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[aroughtempest]

Sort of EA Gale

Fffffff the color is all wrong. Should’ve known better than to trust my weird tablet…

[aroughtempest]

AROUGHTEMPEST: Independent, selective RP blog for a Darker AU Gale Dekarios of Waterdeep of Larian's Baldur's Gate III. Sideblog to galefcrce.

A tale of a soul consumed by Netherese magic. A mage ablaze with raging fire, fuelled by reckless ambition. Ensnared in grief's icy grasp, a heart torn asunder, a tempest of darkness that desperately tries to find the light again.

Multi-ship friendly and canon compliant. All writing on this blog is 21+. Dice rolled by Day, he/him, 25+, Irish (GMT). BG3 spoilers are found across this blog, untagged. CARRD / PINNED.

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When he first saw the hurt across her face, his initial thought was, Good. She deserved to feel some hurt after the agony she caused him, and continued to cause even now. The orb quivered in response to his rage, then the twang of his own pain brought a new sensation—empathy, followed by guilt, and finally regret.

Yet, it was too late. The words were uttered, the verbal blow struck, and there stood Breina, wounded. He couldn't take back what he had said, nor could he think of something better to say. The truth would leave him so vulnerable to more pain. There was no way he could trust her after everything.

Then came the retort, the shove of his offering back into his hands. He said nothing as she left, simply watching her go. Stopping her meant being honest. Before the orb, he was growing to care for her, and she used that care to manipulate and use him. He was an archmage, but he still lacked the wisdom to see when he was being played like a fiddle. His momentary glance from Mystra to Breina was the cause of his downfall. Her manipulations were just like Mystra’s, and she too left him to rot. And indeed, he did rot, slowly, painfully. Each dying nerve screamed as the orb consumed the life from it.

He placed the bowl aside, no longer hungry, and gestured to the rest of the camp to enjoy the leftovers before retiring to his tent with the hope of rest.

But the orb didn't allow him the luxury of sleep. The gnawing pain grew as his thoughts constantly cast back to Breina, remembering how they shared a bedroll before. He wondered if her scent lingered but dared not check, shaking the very thought from his head.

Somehow, it persisted—the look of pain on her face, knowing he was the cause. He began to wonder if he was becoming just as bad. What kind of man was this pain turning him into? He feared the answer, and after many, many minutes of deliberation, he sighed and exited his tent to seek out Breina.

With no door to knock on, he patted the flap of her tent before uttering, "Knock, knock?"

"A distraction." The way she echoed it back was like she'd just caught scent of something foul, and she didn't even know why she was so hurt. She knew it wasn't anything serious between them, that it had been a nice way to pass the time, and she'd had her own agenda, but....

... a distraction.

Used. She realised that was why she was hurt. She felt pathetic, humiliated, used and discarded. And certainly, she'd allowed it, encouraged it, even - no-one had made her sleep with him, it had been her own choice, and she'd enjoyed his generosity. But she'd hoped, prayed perhaps, with how different they'd been with each other between the sheets that maybe they'd reached some kind of understanding, some middle ground, somewhere they could build an actual relationship. Not even a romantic, or sexual one, but just something that wasn't hate, hate, hate.

But no. He still hated her. He'd just realised there was something she could provide him, too. And now everyone was looking at her, probably assumed she'd been so desperate she'd slept with the first person who'd agreed to it regardless of why, and she'd gained nothing.

Abruptly, with the taste of bile in her mouth, she lost her appetite, and shoved the bowl back into his hands without ceremony. "I'm not hungry. Come find me when I'm useful to you again, and do me the favour of stayin' the fuck out of my way otherwise. Don't worry, I won't talk about it to the others. I don't fuckin' want to."

And she turned to storm away, fists white-knuckled tight, cheeks burning, wanting to disappear into her tent and from the curious gaze of the rest of the camp, hating everything. Hating the world, hating herself, hating their camp-mates, and most of all, at that moment, hating him.

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"Then I am sorry to inform you that sharing a bottle of wine will not be enough for your plan to succeed," he replied, smiling despite himself. Her kind nature was so endearing that he couldn't help but be drawn towards it. She was genuine—no act, no boisterous appearance—she truly cared for people, and he couldn't help but adore that part of her.

That train of thought ended with a drink. He took the offered bottle back and took a rather large gulp, followed by a second of similar size, not even savouring the taste as one should with wine.

As he felt the lingering taste of wine on his lips, he closed his eyes to enjoy the peace of their walk along the shore. It was a momentary peace, but the disruption wasn't unwelcome as he glanced at Aubrey through a single eye, prying it open.

"Twenty questions?" he asked, unable to mask his amusement. He was curious about what questions were burning within her. "Oh, very well. You ask first, then."

Aubrey looks over at him for a moment, and judging by the single raised brow look that she gives him, she doesn't believe his lie. But rather than comment on it, rather than back him into a corner or continue the line of conversation, she chooses to leave it be. Let him have his lie rather than force him into lying to her more. She hated that he felt he had to lie to her at all, but the fact of the matter was that they didn't really know one another all that well just yet...

She understood the need.

"Oh... uhm... alright," She flushes a bit at the idea of sharing the bottle with him, though she still reaches out and takes hold of it, taking a moment to sniff the bottle as if testing it somehow. "Well what if that's my entire plan?" She counters with a teasing look cast over to him. "Get you tipsy and silly.." it wasn't, but it was fun to tease him about it.

Taking a drink then, Aubrey lets the wine linger in her mouth, swirling it around before grimacing and swallowing, "Its not... terrible.." but certainly not good either. But wine was wine, and with that said she offered the bottle back to Gale.

"Do you wanna play a game?" She asks quite suddenly. "A questions game. We each ask each other questions and the other has to answer. Its called 20 questions."

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The cool metal touching the palm of his hand felt as if Astarion had thrust a scroll of revivify into his grip. Gale didn't hesitate to pull the artifact close to his chest, allowing the orb to greedily consume the Weave from it.

He knew Astarion would see the depth of his need for such artifacts in that moment, but in truth, it didn't matter. What mattered was surviving another day to ensure his friends and Tara were safe.

The relief he felt soon after was almost mind-numbing. He slumped against the soil, his forehead pressed against the ground as he regained his breath and lazily held out the ring for Astarion.

"Payment. You should get some gold for the ring regardless of the lack of enchantment," he explained, his breath laboured but improving.

"Leave you be? Darling you're delusional," Astarion wasn't entirely certain where the concern was coming from, when he had set his sites on Gale as a source of protection, a barrier between him and everybody else. Of the people in the group, Gale had stood out the most from the group. Secluded, lonely, the perfect target for Astarion's old ways. Somewhere along the lines something had changed...

The ring.

Immediately high tailing it into action, Astarion almost frantically searches for the ring in question, flittering about the area until he finally sees the glint of metal in the dirt. Immediately grabbing it, dirt and all, Astarion brings it back to Gale, practically shoving it into the man's hands.

"When this is over -" he can't even finish the sentence, uncertain what he was going to threaten anyways. The least Gale could do after this entire ordeal though was give him information.

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"Gortash…" The name was familiar. As an archmage, he often heard the names of nobles, even those in distant cities along the Sword Coast. Regardless, it was good to know this name; now he knew exactly who to look out for.

"He'll regret hurting you, that I can promise."

It was easier, directing his anger, pain, and hate towards a mortal being—someone he could actually encounter and burn to a pile of ash. He cast a bleary-eyed glance at Karlach. Her kindness radiated from her like her heat, and he knew in a heartbeat that he would do anything for her. Even if it would be his dying act, getting some justice for at least one person who deserved it was worth it.

Again, her kindness was astounding. The corner of his mouth tugged into a soft, small smile. She cared—she genuinely cared for him—and it was mind-boggling. He was a shell of the person he used to be, pathetic and sad, barely able to cast medium-level spells, and yet she cared.

"No nerves touched, at least none I didn't wish to have touched. You needn't apologize, Karlach. You've been rather kind to me. A kindness I didn't deserve, but thank you."

She couldn't help a tutting smirk, shaking her head lightly at the very image of Gortash frying to a crisp, or burning to cinders. Though she would very much like to do the latter herself. If he was going to engulf her in flames, the least he can do is bask in it.

As she listened to him, her face softened to one of horror. Gods, someone could be that heartless to abandon him like that? It was no wonder Gale was so jaded. To love so incredulously and yet to be discarded so harshly. It would have been a damn long fall...

Feeling her rage tingle beneath her skin yet again at the same time his words became inflicted with hate. She reflected his anger - she was frustrated for him. Where did people like Gale's previous partner and the likes of Gortash gain their audacity? To hurt without punishment or care. It was unfathomable. Gale certainly didn't deserve to be treated like that - none of them did.

Though the aggressive need to throttle the coward who would do this to him dissipated as she swore she saw an extra glisten in his eyes. "You know what," Karlach spoke softly, with utmost care. The tiefling grabbed her satchel and placed it between them, pushing it slightly closer to him. "I don't need to ask any more questions if you don't want me to. I feel like you need these more than I do."

Gods, she wished she could embrace without scolding right now... He certainly looked like he needed it more than she did.

"His name is Enver Gortash... But I'm done talking about that bastard for now. Right now I just want to make sure you're alright. I didn't mean to touch a nerve or upset you, Gale." Karlach tilted her head slightly, a familiar smile back on her features. "That's the last thing I want to do after you've indulged me like this."

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His eyes drifted to the ground, unfocused, as his mind wandered over not just the night before but the many days, even weeks, prior. Breina's act, the person she pretended to be when she wanted everyone to like her, to adore her—even if her personality wasn’t this act, he would certainly be falling for her.

In fact, he could feel himself slipping. He did slip; he allowed himself to fall for her for a few hours that night. The mask she wore, the person she claimed to be with this so-called memory loss—Gods, he would love her, and that was how she could so easily manipulate him.

The tendrils of fatigue had wrapped around him, slowly tightening, constricting him, and constantly whispering to just give up. Instead of responding, he just gave her a tired look. What was the point in pretending he was fine? She saw the bandages, likely felt some of the wounds, saw how he struggled to move.

Surely she knew now that he was a dying man.

And what did he want? Peace and no more pain. The few hours he held her that night were the peace he craved so badly.

"You want honesty? I—" He was dying. A few more months of this lifestyle, let alone the ordeal of fighting some death cult, and the orb would consume him. "I don’t want to think. You were—" Fun, lovely, an evening of peace. "—a nice distraction."

"Of course it ain't possible, I think they all heard us." She wasn't shy about sex, but she definitely understood the awkwardness about camp. Especially since she'd chosen to sleep with a man she allegedly hated. It was obvious, to Breina, that a good chunk of the staring was less about judgement and more about just having questions.

And she had questions too. The first time they'd fucked, it had been a snap release of tension, a way for them to get out of their systems all the catfighting and sniping that they'd been throwing back and forth. It had felt good but mostly it had been like clearing the humidity out of the air by letting a thunderstorm rage. But no matter how much she tried, she couldn't make their second round make sense.

"But sure. It was a fact," she agreed, hiding her uncertainty by eating a mouthful of porridge. "The question is, what are we doin' about that fact? Do you want it to be an off-limits in conversation, do you want more, or.... I just.... I don't have a good read on you."

With a great sigh, she dropped her spoon into her bowl and looked up at him with an earnestness on her face. "Gale, one minute you hate me, the next you're cuddlin' me in my sleep. I'm just confused. What was this to you?"

[aroughtempest]

@deathswcrn

quit complaining about my attitude and fuck it out of me instead

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"Hmm?" he asked, pretending as if things were back as they were. He knew it was useless pretending, the glances from the others—some confused, some judgmental, others happy and even proud—were telling. If the night had been just one angry fuck between them both, it would be easy to dismiss as an act of passion and rage. But the second time, he showed a part of himself that he thought had died with the orb and his abandonment by Mystra.

The worst part was the craving. Having someone in such a close, bonded way, even with a woman he hated, was something he yearned for. The touch, the semblance of love and being loved, even if it was fake. She seemed to respond to his touch as he did with hers. He wondered if she needed the same. Was that why she had been so cruel all those months ago? Was she hurt in a similar way?

"Don't think it's possible to hide what happened," he finally said, as plainly as possible, his eyes flickering over to the rest of the camp. He noted how she never mentioned any desire to forget the night. "Nor would it be wise. What happened between us was..." His voice trailed off, struggling to find the word that distinctly described something between relief, stupidity, and, well, pleasantness. "A fact, I suppose."

For the first time, he began to wish this wasn't an act for her, and a slight twinge of panic arose within him. He couldn't let himself be manipulated all over again. He looked at her, searching her face for any sign of her true feelings, hoping for a flicker of genuine emotion before looking back down to the porridge on her hands.

Astarion, it turned out, was lucky not to lose an eye, given the elegently arched brow he raised as she turned the corner of her tent and saw him there, knowing and judgemental. Instead, she heatedly told him to shut his mouth and headed out for a morning run with a gourd-bottle of water and her soap, desperate to get the smell of sex off of herself before she gets back.

She ran out along the bank until she ran out of breath, and walked back as the forest around her came back to life, shaking off slumber and greeting the day. Her frustration at Astarion had faded, but aside from that, the run only really served to make her smell of sweat instead. Bathing in the Chionthar - now that helped. It felt cleansing, almost like a baptism, the previous night's bad decisions washed away in the early morning light.

She came back with hair still dripping and previous night's clothes added to the basket of clothes she intended to wash, using a bone-carved comb to tease out the tangles of her curls. The rest of the camp had woken up and a fire started, with the smell of cooking wafting over them. The energy.... was, frankly, extremely awkward.

Wyll at least had it in him to look pitiful. Karlach looked like she wanted to slap her shoulder, and instead gave her thumbs up and a smile, which... was at least not the searing judgement from Astarion and Shadowheart. And Lae'zel... well, she was refreshingly straight forwards. "Better to get it over with than let it fester."

Gale would not look her in the eye. Her breakfast was left on the stump outside her tent, already being sniffed at by Scratch curiously. She took it, stirred it a few times, and decided that this - weirdness - was not a state of affairs she could deal with for long.

"Gale," she said, sidling up to him, her voice low enough that the conversation would remain private. "About last night..." ... what? What did she have to say about it? 'It was probably a mistake but honestly, you probably rank up there on the lists of shagging partners I've had, and did I mention I want to complement that thing you did with the flat of your tongue? Not to make it weirder than it already is, though.' She mothered the inside of her cheek with her teeth, staring at the porridge. "I don't know what we were thinkin'. But I promise, I won't make it a problem. If you wanna forget it happened.... then it didn't happen."

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@iron-hearts-ablaze

It's Gale AU Shipping Week - Day 4: Dark AU, so you know I'm going to act up just a little bit hehe. In this AU, Mystra tasks my tiefling wizard Tav to activate Gale's orb when the time is right. She had no intention to follow the goddess's command until Gale betrays her near the end.

Gale AU week is hosted by thee @lady-sapphyre and @/kentonanamiz on Twitter.

[aroughtempest]

Gale awoke to a damp feeling against his chin, a dry mouth, and tired muscles. He could have slept for another hour if the pain in his chest allowed it, but like the parasite it was, the orb demanded his attention. His actions last night had likely made it less stable than usual, so Gale rolled onto his side, wiped the drool from his chin, and curled up, trying to stifle the throbbing for a while longer.

The orb continued to gnaw at him until he could feel his insides give way to the consuming nature of the corrupted Weave. Relenting the notion of rest, he reached into his satchel of items until he produced a ring of colour spray. After consuming the magic, he discarded the ring and sighed with relief. Without the haze of pain, he could recall the night before and the cause of his fatigued muscles. A different sort of pain washed over him then—shame. A hand covered his face, pinching his brows toward the centre with his thumb and finger before he smacked his forehead lightly.

"Stupid," he muttered to himself.

Yet, his duties as a cook still remained. He finally arose, dressed, and left his tent to prepare a meagre porridge for the camp. When the bowl for Breina was ready, instead of handing it to her, he left it on a nearby stump with a spoon. It was the most acknowledgment she would get from him that morning. He couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes or initiate any form of conversation. It might have been best for him to pretend the evening never happened, yet the occasional looks he received from a few others in camp were a stark reminder that not only had he slept with Breina—twice—but they had been loud enough for half the camp to hear.

If Breina wanted to discuss the night, she would have to approach him. He wasn't foolish enough to give her any sense that what had happened held any emotional weight at all. Despite the evidence he could feel within him that.

The first round of sex made sense. Rough, intense, angry, frustration boiling over into fistfuls of flesh and mouthed curses smothered before they could escape lips. The second bewildered her beyond reason.

It was like she caught sight, for a moment, of a funhouse mirror version of Gale. Not angry, not hateful, but someone gentle, tender, full of genuine passion. She'd made a joke in the afterglow, something soft uttered when she wasn't looking directly at him, her limbs loose and her head fuzzy, and... then he'd been on her again, but with all the fury stripped away. At one point, he'd put a hand on her cheek, brushed her bottom lip with his thumb, and the sensation had been so alien and soft that she'd almost blacked out. He'd certainly been a generous lover, too, intent on making sure she was just as satisfied and boneless as he when they hit his bedroll. His mouth, instead of poison, brought her kisses instead.

The arm tucked around her waist when she woke up did nothing to help matters as her head span. Thankfully, Bree had always been an early riser - it looked like it was serving her well this time, as Gale was still fast alseep with his face buried in his pillow. Fearing what the morning would bring if she stuck around, she fished around for her discarded clothing and dressed quietly, leaving him to sleep a little longer.

As a final consolation, a silent apology, she picked up his telescope and glass orb and replaced them before fleeing, no clearer on where they stood, but feeling like something had changed between them irrevocably.

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His gaze reluctantly returned to Breina, and part of him felt it was a mistake. There was something on her face that confused him—genuine care. Despite the vulnerable position she had him in, she refrained from taking advantage. Instead, she avoided his bandages and redirected his focus elsewhere. Yet, as his eyes trailed down her chest, he noticed raw scars that puzzled him. They were fresh, not old wounds, and clearly occurred well after their last meeting before the Nautiloid. Something terrible must have happened, or someone must have hurt her. His brows furrowed in confusion; he wanted to feel vindicated, to think she deserved it, but all he felt was pity. Pity replaced the usual rage he harbored for her.

---

The night was neither long nor quiet as Gale and Breina engaged in a rough dance. Just when Gale thought it was over, Breina said something during their rest that reignited their passion, but with less anger, more slowly. Gale refused to dwell on the second round too deeply, and by the time they finished, he was completely exhausted, falling asleep facedown on his bedroll with an arm loosely draped over Breina.

Both of them had scars to show - hers, still pink, healed by mere weeks and relatively fresh, criss-crossed her chest and abdomen. In truth, she hadn't thought about them much until now - the Y shape from each shoulder blade and down her belly, looping around to miss her bellybutton before continuing to the bottom of her belly. They were a little stiff, as all new scarring was, but not painful. Four to six weeks old, maybe a week or so more, but no older (how did she know that?). It occurred to her they were quite strange scars indeed. Thankfully, he seemed more concerned with his own wounds.

But she would not invade Gale's privacy, and she would not cross his boundaries. As much as she wanted to burst the bubble on the tension that had roiled between them like the swells of an ocean, she didn't want to genuinely hurt him. Breina didn't understand his hate, and even though part of her resented him, she had lines she did not want to cross - even for someone as meaninglessly hateful as him.

"No touchin' the bandages. Got it." She pulled her hands away and found other places to touch, the fabric of his trousers still in the way. Her mind wandered as they stripped - ways that they could get out this pent-up frustration without aggrevating whatever was hurting his chest or arms. Maybe on top of him whilst he was on his back, or with her on her belly...

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A soft groan escaped Gale's lips as he angled his head away, giving Breina complete access to his neck while his hands roamed across her back. His nimble fingers fumbled with her belt, pushing away every piece of fabric that separated them as if it offended him. A part of him still burned with fury, a desire to pin her down and show her just how much her actions had enraged him. Yet, another part of him was suffocated by loneliness, driven by a basic desire for touch and comfort, to seek love, even if it was merely an illusion.

These conflicting emotions waged war within him, and he despised it all, far more than he could ever hate Breina. It wasn't until he felt the cool air tickling the gaps of his bandaged chest that he realized he was already half-naked, her hands hovering uncertainly over his hidden wounds.

"Keep them on," he told her, his voice tinged with a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show. He knew she was burning with curiosity about the bandages. "Don't touch them either."

There was a pause. He couldn't bring himself to look up. "Please."

He chewed the inside of his cheek, trying to quell the voice within that called him pathetic. How the archmage had fallen.

She allowed herself to be dragged - though whether it was dragging or her pushing, she couldn't tell. They moved together, that much she could tell - towards his bedroll, towards the ground, towards being sprawled together in a tangled mess of limbs with the tension between them crackling like unspent Weave, desperate to spark and set fire to the both of them.

She was already out of control. Her brain was torn between murder and malice. Her dreams were stalked by a stranger promising redemption. Her limbs were thick with the weight of deadly building Weave. No memory, no past, no future, just a maelstrom to survive. So she shoved down her doubts, the voice in her head telling her this was a bad idea, and chose to ride the wave of her impulses. She shoved it down and kissed harder, tangling her fingers in his hair to yank his head to the side and make room for her mouth to bite and suck at his neck.

There was no time for tenderness - not that Bree was particularly in the mind or mood for being gentle. He made sport out of upsetting her. He seemed to enjoy watching the look of misery on her face when she tried to offer her hand and found it slapped away. If they really were doing this - and her fingers working at the ties to his robes, unobstructed, seemed to indicate they were - then she had every intention of leaving marks.

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In that moment of hesitation from Breina, clarity began to seep into Gale's mind. What in the Hells was he doing? She had used him, and there was no better explanation for the source of his pain. Yet here he was, kissing her as if he were a starving man and she his first meal in weeks. Before the tendrils of realization could firmly take hold, she pulled back, only to ensnare him further with a quip. A quip he was unable to retort, for she was suddenly all over him in the best and worst possible way.

He loved it. He hated it. She was like fire—painful, passionate, and all-consuming. As she advanced, Gale found himself stumbling backward, his arms wrapping around her waist to keep her close. They moved towards his bedroll, a chaotic dance of desire and anger. If she was so intent on toying with him, then he might as well return the favor.

His grip tightened, harder than it should have been, driven by a maelstrom of emotions. Later, he would look back on this moment with self-loathing, hating how angry he had been—at her, at the situation, but mostly at himself. He had allowed her to manipulate him before, and there was a chance it was happening again. But this time, he was painfully aware of it.

Gale's lips collided with hers, and her breath caught in her throat. For a moment, she was stunned into silence and stillness, eyes wide, fingers loosening on his collar.

Enough things had been a whirlwind in her life lately. She'd felt on turbulent seas, clinging to a life-raft, praying she didn't capsize. One constant she'd been certain of, however, was his hatred. Gale of Waterdeep hated her guts, wanted her to rot at the bottom of the proverbial ocean, to choke on seawater and drown. So why in Tyr's name would he kiss her? Gods, now even her certainty was uncertain.

Maybe that was it, she reasoned. His hatred was shifting. This was just something he needed to work out of his system. If she held onto the ride, saw it through to the end, he might soften, might finally listen to reason. Besides - it wasn't like she was getting any other action out here. Being fucked by a man who hated her sure beat the alternative of lonely nights in her own tent, with nothing but her imagination and right hand as company.

A tongue poked out of her lips to taste where he'd kissed her, thoughtful. Then, she smiled. "You're out of practice," she goaded, gripping his collar once more to pull him in and kissed him back, hard enough to bruise, the reason for being in his tent forgotten in the press of his body against hers.

[aroughtempest]

“If I’d had the moon, if love were enough, all might have been different. But where could I quench this thirst? What human heart, what god, would have for me the depth of a great lake?” — Albert Camus, Caligula (tr. by Stuart Gilbert), 1944

"I wish you could see it with my eyes, how beautiful the world is."

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His hands reached up to grasp hers, his touch betraying the fury that seethed beneath his skin. How dare she reach for him after all she had done? Who did she think she was? So what if she had pulled him from the portal—she might have saved his life in that moment, but she had doomed him to a life of unending pain many, many months before.

She had tricked him with the same kindness that she was tricking the others with and he was not allowing himself to fall for it again.

However, despite his rage, he listened, his eyes locked on her lips, every ounce of his anger reflecting in his gaze. Whatever else she said fell on deaf ears, her angry words dissolving into a blur of sound that his mind couldn't process. His eyes remained transfixed on her moving lips, and before he could comprehend his own actions, driven by a mixture of rage and adrenaline coursing through his orb-corrupted veins, he kissed her.

They were trapped. Trapped in a hellish loop, where he didn't believe her, and she tried to convince him, and he refused to even consider the option that the woman he was confusing her for - herself in a past life or some other woman, it was hard to tell - wasn't here. She rolled her eyes when he simply fell back on accusing her of being a liar again, and begged any God for strength that would hear her.

Gale stepping towards her, however, lit up something dangerous in her brain. Something dark, something hungry shook itself awake, and she imagined driving her knife under his ribs in response to the percieved threat. Just the right angle up, she'd puncture his diaphram without cutting the lungs at all. His chest would deflate and never inflate again. His ribs could stretch, and he'd suck in oxygen, but not enough, not nearly enough without the negative pressure of a diaphram, and he'd suffocate without a finger laid on his throat, gloriously panicking-

She snapped the thought off. Instead of indulging her bloodlust, she grabbed him by the collar, and yanked him down to eye level, so he could see every word clearly, desperately hoping she could get through his skull she wasn't a threat. "Watch my lips closely - I. Am. Not. Manipulating. You! I don't know what you're talking about."

Her fingers tightened on the fabric. "I don't know what I need to do to get it through your thick skull, but I'm not fucking lying to you."

[aroughtempest]

Abomination Just a lil' body / orb horror.