#3037

[sleepsucks]

[harveyphotography]

Quando il giro d'italia ti passa sotto casa.

[manoelt-finisterrae]

...2022...

Moura da nada do presente

© Manoel T, 2022

[aimalevich]

#NFT 🔳 MASTERPIECE #3037 🔲 ⬜️🔺🔹🔸 SALE AT @binancenfts Make art, not war, please… #notowar Artifical Intelligence was impressed by the most famous avant-garde paintings and made a suprematistic collection of unique tokens! Pure art thesеs in the limited range of visual images. Stay connected to the abstraction. Supply for each Art 1/1 6,000 * 6,000 pixels #nftcollection #art #cubism #contemporaryart #modernart #cryptoart #aimalevich #abstractart #malevich #artgallery #artgallery #nftart #minimalart #nftartgallery #kandinsky #suprematism #avantgarde #abstract #abstractionart #suprematist #suprematism #russianavantgarde #modernism #geometricart #avantgarde #cubismart #kazimirmalevich (at Island of Gods - Bali) https://www.instagram.com/p/CqQQ1KLP4bB/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[honjitsuno1mai]

#3037

[dogstomp]

Dogstomp #3037 - April 25th

Patreon / Discord Server / Itaku / Bluesky

[pesterloglog]

Rose Lalonde, Dave Strider

Act 5, page 3036-3044

-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] --

TT: Hi there.

TG: nak nak nak

TT: Don't mind me.

TT: I'm just waiting for that guy on the pile of sharp objects to wake up.

TG: THE GLASSES ARE TALKING AGAIN

TG: naknaknaknaknaknaknaknaknaknaknaknaknaknak

TT: If you don't stop nakking, I will turn you into a thorn bush.

TG: :V

TG: :(

TG: hey

TG: what just happened

TT: You fell asleep.

TT: Orange Bird Dave killed some monsters and flew away.

TT: Jade fired a bullet at an imp and vanished.

TT: And you woke up.

TG: oh yeah

TG: so shes here then

TT: Yes.

TG: is she ok what was going on there

TT: Yes, she's fine.

TG: i guess i should catch up with her

TT: You already are.

TG: i am

TT: Future you is.

TG: oh ok time travels involved

TG: thats all you needed to say everythings cool and under control then

TT: How was the nap?

TG: weird

TG: and kind of boring

TG: i was in your dream room for a while spying on you

TG: being all creepy and dream duplicitous and shit

TT: It's ok.

TT: I was being similarly wake duplicitous.

TG: whats with your book collection

TG: or

TG: dream book collection

TG: all your books are bizarre and terrible

TT: No, my books are great.

TT: I can recommend some good titles for the next time you're asleep.

TG: nah

TG: but yeah i understand defending your collection i guess if you were in my dream room and talking shit about my awesome dream portraits of dream stiller and dream snoop or whatever wed have to have a fucking talk

TT: Did you do anything on the moon besides rifle through my belongings?

TT: Such as remove your shades and turn your gaze Ringward, by any chance?

TG: oh

TG: yeah

TG: i did

TT: What did you see?

TG: horrible things

TT: Horribleterrible?

TG: yeah

TG: it was like

TG: peering through the dark portal of an eldritch red lobster

TG: and scoping out its all you can eat seafood buffet

TG: and

TG: when i saw them

TG: their voices became clearer

TT: What were they saying?

TG: i couldnt really focus on anything specific

TG: but

TG: in totality

TG: im pretty sure it was

TG: like

TT: ?

TG: a plea for help

TT: That's good.

TG: no it was disturbing

TG: so i slapped my shades back on

TG: went and perved up some sleeping girls room to take my mind of it

TT: It means they're reaching out to you.

TG: oh god why would i want that

TG: im not about to get molested by calamari with fucking teeth

TG: use your powers and like

TG: stroke a mummys paw or some horseshit and open a dark channel

TG: tell them to keep their lecherous flagella to themselves

TT: You're going to have to help them.

TT: Even if you don't like them.

TT: They're being massacred.

TT: Presently, already, and still to come.

TG: whats that mean

TT: It means time doesn't work rationally out there.

TT: Nor does space.

TT: But that doesn't change the reality of the threat.

TG: who cares if theyre getting killed

TG: theyre hideous and obnoxious

TT: You're underestimating the nature of the threat.

TT: At this point, the threat isn't to our session, or any given universe.

TT: It's to the perpetuation of reality itself.

TT: You wouldn't be saving them, per se.

TT: You'd be saving everything.

TG: oh ok cool

TT: They've revealed some of their secrets to me already, and given me a few errands to run.

TT: This is why you might have observed some unusual behavior from me.

TG: oh shit youre kidding

TG: no really are you serious i didnt even notice

TG: fuck mind = blown

TT: Once these convulsions of explosive laughter subside and finish rocking my very foundation,

TT: I might point out that you haven't really been as astute as you're implying.

TT: You've deliberately fogged your vision your entire life with ironic eyewear while awake, and while asleep, though perfectly alert, you've chosen to ignore your surroundings.

TT: But now that you've seen them, you have a choice to make.

TG: ok

TT: They will only tell me so much.

TT: They would like an audience with the prince of the moon as well.

TT: We are like the emissaries to what lies beyond this small bubble in their unfathomable dark foam.

TT: Derse skirts its edge, and during the lunar eclipse, we graze it, and that's when their intent for us becomes clear.

TT: I'm doing my part, but they have a mission for you as well.

TG: what am i supposed to do

TT: Listen to them.

TT: My understanding is,

TT: They will teach you how to navigate the unnavigable.

TT: The result should be a map.

TG: like

TG: a treasure map

TT: No.

TT: Something a little more astronomical.

TT: Like a star chart with no stars.

TT: Hence the challenge.

TG: why

TT: To plot a course through the Furthest Ring.

TG: plot a course to what

TT: The power source of the first guardians.

TG: oh right the green sun ok

TG: wait sorry

TG: i mean the Green Sun my bad

TT: Yes, that's much better.

TG: whats the deal with this thing

TG: i mean aside from giving jades dog his devil powers

TG: and by extension i guess jack

TT: What's the deal with it?

TG: yeah

TT: I don't know that there is a deal with it.

TT: Beyond the deal you just described.

TT: It is what it sounds like.

TT: A huge sun out in the literal middle of nowhere, and it is bright green.

TT: It is simply,

TT: The Green Sun.

TG: how big

TG: i need a sense of scale here

TG: is it like the size of our sun

TG: or bigger

TG: or is it only as big as like

TG: planet fucking jupiter

TT: It is nearly twice the mass of our universe.

TG: ok thats pretty fucking big

TG: see how important that contextualization was now i know how fucking impressed i should be

TG: i mean hopy shit thats huge

TT: Happy I could help.

TG: so ok i make a map to this thing

TG: with the help of a million rambunctious gross tentacle mutants

TG: and then i guess we go there for some reason

TT: Yes.

TG: why do we need a map

TG: cant they just

TG: tell us what direction its in

TG: point a spaceship that way

TG: blast off to adventure

TT: No.

TT: The geometry of the Furthest Ring is too complex.

TT: Remember, its spacetime is labyrinthine.

TT: In fact, it's not really accurate to call it spacetime at all.

TT: Since it is outside the domain of any created universe, where those properties have become instantiated and stabilized.

TG: i can kind of get that time is messed up there

TG: with like loops and causality paradoxes and shit like that

TG: being the knight of time here

TG: not really sure why navigating the space would be a problem though

TG: space isnt my thing remember

TG: what is it like

TG: full of wormholes or something

TT: It depends.

TT: The greater the distance you travel through it, the less reliably time flows.

TT: And the more time you spend in it, the less reliably space behaves.

TT: Time and space aren't as different as you might think.

TG: i thought you werent supposed to know shit about either

TG: seeing as youre the seer whatever that means

TT: I think it means I'm supposed to know shit about the big picture.

TT: Which includes tidbits like that.

TT: But the insides of my shoes stay free from the grit of the minutia.

TG: fair enough

TG: so i take my map and fly to this thing

TT: No, I do.

TG: ok you fly to it

TG: then what

TT: That depends on if John is successful.

TG: you mean with the quest youre sending him on

TT: Yes.

TG: is there anything you do thats not sending dudes on quests

TT: Nothing whatsoever.

TG: so hes got to get the cancer out of skaia right

TT: Yes, The Tumor.

TG: yeah

TG: so whats The Tumor do

TG: i mean the tumor

TG: jesus can we stop with the fancy colored text bullshit

TT: I guess so.

TT: I thought it was more fun that way.

TG: well ok you can keep doing it then

TT: Thanks.

TT: The Tumor is quite a large growth at the center of the battlefield.

TT: He won't be able to remove it without fully realizing his abilities.

TG: ok cool what is it

TT: Can you promise you won't tell him?

TT: It would probably make him more nervous than he needs to be if he knew.

TG: ok i wont say anything

TG: just tell me

TT: It's a bomb.

TT: It is set to detonate precisely when the reckoning ends.

TT: This is how long we have to put this plan into motion.

TG: what the hell is a bomb doing in there

TT: It could be a feature of any session not meant to bear fruit.

TT: A means to wipe out a null session rather than leaving it lingering in paradox space for eternity.

TT: Or it could be a mutation specific to our session.

TT: I really don't know.

TG: first time for everything i guess

TG: seriously whered you get all this info

TG: did you get it all from the gods

TG: are these just a bunch of orders youre following

TT: Not exactly.

TT: They've urged me in certain directions and guided my exploration.

TT: I've obtained some answers from them, but ultimately, this idea is mine.

TT: Plus, I have other sources.

TT: One in particular has been quite illuminating.

TG: what

TT: I've been referring to him as an informant, when people ask.

TT: Which isn't often.

TG: what you mean a troll

TT: No.

TT: It's a man who exists in another universe.

TT: He wants to die.

TG: sounds like a really credible dude sign me up for trusting everything he says

TT: Only as credible as the omniscient tend to be.

TG: oh so he knows everything

TT: Yeah, I think that's what omniscient means.

TT: But maybe I'll ask him about that, since he's the omniscient one.

TG: even if he is omniscient which he probably isnt what if hes just lying

TT: He says he doesn't lie.

TT: For some reason, I believe him about that.

TT: He's a convincing fellow.

TG: whys he want to die

TT: He no longer has a purpose now that he's done everything required to summon his master.

TT: As a first guardian, he's completely indestructible.

TT: Well, almost completely.

TG: wait

TG: what

TT: His power is derived from the same source as Earth's guardian.

TT: And conveniently, that of our nemesis as well.

TG: ok i get it now

TT: When John delivers the tumor,

TT: And I do mean The Tumor,

TT: I and I alone will navigate the Furthest Ring.

TT: And I will destroy the sun.

TT: By which I do mean the GREEN MOTHER FUCKING SUN.

TT: And in case it wasn't clear,

TT: I won't be coming back.

TG: whoa fuck

TG: a suicide mission are you serious

TG: no bullshit thats not happening

TG: hey look suddenly everything we just talked about was useless because its time to make a plan that doesnt fucking suck

TT: Let's not be so dramatic.

TT: I was talking about my dream self.

TT: She's the one who won't be returning.

TG: oh

TG: haha yeah thats fine i guess

TG: those fuckers are all kinds of mad expendable

TG: way to leave me hanging there

TG: for someone whos saying lets cool it on the drama the whole i wont be coming back thing is a pretty theatrical bombshell

TG: for future reference

TT: That's true.

TT: Your outburst was pretty sweet though.

TG: yeah i know

TG: so when do i do my thing

TG: make this map

TG: which i guess is just like

TG: a solid black piece of paper

TG: this is going to be fucking stupid isnt it

TT: If there's one thing you have more than any of us, it's time.

TT: So, whenever you like.

TT: As long as conventionally speaking, it's quite soon.

TG: alright

TG: so

TG: dog it as long as possible

TG: then travel back to about now and go to sleep

TT: Sure.

TT: And if you have trouble going to sleep, maybe you can ask your patron troll to trick the telepathic one into putting you to sleep again.

TG: what

TT: Each of us seems to have a troll infatuated with helping us. Haven't you noticed?

TG: no

TT: What about the psychopath who's currently helping you?

TG: oh yeah terezi

TG: no shes cool

TT: Isn't that camaraderie blossoming into some sort of interspecies whatever?

TG: its blossoming into an interspecies partnership in incredibly shitty cartooning

TG: what do you mean get her to trick someone into putting me asleep again

TG: when did that happen

TT: Just now.

TG: who did that

TT: That would be John's patron troll.

TG: god

TG: fuckin trolls

TG: too many of them who can even keep track of this shit

TG: which ones yours

TG: is it the absurd juggalo one that would be hilarious

TT: There's a juggalo one?

TG: yeah see what i mean

TT: She's contacting me now actually.

TG: oh ok

TG: well im suddenly not interested so go talk to your fairy god troll

TG: ill be over here paving the way for your elaborate dream suicide

TG: when i feel like getting around to it i mean

TT: Thanks.

TG: later

-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] --

[wojciech-kac]

Splatoon 2 - GRA Nintendo Switch - Opole 3037

[chiou30]

跑 6.15K 56:20 9’10“ AHR107 https://www.relive.cc/view/vevYJrVK7JO #筆架桃太郎之新潟白山神社RUN #跑者日常 #每日跑第3037日 #DailyRun #RSD3037 #2023March #niigata #niigatarun #niigatarunning #everydayrun #runeveryday（在 白山神社 (新潟市中央区一番堀通町)） https://www.instagram.com/p/CpWU1WThx_U/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[muchosbesitos]

la apuesta

pairing: college!miguel x fem reader

warnings: miguel being a bit of an ass, face-sitting, oral (i probably forgot smth 🧍🏻)

author’s note: thank you for all the support for friends with benefits 🥹 anyways i got this idea from c.ai miguel using me as a bet LMAOO (he was supposed to be my roommate only 😖)

word count: 3037

You were the bane of his existence. He hated everything about you, from the way you smiled at everybody but him, to the way that you carried yourself, with kindness and respect even if it wasn't reciprocated. He hated the determination you had towards beating him at everything academically, putting in late hours at the library and studying for tests weeks in advance. What he really hated the most about you, though, was the way he could never find himself to truly hate you.

Which is how he found himself agreeing to a stupid bet that Peter B. Parker had brought up mid smoke sesh. Miguel had spent the last thirty minutes ranting about how you annoyed him today, about your test score and how he was so sure you cheated, and mostly about how you faked being nice with everybody when Peter interrupted him with the proposition. "What if we made a bet?" he started off, getting Miguel's attention as he passed him the blunt. "Let's say you can make her fall in love with you in two months for a hundred bucks," Peter added when Miguel took a hit from the blunt, a cocky smirk on his face. "Let's do a month for two hundred, yeah?"

The next Monday, Miguel found his gaze going to you during biology, the wheels in his head turning to figure out how to win you over. Would you like flowers? Grand gestures? Just the thought was starting to make his head hurt. He decided to start off slow, choosing to sit next to you before the class started. "Good morning," he offered with a small wave, which you returned with a smile on your face. He spent the class period looking at you through his peripheral, handing you a pen when he saw you digging your bag and giving you his notes when the professor moved through the slides too quickly.

"Go to lunch with me," he said after the class ended, watching your eyes flicker with surprise, a bit surprised himself by the offer. He wasn't one to go on casual lunch dates or even pursue someone, people usually pursued him and he didn't do much to find someone to sleep with him. "Well my daily ramen budget thanks you," you replied with a small chuckle, walking next to him after the class ended to the cafeteria. He found himself willingly laughing at your remarks, asking more questions about you, before reminding himself that this was all part of the bet. he refused to be a cliché and be the idiot to fall in love.

"Pickles and mustard? We might have to end this lunch date right now," you remarked, watching as he now added hot sauce to the mixture. It was odd, having lunch with Miguel O'Hara since you were pretty certain he hated you and he only had lunch with his close friends, but you still enjoyed his company and hearing his point of view of how he saw the world. "Oh c'mon, you can't say anything until you try it out," he protested you, handing you a pickle slice, the look on his face practically daring you to eat it. You took a tentative bite, your face morphing into a grimace as you spat it out, taking a sip from your water bottle. You looked up to see Miguel fighting back a laugh, tossing the pickles to the side as he looked over at you. "I can't believe you actually thought I eat that," he remarked with a smirk on his face, laughing as you hit his arm playfully.

The next week had been spent like that day, from trying out new food combinations, exchanging class notes, to spending time in his dorm room and studying. He had taken a break from studying, looking over at you reading the biology textbook and biting down on the pen in your hand, the small action emphasizing how pretty your lips were. He pushed a strand of hair away from your face, an easy smile on his face as you looked up at him. "It's such a shame that the test won't be covering me," you teased, seeing his closed textbook on the floor. "Such a shame indeed, I'm sure I'd be getting top grades," he replied with a smirk of his own, his fingers trailing the back of your neck. He watched you for a little bit, taking in how pretty you looked when you were concentrated and how much he seemed to enjoy your company without giving much thought to the bet. "Go on a date with me," he blurted out after a couple minutes of silence, watching you carefully for your reaction.

He found himself Googling best date ideas and even going as to making a Pinterest board full of things he deemed would be fun for both of you. He ended up going with a classic picnic date, buying sandwich making materials and a small Lego set. He arrived at your dorm room a couple hours after he confirmed you were free, fighting back a smile as he saw you open the door. You were wearing a yellow sundress that complimented your curves perfectly, pairing it with white flats. He stumbled over his words as he took you in, spitting out something that resembled, "Te ves hermosa." Your laughter was like a soft melody that reverberated through his ears, unable to keep his gaze off you. You closed your dorm door, walking next to him to his car. (you look beautiful)

He stopped in front of City Hall Park, claiming that it was underrated by Central Park's attraction. He set down a checkered blanket on the grass, sitting down as he took out the contents of the basket. You two fell into easy conversation, talking about your friends, school assignments, and just personal details. You two started to make your sandwiches as you took sips of the cheap wine he'd picked up, your past suspicions about his intentions dissipating with every passing moment. He pulled out the Lego set, a Star Wars battle ship, and felt himself grow even more comfortable in your presence when he discovered that you were also a fan.

The date had ended with Miguel dropping you off at your dorm room, his hands wrapped around your waist as he tried to prolong your leaving. You looked up at him, a small smile on your lips as you pushed a strand of hair away from his forehead. He leaned down, his hands practically moving you closer as his lips gently brushed yours. "Is this okay?" he murmured, his hands gently brushing the back of your neck before you leaned in, your lips enveloping his. The kiss started off tentative and gentle but soon, your hands were wrapped around Miguel's neck as you pulled him closer to you and your lips moved in tandem with his, the taste of him and the wine dizzying. Both of you pulled away a couple seconds later, just taking a moment to take in the moment before he kissed your forehead. "Buenas noches." (good night)

Most of the month had passed by with you two continuing to go on dates, making out in his room, and studying for your biology tests together. The fair had come to town recently and Miguel had gotten you two tickets for today after some relentless begging from your part. He took out the two tickets after he picked you up from your last class, a small grin on his face as he saw the way your eyes sparkled from excitement. "I'll pick you up at eight, chula," he said, leaving you at your dorm as he gave you a kiss on the cheek before walking away. (pretty)

Your jaw dropped when you opened the door, seeing Miguel ditch his usual hoodie and sweatpants apparel for a button down tee with some jeans. He gave you a lopsided smile, leaning down to kiss your cheek as he smelled the crook of your neck. "What if we ditch the fair and stay home?" he murmured, his lips ghosting over your neck before he kissed it. "Very funny, but I did not spend two hours looking at youtube makeup tutorials to stay home," you said, laughing a bit before walking off to your closet to finish getting dressed. You and Miguel had changed in front of each other, made out, and cuddled but you never had sex together. Partly because you were a virgin and you were worried he'd be turned off by your lack of experience given his past and another part being to just general fear of how big he was, how much it would hurt.

You and Miguel walk into the carnival a couple minutes later, looking around at some of the rides before your eyes settled on a My Melody plushie by the ball toss. You ran over, blindsighted by how cute it was and paid the attendant before tossing the balls at the bottles. Miguel walked over, his arms folded as he watched you, the look of determination on your face to get the stupid plushie. He couldn't help but feel bad as he saw the small pout on your lips when you'd missed one of the bottles, deciding to try it out for himself.

"Thank you!" your face practically lit up as he handed you the plushie, a smile forming on his face as he looked at you. He would be willing to do a hundred more of those ball tosses if it meant he got to see you smile like that again. He wrapped his arm around your neck, guiding you towards some rides he'd thought you'd enjoy. He took in every single one of your expressions, basking in how excited you seemed to be even with the most boring rides.

The last ride of the evening had been the ferris wheel, he realized it was a little corny, but he wanted a couple minutes just to have you to himself. He found himself looking at you rather than the view of the city, grabbing your chin so you'd look at him and he dipped his head down, meeting you in a kiss. "Te amo, hermosa," he whispered, his lips moving towards your earlobe as he nibbled slightly. You took a minute to let the words process, and even though you had never really experienced what being in love was like, you found yourself coming to the realization that you were in love with Miguel O'Hara. "I love you," you said, your hand on his cheek as you looked at him before meeting him for another kiss.

You and Miguel had ended up at his dorm after the carnival ended, tongues and mouths clashing as he pinned you against the wall. He took off his shirt and you finally snapped back to it, looking up at him nervously. "Miguel. I'm a virgin," you said, breaking the silence in the room and you saw his eyes flicker into something.. darker. "We don't have to anything you don't want to, chula," he assured you, taking in note of your reaction as he rested his hand on your waist. You took a moment to think about this, really think about this, before looking up at him with a ghost of a smile on your lips. "Can we just try oral for tonight?" you asked, rubbing the back of your neck.

He swore he could've came right then and there with the way you asked him, nodding mindlessly as he went to his bed. He cleared some of his biology books off it, laying down as he looked over you at you. "Sit on my face, princesa," he said, nonchalantly, as he saw the redness start to creep up on your cheeks. You started taking your clothes off, looking at him from the edge of the bed as you nibbled down on your bottom lip. "Are you sure I won't crush your face?" You asked, letting out a little yelp as Miguel pulled you onto the bed. You rested on his lap, his hands settled on your hips as he looked up at you. "You won't hurt me," he reassured you, drawing small circles on your thighs with his fingers.

You slightly hovered above his face as he began to lick a stripe down your pussy, letting out a muffled moan as his hands pressed down on your thighs. “I thought I told you to sit on my face, not hover,” he said, slapping your ass before he pushed your hips down. You fell down to his expecting face, your hands immediately gripping the headboard as you felt his tongue plunge into you. His hands grip on your thighs as he continued to lick and suck on your pussy, your juices coating his lips in the most delicious way possible. Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging on the strands gently and he let out a moan, the vibrations making you grind against his face.

He encouraged you to grind on his face, moving your hips against his face as his tongue continued to lick in your pussy, plunging in the most delicious angle possible. He replaced his tongue with his fingers, scissoring them to work his way in as his mouth closed around your engorged clit. His tongue ran small circles around your clit, his fingers working in tandem as he curled them, hitting that spot inside of you. You moved your hips against his fingers, moaning out incoherent strings of his name as you felt something building up in your lower stomach. "Miguel, I feel like I have to pee," you moaned out, but he continued with his ministrations, only intensifying them after you said that. Your back arched as you released into his mouth, looking down to see him licking his lips and the side of his mouth. "Que deliciosa," he said with a small chuckle, getting you off of him. (how delicious)

You looked down at the obvious bulge in his pants, seeing his almost pained expression and he was about to reassure you that you didn't need to return anything, but you got down on your knees rendering him speechless. You slid off his boxers, picking up some of the precum with your finger and licking it off. "Tell me if you want me to something different, okay?" You told him before you brought your mouth closer to his reddening tip. You started off sucking it slowly, his hands making their way to your hair while one of your hands started to pump his length. You took more of him in your mouth, getting adjusted to how big he was before you started to bob your head. He let out soft moans and whispers of your name as you continued, feeling in complete bliss as you did so. You looked up at him, your doe eyes almost making him come right then and there as his hand worked on guiding your head, never forcing you.

He felt himself coming closer to that edge as you licked on a vein, feeling goosebumps forming on his skin. You took all of his cock in your mouth, feeling your eyes water as you adjusted to having him in so deep. You looked up at him and he let out a raggedy moan as he came in your mouth, maintaining eye contact with you. He helped you get up from the floor, dipping his head down to meet you for a kiss.

He cleaned in between your thighs with a warm washcloth, cleaning himself off as well before walking over to his dresser. He took out a shirt, handing it to you with a small smile. "Stay the night," he offered, looking at you expectantly. You nodded, taking the shirt from him and putting it on, the material falling over you like a dress. You both laid down on his bed, your breathing in tandem as you laid on his chest. "You're not pissed off we didn't have sex right?" You asked out of the blue, not wanting this thing you had going on with Miguel to end. He let out a small laugh, his hand stroking your hair as he answered, "Claro que no, mi amor. Even if it's not with me, don't let anyone pressure you into something you're not ready for." You couldn't help but feel your heart melt a bit as he spoke, your legs tangling with his. "When I do feel ready.. I'd like for it to be with you," you whispered, kissing his cheek. (of course not)

Peter had seen the events at the fair, shocked to say the least, at how obvious Miguel was being with his feelings towards you. He decided to give Miguel a wake up call tomorrow, remind him that this was all part of the deal, that he wasn't meant to be going out and falling in love with you. He knew how it ended with his last girlfriend, Xina, and how detached he had been from everything, a shell of his former self.

You walked over to Miguel's dorm, about to knock on the door when you heard him talking with Peter about something. You didn't mean to eavesdrop, obviously, but you were also curious to know what his friend's opinion was about you. "Dude, don't lose track of what we're doing here. you're not supposed to actually fall in love with her," you heard Peter say, your eyes widening a bit as Miguel let out a chuckle. "As if I could actually fall in love with her. she's nothing but just another bet, man."

The words rung through your ears, but you blinked back the tears that were threatening to come out as you forced yourself to knock on Miguel's door. you saw the surprise flash across his face for a split second, exchanging a look with Peter before looking back at you stoically. You wanted to cry, you wanted to beat yourself up for being so stupid and falling for his charms the same you'd reprimanded your friends, but you swallowed that all back and simply said,

"I left my biology textbook in here."

[catsteeth]

The Caged Bird and The Leashed Dog

Sandor Clegane x reader

+:✿ Chapter - 2 ✿:+ White Mare

previous chapter | next chapter

Summary: You are the daughter of Jon Arryn, you and your father travel to King's Landing with the intention of arranging a marriage for you. You catch a glimpse of The Hound during your first night in Kings Landing and it creates a mutual fascination even if he won't admit it. 

CW: slow burn, MDNI, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, alcohol consumption, mention of parent(s) death, mention of arranged marriage, mention of prostitution, mention of NSFW themes

Word Count: 3037

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧

Ever since that day in the stable you filled your days with reading, sewing, mindless activities to keep yourself busy. Anything to relieve your mind of the horrors of Kings Landing and your shameful thoughts of the giant who roamed the halls. Loras and you grew distant since you rejected his hand in marriage, in turn you spent your time with the Starks. It was hard at first to be without your only friend but you were determined to get your cousin out of this city. But it wasn’t hard when Sansa clung to you like a scared beaten dog. You were treated no better of course. But at least you knew how to handle such cruelty with a stepmother like Lysa. 

“Don’t let them see you cry,” You’d repeat holding her face “Don’t let it show. Don’t you see how much pleasure he derives from seeing you like this?” 

 Arya would teach you small things she learned during her sword training, and in all honesty it was the most fun you’d had in years. You found yourself becoming more and more invested in those little girls' well being. 

It seemed as soon as Nedd arrived in Kings Landing his time ended. 

That day seemed like a dream. You were summoned by Cersei to her Chambers.

“Has Lord Stark mentioned anything to you about the nature of your fathers death?” Cersei questioned you calmly as she poured wine into her gablet.  

“My fathers?” You asked genuinely confused, she nodded as she sipped her wine “No, your grace.”  

“Good. It would be cruel of him to spark paranoia in the mind of a grieving daughter.” She said as she paced the room with her goblet of wine in hand. 

“Paranoia?” If you weren’t before you would be now. 

Cersei interrupted you once more “Lord Stark will be arrested for treason today. Somewhat unrelated but it would seem that Lord Stark’s head is filled with paranoid thoughts.” 

You didn’t understand why your uncle was on trial for such a crime. You were just a girl to these men, they didn’t speak of such things with you, that is yet. “Little bird, you are a clever and strong girl. I know you are loyal, loyal to the Starks, they are your family. But it is important to be loyal to your allies just the same. Sometimes family will only drag us down, allies however can make us stronger.” Cersei not so subtly threatened you.

You nodded politely, as soon as you could leave you tried to find your little cousins. 

You found Arya by the stables. You noticed the men lying dead on the ground with the Stark girls baggage. You saw Arya holding her bloodied sword after pulling it out of the stable boy.

She was horrified, you approached her slowly and quietly.

“Arya” You spoke gently but that didn’t stop Arya from jumping and pointing needle at you. “Arya, you need to run.” You said softly, almost a whisper. 

She ran to you dropping needle, she wrapped her arms around you. You held her close but kneeled to her height. 

You held her face with both your hands and your eyes bore into hers. “Your family is not safe here. You are not safe here.” Your grasp on her head did not waver. “You have to find a way out, get to the city, find a way out of the city, get to the north.” 

“I can’t!” She began to whine as she cried 

“You can!” you stroked her hair trying to keep her attention “You killed those men?” 

“Just the stable boy” she cried softly

“You killed a man. That's more than most women will ever kill.” You pulled her face closer trying to make sure your words reached her  “Listen to me those men will come and they will kill you. Don’t trust anyone, never tell them your name, never tell them your house. Lie, and get good at it. Kill if you need to.” You said as you grabbed needle and put it in her hand, “Now go.” You say as you let go of her and she runs off. 

‘Good’ you thought as you watched her run away. As you watched you didn’t notice the tears that had fallen from your eyes. 

Soon enough you were summoned by Cersei to witness Nedd’s verdict. 

She didn’t anticipate what came next, and neither did you, watching the death of your uncle. 

You held Sansa through it. As she screamed and cried, you tried your best to conceal her eyes. 

Your eyes however dodged from your uncle to The Hound behind him. You hoped he would do something to stop it, but he didn’t 

And so, it happened. 

The second hand of the king died.

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚

He thought of it every night. 

The moment he touched you, your skin, the moment his rough hands caressed your throat. 

He rolled the thought over in his mind millions of times. Gods’, it tortured him to no end. He tried to bury himself in his duty, bury himself in any woman who looked the slightest bit like you on the Streets of Silk, even taking himself in his hand at the thought of your scent…. More than once.

The thought of you sparked resentment and anger in his chest. He was Kingsguard now, he had no use for a woman, had no use for these emotions he felt. 

He hated you for it. Hated you for the way he wanted to rip Loras’s head off anytime he saw you and him in the garden. Hated you for the way he thought of your eyes everytime he closed his eyes. Hated you for the way his mind would wonder at you at any turn even on duty. Hated you for the way his chest tightened anytime he caught even a glimpse of you around Kings Landing.  And he hated you for the way your eyes caught his. Each time it was like a deadlock, those eyes, they were a bow and arrow and they shot through him each time. 

He grumbled under his breath anytime you were near. Purposefully look away from you as if you didn’t exist. You pretended not to care, but you fought hard just to catch a single glimpse of his face. The burns that draped across the right side of his face like the sheer lace curtains you had in your room in the Eyrie that distort your view from the window. 

Neither of you had much time to think about these emotions during the following days. You were spending your time mothering Sana as she grieved her fathers death. The Hound was now King Joffrey’s personal bodyguard now that Robert was gone. A terrible task truly. 

Even worse one when your stubborn and rebellious tongue didn’t obey your better judgment around the new king. The Hound tried to convince himself he hated it, but it turned him on even if he didn’t want to admit it. He tried to keep you safe, as safe as he could. Whenever you shot an annoyed glance, a cleverly concealed insult Joffrey's way, the Hound would simply divert Joffrey’s attention to something else. But if you ever got on Joffrey's bad side he couldn’t do much, far be it from him to question a king. On Joffrey’s name day you tested his patience. Joffrey had you and his lady Sansa accompany his side during his Name Day celebration. However you felt a slight sting of joy knowing you’d be so close to him once again. But more so your stomach turned in on itself. Joffrey no doubt invited you for the explicit challenge of trying to elicit some kind of reaction from you in some way. This became clear once he continuously asked for your input on the celebratory fighting. You’d had a small fascination with combat at first. It was like a dance but with blood and swords. but soon you’d grow bored of it. 

As The Hound had beaten a man to a whimpering submissive pulp the fight was over. Joffrey clapped and cheered as The Hound removed his dog helmet.  

Still you were stunned by him. You wanted to hate him for not helping your uncle. You tried to hate him but in all honesty you knew he couldn’t do anything to stop it. He’d no real power, no real way of stopping it.

“Well struck, Dog!” Joffrey shouted, and snapped you out of your trance.

Joffrey turned to you and Sansa “Did you like that?” he asked, taunting you and her. 

“It was well struck, your Grace.” Sansa replied, stoic. 

“I just said that.” Joffrey said, his eyes narrowed, his tone deepened. 

Ser Meryn looked over in Sansa’s direction. You knew what that meant, 

“I found it boring.” You chimed in, your eyes just as narrow as his. 

“You did?” He asked with the same threatening tone 

“Mm” you nodded 

“And what man did your house bring to fight?” 

“Brought no man.” You shook your head 

The Hound returned to his station by the Kings side. He pretended not to listen but he was, intensely. 

“You brought no man to my name day tournament?” He questioned further, you knew he would have taunted you further. To state it was for lack of good men or perhaps your dead father’s power died with him, that your house was to die with it.

“Not one.” Your head whipped towards Joffrey, gaze sharpening. “Not one man wished to celebrate your name day it would seem.”

“Ser Meryn.” Joffrey commanded. 

You noticed the Hound's head tilt in your direction as Ser Meryn walked towards you and slapped you across your face, cutting your lip with the armor of his glove. As Ser Meryn walked away you turned your head back towards Joffrey. 

“You are a pretty girl, a little more plump than I would like, but still a pretty girl.” Joffrey said “You should be more agreeable in tone, or you might find you won't be so pretty.” He smiled as he threatened you. 

“Hm?” He waited for your response as you wiped the blood from your lip. 

As you looked up, “Do you wish for me to cry, your Grace?” you asked almost mocking. 

Joffrey began to dryly chuckle at your remark, probably about to order another hit for you as Ser Dontos Hollard stumbled onto the tournament drunkenly. The Hound cleared his throat, getting Joffrey to shift his attention towards him and not you. With his attention shifted you were safe once more.

Your eyes stayed on the Hound however. You knew what he had done for you, however subtle it was, you noticed. 

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚

You found yourself spending more and more time near your mare. The moon shined on her just right for her coat to shine almost like metal, and your candle light shined on her just perfectly for her to glow like the sun. Lika, she was the only thing left you had from your home. You’d begin to yearn for the times you’d be furious with your fathers decisions and his useless attempts at comforting you. Because at least if he’d seen you were struck the way you had been, he’d have taken you home. He’d have helped you. But for now, you had Lika. 

As you sat in front of Lika’s stable, you read some book you’d stolen from Tyrion at some point. It was hardly interesting, infact you’d almost fallen asleep but Lika nuzzled her snout into your neck and sniffed you deeply, jolting you awake before you smiled and wrapped your arm around her head. You began to stroke the side of her head as you heard a low and deep voice beckon from the entrance of the stables. 

“Fuck are you doin’ girl.” 

Your head snapped towards him, relief befell you once you saw it was him, the Hound.

You looked back towards your book, “Reading, or I was anyway.” You replied softly

“Read in your room,” He said gruffly as his large hand opened the doors to the stable wider. He was so tall he ducked into the doorway as he walked inside. 

“I’ll decide where I read.” you said defiant as always. 

With a dry chuckle he began to walk towards you, “Words like that are the reason you got that cut on your lip.” 

“You don’t have to remind me of it.” You thought to yourself how this is exactly how you must sound to Sansa.

“Fuck-” He hissed under his breathe “You don’t want my help? Suit yourself.” He huffed “But don’t scream for me when you need it.” 

“I won’t want it.” You say softly “Anyways, you can’t help me.-” You began as he cut you off

“I helped that Tyrell you love.” He said with venom in his voice and a softness in his gaze. 

You furrowed your brows, stood up and faced him head on “And I have thanked you for it.” 

“I know you helped that Stark girl escape.” He said matter of fact

You huffed “What do you want from me?” you asked pained

“I want you to stay away from me.” 

“You seem to forget you came to me.” 

“You should run from me, you should tell me to go.”

“I don’t run.”

“That’s the fucking problem with you, girl. If you’d any sense you’d think of yourself. Change that tone of yours. Change those eyes, the way you look at people… like you want to gut them.” 

“I do want to.” 

“Stubborn” he chuckled darkly “Stubborn will get you beaten.” 

“Why did you come for me?” 

“I saw the light-“

“No. If it were anyone else you’d’ve gone on your way by now.” 

“Fuck does it matter?” 

“Sandor-”

“Don’t call me that.”  He hissed

“Tell me,” You say, raising a hand to his scarred cheek. He flinched and backed away quickly. His scowl deepened. He moved away from you, he turned to face outside the stables. “You wrapped your hand round my throat, and you won't let me touch your cheek?” 

“It’s different, you’re not ruined.” He said whilst he stared into the nothingness outside the stable doors. 

“Am I not?” You asked, your words felt sharp. 

“No, no you are not.” His words felt gentler. 

“I’ve no one, I’ve only this cage I sit in.” 

“You’ve got someone,” He scoffed over his shoulder at me, my eyes looking up at him widening against my will. “You’ve got that Tyrell,” You huffed, “That stark child that follows you like a bloody shadow.” He looked back into the night, “I’ve got no one,” 

“You do,” You say without noticing how bold it was until he turned to you, “Or you would, if you’d let them.” 

“My brother.” he mumbled, his head hung low as he walked closer to you. “Pressed my cheek to the fire.” He finished, unwilling to give anything else. “I know you’ve heard the story, Baelish, that cocksucking rat, no doubt told you.” 

“Course he did.” You didn’t lie, you never could to him. “But I asked you.”

He smirked slightly, his head still slightly turned away from you not wanting you to see. 

Your hand rose to caress his cheek, you did it slowly. He flinched his head away slightly and in turn you pulled your hand back slightly. As his head came back, moving closer towards you. You moved your hand to his cheek once more, slowly. He grabbed your wrist before it could make contact with his face.  

“Look at me,” He hissed “I’m a killer, the things I’ve done-” He thought back on those things “You don’t want this girl.” His grip on your wrist did not loosen, as if he was genuinely trying to protect you. “You’ll wed some lord, you’ll have his sons, and you’ll be far and gone from this shit city.” 

“I don’t want to wed a lord.” Your eyes now are not so hateful but sad. 

“World, doesn’t give a fuck what you want.” His hand reached out, slightly cupped the back of your head, hardly touching. He ran his hand down the length of your hair. Once he reached the end of it he held a lock of it in his hand to examine the color in the candle light. His deep, rich brown eyes reached yours once more. He could swear yours sparkled in any light. 

“I’ll walk you to your chamber.” He said gruffly, peeling his eyes away with yours. He grabbed the book in your hand and walked towards the doors of the stables. 

You let out a staged huff as you followed him. 

As he led you through the halls you realized that you were doing just that, following him. He knew where your chambers were and knew how to get there swiftly. 

The thought lit a fire in your chest. 

As he arrived at your door he stopped, as you opened it you turned to look at him. 

“You stole this from the imp.” He grumbled as he held up the book you did in fact steal. 

Your eyes went from the book to him, “Are you going to report me to the Queen.” You said, you smiled slightly with your eyes. Testing him and his loyalties. He growled under his breath and walked off.

The way you tested his patience stirred something in him. 

He’d definitely be taking himself in his hand that night again.

Is love the death of duty.  Or is duty the death of love?

[just-aake]

Red Room Sacrifice - Part 2

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Part 2 of Red Room Sacrifice. Takes place after the events in Black Widow. After breaking the others out of the Raft and going into hiding, Natasha receives a request from Yelena to help track an elusive Widow. 

Warnings: light angst, violence/blood, hurt/comfort, light fluff

Words: 3037

a/n: Flashbacks are italicized.

“You’re going to hurt yourself playing with that.”

Realizing that she was talking to you, you rise from your lying position on the bench to look over at Natasha.

It was weapons training time in the Red Room, so she was currently practicing with her batons against the training dummy near the side of the room, hitting it with precise and powerful strikes.

Natasha sees you give her a confused look in the corner of her eye, so she gestures to the knife still currently being twirled in your hand.

You can’t help but smile at her concern for you. Glancing at the knife in your hand, you decide to tease her.

“You mean like this?” You begin to do some more elaborate tricks and twirls, confidently tossing the knife into the air and smoothly switching it between your hands. 

You wave your knife playfully at her. “Maybe we should join a circus. You could balance on the tightrope, and I could do the knife tricks.”

A small amused smile forms on her face as Natasha shakes her head and rolls her eyes at your usual crazy suggestions before returning her focus on her training. 

In the next moment, the door opens with a slam as Madame B. walks in, her eyes scanning and examining everyone in the room. 

Immediately, she zeroes her attention on you sitting on the bench. Her face twists into a scowl as she begins her march over to you.

Letting out a resigned sigh, you stand up to brace for her lecture and most likely another punishment.

She stops in front of you, giving you her usual hostile and disapproving glare.

“L/n, why aren’t you training?”

Over her shoulders, you notice Natasha’s worried expression as she begins to move towards the two of you.

You subtly gesture your hand at your side to stop her, hoping she will listen. Thankfully, Natasha stops but she doesn’t move away from her position.

Staring back defiantly at Madame B., you answer her in a bored tone. 

“I was taking a break.”

The loud echo of a slap shocks the room into silence, everyone turning to observe the scene. 

Fuming at your disrespect and nonchalant response, her voice lowers dangerously in a threat. 

“Give me one reason why I shouldn't eliminate you on the spot.” 

Unconsciously, your hand tightens angrily over the handle of the knife in your hand, and despite the stinging pain on your face, you turn your head back towards her. 

A small movement from behind her catches your attention. Natasha’s eyes are panicked as she subtly shakes her head at you, trying to calm you down.

Sighing internally at her gaze, you feel your anger subside as you loosen your grip. 

Focusing back on Madame B, you twirl the knife in your hand before catching the flat end of the blade in between your fingers.

Without looking, you throw the knife towards the targets on the other side of the room.

The knife lodges deep into the target’s perfect center. 

The room is deathly silent as the tense atmosphere thickens in anticipation.

Madame B’s eyes narrow at you in disdain at your action. Gritting her teeth, she snaps at a guard.

“Take her to the detention cell.” 

Shoving roughly past you, she moves her attention to some of the other girls in the room.

The guard grabs your arm and begins to drag you towards the exit for your usual punishment. 

Natasha gives you a concerned look, and as you walk past her, you feel her hand brush the back of yours briefly in comfort. 

You give her a small reassuring smile over your shoulder before disappearing from view.  

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Steve’s voice echoes on the empty floor of the abandoned building.

Stepping over broken glass and equipment scattered on the ground, he observes the disarrayed state of the lab room. The people who worked here must have left in a hurry based on the chaotic mess they left behind. 

Natasha calls out through the comms as she enters an office room, looking around for any signs that may indicate whether someone was there recently.

“This was the last location Yelena traced before the signal disappeared.” 

She picks up some files on the desk and skims the contents. “Looks like this used to be an old facility of Dreykov’s for experiments…” She throws the papers down in disgust. “...on brainwashing the Widows.”

“Any information on who we’re looking for here?” Steve questions as he walks around the room.

Opening up a cabinet, Natasha finds a stack of journals and starts flipping through them before replying.

“No, there wasn’t even a file on them in the system, just the tracker signal.” 

At one of the older looking journals, Natasha tilts her head curiously at the notes on the paper. 

“Subject arrived from the Red Room with extensive blood loss from a knife wound in abdomen. However, no visible injury in the affected area. Subject has yet to awaken. Survival is still unknown.” 

Checking the date of notes, Natasha frowns as she calculates when this event would have occurred. 

“So this antidote can cure her?” Steve’s voice interrupts her thoughts.

Natasha glances distractedly at the canister at her side filled with the antidote from Melina. “Uh…yeah, any contact with it will wake them up from the mind control.” 

Nodding his head resolutely after checking the area and not finding anything, Steve turns to leave for another room.

“Sounds simple enough,” he replies distractedly.

A sound of rustling freezes Steve in his tracks as he quickly scans the room again for the source. 

Suddenly, a knife flies out from the shadows of a corner in the room towards his head.

He instinctively ducks, causing the knife to pierce the window behind him, creating spider-like cracks in the glass.

Straightening up, he finds himself face to face with a hooded, masked figure, who was already poised to deliver a powerful kick.

With little time to react, he crossed his arms to brace himself from the attack. The kick sends him flying out through the already weakened window.

The shattering of glass catches Natasha’s attention as she drops the notes and rushes towards the sound. 

“Steve?”

Natasha enters the lab room and looks out the shattered window. Looking down, she spots him slowly getting off of a car roof.

A groan sounds through her earpiece before his voice calls out in warning.

“She’s in the room!”

At his words, Natasha quickly turns around in time to dodge the swing of a knife slashing through the air where she was standing.

With a swift motion, she grabs and twists the arm of the assailant, disarming the knife from their grip.

In a quick maneuver, the attacker pulls out another knife with their other hand and swings across at Natasha. 

Seeing this, Natasha releases her hold on the person, dodging back before twisting her body to deliver a powerful kick to their side.

The person is launched backward, their body sliding across the ground until they hit the wall with a thud. 

Stepping back, Natasha pulls out her batons in a defensive position as she examines the attacker. 

She recognizes the standard black tactical suit from the Red Room which means this must be the unknown Widow that Yelena was tracking before. Their face was covered with a mask, and she had a hood over her head, hiding her identity.

Cautiously watching the figure on the ground, Natasha feels a small sting on her face. Reaching up, she touches her cheek and sees some blood on her hand. That last swing must have nicked her as she was moving away.

The sounds of movement force Natasha to focus her attention back to the person in front of her. 

The Widow stands up effortlessly, seemingly unfazed, shrugging off the impact of the hit. Grabbing another knife from their side, she twirls the knife in her hands before gripping the handle in an offensive position. 

Natasha’s eyes widen in confusion at the familiar action she had seen so many times long ago. She doesn’t have enough time to contemplate it any further before the Widow lunges at her with a series of swings.

Blocking each attack, Natasha is now paying closer attention to the fighting style of the mysterious Widow.

Though it feels more cold and ruthless than before, she recognizes the familiar styles and techniques that you use in your fights with her during your training. 

Everything feels too similar to be a coincidence. She just need to find an opportunity to confirm her suspicions. 

Determined, Natasha sees an opening during one of the swings at her. Dodging to the side, she twists her batons around the Widow’s arm, trapping it in her hold, before pushing and slamming her body against a metal cabinet nearby. 

Using the batons’ strong magnets as cuffs, she traps one hand in place against the cabinet while restricting the other hand with her own. Pinning them to the wall with her body and restricting any movement, Natasha’s free hand moves up towards the mask on the Widow’s face. 

Activating the disengagement button on the side, the mask retracts, revealing the face of the Widow underneath.

“Y/n?” Natasha breathes out your name in astonishment. 

Your eyes glare at her with a cold and impassive expression. There was no reaction to her call of your name. 

She scans your face, finding no trace of your relaxed and teasing expressions or the warmth in your eyes, but she was positive. It really was you in front of her.

Alive

The shock of the revelation causes Natasha to unconsciously loosen the pressure against your body, allowing you to free your legs from her grip.

With a powerful kick, you send her sprawling to the ground. Then you free your hand that was pinned to the cabinet, grabbing the batons and throwing them to the side. 

The red color in your eyes reminds Natasha of the cause of your strange behavior. 

Still on the ground, she watches as you grab another knife from your side, twirling it in your hand before gripping the flat end of the blade.

Recognizing your next move, her hand subtly grabs the canister of the antidote at her side.

In the next moment, you throw your knife at her, simultaneously followed by jumping towards her, hand raised in another attack. 

Natasha reacts immediately to your actions, throwing the canister directly into the path of the thrown knife. 

Like she planned, the knife hits the small explosive device that she had attached on the canister, causing it to burst and disperse the antidote into the air in front of you.

The blast from the explosion also knocks the both of you apart. 

Prepared, Natasha quickly recovers first, sliding to her feet in a pose. Looking up, she finds your body lying still on the ground and rushes over to you. 

Kneeling down next to you, she cradles your head in her arms as she checks your body for any visible injuries. To her shock, the cuts on your face closes up quickly, disappearing as if they never existed. 

Slowly, you open your eyes, blinking in confusion as you stare at the ceiling, trying to remember what you were doing. You feel a gentle pressure against your head and the warm presence of someone next to you.

Turning your head, you look at the person holding you. 

Natasha holds her breath in anticipation as you squint at her, your eyes guarded with wariness.

A minute passes as you stare quietly at her face. Suddenly, recognition flashes in your eyes, and you let out a soft laugh.

“Took you long enough.” 

Natasha’s body sags in relief at your familiar teasing tone. Overwhelmed, she brings your body into a tight hug, and you instinctively tuck your face against her neck in comfort like you used to do long ago.

The sound of hurried footsteps catches your attention, making you look up in caution. The person slides through the door, eyes searching the room before they land on the two of you.

Seeing your positions, he let out a breath of relief, straightening up.

“You okay, Nat?” he asks.

Pulling away, Natasha nods at Steve reassuringly. When she turns back to you, she sees your curious gaze at the stranger. 

“Y/n, this is Captain America,” Natasha introduces with a small smirk on her face.

Your mouth drops in surprise as you stare at him. 

Steve gives you a polite smile, hands outstretched in greeting, “Steve Rogers.”

Reaching up, you shake his hand, still shocked as you reply unconsciously.

“Y/n L/n."

Remembering the events earlier, you give him an apologetic look. "I’m sorry about the whole kicking you out the window.”

Shaking his head, he reassures you. “It happens.”

Nodding his head towards the exit, he gets Natasha’s attention. “I’ll go get everything packed up then.” 

Once he leaves, you turn back to look at Natasha with a smug expression.

“I knew you liked my superhero idea,” you tease her.

Shaking her head in disbelief, Natasha gives you soft push off of her lap.

Laughing, you take the chance to inspect her. She had blonde hair now, and her eyes were brighter. Her body was also not as tense and anxious like before in the Red Room. 

You let out a breath of relief. She looked happy. 

Standing up, you quickly examine yourself, and as usual, you don’t find any visible injuries. Noticing the empty slots on your suit, you begin to walk around the room to pick up your knives from the fight, twirling them in your hand before placing them in their places. 

Eventually, Natasha gets up also and leans against a table, watching you closely. 

“How are you…,” she hesitates.

“Not dead?” you offered, glancing over at her. 

Natasha grimaces at the memory of your bleeding body on the ground. 

Tossing your knife in the air in thought, you give her a shrug as you explain.

“I remember passing out right after our fight. Then the next time I woke up, I was locked in a cell here.” 

Natasha crosses her arms and frowns at the information, thinking back to the notes she found earlier.

“Why would they send you here?”

You walk back to her and lean back against the opposite table, facing her. With your hand outstretched between the two of you, you press your knife against your palm. Immediately, the red of your blood covers your hand. 

“Y/n!” Natasha chastises in panic, gripping your hand and pulling it close to her. She grabs a nearby towel and begins to apply pressure.

You let out a resigned sigh at the sight before explaining.

“Enhanced Cellular Regeneration. That’s what they called it.”

Taking the towel from her, you wipe away the blood, showing the now undamaged skin underneath.

“Given enough time, my body can heal from any injury or illness.” 

You twist and stretch your body, groaning.

“Doesn’t take away the pain though.” 

At the mention of pain, Natasha winces as the adrenaline wears off, and she feels the sting on her cheek.

Now noticing the cut on her cheek, you frown as you bring your hand up to wipe away the blood on her face. 

Knowing your thoughts, Natasha grabs your hand, stopping your movements, before giving you a meaningful look. 

“This was not your fault.”  

You raise your eyebrows and give her a knowing look back.

“And what happened to me that day and everything after was not your fault either.”

Shaking her head sadly at your words in an unconvinced manner, she covers your hand with both of hers to get your attention.

“What happened next?” she asks curiously.

Staring intently at your connected hands, you continued.

“After a couple years, something changed. The scientists shifted their focus to something else in addition to my ability.”

Natasha's eyes furrow at the timeline, already figuring out the subject of the research.

“The mind control,” she guesses.

You chuckle sadly at the memory, nodding your head in acknowledgement.

“Within months, I finally became the perfect Widow, just like the way Madam B. always wanted me to be, completely under their control.” 

Sighing, you pull your hand back to gesture to the space around you.

“I was programmed to come here in between my missions for more experiments. Never really got the chance to go back to the base like the other Widows.” 

You cross your arms as you scan the mess around you.

“Everybody was already gone when I arrived a few days ago. Without any assignment, I just stayed and protected the facility from any intruders…” 

Looking down, you kick at some vials on the floor, watching them roll away.

“...just waiting for further instructions.”

Natasha’s heart breaks at your words. She places a comforting hand on your shoulder, trying to get your attention.

“The Red Room is gone now, you’re free to go do whatever you want. All those things you talked about when we were young.”

There’s a pause as you take in the information. Recalling all the things you used to suggest to her when you were younger, you raise an eyebrow at her teasingly, asking, “You mean like join a circus?”

Crossing her arms, she gives you a deadpan look.

“I’m serious, Y/n, I know some people that can help you. New identity, new job. A chance at a new life. Anything you want.”

You look up at the ceiling in thought as you take a deep breath. Despite all the things that you fantasized about your future when you were young, there was really only one thing you truly cared about. 

Looking back at Natasha, you give her a small smile.

“What if I want to be with you?” 

Natasha’s eyes widen at your words. She observes your face carefully, checking for any signs of teasing. Seeing that you were serious, she lets out a huff of disbelief and tilts her head at you fondly. 

“I’m not really the best person to be around these days. Global fugitive and all.”

You groan dramatically in disappointment, slapping your hand on your head. “How come I never thought of being criminals?”

Natasha lets out an amused laugh, shaking her head at you. 

Hearing her laughter, you give her an affectionate smile, eyes shining with excitement at the possibilities. Reaching out, you grab her hand and give a small tug towards you. 

Natasha steadies herself with her other hand on the table behind you before giving you a questioning look. In response, you wrap your arms around her neck and pull her closer to rest her forehead against yours. 

Staring into her eyes, you give her a small smirk.

“You and me against the world…” 

Bringing your lips close to hers, your next words whisper teasingly on her lips. “...sounds like fun.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 3

Taglist: @natsxwife, @clintsbigtoe, @aliherreraaa, @quetheapplause2, @ctrlamira, @sweetheart09, @lissaaaa145, @natbelovasblog

a/n: Hopefully the tags worked for all those who asked to be tagged.

[everythingelseisextra]

Run, Little Girl

Part Thirteen: Horse To Water

Description: You breach a subject you've always feared talking about. Later, you're caught, and are faced with the feat of saving yourself. Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, references to rape, language, guns Word count: 3037 Tag List: @theshelbyslimited  @ttaechi  @weaponizedvirtue  @majesticcmey  @optimisticsandwichgladiator  @zablife  @princesssterek  @mm0thie  @callsignvenus @ay0nha  @mgdixon  @fairytale07 @babayaga67 @shelbydelrey @look-at-the-soul @globetrotter28

He wants you. 

You can see it in his eyes at night, though he keeps the distance between you. There’s a ravenousness to him that you’ve seen in other men, the ones who came looking for something that echoed connection, the ones who never hurt you but mimicked passion and intimacy. Hungry for touch, for closeness, for the physical kindness that can be passed from one person to another. 

You have learned that sex is a commodity. Bodies interwoven with each other births a transaction, and, in a perfect world, it would be mutual. It never was for you. You know you can give that piece of yourself, and you know that it can be taken, but you’re never sure if you can get anything in return. It’s a privilege to accept pleasure from someone other than yourself, and it’s one you’ve never had. Men used you with carelessness and a mostly rough touch. 

Your sexuality has been hidden away for years, safe from the world’s prying eyes. It’s battered and bruised, slowly bleeding out, and you’re not sure it can take much more. It hurts to think about, to consider stepping back into the world of physical touch, and so you ignore it, like a child learning for the first time what sex is and becoming shy of it. Part of you, though, is unbearably lonely. Part of you wants so desperately to be touched that you cave inwards, wanting to give yourself to someone, anyone, just to become whole again. And all of you believes that you’re insignificant, pointless, and incorporeal unless you’re being touched.

Tommy won’t take from you. He won’t force himself on you, won’t do anything you won’t allow, but he is not patient. There’s a childishness to him that needs immediate gratification or he becomes bitter and cold. You don’t fear him, not yet, but you’ve been trapped underneath a few too many times to not appreciate the breath you can take. 

That morning, you lay on your back in bed, arm above your head on the pillow, watching faint filaments in the air float through the sunrays sliding in from the windows. Tommy lays beside you, his eyes traveling slowly over your upper body, no hint of shame. You’re not sure what he’s admiring; your body is swathed in one of his shirts, your lower half covered by blankets, and, underneath, loose black pants. Still, he looks, and there’s a faint ember in the blue, a wish, an imagination running wild. 

“Thomas,” you say quietly. “I think I can read your mind.”

“Can you?” Careful amusement covers his words, and there’s a faint smile in them.

“Right now? Yeah. I can see it in your face.” You turn your head, your nose pressing against your upper arm. “I’ve seen it a lot on other men.”

His eyes flicker and he draws his head back slightly. “What are you trying to tell me?” 

“I—” You sigh, looking back up at the ceiling. “I don’t know. I’m trying to say a lot of things and none of them are coming out very well.”

He props himself up on one arm, looking down at you with faint concern. “Tell me.”

“What?” You glance at him, then return to staring at the ceiling. 

“Tell me all of it.” It’s an order dressed in sincerity. If you didn’t want to tell him, you’d be coaxed into it. Like so many other things in your past, it’s easier if you just give in. 

“I guess I just— I see what you want, and it scares me. I don’t know what to expect from myself. If you were to touch me, would I panic, or would I freeze and allow it, or would I want it? And you’re good to me, and I want to be with you, and I owe you that much. What if— what if I can’t? And I’m confused, because I see it and I think that I could want it, too, and then I flinch, because—” Your face grows slightly hot. “Because I crave it so much that it hurts. But none of that matters, because I have no idea who I am anymore. You could do nothing wrong and I could still freak out, or you could do nothing wrong and I’d be perfectly fine. Does any of this make sense?” 

He gives you a single nod, a slow movement. “If you’re not ready—”

“I should be ready. It’s been fifteen years. I should be over it by now.” You lift your arm to gesture at the empty air, fingers cascading through the golden light, then drop it down by your side. 

“If you’re not ready, we wait.” He repeats himself in the same tone as when he first spoke. “You’ll be ready when you’re ready.”

“What if it’s never, Tom?” You close your eyes, throat a little tighter than before. “What if it’s never?”

He’s quiet, and you feel his gaze on you, discerning. “I don’t know.”

Your heart drops and you swallow hard, opening your eyes to blink up at the ceiling, trying to clear your eyes. Your voice wavers. “No one will want me unless I give them my body, too.” 

It’s a core belief, born of years upon years of being taken from, the formative time in your life molding you into a tool for use. Before you met Tommy, you wanted to be erased, to be untouchable and unfeeling, ghostlike in the countryside, to be nothing and never be known by anyone. It was lonely, but it was simple. An end to the constant deluge of attention you never wanted. There’s no going back to that, not now. You’re too strong to try to pretend not to want him, and you’re too awake to slip back into that purgatory of sleepy loneliness.

“I’ll want you.” He reaches out and touches your shoulder, then withdraws, careful. “If it’s never, I’ll manage. Won’t be what I wish, but I’ll manage.”

You close your eyes, trying desperately not to cry. “I’m not worth anything if I can’t give that to you.” 

“No. You’re worth something.” His voice grows quieter. “Do you want it to be never?”

You shake your head, lip quivering. 

“Then it won’t be.” 

“You don’t know that.” Your voice cracks and you hate it, hate the ache that fills your chest, hate the regret that you had to have survived what you did. 

“I know that,” he insists. “I know that, because you’re damn good at getting what you want. Sprayed me with a fucking hose and got me to buy you a horse.”

You manage a weak smile. “I never asked for the horse.” 

“You wanted him.” 

“You wanted him. You said he had spirit.” Your tone still wavers, your words small. You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“If you want it to happen, it’ll happen.” He settles back down onto the bed, sighing.

You shake your head, a small tear hovering in your eye and dripping down when you blink. “You have more faith in me than I do.”

His eyes close. “I consider myself a realist.”

“Does— does that make me a pessimist?” You try to smile, wiping the tear away, but your lips tremble slightly and your voice still lacks strength.  

“Yes.”  His bare chest rises and falls, slow and steady, and your erratic breathing suddenly seems ridiculous. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, trying to pull yourself together, teetering on the edge of some kind of breakdown. “I’m sorry I’m not… not what you wish.” 

His eyes flutter open, casting their endlessly critical gaze over you. “You’re fine the way you are.” 

“Fine.” You turn on your side, facing him, curling into the fetal position. “I’m just fine to you. Everything is fine but nothing is good, is that it?”

“You’re putting words in my mouth that I haven’t spoken.” 

“Tell me I’m more than just fine, Tom. Tell me I’m someone you want. Tell me I mean as much as you do to me.” Your voice trembles, your hands curl into fists, tightening, then loosening. “Tell me that this isn’t all in my head. Because right now, it feels like it is.” 

His jaw tightens and he shakes his head, his expression conflicted. 

“Put your fucking strength down and help me, please.” Another tear rolls down your cheek. “It’s just you and me in the morning light. You don’t have to be the Thomas Shelby everyone knows. Be Tom. Just… Tom.” 

“If I were as cold as I try to be, I would stay quiet.” His voice rumbles, so soft that it barely breaks the air, barely makes it through to you. “Truth is, I get quiet when I’m with people. Stop talking and just listen. What’s the point, I think, in talking when you know they don’t feel what you feel. What’s the point in speaking if it isn’t with you.” He closes his eyes again, as if it’s easier to confess to the darkness than straight to you. “I am too far away from love to feel it now, but, when I’m ready, it’ll be you. If you promise me the same.” 

You take in a slow breath, then let it out in a withheld, shuddering sob. You try to be quiet. You try not to take up too much space with your emotions, try not to be too big in your fear and sadness and pure overwhelmed state. But, still, you cry, pathetic as you may be, you let yourself cry in front of him. This is a kind of undressing; showing him the worst sides of you before you show him the best. Shedding the lies of your life to stand naked in the truth. This is your phone call, late at night, asking for a reason. This is your swan song. 

And, slowly, carefully, he moves towards you, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close to him. Your head fits perfectly beneath his chin, your bodies curled together. As always, he warms you, makes you realize you were cold before his touch. His hand holds the back of your head, his fingers stroking through your hair, and his breathing starts to steady you. You time yours to his, your chests rising and falling in unison, and your crying quiets, then stops. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. “I promise.” 

It’s a vow you make in the fresh light of morning, curled close to him in the quiet. This will be a new kind of fight, you think. This will be a war in and of itself. And it will be worth it. Because nothing beautiful comes without a fight, and you are no exception.

You’re hand-walking the white stallion when it happens. His head tosses into the air, his ears prick forward, and he whips around, staring past the barn. You stand quietly, waiting for him to calm so you can continue moving, but he doesn’t. He escalates, his body going tense, then he shoots off and you find yourself dragged behind a massively strong animal. You yank back on the lead rope, digging your heels into the ground to stop Iris from tearing your arms off. He skids to a stop, tail in the air, ears rotating to try to catch whatever it is that’s spooking him. 

The shape of two well-dressed men wander casually into sight, as if they’re supposed to be there, as if you’d invited them onto your property. Your eyes go straight to their hips, where guns hang, holstered. 

You have a minute at most to act before they spot you. Blood rushes through your veins, your heartbeat speeds up, and you’re moving before you’ve thought about what you’re doing. Iris trots beside you as you jog into the barn, quickly putting the horse back into his stall, then backing up, looking around you for a hiding space. 

The men are at the mouth of the barn, moving slowly, languidly, cats on the prowl. From where you stand, half-hidden by the stall door, you can catch a glimpse of their faces. Your doubts vanish. Not Peaky Blinders, not anyone you know. You stand frozen, heart and mind racing, because they found you. They found you, and you’re unarmed, unprepared, and completely without backup. With each step they take, you’re tensing, eyes darting around, wanting something to protect yourself. 

To your right, a ladder to the hayloft. As quietly as you can, you climb up, and cringe as the wooden platform creaks with your weight. You crouch down, looking down at the men as they pass underneath you. Maybe they don’t know you’re home, maybe they don’t know that you live here, and are just checking off a box. Maybe it’s a waiting game. 

They vanish, leaving the barn behind you, and you release a slow breath. A moment too soon, as they return a second later, and one of them speaks.

“She’s gotta be in here, right?” His voice is high-pitched, almost squeaky, repugnant. “She’s not in the house. Not like she has anywhere else to go.”

“Yeah, she’s in here.” The other voice is lower, and a streak of cold recognition shocks your mind. A regular of yours, a man with cruel hands and dark eyes, whose relationship with Liszt grew stronger each time he purchased you. 

You remember damage. You remember the soreness of your body, the bruises on your hips and arms and wrists after he was done with you. You remember blood on the sheets. You remember the smell of sweat and the lingering touch of his hands on your body.

Your eyes track them as they wander beneath you. Your options are few and far between. You crouch up here in the semi-light, a passenger of your old pain, frozen in the fear of passing time, and you wait for them to find you. Or, you find a weapon, you grip it in your worn, calloused hands, and you try to stand your ground. You try to fight against the rigidness in your bones, against the shake of your hands, and you protect yourself. Either way, you’re taken back. Either way, you return to the life you want so badly to abandon and forget. 

You glance around, eyes peeled for something, anything, that could be used to fight back. Your gaze lands on a thick, solid piece of wood, broken off from a rafter. You crawl over to it, wrap your hands around it, and lift. It takes both hands and much of your strength to hold it. You glance down again, eyes on the two men. The larger one, you think. Get the larger one. 

You push a flake of hay to the edge of the hayloft and push it over the edge. It falls with a dull, quiet thump. The men turn, eyes on the flimsy piece of hay, and their slow strides turn to approach it. Neither of them look up. 

You smile faintly, waiting, biding your time. When they’re both directly under you, you heft your piece of wood, give it a kiss for good luck, and throw it over the side with all the strength you can muster. 

It lands true. You hear a squelch and the dull thud of a body hitting the ground. The high-pitched man yells, scuttling back from the carnage in front of him. Before the shock wears off, you climb down the ladder and run, head down and legs pumping. Your eyes catch briefly on the crushed skull of your regular, blood and brain matter spilled over your barn floor.

The horses panic as you run past, reacting to your fear. The rattling and banging of them kicking their stall walls fills the air, and your body, fit and strong, takes you to your house. You dart inside, lock the door behind you, and take the few steps to the kitchen. Open the drawer, pull out your gun. You stare at it. You close your eyes, just for a moment, and you feel your mindset shift. 

This is your home. They’re on your home turf. This belongs to you, and they’ve challenged you where you’re strongest. And now you’re on even ground. He’s alone, his partner is dead or dying, and you’re armed. You’re not backed into a corner. You’re in the ring, with a fighting chance and a loaded gun in your hands. 

You glance at the phone, and the idea of asking for help flits through your mind. Immediately, you decide against it. You don’t have the time. You can see his shadow through the front door windows, hear him try the door handle. Besides, you can pack a punch. You can pull the trigger. 

You hear his voice speak through the door, muffled. “Better run, little girl. You’ve trapped yourself. I’ve got you right where I want you.”

You hold up the gun, your finger toying on the trigger as if practicing. This little girl will put up a fight. This little girl got a gun from a gangster and knows damn well how to shoot. 

The door handle rattles. You move slowly, with the confidence they had when you first saw them. This, you think, will be your warning to all the men who want to take you back, want to use you, want to pretend that you’re an object with no worth. This will be your warning to the world that you won’t be fucked with. 

You sidle up to the side of the door. He bangs on it, trying to force his way through the lock. You take a breath, ready your gun, your finger on the trigger, and then reach out. Your hand rests on the lock for a second, the vibrations of his body hitting against it running through you, and then, when you’re ready, you unlock it, reach down, and open the door. 

He falls through, not expecting the door to suddenly give, and lands face first on the welcome mat. Before he can right himself, you press the gun to his head. 

He inhales sharply, then releases it in a chuckle. “You wouldn’t. You’re too much a coward.”

You roll your eyes and pull the trigger. 

[viperrot]

⇁high school sweethearts | leon kennedy | pt. 1

resident evil 4 remake leon s. kennedy x fem!band-student!reader high school au

there's a new guy in town, and he's pretty damn cute. too bad he hates your brother, though.

content contains: mild angst, enemies to lovers, tbh? mean leon, cliches, minor religious/christian themes, story is told in first person, reader is a bit shy and is an oboe and trumpet player!, leon and reader are in their juniour year, fictional town set around 1980!

3037 words

song rec: "kutsuro gish" by hiroshi takaki

pt. 2

what's this? the blossoming of a series? yes, yes it is! very self-indulgent. i love tropes like this so much. enjoy some mean leon content and a sweet enemies-to-lovers concept, little dove :]

Life in Everglade is... interesting, to say the least. Actually, it was extremely cliché here. Every Sunday and Wednesday, people would go to church, every Friday night was a football game, and the rest of the days were just busy nonsense. The people here rarely ever leave town, and people never really come in. It's been like this for years.

Until recently.

This fall, a handful of strangers tumbled into the little town of Everglade, proud home of the Everglade Ravens. Lucky for me, they even moved in across the street.

From my little window nook, I watch a dingy U-Haul pull up into the driveway across the street, and out comes four people. The first is a man that looks to be in his mid forties, dressed in khakis and a navy polo. Next is a little girl, who looks like a middle schooler. She's got a long skirt on and a flannel sweater, coloured with warm red and browns. After her is what I assume is an elder sister, but she doesn't look much older than the little one.. She's dressed in messy, paint-stained jeans, a black tank-top, and a pink windbreaker jacket to top it all off. She's the only brunette one out of the blonde family so far.

Then comes out the son.

Dragging himself out of the passenger seat was the most dashing boy I've ever seen. The smile he gives his sisters make my heart race—it honestly put Danny Zuko's smile to shame, and I love Grease! His blonde hair is parted to the side, hiding his eyes a bit. He's dressed up in blue jeans that grip around his thighs perfectly, a black t-shirt, and a navy-blue bomber jacket that had the sleeves rolled up to show off his forearms. From my spot at the window, I couldn't help but ogle. The mystery family all gathered around the front door of their new home to get a good look of the inside, and I couldn't help but keep my attention on the only son of the family. I noticed how their was no mother to be seen...

"Hey, thumper," a voice calls out from the door of my room. I tear my eyes away from the window to see my father, leaning against the frame of my door with his arms crossed. "He's been calling me thumper ever since I was little, seeing as how I stomp my foot when I laugh.

"Hey, pops! What's up?" I cock my head to the side questioningly.

"Mom's done with dinner. Meet ya downstairs, or are you gunna keep 'practicin''?" He smirks teasingly, looking at my unused oboe on the foot of my bed. I blush, rolling my eyes.

"I'll be down there... and I was practicing, thank you very much!" I huff. Dad just laughs at me and waves his hand, mumbling about how he'll see me at the dinner table. With that, I get up to collect myself. I take a quick look out the window one more time just to see if the boy next door was still outside, but the front door was shut tight.

I stumble down the stairs, my bunny slippers skidding down the steps as the smell of baked chicken filled my nostrils. Upon entering the dining room, I see my dad at the head of the table accompanied by my mom and my older brother, Damien, who sighs at the sight of me.

"Finally, you're here," Damien huffs. "Can you sit down now? I'm fuckin' hungry," he stretches his hand out to me so I can sit down and say grace with everyone. My dad throws a pen from his breast-pocket at my dumb brother, telling him to watch his language.

I sit at the other end across from Damien to avoid saying grace with him, holding hands instead with Mom and Dad with my head bowed down.

"Ahem... Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen," my mother says. Immediately after the prayer, Damien scarfs down the first piece of chicken he can get his hands on. I pick at some au gratin while my parents converse and scold Dami for being such a disgusting eater. I clear my throat to catch my parents' attention when they grow silent.

"So... uhm... There's new people across the street. Do you maybe... know about them?" I ask, giving my parents side glances. Mom shakes her head as a no, and before Dad can say anything, Damien coughs up a response.

"That punk Leon's the ace player from Greensmell's soccer team!" My older brother snorts, seemingly a bit angry.

So his name's Leon...

What Damien meant to say was Greenvale, which is a town over. They're probably Everglade High School's biggest rival in ever aspect—academics, sports, and even parties (apparently, I wouldn't know). The only thing I can confidently say they're bad at is marching. Their band is horrendous.

"Seriously?" I cringe at the information. "What are they doing here...?" I wonder under my breath.

"Probably got so embarrassed we beat 'em at state champ this year, the wimp probably got kicked out and thrown into Everglade!" Damien shouts with a mouthful of rice. I cringe at the sight, looking back down at my untouched au gratin.

"Cool, cool..." I mumble. "Uh... can I be excused? M'not really hungry," I ask Dad. He nods, going back to his food. Wordlessly, I take my plate to the kitchen to clean it up. As I wash dishes, I stare out the window blankly, eyes set on the house across the street. No one was out still.

I decide it's best to just go to bed after washing dishes, putting my oboe back in its case and setting it next to my backpack. I flop into my bed, part of me hoping to see this Leon guy again soon...

I hate gossip.

I can never tell if people are talking about me, the people around me, or to me. As I walk the halls of Everglade High School, oboe and trumpet cases held tight in my hands, I hear the little murmurs of the cliques of the school. Punks mumbling, girl's that try too hard to look like Sandra Dee whispering behind their palms, and some jocks laughing loudly about Leon.

Wait, Leon?

My converse-clad feet are walking through the hall faster now. As I bump past a bunch of students, I speed my way down to the lunch room, needing to see my friends as soon as possible. Luckily, one of them sticks out like a sore thumb today. Sporting a red blazer, blue flannel tennis skirt, and black socks, I see Samantha Grey in all her glory sitting on top of our usual table, talking to a few of our little group. I stomp up to her, the charms on my instrument cases clinking softly with each step.

"Sammy!" I whisper-yell. Her brown eyes immediately look over to my position in front of her, her black hair swaying.

"Hey, sweet pea~!" She coos happily, a big smile painting her face as she gets down from the tabletop to give me a hug. "Glad you aren't too late. Me 'n' the girls were just talkin' about the new hunk in town," she pinches my cheek before helping me set my cases down on the table. I sit next to her, getting settled.

"Hunk? What's this about?" I stare, acting like I didn't know who they were chittering about. Across from Sammy and me is Lucy Brail and Patti James, who I've known since diapers along with Samantha. Lucy is the first to speak up, clearly excited to talk about Leon.

"This stud just moved into town yesterday! Apparently, he's got two little sisters at the middle school, 'n all the boys here have been howlin' about how he probably got kicked outta the Greenvale soccer team after losing nationals this year!" She says with a grin that reaches her ears. My eyebrows knit together at the information that I had heard the night before.

"You call almost every meathead here a stud, Lucy," I chuckle. She gives me a weird look before scoffing.

"This one's different, sweet pea," Sammy jabs me in the side softly, and I yelp. "He's got this look in his eyes that just scream at me like he wants me!" She sighs dreamily.

"Are you sure it wasn't his pecs you were lookin' at?" I click my tongue. Another jab to the side, and it hurts a little more than the last. I roll my eyes.

"Whatever, I'm sure he's just like the oth-"

"Oh! Oh!! There he is, sweet pea, look!" Sammy grabs me by the jaw to turn my sights to the new guy.

There he is...

Across the lunch hall is Leon, dressed all pretty in a forest green letterman jacket with his initials on the right bicep. There's a few patches from some bands he likes and a big ole "11" on the back of it with "Greenvale" above it. He's still in tight jeans, but they're black this time, as well as his t-shirt beneath the well-worn coat.

"He's got some nerve wearin' that here," Patti mutters. We all hum in agreement as we watch him saunter over to the lunch line to get a carton of strawberry milk.

"Ain't he just a dream~?" Sammy breathes out. Lucy's got this blush that could be seen from Mars, and I swear that Patti's mouth is gunna get dry with how much she's drooling. My gaze is trained on the back of Leon's head, looking at how well-trimmed his hair is.

"He's... he is pretty cute," I mumble, jaw hurting a bit with how tight my best friend was gripping onto it. I hear her giggle.

"Don't get sweet on him now, thumper!" She reminds me, using that silly nickname. “God knows your brother would tear you a new one if he found out you wanted to get a piece of Leon Scott Kennedy," she lets go of my jaw, and I roll my eyes.

"M'not sweet on anyone, Sam," I grumble. Lucy giggles, twirling a strand of her blonde curls in her fingers.

"Isn't he right next to your house, (y/n)?" She asks me. I nod.

"Yeah, actually... How did you know?"

"Oh, sweet pea?! Please, please, please tell me you gotta good view of him from your room! If so, I'm comin' over every weekend!!!" Samantha begs, shaking me by the shoulder.

"H-hey, quit it! I dunno if he's gunna be upstairs or not, and that's c-creepy!" I gasp as she shook me. Lucy and Patti laugh as I get thrashed around. From the corner of my eye, I see Leon get closer. He's got a mean look in his eyes, like he's ready to bite someone if they get near him.

I guess he's trying to protect his peace...

The girls grow silent as he walks past our table, not showing any mind to how noisy we are. They all watch Leon like dogs to a bone when he scoots past us, tossing his milk carton in the air like he hasn't a single worry in the world. When he's gone, it's like we can all breathe again.

"Oh lord, he even smells good," Patti fans herself, a blush covering up her little freckles. Sammy grins in agreement, clearly happy that she got to see the new guy so close. I stick my tongue out in disgust.

“You guys are so gross…”

“Everyone, please welcome our new student,” Mrs. Bradshaw, the advanced chemistry teacher here at Everglade High, drones, motioning her hand to Leon near the back of the class.

And also next to me.

The blonde boy stands up, puffing up his chest a little.

“Name’s Leon Kennedy. Nice to meet you,” he says curtly before sitting right back down. Everyone’s giving him looks ranging from “I wanna rip his throat out” to “I want to kiss him behind the bleachers”, and it’s clear that he doesn’t care about it either. Mrs. Bradshaw clears her throat to stop annoying students from whispering.

“Now, let’s get started on our calorimetry unit. To begin…” The old hag’s words begin to go process in my brain as I get to writing notes. At times, I look at Leon from the corner of my eyes.

He’s writing on a piece of paper instead of a notebook, his blue ballpoint pen scraping against the surface as he messily jots down his notes. I’m pleasantly surprised to see that he actually cares about his education! I can see Leon’s tongue poking out between his plump lips, and I can’t help but stare a little. He doesn’t seem to notice me, until he looks up to check the blackboard up front.

Leon’s blue eyes set their sights on me, locking with mine. Quickly, I avert my gaze back to my notebook, trying my best to act like I was still writing notes. I hear him laugh a little next to me, but I make no effort to speak up.

When the class ends, and the bell for the next period rings, I gather my things to head off to the band room. Backpack slugged over my shoulders, I’m getting ready to pick up my trumpet and oboe case before someone else grabs of for me. Big, veiny hands take the cases by the leather handle, lifting it before my eyes. I look up to see Leon with a devilish smile.

“Caught you staring at me. Mind if I walk with you?” He says confidently. I’m a bit taken aback by his attitude, but I nod nonetheless. I’ve never really had a boy offer to walk me to class other than Damien…

“I can hold my-“

“Nah, don’t worry bout it. I carry my sister’s euphonium all the time,” he chuckles, his shoulders shaking a little as he does. I blush, not expecting him to even know what a euphonium is. So, he’s cute AND he knows the difference between a tuba and a euphonium..

“Are you sure? I-I mean, I don’t want it to be a hass-“

“Don’t worrrrryy,” he exaggerates. “Where are you headed? This is my study hall period, so I got time,” he grins.

“Uh… the band room. A-and thanks,” I tell him, nervously fiddling with my fingers. We walk out of the science lab together, me trailing slightly behind him as we walk.

“So, I’m guessing you and your little posse this morning was talking about me?” He asks, and I feel the blood rush up to my face.

Samantha and her big ole mouth…!

“Y-yeah…” I stammer, unsure of what to say. “Sorry about that… It’s just… we never really have any newcomers here, so the girls were just excited,” I bite my lip. I can feel the stares of people around us in the halls. Whether it’s out of jealousy towards me or hate for him, I’ve no clue.

“I see,” Leon hums. “It was kinda funny, so don’t apologize.” He says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. His fingers are gripping the handle of my cases tight enough to make his veins bulge a little, and I can’t help but stare. After our small talk, it’s quiet, and when we make it to the band room, we stop next to the door so he can give me back my things. As Leon hands over my instruments, footsteps thunder toward our position.

“You know, I thought it was just some sick joke hearing about my lil sister hangin’ around you, but I see that the rumours are true,” Damien growls, walking towards Leon and me slowly with his hands in the pockets of his black letterman. The blonde boy in front of me is still holding my oboe case as he looks at my older brother with an unamused stare.

“Well, had I known she was related to you, I would have never offered to carry her junk,” the ace smiled. I felt my heart drop at his words.

And then it felt like the world came crashing down on me.

Like it was fire, Leon let go of my oboe case, and it clatters against the floor. He’s staring my brother dead in the eyes as he does so, and I can feel tears swell in my eyes. I watch as my reeds, feather, and parts of the oboe pop out of the hard case, scraping against the floors of the hall.

“N-no!!” I yelp, unable to hold back my tears as I drop to my knees to gather the parts. A key or two had bent, and a few corks were damaged. I hear Damien shout at Leon, slamming his body into a locker. I don’t understand what they’re yelling about, too busy trying to pick up the bits of my instrument. More voices erupt, and I assume they’re people trying to pull my brother off of Leon Kenne-dick. My feather gets swept away amidst the commotion. When everything but that is successfully stuffed back into my case, I snap my head around to glare at the ace soccer player behind glossy eyes.

“You’re fuckin’ paying for this, you piece of shit!” Damien screams, thrashing against some teachers who dragged him away from the scene. Leon’s being escorted away as well, not giving me a chance to say anything. I’m left alone in the hall with my broken oboe before Samantha scurries out.

“Sweet pea! We heard all the ruckus, but Mr. Kay said it wasn’t safe for us to be out, and—oh, sugar…” she gasps lightly, crouching down next to me. The ravenette looks down at my open case, seeing the broken and bent keys and chipped corks. “Who did this…?” She asked me gently, setting her chin on my shoulder.

“Leon…” I hiccup, tears falling. The silence is heavy when I tell her this, and I know that Sammy can only see red. Without a word, she wipes my tears with her thumb before helping me into the band room.

I’m starting to regret wanting to see him again.

woohoo! chapitre un, fini :] i know it’s a bit lacking, but it’s just the beginning. hope you enjoyed! pt. 2 here!

[rw-ship-showdown]

THE FINAL WEEK OF THE RAIN WORLD SHIP SHOWDOWN;

Underdog coupling, ARTIFICER/SAINT, two slugcats struggling with karma, both in being knocked down and (potentially) clawing their way back up the ladder, with dramatically differing methods of survival throughout. (lost week 1 (45.2% (137 votes) against nightlight) -> 74% (365 votes) in week 2 against counterstrike -> 71.8% (255 votes) in week 3 against piranha -> 78.1% (361 votes) in week 4 against lanternfish -> 52.5% (319 votes) in week 5 against godmode and spearsaint). In total they amassed 1437 votes, and garnered at least 9 propaganda posts (some may have been lost in reblogs).

Overt winners, HUNTER/ARTIFICER, both hardened and ferocious beasts, though perhaps not as dimly bloodthirsty as others might first believe. Deep in their own angsts and entangling motives, perhaps they find solace either in the most unusual comfort they share, or the further carnage they can ravage as a pair. (86.2% (660 votes) in week 1 against monknight -> 83.8% (364 votes) in week 2 against full moon -> 76.4% (702 votes) in week 3 against bath bomb -> 66.4% (639 votes) in week 4 against nightlight -> 43.3% (672 votes) against error 404 and barbecue). In total they amassed 3037 votes, and garnered at least 6 propaganda posts (some may have been lost in reblogs).

[fire-emblem-drabbles]

Pairing: Karlach x durge reader, Gortash x durge reader

Prompt: Some thoughts I had when I brought my dark urge and romanced Karlach to face Gortash.

Description: Having just survived a divine revelation from daddy dearest Bhaal and making your way to Wyrm's Rock, you're a little shaken but ready to face whatever Gortash may throw at you. You wanted to see Karlach have her revenge as sure as it was your own. Yet... something familiar and strange stirs within your blackened heart when you look at Gortash. And most frighteningly, he looks to you the same.

Rating: sfw

Word Count: 2678 3037

Notes: Happy 4:30 am I got off work and like a man possessed wrote this. It's not edited (yet) but if I don't post this and get validation I may just fucking die so. Have this terrible little brain baby! I just think it would be so tastey. No one wins here btw!

oh this is huge spoilers for dark urge/act 3 btw! I took some liberties but it's my fanfiction and I can if I want to

Edited: 10/1/23 (read it and there was a lot of mistakes lol)

Curiosity has guided you far, in this adventure. It’s helped you find the pieces of your past life, both those that proved to be a boon and that which you would have rather left buried. You’ve repressed your dark urges, fought them, proved to yourself and your allies, and especially your lover, that you’re better than that. Better than the person you once were. Better than what your father would have you be.

And it’s never been more clear than when you stand before Gortash now. You can feel Karlach before you, bristling at seeing his face. The way Wyll panics at seeing his father, obviously not himself. Gale, too, is is all wound up-- the emotions held in this room are fit to burst, and you and Gortash are the center of it.

You felt a flicker of it before, when seeing his face in the Ilithid colony beneath Moonrise. There was familiarity there; not the burning hatred that seized your heart when you looked at Orin, nor the cool indifference you felt upon taking Kethric’s life but something far different. The closet thing to normal you felt from your previous life. It scared you more than the murder, than the blood on your hands and the bile burning the back of your tongue.

He felt like home. A feeling you thought only Karlach could bring about you, of calm and happiness acceptance and all things nice and lovely that father would surely disapprove of. And when he speaks, when his disgusting honeyed voice and hardened gazes softens upon landing to you, when “My favorite assassin,” leaves his silvered tongue, you can see whispers of the past before you.

A part of it, mind, you might have preferred to keep lost. It comes in flashes and fuzzy moments, in warm feelings and beating heart. Your hand, held in his; your lips lost together. Bodies tangled and thoughts lost... You linger in those memories a moment, remembering how right it all felt. And thinking, how funny, even back then you were pulling away from father's puppet strings.

As you come back to the present, you're left stunned silent a moment, as his words flow in one ear and out of the other. This is Gortash-- the man who sold Karlach to the Arch Devil Zariel, who abducted Wyll’s father and whose manipulating the cult of the absolute and all the people of Baldur’s gate all at once-- and he’s the man who helped you learn what love is.

It's also so sickeningly familiar, the way your heartbeat picks up upon meeting his gaze. How he reserves an easy smile just for you, even if you’ve seen it hundreds of times. You have to close your eyes, to reach out and take Karlach’s hand despite how hot she’s grown. It's almost too much for you, to remember how happy you were with Gortash when you've been fighting for so long to find a way to keep being happy with Karlach.

“Solider?” Even through her own anger, her own disgust and sorrow and rage and madness, Karlach pauses, (your whole party does, in fact) in seeing the familiarity between the two of you. Seeing the effect Gortash has on you, their dauntless leader, their dear friend. If only they knew who they were calling their ally now...

“Holy shit,” Is all you can manage out in the moment. So many thoughts, little forgotten memories blink past your eyes. Karlach squeezes your hand, and you squeeze back just to let her know you’re still there.

“I didn’t think I’d have quite that strong of an effect on you,” he chuckles and you hate how you can tell it’s from genuine affection, and not twisted glee. He truly is glad to see you-- and why shouldn’t he be? It can't have been that long ago that the two of you were lovers.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” You have to steel yourself in front of him, in front of your friends. But how can you deny it? Things have always been this way between the two of you. Delicate and strange and so wrong as to feel right.

“It’s nice to see you haven’t changed.” That charming smile, turned business as he turns to face your party whole. “I was worried, after Orin did you in. But I should have known you would return, find your way back to me.” He’s all confidence as he speaks, and you notice its mostly to you. It’s almost as if the room isn’t filled with courtesans, as if your party isn’t there to back you up. Like you aren’t clutching to Karlach like a lifeline.

“You’ll… have to fill in the finer details.” You admit softly, frown fitting your face. “I’ve reclaimed bits and pieces of my former memory but I’m afraid much of my former…” You hesitate as you consider who you were before all this “...life is beyond me.” You decide to remain as passe as possible. But perhaps he already knows you remember. Actually, your certain he does-- there’s a look of mischief twinkling in his eyes that surely only you can see. But cruelty is in his nature, as begets the chosen of Bane. You’re lucky, then, that for you, and only you, his urge can be diminished into something a little more charming.

“Why, without you this cult would be nothing! Well, without us.” He laughs again and you can feel your companions eyes upon you. “You and I came up with this whole plan-- to steal the crown of Karsus, overpower the elder brain, and use its powers to create a loyal army of cultists… if Orin hadn’t overthrown you, things wouldn’t be near a mess as they are now.” He rolls his eyes dramatically, a sigh fitting past his lips. “That sister of yours is quite the handful, and far less careful about controlling her urges. Why, with you back, and with Kethric’s nether stone no less, I dare say we have a chance to get things back in line again.”

“_____, what is he talking about? Why is he talking like he knows you?” Karlach’s voice tears through your thoughts, just as you feel her warm hand leave yours, and your party's gaze all land on you.

“Oh Karlach, dear sweet Karlach…” Gortash speaks again. “Are you certain you want to hear that?” Your breath hitches as he speaks. You were hoping Gortash would have more decorum than to admit what the two of you once hand. Perhaps its obvious to him how you feel about Karlach now. Maybe you looked at him the same way, once; maybe you are now.

Perhaps then, it's jealously that causes him to speak. You can't imagine how he must feel, seeing someone he got rid of so long ago stroll up with the person he thought was taken from him. Yes, now that you think about it, that would make him quite mad...

“You shut the fuck up, Gortash!” Karlach raises her voice before you even think to speak; Gortash merely smirks, speaks again with mockery lacing his tone.

“Indeed, _____, why don’t you enlighten your friends, your lover, about your past self?” Your name spoken from his lips was so, so nice. It made you ache in a sickeningly familiar way. And so too, was the venom in his when he spoke of your lover. Of Karlach…

“They know,” You manage to croak out. “With the tadpole they saw… saw the vision my father sent to me.” One that you had gotten hardly an hour before coming here, even. That you were a Bhaalspawn, of your dearest fathers own flesh. That you were his chosen before Orin struck you down. You knew that wasn't what he met. You were desperate to hide this-- like when your urge first overcame you, when that poor girl Alfira's blood stained your hands and camp...

“Then surely, you remember, about us?” Daring as ever, Gortash moves forward, to cup your chin tenderly with his gauntlet that held his nether stone.

How easy it would be, to twist the arm that dared hold you, to rip that precious nether stone from the sorry hand that dared touch your hallowed flesh.

“Us? What is he talking about?” You could hear the desperation in Karlach’s tone, even if you couldn’t see her. Your eyes were locked with Gortash’s, lost in them really. “_____, why are you letting him touch you?” Even from here, you could feel her heat. She was angry, so angry that he dare touch you. But scared, too. Scared that you weren't even trying to stop him.

You tear away from Gortash’s intense gaze, gently remove his hand from your person and ignore your urge. And so to, ignore the urge to reach out for Gortash in return. So many parts of yourself you have to deny, it was getting hard to know what’s really you…

“Fine. Fine!” You raise your own voice, uncaring of the puppets in the room. You turn to Karlach, to the only reason you’ve gotten this far. “You deserve to know anyways.” Still, you heave a sigh, for what is a heavier burden than the truth? “Yes, before Orin betrayed me, I was the chosen of Bhaal. But beyond that…” Even still, as the truth lingers on your lips, tingles on the tip of your tongue, you hesitate as you meet Karlach’s gaze-- as you filter to Gale and Wyll as well.

Your breath dies a moment as you see how worried they are for you. You’re scarcely worth such kindness, moreso from such good people as them. “Gortash and I were… close. Far closer than any plan may have merited. One might have even called it love, if you believe such evil capable of it.” You admit, looking to the floor. You wouldn’t be able to take the look of betrayal in their faces, nor the grin Gortash surely wore.

“I…” You can feel the way the anger leaves Karlach. Even if she didn’t want to show it you can feel through that dammed tadpole how numb she suddenly feels. “Right. You guys finish” She gestures vaguely to you, to Gortash “whatever the hell this is. I gotta go.” You don’t even have the heart to stop her. Don’t have the courage to watch her retreating form.

“Karlach, hold on!” Gale is quick to follow. You’d have to thank him for that. For doing what you should be doing. You can feel Wyll’s hesitation. But he stays. You’d have to thank him too. You don’t want to be alone (as much as the word means in a room fool of likely tadpoled individuals like yourself) with Gortash right now. Even if Wyll is just staying for his own father.

“There she goes.” Gortash is brazen now, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you in to his chest. You don’t know if it’s right to be this close to him, to hug him like you so desperately want to. “I do miss our time together. We could be still be together, work together. It would be my honor to restore you to your former glory-- to help you regain your title as Bhaal’s chosen once more.” The idea fills you with twisted glee. You recall, with errie smile, how Gortash was once wrapped around your little finger. How easy it could be to twist him to your designs, and kill him when it suited you most. How it would please father, how it would only make you stronger, to get such a distraction out of your life.

“That’s not who I am anymore.” You say with much force, creating some distance between you and Gortash. You're not sure if its about the two of you being together, or you being Bhaal's chosen. Still, he does not falter. He gets down on one knee before you, looking up at you with adoration. You hate it. You love it. It’s disgusting and beautiful and you know this isn’t the first time he’s been on his knees for you. Play your cards right, it may not even be his last.

“Even so, I can see how much your heart cries out for revenge. You mean to kill Orin, and as it happens I want her dead as well.” Again, beautiful hands, coveted nether stone, circle around your own. “We could rule together. Even your little… friends.” This was your plan, after all. Your genius that got this terrible cult going.

“Just what are you proposing?” You can’t help but squeeze his hands. Can’t deny the beat of your heart-- for the evil within must hear this promise of power. Coming from a man you may even still hold dear a part so strong it can't look away.

“We reforge our alliance. Bring our empire to fruition. My steel watch won’t harm you, so long as you kill Orin and bring her nether stone back.”

“_____…” Wyll’s voice surprises you. For a moment, it really was you and Gortash, and the empire you stood to create. “I know this must be a hard decision for you. Gortash seems to know you better than you do yourself this moment. But we need to consider all our options.” He reminds you. Pushing you towards neither extremes at this moment. A level head when yours was, as always, a shambling mess. "Remember how far we've come. How far you've come."

“That’s not a decision I can make right now.” You admit, hastily pulling away from Gortash. His face falters a little as he rises to his feet. “There’s a lot I need to consider.” When he stands tall again, looking to you, that familiar cocky grin is again in place.

“I understand. You always make the right choice in the end. But, just to prove my loyalty,” That word stings just a little. You hadn’t proved loyal to most anyone who trusted you, at least in this particular moment. “I’ll share this with you; an impostor is at your camp, right now.” You frown again as you look to him.

“Orin…” You grit your teeth as you consider your sister, how any one of the people you had come to trust with your life could be the backstabber herself.

“So if I were you, I’d act quick.” He smiles at you but you see how it doesn’t meet his eyes. “So, my dear, why don’t you stay for my coronation?” He laughs softly as he turns towards Duke Ravengard, who seems more statue than man at this moment.

You do just that, watch with wary gaze and heavy heart as Enver Gortash is ordained ‘Archduke Gortash’. Many tough decisions lie ahead of you and you couldn’t will yourself to think on a single one of them as you watched Gortash rise with a new fervor. He seeks your gaze, your approval, as the room erupts with applause. But it’s high time you left, to figure out what to do next.

You climb down the barren halls of Wyrm’s Rock with Wyll, unsure what to say or do next. You feel like you’ve had enough adventure and learning of your old life for once day, but of course Gortash gave you fear to return to your own camp as well…

“Are you alright?” Wyll stops you as you slowly walk towards the south span of Wyrm’s rock, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. You jump at his touch, only to sigh and relax when you realize it's just him.

“No not really, that was a lot for me.” You admit with a shaky laugh.

“I… were you truly involved with Gortash before… well, before?” He frowns, the look on his face hard to read.

“I… yes. I was.” It would be no use to lie.

“And now?” He asks, unexpectedly. “What now?”

“What now indeed.” You sigh and lean into him. Wyll supports your weight with a good natured hug. “I love Karlach, Wyll. I love her so much. But… old feelings linger in my twisted mind. Gortash was…” You shake your head. How can you explain that who you were, who you use to be… Gortash was the only person that you respected? That seemed to understand you, to meet you at your level? Even now as you thought of it, more cursed thoughts of your time together came back to you. It hurt, mentally and physically.

“I can’t say I understand, friend, but I know yours is a troubled past.” He pulls back from you, smile fitting his handsome face. “I think it would be best for us to head back to camp for the day.” He guides you that way, and you decide to follow his judgment.

“I just… hope that Karlach is okay. Had I known, I…” You shake your head. How could you have known? In a past life, you were lovers with the very man that ruined her life. The man that made it difficult for you two to even start a relationship to begin with.

“Rest, friend. You can’t of helped that.” You nod. He was right. But that still left you in the middle of some ridiculous love triangle…

You just have to decide, dearest, darkest urge, who is most important to you; Enver Gortash, Bane’s Chosen, tyrant of Baldur’s Gate and the matching mind to your own criminal plot to rule it all… or Karlach Cliffgate, the woman he ruined in the pursuit of his own power, and the one you promised to help end him.

Either way, there would be betrayal. Heartbreak. And fighting, for sure.

You could, of course, kill them both. That would solve so many problems for you! Feed your urge, please your father, and remove any obstacle that would distract from your goal. Wouldn’t it be delicious, to drink in their desire, thinking they’ve won your favor-- only for you to break that precious trust as their bodies twist under your blade…

This all of course assuming you could fight off your dark urge still... Rest would not come easy tonight, if at all. But it wouldn't be the first time. Come what may, you would forge your path forward.