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bloodiedrogue · 11 months

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WEAVED TOGETHER (SAY IT'S FOREVER)

SUMMARY: After faking your death years ago, Astarion finally finds you in Waterdeep.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 5,128

WARNINGS: 18+ sexual content, fingering, orgasm denial, sex used as a manipulation tactic, biting, blood sucking, descriptions of past/current abuse, Ascendent Astarion (feel like I need to tag this just in case), a whole lot of angst.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This fic gave me so much grief. I really hope my labour translates into something good because man, if it doesn't I might fucking cry. :') Also, fic title is inspired this bop!

MASTERLIST

You’ve never been particularly keen on parties. Favouring quite possibly anything above the stuffy insides of a ballroom packed with people, it’s a miracle that you haven’t already left Gale’s side for some air. To take even the shortest of moments to allow yourself some alone time.

Feeling the fabric of your dress uncomfortably stick to your skin, you can’t help but squirm at the thought of having to stay any later. Considering you’ve been here for a good few hours already, you’re tempted to ask Gale if maybe now’s the time to part ways.

At this point you’ve been well and truly shown off to the entire party, gawked at by countless of his old academic friends, so surely he wouldn’t mind if you up and left now, right?

Before you can think to ask, he’s already wrapping his arm around your shoulder, pulling you in for a friendly kiss to the cheek. “I really do appreciate you coming,” he tells you, drunkenly swaying as he speaks, letting out a chuckle as you hold him steady. “I would’ve been terribly embarrassed to show up at such a renowned event without a date.”

“So you’ve mentioned.” You shoot him a smug look, watching him roll his eyes and take a sip of wine, debating whether or not to take the glass from him, knowing just how much he’s had.

“I mean it, you’ve been nothing short of wonderful to me in my time of need, so thank you.”

Despite the urge to play down his thanks, to remind him of all the things he’s done for you as of late, you merely take it, offering him a quick you’re welcome in return, knowing just how persistent a drunken Gale can get. How the man hardly pauses to breathe in the midst of a conversation —his endless string of words seeming to lose you almost instantly every time.

Even now, as he begins to go on some long-winded speech about the importance of your friendship, you’re already miles away, longing to drift towards the balcony that rests just across the room, taunting you with its open air and lack of people.

“Anyways, would you care for another drink? I’m in need of one myself thanks to the hole at the bottom of my glass.” Pulling you back in, Gale lets out a joyous laugh, throwing his head back while you merely shake your head.

“I’m uh, no I’m fine Gale. You go ahead and get that drink. I think I’m going to head outside and get some air.”

All he does is give you a tight hug before he leaves, stumbling across the marble floors, bumping into various bodies that suddenly get caught up in his inebriated storm, allowing you a moment to yourself.

You let out a sigh of relief then, turning your attention to your desired spot, gathering up the skirt of your dress so that you can race to its opening, breathing in the scent of fresh air once you step past the threshold.

Somehow once you’re out there, you notice that there isn’t a body in sight. No couples having late-night trysts in the corner or other lonesome individuals stood painfully reflecting on their night. It’s just you by yourself, walking slowly towards the railing, gripping it tight as you allow your mind to settle. To shut down for just a moment after being on for so long.

It feels like forever since you’ve felt this calm. After years of endless journeys —of fighting and running and, as of late, hiding away— you feel that old sense of ease wash over you. Like the waves of Waterdeep’s coast, they gently lap at your feet, rising and falling with each breath you take, watching from afar the bustling city streets below as they begin to die out for the night.

It reminds you of home, a bit. Of the nights you used to spend wandering around Baldur’s Gate, your belly full of the cheapest ale and your mind empty of anything other than the prospect of fun. Back then, you were always full of reckless abandon, constantly getting into trouble only to talk your way out of it not long after and unfortunately, you can’t help but begin to miss it all. The life before the war. Before you were taken in the dead of night and forced into a life you never wanted to live.

Things were simpler then. You didn’t have the scars of clashing swords or the kind of memories that often shook you awake each night, covered in sweat and gasping for air. Devoid of anything truly awful, all you had was the blissful ignorance of a fool. One hellbent on solitude in a world of constant interaction.

Honestly, if it weren’t for the people you’d met along the way you’d be jealous of that life. The one where you were seemingly untouchable, your mind vacant of regret and resentment and—

Before you can continue, you shake those same feelings from your mind, forcing out a heavy breath as you try to maintain the calm. The ocean of waves of Waterdeep pooling between your toes, knowing it’s the only way you’ll move on. If you focus on the positives —if you refuse to look back even for the slightest of moments you’ll forget all about those other lives you lived. All the chapters you spent haphazardly scribbling down, trying desperately to get to this moment.

It seems impossible sometimes, remembering how much shit you had to go through to get here. Not only did you have to survive countless wars involving mind flayers and cultists, but you also had to die to get it. And not die in the metaphorical sense, either. No, you had to literally die —to off yourself in front of countless people and hope to god the Necromancer that you hired actually turned up.

It was a whole process. One that you refuse to think about as you let out a scoff and raise your hands to your head, pressing two fingers to either temple to relieve yourself of the sudden ache that hits.

“Remember what we said about thinking,” you remind yourself then, allowing your eyes to slowly roll back, savouring the alleviated pressure your fingers provide.

Repeating the mantra in your head, you rub your skin and hum aloud, standing for a few more minutes as you listen to the sounds of the bustling party behind you. How the music swells into a crescendo of excitement, various strings and woodwinds all playing in time with one another.

Alongside it, a calming voice echoes over, rising and falling with each passing note that carries through the air to your ears. At first, it’s soft and silky —comforting in a way that wills you to drop your hands and take a few steps towards the entrance of the building, watching as a beautifully freckled bard strums her lute and smiles at the crowd.

Suddenly intrigued, you move to your previous spot inside the ballroom, spotting a rather awestruck Gale who’s holding onto two glasses of red, staring with widened eyes.

“She’s rather pretty.” You grin wickedly and bump your hip against his, hearing him grunt as he blinks and glances at you.

“I’m sorry?”

Taking the glass nearest to you, you then use that same hand to motion to the bard that’s begun to erupt in an upbeat chorus, her voice lowering to a wild growl as she kicks up her feet, dancing around the stage with some of the other musicians. “The bard. Fancy a taste?”

He narrows his eyes at you, a grin of his own peeling across his face as he shakes his head. “I think a conversation would suffice. Least, for starters.”

Biting your bottom lip, you jokingly wrap your arm around his shoulders and shake, pressing your face against his cheek to make obnoxious kissing sounds that leave him laughing and shoving you off.

“Unhand me, you harlot!”

“What? Afraid she’ll see?”

He opens his mouth, almost offended, staring for a moment as you wiggle your brows and take a sip of the wine. “Excuse you, that was my drink.”

“You got yourself two drinks?” You raise your brow.

He scrunches up his face in response before subtly craning his neck towards the other side of the ballroom. “No, it’s for Astarion.”

Your stomach sinks at the mention of his name, filling you with the kind of dread you’ve only felt one other time in your life. All at once it sends you into a panic. Your chest aching and your throat tightening. Even your hands, once carefully wrapped around the vessel of liquid seemingly shifts to a close, resulting in shattering glass that pokes and prods your skin before it falls to the ground.

Crying out in surprise, Gale’s previously mischievous expression quickly fades. Replacing it, an air of worry envelopes the both of you. As he reaches for your arm, allowing his hand to carefully slide down to view your newfound injury, you try to swallow and scan the room, picking apart face after face to no avail, wondering if somehow he’s already found you. If perhaps, instead of where Gale assumes he is he’s instead directly behind you, lingering like the creature of the night he is, waiting to strike.

A shaky breath escapes you then. Peeling away from Gale’s cautious grasp, you take a minute to blink and look him up and down, noticing the growing fear in his eyes. How his lack of understanding only spurs your head to whip behind you, to find more curious eyes staring back.

“Are you alright?”

The question comes from a voice you’ve never heard before. So, instead of entertaining it you merely turn back to Gale, suddenly catching an unfortunate glimpse of pale skin and ivory hair quite a ways back.

Immediately, it strengthens the dread inside, ripping the breath from your lungs as you press a nervous hand to your neck, realizing that somehow it’s already been years since you’ve last seen him. Months and days and hours all collectively bundled together, only to be completely ruined by this one moment.

As you stand there, staring —watching as he does nothing but the same, you feel your mind yelling for you to run. To discard whatever reservations you may have left to push violently through the crowd because, at this rate, it’s the only option left. Having already tried hiding beneath the freezing hands of Death himself, it’s obvious you’ve exhausted all other options. No matter what you do —what you say— nothing will be deemed feasible enough to grant you the escape you so foolishly desire. You’re too vulnerable now, standing there in your ballroom gown, bleeding from your injured hand, trying not to have a full-blown panic attack as he takes that first stride forward.

Matching his step, you feel your body waver backwards, everything suddenly swirling across your vision as Gale reaches out to grab your arm, asking if you’re okay.

“I’m aware the breakup wasn’t amicable but maybe if you two just talk?” he suggests, his voice bouncing off your ears like a war drum, reminding you that Sufferance is coming. And that he’s dressed in his fanciest suit to mark the occasion, practically gliding through the room with knitted brows and frowning lips, pushing aside everybody who gets in his way.

“Gale, we —I need to go.”

Suddenly your palm, still filled with glass pushes against his robes, staining the fabric as your blood begins to drip, reminding you of his hunger —of the way he used to feed. How he took and took, ignoring your starvation for something other than submission. Refusing to acknowledge the withering of your soul each day you spent wrapped around his pretty little fingers.

As he shoves a woman to the ground, you can feel the emptiness within your stomach start to grow at the memory. The shuddering of your limbs driving Gale to look behind him, noticing the wild look in Astarion’s eyes as the crowd begins to part in fear, watching as he bares his teeth.

It’s a look that makes you instantly flinch. Closing your eyes, your shoulders rise to touch your ears in anticipation. Waiting for the moment to strike, you all but freeze in place, holding your breath as the steps of his boots draw near, reverberating through the air until they suddenly stop.

In fact, everything stops. The sound of him —the sound of the party. All of it falls onto deaf ears, creating a new fear that has you so terrified you merely stand in place until you eventually hear the clapping sound of a hand on someone’s back, followed by the swirling of your head again, forcing your eyes to jolt open.

“Oh, hello darling, didn’t see you there.”

Once again trying to breathe, you glance between the two men in confusion, watching as they share a lengthy embrace before Astarion’s pushing himself onto you. Gentler than expected, his arms slowly wrap around your shoulders as he does it, pulling you to his chest in a way that feels both frightening and familiar. A mix of home and hell encased around your nervous frame as he lowers his head to yours.

In response, you reluctantly raise your hands and place them on his back, applying a bit of pressure at the centre as you mutter out a muddled hi, looking to see that the commotion he so violently caused before seems to have evaporated into thin air.

“You’re awfully far from home, aren’t you?” His voice is barely above a whisper, ghosting against the shell of your ear as you force out a shaky breath.

“So are you.”

“I wonder why that is.”

You hum in response. Using the short moment of silence that’s granted to stare. To watch the way he looks you up and down, the edges of his lips pulling into a smirk of amusement.

It’s obvious then that he’s thinking of playing tricks. Of taunting and teasing —using all the usual charming tactics before he decides it’s worth it to raise a little hell.

Because of this, you merely swallow hard and spare Gale a glance, watching him magic away the bloodstain on his robes before looking back towards the stage.

“How did you find me?”

Astarion reaches for your chin. Taking hold of it with his thumb and forefinger, he then waits patiently for you to share his gaze, looking your face up and down until he can finally see the fear in your eyes. “Does it really matter?”

It does, but you know he won’t tell you so you move on to another question. “Why are you here then?”

Immediately he scoffs, the smirk on his face falling for a split second. “Do you really have to ask?” he says, letting his thumb run across the length of your bottom lip. “Obviously, I’ve come to enjoy a spot of red with old friends.”

“Hm.”

“Among other things, of course.”

“Like?”

“Reclaiming my dead consort, for one.”

“And two?”

He shrugs his shoulders as he taps your chin. “Not sure. Depends on how the night goes.”

You’re not sure what to say then. Growing increasingly lost to the feeling of his hands and voice —remembering all the moments shared when it was just him and you and the power imbalance of ascension hadn’t yet existed— all you can do is pull him in a bit tighter.

Knowing that Gale is probably growing more curious by the second, you suddenly feel a sense of protection. An urge to get rid of him so that he’s no longer at risk.

Well aware of the power Astarion now holds within his grasp, you know it’s hardly worth it to try and get him involved anyway, especially considering how much alcohol he’s consumed. The poor man couldn’t be helpful even if he tried, so instead of asking you merely hold on. Tightening your grip as the other parts of you desperately try to rationalize just how much you’ve missed this. How even after years spent fleeing his hold —years of constant moving and hiding and watching your back for signs of his presence— his touch is still the only thing that makes you feel safe.

Which is a fact that makes you sick to your stomach, discovering that, regardless of being able to name a million reasons why you should be fleeing rather than falling, suddenly you’re able to name just as much for why you’d stay. Why you’d more than willingly follow his footsteps if he asked.

And not because you fear him, no. Despite having just been found out —despite that growing uncertainty of how you’ll inevitably be taken back— it’s as if your mind resets on impact. As he holds you close, speaking in obvious threats to your safety if you don’t listen, you can feel the defiance in you quickly dwindle. Evaporating into thin air as he leans away to give Gale an overly friendly smack to the shoulder.

“Gale, darling, you wouldn’t mind giving us a bit of privacy would you? Seems we have much to discuss.”

The hold he has on you tightens as he speaks, reminding you that such a conversation is anything but optional as Gale almost immediately buggers off, drunkenly mumbling something about drinks and fun before Astarion’s whisking you away.

Leading you through a crowd of bodies, you quickly find your hand gripping his shoulder absentmindedly. All splayed out, your fingers nervously caress the fabric of his doublet, feeling the texture shift beneath your skin, reminding you that he’s here. That’s he’s present and real and not just some illusion conjured up to scare you into coming back.

“Your entrance back there was…”

You’re not sure what to say anymore. Not with the underlying rage you can feel radiating off of him. Given the fact that it’s been so long, you’ve almost forgotten how to please him. To make his mind ease into those old spaces of pity where sometimes he’d grant you reprieve amongst the punishment.

Knowing this, he looks at you with feigned innocence, taunting you with his still raised lip as though he’s having fun despite slowly inching towards the blowout. “Did you like it? I figured, it’s been so long since I’ve last toyed with that little mind of yours, best to give it a proper show.”

He wipes his thumb across your forehead and watches you frown; your head suddenly darting back only to be ripped forward when that same hand tightens around your throat.

All at once the action leaves you gasping for air. As his thumb presses down on the centre of your neck, applying just enough pressure to pull from you a nervous wheeze as the two of you stop, he can’t help but lower his face to yours.

“I’d consider yourself lucky that the temperament I showed back there was merely an illusion,” he tells you, pressing his forehead to yours.

Swallowing to no avail, you feel the lump in your throat become pressurized by the growing frustrations in his hand. Prompting you to panic, another airless sound emits from your lips as your eyes begin to dart around, looking at all the curious eyes that seemingly look away the second you make contact.

You realize then that nobody cares. Whether it’s due to the intimidating presence he exudes or the potential word of mouth of his ascendance circulating the room, you don’t care, knowing it doesn’t really matter anyway. He’s untouchable regardless. A force so unmovable that all you can do is pray that he’s merciless.

As he grips your throat amongst a sea of avoidant faces, unwavering in his efforts to patronize your past behaviours, you know then that this marks the end of your freedom. That from this moment on his control over you has been reenacted without discussion.

“Now, are we going to obey and have a nice evening or are we going to do something we might regret?”

Looking back at him, all you can do is nod, feeling that alleviation slowly come. Granting you the chance to breathe again, you cough quietly and reach for your throat, rubbing the pain away as you watch his previously aggressive demeanour fall into amusement, once again stringing you along.

At which point you effectively zone out. Still feeling his hand flush against the small of your back, it’s as if suddenly your mind becomes null, avoiding all thoughts as he leads you through the main entry of the ballroom, turning down a seemingly endless stream of corridors until you find yourself face to face with an ornate door.

Once there, he peels away from your frame and begins to pick the lock, wickedly grinning at you once that familiar click rings out, reminding you of the old him. Of how he was before the ritual, all doe-eyed and excited to experience the world and all its gifts.

It makes your lip pull between your teeth nervously, seeing him unbend the length of his back to look at you. To smirk in a way that feels so real and him that you almost forget that he’s changed. That, instead of picking the lock to loot the room and make charming little jokes at your expense, he’s doing it so he can get you alone. So that he can do unspeakable things the old Astarion would never think to do.

“Shall we?”

His voice rings out like a request even though you know deep down it’s a command, secretly telling you to hurry up. So, doing just that, you brush past him without so much as a glance, taking in the endless wall of books that greets you as you enter, opening your mouth in slight awe until the door closes behind you.

Turning back, you’re then given all but a second before he’s on you. Grabbing you with such violent desperation, a hand snakes around your waist, claiming you like he used to do when you were still devoted to being his. When this idea of free will was nothing more than a passing thought that barely grazed the surface.

Back when he was still yours.

Immediately, the familiarity of it wreaks havoc on your chest. Your heart, once filled with longing and fear now radiates nothing but need. Demanding that old sensation of flesh brushing against flesh as his other hand takes hold of the base of your neck.

The second you feel it, all thoughts are lost. Every previous reservation you once had melting into nothing against the hot feeling of your mouth pushing against his, prying open both lips to taste his tongue. To remind yourself of what it felt like to be wanted in the simplest sense.

Deepening the kiss, he moans and somehow pulls you closer, forcing your chests together as he maneuvers you backwards, stumbling over a raised edge of a rug before practically tossing you onto the floor.

“Years,” he groans then, pulling away to stare down at you with knitted brows and swollen lips, distracting you with that pretty face as he begins to rip the bodice of your dress. “I’ve spent years without this flesh —without this blood.”

His fingers pry at the fabric, peeling back the only layer you have to hide behind until you’re left exposed from the waist up, anxiously breathing at the sight of his hunger.

A sight that leaves you helpless beneath his grasp as he quickly leans forward, palming one breast while holding your face with the other. Beneath him, all you’re able to do is take each touch as it comes, savouring the uncharacteristic softness as his thumb brushes against your nipple, teasing it with gentle swipes as he goes in for another kiss.

Similar to his hands, there’s a strange feeling that comes along with it. As he nibbles your bottom lip, choosing to give you control, you know that something’s off. That instead of displaying the softest version of him you’ve felt in years, he should be punishing you with reckless brutality. Taking what’s rightfully his without so much as a thought.

Because of this, you reluctantly pull away, gasping for air as he hovers above you, still stroking your chest and face.

“Why are you doing this?”

Normally, such a question would result in some sort of punishment. A night of solitary confinement. Perhaps the silent treatment for up to a week.

Back before you realized just how fucked up everything had gotten he used to isolate you for things as simple as this. Forcing everyone around to ignore your every waking move, he found that loneliness was the key to your obedience. The only way to control whatever reckless thoughts entered your mind.

So, it’s surprising when he answers —when he lowers his mouth to give your lips one final kiss before flashing that smirk. “What do you mean?”

You raise your brow and move to sit up, leaning against your elbows as your face contorts in confusion. “Why are you acting like him?”

“You mean me?”

You open your mouth to respond —to fight against his words, knowing now more than ever that you should. Considering the door’s already open for conversation, you might as well get all your thoughts out while you’re able. Because after this it’s apparent, you’ll be stuck all over again, wasting away at the foot of a God who’s anything but forgiving.

“You aren’t punishing me.”

“I’m not.”

“Why?”

His hand explores your face, swiping across skin that hasn’t felt a single touch since your departure. “There’s always time for punishment —for penance,” he tells you, tracing your features with featherlight strokes that have you begging for more as you push yourself upward. “Now that I have you again, there’s far more important things I want before I subject you to what you deserve.”

“Which is?”

He pauses for a while, continuing his ministrations in a way that has you forgetting why you left in the first place. Why, instead of subjecting yourself to the torment of his hand to feel the grace that often coincides, you decided to give it all up.

“I haven’t quite decided yet.”

It’s a simple statement, yet it holds far too much weight against your ears. As he speaks, your heart flutters in your chest nervously, reminding you that this thing between you is nothing more than an imbalance. A tipping scale so unevenly distributed that you’ve lost all hope for rebalance.

Because of this, you don’t fight him when he inevitably leans forward. Nor when he presses a slightly rougher kiss to your lips, biting down with a newfound vigour that splits your lip in half. Feeling the blood pool out, you hardly react when Astarion’s lips begin to suckle the wound, lapping up whatever spills through as he rips away the rest of your clothes, tossing it all aside.

Suddenly cold, you find your arms rising to hold him all over again. Wanting to feel the fabric of his clothes pressing against your bare skin, you grip him tight and groan, relishing in this moment. Enjoying the familiarity of it as something warm blooms across your aching core, fuelling the need for your hips to slightly buck up, making him laugh.

Light and airy, the sound filters through your mouth like smoke, taking hold of your lungs in a way that leaves you addicted. Wanting to chase that past feeling, your hands swiftly lower to his waist, your fingers tucking themselves under his clothes to touch the texture of his scar —to feel the old him amongst all the new.

Realizing this, his movements become suddenly erratic. Forcing himself up with a grin, he then begins to quickly trail down your body, pressing his mouth to every exposed bit within his sightline, making sure to glance up at your heavy eyes and parted lips along the way.

“Mm, still as desperate as ever, my little consort,” he tuts.

Between the kisses he places to your freshly bruised flesh, he releases another laugh that lingers in your mind, further reminding you of him. Of the man you fell in love with. Of the man who swiftly slips between your thighs with little notice, raising the backs to rest against his shoulders.

A sound of shock escapes your lips at the new position, craning your neck to watch him latch onto your inner thigh, suckling the plush through such a guttural moan that it forces your jaw to drop.

“Fucking hell,” you mumble then, prompting his lips to curl into a grin before he’s biting your thigh, forcing his teeth through the tender flesh before you can even think to object.

It feels better than you remember. Almost like a hot flash of pleasure before that familiar coldness kicks in, numbing the space that he suckles with haste. As his lips hollow out to drink whatever he can get, you feel his hand slip against your entrance, knuckles grazing the outer folds of your sex just right.

Bucking your hips again, you feel his movements become one. Each time his tongue licks up, his fingers raise to the top of your cunt, flowing back down in such delicious unison you’re already ready to submit. To surrender yourself to whatever pleasures might await through the pain of your punishment.

So much so that you’re already begging for it. Through gasps that barely hit his ears, your voice whines for more. For more pressure or movement or frankly, whatever the hell he’s willing to give despite how undeserving you are.

“Please, Astarion.”

The moment he hears that little please he’s pulling away, grinning at you with teeth and tongue all covered in your blood.

“I’m sorry, you want me to please you?”

He gently pushes two fingers into your entrance, curling the ends ever so slightly while keeping them still, watching as you press your lips together, unable to speak.

“To pleasure you?”

Slowly, he angles his head to suck your thigh again, dragging a fresh wave of blood through his hungry lips before shifting towards your cunt and licking a tentative strip directly above his fingers.

“To taste you, perhaps?”

His voice is low, droning on in that teasing way that has you looking down annoyed, taking in the way he goes back and forth, debating whether or not to relent. To give in to the indulgence, watching you squirm beneath him. Forcing you to stir in your own prolonged pleasure until he all but sits back up, digging his fingers into the holes in your thigh, telling you you’ll get what you deserve once you’ve come back home.

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TAGLIST NOW CLOSED!

#weaved together (say it's forever)#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fan fic #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #ascended astarion #summer writes

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msookyspooky · 2 months

Text

Fours a Franchise

Part 16

wordcount: 8,613

(Yeah, don't listen to me when I say I'll update soon; I'm a giant fuckin liar. Srry oops ♡)

It was the next evening in Woodsboro. Barely a day after the tragedy that hit this town once again for the first time since the 90's. Dewey had to make a press statement as Sheriff and or the one in charge of the case. In a 24 hour period, on top of the killings that already took place, he had to state the victim's of this senseless brutality. 6 victims dead in the last 24 hours, 1 suspect dead and multiple injured…And 3 suspects missing.

After stating the victims names outside the hospital…He warily looked up a few times in case of…Well. In case of freaking falling corpses like what happened with YN's publicists a few short days ago. He then gave the conclusion of his speech to wrap up this chaos that seemed to never end. Anxiety biting at him. Feeling like a young boy displaying a D minus grade card in front of the whole class…

He subtly licked his lips a bit and swallowed hard as he tried to think. His mouth was incredibly dry all the sudden as he tried to force out what needed to be said to make his town feel reassured.

“...Citizen's of Woodsboro...This was a senseless and awful tragedy. The threat is under control-”

The press yelled out mid sentence, “Sheriff Riley! But it took how many lives to get it under control? Why didn't the police act sooner?”

Dewey fumbled, a tight expression on his face as he spoke into the mic, “Our deputies tried tirelessly and it took us longer than we expected. It's not easy trying to find someone in a mask-”

“Why was a party allowed last night where one person was found dead?” Someone else demanded.

“He was…The victim was killed after and we…We didn't know of the party or we'd shut it down! Obviously just-” He stammered and tried to calm himself.

Dewey was still reeling. Anytime he thought of that party; he'd forever see the dead lifeless eyes of Randy's corpse. He spaced out a moment with all the questions, all the accusations. Judy and a few others looked at him to give an answer to the overbearing crowd.

He rolled his teeth over his bottom lip and decided to just cut the crap and say what he needed. Because this was too much. It was all too damn much. He didn't even get the courtesy of mourning Randy's death and YN's betrayal without being strong for the entire World.

He spoke up again. Ignoring the questions to cut to the chase.

“Young kids with their entire lives ahead of them died this week. Good hardworking men just trying to provide for their families. Just trying to make a life for themselves and their loved ones. All 3 very good friends of mine.” A hushed whisper sounded in the microphone as Dewey's face scrunched thinking of his two detectives and Randy. “A woman that…” He faltered, gazing at the hospital behind him and gestured with his hand. “...Whose body was thrown onto a news van right here.”

His voice caught a bit of tense anger as he pointed his finger at the podium while speaking. “Even my own wife, Gale Riley formerly Gale Weathers, was stabbed in the shoulder last night. All of this…It…” He got tongue tied once more before taking a deep breath. A fine line between showing strength and being pitiful he had a hard time treading right now.

All eyes on him as he could feel the heat from the lights and see his reflection in cameras.

He looked at the crowd to let it sink in with a pause to catch his bearings. Only the mic ringing from being too close to it, sounded along with cameras clicking.

“...As your Sheriff, I took this job under oath to make sure that 1996 never happened in this town again. It may have happened at Windsor College in Ohio or in Hollywood but not here in our quiet and peacefully small California town.” He paused, gazing at the crowd. Tired. Dark downset eyes cast heavily at all the microphones and lights. At the cameras recording his every move. His every failure. All he ever wanted was to protect the innocent and in his eyes he failed miserably.

He took a breath and took off his hat. “Which is why… I'm resigning as Sheriff. I take full responsibility for my department's failure in stopping this before it became too late. That's not on my deputies but on me. Their lives are on my hands and I can't express enough remorse.”

Chatter erupted as so many reporters badgered to ask questions. Judy's jaw dropped. Her standing by having recovered from her vest protecting her this morning. She looked flabbergasted at his resignation as well as a few other deputies.

He descended off the small makeshift stage near the podium.

So many voices. A man yelling, “Sheriff Riley! Why are you resigning? Do you think your actions killed those kids?”

“Because it's time for someone else to take over. Someone new.” Was all Dewey gave as he tried to make his way to the hospital doors.

“Sheriff Riley! Sheriff! Can you give out the name's of the suspects and give a final statement on their identities? Are they apprehended or deceased?” A female reporter pressed as he got

“Not at this time we can't make a statement. But they are under control.” He tried shoving past as Judy and a few others forced the vulture media back.

He heard a woman ask, “Where's YN!? Sheriff Riley, is YN alive?”

He froze at the door…

Of course they'd ask. YN was an American icon. You couldn't see the mask without the survivor who seemed to be attacked every time. Her name is always gracing the headlines. Her book on survival was a New York Times Best Seller last year. Of course, with everyone else accounted for, they were dying to know where the IT girl was? Where was the final girl? Where was YN?

And Dewey couldn't answer. Not right now, as he shoved through the hospital doors while Judy and a few other deputies held the media back. All before Judy ran after the man she worshiped once fully inside.

“Sheriff!” She called out, her feet thudding in the quiet hospital hallway. “Sheriff, wait-”

Dewey stopped and turned to give her a sad smile, holding his hat in his hands. “It's just Dewey now, Deputy.”

He felt like a kicked puppy. A small child. A weak man. Standing there forcing a smile while his chest ached and he rang his hat in his hands.

Judy spiraled. Big eyes buggier in appearance and mouth open trying to find excuses.

“This wasn't your fault! If Gal- Mrs. Riley, had followed police protocol an-and Mr. Meeks and Miss YN would have had more faith in you and-” She rushed out in a stammer. Trying to reason with him. But his mind was made up.

“Listen…” He softly gave. His dark eyes softened as well matching his tone. “It is. Randy and…They were right. Gale was right. There were so many mistakes I made that could've saved a lot more people had I not been so darn eager to follow the books.”

“The books are in place for a reason. They save lives.” She furiously shook her head, thin blonde brows scrunched in distress. “You can't resign! You can't; Woodsboro needs you. We need you…I need you.”

“No.” Dewey sighed and kept that smile of resignation. “No. You don't Judy. You're one of the best officers I've had the pleasure of working with. In fact, it won't shock me if you become Sheriff one day.”

“Sheriff…” She looked touched. “But Sheriff Riley-”

“Ah, it's Dewey please.” He corrected her with a warm oblivious smile.

“Dewey…” She said his name with sincere fondness. Inching closer as her small stature looked up at him. “I…You were, are, the best Sheriff. The best boss. A good friend and…I can't help feeling…Well more…”

“...More?” Dewey raised a brow. “Like family?”

“No like…Like you deserve better.” She got even closer. “Like, if you and I are apart I'd feel like the world isn't right. I care about you…I just wish Gale and others treated you the way you deserve.” She whispered just getting closer standing on her toes.

“Well, I care about you too, Judy. You're a very good friend.” He gave in a much more casual tone than she did.

He just thought she was a bright eyed young woman looking for a big brother figure. He always thought Gale was overreacting when she got jealous.

"Wes is…Wes admires you. He loves when you drive him around in the police car sometimes.”

Dewey smirked, “Yeah, he's a good boy. Gonna be just like his Mom one day.”

“But what if he could have someone more…Masculine to look up to? A man around the house. A father figure.”

Dewey looked confused where she was going but mumbled, “Well, that would be a good idea. A boy needs his Dad and all... Well, or a Dad.”

“Exactly…” She gazed at him in a way that it seemed his brain was finally clicking wasn't appropriate. “And what if…” She softened her voice. “That father figure could be someone he already knows?”

She leaned up, her lips going in as Dewey looked down with a confused look.

For the first time he was taken aback at her display. “Deputy Judy?” He gasped out and stepped away out of reflex.

“Dewey!”

Gale's voice rang out down the hall. Judy stepped back with a blush and Dewey instinctively took 2 more steps away just to be safe.

“Gale! What are you doing?” Dewey cleared his throat and quickly asked. “You should be in bed.” He commented seeing his injured wife in fashionable attire and heels instead of a hospital gown with her injured shoulder.

“I'm free to go. Even if I'm not, I'm not staying in a hospital just laying in bed for a shoulder wound. I can do that at home.” She waved him off.

Gale gave an annoyed look at Judy as Judy's flushed face soured at the other female. Gale raised a brow and demanded, “You mind giving me space with my husband, Deputy.” More rhetorical than an actual question.

Judy scowled before looking at Dewey, “Take care, Dewey. I'll make sure everything is in order.”

Judy marched off and Gale raised a brow, “The hell was that?”

“N-Nothing.” Dewey mumbled with his eyes downcast; unsure how to tell his wife he was no longer Sheriff. Judy's odd attempt was the least of his concerns.

“Whatever.” Gale mumbled and urgently tried to tell her husband, “Look, I just got off the phone with Karla. She said she talked to YN, so if you just track-”

“...Gale.” Dewey tried saying but as she kept talking he sighed and subtly rolled his tense shoulders.

She continued, “- And if we get to actually talk to YN, we can find out just how involved she was and get to ‘you know who’. Both of them. I can also prove to you that-”

“Gale.” He interrupted his wife. “I'm not Sheriff. This isn't my problem anymore.”

…

At first Gale took it as a joke. Her head reeling back with that bewildered smirk before it slowly fell. “What?...Dewey, what? Whaddya mean you're not Sheriff!?”

“Shh!” Dewey gently took her arm to go towards her room that she technically was not discharged from yet for some much needed privacy. Just a few doors away down the hall.

“Answer me, Dewey! You resigned? What the hell for?” She demanded not even all the way in the room yet.

“Because I failed, Gale.” He firmly replied. “I failed. I failed you, I failed Randy, I failed YN-”

Gale rolled her eyes, “YN failed us.”

Dewey didn't even argue with that. Eyes downcast with a deep frown.

And for a hot minute. Dewey tried not to be too emotional near her today but he knew that his wife knew how much your betrayal killed him. In fact, this morning he went and sobbed violently in his police cruiser after staring numbly at the parking lot. Crying as much as he did when Tatum died. In a way, losing you was like losing another sister. He wasn't as close to you as Tatum, God no. Of course not. He didn't help raise you like he did her but damn…Did it still hurt.

She sighed, trying to find patience.

“...Dewey. I just think you're jumping the gun.” She looked about and gave a hissed whisper, “For fucksake. Billy Loomis and Stu Macher are alive and free. YN knew they were and is with them somewhere. Even if she isn't helping them, then she's in danger. This is not the time to hang up the badge!”

“Well it is for me.” He walked away from her to stand near the bed. “...I can't do it, Gale. It's gonna be hard to face anyone. To face Karla and Mindy and Chad and my Detective and Deputies family's…Jill.”

“Pfft.” Gale blew air past her lips with an eye roll.

Dewey raised his head, confused and offended. “What?”

“...Doesn't make sense.”

“I know but we'll catch them. I shouldn't have let them go. I failed-”

“No, damn it!... Jill.” Gale lowered her voice.

Dewey looked bewildered, “What about Jill?”

Gale looked about, then whispered. “Let's just say, I don't think YN is telling the full story and neither is Jill Roberts.”

“Excuse me??” Dewey looked at his wife like she was crazy! Sweet Jill? What could she possibly be hiding?

“She's lying, Dewey.” She reaffirmed. “They're both lying about different things…But just because YN was lying her ass off does not mean she was lying about Jill. Broken clock is right twice a day and all that.”

“Oh Gale! Are you seriously after another scoop? What? Like YN all over again. Going after a girl so much younger-”

“And I was right about YN, wasn't I?!” Gale sauntered towards him angrily, “I have been in this line of work longer than you've been on the force, I was doing this when you were hitting puberty, and I can smell bullshit a mile away…Jill is a fucking liar.”

Dewey stuttered with an outraged glare, “That's!-... It's...Prove it, then. What makes you think Jill who was never even on Randy's suspect list could do something so awful.” He folded his arms raising a brow to try and look smug and sure of himself but it wasn't working very well.

She pointed to her phone in her notes app. “Times are not adding up, Dewey. How convenient Jill went to Kirby's when her Mom was murdered.”

“I can't believe you right now, that-”

She glared at him with those icy blue eyes a foot from him. “Listen to me, damn it.” She practically growled through gritted teeth. “Jill called Kirby less than an hour before Kirby left her house; right? Kirby goes to the party for roughly 2 hours before Randy gets killed and the party is over. Jill is supposed to be grounded. She goes to Kirby's while Mrs. Roberts is murdered in front of Judy AFTER Perkins and Hoss are killed.”

Dewey's expression soured at the thought. “Yeah, after Judy drops off YN, confiscates her gun and YN drove off during Mrs. Roberts murder…Guilt and evading probably. Especially if her buddies did it and…Randy.” He couldn't say their names without raging. Just couldn't.

Gale snapped her fingers. “Hey, you're not focusing on the right thing.” She pointed to her screen, “Look at the time frame…Where the fuck was Jill?”

“She went to Kirby's.”

“... When? Because if the timeline matches up; Kirby was still at the party when Perkins and Hoss were murdered. According to Jill; Kirby opened the door for her…Now, how the fuck is that possible unless Jill was at the house way sooner than she claims?”

“A key?”

Gale gave her husband a look, “Then that mean she's lyyyiinnggg.” She mocked with a ‘duh' expression. She urgently continued, “Kirby could not have opened the door for her AND her avoid the murders unless she was there for a long time. Mrs. Robert's acted like Jill was in her room…So how do we know she wasn't still at home? Now, if she was hiding from the killer, Judy and back up would've found her. She would've ran to them for help. She wouldn't have casually went to her fucking friends house near midnight after cops were killed and there was no way she could've drove by and not seen Perkins body…Unless…She was hiding from cops and fleeing the scene after she slit her own Mother's throat.”

“Jesus Christ, Gale!” Dewey scoffed and paced the room, “That's insane! Do you even hear yourself? Are you…Are you suggesting Jill did this? Not Billy and Stu or Charlie but Jill?? That she killed her own mother!?”

“Be quieter, would you?...Why not?” Gale demanded. She lowered her voice, almost pleading with him. “Dewey, you know as well as I do we both don't trust YN after last night. Okay? No shit. We don't. But YN's times add up against the killer unless she really was working with those guys…Okay, give you that. Or they did recruit Charlie. Fine, got it…But eyewitnesses saw Jill and Charlie getting hot and heavy near a park while she was supposed to be on again and off again with Trevor.”

“How do you even know that?? And that's a breach of privacy on a teen girl's romantic life!”

Gale shrugged the best she could with one shoulder, “I have my sources. It's teens; they talk. Besides, there is no privacy when you could be making out with a murderer…Charlie seemed to have a giant crush on Kirby but how convenient Trevor, Jill's ex, got by far the worst end of the shitty stick.”

He grimaced, “...Like James in 1996.”

“Uh huh.” Gale agreed. “We get it. They were recreating kills. But…Why James? Jealousy? From who? Charlie?...Jill? Why was Trevor assigned James' role? All roles add up so why him?”

Dewey raised a brow. ��To…Well…He was Jill's boyfriend? But…”

“Yeah. Jill was the survivor…How would they know that?”

Dewey stared.

“Not only did Jill hold animosity towards him for cheating according to everyone but one of the girls first killed was supposedly his fling…And most of all…The implication."

"Implication?"

Gale grinned in excitement at him, "Jill was always meant to be YN! Not Kirby or YN herself. Jill. Jill survived because she was planning to fucking survive! Why the flying fucking Hell would she be spared by Billy and Stu?”

“But she was barely conscious when we arrived on scene!” Dewey's head was spinning but he just couldn't quite believe what his wife was suggesting. It was diabolical! “S-she wasn't. They tried to kill her here in the hospital…” He quietly mumbled. His brain went in a direction he didn't like.

Gale ranted, “All their friend group, and somehow, in a house with two known murderers Jill got the least amount of damage other than YN and Kirby. We can't even count that because they got life threatening injuries while Jill and I got stabbed in the shoulder and roughed up…Why? To keep me alive to write a story and her too. Jill got banged up but nothing serious. Nothing that would kill her.”

“But!...I-” He went to talk but faltered.

“Charlie got stabbed only one time directly in the chest. In a relaxed position to stab his heart. People fighting don't get stabbed like that! Dewey, you're an officer, you know that in order for Charlie to get that stab wound he had to be relaxed. Like…It was planned and either he let them stab him or he was betrayed and relaxed.”

Dewey opened and closed his mouth. Damn, he knew his wife got to the pit of a story but lord this was…

”Gale, then…Then that just means Billy and Stu betrayed their protégé! Right?...Right!?” He desperately pleaded, not wanting to go where Gale's mind was heading because it felt so far fetched to him.

Gale gnawed at her lip. She walked about the room a moment before lowering her voice and mumbling out. “I know it sounds insane but think about it. YN and those two assholes got just about hacked up yet they were the murderers? No fucking way knowing what we know; how did Jill fight off 3 people as a victim? 2 grown men and a grown woman with self defense training. If Jill was unarmed; How? How does a 5'2 teen girl with no weapon fight 2 grown men that were trying to kill her and they supposedly had knives and a gun?…There's no goddamn way, Dewey!” Gale smacked her phone on the bed getting riled up just talking about this.

Dewey swallowed and couldn't exactly come up with an argument.

Gale just paced the room, her heels clacking as she continued. “YN was miraculous enough to keep surviving these attacks over the years UNLESS…” Her face lit up in realization. “Son of a bitch…Unless she had help all these years. Oh my fucking God. I knew it! James and Tim. They don't fucking exist, they're just aliases for Billy and Stu. Windsor I saw them and fucking knew it, god damn it, I did! I bet they were in Hollywood too. It's how she survived two huge men attacking her.” Gale ranted in harsh whispers; almost elated as her brain was piecing things together perfectly to her.

Dewey had the picture of YN and them. Men that were strangers but now he realized was evidence of Billy and Stu. A lie he kept from his wife he didn't dare share now. He ran a hand over his face…It was too much. It was all speculation. It was…It was crazy! YN and Billy and Stu were what?? The victims? And Jill killed her own mother?!

He replayed it…Billy and Stu not being the murderers this time. You lying is a misunderstanding for hiding them. Charlie and Jill being the real killers…Jill. Killing all her friends. Her own mother. Trying to kill YN alone it just-

“...No.”

Gale scoffed with a sneer, “No??”

“No. There's no way! No way Jill is in any way involved.”

“Are you joking?” Gale put her hand of her good arm on her hip, wincing when she moved. “Okay, but why would Jill know where I was stabbed when we hadn't seen each other or talked?...How Dewey? Explain that.”

Dewey shook his head at the idea that the sweet teen girl he already felt protective over could do this instead of two known murderers. And YN, who he couldn't trust now. Gale just looked more irritated at his dismissal as she continued.

“Why the fuck was she visiting YN at 4:32 in the morning in fucking ICU, Dewey!? Seriously. They aren't that close and Jill was supposed to be just so weak and heavily injured. Get a goddamn grip!”

“So what?” He threw his hands out. “You're defending YN now after all these years of damning her? All these years of being so-so…So…Hateful to her and now you're changing your tune?!” He spoke a bit louder than necessary and stammered his accusations.

Gale argued with a haughty look. “No…Maybe!” She released a frustrated groan. “I damned her for lying, which I was right, but I am a facts and getting the truth out sort of journalist before anything else and Jill's story has so many holes it's like a screen door! YN was yelling at us, begging us this morning to listen to her side-”

“And why should we!?” Dewey uncharacteristically lost his temper as Gale blinked in surprise. “She lied to us, Gale! She lied for over a decade! Made you look like a bad journalist, knew my sister's murderers were alive, defended them last night!” He was overstimulated, heartbroken, stressed, bombarded with too much information.

Gale rubbed her temple as a tense silence fell over the couple in the empty hospital room. She sucked air through her nose and told him. “Look…I am not team YN right now either. She lied, I was right. As usual…But that's even more of a reason to listen to me when I say Jill is not normal and we need to wrangle YN in for questioning and capture Billy and Stu in the process. Something is beyond off about her and her phony sweet American pie bullshit act.”

“You're being so…You!” He exclaimed.

“And what the hell does that mean?”

Dewey paced and the tension just gave way. “You! You always do this. You care more about your career and the next big revolutionary story to put your name in lights than you do people's privacy and feelings. YN, no matter what, made her damn choice and frankly I don't want to arrest her. I don't because I still care about her even though I never want to see her again! That's my weakness, my EMPATHY, something you don't have!”

Gale reeled back a moment. Blinking in shock at her husband's harsh words.

Dewey gripped his hair, his mental state just about having had enough the last few days as he didn't care about his volume. “I can't do this anymore! It's why I'm resigning this coming week. I want those two in prison but I am not hunting them down for the rest of my life. Whatever happens to YN? She dug her own grave with them and it HURTS! I can't make these decisions anymore! I can't. It's why I'm done chasing after masked killers and trying to do the right thing because it's tiring trying to be good but apparently not for you because you're eager to hound a 17 year old girl that lost everything and question if she killed her own mother and friends like a heartless person!”

…

After his fit…A tense silence fell over them. Gale eyed him with mistrustful eyes. Dewey didn't mean to lash out. In fact, his heart ached just seeing the hurt look in Gale's eyes before her usual iron wall came up as a disguise to protect herself.

“Gale, honey I-”

“Don't.” She gave in a firm gravely tone. She grabbed her phone and purse he had brought her from her car last night before surgery. He wanted to take her bag, to chastise her for possibly hurting herself with her shoulder but one icy glare from her and he shrank into himself.

She stopped short of the hospital room door to tell him. “I may have my habits but so do you. You did it 15 years ago with YN and now that YN is gone; you're doing it again with this girl because you have to have someone to shelter from the guilt of not saving your sister…You are a good man, Dewey! An amazing man. Too good of one that you can't see when someone is clearly lying. All because of this fucked up misplaced guilt for Tatum and trusting people.”

Dewey stiffened. Not sure if he should be taken aback, angry or hurt at that statement. Gale was like this. She went for the jugular when hurt but that didn't make it okay in his eyes to bring up Tatum.

She was almost out the door but turned back to add one more thing. “And by the way!…The killer recorded everything; so check the harddrive on the new final girls fucking phone and see how innocent she is!”

Gale released an annoyed growl in her throat like a frustrated groan as she slammed the door and walked out.

Dewey stood there a moment…A tense moment that he sighed, then paced, then quickly wiped tears away with his sleeve and a sniff as they threatened to spring up. He hadn't even slept the last 24 hours and he was overwhelmed. Of all the times he needed his wife, it was now, and…He didn't know if he just scared her away or she was just that honed in on this case. He should be too. But he felt so damn…Weak. Powerless. Helpless.

“...The Barney Fife of Woodsboro.” He bitterly mumbled to himself. Gale's old words hurt him deeper than she knew. And she never truly apologized or truly ever told him he was good at his job. She praised his character but rarely his job as a cop only when she had to to make amends. Maybe…Because he wasn't?

He sighed heavily, a pang of heartache in his chest at having no one really. His parents were too old to put this on them, Tatum was gone, Sidney was gone, Randy was gone…Now you were gone with the people that did this. He refused to believe they didn't after 1996. And now his wife might as well be gone right now too and Judy was…Not the person to turn to after what she just tried in the hallway.

Dewey decided to visit the one person left even if they were now lingering in his mind as a falsehood.

Jill had to go into surgery again to examine and to stitch up the stab wound in her abdomen and back. To think…Billy Loomis did that. Billy Loomis.

Dewey should be happy. His wife lived and was healing even if they just argued; at least he could argue with her. Jill lived to tell her tale. Instead, he hadn't felt this low in 15 long years. Not since Fall of 1996…

He headed to Jill's room. Hanging his head as he slowly entered the room. Making sure he looked presentable. He gazed at her and it made a pang of hurt form in his chest and disbelief in his mind…YN…YN, the girl he protected. YN, the woman he saw like a sister. YN the girl who lived…Tried to kill the innocent teenage girl with the help of Billy Loomis and Stu Macher…

He didn't care what Gale said. All this time, you lied. You lied and hid them. The guys that murdered his younger sister and her best friend and all those years Dewey and Randy both said ‘No! No no no, YN would never do that!’. Him and Gale even broke up over her and you twice, once in 1997 then again when Gale went Court back in the 2000's and how hateful she had been towards you. A girl barely a woman with the whole world out to get her.

To think Gale was right all along. YN was a snake. All Dewey did was cry or go numb over this…And the idea you might have killed Randy or helped? You helped Billy and Stu kill Randy? It made him sick. Sick to his stomach; sick with himself for letting you and those two monsters get away.

Gale's rant kept replaying in his head…What if…What if YN and those two were innocent this time? But that was insane.

“Hey Dewey.” Jill gave in her usual sweet disposition. It made him feel guilt. “So…Any news of catching them?” She pleasantly asked so innocently.

He shook his head, “Sorry Jill. Not yet.” He sat in a chair next to her hospital bed and took off his hat with a heavy sigh. “I am…So so sorry. I failed, I-”

Jill gave a forced sad smile. Shaking her head she softly said, “Don't. You didn't know. I mean, who would ever think of my cousin's best friend. I mean, Billy and Stu and recruiting a guy like Charlie. Do you think YN was forced? Like, I don't know, Blackmailed? Like, if she didn't do this; they'd kill her or more people she cared about?”

Dewey looked up at the 17 year old. A glimmer of hope in his brown eyes as he tried and failed to hide how vulnerable he was right now. “I…I don't know.” He stared and thought. “Do you think so?”

It wouldn't excuse anything but it was better than you willfully killing Randy and those kids.

Jill smiled real big then quickly covered her mouth to hide it.

“Maybe?” Jill shrugged. “I know she attacked me when I went to visit her but Billy REALLY attacked me. Maybe she thought I was them?” She pouted and showed her stitches under her gown. “I just want to find her and talk to her and know why? Why would she do this? If she was forced; we can help her.”

Dewey looked hopeful and for the first time in 24 hours had a small smile. He stood and patted Jill's knee. “You're a good kid. Just get some rest okay? Leave all these questions to us. Need anything?”

She smiled and shook her head. “No, not at all. I'm just sorry I tried to grab your gun-” She fidgeted with her blanket and grimaced in that sweet voice. “I just, wasn't feeling myself and was so upset my friends' murderers might get away.” Her eyebrows went up and she looked gutted but no tears in her eyes. Such a strong kid.

“Oh Jill.” He shook his head. “It's alright. I even thought…Well…Who can prepare for something like that? And I have almost 20 years of police training under my belt.” He went to shut her door. “You're forgiven, just get some rest.”

She smiled as he shut her door and it just left a whirlwind of emotions in him. A part of him wanted to find you if you did in fact do all this against your will. If you were brainwashed or they had something on you that if they died someone you cared for got hurt…But if you actually did this on your own; he didn't want to find you. It hurts entirely too much even if justice should prevail.

He saw a huge grin on Jill's face in a reflection on the door…She must just be happy he stopped by.

——————————————

Later that night, Somewhere in California away from Woodsboro. You stood on a murderers porch in the dark hanging your head over the railing.

Fuck. Everything.

You were sore, physically drained, mentally drained. And you talking to Billy made everything worse.

You sighed heavily, rubbing your face. It had been such a long day, why the hell did you get on this subject? Yeah, it felt major. Billy Loomis told you you were his and comforted you while holding your hand after being stabbed. All while he came back to rescue you AND the letter that has been eating a hole in your pocket for days now. Pretty unavoidable unsaid context here…But this felt like the worst timing by his reaction alone.

You sighed again and tried to untense your shoulders before heading back inside. Still had a dried-blood, icky hospital gown on and a jacket. You were cold, tired, thinking maybe the pill was wearing off with how sore you felt. Your joints were so stiff and skin so bruised you felt like every step was an 80 year old woman not one at 32. You just wanted to go back to sleep on Billy's frumpy couch in some comfy clothes. Maybe the recliner with tape on the arm would be better? You were tempted to nap with Stu but he was acting…Odd. And if he touched you, you were in no position to fight him off right now.

With a heavy heart and head; you dragged yourself back inside. Not eager to be near either of these men at this point. Billy pretty much tore what teeny tiny sliver of hope you had in your heart for him even if it felt stupid to begin with and Stu was not acting right in the head. But what choice did you have? Can't go to Woodsboro, and in case the cops were hunting you, you couldn't go to a family member's house or your cabin either.

You walked in. Shut and lock the door. Shrugged off your jacket with a grunt to lay it with Billy's other jackets on an old rickety chair. Billy was nowhere to be found and Stu was sleeping last you heard.

You went to sit in the recliner for just a moment. Every movement made you fatigued. Easing in with a grimace as you white knuckled the arm of the chair in your grip. God, everything hurts! It probably would for a while. You were still leery of the fact Jill could've punctured an organ or opened a stitch in your fight especially since you had only eaten a tiny bit and didn't have a bowel movement yet…You were fearful of the pain of that potentially or what to do if you did need to go to the hospital.

You eased back and tried to relax in the armchair. Closing your eyes for just a second before feeling someone near you…

…Your brow twitched at that uncanny feeling of eyes on you…

You opened them and in a flash Stu smacked his hands on either side of the arms of the chair. Essentially trapping you there as you gasped loudly. Nearly jolting in fear at the surprise.

“Stu, what the hell are you doing-”

“I know.” Was all he gave with a dark look in his blue eyes. A predatory look that reminded you way too much of that raining night at your house or him at that party at Windsor or even him holding your own gun at that motel.

“Know…What?” You whispered as you started feeling anxiety grip you. Easing back into the chair as he got closer, inches from your face.

“Don't play dumb, Sweetcheeks.” He smiled a humorless grin. “I heard everything you had to say to him on that porch just now…You two holding hands and you calling out to him, you and him bonding over your little book which I'm sure his character had a bigger role than my character if my character was even in it. The letter…Where's the letter, babe? I wanna read it.”

“Stu, just…Let me up” You swallowed.

He gave with that dangerous smile, a dark expression as his voice dropped an octave and he got closer to you. “I really wanna read it.”

“B-” Your voice caught in your throat out of fear and you yelled for the only other hope you had. “Billy!!”

“That's right, call for Billy. Billy to the fucking rescue. Billy the guy always picked first! Billy the man!” Stu lost his temper and shoved a bunch of shit off an end table and you couldn't help the wince and gasp before you tried to get up and get away and he stopped you. “Uh uh! You aren't going anywhere!”

You stared up at him with big eyes, “Stu…Just calm down. Let me go.”

“Oh yeah, tell me to calm down. Tell me, baby. That always works.” He giggled out with a lopsided evil little grin.

“Stu, please-”

He smacked the chairs arms, “HOW LONG!?” His emotions are absolutely random and chaotic. The jealous rage in Stu was nothing to be trifled with. You didn't owe him anything but you knew in his mind you did.

“Stu, I don't know what you think but me and Billy are not in some secret relationship or hiding anything-”

“BULLSHIT!”

“WE AREN'T!” You frantically yelled back pinned against that chair before. “Stu, you're scaring me. Please.”

He smirked but no mirth was in his eyes.

Billy came out of the bathroom and you heard him going towards Stu but to your shock, Stu was that pissed. That enraged at you both. That much past turmoil bubbling to the surface. That it seemed letting Billy man handle him all those years finally exploded. You hated it but the sound felt like it didn't come from you as a shrill gasp ripped past your lips as Stu punched Billy across the face before he could lay a hand on him to get him away from you.

Stu went to swing on him again while Billy was down, going to straddle him to beat him god knows how many times. You yelled at him, “Stop it! Damn it, stop it right now!” as it fell on deaf ears and both him and Billy were trying to hit each other even in their injured states. You went to grab Stu by the shoulder and he shoved you back before a pained yelp came from you at your stitches and you collided against the chair. Damn…It hurts. You held back, not wanting them to do this but also not wanting to be injured for two nutjobs either.

You went to the kitchen moving faster than you should while injured. Trying to figure out what to do as you heard both men arguing and fighting. Stu, even injured, was a beast as he shoved Billy into a wall, actually cracking the drywall there, “You piece of shit! You knew how I felt and you did this behind my back!?” Stu yelled going to punch him and Billy dodged. “Don't love her? Isn't that what you told me a decade ago!?”

“I didn't do anything you fucking lunatic!” Billy yelled back with a red cheek where his scar you gave him was as their grappling ended up in the kitchen near you. Stuff knocked off the walls.

“Stop lying!! You wrote her a fucking letter-”

“Yeah! I did! 15 years ago! I was a fucking kid!” Billy emphasized angrily as he punched Stu but Stu tried choking him in a headlock.

“Yeah, I bet. Just like Roman, huh? And me being a scapegoat!” Stu had his arms around Billy's neck and Billy had no choice but to shove backwards in Stu's hold as you flinched when the small round table broke as they collided on top of it.

You did the only damn thing you could think of at the moment other than hitting them upside the head, let them kill each other or kill them with a knife.

They both grunted in annoyance, especially Stu, when you used the ice cold water from the sink hose and sprayed jets of water on them like 2 dogs fighting. “Enough! We don't need you both hurt, okay!? Fucking stop!”

Stu got off Billy and marched towards you. Hair wet and pissed off. Fear dropped in your stomach at the predatory way he came towards you and as soon as you went to get a knife as defense, not expecting him to come at you like that... He grabbed you by the wrist and yanked you towards him. Dropping the hose in the sink and making you helpless against him in your injured state. You were too injured to even use any self defense moves and in this position it was hard. Shoved against a counter by someone so much bigger and both wrist in his hand and the distance closed between you two. You couldn't even kick him with your stitches so sore right now.

Billy tried getting up from the broken table on the ground, bleeding from where his stitches were but not as badly as Stu was. “Sttuuu!” He warned huffing breath and getting up.

Stu was sweating. Eyes crazed and bleeding through his shirt from reopening stitches in their short but intense fight. He glared down at you so hatefully. He glared as time judt froze.

“...You're lucky some tiny part of me gives a shit about you. If not? I'd rip you apart and bleed you out like I have so many other whores.”

You stared. Not breathing as a chill ran down your spine. Because with his tone and the look in his gaze; you knew he meant it.

He jerked away to lean on the counter. In pain and panting as he hunched over and Billy leaned against the fridge near you.

Stu shook his head in a dry smile. “...All those years, man. All those years I was there for you. I protected you, I left my number, I gave you the benefit of the doubt over and over, risked my damn identity and freedom not killing your friends…Well…Someone killed them, just not me.” He chuckled wryly, hanging his head.

Billy now with a red spot on his face slowly bruising glared tiredly at Stu. You just stared before telling him, “Stu, I swear I don't know what you think-”

“I THINK?! No, I know. I know that you two apparently held hands and had a moment.”

“Because you passed out and I was scared!” You exclaimed.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Billy and you share a book and he's a fan of it and a moment together and you go to him to talk and him to patch you up and him to take care of you when I've been pining for you for 15 years!” He gazed at you and his anger faded to desperation. “Fif-Teen-Fucking-Years.” He sounded out in a mumble as he stood up fully, gripping his stomach.

“Stu.”

“Don't bother. As soon as I can walk and drive and shit properly without pain; I'm out of here, man. And neither one of you will see me ever again.” He grumbled as he slowly made his way to the bathroom and slammed the door.

Billy and you were alone as he glared at you, “You just had to bring up that letter on the porch?”

You were flabbergasted, “Hey, don't do that. I didn't know he was listening, neither did you!” You felt that shrunken guilt ridden feeling even if you shouldn't.

“Yeah well, he did. Now we both gotta sleep with one eye open. Thanks for that…Fucking idiot.” He mumbled getting an ice pack from the freezer for his face that was slowly getting red and inflamed from those punches. He glared at his broken table and shook his head and went to the recliner.

You just stood in the kitchen, your mind reeling like it had so many times before with these two. You never felt more weak and alone in your life…Well, top 3 at least on the awful moments list in your head.

You walked out and noticed your jacket wasn't where you had it. You sighed to yourself knowing exactly who had it. “...I need to go talk to him. Or something. ”

Billy scoffed, “Are you stupid or nuts? He'll kill you right now and these fucking injuries I got will be for nothing.”

You rolled your eyes and laid gingerly onto the couch. Accepting maybe you needed to leave him be. Seeing the bathroom door open and Stu go to the bedroom.

That slammed door and hearing something break in HIS bedroom just sent Billy into a rage of his own.

Billy and him argued one more time over the damage to the house and Stu stealing Billy's room that ended in Billy slamming the door screaming, “FUCKER!!” In outrage at his bed being taken in his own home by a guy he was letting stay here. You had talked him down from killing Stu which earned a ‘shut your fucking mouth and mind your business’ from him and yet you both complied.

He tossed you some clothes and you finally got out of that damn hospital gown into an oversized flannel and comfy bottoms

Hours passed of awkward silence and the tv was on Rosemary's Baby. Billy had fallen asleep after 3 hours of ‘eh’ sort of grunts and shrugs as he had to redo his wrappings and had a bruise on his face. You tried to subtly clean up the mess him and Stu made but bending over wasn't a good thing for you right now.

It was…Depressing. This house trailer with outdated everything and not a homey thing in sight. Especially compared to the Meeks house you stayed in tidy but cluttered with family things like kids toys and memorabilia and the fridge had pictures and drawings and cute magnets and the house smelled good but lived in in a cozy way and the blanket was fuzzy and clean but had a hint of the scent of Mindy's hair product where she had her hair braided that morning and had slept on it before you arrived. The pictures on the walls. The scooby doo and pikachu bowls and spoons for ice cream in the cabinets…Randy's movie collection.

A tight frown in place as you sighed. Thinking all of this was just dragging you down. You didn't need that anymore than you already had.

You had no one now. The cozy homely vibe people complain of as boring is a distant memory now.

You saw Billy's room light was still on. Billy himself was asleep breathing deeply as you studied him for the longest time. His face matured so much in this decade. The shorter hair made him even more grown up looking as opposed to his longer hair he used to have. The lack of facial hair looked better on him too. Facial hair, at least that 90's goatee thin mustache combo he had, shockingly made him look like a kid that penciled it in or something. It looked out of place on his almost feminine features he had when younger. Now, with a much more chiseled jawline and bigger built frame he��Well, it was harder to remember he was that lean pretty boy with gel in his hair to sweep it back that was trying to kill you.

But Stu? He still looked so much like he always had just a bit more filled out. It was easy to remember Stu no matter how many style changes he went through.

You kept watching that light and you swore you heard a hiccuping noise that whether you liked it or not made you…Feel bad. It could've been him scoffing or anything but…The mere idea it was hurt from you hurt you in a way it shouldn't but it did.

You cursed yourself glaring at the ceiling. ‘See? This is how you get into these situations!’ Was all you could think.

You sighed softly and looked at Billy as you made a choice. Besides…You couldn't sleep and you knew damn well Billy wasn't as asleep as he acted. You were now in an oversized blue flannel Billy gave you to wear and a pair of gym style mens shorts. Nothing else to wear.

You quietly got up and crept past Billy's chair to the back part of the trailer. You almost wanted to use the restroom across from the bedroom and go back to the couch but you heard Stu still awake…And a tight frown formed as you raised your fist. You faltered before tapping on the wood with your knuckles. Stu was a loose canon and the longer this issue sat the more crazy he'd become.

#scream #stu macher #billy loomis #my writing #scream fanfiction #yn fanfic #she her yn #my stories #scream 4 #fours a Franchise

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tadpolejourney · 3 months

Text

Most Welcome

Genres: BG3 Act 2, Gale x F!Tav, love triangle (Gale, Tav, Astarion) mostly angst and fluff, a small dose of sexy stuff (not smut though)

Warnings: NSFW 18+ for adult language and mild adult content, alcohol abuse

A/N: This is a companion piece to my Tav Liriel’s journal series, narrated in the third person. It takes place the night after Day 33, their first day in the Shadowlands and after Karlach got her engine upgrade. I’m using a headcanon that vampire spawn can feel the effects of alcohol when canonically they cannot. It’s heavy on dialogue and some of that is written as drunken speech. 5,388 words because like Gale I have a propensity towards verbosity...

“Let the Karlach cuddle party extravaganza commence!” Liriel announced to the whole camp as she hugged Karlach for what was probably the tenth time that day.

“Hells yes!” Karlach shouted, pumping her fist into the air a few times. “I want to hug everyone. And-- oh! SCRATCH! Come here, boy!”

The white, fluffy dog came bounding up to her, wagging his tail enthusiastically. He maintained a safe distance from the fiery tiefling, as he had been taught. His curiosity piqued, he tilted his head to one side.

“New rules, Scratch! I can pet you now! Look!” She grinned and reached out her hand to let him sniff it. Wasting no more time, she gave Scratch so many enthusiastic pets she ruffled every inch of the fur on his head.

“Aw, you’re so soft,” she commented. “Where’s the cub?” She looked around for the owlbear cub who normally ran alongside or after Scratch wherever he went.

She heard a soft chirping from behind her, and turned to see the cub looking at her with its huge yellow eyes, as if begging for head scritches.

She spent the next half hour petting, playing, and snuggling with Scratch and the owlbear cub.

“I have SO MUCH to do!” Karlach called out as she jogged over to rejoin the group. They were seated around the cook pot having dinner and the first glasses of wine for the evening.

“I hope a hearty dinner is on that list, because that’s what I prepared just for you,” Gale told her as he fixed a plate of one of the best meals they’d had since starting their journey. He’d prepared roasted turkey and grilled pork sausage, roasted pumpkin, and a buttered baked potato, all seasoned to perfection for the special occasion.

Gale handed her the plate and she immediately set it down on the ground to wrap the wizard in a great bear hug, lifting him off the ground. “Thank you. For the food, and for being my friend.”

“You’re very welcome! Please, put me down now, and then, eat. I insist.”

“There’s a berry tart for dessert that I made just for you, courtesy of the Last Light kitchen,” Wyll said to Karlach as she sat down and began gobbling the items on her plate.

“Wow!” she exclaimed through a mouthful of food. She swallowed thickly and said, “I think I forgot what that even tastes like. Don’t let me forget to hug you next for at least five minutes.”

Wyll laughed, then raised an eyebrow at her. “How about we make it… five hugs instead of five minutes of one hug?”

“Deal.”

Gale watched Karlach wolf down her dinner with genuine affection. He felt someone’s eyes on him as he did so, and looked around at the rest of his companions.

He met Liriel's gaze from across the campfire and she gave him the warmest smile. He smiled back in return, but a thought intruded on that lovely moment that made his heart ache. His mother would have loved Liriel. He would have been so proud to be with her, to take her home. So many places he would have liked to take her, so many people in his life he wanted her to meet.

He thought back to their conversation last night. How she had completely defied his expectations and held his hand. He had planned to tell her that he was in love with her, but things did not go as planned.

He asked her for a private audience in his tent this evening, and he was both eager and uneasy. After all, how dare he start anything when he knows what he must do? How could he knowingly break her heart in that manner? Or was it already too late? Would he be doomed to break her heart no matter what?

“WYLL!” Karlach’s voice boomed, jolting Gale out of his thoughts. “Time for hug number one. That berry tart was fucking incredible.”

Karlach gave Wyll her now signature elevating bear hug. Gale realized he didn’t want to make any of his newfound friends sad, or put any of them in danger because of the orb either. Then he felt an elbow gently jab his side.

“I would pay you a copper for your thoughts, but I don’t think I want to know given the look on your face,” Liriel remarked.

Gale sighed wistfully. “Was I that obvious?”

“To me? Yes. I think everyone else is too worried about who Karlach will try to hug next to pay attention to you. Are you ready to head to your tent for that private chat? Or do you need more time to brood?”

“Oh no, brooding will do me no good. A moment alone with you will do me a lot of good.”

She took him by the hand, rapidly entwining her fingers in his, and led him to the privacy of his tent.

Holding hands was still such a new sensation for the both of them that their hearts fluttered. Gale often felt he needed a reality check in moments with her, to ensure he had not actually died and this was not his final dream. Liriel often felt she dreamed Gale into life.

“About last night—” he started.

“I don’t want you to die, Gale,” she said earnestly.

“I know. Thank you for saying so.”

“There really is nothing I could do to change your mind, is there? No matter what I say or do, you want to die for Mystra.”

“That is an inaccurate portrait of the situation, Liriel. This is not about Mystra, or even myself for that matter. This is about saving everyone from the Absolute. Mystra has given us a way. It gives my inevitable and imminent death from the orb some meaning in the process. As of late I would never do such a thing for her alone, or any promise of her forgiveness.”

“Can you at least reconsider the idea that there may in fact be more than one solution to the problem of the Absolute? That perhaps there is a way that doesn’t involve sacrificing you, someone who doesn’t deserve to be sacrificed? That maybe we can do this, together, and all of us can live to tell the tale?”

“I can certainly reconsider once we know firsthand what we’re up against, but we must expect the worst. Believe me, there are things far worse than my death. The Absolute taking over the world is one of them.”

“Personally, I can’t think of a single thing worse than you dying, and I refuse to expect the worst. I will not accept you blowing yourself up as a necessary event, and you shouldn’t either. It’s bullshit. The gods are full of shit and only ever meddle when it benefits them directly. They make us do their dirty work. I don’t believe a damn word any of them say, ever. The evil gods break the rules all the time while the allegedly good gods do nothing to stop them and the neutral gods idle pointlessly.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You really are quite cynical about the gods, aren’t you? They are infinitely more complex than mere mortal moral notions of good, neutral, and evil.”

“If I am too cynical about them, you are too damn accommodating. If you actually die and I manage to survive your explosion, I will live out the remainder of my days in utter fucking anguish and despondency over losing you. You better take me with you.”

“Liriel, I truly wish to let the matter rest for now. I know you are upset, but we’re very nearly teetering off the edge of sense and civility, and I am in no condition to endure such a turn in our conversation.” His tone was equally exasperated and concerned.

She growled in frustration. In one swift motion, she grabbed his face and kissed him hard, heatedly, and passionately. Gale instantly and effortlessly returned her heat and her passion, locking her in an embrace. Her tongue entered his mouth and danced with his as she raked her fingers through his hair.

They were a tangle of feverish movement, moaning through each kiss as they ran their hands up and down and all over one another’s bodies, clawing and pawing desperately. As she pressed her body against his, he hissed and bucked his hips into her.

She let herself get swept up in the breathlessness of the moment, actively restraining herself from forming words, confessing her love for him. The ache and pull of that restraint was enough to bring an overwhelming torrent of emotion to the surface. She felt her eyes begin to burn and sting with tears as they continued to kiss and caress and grind their hips into one another.

Abruptly, she jerked herself away from the kiss and his embrace.

“Damnit!” she exclaimed, shutting her eyes tightly as though she could squeeze back the tears welling in her eyes.

“Damnitdamnitdamnit!” She turned and dashed away before he had time to process anything.

Outside Gale’s tent the cuddle party was winding down as the rest of the group were gathered together around the fire. Despite the dreary backdrop of the shadow-cursed lands, the mood was still joyful and jocular. Then they witnessed Liriel pass by them in a blur as she raced through camp and out of sight, audibly choking back sobs as she ran. Before anyone else had time to react, Astarion turned, deftly vaulted over the owlbear cub laying on the ground behind him, and sprinted after Liriel at top speed.

He caught up to her a few hundred yards out of earshot of camp. He grabbed her by one shoulder and she immediately tried to shrug him off without turning around. “Liriel!” he barked breathlessly, “It’s just me. Stop! Now, damn you!”

She slowed to a standstill, her breathing ragged. She turned to face him, and her countenance pained him in a way he was unsure he had ever felt before. Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot and there were distinct tracks of tears running down her face. She looked... scared. He had never seen her frightened, not once. He could scarcely believe she was afraid of anything, even seeing her quite clearly afraid this very moment. Just what had that asshole wizard said to her? he wondered.

“Weren’t you the one earlier today that was adamant about anyone not going out alone in this shit?” he ranted as he gestured broadly at the unnatural darkness surrounding them. “And yet, here you are, like an imp out of the hells, mindlessly attempting to tear through this place by yourself as though you have a death wish. What the fuck happened?”

Instead of responding, she buried her face in her hands and cried.

“Look,” he said brusquely, “I’m not going to leave you alone out here for very long, but I can tell we are both going to need a lot alcohol for this conversation. Will you promise me that you will stay here until I get back unless you see or hear anything at all, and that if you do see or hear anything that isn’t me you’ll head straight back to camp? Nod if you can do that.”

She nodded without removing her hands from over her face.

Astarion stealthily and hastily made his way back to camp, purloining some whiskey for her and wine for himself from someone’s unattended pack. He mutely observed the rumblings of camp, counting heads to ensure the rest of their group was still there and that no one had attempted to follow.

As he finished counting, he heard Karlach bay reassuringly to the group, “Astarion will bring her back for sure. They’re real close, you know?” He smirked to himself as he slunk away.

When he returned to Liriel, she sat on the ground crying softly, her knees drawn up to her chest, her face resting on them. It was a side of her he’d never seen. She seemed so small, so vulnerable and childlike, and so different from the person he had known all this time. The sight of her like this made him feel… strange. Not good.

He prodded one of her knees with the whiskey bottle. “He’s not worth it, you know.”

She looked up at him and smiled feebly, taking the bottle from his hand. He sat down beside her and uncorked the bottle of wine. They sat together without speaking, both solemnly taking in large gulps of alcohol as though they were preparing for an amputation.

“I’m normally not this stupid when I like someone, you know,” she remarked after a while, cutting the sheer silence.

“I dearly hope so,” he replied. “I thought you were at least kind of smart before tonight. Now I’m not so sure.”

As she turned to face him in a display of feigned outrage, he grinned back at her slyly.

She took another drink, and her expression resumed its previous solemnity as she continued. “I want to be with him, but now he’s going to die, and it’s all such tragic bullshit. I tried to talk him out of using the orb, again. Foolish of me, really.” She took another huge swig of whiskey.

He gawked at her, not really listening to the stuff about Gale but rather genuinely fascinated with the way she gulped from the bottle without so much as a twinge. He thought that shit burned like fire and tasted even worse.

After another minute or so of silence Astarion asked, “What in the hells could he have said to someone as tough as you to make you actually cry, though?”

“Oh, it wasn’t because of what he said,” she replied. “He told me he had no choice, again, and our discussion went nowhere. That sucked, but he was gentle in the way he spoke to me about it. I tend to reserve my tears and shed them privately if I can, and none of that would have made me cry outright. It’s more the fact that in the heat of the moment I kissed him, hoping I would hate it or feel nothing, and I didn’t. It just confirmed what I already knew, and I couldn’t deal. So I ran.”

He grimaced, feeling suddenly uncomfortable in a way he couldn’t quite place. He shifted his legs as though it might assuage the discomfort he felt. It did not. “What do you mean, ‘what you already knew’?”

“That I’m in love with him.”

“Oh,” he replied, authentically startled. “Oh,” he repeated, but gravely.

“I’m fucked, aren’t I?”

“Well… yes, darling. Since you asked, yes, you’re fucked. But isn’t everything and everyone?”

She chuckled dryly, taking another huge swig of whiskey. She swayed lightly now, nearly brushing against him.

He realized he wished she would. They had never touched. Astarion felt his focus on the here and now drifting as the wine combined with the shock of the evening’s events. Her sudden, heartfelt confession. To him, but not about him. She kissed… Gale, of all people. He sensed his mood souring along with a feeling of dread pooling in the pit of his stomach. Asshole wizard, he thought again.

“Let’s talk about something else, shall we, darling?” Astarion asked, forcing a chipper tone through his voice though he felt pretty fucking far from chipper. “Something… happier, perhaps? What about… animals? You like animals, I like drinking the blood of animals…”

She laughed, a little too loud, and a little too joyously. She was definitely drunk. “Thanks for running out here after me, into this dangerous, dark ass wilderness. For keeping me company while I was a blubbering mess. And for bringing me whiskey to make it allll better.”

“Don’t mention it. Really, I mean that. I do not want my reputation ruined. I can't have people coming after me for heroic favors and expecting me to be nice to them.”

He eyed her as she took another large swig from the whiskey bottle. It was two-thirds gone already.

“I’m curious about somethin’, and I hope you’ll humor me since we’re alone and everything sucks,” she said. “I don’t know anything about vampires or vampire spawn, y’know. Do you poop?”

“Do I what?” he asked, obviously appalled and almost daring her to repeat the question, hoping she wouldn’t.

“I said… Do. You. Poop.”

“Do fuck off, darling.”

She let another hearty laugh. “Everyone poops, right?”

“I now hate this conversation so much I almost wish you would talk to me about Gale again. Almost.”

“So you’d... rather talk about poop than Gale?”

“Both topics are entirely too repulsive for me, I’m afraid. And I do think you’re positively drunk, my dear.”

“Yesh. I think so too. Gale’s not gross. He’s nice and verrrry loveleeeeee. I’ll punch you if you say that again.”

He frowned, knowing she wouldn’t notice it. Then he watched her take yet another substantial gulp of whiskey, and his eyes widened. “Are you really going to polish off that whole bottle?”

“Why not? I ain’t no quitter.”

“Ugh, a double negative, really? Your grammar is atrocious when you drink.”

“Doeshn’t matter if I make enough sense to seem deep. If you don’t like it, go to shleep,” she slurred, jostling his wine bottle as she pointed towards the general direction of camp.

“You are scarcely making sense, too. I won’t leave you alone out here, as much as I’d like to right now.”

“Maybe we should sing a.. a shong or somethin.”

“No, we should not. I think we should head back to camp before you lose consciousness entirely.”

“Wait... I gots busineshs…” She tilted the bottle up, her head following, as she dumped the remaining contents of the whiskey bottle into her mouth.

She threw the bottle aimlessly into the darkness, giggled after hearing it shatter, and slumped into Astarion, her head resting on his shoulder.

He sighed, pretending to be annoyed. “Hells. Can we go now?”

“I gueshs… we should go... back. ‘Fore some dark shadowy typa shit... eatsh ush or shomethin.”

Liriel stood, wobbling and tipping. Thoroughly reluctant to ask for Astarion’s help to walk back to camp through the dark, she staggered forward a few steps.

When she tripped over nothing at all and fell on her behind, she slurred, “I think I need an adult.”

“Honestly,” he huffed, attempting to seem put out by her drunkenness and miffed at having to abandon his bottle of wine. He set the bottle down with a dramatic flair to conceal the absolute glee he felt as he swept her up in his arms and carried her back to camp, bridal style.

Gale rushed to the edge of camp when he heard their footsteps, but stopped short at what he saw. He chastised himself again for not reacting fast enough and keeping her close. Feelings of intense jealousy surged within him at the sight of Liriel in Astarion’s arms as the vampire spawn confidently strolled into camp. Gale began assuming the worst. Karlach’s earlier remark was unnecessary, as Gale needed no reminder whatsoever that the two of them were so effortlessly close in a way that he envied and longed for with her. Then, as if meaning to pour veritable salt into his emotional wounds, the group began gushing about how fast Astarion ran after her, how he gracefully leapt over the owlbear cub like a dancer and sprinted off at an impressive speed into the danger of the dark to bring her back. Did they intend to mock him also with the gossip that followed about what the pair might be doing out there alone, and what they did when they left camp together yesterday?

He also knew, through a significant volume of observational evidence gathered over the weeks they’d traveled together, that Astarion was definitely in love with her too. Even if the undead elf refused to acknowledge or recognize it, and even if he wouldn’t use those exact words himself to describe how he felt about her. He also knew that Astarion was not the only competitor at camp vying for her heart. He had several romantic rivals.

Then the rush of thoughts halted as it dawned on him that she was utterly wasted, oblivious and babbling nonsensically as she lolled in Astarion’s grip. Though he was very evidently struggling with their inebriated leader, he acted confident, almost proud, in his movements as he carried her. The way Astarion glared at him, Gale knew that he knew. She told him at least something about what transpired in his tent.

Gale’s thoughts pivoted now as he regained perspective on the situation. She could have anyone she wanted, and yet she chose him. She kissed him. Then, in a tempest of strong emotions, she fled from his side, unable to face him while in tears over him. The intensity of the memory and the earlier glimpse of the depth of her feelings for him inspired a dizzying combination of elation, gratitude, shame, and regret.

She came back uninjured, and now she was drunk. Really, really drunk. Did Astarion really chase after her with a bottle in hand intending to carouse with her? Gale thought to himself.

Everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief upon Liriel’s return to camp. Karlach took her from Astarion’s arms into her own, and didn’t appear to struggle at all despite the half elf’s boozy wriggling.

Astarion made a great show to the rest of the group of seeming very inconvenienced by the whole affair as he huffed and took a bottle of wine out of Wyll’s hand. Wyll sighed defeatedly and trekked over to the camp chest to procure another for himself.

Sensing Karlach’s intentions as she turned away from the group, Liriel proceeded to beg in a drunken slur, “Mama K, don’ make me go bed. Jusht becaushe I’m too drunk to walk doeshn’t mean I can’t hang out. Wanna hang out…”

“Alright, alright,” Karlach conceded sweetly, turning back around. “But if you throw up or try to keep drinking, I’m putting you to bed.”

Liriel squealed in delight, slinging a free arm around the tiefling’s neck in an attempted hug.

Karlach set Liriel down between herself and Shadowheart around the fire. It didn’t take long for the cheerful mood to return to the group. Liriel’s usual effervescent charm did not elude her even in a drunken state. She was very silly, very relaxed, and absolutely smashed. At first the group was stunned, having never seen her drunk before, but that shock rapidly gave way to amusement.

“So, Liriel,” Shadowheart began with a telltale smirk, “What did you and Astarion do out there all alone in the darkness for so long? You seem much less upset than when you fled camp earlier.”

“Talkded, bout shtuff, personals,” Liriel drawled. “I was... sad. Then, I drank aaaaaaaalll the whiskey.” She gestured wildly as she dragged out the word ‘all’, nearly knocking Shadowheart’s goblet out of her hand in the process. “And now? I'm happeeeeee. Prolly not really though. Imma feel reallll bad tomorrow mornin.”

“She really did drink an entire bottle of whiskey,” Astarion happily chimed in, “It was honestly impressive how much she drank without dying or, worse, vomiting.”

“I haf a dyshfundshunal relashhionshhip with alkeyhol. I can haf none of it, or alllll of it. N it’sh realll bad when I have sadneshs.”

“Sadness can be a really great thing, you know,” Shadowheart commented with a dreamy look on her face. “It’s a sign of loss, which is glorious. It’s freeing. You should try embracing it.”

“Babygirl,” Liriel replied as she clapped a hand on Shadowheart’s shoulder and tried to look serious, “I luf you but dat’sh some bullllllllllllshhhhhhhhhhit.”

Lae’zel, Astarion, and Gale audibly stifled their laughter.

Keen to prevent any impending late night chaos, Karlach interjected, “Let’s talk about something else now, yeah? I’m sorry you were sad, Liriel. We can talk about it tomorrow, when you’re sober. If you want.”

“Mmk,” Liriel hummed. “Shorry bout the blasfuhmee, Shart. Hope I don’ offend you wif my dilsbelief.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I am thoroughly entertained by your stupidity,” Shadowheart replied bluntly as she pushed Liriel’s hand off her shoulder.

“Cool. Gimme dat,” Liriel darted for Gale’s wine bottle on the ground in front of him, splaying over Karlach’s lap to reach for it.

She got the rim of the bottle to her lips just as Karlach lifted her up with total ease and said, “Okay, that’s it. You’re done. Bedtime.”

Gale stood up to meet Liriel at her eye level. “May I have my bottle of wine back?” he asked her politely.

“Uh,” she stammered, “Ya.” She nearly dropped the bottle in an attempt to hand it to him, but he managed to get a grip on it.

“Thank you.” He smiled at her.

“Don’ you shmile at me like that Mishter Blizzard, or imma kishs you again. Thish time in front of errrrybody.” She attempted to wink at him, but it was so slow and awkward it made everyone laugh, including Gale.

“On that note, I think I will go to bed as well. Good night, everyone,” Gale announced, completely unable to suppress the huge grin on his face.

Liriel whined as Karlach whisked her away from Gale to her tent. She passed out on her bedroll for a few hours.

In the middle of the night, she found herself wide awake but still drunk. She opened the flap of her tent and peered out at the campsite, searching for signs of life. By her estimation everyone was fast asleep and dawn was still hours away.

She crawled over to Gale’s tent and pried it open. Slowly and silently, she crept up on the wizard, who was in deep sleep. She briefly watched him, appreciating his handsome features and the peaceful look on his face in the low light of the dimming campfire. Then her impulses took over, and she bent down to get incredibly close to his sleeping form.

As she grabbed one of his shoulders, she hissed, “BOO” in his ear.

Gale bolted upright, exclaiming, “Gods, what is—”

Then he noticed who it was that barged into his tent in the middle of the night, along with the amused expression on her face. Still in disbelief, he asked, “Liriel? What are you doing?”

“I wanted to see you, alone. And I didn’t want to wait until morning. And earlier I was too upset. And then I was too drunk. Now I’m still drunk—I’m like, 56% drunk. But no longer tooooo drunk, y’know? And I’m not upset.”

He chuckled, shifting and motioning so that she would sit beside him. “Well, your sudden intrusion is always welcome, however jarring it was in the moment.”

“Hey, at least we know for sure he is sleeping.” She lightly grazed her finger over the skin on his chest where the orb resided and let it linger there. It began to glow a bright purple. She’d seen this before. She knew what it meant. He was turned on right now.

And the look on his face confirmed it. “Perhaps now is not the best time to rehash what happened earlier tonight, though. I have a feeling those hurt feelings we harbor could easily resurface.”

“You have hurt feelings too? You seemed so stoic. It frustrated me.”

“Of course this hurts me. I don’t want to break your heart in this way, and my own heart aches for you like never before. Knowing you feel the sorrow you do, it pains me. Greatly.”

“So what do we do now?”

“Now…” he paused to think on it a moment. “Now I think we should sleep, really. We need our rest and our strength, more than ever. There will be time to talk this through.”

She looked downcast, biting her lip.

He opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it. He waited for her instead.

“I just want to say one thing,” she said softly. “We’ve already defied incredible odds by managing to get this far. It’s not blind dumb luck that we’re still here either. It’s us. WE survived because of who WE are. We’re not only surviving, we’ve surpassed every challenge that this fucked up world has thrown at us. We keep winning. If there’s anything I believe in, it’s us. It’s you.”

He pulled her close in a movement so uncharacteristically strong and quick that it caught her slightly intoxicated senses off-guard. When she regained her bearings she held him tightly, bunching the clothes on his back between each of her fists.

“Thank you,” he whispered in her ear. “Thank you for believing in me and giving me hope. I will not abandon that hope, or you, lightly. Please know that.”

She didn’t say anything. They clung to one another so firmly yet neither dared let go. After a while, Gale could detect her trembling slightly in his embrace, then he noticed she had dampened his clothing at the shoulder where her eyes rested. He pulled back a little to look at her face as she simultaneously worked to hide her face from his view, withdrawing and nearly turning away from him. He brought her back in a close embrace, preferring to keep her pressed against him since she seemed intent on refusing him a view of her face.

“Are you that determined to conceal your tears from me?” he gently asked her.

“Yes,” she sniffled. “I won’t run away again... just... please don’t look at me right now.”

He let her continue to cry on his shoulder, stroking her hair and her upper back, hoping he could bring her comfort in some small way.

“I’m sorry, Gale,” she said after a while, her voice calm but heavy with congestion. “I’m grateful to you for comforting me, but I also think it’s fucked up for me to ask this of you when you’re the one that’s been ordered to die.”

He chuckled softly. “I assure you, I am voluntarily comforting you and you needn’t apologize. If anyone should apologize, it’s me. I am sorry, to you, for failing to recognize the depth of your feelings for me sooner. For forcing you to pay for my past mistakes. I do wish things could be different, now more than ever.”

“I forgive you, Gale. You deserve to be forgiven. For all of it. And you deserve to live too.”

Now Gale was the one feeling tears well up in his eyes. With a sigh, he pulled Liriel back and held her at arm’s length by her shoulders so he could look her in the eyes.

“Thank you,” he told her sincerely. “For everything, not just your compassionate words in this moment. For being you. For pulling me out of that portal. For not turning me away when you found out just how badly I blundered. For trusting me with your life, and your heart. And, if I may be so frank, for the best damn kiss of my life.”

Her lips trembled slightly, but she managed a smile. “You’re very welcome. Most welcome, one might say.”

He raised an eyebrow at her and easily returned her smile at the memory of the moment they shared in the Weave.

A timid look crossed her face. Gale loved this very cute, very bashful side of her previously unseen by him.

“What is it?” he asked her. “Is there something you wish to ask of me?”

“Yeah,” she replied, “Can I sleep here? That’s probably an absurd idea, since it’s such a small space, and I really do mean cuddling and then sleep-sleep, no sexy stuff, but if you don’t want—”

He cut off her deluge of words with a soft, short, but sweet kiss, of a completely different sort from what they shared before. It was a gesture that was clearly loving and reassuring.

“You are most welcome to stay here with me tonight,” he told her after pulling away from the kiss.

He placed one arm around her and gently guided her to lie down on his bedroll beside him. She curled up against him, laid her head on his chest, and draped an arm across his waist.

“Good night, Gale,” she whispered.

“Good night, Liriel.”

Blissful sleep followed.

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galesdevoteewife · 4 months

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Wedding asks!!! 14 and 21/28 (either or, or you can do both! they’re both about dancing) <3

✨✨Thank you my friend for spoiling me!! hehehe yes these I had given them thorough thoughts!! Imo symbolism is always a big thing in weddings so I made up tons of them LOL✨✨ 14. Rings -

Rings, yes! They looks like this.

I adopted Ed's traditional Waterdeep wedding ring setting (in short, 1. each party contributes a ring, 2.each ring is cut in half and 3.reforged/resized into two half-and-half rings). But I replaced the half-and-half metalworking method with Mokume-gane. At the center of each ring is a small round diamond, and they had chosen colors that best represented their impression of each other. The wearer should always take good care of and maintain the ring, keeping the diamond shining to signify the importance they place on caring for their partner. The ring Gale gave was infused with raw magic. Assume he was 35 years old in BG3 (1492). He was born when the Weave was broken, and it wasn’t restored until he was 22. But he could cast magic from infancy, so my HC is that he can conduct raw magic to some extent. As the foundation of the world and his core, he chose such a ring.

Zilvera chose to forge her ring from small pieces of adamantine shaved off her beloved hand crossbows. She had an almost fetishistic attachment to these hand crossbows—she considered them reliable companions, her pride, and friends that saved her countless times. It was a tough decision for her. She knows them inside out and the change in weight does bother her greatly. 12. Music + 21. Dancing + 28. First Dance -

🕺🎻🎶All-out-Party-Hard, Tavern Music DancePartY🎵🪘💃 The only step that matters in this entire wedding is dancing! I HC a whole set of— ᔓ Dekarios family wedding traditions ᔕ They are a long-standing and large family with many traditions. Every couple picks and chooses whichever they like, but this one most important/beloved dance is the one almost everyone retains. I'll call it "Wedding Circle Dance."

First, everyone forms a circle, with the couple on opposite sides of the circle so they can look at each other the entire time.

People who are next to the couple move to the outer ring, and every other person also moves to the outer ring.

Repeat until only the couple remains.

What's special about this dance is that the music starts slow and gradually gets faster and faster, so by the end, many people can't keep up, which makes the scene hilarious and brings laughter. Young /elder/limited mobility members are intentionally assigned to positions where they can move to the outer ring soon, ensuring nobody gets hurt.

The couple's coordination is tested, and they should strive to keep up with the dance until the very end of the song, symbolizing that they can overcome challenges together. (By the way, Gale and Zil nailed it like pros, hehe)

youtube

^ A reference of how the Wedding circle dance looks/feels like Then the music switches to a very slow, romantic tune. The couple slowly circles each other, catching their breaths. Whenever they feel ready, they may exchange vows and put the wedding rings—which hang on their necks with fine chains—onto each other.

The wedding is thus concluded. The officiant can give a speech or start the next dance.

The family loves dancing and everyone is encouraged to dance all night! Whoever wears out their shoes that night is believed to share the couple's luck and will find a great partner soon.

Other dance vibe reference:

youtube

These dances are all about having a great time together regardless of age or ability. That is the spirit of their family traditions! ♡ Wedding Prompts ♡01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31

#Thanks for the ask!!! <3333 #And made the prompts!!!#the brainrot is VERY brainrotting #i am beyond saving #bg3weddingseason #baldur's gate 3 #gale of waterdeep #bg3 #gale dekarios #gale romance #gale x tav #bg3 tav #bg3 spoilers #bg3 gale

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scarredwithcruelintentions · 4 months

Text

chapter 12: of cursed shadows

Find the master list here!

CW: Act 2 spoilers, traumatic memories and some...*fun*...stuff!

W/C: 5,035

A/N: Hey y'all. It's been a bit. Apologies, life is wild and creativity comes and goes. Hope this was worth the wait!

The group was up and packed a few short hours after Astarion had fallen into his trance in your arms. His consciousness was roused to the sound of you shuffling about the tent, organizing what little had been laid out and re-stocking your daypack with hearthlight bombs and potions of healing. He was in motion, helping you pack and strip the tent, before he had even gathered his wits about himself, so natural this morning routine had become.

Once all was settled and the rest of the group had broken their fast with dried meats and stale bread, they began their trek down to the darkened waters on the outskirts of the myconid camp. Thankfully, both skiffs were moored at the dock, as one alone was not enough to carry the whole of the group. Astarion helped you onto the first one, climbing up shortly after you and jumping across to stand by your side on the second skiff. He and Halsin undid the docking ties and Gale cast an arcane gust of wind to send them on their final venture through the Underdark.

They reached Grymforge in short order, all scampering off the tiny and decrepit vessels onto solid land so as not to disturb whatever might be lurking in those murky depths any further. They made haste to the lift gate, Astarion deftly picking its lock, and took it in two groups to the upper levels of the Sharran ruins. Anticipatory dread continued to build in the pit of his stomach, slowly climbing its frozen tendrils up his throat and rendering his vocal cords useless. He reached out to clasp your hand unthinkingly, and you gave it a reassuring squeeze despite the severity of his expression reflected in yours.

Regrouped and mentally bracing themselves for what lay ahead, the party cautiously trekked forward, Shadowheart lighting the many candles strewn about the dilapidated temple with a flick of her wrist.

“Gale, my boy,” an unfamiliar voice called down from the top landing.

Astarion’s eyes snapped to the man in question as his face paled, hurrying up the last steps to accost the stranger.

“Elminster, what in the bloody Hells are you doing here!” Gale hissed in a whisper.

“I come with ill tidings, a most sacrificial task set forth to you by Mystra herself…”

The wizened old man continued to dawdle nonsensically, and Astarion began to see where Gale had picked up his pattern of speech from.

“For all the gods’ sakes, Elminster, spit it out!” Gale huffed exasperatedly.

“Are all archmages this unnecessarily verbose?” Astarion whispered, low enough that only you could catch the rumble of his voice.

You hid a snicker behind your hand, swatting at him with the other.

“I’m sure I’ve misheard you, Elminster. Mystra wants me to blow myself up when we confront the Absolute?!” Gale shouted incredulously, drawing both Astarion’s and your attention back to the conversation at hand.

“No, my dear boy, I’m afraid you’ve heard me perfectly. This is the only way to appease Mystra, this one final, impossible task bestowed upon you, as she knows only you are capable of completing it.”

“And this will surely regain her favor?” Gale questioned, a look of resignation blanketing his features.

“I’m sorry, pardon my interruption,” you spoke up, “but Gale is decidedly NOT going to blow himself up, especially not for the goddess who spurned him.”

Elminster’s shrewd gaze landed on you, sizing you up, as Gale began to splutter objections.

“Yes, I do believe you’ve heard me perfectly. I vote against this drastic measure. Are there any who would care to back me up?” you asked, cocking a hip out and crossing your arms in a defensive pose.

There was a resounding chorus of ‘no’s and ‘absolutely not’s, Astarion begrudgingly throwing his hat in with the rest of the naysayers. Though the wizard could be infuriatingly dense at times, he couldn’t imagine sacrificing himself for the forgiveness of an ex-lover, no matter the cost. And if it was not something Astarion would willingly do, he’d not ask it of his friend.

Gale stood, dumbstruck, looking at the group with glassy eyes as a choice was laid before him. Mystra’s blessing at the expense of his life, or his freedom and friendship at the expense of her favor. Astarion hoped, for his sake, that he would be intelligent enough to choose the latter, as it had so far proved a more rewarding road.

“Elminster, you have given me much to think on. I make you no promises, but I will consider Mystra’s request,” he said curtly.

The mighty wizard sighed, breathing an incantation over Gale to still the ever-restless orb in his chest, and with a final brief nod, he vanished from sight.

Gale opened his mouth to speak - to thank you or protest - but you stopped him before any words could flow out.

“There will be no reconsidering of these terms, Gale. Your life is worth far more than that of your Goddess’s blessing. If not to you, to us. We need you in this fight. Please remember this,” you said resolutely, if not a little desperately.

Gale’s jaw promptly snapped shut, a grimace of shame schooling his features.

“Besides, there are plenty more lovely goddesses for you to bed in her stead, Gale,” Astarion quipped from beside you.

You jabbed an elbow into his ribs, an oof sound punching past his lips. Gale glanced slyly at him, and though his brows were drawn in distaste, a smirk played at the corners of the man’s lips, betraying his amusement.

“Come on,” you said, stepping forward to take Gale’s arm in yours, “we have much yet to do today.”

Though the green monster in Astarion’s gut could not be quelled completely, he was overwhelmed with a tender fondness at your actions. No matter the obstacle, you stood proudly and defied all odds, choosing the safety and happiness of your companions above all else.

How he adored the many facets he’d come to know of you. ______________________________________________________________

The Shadow Cursed Lands were everything that Halsin had described and then some. The otherworldly, inky shadows seemed to consume all light and heat, creating the atmosphere Astarion assumed the abyssal void of the heavens to be. The rays of the sun did not penetrate the dense clouds of shadow over the land, and he found himself remiss without their guiding light. That, and the gnawing hunger in the pit of his belly, continued to draw his attention from the danger at hand.

Though he was unbothered by the cold, he could not shake the feeling of being stalked by the darkness itself. He was unused to the sensation of being prey, especially when enveloped by the shroud of false night, but it hunted him nonetheless, setting his teeth on edge. He held his torch high and stuck close by your side for want to protect you from the encroaching shadows. Ever the fearless leader, you showed no outward signs of unease. It was only the telltale quickened pace of your heart, a sound only he was keen enough to hear, that betrayed your fear.

Some ways away, the sound of snapping branches and the scuffing of boots echoed through the hazy darkness, followed by the dimmed glow of torchlight. You dropped into a crouch on instinct, the others following suit. However, you were not fast enough, and whoever stood on the other side of the veil of shadow called out for you to show yourself.

As you raised to stand, hands held aloft placatingly, a monstrous shadow emerged and dragged one of the other party’s travelers, kicking and screaming, into the brush and far from any source of light.

“Yonas, follow my voice! Come back to the light!” the woman, presumably the leader, cried frantically.

A piercing shriek lit the atmosphere, and the man, Yonas, emerged from beneath the thorny thickets of dead shrubbery. However, the man that had been dragged from the group was no more. In his place stood a herald of the curse’s power, some vile and abhorrent mockery of the man that once was, his body infused with the sickening magic of undeath. Tendrils of inky darkness spanned his form in vein-like clusters, the occasional green glow of necromancy threading through them.

The undead traveler took a vicious swipe at his once leader, who, in her unpreparedness, was caught off guard and bore the full force of it. Astarion watched as the energy was sapped from her with that single blow, watched the great effort it took for her to remain upright. Suddenly, the shadows around them began to writhe and take form, all enclosing on their position. The whole of the group, strangers included, formed a circle with their backs to the center, Shadowheart calling on the aid of radiant spirit guardians to shield them from the onslaught of living shadow.

Encircled by the divine light of her spell, the group began hacking, slashing and casting with reckless abandon. Karlach swung Lathander’s Blood in great, sweeping arcs, blinding all nearby shadow and undead creatures. Shadowheart continued to dole out guiding bolts of radiant damage, illuminating whatever otherworldly foes the dancing spirit guardians did not. You discovered that even the shadows were weakened by the clutches of fear, casting a series of disembodied, chittering voices at them.

Though the group worked in tandem and made good progress in the battle, they were overwrought by the sheer number of shadow creatures, and soon they began to tire. With one final burst of effort, Shadowheart casted to turn all undead in their vicinity, their shrieks of agony as they were incinerated with divine light echoing in the abyssal darkness surrounding them.

“You’re fine company to keep in a fight,” the woman, a Harper by the looks of her, panted.

“As are you,” you spoke breathlessly back.

You offered her a perfunctory greeting and introduction, with her responding in kind.

“Do you have a camp?”

You shook your head, taking down great gulps of the frigid air as you caught your breath.

“Let me see your map,” she said brusquely, snatching the well-worn parchment from your hands as you fumbled with it and making a mark a short distance away.

“There’s an inn nearby, protected from the clutches of the curse. S’not much, but it’s safe. We hope to see you there,” she rushed out, turning to leave before thinking better of it, “A word of caution. Do not venture further into the shadows. Your torch may protect you here, but the deeper into these accursed lands you get, the hungrier the shadows become. You don’t want to end up like Yonas.”

She cast one final glance at the crumbled pile of ash that was once her traveling companion and spun on her heel, the other Harpers following her at a breakneck pace through the darkness.

“Well,” you panted, “shall we see what secrets this inn holds for us?” ______________________________________________________________

The party was met with the stony suspicion of the Harper leader at the bridge to Last Light Inn. Astarion cried out in dismay when the elven druid wrapped you in a series of entangling vines, waxing poetic about cultist interlopers interfering in Harper business, and how she had half a mind to kill you on the spot.

“Kill me and you lose your best shot at taking down Thorm. I may be tadpoled, but I am not some mindless thrall under the Absolute’s influence,” you retorted cheekily.

“It is not possible; how could you, a simple mortal, be powerful enough to resist the voice of the Absolute? I do not believe you.”

With one hand still raised in placation, you drew the Astral Prism from a pocket of your bag, the thing coming to life with an unearthly hum as it was suspended just above your palm. The tadpole in the druid woman’s jar fell silent, no longer squirming to be near its kin. Her eyes darted back and forth between the artifact in your hand and the dormant illithid tadpole in the jar, discerning the truthfulness of your words.

Just then, Mol appeared to corroborate your story, unwittingly saving the group from a potentially disastrous end. The elf exchanged looks with the Harper woman that had led you to the inn, and with a wave of her hand, the vines disappeared. You stumbled back into Astarion’s chest, the Astral Prism falling into your palm with a deceivingly heavy thunk.

“Well, it looks as though I have read you all wrong. I have many questions, but far be it from me to look a gift horse in the mouth. Come, follow me inside. We have much to discuss,” the woman said gruffly.

She promptly turned and strode into the inn, Mol making a quip about getting even to you. You thanked the little tiefling girl graciously, and then looked between your companions, a question held in the weight of your gaze. With a shrug, you followed the druid into the inn proper.

The group dispersed, not all deeming it necessary to follow you. Karlach meandered her way to the forge, pulling the infernal iron she’d collected from her pack as she went. Gale and Wyll went to the storemaster, their coin purses in hand, along with whatever items they were willing to trade. Halsin made his way inside ahead of you, beelining for the infirmary with a mumbled platitude about having ‘business to attend to.’ Shadowheart turned her nose up at the moon magic surrounding the inn and refused to move any further, which you rolled your eyes at. Lae’zel seated herself on the crumbling fountain wall, pulling her whetstone from her bag and proceeding to sharpen her blade.

That left you and Astarion to heed the druid’s call, and though he was not overly fond of the woman in question, her having threatened his ticket to safety, he was not about to break his promise to you. He strode by your side, keeping your form within his peripheral vision at all times. Something cold and sharp churned in his gut, the foreboding feeling of danger yet to come, and he’d be damned if he let any harm come to you.

When they stepped inside, he smelled it instantly. The stench of ash and brimstone, of death and destruction. You began the conversation with the druid woman, Jaheira, she was called, but he was hard pressed to follow along. He found his eyes wandering to the devil playing lanceboard with the little tiefling girl, the smarmy smirk of a cat cornering a trapped mouse drawing his features into a harsh and predatory smile.

Without thinking, he gravitated toward the two, a maelstrom of questions swirling through his mind. Was he truly prepared to make a deal with a devil to end Cazador’s reign over his person? He wasn’t even sure vampires had souls to offer, and he found himself quickly running short of options that might interest the devil.

I could bed him.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, a shudder of disgust wracked his frame, drawing the devil’s attention.

“I sense you have something to ask me, my toothsome friend,” he purred, smirk widening into something dangerous.

“What do you know of Cazador Szarr, devil?” he questioned, uncertainty coloring his voice.

“The vampire lord in Baldur’s Gate? Plenty, including the meaning of those pretty scars you carry.”

Astarion blanched just as you meandered into his peripheral vision.

“What about scars?”

“I see! You haven’t been half as forthcoming as I would have expected, darling Star,” the devil mocked.

“What do you know of my scars!” Astarion shouted, drawing the eyes of all of the inn’s patrons.

“I will tell you, in due time, my vampiric friend,” he murmured, and with a snap of his fingers, he disappeared in a puff of acrid smoke.

Astarion slowly turned his eyes to meet yours, expecting to find questions written in the lines of your expression. While he did find a sad kind of curiosity in the weight of your gaze, it was overshadowed by your compassion for his plight. You did not say a single word, merely held your arms open for him to curl into. He crossed the gap in two great strides, folding into you with a heavy sigh.

“There is something I must -” he began, but you shushed him gently.

“You need not share anything you do not wish to,” you whispered, stroking through his curls.

The two stood in reverent silence for a moment, swaying with the ambient sounds of life within the inn. He lost himself in the rhythmic sound of your heartbeat, the supple softness of your skin, the familiar scent of the soap used to cleanse your hair.

Then, an idea struck him. If words were to fail him, he could simply show you.

“Darling,” he breathed, “would you accompany me to the riverside, so we may wash up before we take our rest?”

He pulled back to look at you fully, and though a bloom of scarlet flooded your features, you nodded resolutely, urging him to show you the way. ______________________________________________________________

Under the protection of the Selunite spell and by the light of the waxing moon, Astarion shed his armor, both physically and metaphorically. You followed his lead, removing your adamantine plate and tossing it none too gently into the haplessly strewn pile of clothing. Shortly, you were left in nothing but your night shift, the material far too thin for the unnaturally cold atmosphere.

Astarion stopped to marvel at the way your skin prickled with gooseflesh, toying with the laces of his chemise. You crossed your arms over your chest, alerting him to the fact that you’d caught him staring. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath, turning his back to you and pulling the chemise over his head.

He registered the sound of a breathless gasp, a horrified, “Oh, my love,” barely audible over the rush of white noise in his ears. He took several calming breaths, willing away his urge to flee and hide from your no doubt piteous gaze.

“May I?” you asked, sounding closer than before, and he startled momentarily.

He clenched his hands into fists, knuckles going white with the strain as he nodded his assent.

The first caress of your fingertips over the marred flesh was both too much and not enough. You traced the pattern of his scars, the memory of their carving playing on a torturous loop in his mind’s eye. He whimpered at the feeling, the featherlight brush of your fingertips translating as blazing pain as he recalled that fateful night.

“Did you know that he’d carved infernal runes into you?”

“Well, I’d rather guessed as much at the devil’s words, but…no. I never knew what it was. All I knew was that he’d branded me, denoted me as his pet,” he shuddered.

“Would you like to see?” you murmured.

He turned to look at you, hesitation apparent in both his posture and expression.

“I…I’m not sure. I’ve carried these marks for nearly two centuries, never once knowing what they looked like. I don’t know if I want to see the cruelty he so brazenly bestowed upon me.”

“Then you need not know,” you intoned simply.

“How - how would you presume to show me?” he asked, apprehensive.

“I would draw the symbols in the earth at our feet.”

Astarion took a deep, steadying breath.

“Show me.”

You glanced at him one last time for reassurance, then knelt at his back. He could hear the sweeping arcs your finger made through the silt of the riverbank, drawing the likeness of his scars so that he might finally know just what torture he carried with him.

When you were finished, you stood, taking a step back. He turned, cautiously, to face you, eyes slowly roving down your form to the dirt in front of you. He took in a sharp breath, riveted to the loops and swirls that you had only just traced along his own skin.

“You know,” he intoned, “if I forget the abuse that created this pattern, it almost has a kind of poetic beauty to it.”

“Do you recognize it at all?”

“Not a bit, darling. It could be anything; the only way we’ll know is if the devil tells us.”

“I would be careful if I were you, Astarion. Devils have ulterior motives. You can’t trust him,” you muttered gravely.

“I know, my sweet, but what other choice do I have?” he asked sadly.

You stepped forward into his space, planting a solid foot in the scrollwork of his scars etched into the riverbank as you enveloped him in your arms again.

“I trust that you know what you are doing,” you murmured against his chest.

“I hope you are right,” he replied, dropping a kiss to the crown of your head.

He inhaled your scent deeply, taking in the quiet calm of the moment. However, it did not last long, the telltale spasming pain of his hunger wracking through him with a wince.

“You haven’t eaten since the mountain pass,” you stated.

“What on earth gives you that idea?” he asked, barely hiding his grimace of discomfort.

“You cannot lie to me, my Star. We have spent most nights since in each others’ embrace, and you have not left once to hunt.”

“Fine, you are right. I have not eaten since.”

“What’s it been, a tenday? Why haven’t you said anything?” you scolded.

“You are more than my meal ticket, darling. We need you healthy and well more than we need me,” he whispered, self deprecation evident in his voice and words.

“Don’t you ever say such a thing again,” you hissed vehemently, “Do you have any idea how distraught I’d be if I were to lose you?”

At a loss for words, Astarion merely shook his head.

“I would lose myself if I lost you.”

The weight of your words hit him like a blow to the gut, punching a needy sound from him. He pulled you forward, knocking you off balance as his lips mashed to yours in a feverish kiss. He broke it quickly, striding to sit at the base of a tall tree. He widened the spread of his legs to make space for your frame to fit between them, patting his thighs at the question in your gaze. Your heartbeat quickened and the rosy flush of your desire deepend to a scandalized scarlet.

Nevertheless, you obeyed.

Shuffling into place, you pressed your back snugly to the solid planes of his chest and leaned your head against his shoulder, baring your neck to him. He swept the tendrils of your hair back, allowing his fingers to trace your delicate flesh in a cool caress as he did so. You squirmed in his lap, hands fisting in the material of his breeches at the thighs, fanning the embers of desire pooling low in his belly into flames.

He wrapped one arm around your middle and the other across your chest, palm resting on your shoulder as his thumb traced your collarbone, pulling you tighter to him. You gasped as he ran the tip of his nose along the line of your jaw and then down the column of your throat, inhaling deeply at your pulse point. His lips retraced the path up your neck and to your earlobe, pulling on it gently with his teeth.

He did not stop to question the enjoyment he took from making you writhe, instead losing himself to the rhythmic squeezing of your hands at his thighs, the steady drum of your heart and your warmth pressed close to him.

He placed wet, open-mouthed kisses back down the line of your throat, listening intently to the way your pulse picked up speed again and your breath came in short, hard pants. He licked a stripe back up to your pulse point in a final teasing motion, and groaned at the salty tang of your skin.

“Are you ready?” he murmured against your neck, more vibration than sound.

“As I’ll ever be,” you breathed, hands squeezing tight over his thighs.

His fangs sank home into your artery, reopening the mostly healed puncture wounds from his first feeding. He could taste the desire in your blood more thoroughly this time, and though he took small pulls, he knew he would never get enough of it. He imagined it was comparable to the chocolate sweets mortals loved so much, rich and filling and oh-so-addictive.

He had every intention of pacing himself, of savoring the moment, until he heard a moan escape your lips. Involuntarily, he answered with one of his own, and he began to lap greedily at the blood spurting from the wounds in your neck. He could feel the aborted rocking motions of your hips as you pressed impossibly closer to him, and it was all he could do to not rip your throat out.

He moved his hands to grab your hips, encouraging you to push back into the telltale tightness of his breeches, delighting in the drag of your plush bottom against him. He moaned in unison with you, pushing against you in time with the pulls he took of your blood.

Though he could still taste the lust in your bloodstream, he could also feel the trembling of your body, chilly with the shock of blood loss, and the hands squeezing his thighs became steadily weaker in their grip. He pulled away from your neck, chest heaving with the effort it took and the arousal alight in him.

You whimpered at the loss of him, and he indulged both you and himself further by lapping at the sluggishly leaking marks of his fangs. He felt you remove your hands from his thighs, continuing to lick at you as you pulled the amulet from between your breasts.

“You little minx,” he chuckled, licking up the final droplets spilling down your neck.

You giggled deliriously and breathed the incantation, cupping it in your palms. It worked instantly, restoring the warmth and color to your skin. You hastily dropped the amulet, craning your neck to plant a sloppy kiss on his lips. He moaned in surprise, lips parting as your tongue swiped along their seam, uncaring of the blood still staining them.

He lifted one hand to cradle the back of your head, the other anchoring itself at your waist as he leaned into you, shifting his weight as he gently laid you down. Your warm palms came up to cup his face, running your tongue across the razor sharp tip of his fang, and he groaned as he sucked the blood from the wound.

You continued to kiss him messily, crimson tinged saliva smearing your swollen lips, until you were positively gasping for air. He pulled away, giving you space to catch your breath, to find a faintly pink string of your shared enthusiasm still connecting him to you. Like a man possessed, he dove back down to mouth wetly at your jaw and down your throat, licking over his bite mark once more.

“Astarion,” you panted, but he could barely hear you over the rush of your blood in his ears. He continued to kiss his way down, sucking small marks into the supple skin of your bosom.

“Astarion,” you called down, a little louder this time, pulling his face away from your chest and up to catch his eyes.

“I would have you right now, if you’d let me,” he growled, pressing his hips down and reveling in the delicious friction of meeting yours. You bucked back up into him with a surprised gasp, but ultimately shook your head.

Through the haze of lust clouding his vision, he tried to discern your hesitation. This was the first time he could recall actually wanting someone, let alone as badly as he wanted you. He pushed his hips into you again with a wanton sound, but you did not lift yours to meet him this time. He closed his eyes in dejected frustration, whimpering.

“Look at me, please,” you intoned.

His eyes opened slowly, focusing on the warmth in yours. It wasn’t heat, per se, that he felt in your gaze, but that of the pleasant fuzzy sensation that he couldn’t quite put a name to. Your thumb brushed over the apple of his cheek reverently.

“There’s no need to rush,” you smiled coyly.

“We could be mindflayers tomorrow,” he countered.

“We could, or we could not. Would you rather do this now and regret it later?”

He was annoyed to find that you had a point.

“But I want you like I’ve never wanted anything,” he whined, cinching his eyes shut with a pained expression.

“And I you, sweet Star, but not like this. Not in the haze of bloodlust, with all caution thrown to the wind. No, I want you when you are ready.”

He whined again, mouth prepared to open in protest, but stilled at your next words.

“When I am ready,” you whispered, voice small.

His eyes snapped open, and he caught a glimpse of his own fear in yours. All of his desire, his need, halted instantly as he recalled your own plight.

“Of course, darling,” he breathed, placing a chaste kiss upon your lips and touching his forehead to yours in a show of quiet affection. You hummed your approval, content to lay like that with him for a while.

After some time, he insisted that the two of you get up to wash the dried blood and spit from your faces so as not to draw too much attention back at camp.

“Let them stare,” you smirked mischievously. “I know you’d take great pleasure in their jealousy.”

He laughed heartily at your devious smile, feeling light with contentment.

However, he could not silence the alarm bells ringing in the back of his mind that this was not a part of the plan, and he was venturing out into unfamiliar territory at significant risk to himself.

As the two of you walked back to camp in companionable silence, he could not help the panic that stirred in his chest.

What am I doing?

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nicsnort · 3 months

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The Dark Kiss (part 1)

Ascended Astarion/Fem!Tav dark power-couple romance. Cross-posted from Ao3 (link). General CWs for blood drinking, battle, and sexy times

The letter from Withers had been a surprise. A pleasant one to be sure but a surprise nonetheless. A party to bring the heroes of Baldur’s Gate back together once more. Tav was thrilled at the prospect but there was a lingering concern in the back of her mind. If she went then she might see him. Would the vampire ascendant stoop so low as to attend such a meager gathering? Tav had heard of the grand balls and hedonistic parties he had been throwing in the Crimson Palace.

No, of course, he wouldn’t show up. He only stuck around after he ended their relationship because the Absolute coming to power was detrimental to his plans. The vampire ascendant didn’t even have the care to attend their party’s small celebration after the Absolute was defeated. Of course, he wouldn’t show up.

~~~~~~~

Tav couldn’t believe he showed up yet there he was. The full moon’s light illuminated his silver curls, a wine glass cradled in his hands, beautiful black and red silk clothing, piercing ruby eyes, and dark power oozing from his every pore. He was somehow even more beautiful than the last time she had seen him on those docks six months ago.

Withers gave a speech about them coming together or something but Tav wasn’t paying attention. She was distracted by the firm gaze pressing against her back. There was no need to look to know who it was. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and she stiffened. She could have sworn she felt the ghost of a kiss against her skin.

Tav walked around revisiting with her old friends. She was ecstatic to learn that Wyll and Karalach had discovered the location of Zariel’s forge; there was a real possibility that they could fix the tiefling’s heart. Tav would have to tell Dammon. The smith had been worried sick when Karalch had disappeared. It was also good to hear that Wyll had been quickly regaining his abilities - not as a warlock but as the paladin he was always meant to be on a path of vengeance against Mizora.

“I don’t suppose you could track down Haarleep if you get the chance,” she asked the infernal pair with a joking laugh that hid her true stress. “I know I agreed to his terms but he’s been using my form far too much lately.”

“We’ll try, soldier,” Karlach comforted. “He’s down in Cania but if we see him he’s good as dead.”

Gale - or Dekarios - was unsettling in his new celestial form but claimed to be adjusting to his godhood; God of Ambition, it certainly fit the ex-wizard well. There was a twinge of regret in Tav’s heart as she spoke with Tara who seemed to hate this new Gale. Still, Tav was nothing but supportive of her friend’s desires…well, ambitions.

Tav walked down from the small hill Dekarios was using to watch over the celebration passing Astarion, preening in a looking glass. Her mind flashed back to the last time he had done so. It was the first time she had told him he was beautiful. She had been his eyes, his mirror. Guess he didn’t need her for that anymore. As she walked over to greet Minsc and Jarheria at the table Tav felt the vampire ascendant’s eyes on her once more.

“Trust me Minsc I’m not happy with the role the Zhentarim have taken up either but you can’t just break in and attack them directly!”

“That is what I have been telling him. But does he listen to me? No.”

“Justice does not wait to kick evil’s rear it simply barges in and slaps it!” Tav shook her head trying not to laugh but failing. “Precisely! Laugh in evil’s face!”

Tav had to walk away at that point or she would be in danger of dying from laughter. She ran into Shadowheart and struck up a conversation about what the newly converted Selunite was doing.

“But enough about me,” the cleric finally said pouring them both another glass of sweet liqueur, “what have you been up to?”

“Helping to rebuild the city for the most part. I helped the tieflings form a new district and have been working on the rebuilding of the upper city. With all the patriar families dead thanks to Gortash there has been a power vacuum. The Zhentarim are not the only ones taking advantage.”

“Yes, I would think not,” Shadowheart glanced behind Tav in the direction of Astarion’s chosen haunt. Tav knew he wasn’t there, she couldn’t feel his eyes anymore. “Our vampire behaving himself?”

“He has stayed out of mainstream politics for the most part but his presence is known. Still, no trouble thus far.”

“Good, when he does cause trouble let me know. You’ll need a cleric to deal with him.”

Tav sighed but gave a false smile and nod. She knew most of their group did not agree with her decision to help Astarion ascend. A small part of her regretted it herself if only for how it caused their relationship to end. Tav did not regret encouraging any of her companions to pursue power if they wanted it. She had nearly slipped a dagger into the back of Orpheus herself to take control of the Absolute. It was only the thought that she may not be able to control the Netherbrain as a non-Illithid that stayed her blade.

With a truer smile, Tav moved over to a nearby table where a delicious-looking roast hen was calling to her. She loaded the meat onto a plate tossing parts of it to Scratch and Snack. As she ate Halsin came over and they talked about the healing Shadowlands. While she was telling him one of the more exciting tales of what happened to her in the past six months she noticed an albino bat flitting around in the shadows eavesdropping on various conversations. So that’s where he went.

The bat hung above them holding onto a large branch. “It was great to see you again, Halsin, I will come out to the Shadowlands - Lightlands? - as soon as I can. The upper city is nearly rebuilt we can afford to send a few workers down in the next month to aid in reconstruction.”

“We will be glad to have you and the aid. Now go enjoy the night, don’t let this old bear keep you.”

“Before I go another hug?” The elf hugged her tightly, cracking her back slightly and satisfactorily. As she walked away the bat flew off quickly returning to Astarion’s spot and transforming back. He acted as though he had always been there and Tav acted as if she hadn’t seen him reappear.

Lae’zel was the last person she wanted to talk to. The projected form was strange but it was good to hear that the warrior was doing well bringing the rebellion of the Comet Prince to all Gith. Knowing the warrior had learned the value of diplomacy while with her was even better. As Lae’zel left to speak with Shadowheart Tav felt a pit form in her stomach. Just one left and his eyes bored into her back with fiery intensity.

Putting the conversation off Tav walked down to the beach. Just as Wyll had done during the celebration with the tieflings she stared out over the water nursing a glass of wine.

“Saving the best for last, darling?”

His voice washed over her like silk; caressing her ears, teasing her mind with a simple phrase. No. Just a single word. Darling.

Tav looked over at the vampire ascendant as he joined her at the water’s edge. Away from the firelight Selune’s glow accentuated his divine features. In that moment she was taken back to their night in the glade. The moonlight against his pallid skin had made him so bewitching.

“Astarion,” she greeted. “I already know some of what you have been doing. Rumors reach my ears of the new power player in the underbelly of the city.”

“As I know what you have been up to. You didn’t tell anyone, did you? The new Duke Tavita Silvershield.”

“Just Duke Silvershield will do, Lord Ancunin of the Crimson Palace. You are lucky it was one of the few spared by the emergence of the Netherbrain.”

“Yes, I heard the manor of Silvershield, despite its fine Gondian protections, was obliterated. My condolences. I suppose you are quite poor now, losing everything like that. You could have moved in with me instead of staying at an inn.”

“You disappeared after we won, I thought you wanted nothing to do with us. No matter. It may have been a pain during the reconstruction but I truly did hate that manor. It suits me better now.”

“Interesting. Did the city finance the rebuilding of it?”

“Most of it no. My predecessors made sure our assets were spread across Baldur’s Gate and other areas on the off chance the city was ever destroyed. The fortune is not as vast as it once was but what I could take from the counting house was more than enough to rebuild.”

“Ah, so you do have money. And here I thought you never attended my balls because you couldn’t afford a dress to wear.”

“We both know you simply sent those as a formality as I am a Duke now just as you did to Ravengaurd. Besides, why would I want to attend a party hosted by a man who would twist my love and abuse it?” Tav’s voice caught in her throat. She looked away from him, back out over the water.

Astarion was silent for a long moment. “I’m sorry I said that,” he finally told her softly. Tav’s jaw clenched. He sounded so sincere. He was just lying. Manipulating her as he did before. “I was angry. I wanted to hurt you as much as you hurt me.”

“As much as I hurt you,” she questioned with a snap, looking at him once more. “You were the one that ended the relationship. You couldn’t accept that I didn’t want to be changed into your spawn immediately!”

He turned his head down, looking at the ground as though he was ashamed. Don’t fall for it, Tav. Don’t fall for it. Forcing herself to continue she tried to ignore the tears threatening to well in her eyes. “I just wanted to wait until we defeated the Absolute. It wasn’t even a no. It was just not yet!”

The first of the tears leaked from the corner of her eyes. “I wanted to rule with you not be your puppet. The ceremony changed you so much. I didn’t know if I could trust you anymore. And then you showed me I was right.”

Tears were freely falling from her eyes now. Tav didn’t know if she was angry or sad or grieving in a way she hadn’t let herself before. Maybe all three.

Suddenly, Astarion pulled her against his chest. Holding her in his arms tightly. Protectively. Just like he did during their adventure when the stress had been too much for her. The others never saw her cry, they never saw her weak moments. Only Astarion. After seeing the horrors of Balthazar’s laboratory, the doom of the Netherbrain, finding her parents’ dead bodies after Gortash was crowned Arch Duke, and after she died…he had been there holding her, just as she had held him after they confessed their care for each other. Without thinking she wrapped her arms around him in return.

“You’re right,” he told her stroking her hair comfortingly. “You are right, my sweet. The ceremony did change me. Gaining so much power at once…it was overwhelming. I did not know how to handle it at first. Asking you before I understood my abilities was a mistake. But you nearly died fighting Cazador and I knew fighting the Absolute would be more dangerous, I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”

She wanted to believe all of it. His soft touches and strong arms were so enticing. Gods, his scent. The seductive mixture of brandy, rosemary, and bergamot but now with another dark note that titillated her senses. Even so, the familiar smell soothed her. Her tears were fading leaving her breathing raggedly.

“I was intoxicated on my limitless potential.” He continued petting her hair, relaxing her further. “I had just gotten all the power I ever wanted, I thought I could claim everything else in a heartbeat. So when you denied me I overreacted. I told you the thing I thought would hurt you the most. I am sorry, my love.”

“Don’t call me that,” she told him even as her fingers curled against his clothes desperately clinging to the moment, to him. “You don’t love me.”

“I do, Tav. I love you. I adore you.” His words crooned in her ear, his cold breath caressing her skin.

Tav had calmed enough to realize the position she put herself in. Asation’s arms around her were a dangerous comfort. She pulled away. He released her but let his touch linger as he stepped back. Looking him in the eyes she lifted her head. Her cheeks were wet from tears but her gaze was steady. “Yet, you’d take away my power. You’d enslave me, make me your puppet. That isn’t love, Astarion. Love is helping the person you care about achieve their goals, facing their challenges together, and overcoming them. I love - loved - you.”

It was a slip of the tongue. Revealing her lingering feelings. How her heart ached for him. Tav’s sloppy attempt to cover it up did not go unnoticed. Astarion’s eyes lit up, a gentle smile on his face. For a moment he looked just like he did after they had visited the dryad at the circus. “Your love is one few have. Cherish it.”

“If I had turned you that night, I may have,” Astarion confessed reaching out and brushing back some of her hair. “When the Absolute was defeated I would have whisked you away to my palace and locked you away in our bedroom for a decade as my greatest treasure. You would have been the most pampered pet in all of Faerun.”

“But not your equal,” Tav hissed stepping away from his touch. “I ran away from my family because I didn’t want to be some useless spoiled noble wife. I wanted power of my own.”

“I know. I know,” he soothed. “That life would have ruined you. Which is why I am now glad you denied me.”

More than his comforting hug, more than his saccharine voice, that line cracked her defenses. He was glad she denied him. His brutal honesty at what he would have done to her followed by that confession. It was the cruelest of emotions. Hope. Hope that part of the old Astarion has returned. Would the vampire ascendent truly ever be so honest, so vulnerable? Certainly not the one right after the ritual. So was this a lie, a manipulation? Or was this real? She wanted it to be real.

“What do you want, Astarion,” Tav asked him, anguish in her voice. He had left her alone for six months except for the obligatory ball invitations, why was he telling her these things now? If he was sorry, why did he wait? “Why are you telling me these things?”

“I tried to forget about you but I cannot. You linger on the edges of my mind every waking moment and invade my memories as I rest. I want you back, Tav, my love. I have come to realize that with power there is loneliness, surely you have felt this too. I miss you, darling, I want you at my side forever.”

“You want me as your spawn. A puppet.” Gods, she nearly fell for it. It was just like after he ascended but with prettier words. Even so, she felt a sting of truth. Lonely. She was lonely. All of her friends had left her after their adventure. She spent her days surrounded by subordinates and when she returned to her newly rebuilt manor her bed was empty at night…and her dreams were constantly invaded by him, her waking mind never far from longing.

“No,” he replied firmly. “I want you as my consort, a queen at my side. I know my powers better now, I have figured out a way to give you immortality without becoming a spawn.”

Tav’s eyes widened. “What?”

“The Black Mass scroll we found held more rituals in it than just the ascension. It also had a ritual to make a vampire consort. The Sacrament of the Dark Kiss. I drink your blood thrice then while your heart still beats you drink mine. Your body would start to change, while you were still living, and once it was finished you join me in undeath. A singularly unique creature. We would share a bond unlike any other. Many of my powers would be extended to you, walking in the sunlight, turning into mist, and more. Our minds would be connected, just like with the tadpoles. As you have consumed my blood you will have your freedom.”

While he was speaking Astarion drew closer. Tav could feel the shadows of his dark power wrap around her. Cold seductive caresses against her skin. She tried to stare at his chest, knowing the crack in her defenses would fracture if she looked into his beautiful eyes. Perhaps he knew this as well. Astarion tilted her chin up with a hand, his thumb brushing against her jaw tenderly. Tav didn’t have the desire to fight against his urging. Their eyes met once again and Tav could feel her defenses crumbling down around her.

“I need someone I can trust completely, I want that to be you. I love you, Tav. Be mine.”

Her voice caught in her throat. Tav swallowed thickly. She should say no. She was the leader of the champions of Baldur’s Gate, the youngest Duke in three centuries, she was shaping the city’s future with each command she made. Tav had everything she ever dreamed of, more than she dreamed…and she was so damned lonely.

“TAAAAAVVVVV,” Karlach’s voice echoed through the air. “Where’d you go, soldier?!”

Instantly, Tav broke from Astarion’s charm. The vampire narrowed his eyes and glared in the direction of the voice. Reaching up Tav touched his cheek. His attention returned to her, his eyes softening, asking the unvoiced question.

“After the party,” she told him. “I will give you my answer then.”

His gaze hardened just a bit, he wanted an answer now, but he consented with a nod. “Of course, my love. I have all the time in the world.”

Tav smiled and rejoined the party, her mind abuzz with conflict.

________

The Sacrament of the Dark Kiss is an actual vampiric ritual from 2nd edition D&D (though there it is just called The Dark Kiss) for making a vampire "bride". The ritual is from Van Ritchen's Guide to Vampires. I'll describe the ritual in detail later on and some more interesting old 2e vampire lore that I am using for this short story.

Fanfic Masterlist

#fanfic #fanfiction #astarion bg3 #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion fanfic #ascended astarion #dark romance #power couple #astarion x tav #The Dark Kiss

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ashprince-of-bel-air · 15 days

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Lovers Tragedy.

“All the saints of Notre Dame, will sing the tragedy of our song, I want to save us, but it won’t be long”. Song by Baby Jane

Those lyrics inspired me and gave me the idea for this one shot about Gale. He is going to blow himself up before the Nether Brain, whilst the reader pleads for him to reconsider.

The day was a blur for you all, adorning your armour, making sure you had your potions ready and just ensuring you were all ready for the fight ahead was an ordeal. Gale wanted to assuage everyone’s anxiety and tell them not to worry about what potions to take, but he wasn’t prepared to explain why they didn’t need to be prepared. He was not ready for the multiple speeches as to why he should not sacrifice himself to save Baldur’s Gate, why he should not succumb to the will of his bitch Goddess Mystra. No, Gale kept to himself, it would make the day easier if everyone did not know what he was planning, he at least wanted his last day where he could enjoy people being normal around him, treating him as if he wasn’t about to die.

Gale awoke that morning with you in his arms, his chest filled with dread, alongside the humming of magic in his chest, the feeling of it growing more powerful the closer he was to his goal, it was as if the orb knew what was happening. He knew today would be his last, knowing that he would face the nether brain and end this plot keeping you hostage, threatening to turn you into a mind flayer, he could never allow that to happen to his love, he would do all he could to prevent it.

You were laid asleep, breathing softly against his chest, a relaxed look upon your face, dreaming of pleasanter days. Gale had not told you of his plan, he did not want to hurt you, it was easier for you both if you believed that you would find another way to defeat the Netherbrain. He ran every scenario in his mind over the last few weeks of travelling and this was the only way he could guarantee your survival. Each other option would risk getting you killed, he did not want that, Gale would sacrifice himself a thousand times over if it meant you were safe and could have a future, one that would be brimming with possibilities.

Your entire party approached where the Netherbrain would be, looking at each other and making sure you were ready for battle, craning your necks upwards watching the tentacles writhe in the sky. Gale was stood in front of the ladder you needed to climb to go further, blocking your path intentionally. Turning around he spoke to you, his voice filled with love and sadness.

“Tav, I can’t do this, I cannot let you risk your life.” Gale’s eyes welled with tears as a soft smile grew on his face, he knew what he had to say you, he had known for weeks, yet he did not know it would be this difficult, his hands trembling as he spoke to you. “I can end this now and spare the city! None of you need to be involved!”

Your voice choked, barely a shout through the tears through your eyes as you knew what he was doing. “No Gale…. I cannot let you do this!” The tears were flowing freely after you spoke, you wanted him to see reason.

“I’m sorry Tav” His voice was sad as he slumped his head. “This is Mystra’s bidding, it will keep you safe…. All I want is for you to be happy and safe.” The mention of Mystra’s request made your blood boil, but you could not argue with Gale now, not when you wanted him to stay with you.

You tried to leap forward to hold Gale but was stopped by a member of your party, holding you back against your will, you never looked to see who it was, you were not concerned with that, you wanted to be with Gale. Gales hands moved deftly as to cast a spell as he spoke to you.

“My love, my darling. We will be reunited in the next life. I will wait for you, even after the universe dims and the stars are no more I will be there. Waiting for you to return to my arms” Gale’s face was a mix of love and sadness as he used his magic to send you and your party to safety, it hurt his heart to send you away in his last moments, yet he wanted you safe, his heart aching as he watched you melt away.

You found yourself transported to a field outside Baldur’s Gate. The arms that were holding you back had released you, letting you fall on your knees to the ground and cry for Gale. Your party saw you and were heartbroken at the sight of you, you were their fearless leader, yet here you were a heartbroken mess. They felt for you, wishing it could all be different, if anyone deserved a happy ending then it would have been you. Thankfully you were not far from where you last made camp, you found Gale’s tent and took refuge there, curling up on his bedroll crying, the scent of him was still fresh and it haunted you, knowing that this might be the last time you enjoyed it.

Gale stood at the precipice of the Netherbrain, the ladders in front of him seeming to get taller the longer he looked at them. Finally, he placed one hand on the ladder, he was going to make his way up, saying to himself. “Up you go then Gale…. Best make this count…. The whole world is watching”. His voice breaking, barely a whisper as he spoke to himself, he knew what he had to do but was still prolonging the inevitable.

Gale cared about the world but not as much as he cared about you, his last thoughts as he approached the Netherbrain were of you, your smile and soft touch. The way you soothed his anxieties. Gale went to the Netherbrain happy with you in his mind, the thought of giving you another chance at life cemented his decision, you were worth dying for.

#gale #gale dekarios #bg3 gale #galemance #gale of waterdeep #im sad at myself for writing this

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electricprincess96 · 9 months

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Oh also other pet peeve I have in BG3 fandom. Girls who projecting every bad thing a guy has ever done to them onto Gale when there's no fucking proof in canon Gale is any of the things they accuse him of. I've seen In*el, Fu*kb*y, S*alker etc. I've literally seen someone call him a Blizzard Dev Bro like that's some serious accusations to be throwing around.

Like all I see is "he's not over his ex like my creepy ex bf thus he must be every bad trait my ex ever had" firstly don't put yourself on the level of fucking Mystra, she may look like a basic ass bitch in game but she's still a Goddess who in lore is described to be otherworldly beautiful not to mention insanely powerful, you are likely neither of these things, and secondly not being over a bad breakup with the literal Goddess of Magic when Gale is a human WIZARD does not mean you get to project every bad thing your ex has ever done to you onto him.

And yes this is not helped by the bug that happened when the game was brand new that seemed to program Gale into thinking you had romanced him even if you didn't and so he gave you the whole "choose between me or them" speech but everyone knows that was a bug. Like they seem to think this proves Gale feels entitled to Tav when it's the fucking opposite Gale doesnt feel worthy of love until you convince him to NOT take the Crown in Act 3, he genuinely thinks he needs to seek the plwers of a god to be worthy of love because of how unequal his last relationship was, Gale puts on an air of arrogance when its about things he knows hes good at but beyond that he thinks hes worthless.

But that bug hasbeen fixed now for months and if Gale is STILL shooting his shot with you thats because 2 companions will always shoot their shot with you provided they dont all hate you so clearly you have pretty high approval with Gale, which admittedly isnt hard to do just dont be an asshole to npcs and Gale, Wyll and Karlach are mostly pretty pleased. On me and my friends playthrough when we romanced Gale we got Wyll shooting his shot, we didn't assume he was any of these things, we didn't assume he was an ass for trying to dance with us when we were actively romancing Gale we knew that's just how the game works. Obviously unless your whole crew literally hate you that is. Fuck Astarion, Lae'Zel, Shadowheart and Wyll all tried to fuck us at the Tiefling party so whys Gale the only one who gets all the negative labels thrown at him? Let's just agree the whole group is ridiculously horny.

Like if people just said "I don't like Gale his personality doesn't mesh with me and I don't care for his playstyle/I already have a magic caster on my set team" great, that's perfectly fair. It's the fact people don't seem to understand you can just not vibe with a character without some moral reason.

#let me vent #bg3 blogging #bg3 spoilers #ive had this sitting in drafts #and i seen this shit again so you know what its coming out of drafts #gale baekarios

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rachaelreadsposts · 10 months

Text

Review: Hunger Games Series

Per the release of the Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes movie adaptation, I thought it was time for me to revisit the Hunger Games series. I was OBSESSED with the movie in middle school and had all of the books... but I never read them all the way through. I dug through my basement and found all 3 of my original books! I also purchased the new book and read in May!

THERE WILL BE SPOILERS IN THIS!!

Hunger Games (★ ★ ★ ★)

I gave the first book 4 stars. Personally, the part I love about the Hunger Games story is the games. Yes, the story and character build is so important but I was ready to see Katniss kick ass in the arena. It also doesn't help that I already know the plot and wanted to skip to the exciting part. However, what prevented me from doing that is the details that aren't mentioned in the movie. For example, the Avox that cares for Katniss at the Capitol is someone she knows. She remembers the Avox as a runaway in the woods she hunts in with Gale. The girl was caught and taken away by a Capitol plane. This would have been so interesting to see in the movie!

This book really got me to fall in love with Peeta. I am Team Peeta forever. WE SUPPORT GALE SLANDER ON THIS BLOG. He cares about Katniss from the get-go and how Collins writes his character just makes you root for him. In his iconic pre-arena speech about not wanting the Capitol to change him, you really feel those words in a different way when you read them; especially if you know what happens to Peeta in Mockingjay.

Gale... a whiny man who needs to leave. I understand that he's her best friend or whatever, but bro is so whiny. Like move on. Don't worry we'll do some more slandering later.

The games in this book are written so well in this book. Although you have the movie to help you visualize what's happening, you get such great detail from Collins. The death scenes, the tracker jacker attack and Cato's death at the end, are so detailed and you don't really get that in the movies. (because then it wouldn't be PG-13 it would have to be R lmao).

Overall, good start to the series!

Catching Fire (★ ★ ★ ★ ★)

FIVE OUT OF FIVE STARS. This is my favorite book in the whole series and my favorite movie out of the 4. You really get to see how calus President Snow is in this one. He hates Katniss so much for defying the Capitol that he wants to send her and the other surviving victors from previous games into the Quarter Quell. Snow wants Katniss dead but he can't just execute her on the spot because now she is a victor and the people love her. Collins knows how to keep you on your toes in this book.

The book previous to the games is a bit slow but there's so much to unpack. From Katniss and Peeta's victory tour, Gale's whipping, and Snow's party. The victory tour in the book is just as heartbreaking in the book as it is in the movie. The districts can't even support Katniss and Peeta without looking like they're part of the rebellion. You can really feel the Capitol's reins get tighter on the districts in the beginning of this book.

Although bringing previous victors into the Quarter Quell sucks for them, it is such a good plot line!! Getting to meet characters that have been in the games besides Haymitch is just so exciting! Johana <3 and Finnick <3333. Johana is an icon and I love how her character is written in this book. She is such a badass and even though she'd probably kill me, I want to be her friend so bad. FINNICK, my dearest, my love, my darling. Finnick is my absolute favorite character in this entire series. He's so charming and every time he spoke he had me giggling and kicking my feet. You get his backstory in this book too which is so interesting and makes you want to know more.

The arena of these games will always be my favorite. I remember my jaw dropping when they revealed it was like a clock. GENIUS. Collins deserves a medal or something because it was so unexpected. These games are a bit more intense, we get Peeta almost dying, an alliance between Katniss, Peeta, Finnick, Mags (RIP), Johana, Beete, and Wiress (RIP), gruesome deaths of other tributes, and big masterplan from Beete to win the games.

The ending of this book makes you want to pick up Mockingjay IMMEDIATELY.

Mockingjay (★ ★ ★ ★)

This book surprised me. I've seen the movies and I knew what happened but I was still surprised by how dark this one is. Of course it picks up right at the end of Catching Fire when Gale tells Katniss that district 12 has been bombed and no longer exists. It begins in the thought to be extinct district 13 where the rebellion has been hiding and have been planning to take over the capitol since the war ended. We find out that Heavensbee was actually working for the rebellion from the start. We also meet some new characters such as President Coin, Boggs, Pollux, Castor, and Messalla.

While this book ripped my heart out and made me rethink the entire franchise, it was still enjoyable. It kept me on my toes and always wanting to turn the next page. I remember that I finished the last half of the book in one sitting. The last half is so much to digest but you really get how fucked up Panem was. The bombing of the children at the Snow's mansion actually messed me up so much. And to find out it was Coin who did it??? Girl deserved the arrow to the heart.

I do have to discuss one thing from this book, a critique if you will. WHY WAS FINNICK'S DEATH ONLY TWO PARAGRAPHS??? I had to close the book for a minute and come back to it. I was so upset for the love of my life. I know Suzanne Collins has said that she regrets killing off Finnick, as she should. He was the older brother that Katniss needed and the best friend that Peeta needed. Annie and him just got married too??? Like give me a break dude.

Anyways... I feel that this book gives a great end to the Katniss Mockingjay era and I feel satisfied with it. (besides Finnick dying).

I also feel that the movies were a good adaptation of this book, I can completely see why they did 2 movies.

The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes (★ ★ ★ ★)

I gave this book 4 stars. Since I read all of the other books and this one for the first time around the same time, I feel that I had a better sense of Suzanne's writing. Since this book was released 10 years after Mockingjay, I was nervous to see if anything would change in her writing or the current lore we knew going into it. However, I feel that this was the hunger games book that I was expecting; it was similar to the others and I enjoyed it.

Like Mockingjay, this book was a lot to digest. I appreciate that this was split into parts since this was a pretty long timeline. I couldn't believe how dark this book was. I know this was close to the start of the hunger games but god damn I was not expecting someone's body to be hanging in the arena. I was shocked.

I think the thing that makes this book so interesting is getting Snow's perspective and seeing how fast he changes throughout the book. At the beginning of the book, you think he's a decent guy and couldn't possibly be the same Snow we see later in the series. Oh but girl... Suzanne shuts that thought down FAST. It is clear that Snow only cares for himself and wants to come out on top...

In my opinion, reading the book before the movie is always a good idea. I went into this new movie knowing what happens and knowing Snow's thoughts from the book adds another layer to it. I saw a tiktok where it was someone voicing over Snow's inner thoughts when Lucy asked him about the three people he killed. So good omg.

Final Thoughts

This is one of my favorite book franchises. It's so fucked up and Suzanne should be evaluated for writing this but god I can't get enough of it. I want more!!! I'm dying to know about the past victors games, the maps of the past arenas, etc.

Here's the order of the books by most to least favorite.

Catching Fire

Mockingjay

The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes

Hunger Games

Here's the order of the movies by most to least favorite.

Catching Fire

The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes

Hunger Games

Mockingjay Part Two

Mockingjay Part One

I'd love to hear you guys' thoughts!! Please let me know what you think and what your favorite book is!

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everlarkbirthdaygifts · 4 years

Text

Happy Birthday, madelion82!

Apologies for the short delay on your birthday gift, @mandelion82! We hope you had an amazing day today, and that you got exactly the presents you were hoping for! To keep your party going a little while longer, the wonderful @norbertsmom has written a story just for you!

Author's note: Happy birthday to @Mandelion82, sorry for the delay. I hope you enjoy your age gap, friends to lovers Everlark birthday fic. Big thanks to @mega-aulover who not only beta’ed this fic, but was also my writing partner. Without further ado…

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New Beginnings

Peeta Mellark is excited. There’s only 1 week left before school starts up again, but he’s excited nonetheless. He has the week off, and his best friend is finally home from her job at summer camp.

Summer without Prim had been completely boring. He had to work all summer in the family bakery because his older brother made the Panem University Football team, so Rye got to run around at practice everyday instead of working in the bakery like usual.

Peeta had to do all the heavy lifting, working 40 hours a week or more. Sure, the money was great - he bought a car! - but he was always dead tired by the weekend. And with his best friend away, Peeta had been bored.

But now, Prim and her sister Katniss are home. Peeta can’t wait to see them. He and Prim are juniors this year and Katniss is a senior. Peeta has had a crush on Katniss since his first day of school. When his dad introduced him to the daughters of his old school friend on his first day at Kindergarten. It was a day he would never forget.

He and Prim were in the same kindergarten class and became instant best friends. Katniss, a first grader, on the other hand, intrigued him, especially how she took care of Prim. She was a year older, so she knew the ropes. She held Prim’s hand and explained what was going on so neither Prim nor he was nervous.

Peeta’s own brothers never did that for him. When he and his brothers got to the schoolyard, his older brothers took off to go play with their friends until school started. Katniss, however, stuck around.

That first day, when the bell rang, all the kids were ushered into the auditorium. Peeta was so excited; he’d never seen so many kids gathered at one time. The school Principal, Effie Trinket held a welcome rally at the beginning of every new school year. Katniss directed Prim and Peeta to sit near the front so they could see better. Peeta quickly got bored of the Principal’s speech about rules and etiquette, but when Miss Trinket called Katniss up to the stage, that got his attention.

“My dear children, you are in for a treat,” Miss Trinket announced. “Your very own Katniss Everdeen is going to sing a song to start out our new year.”

Katniss stepped up to the microphone and in the voice of an angel started to sing a song called New Beginnings. Katniss voice soared to great heights. Prim giggled next to him, but Peeta didn’t pay any attention. He stared in awe throughout the entire song. When she was done, Peeta stood up and gave her an enthusiastic standing ovation. Katniss looked over at Peeta and smiled, and Peeta was a goner.

That was 12 years ago, and Peeta still holds that crush close to his heart. Not only was Katniss his best friend’s sister, but she probably thought of him as a little brother.

Now, Peeta is on his way to visit the sisters for the first time all summer. He knocks at the door, bouncing on his feet, excited to see his best friend.

The door opens, and Peeta’s eyes go wide and his voice catches in his throat, because standing before him in a tiny green bikini is no other than Katniss Everdeen, the love of his life.

Not that she knows that, but she’s staring at him like he’s some kind of dummy, Peeta thinks, but he can’t seem to get any words out. He’s so distracted by her long flowing hair that she flips back over her shoulder.

Katniss gives him a small shy smile. It's so brief Peeta thinks he imagined the look on her face. Her smiles are rare.

“Is he here?” Prim asks from behind Katniss and it seems to break the staring contest.

Katniss steps back and tells Prim, “You just might have to shoo the girls away at school when they see your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Prim says as she passes Katniss, who’s rushing off to the back into the house.

“Come on in,” Prim tells him, then whistles as he steps inside. “Wow, you really put on some muscle over the summer. Working in the bakery really did your body good,” she says while squeezing his bicep, and pinching him on the side.

Peeta pushes her away. “Whatever, but you sure got taller. You’re taller than Katniss now.”

“I know,” Prim giggles. “She hates it.”

Katniss comes back out wearing a cover-up over her bikini, but Peeta can still see her long tanned legs. She’s such a goddess, he can’t keep his eyes off of her. “I’m outta here. Have fun guys,” Katniss says and rushes off.

“Stare much,” Prim teases, and punches Peeta in the stomach.

Katniss quickly looks back, but scurries off before Prim sees she was returning his stare. Her phone rings as she walks away.

“Peeta,” Prim chides, “You know the rules. No dating each other’s siblings.”

That rule came about because in the 6th grade, their fellow students, Cashmere and Glimmer got in a fight because Glimmer started dating Cashmere’s twin brother. They didn’t talk for weeks. So Prim and Peeta made a rule that they couldn’t date each other’s siblings. Peeta agreed even though he had a huge crush on Katniss. He knew he never had a chance with her. She was a year older, beautiful, and all the boys liked her.

That call is probably from her boyfriend Gale Hawthorne anyway, Peeta thinks, and tries to put Katniss in her tiny green bikini out of his mind. Peeta and Prim spend the rest of the day swimming in the backyard pool, telling each other about their summer.

By the time Katniss comes back, the sun is dipping into the horizon and Peeta swears that shade of orange is now his favorite color. It casts her golden skin in a hue that makes her look like a goddess. Peeta dives under the water to calm himself down.

For the rest of the night neither notice Katniss keeps peeking outside. When Peeta goes to leave, it’s his car that draws Katniss out again.

Prim whistles, “This old junk needs to be scrapped, not driven.”

“Hey, no!” Peeta leans in and whispers, “Don’t listen to her, cheese-bun, she knows nothing about cars.”

Katniss grins, then says, ”Nice ‘66 Shelby Cobra Mustang, needs a lot of work, but it looks like it has good bones.”

Peeta stares openly at Katniss.

“Don’t be too impressed, Gale’s dad is a gearhead. He teaches Katniss whenever she goes over there,” Prim says dryly.

Peeta nods. Figures, her boyfriend probably drives a fully restored muscle car and takes her out every night. Peeta clears his throat, “I, uh, I bought it off of the goat man. You know that guy who runs the goat farm at the edge of town. He came into the bakery and was talking about getting rid of the car his son left in the barn before going off to war all those years ago. I went out to see it with my dad, and I couldn’t believe what he had. It was in terrible shape, as you can see, but I really have hopes for restoring her to her old glory.”

“Besides Prim, you shouldn’t be too harsh, this is the car that’s going to take us to school for the rest of the year,” Katniss says firmly.

“Sure,” Peeta squeaks out. He clears his throat and in a manlier voice he repeats, “Sure, yeah, I’ll be driving you ladies to school everyday.”

“Great, we’re gonna get laughed at on our first day back,” Prim whines, but Katniss tells her to shush.

Peeta gets in his car and starts it, but before he can put it into gear, it backfires. Prim shakes her head and grumbles while Katniss laughs and waves to Peeta as he pulls out of the driveway.

Peeta comes over everyday for the rest of the week, but Katniss is never around.

On the first day back to school, Peeta picks up Prim and Katniss. Katniss doesn’t say much. She has her earbuds in, listening to music. She gives him a quick nod and jumps in the back seat, so Prim can sit up front.

When they get to school, someone wolf whistles.

Cato Ludwig comes up and puts his arm around Katniss’ shoulder. “Now that Hawthorne is away, Kitty cat can play.”

Katniss ducks under his arm and pushes him away. Her legendary scowl in place. “Get lost, Cato.”

“Oh, not in a playful mood, are we?” he asks, then turns to Prim.

“How about you, little sister, you’re not so little anymore, are you?” and wiggles his eyebrows.

He goes to put his arm around Prim, but Peeta jumps in and twists Cato’s arm around his back.

Cato makes a counter move, but Peeta is ready and pins him to the ground. He may have been smaller than his brothers, but he’s had to wrestle his older brothers his whole life.

“Get off me,” Cato growls, not liking being shown up by a younger kid in front of the rest of the school.

Before Peeta can let him up, Coach Abernathy comes out of the building and blows his whistle.

Peeta jumps up and holds his hand out to Cato, who pushes it away before getting up himself.

“Cato and Peeta, enough of that.”

All the kids around make oohing sounds.

Cato whines. “I wasn’t fighting. Mellark jumped me.”

“Looked more like he was protecting his friends,” Coach replies. “From you.” He turns to Peeta, “You should think about joining the wrestling team with moves like that, but any more fighting and it’s detention for the both of you.” He emphasizes his point by pointing two fingers at both of the boys, then storms off back into the school.

“Thank you Peeta,” Prim tells him. She gives Cato a scowl and drags Peeta into the school by the arm. Katniss follows at a short distance behind them.

Peeta looks back at Katniss, and she nods, and mouths, “Thanks.”

“Mr. Mellark,” Coach Abernathy calls from his office.

Peeta hangs his head. Great, he thinks, I bet I’m getting that detention after all.

“I need to speak to you.” Coach Abernathy walks away.

Peeta tells Prim goodbye and follows Coach into his office. Once there Coach Abernathy shows him a chair.

“Kid you need an elective, that cooking class has been cancelled.”

Peeta sits up. “What?”

“Not enough people signed up and it got cancelled.” Coach Abernathy looks at his computer screen. “Let’s see, in that time slot, your choices are Auto Shop, and Public Speaking. Oh, wait a minute. You’ve already taken public speaking, so Auto Shop it is.”

“Great,” Peeta says as he gets up. I need Auto Shop to work on my car anyway, he thinks.

“Oh, and Mr. Mellark,” Coach Abernathy says before Peeta can leave the room, “You really should consider trying out for wrestling. You already got the moves.”

“I’ll think about it, sir,” Peeta says as he leaves the office.

Peeta just sits down in first period literature class. The teacher isn’t in the room, so most of the kids are still milling around. Cashmere, Glimmer, and Clove surround Peeta’s desk.

“Wow Peeta, you sure grew up this summer,” Cashmere tells him.

“Ya,” Clove says, then snaps her gum, “you got muscles, like your brothers.”

“You really took on Cato for Primrose Everdeen. He’s a senior. Is she your girlfriend?” Glimmer asks while twirling her hair.

“What? No, Prim is my best friend.”

“Oh, are you dating Katniss Everdeen, then?” Cashmere asks, then points at Katniss who just walked in the door.

Peeta makes a choking sound and stares over at Katniss who sits down on the other side of the room.

The girls all look over too, and Katniss quickly looks away.

“I see,” Cashmere says, and pulls the other two girls away, whispering and pointing between Peeta and Katniss.

“Katniss has a boyfriend,” Peeta finally says, although he doubts they hear him over their whispering. Katniss is going to hate being the subject of rumors, Peeta thinks.

Later that day, Peeta has lunch with Prim.

“People keep asking me about you, how you got so built, why you took on Cato.”

“Please, I don’t want to talk about that. Tell me about your day. Anything good happen?” Peeta asks.

Prim obliges by telling him about the new girl she met, named Rue. “She’s a new transfer from District 11 and reminds me of Katniss so much. She just loves the outdoors, and she sings all the time.”

“Sounds like you found yourself a new best friend,” Peeta teases.

“What? No!” Prim blushes. “You’ll always be my best friend. I just, I don’t know. I like her.” Prim looks down at her lap.

“Hey, no worries,” Peeta tells her, lifting up her chin. “I was just kidding. Go ahead and spend time with Rue. I’m happy that you made a new friend.”

“Thanks,” Prim says shyly.

The end-of-lunch bell rings and each heads off to their next class, Biology for Prim, and Auto Shop for Peeta.

Peeta walks down the long hallway to Auto Shop. He’d never been in this wing of the school before. His father had told him, back in his day, all the boys had to take Woodworking Shop and Auto Shop, while the girls took Home Ec, but nowadays, all those classes are electives.

Peeta steps into the classroom and finds several auto bays on one side of the room, and a long table with chairs lining the other side of the room. Several people are already sitting at the table, but he doesn’t know anyone yet.

“Hey Mellark,” a voice he was dreading to hear, calls behind him, “what are you doing slumming in Auto Shop?” Cato Ludwig asks him.

Before he can answer, the voice he loves to hear calls out, “Why, worried he’ll pin you again?”

The other kids chuckle as Cato’s face sours. “No one asked you, Everdeen,” he grouses.

Katniss Everdeen, this class just got that much better.

“Hey Katniss,” Peeta says shyly, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck.

“Hey, what are you doing here? I thought you were taking Cooking class this period.”

That’s odd she knew that, Peeta thinks. Prim must have told her.

“Uh, it got cancelled. This was the only class open. But I’m glad it was. Now I can learn how to work on my car.”

“Oh yeah. You need to ask Ms. Mason if we can use your car in class, but we’ll need to find another way to school. I don’t want to take the bus.”

“I can do that?” Peeta asks.

“Only if your car is worth my time,” A voice answers behind him.

Peeta turns around to find himself face to face with a woman in her mid twenties, with black spiky hair tipped in red, wearing a red tank top and coveralls folded down at the waist.

“Whatchagot kid?” she asks him.

Before he can answer, Katniss jumps in, “He’s got a ‘66 Shelby Cobra Mustang. Been in a barn for decades, but it could really be something if we can get to work on it.”

Ms. Mason nods. “Sounds good, and you guys can call me Johanna. I’m the teacher now, no longer the assistant, so what I say goes, got it?”

“Got it.” Everyone answers in unison.

“Okay, Lovebirds, you take bay one.”

“We’re not a couple, and the name’s Peeta, Peeta Mellark. Nice to meet you Johanna.”

“Kissing up doesn’t work in this class. And I don’t care if you and Brainless are together or not. Just do your work, Loverboy and you’ll do fine.”

Johanna moves onto the other bay assignments.

“Don’t mind her,” Katniss tells him, a light blush on her cheeks. “She gives everyone a nickname.”

“Yeah? How’d you get Brainless?”

“I forgot to put the oil pan plug back in last semester. Oil all over the floor. What a mess.” Katniss tells him with a grin. “It’s better than Meathead, or Marvelous.”

“Is that why they call him Marvel?”

Katniss nods with a smile. Katniss is something else in Auto Shop class, Peeta thinks. She really comes out of her shell, and Peeta likes seeing this side of her.

Peeta learns quickly that he knows nothing about cars, but the prospect of working on his own car with Katniss Everdeen is something to look forward to.

After school, Peeta drives Katniss and Prim home. Prim tells them about her new friend Rue, and how they are in almost every class together. She even wants to be a doctor just like Prim. With news of Peeta’s car being used in shop class, they find that Rue can drive them back and forth to school.

Katniss still sits in the back, but with Peeta now. They talk about everything they can do to the car. Peeta has never seen Katniss talk so much at one time.

Time flies, and the car is taking shape. Prim starts hanging out with Rue after school while Peeta and Katniss work on his car.

Peeta starts cutting his lunch short to go to Auto Shop class early. One day he is trying to configure the carburetor. He has to figure out how to connect the throttle link.

“Hey Mellark,” Katniss calls. “Why are you here so early? Shouldn’t you be at lunch with Prim?”

“I have to finish this up before class. I can’t mess up my test.”

“Let me help you with that,” Katniss says as she leans over.

“Thanks.”

“So quick, what do you call that,” Katniss says pointing to the round thing sitting on top of the engine.”

This is going to be painful. Peeta cannot focus on the car with Katniss so close. He’s staring at the graceful slope of her neck. Who knew a neck could be alluring. He begins to sweat.

“Earth to Peeta,” Katniss snapped her fingers in front of his face.

Peeta understands the meaning of becoming cross eyed. Momentarily his vision blurs and his heart rate spikes. He blurts out the first thing that comes to his brain. “An air filter?”

“No it’s the air cleaner.”

“Right.” Peeta feels like an idiot. How in the world is he supposed to study when he turns into a buffoon in her presence. Peeta takes a deep breath to clear his mind. “I feel like I’m never going to get this right.”

“Don’t, these old cars aren’t easy. But they are fun to work on. And trust me, there’s nothing like the sound of a finely tuned engine purring.” She gives him one of her rare rosy cheeked smiles.

Peeta has no idea what Katniss was talking about but he nodded. “Okay.”

“Now next question, what does a carburetor do?”

“It mixes air and fuel to make internal combustion.” Taking out a handkerchief he wipes his face and mutters under his breath, “I think.”

“Good.” Katniss reached out and put her hand on his forearm. “Name the different types of carburetors.”

Peeta thinks he’s going to combust. Nervously he wipes his brow again. He’s losing his concentration at Katniss' light touch. “Custom choke, vacuum, and multiple ven...vent-venturi,” he blurts out.

“Good. Now which one of those is in your car?” She squeezed his arm. Peeta is holding onto his sanity by a thin thread.

“It has a choke one,” he gasped. “I know because I was able to find the number…”

“You don’t have to say another thing, Johanna won’t really care. She just wants to make sure you know what you’re doing.” Katniss removes her hand from his arm, flicking her signature braid over her shoulder.

“Really.”

“Yeah, if you’re going to drive this around you want to make sure you know what to do if your engine dies, or lose control. It's important.”

Katniss stares at Peeta for a moment, then her face becomes pink before she blurts out, “You know, you smell like a cookie.”

Peeta wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole. Why can’t he smell manly, he’s got the smell like the bakery. “I’m sorry I smell.”

“You smell nice.” She takes a step toward him.

He stands straighter, unsure of what to do next. “Thank you?”

She’s so close he can see the flecks of yellow around her pupils when he looks down into her eyes. Peeta bends his head and Katniss lifts hers. She licks her lips and he mirrors her movements as their faces move close together.

The bell rings and the door to the shop bangs open. Peeta jumps back and Katniss steps away, suddenly interested in the car’s front tires. The other students start shuffling into the classroom.

When Johanna comes in and starts the class, everything is back to normal with Katniss. It’s like that moment never happened.

Half way through the year, Peeta and Katniss stay after class to work on his car once again. Peeta closes the hood and stands back, looking over his car. Katniss stands next to him wiping her hands.

“The car is close to being done.”

“So what color are you going to paint her?”

Peeta thinks it over. “Well, my favorite color is sunset orange, but that’s not an original color. What’s your favorite color?”

“Green,” Katniss says shyly.

“Really? Peeta says excitedly as he pulls up the color chart for 1966 Mustangs. “We can paint it Ivy Green. That’s an original color.” He leans over and shows her his phone.

“You’d do that?” she asks as she looks at his phone.

“Of course, You’ve put in as much work on this car as I have.”

Katniss looks up into Peeta’s eyes and smiles. “I’d like that.”

Peeta reaches out and brushes a loose hair behind her ear. “Besides, I would have been lost without you. I want to paint it your favorite color.”

“Okay,” Katniss whispers as she looks up into his eyes.

“Okay,” Peeta answers as he leans down, meeting her lips.

Katniss’ breath fans across his cheek. He pecks her lips experimentally.

Katniss places her hands on his chest and leans up on her tiptoes to capture his top lip. Peeta hands find purchase on her hips and flex gently at the sensation of her lips moving against his. Peeta’s heart soars as she deepens the kiss. It’s everything he’s dreamed this kiss would be. He cups her chin and she moans.

Katniss pulls away. Their eyes meet and once more their lips meet over and over again until they are both breathless. Peeta pulls away. “We shouldn’t be doing this?”

Katniss frowns. “You’re right, Katniss says, as she steps back. “Prim would hate me.”

“What about your boyfriend, Gale?” Peeta asks, confused.

“What are you talking about? I’m not dating Gale. I was talking about Prim. I know you two are dating. You’ve been best friends forever. She’d be stupid to not want to date you.”

“Uh, Katniss, if you haven’t noticed. Prim has been spending all of her time with Rue.”

“Really I thought it was because she was driving us to and from school.”

“Katniss, you’re the one I’ve been spending all my time with. I like you. I’ve had a crush on you since the moment I met you. This past year, working with you has been a dream come true.”

Katniss looks up at him and smiles. “Really?”

“Really,” Peeta answers her with another kiss. “So when you said Prim would be stupid to not want to date me, does that mean you would want to date me?”

Katniss looks down and whispers, “Maybe.”

Peeta lifts her chin back up and says, “I think I’ll just have to convince you.” And moves in to kiss her once more.

Neither of them hear the footsteps coming down the hall. “I think they are still in here,” Prim says. “The lights are still on.”

Prim and Rue walk in and find Katniss and Peeta in their passionate embrace.

“Finally,” Prim says.

“What about your,” Rue makes air quotes with her hands, “You shouldn’t date a brother or sister rule.”

“Rue I only did that because Katniss wasn’t ready to date. My sister’s so awkward about boys. I wanted to make sure she didn’t break Peeta’s heart. Besides, they’ve been dancing around each other all year. I think they’ll be a while. Let’s get out of here.”

Rue giggles.

“Shh....” Prim nods to the door.

Prim and Rue walk out hand in hand.

Back in the room, Katniss and Peeta each pull back and take a deep breath. Katniss looks around and asks, “Did you hear something?”

“Not a thing,” Peeta says, “but we are going to have to tell Prim about us. We had this rule…” Peeta drifts off, “but I think she will understand. They are probably waiting for us. Let’s go.”

Katniss and Peeta walk out, but Peeta says, “Hold on a second, and runs back, gives his car one last look and smiles at the thought of it bringing Katniss to him, and he turns out the light.”

This fic was inspired by both The Kissing Booth and Grease. I hope you enjoyed it.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #everlarkbirthdaydrabbles #everlarkbirthdaygifts #fan fic #by norbertsmom

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jlalafics · 4 years

Note

Modern Au dabble where Everlark connect on the roof of one of their houses and then cute kiss leading into ya know? Thanks! You and your books are amazing! -Zeffie ♥️♥️

Hey love! Thanks for this amazing prompt. I hope you wanted this ficlet with a good amount of spice...

Enjoy @hungergamesfangirl02 (Zeffie)!

_____

The moment she steps onto the roof, Peeta spots her.

She is circling the space with her roommates; the sharp-tongued woman with blunt bangs and crimson lowlights and the blue-eyed blonde wearing a crown of flowers. His roommate, Gale, had a one-night thing with the blonde. Peeta can still remember the muttered moaning of her name through the thin walls of their apartment: Madge…Madge…Madge…

Peeta drinks from his red cup, trying to quietly observe the girl in the middle. She’s wearing a cropped jean jacket and a shift burgundy dress with embroidered straps. The ankle boots lengthen her rich-colored legs and he wonders, albeit briefly, what he would see if a sudden gust of wind were to sweep through.

However, it’s summer in the city.

Balmy and warm, the sun just going down and it’s practically another day.

“Peeta!” He turns, spotting Finnick, his other roommate, and Annie, Finnick’s girlfriend. It’s his friend’s birthday and a possible engagement party. Annie doesn’t know, but Peeta and Finnick just picked up the ring from the jeweler this afternoon. “Why are you hiding in the corner?”

“You know that I’m not the party type,” he tells them with a smile. Peeta eyes his friend. “So…anything interesting going on?”

“Not quite,” Finnick responds, throwing an arm around Annie’s shoulders. “Maybe a little later.”

Peeta nods, trying to suppress his smile. It’s not often that his friend is uncertain; he’s known Finnick since they were in diapers and his bronze-haired friend has always moved forward, unafraid of what was ahead of him.

However, when it comes to Annie, the man is total mush.

“You need to circulate,” Annie tells him, her green eyes full of kind concern. “It’s been a year since Delly.”

“Who’s Delly?” comes a brash voice.

They all turn to find the woman with red hair standing before them.

And, right next to her is—

“Katniss!” Annie is rushing towards the pretty girl to give her a hug. Then she goes to Miss Blunt Bangs, embracing her as well. “Johanna!”

They all pull apart and Annie introduces them to Finnick and Peeta.

“I’ve seen you before on campus,” Finnick says to Katniss—Peeta is already in love just hearing her name. “You’re a voice major, right?”

Katniss nods. “Yup, but more song writing and composition than singing.”

“Well, you should talk to Peeta here.” Finnick waves at hand at him, clover eyes sparkling. He knows Peeta well enough to identify when he’s interested in something…or someone. “He’s exceptionally talented when it comes to playing. I don’t think there’s an instrument that he hasn’t experimented with.”

Katniss turns, grey almond-eyes on him. “I’ve seen you around before.”

“I don’t go to Juilliard,” Peeta stammers out.

“No!” She grins and he finds himself smiling back at the way her face completely blooms with loveliness. “I’ve seen you sitting on this roof. You play out here sometimes.”

“Yeah, Katniss has been mini-spying on you,” Johanna informs him.

“Really?” He eyes her and Katniss’ cheeks color—geez, now she’s even more gorgeous. “I’m flattered.”

“I actually live over there—” Katniss points to the adjacent building. It’s at few floors higher, but just enough for someone to look over and see clearly onto their roof. “—sometimes I go up to write or to look at the stars.”

“Don’t lie to the man,” her friend retorts, earning a glare. “At least tell him that you’re a little hot for him holding a guitar.”

“Johanna—” Annie thankfully interrupts. “Thresh has been looking for you.”

“I gave him a blowjob last month and he’s been hitting me up ever since,” she replies. Looking over at Katniss, Johanna winks. “Have fun with your mystery man.”

The two girls walk off, leaving Finnick, Peeta, and Katniss standing together.

“Oh!” Finnick looks around. “I think I better make sure that we still have enough ice and prepare for my birthday speech.” He pats Peeta on the back. “Have fun.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen a more obvious setup,” Katniss tells him when they’re finally alone.

“They mean well,” Peeta replies. “At least, Annie and Finnick do. Johanna is a bit of a mystery.” He looks over to the bar. “Did you want a drink?”

“Sure.” They head to the bar; Peeta tries to keep cool as Katniss joins his side. Their hands are a muscle movement away from touching and he stiffens his hand. “I’d love a Corona and lime.”

“Very summer of you,” he replies before requesting it from the bartender. “How do you know Annie?”

The bartender places the tall neck bottle, placing the lime wedge at the opening, before handing it to Katniss.

They find their way to a spot at the far corner of the party and settle down together on a lone bench. Finnick is talking to the DJ and he sees Annie talking to Madge, whose arm is around Gale’s waist. Johanna has found Thresh and they are dancing, both decently tearing up the floor.

It’s the perfect summer night.

“She works with Johanna,” Katniss explains. “I think they’re EAs for the two CEOs, so they’re always working together. I’ve known Johanna my whole life. When I found out I got into Juilliard, I didn’t hesitate to ask her to come with me. She didn’t hesitate to say yes. Her home life was less than ideal.”

“That sucks.” Real smooth, idiot. His tongue is so tied around her, but Peeta takes a breath and searches for another topic. “How about you? What’s your family life like?”

“I have one sister. Sweetest girl you’ll ever know.” Her smile goes soft and sad, lost in thought. “My Dad passed away when I was five.”

“I’m sorry.”

His hand goes unconsciously to hers resting between them. Peeta motions to pull away, but her fingers entwine with his.

Their eyes meet, silently agreeing that it feels right.

“It’s fine. He was sick for a long time,” Katniss explains. “When I was 12, my mom met Haymitch and we all kind of loved him from the start. They got married when I was 13 and have been thoroughly happy ever since.” She moves closer. “And you? Tell me about your family.”

“My Dad’s a businessman,” he starts. “Have you heard of Mellark Bakery?”

“Yeah, they have that huge factory across the bridge,” Katniss replies. “Your Dad work there?”

Peeta holds out his free hand, wondering if he should have open this can of worms. However, if this is going anywhere (is it too early to propose?), he should probably tell her about his family.

“Nice to meet you. Peeta Mellark.”

Katniss let out a laugh, putting down her Corona to shake his hand.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know I was meeting with a son of industry!”

“My Dad is actually pretty cool,” he tells her. “He’s always been very encouraging and supportive of me and my older brothers, Emmett and Noel. Emmett is an artist and Noel is a chef.”

“And your mother?”

“Pretty opposite.” Katniss squeezes his hand, listening intently. “She’s a society woman. Very beautiful, but very cold.”

“Oh, she is going to hate me,” Katniss replies.

Peeta grins at her words. “Already planning to meet the parents?”

“Of course. We’ve connected, you know?” she proclaims. “Now that I’ve seen you up close, there’s no going back.”

“And your family?” he counters. “Would they like me?”

“They’re going to love you,” she says, her grey eyes on him. “You seem so easy to care for.”

Peeta looks at his feet, overcome by her words. “How do you know?”

“Last month, I was coming home from school and you were walking out of your building. There was a little old woman coming out of her taxi and she seemed to be struggling to even open the door. So, you opened the door for her, and you helped her set up her walker on the sidewalk. Then, you paid for her cab and helped her inside your building. Nobody does shit like that anymore. Everyone always seems to be looking out for themselves, nowadays.”

“Mags has lived here the longest, so she’s kind of building royalty,” Peeta explains. “Also, her husband died a while back and she has no kids. The people in this building are her family and we take care of one another.”

“I like that,” Katniss tells him.

“I like you,” he blurts out. “I mean, if it hasn’t been obvious enough.”

Katniss doesn’t respond, but she shifts a little bit closer to him as she stares into his eyes.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

Peeta is intrigued by her abruptness. “What did you have in mind?”

She pulls him by his hand to stand up. He rises and their chests brush against one another. It is brief, but it is enough to light a fire in his belly at the feel of peaked nipples against his thin flannel button-down.

“We’re going stargazing.”

++++++

“For some reason, Johanna has a deal with the maintenance crew in the building,” Katniss recounts as they step onto the roof of her apartment complex. “No one else but myself, Johanna, and Madge are allowed up here.” She leads him over to a set of lounge chairs. “I don’t really know what kind of deal she cut, and I’ve never bothered to ask.”

“That’s probably for the best,” he tells her. “Are you allowed to bring people up here?”

“I’m pretty sure that Johanna and Madge have brought guys up here before.” Katniss turns to him, her eyes glowing under the light of the moon. “You are the only person that I’ve ever brought here…the only person I want to bring here.”

Peeta isn’t sure if it is the moon…or the Corona…or the heat of the night…but something dances inside his chest, telling him to go to her. Her eyes are on him, hunger so intense in them that there is nothing he could do but go to her. Katniss follows suit, marching towards him with determination.

A groan escapes her lips at the feel of him hard against her pelvis. “Peeta, please…”

They meet in the middle of the roof, breaths heavy and Katniss reaches to cup his cheek. His arm rounds her slender waist, pulling her close to let her feel what she does to him.

“What would you like?” he asks, voice roughened with need. His free hand moves along the lines of her body and she whines, pressing closer to him. “Tell me what you want, Katniss.”

“I want you to kiss me.” Katniss’ mouth grazes against him and he nearly crumbles at the feel of heat between her legs. “Then, I want you to fuck me until we both see stars.”

His mouth is on hers, slotting them together. He sucks harshly at her upper lip as her hands reach for him, holding his face in place as she bites at his lower lip. They both moan into one another, tasting lime and alcohol and the fire between them.

Katniss moves them towards one of the chairs, her hands traveling down and reaching to the buttons of his shirt as her tongue sweeps into his mouth. His own hands move to yank at her jean jacket until she shrugs it off.

“Touch me, Peeta,” she says into his mouth. His shirt has been tossed to the ground and her hands roam unabashedly against his heated skin.

Peeta reaches for the hem of her dress and Katniss complies, lifting her arms up so he could pull the dress over her head. Once it is off, he steps back and looks at the beautiful woman under the summer moon.

Every inch of her skin is caramel and Peeta licks his lips ravenously as his eyes rove over lush breasts with rosy nipples…the graceful dip of her waist…full hips…and nude mesh panties that cover a thatch of dark hair.

“You are beautiful,” he rasps.

Katniss slowly sits down on the lounger, resting back. Her chest heaves, nipples pointed in the warm air, as she waits expectantly for him.

Peeta kneels before her. Carefully, he takes her boots and places them next to the lounger. Then, he is at her center, mouthing her through the mesh and sampling the honey pleasure of her core. Her hands go to his hair, fingers running through his hair and nails scratching at his scalp as he sucks and tongues her through the scrap of nothing.

“Fuck! Peeta!” Her wails are like gold and he moans, vibrating against her cunt. “More, please!” He moves the scrap of cloth away from her quim and plunges his tongue inside her. “Oh my God!”

Part of him is thankful for the party next door, the vibration of music sheathing her cries in the air. Peeta loves the sound of her, unabashed in showing him how good she feels. Katniss pushes herself against his tongue, legs wrapping around his head as she humps his face.

He is drenched in her; his new favorite drink for a summer’s night.

Peeta’s hands move to his jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them quickly.

Pulling away, Katniss whines at the motion until she sees his pants undone. Her eyes, already smoky, have gone obsidian at the sight and he pushes his briefs down, his erection jutting out.

She sits up, one hand pressed to the seat as the other reaches to his length, wrapping her fingers around him. Her thumb moves to the mushroomed head, spreading the precum and he almost seizes at the sensation.

“You’ve given me what I want,” she tells him, her hand stroking him slowly. “What do you want?”

“I want to show you the stars,” Peeta replies, his hand reaching to her panties and she lifts her hips, letting him slide them off until it joins their pile of discarded clothing. He stands before her, reaching for the waist of his jeans and boxers before pulling them off in one motion. His shoes and socks followed, joining her boots.

He stands before her, naked and obviously wanting.

Katniss lays back, pushing herself up onto her elbows, admiring the sight before her.

“I did watch you from here,” she says, her voice strained. “You’d fiddle with your guitar and I’d fiddle myself.”

The image of Katniss, hands on herself…fingers dipping into that dripping cunt is just too much.

Peeta falls to his knees, yanking her down until ass is at the edge of the chair, the backs of her legs pressing along his front.

Then, in one motion, he thrusts roughly into her sodden quim.

The moment Peeta slides into her, her whole body growls.

He can feel her contracting around him and he begins to move, savoring the feeling of being surrounded by her slick. Peeta leans down and their lips meet, her body practically folding in half so he can taste her.

Katniss moans into their kiss, tasting her essence against his tongue as they move against one another. The chair creaks under the pressure of their fucking and he can’t imagine that it feels very comfortable.

He attempts to lift her in-between thrusts, but Katniss frantically shakes her head.

“No, just like this,” she gasps into his sweaty skin. Her legs spread away to wrap around his waist. “Won’t be long now…”

She feels too good, silk and sopping around his cock. Her grip on him is the perfect pressure and as he thrusts, Katniss arches up, bottoming out.

“Holy fuck, you’re amazing,” he groans. “There is no way in hell that I’m letting you go now.”

Hell, Peeta is already convinced that this woman with the dark waves and smoky eyes is the woman that he’s going to marry. In his mind’s eye, he already imagines her in a white dress…carrying her over the threshold of her dream home…of fucking her against every wall of the house…of filling her to the brim until she’s swollen with his child.

“Don’t let me go,” Katniss cries out, her insides beginning to flutter around him, and he juts his cock shallowly knowing that he’s going to spill inside her at any moment. “I wanted you since the moment I saw you…fuck….oh…” Her muscles pulsate around him and her pelvis rises to meet his thrusts.

Her cries are swallowed into the starry sky above them and Peeta watches her in the beauty of her climax. Her hair flows behind her, her skin glistening, and she’s smiles up, her eyes full of love.

She’s watching him, jaw clenched, as the sky above is suddenly illuminated by fireworks, creating a halo around him.

Peeta comes undone, filling her, his pelvis pressing to hers until he is spent.

After, he lays, pillowed against her chest, her hand smoothing down his mussed hair.

“I see stars…” she whispers against him.

“Annie must have said yes,” he explains. “I picked up the ring with Finnick today.”

Katniss snorts. “When Finnick does something, he goes hard.”

“So do I,” he tells her.

She kisses the top of his head. “What do you mean by that?”

“You’ll see.”

They are married three months later.

FIN.

#Everlark #Everlark Fanfiction #Everlark Ficlet #Rated M #Modern AU #summerinthecity!Everlark

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gloomshrike · 4 years

Text

Pieces

Blood poured from the wound on Raharen’s head and onto the snow where he kneeled. Through the red drops he looked around, shaking as the stench of death overwhelmed him. The gored bodies of crusaders and soldiers were scattered across the banks, and the main host of Scourge still bore down on the border between Dragonblight and Zul’drak.

Brothers.

The blight continued to shell the battlefield, further mutilating the corpses, melting both the departed and snow alike. The acrid smoke which rose from the crystalline ichors filled his nose and inflamed his windpipe.

Sisters.

The icy wind tore another gale through the desiccated treeline, penetrating the plate and furs he wore. The safety he had felt inside his armor froze away, and as the undead began to approach, he could no longer feel the comfort of its weight. He was naked in the blizzard.

Daughters. Sons.

His wound continued to pour, and the fletchings of arrows caught in the links of his armor danced in the wind, taunting him. His weakness, his powerlessness, his arrogance.

Fathers. Mothers.

He stared at the wide, cold eyes of the crusader nearest him. The shock, the veins popped from lid to pupil, a dead stare for help that could never have arrived in time. The frozen lids of the dead man twitched, and a black liquid poured from his horrified mouth as it began to chitter. The whites of his eyes grew a sickly red and yellow, as he turned over and began crawling towards Raharen.

This…

“Raharen, oi, we’ve got tae go! We’re retreatin’ to tha pass, on yer feet!”

Taknark’s voice was drowned out by the shuffling of snow as the top half of the crusader inched closer and closer. Raharen stared in awe as his fallen comrade growled and crawled towards him, his innards leaving a thick smear of blood as he went.

This…...

“Raharen! Are ye listening ta me!? RAHAREN!”

This is the end of the world.

“Raharen? Are you alright?”

The half-elf’s gaze towards Westfall broke as did his daydream. He turned to face Kaerlic, rubbing his eyes and offering a soft smile. “Yes, captain. I was distracted.”

Kaerlic nodded, as beleaguered as the rest of the party after what they had just witnessed; What they had just partaken in. He spoke to Raharen about mending, and bites, and infection, and Raharen nodded, the words passing through him like air. He pointed at a red-haired man sitting off to the side, and Raharen caught the word “Elros”.

Raharen understood, nodded again and set off towards him. Elros. Not common, not Thalassian. Must be a name. Mending. The man named Elros, like the rest of the group, was burdened with much to think about and not much at all to say. Raharen passed him some bandages. Elros gave him what seemed like a smile behind the mask, with eyes that stared straight through him.

Next was Fadoma, a Kaldorei that had been pierced through the ribs with a pair of arrows. He snapped the arrowheads off and gave his usual counting-back-from-three speech, before smoothly pulling the arrows out before the countdown finished. “I don’t like tricking people, but everyone tenses up on one and it makes it much more painful.” The words rang hollow in his ears as he spoke them. He still found it cruel, even in the wake of redefining what cruelty is.

After all were stabilized, the wounded began moving into the city. Baron Lane smiled at him, and commended him for his work. Raharen thanked him, and offered condolences. Words. Air. Motions. Always going through the motions. Is that all the kindness there was in the aftermath of this? Is that all the love he can offer?

Raharen was dismissed, and walked back through the city gates, passing Abighail and the two stromic bodyguards offering comfort to Lane.

Brothers.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A knock on Raharen’s door woke him from his thoughts. He turned to the door, wondering who would make the journey to his house in the middle of the afternoon. The struggle to sleep had afforded him the perfect opportunity to take night’s watches in Stormwind, and he took his downtime to try and piece together as much of himself as he could. He sat up in bed, groaning as his shoulder wound throbbed with pain with the movement. He grabbed his tunic and hastily put it on over the bandages, and groggily walked over to the door, opening it.

Gloomshrike stood at the door, waving hello with a bottle of wine. Raharen rubbed his eyes, the circles underneath them darkened from exhaustion and convinced he was dreaming.

“You look like shit. Gonna invite me in?”

Raharen just stared through the threshold before shaking his head, stepping aside and gesturing for his father to come in. Gloomshrike stepped past the threshold and began looking around the sparse room.

“Ever thought about, you know, decorating? At all? I know you hate flowers apparently, but maybe curtains.

Raharen sighed. “I don’t hate flowers. What are you doing here?”

Gloomshrike whistled as he ran a finger over Raharen’s desk, rubbing the dust off of his fingertips with a grimace. “Just stopping by, wanted to check how things were going.”

“Cupboard over the sink, top right.” Raharen replied.

Gloomshrike moved over, opening up the cupboard and producing a wine glass. “Ah, my son knows me so well. One for you, too?”

Raharen squinted in disbelief. “I’m doing six on, six off patrols, I shouldn’t drink.”

Gloomshrike shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Raharen watched as Gloomshrike poured a generous glass of wine, and began sipping it.

“I thought you wanted to stay away from all this. Elwynn hasn’t gotten any better since I was at the lodge.” Raharen maintained an inquisitive glare at Gloomshrike.

“Well,” Gloomshrike began, “Your stubby little friend Taknark stopped by the Lodge and said he was being dispatched to Icecrown, and said I should pass that along to you next time I see you.”

Raharen squinted again. “You took a message from a friend of mine, who you don’t even like, and decided to rush down to the thick of this mess to inform me on a day’s notice?”

Gloomshrike took another swig of wine and gulped. “Well, and I’d heard a whole lot of undead moved from Duskwood to Westfall. Seems the situation is getting worse, like you said, and I just wanted to check on you.”

Raharen shook his head. “First time for everything, I suppose. Westfall is becoming a ghoul pit. We fought there yesterday.”

“Ahh.” Gloomshrike mused. “That’ll be why you look like shit. Not spending those six hours off sleeping, then?”

Raharen gave an irritated grunt. “Not easy to sleep. I feel like I should be doing something, even right now. Every second it’s getting worse.”

Gloomshrike sighed. “I never thought the army gig suited you, kiddo, but the one man army gig definitely doesn’t. If you’re going to war, you’re going to have to let some other people do something.”

Raharen gave a sharp, nasal exhale. “I’m aware. I’ve done this before.”

Gloomshrike began pacing around the room again. “Which is all the justification you need to not do it again, you know.”

“What? And just let people die?”

“Are they not dying right now?”

Raharen gritted his teeth. “You think I’m being cowardly? Lazy?”

Gloomshrike turned to face Raharen again, raising an eyebrow. “Not at all. You really are unbelievably irritable when you don’t sleep.”

Raharen’s jaw dropped just a bit as he furrowed his brow. “We’re on the brink of war. What is the matter with you? What do you want?”

Gloomshrike swirled his wine and frowned. “I told you, I wanted to check on you. And I’m glad I did, you’re on your last nerve, Raharen.”

“So what, I’m not up for the war this time?”

“Maybe not.”

“Great. I’ll just take a page out of your book and sleep all day, get wasted, and write poems about my mortal fling before the next one dies off.”

“I told you you’d make a good writer.”

Raharen scoffed, his anger rising. “I don’t have time for you right now.”

Gloomshrike took another sip of wine. “For someone who outlived his mother, you complain a lot about not having any time.”

Raharen snarled, and smacked the glass from Gloomshrike’s hand. It flew into the wall, shattering and dousing the wall in wine. “Enough!” He yelled, his fists clenched as he stared daggers into his father’s eyes.

Gloomshrike’s posture changed. His relaxed shoulders were squared, and his normally animated, half-smiling face was stone. Both of his hands hung at his sides, and his eyes beneath a furrowed brow stared at Raharen, as if straight into his mind. That mind raced with memories of a thousand lost spars as the man who taught him how to fight took shape in front of him. The commanding aura of his change in demeanor washed over Raharen, and he knew he was no longer face to face with the bumbling, drunkard minstrel Gloomshrike, but once again in the presence of Ranger-Lord Zelian Thas’alah.

Raharen clenched his fists tight, and his snarl grew as he braced for whatever would come. He was ready to unleash hell for his slights, and all the rage he could muster swelled in his chest as he prepared for whatever selfish, indulgent anger his father could conjure for the pointless insult of some spilled wine-

“Let it out, boy.”

Raharen’s rage caught in his throat, and he found himself without breath. His arms, trembling with rage subsiding, still trembled nonetheless.

“You want to be an elf so badly. You think that the composure and the grace are side effects of a long life, that every shitty thing that happens to us will run off like water on a duck. And you think if you just inject a little bit of humility into your pain that you handle anything the world throws at you. But you can’t.”

Raharen’s snarl fell away and he took a step back. “Ann’da-”

“Because it doesn’t run off of you. Not like it does for most of us. Your heart is human. A living, beating storage for everything you don’t want or feel like dealing with. You bury everything in there and convince yourself you’re rid of the burdens. But you carry it with you like a packmule.”

Raharen struggled for words. “My heart is-”

“Your mother’s. The greatest thing about her, and the greatest thing about you. But if you push everything inside it until it bursts, there’s no room for you anymore, son. You want to be unfeeling? Unaffected by the passing of time? You can’t. You’re too human, and you should be damn grateful.”

Raharen felt sick. The nausea crawled up from his stomach and his whole body shook.

“Your rage, your sadness, your fear. For gods’ sake, boy, let it out.”

Raharen’s vision flickered as the nausea reached boiling point. He doubled over, falling on his knees. He wanted to scream out, but his wail was stifled by the rising bile, which fell to the floor and parted with the tears that fell soon after. He felt a hand on his back, his vision blurred, and time lost any sense of meaning, before eventually, nothingness.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Raharen? Raharen, are you there?”

Raharen opened his eyes slowly. His small room was illuminated by moonlight pouring in through the curtainless windows, and his commstone glowed on the desk.

“Raharen? Do you copy?”

Kaerlic. He stood up off of the floor, the blanket falling off of him. He looked down at where it fell, wondering where it came from. He grabbed the commstone.

“I’m here.”

“You’re up for patrol, you nearby?”

“Yes. I’ll be there soon, Captain.”

Raharen looked over the room. No wine, no glass, nothing at all.

Am I hallucinating? Was it a dream?

He placed the stone in his pocket and moved towards his armor trunk, equipping it in a hurry and moving to grab his sword. Sticking out of Rovhathel’s scabbard was a small piece of folded paper. He removed it, and opened it up to a flowery script.

Back to the lodge, kiddo, the ghouls hunt at night around here.

Don’t stay out too late! (Get it, because you’re going on night patrol?)

-Z.G.

P.S., I picked up the pieces for you.

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msookyspooky · 3 years

Text

Dewey's Lament

word count: 2,517

He laid in the hospital bed, blurry vision looking up at the blinding lights. He felt drugged. He looked down with a groan at seeing IV's in his arms. He went to move his right hand and could barely lift a finger.

'...What's wrong with my arm?' He tried again, the ring and pinky moved but no other fingers. His brows scrunched as he tried to sit up just to hiss in pain. Sharp jabbing pain coming from his shoulder blades.

"Sir, you need to lay back and rest." A nurse told him as she checked his vitals and IV bag.

"W-what...What happened?"

She looked over at him. "You were on Duty at that party, Deputy. Just a few hours ago... I'll go get the Doctor and tell the other Officers you're awake." She smiled and left all while Dewey's mind was reeling.

'Party?....That's right. Stuart Macher's house...I was...I was watching out for the girls when-'

A Doctor came in as he saw a few officer's waiting outside the door talking to his mom, Mrs. Riley.

The Doctor looked over her chart. "Alright, Dwight Riley….You're lucky to be alive. If that knife was a mere inch to the right; you would be completely paralyzed or even dead. The surgery was a success but time will tell how much mobility you have. However, you can most likely walk."

He blinked at that. He was stabbed in the back while looking for the killer. It was starting to come back to him. The searing pain and cold metal slicing through and staying there until he collapsed on the porch...While reaching out to Sidney...

"Sidney!...My sister! Where are they? Are they okay? When can I see them?" He urged. Speech slurring as he realized he was still under the side effects of anesthesia.

The Doctor looked up at him from her chart with mixed emotions on her face before he heard his mother sobbing outside in the hallway. He tried to sit up to see when the Doctor gently pushed him back. Dewey's heart raced as he saw his mother as she sank to the floor. Her hands covered her face as she started wailing. His fellow officers lowered their hats.

...He knew.

"WHERE IS TATUM?! WHERE'S MY SISTER?" He yelled at the doctor. She sighed heavily and gave him a sad expression.

Just then, two of his fellow officers walked in. Two work buddies he shared coffee with every morning and filed reports while goofing off together before Chief yelled at them.

The Doctor nodded solemnly. "I'll give you all a moment."

A young officer still had his hat lowered as he entered the room. "...Hey Dewey...How you feeling?"

Dewey smacked the rail of his bed with his left hand, heart beating and eyes burning to an answer he already knew but was praying he was wrong.

"Hey! I just need someone to answer me! Damn it, would someone tell me where Tatum is?! What room?! I need to see her!" He was frantic. Like some type of bad dream he needed to wake up from.

The other officer, an older gentleman, came in with a heavy sigh. The younger one hung his head as the older officer spoke. "Deputy Riley...She didn't make it. She was pronounced dead at the scene. The coroner is probably examining her body as we speak...I'm sorry."

Dewey stared at him with wide eyes and his eyebrows turned up. Mouth wide open to say something; anything. But nothing came out. His throat burned.

"W...What?" He croaked.

The younger officer spoke up. "She was-"

"Hush! He doesn't need to know that!"

"He has to know!" The younger officer ran a hand over his head. "Dewey...She was hanging from the garage door. She was cold when we got there. She died instantly...I'm real sorry."

Dewey closed his mouth. Swallowing hard and blinking furiously. He cleared his throat as his voice cracked. "And...And the others?"

"Sidney Prescott is deceased."

He closed his eyes, shock radiating his entire body.

"Billy Loomis and Stu Macher are the suspects and we think they died in the fire."

"F-Fire?"

"The house burned down. It's going to be a pain to investigate now."

"Gale?...YN?...Randy?"

"Alive and all three are recovering. I think the Chief is talking to Gale Weathers as we speak."

Dewey swallowed hard. He should be grateful that three people were safe...But…

The older officer nudged the younger one. "We'll give you a moment. We'll be in the hallway...My condolences, Deputy Dewey."

The minute they left, Dewey sat up with a groan. The entire night came back to him slowly. Including Tatum being alone while he went off with Gale to look at a vehicle.

He could still hear his mother crying in the hall as an officer offered to call Mr. Riley and tell him what happened to their daughte... It broke Dewey to hear her pain.

He covered his mouth to prevent a hiccup like sob from choking out. The hot tears rolled from his brown eyes as he sniffed hard to try and make them go away. The anesthesia still in him and not helping his emotional control.

His shoulders shook as he tried to get it out quickly and quietly. He didn't want his mom to see him crying. He always tried to be the glue that held their family together. He was always the one to comfort his sister or mom.

He hastily wiped his face as he heard the door open.

An officer peaked in. "...I just wanted to let you know YN is awake. Chief is interrogating her now."

"....Interrogating?"

The officer saw his tears and cleared his throat. "Sorry, I shouldn't have...I'll leave you alone."

"Hey! Wa-" The door closed before he could get it out. Dewey frowned deeply, sniffing hard and shoving the blanket off.

He forced his legs over the side of the bed. Realizing his right foot felt numb. He went to stand only to catch himself against the bed. He cursed under his breath, rubbing at his face to get any more access tears off his cheeks. He grabbed his IV stand, unplugged his heart monitor and forced himself to walk. Dragging his right foot behind him as his right hand loosely held his metal stand and he quickly forced himself to move. He was relieved to see his mom wasn't there as a few nurses and fellow officers followed after him.

If he couldn't protect Tatum and Sidney; he would at least protect YN and Randy.

———————————————–——————

A week passed. He was already scheduled for physical therapy in a few days. Unable to lower his right arm or flex his middle and pointer fingers. Nerve damage in his leg as well. He was still able to drive but it was a struggle more than he liked to admit. He refused to let it get to him.

He was fired after he came clean to the Chief. It was probably meant to be considering he could barely walk without limping.

He had just got home from driving Randy and YN home from the ceremony. Saying goodbye to YN in the process. He couldn't help driving past Sidney's house on the hill. Now empty and most likely going to be up for sale soon. The Macher's historical home was nothing but a burnt foundation and scorched garage now. He eyed the garage door. Sick to his stomach knowing she was there. He was grateful he never looked at the evidence photos...He couldn't bear it. The Macher's were already urging the police to conclude the investigation so they could sell and move on from Woodsboro. Hank Loomis put up a for sale sign as well in his front yard. No longer safe or welcomed in Woodsboro as the suspected killer's father.

It was sundown by time he made it home. He entered his house to see his mom sniffling while looking through pictures. Flowers littered their house from everyone in Woodsboro and then some. Her burial was in a few days now that the investigation was coming to a close...Closed casket.

He simply walked over to rub his mom's shoulder and kissed her head. "I'm hitting the hay early, Mom...Love you." He told her softly as she nodded and told him the same.

He sighed deeply as he descended the stairs. Not having the energy to talk to his mom or look through pictures. He went to his room before stopping at his door. Looking down the hall at hers. Chipping flower stickers all over the outside of its white wood.

He hesitated before cautiously limping over to her door. It felt like a weight on his chest...Not entering since before the party last week.

He felt silly but couldn't help knocking. "Uh...Tatter? Can I come in?" He whispered. It was stupid but he vowed to her after a VERY awkward walk in while she was undressing that he would always knock.

He smiled to himself when there was obviously no response. Some part of him wished she would call back to him. "No, dumb dumb! I'm busy!". That this was all a horrible nightmare. Maybe her spirit would visit. Anything except for her to be completely gone.

"Okay...I guess I can."

His mustache moved as he nawled his lower lip, gently shoving the door open and flipping on her light switch. His breath caught as he saw everything exactly the same. All her posters, her floral bed sheets, her rows of vhs tapes for her small tv, her jewelry box open from looking through it before the party...It even still smelled like her.

He forced himself to walk into Tatum's room. All her things exactly how they were the night she got ready and went to the party. He plopped down on the edge of the bed Sidney slept on the night she stayed over. Tatum's stuffed rabbit Sir fluffelbottom stared at him from her pillow. The entire room still smelled like her overly sweet candy perfume. Her makeup and hair brush still laid out on her vanity. Her clothes still on the floor… Mrs Riley couldn't enter the room yet. Not without sobbing uncontrollably. This was his first time as well.

Dewey sighed heavily, reaching over to gently take her stuffed animal off her bed and hold it. His thumb smoothed over its eye. He couldn't help smiling to himself as his eyes watered.

A memory of tiny Tatum wobbling around with his ear in her hand. Dragging him across the ground while badgering him to play hide and seek with her.

Dewey felt his lower lip wobble as he shoved the palm of his hand over his face. Clutching the rabbit close to him in his limp right hand.

The idea that she was never coming back started hitting him hard. That she would never graduate or go to her senior prom...She would never go off to college...She would never get married or have the option of making him an Uncle. She really was gone. Her room would smell like moth balls one day instead of her perfume and her clothes would go out of style. That hurt him considering how trendy she was. That one day these precious things would be forgotten and outdated.

Her peers would be in their 40s in 2020 while his family still only had the memories of her as a teen in the 90s. Every single memory of Tatum flooded his mind. Him being 8 when she was born and getting to hold her in the hospital. Playing pranks together on their Dad before he went out of town. Being 16 and rolling his eyes at her with her tiara on, bossing him around in front of his friends. Being 21, newly on the force and eavesdropping on her with her first boyfriend in their backyard. She was so angry at him for being so protective of her. He was always like a second Dad to her; especially with their Dad out of town regularly on business. Dewey vowed to always be an example to her. To be the male role model she needed. Even though she called him names and bossed him around; she still came to him for advice even before going to their Dad.

He was supposed to protect her. He was supposed to be the one there to make sure she was okay...And it all went out the window for a moment with Gale.

She was gone and he would always blame himself. If he would have stayed at that party; he could have heard her struggling in the garage. He could have shot at the killer before the door went up and tried stopping it. He might have saved her.

Dewey felt his chest constrict as he clutched the rabbit in his hands. One of the only things he had left of her as he violently sobbed. Letting himself for the first time since her death. His shoulders shook as he held the bunny to his chest. Cradling it as if it was his kid sister.

Her voice echoed in his mind.

"Dewey, you're such a knucklehead."

"Why? Because I'm messing up?"

"No, Doofus." She smiled at him with an eyeroll. "Because you actually think me or our parents would ever be disappointed in you." She walked over to him as he leaned on the coffee table. His first true failure as a cop when he got hit over the head and knocked out cold by the assailant robbing Martha's flower shop in town.

She forced him to hug her. "Come here, you stupid man baby."

"Why do you insult me every day? I'm almost ten years older than you!"

She snickered against him as he leaned against her into the hug. "Because it's how I show affection...Dumby." She added. He rolled his eyes but smiled knowing she couldn't possibly be too sentimental with him.

She was quiet a moment before mumbling into his shoulder. "No matter what...You'll always be my brother. Your heart was in the right place but...God damn it, Dewey! What if he had a gun? Then what? Am I supposed to just accept you risking your life over lose change?"

"Tatum. That is someone's livelihood."

"So let someone else be the hero!"

"Tat."

She gave a dramatic groan. "Yeah, I know. Deputy Dewey boy has to save the day."

He frowned at her tone. Almost relinquishing the hug. He was already damned for his job by everyone and felt shame for being incompetent...He didn't need this too.

She hugged him tighter, on her tip toes to bury her face in his neck.

"I love you....Don't die on me. Please....I'm proud of you I just get worried when you do dumb shit like this."

He smiled tenderly at her soft voice. His heart aching as he combed his hand through her strawberry blonde hair. "I love you too, Tatum...Thanks...And I'm sorry. I'll be more careful."

She jerked away. "Okay, that's enough. Let me get you another ice pack." She walked to the freezer as he smiled. The lump on his head and possible concussion fading away at the fact that his little sister was proud of him.

He laid back on the bed, huddled up and sobbing like he hadn't done in a very long time. Cradling her bunny as his shoulders heaved.

#sad hours i guess 🥲#scream #dewey riley #tatum riley #set up story #angst #tw sad #tw death #family #scream one shot #one shot #scream fanfic

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bigfan-fanfic · 5 years

Text

Vir’abelasan

~A story detailing the repercussions of Tash drinking from the Well of Sorrows~

Tagging @darlingrutherford

“I can feel it... it’s... hungry.” Tash shuddered. He winced, the echoes from the Fade swirling around him. He had always felt the comforting presence of his guardian spirits swirling around him, but now... they were outnumbered. There was a throng of spirits out there, angry and vicious. But a presence beyond that nestled in the depths of the Well.

Morrigan scoffed. “How could you possibly know that?”

Tash raised an eyebrow, although he kept his eyes fixed on the Well, as if it might reach out and grab him with a watery hand. “Abelas said that the priests put their will into the Well, right? What if it’s some sort of magical compulsion? A geas or something?”

Solas gave a soft noise of affirmation. “It is said that Mythal’s priests were exceptionally powerful, granted magic by their mistress…”

The witch seemed disconcerted that the child before her had thought of that and she hadn’t. “It is... possible. But that is all the more reason that I should take the power of the Well. I assume the risks.”

“The risks... and the rewards.” Vivienne scoffed. “I would sooner trust the Well to the false Warden than to the witch, my dear.”

“And you would have a child risk binding himself to the lingering will of elf priests?” Morrigan sneered. “And I thought that Madame de Fer could sink no lower.”

“Careful, darling, your famous husband isn’t here to mind your tongue for you.” Vivienne said tartly.

Blackwall huffed. “Can you two quit bickering? This isn’t a tea party.”

Tash nodded. “Play nice.”

Gale knelt next to him, putting an arm around the boy’s shoulders. “What will it be, Tash? I hate to rush you, but Corypheus is coming, and we’ll need to get out of here.”

Tash glanced at Cole. “Can you sense the others? Are they safe?”

Cole closed his eyes for a moment. “Yes. Aura and Lottie are helping them take Samson. But… I can hear him.”

“We should go, then.” Tash sighed. “I wish Henry was here. He’d know what I should do.”

Morrigan clicked her tongue. “My husband is from the same world. He has told me that often the events here are changed from his foreknowledge. The choice is yours alone, young Inquisitor.”

Tash gave a soft whimper, his gold eyes looking from Morrigan to Solas to where Abelas had vanished, and finally to the Well. “It’s mine. I’ll drink.”

And despite Morrigan’s protests, despite Solas expressing his misgivings, Tash waded into the Well, the water rising up to his chest. He did not look back as he moved to the center of the Well of Sorrows, but his voice carried clearly to the others. “Mythal… if you’re real… mythal’enaste. Er… I don’t know the elvhen for it, but please… just don’t hurt me.”

And as soon as he reached the center, he shuddered, and then went limp, slipping into the pool as though he was a marionette and his strings snapped.

The Well exploded, water turning to dense blue fog, swirling around and around where Tash had fallen. Solas and Vivienne held up a barrier as Gale and Blackwall attempted to approach, unnerved by Cole’s mutterings of “He’s talking to her… she shouldn’t be there.”

Blackwall went charging forward as soon as the barriers were dispelled, Tash lying still at the bottom of the empty, dry Well. “Lad! Lad, are you alright?”

He scooped the boy into his arms, trying to determine what to do. And Tash’s eyes flew open.

They were blue. An unnatural, glowing blue that seemed to be bleeding from his irises across the rest of his eyes. Glowing blue lines etched themselves across his skin and up around his horns in a mimicry of the pattern on Abelas’ face.

”Vallaslin.” Gale murmured in awe. “Fenhedhis.”

Tash took a shuddering breath, but a strange chorus followed his voice, the whispering bass and tenor tones of men and an alto tone of a woman. His eyes, now completely a glowing blue, flashed as he stood and looked at Solas, head tilting.

The elf gasped and reeled back.

“Solas.” Tash said softly, in a strange way, as if he had not seen the elf for a long time. The chorus repeated his speech, just slightly out of sync, a few soft trailing whispers after his mouth had closed. “Ar-melana dirthavaren. Revas vir-anaris. Emma enasal, lethallin.”

But any response was lost in the arrival of Corypheus. Tash smiled cryptically and waved his hand toward the eluvian, and it shimmered at his command, opening the gateway. He turned his back on the rapidly approaching Elder One and moved at a stately pace towards the mirror, blue light streaming behind him to become water that formed the shape of an elf woman, rising up to combat the darkspawn magister.

Morrigan chanced one glance at the boy as they tumbled from the eluvian, safe in Skyhold. His eyes were still bleeding blue, his face lit up with the unnatural light.

Something was wrong.

- - -

“It’s been three days! There is something terribly wrong with Tash!” Blackwall roared. And he was right. The young Inquisitor had not left his room in the intervening hours, not eaten a scrap of food nor a sip of drink. He had launched a terrible and powerful display of magic upon exiting the eluvian, breathing an unnatural fire in all the colors of the rainbow, blue light manifesting around him as a second pair of horns.

Awful sounds came from behind his door (he would not let anyone in, not even Gale), sometimes inane singing, and sometimes a babble of rapid-fire Elvhen, and most disturbingly, screams utterly devoid of the strange echo Tash’s voice had taken on, consisting only of the child’s cries. Cole had only approached the stairs to the Inquisitor’s tower when he collapsed, clutching his head in agony, repeating over and over, “Get her out get her out get her out get her out get her out.”

Varric had sent forward inquiries to Tash’s status, ones that Morgan could not answer. Morrigan had stated that there would be shouts from the Well, but this was something more. Even Henry couldn’t answer the question of what was happening.

“Solas…” Henry whispered to the elf, in the dead of night on the third day. “Mythal… is alive. Well, more like a shadow. Is it possible that she’s… possessing Tash?”

The elf cursed. “Why didn’t you say this before?”

“I didn’t want to change anything!”

Solas grabbed Henry’s wrist and dragged him up to the Inquisitor’s quarters, hurling open the door with magic, forcing their way past Gale, who had sat at the door with red eyes from worry and sleep deprivation.

Tash was perched on the railing of the balcony, staring at them with eyes that were now normal, except for the fact that they were ice blue. The vallaslin had vanished. And Tash cackled, the sound having no business coming from such a youthful throat.

“Mythal. Let him go.”

Tash leaned over the railing and let go.

“No!” Henry screamed, charging forward. But Tash had simply vanished. The Outworlder turned to Solas. “Kieran. Morrigan’s son. He’s in danger!”

- - -

Kieran sighed as he walked away from his mother. He hadn’t been able to sleep since the Inquisitor returned. Mother usually let him stay up if he had nightmares, and he would sometimes play among the magic lights glowing in the night while she studied in the garden.

Morrigan felt a cold wind tingle the back of her neck and shuddered, suddenly realizing that she had lost sight of her son. “Kieran?” she called, standing up.

- - -

The Inquisitor was… different. He loomed out of the shadows, a finger pressed over his lips. “Hello, Kieran.”

“Your eyes are blue.”

They were. Tash didn’t have blue eyes. He was bright, and happy, and had gold eyes. This was… something else. This wasn’t Tash.

“I want to show you something, Kieran. Something amazing.”

“I… I don’t think so.”

Not-Tash’s face twisted in anguish for a moment and he looked terrified. “Run, Kieran!” he screamed. But almost instantly he resumed his oddly Tranquil-like state. “No, stay. I can help you, Kieran. I can stop the dreams. Just take my hand.”

“Kieran? Kieran!” Morrigan’s voice drifted on the wind, sounding oddly far away.

Not-Tash smiled. “I can help you, but you need to come with me. Now.”

- - -

Morgan breathed a sigh of relief, even as he ran with his wife through the Fade, accompanied by Henry, the boy from his world, and Blackwall and Gale. Morrigan had been frantic, unable to find Kieran, until Henry had shouted that he had been led into the Fade, through the eluvian. Which technically shouldn’t have been possible. But his fatherly instinct made him relax just a bit when he saw his child.

Although, seeing Kee accompanied by Tash and … oh no.

“Ah. Morgan. Long time no see. Still consorting with my daughter, then?” Flemeth chuckled. Tash spoke with her, their expressions identical.

Morrigan gasped. “Then… you…are Mythal?”

Gale immediately knelt in shock, and Blackwall yanked him to his feet. Mythal and Tash looked on in approval.

“See, girl?” they said. “Those are manners.”

“You will not have my son!” she yelled, advancing.

Tash and Mythal held out their arms, and extending from Tash came a pulse that rocked the Fade, barring Morrigan’s way with spikes of crackling green energy.

“This boy-Inquisitor is a Dreamer, you know. And he gave himself to my service because you couldn’t convince him otherwise.” Mythal-Tash taunted. The spikes faded. “But you need not worry. I mean neither him nor my grandson any harm. Merely to… exchange.”

She knelt to Kieran, and they witnessed her remove the Old God’s soul from him, promising no more dreams and letting him run to Morrigan and Morgan. Then she turned to Tash, who stilled.

“You came to me, honoring the old ways. With a clear mind and pure heart, you petitioned me for aid and drank from my Well. Though you are not of the People or my blood, you are mine, and I shall strike down your enemies for all your days. You have the knowledge from the Well, but now I shall grant you the wisdom to contain it. The voices shall not overwhelm you.”

She waved her hand over the Inquisitor’s face, and he sighed. Blue light flashed from his eyes before they faded back to gold, the only sign of his ordeal a thin blue ring just around each pupil.

“The truth is a beautiful and terrible thing, boy. And it must be treated with caution.”

Tash’s eyes widened. “You… you hear them too?”

“They are the voices from Beyond, Tash. Pay them heed, for they protect you even as they evaded the grasp of the People’s gods.”

- - -

And they exited the Fade, where Solas was waiting. “Holding open the gateway,” he had said. The elf looked to Tash. “Tash… are you well?”

“I think so…” Tash said, pensive. “I hope so. I’m worried, though. Flemeth…Mythal… she has power over me now. I’m worried about what she can do with it. But… either way, I know what we have to do next. I can hear the voices of the Well, but I’m in control. I can shut them off.”

Solas looked pale and deeply concerned, but nodded, his eyes scanning Tash’s face as if he could still see the vallaslin etched on his face in glowing blue lines. “I shall help you, Tash. I promise… I shall free you...”

#my writing #my ocs #tash adaar #morgan walker #morrigan #kieran #gale lavellan #solas #blackwall #henry lucas #flemeth #mythal #the well of sorrows #super long post

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toasttz · 5 years

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From the Tabletop #8

When last we left our questionably-competent D&D gang, we decided to venture out, due to Kaz receiving a vision/message from Granzeen the Gale, a patron spirit of the chicken tendies, asking Kaz if he wanted revenge for his father's murder. This resulted in: Kaz: Yeah, I guess? Granzeen: I will show you that which you most desire! Needless to say, Kaz has some commitment issues. At the same time, Laguna also had a vision, whereupon he was told he had become a Hero of Yzzmitt, which leads to its own thing a little later on. Imagine a thin girl who loves arts and crafts, her hair tied back in a bandana, clad in apron, and work clothes. Her arms end in useless bulbs rather than hands, but her hair is amassed with dozens of hands that extend from the locks. So, the next day, following the directions issued in the vision, we came across a small, pink, fluffy ball of a creature, about the size of a volleyball with a tuft tail. Kaz: I'MMA KILL IT! Needless to say, Kaz has some mental issues. So, as anyone with a GM as mischevious as ours already predicted, this little fluff ball was one tough piece of fluff, and shaved off 3/4 of Laga's HP in one terrifying firebreath, causing her to flee down the road. Turns out a setting named "DinosaurLand DragonWorld" might actually have dragon-type creatures in it. To say nothing of the fact that Kaz just attacked the thing without doing any prep work or seeing if it was naturally hostile or not. So, tails figuratively between our legs, we venture onward and arrive at a cave, all the while stalked by some weird shadow creatures we couldn't quite make out. Inside, we attempt to switch to stealth mode. Laga and Laguna actually have low-light vision, and take point. Kaz is an idiot and asks if he can fly in the 7' high cave. Laga is then terrified by a small bundle of rubber spiders, dropped on her from a trap, causing this Amazon of a woman, mace, shield, armor, the whole 9 yards, to shriek like a small girl. As the GM said, this set the tone for the entire trip. Around the first corner, a dart trap sprung, hitting Laguna, who to his credit was trying to sneak by. He was laid out on his back, drooling and spacing out as a technocolor whirlwind became the sum of his audio/visual experience. Laga attempted to call out whoever was responsible, proudly declaring her name (and failing her charisma roll), whereupon two chittering figures declared their love of G-pop and fleeing into the dark, much to Laga's consternation. Around here we also found some phat loots, including an old-style oil lamp, an ancient coin, and a wand. Laga and Laguna conclude that it'd be best to wait until we had better conditions to assess them and they pocketed them. Eventually, we get a lay of the first corridor, which sectioned off into several other paths. We decide to head north, as we felt a wind coming from that direction. Then all Hell broke loose. In the next room, we got to Indiana Jones our way to a maiden, strung up to a structure in the middle of the room. The floor tiles had draconic symbols on them, and the only one among us who could read them was the still-groggy Laguna, he got to play the hop-scotch to the death for us. Surprisingly, he made it rather well, and ultimately got to the maiden in question, whereupon slats in the walls opened and snipers started taking potshots at us, and the door behind us sealing shut. Left no option but forward, we had to run for it. We actually managed it with just scrapes and bruises, mostly because chicken nuggers just half-flew across the room and Laga just bolted. In the next room we ran into a much more considerable problem. Approximately 3 dozens kobolds and a powerful woman in the middle of the room, emitting cold air, as she was doing a workout routine. Deciding it best to tackle this via the diplomatic angle, Laga spoke first. It didn't take long for us to piece together that this woman was, in fact, a very powerful dragon. A very powerful dragon who was down an eyeball courtesy of one barbecue buffalo wing and his father. She was ready to just ice us and be done with it, and Kaz even briefly flirted with the idea of challenging her to a duel. I then had to point out that that was suicide. So Laga, flexing the "Us grrrls, amirite?" angle, talked down the dragon, whose name turned out to be Alba. "Her parents weren't terribly creative," ~GM. After coaxing it out of her, Laga learned that Alba secretly wished to visit Belly Button, but wanted a regal, splendid dress to do so. Laga agreed to retrieve it for her, but was given a three-day deadline to pull it off. Kaz then decided to open his beak for some stupid reason, and offered to just knit her a dress. Laga immediately declined that plan, on account she liked living. So they returned to town to try to figure out the dress situation. Laguna and Kaz were absolutely no help in this regard, as Laga was left to her own devices in figuring out who she could petition to create the piece. After being turned down by the best artisans in town and even being offered a Rumpelstiltskin deal, Laga eventually asked Laguna to assess the artifacts we had found previously. Upon invoking the coin's power, we ended up summoning a Fallen, a class of angel, who happened to maintain the purview of clothing. Lucky us! So, Laga gave the specifications because there is no way in hell she was going to trust the others to do so. Dress in hand, we returned to the cave once more, in largely uneventful fashion since Kaz didn't randomly punch any wildlife this time. Ecstatic at her new duds, Alba and some of her draconic friends joined us in a return flight as they began to explore the town with glee - mostly because Laga begged their assistance with the now-impending disaster timer. They also heckled Laguna who, despite having some draconic heiritage had no kobolds to call his own. That, as they said, was so sad. Around this point, we concluded this session and I had to come to terms with one problem I had: Laga was kind of boring. So I consulted with the GM and he liked my new idea, so I created Blackbe, a Paladin of the Warcur people, who was planescaped to this world by powers ill-understood, alongside his sister and nephew. So, at the next session's start, the party was introduced to him, because apparently Kaz started crashing at Laguna's house? Kind of news to me, but Laguna flagged Blackbe down out of the otherwise-empty street because it was the day of the calamity and any sale would be better than none. After an... interesting roll, Laguna offered Blackbe the "GODPIECE", a diamond-studded codpiece worth of armor, which Blackbe politely declined, after his sister speculated this pawn shop was a dealer in questionable goods. Blackbe, having only just become aware of the disasters and the timer, petitioned Laguna and Kaz to accompany him, mostly because any help he could get would still be better than none at all. So they quickly got Cherri and Duran (aforementioned sister and nephew) to safety as Blackbe lead the charge, quickly joining ranks with other teams of soldiers awaiting the fight ahead. Blackbe, being noble among Warcur families, gave a rousing speech about the disaster ahead forging ties between races - that all men who stood together in this dark hour were brothers, regardless of race or standing. This got the troops pretty excited and got the attention of a Warcur lady, Jiraca, a druid who threw in with the team as the first disaster struck: A colossal beast, Thorophaganax, preluded by dozens of small insect-like drones who we met at the base of a hill as their number attempted to plow into it. Blackbe, the first to charge into the fray, declared that s/he who got the smallest number of kills would buy drinks for the party, as Jiraca joined the game with a few kills all her own. Then Laguna unleashed the fuckin' thunder and just rained fire on them, wiping out over half of them in as little as two turns. Being a sorcerer does that. Blackbe: Friend Laguna, I feel I might need to get you more than a drink when this is over... The small fry dealt with, we then had to deal with a lightning-spitting giant. Ever see "Nausica of the Valley of the Wind"? Like that. But more lightning. Kaz then proceeded to completely derail the flow of the game but essentially taking five turns in one go. We actually had to stop the boss fight and call up rules for how monks are supposed to operate in 5e. Turns out, he was basically trying to bend/break all the rule and use all his attacks in one go and not even so much the tribute of a ki point to be seen. We then had to explain that extra attacks and bonus actions were taken as a one-and-done affair and could not be multiplied in the same turn. And he got really petty and douchey about it, especially after he declared he lodged his spear all the way into the Thoroph, which I'm calling it for short, and couldn't actually get it back due to not understanding how suction works. And barbed things. Funny enough, despite Kaz's stupid dex-based pinwheel of death, Blackbe, with two attacks per turn as a Paladin, was able to empower and strike for way, way more damage than Kaz. See, Blackbe uses a greatsword, which has a higher damage floor than most, I have several ways of empowering my strikes, and due to a specialty I get as a Paladin, I can reroll damage results that have 1s and 2s in them. This was also after the fact that I am a moron and wasn't calculating my strength mod into my damage results, and yet I was still belting out more damage. Which says something. With some concerted effort, we struck down the disaster, which ultimately reset the timer for 3 additional days. Not a great deal of time, but a reprieve nonetheless. At this point, we learned Laga had fully embraced the G-pop star life and had taken to pursuing her new career with some level of success. At this point, Alba, who had joined in the battle per her promise, demanded that Blackbe and company take responsibility for the promise that Laga made, concerning some inter-dragon politics. Namely a gold dragon who, quote, "Makes fun of [her] all the time". Agreeing, the party made preparations for departure the following day. Blackbe explained that, upon his sudden arrival in this world, he made fast friends with 7 warrior comrades, who battled alongside him against a goblin incursion they suddenly ran across. And he explained that, since they were headed north towards the Twin Peaks, hoped to meet at least one of them again soon. More on them next time. The next morning, a series of strange injury/illness fell over the townsfolk, as Blackbe rushed to treat as many as he could. It was almost as if they were being violently struck by an unseen fist, so Blackbe began to investigate. Along his way he met with a well-armored man, named Garman. He, too, was investigating the crisis and after exchanging notes, became another fast friend of Blackbe's. Garman was Lucius's player's new character, who also decided to release the A-Men character for a new idea: a dual-classed Ranger/Rogue, with an intense racial hatred against Kobolds. Think "Goblin Slayer, but kobolds", and you're on the right track. And with that high note, I break here. Come back in the future for my D&D adventures such as: Kaz gets his ass royally handed to him by a gel cube, Garman mathematics (always equals KOBOLD), Blackbe is declared the team's face and the hero the world both needs and deserves, and Laguna is tricked by literally the most obvious lie in the world. See you there!

#Tabletop RPG #Dungeons & Dragons #That Guy Story #Gaming

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