#how on gods green earth am i to tag this

[bellnallart]

was going to do drawtober but my work hours have more than doubled SO

[bunny584]

OBSESSED: TOJI

A/N: You’re booked. Busy. Filled to the brim with board meetings. Then your car decides to stop functioning. There’s one mechanic shop open and somehow they seem to only hire God’s sweetest eye candy. One of which keeps getting stuck in the back of your throat. Uh—I mean—

S/N: Toji Mother-Fucking (literally) Fushiguro. Idk why it took me so long to feature this green-eyed monster but I am foaming at the mouth for this AU, him, and his lil vampy co-worker. Toji girlies, can’t WAIT to rush Toji Tau Sigma this fall 🙂‍↕️

C/W: ….he’s his own CW. Mature, 18+. MDNI. 

Art credit: yashaliart_01 on insta

Music: for the love of God if you don’t listen to Obsessed x Mariah Carey I’m calling the coast guard. Reader wants to pretend Toji is not her newest vice so BAD. Ive never laughed so hard and been so painfully turned on writing a piece. SOMEONE tell me not to make this a series RN.

“Can I get a little help here?”

Toji grabs the rag nestled in the back pocket of his heavy work cargos. Charcoal ink stains the fabric. 

Bugatti engines are such a bitch. And make a mess like one too. 

“Hello? Am I talking to a wall or..?”

And just like that, you’ve earned yourself a few more seconds of silence. 

The mechanic’s Evergreen gaze and satisfied smirk peer back at him in the mirror. Not even a second passes before you ensnare him in your fiery scrutiny. 

Ahh, yes. Just his type. 

You are mean. 

With a sexy fucking silhouette. An angry merlot painted on those beautiful, pouted lips. A fresh manicure and keys to your Benz dig into hips that have definitely stopped traffic. 

The mirror image isn’t enough of a bite. Toji needs a real taste, so he turns around to lock eyes with his new favorite unsatisfied customer. 

“Mornin, doll.” 

“Nice of you to grace me with your presence! I was starting to think no one worked here.” 

Melodramatic, the way you narrow your gaze to bring his name tag into focus. It’s hot, though. All this sarcasm and irritation. 

“—Toji? Is it?” You hiss venom. Clearly there’s a point you’re in a hurry to make. 

But..

it’s 7:13 AM on a lovely Monday morning.  Birds are singing. The Red Bull he just downed was particularly delicious. Life is good, right now. 

Toji has all the time in the world. 

He’s in no rush. Especially when a stunning, uptight, bratty little thing — sorry, career woman — like you woke up and chose him to be your personal punching bag. 

And he’s built to take hits. From fists much, much larger than yours, gorgeous.  

“Toji, it is. What can I do for you, darlin?” 

And he knew that sweet, innocent pet name would dump diesel fuel all over those pretty flames. 

You ramble off your full name as if he is going to use it. By the time he’s through with you, you won’t have any use for it either. 

His name, though. You’ll have plenty use for his name. 

“…and when the stupid thing turns on this morning, the dash light won’t turn off.” 

Toji lands on earth just in time to clasp the car keys shoved into his chest. You’re gawking at him. Expecting a fury of motion and urgency. Because your charming little fingers demand it. 

So accustomed to time stopping and starting on your watch, aren’t you? 

“You’re so pretty.” Toji responds with a shit eating grin. 

Just for the huffing and puffing you’re currently displaying. Sputtering about how unprofessional he is. And how much work you have to get done. 

Adorable. 

Toji slips past your disdain and makes his way to the front door. Matte black G-Wagon with a champagne interior. The vision of you behind the wheel, scowling at traffic, in your tailored dress and stilettos makes his cock twitch. 

“She’s a beauty.” He calls from the driver seat. 

“That’s why I bought it. Can you please pick up the pace a little?”

Both arms are folded across your chest, eyes rolling at his wasted breath stating the obvious. 

You’re going to look phenomenal when he has those defiant arms pinned above your head. He’ll diminish those daggers in your eyes to tears. And make those puffy lips whimper for mercy. 

Toji will have you begging him to pick up the pace in no time. Your snarky comment was just a test run. 

The mechanic lets out a low chuckle, his eyes scan the dash for the source of your apparent distress. 

The tire pressure gauge. 

Really, gorgeous? This is why you’re screwed so tightly this morning? 

It should take approximately 3 minutes to fix. But there’s no way Toji is letting you slip away from his skilled fingers so easily. Not when you need to be unwound.

Unraveled bit by bit until you’re a warm, sweet, puddle of manners and gratitude. 

“Alright, babydoll—“

“My name is—“

“I’ll have my guys get to workin on it, sweetheart.” 

He can play this game all day. You scoff. Temporarily placated by his promise of a fix. 

“It’s an all day job, though.” Toji’s right hand man comes into view. 

The only other guy in the shop (on the planet) to get as much play as he does without meaning to. 

Women are insane about his stupid, empty-headed, love-drunk stare. And the purple rings around his eyes like the last time he got sleep was in his mother’s womb. Always giggling and asking about “the hot one with the pigtails” and “the pretty one with the tattoo on his nose.”

If he were a less confident man, Toji would’ve called someone else over. But the kid gets his antics. 

And today is going to be stuffed with them. 

“Choso! Can you take this beauty to the back for repair?” 

Dracula’s first born is sporting his hair down today. Already a bit damp from work. He gives you a once over, then offers a smile that evaporates underwear off of women. 

“Happy to. Which beauty am I taking to the back?”

“Ha, quit your lover boy shit.” Toji teases, and you sneer at his hypocrisy. 

“The car, big guy. Have it ready by 5:00, yeah?”

“5:00 pm?” You do a thing with your hands eventually landing on your hips. And Toji’s dick leaks like a virgin. 

“Well, there must be a courtesy rental. My first meeting starts in an hour.”

“I’m so sorry, miss. We don’t have that.” 

Kamo, you slick fuck. 

Choso apologizes with his signature puppy-eyes and half open mouth. Even you, made of sharp words and soft curves. Goddess of Fire and Ice, you melt under his gaze. 

Toji snickers to himself, while you stutter to a shockingly patient understanding. 

Something about the boy looking half asleep and like he can’t string letters together to spell his own name always does the trick. Leaving you wide open for the kill. 

“Tell you what, sweetheart.” Toji moves in with an assassin’s expertise. 

“Consider me your courtesy rental.”

“I’m sorry—what?” You flicker between the two smiles, rightfully suspicious. 

“I’ll get you from point A to point B, safe and sound.” The mechanic offers again with a broad smile, dangling his own car keys in his hand. 

Pensive eyes drop down to your watch. Board meetings start soon and he is offering a courtesy ride. 

“Fine.” Finally, a little submission. 

“It’s a 10 minute drive. The high rise on the corner of Koen and Mitake street.” 

The financial district. No wonder why you’re so tightly wound. 

“I know exactly, where we are going.” Toji beams. Beating your slender fingers to the passenger door. You barely mutter a ‘thanks’ before settling into the seat. 

You in your heels. And suit jacket. And handbag that costs enough to feed a large family for 6 months. Nestled so perfectly into his passenger seat. Toji can’t help but acknowledge how hard his dick is right now. 

The career woman clearly doesn’t approve of how fast he is hurling down corner streets. But you should understand, no? Places to be, and all that jazz?

“Uh, I’m sorry, where exactly are you taking me?” You perk up. Darting those beautiful warm eyes at the very short building in front of you. 

Not the corner of Koen and Mitake street, but Toji’s favorite coffee shop about 3 blocks over. The only place in the city that can get an Americano right - La Parisian. 

Toji grins maniacally. Pulling his sports car into a front row spot. 

“Point A, darlin.”

“Look, I don’t know what kind of game you are playing but I swear—“

“C’monnn. Lighten up.” He turns to face your incredulous expression. You wear it well, by the way.

“People stand when you walk in a room.” He continues. “They’ll still stand if you’re 5 minutes late and properly caffeinated.” 

Silence. Two huffs. A bitten lower lip. And one long, drawn out sigh.

“Fine. 5 minutes, max. Then I’ve got to get going I have—“

“Meetings baby, I know.” Toji finishes you off. 

He steps out of the driver’s seat fast enough to be at your door before your fingers touch the handle. 

The two of you walk in stride (in Toji’s mind) to the cafe. It’s adorable how you beeline towards the pastry display. Salivating over the various treats. Doing the thing women do, badgering the person manning the register about nutritional details. 

As if your figure wouldn’t make any living red-blooded human being fall to their knees. 

“What can I get started for you?” The barista probes. 

“I’ll have a soy London Fog latte, please.” You flicker over to the dessert you think you’re leaving behind. 

“And?” Toji probes. He taps the glass in front of the vanilla macaroon.

Another crack in the shield. You flash him a genuine smile for 0.04 seconds before turning back to the register.

“…and a vanilla macaroon, please.” You’re cute when you’re sheepish. 

“And I’ll have the largest iced Americano you can make, thanks.” 

Toji closes out the transaction and you two mosey over to a small table by a window. Your shoulders relax with the first sip of coffee. 

A satisfied grin tugs on your chauffeur’s lips. He knew what you needed the second he laid eyes on you. 

Much to your chagrin, and Toji’s delight — conversation flows like a bottomless well between you. The second something warm and another thing sweet landed on your tongue — the shield crumbled down. 

You’re an account executive. 

You work 80+ hour weeks. 

Live in an uppity neighborhood with a Doberman named Rocky. You got him because you like walking around at night to clear your mind. Having a dog taller than you on its hind legs and probably twice your size has eased your anxiety about that. 

You have a mean sweet tooth. 

And you’re single. Have been for the last year or so. 

“And not looking to change that anytime soon.” You reiterate, tossing him a look. 

Toji holds his hands up in feigned defeat. “I wasn’t plannin’ on it, sweetheart.” 

You’ve warmed up to his pet names, albeit against your will. But you’re there. The both of you harmonize light-hearted laughter. Fitting together like missing puzzle pieces.

“Your eyes are so green.” 

A rather obvious observation of your own, after a few moments of comfortable silence. 

As if your eyes don’t bend time. 

Toji catches his breath before responding. 

“They are…your kids could have ‘em too, if you want.” 

You burst into another fit of giggles. Unknowingly driveling rogue pastry on your chin. Babbling on and on about how ridiculous he is. And how cheesy his pick up lines are.

Meanwhile, you’re sitting there all high powered and intelligent. With a smile that makes him want to be a better man than he is. 

…and pastry all over your chin. 

Yeah. 

He’s going to marry you one day. 

Toji reaches over and swipes the macaroon off your chin. A sharp gasp tumbles from your lips, staring at his fingers. Which Toji slips into his mouth. 

He’s a betting man and would put money down on the fact that the dessert tastes exponentially better off of your skin. 

“Toji!!” 

“What else can I do for you?” Each word more smug than the last. 

“You could’ve told me I had food on my face!” Bunny lines along your nose deepen when you frown and Toji’s cock throbs to life. 

“Why?” The mechanic shrugs. “I wanted to lick it off instead.” 

The choppy inhale is music to Toji’s ears. You avoid him. Like the plague. Peeling your gaze away and planting it on the side window. Under the guise of people watching. 

But Toji knows better. 

He doesn’t miss the way you struggle to swallow your last bite. Or your thighs coming together so aggressively beneath the small table, rip tides break the surface of his Americano. 

“I felt that, baby.” Toji leans in. Shameless about the way he scans your face. 

Your lips should be outlawed.

The bottom one is marginally fuller than the top, so it naturally hangs a bit open. Inviting the most vile thoughts from his cock. Toji’s rational mind went to sleep the second you climbed into his passenger seat, princess. 

“What?” You sputter, gulping down the rest of your U.K. cloudy cappuccino, or whatever. 

“I don’t know what you’re referring to.” Your voice is steady, but the fidgeting and cagey eye contact hold the truth. 

Oh, really? 

“You’re squirming in your seat.” Toji counters, unblinking. Filling as much of your personal space as he can without tipping over. 

“Quick to cross your legs—“

“Toji!” 

Is your underwear as sticky as your face is flushed? Saliva pools in one direction, warm pre-cum pools in the other. 

“You are so out of—“

“All that talkin’ and you haven’t denied it once, doll.”

Toji’s palm digs into his crotch underneath the table. You are fucking his brain smooth with the raspberry blush along your nose and high cheeks. Sure, the sarcasm and ball-busting is hot, but this? 

The Career Woman suddenly so flustered and shy? 

You’re already thawed out. All he needs to do is dive in. 

Toji blinks back to reality when you rocket up from the table at warped speed. Your fingers clumsily fondle the zipper of your purse. 

“Excuse me for a minute.” You’re halfway to the restroom stalls by the end of your sentence.

The mechanic lasers down to the serpentine curve of your hips. Your plump, perky ass is just begging to be handled. It’s a felony, the way your work dress hugs your body. 

Is he really going to do this?

Heat slams into his groin. Wave after wave of lust slowly chipping at his teetering self-control. 

You might slap him. 

Call him a goddamn pervert. 

…and just the thought of either of those things makes his dick beat against his zipper. 

Fuck it. 

Toji is slick, how he maneuvers his way over to the restrooms. Both single-use stalls occupied, he walks up to you muttering some kind of pep talk to yourself. 

“Get your shit together.” You spit out. 

Amused, Toji leans against the wall behind you. Curious about where this cute little speech is going to go. 

“He’s a rando you met at a mechanic shop. For fuck sake, are you that horny?”

“Sounds like it, baby.” Toji takes the liberty to answer. You whip your head around and crawl out of your skin. 

Eyes wider than a newborn kitten. Mouth gaping as if you’re trying to show off how much you can handle. Toji swallows a groan. He can’t lose control. Not a chance. He has to savor his first taste of you like this. And every taste after that. 

Because, the weather in Hell is a balmy 0 degrees Fahrenheit and you are his, now. 

“I—uh, I—“ Your eyes dart over to the poor soul opening the bathroom door in slow motion. 

You think you’ve found an out, gorgeous?

Toji is faster and bigger than you are. Gripping the handle of the open door, ushering you into his new lair. Still choking on the shock of him catching your admission, you look to your left and right before diving into the empty bathroom. 

“Toji I…” 

Your back hits the wall and eyes settle on your hands. Shifty and nervous. Toji palms himself at the sight of you caged in like this. 

He’s disgusting, he knows that. 

And normally, he would ask permission. Being a gentleman and all. 

But there’s something too alluring about the way you’re trembling right now. The obvious conflict written all over your face, and heaving chest…and tense thighs…

His cock can’t take another second. 

And apparently neither can you. 

Because the second his fingers cup the back of your neck and his breath grazes your mouth you crash into him. Slotting your puffy lips into his, taking him by surprise for a millisecond. 

“Oh, T-toji.” You whine into his mouth. Grasping at his shoulders that are far too wide, far too muscular for your dainty grip.

Fucking, christ. 

Hearing his name like that. 

The gorgeous, high-pitched, pathetic plea trails down his ears to his aching sex and jerks it. If his cargos were any lighter you would’ve seen the pre-pubescent mess he’s making in his pants right now. 

But they aren’t. And you don’t. 

You mewl at how Toji nips at your bottom lip. Sinking it underneath his teeth until its swells to his liking. Melting beneath his large grasp, currently riding the dizzying lines of your hips and ass. 

“You taste fucking good, baby.” Toji mumbles into your warm cavern. Licking along the warm, soft ridges. 

“Ah-T..god.” You pull away and dive into his neck. Attempting to hide your utterly fucked out daze, but he won’t let you. 

Toji palms your ass with a tenth of his strength. You yelp and jump into his arms. He takes advantage of the momentum and lifts you high on his waist. Temporarily forcing you to look down on him.

Glassy eyed. Kiss abused lips. Panting and heaving. Cupping his face like your hands were made to. 

And something tight clenches in Toji’s chest. It takes a moment for him to shake it off, but it existed.

He’ll revisit that later.

“You look good up there, babydoll.” He pants, before setting you down on the sink ledge. He catches your chin in his hand before you turn away. Rooting you in place. 

“I…Toji.” 

Moaning his name like you’re begging for him to start and stop all at once. 

Your eyes descend to his lips. Watching the smirk blossoming across his face. Distracted enough not to notice his free hand shove up your dress in one swift motion. 

Your thighs recognize his authority and melt wide open for him. He kisses your tiny whimpers while nestling between them. 

“Mmmgh g-god please.” 

“This why you were so bratty this mornin baby?” 

Toji’s index and long fingers stroke your soaked, clothed core. Thin lace panties plastered to your warm sex. You wind your hips into his fingers. Batting your eyelashes up at him as if he’s going to give you what you want so easily.

He hovers his lips over yours. Pulling away each time you lunge forward for a kiss. Pouty and frustrated, you dig your nails into his neck and grind along his stationary fingers. 

“T-Toji, please…I’m so..ahh.”

“Needy cunt just wanted some attention, mm?” 

His fingers slip past your opening, and you offer up a soprano moan that shatters to stardust. 

Hedonistic noises fill the spaces between both of your punched out gasps. You’re fucking tight. Gummy, slick walls clamp down around his knuckles when he curves up to pet your pleasure spot. 

The steel pipe between his legs throbs against his thigh. Demanding friction. But one hand is cupping your chin and the other is so pussy drunk an army couldn’t pry his fingers away. 

“T..I—I’m oh fuck I—“

Toji bites down on your bottom lip. And you clench around him. Gushing more of your sweet arousal into his palm. And he damn near laps it up with his greedy tongue. 

“Shhh baby,” he coos against your jaw. 

“Can’t have everyone hearing the Executive getting fucked open by some mechanic’s hands can you?” 

There is a delicious irony in you treating him like a punching bag no more than an hour ago and now bucking your hips on his fingers, chasing an ever elusive high.

Sandpaper lines Toji’s throat. 

He wants nothing more than to bounce you on his cock in this bathroom. Fill you up with his cum and send you to your meetings full of him. 

But you haven’t learned your lesson yet.

“What did I promise baby?” Toji strains in your ear. His hand migrates from your chin to your neck, while his fingers ‘pick up the pace a little.’

His pretty little powerhouse. 

You babble a chorus of nothing. Unable to breathe, unable to think. Only drip. And leak. And squelch around his digits. Toji tightens the grip around your pulse point. Lulling your mouth open.  

“Talk to me, princess. What did I promise you?” He probes again, stealing air from your lungs. 

Tha—y-you would…p—point A.” Barely audible syllables tumble out of you. Ascending in pitch. Your hips reflexively try to pull away from your threatened orgasm.

“Keep going, I’m listenin.” 

“Oh fuck T..Toji?! I-Im c-im gonna—”

“I know, baby.” He smears wet kisses along your jawline. “ I can hear how messy your precious little pussy is. But I didn’t give you permission to stop. Keep going.”

Your walls spasm at his command. Followed by an angelic pitiful little whine. You’re close. So close. 

“P-P-point A to—“

“Point B.” 

Toji finishes your sentence as you reach nirvana. Full body convulsions. He slots his arms around the small of your waist. And it fits like it was molded for him. Like you were sculpted for him.

And he, for you.

The mechanic burns his gaze into your skin. Riding each choppy wave of your ecstasy. Such tiny, sexy sounds. Staccato breaths fanning his lips, his chin, his neck when you try to hide from his scrutiny. 

You are a goddamn dream. 

And his future wife.

Toji guessed it when the macaroon balanced on your chin for a full 30 seconds before he swiped it away and you accused him of defamation of character. 

But now? 

Watching you saddle this stallion of an orgasm. Clawing at his back with all the desperation of a pretty little damsel in distress. 

Distress at just his fingers, alone. 

What intoxicating melody will he unlock when he laps up the honey straight from your core? How will you gasp and moan and squirm when he single-handedly re-shapes your cunt to accommodate his size? 

He has no clue. 

But Toji will spend forever figuring you out. And mastering you.

The back of your neck fits beautifully into his grasp as he coaxes you from hiding. Pupils blown out. Cheeks flushed and warm. Tendrils matted along your forehead. Before he can speak, you beat him to the punch.

Of course you do. 

“I’ve decided,” You pant. The baseline spice returning to your grin. 

“That you might just be obsessed with me, Toji.” 

Both of you share a hushed laugh. Exchanging cotton candy breaths. But then his lips accidentally brush yours and Toji can’t help but dive in for a kiss. Fucking the warm cavern of your mouth with his tongue. 

You pull away before he’s ready, with a look on your face that makes him feel like a God. 

“I might be.” Toji whispers, partially against his will. His lips find the corner of your mouth. Careful to avoid falling victim to your pout again.

“Let’s get you to the other point B, baby.” 

The car ride to your office could make anyone queasy. 

Constant banter back and forth. Full bodied laughs. You mindlessly stroking his forearm with those angelic fingers riling his cock up as if it just now discovered women. 

You let out a small sigh, with slightly dropped shoulders when your office building comes into view. Toji doesn’t know how to interpret it. But for him? Reality is coming too quickly.

“So,” You start once the both of you are out of the car. Pretty face tilting up and Toji’s dick strains against its confines.

“What do I owe you, Mr. Fushiguro?” 

The way you say his name.

It takes the will of God for Toji to bite back his original response.

“Nothin, doll.” He’s wearing the same, dumb, love-struck face Choso wears on a daily basis. Shockingly, Toji couldn’t care less. 

“The tires just needed air. Choso will drop it off in an hour.” 

He would do it himself. But the urge to park in an empty lot and abuse the fuck out of his cock until a shred of clarity re-settles in his mind is a tad bit overwhelming, sweetheart.

Then your mouth drops in an incredulous ‘Oh’ and all Toji can picture is ruining the back of your throat. How pretty you are going to be wretching around his girth. Gasping for air. Choking on his cum. 

“Toji. Fushiguro.” You like using his name, don’t you?

“You held me hostage for a whole morning for some air—“

Toji kisses the rest of your complaints off your tongue. And you whine. Slot open for him with no resistance. Because under all that irritation and sarcasm, buried within the Trojan Horse, lays your supple, delectable submission. 

And he will take every opportunity to taste it. 

“I had a great time on our first date, babydoll.” Toji rasps against your swollen lips. 

The raging erection is threatening to embarrass him. There’s not enough restraint in the world to be around you any longer. Toji nestles your voice in his back pocket. The two of you watch each other with wordless, taken aback smiles as he takes slow steps toward his sports car.

Before the mechanic sinks into the driver’s seat, he makes a promise.

“Can’t wait for our second date, Mrs. Fushiguro!”

[herdarkestnightelegance]

Nocturnal eyes

Pairing: Astarion/ g/n Tav

Tags: vulnerable Astarion, angst, friendship, a bit of fluff

Length: 2.4k words

Summary: Astarion notices something is off with his eyes …

A/N: @nyx-knox out here once again, being the ✨best✨ beta-reader I could hope for!

Also: ARE Y'ALL FOR REAL?! Over 750 reactions on my Bedhead fic?? Thank you so much 🥹!!!

Taglist: @wilteddreamsofbaldursgate , @littlelovelore, @onlyancunin @chaoticbardlady99

::::::::::::::::::

Astarion sits in the soft green grass, enjoying the warmth of the setting sun.

Today had been exhausting. The party had finally left the wilderness behind and set up camp on the Mountain Pass. Tomorrow they will head to the Githyanki Crèche, but for now … he’s just relaxing, listening to the soft rustle of the trees above him with his eyes closed.

Because they are hurting again - his damned eyes - causing his head to ache in that awful stinging way. This has been happening semi-regularly since they crashed on that beach. By the end of every day, his eyes feel exhausted. Sometimes he even welcomed the night, the dark bringing relief to his vision, much as he hated to admit that he found any solace in the darkness after having been trapped in it for so long.

It’s not that he wants to be in the dark again - on the contrary! Oh, words could never express how much he enjoys the feeling of the warmth on his skin, the smell of sun-baked earth beneath him, filling him with life, making his undead heart swell with secret joy. It’s just …

“Truly, a sight to behold,” Gale had said, when they first stepped through the gate onto the Pass and were greeted by a magnificent view of the surrounding valley … Or at least Astarion assumed that’s what it was.

Because he can’t tell. Not really. In fact, all he sees are blurry, rugged shapes and a haze of earthy colors far off in the distance.

When Astarion had first opened his eyes after the crash, all he could do was gasp audibly. The sun seared his eyes, the light brighter than anything he had seen in centuries. Immediately, he had shielded his face from the merciless rays, curled into a ball, panic taking over. “No!” he yelped. It’s daytime! I can’t be out! Oh Gods, do I smell smoke? Am I burning up?? Am I disintegrating???

But a few heartbeats passed and to his surprise - and great relief - it was not a burning pain he started to feel. Rather, it was a sensation he thought he had forgotten but that he immediately recalled, having felt it lifetimes ago: The warmth of the midday sun.

Cautiously, he had uncoiled himself and tried opening his eyes again. Gods! It hurts. Of course, Vampire eyes are sensitive to the light, in order to see better at night. An essential trait for nocturnal creatures, predators, such as himself. His eyes hadn’t had to process so much brightness in … forever. So, being blasted with daylight for the first time in roughly 200 years - it hurt like all Hells! 

It took a few moments, but eventually Astarion managed to pry open his crimson eyes. And he began to see. To look. And he saw colors he hadn’t seen in too long. He saw the bright blue sky, the deep purples of the Nautiloid shipwreck, the turquoise water covered with the most beautiful shimmering reflections. Everything was bright. Everything was so vibrant! Everything was so … full of life. He looked up, squinting at the trees and their slightly blurred leaves. Those luscious, green leaves. Gods … I had forgotten how beautiful that particular color is … 

But there had been no time for him to enjoy all those new sights for long. He heard them before he saw them. The others. Friends? Enemies? He couldn’t tell. They were just indiscernible shapes in the distance - but as soon as he had lured one of them close enough to put a knife to their throat, he was back in survival mode, forgetting about the colors he had just reveled in.

That’s what he knew how to do, after all. Hitting his close target. And really, that’s all he should care about, that’s really all he actually needs to see. He’s a master at close-up melee combat, a rogue who sneaks up to his victims, dangerous with his blade. He’s skilled at picking locks and picking pockets. And he’s an amazing lover, always able to read every detail of his victims' expressions to make sure he hits that target just as well. All he needs to see clearly is what���s right in front of him, isn’t it?

But if he was being really honest … it’s not like his usual tricks have actually worked out for him so far, now have they? His first melee attack had earned him a headbutt to the face. He had woken his first victim while sneaking up on them. And he felt his nice little seduction plan for Tav slowly and steadily backfiring on him - but that was a problem for another time. So why not top it all off with embarrassingly inadequate vampiric eyesight to really emphasize it all, he figured?

Astarion opens his eyes again and looks at the hazy, blurred valley below, the wind tousling his white locks, and he scoffs. Ironic, isn’t it? Here he is, finally free from his captor. But of course, even out in the open, he’s not able to look beyond the confines of his own metaphorical cell. As if his eyes are still keeping him prisoner.

A sound behind him snaps him out of his thoughts. Again, he hears them before he sees them coming. Only this time he knows it is a friend. “Astarion?” Tav, he thinks with a knowing smile. He knows their voice anywhere.

“Yes, Darling?” he asks as their leader emerges from the shade of the trees.

Astarion grew to enjoy Tav‘s company quite a bit, if he was being honest. Not only during their passionate encounters, but also just sitting with them, talking about their journey, about the others in their party, sometimes even about his past, which he never thought possible when he had been pressing his knife to their throat just a short time ago.

“Enjoying the view?” they ask as they sit down next to him in the soft grass.

“Oh of course,” Astarion answers as he leans back onto his elbows.

“Especially the Crèche,” Tav continues, pointing into the valley, making casual conversation.

“Why, I agree. Who would have thought the Gith were such marvelous architects,” the pale Elf replies without missing a beat. 

It’s now that Tav turns to look at him. “... Except the Crèche is in the opposite direction?” they say cautiously. 

Shit. Astarion tenses.

He hates this. They know. Immediately he is prepared to snap, to throw a sarcastic comment back at them, telling them to mind their own damn business. Feeling exposed, he keeps his gaze fixed forward, part of him expecting to see mockery, or malice even, should he meet Tav’s eyes. But when he eventually looks up … all he sees is a knowing smile. Their face is so very clear next to him, and so is the genuine fondness that greets him in their expression. The same fondness he is secretly happy to see on Tav’s face every time they look at him.

Astarion takes a deep breath. He doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want his walls to go up. Not for Tav. He resists it, that stupid defensive mechanism and to his surprise, he actually relaxes a bit. “You noticed,” he says quietly.

Tav nods. “On our first day, actually.” His eyebrows go up in surprise. 

“Did you now?” the vampire asks.

“We climbed that platform next to the crash site, remember? You were first up. And you said there’s nothing to see.” Their tone is neither condescending nor reproachful. “But there was... A lot, actually. You know, like, the village? Or the goblin camp. Or, well, this mountain pass. So yeah, I noticed.”

Astarion scoffs. They were right, of course. And back then, he didn’t even realize there was something wrong with his vision. He had still been so overwhelmed with all the light and color, all this blue and green…

For a moment, both sit in silence before Astarion speaks up. “It’s all rather blurry, you know?” he finally admits aloud. “I never noticed it back in Baldur’s Gate.”

Tav listens and nods. “I thought vampirism cures all mortal ailments, even eye problems.”

“Well, maybe there are exceptions? Or maybe I’m just a sorry excuse for a vampire spawn. Honestly, I don’t know. It’s not like any vampire is able to look at vast illuminated landscapes during the day to notice if something is off.” he says in a slightly frustrated, even embarrassed tone, gesturing towards the sunset.

“Your eyes have been adjusted to the night for 200 years. So … maybe they just need a bit to adjust to the daylight now? Give it some time.” The optimism and sweetness in Tav’s voice makes the corner of Astarion’s mouth twitch up into a half-smile.

“Wouldn’t that be something,” he says. Maybe they are right. Maybe. 

This is when Tav clears their throat. “But uhm, until then …” Astarion’s pointy ears twitch slightly as he hears Tav rummaging in their pocket. When they procure something wrapped in a folded leather cloth, he sits up.

“What’s this?” he asked, and they hand him the flat parcel. Curiously, Astarion opens the wrapping. 

In his hand lies the most hideous pair of mismatched spectacles he has ever seen. 

Before he can say anything, Tav begins to talk. “I came across this half broken pair of looking glasses while looting some time ago, and I thought, well, while there is no way we would ever find the perfect pair, we might just try making a custom one, right? I mean, it’s obvious you’re straining your eyes. You might not say anything to us about it, and you don’t have to, but I can tell that you often have a headache by the end of the day, and I, well, wanted to help.” Astarion still says nothing, inspecting the wonky looking thing in his hands.

Quickly, Tav continues, compelled to explain. “But you have no idea how hard it is to find undamaged spectacles! I mean, it makes sense, right? Who would leave their eyes behind? So anyway, I started collecting all the glasses I could find, hoping for an intact pair, but well … eventually I ended up with … this.”

The pair of spectacles in Astarion’s hand was clearly made of two halves from different glasses, held together in the middle by a thin leather cord, wrapped around it several times and in several other places. “Both glasses seemed to be made for looking at things further away. Of course, I can’t say for certain. They are not for me, I mean, if anything, I should be looking into finding a pair for me, so I can finally read that book Gale won’t shut up about. But … anyway, I thought maybe they might be of use to you.”

It’s not often that Astarion is stunned into silence. Tav did this? For him? It takes him a moment to process this … act of kindness. But when he does, he leans over to Tav, turning their face to him with a finger beneath their chin, and softly kisses them. “They … are hideous, my dear,” he says against their lips, with a chuckle and a genuine, soft smile on his face.

“Yeah, I know,” Tav agrees, kissing him back, mirroring his smile, before pulling away. “Well go on then, put them on.”

And he does. Astarion puts on the mismatched, wonky pair of improvised spectacles, the right temple barely fitting over his ear.

“Well?”, Tav asks hopefully.

With the awkward thing perched in his elegant face, the vampire looks down into the valley and takes in an almost inaudible breath. It’s … much better than he could have hoped for. Yes, it’s far from perfect. The glasses are sitting on his aquiline nose lopsided and the left glass is not even close to what he probably needs, yet he feels that nagging strain on his eyes eases immediately.

But that’s not what stuns the pale Elf.

Just as the sun begins to disappear behind the mountains, casting long shadows and a warm orange glow on everything around them, Astarion sees. And all of it this time! For the first time in 200 years, he sees the crisp outline of the setting sun. He sees the mountain tops and ridges. He sees the glowing clouds. By the Gods…

“Astarion?” Tav asks timidly, but he does not react. They sit with him in silence then, watching him watch the sunset in wonder, those red ruby eyes they love so much squinting intently, unmoving, until the glowing disk disappears behind the horizon and the sky slowly begins to turn a lovely shade of purple.

It takes a moment for Astarion to stir again. Carefully, he takes the spectacles off his face as if it’s the most precious thing he has ever owned, before looking at Tav. A lot of things are going through his head at that moment, and - much to his ever-growing confusion - through his undead heart as well. This is not a thing you just do for a travel-companion. Why are you so nice to me? I do not deserve your kindness. “Thank you.”, he eventually settles on, and he knows to Tav those simple words convey everything. 

Tav smiles. “Don’t mention it,” obviously delighted their little gift has been accepted. Why in the hells his favorite travel companion, no, his lover, went out of their way to help him like this, he couldn’t even begin to comprehend. Sure, they agreed to help him kill Cazador, but this is not the same! This is special. This is … caring. It is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for him. And he is truly, deeply grateful.

This gift would do wonders for his vision, at least until his nocturnal eyes fully embrace looking into the far distance during the day. He knows he will look so foolish with this contraption on his nose and he would probably have to kill Gale should the wizard ever see him with them on, but somehow he didn’t mind wearing these, looking silly, unsightly even, in front of Tav. They wouldn’t judge him, they wouldn’t laugh at him. Because he feels that they care.

After a moment, Astarion puts the spectacles back on, turning his head up to the tree branches above them, that stunning green of the individual, defined leaves still visible in the dim dusk light.

“You know, Darling …”, he says, “I really do love that color.”

[bigassmoonchild]

Happy

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: Simon finally comes home, and he meets his two little angels. You’re finally happy, and things seem perfect. A little too perfect.

Content Tags: Comfort, Twins (name reveal), Death, Canonical death, SPOILERS FOR MW3, Family Moments, Good Father Simon, Simon Finally Realizes How to Deal With His Emotions, Mentions of Pumping, More Original Characters (no name mentioned), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha! Ghost, Omega! Reader, No Use of Y/N

A/N: This is the end. Maple Syrup is done, it has been finished. Feel free to keep sending asks about Doc and Simon! I am more than happy to keep answering prompts about their life together and their family <3. It is insane. I am so proud of how far this has come, and I am so happy that you all have enjoyed it. Don’t worry, I have another fic lined up!!

Part 1 | Previous | Headcannons, Masterlist

Price isn’t entirely sure the last time he could smell something like this on Simon. He isn’t entirely sure if he’s ever smelled him like this. Not in the however long he’s known the Lieutenant. There’s words that he should find, something to get his other alpha, his Lieutenant, to feel better, yet there’s nothing. No matter how much he wants to say something, the words are lost to Price.

He knows the feeling coursing through Simon. Price himself missed his middle pups birth, and yet this all feels different.t He isn’t even sure there are words to convey what he wants to say, if he could just transmit the feeling he needs to he would. But he can’t do that, that just isn’t a thing that’s possible. Maybe in the far, far future but right now? All he needs to find are the words to help make his other Alpha hurt just a little less.

The tangy scent that fills the air of the heli almost burns his nose. It’s not something he’s ever smelled before, not on Simon. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley didn’t smell hurt, or sad. Hell, he never even really smelled anguished even when he probably should have. Price knows the pup- the pups- are here, and he knows Simon should be feeling a sense of joy. Excitement, even. But there’s nothing. No joy, no happiness, just fear and a tang of pain.

While Price knows the feeling- he missed his own middle pups birth- he can’t find the words to express to Simon that it’ll all turn out okay. That everything will be figured out, that you won’t just abandon him. Simon isn’t a bad Alpha, he might be rough around the edges but he truly does mean well. Maybe his words were a little harsh, maybe his tone wasn’t always what he wanted to convey, but Simon never meant real harm to those on his side.

The sounds of shrieking, wails and snarls coming from the other end of the phone almost haunted Price. He’d never heard his own Omega, the perfect parent to their pups, scream in such a way. Maybe it was just because it hurt, maybe because you had to push two pups out of you, but maybe it was because it was so unexpected. His omega had gone to a few classes to prepare for it all.

Christ. You’d had two pups, and Simon wasn’t there to help at all. Your own pack, the one you were born in, wasn’t even there to help you with this moment. Price knew that there was very little anyone could do to fix this, but by all the gods who knew of the green Earth he wanted to find a way.

While your relationship with Simon had definitely been through worse, he knew that it was torment. Price had been given the opportunity to slowly court his own omega, make them fall in love with him each time that they were together. He knew what it took to get an omega, at least his own, to fall in love. But neither of you were given that chance. You were just some Doctor that had been assigned to their base, just a Doctor who was sent out by your own leaders and Captains to figure out what was happening.

You were just a Doctor, tossed into a world of hurt all because of Simon. And Simon wasn’t sure if he could forgive himself for any of it. You were alone, to care for two newly born pups, all alone to give birth to them. He’d heard you snarl at one of the doctors who had come in. Just Price’s Omega was allowed in, they were the only person who was allowed near you.

Simon shouldn’t have just ran off to the mission without at least having gone and seen you first. Maybe then, just maybe, he would have had the balls to stay behind and try and fix his mistakes. Maybe then, you wouldn’t have been left alone to birth your children. God, he felt so fucking stupid. He’d missed the birth of his pups.

Maybe, hopefully, you’d forgive him. You had before, so hopefully this wouldn’t be that much different. He had to stop doing this, stop making these situations occur where he hurt you so much and had to hope to whatever god would listen that you would accept him back into your arms. He could see Price, Gaz and Soap glancing at him every now and again. Soaps nose was scrunched up, his eyes slightly narrowed while looking at him.

“You alright, L.T.?” Soap asked in the silent helo. The tension was so strong Simon thought he could cut it in half. His eyes slowly moved from staring out of the window to looking right at him. Soaps eyes didn’t move, matching his stare.

Swallowing thickly, Simon broke eye contact. “Worried, s’all,” he responded, voice slightly hoarse. A hum came from Soap, and he watched him turn to look back away where he’d been prior to it. No one else spoke for the remainder of the flight back, and Simon found himself glancing back out the window he was near and watching the ground pass by quickly.

Sometimes he wondered what other people were up to, how simple their lives might be. How they might be having a nice dinner with their pack, watching as their pups grow up with ease. He felt a pang deep in his chest, and he almost felt his eyes burn for a moment. He craved such normalcy. He wanted to curl up in your nest next to you, hold you close as you slept against him.

Take care of his pups and help you out after the birth. He barely noticed the helo land and was half conscious as he walked into the compound. People were glancing at him, their eyes following him as he walked. Simon barely noticed, though, and he felt as though he had tunnel vision on his walk to your shared room.

From a few halls down, he could smell something. It was sweet, mixed in with your own scent. Milky, almost, and slightly powdery. He swallowed thickly, as just another hall down he could hear shuffling coming from your shared room. Christ, when had his hearing become so sensitive? He heard you humming faintly, some cooing and whining from two other sources.

And he opened the door, sliding the key out of the lock as he walked in. Your eyes found him, widening just a little and the faintest scent of fear coursed through your scent. Two wails suddenly screeched through the room, your eyes darting back to the closet nest and you moved without hesitation. He heard little purrs and coos coming from you, the wails slowly dying down into soft whimpers.

His heart shatters into pieces. He feels a pain he hadn’t thought possible, the thoughts whirling through his head. His pups don’t know him, they hate him and he can’t be here. Simons muscles are tensed, ready to make a run for it. He can almost feel tears pooling in his eyes, his throat closing up as a small whine comes from deep within him.

There’s nothing he can do. Absolutely nothing. He wasn’t here when they came into this Earth, he wouldn’t be here when they left. And he hated himself so deeply. But the purrs that you gave, little coos bringing him from his thoughts. His head almost cleared, listening to you whisper soothing words to the little things. God, they’d be tiny. They had to only be a few days or weeks old at this point, but everything felt like it had ground to a halt when he’d heard you were in labor.

And he shouldn’t he absolutely should leave until he can talk to you alone but he can’t. He can’t run away again when things get difficult, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to leave you. He had to make things right, but he wasn’t sure how.

Simon didn’t feel like he could move. He slid his boots off, sliding them in their spot in the corner. He moved slowly, cautiously as he inched closer to the closet. He was barely peeking around the corner when you spun and growled at him. Growled. Deeply, from so far in your chest he hadn’t thought an Omega could make that noise.

Your eyes had shifted from being you, shifting into a deeper and more primal look. They softened, slowly, as your snarl faded carefully. You had remained crouched next to the two pups, your hands still gently laid on each of them.

When you growled, you could smell fear coming from Simon. You aren’t entirely sure if that’s what pulled you out of this weird and deeply defensive spot. The father of your pups, your Alpha was standing above you and looking down at you with wide eyes. You watched as he carefully slid the balaclava off, his eyes dropping down to take a look at your pups. You shifted a little, no longer crouching down in front of them.

His eyes became softer, his brows no longer furrowed so deep into his eyes that he almost looked awed. You knew they had his eyes, although a little lighter because of how young they were. They looked so similar, although your little Lily had more of your features than her fathers. Finley, on the other hand, had his stronger features but he had your hair. Maybe he had your nose, but you were partial to your pups.

You said nothing as you handed one of them to their father. Lily shifted, her nose scrunching up as she inhaled his scent up close but it slowly disappeared as she became comfortable. Her little hand grabbed at his shirt, and one of his hands moved to stroke against her hair. He held her closer to him, and you could see his nose twitch a little as he inhaled her scent.

“I want to retire,” he whispered, not looking away from the little pup in your arms. You could feel your heart stop, your eyes almost welling with tears as the realization slowly sunk in. Your pups would have their father, and you would have your alpha.

“Do you know their names?” You whispered softly, watching as he looked up at you. He shook his head and you gave him a weak smile. You still hurt, not just physically, but emotionally. He had abandoned you. And yet he was here now, holding Lily in his arm and his eyes felt so gentle while he looked at you. “You’re holding Lily,” and he nodded, his nose twitching a little bit. “Finley is down here,”

“How do you differentiate them?” You gave a little laugh, picking up Finley and letting Simon grab onto the two of them. Your big, scary looking alpha was standing there with his head ducked down looking at his pups. He seemed so gentle, his jaw was relaxed and his brows weren’t furrowed. He seemed almost happy.

You glanced away from the three of them, swallowing thickly. “Lily’s scent is a little stronger, kind of like yours. Finley isn’t as shifty and he’s a little quieter. Mostly it’s just their scent, though, but also. Other things,” you glanced away and heard Simon laugh from deep in his chest. His eyes were scrunched up, and his head was tossed back.

Genuinely, you don’t remember if you’d ever seen him laugh as hard as that. You’re not sure that you have, and it made you feel warm. Your chest hurt, but in a good way this time. You could feel your cheeks aching from the smile you had on your face, watching your little pack enjoy themselves.

For some time, the two of your stood there basking in the little family you had. Simon finally sat himself in your nest, and you showed him how to change their diapers. The two of you sat there for what felt like minutes, but had to be hours. He helped you to the toilet when the pain relievers finally stopped working as well, helping to prepare your new pad and helping you get back up.

The first night you were able to spend with him, you hadn’t woken up once. You’d stashed away some pumped milk in a little mini fridge they’d let you keep in the room just for this, and when you woke up and added some more that you’d packaged you noticed a few missing. You smiled a little, glancing at him snoring away in the bed you shared.

It didn’t take long for his retirement to become official. The two of you found a little place not too far from the compound, and he’d gotten a new job. It was pretty decent, but he also received an alright amount of money from the government for his service. You were still working in the medical field, but you found yourself leaning more towards finding an office job, one where you could actually have decent hours to be able to help care for the pups.

Raising two pups at once was difficult. Sure, Simon helped when and where he could, but it was just difficult in general. When one pup wasn’t crying, it was the other. When one needed a diaper change, the other suddenly needed one as well. You were just happy to have your mate and your pups healthy, happy and not at risk to die.

Until Simon got a phone call.

“They think Makarov survived,” he whispered to you in bed after you came back from finishing your pumping. You could feel your blood run cold, and you turned over to look at him.

“What?”

He sighed deeply, shifting his head to look at you. “They have some,” he paused and swallowed. “Evidence. They think he’s still alive, and we need to find him. Kill him,” and your heart was suddenly pounding.

“We?”

You watched as his eyes closed, his scent changing to one that confused you. “They need me to help them,” he whispered, his hand finding yours carefully. He squeezed it, and you squeezed back. You sighed deeply, closing your eyes and feeling your heart begin to slow down.

Opening your eyes, you looked carefully at Simon. Even in the dark, you could see his brow furrowed. “I’m coming with,” you whispered. He sat up straight, elbow locked as he held himself up.

“Absolutely not,” his voice was stern, almost a growl. “You will not be going anywhere near this mission,”

You scoffed, rolling back over onto your back. Your eyes gazed across the dark ceiling. “I’m coming with you,” you whispered once more. Simon shook his head, his free hand sliding across his face.

It was a week long argument. Tempers were short, and things weren’t very happy within the house. The two of you still worked together with the pups, but it was silent. He still took care of the pups at night, even though he was sleeping in your guest bedroom. You stayed quiet, listening faintly in on his phone calls. He was trying to stay quiet, you could tell.

It was mostly arguing, at least from his end. Anger about not wanting you to go with, and whoever he was talking with appeared to be arguing for your help. He was always a little angrier after finishing the call, but he stowed away with the pups while they took their naps and seemed to just stew with the thoughts for a while.

After a week, probably just a little longer, he finally came up to you with his head down. He wasn’t making eye contact, but his brows were still furrowed. “I’m sorry,” he whispered after a moment. You nodded, continuing to package the breastmilk you’d just finished pumping. “Price wants you to join, he’s worried there might be issues with medical care while we’re on the mission,” you nodded again but paused after finally registering what he was saying.

“Price said what?”

And the mission was horrible. Absolutely horrible.

The only part you truly remember about it was watching as Soap took a gunshot to the head. You watched the blood pour out of him, heard the shouts and ensuing chaos.

Makarov got away. You did what you could, but at the end of the day you had no way of saving Soap. Simon had grown silent, and the return to the compound was horrible. Price’s omega was taking care of the pups, as their own were almost finished with their last years of school. And you left the 141 alone as they spread his ashes, holding Simon close as he sobbed into your body.

His grip on you those next few weeks were incredibly strong, his arms not letting you out of bed when you needed to use the bathroom, and he was just a little withdrawn for some time.

You named your next pup after Soap. And Simon slowly grew better about the passing, the 141 was often around to see their pack-pups. Everything felt wrong without Johnny, though. No longer just Soap, it was Johnny. Even your youngest had become Johnny, and Simon was able to keep himself from being especially partial to the young one.

They grew up so fast, but it took so long. And maybe it should have felt good, but Christ were they some difficult pups at times. Lily had her first rut, as did Finley. Johnny hadn’t yet presented, so you were just assuming he was a Beta until he would present. Maybe he wouldn’t, but you loved your little pups more than you had ever thought possible.

It wasn’t all too bad. The 141 stuck around, and you found yourselves living in the same neighborhood as the other two. Gaz had found himself a mate, and they had a few pups of their own. You helped with the birth of the first, just as Price’s Omega had done for you. They were there as well, and Simon was holding Gaz back even with the shrieks.

Gaz had tried throwing the two of you out of the room, as his omega had ended up in a similar situation to you. In the middle of birth suddenly, and unable to make it to a hospital in time. Lucky bastard, the birth took twenty minutes.

But you were happy. And that’s all that mattered.

TAGLIST (finished for Maple Syrup, please let me know if you’d eventually like to be added to a general Ghost x Reader taglist, or just no longer be tagged 🫶)

Some tags are not accepted, as it won’t show your blogs when i’m tagging. i’m so sorry!!

@sae1kie @shinebright2000 @zechie-spams @itsmadamehydra @smiley-roos @enrapturedbythemoon @stargatenovus @cowboydisaster @josieguts @the-queen-of-england183 @littlelovebug98 @cringeycookies @averytiredfanfictionwriter @kariiiel @http-paprika @snorklingfae @lukneetoonz @wise-owl @waves-against-a-cliff @megkviss @ducks118 @404lunar @zoom-zoom77 @hollowmasque @bootabo2000 @ducks118 @bunnyvs @perfectus-in-morte @itsmytimetoodream @the-occasional-artist1125 @lunamoonbby @ghostslittlegf @teddywebby @astro-ghoul99 @vicky-09 @batmanunicorns523 @xuanzhe @tsugikatsuhowl

[blissfulip]

—Legion

On AO3

Priest!Viktor x F!demon!reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Priest Kink, Blasphemy, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Flagellation, Demon Sex, Demon Summoning, Demon/Human Relationships, demon reader, AU - Canon Divergence, Post medieval era, Dubious Science, Church Sex, Roman Catholicism, Catholic Guilt, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, Shameless Smut, Masturbation, No use of Y/N, third person.

Cw: Handjob

Words: 2k

[A/N: Happy Easter Sunday lmao, also whoever picks up all of the 'easter eggs' (get it wink wink) gets a kith and hug from me (let me know if you want to be tagged or removed in future fic updates!)]

Tags: @ihopeinevergetsoberr @chemical-killjoy @jinxed-jk @bobobomao @queen-of-elves @thedustybunny @syren201 @thayfass @thehistoriangirl @hypocritic-trash-baby @zaunitearchives

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III. 

Viktor stood frozen, the voice that whispered those words echoing against the walls of his head as he gazed upon the creature before him, a figure blindingly bright yet of simultaneously all-consuming darkness. The sight obscured his thoughts and left him adrift in a sea of terror. How could he have been so blind as to believe that he could command such power without consequence? Or rather, was it the naivete of believing nothing would come of it that turned against him? 

The very essence of his faith fractured—that earth-shattering feeling that had become all too common for him that day—threatened by this insidious presence. What had he unleashed upon the world? What horrors awaited him in the wake of his hubris? Viktor trembled, and his soul lay bare before the abyss, but something sinister took him out of this blossoming meltdown; she, the creature, looked familiar.

And achingly so, yet her form eluded him like a half-remembered dream. Faces swirled in the depths of his memory, merging and shifting like shadows cast by a flickering flame, but he was unable to put a finger on them.

"Do you not recognize me, Viktor?" Her voice cut through the air, eerily sweet.

Viktor recoiled in horror at the sound of his own name coming out of her mouth, the weight of her words crashing down upon him. 

“I manifest to you as a reflection of your own desires, an amalgamation of every soul you have ever yearned for, sweet human.” She hissed as she offered Viktor a hand to help him stand, her touch oddly warm as they both sat on the bed. “Do you not see it? That young woman from the bakery, or the one you always look at for a tad too long while you buy turnips? You don’t even like turnips,” she smiled slightly. “What about that woman who comes to confess every week? The one with the slightly hoarse voice that you love, even that tan young man with the green eyes,. Yes, yes, I know about him too; I am him too.”

“Who��what are you?” He asked amidst a short-lived surge of bravery.

“My name is Legion,” she said with an off-putting tone of irony, “for we are many... or however that verse goes. Mawkishly sentimental if you ask me.” She chuckled and seemed to deflate in disappointment at her attempt at humor not being acknowledged. She sighed in oddly human-like resignation, “I don’t have a name, Viktor, but I know yours , and you know what I am.”

"I seek nothing from the likes of you, Demon, you don’t know me." he declared, though doubt gnawed at him.

"You do, and it is the truth that I know you; your biggest fear is to remain ignorant and blind to the truths that lie beyond the veil of your mortal existence; I can feel it. " She whispered against his ear. 

"You are but a trick of the darkness; I will not succumb to your temptations."

"Oh, but Viktor, you already have ," she purred. "You summoned me here, drawn by your own curiosity. Your anger simmers beneath that stoic surface, against the silence of the heavens and the absence of answers to your prayers. But I answered, so why direct your anger at me ?"

“I have faith in Him; God will intercede in my favor.” He said, covering his face ith both hands, afraid his expression would betray something that confirmed her accusations.

“Yet you question his wisdom and his justice. You resent his silence, you doubt .”

“I love Him, and I will repent; I will.”

“Why? Faith without cynicism is a hollow shell. Will you let yourself be domesticated like a beast? A man of science like yourself?”

The spark of courage grew into embers inside Viktor’s chest at the mention of his work. Although he remained silent, not wanting to concede, she saw it in him, just like she experienced every emotion that grew within the transparent exterior that contained his soul.

“Embrace this fire, and you will obtain what you seek.” She said, gently laying a hand over Viktor’s. 

His shoulders slumped in resignation, but even as he acquiesced to her demands, a seed of guilt still remained. What would God think of him now for consorting with a creature of darkness? Would he be cast aside and condemned for eternity for his folly?

"What do you fear, judgement?” Viktor nodded.

“Your god is nothing but an egregore," she declared, her voice a whisper. "A figment of mortal imagination, born from the collective beliefs of humanity, he only has power over you if you allow it."

“God is my shepherd, He…” He started to recite, but his voice betrayed him.

“Yahweh, Tetragrammaton, Adonai, El, Elohim, Shaddai, Tzevaot… it does not matter who you so fervently pray to! Ancient egregores hold no power over the ancient gods.” She started saying in a firm tone, her volume high in affront. “And you, my sweet, are so unfortunately Christ hunted…a lot of work to be done.” She continued, her voice tuning back down to her previously silky tone.

Viktor's breath caught in his throat, but simultaneously, the weight of her words lifted a heavy chain that had previously hung around his neck. Although this—his God’s identity and how much power He held—seemed to be a point of contention between him and his conscience, every word she uttered seemed to confirm things he had been long thinking about. But the smell of culpability Viktor emanated was pungent, and what she saw in his heart was a whirlwind.

She was proud that he had let himself be guided by his urges, that he had, even if only for a small moment, felt true freedom in pleasure. She felt his fear when he remembered he would need to face father Isidore and then she felt his rage. He felt so strongly against him that for a second she imagined he would be nothing short of a monster, his robust yet sweet face was an interesting sight to find framed in Viktor’s memory. 

She felt sympathy and sadness and confusion, she felt worried for the young girl with the twin braids just like Viktor had, and felt intrigued as to how she had come in possession of her coin, but what mattered most to her in that moment was one problematic sensation; despondency. Viktor was close to giving up, he had nearly decided rage was useless and so was science.

“Let’s begin by working on the heavy guilt you carry.” She said, after a long silence. Viktor noticed an unsettling tenderness in her eyes when he, for the first time, looked directly into them. 

“I made a vow.” He answered, his voice breaking as it turned into a whisper.

"Do not let the chains of guilt bind you, Viktor," she murmured. "The church may preach of purity and righteousness, but it is built upon a foundation of hypocrisy, and you don’t need me to tell you as much.”

“I know of the behavior of some members of the clergy, but why should...”

“I don’t speak of individual transgressions; the church as an institution seeks to negate eroticism and sexuality, yet it embraces them in its most sacred rites.”

The deeply puzzled expression in Viktor’s face prompted her to elaborate.

“Think about the things you do during sacrament; think of the smell of incense, the touching of beads, the kissing of sacred objects, the rubbing of oils... Think about consuming the physical body of the idol you adore, and think about what it makes you feel—enlightenment, apotheosis. Remember the deep pleasure you extracted from the pain of self-penitence? It’s nearly devine, is it not? That necessity to envelop all senses?” 

Viktor nodded.

“And that feeling you get of being close to god in a way that nothing else will get you to—that sensation of being outside the perception of time and space—have you experienced it?”

“I have, in prayer.”

“Can I show you what true ecstasy feels like? One that starts and culminates in yourself without any divine intervention? 

And once again, Viktor simply nodded. The air crackled with a tension thick enough to suffocate him, his breath shallow and rapid. A rush of anticipation surged through him, mingling with a primal curiosity that threatened to consume him whole as she slithered behind him. The shift of weight on the mattress gave him a strange awareness of the materiality of what was taking place, and the hot breath on the left side of his neck caused the last string of sanity holding him together to loosen. 

For a second, he wondered if she was nothing but a very sly yet human woman that had somehow found a way into his room, but that idea was quickly quenched as both of her hands slowly glided along the sides of his still-clothed thighs, emanating that unnatural white glow that was clearly not of mortal nature. 

Her touch was delicate and warm, her nails slowly creeping up to the hem of his cassock as she pulled it up to reveal the trousers underneath. If Viktor had any idea of what she planned on doing, he would have been of more help, adjusting to make his clothing easier to remove, but unaware of what awaited him, he sat there immobile. 

After some mild struggle, she managed to get to the stubborn clasp, and the slight accidental touches ignited a fire within Viktor's veins, sending tendrils of heat coursing through his body. Soon enough, there was nothing in between them, and the cold air that came into contact with the streak of viscosity that had dampened his underpants sent goosebumps across his arms. 

She hadn’t even made her way to his cock yet, but with each gentle caress around his stomach and thighs, Viktor's senses were heightened to a fever pitch, his body aflame with a hunger that burned brighter than any candle. With the first feather touch along his shaft, he felt as if he were teetering on the edge of a precipice, poised on the brink of a pleasure so exquisite it bordered on agony. 

And then, with a slow and deliberate motion, her hand closed around him, sending shockwaves of ecstasy racing through every fiber of his being. A guttural moan escaped his lips as she began to move, her rhythm mechanic and intoxicating. With every teasing stroke, Viktor's breath hitched, his body responding eagerly to her touch. 

"Ah…God!" he gasped, his voice a hoarse whisper of longing. 

She froze on her tracks, drawing out a protesting whine from Viktor. “Do not call upon his name now; at this moment, you belong to me .” She spoke, her voice still sweet but laced with a tinge of resentment.

Viktor's mind swam in a haze, his thoughts fragmented and disjointed as he desperately nodded in agreement, before she resumed the pace of her moment. And then Viktor felt himself hurtling his head back onto her shoulder, his world reduced to nothing. She gently removed the sweat-drenched pieces of hair from his forehead and whispered words in a language he could not understand while her hand continued its path down to his neck and back. 

 For a second, he felt a reminder of the stinging pain on his shoulder blades, and then it faded. As he reached the climax of his arousal, he cried out desperate pleas, only this time to her and himself, finally surrendering to this intoxicating embrace. After letting him breathe for a while, she took one of his hands in hers and placed the copper coin on it. Viktor knew he was bound to her now.

And in that moment, there was no room for guilt or shame, only the unquenchable thirst for more.

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Thunder & Vibranium (MK & MCU X-over)

Summary: When Bucky walks through a portal thinking it was one of Stephen Strange's doing, he meets with the Thunder god, Raiden in the Outworld.

Warnings: none :)

WC: 820ish

A/N: i've been thinking about doing this crossover for a lONG time now. I couldn't figure out how to do it until a few days ago. I d hope this makes sense to y'all. lol. Also, idk who to tag??? So i'm just tagging bucky & marvel & MK forever tags.

Read on AO3!

--

Bucky Barnes had faced many enemies—soldiers, HYDRA agents, and even himself. But as he stood in the middle of an unfamiliar, storm-torn battlefield, it was clear he was far from home as he glanced around him, slain bodies of all types. Some creatures held numerous limbs, others had bled green, purple, or even blue..

The sky above rumbled, thick clouds swirling with electric energy. The last thing he remembered was a portal opening up during his mission, a golden rift tearing through the air, something he’d assumed Stephen Strange had opened up. Now, he was somewhere else—definitely not Earth as he knew it. His metal arm buzzed in the charged atmosphere as if it could sense something, someone, watching him.

“Where the hell am I?” Bucky muttered, scanning his surroundings trying to find a person or creature who he could speak with..

"Earthrealm," a voice echoed, deep and booming.

Bucky spun around, coming face to face with a man cloaked in blue and white robes, eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. Lightning flickered around him, the energy crackling along his fingers as if it obeyed his command.

Raiden.

“I’m guessing you’re the one responsible for dragging me here?” Bucky’s voice was sharp, his stance tense, ready for a fight. He had heard of gods in myths but had never expected to meet one—let alone someone who looked like he could turn him into a pile of dust with a flick of his wrist.

Where the hell was this place?

Raiden stepped forward. His face was calm, though his presence demanded respect. “You were brought here for a reason, James Buchanan Barnes. Earthrealm is under threat, and your skills are needed.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. He had been manipulated before, used as a weapon by forces much stronger than him. He wasn’t going to fall for it again. “Why should I care about this ‘Earthrealm’? I’m not one of your soldiers. And i refuse to be soemone else’s pet for pleasure.”

Raiden’s eyes flashed as a streak of lightning split the sky. “Because Earthrealm’s destruction would mean the end of all realms—including yours. There is no choice, Winter Soldier.”

Bucky clenched his jaw. His metal fist curled into a ball, but he knew better than to fight against something this powerful. "Alright, Thunder God," he growled. "What's the plan?"

--

They were at the heart of the chaos, Raiden and Bucky side by side. The ground shook as monstrous foes from Outworld charged at them—creatures with tusks, claws, and powers that rivalled any Bucky had faced before. The Winter Soldier fired off rounds from his rifle, precision perfect as always, while Raiden summoned lightning, striking enemies with the wrath of a storm.

As another wave of foes came crashing down on them, Bucky found himself thrown to the ground. His weapon skidded out of reach, and his mind flashed back to countless battles, each moment forcing him to fight for his life. He couldn’t understand what he was fighting. And he fought aliens from space, which was saying something.

But before his enemy could strike, Raiden appeared in a blur of blue, lightning fast. With a shout, the Thunder God unleashed a bolt of pure electricity, frying the attacker before turning to help Bucky to his feet.

“You fight well, James,” Raiden said, his tone as calm as ever despite the battlefield around them. “But in this realm, power must be balanced with wisdom.”

Bucky grunted, wiping blood from his lip. “Wisdom won’t do much if you're dead.”

Raiden’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “Perhaps. But I believe there’s more to you than just the soldier. Your past does not define you here.”

Bucky looked at him, surprised by the words. No one had ever spoken to him like that—as they saw beyond the Winter Soldier, beyond the killer.

The battle raged on, but Bucky felt something shift inside him. Raiden wasn’t just a god wielding lightning—he was someone who understood the weight of responsibility, of carrying the burdens of an entire realm on his shoulders. In a way, it reminded Bucky of his own journey, trying to break free from the chains of his past while fighting for a better future.

Together, they were an unstoppable force. Raiden's lightning complemented Bucky's ruthless efficiency, each move calculated and lethal. They tore through the enemies like a storm sweeping across the battlefield, unrelenting and unyielding.

As the dust settled and the last of the Outworld warriors fell, Bucky stood beside Raiden, breathing heavily but alive.

“So, what happens now?” Bucky asked, looking at the destruction around them. “We just keep fighting? Forever?”

Raiden turned to him, his glowing eyes softening. “There will always be battles to fight, James Barnes. But it is up to us to choose which ones are worth it.”

For the first time in a long time, Bucky felt like maybe he had found a cause worth fighting for.

[hellaverseconfessions1369420]

Long confession ahead, apologies in advance.

Look, I don't get heated about shipping. I like what I like, and I look at things I like. If I don't like whatever someone is posting, I'll filter the tags, and if they aren't using the tags appropriately, I will block them. It's fairly easy for me to avoid ships I personally dislike most of the time. I do all of the things I'm supposed to, and yet I'm still having this problem.

There is one singular ship on God's green earth that kills all of my enjoyment for both of the characters involved, and it is radioapple. I have never felt such strong emotions about any other ship before in any of the fandoms I'm part of. It's fucking everywhere. I genuinely cannot use this website if I want to see Lucifer or Alastor fanart/fanfic, and I'm not moving sites.

But God. I'm so fucking sick and tired of seeing "this post contains filtered content: #radioapple." When S1 first came out, I counted 37 blocked posts in a row on top of #Alastor on one given day. I had to scroll through 37 blocked fucking posts before I found ONE that wasn't about fucking radioapple. And that isn't counting all the OTHER Alastor ships, because of course that's all anyone gives a shit about anymore.

I'm on mobile, so I can't use browser extensions to make Tumblr's filtering system actually do what I want it to (delete every radioapple post, forever). I also don't feel like buying a laptop for fucking Tumblr. I've been getting back into HH after falling out of it for a while for related reasons, and I forgot how much angrier and more unhappy I am coming out of #Alastor or (to a lesser extent) #Lucifer than when I went in. Which is super awesome considering they're my two faves.

I wish I was kidding when I say I have actually cried real tears more than once over this. I'm aroace, and I thought maybe for once I'd get to feel at least a little bit included and represented in fandom as a whole. I thought having a canon aroace character would be that for me, at least one tag I could semi-comfortably browse and feel like I'm actually part of shit and not a spectator for once, but obviously not. I don't even get to look at fanart of a character I enjoy without being constantly reminded of how different and alone I am, even when that character is different in exactly the same way as me. Even characters like Alastor that are written to be like me aren't written for me. Because why would anyone create anything for someone like me to enjoy when they could instead jam a little more sex and romance in there?

I once scrolled through #Alastor blocking all the radioapple posters for so long that I reached the bottom of the page. Tumblr would not show me any more posts and I had to reload it. I blocked 209 different blogs, and it barely made a dent. 209. I can't curate my way out of this. I genuinely think I just don't get to like those characters anymore, and it fucking sucks. I want my deer man back.

TL;DR: I cannot enjoy these characters I deeply relate to with how prevalent and fucking inescapable this one ship is, and I'm not sure how to fix it. Frankly I'm not sure it's fixable, but I would love it if this wasn't something else I just don't get to have like everyone else. Someone tell me what to do about this. I want to have fun too.

I understand why you would think that. I’m probably aroaceflux and I can see some alastor in me (aroacewise, not serial killer wise) and why you wouldn’t want to see the ships you don’t like. Unfortunately that’s how many fandoms work, they’ll just keep shipping.

to be honest, I don’t know what to say, but thanks for the confession and I hope things get better for you

[thebibutterflyao3]

Someone talk me out of turning a 100% texting fic with multiple POVs into a longer, more developed fic. Why does this one live rent-free in my head? I don’t even know whose POV I would write it in! 🙄

For context:

Simps & Feral Squirrels

Jegulus/Wolfstar/Dorlene/Pandalily/Partyvan

Some of my favourite scenes:

Tigerlily: Alright. Clearly we need a refresher on group chat etiquette.

No spamming. (cc: @ jamie)

No simping/flirting/drooling. (cc: @ jamie)

No threats or violence. (cc: @R.A.B. & @Fuck Off)

No posting after 11pm or before 6am. (cc: @So Sirius and @ jamie)

Be kind or be quiet. (cc: @Fuck Off, @Mmm, @mARS(E) bar, @R.A.B.)

jamie: hey why am i tagged in so many of them? :/

R.A.B.: @ jamie You’re fucking annoying.

jamie: hey! #5

Bartemius: @ jamie That is his “nice.”

Fuck Off: I’ll be quiet. So fucking quiet.

Mmm: kys <affectionately>

mARS(E) bar: kys <I’ll fuck your mum>

——————————

Pete P.: I want Barty and Evan, and they both want me now. How do I make this work?

Mmm: Interesting. I would suggest an open conversation between the three of you. Communication is important.

Pete P.: What if I arranged a threesome and we fucked it out?

Mmm: Another viable option.

——————————

Tigerlily: Help me pick an outfit for today?

Mmm: Event?

Tigerlily: Hopefully running into a girl I met yesterday.

Mmm: In that case, your dark green sundress with sandals. No sweater over the top!

Tigerlily: Oh. That one is so low-cut though.

Mmm: Exactly. If she’s petite, her eye line will be right at your chest. That should answer your question.

Tigerlily: Fine, but I’m wearing the sweater. I’ll just unbutton her if I see it.

Tigerlily: *unbutton it if I see her

Tigerlily: Oh my god. That’s mortifying.

Mmm: Think you had it right the first time, Lils.

——————————

Fuck Off: @So Sirius You have five seconds…5…4…

So Sirius: shite

Mmm: Here lies the dismembered remains of Sirius ‘can’t keep a secret’ Black. He will be forever remembered as the fool who fucked around and found out.

mARS(E) bar: His lasting impressions on this earth were his great hair and the ability to confuse “straight” men. He is survived by a prat of a little brother, a golden retriever pansexual with adhd, Peter, and his murderous boyfriend who will spend all of eternity grinding his teeth in fury.

pan…dora: Amen. Why are we burying Sirius?

——————————

Mmm: What the fuck is going on? Who’s screaming?

pan…dora: Regulus

Mmm: It’s so loud!

pan…dora: He’s panicking.

mARS(E) bar: reg just ran past my window

mARS(E) bar: oh look there’s james too

mARS(E) bar: followed by siri

mARS(E) bar: and now remus

Tigerlily: Where’s the fire?

Mmm: On Regulus’s arse apparently.

——————————

R.A.B.: I’m never coming back to the dorm. I live here now.

pan…dora: Where’s here? Gryffindor?

R.A.B.: By extension, yes.

pan…dora: James’s room?

R.A.B.: Inside of James’s jumper. With him in it.

R.A.B.: That was a nightmare. I can’t do it, Pandora. I can’t go back.

pan…dora: We’ll sort something out, Reg.

R.A.B.: There’s nothing to sort out. He’s mine and I refuse to let him leave me.

Pete P.: That doesn’t sound healthy, mate.

R.A.B.: I don’t give a fuck. You can pry him out of my cold, dead hands.

[nadas-dirthalen]

Were those just theories in the Titan/ Lyrium War post?! I need to know all the things!!

Half theories! I've seen a few codices that I've been thinking on for a long time. So here's my reason behind why I used the tags I did on that post.

This is very, very long. But it's the best collection I can cobble together of all the reasons I think these things.

Beware: HORROR OF HORMAK story spoilers at the bottom of this post!

"Mythal and Elgar'nan are both cited as mining/carving slain titans for their lyrium."

In the light of the veilfire, the runes seem to shift, coiling and uncoiling like snakes. A thunderous voice shatters the stillness, shouting: "Hail Mythal, adjudicator and savior! She has struck down the pillars of the earth and rendered their demesne unto the People! Praise her name forever!" For a moment, the scent of blood fills the air, and there is a vivid image of green vines growing and enveloping a sphere of fire. The vision grows dark. An aeon seems to pass. Then the runes crackle, as if filled with an angry energy. A new vision appears: elves collapsing caverns, sealing the Deep Roads with stone and magic. Terror, heart-pounding, ice-cold, as the last of the spells is cast. A voice whispers: "What the Evanuris in their greed could unleash would end us all. Let this place be forgotten. Let no one wake its anger. The People must rise before their false gods destroy them all."

The Titans are referred to as "the pillars of the earth" often enough that it's made it onto the Dragon Age wiki. Mythal slew at least one Titan and then gave that Titan's demesme (lands or domain) to the People (the ancient elves). The ending text of this codex makes it sound like this was later something regretted, if not by Mythal, then by the other elves of the time.

You can also see PLENTY of Mythal statues in the Deep Roads, particularly during Trespasser — curiously, with wolves always guarding the doors.

Ghilan'nain's statues feature almost as prominently in these places.

The pages of this book—memory?—describe a monument made in a single afternoon by a thousand-thousand toiling servants swarming over a lump of fallen stone as large as a collapsed mountain. By the end of the day, the stern figure of Elgar'nan stares down into a valley, carved out from the foothills of the rock. The slaves have disappeared. Light radiates from the eidolon's narrowed eyes and its open, snarling mouth. "Hail Elgar'nan, first among the gods! Mark his victory eternal!"

I take this to mean Titans/lyrium because of how widespread it is that Elgar'nan threw the sun into the earth and then brought it back out. In ancient elvhen, the words for sun (elgara) and spirit (elgar) are almost the exact same. This could mean bringing spirits (or bringing spirits against their will) into the Earth (the Titans' domain).

"It is very possible the evanuris made their own bodies out of lyrium."

This one is more theorycrafting than anything, and I'll direct you to this video where a lot of things started clicking into place for me.

But I want to add this codex to the discussion as well.

Many of these pages are filled with sketches of elven statues matching the ones found in the area, along with notes and what look like attempts to practice Qunlat: Trying to remember that old bedtime song about Mythal. My mother sang it the night before the darkspawn came for my clan. It's the last time I ever heard her voice. Ir sa tel'nal, Mythal las ma theneras. Ir san'a emma. Him solas evanuris. Da'durgen'lin, Banal malas elgara. Bellanaris, bellanaris.

Now, for the purposes of this discussion, we're going to ignore the provided translation, because we know that translation is wrong in a few spots. From my best understanding, this is as close as I can translate it.

I am [one] [not/never] [nal], Mythal grants [you/me] dreams, I [am/was] [here] [within], [Becomes/Became] Solas evanuris. Little stone [boy], Nothing [given/granted] to [the sun], Forever, forever.

Everything [in brackets] is an educated guess, the best as I can make it.

If I've gotten the translation close to right, this describes Solas, a spirit that is called to take the shape of a "little stone boy," becoming one of the Evanuris at Mythal's behest.

"They made unliving champions with no need to breathe to fight on their behalf."

A codex entry!

The pages of this book—memory?—show a narrow plateau on top of a mountain, Two armored figures—one in gold, one in black—are fighting in the snow. Steel flickers so fast the air hums. Blood dots the ground. They do not stop for breath. The one in black makes no sound as a blade parts his throat. "Mythal, in her wisdom, interceded in an argument between Elgar'nan and Falon'Din. With clever words, she convinced them to settle their grievance through a battle of their champions. Elgar'nan and Falon'Din agreed, and set their champions against each other rather than declare war among the gods. May those knights long be remembered, and Mythal's wisdom be praised."

Worth noting, this codex is titled "Duel of a Hundred Years."

These things aren't human! They bleed, but don't breathe. They never stop fighting. This duel lasts 100 years.

"Ghilan'nain's lab is fueled by lyrium that causes those awful mutations."

I don't have screencaps to pull quotes from, but it's yellow-green lyrium at the center of the part of Ghilan'nain's lab in Horror of Hormak that monsters are coming out of, and this lyrium is what's exploded to destroy the lab and all its creatures.

Honorable Mentions:

• Andruil's entire story with her trips to the Void make me think of the abyss being the deep underground (and the endless sky very deep underground), and Mythal sapping Andruil's strength and storing her memories makes me think of lyrium.

• Solas talking about Falon'din in the Temple of Mythal makes me think that amassing more worshippers may well have meant creating them from Mythal's lyrium stores.

INQUISITOR: Do you know any legends? SOLAS: It is said Falon’Din’s appetite for adulation was so great, he began wars to amass more worshippers. The blood of those who wouldn’t bow low filled lakes as wide as oceans. Mythal rallied the gods, once the shadow of Falon’Din’s hunger stretched across her own people. It was almost too late. Falon’Din only surrendered when his brethren bloodied him in his own temple. INQUISITOR: Did ancient elves believe all their gods so terrifying? SOLAS: Yes. I believe they did.

SO YEAH!! Lyrium war! Lyrium war, I say!!! It's on my Veilguard bingo card for sure—either as an explanation of what came before, something that will begin in Veilguard, or both.

[justtwotired]

Whispers of the night - Lloyd Garmadon x F!reader

Previous - next

——————————

Tag list: @beachcombers-boyfriend @cipheress-to-k-pop @whore-of-many-hot-men @bodieohbo @anyth1ngfor0urmoony @luvizuku

——————————

Your POV:

I sat in the park with Lloyd and his friends, my back leaning against Kai’s as I scrolled on TikTok.

Kai was playing a game of cards with Zane while Jay and Cole where chasing each other around for god knows what, all I heard was something about Jay liking someone’s instagram with Cole’s account.

Lloyd was sat a few feet away from me while Nya painted his nails. We had all gotten our nails painted in our favourite colour by Nya, Lloyd was the very last one.

“Oh, would you look at this,” I grinned, catching the attention of Kai, Nya, Zane and Lloyd, not knowing if Cole and Jay had heard me as they had just landed in the grass about ten feet away, still arguing.

“A quiz made by a girl on tiktok,” I grinned. “Which Ninja is your soulmate?” I quoted and they all shared glances before laughing.

“A what now?” Cole and Jay both looked up from where they had been fighting.

“Shall I take the ultimate test?” I asked, clicking the link. It hadn’t take me long to realise that if Lloyd was the green ninja, that his friends where the other ninja and who would be who.

Kai turned around to look over my shoulder as I took the ultimate test.

“Oh, look at that, how classic, what is my favourite colour,” I chuckled at the question.

“That is such bullshit, the answers are only the colours of our gi,” Kai said from behind me.

“But what is your favourite colour?” Jay grinned and I shot a glance at Lloyd, who gave me a look.

“Gotta be green, right?” He asked and I pursed my lips.

“I have two favourite colours.” I said and chuckled. “One of them is in fact green…” I announced, making Lloyd grin. “The other is red, so which do I choose?” I asked.

“Red, obviously,” Kai already clicked before I even had the chance, making me laugh and Lloyd let out an offended noice.

“Which of these animals is your favourite,” I read the question. “An orca, a falcon, a snake, a horse, a tiger or a dog,” I read and frowned. “And who would be who?” I looked around the group.

“Zane is probably the falcoln,” Nya said. “and I am probably the orca, because water,” she reasoned. “But the others, no idea,”

I shrugged and just clicked f/a.

I answered a few more questions and then my results came in, making Kai burst out laughing.

“Who is it?” Jay asked excitedly, while Kai just kept laughing and an amused smile formed on my face.

“The Earth ninja is your soulmate,” I read aloud, making Nya and Jay also burst out laughing.

“I guess this is it Lloyd,” Cole grinned. “Seems like she’s leaving you for me,” he said and Lloyd gave him an unamused look.

“Sorry Lloyd, but it was Cole from the start,” I said dramatically. Cole winked at me and I blew him a kiss as reaction, making the others laugh even harder and even Lloyd chuckled a bit.

After that, we all went back to what we where doing, Cole joined Kai and Zane with their card game and Jay sat next to me to watch TikTok’s.

After a while, I got a call from an unknown number and frowned.

“Who’s that?” Jay asked and I shrugged.

“No idea,” I answered, making Jay grin brightly. “Pick up and put your phone on speaker, these calls are always interesting,” he said and I smiled and did as he asked.

“Hello? Who’s this?” I asked and my eyebrows raised when I heard the voice on the other side.

“Hey, N/n, it’s James,” he started off. “First off, I want to tell you that I love you so much and you are my best friend in the whole world,” he said and I could hear Luna in the background as she let out an offended noice.

“Yes,” I said sceptically. “And then?” I questioned and we all heard him awkwardly chuckle.

“Can I borrow 12.000 dollars?” He asked and my eyes widened in shock. “Please?” He quickly added.

“Twelve- what did you do? Why do you need it?” I asked, all eyes where now on me as everyone was interestedly what the hell was happening.

“No improtant, just first tell me yes or no,” he pleaded. “We’ll pay you back,” he said and I huffed.

“You better pay me back if I’m spending that much money on you- what do you need it for?” I asked and there was a pause on the other side.

“An escape room?” He said hesitantly and I heard Luna laugh in the background.

“What kind of escape room costs 12.000 dollars?” I asked and it was silent on the other side again.

“Jail,” he then said and I opened my mouth to say something and then closed it again, not knowing what to say for a moment.

“JAMES CHAPMAN WHAT DID YOU DO?” I yelled out and he nervously chuckled.

It was Luna’s idea,” he started.

“Was not!” She yelled at him from the background.

“Please, N/n, we’ll tell you later- but you’re like- the only person with this kind of money that we know, and we can’t bail ourselves out, so we called you,” he said and I groaned.

“What do you mean ‘the only one’ the twins are richer then I am if you include their money,” I said and he nervously chuckled again.

“About that,” he said and I groaned.

“Please don’t tell me they’re also there,” I said and I heard him swallow on the other side.

“What? No, of course not,” he said and was silent for a moment. “Yeah, okay, they are also here.”

“Which prison are you, I’ll come get you,” I said and I stood up.

“Oh, don’t worry, we’re not in prison, just a holding cell, but they already gave us a bail price, so…” he spoke and I was silent for a few seconds.

“James,” I started. “How long have you been there?” I asked and I heard him silently conversing with the others before speaking again.

“Yeah… like one day, maybe one and a half, but we just came back from the judge and we need 12.000 in total to be bailed out,” he said and I let out a sigh.

“Alright, I’ll be there in an hour or less,” I said before hanging up.

“Can someone maybe bring me to the local police station?” I asked and I looked around the group who stared at me owlishly.

“Lloyd, what did you get yourself into?” Kai said before standing up. “Come on, trouble, I’ll take you to the police station to bail your friends out of jail,” he said.

With a sigh I followed after him, both getting into his car.

It took a while for me to be able to get the money, I did have to borrow some from my dad, who just decided not to even start asking questions.

Then it took about an hour at the police station, as they weren’t sure if they’d let me bail out all for of them, especially because I was only eighteen.

“Where did you even get all of this money?” The woman at the front desk asked. “You seem rather young,”

“The last time I checked that wouldn’t be any of your concern,” I told her. “I am just here to get my friends out for- whatever they even did,” I said and she gave me a look before typing away on her computer.

Finally, I managed to get them all out and stood outside, giving them all unamused glares as they did the walk off shame, being brought out by two officers.

“Hey, N/n,” James tried to say with a bright smile on his face. I scoffed and turned around, followed by Kai. The four exchanged glances before quickly following.

“You four have 5 minutes to explain to me what you did and I am giving you guys one day to pay me back,” I said sternly when we sat in the car.

Lloyd POV:

It was almost ten when Kai came walking into the monastery with an exhausted look on his face. Me and the others were seated in the couch, watching a movie.

“Lloyd,” he started and I looked over at him. “You’ve got one rich girlfriend with a bunch of idiotic friends,” he said and let out a heavy sigh.

“I am going to bed, I am so lost and confused, that girl is going to be our downfall, Jesus fuckign Christ,” he went grumbling down the hallway as we all laughed at him.

The next day, it was the third of December, and I had in fact, remembered the song that Y/n and her friends had made us listen to.

So, now I was making my way over to her house to personally hand her one of my sweaters before I had to back to the monastery and train with the others.

I knocked on the door and one of their staff opened up, smiling at me when she recognised me.

“Y/n, Lloyd is here!” She called up the stairs.

“Coming!” I heard my girlfriend yell before footsteps came running down the stairs. “Thank you,” she thanked her staff member before smiling at me.

“Lloyd, I thought you said you couldn’t hang out,” she leaned against the doorframe, a bit out of breath.

“Yeah, I can’t, but I came to bring you this,” I handed her the sweater and her mouth fell open slightly while the corners of her lips curled up.

She gave me an amazed look before crashing into me to hug me. “Thank you so much!” She said and kissed my cheek, making me chuckle.

“I need to get going now, but I’ll see you Tuesday, I’m covering for Kai’s self defence lessons,” I let her know and she grinned at me.

“I’ll see you then,” she said, giving me a quick peck on the lips before closing the door again.

God did I love her.

[wannab-urs]

Pedro Pascal Character Fic Recs | Vol 38

AO3 | Kofi | Main Masterlist | The Spreadsheet Masterlist

Howdy folks!

The Spreadsheet is back! Welcome to my not-so-weekly fic rec list. This is everything I've read since the last time I did this (I think). They're in alphabetical order (I think) by Pedro Boy.

I'm being even more lazy than I usually am and not including the tags, just the summaries, so be careful and look at the tags! Any commentary from me is in green.

Sight - a Dave one shot by @goodwithcheese - A surveillance job offers Dave a distraction. - there are other one shots in this universe I also highly recommend. You can find them >here<

Forget My Charms - a Dave one shot by @joelscruff - your new boss gives you a memorable first day

Work Song- a Dave one shot by @eupheme - Work Song + Dave York - this was for my hozier drabble challenge and it's so good!!

Sedated - a Dave one shot by @luxurychristmaspudding - you and dave are no strangers to this business, to death. so there can be no harm in relying on each other in times of need.

Hold Please - a Dave/Javi P/ Marcus P series by @ghostofaboy - Dave decides to arrange a little get-together for him, Javier and Marcus. - m/m/m!!!

Memories - a Dieter one shot by @bitchesuntitled - What happens when your husband, Dieter, forgets who you are?

You're the Loss of My Life - a Din one shot by @beskarandblasters - You reminisce on your time with your riduur after his death. - ow

[Sin]ema - a Frankie one shot by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin - You are unhappy in your marriage but trying to hang on. When you ask your husband to spend more time with you, he thinks a movie date is in order. You don't expect to run into your ex fiance, Frankie, and his new wife there.

Sun to Me - a Javi P one shot by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin - Javi wakes up early to do chores, but can’t peel himself away from you just yet.

Sunlight - a Joel one shot by @lotusbxtch - Joel Miller has avoided love, pushed it away at the first sight to stay in the darkness. But then he meets you, and he wonders if he was wrong after all.

the harder the rain, the sweeter the sun - a Joel one shot by @proxima-writes - Storm chaser-turned-weatherman Joel Miller hunts down his old crew in an effort to serve his wife with divorce papers. When a storm interrupts his efforts, he finds himself falling back into old routines and old feelings. A Twister (1996) AU

Delicate - a Joel one shot by @beskarandblasters - You play with Joel’s hair during a moment of anguish.

Pull - a Joel one shot by @javier-pena - You discover something new about Joel.

Should've Stayed Bored - a Joel one shot by @pedroshotwifey - You really need to learn to lower your expectations. - this fic is hilarious

Nephilim - a Joel series by @cherubispunk - Joel Miller was something of a biblical figure to you. A small glimpse into the past of something archaic, untold, and harbouring on the dangerous. You liked to imagine him as one of the Nephilim. A son of god, offspring borne of a fallen angel and man. A giant of misunderstood nature. Who’s soul had been cast down on earth in punishment. His large hands had bloodshed on them, or so people had said. They whispered it quietly in the spaces between. The places he didn’t occupy often. But he was always on your mind…so there was no place for those whispers there.

Nicest Thing - a Joel series by @schnarfer - Let's fall madly in love with neighbour!Joel

Observations - Joel one shot by @ezrasbirdie - You're not like the other girls, but it'd be easier if you were. Joel Miller doesn't see it that way. - neurodivergent reader!!!

God is a Woman - Max Phillips one shot by @wheresarizona - Max Phillips has been trying to fuck you since the moment you met. It surprises him when you want to fuck him. (Or pegging Max Phillips) - y'all already know how i feel about pegging fics.

It Will Come Back - a Max Phillips one shot by @beskarandblasters - Against your better judgment, you let Max drink your blood. - another amazing entry for my hozier drabble challenge!

Happy Reading!

[deepperplexity]

Prompt: 9. Missing Star [A3]

Pairing: Colonel Brandon x Fem!Reader

POV: Second, Reader & Third, Brandon

Setting: Delaford Estate

Continuation of: Prompt 1. Chimney Soot & Prompt 5. Grave Of Snow

A/N: It's been a moment since we last saw our dear Colonel who kicked off Rickmas2023 - shall we return and find out what's been brewing since last time? 🤭 I'm very excited to share this one, I ended up staying up kinda late yesterday to make sure it would be ready for proofing this morning but I think my late-night brain did a good job - and the nicknames in this one! I love nicknames! 👀👏

I also started working on tomorrow's prompt yesterday night as well - breaking off the serial theme with a Brandon One Shot tomorrow that I think will be a bit longer 😂 It was gonna be just like 1k (for my sanity's sake) but I'm already on 2k and I think I need another 2k at least to wrap it up nicely 🙈 I really am terrible at keeping things short, but I think this one is gonna be really good so I hope you're excited for MORE Brandon content tomorrow, feels like he's really popular among my readers this year 🥰👏❤

Tags/TW’s: Emotional Turmoil, Classicism, Mutual Pining, Love Confession, Hand Holding, Hand Kissing, Feeling Less Than Worthy, Sort Of A Proposal? Feels… like, feels, you know?

Abbr.: Y/N - Your Name

Word Count: 2.1k+

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

⩤• Brandon •⩥

He watched as you walked into the room, timid and quiet in your movements despite the commanding dress he’d had made for you. Ever since he had disclosed those bold words of your effect upon his heart from the first moment his eyes had found yours, well, he had perhaps been too bold in stating such a fact openly, without barely knowing you. Yet, how could he not? You were a vision as grand as any illusion conjured in the Sahara. As wonderfully sweet in demeanour as a gentle deer in any lush forest where hunters did not exist.

How, on God’s green earth, could he not fall for your beauty? The gentleness he had witnessed in those eyes of yours, framed by soot and ash, over a week ago. The sweetness of your words as you spoke of him as if he were another man — he knew now, of course, you had not known who he was. That you had treated him kindly and spoken only kindness of a man unknown to you based merely on the words of a friend had only engulfed him further in your beauty.

The moment he had entered his bedroom, seeing you in his bed dressed only in a nightshirt and free of any soot or ash for the first time, his judgement had taken flight and abandoned him with no wits. You had disarmed him so fully, so easily, so honestly — he often found himself to be at a loss for words in your presence. Sure, he was a man of few words to begin with, but never had he lost the ability to form sentences of the simplest kind until you appeared.

As you walked toward him, your eyes cast down while simultaneously flicking about in what appeared an effort to not look at him had his heart twisting uncomfortably. You were far younger than him, but not as young as to it not being within reason for him to house such feelings, surely? The very idea you found him… unappealing , made a coldness slither along his back and stiffen it. But as your eyes darted to his for a moment, there was a small hesitant smile across your lips just a mere step before you were stood by him, beside the naked tree within the ballroom. He wished desperately to reach out and clasp your hand, kiss the back of it and offer you anything within his reach no matter where in the world anything lay that was your heart’s desire.

His hands ached with the want to hold you once more, as he had caught you when you stumbled out of the chimney like his own blessing from the stars, or when he carried you from the forest and had the honour of feeling nearly all of you pressed against him. It was not proper, nor had you indicated he was allowed to touch you in any manner. He cursed his errant heart's desires when there was so little evidence regarding your feelings on the matter.

“Miss Y/l/n,” he said quietly, a deep rumble he couldn’t control. “Colonel Brandon,” you replied gently, sweetly. He wished for the world to fall away so he could speak with you clearly, could affirm the words he’d spoken a week ago the day he first met you and subsequently fell into the pit of desperation and want unlike any he had ever experienced.

⩤• You •⩥

You didn’t know what to do, what to say, how to act or even what to do with your fidgeting fingers. He looked at you with such a strange sensation in his eyes. There was nothing but gentleness and kindness visible in them, but the sensation was another matter entirely. Ever since he’d spoken those words, of you breathing life into his heart, your world had tipped on its axis and realigned itself to centre around the gentleman who now spoke so few words to you. Had he perhaps misspoken? Was he changing his mind about the declaration which had nearly burned your skin with its warmth?

You stood beside him, your hands clasped before you while you both looked at the naked, magnificent tree the servants had carried in that very morning. “Such a beauty,” you said with awe as your eyes travelled up to the top where a star would soon sit. “Indeed,” the colonel said in a quiet murmur and you turned to smile at him, only to find him already watching you. Your cheeks heated under that intense look of his.

“Miss, are you finding my estate to your liking?” he asked, yet another question only asking of things that held little importance. Why you wished for him to take a deeper interest in you you could only say was due to the warmth spreading within you each and every time you saw him. “You have a beautiful home, Colonel,” you said and he smiled that little smile of his before he looked away. Could I do it? You wondered. Could you, perhaps, ask a more personal question to show your interest in him?

“Sir,” you began but kept your eyes fixed on the tree as he made it hard to speak without stuttering or stumbling over your words. “Is there-, is there a lady of the house?” You nearly sucked in a breath at the most forward question, you hadn’t been in the servants’ quarter long enough to hear any gossip and now that you were there as his guest they only greeted you with formality. Even Mrs Garber had abandoned any real friendliness and adopted the behaviour of you being a higher citizen. You couldn’t quite wrap your head around it. They were all very nice, friendly, and even kind. They were a happy staff, yet there was no real friendship to be found for you now.

As the silence stretched on, you dared take a peek, only to find him looking at you with barely any emotions in his features; as if he were holding himself still and indifferent. “There is not,” he said after a moment. “Oh, I would have thought-, I mean given-, umh, I…” you stuttered as his eyes never left yours, it was as if your mind could not properly function when he watched you and the way your body nearly purred when he was close had you vibrating as he was just within reach but never actually touched you in any way. It was proper. But it was maddening .

“Given, what? Do explain, miss,” he said, but it wasn’t derogatorily put. A genuine curiosity lingered in his dark voice edged by a warmth unlike any other. “Well—” you averted your gaze and began fidgeting “—given how handsome and kind you are, Sir.” Where the boldness came from you had no idea, but the words had been on your tongue for close to a week now. “You think me handsome?” he asked, a stunned sort of air to him. “Who would not?” you asked, turning in the process to look straight at him. “You are a handsome man.” “I am old,” he countered while for the first time lowering his eyes away from you. “We have a different opinion of what old means, Sir.” “You say that word, in a specific manner, miss.” “What word, Sir?” “That word.” “Sir?” “Yes, you speak it with such respect.” “I have the utmost respect for you, Sir Brandon.” He tilted his head at that, studying you closer all of a sudden.

“Is this due to my age?” he asked, circling back to the subject you held little regard for. You didn’t see an old man, only a handsome and kind one with a strange sort of distance to him. “No, Colonel. I’ve heard stories of you through the city, my former master spoke highly of you but with a certain distaste for your gentleness as he was a cruel—” You shut your mouth before another word could slip out. “Continue,” he ordered. “I do not like to speak ill of—” “Is he the reason you are fidgeting with your hands so incessantly?” It wasn’t a question so much as a quietly spoken demand for answers. You only nodded. “His name?” “I shall not speak, Sir. If you’d excuse me, I do not feel well all of a sudden,” you said in a quick lie. The memories of Lord Burlington were still too fresh. Your skin and flesh still felt the sting of his crop, held by him or his loyal butler.

You walked far too swiftly towards the door but before you could open it a warm hand grabbed yours. You froze mid-step as lightning seemed to strike you from his soft but steady touch. “Miss,” he said in a quiet drawl. “You shall speak the name so I can sever all ties.” Those were the words he spoke but the threat under them was far clearer than you’d care to admit. “You wish to shame the lord?” you asked. “He is but one of many who treat us with… severity.” “I wish to invite him to the day I shall make you mine, and he shall see what a beauty he harmed and realise he is done for, my sweet.” “The day—” Your breath hitched as his hand tightened only for his eyes to widen a second later and release you.

He turned away, his hand fisting before relaxing as he watched the naked tree while your blood pounded in your ears and your heart hammered beyond what should have been possible. The tension lay thick in the air while the silence stretched. “I have spoken too rashly,” he admitted. “Forgive my assumption, miss.” “A-assumption?” you managed to force out between laboured breaths. “That I hold a candle bright enough to capture your flame. Much like this tree misses its star, you have been my missing star. Bright, gentle, light…”

The words he spoke, so kind but sorrow-filled, twisted your heart as you watched his usually straight shoulders slump. You’d spent a week falling for him from a distance. Each gentle word to his staff, every confident step, all the little looks and smiles gifted in your direction. A true gentleman at heart, holding the respect of many yet naming you his missing star — the most important decoration of a Christmas tree and guiding light to those lost.

“Sir…” “Do not fret, my sweet,” he interrupted without looking at you. “I am accustomed to rejection.” “Accustomed to— What? Colonel Brandon I—” “It’s been many years though, as I’ve not offered myself to anyone. Before you, it was never anyone of true importance either.” “Importance? Sir, I’m a scullery maid. I have no—” “Do not finish that sentence,” he said as he swung around, his gentle eyes widened. “You are of the greatest importance, little star.”

Your mouth turned dry while your stomach churned and warmed under his stare. The harshness that mingled with the kindness in his eyes was a warming thing to be witnessed by. You wished to feel those strong arms wrap around you, holding you close while his gravelly voice whispered those sweet nicknames which had from time to time slipped out of that thin mouth of his you wondered what it felt like to kiss.

“I’m not rejecting you, Sir.” Those were the only words you managed to push out as your throat closed up. His brows lifted, surprise marring his face. “You-, you are not?” he asked and you shook your head. “Then, what are you doing?” “I-, I-,” you began, but how were you to speak of what he made you feel? He, a respected colonel with such grace and wealth to him, was far beyond your reach. You had done your best to tamper down your feelings, the building need in your entire body for him which only grew with each passing day.

You took a step back, as if your body knew it could not have what it wished for and tried to increase the distance. “Do not walk away from me, miss,” he said, but there was no harshness to his voice. “I’m not worthy,” you whispered. “My heart says otherwise.” “But I’m not— And you’re—” “My sweet,” he said, interrupting your clumsy attempt at forming words. “You are far beyond worthy. I knew, from the moment our eyes met and you spoke so kindly. There is more value in you, my missing star, than most in high society.”

You shook your head, as if you couldn’t believe the words he spoke. Yet, the moment he grasped your trembling hand it was as if the world fell away. There was only him, his kind eyes, his sweet warmth. The soft touch of his thin lips against your knuckles nearly had you undone right then and there.

…To Be Continued…

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: How are we feeling? 👀🙈 Gosh, I loved writing this one - it just feels so right for Brandon to be like this - I hope it hits the mark for you too! Also - I'm really getting into the thick of Christmas prepping now - I will do my best to post fics as early in the day as I possibly can but it might fluctuate a bit 😅❤

Q: What Rickman character would you prefer to be snowed in and stuck with for a week in a somewhat realistic setting? A: For me, it would have to be Snape - the magic alone makes him a prime candidate for making the week better 😂 Cold? Use a charm. Thirsty? Use a charm. Moving furniture? Use a charm. Can't reach the blanket? Use a charm. 👌

TAGLIST: @lizlil @snapefiction @darkthought15 @monstreviolet @flowerdementia @marvelschriss @once-upon-an-imagine @ravennight41 @caseydoodles98 @slytherinprincess03 @theconsultingdetectiveswife @grimmyhild @monster-energies @myobscureimaginarium @snowblossomreads @eternal-silvertongued-prince @cherryglossie @setsuna-meiou31 @helena211 @a-queen-and-her-throne @justsaturn0 @turvi @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @sunnylikesfrogs @mamawolfsmith16 @dianilaws @sassanoe @snapesrn @bernadette-peters12 @sammy-13 @smartowl999 @castleofthorns @serenanight87 @sunset90 @mamawolfsmith87 @snowblossomreads @ladykardasi @a-queen-and-her-throne @eternal-silvertongued-prince @lyrixsnape @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @daddythanatos

Want to be tagged? 💚 You can tag yourself HERE! Or tell me and I’ll gladly tag you! 😍

[Dec:2023]

[drconstellation]

More Half-and-Half-A-Miracle Thoughts

Part 3: The Third Archangel

Updated 10 Nov 2023

Part 1: Miracle Power Ranking is here Part 2: The Dark side of Aziraphale is here.

Before I try to put the full picture of the mighty miracle together, there is one other Archangel I want to talk about first, because yeah, if the "little" miracle had an Archangel x an Archangel x (ex-)Archangel in the equation, all working in synergy, that's some pretty serious potential power right there.

S2 has given us much to discuss about Crowley and his past. We know he is different in that he has an imagination. We know he is the only ethereal entity, angelic or demonic, who can stop time, which is no mean feat. I have a list of at least nine, possibly thirteen clues (it keeps growing! 21 clues And yes, I'm counting,) that he was once a

senior Archangel, one of the seraphim, before his Fall (but not which one in particular, for sure, alas. We can debate that later, its not important here. Really. Don't @ me about it, I'm not going to engage in this post.) They (updated link to a new discussion: the idea of Crowley previously being a very powerful angel) have all been mentioned already, none of them are new. This implies there is a huge amount of potential power that Crowley could pull upon to put into the miracle performed on Gabriel. So he is our obvious ex-Archangel in the equation.

And we already have Gabriel, in the middle.

Which just leaves us with Aziraphale, and his green-paneled waistcoat...

I've led you all on thinking he's somehow connected to Hell? Or been associating too long with Crowley? No. (Or maybe, yes? To hanging around a demon, I mean.) On one hand it does show us he is not like the other angels. On the other, it tells us something else altogether.

For all that I've been recently rabbiting on about dark horses pointing mainly to Crowley and Saraqael, we have perhaps been deftly misdirected from the biggest dark horse of all: Aziraphale as our 'missing" seraphim, Archangel Raphael, incognito.

Now, I'm certainly not the first person to suggest this at all. There have been multiple metas about it, even way back from S1. I agree with them, fwiw.

Why am I saying this now? I think this recent post about Aziraphale being present at Sodom and Gomorrah sealed it for me, especially since I had made a recent note about Raphael being the one to be assigned to escort Lot from Gomorrah. And for all that I've just discussed how dark Aziraphale can be, he is still clearly affected by what he witnessed that night, so long, long ago.

"Oh Lord, heal this bike."

Green is also the color primarily associated with Raphael, the healer. I've seen a few other colors mentioned as well (in fact, the more you search, the more confusing it gets) but mostly the color you'll see mentioned is green. And its the color Aziraphale conceals on the back side of his waistcoat. Plus he did heal Anathema (and her velocipede) back in S1 after they collided with the Bentley.

Finally, in the Islamic tradition, Raphael is known as Israfil, and he is essential to announcing the Day of Judgement, with a trumpet constantly poised at his lips, ready to blown when God so orders.

Guess who just got taken back to Heaven to start the Second Coming?

Edit: Since I first posted this, some additional information has come along to add to this. I finally bumped into a post about the wonderful golden collars in the Job minisode (It's so, so important to put at least one or two relevant tags for meta-writers like me to help find your posts readers! Then you can shit-talk in the tags all you like.) and that lead me to a webpage on basic angel symbology and the major angels, which helped to firm up a few things I'd been wondering about. One observation is angels usually go about bare-footed, but Raphael wears sandals when on Earth, as he is chief of the guarding angels, and is the guardian of the young, and watches over pilgrims and travelers. And who was wearing golden sandals during the Job minisode?

Doing some guarding of the young as well...

And Raphael is assigned to the direction of the East.

Now we have three Archangels, three seraphim, no less, side by side.

That's a mighty shitload of potential miracle power, whichever way you want to look at it. No wonder the ol' Metatrash got a bit nervous about what happened and decided to take a personal hand in things.

If your sitting there going "'Hang on, op, hang on just a darned minute - Aziraphale hasn't even been promoted to Supreme Archangel yet and Crowley could just be a Dominion, you don't know, and Gabriel's a drooling idiot, how could he contribute to it - " Just stop. Take a breath. Go back to Part 1 where I discuss the problems with our knowledge about miracle powers and their potential. Their potential. And its frustrating that in the end we just don't have enough knowledge to be certain.

So take this as my personal head-canon. I may not have really answered why the miracle was so strong. But as I said at the start, I don't think we can. Too many factors involved, too many unknowns. Too much hidden.

Bring on S3, I say!

[gothcsz]

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter XIII.

GIF by alexturner

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: Literally just Jolene by the iconic Dolly Parton.

WORD COUNT: ~7.7k

RATING: 18+ Explicit topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: angst :p, OFC lowkey being a brat and javi not tolerating that shit, some horniness to satiate the masses, alcohol consumption, if there's typos/grammatical errors just pretend that there's not, other things that I'm probably forgetting.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized.

A/N: for the sake of the plot we're just gonna pretend that before he cheats exist at this point of time okay? okay! anywhooo we're so close to getting to the fucking fluff of this fic... our couple deserves some semblance of PEACE and HAPPINESS am i right? but that sweet, sweet angst must come first in order for the pay off to be gr8 <3 as always feel free to drop any type of feedback/support on this blog or ao3. i'd really appreciate it <3

♰  read on ao3. ♰

♰  playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

Paloma begins her parade of amends with her boss at the library, profusely apologizing for being fickle which typically isn’t like her. She’s been so caught up in August and his wistful musings that it momentarily had her acting out of character.

Fortunately, Olsen accepts her apology almost as quickly as the words tumble from her lips. He reassures her that it’s okay and that what he really needs is for her to begin logging books into the new computer system they’re implementing.

So that’s exactly what she does. She situates herself behind the circulation desk and spends her entire shift typing away at the clunky keyboard, surrounded by carts stacked with books. She’s so engrossed in her task that she doesn’t even notice when Sloane walks in, a giant smile lighting up her face.

“Hey, doll.”

Her eyes flicker up to meet her friend’s and she feels a tinge of frustration at her presence. The last time they were together, she had tried to convince her to kill someone and then got pissed when Paloma didn’t go through with it.

“Hey,” she replies simply, her voice lacking its usual warmth and quickly returning her attention to the computer, muttering under her breath at how sluggishly it’s operating.

She hears a sigh, and then Sloane is leaning forward against the desk, tilting her head to the side and pouting. “Are you still mad at me?”

A snort escapes her, eyes still fixed on the screen. “Yes and no. If I’m bein’ honest with you, I’m feelin’ real conflicted.”

Sloane’s cadence is lighter as she asks, “What can I do to smooth things over?”

“Give me the space I told August I needed.”

Their gazes lock, and Sloane’s shoulders slump, the weight of her words settling in.

“Why on god’s green earth are you wearing a scarf in the middle of the summer?” Paloma can’t help but ask, eyeing the flimsy material around her neck.

“That’s actually why I stopped by. I was hopin’ you weren’t so mad at me so I could tell you ‘bout the amazin’ fuckin’ lay I got last night.”

At this, Paloma rolls her eyes and flips open the next book, meticulously scanning it for imperfections. Leave it to her so-called best friend to reach out just to brag about getting laid. 

Not to check in on her or apologize for being a giant cunt back in Louisiana. 

She decides to pacify her, hoping that feigning interest in her love life will get her out of the library without the awkwardness that would come if she just outright told her to leave. 

“Really?” Her tone drips with forced enthusiasm. “Tell me all about it.”

Sloane launches into her story overdramatically, obviously messing with her, but she still nods along, her mind only half-engaged. She silently prays for the conversation to end soon, eager to return to the relative peace of her book-logging task.

“Alright, quit beatin’ around the bush. Who was it?”

The scarf is slipped off, revealing her marked-up neck, and her eyes widen at the sight. “Christ almighty, Slo, who did you sleep with? Dracula?” Various purple splotches litter the other girl’s skin, and she wonders how long it’s going to take for those suckers to heal.

Sloane giggles, smirking as she shows off her neck. “No. But that woulda been one hell of a story. I fucked Javier Peña in his truck after work last night.”

Time stops. The air stills, and her motions halt entirely. Sloane continues talking, but all Paloma can hear is the blood rushing in her ears and the rapid acceleration of her heartbeat at the news. 

I fucked Javier Peña in his truck after work last night. I fucked Javier Peña in his truck after work last night. I fucked Javier Peña in his truck after work last night.

She feels like she’s been punched in the gut, the wind knocked straight out of her. She tries her hardest not to let her body language reflect the heartbreak that surges through her.

Javier Peña. Of all people. Shock and something she can’t quite place thud in her chest viscously. Forcing herself to focus, she tries to catch the tail end of Sloane’s story, but her mind is a mess.

She shouldn’t care, but the problem is that she does. Despite things between her and Javi being a done deal. They’ve both made their intentions clear and it is better to pretend like the other doesn’t exist until he leaves town.

So why is she so hurt at the fact that her best friend had gotten a taste of the man she’s supposed to be over? Why does she feel that nasty green monster slithering its way through her body, into her chest, and up her throat?

“You what?” She interrupts, not even listening to what she said after. 

Sloane’s voice trails off, her eyes widening slightly at Paloma’s sudden intensity. “I, uh, slept with Javi,” she repeats, feigning confusion.

The envy and betrayal coil tighter around her lungs, making it hard to breathe. She forces herself to look at her ‘best friend’ and she sees the hidden excitement in her eyes. It only deepens her ache.

“Why him?” Paloma asks, the words tinged with a vulnerability she can’t hide.

Sloane shrugs, once more pretending to be oblivious to the turmoil she’s purposefully caused. “It just happened, P. We were talkin’ after work, ‘n one thing led to another… I figured you wouldn’t mind, considerin’ you’re with August now and hate the officer’s guts. I was jus’ havin’ some fun. No harm in that.”

No harm in that. Nodding slowly, a tight smile forces its way on her lips, “Well, I hope it was worth it,” she says strained but steady. How badly does she want to verbally eviscerate her and drag her across the floor by the crown of her hair.

The keyboard keys feel foreign beneath her fingers as she attempts to return to the task at hand. She knows she’ll have to confront her feelings eventually, but for now, all she can do is focus on her work to try and keep the pieces of her shattered heart from showing.

“Look, Slo, I’m happy to hear you’ve been keepin’ busy,” wince, “but I’ve got a lot to go through here ‘n I would like to be left alone to get it done. If you don’t mind.”

There’s a beat of silence as Sloane studies her, and Paloma pretends not to feel the weight of her stare. If she keeps looking at her like this, she will burst into angry, frustrated tears.

“Right… right. I’ll leave ya to it, doll face.” She taps her fingers against the counter, then adds softly, “And… just so you know, I am sorry ‘bout losin’ my shit that night in Louisiana. Wasn’t very fair to you.”

What isn’t fair to me is for you to sleep with the guy I cried on your shoulder about for weeks.

“Thanks. I’ll see you,” she replies curtly, trying not to let her hands shake as she reaches for another book.

Slo finally leaves, and she waits for her to be fully out of the building before letting out a heavy sigh. The ache intensifies, weighing down on her poor heart. She stares at the screen, the words blurring as tears threaten to spill over but she forces herself to keep typing.

The quiet of the library is almost oppressive, amplifying the commotion inside her. She can still see the image of Sloane’s marked neck, a painful reminder of what transpired between them. She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but the pain just doesn’t subside.

She can’t afford to break down here. Not now. Not yet. She’ll deal with the aftermath later, when she’s alone.

After thirty agonizing minutes, she realizes that she simply can’t. All she can visualize is Javier and Sloane together in the most intimate way possible. His lips all over her, her hands on him. Was she a better kisser than her? Had Javier enjoyed being inside Sloane more than being inside her?

Standing abruptly, she smooths out her sundress and goes to track down Olsen, finding him tucked away in the science fiction section of the library.

“I’m sorry to do this,” she begins, already cringing at the request she’s about to make, “but I’m just not feelin’ good. I feel nauseous. Like I’m about to vomit.” It’s not technically a lie; with every blink, there’s an image of Sloane bent over for Javier, and it makes her emotionally sick.

Olsen sighs, giving her a look. “How far into the logging did you get?”

She answers, and he agrees to let her leave, telling her he hopes she feels better and to let him know whether she’d be able to come in for her next shift.

Grateful for his kindness but also feeling guilty about how unreliable she’s been, Paloma thanks him before gathering her things and leaving the building.

The warm summer weather contrasts sharply with the coldness that’s crept over her entirely. She walks slowly, each step feeling heavy, her mind racing with thoughts she wishes she could escape.

Finding a quiet spot in a nearby park, Paloma sits on a bench and takes a deep breath. She watches the leaves rustle in the gentle breeze, the world moving on obliviously around her.

She just needs a moment of goddamn peace.

It’s serene here. Children laugh and play in the distance, couples stroll hand in hand, and birds chirp merrily in the trees. But all Paloma can think about is the betrayal she feels, the jealousy that gnaws at her, and the deep hurt of knowing that the man she still harbors feelings for has slept with her best friend.

She really shouldn’t be so worked up over this. While she and August have never explicitly put a label on their relationship, they’re together. Hell, she’s fucked him more times than anyone else she’s been with.

Then why is it that she’s so pressed about Javier, a single man, hooking up with Sloane, a single woman?

It’s because of the tangled mess that is her connections to both of them. How she had been vulnerable with Sloane about her conflicting feelings towards him, and how Sloane had always been there to reassure her that he was nothing more than a piece of shit manwhore and that she deserved better.

So why go and sleep with him?! Paloma groans, her fingernails digging into the skin of her palm as she balls her fists out of anger.

She contemplates whether she wants to cry it out at home or by the abandoned railroad tracks. The answer is neither, because before she knows it, she’s at The Whiskey Fox ordering a shot of tequila.

“Stranger danger,” Tammy, eldest of the three sisters who own the bar, approaches her with a sardonic simper on her face.

Paloma just waves her off, her heartbreak evident as she takes the shot and immediately orders another, earning a surprised look from the older woman.

“Woah there, sugar. What’s goin’ on? You hardly ever drink, let alone do back-to-back shots.”

She just shrugs, staying silent as she proceeds to shoot the drink, not even grimacing as it burns down her throat, then reaching for a lime wedge to bite into. Tammy watches her with a mix of concern and curiosity, leaning against the bar, her maternal instincts kicking in. “Why don’t ya tell me what happened? Might help to get it off your chest.”

For a moment, Paloma considers it. Considers unloading it all onto this poor woman but she remains silent, twirling the empty shot glass between her fingers.

“Oh, c’mon now, Paloma. S’bad enough that you’ve ghosted us for the past month. Don’t give us the silent treatment too. What’d we do to you, darlin’?”

Rolling her shoulders, she keeps her gaze fixed on the empty shot glass in front of her. “Y’all didn’t do anythin’,” her voice is a little hoarse due to how dry her mouth feels, and there’s a pang of guilt in her stomach at hearing how her absence has affected the people she cares about. “I’ve just been dealin’ with a lot.”

She let her friends lead her down a fantastical path, and while it was exciting and thrilling at first, she’s realizing that it shifted her into a defiant headspace she wasn’t used to and didn’t like being in. When did everything get so complicated? What happened to just basking in the attention of two handsome men and enjoying a summer romance?

Now she’s caught in the middle of something so convoluted. Her mother’s mysterious past, the uncertainty of her own future, the heartbreak she continues to suffer at the hands of Javier Peña, and the gut-wrenching betrayal of her so-called best friend. She feels overwhelmed by the severity of it all, like she’s sinking in a never-ending pit.

Fuck, she needs another drink. She goes to order it, but Tammy blocks her. “Okay, so spill. The tequila is not goin’ t’ make it any better, baby, trust me. I’m speakin’ from experience.”

Paloma snorts, shaking her head, exasperation bubbling inside her. She just wants to numb herself with alcohol, to drown out the images of Javier and Sloane together. “Just guy problems, Tam. Now will you please let me drink my sorrows away? I’ll deal with the consequences and the hangover later.”

Tammy contemplates whether it’s a good idea to let her keep drinking, but ultimately she allows it. Everyone goes through this at least once. Everyone learns from experiences like this in their own way.

The older woman then nods understandingly and pours her the shot, this time setting the bottle down next to her. “Alright, but don’t overdo it. We don’t need you passin’ out on us.”

Paloma gives a weak smile and continues to drink, the tequila burning a path down her throat, momentarily granting her relief from the uncomfortableness she’s been wallowing in.

As the night wears on, the bar fills with the usual crowd, but she remains in her own bubble of despair, getting drunker by the minute. The lively chatter and clinking glasses become a distant hum.

She wants to be able to confide in someone about the root of her conflictions, but she knows that if she were to spill all the details, including the outrageous backstory of her mother, it would be met with jarring skepticism and criticism. Tammy would probably look at her like she was crazy and her father would probably have her secretly lobotomized for speaking such blasphemous ‘lies’ about his wife and her mother.

He wouldn’t actually, but she’s drunk and her mind is going to the extremes.

Tammy keeps an eye on her, occasionally checking in and she appreciates it, even if she can’t bring herself to say it out loud. She’s not sure how she’ll face tomorrow, but right now, she’s content to let the alcohol do its thing and forget, if only for a little while.

There’s a reason why people say not to drink on an empty stomach, and Paloma is feeling the effects smack her square in the jaw. Her vision is hazy, her movements sluggish. At least she’s not hurting as much as she had been when she came in.

It’s well into the night now; the dim lights of the bar cast shadows on the faces of the crowd around her. The bottle Tammy had set in front of her is almost gone, so she drinks the remaining tequila straight from it, not caring about appearances or what the town gossips might say if they were to see her now.

With her veins coursing with liquid courage, Paloma hops off the barstool, wobbling a bit due to her inebriated state, and makes her way to the stage. No matter how tough things get, she can always count on music to lift her spirits.

That’s another thing she’s been neglecting— her music, her passion. So much for complaining that she didn’t have any inspiration to write new songs. Now she’s drowning in it, struggling to stay afloat.

Tammy’s eyes follow her the entire way, concern etched on her face as she bites her lip, contemplating whether or not she should let her go up there and potentially make a fool of herself in her drunken state.

She reaches the stage, her heart pounding against her chest. Shuffling through the available songs on the karaoke machine, she stops when she finds the one that she’s looking for. She grabs the microphone with a shaky hand, the spotlight harsh on her face.

The bar quiets down, curious eyes watching her every move.

“Hey everyone,” she slurs slightly, giggling drunkenly. “S’been a while since I’ve been up here ‘n I apologize for my absence,” she hiccups, “but tonight, m’gonna sing a song to make myself feel better.”

She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes briefly to steady herself. The familiar chords start playing through the speakers then she begins to sing; her voice fueled by emotion and tequila.

♫

Tammy decides it’s wise for her to phone the sheriff’s department, specifically asking for Javier to come by.

He only has ten minutes left on his shift and doesn’t want to get caught up dealing with another drunken idiot, so he almost sends one of the deputies but then she mentions Paloma and how shitfaced she is.

Immediately, he’s reaching for his keys.

“I don’t want Romeo seein’ her like this. Kinda my fault, to be honest, but who am I to stop a young girl from drowning her man problems in tequila? Anyhow, any chance ya can take her home?”

Man problems? Had August done something to her? His nostrils flair at the thought of him hurting her.

As if he hadn’t hurt her tenth fold.

Javier arrives in record time, urgency evident as he busts through the doors of the bar. Despite his entrance, no one seems to pay him any attention; all eyes are fixed on her as she stands on stage, clearly intoxicated yet still captivating the room.

His jaw tenses as he beelines over to the bar where Tammy is already looking at him expectantly.

“How long has she been here?”

“‘Bout four hours now. At least she took it slow. S’probably why she’s like this,” Tammy nods her head towards the stage, handing him Paloma’s car keys, and Javier can’t help but glance over too.

Her voice echoes through the bar and the words flow from her lips as a cathartic release of all the pent-up feelings she’s been carrying. There’s a plethora of mixed reactions coming from the audience, but she isn’t really performing for them.

To her, she’s in her bedroom with her curling wand in hand, belting out to her favorite song.

Despite her initial nerves and the alcohol clouding her senses, she finds solace in the music. It’s her therapy, her way of expressing what words alone can’t capture.

By the time she finishes, there’s a mix of applause and quiet murmurs in the bar. She sways again, catching herself on the microphone stand with a tipsy grin. Javier’s heart clenches at the sight.

As she steps down from the stage, her eyes lock onto him leaning against the counter with Tammy. Dread grips her heart like a vise, her breath catching in her throat. The tequila swirling in her stomach threatens to come back up. Without hesitation, she changes direction abruptly, veering towards the restroom at the back of the bar.

The door slams shut behind her, and she leans heavily against it, the cold metal offering a momentary reprieve.

No, no, no. I can’t see him now. Not like this.

Paloma rushes to the sink, splashing water on her face in a desperate attempt to clear her mind. Deciding that she won’t face him, she makes her escape through the small window near the ceiling.

It’s the longest fifteen minutes of his life, each second feeling like an eternity. She hasn’t come out and Javier is unable to wait any longer. He strides purposefully across the room towards the restroom, twisting the door handle open with a sense of urgency, expecting to find Paloma inside.

But the stalls are empty, the restroom devoid of any sign of her presence except for the open window with a torn piece of her sundress caught on a protruding piece of plastic.

“Goddammit,” He curses under his breath, pissed yet not surprised that she had fled. He rushes out of the restroom, sparing a quick explanation to Tammy before bolting into the parking lot. The engine of his cruiser roars to life as he pulls out onto the road.

She, despite being piss drunk, managed to move swiftly through the shadows outside, her torn dress fluttering in the night breeze. She kept to the alleys and back streets at first, away from the main roads where he might expect her to flee.

She isn’t far from the bar when he finds her. Perhaps half a mile down a dark, deserted road flanked by endless crop fields. The night offers no solace, no streetlights to illuminate her path, only the distant glow of his cruiser drawing closer.

He could really lay into her, scream at how reckless and fucking dangerous it is for her to be walking around aimlessly at night. It’s not like there’s an active killer lurking about, targeting girls like her.

The blue and red lights slice through the darkness, casting an eerie glow around her stumbling figure as she trudges along the roadside.

“Get in the car,” Javier’s voice carries through the rolled down passenger window as he slowly drives beside her.

Paloma ignores him, determined to keep moving despite the plea. She doesn’t know where she’s headed, all she knows is that she doesn’t want to be around him. All she’ll see the second she looks into his eyes are images of him balls deep in her best friend.

The reminder has her clenching her jaw against the flood of disarray threatening to overwhelm her, straightening her posture in a futile attempt to regain her composure. The alcohol in her system blurs her vision and makes her head spin, but she continues to march obstinately along the empty road.

“I said get. In. The. Car.” Javier’s voice booms through the PA system now, sharp and authoritative, having her flinch at its suddenness. She rolls her eyes, refusing to acknowledge him, her gaze fixed ahead as if the darkness holds the answers to all her turmoil.

In response, she simply raises her middle finger, a gesture dripping with contempt. Javier’s patience for her insubordination is wearing really fucking thin.

“Last warning. If not, I will get out and put you in here my damn self,” His tone crackles with restrained anger, the lines of his face drawn tight with exasperation.

“Go fuck yourself, asshole.”

There it goes, his patience. He forcefully slams the mouthpiece of the speaker back into place before speeding up along the deserted road and haphazardly blocking the path ahead, his vehicle jolting to a stop with a gravelly skid.

He jumps out of his seat, the door swinging open as he rounds the car to approach her with determined hastiness, pissed that he has to deal with her immature ass right now.

Paloma’s instinctive flight response has her sprinting into the vast open field, her heart pounding in sync with her rapid footsteps. The tall grass brushes against her legs and she squints in an attempt to see ahead on this moonless night. All she’s focused on is getting as far away from him as possible.

Javier curses loudly and immediately chases after her through the uneven terrain. He thought he left this chasing shit back in Colombia. 

Despite her intoxicated state, her desperation fuels her speed, making her a bit of a challenging target. But when she stumbles over her boots ever so slightly, he seizes the opportunity.

In a swift motion, his arm snakes around her waist, yanking her towards him before deftly hoisting her over his shoulder. Paloma squeals as he straight up manhandles her, her fists hammering against his back while she squirms in his grasp. “Put. Me. Down. You. Asshole,” she seethes between blows, each strike punctuated by a grunt from him as she hits sore spots on his lower back.

“You ran off like a fucking child,” he snaps back while stalking towards his car, irritated as all hell. The urge to land a harsh spank against the back of her thighs is there but he shows some restraint.

He glances around, relieved that the deserted stretch of road spares them from prying eyes. “Don’t do anything stupid, or I will cuff you,” he warns sternly, setting her down cautiously but keeping a firm grip on her arm.

She pushes at his chest, stumbling backwards but she catches herself, sticking her hands out to keep him from steadying her. “Don’t. Leave me the hell alone, I’m tryin’ to get home.”

“And I’m trying to make that happen. Let me drive you, you’re fucked up.”

“I’m not, and if anyone is fucked up here it’s you, you fucking dickhead,” she retorts with a bite, her words laced with venom and alcohol-fueled bravado.

Javier exhales heavily, his patience wearing thin yet again as he struggles to reason with her. “Quit being ridiculous, Paloma.” He urges, frustration simmering beneath his somewhat controlled exterior.

“Ridiculous?!” She rolls her eyes dramatically, a gust of wind tousling her hair and she angrily tucks it behind her ears. “I wanna walk home. Away from you.” she slurs, her determination punctuated by a sudden hiccup and point of her finger.

A snarky reply of his own is on the tip of his tongue but she interrupts before he can spit it out.

“I am more than capable, ‘n I’ll prove it by walkin’ a straight line while sayin’ the alphabet backwards,” The challenge in her eyes is unmistakable as she takes a few steps back.

Javier can’t help but chuckle dryly, reluctant amusement coloring his expression. He leans casually against the cruiser, arms crossed as he watches her attempt the sobriety test she’s proposed.

“Z... y... x...” Paloma begins, her attempt at reciting the alphabet faltering from the start. Her footsteps are uneven, her balance wavering with each syllable. “W... v... u...”

He shakes his head in mild disbelief, his frustration momentarily overshadowed by the absurdity of the situation.

“A.” She punctuates the letter when she reaches the end of her recitation attempt. She looks up at him, now much closer, with an insolent glint in her eyes despite the undeniable signs of intoxication.

He just raises his brows in amusement.

“Told ya.” she challenges, a triumphant smirk tugging at her lips. “Sober as a nun.”

Javier reaches for the breathalyzer on his belt, holding it up between them as he turns it on.

“You’re going to blow into this,” he begins with an authoritative tone, “and if it lights up green then you’re good to do whatever you want. If it’s red, you’re goin’ to quit fucking around and get your pretty ass in the car.”

Paloma snorts, “No way. This is just some perverted trick so you can see my lips wrap around it and pretend it’s your cock––”

His hand shoots out to cup her jaw, thick fingers digging into the soft skin of her cheeks, causing her lips to purse together.

“Nena, you’ve got a fuckin’ mouth on you.” He tuts at her and her eyes widen, pussy quivering, “It’s gonna get you in trouble.”

He brings her closer by her face, smelling the alcohol on her breath, and places the plastic tip against her puckered lips, “Blow it.”

His grip loosens enough for her to do as she’s told, and her lips encircle the hard plastic. This feels charged with an intimacy that weakens her knees, and she watches as Javier’s eyes drown with lust; their usual golden glint now gone.

The second it blinks red, he smirks and lets go of her face. As the tip is pulled out from between her lips, a thin trail of saliva comes with it which has him biting his tongue to suppress a groan. His cock stirs at the sight.

“In the car. Now.”

“No!” She pushes away from him, slapping the damn breathalyzer out of his hand and watching as it breaks against the asphalt, “I’d rather walk on glass barefoot than get in the car with you. M’goin’ back to the bar and callin’ my boyfriend to come pick me up!” The emphasis on boyfriend is said with the intent to piss Javier off but she doesn’t gloat in his reaction as she turns sharply and begins to walk away in the opposite direction.

“Puta madre…” It lands exactly as she intended for it to, the spark of jealousy in his chest having him leap forward, expertly pinning both of her wrists against her lower back with one hand while the other takes a hold of her shoulder, guiding her over to his car.

“You asshole!”

“Yeah, how many times are you gonna fuckin’ remind me, querida?”

She’s bent at the waist on the hood of his cruiser, the engine that’s still running leaving the surface warm as her chest gets pressed down onto it. Her ripped dress rises up revealing the curve of her ass to him.

Javier is fully hard as he reaches for his cuffs, clasping them over her wrists and she gasps when she feels the cool metal come in contact with her blazing skin. He presses his bulge against her ass and she whimpers at the pressure of him so close to her throbbing core.

Grabbing ahold of her shoulder again, he brings her up so that her back is flush against his chest, both of them heaving in unison.

“Told you that little mouth of yours would get you in fucking trouble.” He mutters into her ear, feeling the softness of her hair against his face as he takes in a deep breath of the coconut scent of her shampoo. His entire being is pulsating for her, craving to feel any part that he can.

Paloma is dizzy with arousal, hatred, and alcohol; feeling him all over except where she needs him most. Inside her weeping cunt that’s begging to get wrecked. She despises him for making her feel this way, especially after today’s revelations.

He opens the back door of the cruiser, the metallic click of the cuffs echoing in the quiet night as he pulls her into the backseat. Despite his intention to be firm yet gentle, his frustration seeps through, and he handles her a bit roughly, slamming the door shut with a resounding thud.

Paloma jolts upright, the abrupt sound snapping her out of the horny trance his restraint had put her in.

“Always have to get your way, don’t you? By any means necessary? Looks like some things never fuckin’ change.” Her words blend together, slightly slurred, as he starts driving towards her house, relieved that Romeo is working overnight and spared from witnessing this.

She was already on thin ice with him all things considered. She’s sure her father would have a cow if he saw her this drunk.

She leans forward, pressing against the partition cage separating them, her gaze locked with his in the rearview mirror. Tension crackles between them during this silent exchange. His jaw tightens when she continues her tirade.

“Is this the same arrogance that led you to Los Pepes?” The mention hits a nerve, causing him to momentarily lose his composure. She smirks, satisfied with the reaction she’s provoked. His stare darkens with intense anger, magnified by her smugness.

How the fuck did she know about that?

As if reading his mind, she continues. “I read the article from the Miami Herald. Got curious, decided to read more on the elusive yet admired Javier Peña.” Another flash of anger courses through him, his grip on the steering wheel tightening until his knuckles turn white.

“You did some fucked up stuff, agent. Gettin’ involved with killers. How are you not in prison right now?” Her words cut deep, dredging up his past in a way that feels unfair, but she’s hurt and beyond giving a fuck at the moment.

Javier struggles to find the right words, torn between defending himself and acknowledging the truth in her accusations.

“Paloma…” His voice is low with restrained frustration. “You don’t understand––”

“Don’t give me that shit, Javi,” she cuts him off bitterly, her voice cracking with emotion. “I understand enough. I trusted you.”

Each word hits him like a bullet from a gun he loaded himself and fired by yet another woman that he’s hurt. He’s rendered speechless, so much bullshit accumulating to blow up in this very moment. He hadn’t even realized that they weren’t far from her house.

“You hurt people after usin’ ‘em yet somehow the consequences never seem to reach you. And when they do, it’s nothin’ more but a slap on the wrist.”

She contributes to this so-called unfair display of punishment. She can’t bring herself to penalize him with her indefinite absence for the way he shattered her heart.

Instead, she’s acting like an idiot, handcuffed in the back of his cruiser and so pissed that it’s turned her on. Not even ten minutes ago, she was on the verge of telling him to fuck her on the side of the road, teetering on the edge of desperation.

Now she’s full on chastising him.

Javier is trying real fucking hard not to blow up on her, it’s as if she’s had a look into his mind and pulled out all the spiteful words that he repeats to himself every single day. His silence remains, the urge to defend himself faltering.

She groans in exasperation when he doesn’t reply, her shoulders tense from having her arms pinned back by the cuffs, the rough edges digging into her wrists.

She’d never understand, not even if he laid it all out to her in the most vulnerable way possible. Hell, he still can’t sort through his shit without triggering an existential crisis.

Paloma continues with her angry ramblings as they arrive at her house. He once again roughly pulls her from the backseat, fumbling for the key to unlock her handcuffs, desperate to release himself from the fraught situation and rightfully fuck off. He can’t continue to deal with this shit tonight.

Leading her up to the porch, he finally frees her from the restraints. She whirls around to confront him head-on.

“What is your deal?! I need to know. Goin’ around makin’ a girl feel special… spendin’ all your time with her then rejectin’ her just to turn around and sleep with her best friend. That’s low, Javier.” 

His eyes narrow. He should have known that Sloane was the catalyst to all this. It explains her seething jealousy, her emotional outburst at the bar, her current fury.

Despite reading him to filth, he’s undeniably attracted to her and her intense antics. He shouldn’t find this possessive side of her as hot as he does.

“Last I checked, corazón, I don’t belong to you or any other woman in this town.”

Paloma’s eye twitches involuntarily at his remark, the harsh truth of it cutting through the haze of the alcohol. They don’t belong to each other; there are no ties binding them beyond their shared history and tangled feelings. Yet in this moment, with her intoxicated by both tequila and his presence–– he does belong to her. Javier is hers.

He plucks a cigarette from his pocket, needing it desperately considering the rollercoaster of emotions he’s gone through in the last however long. He lets it dangle from his lips as he digs into his back pocket for a lighter.

“That new boyfriend of yours must not be fucking you right if you’re this wound up over who I decide to stick my dick in.”

His petty remark hovers in the air like a volatile spark waiting to ignite. Her chest heaves with indignation, whole body vibrating with the raw intensity of her feelings. She doesn’t hesitate, her hand moving swiftly to deliver a resounding slap across his cheek. The unlit cigarette drops from his lips, forgotten as it lands on the ground beside them. Javier remains still as he absorbs the sting of her palm against his skin.

They lock eyes in a tense standoff, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy between them. Her breaths come in rapid bursts, her heart pounding in her chest. Without warning, she lunges forward, her lips crashing against his in a desperate, fervent kiss.

His initial surprise gives way to instinct as he responds to her, his lips moving against hers with a hunger born from their shared, toxic yearning. But as her mouth opens to deepen the kiss, the taste of tequila lingers on her tongue, a reminder of her intoxicated state. He pulls back gently.

“No, please don’t do this to me again…” She whimpers out softly, her eyes filling with tears as her hands cling to the fabric of his shirt.

“We can’t… not now, cariño you’re really drunk.” The instant switch in her tone and body language is enough to trigger his tenderness, his hands coming up to rest atop of her balled up fists against his chest.

The pure vexation and trepidation from before begins to simmer out, both of them having reached the peak of their respective moods and now suffering from the declining slope that follows.

His rejection this time around doesn’t sting as much as the last. There’s a bittersweet clarity in knowing that he’s choosing restraint over indulgence, respect over desire.

“I-If I wasn’t drunk… would you have fucked me?” She blurts out, bottom lip quivering slightly as she waits for his response, her eyes searching his face for any sign of what he might say.

He hesitates, a myriad of emotions flickering across his features. He leans forward instinctively, steadying her as she wobbles on unsteady legs.

“Let’s get you inside and in the shower. You need to sober up a little before getting into bed.” Javier ignores her question all together, removing her hands from his chest as he carefully maneuvers her towards the front door.

“I got it.” She tells him with her head hung low, reaching over to a nearby flower pot and digging out the spare house key.

She, in fact, does not got it when her attempts to unlock the door fail as she struggles to get the key in. Javier takes over gently, letting them both inside.

Getting her up the stairs proves to be more of a struggle than he anticipated. She clings to him, her grip tight and insistent, bombarding him with questions about his night with Sloane.

Am I as pretty as her?

Did she do it better than me?

Do you have feelings for her?

Again, he ignores her because it’s all ridiculous and she’s too drunk for him to thoroughly explain that he doesn’t see Sloane like that at all.

She was a mistake. A lapse in his judgment. A reminder of how he’s no good for Paloma.

They reach the bathroom and he gently lowers her onto the closed toilet seat. He turns on the shower, the sound of running water filling the room with a soothing rhythm. When he turns back, she is already beginning to undress, her movements slow and unsteady.

He averts his eyes quickly, a flush creeping up his neck at the proximity and intimacy of the moment. Clearing his throat, he steps out right as the last article of clothing is shed.

“Gonna get you some water. Please be careful in there.” He’s hesitant to move from his spot at the door in case she falls over.

She grumbles out a brief ‘okay’ and after a few more seconds of hovering, he quickly goes to the kitchen to get her some water and painkillers.

He’s back in her room now, turning the bedside lamp on to get everything ready for her to get some sleep.

Javi pauses for a moment. It’s the first time he’s ever been in this space and he feels like he’s intruding on her. He gets a sense of déjà vu, recalling the day he had been in Jessica Valadez’s room and the similarities between her and Paloma.

He rummages through her dresser until he finds a t-shirt and some shorts, walking down the hallway to the bathroom where she’s just shut off the shower.

“Got some clothes for you. Here.” He sticks his hand through the cracked door and not long after does she take them from him silently, shutting the door. Javier lets out a shaky sigh, leaning against the wall and giving himself a second to breathe.

She stares at her reflection with teary eyes, feeling a little lighter after her shower. If it were up to her, she would have stayed in there all night; comforted by the warm water hitting her skin.

With him on the other side of the door, she doesn’t know what to make of everything that’s transpired. Why does she always have to do this when she’s under the influence? She’s already starting to hate herself for it now, she knows the embarrassment will only be worse when she wakes up tomorrow with a killer hangover.

After getting dressed in the clothes he brought her (a sweet gesture that makes her want to wring his neck) and brushing her teeth, she emerges from the bathroom, her hair damp. She walks past him without a word, heading straight to her bedroom.

Javier hesitates, torn between leaving now and staying a bit longer to ensure she’s okay.

His feet carry him to her bedroom door before his mind catches up. “I’m headed out,” he announces awkwardly, his gaze fixed on her as she crawls into bed. “Drink some water and take those pills.”

Paloma nods faintly, doing as he instructed, her eyes avoiding him as she curls up under the blankets.

He wants to say more, to fix things somehow, but he knows he can’t. Not tonight, not like this.

“Can you come here, please?”

Her words carry a vulnerable tone that tugs at his heartstrings, having him walk over to her.

“What is it?”

“Why don’t you want me Javi?” Her voice trembles slightly, head sinking deeper into the pillow. Her sad, twinkling brown eyes plead with him, searching for answers that have eluded her for too long “What don’t I have that all the others do?”

He feels a pang in his chest, kneeling beside the bed and bringing himself to eye level with her. He can’t bear to see her like this, questioning her worth because of his shortcomings. He knows it’s not about what she lacks—it’s about his own fears and insecurities.

“Cariño, you have so fucking much,” he murmurs sincerely. His fingers reach out, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. She’s so beautiful. “You have this warmth, this passion... It scares me, Paloma. How strongly I feel about you.”

He searches her eyes, hoping she’ll understand, hoping she’ll see that it’s his own tensions holding him back, not any fault of hers. But he knows words alone won’t heal the wounds he’s inflicted. He wishes he could erase the pain he’s caused, the doubts he’s planted in her heart.

Her gaze holds his, a mixture of longing and hurt swirling in his mesmerizing brown eyes. She doesn’t verbally say anything, but her stare speaks volumes—pleading for an explanation.

“But why?”

“‘Cause shit has never worked out for me.”

“So you just gave up entirely?”

“Isn’t that what you did?”

“Yeah. Until I met you and realized how lonely it is giving up.” Paloma hiccups softly, her words tinged with vulnerability, nuzzling into his touch against her cheek. “Do you like being lonely, Javi?”

There’s a long pause.

“…No.” He’s never been this honest before.

She scoots closer to him, closing the gap between them. Her hand reaches up tentatively, fingers brushing against his. “Then don’t be. I’m right here.”

Javi looks down, pulling his hand back. “You need to sleep this off baby.”

Her brow furrows slightly, frustration clear in her expression. She wants him to stay, to talk, to unravel the complexities between them. But she knows he’s holding back, keeping his distance for reasons she can’t fully grasp.

“Don’t fuckin’ dismiss me—”

“I’m not dismissing you. We’ll talk about it another time when you’re sober. Right now you need to sleep.”

“Promise me.” Her voice is insistent now, “Promise me that you’ll actually talk and be honest when we speak again.”

He knows he owes her that much—honesty, vulnerability, a chance to mend the fractures he’s caused. He nods slowly.

“Si, te lo prometo. Pero ahorita, mi palomita, tienes que descansar (Yes, I promise you, but right now, my little dove, you need to rest).” 

He reaches out again, this time his hand finding hers on the bedspread. Their fingers intertwine briefly, a silent reassurance passing between them. He squeezes gently before standing.

Her lips curl up into a small yet sweet smile, feeling newfound hope at the prospect of making amends with Javier and finally getting what she actually wants.

No fantastical tales of peace and power, no outlandish adventures and sneaking around, no deceit.

All she desires is to be wanted by him.

He lingers by the door again. “We’ll talk soon.”

Paloma nods, “Goodnight, Javi.” Her eyes follow him as he leaves the room. Alone now, she curls up under the blankets, drunken thoughts swirling in her head. She wants to believe in his promise, to hope that their next conversation will bring clarity and maybe even something more.

Now outside, Javier bends down to pick up his discarded cigarette, leaning against the car and lighting it. He runs a hand through his hair as he exhales the smoke heavily. He’s committed now, committed to confronting his own fears after half-assing it for so long. It won’t be easy, but for Paloma, he’s willing to try.

[astralcurses]

how do u filter tags on here i am so tired of getting recommended billdip posts i do not ever want to see billdip ever what on gods green earth made you think i wanted to, tumblr

[russenoire]

Getting to Know You Meme

tagged by @ygodmyy20! thankee kindly.

01) are you currently in a serious relationship? nope. can't say i miss it.

02) what was your dream growing up? i had a new one every month. the one that stuck around the longest was 'astronaut' until i learned that NASA's manned space program hasn't done much since skylab, outside of testing the limits of human endurance in low earth orbit. still cool! but i'll keep my unnaturally dense bones, thanks.

03) what talent do you wish you had? the talent to work any job i wanted without medication.

04) if someone bought you a drink what would it be? a cocktail of some sort. most likely a gin and tonic, a negroni or a mojito.

05) favorite vegetable? too many to count. easier for me to tell you what i don't like: green beans. if they're only palatable tempura-fried, i don't need them in my life.

06) what was the last book you read? currently working through your brain's not broken, by tamara rosier, ph.d.

07) what zodiac sign are you? virgo. and no, i don't wanna hear about how virgos are hyper-organized control freaks. i am neither of these things.

08) any tattoos and/or piercings? five in a single ear, one in the other. two make up an industrial piercing. i have no tattoos but want one of the kageyama brothers from mp100 someday.

09) worst habit? getting too hung up on the 'right time' to do things.

10) what is your favorite sport? to play? dodgeball. to watch? either figure skating or tennis.

11) do you have a pessimistic or optimistic attitude? recovering pessimist here. i'm optimistic about some things and nihilistic about others.

12) tell me one weird fact about you. i never learned to ride a bicycle.

13) do you have any pets? no. i love cats and regularly-washed dogs though.

14) do you think clowns are cute or scary? i don't have a strong opinion about clowns, tbh.

15) if you could change one thing about how you look, what would it be? nothing. anything i can change is changeable.

16) what color eyes do you have? brown.

17) ever been arrested? nope.

18) bottle or can soda? bottle. though i don't soda very often.

19) if you won $10,000 today, what would you do with it? pay off my student loans and save the rest.

20) what's your favorite place to hang out at? a vedanta temple in the foothills here, or a park on a hill with a historic frank lloyd-wright-designed home.

21) do you believe in ghosts? maybe. i know people who can see them.

22) favorite thing to do in your spare time? singing. or learning.

23) do you swear a lot? very much so.

24) biggest pet peeve? how long you got? we could be here all week.

25) in one word, how would you describe yourself? iconoclastic.

26) do you believe in/appreciate romance? *shrug* i believe in and appreciate love, wherever it comes from.

27) favourite and least favourite food? does anyone have a single favorite? anyone? i do not. least favorite food is canned vegetables, except for beets and corn.

28) do you believe in god? i believe in the divine, a Self that we are one with and all have access to. whatever you choose to call that is up to you.

29) what makes you happy: soft fluffy things, palpable texture in weaves and knits, sweet or creamy fruits, singing and/or listening to music, my friends, learning something new.

30) currently listening/the last thing you listened to: hiroko suzuki, 'bara wa utsukushiku chiru'.

31) favorite place to spend time: at home.

32) favorite lyric: 'love is like the scabs from sunburn' from the OP to kenda master ken.

33) recommend a film: at random? good morning, by yasujirō ōzu.

34) recommend a book: oranges are not the only fruit, by jeannette winterson; islands, the universe, home, by gretel ehrlich.

35) Recommend a band, a song, or album: uchikubi gokumon doukoukai, 'shufu no michi' (way of the house-husband)

36) recommend a TV show: rose of versailles. soapy as hell, but great if you love historical dramas and anime. it's fairly well-researched too.

37) where are you from, and do you still live there? Where have you lived? the pacific north american coast; i'm still here. i've lived in texas and georgia, USA.

38) do you have any pets or animals in your life? how did you find/get them? no pets.

39) what's the most unusual thing you've ever eaten? bull penis. 0/10 do not recommend. the most unusual thing i've actually enjoyed is probably fried crickets.

40) how did you 'find' fandom? got obsessed with a story and wanted to share that love with other people. didn't happen until my mid-thirties though with steven universe.

41) make a list of 5 things that you see without getting up. a heat gun, a soldering iron that i have never used for actual soldering, the laptop i'm typing this on, the laptop connected to my projector, a plastic mask.

42) how do you style your hair? usually a tall bun. my hair is long enough to sit on and this keeps it out of my way.

as always, no pressure: @yaraneechan @eshithepetty @impmansloot @gumy-shark @sukunekatano

@cheese-enjoyer9471 @sulfurousmirrorscapes @creativenicocorner or anyone else who sees this and wants to!