#in the moment it's about the temptation. the realization that for all the horror and the violence. part of you CRAVES it.

[eldritchamy]

The Invitation (2022)

No really I cannot stress enough how hot this scene was

[saurongorthaur9]

Right now, I'm decently sure that Galadriel is somehow going to succumb to Sauron's temptation at the end of Season 2.

I've been listening to the Season 2 track on repeat for pretty much the last 24 hours (and loving it) and the Last Temptation track has me thinking thoughts.

First, we know that there is going to be a confrontation between Galadriel and Sauron in the S2 finale, and Charlie has indicated in interviews that Sauron still thinks he can win Galadriel over and he hasn't given up on pitching his King and Queen idea to her. So, there's definitely going to be some sort of Temptation 2.0.

Second, I think whatever Galadriel is going to face is going to be ten times harder for her to resist than the S1 finale. I think this for two reasons. Firstly, in S1, Galadriel in a way had surprise and rage on her side. The fresh feeling of betrayal, the horror of the realization of what she's done, and her long-festering pure hatred for Sauron were all present and, in a way, I think made it easier for her to turn him down in the moment (though I still think she was tempted). This season however, she's going to have the entire season to marinate in all her feelings and the memories of how Halbrand made her feel seen and appreciated and her connection with him. She's going to have the whole season to miss it (and him) and yearn for it (and him).

The other reason is that Sauron will have more time to prepare to make his pitch Even Better. It's very obvious that he had already been planning his S1 finale pitch to her as Halbrand, but I think she figured him out sooner than he'd planned, and while he went along with it, he wasn't as prepared as he could have been. This time, however, he's going to have more time to prepare and he's seen what DIDN'T work already, so he can try a pitch that is more crafted to Galadriel's weaknesses. We also know there is going to be something going on all season with their psychic connection, so he's also had all season to play with her mind before their final confrontation assumedly.

So, from a character and plot standpoint, I think Galadriel is going to face something a lot harder for her to resist.

Now, from a narrative standpoint, I think it makes a ton of sense for the plot and for Galadriel's character arc and the structure of a TV show for Galadriel to succumb to Sauron's temptation (though I'm not sure what that will look like).

If they do go that route, I'm sure it's something all the lore purists will froth and foam over, but it just makes so much sense for the story that ROP is telling, particularly with Galadriel. From a storytelling perspective, it doesn't make sense to show a replay of the scene from the S1 finale. We've already seen her resist him, so it makes sense that if we get a similar scene in this season, it'll have a different outcome that shows us new aspects of the characters.

They've told us that Galadriel and Sauron's relationship and connection will remain central to the entire show for all five seasons. If that's the case, it wouldn't make sense for them to place the highest note of their relationship at the end of S1 and to merely show Galadriel rejecting him in various ways throughout the rest of the series. There's the challenge of finding new ways to explore different aspects of the characters, and having Galadriel resist in S1 only to succumb in S2 and then come back from it in S3-5 would be very narratively pleasing. Static characters aren't interesting to watch, especially over the course of a TV series, while characters who have rises and falls are much more riveting. Now, I do think there are other ways they could accomplish it, but having Galadriel fall would be a big, big way to do it.

They've also been pitching S2 as "the villain season." It's about the villains and about the darkness in each of the characters. We're going to be watching the fall of Celebrimbor and the fall of Eregion at the very least. We are most likely going to start seeing the fall of Numenor and Khazad-dum as well. It would be deeply thematically satisfying for the season to end on the note of our main heroine also falling and succumbing to the darkness that we've been watching creep over and consume everything else in Middle-earth.

Finally, it makes sense for the story they seem to be telling with Galadriel. We're seeing her growth from an ambitious, revenge-driven, impetuous warrior to become the wise, powerful, but also kinda scary elf sorceress and queen from LOTR. Given that arc and the darkness we've already gotten hints about in Galadriel, it makes sense for her arc for her to get a tiny taste of what falling would mean for both her and for everyone she loves. I could absolutely see her succumbing to her own darkness and accepting Sauron's temptation only to see the ramifications and pull away as a wiser person who carries the grief and burden of knowing what darkness does to her. I could see it fitting with that intangible grief and pain that Galadriel seems to carry in LOTR. And I think a part of her could like how she feels after succumbing to Sauron, and that feeling is something she would carry on, even after she ultimately rejects her darkness and Sauron. It would fit well with that incredible yearning and desire that we see in Galadriel when Frodo offers her the Ring years and years later, because she knows how good it feels, but ultimately she also knows the ruin it would bring because she's seen a glimpse of it.

Anyway, I'm prepared to be wrong, but right now, I'm really thinking this is the direction Season 2 is going to go (and maybe hoping just a little because it would be horrifying and gut-wrenching and amazing and awesome).

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Fool's Errand Pt 5

Part (5) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Btw, @youreababboon - sorry! I'm certain you were on my taglist initially! I must have goofed at some point 😘

Warnings: fair bit of medical procedures in this one: blood, needles, big needle, body horror, brief mention of child prisoner

WC: 3,578

“Uh… She…” I barely had time to notice that he’d somehow found his helm, and that he was using Crosshair’s rifle as a crutch, all but confirming his brother still hadn’t woken else I was sure I’d be able to hear him shouting at Wrecker even through the roar of the fire. He’d just begun to speak when something in the cockpit blew. The flash briefly overloaded my HUD, blinding me even through the visor, and the shockwave that followed nearly knocked me and Tech to the ground.

“Later!” I dismissed sharply, starting forward once more. “Is there anyone else in here?!” He shook his head, already turning to follow me out of the ship, and, despite the threat of dread stiffening my throat, the horror at realizing how close I’d come to leaving the small girl to the mercy of the flames, I let out a short huff of relief.

“Echo, we’re ready for pickup.” I called out over my com.

“Copy.” There was a tension in his voice that reminded me about the still untreated shot he’d taken to his shoulder, and, for just a moment, I felt a temptation to falter beneath the overwhelming work still to come. They all needed help… and we were so far behind enemy lines that there was no backup; no nearby flagship we could run to for supplies or safety. There was just me…

“Tech, I’m going to sit you down beside Crosshair, okay?” I said, voice nearing something of a gentle whisper as I noted how quickly he was breathing, how much he was clearly struggling to stay upright. He gave a weak nod, and I carefully helped him the rest of the short distance to that ditch and eased him down before turning to Wrecker.

“Alright, give her to me and sit down before Cross sees what you’re doing to his rifle – I don’t need any more work patching you guys up.” A barely muffled chuckle escaped him as he leaned down to pass the young girl to me, but he still used the Firepuncher to limp the rest of the way to his brothers before collapsing to the freshly upturned earth.

She couldn’t have been older than six. Tawny brown hair dangled to her shoulders in twin pigtails decorated with soot-covered jewels and metalwork. Dark shorts revealed skinned knees and small but vibrant patches of burned skin dotting her legs. It was the thin bead of blood slowly outlining the subtle curve of her brow that worried me, however.

Words automatically left me in a gentle, reassuring murmur as I began an initial assessment; telling her my name and title, reassuring her that I was there to help, and voicing my every action before I did it. It didn’t matter that she appeared unconscious. I was a stranger, and I didn’t want her to be afraid.

As the scanner hummed softly, I glanced up to see the rapidly approaching transport, a wave of ineffective, crimson bolts following in its wake from the battalion below. A quiet chime drew my attention back to the screen, pleased to see nothing that wouldn’t heal on its own. Still, I knew her burns would be painful, and we had enough bacta on the Marauder to spare.

There was a moment as we waited, maybe as little as a handful of seconds, in which I found my gaze turning back to the ruined shuttle behind us, and I didn’t fight the memory of that sloppily painted loth cat on the tail. I remembered her laugh just before the alarms blared. I remembered the feeling of her hand in mine. And I felt the desperate need to venture once more into those flames; to fight my way back to the engulfed cockpit that I might find her; that I might whisper her name if only to say goodbye.

But then the scream of engines wrenched my attention back to the present, and I granted myself no further time to waste on fables as I gathered the girl into my arms.

As soon as the transport touched down, I could hear rapid footsteps echoing within. Echo was waiting before the doors had begun to open, chest jerking around quick breaths, and I couldn’t ignore the subtle gleam of moisture darkening the fabric about his shoulder. Still, a small huff of laughter escaped me at the obvious confusion in his stance as he noted the small form in my arms.

“Who’s”

“You’ll have to talk to Wrecker.” I interrupted with a tiny chuckle, “How’s Hunter?”

“No change.” He answered, voice heavy. I didn’t press as I tread passed him. The faster everyone was loaded, the faster I could check him over myself.

By the time I’d secured the girl into a crash seat, Echo was already helping Wrecker into the ship, and I winced at the barely audible grunt that occasionally caught between ground teeth as the massive clone hobbled unsteadily beside his brother. I wanted to offer my help, to lessen the strain on his injured leg, but every second brought the droid army closer, so I darted back into the cool night air.

“Tech, you still with me?” I asked, words rushed as I kneeled down next to him. He only managed a weak grunt in response at first, eyes reluctantly opening behind soot-smeared, topaz lenses. “Hey, honey – Echo’s here.” I explained softly even as I carefully slid my arm beneath his shoulders to begin easing him up. “Can you walk?” He frowned as he looked around us, lips pulled into a weak scowl from some wretched cocktail of confusion and pain.

“… I…” I could see him struggling to remember, to formulate an accurate response, and that was all the answer I needed.

“It’s alright. I’ll help you, okay?” I murmured, body bracing against his before slowly hauling him upright. A strained groan only just caught on his tense exhale, but it was enough to force me to pause, debating if I needed to carry him outright. He took the first step, however, so I tread with him, arm locked around his waist to offer what support I could.

“I'll get Cross.” I said as Echo started back down the ramp, adding, “I don't want you straining that shoulder anymore,” when his helm tilted in confusion. I didn’t need to see him to picture the subtle, unamused frown as his head sank down ever so slightly. “He’s the lightest one between the lot of you – just make sure Tech doesn’t bleed out before I get back.” I added dismissively with a scoff, words just touched by the hint of a smirk on my lips, still, he let out a short huff before turning inside.

It wasn’t until after hoisting his lithe form over my shoulder that Crosshair finally began to stir.

“… the kriff…?” He muttered groggily, body tentatively moving in weak, unsteady twitches.

“About time you woke up.” I teased warmly, carefully hiding the breathiness from my voice as we entered the ship. The weary confusion with which he called my name left my heart dancing violently in my chest. “Don’t worry,” I whispered, “everyone’s here. Just need to get you strapped in, and then we’re leaving.” His head shifted slightly for a moment as though he was trying to look around before pausing, attention briefly locking on the still form of the child, but then he seemed to abandon even that minuscule effort as he went limp once more.

Echo had another wad of gauze pressed against Tech’s arm, attention flitting between his brother and the cockpit, as I reentered. Wrecker’s gaze flicked only briefly to me before darting back to the young girl, jaw taut with a worry he made no effort to hide, and Hunter hadn’t moved, body leaning faintly into the harness while his chest jerked with quick, shallow breaths.

“How long before we’re in firing range?” I asked, mind racing to remember how long we had before reaching the Marauder, to triage the injuries of those around me, and to prepare myself for the weight of juggling them all at once.

“Not long.” Echo replied, glancing at me for just a moment as I eased his brother into a nearby couch before he leaned over to press his scomp to Crosshair’s chest. I said a quick “thanks” as I secured his harness, jaw aching from how firmly my teeth ground together as my gaze wandered toward Hunter.

“I’ve got him.” I murmured, reaching over to clasp my hand around Tech’s arm. “If you can find a spot to land for a few minutes, let me know; otherwise just… hurry.” As I said it, words lowered into a tense whisper, I nodded subtly toward the Sargent. Echo nodded, offering no further recourse before pushing himself up to all but sprint toward the cockpit. Within seconds, the ship lurched to life, leaping sharply from the ground before rocketing away from the black site below, again making me snatch at a harness to steady myself.

Releasing a short breath, I turned my attention to the man before me. Tech’s skin was pale. His head hung listless toward his chest, sweat dripping down his forehead, along the sharp curve of his cheeks, and soaking into the already damp fabric clinging to his form, and the rapid dance of his chest beneath too-quick breaths left me subconsciously tightening my grip on the still bleeding wound.

“Tech? Tech, come on, I want you to stay awake – stay with me.” I instructed, voice rising slightly in hopes of catching his attention even as I quickly jostled myself out of my medbag’s uncomfortable straps. He didn’t respond, instantly drawing a curse from my lips.

“Anythin’ I can help with?” Wrecker asked, an odd meekness to his words, and I instantly felt some of my tension fall away at the innate gentleness of him.

“No,” I said softly, glancing back toward him with a smile I knew he couldn’t see. “I just hate seeing you guys get hurt… but he’ll be okay.” I added warmly. “Let me know if those pain meds start to wear off, okay?” He nodded, and I turned my attention back to the injured pilot, carefully pulling away the gauze just enough to study the already subsiding blood flow. It was steady. Not an arterial bleed, at least, but I needed to repair any ruptured major vessels before I could remove the tourniquet, and that wasn’t something I could do during flight. Securing the additional gauze with more bandages, I moved to his other arm and quickly stripped it of armor before cutting through the fabric at his elbow to reveal the thin skin below.

“What you can do,” I started, calling back to Wrecker once more as I began prepping an IV, “is explain why we went down there for a Senator and came back with a child.” He let out a quiet chuckle, the deep, familiar sound an effortless balm to my worries.

“Not sure.” He answered far too nonchalantly for the severity of the situation. I almost scoffed, but bit it back in favor of listening, attention split between him and quickly placing the IV. “Tech figured out where the guy should’a been, but, when we got there, we found her instead.” He explained, shoulders rolling fluidly to emphasize his own confusion before motioning to the girl.

“Was she conscious when you found her?” I didn’t want to think about how she might react to suddenly finding herself surrounded by strangers…

“Oh yeah.” He replied emphatically, head nodding. “Came running right up to Tech an’ wouldn’t let go – he thinks she recognized his armor.” Maker, I would have given anything to have seen Tech’s face in that moment… I wondered if Wrecker saw how still I went, even if only for the few seconds it took to fight the image of Tech, utterly frozen, arms flared, jaw agape as he stared at the tiny girl clinging to his leg in pure shock, from my mind.

“Did she tell you what happened?” I could hear the barely restrained laughter just tinting my words.

“Nah; wouldn’t say anything. Just held on to Tech ‘til the droids started shootin’ at us; then he had to carry her.” He explained, voice still oddly quiet. That humor faded, replaced with something far softer as I glanced once more toward Tech’s still lax face. “When we met up with Cross, Tech got her to stay in the cabin with him – she didn’t like me much. Pretty sure you can guess the rest.” He said it so dismissively, as though the words were meaningless, but I instantly stilled. That was the reason he hadn’t been wearing his helmet… why he’d so carefully kept his voice hushed and sat quietly rather than ignoring his injury in favor of insisting I let him help, and my heart broke for him.

I wanted to go to him, to cradle his hand between mine and whisper promises that he’d done nothing wrong, but time was a luxury not often granted in moments when even a few seconds of stillness was so desperately needed.

“You saved her life.” I whispered instead, attention pointedly trained on securing Tech’s injured arm to his chest before dragging my bag with me as I moved toward Hunter. He didn’t respond, head tilted down as his fingers picked thoughtlessly at the straps binding his leg. There was no uncertainty in the quiet that settled between us as I began scanning Hunter. He didn’t need to explain how the girl’s fear had hurt him in a way that would never stop haunting him, how it gnawed at a wound he wanted to pretend didn’t exist despite how effortlessly it crippled him, and I knew that no amount of heart-felt reassurance or affectionate words would dull that pain.

“How is he?” He asked somberly as the scanner went quiet.

“Stable, but not great.” I answered, quickly glancing over the results. “It’s stopped now, but he was bleeding internally, and that’s putting pressure on his lungs.” I didn’t mention that the bleeding could start again from even gentle movement; that the collected blood would soon begin to clot; that I was shocked his lung hadn’t collapsed already, and that I found myself counting every passing second, certain his body would suddenly jerk beneath some instinctual panic as his breathing all but stopped.

I let out a tense breath and glanced uselessly toward the cockpit before activating my com.

“Echo, any update?” I called, loathing the subtle plea that I couldn’t fully silence.

“We’ve already had to dodge a few patrols.” I heard the apology in his voice, the note of a guilt we both knew was unavoidable.

“Think you can keep us level for a minute?” He didn’t answer immediately, and I could only assume he was scanning for any hint of danger before answering.

“Do it quick.” There was a warning in those short words, and I didn’t waste a moment, quickly tossing my helmet onto a nearby seat.

“Wrecker, if you can move carefully, I could use your help.” I murmured, attention focused on retrieving the right supplies. In truth, I could have done this on my own, but there was comfort to be found for us both in sharing this burden. He responded merely by undoing his harness and hobbling across the small cabin toward me, one hand absently pressing against the roof to steady himself.

“Help me get his cuirass off.” I was already reaching out to begin undoing his armor, loathing the seemingly endless steps needed to gain access to his torso. Wrecker readily lowered himself into the seat beside his brother and followed suit, quickly piling the dark plastoid into a pile at his feet, and I couldn’t unsee how his jaw had tensed in that first moment after pulling off Hunter’s helmet. Deep bruises painted what skin wasn’t already darkened by his tattoo, leaving both eyes nearly swollen shut, and the gauze I’d secured to his nose was soaked through with now dried blood.

It wasn’t until I eased him toward me, balancing him against my chest as I kneeled on the floor in front of him to start carefully removing the heavy cuirass, that Hunter began to stir, a groggy hum catching weakly in his throat.

“Welcome back.” The warmth in my whispered words veiled the regret sinking through my chest at having woken him.

“…where…?” The question only just found breath to tumble from barely shifting lips.

“We’re all headed to the Marauder.” I answered calmly, stomach churning at the choked grunt he only belatedly managed to bite back as Wrecker shifted his arms to guide through the holes of his armor.

“Sorry, Sarg…” Wrecker muttered remorsefully. That flare of pain seemed to drag him further into a cursed awareness, head turning slightly to take in the dimly lit cabin.

“Wh… wha’ happe’ed?” He asked, voice thick and strained, trying vainly not to fight us as we maneuvered him out of his armor.

“A lot, but everyone’s onboard with us.” I said before Wrecker could offer a far more frightening answer. A low, tense groan caught in his throat as we gently leaned him back.

“…Doc…” The short word left in something closer to a cough than true speech. I hated the subtle tension in his brow, the faint creases it formed about tightly closed eyes, but I wouldn’t let myself stop, moving quickly to unwrap the plackart from his torso. “Pretty hard t…hard to b…breathe.” He huffed weakly, and I granted myself just a moment to wrap my hand around his, fingers twining together in a silent offer of whatever comfort that touch might grant him.

“I know, hun. I’m going to fix that right now. Okay?” He paused, as though processing what I’d said before a new tension stole through him, grip tightening around me for mere seconds before he forced himself under control. “I’ll give you something to take the edge off, and it’ll be quick.” I promised, squeezing his hand once more before releasing him.

“You want somethin’ to bite down on?” Wrecker asked as I retrieved the autoinjector. Hunter answered only with a small shake of his head, but his entire body jerked slightly when my fingers brushed along his lower ribs.

“Not ticklish, right?” I teased, earning a short, scoffed chuckle. In the same beat, I laid the injector against his side. Something akin to a growl escaped lips pulled into a weak snarl, fingers locking around the harness now hanging loosely around him, and Wrecker instinctively laid a massive hand over his chest. We all knew that gesture was meant to hold his brother still just as much as it was to offer support, but it was easier to pretend otherwise.

“Big poke.” I allowed him barely a second after the warning left my lips before piercing his side, automatically following the way his body bucked away from the intrusion to slip the catheter over the long needle. A strangled grunt morphed once more into that near growl before faltering into a shuttered sigh as a gush of dark blood shot between my hands onto the seat beside him. It quickly subsided to a slow drip, and the way his next breath broke with something too close to a whimper beneath a relief I knew too well left me straining to keep my own breath steady, eyes taking in the way that tension abandoned him into a boneless heap beneath his brother’s hand.

“Good,” I murmured, “just take a few deep breaths, and try not to move around too much.” He gave a small nod almost as an afterthought as I quickly secured the line to his side with an abundance of tape lest it jostle and cause even more damage. “How’s your throat feel?” He didn’t respond for a moment, tongue absently dragging out to wet his lips before wearily opening his eyes.

“It’s…” His hand shifted vaguely toward the bruised flesh in an almost dismissive gesture, “…sore?” He offered, but it was clear that whatever thought he’d given toward the answer was far less concerned by that than he was with the bliss of finally managing to fill his lungs with the crisp, nighttime air, and I couldn’t help but grin softly at him.

“Okay, let’s get you strapped back in, but let me know if anything gets worse.” He seemed to melt even further into the crash couch at my quiet whisper, eyes falling shut once more as Wrecker and I secured the harness around him.

“You, too.” I added with a smirk, my eyes shifting to meet Wrecker’s. He seemed surprised for a just a moment before his lips pulled into a slightly embarrassed smile.

“Really doesn’t hurt that bad.” There was no earnest fight in his feigned objection, and he let out a quiet chuckle as my brow hitched in a silent order, hands already pulling his own harness snugly around him.

“Alright; I need to check on Echo. Can you keep an eye on everyone back here?” The question wasn’t meant to placate whatever sense of uselessness his injury may have given him, and, as I held his gaze, I didn’t doubt that he understood that. He nodded, and I knew I could trust him to call me the instant something changed, freeing me to retrieve my pack once more before starting toward the cockpit.

Next Chapter

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[kirby0strombolli]

Ghostface | Matt Sturniolo P3

'What's the matter Sidney? You look like you've seen a ghost.'

ghostface!matt x reader

Chapter 3: liar.

P1 P2 P3 P4 P5 P6 P7 P8

warnings: SMUT!, jerking off, cursing.

a/n: I've never written smut before bear with me guys 😭

______________________________________________________________

y/n's pov

"What's the matter, y/n?" he peers at me with utter malice in his eyes . "You look like you've seen a ghost."

I turned to cry out for help, but his hand closed around my mouth, muffling my screams.

Panic surged through me like a tidal wave. I struggled against his iron grip, but it was futile.

My vision began to blur, the world spinning around me as I fought to stay conscious.

'She had a bit too much to drink,' he chuckled to someone in the distance that I couldn't see.

His words echoed in my mind, each syllable a dagger of betrayal.

Lies. He's a liar. I thought in my head, unable to speak from the strong grip he had over my mouth.

No doubt he'd take me to his car and toss me into the trunk like all the unfortunate girls in the horror movies.

My heart pounded in my chest as the realization hit me like a freight train. My life had been turned into a horror movie - a nightmare that I couldn't escape.

Panic surged through me as I struggled against his grip, but it was no use. Matt's strength was overpowering, and I was helpless against him.

But before I could confront him, he removed his hand from my mouth, allowing me to speak. With trembling lips, I managed to stutter out, 'you're a liar.'

After receiving no reply, I gritted my teeth and braced myself for the inevitable, expecting to be roughly thrown into the trunk on his car.

But to my surprise, I felt Matt's touch gentle, not forceful. Instead of being tossed aside like a discarded toy, I was gently laid across the backseat of the car, my body trembling with a mixture of fear and confusion.

I fought to stay conscious, my eyelids heavy as lead, but the world around me blurred into a chaotic mess of shadows and lights.

My fingers clawed at the seat, desperately seeking something to hold onto, but my strength was waning, slipping away like sand through my trembling hands.

Each breath felt like a struggle, the air thick and suffocating as it filled my lungs.

I could hear Matt's voice, distant and muffled as if coming from underwater. He spoke of things I couldn't comprehend, his words swirling around me in a dizzying whirlwind of confusion and fear.

But one sentence stood out to me, 'I killed him '.

But despite my best efforts, consciousness slipped through my fingers like grains of sand, until finally, I succumbed to the darkness, my mind plunging into the abyss of unconsciousness, and confusion.

______________________________________________________________

Matt's pov

As I drove down the deserted road, the weight of my actions hung heavy in the air, the gravity of the situation pressing down on me like a suffocating blanket.

Guilt gnawed at the edges of my conscience, as I tried to ignore the growing erection in my pants. But, as I glanced at her through the rearview mirror, a rush of desire surged through me, igniting an insatiable urge of lust.

Her disheveled hair framed her face in a tantalizingly tousled manner, her lips parted ever so slightly as she struggled to regain consciousness.

With each passing moment, my arousal grew, fueled by the soft murmurs and faint moans escaping her unconscious state.

It was wrong, I knew it, after the events at the party, the carnage that she had no idea about...

I couldn't bring myself to ignore my now painfully hard cock, stealing glances at her until I couldn't take it anymore.

The tension in the air was palpable, thick with desire and temptation. I gripped the steering wheel tightly, my knuckles turning white as I struggled to suppress the lust and desire I had been battling with.

But with each delicate sound she made, a surge of heat washed over me, eroding whatever restraint I had left.

Closing my eyes briefly, I took a deep, steadying breath, attempting to quell the storm raging inside me. Even as I tried to resist, the pull of temptation was too strong to ignore.

This was wrong- I shouldn't be feeling like this when- I was interrupted by a loud moan, the lewd sounds going straight to my pulsing length.

'fuck it.' I muttered under my breath pulling the car over, wasting no time unbuttoning my jeans.

______________________________________________________________

y/n's pov

My head is pounding.

we're not moving. the car is not moving.

'fuck y/n'

The sound goes straight to my core, and I realise I'm wet before I even open my eyes.

As my eyelids flutter open, and I find myself gazing at Matt, who was pleasuring himself, his eyes screwed shut, his hand is pumping his cock, pleasured whimpers to slipping out of his mouth.

With each word, his tone grew more urgent, more fervent, until he was practically pleading, "Please, baby, I need you."

Unable to tear my gaze away, I watched transfixed as Matt's hand moved rhythmically over his length, each movement making me more wetter.

His soft groans filled the air, mingling with the sound of my own ragged breaths as arousal surged through me.

And then, as if unable to contain himself any longer, he succumbed to the overwhelming need, his voice breaking in a guttural moan of pleasure.

Despite the confusion and fear swirling in my mind, I couldn't deny the undeniable heat pooling between my thighs.

Rubbing my thighs together, I shifted uncomfortably against the seat, my body aching with need as a wave of desire washed over me.

Despite the wrongness of the situation, I couldn't deny the overwhelming hunger that pulsed through my veins.

______________________________________________________________

With a newfound surge of boldness, she mustered up the courage to speak, her voice dripping with seduction. "Need a hand there, ghostface?" she purred, gesturing to the mask that lay on the centre console

A wicked grin spread across Matt's face as he met her gaze, his eyes sparkling with lust. "Ride me, cowgirl," he growled, his voice seductively low.

After throwing off her denim skirt, she made her way to the driver's seat, to be met with the sight of Matt, his red tip now leaking with pre-cum.

With a sultry smile, she straddled him, feeling his hardness pressing against her as she sank down onto his lap.

As she sank onto Matt's lengthy dick, she threw her head back in pleasure, as she, at an agonisingly slow pace, began to rock her hips against his, back and forth.

In a haze of desire, Matt reached for the cowboy hat resting nearby and gently placed it on her head. "You look so sexy, ma," he whispered hoarsely, his breath hot against her skin, sending shivers down her spine

Matt's eyes began to close as he gripped her hips tightly as she quickened her pace, beginning to bounce on his dick, as his lips connected with her neck, marking what was his.

He began to trail his lips down to her chest and let out a deep groan as she clenched around him, bucking his hips up as y/n's eyes began to glaze over in pleasure, her mouth open, small gasps audible over Matt's deep groans.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, "You're mine," before sinking his teeth gently into her neck again , marking her as his.

Her breath hitched at her possessive declaration, his hands moving down to her ass, and squeezing, making her clench around his cock.

'I'm yours' she whined, her tits bouncing urgently as she chased her climax. That's when Matt became rough, the grip on her ass getting tighter and tighter as he pushed her down onto his cock, throwing his head back in pleasure.

Matt's hands roamed eagerly over her, tracing every curve with a hunger that matched her own. With each thrust of her hips, she surrendered to the ecstasy coursing through her veins, her moans mingling with his.

As Matt thrust into her, his movements became more urgent, his every motion calculated to send waves of pleasure crashing over her.

With each deep penetration, he seemed to hit her g-spot with pinpoint precision, eliciting moans of ecstasy from deep within her throat.

As she felt the climax building inside her, she arched her back, pressing her body tightly against Matt's as . "Oh, fuck... Matt...Don't stop!" she cried out, her voice filled with raw desire.

She arched her back, pressing her body closer to his as she buried her head into the crook of his neck, her breath hot against his skin,"Shit, that's it, baby... Come for me," Matt urged, his eyes closed in pleasure.

As they both tumbled over the edge, curse words spilled from his lips, lost in the throes of ecstasy. As she sighed in pleasure, her eyes fluttered shut.

Impossibly, she slept.

taglist:@lexisecretaccx@itssophiasstuff@junnniiieee07

comment if you want to be added to the taglist a/n: I couldn't write the smut with a straight face I'm sorry 😭

shoutout to @freshloveforthefit and @louiscarrotsxoxo because they're amazing.

[meldelen]

What does Sauron feel for Galadriel?

I'm aware I might be not saying anything new or original, I've read and queued other good metas that basically stand for my point as well; nevertheless, I feel like sharing my two cents concerning this. Sadly - or not - it will be another long ass read.

To be honest, whatever is going between Galadriel and Sauron is one of the main show's assets. Love it or hate it, the show would not be the same without this spice. And the way it is presented leaves no one indifferent. I could talk about this from Galadriel's POV, but I think I'll be going for Sauron's first, if anything because I find it more fascinating, as we're talking of a character that isn't even human, and the main villain, of course. And I'm doing it mostly concerning the show, even if I know Tolkien's books since I was 12. Unfortunately I can't analyze every single scene they share because it would last forever, but I'll try to focus on the ones that have more resonated with me.

Even if Galadriel is undoubtedly one of the most famous elves in Middle Earth, it doesn't look like Sauron knew her before meeting her in the sea. It is pure chance - apparently so - they meet and are taken together to Númenor. In these first moments he's mostly indifferent - and even hostile - to her, per their dialogue, except the moment he dives in and saves her from drowning amidst the storm. From that moment, a confidence grews between them as she's reassured in her position - which he never disclaims - of thinking he's a fallen king from a Southlander throne. Disguised as the human castaway Halbrand, the most fascinating about Sauron, I think, it's that he never lies to her, but doesn't make an effort to take her out of her incorrect assumptions. While not being honest to her, he seems to drift away from her as he pretends to "start anew" - through his long learnt abilities as smith -; while, at the same time, he gets drawn towards her by their kindred spirits.

Which is the start of it all. Sauron recognizes in her someone alike, fierce and relentless, prideful, ambitious and reckless. I think the discussion in the forge, after she drops him in the middle of a plot to return to Middle Earth and crown him, is highly underrated. He only wants to be left alone, she apologizes for having used him, and then confesses - thinking she talks to a friend and not a deceiver - that she can't stop, that because she was compared with the evil she was fighting they mutinied against her and was sent away. She also drops Finrod's line of needing to touch the darkness if one want to reach the light.

Halbrand's reaction to this is priceless. His expression, both shocked and emotional once he realizes she might be just the only one in Arda that might understand him - they mutinied against him as well, he ended a castaway. And then he expresses his condolences for her suffering and particularly, the death of her brother. Now, I believe he was genuinely sincere here, that he really felt for her grief. But being set on the path of becoming something different, it's precisely Galadriel who puts him out of it. Who sends him again to his former path. The horror of it all.

He never gets to tell her who he really is, and only admits it when he's discovered, because there was no way back once this is uncovered. Charlotte Brändström has confirmed that Galadriel loved Halbrand - rather, I think, the idea of Halbrand - in first season, but after the mask falls she won't love Sauron - for obvious reasons. He then offers her the most valuable position he can give her, but what does he offer?

To make her a queen. A queen, mind, not his queen. Now, I know shipping is nice and fun, but for all the tenderness he put into the offering - the warm voice, the chin caressing, the flattering and the temptation; "You bind me to the light and I bind you to power" - I can't avoid seeing that he never offered himself as part of the bargain. Love is selfless and you must give yourself for it to be real. As Charlie Vickers have well put, he does not see her as an equal. It is not a marriage/lover alliance of a king and a queen ruling together with love as a seal between them. Sauron appeals to her ambition, not to her heart. Even in that moment, before the blast of Orodruin, where they got the most intimate and close - "Fighting at your side, I felt... if I could hold on that feeling, bind it to my very being.." "I felt it too" - he is talking about fighting, and power, and ruling. And she understood it lately, when telling Adar he promised her an army, not himself. Maybe she meant something else in that moment, but he meant an alliance. And alliance in which they're not equals. A queen, but not his queen.

He has no queen. There's only one Lord of the Rings, and he does not share power.

I understand it's very tempting and frankly easier to read this in a romantic code, but I can't forget it's Sauron we're talking about. He's not human, he does not feel and act as human always, he's been awake since the creation of the world and he hardly can see an elf as an equal. The way he tried to manipulate her by taking the shape of Finrod, the long lost brother, and twisting his words to sway her will - it was beyond cruelty. It was Machiavellian, sadistic - and it was only the first of many offenses.

Even before wrapping her in his thrall he throws at her face all the sentences and reasons she had told him before, when she thought he was Halbrand the southlander and not the Dark Lord. Twisting her own words and shooting them at her like arrows - no, you said my past didn't matter, you told me to be free of it. Putting before her eyes the fact that he's back thanks to her and her alone. And that she's now isolated, for no one will accept her once it is known she's the reason he's back. Presenting himself as the only one who would take her, flattering her leading and ruling talents in his benefit, wrapping it with the cover of a redeeming light. Bastard.

Thankfully, Galadriel acknowledges his abuse and manipulation and actively rejects him. What does Sauron do then? He leaves her to die. Tied in his thrall, drowning, back to the point where she was sinking when he saved her, when she still did not mean much to him, but enough to care. Now it's over. You've chosen to refuse me, so die. Go back to the starting point.

And in that moment, he meant her to die, for she had hurt his pride. He's not a scorned lover but a narcissist that has been confronted in his arrogance, and so she has to pay. There is not love in any of these actions. In a fit of rage, he had let her to die. If Elrond wasn't around when he pulls her out of the pound, she would've drowned.

That fit of rage passes, and as it happens, he has time to reconsider his position. Does he know she has survived? What matters is that he moves to Mordor and directly sells her to Adar. Telling his former lieutenant that she has aligned with Sauron - !!! - and both must be stopped. He sells her location and sets an army of Uruk against her and Eregion. Dressing this betrayal as heroism as he endures torture for the sake of the soutlander prisoners, who get free thanks to this bargain.

Are these actions belonging to one who loves? It is atrocity after atrocity. Per his actions you can't tell he's in love, rather the opposite. You could say he's actively punishing her and plans to keep making her pay for her refusal. But of course, he's not driven solely by scorn and revenge, it's not even his main goal. Enter Celebrimbor and the Eregion plot.

When it would seem Galadriel is out of his mind, then this scene with Mirdania happens. Taking advantage of her vulnerability and terror of having seen him in his true form - even if Mirdania herself isn't aware that it was him who she saw in the Unseen World - Annatar flatters her and caresses her hair, comparing her beauty with Galadriel's. Yes, I know it's very satisfying to watch how he praises Lady Galadriel's beauty in front of another woman, in a moment of intimacy, but yet again, I don't see how this can be love.

It is obsession, and of course, manipulation. Playing a double game: one, to recruit Mirdania, to gain her confidence and devotion - he's well aware of what Mirdania is starting to feel for him! - by flattering her - your were so brave, your hair looks like Galadriel's in this light - because we should remember that Galadriel is famous for her beauty, but particularly for her hair is said to remind powerfully of the light of the Trees of Valinor, a light that was encased in the Silmarils. A light she refused to Feänor when he asked her strands of her hair.

Second, it is not only she won't leave his mind, at this point, he's starting to obsess with her, he covets her. He covets her and at the same time wants to punish her for her rejection. Again, I hardly see love in any of these actions. And it is horrifying how he later dismisses Mirdania's life after promising her reward, because she meant nothing to him. Galadriel, on the other hand... cut to the final temptation.

The most shocking in that last fight is that he starts by effortlessly blocking her attacks, for he does not want to hurt her - as he tells her himself. She goes berserk on him, driven by fury and rage, and all he does is blocking her, until he's forced to slash her to remind her who has the upper hand there - she's no match for him, even if she's a skillful sword fighter. In that moment, he's still in control of himself, and even he allows himself to playfully spit her back again the words of Finrod, twisted by his own interpretation: touch the darkness. Many fans have seen a lewd expression and breathing in that point - I think he's mostly panting for the fighting effort, but if there's any lust as you want to read it, then yes, it's lust for getting her, control her, for humiliating and proving her wrong again by drawing a false equivalency between him and her. In his mindset, of course. Innerly, though, he is searching for a servant, a slave if you want. Not a lover, not a partner.

Special mention to those shocking words, when she accuses him of having deceived and manipulated her all the time, and he answers it was "not all of it", for yes, I will concede him that he was genuine. He never lied. He had an honest feeling of starting anew. He saw in her a kindred spirit, and that is not gonna change. He might be admitting he cares/feels something for her, even in his own toxic, twisted way. Truly, the range Sauron has in acknowledging his feelings and not suppressing them, also in admitting them and use them as weapons, has me baffled. Maybe one of the most fascinating traits of him as character.

Galadriel won't stop attacking and rejecting him, so he loses his patience, particularly after being brutally kicked in the chest and thrown over the rocks. Then he pulls again his most cruel card by letting her see Halbrand again - the one she got to love, and he's well aware of it. But the thrall won't work anymore, so he switches to herself and Celebrimbor, to keep mocking her with cruelty, to draw again this false equivalency between them.

And when nothing of this works, and she keeps attacking him even after he offers again to join him, he has again one of those fits of rage and goes ballistic on her, until he resorts to the most brutal, sadistic resource: in what I think it's the foulest allegory of rape I've ever seen, he nails her to the rock by stabbing her with Morgoth's crown. Which is not just a mean to hurt her physically, rather, he actively forces the bond she has rejected to establish with him twice by then. Only blood can bind, and the iron crown already contains his blood after Adar stabbed him with it. His blood and Galadriel's blood merge and then the connection happens. His enraptured expression at this moment is both mesmerizing and revolting, for he's doing that against her will, while dragging her across the stone surface and twisting the spike inside her wound to increase her pain, so excruciating a tear runs down her cheek. While he repeats her he would've made her a queen, and put all Middle-Earth at her feet. Then he pulls out of her and watches as she drops to the ground. Truly brutal and sadistic. The punishment goes on and on.

After this he gains the ability to communicate to her telepathically and to watch her movements. Probably, also to know her thoughts more clearly than before. And he must have thought to command her will also, for she manages to trick him into believing she was going to give him Nenya, and after that she lets herself fall back on the verge of the cliff. Does he, with an alarmed expression, reach for the coveted ring, or for her instead? Does he do it for both? The fact is that he lets her fall.

And even immediately we see he's watching her, for the unwanted connection also allows him to spy on her. Again, he's making sure the ring is safe, or is she his concern? I'm gonna say he was rather checking on her. Nenya is made of mithril and adamant, so very unlikely to have taken damage for a fall.

Why this contradiction? His brutality and cruelty on her hardly fits someone who loves, and he has actively tried to kill her twice by now - always in a fit of rage, not all the time, as Vickers has explained. He didn't want to hurt her - when calm - and yet he forcefully bonded himself to her and enjoyed doing so, not minding her physical and mental agony in the process.

I can't see the slightest glimpse of love in all this abomination. He might have found someone so alike to the point of making him feel alive again and set him back on the path of world domination, but he's an older, immortal, cruel superior being who's been too long under suffering, darkness and despair himself. This is not an absolution, though. I still think he could've chosen differently, but as much as the next narcissist, when challenged or refused he takes a brutal, unrighteous retaliation and doesn't mind to make her suffer for it. Yet it is obvious he feels something for her, so she gets a special treatment if we compare Galadriel with the other lives he so quickly dismisses - much to her disgrace, though.

And I think it's this obsession of him, of having found someone so alike to him who could've been at his service - not at his side! - which makes he won't suffer that this someone refuses him and actively seeks to fight him. For that, he'll make her pay again, and again, and again, while claiming she's special to him, while tempting her with promises of power and light that aren't real. If anything, she'll eventually get the same treatment Celebrimbor got, as soon as she fails or rebels against him. As Morgoth did to him.

The fact the ship is so successful is tied to the fact that Sauron, for all his ancient origins and immortality, is still very human in his emotions and doesn't mind to open and show them. And the fact that once, Galadriel loved Halbrand, or rather the idea of Halbrand. He knows that, and it flatters him. It pushes his pride further, it lifts his ego even higher. He enjoys interacting with her in this twisted way and so playing with Galadriel might become his new entertainment, until bending her to his will, which is to make her serve... not to love her at all. That's why he won't kill her either, as long as he keeps that rage under control.

I thank the show for opening this world to us, for surely it's one of its best potentials, and unlike many haters claim, it is rooted in Tolkien's lore itself, which doesn't contradict. It its truly a complex dynamic and I'm sure many fans, specially shippers, might disagree with me, but this analysis doesn't intend to cancel anyone, rather the opposite. Shipping is fun and nice, but for me it's also important to acknowledge this dynamic is deeply rooted in abuse and keep in mind that Galadriel deserves all our credit for resisting his brutality and calling out his cruelty and manipulation, which a fair form can't mask after all, and they're doing right in not to bend to other narratives that might end quite differently, or burden a higher cost on the abused character, just for the sake of a temporary satisfaction.

[juniperhillpatient]

I think as this gravity falls rewatch has become an ode to my defense of Mabel it’s worth mentioning some key things that no one ever wants to acknowledge about the finale when hating on Mabel

- both Soos & Wendy pretty much IMMEDIATELY fall victim to Mabel-land’s mind games with Wendy running off to engage in teenage shenanigans with her “friends” & soos going to play catch with this “dad”

- Mabel actually acknowledges that this might not be real but she doesn’t care & is happy living in the illusion which is just interesting to me. She doesn’t know how bad things are in gravity falls. From her perspective the real world just sucks because she might have to say goodbye to dipper & you must be made of stone if you don’t think that’s sad / endearing. She’s just a kid 🥺

- Bill laughs when he’s told Mabel’s family is in the bubble trying to rescue her. He states that it would take (quote) a “will of titanium” not to give in to the worlds temptations & that it’s (quote) his “most diabolical” trap EVER. Bearing in mind that he’s …. Y’know. An eldritch demon.

Unrelated to the above just as a note in the rewatch it IS worth acknowledging how flipping great Dipper is in Wierdmagheddon 2. Not only does he know that Wendy isn’t the real Wendy (LOVE the callback to the shapeshifter & how dipper also knew that wasn’t the real Wendy!) but ALSO the speech he gives to Mabel reminding her how they’ve always been there for each other is EVERYTHING to me 🥹

Also I love how 1. The sibling hug works simillar to a kiss in a fairytale bringing the enchantment to an end. I love this trope of platonic displays of affection serving a simillar purpose to fairy tale “true loves kiss” like in Once Upon a Time when Emma kissing Henry on the forehead wakes him up from a coma.

2. The fucking HORROR in this episode is so good! I said it with weirdmagheddon part 1 & I’ll say it again: this show is straight up horror at times. The moment when dipper rejects fantasy Wendy & the illusion of happy rainbow land is broken momentarily to display monsters maggots & rot, only to go right back? Nightmare fuel.

3. I constantly see (well. Saw. It’s not as bad these days as it once was) people saying Mabel manipulated dipper into not taking the apprenticeship. Not only does she give him permission to take it, but he comes to the conclusion on his own that HE WAS LIVING IN HIS OWN FANTASY.

Dipper realizes that while it’s a crazy fun thought staying in Gravity Falls & not growing up (huh…. Sort of like what Mabel wanted in a different font) he doesn’t actually want to give up his teenage years to be fords apprentice. In dippers own words, that’s “crazy talk.”

That conclusion IS in line with the themes of the episode & show, with dippers arc of choosing to show up for Mabel & prioritize her & with the narrative of the show clearly showing Dipper & Mabel not making the same mistakes as Ford & Stanley & ruining their bond over petty fixable problems but instead choosing to be there for each other through thick & thin.

Anyway I love Gravity Falls truly a perfect show beyond criticism to me I love this show & all the characters so very very much.

[vibke]

Now they are all gone

When the clarity of consciousness returned to him, Pure Vanilla found himself standing amidst the once lively village, now hauntingly silent and empty. The weight of his actions bore down on him, suffocating him with guilt and horror.

As he gazed upon the blood-stained remnants of what was once a thriving community, a lump formed in his throat, making each breath a struggle. No one was able to survive. The toys scattered on the ground, now tainted with the echoes of the past, served as a stark reminder of the lives he had extinguished.

Vanilla's mind was clouded with conflicting emotions. He felt a deep sense of remorse for his unforgivable actions, knowing that his moment of weakness had led to a devastating outcome. He couldn't bring himself to kill only 1 cookie in his right mind, which led to such consequences. He couldn't even remember their faces, their existence reduced to mere pawns in his hands.

Despite the overwhelming sorrow that threatened to consume him, a disturbing temptation lingered in the air – the sight and smell of blood, momentarily captivating yet sickening. It intensified his self-loathing, amplifying the realization of the monster he had become.

Tears welled up in Vanilla's eyes as he grappled with the weight of his deeds, questioning if there would ever be an end to his mourning. The once vibrant lives that he had callously snuffed out now seemed as fragile and disposable to him as a dandelion in the wind.

(About the AU name..... I came up with "Whispers of the Predator" .A bit long, but i suppose it's quite accurate and a little mysterious :Р

I really had a lot of fun drawing blood (=ↀωↀ=)

[emmy-dekarios-bg3]

Heart of the Weave - chapter 38

Rage. Confusion. Disbelief. I feel all of these negative emotions build up inside of me, eating at my insides as I try to understand what the hell I just read. Jenevelle can’t see how I’m feeling because I’m trying to hide it the best I can, but the emotions are overflowing, overwhelming, and hard to contain. Gortash is my FATHER? I’m nothing like that tyrant, what the fuck is this news?

“Emmy, dear, you’re breathing very heavily, are you alright?” Tara asks, placing her paw on my leg and staring at my eyes as I try to mask my frustration.

“Not even in the slightest.” The book…Dare I open it? I close my eyes, fighting angry tears. Fighting the temptation to shriek. “Gortash is my dad.” I open the large book, noticing older photos of my mother, who seems to be around eighteen or nineteen years old, with Gortash who appears to be the same age. He looked well-dressed, happy, and like he actually took care of himself. There are photos of them kissing, laughing, and sitting in a field full of flowers.

As a child, his parents caused corruption. His soul was given up to a devil because they were poor and needed money to survive. How cruel of grown adults to do such a horrible act to a child. When Gortash meets my mother, it seems his miserable anger turned into happiness, but I wonder what caused him to turn back to hatred?

I see a letter in the book with some burn marks on the corners. It looks like a note she wrote to him perhaps; but how did she get it back if she gave it to him?

‘Dear Enver Gortash,

I love you but you aren’t the same man I wanted to marry. I thought we would have our happily ever after, everything was perfect. We were going to have a family at some point. Your patron is causing you to become so self-absorbed in your power that it’s changing your image completely. You were so happy with me, so loving. The past six months have been hell and I have been praying that it would change. I can’t handle it anymore. It’s time I move on, Enver. I hope you open your eyes and realize you are NOT your parents. You are not their money bag. Do better.’

I turn the page, noticing another piece of paper that appears to be a journal entry ripped from a journal.

‘Hi, it’s me again. I left him two weeks ago and I’m aching terribly. He had his patron put the note I wrote him under my pillow. Nothing else was said. He saw what I wrote and it’s only a matter of time before I see him again. Also, I’m pregnant. Perfect timing, right? What do I do…?’

Holy FUCK. I can’t even begin to process this horror presented to me.

“Oh my GODS!” Tara shouts, her feline face expressing pure shock.

“Tara, I don’t even know how to even accept this. I can’t.”

“How did he find out you’re his daughter?”

“I don’t know. My mother didn’t add that part in the note. She probably accidentally told him, or he found out somehow that she’s my mom.”

I observe my smiling daughter, her eyes glistening as she stares up at me with unconditional love. I smile back, despite the painful void I feel inside. I’m not Gortash and I never will be. I pick up Jenevelle and hold her close to me as I sob at this unfortunate surprise. Tara curls up in my lap to bring me comfort as I sit here on the floor, aching for some sort of good news.

Just moments later, Gale walks through the front door after an eventful day of teaching, immediately noticing me on the floor holding the baby.

“Oh, baby. You’ve been crying. Is everything alright? What’s that book?” I can only hope that Gale won’t view me differently after all of this, while I’m holding our daughter. I sob into his robe as he keeps me close, but I’m trying to calm down. “Whenever you’re ready to talk about it, I’m here to listen no matter what.” I dry my tears and take a deep breath, gazing at him with serious eyes.

“Gale… Gortash is my father.” He hesitates to say a word for a moment as he stares blankly at my pained face.

“Wh-what? He’s your…oh gosh.” Not quite the reaction I expected, but I’ll take it. I hand him the letter from my mother and I observe him engaging heavily into it, trying to process everything she wrote. “Oh, well gods be damned.”

“That’s more of what I expected on the first take,” I mumble.

“I hope you know this doesn’t change a damn thing on how I feel about you, but I am morbidly curious: what are your thoughts?” I’m not the least bit surprised he asked about how I’m taking this information, but it’s best I’m honest with him.

“I’m filled with hatred toward the man. He missed out on so much of my life, which isn’t particularly his fault. But he had so many chances to change, and he let power consume him. He could have fought it. He could have tried. He’s walking the streets again with Orin and Ketheric, hoping to find a way to dominate the world once more. Oh, and I have a brother out there somewhere.” I do want to know more about my brother and who he is. Is he like me, scrambling for answers? Does he know Gortash is his father?

“What really sucks is that Gortash now knows I’m his daughter, which means he knows about Jenevelle.” Gale takes my hand and squeezes it reassuringly.

“He won’t touch her, I swear.” I take a deep breath, finally calming down from this anger high as I accept my fate, as much as I disagree with it.

I feed our daughter as Gale eats his lunch I made him, and I try to focus just solely on Jenevelle rather than what’s happening right now. It’s urgent we tell the others, though I hope no one thinks less of me.

“I’m glad you’re holding up okay, but you can always let your feelings out with me,” Gale reminds me, smiling and taking a sip of his wine. “I’m here for you through thick and thin.”

“That’s why I love you. Well, one of the many reasons.” I prepare myself mentally for how I’ll tell the others of this god-awful predicament, but I try to keep a calm mind. The challenging part will be spewing the news that Gortash is running rampant on the streets again, strictly looking for me alone.

Later that evening, after relaxing and being outside for a while to destress, we decide to summon Withers to alert our friends of the dire situation that needs to be addressed. I figured it would be best to do this when my mind isn’t in an anxious frenzy. Gale holds our daughter and tiptoes to her room to put her down for a nap while I wait here for everyone to show up.

“I truly think they’ll understand, Emmy. Surprised? Absolutely. Angry? Not at you. Well, as long as you aren’t defending that self-righteous tyrant,” Tara comments, making me feel a little sense of relief. “Just don’t let him know you’re immortal if he finds you. Ketheric will thirst for taking that away from you.” She has a point. Who knows what could happen if they find out? Dame Aylin was chained and her immortality was being used by Ketheric as she’s bound to his chambers. The same could be done with me.

Our usual group of friends show up so we could discuss this shitshow. Astarion holds their sleeping toddler as him and Shadowheart sit on the purple suede sofa across from me.

“Thank you all for coming.” Wyll and Karlach are already on edge, suspecting the news is related to Gortash; but I’m confident I’m about to ruin their whole day.

“What’s going on, Emmy? Is everything okay?” Shadowheart asks with worrisome eyes that are staring me down intensely. “You’re not moving away or something, are you?”

“No, but erm…” Gale places his hand on my thigh, giving me a reassuring smile to give me the push I need to tell them. “This isn’t easy to say, but Gortash…is my father.” Before I could even take a breath, Astarion’s jaw drops and his eyes widen.

“Holy fuck,” he murmurs under his breath. “Gortash? The Gortash who created the Steel Watch and was behind the Absolute nonsense, or a completely unrelated Gortash who happens to have the same name? I beg of you, please tell me it’s the second one.”

“He’s WHAT?!” Karlach shouts, and then covers her mouth, realizing there’s two sleeping babies in this house. “Shit, sorry.”

“Don’t worry, I still have the same negative feelings toward that cretin, maybe much worse than before.” Silence fills the room and boy is it loud. I swallow nervously, watching everyone stare at me with horrified expressions. “Please say something.”

“Let me clear the air by saying we aren’t mad or scared of you. At least I’m not. Just wow… At least he’s dead, right?” Wyll questions confidently. Gale and I sigh and shake our heads.

“Unfortunately, you’re incorrect. He’s roaming the streets once more,” Gale responds.

“What. The. Hell. That bastard gets a second fucking chance? Why?” I can feel the overwhelming rage within her, and she’s trying not to lose her cool. She has every right – I mean, why do people like Gortash get another chance but if Karlach’s engine exploded before getting it repaired like she did, she would have died with no more chance at all?

“Well, theory number one: the Gods allowed them all another chance. Or theory two: my half-brother made a deal with the devil on behalf of Gortash. If he’s evil, that is. I hope I meet him so I can find out. I’ll explain more about that entire situation later.”

Everyone, including myself, is distraught, though there’s nothing we can do right now except wait. I received a lot of hugs and reassuring talks from my dear friends tonight, which fills me with joy and some relief. All I have to say is that I’m grateful for such incredible people in my life.

[stormxpadme]

Whumptober 2024 No. 4 - Hallucinations

07/29/2018

"Nice try."

Yawning, with the back of her hand against her lips, Katja shuffled outside to join Scott. The bed cover – much to his disappointment –, she held wrapped tightly around her body although their only company on their terrace in sight was endless, calm floods a few feet below and deserted fisher boats in the far distance. "You know, other guys wake their girl up with flowers and breakfast." Demonstratively, Katja slipped the diving fins Scott had left in front of her bed, after getting them from the island resort reception right at dawn, into the designated wooden bracket of the wall separating their little paradise domicile from the rows of the other houses. Dropping on the sun recliner between them, she watched, sadly with a bit of good-natured mockery instead of any interest to join, as he closed the last zipper of his neoprene suit and adjusted the straps of his quartz-coated diving goggles.

"You hate flowers in the bedroom," Scott reminded her slightly absently, busy with the stubborn hard rubber that refused to be shortened to the necessary length to stay reliably on, even within the strong currents of a stiff August breeze. His movements felt unnervingly sluggish, clumsy almost, though he usually didn’t have a problem to at least physically be fully capable right after waking up. Then again, the first night after a horror flight with two delays had been restless, haunted by the memory of some literature lesson with Charles decades ago for some reason, the scraps of the homework discussed in question still lingering at the back of Scott's mind, tugging his thoughts away from the conversation every few seconds though he wasn’t even particularly a fan of classics. "And no offense but I'm not trying to burn another ham and eggs to crisp when we'll have a whole buffet laid out for us in that restaurant over there in an hour. Which is more than enough time for a first quick tour."

"Right." Maybe in an attempt to distract him from his early morning sports ambitions, Katja crossed her legs in a way that had that cover slip deliciously up her bare thigh which did try to stir up the temptation of scooting the few inches over to that chair and get his lips on that newly exposed patch of skin for a moment, admittedly. A blinding bright ray of morning sun was even smoothing out the traces of certain old scars to Scott's shameless stare, demanding to wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight start the morning in a slightly less exhausting and all the more satisfying way …

The sober memory that such displays of affection just like nudity anywhere but in private closed dorms were punishable in this country, the conservative politics of which had always been the main reason why Scott hadn’t been hot on a holiday here, served as a good excuse to slip his own fins on instead, after another inviting nod to Katja's pair and toward the underwater suit waiting for her inside.

An amused headshake followed to his disappointment. "You still got a lot to learn about women, Scott Summers. An hour is barely enough for shower and make-up before heading out. You realize this is a high-profile destination, right? Can't show up there with bed hair and jeans as if we were at the school." their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay That was a slightly ridiculous attempt of justifying ordinary off-work laziness though – Katja rarely even bothered to doll up when they were scheduled for another mutant-human relation crisis meeting in the White House.

Then again, not like Scott was about to complain if she wanted to offer him something to look at ... Not to mention they had the whole week left still for adventures together.

Scott gave it a shrug and turned away to do a last quick check on his wrist camera, more impatient by the second to finally slip down those stairs and get a first look at that famous underwater world right outside their hut on his part. "I won't be long. Just curious about the reef. I'll mark down a few spots where there's most of the wildlife to see, then we can start right after eating."

"You sure that's worth it? Reefs in the Maldives have been dead for years. Then again, not like it will be much of a difference for you that the colors are gone, I guess." Well, apparently the night had been bad for both of them, seeing as Katja seemed to be insisting on ruining his enthusiasm for some reason.

grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight As he was shaking off a grimace about his wife's sour mood in this area of all places that she'd begged him to come with her to for so long, Scott's overly tired mind once more turned to those lamenting lines of some poetry he hadn’t even thought about in years. Christ, he'd always known why he'd hated Dylan Thomas. Scott pressed both his lips and eyes tight and finally pulled off his glasses to trade them against the diving mask, deciding to cool his own now quiet dampened mood in the water and let Katja properly wake up herself before attempting any further conversation. The last few months had been hard on all of them, he better not forgot that. He'd brought her here to get away from all that drama and worry and pressure for a few days before they'd finally have to make a decision about how to proceed with what they'd found out about the Brotherhood's latest deeds and learn, too late, they grieved it on its way and if he didn't give her – and himself – at least half a day to achieve exactly that, there wouldn’t be much relaxation and recreation for either of them, not even in the allegedly most beautiful space in the world. "As I said, just a swim around the block. Need to clear my head for a bit."

"I figured. You've been having bad dreams. Still thinking about New York?" Belatedly, Katja seemed to notice she hadn’t exactly been Mrs. Sensitive a second ago and slipped down behind him, that damn cover still held like a shield around her sinewy body, to rest one hand on his arm, just for a moment, before she started to nestle on the straps of his goggles in an attempt to straighten their position on his temples.

"Always." Yeah, Scott had definitely not been the only one with a shitty night if he actually had to remind his partner, with a cautious grab of her hand, a quick apologetic caress over it, how uncomfortable he was with people touching his shields. blind eyes could blaze like meteors Looking for the right words without sounding increasingly rude himself was becoming a challenge, especially since he still couldn’t tear his head away from that memory of the minutes right before waking up, these stubborn lyrics dancing in his unconsciousness like a song heard too often, a lecture given to far too many pupils too many times. Maybe he was simply overworked. Screw the maybe in that consideration. "And right now, I'd rather not. Flight and hotel were far too expensive for that, honestly. We're here to unplug for a few days, babe."

"Maybe we shouldn’t. Maybe this was a bad time, Scott." When she saw him lower his head in growing frustration, Katja quickly scooted behind him to wrap her arms around him, rest her lips on his neck where there seemed to be a hint of sunburn spreading already in spite of lotion and protective clothing, judging by the brief sting. because their words had forked no lightning "Don't get me wrong. I'm really happy we finally got to do this. This place is a dream. I just can't stop worrying about the school. Not sure it was such a good idea, leaving right after Egypt went so wrong."

Under different circumstances, the roles in this conversation would have been wildly reversed, with Scott probably already busy redressing and calling a ride, happy that his partner had become reasonable about a timeout they'd only taken so reluctantly anyway and that he didn’t have to be the asshole for once … Only he would have been if he'd let himself so easily be deterred now by an anxiety that had been haunting them for far longer than a week and that wouldn’t be going anywhere as long as they had no idea about how to proceed with what they'd recently discovered about the Brotherhood. And as long as they didn’t get some distance to it, nothing would change about that. "Yana will 'port us back to the mansion anytime if there's trouble, babe. Until then, I'd rather be counting sightings we don't get in Westchester than problems." With a smile that at least didn’t need to be entirely forced, Scott turned his head to capture Katja's lips in a brief kiss and then reached for the chart with the fish to be found in this reef that he'd grabbed at the souvenir shop on his equipment walk earlier. Two of the species depicted, he'd already been able to cross off, having spotted them through the glass table inside their bungalow while putting on the wetsuit. "I'll bring back on camera whatever I encounter out there and then you can help me identify them at breakfast, that a deal? If we make good use of the time, we'll be through the whole list by Sunday."

"You do know you need help for your obsessions, right?" Katja let out a resigned sigh, this time apparently oblivious to the renewed crease between Scott's brows about a repeated kind of dig he wasn’t used to from the woman by his side, not even in jest, not about weaknesses of his that he'd had to hold on to ever since mutating to protect the world from his destructive gift. good men, the last wave by, crying how bright When Katja straightened up before he could come up with a slightly huffed retort this time, after a somewhat condescending pat of his shoulder, that cover around her chest slipped again, and this time, Scott wasn’t so sure suddenly that was a trick of the lightning, his eyes missing another pattern of scars from her torture ordeal all these years back on the top of her cleavage ...

Yeah, tonight, they really both needed to try and get some better sleep. With a weary headshake, Scott looked down at the laminated info sheet in his gloved hand again, turning it to study the images on the backside too before he'd finally go under … He almost dropped the chart down the slippery stairs leading into the water when he spotted a short wall of text in place of said pictures, and not just a description of the Maldives wildlife that he'd missed in his half-awake state earlier. It was the same exact damn words he'd not been able to purge from his mind in the last ten minutes. rage, rage against the Before he could make any sense of what the fuck was happening here, the world around him went black.

***********

"Had a good nap there, Johnny Castle?"

"What …?" Scott startled up, disorientated, with a quiet curse when the same unpleasant burn at the back of his neck that he remembered from a few seconds ago emerged, apparently in truth coming from having fallen asleep on a sofa much too short for his exaggerated height. A piece of furniture in some stuffy artist's cloakroom he couldn’t remember how the fuck he'd ended up there or where it even was … Except he knew, of course he knew because he'd visited Alison in here before the talent show in a besieged city he'd let himself be persuaded to visit as a peace offering, for some dumb reason … Only he was pretty sure he'd gone there alone for that reason exactly, to not endanger anyone else on the team, not for the weak hope of badly needed negotiations with their enemies … For some reason, the woman he'd married had apparently thought this was a great day for reviving her actually long-overcome insubordination issues. "What the hell are you doing here, Cat?"

"Just how deep of a coma you've just been in? You really need to do something about your sleep rhythm." A bright chuckle on her lips, Katja turned away from the huge illuminated vanity on the wall and threw him something he hardly managed to catch in his ongoing disorientation, almost knee-long, silk, a shade he knew from the database to be a bright silver and definitely not something he'd put on in everyday life at school – one of his dancing jackets, matching the fluffy lace on his wife's gorgeous body. "Come on, get finished, we're up in five. Hey, remember you dragged me here to an audience who already hates us before we did one single jive step. No chickening out on me now. Mutant High represent and all, right?"

"Gotta give me a second here, babe." Scott rubbed his eyes under his glasses and rolled his aching shoulders, his mind still sleep-addled which was alarming enough by itself – a hostile city wasn’t exactly where you just passed out for half an hour, no matter how diplomatic the visit. A visit he still wasn’t quite sure when the plans regarding its participants had changed so rapidly but the last few nights had been short and restless, with a number of highly disturbing dreams … do not go gentle into that good night About time to get his shit together and focus on what they were here for, and that had little to do with showing off Latin on a stage that was as pretentious and cynical as every other single fucking thing in a city that had never belonged to mutant world alone and had suffered under Mystique's forced rule for far too long already. But if the X-Men were finally to do something about that, they needed to be smart about this chance to get a good look at things around here. And for an urgently necessary briefing for such spying activities, Scott preferred his whole team around. "Where's Alison?"

"Probably sucking off the jury? Gotta work for that American Mutant Idol title and all." Katja rolled her eyes when Scott scowled at the crude tastelessness of what could hardly even be called a joke, wondering if his wife was spending too much time with her adolescent patients at school lately. She turned to her reflection again with kajal in her hand, effectively escaping from Scott's far too close scrutiny of all that skin her costume was revealing as well which was all but glowing in the bright cloakroom light from tons of make-up she must have used to cover her scars. Her increasingly unnerved tone significantly lessened Scott's usual love for hearing his partner's soft, warm voice, the harsh syllables blurring in his perception with those lyrics from his last dream still haunting him. old age should burn and rave at close of day "Soundcheck and coffee. Which frankly, the latter you could use of a can or two of yourself. You wanted this, Scott. You wanted to come here so we finally got clarity on Mystique's plans. Look a little more alive, will you?" rage against the

Something was off. Scott thought he probably should have realized far sooner but if he was where he suddenly had to fear he was, if what was building like a throbbing hot ball of acid in his guts was anywhere close to the truth, then he thought he could forgive himself that temporary slight for once. And then he was well-advised to stop dwelling on that very thought right now.

"You dozing again?" Katja sought his gaze in the mirror with narrowing eyes and waved at the jacket in his hands. "Are you even listening? You still didn’t tell me what to look out for exactly on stage. I hate going in blind, boss, so spill the details already of how we are going to kick the Brotherhood in the ass this time. But be quick about it. We need another rehearsal of the lifts before the lights go on." rage

Right. Time was short or something but maybe not for the reason Scott was being told here. With numb hands, suddenly being pretty sure what he'd find, Scott reached for a show schedule on the sofa table before him, not the least surprised that what was written on it had nothing to do with a timetable. In Charles' neat, round handwriting that Scott hadn’t seen anywhere in reality in years, there were those same lamenting words written down he'd had to study for some assignment as a teenager. Words that many years later, he'd chosen as a very particular mantra to be tethered in his unconsciousness, in a training lesson with a woman who'd still been on the X-Men's side at that time. do not go gentle into that good night

I'm not sure what's the idea here. Charles has taught us how to use mental shields ever since we were teenagers, Frost.

Shields are for level 1 mind readers. You can't win against a powerful telepath unless you're one yourself, Summers. It's why Charles always rather preferred me in your people's corner than trying to contain me. If the Brotherhood ever gets their hand on a psychic, we're all fucked royally. And with mutant population growing by the year, we all better prepare for that unhappy eventuality.

How? If there's no winning against it …

You can't shake a mental grip on your own with no mental gift but you can learn how to keep a psychic hostile out of where you don't want them snooping around, if you're lucid enough through their probing. That's why I'm installing a safeguard in all your heads if you allow. It's like an itch under your skin that you can't reach. Mental RLS, basically. Something that will keep on popping up in your head when you're not alone in there. If something feels weird, start looking for the writings on the wall. It won’t help you shake them off, but it will help you knowing they're there until someone on your side comes to pull you out.

After what she'd last done, Scott had thought that pretty much impossible but for a second or two, he found, he actually missed Emma. Nothing he had even a second to ponder right now.

"Good morning to you too. About time." Katja smiled at him in that far too wide, exuberant way again that didn’t want to match a trip to a place where most people were waiting for a chance to kill you, when Scott dropped the schedule with a feigned rueful nod as if he'd finally remembered they needed to get off their asses, then stepped behind her chair without much ado, pulling her up by her shoulder to lead her into the first few steps of one of their jive programs.

A currently quite reluctant physical closeness needed both as an attempt to hide what was building in his finally wake perception louder and with shriller warning signals by the second … And to go sure, absolutely sure. Not that he really needed to, not anymore, and certainly no longer, once the lame excuse of a promenade to the imaginary song in the background almost ended with the woman in his arms dramatically falling to his feet.

Before she could straighten up again, the feigned embarrassed giggle on her lips froze, her eyes going wide, her body slumping as she looked down on it where a huge hole from Scott's powers had ripped through her midsection.

"You really need to work on your posture, Darkholme," Scott said coldly, stepping away before the bleeding body on the ground had even started turning into her true red and blue scaled shape. "Terribly sloppy footwork, too."

Just like that whole piece of work that his enemy had just presented to him to fool him, in fact, pretending to be someone she didn’t know half as well as she apparently thought. But what could you expect from someone who was all appearances?

In another life, if there'd been anything but hate between them, Scott might actually have told her, he thought with a snort, never taking his fingertips off his glasses, ready to go again anytime in case his enemy would recover faster than expected, using her powerful cell manipulation gift.

It turned out, Mystique didn’t even need to – of course she didn’t, not in a scenario like this, using a physical shape that didn’t even exist in the first place.

Scott felt the brutal sting of another shot of whatever they were using to keep him under on his neck, even in this world of hallucinations that his mind was being trapped in, no doubt courtesy of the power replicator on Mystique's team, before his thoughts started to drown in nothingness once more.

Apparently they'd gotten bored of trying to get to what they wanted to know from him with head games.

Scott seriously doubted whatever attempt he would wake up to next would be any more pleasant.

*******************************************************************************

@whumptober | @whumptober-archive

[ummpati]

Flower Infested You

The Hanahaki disease is one many people fear; it is recounted in tales of love and heartbreak. Evan knows all about it; unfortunately, he now knows more than he ever hoped to.

~~~

Hanahaki disease.

Evan had heard of the term several times throughout his life, his mother told him of her own experience with it practically as a bedtime story. She painted the disease as anything but, she recounted it as a blessing, a warning from above that this wasn't the one for you. But, she would also admit it could go both ways.

Sometimes, Evan thought, she sounded bitter.

She had been young, in college studying for her degree, when she met a man only a few years older than her. She fell hard, she had thought they were meant to be, thought she would never find anyone as perfect as him. A few months after meeting him, however, she started coughing. Nasty, violent, bloody coughs. She had done her research, but the results hadn't been pretty.

Young and naive, she says now, she told him of her feelings. Confident that if he didn’t love her already, he could learn too.

He had refused.

Crushed, his mother had run crying to the doctor. She returned home stone-faced and glass hearted.

But, his mother would always say with a smile, she was thankful now. If he hadn't refused, if she hadn't coughed up flowers and thorns, she would have pursued him and missed his father. It was a blessing; a painful blessing, but a blessing nonetheless.

“If you ever find yourself where I once was,” she said one night, “please, leave them and never look back. It's better for the both of you. Only guilt and pity come from those forsaken weeds”

So when he coughed up a small petal speckled with red, his heart sank. He had no moment of wonder, horror, or contemplation; he only felt resigned to his fate. He always thought he would listen to his mother, and run while he still could. But now, he can't force himself to even turn the other way.

More violent every day, Evan refused to rid himself of the growing roots. He couldn't stand the thought of feeling nothing toward her. Ironically, he thought it would make him feel more empty.

She asked what was wrong one day when he wiped red off his lips. He couldn't bear to tell her, he knew what she would do. What she would try, what she would give up. You cannot force a thing like this; that, Evan knew without a doubt. If she didn't love him, that was fine, all he wanted was to keep her in his life.

Maybe it was selfish, maybe it was foolish, maybe it was naive of him to throw it all away for but moments in comparison. He had dreams, aspirations, but they felt hollow without her there, cheering him on from his side. 

She still would be, he knew, but it wouldn't be the same.

His mother always warned him of the disease, he, apparently, never listened; never headed her warning of fate and temptations, of better things to come.

He didn't know if there was any better out there.

If there was, he didn't want it.

His pillows filled with petals and his tissues soaked with blood, Evan realizes there was never a choice to make.

[mimisempai]

I don't want to live in a world where you don't exist

Summary

The memory of Aziraphale's bookshop fire and the angel's disappearance keep Crowley awake at night. Aziraphale realizes for the first time the impact his disappearance has had on the demon.

On AO3

Rating G - 590 words

“Aziraphale, for God's-- For Satan's-- Ah!” 

Crowley had never been so scared in his life. 

“For somebody's sake, where are you?!” 

Correction. He'd never been so distraught in his life. 

Surrounded by the flames of the fire that ravaged his friend's shop, the only thing that mattered was that Aziraphale was gone. 

He murmured,“You've gone.” 

Then he shouted. 

“Somebody killed my best friend!” 

Finally, letting his anger get the better of him, he screamed, "Bastaaaards!" 

Crowley opened his eyes suddenly.

He didn't know if it was just a memory or a nightmare, but either way, his first instinct was to reach out to his side to make sure his angel was really there.

Feeling the warmth of the angel's body, he let out a silent exhale of relief, though he couldn't shake the lingering feeling of horror he had felt at that moment.

He sat silently on the edge of the bed, trying to come to his senses without disturbing the angel's sleep, when all he wanted to do was hold him or just touch him to make sure he was safe and sound with him.

It was like an urge gnawing at him from the inside, stronger than the strongest temptation he'd ever performed in his demon life.

Suddenly, a hand rested gently on his shoulder and Aziraphale's sleepy voice asked softly, "Crowley, my dear, are you all right?"

Crowley's first instinct was to lie, to say that, yes, everything was fine. But the lingering fear left by the memory and the emotions that flowed from it prevented him from doing so. So he leaned against Aziraphale's hand and shook his head, "No, Angel, I'm not fine."

He felt the Angel move behind him and looked back. Aziraphale had laid down and was lifting the covers, patting the area beside him.

Crowley, being offered what he had been craving since waking from that horrible memory, didn't hesitate for a second. He lay down beside his angel, wrapped his arms around his waist and curled up against him. 

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around his shoulders and, after planting a kiss in his hair, asked softly, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Crowley did not answer immediately, and it was only after a few moments of silence that he tightened his arms around Aziraphale even more and whispered, "I cannot imagine living in a world where you are not."

The angel replied softly, "Oh, Crowley, you don't have to imagine it."

"I lived it, even if it was for a short time. I really thought I'd lost you forever. And that's enough for me to know that I can't go through that again."

Aziraphale embraced him even tighter and said in a soothing voice, "I'm here and I'm not going anywhere."

"Is that a promise?" asked Crowley in an almost childish voice.

Aziraphale pulled back a little and, grasping Crowley's chin, said firmly, "I promise you that. Because me neither, I cannot live in a world where you are not."

He gave Crowley a gentle and lingering kiss on the forehead before pressing him against him again. The demon, reassured by the angel's promise and the warmth of his arms around him, allowed himself to let go. The angel continued to whisper words of comfort, and lulled by the sound of his voice, Crowley finally drifted off to sleep.

Aziraphale, never having realized the impact his disappearance had had on the demon, continued to watch over his sleep, vowing to do everything in his power to keep his promise.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here

[myreia]

Bound by Faith

CHAPTER TWO: PHILAUTIA

Chapter Rating: T Pairing: Aureia Malathar (Warrior of Light)/Thancred Waters Characters: Warrior of Light, Thancred Waters, Urianger Augurelt, Ryne, Alisaie Leveilleur, Alphinaud Leveilleur, Y'shtola Rhul, Cyella Chapter Word Count: 8,787 Story Word Count: 14,132 Story Summary: With their enemies defeated and the First saved, the Crystarium is alive with celebration. Despite the joy around her, Aureia is uncertain about the next steps to take. So is Thancred, for that matter. The puzzle of their lives has sat incomplete for years, but finally this last, precious piece may be able to slide into place. Spoiler Warning: Spoilers for the end of Shadowbringers base. Notes: This chapter does not contain explicit sexual content, but a later chapter will.

🡒 READ ON AO3 🡐

“We really should have known better,” he adds after a moment. “Once she sets her sights on a matter, there’s no stopping her.” Urianger raises an eyebrow. “Indeed,” he says soberly, lowering his wine. “And thy pride in her is more than palpable.” “Am I proud…?” He chuckles, shaking his head at himself. “Yes. I suppose I am.” “Then why dost though linger, Thancred? If I may—and no, I must insist thou resist the temptation to interrupt and heed mine words for the duration of this moment—when I didst speak with Ryne earlier this eve, I sensed some disappointment that thou hast withdrawn unto the outskirts. I am uncertain what she envisioned for tonight, but to remain uninvolved and standing on the fringes mayhap communicates to her that thou dost not share in her excitement.” “It is not that, let me assure you! And you’re one to talk. I haven’t seen you partaking in the festivities either. Have you considered that Ryne may be just as disappointed in you as she is in me—” “I have been contending with Feo Ul’s most gracious of ambassadors—” “Of course you have—” “—who are—it is paramount to note—little scoundrels.” “Urianger, you do realize that the day will come when you will not have pixies to use as an excuse?” “Aye. But the day when our massy souls depart the First to return to their vessels upon the Source is not yet upon us. There is much to be done beforehand to ensure safe passage from one world to the next.” Ugh. Thancred’s shoulders slump. “Please, I am begging you, never use the word massy like that again. Or refer to our bodies as vessels, for that matter.” Urianger smiles serenely and tips his wine glass to him. He sighs and scratches the back of his neck, shaking his head. “Perhaps I should clarify. It is not that I have no desire to partake, but rather that my head still spins from all we’ve accomplished. What we bore witness to. As detestable Emet-Selch and his whole rotten ilk are… I cannot so easily forget what we saw in Amaurot. And—gods damn it, I cannot believe I am saying this about an Ascian—perhaps I do understand something of him after all. That desperation to cling to what you loved… to what was lost…” “The horrors of that bygone era hath given us much to ponder, ‘tis true,” Urianger says gently. “Thou art not alone in thine preoccupation. There are many questions whose answers may be forever beyond our knowing. Mayhap they will haunt us for the remainder of our days—or perchance we will expose their anagogic secrets. For now, that fate remains unknown. But it does not behoove us to indulge in such preoccupations on an eve such as this one, and so it is my turn to beg something of thee. Set aside the temptation to linger on it for the duration of tonight. There will be sufficient time for that anon.” “I know.” “Look to thy loved ones. This time is for them and them alone.” “I am. I do. And you do know you’re included in that, Urianger—” “I do not speak of myself and thou knowest that plainly.” Thancred pauses, a lump forming in his throat. Much like Y’shtola, Urianger has a way of striking through to the heart of the matter—even when it takes him twelve sentences to get there when one would suffice.

[namig42]

So fun fact: I really hate Sorn Orlith, the guy of the drow twins. This chapter is absolutely slanderous of him. I like to think Wyll, as a demisexual romantic, would agree with me. Anyways, please enjoy another chapter of my Wyllstarion fic!

Just One Yesterday (Ch. 7)

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Read it on Ao3

Summary: This is a modern AU where Wyll is a police officer and Astarion is a sex worker. Despite a problematic start, the two manage to find a connection and have it build in time into something more while also dealing with their demons.

---

Monday night came, and Wyll was back to his usual mission. Find a target, lure them into the car, and get them to the station in one piece. He drove to an uptown district tonight, doing his best to focus on his mission as he scouted the streets for targets. He tried to resist the temptation of going downtown to find Astarion and keep watch on him from a distance, distracting himself instead with a young girl, barely nineteen, who offered him a night of fun and got in his car. He tried to make conversation to keep her mind off where they were going, but even more so to distract himself from thinking about the person he really wanted to see.

That resistance lasted one whole day.

By Tuesday, Wyll found himself coasting down Cazador’s downtown territory, driving and looking for that familiar head of hair. As he coasted through the streets, Wyll passed a corner where he saw the handsome man, though he wasn’t alone. He was chatting with a short, plump woman against a wall, leaning close to her with his arm high up above her head. It looked just like a scene out of one of those trashy erotic romance novels they sell in grocery stores. Wyll slowed even further, but still maintained enough sense not to come to a complete stop.

Wyll’s stomach lurched a bit at the sight, but he knew that the face Astarion made at the woman wasn’t one of love. Hells, it barely even looked like lust. She was blushing and covering her lips as she made eyes at him, but Astarion’s grin seemed tired. It seemed she was too enamored to realize how uninterested he was. Still, she must’ve said something to trap herself further because just a moment later, Astarion wrapped an arm around her waist and brought her in for a kiss. Wyll’s heart snapped, but he reminded himself that this was a different Astarion. This was the Astarion he had first met in the park by the fountain, the one doing a job. This wasn’t the one that he spent the night discussing literature with, sharing life stories with, or dancing with.

This was not the Astarion that he kissed outside the Elfsong.

He drove away quickly, not being able to stomach the sight of the one he admired holding someone else and kissing them so sinfully, even if he knew that it was only a job to Astarion. There were no feelings in what he was doing right now. Wyll needed to focus on his own tasks and just make it to Saturday. Saturday was the night he would get to see the real Astarion again, not the shell of him that roamed these streets.

On Wednesday, early in the evening before he officially went out patrolling for the night, Wyll decided to take a drive by the Szarr Estate. He wanted to get a good look at the place that he recalled passing by so often in his youth. He parked down the street and decided to take a walk by the estate’s gates. It was common for people to walk around this part of town and sightsee because of how lovely and manicured the Szarr gardens were, so he shouldn’t stick out too much.

Wyll only remembered really looking at the manor during nights in the winter time, when all the lights were strung around the manor and the surrounding trees. He never really considered the building itself. Now though, knowing the horrors that were happening in the mansion just on the other side of the fence, that idealized version of the manor crumbled.

In the evening glow of sunset, the manor was grey and covered with more gargoyles and bat sculptures than Wyll recalled. They must’ve been difficult to see at nighttime, especially with the memory of lights blinding him from most of the architecture. The massive building was three stories tall and spread out, taking up nearly half of the entire estate grounds. It was designed in a gothic architectural style with tall, pointed windows and doors as well as those monstrous sculptures and decorations that lined the rails and window frames. Wyll couldn’t help but think that the whole thing looked like a child’s depiction of a vampire’s lair. The stone, the bats, the gothic style, it was like a cursed cathedral that Victor Hugo would’ve written about in excruciating detail. No wonder there were conspiracy theories of the Szarrs being vampires.

It was a common urban legend in Baldur City that Wyll had never paid any mind to, but now he understood where the whole idea had originated from. With a manor this gauche and stereotypical, it’s no wonder that people made those connections. There was also the fact that Cazador was rarely ever seen during daytime functions and those even more insane conspiracy theories of the Szarrs drinking blood from beautiful youths to stay young and beautiful themselves.

It was all a bunch of nonsense though. Vampires weren’t real. The only monsters that existed in this world were men like Cazador Szarr. Not for what they were, but for what they did.

On Thursday, Wyll drove down the Szarr’s block downtown again and saw Astarion, this time walking along the pavement with a tall, burly man. Astarion was leading them somewhere while holding the big man’s hand. His client tonight didn’t seem like the sharpest tool in the shed, but the dopey smile he looked at Astarion with made him seem like the gentle giant sort. Meanwhile, Astarion looked exhausted and annoyed as he stared straight ahead, hiding his face from the fool he dragged in tow. When Wyll coasted by slowly, Astarion spotted him and the two made eye contact for a brief moment. Wyll smiled softly and wanted to wave at the very least, but the frozen, terrified expression Astarion wore at the sight of him made Wyll freeze himself and his stomach flip. What could’ve made Astarion make a face like that?

Astarion quickly recovered and made some coy remark to his partner that evening as they continued down the street, and Wyll drove off in a hurry.

Dammit, what was that expression? Wyll thought to himself. What was going on in Astarion’s world? Did Cazador know about Wyll? Did Aurelia say anything to him after her release? She must’ve. If Cazador was as nosey as Astarion had implied, then he surely knew who Wyll was by now.

Now that he understood how much danger they were in, Wyll made a point of avoiding that part of town on Friday. Instead, he drove around the Outer District on the east side of town. On a Friday, targets shouldn’t be hard to find, but this part of town was much more fashion forward with all sorts of people dressed to the nines in wild styles. It made it hard for Wyll to tell who was a casual club goer and who was trying to make some money that night.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to look too hard. Wyll and his rundown car stuck out like a sore thumb in this part of town, and it seemed that he had caught the attention of someone. A tall young man who wore a risque ensemble approached Wyll’s car. His top looked more like bondage than clothing with all the black, leather straps that ornamented his torso. He wore baggy black cargo pants on his bottom half that rode incredibly low on his waist. He had soft, smooth white hair that was brushed back from his face, showing off a cocky smile that seemed a bit too full of itself.

He had spotted Wyll parked along the curb and must’ve thought Wyll was looking for an adventure tonight.

He came over to Wyll’s window and knocked softly. When Wyll rolled it down, the man leaned against the door, closing the distance between him and the driver. “Hello there, beautiful,” he led with. The words sounded like they were dripping with sickeningly sweet honey. Wyll felt his body go cold. “Where are you heading this evening?”

“Nowhere in particular,” Wyll answered. He got a look at the man who couldn’t be much older than twenty one. Besides the forward outfit, he also had long black nails, almost like claws. Well, most of his nails were claws. The index and middle finger on his right hand were cut short, making them stand out from the rest of his hand. His fair, olive complexion was enhanced by the heavy eyeliner that brought out his dark, red eyes. In a lot of ways, he reminded Wyll of a younger version of Astarion. Wyll wondered if this was the kind of scene Astarion had found himself in during those party days he boasted about the other night, before Cazador found him.

“Got a date?” the boy asked.

“Not yet,” Wyll answered, offering a polite smile.

“Well then, how about coming to a club with me? Dancing the night away and all that? You look like a good dancer.”

Wyll huffed a bit at the offer, trying not to laugh. Gods, this felt like some alternate universe, but so much less captivating. It reminded him so much of that first night in the park, the way Astarion’s words struck something in Wyll and made him so nervous. That feeling though hadn’t made him feel as revolted as this man’s words did. His low baritone voice made Wyll’s skin crawl.

He looked back to the man leaning into his window with the soft, smooth silver hair, continuing his business. “I’m looking for more private company.”

“Private? Well, say no more! I could be your guy for tonight!”

“Really? And how much would the night be?”

“Hm… let’s say $1,000. I’m quite in demand around here, you know.”

“I’m sure you are.” Wyll said, unimpressed. “Unfortunately, I don’t have that much with me.” Wyll didn’t even think he had that amount of money in his bank account at the moment.

“Well, that is a shame. Tell you what,” he leaned even closer to Wyll. Wyll leaned away from the intrusion in his car. “You’re a handsome lad, and I need a small favor. Help me out, and you can consider me yours for the rest of the night.” The man’s voice lowered in an effort to be enticing.

Wyll didn’t like this bold stranger, but the later it got, the harder time he would have finding another target. It was already past one in the morning, and it had been difficult to differentiate pedestrians and prostitutes in this part of town. Wyll shouldn’t try to do his job in such difficult conditions. It was like trying to hunt for an arctic fox in freshly fallen snow. “What’s the favor?”

“My sister and I have a small bet going on. She says that she’s the only one who can get herself a soft, sensitive type, that I’m too extreme for them. I say that’s a bunch of bullshit.” No, I would agree with her, Wyll thought. The energy this man gave off was much too intense for Wyll. The bold stranger continued, “anyways, if you could come with me to a club, dance for a bit, and meet my darling sister, then I will be more than satisfied and happy to help you with any fantasy you desire. A lovely trade, isn’t it?”

Wyll was reluctant, but he worried if he’d be able to follow through tonight if he didn’t take this offer. Mizora was still hovering over him and pressuring him further not to slip up again after the Aurelia incident. He had been consistent this week and made an arrest every night, but Mizora still didn’t seem satisfied with his work. If he failed while she was still in one of her moods, he worried what may follow.

“Sounds great.” Wyll finally answered with the friendliest smile he could muster. “Where is this club?”

“Oh, it’s not far at all by car. Just a few blocks down the way.” Without an invitation, the man ran around the car and opened the passenger door to hop in. “I’ll give you directions as we go.”

“Fine then,” Wyll spoke as he turned his key and started the ignition. With a few clunks, the car roared to life, and Wyll turned out onto the street. In the passenger seat, the bold stranger was smiling to himself. “This is perfect. Just wait until Nym sees you. She’ll be so envious. She hasn’t had a sweet thing like you in ages.”

Wyll listened in silence as he took a right turn and drove down a new street. “It’ll just be a couple more blocks, then you can pull off to the side of the road.” Wyll nodded, trying his best to roll with the punches. Then, the stranger put his hand on Wyll’s thigh. Gods, not again with this. 

“You can call me Sorn, by the way. I appreciate the help tonight.”

“It’s no problem,” Wyll said with a polite smile. It certainly wouldn’t be if the night went how Wyll needed it to go. Sorn’s hand squeezed Wyll’s leg, though thankfully, it didn’t roam any further up from his thigh. Wyll felt an uncomfortable shiver run through his groin and up his spine.

“So what are you into, sweetie?” Sorn asked excitedly. “I’ve got a whole collection of tricks, and I’m open to trying anything. I’m especially known for my Menzoberanzan Love Trick. Ever heard of it?”

“Can’t say I have,” Wyll spoke while staring at the road. This was the most talkative pickup yet. He wished that this guy would shut up.

“Oh, it’s something you must experience. If the night goes as planned, I would be most happy to show you.”

“I’ll certainly keep it in mind.” Wyll said, hiding his disinterest as best as he could.

“Good. Oh, the club will be just on the right over here,” Sorn said while pointing at a black door on the street. There was a line of twenty people outside of it. Wyll saw a parking space directly in front of the building, but drove straight past it. “Oh, you passed a spot,” Sorn commented, slightly annoyed.

“Did I? My apologies. Hopefully there will be another one just a bit further.”

Wyll had no intent on stopping. He had no intent on going to that club or seeing what this Love Trick was. He did not like the way this man spoke. His honey-slicked tongue made Wyll’s skin crawl in the least erotic way. The sooner they made it to the station, the better.

As they drove further down the street, Wyll could tell Sorn was getting more tense. The stranger’s hand lifted off of Wyll’s leg as the tension increased in the car. “I hope you’re planning on turning around soon. We’ll be further than when we started if you don’t find a spot.”

Wyll stayed silent. Sorn’s eyes went wide, finally understanding what was happening. He went to open the door and jump out of the car.

Wyll locked it quickly and activated the child safety lock.

“Oh, you bastard!” Sorn swore as he jostled the handle, but the panic began to sink in as he realized he was trapped. Wyll sped up the car, zooming through a red light. They were about ten minutes from the station if he drove normally, but he had the feeling he could turn it into five if he sped strategically. As he pressed the gas, Sorn turned to him and began to claw at Wyll. He got a good, deep scratch on Wyll’s face that caused the officer to scream and swerve to the side of the road. Thankfully, he didn’t hit anything as he drove onto the sidewalk and quickly slammed the car into park. Sorn hadn’t let up though. His claws were still poised as he lashed out at Wyll and tried to reach the button to unlock the door. Wyll had a better advantage now that he could focus solely on the fight, but that first scratch had stung. Sorn’s whole hand had dragged over Wyll’s face, scratching his false eye and continuing all the way down to his chin.

The stranger fought like a cat: his claws flurried over Wyll, making shallow but stinging cuts as he leaned over the seat, trying to reach the unlock button. Wyll blocked the scratches with his arms now, taking most of the damage on his forearms while he tried to strategize what came next. He watched Sorn’s hair come undone as he panicked. It fell messily around his head, making him look even more like a cornered animal. “Let me out, you rotten bastard! Let me out, now!” He went from swiping to trying to grab at Wyll’s arms. Wyll took the opening to grapple Sorn, pull him down, and pin him on his lap. Sorn jerked and fought, but he was stuck in the cramped space. Wyll grabbed the handcuffs that he kept on the side of his door and began to cuff his target. “Sorn, you are under arrest for the solicitation of-” Wyll was rudely interrupted by a strong chomp on his groin. He screamed loudly and his grip released. It felt like this man meant to castrate him.

Wyll grabbed Sorn’s head by his hair and ripped him away from his crotch. Sorn took the opening to press the unlock button on Wyll’s side of the car and make his escape. He managed to open the door before Wyll could relock it and bolted down the street back towards the club. Wyll had cuffed one of his wrists, so he was stuck with an accessory, but that didn’t seem to concern him. As Sorn ran away, he yelled back at Wyll while flipping him off. “Get shit on, you pig!”

Wyll held his crotch as he leaned forward in insurmountable pain. He rested his head on the steering wheel as he tried to recover from a pain he hadn’t ever expected in this line of work. Hells, I really screwed that up. He wouldn’t be able to show his face around here again, lest that Sorn guy actually be someone of note and he goes off telling everyone to stay away from the man with the glass eye and the rundown car. He lifted and dropped his head a few times on the steering wheel, hitting his forehead out of frustration with himself. He screwed up the mission just about as bad as he could’ve, got hurt for it, and definitely wouldn’t be able to find another target tonight with this bleeding clawmark on his face.

And the worst part of all this was that Wyll couldn’t help but feel like he deserved this. Luring people in with promises of money and a prosperous evening, only to betray them and prey on their ignorance. His job wasn’t much different than Astarion’s, really. He was the monster preying on innocents, not his targets, but there was nothing to be done. Not while Mizora ordered him to continue with this depraved quest of Zariel’s.

After a few minutes of sulking in his guilt, Wyll managed to sit up and look at his reflection in the rear view mirror. Fucking hells, Wyll thought as he examined the cuts. Those nails must’ve been sharp, and Sorn got him with the hand that had all five claws. There was blood streaming down his cheek, dripping on his black t-shirt. Wyll tried to touch the scratches and winced at how much they stung. They were deeper than he thought, maybe even deep enough to leave a scar. Wyll sighed as he put the car back into drive. Though it hurt, he couldn’t help but think that it was fair for him to be scarred after this revolting job that had no end in sight.

He surrendered himself to his fate and made his way home for the night, hoping that Mizora may be merciful and not make his life any harder tomorrow.

---

Thank you for reading!

[byanyan]

🍙 + a blood pack of Elder vitae (no risk of a blood bond, it just packs much more of a punch "nutrition"-wise). @gnarledbite

feed the raccoon

ㅤhungry as they are, it takes a great deal of self control for them to not sink their teeth into the blood bag the instant it's in their hands. really, it's garrett's words explaining what it is which have them hesitating — no risk of blood bond is reassuring, but they... haven't had vitae before, period, let alone elder vitae. something about it is... oddly nerve-wracking, though they can't put a finger on why exactly — other than it being something new to them, anyway, as well as the horror stories they've heard about feeding on another kindred. still though, with the promise of no dreaded blood bond (and coming from garrett... it's a promise they do actually trust), and the smell of it they can get even through the plastic... they're not going to be able to resist for long.

ㅤㅤ" so, like. what. s'is the kindred equivalent of fine wine, or somethin'? "ㅤa none-too-concealed sarcasm drips from their tone as byan, against their better judgement, raises the blood bag closer to their nose and draws in the scent. ...if their mouth still watered, it'd be doing so right now. unconsciously, their grip tightens, squeezing the bag while they fight the temptation to rip into it like some sort of feral animal.

ㅤㅤ" never liked wine all that much... "ㅤgrumbling more to themself than anything else, words effectively serving as an effort to help them maintain some amount of self-control than it is any genuine belief that their comparison is all that accurate, they hold the pack there beneath their nose, now pressed against their upper lip, for a moment longer. ultimately, they can't resist — they're too hungry to be able to resist. the nosferatu's reassurance still floating somewhere in the back of their mind, the fledgling's lips part, fangs finally puncturing the plastic of the bag to release the vitae within, their head tipping back to avoid spilling any of the precious liquid onto the floor.

it's... bliss. inherently similar to the feeling they get from feeding on a human, but more... intense. it could be placebo, they suppose — their mind believing that it's that different purely because it's something new; because it's vitae and not mortal blood — or even simply due to how long it's been since they last fed. —hell, for all they know, it could be a combination of two or all three factors! they don't know, it's hard to be sure, and their already brain shut off all thought that wasn't 'drink' about five seconds in to getting their first taste. whatever the reason for it may be, it's delectable, it's addicting, and they don't return to the present until they've sucked the blood pack dry.

realizing that they've emptied the thing, much to their chagrin, byan lowers the remains of the bag from their face, licking their lips to collect each and every stray drop. exhaling a low breath, their gaze flits to garrett, then darts away again just as quickly, a strange sense of embarrassment now coiling tight in their chest. ...it's the first time they've been in the same room as someone (other than their prey, at least) while they've fed, they realize. ...but why is that so uncomfortable?

ㅤㅤ" that was—... "ㅤthey begin, only to trail off, brow furrowing slightly as yet another realization strikes, pulling their attention away from their own self-consciousness.ㅤ" —wait. wait, wait, wait. i usually need a couple'a blood bags t' feel any kind'a satisfied if i haven't fed for a few nights... but i don't feel all that hungry anymore. s'at... normal? —s'at what y'mean about this stuff, "ㅤthey dangle the empty pack between their index finger and thumb,ㅤ" bein' more 'nutritious'? "

♡ @gnarledbite

[cyber-cry-baby]

Miasma pt. 8 "A lesson"

Caustic x fem reader Words: ~1700 Warnings: smut, alcohol, cursing A/N: things are getting heated!

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A dark synthwave beat pierced your body. You felt the music intensifying, and a smile crept across your face as you realized Elliott had suddenly turned the Lounge into a proper partyplace with all the flashing lights and loud music.

Loba's wide grin shone in the spotlight, and you raised your hands in the air. In that moment, the night – or rather the early hours of the morning – turned into something quite magnificent. You couldn't remember the last time you had danced and partied so freely. Alcohol coursed through your veins, and you felt light on your feet. With every bass thump, you vibrated and swayed, moving your hands along your body.

You couldn't resist the temptation to glance at the corner table. You inhaled sharply as you saw Alexander staring your way. He sat casually in his chair, and you felt his eyes drilling holes into you. There were people with him you didn't recognize. For a moment, you wondered if Caustic even had normal relationships. You shook those thoughts away and decided to care a little less and just let go. You were feeling hot, the warming sensation of alcohol not helping at all. Thankfully, you were only wearing a top along with your flowy pants.

You playfully tossed your hair and continued dancing to the deep beat. Suddenly, you saw Alexander rise from his table and head towards the bar. To your horror, you realized he wasn't headed straight for the bar, but more in your direction. You didn't let it bother you and tried to focus on your moves.

"When do you plan to clarify a few things for me?" a shiver ran down your spine as you heard Alexander's voice whisper through the music into your ear. You weren't sure if the shiver was from the words or because you felt his large warm hand brush your hip.

You turned quickly, meeting his gaze with a questioning look. None of your friends seemed to notice what had just happened, and frankly, you almost didn't believe it yourself.

"You did something a few hours ago that I didn't quite understand, Y/N. You better be clearer with me”, Alexander raised an empty beer glass as if indicating it needed a refill. You sensed from the way he carried himself that he wasn't completely sober. But then again, neither were you. You clenched your teeth, trying to remind yourself that you didn't care about this man right now. He was just air as you danced and had fun. You turned back to your friends. Even Renee seemed more relaxed than ever. She was dancing and smiling. You felt happy.

Until you once again felt someone's gaze from the corner table.

And this time, you weren't the only one who noticed it.

"Y/N, why does Caustic keep staring at you?" Loba leaned closer so you could hear her words over the music. You shrugged.

"I guess we're... friends”, you tried to sound convincing, even though the thought was weird. Loba chuckled and accepted your response. All of you in the games were kind of friends in your own way.

In the same boat. More or less.

You went to get another drink and this time, you headed straight to Caustic's corner.

"If there's anyone who's not clear, it's you”, you snapped. You didn't understand why you couldn't just leave it at that. You could provide the information to Syndicate and stop having anything to do with Alexander, moving on with your life. You just didn't want to. And on top of everything, alcohol was steering you strongly at this moment. Caustic's companions seemed amused. Suddenly, you realized that the people at the table included Bloodhound and Walter. You felt a bit embarrassed. You looked up to both of them and felt foolish for causing this scene in front of them. Still, they seemed to be smiling gently.

"You challenged me to something?" Alexander adjusted himself more upright and leaned toward you.

You felt foolish and your face reddened. You hardly remembered what you had blurted out a few hours ago. Alexander waited for your response, and it seemed like everyone else was waiting too. Leaning in closer, you could think of only two words that slipped out of your mouth.

"Fuck you."

You could hear Walter and Bloodhound chuckling behind you as you turned on your heel, but at the same time, you could sense Alexander's boiling blood. You made your way back to the dance floor and swallowed the drink quickly. Just then, you felt a strong grip on your wrist.

"My apologies, ladies, but I require a moment with your friend", Alexander said firmly, and your friends watched in astonishment as he practically dragged you out of the Lounge.

"You might want to watch your tone with me.”

Soon you two stood alone in an empty, dim hallway, and the faint thumping of music echoed through the wall. The smell of alcohol mingled with Alexander's fragrance in the air. You were almost startled by how tightly he held onto your shoulders as he pinned you between him and the wall.

"Leave me alone!" you snapped, trying to break free from his grip.

"You're the one who doesn't seem to leave me alone”, Alexander hissed.

"Could you kindly give me some clarification regarding your earlier statement that there is something between us?" he asked, suddenly genuinely surprised. You were taken aback too. You had never seen this man so flustered. His cool facade was almost cracking.

Indeed, he was flustered. Acting in ways he never had before. Sitting at the bar, staring at you. Having all kind of feelings. Too much of them.

He was truly confused amongst the other feelings

"Don't tell me that you don't understand what I meant", you mumbled. Then again, you hardly understood it yourself anymore. Suddenly, everything seemed to have a strong double meaning. You were each other's biggest rivals at the moment. But you both knew there was more to it. You could feel it.

Suddenly, the text you had seen on the computer screen flashed in your mind. The truth behind the man. Behind the monster. A murderer.

Your eyes flamed as you grabbed some of Alexander's shirt. Your intention was to push him away to make space for yourself. You couldn't make him move. The smell of his fragrance intoxicated you, and alcohol buzzed in your head, blurring everything.

Suddenly he leaned in towards you and grabbed your wrists. His grip firm, pinning them to your sides as he pressed you against the wall.

"Tell me..." his breath was on your face... your neck... then by your ear.

You breathed heavily, your heart pounding. You felt Alexander's lips touch your earlobe.

"...what did you do in my lab a few hours ago?"

Your heart raced even faster.

"I-I don't even know”, you stammered.

The lamest excuse ever.

"Tell the truth”, Alexander pressed you harder against the wall. Truth would be the last thing you would ever say. The only thing you could do in this situation was to distract him. You took a deep breath, shivering.

"Did you need something?" he asked in a low voice.

Alexander's face was right in front of you as he waited for a sensible answer. Sensibility was far away, though. You managed to wrench yourself away and grabbed Alexander's head between your hands. You were a bit rough as you tangled your fingers in his hair. You tugged slightly, pulling his face closer. You pressed your lips against his, feeling an uncomfortable, overpowering fluttering in your stomach.

Surprisingly, the man relaxed in your hands and responded to the kiss. You inhaled as you felt Alexander's lips moving against yours.

Why the hell are you enjoying this?

Alexander's hands grabbed your lower back and pulled you closer forcefully, pressing his entire body against yours. Soon, you were against the wall again, and you had never felt as aroused as you did now. You wrapped your right leg around his body greedily, bringing him even closer.

Why the hell are you enjoying this this much?

For a brief moment, you felt a pang of guilt and knew you were doing something wrong. For a few seconds, you tried to remind yourself of the kind of person you were dealing with. But right now, you didn't care much.

"You need a lesson”, Alexander muttered into your ear.

"Look what you're doing to me."

Alexander held onto your hand and moved it over his pants, through which you could feel his hard erection.

You took a breath and, driven by desire, grabbed it without a second thought. Alexander groaned in your ear, and the sound made you wetter than ever.

"I'll make you regret your actions”, Alexander said in a low voice. You looked at him questioningly, although your gaze seemed more lustful. With your lips slightly parted, you looked the most stunning Alexander had ever seen anyone, and he hated himself for this thought. You were messing with his mind. But that's why he had to release all of this. And you would take responsibility, as you should.

Alexander moved to kiss your neck. You silently prayed he would suggest going to the lab or anywhere to continue this. Nothing else mattered now.

Suddenly, he pulled away. Disappointment flooded your body. The music had stopped, and familiar voices were approaching. Why now?

Renee and Loba appeared from around the corner, and you bit your lip to hide your irritation. Alexander ran his fingers through his hair and put on his usual serious expression.

"Are you okay, Y/N?" Loba asked, looking worried. Both she and Renee seemed genuinely apologetic for letting Alexander pull you away from them. But they were relieved to see that you were fine. Not that you couldn't handle him yourself. You had done pretty well handling just before you were interrupted.

You blushed and nodded.

To your disappointment, Alexander had already disappeared. You sighed deeply and tried to hide your frustration.

"You guys have an odd friendship", Renee chuckled. "I felt like you two would rather hate each other. And that seems more realistic. I can't imagine anyone being an actual friend of Caustic", she continued.

If only they knew.

Not exactly a friend, but everything else. Foe, enemy... someone who needs to be destroyed.

And you needed him to destroy you.

[emmy-dekarios-bg3]

Heart of the Weave - A Baldurs Gate fanfiction - part 3

{to view everything I’ve written so far, find me on AO3 💕 Emmydekarios}

Chapter 6

Rage. Confusion. Disbelief. I feel all of these negative emotions build up inside of me, eating at my insides as I try to understand what the hell I just read. Jenevelle can’t see how I’m feeling because I’m trying to hide it the best I can, but the emotions are overflowing, overwhelming, and hard to contain. Gortash is my FATHER? I’m nothing like that tyrant, what the fuck is this news?

“Emmy, dear, you’re breathing very heavily, are you alright?” Tara asks, placing her paw on my leg and staring at my eyes as I try to mask my frustration.

“Not even in the slightest.” The book…Dare I open it? I close my eyes, fighting angry tears. Fighting the temptation to shriek. “Gortash is my dad.” I open the large book, noticing older photos of my mother, who seems to be around eighteen or nineteen years old, with Gortash who appears to be the same age. He looked well-dressed, happy, and like he actually took care of himself. There are photos of them kissing, laughing, and sitting in a field full of flowers.

As a child, his parents caused corruption. His soul was given up to a devil because they were poor and needed money to survive. How cruel of grown adults to do such a horrible act to a child. When Gortash meets my mother, it seems his miserable anger turned into happiness, but I wonder what caused him to turn back to hatred?

I see a letter in the book with some burn marks on the corners. It looks like a note she wrote to him perhaps; but how did she get it back if she gave it to him>

“Dear Enver Gortash,

I love you but you aren’t the same man I wanted to marry. I thought we would have our happily ever after, everything was perfect. We were going to have a family at some point. Your patron is causing you to become so self-absorbed in your power that it’s changing your image completely. You were so happy with me, so loving. The past six months have been hell and I have been praying that it would change. I can’t handle it anymore. It’s time I move on, Enver. I hope you open your eyes and realize you are NOT your parents. You are not their money bag. Do better.”

I turn the page, noticing another piece of paper that appears to be a journal entry ripped from a journal.

“Hi, it’s me again. I left him two weeks ago and I’m aching terribly. He had his patron put the note I wrote him under my pillow. Nothing else was said. He saw what I wrote and it’s only a matter of time before I see him again. Also, I’m pregnant. Perfect timing, right? What do I do…?”

Holy FUCK. I can’t even begin to process this horror presented to me.

“Oh my GODS!” Tara shouts, her feline face expressing pure shock.

“Tara, I don’t even know how to even accept this. I can’t.”

“How did he find out you’re his daughter?”

“I don’t know. My mother didn’t add that part in the note. She probably accidentally told him, or he found out somehow that she’s my mom.”

I observe my smiling daughter, her eyes glistening as she stares up at me with unconditional love. I smile back, despite the painful void I feel inside. I’m not Gortash and I never will be. I pick up Jenevelle and hold her close to me as I sob at this unfortunate surprise. Tara curls up in my lap to bring me comfort as I sit here on the floor, aching for some sort of good news.

Just moments later, Gale walks through the front door after an eventful day of teaching, immediately noticing me on the floor holding the baby.

“Oh, baby. You’ve been crying. Is everything alright? What’s that book?” I can only hope that Gale won’t view me differently after all of this, while I’m holding our daughter. I sob into his robe as he keeps me close, but I’m trying to calm down. “Whenever you’re ready to talk about it, I’m here to listen no matter what.” I dry my tears and take a deep breath, gazing at him with serious eyes.

“Gale… Gortash is my father.” He hesitates to say a word for a moment as he stares blankly at my pained face.

“Wh-what? He’s your…oh gosh.” Not quite the reaction I expected, but I’ll take it. I hand him the letter from my mother and I observe him engaging heavily into it, trying to process everything she wrote. “Oh, well gods be damned.”

“That’s more of what I expected on the first take,” I mumble.

“I hope you know this doesn’t change a damn thing on how I feel about you, but I am morbidly curious: what are your thoughts?” I’m not the least bit surprised he asked about how I’m taking this information, but it’s best I’m honest with him.

“I’m filled with hatred toward the man. He missed out on so much of my life and he had so many chances to change, but let power consume him. He could have fought it. He could have tried. He’s walking the streets again with Orin and Ketheric, hoping to find a way to dominate the world once more. Oh, and I have a brother out there somewhere.” I do want to know more about my brother and who he is. Is he like me, scrambling for answers? Does he know Gortash is his father?

“What really sucks is that Gortash now knows I’m his daughter, which means he knows about Jenevelle.” Gale takes my hand and squeezes it reassuringly.

“He won’t touch her, I swear it.” I take a deep breath, finally calming down from this anger high as I accept my fate, as much as I disagree with it.

I feed our daughter as Gale eats his lunch I made him, and I try to focus just solely on Jenevelle rather than what’s happening right now. It’s urgent we tell the others, though I hope no one thinks less of me.

“I’m glad you’re holding up okay, but you can always let your feelings out with me,” Gale reminds me, smiling and taking a sip of his wine. “I’m here for you through thick and thin.”

“That’s why I love you. Well, one of the many reasons.” I prepare myself mentally for how I’ll tell the others of this god-awful predicament, but I try to keep a calm mind. The challenging part will be spewing the news that Gortash is running rampant on the streets again, strictly looking for me alone.

Later that evening, after relaxing and being outside for a while to destress, we decide to summon Withers to alert our friends of the dire situation that needs to be addressed. I figured it would be best to do this when my mind isn’t in an anxious frenzy. Gale holds our daughter and tiptoes to her room to put her down for a nap while I wait here for everyone to show up.

“I truly think they’ll understand, Emmy. Surprised? Absolutely. Angry? Not at you. Well, as long as you aren’t defending that self-righteous tyrant,” Tara comments, making me feel a little sense of relief. “Just don’t let him know you’re immortal if he finds you. Ketheric will thirst for taking that away from you.” She has a point. Who knows what could happen if they find out? Dame Aylin was chained and her immortality was being used by Ketheric as she’s bound to his chambers. The same could be done with me.

Our usual group of friends show up so we can discuss this shitshow. Astarion holds their sleeping toddler as him and Shadowheart sit on the purple suede sofa across from me.

“Thank you all for coming.” Wyll and Karlach are already on edge, suspecting the news is related to Gortash; but I’m confident I’m about to ruin their whole day.

“What’s going on, Emmy? Is everything okay?” Shadowheart asks with worrisome eyes that are staring me down intensely. “You’re not moving away or something, are you?”

“No, but erm…” Gale places his hand on my thigh, giving me a reassuring smile to give me the push I need to tell them. “This isn’t easy to say, but Gortash…is my father.” Before I could even take a breath, Astarion’s jaw drops and his eyes widen.

“Holy fuck,” he murmurs under his breath. “Gortash?”

“He’s WHAT?!” Karlach shouts, and then covers her mouth, realizing there’s two sleeping babies in this house. “Shit, sorry.”

“Don’t worry, I still have the same negative feelings toward that cretin, maybe much worse than before.” Silence fills the room and boy is it loud. I swallow nervously, watching everyone stare at me with horrified expressions. “Please say something.”

“Let me clear the air by saying we aren’t mad or scared of you. At least I’m not. Just wow… At least he’s dead, right?” Wyll questions confidently. Gale and I sigh and shake our heads.

“Unfortunately, you’re incorrect. He’s roaming the streets once more,” Gale responds.

“What. The. Hell. That bastard gets a second fucking chance? Why?” I can feel the overwhelming rage within her, and she’s trying not to lose her cool. She has every right – I mean, why do people like Gortash get another chance but if Karlach’s engine exploded before getting it repaired like she did, she would have died with no more chance at all?

“Well, theory number one: the Gods allowed them all another chance. Or theory two: my half-brother made a deal with the devil on behalf of Gortash. If he’s evil, that is. I hope I meet him so I can find out. I’ll explain more about that entire situation later.”

Everyone, including myself, is distraught, though there’s nothing we can do right now except wait. I received a lot of hugs and reassuring talks from my dear friends tonight, which fills me with joy and some relief. All I have to say is that I’m grateful for such incredible people in my life.