#willing to go to hell LITERALLY go to hell if there was a chance to get the woman he loved back

[dramalove247]

Can not stop thinking about this.

Style thinks there is a 50/50 chance Fadel will kill him. That means two things:

1) Snark and confidence are Style's sword and shield

2) Style is willing to die for a chance at forgiveness

Style knows he messed up. He knows he hurt Fadel. He knows Fadel is capable of killing him and has reason to. Still, he doesn't resist and goes willingly, even if he's scared, because he loves Fadel and he wants a chance to fix this. So he literally gives Fadel his life and hopes it is enough.

Even when Style is being confident and cocky to Fadel's face, deep down he fears love might not be enough. Even if he believes Fadel loves him, he knows love is not a guarantee that he will be forgiven. And in moments when he is sincere, and tired, and still, and has nothing to distract from the weight of his situation, his brave mask slips, and we can see the doubt and sadness Style works hard to ignore. Style doesn't want to die, but he will if that's where their love story ends because he refuses not to try.

Still, Style is going to Style. He's going to be over confident, flirty and snarky as hell because that's who he is. And if he's annoyed, you're going to know it. Style has already made the decision to see this through and he told Fadel he wont run. Style doesn't need a gun in his face to understand the situation he is in and he's probably pissed to be reminded.

Personally, we think Fadel wanted to believe he was 50/50 as well, but he was just lying to himself. In the end, Style got what he wanted and Fadel got what he needed. And now they get to love each other completely open and honest.

We got confirmation of this Unpopular Opinion in Styles own words!

Special thanks @tortibomb and @aprilblossomgirl for the perfect GIFS!

[vidavalor]

The Trial

Short thoughts on how Gabriel & Beez could fit back into the story in The Finale & on how Aziraphale's fall would lead to the collapse of the current Heaven/Hell system, in response, as promised, to questions posed by @zenkitty714.

Whoever the guy with the coffee in The Final 15 is, he didn't exactly say that there was a Supreme Archangel job vacancy because Heaven was down for giving Gabriel a watch and telling him to bugger off and go tend to his marigolds. At no point does Our Villain ever actually express one shred of intent to leave Gabriel alone. He simply says that he feels there's a job opening... which all feels a bit sinister since it suggests that there is one because our villains still plan on trying to kill Gabriel.

The Metatron's response to Gabriel mutinying on Monday morning was to try to murder him and we saw exactly nothing in the course of S2 that would indicate that his plans have changed where that is concerned. In order to get Aziraphale into the lift, Our Villain had to lead him to believe that there was a chance-- a remote chance but a chance-- that The Metatron was willing to change and let Heaven reform. Letting it seem like Gabriel and Beez were safe was part of that deception.

Gabriel and Beez were only safe for the brief moment until Aziraphale got into the elevator because our villains needed to pretend like they didn't care about revenge against them in order to sell the idea that Heaven could reform to an understandably doubtful but desperate Aziraphale. Now that they have Aziraphale, though, and have accomplished their goal of going after him first to divide and conquer our main characters, our villains have no need to keep up this charade.

That's why it's a damn good thing that Uriel is on our main characters' side now because she'll be there when Aziraphale falls. She won't be able to stop it without following him to Hell, which wouldn't help either of them or anybody else. What she can do, though, is then be the one to go get Gabriel and Beez and tell them what's happened to Aziraphale. Uriel on the run from Heaven as a result of this and the need to find Crowley will then give them all reason to go to the bookshop, where Muriel will serve her purpose of having witnessed basically all of The Final 15. They'll be able to tell Ineffable Bureaucracy what they missed, with Uriel confirming the bit of what she herself saw before the angels left after following whom they're now realizing was Satan's command to leave.

Wherever Crowley is at the start of The Finale's story in the present, I bet hard that it's going to be Gabriel who goes to get him. It's going to be Gabriel who tells Crowley that the reason why he can't feel Aziraphale anymore isn't because Aziraphale was Book of Life'd-- that's not a real thing. (Notice how the one character who could have answered that question in S2-- Gabriel-- is prevented from even knowing it's a question for the entirety of the season.) It's going to be Gabriel who tells Crowley that he can't feel Aziraphale because Aziraphale fell and Gabriel who talks Crowley off a metaphorical and possibly literal ledge when, at some point, Muriel confirms that Crowley sat there in a chair and told Aziraphale to go alone with a being they all will by then realize was Satan.

What our working-together-on-this-one villains of The Metatron and Satan haven't counted on is that the revolution they're trying to nip in the bud has actually already started. They have overlooked Uriel entirely and didn't anticipate that her response would be to side with Gabriel and help him and Beez over Heaven. They didn't count on Gabriel and Beez helping take care of Crowley. They didn't count on Muriel agreeing to help by giving the bookshop to the revolutionaries. They didn't count that it wouldn't take much for the rebelling angels and demons to get Furfur and his miracle blocking skills involved or Dagon and her Dark Council power on their side.

What our villains really haven't counted on is that Aziraphale is the bridge too far. The angel whose life taught all these other angels and demons how to live is going to be the one to break the system oppressing all of them by having inspired in his own struggles everyone to come together and fight Heaven and Hell for him.

What kind of fight, you say?

One of the Powell & Pressburger films referenced a bunch in S2 and playing on the tv in The Resurrectionist Pub behind Gabriel during the Ineffable Bureaucracy flashback is A Matter of Life and Death and I think a plot like this film is basically where The Finale is headed. You can see it on the tv here as Gabriel does the "Everyday" miracle:

The basic plot of that film centers around a trial where a man who has been outrunning a clerical mistake that caused him to live when he should have died fights to stay alive on Earth to be with the woman he fell in love with. He was a RAF pilot during WW2 whose plane went down. He was supposed to die but a mistake had him live and he fell in love with the air traffic control operator he was talking to on his way down-- the character of June, whose look in the film is the inspiration for Crowley's look in the Before the Beginning scene.

Our hero in the film gets some help from someone who knows how to wrangle Heaven, launch a trial, and who acts as a defense lawyer-- something that I think sounds a lot like a perfect role for Gabriel.

There's also that we now have that we know that Gabriel knows for sure about the body swap in S1 which means he knows that, technically, Aziraphale did get a trial because that's really who Hell put on trial. We had the scene of a drunk Crowley telling Jim this in S2 to show us that Gabriel knows beyond a shadow of doubt that Aziraphale kind of already had a trial so that we can appreciate it when he then lies his ass off to The Metatron for his friends and claims they never gave Aziraphale a trial. 😉

Trials are a big thing in Good Omens' Heaven & Hell and in its finales in both seasons so far... even if they've been sham trials so far... but there's one of our main characters who hasn't gotten one yet, right?

Gabriel's trial was shown in the S2 finale and, back in S1, Hell gave whom they thought was Crowley a trial. However, Heaven never actually gave who they thought was Aziraphale a trial in S1 and they won't before sending him to Hell at the start of The Finale, either.

Gabriel and Beez know how to work the system and I think that they are going to lead an effort to challenge Aziraphale's status as a demon by filing a challenge to it that forces Heaven to give Aziraphale a trial. (Aziraphale is going to insist as this goes on that he goes nowhere without Crowley and it might result in them both being on trial.)

What will really be on trial, though, is the system of Heaven/Hell itself because, if our characters can win the trial, it will mean that they have proven that Heaven isn't infallible in their assessment. That would collapse Heaven and Hell because all the demons would challenge their own statuses and all the angels would realize that Heaven can make mistakes and this is all bullshit, which is likely what happens when all is said and done.

One part of the film is that one of the lawyers also demands a trial by jury with a diverse jury pool to ensure a fair trial, which would be very different from what we've seen happen with the characters in Good Omens so far. It would have to happen in The Finale for this plot to exist.

I think one of the results of the trial is that this group of angels and demons challenging Heaven here wind up demanding that The Metatron produce God and exposing him as a fraud when it's revealed that he can't, actually, because he doesn't speak for God and all of Heaven and Hell is a sham.

Satan figured it out long ago but cut a deal with The Metatron to stay quiet in exchange for having his own kingdom down there in Hell. The two of them are in a bit of a mutually-assured destruction pact where they co-exist to use the threats of one another to control the angels and demons they're oppressing.

When the trial leads to the overthrowing of The Metatron, the demise of Satan might be an actual battle of sorts but the end result is that both of them will be gone by the end and the angels and demons will be set up to form an united, more democratic form of government. The threat of Armageddon will be over, allowing for Crowley and Aziraphale to South Downs Cottage it in peace.

That's how Aziraphale's fall can be the thing that brings down the whole house of cards... as S2 seemed to possibly be suggesting:

[scrimblescromble]

Hello, I'm back, with things I have noticed about Eragon that makes parts of the book very strange or funny or sad

Garrow's farm is TEN MILES OUT from Carvahall, which is already small. What the hell was he thinking??? It takes like 3.5 hours to walk that much???? And Eragon walks FURTHER THAN THAT to go hunting at 15???? Go behind you??

When hunting in the beginning, Eragon spends days just going for one doe. Which, all things considered, is not a lot of meat, especially for what's probably a 4 day hunt. For one person, it's unrealistic to carry more than that, but still.

Leading on from that, I'm led to believe that their family probably mostly ate bread and vegetables, and maybe cheese. No wonder he's pretty attached to meat.

Despite living so far away, Brom knows Eragon's knack for asking Too Many Questions, which implies this happens often.

How the hell does Brom make money? Storytelling??? There's only so much money that can get you in fifteen years, he's definitely got something on the side. He was a gardener in Morzan's estate for a while...

So far up north and isolated, Eragon DEFINITELY has a STRONG farmer's accent. Combined with his formal training with the elves, he probably has the weirdest way of talking, where it's both overly formal and casual at the same time.

Eragon is such a prodigy it's not even funny. By the time he meets Murtagh, he's a good enough swordsman after JUST A FEW MONTHS that they're literally equal. Murtagh has been doing that his WHOLE LIFE with a really good swordsman. Magic also comes pretty good to him, even if he's not always sensible with it. He learns to read well enough to read full books in a week.

Eragon and Roran are pretty similar with the dangerous stunts they pull, except Eragon's are usually with magic and Roran's are physical. They are both absurdly intelligent too, even if Eragon is known to act like a dolt sometimes. In his defence, he's stressed and like 15-17 years old. All things considered, he could be far worse.

Somehow, with his back ripped open and cursed, with his dragon crashing through the crystal ceiling which is raining on top of him, Eragon is able to not only remember to stab Durza in the heart (requiring turning around), but also shout an unnecessary spell.

Eragon probably could do magic before he bonded with Saphira. His mum wasn't a rider and had the "genes" for it, and his dad was a rider. It wouldn't be as strong, but maybe he's such a powerful spellcaster because he had some sort of baseline.

I bet that the first time Eragon wandered into the Spine, he was pretty young, and everyone kinda assumed him dead. He came out a week later with a bunch of rabbits or something

The fact that the Blood Oath Celebration made Eragon very pale implies that he's naturally the whitest boy ever and he just had a constant tan going (likely, because he's a farmer). This is just very funny to me, that in removing all injuries it took his tan.

Another point for absurdly powerful Eragon - the fact that his accidental curse had such an impact on Elva, to the point that it straight up affected her development. It wasn't even a spell! Or intentional!

I'm sorry, but Eragon casting empathy and that unintentionally killing the bad guy is so funny. He was SURRENDERING, but cut a bitch so deep that he imploded himself. Iconic.

Literally he is just so nice. Willing to run across the world, separated from Saphira, to support Orik in his campaign - when he totally could have given an excuse, or even just say the truth, which is that he's very much needed where he is. There's so many more examples, but he's just a good person.

I'm sorry, but Oramis was kinda a bitch for assigning the one hour of duelling in his training. Like, it flares up his seizures like crazy (which he ALSO SUFFERS FROM), AND he doesn't stand a chance against the elves in strength. I understand the point, but something had to give there. At the very least, reassign someone that won't actively torture him??

Adding onto that, we know that he's only able to succeed at the listening to the forest task after the transformation. I suspect that the mind is a sort of "sixth sense", and we know that elves have stronger senses; it's possible Eragon would have to have been bonded for a decent while for this to even be possible. I bet anything that human riders were usually trained by elder humans, and Oramis was struggling with a fledgeling human instead of an elf, as well as the time constraint.

Why the hell does Brom look so old? Yeah, he's old, but Galbatorix doesn't look that old? Is it something to do with his dragon being dead? The way I assumed it would be is that riders look like thirty for a verrrryyyy long time, no? Is it because Saphira died? Was he just going to perpetually age? Or does the beard age him?

Your cousin who feels like a brother goes missing, ran away, after your father's death. Soon you're leading everyone you've ever known to the rebellion in a desperate attempt to keep them safe and save the woman you love. Your cousin is wanted, even more than you are. He returns. He's different. Barely human anymore, hardly the boy you once knew. He's their last, and only hope. His war cry has been the same since he was six.

Now that I think about it, Garrow really is the odd one out in the family. His sister was the Black Hand, a highly dangerous assassin and magician. His son is Stronghammer, one of the deadliest soldiers in the country. His nephews are Eragon and Murtagh, both highly skilled swordsmen and magicians, riders, and both known as Kingkiller. Garrow is a farmer who can read.

Selena naming her son Eragon is soooo funny. "His dad - who is a secret! - is a rider, and Eragon was the first rider. It's so uncommon a name even among the elves that literally nobody will know this. My abusive husband and the evil king both know I hail from this place. He totally won't stick out in any way whatsoever!" Iconic, 10/10. It worked???

If any of these are inaccurate please remember I am going off my very deep-seated knowledge from reading the books so many times at a formative age. I haven't actually read them in years

[kissingarthurclaus]

Hear me out.....

[mynameisbillandimaheadcase]

.

[tardis--dreams]

We've officially reached the 'too demotivated and drained to bother to go to class' part of the semester. Awesome

[nochepsicodelica]

Bear Boyfriend Toji returns. ʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ <- Hell yeah, that's the clingy thing <3

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ᕦʕ •`ᴥ•´ʔᕤ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Don't let him catch you wearing his clothes, unless you want him relentlessly tailing you for the rest of the day until you both go to sleep. It's one thing to put his shirt on to go to bed, but it's a whole other thing to wear it in broad daylight, while cleaning the house, cooking, folding and putting away your laundry, etc. He will follow you and try to corner you as you make your way around, trying to get all these things finished. You have to be very strong-willed in order to duck under his arms and escape him when he tries to seduce you by caging you against the wall. It doesn't deter him when you leave him standing there with his hands still planted on the wall. He laughs it off, mutters something under his breath about you being a tease and keeps chasing you, his prize.

Cooking is the hardest thing to do in his clothes. You're literally working with fire, sharp knives, and multitasking it up, while he's clinging to you and whispering in your ear all the filthy things he wants to do to you while you wear his shirt. You're crying your eyes out while you cut an onion and when you ask him to watch the pot, he Toji Taxes you. Says, "Yeah, sure, I'll stir... For two kisses and a squeeze." Unbelievable, but you need that help, so with a much called for roll of your stinging, bleary eyes, you make your way to him and let him take what he wants in exchange for his assistance. After one very long squeeze to your boob over his shirt and two kisses, he happily has a wooden spoon in his hand. Indulging him in his demands only fueled his desire to get you back in his grasp. It's that damn shirt, it fits like a short dress on you. Another thing he loves is that if you reach high enough for something, he gets a peek at the mere pair of underwear you're sporting under it.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ᕦʕ •`ᴥ•´ʔᕤ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ When it rains, good luck getting this bear of a man off of/away from you. It's hard enough to get out of bed on a daily basis because of how he constantly drags you back until he's ready to get out of bed, but rainy days are something else entirely. It's cold, the sky is gloomy, everything is wet, and worst of all... the chances of getting wet socks are much, much higher. It's not his favorite, but the one thing that makes it all better is you, so his clinginess is on another level—it's really like he's being powered by the storm.

He loves when your schedules align during this kind of weather. Neither of you has to leave the house for work, so there are no alarms set and you both wake up at your own times. Days like this transition from being wrapped up in each other until your stomachs start growling, to putting on big sweaters that smell like him, so that you can run to the car together through the heavy rain, to get something to eat. Once you return, you make that same run through the rain to get back to your home and you both head straight for the bedroom, where you are once again made his prisoner and caged in his arms for the duration of your afternoon nap.

He doesn't want to leave the bed anymore, and that extends to him not wanting you to leave either, even when you say you have to pee. "Hold it, mama. We're still sleeping." "I've been holding it for half an hour." "Shh... If you last the whole hour, we'll go make that coffee you were chirping about, earlier." He definitely chides you when you can't fall asleep later at night, but is more than ready to help you in any way that expedites the process.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ᕦʕ •`ᴥ•´ʔᕤ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ With how long you've been together, it's to be expected that you feel safe around Toji, but there are just moments where he stands back and thinks about the things you do that demonstrate how emotionally and physically comfortable you are with him. He's glad that you see him as your confidant and that you don't feel the need to dial down your feelings, just so that he can easily digest what is going on with you. He's a strong man, he can handle your tears of varying emotions, so, when you come home from a terrible day at work or you feel like you are losing your mind, because nothing is going right, he openly invites you to plop yourself on him and just lie there until you're ready to talk out what has you feeling the way you do. You don't have to say anything until you are ready, but if his presence comforts you and helps you relax a little more, he prefers that you seek him out for solace.

The physical aspect of feeling safe around him is shown in many ways, like when you fall asleep on him or even just fall asleep around him. You trust that he will look out for you during these moments of vulnerability and he does. He can easily tell when a nightmare is preventing you from getting good sleep and he does not wait for you to wake up in tears to comfort you, because what is being abruptly woken up, to enduring uncontrollable fear your mind creates?

When you go out together, even just being subtly maneuvered so that you are walking on the inside of the sidewalk, makes you feel protected. You already get automatic scary bear privilege with him, so you rarely feel like you are endangered by others, but the little things he does are very much considered and appreciated, too. Like, when you're walking through a large crowd and he holds your hand tight or he hooks his arm around your waist and pulls you into his side, so that you don't get lost. Or when he switches places with you and becomes a barrier between you and the group of sketchy looking men walking by.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ᕦʕ •`ᴥ•´ʔᕤ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ This bear loves when you fly at him like a dart and tackle him or at least try to tackle him after a long day of not seeing each other. Sometimes he'll stumble back on purpose just to make you laugh when he says something along the lines of "woah there, pretty girl. We almost went through the wall." It's gotten to be a routine for whenever you come home from work before him. As soon as he shuts the door, he's silently and slowly turning around, throwing a smirk at you in anticipation of you jumping on him. Sometimes, he crouches down slightly and scoops you up before you even have the chance to try and knock him over. The way you laugh as he carries you back to where you were lying on the couch, while he rapid fires kisses onto your face, is everything. This is definitely one of his favorite parts about coming home to you.

Before anything, you read Toji's body language, because sometimes there are days that don't call for this kind of silliness. Like when the door shuts, signaling that he's finally home, but he lets out a tired, heavy sigh. You greet him in a much calmer manner, simply walking up to him and asking him how his day went and if he wants to freshen up before he eats dinner—questions of that sort—while still being mindful of not overwhelming him with too many of them. It's very much about reading his mood, but also attempting to lift it by doing things like reminding him that he's about to eat one of his favorite meals, even when you know he knows, because the entire house is flooded with the aroma, or telling him about a new little food spot that you saw on your way home from work and suggesting you go try it together sometime.

Most of the time, you're able to lighten up his mood, and if it's not before you go to the bedroom, it's while you're lying in bed together, getting ready to go to sleep. Quiet investigative murmurs reach his ears, while his head rests on your chest. You play with his hair to ensure that he feels calm and secure enough to talk this out with you, and he usually does cave and spills what's on his mind. It's mainly tiredness and work being a stressful hassle at times, inevitably preventing him from getting home to you when he's supposed to. He feels better once he gets it all off his chest and sleeps like a cub, attached to you, as always.

NSFW Below

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ᕦʕ •`ᴥ•´ʔᕤ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Dirty bear, dirty bear, dirty bear! He has more wet dreams about you than he would ever admit. It makes him feel ridiculous, given the consistency and then some, of the amount of times you and him have sex in a week. His mind is so greedy, already cluttered with images and moments with you, yet it continues to create more scenarios while he sleeps, giving him these "humbling experiences". Sometimes he has to get up in the middle of night—under the guise of going to use the bathroom—to change his boxers, because he ruined them with an involuntary overflow of cum and he needs to hide the evidence. It's something he gets all bashful and "c'mon, Toji..." about, while he's cleaning himself up, but when he catches you in the middle of experiencing a wet dream, he thinks it's the hottest thing ever. For a few seconds, it's just you grinding against the covers, quietly mumbling his name, before you still, again. And oh, he's a hypocrite. He will tease the living hell out of you about it when you wake up, his sleep ridden voice bombarding you with questions like... "How'd you sleep?" "Dream anything interesting?" "Who was there?" "What did I do that had you all riled up?" "Was dream me realistic enough to make you cum?"

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ᕦʕ •`ᴥ•´ʔᕤ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ This enormous, "intimidating man"—in the words of others—does not mind at all if you wake him up in the middle of the night because you need him. Especially, if you wake him up by pressing soft, butterfly kisses to his lips. He's willing to do anything you ask of him if that's how you ask for it. All it takes is a sultry, whispered "Please," from you and he's sitting up, getting ready to fulfill your needs. He doesn't even need to ask you what you need, the way you flip over to lay on your stomach and raise your oversized shirt over your hips, revealing your panties to him, tells him everything.

Toji is sure that this is just going to lull both of you back to sleep, but he does it for your sake. He goes for the usual position that these spontaneous sparks of nightly desire call for—prone bone. Even during the early hours of morning, with both of you still half asleep, the act keeps its intimacy. His face is pressed close to the side of yours, his nose brushing your cheek as sloppy, lazy kisses meet your skin. His hands go to the backs of yours, interlacing his fingers with yours on your pillow.

Short, languid rolls of his hips against you are what you receive, and it's enough, because your body is so sensitive after having just woken up, that it tricks you into feeling like he's giving you way more. It's all quiet, shuddered breathing, until you release the cutest little whimpers and cries into your pillow, once you cum. The way your cunt clenches and spasms around his cock has him releasing deep groans into your ear, as he nears his own climax. Slightly more punctuated thrusts that jolt you into the mattress and heavier breaths, are followed by thick spurts of cum that brim your walls. For a second or two, you feel like he might break your fingers from how hard he's squeezing them, but the pain vanishes, and you're distracted from the fact that it was ever there when his arms envelop you and his lips smear wet kisses over the side of your face, again. A quiet check in is conducted, and when you confirm that you're fine and you feel good, he fully relaxes and just slumps on you. You both end up falling back asleep just like that.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ᕦʕ •`ᴥ•´ʔᕤ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ He loves having hush hush sex at least once a week. He takes you out to places where there are lots of people—a restaurant, for example—he'll move his chair so that he's sitting beside you, and he'll start touching you under the table. He relishes in the fluctuation of your composure, the way you nibble on your lip while nervously looking around, how your eyes shut tightly just before you shudder out a sigh and let your head hang, your knuckles protruding as much as they can without tearing through your skin.

The sight of you quickly spending all your grounding techniques, goes straight to his dick, and it's not long before things are moved to the bathroom. He won't do the whole, i'll meet you in the bathroom in five minutes, scene. He really doesn't care who sees you two, so he's dragging you along with him to the men's bathroom, hand in hand. He'll check to see if it's all clear, and if it is, he'll pull you into the bathroom and lock the door, immediately pinning you to the door. You're lured into the sloppiest make out session ever. While one hand is bunching up your dress, the other is going under it to feel up your chest and the rest of your torso. Then the bumping against the door begins and your moans are being shushed by him. "Your pretty moans are for me, right?" "Mhm." "Keep it that way. No louder than this, or i'll stuff my fingers in your mouth so no one gets to hear them."

Of course the people outside know what you did. It's a couple coming out of the men's bathroom together, and the woman is clinging to her man, while she walks back to her table with very obviously trembling legs. Once Toji helps you get back into your seat, he digs into his lukewarm meal, as if nothing ever happened. He smiles all lovingly as you pick up your fork with a shaky hand and start eating as well.

[sceletaflores]

ghosts, ghouls, goblins, and other things that go bump in the night!

pair: logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.5k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, drinking, resident bestie diva wade wilson, matching costumes ofc, established relationship, p in v, semi-public sex (bathroom), rough sex, mirror sex, gratuitous amounts of dirty talk, light degradation, light hair pulling, light choking, nasty dirty breeding kink (@guiltyasdave infected me with the breeding kink disease...it's all her fault), 4k words for straight up porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: happy halloween! sort of...i obvi couldn't wait to post this until the actual day cause i have absolutely zero patience so here you go! i thought up this idea in the middle of the night and literally got out of bed to start it. it's a nasty self indulgent mess...hope you love it! kisses <3

cutie divider by icon @saradika-graphics!

you and logan have some fun at wade's halloween party...

Unsurprising to no one, Wade Wilson knows how to throw a party. 

Every year since the two of you became neighbors, you’ve gotten a gaudy invitation decorated with cartoon bats and devils slipped under your door just in time for Halloween.

Of course, it’s always in some cheesy font, red and glittery. A crappy pun about “scaring up some fun with your favorite mercenary” with a return address listed as ‘Hell’s Playground’ inscribed on the front.

It's awful. You haven’t missed one yet.

And not just because you’re a sucker for free booze and cheap decorations. It’s like tradition now, you can't have your perfect attendance streak cut off four years in. That's just bad manners.

Besides, this is the first year you’ve gotten to do a couples costume.

“I look fuckin’ ridiculous,” Logan mutters, deep voice laced with irritation as he messes with the wolf ears perched awkwardly on his head. “Can’t believe I let you drag me to this thing.”

You don’t turn to face him, but you can still see the frown tugging his lips down in your mind. Logan’s never been one for costumes, but his options were either dress up or stay home while you went and had fun without him.

He was dead set on staying at home for most of the day.

One look at the frilly white bloomers that came with your costume and he changed his tune.

“Quit being such a baby,” you toss over your shoulder, pouring your second cup of whatever Wade mixed together in the mini cauldron sitting on his bar. “You look great, babe.”

He really shouldn’t complain, his costume is barely a costume. An old flannel with the sleeves ripped off and some mangy jeans.

The fake ears and tail were a struggle and a half to get him on board with, but Logan’s all bark and no bite. He was more than willing to roll over and show you his belly after enough begging.

Logan scoffs, big hand pawing at your hip to drag you to his side. “You owe me for this,” he rumbles low in your ear, the playful threat sending a shiver down your spine.

“You’ll survive,” you tease, a smug grin spreading across your face as you tug playfully on the tail clipped to his belt loop. “Unless you wanted to switch?”

Logan’s eyes drag over your body shamelessly, all the way from the floppy sheep ears sitting on your head to the lacy white corset and matching bloomers that do little to hide your curves. 

You don’t miss the way his eyes darken, how he runs his tongue along the sharp point of his canines like he wants to sink his teeth into you.

It sends a familiar heat coursing through your veins, warming your insides just as much as the vodka with a hint of mixer you’ve been sipping at.

You start to wish you shelled out for the fake fangs at the party store.

Logan tugs you closer, his lips curling into a slow, predatory smirk. “Not a chance in hell,” he rasps, voice dipping a couple octaves lower. “Looks better on you, baby.”

You hum idly as his arm snakes around your waist, fingers splayed along your lower back, inching dangerously close to the swell of your ass.

“You better behave,” you chastise, though it’s more playful than stern as you look up at him through your lashes. “We’re in public.”

Logan’s grip tightens, a soft grunt leaving him as he leans in, nosing along the side of your face. “Doesn’t seem like much of a party when all I’m thinkin’ about is how fast I can get you outta this damn costume.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks, the warm puff of his breath over your skin makes your knees feel weak. You try to keep your cool, but it’s hard when he’s practically radiating heat and that intoxicating scent of leather and pine fills your senses. 

Before you can respond, a loud call of your name grabs your attention. 

"There you are!" Wade shouts from across the room, already making his way towards you.

All six foot two and half inches of him is wrapped in blue and white lace, paired with a matching hoop skirt that bounces with every step he takes. His shepherd's staff thuds against the floor when he comes to a stop in front of you. “Fashionably late, I see.”

“We’ve been here for thirty minutes,” you point out, brow cocked as you take in his costume. “Where’ve you been?”

“I’m the hostess with the mostest, honey bunny,” he says, throwing his arm out to gesture towards all the dressed up guests crammed into his living room. “Can’t spread myself too thin.”

He eyes Logan's wolf ears and fake tail, then turns back to you, wiggling his brows suggestively. 

"Kinky,” he comments, flicking the little gold bell hanging from the choker around your neck. “You two just couldn’t resist a little predator-prey roleplay, huh? Should I be worried about you getting all ‘Animal Planet’ on my couch?”

Logan’s grip on your waist tightens, his mouth brushing your ear as he mutters, “I’m gonna kill him before midnight.”

“Now, now, big bad wolf, no need to huff and puff and blow my skirt up. We’re all here to have a howl of a time!” Wade continues, undeterred. “Plus, if you behave, I might just let you keep your sheep when the night’s over.”

You can practically feel Logan’s eye twitch, but you snicker, leaning into him just a little more. “Play nice, Wade,” you say, trying to smother your laugh. “The wolf might eat you first.”

“Please,’ Wade snorts, twirling his shepherd's staff deftly in his hand. “If that’s on the table, I’ll lay out the fucking fine china.”

Logan lets out a huff of air, dropping his hold on you and brushing past Wade with a grunt. "I'm gettin' another beer."

“Try not to stab anyone!” Wade shouts after him, loud enough to be heard over the Monster Mash blaring from the speakers. “Al might blow the whole complex if any more blood gets on the linoleum!”

Logan throws a middle finger over his shoulder as he disappears into the kitchen. 

You watch him go, a grin plastered to your face at the way the tail swings with every step he takes. Something warm and fuzzy settles in your chest, blooming in the empty space of your ribcage.

You know Logan hates this–the people, the lights, the music, the costumes.

But he’s here anyway, for you.

Here wearing the stupid wolf costume you bought for him, surrounded by drunk people in inflatable dinosaur costumes and witches with dollar-store broomsticks. And despite all the grumbling, he hasn’t bolted for the door once.

All for you. And that makes your heart thump a little harder in your chest, your smirk softening into something sweeter.

"You’ve got him whipped," Wade deadpans, crossing his arms, the lace of his sleeves rustling as he does. “It’s really disgusting.”

You snort, shaking your head softly. "More like he's got a soft spot."

Wade eyes you skeptically. "Same thing, toots."

You hum noncommittally, turning back to him. “Cute outfit,” you comment, eyeing the white bonnet secured by a neat little bow under his chin.

“You like it?” Wade does a quick twirl, the blonde curls of his wig nearly slap you across the face as he does. “The guy at party city kept giving me weird looks, but I think he was just jealous of how well I fill in the blouse.”

You rake your gaze over him slowly, taking another slow sip from your cup. “The stockings are a nice touch, but don’t you think running around as Little Bo Peep will send some confusing messages.”

“Well, duh. That’s only the whole point, Sherlock.” Wade snorts, shaking his head like it’s obvious. “I’m way too emotionally invested in this relationship to not try and wiggle my way into throuple territory.”

You can’t help but laugh, rolling your eyes. “A throuple? Hate to break it to you, Peep, but Logan doesn’t really strike me as the sharing type.”

Wade leans in conspiratorially, cupping a hand around his mouth like he’s letting you in on a secret. “That’s why I’m playing the long game. Gotta wear him down with my irresistible charm, and when he finally snaps, I’ll swoop in with a bottle of Jack and a promise of no strings attached.”

You shake your head, chuckling into your drink. “You’ve got it all figured out, don't you?”

“Oh, honey,” Wade purrs, winking at you with a dramatic flutter of his lashes, “I've got a five-year plan.”

You roll your head to the side lazily, sheep ears swaying as you do. “I’ll give you points for persistence.”

"Damn straight," he says with a grin, straightening his bonnet proudly. “This level of commitment takes stamina. And by the way, I’ve got great stamina. My record is thirteen.”

You raise your brow, intrigued. “Thirteen what? Rounds? Hours?”

“Wouldn't you like to know,” he scoffs indignantly, rolling his eyes. “I’m more than just a pretty face in a killer dress, thank you very much.”

You groan, giving him a light push. "You’re impossible."

Wade grins, leaning closer to throw an arm around your shoulders. “I’m just pulling your tail, Wooly. You know I’d never come between you and your beefy boy toy. I mean, look at him. He’s practically pacing the kitchen like a caged animal just looking at you in your slutty nursery rhyme getup. How pathetic.”

You turn to steal a glance at Logan, who’s leaned against the counter scanning the room from behind his beer bottle. You feel a thrill at the idea that he’s watching over you like a hawk, making sure no one gets too close, slowly working himself up over the mere sight of you. 

But more than that, it’s the slight reluctant smirk tugging at his lips as he takes in the party. You can tell he’s managing to find some enjoyment in all this, even if he’d never admit it.

“Well,” Wade starts, dragging the word out slowly. “Since you’re all cozy over here with your alpha male, I’m gonna go find someone to share these…”

He holds up two shot glasses filled with some unidentifiable neon liquid, “…artisanal beverages with. Maybe that guy dressed like a merman. I’ve always wanted to see what's going on under those tails.”

You snort, raising your own cup to your lips. "You're awful."

“Only on the outside, sugar,” he says leaning down to kiss your cheek with a wet smack before flouncing away into the crowd, his skirt swishing as he goes. “Don’t fuck in my house without at least inviting me to watch!”

You laugh to yourself, watching as Wade fades into the crowd of gyrating bodies. You take another long sip, relishing in the familiar burn as it slips down your throat.

The laughter, the music, the chaotic energy of the party—it’s all intoxicating in its own right, but it’s nothing compared to the way Logan’s eyes are boring a hole through the back of your head.

You can feel his gaze like a tangible force, wrapping around you and drawing you in. Logan’s not just watching; he’s assessing, hungry for something that goes far beyond the Halloween festivities surrounding you.

The heat radiating from his gaze only intensifies your already buzzing anticipation, mixing dangerously with the two drinks swirling in your stomach, making you bolder.

You throw back the rest of your drink, setting the empty cup on the bar and making your way across the room. You weave through the crowd seamlessly, the music pulses around you, drowning out the laughter and chatter.

You feel a daring grin spread across your face as you saunter closer, reveling in the way Logan tracks your every move like a predator zeroing in on its prey. 

When you’re finally standing in front of him, you lean against the counter, giving him a good view of the way your corset dips lower. The fabric hugs you in all the right places, teasing him with glimpses of your skin beneath the delicate lace. 

"Looks like Little Bo Peep lost his sheep," he mutters, voice like gravel drenched in honey.

You smirk, tilting your head to the side innocently as you step around the counter. “Maybe I was already planning to run away, to go looking for a big bad wolf to play with.”

You slip two fingers through the belt loop at the front of his jeans, tugging him closer with a rough yank.

Logan’s goes willingly, taking a step closer. His breath hitches as he does, the hazel of his eyes darkening as you press your body against his, not letting an inch of space between you.

“You're really pushin it,” he warns lowly, hands finding your waist, fingers digging in hard enough to send a shiver cascading down your spine. "Makin’ me watch you run around in this fuckin’ thing.”

“Am I?” you reply coyly, fingers toying with the button of his jeans. “I’m just—” you start, but the words are swallowed by the thumping bass of the music as Logan’s lips crash against yours, silencing you with a hungry kiss.

His mouth moves against yours with a fervor that leaves you breathless, and you can’t help but melt into him, feeling the world around you fade away.

The taste of beer mingles with the vodka on your tongue as you sink into the kiss, his hands tightening around you as he pulls you even closer.

“You have no fuckin’ idea how hard it is keepin’ my hands to myself,” he murmurs against your lips, his breath hot and heavy. 

“Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea,” you tease, biting your lip as you pull back just enough to meet his gaze. You can see the fire smoldering in his eyes, the predatory glint that makes your stomach flutter with excitement. “But maybe you could show me just how hard it really is.”

Logan lets out a low growl, and before you can blink, he’s snatching your wrist up and dragging you through the kitchen. 

Laughter bubbles out from your chest as you trip over your own feet in an attempt to keep up with him. Adrenaline pulses through your veins, the warmth in your stomach dipping lower to leak sticky and wet between your thighs.

He’s not rushing, but there’s an undeniable urgency in his step, a raw need that makes your pulse race in sync with his heavy stride. Weaving you through the crowd and out into the hallway until the noise of the party gets lower and lower. 

You’re familiar enough with the layout of Wade’s place to know where Logan’s taking you, the bathroom.

The door is hardly shut before Logan’s spinning you around and crowding you against the sink. His lips are on you before you can even catch your breath, rough and possessive, as if he’s been starving for this all night. 

The kiss is rougher than before, dirty and all consuming as he claims your mouth. A mess of teeth and tongue and spit that sends your head spinning, body arching off the counter and into his instinctively. 

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he growls, trailing his lips down your neck, kissing and biting his way to your collarbone. “Drivin’ me so crazy, baby.”

You bite your lip, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as his calloused fingers trace over the swell of your breasts, kneading the soft flesh with a possessive grip that makes your breath hitch. 

Your arms circle his neck, dragging him down for more filthy kisses. The thick length of his cock pressing against your stomach insistently has you keening, a hard plane of scalding warmth even through the thick material of his jeans.

You let out a soft whimper as his fingers brush against your inner thigh, and he grins at your reaction.

He leans in, his breath hot against your ear. "Bet you’re already soaked for me, aren’t you?" His voice drops even lower, a filthy rasp that sends a jolt of heat straight to your core.

You don’t answer, can’t answer, because Logan’s already got his hand between your thighs, fingers teasing over the soft fabric of your bloomers.

His touch is feather-light, but it’s enough to have you gasping, head lolling back to expose even more of your neck to his fever hot lips.

He groans when he feels how soaked you are, his breath coming out in a rough exhale.

“Figures,” he grunts, his fingers pressing harder, rubbing slow circles over the slick fabric. “Could smell it on you from across the room. You’re fuckin’ drippin’ for me, baby.”

You whine, high in the back of your throat, chest heaving with every quick breath. Your legs spread, thighs widening like you can’t help it. His words send a wave of heat straight to your core, fanning the fire of need festering inside you. 

“Next year we’ll get you in a skirt,” he says, nipping at your bottom lip teasingly. His fingers slip under your bloomers, running through your slick folds teasingly. “Easy access.”

You let out a breathless moan, your hips bucking against his hand, begging for more.

“Logan,” you whimper, but he just smirks, applying more pressure with his palm as he leans in closer, his mouth hovering over your ear.

“You like that, don’t you?” Logan rasps, his voice thick with desire. Dark tone laced with satisfaction as he dips one finger inside you, making your breath catch in your throat. “Look at you, drippin’ down my hand. You want more, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you nod frantically, your breath coming in shallow pants as he continues working you with skilled, relentless touches.

Two thick fingers plunged in your aching pussy, his thumb rubbing over your swollen clit. "Please," you whimper, gripping the edge of the sink so tight your knuckles turn with it, needing more, needing him to ruin you. 

“Please what, honey?” he rasps, leaning in to press a sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You gotta be more specific.”

You grind against his hand faster, desperate for any kind of relief from the unbearable heat building between your legs. “I need you,” you breathe out, your voice trembling. “Need you to fuck me.”

Logan’s response is immediate. A low growl tearing its way from his throat as he gives your bottoms a rough tug, letting them fall down the length of your legs to pool at your ankles.

He slips his fingers out of you, ignoring your displeased whine and spinning you around to face the mirror, hands gripping your hips as he roughly bends you over the sink.

You find his eyes in the reflection, and the hunger there makes your pulse quicken. His lips are swollen, red and slick just like your own. Hazel eyes blown out and stormy, as he meets your gaze.

The fake whiskers and nose you drew on him before the party using an old eyeliner pen are smudged across the lower half of his face along with the red remnants of your lipstick. You have matching black marks scuffed along your cheeks.

"You’re gonna watch while I fuck you," he growls, popping the button of his jeans and pulling them down just enough to free his cock. He strokes himself once, twice, before lining up behind you, dragging the blunt head along your soaked entrance. "Don’t take your eyes off the mirror, baby. I want you to see what you do to me, what I get to see every fuckin’ time."

You nod breathlessly, eyes locked on his in the mirror as he pushes into you with one hard thrust. You gasp at the stretch, head falling to your chin at the pleasant burn of his cock.

"Fuck," Logan groans, his eyes glued to your reflection as he bottoms out inside you, the sheer size of him making your body tremble.

"Tight little fuckin’ pussy," he mutters, his grip on your hips tightening as he starts to move, setting a brutal, unrelenting pace. "You were made for this, weren’t you? Made to take my cock."

You can’t stop the moans that fall from your slack lips, pathetic little uh uh uh sounds that get punched out of you with every sharp thrust of his hips.

“Take me so fuckin’ well,” he growls, one hand coming up to grip around your throat, tugging meanly at the bell of your choker that rings as he pounds into you, each thrust harder than the last. “Such a good little sheep, lettin’ your mean old wolf fuck you like this.”

 "Fuck," you moan, the sound broken and desperate as he drives deeper, the thick length of him hitting that spot that has your knees buckling beneath you. “God, Logan…”

“Look,” Logan commands softly, reverently. His lips brushing your shoulder with every word as he tilts your head back up to the mirror, making yourself watch as you take his cock. “Look at how fuckin’ pretty you are getting wrecked on my cock.”

Your reflection in the mirror is a mess—flushed cheeks, eyes glassy with lust, your lips parted in a constant stream of breathless moans. You feel embarrassment mixing with the arousal swirling through your stomach, thighs shaking wildly from the onslaught of pleasure.

The loud slap of skin on skin rings through the tiny bathroom, underscored by the wet gush of your pussy around him each time he buries himself in you.

If anyone were to walk by, they’d surely hear it. They’d know someone was getting fucked, really taking it. The thought alone has you tightening around Logan’s cock, velvety walls clenching around him desperately. 

Logan notices, because of course he does, clever eyes picking up on the way your own drift to the door, lingering.

He threads his fingers through your hair, meanly yanking your head back to the mirror, a feral grin stretching across his face as he watches the way you fall apart for him. 

“Want me to howl for you, baby?” he teases, breath hot against the shell of your ear. You can feel the way his lips curve into an evil grin at the pathetic whine that bursts from your lips, at the feel of your pussy drooling around him even more than before.  

“She likes that, huh?” he chuckles darkly, his thumb finds your throbbing clit, rubbing tight circles as his hips speed up impossibly faster. “Dirty fuckin’ girl, you want everyone to know how good I’m givin’ it to you?”

You whimper, overwhelmed by the raw intensity of his words and the rhythm of his thrusts. Your thighs are trembling, barely able to hold you up as Logan takes you apart, piece by piece, with every deep, punishing stroke.

"Answer me," he growls, voice dripping with dominance as his hips snap against you, the head of his cock slamming into that perfect spot inside you again and again. "You want everyone to hear what a dirty little slut you are for me, huh? You want them to know how much you love being fucked like this?"

“Yes,” you gasp, your voice shaky and breathless as pleasure floods your system. "Yes, Logan, fuck—ah! Just—just don’t stop."

Logan growls, low and feral deep in his chest. It shakes through your body, rattling your bones just as much as the heavy smack of his metal laced pelvis against the raw skin of your ass.

“Greedy fuckin’ pussy, I can feel the way she’s sucking me in, baby,” he grits out, hips stuttering slightly. “She want my come, darlin’?"

You’re a mess of gasps and whimpers, nodding frantically as his words push you closer to the edge. Throwing your hips back to meet his thrusts as the spring inside you coils tighter and tighter, a hair's breadth away from snapping.

"Yes, please, Logan," you moan, your fingers digging into the counter as you brace yourself for the relentless onslaught of his cock. "I want it, want you to come inside me." 

Logan’s hips stutter as he slams into you, his cock buried so deep inside you it feels like he’s splitting you in half. He’s close, his breath coming out in ragged pants as his hand tightens around your throat, fingers pressing against your pulse just hard enough to make you dizzy.

“You’re gonna come for me,” he growls, heavy balls slapping against your ass lewdly. “Gonna come all over my cock, aren’t you? And then I’m gonna fill you up. Gonna fuck my come so deep inside you, you’ll be beggin’ me to give you more.”

That’s all it takes for the coil in your belly to snap, pleasure surging through you in hot, uncontrollable waves. You cry out, your vision blurring as your body clenches around him, and Logan lets out a rough growl, driving into you harder, faster. 

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, dragging out every last second of your orgasm until you’re shaking, your voice hoarse from how loud you’re moaning.

“Goddamn, baby,” he mutters, his voice thick with lust as he keeps fucking into your trembling body. “You’re squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight—gonna come so deep in you.”

Your breath is coming in short, desperate gasps, your entire body still shaking from the aftershocks of your orgasm. But Logan isn’t finished. He used the fistful of your hair still trapped in his hand, tugging your head back to meet his wild gaze in the mirror. 

“Eyes on me,” he commands, his pace growing erratic. “You want me to fill you up? Want me to come in this tight little pussy?”

“Yes, Logan,” you manage to choke out, your voice barely a whisper. “Please—I need it.”

With a deep, broken groan of your name, Logan slams into you one last time, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you, hot and thick. His fingers tighten on your throat, and you moan at the feeling of his cock pulsing, filling you up to the brim. 

You can’t stop the whine that falls from your lips at the feel of his come spraying your insides, completely drenching you with it. So much that it just has to take.

A shudder runs through you at the idea, pussy clenching around his spent cock weakly.

Logan sighs contently, dropping his head to rest on your shoulder as he catches his breath, hands falling to your waist like it's the only anchor keeping him from floating away entirely.

For a moment, the only sounds in the room are your ragged breaths and the faint thump of the music outside bleeding through the walls.

Logan tips his head back up, meeting your hazy eyes in the fogged up glass of the mirror with a shit-eating grin. “Happy fuckin’ Halloween,” he says smugly, dropping a kiss to the sweaty skin of your shoulder. 

You huff, rolling your eyes with a reluctant fondness. The thought of walking back out there makes your stomach turn, nerves and arousal churning together at the chance that everyone knows what you two were doing after disappearing for so long.

You only hope the white fabric of your bloomers is good enough at hiding the come already leaking from your pussy.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[asidian]

I've seen a lot of talk about how breathtakingly devoted Charles is for walking down into hell to rescue Edwin, but one thing I don't think I've seen talked about anywhere is how astoundingly brave it was.

Put yourself in Charles' place, at this point in canon.

Literally all Charles has heard about hell is what Edwin has told him. And all Edwin's said, over and over again, for thirty years, is how terrible it was. It's the worst place with the worst people, and, well, Edwin trauma Olympics like a champ. Even if Charles doesn't know the full story, and he plainly doesn't, he knows that it's Very Bad.

He's walking into an absolute nightmare, and he knows it, and he does it with his eyes wide open.

And then take a look at how he's getting there.

The last time he saw the Night Nurse, she forced him to relive his worst trauma in real time and was threatening to split the pair of them up - to drag Edwin back to hell herself.

You can actually see Charles' expression shift when Niko suggests the Night Nurse look in his head again; he's afraid, and he's trying hard to mask it. He's afraid, but he's willing to let it happen, because he will do whatever it takes to get to Edwin.

So he stands aside and lets her poke around in his mind again, no matter how much pain she caused him the last time she was there.

And then?

Then he's got to rely on this woman who has literally only ever done him harm to uphold her end of the bargain.

Add to all of that the fact that Charles doesn't know if he can do this.

The only time he forcefully tells Crystal no, without any apology or softening of the words, is when he tells her she can't come to hell with him.

That's because he doesn't know if he can keep her safe. He doesn't know if he can make it back.

This is on the heels of the Devlin house, where he was able to do nothing to save the family trapped inside. It's on the heels of the Night Nurse showing him how powerless he is. It's on the heels of the Two Dead Dragons, where he spends the entire episode certain that he's a terrible person. It's on the heels of the debacle in the forest with Monty, where Charles is able to do nothing at all. He has to rely on Crystal to save the day.

He does not know if he can do this, and even if he can, he does not know whether he can trust the person letting him have a chance to fulfill her end of the bargain.

But he doesn't even hesitate.

He's going after Edwin because he has to go after Edwin.

He's got to. Because the alternative, leaving Edwin on his own again to suffer this fate he's suffered for too long already, is unthinkable.

And so he walks into hell, and he rewrites the whole damn narrative with bravery and devotion and desperation alone. And that is so unspeakably lovely that I'm still not over it, all these months in.

[certifiablyinsanez]

Okay, I’m not coping well with the emotional whirlpool I’m experiencing after Mastermind. And this scene right here:

Is something that is haunting me. Because it’s not difficult to see what troubles lie ahead for them, what consequences await for the events of the trial. What do we already know about Blitz? That he has deeply hated himself for many years. Maybe he felt slightly better after Millie’s monologue in Ghostfuckers, but I think we all know that such a deep seated hatred of oneself doesn’t disappear in a single conversation. This much is clear by the pictures in Blitz’s apartment still being blacked out that we can see in the background in Mastermind. And any relief he may have felt from Millie’s sincere story is going to be completely shattered.

I have no doubt personally that Blitz has always thought he ruined Stolas’ life. He’s not a stupid man; he’s observant. He knows the struggles Stolas has gone through with the advent of their deal and relationship. He’s seen the wedge he put between him and his daughter. He knows the kind of hell the divorce has put him through. But now?

If there was any doubt he ruined his life before, it’s gone now. Because Stolas has now utterly, and completely, lost everything. His titles, his status, his wealth, his home, his power. All that’s gone. But worse? He’s entirely lost his daughter now. Blitz will probably never forgive himself for that. I mean shit, he literally said this:

Stolas is a much more powerful being than Blitz. But Blitz believes he deserves to die rather than put Stolas in harms way. Blitz will probably be wishing that he died rather than live with the fact that he’s brought Stolas low. Stolas’ punishment is far longer than Blitz’s life span. The consequences of saving his life will outlive him. There no chance Blitz will accept this as Stolas’ choice. Not only will he have to deal with the trauma of the trial before Stolas arrived, but also the result of what it’s done to the man he loves more than life itself.

But Stolas? Stolas would do it again. The way he says it, “Always”, is just so raw and softly powerful. Because he’s just had his powers ripped from his body. He’s lost it all, he’s lost his child. But he would do it again. There was no other choice to be made. There was no alternative. He said it himself:

Stolas is a suicidal figure. He prepped his daughter for the day he wouldn’t be around. He doesn’t value himself or his life at all. He’s suffered tremendously. He probably already believes he’s lost his daughter. His daughter has made it clear that she hates him. Outside of Blitz, who is his light in the darkness, his soulmate and true love, what does he have to live for? To Stolas this was a no brainer. He went to that block with dignity. He was so willing to die for his love.

So when Blitz thanks him for saving his life, Stolas, breathless and weak, says “Always”, because he will always love him, need him, cherish him. He will always put him above himself, which is something Blitz wouldn’t understand but is second nature to a gentle spirit like Stolas. Stolas who escaped the torments of his life in his books, who is humble and sweet with a lowly imp because his body and soul needs Blitz like he needs air. A true romantic, a soft demon who gave it all up for love and would do it again.

Always, he says, and means with every syllable.

[hametsukaishi]

FUNDRAISER FOR THE ALHABIL FAMILY

Once again I reach out to y'all on behalf of a family in need; Mohammed and Aya (@alhabil, @aya2mohammed) parents of three wonderful children: Ahmed, Osama and Mira. They also take care of Mohammed's elderly parents, who both suffer chronical conditions that have worsened since the genocide started.

The situation is this: They have been displaced seven times already and are staying now in Nuserait, wich is not safe as the IOF troops are bombing it.

They lost the buissnes that supported the family, the little kids have fallen ill because of the lack of resources.

They are eight, six and four years old. Do y'all remember what were you doing at their age??? Sure as hell wasn't constantly escaping from death or trying to battle deathly ilnesses.

They deserve a childhood, a chance at a full and happy life. Their parents deserve to see them happy, and not having to worry about their family crumbling. Mohammed's parents deserve a tranquil retirement. They deserve everything, so let's make our best to make sure they get it!

Donating is the base of everything. Small acts of kindness really go a long way, and have a huge impact, just like big donations. Even a dollar can make a difference, if there's somebody else willing to keep it up.

However, if you are truly unable to donate, I ask you to share this, and do it properly! Read their blogs and open your heart to their story and struggles. Don't dehumanize them: they are a family like the rest of us, and they deserve to be taken as such. Comment, tag people supportive of palestine and reblog.

This is literally the only thing I do and it has had a huge impact in a lot of people's life, so y'all can do it too!!

@dykesbat @witchywitchy @slashermilf @tamarrud @dxsqz

[tootiecakes234]

Your Ex-boyfriend Katsuki Bakugo

The ex boyfriend who acted like he couldn’t care less when you told him you were leaving.

The ex boyfriend Katsuki, who told anyone that asked that about you, to shut the hell up.

Ex boyfriend Dynamite who was on the front page 2 weeks later because a reporter wouldn’t stop asking him about you.

Ex boyfriend that still has to see you often because you have the same group of friends.

The same ex boyfriend that can’t keep his eyes off of you when you’re around. And he tries, he really really tries but it’s instinct to always know where you are and if you’re safe.

Ex boyfriend Dynamite that uses chunks of his patrol time to follow you when you’re out and about. You never even notice him, but he’s there.

Ex boyfriend Katsuki who gets drunk one night and calls you sounding like he’s in tears. Spilling his guts to about how he’s so so sorry, and you’re still all he thinks about. He knows you always deserved better than him and even though it’s ripping his heart out, all he wants is for you to be happy.

Katsuki who can’t meet your eyes the next time he sees you because he remembers every word he said to you and he knows it doesn’t make a difference.

Ex boyfriend whose heart nearly stops beating the first time Mina mentions you have a date because he can’t believe it. You’re moving on.

You’re at a party when he finds you outside alone and tells you that if any of the guys you’re dating ever do anything to hurt, he will hunt them down and end them. Fuck his hero status.

Ex boyfriend who ends up chatting with you for a good long while time and then you laugh and he hasn’t heard that laugh in so long. It melts the ice he’s been feeling in his chest since you left.

Ex boyfriend Katsuki that kisses you in the midst of you laughing.

The man you melt against because it’s second nature. He keeps kissing you as long as you’ll let him because he knows, this is probably the last one he’ll get.

Ex boyfriend who cuts you off before you call that kiss a mistake and says he won’t do it again. He just wanted to say goodbye.

But then you kiss him again. When you pull away you tell your ex boyfriend that maybe you want to try again but you both have a lot of work to do. That it can’t go back to being the way it was or you’d leave and there wouldn’t be anymore chances after that.

“Ex” boyfriend Katsuki who swears on his life that it won’t be the same. That he’ll be whatever he needs because he doesn’t want to live this life without you.

Fiancé Katsuki Bakugo who still thinks of those 4 months without you as the worst 4 months of his life.

Fiancé that 100% keeps his promise and proposed to you 2 years later to the day and was honestly shocked that you said yes because in he is still convinced you could still do better than him. But if you were willing to settle, he’d give everything he had to try and be enough.

*i tried with this but honestly, I ain’t leaving that man.😭

Katsuki Masterlist

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[ilions-end]

i finished statius' ACHILLEID. thoughts thoughts thoughts:

i knew going in it was a VERY short unfinished epic, but i didn't know it would be FUN?? if i ever get that time machine, FIRST THING i go back and find one publius papinius statius, i lock him in a room, and i'm NOT letting him out until he's finished the achilleid!

achilles is statius' BLORBO in a way neither homer, quintus nor virgil have blorbos. statius likes achilles to be strong and pretty and graceful, but most of all ENDEARING even when he fails. and he fails a lot, because this is him still figuring out how to be an adult, not to mention a prophesied legend literally everyone is waiting for to step up

the one thing that gets tiring is just how many prophecies permeate the achilleid. nothing's left to chance, there are so few unknowns. even ODYSSEUS was aware that from peleus' wedding there would come a child destined to be a central warrior in an upcoming gigantic war.

as it stands, the achilleid is more of a... thetisiad? she is very centered in the narrative (we spend more time looking at things from her point of view than achilles') and there is SO MUCH SYMPATHY for her, oh my gosh!! she loves ONE person, her son, the only worthwhile thing she got out of a traumatizing marriage, and she despairs that he's fated to die young in a silly human war.

also i'm a deidamia defender forever now. so three-dimensional, so clever!

aughhh i love how much characterization statius puts in, even in the small scenes! my favourite example is odysseus and diomedes as they walk up to lycomedes' place (literally just moving characters from A to B). diomedes teases odysseus, and odysseus is delighted to be teased. that night we're told odysseus CAN'T SLEEP because he's too excited about showing off his plan the next morning!

the unveiling of achilles is completely different from the chagrined defeat/"achilles is a fucking idiot" ways i've heard it retold! i love that it's collaborative, it's a mutual triumph. it's just as much achilles (who's been suffering in gender dysphoria hell for a year) longing to be exposed as it is odysseus LIVING for showing everyone (especially diomedes?) how clever he is. it's not just the shield and the spear and the bugle, it's odysseus playing the part of the siren, whispering in achilles' ear that he knows who he is and describing how glorious he will be on the trojan battlefield. it's achilles' grateful relief at being ALLOWED not to pretend anymore as he rips off his own dress even before the bugle calls

also it's very important to me that the moment he's no longer hunching over trying to make himself look small and inoffensive, we're told achilles is taller than both odysseus and diomedes

i KEEP IMAGINING how good statius would have made the rest!! especially because as book ii ends, achilles regards odysseus as a cool uncle; he's the guy who rescued him! i want to think statius would have put in the big mystery quarrel achilles and odysseus are said to have had early in the war, something to drastically change that affection. i want to know how statius would have handled troilus, and the gods. augh statius you roman BLUEBALLER

an assortment of story beats still revolving in my head:

chiron is such a sweetheart!! he's SO gallant with thetis, he's so affectionate with achilles. he HIDES HIS TEARS when achilles leaves, awww

statius writes out phoinix completely. as a phoinix stan i object. sure chiron can raise young achilles, but i NEED phoinix to tend to him as a baby

i enjoy how achilles EXPLODES into a mess of teenagerly hormones when he first sees deidaima. it's so funny that thetis is looking on (and we get my favourite simile of the achilleid, of a herdsman delighting in a young bull snorting and foaming at a beautiful heifer) like "aaaaand there's my son's sexual awakening. i see! well, we can use that" and THAT explains why achilles is so willing to commit to the female disguise

(listen. listen. few things mean more to me than the love between achilles and patroclus. but achilles is a teenage boy at the age when a fucking breeze will give him a boner, and deidamia is the most beautiful and the cleverest of her sisters. i really enjoy a story where achilles and deidamia are neither "fated eternal true love" or one's a sneaky opportunist. it's much more compelling that they're both knots of budding emotions and bodily feedback)

i notice that statius never uses the name pyrrha, he doesn't seem to have a fake name at all, just "achilles' sister"

lycomedes is SO honoured and proud that thetis is entrusting her daughter to him. i feel sorry for lycomedes, he seems so earnest and hasn't done anything to get tricked

the one thing i can't forgive statius for is that after spending SO much time establishing that achilles and deidamia (who knows he's a guy) are genuinely into each other, it feels like statius goes OUT OF HIS WAY assuring us that their first sexual encounter is rape. sure they talk right after, deidamia forgives him, AND i understand there are social rules that makes deidamia more "honourable" and "worthy" when she resists, but like. sigh.

aLONG with the previously mentioned interplay between odysseus and diomedes as they walk up to lycomedes' court, there's a simile where they're both starving wolves on the hunt. so sexy it's almost illegal

the feast scene is SO FUNNY omg. all of achilles' careful feminine training dissolving because odysseus and diomedes are there with their boundless masculinity for him to feed off of. deidamia practically WRESTLING achilles back down on the couch every time he forgets himself and behaves too much like a man. odysseus chatting with lycomedes SPECIFICALLY trying to rile up achilles, and then after the women have left (achilles dragging his feet and looking back, YEARNING for their male company) odysseus specifically praises the maiden's "almost masculine" beauty (because ohh he suspects. he just needs to prove it in the morning. he can't SLEEP for it)

when they depart, achilles earnestly swears to deidamia that no other women shall ever bear his children. i find it interesting as a reminder of the social rules of its era. neither of them expect achilles to be sexually exclusive, just not fathering potential heirs. which again makes me wonder about the contraceptives in ancient greece

on the ship towards aulis, diomedes begs achilles to tell them all about his feats and training with chiron, and achilles is so shy about it! who can blame him! diomedes has a WAY more impressive track record

odysseus is SO good at firing up achilles' outrage at paris even as he's just catching him up on what the war's about. and he's so pleased at how easily achilles' outrage can be directed! you KNOW that would have developed in such an interesting way AUGH THE REST WOULD HAVE BEEN SO GOOD.

[crownedwithstars]

I was thinking of Beren and Lúthien and how their story is so much more interesting than they get credit for. I mean, on the surface it reads like a fairy tale but it also elevates the rest of the story, it uses common fairy tale tropes but turns them upside down, and the way we see the heroine asserting her agency in this story is so fascinating. I think the story of Beren and Lúthien provides much needed contrast for the rest of the Silm, and both become more poignant because of this contrast. 

The familiar fairy tale goes like this: there's a a poor but resourceful peasant, set with a difficult task (which is in fact designed to be impossible to complete), but thanks to some magical help he is successful, retrieves treasure, and as a reward he wins the king's daughter and lives happily ever after as a prince, gaining all the earthly glory one can have in this life. But in the Tale of Beren and Lúthien, the hero is a traumatised outlaw, the king's daughter IS the magical help, she is an active and equal participant in the quest for her own hand in marriage, the treasure may actually be cursed, the hero and heroine die, and the ultimate reward is not a social rise from rags to riches. Beren does not become a member of the power-wielding elite of Doriath and he and Lúthien are not promised that their second life will be happy or long. But just that chance is worth it, and by choosing it they actually change the course of history. Lúthien is offered all the bliss that is possible to have in Arda, if she will give up Beren, but she decides that the love she has for him is still more valuable. And that idea, of loving someone so much that your love shifts the world, is so compelling to me. 

And I love that the story of Beren and Lúthien is also a rendition of Orpheus and Eurydice, and that just as the world was created in the Music of the Ainur, so is Lúthien's song powerful enough to change what those original notes dictated. She changes it with hope and a song. That is so simple and yet so beautiful, in the way some of the best myths are. (Insane that this is essentially a love-letter to Edith Tolkien.)

There is this fascinating contrast between Beren and Lúthien: at the time of their first meeting, Beren has lost literally everything and his family is either dead or lost beyond retrieval. Stumbling across Lúthien, he is fresh from terrible ordeals and suffering. But Lúthien's life has been full of happiness and without care, and she has lived in a literal fairy kingdom as the most beautiful of all the Children of Ilúvatar. She could have her pick of any prince of Eldar. But here she comes across this mortal, who has nothing to give except for his love and even that only for a brief time, and she is willing to risk all she has for it. The gall and courage it takes to take such a chance! She chooses this man and her choice changes everything. 

And that is brilliant! Because Lúthien starts with so little power and agency, and she is constantly belittled or even abused by those with more power around her. She is treated as a pawn, her will is undermined and she is coerced and imprisoned to make her compliant. But Lúthien shows her determination and courage in holding fast to her choice even when it's just her and Beren against the world. In the end, she wins agency and freedom to determine her own tale. In her beginning Lúthien is a maid dancing in the woods; by the end she will have faced Satan and death itself, and changed the world forever. Truly, to call her story "Release from Bondage" is more than appropriate. How insane is this all from Beren's point of view? He has lost everything, he is an outlaw, and has nowhere to go. What is left of his family is scattered who knows where. He has nothing but the clothes on his back and nothing to give. But here is this immortal princess, and she will go to hell and back with him! She will cross the Sundering Sea to bid him farewell! She pleads with inexorable death and for her, an exception is made!  It's so on brand for Tolkien that these two achieve with their love, and precisely because they act out of love, something that others with armies behind their backs can't even imagine doing.

Yeah. It's such a good, hopeful, bittersweet tale.

[yeostars]

hii :)) I saw your post about ateez with an older s/o, and I was wondering if you were willing to do one about ateez with a younger s/o (not too much just like 1-2 years)

you don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable or if you just don’t want to though, I was just curious about this kind of dynamic

𓆩♡𓆪 dynamics study: ateez members dating someone younger than them / having a younger s/o <3

𓆩♡𓆪 hongjoong, yunho

• would be protective over you 100%. They are originally the kind of people who get jealous naturally, even if they can't help it. Might be slightly more possessive and protective over you than usual and you freaking love it. Would give you head pats every single time they find you endearing or adorable. Would warn you to be extra careful if you're driving late at night/ walking alone at night, going to the lengths of texting you and checking in with you every ten minutes to make sure you're safe and coming home soon. Would give you loooots of forehead kisses <3 would sincerely teach you about new things & hobbies if you ever mention about getting interested in them.

• always your no.1 supporter, no matter what. Whether you've accomplished a small achievement or a big one, they would never fail to show you how proud they are of you, would show off about your smallest achievements to their friends and family members, always leaving you slightly embarrassed but they assure you that you deserve to be appreciated about every single thing you do ><

• they're always the one taking initiatives- whether it's planning a date or helping you take the random-est of decisions, they're somehow always taking the lead. Them being older than you naturally leads them to be the ones taking the lead. Most importantly, they always make sure your needs and preferences are ahead of theirs. Basically they don't mind sacrificing something they like if it means putting ahead something you would love- all of that just to see that cute smile on your face. Would let you win in small and playful arguments, just to see that happy sparkle in your eyes upon winning.

𓆩♡𓆪 seonghwa, san

• they always, ALWAYS make sure you're comfortable. in literally any situation - could be when you're having a movie night at home, they arrange the pillows & blankets just right so that you're always cozy. they even go to the extent of you leaning against their shoulder for HOURS, using their arm as your pillow, even if it means that their shoulder is going to be SORE the next day- they don't care as long as you're sleeping peacefully.

• would LOVE stroking your smooth, soft hair. it's literally their favourite thing to do, and just like yunho and joong, they'd also give you lots of head pats because they're always endeared by whatever you do. They're always gentle with you, would treat you like you're a delicate doll for real. Especially because of you being younger than them, although there's barely 1-2 years age difference between the both of you, taking utmost care of you would be their responsibility. No matter the situation, they'd lend you their jacket even if you're a little cold, sometimes even draping it over your shoulder before you can even ask.

• they're ALSO quite protective over you. Would show their protectiveness in the form of quietly wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to them when you're talking with a stranger who's making you uncomfortable, as if showing them who you belong to, and proving to you that they're always there for you. Would also naturally shield you in crowds, keeping you close to them to make sure no one bumps into you. Would call you nicknames like "baby" "my love" "sweetheart" which you swoon over everytime.

𓆩♡𓆪 wooyoung, mingi

• not gonna lie, your dynamics would be quite similar to that of an older brother and a younger sister. Even though your age difference is barely 1-2 years, the both of you would be teasing the hell outta each other, annoy each other every chance you get, yet care the most for each other and show your love in the tiniest, most random ways. Their nature is like that- they're quite unserious and so are you. Dating mingi and wooyoung with them being older than you would be like having a best friend, older brother & boyfriend all in one.

• similarly, like an older brother would be naturally protective of their younger sister, they'd be protective of you. Considering how dramatic these two can get sometimes, they'd throw tantrums when you ask them to pick you up late at night but would always be there to pick you up the fastest. They'd keep an eye around you in front of others, when you're out in public or around new people, you're always in their eyesight, making sure no one's making you uncomfortable.

• Would slightly mess up your hair after giving you head pats, and you'd scold them for it, but they just do it to annoy you and to be endeared by that pout on your face. Your kisses would always last longer than necessary because they just don't want to let go of you so soon. They can get quite clingy sometimes, requesting you to stay the night and cuddle at their place to spend more time with you, making you question who's the younger one between the both of you, lol. They'd also be the type to tuck you in safely in bed after coming home exhausted from a date, and stare at your peaceful resting face for hours, carefully fixing the hair on your eyes so that it doesn't bother you. These two would show their love in hidden ways like these, admiring you even more when you don't notice.

𓆩♡𓆪 yeosang, jongho

• would be extremely gentle and caring with you. Sometimes maybe even more than necessary- they'd be the type to hold your hand at literally any chance they get. Although these two don't like showing their physical affection often- when they're in a relationship with a younger s/o, they would love to interlock their fingers with yours, gently swaying it from side to side. Would help you out with the smallest of tasks- such as holding your shopping bag/ purse which is heavier than usual for you without question. Would try to help you out in all ways possible, as their way of showing their love towards you.

• they would be especially protective over your health and well-being. If you're a student, they'd make sure taking breaks in between studying, would always text you to remind you to have your regular meals and make sure you're eating well. During exam times they'd come over and make sure you're not staying up too late revising, would get you to study during daytime itself so you get enough sleep at night & make sure you don't procrastinate.

• They would also stand up for you & firmly defend you- be it someone talking harshly to you, or you disagreeing with someone, they'd calmly step in but would stay there by your side until everything gets resolved. They're quite mature like that & you admire that side of theirs a lot. When you're walking alone late at night, they'd either accompany you or stay with you at all times on the phone, talking about random stuff until you've reached home safely. Would surprise you with little gifts (your favourite chocolate, snacks, some book you wished to have) even if it's not a special occasion because they know that you love surprises & would spoil you with them from time to time.

[yangcherie]

mating season

𐀔 pairings: astarion x reader. karlach x reader. halsin x reader. background cast (wyll, shadowheart, lae’zel, gale) x reader. background rolan x tav.

𐀔 content warnings: tiefling!tav, LITERALLY PWP, alcoholic consumption, brief sexual memory (halsin), heavy petting, noncon to dubcon (with astarion only), slight slutshaming, oral (f!receiving), mentions of breeding, afab anatomy but g/n pronouns. astarion is very slightly, slighty mean, up to you if he is ascended or not.

𐀔 sypnosis: you, a tiefling, go through your first heat cycle around your companions. some are willing to either indulge you or take advantage of you.

𐀔 author’s note: hoppinh on the bandwagon of tieflings having heat / rut cycles. astarion, briefly halsin, ROLAN and karlach get some action, teehee. and don't worry. everyone is a pervert and thinks about it. everyone will get a chance. someday. merry christmas!!

The first thing everyone wakes up to is heat. Sweltering, palpable heat, pervading the air up to the point it felt like it was trying to smother them, casting annoying, relentless burnishes of perspiration on their skin.

It couldn’t be the sun, no. The warmth felt too close, within of reach – but even then, it was no lively and unextinguished campfire, no engine out of hand nestled within Karlach, Shadowheart concluded.

They’d all been taking turns the entire morning seeking cold relief in the stream. Thankfully, as the day prevailed, the sun was no longer so glaring, the heatwave lessening by a tad bit, the rest of the party excluding a certain Ravenguard had found it now bearable.

It wasn’t until Wyll was fed up with the sweat that would inevitably come no matter how much he wiped at it, marching towards where it felt most blistering, most fervent; the intense source.

It had led him to your tent — and without doubt, the demon believed the source was your tent; your fucking otherworldy furnace of a tent. Even as he stood from outside, the heat was practically choking him. He wouldn’t be surprised if he took a look inside and finds out you, little fiend you, stuffed the entire Nine Hells inside. And take a look inside he does, peeling away the entrance, a delirious but polite request to turn down the heat ready on his tongue —

But it isn’t the Nine Hells’ heat and musk that slaps him to his face, to his utter surprise.

It’s you; trembling, flushed raw and in all of your fiendish glory, naked. Tail loud and thumping on the floor as your whimpers permeate through the air, legs spread and — No!

Somewhere in the back of his horned head, he wonders if it’s the heat, the shock, or simply his building arousal that has rendered him stuck to his position. It takes Wyll all his strength he can muster to tear his eyes away; what was he doing? He was intruding on your tent— your privacy! How could he forget basic etiquette, so much for being a noble-!

(Without a doubt, he’s ruined his chance of any traditional courtship.)

“Sorry.” The Blade himself awkwardly coughs before pushing himself out of your tent with an inhuman force, slamming the fabric entrance shut and tripping on his own two feet on the way out. “It’s Tav!” He shouts, sprinting with little idea on where to; the heat is unbearable and by the gods, he isn’t so sure anymore if it was coming from your tent or if it was simply his body. His commotion with Tav gathers the attention and eyes of his fellow companions, and it is both Karlach and Shadowheart that push at him to settle him down.

“Hey, hey. Calm down, you!” Karlach, ever the concerned companion with her furrowed brows, assures him like steed. “Tav, you mentioned?” Shadowheart, upon quick confirmation that he was not injured, is quick to coax him for answers of his behavior. He’s a bit mortified as his little flustered fit had everyone around him.

“Tav, they’re– get this–” Wyll swallows, tense with the image of you squirming and dripping still on the front of his mind. “T-they’re hot.”

It’s a dreadful thing, he realizes later a split second more than he’d like, the silence that follows. Through the tadpole, they’ve seen what he’s seen; and judging from the atmosphere, they’re chalking it up to an active imagination. All but loud, with a lone cricket chirping in the distance. He shoots up to in an attempt to explain, but wordlessly splutters instead.

“So you’ve had your first wet dream, I take it?” Astarion scoffs, finding the dirt under his manicured nails more interesting than what the fiend had to say next. “Had an issue with morning wood, perhaps– or should I say, a hardened blade?”

“No!” Wyll refutes, now standing up with the help of Shadowheart. “I-I meant to say they’re hot, literally. They’re drenched with sweat, lookin’ like they’re about to keel over. You saw it, in my head, what they looked like!”

“Ah, yes.” The vampire recalled that vision. Though brief and concerning, yes, it was also undeniably delectable. What he wouldn’t give to have seen you writhing with want up close. But still, he slips his desperation behind a theatric mask. “Like a mutt in heat, how hilarious.”

“In heat.” Karlach had repeated Astarion’s words and bristled, her muscles twitching once but violently enough that it had them staring at her like they had been with Wyll. The look on her face tells everyone she’s had her eureka moment, a light flickering beside her head. “Tav is in heat. Of course they are; it’s breeding season!” She guffaws then, disregarding the disbelief of the party — save for Halsin, who simply nodded.

“So what you’re saying is we have a feral, unspayed animal amongst us for the time being?” Lae’zel grunted, though she certainly did not mind if the blush on her face was anything to go by.

“Mating season is upon most of the forest.” The druid responded, crossing his thick arms, ever the calm elf. “Given the... more animalistic features of some cambions, it is not entirely unreasonable. Given the intensity, it must be their first heat since you’ve all been on this journey.” The party gapes; Karlach nods, and though she does not mention it, she’s mildly disappointed your heat had not aligned with her rut.

“So, what you’re both saying is that they need to breed – or be bred?” Though the vampiric rogue balked, he was unable to deny the inkling of lust that washed through him at the idea. You, and your all proud visage crumbling into one of a desperate, slut of a fiend.

“Well, when you put it in such a frank and vulgar manner...” Gale coughs, flushed, Astarion notices, inwardly grimacing. The wizard’s never been discreet about liking your musk – and today, it is especially honeyed and heavy around the campsite. “Yes.”

And that’s when it hits the rogue, the shared tension and ignited lust in everyone – not just Gale. It’s a slow and heavy shift, like puffs of smoke. The current of lust in the air runs deeper when a small, inviting moan permeates from your tent. The sounds of heavy breaths and trousers shifting from around the party, it all goes unobserved to any eye that doesn’t belong to an experienced rogue.

Still, the rest would’ve been fools to think only one or two of them would be intrigued, he thought. It was with a silent agreement amongst them that by the end of this week, you’d be thoroughly savoured.

The first thing you wake up to is a dull ache across the expanse of your stomach, and a pool of your own arousal drenching the bedroll between your legs. Your bed-kissed face tightens, glaring down at the growing tension in your belly. A groan is torn out of your dehydrated throat – and if the obvious lack of sun on your tent was anything to go by, you’ve slept through nearly the entire day.

Fuck, what was going on? Distoriented, you attempt to sit up only for the dull ache to morph into heated convulsions that immediately spread like wildfire around your weakened body. It was then that you realized that to your utter horror, you were burning hot, to the Nines and beyond — as if you were forcefully thrown into an early heat.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. No. The edges around your vision blackened for a split second before you violently lurched yourself out of your too-warm, too-cramped tent, slamming your palms and knees into the dirt ground and digging your nails in, your mouth open to welcome the hot pants stuck in your dry throat.

You spat out a vicious string of Infernal curses, your focus blurring in and out of itself. You shut your mouth, biting your lip to keep in whimpers, sweat trickling down from your forehead as your mind fought in vain against the primal urges now closing in on it; the feral ache for relief deeming itself more important than reason.

Relief. Fuck, it sounded good right now. You hissed, your mental resolve crumbling, tail furiously lashing against the dirt. Relief. Your eyes darted around the camp anything that could relieve the heat in your loins; Shadowheart and her healing hands or a cool river stream to let the water wash over you, but fuck, you needed real relief. A body you could sink your teeth into and ride until the next morning – preferably Karlach, or Halsin–!

Thick, strong Halsin.

“You feel good, little one.” Halsin quietly groaned up from above you, touching you as if he’s been longing to.

He moves inside you; thick cock bruising your insides. Every open-mouthed gasp and hurt or pleasured cry was eagerly welcomed into his own mouth with wet kisses. He was unrelenting, but kind. Full of sinew your hands could run across or scratch in slight distaste if the fat tip of his length pressed a sensitive spot deeper than you’d have liked. And without fail, he had laughed everytime, gentle and light, even if his deep thrusts into your spent hole were anything but.

He must have been trying to burrow in you with how deep he was inside, letting you raggedly cry into the slope of his neck meeting the thickness of his shoulder. Halsin set out to plant an apologetic kiss into the crook of yours, fucking you deep until you fluttered around him, dragging him to his peak alongside you.

No, you winced, tearing your eyes open and your mind out of its lust-ridden gutter, the burn inside you relentless. No Halsin nor Karlach, not a single soul that could provide you relief to be found around camp — and damn them all, you were in no state to be crawling around searching for even the slightest whiff of their scent in gods know where.

Relief.

Yet another infuriating wave of heat rolled through you, forcing you to clench your hands and drive dirt beneath your nails. What remained of your rationality sought out to the crevices of your memories, ones that weren’t flooded of nightly trysts with the druid elf or — Rolan.

Relief – Rolan. A drop of your drool hitting the ground; Rolan with his horns you could grip and sharp teeth that could sink into your shoulder. No doubt warmly cooped up in Ramazith’s Tower, signing trades or shoving his nose in dusty books. He’d do, for tonight – he’d understand, indulge you and lift you from the unbearable heat clouding your head. He wouldn’t mind, you know it, because you’d be a blind fool to not see the way his eyes would fondly trail over your face, or the dips in your body.

He wants you, and for tonight, you will do him a favor and want him back.

You urge your trembling body to stand up and begin the treacherous trek from camp to the Gate’s city.

It was only the next night, moon high, that you sauntered into camp instead of out your tent, sporting a relieved glow, a fresh set of bites around your throat, a heavy limp, and of course, the hands of a flushed Rolan around your waist.

Your ragtag party watched from their campfire logs, a petty and envious air about them whilst the winsome smile on your face turned into an airy laugh as Rolan tenderly cupped your jaw with his hands, whispering something that had you curling your tails together. You shook your head and sweetly pecked his cheek as he nodded and bumped your horns together like lovers as a bid goodbye before stepping back to part ways.

“Well?” Karlach greeted with an amiable smile as you joined the group’s circle, having been worriedly sniffing around and asking for you the entirety of the morning; your scent lingering faintly around the air but with no continued path as to exactly where you were. She knew firsthand the extent of pain and delirium heats could bring, and god forbid you had fallen in the wrong hands.

(And thankfully, you hadn’t. She was simply glad you found someone trustworthy to mingle with instead of being alone.)

You scooched near her with a charmingly teasing grin, matching her liveliness, turning a blind eye to the tension in the air. “Well, what?” And before the red-skin tiefling could play banter with you, a certain rogue had pettily overtook the conversation.

“Well, did you enjoy your little fling?” Astarion dryly teased, a goblet of wine in his spindly hands and a sardonic smile on his face. He let the wine swivel for a moment. “Enjoyed playing charity, whoring yourself out?”

Karlach quietly called out his name in a disappointed manner, either to scold or deter him from what next he could say.

“What can I say?” You entertain his snark, peeking around the campfire logs for a bottle of blingdenstone blush wine; grabbing ahold of ot and pouring yourself a goblet. Taking a gracious swig, you allow the fruity taste to melt on your tongue. “My company is sought after.”

“Sought after? You amuse me,” The pale elf laughs, dry in a manner that has you eyeing him, his hand tightening around the rusted goblet whilst you set down yours. “Are you sure?” He asks, glaring. “I’d say it’s desperation, on your side of the coin – you’d spread your legs to anyone asking politely, darling.”

You scrunch your nose at that, the warmth and flavor of the wine turning cold and bitter in your throat.

The silence is almost hostile around the campfire – the crackling of it serving to make it less awkward. “Take that damn wine out his hands,” you hear Wyll whisper to a reading Gale and a Lae’zel sharpening her dagger – but both the wizard and githyanki don faces that tell you they aren’t approving of your escapade either. You allow your eyes a brief roam around all their faces; finding it tightened in displeasure.

You don’t feel so well, all of a sudden. Some part inside you chalks it up to the wine.

Save for Karlach who was nudging you with her tail, pleading you from the corner of her eye; asking you to back down from Astarion. Considering it was an option until he opened his mouth once again, his breath smelling of merlot wine. “You’re missing out, you know.” He hisses when you raise him a brow.

“These flings you have,” he eyes around the party, making sure to pointedly look at Halsin for a second longer. You’re half-sure he’d vex Rolan if he was here. Slurring, he pauses again to savor another sip from his wine. “They can’t give you something real.” Your eyes meet his, hesitant, reading the unsaid but he can in them.

“You...” You’re not sure if it’s a trick of the light, the fire shedding a hopeful glint in his eyes for a split second at your tender tone of voice, face softening at the way you curl in yourself. “You’re drinking too much.” And just as quickly as it came, it left.

Something heavy twists in your gut; and you can’t quite decide if it’s from the wine, the second wave of your heat, or distress. Silently pushing yourself off the log, you might as well to take that soak in the river that you’d been dying for.

(You’re not very surprised to feel the many eyes piercing through you.)

Shortly after you left the circle, Karlach had followed you, indiscreet. It’s a game of chase, really – and she’s hot on your tail but you just keep evading her when she thinks she’s got you, a hairsbreadth away from her hands. The way your shoulders tremble with little laughs from your lips are not missed by her, and if she were any closer she’d chase it with her own.

(She smiles, not seen through the dark mouth of the night. Was it her presence or the alcohol that has made you soft?)

It’s not a long trek to the lake by any means, the path obscured by dense foliage she’d occasionally lose you in. Within moments, she’s at the edge of the water with the gravel crushing beneath her boots, overtaking the slow stream of water you’re delicately undressing by. Her longing gaze lingers on the slope of your jaw, the fullness of your lips and the fresh, deep indents of teeth along your shoulder. She’s unsure of whether it’s from Astarion’s feeding or Rolan.

It’s only when you’re fully bare that you turn to face her, that same plush smile that’s melted the hearts of hundreds.

“Are you joining me?” The sweet lilt of your voice makes the gears stop turning in Karlach’s nodding head, her body moving before her mind to start peeling away at her own clothes at the appealing invitation; wading into the water with you as soon as she’s done. A snort is pulled from her when you playfully splash at her with your tail when you hear her behind you.

“Don’t play a game you can’t win, you little...” Karlach jovially returns the splash, inwardly rejoicing at your giggle; this little, shared intimacy is nothing new, but it makes her heart lurch all the same. What she wouldn’t give to have more time with you.

By the gods, she could never get enough of that you and your joy. Some selfish, unbidden part of her hopes you’ll take her up on Wyll’s offer on the path to Avernus, for the sole reason to see it just a little longer.

She shifts around for a topic to hear your voice a little more, “How is your heat coming along?” The smile on your face falters slightly at her choice of inquiry – but you relax instantly. She’s one of your dearest friends, concern is her second nature.

“When is it never dreadful?” You shrug, casual though your words ring true. An unmated tiefling’s pain during a rut or heat was nothing short of agonizing. She watches the nervous swallow bob in your throat. “But I had a little bit of help- from Rolan.”

“Ah, the new master of the tower, was it?” You nod at her, and it comes to you once again that Karlach was no jealous woman. She was glad you had your fill of enjoyment. “He looks smitten with you; are you courting him?”

“Huh?” Your tail whacks against the relaxed surface of water in disbelief, a flush festering on your disgruntled face. “It’s more like the other way around, he bumped his horns to mine earlier.”

Karlach guffaws at your distress, tearing up with her joy until her breath catches on a sweet aroma. She squints, cautiously sniffing the air, once, twice – and she looks to you, pursing her lips when she realizes it isn’t the fragrances you’re washing over yourself; it’s just you, or rather, the second wave to your heat. She hopes the hunger welling in her isn’t clear in her eyes.

You smell really good, she thinks as she chews on the inside of her cheek, staring at the dip of your back as your turn around. And you’re a really good friend, too good, maybe. She feels what she’s about to do isn’t very good.

Karlach doesn’t know what compels her to do what she does but she follows like it’s law; catching your wrist in her hand, capturing your jaw in her other and kissing you tender, swallowing the gasp that comes out.

It’s only when the air starts to feel thick with your heat and her lust that she pulls away, a string of spit following you both – and she’s already pulling away, horror welling up in her eyes but before she can grovel with apologies, you’re reeling her right back to your spit-slick lips with a moan so utterly full of want it has her pulling you closer.

“I can help you,” she murmurs against your taste before pulling away, your want reassuring her she’s got nothing to be sorry for. Your heaving breasts press against her face when she dips half of herself in the water to wrap her arms around your legs. She pleads. “Let me help you. Please.”

Karlach carries you with her muscled arms and settles you on the edge of a rock, softly parting your legs for you and making herself a warm home between them. The way she looks up at you gives you a bashful knot in your stomach.

“Do you want this?” She swallows thick, as if to wash away the heavy weight of her need, eyes situating her hands on your hips with a trembling but still dominant grip. “Use your words.”

You nod, frantic. Breathy pants now visible in the hot air. “I do,” your tongue feels weak when you speak, looking at her with dazed eyes. “P-please, I- I want it, Kar.”

It’s all the push she needs to lick a stripe up your slit, rendering you still when she wraps her lips around your clit and sucks. It drags a heavy moan out of you and it’s nothing but music to her ears. She hopes it’s the sound that greets her in the afterlife instead of angels with their harps or trumpets.

“Ahah,” Karlach pants, hot against your clit, and you look down to see your slick running down her chin, her tail pulling you closer by your calf while yours whips around. “You taste so fucking good.” She murmurs against you, sending an arrow of pleasure straight through your trembling spine that makes her dive right back in, tracing your fluttering hole.

She tongues inside your hole, moaning when it tightens around her, fucking and writhing it around in response.

If the heat wasn’t so heavy, you’d think she was tracing her name on your cunt. You huff, rocking your hips into her face as much as you can with her hands firmly clasped around your hips. Your hands find themselves around her horns and they gently pull her head closer to you, riding her face as if to help brace you for the knot snapping in your stomach.

Karlach takes a moment to pause, smiling with your heady flavor on her lips, chuckling against your core. “So needy.”

You don’t last long, not with her smile and teeth and tongue around your folds, no, and it’s a blind rush of time and hot white when your thighs tremble around her head, mouth dropping open in a silent scream.

“Karlach...!” You cry her name, cumming and convulsing around her tongue with open-mouthed moans. Her grip on you tightens, an Infernal curse leaving her as your slick taste floods her mouth. Her hands run over you, the small of your back, your hips and then to your ass, gripping the fat of it to keep you still while she laps at what little you have left to give; only giving in when you whimper and try to kick her away.

(In the rational crevices of your head, you’d hate to prove Astarion right about being a whore but fuck, does she make you feel good.)

It’s soft silence that fills the air, after you both cease your panting. You stare at the stars, head foggy with the orgasm that racked your body, humming when Karlach gently sets you in her arms again to wash your arousal away in the water while your head contentedly lies against her shoulder.

“Let’s get you to your bed, hm?” She coos, bumping her horns against yours – only letting you go to stand up again when she finishes washing and drying you, allowing you to clothe yourself. Time is a blur then, as you spend it aided to walk by her warm arms, staring at the intricate maze of foliage you’re surrounded about.

You’re snapped out your limping daze when you look around to see the foliage isn’t dark anymore, lit around by hues of oranges from a familiar campfire. Karlach grins, closed-eye as she squeezes you and kisses you warmly before nudging you towards the direction of your tent, quaintly lit up by a candlelight lamp you set inside earlier.

“Go inside,” she coaxes you, all-kind. It’s a certain emptiness you feel when you peel yourself away from her warmth with a whine that has her chuckling and pressing her lips against yours again. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

You do as she says, stumbling inside your tent and falling with a thud to your soft bed – but not without curling your lips into a loving smile, savoring the memory of her. It’s the last thing you see before you succumb to the hands of rest.

Fuck.

It’s the middle of the night when you’re next startled awake.

And it’s no surprise when you wake up to yet another surge of dull aching and your own arousal just starting to drip out of you. You waste little time; stumbling like a fawn out your tent, movements laden with the remnants of sleep –

You’re halfway out when your face slams against a body; lithe and cold, and in your sleep-ridden state, you could be convinced you just bumped into a slab of ice draped in flesh. But you urge your heavy lids to open up, to see the man, well, vampire you’d bickered with earlier, staring down at you from the very opening.

“Astarion,” you state, bleary-eyed and fisting your nightshirt closer; the fleece of it grounding you under his piercing gaze. Your heart is beating quick; a brief thought hopes it stays beating, and you will it away. You have half the mind to ask what he’s doing in front of your tent, but you have no time. The air is thick. The heat inside you is boiling. You need relief – Rolan.

“I...” Your words crawl in your throat, the line of your brows furrowing when you feel the familiar pinpricks of your heat pressing into you. “Please, move. I have somewhere to be.”

You almost feel small under the depth of his gaze; everything about him reeks of fury mingling with need.

“Off to find another bed to warm, I assume?” Astarion hisses with the slightest slur, the breath which he speaks out carrying the scent of fine wine – the air around him dangerous. Starving. He moves closer, and you, in all your confusion, slowly crawl back into your tent, unsure on what to fight first; the heat that consumes you or the danger you feel is about to overtake you.

“Astarion,” you mumble, this time with a bleat to your voice and your eyes wide like the lamb to be drained and slaughtered you feel you are. The air is heady; laden with fear and need thick like honey. Everything around you is too much. Where is Rolan? Karlach?

A hand tightens around your ankle, refusing to let go even as you yelp and watch Astarion force his way inside your cramped tent and crawls himself between your legs to nestle his face in the crook of your neck.

“No, no,” You whisper to him, shifting under him in a panic when you feel his familiar lips on your neck. “I’m sorry but you cannot feed from me tonight, Astarion. I need to leave, now.”

“I’m not here to drain you dry, silly.” Astarion’s voice is husky, breathy. It has you clenching your thighs around his hips; his hands clasp around yours in return. “Though, I am starving, I have something else in store for little you.” You grit in discomfort, the unease and desire a blend that you feel entirely drunk on.

(He would never admit it but that tender pit of terror in you has him salivating.)

“Leave...!” You hiss. He chuckles at that; the sound velvet-rich and grating, and does exactly the contrary – pushing himself closer to you until you’re chest-to-chest. You hate that you cannot see him tucked away to your neck. It does not help he is close to your raw, still-sensitive core; you have nothing on save for a long, flowy poet’s shirt thanks to a certain crimson tiefling.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. I can’t have you running off to somebody else.”

It’s then that you feel it; the press of a cruel, toothy smile against your throat and something of leather, something of warmth digging into the meat of your thigh. He is not here to drain you out of his anger, rather, he’s here to devour you, prey on you. You fear you’ve catched on belatedly.

“Mfh. I don’t want–” Your late, futile resistance is met with a finger to your lips, flushed thighs being pushed further apart as his hips slot between yours. Somewhere in the back of your muddled mind, you hear yourself keen with delight at the friction before he hushes you.

“You’re right, you don’t want it.” Astarion croons, watching as you writhe your hips against his for friction, as your bare cunt instictively grinds against the hot imprint of his still-clothed cock even as your head grasps for even a thread of coherence. “You need it, need this - need me.”

Your body does not deny his claim, arching your hips to meet his grinding, swollen folds clinging to his leather trousers – the pit in your stomach and the crawl up your spine indistinguishable between dread and ecstasy. The line of reason and morals are once again blurred in your head.

You curse yourself for having indulged in the alcoholic delicacy earlier. He’s emboldened by the wine; you’re weakened by it. The finger on your lips slip inside your mouth, firm on your tongue. You gag on it when his other hand clasped on your hip reaches down in between your legs and feels around for your, unsurprisingly, dripping vulva, the both of you gasping in delight.

“You’re soaked. What a fine surprise!” He chuckles, continuing to buck his clothed erection into your heat, petting your hair when you moan around his fingers. “I hope it’s because of me and not just your little heat.”

Your body is transparent, visceral with him, loyal to the promise of pleasure he can give you – even if your mind, what is left of your rationality indignantly fights tooth and nail to convince your body to stop giving in to animalistic pleasure.

It’s not long then, until Astarion becomes impatient, always having been; unlacing the ties on his trousers with one skilled hand and leaning over you to toss it off – it’s all too quick for your swarmed mind to catch up to, and the next thing you see and know is that you’re hissing through your teeth and thrashing while he pushes the burning head of his cock into you, hushing you as if you were a distressed animal. Your muscles tense, jerking away, a feeble little no on your lips—

But it’s an easy intrusion, a quick thrust into you is all it takes to bury himself deep with the help of your slick and his pre. He groans as, eyes rolling back as yours start to prick with tears, hold tightening on you as you whimper and turn limp like a ragdoll to his experimental thrusting. Some part of you wants to preen at the pleasure; the honeyed heat inside you pleased.

“Good- fuck, good pet.” He breathily murmurs, clasping a hand around your hip again; alternating between sensual grinding and abruptly slamming into you. All while he laughs and watches with a vicious smile as you’re torn between pathetically moaning and crying, the fingers in your mouth helping to muffle the sounds.

“See? Not so bad if you just close your eyes and give in.” He presses down particularly hard on your tongue when you wail at a sharp, unexpected thrust. He couldn’t have someone from the party playing hero. “I’m trying to help you.”

Tears sting at the corner of your eye, and you have no doubt you look pitiful right now - but fuck, he feels good. You don’t want to admit it, but you won’t deny it either; you needed this. And though you would have preferred to have it be Rolan, all gentle, rutting into you with sweet whispers and even sweeter promises, the heat in your body cannot be satiated with the tenderness he can give you. But you would rather stake him first than admit he’s helping you fill that gaping need in you.

“Astarion...” You furrow your brows and swallow around his fingers, your own life clinging to the back of your throat. It’s with a certain horror and desperation that you realize you’re approaching the edge faster than you’d like – and you know he knows, because he pulls his fingers out your mouth and presses a warm, spit-slick thumb to your aching clit. Your hole flutters around him, and you writhe around, the tightening burn of your incoming orgasm too much to handle. Pleasured, honeyed mewls are wrenched from you as his hips snap, driving his cock deep.

Astarion purrs – a hand on your thigh to help him slam into you, gripping hard enough to form bruises whilst the other was relentless at your clit. It’s with a shriek that you fall apart, seizing on his thrusts that only seem to quicken, the wet sound of skin on skin and your crying permeating through the entire camp, no doubt. He coos when a whine slips out of you, a tear gliding from your eye.

You’re seeing fucking white, blots of black dotted along your vision by the time he greedily slams inside you a final time with a low groan – something pleasingly warm filling you up, satiating you. Astarion holds your face and tugs it meet his for a breathy, passionate kiss whilst he twitches seed inside you - smiling in delight against your lips when you melt.

Relief is found; a warm glow settling on you despite your lids fighting their damndest to stay up. You’re a soft, slow little thing now, all but warm and ready to be taken by approaching slumber. Astarion gladly takes the chance to lie on his side and gather you in his arms, lips curving sweet yet again, but with less threat, as he watches you contentedly curl yourself up against his side. He sighs at the warmth that washes over him, thankful that fatigue has tamed you and fanned out that little spark and scratch you had earlier.

“Happy?” The smitten vampire asks, cheeky, smug as he pulls you closer into him, massaging your sore hips. “No need for you to go looking around for victims when you have me at your disposal, darling. I’d hate for you to lose sight on what really matters.”

You hum as if far away, you’d slap him in the morning that comes, but for now you’d let yourself be lulled into a soft, gentle slumber. A kiss on your head is the last thing you feel, a feeble little goodnight whispered.