#even if gale drives me fucking crazy sometimes

[kingjames7th]

Review of the BG3 Companions

Gale - very handsome. autistic. swagless, and yet has incredible hoe pulling capability. very good at magic. live city-leveling bomb in his chest. eats my fucking magic items. the most prudish whore and the sluttiest bluenose..... 5/10

Lae'zel - mean and violent. carries a very big sword. puppy eyes and pretty hair. walks around in a bdsm-esque halter bra because thats what a bad bitch does. extremely weird and slightly unsettling rizz. 8/10

Shadowheart - goth cult trauma. super hot. kind of a pick me. has a crush on fucking everybody. bad bangs. has never failed an athletics check for shove because shes a certified bully. wlw enemies to lovers rep. 9/10

Karlach - big buff demon lady. curses a lot. hot in more ways than one. just wants to be held. loves the whole party so so much. keeps a teddy bear in her tent. guys im so fucking in love with her shes everything to me shes so sweet and pretty ughhhhhhhhhhh 15/10

Wyll - only good person in the group. buff vibes, actually fairly twinkish. woe eldritch blast be upon ye. insecure about the demon horns but tbh thats just handlebars to me. shameless flirt. thats a good man right there 8/10

Astarion - listen okay. hes perfect. hes perfect in every way. i LOVE fops. voice is TO DIE FOR. super flirty, please no one tell him he only has a 10 in charisma. has bedded thousands, canonically the best lay in the group. AND he has a tragic backstory! he would have been an easy 10 without it, with it 20/10

bonus

Halsin - bear daddy 10/10

[pheonixgrave]

Ignore It (18+)

This is really my first time posting a story to here, I usually only do it to AO3, but this is what I made this account for. Might as well start using it?

WARNINGS: Heavy smut, corruption kink, mild blood kink? (not sure about that one) Fem Tav, hetero relationship, stress fucking, not beta'd, angst, use of cunt

Smut blow the cut, please enjoy!!

Trekking through the wilderness was exhausting as is. But the bickering? That was starting to drive Tav crazy. Vampire this. Shar that. Eating magic this. Demons that. It was always something else. No matter what she did, they were always at each other’s throats. Oh the irony in that. Maybe the Illithid worm wasn’t the worst thing. Maybe this, the arguing, was the worst thing to happen to her. If she had to hear any Githyanki phrases in the next thirty minutes, she might kill Lae’zel herself. Tav was at her wits end, ready to beat her head against the nearest tree just to see if that got rid of the tadpole. It would be a win-win if it also got everyone else to shut up. 

They didn’t even let up at camp. Sure, they all had their respective tents and spaces. But the glaring. Oh, the glaring! Not a moment of peace before bed. She sat near her bedroll, closer to the fire Gale had set up. A tankard in hand, her back to the more vocal members of the party. She could practically hear Lae’zel glaring at Astarion. And Shadowheart wasn't exactly quiet about her distaste for him either. It’s not like there was an Infernal being less than ten yards away from him. Or a Warlock just across the flames. 

She very quickly downed the rest of her drink before tossing the tankard near the flames. Curling up in her bedroll, she tried to block out all of the noise and barbed words. It was currently taking everything in her to not scream at her first three companions. They had all been through something insane and deadly. Why could they not have it in them to simply get along? It felt impossible. 

Fortunately, her sour mood was noticed by her party. Not that she’d realize it at the moment. The biggest point of contention, Astarion, managed to get the courage to walk up to their fearless, albeit grumpy, leader. He nudged her with his foot. Which he immediately realized was a bad decision. Taz shot up to meet his eyes in the blink of an eye. “What do you want?”

The bite in her voice was unmistakable. But he knew how to handle it. “I want-”

“Don’t bother,” she cut him off. She never cut him off. She was more than happy to let him talk at her sometimes. The final glare she gave him was intense as she stalked towards the lake, away from everybody else. Astarion watched her walk away. Did he only watch to see her hips sway? Absolutely. But that didn’t change the fact that the Bard needed to relax. He smiled to himself before following her. “Didn’t I say don’t bother? I’m not in the mood to be your midnight snack tonight.” 

He didn’t fail to match her step. “Why darling! Do you truly think so little of me?” He pouted. 

Tav just sighed, “Take your antics somewhere else for now, Astarion.”

“Will you just sit down?” He pushed on her shoulders, forcing her down.

Much to the rest of the party's dismay, she did trust the vampire. Whether that would lead her to her own doom was yet to be seen.

Her knees crumbled under the pressure as she fell on the ground. She shot another glare in his direction but that didn’t seem to dissuade him from his plan.

“You’ve been far too stressed today, darling.” He purred in her ear, his hands never leaving her shoulders. 

“Astarion?” He continued to move her body until she was on her stomach.

“Shhh, do you trust me?” Gods, that man was always far too much for Tav.

“Should I?”

He chuckled as he readjusted himself so he was sitting on the back of her thighs, straddling her. It took every ounce of self restraint he had to not immediately rub her ass. Gods, it always looked so perfect when she walked. He took a deep breath before applying pressure between her shoulder blades. He felt her body tense before slowly relaxing. 

It wasn’t what she expected. Was he giving her a massage? His hands worked slowly from the base of her neck to her waist. And-oh? Did she just moan? 

“It’s alright, my dear, I love hearing you.” He smirked before continuing his work. He continued like that for a few moments, just enjoying the little sounds she was making. “Let's get you out of these clothes, shall we?”

She pushed him off her, rolling on her back and sitting up. “So that’s what this was? Just an excuse to get me naked?” That fire was coming back.

“Darling, if I was trying to get into your pants, I’d try flattering you more first. Unfortunately, it is difficult to get this right over your clothes.” He sat next to her, staring out at the water, just watching the water crash against the coast. “I was taught how to do this a long, long time ago.”

She stared at the rogue before swallowing. The tips of her ears and the back of her neck were flushed. But she did trust him. He would say if this was untoward. Right? With a shaky breath, she sighed but said “Alright.” 

Astarion watched her shaky hands start to untie the little knots holding her bustier. His mouth started to water, but he had patience. As she shrugged the last of her tunic off, she covered her chest and turned the other way. He did manage to lay down her tunic so she wasn’t just laying on the dirt anymore. She laid herself in front of him. He could feel how shaky her breath still was as he climbed on top of her once more. 

He resumed his previous work, addressing the knots in her lower back. The elf’s skin was so soft, so warm. He found himself just getting lost in the feeling of someone trusting him. It was a strange feeling but a welcome one. 

Tav, on the other hand, was getting lost in his touch. His cold hands worked their way up her back and she liked it far more than she thought she would. What started off as little moans slowly became louder. It didn’t help that he was an expert with his hands. And her mind started to trail off to things that were unbecoming of a lady.

But Astarion could feel her thighs clench. No matter how she tried to move without him noticing too much. Gods, he could almost smell her arousal. Over 200 years old and here he was, still trying to keep himself from getting hard. But then she moaned his name. And what little restraint he had disappeared. He put his hands near her head before leaning down towards her ear. “This wasn’t an excuse to see you naked but you are making it very hard to not act on my…baser impulses, my dear.” He felt the shiver go down her spine. 

“Astarion,” she moaned again before grinding back on him. And she got what she wanted when he flipped her on her back without moving from his spot. And there she was, laid out in front of a vampire spawn with her chest bare. She looked up at him with wide eyes, unsure how to go from there. But him? He had far more experience than most. He moved faster than she thought. He captured her lips as he slotted himself between her thighs. And just like that, his hands were everywhere. 

It was like he couldn’t decide where he liked them best. Her throat? Her breasts? Her hips so he could grind against her? He just couldn’t decide. And she tried so hard to keep herself quiet. But then he moved his lips down her neck, his fangs brushing over the still healing marks from the night before. He thought about feeding for a moment, but something far more filling had his attention right now. He moved until he had her nipple in his mouth. Flicking the nub with his tongue, his hand went to massage the other one. He wasn’t gentle. No one that knew Astarion for who he was thought he was a gentle man. It was rough but Tav didn’t seem to mind. 

In fact, Tav seemed to love it. Her back arched into him. “Astarion!” And then her hands were on his shoulders, urging him downwards.

And he didn’t want to fight it. He kept moving, biting and nipping at her stomach. And then he got to her trousers. He sat up, panting and looking wild. His fangs were bared and he was panting hard. He threw her legs on his shoulders, tossing her loafers somewhere behind him. And then he went to work on the knots holding her trousers up. Which he made very quick work of. He shimmied them off her, making sure to keep her underwear on for a moment. He stripped off his shirt before returning to her mouth. 

He needed her. 

“Astarion, please, touch me.”

He was quick to snake his hand towards her cunt. And even quicker to find the spot that made her gasp into his mouth. Gods, he could do this forever. He made his way back to her neck, lapping over those same marks. Her hand tangled itself into his hair and the other gripped his shoulder with far more strength than he expected. His cold hands were a sharp contrast to the warmth of her. Her head was thrown back against the ground as she gasped for air. She was shaking. 

It was already so much for her. She had been so pent up and so angry. But the way he worked her clit? It was a way no one ever had before. Not even herself. In fact, no one had ever touched her like this before. Nothing past shy kisses or heady glances. If she had known, maybe she would have lived her life a little differently. 

But once her back arched and she cried out his name? She clenched around nothing. She felt so empty now and he hadn’t even gotten close yet. He chuckled as best he could, “Already, darling?” he muttered against her neck.

“I-” she gasped once he slid a finger inside her. “Astarion,” his name rolled off her tongue and he swore he wouldn’t mind hearing her do this forever. He could still feel her cunt clench around his fingers and he groaned. He couldn’t wait much longer but she was enjoying herself. “I’ve never-” he curled his finger before adding a second one. 

“You’ve never felt this good before?”

“Done this before,” she managed to gasp out before he curled his fingers again. 

His hands stalled for a moment and she whined. “I’m to be your first?” She nodded, wriggling her hips, trying to will him to move again. “My dear, why didn’t you say anything?” He removed his fingers and she cried out. “Shhh, I have to make a good first impression, don’t I?”

He practically ripped her underwear off. She was a virgin. He couldn’t lie that it made him even harder to think about being the only one who got to touch her. But he had to take care of her if he wanted to be the only one.

He buried his face in her cunt, holding her thighs open with his hands. Tav covered her mouth to hide her cries of his name. But it was his name on her lips. His fingers going right back inside her, where they belonged. His lips on her clit. He groaned again when she came, this time right on his face and hands. He lapped at her for a moment longer and started pistoning his fingers in and out. He couldn’t help but watch her cum make a mess of his fingers. 

“Astarion!” She cried as she came on his fingers yet again. “Please!”

“Please what, my dear?” He wiped her juices off his chin before closing the distance between them. His lips hovered over hers, those red eyes glazed over with a hunger. Her eyes fluttered open. She smiled at him, all too happy to offer herself to him. She bared her neck. And dive he did. His fangs pierced her neck once again as he drank. He knew better than to drink more than his share but he wanted nothing more than to keep drinking as she wrapped her bare legs around his waist and rubbed her cunt against the fabric of his trousers. He released her neck and practically shredded what was left of his clothing. 

He leaned back for a moment, taking in the sight. This elf, a noble from Waterdeep, was laid out before him. Freckles dotting her skin and her blonde hair spread out like a halo before him. It would be angelic if not for the blood slowly trickling out of her neck. “Astarion,” she whispered. Her voice was full of something he couldn’t quite place. Something he had pushed aside a long time ago. 

All he could do was nod before he lined himself up to her. As he slowly slid in, he swore that this was the closest he could get to heaven. 

Astarion wasn’t small. Tav could feel his cock stretching her cunt out. Why did no one ever tell her it could feel like this? She gripped his shoulders and wrapped her legs around him once more. She sighed as he finally finished. “Gods above, you’re amazing.” She whispered, almost too afraid to say it. Too afraid to say the other things on the tip of her tongue. Her eyes traveled down his body to where they were connected before looking back up at him. 

“Shit,” he panted, withholding every emotion that came flooding through him. Instead, he snaked a hand underneath her thigh, lifting it up before he began to thrust.

She thought just having her inside him felt amazing. But this angle had her barely able to breath. She threw her head back and arched into his body. It was all she could do to hold on to him as he upped his pace. Tav could barely gasp out his name as she tried to look at him. His eyes were shut and his hair was more than perfectly tousled. “Beautiful,” was all she could get out before she tightened around his cock. 

“Shit!” He followed closely behind her, seemingly unexpectedly. They laid there for a moment, just feeling each other before he slipped out of her. She cried, a palpable sense of emptiness. He watched her breath for a few moments longer, secretly enjoying his cum starting to drip out of her cunt. Normally, he’d leave. He’d get up, put his clothes back together and leave. But Tav? Something told him he couldn’t. So he grabbed his tunic and wrapped her in it before carrying her to the water. 

He tried not to notice her nuzzling his neck. He tried to ignore the praises she said. He tried desperately to ignore the draw she had on him. He tried to ignore her moan as he set her in the shallow water, gently taking his tunic off her shoulders. Instead, he sat next to her and let the water wash away the previous activities. 

[wistfulweaverwoman]

I Feel Fine

I’m not sure why I volunteered to ride with Gale on the drive to the lake house. It’s not like we’re actually friends. We talk, know stuff about each other. Used to be neighbors, back in elementary and middle school. His mom watched me and my little sister sometimes. I’m pretty sure he still thinks of me as a kid, even though he’s fucking my best-friend. Well, really, she’s my only friend.

They met at the bowling alley where the three of us, as well as what seems like most of the other teenagers in town, work. Boys have always liked Madge. Blonde hair, blue eyes, perfect tits. A regular beauty queen. Seriously. She hates it, but her mom was Miss Arkansas and insists that Madge follow in her footsteps, even if it’s just for the shit she can put on a college application. She always calls it a scholarship program, like she can live with herself if it’s for college. No one knows about the pageants; I’m sworn to secrecy. I don’t really know why, it’s not like the other cheerleaders are going to tease her like I do.

I’m not a cheerleader. I’m not anything.

I don’t realize I’ve been sleeping till the protesting brakes wail softly. I jerk upright, wiping the sticky side of my face with my forearm. The truck follows Madge’s white Jetta along the gravel road. Through the pale dust swirls I see the girls jammed in the back seat, their hair piled in messy knots on their heads, moving their arms in sync. They’re probably listening to some terrible pop song they’ve used in one of their routines. I bet they’re screaming the lyrics off key.

I contain a shudder; I kind of hate dramatic people. 

The anticipation starts to build as we begin to ascend the last hill. I’ve been coming here with Madge's family since we became friends back in second grade. Usually it’s just the family, her mom, and dad when he has time, and her younger brother, Brian. We’ve had a few slumber parties up here, but never any real “party” parties. There are three kegs in the bed of the truck, bottom shelf liquor that’s probably closer to rubbing alcohol than anything that’s fit for human consumption, spiked lemonade, cider, plus every flavor of wine cooler ever made. 

I’m not really sure who else is bothering to drive up for the weekend, but the whole senior class was invited. Which is kind of crazy, even if our school is pretty small. But it’s our graduation, our last big hurrah. Everyone was warned that the beds are first come, first serve and to bring a sleeping bag, just in case. The house is pretty big. Besides the master, already claimed by Madge and Gale, there's the attic bedroom, where Madge and I usually sleep, Brian's room, three guest rooms, and the bunk room. Plus, there’s a pullout couch in the boathouse.

I roll down the window, lean my head out, close my eyes, and just inhale. It’s not really too different from home, but I’ve always been happy here. The spicy pine hanging in the air smells how carefree used to feel. Without raising my lids I roll my eyes. Nostalgia is making me sappy, but I don’t bother forcing away my smile. 

Everyone climbs out groaning, and stretches. A series of car doors slam as the cluster of girls excitedly shoulder their burgeoning duffle bags. Gale grabs his, and several bags from the grocery store. I grab another two, along with my backpack. I didn’t really need to pack anything. I’ve got lots of stuff up here, but Madge made me buy a dress for the party. And she treated me to some stuff from Victoria Secret’s. Which was weird. 

I tried to just get some sweatpants with ‘pink’ on the butt. But she insisted that every “woman” needs at least one set of sexy underpants. I hate them. Not only are they not comfortable, but they seem to emphasize everything I hate about my body. My thighs look fatter, and my belly seems to ripple beneath the synthetic band. They even look bigger than my cotton briefs. And I feel like an imposter. Panties like these belong on someone beautiful, or at least someone who looks beautiful naked. 

I don’t cringe when I look in the mirror or anything, but, as Aunt Jo once said when she was drunk and trying to give me some sort of confidence boost, I’m basically the opposite of a “butter face”. It’s not the nicest thing to say to a distraught sixteen year old girl. I guess I found some comfort, since I laughed, though embarrassed and horrified, at her graphic description of some girl she supposedly knew in the Army that always had to suffer the humiliation of wearing a bag over her head or take it from the rear, or maybe in the rear? I never wanted to ask. 

Really, the whole thing sounded humiliating. Ever since then I’ve been suspicious of guys and their motives. I generally assume that the only reason a guy would be interested in me is to use me to get to know Madge (this has happened), or because they want to masturbate in me (this has not happened). The result is that I’m kind of mean to most guys my age. Not Gale, because, though he’s a bit of a douche, he’s decent enough. He listens to Rush, buys us booze, and doesn’t act like I’m a third wheel. I think he gets that really we’re the ones that let him tag along with us. But he actually knows Madge. As popular as Madge is, no one really knows her, other than us. When we were younger I was always side eyeing other girls. I probably came off as jealous, but really I’m just protective. 

Okay, so maybe I’ve always been a little suspicious. Madge tries to get me to hang out with some of her other friends, but she acts differently around them. I don’t think she even notices. Gale does. The few times we’ve all got together he’s gotten real quiet. His face seems relaxed, but I can tell he’s pissed, because I wear the same expression. He wouldn’t have come up for the party, except for the obvious promise of copious amounts of sex.

The gravel crunches under my flip flops as I follow the others across the driveway. The girls hustle through the front door to claim a preferred bunk. A squeal echoes down the hall with Gale’s rough chuckle, and then pounding footfalls disappear upstairs. A door slams from somewhere far away. I place the bags beside the others on the counter in the kitchen and put the perishables away.

Shit.

I forgot to bring my one piece swimsuit. Upstairs I only have a bikini from sophomore year, when I first started gaining weight, but wasn't actually the size I am now. I don’t care that it’s too small when it’s just me and Madge. I try not to get too athletic in it. If I so much as sneeze my boobs try to escape the top like a pair of unruly puppies. Leaping off the dock is out of the question when Brian is lurking around. I’m pretty sure he’s already had an eyeful. Ugh.

If I go change now I can at least get in a swim before anyone else arrives.

Throwing caution to the wind, I cannon ball off the dock, breasts be damned. I may joke that if I do jumping jacks that I’ll knock myself out, but they aren’t really that big. Still, it’s hard to keep them in my top while they're trying to float up to meet my chin. 

The water is freezing, but that’s how I like it. It’s a murky green brown, and I can barely see two feet in front of me when I swim down, reaching out with my fingers, exploring, only to shoot back up when I touch the slimy tangled bottom. I hate touching the bottom, but always seek it out, like I have to make sure it hasn't changed.

I float for a while, my hair undulating gently. The trees sway overhead. I forget why we’re here, who’s here. I forget a lot of things. I get lost in my memories, remembering joy, and the person I used to be, before my world was wrecked.  

A car door slams. Then another. 

Startled, I sink below the surface. I try to blow the water back out of my nose, but some of it is already burning at the back of my throat. Ungracefully I haul myself up onto the edge of the dock and realize I’ve left the towel on my bed. 

I breathe in slowly smelling sun baked wood, my cheek, naked belly, and palms are pressed against the gray weathered boards, almost hot enough to burn my skin. I consider my options, either rush through the house and risk showing my goods to god knows who, or… or go see if there’s a towel in the boathouse.

The gaggle of girls from Madge's car are straggling down from the house having changed into swimsuits. Not wanting to wait around till even more people show up I hop to my feet and speed walk toward the boat house, the skin where my thighs touch burning with the friction.

After retrieving the hide-a-key from under a fake rock I let myself in. It’s stuffy and warm, but not unpleasant. The boats are actually stored one level down. This upper area is really more of an entertaining space, with a sleeping nook in the rear. 

Probably no one’s been here since last summer. In the closet, on the top shelf, are a stack of towels and another of bed linens. If my mom had put them there they'd probably be threadbare and musty. Madge’s mom buys new towels every year and sticks dryer sheets in all the closets to keep them smelling nice. 

I’m contemplating how I’ll reach the top shelf when I hear a laugh. I freeze on tip-toe with my arm in the air.

“That’s right motherfucker!” says a boy from somewhere very near the door. “It’s mine, and I’ll fight anyone that tries to take it.” Someone yells something back, and the boy laughs, and I hear a thump and the door slams shut, probably using his foot. 

Fuck.

Without looking I know who’s here. Madge once suggested that I like him. “Like him” like him. He’s really nice, but I said I didn’t, because I don’t like anyone. But I’m not blind. He’s probably the hottest guy in school. 

He grunts, sounds like he’s shifting whatever he's carrying, and I turn as he stumbles into the room trying to tug his shirt off with one arm, the other clutching a sports bag. 

For half a second I consider hiding, he hasn’t seen me yet, but instead just turn back around and try desperately to grab a fucking unreachable towel. The dripping tips of my hair sway with my effort, tickling my lower back. His stuff thuds to the floor.

“Oh!” he gasps. “I’m sorry! Are you staying in here?”

I glance over my shoulder, wishing I was someone or somewhere else. He looks a little like a deer caught in the headlights, his eyes wide and staring.

“I’m just here for one of those,” I say, waving my hand in the general direction of the linens. 

He presses up beside me. His eyes dart toward my tits and linger a little too long. The heat coming off his bare skin is like a campfire and my skin actually prickles in response. He plucks a towel off the shelf, barely needing to reach up. 

I’m taken aback when he unfolds the thing and wraps it gently around my shoulders. Maybe it suddenly occurs to him how intimate the gesture is, or he catches the look on my face, but he takes a big step back and smacks his shoulder on the closet door. 

I tuck the towel firmly into place, glaring down, really feeling out of my depth.

Should I say something? Why the fuck haven't I left yet? Run, Bitch! Flee!

“So. Thanks for the towel!” I say, my voice pitching up. I sidestep him, shuffling back toward the exit. “See you later, Peeta!” 

I don’t look back, and manage to make it up to my room without being seen. Madge is waiting for me on the bed when I’ve finished showering. She’s already dressed, makeup and hair done like she’s dressing up like Taylor Swift for Halloween. She’s laid out my dress and the hateful butt gobbling “sexy” underpants, with matching bra, which smashes my boobs together into what basically looks like an ass crack. She looks gleeful to the point of maniacal. I glower, aiming my best “I hate you” at her, causing her to cackle. 

“You promised,” she says. I did promise, after she and Aunt Jo pressured me into agreeing. Madge retrieves one of many make up cases from under the bed, scraping the floor. The argument was that I didn't always need to be a bitch, that make-up is just another kind of armor. Whatever. It’s all bullshit. None of it would matter in the zombie apocalypse.

Madge sets my hair up in these giant curlers and then spends way too much time on applying my makeup so that it doesn’t look like I’m wearing any.

“So how many times since we got here?” I ask. I hate talking about it, but also have a morbid curiosity. Plus, who else am I going to ask? Not mom, or grams, even if they were still alive. Aunt Jo welcomes these types of inquiries, but I’ve found her explanations way too detailed.

“Four,” says Madge. “Now that I’m on the pill he doesn’t use condoms. It feels great for like, two minutes, then he’s done. Which is fine if we’re, you know, in the hot tub. But we’ve got a bed here and no parents.”

“Ew, the hot tub? Seriously?”

“Just once. Not as awesome as it sounds.”

“Sounds gross.”

“You think sex in general sounds gross.”

“It’s all the sharing of body fluids. Plus, I can’t really wrap my mind around how “good” it’s supposed to feel after you described the first time.”

“I told you, Mark just... went at it. I wasn’t exactly warmed up.”

“It hurt because you were cold?” I say in a mystified voice.

Madge leans back and squints at me.

“Pffft,” she says, realizing I’m teasing. “Asshole,” and smacks the back of my head with a pillow.

“Mark convinced you to have sex because it was junior prom. Not because he liked you. You cried the whole time. Why the fuck would I want that?”

Madge shrugs, and I can tell she’s struggling not to look superior. 

“It’s different, when you care about someone.”

“I think I’ll stick to climbing trees and building forts with Prim.”

“And that’s why I love you,” she says, and kisses the top of my head. “You’re more of a kid than Prim is.”

“She’s too excited to get it over with. We get a few years, and then we’re grown.”

 I pull the dress over my head and then Madge removes the curlers. I don't know why she’s being so careful, she has to know it’s going up in a ponytail sooner or later.

She scans the floor, and then looks at me accusingly.

“Where are your new sandals? The wedges?” she demands.

“Oh no. I must have forgotten them at home,” I say in a non-sad voice. “I guess I have to wear my flip flops.”

“If you didn't really want them, why did we spend two days shopping?”

I shrug. It seemed really important at the time. And then I remembered they're just shoes. 

“Will you try to have fun tonight? Really try?”

“Sure.” 

At some point, after going down stairs, we separate. I’m not going to follow her around the whole time; she takes her hostessing duties seriously, greeting everyone, chatting. She doesn’t realize she’s acting just like her mother. 

I have a beer. It’s thin and sour but the warm feeling in my belly somehow makes me feel like less of an outsider so it suddenly seems like a good idea to have a few more. I sit down with a group with my red plastic cup, trying to remember I'm wearing a skirt, assuming they’re playing a drinking game, and not really paying attention to what till the boy next to me leans over and kisses me sloppily on the mouth. I draw back in protest, wiping my lips with the back of my hand.

“What the fuck?” I say.

“It’s your turn Katniss.” 

I squint at the middle of the circle, and realize we’re playing fucking spin-the-bottle like a bunch of sixth graders. 

Whatever, I said I’d try. I give the empty Cuervo bottle a hard spin. Only then do I take the time to glance around the circle to see who I’m actually playing with. 

Weirdly, there are mostly girls. There’s Jessica Riley, Melissa Karkowski,  the Vargas twins, Jared Unibrow is next to me, Monique Jones, Gretchen Wilkinson, Richard Talks-to-tits across the way, and oh, great, Peeta Mellark a bit over to the right. 

Explains all the girls.

The bottle stops pointing at the girl beside Richard. He grins at me.

“Nope,” I say. “There’s only three dudes, if we played by the sixth grade rules you’d get like a million turns. I’m kissing her,” pointing at Jessica, who looks startled, and then weirdly smug. 

She jumps up a little eagerly, and is leaning over me before I can stand. She presses her lips against mine, and I’m surprised I don’t hate it. 

Jessica is back to the bottle and kissing some other girl before I can gather my bearings. I stop paying attention again, easy to do since I’m nursing another drink that seems to have appeared out of nowhere. A hand grasps my arm just above my elbow and pulls me to my feet. 

Peeta.

“Hey, you’ve been drinking,” he whispers. “Are you sure you’re okay to do this?” God he smells good, like some kind of spicy smelling body wash.

“I think so,” I whisper back, and wink. Am I… flirting? I've done that exactly never.

Peeta looks me in the eyes, searching for something. Should I smile? I cross my eyes instead. He throws his head back, laughing. The whole time he’s got his hands on my arms, like he’s afraid I’m going to tip over.

“Dude. She’s fine. Kiss her already.”

And he does. It’s gentle, he doesn’t mash his lips against mine. He brushes against them. His hand slides up my arm to the side of my head. It’s nice. I open my mouth, and instead of jack hammering my tongue with his he just kind of slides the tip in. I don’t want to stop, but this is just a game so I sit down. Peeta stumbles back to his spot.

“Katniss,” says Jared. “Spin it already.”

I glance at Peeta, he’s still watching me. Well everyone is; it’s my turn. I’m way too delighted when the bottle points to Peeta. I stand up carefully, trying to keep my knees together so I don’t flash everyone. Peeta’s just stepped up to me, has just clasped my elbow, when pervy Richard speaks up.

“No, no. You two already frenched. It’s seven minutes in heaven now. Into the closet.”

We both stare at him. I’m not sure what’s going through Peeta’s mind, but I’m both simultaneously intrigued and terrified. What goes on during these brief rendezvous? Do kids just feel each other up? Hand stuff? 

“Nope,” says Peeta. “Fuck that, I have a room.” He grabs my hand and pulls me out the backdoor, toward the boathouse. He walks right past it, though, and sits down at the edge of the dock, his legs dangling. He pats the rough wood beside him and I plop down.

“Sorry. I wasn't going to take you into that closet so Richard could get his rocks off thinking about me groping you.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Now he’s just going to think you brought me to your room to fuck or something.”

He cringes. “I didn't think of that.” He stands again, tottering a little, and offers me a hand up. “Let’s go back. Have you eaten?”

I shake my head and follow him carefully; the beer in my system seems to be messing with how far away the ground is from my feet.

A group of kids has gathered out on the large deck lit by hanging twinkle lights. Some kids are setting up their instruments off to one side. Playing music is always a family affair going back generations in our area. They start their first reel, fiddles and guitars and a mandolin twanging out into the night. Couples take their partner and begin clogging. 

It’s damn magical. 

I feel the pull to join, either the singers or dancers, but I keep walking. We edge around the deck and enter the kitchen. It’s already a mess, abandoned cups, spilled drinks, chip crumbs litter the floor. While I’m trying to figure out what to eat Peeta assembles an epic plate of nachos. I’m about to start my own plate when he indicates they're for the both of us. I’m too drunk to be annoyed that I have to share.

We  pass Richard and the rest of what’s left of the group. At least half of the girls have left, and I catch a few stink-eyes as we pass out of the room.  Some of these girls are as pretty as Madge, and clearly want him. Why is he still with me? The obvious answer is unclear. Does he pity me? I don’t need his pity. I do need a hairband because my hair is sticking to my sweaty neck. Peeta follows me to my room. He sets the plate on the desk by the window, but instead of eating looks around with interest.

Madge’s mom had the whole place professionally decorated about twelve years ago, it was even featured in a spread in Southern Living. This room is sweet, made for little girls. Above the white paneled walls is a wallpaper scattered with tiny blue cornflowers. The canopied bed, though huge, seems small compared to the size of the space. There are built-in cushioned window seats, shelves of books. There’s a rocking horse in one corner, and a huge dollhouse in the other. Instead of a closet there’s a wall of built-in cupboards and drawers. There’s an attached bathroom, complete with a shower and a seperate clawfoot tub. When we were small, and Madge and I weren’t outside swimming, we spent hours playing noisily, or reading quietly. I love it here.

Peeta steps into the bathroom, and pauses, gripping the edge of the door and staring at my swim suit hanging over the shower rod, drying. The door shuts with a thump, and I twist my hair up onto my head. The cool breeze hits my sweaty neck and goosebumps cover my skin for a moment. Peeta seems like he’s in the bathroom for a long time, but time doesn’t seem to be passing with it’s normal regularity, so maybe just a minute goes by.

“Want to go for a walk?” he says, stepping through the doorway. I nod.

We go back downstairs, leaving the nachos to wilt untouched, not remembering them till we’re three stories down. I grab a hotdog. For some reason it seems like a good idea to take a shot of whiskey. It burns going down and I gag on the aftertaste. For good measure I take another. Peeta silently hands me a red solo cup. I discover it’s just coke, and I take small sips while leading him down to one of the walking trails. 

It’s dark, but the moon is out, so there’s not too much stumbling. I take him to the hammock halfway around the lake and sit sideways to allow some room for him to perch beside me. Still, the sides of the hammock kind of force us toward each other and we awkwardly lean in the opposite direction. It dawns on me, in an abstract way, that this is a very romantic spot. I just want to show him one of my favorite spots on the property. I’m suddenly worried that he might think I’m trying to seduce him or something. 

I try to come up with something to say, or do, other than to flee again. I can’t. So I stare at the sky, looking for shooting stars. I pretend not to notice that Peeta’s watching me instead of the stars. Finally I give in and motion to the sky.

“Isn’t it pretty?”

“The prettiest I’ve seen.” He didn’t look at the sky. Is he... trying to get in my pants? 

“What?” I’m laughing, it’s so cheesy.

“You’re pretty” he says, shrugging and gives me a genuinely shy but sweet smile. I impulsively lean in, pressing my mouth onto his. We stop fighting the hammock and press into each other, our feet leave the ground, and the hammock swings us back and forth. 

After a while the good feelings merge into something else entirely. Though the hammock had mostly stilled a while ago, I feel like I’m spinning. I pull away to catch my breath, and struggle to get back on solid ground, sinking to my knees. But the sick feeling stays, and then grows. Peeta seems to have realized I’m not feeling so good because he got to his feet and is standing over me, trying to help me up. As soon as I’m standing I go down on all fours and crawl towards a bush. My hair is unbound again and I struggle to push it back over my shoulders, trying not to heave. I fail. I can’t keep the contents of my stomach in. First comes up the sweet coke, followed by the salty half chewed hotdog chunks with the acrid combination of booze and bile. 

Long after I’m empty I still dry heave, but eventually I come back to my senses. Peeta’s crouched beside me, holding my hair away from my face and rubbing my back in soothing circles. He hands me a crumpled napkin from his pocket, and I wipe my mouth while he hauls me to my feet. Taking my hand, he leads me back, promising a bottle of water from the boathouse. I mechanically follow. We stop at the door and stare at the sock that’s hanging on the knob. Peeta cracks opens the door, and I hear a strange slapping noise and low moans. I can’t figure out what I’m hearing, but Peeta quickly pulls the door closed blocking out the sounds, looking irritated.

I struggle against him, trying to get inside, managing to turn the knob.

“Peeta,” I hiss. “Someone sounds like they’re getting hurt in there, we need to help.” I ram my shoulder against his chest and my stomach rolls in protest.

“Trust me”, he whispers into my ear. “They don’t need your help.”

He quietly pulls the door shut and leads us back to the party. I must be pretty drunk still because one minute I’m right behind Peeta, and the next I’m in my room naked, standing on the hateful underpants. At least I’ve shut the door. I get a whiff of the nachos and fling the whole plate out the window like a frisbee. I’ve pulled on some boy shorts and an old tank top by the time Peeta enters with a few bottles of water and a bottle of pills. 

I dutifully take the medicine he offers and down the first bottle of water. Is he staring at me? Or is he just really drunk too? He opens his mouth, but I turn and stumble toward the toilet. It’s a weird sensation, throwing up the cold water. It comes up so fast that some shoots out my nose. Peeta is behind me again, trying to save my hair from the toilet. The feeling of wanting to crawl into a hole intensifies when I glance behind me and see that more than a little water has splashed onto his shirt and cargo shorts. He drops my hair and removes his shirt and rubs his front with the dry part. He loads up my toothbrush with toothpaste and hands it over. 

Legs shaking, I stand. I splash my face and rinse my mouth. Going slow to avoid activating my gag reflex I watch Peeta watching me. This feels way more intimate than kissing. Why is he still here? I try to analyze his motives, but my brain is mush. Clearly, as I’m puking like the possessed, he must realize nothing is going to happen between us. Right?

I lean over to spit, and through a mouthful of foam say “We’re not going to fuck.”

I’m not sure how I expected him to react, annoyed maybe, for putting in all the time but never getting very far. I glance up while I cup my hand under the water flowing from the faucet. He’s still staring at me, though his brows are drawn. He looks confused.

“That’s not- I never though that’s where this was headed, I just really like you. I always have” he says. 

What? Since when? No… I’m suspicious this is a last ditch effort to have graduation sex. But there are plenty of girls downstairs that’d be happy to oblige. 

His pocket buzzes and he steps back into the bedroom. I hear him groan. He’s staring at his phone with disgust. 

“What?” I ask, walking slowly into the room.

“Sometimes I wonder how Rye and I are even related,” he says, slipping the phone back into his pocket. Rye is his twin, but not identical, brother. Peeta’s the baby of the family by, like, 20 minutes. Rye is a known slut, so that’s probably who was in boathouse. I wouldn't be surprised if he sent Peeta a text bragging about it. My phone buzzes on the side table. One glance tells me that Rye actually sent a mass photo text. I toss the phone at the bed and point.

“Make it go away,” I say, swaying a little. He snatches it up.

“Sorry,” he says, looking down at the photos. 

“It’s fine,” I say, “It’s not like this is the first time Rye has sent me a dick pic.”

Peeta’s head snaps up. “WHAT!?” he says, loudly. Peeta’s always so mild, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him pissed. He chucks my phone down with enough force that it bounces off and thuds on the floor.

“Sorry! How does he even have your number?”

“We were lab partners sophomore year.”

“Oh, yeah. God, I was so bitter about that.” Was he? I did set the curve that year. Rye only got an “A” because of me.

I open my mouth to answer, but turn back for the toilet. I lay my arm across the seat so I can rest my head. Peeta sits on the edge of the tub and makes me take small sips of water in between the dry heaves. I’m so tired.

“Do you want to be alone now?” he says. I’m so overwhelmed with longing the back of my nose and throat burn.

“I want my mom,” I whisper, ashamed I’m crying. He reaches out and squeezes my arm.

“Do you want me to stay with you?” he asks quietly. I nod, snuffling. He leads me to bed, pulls the covers back, and then actually tucks me in. I’m out almost instantly.

Weak light glows through the window and my bladder is so full it’s actually painful. On my way to the toilet I see Peeta asleep on the floor with a pillow and a quilt. After pulling on some shorts and yanking the curtains closed I nudge him with my foot. He lifts his head and squints at me.

“You can lay on the bed, it’s big enough for us both.”

Then I fall back onto the mattress and pull the bedclothes over my head.

After an indeterminate amount of time passes I wake, a little too warm, but so comfortable that I don’t want to move. As I become more conscious I realize that Peeta has cupped his body behind mine and I have become the “little spoon”. At least I’m not being forked. I roll away to find a cool part of the sheet and fall asleep again.

When I wake again light pours in from the open window, a square of sunshine nearly reaches the bed. Didn’t I shut that? Madge is poking me excitedly, while Gale is leaning in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. Peeta still sleeps next to me. Madge raises her eyebrows, makes a circle with her thumb and forefinger and passes the index finger from her other hand through, back and forth.  I shake my head rapidly and point at the door. I mouth “Get the fuck out,” to emphasis my point. Gale is shaking with the effort to not laugh out loud. I point again and she throws up her arms in surrender and tip toes out. 

I squirm, trying to get comfortable. I roll over. Finally I get up and shower. By the time I come out of the bathroom Peeta is gone, like he’d never been here at all.

[beautifulterriblequeen]

For the kiss prompt, is 36 good? For Ruthari?

…to give up control.

So, uhh, this one got long! And angsty af. Really, really angsty. But you know me and my endings. I did my best to pull out a softer ending. This is a really hard subject though.

cw: fighting, yelling, pushing, Ethari actually swears

Runaan sat quietly, sorting through his pile of freshly picked moonberries in the waning moonlight. One berry, carefully considered and placed in its appropriate bowl, and then the next. No pause interrupted his focus. No emotion rippled the cool mask of his expression.

His deliberate calm was driving Ethari crazy. Perhaps if he had turned further away as they sat, he wouldn’t be getting so irritated right now... The craftsman felt his shoulders stiffen, and he took a deep breath and forced them to relax. Runaan’s moonberrry sorting habits weren’t upsetting. He was just taking his care with life and death as seriously as he always did--

The berry in Ethari’s hand lost its shape in a juicy splatter, and hot rage spiked along his spine. Even with his eyes shut, he could feel Runaan’s sudden focus, cool and intensely turquoise, brushing against him. His husband’s unspoken question flowered open with quiet concern.

The deep crimson juice ran down Ethari’s wrist. He stared at its sweet tickle. Was it a moonberry, or a deathberry? He couldn’t even remember.

Runaan handed a soft cloth into the periphery of his view, silently answering Ethari’s worry. Not juice to be licked clean, then. Poison. Ethari took the cloth without meeting Runaan’s eyes. But its soft paleness, unbesmirched, screamed in denial.

He couldn’t do it.

“How can you do this?” His words grated like the slow grind of a landslide. One that finally admitted it was falling. One that let go of its illusion of stability. Its momentum was inevitable.

“You’re not talking about the moonberries, are you?” Runaan asked.

Ethari flicked his hand, sending the cloth against Runaan’s chest with a little thud. His husband’s fingers caught it there on instinct. Cradled it over his heart.

Ironic. So, so ironic.

Ethari rolled onto hands and knees and faced Runaan directly. “She. Is. A. Child. Why aren’t you stopping this? Why did you agree to take her? It’s madness!”

Runaan’s brows tightened, and a brief pout of hurt puckered his lip before he smoothed it away behind that thrice-bedamned mask. 

Ethari hated that mask. It was for other people. Not for him. His crimson-stained hand lurched forward and grabbed the front of Runaan’s shirt, crumpling it, soaking it in red. “No, don’t you hide from me, not now. You tell me what in the name of the sacred shadow you were thinking when you said yes to her. This isn’t a picnic, Runaan! It’s not a jaunt, it’s not an outing! You’re the adult. You have the power to instruct. The power to decide. Why were you so soft with her, the one time I needed you to be hard? Why?”

Runaan’s eyes met his, and the ice in them frosted his breath. He wrapped one hand around Ethari’s and tried to tug it off his shirt. 

Ethari didn’t let him. The corner of his mouth curled into a snarl, and he tightened his grip further. His gaze flattened into cold steel. “Answer me.”

Runaan’s eyes flickered wide for a moment, flashing from Ethari’s, down to their taut and tangled grasps. Without looking up again, Runaan shifted his grip, added a twisting push with his other hand, and popped Ethari’s grip free. He flowed like water to his feet and began striding out of the clearing, leaving Ethari alone in the moonlight with his questions and his anger.

No.

Ethari’s bowl of moonberries cracked against the tree next to Runaan’s head, and red fruits rocketed out in a juicy explosion, leaving Runaan splattered with crimson. He jerked to a stop, shoulders stiff, hands in fists.

Ethari matched him, chest heaving hot, red edging his vision, nearly in tears of desperation.

“It’s for the best.” Runaan’s voice was quiet.

“No, it isn’t. Don’t you lie to me.” Ethari’s voice grew tighter and louder with each sentence. “Not about Rayla, don’t you dare.” 

“It’s not a lie.” Runaan still hadn’t turned to look at him.

“It’s not for her best, then,” Ethari amended. “Runaan, you know her heart. You know what this will do to her. She’s too young! You can’t. You can’t take her.”

“I have no choice. She asked to participate, and she was right to do so. She knows what truly matters, Ethari.”

Ethari threw his arms wide, though Runaan couldn’t see it. “And I don’t? Is that what you’re telling me? I’m no assassin, so I must not see the world properly? I love Rayla too, and I’d do anything for her. You know I would! But this isn’t helping her. What if something goes wrong?”

Runaan raised his chin and stared into the gloomy forest ahead. “I won’t let that happen.”

“What if she has to take someone? At fifteen, Runaan? Even you weren’t that young.”

Runaan jerked his head sharply, letting Ethari see his face in profile. “I won’t let that happen, either.”

A rampant growl escaped Ethari’s mouth. For a moment, raging in the moonlight, he understood werewolves all too well. “Then why in the fuck are you taking her with you at all?”

At his sudden curse, Runaan spun in surprise. The look on his face was open for a moment. Vulnerable. Streaks of berry red crossed his forehead and marked his cheek. A blooded assassin, ready to soak Rayla as well. Ethari stalked closer. Runaan’s brows lowered again, and he reassessed Ethari with a guarded look. “I told you, my heart,” he murmured. “I have no choice.”

Ethari seized the front of Runaan’s shirt again and tugged him onto his tiptoes. “Stop! Just stop it! Stop it all, tell everyone you made a mistake! Let her stay with me! Stop this, Runaan! Or I will!”

Runaan’s hands flew to cup Ethari’s. A protective grip. Why would he protect Ethari, but not Rayla? “No, you can’t. You can’t do that.”

“I can and I will!” Ethari roared. “Someone must! Someone must look out for Rayla, and if you’ve lost your mind and turned your back on Rayla’s heart, Runaan, then by the moon in its orbit, I will step up and do it myself! No matter what the cost! You, of all people, not willing to do whatever it takes for Rayla?” He looked Runaan up and down, seeing his markings, his horn cuffs, his tunic patterning, and all that it said about him. Every inch of Runaan proudly proclaimed who he was, to anyone who could read it. But in his rage, Ethari loosed a deadly strike. Glaring at the pendant he’d lovingly crafted for his husband so long ago, he growled, “I don’t know who you are right now.”

A soft grunt of pain from Runaan’s lips told him his daggered words had found their mark. Runaan squeezed Ethari’s hands as they gripped his shirt. “Ethari...”

But Ethari refused to meet Runaan’s eyes. If he did, he knew what he would see. He didn’t want to get distracted into softness, as Runaan so often managed during their arguments. He needed answers. Facts. Truth. Things his husband tended to hoard behind locked doors and series of traps. Sometimes, Ethari could disarm them. Other times, he had to march through and take the hits. Like now.

“I won’t fight you on this,” Runaan said. His voice was low, but it held a strange edge to it. “You can’t fight this.”

“I can!”

“You can’t win, my heart.”

Ethari’s gaze sharpened to an outraged point. “Are you...? You’d have taken her even if she hadn’t asked, is that what you’re hinting at?”

Runaan’s eyes widened sharply. “No, I--”

“Don’t you dare lie to me about that!” Ethari’s voice broke as he reached the edge of his hope. Was Runaan truly so dark that he would willingly spend Rayla’s life to expunge the stain of dishonor Lain and Tiadrin’s betrayal had drenched them with?

Runaan let out a sharp hiss of breath, twisted his grip on Ethari’s hands again, and shoved him back into the middle of the moonlit clearing. Ethari caught his balance and clapped a hand over his chest, where Runaan had pushed him away. His husband stood as if hunched against some unseen attack, shoulders heaving, head bowed, one hand outstretched to ward off Ethari’s return. Moonlight kissed his horns and lit his hair, but he was not beautiful. Not like this.

Ethari straightened and marched right back to Runaan, stopping just out of reach, hands on hips, chin high. “I’m not letting this go.”

Runaan’s bright gaze snapped up to his, eyes shimmering with hidden hurts and the tears they freed. “The tighter you hold it, the harder it grips me,” he whispered shakily.

Ethari’s fury faltered, stuttered, shifted gears. “I’m not... Runaan... Change your mind, then!” He threw his hands in the air.

Runaan clutched fists against his chest and bowed his head again. 

“No, don’t you dare keep that to yourself. Talk to me, what are you hiding?” When Runaan didn’t answer, Ethari took his face in his hands and forced their eyes to meet. Runaan’s gaze narrowed. He didn’t like being forced to make eye contact. But Ethari was past politeness. “If you shut me out again, Runaan, I swear on the Moon’s holy light--”

“I told you,” Runaan growled.

“Tell me again,” Ethari growled back.

“I. Had. No. Choice.”

Ethari blinked. Runaan had said that. And Ethari had blown right past it as the deflection he assumed it was. “No choice in what?” he goaded, searching his husband’s eyes for hidden truths.

“I cannot change my mind about Rayla, Ethari, because I never made the choice to take her in the first place.” Runaan’s voice remained quiet, but it sounded ragged, a flag battered and shredded by gale force winds.

“What? Then why--?”

“Duty demands--” Runaan began.

Instant fury. “Your duty does not get to demand Rayla’s--”

Runaan clutched at Ethari’s hands as they held his cheeks. The corners of his mouth drooped sadly. “Honor requires--”

“Fuck your honor, Runaan! It’s going to get you killed! You and Rayla both!”

“I KNOW!” Runaan roared. His sudden rage burst across the clearing like a thunderclap, leaving Ethari stunned.

The night went silent around them, quietly turning its back to offer plausible deniability for Runaan’s dark admission.

Both elves trembled in the lull of their argument. Hands fell away, chests heaved for breath, heads bowed. After a moment of silent apology from them both, their eyes met again.

Runaan spoke first. “I know,” he repeated, recovering his soft tone. “Don’t you think I know that? I know it as I know my own heartbeat. It is our fate, Ethari. It has always been our fate, one way or another. But what is served by dwelling on the things we cannot change?”

Lost in Runaan’s blindside confession, seeing only the looming loss of the rest of his most precious family, Ethari pressed the back of his wrist against his mouth to stifle a sob.

Runaan drew in a sharp breath at Ethari’s sudden shift. His gaze found the grass, and soon, so did one of his tears. “I’m sorry.”

The soft angst in Runaan’s tone told Ethari exactly what he was apologizing for. Despite the aftershocks of their fight, he slipped easily into his old reassurances. “No, don’t you dare. My heart chose you, and the life that came with loving you.”

Runaan’s gaze didn’t rise. “If you’d loved someone else... if I’d never told you...”

Ethari eased closer, resting warm hands on Runaan’s bare shoulders. “You didn’t trick me into loving you, Runaan. You’re not nearly skilled enough for such illusions.”

Runaan coughed softly in wry amusement.

“I chose you, as you chose me, remember? I was there. Lunablooms, dancing, our whispered vows? Ringing any bells?”

“Yes, my heart.” Runaan’s voice was small.

“I came into this life with you with my eyes open, as much as they could be. Don’t hold yourself away from me for fear of disappointing my expectations of you. We’re stronger together, remember?”

Runaan nodded once, but his brows rode low with confusion. “You were so upset. I didn’t want to make you feel worse.”

Ethari’s fingers squeezed hard. “Runaan, it got worse anyway, because you didn’t trust me! I’ve only been so frustrated because I...”

“Because you what?” Runaan breathed.

Ethari fiddled with Runaan’s collar, smoothing his shirt atop his shoulders. “We’ve both been right, and we’ve both been wrong, haven’t we?” he murmured.

“What do you mean?” 

Ethari kept his voice low, soft. “You haven’t been putting Rayla first. But that’s because you can’t. Your assassin’s honor won’t let you.”

Runaan closed his eyes and lowered his head. Twin tears tracked over his markings.

Ethari bit the inside of his trembling lip. “And so... there’s no way out, is there?”

Runaan shook his head.

Ethari managed a steadying breath. “Because you’ve looked. You’ve tried to find a way to spare her from this.”

A tiny nod. Hesitant. Uncertain whether it had been enough, and whether it even mattered anymore.

Ethari surged forward, gasping in deep relief, and hugged Runaan tightly. His arms squeezed around his husband, pinning him against his heaving chest. Runaan’s arms hesitantly slid around Ethari in return.

“Then I still know you, my heart.” Ethari’s whisper danced against Runaan’s ear.

A sudden, soft cry flew free of Runaan’s mouth, and he clung hard, digging his fingers into Ethari’s crop top. His cry ended with a deep gasp of relief, and he buried his face against Ethari’s scarf. His shoulders tensed and released, and he nodded against Ethari’s collarbone.

“You keep her safe.” Ethari’s voice was urgent, even as he held Runaan with tight reassurance. “She’s all we have left. Keep her safe.”

Runaan lifted his head, and his steady gaze met Ethari’s. Despite the fresh tear tracks on his cheeks, his breathing was even and his eyes were clear. His brows rose softly, and a small smile lurked in the corner of his mouth. “I’d be lost without the advice of my heart.”

Ethari pulled one arm free and pressed his hand atop Runaan’s chest. “I’d be lost without the dedication of my heart. I should’ve trusted it more, and I’m sorry. I won’t fight you on this anymore. Your way, Runaan.”

Runaan’s expression struggled with angst for a long moment before he nodded. “My way. For what it’s worth.”

Ethari leaned his forehead against his husband’s. “I trust you with all that I love, my heart. I trust you.”

His lips brushed Runaan’s softly, surrendering to a fate that had held them in its grip for far longer than he realized. If it wouldn’t let them loose, then he’d just have to hang on all the tighter.

Runaan kissed him back with urgent softness, hungry for Ethari’s trust. “I won’t fail you. I’ll make it right. I promise.”

And Ethari smiled and nodded, pretending for love that such things were possible.

[italicwatches]

Sword Art Online Alternative: Gun Gale Online - Episode 06

I should probably watch some anime today. It’s Sword Art Online Alternative: Gun Gale Online, episode 06! Here we GO!

-It’s February 11th, just a bit after the Squad Jam. And LLENN is in GGO, down in the cash shop where THEY HAVE A NEW P90 IN STOCK FUCK YEAHHHHHHH! P-chan, daughter of P-chan, is born! LLENN loves her submachine guns so much. It’s a wholesome love between a woman and her gun.

-And hey, there’s Eva! What’s the Boss doing in a place like this?

-Opening! You know, sidenote, I’m wondering if GGO has some level of self-identity thing going on. Like, it’s one thing that Karen and Saki each happened to get a form that matched who they wanted to be…But the entire team of tiny girls who wish they were bigger and got more respect, waking up in GGO as tall, buff amazons? On top of Karen, who wants to be cute and adorable and the little spoon, waking up as literally the smallest size the system allows? That feels a little too unlikely to just be the odds.

-The 15th. It’s the post-credits from episode one, as the whole of Saki’s crew is there watching the highlights from Karen’s performance in the Squad Jam, and seeing just how much crazy shit she pulled off before they fought her. You’re a MONSTER, Karen-san! A total BADASS!

-Karen is still trying to properly hook this gaggle of adorable schoolgirls she’s somehow befriended, to the terrifying amazons who pushed her to the brink. Saki is all huffy about how Karen is still kind of scared of Eva. Well what about Sophie, huh? Look at their gunner, she’s huge!

-Yeah but she has a gentler demeanor, as we start getting connections. So, Saki is Eva. Kana, with the bob cut, is Sophie. Mi, the blonde, has the sharpshooter Toma, and has learned to drive stick because she’s been overseas. The one with those cutesy rounded eyebrows, Shiori, is Roza the other heavy-gunner. Their second sniper is Moe, who is deeply embarrassed about how she puts on such cool airs in the game. And then there’s Risa, who is Tanya the scout, the closest to anyone’s real self…But still tall and muscled, just the sleek muscles of a runner.

-So that’s the whole gang! By schoolday, they are but the humble high school rhythmic gymnastics club. But by night, they are a vicious crew…And they’re here to talk strategy. They want to walk through the entire encounter and figure out where they dropped the ball! They’re in your care, Karen-san!

-Episode 06! “SAO Loser”

-Also they devour the snacks she gives them because they are, after all, athletic teenagers. And it turns out they’ve only known each other since last April, when they all joined the club…And they were fucking terrible. It’s actually why they got into VR gaming, to learn to communicate physically and sync up properly…After their coach got fed up and quit on them.

-As for why GGO? IT was the fact that it was so different, so far out of their usual context, that they could start from zero and not the outright negative position they were in with their actual sports. A crisp, clear goal, that they all knew they knew nothing about accomplishing. And of course, it’s just plain a good game, so they got super hooked on it!

-Which is why now they’ve got to push for victory in the next proper Squad Jam! What about rhythmic gymnastics…? That too. BUT ESPECIALLY GGO. Now, will you be in the next one?!

-Karen’s…Not so sure. This was kind of sprung on her. She’s not gonna say no, but she can’t say yes. And she doesn’t even know if M will keep playing, let alone want to team up with her again going forward…

-…Saki is sad now. But eventually, they’re all ready to head out, and Karen’s got to get ready for her big trip back to her parents’ place for spring break. Saki is still sad about not having a LLENN to war against in the inevitable next Squad Jam.

-The 24th. Karen’s back in her hometown, out with Miyu, and kind of wishing neither of those things were the case judging by the look on her face. Miyu keeps taking photos of her new look and she saw the highlight reel of you and that M guy! You kicked ASS! Tell her everything, everything! What made you want to split up from M? That was BANANAS!

-So Miyu learns everything…And yeah this Pito chick sounds like a nutter. Just make sure she never knows your meatspace identity and you’ll be fine. Oh, hey, this karaoke bar has some new Elsa songs! You wanna do one? Miyu’s gonna do one. They are gonna get that next set of concert tickets!

-A few days later, Karen’s on the plane back home, and gets a promo email saying that the second Squad Jam has just been announced for early April.

-Sidenote, these things don’t make any sense. Like, look, it was…fifteen teams to start, right? That means the absolute maximum player count in a single Squad Jam is 90 people, holding the 2-6 size limit. Both of the major battle royale centric games right now, PUBG and especially Fortnite (but especially Bart) can rack up a hundred players in…about 30 seconds, give or take. Even in their own squad modes, from what I’ve seen it doesn’t take more than a few minutes to get into a match, tops.

-Now, okay, that’s on an American game audience, with something that uses heavy amounts of cross-play and can be played on an incredible variety of devices. So I will freely admit it’s not a 1:1 comparison to VR. But unless the Japanese server only has a couple thousand people on it, tops, getting 30-90 people into a match shouldn’t be the kind of thing so huge it only happens once every few months…Because if it is, how the hell is the game able to keep running and pay for what I have to imagine would be much better servers than an ordinary FPS, to deal with the immense amount of data a full-dive VR player would be sending?

-I know I’m overthinking it, and they’re getting the feel of gaming right. It’s just…I don’t know. Kind of weird the way they’re trying to make the Squad Jams, as an entire concept, into these big Events when that’s not how this shit works. Anyways, it’s another personal sponsorship, with some fine tuned rules, and any of the top four teams are pre-seeded if they choose to enter.

-Oh, and then Saki emailed Karen immediately because WOOOOO SECOND SQUAD JAM! Also, her message is full of more emojis and text emoticons than I think I’ve ever seen in one place. Also Saki wants to eat her treats again so please invite them over sometime soon. …Shit, that kid is blunt.

-When Karen gets back to her place, she finds a guy waiting for her who gets WAYYYY too close and it’s M. So that removes one possibility I had. And now she’s twice freaked out because how the fuck did he find her? Can they go somewhere private to talk about that? Because shit’s gotten Real.

-And that’s how they end up in a little cafe area in the apartment building, I think? Hard to say. But, bluntly, M has to admit that he has no proof of any of his claims, but there’s some shit you need to know. Also, he gives a real name, one Asougi Goushi. Goushi is RIGHT UP ON HER and begging for her help because people’s lives are, for real, on the line.

-His, and Pito’s. …Oh fuck me, what is Pito doing. She’s insane, and they both know it. She’s going to participate, and form a team…And in real life, she said she intends to kill herself if she doesn’t take the gold. But not until she confirms his death.

-Karen would like off this ride now please. This is ludicrous and you should go to the police.

-But…Well, here’s the deal. You know the SAO Incident, right? Thousands of people locked in, forced to fight for their lives. Pito…Wasn’t in that group. She was a beta tester, and became obsessed with the game. On launch day, something came up. She had to delay her entrance into it for just a few hours…Enough for the lockdown to happen, and SAO to become a sealed bubble she couldn’t enter.

-She watched it all on the news. She watched everyone else go through the greatest crucible of their lives. And it broke her. That she lost her shot at entering that crucible, turned her inside out. To have a chance to burn her life out in battle…Ever since VR games became popular again, she’s been throwing every spare moment she had into them. But they don’t satisfy her yearning for the void.

-For a little while, though, things were…stable. Until the SAO Incident was solved, and the survivors started talking. Pito had to confront her ‘lost opportunity’, and learned about the player killers, who committed genuine murder inside the world of SAO. Most of the deaths, outside of those first few chaotic days, were in fact from player killers or from self-defense against them.

-Other sidenote, I don’t know if it’s just one of those Manga Things where shit gets enshrined and used and reused because it’s an easily understood story path, but Japanese gaming culture seems to have this really different attitude towards PvP and attacking other players in general.

-And Pito…Pito envied them. Their chance to put their lives on the line, to kill or be killed. To be them or to strike them down. That’s how fucking insane Pito is!

-Things weren’t so bad when she was burning of steam in GGO…But then she missed the Squad Jam, the first big script-changer event! And it’s caused a relapse. …So she’s going to try and turn Squad Jam 2: Gunfire Boogaloo into a death game. Yes, yes! So again. Why not the cops or professionals.

-…He can’t. Pito’s too important to him. If he goes to the police or psychiatrists, she’ll be killed, jailed or put in a psychiatric ward, and if they try to lock her up she’ll find a way to kill herself. She’d die, and not before destroying herself in the eyes of all the people who rely on her.

-…This is over her pay grade, man. She can’t help you here.

-KABEDON

-Goushi corners her up with the very important move that is Kaibedon, and look. He, loves, Pito! That’s why he has to find a way for this to end in her survival, so he can get her back to center! Karen’s first kabedon, and it’s to hear a guy confess his love for someone else. This is bullshit.

-So they end up sitting back down, with Goushi drinking black coffee, which he hates, but he drinks it because Pito likes it. …Dude just have a sweet drink and mellow. So, okay, talk it out. What’s your plan and why aren’t you scared like when she had P-chan aimed at your damn head?

-Because his real fear isn’t death…It’s leaving Pito behind without him there to keep her grounded. Say he dies. Hell, say Pito kills him. Then…Then what. What if she doesn’t have the will to kill herself? What if she tries for suicide by cop, or worse, what if she breaks down and her resolve cracks entirely? She’d be destroyed. She wouldn’t even have the dignity of death, she’d have a hollow life.

-And okay, explain in very small words how Karen’s supposed to help.

-Enter the SJ 2, face Pito, and defeat her in battle!

-…WHAT?!

-You are the one person who she will accept a defeat from. She made that promise to you! If you defeat her honestly, and if she knows it’s an honest fight…She’ll be stuck to her promise. She’ll have to stay alive, so she can meet you. And that’ll give him time, to pull her back to center and out of this relapse state.

-…This is insane. This is ludicrous. But…If it’s the only option on the board…Guess she’s entering.

-Credits!

-Aftercredits! Karen’s back in bed, and now has Goushi’s personal email as a way to talk…But Karen needs someone to enter with. Who the hell can LLENN rely…on…Miyu! MIYU SHE NEEDS YOUR HELP! …Miyu is so fucking down. They’re gonna rage, Karen!

I guess SAO’s gonna SAO, huh. Gotta be honest, I would’ve enjoyed this more without the death game angle. But oh well, let’s try and enjoy ourselves next time, in episode SIX of SAO Alt: GGO! Wait for it!

[alliswell21]

Hello! Would you do 1# "We're not just friends and you fucking know it."? I'd love to read that

Hi Anon! A drabble for you with love! Thanks for the prompt.

1. “We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.”

oOo oOo oOo

Please don’t see me, please don’t see me, pleeeease don’t see me!

“Catnip, is that you?!?”

Shit! You saw me… ugh.

I plaster on a my best fake smile and turn to the cheery voice of my ex-best friend.

“Hey, Gale! Long time!” I say with as much excitement as I can muster even though I’m not excited to see him at all.

“I know! What are the odds to find you here, at Santa’s Village of all places. You used to abhor the place.” He says way too happy for the Gale I remember.

“Yeah,” I give a weak little laugh, “Crazy.”

We fall silent, there isn’t much to say on my part, but he tries to make small talk all the same.

“So, doing some holiday shopping?” He asks eyeing the dozen bags I’m watching like a dragon guards it’s loot.

“Yeah. Somewhat. Actually, mine is just this one,” I raise the tiny bag with the one measly item in it, feeling a little vindicated by the non existent weight of my purchase. I pride myself thinking that I still haven’t blown my Christmas budget unlike someone else I know.

Gale quirks an eyebrow, “And the rest belong to Prim?” He guesses.

“Oh… no, actually, they belong to me too, but… I didn’t actually paid for them.”

“Oh?” He looks like I’ve picked his interest, and I can’t have that. But like and idiot I just dig my hole even deeper.

“I mean, I did get to chose some of it, but… you know…” I trail off and look down at my watch none too casually, “Wow, look at the time!”

I hope he gets the hint and goes away quickly, because I’m starting to get anxious and my body language is starting to betray me, with each bounce of my leg.

The odds aren’t in my favor.

He clears his throat, and starts talking again.

“Look, Katniss…”

Oh no! He used my real name! He never uses my real name, except the one time he kissed me and tried to ask me to be his girlfriend.

Whatever he was about to say, he doesn’t get a chance to finish it though.

“Gosh! Sorry it took me so long! The lines at the food stand are insane, and I can’t fathom why. The food’s overpriced and the baked goods suck. I’m not one to brag about my own skills, but I’m a master baker next to this people.”

Peeta offers me a lidded cup I practically tear off his hand, and he frowns. Right away he can tell something’s bothering. He knows me that well.

His big blue eyes lift past me, and understanding smooths out his frown.

“Hi, Peeta Mellark!” He says cheerfully offering his hand to Gale, “we’ve never been officially introduced to one another, but I remember you from High School.” He says jovially.

“Uh, yeah. Gale Hawthorne. I was in the same history class as your brother Rye.” They shake.

“Of course,” Peeta smiles but the way he looks at me from the corner of his eye, tells me he’s more thinking about us being inseparable back in the day. “History with Rye.”

“Yeah. How is he, by the way? I heard he got married?” Says Gale relaxing back.

“Rye? No. Not Rye. He’s enjoying bachelor life way too hard to settle down.” Peeta chuckles.

“Huh… I could’ve sworn I heard one of baker Mellark’s boys eloped a couple of weeks ago.”

Peeta has that self satisfied, face splitting grin again and I choke in the sip of hot chocolate that was midway down my throat when he says in a very smug tone.

“Oh yeah, one of them did!”

I panic for some stupid reason.

“Well, I was great seeing you Gale, but it’s time for us to go. Time flies when you’re out shopping with friends isn’t it?” I start grabbing bag handles a little to harshly. I can’t look at either of them, and I’m starting to blame it on my condition.

“Yeah!” Says Gale finally, “I know what you mean. Although I’m here with my two younger siblings. I just gave them $20 each and let them lose at the candy stall. Better go collect them. Mother gets peeved is little Pusey’s appetite gets ruin with candy.”

I give a half hearted smile, and pretty much turn around and start walking as fast as I can with the fifty pounds of Christmas decorations Peeta just bought for our new home.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Says Peeta wrapping it up on my behalf. He says something else that I don’t catch, but I do hear Gale’s disappointed, almost heartbroken response.

“Oh… well, sure. I’ll make sure to let mother know. She’ll like to visit sometime.” He hesitates, but I hear him a moment later, “Bye Catnip. It was nice seeing you again.”

I wave without turning back and plow through, pushing through the crowded little alleys. Peeta catches me a second later, his body radiates irritation, so I don’t even dare to look at him until we reach the car, I don’t look at him even when he takes all of the bags from my hands gently to carrying them himself. We don’t say a word to each other all the drive home.

For as much as I dreaded acknowledging the Gale incident, this silence is killing me, so when he comes back into the house after his second trip to the car, I stand in front of him blocking his way, and demand he says something.

He only gives me a look. There’s hurt and a bit of anger in his eyes, but I won’t back down.

“Come on Peeta, isn’t you the one who always says it’s important to talk about the deep stuff and whatnot?” I say while trailing after him when he breezes past me in the hall.

He stops, turns and stares at me.

“We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.“ He spits angrily.

I’m momentarily confused by his words. “Of course I know that! What’s is that have to do with anything?” I ask getting frustrated.

“You made it sound like that was all I was to you, back there at the Village.” The hurt is even more evident now. “You tore out of there like a bat from hell, when Gale asked about our elopement.”

“What? What are you talking about?” I start, but he keeps going.

“Are you ashamed of me? Of us? Because if you are, you need to say so, right now, Katniss,”

There it is.

For as wonderful and sweet my new husband is, the scars a childhood full of bruises and berating from your mother, is impossible to erase completely. Sometimes old insecurities rear their ugly head up to bite, and it doesn’t help he married the biggest socially challenged person in the world.

He slumps his shoulders, and I deflate as well.

Before him, I never felt comfortable with any type of physical contact, my sister being the only person I would ever freely hug or show any kind of affection to. But now, with him… I crave his touch, his presence.

I realize how bad I must’ve look to him, but the truth is that my flight response wasn’t about him, it was more irrational than that.

“Oh Peeta,” I whisper wrapping my arms around his waist. He drops his chin on top of my head, and hugs me back.

“I’m not ashamed of you. But, I am pregnant and a little crazier than normal. You know that don’t you?” I lift myself into my tip toes and kiss his cheek.

“Then what was that all about?” He asks strumming his fingers against my spine.

“I don’t truly know. I was afraid he was gonna call me out on my hypocrisy. I did turned him down on account of never wanting kids or marriage, and here I am. Knock up and married.”

“I would’ve defend you, you know. Nobody comes to my wife to bully her without going through me first.”

“I know, babe. Although I don’t condone the caveman approach.”

“Dully noted,” he smiles against my temple. “But…” he sounds a bit impish, so I push away from him to look him suspiciously. I’m rewarded with a mischievous smile, “I invited his family over for our first ever New Year’s Party we’re hosting in our new house, and when he comes, I’m gonna start the tour of the house with the nursery… he’ll figure out without me saying then,”

“What?” I ask equal parts amused and terrified.

“It was just him you didn’t want kids and marriage with!”

I smile, because secretly, he’s wrong. I didn’t want children or marriage at all, but for him, I made an exception.