#the heart is deceitful above all things

[5thcult]

the heart is deceitful above all things. 2004

[imminentinertia]

The Heart Is Deceitful Above All Things (2004)

20 years ago today since the Cannes premiere

One of the most unsettling films I've ever watched, and one that I don't think I'll ever get properly over, low ratings notwithstanding. It's a film that stabs you hard and keeps twisting the knife.

[accurzed]

the heart is deceitful above all things (2004)

[theexodvs]

Telling children to follow their hearts is abusive.

[selfiesforalgernon]

The Heart is Deceitful : Sarah Dresses Up Jeremiah

So I was gonna say something like "oh haha I watched The Heart Is Deceitful Above All Things on Valentine's Day how romantic" and it is equal parts "me and whom" but also insanely triggering so like actual warning lol this is one of the tamest scenes; actually wild that the Sprouse twins are in this, as are Marilyn Manson, Peter Fonda, I swear Winona Ryder is in a scene but she's not credited lol, and fucking Jeremy Renner of all people.. it was constantly shifting from "meme potential kink go brr" immediately to "jesus fucking christ this is fucked" it's like a decent case study in how kinks get formed.. also you just feel bad for the child actors, even just acting these scenes feels like child abuse.. well, so that's one hell of a movie (if you have the stomach for it and believe me it's ok if you don't lol fuck)

[cantsayidont]

Some movies of the early '00s, good, bad, and indifferent:

THE SWEETEST THING (2002): Enthusiastically raunchy but extremely dumb romcom starring Cameron Diaz, Christina Applegate, and Selma Blair as three 20something friends supporting each other through various sexual and romantic misadventures. Not without charm, but too sloppily written to really land except in fits and starts, and the weak plot, which focuses on the Diaz character's disastrous pursuit of a hunky real estate agent (Thomas Jane), sidelines both Applegate and Blair so completely that they might just as well have been condensed into a single character. However, it is occasionally very funny, with the highlight being a hilarious musical number entitled "Your Penis Is…" CONTAINS LESBIANS? Not even as a concept. VERDICT: Your life will be no poorer if you tune out after the musical number, but don't miss that.

HOUSE OF SAND AND FOG (2003): Slow-moving, moody, downbeat drama about the battle of wills between depressed white divorcée Kathy Nicolo (Jennifer Connelly), whose house has been wrongfully seized and auctioned off by the county, and the buyer, exiled Iranian military officer Massoud Behrani (Ben Kingsley), who moves in with his wife (Shohreh Aghdashloo) and teenage son (Jonathan Ahdout) and refuses to sell the house back to the county for less than four times what he paid for it. (With the skyrocketing cost of real estate since the film's release, hearing those amounts may cause physical pain.) Now broke and homeless, Kathy falls into a relationship with a married local sheriff's deputy (Ron Eldard), whose attempts to "help" by bullying and terrorizing Behrani into cooperating lead to tragedy. A strange story that spends a lot of time alternately cultivating and then deliberately puncturing viewer sympathy for the characters, and which seems unusually determined to avoid examining the larger social and structural forces that are actually driving the plot. Connelly and Kingsley are effective; Aghashloo is boxed in by her thankless, rather condescending supporting part as Behrani's timid wife Nadi, who barely speaks English and lives in mortal terror of being sent back to Iran — a far cry from her later role as cunning, sharp-tongued politician Chrisjen Avasarala on THE EXPANSE. CONTAINS LESBIANS? Not at all. VERDICT: Well-made, but very heavy going, and the last half hour (which is a real downer) is troubling on several levels.

BOARDING GATE (2007): Customarily oblique Olivier Assayas crime drama, in some ways reminiscent of a William Gibson story (though it's not based on one), about a sleazy businessman (Michael Madsen) confronting his soon-to-be-former mistress Sandra (Asia Argento), whose sexual favors he has previously exploited to gather intelligence on business partners and rivals, and who now wants to break things off for good. That meeting is just one strand in a more complex web of betrayal and vengeance involving Sandra and her new employers (Carl Ng and Kelly Lin), who each have their own agendas. The terse, gritty, sometimes lurid story can be tricky to follow at points because Assayas deliberately avoids ever pulling back to present a larger picture of what's going on or revealing much about the actual nature of the characters' business, and the jittery, desaturated cinematography seems calculated to keep viewers disoriented. The problem is that the film also holds the characters at arm's length, making it hard to care what happens to them, and the ending succumbs to Gibsonian anticlimax, leaving it unclear what the point was supposed to be. That it works at all is due mostly to Argento, whose smoldering performance is the main thing holding the film together. CONTAINS LESBIANS? By implication only. (Sandra describes a reluctant past encounter with a woman who doesn't actually appear in the story.) VERDICT: The story's self-imposed limitations tend to smother its virtues, although in stretches, the movie feels more like a William Gibson story than most actual William Gibson adaptations.

THE HEART IS DECEITFUL ABOVE ALL THINGS (2004/2006): Sordid, thoroughly unappetizing drama based on the 2001 short-story collection by "JT LeRoy," adapted by Asia Argento and Alessandro Magania and directed by and starring Argento herself, her second feature directing effort. (The movie debuted at Cannes about two years before "LeRoy" was revealed to be a fiction created by Laura Albert, although that revelation limited the film's eventual theatrical release in 2006.) The film is an episodic chronicle of several nightmarish years in the life of a boy named Jeremiah (played at different points by Jimmy Bennett, Dylan Sprouse, and Cole Sprouse), who after spending his early life in foster care ends up back in the custody of his erratic, self-absorbed, wildly irresponsible mother Sarah (Argento). After Jeremiah is sexually assaulted by one of his mother's awful boyfriends (Jeremy Renner), he's ineffectually counseled by a useless social worker (Wynonna Ryder, appearing unbilled) and placed in the custody of his Jesus-freak grandparents (Peter Fonda and Ornella Muti), who are no less cruel or abusive in their own ways. Sarah later "rescues" Jeremiah, encourages him to cross-dress to pose as her younger sister — leading to his being assaulted by another of Sarah's terrible boyfriends (Marilyn Manson) — and then moves them in a run-down house with a meth lab in the basement. The public interest in this very unpleasant material, which is a veritable anthology of child abuse and frequently difficult to watch, was ostensibly driven by the notion that it was based on real events of "LeRoy's" life. With that pretense revealed as a fraud, what's left is a distasteful appetite for the self-consciously lurid, to which Argento's main contribution is the gusto with which she embraces an especially unsympathetic maternal role. Even that was rendered all the more unpalatable by the subsequent allegations of Jimmy Bennett, who reported in 2018 that when he was 17 (about 10 years after this film was made), Argento sexually assaulted him in a California hotel room. Argento's DARVO response squandered all of her remaining goodwill and permanently consigned this already hard-to-stomach movie to the "Morbid Curiosities" file. CONTAINS LESBIANS? No, and aside from the point. VERDICT: Unpleasant content, fraudulent premise, too many creeps. Very strong CW for CSA and other forms of child abuse.

[dulceydaninacomolacocacola]

It took me about five years to finish Sarah by J. T. Leroy because the content is just that uncomfortable but, if the protagonists were aged up (which sanitizes the story and I know we don’t love that but otherwise I can’t bring myself to finish this thought), aesthetically wise it’s such a Lana del Rey a.k.a. Lizzy Grant book. It’s the most crude and unfiltered depiction of Americana I’ve read in a while.

[shiningwizard]

The Heart Is Deceitful Above All Things (Asia Argento, 2004)

I was wondering why this has such a polarising status, and why it would ever come to the attention of the art-blind disdain end of that, but it seems people read the news and want to rubberneck. Also it has ex-Disney stars. Balancing between provocation and empathy but always pushing. Looked great in a way that movies seem to have forgotten how to be and is very well put together. I couldn't begin to compare my growing up to this, but it captures the time and place blur of being dragged by your mum from new man to new man perfectly.

[iiusia]

i feel like this is a topic that needs more than just a tumblr post to fully expand on but. i think that in modern-day christian culture we place WAY too much emphasis on Feeling and Emotion . and i think that this attitude is part of the reason why the most common struggle you hear is "God isn't speaking to me/I can't hear God". feels like the standard set is that you're constantly feeling a Supernatural presence and it's Big and Obvious and it Shows and you can't contain it... when that's just not it. God can be quiet. God can nudge. God's voice is contained in the Bible that you hold between your hands. If you're not "hearing Him" then maybe your expectation of what hearing Him is is flawed.

[wallbeatjournal]

if you had to base a new riverdale season off three movies, which would you choose and why? they could be tonal choices or you can pluck entire elements of the movies and work them in.

ok i broke the rules bc i didn't stick to movies, i went novels and pop culture with it too. and i also kind of embroidered a few references together around each main riff in a way that i think COULD be riverdalian, but these are my 3 selections:

jt leroy (2018). trashy iffy-hot-take kristen stewart/laura dern movie about a very 2000s literary scandal/internet drama run Too Far into irl drama that i think riverdale would know better what to do with. two ideas (this is a jughead plot btw):

put jughead in the dissociated trauma-projecting controlling persona-having laura albert/jt leroy role and rope veronica and reggie and their monetary-business motivations into the scam angle. monica posh savannah knoop stuff and rattling veronica and jughead around in a jar together intensely in a campy way

or step lightly outside the bounds of this script into the real livejournal and myspace based drama of it all and jughead's sometimes-characterization as a guy who needs help unpacking metaphor even though he's swimming in it. make him into one of the many emo band boys (ryan ross?? ryan ross????) who related so so so so sosososo much to the writing of jeremiah terminator and then had a whole crisis when j.t. was unmasked as a middle-aged woman with a metaphorical literary persona.

permissible bonus web-weaves: james frey a million little pieces and oprah, augusten burroughs and running with scissors. we're doing the 2000s obsession with author authenticity is-this-really-autobiographical-if-it's-not-literally-true-or-are-you-shaming-your-family-for-NOTHING questions and scandals. but we're especially doing the emo community freaking the fuck out about blorbo from their novels doing a catfish online to extend the persona just that much further.

the avril lavigne replacement conspiracy theory (linking the wiki even though what i'm REALLY thinking of here is this moving pandemic essay alexander chee my beloved posted that i can't locate now, riffing on themes of feeling like a ghost inhabiting your own life after a major trauma). they can work in some other famous body double / replacement and assassination conspiracies (paul is dead, jfk) too but avril is the main reference and this is a betty plot.

pull in some actual alexander chee images and motifs too maybe, his novels about csa grooming trauma and having complicated feelings about your intimate abusers via like grandiose opera/paris siege metaphors (the queen of the night) and fox demons (edinburgh) betty would eat, i fear, even if they're a step off her normal serial killer media mix. dark betty has the range <3

stephen king's the long walk / suzanne collins' the hunger games / battle royale / state-sponsored brutal murderous game show authority abuse dystopia media homage in general!! especially when it's homoerotic and full of ptsd and institutional abuse, because clearly this is a plot primarily for archie and the lads. imo the long walk ("how bad do you have to hate yourself to join the military" but it's game show horror) and the hunger games ("child stardom is traumatic institutional abuse especially in the era of social media and society simply pretends not to see it" but make it a ya game show adventure) should be the main references, but we could work the academic/art-competition angle of battle royale for kevin. as a treat. ok yeah and maybe work in that arnold schwarzenneger movie the running man too while we're here picking up interwoven motifs at the store. why not!

[aemndxx]

𝓇.cameron. ┆ princess treatment.

◟ ㅤᡣ𐭩ㅤㅤ ݁.﹒ i srsly looove fem!reader callin' rafe 'dad' in my lil' stories. !!! mwahahahh . <3

princess treatment comes naturally to somebody like rafe cameron; who loves nothing more than to spoil you with his love, attention, and money. he adores how sweet you're, and he genuinely doesn't think you have a bad bone in your body—too angelic and sweet and naïve to be deceitful.

rafe cameron loves the sweet, gentle, little demure smiles you give him, all doll eyed and misty from the rough, downright nasty fucking he'd just given you—your long, mink lashes fluttering dreamily (and wetly) as you both come down from your explosive highs, with you panting gently and sweetly whimpering into his hard, broad, sweaty chest—not that the cameron man minded, he loved having you close, perhaps, sometimes… too close.

"gon' make you my lil' wifey someday, yea?" rafe mumbles casually, his voice raspy and deep, with a slight, teasing drawl to it, a bit of that rich boy, nasally tone of his that always kept you weak in the knees coming through.

you were always a shy girl at heart, his sweet little baby, he'd do anything you'd ask and more.

"y-yeah?" you hiccup shakily, softly pawing gently at his hard, bare chest, gently scratching your freshly manicured nails down his defined pectorals, feeling the ridges of taut, strong muscles underneath his warm, sweaty flesh.

rafe nodded, leaning over you completely and claiming your already kiss-swollen lips into another deep, passionate, possessive kiss, full of teeth and tongue and lots of rafe's saliva—coating your mouth in the most delicious, sinful ways of his ownership over you.

shyly, hesitantly, you reach down between your two bodies, bumping against his half-hard shaft, earning a low, warning growl to rumble against your boyfriend's chest.

"need more, don't ya', kid?" rafe taunts, before easily gripping himself by the base of his drenched cock, giving himself two quick, firm pumps of his large hand while mindlessly knocking your dainty one outta his way, knowing you liked to constantly touch things.

swiftly, he presses the now leaking tip against your abused, fluttering, dripping fuckhole, before pressing into you with a soft, deep grunt, already feeling those euphoric flames licking at the sensitivity of his heavy balls, positioning himself above you so he wouldn't crush you—but knowing you, his sweet girl, he already knows how you like to be roughly manhandled by him, like a pretty, innocent little dolly.

"dad!" you mewl femininely, a cute, glossy pout curling on your pretty lips, making them appear extra kissable, causing rafe to blink three times frantically, already feeling the blood from his head rushing down to his swelling cock, before he finally (and easily) slips back inside of you.

already, without failure, rafe can feel your sweet little pussy fluttering wildly around him, making him fully hard and desperate to come inside of your womb once again, a low groan escaping him as your little cunny began suffocating him, restricting him from pulling out for a moment.

"don't worry, baby—dad's always got you, yea?" rafe hums, before pulling his hips nearly all the way back, until just the leaking tip of his cock remained inside of your sopping, quivering little pussy, making rafe feel like he could blow another load into you any second now—still, he could be patient for his girl to catch up with him, and he knew he wouldn't have to wait long, not long at all.

"yeah... yea, dad! I-love you," you mewl breathily, feeling your little nipples harden from your overwhelming arousal, your doe-like eyes finally locking with your boyfriend's—and oh, you could see the darkness brewing inside of him, the insanity and desperate hunger he felt for you, and all of his possessiveness just rising to the surface, ready to claim you.

"such a good girl for daddy," rafe praises with a low, deep voice—a small, mocking smile appearing on his handsome, slightly flushed pink face, his abs clenching erratically as he can feel his cock twitch and pulsate inside of you, making him nearly whimper as you give him another harsh squeeze around his oozing prick.

roughly, rafe firmly grasps at the fat of the skin of your smooth, silky hips even tighter, holding you down with a knitted brow, tongue in his cheek as he begins to concentrate on fucking you again, hard and fast and nastily sinful—just the way his baby enjoyed.

"yea, yea... fuck, baby—feels so fuckin' good 'round me," rafe chuckled lightly to himself, floppy bangs falling into his eyes, but he couldn't care less, not with how fucking gorgeous you looked underneath him, so submissive and obedient, getting railed by him, becoming his over and over again without stop, without complaint.

"that's daddy's good little girl, huh?"

[so-sures-blog]

Earthbound

earthbound definition: attached or restricted to the earth.

In which Cole stands up to a tyrant that is cruel and unjust deep within the mountain. Because he made a promise.

🪨 🌋 🖤 🪨 🌋 🖤 🪨 🌋🖤 🪨 🌋 🖤

It doesn’t take a genius to see that Cole’s losing.

The cave is in chaos; the sound of screams and clanging weapons fill the air as two sides clash against each other.

Vangelis and the Skull are toying with him, and he knows it: they’re circling him, trying to throw him off by telling lies about his mother. Cole blocks the hits from Vangelis and the blasts from the Skull, feeling like a fly they were winding up in a web of lies.

Vangelis rises above him, resembling a winged creature of death with his blank mask and the glowing Skull of Hazza D’ur in hand. “And now, her deceit has doomed you!”

“Her only son,” the Skull rasps.

Vangelis hurls the Skull at Cole; growing brighter and brighter the closer it gets. He stands his ground and braces himself.

The Skull collides, and the blades …

… shatter.

Cole is thrown back, the air knocked out of his lungs as his body rolls to a stop. He sits up weakly, before throwing back his mask to gasp at the sight of the broken Blades of Deliverance.

“No!” He cries. With trembling fingers, his gloved hands hold onto the shattered pieces of the black and white blades. “It can’t be …”

His mother … lied …

“It is,” Vangelis glides towards him menacingly. “And now, you will pay the price for your mother’s lies.”

“Lies, deceit,” the Skull rasps.

Cole screams in pain as the Skull unleashes fire upon his fallen form.

“Your cause is lost.”

More fire.

“Have the grace to admit defeat.”

More fire. More, more. Blistering pain wreaks havoc across his broken body.

It’s hopeless. He’s finished. He’s too weak. It’s over. He just wants to —

He remembers his mother.

🪨 🌋 🖤 🪨 🌋 🖤 🪨 🌋🖤 🪨 🌋 🖤

“I want you to promise me, Cole. That you will always stand up to those who are cruel and unjust. Always.”

“Always.”

🪨 🌋 🖤 🪨 🌋 🖤 🪨 🌋🖤 🪨 🌋 🖤

His mother … her strength hadn’t come from the Blades of Deliverance. She’s always been strong. She had been sick all his life, yet no matter how weak her body had gotten she had moved through her life with implacable momentum. Impossible to sway or dissuade. Ever since he was young, his mom had power — from her beliefs … and from the Earth.

“It was her,” he realizes. “It wasn't the blades. It was her. The power inside my mother.” The power inside of me, his heart whispers. Not the Spinjitzu Burst. The power of Earth.

“It was all her.”

“Alas,” Vangelis laughs cruelly. “You are not half the warrior your mother was.”

Pain and grief bite through his being, but Cole forces himself to his feet to glare at the Skull Sorcerer. “Maybe not, but I am her son.” Conviction buries itself deep into his being. “And I made her a promise to stand up to tyrants like you! Always!”

The mountain rumbles its agreement. Cole digs his fingers into the rock and feels it mold around the shape of them. Every grain of earth begins to glow as his power seeps into it.

“What are you doing? What is this!” The Skull Sorcerer demands.

“It's the Burst!” He barely hears Master Wu cry above his roaring element.

But no. It's not, and Cole can feel it. It's something different. Deeper.

His power was strongest when he was the closest to the earth and he’s never been farther underground. He was basically at the bottom of the world. Never has he been more surrounded by the very thing that powered him. The Skull Sorcerer thought he was burying him — but what if bringing him closer to his full strength? To the source of his elemental power?

Cole could feel it — the connection to the earth. He could feel it reaching out towards him, coming from the ground all around him.

He stands and lets it in. He let the energy of the earth infuse him, deep into his core and surging forward. The Skull of Hazza D’ur comes flying forward to finish him off and Cole bursts to life.

Unparalleled power explodes from the earth, bright and blinding, and Cole feels more alive than ever. His skin disappears, being replaced with magma and rock as the mountain quakes under his force.

The battle halts as everyone stops at the sheer force of the Earth; Ninja gape in shock, the Shintarians fly back in fear, the cave-dwellers stare with awe.

“Son of Lilly,” the Geckle and Munce whisper.

Cole rises with the power of the Earth; the Skull spiraling, lost, as he reaches for it with a molten hand and throws it down against the Earth. Destroying it.

The battle — one that had been reigning in secret for decades — is finally over.

🪨 🌋 🖤 🪨 🌋 🖤 🪨 🌋🖤 🪨 🌋 🖤

Vania dips her head as the last servant that has finished attending her and shuts the door.

She takes a deep breath, listening to the fading footsteps of the servant and the guards clanking armor move away.

Then she springs into action.

She quickly changes, flying out of her normal, queenly wardrobe into more plain, neutral robes. She glances at Chompy, who’s watching her from his bed. She touches the dragon’s head.

“I’ll be back before morning — promise,” she whispers. He makes a chattering noise, telling her he’s displeased. “I know! I will, I promise. I just …” she bites her lip. “I just can’t leave him alone down there.”

Maybe Chompy can hear the pain in her voice, because he doesn’t argue — simply pushes his head into her hand with a small chur of forgiveness.

Vania pushes past the grief and stands, lighting a candle before leaving. She sneaks through her own palace silently, moving past guards like a ninja as she heads for the gardens.

She makes her way to the entrance of the garden alcove leading into the mountain, her heart steadily beating harder. The caves beneath the mountain were deserted, with the Geckle and Munce people deciding that they wanted to live their new lives above the mountain.

She scurries down; down and down the winding mountain, past cramped caverns and twisting turns, the cloying darkness only fought off by a single flame.

Finally she reaches it.

The Heart of the Mountain.

The legendary temple for the Masters of Earth. Ancient scriptures written in the Old Tongue read: Let pass through here, into this refuge and sanctuary, only those who are One with the Earth. Orange flames danced off the walls, even though no one had been down here to light them. Power shined through the giant doorway as Vania drew nearer.

Creak …

The door opened slightly.

Vania went inside, following the carved path molded by Geckle and Munce. Statues of ancient Earth Masters and their stories echoes around her, and she ignores the familiar goosebumps that rise along her skin. Her eyes linger on the statue of Lilly, before moving on.

Statues are more than solid pieces of art. They are immovable, unbreakable monuments that enrich storytelling, making the experience of living more profound and unforgettable. They remind us of the strength of traditions, the power of history, and the enduring spirit that echoes throughout the ages.

She draws closer to the one standing in the middle, heart beating loudly in her chest. It's tall and strong, newly carved. Awake and glowing with the surging elemental energy. She reads the plaque in front of it.

This statue was carved with love and gratitude by Geckle, Munce, and Shintarian craftsmen in honor of Cole Brookstone: Ninja, brother, and son.

Vania places the candle on the stone ledge and takes a seat on it, facing away from the statue. It feels like yesterday she was trapped in here with the Upply and Master Wu, trying to figure out a way to stop her father. She forces the memories away when she feels the mountain move.

“Hello, Cole,” she says softly. The Earth rumbles under her feet, before slowly forming and making a vague shape of the person she used to know. Orange light shines through the cracks of rock as he peers at her curiously, waiting.

Vania smiles.

“So, what story would you like to hear today?”

[theexodvs]

[wheneverfeasible]

pirate!Steddie AU

wc: 2.5k || rated: M (to be safe) || cw: reference to suicide, non-consent, and other general piratey things || ao3

When one thought of the phrase ‘Pirate King’ there were always certain expectations involved. An older pirate, grizzled and uncaring beyond his own interests, vicious with blade and pistol, quick to stain his hands red with anyone he deemed foe. To be fair, that had been his father.

The former Pirate King was truly a degenerate, disgraced nobility who stole from his provinces, who cheated and lied and stole from commoners and royalty alike. His failed coup would have had him and his young pregnant wife on trial for treason had he not escaped to the sea on a pirate ship with what portable wealth he had managed to secret away.

He had taken his wife along, at first, before dumping her at some port town to focus on his new rise to power. And rise he did over the next decade.

He was cunning, and ruthless, and he knew the tricks of the trade from how often he had hunted pirates in the past. He made a name for himself, dubbed The Fallen Noble, until that had not been enough for him. No, this time, he was determined not to fail the coup.

Eventually the Pirate King before him fell to his blade and he took it upon himself to pick up the crown, striking fear across sea and land both. His exploits were well-known, his viciousness the stuff of nightmares, and his taste for violence bloodthirsty. He had gone back to his wife and young son then, had stopped by occasionally during his rise though his son feared each one of those stops, and swept them away back into the world of deceit and power.

The son, only a young boy at the time, was raised like a prince, the Pirate Prince, and taught to be just as cruel and bloodthirsty as his father. And for a time, he was. The boy’s mother tragically passed away one fateful night when she was swept off the bow during a storm, though for the life of him the boy did not remember any such storm that night.

The boy, though raised first in negligence and then in violence, secreted the softness in his heart away, playing the role given to him to the point where he almost started believing it himself. Until he fell in love.

She had been stolen from her home with her young brother, with the boy meant to be inscripted into service while she was meant to be a prize for the Pirate Prince. She was unlike anyone he had ever known before and it wasn’t hard to fall in love with her. She would not be cowed, however, and he was not his father who took what was not freely given.

However, despite his love for her, in truth she loved another.

It would have been all too easy to dispose of the boy who held her heart, but that thick shell he had hidden within to be his father’s son had been cracked beyond repair. He aided her in her and her brother’s escape, watching the small boat drift away from his father’s ship and exchanging a solemn nod with the boy she loved who had come to rescue them.

His mask would no longer fit, he could no longer be who he had once pretended to be, and it was then that the boy became a man and in an act of defiance fought and slew his own father to end his tyranny once and for all. This young man stood above his father’s corpse as the new Pirate King.

Despite his young age, the Pirate King was not to be underestimated. When a mutiny rose of his father’s crew who remained loyal to the fallen tyrant and those who sought the power for their own greedy hands, the young man stood firm and dispatched those who coveted his crown. He would not bow to another monster.

Imagine his surprise when, only a year under his crown, the young brother of the girl he’d once loved returned to him to join his crew of his own free will. He did not come alone either, bringing with him a small pack of youths who wanted more than what society dictated for them, who heard of the fabled Pirate King, youngest in history, who refused to be the evil that had been his father and who protected those who bent the knee.

Though they had nothing in common, the Pirate King felt a kinship with these brave youths who wanted more, wanted to be more, and who stubbornly would not take heed when he tried to banish them off the ship. There was fierceness in their eyes, a hunger he knew all too well, and so while it at times made him feel more like a babysitter than a Pirate King with their youthful exuberance, he could do nothing but accept their honest fealty.

Along the way he met other wayward souls, including the sister of one of his greater rivals and the daughter of the man currently spearheading the hunt for pirates, as well as the young woman so desperate for a life of freedom, a life to be herself, that she soon found her way to being his second-in-command and who was almost as feared as he was.

Well. Feared by everyone except her and the youths he’d taken under his wing.

“Captain Dingus, sir, the rodent is on board.”

Steve Harrington, Pirate King and Captain of the Loch Nora, glanced up from where he was carefully sliding his dagger against the stone in his hand, a less than pleased expression pulling at his face at his quartermaster’s continued insubordination. He only sighed, however, since she at least had the decency to only do so when they were alone or among very select company.

Dropping his feet from his desk where he was leaning back in his thick, ornate chair that was more like a throne than anything else, Steve stood as he wiped his blade on a scrap of cloth before sliding it into home on his belt.

“Come now, Buck. He’s at the very least a snake,” he teasingly reprimanded with a grin as he moved towards her to follow her out of his cabin. “And just like one, he may be crawling on his belly soon enough if he isn’t prepared to pay off his debt.”

Robin was uncharacteristically quiet at that, and when Steve glanced over at her, he could see her teeth gnawing at her bottom lip. He raised his brows at that under the swoop of his hair, something telling him that he was going to find something far more interesting than the coin the man in question owed them. Whether that something interesting was going to be good or not was still to be decided.

It took only moments to move onto the deck of his ship, eyeing his crew as they stood encircling the kneeling figure in the middle. No. The kneeling figures.

Steve cast a quick glance Robin’s way at the sight before them, taking in not a chest or even bag of coins to pay off the man’s debt, but rather a younger man around Steve’s own age, bound and gagged kneeling next to the proverbial snake.

“Munson,” Steve drawled, and both pairs of dark eyes snapped to him. It was almost uncanny, making the resemblance even more obvious between the two kneeling men.

Alan Munson gave Steve a briefly panicked looked, before his mask of bravado settled over his features and he, neither bound nor gagged, shot Steve a smile that might have soothed his ruffled feathers had he not grown impervious to such looks thanks to his younger crew members’ own beguiling smiles. Munson clasped a hand over his chest above his heart.

“My liege, it is an honor to see you once more,” the older man formally intoned, bowing his head as though Steve were a real king and not just one who roamed the seas. His tone was light though, only the slightest tremor and the sweet dotting his brow belied the man’s nervousness.

Steve stopped in front of the two men, resting his weight on one leg as he brought his hands to settle on his hips. He cocked his head to the side slightly as he took in the tableau before him. Alan tried to meet his gaze with confidence he obviously did not feel, his eyes skittering away whenever Steve glanced at him, while the younger man glared up at Steve with all he was worth.

The young man’s eyes were rimmed with red, glassy in the way that spoke of past tears, and his thin chest heaved with the emotions swirling in his brown eyes so deep they were nearly black. The glare was not reserved only for Steve, however, as those dark eyes kept landing on Munson with anger and heartbreak and betrayal.

“Tell me, Munson. Are you hiding my money somewhere on your body in a questionable location, or are you planning on being another stain on my deck?” Steve said in an almost conversational way, though he had to withhold a snort as both pairs of identical dark eyes moved as one to look down at the dark stain inches from where they kneeled.

(The stain was actually due to Robin’s clumsiness spilling her dinner one night, but it made for a good impression.)

Munson recovered first with his smile only slightly shakier than it had been. He looked up at Steve in what he obviously hoped was a charming as disarming way. “I would never do you the disservice of cheating you, your majesty,” he said, and Steve might have believed him had the man not been infamously known in town to be a swindler and a cheat.

Munson’s eyes darted over to the younger man beside him before looking back up at Steve. “I regret that I don’t have your money at the moment—but I have something better!” he hastened to add on when the sound of drawn steel began ringing out as the surrounding pirates began drawing their various blades.

Steve held up a hand halting his overzealous crew mates, though he had to suppress a smile as well. Though most of the youngsters had once been squeamish at the darker aspects of the pirate lifestyle, they had since grown accustomed to the needs and requirements Steve placed on them. It helped that Steve did not needlessly shed blood, even when faced with the likes of Alan Munson.

“I am a very particular man, Munson. You will find that when I request my coin, it is not a request at all, nor am I interested in substitutions,” Steve's tone continued to drawl, though it became sharper towards the end as his wrist moved to settle meaningfully over the hilt of his sword at his waist.

Munson swallowed thickly with a jerking nod. “I understand, your majesty,” he rushed to say, before settling his hand on the young man’s shoulder beside him, causing said young man to flinch away with a shout muffled by the cloth in his mouth. When he tried to jerk away, two strong hands moved to force him back to his knees, courtesy of Steve’s crew.

Steve did not so much as bat an eye, merely lifting a brow to encourage Munson to continue. Without looking remorseful at all, he did so.

“My son, Edward,” Munson clarified, indicating the young man beside him though he did not reach out to touch him again. “I offer my own flesh and blood, my only child and son, into your generous hands. He is a hard worker, stronger than he appears, and capable of whatever task you set him.” There was not even a hint of a trace of hesitation on Munson’s face as he sold his own some out. “I give him to you to cover my debt, whether you keep him or sell him for profit.”

More angry, muffled noises came from the young man, from Edward Munson, son of Alan Munson, who was being treated as little more than chattel now and a bargaining trip to clear his father’s debt. Steve wanted nothing more than to slide his blade through Munson’s neck in that moment. His face hardened, but he let a deceptive smile curl over his lips.

Steve was, in the end, a pirate. And the Pirate King himself at that. His hands were hardly clean. The idea that a father would sell their child into slavery just to save their own neck, however, seemed far more evil than anything he had ever done, up to and including killing his own father.

Stepping towards the bound young man, Steve reached out to grasp the young man’s chin, squeezing sharply when Munson Jr. tried to jerk away. He angled the young man’s hand this way and that to examine him, before roughly releasing him to face the elder Munson.

“I will accept this trade only with a provision,” Steve began, Munson’s ecstatic expression dropping to one of wariness as Steve’s tone turned darker. “If your son does not perform his duties properly, or if he does not return to me what your owe with interest, I will gut him like a dog in front of you before doing the very same to you. Do I make myself clear, Munson?”

Munson’s eyes widened, his face rapidly paling, but he was nodding quickly once more. “Y-yes, I understand, your majesty. He won’t disappoint.”

“Let us hope so, for your benefit.” Steve glanced at the crew behind the kneeling man with a subtle jerk of his chin, the silent communication having them hauling him roughly to his feet and shoving him towards the boat they’d dragged him in on. Steve then cast his eyes towards Robin. For the benefit of the bound man still kneeling before him, he spoke his next order out loud, despite Robin already knowing what he would say.

“Mr. Buckley, see to it that Mr. Munson is left with a reminder as to why it’s important to always pay your debts promptly and fully,” he said with a small smirk, dropping his gaze to the young man who was struggling against his bonds and gag, his eyes desperately on his father. “Just something he can live without. Maybe a toe, or his little pinky finger,” he grinned.

Robin unsheathed her own blade strapped to her thigh with a dark grin of her own. “Gladly, Captain,” she replied with a nod, and he knew he would soon hear the pleasant music of a scream of fear and pain.

Steve’s eyes cut to the pirates holding Munson Jr. down. “Let’s be gracious hosts and escort our guest here to his quarters,” he said, tone ripe with sarcasm. “And then let’s get the hell out of here once the riffraff is gone.” He smiled as, at that moment, Munson’s scream filled the air, causing Munson Jr. to flinch as Keith hauled him to his feet and began pushing him to the brig below deck.

Steve had been correct, he thought as he gazed out to the sea, feeling the winds of change in the air. Munson’s payment had been interesting. Now he just had to decide what he wanted to do with his payment.

To be continued…

-

Hostage tag: @derythcorvinus

[spacebarbarianweird]

Touch

Synopsis: Astarion has yet another sexual practice to work out with Tiriel.

Thanks @wilteddreamsofbaldursgate for beta-reading!

Tags: smut, oral sex, trauma talk

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

With a content smile, Tiriel inhales the evening air. It’s such a beautiful place they’ve chosen to put up the tent for a day; imposing mountains stretching in the distance, lush vales as far as she can see.

The half-elf stretches her arms. She has never been a stranger to night journeys—and the shift to the nocturnal lifestyle wasn’t that difficult for her to master. But it still is weird to sleep during the day, hitting the road only once the sun sets. 

Well—it was her choice. Always ever hers.

And she always knew the consequences.

Tiriel gets inside the tent that is just big enough for two people.

Astarion is meditating. He is lying on his back, eyes closed, hands crossed on his chest as if he were sleeping in a coffin. His face is relaxed, peaceful.

Tiriel hovers over him—elves are usually aware of their surroundings during their reverie, though  it seems like Astarion’s thoughts are far away because he doesn’t react to Tiriel’s presence lingering above him.

Tiriel adjusts herself on his chest, touching his curls, testing if she can get any attention from him.

“Hey, Little Star, wake up… It’s almost sunset.”

He still doesn’t rouse from his deep reverie. Tiriel smiles to herself. 

She still remembers how uneasy she would feel around him, once. She thought someone like him would never pay attention to someone like her, an illiterate woman from the Wilderness who barely had any idea how the vast world she was aimlessly roaming actually worked. 

But he is hers now, and she is his—in all ways that could possibly matter.

Before she met him, Tiriel hadn't allowed anyone to see her naked, let alone touch her. She was afraid of any form of sexual intimacy and even tried to persuade herself that she didn’t really need one. Maybe, it was only aftershocks of the numerous, vile harassment she’d endured as a child.

But with him, it turned out differently. She remembers how her heart almost stopped when he’d casually asked her to come join him in his bed.  How good she felt under him—and despite all his tainted and cursed experience, he failed to realize he was her very first.

Tiriel thinks about how he almost cried confessing his deceit to her and how he flinched, probably believing she was attacking him. How his muscles relaxed in her following embrace and how weird it was for both of them to share a tent. Tiriel just brought all her things to his place the same evening he said he wanted things to be real between them.

And how he fell into his Elven trance with his head on her chest.

“Wake up, love,” she repeats, gently touching his ear. Elven ears are extremely sensitive. Sometimes, even sex isn’t as intimate for elves as casual ear rubbing. But Tiriel knows she can touch his ears any time she desires. 

This past year has been quite the journey. She learned a lot about herself—about her own desires, her own body, her own mind. He’s changed, too—for the better. He got less crue, less self-absorbed. Learned to see the good in people as well as in the world around him.

And it’s only the beginning, that she is quite sure of. As a half-elf, Tiriel has about fifteen decades to walk these roads and she wants to walk them together with Astarion.

“If you don’t wake up, I will go to the town's tavern and get into some travel brawl—without you.”

He squints as she rubs his ear once again and smiles. Tiriel loves it when he is like that—already awake and fully present but too much in the reverie’s embrace to try to dominate the situation.

Tiriel can’t help but think that Astaron resembles a sleepy cat.

“You know, it’s rude to wake an elf by tugging at their ears, darling.”

“Oh, but if so, how come you like it so much, then?” Tiriel kisses the tip of his nose, amusement evident in her voice. “Come now, it’s almost sunset.”

He sits up and yawns, making the blanket slip away a bit and Tiriel giggles, realizing he is completely naked.

“What is it, my sweet?”

“I am just happy you don’t cover yourself in tons of fabric anymore.”

“Surely. I wouldn't want you to put in extra effort once the mood strikes…”

“It’s not that, at all,” Tiriel assures him with all the solemnity she can muster.

Then they both burst into laughter. 

“Dress up, we have places to go,'' Tiriel takes off her camp clothes— a pair of trousers and a shirt she keeps borrowing from Astarion. But once her lower part is naked, she notices Astarion’s keen eyes on her.

It’s not exactly lust in his ruby eyes, more like adoration. Awe.

“What?” She asks. “You see me like this every day.”

“I love it when you’re wearing my shirt. Your scent lingers on the fabric, even hours later.”

But Tiriel knows Astarion too well—something is bothering him. Something he can’t put into words.

She observes him for a moment before joining him on the floor again

They sit like that in silence for a while—Astarion,  his bottom barely covered with the blanket; Tiriel with only the thin shirt preserving her modesty. 

“Use your words, love,” Tiriel asks. “Tell me what is troubling you today.”

Astarion promptly turns away. Whatever it is, it embarrasses him.

“Astarion, you’re telling me about disgusting horrors of your past life all the time. What is it I don’t know?”

“No it’s just different…” he gazes at her and Tiriel realizes that he doesn’t look at her face, nor at her chest as he usually does.

No, this time, his eyes are fixated on the triangle of telltale red hair between her legs.

Tiriel feels a shiver run down her spine. 

“It’s just… fuck… Tiriel, listen… I was constantly underfed and starved all these centuries. I barely could keep walking, let alone doing something more complicated. And I still had to seduce and bring victims back…to him. With a very strict rule to fuck them first even if it wasn't necessary.”

Tiriel takes his hand and presses her lips to his knuckles. When he’s reminiscing like this, he’s feeling tainted and unworthy. It’s breaking Tiriel’s heart every time. No, all she can do is listen, try to understand.

“But unfortunately, being starved meant that it was almost impossible to—well… “ he goes on, biting his lower lip.

“Get an erection?” Tiriel ends the sentence.

“Yes. So most of my victims were people with their own cocks. I could just let them fuck me. Use my mouth or hands, do whatever they wanted… I never failed,” he bitterly chuckles.

Tiriel intertwines her fingers with his, trying to anchor him in the present moment.

“Honestly, I forgot how it feels when my own body belongs to me, when everything is working as it should. When I drank your blood for the first time, I felt … strong. Free…and aroused as hell,” he adds.

“I know,” Tiriel smiles. “You went to pleasure yourself in the woods that night, didn’t you?.”

Astarion stares at her in shock. “How the fuck you know that? Gods, I hope no one saw me…”

“It was only me. No one saw you, I promise.”

He lets out a semi-relieved sigh and proceeds. “It’s not like I didn’t have other victims. It was just more difficult with women. I couldn’t be sure I would be able to give them what they wanted. So, when I found myself stuck with them anyway, I used my tongue and fingers to do the job. It was like playing an instrument, I assume. Every evening a new one, an unfamiliar one, but the principle was more or less similar. “

Tiriel touches his shoulder and kisses the pale skin. There was no spot on his body she touched without his consent. 

He was being used, once. Prostituted. Sold. Forced to do things he never even wanted to do to people he never even desired. All this to satisfy the sick whims of someone so truly terrible.

Some people would consider Astarion a dirty whore. As he does himself. But not Tiriel. She doesn’t care about his “lovers”. It doesn’t count when it’s not consensual. He could have been very well a virgin when they made love in that meadow. Astarion can say all he wants that that time doesn't count, since he was performing and manipulating her, but Tiriel disagrees.  It was their first night—one of many to come.

Suddenly, Astarion gets out from under the blanket and sits in front of Tiriel, studying her half-naked body.

“There was a time when I thought I would never want to have sex again. But I realized I like doing this with you. You make me forget whatever the fuck happened to me. Your touch washes all that dirt away. Your voice—when you moan and whimper only for me—it shuts up all the vile noise I heard when my body was used,” Astarion itches forward, his knee slowly parting Tiriel’s legs. 

“I want to eat you out,” he finally says, almost whispering.

Tirel blushes. To call her inexperienced is still quite the understatement. And she hasn’t ever thought about this form of intimacy. Being touched and… licked down there? 

“Please?” He makes his puppy's eyes. “Just a taste?”

“Astarion, I am not sure it’s a good idea.”

“Why? It’s not like anyone did this to you before?”

“No.”

“So let’s just see if we like it or not. And if you don’t like it, you can always kick me like you did when I almost drained you.”

“That was self-defense!”

“Served me right, what was I even thinking of attacking a barbarian?”,

Astarion is getting closer to her. “Come on, love”, he purrs. “Open your legs for me.”

Now it’s Tiriel’s turn to bite her lip. She has never been able to resist Astarion. A few words, a couple of touches and all her self-control is jumping off the cliff.

But she isn’t sure if letting him go down on her is a good idea. Especially considering the reason he gave to her.

He kisses her hip, then her lower abdomen. Astarion could easily open her up himself, as a vampire he is much stronger than her. But he will never do this.

Astarion needs an invitation.

 She's about  to pull the shirt over her head but Astarion stops her when the fabric is about to pool around  her waist.

“Tsk, my sweet, do leave it on...I want to smell exactly what I did to you when we’re done.”

Tiriel turns her face away. How can this man be so tender yet deliciously dominating at the same time? How does he manage to combine the sweetest words with the most vulgar and straightforward commands?

She spreads her legs a bit, opening her pussy to him. Tiriel senses the cold air brushing her labias. Astarion takes the invitation for what it is, his knee itching closer towards her womanhood.

“What a sight. But we can do better than this, can’t we?”

He touches her clit with his cold fingers and she mewls. 

Tiriel senses heat and the growing swell. This man can make her cum by simply kissing her let alone such teasing.

Astarion makes circles with his index fingers forcing Tiriel to sink back onto the bedroll, unable to think straight.

Then, without warning, he dips a finger into her. She curses - he could have at least warmed his body parts! He is just too cold naturally…

Astarion kisses her abdomen once again, tipping his tongue into the valley of her belly button, before he reaches her throbbing pussy.

“Much better, no?” Astarion licks his lips, slowly adding another finger, forcing her walls to clench around the pale intruders.

He puts her legs on his shoulders and then lowers himself, aligning his lips with her womanhood.

Before Tiriel manages to say anything, Astarion dives his tongue into her, forcing her to gasp. 

He eats her out hungrily, sucking and nibbling. Tiriel grabs his hair to pull him closer.

Then his hand wanders up her body again, squeezing her left breast, making Tiriel forget about anything. She moans, curses, whimpers. She can feel her brain melting, and the whole world shrinks to the burning sensation between her legs.

Tiriel squirms under his unrelenting touches, her fingers clawing into the bedroll. 

Nothing has ever felt this good. With a few more of Astarion’s skillful suckles, her vision blurs, and the overwhelming wave of pleasure crashes down on Tiriel with no further warning.

And Astarion doesn’t stop.

Tiriel tries to push him away, just to get a short break but fails. He keeps sucking her pussy, torturing her with his tongue and fingers.

Tiriel clenches her hips around his head and elbows up to gain at least some control over the situation.

Her second orgasm hits her with a single hot wave and she collapses back on the bedroll, letting out labored breaths.

Only then Astarion finally lets her go.

His own cock looks painfully hard, Tiriel tries to reach out for it to bring him his own release but he moves forward a bit to straddle her hips, aligning himself with her belly.

Astarion strokes his cock only a few times before he spills himself over the shirt. 

Gods… Did he like it so much that he came only by eating her out? Is her pleasure enough for him to react in such a way?

Astarion wipes his mouth before collapsing beside her.

“I can’t feel my legs,” Tiriel finally says and immediately realizes it is the most stupid thing to say after receiving such treatment.

Astarion nuzzles his face in the crook of her neck. “My dearest Tiriel, how can you be so sweet and so straightforward at once?”

“I hope you liked it because I don’t mind having this treatment from time to time”

“I loved it, '' he says after a moment. “It’s familiar but different. I didn't want to stop, that's how positively divine you tasted. Considering… how many times I did it I never felt so… good.”

Tiriel turns to him and kisses the tip of his nose. “If trying something else is an offer, I can be persuaded. But before that - someone needs to wash this shirt.”

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96 @locallegume @brainfullofhotsauce @coffeeanddonutscafe 

[zalrb]

Saint {elena/stefan/katherine pt. 7}

It's long and hopefully messy af. Hope you enjoy! The gif limit pisses me off, lololol.

Link to part 1: https://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/707929608286240768/toxic-elenastefankatherine-fic

Link to part 2: https://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/709460774203064320/valentines-day-elenastefankatherine-fic-pt-2

Link to part 3: https://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/709838031967879168/choices-elenastefankatherine-fic-pt-3

Link to part 4: https://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/710274615200628736/blood-elenastefankatherine-fic-pt-4

Link to part 5: https://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/710584105290579968/boundaries-elenastefankatherine-fic-pt-5

Link to part 6: https://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/733086688201654273/kill-elenastefankatherine-fic-part-6

Stefan Salvatore was walking. Haunting the night. Skulking the shadows. The way a vampire should, he supposed.

All of Mystic Falls seemed to be sleeping or at the very least, shut away in their homes, leaving him the freedom to brood in the open air. He had to have walked the entire town at least once by now. It felt that way, anyway. But he couldn't stop moving, walking, running. Couldn't stop trying to outstrip his own thoughts.

Really, he was ready to be bored. To evolve. He was ready to just be done. Over the years, when he’d come across other men who had fallen prey to Katherine Pierce – tomb vampires, Elijah, Mason — he had pitied them, having had been a victim to her once himself but no longer a fool to her sway. It was all in the past. Even when they’d slept together years after she'd returned to his life, he hadn’t been twisted up or lovesick. It had been a contained moment. He had evolved from her then. So, he didn’t know why he felt like this now. Why she had her claws in him now. Why he couldn’t seem to get enough now.

He didn’t love her. That much he knew. Not after everything she’d done to him, the lies and the deceit, the violence, the manipulation; she’d stolen his human life and had done her utmost to ruin his vampire one so that he only had her to rely on. But more than that, he couldn’t love her. That was the important part. He couldn’t love her after knowing what true love felt like, not after knowing what Elena felt like, her blood, her touch, her kiss, her voice. For all the lifetimes he lived and would live, he knew that nothing could or would ever eclipse that. Loving Katherine wasn’t the problem.

And yet. She had been gone for fourteen days and he felt those fourteen days in his skin. He wanted to forget her --- his mind, his heart, his conscience all wanted to forget her, but his body was in a tragic, despicable need. His lust, his anger, his resentment, his ego, they all fed off the poison in his interactions with her and they were, waiting, in frenzy, for another hit before he was swallowed with shame for the feelings that came out when he was with her.

He drew some dark, vicious satisfaction from the fact that Katherine had to be more of a mess than him. He may have been craving her but he knew that she was fiending for him. In an attempt to punish him, she was torturing herself and thinking of her, tormented in her self-appointed denial of him, only served to arouse him.  He hated that. God, he hated her. Above all, he hated himself. His craving was tinged by disgust, his yearning accented by hate, he was in a repulsive, unsavoury state of being, that left him wired and strung out and even mired in all of this, missing Elena.

He’d been avoiding her. Avoiding hurting her. Avoiding scaring her. She had seen him at his lowest and he had told her about the worst parts of himself, she had seen his worst parts, his capacity for danger, for cruelty, the things about himself that brought him the most shame and remorse, and she’d never judged him. No, she’d understood, offered sympathy, gave him grace, gave him her love and that was why he couldn’t bear to see her when he was sick with another woman. The woman who had cursed him with her love. It was an insult. 

Suddenly, Stefan stopped walking.  He heard ... it sounded like ... those words ... that tone ... In the distance, he could see a cross perched above a steeple. It ... what he heard ... he couldn't block it out ... it was coming from that direction.

He heard it again.

His heartbeat quickened with dreadful anticipation. He wanted nothing less than to see who that voice belonged to and yet the promise of a reunion stoked in him a furious lust or lustful fury, he wasn't sure which. He should be smart. He should be strong. He should --- 

But his feet took him to the church. 

The sanctuary was only lit by candles so it was dark and quiet. The sound of his footsteps was the only thing he could hear until ---

A voice, breathy and whiny with need. "But the thing is, Father, I haven’t seen him in … weeks …” “And I’m just so … so hor --- tightly wound. For him. But I just …” Quickened breathing. “I just need some kind of relief. Please. Do you think you can help me? Do you think you can help a child in need? Please?”

It was an instinct he would do anything to curb, but Stefan sped over to the confessional and wrenched open the door. He didn't know what he expected to see. If there'd be a priest in a compromising position or dead or compelled or ... he didn’t know, he just knew he had to see. There was no one inside.  Suddenly, Katherine was behind him in a black dress accented by a long rosary draped around her neck in layers, and a smirk on her face. 

"Fancy seeing you here," she said.

Stefan grabbed her then turned and pushed Katherine hard against the carved, ornate wall of the confessional. 

"Stop messing with me!"

"Were you angry that you thought I was corrupting a man of God or were you jealous because you thought I was with another man at all?"

Neither. Both. She was toying with him and he was in no mood. And yet he was. Stefan could feel his fangs itch. His blood boil.

"Who did you want to kill, me or him?"

His jaw clenched. She always asked that question. He never answered. He would not give her the satisfaction of admitting anything. 

“God, you’re just revving to go, aren’t you?” 

“That why you disappeared, huh?” he asked. “Again?”

His anger sounded desperate even to his own ears. God, he wanted to kill this feeling.

“Sometimes it’s good to remind you that you want this as much as I do,” said Katherine. “That you go feral when you don’t have access to me.” 

"So then, how did you know I'd be out? How did you know I'd come here?"

Katherine looked at him with mock sympathy. "Stefan, Stefan, Stefan," she said. "I lured you here. All those late night walks you take."

He blinked at her. Her expression was smug and satisfied --- it was the face of triumph, of a winner, and yet she did nothing to move from his grip on her throat. As ever, he didn’t know if that meant he was in control or if it was her. Stefan let her go and backed away.

She walked toward him, slowly unravelling the rosary twirled around her neck. "You really think I would've left you alone for two weeks?" She pulled a face. "You think I wouldn't want to see my handiwork? All that tension, all that need?” She shivered at the anticipation of Stefan unleashing all of that on her. “I've been watching you this entire time."

He wanted to seize her and break her and kiss her and lay her bare.

Stefan looked at  the rosary, now hanging loose around her neck. "Little theatrical don't you think?" he said, glancing around the church, at the confessional, the candles, the stained glass windows.

"I like making an impression. This is the perfect place for you. All that guilt?" She put a hand on his cheek and he tensed. "Want to add a little more?"

"What game are you playing?"

"Doesn't matter." She ran a finger across his lips. "I know you want to play with me. Maybe that can be your first confession. What's it going to be, saint or sinner?" 

He caught her finger between his teeth, and Katherine nearly convulsed. It took all the control she had to keep from launching herself at him, to keep from begging him to relieve the frustration she'd been suffering from for fourteen days.

It had been a persistent ache that had driven her to the point of humiliating neediness, where she did everything she could, used everything she could think of to rid herself of the pulsing desire that could only be satiated by the man in front of her. And he was going to completely undo her with a simple act.

Stefan closed his eyes. What was he doing? How was this his life? Why couldn't he stop? He needed to stop. He --

"There's nothing I'd ever confess to you," he said.

Katherine draped the rosary around Stefan as well. "I'd expect nothing less than you wanting me on my knees, begging you for absolution." She pulled the rosary tight around his neck, choking him, using it to pull him forward, to pull him toward her, so they were a breath away from each other, so close her lips brushed against his when she spoke.

"Shall we begin?" She gestured to the confessional.

Stefan didn't answer. He didn't move. He just stayed where he was, letting the beads dig into his skin. The moment he thought he heard her voice on the wind, he knew that he would succumb to whatever was going to happen next. He would fight and battle, and he would hate himself for it, but ultimately he would succumb. He knew that. She knew that. He wondered, then, if it would give him peace, even momentarily, if he did more than succumb for the night but if he actually gave in. If he admitted what this did to him, that it excited him. Would that soothe something in him, would that give him the relief, the release, he needed to be set free? Could he move on, could he sleep, could he face himself, could he face Elena, could he tear away from the intoxication of toxicity if he just ... ... confessed?

“I’m not a saint.” He glared at her before freeing himself from her beaded prison and stepping into the side of the confessional for the and closing the curtain behind him. 

Katherine flushed. “Oh, I do love a surprise,” she said, before stepping into the box herself and closing the door behind her. 

*

Elena just made it onto campus and felt glad that Bonnie and Caroline had refrained from moving back because she didn’t know if she was going to scream or if she was going to cry when she got to her room, and she wanted to be alone to figure it out. 

She was barely inside her dorm before she heard, "Do you want to know what's so perfect?”

Elena turned on the light and saw Damon sitting on her bed, a drink in hand. The books and grimoires she went to sleep reading and re-reading to find that one overlooked line or detail about how to permanently kill Katherine Pierce so that she was gone gone, not other-dimension gone, were on the floor. She threw her head back.  

“I thought you outgrew this, Damon.” 

“Uh…” Damon shook his head, trying to find words. “Let’s say alcohol makes me emotionally regress.” 

Elena closed the door behind her. “Right.”

“I’m surprised you’re here actually. I thought you’d be out stalking your ex boyfriend.” 

“I know exactly where he is,” said Elena quietly. “I know exactly who he’s with.” 

The church. Doing God knows what with her. It was a bit of a sick joke. Elena had been keeping tabs on Katherine who had been keeping tabs on Stefan, which meant that Elena had been following him too, skulking after him the way Katherine did, the way she had always done. He’d told her about how she’d checked in on him over the years and even at the time he’d told her, when they’d been together, Elena understood how and why Katherine would do that, how and why she’d just need a glimpse of him to see how he was doing. It was Stefan after all. Not knowing where he was or how he was doing her summer before college had weighed on Elena like a pebble lodged in her mind. And now she was in a place where she couldn’t help but check in on him. For two weeks, Stefan had avoided her. Avoided everyone. And she had allowed him his privacy only because she’d known where he was. 

Damon chuckled. “Perfect transition. So, again, do you know what’s so perfect?”

“What, Damon? What’s so perfect?”

"You and Stefan, the great love story, the great romance, and your love is never enough."

Elena closed her eyes and sighed. “I really don’t feel like playing this game tonight.” 

"No, but just think about it.” He put his glass on the bedside table and then put his hands behind his head. “He loved you and yet he left you to save me. You loved him, you chose him, but ended up with me. Why do you think that is? You two just love each other too much to be together permanently? You always have to leave?”

“But I never really did leave him, did I?”

Damon did nothing but glare.

Elena leaned against a dresser. “I never left him,” she said again. “And he never really left me. Even when it hurt. Even when we tried.” She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment. “Why else would we still be in each other’s lives? Don’t you think I know how desperate this looks, how pathetic I must look to everyone? After hearing them, after seeing them? Don’t you think I know anyone else would’ve walked away? But it’s still the same, I can’t give up. And neither could he.”

“He didn’t fight for you. Not when you chose me.” 

“He respected my choice,” said Elena. “But he never left me,” she said, shaking her head. “So, why do you think that is?” 

Damon scoffed. “Feels like he finally is giving up.”

“This is a phase. Some kind of revenge.” 

Damon raised his eyebrows. "You think he's sleeping with her to hurt you back?"

"Stefan doesn't do that. He isn't---"

"What? Me?" Damon grinned. "That's the problem."

Elena muttered beneath her breath. "Haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve said? That's what you want the problem to be."

Damon put his hand to his chest. "Ouch."

Elena sighed and rubbed her eyes. "Damon, this really isn't---"

"You've said a lot of things over the years that have hurt me," he said, swirling the whisky in his glass.

Elena blinked temporarily wrong-footed. "I..." She took a breath. "I'm sorry."

"Stefan's never experienced that."

"You just asked me if I thought he was with Katherine," she could barely say her name, "to hurt me back. How can you also think I've never hurt him? Especially after everything between the three of us?"

"Doesn't count. Extraordinary circumstances."

Elena furrowed her eyebrows. "What other reason would there possibly be for me to hurt him?"

"What reasons were there for you to hurt me?" Damon took a sip of his drink. "You've been casually cruel, you've manipulated me. You couldn't stand to do that to Stefan," he said in a tone that was somewhere between smug and bitter. "You can't bear to see him in pain and that's the beauty in all of this."

Elena looked at him, incredulous. "Damon, I don't---"

"Do I really have to spell it out for you? You can't save Stefan from this. You can't keep him from Katherine."

"You're wrong," she said simply.

"You love him too much," Damon said. "He loves you too much. It's too pure."

She shook her head. "That's ridiculous."

Damon laughed humourlessly. "Stefan isn't a saint and you've never been able to accept that."

"No, no,” she said, walking up to him, her index finger pointed. “I've always known that Stefan has a dark side, OK? I've seen it. I've faced it," she insisted. "I just think that he's more than the worst thing he ever did! So does he!"

Damon gestured triumphantly. "And that's exactly why you're losing. You two always bettering each other, pushing each other, protecting each other." He took on a mocking tone. "Trying to find the rainbows and the puppies and the silver lining." He rolled his eyes. "He's revelling with Katherine in the parts of himself he hates, that he tries to ignore or tries to better. You two could never do that."

"And what makes you so sure?"

"Because you revelled with me. You tasted blood with me. You killed because of me."

"Because of the sire bond."

"Which part?"

Elena brushed her hair away from her face but said nothing. Damon nodded.

"Casually cruel even in your silence. You have no problem hurting me. You have no problem hating me. The truth is, you know how addictive it is, what Stefan is doing." 

Elena narrowed her. "I was never addicted to you."

"The sex dreams you've had about me beg to differ."

She scoffed. "That was different than what's happening to Stefan now."

"Because it's Stefan. He doesn't half-ass anything, my brother, he goes full throttle. All or nothing. He's not just addicted to Katherine, he's obsessed with her."

Elena winced.

"And that fucking torments you, right?" said Damon.  "But you still can't hate him for it. You still can't want to kill him for that. You can't give him what he---"

"That isn't what he needs," said Elena sharply

"But it's what he wants," said Damon. "He wants to be feral and savage. He wants to be a vampire. And you can't give him what he wants this time." He drained his glass. "Call it karma."

“I don’t believe that,” said Elena. 

Damon looked at her, a vindictive grin on his face. “Then why did you leave the church?”

Elena furrowed her eyebrows. “How did you know that’s where they were?”

“The question is, do you want to go back?”

***

Katherine had never been more exhilarated. She heard Stefan on the other side, heard the unbuckling of his belt, heard his zipper, heard him shift; when she’d moaned and whimpered, he’d pressed himself against the wall, she was sure of it, and that made her flush with arousal.  She could hear the faint whispers under his breath, his self-admonishments, his curses of pleasure, his need for release that sickened him and she encouraged his tortured desire with unadulterated excitement as she let him know she couldn’t help herself, that she never could. Through the grate she could see that deliciously anguished expression as he reacted to her words, her noises. She sighed loudly. He responded in kind. 

“Confess. Do you like hearing me?” 

“Yes.” 

She smiled. “Because you want me?” “Yes.” 

“And that kills you?” 

“Yes.” 

“But you want me anyway?” He was leaning his forehead against the grate and gripping onto the wall, splintering the wood. “Yes. Yes.”

Katherine threw her head back. His words were drugging, enough to bring her to the brink. She’d yearned for his yeses for weeks, for decades, for a century and now he was giving them to her in a choked voice tortured with want. 

“You crave me?”

“I’d give anything to stop.” 

She made an urgent noise and caressed the grate in a feeble effort to feel his skin through the gaps. 

“Tell me. Confess. Confess.”

“I haven’t had my fill of you.” 

“Yes,’ said Katherine.

“I want -- fuck.”

She was undulating, racing to finish.  This was … this was … but, she couldn’t ignore it. The twinge in her chest, the nagging feeling that always served to remind her that even with all of his lust and pain and conflict, that even with his acquiescence, even with his obsession,  he didn’t love her. He didn’t have her in his heart. None of his confessions --- I hate it but I can’t stop and I hated you for showing up tonight but I hated you for leaving two weeks ago and yes, it’s taking everything in me not to break down this wall and come for you --- were about his undying passion or eternal love for her. He belonged to her even when, even if, she stopped claiming him, even when he refused her claim, he would never, could never pull away from her. Katherine felt a flare of rage amidst her desire that then turned to a resolve of sorts, as it always did. This was all familiar and yet never old, she, and they, could never get old. 

Katherine got up and ripped open the curtain. Stefan was already leaving his side of the booth to get to her. She pushed him back inside, sitting him down so that she straddled him. She’d never get his love, fine, she would just have to do what she always did --- bring Stefan lower, deeper into her, entangle him in the messy web that was their relationship. Take it all from him. She took a kiss from him, ravishing him, dug her fingernails into his shoulders, whimpered into his mouth when he grabbed her by the neck.

He moved them out of the booth, back into the nave, and slammed against a pillar, making the building shake. The impact was near-hazardous and the idea of his lust for her being so great it’d bring down an entire church inflamed Katherine beyond reason.

“No,” she whispered in his ear. “I want you now. Now.” 

He lifted off her dress in a single motion and suddenly there was clattering on the floor. Something had fallen out of her pocket. A lot of somethings. Stefan moved away slightly to inspect, making Katherine groan with impatience and frustration at the absence of him against her, between her. She took a step forward to close the gap between them but Stefan pushed her back against the pillar, holding there, his quiet domination making her moan. Candied chestnuts had fallen from her dress. One landed in Katherine’s bra. Stefan’s eyes stayed on it for a few moments and then he quirked an eyebrow, looking at her to explain.

“Come on, Stefan, you know your history,” she said breathlessly. “I was alive at the time, after all.” 

After a beat, he realized. “This is a poor substitute for the Vatican.” 

“But it’ll do.” 

“Mm.” 

He closed the gap between them -- finally -- and buried his face in her chest, taking the chestnut out with his teeth before kissing and palming her breasts. Katherine sighed and gripped his hair, gripped his back, pushing him deeper into her so she could feel him once again between her legs.

Stefan teased her with a graze of his fangs and she shivered then left her again, to pick up her dress. He found a few more chestnuts, and backed farther away from her as he chewed the one in his mouth. 

“If I remember that contested piece of history correctly…” His expression was becoming more devilish. “The courtesans were stripped bare, weren’t they?”

Katherine steadied her trembling body against the pillar, trying to exude control instead of melting into a begging mess. “They danced first.”

Stefan nodded.

“Is that what you want me to do?”

His gaze was focused. “I just want you naked.”

And God, that was what he’d get. Katherine left her spot on the pillar and followed Stefan into the aisle. She reached behind her back then stopped, and then looked at him. “That’s what you want?” She wanted him to say it twice. “Me, naked, on my hands and knees?”

“Yes.”

It was a command and with that voice and that look, she would do anything for him. 

“You know it was here,” she said, unclasping her bra. “This exact spot.” She let it fall to the floor. She wanted him wild and inflamed and as drunk on her as she was on him. “Before I was dragged to hell.” She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her underwear. “Where I vowed that only I could have you.” She was wearing nothing but the rosary and it switched something in Stefan’s brain. 

“Only pick up what I drop,” he said.

And she did. Stefan took his time, walking backwards, step by step, toward the sanctuary, leisurely dropping chestnuts on the floor, keeping Katherine’s gaze as she crawled toward him, collecting what he scattered.

The way she moved, feline, almost serpentine, a seductive display just for him

inflated something in Stefan that made him want to twist the rosary around her neck around his hand and pull her to him.

He could do anything. He could have her like this, on her hands and knees, for hours. One word and she’d do what he told her to. She had centuries on him, more strength than he could fathom, and she’d let him stake her for his pleasure, torture her for his knowledge, she’d let him bind her and leave her for his own amusement. She never said no. And he never had to compel her to say yes. Never had to use the tricks on her that she’d used on him. The power he had over her, the control he held, he alone had that and did that, he could make her plead, make her pay, make her yield to him in a way he could never and would never yield to her and every time he remembered that, every time she reminded him of that, he wanted to test the limits, see how far she was willing to go, how far he could go. 

She had chestnuts in her hands, in her mouth, she’d picked them up in ways he wouldn’t have been able to imagine. The more she prowled, the more her movements seemed to change, seemed to shift into something… dangerous, as if suddenly, Stefan was prey, as if he was something to be consumed. That same smug expression was on her face now but with sultry, seductive eyes, like she had him right where she wanted him, like she would devour him completely. And the closer she got to him, the faster his heart raced; he could hear its beat in his ears, feel a tremor throughout his body, and Stefan felt something like excited trepidation mixed with resentful frustration that she had seized back the power he’d been enjoying. But this was what she wanted, the struggle for the upper-hand. She wanted him battling himself, battling her, the fight, his better nature, is what tangled him in her with no thought of escape. He had to give in tonight. He had to. Remember?

Suddenly, they were against the altar and Katherine was feeding him chestnuts, transferring one into his mouth with a kiss that made him greedy, that made him want to steal her breath, steal her soul, that made him want to leave her a gasping husk. And then he was on his knees in front of her as she picked up a chalice half-full with wine and poured it down her throat so it spilled down her chest, her stomach. He drank the red rivulets off her skin, licking and lapping and sucking so that she giggled and moaned and clutched him to her

and then he was piercing her skin and drinking from her skin, her blood on his tongue, the wine on his lips, her nails digging into his shirt, raking his back, his grunt and her moans reverberating off the walls and echoing throughout the church. Stefan turned his attention lower so that her body arched and she fell back onto the altar, her back bowing off the surface, her arms spread out so she could grip the edges, her moans turning to sobs of pleasure and calls of Stefan’s name. He had her at his mercy. 

Before he knew it, positions changed. The candlesticks and the chalice and the cross clattered to the floor and he was lying flat on the altar in their stead. Somehow, she had tied him to her with the rosary, bound his body to hers with complicated knots and layers, entangling him, snaring him. He was still fully clothed and she sat astride him, completely bare, her hand on his throat, as she teased him, using him to pleasure herself, daring him to grab her and take her, spurring him to grip her waist tighter and tighter and tighter because the harder he held her, the closer his grip came to grinding her bones, the more control he had to exert over his desire and Katherine wanted him to falter and crack and completely break apart beneath her so that he could utterly destroy her with his prowess.

She didn’t stop until he begged, until he admitted to wanting her so badly he couldn’t stand it, to wanting her to ride him to oblivion, until he confessed that he didn’t know how or when he would be able to liberate himself from their game, and Stefan hated each word he groaned while she laughed and basked and rewarded him with her hands, her mouth, her gyrating body. Lust so close to blood lust, desire so close a murderous rage toward Katherine and all she’d done to him, all she would do to him, could do to him, and toward himself for wanting to exact his revenge in this way. And then they were clawing at each other, biting each other, the candlelight illuminating how they writhed in delicious agony, tearing each other apart with their carnal appetites. 

Even without her vampiric ability to eavesdrop from miles away, Elena was sure she would’ve been able to hear the screams of pleasure coming from the church. As it were, she was with Damon a few yards away, asking herself over and over why she chose to come back, why she would torment herself this way. Out of everything she’d heard over the past few months -- and she’d heard more than she’d ever cared to -- this was the worst of it. 

Elena glanced at Damon by her side. He was near-catatonic --- in so much pain that he looked to be in the process of disassociating. 

“Oh my God,” she said. “We’re here because you’re jealous.” 

He shook his head, snapping himself out of his horrified reverie, and looked at her as though he were seeing her for the first time. 

Elena glared at him. “You wanted to hear them because of some sick need to punish yourself or measure yourself or something.”

“Yeah, well.” Damon shrugged. “I’ve had a lot of practice listening to Stefan screw your brains out in the house.” 

“This is unbelievable.” Elena shook her head. “You hate the thought of him in there with her.”

“Yeah, I do. And you know what? I hate the thought of you hating the thought of them in there too.”

Elena threw up her hands. “What do you expect me to say to that? That I’m flattered?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you?”

“No!” said Elena. 

She stalked off. Vaguely, she wanted to go back to campus but she didn’t even know if she was going in the right direction, she just knew she wanted to get as far away from Stefan and Katherine as possible.  

Damon followed her. “Then why are you so mad that I’m jealous about what’s going on in there?”

“I’m mad that I let you talk me into coming here because you’re just playing into her hands! This is what she wants, this is what she likes!”

“So, no part of you likes that I can’t stand how much this hurts you? Because I still want you?”

Elena stopped short and opened and closed her hands in frustration.  “No, I just feel bad. I don’t want you in pain, Damon, but your pain over our breakup isn’t a compliment and your jealousy over my feelings for Stefan isn’t a turn on!” Elena buried her head in her hands. “And I would probably feel worse about what this is doing to you if I had the room but I can’t get everything I just heard out of my head. I can’t---” Stefan’s confessions made her hold her stomach.  “I’m pretty sure I’m going to go crazy.” She rubbed her eyes and felt the tears she couldn’t help wet her fingertips. “Why would you convince me to come back here?” “Why did you let me?

“Because I’m an idiot.”

“It’s because you want to fall out of love with him,” said Damon. 

Elena sighed, suddenly exhausted. “No.”

“You’re lying to yourself.”

“That’s not it.”

“You want me to convince you---”

“I love him, Damon.”

He stared at her. 

“I’m not playing games. I’m not in denial. I just love him. And…” she bit her lip. “I came because I want to understand this as much as I can.” As she said the words, she realized it was true. Even now, even in this, she wanted to know Stefan, wanted to be close to him. “I want to be there for him when this finally ends, but…” But right now she wanted to scream. She started to walk again to keep herself from doing it.  

Damon grabbed Elena by the arm, pulling her to him. She glared at him. “WHAT?” 

“Don’t get sad,” he said. “Get even.”

“Let go of me.” 

“You want to save him?” said Damon. “You want to understand him? You want him back? Sink to the level he’s at.” 

Elena took a deep breath. 

***

“So, Katherine was stalking Stefan. You were stalking Katherine. And Damon was stalking you?” said Bonnie, sipping from her coffee.

“We were all stalking Stefan,” said Elena. 

“Why would you go back?”  said Caroline, adjusting the knapsack with the candles and the books and the grimoire on her shoulder.

She, Elena and Bonnie were trekking through the woods, on their way to the witch burial site. Caroline had called for a coffee date/catch up and Bonnie suggested combining it with a field trip to search for answers about their “Katherine problem”, and for the entire morning, Elena barely heard what either of them said and mostly walked around with a loud ringing in her ears.

“I don’t know,” said Elena because she knew they wouldn’t understand if she’d admitted it was to be close to him.

“Yeah, this whole thing sounds so healthy,” said Caroline. 

Bonnie shot her a look. “Was that really necessary?”

“Well, I’m sorry but this is insane! Our group has survived a lot of cross…” Caroline shook her head, trying to find the right words. “Couplings, I don’t know! But Katherine is breaking us. Bonnie and I are displaced from our home---”

“It’s bad but let’s not be dramatic,” said Bonnie, as they made their way into the dilapidated cottage. 

“No, the dorm is our home for the next few years and we can’t even stay there for long periods of time. We are displaced!” said Caroline, as she and Elena helped Bonnie set up the candles around the cottage. “Stefan is off the deep end.” Elena closed her eyes at the pain of that. “Damon is getting there and who knows how many people that will put in danger, including us! Matt is,” Caroline gestured. “I don’t even know what’s going on with him, I just know ever since Katherine decided he was a key player in her weird psychosexual whatever, he hasn’t been the same.” 

Bonnie laid out a blanket for the three of them to sit on. “I mean, she’s right. I had to use my magic on you. I hated that.” 

“Exactly!” Caroline gestured. “It’s mayhem!” 

Elena didn’t say anything. It wasn’t like she could disagree. Katherine’s preoccupation with Stefan had brought out a side of Elena she didn’t recognize, made her consider things, do things, think of things she would never otherwise. 

“And we haven’t found anything about, you know, killing, really killing a vampire and it’s been months!”

“That’s why we’re here. I want to see if they,” said Bonnie, gesturing around the cottage, “have any insight. If they’ll even help us.” 

“Even if they did, are we even sure that’s going to work?” Elena said it in a voice so quiet, Caroline and Bonnie barely heard her. 

They stared at her with furrowed brows and Elena looked up at them, already wiping away tears. “He chose this. He’s choosing this. Before, with the blood, you know, I … I did that to him. I made him drink from me. And Klaus … that was for Damon. Everything that happened after that, the way he pushed me away … that was to protect me. But with her, I don't …” Elena’s voice cracked. “I'm starting to wonder if he just doesn't want to stop and that scares the hell out of me, the thought of letting him go, I can’t do that but even thinking about trying scares the hell out of me. But I …I just …” 

The breakdown Elena had been delaying for weeks poured out of her and Bonnie held her just as she cracked so that she was crying into her shoulder. Caroline shifted over to hug her.

“I just don’t understand how she’s able to do this,” said Elena. 

“Elena,” said Bonnie. “If you don’t want to---”

“No,” she said, sniffling. “I’m not giving up. We still have to do this. We still have to try. It just … it hurts.” 

***

For the first time in weeks, Stefan was still. Sitting in the library. Brooding. Stewing. Sitting with himself, with the wreckage he wrought, the decisions he made, the life he’d led, the one he didn’t get to, he was sombre and melancholic and felt the familiar sourness of shame.  He was still for hours and then he heard her. She was hovering in the doorway. He knew she knew that he sensed that she was there.

“You can come in.” 

Elena took a few steps into the library. "Katherine left,” she said.

"Yeah."

Elena continued to walk until she could see Stefan’s face. "Bonnie said you were the one that made her go."

Stefan didn't respond. He should’ve known Bonnie wouldn’t keep it to herself. He hadn’t told her so Elena could know, he’d told her in the hopes that Bonnie could work her magic and do something like spell the town to keep Katherine from ever coming back. 

“Well, is it true?” Elena insisted.

Stefan simply nodded. He'd had the conversation with Katherine the night before. It hadn’t been planned. There wasn’t a big speech. He had walked into her apartment and without any preamble told her it was time to leave.

"Get on a bus,” he told her. “A train. Steal a car, take mine, I don't care, just leave. It's done. You're done here."

Katherine had looked at him. The grin on her face had slowly disappeared when she’d realized that this wasn’t a game, this wasn’t an empty request. It wasn’t a request at all. 

"Something's changed,” she’d said. 

"I've let it go,” said Stefan. “I'm..." he sighed. “This isn’t what I want.” 

“Bullshit! You wanted this! You wanted me! Don’t deny it, you know that you did!”

“I did,” he said openly. “And now it’s over.”

Panic was all over Katherine's face. He was serious. She knew it. "She got to you," she said.

"Katherine..."

“No, no.” She started pacing. "How does she always ...? How could you do this?"

"Don't go after her.” Stefan’s tone was weary and Katherine’s eyes darkened with rage when she saw that his eyes were emotionless. 

"I've already killed you twice,” he said. “I can do it again. Do not go near her. I will stake you." 

“You've made that threat before," she said, uncertainty a tremor in her tone.

"I will behead you," he said matter-of-fact. "I will set you on fire. I will let the sun burn you, Katherine, if you touch her."

Still, a shred of hope flickered in her chest. She could still turn this into a game, make it into a power play.. She just had to get under his skin in the exact right way.  "So much anger,” she said with a hint of a seductive grin. She trailed a finger down his chest. “I bet you’d love to bury your stake in me.”

"No," he said dispassionately. He didn't even bother to move her hand away. "No enjoyment, no rage, it will just be because you hurt her. It will just be for her."

Katherine’s eyes reddened. She gritted her teeth.

“I should rip you to fucking shreds.”

“How long did you think I could keep doing this?”

“STOP TALKING TO ME LIKE I’M A STRANGER. I AM NOT A STRANGER TO YOU.”

“Oh no, we are intimately acquainted,” Stefan agreed. “That’s why I know it needs to be done like this.”

“I never knew that loving Elena made you cruel,” said Katherine waspishly.

Stefan sighed. “What, you want me to hold your hand? Shed a tear for you? Go through all the darkness, all the trauma that got you to this point, that got me to this point? Tell you I understand, tell you it’s not your fault? That’s what you want?” He said, raising his eyebrows. “Because I think I did that already, Katherine---”

“OK---”

“--- and then you threw it back in my fucking face and jumped into Elena’s body.”

Katherine grinned. “There’s that anger.”

“It’s not what you think,” he said. “I’m just making a point.”

“And now let me make mine. I won't let you do this to me. You understand that, right? You understand that I will not let you go. I never have.”

"I’m not doing this with you. Leave, Katherine. Peacefully," said Stefan, heading toward the door. "Today."

She’d screamed after him. "I will fucking kill you before I let you leave me!” 

Stefan stopped in the doorway and hung his head. He turned back around, his expression dejected. 

"Do what you need to do," he said. "Just don't touch her. And don’t think you can kill me and then hurt her because, if you do, I will come back from whatever hell you send me to. Leave her out of this."

And then he’d left.

Stefan looked at Elena and cleared his throat. “It was time.” 

Elena rubbed her eyes in disbelief. There had to be more, there had to be a reason. "You were in so deep. You---"

"Elena, do we really have to..."

"How did you...why did you..."

"I saw you ..." He closed his eyes. And he saw Elena in the cottage with Bonnie and Caroline, sobbing into their arms, devastated and heartbroken. He hadn’t meant to see it. 

But he’d been out in the woods himself, running, hunting, doing anything he occupy his mind, and he’d heard her from a distance. He reacted before he could think and in a manner of seconds, he was outside the old cottage.

He would never forget that like he would never forget the way she looked at him, teary-eyed and completely undone, that night on Wickery Bridge; expressions that would haunt him for his eternity. It clarified him in a way that nothing else had.

"You were in hell," he said. "I couldn't just..." His voice choked and he sighed, bending his head. "You were in hell," he said again, more firmly, as he stood up.

Elena watched Stefan walk away and was oddly overcome with emotion. The gratitude she felt toward him, the love that she felt for him because he loved her enough to let Katherine go, because he loved her enough, because he had always loved her enough to do anything for her only served to underscore that he’d given up something he’d wanted, something he’d wanted terribly; something he shared with Katherine. The thought of her in his head, in his heart, the thought of her as a sacrifice dizzied Elena with a disorienting jealousy and an aching indignation that Katherine possibly gave him something their relationship never did.

"I slept with Damon!” she blurted out.

Stefan stopped walking. He turned back around. When Elena came to the Boarding House, she didn’t know if she was going to tell him that, she didn’t know what she was going to say beyond questioning him about Katherine and her impulsivity made her look at him defiantly. 

He cleared his throat. "You two are back together?"

She shook her head. "No. I just felt like it."

He nodded. "OK, well, that's not really---"

"We woke up my entire dorm,” she continued conversationally. “We were so loud we didn't even hear the pounding on the door."

Stefan was quiet. Still. He looked to be focused on something Elena couldn't see. She wondered if he was breathing. When he got like this, he reminded her of sculpted marble. She pushed further.

"I rode him so hard into the mattress, it broke the be---" 

"Why are you doing this?"

He was looking directly at her now with no accusation in his eyes, just sheer pain. It made her want to go to him, put consoling hands on him. She folded her arms. She was hurting him back.

"Well, we're telling each other about our sex lives now---"

"No," said Stefan, shaking his head. "I never wanted to tell you what happened between me and---"

"I thought you should know about the headache I have because I kept knocking into the headboard. Well," she said. "Before we broke it."

Stefan nodded then continued to walk, which caused anger to swell in Elena's chest. Anger that made her walk after him.

Anger that  pushed her over the emotional edge she'd been teetering on for weeks. 

"You're just going to walk away?" She accused. "Is that all you do?"

He stopped short then turned around. "What does that mean?"

"After your summer with Klaus, when you came back, I told you I kissed Damon and you walked away. You found out we spent the night in a motel room and you didn't ask any questions." 

Stefan took a deep breath and started to walk away again, faster this time. Elena shadowed him into the living room. 

"I chose him---" She grabbed him by the arm and turned him around so he could look at her, so he could see her furious, determined face.

"I chose him after you gave me the cure and you just left town.” It was cruel of her to say that here, in front of the fireplace she’d made that choice. She didn’t care. “You just told me that you made Katherine go and I respond by telling you that I fucked Damon's brains out---" Stefan flinched, exhaled sharply, and broke free from Elena's grasp then continued to walk. "And you run away!" She screamed. "You're running away!"

Of course he was running away when he had --- "I have no right to feel anything, Elena."

Elena put her hands to her head and then picked up a lamp and threw it against the wall, making Stefan stop and turn to look at the damage.

"I don't give a fuck about what you have the right to feel, Stefan. How do you feel?"

No, she wasn’t hurting him back. She was pushing him. Testing him. Seeing if he loved her too much to show her what he showed Katherine, to feel with her what he felt with … … her. Her desperation to know was making Elena blunt and messy with her emotions. It had been making her messy with everything.

Stefan clenched his jaw, holding onto his composure. "You have every right---"

"Yes, of course. 'I have every right'. Always so patient!" She upturned a table, making his eyes widen. "God, you're so understanding, doesn't it ever get tiring? Don't you get tired?"

"What do you want from me? You want the fight?"

"Yes!"

"You want me to ask you if you did this just to hurt me?”

“Why not?”

“You want me to say that that isn't you? That you would never do that? Why?"

"Is that how you feel?"

"I feel like I don't get a say in what you do!"

"So you're not angry? You're just never angry with me?" Elena took a few steps forward. "The things that we've been through over the years, the things that you had to hear, that you had to see, it doesn’t affect you because you’re such a fucking saint?"

"Elena---"

"It has to. You have to be. Stefan, you must be so angry at me. How much anger do you have that you don't let me see?"

"That's not---"

"Hate me!" she yelled.

He blinked at her, a picture of confusion. "No," he said simply.

She was in front of him now, pushing him so that he staggered backwards. "You're a ripper, right?" She pushed him again. "Let in the rage." And again. Into a wall. Causing a dent. "Let it in."

"Stop it." 

"Why? It wouldn't be anything I hadn't heard before!"

He put his hand over hers when she moved to push him again, as if she wanted to push him through wood and brick, and he was suddenly looming over her. 

"I didn't mean any of that and you know that. You have to know that," he said, pained at the memory of every cruel lie he spat in her face when he'd been detoxing.

He wasn't angry. He was earnest and passionate and Elena loved him for it, she could never hate him for it, but in this moment, she could kill him for it.

"Why can't you get angry at me?" she yelled. "Katherine---"

"SHE'S GONE. None of this matters!"

"She enrages you."

Stefan gritted his teeth, thinking about the church, the blood, the lust, the shame, the regret. The sick hateful feeling in his stomach he had the morning after. All of the mornings after. The intoxication in that was corrosive. 

"You're not Katherine." He said firmly. "I have never linked you to Katherine. You've never made me feel what she has! She's out of my life. She's out of our lives! We don't have to do this!"

Elena glared at him, a mixture of fury and pain. She felt something shift, tilting her off-balance, stripping away more and more of her composure. 

“You still want her, don’t you?"

“What?” 

“You didn’t send her away because you wanted to---”

“Elena---”

“I heard you in that church! Yeah, I was there! All of your confessions, all of your desires!”

“That’s not---”

“God, you still want her! More than you have ever wanted me.”

Stefan looked sharply at her. The sentiment was too incomprehensible for a simple denial, it didn’t deserve any kind of acknowledgement. 

Elena was adamant. "I thought I was the one you didn't hide from but it's her. You don't hide that part of yourself from her."

Katherine had done everything in her power to destroy him, and Elena had done everything in hers to help him was never, could never, be that. She knew that. She had to know that.

"Don't do this."

"You relish that side of you with her."

Stefan was beside himself. "There's only that side of me with her!"

"Then give that to me!' She was inconsolable. "You owe that to me!"

No, this was enough. Stefan put his hands on either side of her face and she inhaled sharply the feel of it. 

"Elena? Elena! Look at me. Look at me." His tone was frenzied and anguished. "I could never hate you."

And her doing her best to make him try was painful in a way he would never be able to truly articulate. "I could never feel---"

Elena was trembling. She couldn't feel his touch. She moved away. "I'm telling you to."

"No," he said flatly.

"I want you to."

"No."  

He started to walk out of the living room, but Elena grabbed his arm, keeping him in place and it caused a tormented sob in his chest. He was overwhelmed by her refusal to give up, let go.

"What did you do with her that you couldn't do with me?" 

Something turned in her expression. Why was she goading him? Why was she so insistent on this? "Not this." His voice was barely louder than a whisper.

"You want me on my knees like her?"

"Stop it." He closed his eyes.

"You want me to beg like her?"

"Elena, stop."

"It wasn't enough for you. We weren't enough for you." She was more than angry, she was near-crazed. It scared him. "You want to be savage with me like you were with her?"

"Please." 

"Own me like her?"

"Please stop."

Without warning, she took his hand and put it on her neck. "If you were to put a hand around my throat the way you did with her ---"

Stefan erupted with horror and desperation. "STOP IT." He held her by the arms. "JUST STOP! STOP." 

"If this is because you actually do love her---"

His mouth was on hers before she could finish her sentence and she whimpered from the shock of it.

Stefan pinned her against the wall, kissing her with a furious, desperate passion. He was clutching her, gripping her. His hands found the dips and shallows of her body, massaging her, feeling her. He was kissing her cheek, her neck, her eye, her forehead, so that she gasped and quaked and each of his touches asked again and again, Does it feel like I love her? Elena, tell me. Does it feel like I love her?

And when she moaned in response to his wordless question, when she bowed to him, sank into him, making helpless, needy noises, he moved to leave, confident that he’d made the depth of his point, of his feelings clear, but Elena kept him to her, refusing his departure and desperate for more.

She could get lost, oh God, she would've gotten lost in him if it weren't for this feral urgency and impatience clawing at her.

She didn't know if it was the vampirism, if it was the weeks of torment, but she had this need that was territorial and possessive and primal and raw. She bit his lower lip then sucked and Stefan put his hand on the small of her back, bringing her forward, pressing her into him and she felt the evidence of his desire. Had he done this with Katherine? Bring her to him so he could feel her body against his, so his arousal, his lust for her could drive her crazy? Had that driven him wild? The thought of that ---

Veins darkened Elena's face. Suddenly, she bit him, sinking her fangs into his neck, making him call out and convulse. He pressed her even tighter to him then pressed her back against the wall, leaving no room for escape, He grinded into her as she drank, as she clutched the back of his head, gripping his hair. She fumbled with his shirt, scrambling to rid him of it. She wanted it off. Off. And then her hands were all over him rough and greedy and jealous. Katherine had touched him here, kissed him everywhere, and if it were the last thing she did, she was going to rewrite the history of his body with touches and kisses of her own. She skated her lips across his chest, nipping him, biting him, marking him so he pleaded with strangled sounds, but she wanted him to regret everything, everything that had happened in the past couple of months.

Stefan was torn between the pleasure of Elena’s lips claiming his body and the impatience to once more feel them against his, and he brought her back up to him with reverent, rough hands so that he could kiss her again, moaning into her mouth, as they made their way, clumsy and drunk, to the couch. Suddenly, he wrenched away from her, his expression aroused and raw and pained.

“It’s too soon.” He was shaking his head frantically. “This is too soon.” 

“What are you talking about?” said Elena, breathlessly. She crossed her hands at the hem of her shirt and peeled it off in haste, and what little resolve there was in Stefan’s expression crumpled at the sight of her. “It’s been a lifetime.” 

He didn’t move when she walked up to him. She slipped her hand beneath his waistband so that he squeezed his eyes shut and stuttered when he spoke.

“It’s -- It’s too much,” he said. 

And Elena understood. He hadn’t forgiven himself for the arguments they had, the things she’d pushed him to say.

 “Stefan,” she said, as she continued to feel him and please him, her touch an indication of her forgiveness, of the fact that there was nothing to forgive.  “Come home.” 

He exhaled sharply and then he was kissing her everywhere, feeling her everywhere, embracing her so tightly, pressing her into him so firmly, as though he wanted them to physically meld. He lifted her onto him and sat on the couch so that they were entwined. His face was buried in her and he whispered against her skin, “I’ve missed you.”  

Elena shivered and sighed dreamily. “I---”

Fire. Sudden fire. Spreading everywhere. Fast. Impossibly fast. From nowhere, from everywhere. Quickly, Stefan and Elena disentangled, terrified and confused. Flames engulfing the carpet, the tables, the walls. 

“Run! RUN!”

Stefan took Elena by the hand and they sped out of the room. 

Katherine heard the yelling from within the Salvatore Boarding House and she smiled grimly at the panic, the fear. Stefan could not be surprised. She’d warned him. Repeatedly. And yet, she knew he thought she was making empty threats. Time and time again, he and Elena, and Damon, and everyone, they’d underestimated her. Time and time again, they’d forgotten her reach, the friends she’d made, the people she’d had in her debt. They’d forgotten that she’d been alive for centuries. If she wanted a witch, she’d find one. If she wanted vengeance, she’d get it. If she wanted Stefan, she’d have him.

It took him a day to get to Mystic Falls but the witch she’d once spent the night with, the witch who had pledged to be there for her always, no matter what, had come when she’d called in a favour. And now he was here. Next to her. He spelled all the exits shut. He brought the fire to life. He helped her with her vengeance. 

“It’s like I said, Stefan,” she spoke, knowing that even with all of the commotion, he’d be able to hear her. “If I can’t have you, no one will.”