#but IN UNIVERSE Dream's clothes just materialize on him right?

[rhinozilla]

I’m losing my mind.

So this outfit of Dream’s battle garb when he rap battles Lucifer is obviously fantastic, 12/10, we all agree.  However...I just stumbled upon this picture with a clear image of the back and...

BOY, WHO IS THIS TINY, SLUTTY ZIPPER FOR?!

#the sandman #dream of the endless #I think there's one on the back of his neck too #like I understand how costumes work #but IN UNIVERSE Dream's clothes just materialize on him right? #They don't need seams or buttons etc #Which means in universe these zippers were INTENTIONAL #Morpheus who exactly is going to be unzipping you out of that? #HMMM?! #Answer me young man

[msgexymunson]

The Code

Description: Your very first day at your new school and you've already managed to find a dealer. Not only that, but he is fine. Maybe living with your mom might not be too bad after all. 

Warnings: Making out, fingering, male and fem oral receiving, p in v unprotected sex 

A/N: I just wanted some desperate, clingy ‘I need you’ sex so here we are. I loved writing this so much I think this is going to end up in a whole universe just about these two.

6.2k words

Masterlist 

This must be the spot. 

You walk out into the little clearing in the woods. It's private, encircled by trees, with a picnic bench right in the middle. As you wonder who the hell put it there, you take in the quiet. It's bizarre; a minute ago you were surrounded by loudmouth jocks and giggling girls, sneakers squeaking and lockers slamming, but here? Silence, except for the twittering of birds and whispering wind in the trees. 

Perching on the slightly mildewed table top, you dump your bag and jacket on the seat, crossing your legs and picking your fingernails to pass the time. 

A rustle of leaves makes you snap your head up, and you see who must be the most gorgeous guy at this school. Tall, long hair, a narrow little waist you want to wrap your legs around, and judging by his clothes, he's a metalhead too. 

“Hey, you leave me a note?” 

He looks around nervously, circling the table before walking over to you. 

“Yeah, you OK?” 

He smiles, and you rethink your previous statement. He must be the most gorgeous guy in this whole town. Such a pretty mouth. 

“Sorry, it's just last time I got an anonymous note in my locker I got jumped by four jocks.” 

“Oh, well you know what they say, when a boy bullies you they really just have a crush on you.” 

He laughs, tipping his head back. 

“Well these guys must want my fuckin’ babies or some shit!” 

Giggling, you look down, covering your mouth girlishly. Eddie takes the small opportunity to check you out. You look like you've wandered in from a dream. A very wet dream. Little black Mary Janes on your feet, thigh high white socks, and a black and white plaid skirt. The strip of thigh on show is making his pants tighter by the minute. The white t-shirt is a work of art; it seems so innocent, but it's tight enough to accentuate your obvious curves, and the outline of a black bra is peeking through the thin material. He's sure it's purposeful; who wears black under white and doesn't think about it showing? 

You clear your throat and his eyes flick upward to your face guiltily. Not saying anything, you let your little smug smile and raised brow do the talking for you. This looks like it's going to be a lot of fun. 

After a few seconds of letting him squirm, mostly to see the blush flowing to his cheeks, you give him your name and explain. 

“I'm new here, some girl told me you're the one to go to for weed. Eddie, right?” 

“Guilty as charged,” he replies, bowing at you. Rolling your eyes, you beckon him forward with one finger. His grin widens as he stands right in front of you, eyes darting to your lips and back up. 

“So, you got something for me?” 

Eddie plants his hands either side of you on the table, close enough to smell your perfume. It's heady, laden with spice and promise, not the sweet scent he expected. That just intrigues him even more.

Your heads spinning from him crowding your space. His eyes are otherworldly, deep brown, full of such depth and soul that it takes a moment for you to remember to breathe. 

“For you? Of course.” 

He winks, he fucking winks, sending a swarm of insects in a whirlwind in your stomach, then sits down at the bench, slamming a battered tin lunchbox down. He gestures at the seat in front but you swivel on the table to face him, legs crossed an inch or so away from his hand. 

“So, I'll do you a half ounce for… twenty. Cool?” 

He wags a baggy at you and you make a pass for it, but he holds it at arm's length. 

“Twenty?” 

Huffing dramatically, you lean far back to grab your bag from the opposite bench. Eddie holds an arm out, one thrown over his eyes. 

“Cover your, er, modesty sweetheart.”

You realise he means your skirt that had ridden high on your thighs, exposing a triangle of your panties. It was only for a moment, but he saw. He thinks it'll be ingrained on the inside of his eyelids, burned into the back of his brain forever. They're baby pink, yet another surprise. You seem to be full of them.

“Such a gentleman.” 

Plopping your bag in your lap, you rummage through it to find a note. Eddie's eyes widen yet again. Your little denim backpack is covered in patches; Megadeath, Anthrax, Saxon. Just when he thinks he's got you figured out, you throw another curveball at him. 

“Here, twenty.” 

He takes it and exchanges it for the bag in his hands. Squirrelling it away, you smile. 

“Thank you. Fancy a smoke?” 

“Sure, why not.” 

You move to get your newest purchase out again but he waves a hand. 

“This one's on me sweetheart. For the er, pleasure of your company.” 

“Well, aren't I lucky.” Smirking at him, revelling in the pink tinge on the apples of his cheeks, you watch whilst he rolls. 

“So, you're new? When did you start?” 

“Today. Moving in with my mom and my brother for a little while whilst my dad cools off.” 

“Oh yeah?” He smiles, licking the paper with a pointed precise tongue. 

“Yeah. I got suspended, he freaked. Mom wanted her little girl back, so here I am.” 

“Oh really? What did you do?” 

You bite your lip as he passes you the lit joint, and take a couple of hits. 

“What didn't I do?” 

He laughs loudly with you, eyes darting to your chest as it jiggles. Fuck, he's already down bad. 

You make some chit chat, surface level stuff, but it shows you just how easy he is to talk to. He's confident, bordering cocky, but it's belied by the way your flirtatious comments make him blush. 

The joint is long gone. Eddie stands up, getting ready to leave. You want him to stay, you need him to, just a little longer. It emboldens you, enough to make a move. 

“Eddie, what's your policy on kissing clients?” 

He's mid standing when your question gets through to his brain, entirely short circuiting it for a second. 

“Huh?” 

“I said,” you beckon, and Eddie's legs move on their own accord, “what's your policy on kissing clients?” 

He's grinning then, standing in front of you by the edge of the table. As you uncross your legs, his smile only widens, slotting his narrow hips between your thighs. You take one of his hands in yours, examining his rings, before you place it gently on your leg, silently giving him permission to touch you. 

Eddie feels dazed, half expecting someone to jump from the bushes with a camera, declaring this all some elaborate prank. The bare skin of your thigh is so soft, silky smooth. His fingers dance just underneath the hem of your skirt, testing the waters, but you let him. You let him. 

“My policy? It probably goes against the Holy drug dealers code.” He shakes his head sadly, but he's still smiling, and still not pulling away. 

“Drug dealer code? What like, don't get high on your own supply?” You respond cheekily, nodding at the butt of the joint stubbed out on the table. 

Your hands snake around his neck autonomously, looking up at him through your lashes. He moves infinitesimally closer, head bending a little. 

“Yeah, like that. But the thing is,” he says as he moves even closer, whispering, “it's more like… guidelines.” 

“Yeah?” 

It's all you can manage out, breathy and weak, practically quivering at his closeness. 

His nose rubs against the side of yours, mouths almost brushing, as he whispers again, even more quietly, the breath of it diffusing over your parted lips. 

“It's a good thing I like to break the rules.” 

Then his lips are crushed against yours, your strawberry lip balm surrendering itself, finding a new home on his full lips. Your tongue licks into his mouth thickly, laced with want. Eddie responds, exploring your mouth as the kiss turns dirtier by the second. Your chest is smashed against his, thighs gripping onto his hips. 

Eddie's head is reeling at the taste of you and the feel of your body desperately pressed against him. He winds his hand under your skirt to grab your perfect round ass, jamming you even closer. To his delight you moan in his mouth, lips sliding against his, slicked in spit. 

Your heart is thumping so loudly you can feel it in your throat. Or is it his? It doesn't matter, the kiss tearing any rational thoughts away. Snaking an arm around him to dig painted nails into his back, you roll your hips into him, an ache settling into your bones. 

The other of Eddie's rough hands travels audaciously to your chest, palming it over your clothes. You don't pull away, in fact your back is arching, searching for more. 

It's only then that he notices the time on his watch. 

Reluctantly, he pulls away, taking in the way your chest heaves, how your eyes are half lidded, as if you want to devour him whole. 

“Fuck, I'm sorry but I'm late, I really gotta go.” 

Huffing, you pout, and the plumpness of your bottom lip almost makes him say fuck it, screw Hellfire, but he knows he can't. 

“I really, really don't want to go, for the record. Last thing I want to do is walk back into school with a hard on right now.” 

You giggle breathlessly, risking a little look down. He's not lying. And he is packing. 

“Do you wanna come to mine later?” 

It's out of your mouth before you even think of the words, tongue working of its own accord. 

“Are you- for real?” 

You nod comically fast. He just shakes his head, stunned. 

“You know, I'm waiting for a Carrie moment or some shit.” 

“Eddie, I'm not gonna dump a bucket of pig's blood on you, I swear.” 

“Swear? On what?” 

“On, I dunno, on that code thing?” 

He laughs, hands rubbing up and down your sides as if he doesn't want to let you go. 

“You can't swear on that, we just broke it!” 

“Alright then, scouts honour?” 

“You were a girl scout?” 

“No.” 

He laughs again as you purse your lips, deep in thought. Suddenly, your eyes widen, and you hold your hand to your heart, the other forming the devil's horn sign. 

“I swear on Ozzy.” 

Fuck, Eddie thinks he must have made you in a lab. 

“Alright, alright, you best not be using his name in vain.” 

You rummage in your bag, grabbing a scrap of paper and scrawling an address on it. 

“Here. My er, my mom's out for the weekend and my dweeb brothers got some silly club thing then he's staying at a friend's, so…” 

Eddie's eyebrows raise and disappear into his hair. If this is just some fantasy and he's finally lost it, then he can deal with that. 

“Right, I will be there. I promise. Wild fuckin’ horses couldn't drag me away.” 

You scrunch the paper into his waiting hand, and he presses another kiss to your lips, before he's apologising again, having to run back to school before the guys send a search party. 

********************

He only gets a chance to look at your hastily written note when Hellfires finished, a hell of a lot quicker than his usual sessions. The guys are put out, complaining about only managing to go for a supply run and deal with some bandits, but for once he doesn't give a shit. 

In his van, he's reading and rereading your note. Maybe he's got it wrong, your messy handwriting is difficult to read after all. Or maybe he was right before and this is all some joke at his expense. 

Hope is what gets him there, that and the traces of strawberry lip balm that still linger on his lips. He pulls up to the house and knocks on the door. 

You answer, still in your clothes from earlier, though Eddie notices immediately that you've taken off your bra. It throws him for a moment, the shape of your nipples singing a melody directly to his dick, but he recovers. 

“You live… here?” He asks, completely surprised. 

“Yes?” The way he says it you almost question if you're the one in the wrong house. 

“And your last name is…?” 

“Henderson.”

“Fuck.” He laughs it out, biting his lip. 

“Is that a problem?” You're entirely thrown by his reaction, but gesture at him to come in, closing the door behind him. 

“Dustin’s your little brother.” He says it like a known fact.

“How do you know Dust for Brains? Wait-” 

You step backwards, both hands held to your mouth in shock. 

“You're Eddie?? The Eddie??” 

“The one and only, sweetheart.” 

“Shit, Dustin does not shut up about you. I thought, well I thought you'd be some nerdy, awkward loser.” 

“Well, I'm a lot of things.” 

Laughs erupt from you in an unstoppable volcano. 

“Dustins gonna kill me.” 

Eddie shakes his head. 

“No, Dustins gonna kill me. How come he's never mentioned you?” 

“He's not exactly my biggest fan. Plus, he probably wanted to avoid- this.” 

Eddie deflates a little, the hope of kissing you again dwindling by the second. 

“If you want me to go-” 

“Oh hell no,” you grab his hand, keeping him there with you, “this is hilarious, he's gonna freak. I can't wait. You wanna drink, or something to eat? Or we can just-” 

“Wait, you seriously don't care?” 

“Nope. You're too hot.” 

Eddie blushes, not used to girls being so brazen with him. Smiling, you tell him to take a seat and grab some beers from the fridge. He takes his jacket off and throws it on a chair. When you return, you're laughing yet again as you hand him his beer. 

“How the hell did I miss that?” You point. He follows your eyes, to the Hellfire t-shirt he's wearing. 

“Too busy staring at my pretty face?” He suggests, winking at you. 

Settling down next to him, you flick the TV on to some random b movie. Nonchalantly, you place a hand on his knee, stroking the little bare patch of skin as you look at the film playing. 

“Maybe I was too busy thinking about what's underneath it.” 

You say it offhand, a casual statement, but it's got Eddie nearly choking on his mouthful of beer. 

“Shit you are nothing like your brother, are you?” 

Turning to smirk at him, you respond, “I fucking well hope so.” 

Then Eddie's thoughts fly straight out the window when your hand lands on his chest, nails raking him through the fabric. Suddenly, the temperature of the room is stifling, or is it just the feel of your body against his? He reaches tentatively to cup your cheek, rubbing a calloused thumb on your chin, eyes boring into yours for confirmation. Breath hitches in your throat; you lean in closer, gaze flickering to his perfect mouth and back up. 

“Are you gonna kiss me or just stare at me, Eddie?” 

You smirk, but it's wiped from your face immediately by his mouth smashing into yours. It's so forceful you have to fight to keep upright, hand fisting into his shirt as some sort of anchor. 

As you pull away, his eyes widen, wondering if he did something wrong. He looks like a little puppy. 

“Easy Eddie, we've got all night.” 

All night? Eddie has decided that he must have got hit on the head today. Maybe he was jumped after all, and now he's in a coma, playing out some elaborate fantasy. 

He settles back into the cushions, swigging his beer and failing to focus on the movie playing, his leg restlessly bouncing. 

You look perfectly at ease, knees curled up on the seat. What he doesn't know is that your heart is pumping blood so fast that you're starting to feel a little dizzy from it, purposefully slowing your breath to keep your calm. 

Once your beer is finished you've decided that enough is enough. A part of you wanted to take this slow; he seemed like such a nice guy, as well as being into your kind of music, and hot as sin. Unfortunately, it seems your pussy has other ideas, already banging its own heartbeat like a dinner bell. 

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?” He tries to make it sound casual, but he's wound so tight it's almost a strangled noise. Nursing a semi since he saw you in the woods earlier, now it's straining against his jeans in a futile attempt to be near you. 

He looks so damn nervous, and it gives you the confidence you need to swing your leg over his and straddle him. Eager hands land immediately on your hips, thumbs pressing hard to keep you there. 

This time, you lean in. Your kiss is fire, tongue burning hot and heavy in his mouth. Eddie groans into the kiss, rolling desperation from his mouth to yours. He's breathing so hard it's whistling through his nose, clouding your cheek with condensation. 

It almost feels like a competition, both tongues duelling, determined to unravel the other. Lips swollen and blood filled, your mouth tries to keep up with his, spit gathering at the edges. You'd be self conscious about it if you weren't so damn turned on. 

Eddie's hands roam all over, grasping at your ass under your skirt, slipping inside the thin material of your panties at the back, until he runs a thumb just next to your underwear but this time dangerously close to your sex. You moan onto his tongue, your own hands winding into his hair, pulling harshly to spur him on. 

He can't concentrate on the hard tingle your fingers cause to run all over his scalp, not when slips his fingers past the cotton barrier and he runs them up and down your slippery slit. Mind entirely encased in a pink fog of lust, you realise your mumbling in his mouth. 

“Please, please, please-” 

The corners of his mouth turn up at the sound, thumb seeking out your clit to rub circles on and around it, your arousal causing it to slip and slide. You're dizzy, hot all over, pussy aching for something inside. 

Eddie's obsessed with the feel of you, the heat emanating from your cunt, but most of all with the sounds you make. They'd be pornographic, if they weren't so fucking real. Needy, hoarse moans, peppered with little gasps and whimpers that are making his cock twitch with each slip of his thumb. 

Gliding a finger inside, he watches as your head rolls back, a strangled groan falling from your kiss bitten lips. You're practically riding his hand, bouncing your tits so close to his face that he's in a trance. As if you can hear his prayers, you pull your shirt off, fighting with the tight material until you can shake it off your arm. 

He sees the glimpse of a tattoo, a snake wrapped around a dagger directly in your cleavage, which he momentarily thinks is really hot, but then he's gone. Your bare chest is a masterpiece, perfect tits jostling with each bounce of your thighs. He latches his mouth to a nipple, tonguing and sucking on it like he needs it to breathe. In fact he almost forgets to, pulling his mouth off to take a gasping breath and latch onto the other. 

He drags his mouth away when he feels you tightening impossibly hard around his fingers and leans back just in time to see the show. Your climax is violent, grinding into his fingers hard and rough until suddenly you're screaming his name, nails breaking the skin of his neck as you cling on for dear life. Your release engulfs your body in a flash of fire, singeing each nerve and causing you to convulse in his grip. Eddie can barely move, his fingers straining hard to work you through your orgasm, so much so that the tendons of his arm hurt, but he doesn't care. He keeps on curling them until you physically grab his arm to still him. 

His dripping fingers are released with a sucking sound as he grins at you smugly. Not for long though, not with your chest heaving like that and the way you're biting your lip. You yank at his t-shirt, pulling it over his head and relishing in the exposed skin by lathing your tongue over his collar bone. 

“Nice tats.” You breathe onto his skin between sucks and nips. 

“Same to you,” he stumbles out in a gasp as a particular sharp bite to his neck shoots a lightning bolt of heat down his spine. 

“You haven't seen all of them,” you reply, nibbling at his earlobe. 

He's never wanted to hunt for tattoos more in his whole life. 

“Fuck, you are a dream.” 

His teeth bite down on your shoulder and you whimper, grinding down on his rock hard bulge. Enveloping his lips in another urgent kiss, and another, until you can break away long enough for one word. 

“Bedroom?” 

“Jesus fucking Christ yes.” 

He stands, still holding you, knocking a beer bottle to the floor. You cling to him with your legs as he walks backwards, sending a table lamp flying in the process. It's inconsequential; your head is fighting through a cloud of need, nothing can find its way through but touch and taste. 

In the hallway, he slams your back into the wall, pressing you hard against it as he writhes his tongue in your mouth again. A picture frame falls, you just about hear the tinkling of glass but it's not important. That's tomorrow's problem. 

Unhooking yourself from his clutches for a moment, you drag him by the front of his jeans and yank him into a doorway, gasping for breath, grasping at flesh. You practically punch the lightswitch to turn it on, the thought that you need to see him just about making it through the horny mist. Once inside he barely has a chance to take in his surroundings before you're falling to your knees and undoing his belt with impatient fingers. 

“Woah, baby, you don't need to-” 

“Shut the fuck up Eddie I wanna blow you.” 

Eddie rubs his hands over his face and then compulsively strokes his neck just to keep some composure. If he thinks about your words for a second longer he's sure he'll bust right in his pants. 

You work his fly and pull his jeans and boxers down swiftly, his turgid cock flying free and whacking his stomach, decorating it with a pearl of precum. It feels heavy in your hands as you rub him up and down, watching the soft skin move with each pass, like silk wrapped around a steel bar. 

Taking him into your mouth, you twirl your tongue around his head, licking up its salty sweetness, sucking lightly. Eddie groans, torn between covering his eyes and holding you in place, so he does a bit of both, until you start taking him deeper and deeper without gagging. 

His eyes snap open to see you staring straight at him, nose nestling in his coarse pubic hair, eyes wide and wet and innocent, mouth stretched full of him, and he feels his balls tighten. 

“Fuck stop stop, please.” 

He practically bends in half to get you off of his dick. Giving him a smug smile of your own, you delicately wipe the spit gathered at the corners of your mouth with a thumb. 

“You OK there champ?” 

“You are gonna kill me sweetheart.” 

He's heaving, trying to control his breath, eyes darting from your face, to your bare chest and back up. Standing up, you unzip your skirt, allowing it to fall to the floor, leaving you in your tiny pink underwear with a very noticeable wet patch, and your thigh high socks. There's another tattoo hiding just out of sight, playing peekaboo over the top of your panties. 

Something about seeing you so innocent and yet so naughty flicks a switch in his brain. Before he can think he's pushing you backwards and you hit the mattress behind with a thud, legs dangling off the edge of the bed. 

Which is fucking perfect in Eddie's opinion because he needs to taste you right now otherwise he might die. 

You both fight to take your underwear off, but he covers your hand in his own when you start rolling your socks down. 

“No. Leave them on.” 

It's husky and dominant, a steely look behind those soft brown eyes you haven't seen yet. Well. Filing that away for reference. You lay there sweetly, propped up on your elbows to watch as his tongue squirms against you, making out with your cunt just as passionately as he kissed you. 

He takes your clit in his mouth and sucks and for a moment you can see God. 

“Holy fuck! Eddie!” He groans back, lost in the taste of your cunt. He wants to write a poem about it, a song, a fucking haiku, anything to immortalise the prettiest pussy with the sweetest flavour. 

“Eddie, get up here!” He's not listening, licking and sucking, almost getting as much pleasure as you are, but you need him inside you right now before you combust; you're sure of it. 

In the end you grab a chunk of his hair and pull him upward, sliding him over your trembling body, and you hold his face an inch from yours. 

“Eddie, I need you to fuck me, now.” 

His leaking tip is rubbing against your swollen clit; he takes it in his hand to line it up, when somewhere out of the pussy drunk haze he remembers something important. 

“Do you have protection?”

“I'm on the pill, is that-” 

It clearly is OK. It's possibly the best four words Eddie's ever heard. 

Your unfinished sentence morphs into a drawn out moan as Eddie pushes inside you, stretching you out until he's fully sheathed. As you whimper and whine at the feeling, Eddie stops, just for a moment, to hold your cheek and press a soft kiss to your lips. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” 

For some reason that takes you entirely by surprise, eyes wide and wet at his honesty. 

“Yeah? You're really handsome, Eddie.” 

The smile he shoots you is warm and genuine, lighting up that animate face of his with an inner glow. You roll your hips upward and take joy in the fact that he wasn't expecting it, eyebrows knitting in shock as a litany of swear words spill from his mouth. 

Your smirk is short lived when he hikes your leg around his waist and starts thrusting devastatingly deep, so deep it's like he's in your guts trying to root out the source of the burning desire at the pit of your stomach. 

“Holy- oh God, Eddie!” 

Moaning loudly, you press hot, cushy kisses to him between your stream of noises, forehead resting on his. Eddie's smiling, he can't help it. Just the joy of being with you like this, the feel of you losing it because of him, and the tightness of your pretty cunt have him in paradise. 

“Feels- feels so- oh fuck- so good, inside you, sweetheart. So fuckin’ tight, I-I can feel you shaking, you close?” 

Words escape you. All you can do is cling to his back and nod, nails clawing into him with shivering intensity. Eddie thrusts into you harder; all you can do is cling on for your life, arms and legs nearly suffocating him. The telltale tingle of your release is nearly burning your skin, prickling over each downy hair making it stand on end. 

The heat is immense, tension gripping your legs as you quake, and writhe, and whimper, until your climax flies out of you, shooting out of every pore and forcing tears from your eyes. Your vision turns bright white for a moment, until all the tension leaves your muscles and you flop back on the bed. 

Eddie doesn't understand how you keep on getting hotter, but it doesn't matter. You let him inside of you, raw, and his head is still reeling from that. Each little sound, each flex of your constricting walls is pushing him to ecstasy; in fact he's staving it off so he can enjoy you like this for a little while longer. 

Getting up on his knees, he pulls you toward him by your thighs, guiding you to roll your hips as he pumps into you. This angle is so much better; he can see all of your incredible body laid out before him, tits bouncing with each thrust. Your small hand finds his forearm, just holding it lightly, as you whine. 

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.” 

It's high pitched, mumbled and nearly incoherent. He's not even sure you know you're doing it, but it's what pushes him over the edge. He feels the tightness in his balls as his length grows impossibly hard.

“Sweetheart, where-” He manages through gritted teeth. 

“Please cum in me.”

Eddie's four new favourite words. He grips hard to your thighs, hard enough to bruise, as he groans and swears his release out. You feel it deep inside, throbbing out of him, when he finally collapses forward. You hold onto each other, tongues rolling into each other's mouths, kissing and kissing and kissing. You kiss until it hurts, until your mouth is chapped and sore, until you need air, and water. 

“Fuck, Eddie, that was… sorry, if I er, came on a bit, strong?” 

Eddie just laughs, pressing his body as tightly against yours as he can. 

“Please don't ever apologise for wanting to fuck my brains out.” 

You laugh, kissing his cheek.

“When you put it like that, fair enough. Right, get off me, I need to clean up.” 

“I can take care of you-”

“Yeah, and I'm a grown woman who needs to piss, so please?” 

You roll your wrists, flinging your hands in desperate circles. He surrenders, pulling off you and rolling onto his back, more than happy to watch your naked form sway out of the room. 

Eddie does a little wiggle dance when you leave the room, punching the air with glee. He starts looking at your room, since he had no time to see it earlier. There's a tin on the bedside table that looks remarkably similar to what he has at home, and an honest to goodness lava lamp next to it. Unable to help himself, he flicks it on at the plug, waiting for it to warm up. 

“Sweetheart, you mind if I roll?” He calls out. 

“Sure, my shits on the side table, just light the incense on the dresser.” 

Eddie seeks his boxers out and puts them on for his modesty, though it seems you may be a little, lacking, in that department. Not that he's complaining, far from it. He's obsessed with your demeanour, your confidence. 

Once the incense is lit, he rolls a joint, fussing over it to make sure it's perfect for you. Just as he pulls the little twisted paper end off, you walk back in. 

You'd taken the time to go to the restroom, clean yourself up, and find his t-shirt that was abandoned in the TV room. The hellfire logo is tight across your chest, the shirt barely covering your sex where you stand. The smile you shoot to him is absolutely smothered in sin. 

“That's, fuck, you do not play fair, sweetheart.” 

Eyes wide, eyebrows round and innocent, your mouth falls into a perfect o. 

“I have no idea what you're talking about baby.” 

Eddie can't speak. If he does, he'll give everything away. How wonderful you are, how that tightrope of dirty and sweet that you walk with ease twists his insides up. How he never wants to go home. 

Instead, he passes the unlit smoke to you, and holds out his zippo like a sacrificial offering. You sit side saddle on the bed, knees together, barely covering your throbbing core, as you take the rolled joint gratefully and spark it. Once you've had a few tokes you pass it back. 

“So, this was…” He widely gestures his arm, like it can encompass everything he's felt over the last few hours. 

“You wanna leave, Eddie?” You ask. A genuine question, cocking your head to the side, as he takes a few pulls of the smoke and hands it back. 

“I thought, well, I thought you'd want me to go.” 

“Eddie, I said we had all night. If you're done with me then-” 

“Oh, oh fuck no, I thought you'd be done with me!” 

You giggle and climb into his lap as he grasps at the flesh of your ass desperately. 

“Then stay. Stay with me.” 

Your mouth presses kisses to his jaw as your hand winds itself into his boxers, seeking out his hardening length. Eddie hisses through his teeth. 

“Fuck, I'll stay, as long as you fuckin’ want, w-whatever you want, Holy shit!” 

Laughing, you puff on the smoke with one hand, and tease him relentlessly with the other. 

For the second, third, or maybe even fourth time today, he's thinking he's in way over his head, but he can't find it in him to care. 

********************

Eddie blinks hard, squishing his eyes shut, then opens them again. Nothing has changed. There's still an unfamiliar fabric hanging on the ceiling in front of him; some rainbow tie dye mural with a painted mariguana leaf in the middle of it that he's never seen before. When he turns his head, he sees a lava lamp, still on, running bubbles of fake lava up it too loose and fast, and then he remembers. 

Flicking the switch to stop the lamp's heat, he turns over to see you. You're snuggled into the crook of your own elbow, face perfectly at ease. Your pretty mouth has the hint of a pout to it, daring him to plant a kiss. 

He wants to do something for you. Anything. Right now, he'd throw a parade, organise a concert to sing to your cunt, hold a benefit to make you believe how hard he's fallen for the colour of your eyes, but maybe making you a coffee in bed will do. 

So he wiggles out of bed in his boxers, and puts his jeans on for good measure in case your mom decides this is a good moment to turn up, and starts busying himself with the kitchen appliances. There's an ancient coffee maker that shakes and sputters to life. Whilst that is going on, he takes a slug of milk out of the carton in the fridge. 

That is, until he sees Dustin from the side of his eye. 

Dustin looks very confused. His eyes trail from the messed up couch cushions, to the beer bottles on the floor, the out of place lamp, and the broken picture frame, and finally land on Eddie, still bemused and befuddled. 

“Eddie… did you… break into my house?” 

Dustin clearly doesn't believe his own conclusion as his eyes scout across the available options and still come up empty. 

“Sup, Dust Buster!” 

Dustin swivels to see you exit your new bedroom, still wearing Eddie's hellfire t-shirt and a pair of panties. You perch nonchalantly on the kitchen side as Eddie grins, making his way between your knees. 

“You've got to be fucking kidding me! Eddie!” 

“Henderson, honest, I didn't know until-” 

“Until you were in my fucking house???” 

“OK fair, but it was a bit… late then. Sorry dude.” 

‘Sorry? What about the code?” Come on, she's my sister! And you!” He says, pointing at you accusingly, “you were in school for one day. One! Then you sleep with the one guy I look up to!” 

“The codes, more like… guidelines. Don't shit your pants, you've still got Harrington, Jeez.” 

“Well, you shouldn't be such a- a scarlet woman! A hussy!” 

Uncaring, you shake your head back and away, laughing at the names. Eddie, however, is not having any of it. 

“Hey, Henderson, you better show your sister some respect.” 

“Yeah? Or what?” He dares, forgetting who he's talking to. 

“I might be fucking your sister, but I'm still your DM. You want your green adventurers running into Tiamat next session?” 

The way he curves his lips, the confident stance he's giving, it stirs tiny fires in your gut and dares unthought of kinks to come out and play. 

“Alright, alright, don't TPK us, I'm leaving, alright?” 

Dustin turns on his heel. Before he disappears entirely, you make out the start of him begging, ‘Lucas, do you copy, I have a Code Red! Repeat! Code Red!” 

“so, what now, Dungeon Master?” 

“Mmph,” Eddie sounds out, low in his throat, “ whatever you want, scarlet woman.” 

Taglist- If you want to be added or removed, please PM me!

@liminalpebble @eddies-puppet @rip-quizilla @micheledawn1975 @vanilla-demon @millercontracting @roanniom @josephquinnsfreckles @leelei1980 @mrsjellymunson @usedtobecooler @eddiesprincess86 @ali-r3n @joejoequinnquinn

#ms gexy writes #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie x you #eddie x reader #switch!eddie #switch!eddie x switch!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x female reader #eddie x fem reader #eddie x fem!reader

[runawaycarouselhorse]

What made both her sacrifice for her team mates’ happiness in Pocket Monsters (2019)/Pokemon Journeys episode 95 and the fact that she thought this would be her end more poignant for me is that being completely alone is what Musashi hates the most. She lost her (single) mother as a child and was never adopted, going from foster home to foster home... ;_;

After many failures (like being unable to graduate from a school meant to train literal Pokemon Nurses, because she couldn’t do what Chansey do, despite studying hard and being adept at skills like bandaging…) and having her heart broken and being disappointed (she let a boy she loved go alone so she can pursue idol dreams with some friends, who all made it… without her, so she lost a possible love for an impossible dream)…

She couldn’t bond with her partners and left them to be injured, just to save herself, during her training days at Team Rocket. She’d become selfish and self-preserving… in the Japanese version, the others called her “shinigami Musashi” according to Yamato (Cassidy), likening her to a reaper of souls… but James refused to run away, sick of living a life where he ran away from all his problems. He’d sacrifice himself for her and Meowth’s safety, getting badly injured and nearly missing their final exam, hospitalized. The first time they uttered the beginning of their motto was when she believed she was all alone again, much like in this scene… the Rockets in the Japanese version repeat the last thing someone else says as if to answer a question (the “nanda kanda to kikare tara” = “if you ask us about this or that” is mostly filler that could be substituted with anything else.)

Musashi (Jessie): (dejectedly, as she walks away alone as the final exam begins, even being questioned by Nyasu/Meowth where she’s going): Is this all that there is…?

Kojiro (James): (answering while leaning posed against a tree, covered in bandages, but they were only wrapped over his clothes so he could whip them off dramatically) If you ask us 'if this is all that there is,' our answer will be the universe’s compassion!

She’s so moved, she turns away to wipe her tears. “A team mate who won’t run away…”

I think that’s the first time they ever see her cry.

Jessie desperately wants family, belonging, that’s why she falls in love so quickly, she wants a family more than anything—James had everything material growing up, but not love… Musashi had near to nothing material growing up, BUT she had her mother’s love… until she lost her very, very early. They contrast each other! They’re soul mates, eternal partners, whether you ship them or not. Meowth, too, was orphaned as a kitten, never even named, and an outcast his whole life. He's also always falling in love easily, seeking a home... the trio should never be separated, they are each other’s sought-for home.

I think the falling snow in this scene, where she runs off in tears, after wearing a brave smile and telling James it’s okay to stay with Cassidy, is a very deliberate choice, as Jessie loves snow. One of her few happy memories of her depressing childhood is being made treats made of snow to eat. She unknowingly lost her mother in the snowy Andes mountains, seeking Mew, put into foster care, while Miyamoto tried to make money to give her a better life... glittering snow and sparkling tears…

For Meowth too, she lets him go. She just wants everyone to have their chance at love.

So, her believing she’ll end up dying alone, as she’s always feared, Musashi here laments her luck, but also has a beautiful little dream of her friends saving her.

Once again, similarly to the break-up episode of DP, she was the one who calmly and gently encouraged James to pursue a possible love. She also broke Dustox’s pokeball, in tears, not wanting her to make the same mistake she did, giving up on an attainable love for an unattainable goal (and, indeed, Jessie did not win the Grand Festival, despite her skill at Pokemon Contests… she made the right decision for Dustox’s happiness.)

Jessie loves her friends. Sure, she’s caustic, rude, temperamental, bitter, and self-absorbed, but she prioritizes love and their happiness. She doesn’t want them to be alone and abandoned the way she felt as a kid. She loves them so much so, she’s satisfied to die alone and suffer her worst fear if it meant they get to be happy. That’s self-sacrifice.

She doesn’t resent them one bit, saying it’s a nice dream when she thinks she’s imagined them saving her life… she thought it was her mind comforting her before her death, accepting her fate, rather than realizing it’s effectively a premonition of what will be reality… and when she realizes?! She initially reproaches them, looking mad, because she thought they abandoned their happiness for her! But no, things didn’t work out… this is where they’re meant to be: by each other’s side.

James also knows how much marriage means to her, even though he’s so traumatized by it, the word “fiance” triggers literal flashbacks for him and he climbed up a tree to get away from a teenaged girl who called him that. Yet, in XY episode 63, where she fell for Dr. White...

Kojiro: (with head down, eyes shadowed) If Musashi (Jessie) wants to pursue her happiness as a woman, shouldn't we give her our blessing?

Nyasu also had his misfortunes in love... they sympathize and empathize.

"Let's show her we're men and leave without saying anything..."

As Kojiro runs away, he sheds tears, wishing her happiness and bidding her farewell, silently. The scenes in these two episodes are clear parallels.

But in the end (including the final episodes, as rushed as that plotline was although I still loved Wobbuffet acting exactly like a troubled child of parents going through a messy divorce), they’ll always realize their happiness is by each other’s side as a trio.

"Sometimes you get good pulls, sometimes you get bad ones. Sometimes they're good, even if you think they're bad. Sometimes they're bad, even if you think they're good."

#Team Rocket Jessie #PokeAni #Team Rocket James #Pokemon Journeys #Rocketshipping #Mezase Pokemon Master #Side Stories #hoso specials #Pokemon Chronicles #analysis #before Shootie I was a Rocket and especially Musashi fan #KojiMusa #is what I watched for #image heavy #long post #gif #popular #Team Rocket #Kojiro #James #Musashi #Jessie #Pokemon #character analysis #mine

[politemenacephd]

Arachnophilia: (Part Nineteen)

Drider!Miguel O'Hara x Reader (+18)

Chapter Masterlist 🕷️

Content: Plot time! Some fluffy conversation, Action, Some spider peril, aphrodisiac influence.

Word count: 4100 Notes: Ok so I've had extra time off w being ill to re-cooperate and I've actually got chapters 20 and 21 done so hopefully those will be up sooner! Thanks for waiting <3

‘You ready?’

You were milling about the HQ entrance with Mig at your side, preparing for your first mission together. You’d got into your hazmat suit just fine but Mig was struggling with his. They usually came with attached leg parts and he didn’t exactly have legs to fit into one, so his had been hastily made to order.

‘Argh—I hate this, clothing, thing—how did I ever wear this every day?’

You snorted at Mig’s quiet grumbles as you helped pull the thick plastic material over his stocky belly.

‘I’ve brought up the possibility of making an exception for you, with the- clothing, thing, but they’re being weird about it’ you mumbled.

‘I don’t- want you to go through any trouble for me’ Mig said. His voice kept catching as he squirmed. You noted how tight his suit was compared to yours, how it clung to his enormous shoulders like latex. Clearly whoever had made it hadn’t paid close enough attention to how big Mig was.

‘What was it you used to say to me? Oh no, arañita, I like doing things for you—that’s me. That’s also me. I like doing things for you, it’s why I am—’ you paused to give his suit one final tug. ‘In a relationship with you!’

Mig totally ignored that his suit was on, instead doing a little wiggle with his abdomen to the word ‘relationship’. Hearing it made him so happy.

‘Mm. Yes, well- okay.’ He bent down and reached out his hand, baying you to give him yours. You did, and he gingerly kissed your fingers before squeezing them between his claws. ‘I suppose I don’t mind you doing a little for me. If it makes you happy.’

‘You’re so silly’ you chided gently. For just a moment, you got to stand and look up into his big red eyes without worrying about anything or anyone else around you. His eyes creased as he smiled.

‘Mi arañita’ he whispered.

 It was simple, short, sweet. To you, it was an affirmation. To him, it was a confession of love he just wasn’t strong enough to make overtly quite yet. You bumped foreheads, since the suits stopped you being able to kiss, before withdrawing from each other.

‘May I, make a confession to you, arañita?’

‘Yeah, of course. Go ahead.’

‘I… I am certainly, excited, to see a new universe again. I used to dream about this when I was human, and while I gave up on my dreams when I changed it has been… exhilarating, to feel like a scientist again. I just…’ Mig paused and gently rubbed his jaw. ‘I’m, nervous.’

‘About what?’

‘About… You’ he said, his voice dipping. ‘About, putting you in danger.’

‘Oh Miggy- I’ve been a spider a lot longer than you have!’ you insisted.

‘Yes. And on your first mission, you met me. Because you—got hurt’ he said bluntly. Your teasing smile turned to an awkward frown.

‘Oh… Ohh. Right. Yeah. Well… Look at it this way.’ You turned and gestured to yourself, lightly tapping your chest as you stared up at him. ‘I completed my first mission specifically because I had your help. So, now you’re here with me, it’ll be even better! And I promise, I won’t get headstrong and try to go around you. I will accept your help.’

Mig still looked perturbed but he seemed comforted at the memory of helping you. ‘Yes… Yes, you are, correct.’

‘As always.’

‘Mm. Very humorous. Regardless, you are right. I helped you then, and, I can help now. I appreciate you understanding my concern, arañita. I also, as a show of good faith, will not stand in the way of you doing this mission. I trust you.’

You beamed up at him, and he beamed back.

‘I’m just rather surprised we got put on it at all. I was quite prepared for my, other half to get in the way’ Mig mused as he shook himself off. Immediately your face fell.

‘Ah... yeah. Me too. Me too’ you said quietly.

You’d been surprised Miguel had even okayed the idea of you both going out. He’d been so weird about Mig joining at all, and then out of nowhere he was giving you both a mission right after Mig passed? When you joined it took months to get any mission at all. Deep down, this whole thing had you a little on edge.

You were trying to keep your feelings to yourself, though, since you didn’t want to upset or worry Mig. He was settling in so well and you’d hate to cause him discomfort for no reason. You liked seeing him happy. You liked seeing him thrive.

‘Mi arañita?’

You blinked and glanced upward, only to find Mig staring at you. You must have gotten lost in your thoughts.

‘Ah- hey, what’s up now pretty boy?’ you asked, forcing a smile. His lips didn’t return the same softness. Instead, his face remained serious.

‘You’re worried. Yes? About my counterpart, and how quickly this mission was given to us. You’re worried that he has some ulterior motive. You’re worried he might be, setting us up, rather than stepping back.’

You sighed. God damn it. While you appreciated how in-tune you were, it also made hiding anything a little awkward. ‘Yeah. Yeah, I—was.’

‘I... Yes. I, feel the same, though I do want to believe he’s actually gotten better’ Mig murmured sadly.

‘I’d like to believe it, but I’m also not stupid’ you snorted. The two of you briefly went quiet as a gaggle of spiders webbed past you down the lobby, before slowly drifting closer again.

‘We- are, very similar, you know’ Mig explained. ‘I told you, once, how our paths only diverged in life when we changed. He became, him, and I became… this. But before that we were… so, so similar. Almost identical.’

‘That change was a long time ago, though, right? Like, so long that you forgot what clothes feel like.'

Mig chuckled at your light teasing, but his brows remained tightly knotted. ‘Mm. Yes. But, it doesn’t change that we are, in many ways, the same person. He used that very fact to convince me that I’m a monster, to convince me to hide.’

You pursed your lips at the reminder.

‘So… If I don’t believe he can change, then, it… means he was right about me, too' he said. His voice was deeply sombre. 

‘Mig, that isn’t—I mean that isn’t entirely fair’ you said with an unsure shrug. ‘Like… Look, Miguel is a different person to you. I can see the argument that you were given the same, basic components at the start, right? But you're so different now. He's a.... dick, and you're... you! You're YOU! My Mig! The, most, perfect thing!' 

Mig chuckled again, looking almost shy at your praise. ‘Just- humour me, please. It is for my own benefit, not just for his. I have to believe I am not doomed to be a bad person, and, I want to believe he isn’t either’ Mig insisted.

You weren’t convinced, sadly, but you did relent. You held up your hands and smiled as you slapped them down on his furry abdomen. ‘Okay. I mean I’d like for him to get better too, believe me, God it would save me SO much hassle!’

Mig purred, and at last a smile broke out onto his face. His cheeks lifted as he chuckled. ‘Yes. Me too. He—’

‘You ready to go?!’

You and Mig turned in unison as Jess called from the other side of the lobby. She was waving one arm over her head with the other cupped her mouth to make the sound carry. You could see that she was standing beside an open portal. 

‘Shit… alright, time to go’ you said. You straightened out your suit and straightened his too, a motion he tried to return until you shooed him off.

‘No, no—I don’t need petting down, shh—I love you too. Right. You ready, Mig?’

He fixed his posture and nervously raised his claws. ‘Ah… yes. Yes. I am- ready to do, heroic activities. Yes’ he blurted in a fully monotone voice.

You buried your face in your palm. ‘Oh my god I love you so much you’re such a god damn dork—OKAY, lets go!’  

You tried to strike a pose like you were trained to do but almost immediately tripped, so instead you went straight into climbing Mig’s back so he could take the lead. It was easy to look majestic while riding your enormous spider partner.

You clung tight to his fur as he scurried forward, and dragged you both through the open portal into this new and unknown world.

…

On the other side you thankfully landed safely, with Miguel angling his paws to slow the impact. As you eyes adjusted you realized quickly that you were on the top of some enormous building, and so you hopped down from Mig’s back to see the view.

This world was strange, far stranger than either Miguel’s or Mig’s or your's. Before you was the full, shining vista of New York, but this one had been entirely drowned in enormous neon plants. You could see flower heads in the distance that looks like normal flower heads up close, implying that they must be the size of a house in their own right, blooming and fluttering on the side of a high rise building that'd broken in half and was now leaning on another. 

The sky above was also strange; it was red, darker on top and lighter as it drifted down towards the horizon, ending in a dull and foreboding pink beyond what the eye could see.

There was no sound. No cars, no people. Just the rustling of leaves in the wind.

You breathed in through your suit mask and turned to Mig. He was fixated on the red sky, his hand held out in front of his face.

‘You okay?’ you called up.

Mig nodded. ‘Yes… You- do you see these, particles, too?’ he asked. You followed his eyes and squinted at the air in front of your face. He was right. There were tiny, pink dots floating in the air, like dust particles, just barely viewable. You waved your hand and watched them bounce and dance as your fingers disrupted them.

‘Huh. Oh, weird. Yeah they um- they mentioned the pollen, it has... Like an overwhelming effect on anything with hormones. Aphrodisiac. Makes you lose it. It's why this worlds deserted now.’

‘Yes. I- believe we should leave here as soon as possible’ Mig said slowly. You didn’t argue.

You turned and leapt back up onto his back, digging your hands into his fur. You held on tight as he turned and descended the building via the stairway.

On a monitor in a dark and distant room, Miguel watched the blurry little figure of you and Mig strolled through the abandoned city. His eyes narrowed. ‘Go on’ he said, almost purring. ‘Go ahead. Fail, and then let me watch you get dragged out by your necks in a pathetic heap.’

The building was entirely empty, which made the sounds you heard all the more unnerving. You realized pretty quickly that the oversized plants filling the area would occasionally move, slithering across cracked windows and floors like great, fleshy, neon green snakes. The floors would creak like footsteps when no one was there, and occasionally you’d hear a low groaning as if the building itself was alive.

Mig began to walk slower so he could step over the vines. They hadn’t done anything violent, but, he’d rather be safe.

As you emerged out into the city from the ground the size of it became far more imposing. Seeing those giant flower buds from the top made them seem almost normal, but from the floor the shadow of that gaping botanical maw filling the sky made you feel utterly miniscule.

You drew your watch to your mouth and whispered into it. ‘Lyla- Lyla, have you got a hold on the guy who escaped?’

‘Yeeeppp.’

The little AI flashed up beside your head as Mig cautiously began to walk down the empty street. ‘You hopped in close. He’s been still for a while.’

‘Do you think he’s hurt?' 

‘Nah, I mean- maybe. But I doubt it’ Lyla said with a yawn.

‘Why do you doubt it?’ Mig asked. She flickered over to glance him up and down as he walked.

‘My god you’re big, it always surprises me- uhhh I said I DOUBT it because he was wearing his suit when he jumped in which should keep him safe from the pollen.’

‘Okay. What are we dealing with then? A vulture, a symbiote, a prowler?’

‘Prowler. He’ll be wearing his suit but I think we removed his weapons when we brought him in, so, should be easy.’

‘Huh… I wonder if Miguel gave us an easy one deliberately’ you pondered to yourself. It seemed unlikely, but, maybe it was intentional? Maybe he was changing. ‘Okay, uh- thanks Lyla, we’ll call if we need anything else.’

You shut your watch and gently tapped for Mig’s attention. You didn’t speak, but you silently gestured for where he needed to go. He nodded and crept towards the building Lyla had pointed at.

As you approached the bottom floor it was empty, with broken windows allowing easy access to the inner rooms. It was unnervingly dark inside. The sun was too high overheard to reach inside, leaving nothing but a faint red glow broaching the edge of the dirty, vines covered concrete before it descended into shadow.

You tapped your watch to create a small beam of light. You carefully scanned the room from side to side, your eyes squinting to see through the gloom.

It was quiet. Too quiet. You could hear water dripping somewhere but couldn’t find the source. As Mig went to enter the dark he rustled his abdomen, signalling for you to jump. You hopped to the floor and in unison you both ducked. Together, you began to do a wide circle of the space.

‘Hello?’ you called, your voice echoing. You faintly saw Mig rustle with discomfort at you speaking, so you gestured for him to continue instead.

‘Sir! We’re from the society’ Mig cried. ‘I know that you were- reluctant, to come with us, but you were at far more risk here.’

You were about halfway in now. You were descending into the thick of the vines.

‘This universe is abandoned. There is no way home without us. If you come quietly, we can—’

Midway through speaking the vines were suddenly cut right above your head, and in a flurry of chaotic movement and sound you were thrown across the room.

‘SHIT—HEY!’

The unseen opposition dived forward and pinned your newly downed body to the floor, choking it out against one of the vines. You squirmed and kicked but you’d been taken off guard too fast.

‘GIVE ME THE WATCH!’

A deep voice echoed from behind the attackers mask. Shit, you thought, this must be the guy.

‘GIVE ME THE—’

Just as he’d tackled you the Prowler variant was tackled by Mig. In a blur of red and black fur your partner barrelled across the room and hooked the smaller man by the nape, and with nothing more than the strength of his neck he threw him up into the ceiling and then back down to the floor.

A low moan filled the air as you scrambled to stand.

‘Oh…. Fuck.’ You coughed and spluttered as Mig prowled towards the downed man. His venom was glowing where it’d leaked down his jaw, its viscosity appearing neon green in the dark. He had his claws raised.

Back in Nueva, Miguel continued to watch. He had his arms folded, his body stiff and unmoving, his eyes unblinking.

He was waiting for it.

‘Fuck… urgh, okay, um—you got the light cage, babe?’ you asked. You were wheezing hard from being pinned, and while Mig should have focused on containing the man on the floor he couldn’t help but be drawn to you.

‘Mi arañita? Are you okay?’

As Mig turned you raised your hand. You were about to say yes, you were fine. You were about to comfort him and remind him of what you had to do.

You didn’t get the chance, though.

The Prowler collected himself too quickly, and in a blind panic he leapt up and released the claws on his suit. He dove at Mig, the most obvious threat, hoping to get in a stab from behind, but luckily his claws weren’t strong enough to pierce.

He latched onto Mig’s back and he instantly began rustling and bucking, his size allowing him to quickly detach the attacker. You hastily threw a web out to pin him down to the floor again.

‘SHIT- Shit, baby, did he get you?! Did he—’

You froze. Mig had turned in an attempt to feel the back of his suit, and now he was facing the opposite direction to you. He was showing you his back. He was showing you, clear as day, the enormous cut marks in the plastic hide.

Slowly, Mig stopped. His arms fell to his sides, and he rolled his head to stare at you over his shoulder. His eyes were glowing the most unnatural pink.

‘Mig?’ you stammered.

He grunted, hard, and suddenly seemed to go down. His legs began to shake as his hands flew to his head. ‘MM—MM—’

You felt your whole body go cold. You knew what the air in this universe did. You quickly rushed to try and grapple him, hoping to either pin him with your webs or patch up the suit, anything your frazzled mind could think of, but Mig was quickly losing control.

‘MIG! Mig, hey! Stay down—let me help—’

‘AH—’ His body rustled violently as he panted. It burned. It was the most unbearable heat he’d ever felt, seeping through his veins like literal fire. His started drooling venom into the inside of the suit, coating the seethrough plastic on the front. ‘RRH—’

On the other side of the multi-universe, Miguel snorted. He didn’t smile, nor did he show any kind of outward joy. He just snorted.

What a shame that Lyla hadn’t been told about that prowler’s suit still had its claws intact when it was taken in. Claws that, while not deadly, were capable of still ripping an important piece of fabric. A suit, perhaps.  

Now you’d let the man escape into a dangerous universe. You’d have to crawl back with your out of control boyfriend. He went to turn when a cry drew his attention back to the screen.

Mig, in his panic, had pushed you back across the room.

‘DON’T—DON’T COME NEAR ME’ he cried, ‘I CAN’T- HURT YOU—ARGH!’

Miguel frowned.

You were carefully shifting yourself up from the debris. You weren’t hurt, it hadn’t been a hard push, but just like the Prowler he hadn’t accounted for his own claws. They were painfully extended, viciously sharp on every end, and in just lightly pushing you with the last of his strength he’d ripped three big holes in your own suit.

You felt your heart thundering.

In a whimpering panic you tried to block the holes with your hand but it was too late. All too soon you felt the pollen in your nose, your brain, your blood, your body heating into overdrive. You were doubled over as if in physical pain as the urge curdled inside you.

‘MM—’

Miguel stared at the screen, his eye twitching just a little. No, wait, he’d planned for one person to be able to call for back up. He’d planned this out perfectly, hadn’t he? Why was this happening?

‘Argh… Mig…’

You mewled pathetically as you crawled across the floor. You were throbbing everywhere, lightheaded from the blood flowing where it wasn’t supposed to, your insides clenching and pulsing and squeezing around nothing to a point that left you breathless.

Mig was no better. He was digging his claws directly into the concrete in an attempt to stay sane, to stay alert, but it wasn’t working. He drooled pools of spit and venom onto the floor as he ripped his suit aside completely. He had to bite. He had to pin. He had to unload. He could think of nothing rational in that moment. ‘AH—AH---’

In the panic your target had also cut himself free from the web. Still suited, still sober, he watched you writhe with narrowed eyes. He approached, curious, and delivered one kick to your exposed gut. You went down hard but didn’t have the strength to get back up off the floor.

‘YOU-- ARGH!’

Mig dove at the man and nearly clawed him to pieces, but the impact of the sweet, thick, dizzying scent was making it hard to see or focus. He swung blindly, teeth snapping, as Prowler backed away.

On the floor you whimpered, unable to move an inch from the multi-faceted pain. 

‘Wait, wait, no—’  

As he watched Miguel felt his confidence beginning to slip. You’d call for backup, right? You would. Yo had to. 

He thought about rushing in, but, if he did that, you’d know he’d been watching. Wouldn’t that look suspicious? Plus, it would ruin his plan.

His plan… What, exactly, was that plan anyway, some little niggling part of his brain asked?

‘FUCK!’

Your cry drew Miguel back to the screen.

You were writhing on the floor as you struggled to breathe. You and Mig couldn’t even reach each other. He was now consumed by the primal, lustful urge to protect his mate, to fight an opponent, which was keeping him in the thralls of trying to spear your assailant on his claws.

No one had time to pull either of you out, and that Prowler was still hellbent on killing you both to protect himself.

‘No, no, no—’

The blurry image of your body on the floor began to distort. Miguel slammed the monitor but it just continued to fade.

He began to pant hard. He hadn’t wanted this. Not this. He just wanted Mig to fail his first mission, he never wanted anyone to get hurt. He’d just wanted an excuse to remove him. He didn’t want this. He didn’t. He’d planned it perfectly. This was supposed to work. It HAD to work. He was doing the right thing. He was smart, he was capable, he was rational—

Right?

The more he thought about it, the more his stomach turned. Wait, but, he’d released that symbiote, hadn’t he? He’d jumped in the way, yes, but it could have caused Mig real harm. It could have caused you real harm.

‘Oh no’ he whispered. ‘No, no, no…’

One final, horrible thought filled his head: What was wrong with him?

‘Every day I have to fight to be good.’

His words to Peter rang in his head as he paced back and forth. How had he forgotten that? The simple reason, that he really hated his variant? Because he was broken. They were both broken. Both of them.

He swung back to the screen. He had to go, right? He had to go, he had to go and extract you and Mig.

All that anger, that resentment that he’d made righteous, it was fighting the one part of him that he clung to. The part that wanted to save you, no matter the cost. The part that was still good.

He told himself that this self-sacrificial nature, that was him. The REAL him. That was who he was beneath the dirt and the dust and the bitterness. But, no. As he stared at you clutching the floor, struggling to breathe, he knew it wasn’t.

It was all him.

‘Shit.’

Without wasting a second, without even grabbing a suit, Miguel pulled up a portal to that universe and dove in headfirst.

The pollen hit him like a physical punch to the gut. He felt it coiling around every hormone in his touch-starved body, pushing his brain into override. As he hit the road right before the store you were in he had to curl in on himself just to regain the ability to breath.

‘MM—Argh, fuck—come on—you’ve dealt with this before!’ he seethed.

With fangs dripping he clawed his way into the building. To his utmost relief he saw you almost instantly, still curled up on the floor.

‘COME ON!’ he barked. Miguel grabbed you under the arm and began to drag, though it was slow progress. He kept having to pause and bite his own hands in order to temper the unnatural urges filling his brain.

You were utterly useless at this point. Your body was limp in his grip, moaning and whimpering and shaking. ‘Mig.... My Mig—’

‘He’s… fuck—MIGUEL!’ He turned and screamed into the dark as the plants whipped and writhed.

Mig burst through the wall with a violent crack, his paws skidding on the ground. The person you’d been chasing was frantically scrambling to avoid his open seething maw and swinging claws, like a rabbit fleeing a wolf. With the last of his strength Miguel threw a light cage at the panicking Prowler before depoying a web at Mig’s legs, helping to at least stun him into stopping.

‘Ah… Okay, HERE! OVERE HERE! EXTRACTION!’ Miguel cried.

Mig jerked his head up so fast it snapped. He saw him holding your limp body and immediately his eyes dilated into slits. He hissed, spraying venom across the tiles.

‘I’M GETTING YOU OUT OF HERE!’

Miguel pulled up a portal and threw you into it before returning to grab the downed Prowler. He used it like a toy, lurning Mig up. The enormous man broke the webs around his legs with terrifying ease, and once back on his spider legs he stormed towards him.

Miguel led him straight through the portal at his back.

With a soft, otherworldly thwap, the portal disappeared. The world of plants was plunged into silence once more, and whatever chaos ensued, would ensue in Miguel’s office, back where it had all started.

Link to next part

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel x reader #spider man 2099 #smut #drider #arachnophilia #monster human relationship #drider miguel o'hara #smut with plot #miguel o'hara au

[tessa-liam]

Turning the Page  

A Step Back in Time, chapter 11

Choices, The Royal Romance, AU 

Series Premise: As Riley Brooks journeys through life as a single parent in New York City, an epiphany strikes as she contemplates the future for herself and her two-year-old son. 

Turning the Page Series Masterlist 

Main Pairing: Liam Rys x F!OC Riley Brooks 

All characters belong to Pixelberry Studios, except William Brooks (Rys) and Matteo Magro, who belongs to this series. 

Category: On-going series, contains angst/fluff/depression. Cross-over fic with Choices, Perfect Match. 

Rating: M🔞 - Warnings - Series will contain crude language, weapons, NSFW material – not Beta’d - please excuse all errors. 

Words: 3268

A Step Back in Time, Chapter 11

Chapter Summary: Liam, Riley and William arrive for a weeklong retreat in Lythikos. Olivia takes Riley ‘under her wing’ to mentor and to offer advice for her return to court. Olivia was determined to get her friend into the right frame of mind and to ultimately get the sparkle back in her eyes. 

Music Inspiration: What Was I Made for? Billie Eilish ; Lose Control, Teddy Swims 

A/N1: In this alternate universe, after King Constantine orchestrates two individual scandals to humiliate and entrap Riley Brooks and Olivia Nevrakis in shame, Madeleine Amaranth secures her position as the Queen of Cordonia. Riley, as the King’s mistress and Olivia, in self-imposed exile. Tariq is never found.  

A/N2: Damien Nazario has been assigned as William’s personal bodyguard. (Series cross-over with ‘Perfect Match’) 

‘Cause I, ‘cause I 

I don’t know how to feel 

But I wanna try 

I don’t know how to feel 

But someday I might 

Someday I might 

Think I forgot how to be happy 

Something I’m not, but something I can be 

Something I wait for 

Something I’m made for 

Something I’m made for’ 

Cordonian Royal Palace, Capital 

If you told Riley Brooks that she would be living in Cordonia, in the Royal palace, with the King of Cordonia just last summer ... she would not believe you. She would tell you that ‘once upon a time’, she fell in love with that King and competed for his hand in marriage in his social season. By reason of the cruelty of fate, and the callousness of the Royal court, that dream would be ripped away from her by a world that was foreign to her. Where outsiders, or commoners, were frowned upon and/or deemed lesser than the noble class. She would be relegated to be the other woman, the mistress to that immensely powerful man whose duty to his country dictated that he must marry a ‘chosen’ woman, even though he did not love her. 

...and she had to watch that man she loved, marry another. 

...because she loved him, she remained. Confiding to him, ‘I’ve made my decision ... I want to be with you. I don’t care what it looks like.’ 

...and it broke her. 

In the Royal east wing, inside William’s bedroom, Riley meticulously packed his clothing into a large suitcase. Carefully selecting each item with love and care for their winter vacation in the Alps of Lythikos, she folded his small woolen sweaters with matching pants and jeans. Soft mittens and a woolen cap were nestled next to his favorite plushie, Scooby; ready to go with him on his snowy adventures. 

"Li Li, sweetheart, come here please," Riley called out, her voice echoing through the spacious room. William bounded towards her; his eyes wide as he watched his mother pack his belongings. 

"We go away, Mama?" William asked, his voice filled with wonder. 

"Yes, my sweet boy," Riley replied with a smile, scooping him up into her arms and placing him down on his bed. "We're going to the mountains with your father to visit a good friend of ours. It's going to be so much fun." 

William's eyes sparkled with delight at the mention of his father. In the five short months since he met his father for the first time, the bond between father and son had grown stronger exponentially. William adored Liam, who always had time for his son's playful antics in New York and now, here in Cordonia, as well. Despite his Royal duties, Liam made the point to spend as much time with William as possible. Riley was not surprised. Liam often spoke about what kind of father he wanted himself to be. The exact opposite of his own father. She could tell that Liam was trying his best to make up for all the time they had lost. And she could not be happier. 

Riley continued to pack, tucking away William's favorite books and toys to keep him entertained during their trip in Lythikos. She had already arranged for snacks with the kitchens, ensuring they would have everything they needed for the long drive to the northern chateau.  

Riley looked up, catching Liam's gaze.  

Liam stood and silently watched, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded. A gentle smile played on his lips as he watched Riley packing their son's belongings for their trip, while William happily tried to help his mother. 

"Come, my King," Riley softly spoke and smiled with a playful glint in her eyes. "Help me double-check if we have everything for our little adventurer." 

Liam pushed himself away from the doorframe and strolled over to Riley; he crouched down beside William, who was wide-eyed with anticipation. 

“Daddy, look.” William pointed to the large suitcase, smiling happily at his father. 

"Hello, my little prince," Liam greeted, ruffling William's hair. "Are you ready for an adventure?" 

William giggled and nodded his head vigorously, his eyes reflecting the admiration and adoration he held for his father. Liam chuckled, “I see you have lots of toys packed.” 

William climbed over to the suitcase and plucked his favorite plush to show his father. 

“Ah, I see you packed your little dog. Is he your special friend?”  

“Yes, Daddy. I love puppies.” William grinned, squeezing his toy. 

“You do? That is good to know,” Liam winked at Riley as William returned his toy to be packed. 

“I will meet you two in an hour. All right, love?” Liam asked Riley. 

“Okay, Daddy,” William answered as Liam and Riley chuckled together at his response. 

As Liam left to go to his study, Damien entered, bowing to Liam, “Your Majesty”. 

Liam smiled and nodded 'hello' in response as he walked towards his assistant waiting in the hall followed by his security detail. 

Nevrakis Chateau, Lythikos, Cordonia 

Driving through the majestic mountains, Riley stared at the vista overlooking the Nevrakis chateau. Memories flooded her mind as they passed the frozen lake below. The lake where she, along with the other suitors skated on, with Liam during his social season years ago.  

Riley shivered. Was it from seeing the beautiful winter landscape or from those memories of past competitions for the man she loved? Riley’s thoughts were interrupted by the happy sound of her son’s voice. 

William giggled; totally enthralled by Liam’s storytelling of his past adventures in the snow. The sight of father and son was precious to Riley, as she softly smiled at the two of them. William was sitting on Liam’s lap as he pointed to the large chateau coming into view ahead. 

The escalade stopped at the grand entrance of the Nevrakis chateau as members of the royal guard went into formation and opened the vehicle doors. 

As they made their way toward the entrance, a flurry of snowflakes fell from the sky, adding a layer of white powder to the ground. 

"Wow, this is beautiful.” Riley raised her arms to the sky. “I remember my first visit here during your social season.”  

"It is. If I remember correctly, it was just as cold." Liam quipped adjusting William’s scarf. 

Members of Olivia’s waitstaff greeted the party as they entered the lavish and grand estate. Standing at the base of the grand staircase, Olivia grinned as William squealed at the pair of Alaskan malamutes sitting inside the foyer. 

“King Liam, Lady Riley and Prince William ... welcome to my quaint northern lodge. I am delighted to host the three of you.”  

Liam approached Olivia and kissed her cheek, then gestured to Riley and William to join them. 

"Olivia, it's been far too long since I last visited. The grounds are magnificent.” 

"Indeed, thank you, Liam.” Olivia beamed with pride. 

"Thank you for hosting us. Your hospitality is greatly appreciated.” Riley added. 

"Anything for my dear friends." 

Olivia's attention was drawn to William, who was petting the dogs and giggling. 

"Well, hello again, prince William." Olivia walked over and knelt beside and offered treats to her two canine companions. 

William looked up at her and smiled. 

"Hewwo." 

"He's even cuter than I remember," Olivia grinned. “This one,” she motioned to the brown tipped dog, is ‘Mischa’. And this big guy is ‘Zeus’, "she cooed. 

"Now, Riley." Olivia stood and walked forward slowly, looping her arm through Riley's arm and leading her inside. "We have lots to catch up on. Liam, make yourself at home. Your Royal suite is ready for you. Gustav will be your personal attendant for your stay." 

"Thank you, Liv. That is much appreciated." 

"You are quite welcome. Now, Riley, let us get started on our girl time.” Liam winked at Riley, his shoulders shaking as he chuckled at Riley’s faux scared expression. 

"Okay, sounds good." Riley shook her head grinning as she walked by Liam. 

Olivia and Riley climbed the grand staircase and disappeared around a corner while William sat on the floor playing with the dogs. 

"William, let's get you changed and settled." Liam extended his hand down for his son to take. 

"Okay, Daddy." 

“Bye bye puppies.” William exuberantly spoke to the large dogs. 

***

 Riley and Olivia sat on a plush sofa in front of a large window overlooking the mountains. The sun was beginning to set, casting a golden glow over the snowy landscape. 

"It's so beautiful here." Riley marveled at the picturesque view. 

"I'm glad you like it.” Olivia proudly acknowledged as she handed a large glass filled with chardonnay to Riley. 

Olivia sat back and watched Riley; her expression turning serious. 

"Riley, I know that things have been difficult for you since you've come back, but you have to remember, you're a force of nature. You are stronger than you think.” Olivia was continuing the conversation of their last visit at the palace.

Riley looked down at her hands, which held onto the wine glass with a death grip. She knew the invitation to spend the week in Olivia's duchy was not just a holiday for her, Liam and William. Her once adversarial friend, and now, her good friend, wanted to assist her with reuniting with Liam.

"I can see the pain and sadness in your eyes." Olivia continued. 

"Oh... "  

"How is it really going? Riley, how is everything between you and Liam?" 

Riley sighed and set her wine glass on the table. 

"I'm...I'm not sure." 

"Do you still love him?" 

"Yes, of course. I have never stopped loving him.” 

"Do you think he loves you?" 

"Yes.” There was a small smile followed by biting her top lip. 

"Then what's the problem?" 

"I'm not sure."

Olivia shook her head and sighed. 

"You have to trust him, Riley. He loves you. And I can see how happy William makes him.” 

"I know that.” 

"But there's something else, isn't there?" Olivia eyed her friend for clues.

"It's just that... we've spent so much time apart. And now that we are back together, things feel different.” 

"I think I understand. That is quite normal, all things considered." 

"And I'm worried that he'll eventually resent me for leaving him while I was pregnant with William." 

"He could never resent you, Riley. You are the mother of his child. It'# not in his DNA.” 

“I keep thinking that that there will be another scandal around the corner. That something or someone will tear us apart.” 

"What happened to that confident and free spirited American girl? The one who turned the court on its' head. Where did she go?"

"I know what you are asking. I feel scared; waiting for the other shoe to drop.” 

"Scared of what? And why?" 

"That he won't forgive me." 

"Riley, listen to me. That is your guilt talking.” 

Olivia reached over and grabbed Riley's hands, looking her in the eye. 

"Liam loves you. He will always love you. You and William are his world. And I know that he wants nothing more than to make you happy.” 

"But..." 

"But, nothing. There is no 'but'.” 

"Okay." Riley was not convinced. "But, Madeleine ..."

"Is out of the picture; where Liam is concerned. You have the power of position now, make Madeleine feel it." 

Riley looked at her friend and took a staggered breath.

"Most importantly, you hold the King’s heart...show the world, show Cordonia, show Madeleine what that means...you will bring her to her knees." Olivia sneered. 

"This is why I wanted you to come for a visit. To remind you of who you are and what you are capable of.” 

“Olivia ...” Riley sighed, shaking her head, ‘no’. 

"Now. Come with me." 

Olivia stood and motioned for Riley to follow. 

Olivia took her down to an armory in the bowels of the chateau. 

"Here we are." Olivia turned and motioned to a wall of weapons. 

"What are we doing down here?" Riley asked, eyeing the collection of weapons displayed on the wall.

"We're going to do some training.” 

"Training? For what?" Riley questioned, perplexed. 

"For the press." 

"Why do I need training for the press? With weapons?" 

"Because they're vultures. They will try to get a rise out of you. They will ask rude and invasive questions. They will try to trip you up.” 

"But why do you think I need training? I know you haven’t forgotten that I was subjected to them during Liam’s social season." 

"Because they're relentless idiots.” Olivia sneered. 

"Okay, but ...” 

“Now that you are back in Cordonia, the mother of the crown prince, no less ...they want to find out your intentions with their king.” 

Riley took a deep breath, closing her eyes. 

"Don't worry. I'm going to teach you how to handle them.” Olivia confidently proclaimed with a smirk. 

"Thank you, Olivia.” Riley sighed as she eyed the collection of pointy weaponry again. 

"Of course. Now, let us get started.” 

Riley was grateful for Olivia's help and advice. She knew that she was right about the press, having dealt with them through the engagement tour, after the scandal was brought to light. 

Riley didn't have to know that. At least, not yet. 

And she knew that she needed to be prepared. Riley understood the extent to which the press would dig and manipulate information to get a juicy soundbite. But she was not aware that Madeleine would have her own agenda to discredit and sabotage her at every chance she got, all the way from Morocco. However, Olivia was well aware of Madeleine’s spite and her bitterness over losing the crown. 

"First off. I want you to choose a weapon." Olivia pointed to her collection of weaponry mounted on the wall. 

"A weapon?" Riley’s eyes were wide looking at the selection before her.

"Yes. You cannot fight the press with words alone.” 

"Um...okay." Riley answered sceptically. 

Riley looked at each weapon closely. There were swords, halberds, axes and daggers, among others. 

She picked up a sword. 

"Hmm...a sword? Interesting choice." 

"It's light and I can move fast.” 

"Good. Particularly good.” Olivia nodded approvingly. “That would be a weapon that Liam would choose.” 

“Really?” Riley admonished. 

"Now, we'll practice some moves.” 

"Moves?" 

"Yes. Maneuvers. Stances. Blocking and parrying.” 

"Wow. This is serious.” 

"Indeed. I'll start slow, but don't let your guard down.” 

"I won't.” Riley responded warily. 

"Good. Now, attack me." 

"What?" Riley looked aghast.

"Attack me." 

"Oh, um ... okay." 

Riley raised the sword and ran at Olivia, who easily dodged the blow. 

"Is that the best you've got?" 

"No.” 

Riley lunged at her again, and again, Olivia sidestepped each attack. 

"You're leaving yourself open.” Olivia challenged.

"I am?" 

"Yes. If this was a real fight, I would have cut you down by now." Olivia chirped. 

"Oh.” Riley let out a large breath, wondering to herself how this lesson was going to end. 

"Here. Let me show you." 

Olivia demonstrated a series of moves, her sword flashing and swooshing in the air. 

"Now, you try.” 

Riley imitated the movements, her sword swishing through the air. 

"Better.” Olivia critiqued. 

"Thanks." Riley answered questionably. 

"Again.” Olivia commanded with Riley going on the defensive. 

They continued to spar, their swords clashing together. Riley was impressed with Olivia's skills and ability to read her opponent and react accordingly. 

As they continued to fight, Riley became more comfortable with the sword, her moves becoming more fluid and graceful. Liam slipped into the back of the room, quietly watching the sparring.

"Excellent.” Olivia praised.

"Thanks.” Riley smiled at the compliment, picking up a bottle of water.

"Now we need a target." Olivia led her to a stuffed, practice dummy.  

Riley chuckled as she watched her friend attach a large face photo of Madeleine onto the head with a dagger.  

"Here, let me help you." Olivia handed her an assortment of knives, before she expertly threw her dagger.

Riley's first few throws landed wide, but she quickly found her mark, sinking several blades into the center of the picture. 

"Nicely done.” 

"Thanks." 

"Feel better?" Olivia snickered as Riley laughed. 

“Yes! Yes, actually I do. But I don't understand. How is this going to help me?” 

 "When the press asks you questions, you need to stay calm and confident. If they try to rattle you, throw them off balance. Focus on your target.” Olivia pointed to the picture. 

"Let's practice."

"All right."

"Imagine I'm a member of the press. And I ask you, 'Lady Riley, where have you been all these years?'"

Riley cleared her throat and straightened her posture. 

"I've been raising my son in New York. It's where he was born and raised.” 

"Why did you leave Cordonia?"

"I left to protect my child. And because I knew that King Liam had an obligation to the Queen.” 

"What are your intentions now that you've returned?” 

"I'm here to support my son and to be a part of his life.” 

"Do you still love the King?” 

"Yes, of course." 

“No! STOP!!!” 

Olivia moved assertively towards Riley. "This is where you say, 'that's all the questions for today’ and then you walk away from the microphones. Show confidence. Show determination. Show stoicism. Control the narrative.” 

Riley raised her eyebrow. "How did you get so good at this, Olivia?" 

Olivia shrugged, her shoulders rising slightly. "I'm the duchess of Lythikos. People talk. And sometimes they don't realize I'm listening." 

Riley nodded, a new respect for Olivia blossoming in her heart with a renewed sense of determination in her step. 

Feeling his arms, Riley giggled and leaned back against him with a content smile. 

Liam sauntered up to Riley from behind, wrapping his arms around Riley’s waist. 

Riley turned around to look at Liam, her eyes filled with love. 

“The Royal guard will then lead you away from the gathering,” Liam interjected. “You will never be left without protection.” 

"Thank you, Liam.” Riley tearfully smiled.

"I want you to know that while I am alive, you will always have a home in Cordonia. And I will never let anyone threaten that ... or you ... ever again.” 

Riley felt a warm feeling in her chest and a sense of calm.

Maybe everything was going to be all right, after all. As long as she had Liam and William, she knew she could face anything.

"Liam, I love you."

"I love you, too, Riley."

Liam pressed his lips to hers, and Riley melted into his embrace. They kissed for a long moment, savoring the feel of each other's bodies.

"Come, let's go get some sleep. We have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow."

"I'm ready.*

"Pleasant dreams you two. Good night."

"Olivia, thank you for your expertise. It is much appreciated.

"Your welcome, Liam. It's my pleasure."

Good night." Riley called out.

Riley followed Liam out of the room, her hand firmly grasped in his.

And for the first time since she had come back to Cordonia, she truly felt like she was home.

"Thank you, Olivia," she whispered as she lay in Liam's arms, his steady heartbeat lulling her to sleep.

Thanks for reading; please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from this series.

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#tessa liam writes #the royal romance #liam rys #trr #riley brooks #trr fanfic #choices fic writers creations #king liam #king liam rys #choices liam x oc #turning the page

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

Chapters: 6/? Fandom: The Sandman (Netflix 2022, minor content from the Comics) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x F!Reader Characters: Dream of the Endless/Morpheus, Lucienne, Matthew the Raven, Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Hob Gadling, Death, Rose Walker, The Corinthian, other minor Sandman characters, Original Characters. Warnings: 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching, very long chapters to read. Summary: You always dreamed of becoming a successful Fashion Designer, sharing your creations with the world and making your father proud. But with him being very ill and so many costs solely weighting on your shoulders, things didn’t go as planned and you had to take a different path instead. An interesting offer led you to the elder Alex Burgess and you were hired as a new housemaid for a very good pay. However, your kindness and outstanding empathy convinced the man to give you an additional task for a doubled compensation; gaining the trust of Dream Of the Endless, held captive into the basement for over a century. Despite the shock of finding such an ethereal entity stripped of all his clothes and contained into a confined space, you had to accept for the sake of your father. But the more you got to speak to the mysterious anthropomorphic personification who didn't utter a single word, the more you were lost into his eyes that, conversely, seemed to contain the entire universe. A deep connection formed between the two of you, separated only by a thick layer of glass.

Little did you know, what started like a simple housemaid job was about to change your life forever.

Credits: The moon dividers were made by firefly-graphics

Warning: This chapter includes detailed smut. Please don't read if you happen to be underage, or simply find this type of content uncomfortable.

Chapter 6

Three months later, you could finally learn his name. A name you already knew.

“Hello.”

For a moment, you thought you were experiencing a false awakening, dreaming about something that wasn't really there. Either that, or you were suspended between the dream world and reality, facing a common case of hypnagogia.

You had been struggling with sleep your entire life, which led you to read a lot of books and articles about dreams and sleep phenomena. Given your current emotional state, you couldn't rule out any of those possibilities.

The man's outline was clear and you could see the contours of his face, but his features were hidden by the darkness. In an instant, you turned on the lamp on your bedside table and the room was illuminated with a soft yellow tone. When you looked up again, Dream was still there, meeting your gaze and barely reacting. As you moved the sheets out of the way and touched the floor with your feet, the fabric of your nightgown fell gently around your thighs.

You took a tentative step forward and asked, "Am I dreaming?" You were still unsure if he was physically there, or just a product of your vivid imagination.

Dream's answer came right away. "No, you are not.”

His voice was music to your ears. It was deep, warm, sensual and alluring.

You moved coser. “Are you real…?”

Once again, the Endless replied, "I am.”

Just like in your dream, you stopped a few inches away from his face. You were so mesmerized that you couldn't even blink, as if you were afraid he would disappear the moment you did.

But then, Dream's gaze shifted down to your upper arms. As he inspected your fading scars, he brought his hand up and close to your skin, brushing the tips of his fingers lightly against them.

You had to contain the shivers that ran along your spine the moment you felt the contact. Dream was staring at your marks in concern and you could see the tension forming in his neck again.

As if you wanted to ensure he was actually there, you raised your own shaking hand to his chest, the fabric of his coat was soft against your palm. Dream's fingers slid down to your waist, curling around the silky material of your nightgown, so intimately and yet so timidly.

You met his eyes with a mixture of tenderness and desire. You felt your heart skip a beat and your cheeks flush with warmth. You knew what was happening between you and Dream was absolutely real, taking place in the present moment. No fantasy, no illusion, just you and the man you yearned for.

Feeling Dream's touch on you made you euphoric. You had agonized over it for a very long time, always being blocked by a thick layer of glass that was no longer there. Now you were finally able to experience him in the flesh, to feel his breath on your face, to bask in the intensity of his gaze.

You looked at Dream fondly, smiling in delight and admiring his beauty up close. His eyes were a deep shade of blue, like the ocean on a clear day, and they seemed to hold a universe of secrets and wonders. His hair was still unruly, but his front bangs had been combed and moved more to the left side. A little strand was falling over his eyebrow, giving you the growing need of gently pushing it out of the way.

Dream didn't stop you, keeping his eyes on you as you lightly took the strand between your thumb and forefinger, moving it aside. And then, you traced your fingertips over his cheek and chin, enjoying the smoothness of his tepid skin.

It was as if you were discovering him for the first time, even though you had known him for just a short while. You realized how much there was to him, how much he had to offer and how much you wanted to learn about him.

You felt a surge of affection. You would do anything to make him happy, to support him and to be there for him whenever he needed you. If he ever needed you.

"You're free," you said, feeling a sense of relief and happiness. "So they let you go in the end?"

Dream hesitated before replying, "No."

"…No?"

"The binding circle has been broken," he explained, his voice tinged with sadness. "Paul has lended me his... assistance. But they did not set me free.”

“Oh,” you said softly. “You were your own savior.”

“I was,” he confirmed, a hint of pride in his voice.

“Are they…?”

“They are unscathed,” he assured. “But I could not allow my captor to be left unpunished.”

Dream used the word "captor" instead of its plural form. Given that Paul had apparently attempted to release him, it was logical to assume that Alex was the only victim involved.

Still, you needed to know more. “What did you do…?”

Dream looked down, almost in fear of your judgement. “Eternal sleep.”

You thought about Paul, so kind and good-hearted, getting worried sick about his husband's inability to wake up from his sleep. You knew It would be tough for him to see his partner in that state, unable to wake him up for many days to come.

However, you also couldn't forget about Alex's actions, following his father's lead and causing significant damage to the man in front of you. The way they always portrayed him as a dreadful monster who would slaughter them if he was released, made the final punishment seem not so harsh. Taking everything into account, he spared Paul, the guards, and anyone else in the house. The only person he had a grudge against was Alex Burgess, and he still left him physically unharmed despite what the man took away from him.

In the end, you couldn't consider it particularly unfair. Although you felt sorry for Paul, it was difficult to empathize with his husband considering what you had witnessed in Dream’s memories.

You sighed, nodding slightly, and offered him another sweet smile. Dream appeared astonished, seemingly expecting a different reaction from you. Were you supposed to be afraid of him?

If anything, you were not exempt from those mistakes. You accepted the money they offered you to watch him, speak to him and potentially coerce him. Although you made it clear that you wanted to be on his side, you still went along with the plan and put your own interests before his.

Hence, how could you be considered innocent?

Perhaps he came to you just for that reason, to conclude his business with you and finally move on.

You ran your hand along the edge of his collar, distractingly toying with its fabric. "Dream, I'm so sorry.”

You knew that wouldn't really give him back the time he had lost, but what else could you say to make amends now?

Dream, however, was far from being resentful towards you. He frowned in confusion, parting his lips and looking at you as if you had just said the most absurd thing in the world.

“Why are you apologizing?” He asked.

"Because I was there… and I took their money. I spent the past three months talking to you like I would with a guest in front of a cup of tea,” you chuckled. “I feel terrible just thinking about it. I ended up growing attached to you, to your company. I’ve been selfish, putting my needs before yours time and time again. I said I wanted to help you and yet… look at what I’ve done instead.”

Your heart was heavy, torn apart by years of sacrifices and misery.

“You should punish me too,” you concluded. “I deserve it.”

Dream's forehead almost touched yours as his lips formed a little smile. “Do you wish to be punished?”

"Do you not want to?”

"No, I do not want such thing," he replied.

"But why?"

"Over a century in that cage and none of my captors has shown me half of your kindness and compassion,” he said. “Fear not, I am not here to cause you harm.”

A part of you felt relieved, but you couldn't shake off the feeling of dissatisfaction.

“I’m not afraid, Dream. I never was.”

“I know.”

“I wish I could have helped you. I wish I could have freed you.”

“You have tried.”

“And I have failed.”

As you stood there, replaying the events of the past few days in your mind, you felt a deep sense of guilt and regret. The guards had pathetically dragged you away, just when you were so incredibly close to granting him his freedom. You left without even saying goodybe, accepting the sad reality of your inadequacy.

But despite everything, Dream wasn't thinking any less of you because of it. The intensity of his eyes took your breath away and the deepness of his voice had your knees shaking.

"You have put yourself at risk for my sake," he pointed out. "Your bravery knows no boundaries. Please, allow me to grant you a wish."

"A wish?"

"Yes. Anything you want, I can give it to you."

You exhaled, feeling all the tension that you had accumulated release from your body. "You don't have to do this for me, or anything really."

"Perhaps I don't, but it would please me to do so."

You considered it for a moment, lowering your eyes and following the contour of his neck, the collarbones that you could barely notice under his black shirt and his chest covered by the long, regal coat he was wearing.

What kind of wish did you want to see fullfilled? With all the pieces slowly going back to their original place, you couldn't really find an answer to that question.

Yet, there was still something missing from the big picture. Something that had been nagging at the back of your mind for a while now.

"I have only one request," you finally said, looking up at Dream with a determined expression. “Can you tell me your name?”

Once again, Dream was absolutely buffled. That was clearly not the kind of wish that he had in mind when he offered to grant one for you.

"I have many names," he replied.

You have met him before and he has many names.

"How do you want me to call you?"

He is a storm, an idea, the anthropomorphic embodiment of dreams and imagination. He is that which you do not know and he is that which you can not know. He is a mystery to some, a legend to others.

You looked at him expectantly, although a name seemed to hold no importance to him at all.

In the end, he gave you the answer you had been looking for. “I am Morpheus.”

Another rush of memories hit you, something you had once forgotten, but that came back to you in a wave the moment he introduced himself to you for the first time.

That name wasn’t new. In fact, you had heard it somewhere else before.

“You’re here now, are you not?”

Her voice was soothing, echoing in the vastness of the room.

“Define ‘here’.”

Her lips twisted into a half-smile. “The Dreaming. This is Lord Morpheus’s castle, or rather, what remains of it.”

She gestured to the ruined structure in front of you, the walls crumbled as you heard a distant crunching sound.

“The Dreaming… Lord Morpheus…”

The more you searched for any clue, any piece of information that could help you understand, the more questions you found instead. “I don’t understand… what happened to this place?”

The woman lowered her eyes with a deep sense of distress. She breathed in deeply, her chest rising and falling as she adjusted her glasses. “Lord Morpheus left many years ago. Without him, The Dreaming has started to decay and it continued deteriorating ever since. Even the Waking World is suffering from this change, in a way.”

And there was more.

“Have I ever been here?”

The man with the jacket took a step forward. “Not here with us, no. Things are a little… different than they used to be without Lord Morpheus.”

It all made sense now. Just as you suspected, after Dream was imprisoned, his realm was so greatly affected that many people fell ill with the Sleepy Sickness. Even future generations inherited a part of it, experiencing insomnia and a total lack of dreams. Since that world had become rotten, corrupted, and completely inaccessible to human beings, those strange encounters that you still couldn't properly remember in their entirety (or understand even) slipped away from your mind upon waking up.

Now that the puzzle was more or less complete, your smile intensified, and you pressed yourself closer to his body.

“Morpheus,” you repeated, enjoying the way it sounded on your tongue. “I like it, it suits you.”

You stayed there, staring at his perfect face, in the comforting silence of the night. You were inebriated by the smell of sand, the salty ocean, and a mixture of exotic fragrances that were unlike anything you had ever known.

Then he inquired, "Is that all you wish to receive from me, my name?"

You shrugged. "My father is doing better now, and you are standing right here in front of me, free from that cage and that awful place.” You paused, pushing your fingers further around his neck without even noticing. “What else is there for me to wish for? I have a roof over my head, people who care about me. I am alive, as perfectly imperfect as I am. I'm lucky to have what I have, and to be able to speak to you like this now."

He listened to you in silence, mesmerized once again by the honesty of your heart.

“I might be a simple one, but I don’t need that much to feel content."

Riches? Immortality? Those things meant nothing to you.

As you snuggled closer to him, you realized that life was too short to waste on trivial things. You wanted to cherish every moment with the people you cared about and create meaningful memories that would last a lifetime.

In that moment, you felt a deep sense of gratitude for everything that had led you to that point. The challenges you had faced, the people you had met, good or bad, and the experiences you had to face through hardships and tiring efforts. All that had shaped you into the woman you were today, with your mistakes and imperfections that you could only accept as human.

You felt his fingers drawing little patterns on your sides, curling around the silky material of your nightgown and forming yet another connection between your souls, now inevitably intertwined.

You got lost in his eyes again, sucked into the intricate waves that seemed to move within his irises. It was as if you were staring at a starry sky, or at the calmest sea. There was an entire universe enclosed within that work of art and your heart was beating ever faster now that you could feel his steady breath on your lips.

Those lips...

You looked down at his plump mouth with a growing desire, wishing to feel it pressed against yours in a heated kiss. You wanted to savor him, to let him devour you. You wished for him to touch you more, to feel those hands in other places that you couldn't even describe for how obscene it sounded just thinking about it.

Yes, that was your wish. A wish that you wanted to remain a secret, a wish you could not reveal to him because he wouldn’t grant it if you asked for it.

Or would he...?

Morpheus never looked away from you. He was reading you, studying you, acting stoic and distant, but you had the impression that he was trying not to bring you even closer than you already were.

A shockwave ran through your entire form when his right thumb and forefinger gently took your chin with a feather-like touch, not actually holding it, but lifting it up high enough for him to bring his lips exactly where you wanted them.

"Then I shall offer you a gift."

You could barely register his words before he pressed his lips onto yours in a tender, delicate kiss. The warmth enveloping your mouth was delicious, and the way his lips felt and moved against yours was absolutely perfect. It was a kiss that spoke a thousand words, that conveyed more emotion than any language ever could. It was a kiss that made you feel alive and cared for, that made you forget about all your worries and fears. It was a kiss that you would remember more than your first, a moment of pure bliss that you would hold dear for the rest of your life.

It was so chaste and tender that it melted your racing heart, leaving you almost unmoving, completely secure in his embrace. Time seemed to stand still, as if the universe itself was waiting to see what would happen next.

Your breaths mingled into one when he finally detached from you, leaving you wanting and empty, desiring more of his touch, of his lips, of his taste.

You craved all of him.

Gaining enough courage, you let all your inhibitions go and crashed your lips back against his before he could fully let you go. You moved them with more fervor, wrapping your arms around his neck as the firework in you exploded and vibrated through your veins.

At first, you thought that your forward action would cause him to slow you down or pull away. But when he responded to the kiss with equal passion and took a better hold of your waist, the explosive sensasion intensified and you couldn’t contain it. Your tongues met and collided, exploring each other again and again in the most sensual dance you had ever shared with a man.

You moaned into his mouth as your hands ran along his neckline, then lower and down to his chest without parting. He groaned slightly, but soon there was a rumble to it which caused the hair on your nape to stand on.

It was too much. The kiss was leaving you breathless and dizzy in a good way, it was toe-curling and mindblowing. Morpheus was like a powerful magnet, attracting you with a strength that could not be resisted. However, when the need to breathe became impossible for you to ignore, you reluctantly broke the kiss with a soft pop and looked up to inspect his half-lidded expression.

What you saw there had you paralyzed, excited and gasping for air. Morpheus’s hunger could be spotted in the glint of his eyes and the way his Adam's apple bobbed confirmed that he was keeping himself restrained, wanting you as much as you wanted him.

So you took a step back, reaching for the straps of your nightgown to push them off and let them fall from your shoulders while keeping the rest of the fabric firmly pressed against your chest. He was frozen in place, observing you in silence and waiting for your next move. The air around you was electric with anticipation and you could feel the heat of his gaze on you as you stood before him, slowly baring yourself.

Feeling confident, you let the night garment drop onto the floor completely, stepping out of it and allowing your breasts to be exposed in front of his eyes. Your body was only partially covered by the thin cotton layer of your underwear now, as the warm light of the lamp painted you with its warm glow. His heated gaze roamed your naked form, taking in every inch of your skin and following all your curves.

You were filled with a mixture of nervousness and heightened arousal for being practically nude and vulnerable, but the way he looked at you made you feel desirable and powerful.

Wrapping your arms around him once more, you brought your lips close to his chin, brushing them lightly on it and breathing heavily against him as if your life depended on it. His hands enclosed around your bare back, sliding up and coming in contact with the little scar that the piece of broken bottle had left on you. You jumped, feeling the sensitivity that had remained on the healed cut.

Morpheus paused to check more of it, drawing along the scar's shape with his fingertips. His hands felt cool on you, but his touch was incredibly gentle and careful.

You closed your eyes and let out a soft sigh. The fire between you was burning hotter, consuming you with an insatiable craving within. His hands were holding you like you would break if he applied more pressure, his lips descended to your cheekbone, tracing a path along your jaw and settling on your neck.

As you struggled to resist any longer, you grabbed the lapels of his coat and moved backward, taking him with you towards the bed. Morpheus silently complied, walking along as you continued to kiss him on the lips.

When the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress, you positioned yourself and slid over the covers, letting him move down with you. The bed lowered under the weight of your bodies as he straddled you, looking into your eyes and running his right hand over your thigh.

Your breath became heavier, labored, you were panting from how much you needed to be with him. Morpheus brought his mouth to your ear, set a strand of hair aside and whispered deeply, "Breathe."

The way he spoke sent shivers down your spine, yet somehow he managed to instantly calm you down. You inhaled a few times to steady yourself and Morpheus kissed your forehead, descending on your lower lip and collarbones. His touch went up to your breasts where he enveloped your mounds in his palms. You jolted, arching your back for the instant stimulation of your nipples.

He wasn't teasing, going straight to what you needed without playing any games. You hummed in appreciation and ran your fingers through his hair, gently scratching the back of his head with your nails. His lips traced wet kisses on your neck, slow and sensual. He released your breasts and his hands took hold of their sides, pushing them up as his thumbs made soft, electric circles on the tips, igniting a new flame into your core and making you gasp. You felt a wave of pleasure wash over you, his eyes never left yours, not even when he shifted down and moved his hands along your stomach and abdomen. His fingers drew closer to the hem of your underwear, tracing the lacy edge with curiosity and hesitation.

You bit your lip, opening your legs as an invitation and granting him more access with a certain impatience.

Morpheus's breathing became shorter as well. Although you were eager to see him undressed once again, you wanted to savor the moment and not rush anything now that it was finally happening outside of your daydreams.

You were feeling extremely aroused at the moment, but you still wanted him to take his time with you. You wanted him to worship you and bring you to the stars and beyond with his touch alone.

As he looked for confirmation, your reactions gave him the go-ahead. He hooked his fingers under your panties and started to pull them down. You lifted your hips to allow him to take off the last garment, and he dragged the article of clothing down your thighs, legs, and ankles. He swallowed again when your panties hit the floor, leaving you with nothing else on.

Morpheus took another good look at your naked form, his eyes dark with hunger as he stared at your flushed cheeks and swollen lips. His gaze descended to your round breasts and pert nipples, running down to the smooth skin of your stomach until he reached your hipbones. Now he had a proper, full view of the most intimate part of you, served in front of him on a silver platter.

Your clit was already throbbing and begging for attention, while your lower lips were glistening and desperately clenching around nothing. He wasted no time filling the space between your legs when you spread them wider. Every movement of his was sensual and sinuous, he knew exactly how to make you lose your mind and you wanted him to take full control on you.

He pressed his clothed body onto yours, his weight feeling deliciously heavy against you. He caressed your cheek with the back of his hand while fondling your breasts, you could feel his hardness through his pants, as the thick fabric rubbed your clit insistently.

Morpheus seemed to take your intensifying moans as a signal to escalate things further. He leaned in and explored your mouth the same way you did before, meeting your tongue halfway and caressing your appendage. You were so lost in the action that you were taken off guard when he circled your clit with his fingertips, moving them deliberately slowly to savor your growing pleasure and make you melt into a puddle of bliss.

You gasped into the kiss, your hips bucking up to meet his touch. He continued to trace little patterns around your sensitive nub, dipping inside your folds as you grabbed onto his locks again. You pulled him closer to you and shook uncontrollably, already feeling your first orgasm building inside just with the minimum pressure he was applying.

Morpheus immediatly sensed your growing need, stopping his motions at once. You let out a whimper of disappointment, taking either side of his face and biting his lower lip softly. He liked that; you could feel his erection jumping against your thigh and his eyes darkened even more with eagerness for you.

"Please," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He didn't reply, but upon hearing your plea, the King of Dreams rose from the mattress and knelt down onto the floor. His long coat pooled perfectly behind him like a regal cape.

He pulled your thighs forward, which were already unceremoniously open in front of him. He brought his lips close to your sex and flattened his tongue along your slit, giving it an amazing tentative lick.

The sensation of his tongue on you was like heaven and you couldn't help but fight with all your might to keep your eyes on his. You were tempted to throw your head back in pleasure, but you didn’t want to miss a single moment of what he was doing to you. The way he looked at you while lapping at your clit was making you burst, it was literally the sexiest view you had ever seen during an intercourse. No other man had touched you like you deserved the world. Nobody had ever made you burn with desire the way he did. You were always used to quick sexual encounters that always left you unsatisfied, but with Morpheus, everything was just on another level. He was treating your body with so much care and attention, willing to fully satisfy you before even considering his own needs.

Not a single article of clothing had been discarded except for yours. He was ignoring his physical discomfort in favor of your pleasure, going down on you and wrapping his mouth around your most sensitive area. You could see your clit following his tongue, jumping around as the pressure on it increased. It was like the most delicious treat to him.

He continued to relentlessly devour you and you felt yourself slipping further and further into a state of ecstasy. His tongue was a symphony, playing you like an instrument. He moved it up and down, from side to side, or in a circular motion, making you cry out in bliss. The way he alternated between slow kitten licks and hungry open-mouthed kisses was driving you crazy.

He knew exactly what you wanted whenever a thought took form in your mind. He was making your whole body sing, continuing to lick and suck at your clit, lifting its hood and relishing the sensitive tip. His fingers massaged your inner walls in a sensual come-hither motion, parting your hot walls and producing a sequence of wet, incredibly loud noises.

You dug your hands into his hair, holding it for dear life. Morpheus was calculated in his every movement and all he did was designed to make you feel the most earth-shattering feelings you had ever experienced. You were completely under his spell and you didn’t really want it any other way.

Unable to keep your eyes open, you finally let your head fall back as you arched, tightening your fingers around his strands and pulling slightly. You felt him touch that sweet, spongy spot deep inside your core, he probed at it just the right, perfect way and you knew that you were just done for.

"Morpheus... I..." you moaned, your words trailing off as you were consumed.

"Give it to me," he whispered, making your clit vibrate even more as he expertly flicked it fast until you thought you would explode.

And with that, you let go. Your body convulsed as waves of pleasure washed over you, and you cried out his name as you came right there and then. It was the most intense orgasm you had ever received, your hands tightened around the sheets so hard that you were sure you heard a tear somewhere. It last so long that you felt exhausted when it subsided, leaving you electrified as Morpheus kissed and licked at your sensitive flesh a little more to draw it all out of you. His hands were holding you impossibly close and you slowly came back down to earth.

Lying motionless on the mattress while panting and sweating, you couldn’t see his clothes dissolving into a cloud of sand like magic. As he held you firmly and enveloped you with his arms while climbing back on your shaking body, you suddenly felt his skin directly touching yours with no other barrier left.

When you opened your eyes, you were greeted by the familiar sight of his naked frame - pale and smooth like the most precious marble. He was still lean, but you noticed that he was in better shape and his muscles were a little more defined than before. If he was already the most beautiful thing you had ever seen in that bowl, now you almost wanted to cry at how stunning he looked.

You smiled, still a little short of breath, placing one of your warm palms on the side of his face and reaching out for his chest with the other.

"Nice trick," you said. "Very convenient."

His lips, shiny from your juices and his own saliva, formed one of those subtle smiles that you loved so much. He brought his still wet fingers up to his mouth, sticking them into it and sucking them clean in the most seductive way.

“Shit,” you cursed, feeling your blood boiling all over again as your arousal started to pick up. “You’ll be the death of me.”

Morpheus leaned down on you, initiating another soft and affectionate kiss that made you taste yourself in the mix. "I hope not," he said, his voice low and seductive. “It would greatly displease me.”

You moved your hands up and down his back and he positioned himself on you. The moment he put his knees on either side of your hips, you let your eyes travel down to scan his firm chest, his flat stomach and the inviting curves produced by his belly muscles. Whenever he shifted around or stood in the cage, you had always done your best to avoid looking below his waist. But now, with him so wonderfully pressed against you and ready to fully take you to new, agonized heights, you gave yourself permission to finally peek downward.

As you did, your breath got caught in your throat and you stared in awe at the sheer size of him. His erection was mouth-watering, standing hard and proud against his stomach with the reddened tip leaking tiny droplets onto your inner thigh. It was raging, bobbing and waving whenever he adjusted himself between your legs. You watched the vein running along his shaft pulsing in need, the thick underside creating a perfect symmetry along his length and the wet glans begging to be squeezed inside of you.

You moaned when he brushed the tip of his erection along your oversensitive clit, reacting to his stimulation just the way he expected. Your fingers dug into his skin and you spread your legs even wider, panting into his ear with the sweetest abandon. The damaged nerves in your wrist didn’t like the pressure, but you couldn’t be bothered anymore. You could feel the heat growing, the wetness spreading as you became more and more aroused despite your orgasm. Morpheus was equally craving you, continuing to tease you with his tip in a stable motion.

With a sudden surge of boldness, you reached down to stroke him, moving your hand up and down his length in a slow, steady rhythm. He exhaled in response, his hips jumping while your fingers massaged all the right places.

Part of you wanted to test his resistance and see how long he could last, making him burst into your hand, or release deep into your throat. But you had other plans for the night. Your inner walls were drenched and desperate to welcome him inside. You kissed him deeply on the lips, aligning yourself to his shaft and waiting for him to sink in. Your legs were starting to ache from the impossibly wide spread.

Your heart, still beating like a drum, sped up even more when you felt his warm tip passing through your entrance. Something had snapped for him too, because the moment you begged him to hurry up and put it into you, he replaced your hand with his and roughly pushed himself between your folds without any indecision.

It didn’t hurt, he slid in incredibly easily due to how lubricated you were. He almost immediately hit your soft spot with the first thrust, burying into your body without sparing an inch, deep into your core to the hilt.

Such a perfect fit.

You wrapped your legs around him tightly, pulling him even closer as you adjusted to his size. He began to move, making shallow thrusts at first as you both got used to the feeling of being joined so intimately together. Growing confident, his movements became more franctic and way harder, causing you to gasp and whine again. His lips were parted as he breathed heavily for exertion, keeping himself up with his elbows planted onto the mattress. Your foreheads were touching, sweetly and delicately bumping into one another with each strong push delivered by his pelvis.

Looking at him now, so beautiful, so strong and so astonishingly marvelous as a whole, you could feel your emotions growing and piling up. You couldn't stop the tears that formed at the corner of your eyes, dripped down along your cheekbones, your earlobes, wetting your hair as they fell.

The feelings you had developed for Dream of The Endless were out of this world, born in the most unconventional way. With him moving inside you, sliding back and forth while the sound of skin slapping on skin filled your entire room, you realized just how touch-starved you had been since your last breakup.

Morpheus slowed down, his lips leaving a trail of kisses on your face and neck until he reached the junction with your shoulder. He stayed there, pressing his lips to your skin and inhaling your scent. He roamed your body with his hands, caressing every part of you.

You could feel him quickening his pace and tightened your arms around his torso, your hand finding its way to his nape and playing with the short hair there. He continued to thrust into you with intensity, your body tensed up and your muscles coiled like a spring ready to burst.

The two of you were complicit, understanding what the other was feeling without a single word. Your emotional exhaustion was taking over, having been pent-up for so long. Yet, the joy and exhilaration of having him held tightly in your arms (and legs) after three months of one-sided conversations through the glass was almost blinding.

On the other hand, Morpheus had been carrying around a hundred years of suffocated anger, having lost everything and being trapped in a cage as if he was worth nothing. You let him release all that and more, allowing him to push hard into you and drown in his own gratification.

As he nuzzled his face into your neck, Morpheus secured your thighs higher around his hips, comforting you with his caring gestures. You did your best to match his motions, meeting his pelvis whenever he pushed himself down. With each thrust, your sensitive area was stimulated in a way that you had never known before. Your second orgasm began to take shape, burning inside of you like a bonfire.

Morpheus traced the curve of your shoulder, collarbone, and breast with his hands, sliding over your nipple and moving downward. As his fingers reached your clit, he began massaging it in sync with his movements. The pleasure was so intense that you snapped like an elastic cord, and a new wave of ecstasy swept over you, forcing your eyes shut as you reached your high. Your inner walls convulsed around him, squeezing his length until you were completely spent and satisfied.

He continued to slide into you at a faster pace, panting and groaning in your ear. You felt his climax approaching, and his thrusts became irregular, building up to the peak of his pleasure. You were right there to indulge him.

Morpheus abruptly stopped and raised himself from the mattress, seemingly intending to take his length out of you. However, before he could do so, you grabbed his upper arms and shook your head. In a breathless voice, you pleaded, "Please don’t... I'm protected."

The Endless scrutinized your eyes for any hint of doubt or fear. Seeing the trust and need in your determined expression, he decided to remain buried deep inside you. He returned to the bed, continuing his activity and muffling his impending moans with a kiss. When the greatest pleasure finally took him, Morpheus tumbled over the edge without getting away, keeping his mouth on yours and breathing heavily as his hips jerked violently and repeatedly. You felt the heat of his essence coating your walls, reaching deep parts of you that you thought were once unreachable.

You were still stroking Morpheus's hair, absently running your nails along the back of his head. Despite the physical activity, he didn't show a single droplet of sweat, making you feel gross in comparison. Nevertheless, he appeared eager to remain connected to you even after his climax. He kept his forehead on yours, rubbing your noses together and losing himself in the moment.

Regaining your breath and energy, you listened to the soft sound of your breathing and the occasional contented sigh. Morpheus didn't budge, keeping his softening length inside you and silently enjoying the way you cuddled him. He was reluctant to let you go and you seemed to be opposed to the idea as well, so you laid there in each other's embrace, enjoying the warmth and closeness of your intertwined bodies.

Time felt meaningless in his arms. You kissed his shoulder a few times before turning your head and meeting his temple. You shifted your hands down to feel his shoulder blades and run your fingers along his spine, reaching his back dimples to tease the skin of his buttocks. Moving your hands up again, you drew the shape of his biceps, feeling him react to your administrations with a soft hum.

Morpheus didn’t say anything, allowing you to discover his body all over again, taking in every curve and ridge to feel the smoothness of his skin and the contours of his muscles.

And then, your actions produced quite a pleasant consequence that you hadn't considered; his shaft was hardening again between your folds, awakening from its short rest with a happy twitch. You couldn't help but smirk at the way he immediatly recovered with your effusions, feeling a sense of satisfaction and power wash over you.

You moved your hips, adjusting your legs and feeling the way his length grew thicker inside you without even getting out. After experiencing the two best orgasms of your entire life, you expected to be completely satisfied and way too tired to even attempt anything else. But somehow, you still wanted more of him and what he had to give.

Morpheus looked at you, his eyes filled with a mix of desire and amusement. "You are insatiable," he said, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

You laughed, feeling a sense of confidence and playfulness spreading through you. "And you love it.”

"I do," he said, his voice low and husky.

He pulled out, leaving just the tip inside. Then he slipped back into you with a powerful thrust, causing your overstimulated nerves to shake like a large-scale earthquake. The way he glanced down at you again ignited all of your senses and he set a challenging pace that was difficult to follow with your aching limbs. The mesmerizing friction between your bodies became stronger as he gave you open-mouthed kisses, panting and growing against your lips. You could feel his need for you, his hunger developing with every passing second.

The sound of your wet walls around his shaft was absolutely obscene, but the established intimacy between you set your heart on fire. His girth continued to bump against your cervix, sending shocks directly to your swollen and tired clit. It was lightly brushing against his lower body, barely enough to give it the pressure it required, but still good enough to make it tremble and bring you closer to your final release.

Morpheus didn't pause, even when he readjusted himself and lifted up from the bed. He observed the blissful expression on your face, your breasts bouncing from the force of the collision.

“You feel so good,” you admitted, wanting him to know how much he was affecting you.

Hearing that, he let his hands roam up to your chest, enveloping your flesh with passion and lust. "You are exquisite," he replied, kissing your chin and applying more force to his thrusts.

You were losing yourself, melting into a pool of pure ecstasy. His wet tongue trailed down to your collarbones, teasingly brushing against your skin and finally reaching one of your nipples. It timidly licked around the tip, making it harden and tingle before closing his mouth on it. He bagan to suckle lightly, sending waves of ecstasy throughout your entire form.

As he left your nipple behind and raised into a sitting position, you both stared at each other more intimately than ever before. His eyes stayed locked on yours while pushing continuously into you, taking your wrists in his hands and attempting to pull them over your head.

The moment he did, a sharp pain jolted through your arm and you hissed in discomfort. Morpheus stopped immediately, looking at you apologetically and halting all his motions at once.

"I'm sorry... it's not fully healed yet," you explained.

Although he loosened his grip around your injured wrist, he didn't let it go. Instead, he decided to inspect it carefully, running his thumb over the sensitive area without applying any pressure. Your heart fluttered when he brought it to his lips, kissing it tenderly and closing his eyes in the process. It was such a sweet gesture that another rush of tears threatened to form and you gazed at him with an ever-growing love.

When he looked back at you, your smile widened, then you forced yourself up to meet his lips with a powerful kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. Morpheus readjusted you both, keeping you pressed to his body and resuming the lovemaking session. He supported you with one arm around your lower back, while keeping himself steady with the other hand sunk into the sheets. You moved in perfect synchrony, lost in each other's arms.

The burning sensation in the pit of your abdomen was returning and your walls were already squeezing him to welcome more of his essence inside. It didn't take long for you to reach completion with a much lighter sensation than before, but still an explosion bordering on the ecstatic that gave a delicious wave of warmth, peace, and relaxation. It started from within and terminated on your clit, which kept pulsating despite the minimum contact.

Morpheus groaned into your neck, unable to hold back any longer. With a few final thrusts, the repeated clenching around his length intensified the tension. He filled you up with his hotness as you both collapsed onto the mattress, panting heavily in satisfaction.

Short of breath, you placed your palm flat against his chest. You felt his heart beating rapidly as he recovered, guiding his right hand to the top of your breast. You held it there, both of you panting from exhaustion. He listened to the beating of your hearts, mingling in a beautiful melody that interrupted the silence surrounding you. You intertwined your fingers with his, sighing deeply and stretching your jelly-like legs.

You imprinted the magic of that moment into your memory, savoring it like the most beautiful dream that had ever come true. Morpheus sealed the enchantment with another kiss before pulling out of you and sitting on the bed with one leg bent in front of him, while the other hung on the edge of the mattress. You rose from the sheets too, positioning yourself next to his body and drawing irregular patterns on his fingertips with your nails.

The sparkles were fading and the knowledge of what was about to happen twisted your insides. Morpheus couldn't stay with you forever; he had an important duty to fulfill, one that you couldn't yet fully comprehend. The thought of him leaving you behind was atrocious, making you wonder if your first encounter would also be the last.

You took a deep breath, moving closer to him and speaking in a soft voice. “Will I see you again?”

He considered the answer to give you, shifting his gaze and responding to your touch. "I will always be beside you, in your dreams."

The realization hit you like a cold shower, and you couldn't hide the sorrow that seeped into your soul. "Only in my dreams?" You asked Morpheus. "I know I'm just a human, and I don't have any right to ask for special treatment from you. But I would love to see you again in this world too, so I can show you its good side and a little more of myself as well. Just as much as I want to learn about you and what you do."

His eyes seemed to water, and his fingers closed tightly around yours. He brought your hand to his lips, kissing it gently on the knuckles like a prince charming with Cinderella.

"If that is your wish, then I can grant it.”

You shook your head. "Thanks, but... what is it that you wish?”

“Why do you ask?”

"I'm happy to know you want to satisfy my desires, but I'd hate to force you into meeting me again when, in actuality, you do not wish for that to happen.”

"You believe I do not want to see you?”

"Do you?"

You and Morpheus just had the most incredible sex of your entire life. It was hard for you to believe that he didn't feel at least a quarter of what you felt for him after what he gave you that night. Still, the truth was that you didn't know him well enough to determine if what he truly wanted matched with your needs at all, especially considering you were sitting in front of a literal God and you held no comparison.

However, what he told you next put your heart immediately at rest. "It would please me to meet you again. In my realm, and in the Waking World.”

You bit your lower lip, trying to contain the joy that was leaking through your pores. “Really? You promise?”

“Yes.”

Despite the intimacy you had just shared with him, you were still amazed by how caring and considerate Morpheus was towards you, a mere human. He always seemed to measure his words whenever he spoke, but you could tell he had nothing more to prove to you.

"My apologies," he whispered, moving a strand of hair behind your ear and admiring it as it slipped through his fingers. "I must return to the Dreaming.”

You smiled. "Of course, don't let me keep you from your work.”

He kissed your forehead, guiding you down until the back of your head hit the softness of your pillow. Suddenly, you felt incredibly sleepy and struggled to keep your eyes open as the bedsheets enveloped your naked body.

You didn't even notice that he was fully dressed again. It was as if his clothes had materialized back the same way they previously dissolved into thin air.

“Sleep, Y/N,” Morpheus said, his honey-like voice soothing.

Hearing him say your name for the first time was definitely intoxicating and you especially liked how it sounded coming from his lips.

As you drifted off, you could see him stepping back and taking a leather pouch from his coat. He loosened its strings and poured a bunch of sand into his hand, which cascaded down into an infinite stream.

A gust of wind blew on your face as the grains formed a swirl. It swallowed up his entire form, making him disappear as if he was never there.

All that remained were some of those golden grains floating in your room like magic dust. You could swear they fell over you, getting absorbed by your closing eyelids.

The next morning, your body was aching all over. As you stood in the shower, you replayed the previous night in your head, still feeling the touch of Morpheus's hands and lips lingering on your skin, along with the warmth of his body inside you.

Morpheus was a passionate lover, and without a doubt the best you had ever had the luck to welcome in your bed. His standards were so high that you feared no one else would be able to match them, but to be honest, you didn't really want to be with anyone else now that you had a taste of what you could experience.

You barely knew the man, or rather, the Endless being, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't imagine your life without him in it anymore.

You didn't even know what to expect from there, but it was clear from what he told you that your night together was only just the start of something greater. You were absolutely beaming because of that, unable to even remember the last time you felt so whole and full of energy (despite the fatigue in your legs).

It was a bright day outside and the sky was clearer than ever before. As you walked down the street, you felt like you were floating above the clouds. Passersby kept turning to watch you in awe - men, women, even kids found your smile particularly interesting and contagious.

It was as if your entire reality had been turned upside down. All those hard times were now just a distant memory and you didn't want to think about possible pitfalls that might be lurking around the corner. No, things were different now - you were different. Morpheus had saved you in more ways than one, you couldn't even begin to describe how much you owed him, or how much you loved him.

You sat down on an empty bench in the Richmond Green park, sipping your warm coffee and breathing in the amazing air that smelled like moss and resin. Despite missing the city during your stay at the Burgess mansion, you still loved to immerse yourself in nature. It made you feel one with the earth - grounded and invigorated.

As you finished your drink, you noticed something black approaching you from the corner of your eye. A raven was standing very close to your feet, seemingly intent on watching you while also remaining vigilant of its surroundings.

Birds of prey are incredibly intelligent. You always appreciated their presence as they enriched the urban wildlife. You were also quite surprised by the knowledge you had obtained, effortlessly differentiating ravens from crows. You used to mix them up due to their similar structure and feathers, but now it was just so easy.

The memories that Morpheus had shared with you apparently enhanced your bird watching skills.

You smiled, staring at the raven with curiosity. It didn't seem to want to move, fixated on you for reasons you couldn't really explain.

"I'm sorry, little friend. I don’t have any food to offer you," you said. "It's quite beautiful out here, is it not?"

For a moment, you thought the raven was turning its head to you and nodding, as if it could fully understand your words. "Please, feel free to stay for as long as you like. I enjoy the company.”

And that is exactly what the creature did. You remained on that bench for the next hour and a half, occasionally checking your phone and closing your eyes to relax. The raven seemed comfortable there with you, moving its black and shiny eyes around, checking for every movement and inspecting each person that passed in front of you. You felt as if you had your personal bodyguard, protecting you from any ill-intentioned individual that might decide to walk a little too close.

You mentally laughed.

When the clock hit noon, you stood up from the bench and secured your bag over your shoulder. The raven looked up at you from its position, so you knelt on your feet to be at eye level with it and tilted your head to one side. Crows and ravens were known to be wary of humans, often approaching them cautiously and stepping back if they felt their personal space was being invaded. But this raven seemed different. Perhaps it was accustomed to your kind?

"Thank you for staying, little one. Unfortunately, I need to go now.”

It pained you to leave it there. It was a bittersweet feeling, knowing that you couldn't take it home with you like a stray dog or cat. You wondered if it had a family or if it was just a loner like yourself.

When you walked off, the raven followed you for part of the way to the main road, but the moment you turned to check if it was still behind you, you could no longer see it.

You smiled to yourself, resuming your stroll and venturing to the heart of London.

You didn't know why it stuck so heavily with you, but you kept thinking about the raven all day.

You knew those birds were portrayed differently in various books and symbolisms, so you wondered if it had any meaning related to your case. It was weird, but somehow your gut was telling you that it signified something specific.

Sure, you were used to pigeons and crows whenever you went to the park, or even simply crossed the streets. But a raven was something more rare, and it coincidentally represented a certain connection with Morpheus. His raven was dead, that much was clear, but you weren't thinking about her ghost visiting you or anything to that extent.

Ravens were often associated with loss and ill omen, but in stories, they also acted as psychopomps, connecting the material world with the world of spirits. The only world you felt connected to was The Dreaming, a land you had never known before, but that you managed to find on your own before Morpheus could return to it.

Anyone would think you were getting a few screws loose, stressing that hard over a random encounter with a bird and seeing it like a huge occurrence that most likely held no importance. But if there was something you had learned about your instinct, it was that it rarely got anything wrong.

You refused to see it as a bad premonition, as you felt nothing but positivity from it. For the rest of the day, you glanced out the window a few times to look at the sidewalk in front of your building, in the hope to see Dream coming back for you.

You told yourself that it was just too odd of a coincidence, but there was no sight of Morpheus anywhere. You decided to put all those thoughts aside eventually, distracting yourself with your portfolio instead of racking your brains over an enigma you couldn't resolve..

That late afternoon, you felt particularly inspired. You couldn't stop your hand once the first line was traced on paper and you let your imagination run free and wild. You filled the pages with your visions and photographic memories, immersing yourself into your element and feeling like everything was going to be okay.

Interestingly enough, the one time you tried to show your work to a potential employer, you were arrogantly rejected with a destructive comment about your lack of talent and poor execution of your creations. The fashion industry can be particularly competitive, you never expected it to be easy. But the way your hard work had been demolished by a man who couldn't even properly match his clothes and shoes wiped away the little confidence you had in yourself.

One failure was all it took for you to take a step back and reconsider your aspirations, which coincidentally overlapped with your father's first diagnosis.

Looking back at it now, that rejection was actually a blessing in disguise. It wasn't the right time for you to work in a similar business. You needed to grow and shape yourself into the new person you had just become.

Now you wouldn't let any other daltonic, pompous and self-centered tyrant to annihilate you.

You put down your pencil and stretched your arms, being careful not to strain your wrist even more now that it was finally starting to heal. The sky looked like a canvas that God had painted with those mesmerizing sunset colors you loved so much, so you brewed yourself a cup of tea and settled into the comfortable Bohemian chair on your balcony. You were lulled by the sounds of the city, gazing at the beautiful hues above you.

You missed those simple moments a lot when you were away from home. In high school, your friends used to tell you how boring it was for you to spend so much time with your nose buried in a book all weekend instead of having fun with them at the nearby club. They claimed you had an enviable attention to detail, always recommending the best makeup and clothing combinations for their nights out. It was hard for them to believe that you didn't want to apply that same caring attitude to yourself, especially when it was aimed at having fun and potentially catching the attention of the most popular guy in your class, if not the entire school.

You had always been out of the ordinary, never interesting enough to be asked out until college, and according to the idiots you had tried to date, too down-to-earth to engage in makeout sessions.

You could probably count just two potentially serious relationships that you invested in, before they brutally ended because of a cheating man or the tremendous incompatibility between you and your partner.

And then, Morpheus came into your life, so suddenly, so strangely, so mysteriously. The feelings you had for him were only intensified now that you made love, establishing an indestructible bond that you wanted to pursue. Being clingy wasn't particularly in your nature and the last thing you wanted was to scare him off with an obsessive behavior. For that reason you wanted to gave him a choice, one that he decided to take on his own accord.

You let out a contented sigh and took a sip of your tea, which was now becoming cold from all your brooding. The sun was like a fireball, slowly descending behind the buildings in front of your apartment.

That is when you heard it, the distinct fluttering of wings followed by the sound of something touching the railing. When you looked up, you noticed the same raven you met in the morning, perched on the metallic edge and nonchalantly looking at you like it was the most normal thing you could expect. You blinked a couple of times, looked away, and brought your eyes back to it to ensure you weren't imagining it. The bird was clealry as real as the mug you were holding between your hands.

You looked at it in surprise and chuckled at the sight. "Hey there. Are you stalking me, little one?”

The raven let out a soft caw and puffed up its feathers in response. Did you accidentally offend it?

"Aw, don't be mad. I'm just kidding," you said with a smile. "I wasn’t expecting you to find me, is all," you added, curious about the raven's sudden reappearance.

"I'm not used to all this attention, you know? If you keep this up, I might want to adopt you," you joked, drinking more of your tea.

What followed was peculiar, something you would only expect from a movie or fairy tale.

“Yeah… that’s probably not a good idea.”

The liquid went down the wrong way, making you choke. You started to cough violently, holding your painful chest and quickly placing the partially empty mug on the small straw table next to you.

“Ouch. Sorry, my fault.”

At first, you thought that your mind was playing tricks on you. It took you a moment to recover from the shock of hearing that voice, which was definitely coming out of the raven. It sounded like it belonged to a mature man, but you were clearly looking at a bird that was totally speaking your language.

You struggled to breathe, feeling an awful scratchy sensation in your throat and your face heating up.

“Uhh… you okay?”

There was no room for mistake; the raven was talking. It jumped off the railing in concern and hopped towards you on the balcony floor to inspect you more closely. Yes, they were known as talking birds in all descriptions, but to you, that sounded like a perfectly normal, mundane, human way of expressing.

When the suffocating feeling subsided, the little guy flew to the table. You immediatly turned and adjusted your position, realizing how lively, and indeed human, his eyes looked up close.

Things were becoming more and more interesting, right when you thought you had seen it all.

And you were utterly ecstatic.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 (currently reading) Go to Chapter 7 ->

Read on AO3!

#the sandman #the sandman netflix #dream of the endless #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x reader #the sandman fanfic #story: let your dreams be your wings #chapter 6 #smut

[lukethompsonupdates]

He is best known for Netflix hit Bridgerton, but Luke Thompson’s theatre pedigree encompasses Shakespeare, Greek tragedy and Ivo van Hove’s marathon A Little Life. He talks to Fergus Morgan about his passion for the stage and his worries for its future

Luke Thompson might have shot to stardom thanks to his role as Benedict in Netflix’s smash-hit series Bridgerton, but the 35-year-old actor is most at home on stage.

“I spectate on myself,” Thompson says. “I always have done. It’s been a bit painful in my life. And the only place on earth it doesn’t happen is on stage when someone else is spectating instead and so I don’t have to worry. You’re watching me so I don’t have to watch myself. I feel free. Those are the best moments of my life.”

Fortunately, Thompson has not been short of stage work. Born in Southampton in 1988, he grew up just outside Paris, returning to the UK to study English and drama at the University of Bristol, before training at RADA. He landed his first job almost immediately after graduating in 2013: playing Lysander in Dominic Dromgoole’s staging of A Midsummer Night’s Dream at Shakespeare’s Globe in London.

Since then, alongside screen roles in BBC One’s In the Club and Bridgerton, Thompson has starred in Julius Caesar at the Globe, Oresteia and Hamlet – opposite Andrew Scott – at London’s Almeida, and King Lear and A Little Life in the West End. Both he and co-star James Norton were nominated for Olivier awards for their performances in Ivo van Hove’s acclaimed adaptation of Hanya Yanagihara’s hard-hitting novel.

“A Little Life was such an intense experience,” Thompson says. “Intense in a good way, I mean. The material was very bleak, but acting is always pleasurable because you are indulging in a fantasy, even if it’s a dark one, and that is inherently fun.”

Thompson also thinks that theatre has lost some of its belief in itself. “Theatre is supposed to be provocative. I’m not on social media, but I think it can be very aggressive and vicious, and I think theatres cave to that a bit. Deep down, theatre is the opposite of social media. It is about people being in a room, exchanging opinions and emotions. I worry that social media is spoiling that a bit, which is a shame.”

What production made you fall in love with theatre?

I remember standing in the Yard at Shakespeare’s Globe in 2009 and watching Thea Sharrock’s production of As You Like It, and thinking: ‘Oh, wow, this is really funny and it actually works. When done simply and confidently, Shakespeare still speaks to us today.’ For my first job to be at the Globe a few years later was magical.

What are you finding inspiring at the moment?

I love watching Ivo [van Hove]’s company do stuff. There is something so wild about the acting in his shows. We get very bogged down with facts in this country, but Ivo understands the dream logic of plays. Some of the most moving things I’ve seen don’t completely make sense. I find that inspiring.

What do you wish you could change about the performing arts industry?

I wish theatre had more confidence. Right now, it feels unsure about how useful it is and about how taboo, complex and provocative it should be. I feel as though theatre has lost confidence in its societal function.

What is the worst thing that has happened to you on stage?

There was a scene in A Little Life in which James ran around naked for a bit, then I would bring him clothes. During one show, I couldn’t find his underpants, so I just brought him his trousers and he put them on. But I forgot that people pulled his trousers off again later and they were expecting him to be wearing underpants. James knew it was coming and I knew it was coming and we couldn’t look at each other for the rest of the play. I hope he doesn’t mind me telling that story. It was so funny.

What is the best thing that has happened to you on stage?

There are so many. That sounds naff but I don’t care. I love the challenge of going on stage night after night and trying to make something feel alive in front of an audience.

What role do you really want to play?

I would work with Ivo again at the drop of a hat. And there are loads and loads of roles I would love to play. I did a reading of a rewriting of The Seagull the other day. The role of Konstantin is really beautiful. I’d love to play that. I’d love to play Iago one day, too. Of course, I’d love to play Hamlet but it’s boring to say that.

What projects are you involved in at the moment?

I’m playing Berowne in Emily Burns’ production of Love’s Labour’s Lost with the Royal Shakespeare Company. She has set it on a Polynesian island owned by these big tech billionaires like Mark Zuckerberg or Elon Musk, of which I am one. It’s a really smart concept that unlocks a lot of very interesting stuff in the play. Season three of Bridgerton is coming out in May and June, too. And we will be filming season four soon after that. There’s a lot still to come.

Source: The Stage

#luke thompson #interview

[peter-pantomime]

Stranger Things Fic Recs, Part 5

Part Four | Three | Two | One

Gen

the dreams in which i'm dying

“Well,” Eddie says easily, flopping down onto the bench next to her. “I’ll go with you if you want. Just as friends.” Chrissy closes her eyes. She probably should have seen that coming. Because that’s how it’s supposed to go, right? The prom queen dumps her jock boyfriend and gets together with the sweet guy who’s been right under her nose the whole time. Happily ever after, fade to black, roll credits. Chrissy’s seen plenty of rom-coms. She knows her lines here.

i will lay me down (like a bridge over troubled water)

Eddie is twelve, shot up like a weed, and too big to carry, but Wayne scoops him up anyway. Eddie wraps his arms and legs around Wayne clumsily and lets himself be carried, still crying, back to the trailer. Wayne’s knee clicks the entire way back, but he doesn’t tell Eddie to walk.Wayne is forty-one and clumsy with emotions, doesn’t know what he’s doing but is trying anyway, and Eddie is twelve and crying on Wayne’s kitchen counter.

seriously slipping out of control

“How long do you think it’ll take?” Steve asks, eyes flickering over to the shoebox of materials. “Like, do you have to go over it a bunch of times to make the ink dark enough? We don’t need them that dark.” “It doesn’t even need to be super straight or even or anything.” Robin adds. “Like don’t worry about making them perfect or anything.” “Are you guys sure you want tattoos?” Eddie double-checks. These are just verbal confirmations of what he’s already picked up on from their twitchy body language and constant thrum of nervous energy. They’re scared. Which like, fair. But their nervousness gives him pause, makes him wonder why they’re going with commemorative tattoos of all things to remind themselves of the tragic end of their summer jobs.

and it's a song you know

The lyrics are clever, because they hide under metaphor, apocalyptic imagery and all that stuff, but it clicks when Dustin gets to a verse about a tune echoing through a mall, ‘and it’s a song you know, you’ve known it all your life,’ and he’s suddenly thrown back to when he explained how Steve worked out the location of the Russian code, and Eddie was taking it all in, eyes as round as pennies. Dustin sets down the notebook and says, “It’s about us.” It’s not a question.

Steve/Eddie

the boy in the sweatshirt

It starts with the sweater. Technically, it starts with a broken beer bottle and forty-eight sleepless hours on the run bending the glass into ruby red lace against a pale freckled neck. But that’s a technicality, and those only really work well for campaigns and court cases. For Eddie, for the fucked up little story that is his life, it starts with the sweater. Eddie figuring out Steve (and himself) through the romance of certain old clothes.

the present only

"I'm just saying, I didn't get my reputation for nothing," Steve baits. "What reputation is that?" Eddie asks. Robin looks horrified and Steve can’t actually be sure whether Eddie is trying to embarrass him or her. If it's the former, Eddie is about to be disappointed. This is one department in which Steve is not ashamed of his performance. "Reciprocation," Steve says. The word alone has Robin pulling a face. "I used to have a 100% record," Steve adds a little grumpily to Eddie. Eddie narrows his eyes at him, and Steve can tell he's biting his tongue. Steve would like to bite it for him. Jesus. Get it together, Harrington. Or: Eddie gets a job; Steve wants to give him another; the universe - including Dustin, Robin, and Eddie himself - is against him.

So Newly Charming

Eddie leans against the van to peer over his shoulder as he connects the leads. He’s close enough that Steve can smell him; close enough that he can feel the shift of air on the side of his neck as Eddie breathes. If it were one of the kids, he’d shove them off and reassert his personal space, but it’s never really bothered him when it’s Eddie. It’s distracting, but Eddie is always kind of distracting. Steve doesn’t mind Or: Steve fixes Eddie's van and figures out several things about himself in quick succession.

the chauffeur

"He had intended on a normal drive, really, just cruising at the speed limit to clear his head. But upon passing the last house on the stretch for miles, the long, empty road looks suggestive. Maybe even a little seductive. A bad itch builds from the base of his spine. Swallowing nothing, he presses the gas pedal slowly, eyes continuously flicking down to the speedometer as it climbs exponentially. The drone of the engine changes with it, getting louder, pitch keening, synchronizing with the blood that churns and rushes in and out through his heart, veins, brain. The needle hovers just over 100mph for approximately one minute and fourteen seconds." Steve's attempts to return to normal aren't cutting it. When a casual drive turns into something more risky, he learns that a little rush of adrenaline can help. He learns that a little too well. Around the same time, Eddie starts having car troubles.

someone else's favorite song

“Not sick, not sick,” he slurs, and Eddie wants to see his face, wants to hold it in his hands, wants to look him in the eye when he says, “just sad. Sad. Fuck… fuck, sad.” “Why are you sad, big guy?” Eddie asks. Steve laughs again, but it’s sharper this time, it doesn’t last as long, because as soon as the words slip out of his mouth— “My mom’s dead—” —it walks that treacherous line between the two sounds and morphs straight to a broken sort of sobbing that reaches directly into Eddie’s chest and drags out his heart. A friends-with-benefits relationship goes complicated when who Steve and Eddie are to one another shifts with the coming of a new sort of tragedy.

messing with the beat of my heart

After Vecna nearly tears the world in half, Eddie and Wayne move away from Hawkins for a fresh start. When Dustin calls Eddie up and asks if Hellfire can come visit for one last summer campaign, Eddie agrees—it's not like he has anything better to do. He just doesn't expect Steve Harrington to come, too. (or: eddie deserves love. i love him.) (or: eddie and steve falling for each other, stupid and inevitable.)

i'm keeping you in sight

When there’s no immediate reply, he pauses for a moment, seemingly taking in the situation. “D’you want help with that, Stevie?” Eddie has the gall to get taller.

mister funny, mister cool

He swallows. Sweat trickles along his spine. He knows what he was thinking, what he’s still thinking. The itch of being talked about still irritates him. But—but that’s also not new. He used to be King of Hawkins High—people talked about him all the way up that track and all the way down and with a lot less kindness in their hearts. Even with them, it shouldn’t weigh this heavy because if they want to think he’s crazy that’s fine. Right? It should be fine, because Steve knows who he is. The guy with stupid jokes and free rides. The guy who comes back, who keeps them safe, who’s fine. Steve should be able to shrug this off. God, he’s so stupid. Mister Funny, Mister Cool is always fine. or, Steve Harrington's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad emotional breakdown.

the pre-show ritual

Steve wasn’t really all that surprised to find himself here. He had never seen a gloryhole before. He’d chalked them up to a horny teenager’s pot at the end of the rainbow. Fantasy, and nothing else. A fat old man couldn’t squeeze down a chimney, and a guy couldn’t get his dick sucked in a public bathroom. But here it was, a small circular hole cut into the side of two adjacent stalls, as real and as terrifying as it could be. What surprised Steve about tonight was that he wasn't sticking his dick through the hole. Instead, he found himself sitting on his heels in front of it, hands wringing anxiously in his lap as he licked his lips and waited for someone to shuffle into the other stall.

that's just wasteland, baby!

“Because all any of us get is right now,” he explains as well as he knows how. “It’s just right now, that’s all any of us can promise. Does that make sense? It’s just— it’s only ever right now—” “Yeah,” Eddie proves the closeness, makes it real, with the simple tip of his forehead to touch Steve’s. “What can you promise right now, Steve?” Four days after Upside Down breaches Hawkins, the military arrives and closes off all roads leading out, trapping anyone still within town limits from leaving. Months later, Steve Harrington could really use a good night’s sleep and a new pair of boots.

Like the Hero Who Never Ran

While Steve and Dustin are searching for survivors, they're surprised to find Eddie alive, hiding out in Rick's cabin. Steve takes up the task of caring for him while staying in his trailer.

Rich From Tender Care

Steve leans against the side of the boathouse and lets Eddie fumble with the cheap Bic lighter for a minute before he clears his throat and says, “You want a light?” It's hard to read his tone. There's a bitter, suspicious, self-defensive part of Eddie that wants to lash out, but instead he grips the lighter until the plastic creaks and says, “Sure. If you have one.” “Yeah.” Steve digs in his pocket and comes up with a nice Zippo. He doesn't hand it to Eddie; instead, he flicks the flame on and holds it out for him to lean down, and there's an intimacy to it that Eddie wasn't quite expecting. Like one of those old Leyendecker paintings. He imagines this tableau sketched out in clean art deco lines: the prom king and the freak. A study in contrasts. Or: In which Eddie survives the Upside Down, and Steve Harrington turns out to be nothing like he expects.

My Right Hand Man

In which movie night takes an unexpected turn, and it's surprisingly easy to just let it happen.

it's no better to be safe than sorry

“Do you think you’ll ever want to fuck me?” Steve starts choking and coughing wildly, which alright is Eddie’s fault. He probably shouldn’t have thrown that out there like that right after Steve shoveled an entire spoonful of Honeycombs into his mouth. But his brain’s only been online for thirty minutes tops, Eddie’s obviously not firing on cylinders right now. He just had to get it out before he lost his nerve. Again. He slaps Steve on the back until the worst of the coughing subsides. “Here?” Steve finally manages, gesturing at the kitchen island in front of them. He’s pink and watery eyed from the hacking fit, and maybe a little bit from Eddie’s indecent proposal. “No, not here.” Eddie clarifies. “Why, have you—” He casts his eyes around the kitchen as if the surfaces will answer the question for Steve. “Shit no.” Steve rushes to say, “My parents eat here.” 

Shot Right Through

Steve overhears a conversation between Eddie and Robin, and then spends a few weeks trying to think of anything else.

can't bear it alone

He thinks about the relief in Eddie’s voice when he said he had a hunch about Steve’s whereabouts, like Dustin is the chosen one for understanding what makes Steve tick. Eddie’s joked about it before; he’d called it “sibling telepathy” when Dustin had silently communicated his popcorn order at the movies, and he’d nudged Steve in the ribs when Steve’s nose wrinkled meaning Gross, dude. Then Steve had huffed a laugh, nudging Dustin back. Okay, okay. I’ll pay for it, you little shit. But Eddie gets Steve, too, Dustin thinks; that’s why he called him. And yeah, it’s different than the way Dustin understands Steve, but it’s significant enough for Eddie to make the cut of Steve Harrington Interpreters in Dustin’s mind.

see the luck i've had

Steve, Eddie, and 20 hurt/comfort prompts

no reason

The kiss is brief, only a second or two, not even long enough for Steve to really register what's happening before Eddie pulls away. Steve’s frozen in place, his arms still wrapped around Eddie. [...] Eddie closes his eyes, a weak smile on his lips. "Something to remember me by." [...] "You're literally not dying right now." His whole body is hot. Is he sweating? "You lost some blood but they didn't get deep enough—I looked—you're going to be fine." There's a pause. "I'm going to be fine?" Eddie asks, voice also going high and thin. "You're—sure?" "Yes." "Fascinating. Great. Are you—could you do me a favor, then, and maybe just—leave me here anyway?" "What?" Steve says. The dial tone gets louder. "No. Why?" "No reason," Eddie says, voice tight.

Leomund's Lamentable Belaborment Makes It Hard To Graduate High School

Everyone knows things happen in threes. Three wishes. Three sons of a king. Three notes make a chord. Eddie's third senior year is his last chance to get out. If he fails again, he's in a time loop.

Looks Like You're Hungry, Looks Like You're Drowning

It is almost a relief to see that it's Eddie Munson on the chair and not some huge random guy. That is until Eddie's eyes crinkle open and his face goes from blind terror to bemused, the way he's curled up like a bug at the noise slipping into something languid and easy. It's almost a relief until the prick smiles like a lunatic and Steve has to think of course, this fucking guy, because Eddie Munson may be the weirdest person Steve's ever met. AKA Two Years of Lifeguarding, One Morning of Finding Eddie Munson Asleep on a Deck Chair

keep with me forward

The house that the government buys Eddie is pink.

Car Hangs

Eddie had started walking to Robin’s house in the mornings to hitch a ride when Steve took her to school on his way to Family Video. It was a neat little route from Steve’s place to Robin’s to the high school to the store, and Robin lived halfway between Eddie’s place and the school, so the ride cut his journey in half. Steve wanted to offer to pick Eddie up from his place but, unlike the rest of the carpool arrangement, it didn’t make sense, spatially, and Eddie said he didn’t mind the walk, and Steve was too embarrassed to insist.

heavy is the head

What Steve wants… it’s not as if they’ve never done it. They’ve just never done it like that. And they sure as shit haven’t done it with Wayne Douglas Munson sitting in the very next room, only the low hum of the TV to drown out every deafening pound of Eddie’s heart. He’s still staring, heart going double time. Doesn’t budge an inch. Steve lifts one perfectly arched brow. Goddamn it. So, so stupid.

thursday afternoon

this was supposed to be about cleaning up, but despite the constant stream of water, he feels sweatier than before. his skin is burning, his wrists are cramping and his legs are straining from how tense he’s been. if eddie were here he’d slide to his knees, ignore the resulting twin cracks and swat steve’s thigh to stop him from making any comments. he’d nuzzle against his crotch, hair clinging to his strong neck, his cheeks, and run his hands up and down steve’s trembling thighs. or; it's thursday afternoon, eddie gets home early from work and catches his husband deep in thought. (amongst other things)

Steve/Tommy (past, unrequited, pre/current Steve/Eddie)

stitches and the devouring mouth

tommy wasn't a great person, or even a good person, but he was going to push steve out of hawkins. his one good deed.

every mistake was made purposely

“You are such a fucking asshole.” Steve says, but again there’s no venom behind his words. It comes out like an observational statement, like they’re back in Freshman year biology marking down the anatomy of the frog they dissected. Looks like spaghetti, Steve had said while they stared down at the guts in front of them, and even now Tommy can’t eat spaghetti without thinking of it. “You know, believe it or not, Eddie doesn’t treat people the way you do. He wouldn’t even think to.” Tommy scoffs, does an eye roll of his own. “Yeah, I’m sure he’s real sweet to people before he gouges their eyes out."

#stranger things #steddie fic recs #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things fic recs #myficrecs

[antipolin]

He is best known for Netflix hit Bridgerton, but Luke Thompson’s theatre pedigree encompasses Shakespeare, Greek tragedy and Ivo van Hove’s marathon A Little Life. He talks to Fergus Morgan about his passion for the stage and his worries for its future via The Stage

Luke Thompson might have shot to stardom thanks to his role as Benedict in Netflix’s smash-hit series Bridgerton, but the 35-year-old actor is most at home on stage.

“I spectate on myself,” Thompson says. “I always have done. It’s been a bit painful in my life. And the only place on earth it doesn’t happen is on stage when someone else is spectating instead and so I don’t have to worry. You’re watching me so I don’t have to watch myself. I feel free. Those are the best moments of my life.”

Fortunately, Thompson has not been short of stage work. Born in Southampton in 1988, he grew up just outside Paris, returning to the UK to study English and drama at the University of Bristol, before training at RADA. He landed his first job almost immediately after graduating in 2013: playing Lysander in Dominic Dromgoole’s staging of A Midsummer Night’s Dream at Shakespeare’s Globe in London.

Since then, alongside screen roles in BBC One’s In the Club and Bridgerton, Thompson has starred in Julius Caesar at the Globe, Oresteia and Hamlet – opposite Andrew Scott – at London’s Almeida, and King Lear and A Little Life in the West End. Both he and co-star James Norton were nominated for Olivier awards for their performances in Ivo van Hove’s acclaimed adaptation of Hanya Yanagihara’s hard-hitting novel.

“A Little Life was such an intense experience,” Thompson says. “Intense in a good way, I mean. The material was very bleak, but acting is always pleasurable because you are indulging in a fantasy, even if it’s a dark one, and that is inherently fun.”

Thompson also thinks that theatre has lost some of its belief in itself. “Theatre is supposed to be provocative. I’m not on social media, but I think it can be very aggressive and vicious, and I think theatres cave to that a bit. Deep down, theatre is the opposite of social media. It is about people being in a room, exchanging opinions and emotions. I worry that social media is spoiling that a bit, which is a shame.”

What production made you fall in love with theatre?

I remember standing in the Yard at Shakespeare’s Globe in 2009 and watching Thea Sharrock’s production of As You Like It, and thinking: ‘Oh, wow, this is really funny and it actually works. When done simply and confidently, Shakespeare still speaks to us today.’ For my first job to be at the Globe a few years later was magical.

What are you finding inspiring at the moment?

I love watching Ivo [van Hove]’s company do stuff. There is something so wild about the acting in his shows. We get very bogged down with facts in this country, but Ivo understands the dream logic of plays. Some of the most moving things I’ve seen don’t completely make sense. I find that inspiring.

What do you wish you could change about the performing arts industry?

I wish theatre had more confidence. Right now, it feels unsure about how useful it is and about how taboo, complex and provocative it should be. I feel as though theatre has lost confidence in its societal function.

What is the worst thing that has happened to you on stage?

There was a scene in A Little Life in which James ran around naked for a bit, then I would bring him clothes. During one show, I couldn’t find his underpants, so I just brought him his trousers and he put them on. But I forgot that people pulled his trousers off again later and they were expecting him to be wearing underpants. James knew it was coming and I knew it was coming and we couldn’t look at each other for the rest of the play. I hope he doesn’t mind me telling that story. It was so funny.

What is the best thing that has happened to you on stage?

There are so many. That sounds naff but I don’t care. I love the challenge of going on stage night after night and trying to make something feel alive in front of an audience.

What role do you really want to play?

I would work with Ivo again at the drop of a hat. And there are loads and loads of roles I would love to play. I did a reading of a rewriting of The Seagull the other day. The role of Konstantin is really beautiful. I’d love to play that. I’d love to play Iago one day, too. Of course, I’d love to play Hamlet but it’s boring to say that.

What projects are you involved in at the moment?

I’m playing Berowne in Emily Burns’ production of Love’s Labour’s Lost with the Royal Shakespeare Company. She has set it on a Polynesian island owned by these big tech billionaires like Mark Zuckerberg or Elon Musk, of which I am one. It’s a really smart concept that unlocks a lot of very interesting stuff in the play. Season three of Bridgerton is coming out in May and June, too. And we will be filming season four soon after that. There’s a lot still to come.

#Luke Thompson #Bridgerton #Bridgerton cast #Love's Labour's Lost

[caramsels]

i see a lot of disagreement about whether cece (i've seen some people spell this as cici but idk which is right sorry) is implied to be six or raincoat girl from VLN, and i wanted to defend the six one a bit.

"the raincoat did not originally belong to six, so otto's recognition of it means that he might have known rcg or a previous owner of the raincoat"

this is a good point, but i think that the ties to six are more prominent with what we have so far. i find the specificity of the dialogue interesting too. upon noone mentioning that she saw a "yellow raincoat" on one of the mannequins, otto perks up at the mention of yellow, not a raincoat. this leaves more ambiguity, it's possible six just is a fan of yellow. maybe that's why she gravitates toward duck toys, maybe it factors into her wearing the raincoat initially, she is nine after all.

the ferryman

the role the ferryman plays makes me think that the audience is supposed to latch onto a connection to six. "the ferryman" is what the audience knows him as, because we have seen him interact with her. with otto claiming that he is " cece's ferryman,” it feels like a direct reference to the audience's knowledge of the character, which could easily be reflected in universe by our old protagonist.

clothes

this one is less solid and more like speculation, but we don’t really know if six “wakes up” in between nightmares like noone offscreen, or if she accepted the ferryman’s invitation and is permanently trapped in the nowhere. i lean heavily towards the second, hence why this section is just speculation on if the first one is true. we know that the nowhere isn’t just some dream lair, it’s it’s own world that the kids are physically taken to. based on noone describing herself wearing a dress in the first episode, it’s implied that LN kids get taken whatever they are wearing in their realm, the nowhere doesn’t give them a costume switch. if kids don’t get a new wardrobe upon entering the nowhere, who’s to say the new clothes they acquire in it wouldn’t also transfer over when they woke up? noone straight up disappearing in the night implies that the nowhere isn’t too interested in being discreet about kidnapping the kids and changing them either, so i can see this being a defense for the raincoat to be recognized by otto. i don’t actually believe this one much, but it’s fun to speculate.

time

this is actually a good point against the cece = six theory that i haven’t seen mentioned yet, but to me, one of the most chilling reveals in the final episode was that otto is the younger brother. The whole time I expected him to be older, but otto being younger than cece implies that she didn’t just go missing a long time ago, she went missing a LONG time ago. if the six we are used to seeing is still mentally and physically a nine year old, how do we connect her to cece’s age?

my answer would be that i think six is no longer a kid in the nowhere, i think that the podcast/LN3 and any future installments of LN are set after what we have seen so far. i’ve always thought that if a third game was ever made and six made an appearance, she’d be the sixth lady (in terms of power at least), not the version of her we know. six’s arc as a child has concluded by the end of LN1, she’s a part of the nowhere now. narratively, i don’t see a reason for her to be explored further at that stage of life. when noone is in the room with all the mannequins, she notes that they are past victims of the nowhere. and while the raincoat could represent rcg’s death in that context, i think it represents both. six also fell to the nowhere, the ending of LN1 is not happy.

promotional material for LN3 also mentions something “lurking in the shadows” and heavily features a mirror; both of which have been connected to the lady’s powers in the past. this isn’t to say that they 100% are meant to symbolize her, but i think the connection is worth noting when we talk about LN3’s placement in the timeline. i could talk longer about why i think any further appearances of six are likely to be older, but this isn’t about that so i’ll stop yapping.

conclusion

sorry if this is like incomprehensible, i’m used to screaming my LN tangents at my poor non LN fan friends in DMs and not posting them lol so forgive me for the weirdness. basically i’m still not entirely convinced thar six = cece, but i wanted to defend the theory from people writing it off completely. from the ferryman, the color yellow, the timeline, “six” and “cece” starting with similar sounds, “cecilia”, (which cece is a nickname for) meaning “sixth”, and the fact that the podcast has six episodes, i think the audience is at the very least encouraged to make the connection to six, whether or not it’s a red herring.

#little nightmares #little nightmares 3 #ln podcast #the sound of nightmares #six ln

[ooops-i-arted]

@ofcoming4th said: Until this episode I didn't fully understand your dislike of this character - after watching I wanted to kick her very hard for being such an ass and so little help.

After her appearance on BOBF where she actively chases Din away from seeing Grogu and giving him the mithril, oops I mean beskar shirt? I now hate the unfeeling idiot. I'm surprised Filoni had the shirt passed on to Grogu, I'd assume he'd have his dream girl make a bikini out of it.

Lmfao I just spit out my drink at the bikini comment. I'll give Filoni this, though - once George Lucas wasn't involved anymore, Ahsoka suddenly got appropriate clothing.

I USED TO just be indifferent. Tried TCW, hated the way they treated my beloved prequel characters, found her underdeveloped and annoying but hey, I'll just skip it like I did the Yuuzhan Vong books! I watched Rebels instead and loved it, great characters, new perspective of the universe, tighter character writing, disliked Ezra at first but 5 episodes in I would fistfight anyone on his behalf because he had his character developed. Except.... Ahsoka kept showing up. Okay whatever. But then the season 2 finale. Rebels is an ensemble show of 6 characters. Only 3 were in the finale and those were SHOVED ASIDE SO AHSOKA COULD CONFRONT VADER AS A RESOLUTION TO TCW, ANOTHER SHOW. Which is still stupid because it's just a rehash, we KNOW Vader has issues with connections because of Obi-Wan and Padme, the real prequel trio already showed that. But by now you wouldn't know it because Ahsoka has fucking replaced Padme (even though no one in their right mind would've given Anakin an apprentice to begin with, the whole premise is contrived!). And even though one of the main characters of the show is blinded and the other blames himself, we get almost zero descending action involving them. But we have time for a long, sad shot of Rex mourning The Best Jedi Padawan Commander Who Left The Order But Also Still Totally A Jedi Somehow. I was so incandescent with rage I STILL haven't finished Rebels season 3 and 4. (And now we're only getting those characters again in her upcoming show.) (Did I mention she implied-died-maybe in the season 2 finale but was brought back with contrived time travel in a later season? And the finale of Rebels had her in white dressed up like Gandalf? Stay the FUCK away from Gandalf, you orange hobgoblin.)

She's there because she's Filoni's pet and that's it. Especially in BoBF when the conversation SHOULD HAVE been between Grogu's actual teacher, Luke, and Din. Because "are you doing this for you or for him?" could be a poignant character moment but all we got was Ahsoka dismissing a much better character with her smug-ass face instead of any actual reflection on Din's part.

(I'm also fucking salty because I wrote a Super Special Awesome Jedi Apprentice when I was 11. She was The Best At Everything and had Special Visions Of The Future and got Multiple Lightsaber Colors Because She Was That Cool and Obi-Wan (my favorite character) thought she was The Best Ever and His Favorite Person but.... I was 11. Filoni is getting bucketloads of money and his ass kissed for the same level of writing I had at 11. Except MY CHARACTER died in Order 66, and actually adhered to the Jedi Code instead of Ahsoka's Have It Both Ways schtick. Also she was apprenticed to Obi-Wan, since apparently Filoni missed Anakin graduating to Actual Child Murderer in AotC and that Anakin is not teacher material in general.)

This was therapeutic thank you for giving me a chance to bitch lol.

#this is an ahsoka hate blog #anti ahsoka #anti ahsoka tano #replies #ofcoming4th

[w1nters-child]

You’re my path | Part 1

„He’s just a kid“.

summary: Doctor Strange sends the alternate Peter Parkers back home, but something goes wrong. Now one of them gets the chance to do everything right in this universe.

pairings: Andrew!Peter Parker x Gwen Stacy

warnings: none (at least in this chapter)

Peter didn't know what felt stranger. To dissolve or to materialize again in another place.

Even though it felt more like waking up from a very strange and very real dream, he was sure that he could still see his fingers manifesting before his eyes at the very last moment. He blinked a few times, raised his hands and lingered like this for a moment as if he was waiting to see if he would disappear again. But nothing happened.

Tired and totally exhausted, he took a deep breath after lowering his arms again, but had to stop haltingly on the exhale and hold his right side.

He didn't know if it was burns from electric shocks, a broken rib or a huge bruise that was causing this pain inside him but he wasn't really eager to find out. Max had caught him off guard, every muscle in his body was under tension and twitching slightly now and then but by tomorrow it would have passed - just like every time.

Sighing, and with aching shoulders, he decided to make his way home. He couldn't wait to get rid of the suit, take a hot shower, and then just fall into bed.

Peter looked around a bit perplexed at first though, no sign of his backpack with his real clothes and the rest of his stuff.

"Oh great," he sighed.

When he was taken to another universe from one moment to the next, he had actually been on his way home too, and when he understood what was going on he had fastened his backpack with a net to the wall in the same backstreet where he was now. Wasn't it sent back again with him?

"What a great wizard," the brunette muttered mockingly, "What should I wear now?".

Apart from the clothes, his apartment key, his new camera and also his cell phone had also been inside, which he mourned even more.

It was noon, judging from the position of the sun, and thus the possibility of getting into his room through the window was gone, since Aunt May would hear him one hundred percent. And in his Spider-Man suit he could hardly get through the front door.

Peter had to realize that he had no choice but to make a hasty effort to get something together. After a moment's thought, however, he decided to remain as unobserved as possible, because he feared that Spider-Man would then appear as a thief in the upcoming news. After all that he had experienced, he was quite happy if Spider-Man would not be seen in the media at all. The false accusations had finally ruined his other self's life.

Groaning, Peter clung to the stone wall of the house and slowly crawled up it to the roof to get a better view.

Peter had always thought that New York was a beautiful city, even if it held many dangers. It was somehow comforting to know that it was protected in other universes as well. Even though the thought of other universes that were exactly the same as his own, but also somehow not, made Peter's head hurt even more than it already did.

With a sick feeling he thought of how all this had occurred.

All of a sudden it felt as if the floor had been pulled out from under Peter's feet, his vision went black and when he regained consciousness he found himself propped up on the floor on his knees and hands.

Had he had a fit of dizziness or something similar? Nothing like that had happened to him in years, not since the spider bite. But still he sat there, and it actually took him a moment to sit up again. Gasping, he pressed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger.

Something was wrong. He could almost hear the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and a bloodcurdling shudder slowly crept down the length of his spine. His inner instinct was practically screaming at him to get into a defensive posture, which he did for a few seconds. But there was no one behind him, nor was there anything lurking above him that could attack him.

Nevertheless, his spider-sense did not let up warning him of an impending danger. Although everything in him resisted, he relaxed his body and carefully walked out of the small alley. At first glance, everything seemed normal. Hundreds of people and cars moved through the busy New York, but nothing that could make him go on alert. Nervously, Peter looked around and moved with the flow of people. Finally, he spotted a small group standing excitedly in front of a newspaper booth, talking animatedly.

As he approached them and saw what the topic of their discussion was, he knew why the Spider-Sense had struck. The front page of every single newspaper, regardless of the publisher, was covered with the same image. The face of a stranger, with his own name underneath. It was impossible for him to fix his eyes on complete sentences, but he perceived words like "Public Enemy #1", "Murderer" and "Spider-Man."

"Excuse me?" he asked, perhaps a little too loudly to one of the men, "What's going on here?".

Peter was collectively stared at in disbelief and he winced slightly.

"What's going on here? Are you living behind the moon? Spider-Man murdered Mysterio!".

"Murdered.. Mysterio?".

Peter pushed his eyebrows together and wrestled with himself to finally take a closer look at the papers.

'Friendly neighborhood Spider-Man a murderer?'

'Spider-Man's identity unmasked!'

'Spider-Man: hero or villain?'

"I can't believe this! He's just a kid," replied one woman with tears in her eyes.

"My niece is going to school with this Peter Parker! Can you imagine? He's just running around here freely!"

How could that be Peter Parker? That was a completely different person in that picture. The brunette suddenly had the feeling that he was going to throw up at any moment. No matter how smart he was, he didn't understand what was going on and somehow it all seemed like some kind of bad joke or terrible nightmare.

"How could you not have seen this? It's everywhere, even at the Times Square", said the man again, who had answered him first.

"Oh, yeah?" replied Peter huskily, the very thought of it filling him with even more fear.

He decided to leave the group alone again with their conversation and to run away before he would really vomit on their feet and returned as fast as he could to the back street from which he had come. He didn't really care what they thought of him.

Arriving at safety, the brunette dropped his backpack on the ground beside him and almost instantly collapsed beside it. His hands were shaking terribly and he tried not to completely lose it with deep inhales and exhales. Panting, he clenched his fingers into fists, hoping to stop the convulsive shaking, which didn't really work. Even if this boy wasn't Peter Parker - which he couldn't be, since he was him himself - his secret identity was now released to every single person on Earth.

Peter didn't know how long he sat there on the floor, but he didn't care. He didn't know what to do with himself or what to do now.

After what felt like an eternity, he managed to sit up halfway and was now thinking about how to proceed. He needed more information and thought, if the whole thing had made such a big stir, then surely also on the Internet. With quick movements, Peter had fished his phone out of his jacket pocket and opened the very next social media app. He was right, there were pictures and videos of Spider-Man everywhere. But that wasn't him. Not only the person himself, but the suit looked completely different. And yet he could swing through the air the same way. Could there really be another Spider-Man? But why was his name Peter Parker?

He scrolled until he saw a video of a giant green monster rampaging through a shopping mall.

"Dr. Connors?".

If Peter was honest with himself, he wanted to get rid of these memories as soon as possible. This whole story was terribly tiring in so many ways.

It wasn't long before he spotted a line in a small niche with clothes hanging out. Of course he felt bad stealing from unsuspecting citizens, but he had no other choice. Slower than usual he moved there. With a sigh he realized that he was too stiff and exhausted to swing his whole body.

With skilful movements, he shot a net to a sweater and a pair of pants. There were no shoes, unfortunately, but that would have to be enough. He could hardly be picky here.

The clothes were way too wide for him, even though he was very tall himself, but even that didn't really bother him. He pulled them over the suit and stuffed the matching mask into the pockets of the hoodie. Carefully, he lowered himself down to the street with a net and finally started walking.

Inwardly he was already making up an excuse about where he had been for so long and why he needed a new backpack. But- had much time passed while he was away? He had been in another universe for two days, had it felt as long outside? Or just a few hours? A few minutes? Seconds? His head was buzzing from all the questions and it was also getting harder and harder for him to keep his eyes open. Somehow he had to think of the other Peters. He wondered if they were also as tired from all the events as he was. Peter 2 had suffered a stab wound and Peter 1... He didn't even want to think about it. Alone in a universe where no one can remember you? No family, no friends, no... MJ.

Peter swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment to get rid of those thoughts. This was Spider-Man's fate, he guessed. To be alone. But somehow he was also proud that his other self had made the right decision and put the greater good before his own interests.

With every step he took, his legs felt heavier and weaker and he wondered when was the last time he was so exhausted after a fight. It wasn't far to the apartment he called home with Aunt May, but with his aching feet, the walk was twice as long.

Suddenly he stopped. Had there always been a burger restaurant on this street corner? He looked urgently at the lettering above the large window, but then shrugged his shoulders; maybe it had just opened recently.

Actually, he didn't care either, he just wanted to get home. His mood improved increasingly when he could see the familiar house and, despite the pain, his pace became faster and faster. Peter made three crosses internally when he finally stood on the porch and pressed the doorbell labeled "Parker". He was already bracing himself for a telling off from May, he knew how beat up he must look and in combination with the stolen clothes and his relieving posture, this conversation was pretty much preprogrammed.

When he heard the key turn in the lock, Peter breathed a sigh of relief.

"May, I'm really sorry that I'm coming home that late, I -".

But it wasn't May standing in the door frame.

"Peter?"

"Uncle Ben".

Next chapter

#spiderman #the amazing spider man #spider man #andrew!peter parker #peter parker #gwen stacy #andrew garfield #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman no way home #fanfic

[asukamood]

The last straw

Warnings: Self-harm and heavily implied suicide

I do not encourage self-harm. This is written in Dream’s perspective and he is really messed up mentally at the moment.

Dreamtale belongs to jokublog.

***

Dream sat on the couch with a blade in his hands, eyes glassy and dulled by indescribable emotions.

They don’t understand.

“Why are you so afraid of saying no? You’ve got the right to deny someone something if you’re uncomfortable with it, you know?”

They don’t understand it.

“Dream! Why are you crying? I thought you could only feel positivity?”

They don’t understand at all.

“Dream, come on, don’t be sad! You were given the golden apple, be happy about it!”

They don’t understand me.

“Dream, why do you look so sad? Shouldn’t be happy that they all love you? There are some people in the world without anybody you know.”

THEY DON’T UNDERSTAND ME AT ALL!

He let out a frustrated cry, pressing the blade to his gloveless hands without warning. These memories, these thoughts, they all vanished the moment the knife cut into his skin, leaving a red mark behind as little trails of blood began dripping down his arm to finally crash into the ground, blood splashing slowly littering the carpet less ground. Dream knew better than to do that type of thing above these items.

The guardian watched as the crimson drops raced each other to the bottom in silence, eyes empty of any feeling. Seeing them rolling down his arms like that, it reminded him heavily of teardrops, the thing he wasn’t allowed to show to anyone.

He largely preferred to watch those red marks appear to get rid of these thoughts than to just cry it all out, it was easier to hide. One might argue that it was in fact the opposite, blood is way harder to wash than teardrops and the material needed to do that could also be discovered hence enhancing the probability of someone finding out.

But unlike tears, you could actually choose wisely where you can make these marks. You could cut into discrete areas that no one is supposed to look at such as thighs, it would be easy to hide since most clothes covered them.

Dream did that in the beginning, fearing that his friends Ink and Blue would find out about what he was doing to himself. After all, he hid things from everyone and his two best friends were no exception to the rule.

But now? Now that his friendship with Ink ended and Blue had to stay in his universe for a while? He just didn’t care anymore and just wanted to see his own blood stain the ground.

He knew what he was doing was bad, that he should get help for that, that he should stop but he couldn’t do it. If he didn’t grab his blade and swing it at his wrists, something felt wrong.

That feeling would add onto all the others and overwhelm him, he didn’t want to cry again so he would always find an excuse to go and do that in the dark, while no one was watching.

Truth was, he didn’t want to stop.

He liked doing this, seeing cuts lapping over other cuts, feeling blood dripping down his arm, feeling his life force slowly oozing out of his body, it felt… relieving.

Like an agonizing animal finally getting the last blow that would put them to rest, yes that was the same feeling but on a smaller scale. He loved it, he adored it, it made him feel alive when nothing else could.

He was probably going insane, he wasn’t supposed to do this, he wasn’t supposed to like it but he does and frankly, he didn’t give the slightest fuck anymore. If someone found out, he dared them to try and stop him, he would just have to slit his throat open, it could be so easy!

It is easy.

Why doesn’t he just do it?

Did he even have anything to live for anymore?

His brother left and betrayed him, chastising him for simply holding onto the last thing that was holding the balance between negativity and positivity together. How cruel was that? He already broke him mentally, throwing his mental stability into the deepest pit of hell and dragging the only two people he cared about in his younger years with it, but now he wanted to see him break physically?

Well jokes on him, he didn’t need him to break apart, he could very well do that himself.

The thought sent his soul alight, he loved the idea! A half but genuine smile made its way on his lips. He knew exactly what to do next.

He got up from the couch and put the knife on the table in front of it, still covered with blood. He hurried in his bedroom and basically threw himself at a particular drawer and took a mess of letters attached together.

It was a suicide letter, one that explained why he’s about to do what he’s planning to do, his story and other messages for various people. He had written this a year ago, more as a means to vent than anything, but today, it was coming in handy.

He went through the notes quickly to make sure every page was here before leaving and going back to the living room again.

Finally free.

[echoofadream]

He doesn't deserve you

Note: I've been into this whole "yandere reader" stuff for a while and I thought I'd give it a try. Too little media when it comes to this🥲

This is my first work on here so if you could tell me what you think I'd appreciate it a lot! I hope you like it! (constructive criticism pls). Also, English is not my first language and there might be mistakes!

Cont: obsessive behavior(reader), obsessive thoughts(reader), gender not specified for the reader but the "love" interest is female, slight nsfw, mentions of murder.

You've been watching your best friend's marriage fall apart for a while now.

The two of you had been incredibly close since the beginning of highschool and inseparable throughout the years. After graduation you found a nice apartment near the university you were both attending, so you decided to split the rent and start living together. Everything was going smoothly until your best friend's current husband appeared in her life.

He was a handsome man, that was undeniable, but you've hated him since the first time you heard your friend laughing while on call with someone you surprisingly didn't know. He was an older man, rich, charismatic, emotionally stable and he had an appealing physique on top of everything. He was the whole package, every woman's dream, or so your friend said before first introducing you to him.

But you knew all about him already. You knew all about his unproblematic family, all about his reliable friends, all about his healthy lifestyle. And that was enough to drive you mad. This man was perfect and you hated it. You sort of blamed yourself since the two of them had apparently met at the gym. If only you stopped your friend from going to the gym that day, if only you used more convincing(manipulative) words, if only you told her "your body is perfect" one more time then maybe none of this would be happening. She was so fucking stubborn all the time but that only added more charm to her whole demeanor. She never listened. Couldn't she see that you had her best interest at heart?

After a couple of dates the two of them officially became a couple. She spent less and less time at your shared apartment and sometimes she would stay the night at that man's place. You knew why. You knew why and you hated it. Those nights were the toughest for you. You often found yourself laying awake on the bed at 2 am imagining all the things your friend and her boyfriend were doing those very moments. How he was touching her, feeling her up through the fabric of her clothes before gently removing them. How that short skirt she was wearing when she left was getting pulled down to her ankles, revealing parts of her body you never saw nor touched. How her thighs were getting spread apart by his hands as she was squirming under his touch. You've always had a vivid imagination. You didn't know wether it was a blessing or a curse right now but you didn't even care. It wasn't the first time you thought about her with your hand inside your pants and it surely wasn't the last either.

The relationship between your best friend and her boyfriend evolved into something stronger, a thicker bond between the two of them. Before you realized, you were sitting in the front row at their wedding. Everyone was happy to be there, happy for the couple that was saying vows in front of their very eyes. Yet yours were filled with disgust and hatred and wrath. And unfathomable envy.

You found yourself living alone in the apartment you used to share with your friend. She was married and you couldn't do anything about it. Her husband was rich so of course she dropped out of college as soon as she married him. He could support her in every way, just like she always wanted, just like the daydreams she used to tell you when both of you were in highschool. It was sickening. You felt like a horrible person for thinking this way but who could blame you? It was true that you couldn't give her all the material things he did but you knew for a fact that no one in this world loved her more than you. And after all, wasn't a loving partner the thing she's wanted all her life? His money couldn't compare to the love you could give her.

She distanced herself from you, now that she was married, yet the two of you always met at your apartment on Friday nights to catch up. Every time she came over you would ask her about her marriage and you couldn't believe that that man was truly as perfect as she described him. You knew about him as much as could be known. He had a high position in a company which dealt with software engineering, he knew how to manage his money and time, he loved classical music and reading, he was a dog person blah blah blah. Who cares about that? You were looking for flaws after all. But you weren't getting any from your friend. Maybe you did but you were more concentrated on the way her lips were moving as she was speaking to you, the way her fingers wrapped around the glass of wine you'd always serve her with, the way her laugh made your entire being relax, the way her gaze lingered on your body after her second glass, but it couldn't be, could it? You were just seeing things.

"He came home late last night" said your friend one Friday night. You struggled to contain your smirk, your friend was pouring her heart out right in front of you after all. But all you could think about was your desire for their marriage's doom.

You comforted her that night, let her cry on your shoulder. You did it the next Friday too, and two weeks later she spent the night. "He always says he's got work to do but he never stayed overtime before our marriage" she confides in you. "I feel like he's hiding something". Of course he was. You cover your mouth with your hand, trying your best not to let her see your grin.

"What do you think is the reason, darling?" you ask her, trying your best to sound both intrigued and mad on her behalf at the same time. She takes another sip from her glass and looks away. Before she answers, you could see her lower lip trembling slightly.

"I think he's cheating on me". It took everything she had in her to say those words. She loved that man, that man who had the audacity to cheat on her. How could he? This just proves your point, doesn't it? He wasn't a perfect man, he wasn't good for her, he cheated on her a couple of months after their marriage, he wasn't good, he was-

"I'm so sorry to hear that, my dear" you say. "He doesn't deserve you" you add in a soft voice meant to soothe her. Yet she cries even louder.

"What's wrong with me?" she asks. That question made your blood boil. What was wrong with her? Did she seriously ask that? Nothing was wrong with her. She was perfect. You couldn't find a flaw even if you wanted to. Her body, her eyes, her voice, the way she walked and carried herself, her stubbornness, her attitude, her kind and compassionate personality, her love for every being with a heart, her empathy, her, her, her.

"Did he say that?" you ask and she flinches. She fucking flinches. You only raised your voice slightly, why did she flinch? "Did he say something was wrong with you?"

She looks at you with wide eyes as she wipes some of the tears running down her cheeks. "No...he didn't" she answers.

Why were you even asking that when you knew the answer already? It was pointless anyway. You got up from the couch and walked over to her. You crouched in front of her chair. Why did she always insist on sitting across from you and not next to you? Did that fucker tell her to do that?

"There's nothing wrong with you, darling" you tell her. She never returned any of the pet names you gave her, but that didn't stop you from using them. She'll return them one day. She will. She will. She-

"Then why do I feel like he's cheating? Why does he always come back late at night and say that he had to work overtime again? I know he's lying! He must be!"

Because he's a smart man. Because he took my threats seriously. Because he loves you.

"Because he's an unappreciative piece of shit who can't tell when the best woman he could ever lay hands on is right beside him" you tell her with a smile of pure adoration on your lips. She doesn't answer. Instead she takes the bottle of wine and pours herself another glass.

"Because you're not his by fate and this is proof. He's not the man you need. You need a person who can see your worth, who worships the ground you walk on". She doesn't seem to listen to your words but you've known her long enough to know that she's actually paying attention to you. You smile at her again and you raise your hand to brush a stray lock of hers behind her ear.

"Even if he's not actually cheating, he still has no excuse for making you worried sick with his late night businesses. That's not what someone who loves you does and you know it."

She can only nod at your words as she puts the empty glass back on the table and reaches for the bottle again. Your hand stops hers midway. You see her body relax when she feels your touch and she lets you take her hand in yours. You always tried to show her as much affection as you could without letting your true feelings be seen. But tonight was different.

"You know what a person who loves you actually does?" you ask, raising your voice a little. She doesn't flinch this time. You lift her hand to your mouth and slowly press a kiss on top of it. She doesn't stop you. You knew she wouldn't. You look up at her with a proud grin on your face and notice that she was looking away, flushed cheeks and all that. So fucking adorable.

"Do you want me to show you?" you ask. You don't get an answer this time either, so you decide to stand up in front of her and carefully grab her chin, forcing her to look at you. Maybe your ears deceived you but you could swear you heard her let out a small whimper. That only made you chuckle at her reaction. She was always getting shy so easily.

"Shall I show you?" you repeat your question, stroking her chin with your thumb. The eyes she gave you were making everything so fucking difficult. But you wouldn't dream of doing anything she wouldn't like. Except, of course, for threatening her husband with his wife's death(a thing you'd never do but he doesn't need to know the details) if he didn't start treating her badly and, eventually, leave her. That memory makes you chuckle again, but the sound makes her think you're teasing her. And she likes it. If the way she was squirming under your touch wasn't proof enough, the way she started rubbing her thighs together definitely convinced you.

"Yes"

#fiction #x reader #reader insert #yandere #yandere reader #femalecharacters #obsessive love #obsessive thoughts #obsessive behavior #smut #wlw #female reader #male reader #nonbinary reader #fanfiction #oneshot

[hurricanehcarts]

{  jessica parker kennedy | thirty-eight | cis woman ﹜  welcome to san francisco, antonette “toni” williams! just to make sure, you go by she/her, right? okay, great. i just have a few questions for you before i can let you go..  how long have you been here for? thirteen years. where are you currently living? pacific heights. what’s your current occupation? hair stylist at barrow salon but what’s your dream occupation? special effects makeup artist. wow! interesting. is there a secret that we can keep between you and i? [secret redacted due to potentially triggering material, it can be found under the readmore]. lastly, this is a bit of a random question but … what’s your favorite song? save my soul by jojo  & that’s all they wrote, friend! we can’t wait to see you around the golden city!

Potentially triggering material ahead: alcoholism tw, infidelity tw

The Basics:

Full name: Antonette Lori Williams

Nickname(s): Toni - preferred name

Hometown: Savannah, Georgia

Age: 38

Gender & pronouns: cis female & she/her

Sexual orientation: bisexual

Occupation: hairstylist

Secret:  she was a recovering alcoholic, sober for three years but recently fell off the wagon

 Appearance:

Faceclaim: Jessica Parker Kennedy

Height: 5’1”

Hair color: brown

Eye color: hazel

Build: fit, curvy

Tattoos: a long red rose and stem tattooed along her spine

Piercings: ears, right nostril

Scars: a small burn scar on her left wrist from a kitchen accident as a child

Personality:

Positive traits: debonair, compassionate, creative, loyal, witty

Negative traits: reticent, untrustworthy, dogmatic, boastful, jaded

Background:

You’d never know it by just looking at her, but Toni Williams was once a tried and true southern belle. Born in the heart of Savannah, Georgia, her father was a politician and her mother was a journalism professor at a local university. She had the best that money could provide - she went to a private school, wore designer clothes. For heaven’s sake, her first car was a BMW. She literally had it all. 

Behind closed doors, however, there were darker things brewing. Despite his high profile personality, her father was an alcoholic - a heavy one at that. There was never a day the man didn’t drink, and as far as she knew, there was never a time she saw him sober. Her mother, though she wasn’t a drinker herself, didn’t really care. She didn’t mention his drinking, he didn’t mention her extramarital affairs. To the outside world, the Williams were perfect - on the inside, they were crumbling.

To Toni, all of this was unfortunately normal and completely warped her sense of how relationships and families in general should be run. She never thought twice about everything her family did, and why would she? The family name got her into every prestigious university she could have dreamed of - aside from the fact that she didn’t want to go to any of them. Toni didn’t want to be a doctor, lawyer, teacher, or anything of the sort. Her entire youth was spent being a ‘pretty princess’, as she would say, and she wanted to make others feel the same way. So, she packed up and moved to Texas while she completed beauty school at the Ogle School.

After completion, she had hoped she could obtain some high profile clients also using her parents’ name, but it didn’t quite pan out that way. What did happen, however, was she met someone she fell madly in love with at the age of 23. They were inseparable, and within a few years, were engaged to be married. When the news came that they were offered a promotion across the country, Toni never once questioned moving with them. And so with her heart on her sleeve and her dreams full, she packed up and moved to San Francisco at 26 years old, leaving everything behind. 

The first few months were absolute bliss, but the longer they lived there the more things seemed off. Her partner would have longer nights than usual, strange phone calls in the middle of the night - and some odd business trips they never had before. It took an entire eighteen months from the time they had moved to San Francisco for her partner to leave her - for another person, nevertheless. To say that Toni was devastated would have been an understatement. They were her entire world, the person she left everything behind for and now they were gone.

Although her ex-partner was gracious enough to let Toni keep the apartment and furniture, she felt as though she was starting over. And that’s when she found herself at the bottom of a bottle. While drinking was always around her as a child, she never thought she’d pick up a bottle herself - until it was too late.

She wasn’t sure exactly how many months had passed from the time she started until the time she realized she had a problem, but it didn’t matter. It was too late. At just 28 years old, she had finally become just like one of her parents; a full blown alcoholic like her father. 

Toni continued to live at the bottom of that bottle until her health and business started to fall apart. She had lost almost all of her clients from being unreliable, rude, or just smelling of alcohol. She felt sick constantly, but if she stopped drinking the shakes started. No matter where she turned, her life was falling apart. It took a few interventions before she finally admitted she needed help, but she eventually got it.

She was thirty five years old before she was completely sober, but god did it feel good. She got a new position as a stylist at Barrow Salon, she was making amends with her friends, and her health was recovering. And for three glorious years, she continued to do just that.

Until she started meeting with ‘the wrong crowd’. At 38, she wasn’t getting any younger. Her chance at marriage and children was likely dwindling, as was her youth, and so she found herself wanting to recapture it, in a way. However, the younger people she was spending time with were also drinking. Soon, she had lost her way. The drinks feel stronger than they did before, and it takes less to get her inebriated, but that doesn’t take away from her shame. She worked so hard to get sober, to get her life back. What happens if her friends discover what has happened?

Possible Connections:

Ex-Partner/Fiance(e) - This person was once Toni’s entire world, until suddenly, they were gone. While it has been ten years since the two of them split up, she still harbors a bit of animosity towards them. In her eyes, they took everything from her, including her caring and generous heart. While she was taught to forgive and ask forgiveness in AA - she’s not quite sure she ever can. (will also be submitted as a wanted connection)

Best Friend(s) - Toni lost a lot of good friends during her battle with alcoholism, but these are the few that never left her, and some new ones that have joined her life along the way. These are the people that keep her going day to day, but also the people she’s most worried about hurting if her secret ever got out. (x/3)

Bad influence - While they probably didn’t know what was happening at the time, this is someone Toni desperately wanted to impress and party with - hence her all but jumping off the wagon. They’re not a bad person, nor does Toni think they are, but they might not be the best thing for her. 

& more to come soon!!

#goldencity : intro #toni: intro #alcoholism tw #infidelity tw

[jupitermelichios]

So I’ve been playing a lot of skyrim lately, because it’s video game comfort food, and I decided it was time for my Redguard Dovahkiin to settle down. (Actually I specifically just wanted to be able to adopt some of the random orphans you meet because I felt guilty about them, but you need to be married before you can do that so that there’s someone at home to take care of the kids while you’re off galivanting).

So I travelled around a bit, chatting up likely looking npcs until I found one I both liked and didn’t feel guilty about marrying (I feel bad if I marry one of the warrior adventurer types, making them be a stay at home mum) and settled on an obnoxiously cheerful argonian called Shavee because her life was frankly shit, and I thought she’d probably be good with kids.

So off I go to Riften to the Temple of Mara to arrange the wedding. I book it in for the next day, realise I didn’t bring anything nice to wear, and spend the night before the wedding robbing every house in the city in the search for something to wear. Eventually decide everyone in Riften has terrible fashion sense and break down everything I stole into raw materials and use them to craft myself an outfit and some jewellery that i’m pretty happy with. I even carefully pick out my fanciest looking sword to wear.

(don’t know why I bothered, frankly, shavee turned up wearing a shirt covered in suspicious stains and weilding a pickaxe, it’s like she doesn’t even care about this marriage)

(also for comedy purposes, bear in mind I play with survival mods that mean my character needs to eat and sleep to live, and I literally spent the entire ingame night on this and forgot to eat and drink anything either and then just downed four bowls of wolf stew right before entering the temple so I didn’t starve during the ceremony. also I discovered during the wedding that I am dying of rockjoint, which I contracted from sleeping in a pile of hay on the floor of a skeever infested cave, so even being six foot tall and jacked can’t make up for the fact that I am exhausted, running a fever, and probably covered in wolf which I spilled because my joints are slowly atrophying, and even the fanciest clothes in the world aren’t going to cover that up)

so I enter the temple, and my finance is there, and Lydia my housecarl, and some random NPCs the game thinks are my friends because I did fetch quests for them

One of the random NPCs is Lisbet. Atfter I did her fetch quest, I then did another quest in which I discovered Lisbet is secretly a cannibal and part of a demonic cult that worships the daedric prince of decay by kidnapping priests, sacrificing them, and then eating their corpses. Raw. I think the raw meat is the sticking point for me here honestly.

I ultimately decided not to sacrifice the random priest to a daedric prince in exchange for one magic ring and all the raw human I could eat, because frankly, that doesn’t sound like much of a deal to me. I was expecting there to be some kind of dialogue choice where I could nope out at the last minute, but it turns out there isn’t one, so after they drugged the priest and tied him to the altar, I just got out my sword and started swinging.

I killed most of the cult (including the town butcher, because I had brought meat from him before and was extremely pissed off that he might have been secretly feeding me humans) but a couple of them got away, which I figured was fine because they weren’t trying to kill me.

Except it turns out, if any of them escape, then every time you see them in the future there’s a random chance that they’ll fly into a violent rage and try and murder you.

Lisbet is at my wedding. Lisbet decides that clearly me marrying this random argonian woman with two lines of dialogue is the happiest day of my life, and she cannot allow me that happiness, when I’ve taken so much from her.

So she tries to kill me. Only she can’t, because I’m stuck in a pre-rendered wedding animation, and also she’s sitting next to Lydia, my faithful retainer and owner of a really big axe.

It also turns out that Lisbet is essential, meaning she can be knocked unconcious but not actually killed because she’s needed for some quest or other. And the minute she wakes up from unconciousness, she tries to kill me again, so Lydia knocks her unconcious again, and I’m stuck, I can’t move, because I’m supposed to be in the wedding animation.

Except Shavee has, not unreasonably, see all this and decided that she doesn’t like me enough to risk getting murdered, and has done a runner, leaving me at the altar, but more importantly, leaving me trapped in a broken pre-rendered animation, so all I can do is stand there at the altar, staring at the space where my fiance was supposed to be, listening to the sounds of Lydia trying and failing to beat a cannibal to death behind me.

Okay, I think, clearly this wedding isn’t going to happen, I’m going to go for the registry office option and complete the wedding using the dev commands. I do this. The priest gives me a wedding ring, and I can finally move again. I chase after Shavee, who has an impressive turn of speed on her, and eventually catch up right by the city gates. I try to talk to her.

Apparently using the console has completed the wedding for me, but not for her, because she still only has the same 2 lines of dialogue she usually has.

Clearly this is working, I can’t leave my kids with someone who can only say 2 things and doesn’t even know she’s their mum, that’s irresponsible.

I try loading from inside the temple. I get the same problem.

Eventually I figure out that I need to use the dev controls to disable Lisbet’s entire existence in the universe.

Shavee and me get married. As the priest reads the vows, I stare at Shavee and wonder why she couldn’t even be bothered to put on a clean shirt. I wonder what kind of mother she’ll be.

Once the ceremony is over, and I’m happily married to the dirty green lizard of my dreams, and we’ve agreed that until I can make her recognise my extremely nice modded house exists I will share her single bed in the unheated flophouse in Windhelm she calls home, I re-enable Lisbet, because I’m worried I’ll forget if I leave it too long.

Fun fact about skyrim, it loads in quite a lot of npcs and objects by dropping them from the sky. I have no idea why this is the case, but it’s objectively the funniest way to load in objects.

I re-enable Lisbet. She falls from the sky, clips through the roof of the temple, and lands in the pew beside Lydia, stands up, draws a knife, and is immedately beaten unconcious.

I no longer care, because Shavee now has all the exciting new spouse-only romantic dialogue options like “Could you cook something for me” and “have you made any money lately”, and I know she’ll be a great mother.

I limp to the door of the temple, while around me the guests not involved in the Lydia-Lisbet murder cycle scream and duck for cover.

I open the door to the temple, immediately collapse and ragdoll down the steps, which is how I discover I am dying of rockjoint.

I limp to the orphanage down the street, adopt two kids, and then finally remember that I’m carrying garlic bread, which as we all know, cures all known illnesses.

When I emerge back into the street, full of the joys of motherhood and garlic bread, I find the town in disaray. Lydia is chasing Lisbet through the streets with an axe and a dragon is circling overhead, burning npcs to death. People are running for shelter, screaming, while the guards try to take down an entire dragon using only the worst bows and arrows in the game.

I decide that as a parent, I have to think of my own safety first and leave them to it.

I head out of the city, intent on returning home and figuring out why Shavee refuses to move in with me. A man hanging around the stables challenges me to a boxing match. For want of anything better to do, I agree.

Halfway through the fight he dodges at the wrong moment and I punch one of his horses in the head.

Two guards attack me while I desperately try to surrender. My kids will miss me, but I’m prepared to go to jail for my horse crimes, I’m an honest citizen. Also my horse crimes seem somewhat less important than the dragon.

The guards refuse to accept my surrender. I am stabbed to death. As I collapse in front of the indifferent horse, Lisbet exits the city, followed by Lydia. The last thing I see before I die is Lydia swinging her axe at Lisbet’s face.

#skyrim #spoilers #technically #although this game is a decade old and we all own at least two versions of it at this point #so i'm not sure it counts #long post