#hellacious twist

[ahb-writes]

Comics Review: 'Shadow Service' TPB #3

Shadow Service Vol. 3: Death to Spies by Cavan Scott, Corn Howell, Triona Farrell

adventure

fantasy

occult

science fiction

spy stuff

My Rating: 4 of 5 stars

Well, now, that's not good.

The supernatural intelligence community has witnessed a string of targeted attacks from all manner of simulants — tricky, powerful creatures that absorb the form of local folklore and rip apart local agents. Perfect timing. Gina has convinced herself that she's getting the hang of this secret agent stuff. This occult agent stuff. This being-a-witch thing. But shapeshifters are nasty business. And they're a global problem. Also, Section 26 is next on the hit list.

SHADOW SERVICE v3 is a riot of twists and turns. The first volume in this wickedly beautiful occult action comic produced exquisitely flawed (and entertaining) characters all too confident in themselves (and their flaws). The second volume was about scale, and about how the ego and petulance that clouds the judgment of humans so commonly clouds the judgment of the denizens of other realms as well. SHADOW SERVICE v3 is about one thing: betrayal. And if not full-on betrayal, then certainly the hindrances and dissatisfactions that manifest in their place when the institutions one trusts (or has no choice but to trust), contort themselves against one's favor.

Every chapter of this volume holds a hellacious twist. An otherwise well-plotted mission to recruit a member of The Department, Russia's supernatural secret service, goes to crap. A well-regarded teammate is fatally wounded. A well-trained agent from the Ministry of Esoteric Defense, China's occult secret service agency, makes her way into the West End and requests asylum. But whose fault is the botched mission? Must a dead teammate always be avenged? And is agent Hui Shoi-Ming, as buff and attractive as she is, telling the truth when she says her life is in danger?

Readers cannot be faulted if, upon finishing this volume, they are interminably fatigued by all of the sneaking around, the flashbacks, the speechifying, and the betrayals.

SHADOW SERVICE v3 is another solid book. However, the creative team leaves readers with zero time to rest. This is definitely the type of volume in which something remarkable happens on nearly every page. Gina and the delightfully snarky ghost version of her old pall Gideon Quill go house hunting, eventually stumbling upon the maternity hospital of the young witch's birth. Meanwhile Hex makes a mess of an interrogation when a doozy of a mythical creature crashes the party. Also meanwhile, Agent Hui learns an uncomfortable, blood-stained truth when the crisscrossed, unkept lines of command finally unravel ("What use is a scapegoat if you don't leave them behind?").

As with previous volumes, SHADOW SERVICE v3 is gorgeous. One highlight is the appearance of a flea demon, Bàolì: a wonderfully hideous, massive, eight-limbed terror of puss and teleportation skill. The demon's transparent torso seethes; it's face-shape is that of a skinless, three-quarters human skull; and the beast is colored with iridescent purples and blues that span the smoky to the cerulean. Gina is a great character, and Hui the flirty shapeshifter is a fun addition to the cast, but this volume's unquestionable highlight is the arrogant flea demon who teases and torments its prey.

Section 26 is in a bad spot. Fortunately, Gina is slowly unearthing the secrets and misgivings involving a deeper-underground coven of bootlickers eager to turn the world over to the darkness. Just what the heck is this "seventh scion" anyways? And why in the hell is it Gina?

❯ ❯ Comics Reviews || ahb writes on Good Reads

[kagu-une]

Your Majesty // P.SH

The cessation of war in your kingdom relies on you. What everyone failed to tell you: it is at the cost of your freedom.

pairing. king!park seonghwa x fem!princess!reader

genre. royal fantasy? pls don't read this if you're looking for historical accuracy :/ mature themes ahead, minors do not interact.

content warnings. non-idol!au. mean dom!seonghwa. sub!reader. maybe a little bit of dubcon if you squint. oral (m. receiving). no penetration. shoe humping. degradation. use of the terms 'my pet', 'good girl', 'my property', mentions of being a slave, 'your majesty', uhhh? spitting, very briefly. sadism for sure. he's a mean ass so ? i think that's about it. use of restraints but not in the sexy way ;(. i wrote this in proper caps this time but usually i use intentional lowercase :p

a/n. can you imagine seonghwa as a cruel king it gets my jimmies in a twist .... sorry to keep pushing the mean hwa agenda..... this is an old drabble that i had sitting, so i hope you enjoy! also ty to my liege @hhoneylix for proof reading for me (so if anything is awry blame them fr /j) ♡ if you enjoyed, please like, comment and reblog!

smut beneath the drop down!

Park Seonghwa — a noble captain in battle, but a tyrant King. Stingy, was he, arms outstretched in demand for his filthy palms to be filled with what he desired. His gluttony was utterly insatiable, and notoriously so. Though his greed was enough to cause the purest of souls to turn a cold shoulder, it was difficult to say no to someone with devilishly handsome looks and equipped with a silver tongue that'd put Lucifer himself to shame.

War raged in his kingdom, enemy nations bombarding Seonghwa's empire in aims and high hopes to retrieve stolen loot and goods from his avaricious grasp. It was undeniable that such conflict took a tremendous toll, economically. After a long debate amongst those of the Higher Tables, they came to a unanimous decision: a barter, of course. One couldn't expect the King to cease his feast upon divinity. The King would return whatever loot that his soldiers obtained while ransacking villages and pillaging towns in exchange for one thing: the opposing realm's Princess. This trade would be a simple one and the poor soul would remain in a royal bloodline; the deal was flawless and Seonghwa's foes accepted the plea with no beat of hesitation. Three days is the window of time it took for rival troops to retreat from his territory, leaving behind their wake of destruction just as Park's militia did to them; though, providing relief and aid to the inhabitants of his kingdom were the last of his worries.

Now, he occupied his throne, his dark gaze focusing lazily on the marble floor that stretched out before him. Mirroring his eyes and their lethargy and intolerance, his shoulders slouched as his tall frame spilled across the chair, knees splayed as his chin rest in his left hand. Jack Frost was great friends with the King based on the ice that he harbored within his honeyed stare. Regardless, he sat like a pouting child awaiting the arrival of his... servant.

The princess discussed in the meeting that disbanded the hellacious battles on his turf and leveled the playing field? Y/N. You looked like a deer, willowy and shy. Your head was hung to look at the floor beneath you, hiding the turmoil in your gaze. You were a pretty thing; long, healthy hair tumbled down your back. Kind eyes framed with long, thick eyelashes. A natural beauty that caused a surge of heat to rush through the King's core. Slowly, the ice inside of him began to melt away. Everyone failed to mention that you had an attitude that could give Seonghwa a run for his money. He remained silent as his eyes drank you in... The first time you'd ever laid eyes on one other.

The rattle of chains caught Seonghwa's attention. In his seat, he corrected his posture, immediately looking more presentable and respectable in the presence of company. Amongst the small fleet of handlers, you stood in the middle, wrists bound in iron with your ankles encircled in matching restraints. Seonghwa dare not move, even as your handlers pushed you forward and stood at attention before their king. Clearly, you put up a fight. the tattered dress that hung haphazardly from your frame reeked of foul play. This deal between kingdoms was clearly one-sided. Luckily, there wasn't a bruise to mar your flawless complexion — wise on his staff's behalf.

"She is no slave. Remove those chains at once." Spoke Seonghwa, once he had his fill of scrutinizing you, noting how you looked equally pissed off and frightened. The guards responded, and with the clatter of iron striking the hard flooring, you now stood free, just before the King himself.

Another demand, "Leave us."

Seonghwa fell silent once more as he awaited the room to clear, and the burly mahogany doors leading into the throne hall to shut, thus leaving them in seclusion. Lithe fingers journeyed across his chin in thought as he crossed an ankle over his bent knee.

"Kneel."

Your mouth responded by hanging open. Your eyebrows knitted together in protest. An inhale to digest such an incredulous demand, then, "Pardon me?"

"I didn't stumble over my words, girl." Retorted Hwa as he rose from his chair, approaching you at an agonizing pace. Stalking you like prey. Seonghwa circled you once, your cautious eyes remaining on the King as he did such. "I told you to kneel."

The steely tone in the King's voice indicated to you that it was no blague. You finally gave in and sank to your knees, a quiver in your actions from weariness. Seonghwa smirked as he watched you comply, petting the top of your head. Whether it was in encouragement or to assert his dominance over you, you couldn't tell. It was apparent that you weren't used to being forced into submission like this... And by God, Seonghwa was going to use that fact and run it straight into the ground.

"As I said, you're no slave. Such a shame that you aren't." Grumbled the King, squatting down so that your faces were even, calloused fingertips lingering upon your dainty jaw.

"I'd rather die than serve you."

An exasperated sigh tumbled from Seonghwa's plush lips, and a hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Then, he chuckled.

"So be it."

Rising from his position in front of you, he placed his hands on his hips as his eyes oscillated around the deliciously decorated throne room. He did this to create time and revise his next course of actions. Then, a firm foot planted itself into your chest, sending you reeling backward until your back was flush to the expensive marble. The King wasted no time as he straddled your torso, pressing your arms apart and pinning them to the floor using his knees. Seonghwa's hair fell into his face from such sudden actions and obscured his view, but posed no threat to the Crown's navigation as fingers enveloped your neck.

"You can wish me dead and hate your life, expecting me to do something about it. The simple fact is, my pet, you are my property. I own you. Every organic thought that riddles that head of yours is because I will it to be so." Seonghwa spits in your face. Usually, he wasn't the one to show all of his cards, but he refused to be disrespected inside his own castle. "You can spend your days in a cell, if you'd rather."

You flinched as saliva landed on your face, hatred, and disgust filling your stare, but no words of defense on your own behalf rolled off your sharp tongue — despite the turmoil raging within you being incredibly apparent (or, maybe, you were pathetically transparent). Recalling the chilly iron that bound your limbs earlier, a shiver crept up your spine. You had no quarrel with the bottom of the King's boot. Your wide eyes watched every move that the King made.

Despite the hatred that burned for the sadistic ruler, from below him, Seonghwa could see how your nipples had hardened — even through the tattered apparel you wore. And, fuck, did this inflate the King's ego. A wicked grin spread across the bottom half of Seonghwa's visage as a fire bloomed from his otherwise icy gaze. Once you realized that Seonghwa took notice of your blooming arousal, a deep blush seeped into your face and radiated to the tips of your ears. You parted your lips, and attempted to flounder for some sort of explanation, but instead, lie beneath Hwa with your mouth opening and closing as if you were a fish out of water.

"Do you genuinely think you are worthy of me, girl?" Asked Seonghwa through a smirk as his eyes scanned your blush riddled visage. His booming voice filled the room, instilling humiliation into your bones. This only added fuel to the heat that pooled between your legs. Could the entire palace hear of your sexual appetite?

"I–..."

"You what? Spit it out, now." The sinister expression on his face deepened further when you answered with silence, your eyes wide as you met his gaze. Coltish, curious, afraid. "That's what I thought. Next time, I'll have to cut that pathetic tongue out of your mouth."

The King removed himself from the rumple the two of you were in and returned to his throne to sit. Again, his knees parted as his feet were planted on the floor before him. He pointed to this space, waiting for you to comply with the unspoken orders given. Knock-kneed and cautious, you peeled yourself off the floor and closed the space between yourself and Seonghwa. Placing your hands on his thighs in order to brace yourself, you sank to the ground just as the King expected of you. Suddenly, and humorously to the King, submission began to settle into your bones as need clawed at your groin. It was evident in your eyes.

With his right hand, Seonghwa reached forward and slipped a few fingers beneath your chin, tilting your head back and forcing eye contact. "What is your purpose?"

Your eyebrows came together at the obscurity of the inquiry, but you still stammered out a response, "To become Queen...?" And there was honesty in your meek answer. All of your God given life consisted of how to be a good ruler, and what it meant to be a Queen. So, your answer was genuine, though confusion lilted your words. A smirk toyed at Seonghwa's lips, and he nodded as your response processed in his mind.

The King leaned forward until his lips were flush with your ear; hot breath fanned your face. His serpent tongue slithered from between his lips to lick the shell of your ear before he brought himself to speak.

A husky whisper, "When I'm through with you... I will be your purpose."

The fire of acrid hate dwindled to simmering coals within you. Instead of fueling your abhorrence, the warmth fed into the pool of feverishness that gathered in the pit of your stomach. The overwhelming feeling of ignominy and hedonism caused tears to well in your eyes, though you were quick to blink them away. Never had you been subjected to something like this — and never did you think that you would yearn for a man in such ways like you did now. This was especially conflicting to you because you didn't even know what Seonghwa looked like until you entered the same room as him.

Admittedly, you were floored when you first took in Seonghwa's appearance. From the talk amongst soldiers and townspeople when he frequented the market just outside of the castle, or stalked the long corridors that lie within the royal walls, their conversations of the King hovering over him lead him to believe that — perhaps — this King was a sea hag, or worse... Tales of his iron fist and cold eyes frightened you, thus leading you to never pursue any additional information regarding King Park Seonghwa and his tyrannical reign. Now that you taking in the King with your own eyes, he was, in fact, not the sea hag you had once imagined.

Instead, you were met with a man with a strong physique, obviously a warrior, and scars riddling his skin as proof. His raven locks hung in messy waves, framing his face beautifully. He had an angular face with dragon-like eyes that could pierce right through you. There was no denying that he was a stunning man. And his lips — . . .

Now, you sat positioned between the thighs of this devilishly handsome King, face burning with the heat of desire and embarrassment. Your eyes fell to the King's lap, your tongue growing thick in your mouth as you ached to reach out and remove the article of clothing, to reveal what lie beneath. From what you could gather in the few fleeting moments that his eyes were focused, the King was eager to give in to your carnality before a demanding grip drew your eyes back up to meet Seonghwa's.

Why do I feel this way? You questioned yourself, as you instinctively nuzzle your chin into Seonghwa's grasp. Deciding not to question it any longer and cave into your lewd cravings, you let out a soft whine to voice the need that was already addressed silently; after all, this is why Seonghwa wore that cocky smirk that drove you headfirst into compliance.

Of course the King noticed the lingering eyes on his crotch as he sat back from his position at your ear. The want that reflected in your stare made the King want to press his thighs together, but he couldn't do that since you sat between them. Instead, he released your jaw and shifted in his seat in order to fulfill your wish for your mouth to be invaded. His jewel-adorned hand rested lightly against the armrest as he gathered his thoughts.

"It seems we both have needs that demand they be sated." The King began, licking his lips to moisten them. Excitement gnawed at you and this eagerness was mirrored in your glassy eyes — the kind of look that Seonghwa wished to ruin. His smirk transitioned into a salacious grin, "You look ravishing this way, pet. What is your purpose?" He questioned again, an eyebrow raising expectantly.

"You."

Seonghwa drew his hand from its perch on the armrest so he could pull back and land a sharp, open-palmed slap across your face. The same decorated fingers leveled your head before pulling away and returning to the position he was in prior. "Who am I?"

Silence. Then, realization. "My King."

"Good girl," was the response. "what is your purpose?"

"You are."

"Worship me as so."

You took this as a clearance to act upon your cravings, and you sprung into action. Cold fingers slipped beneath the waistband of the fabric that caged the King's demanding sex. You tugged the front down to release his hardened erection, wanting to keep the King's modesty as he sat upon his royal chair... despite the want to be splayed out by him right on the floor. You halted as Seonghwa's cock was presented to you, your warm breath ghosting against the King's sensitive skin.

Just as Seonghwa was about to intervene, you dipped your head as you took the tip of Hwa's length into your mouth. Your mouth was warm, and tantalizingly wet as his hardened cock disappeared between plump lips. Electricity traveled across the King's skin, down his muscled thighs, and into his stomach. This time, an ornate hand carded its way into your hair. He pushed your head down to swallow more of his cock, impatience getting the best of him. You didn't mind though, and only braced yourself for more.

You knew what you were doing. You played him like a fiddle as your head bobbed along the King's cock, tongue flattened and molded to the underside of Seonghwa's excited shaft.

Hwa's head fell to the side, clear ecstasy written across his features. That didn't prevent the King from keeping his eyes on you, to watch your performance. The hand in your hair moved to cup the back of your head. His hips lifted from the throne on their own accord, assaulting the back of your throat with sloppy thrusts.

"You make your King feel so good, pet," muttered Seonghwa just before his teeth sank into his lower lip. "look at me as you please me."

You drew back to give attention to the head of his cock, tongue running along Seonghwa's slit and lapping up the pre-cum that dribbled out. At the King's demand, your eyes raised and leveled with Seonghwa's. Before he could realize, Hwa was teetering on the edge of his climax — so, he breathed out a warning, "Shit, I'm gonna —. . ."

You doubled down, arms slithering up into Seonghwa's lap until nimble fingers gripped at the King's waist, nose nestled into the cloth of Seonghwa's trousers as you took all the King's cock into your mouth. A rumbling moan emanated from Hwa as he released, your mouth milking him for what he was worth.

You pulled yourself off of the King with a delicious and all-too-intentional 'pop' and wiped your pleased smirk on your sleeve. Expectant eyes met Seonghwa's darkened ones, his eyebrows lowering as he read your expression.

"I suppose you're expecting me to do something to provide you relief?" Asked the King, his head falling back to rest on the back of the chair for a few moments. He readjusted his trousers as he came down from his climax.

"Yes, please, Your Majesty." You replied. Excitement lit up your gaze, and you shifted in place.

Seonghwa shot up in his seat, shoulders squared and clearly defensive. Such a change in demeanor would surely give someone whiplash. Now, you understood what everyone meant.

"Why should I give you anything? You're property. You think your Godly tongue will buy you anything, mewling quim?" The tip of Seonghwa's boot trailed up the inside of your thigh and dug the toe of his shoe into your clothed crotch. Not expecting such friction, especially because of the outburst that exploded from Seonghwa a moment ago, a whimpering moan bellowed from you, hips immediately jerking forward to seek out the contact. "As I said: you are undeserving of me."

You nodded in agreement whilst grating your hips aggressively against the tip of the King's shoe — anything to flood your body with the ecstasy that you were experiencing now. It was almost embarrassing at how fast you fell apart, writhing in the floor and uttering gentle curses as you were edged towards your own orgasm. Your fingers latched onto Seonghwa's pant leg as the radiating heat seeped down your thighs and caused your toes to curl.

Your body pulsated as you came, muscles clenching and eyes screwing shut. Seonghwa placed a majority of his weight on your clothed cunt now, wanting to enhance your orgasm as you came. Removing his foot from your clothed pussy, the dark place on the fabric displayed your pleasure. The hint of a grin tugged at the corners of Seonghwa's lips, but he stood and pulled you to your feet — earning a soft cry in protest from you.

"Go have the maids clean you up. I expect to see you at dinner." He pulled you to his chest, his hand pressing into the small of your back. "Whatever happens remains in this room, understood?"

"Mm." You hum in agreement, clinging to the King as your knees were too unreliable due to your orgasm.

"Good, now leave my presence."

Stumbling over your feet, you made your way to the heavy doors that previously closed the two of you off to the rest of the castle. Your sex-pinked skin revealed the activities that took place behind the closed doors. If not your complexion, the stain on your tattered clothes, or the languid grin and half-lidded gaze would be telling enough.

Pausing with a hand on the door, you threw a shy glance at Seonghwa from over your shoulder, just before slipping through. "Your Majesty."

[nekohooch]

I promised I would provide some detail costume breakdown of my Azem summoning circle. It took me about 85 hours total over 19 days. The skirt is overlayed over a red petticoat (because it’s the only one I had long enough) I made the skirt about 7 in longer than floor length for me because I’m wearing platform shoes!

The skirt is two layers of black chiffon. The bottom layer is a normal circle skirt, top layer is a seven panel circle skirt. Figuring out the math for this part was hellacious I do not recommend it. The top was gold lamé with black chiffon overlay. The waistband circles are gold upholstery bolts that I used bolt cutters to remove the stabby bits of and the beams from the waistband are from a fringey door cover that I dissected. I then twisted the beams (fringe) and fastened them to the skirt.

The Ps and the filigree things are from bathroom wall decals that I cut into pieces. Then I added rhinestones, these triangle book decorations, and sequins for the designs and the giant summoning circles.

The rest of the designs are various additional pieces of fringe, rhinestones, and hand painted designs with gold calligraphy ink. I almost added my statics job symbols into the summoning circles but I didn’t have time.

There’s still more I want to add to this but I’m ecstatic how it turned out and felt like an absolute goddess.

[cevansbrat0007]

Hey so the teaser of the upcoming story made me think of something what would happen if Andy came home and caught you using BOB without waiting for him?

Summary: Andy catches you breaking a very important rule during a punishment...

Warnings: Smut, Overstimulation, Ass Play, Butt Plugs, Cockwarming (mentioned), Daddy Kink, Bratty Reader, Pussy Spanking, Cursing, Public Sex (mentioned), Punishments, Minors DNI

A/N: Requested by the ever-incorrigible @writer84. Also dedicated to just a few of my fellow brats: @suckthatskittlebiiitch, @lexivass, @sarahdonald87. Part of my ongoing Growing Pains Series. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are sincerely appreciated!

___

Holding your breath, you crack open the door to your husband’s home office. Of course you knew it would be empty, just like you knew better than to do, well…whatever it was you were about to do. 

You slowly creep inside before taking a seat at the formidable-looking mahogany desk, taking a moment to brush your fingers across the smooth, polished surface. And then you pull a small, silver key out of your pocket and insert it into the lock on the top drawer. You twist it to the left, wiggling just a tad until you hear the soft snick of victory. 

You then proceed to pull out the neatly organized compartment, smiling when you finally lay eyes on your prize. On the one thing that had you breaking all of the rules.

Now, to be fair, these weren’t your rules. In fact, this rather unpopular edict that you were about to defy had been issued by none other than the love of your life. 

Andrew Barber.

It was because of him that you’d spent the last several days enduring a rather hellacious punishment. The kind of punishment that almost any other sane person would deem both cruel and unusual.

Your crime? Enjoying a little too much wine during your man’s last work function. Yep. That was it. That was all that happened. 

Oh. 

And there was also the slight possibility that your fingers had done a little wandering. Mostly under the table stuff – and only to show your appreciation for the gorgeous man on your arm who also happened to be one of several honorees that evening as well.

He’d looked sexy. You’d been horny. And therefore, you’d gotten a little handsy. Who would’ve guessed that the District Attorney for the City of Boston would be so against receiving an impromptu handjob in a room full of state officials and colleagues? 

Certainly not you. 

And eventually – after a number of very tense repeated denials, threats of punishment, and attempts at a distraction – you’d given up. Or so he’d thought. 

But in all reality, you’d simply allowed yourself another generous glass of wine, or two, while planning your next move. Which involved pouting, followed by the bright idea to make him jealous by innocently flirting with several unsuspecting event attendees. Only for you to remember too little, too late that you were married to one of the most jealous and possessive men to have ever walked planet earth.

Yeah, you’d landed yourself in a heap of trouble that night. But what was funny was you’d been so damned tipsy by the end of it all that Andy hadn’t been able to deal with you beyond making sure you drank plenty of water and dosing you with Tylenol before bed.

After that, you were out like a light. But not Andrew – not your Big Man. He’d been left alone to stew. Which meant that when you’d awoken the next morning feeling bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, you’d had to contend with a very grumpy husband. 

As for your punishment, well…

He’d informed you over breakfast that you were being placed on restriction for the next week. You’d initially balked at that, thinking that he meant you weren’t allowed to watch television or something equally ridiculous. Only to realize that he was talking about something much, much worse.

Namely, your orgasms.

Andrew Barber was restricting your ability to cum for the next seven days. Which might as well have been a fucking lifetime!

Stunned, you’d continued to sit there in silence, mouth agape, as he'd went about enjoying his biscuits and gravy. Of course you’d tried to argue, and when that hadn’t worked you resorted to begging. And then back to pouting. 

And to add insult to injury, your man had also taken away your toys. Every single one of them. Your Andy Bear hadn’t even batted an eyelash as he’d gathered them up so that he could lock them away until you’d finished with your punishment.

But the thing about it is that he never intended to make this easy for you. Every night you were unfairly subjected to hours of hedonistic torture at his large, powerful hands. Your man had relished in teasing you -- loving every moment of the sensual torture.

Driving you towards the brink again and again before pulling back. Reveling in your pain and sexual frustration – taking pleasure in every sweet moan and cry that spilled its way past your lips. But if you’d thought, even for a moment, that the man you loved more than anything in this world was going to suffer at your side, you’d been sorely mistaken. Oh, how naive you’d been. 

Because your being placed on so-called "restriction" hadn’t stopped your man from fucking you senseless. If he wasn’t wrecking your throat, then he was balls deep in your ass. But he never took you in the one way that you desired most.

Your poor, neglected pussy. 

That was the one part of you he’d been content to leave empty and wanting. Every night when Andy was finished with you, the bastard had parted your thighs to bestow a kiss on your weeping cunt. Always whispering a litany of filthy words against your most intimate flesh, promising to take good care of her and you as soon as you learned your lesson. Although it did little to quell the ever-present ache between your legs. 

God, he was an asshole.

But in spite of it all, you’d somehow managed to last five days. Five long fucking days of being in nothing but a constant, all consuming state of arousal. And you knew without a shadow of a doubt that there was no way you were going to last two more.

At least not without some kind of relief. At this point you were fucking desperate for it, which is why you decided to take matters into your own hands and do a little snooping. And once you’d located the key to Andy’s desk there’d been no turning back. 

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you rifle through your selection of vibrators, most of which you never really used unless Andy was with you. The only exception was if one of you happened to be away on business or something, but even then, your man always made sure he was available to witness your pleasure via FaceTime. 

That man was so goddamned greedy for you all of the time that you were at least partially convinced that he needed to seek professional help. However, the last time you’d hinted at something like that, all you’d gotten in return was a chuckle before he’d lowered you down on his thick cock and made you ride him on the back patio.

Good times.

You let out a soft squeal of delight when you come across your current favorite toy – the Satisfyer Pro 2. Andy loved playing with that in the bath since it was waterproof. He, and it, always left you a boneless, quivering mess by the time you were finished. And then he would pluck your limp body from the water before gently drying you with a towel so that he could ravage you again from the comfort of your bed. 

Yes, you’d make yourself feel better by relieving some of this pent up tension with the help of your trusty Satisfyer Pro. That would hit the spot – literally. 

Excitement courses through your veins as you remove your leggings, letting them fall to the ground in a forgotten heap. You were about to show your Big Man that he didn’t run shit in around this house, including you. It was high time that you reminded him that this was your pussy, not his. And furthermore, he was lucky that you let him sample your charms as often as you did anyway. 

“Fuck you, Andrew Barber.” You power-on the vibrator and lean back in the chair before propping your feet up on the desk and splaying your legs wide. A low, guttural moan escapes the moment the toy makes contact with your impossibly sensitive clit. “You’re not the boss of me.” Your head tips back in bliss as you increase the intensity of the suction by several notches. 

“You sure about that, baby girl?” A deep voice calls from somewhere just outside the door.

You immediately freeze in place as the massager slips from your grasp. It hits the floor with a dull thud, all the while continuing to buzz. 

Holy fucking shit!

“Uhh…” You stammer as your head swings around to meet your husband’s dark gaze. “H-hi…”

“Looks like I caught you at a bad time, huh?” Andy shoves his hands in the pockets of his dark gray slacks before crossing his legs at the ankle and resting his hip against the doorframe. “Apparently my naughty little wife has been quite the busy bee.”

“An–Andy…honey…” You can hear the sound of your pulse crashing in your ears, temporarily drowning out your ability to think clearly. Because whether it was said or not, you both knew that you’d just fucked up. 

Big time.

“Hush.” Without missing a beat, you watch as he pulls his phone out of his pocket to quickly scroll through his contacts before pressing it to his ear. “Hey, Samantha, I’m afraid I’m going to need you to push back my twelve-o’clock with Duke Higsby.” He chuckles into the receiver as you squirm in your seat, silently wishing that you had the stones to simply throw on your leggings and bolt. 

As if he wouldn’t catch you. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Do me a favor and give him a call to see if he’s open to meeting me tonight for drinks. Tell him to bring the Missus too.” Andy winks at you, his perfect teeth gnawing at his lip. “Alright. I will definitely be back at the office in time for my three-o’clock. Yep. Thank you. Appreciate it.” He ends the call, tucking the device safely away before returning his full attention back to you.

“Okay –” You begin again, finally finding your voice. “It’s not – this is all so not what you think. I mean, I know what it looks like, but if you’ll just let me explain –” Andy is quick to cut you off with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

“I’ve seen all I need to see, thank you very much.” You let out a shaky breath as your husband begins to roll up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. “But frankly, I can’t say I’m all that surprised.” His eyes are filled with disappointment.

“But I –”

“Quiet!” He barks, making you jump. And then he strides towards you, reaching down to pick up your still pulsing vibrator. He takes a moment to examine it before calmly switching it off. “I almost didn’t come home this morning, but I’m glad I did.” You feel your cheeks heat when you realize that the object is so covered in your slick that it’s damn near impossible to miss. “Because if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have caught my baby breaking such a big rule. Isn’t that right?”

You head bobs in agreement.

“And did Daddy give you permission to play with his pussy when he was fucking your sweet mouth this morning before he left work?”

You wordlessly shake your head “no”. Seemed like the best policy right about now.

“Hm. Didn’t think so.” Andy tosses your toy across the room so that it lands on his small couch. “Stand up, little brat. I need to survey the damage you’ve done to my cunt. I don’t think you had enough time to make yourself cum, but I want to make sure.” His eyes stray to your core, paying close attention to the swollen nub threatening to peek out from between your slippery folds. 

“Good girl.” He praises when you eagerly do as he bids. And then he opens his arms, beckoning you forward. A slightly mocking smirk graces his lips when he sees you openly hesitate instead of obeying this time around. “Aww, c’mon, sweetheart. Just let Daddy check you out so he can be sure of how to proceed.”

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, hating how pitiful you sounded even to your own ears. “But if you think about it, this is kind of all your fault, Big Ma–I mean, Daddy.” Your face scrunches up at the slight flare of his nostrils.

“Oh, is it?” Andy grunts, clearly running out of patience. He swoops you up in his brawny arms, giving you an affectionate squeeze before depositing you on his desk. “And how do you figure that one?”

“Be-because you’ve been so mean to me lately. You left me no choice but to do something to take the edge off.” You huff, poking out your bottom lip even as your much larger husband looms over you.

A lesser woman would be intimidated, but deep down you knew that he wouldn’t really hurt you, at least not without adding a little dose of pleasure to go right along with it. 

Andy leans in for a kiss, drawing your bottom between his teeth and sucking it into his mouth – eliciting a soft whimper from you. “I can’t believe that I have to remind my baby of this particular fact, but Daddy could’ve sworn that he made it very clear that you were on restriction until this coming Sunday.” He murmurs as he glides his lips over yours once more.

“But it’s not fair to make me suffer the way I have, especially not for this long.” You whine, attempting to weave your arms around his neck long enough to hold him in place for more kisses. But at the same time you also knew that he would not allow himself to be so easily swayed.  

He slowly untangles himself from you and places your arms at your side. “Well, little girl, perhaps you should’ve thought about that before you tried to give me a handjob under the goddamned table -- three fucking times!” Your husband rakes a frustrated hand through his hair. 

“I said I was sorry!” 

“And when the fuck was that, exactly?” Andy snarls before gripping your knees with his big hands and yanking your thighs apart. “Before or after I was finally forced to drag your fine ass into one of the private bathrooms to make you behave?” His heavy palm comes down hard on your vulnerable cunt, the wet slap echoing throughout his office. 

“Ow!” You hiss, clenching your knees together in an attempt to shield yourself from the next blow. 

“Oh, baby.” Your man tuts as he smacks at your damp flesh twice more. in succession “You were in rare form that night, letting this disrespectful little pussy right here run the whole goddamned show. Being so fucking greedy and unreasonable.”

“But you spanked me!” You cry when he strikes again, sending pleasure-filled shockwaves through your already spasming core.

“Only after you made it clear that stuffing you full of my cock wasn’t enough! What else was Daddy supposed to do with you, little love?” His fingers roughly pinch your clit before resuming your punishment. “You left me with no choice.”

So, there might’ve been a small grain of truth to that. You weren’t sure what had you so revved up. Maybe it was the fact that you’d both spent a good chunk of the past month away from each other on business. Perhaps you hated being without him a little bit more than you necessarily cared to admit.

Well, fuck!

“I know we’ve spent a lot of time apart recently, sweetness. I do.” Andy delivers one last sharp smack to your throbbing center before flipping you onto your belly. “But there are so many other, better ways to get my attention, sweetheart. And I just bet that you could do it without throwing a fucking tantrum. What do you think?” You bite your fist as a fresh wave of pain suddenly blossoms across your upturned bottom.

He briefly steps away from you to make his way around to the other side of his desk to retrieve something from another compartment. “Asked you a question, brat. And I sure would like to hear your answer.” Andy holds up what appears to be a glittering, jeweled butt plug up to the light. It's bigger than any of the ones you've ever, erm, played with before.

“I – I should’ve tried to…” You taper off as your husband’s free hand then fishes out a bottle of lube from that same drawer. “I’m sorry for simply reacting instead of telling you how I was feeling.”

There we go. Progress. Now maybe he could put those weapons of mass destruction away.

“S’alright.” Once he’s behind you again, you hear him pop the cap on the vial. And then you feel a handful of cool drops trail their way down the exposed crack of your ass, followed by the sensation of something thick and invasive prodding its way against your puckered back hole. “Daddy’s awfully proud of you, princess. And you wanna know something else?”

You exhale out another series of strained breaths as Andy begins working the toy in and out of your tiny ring of muscles. “Ooh, Daddy – I! Shit!” He never once lets up – even as you inadvertently rise on your toes to meet his thrusts. 

“I hear you, sweet girl.” The plug finally slips its way past your defenses, stretching you so completely that you temporarily see double. “But right now, Daddy’s gotta finish getting this new punishment plug settled deep in your naughty little ass." Andy spreads your cheeks so that he can openly admire his delicate handiwork. "And then I’m gonna let you sit on my cock and keep me warm while I respond to all of the emails I’ve missed while taking care of you.”

He smooths a gentle hand through your curls, loving the soft feel of them as he gathers his composure. “You’re also gonna keep that plug in the rest of the fucking day, understand me?” You let out a small shriek when his hand connects with your left cheek before giving it a harsh squeeze. “If you prove to be a good girl who’s capable of following instructions, perhaps I’ll consider removing it tonight in-between cocktails with the Higsbys.”

“O-okay, Daddy.” You bite back a moan as you feel yourself getting lost in the sensations. You felt so goddamned full like this, completely stuffed to the brim.

“However, if you disobey me, little one – if I catch even so much as a hint of it from you – Daddy’s gonna haul your sweet ass off to the nearest bathroom and rail you so hard that you won’t be able to sit properly for the rest of the night.” He presses a tender kiss to your brow before standing up to unzip his pants.

“And I can tell you right now that I won't give a damn about who sees me. Or who hears you.” Andy hisses, fisting a hand in your hair and tugging as he leads you towards the couch. “Now, c’mon and have a seat, beautiful." He eagerly pats his lap as he removes his impressive erection from its confines. "Before Daddy forgets that you’re supposed to be keeping him warm and decides he's better off fucking you senseless right here…”

He grips his shaft, stroking himself from base to tip as you prepare to lower yourself onto him.

“Right now.”

END

[caffeinatedmunchkin]

To Bear Witness

Rating: M Characters/Pairings: Astarion/Tav(Sabine) Genre: Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Angst Word Count: 14k Summary: Astarion spends more time protecting Sabine from herself, than from others. When the pair crosses paths with a priest of Loviatar, they find he's as eager to scourge the little sorceress, as she is to prove herself. An experience that may be just what they need to diffuse their mounting tension, it leaves them both in ways they least expect. Act 1.

Sequel to The Cost Of Devotion.

~

Rain fall, gentle and light, began to trickle down from an overcast sky. Rumblings of a distant storm drawing nearer, the brooding gray of the clouds turned black the further along the horizon they reached. Astarion could taste it on the damp air as sure as he could smell it; the aroma of petrichor, rivaled only by the stench of blood. And smoke.

As threatening as the storm promised, he knew that even once it rolled in, it would pale in comparison to the one they had all just witnessed. The one that was Sabine herself.

"Well that got the blood pumpin', that's for sure." Karlach placed a foot on the auburn goblin beneath her, wrenching the edge of her axe from his skull. Cracked and sunken in at the sight of impact like a rotten pumpkin, the bit dislodged from the pulpy flesh with a sickening crunch.

Face twisted in a grimace, Astarion wiped the flat of his dagger against the last goblin he had felled. The corpses of his brethren littered around them, wallowing in the blood and mire that saturated the dirt, just as they had in life.

He granted that particular goblin an un-due mercy by ending him with a single, clean cut to the jugular. Before Sabine got to him first. Dropping to his knees, he was dead before he hit the ground. Spared from the fate that befell many of the others.

The fate of blistering electrocution from the inside out.

Patches of burnt grass and scorched earth streaked through the muck where she had called down her tempestuous wrath. She was in rare form, and he'd be lying if he said it wasn't a sight to behold.

Her petite frame buzzed with the energy of an unbridled storm. The roar of thunder reverberated throughout the trees, and shook the ground beneath their feet with her every cry. Lightning coursed through her veins. She commanded gale force gusts, and wielded the crackling bolts like whips.

The little sorceress exuded turbulence, and they all gave her a wide berth. None in their group had seen her angry before. A sword they were all keen not to fall on, each looked to the other for proper procedure. Her rage recognized.

Astarion hazarded a glance in her direction. She was preoccupied with studying her palms, and pointedly avoiding his scarlet gaze.

He surmised he may have been the culprit behind her mood.

Sparking filament still coiled around her dainty wrists, and arced between her fingertips. Karlach aimed a sidelong look at the intimidating discharge that had yet failed to dissipate.

"You uh, alright, Sab?" She tossed her chin towards the weeping slice across her exposed bicep. A convenience that afforded her the opportunity to ask, without prodding what they were all taking great care to dance around.

Sabine looked down at her bleeding arm with a lifted brow. It was clear she had only noticed the injury once it was pointed out. Clenching her fists, the lightning fizzled. She forced her pout into a tight smile. "Never better."

Astarion cringed. He knew a great liar, she was not. She could be as persuasive as the best of them, but the art of deception was his alone.

It could have been convincing, had she not just unleashed hellacious fury in the form of fulmination moments prior. And on some meager underlings, no less.

Karlach's suspicion persisted as the little sorceress politely excused herself.

Shadowheart was tending Wyll behind him, to whom he suspected she was en route. He intercepted all the same. Her stride brisk but her eyes lowered, he side-stepped in time for her to connect with his chest.

The small collision startled her out of her thoughts. Seeing who it was she walked into, with a noncommittal eye-roll, she grumbled an apology that he ignored. He instead regarded her with a suave smirk.

"You poor thing, that must sting something awful." He cooed, the heady scent of her blood now overwhelmed him with her proximity. He licked his lips none too eagerly. "Shall I have a look?"

She stared up at him for what felt like an eternity. As was typical, the heterochromatic orbs would flit across his face, seeking the hidden meaning she believed to be buried beneath his careful facade. But not this time. Her expression was blank. Sabine just looked at him, instead of directly into him.

It stirred an odd sense of disappointment in him. One that was further stoked when she broke the silence with a tired; "no, thank you."

His charm faltered, as if struck.

No?

"No."

Astarion blinked. Only with her reiteration was he then aware he had breathed that aloud. She doubled down, merciless.

"I don't think I can state it more clearly than that." She sighed, un-amused even with her own snapping wit. "Shall I try?"

Hm. Still sore, I see.

A shame. He was quite confident he could weaken her knees by gathering her in his arms by her middle, and tracing the split skin with the tip of his tongue. A perfect combination of both compassion and perversion, the high success rate of which he now had first hand experience.

Nonetheless, he was tickled by her attempted sass. Clicking his tongue, he couldn't help but retort in kind. "You wear your heart on your sleeve, little sorceress."

Anger veined like lightning throughout her caramelized irises. "You should be thanking me, then. Seeing as how that makes your job all the easier." Her words blunt, her tone reliably direct. But scorned all the same.

It had only been a few days since that fateful evening in the Underdark. When he had struck first blood, and left her in what he thought was an advantageous position. Primed for his ultimate possession.

Every night since he had been back to feed, of course. Both of his appetites, as well as indulge in her own.

Astarion had seemingly roused her sexuality from dormancy. Upon each visit to her tent, her desires were as rampant as her curiosity. The little sorceress was an eager study to the intimidating breadth of his experience.

And every night he came for her, the look of hope alight in her lustful gaze was enough to break his heart. Hope that he might finally have her, fully and completely, all while he continued to dangle it before her nose.

Still, he refrained from crossing that line.

All by his design. Each time he gave her only a taste. Just enough to ensure her cooperation for the next night, to see her even more starved for him than the last. A gamble to be certain, but one he risked only because of his confidence.

Confidence, it now seemed, she was intent to challenge.

Their previous evenings' rendezvous proved to be the tipping point. Her patience, and generosity, lost to the imbalance. The subsequent source of her temper.

He let himself inside her tent before the sun finished setting, in hopes of catching her off guard. Their camp enveloped in a golden, dreamlike haze.

"There you are, my little darling." He purred, stalking forward to close the distance between them. "I was hoping you'd be ready for me. I'm itching for a taste of you, and I don't just mean your blood."

Her freckled cheeks blossomed with color.

Not long after Astarion found himself between her legs, forcing her thighs still with bruising strength as he descended. All lips and tongue, and playful scrapes of his fangs.

A keening groan bubbled from her throat in frustration. Her fingers pulling at his lustrous white locks like reigns. "Weren't you ever taught not to play with your food?"

"I just can't seem to help myself." He grinned, nuzzling into her slick folds. His hot breath misting against her.

"Then what are you waiting for?" She pushed from deep in her chest. Fighting to speak, struggling to breath. Wound so tightly by his limber tongue, she felt one more flick would cause her to burst.

Irrefutable proof of your devotion, he thought.

"Patience, little love." He said instead, eye lids heavy. "It wouldn't serve either of us to be hasty. Lest you do something you'll soon grow to regret."

Irrefutable proof he knew was so close, he could almost taste it.

Timidness, sensitivity, her submission. All behaviors Astarion expected.

Raw anger he did not.

And here I thought the anticipation made for more romance.

She put on a brave face, and had done well in keeping it steady up until that point. She hadn't spurned his presence, though she was certainly not dazzled by it either. His interactions with Sabine were not without the politeness and refinement he had grown accustomed to receiving, their freshly budding intimacy aside. But she had withdrawn some, the full extent of which only just becoming clear to him.

Held together by a thread, their encounter with the goblins at the main gates to the temple saw it snapped. Slight as their provocation was, it was enough.

The dam burst. Her rage materialized in a thundering bolt that she struck down in the middle of a trio of goblins. The three who had been the most brutal in their heckling, she ended them all in less time then it took for her to produce the searing flash.

Unwilling to allow him the opportunity for another antagonistic remark, she skirted passed him and walked on in wordless dismissal. A faint whiff of jasmine and violet lingered in the space she had occupied.

Astarion sheathed his dagger, his strong brows furrowed. A hiccup to be sure, but nothing he couldn't smooth over. His expertise in seduction unparalleled, he'd woo her once more, in time.

Seems as though I've struck quite the nerve. I can make better use of it, now that I know it's there.

He realized his continued thoughts of manipulation, and her learned exploits, were a distraction from his genuine displeasure. And a weak one, at that.

Displeasure from how cold she had become to him. And how that displeased him so.

A mere triviality. He reaffirmed to himself. A hindrance so minor it's not even worth noting.

Sabine's disillusionment was something he could fix. She'd be subdued, and fawning again. Soon enough.

Once everyone regrouped, their injuries seen to and bearings collected, they headed onward. Though they moved as a group, all six were not without their reservations.

The heart of the hordes operations were just a short trek ahead of them, in the formerly abandoned Temple of Selûne. It stood erect and foreboding in the distance, despite decades of elemental decay, if not longer. And it's destructive new loiterers.

"I maintain my stance that Halsin seems the likeliest to be of use, however variable." Shadowheart declared to no one in particular as they approached. "At least the likeliest of all our leads thus far. We'll go in, and get him out. Everything else is inconsequential."

"We should be so lucky for it to play out that smooth." Gale volunteered, and none too grimly. "These goblins are as quarrelsome as they are slovenly."

Astarion had his own unease about their presence at the goblin camp. He didn't feel at all inclined to smite them on the groves behalf, a sentiment he was most assuredly alone in.

Their lack of a structured plan, and venturing forth blindly, had him bristling with restlessness. It wasn't their affair to meddle in. On top of it all, he now had Sabine's insolence to contend with. The threat of a migraine loomed at the base of his skull.

A far cry from how I had hoped I would spend this day.

Wyll and Shadowheart lead, while he and Gale brought up the rear. Sabine stayed close to Karlach, never once looking back over her shoulder at him, no matter how insistent his penetrative gaze.

Gale observed to the best of his discretion. Looking first at Astarion, and then to an uncharacteristically disinterested Sabine. Curious, but he refrained from commenting all the same.

They covered the remaining distance in short-lived silence.

The cacophony of hollering and chanting from the goblin hive was second in disorientation only to their odor. Each an offense to the senses that struck well before even a single one of them came into view.

He didn't find himself in agreement with Gale often, but when he did, it was absolute. He could never resist the allure of debauchery, but the bombardment of their utter filth was most unwelcome.

Disgust furrowing his brow and wrinkling his nose, he did a quick sweep of the scene before him. So raucous he could barely hear his own thoughts.

He then looked for Sabine, as was his habit whenever they found themselves anywhere outside of camp. Necessitated by her knack for disappearing without a word. To his relief, however faint, she was still among them. And with her back still up at him.

Perhaps this is one place where I won't have to keep such a close eye on her after all. The small victories will have to suffice.

And there, in the middle of it all, was Volo. Doing his best to serenade the crowd whilst fearing for his life. Astarion shook his head.

He almost wished he could get drunk, if he didn't disapprove so strongly of the company.

"There must be someone here who knows something." Shadowheart spoke low, taking care where she stepped. "And I caution we all mind our presence here. Draw as little attention to ourselves, and our line of questioning, as possible."

The lot of them maneuvered the throng of goblins and bugbears alike. Most all were too intoxicated, or too enthralled with their revelry to take notice of the group. Or to care.

"Back at the grove, Sazza spoke of their Priestess Gut in high enough regard." Wyll's hand, while lax in it's grip, had yet to lift from the hilt of his blade. "It might behoove us to seek her out."

"I'm disinclined to rely on her cooperation," Gale almost tripped over a goblin passed out in the middle of the walk, phlegmy snores ripping from his throat. Catching himself, he stepped over him. "I suspect any engagement with her might turn messy, given how fanatical these Absolute-fearing types, especially in high positions, have proven."

Astarion did he best to focus on the task at hand, to voice his opinion on the matter. However he couldn't help but find himself distracted by the little sorceress, and her unbearable silence.

All of them continued their charade of ignorance about her outward contempt. Save for Karlach, of course, who couldn't seem to let it lay.

She joked and jabbed, and each time saw Astarion bracing himself for fear that it would eventually set her off. And that eruption, in turn, would ignite the hostility of the entire camp.

Yet after failing to elicit even a small smile, she ceased, opting to at long last give her some space.

Falling alongside him, both he and Karlach watched as Sabine moved amongst the crowd with deliberate, and guarded movement. Her signature doe-eyed approachability stripped in favor of a stoic edge that didn't at all suit her.

"She seems right foul." Karlach remarked, before she then shifted her attention to him. After a moment, as if the answer was right in front of her all along, she groaned loudly in accusation. "Oh, what'd'you do?"

Astarion scoffed, weak and without mirth. At the ready to defend himself dishonestly, he was interrupted by the yapping of a cocky goblin that Sabine caught the attention of.

They all, Sabine included, halted. Paying more mind to the little cretin than what was owed.

"Yeah, that's right half-breed, I mean you!" Puffing out his chest with a cluster of others goading him on, he sneered. "Yer no more than dirt under my feet, is what you are."

Everyone remained quiet, but braced. Astarion's hackles raised.

Without missing a beat, the tiny half-elf smoothed her hands over the front of her skirts, and sniffed.

"Charming." She summoned a tight-lipped smile, ready to take her leave. "I'll just be on my way, then."

"Not so fast!" He growled. "Y'think you and yer lot can waltz on through 'ere as you please? You need to learn yer place."

Everyone poised at the ready to intervene, to deescalate the situation. Sabine piped up before any were given the chance to so much as step between them.

"And what place is that?"

"On yer hands'n'knees." He flashed a lascivious grin. Full of himself, even for a goblin. "Kissin' my foot."

Astarion stiffened. His rational side urged him to step forward, grab her by the arm, and pull her away. But the side of him that knew how to have a good time delighted in the idea of her lighting up the worm, the rest of the camp be damned.

A little chaos goes a long way, and we're all in dire need of that change of pace.

"Come, Sabine." Shadowheart cut in with the initiative to diffuse, taking half a step towards her. "We've more pressing matters to attend to."

The little sorceress didn't budge. Staring down the goblin with her arms crossed and her weight shifted to one hip, when she addressed him her tone was equal parts bored, and irritated.

"I beg your pardon." More akin to a demand than it was a request, Astarion's smirk grew.

He had never seen her so short-tempered with another being, save for now himself.

Skeptical, of course. At times distrusting. But this was an entirely unique experience. He was certain he was the only one among them that was excited to watch the scene unfold.

"Kiss my foot, swine." He barked, pointing down to the appendage, as if she needed the visual aid. "Or I'll carve yer pretty little face."

Rocking to his toes, Astarion was unable to wipe the grin from his face, even if he tried. He could read her well, and from the firm set to her posture, he knew she was toeing the precipice of her patience. She just needed a little nudge. His silence might implicate him, after all.

"Well, go on, give him a nibble."

The words slipped through his lips before he could help it. Karlach's glare bore into him, fiery and incredulous.

Sabine's head snapped around to lock eyes with him, at last, her ponytail whipping violently. He could hardly contain his amusement, spurred on by the irresistible temptation of prodding her. To incite more of her thunderous hell.

The impish glimmer in his gaze was encouraging. Insistent. The blaze in hers just shy of murderous. The warm and gooey splotches of honey she had for eyes boiled. Daring him to continue. To dip in for a taste of scalding sugar.

He relished it.

That's it, darling. Give me more.

"Gods you're worse than a child! Must you instigate everything?" Karlach whispered furiously at him from out of the corner of her mouth.

"Yes." He whispered back, acquiescent. "I must."

Neither of them able to tear their eyes away for even a moment.

Before the look Sabine aimed his way could turn truly grave, the goblin grabbed her ear again. He nearly spit at her in his impatience. "I'm not gonna tell ya again, runt."

He couldn't see her face, but he could almost hear her gaze narrow in tandem with her sharpening tongue.

"Why don't you kneel, and kiss my foot."

Though she was barely double his height, and the only thing frightful about her was just how adorable she was, her intimidation in that moment was palpable. Not to mention surreal.

He felt the collective, withheld breath of all four of their other companions. Astarion was giddy.

Full of surprises, this one.

The goblin spluttered, taking a step back from her in mounting cowardice. She pursued him, stalking forward and closing the distance he scrambled to put between them. "That shouldn't be too difficult for you, being you find me so pretty."

Astarion felt his chest tighten in a flush of heat, overflowing with approval. The little sorceress was exacting dominance, and he was captivated by the display.

How pleasantly unexpected. I shall have to stir this delicious temper of hers more often.

He would have egged her on further, if he didn't know when to quit when he was barely scraping by. And more importantly still, when he didn't find himself within Karlach's swing radius.

In a stab at retaliation, the goblin began to snarl back at her until she cut him off.

"I. Said. Kneel." Her command stern, not a hint of leniency or room for negotiation. Sabine didn't so much as raise her voice. She didn't have to. She gave life to the phrase eyes like daggers. Always so endearing and sweet, they were now the fiercest he had even see them.

Like the calm before a storm, she was eerily still, and quiet, while she waited. His obedience expected. Astarion practically purred.

Though she be but little, she is fierce.

The goblin's eyes darted from side to side, seeking the support of his allies, but none were willing to step forward. They merely stood and observed. Knowing he could stall no longer, his grimy maw rippled over jagged teeth in protest. A last act of defiance. He then dropped to his knee, and planted his palms at either side of her boot.

As hasty as it was non-committal, the goblin bowed to the petite, assertive half-elf's demands.

Sabine stepped away before he made it back to his feet. Spinning on her heel, dismissing him without a word as he slunk back among his cohorts, glowering all the while. A sneer of disgust twisted her lips, finding just that hint of power to be unpalatable.

How unfortunate, that. Seeing her behave with such superiority was absolutely divine.

His body reacted in turn. It was so unlike her to hold herself so assured with authority, to put someone in their place.

After taking a few deep breaths to ground herself, she at last faced him. A brief flicker of that innocent half-elf he knew so well, when their eyes locked she was quick to snuff it out. He felt his lips curve into a grin of satisfaction.

"Well, well, that certainly got my blood pumping." Thoroughly amused, he cocked his head down at her. "I don't suppose you could be persuaded for an encore?"

"How did I know you'd approve." She scoffed, but it was not without some genuine amusement. "You're becoming rather predictable, Astarion. I'm almost disappointed."

She meant to insult him. How precious. Astarion merely smiled. That nerve is still tender.

Still unwilling to meet his eyes, he was unperturbed from dropping his own. They fixed on her during the height of her confrontation, and on her they remained.

"The same cannot be said for you, little sorceress. You're coming along quite nicely." Reaching forward to pinch her cheek, his grasp was evaded by a well-timed jerk of her head. He chuckled, cutting his losses gracefully. "I never expected you had it within you to be so... domineering." He rolled the compliment around his tongue, savoring its taste. "It was nothing short of breathtaking."

She gave him a flat look. "Is your arrogance so monstrous that you truly believe this was done so that I might please you?"

His grin was as saccharine as it was wide. "My dear girl, if not for me, then who?"

Laying it on as thick as honey, it only served to reignite the molten blaze within her. If smoke burst from her pointed ears, he wouldn't have been the least bit surprised, able to the her gears squealing behind her narrowed eyes. Certain she had something particularly biting to launch back at him, she was forced into a cease fire as Karlach bounded over to them.

"That was wicked!" The tiefling seemed as gleeful as Astarion. "Imagine if you let a little of your lightning spark, eh? Could've had him clucking like a chicken, I reckon."

Sabine waved, grateful for her interruption. "He was all bark, nothing more to it than that."

A weary sigh escaped him.

Of course she up and spoils it with her modesty. How typical.

"And a distraction. A needless one." Shadowheart added, ever the reliable pragmatic. "Need I remind you we’re not here to squabble with the likes of him. Our time is precious, and I advise against wasting any more of it. Let us press on."

The Sharran didn't wait for any of them before she spun on her heel towards the sanctum. The rest were quick to follow, leaving Sabine and Astarion alone once more.

With an exaggerated flourish, he bowed, motioning for her to go ahead of him. Rolling her eyes with a heavily nauseated sigh, her stride carried by energetic clicks of her heels.

Watching her retreating figure in a moment of shameless appreciation, he then trailed after her, his signature haughtiness reinvigorated.

Perhaps this day is not lost after all.

-

The sanctum pulled them in with nefarious greed. The atmosphere inside was decidedly different than out on the grounds; the sloppiness and merriment replaced with tension, and urgency.

Astarion eyed the dank and decrepit structure with disdain. The humidity already settled against his exposed skin in a greasy film, carrying with it the groans and cries of far off torment. The bleakness and impending dread made for an uncomfortable familiarity he did his best to ignore.

A wail of agony echoed off the masonry into his twitching ear, prickling the skin at the back of his neck. Someone was being tortured not far from where they stood. His nostrils flared in a tentative inhale, and with it came the musk of blood tainted by fear, and fatigue.

Better them than me. He stole a deep breath, careful to do so when there weren't any eyes on him. Drawing reinforcement, he summoned his mantra: That life is behind me now.

Every morning that he awoke free of Cazador's grasp was a triumph. A triumph that saw those marionette strings weakened, a little more each day.

Weakened, but not severed. At least not yet.

"I suggest we split up, more ground will be covered that way." Shadowheart shared in his discomfort, eyeing the statues of Selûne wearily. "The sooner we put this place behind us, the better. I've no desire to linger."

And so their little group dispersed. Their even number making for tidy pairs, it was not the first time that the six had splintered for the sake of efficiency. Karlach and Wyll remained inseparable, one always opting for the other's company when given the chance. Gale's aptly timed banter served to complement Shadowheart's severity well enough.

And then there were two.

He naturally kept close to Sabine's side, her presence ever pleasing to his eye, and ego alike. Yet when he looked to her, he found empty space where she used to be. Slipping away without a sound, in the second he allowed her to stray from his peripheral. The vein in his temple spasmed, the threat of his migraine rearing.

"Ugh, Gods." His hands fell to his hips. Foolish of him to think he could loosen his grip on her leash, even a little. He swiped at the air, dismissing the knowing and expectant looks he received from his companions. "I know, I know. I'm already gone." He sighed, stalking off in her surmised direction.

She left a faint trail of night-blooming jasmine and blue violet behind. Following her fragrance, it lead him a short enough distance away, down the middle of three corridors. Upon hearing her voice, the force of his exhaled relief surprised him.

At least she had the decency to stay relatively close by.

Rounding the corner in her direction, though he doubted she'd be able to hear, he couldn't help but muse aloud to her.

"Darling, I think it's high time we revisit our conversation about fastening that little bell around your neck-,"

He found her at the opposite end of the short hall, and in the company of another man. Astarion squinted. A man, whose morbid garb he recognized.

The nearer to them he drew, did the pungency of sweat and stale blood strengthen. His eye then caught sight of the restraints that dangled from the wall opposite them.

All the pieces clicked into place, his suspicions confirmed.

Oh good Gods. Of all the wolf dens for her to wander into.

Sabine said something he strained, and failed, to hear. The man smiled. Amiable, and welcoming. Astarion reached them just in time for his reply.

"Pain without purpose is a terrible thing, wouldn't you agree?"

Astarion had completed his once over of Sabine's company well before he reached them. The man's face was mapped by craggy fissures and scars, their path continuing to branch down across what was exposed of his torso. Some glistened fresh, whereas most were puckered and discolored from time. Adorned with the proud history of his contrition. One half of his leer covered by a limp swathe of greasy, ashen hair, the rapacity with which he sized up the little half-elf had Astarion lengthening his stride.

He conducted his read with just as much haste, recognizing the smug demeanor of one who knew they had prosperously happened upon their prey. An attitude Astarion knew well. The pale frost of his eyes glimmered, bright and approachable. Stark in contrast to his wicked smile, and the subject at hand.

Two silver wolves, each with their jaws bared and wet with hunger. Each circling the same little lamb.

Sabine stood before him perfectly demure. Hands clasped behind her back, she tilted her head to the side, inquisitiveness assuming control. With an adorable furrow of her brow, she remained quiet for a while, thoughtful in crafting her query.

"Then... why inflict pain on yourself? For what cause?" The trance of her anger lifting to make way for the version of herself he was infinitely better acquainted. "What purpose is there in it for you?"

It's a wonder how that naivety of hers persists, even before the likes of him.

"He's a priest of Loviatar, darling." His presence announced with his clarification, he swept in to take his place over her shoulder. "To them, willing participance of mutilation, self or otherwise, is an intimate practice."

Her posture tensed upon hearing his croon. Customarily, it saw her spinning to face him with a smile, a barrage of questions, or both. But not this time.

Astarion expected no less, yet he found himself frowning all the same. Failing still to shake the unwelcome disappointment that shadowed him that whole day, in the wake of her reticence.

The priest bowed in introduction. "I am Abdirak, a humbly devoted servant to our divine Mistress. Here and now, at your disposal to relieve you of your burdens." He cocked his head at her, a knowing gleam to his roaming eye. "And you are quite burdened, my child, are you not?"

She felt her mouth open, but Astarion's voice sounded. "You needn't worry yourself over her burdens. I see to it they're eased, of that I can assure you."

All touted with his theatrical embellishment, as was typical, Sabine's lip twitched. Uttered low enough that it might go unheard, "you are my burden." seethed from between her teeth.

It did not go unheard. Stinging like a clap to the cheek, and equally as startling, Astarion recoiled some in offense.

The kitten's not yet finished flexing her claws, it seems.

Abdirak's attention was at last drawn to Astarion, properly taking note of him for the first time since his interruption.

Surmising him to be her beau, the pallid high-elf posted behind her, his gaze sharp and attentive from over the top of her head. Beneath the nonchalance of his posture, Abdirak sensed vigilance. Wound tightly and at the the ready to lash forth, like a viper coiled in the brush. Guarding her.

His chapped lips pulled into a small smile of recognition.

"Burdened by a festering, and perhaps, carnal pang," his eye still fixed to Astarion, he chose his words with care, his observation condoling, "left there by a lover?"

The inference tamed her curiosity into skittishness. Sabine blinked. "We're not lovers."

While the correction was spoken softly, she felt compelled to make it all the same.

It was Astarion's turn to stiffen. Hardly the appropriate time, or company, to divulge our personal affairs.

"Well-what she means is that the nature of our relationship is... unconventional." Catching himself conceding, Astarion then snapped, "and private."

Indulging them both with a placative nod, he honed back in on Sabine before lamenting; "These goblins, while willing, have proven... futile. But you," his muted leer was unrelenting as it seized her, "I feel you will be most... receptive to what I might bestow at our Maidens behest."

Astarion's skin prickled in irritation. A piqued groan lodged in his throat.

Her nubility notwithstanding, I'm sure.

"If what you seek is a new addition to your flock, I feel compelled to inform you that you'll find this little lamb particularly indisposed."

"Do you often find yourself this eager to speak on her behalf?" Purely rhetorical, he had dismissed Astarion in favor of Sabine before the words finished dripping from his tongue. "Please, allow me to alleviate your pain. If I may, I can guarantee the experience will be most... absolving."

"And how, exactly, would you go about doing that?" Sabine joined in disregarding Astarion, and it saw him bristling under his collar. "Alleviating my pain, that is."

The priest's expression infuriatingly patient, he contemplated the petite half-elf with the confidence of one well assured of their own success.

Astarion inserted himself between them, his agitated titter bordering on nervous.

"Excuse us for one moment, if you could." Pinching her elbow, he lead her away, far away, from Abdirak's prying. His eyes still trained on the priest, his velvet whisper was strained, and thick with exasperation. "What is it you think that you are doing?"

A flicker of her innocence shone through, however feigned. "Familiarize myself with Loviatar's doctrine," she shrugged, as if obvious, "receive her blessing."

A snort of laughter rippled through his bared fangs, fast and acerbic. It tore through her in a flash of lurid heat, before clotting to a cold, hard knot that yanked at the pit of her stomach. "You needn't try so hard to impress me, darling."

"And you needn't give yourself so much credit." She all but spat. "It might appall you then to learn I seldom act in the interest of earning your approval."

"Oh, love." In a flourish of his lips curling over his fangs, he dipped lower, cerise stare then level with her own. "You'll need to try harder than that."

He saw to impose the little sorceress through his condescension, but she refused to bow to it. She tossed her chin up at him, as if she stood a full foot taller. "Is this not the encore you requested?"

"No, it is not." He almost laughed, either losing his patience to her sarcasm, or having missed it entirely. "Reducing a goblin to pathetic sniveling was a sight. Witnessing you whipped until you're begging for mercy is hardly a comparable performance."

Each held the other's stare, both defiant for entirely different reasons.

Without warning, her clenched jaw softened. She was then looking into him, instead of just at him.

Though Astarion was more than accustomed to her peering at him in that way, the timing was curious. He found more unsettling familiarity in how exposed it made him feel, to which his lack of consent had him all the more resistant to linger. For fear that his discretion had begun to slip, he pivoted.

"All that aside, the only one you should be crying out for, and begging, is me." His hand lifted to twist a lock loosened from her ponytail between his fingers, sickly reminiscent. "Something you did with enthusiasm only a short while ago, if memory serves."

Her palm slid across the sinews in the top of his hand, only to untangle his grasp from her hair, and pluck it away. "A lapse in judgement I intend to rectify."

Without another word, she spun on her heel and ripped away from him. A foreshadow of what was to come. He watched as she marched back to the priest, his upper-lip curling in a glimpse of appreciation. Her insolence aroused him.

That bitter-sweet indulgence was cut short, as Abdirak's voice slithered between them once more.

"It would appear the little lamb has opted to leave your fold in favor of mine." The way he smiled at Sabine suggested graciousness, but Astarion knew better. He ushered the the tiny half-elf towards a full table to his left. "Right this way, dear one."

Astarion's gait was measured as he came forward to join her, just in time to hear the breath catch in her throat. It wasn't until he found himself hovering above her shoulder did he then understand why.

While he eyed the instruments laid before them with disinterest, it felt as though the blood in his veins turned to an icy sludge.

An array of flails lined the surface of the table, all with varying degrees of intimidation. Some single-tail whips, the most prevalent were floggers with full tresses. Leather bound, inlaid with bone, or metal. Astarion spied a crop or two amidst the aggregation. Each and every of his tools faintly stained with blood, Abdirak gestured to them with veneration.

"You'll find all options to be suitable, however, given the baptismal nature of this your first time, I invite you to make the selection."

While she peered at the spread before her, deeply contemplative, Astarion could hear her heart-rate spike. The rapid, thrumming swell within her small chest, steady but insistent. Looming over her shoulder as he was, the decibel was almost maddening.

"I believe my ignorance on the matter inhibits that privilege." Fingers twisting at her middle, Astarion couldn't discern if her sheepishness was due to the sinking reality, or that she had him for an audience. She cleared the hesitation from her throat, and spoke firm and clear. "I defer to you."

Abdirak nodded in understanding, and flashed her such ardent approval it almost had Astarion stepping in between them again. Almost.

Chivalry was still foreign, and no match against his deviance. That internal war raging to exhaustion; the version of himself she at times inspired, and the truth of his nature. Both sides ever opposed, and in that moment, each vied for dominance.

He could have sneered at himself for even just the dalliance with that notion. This isn't chivalry. He swallowed around the thickness in his throat. This is damage control.

Still, he watched the priest like a hawk as he perused his arsenal, splayed hand waving over his collection before halting at his preferred implement. A long black flail with an intricate, braided handle. Buried within the soft leather tails were twin chains. Their heft jingled insidiously as he lifted it, reacquainting himself with the weight of it molding to his palm.

Dangling from the end of each chain were what could only be categorized as charms, and ones that very much resembled flanged mace heads. The edges blunt and nicked from use, their points dulled, it would serve to bruise more than lacerate. But if kept up long enough, if whipped just so, her skin would pull apart as easily as a spiders web' beneath finger-tips.

All Astarion could think of at that moment was her strangled whimpers whenever he bit down on her neck, and the subsequent locking of her body from the pinpricks of pain.

He wasn't sure why. He'd seen her waltz through enough skirmishes at his side, and witnessed first hand how well her dainty frame could absorb moderate blows, only to bounce back just as fast. While it remained true she couldn't withstand as much punishment as Karlach, or Shadowheart, her resilience was nothing to scoff at.

But when he looked at her now, in the wake of the priests flail, he couldn't help but picture her shattering like an icicle the moment it so much as tapped her back. So fragile, and delicate.

A thing to be broken.

She was then instructed to shed her belts, cincher and corset, lest the padding of all those unnecessary layers deprive her of the fullest extent of Loviatars scourge. Abdirak left her to lower the manacles from the wall, adjusting them to her height.

Hands at her waist, her fingers trailed from one set of buckles to the next, moving with the unhurried grace of someone who by his estimations, had not a clue what they were in for. All the while with Astarion breathing down her neck.

His hands hovered above her, but went no further. As if touching her would suddenly see her strung up by her wrists.

A boundary he had felt himself privy to cross so freely so many times prior, it never occurred to him to think before he did it. Cradling the small of her back, cupping her by the elbow. Tracing her cupids bow with his thumb. All things he did so readily. Touching her felt as natural, and earned, as breathing. Yet as he observed the priest and his thinly veiled lechery, he felt frantic.

One silver wolf paced, while the other laid in wait.

"I know to suggest such a thing opposes your very nature, but let's not be rash, darling."

Bundling her cincher and belts with care, she set them down on the table. "Why are you so adverse to this? I expected you to be encouraging most of all."

If anyone is going to defile you, it is to be me, and me alone. And I shall do so for no other higher purpose realized than my own selfish whims.

"Yes, well, pardon the deviation from my character. I suspect it might have something to do with the all too recent accusation of predictability, if you recall?" A quick burst of amusement bubbled through her lips, though it lacked the necessary mirth. Astarion continued, stressing; "I know that I least of all should be calling anyone's piety into question, but he seems a tad too eager for my liking."

"Careful, Astarion. You're quickly surpassing mere predictability, and are well on your way to gallantry."

So dry and biting was her remark that he could scarely believe it came from her lips instead of his own, had he not just heard it in her voice, with his own ears.

"I know you have this insatiability for worldly experience, and it's all rather tedious, but this priest means to thrash you within an inch of your life and hear how prettily you yelp for it, all for the explicit purpose of appeasing Loviatar. Do you understand?" The soliloquy streamed from his tongue in such a fluid, seamless delivery it had the air of being rehersed.

"I do." However unconvincing, Astarion noted she now oozed just as much frustration as he felt. "Now, are you quite finished playing mother hen, or would you like to continue your lecture?"

She was trying to get a rise out of him. And he was astounded to recognize that it was working.

In a last ditch effort, he snatched her by the upper arm and yanked her in closer to him, like a parent corralling an unruly child. At first resistant to his hold, the more she struggled, the more he tightened it.

"I'm feeling unusually noble just now," she stumbled over her toes, but he didn't care. He didn't stop. "And in light of this, I'm inclined to see you spared of the trouble you're so very anxious to jump into. So, hear me when I say;" he surprised them both with how low he growled his warning, leaning his face in closer to hers, "If this infuriating little act of yours is done just to spite me, it will not work."

Her mismatched glare narrowed, before she hushed; "It seems to me it already has."

Their faces not an inch apart from one another's, his hot breath misted against the freckled bridge of her nose. The little sorceress was unflinching, refusing to back down. The tension between them strained to it's limit, as inescapable as the reek of dried blood and pheromones on the stagnant air. Equalled to the bitter potency against the back of his tongue, should he breathe deeply enough.

But Sabine wasn't finished yet.

"What are you so afraid of? That I'll enjoy him more than I have you? That I'll prefer his ministrations to yours?" She sought to challenge him now. "Are you worried, Astarion, that after an experience like this, I'll no longer crave you in the dead of night? That I'll have outgrown you?"

Her adrenaline spluttered over, uncontained, threatening to drag her under. She could have continued. But his crimson eyes were as scathing as she suspected her own might be.

So she left it there. Hanging heavy in the air between them, tender and exposed. The gauntlet was thrown. In his failure to deter her, he now sought to match her, blow for blow.

Astarion hissed through a wicked grin. "Oh little sorceress, I'd love to see you try."

Releasing her arm, she stumbled back to land against her heels with a click that echoed throughout the chamber. It wasn't until he let go did she realize the strength he used to keep her still, her bicep throbbing with the absence of his grip.

When he cut, it was purposeful. Expert. He knew where to press, and to what end.

Sabine cut just to cut. And she cut deep. Her claws had drawn blood, and even that proved unsatisfactory.

Turning her back to him, she tossed her head over her shoulder with an expectant look. Gesturing to the clasps at the small of her back, the words melted from her tongue like honey from the comb. "Would you mind?"

Astarions jaw clenched, the muscle rippling beneath his smooth skin. The final tide of his anger. He snapped his hooded glower to Abdirak, who patiently stood in wait with his hands clasped.

If he had learned anything about the little sorceress in the time he had known her, it was that once her heels dug in, there wasn't much room for persuasion. His silver tongue aside.

She wants to play defiant? She wants to act out? Be my guest.

He'd be there to lick her wounds, and dry her tears at the end.

And she'll be eating out of the palm of my hand for it.

Astarion softened his brow, the corner of his lips drawing back into a simper. Clearing his throat, his hands lifted to undo her buckles with practiced ease. He spoke low, so as to keep his words between them. "There's nothing I can say to dissuade you, then?"

His ear perked to the faint thudding of her quickened heartbeat. She fought to quell her nerves, and forcefully cast away her doubt.

"No." Rolling back her slender shoulders, she gave her best sigh of contentment. Whether it was for his benefit, or her own, that remained unclear.

His agile fingers swept from one buckle to the next, taking his time with each, before the corset then sprang apart in his hands. Deliberate in his ploy to tease her with as much contact as possible, he allowed his hands to languidly graze over her waist and along her back. Dragging the corset, and his roving palms, around her middle as he stripped it from her.

She did her best not to shiver under his touch, but she couldn't hide that from him. She never could. Her abdomen was a sensitivity he exploited without mercy. His scarlet gaze twinkled.

Releasing her, he neatly folded her corset to join her other belongings, his hands colder than usual from the loss of her body heat. Bending to purr against the shell of her ear, she shuddered against the finality of his words. "Don't let him see you flinch, darling."

The Priest beckoned her to the wall, ready to begin.

Sabine said not another word. Nor did she look at him before she parted.

Determination held her head high and her shoulders back, sending the little sorceress heel and toe into the abyss of Abdirak's domain with the utmost elegance.

Taking a step back and resting against his heels, Astarion crossed his arms over his chest. All he could do was watch.

The priest guided her dainty hands through the cuffs, before then tensioning the restraints around her wrists, having to push her bracelets aside as he did so. Arms hoisted up well above her head, the shackles forced her to face the wall.

He was thankful at the very least that she couldn't see the fire alight in his eyes.

The twisted handle of the flogger was soon slotted back into Abdirak's hand, and he gazed at it, like he had been reunited with an old friend. Wasting no more time on formalities, he strode wide around Sabine's vulnerable body, sizing up her posture.

Once in position, he began.

The first few blows were exploratory in nature. Finesse over force, he sought to ease her in, rather than maim.

She lurched forward each time, straining at the cuffs for stabilization, bracing herself for the next. She hissed against the caress of the leather, and the bite of the chains, but offered no more than that.

Abdirak seemed most displeased by her resistance, his insufferable patience nearing it's end.

"To deny the Mistress your humility is to deny yourself the generosity of her grace!" His admonition fervent, he spun his wrist and brought down the flail diagonally against her back. One of the charms, or both, snagged the cotton of her blouse, and upon withdrawal, tore it in a jagged streak from shoulder to hip.

Her bare skin now exposed, and more than a little red from what she had endured thus far, his next strike drew a loud, shrill whine to unspool itself from her throat.

"Yes, yes that's it, child! Let us hear you, let Her hear your sincerity!"

Abdirak's arm was a blur, driving forward and back, casting the brunt of the barbed cat-o-nine tails to her supple flesh, again and again. She writhed, harsh gasps choking out past her lips. Still, she wasn't giving him what he wanted; she was being too reserved.

Abdirak either became sloppy, or vindictive. The tresses of his flogger wailed against the same spot, and did so repeatedly. Seeking to split her open.

She howled up into the high, vaulted ceiling until her throat sounded as raw as she looked. But through it all, she kept erect. Heels planted squarely beneath her. She forbid herself from slumping, even as his vigor increased. Making up in endurance for where she lacked physical strength.

Abdirak demanded her submission, and she refused it.

Astarion felt his brows reach toward his hairline. His features nonplussed, his tongue uncharacteristically still. He was sure once they began he'd have a slew of remarks at the ready to goad her through. Instead, her tenacity rendered him speechless.

The look in Abdirak's eye as he whipped her was hidden from him, but not the adoration that was heavy in his tone. His enthusiasm. He noted the sweat built up at the nape of his neck and matting down his coarse hair, before breaking away to roll down the flexing musculature of his back.

More of that dreaded, uncomfortable familiarity. Only this sensation was posing more of a challenge to ignore.

He had yet to face such conflict within himself. Her fierceness didn't shrink under the punishment, but rather it flourished. Her sounds were melodic. The way her body responded, and by extension, rebounded, left him greatly impressed, despite his warning to the contrary.

And through it all, did weeds of envy sprout in the cracks of his admiration.

Sabine continued to hold on. Just a little bit longer, and then longer still, after every time he thought she might yet crack. But her stamina couldn't shield her from the agony. Loviatar's scourge chipped away at her with every whack, her skin beginning to splinter.

The blunt aches turning to brilliant stings, the shift left her susceptible to the weakness of her flesh. And in that weakness, she sang the most deliciously.

Spiced and aromatic, the headiness of her blood gradually overwhelmed the rancid air. His nostril twitched. He had broken skin.

The next few strikes saw her gasping with more desperation at the end of each. Her body quivering, her back throbbed, warm and slick. Buzzing with sensitivity, she lifted to her tiptoes as strangled cries, each new one louder than the last, were tugged out of her.

The leather began to stick to her. The charms wrenched the gashes wider, and sought to burrow within them. A tingling sensation trickled from the burning at her traps down to her aching hips, followed by a blissful numbness, her body granting her that meager charity. But it wasn't happening fast enough.

The priest rewarded her with proper lacerations, before soothing it over with ravings of her fortitude. Her prowess. Her performance.

Just as Astarion had done with her.

To witness another man in a position he felt was reserved solely for him, and therefore sacrosanct, saw his pupils blown in ferality.

He withheld the right to her submission, as he did the praise thereafter.

He should have been getting a rise out of this, to see her writhe and whimper. And he was. But the rot of possessiveness plagued him still.

He was foolish for not putting his foot down.

A stampede of heels screeched to a halt behind him, pulling him out of his own mind. Interrupting the beginnings of a spiral in which he was ever grateful to evade.

"What in the Nine Hells-!"

He immediately recognized the shrill accusatory chirp belonging to Shadowheart. He jerked his head around to see her front and center, the other's falling in behind her.

Karlach's mouth hung open, and he doubted very much she could shut it if she tried. An embarrassed; "O-oh." stuttered from Wyll. Gale merely blinked in rapid succession, eyes wide. Otherwise stoic, yet aghast all the same. It wasn't often he was at a loss for comments, or criticism.

They alternated between looking at Sabine, and then to Astarion.

A well timed yelp of hers pierced the preceding silence. He lifted his hands in innocence, and for one of the first times in his life, it was deserved.

"Don't look at me. I even tried to stop her." He grimaced at hearing those words on his tongue. However unlikely that sentiment presented, considering the source to be none other than himself, they were true all the same. "She insisted."

Knees beginning to buckle, Sabine snapped her head back to release a throaty groan of defiance. One of the pointed charms snagged into the wavy ends of her ponytail, and ripped out a few hairs as Abdirak yanked the flogger back to his side. Ready to wind up his next strike.

"Let me hear you, dear one!" His voice was ragged with sheer exhilaration. "Only when you release your pride will there be room enough for your penance to be received."

Switching the flogger to his non-dominant hand, the priest demonstrated it was no less proficient. Angling his wrist, he struck out at her in a sideways motion, landing the tails, chains and all, to whip against her rear. So hard, it whistled through the air before it made contact.

It cracked against her. Like a strike of lightning. Sabine jolted as far forward as the bindings would allow, as a loud, listless moan tumbled from her.

Astarion snickered to himself. Cheeky little thing, she did that on purpose.

Coming to join him at his side, the Sharran peered at the scene before her. After a brief beat of observation, she gave voice to the very thought he dared not utter; "I'm... impressed."

He nodded.

One no more taken aback than the other, the two of them continued to behold her, as she harmonized Abdirak's degenerate corner of the sanctum with her suffering.

Astarion's envy of the priest began to recede at long last. In it's stead blossomed pride for the little sorceress. And he was awash with it.

"You're doing magnificently, darling." He at last called out to her, knowing if he was in her place, he'd thrive off of praise. Hearing his voice with his own ears, he sounded no more than an appropriately enthralled spectator, though his admiration was obvious. "The good priest would be remiss not to hold all future acolytes to your standard."

Abdirak gulped air into his burning lungs, combing the mop of hair from his face in a brief reprieve between blows. He seemed to get just as much out of all of this as he claimed Sabine would receive for her willingness.

"Yes indeed. The purity of your cries, how you embrace your agony; an exhibition most worthy of our Maiden's reverence."

The delicate tremors at the start were now replaced by violent shakes that undulated throughout her little body. The priest would draw back with a fervent sneer before then seeing the whip through, increasingly more vicious.

She was beginning to come under the pain, having firmly stayed mounted atop all this time.

Yet even when she allowed herself to be pulled under, she only resurfaced that much more graceful in her determination to prevail.

The moment it promised to nullify her, with a deep grounding breath, she rallied. Time and time again, stilling her body and quieting her mind, before the force of the next blow demanded her attention.

Whenever it did, she was sure to respond with believable theatrics. From delicate whimpers to downright, obscene moans, he couldn't tell if they were for the priest, or if she was trying to put on a show for him.

Occasionally, little broken "p-please"s, would slip out, and Abdirak seemed to like those best of all.

It earned her a lashing so firm it lifted her to her tip-toes. She clawed at the manacles, scrambling to get enough footing to arch up and away from the chains, and tresses. All to no avail.

Once Abdirak stepped to the side to dole his next round, Astarion was given a clearer view. Gore marbled down the length of her body from multiple grooves. He could hardly tell where the bloodied tatters of her blouse ended, and chewed flesh began.

He winched. His own back throbbed in tender empathy.

It was becoming more and more apparent she was beginning to succumb. Her cries growing in their infrequence, and sounding just as tenuous. She slumped forward on weakened ankles, her head lolling forward. The cuffs at her wrists the only thing to suspended her upright, she hung there like a broken toy.

The flail crashed down upon her body like waves to a shoreline. His every strike threatening to pull her under deeper, and for longer. To drag her to the depths of exaltation, the type that could only be conceived through one of Loviatar's most adept.

The priest whipped her once more for good measure, which had Astarion moments from stepping in, despite himself. A strained whimper escaped her, and then nothing.

She had succumbed.

Soon after Abdirak was wound down, as that final strike proved to be the last.

Sabine was still, and silent. Her shallow breaths barely audible. Astarion swallowed hard, the copper sweetness of her blood all he could smell.

Abdirak set down the flogger with care, before returning his attention to her. Approaching her as his own panting had yet to subside, he loosened the bindings of one wrist, and then the other. The moment she was released, she collapsed.

To his credit, he was quick to catch her. Hoisting her limp frame up against his body, her heels shuffled beneath her in search of her footing. His forbearing smile turned nefarious at catching sight of Astarion's watchful stare, hardened with obvious concern.

Abdirk locked eyes with him as he pet her hair. "That was most devout a display, dear one."

Allowing her a moment more to catch her breath, he then slipped his calloused palms around her flushed cheeks, cupping her face. Closing his eyes, he bowed, gently resting his perspiring forehead to hers.

The dulcet murmur of his prayer was hushed, meant for her ears only, as he wove the blessing with his tongue. The blessing she had earned.

Her shredded back still to him, Astarions impatience swelled in a nagging ache from within the seat of his chest. He had allowed the little sorceress her fun. Her disobedience. But the longer the priest held her, the more anxious he grew to pry her away.

As Abdirak's prayer concluded, he carefully spun her around to face her companions, all while coaxing her away from the precipice of unconsciousness.

His hands still around her shoulders, the muscle there seized by spasmodic cramps, she felt herself swaying in place. In an attempt to blink away the murkiness from her bleary vision, the darkness encroaching with every flutter of her lashes, only half of her party was visible. Blurred to distortion, she could make out Gale, Karlach and Wyll only.

She squinted, looking around. Surmising Shadowheart to be close by, she knew Astarion must still be there. But she couldn't see him. The vision in her right eye had been snuffed out completely. It could see only pitch black nothingness.

Her mouth opened to call out for him, but no more than a dry croak was produced, as if she had a mouthful of ash. It was then she felt Abdirak's hands lift from her, casting her forward on two wobbling, unreliable legs.

Her steps criss-crossing in delirium, even the clicks of her heels against the stone echoed her drowsiness. She soldiered through, until she could no longer. Wavering with the threat of unconsciousness, her legs gave out from under her. Though she did not travel far.

Stumbling square into someones chest; it was sturdy and cool to the touch. Her cheek met buttery leather and fine silk, sharply fragrant with bergamot and brandy as she breathed. A familiar chest.

Astarion was most surprised of all that he was there to catch her. Having lunged forward with the first sign of her faltering, he had been at the ready the moment Abdirak let her go, if not sooner.

Holding her to him and careful not to aggravate her wounds, he breathed into her hairline; "that was quite the performance, little sorceress. I rescind my assertion about the legitimacy of this encore."

Sabine's back shrieked. What was left of her blouse caught against her wounds, and pulled, whenever she took too deep a breath. Yet upon hearing his silken crooning, she felt at ease. As much as she tried to fight it, as diligent as she had been in trying to curve it, her body reacted to him. It yearned for him. As if trained by him to do so from just the handful of nights they spent together.

Had she any energy left, she would have resisted it still. Instead, she melted into his embrace. Gulping his lavish musk with labored breaths, as the adrenaline siphoned from her.

Her clothes had cushioned the blows some, but not much. The stinging of her back and hindquarters were now more of a consistent, yet burning, ache. Still trembling, her arms draped across his upper body for purchase, but not a whisper of strength remained in her hands to grab ahold of him properly.

As he cradled her to him, Astarion couldn't help but taunt the priest one final time. "Do you always get such satisfaction out of granting atonement on behalf of your goddess, or are you just especially zealous with the pretty ones?"

Shadowheart remained next to him, gathering the length of Sabine's ponytail off of her back to better assess the severity of the tissue damage. She arched a brow in his direction, but remained silent otherwise.

Having discarded Sabine, Abdirak busied by cleaning her blood from his flogger. He merely chuckled. Enraptured in euphoria as he was, it saw him immune to provocation. The little sorceress well surpassed his expectations, and brought him all the closer to Loviatar for it. His divinity satiated by her performative repentance.

"Lets get her back to camp, shall we?" Shadowheart brushed an errant lock of Sabine's hair off of her sweat-dampened forehead. Ever sororal to the younger half-elf, the smile she cast down on her was as warm as it was patronizing. "Our business here can wait until morning. I'd say she's had enough fun for today."

"My Gods, that was fuckin' brilliant!" Karlach cackled, volunteering herself to collect Sabine's belongings. "You're somethin' else, kid."

Sabine mumbled something unintelligible into Astarion's chest.

His surface level inspection revealed a handful of gashes striping over his shoulder blades, and trailing along the grooves of her ribs. Throbbing and angry, they were all largely superficial.

"Looks as though you'll be left with more than a few bruises." He sighed, the tip of his fang glimpsed through the warmth of his smile. "Never the matter, if you're no good on your back, you'll just have to make do on top."

Though her tone slurred, her words remained clear. "Coming at me with your lines... now of all times," even with unconsciousness nipping at her heels, she was slowly returning to him, "your irreverence is beyond reproach."

His chuckle rumbled the freckled cheek still stuck to his chest. She sagged into it with a small smile of her own, her first of the day. Sincere, but weak. She was fast fading.

Astarion thought to keep going, to further stimulate her responsiveness. To keep her with him.

"And my beauty?" He teased. "What of that?"

A soft groan was her only reply. He smiled.

He couldn't very well carry her in his arms, eyeing her back in its condition. "Bear with me, darling." He announced, before scooping her up to fold over his shoulder. Strewn over him like dead weight, limbs and ponytail dangling, she answered with no more than deep, slumbering breaths.

-

Their campsite was quiet that evening. Nothing but the sound of wind rustling gently through the trees, the distant murmurs from around the fire, and the crickets.

As he spied Shadowheart exiting Sabine's tent, he supposed that time was as good as any. A vial of salve in hand, her head snapped to his direction as he shifted into view, the light of the fire dappling across his chest and face through the shadows.

The stoic half-elf eyed him ruminatively for a moment, looking as though she had something she wanted to say, or perhaps ask. Opting to abandon that course altogether, she instead offered; "she's improving."

Astarion's smile of acknowledgment was tight, and wordless.

Nodding, she took her leave of him, and headed towards the fire. He lingered before the entrance of her tent, first looking over his shoulder to Shadowheart's retreating back, and then to the ornate crystal vial in hand.

He thought she was a thing to be broken. He was proven wrong.

And grateful for it.

Brows drawn, his eye caught sight of her tattered, bloodied clothes crumbled in the dirt, just outside the entrance.

The howl of the flail cutting the air still echoed against the shell of his ear. As did her gasping bleats that answered.

Astarion's chest tightened once more, the heaviness there persisting. Sighing to himself in the humid night air, he saw himself in.

He was invited by a pocket of flickering amber candle light, luring him with it's pleasant, sensual glow. A bouquet of cloves and mint filled her tent, almost strong enough to mask the spice of her blood that lingered beneath.

He was unable to rid his nostrils of her smell ever since the sanctum. Just as the sight of her strung up and whipped greeted him every time he shut his eyes. His palms, and arms alike, throbbed with a decided chill from the absence of her heat, of her body molding into his touch. His every sense invaded by the memory.

Laying prone on a bed of her pillows, turned away from him, her head rested against crossed arms. Her bare body was covered by no more than a diaphanous slip of fabric, nothing too heavy or textured, so as to avoid further irritation to her wounds.

Her breaths soft, she spoke before he had the chance. The battle with unconsciousness a distant memory, her words were sluggish all the same. "Are you still feeling unusually noble?"

He took pause, the corner of his mouth pulling in a wry grin. "Perhaps. Why do you ask?"

"Because I'd like to be spared whatever snide remarks you might have saved about hasty decisions, and regrets, and how often you warn me of both."

"And here I thought they fell on deaf ears, given you've yet to listen even just once." He clicked his tongue through a cocky smile. "I suppose it’s beyond your control. Your naivety renders you vulnerable, but your curiosity sees you hungry. Rest assured, little love, I have not come to gloat."

Propping her chin up on her forearms, she stared straight ahead with a quiet sigh. "Then why have you come?"

Though she wasn't looking at his face, he suspected she could feel his simper.

"To dote on you, of course." Punctuated with a pop, as he freed the cork from the tight neck of the vial. He heard her breath catch.

When he wanted, Astarion could move virtually soundless. Commanding silence with as much ease as he did the shadows. But she could hear the rustle of his clothing, his calm breaths, and the clearing of his throat. She didn't know why, but she took comfort in that. In his unequivocal presence, just the two of them, alone in her tent. Even his silence brimmed with amorous anticipation.

He was impossibly gentle, more so than she had ever been willing to credit him for previous, while he handled her. The pillows dipping beneath his weight, he knelt down at her side to first comb her waves off her back. He employed just as much care in pinching the edge of the sheet, peeling it back and folding it neatly at her waist.

Astarion hummed aloud. A far cry from perfect health, Shadowheart had done wonders. Spared from what would have otherwise been a litany of scars, bruises still stained her flesh like splotches of brooding watercolor. Raised welts and newly closed gashes veined across her slender back and narrow waist in a pattern not dissimilar to Abdirak's.

"In fact, I believe an apology is in order for having tried to stop you." Allowing the thick, opalescent liquid to pool in his cupped palm, he rubbed his hands together, coating each thoroughly. "Though in the end, no one was more delighted than I in my failure to do so."

Starting at her shoulders, he swept his touch down over her ribs, and along the protrusion of her shoulder blades. Slick and oily, his cold hands were pure and unadulterated relief to her sore skin, and she leaned into the feeling.

"I suppose I'm far more resilient than you sought to give me credit for." Her tease dripped from the tip of her tongue, headier than either expected to hear.

"So it would seem."

With feather light pressure, he continued down the length of her back, palms placed at either side of her spine. His fingertips palpated the mini peaks and valleys made by her ribs, and the raised welts that crossed over them.

"Well, the good priest was nothing if not thorough. I'll give him that." He mumbled absently, adept in maneuvering her sensitivities. "You did well."

His praise came earnest, unburdened by frivolity or deceptive adornment. His voice was soothing and plain, a welcome change from his usual playful, and at times exaggerated, timbre.

She was too tired to hold up her walls, to shut him out, her physical vulnerabilities aside. So she allowed herself the contented sighs, and sounds of pleasure he drew out of her. She allowed her body to relax under his hands. Yielding to his affection, and how genuine he made it appear.

He tugged the blanket down further and further, as he discovered more welts. It wasn't long before he was dragging the fabric over the swell of her rear, and the extent of them continued on. Only when he uncovered her to the back of her knees did they end, the streaks and bruises stopping mid-thigh.

A long, heavy sigh bled from his grimace. Deepening his voice in a way that roused a familiar, damnable heat between her exposed thighs.

"What am I to do with you." He mused more so to himself, she answered him regardless.

"Keep me out of trouble."

A genuine titter slipped through his lips, and she quietly relished the achievement. "Yes, because that's been a rousing success thus far."

His then palms grazed over her perky rear, and she dug her fingers into her elbows. Though his touch was starkly devoid of personal greed, the contact saw her heart slamming itself against her chest.

Horizontal ridges, and closed gashes streaked over her glutes and the tops of her thighs. The worst of them eased by their dedicated cleric, all that remained was swollen, and angry flesh in dire need of his attention.

Her eyes fluttered shut, her breaths turned shallow as he cupped his hands wide around the tops of her thighs, and massaged the medicinal ointment into them. A hint of burn, it then turned pleasantly chilled. More pleasant still that it was delivered from his hand. "You don't have to volunteer as my keeper, I'll have you know."

"I'd sooner consign myself to a life of chastity." His patronizing was as smarmy as his grin. "Darling, you need me."

She snickered. "I know the same cannot be said for you."

Her words were rooted in surrender. They were too wistful for the intimacy of their setting, for the playfulness he was trying to cultivate. He would have none of it.

"Well now that was a silly thing to say." He softened his voice considerably. "I should think those little punctures on your neck are too fresh for you to have convinced yourself of that."

She grew quiet, and stayed that way. Embarrassment had sunk it's hooks in. She hadn't meant to blurt out something so revealing, least of all to him. But she was exhausted.

He exhausted her.

After waiting for what felt like the appropriate amount of time, he chimed in again, cadence ever coy.

"We make quite the pair. I do my best to keep you safe and sound. As repayment for burdening you, as it were."

Sabine had sucked in a breath, and held it until her lungs burned. You are my burden. She didn't think she'd find herself faced so soon with something she had said so thoughtlessly. Though he brought it back up in jest, she felt an explanation was owed. But she couldn't bring herself to come out with it.

"Astarion, I...," she shook her head with a quiet, lengthy sigh, "What I mean is... I didn't mean to-,"

He waved his hand. "I've had far worse said from far less deserving. If that was your worst then I'd say I got off light, wouldn't you agree?"

"I didn't... do this to spite you. Even if I thought that possible." The weight of that sentiment struck him, the implication sinking to the pit of his gut. He voice became small, so small, he almost had to strain his ear to hear her. "I... I thought you'd enjoy it. All of it."

I told you; you needn't try and impress me.

"Oh I did, a great deal." He recovered with his usual degree of suaveness. "But I, personally, prefer you on the receiving end of my ministrations." He then added, his eye glinting with mischief in the candlelight, "and for you to be a touch more conscious."

If she hadn't already been so lethargic with exhaustion, she would have been reeling. She shook her head, grinning. "Only just."

He smiled. Their banter returned.

Regaining his stride, he tried his luck with pressing her, but only a little. "Tell me, what was the source of all that delicious anger? Make no mistake, that's not a complaint. You're quite provocative when you're that fiery."

She smirked, and the harder she fought it the harder it fought back. Though they weren't facing one another, she suspected he could hear it in her voice all the same.

Gods damn him.

"I feared I was being coddled." Her directness was one attribute of many in which he was becoming well versed. "In fact, had you not interfered so heavily with that priest, I might not have gone through with it in the first place."

He cast her a placative smile, not that she could see. In one effleurage stroke, he worked his hands from her bruised thighs, all the way up her body to her shoulders.

"If we're going to start lying to each other now, you're going to have to become much better at it, I'm afraid." He spoke as if he saw right through her, and had from the start. "You were positively livid well before we set foot in the sanctum. Why?"

Because every night you've come to my tent to toy with me. You've stripped me of all shame, and sense, and just as you have me begging for you with the abandon of a common whore, you leave me. Flat and ashamed. I've never wanted someone so badly, and felt so unworthy to have them all at once.

She cringed. Finding her reality to be as pathetic as it was undesirable, she instead confessed a different part of it. No less truthful, it was infinitely less sour to admit.

"I was angry at how badly I wanted to prove myself to you, to prove I wasn't some... some fragile thing. It seems as if I'm being tested by you, always." She detested how frail the cracking of her voice made her sound, but if for nothing else, it served to credit her sincerity. "I loathe the feeling, I wanted to be free of it." Closing her eyes, she swallowed, before finishing with a whisper. "Now I just feel foolish."

Astarion was quiet for an uncomfortable length of time. She stewed while he kept her waiting, hoping beyond hope that her explanation had sufficed.

His hands had long since left her, but when she felt him drag the sheet back up to cover her, her face burned.

Only he could make a nurturing gesture feel backhanded.

After longer still, and sounding more tired than she felt, all he came up with was, "Well, don't. You've no reason to."

More silence. As stifling and oppressive as the raw heat in her tent. She didn't realize it had gotten so hot and stuffy, and she found herself longing for his cool palms and long, elegant fingers on her once again. To quell the fire that raged against her abused skin from inside, threatening to blister her unless he would just touch her.

She now more closely empathized with Karlach. The need to be touched so fierce it lit a roiling inferno inside of her.

Sabine voiced none of this to Astarion. She laid there, withdrawn and vulnerable to his scrutiny, as the pain he had just eased was screaming once more.

Just as she felt she would combust from the internal pressure, and not a moment sooner, she heard his lips open as he prepared to speak. And she braced herself.

"My respect is earned, and not easily, mind." He chose his wording with as much care as he had tended to her injuries. "But you have it. And not because of how well you handle punishment. But because... Well, you're not one to back down so easily, are you?" He ran his tongue over his teeth, smirking to himself. "In my experience I've found persistence to be tiresome, however... I quite like yours."

Though his usual verbal embellishment was discarded, this was still honeyed poetiscm at it's finest. While he was deceptive by nature, he prided himself on the fact that he seldom, outright lied.

Not when it mattered. Not to someone with even a little importance to him.

He wasn't sure himself if meant those words, at least not as earnestly as he delivered them. But the shadow they cast left room for nothing but doubt.

"One last thing, darling. I didn't have the heart to correct you in front of the priest, being I... respect you, as I do. I find it pertinent to do so now." His eyes boring into the back of her head, he hadn't meant for his request to sound so much like a plea; "look at me."

Cautiously, Sabine did as he said. It held yearning, something she recognized, but refused to believe was genuine. Still, her eyes impossibly wide and meek, she locked them with his own, and waited.

He remained, silent and still. They hadn't seen the other's face, and it was only in that advantage that they found themselves speaking so freely. So unguarded. From the moment he entered her tent, on, their eyes met not once. Until now. Even so, his hesitation conveyed more than he would have liked.

Something he considered to be better left uncommincated.

She watched in an instant as the tenderness in his crimson gaze darkened. Brows, once bowed in surrender, became stern. "We are lovers."

A simple utterance, it was stated with such purpose. Such intensity. Once it was out in the open, his sharp features softened again. Conveying his desire for an understanding between them to be reached, without the need for more to be expressed.

She was still not without her reservations about the nature of their relationship, unconventional as it was. Though if she was able to remind herself that none of it was real, that all he was after was a bit of fun, then just maybe, she could save herself from getting hurt.

Astarion was fire, unpredictable and dangerous. Untamed. Scorching. If she continued to remember that, then perhaps she could indulge in his raw heat, without suffering the burn.

Perhaps she could share in his fun.

She never took her eyes off of him, not for a moment. When she found it within herself to speak, her voice betrayed her, thick with the heartache she was trying to mask. "Good night, Astarion."

"Good night, little sorceress." He swept in to place a kiss to her temple. It was the most tender touch she'd receive from him to date, that whole shared evening included. His tone drenched with such affection, the whole thing almost seemed... real. "Sleep well."

[sgtjamesrogers]

Been Too Unkind

Rated: T | roy x jamie | post episode: 0308: We'll Never Have Paris [also on ao3]

Roy’s alarm goes off at 3:40 am the Monday after their Sunday match right on schedule, and when he rolls over to his nightstand and switches it off, the next notification is a reminder from his calendar. 

After his eyes adjust he sees ‘PHOEBE DAY’ in all caps, with three swords emojis and a snake emoji after it. Roy had let her pick out the emojis. 

“Fuck.” He sits up out of bed in the dark, fiddling thick-fingered through his phone to press Jamie Tartt’s contact and then ‘call’. It occurs to him, his brain slowly waking up as he listens to the line ring, that he could have sent a text. Jamie is always awake and ready to go now when Roy shows up for training, these days. 

Too late, Jamie’s already picking up before Roy can think too hard about it. 

“...Coach?” He yawns into the phone from the other end. “You’re like, forty minutes early. And calling me. You don’t call me. Did you get hit by a car on your way? Nah, no you didn’t. You’d still show up, wouldn’t you, holding someone’s bumper and saying summat like ‘Move your ass Tartt, I have some new weight training for you to do’.” 

He sounds sleep-raspy but still manages to tip some more gravel into his voice for his Roy impression. Tragically, it’s not half bad. 

“Was that supposed to be me?”, is what Roy says out loud. “You made me sound like Eeyore.” 

“Ain’t that you?” Jamie responds breezily, the sound of a tap running water into a glass somewhere in the background. “Anyway, what’s going on? I haven’t even mixed my pre-workout yet.” 

“Oh, right,” Roy says, and then continues gruffly, “I’ve got my niece today, she’s off school. We’ll have to cut training short.” 

“Can’t you just strap her into a baby bjorn and we’ll take her with?” Jamie asks, the clatter of his blender bottle like a cup full of Yahtzee dice. “She’s like, two, isn’t she? How much could a toddler weigh? Two stone at max, I bet.” 

“No?” Roy says, making a face. “Add five years to that. She’d hate it, and her legs are too long.” He shoves his sheets off, his free hand automatically feeling out the muscles above his knee like he’s making sure he has enough gas in the tank of his car. They feel loose enough, so he hefts himself out of bed.  

There’s a long pause before Jamie smacks his lips into the phone receiver, the prick. Roy can almost smell the neon green sour whatever of his pre-workout. “Hold on, I might have something else.” 

---

Fair is fair: the pedicab driver is easier to bribe than Roy expected. 

Or perhaps ‘easy’ isn’t exactly the correct term, seeing as Jamie’s pocket ended up roughly five hundred pounds lighter by the time the driver seemed satisfied enough to hand over the cab to them, followed by a warning that he had a GPS marker tacked on, so ‘no funny business!’ 

“What funny business would we do with a cycle rickshaw anyway?” Jamie asks, turning to put his words over one shoulder.

The little shit’s not even out of breath yet; pedaling with his elbows propped lazily on the handlebars as he prepares to make a righthand turn at the next intersection. 

“Oh, I dunno, scamming tourists hundreds of pounds for fucking taxi rides while playing whatever this is—” The inlaid speakers on the passenger wagon are vibrating faintly as they play a hellacious club remix of Karma Cameleon. “—at top volume with stupid flashing lights and feather boa trim, that sounds like funny business to me, fucking HELL!” 

The wagon of the pedicab lists dangerously to the left side as Jamie takes the corner too quickly, the shiny silver Jaguar behind them honking repeatedly and at length. As soon as Roy feels like he’s not going to slide right out of the cab and go rolling across the pavement like he’s an extra in John Wick, he twists around to give the Jag’s driver the finger. 

“If you get me killed, I’m killing you next,” Roy says shortly, checking his phone. A quarter to nine. “Take a left up here.” 

Unfortunately for Roy, Phoebe is just as ecstatic as he thought she might be when they pulled up. 

“Uncle Roy! I always wanted to ride in one of these, Mum always says they’re not for us, they’re for fleecing tourists.” She hops up into the wagon of the pedicab next to Roy, bouncing a little with excitement on the seat. 

“That’s exactly what they’re for,” Roy says. “Tartt’s gonna pedal us around as part of his training, then we’ll get late breakfast at McDonald’s. Sound good?” 

Turning around on his bicycle seat, Jamie gives her a jaunty little salute and a grin. “I’ll be your driver for today, miss. Any musical requests or sights you wanna see, you just let me know.” 

Phoebe looks from Roy to Jamie skeptically and back again. Roy helplessly remembers every time he’s complained about Jamie Fucking Tartt while utilizing every curse under the sun, as well as making up some of his own curse words. Like a deranged Looney Tune. He gives her a wincing sort of smile in return. 

Roy’s niece turns primly back toward Jamie. 

“Do y’have any Little Mix or Jorja Smith?” 

---

They make it through the DNA album and get partway into Salute before Roy takes pity on Jamie and has him stop in front of the McDonald’s on Eden. It’s not quite mid-morning and there’s a shambling group of uni students already queued up inside, looking so violently hungover for a Monday at 10 am that even Roy feels a little nauseously sympathetic. 

Roy sends Jamie inside and attempts to send his card with him, but Jamie waves him off with a roll of his eyes. 

“Put that away old man, I’m good for three McMuffins,” he laughs before heading inside to join the crowd. Roy doesn’t realize until after Jamie’s walked off that he didn’t even try to fight him on it. There’s something a little discomfiting about that, but Roy can’t exactly put his finger on why. 

“Is he your new Keeley?” 

Roy whips around to look at Phoebe so quickly that he feels a crick in his neck. She’s looking up at him with a squinting expression, not quite unimpressed so much as mystified. 

“No one could replace Keeley,” he says quickly, something like a little minnow of panic swimming through his guts while he looks at her. 

Even the fucking abstract concept of Keeley brought up unexpected is calling to mind standing in the Nelson Road car park and feeling words rolling out of his mouth like vomit while he asked for details he did not need, because he’d let himself think that assuaging his own culpability was more important than her privacy. If he hadn’t deserved her before, he certainly didn’t now.  

Roy takes as deep a breath as he can, and rights himself. He looks at Phoebe sideways. She deserves to have a Keeley, even if he doesn’t. “Is that what you think I’m doing?” Just like Jamie, she rolls her eyes at him. 

“That’s not what I mean. Mum says old people don’t really use ‘boyfriend’ or ‘girlfriend’.” Her expression goes a little disapproving. “Boys can like boys, Uncle Roy. Don’t be silly on purpose.” 

Roy puts his hands up in exasperated surrender. “I know that boys can like boys. Girls can like girls, for that matter.” 

Phoebe crosses her arms. “Obviously. Keeley and Jack took me to the Science Museum last weekend. Her new Uncle Roy,” she adds, confidentially. 

Closing his eyes, Roy counts to ten. Considers praying. “You didn’t call her that, did you?” 

Worryingly, Phoebe doesn’t address that question. Instead, she looks inside the McDonald’s, and Roy follows her gaze. Jamie’s waiting for their food, and while Roy and Phoebe look on he visibly checks their order number on the ticket in his hand and compares it with the orders on the overhead screen. They watch him do it three more times in the next minute, as if he’s concerned he might have forgotten their number. 

“See! You’re smiling!” Phoebe accuses him before he can look away. He looks down at her and resists the urge to clap a hand over his own mouth. 

“I’m allowed to fucking smile,” Roy grumbles. 

She crosses her arms, her earlier prim expression returning. It reminds him of Keeley when she knows she’s one hundred percent correct and is being horribly polite about it while she waits for Roy to figure it out. 

“He’s different than you said,” she hedges. “He hasn’t been a selfish moronic cunt or a shallow fucking idiot this entire time.” She pauses. “There was one more you used to call him a lot, but I can’t remember it. It was really good, too.” 

“You should probably forget the first two as well,” Roy says ruefully with a sigh. “...alright, he is different than he used to be. I’ll give you that.” It’s something that Roy knows in an abstract sort of way, but having his niece call it to his attention brings back that discomfited feeling from earlier. 

Before he can get any more words out, Jamie’s back and distributing wrapped sandwiches. He pauses when he hands one off to Roy, tilting his head. 

“Why’re you looking at me like I just shot your dog?” He shoots a horrified look at Phoebe as soon as the words are out of his mouth. “I mean—” Jamie attempts a smile as he reaches back into the bag and offers her a bottle of Tropicana. “Orange juice?” 

“I like this one,” Phoebe says decisively to Roy, nodding at Jamie as she accepts it. 

After breakfast, they head to the park and give the pedicab a rest. Phoebe sprawls on the grass reading The Phantom Tollbooth while Roy has Jamie run drills in the springtime overcast sunlight, and Roy feels prickly with awareness in a way he hadn’t before. 

It’s as if his eyes are independent of his brain, and they just keep noticing. The bunch of Jamie’s shoulders. The tendons that leap out at the back of his hands as they flex. The wrinkle of his nose as he uses his shirt sleeve to wipe his face. 

Roy’s not quite angry that he’s noticing all of this, but perhaps it’s frustration that it’s happening now. He’s had all the time in the world—from their shared locker room to now—to see these things and now his brain is treating them like an I Spy sort of puzzle book. 

“Show me that one again,” Roy says after he’s sat next to Phoebe to check in on her reading, “It needs to be quicker.” 

“And I thought you weren’t even paying attention, Coach,” Jamie tosses out with a grin, but dutifully runs through it as directed. 

Roy wishes he wasn’t paying attention. 

---

“Alright, what do you say to Tartt, then?” Roy prompts as she exits the pedicab and starts hopping up Roy’s front steps. The midday sun is high overhead as the clouds part for a few minutes, and Roy figures he ought to make her lunch from home after having fast food breakfast. 

“Thank you Jamie for pedaling us around and also for the McDonald’s,” she sing songs. Her clear plastic backpack clunks against her back as she waits for him at the door, hopping on the balls of her feet. 

Jamie grins as he gives her the same cheeky salute from this morning. Roy tries not to look at him too hard where he’s sprawled across the handlebars again. “You are very welcome, a girl with good music taste is always welcome in my cab.” 

“You don’t have a cab,” Roy grouses as he follows after her. “You half-borrowed, half-stole this one.” He’s halfway up the steps and expecting a joke, a retort, even a goodbye—anything but a hand on his elbow, halting his movement. 

Roy looks back at Jamie. Down at the hand on him like it’s a wet tentacle wrapping around his arm. Back up at Jamie. 

He’s not even bothered, the fucker. He just points down at Roy’s shoes. 

“Laces are undone. You can’t afford a fall, grandad. That’s when they all start going, you know. Real dark ‘beginning of the end’ business.” Jamie lets him go, and Roy relaxes. He’s in the clear. 

Jamie takes a knee at Roy’s feet. Bending forward, he grasps Roy’s dirty shoelaces and makes them into bunny ears before he ties them neatly and double knots them. 

While he’s bent over, Roy can’t stop staring at the tiny short hairs at the back of Jamie’s neck, at the barely there tan line from a necklace, at the faded roots of his highlights where they’re grown out from the crown of his head. 

Roy’s hands flex at his sides. 

After neatly and unnecessarily retying Roy’s other shoe, he looks up at Roy with a grin that crinkles his eyes. Roy feels like only weeks ago (months ago?), the sight of it made his blood boil and made him assign Jamie adjectives like ‘conceited’ or ‘arrogant wanker’.

Now he sees it spreading over Jamie’s lips and feels like he’s missed a step walking down the stairs. 

“There, all safe now.” 

Roy has never felt less safe, somehow. 

[umbralundertaker]

Because I havent stopped thinking about it ever since I saw it. I want to talk about a detail at the end of Mad Dogs campfire cutscene

Brads statuses make enough sense. But Mad Dog... why is he blind? From my understanding, the whole point of his character is that he is very, very aware.

Mad Dog is distinguished by the fact that he is fully cognizant and understanding of the abuse he is causing and the abuse that his father did unto him.

Marty, Mr Angoneli, Brad's grandfather, Brad himself... Out of all these abusive fathers, Mad Dog is the most fully and completely awake. He knows the full effects of child abuse and trauma and the vicious hellacious cycle of hate; knows how deeply they affect someone and how fully they ruin their lives and families.

Brad's grandfather knows as well, but he sought to cause that pain and expected it to become something positive. Something that could be constructive, that builds character, that teaches you how to defend yourself, that tells you to be greatful, that prepares you for the harsh life ahead. To people like him, it's a lesson to be learned.

Yes, some men either dont care or are unaware of the effects of their abuse. But some fathers value their offspring, their progeny, their blood, so much so that they wish to mold these children into their own image. Brad's grandfather and some of the others believed that, despite how awful this abuse was, there was some positives to be made out of it. Strong men create good times, right?

Mad Dog knows that's not true. He knows it just causes hate and selfishness to broil and stew and magnify in new and increasingly twisted ways each generation.

His conversation shows that he's not blind to the effects of abuse and toxic masculinity. He looks it right in the eye. He's not ignorant or uncaring of how horrific what he's doing is. In fact, he is the only one that can fully see.

Its so odd!!! Why is he blind!!! I know its such a small detail but it nags at me every time i read the transcript (which is often).

[aftermoved]

— ❝ THE PAST HAS CONSEQUENCES ( OPEN )

SQUELCH.

THE SOUND IS STILL RINGING in her ears, like a metronome over and over in a sadistic reminder. HAUNTING. Her hands are shaking, eyes glazed over as her heart races, breath shakes. There was so much BLOOD, it was everywhere, all over her, on her clothes, in her hair, underneath her FINGERTIPS. She vomited it into the streets, it was hellacious, all-consuming.

❝ TAKE HIM OUT. ❞

What choice did she have? If she couldn't have him - if TOMAS... then no one could, right ? Where was her trust now? And why was it wavering? With his face still etched into her mind as he clung onto her, his hands holding her face as he told her he'd love her still as she dug her dagger straight into his chest?

Haden.

Her own blood and bones.

She's stumbling down the street into an alleyway, feet twisting, the dagger still CLUTCHED in one fist as though it will save her now. Gasping for breath, finding nothing but swallowing thickness, suffocating, all stars and blurred vision and why couldn't she BREATHE ? This wasn't her FIRST, and now she knows with a certainty that it will not be her LAST.

Tears start to fall and she wipes them away, smearing crimson across pale cheeks. Legs give, and she falls to her knees, body shaking. ❝ I-I need help. ❞ Her voice is weak, and she knows now, too, that Tomas will not be there to pick her up. Not this time.

— ❝ I-I can't- I can't do this. I need- I c-can't — p-please! ❞

[monochrome-chaos]

@tsundeoku -Let Loose a Raven/Ask- ❛  that's just like you, why should i be surprised?  ❜ / from sebek! ( lord when will he stop bothering people )

The cackle that escaped the Prefects mouth was typical. The sound of a gremlin about to, or having done something utterly unhinged.

"Oh come now Sebek! Where's ye' sense of adventure! Or.. in this case, a we bit o' chaos?" Sure he may not have fully paid attention in magical history classes or.. most of the classes he was forced to take here. But he at least tried to push the envelope of what he could get away with.

Including in the presence of those in Malleus' ballcourt.

But this really paled in comparison with what he'd often get up to back in his world. There where he could use what he had freely, didn't have to hide his capabilities to pull one over on a certain raven masked Headmage. To try and kick said lazy Headmage's rear into gear to send him home.

No, rather this was an attempt at decorating for Halloween and helping the students of Diasomnia decorate their own dorm for the occasion. Since they'd done so to Ramshackle before.

Was only fair.. right?

"Come on now, this sort o' stuff is pretty popular back in my home. N' I ain't see anyone go for a 'hellacious' theme like this!" Demons, he one hundred percent was going full stereotypical Hell and Demons for the gloomy dorm.

Red accented Green pretty well, in his book.

"N' it'll be like nothin' anyone in Twisted Wonderland has seen! And I'm sure Malleus would love somethin' new, eh?" No one should ever put the Prefect in charge of this stuff..

[writer59january13]

Natural soporific narcotic

Recurrent suicidal thoughts

vaingloriously wend along winding road within windmills of my mind

(o'er a death cab for cutie weeknd) yakking, yanking, and yawking zeal

becalming this crash test dummy rolling

stone temple pilot inxs

of maroon 5 plus decades long

perdition hellaciously slogging

slow as adam and the ants,

thru fifty shades of gray's

anatomy common weal

masterly baiting this motley crue (cutting),

beatles browed, beastie boy, foo fighters kickstart new edition

quickening reo speedwagon treadwheel

outre gee (bee) us, grateful dead,

mailer daemons inhabit

cavernous fist size vastness steel

via herbie hancock (hermans hermits)

cheesy munster trap doors that steal,

deep purple swiftly tailored

culture club members squeal

hosted by megadeath

pack rat boston for real

venue at tokyo hotel,

via en grave invitation

signed by alice in chains poison huss kiss

sing, which will spellbind

once contents unveiled,

an instant jane's addiction peal

immediately choking off air supply

then alice cooper egging bad company

to hypnotize the guess who sacrificial meal supplanting raw

primal scream from spinal tap

acquiescing self to abandon all hope,

especially if black sabbath joins

creedance clearwater revival

dark shadows would demand one

(to take a knee) and kneel

before sacrificing oneself

at the beck and call

of evanescent nirvana

experiencing permanent relief,

sans soul (twisted) sister riding a hansom

off phish hull heart shaped coffin

ample room enough for blind

melon collie 10,000 maniacs, their healing powers profusely emanating

via m&m shaped talking heads

methinks averring obeisance

to judas priest and hooters

with metallica linkedin with mötley crüe

coldplay feeling of eternal sleep,

where quiet pussy riot

joins carpenters, whose underground bunker with golden arches resembles empyreal

heavenly vault wreathed soundgarden

with electric light orchestra

sepulchral crowded house indicative

cynthesis iz done on a green day,

whereat dizzy gillespie afterlife deal

and you bet your sweet bippy meme,

an extra bonus for orthodox believers

(absent myself - a skeptic), whose karma credit Suisse

with long deceased meatloaf

with soul asylum and heart to anele!

[sanguineserrations]

Astarion and his siblings gathered around a dark haired elf with cruel eyes and a mouth that curled in annoyance. The few remaining "guests" gave a look around, and upon seeing they were alone, one by one took turn moving unnaturally as their bodies contorted and changed. Clumps of hair sprouted across their bodies, with grunts and groans their arms and legs became lanky with disgusting gnarled fingers and threatening claws within a matter of seconds. The vampire and his spawn paid them no mind, as if this were no more out of the ordinary than a pet cat stretching. With hellacious animalistic sounds, the once guests now had mangey wolf-like appearances. Werewolves! Lorelei was in a room of werewolves!

A moment later a giant white wolf brushed past her, nearly running into her. The thing was massive, several times larger than a regular dog would be. Standing flat on all four feet its head was nearly as high as hers! Suddenly it stopped, and began sniffing the air. It swung its huge head around in her general direction, smelling something, but wasn't quite sure where the delicious smell was coming from. It licked its lips hungrily, taking a few exploratory steps toward her.

"I told you to stay in the kennels!" Cazador spat at Petras with words as sharp as his fangs.

"I... That was this morning. I thought you wanted..." Petras cowered before the man who was now scowling down at him.

"You dare blame me for your incompetence?" Cazador accused in a deceptively calm tone as Petras cowered lower. "After poisoning your father last night, you dare insult me now? You knew I had an engagement this evening, one that was incredibly important to all our well being. An engagement I suffered during due to you intentionally sabotaging me!" Cazador continued, his voice escalating.

"After everything I've done for you. Ungrateful child. Wretched child! I could barely walk when I awoke!" He slammed his fist down on his chair and stood. "It is clear you've learned nothing. You force my hand to punish you more for your bad behavior!"

"No Father! No! Mercy! Please, Father! Mercy!" Petras begged, falling to his knees.

"Why are you still here?!" Cazador snarled. "You mustn't keep Godey waiting! Go now!" he commanded, and Petras began limping away from the ball room, his face twisted in fear. "Now!" Cazador repeated, and Petras went as fast as he could hobble out of there, even though it was clear from his wincing it pained him a great deal to do so.

The two remaining vampire spawn stood in front of their master, trying very much to not cower as Petras' shuffling footsteps grew further and further away. The elder vampire let the silence hang so long it expired and became palpably stale. His eyes darted between the remaining two, almost daring them to be foolish enough to say anything to break it. Uncomfortable minutes passed as the pair waited anxiously, neither daring move without command.

From below, a tortured man's voice cried out in pain. Astarion failed at hiding a shudder, while Cazador's lips relaxed into a pleasured smile. "Good. Good. His lesson has begun. You both would do well to learn from your brother's folly, and be good obedient children." he warned in a voice dripping with sickly sweet charm. "I've ensured Godey understood the importance of Petras not forgetting this lesson, and that he take his time. With any luck your brother's sweet voice will be serenading us from the rack until night falls. Perhaps... a week leaving him with his limbs disconnected will be enough to keep him from repeating this mistake again." Cazador revealed, drinking in the spawns increasingly tortured cries of pain like a fine vintage wine.

"One naughty child sent for punishment. Two good children left. I can't wait to see what you've brought me for dinner. Oh! But of course, I haven't forgotten about yours!" Cazador told them with the airs of someone who might have just bought their child a pony. He reached into a satchel around his waist and pulled out a pair of rats, which he tossed to the floor where they lay twitching, looking near dead from their caved in skulls.

"A gift. Would you like it?" The dark haired vampire asked his spawn.

"You live in a palace?" She replied, trying to sound impressed. "Maybe I would like to see it. Though, I've never been in one before. I might embarrass you. Are there ghosts?"

He responded, smoothly disentangled himself from the conversation then headed for the door. He had an air of disappointment about him that she didn’t quite trust. With the door closed behind him, she turned back to the tavern. Her eye snagged on a pale form. That's right. Dalyria was still there. No drink in hand. Head almost pointedly angled away. Usually, the group left together. What had she heard? Was she there to take care of loose ends?

"Last call," Lorelei yelled into the room. A few patrons paid off a tab and tumbled into the night. Only two wanted a closing drink. Lorelei was relieved to see Dalyria make her way out with the main crowd. Lorelei had hoped to follow Astarion, but she couldn't leave the establishment with customers still inside. She bundled out the last two drinkers as soon as she saw they had finished, apologizing and saying she had somewhere to be.

She looked to the sky. It would be dawn soon, and people in the palace would be waking. She had to hurry. Szarr Palace... She had been by it before. It wasn't far from Sorcerous Sundries where she had gone with her mother when she was little and sometimes still returned to look longingly at the tomes.

There would be guards probably. She hadn't considered that before. What was her excuse if she was caught? If they really were Guild, excuses wouldn't matter. She paused for a moment. Why was she doing this? If Astarion was really taking these people off to who knows where, she had been letting it happen for quite some time. She could turn a blind eye. Or tell someone else to look into it and leave the responsibility to them.

But letting it lie wasn't an option. She basically ran the tavern. Pretending nothing was going on would practically be serving up victims to an unknown end. And she could imagine what the Fist would say if she tried turning it over to them. The way that they'd look haughty and wave her away. Just another delusional petitioner. No. No one would do anything without evidence or testimony from someone who could corroborate her story. Most importantly, she couldn't live with herself if she didn't even look into it.

The sky was just starting to color as she reached the palace. In its shadow, she spoke the words softly and felt a trickling coolness as the invisibility covered her. Getting to the door of the palace proved to be nerve-fraying. She treaded lightly up steps and across the ramparts. When she climbed up a ladder, she had to avoid the notice of three guards. Even invisible, she felt she would be noticed any moment. When she finally reached the entrance into the palace, she realized she had been holding her breath. The sun was just breaking over the horizon now. She pressed an ear to the front door, but the wood was thick. She couldn't make out anything.

The handle jostled and she only had a moment to step aside before a young nobleman wearing fine but noticeably mussed clothes was allowed out by a servant.

"Bollocks, it's bright," the man mumbled. He hesitated in the sun for a moment, and Lorelei took the opportunity to skirt past him and the servant into a large, ornate corridor. The servant bid the gentleman good morning, shut the door, and went down the hallway.

Lorelei had the wherewithal to step to the side before taking a moment to bask in the sight of the place. Her head tilted up in wonder. She had never seen this much gold. This much velvet. Large paintings stared down from their frames, and clever alcoves hid solemn statues. Floors gleamed, gilding glinted. It was altogether suffocating in splendor. She immediately understood what Astarion had meant- the place was beautiful, but something about it was haunting.

A trickle of conversation caught her ear. She followed it to a large door on the other end of the corridor. The room was large. A dance floor. No, these were nobles. A ballroom. She immediately recognized a figure, hovering at the edge of the room. Petras. Wait. All of Astarion's pale companions were here. Where was he? She'd hardly thought this when he strode in soundlessly beside where she stood. She froze as he nearly brushed against the edge of her cloak. She'd never noticed how quiet he was. He walked to another edge of the room and took up his own place by the wall. They all seemed to be waiting for something, and whatever it was looked to be unpleasant. Their demeanors ranged from anxious to resolved.

In sharp contrast, in the center of the room, an equally pale nobleman spoke regally to a pair of finely dressed ladies who giggled in a fawning way. He kissed their hands, said farewell, and waved for the servant to escort them out. The servant took the time to shut both the heavy doors of the ballroom as he led the ladies out. Shit. She was trapped in the room with this odd, pale retinue. Lorelei saw a cabinet in one corner and wedged herself in its shadow, waiting to see what would happen next.

[the-other-slytherin]

I posted 434 times in 2022

That's 36 more posts than 2021!

10 posts created (2%)

424 posts reblogged (98%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@wheredidhiseyebrowsgo

@rockboci

@a-cumberbatch-of-cookies

@avelera

@therulerofallpotatos

I tagged 12 of my posts in 2022

#fan life - 4 posts

#ao3 - 4 posts

#fan fiction is cathartic - 3 posts

#the umbrella academy - 2 posts

#teen wolf - 2 posts

#a03 fanfic - 2 posts

#fangirl - 2 posts

#ao3fic - 2 posts

#our flags mean death - 2 posts

#chris rock - 2 posts

Longest Tag: 131 characters

#everyone always talks about respecting the source material but the writers said nah were going to improve it and respect our actors

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Opens Tumblr app settling into bed: All right let’s see what new fictional characters my mutuals are hyper fixated on today…..hmmm Sandman and a manga series from the 1997-1999 run of Shojen Jump and ooh! an essay about hyper masculinity in the Top Gun franchise vs healthy relationships in the Cornetto Trilogy. Well who needs sleep?

5 notes - Posted August 28, 2022

#4

TUA SEASON FOUR PREDICTIONS

Nothing, this was a hell scape going in and it will be one going out. I’ve got till it comes out to emotionally fortify myself before I mainline this and honestly: hands sweaty moms spaghetti

Banging Soundtrack

6 notes - Posted September 6, 2022

#3

I Dammed Well Called It!

Since the hellaciously baffling thing know as live action Riverdale has come into being and it’s “we know we’re camp so let’s turn into it” counterpart Sabrina has come into play, I’ve come to the horrific realization that no comic is safe

So, it’s been brewing in my little fangirl head about what over the top supernatural twist that they’d throw out there for fans to mainline and it it me, it hit me hard:: Casper the Friendly Ghost

Hear me out:

They’d set it before Casper was born and focus on his dad and his uncles in the late Victorian/early Edwardian times ( based on the 95 movie )

Since around that time period there was a huge following about occultism, that’s a total factor on Casper’s parents living in that huge Victorian while Casper’s dad is inventing a was to bring spirits to life again

The Uncles are all kind of bastards but they stick around in ghost form around home so it’s probably penance and we get to see what that was

Cause you know there is going to be drama and with the last name of McFadden it’s Irish brogue’s and Catholic guilt for everyone!

Since it in America they can totally show the horrible attitudes taken against the Irish back then.

I kinda think the uncles are like boot leggers, or some sort of shady enterprisers that just interrupt Dad McFaddens occult inventing party and set the towns tongues a wagging

Lots of spooky and period costumes and 25-35 year old actually playing there age so it doesn’t feel creepy watching them flirt

And if Harvey comics agrees to this then they’ll totally cross over Wendy the Good Witch, Hot Stuff (( an adorable demon)), and possibly the Rich Family ((Richies family tree coming into play))

Possibly spin-offs who would want to see a drama about how the Riches got theirs fortune and how they fought to keep it ((very Dynasty))

So why am I typing out into the void? Why am I predicting plot points and possible spin offs, and my hope for actors who get smooch to be playing as adults and not teenagers?Why am I praying it’s more like Are You Afraid of theDark and less like Euphoria?

Peacock announced a live action with a “darker look” and its in the works now.

6 notes - Posted August 28, 2022

#2

I binged watched Our Flags Mean Death last night

Currently the Stede/Blackbeard tag on A03 has 102 pages. I start from the date published (( pg 102-1))

I’m on 96. I will only stop for minimal sleep and tea.

11 notes - Posted April 13, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I love how they use music in OFMD. Which is why in season two I want an Izzy-centric episode (like how they did with Mary) and towards the end when they’ve twisted our hearts with backstory and longing looks, I want to see Ed and Stede’s reunion from Izzy’s point of view with No Doubts “Don’t Speak” playing as we go to credits. Because that angry first mate is have some 90’s teenage angst because he’s breaking up with Ed ((and Ed doesn’t even realize it))and I am so fucking here for it.

40 notes - Posted April 26, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[black-licorice-lingerie]

A Look Into Billy Lenz’s Personality (from the book)

Okay so this is going to be my own interpretation of what we learn in the Black Christmas novelization. Specifically, I’m going to be going over the things Billy says. If you’re a huge fan of Black Christmas, or just Billy Lenz and you wish to learn more about him or the whole story, I highly suggest you go check it out right here: (https://100vampirenovels.net/pdf-novels/black-christmas-by-lee-hays-free).

That being said, let’s take a peak at Billy’s personality:

Based on what my 2 am notes describe, Billy is very much socially awkward as the story makes it clear that Billy really wants to communicate with the sorority house beyond using the telephone. Billy actually HATES using the telephone (shocker I know), but is SO shy at talking with others that he can’t help but hide away and establish a distanced method of speaking. This pretty much tells us that Billy can’t help but be afraid of interacting with other people. Billy’s social ineptitude is even shown near the part where he viciously stabs Barb to death. Upon seeing Jess and Barb talk to each other about nightmares and Peter, Billy is depicted as really longing for the kind of communication Jess and Barb are showing.

Another, but small note on Billy’s personality is that he comes across as a bit judgmental. When Barb picks up the phone and talks to her mom about life and such, she gets a bit sassy in attitude. Billy, of course listening to this, begins to judge Barb for daring to speak to her own mother that way. He’s bewildered from Barb having the courage to speak to her mother, an authority figure, in such a snappy tone. Interestingly enough, this points that Billy knows social standards (how and how not to talk to people), but can’t bring himself to properly talk with people to display his mannerism knowledge.

A BIG aspect of Billy’s personality is, without a doubt, insecurity. When Clare is packing her belongings to leave the sorority house, she suspects that Claude is in the room. She calls out to Claude, calling him names for being a silly pet. Billy, who was hiding in the fucking closet for whatever reason, hears this and actually thinks she’s talking about him. After feeling insulted, Billy lost it and murdered Clare with a plastic bag. The thoughts in his head say that he didn’t mean, or want to murder Clare, but that she “left him no choice” for “bullying” him. Clare’s death is an example of how anxious Billy is about himself, showing how he thought a casual conversation towards a cat was about him. He does NOT like being insulted to the point where he reacts violently. Billy has the urge to drastically “defend” himself when he feels insulted in any way.

Possessiveness also seems to be a personality trait of Billy. After having murdered the shit out of Clare and stashing her body up in the attic, he recognizes her father visiting the sorority house. Obviously, Clare’s father is trying to figure out what the fuck happened to her, but Billy’s annoyed at this. Billy describes Clare (at least her corpse) in a way you’d describe an item. Billy’s irritated at Clare’s father coming about and looking for her, because in Billy’s sick mind (the story in his POV), Clare belongs to him now. So not only is Billy hyper-aggressive when he feels insulted, but he has the sick urge to add insult to injury by “claiming” the body of his victims as his toy-like belongings. Clare “insulted” him, and she “paid” for it. To make himself feel better, Billy takes Clare’s body up into where he’s staying, a twisted mimicry of a child getting a toy, or obtaining a friend. That way, Clare surely won’t “mock” Billy anymore, as he now “owns” her.

However, Billy also has self awareness. The story later begins to show that Billy doesn’t like what his mind forces him to believe, and how he behaves. When Mrs. MacHenry is searching the house for Claude, Billy hopes that she doesn’t reach the attic because once she does, he won’t be able to stop himself. Billy hates this about himself.

In conclusion…Billy is clearly mentally ill. Very, very mentally ill. It’s shown that Billy is aware of how to behave towards others, and does (in fact) have a sense of right and wrong since his murderous actions come back to disgust him. However, he’s also very incapable of properly establishing communication between himself and other people. He’s also violently insecure about himself, along with being possessive towards others. He sees that what he does is awful, and even knows the ins and outs of how one should treat authority figures. 

Billy’s personality is under an attack of cognitive dissonance, leading him to even more stress. Deep down inside, despite the sociopathic behaviors, Billy hates that this is an uncontrollable aspect of his brain. Billy wants to be a normal person, Billy wants to be liked, and he doesn’t want to rely on the telephone just to get issues off of his chest. However, something, or some things happened in Billy’s past if he can’t help but behave so hellacious. Billy was so abused and traumatized by events in his childhood, that despite his morality (self sufficient or taught), he can’t help but put on a fight in the name of defending himself. Whatever ridicule, beating, and verbal abuse Billy encountered has cemented into his brain, establishing a psychological illness that leaves him incapable of navigating unfavorable situations other than “attack, attack, attack”.

Billy not being able to control his horrendous actions points to an error in his mind. However, there are many mental illnesses that create a warped view of reality, and a hindered ability to control oneself. So while Billy definitely suffers from a psychological disorder, it’s impossible to get an idea of what exactly he may have...until we use his phone calls to analyze his history and how his mind interprets it, but we’ll have to save that for later in the day.

Anyways, this was my particular analysis of (1974) Billy Lenz’s personality! I wish you all a good ass week, at least better than how I’m reacting to my online class assignments. Remember, stay a simp for slashers.

[thechrissycunningham]

@therebekahmikaelson​ :

“Well, it’s an issue for me, so…” Bekah shrugged, craning her neck as Chrissy gazed into the abyss of the bleachers. She thought about cracking a clock joke (“Seeing any clocks under there?”) but thought it best to be nice. Her confession had sent the cheerleader into a state of shock as expected. “I can compel you to forget what I’ve said if you like. Just go back to normal and forget about you saw. But only if you want.”

Lips twisting uncomfortably, the blonde averted her eyes to an ugly off-white wall of the gymnasium. “Also, in case this needs to be said, I’m not going to hurt you or anything. This isn’t exactly something I share with schoolmates normally.”

She was grateful that Chrissy obliged her question. Too much vulnerable conversation about her own woes made Rebekah Mikaelson’s skin crawl. "As for Jason…” said the girl, returning to a seat, “I get not knowing how he’ll react, but you did trust others enough to say something. If he loves you, wouldn’t he give you the benefit of the doubt? I still say your drug dealer husband is half in love with you but what do I know… I am merely a very old, very wise, very pretty lady with decades of life experience.”

♡ *:･ 𝒞.𝒞. *:･♡         “What? No-” Chrissy shook her head, her mind still reeling. “You don’t have to... um... compel me.” Was that the proper wording? Regardless of the semantics, she didn’t feel like the concept of washing away learned realities felt right. Especially when it involved on of her friends. Sure, being ignorant to it would be more mentally peaceful, but wasn’t that the harsh case for anything in life? She would rather be shaken and informed than blind and oblivious. 

Truthfully, she wasn’t terribly worried about her own safety around Bekah. She’d already had more than ample opportunity to hurt her if she wanted, so she didn’t think that likely. She did have many questions, though! It took all her willpower not to blurt them out and concentrate on the topic being handed to her. 

“Loves me?” She cast Bekah a look, hugging her backpack to her chest. Oh, this was a sensitive topic, for certain. “I mean, I’m sure Jason thinks he loves me, but...” A pause and a wry twist to her lips as her gaze lowered. “I don’t think Jason knows what love really is.”

It was a bitter fact that Chrissy had always known. Nothing about her relationship with Jason was organic. The truth was that they were a romantic item because that was what had always been expected of them; she was the Cheer Captain and he was the Tigers’ Team Captain. It was a social hierarchy that they had been corralled into and she’d been in no place to object. Besides, her mother liked Jason, so breaking up with him would only make her home life even more hellacious. “I think it’s best that he doesn’t know about any of it. Please don’t say anything to him.”     

[crinkle-eyed-boo]

Monday Snippet

I was tagged by @kingsofeverything @haztobegood @jacaranda-bloom and @mercurial-madhouse to share a snippet. I was knocked out for most of last week with a hellacious sinus infection, but I am officially off work for the next two weeks and I’m carving out time every day to write. Here’s a snip from the opening of chapter two of my Reverse Bang before I disappear into my cave to work. 

“What do you think he’s like?” 

“He’s probably an egotistical asshole.” 

“I’ve heard he’s nice!”

“I’ve heard he’s slept with half the corps of the Royal Ballet.” 

“I thought he was dating the artistic director though?” 

Harry rolls his eyes, sitting tall on the floor in a straddle split, his legs forming a perfectly straight line. He takes a deep breath and rolls forward, flattening his chest on the floor like a pancake as he exhales slowly, feeling his body sink into the stretch as he extends his arms in front of him. 

Louis Tomlinson is harshing his first rehearsal buzz, and he’s not even in the room yet. 

And god, Harry loves first rehearsals. It doesn’t matter how many productions he’s been in over the course of the past eighteen years, the thrill of the first day of rehearsals has never faded for him. It’s like the first day of school, full of anticipation and nothing but pure possibility ahead of him. He loves the company-wide class that starts every morning, the principals all the way down to the last member of the corps participating, creating a sense of community. He loves when they break into smaller groups to work on individual scenes. Harry just loves the work. He always has. He woke up this morning fully resolved to not let Louis Tomlinson’s imminent arrival cast a shadow over today and ruin it for him, and he’s doing his best to stick to it. 

“I bet they broke up and that’s why he’s come crawling back to New York after five years.” 

“Maybe he’s sleeping with Liam Payne now–” 

But these gossiping members of the corps just might push him over the edge though. 

“Or maybe he was just offered a great opportunity and you don’t know shit.” 

Harry slowly presses back up from the floor, twisting his torso to the right and biting back a laugh when he sees Zayn Malik glowering at the cluster of dancers, disdain written all over his intimidatingly handsome face.

Tagging you all back plus @disgruntledkittenface @uhoh-but-yeah-alright @louandhazaf @absoloutenonsense @indiaalphawhiskey @myfineline

[cullxtheherd]

Jacob Seed Sings - A Series Of Nonsense (Part 3/?)

“𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐘𝐨𝐮” 𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘: 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐧™ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 𝟖𝟒𝟎 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘯𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘚𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘳 𝘎𝘳𝘶𝘧𝘧, "𝘪’𝘭𝘭-𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭-𝘺𝘰𝘶-𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯-𝘵𝘰-𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦-𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦", 𝘑𝘢𝘤𝘰𝘣 𝘚𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦: 𝘗𝘙𝘖𝘉𝘈𝘉𝘓𝘠 𝘕𝘖𝘛. 𝘉𝘶𝘵, 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯 (𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘦 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥, 𝘯𝘱𝘤 𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘶𝘦) 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴/𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦/𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘪𝘳 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘤 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘗𝘌𝘎 𝘢𝘯𝘥?? 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘓𝘋 𝘋𝘌𝘈𝘋 𝘏𝘈𝘕𝘥𝘴... 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘦𝘦 [🆇] 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘢 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘣𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥 - 𝘪 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘱 𝘢𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥!

𝘮𝘺 𝘨𝘖𝘋 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘦𝘱��𝘵𝘺™ 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴- 𝘯𝘰 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴; 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘹 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦. 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦? 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘬 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘦𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘶𝘮𝘣 𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘻𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘳𝘺𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘬𝘺? 𝘴𝘢𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘺, 𝘵𝘰𝘰.

Being the kind of people Drubman and Boshaw are the first establishment you manage to see the inside of is a well stocked, crowded and rowdy bar promising ‘Open Mic Night’ but for now the jukebox remains a constant in the background, letting loose unfortunately catchy new-age country music.

Despite their promises of taking it ‘easy on ya’ Dep’ the team aptly self-named Shurky orders up a round of the cheapest, stiffest rack whiskey: no chaser. Next up is a pitcher of Pabst a piece which they challenge each other to drink as quickly as they can. Mostly? They make a mess but it’s harmless, boisterous fun and, overall, it makes you laugh- really laugh for the first time in weeks.

Two pitchers each and three rounds deep the jukebox is interrupted by the hum-squeak of a microphone turned on to an already buzzing and too-loud overhead speaker system. The ‘emcee’ for the night is some guy that looks like he operates out of his van in his sister’s lawn and does kids parties on the side; balding, overweight, greasy and unenthusiastic to boot.

Lamely and unimpressed you return to your table and your drinks and when the generic munchie food you ordered arrives the lot of you are all too glad to forget the stage and it’s first few acts careening along in the background.

It’s nearly midnight before Hercules declares he’s gonna stop drinking so he can drive straight but, then, without warning or notice, the tequila arrives and the three of you start making friends with nearby patrons. You aren’t sure when, exactly, but the din of the crowd breaks and, like the majority of them, your attention is finally drawn to the stage and you are genuinely horrified by what you see.

The long, large and lunking form of one of your mortal enemies. All six foot whatever of him, hunched to meet the microphone. Boots are casually notched on the rungs of a much-too-small stool cursed with bearing the brunt of him, but his eyes, thankfully, are closed and in combination with the shitty overhead lights and highly under qualified ‘technician’ you can relax. You are, seemingly, safely hidden away in the blinding congregation.

[🆇]

Jacob Seed produces a noise more pleasant than you’d have imagined in a lifetime and for all of his hacking and coughing and raspiness over the radio? He is capable of producing a clarity that is startling. For a time - however brief, however fleeting - you allow yourself to daydream around this glorified, crooning image. Fantasy takes you places you are much too comfortable with for your own liking: fireside in an abandoned cabin, calmly under a billowing breeze beside the river- anywhere but here and, more unsettlingly, a l o n e. With:

HIM!

“Are you seein’ what in the fuckitty fuck fuuuck I am Sharkules?”

“Yeah in the,” He hiccups, grips tight on the neck of his Miller High Life, “Hellacious fuckin' humdinger I am Hurky- auh? H u r? Yeah. Hurky?!”

Although you are definitely keen on absorbing every spare moment of their carefree, childlike banter you are intensely focused and the half annoyed half amazed conversation fizzles out in favor of rhythm and soul instead. Before you can get too comfortable floating in whimsy here he leans in, lips against the mic and responding to the crowd, “Thank you.”

For the moment you are? Disappointed at the small, humble taste. But when the crowd quiets enough he begins picking out another pleasant rhythm.

[🆇]

“I’m startin’ to hate this Hercules.”

“Shit I got the damn willies,” He sounds as ashamed as you feel, “I need a bigger, better drink for this.”

“Count me in,” You respond without really thinking, eyes still hopelessly fixated on the warbling ginger.

In your infinitesimal, imaginary universe he sings for you- about you; what if he does?

Oh, what if he does?

He has been very nearly romancing you as it is; however violent and brutal he has been about it in following his twisted, sadistic plans- you’ve even heard his song in the wilderness of the Henbane River region. Had he been following you this entire time, taking notes and making plans? For you - the two of you...?

Is this about you? Does he know you are here- had he followed the three of you? You can tell from his plight thus far that he is serious in his madness, but how could this all- all of this unending shit you find yourself knee deep it really be about you?

Only. You. Sinner.

Before you can get any further he’s announcing his final song. The declaration is tumultuous- are you upset? Happy? Conflicted, you decide is the only word near to whatever this emotion really is. The final chords begin and all at once he is answering every question you haven’t asked this evening: he does, he is- he has been.

[🆇]

This is, without a single shred of doubt as his eyes single yours out in the crowd, about you.