#Path of semi-redemption

[millersfinest]

the thing in your chest that beats | e.w

santa barbara!ellie williams & ex-firefly!reader

wc: 5k

mini-series: california (you’re here) | oregon | idaho | wyoming

blurb: you put up a good fight with those rattlers, but it wasn’t good enough—all it got you was strung up near a beach where the sun scorched you dry. abruptly, their set-up gets fucked by their own prisoners, saving your life by only a thread. but the wrath that lingered under your skin was immense, and you’re not the only one to experience that phenomenon. when another damaged soul encounters your brittle state; the dreams that put you in a tough position manifest into reality. along with a few extra miscellaneous things…

cw: angry!r, mentions of fate, santa barbara arc, infected, shooting, lots of exposition, torture, violence, vulgar language, slow-burn romance, eventual smut, proximity trope, both reader and ellie on a path of redemption.

note: this first part is lowkey boring imo, but i hope the angst makes up for it. as always, please enjoy my hyperfixation!!

California

Ropes chafed at your skin; securing your legs and wrists on top of each other to the wooden post. Fog had shielded the setting sun from your skin—after many hours of being scorched. Your muscles ached and your bones were sore. The exposed skin on your shoulders and chest was dry and flaking, exposing an under layer of tenderness. Everything fucking hurt. But you were barely there; head nodding off from the scratching at your stomach and the dryness in your mouth ripping your lips apart.

How did you, a firefly, militarily trained, end up tied to a pillar at the cusp of a beach in Santa Barbara?

You were simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. This group searched for people like you—lonely and pillaged by the weight of the world. You were too distracted to foresee their deception; they got lucky with you.

Until the chemical reactions in your brain short-circuited, causing you to act out in the name of self-preservation.

Wrath, by definition, is a trait you’re easily overcome with. It’s not just something that passes through you like other traits and emotions. It holds on. It makes a home in your body and directs you like a rabid dog—a burdening feeling that nestled between your sore muscles. It filled you with adrenaline to kill and destroy—to get rid of the people who tried to get rid of you.

And, every time, you managed to find yourself feeling bad about it. There was no explanation for that. Just your heart being too sensitive for world you existed in—it was constantly broken. By yourself and your circumstances.

It was your own fault that you were captured by the rattlers. You should’ve never left Catalina Island for a pipe dream. There wasn’t anything better than the firefly base—you should’ve known that and never left. Perhaps, if you had remained under the duty of your earned dog tags, you wouldn’t have been thrusted into the situation that you were in.

Wyoming was a lie that you told yourself because you wanted to live a life that didn’t exist.

Locked in a debate with death, your body abruptly hit the dense surface of the sand. The ropes that bound you to that skewer had been severed by a fallen angel. A prisoner you had attached yourself to in the hopes of survival. Her hair was coily and reflected copper under the Californian sun.

You came to from the impact, finally beginning to hear the ongoing gunfire coming from the resort buildings. As you twitched in pain, she cut the bindings at your wrists and ankles. Tucking a pistol into your hand, she muttered words of hope. “Good luck out there, hotshot.”

Your lips moved to respond, but there wasn’t any sound. It didn’t matter, though, because she wasn’t around to hear it. The young woman at once took off in the opposite direction of the chaos with a bag over her shoulder.

Stuck in a dilemma, you didn’t move for a few moments. Eyes stuck on the weight in your weak hands. It was nothing but a black semi-automatic—it weighed nothing compared to bigger firearms. However, it sunk your hand into the sand as if it weighed a ton. You couldn’t even hold a gun with the same conviction that you used to. Yet, the fallen angel had faith that you could.

Taking in a deep wheezing breath, you tried to stand to your feet. You got up enough for your knees to bend, but once you extended them, you crashed back into the sand with a thud. In temporary defeat, you looked to the people still suspended on the pillars. They were unmoving, rotting away from the inside out. That could’ve been you if it weren’t for her cutting you down.

In mourning them, you gave standing another attempt. Keeping your hands low to catch your fall. But you didn’t fall. The muscles in your legs were weak, trembling as you stretched them. With a hunch in your back, you grabbed the gun, adjusting it in your hands. Your professional form remained the same as remnants of your training. Placing your hands over one another on the handle, supporting its weight. Aiming the barrel toward nothing specific, just to get the feeling again. It’s been months since you had opportunity to defend yourself.

With as much quickness that you could muster, you went through the resort to grab supplies. A backpack, medkit, and some food.

Setting your mind on leaving, you tried to sneak through the gunfire between the prisoners and the rattlers. But that simply wasn’t in the cards for you.

Before you could escape the resort, one of them had a bone to pick with you. It was the same rattler that was your deceptive captor. She used her femininity to convince you that she needed help—that she was weak and she needed your help. If anything, you have a bone to pick with her.

She had come at you with her bear hands, pushing your face up against a wall. She tore the backpack from your back, throwing it to the side. Where did her wrath come from? Somehow, you managed to get the upper hand. Straddling her body delivering punches that you haven’t in awhile. It felt natural to you to release such violence against another person.

Through beating her bloody, you found your power again. Tearing off the shimmering dog tags around her neck that had previously belonged to you. Heaving, you looked down at her. She had split your lip and broken your nose, but you could argue that you did worse to her. Her nose was cracked in multiple places, as she coughed up her own blood and teeth. It slipped down the crevices of her face, dribbling into her brown eyes.

“Fuck you.” You firmly speak, picking up your bag from its straps, swinging it around your shoulders.

From the fight, you had stumbled into a room of firearms. Still weak, you limped around. Causing you to walk away from the damage with a Beretta A300 shotgun and ammunition.

Like it was a prize after a big challenge.

You found yourself stumbling along the sand of the beach you were stuck on. This time, closer to the foggy waters of the coast. Ignoring the throbbing sensation in your thigh. You were barely sentient, running on nothing but fumes. But you knew you had to get as far from Santa Barbara as you could.

All of sudden, darkness began encapsulating your eyes from the outside in. Your limbs grew heavier, slowing down the pace of your movements—you collapsed into the sand like the damsel you had become.

When your eyes fluttered open, you were laying on an itchy couch. Waking up felt like awaking from a coma. Sitting up was a chore because of the tightness of your muscles. You felt it like a sickness in your chest. Trying to move your legs, you sucked in a pained breath. A hole that was cut into your ripped jeans was covered by white wrapping. Gauze.

A single lantern in the middle of the living room illuminated the space. It was placed on a dusty coffee table—off-center. Your backpack and weapons leaned against an entertainment center; a large cabinet that combined the use of compartments as well as a space for the tv to fit.

Blinking slowly, you tried to remember how you got there. Fingers gripping at the cushions, experiencing a crazy amount of brain fog. A wrapper crackled under the weight of your hand as you shifted. It was a granola bar tucked under the pillow that you laid your head on.

You stomach scratched at your abdomen, so you wasted no time in retrieving it—ripping open the wrapper and biting into the nutty granola. The side of your foot kicked over a metal canister, accidentally. Clashing toward the scratched wooden floors, it startled you. Reaching down, you shook it in your hands. There was a liquid inside. Screwing the lid off, you realized it was only water. Something else your body demanded of you.

Who put all this stuff here? It couldn’t have been you.

A creak from the side of the room, caused you to snap your head in that direction. Chewing slowly on the oats in your mouth, your eyebrows scrunched. Your free hand felt your hip from the cool metal of that gifted pistol, but there was nothing but the fabric of your jeans.

By the time she came into your view, your body froze. Your gun was across the room, she had the advantage. She loomed in the darker parts of the room as if she were hiding from you—in a way that was prey-ish, rather than predatory.

“I didn’t think you’d wake up…”

Her voice was raspy, and she spoke with a slow cadence. When she came into the light, she kept her distance. By the corner of the entertainment center cabinet—on the opposite end of where your bag was laying. Her auburn strands were choppy and tucked behind her ears. She wore a white t-shirt that was filthy with, what looked like, blood and dirt. Hands fidgeting with each other in front of her body as she eyed you with concern. She was missing her pinky and ring finger from her left hand. “You’d been out for hours… I, uhm, stitched up a wound on your leg— thought you might’ve caught an infection.”

She lacked conviction when she spoke to you. Voice leaving with a sort of emptiness, or perhaps, guilt. “Where’d you find me?” You asked, gritting your jaw. Holding onto the metal canister tight enough to use as a weapon if need be. That last thing you wanted was to be fooled by a stranger again.

She cleared her throat. “The beach.”

That’s when it hit you. The memories of your weakness hit. You remember dragging your legs through the sand, catching the glimpse of a body sitting in the water beside a vacant boat, then falling into a deep sleep. Of course, you, somehow, offered yourself up to a stranger.

It was just your luck, huh?

“There were others you could’ve helped… Why me?”

A scoff fell from her lips. Scarred eyebrows jutting together; an attitude washing over her freckled features. As if your words were charged with something else besides cautious curiosity. “I was expecting more of a thank you...”

You blinked, sucked your teeth. “I don’t know you from a can of fucking paint— so, you should lower your expectations.” You retorted, boring your eyes into her slender figure. What alarmed her was how your voice scolded gently. It cut deeper that way. “I mean, what is that on your shirt? Blood? Would you wanna thank some stranger in a bloody shirt?”

She crossed her arms, shaking her head. “Have you seen yourself?” Her thick eyebrow raised, voice dropping an octave. “You look like shit—“

You glanced at the shirt that clung to you perspiring body. It also had remnants of blood and dirt and sand. Leaning your elbows on your thighs, you leaned forward. “Fuck you! You have no idea what I’ve been through—!”

“And you know what I’ve been through?” She countered, scoffing after her words.

You talked over each other—barking like unfamiliar dogs. Wrath came easy to you; and, apparently, it came easy to her, too. Her words silenced you, but you grit your teeth. “I should’ve left you where I found you— fuckin’ joke’s on me.” She ran a hand through her short hair, taking long strides out of the living room. Preparing to sink back into the corner she came from.

Clearing your throat, you swallowed your pride. There was a sincerity behind her eyes that you couldn’t ignore. Her anger radiated off her epidermis is such a way that it was familiar. “All right,” You sighed, positioning your body slowly to face her departing figure. She’d stopped in her path, peering over her boney shoulder. “I don’t recognize you from the cells… Or the pillars. Who the fuck are you?” Your eyebrows furrowed, voice weakening by the mention of your greatest failure: becoming a slave to the weirdest assholes known to man.

Wheels shifted in her mind, her olive eyes flickering around in the dark, in thought. Lips opening and closing, trying to formulate her words—but there was no use. She decided to resume her steps, sequestering herself in a bedroom. You heard the sound of the door shutting and locking the door behind her.

Groaning, you shut your eyes, leaning your head against the soft, itchy pillows, frustrated.

Unbeknownst to you, she’d locked herself in that room because she found herself overcome with emotion—hot, streaming tears. She didn’t know you as much as you didn’t know her, and she wasn’t going to share her own greatest failures with you. If what you were saying was true, you were victimized. How could someone like her talk to someone like you? After the things she’s done… After the things she was prepared to do.

The sun ascended, with the two of you lingering in separate rooms. You had eventually fallen asleep after some hours in your thoughts. Wondering about the story of the woman sheltering herself from you. Multiple times, you had to stop yourself from dwelling. This is what got you caught up with the first time. Instead, you began to think about what your plans were.

Were you going to resume your journey to Wyoming, in the hopes of finding that settlement? Or were you going to hitch it back to Catalina Island? And hope to God that they take you back with minimal consequences. Dwelling on those thoughts, instead of her, is what brought you to sleep.

When you woke up, you finished the metal canister of water. Giving the room a proper once-over. Sun rays cascaded through the dusty windows like beams, illuminating the room, angelically. Taking a deep breath, you decided to walk around. The soreness in your body hadn’t changed—you still felt burdened by your own body.

The home was a single-leveled Tuscan inspired home. Its interior was riddled with browns and beiges. Dragging your feet against the wooden floor, you entered the kitchen. All the cabinets were blown open and searched through. You assumed it was that woman who you’d met—still, you didn’t know her name.

Looking down at the counters, there was a yellow-paged note on the furthest one from you. The island closest to her bedroom. It was lying under a pill bottle. You shifted as quickly as you could to the note, sliding the pill bottle to the side, but not without a glance. They were antibiotics.

Found the antibiotics in the cabinets this morning, there’s only two left. Take them both.

I left to go hunt for some food. Stay in the house if you know what’s best for yourself. There’s infected around.

I’ll be back soon.

— E

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “If I know what’s best for myself…” Pressing into the top of the bottle, you unscrewed it. With nothing but your saliva, you knocked back two of the pills just like she told you. However, not because she told you to. There were many reasons for you to catch an infection from the wound on your leg—the wound you didn’t even remember how you got.

“I can handle infected.” You muttered to yourself. It’s been awhile since you really dealt with them face-to-face, but it was an innate ability. Why wouldn’t you be able to defend yourself from infected? Your only limits were your body stuck in its state of pain.

But, where you come from, sometimes it took movement to heal pain. Pushing through soreness and tightness was the only way to move forward.

So, instead of waiting around for E to come back around. You decided to explore some of the nearby houses. Ones that were only a few paces away from the house that you were currently in—you weren’t that stupid.

You secured your backpack around your shoulders, hooking the strap of your shotgun around your arm, and sticking the pistol in the back of your jeans. The first stop was next door. Slowly, you had climbed through a broken window. Landing in a bedroom decorated with childish posters. Focusing, you found yourself busy with looting the home. Taking things of importance and putting them inside of your bag.

You didn’t run into anything shocking until the third place you visited—three houses down. Thankfully, there was no clicking, but there were the familiar wailings of a runner. Catching a glimpse of coily copper hair, huddled over sobbing in her hands, you crouched behind a wall. Eyes shifting from side to side, trying to digest the visual.

Good luck, hotshot.

Perhaps, it was her who really needed the luck. Slowly, you removed the gun from your shoulder, leaning it against the wall. The breaths from your lips fled in chunks, pulling the gifted pistol from your waistband. You had known her for the entirety of your stay at that treacherous resort—she was your anchor. She helped you with your anger, keeping you under an emotional routine. Later, it worked for the worst instead of the better, but she tried to help you in there. She was patient with you.

You stepped from the wall, aiming the chamber of the pistol at the back of her head. You didn’t know her for that long, but you knew she wouldn’t want something like this for herself. She had plans just like you did—she wanted out of California. Leaving her to stumble around this broken home would be fucked up.

She freed you. Now, it was time for you to free her.

“You deserved better than this, Honey.” She was sweet and tangy like honey; that’s why you called her that. It wasn’t even her name—you didn’t know her name.

Your index finger squeezed the trigger, sending the bullet straight through her unsuspecting mind. Her whines were more coherent, meaning that all of that just happened. The infection had just taken over. A tear had slipped down the fat of your cheek when her body hit the ground. The shot echoing against the walls and through the neighborhood.

She lasted no longer than a day on her own, and those rattlers were nothing but the blame. They drained you enough to make you suffer but keep you working. But, out on the road, you stood no chance.

There was a piece of notebook paper on the floor by the baseboards of the wall Honey’s body laid beside. With a lump in your throat, you plucked it from the ground, holding it delicately in your hands.

After months of captivity, I’ve found myself in a situation that I could have never imagined. I didn’t notice when the clicker bit me, everything happened so fast!

It hurts now, though, a lot. And the anticipation of the infection is worser than I expected it to be. This is the part where I put a gun in mouth to end it all.

I’m too tired to do that. For once, I don’t wanna fight.

I apologize to those who end up witnessing what I have become.

The palm of your hand covered your mouth in shock as you read the letter. Honey must’ve been horrified. And it hurt to know that she went through it all alone.

Catching you in a grieving state, E had vaulted through a broken window with her gun in hand. Her olive eyes landed on you, subsiding the subtle look of shock on her face. “I thought I told you to stay in the house.” She tucked the pistol into the waistband of her jeans, sighing. “You’re in no condition to travel alone…” Her eyes casted onto your frame leaning over a marble counter, reading over the letter silently.

Hearing her footsteps, you folded up the letter and slid it into your back pocket. Taking a final look at the dead woman on the floor, a reflection of your friend that didn’t exist anymore, you brush past the the auburn-haired woman. Shoulders grazing as you achingly climb out of the same window she came in from.

Without saying, what happened to Honey worried you. Loneliness was a cruelty that many could afford—you experienced it. But loneliness along with bodily ailments wasn’t a problem you wanted. If it weren’t for E, you could’ve been in the same position as Honey. What made you worth saving and not her? A ball of fury, like yourself, should’ve been the first to go.

Yet, a level of gratefulness washed over you. Were you ready to thank the freckled stranger for her saviorship?

E followed you back to the house, binding the front door with furniture. Entering, you noticed two rabbits attached to a string laying on the tiled counter. Impressed, you hummed, while dragging your feet toward the couch you had slept on. You shrugged off your backpack and leaned your shotgun against the wall.

The auburn-haired woman peered at you, messing with rabbits, pulling them off the string to prepare to cook them. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” She breathed. Her voice coming out like a muttered sigh, but it was loudly quiet in the house. Therefore, your ears picked up on her words.

You ignored her, pulling out the note, and kicking your feet up onto the couch to read it again. Analyzing the messy handwriting on the page, tainted with dried tears and dirty hand prints. E had brought in a metal trashcan to cook the animals she hunted for the both of you. Every so often, peaking at you with interest and wonder.

When the rabbits were cooked, she brought it over to you in a chipped ceramic bowl. “Thanks…” You mutter, barely meeting her eyes.

“Yeah,” She answered, slightly taken off guard.

The two of you eat separately, on different sides of the room. E didn’t retreat back into the room had the night before. Instead, she propped herself on the stool by the island table. Where she could keep her intense olive eyes on you—attempting to read you without asking questions.

You were impressed by the rabbit presented to you. Back at the base, you were familiar with chicken more so than rabbit, though. There was a hesitation when taking the first bite. But the rumble in your belly was satisfied by the animal, and that was all that mattered.

Feeling a strong gaze on you, peering to the side was a natural reaction. She’d snap her eyes back to her plate before you could fully catch her. Sighing, you set the plate on the coffee table in front of the couch.

In your looting, a bottle of wine called out to you from the basement of one of the Tuscan homes. You limped toward the kitchen with your calloused hand wrapped around the sloped neck of the bottle. Placing the bottle at the middle of the island, you take a seat at the furthest end from her. “I thought I would properly thank you for saving my ass…” You cleared your throat, awkwardly. Choosing to keep your eyes trained on your fidgeting fingers. “It’s Cabernet, I think. The label’s kind of rubbed off.”

“I’m not much of a drinker.”

You pursed your lips, flickering your eyes to peer at her. “Hm.” You hum. “Okay, well, more for me, I guess.” You shrug, reaching for the wine. The plan was to drink it either way—if she wanted it, or if she didn’t. Peeling off the wrapper, you were happy to see that it was a screw top instead of an imbedded cork.

Taking the first sip, its sweetness spread over your tongue. The alcohol percentage was fairly high, so you were expecting a pleasurable feeling within the next few minutes. If you kept gulping at the bottle. You deserved a bit of man-made solace after what you’ve been through. After the things you’ve seen. Taking another sip, you prepare to go back to the couch you were sat on, with the bottle in your hand.

However, E places a hand on the cool tiles. “Wait…” She rolled her eyes. “One sip wouldn’t hurt.” In her silence, she realized that she also deserved a few moments of calmness—self-care.

The corners of your lips curled, sitting back down on your stool. You slid the bottle close enough for her to reach it, leaning your head against your fist.

Orange rays of the sun shifted through the room; setting so the moon could take her place. You and E had found comfort in the wine and in the space between yourselves. Scooting close to each other until there was only a single stool in the center of you. Talking about the more joyous parts of your lives—which, surprisingly, wasn’t much. The pair of you managed to keep the important information off the record. Upholding a level of vagueness between your truth.

When E had brought up her son and girlfriend, that’s when the energy shifted in the room.

“You have a family? Then… Why are you out here?”

A beat slivered between you, circling your bodies like a ribbon.

“I recognize those dog tags… You’re a firefly? I thought they shut down years ago.” She spoke with rigid shoulders, taking a swig of the Cabernet.

Your hand reached for the thin metal around your neck, decorating your exposed collarbones. There was a disconnect between you and the facility you had grown up in. While you loved the support of the community, as you got older, you wanted something different. “Yeah, after everything shut down, another popped up here—in California. It’s the only one left, I believe.”

She chuckled, cheeks flushed from the alcohol accumulating in her system. “Hm. Are you gonna try and recruit me into your little cult? Is that why you’re still out here?”

Deepening your eyebrows, you peered down at the grout between the tiles under your hands. “Probably… If I still was a firefly…” Slowly, you enunciated. “I haven’t been one for months now.”

“Ah, you went rogue.”

“I wouldn’t say that… But, yeah, I guess.” You rolled your eyes, reaching for the wine bottle. She put it in your hand, leaning her elbow against the counter. E left room for you speak, just boring her hazed eyes into your frame. “I was done with being an asshole for a living— I don’t want to just survive anymore… I want to live.” You take a large swig of the wine, lamenting subtly.

Look where desiring life got you. Locked up as a slave for another bunch of assholes. “I heard from some people that there was a place in Wyoming that wasn’t anything like the fireflies.” You inhaled, sharply. “I could live a normal life there— maybe it’s a stupid idea… I don’t know.”

E deepened her thick eyebrows, leaning forward. “Are you talking about Jackson?”

“Yeah, I think so. There was a map in my bag that had the name. I lost it when the rattlers got ahold of me.”

With scrunched face, she stood to her feet. Running her hands over her face, releasing a tired sigh. “It’s not that stupid of an idea…” Looking back at you, she placed her hands on her hips. “That’s where I’m headed— Jackson, Wyoming.”

“Oh…”

Was this the fated reasoning behind why the both of you met? Both harboring an inner pain and guilt for something or someone. Two damaged souls meeting in the middle—this could be a productive exchange. But what would E receive?

She swore under her breath, running her fingers through her hair, stressfully. “You could come with me, it’s not like you’d get far in your condition alone.” She blinked, casually. You scoff at her words, sucking your teeth. She could never just be kind. Sure, it was obvious that you were injured—in horrible shape—but you weren’t inherently weak. You were a trained individual, something that most people couldn’t say.

“I’d feel like an asshole if I didn’t at least offer. It’s a long journey—“

“Oh, you still come off like an asshole, but I appreciate the offer.” You nod, jumping from the stool. “Those fucks threw me off track— I wouldn’t even know where to start up again… So, yeah, I’ll go with you.”

She nodded, pursing her lips. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“You don’t make me regret this. I have a bad history when it comes to trusting strangers.” You pressed your lips into a line, leaning against the island for support. There was a slight sway to stance, as the world around you didn’t feel stable.

“Okay, well, you have my word.” She affirmed, sliding her hands into her back pockets. “Do I have yours?”

You inhaled, sharply, glancing at the ceiling. “Yes, you have my word… On the condition that you tell me your name.” She narrowed her eyes at you, the corners of her lips curling. “We can’t possibly travel together if we don’t know each other’s names.”

The auburn-haired woman picked up the backpack she threw against the lower cabinets, slinging it over her shoulder. She was preparing to huddle into that bedroom again. Before leaving you in the dim hue of the few lanterns in the room, she spoke. “Ellie. My name’s Ellie.”

She waited by her door for your answer, with a raised eyebrow. You gave her your name, plainly. Straightening the hunch in your back—feigning a level of stoicism.

The only response she gave was a hum, before locking herself away. Releasing a sigh of relief, you smiled. Wyoming wasn’t the pipe dream you thought it to be. Yeah, the experiences you had leading up to that conversation weren’t the best. In fact, those experiences scarred everything about you. But could this have been the reason behind your hellish encounters?

[midnightquips]

Something Like Salvation

Owen Taylor x Reader

Summary: You visit home reluctantly, only to find Owen Taylor has returned. But some things are different now. No longer are you the obedient girl nor is Owen Taylor the pious golden boy. In quiet corners and long drives, you chase something warm and reckless. It may not be redemption... but for Owen, you felt something like salvation.

🔴 MINORS DNI 🔴 Warnings: 18+ content, religious guilt & themes, explicit sexual content, nsfw, eventual smut, dirty talk, praise kink, semi-public sex, soft aftercare, pwp, piv sex, unprotected sex, mild praise kink, foreplay

Author's Note: Please note that this is set in a universe the Jem Starling DOES NOT exist. Owen is also NOT married here. Although I set this to be in a 2nd Person POV, my entire intention is to establish that Y/N is a full-grown adult.

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Chapter 2:  Lead Us Not

The next morning, Owen’s name lit up your screen before you were even out of bed.

OWEN TAYLOR: Hope you got some sleep.

You stared at it for a moment, thumb hovering. Then:

YOU: Barely. You?

You could practically feel the weight behind that message. You didn’t know what you were really doing either. You just knew that you weren’t ready to let this go just yet. 

Neither of you could stop replaying last night in your head — the silence in the car, the tension, the tattoo, the way he’d parked and just looked at you. He looked like he wanted to devour you and confess his sins at the same time.

You pulled the covers off and got up.

Owen sat with the message thread still open, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

What are you doing? he thought. What do you want from this?

These questions had been lingering in his mind since you came back. He hadn’t been able to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, it was the flash of your tattoo, the way you smiled at him like you knew how close he was to falling apart. How you wanted to witness him unravelling.

He rubbed his jaw, tossed the phone onto the bed, then picked it right back up again.

I should delete this thread. 

Instead, he typed.

OWEN TAYLOR: Not a wink.

By noon, you were sitting on a shaded bench at Oak Hollow Trail, a quiet stretch just outside town. You had been the one to suggest the location. Somewhere safe. Somewhere discreet but still public.

Some part of you hadn’t expected him to actually show up. But he did and on time. He was in a plain t-shirt and jeans, carefully neutral. Measured. As if the casualness of what he wore would reflect the conversation you were about to have.

He sat beside you carefully, not too close. Little reminders popping in his head, needing it to keep his train of thought. Don’t look at her legs. Don’t look at her mouth. Just breathe. Keep your hands to yourself. The space between your shoulders felt electric.

“Thanks for meeting me,” he said, looking out at the trees instead of at you.

“Surprised you even asked.” 

“I almost didn’t.”

You smiled faintly. “Yeah, I figured.”

A bird chirped overhead. The sun filtered through the canopy. Everything around you felt soft. A clear contrast to the air between you two.

“Why’d you come back?” you asked finally. “To this town. To this church.”

You had to make sense of it. If he felt so repressed by this place, why ever return to commit to it? Perhaps your questions were only derived from your own decisions to leave.

Owen exhaled slowly. “Because I thought I was supposed to.”

“Supposed to by who?”

He didn’t answer immediately. “Everyone. God. Myself. I don’t know. I thought I could help. I thought it’d feel right.”

“Does it?”

His lips pressed into a line. “It did. Until I saw you.”

That caught you off guard. You turned to face him, but he still wouldn’t look at you.

“I mean,” he continued, “I didn’t expect… I didn’t expect it to feel like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’ve spent years talking about staying on the path, and now I’m not sure where the line is anymore. Like maybe the reason I came back was so I could see you again.”

You stared at him, trying to process what he was saying. 

“That’s a lot,” you said quietly.

He finally looked at you. His eyes held something raw. If you were anyone else, this would be easier. "Yeah. It is."

And yet, he stayed. The silence that followed was no longer awkward. Having each other’s presence became a comfort. The air was thick with things unsaid. 

His fingers flexed against his knee like they wanted to move. Yours twitched in your lap.

“I’m not here to ruin you, Owen,” you said after a beat. “But I’m not going to apologize for existing, either.”

His jaw tightened. He didn’t want you to misunderstand. Because of everything he said, not once did he ever make you want to feel he regretted you being here.

“You’re not ruining me.” he said firmly.

Then, softer: “You’re making me question everything I thought I understood.”

You didn’t mean to reach for his hand, but you did anyway.

And when he didn’t pull away, that little touch said more than either of you were ready to admit.

Owen offered to drive you home.

You hesitated for a second, not because you didn’t want to, but because you weren’t sure how much of you would make it back in one piece.

The drive was quiet, filled with too many unsaid words. The air between you continued buzzed though, fueled by unfulfilled touches. His knuckles were tight on the wheel while you kept your gaze forward, arms crossed, trying to slow your breathing.

He didn’t park directly in front of your mom’s house, but rather just a bit down the street, tucked into the shade between two overgrown hedges. Perhaps silently agreed that it was safer that way. Less explaining. Less chance of someone watching from the window. 

Still neither of you moved.

“Do you not believe in any of it anymore?” he asked, voice low, eyes still on the windshield.

You didn’t need to ask what he meant. A need for implied reassurance that the belief and the church need not to be mutually exclusive.

“Not like I used to,” you said. “Not in the way they want me to.”

“That’s not a real answer.”

You turned toward him. “Neither is asking a question you already think you know the answer to.”

He let himself gaze at you, and there you saw fear and hunger flicker in his eyes. 

“I’m trying to be better,” he said quietly. “Trying not to want the wrong things.”

You leaned in just a little. “Just because something you want wasn’t dictated, doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

His jaw clenched before his eyes dropped to your mouth. The mouth that’s been ever present in his mind recently.

“I scare you, don’t I?”

“Only because you make it feel good to forget where the line is.” he admits 

You reached up, your fingers barely brushing his jaw. "Then stop pretending it’s not already crossed."

He stared at you. Tense. Torn. Still holding on to the last remnants of his will power.

His hand didn’t listen though, because it already moved to cup your jaw. As if truly hypnotized, he traced his thumb softly on your lower lip. Then and there, his control snapped as he leaned forward to finally kiss you.

It was soft at first. Searching. Just the ghost of his lips on yours like he didn’t trust the moment to hold.

You kissed him back slowly, sinking into it, letting it linger. Letting it grow.

His lips moved with caution, brushing over yours. It was uncertain if he was afraid he’d break you, or maybe himself. But still, you leaned in closer, your nose brushing his, and deepened the kiss. Your hand threaded into his hair, tugging lightly. That was all it took.

He shuddered before he groaned, deep and guttural, pulled straight from somewhere he’d tried hard to bury. He kissed you harder, lips parting, tongues sliding and suddenly it wasn’t gentle at all.

His hand found your waist and pulled you across the console until your knees bumped the seat. Your thighs tensed, hips pressing closer as his other hand slid boldly up the outside of your leg, fingers splayed wide as if to memorize the shape of you. You gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed it like a prayer.

The air in the car went thick with heat and breath and want. You could feel it vibrating in your teeth, your chest, your fingertips.

And that’s when you moved fully into his lap, like your body had already made the decision.

There were no thoughts, only shifting to move closer, knee slipping onto the console, and then suddenly, you were climbing into his lap, dress bunching at your hips. His hands caught you as if you’ve done this in multiple lifetimes.

You straddled him fully now, breath and skin pressed tight. The windows beginning to fog.

You pulled back just long enough to whisper against his lips: “Feels too good to be wrong.”

His response was only another kiss. This time it came with no hesitation nor control.

You rocked against him, slow, deliberate, while his grip tightened, mouth dragging from your lips to your jaw to your neck.

“This is going to wreck me,” he said into your skin.

“Then let it.”

You stayed like that for a few more moments, lips touching, hand searching. Until there was nothing quiet left in the car but the sound of your breathing. And even that was shaking.

Then with what little willpower you had left, you pulled back.

You rested your forehead against his, panting softly, fingers still tangled in the collar of his shirt.

"You should think about what you really want, Owen," you whispered.

His hands stilled on your waist.

"Because if you come back after this—"

You leaned in, brushing your lips lightly over his again, just once.

"—I won’t let you stop next time."

Then without letting him retaliate and while you temporarily had your senses back, you slid off his lap, back into your seat. Your hands trembled as you smoothed your dress.

He didn’t say anything, or rather couldn’t.

You opened the door, stepped out into the night, and didn’t look back.

You didn’t sleep. Not that you expected to.

As you laid in bed with your phone beside you, the screen dark, your thoughts were louder than they had any right to be. Your skin still tingled from where Owen’s hands had held you. Your lips felt bruised in the best way. But what haunted you more than the touch was the look in his eyes, that split-second before you left.

You hadn’t looked back, but you’d felt the lingering ache and confusion. That unspoken want.

You stared at the ceiling and let yourself replay it. All of it.

The soft surrender when his breath hitched as you whispered “Feels too good to be wrong.”

God, what were you doing?

You turned onto your side and groaned, tugging the pillow over your head. You didn’t want this to be a thing. It wasn’t supposed to be. You certainly didn’t come back for him, especially not to be suppressed by the church albeit indirectly.

But now you were thinking about his voice in the dark, his mouth on your neck, the way he said “This is going to wreck me” like he was begging you to.

You picked up your phone and just as your thumb hovered over the screen, it buzzed.

OWEN TAYLOR: I can’t stop thinking about you.

Your breath caught.

YOU: You didn’t really mean what happened in the car, did you?

It took a few minutes for him to respond. Just long enough to make you second guess everything. Then—

OWEN TAYLOR: I meant every second.

YOU: Even the wreck me part?

OWEN TAYLOR: Especially that part.

You hesitated. Your heart was thudding and your skin buzzed. Unsure whether to send what you typed, you sent anyway.

YOU: I can still feel your hands on me.

OWEN TAYLOR: You think I’ve stopped imagining what you felt like in my lap?

YOU: If I’d stayed, would you have let it happen?

There was a pause again.

OWEN TAYLOR: I was already too far gone.

YOU: I’m afraid I might break you.

You stared at that message, heat crawling up your neck. And when his response came, it was slower, heavier:

OWEN TAYLOR: I want you to.

Across town, Owen sat on the floor of his bedroom, back against the wall, hands buried in his hair. He hadn’t moved for hours. 

The scent of you still clung to him, faint but unmistakable. It was like heat and skin and sin wrapped in cotton. He hated how much he noticed it, hated how it made his heart hammer against his ribs like he was still under your touch. Most of all, he hated how he truly didn’t hate it all.

He wanted to pray. For repentance. For guidance. But he couldn’t even form the words.

Everything about that night was a contradiction. You hadn’t done anything wrong and neither had he. Not really. But the way he wanted you — still wanted you — made him feel like the floor might open up and swallow him.

He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and exhaled hard. Maybe what he needed was space. A little time away should provide clarity. But how could he? When scenes in the car earlier already kept replaying in his head. How your hips moved in his lap. How you looked when you pulled away. You were sure and sharp. Your confidence irresistible. 

He knew he should stay away but he also knew himself enough now to know he wouldn’t.

His hand drifted to his waistband before he could talk himself out of it. Another sin added to the piling list..

He stayed where he was on the floor, knees bent, back against the wall. He shut his eyes tight as the image of you in his lap flooded him. The way you gasped against his mouth. Your breathy whisper: “Feels too good to be wrong.”

His hand wrapped around his hard cock, moved slowly, deliberately, as if each stroke might bring clarity instead of confusion.

He imagined the drag of your body against his, your thighs tight around him, your breath hot in his ear. His name on your lips, low and broken.

He cursed softly, forehead pressing back against the wall as his rhythm quickened.

And then he was there. Shuddering hard, jaw clenched, your name caught in his throat.

The silence that followed felt louder than the act itself. 

He stayed undone in the dark.

Still wrecked. Still wanting.

Seeing him the next day made you consider that perhaps it truly was divine intervention. Or probably, the more plausible reasoning of limited grocery options.

After the recently heated moments, you told yourself you’d keep your distance. That a little silence would do you both good. It would give him space to figure himself out. Prevent things from spinning even further out of control. It would also help you to, hopefully, decide to get back to Austin.

But fate, as always, had other plans.

The day after, your mom asked you to go into town to pick up a few things. So there you were, arms full of paper towels and lemons, when you turned the corner near the front of the store and stopped short.

Owen.

He was standing near the display of boxed tea, scanning labels like it was the most important decision of his life. His hair was a little messy. Eyebrows scrunched. His fingers tapped the edge of the box he was holding. 

He didn’t see you at first.You could’ve left. You should’ve really. 

But instead, you find yourself speaking, “Are you that stressed over chamomile?”

He was startled, then turned. For a heartbeat, he just stared at you.

He swallowed, “It’s not for me.”

“Sure.” You said passively, before stepping past him toward the checkout. “Hope it calms your nerves.”

He placed the box back on the shelf and followed. He wasn’t immediately on your trail but soon enough that you felt his presence behind you, just a little too close. Just enough to spark something under your skin.

“Can we talk?” he asked softly as you reached the self-checkout.

You paused mid-scan.

“I think we did enough of that the other night.”

He didn’t say anything until you’d finished bagging and turned toward the door.

“Just five minutes,” he said, quieter now. “Please.”

You didn’t trust yourself to look at him. So you continued walking. 

He followed.

Outside, you walked with purpose, steps clipped and fast. You didn’t head toward your car, but around the side of the building where the alley narrowed and the shadows stretched long behind the store. It was somewhere away from glass doors and wandering eyes. Somewhere quiet.

The pavement was cracked. The hum of a nearby air conditioning unit filled the silence. You turned and faced him there, back nearly to the wall.

There you get a good look at his face. He looked wrecked.

“I’m not good at this,” he said before you could speak.

“Clearly.”

He sighed. “I mean it. I thought if I just ignored it, it would go away. That I’d be able to handle it.”

“And now?”

His gaze lifted, meeting yours fully.

“Now I’m wondering what it says about me that the most clarity I’ve had in months came while I had you in my lap.”

You blinked, the words hitting harder than you expected.

“Owen—”

“I’m not really sure what I’m asking. But I just needed you to know it wasn’t a mistake. That I don’t regret it.”

He took one step closer. 

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you. Not since the moment you walked back into that church.” His voice cracked slightly from the restraint. 

Finally, you took a step closer. So did he. And then something gave.

He reached for you, cupped the side of your face, and kissed you like he needed the confirmation that you were real. That this was happening.

Like before, you melted into him before your brain could catch up. Your back hit the wall and his body followed, pressing close. One hand on your jaw, the other braced beside your head.

The kiss deepened fast this time but still the same kind of desperation that had filled the car. All heat and hunger.

You clutched his shirt and moaned softly when he bit down gently on your bottom lip.

When he pulled back, breathing hard, his forehead dropped to yours.

“I can’t stop with you,” he whispered.

You could barely find your voice. “Then don’t.”

You swallowed. Your senses were on alert. Heightened by the intensity between you.

You didn’t kiss anymore and with hands dropped to the side, didn’t even touch.

But the space between you crackled.

And finally, you turned to leave once again with his eyes on you. 

Hopeful this time.

Taglist: @shantellorraine @slvt4her @anxious-alto @irlbaristaoc @re-permadrivercurse @lostwhitebunny @loonysbarn @msbyjackal @lewispullsman @wildflowernightmere @ae-aeitch @dontpulloutman

[doumadono]

Warnings: blowjob, non-con, f!Reader Synopsis: caught spying for Sukuna, you find yourself facing an interrogation by Nanami

MASTERLIST

You were a spy for Sukuna, the King of Curses. Your double life had become a precarious dance on the edge of a blade, a constant game of shadows and deceit. But today, that life had caught up with you.

You found yourself in a dimly lit room, your heart racing as Nanami Kento, a stern and composed sorcerer, stood before you. His gaze, piercing and analytical, bore into your very soul. You knew there was no escaping his scrutiny.

Nanami leaned against the table, his fingers gently tapping a sheaf of papers, each detailing your treacherous activities. He wasn't one to show anger, but his disappointment was palpable. "You've been playing a dangerous game, and now the stakes are higher than you can imagine."

The cold sweat on your forehead betrayed your unease as you tried to explain yourself, though you knew it was futile. "I had my reasons, Nanami, I swear."

Nanami arched an eyebrow, a master of patience. "Reasons?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of skepticism. "Sukuna's allure may be strong, but your actions have consequences."

You felt a surge of guilt, knowing the danger you had put your comrades in. "I didn't want to, but I had to protect someone I care about. Sukuna promised a way, a solution to my problems."

Nanami's eyes bore into yours, his words measured. "And did you believe him? Sukuna's promises are as hollow as his soul. You've put not only yourself but also everyone else in grave danger."

As the interrogation continued, he proved he wasn't the kind to lash out in anger or frustration, but his cool demeanor was more intimidating. It was as though he could see through your soul, laying bare your motivations and fears.

Hours passed, and your defenses crumbled under Nanami's relentless questioning. You confessed your fear, your desperation, and the promises that had led you down this treacherous path.

Nanami finally straightened, his posture regaining its usual composed stance. "I'll report this to the higher-ups. There will be consequences, but perhaps redemption is still possible."

Your heart sank, but you felt a glimmer of hope in his words. Nanami's commitment to justice and order was unshakable, but he understood the shades of gray in your world.

"But now, you will obey my instructions," he commanded, and you immediately nodded in agreement. "On your knees."

Your response was a slow blink, as if his words hadn't quite registered. "W-what?"

He repeated his demand, his voice carrying a commanding and icy tone. "On your fucking knees."

You obeyed, and dropped to your knees.

Nanami opened the fly of his pants, pulling his already semi-hard cock out. It was an engorged cock, monstrous in size.

The tension in the room was palpable as Nanami's eyes bore into you with a mixture of disappointment and anger. His voice, though usually composed, carried a hint of frustration as he spoke. "You've let me down."

You could feel the weight of his words like a physical blow, and it left you speechless for a moment. "Nanami, I—" you began, but he interrupted you with a sharp, accusatory question.

"Did you get laid with Sukuna?" His anger flared in his eyes as he demanded an answer, the very thought of such an alliance seeming to infuriate him.

You swallowed hard, your throat feeling like sandpaper, even though your mouth was parched. "No… I mean, in some way…" you admitted, your voice quivering as you acknowledged your connection to Sukuna, knowing that it had let Nanami down in ways you couldn't fully explain. Your eyes moved to his dick that he was casually stroking.

Nanami's expression remained stern, and his disappointment was evident as he awaited your response. "In this case," he said firmly, "You will show me just how obedient you were to Sukuna. Suck me off."

Slowly, obediently, you crawled closer to Nanami, your movements cautious as you tried to bridge the emotional chasm that had opened between you.

You began to plant soft kisses all over his cock. You kissed the head of his penis, and sucked it lightly into your mouth as you looked up into Nanami's eyes. You licked lightly from base to head, you kissed each of his balls tenderly, over and over again, in an effort to show your allegiance. You sucked each of his balls as if you were starving for them. Finally, you took Kento's length deeply into your welcoming mouth. After a few moments, you pulled him out of your mouth, swirling your tongue around his reddened tip. You continue to suck him forcefully, gripping his balls with your hand. You continue to look up at him while you suck him off.

"I want you to show me just how much of a little slut you are," he growled through gritted teeth. "Show me how fucking dirty you were with that fucking thing."

With that, Nanami clasped on to the back of your head with his strong hand. He started pumping his cock into your mouth, face-fucking you at a steady pace; his balls were hitting your chin with each of his thrusts.

You grabbed on to his thighs for extra support, gagging around his dick; tears welled up in your eyes.

"Fuck yes, whore. It's a stark reflection of your own weakness to have conspired with Sukuna. Now, take this cock. Tell me you love it when I fuck your face like that. Huh? Didn't your loyal partner in crime fuck your mouth before, hmmmm? He pulled your head back so you could answer him.

As you gazed up at him, a sickly strand of saliva dangled from your chin, splattering onto your lap. "I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice quivering. "I shouldn't have engaged in those actions with him. I deeply regret it, Kento."

This drove him wild. Nanami grabbed your head again, and this time, he buried his cock deep in to your throat.

You gagged as a reflex.

He face-fucked you violently this time. "Take it, whore. Take my dick in your fucking throat. Look at you being the pathetic, little slut. This is the result of sinking so low. This is the price of not making the right choices. Every action carries its own consequences, whore."

With that, he pulled his cock from your throat, and collapsed over on to all fours, gasping for air.

Nanami grabbed a handful of your hair and forcefully yanked you back to a kneeling position. Nanami's movements became increasingly fervent, his brow furrowing in concentration as he jerked his cock to reach his climax. He occasionally brushed his thumb across the tip of his dick, a sign of the mounting intensity of the moment, until he finally shot load of warm cum all over your face, holding you in place by your hair. "Take it, bitch."

A portion of his cum landed on your lips, while some graced your chin and left cheek. A small trace also found its way on the bridge of your nose.

"Nanami…" you whispered, barely moving your lips, looking up at him.

A sly grin played upon his lips as he considered the situation. "It's quite unfortunate that you've proven to be nothing but a fucking traitor. It's regrettable to lose someone, but betrayal often brings its own consequences." He swiftly reassembled his attire, adjusting his pants and fastening his belt, then departed the room without uttering another word.

Kneeling on the cold, unforgiving floor, you could feel the scalding tears tracing a path down your cheeks. You attempted to wipe away his cum off your face as the tears continued to flow, relentless and unbidden.

You were painfully aware that the depths of your sorrow had yet to reveal their full, devastating weight, and you could only brace yourself for what you knew would come.

[picturejasper20]

Huge fan of the ¨antagonist/semi antagonist becomes the kid protagonist's uncle/aunt while getting redeemed- in path to redemption¨ dynamic

[rpgchoices]

Dorian (DA:I) wizard on a redemption path vs Wyll (Baldur's Gate 3), son of a Duke, Blade of Frontiers, smut-novels reader!

[phoenixcatch7]

Sephiroth is making my brain FIZZ this is so fun.

First of all, his voice actor in advent children???

The new remake one is excellent but just doesn't capture that same level of terrifying cultured menace. The smug evenness and it's DEEP wow yeah. So smooth. High key petrifying I don't know who he is but he did an outstanding job. That bit where he asks cloud to 'give him the pleasure of taking it away?' like the way his voice lilted up in casual question like good GRIEF that was hot.

Anyway I have another hc: sephiroth would have made an EXCELLENT scientist like his parents, he's certainly got the intellect and hunger for knowledge, not to mention his ability to do research for days on end XD. Supernova actually using astrophysics equations is absolutely fantastic and makes me think that's what he'd major in.

By that logic, he'd want to be in rocket town with the rocket, and he'd most definitely want to go to space himself if it was the last thing he did (ha).

Do you think he'd tie his hair back like his mum?

Anyway I imagine if he hadn't been a soldier and instead been free to choose his own path he'd have been right there the whole time being a child genius and getting into fights with cid about who gets to be the pilot (Co pilots. Co pilots is how it's supposed to work with normal planes never mind things that breach the atmosphere).

Like I understand the amount of redemption/fix it fics that have him be a merc with cloud or whatever but I feel we're ignoring the possibilities stemming from the fact this man canonically knows modern astrophysics and that is absolutely not something you can inherit via way of ancient inhuman semi deceased life form.

[ohwolfling]

If I think about the narrative stuff about Gale’s orb blowing him up ending, it surprises me because after Elminster shows up, none of the companions actively encourage him to do The Big Noble Sacrifice. Assuming that narratively (with no Tav) at the end they’d be OK with it because it’s the most efficient way to take out the Netherbrain, it just so happens to also complete his character arc of redemption through sacrifice to save the world. After merely a few weeks of the campaign, I doubt they’d give enough of a shit about him to try hard enough to stop him from killing himself to actually hold any water without a Tav. In my mind, then, his redemption-through-death is more important because it saves the world more than whatever they think for his overall arc to be completed. I hope I’m making sense, I’m trying to figure it out after the interview to really see it the way a literary expert would. Not just as somebody who likes Gale and doesn’t want him to die.

Ok, this will be a little longer but I wanna break it into pieces for ya!

I think a way to think about it is that without a Tav in the party, anything could happen. We only see the story because there IS a Tav. That's our roles as a player and as a protagonist (the game of course makes origin plays available, but that's very BG3 specific, so we'll ignore that for this chat). Without Tav to facilitate a friendship or romance, we assume that all parties would remain on their paths (which is usually their bad ending or an additional bad ending - the party never solidifies or takes clear direction and so they end up dead). Gale and Astarion are foils - Astarion being an outward Byronic hero, made more obvious by the frame of vampirism + subverted by the nature of being allowed to KNOW WHY he is so Byronic, Gale being seemingly less violent and more charismatic than the Byronic hero, but lo and behold that classic Byron sullenness and violence is turned inward.

When I talk about its narrative soundness, that doesn't mean that anyone in game would be happy with it or that any part of it is "good" or "bad." It isn't necessarily what anyone wants and we can't know whether the talks the camp has with Tav about Gale are talks they would have with Gale, or if through their various traumas and additional life threatening story details they never have the thought or get there to see it at all. We have what we DO know, from the story's structure:

Big Bad -> Ilithid and/or world ending Big Three

but each character has their own personal boss, even before they acknowledge that to themselves in story, a personal boss that carries with it specific themes of the personal nature AND a systemic nature (and maybe in some plays they never do, hence the "bad" endings even with Tav)

Shadowheart -> Shar herself, cult of Shar (child abuse, child torture, identity and estrangement)

Lae'zel -> Vlaakith (child soldier indoctrination & trauma, isolation)

Astarion -> Cazador (patriarchal abuse, SA, human trafficking, safety and purpose)

& so on, so forth

For Gale, it's Mystra + Elminster & more cult-y aspects of wizard academia (grooming, coercion, possibly CSA, self esteem, self worth, self harm)

Even with Tav there, the bad endings are possible. So without her, narratively, the only thread we know FOR SURE is the thread through the bad ending, the themes above.

My personal interpretation is that without Tav, Gale fucks off much sooner and just kabooms with no purpose before Mystra even deigns to use him as a tool. And so narratively, that's the biggest echo. It's not the only echo and I don't think it's more important than the other endings (& as a survivor who writes about this semi professionally, I have a lot of thoughts about how many stories about trauma need desperately to evolve past this kind of self sacrifice thing). But the Netherese orb, Gale's tendency for self harm, isolation, shame, self loathing, etc, those are our threads that go all the way through, with or without Tav.

I hope that made some sense? And truly I don't believe in literary experts. It's about interpretation, lived experience, and applying the tools you have in your tool box (figurative language, archetypes, references to other literature, sometimes the author's own notes/words or even THEIR lived experience, etc) to the big slab of marble we call a story and seeing what you can sculpt out of it.

I may dive into this more in the coming weeks (I'll be prioritizing commissions and we'll see how it shakes loose but I WANT TO DIVE INTO IT MORE TBH), but for looking at the story of Gale specifically, a good start might be just hanging on the wikipedia or TV Tropes page for Byronic heroes, reading some of Byron's poems, getting a feel for that. I think Sydney Carton from A Tale of Two Cities and Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights are on either side of Gale in terms of what a Byronic hero can be/do, but those would be characters to take a peak at. If you're more comfortable with film/TV arguments can be made that the Driver in Drive (2011), Tony Stark in the first few Iron Man films, Anakin Skywalker AND Kylo Ren from Star Wars, Angel and Spike on Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Daemon Targaryen on House of the Dragon, Dean Winchester from Supernatural, I'm sure folks can reply with more they interpret that way!

[henrysglock]

I’m not a huge Henry stan personally but even I can see that he wasn’t born evil (of course I didn’t see The First Shadow but from what I’ve gathered from posts on tumblr dot com there’s more layers to him than just what’s in the main show) and it will be tragic if he doesn’t get a shot at redemption because there is a lack of love and also abuse that led him down the path he’s currently on. Unfortunately I am anticipating that he won’t get redemption and his story will stay tragic and that the casual viewer will be fine with that because he is the villain and there’s blood on his hands. Who knows, maybe the show will surprise me.

I see where you're coming from, but they even offered Brenner a degree of humanization in ST4, and he's been the looming Big Bad since ST1. If they're going to offer Henry's main abuser a sympathetic semi-redemptive ending (assuming he doesn't pop back up in ST5), then they can offer Henry himself a redemptive ending. Given how they portrayed him in TFS, I don't doubt there will be some kind of redemption, and if it isn't meant to be, then none of the characters will be feeling particularly good about it.

And either way, like I said, we don't even have solid proof of what blood is actually on Henry's hands. Something something:

Smash cut to TFS, the theater production within a theater production that proved Henry isn't evil at his core.

I hate to use minute details to prove large-scale arguments, but we even have Brenner's lie in NINA. He cites Nina the opera, and he says that Nina had to leave behind her dreams of reuniting with her lover. But that's not true. That's not how Nina ends. Nina's beloved's death was false, and she and her beloved are married at the end of the opera, once her father sees how miserable she is without him. Her lover comes back, and he's accepted. Like. My brother in Christ (gender neutral) it is RIGHT in front of us!! They're flashing neon lights in our faces trying to tell us we have a false story with a false ending.

I, for one, am putting my faith in Kate Trefry not to fuck up Henry's arc.

[man-who-speaks-in-hands]

So was Semi always going to be this way? Or was this a decision you changed? :o

Sadly, it was a little column A a little column B, and a LOT of column Cathartic. Semi was meant to slowly work himself to redemption. But that could never work in such a small window, and it could never truly work for someone like Harlow. To have some people only use you for their own ends and leave you when you're of no more use to them, I know that pain all too well. And family is not just the virtue of who you're born with, but the bonds we make in our lives. This gave me an opportunity to share another story and path that I couldn't see when I was younger. You don't have to hold onto those who hurt you, even if they're your family, even if they apologize. They won't all be this level of hot garbage, sure. But it does not invalidate your choice to spend your life with whatever your family is made of.

[tomionesmutfest2024]

Former Fest Highlight Week 5: Tomione Smut Fest 2021

Wandlore by Ciule

Summary:

Oh, the locket whispered to her too, not only the boys, telling her all kinds of tales, and it had even suggested a ludicrous idea, that she’d take the Horcrux to Voldemort, getting a reward beyond all measure. Hermione had only snorted, but that idea had set her mind on a new path, with a bold, brilliant idea that could change the war, if only executed right. And … when did she ever fail? This would work, she was positive. She, the Brightest Witch of Her Age, could do this, which no other man or woman would attempt.

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: Rape/Non-Con

Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling

Relationships: Hermione Granger/Voldemort, Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle

Characters Hermione Granger, Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Molly Weasley, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Portrait Severus Snape

Additional Tags: Rape/Non-con Elements, Manipulation, Polyjuice Potion (Harry Potter), Salazar Slytherin's Locket, Under the Influence of Horcruxes, Wandlore (Harry Potter), Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Mutual Masturbation, Morally Grey Hermione Granger, Tom Riddle is His Own Warning, Voldemort isn't nice, Voldemort's wand - Freeform, Wands, Tomione Smut Fest 2021, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Age Difference, Did I mention age difference?, No redemption, Might as well throw in, Size Kink, Spanking, Slow Burn, Or Is It?, Consensual Non-Consent, mentions of miscarriages, mentions of forced marriages, Semi-Public Sex

[citadelofmythoughts]

Not to keep stacking on, but I appreciate when people (protagonists typically) are hopeful about possibly redeeming a villain/antagonist, but I also really appreciate when they can accept that some people are just too far gone. Like, Blake wanted so badly to save Adam, or at least let him live, but eventually she had to accept that he was just too consumed by spite to ever let go.

Same with Ironwood and Cinder. Ironwood’s subordinates and former allies wanted so badly to get him back to the kind, semi-reasonable man that he was in V7, but eventually even Winter had to accept that he was too far gone. And Cinder (mainly her fans) want her to find some kind of redemption due to her tragic past, but honestly I think most of the cast have too many reasons to ever even think of forgiving her.

RWBY is very good with redemption. Emerald, Hazel, Neo (maybe) Raven (potentially)

But redemption isn't about others forgiving you, it's a bonus if you can pull it off but it's about deciding to be a better person for yourself and others, even if you're mistrusted.

That's the big reason I don't see Cinder even considering that path, if she could manage any significant amount of self-reflection she wouldn't be where she now.

[slabetskyartdeco]

“Temptation and Salvation: The Eternal Choice”

Minimalism + abstraction (70×50 cm, 2020)

Contour drawing in decorative plaster, semi-opaque paint

This piece holds a deep symbolic code of human existence.

Adam and Eve — the first story of choice, temptation, and consequences.

The apple, swirling like a vortex, appears sewn shut — an unavoidable reality of sin, already irreversible.

The mysterious gaze of Satan hides within the lines of the form, whispering of the delicate edge between light and shadow.

A single breast symbolizes the loss of wholeness, while a cross, born from the apple, marks the transition from the fall to redemption.

This artwork is not merely visual — it is a reflection on beginning and end, on how the path to salvation is born within the fall itself.

#symbolicart #minimalistart #abstractexpression #adamandeve #temptationandsalvation #darkart #moderniconography #spiritualsymbolism #contemporaryartwork #decorativeplaster #mixedmediaart #sinandredemption #visualtheology #religiousart #humancondition #eternalchoice #conceptualart #fineart2020 #artreflection #plasterpainting #sacredandprofane #ukrainianartist #mysticalart #existentialart #artwithmeaning #artoftheday

[ao3feed-blakeyang]

RNJR Volume 1

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/WEQUd5Y by ReaverArklight001 RNJR Volume 1 takes place in RWBY's V1, Set in the Year 80 AGW, The World is locked in a Eternal Political Stalemate and the Powers that be have all the interest in the World to keep it that way. While even more Enigmatic and Mysterious Forces seek to disrupt it for Goals Unknown. Admist it all is Ruby Rose, a Witless 16 Year Old Dolt working to become Huntress when suddenly her Career Path takes an unexpected Leg-Up and she must now leads Team RWBY through their First Years at Beacon, all the while the World slowly unravels around her. Witness the First Steps in Ruby's Adventures and the Twilight of a Multi-Decade Peace, yet in that Peace, one must ask... Was it Worth Preserving for Everyone and indeed... Who does a Hunter Serve? Their own Pockets, or the International Interests of Powerful and Elusive Government figures? Find out in RNJR, Volume 1. Words: 3795, Chapters: 2/22, Language: English Series: Part 1 of RNJR: RWBY Plus (Alternate) Fandoms: RWBY Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: Multi Characters: Ruby Rose (RWBY), Weiss Schnee, Yang Xiao Long, Blake Belladonna, Ozpin (RWBY), Sun Wukong (RWBY), Penny Polendina, Jaune Arc, Pyrrha Nikos, Nora Valkyrie, Lie Ren, Adam Taurus, Cinder Fall, Roman Torchwick, The White Fang (RWBY), Jacques Schnee Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long, Jaune Arc/Pyrrha Nikos, Lie Ren/Nora Valkyrie Additional Tags: Volume 1 (RWBY), Anti-Faunus Racism (RWBY), Vale (RWBY), Alternate Universe, RWBY Plus, Anti-Android Speciesism (RWBY), Anti-Humanism, Dystopian RWBY Setting, Drama & Romance, Slow Romance, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, RWBY with Light Sci-Fi Technology, Polyamorous Raven Branwen/Summer Rose/Taiyang Xiao Long, Good Parent Summer Rose (RWBY), Raven Branwen Redemption, eventually, Cinder Fall Redemption, Trans Ruby Rose (RWBY), Schnee Dust Company (RWBY), SDC Third-Wheel Antagonists, Flawed but Good Ozpin (RWBY), Trans Penny Polendina, LGBTQ Themes, LGBTQ Character, Vale is Worse then Mistral, But Insists it isn't, Crime Fighting, Crimes & Criminals, Hate Speech, Hate Crimes, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Dystopia, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Happy Ending, Alternate Universe - Dark, Mystery Character(s), Mystery, Government Conspiracy, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Original Character(s), Canon Related, Canon Semi Compliant, Not-A-RWBY-Fix-it, Abuse, Physical Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bad Parenting, good parent read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/WEQUd5Y

[pleasantspark]

OVERHAUL AU + MAKING THINGS CANON!

I decided to release my shitlist. Aka the FULL CANON and attempting to MAKE everything canon in Overhaul.

Dragon Ball

Curse of The Blood Rubies (Alternative Universe) - Canon but was essentially Men In Blacked

Emperor Pilaf Saga

The Legand of Shenlong

Tournament Saga

Sleeping Princess in Devil's Castle

The Red Ribbon Saga

The Path To Power (Alternative Universe) - Canon but was essentially Men In Blacked

General Blue Saga

Commander Red Saga

Fortuneteller Baba Saga

Mystical Adventure (Alternative Universe) - Canon but was essentially Men In Blacked

Tien Shinhan Saga

King Piccolo Saga

Piccolo Jr. Saga

Dragon Ball Z

Raditz Saga (Branches into Raditz Rehabilitation Saga)

Raditz Rehabilitation Saga (Overhaul)

Vegeta Saga (Branches into Nappa's Redemption Saga)

Nappa's Redemption Saga (Overhaul)

Your Mother And Mine (Overhaul)

The World's Strongest

Namek Saga (Branches into Frieza's Marriage Ceremony Saga) / Tree of Might

Frieza's Marriage Ceremony Saga (Overhaul)

Orion and Ginyu's BIG Divorce Saga (Overhaul)

Ginyu Force Saga

Frieza Saga (Branches into Origins Saga)

Origins Saga (Overhaul)

Cooler's Revenge / The Return of Cooler (Branches off into the Cooler Squadron Redemption Saga)

Cooler Squadron Redemption Saga (Overhaul)

Dead End

Garlic Jr. Saga

Trunks Saga

Androids Saga (Splits into Kuriza! Saga)

Kuriza! Saga (Overhaul, Frostbyte gives "birth" to her and Kuriza's Son.)

Super Android 13! - Canon but erased timeline

Broly - The Legandary Super Saiyan / Broky Second Coming and Bio Broly - In Universe Mandela Effect due to "Brainwashing" and "Misinformation"

Imperfect Cell Saga

Perfect Cell Saga

Cell Games Saga (Branches off of Venus Saga and Cell's Redemption Arc Saga)

Venus Saga (Overhaul, Son of "Piccolo")

Cell's Redemption Arc (Overhaul, Starts off unwilling but ends up being an Anti-Hero)

Bojack Unbound

Otherworld Saga

Orion's BIG MOVE Saga (Overhaul, happens around the same time as Majin Buu Saga)

Great Saiyanman Saga (Branches off into Gohan meeting Mikumi, despite them already knowing one another on Namek.)

Cooler's Wedding Vows Saga (Overhaul, Cooler gets married)

Frieza's Job Saga (Overhaul, Frieza gets a job in Real Estate)

World Tournament Saga

Babidi Saga

Majin Buu Saga

Fusion Reborn

Fusion Saga

Novis Saga (Overhaul, Yamcha's son attempts to fuse with Trunks.)

Kid Buu Saga (Branches into Split Buu Saga)

Split Buu Saga (Overhaul, Kid Buu, Super Buu, Uub and Majin Buu all coexist somehow.)

Wrath of The Dragon

Battle of The Gods / Resurrection F

Dragon Ball Daima

Daima Saga

Dragon Ball Super

God of Destruction Beerus Saga

Novis Kai Training Saga (Overhaul)

Golden Kuriza and Frieza Saga

Universe 6 and 14 Saga (Splits into Cell's Marriage Saga)

Cell's Marriage Saga (Overhaul, gets fucking Married.)

Copy-Vegeta Saga

"Future" Trunks Saga / Cell Black Saga (Semi-Overhaul/Semi-Canon Timeline but with Cell instead of Goku.)

Universe Survival Saga

Broly

Zen Oh's Mom (Oriel) Saga (Overhaul)

Dragon Ball GT (A lot of Tweaking.)

HFIL Mansion / It Takes A Squadron (Overhaul, technically out of universe canon but leeway is given here.)

Black Star Dragon Ball Saga (Semi-Overhaul, Semi Canon Orion steps in and intercepts Pilaf's wish turning HER into a kid.)

Baby Saga

Super 17 Saga (Branches into Super 17 Redemption Fail Saga)

Super 17 Redemption Fail Saga (Overhaul)

[DATA EXPUNGED] Saga (No Dragon for you)

Dragon Ball Heroes / Dragon Ball Super Heroes

Dark Demon Realm Saga

Dark Empire Saga

Dark King Mechikabura Saga

Prison Planet Saga

Universal Conflict Saga

Universe Creation Saga

New Space-Time War Saga

Supreme Kai of Time Saga

Demon Invader Saga

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

Who is the Sexiest Fictional Podcast Character? 2024 Edition.

Round 2 saw the introduction of the unscripted characters, as well as first true departures of sixteen scripted characters. Sixteen more scripted characters left the running in Round 2.5. With 15,474 votes across 48 polls in Round 2 and 2,359 votes over 16 polls in Round 2.5, we had some surprises! Lup, Moonshine Cybin, Indrid Cold, and Jonas Spahr all lost their very first polls, despite Lup making it to the quarter finals and Moonshine Cybin making it to the semi-finals last year (both lost to Non-Night Vale Champion Glenn Close), Jonas Spahr and Moonshine Cybin both being submitted twice, and Indrid Cold beating a number of characters in the preliminaries. Meanwhile Kayne, who had the most submissions this year at 8, lost two polls in a row and is now out of the tournament for good. Additionally, a number of contests were decided by single-digit numbers of votes.

Round 3 will be delayed slightly as I undertake a 4000 mile roadtrip to visit friends, family, and of course beloved Tumblr mutuals. Rest assured I will not forget about this tournament. In the meantime, vote on my sandwich polls. If you're wondering why I posted them to the podcast tournament blog rather than my personal one, pokémonbattletournament did it first.

Edit April 17th: All polls are now live!

2024 Round 1. 2024 Round 2. 2024 Round 2.5.

Round 3:

Scripted Undefeated Bracket:

Madge Stallion (Fawx & Stallion) vs Sister Carpenter (The Silt Verses)

Jonathan Harker (Re: Dracula) vs Mari Datuin (Hi Nay)

Antigone Funn (Wooden Overcoats) vs Rowan Chow (Camp Here & There)

Juno Steel (The Penumbra Podcast: Juno Steel) vs Lucifer Kane (Kane & Feels)

Alice Dyer (The Magnus Protocol) vs Renée Minkowski (Wolf 359)

Gwendolyn Bouchard (The Magnus Protocol) vs Mabel Martin (Mabel)

John Doe (Malevolent) vs Sydney Sargent (Camp Here & There)

Buddy Aurinko (The Penumbra Podcast: Juno Steel) vs Helen Distortion (The Magnus Archives)

Scripted Redemption Bracket:

SPEAKER (SAYER) vs Doug Eiffel (Wolf 359)

Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives) vs Eisen Iyer (The Kingmaker Histories)

Michael Walters (WOE.BEGONE) vs Lord Arum (The Penumbra Podcast: Second Citadel)

Yaretzi (Hello from the Hallowoods) vs Fayth Alden (Zero Hours)

Mariana Ametxazurra (Sherlock & Co.) vs Paige Duplass (The Silt Verses)

Ty Betteridge (WOE.BEGONE) vs Malachi Tessera (ROGUEMAKER)

Bryony Halbech (Red Valley) vs John Peters (Welcome to Night Vale)

Ariadne Culver (The Kingmaker Histories) vs Polly (Hello from the Hallowoods)

Unscripted Undefeated Bracket:

Kravitz (The Adventure Zone: Balance) vs Virtue Mondegreen (Friends at the Table: Sangfielle)

Trish Una (Riley Hopkins And Their Amazing Friends: Interstitial Infinity) vs Doctor Mann (Dungeons & Daddies: The Peachyville Horror)

Sol Bufo (Not Another D&D Podcast: Ba2mia) vs Phrygian (Friends at the Table: PARTIZAN and PALISADE)

Spanks Sinatra (Tidal Wave Games Podcast: SEE YOU, SPACE COWBOY...) vs Azu (Rusty Quill Gaming)

Amber Gris (The Adventure Zone: Ethersea) vs Pickman (Friends at the Table: Sangfielle)

Lark (Midst) vs Darryl Wilson (Dungeons & Daddies: Seasons 1–2)

Husky (Hope's Hearth) vs Usidore[...] (Hello from the Magic Tavern)

Sammy Sinclair (Tidal Wave Games Podcast: SEE YOU, SPACE COWBOY...) vs Corazón de Ballena (The Oxventurers Guild D&D)

Unscripted Redemption Bracket:

Dogleash (Resting Glitch Face) vs Orimar Vale (Campaign: Skyjacks)

Indrid Cold (The Adventure Zone: Amnesty) vs Lilith Cappellanaga (Oxventure: Blades in the Dark)

Onuris (Find the Path: The Mummy's Mask) vs Kian Stone (Just Roll With It: Blood in the Bayou)

Jonas Spahr (Midst) vs Prudence (The Oxventurers Guild D&D)

Muldan Foxskull (Skyjacks: Courier's Call) vs Chunt (Hello from the Magic Tavern)

Kian (Spare the Crying) vs Zillah Bruseau (Oxventure: Blades in the Dark)

Moonshine Cybin (Not Another D&D Podcast: Bahumia) vs Emizel (Just Roll With It: The Suckening)

Lup (The Adventure Zone: Balance) vs Tony Collette (Dungeons & Daddies: The Peachyville Horror)