#evil evil body can i return this one and exchange it

[elibeeline]

Now I've eaten, my body can focus on attacking me in its usual ways

[happilykrispypirate]

hello! I was wondering if you could write a Mattheo x sweet! Slytherin reader where the other Slytherins are picking on her because they don't believe she's a Slytherin. And maybe Mattheo saves her and tells her that he likes her.

Mattheo's Girl

Pairings: Mattheo Riddle x Sweet!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, minor bullying, and my shitty writing.

A/n: Sorry for the really long wait. School year started three weeks ago and things have been hectic. I'll try to update and write as much as I can but if I don't update in a long time please don't think I'm ignoring your requests! I'll get to them as soon as I can.

-

Y/n, was the sweetest girl in Hogwarts. Many found it hard to believe she was in Slytherin.

She'd never say no to anyone, she'd always offer to help, and there wasn't a single mean bone in her body.

She was walking to class, a little hop in her step as always, when she was that a few of her fellow Slytherins were making fun of Neville. Poor Neville, she thought.

They tripped him causing all of his books to scatter on the floor while they walked away laughing.

Y/n immediately went over and helped him pick his books up.

"Sorry about them," She sighed as she helped him pick his books up.

"I'm used to it," He said which made the girl's heart ache for the boy.

"You shouldn't be. Boys like them are the reason Slytherin have such a bad name," Y/n said as they both stood up. She handed him his books.

"Atleast Slytherin has you to show that not all Slytherins are evil," Neville said smiling at her kindly.

She returned it with a bright and kind smile before saying goodbye to Neville before he walked off.

The Slytherin boys that tripped Neville didn't go far and watched the whole exchange. Giving her nasty and disgusted looks.

When Neville left they walked up to her, "You shouldn't help a pathetic excuse of a wizard like him."

Y/n turned around and faced the towering boys, "You really shouldn't bully people, it's not nice," She replied.

The boys laughed, "You're also a fucking pathetic excuse of a witch. You don't belong in Slytherin."

"I'm sorry that you think that," Y/n said, "I have to get to class. Good day to you."

She turned on her heels and walked as fast as she could, completely ignoring the calls from the boys.

Mattheo glared at the boys who were making rude remarks about Y/n as she walked away. His jaw clenched, how could anyone ever want to heart an angel like her?

-

In the common room, Mattheo and the rest of the boys in his friend group sat comfortably on the sofas. Pansy and Y/n were at the table.

Pansy was struggling in Astronomy so Y/n offered to help her.

"This stuff doesn't make sense," Pansy said sighing as she placed her head in her hands, "I'm fucking over it."

"No need to swear," Y/n said, "You just have to simplify it for yourself. Try to remember the constellations with riddles that you make up for yourself. Example, my very easy method just speeds up nothing, My is Mercury, Very is Venus, Easy is Earth and then you should know the rest."

Pansy nodded and went quiet for a moment, thinking. "Oh! I got one. Ursa Major and Ursa Minor. Major is Big so Great Bear and Minor is small so Little Bear."

Y/n smiled brightly, "That's one of the easiest ones but yes! You got it."

"Thank you, N/n. I don't know what I'd do without you," Pansy smiled as she leaned over and hugged Y/n.

"You're welcome, Pans. We can continue tomorrow night. I think we both need a rest," Y/n said. They packed Pansy's stuff and Pansy went to sit with the boys while Y/n took the books over to the bookshelves that were in the common room.

The boys from earlier came up behind her, "Studying hard to make up for you being a pathetic Slytherin?" One said.

"You can't cancel out the fact that you're pathetic by getting good grades you know," The other one said.

"Trying to get good grades is not an excuse to 'make up' or as you boys say to 'cancel out' anything. I'm simply determined to succeed in life. If you boys are struggling with anything. I could always tutor you," She said and they burst out laughing.

Their laughter caught his eye. His eyes immediately darkened and his demeanor changed.

"Oh I don't like that look," Enzo said as he saw the look on Mattheo's face.

Enzo turned and saw Y/n with the boys, "Oh, I see."

"They've been bothering her. Calling her names behind her back and telling her she's pathetic when she helped Neville the other day," Pansy said, "She told me about it and said it doesn't bother her, but I can hear her cry at night."

"This has to stop," Theo said.

"It will," Mattheo said as he stood up and walked over to them.

"You don't deserve to be in Slytherin you good for nothing little bi-" The one started before he was grabbed by the collar and slammed against the wall.

"You say one more thing to her, or come near her ever again, I will fuck you up," Mattheo spat in his face.

"Mattheo, stop," Y/n said trying to pull him off. Tears were threatening to fall. Things were getting too overwhelming.

"Oh yeah? Is that it?" The boy mocked, "You're not gonna kill me? Not a daddy's boy after all."

Mattheo's fist came flying into the boy's jaw. Soon enough the other boy's joined in, resulting in Theo, Enzo, Blaise and Draco to join in.

The tears ran down Y/n's cheeks as she fled the scene. Pansy trying to follow her but she lost her.

-

Y/n walked back to the common room later that night. She spent her time in the Room of Requirement, crying and trying to calm herself down.

It worked, but one tiny thing might set her off. Like the fact that Mattheo has been waiting for her the whole night long in the common room.

She bit her tongue, trying not to cry, "Where have you been?" Mattheo asked as soon as he saw her. He stood up and walked over to her, "Are you alright?"

Y/n looked at him and saw the bruises on his face along with the spots of blood.

"I'm fine, come on, let's go clean you up," She said as she pulled him to the nearest bathroom which is the bathroom in her and Pansy's shared dorm.

She made him sit on the edge of the bath as she took out a rag and put it under the running tap.

"Why did you run away?" Mattheo asked as she was cleaning his face.

"Everything got too much to handle," She replied, "You didn't have to do that. I can handle them."

"I can't," Mattheo said.

Y/n halted her movements and looked at him. He looked up and made eye contact, "What do you mean?"

"I can't handle them hurting you. I can't handle you crying yourself to sleep at night over them hurting you," He said.

She sighed, "Pansy?" Mattheo nodded.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He asked.

"I didn't want to bother you," She said.

"You never bother me," He replied as he stood up. He looked down at her, their faces mere inches apart.

Mattheo leaned down and Y/n stood on her toes just before their lips met. Her arms wrapped around his neck and he placed his hands on her hips.

They pulled apart after a few moments, lips still brushing against each other.

"I will never let anyone hurt you again. As long as you're mine, even after you're not, which by the way will never happen, no one will ever hurt you," He said.

She smiled sweetly up at him, "Is that your way of asking me to be your girlfriend?"

Mattheo smiled, "Yes, it is," He said.

"Well, then I accept," She said.

Mattheo's smile only widened before he placed his lips on hers again.

He'll keep his promise.

No one, will hurt her ever again.

[13rurururi]

I'm Your Lover: Haganezuka Hotaru x Reader (SFW Oneshot)

in which Haganezuka thinks he lost the love of his life

Pairing: Haganezuka Hotaru x Female! Reader

Content: angst, hurt/comfort, you have an argument with Hotaru, near-death experiences, etc.

Synopsis: Seeing your long-term lover, Haganezuka, battered and bloodied — with gashes etched across his body — filled you with overwhelming dread. Unfortunately, the ever-stubborn swordsmith upholds his craft over his own health, and you exchange heated words neither of you truly mean. Hotaru thinks you overreacted, and he believes his fresh cuts and wounds aren't worth an ounce of worry; that is, until he saw you in the same state — on the brink of death.

The pain from a wounded heart is shared with one's true love.

Your night is sleepless and engulfed in excruciating dread. Pacing within the quiet gardens of the Demon Slayer Corps Headquarters, you try to steer your attention away from your pounding heart by listening to the crinkling leaves below the soles of your feet.

It was a futile attempt, for you inevitably return to the spiral of paranoia clouding your mind.

"The Swordsmith Village is under attack!"

You remember how your heart dropped to your stomach when you heard the shrill caw of your Kasugai Crow. It has been a few hours since the dreadful news, and no updates are yet to be shared.

As an esteemed Hashira, you are entrusted with protecting the fragile lives of humans against the evil deeds of demons. You act with honed composure and impressive calmness. However, in this moment, no sort of breathing can alleviate your clammy hands and panicked eyes. After all, in this moment, you are none other than the lover of a man who resides in the endangered village.

You blink away the tears framing your waterline as you internally plead for the safety of your betrothed — your soon-to-be husband — Hotaru.

You remember having your forehead touch the ground as you lurched yourself in a desperate bow, begging for the secret village's location to be revealed to you. You have to ensure your lover's safety, and you would never forgive yourself if he found himself in irreparable harm.

Oyakata-sama — the frail, sickly, and kind leader of the Demon Slayers — could only offer a gentle and genuine smile as he said, "I believe in the combined strength of Kanroji and Tokito. Please, raise your head."

If this were any other situation, his calming voice and presence would have reassured you, but the anxiety of whether or not Hotaru is still alive overwhelms any other thought. With that, you pace around tirelessly, restlessly under the glaring moonlight.

Soon, your body grew tired with the weight of your exhausted mind, and you curl yourself into a ball under a solemn tree.

Please, Hotaru — please be safe.

One shall traverse the universe to reconnect fragile hearts.

You vigorously clamp your sweaty hands onto the uniform of the Kakushi carrying you on their back. The sun is already brightly plastered amidst the blue skies, and you eagerly await your arrival in the — supposedly wrecked — village.

That morning, you awoke in an anxious jolt to your crow's pitched cries, "Upper Moon Four and Five were defeated by the Hashiras and slayers in the village!"

Without a doubt, you wasted no time in traversing the convoluted route towards the Swordsmith Village, heart nearly pounding out of your chest due to immense concern for the well-being of your beloved Hotaru.

Is he well? Did he get attacked? Is he alive?

Your crow thankfully delivered news that made you kneel and shakily sigh in relief: Hotaru is alive; however, he sustained injuries from an encounter with Upper Moon Five — that idiot, he can't even cease his work for the sake of protecting himself.

Your thoughts are interrupted when the Kakushi gently urges you off their back, "Here we are, Hashira."

You remove your blindfold and can't help but lightly gasp at the heaps of wrecked houses that initially stood beautifully in the serene village. All the masked swordsmiths are scurrying about, trying to recover whatever belongings they could find under splintered planks and crumbled concrete.

You feel your lips twitch in a concerned frown when you note how each villager appears to have bandages wrapped around various parts of their body — the attack was that bad, huh?

With a light shake of your head, you sprint towards the nearest familiar face — well, mask — that can inform you of Hotaru's whereabouts. He always had a tendency to hide himself away for days, and (at least today) you don't disregard the prospect of tearing down the decrepit village even further just to locate your beloved.

To your relief, you spot Kanamori Kozo, a close companion of Hotaru (even if the latter will never verbally admit to it). He spots you before you can utter a word, and as if he can read the desperate worry on your face, he says,

"Ah, if it isn't our beloved Hashira. Please, try to wipe off the worry in your eyes. Haganezuka-san is fine; he's his usual stubborn self, as always."

"Kanamori-san, thank you — but do you have any clue where he is?" Your shallow breaths are more of a testament to your suppressed worry than exerted stamina, and Kanamori gently places a hand on your shoulder as kind reassurance.

"The last time I saw him, his wounds were already bandaged, and he persisted in returning to his workspace in the mountains."

You don't outwardly react to this information, but you feel yourself swallow a lump of frustration. Hotaru's choosing to return to swordsmithing hours after the threat of death? Stupid, stupid man.

Kanamori flinches at the aura of infuriation emanated by your figure. He continues, "He will be healed fully in time," he appeases you. "It's a miracle he only lost his left eye—"

"What?" Your chilly voice rings through the morning air, and you hear a light yelp of fear from the man beside you. "His eye — what happened to his eye?"

Kanamori flings around his bruised arms, suddenly forgetting his dull pain amidst your bubbling rage. "He was too focused — it was both impressive and foolish — the Upper Moon wanted him to stop sharpening the blade, so he took out his eye." Kanamori's voice falters by the end of his sentence, a look of concern adorning his features behind the Hyottoko mask.

"I thought he would have sent you a letter prior to your journey here." His usually collected voice, now barely a whisper, is laced with bewilderment.

You feel your jaw clench as veins pop on your forehead. Stupid man — you're engaged to a stupid, reckless man! Suddenly, as if thrashed around by harsh waves, you feel your anger falter with sadness. Why hadn't Hotaru sent you a letter to inform you of his state? Is he unable to comprehend how stressful your night was while all he did was dedicate his whole being to a sword?

Turning away from Kanamori, you bid him your quiet gratitude and rushed towards the mountains where you are sure to find your tactless lover.

Behind you, Kanamori sighs to himself and mutters, "I started a quarrel, didn't I? Haganezuka-san, please be considerate to your one and only lover!"

However, cowardice shields one from facing their bruised, weeping soul.

You try to suppress the frustration from fully seeping through your figure, briskly stomping towards the collapsed pile of wood and dirt — Hotaru's work shack.

You instantaneously see your lover's bulky figure crouched down and digging for whatever tool he was searching for. Your body and heart react in a conflicting flurry of emotions: you feel relief wash over you, and you blink away tears that were beginning to pool; on the other hand, your head feels like it's overheating from anger — anger towards how Hotaru deliberately forgot about even sending a measly letter to the love of his life.

Perhaps it's the combination of heart-wrenching stress and sleep deprivation, but you find yourself grasping onto Hotaru's shoulder, making him aware of your presence as you twist his upper body to face you.

"Stupid! Stupid! Unbelievably stupid!"

Before Haganezuka can even express his bewilderment at your arrival, you snuck your fingers under the thin string of his Hyottoko mask, removing it to reveal his face: his wounded, cut-filled face accompanied by a left eye that can't even open to reveal one of his brilliant amber irises.

"Why — why didn't you send me a letter?" The lump of sadness sitting in your heart is veiled by stuttering annoyance; with that, Hotaru simply places his rough palms on your shoulders, slowly standing up to his full height (which prompted you to crane your neck to look at him).

"I was going to send you one, but I figured I needed to salvage some materials first. You see, that Tanjiro brat needs this new Nichirin blade and—"

"Enough with swords, for goodness sake! You lost an eye!" You cut him off as your lips trembled. "You're bleeding through your bandages because you're not supposed to work after being nearly killed!"

"Hey, it wasn't a big deal. I didn't even realize I was being attacked. Calm down," Hotaru's (limited) patience begins to waver, scrunching his nose to hopefully deter you from becoming too angry. However, Hotaru does not seem to understand that it upsets you more to hear him downplay his health after hours of you ruminating whether he was alive or not.

"I spent the entire evening mulling over your safety, and you're here casually rummaging through rubble because swords are your priority," your sentence stops before you could mutter 'over me.'

Rather than deciphering the hidden sorrow behind your words, Hotaru becomes defensive, misinterpreting your sentiment. "I'm a swordsmith; of course it's my damn priority," with an angry huff, he stared you down with his eye. "Is my work not flashy enough for you, Hashira?"

"That's not what I said!" You felt your heart crack with how distanced Hotaru is at the moment.

"These wounds aren't a big deal, alright? Stop worrying over nothing and go back to your Hashira priorities. I'm not the only one who has work to do," with a light 'tsk' of his tongue, Hotaru turns away from you, ready to return to the pile of discarded materials.

Although, you weren't pleased with his attitude, and the dam holding your tears and overwhelming emotions broke.

"I am your lover! We chose each other, and you have a commitment to me that you should uphold!" Your voice wavers in inconsistent pitches, and you try to choke back your tears. "Right now, I'm in front of you as someone you are engaged to — worried sick because my beloved had his life at risk!"

Hotaru doesn't face you, and he doesn't respond with even a hum of acknowledgment. It is silent, and only after a few minutes of your flowing tears and his stubborn front did he speak,

"Right now, I'm a swordsmith, and I have work to do. Go home."

Hearts of fiery anger fizzle into hearts of dampened yearning.

Haganezuka regrets what he said to you. It has been a few days since your sudden visit to the ruined village, and he didn't even embrace you in his arms nor did he properly acknowledge your feelings.

He heard your hiccups and sobs, yet he rooted his feet on the ground and offered no solace. He feels nothing but guilt and a desire to see your lovely face again.

He rolls the quill on his fingers, unable to write anything but your name on the paper spread on his desk. He urges himself to write an apology — or even to bid you to visit him in the temporary village they were residing in — but his hands are stagnant and his mind is empty of everything but the throbbing ache of regret.

"Haganezuka-san, you really messed up," Kanamori was shameless in scolding him. In any other situation, Haganezuka would have angrily responded in a nearly comical manner. However, Kanamori is right:

He did mess up.

Just as he writes the first word of his letter to you, a Kasugai crow abruptly enters his hut, making him curse under his breath and glare at the raven-colored bird.

The crow intently looks at Haganezuka, making the man feel an eerie shiver of dread run up his spine. The crow then opens its beak to deliver a message that makes Hotaru drop his pen in sheer horror,

"The Hashira — your betrothed — is in critical condition after protecting a town from powerful demons."

To feel a lover's warmth once again,  one would relinquish everything.

Hastily running on the dirt path to the Butterfly Mansion, Hotaru's mind is tortured by the image of your body rendered immobile and weakened on a hospital bed. His rush to see you made him forget his Hyottoko mask, for he only bothered to bring himself and an apology at the tip of his tongue.

Soon, he rushes through the gates of the Insect Pillar's abode, ignoring the surprised stares of Aoi and the other girls of the mansion. Afraid that he might wreck havoc in his emotionally volatile state, Aoi yells, "Haganezuka-san, she's resting in one of the guest quarters! She's stable!"

However, it did little to quell his worry, for he continues to run through the wooden floors of the mansion with only one thought in mind: you.

He then hears the distant sound of voices conversing with one another in a relaxed manner. One of the voices he immediately identifies as Kamado Tanjiro, and the other — sweet, kind yet tired — is your voice.

With a desperate hope bubbling in his chest, he opens the door without an ounce of hesitation, and he sees you — adorned in white bandages all over your limbs and temple, small scars littered on your cheeks, and a dumbfounded look on your face.

"Haganezuka-san!" The bandaged Tanjiro yelps in surprise, eyebrows furrowing in a mix of concern and shock.

"Out," Hotaru spares no glance at the redhead, for his gaze is locked in your hardened one. "Get out, brat."

Haganezuka does not even pay attention to the boy limply scurrying out the room, muttering flustered apologies as he closes the wooden door shut.

"Hotaru, he was just keeping me company," you lightly scowl at your ever-so immature lover, huffing a puff of tired breath.

"Yeah? Well, I'm your company now." Hotaru brings his large figure closer to your bed, but you twist your head to avoid looking at him. Rather than becoming frustrated, Hotaru feels his heart squeeze with the same regret that plagued him for days.

"My love, I'm sorry." His voice was quiet, weak, and vulnerable — entirely opposite to the gruff, deep voice that angrily curses at any miniscule annoyance. Hotaru kneels by your bedside, taking your bandaged hand in his calloused one. You initially flinch, but you relent and relax in his comfortable, familiar hold.

"I want you to know that I regret what I told you that day. I am a swordsmith — that's true — and I pride myself on my role, but I also pride myself on being your lover." His genuine tone makes your eyes water, and you blink hastily to rid of the tears.

"I was so worried — so, so worried — and you were so mean to me, Hotaru," you can't suppress your sobs as you face him again, tears cascading down your bruised cheeks.

"I know, I know. I'm sorry," he gently shushes you, nuzzling his face onto your temple as he sighs deeply. "I didn't understand why you were so worried about me, but seeing you in this state," he swallows down a sob, his tone wavering. "I thought — I thought I lost you, and I realized how you must have felt when the village was under attack."

"Yeah? You got a taste of your own medicine, that’s good," you try to playfully tease him, voice tired and raw with emotion. Hotaru’s face contorts into a half-hearted smirk as he settles down on the foot of your bed, not once unlinking his hand from yours.

His expression turns solemn once again. " I mean it when I say I want to be a better lover to you and soon — a good husband." His honest declaration of love makes your heart swell in warmth, flaring brightly when he brings your battered knuckles to his lips. 

"I want to live a long life with you, and I’m not leaving you anytime soon — not even when we age into cranky old people with wrinkles and frail backs." He presses his tender lips against your knuckles once again, feeling himself relax at the sound of your quiet breaths of relief and contentment. 

"Let’s take care of ourselves and each other, yeah?" He bends down to kiss your quivering lips lightly, hand still holding yours as his other palm gently combs through your hair.

"Yeah."

Once you part, you can only stare at him with unbridled love — his scarred cheeks, unusable eye, and the damp locks of dark hair stuck to his temple; despite all that, he’s still Hotaru, your unbelievably handsome, reckless yet amazing lover.

Hotaru’s face holds a raw emotion reserved for you and no one else. Your scarred face and puffy eyes do nothing to hinder your magnetic beauty — your gorgeous soul — from shining so brightly, and he feels like he’s falling in love all over again.

You bask in each other’s presence for hours, making up for lost time as you share warmth, comfort, and hushed promises of a better tomorrow. By the time the room is painted by the moon’s grace, you whisper,

"Hotaru, don’t you need to restore Tanjiro-kun’s new katana?"

"That can wait. I’m not a swordsmith right now."

"Hm?"

"I’m your lover."

Souls can be healed, no matter how nasty the scar, as long as you give the right person your heart.

A/N: There's a shortage of angsty Haganezuka posts — hope you like this one.

[larluce]

Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU

Tagging @aceauthorcatqueen , @fallenxjas , @smileytrinity ,@lucifertookmyshoe , @an-entity-i-think , @thecornerofbelu , @griffonskies , @odinjm , @cinnabon-sweetroll-tiramisu , @thelady-mary , @bennedict , @nightninjaboy , @st8-of-grace , @star-rie , @error-username-not-available , @dogberryrowan , @jamieweasley13 , @tansyuduri , @tercais , @robynnemrys , @evadne01 , @serasvictoria02 , @hairdryerducks , @hopeaha , @curiously-lazy , @ harriettesthings , @andrealux16 , @wacko-weirdo , @greatdonutenemy , @yougottobekittenme , @anxiousosaurus , @kinkforwings , @someweirdassnamee , @impracticalantlers

LINKS TO THE OTHER PARTS OF THIS AU HERE: PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6 , PART 7 , PART 8 , PART 9 , PART 10 , PART 11 , PART 12 , PART 13 , PART 14 , PART 15 , PART 16 , PART 17 , PART 18 , PART 19 , PART 20 , PART 21 , PART 22 (You're here) , PART 23

In "Excalibur"

The black knight arrives as expected. Arthur this time lifts the gauntlet before any other knight can do so, much to Merlin's dismay, but at least he now knows what to do.

Kilgharrah: (watching Merlin arrive) Oh, until you finally deign to see me, young warlock.

Merlin: I'm sorry I didn't answer your calls. Many things happened.

Kilgharrah: (analyzes Merlin and realizes) Another old mind in a young body.

Merlin: (confused) What?

Kilgharrah: You are not from this time, are you young warlock?

Merlin: (sighs) I should have known you'd notice. Look, if you're going to give me the destiny and coin speech, I swear that-

Kilgharrah: I find it useless to talk to you about something you already have very present. However, I'm sure you didn't come here just to greet me. If so you would have come much sooner.

Merlin: (takes out the sword Gwen gave him) Arthur, the Once and the Future King of your prophecy, is going to duel with a wraith. It's not in your best interest for him to die, so I need you to reforge this sword so that Arthur won't die in combat-

Kilgharrah: I'll help you.

Merlin: I remind you that your revenge is with Uther, not with… Wait, you'll help me? 😧

Kilgharrah: You have a very strong argument. I can't deny that.

Merlin: And you won't try to convince me to free you in exchange either?

Kilgharrah: I don't want you to see my help as conditional, young warlock. I imagine that's why you've avoided coming to see me. I'll just ask you one thing. Where you come from, am I free?

Merlin: Yes… (Thinking) After you almost turned Camelot into ashes.

Kilgharrah: That's all I need to know. (Raises the sword towards him with magic) A sword forged with my assistance will have great power.

Merlin: I know.

Kilgharrah: Normally I'd say you can only guess, but in this case I know you are very aware, and yet there's still so much you don't know.

Merlin: I know that in the wrong hands this sword can cause great evil. I won't let that happen.

Kilgharrah: That's not what I meant. (comes closer) Do you know why you and Arthur are two sides of the same coin?

Merlin: (rolls his eyes) Yes, yes, the prophecy. We are the half that makes us whole. Arthur is my destiny. I already know all that. 😒

Kilgharrah: Indeed, but the curious thing about the sides of a coin is that, despite being literally glued together, they never see each other.

Merlin: (tired) I don't have time for this. Are you going to forge the sword or not?

Kilgharrah: (forges the sword) Hear my words, the sword must be wielded by Arthur and him alone. You must promise.

Merlin: I promise.

Kilgharrah: (returns the sword already forged to Merlin with magic)

Merlin: (looking at it wistfully) It's just as I remember it (looks up at Kilgharrah again, smiling) Thank you, Kilgharrah. (leaves)

Kilgharrah: Any time, young warlock. (Thinking) It is when the sides of the coin see each other that tragedies occur.

Time skip. Right after Merlin gave the sword to Arthur and just before he duels the black knight.

Merlin: (finishes putting Arthur his armor on) Ready, sire.

Arthur: (smirking) Won't you give me a hug?

Merlin: What?! 😳

Arthur: For luck, of course.

Merlin: (very red and confused) Since… since when are you so fond of hugs? (thinking) You were never this affectionate before...

Arthur: (opens up) I admit I didn't always like them. Wrong, I always liked them, but, as a prince, I'm not supposed to be affectionate. At least that's what my father always said. "Physical contact with royalty is a privilege, it cannot be given lightly" that was his phrase.

Merlin: (realizes, sad) The king doesn't… doesn't hug you much, does he? (Thinking) Now that I think about it, I don't remember a single time he did it.

Arthur: (thinking back) I think the last time he did it I was… 5 years old? Oh, don't look at me like that. I understand why he thought that was the best way to raise me, but it wasn't until recently that I realized… that's not how I want to live the rest of my life, or how I would raise my kids, you know? I don't want to deny myself the giving or receiving of affection, at least not when it comes to the people I care about.

Merlin: (understanding) That's why you hug Morgana more often now.

Arthur: And you. (Extends his arms) So? Will you give me my lucky hug or not?

Merlin: (laughs softly) As if you need it. (but he hugs him, thinking) I'm glad you trust me enough to tell me this and that you want to change. We've never... we've never hugged this much before... It's... it feels good. (melts in the hug)

Arthur: (thinking) I thought I'll never have you like this ever again... (pulls him closer) I don't want this to end. Gods, let me hold him forever. Please

Merlin: (thinking, scolding himself) Stop it! What will Arthur think? (gently separates the hug and says) There, you can go now.

Arthur: I don't think that's enough luck.

Merlin: (confused) Huh?

Arthur: I'm going to need this too (takes Merlin's neckerchief off)

Merlin: What?! 😨 What are you doing?! (He tries to get the neckerchief back from him) Give it back! Arthur! 😠

Arthur: (raising the nekerchief and dodging all of Merlin's attempts to take it from him) I need all the luck I can get, Merlin. And what's luckier than a favor?

Merlin: (very red, but pretending to be upset) Yes, but that's supposed to be with the favor of a lady! Not my-That's not how it works!

Arthur: Would you prefer that I ask a Lady hers?

Merlin: That's not... You don't need it! 😡

Arthur: I could die.

Merlin: (raises his voice in sudden panic) You are not going to die! (Composes himself) Sorry.

Servant x: (enters) Sire, they are waiting for you.

Arthur: I'll be right away. (puts the neckerchief around his arm) Merlin, help me, will you?

Merlin: (ties the neckerchief around Arthur's arm, blushing)

Servant x: (gives Merlin a knowing smile and then turns to Arthur) Your highness (bows and leaves)

Merlin: (sighs, thinking) Great... more rumors...

Arthur: Will you be cheering for me? 😏

Merlin: (snorts) You wish. (Softens his expression) But I'll be there. Just to make sure you don't ruin my neckerchief, of course.

Arthur: (starts to leave, but turns to Merlin) My lady (bows with a flirtatious smile and leaves)

Merlin: (in shock with eyes wide open) What the…? (turns red with fury and embarrassment) This clotpole is making fun of me! 😡

Arthur wins, of course. Merlin was definitely not clapping and cheering loudly and he definitely did not blush furiously when Arthur decided to give back his neckerchief publicly.

"He is taking this joke too far" is all Merlin can think when he gets back to his chamers, but he sleeps with a smile on his face and the neckerchief curled in his hand.

In "The moment of truth"

In Arthur's chambers. Arthur writes at his desk.

Merlin: (enters without knocking) Arthur!

Arthur: (startled, spills the ink with which he was writing on the parchment)

Merlin: Sorry... 😅

Arthur: (sighs, thinking) Some things just never change. (Says) Be useful for once and bring me another scroll, will you?

Merlin: (hurries to take out another scroll and gives it to him)

Arthur: (takes the parchment) Any special reason why you decided to burst into my chambers so suddenly or did you just miss me? (moves his eyebrows flirtuosly)

Merlin: (blushes) I...(thinking, freaking out internally) WHAT IS HE DOING?!😳😱😫. (Says, nervous) I just wanted to ask you if you could give me a few days off so I can visit my mother, sire. (doesn't look at him in the eye)

Arthur: (frowns, concerned) Is something wrong? You seem anxious.

Merlin: It is nothing, my lord. I just miss seeing my mother. I haven't been able to see her since I came to the castle.

Arthur: I see, that's understandable. (He puts the parchment aside and stands to look Merlin right in the eye, seriously) Now the truth.

Merlin: (thinking) Damn it! (sighs, giving up and says) I got a letter from her recently. The village I come from, where my mother lives, is being attacked by raiders. I promise I won't be gone for long, just until I'm sure she's save. She's my mother, Arthur. I need-

Arthur: I understand. You have my permission.

Merlin: (smiles) Thank you, Arthur (About to leave)

Arthur: Oh, take this (throws him a bag with supplies)

Merlin: (looking at the bag) What...?

Arthur: (Searches the room and grabs another bag) And this (throws it at Merlin too) and this (goes to Merlin and hangs the last bag around his neck). Yep, that's all, let's go.

Merlin: (confused) Go where, Sire?

Arthur: To Ealdor together.

Merlin: What? No! (Drops all things) Arthur, you can't come with me. The king will not allow it.

Arrhur: Did you really think I'll let you go alone?

Merlin: (thinking) I mean, you did came with me before, but no so soon! (Says) But, Uther-

Arthur: Don't worry about it. I'll solve it.

Merlin: But I need to go alone!

Arthur: Why?

Merlin: (thinking) Because I need to be able to use magic without you watching me! (Says) I…

Arthur: (thinking) I don't know how advanced you are at your magic, I'm not going to risk something happening to you... And I have to reduce numbers. (snorts) I know you think highly of yourself, Merlin, but I don't think you can take down a mugger patch all on your own.

Merlin: (thinking) If you only knew... (Says) You don't have to do it.

Arthur: True, but I want to.

Merlin: (smiles) I know and I really apreaciate it. Truly. But it's not just a matter of want. Ealdor is in another Kingdom and if there was a word that the Prince of Camelot went there- (thinking) The treaty with Cenred will be broken and it would be my fault again.

Despite Arthur never telling Merlin this in his other life, he knows Arthur going to Ealdor to help him played a great part in that to happen. He remembers Uther was furious with Arthur when he got back and throw him in the dungeons for a week. When Arthur finally got out he had several bruises on his skin. It was the first time Merlin ever consider killing Uther if even for a moment. Arthur never hold any of that against Merlin but that didn't make him feel any less guilty. He can't make Arthur go through that again.

Arthur: No one has to know I'm the Prince. Plus we could take it as a trip to Ealdor and I can finally meet your mother.

Merlin: (confused) Why do you want to meet my mother?

Arthur: Can't I meet my manservant's family?

Merlin: (shuts his mouth helplessly, thinking) Oh, well, at least it'll just be Arthur and me.

Time skip. Outside the castle.

Merlin: (yelling at Arthur) YOU BROUGHT YOUR KNIGHTS?! 😡

Knight 1, 2, 3 and Leon: (standing awkwardly a few meters away of Arthur and Merlin)

Knight 1: He's yelling at the prince.

Knight 2: I think the servant doesn't like us very much.

Knight 3: I feel bad third.

Leon: I'm not even surprised anymore.

[Welcome to: ✨breaking the fourth wall space✨

Me: Hi!😊 I'm the author of this crazy story! An I created this little space so the characters can break the fourth wall, without affecting the trama! They will mostly use it just to complain to me though.

Knight 1, 2 and 3: (to the author) Hey! when are you going to give us names?! 😡

Me: (to the audience) See? (to the nameless knights) Well, I would but, you see. Normally I just give names when they... last.

Knights 1, 2 and 3: (who literally die in the "Le Morte d'Arthur" part) What does she mean? 🤨

End of ✨Breaking the fourth wall space✨]

Arthur: (To Merlin, but raising his voice so the knights hear him) Of course! We are going to carry out a formal inspection of Camelot's border (looking at Merlin meaningfully), or did you expect the King to send his only Prince and heir to the border alone, Merlin?

Merlin: Oh... Oh, right!(nods exaggeratedly and turns to the knights smiling, then looks back at Arthur with too much enthusiasm) Then we better hurry, my lord. (He gets on his mare)

Arthur: (gets on his horse too)

Time skip. Merlin and Arthur riding ahead and the rest of the knights riding a few meters behind.

Merlin: (Just loud enough so Arthur can hear) Did you tell them?

Arthur: Tell them what?

Merlin: 😑

Arthur: Of course (pauses) not.

Merlin: Do you realize that technically we will be invading the territory of a neighboring kingdom? Not only is it a delicate matter, it could escalate into a diplomatic conflict! That's why I told you-

Arthur: Don't worry, I have a plan.

Merlin: (opens his mouth)

Arthur: (cuts him) Before you ask me what the plan is, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. (Turns to give a look at the knights) That way they will have no choice but to obey me.

Knights: (feeling a chill down their spine)

Time skip. After two days of travel, they finally arrive at the border.

Knight 2: Uhm… Sire? Isn't this the border?

Arthur: No, it's ahead.

Knight 1: I'm sure we've already crossed the border.

Arthur: Do you claim to know more than me, Sir Innprudence?

Knight 1: No, sire (shuts up)

[Knight 1: (to the author) Sir Innprudence?! 😡 That's the best name you could come up with? Really?!

Me: (laughs a little) He he, yeah, I forgot I already named you in part 16.

Knight 1: I prefer Knight 1 😒.

Me: Too late, I already changed it 😈.

Sir Innprudence: NO! 😭]

In the forest of Escetir, near Ealdor. Arthur stops and dismounts his horse, so the others do too.

Leon: Have we reached the border yet, sire?

Arthur: Actually, we are technically in Escetir.

Knights: WHAT?!😱

Arthur: Yes, we're on a deck mission. I'll explain. Merlin, bring the bags.

Merlin: (brings the bags)

Arthur: (To the knights) Do you see the village there? (points to Ealdor)

Leon: Yes, sire.

Arthur: This is my manservant's home village and it's under attack by raiders. Our mission is to slay them all and protect this village.

Knights: ...

Merlin: Oh gods 🤦‍♂️

Arthur: As you know, it would be catastrophic if they were to find out the Prince and the Knights of Camelot were here. So (takes some clothes out of the bags) We're going to pretend to be mercenaries. (throws the clothes at each of them) and we will tell the villagers that we were paid to defend them.

Sir Innprudence: And who paid us?

Arthur: Merlin, of course.

Merlin: What?!😨 Arthur, no one is going to believe that!

Arthur: Why not? This is your native village, your mother lives here. You have more than enough reasons to want to protect Ealdor.

Merlin: And where did I supposely get the money from?!

Arthur: From your benevolent master, of course. That pays you very generously.

Merlin: You are mad! Completely mad! (Pointing to the knights) THIS is MADNESS!

Leon: Sire, you know that I support you no matter what, but you do understand you are basically asking us to betray the king, right?

Arthur: That's only if he finds out, which he is not going to do.

Sir Innprudence, knights 2 and 3: (hesitating whether or not to inform the king of what is happening)

Arthur: After all, everyone here crossed the border, so everyone here would be in trouble if the king ever found out. Although, of course, I would not receive such a severe punishment because I am the prince and unlike others I am not replaceable.

Knights: …

Leon: Count on us, sire 😊.

Merlin: (shouts) NO! (To Arthur) You are not going to do this! 😡

Arthur: (with feigned confusion) But, Merlin, it was you who asked for my help strongly, don't you remember?

Merlin: (jaw drops at Arthur's audacity, thinking) This son of a- (says) That's not true! (To the Knights) I didn't ask for anything, I swear!

Leon: Don't worry, Merlin, we understand how things happened. (wraps an arm around Merlin) Surely you only asked him for money to hire the mercenaries, but his highness decided to come himself to defend the village for you.

Merlin: No! I didn't ask for anything at all!

Knight 2: (to Knight 3) He is the favorite for sure.

Sir Innprudence: (to Leon, making him let go of Merlin in panic) Don't touch him! Do you want to die?!

Knight 3: We better change.

Knights: (start changing)

Merlin: I'm not...! I didn't...! (tries to explain, but no knight listens)

Arthur: (smiling, amused) What are you waiting for, Merlin? (Points to his mercenary clothes so Merlin dresses him)

Merlin: (goes to Arthur and changes his clothes, thinking) Oh, you're going to pay for this Arthur Pendragon.

Meanwhile in Ealdor.

Kanen: (on his horse, grabbing the harvest sacks) What's this? Where's the rest of it?

Village chief: (on the ground, picking up the vegetables they made him drop) I only kept back what we need to survive.

Kanen: (mockingly) Survive? (threatenly) I'll be back in one week, farmer, and I want to see all of it.

Hunith: (Runs furiously to Kanen) You can't take our food! Our children will starve! I won't let you do this! (Tries to take the harvest sacks) You're not taking any of it!

Kanen: (hits her and Hunith falls to the ground)

Merlin: (arriving on his mare, shouts) Mom! (Furious, mutters a spell) Miere hors.

Kanen's horse: (gets upset, raising his legs, making Kanen fall off him)

Hunith: (hurries to grab the harvest sacks and runs)

Arthur and knights: (just behind Merlin, they get off their horses and attack the raiders)

Merlin: (gets off his mare and runs to Hunith) Mom! (cradles her face) Are you okay?

Hunith: (very surprised and happy) Merlin! What are you doing here?

Kanen: (gets up and rushes towards Merlin and Hunith with his sword, about to sly them)

Arthur: (blocks the attack with excalibur) Don't you dare... (Breaks Kanen's sword with excalibur) even think about it!

Villagers: (looking between fear and amazement)

Kanen: (seeing himself outmatched, decides to retreat) You will pay for this with your lives! (gets on a horse nearby) All of you! (Looks down at Hunith and smirks) I'll see you later, sweetheart.

Merlin: (about to jump beat Kanen up, enraged)

Arthur: (Stops him by putting an arm in front of him)

Kanen: (leaves with the raiders that survived)

Arthur: (Thinking, coldly) He'll be back with more, perfect. (Looks at the bodies lying there, thinking) 295.

Hunith: (hugging Merlin) My son, how good it is to see you, but you shouldn't be here.

Merlin: I came as soon as I knew what was happening (points at Arthur) and I brought help.

Arthur: (introduces himself) Nice to meet you, Hunith of Ealdor, my name is Arthur. Merlin hired me and my men to defend this village.

Hunith: Arthur? Like Prince Arthur?

Arthur: A very popular name, indeed.

Hunith: (smiles) I sincerely thank you for what you're doing, Arthur. You are very chivalrous for a mercenary. (sees the knights in the distance, who are helping the women and children) You all seem very chivalrous to be mercenaries.

Arthur: Uh... We get paid well.

Will: (approaches Merlin) You're still up to the same old tricks? I thought I told you we don't want your kind here.

Merlin: ...

Will: (confused) Merlin?

Merlin: (suddenly breaks down crying)

Arthur: (angry, to Will, ready to beat him up right there) What's wrong with you?! 😡

Will: (in panic, worried) I was kidding! Merlin, that's how we always mess with each other! I did not mean-

Merlin: (his crying turns into laughter) Ha! I got you. (Hugs Will) I missed you too, Will. (Thinking) I missed you so much.

Arthur: (coughs, definitely not jealous) Merlin, gather the villagers, I need to talk to them.

Merlin: (pulls away from the hug) Yes, right away. (about to leave)

Will: Wait. You let him give you orders? I thought you hired him.

Merlin: (in realization and smiles evilly) It's true. (hits Arthur arms) You! How insolent! Is this how you treat your employer? You gather the villagers!

Arthur: (About to yell at him, but remembers that Hunith and Will are there and stops himself) Sorry, I thought you might want to do it yourself. I'll do it right away. (Thinking) Wait until we return to Camelot, you dollophead.

Merlin: (thinking) Oh, this is going to be fun.

...

I know this kind of feels like a filler, but it's important I swear! What did Kilgharrah meant? Can Merlin save Will this time? Will the rest of the Kmights get to have names? Find out in the next episode of ✨"Merlin: the Mistress in denial" ✨

[gfmima]

category : 米哈游 原神 work title : he has the biggest and softest spot for you

it was only a matter of time before he got a taste of his own medicine. many yearned for this fateful day to happen, however, no one predicted it to occur with his lover. it was a curveball to discover the former harbinger had been hiding a sweet woman from the public and his colleagues for years now.

traveler was still in shock no matter how much time passed since both of you asked to join on their return to mondstadt after the fiasco in sumeru. in the present, you three — four, counting paimon — were by mingyun village when nightfall arrived. seeking shelter in a small cave, they left you two alone to pick jueyun chillis to prepare the famous wanmin meal for dinner. 

though, apparently ignorant of the topic of your discussion, traveler can tell you were begging with your lover based on your body language. it must’ve been to gather firewood like paimon urged wanderer to sort out earlier and the young man refused because it was ‘beneath his status to do labor.’

your gentle demeanor might not say it outright but the glint in your eyes did. you are going to get what you want despite of the methods.

“please?”

“no way.” wanderer turns his back and crosses his arms. he wasn’t going to fall for your schemes, he inwardly scoffs at you, his sudden change of heart didn’t mean he’s gone soft. your place as his lover won’t warrant any special treatment.

sniffle.

his shoulders tense. no. nope. he’s encountered your petty act one too many times. he knows far better than most how conniving you can be regardless of your deceitful appearance. he scoffed, and people call him manipulative…

sniffle.

“stop it,” he snaps with a hard frown, rolling his eyes, “that is not going to work on me.”

sniffle.

“ugh, when will you learn that i consider such theatrics from you tacky…” he turns around, intending to give you a proper scolding when he sees the visible tears streaking down your cheeks. “no,” he whispers, cupping your face.

his thumb tenderly caresses your cheeks, wiping them away as best as he can. “no. no, no. don’t cry,” he mutters, “i’m…” stopping himself before he can say the next word.

he was conflicted. half of him was sick at the slight pleasure he felt over your misty eyes. you were always a pretty thing. the other part of him aches over the giant realization he was the reason you were upset. his fault.

“alright!” he growls, as if it stings him to utter every syllable. “i’ll go fetch the damn fire wood, ‘just quit your crying.”

wiping away the tears, you wrap your arms around him. he was taken aback by the sudden show of affection but does return it nonetheless. his embrace warm, holding you tight against his chest. 

your eyes trail around your surroundings and eventually find traveler and paimon’s. it didn’t take much for the traveler to grow uncomfortable after they got caught watching the very intimate exchange. you stay silent, playfully winking at them in the end.

they gasp, archons, were you evil.

he was not an easily impressed young man, some might call him ‘difficult to please.’ it wasn’t hard to imagine. a member of the academe could make a revolutionary discovery and all they could receive is a short hum of approval. the closest to verbal praise might’ve been when tighnari briefed him on collei’s progress.

any situation beyond that? none. for you? more to count on both hands. it was the most amusing yet exasperating thing to see! you doing the bare minimum permits more applause from him than all of their efforts combined.

to be fair, it was difficult to call out these signs of favoritism when it gets him in a good mood in exchange. nobody needed to point it out, everyone can see he has ‘heart-eyes’ for you. in a matter of seconds, he was reduced to a simple-minded loverboy in your company.

today was unlike other days, the scholars were subjected to a front row seat of your relationship. it was utterly bizarre to see the general mahamatra grinning softly, sort of.

“cyno, my love! you promised!” you whine, pouting. he was unbelievable! you thought to yourself. downright ridiculous. he swore to make time for you and accompany you on your visit to the city.

“i know, but plans change, darling. i have urgent matters to attend, my love,” he dismisses. all lies. he’s aware you would think to stop and greet your friends as well. to be frank, he’d rather avoid them and their side remarks about him and your relationship.

you didn’t respond, simply choosing to sport your infamous puppy eyes instead. he sighs to himself, oh… not this again. you were a crafty young woman, using his weakness for you against him.

he was standing strong at first yet in less than ten seconds; he breaks a wisp of a grin, one that results in your audience turning wide-eyed, and closes the space between you.

“c’mere, silly girl.” he beckons for you to draw nearer to him, and you instantly follow to glide your arms around his waist. “allow me to finish reading through this last stack and we can go.”

[mumms-the-word]

Ascension, Return

Pairing: Gale x You (Reader POV) Summary: You watch as Gale restores the Crown of Karsus and temporarily becomes a god before disappearing to return the crown to Mystra. And you can only hope, now that he is a god, that he will return. ao3 link A/N: I was thinking the other day about how in the ending for an Origin run for Gale, regardless of how he plans to deal with the crown business, he always shows up as God!Gale in front of Mystra before agreeing to hand over the crown or deciding to stay a god. And it got me thinking...wouldn't a romanced Tav who is expecting him to give up the crown see him ascend? So anyway I wrote this to get those thoughts out there. As usual pic of my Tav Dani because I keep forgetting to ask to borrow people’s better pictures

It doesn’t take long for you and Gale to make plans to retrieve the crown from the depths of the Chionthar River. The sooner you get this over with, the better, you think, and yet something about this endeavor has you on edge. You secretly wish you can just leave the crown down below the waters…but then, anyone could get it down there, with the right spells or the right technology. You can’t risk that.

You don’t want it in Mystra’s hands either, but what choice do you have? She, at least, is a goddess interested in balance, neither evil like the Dead Three, nor entirely good and thus subject to extreme corruption. There’s no telling what she’ll do with the crown, but she has offered one thing in exchange—a cure for your lover’s affliction.

He’ll be free of the dark hungering orb at last.

It’s enough to convince you. You retrieve your worn bedrolls from the Elfsong and shoulder your pack, ready for your next little adventure—a small boat ride to the other side of the river, and a few days spent with Gale as he searches the murky waters.

You join him on the banks of the Chionthar, well away from the bustle of the city as it is trying to rebuild, watching over him as he sits, eyes glazed with concentration, guiding simulacrums to walk the riverbeds and floors of the river, combing through the mud for the crown. He could have let his simulacrums search without him guiding them, but he wants to be sure, to search closely. He doesn’t want to waste his time turning away simulacrums who bring back scraps of metal, shrapnel from the Iron Throne, or bits from the carnage of the fight against the Netherbrain. So he looks through their eyes, seeing nothing for hours but hazy water, mud, and river plants.

Though you long to lie back and watch the sails of fishing vessels drift by like clouds on the breeze, reveling in a hard-won moment of peace, you don’t want to miss a moment where he might need you. You do not want him to be caught unawares by some curious animal, or worse, a lingering enemy. So you sit and watch, your stomach twisting into knots as you face what you know will be inevitable—the moment when he finally finds the crown.

It takes all of two days of searching. After hours upon hours of looking, he stiffens, his physical body reacting to something beyond your sight, and you know at last that he has found it. You both stand as his simulacrum emerges, dripping water, with the cold bronze of the crown in its hands. 

The Crown of Karsus.

It’s so much smaller than you remember. When you faced it on the top of the Netherbrain it had easily been the size of a large carriage. Here, on the banks of the Chionthar, it’s no bigger than a normal crown. It looks innocent. Harmless.

But you know better.

The power it releases…you are no stranger to it. You readily recall the metallic taste on your tongue as you drew near it atop the Netherbrain and the way its very aura tried to drive you to your knees. Its power is weaker now, pulsating from the bronze metal like a faint heartbeat, but you know that it won’t stay that way.

You glance at Gale, wondering what you’ll see in his face. Dark hunger, perhaps, or something bittersweet. Reluctance, dread, or tired resignation. But his expression is surprisingly neutral. He doesn’t step forward to take the crown just yet. Instead, he studies it with his eyes before taking a deep breath through his nose and turning to look at you.

“Do you trust me?” he asks.

You blink, a little taken aback. “Of course,” you say. “Always.”

“That’s gratifying to hear. It will take me some time to restore the crown and the Netherstones to their original state, fit enough to give to Mystra. The process will be necessarily delicate, given the orb I carry. I should ask you to keep a safe distance. A city’s worth of space, perhaps, just in case, but—”

You cross your arms. “I’m not leaving your side, Gale. I’m here with you, for good or ill.”

He smiles then, as much relieved as he is amused and resigned. “I know. I expected as much. But I thought it best to offer or warn you regardless.” He takes a deep breath. “Very well, then. We stay together. I just hope you’ll be patient with me.”

You reach out and take his hand, threading your fingers between his. “I will be. I’m here for you. Take all the time you need, my love.”

He gives you a grateful look, squeezing your hand affectionately before leaning in to brush a sweet, gentle kiss against your lips. You let him pull away, slipping out of reach, and watch with bated breath as he steps forward to accept the crown, the mark on his chest glowing brighter and brighter as he nears and finally takes the crown in his hands.

You don’t know what you expect. A light show, perhaps. A wave of dark, Netherese magic, or a black hole effect. You steel yourself to the fear that he will simply evaporate or fall to his knees in pain.

But nothing spectacular happens, aside from his mark glowing brightly. To your eyes, the crown acts as little more than a normal crown. To him…

You see his chest expand with a deep breath, the orb flaring brighter, watch him blow the air slowly through his lips, his face tense. But without the tadpole in your heads, you can’t guess at what he’s thinking or feeling. He closes his eyes, simply breathing, concentrating. Fighting, perhaps. Wrestling with some unseen force. The glow on his chest dims slowly until it is only a faint purple tint on his skin. Only then does he finally tighten his hold on the crown and turn back to you.

You get the sense that he has just won a silent, unseen battle within himself. It occurs to you too late that putting the crown and the orb in close proximity might actually hurt him. But it seems that the danger has passed...for now. If he’s in pain, he isn’t showing it.

“Come,” he says. “Let us make sure we’re a safe distance from the city. Just in case.”

His words don't inspire confidence, but you say nothing. You merely follow him back to your camp further up hillside. You know he has work to do.

———

You give him time. That’s all he asked for. Time to concentrate on the magic. Time to manipulate threads of the Weave. The Mystran Weave and the Karsite Weave. Sometimes you think you understand what he’s doing, but more often than not, you don’t. The magic he is performing is beyond your comprehension, guided by notes in the Annals of Karsus which lays open in front of him. You suspect some of it comes innately to him, an understanding born from carrying Netherese magic for so long. The rest must come from Karsus himself, written down as instructions or incantations. You give up trying to understand and simply make yourself useful. Or you try to, anyway.

All you can really do is linger nearby, keeping an eye out for anything that might interrupt his work. You barely interrupt him yourself, save to place some food and water near him with a soft reminder that he needs to eat to keep his energy up. He’s not a god yet, you tease, but the words taste sour on your tongue.

Yet. But soon.

You don’t feel ready for it. You know it’ll only be temporary. You hope so, anyway. But you’re still not ready.

The day passes by without you noticing. Gale sits with the crown, working, weaving, an illuminated aura around him filled with heavy magic. You leave him to his work as the sun moves slowly overhead toward the horizon, painting the sky in tones of orange, red, and purple. You lay down to watch the swirls of violet and indigo magic that gather around him as night falls, until in your exhaustion, you close your eyes for a moment to rest.

You don’t know when you drifted off to sleep, but you’re awoken in the early hours of the morning by his hand on your shoulder. You stir, blinking groggily up at him.

“It’s time,” he says softly. He helps you sit up, hands lingering on your arms, your hands. The crown isn’t with him, but sits on top of his pack several feet away. “I’ve done all I can. The stones and the crown are together again. Functionally the crown is complete, but…there is one last step I need to take.”

He kneels in front of you, dark eyes searching your face in the dim firelight. No, you realize. Memorizing. You feel a sudden knot in your throat and though you are seated safely on the ground, it feels as though a yawning void is opening up around you, threatening to swallow you whole should you tip too far to one side.

This feels like a goodbye.

“Once I put on the crown, the magic of the orb will finally combine with that of the crown. And I will…change,” he explains quietly, while you try to calm the surge of fear that grips your heart. “The magic of the crown and orb will become one and give me the power at last to meet with Mystra as an equal.”

An equal. He doesn’t say as a god. But you both know the truth.

You can scarcely breathe. You want to trust him. You want so desperately to believe in him. And he is looking at you so lovingly, but the very air seems tinged with sorrow. Nothing is certain. Nothing save his love for you, and even then, the tiniest doubt worms its way into your head and your heart.

Once he is a god…will he even remember to come back to you?

“And then?” you ask, your voice no more than a whisper.

“And then…I will hand the crown over to Mystra. And hope she keeps her word.”

You release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “I trust you, my love.” You use the words, saying them out loud, to dispel your doubts and fears. You do trust him. With your life, with your heart, with your all.

If only you could trust Mystra. Can she be trusted to cure him? Can she be trusted to let him return? And if he does return, can she be trusted to let him return unchanged? Chosen or not, will he still be Gale Dekarios, the man you love? You don’t know. But you hope so.

He smiles at you and brushes the backs of his fingers against your cheek, his fingertips trailing along the line of your jaw. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He leans in for a kiss and you, selfishly, wrap your arms around him and hold him tightly to you as your lips move against his, wanting to never let go. You rise to your knees, following him as he tries to pull away, kissing him deeply, tangling your fingers in his hair, until at last you are both breathless and you have to hide your face in his shoulder. You cling to him, reluctant to let him go just yet.

“Just come back to me,” you whisper. “Whatever happens.”

His arms tighten around you and you feel the bob of his throat as he swallows with difficulty. He strokes your hair and your back, pressing little kisses to your shoulder, your neck, your head. You can feel it in every touch and breath he takes. He doesn’t want to let go yet either. 

“I will, my love,” he whispers back. “I swear it.”

It’s enough for now. It has to be. You could delay this day for a thousand days and still never be ready to let him go. But you have to. If he wants to be whole again, free of the orb, perhaps even free of Mystra…he has to do this.

You reluctantly loosen your hold on him and sit back on your heels, meeting his dark-eyed gaze in the early hours of the morning. He takes your hands and lifts them to his lips, brushing kisses against your knuckles, turning your hands over to kiss the center of your palms. Each touch of his lips to your skin is a reverent confession of love and longing and it only makes your heart ache more.

Please don’t let this be goodbye.

“Wait for me,” he says.

You cradle his cheek in your hand, gazing earnestly at him, soaking in every detail of his handsome face, committing it all to memory. “I will, my love. I swear it.”

He smiles at you then, full of love and happiness. He steals one last kiss from your lips before finally pulling away and standing, taking several steps back.

You stand too, preparing yourself for what is about to happen, even though you scarcely have any idea. You expect some of what you expected before, with light shows and waves of magic at best, disintegration and death at the worst, but now it feels even more real. Even more likely. You don’t know what will happen, so you brace yourself for the worst, heart pounding in your throat, gut churning with dread, and hope, desperately hope, for the best, even though you don’t know what that will look like.

You hold your breath as he moves several paces away from you and bends to pick up the crown. This image, too, you commit to memory. The way he looks illuminated by the firelight, the lights of the city glimmering behind and below him, the stars glittering above him. The sight of him with the crown in his hands, contemplating it with an expression of deep gravity. The crown looks small and harmless, despite the sharp curls and the soft glow of the purple, orange, and pink Netherstones that are now set once more in the bronze. But he looks serious, regal even, with it cradled in his hands. Like a king mulling over the weight of his position and the choices that lay ahead. He is beautiful. Heart-achingly beautiful. You wish this moment could stretch on forever, if only because it means not losing him to the crown. To godhood.

He turns to give you one last lingering look, your eyes meeting over the distance between you, before he slowly raises the crown to his head and settles it over his brown and gray locks.

The effect is instantaneous. A blast of magic blows outward from him, kicking up wind and dust and flashing bright enough to rival the sun. You cover your eyes, shielding your face, the light blinding you. Suddenly the air feels electric, tasting of metal and ozone, as though you’re about to be struck by lightning at any second. Wind swirls around you, picking up speed, a cyclone of power and magic with you caught in the edges. You struggle to stay on your feet, your body resisting the pull into the vortex. What little you can see is naught but a haze of magic, purple, blue, and inky black, rushing around you and mixing with the wind. Threads of blue and silver lightning dance around you, passing close enough to make your hair stand on end, shocking you when you take an unsteady step backward. The vortex of wind, lightning, and magic threatens to suck the very air from your lungs until, with crack like thunder, everything around you stops.

The air grows still. It is as though you suspended in time. Held fast by magic. Your ears are ringing with the sudden silence.

You cautiously lower your hand. You have to blink a few times for your eyes to adjust, but once they do, the sight of Gale causes a flurry of emotions within you.

He stands before you as something…more. A god in all but name. He’s taller, you swear he must be, or else his very presence makes him seem bigger. His skin has turned a shade of hard silver, his hair ashen gray. The mark of the orb stands out in stark black on his chest and when he turns his head to examine his hands, his body, you see splintered blue lightning crackling at his temples and down the sides of his face. His brown eyes now glow blue-white with magic, any trace of his former warmth consumed by the light of the power within him. He’s striking, awe-inspiring…

And you can’t help but fear him, just a little. 

On instinct you have the compulsion to kneel, but you don’t. You force yourself to stay on your feet and look at him, really look at him, and try to find the man you love behind this new godly veneer. He has to be in there somewhere. He has to be.

“Amazing,” he murmurs, and his voice is layered two or three times over with a strange echo, one that gives you unpleasant shivers. Even his voice carries tiny waves of power. You already miss the warm tones of his mortal voice with its Waterdhavian accent.

He flexes his hands, raising them before his face, his expression one of wonder and awe. With but a gesture, he summons threads of the Weave together in glyphs and effects you can barely make sense of, though you feel the thrum of magic deep in your chest and know, instinctively, that he is capable of snapping your mind with a thought or destroying you with a word. He smiles, and the effect is strange. He looks like himself but he doesn’t. Something about it seems wrong to you. Uncanny. Familiar and unfamiliar.

The pit of dread in your stomach grows.

But then he catches sight of you, waiting, watching breathlessly, nervously, hoping that he’ll remember his promise to you. His smile fades and for the briefest moment you catch a glimpse of the man you love. Even his blue-white eyes, shining eerily from his familiar face, can’t hide the love he has for you.

He lowers his hands to his sides. “It is done. The crown is fully restored once more.”

You nod. You haven’t the faintest clue what to say next. You’re still trying to make sense of the man-god before you.

He smiles again, and something about it is both patronizing, as though he pities you for not understanding, and sincere, an echo of his mortal kindness and patience. He presses a hand to his chest. “Well, I’d best be off then.”

“Wait—” You reach out as if to stop him and he pauses. Your hand hovers uncertainly in the air before you lower it to your side. "One last kiss, before you go. Please."

His smile softens. "I can deny you nothing, my love," he murmurs. He crosses the distance between you with a strange grace he didn't have before. Before he was elegant, but at times a little awkward. None of the awkwardness remains in him now.

You look up as he stops in front of you, his fingers curling beneath your chin the way he does when he wants to lift your face or guide your lips to his. You stare into his glowing eyes a moment before letting your eyes flutter closed. His lips touch yours...and it's different.

There's a magnetism there now that wasn't there before. You seem drawn in as if by gravity. He tastes of metal and magic, his skin cold but not unyielding. Your lips tingle with each kiss and the moment you seek to deepen the kiss—you gasp as a blue electric shock drives your mouths apart, your teeth practically rattling, your lips suddenly hot, almost burned. You press a hand to your mouth, looking up at him in shock, but he's just as surprised as you are. He seems unharmed, despite the tiny sparks of white-blue lightning still skittering over his lips.

"Ah...what an interesting side effect," he says, touching his hand to his mouth. The lightning calms. "Are you all right?"

You nod, rubbing your lips lightly as the numbness from the shock begins to subside and the tingling begins to fade. It wasn't pleasant, but it wasn't unpleasant either. Still, you're wary of trying it again.

He watches you, looking torn, before a new resolve settles his features. "Then I suppose that is my signal to go. The sooner I depart, the sooner I can return." He takes your hand carefully, moving it away from your face, and presses a cautious kiss to the back of your hand. His lips impart another, smaller shock to your skin, but this time you're ready for it. Your fingertips go a little numb, but you manage not to wince.

"Wait for me, my love," he says, finally letting go of your hand. "I won’t be long."

You step back, giving him room to do whatever he needs to do, and watch as he begins to glow, brighter than your eyes can stand. You keep your gaze on his until the very last second, when the light grows too bright to stare at. You blink—and then he’s gone, disappearing in a shower of starlight that fades too quickly.

You are left alone in the cool night, with naught but a dying fire for company. 

———

You don’t sleep. You barely bring yourself to tend to the dying embers of your campfire and stoke it back into warm flames. After that, all you can do is sit.

And wait.

And wonder.

And pray.

“Come back to me, my love,” you whisper into the cool night air.  "Please."

You half-wonder if he can hear you. If, on some level, you’re praying to him, the newest of the gods. You don’t know if that thought comforts you or worsens your dread. How does he think of you now, now that his mind is that of a god, capable of seeing beyond the constraints of a mortal’s limited view? If he hears your prayers, does he think less of you, or love you more? Will he remember his promise, or will the power he now holds tempt him to break it? You want to have faith in him—you do have faith in him—but doubt creeps in despite your best efforts.

Come back to me.

You recall what it was like to wait for him at Mystra’s shrine at the Stormshore Tabernacle. How he had explained that time runs differently in the Outer Planes. How he would only be gone for a moment. Each second that had ticked by during that time felt like a year.

Now, sitting on the hillside, every second that passes feels like an eternity.

The fire crackles. The lights of the city begin to dim. One by one the stars fade out, hiding from view as the black of night begins to lighten into the blue hues of pre-dawn. And still, he isn’t back.

Wait for me, he said. And you will. You’ll wait as long as you have to.

But what if…?

No. You can’t bring yourself to put your fears into words anymore. Doing so will only make them seem more real. More feasible. There could be a thousand explanations for why he isn’t back quickly. You just have to have faith in him.

You get up and begin to pace. You start breaking little sticks and twigs into tiny pieces to feed to the fire, piece by tiny piece, just for something to do with your hands. You pluck blades of grass one by one or count the stars you can see. And you wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Your thoughts are your own worst enemy and you wish you had called an ally to come and sit with you. Even Scratch with his favorite ball would have been enough to quiet your heart and mind. But instead, you sit alone, the crackle of a fire the only sound to break the silence.

Your eyelids are heavy now and your body longs to drag you down into slumber, but you resist. You want to be there when he comes back. If he comes back. When he comes back.

You get up to pace again, rubbing warmth into your stiff fingers, amusing yourself with memories of him. His smile. His sly jests and silly puns. His hands on your body and his body against yours, yours against his. The smell of him, as much as you can remember. The way he looked during battles, magic crackling and swirling around him. The way he looked in your bed, fast asleep. Gale Dekarios in all his mortal glory, the man you fell in love with. The man you wish was at your side once more. 

Gods, but you miss him. You press your hands to your chest, feeling your heart beat beneath your palms. What is taking so long?

The first hints of pink and orange appear on the horizon as you turn to pace away from the fire again, your steps wearing a noticeable path through the grass. At this rate, you fear the sun will arrive before your love does. 

You contemplate how you’re supposed to face the whole of a new day alone when a flash of light illuminates the darkness behind you. You whirl, heart racing, to see a shower of starlight once more—and out of it steps Gale.

Mortal. Human. Alive.

“Gale!”

You fly into his arms, which he is already holding out wide for you, nearly toppling you both into the ground with the force of your embrace. You both stagger, but you don’t let go, and his arms around you are as fierce in their hold on you as yours are around him. He practically lifts you off your feet. You can’t put into words how much it means to you that he’s solid your arms—warm, breathing, alive in your arms.

“You’re back,” you gasp, the tears in your eyes and clogging your throat making it difficult to speak. You don’t want to sob and make it seem like you doubted him, but the emotions welling up inside you are hard to suppress. “You came back.”

“Of course, my love,” he says soothingly, not yet relinquishing his hold of you. “You are everything to me. I could do nothing else.”

You untangle yourself from him to wipe the tears from your face and look at him, looking for any changes wrought by his visit to the Outer Planes or from his brief time at godhood. He looks like himself again, his lightly tanned skin flush with warmth and love, his dark brown eyes as rich and deep as ever. You comb your fingers through his soft hair, once more brown and shot through with hints of gray, rather than all over ashen as it was a while ago. Your fingers linger on his cheek, noticing for the first time that the dark vein-like threads that trailed from his eye to his chest are no longer visible. 

The mark of the orb is gone.

In its place are a series of faint scars in the same threads and shapes as the old mark, appearing just below his jaw and flowing down to form a circle over his chest. The tattoo-like color has faded away entirely and there is no dark bruise at the center of the circular marking. Any trace of Netherese magic is gone, leaving behind little more than scars faint enough to be missed by any who are not actively searching for them.

You trace the circular scar lightly with the tips of your fingers. “Does this mean…?”

“It does,” he says, pressing his hand over yours so that both of your hands are pressed flat to his chest. You feel his heart beating, his pulse perhaps a little elevated, but every beat strong and vibrant. “Mystra has cured me of the orb. Completely.”

You want to hate her, and perhaps you still do, and always will on some level. But in that moment you’re grateful and relieved too. You wrap your arms around him and squeeze him tight, overwhelmed with happiness and relief and joy. Your love is cured at last. The threat of losing him to Netherese magic is at last put to rest. He is whole again. Restored. 

And he is yours. Not hers.

As dawn colors the sky overhead and spills pink-golden light over the both of you, you kiss him, reveling in the taste of him, in the warmth and weight of him, in his hands on you. Not a single spark of lightning threatens to drive you apart, so you deepen your kisses as much as you please. You simultaneously want to push him down into the grass and make love to him there and kiss him for an eternity you know you both don’t have and simply gaze at him in awe and wonder that even while he had godhood in grasp and a crown on his head, he gave it all up for you.

He gave up godhood for you.

You never realized you could love him more than you already did. But you do. Your every heartbeat sings love for him.

You lose track of time kissing him. It could be moments or hours. You don’t know nor do you care. But at last, when you finally pull away from him, it takes you a second to remember where you are, standing out on the hillside across the river from the city. The sun is rising over the horizon now, painting the world in gold and shifting the hue of the sky to a beautiful, cloudless blue. A new day is beginning. 

A whole future awaits. And it is yours to shape with your love at your side.

“What’s next, my love?” you ask. “Now that we have everything we both want.”

“Next? For us?” He chuckles and takes your hand, bringing it up to press a tiny kiss on your empty ring finger. “If you still want me, I believe we have a wedding to plan.”

“I will always want you, Gale Dekarios. Now and forever.”

“Is that a yes to planning the wedding? Because I’ll have you know that Waterdhavian weddings are quite the large-scale affair.”

You laugh, his humor clearing the air like the sunlight warming away the fog of a morning and the dew on the grass. “Yes. Come on, let’s find some food to eat and get started. I can’t wait to begin a new life together with you.”

“My love, that new life starts now,” he says, bringing you in for another kiss. You smile against his lips and allow yourself to be corrected. He is right, of course.

Your new life with him begins now.

[squerlly]

Fair Exchange Chapter 5

------"some silences can scream louder than words ever could"--------

Alastor x (F! wife doe reader)

The Doe-----------------------------------------------------

It was later in the morning when Charlie wanted us to do a show and tell day, we all reluctantly agreed but Alastor stayed behind to eat his breakfast. it was Angel's turn claiming he wanted to show us his "best film." I figured it was a movie or play but... it was a porn video...

I tried to keep my eyes away, swiping invisible dust from my dress attempting to stay distracted. Husk eventually jumps in arguing with Angel "Everybody likes to bitch to the bartender! I know everything about you and these motherfuckers" he points at Pentious "That one's an insecure buffoon who watches you all sleep at night" he then points to Charlie and vaggie and then me "that one's constantly taking bullets from everybody because she's a pushover and nifty, tch you don't even wanna know what her deal is." I'm not a pushover...

the argument is short-lived when Angel gets a call from his boss calling him in for work, talking about some emergency shoot and storming out.

Charlie wanted to go and help get Angel some time off of work by talking to his boss, I would have gone with her but I know Alastor wouldn't be too happy if I was out in the Vees district without him. seeing as how our last visit went I don't think it would be a good idea.

Charlie left and I went back upstairs to Alastors room to pick up his dishes, knocking on the door "Alastor? may I come in" There was a long pause before the door opened, Alastors shadow giving me a grin as he stepped aside to let me in. I don't really see Alastor's shadow that often considering he only uses it for scouting, investigating, or fetching things when I'm not available.

however, when I stumble upon his shadow, it stares at me with that same evil grin. from what I have gathered over the years, the shadow is just an extension of Alastor, mimicking his personality and actions. Sometimes, if you look closely, it can display his emotions with its cold black body and inky blue tongue. It's more curious than Alastor, peering around people's shoulders and poking through others business. I never seemed to mind it.

there's something different this time, it's acting off. usually, it just pokes around and then returns to Alastor but not this time. No, it's staring at me, watching me, almost like it's inspecting me... I try to ignore it, walking over to pick up Alastors dish "Thank you my dear" "of course, is there anything else you need?" "no, your free to enjoy the rest of your morning"

I turn to leave but then remember something "Oh I almost forgot, do you mind if I grab a book from your shelf, I finished my other two.." not looking up from his desk he says "As long as you don't touch the books on the top shelf" I look at the shelf of various books next to his fireplace, walking up to choose one. I like to read romance and fantasy, but Alastor as romantic as people say he is, doesn't collect those types of novels. he likes books that are mostly nonfiction.

I ended up choosing a book that wasn't too thick just enough to pass the time and left the room, heading to the kitchen to drop off the plate. on my way there I see something rush from the corner of my eyes but when I look around there's nothing there, that was until I turn back to keep walking. I ended up running right through Alastors shadow, A cold chill running up my spine from its solvent body.

I quickly regain composure, making sure to not drop the plate in my hands "Oh for all that is unholy, you scared me!" I said looking at the shadow "Do you uhh... need something?" it cocks its head and smiles like I said the funniest thing in the world "ok... I guess not." I continue on to the kitchen, washing the dishes before heading upstairs to my room to read, all while having it follow me the entire time.

I walk into my room, kicking off my heels with a tired huff and I plop down on my bed "Are you going to stay here all day?" I say to the shadow that is currently looming around my room, snooping through drawers and various items. I should tell Alastor that there is something wrong with his shadow, but... I'm curious to see what it wants.

I decided to leave it alone since it's not causing much trouble, it's just exploring. I lay back on my bed against the headboard and opened the book to the first page, I only got to page 10 before the shadow poked its head through the book to look at me "Alastor will be mad if you're over here, I suggest you behave" it hovered over me with a frown and it felt almost illegal to see, Alastor never frowns and to see his shadow do it feels wrong "wait... I'm sorry I won't tell him you're here, promise" it doesn't smile but it's not frowning either, it just leans closer to me until I'm nose to nose with it.

it brought a hand to my face and to my surprise I could feel it, not just that cold feeling when it runs through you but its hand was well...there. not knowing what to do I just sat there watching as it caressed my cheek earning a blush from me. what is wrong with me, blushing at Alastors shadow, it's not even a real person, but it feels like it is "What is it you want...?" I say practically whispering.

the door opens startling me and making the shadow turn its head. Alastor stands at the door with a strained smile "Enough!" he says, his voice laced with static. the shadow frowns and retreats behind Alastor "Apologies my dear, it has a mind of its own..." he said through gritted teeth, shooting the shadow a glare "I-it's ok it didn't do anything bad-" "This will never happen again, I will make sure of it." he says in a harsh tone. I opened my mouth to say something but quickly shut it, not wanting to aggravate the situation more.

"Alright..." I say and he turns on his heel to walk back to his room, the shadow looks back at me one more time before it follows Alastor down the hallway. I feel almost sorry for it, even though it's not technically its own person it's still capable of feelings... Alastors feelings. but it makes me wonder, if that shadow is a part of Alastor, emotions, thoughts and all, what was it doing? Why was it following me? and why was Alastor so angry...

there was a loud thud downstairs and I slid off my bed, put my shoes on, and walked downstairs. Charlie had returned but she looked pretty upset "Charlie, how did it go with Angel?" "I messed up, I- I made him angry at me and-" vaggie walks up to her rubbing her back "Hay it's okay, maybe he didn't mean it!" Charlie bursts out in tears and vaggie whisks her away to comfort her.

Husk scoffs from the bar and I scowl at him "Don't be like that!" he growls and takes a swig from his bottle "She's too soft for her own good" I sigh and walk over to take a seat on a stool "a lot like you, showing kindness to other who don't deserve it" "is it so bad that I don't want to be like any other person in this horrible place!" he raises a brow at my sudden outburst "what's on your mind..?" "there's nothi-" "yes there is, your frustrated."

I stare at the counter thinking about my next few words before I speak "Do you think Alastor hates me?" I feel stupid for asking such a thing, but Husk doesn't question it "I doubt that creep likes anyone but himself" I frown and he seems to notice because of what he says next "But I wouldn't be surprised if he did like you" I throw him a puzzled look "why do you think that?" "tch, haven't you ever questioned why Alastor made you his wife" he was right, Alastor was an overlord, if he needed somebody to prepare his meals and clean his house he could just...buy a maid.

"no, I- I haven't..." When Alastor and I first discussed our contract, he said that he and my ex-husband would trade places, me being married to Alastor in exchange for complete devotion to him...and my soul. in the 1950s it was looked down on to divorce your husband or divorce at all, and now that I looked back at it I didn't care about my reputation enough not to get a divorce. but I was desperate for an escape, and desperation makes you do stupid things.

"if he didn't tolerate you, he wouldn't have married you, it's one of the weirdest contracts I ever saw but I wouldn't pry into it too much, just know you're the last person on his shit list" I nod but that doesn't explain why he was so angry, was he even angry at me? suddenly the door to the hotel opens and Angel walks over looking spent.

he plops down on the stool down from me and asks for the strongest drink Husk can make "Excuse me, didn't think this was a drink to forget kinda night" Angel and Husk end up fighting about Angels "acting" resulting in Angel throwing a bottle. I stand away and steer clear of the glass shards before watching Angel storm off "Angel wait..." he pushes past vaggie and out the door. vaggie tells Husk to go after him and Charlie leaves to go make "100 apology letters."

eventually, Husk returns with Angel, laughing and talking while being dirtied and damaged. Charlie rushes over to Angel and apologizes over 50 times before he reassures her "He he he he he said HE FORGAVE ME!!!" Charlie says in tears while vaggie carries her back to their room. I quickly run up to Angel checking up on him "Angel!! are you ok you- you're covered in blood."

"ahh don't worry tuts, I'm alright" I breathe a sigh of relief, thankful that Angel isn't hurt "Come on, let's go get a drink" "Oh angel I don't-" "I won't make you anything strong, Alastor would kill me if I did" I hesitate but agree "Ok, but just for a little while..."

so sorry this came out late but here it is!! chapter 5!!! I got writer's block halfway through but still managed to make it work. I will be gone for the weekend to Knots Berry Farm for a family trip so expect chapter 6 to be a little late. and with that have a wonderful day/night love you all!!!

-squerlly

@kimmis-stuff @pooplyface1423 @strippezzz

for more content and chapters please click this masterlist

[thedevilspearl]

author’s note ʚɞ i’m testing the waters with this one so please be kind about it. please also excuse the pet name sugar tits, i think it’s hot don’t judge me >_<

tags ʚɞ 5.6k words, dark content, mammon x female reader, bully!mammon, dubcon (forced consent), non–consensual photo taking, semi–public sex, (public) groping, blowjob, degradation, name calling, praise, pet names, humiliation kink, breeding kink, dacryphillia. minors do not interact!

ʏᴏᴜ’ᴠᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ɪᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴀᴍᴍᴏɴ and his antics. it’s beyond ridiculous at this point. never did you imagine becoming his target but when you think about it long enough, you realise your whole existence in the devildom was set up to be a laughing stock from the beginning.

back when you had just arrived, he acted as your tour guide but then forced you to cover his dinner duties at home. he helped you with your homework since you were new to the subjects but demanded you pay him back with all of your saved grimm. he even lent you some of his friends to help curb your homesickness only to have them report back every little detail so he could blackmail you later on.

and those kind of things happen when he’s being nice; unfortunately for you, mammon is very rarely nice. not a day goes by where he doesn’t find a way to make your life hell.

mammon, the avatar of greed, the second eldest of the powerful demon brothers, and as he likes to call himself, your first man, rarely shows kindness towards you unless he can gain something from it.

even if he gets nothing in return, he will go out of his way. from tripping you up in hallways to stealing your possessions, and forcing you to complete his homework to treating you like his lackey. anything and everything he does is in some way or another intended to bring you misery.

you’ve grown accustomed to being pushed around and laughed at for the sake of some demon’s entertainment, but there’s something else you’ve also grown used to.

the fact is, mammon gives you more attention than he gives anyone, even himself. and it’s a delusional way to think but it helps you cope with your sorrowful life in the devildom.

you’ve considered confiding in someone; surely the bullying would cease if diavolo found out mammon was harming the student exchange programme like this. but at the end of the day, mammon held more power over you than diavolo himself.

each and every decision you make, reluctantly or otherwise, gives him more power as the days go by. because you have no other choice but to go along with it; and if you don’t want to, he’ll simply blackmail you.

a while ago, you became incredibly close to knocking on lucifer’s door and confessing everything after mammon snapped pictures of you showering and threatened to post them if you didn’t do what he said. lamentably, you gave up on the effort.

if lucifer found out, he would have punished mammon. and after that, you have no doubt mammon would come after you with those big threats again. and you’ve never been in a position strong enough to fight back against him.

the pathetic little human, the bane of his life. yet, he can’t seem to stay away from you. demons are inherently evil creatures, that is a known fact. but after coming to the devildom, you learned demons are, in fact, not all monster.

they have bodies that look human and thoughts and feelings which may be questionable at time but still similar enough to the people in your own world to make you think wait a minute, they’re not all bad.

but that was before mammon revealed his irrational hatred for you. it has nothing to do with him hating humans or those weaker than him and everything to do with his dark, twisted infatuation with you. he’s the definition of cruel and demonic and you feel his animosity deep in your bones, now more than ever.

you don’t know how he did it, but staring at an empty locker where your rad uniform should be sitting boils your blood.

filled with fury, you storm out of the changing rooms in search of the demon.

mammon had already shrunk your sports kit by turning up the temperature when they were getting washed so your usually loose–fitting shorts cling to your thighs and butt. and after getting caught in the rain five minutes ago, you rushed inside to change your sodden white shirt.

but you were foolish to think things would go your way and now you’re storming through rad’s hallways with shorts riding up your ass and your bra fully visible under the wet shirt clinging to you. you’re overflowing with so much rage that you don’t care about the demons eyeing you in the tight clothes or licking their lips as you rush past them.

you spot your nemesis at the end of the hallway and for a moment, your heart stops beating. inhaling deeply, you build the courage to storm up to the white–haired demon.

he’s surrounded by his cronies, laughing at some sleazy joke that came out of his mouth and he refuses to look at you despite you standing in front of him. you know he knows you’re there. but in mammon fashion, he publicly humiliates you once again by completely ignoring you.

meanwhile, a small crowd of hungry demons gathers around you and your heart patters, shying under their interested eyes. but now is not a time to show weakness. now is the time to finally put mammon in his place, which is rather ironic since his place is among the strongest beings in all three realms and you are but a measly human.

“hey!” you shout and he rolls his eyes before finally turning to look at you.

just the sight of him infuriates you, but you’re not sure if the heat growing in your core is rooted from fury or from the way his eyes rake up and down your body. he blue orbs fall to your feet and slowly rise, taking in every detail of your frame.

little do you know, the shape of your body has him salivating. his eyes linger at your thighs, so thick and plush; your hips, so curvaceous and delicious; your tits, so tempting with your perky nipples poking through and your lacey bra visible under the wet shirt.

the tip of his tongue runs under his fangs before wetting his lips as they inch up one side of his face. as attractive as his smirk is, you want to slap it right off his face.

“what’s up, sugar tits?” he quirks his brows, nodding his head to notion the attention he has for the state of your chest, hence the nickname.

you follow his gaze downwards, fully grasping how much of your breasts were on display. you gasp, covering them but it does nothing to hide your entire ass also being showcased.

damn, mammon thinks. you might as well not be wearing any underwear with how tightly your shorts are pressed against your pussy. he can see everything.

“i knew ya were a desperate little thing,” mammon taunts. “but i didn’t think you’d be so dumb to come beg for me in front of everyone.”

“i didn’t come to beg!” you yell, cowering as the crowd fills with laughs and jeers.

“then what did ya come for?” mammon rolls his eyes.

“i came here to…”

“….to what?” mammon steps closer. his scent is intoxicating as it surrounds you. “ya came here to yell at me, the great mammon?”

“n-no….” you mutter, suddenly afraid of his close proximity. with ever step forward he makes, you take one back which ends with your back against the wall and his big frame caging you against it.

he creates a little cave between your bodies that holds barely enough air for you to breathe. just like always, he controls you in any situation. if he doesn’t want you to breathe, he will simply steal all the air you could possibly breathe. and that means locking you tightly between his body and the wall will suffocate you as much as he wants it to, regardless of your pleas for forgiveness.

“i’m sorry....i–i shouldn’t have yelled at you....i didn’t mean to.”

whatever flattery you have in your tone fails to do the job as he closes in, the space between you negligent while you try to figure out a way to escape.

but as your body heats up from mammon forcing proximity, his hands begin to roam your body and you lose the ability to think straight.

“aww, the little human’s blushing. ya like me being this close?” you whimper against him, but he leans in to your ear and whispers, “want me to touch you?”

a quiet but still audible gasp drifts to his ears and he reigns in the delicacy of the sound. such a sweet, pretty sound. he simply needs to hear it again.

“you do, don’t you?” he chuckles lowly. “just say the words and i’ll do it.”

despite every cell in your brain rooting against you, you quietly whisper back to him, “please.... please touch me.”

a rumble sounds in his chest, growling from the pleasure of you inviting him to touch you. the heat radiates from your body, your desperation oozing from your pores. and there’s something else coming from your body, something you’re so ashamed to admit.

mammon’s teasing alone is enough to create wetness between your legs and succumbing to his dominance has your pussy producing more arousal with each throb of your lips.

“ah!” you gasp as a large hand cups your breast. you push his arm away but it only tightens his grip on it. “mammon....”

“these are some sweet tits, mc. shame ya hid ’m from me for so long.”

you have no chance to protest as he moves onto the next, grabbing both your breasts and squeazing hard. you cry out, hoping it would signal for help but it comes out as a moan instead, arousing the audience further.

every demon wants a piece of you, but mammon lays his claim on your body by roaming every inch of it, grabbing every bit of flesh as if it’s the only thing keeping him sane, which might well be true.

with the way he kneads your ass between his rough fingers, you’re just about ready to submit to him completely, to sacrifice your entire body to him so he can have his way and be satisfied.

“fuck,” mammon grumbles as his hands slide lower; you moan and whimper, embarrassed by your helpless position. there’s no way you can come back from this, not when mammon’s hand cups your pussy, rubbing up and down to bring you the relief you so desperately needed. and to his surprise, he finds more than what he expected. “look at that! she soaked through her panties and her shorts.”

“it’s your fault they’re so tight on me....”

“but it’s your fault that you’re this fucking wet,” he reminds you, and you back down with a heavy blush. “you’re the one getting turned on by this, sicko.”

he continues groping you, fondling your tits and squeezing your ass before his hand moves to your front and cups your tight pussy over and over again. you find what energy you have in you to hide your moans but it’s a failed attempt. as quiet as they are, he still hears them.

“fuck,” he groans into your ear, and whispers so no one else can hear his filthy voice. “wanna fuck this pussy so bad.”

“d-don’t….” you whimper, but your resistance earns a harsh grip on your ass. his fingers dig deep into your flesh, sure to leave behind bruises. “stop....”

“hah? you’re telling me, the great mammon, no? darlin’, ya already know how that’s gonna turn out.”

your gaze is blurred by tears — from embarrassment, from shame, from arousal. you can barely understand the plethora of sensations in your body but you do know that mammon touching you is so wrong even if it feels so right.

it confuses you so much that you can’t stop your hand from rising and colliding with his face. at least your gut instincts are still working. you push him away in the moment he is stunned and your palm stings from the slap.

the entire right side of his face burns red as he holds it.

“the fuck?!” he growls, bearing his fangs at you. “you fucking hit me?”

the crowd gasps and mutters as he dives towards you with his fists raised. you brace for impact, ready to be slammed into the wall. he’s never hurt you so badly before, but today just happens to be the day where all lines are crossed.

you gasp, holding up your hands to protect your face but as if time has frozen, you don’t feel the impact coming. when you finally breathe and look up, mammon looks down at you with raging eyes and a contorted face — as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was about to do.

before you can even think to question why he stopped himself, the two demons you least expect to see appear, parting the crowd as they arrive: lucifer, with diavolo trailing behind him.

“what is the meaning of this?” diavolo bellows, his eyes draping down your form.

lucifer’s cheeks burn, not from blushing but rather, anger, embarrassment, humiliation. “what on earth are you wearing?”

regret floods you as you remember your position in their household. and you’ve brought shame onto the brothers for flaunting yourself around rad dressed in what might as well be underwear.

diavolo’s voice is a bit more kind towards you, but he’s definitely pissed. “i’m going to assume you aren’t aware of the dress code within these walls, mc. might i remind you that dressing inappropriately will result in punishment. as will attacking another student. you will both receive detention effective immediately.”

“it was mammon—”

“stop your sputtering,” lucifer snaps. “go change this instant.”

“but….my uniform was stolen.”

“by who?”

you glance slyly to the white–haired demon beside you and your heart hammers. you could tell lucifer now, tell him everything that mammon has ever done to you. but mammon’s death glare scares you. not because of what he might do to you if you snitch, but how you’ll feel if he is ordered to never interact with you again.

you’re sure diavolo would put a stop to the bullying straight away, maybe even move you out of the house of lamentation. but that means you’ll see less of mammon and despite how much you hate him, you’ll feel lonely without his constant unwarranted attention.

“never mind,” you mutter. “i’ll find it.”

you arrived to detention on time, not wanting to anger lucifer any further. thankfully, the eldest had figured out it was mammon who stole your uniform and had him return it. the classroom is empty save for your sorrowful soul.

you hope mammon doesn’t come. he skips detentions just like he skips classes so you’re happy to have some time alone to calm down before heading home.

but as your luck would have it, the demon struts in, spotting you in your seat before striding over to sit beside you.

“you can sit anywhere in the room but you choose to sit next to me?” you scoff. “i thought you were supposed to hate me.”

“i do.”

“then why are you sitting next to me?”

mammon won’t allow that, though. he’s in control. whatever fantasies you have of him being soft and affectionate with you are over the seconds he decides them to be and right now, he puts an end to them by slipping his hand under your blazer and cupping your breast.

“so i can do this.” mammon raises his hand, slowly but it’s still concerning. his fingers brush your hair away from your face and your mind spins from the action. his thumb creeps closer, brushing the soft, sensitive skin of your lips.

you’re afraid to look at him, to see the gentleness hidden beneath his mean facade knowing that you’d fall for it in an instant.

you were beginning to feel the phantom of his touches from earlier, which is nothing if not the biggest red flag. but having his hand places on them again, fondling them eagerly is infinitely better than the memories of his corroding touch.

every second which passes with his hands on you, another part of you is corrupted by him and those few sacred, untouched parts rebel against all odds and finally give you some self–restraint and control.

“don’t touch me!” you whack his arm away and scoot over to the next chair, embarrassed that you almost fell for him again. every single time he teases you with niceties and gentle gestures that border flirtation, you find yourself hoping that it might be real.

but he’s just playing with you like he always has. he wants nothing more than to make you feel like a fool under his charms. your humiliation is food to him.

“come on, you said it was fine earlier. let me do it again.”

“no,” you say firmly. “i don’t want you to touch me anymore.”

mammon huffs. “suit yourself.”

hopefully with a seat between you, he’ll put an end to his interest in you and ignore you just like you’re ignoring him.

but choosing to ignore him would be your biggest mistake because when you glance over, in the corner of your eye you see on his ddd a photo of you naked in the shower. your body jolts at the sight of it.

“what the hell, mammon?!” you scream. “what are you doing?”

“gonna post it on devilgram, duh.”

“wait, mammon! don’t!” you try grabbing for his phone but he yanks your arm away from it and pushes you away.

“come on,” he whistles. “show me your tits.”

“what....”

he threatens you by holding his thumb over the post button. “didn’t want me to touch you, well now you gotta do what i say or i’ll post ’em”

“please, mammon. don’t do this.”

“nuh-uh. you should be on your knees begging me if you want me to stop.”

an inhumane noise releases from your throat. you’re not quite sure what it was — a growl of frustration, a beg for help? you’ll bever know because you’re too busy sinking to your knees pleading for mercy.

“not yet,” mammon stops you before your knees graze the ground. “get your tits out first.”

“what?”

“fuck, how many times do i need to say it?” he stares at you, demanding your obedience and you slowly rise, shamefully removing your blazer. “that’s better.”

his demonic blue–gold eyes cut through your skin and you unbutton your shirt one button at a time, shrugging it off so it falls down your shoulders but still hooked on your elbows. mammon salivates at the sight of your pretty chest.

he’s been waiting to see them since he saw you earlier, but fuck. this is the real deal. your breasts sit nicely in their lacey cups and just like a few hours ago, your slutty nipples poke through.

his hand immediately goes to his crotch and palms himself. you feel sick, disgusted but the way his hand moves against himself and his reddening cheeks turns you on. you try to look away from him, but you simply cannot do so.

“c’mere,” mammon mutters and with the phone in his hand ready to post your nude pictures, you do as he says. “get on your knees.”

when they touch the ground, your body shudders and you settle in front of him. there are no words to describe the way he looks down at you. you almost feel like it’s a blessing to be looked at by him at all.

“take my dick outta my pants.”

“what?”

“are ya dumb or something? take my fucking dick out of my pants.”

you can tell his patience is running thin and you don’t dare to test him further when he waves his ddd in front of your face. you reach up with shaky hands to unzip his pants but he stops you again.

“do it with your mouth.”

what kind of fantasies must he be having to order you to do such a thing? well, they’re the fantasies you play a part in and you’ll play them out exactly as he desires for your own wellbeing, lest the entire devildom see pictures of you naked.

taking the metal zip between your teeth, you pull it down. the button is more difficult to undo but you get there in the end despite mammon cackling at your struggle. next, you bite the fabric before dragging it down his thighs.

the sheer size of his cock amazes you and the ghost of it fills you up just by looking at it. your body is begging for him to be inside you, and you pray he’ll never find out. he ushers you to keep going and in the same way, you pull down his boxers, looking him dead in the eyes as you drag them down with your teeth.

he hisses as his cock is freed, letting it bounce as it twitches to life. cum oozes from his tip and you mindlessly lick your lips.

“suck it.” he says and reluctantly, you inch forward, taking his tip between your lips. your tongue swipes over it, tasting his cum that you can only describe as the only substance you’ll need to survive on from now on.

“fuck,” he groans. “your slutty mouth feels so fucking good.”

your pussy throbs each and every time he calls you a slut no matter how much you hate it and he inspires you to take him deeper in your mouth in hopes of him calling you it again. his fat cock fills your cheeks and you move back and forth, tongue running along his shaft.

he’s thick and hard, too big to fit in your mouth and you can only imagine the size of it tearing your pussy walls apart when he finally finds his home in there.

“ya looked so fucking hot in those shorts,” he grunts. “bet ya loved every minute of it, strutting around like a slut.”

“i’m not,” you mumble around his cock. “i’m not a slut.”

mammon scoffs, somehow able to understand your muffled words while his cock sits heavy in your mouth. he tuts as you pull back, drenching his cock in your saliva. “don’t lie to me, sweetheart. i know what a dirty little slut ya.”

“no…”

“every demon in that hallway was looking at ya and all i could smell was your sweet pussy leaking for me. bet they could all smell it too. bet they wanted ya as bad as i do.”

mammon….wants you?

now, that’s not something you ever thought of being a possibility. but as the words slip from his lips, your lower body heats up even more. there is so much desperation growing between your legs and you can’t hold back.

your nimble fingers find their way between your legs and mammon uses his foot to lift up your skirt and peek at the dirty things you do to yourself underneath it. god, your eyes are just so needy for him as he watches your fingers push in and out of your pussy.

the only thing blocking his view are the panties you pulled to the side and he orders you to take them off. it pains you to obey him again but the ache in your belly hurts so much more. if you listen to him well enough, maybe he’ll fill you up and finally put your body at ease.

after all that’s happened, the only thing you want right now is his fat cock stuffing you to the hilt instead of your amateur fingers which do not dare to match the level of pleasure mammon’s cock can give you.

swallowing bitterly, you gently place your soaked panties in the hand he holds out, feeling your arousal drip down your thighs already.

“you’re such a naughty girl, getting wet like this,” he teases, rubbing his thumb over the soggy patch on your panties. “so fucking bad.”

“i’m not!” you move away from him completely and plead on your knees. “i’m good, i’ve been nothing but good to you and you treat me so horribly!”

mammon supposes he should feel bad seeing you cry, but your cute little sniffles and the way your teary eyes look up at him through sodden lashes, well, it does make him feel bad….for what he’s about to do to you.

“aww, baby,” his hand snakes his hand under your chin. your skin burns from the way his fingers feel so right around your neck. his touch is gentle, guiding you up onto your feet and your knees are so weak that you begrudgingly lean on him for support. “i didn’t mean to make ya cry.”

his voice is soft as he feigns a pout while spouting such a lie. making you cry is a reward for mammon. you wouldn’t be surprised if he was getting off on this.

“what did i do to deserve this?” you whimper.

“oh darlin’” he kisses your cheek, nuzzling into your neck. the softness in his voice is foreign, and the gentle graze of his lips teasing your skin is addicting. “do you want me to stop?”

“huh?”

“want me to stop being mean to ya?”

freeing himself from the intoxicating scent of your pulse, he holds his face close to you with a hand on either side of yours, thumbs stroking your hot cheeks and wiping away tears. a sick feeling builds in your stomach, but a desperate, needy ache grows faster and stronger.

and as loud as they both are, you can only listen to one bodily instinct at a time.

nodding slowly, you don’t tear your eyes away from his hoping he will see how pathetic and miserable and desperate you are. you’d do anything if it means he’ll stop harassing you.

mammon’s wide smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes and he leans in, surprising you when his lips touch yours. your eyes grow to an abstractly large size and you don’t dare to move as he glides his lips against yours.

one arm wraps around your waist, pulling you flush against him and his cock presses into your tummy while the other snakes around your shoulders, grabbing your scalp and holding your head in place. despite your best efforts to push him away, you remain with your lips locked onto his.

they’re both hot and cold at the same time, both gentle and destructive. all of your walls break down as he pries your sorry lips apart, swiping his tongue along them before devouring your mouth whole.

you moan and gasp against him, beating his chest with your fists but he refuses to let you go and to your dismay — or delight, you can’t quite tell — his hips begin moving. he grinds into your body, rubbing his bare cock along your tummy and leaving cum stains on your clothes.

every alarm in your body rings loudly and you lose the ability to breathe. your mind fogs up from the lack of air but you’re sure he’s doing this on purpose, not allowing you a single ounce of it and if one manages to slip past your lips, he steals it right away.

you know how he works. what mammon wants, mammon gets and while he deprives you of oxygen, he’s waiting for you to give in.

he forces his tongue deep in your mouth but the feel of it is new and draws out a deeper beast within you, greed and excitement growing in your core. while his cock ruts against you, your hands find it and you slowly stroke him, spreading his pre–cum along his length.

“that’s it. keep doing that,” he groans, lips only inches apart. “good girl.”

a whimper escapes you as the words roll of his tongue and your pussy erupts in sparks.

“what’s that, huh? you like it when i call you good girl?” biting your lip, you nod eagerly, earning another proud smile from him. “hm, maybe i should keep calling ya it. but then again, you’re nothing but a worthless slut.”

mammon grabs a fistful of your hair and pushes you to the cold, hard ground. before you can wiggle away, he has you locked in place with your arms pinned down at the sides and your legs stretched on either side of his hips.

“mammon!” you yelp. “please, no….”

“dontcha ya want me to stop being mean to ya?” he questions, eyes filled with madness as he yanks down your bra and gropes your breasts. holding you in place as you writhe against him, mammon leans down and takes your nipple between his lips. “i’ll stop if you let me fuck your sweet little pussy. it’s a good deal, ain’t it?”

it’s the most horrific deal you’ve ever heard but you’re beyond reasoning at this point. the two things you desire most — for him to fuck you dumb on his cock and for him to stop bullying you — he can give to you right now. there’s no harm in killing two birds with one stone, right? if he’s going to be mean about it, you’ve no choice but to take it given it’s the only chance you’ll ever have to free yourself from him.

“fuck, your tits are so sweet.” he can’t stop playing with them, squeezing them, slapping them and marvelling at the way they jiggle, then pinching your nipples and pulling them taught before releasing them and taking them in his mouth again.

“ah!” you moan. “mammon, don’t…” but the warmth of his lips is welcomed by your body and you arch into him.

burying his face into your breasts, he sucks and bites for what feels like hours, covering your mounds with bruises and when he rises with a gasp, his lips are covered in his saliva. his mini–makeout session with your breasts makes every hair on your body stand tall, all the while, your pussy leaks onto the ground beneath you.

mammon grabs both of your breasts, blessing each of his hands with their softness and rubs his cock head over your puffy lips.

“fucking sugar tits, alright,” he jokes. “ya like it when i call ya that?”

you shake your head violently but the truth is, you haven’t stopped thinking about it since he called you it earlier. it’s such a ridiculous name, so degrading and obscene. yet, your hole clenches over nothing when he calls you it.

“that’s right, sugar tits. i can feel your pussy throbbing against me.” mammon warns. “you’re gonna cum while i call ya sugar tits, ain’t ya?”

shaking your head again, you cry no’s and stop’s but each of them fly past his ears. but a guttural feeling deep down knows you’re glad he won’t listen. your pussy aches for his cock to fill you up, for your name to roll off his lips while he fucks his cum far into your pussy.

“you want this, don’t ya?”

“no,” you sob.

“don’t lie to me, bitch. you know you want it.”

“i don’t!”

oh, but you do.

you want this more than anything but you’d rather him not know because it would only give him more fuel to ruin you with.

“yes, you fucking do,” he forces the answer for you. his grabs his cock and prods it against your hole. it’s so wet and slippery that he almost falls deep inside but he’s using the last remainders of his control to hear you say the words he’s wanted to hear for so long. “you fucking want this. tell me you want this.”

you whine. struggling against him but he pushes you down with his ungodly strength.

“say it or i’ll post the fucking pictures.”

“i want it!” you yelp, the words blurting out against your will. “please, mammon. i want it!”

“that’s what i fucking thought.”

and with that, mammon pushes himself past your hole, his leaking tip digging its way into your pussy. your legs fly in the air as you feel him stretch your walls unbelievably wide.

“fuck! mammon!”

“your pussy’s sucking me in, baby,” he grunts with each thrust. “i knew ya wanted my cock this bad.”

with each rock of his hips, your body drags against the ground and he pins you down in place again, arms at your side and body spread wide for him. his eyes latch onto your tits bouncing with every thrust.

they mesmerise him, the way they knock up and down with each hard thrust acting as hypnosis for the demon and he grows desperate for release.

“fuck, sugar tits,” you clench at the pet name. it’s so humiliating but it feels so fucking good, as good as his cock battering your insides. “such a fucking slut enjoying my cock like this.”

he spits insult after insult, mocking you for your weakness against him. “nothin’ but a dirty little human desperate for some demon cock, huh? bet that’s why ya let me fuck around with ya for so long, because ya wanted this to happen, wanted me to fill your tiny little hole with my cum. isn’t that right?”

“no,” you shake your head, but you’re quickly met with his hands gripping your face harshly. “i mean, yes! yes i wanted this!”

“keep going….” he ruts harder, knocking your insides in the right way.

“i wanted this for so long, mammon!” you cry. “wanted your cock so bad i let you treat me like dirt all this time!”

“that’s right,” mammon groans. “i’m always fucking right about ya. nothin’ but a slutty little hole for me. gonna fucking breed ya with all of my cum, and no one’s ever gonna touch ya but me.”

“oh!” you moan, relishing in the words spilling from his lips. you know he doesn’t mean anything special by it, but you’re so blissed out from his cock that for a moment, it feels real. you’re his and his only in the empty classroom and you feel….special. “mammon, it’s so good!”

“yeah? my cock’s making ya feel good?”

“yes!”

“fucking hell, sugar tits loves my cock,” he yells for the whole school to hear, laughing at your the way your pussy tightens when he says it. “go on, you say it too.”

“huh?” you whine.

“fucking say it, scream it. need the whole fucking devildom to here ya being a slut for me.”

“but—”

“say it, angel. or ya don’t get to cum,” he grins seeing the desperation in your eyes, so obedient to him just for an orgasm. how much more pathetic can you get? “go on, be a good girl and say it.”

“i….i love mammon’s cock….”

“louder.”

“i love mammon’s cock,” you repeat but he still isn’t satisfied. he thrusts into you particularly harshly, a yelp escaping your lips and you hear his message loud and clear, screaming, “i love the great mammon’s cock!”

“that’s right, sugar tits,” he leans down. “ya gonna cum now?”

you nod fervently, desperate for release. his cock drags along your clenching walls, awakening the hidden sweet spots as your nectar leaks around him. “wanna cum! please!”

“go ahead, baby,” he ruts with a deep groan, coming close to the edge himself. “i’m gonna finish inside your filthy little pussy.”

“hhm,” you moan. “you shouldn’t!”

“but i’m gonna anyway.”

all it takes as one more thrust to feel ropes of mammon’s hot cum spurting out into your pussy. his thumb finds your clit and pinches it, pulls it, then circles it roughly while pushing his cum deeper inside you with his cock. seconds later, ecstasy washes over you and your body loses control, spasming against his cock as you arch deeper into it. your walls are painted white with his cum and his cocks remains sheathed in your pussy as you writhe through your prolonged orgasm.

“fuck!” you squeal. “it feels so fucking good!”

“holy shit,” mammon groans, hissing when he finally pulls out from your hot mess of a pussy. “that was fucking amazing, huh?”

he falls back, watching your body twitch and tremble and his cum pours out from between your legs, giving him the perfect idea. he reaches for his ddd and opens the camera, facing it towards your blissed the fuck out body.

“hey, sugar tits,” you look at him, haunted by the sick grin on his face. “smile for the camera.”

“wait, mammon—”

“shaddup,” he mumbles and seconds later, several snaps of his camera sound. you yelp, covering your chest and closing your legs in a weak attempt. but mammon’s strength is far to superior to yours and he yanks your legs back open. “i gotcha now, angel.”

“what…?”

he snaps several more pictures and even a short film of his cum gushing out of your pussy. “fuck, i could sell these for some real grimm.”

the way his eyes light up terrifies you and you want nothing more than to curl up into a ball and cease to exist. if he did, your life in the devildom would truly be over. you’d have no dignity remaining from what little of it was left anyway.

“you said you’s stop!” you cry. “you promised you wouldn’t mess with me anymore if i let you fuck me!”

“ya didn’t actually believe that, did ya?”

the world comes crashing down on your heavy, aching body and you’re overcome with violent sobbing. all hope is lost; there’s nothing good left for you now. mammon has made sure of that.

“why? why are you doing this to me?”

“because you’re nothing but a worthless slut. but you’re fun to play with, i’ll give ya that.”

every nerve on your body aches with humiliation. and what’s worse is knowing mammon gets off to it every single time.

how could you ever think you would mean something to him? you know your place full and well yet you still strived to be something more to him, when in reality, all you are is a toy for him to play with, a pathetic human designed for him to ruin in every way.

“p-please….” you sob. “please don’t tell anyone.

“that’s right, angel. you better do everything i say from now on, or else the entire fucking devildom is gonna know how much of a greedy slut ya are. fuck, ya were so fucking desperate for me to breed ya.”

your heart collapses into your stomach; you were a fool to ever believe him. his words and his touches twisted their way into your core and you gave into your sickly attraction to him. but what’s done is done and the best you can do now is some damage control.

“y–you won’t show the pictures to anyone….right?”

mammon scoffs with his devilish grin refusing to leave his face. your skin tingles as he glares at you. despite his terrible attention span and low grades, mammon is smart when he wants to be and smart he is by hacking away at all of your strength, leaving you with nothing but weakness and in the position he’s been wanting you in since the beginning.

“i won’t….for a price,” he grins. “what are ya willing to do to stop me from showing ‘em?”

with one question spilling from his lips, your mind shatters upon the realisation that your existence is now in his hands. you swallow, giving up on all of your pride and courage and hoping desperation will help you. and you really hope it will because that’s all you have left.

“anything. i’ll do anything.”

“good,” his eyes are dark like deep water as he leans over you again, engulfing your pitiful body in his scent. your heart races, tears soaking your eyes as you officially sign away your life to him. “because from now on, you’re the great mammon’s personal slut.”

[nalyra-dreaming]

"Let me know if you want to know more :))" If it's not asking much, yes, please?! I really know little to nothing about the books. I see what people post here, like, I didn't know about Rose and only found out about Viktor this week lol. Unfortunately the books aren't always available in my country and I'm still waiting to buy and read them. D:

Okay, for a rundown:)))

In the books:

Lestat finds Louis again through the rockstar career, and he writes his own story down for him, which Louis reads. Their reunion is quite beautiful, Louis and Gabrielle fight other vampires side by side with Lestat. There is a kiss backstage :)

Unfortunately Akasha kidnaps Lestat, because she thinks he is the epitome of toxic masculinity and that she can use him for her plan to take over the world (literally), burning a lot of the vampires. It’s a misjudgment though, Lestat is fearful of her killing the ones he loves, but starts to resist her ever more (she forces him to do her bidding via spells at times). Louis, Gabrielle reunite with all the others to hear the history behind Akasha and ultimately they meet up with her and Lestat, ending in Akasha‘s death. Louis and Lestat have a very romantic scene together.

Afterwards Lestat is changed though, battling with the event. He got a huge amount of blood from her, because she wanted him strong, and he experiences severe body dysmorphia and self hatred. Louis and he are in a weird “Netflix and chill“ era, visiting each other regularly, watching movies together, being petty with each other. Lestat’s guilt and that self hatred drive him to suicide, but he is too strong already to burn in the sun and he heals to retain a tan (only). The Body Thief sees his chance and offers him a mortal body for a while, and Lestat takes it. The Body Thief does not return his body though and so Lestat tries to bring Louis to turn him again but Louis refuses (very emotional scene). Louis tells Lestat to live that mortal life and Lestat has to turn to others (David in the book here maybe Daniel?!) to get his body back bc he realizes that he does want to be a vampire (after all). He manages, and there is a very beautiful but very raw scene with Louis in a church afterwards. Lestat tries to convince himself he is evil (for wanting that vampiric life back) and rapes David into darkness just as he was raped into it. All through the book Claudia‘s ghost is there and speaks with him. Lestat has Rue Royale fixed up and he and Louis (and David) live there again.

A while later a being claiming to be the Devil visits Lestat - he wants his help, and takes his soul onto a journey beyond (it is later confirmed that Lestat was gone from this plane of existence) and the events with heaven, hell, purgatory and Lestat drinking the blood of Christ (literally) shatter him. He loses an eye in purgatory, which is returned to him, altered. He goes a bit mad, confined to a church, where Louis and a few others tend to him. Louis comes by regularly to read to him, change clothes, etc. Lestat falls into a sleep.

Lestat’s coma continues, but it is involuntary at times. As he later tells it the altered eye allowed angels to take his soul to do their bidding, while threatening him. The unpublished novel at Tulane tells of one of those adventures. Lestat’s coma is hard on Louis. He is haunted by the fact that he has never seen Claudia’s ghost and with the help of Merrick, a witch, they conjure her, an event for which the diary pages are important. Claudia’s ghost is a vengeful one though, hating him, and he tries to commit suicide after. Lestat wakes up and saves him. They reunite and exchange a lot of blood and afterwards Louis is changed a lot. They leave NOLA because the Talamasca threaten them.

Something not closer defined happens while they are in the jungles, and Louis goes to Armand in NYC, where he is safe from the ever multiplying vampires. They spend some time apart, Lestat roaming, Louis with Armand, both coming to terms with who they are now. This is when Rose needing help must have happened. When Viktor was conceived and raised.

Another burning is happening - the spirit that propels them is clming to consciousness: Amel. It uses older vampires to thin out the ranks. Lestat is called and finally returns from his wanderings, and he defeats an elder and takes the core, effectively becoming the prince of the vampires. He and Louis meet, Rose, Viktor and first trouble with Roshamandes happens.

Amel is coming further to consciousness, recalling the being he was, once. Recalling who he was with, too. Lestat sets up court in his old family castle, now renovated. All big players come. Lestat goes to Louis and Louis comes to him - for good, with a very emotional plea. They are together for good after. Amel need to be removed fromthe vampires and Lestat, he gets a cloned body. Louis comes up with the solution, and holds Lestat’s hand through it.

Roshamandes, the ancient slighted bc he did not get the core is outfor revenge tjough, and kidnaps Gabrielle, Louis and Marius, sending ashes to Lestat. Lestat… shuts down. Armand goes feral (in words, incredible scene!!).

Lestat goes to Roshamandes in an all-or-nothing move and kills him, creating the “Blood Communion“ with the remains. Louis and the others are found, and Lestat can finally breathe again There is a big celebration, and the book literally closes with them dancing and kissing and Lestat telling Louis he loves him and always had.

______

This is the rundown :)

As you can imagine there is a LOT the show can do with this. In the books they kiss, the show has added sex, and so I expect some scenes to be a lot more sexy :) Louis is a lot more involved in the later arcs, his and Lestat‘s arcs are inverted. When they finally come together (for good) once more they are at peace with each other.

They have a son, and a daughter, their friends are with them. Former loves, too.

They have left their human pains behind, have accepted themselves as vampires.

Louis calls it the “monarchy of darkness“ in the unpublished draft at Tulane, and knowing Rolin knows of those drafts… I do expect this on the show :)

Obviously some of this will be spun differently. Has already been used, and/or used differently. But I expect to see the Body Thief parts, definitely. Akasha and the aftermath. And we know we’re getting the rockstar era :))

I think the show has already hinted at Amel, and so I do think they’ll finish with that arc :)))

We‘ll see. Since the relationship in the show is deliberately more explicit I think a lot of the canon events will be a LOT more intimate. It’s not about sex for them.

It’s about eternity and acceptance, both self acceptance and acceptance of the other.

And I cannot wait to see what the show makes of it.

[seokka0o]

박원빈 - Park Wonbin 🐉contain:Smut;unprotected sex; nipple play // remembering that English is not my first language, so it may have some grammatical errors

Your temper was very difficult to manage at times, a little unstable when dealing with certain frustrations and in fact you understand that it's not something you can handle alone, stressful days tend to be longer, the ones that make you drag yourself around alone waiting for it to end. Not luckily, you have your boyfriend, Wonbin is never the type to question you too much, especially if he sees you cross the door of his apartment sulking, with your head down, not making light of it, but he knows that at some point it will pass, you would come to him anyway, so he will intend to watch television, because if you wanted to talk, you would have done so as soon as you got home.

But in return, he'll make sure you forget about your problem by fucking you like crazy.

His fingers were soft, against your flesh, massaging gently, making everything inside you compress, Wonbin would break your legs quite easily, but given your condition it was justifiable. He entered, over your body and then he slipped inside without prey, smiling as he noticed the expressions lost in your pleasure, he had bright eyes, like two billiard balls. The hands that used to twist the skin of your thighs going up inside the T-shirt -which, by the way, was his - that you were wearing, reaching your chest, to massage so shamelessly running his thumb over your nipples, making them bristle just to get a twinge in his own dick by the feel of the hard nipple scraping across his long fingers.

"I'll take care of your frustrations, don't worry" his intention is not to be proper, kind, Wonbin would like to secure some approvals before he becomes who he really is and you'd like to say that you didn't happen to feel the first violent twinge . Wonbin just started to give a good acceleration, with the intention of making you forget any frustrations at any cost, your moans came out involuntary, even though he had no intention of keeping them repressed from the beginning, your back bending with the intense waves and contractions, you didn't know how he managed to keep the thrusts going for so long, from making you gasp and biting your own lip to the air that was starting to leave your lungs "there you go, putting everything else aside to focus on how good my dick does you "

He proved it as always, lowering his own change, slowing down so he could kiss your jaw, making fun while listening to you whimper weakly "want to come for me, honey? Are you desperate for this already?" he asks still depositing some seals by your neck , going up to your face, his hands still under your t-shirt playing with your nipples, but without moving his hips, letting you move yours almost desperately. His lips touching yours is affectionate, delicate seals, pressed subtly, to make a caress, sometimes wonbin sucks your bottom lips with his , smiling as soon as you exchange some eye contact "are you desperate enough?" He's a sadist, definitely, and you might agree that he is.

"please, I really need to come, wonbin" so there's his answer, serving as fuel for all that fire that seemed endless, wonbin pulled his body away from yours and then he went back to fuck you at the same frequency as before. Sliding inside you, muttering every time you moaned his name, each time louder than the other "f-fuck, I'm almost Bin, please continue"

You shouldn't use nicknames like that, wonbin's skin crawling was the sign of his evil in teasing him, because right after he let out a breathless groan, feeling that he could also be close to him. Hands now going down to your hips he used absolute support, to take you to the sky as fast as he could, your flesh losing and your eyes rolling until you finally reached your limit, letting your whole body give in to then soon feeling your entire insides fill with wonbin's liquids and then it falls onto your lap, completely exhausted.

[sserpente]

A/N: Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone! ♥ Requests from @incurablyromanticsblog​ and six (!) anons. I had so many super short requests that wouldn’t have made a whole story on their own, so now… here we have a spicy-President!Loki-Bonnie-and-Clyde-like-but-somehow-also-fluffy-Valentine’s-story! Enjoy, everyone!

Words: 4768 Warnings: succubus!Reader, smut, fluff, violence, poison, imprisonment, blood, starvation

Moaning in a satisfied manner, you rolled over, letting the warm morning sunlight warm your naked skin. The sheets shifted a little during your movement, revealing your bare back to the barely awake God of Mischief resting next to you on the enormous king-size bed his magic had conjured up.

You shivered when his long digits ghosted over your spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Good morning, pet,” he purred, his mischievous smirk speeding up your heartbeat in an instant.

“Morning…”

“Are you hungry?” His left eyebrow rose a little, daring you to an answer. You smiled, your eyes falling back shut.

“I’m good, actually. Not many men keep me up all night, you see.”

Loki chuckled. “There are no men like me, I can assure you.”

You had been fucking like wild animals for the past few weeks now. The sexual tension had been growing ever since you two met and when the God of Mischief found out you were a succubus… he offered you to feed on him in exchange for pleasure. He was different from the other men—the men back home who didn’t treat you like more than a body to have sex with because you needed it to survive anyway—no. Loki saw you. He saw your desires, saw your will and your persistence to survive after you had confessed your life story to him.

That you had fled your home to not be married off into a harem. To not serve incubi and their mortals men-slaves as warm a warm body to keep their cocks warm. Loki must have been sent to you by fate. When he told you about the Tesseract—an ancient artefact powerful enough to send you to different dimensions—you were intrigued and he had proposed a deal.

Help him, become his ally, and in return, he would ensure the blue cube would send you wherever you wished. You scoffed into the soft pillow. When you’re on the run, it was easier to flee to another dimension altogether. They wouldn’t search for you or find you there.

There wasn’t much you knew about Loki aside from the fact he was an Asgardian God and a Frost Giant by birth. You had learned quickly enough his adoptive father had neglected him and that his brother, Thor, was irritable enough for him to curse his very existence even though part of him loved the God of Thunder.

Having sex with him started out as a means to an end—to help with the constant sexual itch lingering between you two, a distraction as you raided Midgard for the Tesseract like a modern Bonnie and Clyde, leaving nothing but chaos and havoc behind. But then, one innocent morning, when he had still been asleep peacefully and you’d watched his relaxed features, stroking his gorgeous cheekbones… you realised you had fallen for him. Loki was an outsider much like you. He was mischievous, intelligent and oh, he could be so deliciously evil if things didn’t go his way.

Just now, you had lied to him. You were hungry again already. But if you fed on him now, a quick fuck would likely turn into Loki chaining you to the bed and having his way with you until you could all but whimper his name, over and over again. It wouldn’t be the first time.

You had work to do. The Tesseract had last been located in a government facility here in New York—a place Loki was only too keen on keeping away from even though he had no intention of letting you know why.

“I will get dressed and head down to the facility, lurk about and spy a little. I’m sure I’ll find a security hole within an hour.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now. We need the cube sooner rather than later.”

Loki frowned, propping himself up on his elbows when you stood. Stark naked, you tiptoed through the room in search of your clothes that were scattered all over the floor thanks to your uncontrolled passion last night.

You resisted the urge to jump back into bed and lick every single inch of his godly body. His naked upper body looked gorgeous in the sunlight shining through the open windows. You hadn’t bothered closing the curtains yesterday.

“You have barely slept, pet. It will take time to retrieve the Tesseract. You don’t know the Avengers like I do. They will do everything in their power to keep the cube out of harm’s way.”

“Why? What do they want with it?”

“Nothing, except for an undying power source for electricity and weapons. They have no interest in travelling through dimensions, even though I would argue SHIELD does indeed.”

“The Avengers… SHIELD… you speak in riddles, Loki.”

The God of Mischief smirked. “That shall be a story for another time.”

“You say that a lot, you know.”

Humming, he stood, revealing a delicious view of his behind before eventually turning around to face you again. You licked your lips, your eyes automatically travelling down to his length which had been inside of you only a few hours before.

“You need rest, pet. You will be of no help to me if you drop unconscious out of exhaustion sooner or later.”

“I’m fine, Loki. I’m not human either, remember?”

The God of Mischief lifted his chin, his hands coming up to cup your face, thumbs stroking over your cheekbones. Your eyes fluttered shut. You did love his gentle touches. In fact, now that you thought about it, Loki’s hands were on you constantly. It wasn’t just the body parts men usually found sexually attractive, though you had little grounds to complain about his palms exploring your breasts, buttocks and pussy whenever he got the chance. Sometimes, Loki’s knuckles brushed over your forearm, other times, he would rest his face on your bare stomach after a long day of causing just enough mischief for the guards and SHIELD agents to remain distracted and stressed. It was almost like… like he was touch-starved.

You had seen this god murder men who stood in his way, had seen him drive another insane with wit and manipulation but with you… with you he was as soft as the light touch of a feather sailing to the ground.

Standing on your toes, you brought your palms against his well-defined chest and kissed him hungrily. Your senses awakened as soon as you initiated the act of intimacy, your body more than ready to feed on the sexual energy seething inside of him.

No time, not now. You could still fuck him senseless tonight when you were both back in this mediocre hotel room Loki’s seidr had turned into a small palace. Perhaps, however, there was just enough time for you to suck him off in the shower, to sate your hunger just a little?

“I’m going to get washed,” you announced, reluctantly releasing his lips. “Care to join me?”

Loki’s grin was louder than any verbal yes could have possibly been.

-

If he truly loved you back, Loki was guarding the secret like the SHIELD agents were guarding the Tesseract. You decided to make your move the same night before you’d pass on from impatience. Perhaps it was ridiculous to hope that once the Infinity Stone was in your possession, Loki would take you with him wherever he went. Perhaps it was selfish, too and yet, the closer you stepped to the cube, the more you began to despise the very idea of parting ways with the cheeky God of Mischief.

The horrifying thought, ending up alone yet again and losing the man you had fallen in love with, kept you distracted. You had to rely on Loki once he opened a green, shimmering portal to the inside of the facility.

“Let’s have some fun, shall we?” he whispered into the utter darkness, allowing you to cling to his leather armour as you sneaked through the dark and empty hallways. The guards were positioned around the securely locked room containing a “confidential” object. You could feel it in your very bones. It must have been the Tesseract.

Loki nodded at you once you were close enough. You could barely make out his features but it was enough for a mute understanding. Kill everyone on sight because they will not hesitate to take your life either.

You had murdered many times in your life. It was necessity and raw survival instinct that had made you who you were—what were a few more deaths, now that your freedom was so close you could practically feel it?

Your senses were tingling, your breath shaky. It was then you heard it. Footsteps. Footsteps that did not belong to Loki or you. Bracing yourself for the fight, you clenched your fists, claws replacing your manicured fingernails. There were perks to being a succubus, after all—ripping your foes to shreds was one of them.

“Brother?”

The warm and deep voice, however, let you pause. Tilting your head, you glanced over to Loki whose lips had parted ever so slightly. He took a deep breath, lifting his chin proudly. One heartbeat passed, then another… and then someone turned on the lights.

You squinted in order for your eyes to get used to the sudden change of brightness. You spotted five people blocking your path, one of them you recognised as Loki’s brother himself, if only because he was carrying his beloved hammer. The others, you did not know but you were fairly certain it was the infamous Avengers Loki had warned you about.

“Thor… what an unpleasant surprise,” the God of Mischief mused. You remained silent. They were a bunch of awkward creatures indeed. One of them was dressed in black, wearing sunglasses even though it was night. Strapped to his back was a quiver filled with arrows you doubted only pierced through people’s skin. Another one was wrapped in a red and gold metal suit, with only his face showing through an open hatch. The redhead woman was pointing one of her guns at Loki and the average guy wearing glasses had put his hands in his pockets. The last one was wearing the most ridiculous superhero suit you had ever seen. You raised your eyebrows at them.

“Listen to reason, Loki. You don’t have to do this.”

“Do I not?” He chuckled. “I am not the Loki you fought here in this monstrosity of a city, Thor.”

“Why, because you got a new haircut, dipshit?” The man in the iron suit bellowed.

You, on the other hand, frowned. “Loki, what are you talking about?”

“So it is true then. We were warned about you. I should have listened,” Thor roared all the while the other’s gazes travelled over to you for a moment. “How did you escape the Void?”

“The Void? What’s the Void?” Loki ignored you completely, fomenting your anger.

“How did you know we were here?” he asked instead, possibly stalling. You were unsure what his plan was—but if the Avengers were as smart as he made them out to be, brute force would likely not suffice to beat them, not tonight.

“We had help—a lovely organisation calling itself the TVA. You might have heard of them, Loki. Rumour has it you’ve been causing them quite some trouble,” the man with the ridiculous blue eye mask and stripes and stars on his armour said.

Loki rolled his eyes. “The TVA was no more than a detour on my journey to glorious purpose. I write my own destiny and for that—I will need the Tesseract.”

“Over our dead bodies.”

“With pleasure.”

The redhead kept her gun pointed at Loki. Her expression did not let on a single emotion. “Agent Romanoff,” Loki chided, directing his attention towards her. “You know those bullets will not so much as scratch my skin.”

“I know. That’s why they’re drenched in poison. You might be a god… but she isn’t.” Her threat came too fast for you to react, for in the next moment, Romanoff had already pulled the trigger. The bullet hit you in the shoulder, knocking you back and against one of the metal pillars. You barely registered the pain of your back colliding with it, too great was the stinging and burning sensation of the foreign object in your flesh.

Loki attacked, daggers materialising in his hands. Any moment now, he would slaughter them where they stood—not for you, you weren’t naïve enough to think that—but in order to end this nonsense once and for all, to bring the Tesseract into your possession at last and then get the hell out of here. You’d survive. It wasn’t the first time you had been shot, although… although it was the first time the bullet had been poisoned. You were warm. No, you were hot. You were sweating. Dizzy, you sank to the floor, shaking like dry autumn leaves in the wind. What… what kind of poison was that? How could it have such an effect on you, an immortal being?

“L-Loki… s-something’s wrong,” you choked out. Hoping he’d hear you, you covered your wound with your right hand, your dark-red blood—almost black—staining your palm. Your sight was too blurry to make out the details of the fight, couldn’t make out if Loki had the upper hand. What you did register was him flipping around, concerned… for you. The blow your involuntary distraction earned him sounded painful, lest it was Mjölnir knocking the God of Mischief to the ground. Still—his stunning blue eyes never left yours and they widened when he realised… when he realised… you gasped for air. You might actually die tonight if you didn’t feed soon to heal yourself. Whatever poison this was… the Avengers had been prepared for him, for you both. And they’d had help—possibly from this secret TVA organisation Loki seemed to know only all too well.

“Alright, stop! Stop!” he shouted. Panic was sizzling in his voice, an emotion you had never seen him display in all of your time together. In your delirious state, hope crawled up your guts. Hope that perhaps the God of Mischief did in fact reciprocate your romantic feelings for him. “I yield! I yield! Let me take her away, she needs to feed.”

Loki’s defeat was the last thing your ears were able to process before you succumbed to darkness and fell unconscious.

-

“Thor, listen to me! If you lock her up on her own and don’t provide her with sustenance, she will die.” Loki hurried to keep up with the God of Thunder. The handcuffs they had used on him had been forged on Asgard, blocking his magic and enough of his strength to keep him in check—for now.

“She is a succubus, Loki. Mother warned us about them when we were young. They lure you into their trap and before you know it, they suck the life out of you. It’s good riddance.”

“Brother, please. Let me into her cell then. Let me be with her.” Thor halted so suddenly that the God of Mischief almost bumped into him. It was obvious he was unfamiliar with such strong emotions from him but so was he. Loki had realised the very moment that bullet had hit you that he loved you, truly.

The sheer thought of losing you to death was unbearable, suffocating. For once in his life, he had an equal. Someone who understood his ways, someone who sided with him, someone who had chosen him over Thor. He dreaded what would happen once you would ask the inevitable question and find out who he truly was. But none of that mattered as long as you stayed alive.

-

When you came to, your surroundings had changed. Thick metal walls trapped you inside a cold and sterile room with a metal floor. Somebody had laid you down on a hospital-like bed but there was no blanket, no pillow.

Coughing, you attempted to sit up only to be greeted by a singeing pain tearing through your shoulder. The bullet. The poison. Loki. Loki!

Your eyes darted around the room but you were alone. Where was he? Was he alive? You would skin them alive if they had hurt him…

Terror rippled through you when the cell door was unlocked with a start—the amount of relief you felt when the man in question stepped into your view even overpowering the pain you were in for a moment. As soon as he had slipped inside, the door was pulled shut again—with the sound of the locking mechanism echoing through the small room yet again. Loki did not seem to care. He rushed towards you in an instant, worry evident on his handsome face.

“They will not let me stay with you for long.”

“You’re okay… I thought they… you’re okay…” you mumbled. Loki nodded. “What… What is wrong with you?” You failed to sound reproachful or threatening even though part of you knew the answer to your next question. “Why did you surrender?”

“You would have died had I carried on. I have seen death too many times than I can count, pet. I know what it looks like when it reaches for you. You need to feed. Now.” Loki would not allow any contradiction when he lifted you off the mattress as if you weighed nothing and sat you down on his lap. Green shimmering light surrounded his whole body for the fraction of a second, dancing on his naked skin as his armour melted off of his body, leaving nothing but the shoulder piece with his green cape, the arm pieces and his boots behind.

Arousal surged through you like liquid fire at the sight of him despite the growing weakness of your body.

“I will remove the bullet now. Take a deep breath and close your eyes.”

You nodded, resting your forehead against his shoulder.

“One… two…” He did not wait until three before his magic ate through your flesh to pull out the foreign piece of metal in your body. Screaming, you bit down on the remaining bits of his armour, squeezing your eyes shut so tightly you saw stars blinking before your vision.

Whatever spell Loki used on you though eased the pain only the twinkling of an eye later. You sighed when it subsided, making way for the growing hunger in your core. Loki acted on your behalf. His magic took care of your leather trousers and underwear, leaving you naked from the waist down and leaving behind a faint tingling.

He had you ignited within a single heartbeat, heat pooling between your legs, your cunt getting ready to welcome a cock inside for you to feed. With a quiet moan, you ground against him when a tingly sensation spread all over your pussy, an aching reminder that you wanted him, needed him, now.

But you were too weak to even buck your hips up to let him impale you. Was he hard already? Was he… Releasing his shoulder plate at last, you swallowed to chase away the taste of leather and instead, buried your face in his neck. He was. Whether it was the fact you were a succubus and lured men into your bed for your own survival or the effect that you had on Loki, you did not know and now was not the time to ponder over it.

Your breathing hitched when he lifted you once more, this time carefully guiding you onto his awaiting length. Inch by inch, Loki slid inside of you, your wet walls gripping him eagerly. He kept you just high enough to thrust up into you slowly and intimately but changed positions when he realised that you couldn’t take the initiative.

“Am… too weak…” you uttered, your eyes threatening to fall shut yet again. With his cock still sheathed inside of you, he laid you back down on your back, positioning himself between your legs. His blue eyes never left your face when he started fucking you, his strokes more controlled and firmer this time.

It took you longer than usual to feel his energy flow into you like a gushing river, sizzling through your veins and pumping strength back into your body in tune with Loki pumping into your willing cunt. Normally, when you were fucking, your hunt for pleasure and completion had him rutting into you like a beast. Hair was pulled, flesh was bitten, skin was spanked. But this, right now… this was love-making. You did not have enough energy left to prepare your body for an orgasm this time and yet, it felt more intimate and more pleasurable than anything you had ever experienced with the God of Mischief.

“L-Loki…” you whispered, his name leaving your lips like a prayer. “Fill me… please… I need you… t-to cum… in me.”

The way he hovered above you like you were his most prized possession filled you with both pride and satisfaction and as Loki neared his climax, his arousal nearly overwhelmed you. Wave after wave of delicious energy filled you from head to toe, healing your wound and fighting the poison in your blood until you felt your strength returning to you.

You never realised you were moaning when Loki came with a grunt, burying himself as deep inside of you as he physically could. You could feel his member throbbing against you, his hot seed coating your walls.

Loki drew out his orgasm for as long as he could but instead of collapsing on top of you once you had fed, he wrapped his arms around your middle and rolled you both over so you came to rest on top of his naked and sweaty chest.

“Thank you…” You weren’t sure whether you muttered the words out loud. Only there was no time to rest yet, not even after escaping death. “Loki… who are the Avengers, really? Why are they your enemies and why did Thor ask you how you escaped a void? What was he talking about? You are keeping something from me and I don’t like it.”

The God of Mischief sighed—the sound was directly at your ear all the while you drew invisible circles on his exposed skin. He was still inside of you, filling you up, making you feel whole.

“You’re on the run too, aren’t you?” you muttered, inching up a little and leaning your forehead against his in the aftermath. “You’re wanted for murder, you… what did you do? Why did you never tell me?”

“Tell you what exactly? That I attempted to subjugate this very planet? That I manipulated thousands of humans to make me their president, their voice of prudence and wisdom? Or that I failed and was hunted down by brainwashed Variants with prune sticks?”

“I’m not sure what you thought was going to happen if I found out. If you assumed I would be disappointed you were no good and if you thought I’d leave if I knew or if… or if you thought I’d be disappointed you failed. Which one is it?”

Loki took a deep breath. “I don’t know,” he admitted. A pause, heavy and suffocating. “The TVA—the Time Variance Authority—controls the multiverse. There used to be only one single timeline. The sacred timeline, they called it. Until there was not. One of my Variants killed the keeper of time to take revenge for her stolen life. Chaos was raging when the TVA found out about the dozens of timelines they could no longer control and annihilate. I’m assuming… they turned against each other, for when they ended up in the Void—it is a place without time, a place where every unwanted reality and their parts go once the TVA prunes them—my people turned against them and stole the one thing that could get us out of there.”

“They pruned you before,” you concluded. Another sigh.

“According to the TVA, a reality where a Loki rules Midgard must not exist. And the Void… the Void is a battle for your life with no way out.”

“I don’t care, Loki. What you did, what you were about to do, even what you’re doing now. I’m not exactly a saint either like the humans would say. I feed on men. I’ve killed to guarantee my own survival and…” you paused, hoping you would not go too far with what you intended to say next, “…and I would not hesitate for a second to be your queen if you did end up ruling Midgard as its king.”

“I must say I am relieved to hear that,” Loki responded with an audible smirk in his voice. “You are mine, pet. I will not allow you to leave my side. Do you trust me?”

You nodded, feeling his seidr tickling over your skin once more to put both your and his clothes back onto your bodies. You whined at the loss of him inside of you, even more so when he turned over yet again to stand.

“Wait here for my sign.”

“What, what sign?”

“You’ll see.” He disappeared with a wink, your lips parting. One heartbeat, two heartbeats, three. You started pacing around the cell, not realising until a blue portal opened up right behind you that… Loki had it. He had the Tesseract. How…? Wait here for my sign.

You took a deep breath—and then jumped into the portal.

Loki caught you with ease. His smirk was so triumphant you couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear, wrapping your arms around him in relief. It instantly got colder here.

“How? How did you do it?”

“Thor. He might be strong but he can be quite dull. Removing my handcuffs was his first mistake. Remaining so persistent on not letting me roam free around the facility was his second. I realised soon enough the Tesseract was not where we had presumed it to be—there was something Thor did not want me to find out. And while I took care of my dying bride, one of my duplicates distracted my brother—another stole the Tesseract for me.”

Surely, it must have been more complicated than that and yet… all your mind could replay on repeat was bride.

“Bride?” you stressed. Loki’s smirk grew even wider but he did not elaborate.

“So where… where are we?”

“Jötunheim, for now. We’re near a friend of mine. She will give us shelter until we have planned our next steps.”

“Oh, will she now?” A woman stepped out of the shadows—she was beautiful, a sorceress without a doubt. Dressed in a long black dress complimenting her raven hair, she crossed her arms before her chest.

“Angrboda… it is good to see you.”

“You too, Trickster. Is there a particular reason for why you bring a succubus to my doorstep?”

Well, you could not blame her for her suspicion. If she took you in and away from the Jötun cold, you would be grateful. Loki introduced you to her quickly, your name rolling off his tongue so deliciously you felt to urge to pounce on him again already. Angrboda shook her head when he proceeded to summarise your situation and eventually nodded in defeat.

“Alright, then. Come inside. I have cherry ale that will warm you up.”

Angrboda’s space was nothing but an open cave, presumably warded through spells and other supernatural means of protection and you assumed that she shielded the parts of her home that she didn’t want you to see with equal measures. In the middle of the room, however, there was a cosy fireplace with dozens of furs spread around it to get comfortable.

“Sit by the fire. Drink, you two… lovebirds,” she said when two cups filled with a red liquid appeared next to the small bonfire. “Only you would manage to fall in love with a succubus, Loki Laufeyson.” She chuckled. “You see… Midgardians call this very day of the year Valentine’s Day. Did you get her chocolate, Trickster? And roses?”

“He saved my life today,” you responded for him.

Angrboda nodded. “Ah, I see. Well… I have a feeling this is only the beginning of the story then.” Giving you a knowing look before disappearing off to only the gods knew where, you smiled at Loki, inching closer to kiss him. Fireworks exploded within you as soon as your lips touched his, the gentle affection quickly turning into a heated fight of lips, teeth and tongue. Angrboda was right. This was only the beginning. Your beginning.

-

A/N: Did that NSFW statue of Loki that I saw the other day inspire the smut scene? No. Maybe. Yes. Absolutely, 100%.

[ankh-morporkianpostalworker]

The Use of Robert Moses as a Foil in The Unsleeping City

For those of you who don’t remember 10th grade English and don’t have a degree in Literature from a state school, a foil is a character who exists to contrast another character in order to highlight the characteristics of both characters. There are many great examples of this not only in literature (Hamlet and Laertes, Tybalt and Benvolio, Adam Trask and Cathy Ames) but also in film (Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader, Batman and the Joker), comics (see: Batman and the Joker) and a host of other mediums. With all that said, and those examples given, I posit that Robert Moses is a foil for the Heroes of New York in Dimension 20: The Unsleeping City. 

First and most obviously, he is a reflection of Kingston Brown if Kingston Brown wasn’t a strict adherent to Uncle Ben’s axiom. Moses took every bit of power he could for his own use and, in real life, screwed over the city of New York where Brown uses everything he’s given to make the city better (in a flashback, we find out that the first thing Brown asks the Dragon of Bleeker Street after becoming the Vox Populi is how he can use his power to help other people). 

Second, he’s a version of Kugrash that never learned the importance of caring for others. Throughout season one, Kugrash acts as a protector for the homeless and dispossessed of New York, feeding and clothing and protecting them from harm, a lesson he learned after he was cursed by a powerful spellcaster. The people he protects are those who Robert Moses’s realm would destroy, the people Robert Moses cares nothing for. This service comes not purely from penance, but also from a heartfelt desire to help others to the point that he sacrifices his body to save New York. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, is his reaction to the final words of Robert Moses’s phylactery after his (Kugrash’s) sacrifice - greed is good. To quote the man himself -  “ Greed is good, for rat motherfuckers like Robert Moses, but not in our town, not in our fuckin' city!”

Third, Robert Moses is a reflection of Pete if Pete had given in to corruption and temptation and hatred and greed, which he almost does multiple times in the series, the final time being in Showdown at the Stock Exchange, the penultimate fight of season one. This final choice is offered as two options on the Wild Magic Table - embrace the darkness to match Robert Moses in power, or resist temptation and rise above, Pete choosing the later. For this rejection of evil, Pete is killed (I choose to read the game of Eenie Miney Minie Mo as being a theatrically show that Robert Moses put on just to prove how evil he is). 

Fourth, both he and Misty/Rowan feed on the power of the city for their own ends, Robert to control it and Misty to maintain her youth and beauty. The difference lies in the fact that, as Nod points out, Misty/Rowan gives back to the people more than she takes, giving them hope and joy (and using her magic to protect the people), while Robert Moses gives nothing in return. She also cares for the immaterial things in life, like beauty and art and entertainment, while he does not.

Fifth, Ricky’s self-sacrificing nature is in stark contrast to Robert Moses’s. Throughout the series, Ricky puts himself on the line to protect others, a good portion of his magic being used to protect others from harm and the rest (notably his smites) used in defense of the innocent. In the final battle of season one, against Robert Moses’s nightmarish American Dream, he uses an ability that he knows will almost certainly kill him. His words to Kingston Brown moments before the sacrifice - “You got me if you got me” - show that while he would like to come back and knows his friend will do what he can to make that happen, he also knows that there’s a chance that this is the end for him, and he does it anyway, a sacrifice Robert Moses would never accept. 

Finally, there’s Sofia. Sofia was the hardest of these to write about, but eventually I realize that the contrast comes in relation to wealth - Sof rejects her family’s ill-gotten wealth, choosing to live (temporarily) as a monk with little more than the contents of a backpack to her name, while Robert Moses craves wealth so much that his whole plan revolves around creating a new realm in New York city specifically for his own gain. It’s not a lot, but it’s something. 

There’s also the fact that the heroes all love New York while Robert Moses sees it as a tool for his own gain, but that mostly goes without saying. 

I’m about 90% sure that this is the longest post I’ve made on this site but I really enjoyed writing it. I definitely plan on making more like it, analyzing D&D series through a serious literary lens and discussing the uses of literary and narrative techniques, although these won’t be as frequent as my shorter observations. 

If you got all the way through this, thank you and you’re awesome. 

[bonefall]

what do you of "the man who sold the world" for fallenleaf? friend is getting me into nirvana and i cant do anything without thinking of the Beasts

Hmm... honestly? I think it fits other characters much better!

Man Who Sold The World always reads to me as like... a dangerous character, could be a demon, could be an evil parent, could be a more literal villain in some kind of story, who has unambiguously gotten its ass kicked and banished. In its defeat, it realizes that it can turn it around; by trying to convince one of their Victims to join them.

And succeeding.

(and it's why Nirvana's version is my favorite, Cobain's voice is just the right amount of hoarse that makes me feel like the Victim Character has lost a lot of sleep over it. Vulnerable and open to the offer of the Villain, possibly on the brink of desperation in their own life. It has that sort of angsty-young-adult madness that makes choosing bad decisions sooo much easier. Bowie's and Ure's versions are also fantastic, but imo they're a lot more dreamlike, like the victim is being more entranced than convinced!)

The song isn't about breaking out of that cycle. It's about "laughing and shaking his hand," returning home almost unaware of any change. But over many years, in tiny little ways that add up into even bigger ones, slowly the Victim becomes another man who sold the world.

They doesn't even realize when they died alone along their quest, just that it must have been long, long ago.

Some of that fits Fallenleaf, but it's not quite the same vibe. She killed Ashfur in revenge. She sought out Sol and took his deal for power, and tried to kill her own brother. She subjugated an entire Ancient Lake society-- and the only thing she can really blame Sol for is how it got bored of her and kicked her out of her own body.

Those were things she did. And they're things she lives with. Trickery was less a part of it than she might have wanted to believe at some point in her long, guilty life.

NATURALLY I'm inspired by Cheecat's really great animation they made with Brambleclaw and Tigerstar, and I think it fits Tigerstar to a T, but who I always think of is Hawkfrost.

Especially in BB, where RiverClan raised him to lean into his legacy. Not Clanborn, from a young age he had to work twice as hard, prove that he and his sister were "worth" keeping around, told that they were only protected by that diluted Tigerkin blood that trickles through their veins and that Tigerstar was an ideal to live up to...

Only the thinnest veneers of, "Be what he was, without his flaws" to hold him back from fully adopting everything his father ever stood for. A father he never met, who hurt his mother, who killed and traumatized countless clanmates.

And then Hawkfrost sees him. The song kicks in. "I thought you died alone, a long long time ago."

"Not me. I never lost control." It means that those "flaws," they weren't so bad. "You're face to face with the man who sold the world" and I can teach you the value of that.

He leaves that exchange feeling warm. "I laughed and shook his hand." He goes through the destruction of the forest (looking for form), the great journey (and land), and eventually finds himself in all the conflicts of TNP. No one knows at what point he stopped being the noble young warrior who stood up for Reedpaw against his tormenters, or when wanting to protect his sister became abuse and belittling.

But at some point, he died alone, long before his heart stopped beating on that stake.

He ends up in the Dark Forest with his father, preparing for the change that's coming in OotS, but not by the end of the song. At the end of the song his father has successfully dragged him down to his level, singing the same tune, trying to pretend that his dad getting him pointlessly shish-kebabed for a petty personal dispute wasn't a critical L to the chest.

[na-t0]

𝘚𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳

Nicholas D. Wolfwood x reader (fem)

nsfw . male masturbation . multiple mentions of religious themes . minors please do not interact

"I believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth...shit, what's next?"

Despite of what others think, Nicholas D. Wolfwood has come to the conclusion that he is indeed, the perfect example to belie the thought commonly held by people that him, and all the other children of the Lord who is high in the heavens, are made in his image and likeness. He is just a man, a mere mortal, vulnerable and weak in the face of temptation, son of original sin. Trying to atone for, and amend, the errors that life has brought within his path, and from which he cannot seem to escape.

Same life that unfortunately has also placed him in the way of your so intoxicating self. As if it were an unforgivable and cruel test to endure the strength of his already cracked spirit, a test to prove how much he is capable of resisting when the sharp claws of lust slowly scratch his back when he tries to sleep and the image of your beautiful face invades his mind. He also claims being able to feel them scratching once again when, after what seems like an eternal week of waiting, he manages to spot you sitting among the 47 people that fit in the orphanage’s chapel at the time of the religious ceremony he presents on Sundays at 10 in the morning.

Nicholas talks to himself all the time. He talks about a whole bunch of different things to stay busy and distant from the loneliness that his profession entails. He also writes, on a small black notebook that shamelessly reads Holy Bible on its cover, which he keeps in the inside pocket of his suit all day. It is possible to find random thoughts scrambled between its pages, occasional unfinished sketches of the kids who visit him frequently, prayers and attempts at poetry that, despite the ease he possesses to release a speech towards an audience made up of people full of faith in the word he preaches every weekend, the simple idea that one day you might inadvertently read what lies on those yellowish paper sheets terrifies him to the point where he can feel each and every one of his nerve endings on the surface of his skin, pulsing with the same intensity as the wings of a flying hummingbird.

He writes for you, more specifically. Even though in life, there are weaknesses that sometimes, do not allow the deepest feelings of the heart to flourish freely.

"I am just an object waiting to be ashes, and it is precisely for that reason that I would like my body to burn until it is consumed as one with yours. So at the end, dust will be the only thing that remains of our spirits, mixed together, to be later carried away by the wind of this unforgiving desert we call home."

“I have reached such a degree of insanity that, not even with the help of a thousand divine healing rites, my composure will return. I have even considered exchanging the blood of as many sinners as necessary to the Devil in order to melt into the blazing but purifying fire that surely arises with the single touch of your lips, and if you allow me, to endulge in the perfect contradiction that lies between your legs. A place both sacred and infernal, a place where good and evil converge and is powerful enough to drive even the most righteous and ruthless of religionists to an infinite madness. A place that I can only imagine feels like heaven and hell at the same time, capable to burn but also soothe the wounds in the soul of a disgraceful believer, one such as myself, your humble servant.”

“And I am not ashamed to affirm in front of the cross in which the son of God was punished because of filth like me, that, your mere presence encourages me to violate every order imposed by the invisible power of my belief, all that for what he, the same guy I mentioned earlier, sacrificed himself for in the first place. He sacrificed himself for you and especially for me, and above all, for the atrocities that come with the human race to disappear from the world. Such as the kind of things that flood my mind when my gaze manages to distinguish a little glimpse of your underwear when you put on that pretty dress of yours and you take a seat in the front row. A dress I like to imagine you only use for me.”

When Sunday comes, the ceremony starts and it's your turn at the moment of communion. It all happens in a matter of minutes every single time, a fleeting contact that is difficult to remove from his system. The host is delicately held by Wolfwood's hands as he stares at you, the abyss of his obsidian orbs capturing your attention to ask for your permission. You nod and look back at him too, subtly batting your eyelashes and slowly sticking out your tongue in an inviting way, that more than innocent, seemed diabolical, as if you knew which cards to move to obtain an absolute victory. And he feels it, he feels something struck his chest. Like a pair of magnets who can't fight the silent attraction that tries to unite them. You glance at the thick fingers infront of you for an instant, and then once again, you lift your stare towards him to take the host. His breathing stopped the moment he felt the back of his fingers get in contact with the wetness of your tongue while accommodating the wafer on it, and he almost, just almost, stutters in his words, but he doesn't, it takes all of his will not to. He blinks and his hand moves away from your lips to continue with the the other presents. You turn around and go back to your place without looking back. Luckily for him, the robe that covers his body does not allow to reveal any trace of what could give away his growing hunger for you.

Reminiscing something that he himself already wrote once in his notebook.

“It’s a disgusting sight, truly. How you take the sacramental bread from the hands of a sinful bastard, how you try to be purified by the same hands that are permanently stained with the obscene thought of consuming your body, your entire being. But you don’t have an idea of how much I love it, how much I want you to be mine.”

The lecture finished at 10:57 a.m. Nicholas remembers glancing at the watch on his wrist to regain the track of time he lost when you got close to his body. Seeing that people were starting to get up, he decided to clean his instruments to leave everything in order, and at the same time, bring some peace to his mind. He didn't have long arranging his space when Wolfwood felt a sudden and intense urge to look back, and when he did, you were the first thing that he focused on, stumbling upon the surprise of your eyes already searching for his while walking to the exit, wearing the most precious smile he’s ever seen on your face. A smile just for him.

By 11:23 a.m. the chapel was completely empty and Wolfwood walked with an unbearable weight on his feet towards the confined space of the confessional, along with a box of matches in hand that he took from an old cabinet. He closed the door, took a seat and leaned his head against the wall, which protested with a slight screech, as if it knew what was going through the troubled man's mind. Of course you appeared immediately, the images of every time you two have exchanged greetings in the streets, in the market, or even at the events to raise funds for the orphanage.

First came the color of your eyes, which seemed to dominate and illuminate the darkness of the small space he was in, then your eyebrows and the expressions that characterize your words while speaking. Thirdly, your mouth, the Eden he dreams of so much, reflected in the shine that your lips acquire when you bite and wet them with saliva. Imagining how they move to the compass of your voice, if they are rounded, if you smile or if you stay quiet. Nicholas raised his right hand and gently touched his own mouth to try to calm the urgency of joining it with yours. He closed his eyes and remembered the slight meeting he had with it an hour ago. The warmth of your breath on his knuckles and the softness he touched with the pads of his mistreated fingers. How easy would it be to draw a whimper out of you, the sweetest sound he can think of. His pants began to feel more and more uncomfortable with every passing minute, the pressure exerted by the growing erection in his groin started to become unbearable. Will he be able to obtain salvation if he confesses everything, here and now?

"God...please" And just as he often does, he began to talk. "I want her more than...a-anything in this world...can't I have her either?" The hand that previously touched your lips, traveled up to his crotch and gave a first cautious squeeze, allowing himself to be carried away by the venom of the serpent that condemned us all as sinners centuries ago, which little by little contaminated his veins and blinded his sight. Now not only did he imagine the Eden in your beauty, he was about to enter that precious place, only to break the rules. "I haven't been...a g-good man, but..." His breathing began to falter, with great gulps of air, his chest rose and fell, trying to oxygenate his racing heart. "I swear I...I can treat her right." The restraint of the stiff bottoms was starting to be painful for Nicholas, so he reached for the button, hastily undoing it to reach into his underwear. The burning heat of desire greeting him. And as he could, he pulled out his member from the base without removing his pants. The cold edge of the zipper brushed against the prominent veins of his rigid sex while his hand tried to conciliate the relief he so desperately needed. He kept traveling with his mind through your neck, your chest, your waist and your navel, the unknown nudity that he longes for unfolding before him in an imaginary scenario within the four small walls of the confessional. His breathing became more and more disturbed and growls began to sprout from the depths of his being.

"I'm sorry, God...I'm so s-sorry" He started to apologize because he knows exactly what is next. He enjoys being rough with his wicked self, he is violent. Pulling his own hair with one hand while the other strokes himself harshly. He spits on the tip, and watches how saliva slowly rolls to the base. He grunts, an animalistic type of sound that reveals the wildest part of his existence, his human predatory instinct, the part that he tries to repress with calling himself a preacher of the Lord’s word. He likes to tighten the grip in his member to the point where the veins on his forehead begin to become visible and the color of his shaft changes entirely with the accelerated flow of blood. Suffocating in his own body, a prisoner of his dark desires.

"Our Father, who...a-art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on earth as it is...i-in heaven." It was in that moment when he began to pray. And the drops of fluid that came out of his slit with anticipation gave his hand more access to stroke with a quicker pace. From outside the confessional, it was possible to hear the faint slippery sound of friction from skin to skin and the murmured pleas of a man sunk in perdition.

"Give us this day our daily bread, a-and forgive us our trespasses...as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temp-temptation...but deliver us from...evil."

Would God be able to truly forgive such an act?

"A-Amen."

And it's just when he finishes his pleas that he finds himself betrayed by his own mind, letting your name slip from his lips, over and over again, like a renovated prayer, but profane and corrupted. The peculiar burning sensation in the lower part of his abdomen starts to approach. He bites the collar of his white camisole and drool escapes from the sides of his mouth in the delirium of a near orgasm. Squeezing his eyes shut he imagined your breasts swaying in front of his face as you grind on top, your angelic face contorted with the ecstasy of a fictional encounter, and your core eagerly receiving each of his thrust. The sweet aroma that your sweat must have and all the possible ways you could moan his name.

"Ni..cholas, ah...Nicholas...Nic..."

The entirety of his skin crawls to the thought. And his hips begin to move with an unbridled, involuntary frenzy, consequence of the carnal instinct that species keep hidden in their bodies.

"Oh...God..please, please...ple-please." He calls uselessly for the only one who could redeem him, the only one who could accept a sin like this. Finally, he rapidly drags his hand a couple of last times and the orgasm begins to hit his senses. A last growl comes out of his chest before his teeth unconsciously loosen the fabric of the shirt to let out a deafened cry. With some last thrusts, his hips rise in a lost rhythm from the bench on which he is sitting as his seed spills violently into his right hand, staining some of the fabric of his black pants along the way.

The warm sensation of contact with his own release brings him back to himself, and he can only at this point, contemplate more clearly the mistake he has made.

“Divine forgiveness, what a bunch of shit.”

He drops the other hand that was tugging at his brunette locks in the heat of the momentum inside his pocket, pulls out a cigarette, places it in his mouth and proceeds to wipe the remains of cum on his right palm with a handkerchief, so he can pick up the matches he had brought with him, light the stick, and take a hit, trying to quell with smoke the latent nectar of lonely intimacy impregnated in the air. He takes a few moments to let the haze of the moment pass completely as he watches the mess in his lap and his now softened member.

The cigarette is half finished, he is a fast smoker.

He inhales and exhales once more, and then, there’s a subtle, almost silent, knock on the door, followed by what he recognizes is your voice coming from the rusty confession room's grate.

“F-Father Nicholas...?”

[anonymousewrites]

Burden of Truth (Book 1) Chapter Twelve

Father Figure! Marc Spector x Teen! Reader

Father Figure! Steven Grant x Teen! Reader

Mother Figure! Layla El-Faouly x Teen! Reader

Chapter Twelve: During the Ritual

Summary: (Y/N) has to handle losing Marc and Steven, but their troubles aren't over. Harrow wants to release Ammit.

            (Y/N) sobbed as Harrow’s guards pulled Marc’s body from the water, checking to make he was dead. They knew he was. He was gone. That was the truth.

            Harrow knelt next to the body and glanced at his men. They shook their heads. The ushabti wasn’t on him. Wordlessly, Harrow turned back to the bag abandoned behind Marc. (Y/N) was too exhausted to even be disappointed as he pulled the ushabti out of the backpack.

            “I’m sorry it had to be this way, Marc Spector…Steven Grant…whoever else might be in there.” Harrow had the audacity to place the scarab on Marc’s chest as a gift. He rose. “Sometimes we need the cold light of death before we can see reality.”

            Harrow turned away and raised the ushabti above his head. His men gazed reverently at it. They knelt and bowed, in awe of the mere presence of the statue holding Ammit.

            Harrow smiled. “Who wants to heal the world?”

            In his other hand, he lifted his cane. Sensing the proximity of Ammit, it glowed purple. One of the heads opened its maw and flipped over. Now it was a staff, not a cane, taller than Harrow, with a single menacing crocodile head. The power of Ammit was growing.

            Harrow walked towards the passage out, and his men followed. Helplessly, (Y/N) was dragged away after him.

            Numb, (Y/N) just let themself be pulled through the tunnels and be thrown into a jeep. They lay lifelessly as Harrow and his men drove towards Cairo and the pyramids and all the lives to be judged.

            (Y/N) stared out the window blankly. They knew it stopped periodically, and screams echoed into their mind. Squeezing their eyes shut, they tried to block out the world. They couldn’t fight. (Y/N) had no strength of their own. They were useless, hopeless, purposeless.

l

            Marc and Steven stumbled out of their memories and back onto Taweret’s ship.

            “Taweret, what’s going on?” asked Steven.

            “Fear is spreading in the upper world,” said Taweret. Streaks of purple light fell through the air, landing in the sand around the ship. “Unbalanced souls are being judged and condemned to the sands before their time. Oh, this is bad. This is evil.”

            “This is Harrow,” said Steven, eyes widening. “Oh, god, he’s using Ammit to condemn souls.”

            “(Y/N). Layla.” Marc’s jaw clenched. “They’re in danger.”

            “You see why we have to go back?” said Steven, looking desperately at Taweret.

            “Even if I could send you back up there, you’d just be returning to a body with a bullet in it,” said Taweret ruefully. “You wouldn’t be able to heal.”

            Steven swallowed and looked down. “Harrow’s going to make (Y/N) read the rites to free gods from ushabti to free Ammit. Could it do the same for Khonshu or Ma’at’s ushabtis?”

            Taweret paused. “Well, yes, if the magic was in the same area. But are you sure you want to be with Khonshu again? Seems like you really want to get away from him.”

            Steven looked back at Marc.

            “I did,” admitted Marc. “But this is our only shot to stop Ammit. To save Layla. To protect (Y/N). It’s the way it’s gotta be.”

            Taweret smiled. “You both seem to care about them. Layla and (Y/N).”

            Steven and Marc exchanged a look.

            “Layla’s my wife,” said Marc.

            “Layla’s special,” said Steven. “And (Y/N)…”

            “They deserve so much more than what they had,” said Marc. “I don’t—We don’t want them to suffer any more.”

            “We want to give them the care they deserve,” said Steven, smiling.

            It was true. Throughout their time together, Steven and Marc had both come to care for (Y/N). In different ways they were alike.

            Steven and (Y/N) were both awkward with others, underestimated and made to feel small. Steven wanted to make sure they saw they were worth more. He wanted them to feel like they were more.

            Marc saw a reflection of his younger self in (Y/N)’s desperation for direction. He had been hurt growing up, lost himself, and gone down a dark path. He didn’t want that to happen to (Y/N).

            Steven and Marc saw their own pain in (Y/N), in the teenager fighting to survive, so alone. They refused to let history repeat itself. They would make sure (Y/N) was protected and supported. They wouldn’t leave them to feel alone and lost.

l

            Layla sat in the back of the jeep with Harrow’s men. Keeping her face covered, she looked around herself warily. She’d gotten a message from Taweret that Marc could try (somehow) to return to life, but she wasn’t sure what to believe when it came to the gods. It seemed so far-fetched.

            But what Taweret had said about breaking Khonshu and/or Ma’at’s ushabtis if the ritual rites were read seemed true. Then Marc could fight with his suit, and he had a chance against Harrow like that. (Y/N) had a chance of being safe with their suit, too, and that’s what counted to Layla.

            She squared her shoulders. She’d do what was necessary to defeat Harrow and Ammit. Her eyes flicked to the jeep (Y/N) was in. She also needed to save them. She couldn’t leave them with Harrow.

            Don’t worry, (Y/N). We’re coming.

l

            Dragging (Y/N) up the stones that made up the great pyramids, Harrow’s disciples dutifully followed him and Ammit’s growing power. They stopped only when he did, and they bowed as he raised Ammit’s staff. Slamming it on the ground, the pyramid opened up to the goddess’s power to allow her and her people entry. The pathway to the other gods and their Avatars was clear.

            (Y/N) was pulled inside no matter how much they tried to pull against the guards. Seeing the familiar face of Yatzil and the other Avatars, they tried to fight again, but their strength was too little.

            “Come. You won’t believe what the gods have hidden from mankind,” said Harrow to his followers.

            “Run!” shouted (Y/N) to the other Avatars.

            Their eyes went to the teenager, and the shock was clear. Everything they and Marc and Khonshu and Ma’at had said was true. Harrow was there to release Ammit. And these gods and Avatars had done nothing to prevent it.

            Harrow lifted a hand, and the guard holding (Y/N) clamped a hand over their mouth to stifle their shouts. He looked evenly at the Avatars. “You’re judges, not warriors. This doesn’t need to happen.”

            Selim summoned Osiris’s power, and the other Avatars collected their power to assist him. Harrow held up Ammit’s staff. Purple light exploded towards the Avatars. Letting out a pained cry, (Y/N) watched as they fell to the attack.

            Behind Harrow’s men, Layla slipped away from the group. She had to find Khonshu’s ushabti for when the ritual rites were read. She paused as she found it. In the space beside it stood Ma’at’s ushabti. Layla was torn. Yes, breaking it would free Ma’at, who had fought to keep Ammit from returning, and (Y/N) would be given a suit by Ma’at that would protect them. But it could also tie (Y/N) to a god again, a clearly painful experience that had interrupted their life. Layla touched the ushabti. She needed to make the right choice, but for who? The world or (Y/N)?

            “This was all so avoidable,” sighed Harrow as he looked at the bodies of the fallen Avatars. Then, he turned away and faced (Y/N). “It is time.”

            (Y/N) shook their head furiously, but they were roughly pushed forward to their knees. Fitzgerald handed Harrow Ammit’s ushabti, and he held it in front of himself, over (Y/N)’s head.

            “Read the rites,” said Harrow.

            (Y/N) shook their head. “I don’t want to. I don’t want to. I don’t want to.” They wished they could say “can’t.” But they remembered the ritual. They knew it. The words were swirling in their mind, ready to be spoken, but (Y/N) didn’t want to let that magic into the air for Harrow to use.

            “You’ll be safe after,” said Harrow, as terribly benevolent as ever. “Your life will be full of peace.”

            “You’re going to hurt people,” said (Y/N), eyes blazing as they looked at him. “You’re going to hurt more people.”

            Harrow sighed and shook his head in disappointment. “I really hate to do it this way. Truly, I do.” He raised the staff, and it glowed purple.

            The scales tattoo on (Y/N)’s arm burned. They screamed, grabbing it tightly. Flames seemed to light inside their skin, punishing them for going against Harrow and Ammit’s wishes.

            “I don’t want to continue this,” said Harrow sorrowfully, watching (Y/N) curl in on themself and cry out. “Just read the rites.”

            (Y/N) sobbed and tried to squeeze their eyes shut and block out the pain. Behind the columns, Layla watched in horror with her hand over her mouth. Harrow truly was a monster.

            “Read the rites, child,” said Harrow.

            What else could (Y/N) do? As fire burned them from within, the words fell from them unbidden. The Coptic chant mixed with the natural magic of the temple of the gods, and the buzz of energy filled the air, making every mortal’s hair stand on end. (Y/N) sobbed, cried out, and the final words fell from their mind.

            The burning pain left them, and (Y/N) caught themself on their hands. Pushing themself up, they tried to stand and do something, but it was too late.

            Raising the ushabti above his head, Harrow smashed it into the ground. With a rumble equal to that of a thousand thunderstorms, billowing smoke flashing with purple magic exploded from the ushabti, rising to the ceiling of the chamber.

            Harrow watched in awe, and his followers in not a little fear, as Ammit returned to the world. She stood tall and intimidating, towering over the mortals below. Her crocodile scales shone in the pale torchlight, glinting off the golden jewelry across her neck and in the beads of her black hair. Her long snout and maw instantly pulled back in a satisfied sneer, and her tail lashed in the open air.

            Harrow and his disciples fell to their knees, reverent of their goddess. (Y/N) alone remained standing, staring up at Ammit with wide eyes.

            Ammit gazed down at the gathered group, and her golden eyes landed on (Y/N). “To whom do I owe my gratitude? You, young one?”

            (Y/N) blinked and stepped back, pulling the sleeves of their hoodie. Panic gripped them, and words refused to form in their throat.

            “Yes, the language of magic rests heavy around you,” said Ammit, nodding approvingly. She continued her appraising look, and (Y/N) wanted to disappear. “As does truth. It is carved into your very heart. I look for such souls to guide, for who else can speak for my ways but those with truth?”

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened. Did Ammit want them as an Avatar because the truth was strong around them? Is that why Ma’at had chosen them? “I—” (Y/N)’s voice failed them, still constricted.

            “My goddess,” said Harrow, raising his head. “The child was Ma’at’s Avatar. They fought against freeing you. They are not a suitable choice for you, despite their heart. I brought them merely to read the ritual rites.”

            Ammit tsked. “Ah, Ma’at. We worked together once. A pity she could not see we both wish for the same thing—justice. Truth.” Her eyes landed on Harrow. “But if you brought the child here, then you are to whom I owe gratitude.”

            Harrow shook his head. “I am but a humble disciple to whom you owe nothing.”

            “Your scales lack balance,” noted Ammit appraisingly.

            “I understand,” said Harrow, bowing his head. “I had hoped my penance might correct my imbalance, but I see now that’s impossible. I accept the scales regardless of the outcome.”

            (Y/N) felt a fury build inside them. Harrow had given himself a second chance but refused it to anyone else. Once again, his teachings and Ammit’s work were nothing more than inconsistent fallacies that hurt so much more than they could ever possibly help.

            “They lack balance because of what lies ahead of you,” said Ammit.

            “Then we must spare the world the pain I will cause,” said Harrow. “I willingly submit.”

            Harrow disgusted (Y/N). Only now that Ammit spoke was he willing to say he had done wrong? That he had hurt people?

            “What lies ahead of you is your service to me,” said Ammit.

            “How may I serve you in death?” said Harrow.

            “Your death is delayed,” said Ammit. “I once relayed on a servant whose scales balanced perfectly. In exchange, I was bound to stone for two thousand years.” She cast a look to (Y/N), who had backed up to the stone wall in an attempt to disappear. “Perhaps the same would happen if I chose another balanced heart, even if the truth is so natural to them.”

            “But I have disciples all over the world whose scales balance perfectly, awaiting your command,” said Harrow, still the ever-reverent, humble man. “They are worthy, my goddess.”

            “But you worked to set me free. That is the loyalty I need of an Avatar,” said Ammit. “You are the Avatar that I need. Serve me, and you will find peace.” She put her hand on Harrow’s head. “Do not let the past control you.”

            But you will judge others on their past, thought (Y/N).

            “As you wish.” Harrow’s eyes glowed purple as he accepted the Avatarhood.

            In the smaller corridors, Layla took a deep breath and stomped on Khonshu’s ushabti. In a swirl of sand and white smoke, Khonshu appeared, and Layla gasped. She had never actually seen one of the gods.

            “I do not sense Marc Spector in this world,” said Khonshu, looking about. “He died fighting, no doubt.”

            “Fighting your war,” said Layla angrily.

            “And it’s far from over,” said Khonshu. “If Marc is truly gone, then I am in need of an Avatar. Would you, Layla El-Faouly, protect the travelers of the night—”

            “Are you joking?” Layla cut him off. “You turned Marc’s life into a waking nightmare. Why would I ever sign up for that?”

            “Because you won’t win against Ammit and Harrow alone,” said Khonshu.

            “I’ll take my chances,” said Layla, narrowing her eyes.

            “Nor can you protect (Y/N) against them,” said Khonshu.

            “I said I’ll take my chances,” repeated Layla.

            “You need a plan, little bug. What I offer—”

            “I don’t care what you offer,” said Layla. “(Y/N) warned me about being an Avatar. Marc didn’t trust you. I don’t trust you. We’ll work together without my enslaving myself.”

            “To rebind Ammit, we’ll need Ma’at’s knowledge of rituals,” said Khonshu, bitter but going along with Layla (he needed Ammit gone. That was his first priority).

            Layla turned and picked up the ushabti. Silently apologizing to (Y/N) since she couldn’t be sure how (Y/N) felt about Ma’at returning, Layla smashed it. Blue smoked and sand condensed into Ma’at’s form.

            “Ammit has returned,” said Ma’at, instantly strategizing. “I know the binding ritual. (Y/N) can read it. It will work if they become my Avatar again.”

            “Good, they can repay releasing her,” said Khonshu.

            “That wasn’t their fault,” snapped Layla.

            Khonshu didn’t have the grace to respond and disappeared into sand.

            “Remain watchful, Layla El-Faouly,” said Ma’at. “There is still a battle to come.” She disappeared.

Taglist:

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[fast-moon]

DS9 Season 2 Thoughts

I've made it through the second season of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine after missing out on it during its original run due to being too young to understand it at the time. Let's see how it holds up now!

1. The Homecoming: Kira goes to rescue a Bajoran prisoner who she hopes can unify the planet, but it turns out all the legends about him are just that, and he's just some guy who's not up to the task. But Sisko knows how religious people work, and insists he play the part anyway, since they won't be bothered about whether any claims about him are real or not.

2. The Circle: The plot continues to be too real as a government official conspires with the leader of a small but vocal conservative religious sect to use terrorism to overthrow the government and install themselves. Even the more liberal religious leader still has naughty fantasies.

3. The Siege: The three-parter misses the landing by naively believing that religious extremists attempting to overthrow the government would actually reconsider if shown proof that they're secretly being funded by an enemy power who wants to use them to destabilize the country.

4. Invasive Procedures: Okay, seriously, is Dax just utterly emotionally dissociated from her current body? She shrugs off constant sexual harassment and objectification, she was indifferent about being executed for a crime she didn't commit, she didn't treat Bashir's sexualized replica of her as any kind of violation, and now she's like, "Welp, this guy wants my liver squid. Oh well, bye, guys." Also, I get that Quark's an entertaining POS, but there are certain things he's done that he really should be facing consequences for.

5. Cardassians: Our fabulous Cardassian tailor returns! I'm not sure how I feel about sending the kid back with his bio dad, but if it had ended with him staying with his adoptive family, I'm not sure how I would have felt about that, either. It was a crap situation for that poor kid either way.

6. Melora: The station crew trip over themselves trying to improve the accessibility of the station for a new special needs crew member. Gosh, if only they were that worried about its accessibility for their permanent crew member who still has to contort himself into unnatural shapes on a daily basis in order to utilize its systems. #JusticeForOdo

7. Rules of Acquisition: Quark's new business partner starts hitting on him. His partner then turns out to be a woman, which actually ends up making it even more scandalous.

8. Necessary Evil: Oh, cool, a film noir episode that shows what the station was like under Cardassian rule. Quark finally gets some comeuppance but is saved by plot armor. Odo explores his inner Columbo. He was also apparently a lab subject and then a sideshow attraction before Gul Dukat hired him as security, so good lord, someone give this poor slime a break.

9. Second Sight: A woman in an unhappy marriage literally dreams up a self-insert OC to pair with Sisko.

10. Sanctuary: An entire nation of refugees comes through the wormhole and demands to settle on Bajor because it's their holy promised land. They get denied, then get pissy because one deeply religious group annexing territory from another deeply religious group and then having to live side-by-side has historically worked out so well in the past.

11. Rivals: Prince Humperdinck brings aboard a gatcha game that breaks the universe's RNG.

12. The Alternate: It's finally Odo's turn to get infected with the crazypox that he usually has to save everyone else from. Although, even without the crazypox as an excuse, I think he's earned the right to throw a violent temper tantrum after all the bullshit he's had to put up with. Also, "Wasn't that pillar over here before?" "It was in my way; I had it moved." is living rent-free in my brain due to how deliberate the inclusion of this exchange was yet how utterly pointless it ended up being. A red herring is one thing, but the entire pillar subplot simply vanished entirely following this scene and it left me so confused.

13. Armageddon Game: Aliens gift Sisko a deepfake video of how they would have killed O'Brien and Bashir if they were actually halfway competent about it.

14. Whispers: O'Brien becomes paranoid that everyone is conspiring against him, and it turns out he's right. Nice subtle touch to having him repeatedly order coffee throughout the episode, since his coffee habits in the previous episode were what initially clued them in that he was a fake.

15. Paradise: Sisko: "Excuse me, are y'all with the cult?" Alixus: "We're not a cult, we're an isolated commune that rejects technology and--" Sisko: "Yeah, this is it."

16. Shadowplay: Odo and Dax figure out everyone in the village is a hologram because the episode title gave it away. Also, I really hope that Odo remains aro-ace and the rest of the crew come to respect that, instead of constantly teasing him about his lack of a sex life and ultimately forcing him into thinking he needs a relationship to be happy. He already has to contort himself into uncomfortable shapes to conform. Don't force him to contort into conformity any further. #JusticeForOdo

17. Playing God: Huh. So there are rats on space stations. Also, Dax discovers a potentially universe-destroying proto-universe and decides to dump it in the Gamma Quadrant for them to deal with.

18. Profit and Loss: Quark teaches us that when a woman says "no", she really means "yes" if you hound and threaten her long enough.

19. Blood Oath: Curzon Dax continues to posthumously make me question Sisko's choice in friends, as Jadzia Dax now feels obligated to attend a Klingon murder party that Curzon RSVP'd to.

20-21. The Maquis: Humans set up colonies next to a known bear cave, whine that the Federation won't protect them from the bears, start an anti-bear movement.

22. The Wire: Bashir goes into a panic after his boyfriend ODs. Honestly, Bashir really needs to stop chasing women and recognize he has way more chemistry with Garak. He's always been annoyingly shallow and self-serving to the point that I wouldn't trust him as a doctor no matter how skilled he was. But this episode actually let him give a damn about someone without objectifying them, which is good progress. Hopefully it sticks. Also, Sisko's proclamation to keep Quark locked up "forever" in the previous episode didn't seem to last very long. But at least now I know where the "Especially the lies" meme comes from!

23. Crossover: Bashir learned nothing from the previous episode and goes right back to womanizing and talking incessantly about himself. Damn. Kira's meets her mirror universe counterpart who instantly falls in love with her, which... same.

24. The Collaborator: The liberals lose the election because they're more concerned with their candidate being 100% unproblematic than preventing the entire planet from falling under the rule of a goddamn religious tyrant. (throws table in a fit of "this is too real")

25. Tribunal: O'Brien goes on vacation to Planet Kangaroo Court, which is actually a bit more relaxing than what he usually has to put up with.

26. The Jem'Hadar: are truly truly truly outrageous. And really want to meet a Klingon, and I know we're getting Worf eventually because he's on the series splash screen. But until then, bring on the Dominion!

I found Season 2 generally a bit better than Season 1. I was really uncomfortable with Bashir in Season 1, and he was a bit more tolerable in Season 2. Downright redeemed in "The Wire", then he regressed immediately in the next episode, so I still have a fairly low opinion of him. Dax is another character I'm having trouble caring about since even after two seasons I still have no clear idea of "What would Dax do?" in any hypothetical situation.

Like, if a bunch of monkeys got loose on the station, I can imagine that Sisko would order a containment field and then go monkey-hunting with Kira, who would spend the whole time exasperated like, "Really?! Monkeys?!" O'Brien would technobabble together a monkey trap while grumbling about how this sort of thing always happens to him, Bashir would tell a long-winded story about how there was a similar incident with Emus back at the academy and how much of an adventure it was and he ended up saving the day and then a bunch of women were swooning all over him, Quark would stash a couple of monkeys away to sell later, and Odo would have grumpily already rounded them all up because he's the only competent crew member (and relieving Quark of his monkey stash). And Dax would just... kind of stand there I guess. Maybe quip about how one of her previous incarnations had a monkey. But she just doesn't have enough of a notable personality for me to go, "Yep, that's a Dax thing to do, all right." So far she still feels uncomfortably like a fetish character with little actual substance.

Also, the depiction of the Universal Translator analyzing a new language in "Sanctuary" made me even more perplexed as to how it even works. So, they started out speaking an unknown language, and over the course of the episode, the UT learned it and started translating it. Okay, cool. Except that implies that the aliens -- and probably everyone on the station -- are all actually still speaking their native languages and the UT is just real-time translating them all. But how does this work in a conversation? If Sisko speaks to Kira and Quark, how do they both hear something they can understand? Where even is the UT? They'll beam down to a planet and lose all their equipment but can still communicate with everyone fine. And how does the UT know to stop translating, like when someone will yell in Klingon for one sentence and then switch back to English?

I wonder if there's ever an episode where the Universal Translator malfunctions and everyone has to figure out how to communicate with each other. Heck, might be an opportunity for Dax to actually do something since she's the one most likely to be a polyglot.

Anyway, on to Season 3!