#did i forget I am on the ‘love and attempted murder go hand in hand website…’

[doctorweebmd]

Ok. Sskk got me

[laenordeservedbetter]

Love Me in Spite

Words: 2k

Pairing: Alicent Hightower x Fem!Knight!Reader

Synopsis: Daemon brings you to King's Landing to assassinate your former lover.

Warnings: Reader is team black but loves Alicent, sexism, one-sided opinion on Daemon's character, foul & degrading language, reader has the catspaw dagger (the one used to cut Rhaenyra; it's not with Aegon), NO ALICOLE, Criston is not around in this one but it does follow the events of S2E01, attempted murder, thoughts of one's own death, Reader is slightly a hypocrite when it comes to her faith (her and Alicent are a match made in heaven). [Let me know if I missed any.]

not my gif. || masterlist || previous work

—

Alicent Hightower was going to die by your hands.

If the order had been given to you no more than a hundred and eighty moon turns ago, you would have repudiated it without vacillation. As a child, you favored death over the mere prospect of harming a hair on Alicent’s head. The thought of inflicting pain upon a good, kindhearted, and forbearing lady was not incorporated in the vows you swore to the late King Viserys, nor did it align with your moral compass, but alas, many years had passed since then. You are not the same girl as before, nor was Alicent.

She is overcome by spite, leaving no trace of the woman she once was. Her companionship with the Princess, now Queen Rhaenyra, has long since ended. A bitter rivalry stretched between them, dividing the realm along with it.

War was coming, and it would begin with the retribution for Lucerys Velaryon’s death.

“Having second thoughts, are you?” Daemon looked back on his shoulder to gaze upon you. He appeared like a poacher in his present clothing. Not a day went by where Daemon wasn’t scheming. Over the years you spent by his side, you learned that violence was his only language. The rogue prince possessed a secure remedy for every predicament he found himself in, which is referred to as murder. He was an erudite warrior, if not temperamental.

“No, my prince. I am only counting the seconds until I get off this beast.” Caraxes lets out a low whine at your joke. You laugh softly, petting his scales. “Forgive me, Caraxes. I was merely jesting.”

Daemon smiles at your bond with the dragon, but it fades swiftly. “I know how you feel about that whore of a queen, but I advise you to remember that she is the enemy. If you want to let the nostalgia of an immemorial companionship influence your actions, I might as well throw you off this beast now to save myself the trouble of bringing you to King’s Landing.”

His words brought you a feeling of displeasure. Although your relationship with Alicent has waned over the years, you wish not to refer to her in a demeaning light, whether by your mouth or another’s. “Love begets catastrophe.” You voice out instead, “I will not be so weak. Duty takes precedence over any kind of affection.”

Your rejoinder influenced Daemon to pry further. “How did that woman manage to capture your affections, anyway? Did she visit your chambers while you were mourning a loved one?”

“And how did you capture Queen Rhaenyra’s heart? By looking after her in her cradle?” You shouldn’t have replied to his provocation with one of your own, but you could not pass up the opportunity for gratifying outcomes.

Daemon seethes. “You forget yourself, knight. I could throw you off this dragon in an instant.”

“And have Queen Rhaenyra lose one of her best assets?” You raise a brow. “Didn’t think so.”

The prince grunts, not willing to concede.

The rest of the flight was done in silence. Daemon continued to feel aggrieved by your quip earlier and went out of his way to show it through his actions. Even Caraxes shied away from your touch whenever you tried to pet him, the act hurting more than you thought it would.

You arrive in the harbor during the hour of the wolf. Caraxes lands on the sandy shores of King’s Landing, the stench of the sea rapidly hitting your nostrils. You get off of the winged beast first, evaluating your surroundings.

It had been quite some time since you visited King’s Landing. A pang of melancholy washes over you as you watch your once lively city now filled with weapons against the rightful heir and her dragons. You think of the smallfolk, the ones Alicent loves so much, and you imagine their faces. In your mind, you see pyres being lit and bodies being thrown onto it. You imagine the city you love so much engulfed in flames by the dragons looming overhead.

The thought sends shivers down your spine.

War is not the outcome you desire, but it is an inevitability. You know it as well as you know Alicent’s breathing. When swords start clashing and dragons turn against one another, the city will fall apart. The greens may have spilt the first blood, but your hands would begin the war.

Daemon throws you a dark cloak, which you grasp with a soft grunt.

“What’s this for?” You question as you put on the clothing. The material felt pleasant on your skin, the cloak fitting you wonderfully, as if it was tailored exactly for you. Looking back and forth between the cloak and the rogue prince, you comprehend that that was his doing. A soft smile graced your features.

Daemon’s eyes flit from you to Caraxes once he realizes that you had been observing him. He pretends to fasten the straps on the dragon, answering, “For you to blend in.” while trying to remain impassive. Daemon grabs another cloak, trying it out on himself.

“Thank you, my prince.” You needn’t say anything more. Daemon wasn’t one for sentiments and truth be told, neither are you when it comes to him.

“There’s one more thing.”

Your interest piques at his statement. The rogue prince walks towards you, dagger in hand. Briefly, you consider the prospect of him ending your life with it. Though, why come all this way for one murder?

Perhaps it would be to threaten the greens, as if to say “No one is safe. Not even the dowager queen’s former paramour.” It would be an atrocious act, one that would send Alicent reeling. Cole would call you a traitor to the realm, advising Aegon to display your body on the streets to show what happens to traitors, despite the murder being orchestrated by someone else. Alicent would refuse, of course. She would not be able to look at your body. Otto would turn your death into an opportunity. Mayhaps he would call you an honorable warrior who was unrightfully executed, painting Rhaenyra a villain. You do not know which one of those scenarios is worse.

Daemon surprises you when he offers you the dagger. “You should use this to kill her.” That was not part of the list of all the outcomes you expected.

Taking the dagger in your hand, you analyze the carvings on the blade. You should have felt formidable upon touching the weapon. It belonged to Aegon the Conqueror, after all. However, at present, the only thing you understand is that the dagger would be utilized for assassinating Alicent. Strange how a small object could have the capability to end a human’s life.

You could not respond, hiding the dagger in your sleeve. The weight of the act you were about to commit began to settle on your shoulders. Hundreds of enemies you have slain, but were you truly prepared to have Alicent be part of that list?

“Do this for your queen.” Daemon’s order was whispered, but vehement.

“For the queen.” You repeat with a shake of your head. Although you were less than solicitous to harm Alicent, you were eager to prove yourself to Rhaenyra. She deserved to be on the iron throne. ‘Twas her birthright, proclaimed by the late King Viserys. You swore an oath to protect and serve the rightful ruler of the realm, and you vowed to uphold that until the end of your days.

This is for the greater good, you tell yourself. One step closer to Rhaenyra being put on the throne.

But why doesn’t it feel right?

—

You get into the castle with no challenge. For a fortress occupied by Targaryen royalty, the security was subpar. And where was the commander of the Kingsguard? Surely, he needed to safeguard the castle now more than ever. Criston’s ineptitude made you scoff. See, if you had been the commander of the night’s watch…

Never mind the thought. You would have despised working under Aegon. The “king”, he calls himself, acts like a boy. He takes and takes and takes, not caring to mull over the consequences. Aegon has a penchant for acting first, and excogitating second, much like Aemond. The two Targaryen princes are more similar than they would care to admit.

At last, you reach Alicent’s — previously Rhaenyra’s — chambers. There was no guard on duty to protect her. Criston, the almighty Lord Commander, was nowhere to be found. Your blood boiled. Where the fuck was he? You at least expected a fight when you came here. You clench your fists in vexation. No confrontation would ensue since the lord commander is off doing anything but his job.

In spite of your ire, you open the chamber doors delicately, refusing to make a sound. You silently close the entrance behind you before making your way to the cot.

You send a prayer of gratitude when you see Alicent sound asleep in her bed, thankful that the gods had granted you this mercy. You hadn’t seen Alicent with her guard down in sixteen years. The ardent flames casted a warm glow upon her face, making her appear pacific. She was clutching her furs as she slept, a habit of hers that remained constant. Stray strands of hair covered her left eye. You almost reach out to brush them away when you recall the real reason why you were here, retracting your hand as if you had been burned.

Daemon’s voice rang in your ears, urging you to take action.

Kill Alicent Hightower.

You retrieve the dagger from your sleeve, holding it against Alicent’s throat. The light from the fireplace shone on the weapon, highlighting the Valyrian text inscribed on it.

This was the right thing to do.

For Rhaenyra.

For the realm.

You push through with shaking hands, torn between your duty and your morality. Alicent had no one to shield her. You are a craven for attempting to assassinate a defenseless woman in her sleep. You try to tell yourself that this way would be better. Alicent would not have to suffer long. But as you gaze upon her features, you could only see the girl you once loved.

In lieu of reminding yourself of Daemon’s orders, reminiscences of days making promises to one another crossed your mind. From rehearsing future marriage vows to Rhaenyra’s proclamation as the heir to the throne — the three of you promising not to hurt one another, an oath predating your ascension to the Kingsguard.

“Fool.” You call yourself out on your asinine choice, moving the dagger away from Alicent’s neck. This was wrong. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t hurt Alicent. You had failed Rhaenyra. Pacing back and forth while running your hands through your hair, you struggle to determine your next course of action.

“That you are.” You face Alicent, your throat constricted by the sheer expression on her face. Alicent was not alarmed by the dagger you currently possess. She smiled at you the way she used to whenever you saved her from Rhaenyra in your games of pretend. “I was hoping to see you.”

The revelation caused you to drop your weapon entirely, moving it to your side, “Alicent.” Her name tumbled from your lips like a prayer.

Alicent stood so she was now face to face with you. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, “Did Rhaenyra send you?”

You look her in the eye and say, “No. Daemon did.”

Alicent nods, knowing that it was in Daemon’s nature to take matters into his own hands. The rogue prince served only himself.

The dowager queen takes a step closer while you remain standing against the wall. Your body shudders as she cups your cheek. And, as if on instinct, you lean into her touch, letting the tears fall. She doesn’t know how often you look for fragments of her in the people you encounter and feel your spirit recurrently shatter once you realize that you would never find it. You wish to lay your heart out in front of her as an offering, or to confess the contents of your prayers that have her as the keynote.

“I’m sorry.”, is all you say.

“What?” Alicent whispers.

You plunge the dagger into your abdomen just in time for Helaena to come barging into Alicent’s chambers, Jaehaera in her arms.

“They killed the boy.”

[bookofbonbon]

strut: to the hospital - coriolanus snow

Characters: Coriolanus Snow x Reader.

Summary: Coriolanus is 'stuck' in hospital with you while the two of you await your uncle and aunt.

Word Count: 659.

A/N: There is no plot, rhyme or reason to this fic. I'm making it up as I go along and using this as a way to get back into writing. This is very self-indulgent and I am writing whatever comes to mind.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Coriolanus exhales loudly through his nose, eyes screwed shut as he pinches the bridge between his thumb and forefinger.

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

“Self-control is an essential skill. Self-control is an essential skill…” he reminds himself, having re-adopted the six word mantra some three weeks ago. 

The Grandma’am may not have been around so frequently as to help him practice it but, you? You had been more than making up for her absence since your arrival. 

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Did you know... Coryo, that talking to oneself may indicate an underlying madness?” 

Coriolanus’s eyes snap open at the implication. Your voice nails on a chalkboard in his ears, the sound causing him an immediate headache that he didn’t need - although your presence alone was enough to do that -  was it not enough that you had attempted to murder him? Now you insisted on taunting him with the name he reserved only for friends, family and those he loved - all things you were not but, anyone on the outside looking in would think you were. 

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

Coriolanus turns his head mechanically toward you but you pay him no mind, too busy flicking through whatever book you were pretending to read - Forensic Firearm Examinations, he reads the title with a scoff. Now what would you be doing with a book like that? Were you trying to impress him? Did you even know how to read?

No matter, he saw through your little facade; he knew the truth, that you were out to get him and he would prove it in a little less than five minutes. In truth, he had no reason to still be  gowned up and laying  down in the hospital bed. Coriolanus, by all accounts had escaped your attempted murder unscathed and had in fact been medically cleared for discharge but, he pulled some strings and extended his stay so, that he could play up his false injuries to old Strabo and Ma Plinth when they arrived; so they could see for themselves the ruin their horrendous niece attempted to inflict upon him. Maybe then, they- more so, old Strabo would see that you did not belong in the Capitol and banish you back to where you came from. District Two. 

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Has no one taught you it’s rude to stare? And I thought you Capitol lot were supposedly provided with an elite-”

Without thought, Coriolanus hand comes down hard and fast with a resounding thwack! against the table.

He watches you intently, your head turning slowly away from your book and over to his hand that now rests atop yours, promptly ending your tapping and your sentence. There’s tension in your jaw as your gaze drags venomously from your joined hands to meet his eyes, your mask is slipping and in turn his mouth curves into a victorious grin but, not for long when your expression begins to match his.

“Self-control is an essential skill, Coriolanus,” you mock, turning his hand over with your own and touching the center of his palm lightly before standing up. “Seems you need a little bit more practice.”

The action is small but sends an oddly pleasant feeling through him, leaving him both speechless and mouth gaping, slightly forgetful of how to breathe until four figures appear at the end of the room.

Coriolanus immediately recognises them as old Strabo, Ma, Tigris and his treating doctor. Kicking himself back into action, his response is immediate as he slumps down into the bed, appearing worse than he actually felt.

"What happened?" Strabo calls from across the room, the question very clearly directed at you.

Coriolanus smothers the Cheshire smile that threatens to appear - how he would love to see you lie your way out of this.

"They didn't tell you?" you say instead, raising an eyebrow at the doctor. "I almost ran dear Coryo over while he was strutting about in the middle of the road."

-

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

bookofbonbon 2023. All rights reserved.

[cheezbites]

Dating Ghost

✎: I wrote this very late at night (4:38 am) or very early in the morning - when I was motivated by the sheer amount of notifications from my inbox, ty all sm for the love and support💕!!

♡Summary: Head cannons of dating Ghost <3

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Bf!Ghost has always been a black tea person, either he drank it alongside his breakfast or to calm him down on a rainy day. You were a coffee girl, you would go all out making them - milk, hazelnut syrups, whipped creams… You name it. And from this, another one of your childish inside jokes was born. You were conveniently in the kitchen at the same time as him, making your morning beverages.

“Hm,” you silently thought to yourself, contemplating if your idea was rational enough to act through with.

“Hmmmmm,” he jokingly imitated you, wondering what was on your mind.

You got a separate cup and mixed some of his tea with your coffee. You took the first sip and scorned your face at the unfamiliar yet vaguely distinguishable taste.

Soon he followed, not seeming to be too fond of it at first yet still drinking every last bit.

“Not too bad,” he silently muttered.

And every time you guys were in the kitchen making your daily beverages, the ‘CoTea’ (Coffee and Tea) inside joke was repeatedly brought up.

Bf!Ghost heard a sudden shriek from your bedroom, causing his heart to sink. His thoughts raced faster than the speed of how fast he was approaching your room, desperate to know what it was. What if it was an invader? He wouldn’t be able to live knowing that he wasn’t fast enough to save you from a serious threat, he’d hate himself and feel guilty every single day.

His breathing pattern returned to normal as he sighed in relief when he realised that it was just a spider on your bedroom wall.

“Shit,”

“It’s going to kill me!” You sputtered inattentively as you backed away as far as possible from the ‘murderous pest.’

He stacked a mount of tissues in his hand and effortlessly scooped it up, crushed it into remains of spider limbs and a brown fluid before tossing it in the bin. Shooting you a look that you swore said: ‘Seriously? All that commotion over that?”

“My saviour,” you quipped as you ran up to him and braced him in a tight hug.

Bf!Ghost was used to receiving the “Your eyelashes are so long!” ‘compliment’ from people, mainly from you. It always confused him as to why you pointed it out - maybe it was just a ‘girl thing’ he didn’t understand.

Bf!Ghost was sleep-deprived, sick and unwillingly glued to his bed after days of working, so you took care of him. (At night, when he was complaining about being too cold, you snuggled up next to him and fell asleep in his arms. Maybe he was faking it as an excuse to cuddle you, maybe…) You knew he had an energy drink addiction and some bad eating habits. Since quality meals require time, you poured that time into cooking for him. His gratitude toward you was beyond words, appreciating the care and effort you put into taking care of him. Your cooking not only filled his stomach but also warmed his heart, making every bite a taste of your love.

Bf!Ghost worked out often; so did you. You enjoyed each other's company at the gym, immersing yourselves in the shared playlist and the post-workout rush. His concern for you couldn't be contained. During some weekly sessions, he taught you self-defence techniques, a thoughtful gesture for times he couldn't be by your side.

Bf!Ghost loved making you say ‘please’, even after the smallest of favours. You tried to open your water bottle, but the lid seemed super glued on, you tried repeatedly but your attempts were in vain. You asked him to help you, forgetting one thing:

“Want me to feed you the water as well?” He sarcastically quipped with a shit-eating grin.

“Oh come on babe,”

“And what’s the magic word?” He asked expectedly.

“Please,” you stretched out your ‘please’ jokingly for the sole purpose of teasing him.

He seamlessly removed the lid which astonished you before handing you your water bottle. After all that effort and failed attempts, he made it look so easy.

Bf!Ghost Loathed being away from you; and you felt the exact same way. When he needed to leave or when you were gone, he would try to do things that reminded him of you. When you were teaching him how to cook your signature meals in the kitchen, he was picking up rapidly, improving and learning - soon enough he surpassed you in culinary skills. He remade your recipes to remind himself of you when you weren’t there, and you ‘borrowed’ a few of his hoodies, which were pleasantly engulfed in his scent.

Bf!Ghost Noticed you fell asleep during the horror movie you watched, the last thing he wanted to do was startle you or wake you up. He turned off the TV before heading to your room and placing your favourite blanket over you. He kissed your cheek gently and muttered a silent, “I love you.” Before calling it a night.

Bf!Ghost left wholesome notes for you to discover around the house; the messages were cheesy in the cutest way possible. Either him making you food after a long day of work and leaving it for you in the fridge with a brief note next to it, or a corny compliment stuck on the bathroom mirror for only you to see. It would be something along the lines of:

“Start your day off with a smile love, like the one you never fail to give me♡” (And I feel like this dude would have very messy handwriting, but when writing these notes he tried his best).

Bf!Ghost made most of the decisions in the relationship, you were very indecisive. This is probably the only thing he mildly dislikes about you - you were going through the trials and tribulations of a lifetime over picking between KFC and McDonald’s, you were persistent about what to order too, so he recommended stuff to you or sometimes ordered for you.

(I just know if you both got drinks, he specifically requested only one straw so you guys could share it).

Bf!Ghost was the “‘Scuse me, she asked for no pickles,” boyfriend, who would secure you a refund and a newly made burger, (mainly due to how intimating he gets at times).

You thoroughly enjoyed him looking out for you, though, knowing that he cared that much about you made your heart flutter only from thinking about it.

PART TWO IS OUT!!! <3

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König Version

Price Version

Gaz Version

Soap Version

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Masterlist

[toournextadventure]

Hiii ! I just came across your writing and I gotta say, I’m really liking it ! Especially the Winclair x reader :) I have a suggestion, Winclair x overly protective Reader, finding out reader injured/killed someone because they said something degrading about Wednesday or Enid, or tried flirting/getting with them. Keep up the great writing :]

Bestie I am ALWAYS down to write a feral, protective reader with Wenclair 😎

stunning, murderous little thing

Enid shouldn’t have been surprised when you walked into the apartment bedroom with a bloody smile and dripping, bloodstained clothes. Your smile wasn’t as sadistic as Wednesday’s, but there was a very specific sense of danger behind it. A sense of danger that, truthfully, only you could really muster.

“Who was it this time?” Wednesday asked without even looking up from her typewriter.

“That punk from Enid’s Econ class,” you said as you tried to lick some dried blood off one of your fangs. “You know, the one that called you a mangy mutt that needed to be muzzled?”

“Is he still breathing?” Enid sighed even though, judging by your current state, she knew the answer anyway.

“He’s not dead,” you said indignantly. “He just wishes he was.” You made the move like you were going to fall on the bed where Enid was laying down.

“Don’t!” Enid shouted. Mid-fall, you missed the bed by only an inch before crashing to the floor.

“The fuck?” You asked as you sat up, rubbing your head with bloodstained hands.

“You are not getting blood on our sheets,” she said with a pointed finger in your chest. “That’ll be the fifth time this month.”

“Sixth,” Wednesday chimed in. “Don’t forget the supposed accident.”

“You guys can’t hold that one against me,” you whined, “it was an accident.” Both women turned to look at you with disbelieving eyes. “He’s the one that ran into my elbow.”

“Go wash off,” Enid demanded, “and maybe I’ll consider letting you back up on the bed.”

“Are you two going to help me?” You asked, waggling your eyebrows in false seduction. It was rather ridiculous.

And yet.

“Come on,” Enid sighed even though she was smiling back at you, “before you stain everything else.”

“You coming, Willa?” You asked when Wednesday still made no move to get up.

“My writing time is not over,” Wednesday said simply, “so no.”

Enid saw the sparkle in your eyes before you made your move. There was no time for her to even attempt to stop you before you stood behind Wednesday, primed and ready. Poor Wednesday didn’t even have time to notice your presence before you rubbed your hands down her cheeks and neck, down her bare shoulders and down to her arms, smearing blood across her skin. Wednesday’s entire body stilled, leaving nothing but silence in the apartment.

“Oh shame,” you mumbled. “It seems you need to clean up now too.”

It was impressive how slowly Wednesday spun her chair around to look up at you. She was also, though Enid would never say it aloud, extremely attractive when covered in blood. The dark red really brought out the brown in her eyes, truly stunning.

"You can keep one hand," Wednesday told you, "which would you prefer?"

"You can take the left," you mused as you held both hands up. "I mean, you both seem to enjoy the right too much to lose it."

Enid could feel a migraine forming when Wednesday lunged at you and you screamed, running off to the shower with her hot on your trail. Enid loved you both, she truly did. But you were going to kill her for sure.

After that night, Enid and Wednesday had given you one rule; no killing anyone unless you had their permission. One would think this wasn't such a difficult rule to follow, but you certainly did your best to find every loophole possible.

"What if I only maim him?" You asked one night while Wednesday pretended to not enjoy being the little spoon.

"Only with good cause,” Wednesday mumbled in her sleepy voice that she pretended not to have.

You hummed in acknowledgment and pulled Wednesday closer, trying to keep your cool when she did her best to snuggle deeper into your arms. When Enid came home, she found the both of you fast asleep yet still leaving room for her on the other side. All she had to do was slide into bed and the both of you instantly reached for her, pulling her into the cuddle pile.

The day of reckoning appeared far faster than Wednesday and Enid had anticipated.

It was just a simple day, you were all walking out of your last class for the week which you thankfully shared, arguing and complaining because Wednesday refused to help you and Enid with the homework. Typical, of course, she always liked to hold this over you both as leverage for cuddles or kisses. A usual Friday, actually, you expected nothing less.

And then it happened.

“Hey Sinclair, Addams.”

They never seemed to call your name, Enid realised as the two frat boys appeared beside you.

“You two busy tonight?” The taller boy standing beside Wednesday asked.

“Extremely,” she answered without looking up. You kept turning your head between both boys and Enid could see the gears turning behind your sunglasses.

“You should come to the party tonight,” the boy beside Enid said. He sounded far more genuine. “We’ll pick you ladies up.”

Enid felt your hand brush against hers as the boys kept talking. It wasn’t the gentle touch you usually gave out freely while walking around campus, but a fist. Oh no, she thought when you ran your tongue over your teeth. More importantly, over your fangs.

“Is this a good enough cause?” You asked; neither of the boys even paid you any attention.

“Yes,” Wednesday said simply.

Oh, your smile was terrifying.

“Hey guys,” you said, finally drawing the boys’ attention, “I got an 8 ball in my bag, want some for your party?”

“Hell yeah,” the taller boy answered quickly.

“Come on, let’s go over here,” you gestured your head toward the alley between campus buildings. The business building; no one would suspect a thing.

They followed you without hesitation, without a single care in their little heads. Enid sighed when Wednesday smirked at their disappearance. She dug her shoe into the dirt, drawing little patterns when she felt Wednesday grab her hand. It helped ease her anxiety just a little bit.

You finally came out from around the building with bloody knuckles and no company.

“I feel much better,” you said with a big smile.

“Still can’t clean up properly,” Wednesday said, wiping her thumb across your lips to erase the small drop of blood.

“Are we finally watching that movie tonight?” You asked as you forced yourself between them, holding each of their hands in yours.

“Only if you make the popcorn,” Enid said.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, sugar,” you said with an even bigger smile and a squeeze of their hands.

Your overprotectiveness was getting worse. Good thing your girlfriends enjoyed it.

[horseshoegirl]

Damn Those Dog Tags: Part 15 - Have You Ever Seen The Rain

📖I need to make two apologies. First, I am so sorry for the long delay. While work was beating my ass, I actually received a rude comment on my Wattpad account for the last chapter that triggered a horrible writer's block. It was taken care of, and it didn't bother me at the time, but I didn't realize how much it affected me until I started to write. Then I decided to use it for inspiration!

Secondly, I'm so sorry for what is about to unfold. This one was planned from the get-go (which is also probably why I struggled because this is the one chapter I dreaded having to write).

(I'll be running from the pitchforks as they come, Woot Woot!)

❗️+18, strong language, godmother reader/original female character, Mentions of an original child, Shitty family dynamics, Angst, verbal fights, sexist implications, one slap across the face, and Jake being Hangman.

#6k words

Part 14 | Masterlist | Part 16

The story behind how you started ego-checking some of the cocksure pilots at Hard Deck is less interesting than one might think.

It all started with a game. 

You weren't kidding when you told Jake you were a library, loving geek who'd rather spend her time deep in the stacks. That was the plot of your entire post-secondary experience. You didn't know how to flirt. You stayed clear of frat parties and cliquey groups. And if a guy tried to flirt with you, you ran for the freaking hills without a backward glance.

You only decided to take that bartending job in building H's damp, dark basement because you were dead-ass broke. But the thing about being a bartender on a University campus, there were moments when you had nothing but time on your hands.

You had to get creative.

Looking back, you would blame the writer-orientated part of your mind that decided to create that little game of making up stories for the people who regularly visited the miserable bar.

The quiet girl, always sitting in the back corner, cramming for a test or writing a paper. Did she like the ambience, or was she avoiding the library? Or was she trying to work up the nerve to ask out one of the bussers, waiting for the perfect meet cute?

Maybe the nerds who gathered every Friday at the arcade-style game consoles playing Pac-Man needed to leave their dorm because Friday nights tended to be the one night everyone liked to party.

Those popular girls sitting around a table with their $5 cocktails, lowcut tanktops, and jean shorts, always on their phones gossiping over the latest social media post from their favourite celebrities. Did they have Regina George in their ranks? Which one was sleeping with the other's boyfriend? How much blackmail did they have on each other?

Which one would murder the other first?

That little game you invented for yourself got you out of your shell. It also made it easier to deal with the persistent football jocks who'd try to flirt with you for a free shot.

Ridley would always get a kick out of it whenever you told her. You'd always imagined her curling up in a ball and kicking her feet back and forth while she squealed in laughter over the phone.

"Be a character in one of your freaking stories. Or better yet, act it out! You're a damn writer, Lizzie."

She was right. So you did. 

You'd never forget the laughter of that football jock when your rejection of his flirting attempts to weasel a free drink out of you resulted in his childish reply of, "Well, nobody's perfect, Sweetheart, least of all you."

"I never said I was," you had said with a smile.

You must have said something right because a few minutes later, Penny was introducing herself and chatting you up, asking if you wanted a better job bartending.

You were all too happy to leave. But nothing could have prepared you for the hotshot, ego-driven, and stupidly horny Top Gun pilots who frequented the Hard Deck. 

Between remembering their drink order or what side of the room they tended to gravitate towards, you needed more than your little guessing game to figure out their tells. You did pick up little things about them, though.

The WSOs were the kindest; ironically, they stood out in the crowds. Always a kind smile, never a bad thing to say about anyone.

The female pilots were always badass. At least, you thought so. Strong. Always commandeering the room the second they walked in. Always nice, no question about it. But mess with them; you got schooled hard.

They were the literal definition behind the saying, 'Do no harm, but take no shit.'

And with each new group that came in, the male pilots, the single flyers you had called them, paled compared to those jocks. They never changed. A pair constantly vied for first place with each new group that came through the Top Gun program.

Always a pair of males. Women always knew there was more at stake than a freaking trophy.

Those guys talked to you. Well... properly flirted at you.

That's where your little game came in handy. Picking out the little things about them, letting your mind do the creative parts next. It's how you turned Jake down so quickly that first time.

But the guy currently approaching the bar? He did not fit the bill of any regular customer you had seen in a while.

Tourists came and went without question. They stood out like a pack of flies, unsure where to go, with friendly faces and always asking what the best places were. They tipped great, and they never returned.

This guy? 

Not a tourist.

He was from out of town. The plaid shirt, jeans and cowboy boots were unusual for a California bar. It was also how he gaped at the walls and ceiling, taking in all the Navy memorabilia Penny had collected over the years. If you hadn't been paying attention, you could have sworn there was a look of distaste on his face with each new item he saw.

But what irked you was the sense of familiarity you couldn't place while looking at him. Blonde hair and a sharp face. Something in how he carried that toothpick between his teeth, not in the way god forbid fucking Tyler had, but as if it was a piece of grass. Also, in the way he walked.

Then he openly leered at a woman's ass as she walked by, and it all made sense.

Ah, a Wham, Bam, Thank You, Mam.

He sat in the empty chair directly in front of you, still watching the women's retreating form. You didn't want to serve him, but a tiny part of you hoped your assumption had been wrong.

It had been a while since you had to rebuff flirty advances; the newer pilots going through the Top Gun Program hardly said anything to you except smile and relay their order.

You suspected Jake was behind it.

"What can I get you?" you smiled at the guy. He slowly pulled his eyes away with a sly grin. The second he caught sight of your face, his mouth stretched even wider as he leaned forward on the bar.

"Your number and the name of a good hotel."

You should have known better. 

If it looked like a duck, it quacked like a duck too.

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you straightened the line of shot glasses under the bar, not once looking up as you answered him. "Well, I can answer one out of two of those questions, but I'm afraid the only hotels around here are resorts. There is a bed and breakfast about ten minutes down the road that will give you a good deal."

"Will they give me a good deal if I mention your name?"

"Only my friends know my name, and you are simply a customer sitting at my bar wanting a drink?" you raised your eyebrow, tapping your finger against the bar.

He made a show of thinking about it, rocking his shoulders back and forth. He finally nodded, leaning forward to answer you.

"Whiskey. Straight."

You recognized his accent as you reached beneath the bar to grab the bottle. It was more pronounced and slightly more profound, but without a doubt, he sounded like Jake.

Good old southern Texas Charm.

Normally you'd engage in small talk, but you wanted nothing more than to leave this asshole alone. Thinking he'd leave it be after you poured him his drink, you slid the glass forward, then made your way over to the other side of the bar.

The words he called out after you made you stop in your tracks.

"You must get attention all the time. Having your pick of the litter each year."

You whipped around, offended. " Are you calling me easy?!"

He shrugged. "I'm just saying a good-looking woman like yourself, in this place... you clearly aren't sticking around because of the pay."

Oh, you wanted this guy gone. That could have been one of the most double-standard comments you had ever received. Old Liz would have sputtered, maybe run into the back fridge and asked one of the other bartenders to handle it.

You now? No chance in hell. If he were going to give it, you would give it right back. You weren't going to play the boyfriend card. You could fight your own battles, and something told you even if you told him you had a boyfriend, he'd think you were lying. He seemed like the type that wouldn't take no for an answer.

"You've got some nerve." You crossed your arms, matching back to him from the other side of the bar. "Let's get one thing straight. I'm not here because I'm looking for attention or have trouble finding a date. You've spent all of two minutes sitting at this bar, talking shit, while I've been fighting the urge to point out your confusion regarding basic anatomy." 

He raised his eyebrows at your reply. "My confusion?" 

You leaned forward, resting your arms upon the bar, eyeing him sourly. "Is your mouth your asshole, or are you just one?" 

It was one of the more cruder remarks you had ever responded with. But this guy was trying to go for gold. Unphased, he leaned back in his chair, throwing his hands up. "Hey, no need to be aggressive. You should take it as a compliment. I never called you anything derogatory." 

You huffed, pushing yourself away from him, rolling your eyes. "Calling me good-looking, then proceeding to say I'm only working here because it's 'easy to access' is still calling a woman a slut. You don't need to say the word to imply the meaning." 

You ripped the dishrag from your shoulder, running it under the tap, muttering more to yourself, "There's no way that shit works on women."

"It does on the women back home," he answered you.

"Oh, so are you staying? Don't tell me you're a new pilot at Top Gun."

They'll beat that attitude right out of you.

"Oh, I'm just passing through. I figured I'd scout out the area. I heard this was a Navy bar. Don't understand what all the fuss is about." 

You didn't answer him. Opening your mouth only led to him replying, and the quicker he finished his drink, the faster he'd leave. He took your silence as a means to continue. 

"Still playing hard to get?" 

"You ask me a question. I might choose not to answer." 

"Wow. Subtle." 

You turned, a hand on your hip. "You can't honestly expect me to speak to you, a complete stranger, after the way you just undermined my job because I'm not giving to your attempts. There is nothing to get." 

He smiled, holding out his hand. "George Seresin. There, not a stranger."

Well, shit.

You wanted to hang your mouth open like a fish. You were staring down Jake's brother.

Now you understood Jake's reaction to Janet's warning. His anxious behaviour in the back of his truck. His lost-in-thought stares or the way he couldn't stop looking at you and Sadie when he came home from work this week.

George Seresin was a very unwelcome, uninvited and long-awaited guest.

Something snapped in your stomach, a twinge of weariness that Jake didn't confide in you. Then again, your slight disappointment was overshadowed by something greater.

Clearly, you were fated to ego-check both Seresin brothers while standing behind this bar. Because the idea came without warning, without doubt, or any sense of hesitancy. 

George Seresin was at the Hard Deck.

He was right in front of you, trying to flirt with you without any idea who you were. 

And he was sitting in the best spot in the entire place.

It was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

You stepped backwards, turning to lean up against the bar. As you did with Jake all those months ago, you took the rag and started to wipe.

"So let me get this straight," you said, dragging the damp cloth around his glass, not once looking up. "I tell you my name in some effort to prove we are not strangers. I'm supposed to forget about your 'comments,' so you can use that good old Texas charm to woo me into your bed with a promise of a good time?"

You finally looked up, George only staring back at you with a heated smoulder.

"Something tells me none of those loose cannons cannot even promise you a good time. A quick roll in the sheets before they let some brass monkey in a fancy suit tell them where to shoot. You look like you could let loose for once in your life."

You froze, losing your grip on the rag and fingers twitching. Scanning Jake’s brother, you leaned against the bar, resting your weight on your elbows, throwing the fabric over your shoulder as you got inside his bubble. You never once broke eye contact as you pinned him down.

George bought it, hook, line and sinker. He was so focused on you and your face that he was oblivious to everything and everyone around him, including how your hand slowly reached up toward the rope hanging from the top of the bar.

The second he looked at your lips, you tugged.

Cheers and music flooded the Hard Deck when everyone heard the distinct ring of the barbell. You guessed the song right away, old habits dying hard.  Slow Ride, its distinct beat letting you know Jake was here and he had seen the whole thing.

George reeled back, shocked as a few people came up and slapped him on the back, thanking him. You laughed softly at his reaction, pushing yourself away to help the few customers you knew who would take advantage of the free drink.

You had never rang the bell for someone like him. George Seresin would be the only exception.

"What the hell just happened?" he called after you. You didn't bother turning around, flinging your hand to gesture over your head, "Read the sign!"

George followed the direction of your hand, landing on the piece of wood dangling by the silver chain.

You disrespect a lady, the navy, or you put your cell phone on the bar, you buy a round.

You had already helped a few customers when he managed to tear his eyes away to glare at you heatedly. You turned to face him with a gleeful grin. Instead of asking him which one he thought you rang him out for, you started teasingly singing along to the chorus.

You hadn't done that in a while. It felt good.

"What did he do to warrant that?" 

You smiled up at Jake as he approached the bar. He never took his eyes off you as he leaned on his elbow against the top of the bar beside George. 

"What do you think?" you laughed at him.

Jake smirked. "I'd say he didn't take no for an answer."

"He did a little more than that. Tell him to put his cell phone on the bar, and he'd get three out of three."

"Ouch," Jake dramatically drawled. He finally turned his head, nodding once in his brother's direction. "Hi, Georgie." 

You stiffed a giggle. 

George huffed, jutting his chin out in your direction. "This one is trouble."

"Don't I know it," Jake said, looking back at you. "Pulled the same trick on me the first time I met her. Only she didn't ring the bell. Guess I did something right, considering she let me come back."

George glanced between you and Jake several times, and you could see the gears grinding in his head. 

"Hi," you beamed at him, walking over and holding out your hand. "Elizabeth Beck. Your brother's girlfriend. I guess we aren't strangers after all."

George stared down at your hand, then gritting his teeth, knocking back another gulp of whiskey. He spat out his following words with the glass still to his lips, "So you are real. Jake, there's no way you're dating her."

 You didn't try to hide the snark from your voice as you lowered your hand. "You thought I was imaginary? Sorry to disappoint."

George still chose to ignore you. "What's the matter, little brother? Need your girlfriend to speak for you?"

Jake stiffened, and it took everything in you not to ring the bell once more. Cause you knew if you did, Jake would be the one to help throw George out, and you didn't know what repercussions he could face.

"At least he has a girlfriend," you scoffed. "I can't imagine you've ever had a meaningful relationship with how you treat women."

You spied his empty whiskey glass, grabbing it firmly.

"Wham."

Sliding it across the bar's smooth surface, you caught it in the palm of your other hand.

"Bam."

Reaching into the pocket of your apron with your free hand, you slapped his bill down in front of him, rounds and all, attempting your best version of a Texan accent.

"Thank you, Mam."

Not wanting to waste more time on him, you turned to Jake, slightly worried. Some of you didn't know how to act around Jake when he was like this. When he was so... Hangman.

You gently touched his wrist, murmuring softly, "I'll see you in a half hour?"

He twisted his arm in your grasp, sliding his hand down so he could gently squeeze yours. But his eyes screamed a different, intense, unsettling story. As if he was assessing you for any threat.

"Sure."

You tried not to let it bother you, his non-chalent reply. Trying not to frown, you let go of his wrist to serve another customer, calling out as you walked away, "It was nice meeting you, Georgie!"

Jake watched you go with a slight turn of his head, proud you one-upped his brother but wishing you didn't leave him alone.

He knew why George was here. What he wanted him to do. No amount of smirk, cockiness, or even Hangman, could save Jake from this. George was the grave reminder that no matter where the Navy sent him, whether in California or on the other side of the world, there was no end to the metaphorical leash the 'hell bringer' had on both of his sons. 

George scraped his chair back to stand. "Come on, little brother," he gruffed out, tossing his credit card onto the bar. "We need to have a chat."

—-

With Ridley's Jean jacket in hand and your bag, you placed them on the bar as you greeted Jimmy after finishing your shift. "Can you watch these for a second, Jimmy? I'm just going to the bathroom before I find Jake. We're going to pick Sadie up from Penny's and take her out for dinner."

The older man smiled. "She's feeling better?"

You nodded. "Mild concussion. She was okay after a few days and back at school. Bummed about not being able to play in soccer playoffs, though. Hence the trip."

"That girl loves her soccer. What a shame."

"Jake's is making it easier on her. I don't know what I would do without him."

He tilted his head towards the bathroom hall with a knowing grin. "Go get ready for your date."

You blushed, walking away, calling over your shoulder, "It's not a date!"

After freshening yourself up, you took a few moments to stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror. You saw the famous callsign board hanging on the wall behind you. You scanned the names from the mirror, looking for Jake's, doing a double take when you couldn’t find it. You turned, properly facing the wall.  

Like the sign in the bar, it was a piece of wood with the words engraved into the top, “Ladies Beware: Navigate the Hard Deck with Care!” and underneath that, “Pilots who fly solo.” Several metal slots were glued to the surface, designed so she could easily slide plastic slate with a pilot’s callsign into place. 

You recognized a few, even Rooster's, though his was listed way further down, out of harm’s way. But Jake's was nowhere to be found. 

Then you realized - Penny had taken his name off.

She didn't do that for a lot of people. You could only recall one other instance when she removed a pilot's callsign from that board. She prided herself on it, so much so she never removed Maverick's at the top of the list, even after they got back together.

You needed to tell Jake. 

With a hint of a smile, you eagerly walked out of the bathroom to find him. He was standing with George at the pool table, the elder Seresin brother lining up a shot as he spoke. As you approached them, you honed in on Jake, realizing he looked uncomfortable. Stiff, shoulders square, and his fists were clenched tight.

The closer you got, the more you heard of their conversation, and when you heard Sadie's name fall from George's mouth, you froze. Hearing him utter her name, especially in that hardened tone, was a punch to the gut. The urge to hide behind one of the support pillars in the middle of the room at the last second was too great to ignore, and you made yourself as small as possible. 

You had stumbled upon a conversation you weren’t supposed to hear. George’s voice accompanied the sound of the eight-ball scattering the balls across the table. 

"Come on, man," he said, his tone laced with arrogance. "Think about it. She threw her whole life away for her niece. She's tied down now, and you deserve someone who can give you more than that."

Jake remained silent. George continued, encouraged by his lack of protest. "You're a Navy pilot, for crying out loud. You could have anyone you want. Why settle for a girl with so much baggage?"

You weren’t stupid. You knew enough about George to realize he was the golden child, the favourite used to getting his way. George would only see you as Jake’s attempt to one-up him on something. 

“You know why I'm here,” you heard him say firmly. “Dad doesn’t approve. He wants you to know if you continue on with her, you will never be welcomed back home.”

You swallowed hard, a knot forming in your stomach. There would never be a time when you asked Jake to choose you over his family, even with what you knew. You wanted to go out there, but this was Jake’s battle. Storming out to threaten anything but a kick to the balls was out of the question. 

But when Jake finally spoke, his words were like shards of ice piercing your skin.

"Yeah, you're right."

A strangled noise escaped from you, a sound of raw pain and disbelief. You clapped your hands over your mouth, trying to muffle the sob threatening to escape. George’s reply triggered the blood rushing through your ears, the pain in your forearm from your nails biting hard into the skin. 

“You know I am,” he laughed, another clack of the pool balls sounding out. “

There was only one way you saw this - Jake played you like he played those other bartenders. 

You couldn’t hide any longer. You pushed yourself away from the pillar, swerving around to confront them. 

“So Sadie and I were just a game to you?” 

Jake turned sharply, shock in his eyes. “Liz,” he held his hands out in front of him. “It’s not what…” 

“Not what?” you said heatedly, tears streaming from your eyes. “I heard plenty!” 

He opened his mouth to say something, but the words died in his throat, confronted with your beat red face and tears. You were not supposed to hear all that. 

The shock on his face was not enough to erase the sting of his words.

"Come on, Liz. You don't understand... it's..."

"What's there to understand, Jake?" you interjected, your voice seething with a volatile mix of pain and anger. "That I'm just another one of your bartenders?"

“Liz, don’t.” 

“Enlighten me, Jake.” You crossed your arms. “Tell me all the reasons why. That bringing me flowers wasn’t a game. That getting close to my niece wasn’t a game. Asking me to give you a chance, taking me out on a date.”

 You sobbed. “Taking me up in that damn plane.” 

The thought was erupt, tearing itself from the deepest part of your mind. You couldn’t help it, the words spilling out in blinded anger. “Was my grief an opportunity for you to get into my pants? Telling me it would be alright so you could leave me high and dry? Telling me it was going to be okay?” 

There was a sudden shift in his expression, his gaze hardening. As if a switch had been flipped, the warm, understanding man you knew disappeared, replaced by a stranger draped in defensiveness and sarcasm.

"Oh, excuse me," he declared. "I didn't realize I was your knight in shining armour, rushing to your rescue the second you need all your problems fixed. The girl who never had a relationship, thinking a man would solve all her issues."

The words hit you like a physical blow, your knees nearly buckling beneath you. Jake's harsh gaze didn't match his usual soft and protective demeanour. It was like looking at a stranger, someone you didn't recognize. The man before you was not the Jake you'd fallen for.

This man reminded you of your father. 

Was this his plan all along? You racked your mind, searching for any indication this had been coming. But what only stood out was Rooster's words echoing in your head where you found none. 

Did you really only add your name to the list of women Hangman had pursued?

Because here and now, those months of working through the trauma of losing Ridley didn't matter. 

Was anything about this past year even worth it? The moments you worked through when you would avoid anyone mentioning her because acknowledging her in the past tense was too much. Avoiding the things that reminded you of her. Till helped you through it.  

She would know what to say right now. She would be the one beating his ass with verbiage and scathing remarks. She would nail the moment and get it right. 

It hit you, the hidden weight of how desperately you missed her. 

Suddenly, you were that girl again, starting her first shift in that basement bar, wondering what to say to the students who saw you as a mere bookworm with no character or class - because you couldn't compare to the girl sitting in the corner writing her paper, actually having the courage to ask that busboy out. 

Or the geeks in the corner cheering as hard as they did when they beat their high score on the console, uncaring of strange looks. Or that girl, finally standing up to her 'so-called friends' when one had been spreading rumours and crude remarks about her to the others behind her back. 

He really did leave you out to dry. 

"Stay the fuck away from my niece," you managed to gasp through your tears. "And stay the fuck away from me."

You wanted to believe your assumption that Jake was merely putting on a front. Hangman, his alternate self, was his attempt at protecting himself. 

You had a hard time doing so.

There, plain as day, across his face was the most condensing grin you had ever seen as he dramatically drawled out slowly, "No fucking problem, sweetheart."

You didn't believe in thinking about everything you regretted throughout your life. Ridley was the only exception; if you had done more, moved back home after school, or gone to the police the day you kicked Tyler out, maybe she'd still be here. You couldn't change what had happened in your life, so spending time thinking about it in the present wouldn't do you much good. 

So it was no surprise to you when you followed through with your knee-deep reaction, your hand coming up out of nowhere, open and firm, slapping Jake hard enough across the side of his face, his head turning with the force of it.

You knew you shouldn't have. You weren't a violent person by any means. Next to Tyler, you never had raised a hand to anyone. You were too hurt to care you just slapped him.

That should have scared you shitless.

Rather than voice the obvious, you remained silent, allowing every repressed thought, every buried emotion to resurface.

Ridley - dead. 

Sadie - hurt. 

Tyler - lurking. 

Bradley - damaging.

It was all too much.

George's figure stood out from behind Jake amongst your blurry vision, tears creating a vignette in your line of sight. You tore past Jake, sticking your finger out only to push George square in his chest. He stepped back at the force, hand shooting out to balance himself against the pool table.

Jake wouldn't have done that had George not shown up. Had he not played with Jake's emotions.

"You need a fucking ego check and to grow the fuck up," you seethed at him. "I don't know whose got your balls on a very tight leash, but you have no right to go around and fucking up other people's relationships."

George didn't answer you, taking his hand off the table to stand properly. You pressed him again. "Does it give you some sick fucking pleasure to hurt your brother? Dad loves me best, so I'm going to remind everyone just cause I can?"

George was still avoiding your heated glare, fixating on his football ring, twisting the piece of metal back and forth. It only pissed you off further.

"My eyes are over here, Jackass! Have the decency to look me in the fucking eyes when I'm talking to you."

If nobody had been watching when you slapped Jake, you clearly had their attention now. Even with the music blasting from the speakers, every conversation in the Hard deck had gone quiet. You could feel everyone's eyes on you, but you couldn't care less.

You were too far gone.

George slowly cocked his head to face you. Your breath was harsh, your body jolting with each gasp as you gave in to the anger. "My sister died, and I took in my niece. What's so fucking wrong about that? That I threw my life away, that I have no future?" 

He shifted on his feet, about to transfer the pool stick into his other hand, when you reached out and snatched it out of his grasp, tossing it behind you with a clack. 

"You're damn right I did! That's what you do for people you love. I would sacrifice my entire life so she could have hers. And I would do it again in a fucking heartbeat. I will stay on the other side of that bar for the rest of my so-called miserable life, getting catcalled and dealing with assholes like you if it gives her the best shot with the shitty hand she's dealt. You, George Seresin, have no right to judge the choices I've made in my life." 

Your breathing was harsh, ribs aching with effort. Every vein, every pore, was consumed with pure white rage. And yet, you still found yourself growling out, "You have no right judging your brothers either." 

Even after breaking your heart, you still stood up for Jake. 

"He risks his life every single time he goes up in that jet just so the whole world can fucking survive. So you can go on day in and day out and let your father control what you want to do with your life. So you can gallant around letting someone who has lived their life decide what you do with the rest of yours? So Jake’s here for you to bully and control every time he comes home? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

The burning sensation in your cheeks mirrored the fire in your eyes, unshed tears making them shine brighter. The salty sting of tears blurring your vision did little to diminish the searing gaze you levelled at George.

"My sister believed everyone deserved a chance. That people cared, regardless of what they did or who they were. I had forgotten that until my niece invited Jake to a barbeque, till she invited him on a hike because he was being treated differently. Despite what I heard and everyone telling me otherwise, listing off why I shouldn’t. That he will hurt me and my niece, and I still gave him a chance.”  

Squaring your shoulders and balling your hands to fists at your side, you take a step forward, a dangerous glint in your eyes. You lean towards him, your face close enough to feel his breath, your jaw clenched and muscles tight.  

"You are the first person ever to prove my sister wrong,” your voice is dangerously low, underlying anger accompanying each word. “You sure as hell don't deserve that sentiment." 

As you stepped away, George lifted his head to glance around the room, everyone's eyes pinning him down. The older Top Gun instructors had stood at their tables and chairs, arms crossed. Some of the current students in the program also stood, the others sending him the most scathing glares they could manage. Even some regulars who weren't aviators were casting him a scornful glance.

You spun, ready to leave him in embarrassment and escape this literal fucking mess, when you caught Jake's bewildered gaze, his mouth hanging open in slight shock.

You weren't sure whether it was that look or the dying embers of your outburst that made you spin back around to snarl, "So, leave your brother the fuck alone! Live your own goddamn life without judging others for the choices they make! Cause you sure as hell don't know what it means to sacrifice something for those you love. If you need an example, look around this goddamn room."

Jake reached for your wrist as you charged toward the front door. The second you felt his touch, you shook your hand loose, a wrenching sob tearing through your chest.

"Don't fucking touch me!"

You didn't bother seeing his reaction to your remark, rushing to grab your bag and Ridley's jean jacket off the bar.

The skin around your wrist burned from his touch, the rough callouses once a comfort but now felt like coarse sandpaper. You wanted to get under a shower or jump in the sea, hoping to remove the feeling of every memory, kiss, and word.

God, you let him touch you. Do things with you.

You were going to throw up.

God forbid you didn't want to walk home. But you needed to go, be anywhere but here, and you didn't have your car. Barely keeping it together as you took off toward the door, you had half a mind to look up to watch where you were going, deaf to Jake's shouts of your name.

There was Bradley, sitting in the first booth by the door. His brow furrowed as you made your way over to him, probably having witnessed the ordeal. You were too upset even to question why he wasn't marching across the bar, ready to knock Jake to next Sunday.

It had been weeks since the fight, with no communication in between. But it was a distant memory compared to this. 

It didn't matter what he implied. It didn't matter what happened in your hallway.

It didn't matter.

It didn't matter.

It didn't matter.

You just needed your friend.

With each step you took toward him, your shame only grew greater. You couldn't even look him in the eye when you stopped, standing next to his side of the booth, hugging yourself tighter.

"Can you take me home, Bradley? I don't want to be here anymore."

Bradley's opportunity to act smug had finally arrived. But he didn't do anything other than frown. Standing up from his booth, he threw a few bills onto the table before blocking everyone's view of you. He placed a comforting hand on your back, gently pressing you forward as he uttered quietly, "Of course I can, Liz."

You kept your head down as you stepped towards the door, but Bradley, so willing to help you without so much of an 'I told you so,' made whatever resolve you had, crumble. Your knees wobbled, and your heart dropped into your stomach. You fell, and Bradley's arm whipped out, gripping your hip and pulling you tight to his side to support your weight.

Burying your head into Bradley's shoulder, you hid your face. You didn't want to see the looks of everyone in the Hard Deck, whether pity, concern, or applause, as another wave of tears wrecked your body.

Closing your eyes seemed better than reliving the truth.

And because you kept them shut, you didn't see George place a hand on Jake's shoulder, preventing him from going after you. Nor did you see the look of devastation wreck his face; the weight of every wrong decision he had ever made coming back to haunt him. 

Whether Jake turned on a dime to punch George square in the jaw, you heard none of it. You hadn't even bothered to turn back to look as Bradley carried you out the front door.

.... So... Who is going to pitchfork me first? 👀

Tag List:

@blue-aconite @tinytotontheoversizedpony @djs8891 @caitsymichelle13 @startrekfangirl2233

@mayhemmanaged @ereardon @dempy @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @daggerspare-standingby

@phantomxoxo @formulapierre @eli2447 @fulla02 @blckgrl-sunflower @mizzzpink @ohgodnotagainn

@bubblegumbeautyqueen @sarahsmi13s @desert-fern @lynnestra44 @memoriesat30 @penwieldingdreamer @mxlanciia

@bradleybeachbabe @bobby-r2d2-floyd @lavenderbradshaw @roosters-girl @lovinglyeternal @kmc1989 @gigisimsonmars @dakotakazansky

@keyrani @craftytrashprincess @hisredheadedgoddess28 @abzidabzy @memeorydotcom @vicsnook

Part 16 - In the Blood coming soon

Wickett ;)

[moremaybank]

hi darling, can you make a very cute imagination where klaus is hatching a plot against an enemy, and he is making a plan with some witches and suddenly a witch sees klaus's phone and looks at his wallpaper which is a picture of y/n and the witch asks klaus who the girl in the photo is and klaus tells her that it's his girlfriend and starts talking about her non-stop, going completely from conspiring to talking about his beloved.

POUR YOUR HEART OUT — k.m

pairing klaus mikaelson x gf!reader

summary klaus is working with a certain coven of witches in new orleans in an attempt to protect you from esther. the leader of the coven wonders if helping him is worth it. to quiet her doubts, she takes matters into her own hands, and this causes klaus to gush over his girlfriend.

warnings new orleans!klaus but hope doesn't exist, fluff, slightly drugged!klaus (truth serum made by a witch), mentions of murder and violence (it's klaus, what'd you expect)

author's note kinda changed some of the details, i hope that's okay! this wasn't a fic i planned on posting today, but i had the inspiration for it sooo yeah

klaus masterlist

"i don't want any excuses. if we aren't prepared, esther will take any given opportunity to strike against me or my family."

"we are working as fast as we can, klaus. these things take time," calliope, the leader of the coven klaus had been plotting with, stated. it was clear from the tone of her voice that she was beginning to grow annoyed with klaus's constant pestering.

"well, we do not have time. there are people i must protect, even more so when the protection is against my vile mother," klaus replied, pacing around the room as he gesticulated impatiently. "you're forgetting i can kill all of you without blinking."

"and you're forgetting that all it takes is one word from me for my entire coven to turn on you and side with your mother and the ancestors. back off," calliope replied, standing her ground.

"just work faster," klaus grumbled in response, pulling out his phone from his pocket to find a text from you.

everything okay?

the corners of his lips turned up, his dimples threatening to peak through.

yes, love. everything is fine. i'll be home in an hour.

okay. just remember to be nice to the witches. the coven is risking a lot to help us. i love you.

klaus shook his head as he chuckled. it was almost ridiculous how well you knew him and his behaviour.

i'm always nice. and i love you too.

klaus was halfway to putting his phone back in the pocket of his jacket when calliope caught a glimpse of his lock screen.

"who's that?" she asked, eyebrows furrowed in inquiry.

"none of your business. stay focused on the task at hand," klaus responded.

"wow. why so cagey?"

klaus avoided her gaze. the longer he remained silent, the more clear it became to the young witch. klaus wasn't just fighting to protect his family. he was fighting to protect her.

he was doing it for love.

"ah, i get it now. you're in love. heh, who would've thought that the big, bad hybrid was capable of love?" calliope smirked, crossing her arms as she stepped closer to him.

"what makes you think i am?"

"oh, please," calliope scoffs, "it's so obvious. your face turned bright red at the mere sight of a text message. tell me about her."

"what is it to you?"

"she must be special if the klaus mikaelson is working like a dog — no pun intended — to protect her. i'm just curious to know what she's like," calliope explained.

"did i not tell you to mind your business? we're wasting precious time even talking about this. get to work. there are lives at stake, calliope," klaus ordered, traces of his slight grin long gone from his features.

"exactly. her life is at stake. that's the reason you're fighting so hard to get this done. i want to know why. what makes her so important that you'd risk waging a war between the covens of new orleans?"

klaus sighed begrudgingly, knowing full well that calliope would not drop the topic.

"tell me, or i'm shutting this whole thing down. you know i will," calliope said.

klaus rolled his eyes, dragging a hand down his face. there really was no getting around calliope and her antics.

"you're right. she's special, calliope. that is why it is so dire for me to protect her, alright? now drop it," he grumbled once more. to tell you the truth, he was ready to get the hell out of there if it weren't for the plan he was putting in motion.

calliope, on the other hand, knew klaus was not going to make things easy for her. still, she needed to understand why klaus would go to extreme lengths for his girl because she wondered if helping him was worth it. picking a fight with one of the most diabolical witches known to mankind in the name of her hybrid offspring was one thing, but if she learned that she was working her coven tirelessly to help protect the female version of klaus...let's just say it would absolutely tank the plan.

so, calliope needed to take action. lucky for her, she knew just what to do.

"okay, then. do you want a drink? i can pour you a bourbon," calliope asked klaus. please say yes, please say yes, please say yes, she thought.

"if it'll get you to leave me be, then sure," klaus huffed in response.

calliope rolled her eyes at him, but internally, she was smiling like a fool.

she made her way over to the makeshift bar, taking out two glasses and pouring the whiskey into both of them. when she was sure klaus wasn't looking, she pulled out a small vile containing a truth serum of her own design and emptied it into klaus's glass. then, when she was finished, she made her way back to klaus and handed him his glass.

"cheers," calliope spoke, downing the contents in her glass. klaus raised his own, before doing the same.

about ten minutes passed, and calliope returned to klaus after checking on her witches.

"remember how you asked me about my girlfriend?" klaus asked, a slightly dopey grin now plastered on his face. "she really is remarkable."

"how so?" calliope questioned, pulling two chairs for them to sit on. she watched klaus slump onto the chair, his hands clasping in his lap as he threw his head back, looking at the ceiling. his expression was dazed, and calliope wanted to laugh. it was odd to see him act this way, but funny, nevertheless.

"she's beautiful, a kind of beauty that in all my years, i've never encountered even once. when i look at her, it's as if the entire world goes quiet. all i can focus on is the bright sparkle in her eyes and her gravitating smile. if angels really do exist, then she is one. without a doubt," he muses.

"is that why you're so enamoured by her? because of her beauty?" calliope questioned.

"do i seem that shallow to you?"

"do you really want me to answer that?"

"...right. well, anyway, the answer is no. yes, she's stunning beyond belief, but that's not why i feel so strongly for her."

"then what is it about her? what was it that forced the truly wicked klaus mikaelson to care about someone other than himself for once?"

klaus sat up, leaning forward to rest his arms on the tops of his thighs as he zoned in on calliope.

"she's never seen me as evil," klaus states. "she took a single look at me, and instantly knew in her heart that there was more to me than an immortal hybrid whose greed and thirst for power outweighed everything else. and that's not to say that she excused my actions because she didn't. she held me accountable, and she gave me grief. but she also cared enough to dig past the facade i'm so used to putting up in the face of my enemies. she cared enough to search for the real me."

calliope listened to him, truly taking in his words and letting them sink in. she'd been brought up with the stories of klaus mikaelson: the great evil. she'd heard about the never-ending list of the towns he'd slaughtered and the way he daggered his siblings when they did not please him. from the legends, he never seemed like the type of person to contain even one percent of goodness within him.

so for someone to see that in him, someone as good as the girl he was describing, it spoke volumes to her.

"i struggle to believe that she exists sometimes. that a girl with so much compassion could even take a chance on someone like me. she has the biggest heart i've ever known. she gives so much of herself to my family and our community. she's brave in the face of my enemies. she fights tirelessly for my family, who she treats as her own. she's not afraid to speak her mind and stand up for what she believes in...god, there are so many bloody things to love about her. she's perfect. much too perfect for me, but perfect all the same. i don't know what i did to deserve her, but i thank the stars every day that i found her."

calliope exhaled, still in awe of what she was hearing. she'd known that klaus was poetic, but she assumed that she just did that for dramatic flair in true klaus fashion.

"wow. i gotta say, i never thought i'd hear you talk about anyone in that manner. it's...weird," she said, chuckling slightly.

"yes, well, it's not every day you're given a truth serum by the very witches who are supposed to be on your side," klaus replies, giving her a knowing look.

"to be fair, i am on your side. especially now that i know i'm not helping you protect the female version of you."

"normally, i would be quick to retaliate given the circumstances, but she is the most precious thing to me. if you need to see how highly i regard her in order to provide protection for her, then that's all that matters. this is bigger than me," klaus responds. "she's not just good. she inspires goodness within me, and i need that. so i will do whatever it takes. but make no mistake, if you double cross me, you and your coven will cease to exist on this earth."

calliope chuckled in response to his threat, "i thought you said she inspires goodness in you?"

"she does, but that doesn't mean that i won't go to great lengths to make sure she's taken care of."

~

klaus tag list (join here!): @princess-charming-01 @maybankslover @trenchmaniac @techlipse @the-kaya-aa @catmikaelson20 @hopesdadswife @amournoir @skydisneylover @kittyqrt

[baileythebean]

OPEN RP :3 (LONG-ASS INTRO, HEAVY BAILEY ANGST, TW: MENTIONS OF MURDER, BLOOD, THROWING UP, SUICIDE, EXTREMELY SAD BAILEY - I’D ALSO LIKE PEBBLE @the-sugar-demonboy TO BE IN THIS ONE IF POSSIBLE, THANKS )

*Bailey had an exact agenda in mind. Scam some lootbag into buying “modern art” at an insane price and then dash. He succeeded, obviously. He’s Bailey. What do you take him for?* *The problem came when he ran into a group of scraps in the alleys who he didn’t know. They were somehow aware of the formation of the sort of alliance that his friends had with Stone, Vinnie and Skipp. After further discussion, it became clear to Bailey that this was a threatening attempt.* “So, what’s it gonna be? You can give us that cash ya got there… or we can turn your little gang against you. How’s that sound?” *The G word alone was enough to make Bailey tense up, but he knew better than to give them a reaction.* ”and how exactly, are you going to accomplish that? You seem like the type of dumb fucks that like to get under people’s skin and never get anything done.” *The same one that had spoken up earlier went on:* “Oh we could uh… I don’t know… inform them of some… plotting you’ve been doing with them pretty weapons of yours. They’re not gon’ feel so safe ‘round you once you’ve been outed as an attempted murderer.” ”But I never-“ ”Oh, we know. That’ll be the fun part.” *He smirked as Bailey’s eyes widened. He was suppressing everything as best as he could, but everything kept coming back up. Like his brain was vomiting up something he was desperately trying to keep down.*

“…Leave me the hell alone.” *He shoved his way past, and hard. He needed to get out of here right now before everything came out.* ”Fine! You seem like the type that’d shoot all of ‘em up anyway if they got on your nerves enough!” (Dammit… I need to get away… fuck, fuck, fuck…) *His mind was clouded and his vision blurred as his eyes welled up with tears. He sprinted away from there as fast as he possibly could. He wouldn’t have been bothered by that petty comment but… he knew all too well what it was like to lose someone to your own two hands. He couldn’t help but imagine Sora, Finn, Jasper, Stone, Vinnie, Skipp - Hell, even Flynn as motionless bodies scattered on the floor. He needed to get it out of his brain. He finally found a quiet, empty ditch in an alley.* (fucking disgusting…) *he thought as he slumped against the wall and he finally let his tears spill down his face.* (I’d never- Yes you would.) *his own thoughts cut him off.* (You’ve done it before.) *the last thing he thought before everything came rushing back to him. The images were too vivid. Like he was seeing them in front of him right now. Brain vomit turned into physical vomit and after a few rounds of violent throwing up, he now had dry heaves. Drenching a tissue in water and wiping his face off, he started to forget how to breathe, how to neutralize his feelings. Why did it have to be like this today? He could normally get over this with a few minutes of mourning everyone… but this? He’d only felt this a few other times. He started to scratch at his shoulders as he hugged his knees to his chest and cried.* (What if I joined them…? Met the same fate myself by the same hands…???) (mod: WHAT THE FUCK, WHAT AM I ON TODAY?? I’M SORRY TO ANYONE WHO LOVES BAILEY AND DOESN’T LIKE SEEING HIM DEVASTATED.)

[tavsianus]

Not love at first sight but curiosity at first glance but make it horror-edition. You didn't give a fuck about me or who I am, you just needed someone to entertain you until you got bored and found a new play thing. You lock me up in your house and mock me, not at all hiding the fact that you are a killer and that you will murder me. I know I can't fight back and possibly win so decide to play your game. I am like a snarling dog, cornered and foaming in the mouth until I realise that and instantly turn into this polite and charming person. This change in attitude makes you curious (because how many people did you see do this?) even when you know this is nothing more than an attempt to survive on my part. You try everything to make me break; either to make me attack you or terrify me so much I'm a shaky mess but I don't fall for it. I will punch you as you punch me, I will eat these glass shards you put in front of me with my bare hands and let you watch the blood drip from my chin, I will watch you cut a man apart because you wanted me to and grab that still warm heart and rip it from the chest before handing it to you. You think I'm like you, just better at keeping control and slowly start to love me, but you could not have been more wrong. That love slowly turns into trust. You want to be partners in crime. You forget that I'm your hostage and say you love me. I say it back. You smile ear to ear and think of all the things you want to do together. That night, I leave the stove gas open before laying next to you and closing my eyes. I know we are not going to wake up the next day and I am fine with it. You have no idea. I entertain you further and give you a kiss. You sleep with a content look on your face. I don't try to run because I know that I'm far too ruined to go back anymore and live a normal life. You won, but at what cost?

[verdemoun]

feels like a very dumb ask as its not related to your timewarp au but do you have any darragh and sean headcanons😔

catch me jumping through the inbox seeing darragh and just jumping ahead through my queue i promise fellas i am working through it

it was only ever sean and darragh. sean never really asked because he knew that lots of boys didn't grow up with mothers and he was so lucky that darragh tried so hard to make sure he had everything he needed instead of sending him to the workhouse

... sean's mother was actually the daughter of one of darragh's political opponents who happened to be a unionist sympathizer. while she was never going to be mrs macguire, when she realized she was pregnant she very merrily followed her father's wishes to go to a mother's home but used every ounce of influence being upper class to tell darragh he was a father and he was absolutely not letting his son fall into an adoption scheme or left to die of neglect

sean absolutely never learned this because the implication is his mother was in fact at least partly english. he is not the pure irish terrier he assumes and that would probably kill him -150% max hp in psychological damage

darragh macguire, the ever complex articulate highwayman who could also run circles around politicians and protestants in civil debate vanished entirely from public eye for the first two years of sean's life. there was no parenting courses let alone fathering courses and while his gang were an extension of his family much like the VDLs he did not tell a single one of them he was a parent because he knew they would see having a child as a distraction from the cause.

he didn't know how to change a diaper or look after a baby. learning to bottle feed a baby was his personal nightmare. sean absolutely had a murder bottle. darragh absolutely put a touch of whiskey or opium medicines on the nipple almost daily to get sean to settle for a few minutes of peace.

he lost days worth of sleep watching sean wondering what the holy hell he was doing trying to look after a baby and sometimes convincing himself in a 'i'm not a bad person wishing my son dead but the fact is most (80% holy hell) babies do not make it to two years old'. he kept the cash on hand to pay for a funeral at all times even if it meant them both going without necessities

he only figured out supporting a baby's head because thankfully sean was as vocal as a baby as he was as an adult and basically became his own life alert.

it wasn't until sean was approaching two, already in the full throws of the terrible twos running around the house squealing his favorite word being screaming NO!!! in response to any question and a hurricane of energy and bad choices climbing up furniture and the walls, while darragh is trying to sit and read hiding his coping beverage behind the paper, that darragh actually realized oh shit i am a da. this thing is not leaving my house and oh no i love him

any conversation with sean was the classic trying to tell a story while jingling keys in an attempt to keep him focused but once finally darragh accepted he was in fact the sole parent of this bundle of constant self-inflicted bruises from his own clumsy recklessness he very much embraced it

yes sean did his absolute head in: trying to plan a heist as he refound his outlawing roots while kid is tugging on his pants asking a million questions and demanding his attention to show him cool rock/bug/glass bottle/DA LOOK A KNIFE :D

darragh would regularly forget sean was a child and not in fact bulletproof. throwing sean too high in the air accidentally dropping him and sean lands on the ground peter griffin style only to bounce up with a blood nose screaming again again again!!

sean was only four the first time darragh took him out on gang activities instead of leaving him in the care of a trusted neighbor and it was a core memory. he held his son simba style and let him throw the match that proceeded to set a landowner's fields ablaze

darragh was a goofy parent being a responsible adult was not natural to him like imagine young john if john actually cared levels of stupid. sean could say the dumbest thing and darragh just nods thoughtfully yes let's we absolutely should go sling rocks through windows and run away, yeah i reckon if you flick a spoonful of mash potato at me i can catch it in my mouth let's try it

bedtime stories were just darragh reading unionist handouts with voices and the pacing of a picture book 'the poor irish boy was so hungry his raggedy clothes fell off because they were too big for his scrawny shoulders but the big nasty fat englishman still said he needed the food more!!' sean was indoctrinated into anti-british sentiment before he could even write his name.

[greg-montgomery]

It’ll pass

pic by @masterwords <3

this is just something angsty based on this post <3

warnings for pining, unrequited love, thoughts of cheating and no happy ending ❤️ lmfao idk wtf is wrong with me i’m literally sorry

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

“Please, don’t be her. Please, don’t be her.”

Aaron shut his eyes and repeated these words in silence as he made his way to the door. His prayers were pointless and he knew it. He knew it was you. He could tell from the knock on his door; a double tap loud enough to be heard, soft enough not to wake him up in case he was asleep.

“I knew you’d be awake,” you said when the door opened, revealing your sweet, relieved smile.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “But I can’t sleep. My brain won’t stop coming up with new theories about the case.”

Aaron stepped to the side, so you’d walk into his room.

He stared at you, thinking that he was now cursed, just as much as he was blessed, with the sight of you in your pajamas. Soft, sleepy, warm…If only he could just wrap you up in his embrace, take you to bed, kiss your forehead, and melt all those troubling thoughts of yours away.

“I figured you’d understand,” you added, softly.

“I do,” he admitted.

“Can I sit?”

‘No. Please, leave,’ he wanted, desperately, to say. “Of course.”

You smiled at his words, settling on the small couch next to his bed. You took off those cheap hotel slippers you were wearing, revealing a funny pair of socks. “Birthday gift from Reid,” you said, defending yourself before Aaron even had the chance to comment on them.

“I didn’t say anything,” he chuckled. He hated that you had already managed to make him laugh.

“You thought it,” you argued.

You took one of the couch cushions in your arms, holding it like a teddy bear, and made yourself comfortable, as he sat on the side of the bed that was facing you.

You always seemed comfortable around him, and that was a fact that made him both happy and sad.

Why would he hate the fact that the woman he was madly in love with was comfortable around him? Because being comfortable in his presence meant that there were no unspoken feelings towards him from your side. Nothing complicated keeping you from being yourself. You were just visiting a colleague; a friend. But Aaron was far from comfortable. His palms were growing sweaty as his fingers played with his wedding band; a small way to remind himself of the vows he had taken and why it would be a terrible idea to kiss you breathless right now.

His eyes dropped to your lips; a little pouty but soft as ever. You always went to bed wearing some coconut lip balm. He knew that, because he had once heard you talking to Garcia about it. “It’s the one thing I never forget to do before I go to sleep,” you had announced, proud of your little beauty secret. “No matter how tired I am.”

He always paid attention to the things you said about yourself; always keeping note of the little details about you that he’d never have the chance to learn in any other way. He would never be the one laying in bed next to you to see you swipe the pad of your ring finger across your lips.

He’d never get to know you more than a boss would know his subordinate.

“This case is affecting you too, isn’t it?” your soft voice, snapped him out of his thoughts.

You had translated his silence wrong and he was grateful for it.

“I just want it to be over,” he said.

“So do I....I don’t want anyone else to get hurt. It’s been a while since we saw murders this brutal.” You made a face, and Aaron could tell that images of the crimes flashed in your mind just like they did in his.

“We’ll catch him. We always do,” he said in an attempt to reassure you.

“I know…”

He couldn’t help it. Before he had the chance to talk himself out of it, he stood up and made his way to the couch, sitting next to you. Your thigh touched his, and the feeling of this simple contact alone took his breath away.  

His hand covered yours, and you stared at it with a smile, before raising your head to offer that beautiful smile to him.

“We’ll be okay,” he said.

You nodded. “I knew it was a good idea to come here.”

His eyes softened at your words. That’s all he wanted. To make everything better for you.

Maybe it was all in his head, but he sensed some kind of tension as you looked into each other’s eyes. Maybe you wanted to kiss him as bad as he did. Maybe you had the same fantasy that Aaron did, of him throwing you on his bed, opening your legs and getting lost inside you.

But you broke the spell, pulling your hand away from his grip. “You always have this…” you paused, giving some thought to your next words “…this confidence. Or…I don’t know how to explain it. You’re Hotch. And when you tell us we’ll catch the bad guy, I believe you.”

He looked at you with a confused smile. Perhaps he didn’t fully get what you were saying, but he knew your words were flattering.

“What I’m trying to say is that you’re a good boss,” you explained. “And we’re lucky to have you.”

“That means a lot,” he answered.

You grinned; proud that your words were important to him.

“Well…I shouldn’t keep our favorite boss man up for much longer,” you said, getting up, giggling at the implications of your innocent sentence.

It didn’t mean anything to you.

Aaron walked towards the door, making sure to open it for you like a true gentleman.

“Good night,” he said.

“Good night,” you said before turning around to leave. “And thanks for having me.”

You had only taken one step, when he called out your name. Your eyes locked with his as you stood there, waiting for what he had to say.

“Please, don’t come to my room again.”

You froze. He saw the embarrassment in your eyes, the concern that you had somehow crossed a line you shouldn’t have or made him uncomfortable.

He was quick to take those worries away.

“I mean that…with the greatest of compliments.”

The realization hit just a second after Aaron had fallen silent. You nodded your head, without looking at him anymore, and a moment later you were out of his sight.

“It’ll pass,” he whispered to himself.

[alasse-earfalas]

[deletes entirety of previous post] you know what screw it imma just post the entire first chapter to entice you all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You know who I am, don’t you?” 

Batreaux’s smile faltered. “I’m, not sure what you mean? You’re Link, the human who helped me become one.” 

Link shook his head. “I mean before. Before Skyloft.” 

“Before…?” Batreaux wrung his hands together nervously. “Well, I… I suppose, that, you, do resemble, someone, from, well…” His shoulders dropped. With a plaintive look he sat beside Link. After a moment of thoughtful quiet, he attempted a smile and said, “If it, makes you feel any better, I… I couldn’t recognize you.” 

“You recognize me now?” 

Batreaux wrung his hands some more. “Well, you’re older now, and, you were much taller then, so…” He sighed. “Link, I try to not look to our pasts. It was a dark, terrible time, and you and I both did some dark, terrible things.” He put a hand on Link’s shoulder. “We are who we are now, not then. You are my friend. You are Link, husband to Gaepora’s daughter, devoted to your wife and a loving father to your little ones. You are strong and kind and good. Charitable. A friend to those in need.” 

Link swallowed. “Have I ever told you that I’ve wanted to kill myself since I was a boy?” 

Batreaux gasped. “Link, no!” 

Link looked away from him. “I always felt like there was something wrong with me, some inner darkness that I… just couldn’t shake. And now I know why.” 

“You should be proud of that,” said Batreaux. “It means you’ve truly changed. You’re a greater man now than you ever were then.” 

“Greater,” Link echoed scornfully. “Tell me, does a ‘greater man’ go to any lengths necessary to—” he faltered, “—murder his own brothers?” 

Batreaux scoffed. “Hardly worthy to be called your brothers, with what they did to you. Not to mention how they treated the rest of us. I’d call your scheming against them a liberation plot, if anything.” He smiled briefly, but it faded when he saw that it had no effect. “You, do know why you changed, don’t you?” 

Link shook his head. “Besides scheming to get my hands on the Triforce by any means necessary, no. Not really.” 

“You did it for us,” said Batreaux. “For monsters who wanted to leave the demon tribe, but, didn’t know we could. When you didn’t kill Hylia—” Batreaux caught his misstep, but continued anyway. “—even though you could have, even though the other Demon Lords wanted you to, demanded that you do it—when you chose to spare her, that sent a message to the rest of us. We didn’t have to follow the evil that made us! We could make our own choices, become something new! Yes, Hylia’s grace made the initial transformations possible, but you’re the one who inspired us to want to become something different, to become the first humans. You’re our hero—” He choked up. “You’re my hero, Link. You’re the reason humanity exists, the reason any of us thought we could change at all. That’s who you are, who you’ve always been. Please, my friend, don’t ever forget that.” 

Link chewed on his friend’s words. Leaned into the open arm that was offered him. “Thank you.” 

After some time they parted ways, each returning to his home. Link walked in his front door to find Zelda wrestling with the triplets and trying (without much success) to herd the rest of them. 

“Daddy!” one of the children cried, and began a stampede of little feet in his direction. Link laughed and offered himself as the family jungle gym, meeting Zelda’s grateful eyes a few times. “Have you been giving your mom trouble? Huh?” He grabbed one of them and blew a raspberry on him. 

His little boy squealed in delight. “No!” he insisted. 

“Oh really? Maybe I should ask your mom about that.” 

“No!” he cried with a giggling smile. 

Later on when the kids were in bed, Link watched his wife change into her bedclothes. He grabbed her blouse off the floor when she dropped it, his heart warmed by the way it draped over her rounded belly. 

“You were melancholic this morning,” she whispered. “Is everything alright?” 

Link gazed into his lover’s eyes. Brushed a calloused hand down her cheek. “I remember when your eyes were gold,” he replied. 

He was surprised at her reaction. “How could… How do you know that?” 

So she didn’t remember. He was relieved. He exhaled softly and kissed her forehead. “Thank you,” he whispered, for a million reasons he wouldn’t name. 

“Link?” 

He took her hands in his, pressed their palms together. “I don’t want you to remember,” he said. “Not until this adventure is through. I am your Link; you are my Zelda. That’s all I care about now.” 

Still with a worried look, she pressed into him for a hug. He wrapped his arms around her. 

“I remember when yours were red.” 

Link swallowed hard and clutched her tighter. “For how long?” 

“Does it matter? You’re my Link. I’m your Zelda. We don’t need our old names anymore.” 

Link remembered his. “Heretic,” he whispered. 

Zelda looked into his eyes. “Hylia,” she whispered back. 

It was a relief to hear her say it. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers. 

“Now can we forget about them and go back to living our life, as it is now?” 

He nodded. Hands either side of her abdomen, thinking of their children, how much he loved each and every one of them, and how dearly he loved his wife. He thought of the friends he had: Groose, Fledge, Pipit, Batreaux, the entire community of Skyloft. This life was a happy one, and it was his. Built up over time by fate and his own decisions. 

Maybe Batreaux was right. Maybe he really had changed.

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

They shared a warm kiss, then crawled under the covers and fell asleep. 

[chapter 2]

[bimbocoreblonde]

S = Security for The Fall Guy I am bEGGING!!! Any character 💜

Why limit it to just one? Let's do Security for all five of my favourite Fall Guy chacters: Colt, Tom, Jody, Gail, and Dan!

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Colt:

Colt isn't super protective; not because he doesn't love you, but because he thinks you're the most competant person in the world. Just because he isn't protective generally, though, doesn't mean he's not paying attention. He'll send you questioning looks, and the moment it looks like you want help getting rid of someone, or some back up in an argument, he is there.

Also, if anyone upsets you, he is instantly ready (and extremely willing) to beat the shit out of them.

Tom:

Tom can't even look after himself, let alone you. The best he can do is make it clear to his security team that you are their first priority, then him.

That being said, he loves it when you're protective of him. When you're shooing away paparazzi, defending him on social media, or shutting down invasive questions from his 'friends', it makes him feel way more secure in your affection, knowing that you care enough for look out for him.

Jody:

Jody's protectiveness is a quiet thing - she's never open about it, but it's always really clear that no-one on set should ever even think about fucking with you now she's the director. It's never discussed, and actually you're kind of oblivious to it, but no-one ever gets a chance to upset you twice.

Also, Jody never forgets. That guy who stole the last sandwich from catering just as you were reaching for it? He applied for a job on Metalstorm. He didn't get it.

Gail:

Once you're one of Gail's people, there is no ends to what she'll do to protect you, even from the consequences of your own actions. Attempted murder? Cool. Actual manslaughter? No problem, here's a ten-step plan on how you can get away with it.

Luckily, you don't really need protecting from anything major. But that journalist who asked you a way-to-personal question at the last interview you did? Gail will ruin his career, and he'll probably never even know why.

Dan:

Dan is super protective. He's a stunt co-ordinator, he knows exactly what can go wrong in any situation, and he's always worried when you're on set that you're going to be involved in some kind of accident.

That being said, he'd never try to stop you from doing what you do. You're damned good at it, and he'd never want you to feel like he didn't believe in you. But if he watches your stunts with a closer eye, and has a fire extinguisher, first aid kit, and neck brace all close to hand...well, it's just in case.

[sketching-shark]

Me ghink theres lot of hate towards tang sanzang some of which IS UNDERSTANDABLE

But alot of it goes too far and say the most rancid shit ever all bc hes book character. Mind ya hes based on actual person and is being use his likeness. Like some lmk fans be saying the worse thing ever towards this guy(for example wanting him get the d*ath penalty n amongst others).

We forgetting that yes some of his treatment towards swk IS horrible but we tends to forget swk had done some atrocious things that sanzang was witness to in full view. No human would journey like that without being completely scar and traumatized. Some of my friends while looking through the book had found that sanzang be using the circlet all in one go and then never used it in years.

His character development does happen yall in where he do trust his companion more and then *insert traumatizing moment* happen. I do think wukong didnt deserves the maltreatment tho(i want to say this bc later i get ppl saying that i support ab*se bc i defend sanzang for a bit, not knowing that i also disagreed w some his actions)

Most ppl forget that the first arc that the gang actually face as a group was the gingseng tree arc, not white bone spirit.that u have him defending wukong and countless other times where he do trust swk judgement in some cases. (i just wanted to get it out there since not many ppl realize it n im fully blaming osp for this bc they are skipping arcs. N they don’t really tell what arcs they’re skipping)

This just me rambling but dam all these ppl need therapy.

THEY'RE SAYING WHAT NOW ANON AAAAAAAAAAA but haha wow on a lighter note that is kind of funny that the fandom which routinely portrays the Six-Eared "I am going to try to murder-replace you for completely selfish reasons / repeatedly try to kill a young mortal that you love" Macaque as a monkey who never did anything wrong ever would then go out its way to demonize Tang "I do lash out & often don't trust my senior disciple but have also been threatened with death for fourteen years" Sanzang. Like geez I've seen many another fandom where the assumption is that for one character to be good/be "redeemed" you need to make another character horrible (tbh I'm starting to suspect that that's what's happening with the lego show version of Sun Wukong & the Six-Eared Macaque), but wild if true that some lmk fans would go THAT far in the attempt to paint the monk as a guy so awful that he literally deserves the death penalty.

Now to be fair it does need to be noted that even in Wu Cheng'en's classic (or at least from what I've seen in the Anthony C. Yu translation), Tang Sanzang was in many ways intentionally written as a caricature of a fussy Confucian scholar who may have memorized many doctrines but who doesn't really understand them, and who is often made a figure of fun for falling off his horse, and who does use the headband against Sun Wukong is some very explicitly painful and unjust scenes. In at least the book he's also a much more static character than the Monkey King in that we don't see any real changes in his thoughts or behavior over the course of the journey, which I can see as a something that would sour many against him. THAT SAID, you are very correct anon in noting that besides one traumatizing event after another happening to him, from his mother's suicide to constantly being threatened with death and/or rape at the hands of many yaoguai, this monk does have a number of reasons for why he's constantly crying and acting with hatred and suspicion towards the Monkey King. And let's not forget that one of the things SWK told Tang Sanzang early on in the journey was that he had literally killed so many he couldn't remember them all, and that was right before he tried to kill the monk himself! Point being that yes both Tang Sanzang and Sun Wukong are extremely flawed individuals who often clashed with each other in some pretty upsetting ways, but there's also many understandable reasons for why they act the way they do. It's a real disservice to their characters and the underlying implications of the journey (or its retellings tbh) to forget or ignore that! *

*(and on THAT note this is another reason why it's kind of frustrating that the Overly Sarcastic Production & Monkie Kid retellings of Xiyouji seem to be the primary ways that western audiences are understanding the journey. Liking explicitly cartoony retellings is one thing. But then basing all your knowledge of the work on these retellings and/or even outright refusing to understand the classic in any other context makes for some really simplified and even really insulting beliefs about a culturally important work as a whole)

[pengychan]

[Baldur’s Gate III] Hell to Pay, Ch. 7

Illustration (and art in the chapter) by @raphaels-little-beast

Title: Hell to Pay Summary: Assassinating an archdevil is a daunting task, even for the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. Some inside help from ‘the devil they know’ would be good, if not for the detail their last meeting ended with said devil dead in his own home. Or did it? Characters: Raphael, the Dark Urge, Astarion, Haarlep, Halsin, Karlach, Wyll. Rating: M Status: In progress

All chapters will be tagged as ‘hell to pay’ on my blog. Also on Ao3.

*** The second half of this chapter was supposed to be about the kind of Bullshit only a party with a rogue and a bard can get into, but then the first half took over. So yeah, Astarion and Raphael will have to wait until the next chapter to get into Bullshit. Until then, have more existential crisis. Crisises. Chrysler. Crises. No I did not have to look up what the plural of crisis is. ***

“You know, I am not entirely sure Raphael was ever informed of the difference between sparring and attempted murder.”

Sitting just inside one of the tents they had set up on the lakeshore to keep away from the sun, Astarion shrugged. “I’m pretty sure that he knows the difference and chooses to ignore it. I do it all the time.”

“You’re remarkably unconcerned.”

“And you’re surprised?” Astarion clicked his tongue. “Wyll, you know as well as I do that my lovely idiot could tear him apart if they wanted. Raphael has literally no chance in all Hells to beat them. Durge is going so easy on him, it’s almost embarrassing.”

“Well,” Halsin intervened, briefly looking up from the duck he was whittling and giving the boiling pot of stew a stir, “they did say that the goal is to make sure he can hold his own before we head to Avernus. I suspect maiming him again would rather slow the progress.”

“Fair enough.”

A pause, and three pairs of eyes - well, two pairs, one single eye, and a sending stone - kept following the sparring match unfolding on a flat, rocky patch of land. It was painfully unbalanced, even with Durge going easy on Raphael. He seemed to know a variety of spells to cast, and his aim was improving, but he tried too hard to land a hit and quickly ran out of steam. 

He makes mistakes when he’s angry, Hope had said, and that had not changed. The limitations of a human body, and a middle-aged one at that, were not helping. Raphael was clearly struggling with that, and he barely dodged an acid splash from Durge’s part that Astarion had seen coming from a mile away, with his eyes shut.

“I wouldn’t have thought he’d be able to fight at all, without his hellish powers,” Wyll commented, looking on through narrowed eyes. “Then again, Mephistopheles is considered the greatest wizard of all the Hells. Perhaps he learned from him.”

“Doubtful,” Halsin replied, scratching his chin. “I am certain you learned a great deal sparring with your father, but the Lord of the Eighth is not known for willingly sharing his knowledge. I doubt he’d make an exception even for his own offspring.”

“He’s a bard,” Astarion said, and shrugged when they turned to look at him. “Oh, I forget you two didn’t get the dubious pleasure to visit the House of Hope with us and Karlach. Trust me, he’s a bard if I’ve ever seen o--”

“Agh!”

Astarion trailed off, and they all looked back to see Raphael had slipped on an icy patch and fallen heavily on his back, groaning. It would have been the perfect moment to strike, but Durge was really holding back, so they allowed him a moment to recover… and then several more moments. But Raphael just lifted himself one knee and paused without getting up, panting. The spectacle was over, it seemed. 

A bit of a shame, that: watching Raphael getting his ass handed to him time and time again was endlessly entertaining.

“That wasn’t too bad,” Durge said, much too generous in Astarion’s opinion, and stepped towards Raphael, lowering their staff. “You keep attacking in anger. That’s never a good ide--”

Raphael looked up sharply, lips curling in a sneer, and Durge didn’t get to finish the sentence. Raphael brought his hands together and, before anyone could react, pushed them out with a snarl. “Detono.”

The thunderwave caught Durge by surprise, and they had no chance to brace or try to avoid it. They were thrown back into the air, Mourning Frost falling from their grasp to clatter on the ground. They landed with a grunt, but there didn’t seem to have been much damage… until a moment later the ground Durge had landed on shimmered. Realization hit Astarion only a moment before fire erupted from the ground, engulfing Durge, and the roar of flames almost covered their startled cry.

Well, look at that. When had he cast a glyph of warding? How had none of them noticed?

“Durge!”

“You bastard--!”

Halsin and Wyll stood, ready to rush forward, not impeded at all by the risk of being turned to cinders by sunlight. They didn’t go far, though: Durge hadn’t been turned to cinders either - of course not, it would take much more than that - and stood, coughing, before lifting a hand. 

“All fine,” they managed, and while it clearly wasn’t all fine, they weren’t too badly injured either. They groaned a little, went to pick up their staff, and turned to grin at Raphael, all fangs. “All right,” they conceded, just as Halsin went to heal them. “That was really good.”

Raphael snorted and stood slowly, carefully moving away from the icy patch on the ground. He cast a healing spell on himself before he replied, still scowling. “Not good enough,” he muttered. He reached to smooth down the blazer Durge had given him, after finding it wedged somewhere in their bag of holding. “Seeing how you got back up.”

“If it makes you feel any better, a god also failed to kill me.”

“The god killed you well enough. Another god made the unfortunate decision to bring you back.”

“You devils and your fixation for details,” Daurge sighed. “Thanks, Halsin - I’m fine, honest. I think that brings an end to this sparring match, though. Is the stew ready? I’m starving.”

Having already feasted on the blood of the boar who had so generously provided the meat for the stew, Astarion did not need to eat. Still, Durge settled right inside the tent with him to eat, while the other two saps sat right outside the entrance. Raphael, as he’d been doing since they’d departed Last Light Inn two nights earlier, took a bowl to his own tent some distance away. At least now it looked like a tent, rather than a sheet thrown haphazardly over some stick by someone who clearly had never set up a tent before.

“I think we should be there in another five days’ walk - I mean, nights’ walk,” Wyll was saying. “I’d hoped to be back quicker than this, but as long as Karlach is safe in the House of Hope, I’m sure she’ll understand. We do need supplies.”

Durge nodded. “Bit of a shame the portals are not working,” they said through a mouthful. “It seems none of those in Baldur’s Gate or even Rivington were left intact. It would have saved us a week. Still, that’s not too long a walk as long as we keep leaving at sundown. As soon as we’ve reached the Gate, we’ll head to the Devil’s Fee. We buy whatever we may need, get Helsik to open a portal to the House of Hope--”

“Do we even have enough money for her to do that again?” Halsin asked.

A pause, and four pairs of hands went to open as many pouches. Several pairs of eyes - three pairs, one eye, one sending stone - had a quick look at the gold inside. Another pause. Four throats were cleared. 

“... In retrospect, I should have asked that earlier.”

“Well, perhaps she’ll accept to let us through in exchange for another artifact…”

“Maybe my father can be convinced to give us a loan…”

“We’ll figure something out when we get there. We usually do.” Astarion put down his pouch before he glanced outside the tent, and the others followed his gaze. Raphael had finished eating, clearly, and was closing the tend flap to sleep without a further word to anybody. 

“... I think it would be best to keep him out of the House of Hope,” Wyll said. “Hope may not be-- I think she’s seen enough of him to last her several lifetimes. Even if he can no longer harm her, I don’t want her to endure his presence again for even a moment.”

Durge nodded, setting down the bowl. “Yes, I agree. She’s been through enough as is.”

“Counterpoint,” Astarion said. “He might have a stroke if he sees the changes she made to the place, which I bet are delightful. And that would be absolutely hilarious.”

Durge laughed. “My counterpoint to your counterpoint is that we need him alive to take us to the Sword of Zariel,” they said, and reached into the bag of holding. They rummaged a bit before pulling out something - the Spider Lyre they had taken from Nere’s body. They’d had no use for it in a long while, but then again they hadn’t had a bard in their party. Until now. “I’ll be right back,” they said, and left the tent to head towards Raphael, lyre in hand. 

“... Projecting more than a little, aren’t they?” Halsin commented, and Astarion sighed. 

“Yes, they seem to have made Raphael their pet project. I can’t say I’m all that surprised. They trusted me when it was an objectively stupid course of action. Mind you, they were severely brain damaged - and I’m not sure all that damage has healed just yet...”

Wyll frowned. “He’s a devil. A split soul doesn’t make him any less of a hellspawn.”

“They’re aware. And I’m sure you can guess what they’d answer to that.”

“Durge is a bhaalspawn no longer,” Wyll replied, and Astarion shook his head.

“... That’s what you two will never get, I’m afraid, but I do. Once a spawn, always a spawn,”  he said, looking on as Durge stopped outside Raphael’s tent and left the lyre by the entrance.

“You’re free, Astarion,” Halsin spoke, his voice gentle. “You’re both free now, and it was a hard-won freedom. What someone else made you into doesn’t define you anymore.”

Ah, Halsin. Spoken like the sweet, sensible tree hugger he was. Astarion smiled faintly. “You’re not wrong, but that’s not what I’m talking about either. You can kill some parts of you, but you don’t get to erase them. You can only grow around it, or die trying.”

A brief silence as they watched Durge turn away from the tent and head back towards them. Behind them, the flap opened just enough for a hand to grab the lyre and take it in.

“Raphael might just choose to die rather than try,” Wyll finally muttered, and Astarion laughed.

“Entirely possible,” he conceded. “And who are we to tell him what to do?”

***

When the Chamberlain of Mephistar came to claim him on Mephistopheles’ behalf, Israfel was thirteen years of age and entirely unprepared. 

Truth be told, over the past couple of years he’d found himself daydreaming of that day less and less. He’d even come to think, at a point, that he may be fine if no one came to take him to the Hells at all, if his father didn’t want him there. Among servants there was talk - in secret, theoretically, but they spoke much too loud - that Lord Rahirek may be considering making Israfel his heir. Until just a few years earlier, that would have been unthinkable. 

“Of course Lord Starspire must have thought of it,” the kennel master had said with a shrug, during a conversation with the master-at-arms. “He’s got no kids of his own. The lad is all that’s left of his lady wife, and he’s a clever one. His lordship would have seen it a lot earlier, if he could stop sniveling over her grave for a minute and look past the horns.”

“He was grieving, you animal.”

“It’s been thirteen years. If the Hells don’t come to take him, and he’s good at whatever it is that lords do, why not make him next in line? He even looks like a human now. His Lordship should claim him as his own and be done with it.”

“It’s not that simple. Would other lords accept it, a half-fiend among their peers?”

“They wouldn't want to piss him off, that’s for sure. A good thing in my books.”

Israfel had snuck away unseen, and hadn’t mentioned the conversation he’d heard to anyone, but it was true that he was in his human form more often than not, and that Rahirek had started teaching him things about the land he lorded over. Not long after that conversation, he even took Israfel with him for a negotiation with the dwarven clans along the eastern peaks of the Starspire mountains, from which his family got its name.

“To show you how it’s done,” was all he had said, and Israfel had needed no convincing. He had never wandered far from the fort, and finding himself so high up had been exhilarating. He could turn his head and see so much, across Firedrake Bay and all the way down the Trade Way far beyond Starspire Fort, and south to Zazesspur where, to hear one of their dwarf guides, people wiped their asses with sheets of gold when they weren’t busy trying to kill each other. Israfel had stopped his mule and reached out; the city looked so small, he could blot it out when he closed his first. For a moment, he’d felt like a giant.

Then there had been the screech, so loud it hurt his ears, and something much bigger than him had swooped down on the caravan. Right afterwards, a man screamed. “Perytons!”

“Form a line! Protect Lord Starspire!”

What happened next would remain confused in Israfel’s memories, only brief flashes of clarity in the midst of chaos. He’d remember the giant eagle with the head of a fanged stag standing on top of a fallen, screaming man, trying to claw his heart out through the armor, threatening to gore anyone who came too close with its antlers. He’d remember a swipe of its wing knocking him off his mule onto the ground, a few feet away from the abyss, and he’d remember hitting his shoulder hard. He’d remember a scream - his name, someone screamed his name - and the beasts’ eyes on him, the fang bared. He’d remember lifting his arms to protect himself, and then…

Then he’d only remember heat, and screeches of pain echoing through the mountains. The peryton tried to take flight only to crash down again, screaming, its plumage on fire. Flames wreathed its antlers like they were dry wood, eyes melted out of its sockets from the heat. There was a rush to get out of the way, lest the beast’s dying throes knocked any of them off the side of the mountain; someone grabbed Israfel, too, pulled him to safety behind a boulder.

After that, he’d remember a furious heartbeat against his cheek, a hand pressing against his head and neck and then down his back, checking for injuries. Dimly, he realized he felt the weight of his horns again. When had he changed form? Had the others seen? 

“Are you all right, boy? Were you hurt?”

Israfel had closed his eyes, listening to the last of the beast’s dying screeches over the man’s thumping heart. He’d willed himself to change back to his human form before he spoke. “No, sir,” he’d managed, and felt Lord Rahirek Starspire let out a long breath. 

“Thank the Gods,” he whispered, and didn't let him go for what felt like a very, very long time. When they’d emerged, the danger gone, their dwarven guides had looked at him warily. 

“‘Twas not normal fire that did the beast in,” one had muttered, looking back and forth between the smoldering corpse to Israfel. “Hellfire, ain’t it? And my old eyes work well enough to tell you got horns on your head a minute ago, lad. Could do with an explanation.”

Israfel had felt Rahirek’s hand on his shoulder. “Be grateful my ward felled the monster. He owes no explanation to you or anyone else,” he’d said, and that had been the end of it. With only two mules dead and one man injured, the journey had continued without further incident.

The travel back had been undisturbed as well. Rahirek had kept Israfel close, pointing at landmarks and cities. “It’s high time you visit the capital,” he had said halfway through their descent, with home within sight. “I’ll take you next spring, if you’re inclined to come with me.”

Israfel had been plenty inclined, but that didn’t matter: it was never to be. They had returned to the fort to a tense silence, pale faces and quiet servants. In the kennels, the dogs were subdued; it had been the master-at-arms to come tell them what was going on, but it was not needed. From the hall, faint but unmistakable, came the smell of sulfur.

“One Duke Barbas is here,” he had managed, unable to meet either of their eyes. Somewhere out of their line of sight, Nan was crying. “To take Israfel home.”

And that, love, was that.

***

“Love, please, give me that knife.”

The woman is crying, but it’s not her tears the boy’s eyes pause on. His gaze is fixed on the blood, red and rich, dripping onto the floorboards from her outstretched hands, cut to the bone from the attempts at stopping the knife. It mixes with the blood of her husband, who’s already dead on the floor and growing colder by the second. 

He called him dad, until now. Until just hours ago, maybe minutes. Or it may have been days, he’s not sure. Time means nothing. Everything went red and then dark and he grabbed the knife, and then all was blood and meat. That’s all the man is now. He’s just meat and it all feels so right. It’s better this way. Better to die than to live in a world with him in it.

“Sweetheart, please. This isn’t you. We can fix this,” the woman calls out again, choking out words. “My little boy, listen to me.” A bloody hand rests on his cheek. She touched his face many, many times before. Sang him to sleep. Soothed him after bad dreams. Mom, he’s called her, ever since he learned to speak. He knows she is not, nor her husband was his father - they’re halflings, he is not - but it never mattered. It still doesn’t matter. 

Nothing matters but the crimson filling the cracks between the floorboards and the smell of death and the fact that she’s wrong. This is him. This was always him.

She wants the knife.

He’ll give her the knife. 

The blade sings through the air, slices through skin and muscle and cartilage like it’s nothing. She chokes on blood and her hands go through her throat, but cannot stem the flow. One last, wide-eyed look, then she falls on her face and doesn’t get up. The boy looks on, quiet, with the crimson hand still smeared on his face. Once the last of her life’s blood has flown, he turns to the door.

He’s not the only child they have taken in. There are others, too, his siblings, who will be home soon. They have names, but it’s not important now. The dead need no names.

He holds onto the knife, and waits.

***

“Hey, hey, hey. Don’t do that, don’t-- yes, that’s better. Breathe, possibly no frost breath if you can help it-- there. Good. You’re fine. Whatever you dreamed up, it’s not now. Do you understand me? Nod if you do. Or bite me, you have permission to bite this once.”

Face pressed against Astarion’s shoulder, Durge let out a long breath and nodded. “Yes,” they rasped. “I’m fine. It was just--”

“Nightmare, or memory?”

“Memory.”

“I see.”

They leaned back against the bedroll, and for a time they only listened to their own breathing, to the drumming of rain against the tent they were sharing. “Want to talk about it?” Astarion finally asked, a hand rubbing the back of their neck. Durge breathed out. 

“It was the family that took me in. In Baldur’s Gate, when I was very young. They loved me. I had forgotten their faces.”

“And now you remembered them? Well, that is nice--”

“I butchered them all.”

“Ah. I do see why that may be an unpleasant recollection, then.”

“I killed my foster parents. I waited for the other children they had taken in to come home and slaughtered them all, put the bodies in a pile and stood there for hours, just - looking at them. I don’t remember what I was thinking. Only that I was… happy. Something had been sated.”

“The Urge.”

“Yes. I think that was the first time it came over me.”

“And now it’s gone. You really shouldn’t forget that bit, love. The Urge is gone, for good.”

Durge nodded, and shut their eyes. In the back of their mind, a voice rang out. 

Young Master, precious fledgling, follow ever your heart. In time, your true family will find you.

“I can’t remember their names,” they murmured in the end.

“It wouldn’t do you any good--”

“I ended the entire family. I owe it to them, don’t I? To at least remember their names.”

“... Remember what Withers said? You can go through all the names once you’re dead. Until then, you can just live.” Astarion pulled back, and spoke again in a very questionable impression of Withers’ voice. “Greet the bloodless dawn, child of none.”

That, at least, made Durge chuckle. “That was terrible,” they said, then, “thank you.”

“Anytime, dear.” His hand rested on Durge’s face, where the woman’s had in the memory. “But do try to sound more impressed by my actorial skills. You hurt all three of my feelings.”

“There’s a third one?”

“Oh look, now you think you’re funny. It worked too well.”

Another chuckle, and Durge nuzzled against his hand briefly before they sat up. “... I’ll go for a walk. Clear my head some. I’ll be back soon.”

“Are you sure? Sounds like it’s pouring.”

“I’ve been covered in worse things than water.”

“You’ve been covered in better things, too.”

“Such as…?”

“Blood.” A pause. “That was probably not the right thing to say given the circumstances. But you know what I mean.”

Durge laughed, and kissed his head. “Yes,” they replied, stepping outside and breathing in the cool air, letting the rain run over their scales. It felt good, as though it was washing something foul away. “I know what you mean.”

***

Raphael woke to the sound of rain, and somebody’s grip on his face.

His eyes snapped open, but at first he saw very little. Until not too long ago, he could see in the dark just as well as he could on a bright day; now, the half-light inside a tent on a rainy day was dim enough to disorient him - but only for a moment. The hand holding his face had scales, and the red eyes looking down at him were awfully familiar. 

“You-- what--” he began, only to trail off when the bhaalspawn tightened their grip on his face, the palm covering his mouth. 

“Ah-ha, let’s not make too much noise.” They leaned in, baring their fangs in a grin, and Raphael froze. There were several responses that crossed his mind - all of them demanding they unhand him immediately, a few with a side serving of a firebolt to the face - but, just awake and disoriented, half trapped under the blankets, he voiced none of them. All that left him was a weak noise at the sudden jolt that went up his spine. The bhaalspawn’s grin turned to confusion for a moment, then amusement. They laughed, pulling away. 

“Well well well, now that reaction was a surprise, my pet.”

Wait. 

“What-- you--!” Raphael scrambled to sit up. Mortification turned to anger as he faced the creature, face burning, teeth clenched. “What manner of joke is this supposed to be!”

A chuckle, and then the being before him shifted, morphed, until Raphael was glaring at his own face as it was… before. Haarlep tilted their head and reached to flick his nose, snatching their hand back before he could slap it away. “And here I thought you couldn't surprise me anymore, little brat. Now, is it me or you’re not especially happy to see me?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Keeping an eye on you, of course. Fun as it was assisting in your escape from Mephistar, surely you didn’t think for a moment I organized the whole thing all by myself, did you? Truth be told, I believed you dead for months until the announcement you’d be devoured in spectacular fashion. Good thing your father seems to enjoy playing with his food almost as much as you do, huh? What a surprise it was. I’d done my mourning and it turns out it wasn’t necessary.”

Raphael scoffed. “Yes, I could feel just how much you mourned,” he snapped, “whoring my body out to anyone who asked.”

“Aaaah, yes. You did feel that, didn’t you?” Haarlep grinned again. “It was my most requested form, and many at court were willing to pay handsomely for it. I’d been released from my oath to you, after all. I’m sure you’ll understand. Did it provide some distraction from your misery?”

Very much unwilling to think back of anything he’d thought or felt while in the bowels of his father’s dungeons, Raphael smacked away the hand that had reached out to brush back his hair. “Don’t you touch me, incubus,” he snapped, “or you’ll find I still have teeth.”

“Ah, I certainly hope you do. You were not rescued out of kindness, you understand.”

Of course not; the notion was too ridiculous for any self-respecting devil to entertain. Something stirred in the back of Raphael’s mind, the memory of someone putting his own frail, aging mortal body between him and a danger, but he was quick to chase it away. That was the kind of sentimentality befitting a mortal, and regardless of his current situation he was no mortal. He had never been. If he still breathed, it was because someone wanted something from him. “Obviously,” he ground out.

“Your savior will expect you to do something in return. Don’t ask what,” Haarlep added the second Raphael opened his mouth. “I couldn’t tell you even if I knew all the details. My lips are sealed - from talking, that is - unless I’m given the direct order to tell you.”

“And who, pray tell, would have to give that order?”

“Your savior, of course.”

“Haarlep.”

A laugh. “Don’t get too cross with me, little brat,” they said. “I quite literally cannot speak the name or even give hints unless allowed. It’s a very stringent oath. You should have thought of doing something like that, come to think of it. Might have kept me from accidentally oversharing your little secrets, although I’m fairly sure it wouldn’t have done much to keep the little mouse and their companions away from the Orphic Hammer.”

“Accidentally,” Raphael snorted, tasting bile in his throat. “You’ve never once passed up a chance to push against my authority.”

“True, I thought it would be hilarious to see your face once you returned to find the hammer gone. I never imagined it would result in your demise. I suppose it’s a good thing for both of us that you’re not one to hold grudges,” they added, like they didn’t know that Raphael could hold grudges as tightly as Asmodeus held onto his throne. 

Raphael glared, teeth clenched so tight his jaw hurt. “I ought to flay you alive.”

“You may try, pet. It wouldn’t be a long fight,” the incubus almost sing-sang. And they were right, of course. A mere human with a few cantrips has no hope to best a devil, let alone unarmed and unarmored. Raphael balled his hands in fists, resisted the temptation to still try wrapping them around Haarlep’s neck - his own neck - and scowled. 

“Am I to believe that whoever it is you obey has no instructions whatsoever for me?” 

“Not quite yet, but soon. For now, the lack of instructions means you’re on the right path, I suppose. Although you’ll need to be extremely cautious, back in the Hells. Mephistopheles will be furious the second he finds out you still live. He hates being fooled about as much as… well, you, or anyone for that matter. He’d stop at nothing to destroy you.”

Of course. Raphael would have expected nothing less. “Duly noted,” he said, coldly, pushing away the dread to focus on what little he knew. Whoever had saved him wanted him to return to the Hells; to what end, he couldn’t imagine. Was it all about killing Zariel? By extension, was this Mizora’s doing? It seemed unlikely. What influence would Mizora have in Cania?

Focused as he was trying to make a somewhat coherent picture out of the scraps of information he’d been handed, he didn’t notice Haarlep reaching out for him until their hand grabbed his chin and lifted his face. Their face-- his face, would it ever be his again?-- peered at him closely, a smile playing on their lips.

“Tell me the truth, sweetling,” they said, running a thumb across Raphael’s own lips. “Have you missed me? Thought of me?”

Raphael scowled, anger roiling in his chest and aching need in the pit of his stomach. It had been half a year without that indulgence, leaning back to feel pleasure and think of nothing anymore. He hated it. He hated Haarlep. He hated how much he needed it. “I thought of many ways I could kill you, if you’re inclined to hear them,” he spat, and Haarlep’s smile widened. 

“Oh, you have missed me,” they crooned, and leaned in to claim his mouth. Raphael gripped the straps of their harness, not quite knowing whether he’d push them back or pull them closer - and then leaned back, taking Haarlep down on him. He felt the incubus smile against his lips, pressing him down on the bedroll. “I missed you, you know,” they whispered. 

Until half a year ago, it was a sentence Raphael may have brushed off with a scoff and hardly a thought. Now it made something ache around the empty nothing where half of his soul had been, and he closed his eyes. “No,” he managed, his voice almost breaking. “You did not.”

Maybe they’re here to take what remains of my soul, he thought. Maybe I should let them. No soul must be better than a maimed one. At least those soulless dolls don’t have any notion of what befell them. What chances do I have to be whole again? I am at the whim of mortals who stabbed me in the back before.

A sigh. “Ah, you think so little of me,” Haarlep lamented, and bit his lower lip, barely a nip. “I have many new bodies for you to sample, if you’re so inclined. You seemed interested in the little mouse’s. Or would you rather have this form again? Your own body, for old times’ sake?”

Trying very hard not to think of the suggestion, Raphael shook his head and tightened his grip on Haarlep’s harness. “This,” he rasped, and Haarlep chuckled. 

“You’re so wonderfully predictable,” they said, parting Raphael’s legs with a knee and kissing his neck, his jaw, so warm against his skin. “Open up for me, pet, and I’ll make it all better.”

Raphael closed his eyes, parted his lips, and for a time he thought of nothing.

***

While Durge hadn’t expected anything to happen at camp while they were away, returning to find no trace of unwelcome visitors - no Mizora showing up in a ring of hellfire waving a contract, no vampire spawn trying to drag Astarion away, no githyanki asking them to help overthrowing a space tyrant or trying really hard to kick their collective asses - was still kind of a relief. 

Rain had stopped falling around the time they had decided to cut the walk short and head back. Evening was fast approaching, and soon enough it would be time to leave. As it turned out, they weren’t the only one awake: the flap of Raphael’s tent was open, and Raphael was crouching at the lakeshore, throwing water over his face and running his hands through his hair as though trying to scrub something away. 

Durge paused, watching, as Raphael sat back on a rock and remained still, wet fingers in his hair, the heels of his hands pressed over his eyes. His shirt was open and rumpled, and he was drawing in long breaths. It looked like he was having-- well, a moment. 

Maybe it would be best to get to their tent unnoticed, but Durge had never been really good at just doing what was best. Instead they stopped by the camp chest, grabbed a bottle of Arabellan Dry, and headed for the lakeshore. Raphael recoiled when they sat next to him, and turned to glare only to be presented with the bottle, cork already off.

“I don’t have a decanter or cups at hand,” Durge said. “You’ll have to drink from the bottle.”

Raphael looked at the label, and sniffed contemptuously. “This should be served at cellar temp--”

“I’ll guzzle it all down myself here and now if you finish that sentence.”

“Hmph.”  The bottle was snatched from their hand, and Raphael took a long swig. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand - not at all, Durge thought, something he ever pictured him doing - and said nothing, looking pointedly away from them at a mountain range in the distance. There was a brief silence.

“Was the lyre to your liking?” Durge finally asked. 

“It should prove adequate,” was the only reply they got. They followed Raphael’s gaze to see if there was actually something worth looking at, but they saw nothing. Only the mountains.

“... So,” Raphael finally spoke without turning. “The vampling let slip that it was you who took the Crown from Mephistopheles’ vault. You and Gortash. I should have known.”

Gortash. Thinking of the man didn’t come easy to Durge. They knew there had been something there, the closest they’d ever had to friendship before Orin unwittingly set them free, but it was only the faded shade of a sensation. A memory of a memory of something they may have dreamed up, once.

Durge didn’t want to remember more; they were afraid of what may turn up, of the being they were when they’d so admired the slaver who sold Karlach to the Hells and doomed so many others to worse fates yet. But they would not pretend it had never been so, either. Pretending felt like a luxury they had not earned. 

“My favorite assassin,” Gortash had called them, and he had meant it. But they were no longer the person he’d known, not by a long shot. They had changed beyond recognition, and Enver Gortash had not.

“... I know Gortash lived in the House of Hope.”

A shrug. Dismissive. “For a time. He wasn’t my ward for very long. He found his way out annoyingly quickly, I have to say, although not before making some useful connections.”

“Why was he there?”

“He was sold to me. An overpriced brat if there ever was one.”

Durge scowled. “Why buy him in the first place?”

Another swig from the bottle. “I figured he had potential. And I was right, was I not? I have an eye for potential, you know I do, even if mortals are so prone to squandering it. I never bothered to try and take him back after he fled, but I’m pleased to know you put him down.”

“... Enver Gortash had to be stopped. Enver Flymm was a boy. The Hells are no place for a--”

“I paid for him, fair and square,” Raphael scoffed, and the indifference slipped. Suddenly, he looked angry. “For the full asking price his loving parents set, if you must know. If they didn’t want their boy to go to the Hells, they should not have handed him to a devil.”

“So why didn’t you bother?”

Raphael paused and blinked, taken aback, bottle in mid-air. “What?”

“You’d paid for him. Why didn’t you bother to take him back? You don’t strike me as someone willing to let an investment go. Unless he somehow became Bane’s Chosen the second he was out, what challenge would it have posed to you? Reclaiming a mortal boy?”

A sneer. “Maybe I was just curious to see how he’d burn himself out left on his own devices,” Raphael snapped, and took another swig from the bottle. He turned away. “I think we should consider this conversation over. Do not waste your breath or my time, unless it’s to beg forgiveness for your treachery. Or to tell me how you plan to recover the rest of my soul from Mephistopheles’ vaults.”

Durge sighed, and decided to let the matter drop. For now. “I do not recall the details of the heist in Mephistar,” they admitted. “But if I could steal the Crown then, I am sure I can get to your soul too.”

A hum, making it plain that Raphael very much failed to share that certainty, but he didn’t remark on it. He looked up at the setting sun instead, and so did Durge; it was turning the sky to-- blood -- fire, and it reflected on the lake’s still surface. In the distance, birds called.

“... What has become of the Crown?” Raphael finally asked, almost conversationally. Only the tenseness in his back betrayed how sore a subject that was.

“It came apart when we took down the Netherbrain. Gale was able to reforge it, and gave it to Mystra for safekeeping. She took the netherese orb out of his chest in exchange.” And, Durge knew, it had been the last interaction between them. As far as they were concerned, Gale was better off for it.

A snort. “Safekeeping, of course. As if gods are not wont to misuse power the same as everyone else,” was the response. One last swig, and Raphael passed the bottle over to Durge. They took it with a shrug.

“Who better to hold onto it than the goddess of all magic? It seemed the safest course of action.”

Raphael laughed, or at least he came remarkably close to it. “If you truly believe that,” he said with a wide gesture, tongue loosened by the wine, “then I have the most delightful bridge to sell you in Stygia.”

A snort, also not too far away from a laugh. “If after all this I’m still in the mood to invest in Baator’s infrastructure, I will let you know,” they said, and emptied the bottle in one gulp.

***

[Back to Chapter 6]

[On to Chapter 8]

[Back to Start]

[riacte]

🛸 exterrasexymenpoll Follow

Vote for your favourite sexyman in the Exterra racing industry!

THE RED KING from TEAM DOGWARTS and BLUE BATS

vs

QUEEN OF HEARTS from TEAM BLUE BATS

For our other semi-final— BLUE BALLS from TEAM COBALT CATMAIDS vs THE HAND from TEAM DOGWARTS please vote here!

Poll closes at 8pm Intergalatic Central Time. Campaign all you like.

Spamming about van’ilah extract in the comments will result in an instant ban (yeah, we know the meme’s going around sunblr, but let’s keep this poll somewhat sensible, okay?)

Requests about including THE Blue Stalker will also result in an instant ban. This blog does not condone attempted murder, harassment, stalking, violence, etc etc.

🔮 queenofstarz03 Follow

SHUT UP HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO VOTE NAWT MY ICONIC DIVORCED PARENTS 😭😭😭😭 I’M PROPELLED INTO THE STRATOSPHEREEEEEE

voting for qoh bc rk would’ve wanted it 🥺 i miss them forever and forever ueueue

also sorry but the blue stalker is the ultimate exterra sexyman. those fanfic authors gave them so much personality when all they want is to unalive rk 😩 rotating the iconic enemies to lovers 20k oneshot in my brain

🦇 starshipspachelbel Follow

I’m more surprised by how Blue Balls is in the semi-finals

Anyways I’ll be voting for RK, he’s a pathetic wet paper bag of a Lykos lmfao <3

👽 blueballs Follow

dude my name is blueballs how did you NOT expect me to be in the semifinals lmao

🦇 starshipspachelbel Follow

HELP NOT A CC (Crew / Comms) NOTICE EXTERRABLR SCATTER

☄️ cosmiclovee Follow

I BELIEVE IN BLUEBALLS SUPREMACY #BALLSWEEP

By the way, QoH stans rise!! Did you forget our awakening? Remember the starry suit she wore for the 2109 gala and how everyone was immediately like 😳??? And she rolled up the sleeves?? Remember the x reader fics on Launchpad?

🪓 handoftheking Follow

Yeah, because I’ve read them. Hey, some fics were pretty good.

I also voted for Queen of Hearts. I mean, just look her at her. And as a fellow Lumian, I’m obliged haha.

☄️ cosmiclovee Follow

… Oops, total containment breach now? Mods I’m sorry, you guys don’t have to eat the spaceship that you promised to—

But onto more important things: RK’s own GUNNER didn’t vote for HIM??? And voted for QoH??? LMFAO THIS IS HILARIOUS. the total betrayal. it feels like he’s cheating. the disrespect for RK. i love it.

Also, Hand, you read QoH x reader fics? Any recs lmao? And did you read the bad boy RK ones?

🌲 dilfkisser Follow

So I’m learning from my dash that the Hand himself voted for QoH over RK???? My Treebark ship just sank in two seconds. Wtf.

#BALLSWEEP btw

🥂redkingsboyfriend Follow

Lololol the Hand’s narcissism is really showing. Look at him voting for his pre-transition self. He’s so vain.

@/exterrasexymenpoll can you please remove the Hand’s deadname? It’s disrespectful to transgender people.

📺 saintswept Follow

are you fucking for real, believing in the trans qoh/hand theory in this year?? they’re completely different people. shut up and ship treebark lmao

still funny that the hand didn’t vote for his bf and went for his bf’s ex gunner—

💫 concorp-official Follow

Hey, I know sunblr hates corporations but as the CEO of ConCorp, I feel rather… mystified that I got out in the first round. Was my mad scientist jacket not enough?

Personally I’m surprised that Xisuma Void got further than me. Anyways, supporting the Queen of Hearts.

👬 kissinghomiesgnight Follow

??? Look at how much this poll breached containment? First a CC notice, and then a racer notice, and now a fucking CORPORATION??? Mr Cubfan I am So Sorry but I think people were just too excited to vote for the Catmaid—