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#source: my family (vaguely though)
greenapplebling · 2 years
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*through the family group chat*
Bruce: If anyone needs me I'm at the park with my babies
Dick: ok! Is Tim having fun?
Tim: he said "babies" and you immediately assume that includes me??
Dick: so? Are you??
Tim:... Yeah, ig
Tim: Wished Damian would stop asking to go on the heart attack ride tho if I have to get on that thing a 15th time I'm gonna throw up
Damian: Put on your big brother pants, Drake
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kurogxrix · 10 months
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Enjoy the Silence
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Dad!Neteyam x Mom!reader
IN WHICH Neteyam realizes that he’s ruining the relationship between you two by putting his duties first, making your little family fall apart in the process.
Warnings: ANGST, arguing, neteyam is a lil dumb, eventual fluff.
A/N: IM BAAAAACK with a little shitty filler story for yall 🤭
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Yours and Neteyam’s relationship had not always been this messy, filled with unresolved arguments and crying toddlers to tend to in the midst of the night. Matter of fact you both had been somewhat of a popular pair amongst the Omaticaya while Jake still ruled the clan, and it wasn’t like that had changed much throughout the years.
Two young, star-crossed lovers bound to fall for each other, bonded for life under the eyes of the All-Mother. There had been little complications in your relationship as you both grew with each other, accepted by both parents and blessed by Eywa herself. You complimented each like you both had been moulded in the sole purposes of completing one another, while you brought some gaiety into Neteyam’s life, he was always there to ground and guide you. 
Amidst the instances that life had brought you to, the Great-Mother had been nice enough to bless you both with a new life, a son that had soon been accompanied by his very own sister. Though as Neteyam’s duties began to catch up on his poor soul, his duties as a father and mate have ignorantly been left in the dust. 
Your heart ached at the many nights that you had spent alone at night, tending to your two young children while your husband was outside, treating some unrelated matter. Though you knew that being affiliated with the Olo’eyktan’s son would surely mean a future with many obstacles and unforeseen trouble, nothing could’ve prepared you for the rocky stages in your relationship that you were currently facing. 
Now as you left as quickly as you arrived, a bowl full of threading needles and feathers in your arms that you had deposited to your mate, Jake could already tell that something was wrong. The tense silence that lingered around you both was suffocating, and low for any pair that shared a bond. Plus it was not like Jake was a stranger to you, he knew you and your talkative mouth, so this was truly odd. 
“Your woman cannot even look at you in the face.” Neteyam’s ears flicker towards the sound of his father’s voice, startling him in the process as his calloused fingers graze the tip of the arrow that he was currently working on. The edge is sharp and draws blood from underneath his layers of skin, but an injury of this size does little to phase a warrior. 
Neteyam shakes his head at Jake’s words, not finding it in himself to care at his father’s vague words. “What goes on in my home is anything but your concern.” 
Jake winces internally at his eldest son’s harsh tone, differing from the usual tenderness and care that laced it. He knew not to take anything to heart, that the constant frown on his son’s face was probably the main source of it. The frown that he had brought amongst himself, though he fails to realise it for now, Jake is persistent on making his hard headed son understand. 
Jake’s experienced fingers swiftly threaded a piece of string around his fletching, securing the feather onto the lower part of his arrow. His yellow eyes trailed towards his tall pile of finished arrows, while his son’s harboured a pitiful amount of 5. 
“What’s wrong, son?” Jake sighed as he watched his son’s ears fall at his question, his hands pausing their work once more, this time free of any new injury. 
“My mate is upset at me,” Neteyam breathed out loudly, and the pause in his voice made it known to his father that he was not quite done talking yet, so observant silence was what he was met with. “We have arguments nearly every night when I come home, and I'm sure that it’s affecting Nikko and Raylu just as much as it’s affecting us.” 
Jake watched a sliver of a smile make its way onto Neteyam’s face at the mention of his two beloved children, before quickly fading away at the situation. 
The sun had nearly started to leave place for the moon, eclipse bound to fall upon the lands of Pandora. The soft orange hue kissed the father and son, complementing their vibrant yellow eyes. Jake was no stranger to his eldest son’s trouble, for, it was easy to notice the absence of your mate in your family tent, late at night. 
Jake didn’t believe that his son had been unfaithful to you, being deceitful was a concept that had been brought to Pandora by the humans, and unlike them, the Na’vi were loyal companions. He knew by the way that Neteyam’s muscles tensed at every move that his son was staying out all night to work, whether it was helping with village work or to help and train the newbies. 
Hard-headed just like his mother, Neteyam had let his duties overtake the time that he was supposed to be at home, supposed to be a husband, supposed to be a father. No, instead he used that time to be The Future Olo’eyktan. Though nobody is born perfect, sometimes even people like Neteyam had to be guided to the right direction at times. 
“Y’know, it’s never too late to head back home right now, forget about those duties that you have put amongst your own back and be the man that your family craves for.” and with that, it takes a little amount of thinking before Neteyam is up and running, his feet running towards the familiar dirt track towards your little shared hut. He sends a hurried ‘thank you’ and an apology for running off so early, though Jake can only be bothered to chuckle at his son, a sense of pride swarming his chest as he watches his eldest son be the man that he should. The man that you and your children deserve. 
-
Neteyam observes as your eyes widen at his early entrance, clearly not being used to having him in your family tent at this hour. The sun had barely started to set, and both your children were just starting to wake up from their afternoon nap. There in your hand laid a tray of fruits, presumably to feed the roaring bellies of your two bundles of joys. Asif on cue, Nikko’s stomach growls as though he had never been fed before and a shushed giggle escapes your throat at the sight of him attempting to grab the fruit from your higher-form. 
Neteyam watches with adoration in his eyes as you bend down on your knees to offer him a fruit on the platter, trying to stifle down his own laughter as your son attempts to grab the whole tray instead. Grubby hands gone and chubby stomachs full, the children are now playing on their own. Though your back is turned towards your husband, he knows that you fear the sight of him. Not that you fear him himself, but the conversation that would obviously have to ensue. He wasn’t here early for no reason, and you all knew it. 
“I have saved you a special meal, I knew that you’d work until late again tonight,” you whispered out the last part and Neteyam’s ears twitched towards your direction. Though before he could say anything, you corrected yourself. “Or so I thought, but that doesn’t matter because here you are now.” 
Your tone was soft and almost too caring for a woman that had spent the last few nights of her life arguing with her husband about his whereabouts, but he was here now, and there was no need to cause a scene. 
Neteyam’s eyes observe as you turn around with two bowls in hand, both of them overlapping with steamed Teylu that you had previously prepared. Though the Teylu was the last thing on his mind at the moment, the sight of you had Neteyam practically to his knees. His mind and eyes raced between every single aspect of you, from the way that your clothes hugged your body in every good way possible, to the way your ears were flickering slightly as you awaited for him to say something.
“I’m surprised that the kids have not come running to me yet,” his voice cut through the sudden silence, choosing to ignore what you had said earlier. His eyes were very much still on you and he looked like a lost man. He looked like a fool in-love, and that was most probably what he was anyway, there was no shame in showing it. The both of you had now sat down in front of each other, bowls in hand as you feasted on the delicacy. 
“They are too busy caring about their playtime to even notice the both of us, but it’s the age for such behaviour so don’t think anything of it.” you turned your head to take a look at your children once more, a soft smile gracing your face as you watched them carefully play with their carved toys. Toys that their father had hand-carved for them with love.
 “They love you” you reassured him, somehow believing that his previous statement was because he thought it wasn’t the case. You turned your head towards your mate, though you weren’t expecting his eyes to meet yours so abruptly. You couldn’t help but notice the swirl of emotions that ran through them, like he was trying to speak to you through them because he couldn’t do it with his own mouth. 
“I love you.” Neteyam blurted out before his brain could even process, though the look in his eyes proved that he meant every single word. The lack of hesitation in his voice made your heart thump hard against your chest, so hard that you could’ve thought that Neteyam could hear it. Your ears lowered at his sudden confession, though they were three words that you had heard many times throughout your relationship, they still had you reacting like you did the first time that he uttered them to you. 
“I love you too, Neteyam.” you shyly muttered to him, your ears now raising as you stared your husband down with adoration. Neteyam released a breath that he ignored he was holding at your admission, a pressure upon his chest lifting. Bless Eywa, the way that you stared at him with those blown out pupils made him almost need to grip onto the floor to keep him from pouncing on you. Though now was not the time to get all riled up by you, he had a well awaited apology to deliver to you, and a role of husband to take up back on. 
“Listen, I know I haven’t been the best mate as of recently, and I know that you have been suffering because of my actions,” Neteyam trailed off, watching you with attentive eyes to see if he could continue. “I know that I have not been present enough for my family, that I have put my duties at a higher position than they should've been. And I'm sorry for all of this, all that I've been causing to us.” 
No words could come out of your mouth at his apology, though you wished not to speak. Something about hearing Neteyam being able to apologise and admit his faults had your hard thumping even harder than before, though he was not hundred percent forgiven in your heart.
“I’m sorry for causing unnecessary fights between us when I knew that you just wanted the best for me, or leaving you alone at night to take care of our children. I promise that as of now, I’ll give you all the time that you deserve. Or, pull my head out of my ass like Spider would say.” You both take a moment to laugh about the said man, Neteyam’s human cousin that you strangely adored. 
“I love you and this family, there’s no other place that I'd wanna be right now. I don’t care if you don’t forgive me now, or ever in that case. I’d spend the rest of my life trying to fix my wrong doings.” Neteyam whispered to you. 
It didn’t take you much after his whole essay-of-an apology for you to drop your half empty bowl to the side, crawling towards Neteyam that was just in front of you. The sudden throw of your arms around his neck was much unexpected for the Sully son, but he’d take that over anything else. His larger palms pulled you further into the hug, pulling you onto his lap with one hand upon your waist as the other laid across your lower back. 
Eywa was he so warm, and how much had you missed the natural heat of his body. His arms engulfed your body into his embrace, making you feel much more protected than you needed to. Neteyam couldn’t help the pur that left his throat as you rubbed your cheek against his in a loving act, his heart felt like it could melt at any moment now. You nuzzled your face into his neck, the tip of your nose touching his skin as your breathing tickled him, and his chuckle was the proof of it. 
You didn’t know exactly why you had rushed into his arms so quickly, after the amount of time that he had made you wait for him. But you knew that Neteyam was a good man, he was raised by good people, and he would never do anything to harm you or your little family on purpose. Nobody was perfect and neither was he, he’d make mistakes too, and you’d be here to correct him upon it. You deemed that it was probably your bond that led you back into his arms so fast, or the fact that you had missed him so much. 
Though you didn’t care, you’d have all the time of your life to sulk and have him work to make it up to you later on. 
“I don’t want to talk about it right now, It hurts just to think about the many nights that i’ve spent without you, Neteyam” the said man faltered upon your confession. He felt his heart tighten at the thought of you all cuddled up under a woven blanket as you waited for him to come back home, tears breaching your waterline as you clutched the soft material for comfort. Although when Neteyam opened his mouth to apologise once more, you were cutting him off again. 
“Right now all I want is to enjoy this moment with my mate.” With that, the rest of the evening had been spent with laughter and loud catching-up conversations that you were sure that your neighbours would be complaining about tomorrow. By the end of the night, your little family had all ended up cuddled up together with your head resting against Neteyam’s chest, your children squeezing in between you both. 
Neteyam craned his neck down in a weird angle to take a look at your snoring form across his chest, a fond smile spreading across his face as he admired his beloved family. All he’s ever wanted and all he’s ever needed was right here, in his arms. And for once in weeks, your family tent was not filled with blaring arguments or children’s wailing past eclipse, and Neteyam would gladly enjoy the silence. 
-
i’m back after a month with the shittiest ff ever and a peter parker phase that’s coming back after years.🤭
@letsloveimagines
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theemporium · 5 months
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💰with Sirius??? He would absolutely just spoil spoil spoil reader with everything. Like that trend with dogs where the owners buy everyone the dog sniffs, he’d be following reader and buying anything she even vaguely grazes. She def hates it and feels bad everytime but he’s like “let my family’s name do one good thing for me and let me spend it all on you”
thank you for requesting!🫶🏽
.
“Sirius, put it down.”
“But you want it.”
“No, I don’t—”
“Love, I saw you staring at it for the last five minutes,” he countered, almost looking far too smug for your liking. 
“Just because I look at something doesn’t mean you have to buy it for me,” you snapped back at him, trying to fight the urge to glance down at all the bags of stuff he had bought you during your trip through Diagon Alley so far. The pile was only getting bigger and it was starting to make you feel nauseous. 
“But I want to buy it for you,” Sirius said with an easy smile on his face. “Would you really stop my happiness and wants because of your own selfishness, love?”
You shot him a look.
“In fact, this might be the only thing that brings me joy,” he continued as he stepped over the bags and reached for you. “This might be the only source of happiness in my sad, sad life.”
You let out a snort, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous, Sirius Black.”
“No, I am just a man from a tragically rich family who wants to use his money to spoil his girl instead of buying those atrociously ugly dressing robes my mother keeps hinting at,” Sirius retorted, his nose scrunching up in disgust at the mere mention of the robes. “I saw Lucius in them the other day. It looked like a Hippogriff threw up on him.”
This time you let out a full laugh, boisterous and bellyful and definitely out of place in the high-end jewellers you were both currently standing in.
“Hm, although that laugh is a close second in making me happy,” Sirius murmured with a fond smile on his face.
“You do this every time,” you complained as your hands fisted the material of his shirt, fingers smoothing over the buttons. “You butter me up so I give in and let you buy me stuff.”
“It’s a strategy,” Sirius said proudly. “And it works.”
“You need to stop it before you waste all your money on me,” you told him with a shake of your head.
“It would never be a waste if it was on you, love,” Sirius told you, though his words were thick with emotion and sincerity as he cupped your face in his hands. “I want to give you everything you deserve.” 
“But all I want is you,” you countered. “You are more than enough for me, Sirius. I don’t need you to flash or flaunt your money on me.”
“Yeah, but I like seeing the way you try to hide that smile of yours whenever you wear something I bought you,” Sirius said with a casual shrug of his shoulders. “And I think that little diamond thing would look gorgeous on you.”
“It’s called a choker,” you laughed. 
“I thought that was my job,” Sirius grinned back at you.
“Sirius!”
“What?! I am being serious!”
.
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animehideout · 21 days
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LOVE IS THE MOST TWISTED CURSE OF THEM ALL
PART 11
Check out part 12 here
Gojo Satoru X Fem! Reader
warnings ⚠️: not proofread / abuse / SA just something vague not detailed.
a/n : I truly apologize for this late update, I was really unmotivated to rewrite it and I was struggling to find inspiration again, I'm sorry if this part didn't live up to your expectations but I read hope you like it though, I tried to make it longer but I ran out of ideas 🥹.
Music Suggestion 🎧
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Satoru stood tall, alone in the balcony, his gaze fixated on the sky, lost in the depth if his own thoughts. The weight of regret hung heavy upon his shoulders, a burden he could no longer bear.
His mind played your last fight that night on loop, making him hate himself even more. He remembered his harsh words, actions and disrespect towards you. Forcefully shutting his eyes to make those images and voices that's been haunting him go away.
Unwelcomed thoughts yet impossible to ignore. Blaming himself over and over again for what happened to you, torturing himself to madness.
"It's my fucking fault" he muttered,
In all that darkness, the image of your face in his mind was the only source of light. The delicate curve of your smile whenever you were around your students etched in his memory. He remembered the way you slept, features softened by the gentle embrace of your slumber, your passion for teaching and your daily excitement to show your students a new weapon and new technique.
You were a vision of peace amidst the chaos he was living. He realized then how life became emptier after your disappearance, the void your absence had left in every bit of his life. He realized how much he fell for you, he realized that hatred was deeply buried by the birth of his love for you.
With a heavy heart, he bowed his head, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. For three days, his eyes wide open, unable to sleep without you under the same roof as him, cuddling a piece of your clothing every single night to take into your scent, to pretend that you were there, next to him.
Clutching his fists, his knuckles turned white , whispering a plea for forgiveness, a forgiveness he might never receive.
"I'm sorry Y/n.."
. ..
"Satoru?"
"Y-yaga sensei?" said Gojo wiping his tears away,
"Can I join you?"
"Y-yeah sure"
"What's on your mind? Still blaming yourself?"
"Do I have anything else to do except blaming myself?"
"I'm sorry for your loss Satoru" said Principal Yaga apologetically,
"I didn't lose her, she's still out there, somewhere! I know it, I'm sure of it, I can feel it"
"Pain is eating you up Satoru, you know you should let go already–"
"Let go? Easier said than done. How can all of you let go so fast as if she never existed?" he said in annoyance
"The higher ups orders, to not distract the sorcerers' focus from their daily tasks"
"Bullshit, –"
"Satoru I understand your pain"
"No you don't, none of you does! I did this to her, I built the wall between both of us brick by brick till it collapsed on both of us, she got abducted by Toji and here I am suffering everyday.. I just wish I can turn back time and undo the damage I had done"
"Is this because of regret or something else?" asked Principal Yaga
Gojo looked down, not sure of what to say, mastering the courage he finally spoke,
"I– I love her, sensei! I love Y/n so much, I just hope it's not too late to realize this because I really want to fix everything–"
Yaga sensei looked at Gojo with a reassuring yet sad smile, deep down, everyone accepted that you died except Gojo., and he didn't want him to hang on fake hope.
"Satoru–"
"I know what you're about to say, but I won't let go, I won't give up even if the higher ups chain me down.... I thought she was a curse when we got married but I think I am her curse, I was her curse while she was my blessing–"
"I hope you're right Satoru, I hope she's still out there as you said, I hope you get a second chance to be a real family"
...
*In Mei Mei's room*
"Look at this" said Maki her eyebrows frowning in confusion,
"Who's that in the picture?" asked Nobara as confused as Maki,
Both of them examined the photograph, their eyes flickered between the picture and each other in silence. In the picture a woman smiled serenely as she cradled a baby in her embrace.
Maki shrugged equally perplexed,
"I have no idea, do you think it's a family member?"
Their senses were on high alert as they scanned every corner of her room for any sign of wrongdoing, something out of the ordinary. They found that picture tucked under her bed after they flipped the mattress while searching for anything suspicious.
"And this stack of money? Didn't know she's got all of this cash here" added Nobara.
"And this box as well"
Intrigued, they opened it. As they lifted the lid of the box, a firegun revealed itself, its metallic surface gleaming ominously in the dim light.
"A g-gun?" started Nobara as she looked at Maki in shock, "what would she use it for?"
"Definitely not hers, why would a sorcerer with a jujutsu technique depend on a gun" she pointed out.
"Good point, so if its not hers then to whom does it belong to?" asked Nobara
"There's only one way to figure it out, but now let's take the gun, the damn photograph and get out of here" said Maki as she put he mattress in its place again.
.....
"GOJO-SENSEI" called Nobara out as she caught a glimpse of Gojo in the balcony "Sensei you need to see this"
"Hm? Nobara? Maki?"
"Gojo" said Maki as she saw Gojo with principal Yaga in the balcony "We found something–"
but before she could finish her sentence,
"Any news?" interrupted Mei Mei as she stepped in the balcony out of nowhere..
Maki and Nobara exchanged quick nervous glances, their eyes darting between each other as they attempt to maintain composure. Hiding what they took from her room behind their backs. Their expressions strain with the effort to appear nonchalant, but a subtle tension lingers in the air. Lips pressed into strained smiles,
"Nah nothing new" said Maki while Nobara nodded in agreement.
"Hm you sure about that? I thought I heard you said you found something, is it about Y/n? " asked Mei raising her eyebrows,
"What if we did? Is it really your concern?" exclaimed Maki offensively, only to get elbowed softly by Nobara,
"We found nothing important Mei Mei sensei, of course if we did we'd tell you" exclaimed Nobara, chuckling awkwardly.
"Oh alright then girls," she said luckily not giving too much important to the girls, then paused and drifted her gaze towards Gojo, "how are you holding up Gojo? I hope you're in the process of moving on" she added
Gojo's eyes burned holes in her soul, but he tried to remain calm,
"I'm fine"
"That's what all of us would like to hear, glad you let go" she said and then excused herself to go to her room,
Then moment she left, Maki ran towards Gojo and Yaga, showing them what they found,
"We found these–"
"WHERE THE HELL DID YOU GET THESE FROM?" snapped Gojo unexpectedly, his eyes widened as he snatched the gun and photograph form Maki's hands,
"Damn Satoru what's got into you, relax!" exclaimed Yaga-sensei,
"W-we.." stuttered Nobara
"How did you get these? they were well hidden"
"Well hidden under Mei Mei's bed?" asked Maki in confusion
"What? what did you just say?" said Gojo and Yaga in union
"We found these under Mei Mei's bed, the gun hidden in a box , tucked beside that photograph and a pile of cash, do you possibly know to whom it belongs?"
"These belong to Toji Zenin" said Satoru
Maki and Nobara froze in place, trying to process what Gojo just said,
"T-toji?" they said in disbelief,
"This gun was used by Toji to murder Riko Amanai, and these in the picture are Megumi and his mother–" explained Yaga sensei
"It can only be one thing" expressed Gojo through gritted teeth, "She must be behind it" he added and started walking away, thinking about confronting her,
"GOJO STOP!" yelled Yaga sensei, holding Gojo in place, "What's happened to your common sense? vanished?"
"We can't assume anything now sensei!" said Nobara
"So all of this isn't enough to assume that she's got some dirty work with Toji Zenin going on behind our backs?" said Gojo aggressively
"Okay you're right, it is suspicious but we need a plan! a proper plan, do you think she'll admit it if you confront her? she'll find a lie and you'll never find the truth, not out of her! We need to know more about her first" explained Maki
"Know what?" asked Gojo impatiently
"I mean, Toji has nothing right? not even a house, do you think if he'd take Y/n to a hotel room after abducting her? Mei Mei must have provided a place for him" she added
"So if we can't ask her, how would we know?" asked Nobara,
"We ask her best friend" Suggest Maki shrugging,
....
"Is it ringing?" asked Yaga sensei,
"Yeah shh it is" said Gojo waiting for her to pick up the phone, "–Oh hello" he said through the phone
"Gojo? Hi what's up calling me late at night, is everything okay?"
"Utahime, yeah everything is fine, we just need you here, if it's possible can you make here in one hour at least?"
"Well I can, but is it an emergency?"
"Um it's– it's about Mei Mei, we're preparing a party for her and we need your help"
"A party? It's not even her birthday yet–"
"It's for her service, it's a habit here in Jujutsu High to hold a party for a teacher to honor them, and this time it's Mei Mei, she did a lot for us and for the school, besides it's the higher ups orders so..."
"Oh the higher ups? sure then I'll be there in an hour"
"Don't tell Mei Mei that you're coming though, it must remain a surprise, now we don't wanna spoil it"
"So should be meet outside the school?"
"Sure yeah, you can come to my house?!"
"Oh alright then, I'll be there"
With that they hung up the phone,
"She'll be here in one hour, I hope we can get her to talk"
"I hope she's not part of Mei Mei's plan though" Said Nobara.
"Don't you think we must tell the others? Maybe we need some backup?" suggested Maki
"Yeah, but some of them need to stay here to keep an eye on Mei Mei" said principal Yaga
"Alright, I'll go and tell them then,"
*Time skip, at Gojo's house*
They sat there, Gojo, Nanami, Maki and Megumi waiting for Utahime's arrival.
"You've got a nice and big house" pointed Maki
"Yeah but never a happy house" mumbled Gojo to himself,
"Do you think she'll tell us more about her?" asked Megumi and suddenly the bell rang,
"I guess we'll find out now!" said Nanami,
...
"So Utahime, I hope you corporate!" started Gojo not wasting any precious second,
"Corporate? you make it sound like if we're discussing business, and not preparing for a surprise party! it's a p-party right?"
she chuckled nervously,
"Not really! you need to tell us more about Mei Mei, some information that we don't know about"
"wait? what?" she asked nervously
"Is she meeting someone? did she tell you about something?"
"Gojo wait! why are you asking about this? I mean she lives there in the school dorms as well, so I guess you know more than I do"
"I don't think so, she's you're best friend she must have told you something about her plan?" said Maki
"Plan? what plan?"
"Ah come on Utahime dont play dumb"
"No for real! what plan, I thought you had a plan with her , Gojo to push Y/n away!"
"What? NO. I'm talking about her dirty plan with Toji"
"Toji? wait what's going on?" she said truly confused
"STOP LYING AND ANSWER THE DAMN QUESTION, IF YOU'RE PART OF HER DIRTY GAME I'LL END BOTH OF YOU" exclaimed Gojo angrily, making Utahime step back, growing more and more impatient.
"Hey hey Gojo calm down, what's wrong with you? I understand you're frustrated but that's not the right way to find answers!" said Maki and the others nodded in agreement,
"Megumi please take him to the balcony while me and Maki handle this, he needs to calm down" suggest Nanami,
Megumi did as he said and took Gojo to get some fresh night air,
"Geez, you really developed anger issues, you were more laid back even in risky situations Gojo" started Megumi
"Not anymore, people change and I've changed"
"Y/n sensei is dear to all of us, so I am eager too to know where she is, and I truly understand how you feel"
"No Gumi, you don't, you don't understand because I'm not just sad, I'm feeling extremely guilty, because it's my damn fault"
"I'm feeling guilty too" said Megumi lowering his head,
"Hm? what for ? you're pretty close to Y/n and you're good friends not only a student and his teacher–"
"It's my father, he's the one who abducted her and only God knows what he's doing to her, I don't wanna even think about it. Is there any greater shame than this?" he said his voice cracking,
"Hey Megumi! look at me, your father's actions has nothing to do with you, he's the one who abducted her not you! you've always been nice and kind to Y/n. Sometimes family does things that we are ashamed of and completely in opposition of it but it doesn't mean we're like them just because we're related by blood, you are what you're truly in here" he said and pointed at Megumi's heart "And I know well what's in there Megumi! I raised you and I've seen you grow up to be a loyal, strong and kind hearted man! you're the complete opposite of your father so don't ever compare yourself to him again" said Gojo with a smile,
"If it's his fault, then why are you blaming yourself Gojo?"
"Because I'm the reason she left that night! I've said too many hurtful words, no one can handle to hear, no one deserves to hear but I was too agitated, too overwhelmed by my mixed feelings, trying to push her away from me over and over again–"
"Why? why'd you push her away from you? couldn't you have tried at least? maybe after what you've been through you were destined to finally find happiness with her! "
"My heart was a messy place to make it a comfortable place for her!"
"Was? so what changed now?"
"I want to try to make it comfortable for both of us, I want t-t to– nevermind! I have to find her, I have to make it up for her"
"I understand and we will find her, Y/n is strong I'm sure she's safe wherever she is" reassured Megumi, trying to lift Gojo's spirit again,
....
"So Utahime, we really need you to corporate so you better put that bestie thing with Mei Mei aside cuz this is a life or death matter!" begun Maki,
"D-death?"
"Toji escaped and we think that Mei Mei had a hand in this" added Nanami
"No way! Why would Mei Mei do that? I mean you know what Toji had done to the Jujutsu world!"
"We know, but we know that when people are full of hate are full of unexpected things!"
"Nanami what's wrong? what happened?"
"It's Y/n! Toji abducted her, and we found Toji's gun under Mei Mei's bed, even though it was well hidden.. do you still think she's got nothing to do with that?"
Her eyes wide open in shock and disbelief, her mouth hanging open, sad expressions drawn on her face,
"W-what? I didn't know I swear to God! I've – I've never thought it will go that way, I've never thought she could fall this far" she expressed her feelings, her heart crushing, she's never expected her long time best friend would do or be part of such thing, to betray the Jujutsu community.
"That's why we need your help! You know how important Y/n is to our world! we can't lose her" said Nanami "So please if you know anything, any place she owns, any small details tell us, we really need to know"
With a deep breath, she started thinking, trying to remember if Mei Mei told her anything,
"I remember she bought a house! but that was weeks ago!!"
"A house?"
"Yeah, she said she might settle in Tokyo if things went well between her and Gojo–"
"She's truly delusion" interrupted Maki rolling her eyes,
"Where is this house?" asked Nanami
"I'll take you there" said Utahime determined to help.
Despite being best friends with Mei Mei, her morals were more important! she's too loyal to the Jujutsu World and committed to the greater good, she knows about the prophecy and she can't afford to witness another loss on the Jujutsu community part.
"I'll go and tell Gojo and Megumi then– maybe Y/n is there"
.......
[ Kill her, and I'll bring your cash tomorrow when I see her lifeless body ]
Read Toji through the message that he received,
"See! I'm ordered to kill you now! How much trouble did you cause her for her to free me from the prison just to torture you and kill you" he said with a smirk
"F-fuck you and fuck her" you said through gritted teeth as you were thrown on the floor, your body hurting from the chains that were tied around your wrists and feet.
your lips and nose bleeding after hours of tortures,
"And you still got that attitude, after being beaten up? If I were you I wouldn't act so brave.."
"You'll never be me Toji! we're both considered inferior in the Jujutsu world but I learned how to be the real me and not what others want me to be, I didn't let others to order me around and kill people–"
"Are you trying to save yourself? and convince me to not kill you"
"no, I know I can't be saved, not just now but for a long time ago, but you know the funny thing is that we actually have something else in common beside being monkeys" you joked offensively trying to get on his nerves, you're going to die anyway so why'd you not offend him, you were tired if being stepped on so why not talk back.
"what?" he said in anticipation as he kneeled down,
"Both our families are disappointed in us, I disappointed my parents and you disappointed your son, Megumi, nice kid he's nothing like you–"
"M-megumi?"
And you struck a sensitive nerve in him,
You started laughing when you saw his face dropped and his expressions changed, your stomach hurts whenever you laughed he probably had broken some of yours ribs.
The you paused,
"Do it Toji. Do what you were assigned for, no one will come to my rescue anyway, do it, kill me" you said in a serious tone,
"Change in plan, let me have my fun with you before I take the light out of your eyes"
"You still have time for fun? the dawn will break soon–"
"Oh I know princess, don't you worry about it, I know I can't delay the sunlight but I know how to make the night even more darker... and you were right, Megumi's probably disappointed in me but lemme tell you something–" he paused and leaned forward, his face a few inches away from yours "That's who I truly am, a beast that preys on the weak, and you are weak Y/n no matter how hard you try to come off as strong"
he said and he reached to take off your shirt,
Your heart beats quickened, you thought he'd torture you in another way, and not attempt to do something filthy to you,
"No -no! I'd rather die" you said trying your best to break free from his grasp, but his huge body got you pinned down,
"What? you're not a fan of big guys? or your pathetic ass is loyal to a husband who's never paid attention to your existence?" he said looking you deep in the eyes, his huge hands circling around your neck, posing pressure on it,
You couldn't deny the pain and disappointment you felt. You really hoped Gojo would appear and save you, you wished he cared for you. You couldn't deny that you wanted Gojo; your husband to be your first time and not with someone who would brutally kill you after taking what he wants.
You'd die even before he kills you.
"no don't " you whispered, loosing your voice as his grip around your neck tightened, making it hard to breathe.
....
"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER"
All what you can feel is the weight of Toji's body being removed from on top of you.
Toji's body forcefully thrown on the ground, your blurry eyes trying to focus on the figure standing right in front of you, slowly approaching you,
"Damn baby what did he do to you?" he said softly, softly brushing his finger over your bleeding lip.
"S-satoru, y-you came!" you whispered, your vision darkening and ears ringing,
"Of course I'm here with you, Y/n! Y/N !!!!!no no Y/N WAKE UP" he yelled as he held you in his arms.
....
Your eyes slowly fluttered opened, your surroundings sharpening into details again, gulping with difficulty.
A serum attached to your vein,
"Sensei" said Yuji "Guys she's awake"
With that all of them circled around the bed you were laying on, their eyes look directly at you, greeting you with sincere smiles.
"How are you feeling?" asked Megumi.
You tried to leave the bed but they forced you to lay back. You looked around scanning the place, you were in the hospital, Shoko must have treated your wounds, everyone was there except your husband, Satoru.
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lillotte17 · 5 days
Text
I just woke up, so good morning, let me see if I can string any words together in a coherent pattern. This has actually been on my mind for weeks. Slowly driving me insane.
200 years. Two. Hundred. Years. 2 HUNDRED years.
That amount of time is literally incomprehensible to us in terms of personal memories and trauma. We can barely remember anything collectively as a species for that amount of time without losing bits and pieces of it. It is more than 2/3 of the time that Astarion has been alive. Well, "alive."
I am currently in my mid thirties, it would be like if I had died when I was 7 or 8 years old and then had to try and remember everything about my personality and my family and my morality from that time period. I do remember it, of course, but a lot of it is pretty vague. A lot of things that I know happened, or that I know I did, I remember because there are other people in my life who knew me then. Astarion wasn't a child, of course, but time still has it's way with things, and there is no one in his life he knew from before he became a vampire, with the possible exception of Cazador, and he's hardly a reliable source of information. Trauma also damages memories, and he has spent more that 2/3 of his life being constantly starved and beaten, and abused in pretty much every possible way a person can be.
The main point being that it is simply not possible to make any firm assumptions about the kind of person Astarion was before he was turned. Maybe he was a horrible, power-hungry, back room dealing, lying, racist, POS trash-man who deserved what he got when that group of thugs jumped him. Maybe he was kind underneath all his bluster, and had a strong sense of justice, and he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Most likely, he was something in between. But we can't know. And Astarion probably doesn't really know anymore either.
(I firmly believe that Cazador chose him specifically to be a spawn, and possibly even orchestrated the attack on Astarion. They might not even have really been Gur. Astarion would only have Cazador to rely on for confirmation about what really happened to him that night, and having a culture of people who hunt monsters and were likely already targeting Cazador himself be the same group that murdered Astarion seems pretty mmmm convenient.)
And for all that he is a chaos gremlin, prickly rat-bastard, dumpster fire of a man, it is honestly pretty astounding (and rewarding imo) just how much growth he can have over the course of the game, which is only a few months, tops. (assuming, of course, that you are playing a good aligned Tav/Durge) But even before that, after the first night he tries to bite you, he is the one who immediately promises that he's not going to feed from innocents, with no prompting at all from the player. He doesn't ask to keep feeding from your PC, and he only drinks from you if you offer it. (unless you direct him to in a fight, I guess, lol) That feels huge to me. He has been STARVING for 200 years. Part of being a vampire is that he's always kind of starving, but he doesn't want to be a slave to that hunger any more than he wants to be a slave to anything or anyone else.
I'm not saying that he's secretly a good man deep down, but even from the start, the potential for him to be better was already there. Which is AMAZING because, as I said earlier: TWO HUNDRED YEARS.
Like, imagine that you know absolutely nothing about yourself except misery and torture and losing things, and it fucks you up, and you KNOW it's fucked you up, and you are terrified that one wrong move could send you back to the place that you just escaped from, and you still say, "I'm still not going to attack the innocent people around me for no reason, though. Sure, I might laugh if they manage to get themselves killed in an amusing way, but it's not going to be my fault."
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meanbossart · 1 month
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omg i loved that insight into some of drow's most important relationships it was so juicy...now...i gotta know what orin thought of this guy. we get some idea based off the game and other asks but what did orin really think of drow? especially when he first arrived at the temple it must have been something to be told this feral bastard is another of Bhaal's chosen. when do you think she decided to betray him?
GLAD YOU ENJOYED THE READING I love love Love getting into the nitty gritty of personal relationships so thank god some of you guys also like hearing about it LOL
But boy! That's a difficult one. Orin is a very mysterious character to me, we get a fair bit about her life and a vague idea of her relationship with you, but it's always from a second-hand source - the woman herself seems so stripped of humanity that it's difficult to imagine her doing trivial things like going to sleep at night or eating lunch - let alone how she felt about the people around her.
And there's an allure to that that I'm hesitant to try and demystify; not to mention how it itself was a source of frustration to DU drow. While its not like he ever desired to have a sit down and talk about their feelings together as a bhaalspawn, he did want to be let in, whatever that meant - and Orin never ever allowed that, though she did let him get close enough to keep trying.
I do like to believe they were both much less brazen when they met as young adults, DU drow being the shellshocked looking freak who barely knew how to carry out human interaction that he was, and Orin being a lot more explicitly reliant on Sarevok's approval and guidance to exist in the temple. With this, I think there would have been room to some insecurity - if there's another bhaalspawn, her need and effectiveness would come into far more scrutiny than it already did, after all. She would have probably disliked and avoided DU drow not on the basis of his appearance or past, but just because of this threat that he represented to her alone.
And while they inevitably grew close in a very weird way, that very first impression would have planted this seed of resentment in her which would eventually result in the betrayal; but it definitely wasn't the only thing that led to it.
Orin would have been all too aware that DU drow wanted her as more than a sister or a cohort; he was INCREDIBLY unsubtle and would have made attempts to escalate their relationship at least a few times. Because of my theory that Sarevok wanted them to breed together, this behavior was never discouraged, and while I highly doubt it was ever explicitly and openly discussed, I do think Sarevok would have found ways to imply to her that he would like to see the line continue through them.
Obviously Orin never reciprocated DU drow's feelings or desires, but she did enjoy toying with him - while she probably did love him as family, I don't have to spell out to you how weird a situation this is and how it might lead to a lot of bitterness on her end. I don't know if she "led him on" out of malice, out of a desire to feel in control of the situation, or just because she enjoyed the mind games, but these instances of teasing and holding things over DU drow's head only came after many blunt attempts at shooting him down, and looked very different from any sincere displays of affection they may have had as "siblings". Whenever DU drow wanted to push her boundaries, it would be as if a switch flipped and their dynamic ever so slightly changed - and she met in kind. This would usually reach a peak where it broke out in violence, and always ended with them beaten, bleeding, but laughing. And then it would never be spoken about again.
So, with this growing resentment, plus Sarevok's growing favoritism towards DU drow and his seeming desire to see them mate, PLUS Orin's very real ambition to pursue Bhaal's plan and gain some recognition of her own, she would have eventually decided that she didn't want want DU drow around anymore. What feelings precisely led to this decision I do not know, but whatever they were they had been festering for a very long time.
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littlelokilad · 3 months
Text
I’m actually going to be completely honest for once.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
It’s about time… I usually tend to keep my real feelings vague, up for interpretation or use enough humour to not be taken seriously. But I’ve recently learned that being honest about yourself can help others accept themselves, so I’ll try it out just this one time.
But first a quick thank you.
It’s been a year since I started up this blog, it’s grown to like 800 followers as of late (which is just mind blowing to me) and I’m insanely grateful.
I’m especially grateful to my mutuals, I’ve made genuine friendships here that have kept me going at my lowest points and I’ve had a lot of lows this year, I’m going through one right now as my Dad is really sick but I will spare you all the sad details.
Thank you. You have no idea what this fandom means to me, it saved me.
Now to confess…
———
A love letter to Loki:
I’m gonna say something that’s going to sound weird as shit to a lot of you… and that’s okay. I will explain best as I can but ultimately, I’m doing my own thing now and I genuinely do not care if people think I’m crazy and delusional for it - I’m carving out my own fate and shaping my future all on my own so think what you like, I will be okay regardless.
A year ago, I genuinely fell in love with Loki.
I’m not saying this to be funny or seem relatable, I mean every word.
I’ve felt really ashamed about it, as I know it’s not considered typical by most people’s standards. I’ve tried to “be normal” and force my feelings to go away but it’s involuntary.
I’ve not been very kind to myself about these feelings, I made myself miserable over them earlier in the year. I know this may be a hard concept for some people to understand, but accepting that this is how I feel seems to be healthier for me than trying to conform to people’s expectations of who or what I should love. I’m currently at peace with myself.
I lost my Nan just under two years ago now who was a mother figure to me, and quite honestly, I feel forcing myself to stop being in love with Loki isn’t the right thing for me at the moment.
Maybe one day the love will no longer serve me, but for now I don’t need to put myself through anymore grief and loss. My brain is going to grieve him if I force him away, even though he isn’t real as it’s known that the brain can’t distinguish between feelings for real verses fictional folk.
So why force myself through that pain if I’m currently managing this unexpected situation in a healthy way? Well… as best as I can. I’m not perfect about this, sometimes it does make me sad but that’s life. I can’t hug Loki, and I can’t hug my Nan anymore either so I just have to pick myself up and carry on with life.
I’ve only ever spoken about this privately with a few trusted friends as I was really scared about what people think, but I’m okay with people thinking I’m a bit different to what they are used to.
I wrote out several paragraphs explaining the nuances of fictosexuality and my feelings, but then I deleted it all because people will think what they want to think.
However, I just want to be very clear about one thing: I’m in no way delusional. I know he’s a fictional character and the feelings I have are one sided, but I’m honestly okay with that.
I don’t need him to love me and physically be with me to be happy, because I’m more than capable of doing that myself. I’m setting up a very bright future for myself that will hopefully come to fruition when my family troubles are over.
It’s worth noting that there are single people living their best life, and I personally don’t feel you need a partner to be happy. Plus, even if you do have a partner then they shouldn’t be the only source of your contentment.
My life is full of all kinds of relationships, I’m more social than most people due to the type of work I do and what my life is like right now with helping my family. I’m hardly ever at home and I really don’t get the time to lose touch with reality.
But I’ve got to be honest, I love him. I can’t deny it, I wish it was more socially acceptable to be open about it… so I guess this blog is the only place this confession is ever going to be read. It’s better than nothing I suppose. Maybe I’ll delete it later, it’s likely I’ll chicken out and shove my feelings back into hiding again - completely disregarding what I said earlier about not caring.
I don’t tell a lot of people, there’s too much prejudice in the world. I’m already queer and disabled, I’ve got enough problems. But it would be nice to be able to simply say “Hey I’m Bry, and this is Loki, he’s an important part of my life and I love him.”
That’s all I want, I don’t want it to be a big deal. Maybe in another life.
But anyway, I really do love him. Truly.
I love writing fanfic about him and watching the Thor films when I get time. He brings me joy and warmth, I will put the Avengers movie on in the background while I work to comfort me a little - I like feeling like he’s close (even though he’s not).
I’ll spend the last five minutes of my day reading a fanfic snippet or simply thinking about him, imagining telling him how my day went.
I love that he brought me this community, I love that he motivated me to start writing. I have him to thank for the time wonderful people I’ve connected with here.
He’s made me more empathetic, open, and honest with myself. Loki has always been unapologetically himself even when it meant he fit in nowhere.
I think I was drawn to him because he’s… just a bit of an odd duck isn’t he? He doesn’t quite fit in wherever he goes which is something I strongly relate to. But he’s still so mighty, brave, self-driven, beautiful and capable - he’s all those things in spite of all he’s been through.
I started writing this post with the mindset of trying to justify my feelings to everyone who reads it but honestly? I’m not surprised I love someone like that.
Thank you Loki. You can’t give me what real partners can, but you’ve given my life so much joy in other ways.
Yours. Bry.
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ceilidho · 3 months
Note
Do you have any advice on doing a character study for a character before writing them? Stuff like how they’d act/respond 👁👄👁
haha it's quite tricky, I won't lie! it's definitely one of the things I struggle with the most (writing really well-rounded and defined characters). Here are a couple things that I do, but keep in mind that I'm reeaaalllyyyy not an expert on this. I'm still learning so much about characterization every day.
If you're writing fanfiction, watch or read the source material as much as possible, until you can almost hear the way the character sounds in your head. Take time to understand things like their accent and how they speak (do they talk a lot or very little? do they use slang or enunciate everything? do they speak quickly or slowly?). Here, you just want to concentrate on the cadence of their speech / their speech patterns. If they speak plainly or use lots of proverbs or turns of phrases, that sort of thing. If you have that down, you've honestly done half the work. Even I often reread my work and go "fuck, all of these people SOUND the same even though they're saying different things".
This is harder if you're not writing fanfiction and have to create your own universe, but regardless of whether you're writing for an existing IP or your own 'verse, I think understanding your character's cultural and religious background is so crucial to developing them. It's a big part of the lens through which they see the world, whether consciously (if they're a very religious character for example, or raised in a specific country) or subconsciously (for example, I grew up catholic so I relate to the world through that lens, even though I'm not a religious person - it just heavily informed me in my childhood years). For this Bear story, I had to do a bit of research around Baptist theology because I knew Bear would be a religious character (whether or not he's struggling with that religion) and it would heavily inform how he sees the world around him. I listened to some sermons, talked to someone with a Baptist background, and also thought about how that background with tie into his desire to have a family).
Pick like 3-5 words that you think best describe your character and just write them down somewhere. I've never been very successful when I make huge character sheets for my characters or try to write a super detailed background for them, so I try to give myself a bit of grace and be brief about it. You can always expand on it going forward. Like for someone like Bear, I might pick: family-oriented, religious (Christian), gruff, and scrupulous. You can also do this in the reverse way and try to think of what they're not (same example with Bear, I might go: conniving, hedonistic, flighty, and optimistic LMAO). This is a nice way to put like, boundaries around your character.
In the framework of your story, try to pick a trajectory for your character, or a goal. At least have one, but you could have a couple. If they're directionless, that works too! But they should want something or aspire to be something. This counts even if they think that thing they want is beyond them or unattainable - it's still a want/goal pushing them forward. This can also be an unconscious goal by the way -> like a very hedonistic character that likes to party who's slowly getting worn down from that life and doesn't even realize they want to settle down, or vice versa! Someone who feels trapped in their mundane life but thinks that's what's expected of them. The character doesn't have to know they want this goal.
Fatal flaws. This is a big one. What is something that might get in the way of them achieving their goal or might influence how they get it? Easiest way to think of this is just looking at the 7 deadly sins (soooo corny, but it's a good place to start). Characters are never perfect, so give them a reason to struggle.
And honestly lastly? Trial and error, baby. Take your vaguely defined character and figure out what you want them to achieve (whether or not they get it is beside the point), and then work out how they might go about achieving that. If they'd run full throttle towards it because they think they deserve it or whether they'd fight it every step of the way because they either don't think they want it or don't think they deserve it.
I'm sorry if this is very messy!! It also totally depends on you as a writer. When I try to make "character background sheets", it gives me anxiety and I end up not following through with my writing versus when I try to keep it brief and just dive into the writing and slowly change things and edit as I write. But maybe a sheet works best for you!
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bongo-clash · 1 year
Text
Right through the door (and all around the wall)
DP/DC week prompt: Lazarus Pit
'Bad News: Jason Todd finds a Lazarus Pit in Gotham.  Worse News: There’s something crawling out of it.'
(No content warnings || fic under cut!!)
-
Jason’s felt weird the last few days. Like, weirder than the usual weird that comes with being a living zombie full of Lazarus waters and all their consequences- weird as in something’s up weird. 
It started with some sense of unease, and maybe it was stupid to just put it down to waking up on the wrong side of the bed, but he started his days in a poor mood more often than not anyway, so he thinks it was reasonable enough. But as the week had gone on, he’d felt more and more like he was being tugged around at the chest by something, the Pit running through his veins snapping for something he didn’t know the source of. By the time six days had past, he’d well and truly had enough. Which leads to his current decision: ambling around Gotham trying to follow the feeling. 
Which leads to his current situation: standing face-to-face with a glowing green puddle at the end of a nondescript alley, previously hidden vaguely by a large dumpster.  
Now, Jason isn’t an idiot- in fact, he rather likes to think himself as the opposite of an idiot. And because he isn’t an idiot, he knows he’s looking at a newly-formed Lazarus Pit. There are only so many things that glow that shade of green in this world. But what the Hell is he supposed to do about it? He doesn’t know the first thing about how they’re formed, and he doesn’t know the first thing about how to get rid of them, but the appearance of one in Gotham cannot be good news. It could attract the attention of the League, which is a problem for several reasons, and perhaps more pressing is that its properties could be discovered by the local peanut gallery. The last thing anyone needs is for any of the rogues to figure out they can heal themselves with magic floor gatorade. 
…He should probably tell the Bats. The thought alone pulls a grimace onto his face behind his helmet, but he knows in his heart that it’s the best thing for it. At the very least, the warning that people might start looking a little more green around the edges would be appreciated; the old man would probably go ape if he found out Jason knew about it the whole time and just didn’t say anything. Okay, maybe that makes it more tempting to not tell them- but Dick would be disappointed in him. That man’s disappointed face is universally hard to look at. 
With nothing else for it, he reaches up to the side of his helmet and activates the com link he’d tentatively agreed to stay connected to. All at once, he’s greeted with the sea of idle chatter from the other Bats as they go about their patrols. 
“Hey,” He interrupts, effectively cutting through the conversation. “So, I just found something interesting on my turf.”
“Little Wing!” Dick greets cheerfully, voice carrying over onto Tim’s com. It’s one of those times where Nightwing comes down from Blüdhaven to patrol with the family, then. “What is it?”
He takes a deep breath before speaking, knowing his next words are going to cause something of a stir. “I think we’ve got a Pit forming in Gotham.”
Right on time, everyone on coms starts speaking at once. Dick sputters in surprise, trying to form a response over the declaration; Tim is asking how he can be sure, and for location and size and ‘should we be worrying about Ra’s making a show?’; Damian’s saying something under his breath about all their disastrous communication skills; Barbara’s staying quiet, probably waiting until they’ve finished freaking until she starts up. Batman, though, is evidently not half as patient, shouting over the pandemonium to make himself heard. 
“Hood. Explain.”
Jason rolls his eyes. “Uh, that’s pretty much all I’ve got at the moment, old man. Been feeling kinda weird the last few days- felt like I was being pulled about and shit- and when I tried to find the source, I found this bright green puddle. I don’t know what else you want from me.”
“Why didn’t you inform us of the feeling prior to this?”
He’s about to snap back at the man for being pushy when he hears a noise from the end of the alley. Immediately, his gaze snaps back to the Lazarus Puddle, and he blanches when his sees the surface begin to froth. 
“Hood-”
“Shut up, something’s happening.” Red Hood bites, somewhat distracted as the frothing continues, slowly becoming more violent. “Does anyone know if pits can boil over? Because I’m looking at it now and it looks like someone’s left some foul-ass milk on the stove for too long.”
Barbara’s finally voice cuts through the coms. “Nightwing and Red Robin are the closest to your current location- ETA five to seven minutes. Do you need back-up?”
“I have no idea— holy fuck.”
Distantly, he can hear the others asking him what’s up, and Barbara telling Dick and Tim to head over west, but he’s too focused on the way the pit seems to curve upwards, looking less like water and more like a thick sludge. A thick sludge that something is trying to break through. The vague impression of a hand is pushing against the surface. 
His voice is breathy when he finally responds to Nightwing’s cries. “Guys, I think there’s something in there.”
“What?!”
He takes a wary step forward as the hand continues to push, and then a large step back accompanied by a startled yell as the surface finally breaks with a violent splatter. He jumps to avoid the spray, and the hand flails as it searches for purchase against the floor. Surging forward, it discovers solid ground and quickly leverages itself onto it, pushing and pushing until Jason can see the beginnings of a face. 
Dripping with the more concerning equivalent of sewage, there’s black hair with the vaguest implication of white strands against it, a heart-shaped face, and bright, blue-green eyes. Ergo: something that looks almost exactly like him. 
Stumbling further back as they continue to rise, he hears Barbara announce Nightwing and RR’s ETA as one minute from now, and crosses his fingers that they get here sooner, because he’s looking at this kid like a fun-house mirror and he doesn’t like it at all. 
The teenager looks at him from underneath the thick coating of sludge, shaking himself free from the last dredges of the Pit clinging to his shoes. “Hm,” The guy says, tone deceptively casual. “I wasn’t expecting an audience.”
“What the fuck.” Jason chokes, barely grasping at his ability to form words beyond the shock. The teenager searches his face, before looking down at his own figure. 
“Ooh, yikes, give me a second-“ He snorts, before his skin takes on a strange blue tinge and the sludge falls through him, meeting the floor with a wet slap, which- gross. “-There! Sorry about that. Coming out looking like the Blob isn’t the best first impression I’ve ever made, huh?”
Jason is rapidly losing control of both his life and the situation. “What the fuck is- I- who the fuck are you?”
“My name’s Danny.”
“Danny.”
The kid nods. “Yep. It’s Danny.”
“Okay. Danny, can you tell me what the Hell just happened?”
Danny, apparently, blinks, looking back at the Lazarus Pit for a moment before refocusing on Jason. He’s never been more glad his expression is hidden behind the helmet. “Well…” He starts hesitantly, “I… hey- who’re they?”
Jason stupidly whips his head to look behind him, and- sure enough, Nightwing and Red Robin have finally positioned themselves on the rooftops above them- but he hears a splash and when he turns around, the kid is gone, thick ripples casting over the Lazarus Puddle. The two vigilantes jump down from the roof, coming up beside him. Tim looks utterly gobsmacked. 
“Did that kid just jump into the Pit?” He blurts, struggling to choose between looking at Red Hood for an answer and keeping his eye on the puddle in case something happens. 
Jason takes in the situation. He takes in the sight of his brothers, the green sludge smattered across the concrete of the alleyway, the remnants of conversation echoing around his head. He thinks about everything that just happened, and takes a deep, deep breath. 
“This is officially the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.” He says, before promptly turning around and walking out of the alley, intent on going to bed and passing this whole thing off as a some kind of trauma-induced nightmare. He knows he’ll have to deal with this at some point, because there’s apparently a Lazarus Pit in Gotham and a whole guy that looked like him crawled out of it, but if he can just pretend that none of that happened for even a few hours, by God, he’s taking it. 
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thosewickedlovelies · 11 months
Text
Messenger Bird  |  Oberyn Martell x afab!Reader x Ellaria Sand
Rating: E for Explicit
Summary: Your flight path finally brings you to the bedchamber of the Prince of Dorne
Tags: SMUT: oral (f recieving), unprotected PiV sex, mention of bondage; Ellaria is in bed with yous but I wouldn’t necessarily call this a threesome; reader vaguely describes themself as being less experienced than Oberyn but I don’t think that should exclude many people lol
Word count: 5,991
Note: This fic is inspired solely by a scene in @radiowallet‘s fabulous Oberyn fic, to which I responded "10/10 would be the person who ends up in bed with Oberyn because he answers the door with his dick out 🤷🏻‍♀️”
This is like, a roughly canon au where Oberyn and Ellaria are married and the regents of Dorne. It's also mostly PWP, so. enjoy lmao <3
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“There are few good reasons to be disturbing a prince this early-”
The door opens-
“-but there is one reason I am generally inclined to forgive.”
-and the first thing you see is Prince Oberyn’s hand, wrapped around his cock.
You gape, stupefied. Though cast in bronze, not iron, the wholly naked body of the Prince of Dorne seizes your attention like a magnet. All of your good sense screams at you to avert your gaze, but how can you? 
His hand, and the length it grips, are both shiny, smudged with damp. Is it the same fluid beading at the tip of his cock? 
Or has it a different source? In the background you hear sheets rustling, and a familiar feminine voice drawling.
“Oberyn darling, you know what your advisors say about answering the door in your skin.”
The prince’s eyes had widened infinitesimally upon seeing you, surprise and delight flaring for a split second. That hand moved- up and down, ever so slightly. The faintest motion, just enough to convey that he knew exactly what he was doing.
Something secretive sparkled in Oberyn’s eyes, just barely curled the corners of his full mouth. “What my advisors say, and what our little raven’s face says are two very different things, my love.”
“Oh?”
You wrench your gaze back up to Oberyn’s face, eyes wide. Heat prickles and swarms over your skin. Your tongue has dried up in your mouth, leaving you quite unable to address Princess Ellaria even had you retained the wits to.
“What are you doing up so early, my little messenger bird? Surely there cannot be any urgent demands of me with the day barely dawned?” 
Emboldened, Oberyn leans more comfortably against the door frame, titling his head as he awaits your response. He continues to tug on his cock, an almost idle motion- except his pace is decidedly deliberate. His dark eyes gleam.
Oh, gods, what could you say? That you’d been driven mad by your own need? That there was an itch under your skin which nothing could satisfy, one that had only grown stronger since the bloom of summer and the carelessly revealing fashions Dorne and its prince preferred?
The truth was that you’d barely finished your tea this morn, anticipating that indeed, there should be no important messages for the prince this early, when the Maester’s bark had startled you to wakefulness. Now the small scroll he’d given you was all but crushed in your fist, and doubtless sweat-stained besides.
Mutely, you lift your hand. Small mercies- the tiny seal closing the parchment hadn’t cracked in your grip.
Oberyn measures you for another long moment, eyes narrowing slightly. Scoffing, he takes the scroll from you, releasing his cock with clear displeasure.
A faint breeze blows past you through the open door. It carries the distant murmur of waves crashing, and the ever-present scents of salt and oleander. Silk hangings above the bed sway, glimmering in the rich, fiery colors of the Martell family, tassels fluttering.
Oberyn’s fingers are still wet. They leave fingerprint smudges where he adjusts his grip on the paper. His cock bobs with the faint shifting of his body, his eyes narrowing as he reads. Taking advantage of his distraction, you risk a longer look at the utterly bare body of Oberyn Martell.
Stripped of his usual flowing robes, the prince somehow appears taller. Every part of him is long and lean, rangy muscles stretched along his shapely frame. Despite his frequent act as the long-suffering hedonist forced to rule, there is a sharp intelligence about him- a calculating mind turning beneath hair often mussed by sleep, sex, or spearwork.
His cock is as long and sturdy as he is. As bronze, too. A trim thatch of hair curls neatly around the base, climbing up and stopping teasingly short of his navel. You wonder if the prince sunbathes nude, to achieve such uniformly sun-dipped skin. The moisture coating the hair and skin of his groin shimmers and winks, scattering your thoughts, and you swallow thickly.
You look up again, but you’d lingered too long- Oberyn is watching you already, his mouth curved up the slightest bit. 
He drops the parchment carelessly to the floor. “Tell me true, now, messenger bird. It is only unfortunate happenstance that has kept us from meeting in my bedchamber before now, yes?”
If before there was mischief in his eyes, now it is tempered by a clear, hard demand for truth. Of all the whispers throughout the palace of the prince’s exploits, one unquestionable feature was always present: Oberyn didn’t take unwilling lovers. One entered his bed out of desire, not obligation.
You allow your professional façade to thaw, shaking yourself free of the shock and focusing on the other feelings that the prince always inspired. Delight. Desire. Hunger.
“Yes, my prince.” You dip your head coyly, lashes fluttering.
Oberyn’s smile is that of one who has just learned his long-laid plans have come to fruition- and he intends to savor the results.
“Would you like to come in now? I hope you will not mind my wife’s presence- it is the princess’s bed too, you understand.”
Oberyn steps back in invitation, opening the door wider for you. That hardness has not completely left his eyes- there is flint to it, an almost-challenge sparking.
But your attention is no longer on the prince.
His movement has revealed the princess, still abed behind him. Ellaria has turned on her side toward the door, supported by a cushion pulled to her chest. The fact that it covers the delicate parts of her otherwise bare torso is plainly more by accident than design- the outer curve of her right breast is clearly visible, tan skin an obvious contrast against the orchid-purple silk of the pillow. Her slim frame is barely a ripple in the sheets of the enormous bed, yet her presence commands- no eye could resist her allure. Your lips part.
Ellaria smiles lazily, hooded eyes shimmering with laughter at the knowledge between you.
“I can think of little I would mind less, my lord.” Ellaria’s reaction warms you, inspires a bit more confidence, and you manage to stand a little straighter as you enter the room.
Oberyn glances between you and his wife. “Have I missed something?” he inquires. 
The door closes, and then you’re aware of Oberyn behind you, so close you can feel the heat radiating from all of his bare flesh.
Your mouth goes dry again. If Ellaria was the encouraging warmth of an arm around the shoulders, Oberyn was heat- mercurial as a desert wind. A temperature vacillating on the cusp of dangerous.
Thankfully, Ellaria seems immune to Oberyn’s effect. “I’m afraid our sweet messenger bird made a rather…special delivery to me last week, while you were otherwise occupied, my prince.”
“My heart! You did not tell me?” You can feel Oberyn puffing up behind you, his tone full of indignance.
The princess presses her lips together, clearly stifling amusement. “It was entirely too brief an affair, in honesty. Everything was busy during that period- it must have simply slipped my mind. Truly, I’m sorry, my love.” Her dark eyes shine, but the apology is sincere. Sweet and simple as sugared almonds.
“Hmmm.” Oberyn’s considering hum rumbles through you, like the purr of a great cat. “This morn is my turn, then. After that we will be even.”
You jump at the brush of his hands on your waist. The prince was out of sight behind your back, and his touch was a surprise that sent gooseflesh rippling over you.
“How does that sound, sweet bird? Will you let me ravish you like such a one as lovely as you deserves to be ravished? Will you share a morning of pleasure with your prince?” Oberyn lowers his voice to a deep rasp in your ear; he toys with the raven-black sash of your messenger’s uniform, but does not loosen it. 
Your body tightens and warms from top to toe. Ellaria has not taken her eyes off you; her gaze scorches like a fresh coal in a warming pan.
“I would be honored, my prince.” 
It would be a lie to say you weren’t nervous. There were rumors, of course, of the prince’s inclinations in the bedchamber. If nothing else, his experience far surpassed your own; he liked things to go his way, but this, at least, would suit you fine.
Finally, Oberyn pulls free the tie of your sash. He draws it off your shoulders, but then, still holding it, comes to stand in front of you. The gather of fabric is just enough to block your view of his sex.
“You must promise me one thing, Bird. You will tell me, if we veer too close to anything you do not want. Any activity, any place on that lovely body. I do not force things on my companions.
“I am a man of many desires, but among them will never be thus. I am your prince, not your master.” Oberyn holds your gaze.
A fragment of uncertainty still holding tight in your chest dissipates. “I understand. I promise, my prince.”
Those obsidian eyes soften slightly. “You may use my name.”
You hesitate. Even your fantasies had not dared to dream of such familiarities. “I promise…Prince Oberyn.”
Oberyn smiles then, a wide, pleased expression. He tosses your sash to the side, revealing his cock still proud and alert. He moves closer, and you’re reminded of the great cats that stalk the mountains in the north of Dorne- all sleek, bunching muscles and a singular focus on the object of their hunt. In this moment, you suppose that would make you the prey. It’s a dizzying, thrilling  thought: that the prince of Dorne, the Viper himself, seeks you.
As his hands seek your jaw now, sliding along your skin with the slowness of one who knows well the effect his touch has. Oberyn cradles your face in his hands, lifting your chin, your mouth- a cup from which he intends to drink deep. His breath brushes your lips, syrupy with the taste of wine. 
Oberyn’s dark eyes bore into your face. “Sweet bird,” he murmurs. His rasp is the last thing you hear before his mouth touches yours, and then your head fills with wind. Blood rushing and roaring in your ears, blotting out all other sensation but Oberyn’s mouth, full and soft and confident, urging you to follow his motions, guiding you into his world of sensual wonder.
And you follow willingly. You part your lips to the prince’s tongue, and relish the confidence with which he slips inside, weaving layers of sensation into the kiss.
Oberyn still holds your face to his. His hands span the entire length of your jaw, and they are not idle: his fingertips stroke and massage in small motions, sending tingles down your neck, pleasure rippling through you like wind through tall grass. You become aware, suddenly, of Oberyn’s body- it’s easing gradually closer to your own, the entire burning mass of it sending heat through your clothes, like leaning against the chimney of a great hearthfire. You inhale sharply. 
The prince withdraws from your kiss. He studies your wide, dreamstruck eyes, your lips, now appropriately kiss-swollen. Smirking, he looks to Ellaria for approval. His wife’s gaze travels down your body.
“I didn’t get to see her last time.” The princess pouts. “Undress her for me, darling?”
“Anything for you, my love.”
Oberyn returns his attention to you. “Yes?” His hands skate meaningfully down your back, to the laces of your dress.
“Yes,” you answer, and his hands are already working. “-to both.”
Oberyn laughs once, loud and bright with surprise. “Careful, sweet bird, or I will think you are here only to steal my wife from me.”
Ellaria’s eyes sparkle. “Sweet words from a sweet bird, indeed.” She shifts to lie more comfortably, relocating her long fall of curls with the sweep of a practiced hand. The cushion is carelessly adjusted, and then her right breast is fully visible, as pert and lovely as you only briefly glimpsed during your meeting. 
Ellaria faintly smirks at your expression, but a moment later you are both distracted. Your gown sags in the familiar shapelessness of undone laces, and Oberyn is quick to take advantage. He traces the exposed skin up your spine, and you arch at his touch, your lungs filling. You move to help him remove the gown, but he stops you.
“Slowly, now,” Oberyn whispers in your ear. “Give the princess something to long for.”
He draws your dress slowly down your shoulders, and you mark the speed. As slow and languorous as a drizzle of honey pools on a cake. Your heart beats fast. You have never made a performance of undressing for a lover- surely the lovemaking itself ought to be the show?
But as you grip the bodice of your dress, lowering it with exaggerated slowness, pulling the fabric tight to emphasize your breasts about to spill free- you think you understand. Ellaria’s gaze rivets to your chest, growing hungrier the longer you and Oberyn take to bare you. What is a main act, after all, without the opening scenes?
Your own hunger rises as you witness Ellaria’s. You finally lower the gown to bare your breasts entirely, but Oberyn’s hands immediately cover them. You gasp. His movement was unexpected…and very distracting. A small sound of pleasure breaks from you as the prince’s callused hands massage the tender flesh in a way that feels entirely deliberate. Knowledgeable. Like he knows exactly what this will do- this squeeze, this twist of your nipple, this-
“Keep going,” Oberyn purrs.
-this command, given in his sensual rasp.
Between the prince at your back and the princess to your front, you have nowhere to hide. No way to. Everywhere you are confronted with something that stokes the flame of desire steadily growing within you.
Oberyn had told you to keep going. One by one, you free your arms from their sleeves, letting the morning sun play on your skin, the sea breeze raise the fine hairs. The prince’s hands continue to massage your breasts, exploring every dip and curve of your torso as your gown drops further. Finally it’s at your hips, and without any extra encouragement you push it down to pool around your feet.
Wearing nothing but the morning light, you stand before the regents of Dorne. 
Or you try to- Oberyn has molded himself to your back, mouthing at your neck, and suddenly your knees struggle to hold you upright.
Any self-consciousness you thought you’d feel fades away as you turn in Oberyn’s arms to kiss him, and are welcomed eagerly. The prince rewards your initiative with an approving groan, hauling you to him, encouraging you to get as close as you wish. Every inch of him is firm with muscle, standing sturdy against your desperate grasping. You can’t decide what to reach for first- you want to touch all of him.
Especially the burning length trapped between your hips. You reach for it, and Oberyn lets out another low sound of pleasure, breaking your kiss as you tip your head down to watch yourself touch him.
Oberyn wraps his hand around yours, stilling your motions. “Patience, Bird.” His eyes dance, warm and amused. “We have plenty of time. I think the princess is getting lonely, yes?”
He herds you gently toward the bed, where Ellaria is indeed waiting, with something like envy on her face.
What could she possibly have to be envious of? The princess had no reason to suffer such an emotion. She could end this, remove you from her husband’s arms, with but a word.
What you don’t see, as Oberyn's handful of your rear interferes with your tentative climb into the bed, is that Ellaria’s gaze is not on the prince, but on you.
Your elbows buckle and you squeak. 
“Hurry up, or I will assume you wish to be kept in this position,” Oberyn growls from behind you- from over you. He has clambered over your back, draping himself over you and planting his hands on your wrists.
His tone is light with jest, but you have no doubt he means it. This is a common theme in many of the oft-whispered stories- if the prince and princess like someone enough, they might keep them a whole day, or night, or any length of time, really. For their use and pleasure alone. Even restrained, if the guest wishes- and from what you’ve heard, enough have wished it to make you wonder.
The thought makes you shiver. As does Oberyn’s grip, dragging your hands gently upward, forcing your face and chest flat against the silk sheets. Your breathing quickens. Oberyn’s hips press into your rear, his cock rubbing between your cheeks, and with your knees spread the way they are, you can feel the wetness of your own arousal smeared cool against your inner thighs. 
Heat flares in your cheeks. Is Oberyn going to fuck you already?
“Mmm,” he rumbles into your neck. “That is very tempting, but I shall take my own advice, I think. Patience.”
And Oberyn demonstrates a great store of patience, indeed. You lie, belly down in slippery silk, for an immeasurable length of time as the prince drags his mouth along every inch of your skin. You squirm and pant and moan under the delicious assault, fresh slick welling when he lingers where your thighs meet. His weight lifts off you as Oberyn finally descends, imprinting new damp patches down your left leg.
You take the opportunity to shift, half turning on your side toward Ellaria. She’s watching you, eyes slumberous and knowing. Her fingers trace light paths across your arms and chest- the first time she’s touched so much of your bare skin.
“Will you bring us songs as well as messages in the future, sweet bird? You sound so lovely when you sing.”
“If the prince and princess wish it,” you answer honestly.
You yelp as Oberyn switches legs, nipping your right ankle. Your flinch draws Ellaria’s attention to your chest. Her hand moves lower, boldly caressing the supple, sensitive flesh, all the while watching your face. She thumbs your nipple experimentally, and you bite your lip. She pinches it, and you gasp, the touch zinging straight to your core. 
This time your motion twitches your thigh away from Oberyn’s mouth. With a growl, he crawls back up the bed, shoving himself unceremoniously between you and Ellaria. 
“You have already had your fun, my love.” The prince falls atop his wife, his teeth at her neck. “Do not make me restrain you this morn.” 
He swallows the princess’s giggles with a shamelessly wanton, thorough kiss. 
“That would be a terrible torture, indeed.” Ellaria is finally able to agree, teasingly, breathlessly. “Very well, my love. I shall not interrupt your designs.”
Oberyn kisses her again, quick and soft. Resting his forehead against hers, he turns his head to you. “Perhaps after I am through with her, you can give me a reenactment of your meeting.”
His eyes gleam wickedly as he looks at you while addressing his wife.
They are both impossibly beautiful. Inky hair and rich coloring- the very sun yearns to embrace them, its golden arms reaching across the bed. They appear all the more unearthly when gilded with its light; untouchable as muses, models which sculptors might strive their whole lives to do justice.
But they are as physical as you. The illusion is broken when Oberyn again slides his body across yours, pleasure striking like sparks over your skin.
“Come, sweet one. I wish for my messenger bird to perch upon my face.”
Oberyn wants you to…sit on his face? Why? 
The prince stretches out on your other side. You sit up, wanting to oblige him but unsure of his intent. You don’t understand until Oberyn reaches for your sex, stroking lightly in a beckoning gesture. He growls in satisfaction at the slickness that readily coats his fingers.
Oberyn reads the hesitation in your face. “You have not done this before.”
“No, my prince. I’m sorry.”
“Do not apologize. It is an honor to teach new pleasures to the subjects in my care.”
The sheets rustle as Ellaria strokes your thigh comfortingly. “Oberyn had much to teach me, as well, when I first came to his bed. You will like this,” she assures you.
Oberyn makes no objection to his wife’s touch this time. “What is going to happen is you, lovely bird, are going to sit that shapely bottom here-” he pats his chest “-which will allow me to taste your sweetness directly from the source.” He dips the tips of those beckoning fingers into your cunt, leaving no doubt as to his meaning.
You are stunned all over again. Although this time some of your bemusement is surely due to the way the prince’s thumb joins his fingers, pressing at the bud of your sex even while his fingers continue to rub at something divine inside you.
You arch and whimper. “Prince Oberyn-!”
He chuckles, a pleased, approving sound. “That’s right, sweet bird. Come, take your perch and sing.”
The prince tugs and maneuvers you just so, arranging you above his mouth. His fingers are wet on your thigh.
His mouth is wetter. You moan, high and long and helpless, when Oberyn’s mouth engulfs your sex. Past lovers have done this for you (albeit in more traditional positions), but Oberyn has clearly received a prince’s education even in the carnal arts. Slippery heat and suction, concentrated pressure and indiscriminate lapping- somehow he knows precisely what to do and where, and when, and for how long-
“Ah~!” you cry out again as pleasure rushes up all too suddenly, pressure about to burst like a geyser. You squirm and try to lift away from Oberyn, but his arms are wrapped around your thighs, keeping you firmly in place. Surely it would be rude to climax before the prince?
Ellaria’s grip above your knee has tightened. In your parted lips, your heaving chest, she reads the signs.
“Take your pleasure, sweet bird.” Her eyes are now wide, rather than sleepy. “You needn’t wait to reach your peak.”
Her intent gaze is all the permission you need- as is Oberyn’s tongue, twisting relentlessly at your clit. Your uncertainty snaps at his wordless demand. Pleasure floods your system, climax shuddering through every muscle, everything pulling abruptly tight before releasing
The onslaught of bliss gradually recedes. Accompanying the very last of it is a long, deep sigh- a confirmation of relief if there ever was one. Your thighs tremble suddenly, after holding tense for so long. Your hands fall to Oberyn’s head to support yourself, fingers instinctively stroking through the short, bristly strands of his hair.
The prince tips his head back into your caress, revealing his mouth and chin shiny with your release. His eyes glint with satisfaction. 
“Was that as sweet for you as it was for me, Songbird?” 
“I daresay it was, my prince.” You are breathless and overcome with the sudden urge to giggle.
You begin to ease off of Oberyn, your limbs clumsy as if affected by the same buzzing that fills your head. It’s a giddy, bubbling sensation; it reminds you of a party the palace hosted, not long ago. You don’t remember the reason, now. Only that the prince had used it as an excuse to share a marvelous new kind of wine he’d discovered on his travels- a sweet, white vintage which fizzed, in which bubbles rose endlessly, seemingly without source or cause. It sparkled in mouths and in spirits all night long. He’d invited all the palace staff to the celebration, to try this magical wine, and had caught your eye that night. Your spirit lifted by the bubbles, you’d smiled at Oberyn.
Nothing came of it that night, of course. But now, with your body loose as if that wine were still fizzing in your veins…you cannot find it in you to feel disappointed. 
Oberyn takes a second to ensure that you are again lying snugly between him and Ellaria. Then he leans over you entirely, his mouth still shiny, and Ellaria sits up slightly to meet him. She moans at the taste of you in his kiss.
Oberyn’s manhood presses into your thigh. It is insistently hard, a ruddy flush to it now, and leaking freely. The fluid smears onto your skin. Eyes wide, you are entranced by the prince and princess all over again.
The ends of Ellaria’s raven curls brush your arm, soft and sweet-smelling. Following them upward, your eye catches on a necklace encircling her throat. A slender gold chain rests atop her collarbone. From it dangles small stones, their polished surfaces catching the light in shades suggesting a sunrise: pink, lavender, topaz. It seems to glimmer with a light all its own, the chain links shifting and tinkling as Ellaria moves.
“Perhaps you will have to try our topsy-turvy position with her as well, my love.” Oberyn murmurs against Ellaria’s lips, and you’d swear her cheeks colored the slightest tinge.
Turning his head, the prince notices what has caught your attention.
“Do you like her necklace, sweet bird?”
Oberyn shifts his body over yours as he speaks. Distracted by his words, you almost don’t notice the prince’s body sinking between your legs- until you feel a cool brush of air where there hadn’t been, and something rigid, long, and hot settle at the seam of your cunt. You draw a startled breath.
“I like how it sparkles and chimes when I fuck her, “ Oberyn croons in your ear. His tongue flickers at your neck, every inch the viper; the sensation crackles down your spine like a whip-strike of fresh pleasure. “Shall we find one for you?”
Your mouth hangs open, but no air or sound passes in either direction. Perhaps there are too many sounds you could make, and not enough air in the room; all you can do is stare.
Taking your shock as assent, Oberyn directs Ellaria to pick something for you. “We keep a jewelry box by the bed for this very purpose.” The prince smirks.
Ellaria stretches toward the nightstand at Oberyn’s bid, the sheets slithering down her back. She could be a sea-nymph, reaching out from a pool of gold, the silk glimmering like water around her. It is a mesmerizing sight: Ellaria’s long back, a slim braid of muscles flickering as she rummages in a drawer. Her arm arcs upward suddenly, triumphant, and when she turns back the silk slips lower still, and you glimpse what you had only felt between her legs that day…
Ellaria dangles her prize before your face. A short chain of gold like hers, but from which hang smaller stones like clusters of grapes, winking in the light. You can’t imagine wearing something so fine- but then, you couldn’t imagine being welcomed into the prince and princess’s bed before this morning, either. Being adored and adorned by two such breathtaking individuals at once.
“Perfect.” Oberyn’s declaration is hushed and reverent. “This will shine like stars against your skin.” 
“Put it on,” he orders. Then he nearly whispers, “Let us get you ready for me, songbird.”
In his tone is a wicked desire that you realize had been banked, before now. But now- as he pins your legs open with his own body, with his own hand- you sense there is no stopping it.
Oberyn slips two fingers into you, the first rush of the flood he had thus far contained. You gasp, thighs spasming. But Oberyn had drawn from you a flood of your own earlier, and there was no pain, only sudden recognition of an ache- a hunger for more than just the prince’s fingers.
Ellaria drags the end of the necklace over your chest. The metal scrapes gently over your nipples, a startling but not unpleasant sensation, and you squirm at the onslaught of stimulation- Oberyn’s fingers filling you, Ellaria’s fingers brushing your throat- and finally, the close-fitting chain clasping snugly around your neck.
You swallow, and feel the resistance of the unyielding metal against the bob of your throat. Oberyn watches you intently, hungrily. His fingers still move inside you, experimenting with one motion, then another, tracking your reaction to each one. You hitch your thighs open wider as sensations compete for your attention. You tip your head back, exposing your now-bejeweled throat to Oberyn.
“Do I sparkle enough for you, my prince?”
One corner of his mouth curls up, but it’s an almost mocking effect combined with the glitter in his eyes. “Let us find out, little raven.”
Without further warning, Oberyn’s fingers withdraw from your cunt. Every muscle in you tightens, your awareness narrowing in anticipation. Oberyn strokes his cock through your sex, readying you. Your hips lift toward the sensation. Your eyes lock.
The prince of Dorne plunges his cock into you in a single, breathtaking stroke. Your head drops back; your eyes roll heavenward. Oberyn’s loud, satisfied moan fills the room. He relishes this moment as fully as he enjoys everything else he does, his hips grinding forward into yours like he cannot get enough of himself inside you.
Your eyes are squeezed shut, your breathing short. Oberyn’s cock fills you like nothing you’ve ever felt, until there is no room for you to focus on anything but the thick, burning length of him.
“Look at me, Bird. Open your eyes.”
How can you do anything but obey? 
Oberyn’s gaze is fiercely alive, shining with joy and triumph at the pleasure connecting you.
You can hardly speak, but he sees it in your eyes; you have never been so thrilled to feel like a mouse in the cat’s claws. 
After that there is nothing more to be said. Oberyn ravishes you as he promised, raining praises like word of law, scandalous declarations that make you blush despite your position beneath him. Every stroke of his cock is a work of art. The prince draws out your pleasure from a seemingly endless spool, until you are unraveled, trembling, teetering on the knife’s edge of bliss.
The necklace around your throat did indeed glitter like a chain of stars. Oberyn thrusts into you hard, taking it as a challenge to make the stones chime louder than you sobbed each time. He thoroughly enjoys the way each thrust makes your curves ripple. He enjoys, too, the sight of his wife plastering herself to your shoulder, cooing encouragement even as she contributes to Oberyn’s treatment.
“You’re doing so well, sweet bird. My husband does have stamina, doesn’t he? And this after he had me earlier this morn…” Ellaria’s voice is lush and silky as flower petals- and as erotic dragging over your skin. “I had no idea you could sing so sweetly.”
Oberyn slows his pace. “I should not be the only one to have you today, my heart. I wish to hear what songs you make together.”
Oberyn grips your chin in his large hand and turns your face toward the princess. “What do you say, Songbird? Will you eat my wife’s cunt when I’m through with yours?”
You would have agreed to anything as long he brought you back to that dazzling edge, but this was a bargain you’d be happy to fulfill.
“Yes,” you gasp. “Gladly.”
A small smile tilts up Ellaria’s mouth. “I would be most intrigued to experience the talents of this lovely mouth,” she muses. “But perhaps I would rather eat yours, instead. You know how I like to taste you, my prince.”
She direct the last words to her husband, sultry mischief in her dark eyes. Her fingertips dance between your bodies, down, down, to where you are split around him. You jolt at the targeted pressure she places on your clit. 
Oberyn groans, his forehead lowering to your shoulder. “I fear you shall not have long to wait, my love. This cunt is truly divine- it may deserve further worship after all…”
His words trail away, praises only half-formed grunted into your neck. His thrusts speed up again. The two of them on either side of you, commanding your pleasure so sweetly, overwhelms your senses- as do Ellaria’s fingers, pressing precisely where you need.
Your mouth opens in a soundless cry as you tip over the precipice. Oberyn jerks his head up to see, and the gorgeous pleasure-pain contorting your features, your cunt fluttering in time with your body’s convulsions, yanks the prince after you. 
Ellaria watches raptly. Her husband’s long body, muscles rippling as he pistons into another, was a sight she never tired of. Neither was his near-snarl as he climaxed, his body seizing and shuddering in ecstasy.
The prince continues moving until your cries turn to whimpers, and your thighs clamp around his hips. A sinister thought briefly quirks his mouth- if he had not been additionally sated by Ellaria earlier, it would have taken much more effort indeed to slow him. Oberyn is rarely satisfied unless his lovers are all but unable to rise from his bed. 
A good thing then, that a familiar gleam has appeared in his wife’s eye.
As Oberyn lowers himself back down to your side, Ellaria takes his place, her body undulating atop yours like a serpent. The prince watches with lazy satisfaction. Despite both his recent releases, his blood maintains a low simmer at the sight of the two of you, the feminine swells of you squishing and spilling against one another. Like the overflow of cream from a bun, he thinks dreamily. Exactly how he likes his cream- overflowing. Perhaps he will be able to sleep now, and he can request some custard puffs from the kitchens later for a second reenactment…
You have barely caught your breath from Oberyn’s attention when Ellaria steals it again, her tongue slipping against yours in a familiar dance. Unencumbered by gowns this time, you are able to touch all of her, caressing down her spine and lower, marveling at the smoothness of her skin. She sits up slightly, and slickness that's not your own lets her rock easily against your sex.
“You sing too sweetly to release so soon, lovely bird. Have you any urgent appointments today?”
Your gaze falls to the black sash which Oberyn had so carelessly tossed aside. Before you can respond, another knock sounds at the door.
Oberyn lets out a half-hearted snarl. “By all the gods-”
Again fully nude, but appearing even more debauched than when you’d arrived, the prince stalks to the door and flings it open.
“Yes?”
It’s another messenger, although her reaction is very different from yours: she stares rigidly ahead, her voice quavering at the sight of Oberyn’s naked, recently exerted body. 
“My prince, the Maester sent me to look for…” she trails off when she spots you, her eyes flitting to you for a split second when Oberyn shifts impatiently. “I’m sorry for disturbing you, my lord.” She bows her head, her voice going squeaky.
“Tell him I have need of this raven for a special task today. I will answer his missive later.”
Oberyn is closing the door before he’s done speaking. When he turns back to the bed, he finds you with your head thrown back, writhing as Ellaria toys deliberately with your nipples. 
He chuckles. “And you tell me I am the incorrigible one, my love.”
Oberyn burrows languidly into the sheets again, stretching out comfortably by your side. You’re whimpering by now, a furrow in your brow rapidly taking the shape of disbelief. It’s a feeling he knows well. 
“Oh, sweet bird, my wife is a rare talent with her fingers, is she not? We have hardly begun all the things we would do to you…”
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Thanks for reading 😘💗
Want more? Check out my Masterlist
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jewish-culture-is · 2 months
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Tw: the holocaust, mentions of the current war, bad spelling/grammar, trauma dumping (I’m sorry)
Jewish culture (with parents from Russia/Ukraine) is growing up with stories of antisemitism from your family, growing up being told/thinking you were safe in the US, only to be proven wrong again and again and again
Jewish culture is being one of two Jewish kids in your middle school, when your teacher decides that ‘boy in the striped pajamas’ is a good source to use to teach the holocaust (and then vaguely bonding with the other Jewish kid over history class, because even though you’ve only spoken like 5 times before that, the constant camping out in the bathroom with nothing to do facilitated a mutual kindness and respect)
Jewish culture is having to explain why you can’t have pizza or breadsticks during Passover every year
Jewish culture is being happy every time a new friend asks about your dietary restrictions, because even though they know you’re Jewish, they don’t really know what that means, but they want to. Because they care about you.
Jewish culture is seeing ‘protesters’ with anti-Israel and holocaust denial signs outside your synagogue every week for years, even before the current war (and then being told that it’s free speech when it’s brought up to city council)
Jewish culture is being proud of your Jewishnis, and then being told by your parents that you have to hide it, for your own safety.
Jewish culture is being happy any time your friends remember your dietary restrictions, or holidays, or stand up for you
Jewish culture is wanting to wear heels to synagogue, but also worrying in that back of your mind that you can’t run in heels very well
Jewish culture is loving the massive Minora(?) your synagogue lights up outside every year, but also checking behind you every few seconds to make sure everyone is safe
Jewish culture is not knowing how the F to spell any Jewish words (holidays, places, objects, food, ect.) because each one has like 17 different spellings, and you’re dyslexic, so you just throw letters on a page and hope autocorrect understands (it doesn’t)
Jewish culture is finding this blog and being so happy you almost cry 💙
we love you here, don't worry!! your grammar was perfect and your spelling wasn't too bad, just two words I noticed! (jewishness and menorah). I am so glad you found my blog, I am so glad I made this blog. every time I get a long ask like this, I almost light up with joy because it makes me so happy to know people feel safe to submit their stories like this, so thank you too!! <33
also don't worry, nobody knows how to spell a lot of the words, as long as the sounds are close enough we'll understand!!
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1moremilgram-enjoyer · 6 months
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Okay hold on you know that name on Kotoko's cap in HARROW? Jacques Roulet?
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I always thought that was just a brand or something, but I looked it up and- it's a story about a supposed werewolf that killed a child?! Kotoko what the fuck-
CW Gruesome murder, werewolves (???), clinical lycanthropy (?), mentions of drugs
Okay so here are the sources I'm using for this:
-WordPress by Jim McNeill
-Monstrous.com
Because this shit so obscure it doesn't even have a Wikipedia page.
Here's a summary of the story, though be warned, it's gruesome.
Basically, a few villagers in Angers, France, found the warm corpse of a fifteen year old boy being mauled by two wolves. The boy's father was the first to run up after his screams were heard, apparently. They chased the wolves off, but after they lost track of them, they found Jacques Roulet, half naked. He had long hair and beard, and his hands were dyed in fresh blood, his nails "long as claws."
Roules was "a beggar from house to house", and had been staying in a neighbouring village with his brother John and his cousin Julien, though he'd disappeared eight days before the murder. He admitted to having killed the boy by smothering him, and that the only reason he didn't fully eat the corpse was because the wolves scared him off.
In court, he claimed when he rubbed an ointment given to him by his parents on his skin, he could turn into a wolf. He claimed his hands and feet were those of a wolf when he killed the child, but he wasn't sure what his head looked like. He also claimed to have killed many more children. Adittionally, he said his brother and his cousin were the (other?) two wolves at the scene, but his parents actually proved the two had an alibi. You know, in case anyone was considering whether or not that was true.
He was originally sentenced to death, but he managed to appeal it, and in the end his sentence was reduced to staying two years in a mental institution.
The WordPress article mentions the salve Jacques claimed to rub on himself could have possibly had hallucinogenic properties, or alternatively, it's possible his diet included bread infected by the Ergot fungus, which contains chemicals similar to LSD and can also cause hallucinations. This can serve as a possible explanation for his belief of being a werewolf.
... What the fuck does this have to do with Kotoko.
Like, okay, I get the werewolf thing. She's a furry, we get it. But, she doesn't kill children though. If anything, one would assume the one supposed to be Jacques is Kotoko's victim, the dude that killed ten middle school children. But he's not the one wearing the cap, and he's... okay he's sorta connected to wolves.
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It's always looked to me like his shadow vaguely resembles a wolf's snout, but maybe I'm just going crazy.
I honestly don't really know what the deal is with this. My best guess is that the HARROW serial killer is meant to be Jacques, since Kotoko believes he deserved death (as evidenced by the fact she killed him) like the original sentence given to Jacques. Maybe you can read into something about the murdered boy's father in the Angers story being the first to find the body, if you're inclined to believe one of the HARROW killer's victims was part of Kotoko's family. Or maybe the idea of two wolves scaring off Jacques? Like, Kotoko and some kind of partner in vigilantism?
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?
I got no idea. The issue with that is that the wolves in the Jacques story also ended up mauling the boy's corpse, but maybe that's not 100% off-brand? Seeing her distorted quote in the second trial voice reveal trailer.
[Kotoko] From the beginning I've never asked for your understanding! My actions, one by one, are bringing Earth closer to peace. Useless Weaklings should just shut up and let me protect them!
Uh, yeah, I don't know.
I feel inclined to point out, regarding that last point, the line that plays when she first shows off the cap is:
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Feeding on food so I don't burn out
Which is- not the greatest line to say as you show off a cap referencing a story about mauling a fifteen year old. (And yes I do think the Japanese lyric explicitly references eating)
To be clear, the cap is in other scenes: at the end of the second verse before the pre-chorus-
[HARROW] Shall we replace the poor soul, and the miserable delusion “I didn’t mean to offend”, “I won’t do it again” How many wins in a row?
-and at the very end, where it infamously lays on the ground right next to the murder scene.
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But it's still introduced with the line about eating, which I find worrying.
I really am not sure what's going on with this one. If any Kotoko scholars out there have better ideas, please let me know, because I am very curious to know what the deal with this is. Take care!
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maraschinomerry · 11 days
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Little Pink Heart
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Pairings: Anthony Lockwood x fem!reader, implied Locklyle
Summary: following a fatal Ghost-Touch, Lockwood and reader must figure out how to manage love and life after death
Content: reader's death, ghost!reader, grief, angst, bittersweet, not a happy ending, established relationship
A/N: Please please be aware that this fic has some very heavy content, don't feel obliged to read if you could find it upsetting! That being said, this is as much about exploring the concept of Visitors' sentience that Jonathan Stroud introduced and building on what we saw with Annabel Ward as it is about the angst and the grief. This is dedicated to @bella-rose29 for mentioning the idea of ghost!reader and giving me inspiration (bonus angst: listen to Someone New by Freya Ridings while you read)
Word count: 4.9k (my longest fic yet!)
Taglist: @neewtmas @marinalor @ettadear @honey-with-tea (let me know if you want adding or removing!)
The click of the key echoed through the house as you opened the door. Dusk was falling, the fine mist that had settled tinted a soft blue. As much as you didn't want to go inside, you fancied staying out here less.
“Don't linger, darling,” your boyfriend, Anthony, murmured as he passed over the threshold. His hand slipped into yours and he led you in. The house was cold and dim in the fading light, and from the fine layer of dust and lack of personal effects it was clear that it hadn't been inhabited for some time. It was a shame that the owner, who had seemed like a nice enough young woman, had had to move out of her family home, but you couldn't help but be grateful. You and Anthony had only just got your licences, and with no links to any agencies nor desires to join them you'd decided to try and set up your own. That took time, though, and money, and though Anthony had a little equity in his house you'd agreed to take a couple of small, private cases to make up as much as you could. That was how you found yourself here, ready to earn a reasonable sum in exchange for eliminating a lone Type Two. A few jobs like this would help set you up nicely.
The kitchen was slightly warmer than the rest of the house, the west-facing windows having allowed in the last of the sun before it dipped behind the trees in the distance. Together you set up your kit bags on the table - you didn't have much: a few handmade salt bombs, filings and chains, a few flares only in case of emergency (they'd cost far too much to waste) and of course your rapiers. Lockwood pulled something extra from his bag, a small plastic-wrapped packet. Bourbon biscuits.
“You're the best,” you smiled as he opened the packet and offered one to you, which you bit into quickly.
“I know,” he grinned back, brushing a stray crumb from your lip. You blushed.
The owner of the house had provided a floor plan, but her account of the Visitor had been so inconsistent and vague that it was difficult to pinpoint a possible location for the Source. Anthony spread the roll of paper across the table, and you wrapped your arms around his waist, peering over his shoulder at the diagram. There were two floors and a basement, but the latter had been gutted a month ago ready for renovation so there was nothing in there at present.
“Let's start upstairs and work our way back down,” Anthony suggested. “More likely to find something in one of the bedrooms.”
“True, but it's a lot of wasted time if we don't. Why don't we split up and take a floor each?”
His expression soured, and he moved closer, taking your hand again and rubbing small anxious circles above your thumb. “That's smart, but I hate the idea of leaving you on your own.” Even when he didn't agree with your ideas, he always found a way to compliment them. Just one of the things that made you love him all the more.
You squeezed his hand reassuringly. “It won't be for long, and I'll call for you the moment I find anything suspicious.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” You leant forward and placed your lips delicately on his. He held you close, your hands on his chest, one of his on your waist and the other fidgeting with your necklace. It was one he'd bought for you, a small pink gemstone in a heart shape on a simple silver chain. His promise to always love and protect you. Not a day had gone by since that you didn't wear it. He nodded at last; he knew he would, he'd do anything you asked of him in a heartbeat. It still worried him not to be by your side, but he trusted that you were a good agent who could handle yourself and that you meant it when you said you'd call for him. His only condition was that if the Source was more likely to be upstairs, that would be where he'd look.
So it was that you found yourself, torch in one hand and the other on your rapier, exploring the ground floor. The silence was oppressive, seeping the confidence from you with every step. Not a ticking clock, not the creaking of the old building settling, not even the residual hum of electricity or plumbing, just the occasional thud from your boyfriend upstairs. Working quickly, you ruled out the dining room and bathroom. That left the lounge. The air smelled musty, and a shiver ran through you as you entered. That was never a good sign. You pulled out your thermometer and watched the temperature drop the further in you went.
“Anthony?” Your voice felt deafening against the quiet of the room, but you knew it hadn't been anywhere near loud enough to travel upstairs. No, this was silly, you could handle this. There were no signs of a spirit yet, for all you knew the change in temperature could be from the wind blowing down the chimney into the empty fireplace. You flicked the torch off, using your now free hand to hold your necklace, grounding yourself as you tuned in and listened. There was nothing at first. You wondered whether Anthony was having more luck upstairs; so far down here had been thoroughly useless. Maybe you should go and check on him. But then you heard it. A tragic, gut-wrenching wail, getting closer.
“Anthony?” you called again, louder this time but as steady as you could. There was movement above. He'd heard. So had the spirit, the wailing definitely nearby now. You pulled out your rapier.
The temperature plummeted.
A screech, so close you would have felt the breath on your neck had it come from a living being, made you whirl round. Your rapier clattered to the floor. Shit. Stay calm.
“Anthony!” you yelled, not caring how scared you sounded. His footsteps rattled down the stairs. He was so close.
You lunged towards your rapier.
The Visitor lunged towards you.
Lockwood was in the back bedroom when he heard his name. All his senses were immediately on high alert - you were the only person he allowed to call him Anthony, so he always reacted differently to his first name anyway, and under the circumstances hearing it immediately made him fear the worst.
“Y/n?” He crept out onto the landing, slowly pulling out his rapier and listening intently for any more noise. It was moments like these he was grateful not to be a Listener, he could focus on you and not the sounds of the house's history. He was only two steps onto the staircase when his name came again, louder and more panicked. Without a second thought he ran down the stairs, only holding back enough to make sure he didn't fall. His blood ran cold when he heard you scream.
You tried to both duck and spin as your hand came into contact with the hilt of your rapier. The blade sliced upwards, connecting with the Visitor, but it was too late. Its clawing grey hand clutched onto your shoulder moments before it disappeared. You screamed as tendrils of ice shot through you, radiating outwards from the spot. Through the fog of pain that had suddenly engulfed your brain you heard Anthony, close by now, yelling your name. You had to go to him. He'd know what to do. Everything would be okay.
You took one step, then another. Your torso was going numb, your entire arm having already fallen victim to the plasm which was turning your shoulder a violent shade of blue. One more step, and your legs gave out. You just about made out the silhouette of your boyfriend in the doorway, rushing towards you as you slumped to the ground.
“No, no, no, y/n!” Anthony's face swam into view, trying to mask his utter horror for your sake. “It's going to be okay, darling, I'll go and get help.”
The fingers of your good hand twitched towards his and he took it immediately, despite how cold it was. You struggled to focus on him through your tears, and noticed the same in his eyes. “Ant-” Your voice was failing fast.
“Shh, I've got you.” He cradled your head, his own tears mingling with yours on your cheek, but you could barely feel them. Almost everything was numb. The blue had spread across your chest, and the little pink heart stood out starkly against it. “I'm so sorry, my darling,” Lockwood said softly. He choked back a sob as he leant down, placing a kiss into your hair. You wanted to do the same, to speak to him, to do anything.
His face was the last thing you saw before everything went black.
You had no idea how much time had passed when your vision returned, a room slowly materialising in front of your eyes. It was a bedroom, filled with knick-knacks and bathed in a warm golden light. It looked familiar, but you hadn't been here when it went dark, you'd been… somewhere else. It was so hard to remember, but you knew there had been a dark, dusty room and a feeling of agonising cold. And a person. There'd been someone there, someone you needed to say something to. Now here you were, everything feeling so normal yet so bizarre; you were still you, still able to move and see and hear, but there was a disconnect between those sensations and reality. Nothing felt real. You looked around again, desperate for answers.
There.
Perched on the edge of the bed was a boy. His crisp white shirt was a stark contrast to his dishevelled dark hair, doleful brown eyes and the deep eyebags beneath. He looked exhausted, like he'd barely slept or eaten. There was something in his hand, balanced carefully on the tips of his fingers: a necklace, with a little pink heart. A spark of recognition bloomed in the back of your mind. That was your necklace. It was important. He had no right to be holding it. You drifted forward. The boy looked so familiar. Oh. The icy feeling rippled through your chest again, and you remembered. He'd been there when that feeling had taken over your body until you couldn't feel anything else. Rage boiled in your veins, and a snarl crept onto your face. But then, as quickly as it started, the anger subsided. He'd not caused it. He'd held you so gently, cried as everything faded. You knew him. You opened your mouth, finally ready to speak.
Lockwood stared at the tiny gemstone in his hand, unsure whether he wanted anything to happen this time. He'd secretly slipped it from you before DEPRAC had arrived, and spent the past few weeks periodically taking it out of the little silver-glass box in his bedside table. Part of him desperately wanted you to come back, to let him see you once more, but the other part knew it would hurt so much. What if you didn't recognise him and turned violent like so many Visitors? What if you didn't because you didn't recognise anything, just hung there as a shadow of your former self? What if you did, and he had to live with putting you back in the case and removing you from his life all over again?
The decision was made for him when a soft golden glow appeared in the corner of his bedroom. There you were. Tears welled in his eyes as the image of you sent him spiralling back to that day: your edges were a little fuzzy but everything else was the same, from your outfit to the scared look in your eye to the dark patch spreading from your shoulder. You looked at him now and he was relieved to watch you processing your surroundings. The person he knew was still in there, you weren't just a hollow shell. Suddenly you snarled and he flinched, fingers twitching towards the silver-glass case.
You moved closer.
You stopped.
Your face fell.
He watched the glimmer of recognition in your eyes, and the tears he'd been holding back spilled out along with all the things he'd wanted to say for months.
“Oh my darling, I'm so sorry. I should never have let this happen, I should have been there for you, and-”
He paused. You were mouthing something. Over and over. Your death loop, he presumed. God, just putting death in the same sentence as you stung.
“I'd give anything to be able to hear you right now,” he said, voice wavering. You stopped, giving him a sad look. The realisation that at the very least you could understand him, even if you couldn't communicate fully, hit him like a ton of bricks.
“Lockwood!” a boy's voice called from outside. You both looked at the door and your anger flared again. The boy on the bed shook his head.
“He's a friend,” he told you reassuringly, before calling back, “One minute, George!” You waited in the corner, puzzled. The boy, Lockwood (you knew that name, didn't you?), gave you an apologetic look. “I'm sorry, y/n, I've got to go. I'll explain soon, I promise.” He dropped the necklace into its little case and clicked it shut, and you watched the world dissolve.
You still weren't sure how much time had passed when you found yourself back in that bedroom, but it didn't feel like very long. The last rays of the sunset poked through the gaps around the drawn curtains, the room lit instead by a lamp on the bedside table. The boy, Lockwood, was sitting on the bed again holding your necklace, but this time he looked at you almost immediately. His hair was a little neater, his eyebags more pronounced.
“Hi,” he said quietly. “Sorry if I disturbed you, I don't… really know how this works.”
You knew he couldn't hear you, but you gave your message again anyway.
“Maybe I should see if George knows how to lip-read,” he chuckled wryly. The sound reminded you of home, wherever that was. Things were still hazy, but part of you had a feeling this was it. Here, with this boy. “Which reminds me,” he continued, “I did promise to tell you about him.”
You settled into the space in the corner, allowing Lockwood's low, gentle voice to wash over you. It was incredibly calming. George was his new housemate, he told you, who'd been living here for about a month. It was all very confusing - it had felt like both minutes and years had passed since you were last here and the same before that, but he explained that the other boy had moved into the house in mid-September, and the last time you'd been here was a week ago in late October. Where was all the time going?
“I have no idea whether you experience time when your Source is contained, whether you're aware of what's going on in between or remember things from last time,” he admitted. Source. You knew about those. They were what you'd been looking for that night in that dark old house. A spirit had been tied to it, and you had to seal the Source to get rid of it. But you'd failed and it had found you, and now… your chest tightened at both the memory and the realisation. Nothing felt real because you weren't. You were just a Visitor. You continued to listen numbly as Lockwood kept talking. Not much wonder he'd recoiled when you first appeared, he'd seen what the touch of a ghost had done to you and without knowing you'd almost inflicted the same fate. You vowed in that moment that no matter what, you'd never let that happen.
The next few months saw Lockwood getting you out every chance he got. Bit by bit, he helped restore your memories and did his best to accommodate you even though the two of you couldn't properly communicate. He set up a little daily tear-off calendar on his dresser so you could keep track of how long it had been between visits, and stored his kit bag in the bottom of his wardrobe so you could move more freely around the room. Eventually, you'd come to remember him more. Not just the events from the night you died, but him. Your boyfriend, Anthony. You wanted nothing more than to be close to him, to be a comforting presence, but you knew you couldn't. Not only because you couldn't touch, but because deep down you knew that as much as you treasured being able to keep him in your life (or rather, afterlife), you had to let him go sooner or later and he needed to do the same with you. He'd been followed around by grief since long before you met him, and you hated that you were adding to it. You were just glad to see him slowly improving week by week - his face was a little brighter, and it seemed George was making sure he stayed fed. You'd have to thank the other boy if you ever got chance. Anthony said the two of you would have got along if you'd met in life, and even now George's obsession with the Problem would have made him your biggest fan, but their friendship was too new and besides he wasn't a Listener either so you'd not be able to tell him anything.
“I've got something to show you,” Anthony announced as you materialised one sunny day in late spring. He sat down with a large pink folder and patted the space next to him on the bed. You tilted your head in confusion.
“Come on,” he sighed fondly, “you never had any sense of personal space before, don't start now. Just no hugging.”
You glowed a little brighter and drifted over, your legs disappearing into the mattress until your torso was level with his. Being careful where he positioned his arms, he angled the folder towards you. It was a photo album, labelled in handwriting you recognised as your own. Page by page, he took you through your memories, giving you time to linger on each one: you as a baby, then a toothy toddler with your first pet; your family and childhood friends; Polaroids of your first team in training to become agents. His hands trembled a little as he reached the next section. On the left were four photos: the team you'd transferred to, the one he'd been training with; a slightly blurry action shot of the two of you sparring for the first time; a goofy photo he'd taken of you cartwheeling down a grassy hill after a case; your team all proudly holding their Grade Four licences. On the other side, surrounded by two styles of hand-drawn hearts, was the two of you hugging on the steps of 35 Portland Row, Anthony's lips pressed in a smile against the top of your head. You remembered that sensation well, a frequent occurrence right up until the moment you died. The rest of the album was full of photos of the two of you, ones taken by others and candids you'd snapped of each other. You felt a pang of regret that you'd never get to take any more.
Anthony turned another page. Hold on. You knew for certain there were no more photos. You looked sideways at your boyfriend, and he gave you a bashful smile. Pasted across a double spread was a copy of a certificate from DEPRAC, confirming A.J. Lockwood & Co Investigators as a registered agency. Inspector Barnes, who you vaguely recalled meeting once or twice, had signed as the licensing authority. Anthony and George had put their names down as the founding members. But then underneath that, in Anthony's familiar hand, he had added an extra section. Honorary Member: y/n y/l/n.
He looked at you so lovingly. “We did it, darling.”
You would have reached for his hand if you could.
Weeks began to pass before Lockwood got you to visit again. He'd have spent every day with you, but business was good and he owed it to you to make a proper go of it. In the meantime, George talked incessantly about Visitors which gave Lockwood a chance to think about you. Each time he finally got to see you again he'd apologise profusely, and you'd repeat your death loop back to him. He tried so hard to figure out what you were saying - his Sight was good, you were as clear as day and he knew your every quirk and mannerism, but he just couldn't put the movements of your lips to the right sounds.
Everything changed the day he met Lucy Carlyle. From the moment she set foot in his living room, he felt like he was supposed to have met her. The feeling only grew when he gave her the interview tests - plenty of people had passed through, some with better Talents than others, but none had come even close to the Listening abilities of the girl before him. When she spoke of the gentleness she found in his uncle's pen-knife, he knew he had to hire her.
Lucy managed to defy even his high expectations on the Annabel Ward case. He kept his focus on the young woman's spirit hovering at the end of the corridor, rapier levelled in case the details of her aggressive nature were true, but he couldn't help but think of the first day he brought you back and how quickly you'd retreated and shown a level of sentience he'd never expected from a Visitor. Was this poor woman the same? Lucy's eyes were closed, listening intently.
“She's in pain,” she said softly.
“Of course she is, she's dead.”
“No, something's different.”
He was intrigued instantly. “What's different?”
She shushed him. “I can almost…”
Annabel launched forward, sending Lucy crashing through the wooden railing in her attempt to dodge the grasping hand. Déjà vu overwhelmed Lockwood, your pained eyes flashing across his mind as he staggered backwards.
No.
He'd already lived through this once and regretted the outcome every day since. Now was his chance to redeem himself. He sprang towards the ghost, fending her off with his rapier, pulling Lucy from her desperate grip on the picture frame as soon as the coast was clear.
“Did it touch you?” he asked in a panic as she clung to him.
“Course not, I'd be dead.” Didn't he know it. The more she explained how she'd connected with the spirit, the more sure he became. Later, when they experimented with Annabel's necklace and he listened to Lucy describe the scene in such detail, he knew for certain.
“He loves me. You love me, don't you?” Her hand stroked delicately across his cheek, and he fought the urge to lean into the touch. For that brief moment, he could pretend it was you, still with him, saying those words. Perhaps with Lucy's help, it could be.
It had been a while. The trees outside Anthony's window were tinted a beautiful copper. You couldn't wait to hear his updates this time.
“There's a sadness, but so much love too. She feels very kind.” That wasn't Anthony's voice. Something was wrong. There was a girl sitting beside him on the bed, holding a little pink heart on a chain. Your necklace. You grew defensive, preparing to strike.
The boy looked up and saw you glaring. “It's okay, darling.” The girl followed his gaze. “Lucy, this is y/n, my late girlfriend. Y/n, this is our new associate, Lucy. She's a Listener.” Ah. Finally. You settled back down and took in the girl properly. She was pretty, with a warm brunette bob and a blue jumper which made her eyes pop. She smiled up at you, a genuine friendly smile.
“Nice to meet you,” she said sweetly. Anthony gave her an encouraging nod. You noticed that he seemed a little nervous, but there was also a calmness to him that had been missing for the past year. If that was Lucy's influence, then she was alright in your eyes.
Anthony spoke to you again. “She's brilliant, connected with a Visitor on our last case and I thought maybe she could finally help us figure out what you've been trying to say.” You nodded in agreement, and the girl closed her hand around the necklace.
You weren't sure whether you were in Lucy's head or whether she was in yours. The two of you blended into one as she ventured into your memories. Anthony's room melted away around you, sending you back to that cold dark room. You bristled.
“It's a bit different having her in the room with us,” Lucy murmured, eyes closed. “Let me know if either of you need me to stop.”
Anthony glanced at you, flickering slightly but still present and unagitated. “We're okay, go on.”
Meticulously, she described what you were both experiencing, or in your case reliving. It was hard knowing you were getting closer to the agony all over again, but it was important for your boyfriend to finally have a chance for answers and closure, so you kept the inevitable moving along.
“Anthony?” Lucy said softly, the same way you had. By the look on his face, it seemed he was realising now what you had at the time - that you'd tried to call him and hadn't been loud enough, that if only you'd tried again straight away, maybe you'd still be alive. “Anthony?” she called again. “Anthony!” You heard your own scream echo in your mind, felt the cold grasping your shoulder. The boy reached out and gripped Lucy's free hand, never taking his eyes off you. The gesture was supportive for her, but meant for you too. A tear rolled down his cheek. Lucy's breathing was shallow.
“It hurts,” she gasped, “and she's scared.”
“I should have been there quicker.” His voice was shaking with emotion, barely able to get the words out.
“No, there's no anger. She knew you were coming, and having you there through the end was a comfort.”
Anthony swallowed thickly. “Her death loop. Can you hear it?”
She opened her eyes and watched you as you spoke, the words spilling from her lips a second after.
“It's okay. It's not your fault.”
The boy broke down, his sobs rattling through the small room. Lucy held out her arms and he folded into them. She threw you an apologetic glance, and you said it again to her. “It's okay. It's not your fault.”
They were still hugging when, with his and your permission, Lucy gently slipped your necklace back into its case.
Now that the secret was out, you really did become an honorary member of the agency. Sure, you couldn't exactly contribute to the cases, but other than that the whole team treated you as one of their own. Anthony always waited for your opinion on big decisions, which you could make quite apparent with how happy or angry your energy was. George was absolutely fascinated by you, and took every opportunity to quiz the others on your awareness of various things and how you reacted to his experiments. Lucy often got you out on her own to have another girl to talk to. In return, of course, she'd fill you in on any gossip they came across or funny things that happened on cases that the boys were too embarrassed to tell you about. Through it all, you watched the three of them grow into a little family. Anthony and Lucy especially had clicked with each other; they reminded you of how you and he had been. That realisation filled you with a mixture of relief and melancholy. You loved Anthony so much, all you wanted was for him to be happy, but you'd be lying if you didn't wish it was you putting the light back in his eyes.
He sat you down shortly after New Year. His face was sombre but hopeful, and he fidgeted with his ring. Part of you could already tell what was coming.
“I don't really know how to say this,” he began hesitantly, “but after everything we've been through, you deserve to hear it.” You waited patiently for him to find the words he needed. Really, you had all the time in the world.
After a few moments, he spoke again. “I promised to always love you, and I will still keep that promise until the day I die…” But. There had to be a but. “...but I really care about Lucy too, and I just-” He didn't need to finish the sentence. And technically he was single. And he stood a chance of having a life with her. And she wasn't going to keep him tied to his past and his grief.
“It's okay.” Now he knew what your death loop was, he could tell what you'd said, and the way you'd limited it to just those words was a reminder of how remarkably well you understood everything that was happening. How you were as close to being a person as you could be, how it wasn't close enough.
“Promise?”
You touched the hollow of your neck, where the outline of a little sparkling heart sat against the darkness.
He nodded in understanding and reached for the silver-glass case. “Thank you, darling.”
“It's okay.”
It's not your fault.
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ellie-the-oracle · 12 days
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The Bad Batch Season 3 - A New Theory and the future for Tech
Spoilers ahead!
Hey you guys! So I've previously discussed how I believe that the operative character could be Tech and how that affirms my winter soldier theory. However, I am here to retract that statement as I do not believe that it makes sense narratively, as it would either copy Crosshair's story or Echo's story. I propose a new theory: the operative is not Tech, but rather Cody. Let me explain why.
Firstly, we now know (via Crosshair's confirmation) that the program Hemlock is running does not work on defective clones, as they attempted and failed to integrate Cross into said program. This would rule out Tech as he was also a defective clone.
Secondly, and more prevalently, we know (from Rebels) that some event needs to push Rex over the edge and make him quit his efforts of saving other clones. I suspect that this event could be an encounter with a brainwashed Cody, and perhaps a botched operation to Tantiss resulting in a lot of casualties.
Thirdly, why do I think it's Cody? While it's true that we were told in season two how he went "awol" (albeit by an unreliable source), that doesn't necessarily mean he escaped, it just means that he defied the Empire. We also know that this operative program is designed to repurpose defiant clones. I also want to point out how the operatives voice, while warped through a modulator, sounded like a reg, instead of a higher pitched, vaguely English accent.
Lastly, Tech has been mentioned only once in this season, briefly in conversation. Yes, Cody isn't mentioned at all but I'll get to that. The end of season two, in my opinion, felt like a lazy write off of Tech's character (in an attempt to elicit reactions from fans), that essentially served as a "wrap up" of his story (more on this in a moment). Cody's story is still a loose end though. It's also important to mention that in the EU, Cody was used as the template for the dark troopers.
Now onto the discussion of where this leaves Tech. Well...I think he's dead for good. Trust me when I say that deeply hurts me beyond words. I have related to and deeply bonded with Tech's character, so to me, his death was very real and painful, and I'm honestly still having a hard time with it (I was literally sobbing about it the other day). Unfortunately, I just do not believe that the writers of this show are capable of what the writers of Lucasfilm era Clone Wars were capable of (please dkm, this is just my personal opinion). I'm sorry but I just don't have faith in Disney, not after the sequels and most (if not all) of the live action shows they've put out. Yes, Tech should, logically, 100% be alive...if they were good writers. He has a potential love interest, a family and a potential peaceful life to live on Pabuu to return to. There are so many plot holes that would remain unanswered, and would be extremely disappointing. Tech's story is largely unfinished. Should he be dead for good, it will show the utter lack of writing talent that Disney possesses and a lack of care or respect for fans.
Apologies for the spicy takes at the end. Again these are just my personal opinions and experiences. No hate to anyone who enjoys any of those shows/movies.
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l0st-identity · 5 months
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hi! I was wondering if u know what exactly is normal to not remember in childhood? like did can cause memory gaps/amnesia in childhood but I hear people also say it is normal to have gaps. so I don’t really know what is the normal and what is the amnesia?
Yes, most people have at least some memory gaps in their childhood. It's not unusual. However, usually those memory gaps are mostly only present for ages 5 and under. Different sources will say anywhere from "3-4" to "3-8." Generally, personally, I feel like it's more normal for people to not remember things under the age of 5. Anything over that age is like yeah you'll probably forget some things, but the average person won't have a ton of gaps in the way people with DID/OSDD will.
It's also normal to have memory gaps around traumatic events specifically, but people with DID/OSDD will have many more gaps and will have gaps for things that aren't traumatic (I have memory loss for video games I played, the things I liked, my hobbies, the feelings I felt over those things, etc.)
I can't really say for sure what's "normal" versus "abnormal", but I can give some personal experiences.
I always felt like my memories were like a giant puzzle with broken, missing pieces and mismatched pieces. Or like burnt photographs. Or like shattered fragments broken down into the tiniest pieces. Etc. etc.
I have many, many memories that feel like they are missing context, don't make sense, are "unfinished." Like a half of a memory, or vague memories. Or memories that I "know" happened, but can't really remember. Or feeling like there are many, many "holes" in my memories.
I have evidence of things I did, said, felt, etc. as a child, but I do not remember ever saying, doing, thinking, feeling those things. For example: I have evidence of me roleplaying as a kid. I distinctly remember telling people around those SAME ages that I didn't like roleplaying, never roleplayed, and found it boring/uninteresting/didn't like it. Even though just like a year or so prior, I apparently really liked roleplaying and did so frequently with a close friend of mine at the time? (Looking back, that ""roleplaying"" was definitely very likely just alters fronting and we thought it was just roleplaying lmfao but like I said I have no memories of roleplaying, ever).
I have amnesia for my teenage years and adult years. To my knowledge, amnesia for teenage years and adult years isn't common/normal for the average person. Unless you're, like. Super old I guess, but I've met way older people who remember a lot from their teenage years still
My family would directly ask me if I remembered something from my childhood and I would tell them I have no memory of it, while my brother (who is only a year older than me) did or something
In general my family will tell me about things that happened in my childhood and I wouldn't remember it
I have to rely on outside, objective things to be able to remember things like "I lived in this house around ages (xyz) because (abc)-". That probably makes no sense, so for example: I remember playing Spyro: A New Beginning around maybe ages 6-7? And upon Googling the release date of that game, it was released when I would've been 5, so I may have been around ages 5-6 when I played that game. Or, another example, "I don't remember what age I was when I played Poptropica, but that game came out in 2007, so I must have been anywhere from 6-8-years-old, likely 7 because I remember playing that game when Ilived in this house and I lived in that house at-" you get the picture. I hope that makes sense? Like I have to rely on objective stuff like "when did this game release, that will tell me how old I might've been when I played it" or something.
Memories feel "out of order." I can't put my memories in order. Like they're all jumbled and all over the place and I have to figure out the timeline myself, I have to figure out the timeline but the timeline keeps changing because I remember so little and have so many missing memories and out-of-context fragments and such and. It's all confusing.
Talk to other people about their childhoods, people who you know do not have DID or OSDD. It might become a bit more obvious to you how little you remember when you start to talk to other people about what they remember about their childhoods. At least for me, when hear people talk about their childhoods, I'm so shocked by how much more they remember than I do.
I grew up changing homes and schools a lot so this might not apply but I basically remember Nothing about most of my elementary schools beyond maybe the name and a few vague memories, etc. and I have many memories from schools that I cannot place WHAT school these memories are from, what age, etc.
Many memories that I can't remember the age, where I was, what was going on, etc. in general. This kinda goes back to "out-of-context memories, memories that don't make sense, etc."
Just a hunch. I always felt like I remembered so little about my childhood, barely remembered things, etc. and I always felt like I had a lot of ""repressed memories""/that it wouldn't surprise me if I did
These are my own personal experiences and since I didn't link any sources here to back these up and I myself don't actually have a lot of understanding of what amnesia for childhood is normal versus what's abnormal/etc., I'd take this post less as scientific fact and more personal experiences.
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mysticmilks · 6 days
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Will and his feelings for Katherine
In this TED talk, I will argue that Will guessed or at least suspected that Katherine was his sister from the moment he met her, and hence there were no romantic feelings from his side.
[Lots of spoilers]
Yes, maybe it's obvious for everyone, but I still find it interesting to inspect how the narrative structure was keeping us intentionally in the dark both because of different POVs and because of the parts of the backstory that we get only way afterward.
The idea that there were any romantic feelings comes from two sources, Katherine's POV and Violet's. But when we look at the story from Will's perspective the meaning of his actions changes.
Let's start from the beginning.
Assumption 1: Some vague suspicions that he had siblings (backstory in Book 2, Elizabeth's POV)
Will was around 6-7 years old when Elizabeth was born. At that age, he would at least remember something, even if his mother never talked about the baby, even if she said that the child died or claimed that it never happened. Some memories, some half-forgotten moments must have stayed with him.
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He knew for sure that his mother had a platitude of secrets, that she was afraid of something, and that she acted cautiously.
Assumption 2: Almost sure that he has/had sisters after his mother's death (Book 1, very close to the end, Will's POV )
Will is around 16, his mother is dying, covered in blood, murdered by unknown people. And she is talking nonsense. She is afraid of Will, so she attacks him, and she begs him not to hurt her girls.
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Will was never stupid. And he had plenty of time to think about his mother's last words (and actions). And even though he wants to believe that she just didn't understand who he was, and what was going on, he is still our clever Will, and it's not that unbelievable, to at least suspect, that his mother really did have other children (girls), that she had to give up (and maybe that, somehow connected to her death).
He doesn't know if the girls are alive or where they are, but at that point, he must be almost sure that his mother had daughters.
Fact 1: Will knows both how his mother looks (obviously) and how Lady looks (Will's POV, Chapter 1)
Will is probably the only person alive, other than Devon and Sandy, who knows how Lady looks, and seeing her in the mirror he immediately recognizes that she has similarities to his late mother. 
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Conclusion 1: When he saw Katherine for the first time he, for sure, noticed that she looked very similar to his mother and to Lady.
Once again, Will is smart, and seeing Katherin for the first time, he understands that she must be his sister.
He tries to find out if she has any other family members, asking her about her cousins.
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When she reaches to his neck, he instinctively pulls away. The same way he wanted to pull away from Lady in the mirror. Because in both instances he thinks about his mother.
And at the end of their first meeting, he says that he was wrong, and he won't do whatever he planned.
Fact 2: When Katherine kisses him, Will pulls back
Will never initiate or encourage any intimacy. Probably because he didn't feel that way about her, but also because she is his sister.
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She kissed him.
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He tried to warn her and protect her because he promised his mom.
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And Violet is the one who talks about love and kisses, while Will wants to say “It’s not what you think” because it's not. And it's not what we, readers, think because at that point Will (who's still not stupid) very much suspects that he is either Dark King's descendant or Dark King Reborn.
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So my conclusion is that the feelings he has for Katherine are mixed but there is very little indication that he felt anything romantic or passionate toward her.
The whole point of this long post is an attempt to prove that Pacat is playing with our minds via POVs, vague dialogs, and a backstory that is revealed way too late. And if we can't trust the story in these small details, we also can't trust it in much bigger points such as Dark vs Light Sides, the role of the Collar, and the story of The Betrayer.
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