Daemon had found that Lord Stark, Robert Baratheon’s staunchest ally and oldest friend, had kept his sons and Jon alike safe, though he seemed irritated that it had been under the guise of Lord Stark’s bastards.

Lord Stark had believed them to be Daenerys’s own younger brothers, Daemon’s sons by her own mother, and Daemon had not bothered to claim otherwise. It was a fantasy she would have gladly lived, she thought with a pang, rather than roaming Essos as penniless orphans, dependent on the charity of men like Magister Illyrio, forever fearing that the Usurper would send assassins after them.

Viserys had stopped speaking of their mother as the years passed, but when she had been very little, he had enthralled Daenerys with stories of her. How beautiful she had been, how gentle, how lovely her voice. Daenerys had dreamed of being held in her arms, safe and warm and loved. Though those tales had often ended with a reminder that Dany had been the one to kill her.

And now she had Daemon, who had burned a Dothraki horde to secure her freedom, for a father. Brothers in his sons. And apparently a nephew in the other Jon. My eldest brother’s son by Lyanna Stark, hidden away lest he meet the fate of his half-siblings.

Her heart raced nearly the entirety of the short flight to Winterfell, and their arrival was met mid-air by two younger dragons who danced merrily around Caraxes as they escorted him to the holdfast. Daenerys watched them with delight, recognizing them from Daemon’s accounts. Qelebrys and Shadow.

“This is my daughter,” Daemon announced to a near-silent crowd once they had landed. The courtyard was still partly aflame in places, and the smell of burnt flesh reached her nostrils with every stir of the breeze. “Princess Daenerys Targaryen.”

Lord Stark seemed still in a daze, though he greeted her with a bow and a kiss to the hand. His wife, Lady Stark, watched Daemon with fearful eyes that flicked between him and her children, who were a gaggle of red-haired boys and girls, save for one young girl with dark hair like her father’s.

But her eyes were for the other cluster of children, one older boy of an age with her, and two smaller ones of equal height. Jon, she thought, looking over the eldest first. Her nephew. It was a strange thought, given that he was older than her by more than a few moons.

He looked nearly as stunned as Lord Stark, holding himself as one unsure if he belonged with Daemon’s twins, and her own heart ached in sympathy. She too knew what it was to have her life upended by Daemon Targaryen, and the pain of feeling forever out of place.

It was easy to see how Lord Stark had kept him hidden. His hair was dark like his uncle’s, and his eyes nearly the same grey. But where Lord Stark’s face was harsh and plain, his was soft with youth. He was pretty, his lashes thick and dark, his nose fine and straight. She could see herself and Viserys in him the longer she looked, his Targaryen blood peeking through the camouflage of his Stark features.

Her gaze went next to the younger child to his right and she could only stare for a moment. He looks like me. And yet also Daemon, as though he could have been her mother’s son with him. Rhaegar. For some reason, she had expected someone like Viserys, but her brother’s features, though handsome, had often been pinched and angry. He looks like me, she thought again, and for some reason, that was what filled her eyes with tears.

It was not that she hadn’t believed Daemon when he insisted that her brother was his son reborn. But the tears in Rhaegar’s eyes as he stared back, their purple dark with sorrow, made her feel as though she were gazing at her long-dead brother, the one she had been told was kind and beautiful and valiant.

She reached for him, enveloping him in a tight hug, her sobs shaking in time with his as she held his head to her chest. It is not fair. She wanted that life so badly she could hardly breathe, the lie that Daemon had told Lord Stark. The one where her mother had lived, and Viserys had not grown bitter and cruel, and she had chased little brothers through the yard of a grand estate that would have been home. Where she would have run to be swept up in Daemon’s hugs and brought to see Caraxes, and Shadow and Qelebrys would have been tiny hatchlings, small enough to hold, and perhaps a hatchling of her own.

“Do not cry,” she said into Rhaegar’s hair, remembering when Viserys had whispered them to her. We are the blood of the dragon. “We are together,” she said instead.

Past his shoulder, she could see Daemon’s Jon—Baelon—also staring at her. He looked so much like the other Jon that she knew Daemon was right. He is his son reborn. But Baelon also bore a striking resemblance to Rhaegar, and it was easier to find Daemon in his mouth and eyes. There was less Stark, though it was a puzzle to see it at all, and the grey of his eyes held a hint of purple in its murk.

There was a sadness in his face, but a fondness as well—almost as though he knew her—that took Daenerys by surprise. She beckoned him, and he let himself be gathered into her embrace. “Hello, little brothers,” she said in High Valyrian, and her heart swelled as they answered her in kind.

Once the tears had subsided, hers and Rhaegar’s both, she eased back, though she kept a hand on each child’s shoulder, reluctant to release them fully. That left Jon, still lingering at the edge of their family group. She approached him at last, and he tried to maintain that distance, bowing and then murmuring, “It is an honor to meet you, princess,” but she hugged him as well, not relenting until his instinctive stiffening had relaxed, and he returned it.

“We are family,” she said. “You must call me Daenerys. May I call you Jon?”

[joeeatsdvds]

somebody really needs to teach russell on how to properly tie up loose plot ends by the way before it becomes a reoccurring problem

[starlightbright]

RIP Ricky September they had to kill you because it would have been unrealistic to not keep you on as a companion 😔

EDIT: I've noticed some people taking this post really seriously, so to clarify: no, I don't think Ricky was literally a perfect uwu anti-racist angel. This post was mostly a joke about how he was running around doing companion shit and, most of all, how the Doctor and Ruby both thought he was a hottie. My actual feelings about Ricky are that he's a complacent white liberal. Character reading under the cut if you want an explanation.

I do think the implications of making him unplugged from the racism bubble, paralleling him with the Doctor (man who shows up with knowledge about history and technology and guides the other character through dangerous situations), and directly contrasting to Lindy (including being open to trust the Doctor without second guessing him the same way Lindy and all her friends did) are supposed to be that he wasn't like the other people there and is thus LESS racist since racism comes to be what defines their society. I've seen some people basically ask "then why'd he move to White People City?" but within the text it's actually Rich People City; the reason everyone there is white is because systemic racism financially benefits white people. Making him LESS racist is NECESSARY to giving his death any meaning - because if he definitively would have called the Doctor a slur and walked away, then the Dot killing him quickly was a mercy kill because we KNOW all the other residents are going to die in the wilderness.

THAT SAID, I also don't think he was a progressive anti-racist. Do you know what Ricky actually is? A white liberal. He might disengage from the White People Bubble, he might not be outwardly cruel to black people, but he's still surrounded by people who are and benefits from a system where ONLY WHITE PEOPLE ARE RICH. The culture might be fucked, but he still benefits from it without doing anything to actually fight it. It's like how many a white liberal will read about the history of slavery, feel sad about it, and then be uncritical of prison labor. If Ricky was meant to be progressive, there'd be something, ANYTHING in the text about how he's tried to educate his followers on their society's problems, but it got deleted. He is COMPLACENT.

That's sort of the point, I'd say, since the theme is about how priviledged white people put themselves in a bubble of people like them and choose to look away from what's wrong in society. Those people become complacent at best with no effort to actually speak out or change things. Hell, even within the text, Ricky SEES a problem others are looking away from (the slugs eating people), but only tries to fight it by making a TikTok about it and becomes complacent again, accepting that people are just going to be eaten.

So tl;dr: no, I don't think the white liberal kid literally would have been a companion. I think if you stuck him in the Ood episode, for example, he'd have shaken his head when he found out about their plight, maybe made a TikTok with sad music playing over footage of them, and then said "welp, nothing else can be done." I think it's FUNNY to imagine another companion that the Doctor and Ruby both are giggling like schoolgirls over.

Also I kind of thought he was ugly - no offense to the actor but the makeup they had him in combined with the lighting and closeups made him look way older than 27 so he gave off this uncanny "how do you do fellow kids?" look.

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

That’s Not What Friends Do (part 1)

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: smut, cheating

Request: Lando and the Reader have been best friends since they were babies. Lando has been in love with the Reader since he was a teenager, which is why he has never had a serious relationship. He has flings with girls, but nothing serious. On the other hand, the Reader has been in love with Lando for the past one to two years but thinks he doesn't like her that way, which is why she doesn't propose. Lando is very protective of the Reader, and the Reader is equally protective of Lando.... She knows he sleeps around and is protective of him in a way that she advises him to be smart about who he sleeps with and to stay out of the headlines for anything other than racing. The story starts after the Brazil race, where Lando had a tough time and went without sleep for 24-48 hours. When he returns from São Paulo, he finds the Reader already there, ready to comfort him after a bad race. - I changed it up a bit adding Charles into the story, but I hope you still like it!

"Oh, yes, yes, yes-ah.." The girl moans breathlessly into the pillow as Lando animalistically continues pounding her from behind.

"Just like that, Lando, give it to me" She continues talking even though Lando hates hearing it.

He hates the way his name sounds coming from her lips. He also hates that he's giving her what she wants. And most of all, he hates the fact that once again he's fucking someone else, imagining it washer.

Once he closes his eyes and thinks of your innocent face, it sends him over the edge, he twitches pulling out his cock and cumming inside the condom. "Fuck.." He moans throwing his head back as his thighs shake.

"You didn't have to pull out, you know? You have a condom on anyway" The girl smirks turning to look at him and trying to pull him down to her.

Lando doesn't say anything, he raises his eyebrow at her, barely keeping himself from rolling his eyes at her stupid comment.

He's been with so many girls he can't even count them, but even when he's drunk out of his mind, protection is a must have. He's not fucking around when it comes to that, not when he doesn't even know half of those girls' names. Nor is he interested in their names. All he cares about is emptying himself, giving himself a short-term pleasure and maybe just maybe running into someone who is at least slightly similar to her.

"You're not gonna stay?" The girl asks when he gets up from the bed and starts pulling his pants up.

"No, sorry, I gotta go" With curt, almost no explanations, he always leaves minutes after he finishes. Not that he's proud of it, but to be honest, he doesn't care either.

On the other hand, y/n doesn't spend her free nights the way Lando does. She doesn't fuck around with guys to keep her mind off Lando because she knows that's impossible in a way.

Although she spends some of her evenings wishing she had never seen that article a year and a half ago. It was a perfectly normal Monday night, the day after the race, when after a long flight she finally lay down on her couch, snuggled under the blanket and started scrolling through her phone. At one point, her best friend Ruby sent her an article titled "Friends"? and a picture of y/n and Lando that y/n hasn't stopped thinking about ever since.

The picture captured the moment when, after the race, Lando had both arms tightly wrapped around y/n and was kissing her temple with his eyes closed.

At first it seemed like an ordinary picture, I mean it wasn't the first time they shared a close moment like that before. After all they're friends? Friends do that, right? But the longer y/n stared at it, the more it awakened something in her that hadn't been there before.

When she found herself thinking about Lando and herself at night to fall asleep, she realized she was in trouble because she knew she was in love with her best friend. But since she also knew that the night she was staring at their picture, he was fucking some girl because he himself had told her he was meeting her that night, y/n knew she had to suppress her feelings.

That's where y/n had a little help named Charles.

"Where were you?"

Y/n startles almost screaming when she walks into her apartment and turns on the light revealing Lando on her couch.

"Oh my God, Lando!!" She said, barely able to catch her breath as she held her hand over her heart thinking it would jump out at any second. "You scared the shit out of me! How did you get in here?"

"You gave me the key?"

"I did, but to use it in case of emergency only!"

"You not answering my calls is an emergency" He says and you roll your eyes at him as you take off your shoes. "So?"

"So?" You mimic him.

"Where were you?"

"I was" You sigh. "On a date."

"You were on a date?" He asked a little panicked, following you like a puppy into the kitchen where you had gone.

"Mhm" You mumble, avoiding his gaze. "Ready to conquer Brazil?" You ask trying to change the subject.

"Who were you on a date with?" He asks not dropping it.

"Can we please not talk about it?" You sigh. You really had no intention of telling him anytime soon that you were seeing Charles. You knew Lando was never much of a fan of Charles. Although the reason for that was never clear to you, Lando had actually seen the way Charles secretly looked at you on a couple of occasions, and he confirmed his suspicions when Carlos told him that Charles had said he wanted to get to know you better.

"Why not? Since when am I not allowed to know who you're seeing?"

"Oh please, as if you tell me about every girl you see"

"Well..that's n-not the same"

"Oh really? And by the way, the other day Instagram was full of you and some blonde at a club again. I could see how drunk you were through the picture, you know?" You've scolded him for the umpteenth time already. "You really should be more careful who you associate yourself with, it's getting out of hand"

Lando remained silent because he knew you were right and he hated that he knew you were always right.

"Lando, you know I'm only saying that because I don't want them to talk badly about you and play with your head..."

No one really knew Lando the way you did. After all, you've known each other since childhood, inseparable since you were little. Your relationship has always been one of a kind, both of you very protective of each other. For Lando, it was like he wasn't afraid to hurt anyone but you. You were something that cannot be touched.

"I know, but I don't want to talk about that either." He says. "Are you coming with me to Brazil?"

"No, I'm sorry, Lan. I have a project to finish. I have so much to do and so little time."

"So you have time to date but you don't have time to be there when I need you?"

"H-how can you even say that?" You were offended because that was far from the truth. If anyone was always there for Lando, it was you. You just didn't know he was saying this only out of jealousy and because he had a hard time accepting that you had someone in your life besides him.

"Let me guess, he'll be your moral support while you work on your project?"

Oh, if he only knew that the "moral support" he was talking about would be much closer to him than to you that weekend, he would surely lose his mind.

part 2

[linda-with-an-i]

Important things that RTD set up in his second run of DW and somehow failed to explain:

Why is Ruby magically able to cause snowfalls and why does she have 'a song in her heart' (or something along those lines)?

Why is Mrs Flood able to break the 4th wall?

Why is the Doctor able to hear non-diegetic music and what's going on with all the references with DW actually being a TV show?

Why was it important to mention that Belinda had a descendant, who the doctor met in 'Boom', that looked exactly like her if we're never going to explore the meaning of it again?

How is it possible that during Jodie Whittaker's era UNIT was gone, and just in a couple of years the organization is back with virtually unlimited funds and a whole avengers-tower right in the middle of London?

What happened with Rogue and how was he able to communicate with the doctor whilst still being trapped in superhell? (I reiterate that I don't like him as a character but I feel that this particular plot should have been resolved with Ncuti as the doctor as it would have been coherent with their story arcs)

Now that the doctor changed reality to bring back Poppy, what happened to the original Captain Poppy and the other space babies? Who were Poppy's original parents? And what happened to Bel's original life, wasn't it important as well? What about his housemates? How do we know that they weren't by accident erased from existence because the Doctor altered reality?

How tf is it possible that Timelords can't have children? The 10th doctor (who is written by RTD as well ffs) specifically mentioned a couple of times having children?!?! Make it make sense. 

The whole bigeneration concept. I understand the idea, but I feel a more in-depth explanation would have been nice.

I'm sure there are more plot-points I'm forgetting, so feel free to add more, but the point I'm trying to make is: why would you set up so much stuff, if all Disney+ is giving you are 8 episodes per series?

It's frustrating, because the premise of those ideas are very interesting but they would require more time and more episodes to explore those concepts with a satisfying conclusion. Not to mention that RTD2 has been filled with fan-service galore, way too many characters (old and new) and publicity stunts, especially in the finale.

And of course the main victims of what happened in the end are Ncuti and Varada, because they were brilliant in their roles, and they deserved better and they deserved more. I just hope that they're getting lots of love and compliments from the fans, at least as consolation.

I'm not saying it's 100% RTD's fault, but I think some decisions led to some lazy writing and the result is... not the best to say the least.

[ghost-proofbaby]

SIMPLE. (astarion ancunin x afab!reader)

based upon this request by @leahthesith: you've grown tired of astarion's games of jealousy, and it all comes crashing down one night when he chooses to spoil your fun with shadowheart.

warnings: mentions and allusions to astarion's past, as well as his sexual trauma. biting. lots, and lots, and lots of biting. oral sex ('f' receiving), smut. reader is not explicitly gendered/no pronouns are used. only a brief comparison of a 'schoolgirl crush'. reader has also had almost romantic interactions with several companions. 18+ - minors dni.

wc: 7.4k+

kinktober masterlist

There’s no reason for him to be looking at you like that. 

No explanation, no justification, no reason for those jewel eyes to be glowering at you from across the tavern. For his fist to wrap around the mug of whatever he’s sipping on for show, pale skin going translucent in the dancing candlelight. For his entire chest having gone still the last several minutes, and for you to be unable to decipher if he’s simply too distracted to bother with the last of what remains of his living instincts or if it’s another instinct all on its own – if he’s holding his breath as he watches your conversation with Shadowheart.

Then again, there’s no real reason for you to be watching him back. 

The matter of the fact is that you’re watching him just as closely, just as captivated by his presence from across the room, just to simply notice these things. The stillness in his shoulders and the glint that you swear must be his fangs poking past his lips should not be in your periphery. Your focus, all your attention, should be on the vibrant girl on the stool beside you. The dark beauty who’s speaking more with her hands than her lips, giggling over yet another glass of wine. 

“You know,” she sighs wistfully, and you have to tear your gaze away from where it had wandered towards the vampire currently sulking away from the group, “The wine here in the city is much better than on the road.” 

You hum as you distractedly take a sip from your own glass, tongue immediately peeking out to trace along your bottom lip subconsciously, as if you might be trying to savor the flavor. As if you can even taste the flavor. Your tongue has gone all but numb to the ruby liquid as a very different shade of red has captured your interest. 

This could be the same wine from the druid party at the beginning of your journey, the party in which you snatched a bottle from the very shadow that is watching your every move, and you wouldn’t know the difference. 

“It is,” you lie, swirling the red liquid a little bit, an attempt to bring back the taste all over your tongue. 

And even if she buys your lie, Shadowheart can tell something is off, leaning in just a bit closer, peering at you just a little more concerningly, “Is everything okay? You don’t seem yourself.” 

You don’t feel yourself. You should be feeling much more jubilant. You should be joining in on the same fun everyone else is having, toasting to yet another battle won. The end of it all was so close you could taste it. 

And yet, you don’t. Because he’s in the corner brooding, and with him he’s seemingly taken both your mind and your mood. 

“It’s been a long day,” It’s been one long day after another for months, it seems, “I suppose the wine is just making me relax a bit too much.” 

That it is. The alcohol has managed to wiggle its way into your bloodstream, heading straight up your spine and to your brain. All your thoughts feather at the edge, and perhaps that was why you were watching Astarion back so intensely. 

Months of this journey, and you still felt no closer to figuring him out than you had that very first night of discovering his vampirism. Each layer of him that you had peeled back only revealed more confusion to sit with. Some days, you swore you had him entirely figured out. You knew every in and every out of all his wits, and you knew all the steps to the dance in which he’d attempt to draw you into. You could play into whatever design he was spinning between the two of you; you could beat him at his own game. 

But other days, days like today, you simply couldn’t. 

All his flirtations, all his subtle seductions – you couldn’t decipher what was real and what was still for show. For every innuendo he’d whispered into your ear, he shared just as scandalous a comment with another party member. For every seemingly accidental graze of his cold skin against yours, he was attaching himself at the hip of another one of your companions. For all he gave, he would take just as much. Leaving you spinning in the hope of it all; leaving you with a yearning hunger that probably neared the threshold of his own vampiric hunger. 

You want him. You hate him. He infatuates you. He irritates you. He is both sides of the same coin that has damned you every step along the way of this peculiar journey you’ve embarked on together.

“I know what you mean,” Shadowheart brings you back to reality with one swoop of her hair, a careful gathering of the locks to leave a shoulder exposed, “What is it that they always say? Wine is the secret ingredient for every bad decision?”

Your eyes trace carefully over her skin, the slope of where her neck meets her collarbone, the residual bruising leftover from the latest fight blooming beautifully over her. A welcome distraction.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever heard them say that,” you muse, a smile tugging on your lips, eyes still traveling. Up, up, up. 

Over the line of her jaw, across the curve of her chin. Pillowy bottom lip and softly rounded nose. Softness – she’s made up of all soft and delicate features, such a contrast to someone such as Ast-

You must stop thinking about Astarion.

You’re no longer asking yourself of it, you’re demanding yourself of it. You make a point to move your body and head carefully, positioning yourself just so that the outline of the confusing vampire on your mind is entirely blocked out by Shadowheart’s silhouette. 

“Oh, trust me – they say it all the time,” something simmers beneath Shadowheart’s returning grin, a sparkle in her eyes that should spark some sort of excitement in you. But it’s a hollow ache; you’re still painfully aware that he’s in the room, “Say, would you like to maybe… I don’t know, get out of here? I’m sure we could sneak some more of this exquisite wine to the room upstairs, perhaps find somewhere to relax together even more-” 

“Oh, my dear Shadowheart, don’t you know that that would be thievery?” 

His voice, so close and sudden, sucks all of the air out of your lungs. 

“Astarion!” Shadowheart jumps a bit at his sudden appearance, but you hardly move a muscle. As though your body had been expecting him, as if you had always known the night was leading to this outcome, “I’m surprised to see you’ve given up your gloomy act to join us all. I thought you might sulk in the corner all night.”

His eyes lock on you, and the facade of his usual self seemingly melts. There’s something darker beneath the surface, an animal caged away, and you can see it as it bares its teeth, “Not sulking. Merely observing.” 

You can’t speak. Your entire chest is still tight, lungs still deflated, by his proximity. 

“Well, hard to tell the difference when you hide away in the darkness,” Shadowheart manages to get out before her lips press tightly together, clearly irritated at your companion. 

She’d nearly had you. She had been giving you clear signals, doing away with any games of cats and mice, and she had nearly had you. 

“It’s in my nature, I suppose,” his tone falls flatter than normal, the words void of all the airiness and usual cadence he accentuates. 

He still has you far more enraptured than she’d ever stood a chance of accomplishing. 

“We were just heading upstairs,” you blurt out, and Astarion’s eyebrows raise at your proclamation.

“Is that so?” 

You don’t quite understand why, but you feel the need to over explain yourself, painfully aware of Shadowheart’s inquisitive gaze as she watches you fumble with your words, “Yes! I- I was just telling Shadowheart how tired I’ve grown. We were just calling it a night-” 

“By stealing a bottle of wine?” his tone is growing sharper, and you squirm beneath what has almost become a glare. In an instant, he’s noticing all that discomfort, and you watch the facade be built back up in real time. Brick by brick, he once again resumes his usual role, voice raising a few octaves and a dangerous smirk returning, “And stealing our dearest cleric away from such a wonderful night of celebration? Nonsense! Allow me to accompany you instead, my sweet.”

The nickname rolls off his tongue as naturally as it always does. Sugary syllables, predatory purring. It almost reels you in until you remember the give and the take. The push and the pull. 

Two sides, same coin. And you’ve yet to figure out the value of that coin. 

“There’s no need for that-” Shadowheart begins to protest, but Astarion quickly cuts her off with a flourish of his hand. 

“Please, I insist,” even with his words lightened, sweetened up the slightest bit, that animal still lingers below the tone. Shadowheart will not be accompanying you up to the room. That much you know. “You were clearly having such a good time. It’s truly no problem, I don’t mind watching after our fearless leader.” 

“I don’t need to be babysat,” you snap, reactive like a dog threatened. 

Like a dog cornered.

Yes, that was what you were. A rapid animal, backed up into a space, given no choice. Your heart was racing at the idea of being alone with Astarion. It was no longer a game of mental chess played across a busy tavern – it would be just you, just him, and all those terrible layers you had yet to decipher. It was a recipe for disaster. It was the perfect storm brewing, set for the destruction of you.

“I won’t be babysitting you, dear,” he smiles, and it looks more like a hungered sneer than a sign of genuinity, “Simply there, at your service, for whatever you may need.

I need you to leave me alone. I need our journey to be over so I can stop being your puppet to string along.

You wonder if the thought may have traveled over the tadpole bond and that was why his face falls, rather than your stubborn silence. 

For a moment, you think Shadowheart is going to speak up. That possibly, she might just fight back against him, save you from the impending doom. But when her mouth opens, you hear the last possible thing you could have ached to have fallen from her lips. 

“I… suppose I’ll be on my way then. Have a good night.”

Defeat. 

It wraps around your name as she whispers it before she stands from her stool, unassuming to all your silent signals begging her to stay. Footsteps echoing over the commotion around you as she turns her back, and you feel the walls of this corner drawing in on you. 

“I-” you start when you finally look back to Astarion, but he’s already reaching out to grab you. 

“She’ll get over it,” he says harshly, pulling you along as if you were nothing. As though you weren’t digging your heels into the creaking floorboards below, as if you weren’t resisting him with every fiber of your being. 

“Astarion- stop, I’m- I’m not worried about her,” you stutter out, cursing the way your voice falters, tugging against his grip on you, “Gods, why do you do that?” 

The question has him halting at the foot of the stairs. The shadows encase the two of you as his eyes glow in the subtle darkness. 

“Do what?” 

“This.”

You wave your free hand in the space between the two of you wildly, as though that might suffice for explanation. But when Astarion only levels you with a blank stare, you know it won’t. You know it doesn’t. 

“You pull me along, you push me away,” you continue, heart still racing wildly, breaths coming out short and fast, “You treat me like something special and then discard me, and the moment I seek out that genuine treatment from someone else, you’re back to collect me as your own personal play toy. I want to know why.”

For all the exasperation you feel, there’s a pride beneath it all. The pride of being able to articulate, the smugness of assuming you’ve left him speechless. You haven’t.

Today is not one of the days in which you can beat him at his own game. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” he claims, chin lifting just an inch, eyes flitting towards the ceiling before making their way to the bar scene behind you. Anywhere but you. “I’ve done no such thing-”

“Bullshit,” you spit out, “Bull-fucking-shit. You’ve done it numerous times, Astarion. Do you not recall the night in which Gale had approached me, offering to teach me about the Weave, and how you’d interrupted-”

“Our dearest wizard would have bored you to death. It was a mercy to interject.”

“-or the night of the tiefling party, when Karlach had been on the verge of confessing something that seemed an awful lot like an admittance of liking me-”

“Karlach likes everyone. Have you seen the eyes she makes at Wyll?”

“-And how about the time when Lae’zel openly invited me to share a bed with her, and you’d overheard, and obnoxiously guffawed? Hm? What’s your excuse there?” 

Finally, his grip has slackened on your wrist, allowing you to pull both arms tightly across your chest as you glare at him. Chest still heaving, mind still reeling. 

He clearly doesn’t have a very good answer as his lips twitch briefly into a pathetic smile, fading quickly as he shrugs, “Well, I simply found the entire image conjured amusing.”

Your heart nearly stops, leaving your chest as empty a cavern as Astarion’s, “You find the image of someone wanting me, wanting to lay with me, amusing?”

And for all he plays dumb, Astarion is not a fool. 

He catches the fall in your demeanor, the way your arms slowly drop and your entire face contorts with your frown. Damage has been done. 

“No, wait, I-” he tries to begin damage control, but the damage has been done.

“Save it,” you cut him off, “I’m going upstairs now. You can continue on your moping down here in the shadows – I don’t need a babysitter.” 

He almost looks as defeated as Shadowheart had when he’d intervened for a second, a second just long enough that you begin taking the long strides up the stairs. You think you’ve gotten the last word, for that eternity of a second. Making it all the way to the first platform, turning to take on the second set of stairs. 

When suddenly, your back is flat against the wall behind you, a cold body pressed against the entirety of yours. 

“I do not find it amusing,” Astarion huffs, those beady eyes suddenly staring right into yours, lips dangerously close to your own. The defeat has been long forgotten, “The image of you with the others – entranced by Gale’s magic, giggling by the fire with Karlach, on your knees for Lae’zel – is not amusing,” his hands are tight on your hips, bruising grip keeping you pinned with no escape. His body rolls, every inch of his clothed skin beginning to press against your own, “You, laying with anyone else, is the farthest thing from amusing, darling.”

His head tilts in warning, forehead nearly pressed to yours, the end of his nose bumping against yours. You can feel every unnecessary breath he takes. Every huff of his sudden irritation invades your space, and all you can do is attempt to turn your head. 

One of his hands is quick to reach up, pinching your chin between his thumb and pointer. You want to look away, but he won’t allow it. 

“Would you like to know the truth?” 

A loaded question. A ticking time bomb when it comes to this game between the two of you. 

You decide to set the fuse aflame when you nod your stiff head against his pinching grip. 

“The truth is,” he takes a deep breath, one you know he doesn’t need. He’s sucking all the air out of the room, air he has no need for, before his heavy eyes pour into yours. You’re blinded, all visions of red and smoky warning signs, the chatter of the tavern faded to nothing, “the image of you laying with anyone else absolutely infuriates me.”

Anyone else. 

Anyone else. 

Anyone else.

You open your mouth to respond, not even sure what you could possibly say to that, but it’s Astarion’s lips on yours that kills all words on your tongue. 

There are no witnesses. Not a single soul below can see as he all but devours you, hungry lips melding to yours in desperation. The shadows he had been taunted for haunting for the night now serve as a veil, allowing you to cling to what’s left of your dignity. If anything, it feels as though he might be controlling the shadows, beckoning them to come and wrap the two of you up as his arm sneaks behind your back, pulling your body tightly to his as he chooses to steal the breath directly from your lungs now. 

The push, the pull – the coin. The value, it seems, is finally coming to light. 

Through the kiss, you can feel the damnation of all the emotions Astarion must have been holding back for the journey. All the want, all the yearning, all the anger, all the confusion – every single emotion you’ve been battling, breaking the surface as his fangs nip at your bottom lip. 

It takes more willpower than you’d expected to shove him away. 

“Astarion-” you gasp out, taking gulps of air into your burning lungs. 

“Tell me to walk away,” he begs, body still aligned with yours, hands still clinging to you, “Tell me to leave you alone, and this time, I’ll obey.” 

Your tongue can’t move. The depths of his whispers, his pleads, are ringing in your bones, and you can’t say the words he asks of you. 

“Say it,” he presses on, his fingers only digging deeper into your hips. You can’t tell if they’ve gone numb from the chill of his fingers, or from the lack of circulation due to his strength, “Just say it, and I’ll do it. Say anything. I’m yours to command.”

You should tell him to walk away. You should call off the game of cat and mouse. You should save what’s left of your soul for someone else, anyone else, who won’t send your head spinning with a plethora of mixed signals. 

“Room. Now.” 

Of course, you don’t. 

The game was never one-sided. It was never you, a merciful victim of Astarion, always trapped in his shadows. It’s a game for two – and you’ve earned your blame in it all, the same as Astarion. 

And you continue to earn it as your hands tangle up in the snowy curls at the nape of his neck, silvery strands slipping between aching knuckles, lips attaching themselves to his porcelain skin as he guides you up that final flight of stairs. You’re not thinking of Shadowheart, not thinking of anything delicate or soft. Harsh clashes of teeth, harsh bites to rebuttal his fangs against you, harsh fingers digging into soft meat, harsh red lines left behind across his skin that fade away too quickly for your liking. 

Harsh, harsh, harsh. 

All your tensions and frustrations are put into the meshing, and you hardly notice once Astarion’s gotten the two of you through the threshold of the shared room. Everyone else is still downstairs, still celebrating, still cheersing and chatting away. Completely unaware of your demise. Oblivious to what’s about to happen.

Anyone else.

It’s been a long time coming. 

You can see flashes of it in your mind as he carries you with him, door locked behind his back before he’s finding one of the vacated beds to lay you down onto. The night you’d discovered his vampiric nature, the night you had been his mirror with his scars, all the times in which he’d blatantly saved your ass during fights. The blurry figure that is your savior, conveniently getting between you and goblins or shadows alike as he buries his daggers to the hilt. Always there, always watching.

Always yearning. 

Your heads sing in tune as that tadpole connection comes to life, like an exposed nerve as you feel it all reciprocated from him tenfold. Flashes of yourself, with soft eyes and gentle words. Patient palms and charming smiles. A pulling gravity so grandiose that it sparks sheer fear. 

The room is quiet save for your gasps every time Astarion’s lips leave yours long enough to allow for breathing, the ruffling of clothing and bed sheets filling the air soon enough. Just quiet enough you can hone in on that fear, dig your claws into it instead of his back, focused entirely on following it all the way down. 

More memories of his overriding yours. His exposure of Cazador, his admittance of his past. All the trust he put into you – all the faith he’d blindly handed over to you on a silver platter, only reminiscing and regretting once he was left to his own devices at the end of the day.

And then came the jealousy. 

You’d already felt enough of it through his kisses and movements – the way he pins your body beneath his, the way his fangs graze your exposed neck – but it nearly drowns you once the connection has opened the floodgates. 

The image of you and Gale, and a twist in your gut like no other. Incomparable to even vampiric hunger. 

The image of you and Lae’zel, and a burn in the back of your throat that drives you beyond reason. 

The glimpse of you and Karlach, and the urgency rising in your chest to simply stop it. To pull the brakes, not once considering the consequences. 

Every small moment between you and someone else – companions, strangers, those who have helped along the way – is given to you from Astarion’s point of view. You feel all that he has felt; you burn as he has burned. 

You feel a glimmer of understanding, a pitiful ounce of sympathy, but then you remember all that you have felt. All that confusion, all that unsureness. Every time you’ve had to question the glances the vampire offers in your direction or double back on his words. 

He’d done it to himself. You had to remember that – he’d done it to himself every single step of the way.

“You could have said something,” you whisper out as his lips travel down the path of your neck, sharp tips of his fangs pressing to your pulse but not quite breaking skin, “You could have just told me.”

He’s lithe as a cat above you, each scrap of clothing being removed between the two of you exposing more of your bare flesh to the chill of his. You can feel all those muscles beneath his surface, and you can feel the hesitation as you say this. The freeze – the pause. 

“You make it sound so simple.”

The fangs scrape at your jugular as he whispers it, mouth shaking as he uses all his self-constraint to not simply bite down. Taste your sweet blood, let it sing on his tongue rather than this conversation you can tell is setting fire to all his anxieties. He doesn’t want to talk.

You’re not even sure if you want to talk. 

But you do, with the weight of him between your hips and his hands dancing along your torso. Your head is thrown back as you sigh, “It could be.”

It could be simple, it could have been simple this entire time, if only he’d allow it. 

He’s had you dancing beneath his spell since the moment you’d met him. You had offered yourself over to him, time and time again, knowing all the costs. Despite the warnings from others, and despite all the sirens sounding off in your head every time your eyes had met his, you’d still pined. Still fantasized what this current moment might taste like as you’d lay in your tent at night, still chased after his attention across Faerun. If he had just directly said the word rather than stringing you along, burning in private – you would have been his far sooner than now. He could have had you in the palm of his hands long before he’d ever spotted the Gate of the city. 

He has you now, though. Entirely encapsulated, bending to every whim of his fingertips.  

A flick of his wrist, and you’re exposing more of your neck. A nudge of his knee, and you’re arching your back to press more of yourself against him. Offering your skin, offering your soul, offering your blood. A silent temptation for him to simply devour you whole; a silent begging to not complicate things more than what was necessary. 

You had both been in the wrong. He had sent mixed signals, and you had been complicit in your own silence. 

And right now, you weren’t particularly in the mood to rehash and reassign blame. 

“Show me how simple it could be,” his voice is muffled against your skin, lips velvet against your pulse. It nearly frustrates you – was that not what you were currently doing? Were you not proving to him just how easily he could unravel you with those cold, cold palms? “Go ahead, darling. Prove me wrong.”

You’re not the one meant to take an action, though. Your hands fly up, fisting at his white curls, and you apply pressure to let him sink deeper into your skin, but you’re not the one who can break the barrier.

It’s him that must – his fangs must do it. The first bite, the smallest of sips. 

Your blood trickles past his lips and you let out a sigh. As if this was what you were waiting for, as if this was all that it took. Your vitality draining slowly to invigorate him, your breath becoming his, your heart now beating for both of you. 

He must feel it. He must taste it. 

The simple entanglement of the living and unliving. How simple it was to become his.

You swear you only allow your heart to race as it does to encourage your blood to pump faster onto his eager tongue. He laps at it, hums at the taste, his grip on you becoming stronger with each pass of the ichor. Each passing second with his mouth glued to the side of your neck isn’t marked with the tick of a clock, but the roll of his hips, and your own desperate legs shaking in those precious moments between, cursed to choose between tightening shut around his hips or spreading wider to encourage more of him to occupy you. 

Just as you start to feel light-headed, he pulls back. Wide and vibrant scarlet eyes boring into yours, fangs tinged pink with you poking against his bottom lip. 

The tadpole connection has gone silent. Not due to either of you cutting it off entirely, but due to the lack of thoughts transpiring. Both your minds have gone quiet, and all that’s left is the warm buzz of knowing you’re connected. Static that you can feel at the back of your head, running down your spine, all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes. 

Simple. Mind-numbingly simple. 

You can feel the spark of something snapping after only a few moments of eye-contact, and you know it’s the ember that blazes within him as his next few actions transpire. Messy kisses leaving behind a trail of pink spit along your skin, hands no longer grappling at you mindlessly but with intention. He slips them between your thighs, a finger trailing down your cunt in time with his tongue down your sternum. What might be a memorized dance to him has become an entirely unknown experience to you, body buzzing with the novelty when his fingertip’s cool caress circles your clit before he slips down to your hole. It’s seamless – the stretch, the crook of his knuckle against you as he sinks deeper, the relief in the curl of your toes. 

“You’re not another mindless dance,” he murmurs as he sinks deeper and lower, an unnecessary breath escaping him across your lower abdomen. 

He’d heard it. He’d heard all of your thoughts at the moment. 

You peer down at the ethereal sight of him between your thighs, his hair and mouth seemingly shimmering with all the stars and moon itself, “No?” 

“No,” his voice is strong as he lets the tip of his nose press against you, mouth creeping closer to where two fingers now pump within you, “You’re not like the others.” 

He doesn’t elaborate, even as the haunting question of who the others might be echoes within you. He completely distracts you as his fingers slip from your cunt and his tongue begins its work, worshiping you with every flick of it. Nose, tongue, breath – they all work in conglomeration as the unraveling truly begins. Every ounce of you is tensing, combating all the relief of having his mouth on you, as he pushes you closer and closer to a precipice you’ve only dreamed of him guiding you to. 

The suckle of his lips. The cut of his fangs when he gets a bit too excited. The lap of a tongue like a dog worshiping at your altar. It’s all almost a bit much. 

When your hands travel to entangle in his hair, you can feel the hesitation. For a moment, you believe he might reach up to take your touch away. Force you to grasp at the bed sheets, at the edge of the mattress, at the frame above your head. Anywhere but him. 

But he doesn’t.

The pause only lasts a few seconds before he’s returning to his mitigations, even more intent than before. Words that could never be spoken between the two of you take the shape of his lips around your clit, sucking almost as hard as he had at your neck. An animal seemingly overtakes him, his mouth not leaving you for the mortal necessity of breathing, but rather for something harsher; he breaks away only for his fingers to slide back within you, and immediately takes to biting at your thighs. 

It isn’t like he had done to your neck. This time, he’s not chasing after your blood. Nips and fuller bites, not just his sharpened canines sinking into fletch but his front teeth as well. 

These aren’t bites to drink from you. These are bites to claim you.  

He lines your legs with them, scattered sporadically as he shifts himself up and down. From the apex of your thigh down to your ankle, there’s hardly an inch of your skin that doesn’t paint with Astarion’s touch. The bite marks, lingering outlines of his hands clinging to your flesh, patient hickies left throughout. 

You’re mine. 

The message is clear enough whether you had seen it in his actions, or if he had sent it through the bond. You understand well what point he is making. 

The point stands stronger and stronger when he works his way back up your body. He offers your hips the same worshiping treatment, leaves his imprints across your chest as well. A few marks brand your shoulders and neck, matching the two pricks that started this entire devourment. 

“Do you have any idea of the hold you have upon me?” he sighs out as he holds himself above your body, hovering just close enough that your skin jumps as the skin of his abdomen brushes your own, “Our entire journey, I have been so focused on… on freedom, on abandoning the concept of ever being controlled…” he trails off, and when he looks into your eyes this time, you can see something clicking into place. A fearsome realization. “Only to end up in the thralls of your beck and call.” 

You hold your breath and await the inevitable. This is the part where he runs. Where he removes his flesh from yours, where he jumps across the room and surely spits out some sarcastic remark. It’s the time in which he is meant to break all the hope that had been built over the minutes spent alone. He’ll make some nonchalant remark, or a crude joke, and he’ll go make eyes at some other poor fool below. He’ll cast his spell over someone else, anyone else. He’ll leave you, wanting and yearning and hopeless, once more. 

His body stays above yours, the thin fabric of space shaking between you two. 

With a trembling hand, warm against his skin, you take a chance, “I’m not your master, Astarion.” 

You aren’t. 

You have no desire to control him the way he describes. You would curse the day should you ever become something even comparable to being a placeholder for Cazador. He isn’t telling you anything new; you’ve known his end goal of this entire journey. Astarion has always wanted one thing and one thing only – freedom. 

And you thought you’d been helping him. Following him blindly through the woes, helping him achieve his ultimate goal wholeheartedly. Never for a single second had you assumed the role he’s seemingly given you. 

A short laugh escapes him, the smallest of smiles flitting his face, “No. No, you aren’t. And that only enthralls me further.” 

His lips descend upon yours in a fervent fashion, even more desperate than before. It feels as if he’s actually trying to devour you whole this time – it feels as though he might actually accomplish melding you into his existence, sinking you right into the marrow of his hollow bones. 

When his cock sinks into your heat, it’s ecstasy. Euphoria. Everything you’ve been wishing for. Everything you’d been hoping for. You stretch around him, just as you had his fingers, body eager to take in every last inch of him. The buzz becomes a roar and your entire body feels as though it might be on fire. You want more, you need more, and he’s more than willing to give it. 

More, more, more. 

His hips roll agonizingly slow against yours, making sure every movement is felt across every nerve ending within your body. Deep within your gut, down along your thighs, all the way up your chest. You feel him everywhere – he makes sure of it. 

Centuries, his voice curls through your mind like dark smoke.  For centuries, this body has felt tainted. Never quite mine, never quite clean. 

His hands are shaking as he lets them caress down your sides, over your hips, clinging for support. 

You take that feeling away. 

The words are heavy, the press of his chest over you heavier. Your own hands wander, and you make a point to avoid the scars on his back. The ones hardly deciphered, the ones that have tied him to a fate you refuse to let him succumb to. No amount of jealousy, no amount of spite, can reverse that ardent decision within your mind. 

You’re not an old coat, Astarion. You whisper it back, along the bond, your physical mouth gaping wide open as you tilt your head back into the pillow, feeling yourself tighten around him. You’re not a worn pair of boots. You’re a person. 

A terrible mon-

You cut off his rebuttal, a complicated person. Snarky, indecisive, too flirtatious for your own good. But still a person, and still worthy. 

Two simple words, and they send shudders through his entire body. Still worthy. You don’t look at him as something to be discarded or owned; you don’t envision him as a prize or a trophy. And you certainly don’t see only his flaws when you look at him. When his ruby eyes meet yours, both his and your own eyelashes flutter ridiculously as all the pressure mounts, the blush of your blood across his cheeks and running down his throat, you both know. You don’t need to put it into words.

Even when he infuriated you. Even when he made you second-guess his companionship in the beginning. Even when he made you swoon like a schoolgirl only to divert his attention. Never once have you fully faulted him for the mistakes. 

He’s done bad things. You’ve all done terrible things. And yet, you still want him. 

He’s worth more than the sum of his worst moments, even if he hadn’t bedded you tonight. You would still help slay Cazador. You would still fight tooth and claw for his freedom. 

You love him. You hate him. You hate to love him, you love to hate him. It’s all smoke and mirrors at the end of the day when you’re feeling the weight of him collapse on top of you. And it’s mutual. The complicated, infuriating emotions are all reciprocated. 

Every inch of your skin stings with the lingerance of his fangs and lips, gasps and mews slipping between your lips as he picks up his pace. His fingers dig into the meat of your thighs and hips in a failing attempt to pull your body back to his, the reciprocation languid in every stroke. Every slap of his skin against yours, every moan of his own – they mingle in the air and spell out the inevitability of this moment. You swear you feel his sharp nails nick you, a bead of blood no doubt bubbling and staining the sheets below.

You don’t care. He doesn’t, either. 

Your whine echoes through the empty room right along with a harsh grunt from him. He’s ravaging you. Bruising you inside and out. 

“Fuck, Astarion,” you gasp out, giving up using the bond. Your mind has melted far too much for coherent thoughts as both your breaths quicken, both abdomens tightening as you feel him reach even deeper inside your cunt, “Fuck.”

You can feel him letting go just as it feels as though your body might give out. Blissful soreness hidden behind a curtain of pleasure that turns your vision white. You almost wonder if your body had been simply a vessel for his own pleasure this entire time. 

You wouldn’t mind if it had been, but he’s made damn sure it isn’t. 

You’ve never felt quite as cared for as when his hips stutter, feeling warmth fill your fluttering cunt as his open mouth places random kisses anywhere they can reach. His head falls to the crook of your neck and you can feel his tired lips pressing repetitively over your marked neck, your shoulder. They even graze the original bite mark, and the simple action sends shockwaves through you to join the rest of the residual quakes that keep your legs shaking around his waist. 

The bedlinen sticks to your skin from a mixture of blood and sweat as he collapses next to you for a moment, still curling up to you like a cat. Nose running along your bare shoulder, lips still reaching out for you. 

It takes you a second, but when you finally catch your breath, you can’t help but ask the dreaded question, “Does this mean you’re officially mine?” 

His chuckle is unexpected, vibrating against your chest as he rolls most of his weight off you and lifts his head, “Have I not made that much obvious?” 

“I just needed to make sur-”

He cuts off all your hesitation, lifting the entirety of his upper body now, “Allow me to make this very clear to you, darling. I have been yours since the moment you reacted to me holding a dagger to your throat with a damned headbutt.”

You smile sheepishly, “So you’re telling me when I did that… I knocked some sense into you?” 

“Never,” he scoffs, waving a hand, the only sign of his own fatigue to match yours being the way he drops back down at your side. You don’t miss the faint smile gracing his lips, “But it was an impressive move. Quite enchanting for this old heart of mine.” 

“So now you admit that you’re old?” you joke, prodding at an inside joke that had been ongoing since he’d admitted the entirety of his vampiric nature to you. He’d always pouted like a child at any mention of his age, but he’d always allowed only you to get away with any jabs at it. Your entire group still doesn’t speak of his reaction to Gale trying his hand at one of the jokes, “Goodness, what has gotten into you, my Star?” 

He flushes at the nickname, eyes diverting as he slowly creeps his body up the bed, face to face with you now. Your heart tightens a bit when he takes his time replying, swallowing hard, tongue peeking out instinctively as he runs it over his lips and fangs slowly. 

You almost believe he won’t look you in the eyes again, but he does. As he says the heaviest words yet, he looks to you as if you’re the only thing in the room for this moment. 

“I care for you,” his voice comes out tight, nearly strained. “Deeply. You make me want to be… a better… man, monster, whatever I might be. And if that’s a crime?” he pauses, and takes another one of those pesky deep breaths that you’re well aware aren’t vital to him. A glimmer of the human, the person, beneath the self-proclaimed monster. “Well, I haven’t been much of a rule follower thus far in our journey anyways, have I?” 

You pay no mind to his joking tone, seeing the words for what they are. Your hand reaches up, fingers carding through silver waves, and you can’t help your grin when he doesn’t swat you away as he had done Shadowheart for the exact same show of affection the week before. 

I adore you, Astarion. 

Quiet words. Silent words. Only for the two of you, within the confines of a shared mine. 

He clears his throat uncomfortably, “Mind you, I may need some time, given all the memories this wretched city brings-”

“Take all the time you need,” you interrupt. From the second he’d opened up to you, offering that vulnerability in the heat of the moment regarding his body, you’d seen this coming. “I can wait for you, my love. Let’s just focus on surviving all this, yeah?” 

He can’t hide his affection. It’s written plainly on his face, it travels clearly across the bond. 

“Yes,” he whispers back, reaching for your wrist finally, but only to hold it placid as he turns his lips towards it. You think for a moment he might bite you one final time, and you’d let him, but he surprises you. No fangs appear – only the softest of kisses against the most vulnerable of skin. “Survival. Of course.” 

It’s not so much words as it is an image, a promise, that comes to mind from him. The fluttering of a future he sees being possible, the threat of a city burned down should any harm come to you. 

“And no more jealousy,” you croak out, trying to not be overwhelmed by his own emotions mixing with yours. “You’re mine, and I’m yours.”

Another kiss to your wrist, this one far quicker, far more habitual than the first. He’s kissing you simply because he can. 

You know there’s more behind his smile when he whispers, “Oh, of course, lover.” 

And you find out later on the reason for such a mischievous smile, once he’s cleaned you both up and migrated for you two to rest in his claimed bed. When Shadowheart is the first of the group to enter the room, confronted with the image of you curled up on Astarion’s chest as his fingers dance over your aching skin, you don’t even have to wake up properly to see the vision of a smug Astarion through your dreary eyes. 

Words are exchanged, but they’re lost to you in your sleepy state. You only catch the ones that matter. 

“Astarion! Are those bite marks-”

“Mine?” if you were any more conscious, you would have scolded him. He knows it, too, as he squeezes you closer to him, “Why, yes. Yes, they are, our dearest Shadowheart.” 

Shadowheart’s huff of breath tells you all you need to know about Astarion’s smirk. You’ll talk more of jealousy in the morning. 

[whatisamildopinion]

was talking last night with @actual-sleeping-beauty about my headcanon for tiefling culture about how it's very common to decorate your horns with jewelry, especially gifts from friends and family. and I do think Fig would be like one of those people that wears ten million homemade bracelets but like. for her horns. explanation of the specific horn bracelets she has under the cut

Gorthalax: he's actually the first person to gift Fig a horn bracelet, because he's the one who knows about the tradition. he gifts her what is actually an old horn bracelet of his that doesn't fit anymore, as part of a sentimental family kind of thing. it's very traditional hell, heat-proof gold and rubies and its one of her fancier ones

Kristen: she's the second to get in on this, in the more traditional sense, because best believe that Kristen Applebees knows how to make friendship bracelets. she's made so many. she makes the first one for fig in freshman year and makes it very bright oranges and reds to be supportive of her rocker friend. (she also makes some veryyy corn yellow ones, because it's the type of string she has the most of)

Riz: he's next on the friendship bracelet train because Penny taught him how to make every kind of complicated friendship bracelet pattern under the sun. he is scarily good at it. (rogue dexterity makes for absurd textile skills apparently.) he gifts Fig like twenty different super complicated patterned ones and she adores them all, but this one is the one she uses the most

Adaine: she makes a more subdued, woven bracelet after Riz and Kristen show her how in their attempts to Give Adaine Childhood Experiences. nevermind that Riz and Kristen are not exactly experts on this. Adaine is not naturally gifted at this so she makes a bunch of fucked-up bracelets that she's very embarrassed of but fig is like "NO I LOVE THEM YOU CAN'T THROW THEM AWAY." she uses the later, more refined bracelets more but she stubbornly keeps all of Adaine's bracelets, even the ugly ones. you can pry them out of her cold dead hands

Gorgug: enlists his parents to help embed some fake pearls into a little nickel backing and make it heat resistant, to make her a nice little pearly one for her birthday. he's so so nervous about it because it's a little more formal but when fig opens the gift she loves it so much she cries. her name is engraved along the inside with a little flower

Fabian: my boy uses his proficiency in glass blowing to make some beautiful little glass beads and string them up on a chain to make her most rattly horn bracelet. she adores it and plays with it all the time. it's like a fidget toy for her. he also used fancy, super expensive enchanted glass to enchant it to so that it can never fall off her horn on accident, which she also loves

Sandra Lynn (and Gilear): this is a moonar yulenear gift that fig gets in freshman year, after the other bad kids have started gifting fig bracelets, and Sandra Lynn is trying to show more support for fig, albeit stumblingly. she gets her a very nice matching set of horn bracelets with a chain between, and kind of tacks Gilear's name onto the gift. freshman year fig is So Mad still that she doesn't wear it until after Family in Flames, but she does break it out for the Prompocalypse, and after that it's a semi-permanent jewelry piece for her

[cutehoons02]

PREVIEW: Blood Sacrifices

words of the one-shot: around 17/18k taglist is open!! publication: 5 June or 6 June This one-shot is the first of 4 stories: Desire:Unleash

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The Blood Bank was packed with with vampires, each with their own code granting access to special rooms where they could drink from blood bags or, for those who preferred it, pick up sealed packs to take home. He was sitting in the designated room, where his blood type was clearly marked on the wall, waiting to drink. But the moment the first drops touched his tongue and slid down his throat, he knew something was wrong: the scent from the bag had changed. Jake noticed it instantly, as the ruby liquid grazed his palate. It wasn’t the same. It no longer had that warm, deep note... the one that used to scream inside him every time his tongue touched the vial’s spout.

He drank. One sip, two... then stopped. His fangs had emerged of course they had, it was still blood but they hadn’t tapered the way they usually did, and his breathing grew shallow. His heart-if he could still call it that-was beating too slowly and he didn’t feel that jolt of electricity, that erotic surge, that always came when he drank blood. Especially yourblood.

He placed the container on the lab table, staring at the red liquid trembling under the cold neon light. “What the hell…” he muttered, pulling the sleeves of his sweatshirt tighter over his arms too long, too thin. The lab door opened with a hiss of sterile air.

'Oh, Jake. Still here? It’s late. Why haven’t you finished all your bags?' The Blood Bank supervisor a vampire who looked about seventy, but was probably over five hundred gave him a warm, familiar grimace. He had known Jake since the first time he’d shown up, one of the rare vampires who could only feed on one very specific type of blood. 'I’ve never seen you leave a single drop behind. What’s going on, kid?'

Jake shot to his feet, red eyes gleaming. “It’s not… it’s not the same as always. This isn’t the blood I drank last week,” he said, irritation sharp in his voice from the lingering taste. 'What do you mean?' the supervisor asked, puzzled. “The AB Rh negative blood bag I get every week. This one’s different. The chemical profile is off. The iron levels are higher. The glucose composition, different. And the smell... The smell is completely wrong.”

'Jake…' “I want to know why. I want to know why you changed my donor.”The supervisor sighed. He opened an old tablet, tapped the screen a few times, and scrolled through the data. Then he stopped. 'Anonymous donor. Code ‘VT019-Z’. Last donation: two weeks ago. The donor signed off. Chose to stop contributing. No explanation given.'

Jake went pale. His hands turned colder, as if someone was ripping away the only thing that still kept him warm kept him alive, these past five years. He’d gone through several donors, but you were his favorite. He didn’t even know who you were, but your blood was pure addiction, poison, and longing all at once.

“They… don’t want to donate anymore?” he murmured, lips tight in a pout. 'It happens. Sometimes donors change their minds. Too tired, too drained… or they just stop. They can’t donate forever. What’ll you do when the person with this code dies? Jake, you need to understand-humans have the right to choose. And don’t worry, there will always be someone out there with the blood type you need.'

“It can’t happen to me.”

'Jake-' "I need that blood. I’ve been fine for five years, even with slightly lower glucose or iron levels. But my body will feel the difference.” His tone was too human, too childish and the supervisor realized just how fragile he was under all that brilliance. Jake said nothing more. He walked out. He returned to his bunker in the university basement, where the hum of servers drowned out his thoughts. He still had a couple of your bags left in his apartment, and now more than ever, he was determined to find out who you were.

Twenty-four hours later.

The code was burned into his mind: VT019-Z. He wasn’t supposed to access the donor database. It was locked down multiple layers of protection and if anyone found out he’d violated privacy protocols, he’d be slapped with a lawsuit and a massive fine but to discover who had kept him alive for the past five years, Jake would do anything. And Jake was a hacker. A desperate one and when you put those two things together, even the gods start to tremble.

So he slid on his nerdy glasses, his noise-cancelling headphones, and started typing. Encrypting. Bouncing through firewalls. Masking his IP. “Who are you, VT019-Z?” he whispered, fingers dancing over the keyboard as he entered the code into the Blood Bank’s account database.

Then—he saw it. The file opened after nearly two hours of relentless hacking, and Jake couldn’t believe his eyes. Your photo but most of all your name, bolded above the blood type he’d been drinking for years. That blood had come from yourbody. And you were the only girl who had ever truly driven him mad—from the first moment he saw you in the computer science classroom.

Name: [YOUR NAME] Age: 22 Major: Communication and Marketing Status: Influencer – verified profile Last Donation: Two weeks ago Reason for Stopping: Confidential

Jake’s breath caught. He shoved his chair back and slammed his head into the backrest. He knew you, of course he did. Everyone at university knew you. You were one of the most popular girls on campus, one of the hottest influencers in the state. You’d taken a basic coding class with him. Sat in the front row with your oversized Apple headphones, designer sunglasses: Prada, Miu Miu, Céline. Hats of all kinds. Bags that cost more than his entire apartment. A clean girl dream, styled like someone who had it all and you’d smiled at him once in a while. Maybe just to be polite. Because to you, he was the loser in the back row. The one in faded hoodies, who stammered when he spoke to you. The one who watched you from afar when you ordered matcha vanilla lattes at the campus café. The one who’d had a crush on you since day one.

“It was her. It’s always been her. The blood… it was hers.”

Jake buried his face in his hands. His lips trembled. He felt like crying but his body hadn’t allowed itself that release in a long, long time. So instead, he collapsed onto the bed: a giant mattress with black covers that smelled of something dark and citrusy, set atop stacked server crates. He still held your half-empty blood bag in his hand, drinking from it like it was his only reason to exist. And maybe it was.

After a few minutes of silent sobbing and cursing the world, Heeseung walked in his work partner, roommate, and one of his closest friends.

-Bro, where the hell have you been? You disappeared for two days.-

Jake didn’t answer. His lips were stained red, he buried his longish hair into the pillow and groaned softly.

“Did you binge again?” Heeseung asked, walking closer like an older brother checking on his little one. Sometimes Jake overindulged in the rare blood he was allowed to drink and it left him a mess but Heeseung could see Jake looked physically fine. It was the expression that was off.

“It’s not my blood,” Jake muttered, clutching the bag to his chest like a child hugging a stuffed toy.

-What? What do you mean, Jake?- Heeseung said, serious now.

“My blood. The one I always drink. The one that keeps me calm, that makes me feel… alive. It’s gone. The donor stopped. And I’m obsessed.” -Jake… I’m sorry. But you know donors can stop after a few years. It’s their right.-

“It’s her. The girl. It’s always been her. She’s my worst nightmare,” Jake whispered, curling up against Heeseung. -What girl?- Jake turned to him, eyes shining.

“Her. [Your Name]. The popular one. The one everyone wants. I was drinking her blood and didn’t even know it, every time I looked at her, I felt something and couldn’t explain it. Sure, she’s gorgeous and completely my type but now I get it. It’s because she was inside me. Her blood. Every week. Feeding me. And now…”

-Oh… shit.- Jake nestled into Heeseung’s arms, still hugging the bag like a lifeline.

“Why did she stop, Heeseung? Why doesn’t she want to donate anymore? I didn’t do anything to her. She doesn’t even know me. I respect her....I do..but I need her. I need her blood. I need to feed… and I need to possess her.”

Heeseung crouched beside him, lost for words. Jake’s eyes welled up with blood-tinged tears.

“I want to talk to her. I want to give her everything. I just want her to let me stay close. I just… I just need to feel her inside me again. Just one more time.”

And in that moment, Heeseung realized the youngest vampire in the room had crossed a line....He wasn’t just dependent anymore. He was obsessed and it was about to get worse.

----------

[cherryredcheol]

little guy shelf

tldr: what the hell is a 'little guy'? an: i literally do not know where this came from.

when jihoon hears you huff for the fourth time in just as many minutes, he knows something must be wrong. after pausing the music coming out of his speakers and minimizing the tabs of production software on his monitor, he turns his chair to face you and is not surprised to hear you huff again. 

“bee,” he waits for you to look up at him before he asks, “what's the problem?” 

you huff again, but quickly pull yourself together and explain to him, very calmly, “there’s too many little guys on my shelf.”

jihoon blinks, sure he misheard you he asks again, “what is the problem?” 

you’re starting to get exacerbated, he can see it in the way you take a deep breath before explaining yourself, “my shelf, where i keep my little guys, there’s too many of them and now i can’t fit this one but this one is perfect! it has to go on my shelf.”

“i’m sorry, bee. i’m still confused. what is a ‘little guy’? and why does he have a designated shelf?” you two were still on opposite sides of the universe factory, and although the room was not big, he could not see the self in question from where he was, leaving him even more confused. 

“just come over here and look at my shelf, zi. you’ll get it if you can see it.” you could see the hesitation in his eyes at the thought of taking a break from production, but you were not above guilt-tripping. “come help me, zi. i need you,” you hoped your puppy-dog eyes still worked on him. 

turns out, they do. he got up and shuffled over to where you had squat down next to the second-to-bottom shelf on his wall. he’d never noticed before but the little shelf he’s offhandedly told you could be yours many, many months ago had been filled with little trinkets, or ‘guys’ he guessed. he wasn’t sure why you were so upset about this, though. 

“bee, i’m still confused. what exactly is the problem with your…guys?” he gestured vaguely to your plastic army.

“they’re all you! little tiny versions of you. and i’ve been collecting them but this one,” you lifted your hand to jihoon’s face. a tiny green man, bent over a barbell was staring back at him, his eyes were almost crossed trying to look at it. “this one will not fit! they all keep tipping over and then i stand them back up and then they tip over again! but he belongs here with these other little guys, zi. he belongs.” 

he gently pushed your hand out of his face, “yeah, bee. he totally belongs.” jihoon was still confused, but a little less so and terribly fond, “who else is there? who else represents me?” 

you lit up, clearly excited to explain your thought process to him. you turned, hand gently reaching into the molded infantry and remerging with a…grumpy penguin? 

jihoon was still confused but was ready to listen intently to your enthusiastic explanation, “tell me everything, bee.” he was doing this mostly to humor you, but he was intrigued.  

holding the little penguin out in front of you, you said, “this is badtz-maru. he is a penguin. he’s perpetually stuck in the first grade and wants to be the big boss of everything when he grows up.”

jihoon plucked the little plastic toy from your hand, turning it over to inspect it, “that's nice. but why is he me?” 

“well, he has black spiky hair, like you do,” you paused, looking at his long black hair, “sometimes.” you smiled sheepishly before continuing, “and penguins give rocks to their partners to show love. and you wrote ‘ruby’ and a ruby is technically a rock so…” you trailed off, embarrassed about your ramblings. 

jihoon had never thought you cuter. he reached the hand not holding his penguin self onto the shelf and pulled out a pokémon. “why flareon?” 

“oh! other than the sheer cuteness?” you were really on a tangent now, “‘flareon tends to isolate. and it’s in their nature to be lonely, so–”

jihoon interjected, “i am not lonely. nor do i isolate.” 

“well, that’s not true. you do isolate, don’t lie. and maybe not lonely per se, more of a loner. which again, you kind of are. plus, this little guy is spitting fire, which again, you do, so yeah. flareon, obviously.” 

“obviously.” jihoon was thoroughly amused. he had no idea any of this was in his studio. you’ve been hoarding toys here. toys that reminded you of him, “show me one more, bee.”

you pulled out, “a little baby, with a vegetable hat?” 

“no, zi. this is not any baby with a vegetable hat. this is the cabbage sonny angel. technically it’s the wrong kind of cabbage to make kimchi with but i’m choosing to let it slide because it’s little face looks just like yours!” 

you were very passionate about these so-called ‘little guys’ and although jihoon didn’t really get it, he loved you. and he loved that you thought about him so much that you would collect these little toys in his honor. 

“here,” he grabs the green weightlifting one off the discard pile on the floor and stands up. he rounds the corner to his desk and, “it can live here. since it’s ‘me’ and all.” he places it right next to his monitor, right in his line of vision, but not blocking anything important. 

you got up from the pile, leaving your little guys on the floor to see where this little guy had been placed. 

coming up behind jihoon you siaid, “zi! he looks perfect there!” you leaned over and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. 

he blushed but still said, “you don’t have to keep the little guys just on that one shelf. use the whole wall, bee. my space is your space.”

[nadvs]

out of bounds (part six)

pairing zach maclaren and soccerplayer! female reader

rating mature 18+ for smut

summary zach has never been the type to rebel, but when he meets you at a soccer camp where you’re both working as counselors, which has a strict policy against dating between staff, he’s tempted to break the rules for the first time.

» part one | two | three | four | five

» masterlist

Every made-up explanation you can think of won’t cut it. Nothing you say will be believable. You’ve been found out.

“They’re bug bites?” you say weakly, pulling up your shirt so the hickeys aren’t in clear view anymore. Ami laughs, shaking her head.

“I knew you and Zach were a thing,” she says. “Why didn’t you just tell me? I wouldn’t judge. You know that I’m breaking the rules, too.”

You sigh, dropping back into your bed.

“We really don’t want it getting around,” you say.

“Then you should be more careful about where you let bugs bite you,” she laughs.

“Ami,” you groan, half-chuckling. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t. You can trust me,” she says. “When did this start?”

You sit back up and give her surface details, recapping when you two kissed by the lake, then tried and failed to wait until after the season to pursue anything.

“Have you guys…” she asks with raised brows. Your cheeks burn.

“Last night,” you admit. Your stomach goes numb at the memory. “But seriously, you can’t mention it to anyone. If people find out and he gets fired, it’d crush him.”

The amusement in Ami’s eyes fades, replaced with compassion.

“Wow. You’re really worried, huh?” she says.

“He’s the sweetest guy I’ve ever met. I don’t want him to get in trouble,” you reply. “We decided today that we’ll keep things on hold. For real this time.”

“Can you keep it on hold?” she asks. “I don’t know about you, but it being forbidden makes it ten times hotter.”

You shrug. You’re unsure if you’d be doing this much this fast with Zach if you met outside of work, and he did tell you last night that he never moves this quickly with a girl.

“I’m going to have to try,” you say. Zach’s hard to resist, but for his sake, you don’t want to give in.

“Fair,” Ami sighs. “I knew it, though. Malcolm called me crazy.”

“You talked about it with him?”

“Yeah, the night you went shopping,” she says. “I said that I think there’s something there and Malcolm was like, I can tell he likes her, but there’s no way he’d break the rules. I wish I could rub it in his face.”

You shoot her a look.

“But I won’t,” she promises. You nod gratefully.

“He can tell he likes me?” you ask.

“He said when you’re around, Zach smiles way more than usual,” she recalls, “which is already a lot to begin with, apparently.”

Your heart flutters. Zach is already such a cheerful person, so to think you make him even happier, and very obviously at that, is flattering.

“I guess Malcolm would know since they’ve been best friends for so long,” you say.

“Yeah,” Ami agrees. “He actually…”

She chuckles.

“What?”

“He was randomly talking about Zach the other day,” Ami continues, “and he said that he treats every girlfriend like he’s gonna marry her. I guess he’s a hopeless romantic, so I hope you’re prepared for that.”

You chuckle, wholeheartedly believing it. Zach is sweet and sensitive and while you didn’t doubt his sincerity for a second, hearing that he’s not one for flings is a relief. Because you want so much more with him.

“Good to know,” you reply. “And you and Malcolm are still keeping things casual or…?”

“I don’t know,” she says with a hopeful smile. “But if it gets more serious, I wouldn’t be mad about it or anything.”

You laugh together and finally, you allow yourself to gush about the man who’s thrown you for such an unexpected loop. It feels nice to not have to keep it in anymore.

You’re relieved when Saturday rolls around. Even though fun days at camp are just as busy, you welcome a break from running training drills.

After breakfast in the dining hall, Ruby announces to the campers to prepare for a morning of hiking, an afternoon of swimming, and a camp-wide relay race before dinner.

The sky is cloudy, but the chance of rain is low, so you stay optimistic that you won’t be forced to spend the day inside.

You quickly realize it’s not going to be as easy to keep your distance from Zach today, because you’re put in a hiking group with him.

As you set out on the trail with your cohorts of campers, their chatter loud over the sounds of shoes crunching over the dirt and birds chirping in the sky, Zach leads the crowd under towering trees that line the perimeter of the campground.

It’s only been a couple of days since you spoke with him about cooling things down, but not talking how you used to has been disheartening. Neither of you have been scheming to find ways to be alone like you used to, settling for friendly conversations whenever your paths cross.

“We’ll get a pretty cool view at the midpoint,” Zach says loudly to the campers, turning back. He meets your eyes for a second, a small smile flashing on his face, before he looks ahead again.

You wonder if he took your words as you suggesting you two shouldn’t talk at all, when that’s far from the truth.

You make conversation with your campers while you hike, and when you reach the height of a steep trail, you approach Zach as he looks out at the view of lush forestland.

“Hi,” you say quietly. His eyebrows raise when he sees you, like he’s surprised you’re speaking to him. It’s your first moment out of earshot from others in too long.

“Hey,” he says.

“You know, I didn’t mean we can’t talk at all,” you say with a soft laugh.

The pang of rejection has been burrowed in Zach’s chest since your last private conversation. He’s hardly ever one for overthinking, but since you came into his life, all he does is mull over everything you do and say to him, anxious that you don’t like him as much as he likes you.

But now, as he gets lost in the softness in your gaze, he realizes what an idiot he is for worrying that you don’t also think that what you have is special.

He needs to remind himself that you’re just being careful. Not rejecting him. He shoves down the prickly feeling and smiles at you.

“I thought I wasn’t even allowed to look at you,” he jokes to dismiss his uneasiness.

“Stop,” you chuckle. “How’ve you been?”

Zach’s blue eyes dart over his shoulder, his lips flattening.

“I miss you,” he half-whispers.

You tilt your head as you gaze up at him, your lips in an endeared frown. You’ve gotten used to there always being a sense of a playful smirk on his face, a look of mischief in his eyes, but right now, he’s completely doleful.

“I miss you, too,” you say. “Forcing each other into the friend-zone sucks.”

Zach laughs, his heart warming.

“No kidding,” he says. At this point, he just needs to get through a few more weeks as just your friend. It feels like forever, but he’ll get through it.

After lunch, counselors work together to set up for an afternoon by the lake, handing campers life jackets and inflating water toys.

After set-up, you stand on the dock, shades shielding your eyes now that the sun has peeked out from behind fluffy clouds.

You look out at the beautiful water, surrounded by campers talking and laughing, feeling that calming sense of being where you’re meant to be. Even though the days are tiring and the kids can be difficult, you’re so glad you came here.

You hear Zach’s familiar voice as he chats and walks past you, followed by two boys. He leans down to grip the edge of the empty canoe bobbing in the water on the dockside, gently reminding them to enter the boat slowly.

You can tell he’s been running around tirelessly, his lips parted as he pants, sweat sheening his skin.

When he stands to collect the ore, he quickly lifts the bottom of his shirt up to wipe his forehead, giving you a glimpse of his chiseled body. You’re glad you’re wearing shades because you can’t take your eyes off of him.

You clasp your hands together, your body rushing with heat as you remember what happened a few nights ago. How taut his body looked when you were on top of him. The way he breathed and moaned when you slowly sank onto him.

You force yourself to look away. Seeing him like that and knowing you can’t have him is only making things harder.

A couple of hours later, the relay race is underway on the north soccer field. You’re standing at the touchline on your own, stationed to hand out water and snacks to any campers or staff who need it.

Your stomach goes wild with butterflies when Zach makes his way towards you, offering you a charming grin as he pushes his sunglasses up to rest on his head.

“No way,” he says when he approaches, squinting, his voice low. “You got the easy job.“

“Rude. It’s actually way harder than it looks,” you reply.

“Standing there looking pretty is hard?”

“Very,” you say, his compliment making you a little lightheaded. You mirror him, perching your sunglasses up.

“I don’t believe it.”

Zach opens the cooler, not giving you a chance to get a drink for him. He collects a water bottle and unscrews the cap.

“You remember when you told me I can’t look at you a certain way when we’re at work?” you say, pushing the lid of the cooler shut.

He smirks, tipping his head back as he gulps down water. You’re gazing at him like that now, your stare hard on him. It’s addictive being on the receiving end of that look. It makes him feel like he’s floating.

“Yeah, and it still stands,” he nods. “So, stop it.”

“I’m not even…” you scoff, crossing your arms. “I have a rule for you, too. You can’t lift up your shirt when I’m around.”

“What? When did I do that?”

“By the lake. And I don’t appreciate it.”

“Why not?” he chuckles.

“Just stop,” you flirt with a roll of your eyes.

“I need a reason.” By the smug smirk on his face, you can tell he already knows. Because he’s so cute, you give in.

“It’s hard not to stare,” you say. “And we’re not supposed to stare at each other.”

The flattered look you’ve quickly grown to love flashes on his face.

“Oh, you mean when I get hot?” he teases. “I can’t control the sun.”

“Zach,” you warn. He says your name with the same teasing tone.

“I’m serious,” you say.

“So am I,” he laughs.

You shake your head at him when he lifts up the bottom of his shirt to wipe the water off his lips. His eyes stay locked on your expression as yours drift down the cut of his abs.

Zach’s entire body buzzes when you look at him like that. He so deeply loves feeling wanted by you.

“You just don’t listen,” you mumble, taking your eyes off of him. He chuckles, letting his shirt fall back down.

“Come on, baby, it’s my fault it’s hot out?” he murmurs.

You can’t stifle your grin. Maybe he technically shouldn’t call you that if you’re pretending to be friends, but nobody can hear, and you love when he’s sweet like that.

“Everything’s your fault,” you say.

Zach winks at you before he turns to rush back to the game. It’s the type of silly banter that made you develop a crush on him so fast, and you’re glad you can at least flirt if you’re not going to sneak around anymore.

After the relay race, Tom reminds the campers that in a week and a half, you’ll be hitting the midpoint of the camp season, and as tradition goes, a staff soccer game will be held.

Even though it’s just a no-stakes match at camp to give the kids a fun chance to cheer on their counselors, you feel nerves twist in your stomach at the reminder.

Despite the fact that your love for soccer has slowly been finding its way back to you, your confidence still isn’t quite where you want it. And your instinct is to talk to Zach about it, to be comforted by the one person you’re trying to stay away from.

As you settle at your table for dinner that evening, you look for him in the crowd. He’s sitting at the head of his usual table, laughing in conversation. When he meets your eyes, you give him a smile. He returns it.

That evening after lights out, you’re lying in bed scrolling on your phone while Ami watches something on her laptop when you realize the nagging desire to see Zach is only getting harder to ignore.

You’ve also been considering telling him that your cabin-mate knows about him. It may just serve to worry him, but it feels wrong keeping something from him.

The way he looked on the hike when he said he missed you is stuck in your head. You miss him, too. As if you haven’t seen him in weeks.

It feels silly to keep your distance. You’re being too careful. You’re sure you can manage to hang out and keep your hands off of each other.

You hung out platonically before. Why can’t you do it again? There’s no rules against that. In fact, being friends is encouraged. You open your text conversation with Zach.

When Zach steps out of his cabin into the brisk air that night, he looks up at the sky to see he can hardly spot any stars. The air is thick with the threat of rain, but it’s stubborn, refusing to fall.

He heads out to the dock, sitting on the cool surface, his phone in his hand. Malcolm already fell asleep, so he decided to take his call outside to not wake him.

It’s never easy for him to be away from his family for very long. He appreciates checking in every so often, making sure his parents are doing okay, hearing how his sister’s summer is going.

As he catches up with them during the video call, at one point, his dad asks his mom where his glasses are and when she points off screen and his dad thanks her with a kiss to her temple, the simple, passing moment is a reminder to Zach of how loving his parents’ marriage is.

He grew up knowing that his mom and dad adore each other, that they believe they’re meant to be together. It’s fun to act grossed out by their affection, but in reality, he admires them. He’s never wanted to settle for less in a relationship.

Zach has always desired to be surrounded by love and approval. He’s sure his heart will never fully heal after his childhood, but when he knows he’s around people who like him, that wound feels much smaller.

And the way you accept him for everything that he is, never once looking at him with judgement, unconditionally offering compassion, gives him a sense of being complete, of that wound actually being gone. He hasn’t ever felt that before.

He looks out at the dark water, breathing slowly. He’s always thought of himself as an optimistic person, so it’s uncomfortable to be wallowing over his circumstances with you this much.

He forces himself to see the bright side. He may be facing weeks of not being able to be with you the way he wants to, but when the camp season wraps up and he goes back to his normal life, you won’t be living under any of these rules.

He’ll take you out on dates. He’ll hold your hand in public. And hopefully, you’ll still like him enough that he can introduce you to his family and officially be your boyfriend.

At that moment, his phone buzzes with a text. It’s you. havent worked on my defense in a while... do you have time to help a friend practice?

He grins, feeling the tension in his body dissipate.

You agree to meet on the field farthest from the staff cabins, positioned at the far edge of the campground. When you approach the pitch, Zach’s practicing kick-ups by the net under the bright moon.

“Show-off,” you say once you’re close enough. He looks up to see you, letting the ball roll away. His smile fades once he sees your bare arms under your t-shirt.

“Aren’t you cold?” he asks.

“No.” His concern remains etched on his face, quickly unzipping his hoodie and stepping closer.

“I’m fine,” you laugh, unsuccessfully protesting as he drapes his hoodie over your shoulders.

“Now you are,” he says, looking down at you with a relieved smile. He leans down to leave a chaste kiss on your cheek, then quickly pulls back.

“Sorry,” he says. “Not allowed.”

You chuckle, looking around into the silent darkness surrounding you.

“I think we can get away with it here,” you tell him. “But I figured if anyone sees us, we’re just two coworkers innocently practicing for the game.”

“I ever tell you you’re a genius?” he asks, cocking his head, his eyes trailing down your face.

“Don’t think so,” you reply.

“Well, you are,” he says.

“Thanks, baby.”

“Okay, you can’t call me that and not expect to be kissed,” he murmurs, cupping your jaw with his cool palm. He leans down to kiss you, slow, his lips just barely parting.

“We still have to be careful,” you sigh amusedly when he pulls away. “Let’s practice.“

“Right,” he says. “As friends.”

“As friends.”

Zach smirks, rushing to get the ball as you stand in front of the net, stretching to warm up your legs.

“How was your day?” he asks once he stands a few feet across from you, gently kicking the ball to you. “Barely broke a sweat, huh?”

You trap the ball below your foot with a gasp.

“What’s that mean?”

“You’re still gonna pretend standing next to a cooler is hard?” he asks.

You laugh and kick the ball with unexpected force, watching him dramatically dodge it as it whirls past him.

“Whoa, you mad or something?” he laughs.

“I don’t need your attitude or your hoodie,” you tease, pulling the sleeves off.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he relents, laughing harder. “Please put it back on.”

You roll your eyes and comply, loving how soft his sweater feels on your skin, loving how much it smells like him.

“Just go get the ball,” you say in resignation, a smile pulling at your lips.

“Yes, ma’am,” Zach replies.

You watch him jog towards the center line, expertly dribbling the ball when he reaches it. He comes forward and stops a few feet away from you.

“Hey, I have something to tell you,” you say. The guilt weighs even heavier on you when you see the worry in his gaze.

“What?”

“Ami knows about us,” you confess. “She saw my hickeys the other day and I couldn’t think of a lie fast enough. She promised she wouldn’t tell anyone. I’m sorry.”

His heart aches when he hears the distress in your voice.

“You’re sorry?” he says. “I’m the one who left them.”

You breathe out a chuckle, tugging at the sleeves of his sweater over your knuckles.

“You can be upset with me,” you mumble. “I know you didn’t want anyone knowing.”

“I’m not upset,” he replies. “It’s okay.”

“Really?” you ask.

Truthfully, hearing that someone else knows about you two makes him tense. It increases the risk of being found out, of disappointing his family, of ruining his reputation. But he can’t bear to make you feel any worse.

“Yeah. Don’t worry about it,” Zach says, keen to push past the topic. He kicks the ball to you. “So, your day?”

“It was good,” you say. “The hike was nice. But thinking about the staff game made me nervous. I guess I’m still not all that confident yet.”

“And you came to the best for help,” he says. You kick the ball back, laughing softly.

“I did.”

“You’ll get into your stride again,” Zach tells you. “I wasn’t just trying to flatter you the first night. You’re a really good defender. Honest.”

“Thank you,” you say, stopping the ball when he kicks it to you again. This is exactly why you wanted to come to him. He consoles you so effortlessly, already making the nerves unravel. “How was your day?”

“Good,” he says. “I actually just got off the phone with my family when you texted.”

“How are they?”

“Falling apart without me,” he answers sarcastically. “My sister was saying my dad doesn’t do monster checks right.”

“I’m sorry, what’s a monster check?” you laugh.

“A check for monsters, obviously,” he replies. “I’m usually the one that scouts out Avery’s room before bed, but since I’m not home, my dad’s in charge. And his heart’s just not in it.”

“That is not something to slack on,” you play along.

“Right?” he says. “I couldn’t live with myself knowing a monster might’ve flown under the radar.”

You laugh again, touched by how sweet of a big brother he is. You kick the ball to him and start training together.

It’s been just under ten minutes of practice when you feel a cool raindrop on your cheek. Zach’s towering over you, your legs brushing as he tries to gain possession of the ball, when you freeze and look up.

“I just felt rain,” you say, gently panting. He takes the opportunity to gaze at you as you stare up at the night sky, the moonlight washing your pretty face in its glow.

You lower your gaze to meet his eyes, revelling in the feeling of him looking at you like that, like you’re the only girl that exists. It reminds you of the way he stared at you when you met, needing you to repeat yourself because he was too out of it to pay attention to your words.

“Zach,” you giggle. “It’s raining. We should go.”

In that moment, he feels a raindrop on his head.

“Oh. Yeah,” he says. He bends to pick up the soccer ball, dreading how long the walk back to the staff cabins is.

You rush off the field, letting him grab your hand, enveloped in the darkness of the night. Drops of rain start to hammer down within seconds, cold moisture covering your clothes.

“Shit,” Zach chuckles, running faster, pulling you forward. “We won’t make it.”

You’re both laughing breathlessly when you run into the closest storage shed, shutting the door behind you, clothes sticking to you.

When Zach stumbles over something in the dark with a grunt, you laugh even harder, asking him if he’s okay between your cackles.

“I could have broken something,” he says, pretending he’s insulted, “and you’re laughing.”

You feel for him in the dark, cupping his bare forearms as he stumbles over the disorganized supplies scattered on the floor.

“Are you okay?” you repeat, facing him, trying to make out his features in the dark.

“Why don’t people ever clean up?” Zach complains. “It’s a safety hazard.”

“For the third time, are you okay?” you say amusedly. Your hands feel up his arms, cupping his face as the rain loudly drums on the roof.

“Yes,” he finally murmurs. He wishes it wasn’t so dark so that he could see you, but if he turned on the light, it’d be too easy for someone to notice.

“Good,” you whisper. You gently stroke his cheeks with your thumbs, feeling a bit of stubble over his jaw, his skin cool from the night air as he leans into your touch.

“That feels nice.” His voice is low and rough beneath the sound of pouring rain. You smile to yourself, adjusting to the dark, seeing that he shut his eyes.

“Then I’ll keep doing it,” you respond.

“You looked good out there,” he murmurs. “I mean, you’re skilled. You don’t have anything to worry about. You’re a solid soccer player.”

“So, to clarify, my playing looked good, but I didn’t?”

Zach lets out a tsk, finding your waist.

“Cut it out,” he scoffs. “You know how pretty you are.”

“I do?”

“Come on,” he mumbles. “Don’t even pretend to say bad things about yourself.”

“Or what?” you ask.

“I’ll cry. Is that what you want?”

You giggle, loving how easily he makes you laugh, feeling like you’ll be falling victim to your own impulses. And fast.

Cool down. You said you’d cool down. But there’s nothing cool about his lips pressing against yours when you pull him closer.

It’s only been a few days since you had a moment totally alone together, but when he kisses you with abandon, it’s like your body is getting its first drop of water after being parched.

As your kisses grow hungrier, Zach’s body melts into pure contentment. It’s perfect how you fit into each other, how his mind goes completely blank when he holds you, letting him ease into the bliss of your touch.

Your lips brush and your tongues graze and your breaths catch as you kiss, his grip on your waist tightening as your palms press on his cheeks.

“We’re bad at this,” you whisper when your lips part. “We’re bad at staying away from each other.”

“I’m okay with that,” Zach rasps, pulling you in tight, his body curving into yours.

You’re in a fog as you continue to make out, surrounded by him, listening to your shallow breaths and the heavy rain.

Your knees are weak by the time you pull away from each other, the roar of rain now reduced to calm droplets.

“What now?” Zach breathes. He needs to know if he’s going to go through the agony of not sneaking around with you anymore.

Every inch of his skin tingles with warmth. He wishes he could just lie down with you, not because he needs anything sexual, but because he hates the thought of saying goodnight and parting ways.

“I don’t know,” you reply. “I don’t like not kissing you. But I don’t like getting fired, either.”

Despite himself, he smirks, dipping his head to pull you into a hug and bury his face in the crook of your neck. You drape your arms around his broad shoulders, shutting your eyes as he squeezes you.

Zach breathes you in, feeling safer than he ever has in his life.

“I’m really glad you texted me,” he mumbles.

“Me, too,” you say.

When you sneak back into your cabin, still wearing his sweater, the fear you felt of getting caught the whole walk over reminds you of why you suggested you cool things down in the first place.

If you’re found out, it’s over. You’re still not sure what to do, if you should keep trying to stay away from him or just continue meeting in secret. But you do know that whatever you decide, Zach will respect it.

The next morning, you wake up with a sore throat. You realize you caught a mild cold from last night. And being sick in the middle of the summer while working an exhausting job is not ideal.

You barely make it through the day, then have an overnight shift in one of the campers’ cabins. By the next day, you’re a bit better, mainly dealing with muscle soreness.

After dinner, Zach notices the faraway look in your eyes as you sit across the fire and talk with campers. You were together just two nights ago, kissing and laughing, but you haven’t had a chance to speak privately since. And something seems wrong.

He discreetly pulls out his phone to text you: Are you ok?

You feel the buzz in your pocket and when you read his text, you meet his eyes, melting at the concern in his gaze. In an effort to ease his worry, you speak a little louder to the kids around you.

“Nobody caught my cold, right?” you ask. They shake their heads no.

“You’re sick?” Zach asks from the other side of the pit, over the chatter.

“A little,” you reply, your nose scrunching. “But the worst of it is over.”

Zach’s heart aches, upset that you’re in pain and that he didn’t notice sooner. It’s from the night you got caught in the rain together. He’s sure of it.

When he knocks on your door after lights out, even though he’s still uneasy about your cabin-mate knowing about you two, at least he doesn’t have to worry about how to look like a concerned friend and nothing more.

You’re sitting in bed when Ami swings open the door. Zach is standing on your front step, cupping something in his hands, his eyes darting between her and you.

“Hey,” he says, looking at you. “Thought I’d drop off some tea.”

Ami looks back at you, a grin on her face.

“You brought her tea?” she says. “That’s so sweet.”

“It is sweet,” you say with a shy smile. “Thank you.”

“Come in,” Ami says, stepping back. “You can hang out. I was about to go see what Malcolm’s up to anyway.”

“Really?” you ask, not buying it.

“He’s on an overnight,” Zach says.

“Is he? That’s crazy,” she says with a coy smile. She looks at you. “Text me.”

You know what she means; you need to let her know when she can come back since you and Zach might be in doing more than just hanging out.

Ami pulls a sweater over her pajama top and rushes out, leaving you and Zach alone in the cabin.

“Where’d you get tea?” you ask once the door shuts.

“From the office,” he says, crossing the room and setting the mug on your nightstand. He settles on the edge of your bed, inches away from you, gazing at you worryingly.

“I can get more if you need it,” he says. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re sick?”

“It’s really not that bad,” you tell him. “It’s just a headache now.“

He purses his lips, reaching forward to put the back of his hand on your forehead.

“I don’t think I have a fever,” you laugh.

“No other symptoms?”

“Just a sore throat yesterday, but it passed.”

“From being in the rain the other night?”

“That, and the stress of being scared we’ll get caught,” you laugh. He knows you’re joking, but his chest twists in pain. “Should I have told you?“

The question sets him aback for a moment, uncertainty rushing through him. You’ve been acting like you want a relationship, too, but maybe he’s being unrealistically hopeful.

Even though he’s been afraid to come on too strong, he needs to know, so he speaks before he can talk himself out of it.

“If I’m going to be your boyfriend, I need to know when you’re not feeling well,” Zach says.

You gaze at him for a silent few seconds. He’s unbelievably grateful when you lean forward and press your forehead into his chest, hugging him as best you can while you sit across from each other.

“It was just a little cold,” you mumble. “But I bet it would’ve been worse if my boyfriend didn’t make me wear his sweater.”

He cracks a smile, relieved, loving the way it sounds coming from you.

“Which you stole, by the way,” he says, making you laugh. He kisses the top of your head, then leans over to hand you the mug, steam curling from the top.

“Thank you,” you say. “How are you?”

You talk to each other about your days, swapping stories as you lean against the wall, taking slow sips.

“I’m cured,” you say once you’re done, setting the empty mug on the nightstand.

“Can I get you anything else?” he asks.

“Hugs,” you say, feeling desperate for his touch.

Zach grins, standing to let you comfortably lie down before he settles next to you. Your cheek is on his shoulder as he holds you in his arms, and when he lifts your chin to guide you into a kiss, you shake your head.

“You’ll get sick,” you warn.

“What? You said I cured you.” He pecks your lips gently, then shifts to kiss your forehead. “Where’s it hurt? Here?”

“Mhm,” you mumble.

“I don’t think it’s the cold,” he says. “Your head hurts because you think about me too much.”

You giggle, your hand trailing up and down his firm stomach.

“Oh, that must be it,” you say.

“I think about you too much, too.”

“You do?” You close your eyes as he continues to plant gentle kisses on your forehead. “What do you think about?”

“I mostly wonder when the next time I can be with you is,” he murmurs, “and how it can’t come fast enough.”

You stroke his chest, stopping to feel his heartbeat over the fabric of his shirt.

“Me, too,” you say. You trail back down his stomach and up again, arousal twisting in your core the more you feel him.

He sighs quietly. It’s unreal how just a minute of your touch does this to him. He’s already hard.

When you gently tug at his hip so he’ll turn on his side to face you, you feel him stiffen once his erection presses against your stomach, letting out a heavy exhale.

“I swear I didn’t come over to do this,” Zach murmurs, worried you’ll think he’d try to come by under false pretences just to hook up.

“I believe you,” you whisper against his neck, kissing softly, breathing in his scent.

Zach kisses the top of your head, cradling your jaw, revelling in the feeling of your affection, sure you can feel him growing even harder against you.

“I don’t know if – I mean, are we back to seeing each other?”

You shuffle back to meet his eyes, sympathy in your gaze.

“I’m sorry if I’ve been confusing,” you say. “I know I told you we should cool down just to make out with you like, two days later.”

“I’m not complaining,” Zach says with a soft chuckle. Maybe someone else would be frustrated, but everything about this summer has been unpredictable and he’s always been quick to adapt.

“I can’t decide what to do. I feel like you,” you tease.

“Hurtful,” he jokes, squinting.

“Remind me of how much time we have left before the season ends,” you say sadly.

“A month and three days.”

“It’s cute that you know the exact number.” The compliment makes his cheeks flush pink.

“Yeah, I’m pretty cute,” he replies. You laugh, your fingers dipping beneath the hem of his t-shirt. He bites his lip when he feels your skin against his, eyelids low.

“You’re very cute,” you say. “And very kind for coming to check on me.”

His heart is racing. You’re looking at him in that way he said you can’t look at him at work. It gets him all flustered, making him feel like you want him as bad as he wants you.

“And so sweet and so handsome,” you continue, your hand sliding up his back under his shirt. “And so good for me.”

“Baby,” he sighs happily, the praise making his head swim. “You know what that does to me.”

“That’s why I’m doing it,” you breathe. “One more night? Then, we cool down, for real?”

“But your head hurts.”

You shrug, admittedly still feeling tension in your temples.

“You made it better,” you say. He shifts lower to kiss you, gently sucking on your bottom lip, breathing heavily.

His thoughts are rushing like a current, the desire to make you feel good, to relax you in the best possible way burning deep inside him.

When he pulls back a bit, his lips brush against yours when he asks, “Can I kiss lower? Make you feel even better?”

You catch the weight of his words, the coil in you tightening even more.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please.”

“You never have to say please to me,” Zach says. “Not for that.”

You groan when he lowers to kiss your neck, down to your collarbones, over the swells of your breasts. He’s on his knees as he pulls up your shirt, trailing kisses up your stomach as he hungrily pulls down your pants.

You lift your hips to help him push them off, left in your panties in seconds.

Zach settles on his elbows, his eyes meeting yours as he rests with his head between your bent legs. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as he puckers his lips against your inner thigh.

“You want this?” he murmurs.

“Yes,” you sigh happily.

“Me, too,” he says. “So bad.”

He kisses harder, surely going to leave a mark. His big hand drags over your knee, down your other thigh, resting at your pelvis.

His gaze refuses to leave yours, his lips still on your skin, when he lowers his hand to stroke his thumb over your middle. You moan softly, blinking slowly.

Like every other time he touches you, it feels like a dream. He can’t believe he gets to do this. The anticipation of knowing he’ll be tasting you soon makes his skin tingle.

Zach is agonizingly slow with his kisses, planting them all up one thigh, then moving to the other, then dipping to kiss right above where you need him most, over your underwear.

You lace your fingers in his messy hair, not pushing or pulling, just feeling his head move with every kiss, trying to be patient.

Finally, he puts his mouth over your core, kissing over the fabric, pulling a shudder out of you.

He can feel how wet you are, earning a taste of you, and it makes him ache with need. He looks up at you again as he gently pulls at the band of your panties.

Once you kick them off, his lips part in awe when you readjust to slightly spread your legs.

“Fuck,” he breathes. It’s almost nerve-racking, the way he’s staring at you. You’ve never been looked at like this. He gently pushes your knee down so he can see more of you.

“Fuck,” he says again, groaning through the word this time. He can’t wait any longer, lowering to press his lips against you. Your body rolls with pleasure when he makes contact, his lips warm and wet and soft, puckering against you.

Zach leaves countless kisses on you, angling his head so that he can give every part of you equal attention, licking his lips in between so that he can savor you.

You arch your back as he starts to languidly tongue you, letting out low moans and warm breaths. His nose presses against your groin, the sound of his wet kisses filling the room.

You run the heel of your palm over his head, caressing him, and he starts to suck your clit, his lips locked tightly.

“That feels so good,” you whisper. The way his mouth is working you sends waves of easy, soft satisfaction through you.

He threshes his tongue, gazing up at you as your face pinches in pleasure. You meet his eyes again, seeing how utterly intoxicated he looks to be doing something so intimate with you.

Zach pulls back, lips smacking off of you, panting now. He runs his hand up to your hip to find your hand and lace his fingers in yours.

“You taste so sweet,” he says, his tone thick with ecstasy, before leaning down again. It’s even better than he even imagined. You’re so slick and hot against his tongue. He could do this for hours.

You continue to run your fingers through his hair with one hand as you squeeze his fingers with the other, soft sighs spilling from your mouth. When you feel his tongue dip into you, you have to bite your bottom lip to quiet your moan.

His groans vibrate against you, guiding you into a state of pure solace. He pulls his hand away from yours to stroke his thumb in gentle circles over your clit as he tongues you. Every inch of your body tingles.

“Don’t stop,” you breathe. “That’s perfect.”

The praise spurs him on. His jaw is sore from how much his tongue is writhing inside you, but your pleasure is worth it.

The orgasm reaches you quickly, a million fireworks of ecstasy bursting through you, pushing you to quiver beneath him.

Zach kisses you as you come down from your high, shifting up to kiss your thigh, then your sternum, then finally your lips.

You meet his lips lazily and tenderly, tasting yourself on him. When you slowly trail your hand down his stomach to palm him over his sweats, he pulls back.

“No, baby,” he murmurs. “I don’t want you doing any work. Just rest tonight.”

He’s rock hard. You can tell how bad he needs the release. You want to do this for him, no matter how dazed you are. But you know he’ll feel guilty if he feels like you’re straining yourself.

“Then you do the work,” you whisper. “The condoms are in the bottom drawer.”

Zach sighs, kissing between your eyebrows, breaths shallow.

“I made you sore last time.”

“A good sore,” you breathily laugh.

“You’re sure?” he asks.

“I want you,” you say.

Your lids are low as Zach shifts to find a condom, pulling down his sweats and boxers, rolling it on carefully. His large frame leans over you, a flush coloring his cheeks as he looks down at you.

“I’m going slow,” he tells you.

“Whatever you want,” you say, and you mean it.

He holds himself at his base, slowly dipping himself into where his tongue was just minutes ago. His breath is strained as he sinks into you, wrapped in your soft heat.

He’s close to bottoming out, and stops, stroking your cheek.

“Still good?” he rasps.

“Yes,” you say. “Keep going.”

Zach sinks into you completely, taking a moment to savor how nice it is to be deep inside you again. His mouth is at the crook of your neck as he slowly starts to thrust back and forth, your bodies meeting with soft smacks.

The pressure of him is hard and perfect as your body rocks with his movements. You shut your eyes, swimming in bliss, breathing out short sighs into his ear as he rocks in and out.

He can’t believe how nicely you’re squeezing him, how perfect you feel, how lucky he is to be here right now. Your bed squeaks when he starts to move faster, his muscles tensing as you wrap your arms around him.

“Still okay?” Zach whispers.

“Yes,” you say. “Come for me.”

Your words are everything to him, the tender dominance he so deeply loves spinning him into a euphoric high. The way you make him feel makes the world stand still, makes him feel like perfection can exist.

He kisses you deeply, his stomach tautening as he comes. He continues to thrust slowly as he rides out the pleasure.

When he collapses, you kiss his cheek over and over, running your hand over the back of his head.

“Thank you,” he whispers. You smile weakly.

“Thank you,” you say.

Zach doesn’t let you stand up. After he gets dressed, he grabs a towel to help clean you up, gentle and slow. You’re still lying on your back when he sits at the end of your bed to pull your panties up over your ankles.

“You always gonna do that?” you tease quietly. “Put my clothes back on after?”

“Yes,” he says. He pulls them all the way up, then drags your pants up, too, before lying down next to you. You shuffle into the position you were in before, your cheek on his shoulder, his arms around you.

“My headache’s gone,” you tell him, “and I’m not just saying that.”

Zach’s chest gently bounces as he laughs.

“Good,” he says. He rubs up and down your arm. “Just tell me when I should go.”

“How’s never?” you ask. He smiles. His heart has never felt warmer.

“Doable,” he chuckles, kissing your forehead. “And… I’m with you. We’ll wait until the end of the season. I don’t want you stressed out, baby.”

“Okay,” you agree. It’s bittersweet and a month and three days have never felt so long, but you agree.

Eventually, you pull yourselves apart. You kiss Zach goodbye and text Ami that the coast is clear.

The next few days are a busy haze, full of stolen glances between you and Zach, and before you know it, it’s the midpoint of the season, the day of staff game.

It’s a scorching afternoon as you warm up on the pitch, eyes flitting to Zach as he jogs on the other side of the field.

Both teams were randomly assigned, and when you noticed that Zach was wearing a red vest over his t-shirt, not matching your blue one, you internally sighed.

You miss him. And if you were on the same team, at least you’d have a perfectly valid reason to talk with him right now.

The campers are seated under canopies on the touchline, already in a spirited cheer-off, rooting for the team their counselors are on.

Ruby blows the whistle to signal the start of the game. Your team keeps the ball on the other side of the field for the first little while, but remain goalless, until eventually, the red team starts to move in.

You’re focused, feeling more confident about your playing than you have in a while. You know you have Zach to thank. You hope you have the opportunity to tell him soon.

You’re quick on your feet as you watch the red team retain possession, the ball quickly spinning back and forth over the grass.

Finally, they make their move, with Zach leading. With slightly bent knees, you watch as he approaches the goal. You’re the only person left between him and your goalie.

He fakes left, but you call his bluff, stepping right to successfully kick it away. A chorus of groans sounds from the campers and some of his teammates.

“Oh, come on, Zach!” Malcolm shouts from the halfway line. “Obviously you want to go easy on your girl, but have some pride.”

“Chill, Malcolm,” Ami shouts back, laughing uneasily. You look back at your teammate, wondering if she broke her promise and told him about you. Or maybe Zach let him know at some point.

Or maybe Malcolm doesn’t know anything and you’re just reading into it. Your eyes dart to Zach as he jogs away. He looks back, his expression tense.

The game ends in a 0-0 draw, and Ruby decides it should come down to a penalty shootout just to end it with a bang. To your surprise, Zach misses, hitting the post. He looks rattled. Your team wins.

After lights out, you replay the moment on the field in your head, wondering how many people heard Malcolm. You want to question Ami about it, but you don’t get a chance to before she leaves for her overnight shift.

You step out into the humid night, figuring a walk will be a good way to clear your head. The anxiety eventually is too big to avoid, so you text Zach: everything alright? does Malcolm know?

As you pace past the camper cabins on your loop around the campground, you see that he replied. I asked him after the game. He knows. Ami told him.

You send a sigh up to the starry sky. She promised. Now not only is the secret out to two people, but considering that Malcolm is Zach’s best friend, maybe he was offended that Zach didn’t tell him, causing even more issues.

You text him: crap. sorry. do you want to talk about it?

You’re surprised and a little slighted to see him text back: It’s all good.

When you reach the staff area, you see Zach’s tall figure heading down the steps of his cabin.

Zach never thought he wouldn’t be glad to see you. But after the tense conversation he just had with Malcolm, he knows that the worry he’s harboring over the very real possibility that his aunt heard Malcolm’s words on the field today won’t make him good company.

He knows it’s not your fault. He willingly went into this with you. He pursued it. He left the marks on your body that exposed you. He should be mad at Malcolm for what he shouted today, and Malcolm only.

But he has a voice in the back of his mind pestering him, frustrated that you didn’t just hide it better and not tell Ami. And he feels like shit for being a little mad at you.

You already saw him. He’s not going to be a dick and ignore you. He’s going to pretend he’s fine.

“Hi,” you say softly, stopping in front of your cabin.

“Hey,” he says. “Out for a walk?”

“Are you mad at me?” you ask.

“What? No,” he says. “Why do you think that?”

“It feels like…” You hold up your phone. “I don’t know, this is the type of thing you’d want to talk about. But you just brushed me off.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “We’re keeping our distance, right?”

You cross your arms, unable to shake the feeling that he’s not being totally honest. You know him well enough by now. Maybe he’s good at putting on a show for other people. But it’s not working on you.

“Zach, is this… is this what you talked about before?” you ask over the crickets chirping loudly around you. “When you said you don’t like to admit it when something’s bothering you?“

He looks down, his tongue jutting from under his cheek.

“Are you mad at me?” you ask again.

He’s silent. His mind is totally blank. He’s never been good at this. He hates that he can’t control how he feels. He feels like a bad person for being upset with someone so sweet who didn’t mean any harm.

“This just… it sucks,” Zach mumbles.

You nod slowly. It’s not a clear answer, but it’s enough. Your heart feels too heavy to force a conversation.

“Yeah,” you say. “It does.”

You turn to go up to your cabin. It hurts when he doesn’t stop you.

(part seven)

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[whumpster-fire]

Yet another reason T. T. Sutherland is a coward and a fool for going "Peril has never been touched in battle before, the dragonflame cactus was her first time experiencing real pain" and I refuse to accept it as canon:

Cooler Headcanon: the reason Peril immediately had the idea of burning the venom out of Clay's wound when he got bitten by the Dragonbite Viper was because she's had to do that to herself after getting puncture wounds from sandwings that injected venom past the superheated layer of skin. It didn't do as much damage to her as it did to Clay because Peril's pretty much completely fireproof even under the skin, so the scars are pretty small and not that noticeable, but she does have a few.

The couple times she de-venomed herself during a battle were pretty much the most metal thing ever to happen in Scarlet's arena. A dragon getting an apparently mortal wound, jamming her claws right into the open wound, writhing on the sand in apparent death throes, and then after like a minute getting back up with "smoke" rising from her eyes and nose as well as the bloody, sizzling puncture, and proceeding to limp across the arena and utterly destroy her terrified opponent.

The dragons she was fighting didn't try to finish her off because they'd already severely burned their tail barbs and probably talons and wings doing it and weren't going to risk getting hurt even worse by a dying dragon. Then of course when their one hope of killing her turned out not to work they kind of lost the will to live.

This contributed significantly to Peril's reputation as an invincible monster, but on the other hand seeing the queen's champion curled in a fetal position, screaming, sobbing and obviously trying not to pass out, made some of the spectators present for those fights somewhat remember that this was a 2-3 year old dragonet being thrown in the arena with full grown adult enemy soldiers, which was pretty messed up even if the small child kept winning. These feelings of sympathy were often diminished a bit by what Peril did to her opponents afterward, but Queen Scarlet was still not pleased, and after it happened two or three times she got a supply of the antidote cactus for "if a guard accidentally gets gotten by a sandwing prisoner" purposes.

Ruby absolutely never saw this because she made a point of watching fights in the arena as little as possible, especially Peril's for obvious reasons.

On the other hand I just thought of the perfect explanation for why Carnelian was like "I wonder if she remembers me?" when Peril showed up at JMA instead of freaking out like most of the dragons there. At some point, early in her career as a child soldier before she ended up in Ruby's unit, she was working in the palace and got voluntold to help out during an incident when Peril got stabbed in the shoulder or something where she couldn't reach with her claws so somebody had to very carefully burn the venom out with a red hot nail and a pair of tongs. Carnelian's actual job was probably something like holding a bucket of water and pouring it on the spear haft a third dragon was holding Peril's wing closed with, but she met Peril in a vulnerable state when she wasn't trying to perform for the crowd, and also saw her trying really hard to avoid accidentally injuring anyone, which led to her being one of a small number of skywings who are capable of being normal about Peril.

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Lord Husband (Chapter 8)

cregan x reader

A/N: omg another update so soon? who would've thought i could do it

series masterlist

word count: 1,832 words

You’ve never looked so beautiful in your life. You know that to be a fact as you stare at your reflection in the looking glass. You made all the handmaidens leave as soon as you were readied, wanting to spend your last few moments as an unmarried woman in solitude. Now, you aren’t sure if the solitude is something you can even appreciate. You’ve waited all day for your mother to arrive, thinking she would want to spare some comforting words but now you’re starting to wonder if you’ll even see her before you become Cregan’s… before you’re no longer her’s. It’s disheartening to think about how desperately you wish that you could revert back to your childhood. It’s almost all you can think about, swimming in the sea with Jace and Luke, playing dolls with Baela and Rhaena, resting your head in your mother’s lap as he fingers run through your hair, Daemon’s voice whispering a story about Valyrian dragonlords in the background. They’re such fond memories but you hate it when they fill your head because you’ll never feel that way again.

“You’re a vision.” You didn’t hear him come in. You didn’t even hear him knock. Did he knock?

“Thank you, kepa.” father. Sometimes it feels strange to call him that. Especially when you know you used to call Laenor the same thing.

Daemon walks over to you. “You will do well here.” He says as his hand grasps your chin gently but he is still forcing you to look in his eyes.

“Will I?” You ask just as gently as he touches. “Is that how you felt about Runestone? Is this what you wanted for me?” His grip tightens.

“My clever girl.” He says thoughtfully. “Clever enough to know it’s different. This marriage is necessary.”

“At least it isn’t one of your daughters being sold to the North, right?”

“You are my daughter. You also know that Baela and Rhaena help your brothers through marriage.” It’s left unsaid but it’s in the air. 

Baela and Rhaena make my bastard brothers look more legitimate. 

“And I suppose I don’t need such help?”

He sighs. Of course you don’t, is what he’s thinking. You have a claim to nothing. You inherit nothing. You’re just a girl.

“Can you believe me when I say that Cregan Stark is the best match for you? Your mother and I didn’t have you betrothed on a whim. We would not be so careless about your future.”

Your mother said nearly the same thing and you think you could open your mouth to agree with him but Rhaenyra arrives at the door. 

“Mother.” You hate how you breathe out the word in relief.

There’s tears in her eyes. “My perfect girl.”

You notice the dripping ruby earrings in her hands.

“For me?”

“Of course. They were your grandmother’s.” She comments as she walks over, taking your own earrings out gently before putting in the rubies. They’re more simple than what you have on but clearly the better choice. “She wore them on her wedding day.”

“Did you wear them on your’s?”

“No… I didn’t.” The fact seems to hurt her. “She would be happy to know that you’re wearing them.”

“Thank you.” Is all you can seem to say. Even Daemon senses the tension in the dynamic.

“They’ll be ready for us soon. You ought to make way so you don’t miss the ceremony, Rhae.” Your stepfather says and your mother seems to agree.

She grabs your hands, giving them a fleeting kiss before she’s out the door.

You think you dissociate for the next ten minutes. Actually, you know you do because there can’t be another explanation for how you’ve come to be at the edge of the Godswood. Your breath freezes up in front of you. It’s snowing; you wonder if that’s a good thing. Brides often dread rain on their wedding days. Should you dread the snow? You can’t imagine doing such a thing when it’s this beautiful. The little flakes drape themselves on your eyelashes, across your hair. They melt into your warm cheeks. You wonder if it makes you look prettier because as your eyes follow their way up the aisle to Cregan, you think they make him look prettier. He’s shrouded in a fur cloak. Tiny snowflakes decorate it and his hair. He’s the embodiment of a northernman. 

You’re clinging to Daemon as you’re brought up the aisle, clutching his arm like he’s a piece of driftwood that might save you from drowning. Perhaps it’s more like a child clinging to her mother’s skirts, about to be ripped away by slavers. There’s so many unfamiliar faces in the audience, so many people who will be your subjects in a sense. You’re cold as you reach the front, almost shivering.

“Who comes before the Old Gods this night?” You don’t recognize the man who stands at the front. He must be some sort of relative to your betrothed.

Daemon speaks for you, saying your name, “of House Velaryon, comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?” You wish at the very least that you could say the words yourself but of course, that would be silly to think.

“Cregan, of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell. Who gives her?” His voice is firm and steady. You know he’s looking right in your eyes as you look over his shoulder to avoid eye-contact.

“Daemon, of House Targaryen, husband to her mother.”

“Princess, will you take this man?” The officiator speaks again.

Now you look in Cregan’s eyes. You can see the pleading in them. It’s so hidden and almost overshadowed by his clear pride but it’s there, no matter how much he doesn’t want it to be. You don’t know if he pleads for you to not embarrass him or if he pleads for you to want him. It’s of no consequence. 

“I take this man.” Now is it relief in his eyes or pity?

He takes your smaller and much colder hand in his, sending a flush of warmth through you before you both kneel in front of the heart tree. Everything is silent for the prayers that are meant to be between you and the Old Gods. You suppose you should say something to the gods that you now claim but you can’t think of a single thing.

You and your husband rise now and he removes your Velaryon cloak to place one of House Stark over your shoulders. He cringes at the way you practically wince. You already miss the loss of colour. He then takes your arm, people clap and you’re led to the feast.

“You’re colder than ice.” He murmurs, taking your freezing hands in his to try and warm them.

This is the first thing he says to you?

“Is the snow a bad omen?” It’s the only thing you can think about right now. You can’t get the idea of it out of your head.

He didn’t seem to think you were going to say that. “I would not have thought that you cared much for northern omens.”

You’re just silent in response.

“It’s good luck.” He says. The answer doesn’t necessarily please you. “You look wonderful today, wife.”

Wife.

“I don’t think i’ve seen a woman so beautiful in my whole life.” You gaze up at him as he says it and he’s just staring straight ahead. It’s like he’s stating just pure facts and not an opinion.

“You look… very nice as well.” You reply, hating how his comment made you blush.

He takes you to the main table in the hall, holding out your chair for you like a proper gentleman. All the other guests file in. You’re more than glad that you don’t have to talk to them until after the feast. Though, you’re not sure if you’ll be able to down a single bite, finding more comfort in your wine goblet instead.

The Queen stands and raises her glass. “To Lord Stark and his beautiful wife, my lovely daughter.” All the northerners cheer. You notice how well your brothers and stepfather seem to enjoy the rowdy bunch. You, on the other hand, are trying to keep the bile down.

Cregan places a hand on your upper back, rubbing gently. “Perhaps some food to go with your drink?” His eyes have no judgement in them, only worry. He noticed right away that you’re eating like a mouse.

“If I want food, then i’ll eat.” You snap at him slightly and he just sighs. The wine is starting to go to your head more and more. 

“I know. I know you can take care of yourself. I just take my duty as your husband seriously.” You hate the tenderness behind his words. It’s hard to be cruel to a man so kind. So, you say nothing.

The feast comes to a natural end and clearly people want to dance and celebrate so you don’t protest when Cregan takes your hand.

You feel like a fairy, floating on air as you dance. Your head is empty and your body is light as your husband lifts and twirls you. You look so peaceful to him at the moment, calm and angelic. He wonders if he should have been more firm about discontinuing your wine consumption but he’s also so pleased about how content you look.

You dance the whole evening away, exhausting yourself as you take the hand of almost every man who asks. You don’t even feel real. It’s like you’re above the clouds when you move.

It’s Daemon who halts the fun. After you dance with him, he brings you back to the table. “Are you trying to drink yourself into the ground, sweetling?”

“Yes.” You say bluntly.

“Hmm.” He sighs. He understands why you behave this way. “Understandable, but I won’t see you with another goblet for the rest of the night.”

You have to hold in your eye roll but you still obey.

You slowly start to sober up over the next hour and it’s sickening. Your melancholy seems to grow as the alcohol leaves your system and your heart drops when someone calls for the bedding. You hope it’s nothing like a southern bedding ceremony even if you doubt that your mother would allow such a barbaric tradition to befall her daughter.

Cregan makes his way through the crowd to you. He speaks once he is by your side, “There is this tradition in the North, as a symbol of protection and strength, the groom will often carry his bride to bed on their wedding night. Will you allow me to carry you?”

“I would not deprive you of tradition.” You try to keep your words from slurring.

Everyone is watching as your husband takes you in his arms. There’s no goodbyes as you’re whisked away for your wedding night.

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[uneducated-author]

I have a little conspiracy theory. I think Belinda was never supposed to exist.

Lemme explain.

So, I believe that Ruby was supposed to be a companion for two seasons. I think they had fair notice, probably before they started filming the first, but I think the general storylines were already put in place, and major episodes, specifically 'Robot Revolution', 'The Well' & 'Interstellar Song Contest' were already largely drafted.

I didn't dislike Ruby as a companion, but I really did quite love Belinda. But I feel like this ending feels matched with Ruby's themes, as well as the FINAL episode basically fridge Belinda, literally trapping her in Stepford before having her literally locked in a box.

Final episodes, especially Companion final episodes always involve the active companion. Especially in an RTD season. Rose becomes the Bad Wolf/gets locked in an alternate dimension. Martha walks the entirety of the earth to unionise the human race. Donna unlocks the metacrisis. Even in Steven Moffat, Amy brings back the Doctor, Clara jumps into his timestream, Clara basically drives both the season 8 and 9 finale two parters.

Belinda does... Very little, comparatively. Even her moments with the Doctor feel strange, there's no fallout of her calling the Rani's forces on him, not even any fallout to them being married. She gets a scene where she runs off into the woods to scream, but she doesn't even get an explanation as to who Poppy is from Space Babies, and how the Doctor knows her.

Comparatively, Ruby not only has the emotional weight of stopping Conrad, she also convinces the Doctor of Poppy's existence. Hell, Belinda isn't even THERE when they give the God of Dreams and Wishes to Ruby's family for them to raise.

Theory. Alan Budd was Conrad. Ruby was Belinda. Season 2 starts with a flashback of her kissing Alan, noticeably sexist and disrespectful, names a star after her, and we cut to seventeen years later. The MissBelindaChandra Bots, now known as the 'MissRubySunday Bots' grab her and take her away. The Doctor, of course, comes chasing after her, and the two reunite. This also answers the question as to how Mrs Flood is both Ruby's and Belinda's neighbour. They're the same character. It should be the same house.

The season, largely, continues as normal. Ruby and the Doctor have very much the same dynamic as Belinda and the Doctor. They probably rewrote a lot of the dialogue for a more combative dynamic to distinguish the two. But generally, the two are pretty close, best friends, dressing up and goofing off, and on a rewatch, even when Belinda's words are her own, her actions never feel far from Ruby's.

(I'll admit that's a stretch as 'companion' characters tend to have the same actions, but I hope you understand what I mean.)

Season 2, the vindicator isn't a thing. Ruby admits to enjoying life with the Doctor, and they commit to a couple of funky trips. Replace the 'something is connecting us' speech with Belinda with something like 'the whole universe, and I found you twice/Doctor, I thought I might have to live my life without you, without the universe, let's go everywhere'. This even helps the moment where the Doctor promises Rose that she Will see him again seem to make a lot more sense. Bear in mind, Joy To The World still takes place, so he still has his 'missing Ruby, making two coffees' arc.

(This opening would probably be a parallel to Partners In Crime in some senses? The Doctor and Ruby in the start of Robot Revolution being like the Doctor and Donna constantly missing each other.)

Here, the vindicator never existed. Anyways, it's never mentioned more than a couple of mentions per episode, and even as the deus ex machine weapon against Omega, you could remove every mention of it from the season and it would be fine. The Doctor and Ruby don't have any pressure on getting back on time, they're vibing. It is very much like the last season, only replace the Susan Twist cameos with Mrs Flood cameos.

In 'The Well' we get an indicator that the human race is not in fact gucci. And in 'Interstellar Song Contest' Graham Norton pops up and tells them that the Earth was destroyed on the 24th of May. And this is like Journey's End, when the Doctor and Donna return to Earth, and then the planet vanishes.

(I really see a LOT of Donna's era in this season)

So, in Wish World, the Doctor and Ruby are married. Replace the scene where Ruby knocks on the door and says everything is fake with Ruby being the Doctor's wife telling him that she doesn't remember their daughter. Keep the scene of her being asked about giving birth to Poppy and screaming in the woods, keep the scene of her finding Shirley, only this time, someone else calls the police on both the Doctor AND Ruby. Which is why we get zero fallout of the Doctor feeling like he can't trust Belinda. Because here, they were BOTH reported and taken in.

So in Reality War, Ruby is the companion confronts Conrad, except it isn't Conrad in this version. It's Allan. Noticeably sexist Allan. Belinda even says 'all you ever did was correct me' and that's what he's doing. Correcting the World, in his image. His obsession with obedience.

Hell, it even makes Poppy make more sense. Poppy is born because 'Allan' would want 'Ruby' to be a mother, and in season 1, we see Ruby ask the Doctor if he has children, to which he responds that he will have. Ruby sees him with the space babies. And RUBY, who remembers Poppy, tells the Doctor NO, that she was real, that Poppy existed and he NEEDS to save her. Ruby even tells Poppy 'I wish we were (your parents)' which would make space babies make sense.

Maybe the Zero Box exists, maybe it doesn't, but midnight hits and it's the 25th. And Ruby convinces everyone as to Poppy's existence, and the Doctor leaves, pours regeneration energy into the time vortex, bringing Poppy back and entrusting her to Ruby. (Poppy returns, but is fully human.)

This works for Ruby's themes way stronger. Ruby's arc was always about finding her mother, and being a foundling. I mean, she was even wiped from existence. (They try to make Belinda relate with being trapped in a time storm which is weak).

This is RUBY'S story. Even the idea around family, we get wonderful moments with Cherry and Carla, and after a whole season of Belinda nattering about her parents, we only see her mum for three seconds. And I think they wrote Lucky Day to establish Conrad, and explain why Ruby matters to him.

I don't think this makes the season bad at all. I am a bit upset that Belinda seems like such an afterthought as a character. But here's my theory all the same.

[playstation-dreamcast]

im glad you enjoyed my lunch break idea <33

today i shall deliver sad stuff though. the infamous day at spencer mansion. wesker tried his best the previous days to make reader stay at home, not come at work. hell, he even tried to get them sick but it didn’t work because the moment they got to know that Bravo Team lost contact and they didn’t come back, reader was up immediately to help as well. wesker tried to keep them out of this (esp if the two of them are in a relationship at that point) saying they will handle the job and reader shouldn’t even come because they are a rookie and they risk to get hurt and be just a liability to team in case of something big happens, but reader didn’t listen and just went with them at Arklay Mountains. we know what happens there and i picture them two meeting in between of the mansion (just like wesker and jill). reader running to wesker and hugging him automatically, burying their face on his chest while in tears, terrified by what they’re seeing and happening bc wdym zombies exist?? monsters?? how is someone supposed to take this discovery???

but mostly the reason why im writing this is for what happens when they find out wesker was the one behind all of that. reader is there when he reveals he was the one who brought them there, that he planned all of this, that hes the one who killed Captain Enrico too. reader’s heart would break in million pieces to say the minimum and tears would fill their eyes as they listen to wesker’s explanation about his plan to jill (and/or) chris. then when wesker gets impaled by the tyrant and threw on the ground, reader runs to him in tears and although he’s dead (i mean…sorta of, not permanently LMAO) they kneel down and hug him while they’re sobbing their heart out remembering all their memories they had until now. the others are fighting the tyrant while reader is just there not even caring if they die or not because what’s the point? after they kill the tyrant they drag away reader from his dead body because the place will blow up and they have such a hard time to drag reader away from wesker’s dead body and before they drag reader away, reader gives wesker a necklace their grandma gave them that held an important meaning to them and puts it on him before they get dragged away by the others and brought to the chopper.

so how do you think wesker would feel about it when he wakes up and he sees that the necklace reader always wore and talked about it was now on him?? bonus point if he remembers a little of when he “died” and he heard reader sobbing on his body hugging him and say his name and say they loved him (even after everything. i think reader probably said something like “i should fucking hate you but i cant, i still love you so much”) while the others were fighting. in my head reader has always been the complete opposite of wesker, so someone very extroverted, sweet, kind, warm, caring and innocent. so i’d like to imagine that it somehow broke wesker’s heart seeing the person that made him realize he could feel like any other human emotions like the others get tainted and broken by his own hands when all he remembers is just them being the sunshine of the station and of his life. i’d also love to believe that he always kept the necklace with him, maybe inside the pocket of his pants throughout the events of like cvx, re4 etc like a luck charm to remember him about reader and maybe to give it back to them one day when their path will cross again

So, I tweaked this one a tad just to make it work better with my brain, and I hope that's okay, lol

Now Loading...

Character Selection: S.T.A.R.S Wesker x Reader

Content Warning: Angst

Thank You For The Request!

Wesker thought it was stupid when you gave it to him. The necklace your grandmother had given you, the white gold patinated with age but the ruby in the pendant still as dazzling as the day it was given to her- way back in the 1940’s- according to you. 

You’d called it a good luck charm. Said it had protected your family in the past and it would protect him now. He argued if it was so magical, then obviously you should be the one to have it- it protected your family, after all. You were having none of it though. You insisted that he should wear it, you’d feel better if he was the one wearing it. That we had no idea what was in the Spencer Mansion, or what had gotten Bravo team that made them stop communications. So, even if it was silly, or superstitious, you didn’t care. You just wanted some peace of mind that he was protected- even if it was a false sense of security.

He should have told you right then and there that he knew exactly what was in the Spencer Mansion, and was pretty sure he knew what got Bravo team too. He should have used that to make you stay the fuck home. He’d tried everything he could think of. He tried to tell you they needed someone to stay back and maintain communications lines in case Bravo team tried to make contact. You said the RPD could handle that just fine without you.

Okay, well there really wasn’t enough room in the helicopter for you to come anyway. You said “Well, I guess we’ll just have to make room then, won’t we?” He told you your expertise wouldn’t be needed. You asked him in what world would a medic not be needed in this situation?

He pulled rank on you. “As your captain, I refuse to put my rookie in the direct line of  danger.”

You laughed in his fucking face. “I assure you, captain, I’ll be just fine. Thanks.” Which, honestly not only kinda hurt his ego, but it pissed him off. Had he really been so soft with you that you felt you could just talk back to him like that? He may have been your boyfriend at home, but at work he was still your captain. Something you clearly had no respect for. 

And yet, even as you had disrespected him to his face he just wanted to keep you safe. He got desperate enough to try and fake you having a fever, pressing a hand to your forehead and claiming you felt warm, you should really go home and rest. This, obviously, did not work- seeing as you were a medic first and foremost. It was a hail mary at best. 

He’d bet you wished you’d listen to him now. Maybe then you could still be living in blissful ignorance. 

He could feel his heart ossifying in real time as he watched Jill and Chris escort you down to that lab. He could still feel the way your body slammed into his in the lab. How you buried your face in his chest, thanking whatever entity that would listen that he was alive. And begging him to tell you it wasn’t true. What the others were saying, it was wrong, right? He couldn’t have been behind this, he would never hurt the team like this, “You’re not involved with Umbrella, tell them Albert, tell them!”

He held you a little tighter, because he knew this was going to be the last time; he wanted to ingrain the way you felt in his arms into his memory forever. And, because he really didn’t want to see your face when he told you the reality of the situation.

“I think you’re a little confused Dear. I’ve always been with Umbrella. And S.T.A.R.S we’re always Umbrella’s- no, rather, my little piggies.”

If words were weapons, those one must have hit you like a hydrogen bomb. You ripped yourself away from him, searching his face for any sign that he was lying. That it was some sick joke, and that the last two years of your life hadn’t been a complete lie. In reality, it hadn’t been. He was genuinely fond of you, and against his better judgement, had let himself get attached. Sadly, he couldn’t let petty attachments stand in his way now- not when he was standing on the edge of something more. Something greater.

“The tyrant virus leaked, and sadly I had to give up my lovely members of S.T.A.R.S” The others might have been there, but they were as good as invisible to Wesker. His eyes were locked on yours. 

You shook your head. “No…No, that can’t be right. No, You- I- We-” You screamed out in frustration, and he tried to ignore the way his chest tightened. The instinct he had to try and pull you back into his arms. You shook your head violently. “That’s bullshit Albert! It couldn’t all have been faked! You can’t fake that! You can’t fake l-”

“Sorry sweetheart,” He cut you off. He wasn’t sure he could handle you saying the L-word right now. “You’ve always been expendable. All of you have. But, if it’s any consolation, you were always my favorite.” He truly did not mean for that to come out as sarcastic, or vile as it did but- it was probably better it came out that way. 

“You bastard!” You snapped.

“You killed Enrico with your own dirty hands!” Chris snapped, hiding his own devastation behind his anger, “You son of a bitch-”

Chris tried to approach, but found himself staring down the barrel of a gun before he could get very far. “Enrico?” Wersker asked, tilting his head as if he was trying to remember his co-captain. Then smiled like he remembered. “Yes. I’m a fair man. I’ll destroy all of you S.T.A.R.S, along with this entire place.”

“You’re just like all the other things,” Jill sneered, “A slave to Umbrella.”

Jill was standing a little too close to him to be throwing words like “slave” around. You yelped in disbelief as you watched your beloved Captain pistol whip one of your closest friends. He almost stopped you from rushing over to Jill, but decided that it probably wasn’t worth the effort.

He pointed the gun back at Chris before he could get any smart ideas, but his eyes didn’t leave the two of you. “Smart girl.” He scoffed, “But I’m afraid you’re also a little confused. The things you mentioned are nothing. I’ll burn them along with this entire laboratory. And that will be the end of my connection to Umbrella.”

You looked up at him, eyes glossy with the tears you were fighting. He reminded himself of how you laughed at him back at the station, and it helped quell the urge to try and comfort you. Not that he could be really comforting right now. 

“I don’t understand.” You whispered past the sob in your throat. 

He rolled his eyes. “Of course you don’t. Stand up. I want to show you something.”

The rest was a blur. Wesker had expected to die, but some part of him hadn’t expected it to be so…

Slow. He didn’t expect to have time to hear you call out for him, or feel you rush to his side to try and administer a pathetic attempt at first aid while the others fought for your lives. He didn’t think he’d be able to feel your tears fall onto his face. 

“I should hate you,” You hissed in between sobs and attempts to stop the bleeding- despite the fact you’d seen him skewered clean through, “I should fucking hate you for what you did. You’re a monster.”

His hand reached up to caress your face. He wanted the last thing he saw in this life to be you. Your eyes locked with his. “But I can’t,” you whimpered, “I can’t stop loving you. Do you know how pathetic that makes me?”

If he looked closely he could see it. The sun setting in your eyes. The darkness seeping out of him and into you. He always knew he had no business coveting something as sweet as you, but that had never stopped him before. And now he had to watch his blood stained your hands and his sins stained your soul. It gave him a sick comfort knowing you would never be the same.

You’d never forget him. “We need to go!” Jill yelled, pulling you away from Wesker's cooling body, “This place is going to blow!”

“No!” You argued, “I can’t just leave him! I can’t abandon him, I can’t!” 

Chris didn’t even bother with words. Between him and Jill they managed to pick you up, both of them carrying you away kicking and screaming from the former captain's corpse as his vision faded out.

Waking up was a blur. Leaving the Spencer Mansion was blurrier. The week after the incident was the blurriest. He wasn’t sure when he realized he still had your grandmother's pendant around his neck. He was almost shocked you hadn’t taken it off him, but then again, there was a lot going on. 

He thought about throwing it away. Pawning it off, or just giving it away. It didn’t feel right though. The weight of your love for him, dangling around his neck, had become familiar and comforting, no matter how suffocating it was at times. It was almost pleasant to think that he was capable of love, at one point in his life. At least he liked to think he was. 

Progenitor had dulled his emotions to near nothing, so it was genuinely shocking to him when his throat tightened when he saw you again. Running around rural Spain with the government's golden boy like decapitated chickens looking for the president's daughter.

His fingertips brushed the ruby around his neck. He thought of you, smiling in your apartment, laughing with Jill, crying over his corpse. And he smiled. Looks like he’d finally get a chance to return his little memento.

[jackalwolfsoul]

Ideas that I've got for my Modern Day AU for the Primarchs

Pet names that the Primarchs call their neighbor:

1. Konrad Kurze: Princess. He calls her such to get under her skin to rile her up. He still wants to see the fierce spirit that caused her to kick and stab him in that order. Learned that day that not every baseline runs when scared. Some bare their teeth.

2. Leman Russ: Járnleikr. He gave her the name the day she broke a training sword on him. He thought, 'Hey, why not blow off some steam with a spar since you had a bad day at work?' Still finds it funny.

3. Vulkan: Ruby. Calls her such because of her auburn hair. Calls her other names but Ruby is his favorite.

4. Mortarion: Rose. He's fascinated by the flowers and plants she keeps in her garden and her home. Has stolen a cactus from her kitchen at least once or twice. Don't tell anyone.

5. Angron: Pipsqueak, My Serenity, or My Warrior. When she's calm, he's able to have some semblance of calm. But when she's riled up, he knows her fierce spirit will put on a show. Especially on game night. A few tables have been broke in the process over a game of Monopoly. Calls her Pipsqueak because he likes to see her get all flustered at being called short.

6. Sanguinius: Pretty bird. Likes listening to her tell stories or just to hear her talk. He thinks her voice sounds pretty.

7. Horus: Feral. He decided to give her the name after he figured out that she could shift into any animal, despite the drawback of the ability.

8. Magnus: Little Spark. Finds it adorable that she likes to share the ideas she has, especially when she has too much caffeine.

9. Perturabo: No pet names yet. Isn't too sure about her yet.

10. Guilliman: He's indifferent about it. He's not sure what to call her. So, for now, he's just content to call her by her name.

11. Lion El'Jonson: He's a bit indifferent about her. He'd rather address her by her name than a pet name.

12. Corvus Corax: Crow. He ended up walking in on her while she was looking through one of her doom boxes for a project to work on. He finds out she's got several doom boxes. And even more back at her parent's house. She warns him not to open any doom boxes.

13. Furlgm: Orchid. He thinks she's beautiful in her own way. Slowly comes to learn because of her, that not everything can be perfect, especially after learning how she got one of her scars.

14. Rogal Dorn: Prefers to address her by name. Likes the familiarity of doing as such. May give her a pet name later on, but for now, he's content on calling her by her name.

15. Jaghatai Khan: Bumble bee. He's amused by her seemingly endless energy, especially when she's had at least two energy drinks. He's glad she had the restless energy when Fulgrim brought the Furby into the house.

16. Lorgar: My light. Does this guy need an explanation as to why he chooses to call the neighbor girl that?

18 and 19: Alpharius/ Omegon: Enigma. They call her that because she figured out how to tell them apart. It still baffles them to this day

[ruins-of-tragedy]

RWBY's volume nine and how it broke and healed my heart. Took me too many days to get over the last season. This one was somehow better and worse at the same time.

- I remember Ospin mentioned a story. The Girl Who Fell Through The World. Was that foreshadowing? The teaser does act like it.

- The levels of absurdity this season's trailer started off with. Only to end on such ominous notes. Not out of the woods yet. Apparently going into them to get to THE TREE. Fuck.

- Who is the new narrator?

- The flashbacks to everything that happened on the way to Vacuo. From Ruby's perspective. Heart wrenching.

- Gods. Neo has several bones to pick with her. Trying to kill her as they go down?! Holy hell.

- A land with two suns. A beach. Some colourful leaves. And a Dodo?

- I honestly thought there would a Ghibli-like image when the mouse was pulling at the leaves of the fruit. My Neighbour Mousoro. 😅

- The first 'what are you.' And it's from Little. Tell me someone calls him Stuart at one point. 😆. Little is ADORABLE though. No doubt about that.

- "I have seen plenty of cartoons." Ruby's explanation for knowing cats and mouse don't get along... Is there a RWBY version of Tom and Jerry?!

- YAYYYYYY! Blake and Weiss have met up. Will soon be kidnapped by mice I guess. About to witness a shot from the trailer. Vined up friends.

- OHHHHH. NO. Yang and Blake and Ruby don't know about Penny. FUCK.

- Weiss cheering for Blake as she tries to get her weapon. I am getting a little emotional. Look how far they have come!!!! 🥹🫶🏻✨

- Awwwwwwwww! The mice leader has heterochromia! CUTE!!!

- "Long, blonde hair. Looks kind of scary but isn't." / "But could be if she wanted to." Blake's small smile at THAT comment. AGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

- Little, the trusty guide, is once again drooling in Ruby's cape.

- I cannot imagine what Weiss is going through right now. Having to reveal what went down with Penny. Gods. How are you supposed to give your friends such terrible news? Is she okie.

- This new Grimm like figure looks to be a cross between a Pokemon and the Xenomorph aliens.

- Yang is here! And throwing rocks at the adversary. I love her.

- When Ruby says Yang must have forgotten who raised her... 🥹✊🏻

- Little knows what's up minutes within meeting Yang. She is trustworthy. 💯

- Listen. The way Blake whispers her name after tackling Yang to the ground... Sounds almost like a prayer. A wish come true. WOWIE. Excellent voice acting!!!

- Gods. Ruby sounds broken when she says Weiss' name. Great voice work here too.

- Fuck. The leader is not alright. Are any of them. They are just kids. Who have now lost two dear friends.

- Awwww! Little is using a leaf to fan a fainted Ruby. That's so sweet. 💖

- The door opening from the 'R' of RWBY's logo to the rest of the introduction... I like it!

- From a cold resolute demeanor, to a neutral face, to a full-on sweet smile. Weiss has evolved.

- Fiercely uninterested. Purposeful determination. And now a great big smirk. Blake has come so far.

- A nice polite curl of lips, a playful smirk, and then a broad excited grin. Yang is more herself and better than ever.

- Holy shikes. Ruby is regressing. Happy. Seriously dogged. And now turned away.

- The ups and downs of this song are nicely contrasting. Whoa. 👏🏻

- Who is the shadow person walking ahead of the team?

- Ruby can't bring herself to keep up with everyone running in front of her. GODS. This volume is going to ruin me as well.

- Neo has a whole gang? Already? She does get stuff done. Huh. Wonder what trouble she will bring.

- Getting some serious Alice in Wonderland vibes. And the shadow kid who was leading RWBY has a shadow too. Another kid with big glasses. Huh. And that cat is above their picture. Hmmm. And Little is there as well!

- Penny's blood that's still on Jaune's sword. Just. 😭

- Little's exclamation of friends is giving me war flashbacks.

- Yang's deadpan declaration of her feud with a raccoon... 🤌🏻. The voice actors are doing so great.

- The Girl Who Fell Through the World. Foreshadowing confirmed. They are in the Ever After. Hopefully it will be a happy one. Aghhhh, who am I kidding.

- Ohhh. The kid they were following is Alyx. Alice in Wonderland. Alyx in Ever After... Honey, you are familiar, like my mirror years ago 🎶

- A knocked out Yang has RWB coloured stars revolving over her head. 😂

- Blake is really into Yang. So much so, she "continues to pun." 😆. Whoever wrote these subtitles deserves forehead kisses!

- You know it's bad when Ruby can't even bring herself to be optimistic for her friends. Weiss just shared her feelings of doom and Ruby couldn't open up. Gods. Is this volume going to be her last straw?

- That whole thing with Little living near the bridge... Blake was in her cat pose for so long. 😂🫶🏻

- So the queen of hearts is the king here? Or is it the red queen? This guy has the heart symbol but is called by the colour. Both?

- Yang laughing to herself at the pun Little inadvertently makes. 💖✊🏻

- Cute Jinxy raccoon. Who is conducting an auction. WoWie.

- Ruby doesn't have enough hope. Yeah. This one is going to hurt.

- Oh my Gods. It's actually Penny's sword?!?? Let her cry. The Rose needs it.

- Blake being concerned about the story and how their actions can have similar far reaching implications. Truly a bibliophile. ✨

- Ruby is sad, there is rain. Someone give her a hug. Please.

- Penny may not have had a funeral, but she received a wonderful eulogy. Thank you Rubes.

- Good Gods. Their leader is snapping a bit and throwing strays. Where is the fucking therapist.

- The forest they are at reminds me of Forever Fall from back in volume one.

- Weiss is not having a great time around the red prince. At least she has grown enough to ask if she used to be just as insufferable.

- Ruby and Little's butter is actually good grease for the red prince. Enough to get him to listen. LoLLL!

- WBY are cute chess players!!!! AGHHHHHHHHH!!!!

- Little is cheering for them all. CUTE!!!!

- Blake is blushing 'cause Yang is applauding for her. She down bad. This is ADORABLE!!!!!!! 🥹🫂💖

- The cat. It's eyes made a brief appearance and blinked when Ruby mentioned they are human. Huh.

- Red prince's family did not have a great experience with Alyx I suppose. The king isn't around 'cause of her, am guessing.

- What did the cat put in the prince's heart?

- Does Yang ever find out Ruby can carry people in her rose missile state? Even when they are not tiny chess-piece sized. Blake must have told her.

- The curious cat has met other humans. Coolio.

- So the Jabberwock is the Grimm-Pokemon being.

- Neo vs Jabberwock. Looks like Neo won. That illusion with multiple of her was quite nice. And scary.

- Weiss roasted the cat. Yang ate it up. 😆

- RWBY telling the curious kitty RWBY's story. Talk about meta.

- The way the cat speaks about Alyx learning her lesson... I doubt it's the same thing the books described.

- The leaves of this place look amazing.

- Is the cat trying to make them depressed? Intentionally triggering more hopelessness?

- Luminous neon garden. I want one of these.

- Another Oobleck-like psychological discovery arc? I think the doctor will like this caterpillar-bug guy.

- How a king winds up a prince. The red prince? Huh. The exasperated bug-pillar is all-knowing it seems. And he smokes. And pushes for answers.

- Weiss, Blake and Yang now know who they are. How much they have evolved. That was a wonderful scene. Defined by more than failures and crude simplicity and a name. Defined by more than just the parts of themselves. Gods. This is good. ✨

- Oh no. Ruby.

- Herb was actually helping. What did the cat do. Now the caterpillar guy is following the kitty's line of thoughts.

- Herb has left the chat. May not be the best thing to happen.

- Much talk of going away and returning either the same or differently. With purpose new and perhaps old. Sounds a bit like reincarnation.

- I don't know if Alyx actually wrote the story, but it's interesting that Blake is thinking about how much may have been left out. Historians and storytellers have the power and authority to say as much or as little as they want. To twist figures and portray things from 'supposedly' their perspective. That's why multiple accounts are important. Or we may be left with a skewed version of events true for no one.

- RWBY seperated. I don't like it.

- The lights went out. Penny's sword turned into Alyx's dagger? Also, who be this fine person. Beating down metal like in a forge. Me likey. Blacksmith mama.

- Summer Rose's weapon?!?!?? She was here?!?!???The fuck.

- Weiss snapped 'cause Ruby didn't get what she left to bring. The leader is stuttering and feels bad. Stop. When's the group therapy session happening.

- Ruby exchanged the nose hairs for her mother's promise? The rose emblem. No. Shikes.

- Jabberwalker growth spurt. Things are not looking good. Is the creature following Neo's orders now?

- The Rusted Knight is Jaune. He grows old. Have already seen the pictures. Clocks in the opening with him make sense.

- Neo Jabberwalkers. Oh fuck. Illusions that can be more.

- Weiss seeing the destruction left behind. Gods. Another reminder of Atlas. Thank you Ruby for helping her in.

- Awwwwwwwww! Jaune named his furry friend Juniper!!!! 💖

- Jaune's end sketch gives me some subtle Ironwood vibes.

- Just noticed this. All the episode titles have some form of the consonance figure of speech working within them. NOICE!

- Jaune travelled back in time. Accidentally. Wait. Does that mean the story with the "handsome" (according to Weiss) rusted knight stars him?!? Alyx met Jaune when she fell in?! Shouldn't he be more old then. IF time followed the same speed as it did everywhere...

- Awwwwwwwww! Jaune got a hug from Little as well. CUTE!!!!

- Ruby's reaction at Weiss calling Jaune "mature" must be studied. So should Weiss' small glance at Ruby before the leader begins speaking.

- Jaune has hardened. Ruby isn't okie. At all. Bad weather and poor attitude. This is fine. 👍🏻

- Alyx had a brother. Louis. Huh. Wait. Lewis Caroll?!

- A punderstorm. No Yang or Blake. AGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! I think I have seen this film before... 🎶

- "Must have had something bigger to work out." Hehehe :3

- They need to decide between Jaune and the cat. Ohhhhh.

- Oh my Gods. When Ruby passes one of those portal arch like things. Her mirror image towards the end. It's Summer. The fuck.

- Jaune sees Penny. Weiss, a destroyed Atlas. So the flowing water shows them things and people they feel conflicted over and can't let go?

- So, ascension bad. According to Jaune. Alyx definitely not great. She poisoned the rusted knight. Cat is feeding tree. Louis never returned. Huh.

- Not sure this is entirely right. Am going off the assumption Louis made it back, 'cause he was the author of Alice in Wonderland in our world. Perhaps he wrote the heavily edited story with Alyx. Herb's potion cloud showed her something about the future. Or she interpreted it as such. A betrayal maybe? So she became vigilant. Got rid of Jaune. Hmmm. RWBY had a different experience with Herb though. But it was interrupted by the cat. I guess I shall find out. Let's see.

- Listen. Yang only focusing on the Blake bit instead of the truths which help bridge the gap. Even though Blake didn't just talk about herself and it worked for her. Are you picking up what I am putting down? Yang. Lover girl. Blake is everything. AGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! 🫶🏻

- I am re-watching the Bumbleby kiss. Of course. And when it begins, the song starts building like it's climbing a set of stairs. Perhaps this is too dramatic of me, but the way it moves up and up and up... Sounds akin to triumphant angels ascending. Holy, somehow.

- Yang's eyes take on this bigger shine when Blake calls her extraordinary. And then Blake lays it all on the table. While Yang says what she feels, but behind a thinly veiled veneer of admiration and awe. It isn't just about her. Blake is that way with everyone. Gods.

- Blake is so ready to say it. Yang sees her and thinks, I love you. Wants to tell her. But can't bring herself to give those words her voice. Looks away.

- They are so in tune, it seems as if their thoughts are engaging in a conversation.

- Yang hadn't even finished when Blake chimes in.

- When they finally kiss, it's two voices. Yet one song. In sync, but still with words which echo their own seperate feelings and identities. 🤩👏🏻🤯💖✊🏻❤️‍🔥🤌🏻🌟🫶🏻🫂🏳️‍🌈🪩🌈

- I just. They are who they are. Good and wild and true and free. Together though, they are even more. Of themselves. And each other. What else can anyone want. 😍

- Flowers bloom as they finally take that step. Sapphics everywhere, this is what happens when we confess our true feelings. Stars shine. Everything is more beautiful. Our world is a better place. I refuse to accept a different answer.

- I saw it again. And when Yang declares Blake has cat ears, she moves them in response. 🥹

- At this rate am not going to finish the episode today. (And I didn't. 😅😆)

- The cat is a master at manipulation. Twisting words to suit their needs. Something is not right about them.

- Weiss had a slight blush when she was looking at Bumbleby kissing. Fruits anyone? 🏳️‍🌈

- Ruby squeaked. The actual mouse didn't. Little only gasped. LoLLL!

- Jaune confirms it's been a long time coming. Juniper loved that kiss as well. ❤️‍🔥

- Crescent Rose has entered the picture. Ruby is not okay AT ALLL.

- Another warning before an episode. This one with distressing themes. FUCKKKKK.

- Jaune is helping the paper pleasers. Awwwwwwwww! This is his town and he is their hero. And it's citizens have the names of his friends. 😭🫶🏻😆

- He isn't okie either.

- The paper pleasers and their situation is euthanasia and it's ensuing debate. Gods. Jaune. Therapy.

- Bumbleby fights so well together. Weiss and the rusted knight are handling the rest. Jabberwalkers, walk away!

- Ruby. Shikes. Jaune. No. None of them are alright. Is therapy not a thing in Remnant?!?!?

- I have been Ruby and I have been Jaune and I have been Blake too. Even Weiss and Yang. They got almost everything right. Fuck.

- New episode, new warning. Gods. Will I need another day to get through this.

- Ruby. Kiddo. Little is sad too.

- She is at Neo's place. Roman and her killed Neo's uncaring parents? Huh.

- Torchwick is alive. With a different voice. This is more tactical than an illusion. Neo has grown really powerful.

- The fuck. Penny and Pyrrha and Leonardo and Clover and Ozpin and Ironwood. Having a tea party. What form of emotional hell... Oh shikes. This is her gang from the opening. FUCKKKKKKK.

- Thank Gods!!! Little followed Ruby.

- Neo loved Roman. So much so, she wants to destroy Red. Smash her into smithereens. Death is too easy. Oh no.

- WHOA. Neo can't speak, but making the people Ruby has lost say what she wants to... FUCK.

- Weiss understanding what it may have been like for their leader speaks volumes on her own development and empathy. ✨

- Someone save this child. Please. This is so bad. How much more will you break her.

- I don't like what Neo is doing. But I can admit she is doing it well. Too well.

- Curious cat being bad curious. Wanted to break Rubes down. Little is trying to save her. Awwwwwwwww!!!!

- Little is dead now. I am dead inside. What torture. Ruby.

- She drank the tea. In front of... Oh my Gods.

- Neo has no purpose left. A new vessel for cat curious.

- I need to go for a walk.

- Summer Rose. Reading the story. Whoa.

- TINY YANG AND RUBY. SO CUTTTTTEEEE!!!!

- "What are you?" And we see a statue of Rose junior. Well.

- Paper Pleasers to Genial Gems. Is the red one the reincarnated version of the Ruby Paper Afteran? 🌟

- Wise Weiss and healing group hugs.

- I like the theme here. The person you are after everything goes down may not be the person you started out as. And that's okay. Survivors, of their own mind and otherwise, should get to choose.

- Ruby is Groot. And still alive.

- Even though I have conflicting feelings for Neo, her having no attachments left to tether her to Remnant... Heart wrenching honestly.

- So Louis did write Alyx's story. She never got to return. Curious cat went very bad.

- Neo's illusions are too good. Fuck. Catty Neo. UGHHHHHHHHHH.

- Red like Roses instrumental playing as Ruby chooses who she will be... 🤌🏻

- Summer backstory?!?? She used to wear the rose emblem. Awwwwwwwww!!!!

- Ruby saw that. Her mum leaving with Raven. Holy fuck. Raven will be called in for some intense interrogation when they get back.

- Alyx saves Jaune. 🫶🏻

- Cat out of Neo has a new makeover.

- Ruby is back!!!!! With Crescent Rose and her mum's emblem. While Red like Roses plays. AGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! ✨

- New version of Rubes. New version of her song. ❤️‍🔥

- Team RWBY turning into their colours while fighting the cat... 👏🏻🌟🤌🏻

- Neo bid farewell. I hope she finds peace.

- Little is now Somewhat. Bigger and has a cape. With a hood the colour of Yang's neckwear. The flowing leaf trail also has red accents. ✨

- Familiar. Like a happy dream. 😭💖🥹

- Louis immortalised his sister by writing a story she could have lived. The one he wanted her to. GODS. THAT'S. WOWIE.

- Wait. So the tree is the mother of the brothers Grimm?!?!?? They are from the Ever After. Huh.

- Curious cat was one of their creations.

- Balance. The way it's shown makes me think of Yin and Yang.

- From Brothers Grimm to Team RWBY. An ecosystem of equilibrium... 🤩

- Basically they met the grandmother of creation. Huh.

- Oh my Gods. It's Ruby's Red Riding Hood arc. Little. Meetup with grandmum. 🤯

- Practice random acts of kindness when you can. Little and Somewhat will agree with the sentiment.

- Awww! Alyx left one last act of selflessness for Jaune. He is young again! With a teenager's voice. LoLLL!

- Bumbleby stepping into the portal together. 💖

- They have arrived in Vacuo!!!

- So the Justice League crossover happens when they still attended Beacon?

- I always knew the question with RWBY wasn't if I would like it. Only a matter of when. And I obviously love it now. No one is surprised. It's one of my hyperfixations currently. A RWBY post a day keeps the demons at bay!

- Parting thoughts: The ending sketches have my heart forever. Must consume the miscellaneous stuff that came before during and after this volume. Then it's time to listen to the soundtrack without the videos 'cause I won't pay attention to the lyrics otherwise. Also, need to get RWBY on every possible platform and conduct many many many rewatches; once it's made available for international audiences. Looking forward to trauma bonding with you all in the next volume! Take care!!!