#and Gale might be a god but hey. he seems like he's doing a good job. with a little more humility and time he'll be a pretty good god ithin

[pikayay213]

yeah okay. played the epilogue. my merry band of friends and heroes had some tragic undertones but damn. i almost cried. like three times. ok wow yeah. baldur's gate 3 my favorite game now and for all time unbeatable forever

#bg3 #shadowheart and me (astarion) seem like we're having fun adventures. albeit the killing but that's part of the fun dammit #like okay. my karlach might be a mind flayer. #but she's HAPPY (i think. hard to read emotions in illithid speak.) #and Gale might be a god but hey. he seems like he's doing a good job. with a little more humility and time he'll be a pretty good god ithin #nothing happened with lae'zel because i ignored her this playthrough (rip i hear she's amazing and i believe it) #at least i didn't ascend #for this playthrough i really leaned into letting every character make their own decisions and i think it made for a nice story #in future i'll probably go full evil at least once #very controlling #all of that #but next playthrough i probably want to do either durge (might resist might not who's to say) #or maybe a custom character. probably bard. idk #this game is so good man #favorite game now and forever #i could talk about it forever #i could play it forever #god #best $60 i will ever spend #anyways #pika talks

[shoshiwrites]

Orange sunsets for Jo & Egan? 💚

Friend, this prompt would not exist without you and your Gale senses, @mercurygray's military vehicle expertise, and @junojelli, because I have never driven stick in my entire life, much less a 1940s jeep. Prompt list here.

Bucky Egan/War correspondent OC, also on Ao3!

Somewhere between writing up her latest story and the blue censor’s slashes that render it half as long, she runs out of typewriter ribbon.

She thought she’d been careful — both in the writing and in the paying close attention to her supplies. Jo — reporter Jo, Your Trusty Correspondent Jo, she figures out her own shit. Doesn’t ask for even so much as a pencil. 

She’d thought it was a good piece, too. 

The things she does have to ask about — meals, jeep rides up to Norwich to report on the bombing runs there, woven through with conversations with the civil defense men, almost all of them veterans of the last war — those are careful things, done in uniform and with something in her voice that approximates flattery. Apologies without apologizing. It’s a relief when a Red Cross girl or two offers to go with her, the way they can talk without minding themselves.

Longhand’ll be fine, for a bit.

It’s warm enough to sit outside, in the grass, in the shadow of a Nissen hut. Overcast, as usual, an early summer day. The air smells like pollen, half like the promise of rain. 

“Hey, I know we’re short a few things up here but I think a chair might not be too big an ask.”

She squints up at him in the brightness from behind the clouds. “Major.”

“Seriously, you need a chair?”

“I’m alright, thank you.” It’s not the mud of spring anymore, at least. “Ground’s nice, on a day like this.”

The look that crosses his face seems to be considering a joke. “Where’s the machine?” He means her typewriter, the Underwood portable. Sitting inside.

She makes a noncommittal wave. 

“I’m sure we could figure you one of those too,” he says, even though they both know full well that hot commodities like typewriters aren’t just growing out in the grass. “Sticky keys? Bad spring? Screw loose? Space bar not doing its job? I mean, I’d still read it, but-”

“Nah, just the ribbon.”

“You need a ribbon?”

God, he’s worse than the boys at the office. She laughs, just a little. “Has anyone ever told you you’d make a great copyboy?”

If he were chewing gum right now, it’d be a lazy clack on his back teeth. “Well, not too different than what they’ve got me doing now, if I’m honest.”

“If you’re honest.”

“Jeep’s right there,” he says, even though it’s not. “I mean-”

She weighs her options. Jeep ride. Typewriter ribbon. Maybe even one for Kay or to squirrel away for later. She wonders about ration books and cigarettes, not that she bothers much with anything besides Luckies these days. Small bars of wartime soap, small, pretty tins of hard candy, boiled sweets, they call them here.

On the other hand. No ride. No ribbon. No sweets. The air’s gotten thicker as she’s been sitting here. It sounds nice — careening through the greenery with the wind on her arms. 

And he’d talk the whole time, she knows he will. 

“What’s your afternoon look like?”

“Wide open.”

She highly suspects it’s not. 

“Just the ribbon,” she says.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She’s glad she’s wearing trousers in the passenger seat, the open vehicle, the way she has to hold on to stay in. He’s used to the thing by now, he says, the way it handles, the good noises, the bad ones, the bite of the clutch. The road to Norwich is a straight line, and long, and he shouts over the wind, “oldest Roman road around! ‘S what I heard, at least.”

“And here we are, driving on it!” 

“Yeah!”

The fields run by, the rows of trees, wagons, the Queen Anne’s lace, cow parsley, clusters of daisies. 

“So, what’re you working on?”

She tells him, out here where it feels like they’re the only ones around, in the middle of the afternoon, even if they’re not. And he knows, of course, exactly what she’s talking about, the major who drinks among locals, the ones who tell stories and the ones who don’t. 

He waits outside while she makes her purchase, and then ducks into another store to buy that tin of candy, slipped into her pocket. A magazine too, a small, short thing printed on rough paper. She ought to get him something, for the favor. A beer or a meal would be the real thing, if this wasn’t just an errand. 

They walk back around the corner to where the jeep is parked, and he makes to toss her the keys. “Spin for the lady?”

She looks at him, unable to hide the confusion on her face. 

Even if they let her have a jeep, she couldn’t drive it.

“Would if I could,” she says. “Though I hate to make you take the wheel all the way back, too.”

“Hey, it’s fine, I like this thing. But seriously, you never-?”

She looks at him, maybe a little too long, trying to figure out who he thinks she is. “City girls don’t get a lot of lessons in motoring.” Like it’s 1922 and she’s got a parasol and a skirt that doesn’t let her move. Steelworkers who drink away good wages don’t usually go for nice cars, either. William’s family had cars, plural. The two of them went for drives sometimes, out to the quieter, greener spots around the city. She always felt like she was going to do something wrong, smudge something that had just been polished or cleaned.

“Why don’t you hop in, I’ll show you.”

She looks at him again. “I’m sure the last thing anyone needs is an accident that puts a major out of commission.” And she’s pretty sure her on a ship home would be a welcome relief for at least as many people as she can count on her hands.

He makes a noise of dismissal, good-humored. Kind of a snort. “You’ll be fine.”

“You can tell that to the MPs.”

“Hey, would I tell you that if I didn’t think it was true?”

No, you wouldn’t.

“If I can park a plane, you can drive a jeep.”

She gets in the driver’s seat.

“So right here’s the steering wheel-”

She’s quick enough to bite it back. You know I got to England all by myself, right?

He sees the look on her face, puts his hand up. “Just covering all the bases, Brandt.”

“Steering wheel, roger.”

“Steering wheel-” he points, “shifter. This thing-” he points to the long handle protruding from the dashboard, “parking brake. Don’t worry about that one yet.”

He reaches an arm over, down to the well where her legs are. “Left is the clutch. That’s important. Right foot’s the brake. Also important. Long pedal’s the gas, you guessed it, important, if you wanna get back to base before chow or there’s someone chasin’ you.”

“Who’s chasing me?”

“I don’t know, somebody.” 

“I’ll think something up.”

“You’re the writer, right? Now, you’re gonna start this baby up.” He hands her the keys, fingertips brushing her palm. "First turn that ignition, press the starter-” she does as she’s told, “and give it a little gas.”

It starts, mercifully, with a noise that he doesn’t wince at. “Now, if you wanna go faster than a farm wagon you’re gonna need to switch to second. But, can’t do that without gettin’ to first first.”

She’s fairly certain every window along the lane has someone looking at them, but she can’t worry about that right now. 

“So, shifter’s in neutral, keep your foot on that brake- and the clutch, yep- just like dancin’-” he sees her face, “ok, maybe harder than dancin’, unless it’s a fast song playin’-” The clasp of her watch digs into her wrist against the wheel. “Doin’ great- now, I shoulda had you look at these before we started so I’ll just tell you- you’re gonna push down good on that clutch pedal, take the shifter, like this-” 

She does, rewarded by an ungodly metallic noise and a corresponding smell. Her stomach wobbles. Nothing about his manner changes, except a handwave to get the smell away from his nose. This must be what’s he’s like up there. She’s surprised there hasn’t been a baseball metaphor yet. “You’re fine, just didn’t press hard enough is all. Need to get you some good boots like mine-”

She tries again, and the whole vehicle seems to take a cue from her stomach. “I hope you didn’t have anywhere you needed to be this afternoon.”

“Nope.” It’s clear she doesn’t quite believe that. A beat passes. “...you let me worry about that. Now-”

She reaches for the shifter again, just as he does the same, the tiniest spark of static. How, in this weather? If she didn’t know any better, she’d swear she heard something in his throat. “So I’ll handle this part now, you just focus on the clutch.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll tell you when.”

She nods, tries to look decisive about it.

“Alright- right- now-”

It bites, just like he said it would. 

“BEAUTIFUL!”

It’s almost a laugh, the breath that escape her.

“Now, we’ll try second.”

She doesn’t get too excited, because it stalls out again. But she gets it going out of neutral, to first. He looks proud.

And second gear- the second time- it works.

“Hey, see, you’ve got this!”

“I think steering might also come in handy.”

“You may be right.”

She’s not very graceful about it, but she doesn’t land them in a ditch as she slowly maneuvers onto the main road. “I think you ought to take us back if you want to get there before dark.”

He looks like he’s thinking about it. “Ah, alright. But this ain’t over.”

“Part two?”

“Third gear. On the strip. When we get back.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Kind of a requirement.”

She gets it back down from second, stops it, hands him the keys. She’s shivering a little, back in the passenger seat, from the nerves, energy. He looks over at her and smiles. “Passed part one.”

“How do I stack up?”

“Well, Buck still has me drivin’ him around so, I’d say you’re the top of the class.”

She laughs, from relief, from the fact that it’s still not raining, from the fact that she’s forgotten the typewriter ribbon in the little box in her pocket, from his smile.

“I expect you to keep this thing running while I’m up there,” he says.

She wants to laugh, but the unspoken if hangs heavy, like clouds pregnant with rain. 

“I don’t think that’s allowed,” she says. 

He glances over at her, East Anglia passing them on both sides once again. “Well, I’ll get you permission.”

It’s not even your jeep, she wants to say. It puckers on her tongue, like the cherry-flavored sweets in her other pocket. None of this belongs to us.

By the time they make it back to Thorpe Abbotts, the sky has miraculously cleared, soft and blue, the other side of the afternoon.

“Now, we can just call this practice,” he says. “For the gear shifts.”

Gamely she gets in the driver’s seat again, bolstered by his confidence.

Another stall, again, this time from first to second, but she handles it. No one’s ever accused me of having a bad memory. Quite the opposite, sometimes. 

The sensation of it runs through her arms, her legs. Something new, something she’d learned, something that might actually serve her, and not just what lipsticks to wear and how to dress for the season. Something he’d shared with her.

“I’m glad we’re not in Pittsburgh,” she says. “All the hills.”

“Hey, you’d handle them too. You’re a pro now. More practice than some of us got.” She’s a little afraid of what this looks like, although it’s not like discipline’s been the letter of the day at Thorpe Abbotts. Hardly something she’d write home about, aside from the swagger, the boldness. It meant something to her, though. Professionalism. William never thinks about any of it, she’s sure. “How about trying that third gear?”

“I hope whatever you’re missing right now isn’t too important.”

“Thought I told you to let me worry about that.”

“After dinner,” she says, unsure if she means it.

The next voice belonging to neither of them, low and a little amused, approaching. “Thought we’d have to send out a search party.”

“Just taking Josephine here for a little spin. Driving lesson.”

She shoots him a look. “An errand. I ran out of ribbon.”

“How was it?” Gale still looks faintly amused. “The lesson.”

“I told her if I can park a plane, she can drive a jeep.”

“Your ability to park a plane is questionable at best.” He smiles, just a little, before his expression is measured again. “John, Huglin wants to see you.” He can’t say what about in front of her, obviously. Jo hopes it isn’t about this. Something about what she knows of the colonel might tell her it’s not. Still, she feels guilty.

He leans over conspiratorially. “Jo, I won’t mind too much if you run him over.”

“Nice thing to say about your best friend,” Gale says.

“You’d be walking everywhere if it weren’t for me. Jeeps, bikes-”

“Sure, sure.”

“I’ll let you bring this back where you got it,” she says. “Better than me taking an hour to do the same.”

“After dinner, though?” Her mouth twitches a little. 

“Come on, you’ll be thankin’ me one day.”

“He likes to say that,” says Gale.

If the sky stays clear, it’ll be beautiful. Clear blue until late, and then pink, orange, lemon yellow. Red streaks like the sweets in her pocket, dusted with powdered sugar.

How many sunsets like that could you hope for?

“Alright,” she says. “Keep the keys ready.”

#mota oc #masters of the air oc #bucky egan x oc #basilone #sry i had to do a little cover #shoshi writes #jo's tag #motaverse #oops this one is a monster #what am i doing? great question #we talked about this a while ago and i could not help myself from trying to write it #despite knowing - truly - nothing

[heartofsnark]

A Simple Request For An Unsimple Man (Gale x Fem!Oc Tav)

Author's note: Hello, it's certainly been a minute since I've been able to post fic here without worrying about formatting bullshit (love so much that my longest running fic can't be posted here because it relies on italics/formatting techniques within the first 50ish chapters and tumblr makes that a headache)But, I've found myself sinking a bit into BG3/Gale hell and after some prompting my @shallow-gravy about a comment I left about Gale being able to summon a bed, I decided this might be a fun idea and oops have a thirty page one shot! So, have something featuring my tav- Petra and Gale. Still not sure of what I"m doing with these characters, but hey~

Summary: Petra and Gale are more than a little clumsy in the ways that they love, both having their own significant dry spell when it comes to romance and sexual desires. And while the two have shared themselves within the weave, Petra has made a simple request to share their physical bodies as well. Gale is not good at simple.

Warnings: Unprotected vaginal sex, praise kinks, creampies, cunnilingus (tav/petra in this is a cis female woman), fingering, mutual masturbation, tooth-rotting fluff (turns out I write fluff now), soft!dom Gale, and magical sex mishaps.

Petra's mind has been a maelstrom of worries for quite a while now, however, if someone had told her that amidst tadpoles, cults, and shadow cursed lands that her mind would be consumed with matters of the heart and loins- well, she'd think they were crazy. 

But, perhaps she's the crazy one. 

She never expected to love again, never expected to find someone who felt like home, or makes her heart stutter on every other beat. But she never expected to have a tadpole shoved into her eye or to pull a wizard from a stone- let alone for that very wizard be the one doing this to her. Life is full of surprises, as is her lover. 

Ugh, gods- she has a lover. 

The very thought makes her face burn, her heart pound, and her guts twist. If she didn't know any better she'd think herself ill, but alas- she's learned that's merely Gale's influence on her. The wizard needed no charms or illusions to win her affection, but he warned her early on- well before either of them had realized what was growing between them, that he had a taste for grand gestures. 

And grand they were. 

He conjured her stars and shifting auroras against an ink black night, he showed her his home, his sanctuary without her needing to step a foot into Waterdeep. And he plucked their very souls from their bodies, to kiss and touch and merge within a realm beyond their own. Glittering blue forms, never knowing quite where his touch ended and hers began, surrounded and consumed by him. An electric blur of his touch over her very being. 

She would have been content with a flower and a bowl of his deer stew, but who is she to turn down the adoration fueled gestures of a man she does not deserve. 

Which in part is why she can't help but suspect she might be being just a touch greedy…

Made all the worse by her greed and insecurity tugging her mind back and forth between them like rabid dogs would a slice of steak. 

In some ways she's already done the hardest part, confessing her desire to Gale felt like a herculean task in itself, a stumble of poorly put together words while her face burned hotter than Karlach's engine. But ultimately, she got the message across and Gale as always was far too eager to oblige.

Though, he seems intent to oblige her request in his Gale way of obliging.

Because, you see, her request is incredibly simple. Despite her anxiety and insecurity- she wants to fuck Gale the old fashioned way. She loved the way they bonded before and truly will jump to do it again, but she just can't help but also want the more mundane variety. To feel flesh and bone, to touch his skin, to press her lips against his throat and feel his pulse race beneath her tongue. This of course means he'll also be seeing her naked properly without blue blurry auras smoothing out her every- less excited for that, but her desire for him outweighs her shame for herself. 

And this simple request, frankly- could have been sated nearly the moment it was made in the privacy of his tent. He needed only to roll her onto her back or pull her to straddle his hips, a few garments tossed aside, the dark providing her with some some cloaking while still getting to feel and see him- gods bless darkvision. 

But that would be far too simple, her request instead met with a wide smile a; "Say no more, consider it done, my love," a kiss goodnight, and the looming knowledge that he was planning something. 

So, perhaps surprise is too strong a word when she returns to camp after a brief walk alone to find her companions snickering and Gale's mirror image standing outside his tent. Thin ripples of weave radiating through an otherwise perfect copy of her favorite wizard. She knows it could be perfect, saw him make one perfect before- the imperfections intentional, to let her know it's not him and instead a messenger. 

Petra skirts past her chattering friends, pretending she doesn't feel several sets of eyes following her as she stands before the replication of her dearest. Who merely beams with that bright smile that she's come to adore, even if it's merely a simulacrum of it. 

"Heh, I take it Gale has some plans for us tonight?" She whispers towards the mirror image, trying to keep prying ears from learning too much. Not that her and Gale are secretive about their relationship by any means, but not every one of their friends needs to know when they're having sex. 

"That he does and I have the most wonderous task of taking you to see him, words cannot begin to express how eager he is to see you tonight," the mirror image chirps, not even a hint of shame or volume control as his eyes burn with that same flame of adoration the real Gale always seems to carry- her face flushing beneath its heat.

"Ugh, hells you two are going to make me throw up a perfectly good meal, would you please take your simpering gazes elsewhere," Astarion calls out from around the campfire, a hint of a smile in his words, then his lips when Petra turns to glower at him. 

"I hardly think whatever shadow cursed vermin you've managed to snack on out here counts as a good meal- but rest assured, I am leaving." 

"But of course- after all your little magician is so very eager," he mocks again and if he weren't her friend, she'd kick his arse- still might. 

 "Oh lay off her, Fangs- it's cute, like two pups wagging their tails at each other." 

"I believe nauseating is the word you're looking for," Shadowheart chimes in, "I mean really, not a drop of shame between the two, every time he leaves behind one of those mirror images- he might as well just declare that they're about to go rut around in the woods all night." 

"Date nights are perfectly healthy for a newly bonded couple-"

"Dates- is that what you think they're doing out there? In the middle of nowhere, alone- you think they're, what, chatting about their favorite books over a glass of wine?" Astarion cuts Wyll off, incredulous that he would refer to Petra and Gale's outings as a date. 

"I mean, wouldn't really be all that shocked if they were- it is Gale, after all…" 

"Regardless, I think seeing our friends form such a union is something to be celebrated not mocked." 

"Their carnal desires are hardly any of our concern, so long as they remain vigilant in battle- however, I must say I do find it curious that the wizard always seeks to be hunted, he might as well submit outright if he cannot best her in combat." 

"Oh, I'm sure he does plenty of submitting." 

"I don't know 'bout that, Petra may be bossier but look at the poor thing- redder than a devil's arsehole, probably turns into a mess the moment clothes start comin' off." 

Petra grasps the mirror image's arm, her face burning hot and no doubt just as red as Karlach said. She hisses between gritted teeth;  "Get me the fuck out of here." 

"Your wish is my command, now- let us find more pleasant company," he assures her, quickly walking her away from the camp as their friends speculate about their sex life. 

"And by that, you mean yourself," she teases, leaning against the mirror image's arm. The conjured form isn't a perfect match, both from the rippling static like eminence of weave and it being a little less shameful than her Gale. But it carries his warmth, his smell- like the innards of an old library, cozy and welcoming. 

"Would you have it any other way?" 

"Gods no," she admits, burrowing her face into his arm, hiding her flushed cheeks from his view. 

"Careful now, I'd hate to be jealous of myself," Gale's voice rings out, more alive, more human and not right beside her- her head shoots up, the sky is bathed in shifting colors and twinkling lights. Her Gale just a short walk away; "Though I can hardly blame you, he is quite handsome." 

And that’s all she needs, letting go of the mirror image, the half-elf rushes towards him- the real him, a small laugh escaping Gale’s lips as she throws her arms around him. As nice as the fake one is, it will never feel as good as touching the real thing. His heat seeping in between their clothes, warming her skin- that must of old books and lavender offset slightly by the salt of his sweat. His large hands holding her in kind, one settling on the small of her back and the other stroking through her hair. She takes a deep breath, a heavy inhale and exhale of him, before finally lifting her head ever so slightly- enough to look up at him,

The way he looks at her could melt all of Frostfell. Those soft brown eyes looking at her like she’s hung the stars and moon, all the while he’s the one who’s conjured the sky above them. 

“A good evening to you too,” he greets, smiling so sweetly and she stands up on her tiptoes- Gale meeting her need as she presses a kiss to that very smile. The warm press of his mouth against hers sending heat and butterflies through her very veins, she breaks back before she can get carried away. Not wanting to ruin his plans, but struggling to stifle the desire to kiss him until her lungs ache. 

“Good evening,” she hums back instead, squeezing him tighter, her eyes looking around the wide field bathed in the glow of soft purples and blues. It’s largely familiar, the same space and view he created the night he brought their very souls together- when he confessed his fear, his love, and so much more. Where she pleaded for him to stay, for him to live. 

Though with one very new addition to the expanse of field- an extraordinarily out of place bed. Lavish and lush with deep indigo blankets, bathed in the glow of the sky and the burning of a torch mounted in the ground beside it- the addition betraying the reason they’re here tonight. 

“You know what I can’t help but notice?” Petra remarks after a beat of silence, a quiet moment of simply sinking into one another’s hold- blinking up at her wizard. 

“My dashing good looks?”He asks, a small smile and a raise of his brow. 

“Mm, yes, but no more than usual,” she plays along, smiling against him. Knotting her fingers in the plush purple of his tunic,debating on if she should slip her hands beneath the fabric- wanting to feel more of his skin. 

“My brilliant mind and ever expanding intellect?” 

“Well, that just goes without saying,” she assures him, heaping on the praise for him. 

“Hmm, than it must be my veritable wealth of charm and wit.” 

“Close and before you ask- no, it’s not your modesty either,” she teases, scratching her nails over his back through his shirt- trying to sate her ache to touch him, “What I can’t help but notice is that whenever you pull me away for a night via your mirror image- it seems to mean I’m the one left dealing with the whispers of our companions.” 

He grimaces slightly, somewhat between amusement and annoyance; “Ah, yes, a… much unfortunate consequence, but one we simply can’t avoid, I’m afraid.” 

“Oh, is that so?” She teases, laughing through her smile, “Funny how that unavoidable consequence seems to benefit you.” 

“Life is full of those funny little mysteries, I think it wise to embrace- not question, these curiosities.” 

“Thats quite a fancy way of saying you intend to keep throwing me to the wolves,” she chirps, pulling a hand back to slap him playfully in the ribs, he merely laughs because he knows exactly what he’s doing; “Do you know that right now, at this very moment- our friends gossiping like hens about which one us… takes the lead?” 

“Ah, yes, I’m… terribly sorry to have missed that conversation.” 

“And yet, I suspect you’re not sorry at all,” she comments, reaching upward she strokes through his hair-  tracing a streak of gray that curls around his ear, soft brown strands slipping between her fingers. He’s so lucky he’s so damned adorable. 

“Oh, but I am- absolutely contrite that I could not steal you away before their sordid chatter reached your ears- after all, I’m no more keen on our proclivities being the subject of discussion than you are,” he admits and she hums, a small smirk on her lips as he continues on, trying to insist he definitely feels bad about leaving the gossipy shit for her to handle. 

“Perhaps not, but you do seem keen on leaving me to handle it.” She points out again, cradling his jaw- his beard scratching her palm as she rubs her thumb along his cheekbone. Petra often wonders if he minds the callouses that cling to her skin. Her flesh so much rougher than his, he leans into her touch, presses his jaw to her hand. 

“And my apologies are most sincere, however if you still find yourself unconvinced- perhaps I can show you the depth of my remorse?” He asks, pressing his forehead to hers, lips a breath away, “You need only ask, demand any penance you deem fit-  and I will gladly pay it.” 

“Is that so?” 

“There is no sin against you, no matter size or severity,  that I would not repent for.” 

“Well, I mean, I wouldn’t mind a kiss,” she admits, the only thought on her mind when his face is so close to hers- when his lips are just a breath away. When one tilt of her head, one jolt would crash their lips together. 

“Hmm, I think you may not have a full understanding of what penance means, my dear, typically-” 

“Gale,” she says, looking up at him with the sternest eyes she can manage- no doubt stopping him from prattling off the definition of penance. Because she’s in love with a sentient thesaurus. 

“Yes.” 

“You have until the count of three to kiss me and if you don’t- I’m going to bite you,” she threatens, not sure how much she wants him to listen- she does like biting him, “One-” 

“Thinking over my options,” he chimes, sing songy as he seems equally unsure of which choice he likes more. 

“Two.” 

“I do rather like your love bites, but your kisses are quite enchanting as well.” 

“Thr-” 

His lips press to hers, deeper than before. One of her hands twists in his tunic, the other in the his hair. He cradles her jaw and lower back, pulling each other closer, she can’t help the small sigh of happiness and bliss as his tongue pushes into her mouth. The faintest taste of his cooking still on his tongue, a hint of mint where he tried to clear it out-  maybe she should have been so kind. 

Their kisses are still clumsy, a slightly awkward press and swirl of tongues, both single and isolated for a year or more. But it feels like warmth and love and home in a way she can’t define, heat simmering between her thighs when the hand on her back moves lower. A broad palm playfully squeezing at her ass, tugging her closer, the grope of his fingers sinking into the plush of her flesh- a soft moan echoing from her throat, muffled by his tongue. 

They break apart, breathing ragged- hot puffs of air across each other’s lips. She can feel the heat clinging to the apples of her cheeks, mirrored in the flush that creeps beneath Gale’s beard. Petra grins up at his beautiful red face, the brown of his eyes nearly swallowed by the black of his pupil. 

“Three,” she whispers, catching his lower lip between her teeth and nipping playfully at the kiss swollen flesh. Gale groans, deep and throaty, sending molten heat right to her cunt. His lips pulls out from between her teeth as he pulls her into a desperate hungered kiss. 

It’s deeper than the last, even more ravenous and rough, both of his hands now groping at her backside- kneading at her flesh, feeling his fingers sinking into the plush of her flesh through her clothing. Wishing his hands were beneath her clothes, on her skin, pressing into her properly. 

She tugs at his hair, scratches her nails along his scalp as he kisses her deeper and deeper, her lungs burning by the time she feels the back of her thighs bumping something soft. Breaking off the kiss to see she’s somehow been staggered back to the bed. It’s plush blankets and rows of pillows beckoning her. She can’t help but giggle. 

“Couldn’t settle for a dirty bedroll, could you?” She teases, stealing another soft kiss. 

“The least I could do for your comfort, time spent together in the flesh should be no less beautiful than that spent in the celestial- whatever way you’ll have me, I wish only to make it perfect for you.”

“Then… wish no more,” she murmurs, voice soft as she avoids the intensity of his gaze, the adoration that consumes his words and expression, “You’re here with me, I could not imagine anything more perfect than that.” 

“Careful now, keep talking that way-  you may never be rid of me,” he tries to joke, to tease- but when she forces herself to look back up at him, she can see the flush of his cheeks deepening as his smile widens. 

And with everything that still hangs in the air- Mystra’s unreasonable request, the knowledge that a part of him still doesn’t feel certain of whether he’ll see the end of this journey. The fact he may still make that choice, that he very well still might leave her in some desperate attempt to save the world. She throws her arms tight around his neck, latches her nails into his skin as she tugs him closer, closer. His nose bumping her own, his forehead back flush against hers. 

“I truly hope that I could be so lucky,” she rushes out, reiterating her wish- her plead again. That he’ll stay here with her, that she will never be rid of him- that on the other side of this whole ordeal is a future where his story stays enmeshed with her own. That she’ll not have to lose another love, not sure her heart could stand it. 

Then it’s another clash of lips, tongue, and teeth- not even sure who started this one, both desperate to get their mouths on each other. And for a moment, she feels herself lifted, feet off the air- she giggles into his kiss before the world shifts every so slightly, her back thumping down onto the soft blankets. Her weight sinking into the plush of the mattress, Gale smiling at her lowers a knee to the bed and climbs up, settling above her. 

Adoration, the word comes to mind over and over again whenever he looks at her. Brown eyes soft and clear with nothing but that emotion, letting it sink in through her skin and into her bones, consuming her wholly. She never thought she loved brown eyes so much, disliking her own for so long- but on him they’re so beautiful. Warm and filled with more love than she’s could ever hope to deserve. 

She cups his face and pulls him down for another kiss, never satisfied. He said before that moment with her could sate him for a lifetime and while the sentiment still rattles her to her very soul- she can’t say she relates, feeling as if she could have a million with him and still beg for one more, for another, another, another. Not enough time in the universe for how much she wishes to spend with him. 

Her hands tug at his tunic, reaching one beneath- no longer able to suppress the desperate need to just touch him. To feel his skin beneath her fingers, warm flesh and coarse body hair, the soft skin of his stomach. A layer of plush with a hint of firmer muscle beneath, when she presses a little harder. Their lips part again as Gale leans back onto his knees, which sink into the bed on either side of her hips. 

She skims her hands down his hips and thighs as Gale grips at his shirt, tugging it off- carefully putting it aside. Petra’s eyes roaming the open exposed flesh of his chest and stomach. The celestial version of him gorgeous, but not truly doing him justice. Smooth glowing blue aura not showing the dark body hair that scatters across his chest, trailing down his stomach and leading to below his waistband. The occasional freckle and even rarer scar that decorate his skin. 

Even the mark on his chest, the symbol where the orb took root in his chest. Bruised in the middle, tendrils sweeping out from it- the ones that curl up the left side of his throat growing fainter as they stretch out to vanish beneath his beard- connected faintly to the prominent veins that ghost below his eye. She hates what that thing has done to him, how it’s hurt him- how it’s not being used as a threat against his very life, but even that she finds beautiful on his flesh. The mark of his mistakes, of his devotion to one who never deserved it, proof of him as a man who sought love in worship. His folly is as much a part of the man she loves as every virtue he carries in kind.

“Fuck,” she curses, all the words she can utter as she gazes at him. Admiring every inch of his body that’s been revealed to her. Realizing she’s rarely seen him shirtless, not counting the celestial plane and a few brief, awkward mistakes while navigating river baths in the early days of their travel. How odd that they’ve been so deeply intimate, yet she can’t say she’s seen him fully naked. 

Which means he has yet to see her fully naked as well- which scares her even more than the tadpole gnawing at the inside of her skull. 

“If you ever sought to deflate my ego, I must say- you’re doing a terrible job at it,” he teases, a brilliant grin on his face as her own burns with heat. 

"As if I'd ever embark on a such a fool's errand," she taunts, skimming her hands upward and feeling the heat of his skin. Raking her nails along his lower stomach, feeling the muscles tense beneath her hand, biting her tongue to not make any comments about belly rubs. 

"Hmm, given your…tendencies, forgive me if I remain unconvinced." 

She lets out a breath of a laugh- "You know, you're astoundingly disagreeable, for a man attempting to bed me." 

"Not to add to the matter, but I do believe we've past the point of 'attempting.'"

"I swear to the gods, I'm gonna learn magic just so I can cast silence on you one of these days," she threatens, pinching playfully at his flesh. 

"And I'd be honored to teach you, but for now- I hope finding other uses for my mouth will suffice," he offers, dipping down to kiss her again, bracing one hand to the pillows by her head- the other cupping her jaw. His thumb brushing along her cheekbone, a soft sigh muffled by his tongue pushing into her mouth. Her hands roam his torso, unable to settle fully on which part of him she wants to touch- his stomach, chest, sides, back, and shoulders all feeling so perfect beneath her fingers. 

His warm wide palm brushes down her jaw to her neck, heat and sparks rising to her skin wherever his fingers touch. Unable to help the way she squirms beneath his mouth and hands, the soft noises she whimpers into his kiss, against his tongue as her own presses into his mouth in kind. Burning heat aches between her thighs, barely touched but even the faintest of his kisses or the briefest brush of his fingers pulls desperation from her very soul. Pathetic in her need for him, 

Gale's hand leaves her skin for a moment, already cold without his touch, she drags her nails along his shoulder blades- tries to pull him down closer. Then his hand finds her ribs, presses against her side molten warm on her chilled skin. Caught between relishing in the brush of his fingers and the way her insecurities make her body go rigid. Her hope that he may not notice dashed the moment their kiss breaks apart, ragged breath and flushed face not betraying the concern that knits his brows- the worry carved into every line of his face. 

"Is everything alright?" He asks, voice lower and rougher, lips swollen and wet- strands of hair beginning to fall and stick against the sweat that beads along his forehead. 

"Yeah, yes, of course," she insists, her own voice rougher than she expects as she tries to cram down the bubble of anxiety in her ches- desperate not to ruin her or Gale's night. 

"Petra, I would never claim you to be an open book, but you are one that I feel most adept at reading- though, I could still clearly still use some slight guidance and for that I'll need your words. Tell me what is wrong, so I may make it right, please," he tries again, with more words and more conviction- his hand lifting to brush her hair behind her ear, his thumb dragging along the sensitive point. A little chill curls along her spine in response. 

"It's nothing, really," she murmurs, smoothing her palm along his neck- tracing along the tendrils of blacked raised flesh that curls from the orb. Wondering again, if the callouses and scars of her hands bother him. 

His hands are softer than hers, more versed in flipping book pages and casting spells than hunting or stealing. He's mentioned spas and bathhouses in Waterdeep, and she wonders what balms or lotions he'd be using were their supplies not so limited. He's not without his scars, she knows- but even the raised flesh feels softer on his body than hers. Subtle faded burns from cooking and casting mishaps alike, a raised crease on his forehead from summoning a toy he wanted as a child- only to have the wooden train set appear and thunk down atop his head. 

Her scars and memories aren't so kind. No stories as sweet or kind. No fuzzy nostalgia for raised lashmarks on her back or thighs. No warm feelings about the scar across her lip, the only thing her mother deemed fit to let her keep, the same scar Gale must feel every time they kiss. 

Gale has suffered truly and she would never suggest otherwise, she'd sooner fist fight Mystra than deny the pain he's endured, the pain he is still enduring. However, when he hears him talk of his childhood, his mother, Tara, his education- she can't help but feel like a tragedy in comparison. A pitiful thing next to him. Nowhere near worthy of his adoration, his efforts, his love… 

"If it weighs on your mind, then it is not nothing." 

"Okay, so… it's nothing, but it is silly," she tells him, scratching her thumbnail through his beard, hoping to distract him. 

"Then if it is so silly and inconsequential, there will be no harm in telling me, will there?" He says, her nose wrinkling, he's so stubborn, "My aim is not to push you into telling me anything, but what kind of man would I be to notice your discomfort and continue on as if I hadn't?"

"Okay, okay- if you must make sense," she huffs and pouts, chews on her lip and avoids his gaze as she turns her head to the side, "I just am a little…insecure. Without the weave smoothing out my scars, blurring my freckles, and softening me- well, it helped make me someone worth touching." 

Her admission hangs in the air for a moment, her chest rigid with tension and swollen with a bubble of anxiety. He must think she's exhausting, asking this of him then getting so worked up over it. Her desire for him outweighing but not fully dealing away with her own insecurities. Truthfully, she'd have been content to strip Gale down,kiss and touch him to her heart's content- while never letting his hands graze her. But, he always has a way of taking the lead when it comes to these things. A fact that can never make its way back to camp. 

A soft kiss presses to the side of her lips, where that scar cuts jaggedly through them. Another against her jaw, her forehead, her cheeks as warm welcoming hands cup her face.

"Look at me, my love." He brings her gaze to his. Her heart lurches up into her throat, skin burning beneath the intensity of Gale's expression. "There is no plane or realm or state of being in which you are anything less than a person worth touching. You are my hope and my light- and no matter how or where you are presented to me, you will always be the most beautiful thing I have set my eyes on. The stars, the moon, the sun, the very heavens themselves- you put them all to shame…" 

She feels like she's been set ablaze. Her face nearly glowing with its heat, eyes wet, and the chill of the night a distant memory as his words burn through her very being. And he means them, gods help her- he means them. Able to hear and feel the conviction in every syllable, see his earnestness in the lines of his expression, in the spark alight in his eyes. And she will never know what she did to deserve him and she will always fear that she may lose him, but she is so happy to have him, 

"Ugh, gods, fuck- Gale," she curses, stuttering on her words because she has nowhere near his grasp on the English language, "I don't really know how the hells I'm supposed to argue with that." 

"So don't," he says, the request surprising in its brevity. His lips press to the corner of her eye, Petra realizing a moment too late that tears had started to streak down her face. 

He kisses down the path of her tears, her jaw, her neck craning to the side as he buries his face against her throat. Feverish and heavy kisses across her skin, her arms wrap tight around his back- digging her nails into his shoulder blades as he bites tenderly at her skin, laving his tongue across the sting he left behind. She groans as he sucks harshly, nips at her pulse point, and she can't help but squeeze her thighs together- trying to get a bit of relief, everything he does just making her needier. 

She curls her hand into his hair, twisting the silver streaked strands around her fingers as Gale kisses along her collarbone. Careful as his teeth graze where the skin stretches thinner over bone, the briefest edge of pain soothed over by the lap of his tongue. She moves the hand not tugging at his hair down his chest, skimming down his stomach, and finally presses her open palm to his groin- feeling his cock hardening in his pants, the heat of him through the fabric. A rough, nearly pained groan echoes against her collarbone. His forehead suddenly pressed to her shoulder, twitching beneath her touch.

“Too much?” She whispers against his ear, worried she may have pushed too far too soon. Far too aware despite her eagerness that neither of them have had physical sex in  a year or more- probably more, considering his time with Mystra. 

“No such thing with you,” he says through a raspy breath, his lips catching hers again as his hands brush up her sides- warm open palms stroking up the taunt freckled skin of her stomach. Stoking a fire that burns inside of her, heat rising to the very surface of her flesh as grinds her palm against him. Desperate to give him even a hint of the same heat burning in her. 

His movements halt as his fingers brush the edge of her cropped nightshirt, kiss breaking as his eyes meet hers, a surprisingly silent request from her wizard. Reluctantly, she pulls her hands from his hair and cock, Gale provides her the space as she sits up to hook her fingers beneath the edges of her shirt and tug it up off over her head. Petra tosses it aside, shaking out her hair and trying not to overthink being naked from the waist up. 

Every fiber of her being screams that she should cover her chest, having gained some weight since traveling with Gale- his cooking having put a few pounds on her, but sadly none of those managed to reach her tits. Small and fuller at the bottom than the top, freckled like damn near every other inch of her. 

But as always, there is nothing sheer adoration in Gale’s eyes and with a little press of his palm on her sternum her back is hitting the sheets again. The blankets and pillows all the softer on her bare skin, sinking down into the blush of it. Warmth of the sheets and his hand a contrast to the chill of the open air that’s snuck back in, her nipples stiffening as a breeze taunts her. 

Her legs spread for him as he moves closer, allowing him to slot himself between her thighs- a gasp on her tongue when his cock brushes against her core. Cloth grinding against her wet clit, feeling the outline of him against her. She groans and tries to wrap her legs around his hips, only for his hand to find her thigh- a steady palm pressing it back against the mattress. And his other hand finds hers, his large warm palm eclipsing hers, fingers intertwining with her own- as he presses another quick kiss to her lips, the next to her collarbones, another to the top of her breasts, then the heat of his mouth is around her nipple. 

“Fuck,” she curses, a hiss of breath as pleasure sparks across her skin- Gale sucks harshly at her chest, teasing her nipple with his tongue, just the hint of his teeth on the fullest part of her breast, and the scratch of his beard on her skin. 

She whines and whimpers, fingers knotting in his hair- his hands on her hand and thigh keeping her pinned beneath his weight, only able to arch and squirm against his mouth. Her hips try to writhe on instinct, trying to find friction against her core, trying to refind it. But he presses a little harder on her thigh, keeping his full weight off her, too much empty space between them for her to be sated. A frustrated whine in her throat as he pulls off her breast with a soft wet sound, not offering her any relief to her core or even acknowledgement of his torture, only a small hungry groan as he takes her other breast into his mouth. 

The air feels even colder on her spit slick chest, nipple swollen and redder, a scratch of flushed beard burn left behind. Sharp contract making her squirm all the more as he makes the other match. Her sounds pathetic and needy, as he teases her sensitive chest. Every swipe of his tongue, brush of his teeth, scratch of his beard, and hungry reverberating groan against her skin sends a pulse of pleasure between her thighs. 

“Gale,please,” she keens, not even sure what she’s begging for, more or less- if she’s squirming to press herself tighter to his face or trying to escape the laving of his tongue on her body. But she can only whine when her cry is met with a groan that echoes against her, reverberates in her bones, seeps through her veins, and settles in the wet heat between her thighs. 

His lips pull away from her chest, the hand that had been pressed into hers slips away- palm stroking down her forearm, along her collarbones as Gale’s mouth moves lower. Soft kisses beneath the curve of her breast, down the middle of her stomach, his thumb brushing over her nipple- his fingers nearly chasing after his mouth as he moves down her body. Lips kissing over her belly button as he squeezes at her breast, the sink of his hands into the squish of her chest, large warm hand groping and teasing while he works his mouth even lower. 

“Gale,” she whines again, as he presses her thigh tighter to the bed, his beard scratching just at the waistband of her pants. His hand skims down from her breast, fingers pressing soft divots into her hip. Then hook into her waist band, her thigh released finally as he mirrors the gesture of his other.His deep brown eyes looking up as her. 

“May-” 

“Please,” she cuts him off, hissing her consent, the ragged sound of his voice only making her desparate for more of him. He smiles, far too sweet for a man about to strip her naked- another soft kiss beneath her navel and then he’s tugging her clothes down. 

She does her best to make it easy for him, lifting her hips as he rolls the fabric down them, moving her legs as needed when he finally yanks the clothes from her body. Her dearest magician having made sure to grab her underwear with them as well. Petra laid completely bare before him, The air just as cold on the slick  heat of her cunt as it’s been to her split slick breasts. A chill curling along her spine, reminding her that despite the plush mattress and the soft downy blankets hugging her skin, they’re unmistakably outside. Conjured bed in the midst of the field, twinkling stars and kaleidoscopes of colors still dancing over head- bathing her blush touched skin in their glow. 

Petra presses a hand to her mouth, trying halfway to hide her crimson face as her other hand hovers to hide her cunt. She can’t imagine the sight she must make- red faced, tangled hair against the pillow, throat mottled by his teeth, chest marked with saliva, the red scratch of beard burn lingering along her flesh and slick clinging to the meat of her thighs. The mess his mouth has made of her on full display. 

His fingers are warm and reverant when they wrap around her wrist, plucking her hand from where it covers her cunt- exposing her even further as he presses a kiss to her palm. 

“None of that, my love,” he whispers against her skin. Her nose wrinkles, heat still burning through her face- no words find her, so she pulls her hand from her mouth and sticks her tongue out at him. Feeling his smile against her palm, a soft nip of teeth against her wrist. 

His hand falls away from her wrist, Petra scratches her nails through his beard before allowing her own to drop. A gasp catching in her throat when the broad warmth of his palms presses against both of her thighs. Her knees bending as she allows him to spread her further apart, even more exposed- even more on display than she felt before. His deep brown eyes reverent and nearly eclipsed by his pupils as he looks down at her slick cunt- Petra squirms against the sheets and the press of his hands. 

“Gods,” he breathes out, her heart stuttering in her chest, “I could study for ages, read every tome and scroll in all of Faerun and still never be able to conjure a more beautiful sight than you.” 

“Gale…” She whines, burying her face in her hands- burning beneath his gaze and words, how can he say these things without a singular fucking drop of shame? And how can he mean every single word of it?

“I’m right here, love,” he answers, pressing his face into her inner thigh- soft lips and the scratch of his beard, her breathing hitches as he kisses her flesh. Another moving further inward, along her skin. His tongue licking the slick that clings to her, his teeth nipping bruises into her thigh. 

She squirms and writhes, anticipation coiling tight inside of her, only one goal with the direction of his kisses. Every lick and bite jolting phantom pleasure to her cunt, insides clenching and aching for something more direct, to feel that scratch of his beard and the lave of his tongue where she needs it most. No matter how embarassing the idea is. Need outweighing shame. 

And as he moves further between her thighs, he lowers himself down, closer and closer- the skin feeling all the more sensitive as he nears her cunt. His hands and arms shifting, pushing beneath her thighs- a warm support of flesh and bone, his palms settling on her hips, before pressing down. His steady hold preventing her squirming, pinning her in place as he sucks a harsh mark into her skin. 

“Please, Gale,” she whimpers, twisting both her hands into his hair, trying to squirm her hips to no avail. 

“You have not an ounce of patience, do you?” He murmurs against her thigh, blunt edges of his teeth nipping at her flesh. 

“Absolutely fucking not, not with you,” she whines, words burbling out, “I need you, please.” 

A smile pressed into her skin and she can see it in her mind, even if she can’t through her thigh- she bites her tongue, waiting for his words to spill forth again. Waits for more waiting. Waits for another three part sentence and enough verbiage to put a dictionary to shame, all needed before he may finally put his fucking mouth on her. 

The brush of breath on her wet cunt, his head shifting between her thighs- beneath her fingers and the heavy lave of his tongue through her center. Pleasure shockwaves through her, a half stuttered curse on her lips as her hips jolt and her fingers dig into his scalp. His hands press down harsher on her hips, mattress and blankets denting beneath her, keeping her still as the heat of his mouth consumes her every thought and feeling. 

A practised tongue works her over, laving through her slit, dipping inside of her and lapping at the slick that rushes out of her. Each swipe of his tongue only drawing more from her, making her cunt clench around his tongue, feeling herself soak the scratch of his beard. A hungry groan against her, reverberating and twisting the coil inside of her tighter, sounding like a man starved- her insides burn, her hips try to writhe, to find even more friction as his tongue traces every inch of her. 

Groans and wet noises against her, echoing and hanging in the open air, mingling with the nonsense of whines and pleads that she can’t seem to stop. Body and voice hardly her own as she's taken apart by every hungry lick into her cunt, pleasure burning hotter and coil dragging tighter. 

A bump of his nose against her swollen clit and she's thrown over the edge, embarrassingly easy, a thunder of pleasure through her veins- coil snapping and body on fire as it consumes her very being. Only distantly aware that she's thrashing, gasping, and pressing down harsher on Gale's skull as her body jolts. Pleasure ravages her, his tongue and lips toying with her clit all the while, Gale burying his face into her as he pushes her end further and further, harsh sucks on her swollen flesh, pushing her back into ecstasy's grip anytime it threatens to let her go. 

Not so much as cumming again, but Gale refusing to let her stop. Drawing her pleasure out, the faintest sign of it waning met with a firm nearly painful swipe of his tongue or suck against her clit, tracing patterns against it that her blanking mind can’t make sense of- only able to call his name and thrash beneath him, as pleasure edges to near pain. 

And finally, he pulls away from her, orgasm crashing down and away to faint tremors versus an active quake. Her throat raw and aching from the noises he pulled from her, cunt throbbing and clenching at the sudden relief and gut wrenching absence- both somehow existing at once. Both missing his mouth and happy to be afforded the chance to come down from her high. 

Her breaths are ragged and raw, coming back to her body. Shame aching painfully in her chest, needling at her hammering heart. The first physical bodily orgasm wrung from her by another’s hand in two years. Brought to her end by the stray bump against her clit. Her celestial form not only prettier, but able to endure far more- it seems. 

And that shame only grows as the world fully returns to her, realizing just how tight her hands are wrenched in his hair- how harshly she’s pressing against his skull. His breath ragged and hot against her wet thigh, slick with sweat and more. And she can hear how out of breath he is, how she nearly stole the very air from his lungs- nearly drowned him in her. 

“So-sorry,” she whispers, letting him go and hiding behind her hands, hating how desperate and ragged her voice is, “I uh, shit- didn’t mean to- I could’ve suffocated you, I’m so sorry, fuck-” 

For all her begging him to live, to stay- she nearly killed him with her fucking vagina. Because of fucking course that’s something she’d do. A pathetic excuse for a person, a lover, and just an existing thing. 

A huff of breath from him, hot on her already burning skin- it’s light and bubbles into a small laugh, another kiss to her thigh. The bed shifts beneath her, his arms and hands pulling away- Petra dares to peek between her fingers. Gale moves over her- his cheeks ruddy with exertion, his hair sweaty and mussed, beard and lips wet with slick. His grin only wider, more boyish when he meets her eyes through the gaps of her fingers- his own wrapping around her wrists.

Delicately, he prises her hands from her face. 

“I can think of no better death, than one between your thighs.”

She snorts, a breathless laugh,; “Oh yeah, sure, and I’d be the one stuck explaining your naked corpse to K'ha'ssji'trach'ash.” 

“He may appreciate the chuckle, but do remember the ‘chhh’ sound, comes from the back-”

“I know,” she retorts bluntly, her wizard only laughing in response. She can still remember how her nerves rattled the first time she was tasked with saving Gale’s life. Not evening knowing at the time just how much more precious that life would become to her. Terrified of saying a single wrong syllable of the mephit’s name, moving the thread to the wrong side, or hiting a wrong note on that stupid fucking flute. 

Keeping him alive will be the death of her, but as he settles slightly next to her- arms curling beneath and around her- her cunt still throbbing with her drawn out orgasm, his body warm, and his open palm cupping her jaw… She can hardly say she’ll mind. 

“I must say, I do feel assured knowing you’d bring me back again.” 

“Of course, as many times as it takes,” she admits, her next breath swallowed by his lips. His tongue heavy with the taste of her, his kiss and beard wet with her slick, a muffled groan in her throat at the very thought. 

She chases to deepen the kiss as much as she can, pressing into his chest- resting her hand over his forearm. Her tongue pushes deeper into his mouth, her insides aching again, even with the throb of near pain between her thighs from her overstimulation. The soft wet sound of their kisses, her own sigh muffled between their mouths as his mouth starts to taste less like her and more like him. 

His forearm flexes beneath her fingers, his palm leaving her jaw, the other hand still holding her close and brushing her ribs. Before she can break the kiss or see where his other hand is traversing, she feels his fingers on her lower stomach and skimming down her body. 

“Gale,” she whispers against his lips, thighs squeezing together- his fingers already teasing along her mound, scratching through the sparse patch of dark hair above her cunt. He hums against her cheek, pressing a kiss to her jaw- “I can’t… again.” 

Her words are stuttered and breathy, not at all convincing- she’s still thrumming after her last orgasm, cunt still aching and sensitive, every cell of her being an exposed livewire he seems intent to keep playing with. 

“You can’t… do what exactly?”He asks, voice edged with teasing as he bites at her jawline. Her thighs draw tighter together as his finger start to push between them. Whining as he kisses at her neck and she can already feel that coil starting to twist again. 

“Can’t- cum again, too, mm… too soon, let me touch you instead,” she manages through the kisses and bites against her throat. Petra starts to move her hand that’s been placed in the narrow space between their bodies, groping downward- frustrated with the fabric still clinging to his lower half. 

“There’s never too soon enough time to touch you,” he whispers against her throat. 

“Gale, please,” she gasps, feeling him groan against her as her palm cups him through his pants- hard within his clothes, twitching beneath her touch. 

“Spread your legs for me, dear,” he requests and she knows she’ll fall apart so quick, that the pleasure may ache into pain, but she needs him, the promise of his fingers too much. Petra clumsily obeying, spreading her legs;  “There we are, so good for me.” 

The words go start to her cunt, followed shortly by his fingers- the faintest brush over her swollen clit. She gasps, his name on her lips as she tries not to lose focus on where her own hand is, squeezing at his hard-on, trying to offer him some fraction of the pleasure he’s so persistent on pouring into her. A strained groan against her neck as his fingers start to swirl around her clit, a wet slide and building friction, already painfully close. 

“Fuck, Gale,” she hisses, haphazardly trying to yank at the laces of his pants- cursing herself that she can pick the strongest locks in Faerun but can’t yank open her lover’s fucking pants between the odd angle, not being able to properly see what she’s doing, the mouth at her pulse point, and the finger slowly pressing into her. 

“You already feel so perfect around me,” he speaks against her neck as a single thick warm finger pushes into her, opening her up, curling into her- her cunt clenching around him, her head thumping back against the pillows as she gasps. Soul sex aside, it’s the thickest thing she’s had in her in years, her own thin nimble fingers not comparing to his broad palms and long thick fingers. 

“Please, please, Gale,” she breathes, not sure if she’s asking for more fingers or for help undoing his pants. Maybe both. 

She gets a kiss beneath her ear, another finger pushing into her- slow and methodical in his pace. Not seeking to push her into immediate orgasm again, but to stretch her further apart, to see how deep he can fill her with the twist of his fingers. That pleasure building, aching inside of her as his lips kiss up her ear. Small wet presses that sends little chills as he nears the pointed tips of her ears. Feeling herself coating his fingers in wet, slick and accepting as the press of his thick solid fingers. 

“You’re so beautiful, you’re taking my fingers so well,” he murmurs before kissing right at the point of her ear, nipping the sensitive skin and she jolts- face hot with pleasure and shame at how easy she is to take apart. 

Then he starts to pump his fingers, no longer idly stretching and curling, finding a rhythm as he rocks them in and out of her cunt. A desperate cry on her lips, fingers dragging in and out of her slick heat- toying and curling in to press at her nerves, only to pull back and push back in. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she cries, not able to come up with any other word- even when the laces of his pants finally come undone with her frantic tugging. Biting her lip and groaning when she can finally- finally, shove her hand down his pants, beneath his underwear, hard solid cock finally in her grasp as she barely manages to pull it free from his clothes. 

“Fuck,”Gale grits out, a rare curse for the wizard- for once all other words but profanity failing him. His fingers in her cunt pause as she wraps her own around him. The hand on her ribs pulls her tighter, as she feels the heat of him against her palm. Can feel the weight of his cock, can trace the veins along his length as she runs her fingers over him- the stick of precum when she touches the head. Gale breathing rough and ragged against her temple. 

“Gods, I can’t even get my fingers around you,” she blurts out, taking the rare chance to be the talkative one- surprised by just how thick he is in her hand. She’s no halfling or gnome, but her favorite wizard stands a good foot or more taller than her- size difference palpable in how her fingers struggle to meet around him. 

He bites beneath her ear,rocking his fingers back into her- pace harsher and rough as she tries to stroke him. Smearing precum down his cock as best she can, trying to make an easier slide of her hand up and down his cock, feeling it twitch against her fingers. A rough ragged groan against her skin, her insides clenching as his fingers fuck into her- thoughts of how his cock will feel, how much more it’ll split her open, making the drag of his fingers that much slicker. 

“So pretty in my arms, love- right where you belong, so sweet and desperate for me,” he rasps against her ear and she squeezes her fingers around him, feeling the stutter and stall in his hand inside of her. The strained growl against her jaw, his expression furrowed and tense- his jaw visibly clenched, eyes clenched shut. Perhaps the first time he’s fully taken his eyes off of her. 

He doubles his efforts between her thighs, working his fingers more harshly into her, fucking his fingers roughly into her. Each thrust and drag along her insides making her sees stars and not just the ones he’s conjured for her. Pleasure spiking higher and higher, building her up- her cunt clenching around him. She tries to work her own hand faster too, cursing herself for not having more experience with this sort of anatomy. 

And then a thought, a singular thought manages to surge above the fog his fingers have put into her mind. She needs it to be wetter, slicker, his precum helping but not enough for her liking. Her gestures are sloppy and messy, haphazard with need- pulling her hand off of him, he curses faintly, the feeling of his eyes back on her. She leans forward just a little to drool against her hand, gathering as much spit and saliva as she can, strands straining from her lips. Spit dribbling down her chin and she can only hope he’s not disgusted by the sight, but it’s left her hand wet. Another ragged breath, inhale and exhale against her as she wraps her spit slick fingers around him. 

His lips surge forward, catching her own in a messy crash, teeth clanging together as he kisses her- his tongue swiping to catch the spit that clings to her her skin, hungrily groaning into her mouth. She tries to keep up, tightens her grip as much as she can without fearing hurting him, her hand sliding up and down much easier with the glide of her drool and his precum. The piss poor excuse for lube allowing her to at the very least move her hand faster, trying to match the pace he’s set with his fingers inside of her. His palm presses down more firmly, the heel of hand finding her clit. A rough tempest of pleasure jolting through her nerves. 

And it’s a rough mix of kisses, moving hands. Being fucked apart by his fingers, grinding against her clit, pushing her closer and closer. A echoing squelch as he takes her apart, the wet slide of flesh against flesh as she strokes his cock- the hungry groans and soft sounds of their kisses, everything consuming her every sense. Pushing her closer and closer, coil pulling tighter, tighter. The drag and tease of him inside of her, the grind against her sensitive clit- the promise of what’s come with his cock twitching in her hand, the bite of his teeth against her lower lip. 

The world seems to split apart, crack open, and fall away from her- everything crashed into pleasure, thrown over the edge again. Twitching and writhing beneath his hand, hips thrashing and fucking herself through the shocks. The faint curse and snarl against her lips, the twitch in her hands- the heat of seed spilling over her fingers and hip

Then she’s falling, world truly carrening out from beneath her, yelping as her ass thumps painfully into the muck. A sharp jolt of pain through her tailbone, Gale trying to tug her closer, squeezing her tightly as the world physically shifts around them, his face burying into her hair. 

“Gods damn it.” 

Petra tries to process the sudden mix of just plain fucking pain. The cold cling of mud to her ass, blinking through the blissed out fog in her mind- no longer coated in the green blue glow of a shifting sky. No longer is her ass burried in a soft silken mass of blankets and sheets, now aching in the cold cling of muddy shadow curse dirt. The only light a mounted torch with faint flickering orange flames. There’s no traces of Gale’s illusions, just him and Petra- naked and sweaty in a patch of mud. The wizard holding her tightly, his face hidden in the top of her head- possibly the most bashful she’s ever seen him, even in their awkward little flirting moments, she’s never known him to physically hide his expression from her. 

“Gale… honey?” She says, using a rare term of endearment for her- those usually his territory. 

“Mmhm,” he hums vaguely against her scalp. 

“I have mud on my ass.” 

“As do I.” 

“Is there a particular reason why?” She tries, trying not to laugh as she tries to understand why he’s suddenly thrown them into the muck- if he wanted to rut in the dirt, she wouldn’t have been opposed to it, but it seems a little sudden and out of character for a man who still tries desperately to smell like lavender and bath oils while traipsing through the wilderness for days on end. 

“Ah well,” he murmurs, finally pulling back and allows her to see his face- cheeks ruddy, sweat beading his skin, his eyes looking down at his slick wet fingers, “Some conjuring and illusionary spells require… concentration to be maintained. And while my multitasking abilities are certainly exemplary,that focus can be particularly hard to keep when…” 

“When you’re getting jerked off?” 

“Not the wording I would have chosen, but- yes,” he admits, still avoiding her eyes. 

And she tries- she truly tries, biting her lip and gritting her teeth, because she wants to be mindful of his embarrassment. But her stomach tenses as a rush of laughter burbles out, snorting as giggles turn to cackles, pressing her hands to her mouth- body aching as she cracks up. 

She made him cum so hard the fucking spell broke. It’s so ridiculous, it’s so asinine, she can’t help but laugh- the pain in her tailbone now eclipsed by way her belly aches in laughter. And it only dies when she looks back at Gale, his head bowed slightly still- his eyes avoiding her and guilt eats at her heart. A part of her having hoped he’d be laughing along, that he’d see the humor in this. 

“Gale..” She whispers his name, her voice a little ragged and rough. 

“My apologies, I- this is not how I wanted this night to go for us, for you,” he explains, face far too contrite and shamed for what is just a silly little mishap, “I think, perhaps, another night if I conserve more of my energy during the day than I did today, I should be able to maintain the illusions for longer.” 

“Gale…” 

“Or perhaps, I can do just a little more research, see if I can find variations that require less concentration or maybe none at all,” he prattles onward, “I swear, my love, I can give you the night you deserve, I just may need more preparation than I expected, but I will make this up to you, I’ll-” 

“Gale!” She yells his name more firmly, finally looking at her- his eyes soft and vulnerable and she feels like she’s scolded a puppy but she leans forward to cup his face, “There is nothing for you to make up for.” 

“We’re lying in mud, my dear.” 

“Yes, we are lying in the mud and my stomach is streaked in cum because I jerked you off so hard you forgot how to be wizard for a minute- I’m not mad, it’s really fucking funny,” she reiterates, nuzzling his nose with hers as she tries to swallow her giggles- desperately trying to get him to just laugh. His lips curl into a shadow of a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach those big brown eyes. 

“Perhaps- but I didn’t bring you here to make you laugh, I brought you here to give you a perfect night, to make the joining of our bodies as beautiful as the joining of our souls. And we are lying in mud, you deserve more… I want to give you more.” 

“Gale, the night we joined souls you started off by showing me a book of people sixty-nining.” 

“A very poignant and beautiful book about newlyweds becoming one in every sense of the word-”

“By putting their mouths on each other’s genitals.” 

“That was one aspect of the process, yes- however-” 

She silences him with a kiss, soft and chaste- just enough to muffle the words threatening to pour from his lips. Petra pulls just a half breath away, leaning her forehead against Gale’s. Feeling the warmth of him, the cling of the sweat on both of them, smelling the salt of it on him. 

“I love you,” she murmurs, whispers it and hopes he can feel the adoration she pours into every syllable, meeting his gaze head on as her voice cracks, “I love you so fucking much and you’re so so much more than I deserve- and if you cannot believe that, trust that I do, that I truly mean it.” 

“I do, I truly do, I just, everything you’ve done for me, everything that you are- you deserve the world.” 

“And yet the only thing I want from it is you.” 

“Petra…” 

“So, for a moment, worry less about what you think I deserve and listen to what I want,” she asks, murmuring against his lips, skimming her thumb over his cheekbone, “I don’t need perfection and I don’t need pageantry and I don’t care if it’s messy or funny or weird- I want you, I need you. So please, let me have you. Don’t pull away, don’t scuttle off and worry yourself to pieces because something went wrong. Laugh with me, kiss me, fuck me- gods damn it.” 

“Anything for you, dear,” he says and their lips come together again, another reverent press of their mouths- she places her palm against his shoulder, pushing softly.

Quick witted as ever, he gets the idea- laying back for her and shifting off of his side, onto his ass properly as she throws a leg over his hips. His still hard cock bumping against her cunt as she settles on top of him. Breaking their kiss to pepper them across his jaw, nipping at his flesh through his beard, kissing down the marks that curl across his neck. Following them to the middle of his chest, where the orb burned through his flesh- pressing a kiss where the skin is forever bruised blue. The deep rumble of a groan in his throat making heat rush between her thighs. 

She sits back a bit, looking down at him- sweat tangled hair, ruddy cheeks, chest laid bare beneath her, and the faint orange glow of the torch light. Her hands run up his chest, thick and broad beneath her- body hair the roughest part of him, scratching beneath her palms. 

“Absolutely perfect,” she whispers, raking her nails along the swell of his pecs. 

“My thoughts exactly,” he returns, his hands gripping her hips as he smears a thumb through the streaks of cum still on her skin, and she can’t resist rolling her eyes- as if she wasn’t the one to initiate this round of corniness. 

Through the flickers of amber light, she notices a flash of deep purple fabric- Gale’s sleep shirt he’d tossed aside earlier. She lifts up a little further on her knees, leaning over him to reach for it, twisting her fingers in the soft fabric. 

“Eep!” She yelps at the sudden heat of his tongue and mouth on her chest, a sharp nip to the underside of her breast- “That is not why I was leaning over!” 

He smiles and laughs against her chest as she playfully swats at his chest, settling back to her position- his tunic still dangling from her fingers. Gale smiling up at her, too handsome for her to feel any measure of malice. 

“You can hardly blame for falling to temptation, especially when it comes to you.” 

“You underestimate just how much I’m willing to blame you for anything,” she teases before shifting forward just slightly- “Lift your back up a bit for me?”

“Of course,” he obliges, quickly getting her intent as they softly arrange his sleep shirt on the ground- it’s no four poster bed, but it’ll get his back out of the mud. 

“Not much, but-” 

“I feel positively pampered.” 

“Well, I do live to spoil you,” she teases back, considering for a moment wrangling his pants and underwear down further- his cock still the only thing that’s freed. But, that also means his ass has a modicum of coverage against the mud. Spoiling him again- obviously. 

Petra keeps one hand steady on his chest and the other reaches beneath her, feeling again the heat and weight of his cock in her hand. She hums, whines as she steadies her grip around the base of him- a groan deep in his chest, rumbling beneath her as she drags the head of his cock along her cunt. Her body aches with need as she lines him up with her entrance, Gale's hands grip her tighter. His fingers dip into her skin as his breath hitches and his jaw clenches tight. 

And she sinks down, her voice straining into a wordless cry as the head of his cock slides into her. Barely even inside of her and already stretching her wide, even having had him in her hand, but she needs to take a moment- not expecting just how much she’d be split open.Not painful, far too slick and ready for it to do anything feel incredible, if just a little new for her. 

A strained creak in his tone: “That’s it, no rush- take your time, if it’s too much, you only need to say the word.” 

“Gods no, no, it feels good- really fuckin’ good,” she assure him, voice rough and breathy, biting her lip as she starts to slowly lower herself down further, “So, so fucking good, fuck.” 

“There you are, taking me so well- perfect around me, like you were made for me,” he praises, voice gritted and his fingers grasping her tighter as her cunt clenches around him, the adoration stirring her insides as his cock buries within them. 

Every inch a deeper press, a tighter stretch, never painful but always full- like he could truly split her apar at any moment. But it’s never too much, the drag and sink of him perfect, absolutely perfect. A babble of breathless noise and nonsense on her tongue as she he carves a path into her- her hips finally settling when she’s about to scream out and there’s no more of him to take. Feeling the faint scratch of his body hair where they join, barely tugged down pants rough against her thighs and ass. 

The back of his head hits the dirt, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat- his eyes closed as his moves just slightly beneath her. Bracing his feet in the dirt, knees bending slightly as his hips lift up. Bucking inside of her, a sharp lightning strike of pleasure ripping through her- lurching her forward body forward, bracing her hands against his chest as she cries out. 

“Fuck!” 

“Ah, sorry, are you-” 

“Yes, yes, I’m fine, I’m good, gods, I’m good,” she rushes to assure him, digging her nails into his skin, leaning forward to kiss at his jaw, groaning against his skin when it grinds him against her insides. 

Tentatively, she starts to rock herself on top of him, cursing as she starts to lift off him just a bit, whining at the drag of him inside of her. His hands allowing her to move, guiding her gently despite the harsh dig of his nails, digging red ragged crescents into her skin- blue bruises forming beneath his harsh touch. 

Petra barely pulls up before she lowers herself back down, his name on her lips as she’s filled with him again. Her grip on him only growing more desperate- more bruising, as she starts to find a harsher, quicker pace- bouncing herself on his cock, body thrumming and pleasure twisting tight as she tries to slam down hard enough on him. Tries to hit the right spot inside of her, grind her clit just right against his skin as she tries to set her pace. Her motions frantic and desperate, smearing and streaking slick across his skin and clothes, every desperate slam of her hips making her that much wetter, that much more accommodating, body frantic to welcome him into her over and over again. 

“Gods, your cunt doesn’t even want to let go of me, look so pretty with my cock inside of you,” he groans, her inside clenching at his choice of words, Gale’s cheeks flushed beneath the dark hair of his beard- his face screwed tight with his pleasure as his cock twitches inside of her squeezing walls. Petra in a frenzy as she fucks herself stupid, rides him as hard as she can, getting pushed closer and closer to the brink- pathetically close to her end, just a little more, a little more. 

His hands move further back,  curling around her ass, sinking his fingers into the plush flesh- her whimpering at the grope, the feeling of his warm digging into her- squeezing her so tightly. Harsh and firm, when hips roll into her, thrusting in as she sinks down- striking the very nerves she couldn't quite hit hard enough, a torrent of heat and need, stars dancing before her eyes without any magic. The force of his hips jolts her, her shaky arms giving out, her body collapse flush to his chest, nails digging into him as her face presses into his sweat slick skin. Pliant and boneless as Gale takes over the pace, gripping his ass tight between his hands and steadying her as he fucks her apart. 

And it’s pitiful how much better it is with him in control, Gale knowing her body and what she needs or perhaps just that much better at giving it to her. Harsh brutal snaps of his hips, every rut of him into her making her body thrum, her mind blanked with every strike at her deepest parts. Carving her out, splitting her open, burying himself into her over and over again- the wet squelch of him into her. Holding her vise tight to his chest, her sensitive tits scratched by his body hair a his motions rock and shift her against him. One hand leaving her ass to wrap around her middle, holding her tighter, clinging closer- his face buried to her temple as he fucks into her, uses her, splits her insides, and makes her body fit hims so perfectly. Not even able to hear or comprehend the whispers and praise whispered against her sweat tangled hair- gripping him tighter, Gale inside her and yet somehow nowhere near close enough. Not able to cling tight enough, not able to burrow far enough into his skin as she burns beneath the sharp bruising pace he drives into her. 

Then it all snaps, world shattering and cracking apart, crying out against his chest- mind empty with nothing but pleasure, clenching tight as he pulses inside of her. Squeezing around him, thrashing within his grasp, toes and fingers clenching- curling against him, around him, into him.

A few more harsh thrusts, rushed and hurried into her, followed by a rush of heat. The spill of cum into her insides, burning hot in her cunt, filling her- flooding her, warm in her fucked raw body. She pants and sighs against his skin, breaths rough as she comes back to earth and with no falling this time. He holds her like a promise, tight and reverent, kissing across her scalp and forehead as he rolls through the last of his ebbs of pleasure. Messy as he fills her with his cum, whining against his flesh, she feels it split out between the space where they connect. Filled to the brink with him, overflowed and spilling over with it, feeling it stick and cling to their thighs, their hips, where they meet. The languid slowly roll of him into her fucking his seed back into her, before his hips finally still as the last drop fills hers her, only to drip out again. 

They lay in the flickering torch light, skin wet with sweat and settling into each other’s flesh. His heart thunders and pounds beneath his skin, where her ear is pressed tight to him. Able to hear the desperate race and her own hammers in kind, in pace with each other, some relief that may be as ruined and ragged by her as she is by him. Only the sound of thundering hearts and them catching their breath, the faintest chirp of insects from the shadows. 

Slowly, steadily, the moments tick forward but time hardly feels like it’s touching them. Only the calming of their breaths and hearts marking the passage. His hands stroke and rub along her back, tracing her sweaty spine, both reach down to idly rub and stroke her lower back, pressing gentle reverence into her aching muscles. His lips burning adoration where they kiss her scalp, skim the scar of her forehead- she shifts to tuck her chin against his chest, looking up at his soft loving gaze. 

His hands push the hair off her forehead, cup her cheeks, thumbs stroking over the freckles that mark her face. A breath of a kiss against her forehead, her eyes closing beneath the touch. 

“Absolutely beautiful,” he praises, her eyes opening, her nose wrinkling as she blows a raspberry at him and his stupidly precious compliments- he laughs, “And a complete brat.” 

“Hmm, you love it.” 

“That I do,” he reponds to her teasing, another kiss and she meets his his lips. Sighing softly, knowing they can’t stay like this forever. 

Gently, she sits herself back up,Gale’s hands roaming down her sides- not missing the crease of disappointment in his brow when she’s no longer pressed flushed to his chest. She blinks, swallowing a gasp as she looks down at him. Rough raised scratches now mark his chest, thin red lines where her nails streaked his flesh and just managed to break it. Gently, her nails brush the marks. 

“Sorry, I’ll rub some salve and balsam ointment over it for you when we get back,” she promises, guilt creeping in- her nails are polished and due to her left, often have more dirt on them than she’d like- she could cause him an infection, “Maybe I should learn a healing cantrip or two…” 

“Thought you believed relying too much on healing magic was a crutch,” he asks, smiling up at her as he chimes the words she’s spoken so many a times when him or Shadowheart try to heal her when she only needs a bandage or a few dozen stitches. 

“I mean, for me, yes,” she murmurs, knowing it’s hypocritical- but it’s different when it’s him- he smiles, placing his hands over hers. She pulls her palms from his marked skin, bringing them to the press of his lips. 

“Worry not, dear- I hardly mind being marked by you,” he promises her, smiling against her knuckles and her nose wrinkles, his sweet words stirring her heart and only one response falls to her lips. 

“Blegh,” she spats, mock gagging at his corny existence, even if her cheeks are flushed and her heart thumping- he drops her hands, reaching out quick and giving a small sharp swat of his hand to her ass- “Ah, hey!” 

“Do not make gagging noises whilst I am inside of you,” he hisses, voice raised and incredulous- with just the softest edge of a laugh, his lips pulling back to a smile as she giggles. 

“Fine,” she reponds, rolling laguidly off of him- letting his cock slip out of her and plopping into the mud beside of him, giving a pointed look- “Blech!” 

“Darling-” 

“What I’ll no longer gag while you’re inside of me,” she promises, teasing him and his choice of words. His brown eyes rolls, a tut on his lips as he looks at her, before a different glint places. 

“Well, there can certainly be exceptions to the rule, should you wish,” he teases and after a beat, his meaning catches her- a way he’d be tucked inside of her that he’d accept her gagging, the idea of tasting him, and feeling him in her throat… 

“Is that something you’d wish?” She asks back, smiling a little- grin only widing when he clears his throat. 

“Another time, right now…” His voice trails and she watches him shift slight, a a little strained groan of pain his throat. 

“Your back killing you?” 

“Terribly so,” he admits, shaking his head and starting to sit up with a small grunt- his old achey muscles and joints always giving him issues. But it doesn’t stop him from pulling her over, tucking her into his lap as he sits; “Here, lets get you out out of the mud, dear.” 

She giggles, nuzzling into his neck as he make her plop her cum and dirt streaked ass in his lap. And as the afterglow fades and reality settles in her bones, she starts to realize some increasingly pressing concerns. The two are streaked in sweat, mud, and fluids. Her fingers brushing flecks of dirt off Gale’s shoulders, where his skin still met the dirt. His hair messy and tangled with little clumps of dirt, his skin warm and smelling of sweat and musk, Petra unable to help inhaling against his chest. 

Beneath them, his shirt is caked in mud, grinding into the dirt under their bodies. His only kind of on pants streaked with cum, clearly stained, dirt on back of it. Her own clothes are tossed in the dirt as well, having hit the dirt through the illusion. Mud on her back and some clinging to her ass, streaked where his fingers groped her- a mess of cum between her thighs. 

And they do have to go back to camp. 

“Uhm, do you have a spell to clean us and our clothes?” She asks, traces her nails over his neck. 

“Yes and no,” he explains, expression slightly tense, one hand on her hip, the other gesticulating with a pointed finger, “Prestidigitation can quite easily clean our clothes, with a bit of folding for mine perhaps, and is cantrip as well- fairly simple, only lasts an hour I”m afraid, but that would certainly be long enough to get back and safely tuck ourselves away in our tent.” 

“Mmhm..” 

“However, it is specific to objects and those of a certain footage, which- you and I do not qualify as. And between our fights of the day and my illusionary work, it’ll take a good nights rest before I can cast much more than a cantrip, so…” 

“So, our clothes will be clean, but we’ll be traipsing back with dirt on our skin and reeking of sex,” she double checks because there’s no river near the clearing- the camp using warmed basins of conjured magic for a while now. Which are back at camp. Where their companions are. 

“Or we could stay here for a night…” 

“And keep tally of the number of shadow cursed insects that inevitably crawl up our assholes.” 

“There are the bugs…” 

“I think we may have to face the music on this one,” she says, knowing sculking and sneaking back to camp is not a choice- not with Gale’s knees. 

“Alas, reality returns far too soon,” he muses, looking down at her where she’s still balanced within his arms and her cheek to his chest, “Still the night you wanted?” 

She giggles- they’re caked in mud, sweat, and cum. Sitting in the muck of a cursed lands, the threat of returning to camp to prying eyes and questioning voices. The only reason they can even safely sit here with monsters prying flesh from their limbs and darkness creeping into their souls is the blessing of a captured pixie. Demands of goddesses and moonstruck kingdoms ran by cults all on the horizon. But his arms are wrapped flush around her, the smell of his skin in her nose, the ache of where he was inside her. Skin marked in his love. 

“It’s perfect.”

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale/tav #gale/fem!tav #bg3 fanfic #this is also going up on my ao3 and i'll reblog with the link if anyone prefers that method #but i finally had something I could throw on this blog again

[blackjackkent]

Occurs to me that I forgot to get Karlach's first engine upgrade and almost let the tieflings wander off again without doing it. We know from Hector's run that she can survive not doing it until Last Light (although it did break the romance and I had to use console commands to re-enable it :P ), but I remembered in time so we might as well do it now.

And oh hey, while popping in camp to get her, looks like Gale has something to talk about! I'm sure it is something normal and not world-shattering at all.

After giving him another pair of magical boots to snack on, he looks at her with a very dismayed expression.

"Good gods," he murmurs. "It hardly has any effect. Mystra have mercy on us all." He shifts uneasily from foot to foot. "Listen - I need to speak to you. To all of you. It would be unconscionable of me to remain silent."

Rakha's eyes fix on him at once, attentively. It seems he finally means to give answers about this condition and what it involves - something she has been deeply frustrated not to receive already. "Go on," she says curtly. A slight pause, and then she adds slightly more quietly, remembering their shared experience channeling the Weave, "You're among friends."

There's only a hint of irony in the words. She knows perfectly well that Gale does not fully trust her, even now. But he is ready to talk, regardless, it seems.

He laughs softly through his nose at the comment. "I might just be about to remedy that," he murmurs. "You have to know... who I was. You have to know who I really am."

Rakha does not even know who she really is, let alone anyone else, but she says nothing, just nods.

"What I am," he goes on gravely, "is a walking shadow of the promise I once held. I'm... what one might call a wizard prodigy, who from an early age could not only control the Weave but compose it - much like a musician, or a poet."

She remembers the way he guided her into the depths of the Weave, pulled it through them and around them like a blanket. Yes. She can believe this. She nods again.

"Such was my skill," he continues, "that it earned me the attention of the mother of magic herself. The Lady of Mysteries. The goddess Mystra. She revealed herself to me and she became my teacher. In time, she became my muse, and later even my lover."

This gives Rakha some pause. He speaks very casually of meeting the goddess face to face - the source of power that she felt that night in the Weave. The deity whose face Gale held in the palm of his hand. Muse? Lover?

She remembers her raw, violent night with Lae'zel, tries to picture knowing that her partner controlled the very fabric of magic itself. It is difficult to conceive. "Are you telling me you made love to a goddess?" she asks skeptically.

He smiles slowly, a flicker of nostalgic glee. "Oh yes." Then his expression calms back into sober strain. "We enjoyed each others' company - body, mind, and soul. But even so, I desired more. You see... no matter how powerful a wizard we mortals can become, we never scratch more than the surface of the Weave. Mystra keeps us in check. There are boundaries she doesn't let us cross. Yet every time I was with her, I stood on the precipice, gazing into the wonders that lay beyond." His lips tighten in a frown. "I sought to cross her boundaries."

She focuses for a moment on the everpresent tingle of magic along her skin, her awareness of the fabric of magic as she experiences it. She tries to imagine what he might mean, of power beyond it, greater still. "How exactly did you try to cross those... boundaries?" she asks.

"I tried to convince her. I pouted, I pleaded, I swore my ambition was only to serve her better. But she only smiled and told me to be contented." He smiles bitterly. "As inconceivable as it seems to me now, I shared a bed with a goddess, and yet I wasn't satisfied. So I sought to prove myself worth to her instead." A pause. He sets his jaw with determination. "We come now to the crux of my folly. Shall I share the story behind it, or would you rather head straight to its sordid finale."

Rakha, of course, wants information more than almost anything and all but demands that he explain in fully.

He tells her of the empire of Netheril, and how it fell after its lord sought to usurp Mystra's power and in doing so, destroyed his people, himself, and the Weave itself. He explains how Mystra put the pieces back together - all but one - and how Gale himself learned of a missing piece locked away in an ancient Netherese tome.

"What if, I thought," he says. "What if after all this time, I could return this lost part of herself to the goddess?"

Rakha's eyes narrow. She has little context for much of the world, but the concept of hubris is not a difficult one to grasp. "What was the answer to that question?" she asks.

"The answer was to try," he answers, as she could have expected. "The outcome was to fail." Again that flash of deep, self-recriminating bitterness. "I was certain that this deed of raw power draped in romance would convince Mystra to take me by the hand and welcome me into her hitherto forbidden domains. I was mistaken."

He crouches down before her, extends a hand towards hers. "I obtained the fabled book and took it into my study. As for what happened next... here. Place your hand over my heart. Let me show you."

She squints cautiously at him for a long moment, then reaches out and places her hand into his. He pulls it at once to his chest; she can feel the heavy thump of his heart under his robes. And something else, too - a pulsing of the Weave, a sucking, drawing-in sensation pulling desperately, greedily at the fabric of magic around it.

Narrator: You feel the tadpole quiver as you realize Gale is letting you in. Into the dark...

The connection opens between them and with it comes a roiling mass of deep, black pain, dragging her headlong into his mind. She cries out, tries to jerk away, but her palm feels glued to his chest.

Narrator: You see through Gale's eyes, staring down the corridors of a dread memory. A book, bound, then suddenly opened. Inside there are no pages, only a swirling mass of blackest Weave that pounces. Its teeth, its claws - it's unstoppable as it digs through and becomes part of you. And gods... is it ever-hungry...

With a final wrenching effort, she pulls herself backwards, breaking the connection with a snap that resonates through her whole body.

Yank your hand away.

She draws back, stares at him from under hooded brows. It is as she first suspected some days ago - he too carries a hungry monster inside him, a creature of shadow that demands his action. He has mistrusted her, all this time - when he has known himself just as trapped by a force he does not control.

Or perhaps *because* of that.

He watches her as she draws away, his eyes fixed on her face. "Terrifying, isn't it?" he murmurs. "And that is only the beginning. This Netherese blight - this 'orb' for lack of a better word, is balled up inside my chest. And it needs to be fed. As long as I absorb traces of the Weave from potent enough sources, it remains quiet. Were it ever to fully destabilize, however..."

She can hear the threat in his voice and stiffens involuntarily. "Go on."

"I will erupt," he says flatly. "I don't know the exact magnitude of the eruption, but given my studies of Netherese magic, I'd say even a fragment as small as the one I carry... it'd level a city the size of Waterdeep."

Fear. It bursts through her immediately - and on its heels, anger. He has kept this from her, from all of them - the fact that he is a walking bomb wearing a man's face. And he has judged her for the monster in her head, when she did not make the choice to carry it as he did. He has endangered them all.

The beast growls in her head; she tries to shake it away, but the words slip out, angry, cold. "By rights I should kill you," she hisses.

He takes a step back. He is well aware of her ability and willingness to carry through on the threat - but he does not look afraid so much as terribly sad. "Perhaps that is what I deserve," he agrees softly. "But you deserve no such thing. To kill me is to unleash the orb." Another step back. "All of this... it must feel like a betrayal. Say the word, and we'll part ways."

It would be easy to let the beast slip free, to punish him, make him hurt for the injustice he has done to her. And she is sure the beast does not care one whit for any explosion that might follow.

But if he is right, then he cannot die, not here. And he cannot be sent away; in the wilderness alone, he would die almost as certainly.

And... he shared the Weave with her. No matter how angry she might be - that fact remains, flat and inescapable. He shared the Weave with her, and he shares the tadpole connection, and he is one of them, part of the small amount of the world that she knows, for better or for worse.

She looks inward, stares down the beast, and when it withdraws, she steps forward very slowly. Meeting Gale's eyes, she puts out her hand and rests it unmoving against his throat.

An unspoken message. I could kill you. I am angry, and the beast wishes it. But I. Will. Not.

Her hand falls to her side.

"We've come this far," she says curtly. "And we'll continue on together. This is how it will be."

He tenses at the touch, then slowly relaxes as she draws back. "That is... a great relief," he whispers hoarsely. "Oh, a great relief indeed. You..."

He pauses, then nods slowly, meeting her eyes, understanding what she has said - and what she hasn't, and what they share between them now for better or for worse. "You truly are a soul that steels my own," he says quietly. "From all my new-rallied heart, I thank you. I thank you all--" he adds, for the others have gathered around, listening with various degrees of concern. "I understand if you stand against me. I'm humbled if you stand with me. Either way, I will do my best not to let you down."

He steps forward, reaches out a hand and - when Rakha does not pull away - he rests his palm carefully on her shoulder. His eyes remain fixed on hers. "I stand at a precipice," he says. "But if you do not give up hope, neither shall I. I'll fight. I'll resist - as long as I can."

She nods slowly. Yes. We will resist - both of us with these dark beasts inside us. Perhaps... perhaps we will even succeed.

#bjk plays bg3 durge #rakha the dark urge #ok really very pleased with the ending of this :O #unexpectedly dramatic lol

[psychspark]

Wip Wednesday!

I was tagged by @causticcontemplation (thank you!) and I'm tagging @vilelithe even though I suspect they won't follow up, simply because I know they're always cooking something that I want to see.

I have three wips I'll share :)

Every Call And Cost (made to your heart) Chapter 13

“Nil!” Gale calls as soon as they enter camp and Nil knows right away that she will not be afforded the evening of rest she so desires. “Why did you tell Elminster you don’t know me?” Nil groans, dragging her feet as she trudges over to the two wizards. “Look, where I’m from snitches get shanked. If someone I don’t know asks after someone – whether I know them or not, whether I like them or not, no officer I’ve never heard of that fella.” “You aren’t Athkatlan?” Elminster asks, clearly amused by the situation. Nil smiles. “Did I really trick you?” “I could tell something was amiss; your accent was not chief among my suspicions.” “Hells yeah.” Nil grins and wonders if Mystra’s Chosen will respond to her fist bump when offered. He does. “Now that’s out of the way, please, Elminster, why are you here?” “Such a hurry you’re in, m’boy! Can’t you spare a bite to eat for an old man?” “Yeah, Gale, jeez. You didn’t even get him a seat.” Nil drags a stool over from Wyll’s tent. “There’s a peach in our rations I’ve had my eye on, but I’m sure it could be spared for such important company.” Gale narrows his eyes at her. “You’re on his side?” “It’s funnier.” Nil smiles.

Unnamed Shadowzel Travel Fic

Shadowheart checks her phone a final time before opening the door to her hostel room. It’s 12:47am in Amsterdam, just over two hours ago she was on a transcontinental flight, and her phone is sitting at a solid 7% charge. More than she wants to sleep, she wants to shower. “Please, god, let it be empty.” She booked a pricier room for the first stay of her trip, not wanting to deal with getting off a plane and sharing a room with sixteen strangers. This one has only four beds in it, and an ensuite bathroom and shower. The hallway lights are automatically on at all hours, from what Shadowheart can tell, so when she opens the door to bring her suitcases through she tries to do it quickly. “Fuck,” Shadowheart hisses, yanked back by her shirt getting caught on the door handle – a distinct rrrip accompanying her curse. “Of course.” She scowls at her torn shirt and fully disentangles herself from the door, letting it swing shut with a loud bang. “Fuck.” She repeats, checking the room to see if she’s disturbed anybody.

Unnamed Shadowheart x Nil Romeo and Juliet Modern AU Skate Park AU

“Nil,” Zevlor calls, “Silfy’s asthma.” “Yes sir,” Nil had been about to light up a new cig without even thinking. He salutes Zevlor – half-mocking, half serious – and makes his way to the far end of the basketball court. There’s girl there he hadn’t noticed until now; she looks to be about his age and he doesn’t recognise her. She’s smoking too. “Hey,” he half nods, “you alright?” “Do I seem like I’m not?” The girl arches an eyebrow at him. She’s really fucking pretty; pitch black hair that’s unreally long, stunning green eyes, teasing little smile. “I dunno,” Nil grins. “You’re the one smoking solo over here. No wheels?” “It’s not my thing.” The girl sniffs. “You smell like weed.” “Fuck, really?” Nil sniffs the collar of his coat. “Shit.” “It might be fine. I have a good nose.” “You do.” Nil shrugs off his coat, bundles it up, and tosses it aside. “Is that better?”

#wip wednesday #wip wednesday thursday #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #it's on my to do list to write more not about my ocs but hhhhhh i love nil too much

[toxictoad]

Okay so as promised (By me, to me) I am writing about Deimos!

He's by far my favorite Durge and the first essay length bit of this is JUST for Act 1. Acts 2 and 3 will be in reblogs at some point

Also who knows I might make a post about his days in the dead three at some point (Read; probably soon because this boy has rotted my brain from the inside out).

You know the drill by now. ADHD ramble under the cut.

Deimos wakes up on the Nautiloid with a specific set of items on him. I don't feel like opening a save just to look at the starting inventory, but the thing that matters here is the book Paladin Oaths and Their Tenets;

(Interesting thing- This book is nowhere on the wiki. I would put it on there myself but I don't understand how wiki editing really works)

This book, I kid you not, is the most important part of roleplaying Deimos for me. He wakes up with no memories, head pounding, covered in blood, but he has tenets, and he WILL follow them (He's Oath of Devotion btw).

In addition to the text of the book, I headcanon that there are little notes in the margins of the pages- doodles and little jokes. Just stuff you would do if you were bored and had an old book on you.

Waking up on the beach, his immediate priority isn't necessarily survival or taking in his surroundings, it's his fucked up brain. I think a lot of people downplay how goddamn TERRIFYING it is to not have any memories. Like I've had days where I was sick and couldn't remember anything, and it was genuinely distressing, and this is like... 100 times worse than that.

So he panics, a little, and goes through all the items on his person. He has armor and a Warhammer, and... this book. He reads through it, and his thought is "Okay, I'm a paladin. That's something" And he finds a symbol of Ilmater drawn in the book and goes "Okay, that's my god probably. So I know two (2) things about myself! Awesome"

Thing is; Deimos is an amnesiac with 8 intelligence. He can kind of guess what Ilmater's followers believe, but the specifics are lost on him. The result is the funniest paladin to ever paladin.

Just imagine you're like... Shadowheart. This dude saves you from a Mindflayer pod. He seems nice enough when he's not complaining about a headache, and he's a competent fighter. You ask him who his god is and he's like "Uh... Ilmater, I guess." And you're like "...Okay" because you're a secret Shar worshipper so you kind of get being weird about deities, but Ilmater is a very acceptable god to follow and you're pretty sure he's not lying, but then why is he being weird about it. This guy is extremely devoted to his tenets but he's not even 100% sure what they are. He makes every moral decision based off of a book in his pocket and a general idea of what paladins/Ilmater devotees are like that may or may not be accurate. He doesn't even know how to pray, but he's pretty sure he's supposed to do it. The only thing he seems 100% sure about is his name, but at this point, you wouldn't be surprised if he got it off of a roadsign somewhere.

He's so fucking weird.

Deimos is incredibly freaked out by the urges, because obviously. After Shadowheart the first person he finds is Gale, and their first meeting is wonderfully awkward because Gale is being himself and Deimos is distracted by the fact that he really wanted to chop off this guy's hand like 15 seconds ago.

And then... Astarion.

Look, Durgestarion is canon in my heart and you have to deal with it now.

Deimos is incredibly easy to manipulate but in the weirdest way possible. Basically, if you can convince him that doing something is morally sound, or even just morally neutral but you really want him to do it? He'll just fucking do it. The Gur scene was the first real test of this:

Astarion: Hey this guy sucks Deimos: No he doesn't be cool What's his face: I'm hunting a vampire spawn named Astarion Deimos (Internally): Hm... Astarion is Good... and hunting good people is bad... So hunting Astarion is bad... Astarion: Please can I kill him? Deimos: Yeah okay

(Note; Deimos' definition of a "Good person" is a person he likes and who hasn't done anything morally bankrupt in his line of sight. Astarion encourages him to do bad things but so does his brain so he just doesn't listen to either of them)

However; The Urges. My way of thinking is that instead of doing horrible violence and mutilation and cannibalism whenever the option presents itself he just does something funny and kind of rude (This is the only reason he has high approval with Astarion. Astarion is constantly getting him to do weird confusing shit for his own amusement. Baa-ing at the redcaps in the swamp? 100% Astarion's influence. Threatening a magic mirror? 60% Astarion's influence and 40% because Deimos is a little bit of a himbo and doesn't like it when things try to test his intelligence. He is not a riddle person).

I cannot stress enough how weird this man appears to everyone who meets him. Friend or foe everyone around who talks to him for more than five minutes is hit with confusion. He rolls up to the scene with Kagha and Arabella and ignores the Dark Urge, only to immediately go "Hey I'm a paladin I can cast judgment on things" (A thing he is not sure that paladins actually do but he says it with confidence) and instead of making any moral arguments he's just like "I don't fuck with you snake lady let the kid go." He has high charisma but only uses it for persuasion. Ragzlin is like "The squid man showed me ur face time to die" and he just goes "No, lol." Withers wakes up to the literal chosen of Bhaal in Ilmateri getup and asks what the value of a life is and he says "Idk it's based on vibes." Astarion convinces him that the extra supplies that keep appearing in camp are a result of his charm and that he's totally not stealing from traders and Deimos goes "Yes that makes perfect sense" while Wyll is losing his goddamn mind.

Pretty early on in the game I found a book (I'm pretty sure it's A is for Azuth and Other Gods 6? Can you tell that a lot of roleplay is based around books for me) That has Ilmater, and between this children's book and the general assumptions people make about him, he can guess that he's supposed to be a martyr. It isn't his natural instinct, but he takes to it surprisingly well (His fighting style is protection, by the way. It's useless in combat but thematically appropriate so I don't care). I also think that he would encourage Gale to ramble about Ilmater because the man is like Forgotten Realms Google and this is probably his most trustworthy source of information for a while. I think Deimos really likes Gale because he talks a lot and helps drown out the murder thoughts.

So Deimos keeps up the facade-but-not-really-a-facade of being a brave, kind, selfless person who puts everyone before himself, and he tells his companions that he has dark thoughts and impulses, but they tell him that it's normal, and who is he to question them? (Again, he is easily convinced by things in weird ways. He trusts basically anyone more than he trusts his own brain, right now)

...And then Alfira comes to camp.

OH BOY. Okay so I have done playthroughs where I knock out Alfira and kill the Dragonborn bard instead, but I've been trying really hard not to metagame in this run so sadly our lovely tiefling bard is no longer with us. Deimos' honest first reaction to finding out he gored her is... to laugh.

Not a happy laugh, mind you- He's horrified, but his first thought is that he's broken his Oath, and then that that is decidedly not the first thing he should be thinking after he killed an innocent woman. So he laughs at the irony, and then he cries, and then he vomits. He cleans the blood off his hands but not because he wants to hide what he did. He just thinks that if he has to feel the blood on his fingers for one more second then he's going to go insane.

He never really stops feeling the blood. It will always be there.

My party at this point was Karlach, Astarion, and Wyll, and... Ouch. I felt like physical pain the first time I played Durge and everyone was mad at me. I think Deimos has that experience, here.

He wants to cry but he knows that he doesn't deserve to be upset about this. He vows that no innocent will ever die at his hand again, and sequesters himself in the ruin with the magic mirror in it and prays. He doesn't know how,really, but something in him remembers what a prayer for forgiveness sounds like. He begs Ilmater to listen to his repentance. Deimos carries a permanent, bone-deep guilt, but this is the first time he feels it so keenly.

He must read his tenets a hundred times, that day. He asks Withers to bring her back, but he understands why he can't. This is a burn on his conscience. She's at peace now, at least.

He is not, but what he feels doesn't matter.

(He is still immensely relieved that his oath is still intact. Breaking his oath might as well be breaking Deimos, and there's no telling what he will do once he's broken)

But, while everyone else is horrified, scared, or maybe just annoyed with Deimos, Astarion doesn't hate him.

And, look... Deimos' moral compass is literally a book, and the book doesn't say that he can't like a guy who thinks it's funny when you tell kids they're gonna die. He just really wants someone to not hate him, so now his best friend is a guy with an extremely underdeveloped moral compass. I think he clocks pretty early on that Astarion is manipulating him. But also... he doesn't care.

Deimos has always been- pre and post lobotomy- loyal to a fault. He was loyal to his foster family until Bhaal made him kill them. He was loyal to Bhaal and Saverok and even Orin. He was loyal to Gortash and Ketheric. He is a paladin at heart, whether that be under Bhaal or Ilmater. He is loyal and dutiful and constantly wracked with guilt.

Guilt for disobeying his father. Guilt for caring about people. Guilt for his past. Guilt for his urges. He's catholic coded.

So just like he was loyal to Bhaal he becomes loyal to Ilmater. Just like he was loyal to Gortash and Ketheric (Yeah, I'm going there) he becomes loyal to Astarion.

And like, he sleeps with Astarion, and he doesn't mind it, and for all his manipulation they do actually like each other, and then the tiefling party happens...

And look... Deimos knows that Astarion is lying when he says "I love you." He knows and acknowledges that fact and he can fully see that Astarion is pulling his strings like a good little puppet.

...And he just doesn't care. He lets himself believe, if only for a night, that someone loves him, despite his hands that are stained with blood and death and secrets.

And he lets Astarion feed on him, and they travel through the Underdark, and Deimos tries to hold his broken brain together.

The Grym fight is a weirdly potent moment for him, because I think that's when it really hits his companions that Deimos... Just does not value his own life.

Because at this point my party was Shadowheart, Karlach, and Astarion. Astarion and Deimos lure Grym onto the crucible, and Astarion can disengage and jump away. Karlach takes out the last of the magma mephits, and Shadowheart is next to the crucible lever.

Deimos can't disengage, though, and he cast survival instinct on Astarion earlier. So he drinks a potion of superior healing, and he tells Shadowheart to pull the lever.

Astarion's "No, my sweet bloodthirsty friend!" UGH I love it.

But Deimos (barely) survives (Which in reality means "Yay I don't have to use a scroll of revivify" but I want my angst so shhh)

They long rest, and the next day it's up to the mountain pass. I... really don't have a lot to say about the Githyanki Creche? Except that I know that Deimos just follows Lae'zel's lead on this. He bows to Vlaakith, and he... mildly considers killing the Dream Visitor (Who, by the way, looks as close to Jaheira as I could make her look, because the boy needs a mom and the Emperor clocks that easily)

He also gets VERY angry about the Varsh's treatment of Varrl (That is a CHILD how DARE you. I wish there was an option to fight him without making everyone else in the Creche hostile I hate this man)

I turned on non-lethal attacks for fighting my way out of the Creche, because I think Deimos doesn't want to kill these people- For Lae'zel's sake, and for his own.

Okay so maybe I do have a bit to say about the Creche sue me.

That awful fight with the like death knights or whatever in the mountain pass sucks. I don't know why but it always makes me so incredibly angry. Maybe it's just because that was the first place I ever actually had a party member die idk. Not related to Deimos I just had a bad time.

Oh, the Elminster thing...

Unlike almost every Tav or Durge I have, Deimos understands Gale's want to sacrifice himself to save the world/earn Mystra's forgiveness. He's a martyr, after all. He doesn't judge- He knows that feeling. He tells Gale as much. He doesn't want his friend to die, but he wants his friend to feel like he has a purpose. (Semi-related; This is my first run where I'm free of the bug where Gale is in love with you no matter what, and his platonic Act 2 scene before the Illithid colony is just... So sweet? Like he just wants his friend to be there for him. I love that wizard. Yes I will watch the stars with you buddy)

But now we are on to the Shadow Cursed lands, and Act 1 is over. Wow, this was so long.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 #durge posting #bg3 durge #durge bg3 #durge #Toad's Tavs #tw: suicidal thoughts #tw: death

[ex-textura]

well a little later than i expected but NO MATTER hello friend tav info dump you say I'm so sorry for the novel this is about to become

I mean you do already know of Vic, half orc eldritch knight with a martyr complex the size of the city. Grew up in Baldur's Gate, genuinely a really nice childhood he's got two younger siblings and lovely parents and I'm not positive in what way he got his soldier background but the boy is always a soldier of some kind (maybe a Fist? it's hand wavy). He was a whopping 21 when he got scooped up by the nautaloid and decidedly does not want to be a main character but shit keeps happening and Vic is gonna die protecting his friends or Vic is never gonna die

He's always been real into magic but didn't think of himself of the Wizardy Type growing up, and then the local wizard took the time to teach him magic and there was a very good reason he had a very big crush on Gale. It was Gale who pushed him onto the eldritch knight track specifically and Vic might not get the finer points of all the theory and technical jargon but that's fine he has a genuinely very good teacher

and then y'know. Wyll happened. and godsdamnit Wyll you were supposed to be the Unattainable Paragon of Justice and way too good for me but then he was just a guy with a determination to protect people as strong as Vic's own and this way of talking that sounded like he was constantly half a step away from writing an epic and maybe there was a bit too much wine at the grove party that led to a lot more self-confidence than Vic ever has but that kinda. happened. (the psuedo-breakup with Gale after the fact was not fun for anyone involved but ??? was that actually anything Gale there had been absolutely no conversation about it, they do eventually get back to actual good friend and there's the moment of Gale telling him "For the sake of absolute transparency, I may have slept with Astarion" and Vic choking on his dinner but they're friends again)

Karlach is the bestie from the very start. In their first little heart-to-heart by the fire there did have to be the "hey, so you know I'm like. really gay, right?" conversation, but from that point on she is constantly giving him enthusiastic thumbs up over Wyll's shoulder and the teasing is relentless. She clocked his formal training the first time they fought together and the soldier nickname is Incredibly fitting, they fight very well together and are both very physical people which is unfortunate before Dammon manages to cool the engine down. (Wyll has a "secret" scoreboard in the back of one of his books of the number of times Vic has forgotten, punched Karlach's shoulder, and burned himself. An additional category was started for "bad enough that Shadowheart had to heal it") She fully died in Grymforge, like got knocked down and then pushed into lava, and he had to pay Withers to bring her back and that was. not a good day at all, when she was back and mostly focused again Vic just preemptively called Shadowheart over so he could give Karlach a (very very quick) actual hug

he just wanted the tadpole out So Bad, bad enough he ended up with a magical eye for the troubles. Vic never touched the tadpole powers, figuring if he couldn't manage with his own sword and magic it wasn't worth doing anyway. The boy is decidedly in favor of relying on your own abilities, having seen far too many cases of the gods or others granting powers get petty, use them as leverage, strip them away on a whim, etc. fuck the gods, tbh, very glad we stopped Gale from becoming one or making one even more powerful

had to break his little sister out of the Iron Throne along with his future father-in-law and the only mind flayer he respects, because his little brother is unfortunately a very talented artificer and the job at the foundry seemed so good at the time. another No Good Very Bad Day, they got out of that place by the skin of their teeth and Vic is decidedly afraid of deep water now

Freed Orpheus because fuck the emperor that's an entire race enslaved by this litch, and then it is only by the stubbornness of his friends chipping away at that martyr complex this whole time that he realized turning into a mind flayer himself might. not be the immediate best answer (but also no fucking way is Karlach going to do it either)

It was So Much he's just a baby boy, he never wanted to be the protagonist, but now he's gotta go maybe kill the archdevil of Avernus with his two favorite people in what is the weirdest fucking honeymoon ever (it doesn't count wyll insists constantly we are not married yet, he knows it doesn't count)

i'll stop now (with This One......) because god that was in fact a novel but [holds him up like simba] baby boy. baby.

VIC!!!! IT'S VIC!!! MY HALF-ORC LOVE ITS HIM!!! Ugh I'm not even gonna pretend to be normal about him I'm sorry.

He's so goddamn cute with Wyll they're so beautiful together. I want. To see more. Of them. And him. Bleese.

Oh my god I love his dynamic with Karlach. I can just picture them rolling around like siblings and being the absolute best bros. Just. The wholesome-est trio with them and Wyll honestly.

IN THE LAVA OF ALL THINGS?! God that's like. Painfully poetic in a way. I hate it but of all the things to kill Karlach. God. I'm so glad he had Withers. And that he could give her all the hugs and shoulder punches in the world once she got fixed.

HIS LITTLER SISTER WAS ON THE IRON THRONE?! Man, fuck you Gortash. Where is she now? Is she safe? Did they have a big heartfelt reunion? does she love Wyll?

How's he doing in Avernus?? Did he get to come up for the reunion?

WHEN ARE THEY GETTING MARRIED?!

#bg3 #asks #other people's ocs

[qwerty-between-the-lines]

Percy Jackson/Kingdom Hearts crossover continued

Frank: Wow, Jason. Sounds like you had quite a dream last night. Are you sure that this whole thing about a parallel universe wasn't just a dream?

Jason: Of course not! I told you that Saturn showed it to me.

Annabeth: ...but that's not good Jason. Saturn is the other half of Kronos, and from what you told us - he's already planning to cash in a favor with a descendent of yours.

Frank: That's far in the future though, Annabeth. It doesn't really concern us. At the end of the day, we have to live our lives in the present, just like everybody else. Make the most of the present, like Epicurus said.

Annabeth: I don't need you to quote Greek wisdom to me, Frank. Point taken.

Frank: Moving on then. I'd like to see this parallel universe and these other 'selves' Jason talked about.

Annabeth: ...but Frank, not if it means getting help from Kronos!

???: She's right, you know.

Jason: That voice...

Annabeth: (turns) Lady Hekate!

Hekate: You want to see what Jason saw, Frank Zhang? In a way you should be glad that you cannot. Crossing between parallel existences can have unpredictable consequences.

Frank: You won't help us?

Hekate: I advise against it, of course, but as your girlfriend Hazel would tell you - I never try to prevent people from choosing the course that they decide.

Hekate: (holds out an orange-red gemstone) That other world exists in twilight. If you want to go there, go to the beach in the hour before sunset and hold up the stone toward the sun.

Frank: (accepts stone) Gee, thanks a lot Lady Hekate.

Hekate: I'm only helping you because I worry you might reach out to Saturn if I don't. I could just turn you all into dolphins, which is undoubtedly what Dionysus would do if he knew about this. Again though - that isn't my way. This is your path.

The three of them spent the afternoon debating about who they should tell, but ultimately it was decided that word might somehow get to Dionysus if they told.

In the end, it was decided that even Percy should be excluded. Annabeth didn't like what Jason had said about Percy's parallel counterpart Roxas being two halves.

The hour before sunset came, and the three of them stood on the beach of Long Island Sound.

Frank tried raising the stone, but nothing happened.

Frank: That's odd...

Annabeth: You must be doing something wrong. Hekate's magic doesn't fail. We just need to think about her instructions more.

Annabeth pondered over it for several moments, and then it dawned on her. Getting the stone to work was a riddle of sorts!

Annabeth: Hey Frank, when Hekate said hold the stone up to the sun, I think that means you can't just hold it up to the sky. You have to envision holding the stone up to the sun. It isn't enough just to raise the stone up.

Frank: I'll try it.

Frank raised the stone, envisioning the sun as the god Helios, ready to take the stone from him.

There was no doubt about the magic this time...

The very air around them seemed to come apart. They found themselves suddenly pummeled by a mighty gale force wind.

When the wind blew over and everything came into focus, they were standing in an open sandlot, under a twilight sky.

Jason knew immediately that this wasn't like the last time, when Saturn had merely shown him shadows and images. Hekate's magic had really brought them to that other place.

From the looks of it, the sandlot was in the center of a rather large city. It looked a lot like the city from Jason's dream.

The three demigods could hear a train moving over tracks in the distance.

???: What are you three doing here?

Annabeth, Jason, and Frank almost jumped out of their skins at the unexpected intrusion. They turned and found themselves facing three teenagers - probably not much younger than themselves.

One of the teens was a muscular guy with spiky black hair, wearing a red tank top and baggy sports pants. He was flanked by a girl with silver hair, and a less muscular guy with a black beanie.

The silver-haired girl pointed at them.

???: Strangers!

Black beanie boy: (chuckles) Fuu likes to state the obvious. She isn't one for many words. The dude with the spiky hair is Rai, and I'm Seifer. We're the Twilight Town Discipline Committee.

Rai: Yeah! The Twilight Town Discipline Committee! Ya know?

Fuu: (points at Frank) Trouble!

Seifer: You hear that? I think Fuu probably has you pegged about right. You're troublemakers.

Jason: Wait! We're troublemakers? You just met us.

Rai: Yeah, but you're outsiders. Ya know?

???: Aw, leave 'em alone Rai!

Jason recognized the guy who said that from his dream. It was that Roxas guy, and he was flanked by Hayner, Pence, and Olette.

Seifer: (assumes fighting stance) Were you planning to interrupt our disciplinary measures? Not wise, Roxas.

Hayner: (raising fists) We're ready for ya, Seifer. We won't back down!

Seifer: (smirks) Whatever. We've got bigger fish to fry anyway. These outsiders seem hardly worth the effort.

Fuu: Losers!

Seifer laughed heartily as he and his friends departed.

Roxas: Don't mind them. They're mostly hot air. Seifer thinks he has some unexplained right to rule this town and tell other kids what to do.

Frank: That's weird. Wonder what his problem is...

Hayner: Don't sweat over it. I'm Hayner by the way. He's Roxas... Pence... and the cute one is Olette.

Jason: I kind of already knew that. It'll sound strange to you, but I saw all of you in a dream.

Hayner raised his eyebrow skeptically.

Hayner: (smirks) Well, I suppose that's not as weird as some of the stuff that Roxas comes up with. You're in good company. You want to see our special place?

Pence: Follow us!

-To be continued?-

#text post #headcanon #crossover #percy jackson #pjo hoo toa #jason grace #demigods #gods #hekate #annabeth chase #frank zhang #seifer almasy #fuujin #raijin #twilight town #kingdom hearts #roxas #hayner #pence #olette #dionysus #kronos #saturn #helios #epicurus

[thessalian]

Faerun!Alisaie vs The Trouble With Wyll

Approaching Karlach's hiding place

Karlach: Oh fuck you brought company.

Wyll: Die, you--

Mind-Sharing Thing: *happens*

Alisaie: ...Wait. Hang on. You're ... you weren't in this of your own will. You're not a devil; you're a tiefling that someone crammed a damn hell engine into. Wyll, why the fuck--?

Wyll: ...Oh by the gods, I still have to do this!

Alisaie: So ... no. Wyll. Seriously. She's just another refugee - like the ones you were helping protect at the Emerald Grove. Just in a way worse situation than the rest of them, because forced into war and also saddled with a hell-engine! Since when does the Blade of the Frontiers murder refugees?

Wyll: ...Oh ... fuck. I'm going to pay for this...

Alisaie: Wait ... so ... you were serious about having sworn your good eye that you'd kill her?

Wyll: ...Gods preserve me, I'll probably keep the eye. This is just going to be ... worse.

Karlach: So ... there's some paladins who aren't going to be as easy to talk out of shit as Wyll seems to be and I really want you to help me deal with them.

Alisaie: Oh, this is going to be a daaaaaaaaaay ... Shadowheart, go back to camp for a bit; you probably don't need to be getting any bad attention from religious types.

Shadowheart: ...Fine. Call me when you've rediscovered your good taste in company.

Several killed paladins of Torm later

Karlach: Right. That's them dealt with. I WILL NOT BE HUNTED ANYMORE!

Alisaie: Um ... yeah, no, and anyone who tries is getting my blade through their face, so--

Karlach: *goes into a massive rage-frenzy, accidentally burns Gale, destroys the ladder down from their current location, and then smashes up the tavern*

Alisaie: ...None of you ever gets to tell me I have a temper again. HEY KARLACH! I THINK I KNOW A GUY IN THE GROVE WHO MIGHT BE ABLE TO FIX THAT ENGINE OF YOURS.

Karlach: *apparently feeling better* Sweet!

And, back at camp...

Alisaie: Why is there a portal to hell opening up in our camp, Wyll?!?

Wyll: Oh fuck.

Mizora: *comes out of portal* Oh, Wyll. You've been naughty.

Alisaie: Okay, first - points for the entrance; that was epic. Second - who the fuck are you, why are you in my camp, and why are you talking to your friend with more condescension than I do my actual literal dog?

Mizora: Oh, you didn't tell them about me? I'm hurt.

Alisaie: *who is far and away from stupid* You're a warlock, this is your patron, and she asked you to kill Karlach and you didn't.

Wyll: She invalidated the terms! Only devils, she said!

Mizora: I did add "the heartless", Wyll.

Alisaie: Oh, fuck, you used the "she has a hell engine where her heart used to be" loophole, didn't you.

Mizora: And now he pays for it.

Wyll: *very painfully becomes a devil or a tiefling or something, I dunno*

Mizora: There we go. I know you promised the eye, but the pact still stands and you're going to need to see to hunt. Buh-bye! *exits*

The Entire Camp: .................

Alisaie: I will ask about this after I recover from fights with paladins.

Except sleep gets slightly interrupted by a hovering Astarion

Alisaie: *grabs him by the throat* Lemme guess. The boar with the puncture wounds and no blood left in it was your work, and I'm next.

Astarion: Look, the boar was days ago and I'm too weak to hunt and I just wanted a sip to let me hunt again! I wasn't going to kill you; I--

Alisaie: Unless you lost control completely at your first taste of blood that wasn't from animals or vermin in a couple of hundred years and yes I know I'm rummaging around your head tadpole-to-tadpole and I don't like it but you tried to bite me in my sleep and I need to be sure you're not fucking lying to me. Which you're not, so ... a sip. One. And I will have a stake on you at all times.

Astarion: Wonderful! Let's make ourselves more comfortable, shall we?

Alisaie: There are major arteries in my wrists, Astarion.

Astarion: And I might nick something tendon-like if I do that. I'm not crippling someone who fights in my defense. Neck tends to be better.

Alisaie: I'd suggest inner thighs for the femoral artery, but I'm not sure you'd know what to do with a woman down there anyway.

Astarion: .........You are determined to take the fun out of this for me, aren't you.

Alisaie: I don't want you enjoying this too much; I said once.

Astarion: Fine. You grudge me a little bit of blood while you give Gale useful items that he then drains the magic from. At least your blood comes back.

Alisaie: Can we just get on with this? And after this, you save your fangs for anyone we're fighting, got it?

Astarion: So long as you don't let anyone stake me when word about this gets around, fine.

Morning arrives

Alisaie: Okay, I have gathered you all here because I keep tripping over everyone else's metaphorical baggage. I get not trusting people you've just met, so if your baggage hasn't become an issue for the entire party yet, fine. But the minute your metaphorical Bags of Holding full of angst and problematic start becoming public knowledge, I want it all out in the open. Do you understand?

The Entire Party: *various degrees of grumbling*

Alisaie: ...Or I could just spend the rest of this month tripping over bullshit. Yeah, okay, fine.

And, true to form, at Waukeen's Rest...

Flaming Fists: Duke Ravengard is trapped inside!

Wyll: Father's in there?!?

Karlach; Gale: Father?!?

Alisaie: *facepalm* Oh godsdamnit, Wyll...

Wyll: He disowned me ages ago! I wasn't planning on seeing him again, given... *gestures at new horns* I didn't think we'd see him here, in the middle of a drow raid!

Councillor: Well, you're not going to, because the drow took him, but if you could get me out of the burning building, that'd be great.

Alisaie: Yeah, sorry; just having one of those "I was trying to do an altruistic thing and ended up hip deep in a friend's personal bullshit" days. Weeks. Whatever. Apparently Team Dangerous Company just continues to be dangerous on a whole lot of levels! *kicks down door to Waukeen's Rest* Come on; out before you become a briquette.

Karlach: I'm glad most of my bullshit is pretty much on the table, I think. I pity the next person who has to admit to not being straight with her.

Gale: Yes. Indeed. Um ... now's a bad time to mention that I need to absorb another artefact, isn't it.

Alisaie: Ohforfuckssake...

#Faerun!Alisaie #Thess liveblogs Baldur's Gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 spoilers

[tsuki-sennin]

Revice, 36! General consensus seems to be that Revice is losing steam, and that might be the case, but I'm still having a great time.

I will say though. I follow Kinoshita-sensei on Twitter and he said that he loves Daiji. I do too! So, uh... when are you gonna show it?

Spoilers, I guess...

-Aaaah, Dai-chan at the vaccination office.

-...I sure hope Kinoshita's not trying to insinuate anything with these

-Taking out all the demons.

-Hey there, Tamaki-kun! My man's about to put his life on the line.

-Hana Natsuki's

-Hey, you didn't have to do that for Hana, what gives man?

-Oh great, we're hunkering down for an all out demon war. The commute must be terrible now.

-Ararat... that's a volcano in the far-eastern end of Turkey.

-Taking out demon

-Oh yeah, the Urban Development people who tried to kick your family business off of what I assume is your land? I forgot about those guys.

-Seems like these old folk are treating this like any regular disaster.

-Oh hi George, you're here! New roomie?

-Remember how sinister George was early in the season, with him treating Hiromi like crap and knowing basically everything? Good times, huh?

-Ah, yep. The public refuses to acknowledge how immense a threat a literal demon god is and goes about their business as usual.

-Oh hi, Vail.

-"Quit stalking my dad, asshole!"

-Man, we get so much great Sakura content, but at the cost of my boy Daiji... my monkey's paw gave me what I wanted, I guess. Sorry?

-Oh, good job Tamaki. That was a great tackle, but I don't think charging the all-powerful demon guy was a good idea.

-"Your Dad for your girlfriend's simp."

-Man.

-"THEY TOOK MY FEEBLE BOY"

-Wow, Genta. Your resolve is intense. Here I thought you being gone would've made you become underdeveloped, but the Vail shorts made me cry a fair bit.

-Speaking of underdeveloped... Oh hi, Hikaru, didn't see you there~!

-Wooooooow, they just let him get kidnapped.

-A whole GPS system!

-...wait, if Tamaki HAD the Driver on him, surely Vail would've noticed it on his person when he took him, right? Is it like super compressed or something? Did he shove it up his ass or something?

-I admire your resolve, but this plan is really stupid. And I saw Daiji's plan last episode!

-"C'mon Dad, let us take care of it.

-HIS HEART D:

-Damn.

-"Hell is coming. And that makes me a very happy chappy >:3"

-Eeeeeeew, he's pulsating.

-OOHHHHHHHHHHH THAT'S WHY THEY'RE TAKING THE DEMONS

-Fuck, dude.

-Man, even these normal-ass Gifu Juniors are giving Dai-chan the wringer.

-Ooooooh, there's Akemi-san. ...or perhaps Giffdemos, as this form of her is apparently called.

-Oh, epic, Bracchio Genomes.

-Aaaaand, right to Thunder Gale!

-Yeeeeah, get 'em Tamaki!

-Ohhhhhh, the Gifterians are upgraded.

-Free her!

-...ohhhhh, it seems to be temporary.

-"Using Gifu's power to destroy Gifu himself."

-"I'm gonna murder your sister so hard, it'll make them

-Ooooooh, there's Tamaki-kun!

-...it's not gonna work, is it?

-Smile, smile!

-HE TOOK THE VISTAMP

-AND HE'S GOT OOO POWER NOW

-"Just another toy for the catalogue."

-Aaaaaaand, there she is. Hana Natsuki, our latest Kamen Rider.

-Weekend Driver!

-Slayin' with Queen Bee once again!

-Subvert Up!

-Wow! Just believe in myself! Kamen Rider Aguilera!

-Guess she's accepting both names. Good for her, to be honest.

-I've seen a lot of division over Aguilera's suit. That division is bullshit, because this design slaps so hard. I love how it has mostly the same colors as Queen Bee Phase 3, and the metallic look is fantastic...

-Oh wow, she actually did it. She handed his ass right to him.

-"Oh epic! A second lady Rider!"

-...heeeeeeey, Tasuke-san, Masumi Hakase, you're gonna let Tamaki become Kamen Rider Julio, right?

-"I remade this for you. You were a pretty awesome Queen of Evil, but you've definitely "

-"Aguilera needs a place to call home too, doesn't she?" Oooooooooh, my heart.

-Is she dual wielding kunai? Is she some kind of wasp ninja?

-Yep, seeing her in action solidified this to me. I love this goddamn look.

-Kamen Rider Aguilera. Come get some.

-Jesus Christ, Hana, what do they feed you at Weekend?

-Yeah, that was pretty satisfying. It definitely didn't make as much sense as it probably should've, Tamaki got cucked real hard, and Daiji's really pushing the limits of "secondary" into "tertiary", but... yeah, I'm okay with this.

-Oh man, the women in this show are really killing us.

-Hey, Dai-chan? You did a good job today! Even if you're getting sidelined so hard, you're still a really cool guy, and I'd love to be there for the end of your arc. :)

-OH FUCK

-THEY WHOOPED HIS ASS

-HE NEEDS SOME MILK

-"Good job, Daiji-kun. Now they're afwaid of Gifu-sama >:3"

-Good job, Hana-chan! Tamaki-kun too~!

-Let. (*clap*) Tamaki. (*clap*) Be. (*clap*) Strong. (*clap*)

-"I'm dying. Please. Follow me for your Vistamp treatment. I promise I won't die on the way in."

-Yep, there it is. The Queen Bee. Just two left until... presumably armageddon.

-Save Akemi-san!

-Man... I sure hope Kagerou comes back soon, I wanna see Dai-chan go apeshit to protect all of humanity. That'd make aaaall of this somewhat worth it.

-...hopefully Hiromi comes back in due time too.

#revive the vice: imprinted like stamps and fossils #kr revice #revice spoilers #kamen rider #kamen rider revice #tsuki talks

[rottenbrainstuff]

BG3 playthrough - Endless Act 3 quests

Spoilers below the cut!

OH MY GOD there’s too many things in Rivington…….. Luckily it seems most of these quests are small and self-contained so I can play by slowly advancing through areas and finishing whatever NPC thing is there before moving on?

Hey fellow dark urge players - have you ever noticed that if you look in the magic mirror, it resets your tav’s name back to The Dark Urge? And you will have to retype out the name you want? It does not do this for normal tavs. I wonder if this is just a bug. MORE interesting would be if they did it on purpose, and you are constantly having to reassert your new identity.

I was going through some old papers and letters and in a roundabout way realized there was a whole cutscene with Karlach that I missed back in Moonrise Towers. If you approach the bugbear trader with Karlach on your team, you will get a whole scene about an old friend of hers from Avernus. I love that there are little details like this in the game, and even though I am uncovering I think all or close to all of the little plot points, there will still be additional surprises like this if I replay with different teammates.

God, Rivington and especially Wyrm’s Crossing are so damned full of people. My computer is just lagging the fuck out. Not inspiring. I wish there was some way to optimize this better. Maybe reduce the rendering radius even more or something I dunno?

I found Arfur and his delightful little plot to blow up refugee children with toy bombs! What a delight that was. Too bad for this motherfucker, my brain-scrambled durge tav imprinted like a baby chick on the tiefling refugees during his first few days off the nautiloid, and this guy’s ass is now grass.

I’ve noticed that online guides seem to be incomplete (A SHOCK!) about how to resolve the situation with him, saying that you must either side with Arfur and the squatters leave, or else you side with the squatters which causes Arfur to go to Sharess’ Caress, and you can confront him there later about the plot. Me, I’m trying to take this enormous area in little pieces and I don’t really feel like opening up yet another new area yet - what if I want to deal with him right here and now?

There might be other dialogue branches to get to the same result, but here’s what I did: if you use detect thoughts during the confrontation, you can see Arfur is nervous about the squatters finding his basement. You can ask him about his basement, then ask him if you should go check it out. He will lose his patience and instruct his hired goons to attack. Once you kick their asses, (which btw you can safely do, as far as I can see, this fight does not aggro anyone else in the area) he stays in the area without running off, waiting for you to make a decision.You are then free to go and explore the basement and do the whole exploding toys quest. When Manip Nestor tells you to go find the one responsible for this, Arfur is still standing right there in front of his house, and you can finish the quest right here instead of going all the way to Sharess’ Caress. I’m assuming this conclusion is all exactly the same as if it was at Sharess’ Caress: you can agree to let him go, you can accept his bribe, or you can insist he’s going to be arrested. Then he walks away, presumably off to turn himself in at the jail like a good boy lmao, and the squatters thank you for allowing them to stay. Easy peasy and no need to go track Arfur down in some brand new area.

OMG Tara is so cute. If you approach her with Gale, she has a longer conversation with you. Is that the only time we see her?? Please say no! I love Tara so much!

Hey so I talked to the ironhand gnomes, went up through the ladder in their hideout, and discovered, surprisingly, that it leads to the smith’s rooms??? I wanted to ask him about it, why he has a secret hatch that leads to a domestic terrorist organization, but when I came through the hatch, I found he had been murdered by Orin!!! Is it possible to talk to him somehow that I missed?

Speaking of Orin - I know a lot of people are annoyed with her “ooooh it’s Orin, what an unexpected surprise!” schtick, but I actually do like the way she pops up. I like how you start speaking to an NPC and the conversation slowly starts to get more and more deranged. Before I realize it’s Orin, there is a second where it’s a genuine “what the hell is happening?” reaction. What I think the problem with Orin is, is that it happens too close together. Like, I spoke to the guard at the refugee camp, then extremely shortly after that, I spoke to the blacksmith and found her again. I am less annoyed with this concept, I think it’s cool, I kind of like the implication that Orin is out there gathering intel on you so you maybe need to watch what information you give out to random strangers, I just think the meetings needed to be a bit more spaced out, and it might avoid that annoyance that some players have with her.

I loved the courier’s zhentarim note that they hadn’t heard from the group in Waukeen’s Rest for a while. In my game, I killed all those guys when I found their hideout. I think it’s neat you have options to ally with them, but my tav personally has no use for a mafia that deals in slaves and tadpoles. If you didn’t kill the zhents in Waukeen’s Rest, does the letter still say they’ve lost contact, or does it change and say something else?

I’m finding an awful lot of murdered refugees all strewn about. I’m not exactly sure what’s happening here. I know Orin is being shitty, I know we have these doppleganger freaks, and I know there’s other stuff going on as well that I haven’t even explored yet, so who knows. I wish there was some kind of reaction line from tav or companions or something? Like. When we approached the blighted village, they commented on the dead villagers on the road. Here, I climbed down a well and found like four murdered refugees all in a pile, and there’s no comment??

I LOVED the weirdness of finding a child next to the southern checkpoint gate that was actually voiced by a real child, and not an adult VA. Very very jarring! As this is the only actual child voice in the entire game that I’ve seen so far, I assume this must be one of the dev’s kids that they put in to be cute, and I think that’s fun.

#bg3 #bg3 playthrough #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 spoilers

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Little Bones 3

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series); harassment, general creepiness.

This is dark! (biker) Thor x chubby!reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: You’re a city girl stuck in a small town, but Birch isn’t as sleepy as it seems.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown and When the Weight Comes Down

Note: Another random update of a series for y’all as I toil away at drabbles in between!

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Masterlist

Your skin crawled as you walked to work the next morning. The memories of the night before made you cringe and tuck your chin down as you kept your eyes ahead of you. You feared if you looked around, you might summon the incessant biker from his hole.

The library was as empty as any other day and you claimed your seat at the curved desk. You booted up and sipped from your thermos, the coffee bitter on your tongue as you watched Melissa appear from the non-fiction section. She sat in her own chair and yawned as she signed on.

The monotony of Birch was sobering after the night in the dank bar. The bikers and their own little world, a microcosm of the worst types all in one place. You went about your usual tasks, there were a few returns on the cart to put back on the shelves and you walked the shelves and checked for out of order codes.

The hours slaked by like the peaks of a mountain against ancient gales. The stale lights made the days stretch to tedium and the grey without added to the sense of listlessness. Colin’s low snores escaped the back room and Melissa sorted through bent paperbacks in a far aisle to put out for the Sunday penny sale.

As the windows darkened, Colin gave his usual grumbled farewell and further mussed his wavy hair as he tried to smooth it out. It didn’t matter much as he covered it with the old faded Leafs toque and left through the automatic doors. His shadow was soon followed by Melissa as she looked forward to seeing her daughter and watching some new program on the local channel.

You were the last as you walked the aisles before final lock-up. The automatic doors were off as you checked for unlikely stragglers. You came back to the round desk and flipped off the lights for all but the entry way and the back office. You pushed open the door and locked the outside ones with a jangle of keys. As you turned back, you gripped the big key to the back door and shook your head.

You stepped through the space between the inner doors and stared at the man behind your desk. He sat in your chair, your purse sat before him on the counter as he shoved a large hand inside. You crossed your arms and watched Thor as he pulled out your coral coloured wallet and unsnapped it.

“What are you doing?” You asked harshly. “How did you get in here?”

He snickered and pulled out a card and lifted it up to look at it closely. He leaned back and flicked it with his thumb. “I knew you were a city girl.” He said.

“Get out. We’re closed.”

“Sorry, I’m late. I’m a busy man.” He slid the card back in place and searched the rest, uninterested by the few bills inside the fold and your various reward cards and outdated alumni ID.

“Late? You don’t seem the reading type. We don’t have that many audiobooks.” You neared and grabbed the other handle of your purse. “There’s an app for that now.”

Again, he laughed and dropped your wallet into the depths of your purse. He released it and pushed his shoulders back as you dragged the bag off the desk. He tilted his head and held up your phone in its shiny lavender case. He smirked as the screen lit up and he swiped it open. You never should have added the library as a trusted location.

“Hmm,” he turned it to face him and scrolled with his thumb, “I think you’re missing a number in here.”

“Give it.” You reached for the phone and he held it away from you like some annoying teenager. “Hey… Thor! Give me it. It’s mine!”

His blonde lashes flashed and he looked at you with delight. “Oooh, I love it when you say my name.”

“Stop. You can’t be in here and you certainly can’t--” 

You swiped for the phone again and he caught your arm. He yanked you so hard you almost left the floor and you dropped your purse and keys. He held you over the counter as he twisted your wrist just a little.

“And who exactly is going to make me leave?”

He kept his thick fingers locked around your wrist as he searched your phone. You struggled with him but it only sent a violent jolt up to your elbow.

“I can do whatever I want and you can’t do anything to stop me. In fact, there’s no one in this town who can.” His jaw clenched and he locked your phone. “Well, kitten, I’m going to hold onto this.” He let go of you and stood as you retracted your arm and rubbed your sore wrist. “And when you want to be a good girl for me, you can come find me and ask for it nicely.”

“Ask? You’re crazy. It’s mine. You’re--” you sputtered.

You swallowed as his hand balled to a fist and his brow twitched. It was the first hint of anything but amusement. It was much more troubling, a slight tell. He was angry.

“I’ve been nice, kitten. I like you and your claws but don’t scratch too deep.” He warned as he backed away. “I’ll see my way out unless of course… you would take me up on my offer from last night.”

“Go. Keep the fucking phone.” You snarled and reached for your purse and the keys. 

You stood and watched as he ran his tongue just below his teeth and turned away. He snaked his way through the back office and you heard the heavy metal door whine in his stead. You locked the inner doors and grabbed your jacket from the rack.

You went to the same door and hit the lights. You activated the security system and stepped out with a cautious look around the vacant parking lot. You locked the door and headed around the side of the brick building and out into the glow of the streetlights.

You could get a new phone, that was nothing, just a chunk out of your check. He could search your contacts, your apps, your phones, he’d find nothing but the pathetic life of a thirtysomething wash out. That wasn’t what worried you. 

He was watching you. He had to be. He knew when you were alone and he knew how to get in. You might not see him but you were certain he could see you. You shivered and pulled your hate over your head and puffed out a cloud. 

💀

You went home angry but slightly addled from the encounter. You watched over your shoulder the entire way home and locked your door with the tarnished chain. You found it hard to settle as you debated marching over to the bar and demanding your phone back and opening the wine you hadn’t touched since your impulsive purchase. You really hated Thor but you knew you could push him much further before he did something much worse.

You ignored your wrath and ate your dinner in front of the television before hiding under your covers and watching the snowfall until you fell asleep. Every night was as dull as the one before and the morning always came too quickly.

You woke and readied for your day with a cup of home-brewed Colombian roast and packed your lunch. You searched for your phone for two seconds before you remembered where it was. Your neck prickled as you thought of Thor with access to all your information and the barren social media accounts. 

The snow was even deeper that day and you fought through the thick carpet. The library felt twice as far by the time you reached it and you were panting as you entered and shook off the powder. You took your usual spot at the usual time with your usual thermos and usual disillusion.

You whiled away the hours without the distraction of your phone. You realised how easily this man could torture you and not even be in the same place as you. You went searching in the aisles for something to do and scraped the gum off the bottom of the tables. A disgusting task but work nonetheless.

When the end of the day came, you were all too happy to go home and hide under your duvet with a tea and a sitcom. You hated this. You would go to the city and get a new phone if you had too. God, how much would that cost?

💀

The days slogged by and on your first free day, you were too tired to make the drive out of town. You resigned to your procrastination, instead taking a short walk down the main street to Babs’. Your usual order, but cinnamon instead of caramel in your latte, and a scone to enjoy at home.

The snow remained as thick as days before. You looked out the bakery window in dread as you awaited your order at the end of the counter. You still caught yourself reaching for your phone. If you waited too long, you might not even be able to make it into the city. Well, you could always order something online. 

The door chimed as Steve’s girl came to the other side of the counter and placed your latte out for you. She smiled and you thanked her but her eyes rounded as you heard boots come close. You turned, barely surprised by the man who was better described as your shadow those days. 

Since his visit to the library, Thor had made himself known in several instances, every day as you walked home he was outside the asp, watching. Other times, he’d be waiting by the steps of the library, mocking you silent as he pulled out your phone. You had too much pride to ask for it back and you knew that it would take more than asking.

You tried to sidestep him and he blocked your path. The foam pushed out through the hole in the plastic lid and you sighed.

“What do you want?” you hissed.

“I should ask you. I don’t know many girls these days can go days without their lifeline,” he taunted, “You know, it’s dangerous how much of ourselves we keep on these little things.”

He patted his jacket where he no doubt had your phone hidden. You looked down at your latte and thought of popping the lid off and tossing it at him. That wouldn’t be any good. You shrugged and looked past him.

“I gotta go--”

“Is there anything I can get you, Thor?” Steve’s girl eked out as if her voice could barely fit through her windpipe.

“I’ve come for something sweet but I think I found it,” he smirked, his eyes stuck to you.

“Give it up,” you scoffed and elbowed past him. He chuckled and followed you to the door as you sped up, your treads squeaking on the salt-stained floor.

“On you? Never,” he purred as you pulled the door open and he caught it behind you.

“You can break the phone for all I care,” you snarled, “just leave me alone.”

He kept up with you as flakes gathered on your scarf and you peered down the street and ran across. His boots crunched in time with yours as he lingered in your peripheral. You spun as you came to a stop on the other side and scowled.

“Jesus, I thought dogs were supposed to be obedient,” you snapped.

“I can be,” he winked and reached to brush the snow from the hair poking out from under your cap, “I’ll gladly get to my knees for you, kitten.”

You snapped at his hand and he pulled away with a surprised laugh. You gritted your teeth and took a step back.

“I won’t tell you again and I’m getting real tired of this.”

“You keep forgetting who you’re meowing at, kitten,” he stepped closer and you backed away again.

You turned and flitted away from him. You had not planned for him in your day off and you weren’t going to let him ruin it. You wanted to go home and enjoy your coffee, alone. However, that meant leading him to your front door. You stopped again.

“Go,” you pointed across the street at the Asp, the town’s marquee.

“Oh, kitten, you’re so cute,” he tugged on your scarf and you swatted him away.

“Alright, that’s it!” you smashed your cup against his chest and the hot liquid steamed as it splashed across his front and dripped down his leather jacket. 

He held out his arms as he looked down at himself and slowly back to you. His blue eyes dilated as the ends of his golden hair sopped with caffeine. It was too late to apologize, too futile. You sputtered and quickly turned away.

You were thankful when you didn’t hear him behind you. You stopped and peaked back at the corner of the next side street. He watched you still and even at a distance you could see his rage.

If you hoped he’d lose interest, that optimism was dead.

💀

A snow storm stagnated the already stale town and you could guess that the highway was even worse. You could replace your sim online but that would take at least a week to arrive and with the weather, likely longer. It might be quicker to wait out the blizzard. You stayed in limbo, reluctant to pull the trigger.

You kept to your apartment for the rest of the weekend, with no reason or want to leave. On your way, you didn’t see him. You sighted a few figures through the falling powder but they were faces familiar to the streets. You kept an eye over your shoulder, glancing around every few steps.

You avoided the cafe. He might look for you there, he might even be waiting for you. You sat down at your desk but felt out of place. He could walk through those doors like he had only days before. He could taunt you and tease you. What made you so antsy was that he could do worse than that. You knew it but you’d let your temper get the best of you. A wasted latte might have cost you everything.

By the end of your shift, it was decided. You were leaving Birch. No one could know until you were gone. Not Melissa, not Colin, no one. You old all-weathers would have to get you down the highway, just to the city so you could lose yourself there until you had a real plan. Even as the snow piled higher and higher, there could be no delay. You’d waited long enough.

Paranoid, you were certain you’d be met again on your path home. The town was dead as the soft blanket covered the ground. The flakes turned to mounds and the tops of your boots let in errant clumps of snow. The store may as well been closed for the day, the library had been little different but its lethargy was expected. Even The Asp seemed to have dulled with the pale gusts.

You packed a bag. One. The apartment came furnished and you never cared much for miscellany. Anything you left behind was replaceable. You went down the back stairs and cleaned off your small Focus. Used but reliable. You were out of breath as you climbed into the driver’s seat and threw the brush in the back.

You drove carefully down the side streets, snaking around as you knew the main fair would give away your escape. You stopped at the sign that pointed to the highway ramp and wondered. 

What if he had got the clue? What if you were running from nothing?

You remember the look in his eye and shivered. No, that glimmer assured you that return to your mother’s was as wise as it would be torturous. You followed the arrow and took the curve steadily with your foot planted on the gas. The traffic was slow and cautious as headlights were barely visible through the snowfall.

You gripped the wheel tightly and let out a breath. You would be gone before he knew. You’d get a new phone, a new job, a new life. Even if it was just pay-as-go, a McDonald’s visor, and your mother’s couch for a while. What good was a job in a place like Birch anyway? Just as good as your irrelevant degree.

You were startled and nearly lost control as a set of lights appeared behind you in the next lane. They were dangerously close to dinging your rear bumper as the reckless driver took a u-turn right before the upcoming barriers. You wrinkled your brow as you glared at them through the white haze. What kind of maniac was pulling shit like that in this weather?

And then, they did hit you. A nudge but enough to send you veering in the thick lines of snow. You clutched the wheel and tried to steer into it, tried to right yourself as you were knocked again. Your heart was in your throat as the engine revved and you hit your brakes, not knowing what else to do as a third collision came.

You spun out and hit the cement wall along the far lane, narrowly missing another car as it pulled ahead. You stilled, your seatbelt saving your face from a smack against the wheel, and stared down the highway as you stared at oncoming traffic. You were completely turned around on the arm.

You caught your breath and reached for your purse. Fuck, you had no phone. What was that asshole thinking? It didn’t seem like an accident.

The car that had bullied you into a crash pulled up along the barrier. You watched in the rear view as the barely visible tail lights glowed and a dark figure appeared between the car and the concrete. You squinted as the man neared, a long coat flapped around his tall figure as he held his hand to his face.

He came up beside your car as you heard his voice muffled through the glass and tapped on your window. He bent and knocked again as you shot him the finger. You were ready to give him a piece of your mind. You rolled down the window with the manual crank and growled, “what the fuck!?”

“Can I have your name, darling?” he asked in a sinisterly familiar accent.

“Screw you! You almost killed me!”

He turned his phone out as you screeched at him and quickly put it back to his ear, “that sound like her?”

A deep voice rumbled in the speaker and the dark-hair man nodded as he shielded his face from the blowing snow, “you owe me, brother.”

“Who the fuck are you?” you spat and reached to your glovebox. You grabbed the heavy flashlight and swung it at him, “get away--”

He caught with a leather-gloved hand and glared back at you. He tucked away the phone in his jacket. His nostrils flared and his green irises caught fire. 

“Let’s not do this, darling,” he warned, “my brother has given me clearance to use whatever force necessary…” he pushed the button and pulled open your door as he wrenched away the metal flashlight, “and while he seems the bigger brute, I assure you his cruelty cannot match mine.”

#thor #dark thor #dark!thor #thor x reader #marvel #mcu #tw:dark fic #dark fic #dark!fic #fic #series #little bones #biker AU #biker!thor #biker thor #avengers #threequel #sequel #chubby!reader #au #biker!au

[todorokichills]

Could you do Akutagawa and Atsushi with a S/o who’s addicted to pokémon? like they have all the games and a complete nerds about it 💀💀

Akutagawa & Atsushi with a s/o who's addicted to Pokémon

A/N: Thank you for the request! You called my childhood out with this sjsjs 💀

_______________________________

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke

When you and Akutagawa planned for him to come over to your house to watch a movie, he expected your house to be a normal, pleasant home.

He NEVER expected there to be a bookshelf with all 122 and yes I did search that up games of Pokémon next to your tv

He thought that those were the movies you two were gonna watch 🤡

“So Y/N, are those supposed to be the movies we're gonna watch?”

You were in the kitchen getting the snacks for the movie and turned around only to find yourself in utter embarrassment when you saw Akutagawa examining your collection which was dusted and wiped down might I add

“O-Oh! That's nothing! It's just... a collection of video games I collected as a kid...”

Akutagawa eyed your collection, confused but also fascinated that you had gotten your hands on all these games as a kid.

“What’s Pokémon, if I may ask?”

You gasped, surprised that you hadn’t blabbed about Pokémon to him yet.

“Y-you don't know what Pokémon is!? It's a show and a game! It's been around since about... 1996! At first, it was a card game but then it was made into a show and the show had a guy named Ash Ketchum who never grew past the age of 12 but overall I've loved it for a long time! Leading up to me collecting all the cards and video games! Ooh, I should show you my cards! Hold on, I'll be right back!”

Akutagawa was questioning your love for him at that point- you had been this dedicated since you were little? He was...

Amazed

Akutagawa didn’t have a good childhood, so he couldn’t get things like this.

He also still had a childish attitude at times; these being one of those moments

“Akutagawa, I’m back! Ok, so I have a Charizard card but there’s a gold one and I haven’t gotten my hands on it yet which sucks- Oh, Akutagawa do you want to play the games?”

Akutagawa had found your old GameBoy and was playing Pokémon Silver- he seemed like he was having fun.

A soft and relaxed expression on his face determined to find that damn secret passage.

When you walked into the room, he turned his head to you with a light shade of pink spread across his face; which made you laugh.

“Do you wanna play them? I have a GameCube I can hook up to the TV.”

“I-I would like that”

You hooked up the GameCube to the TV and you Akutagawa played Pokémon Colosseum and Pokémon XD: Gale of Darkness until the both of you fell asleep.

Atsushi Nakajima

Guys look at this header I found of Atsushi omfg-

Moving on- You had decided to bring your Gameboy to the Agency along with Pokémon blue and red in case you had finished all your reports (which was what usually happened)

As expected, that's exactly what happened, you had finished all your reports for the day.

You were planning to just help Atsushi with his reports to spend time with him, but he was out getting Dazai that bandaged lazy ass

Instead, you pulled out your Gameboy, inserted Pokémon Red, and played away to kill the time.

A few hours had flown by and Atsushi had finally come back with Dazai and he was just longing to hug you

Damn it y'all are making me simp for him stop it

“Hey Y/N I'm back- Hey, what's that? It looks cool! Is it a new phone?”

Another man with a childhood that was so bad to the point where he didn't even know what a GameBoy was ;-;

You didn’t expect Atsushi to be here yet I mean, finding Dazai is a pretty hard task

“H-Huh? Oh, Hey Sushi’, you found Dazai that quick? I think you’ve hit a new record?”

Though, catching Dazai within 2 hours should be a world record-

“Haha, funny. Seriously though, he had me all over Yokohama- By the way, what’s that?”

He was pointing at the Gameboy in your hands,

“Oh, this? It’s a Gameboy and I'm playing Pokémon on it, why?”

Atsushi was rather confused, he had never heard of Pokémon

“W-what’s Pokémon?”

You gasped, how in the hell did he not know what Pokémon was? How have you not blabbed off about it with him? You felt like you’ve failed your duty to the Pokémon gods- I’m joking with you guys

“OhmygodhowdoyounotknowwhatPokémonis?! I could've sworn we talked about it! Ok, so, Pokémon is a card game/a game on Gameboys, Nintendo’s, and I think GameCubes. It was created around 1996? Yeah, 1996- and I’ve played since I was a little kid. I even have all the games, cards, and some figurines! OH MY GOD, I SHOULD SHOW YOU MY COLLECTION- Atsushi you need to see it, it’s so cool!”

You sure knew A LOT about this game huh?

Atsushi was rather interested in the cards and you had a collection? He was in absolute awe

Not to mention that your eyes light up whenever you talk about it,

You bet he wanted to know more about something you love, all to just see the beautiful expression you get when you talk about it.

#bungo stray dogs headcanons #atsushi x reader #bungo stray dogs atsushi #bsd atsushi #bsd x reader #bsd x y/n #pokémon #akutagawa x reader #bsd akutagawa #request

[asknarashikari]

Minific of riders (& maybe with assistance from Sentai) fighting a giant flying monster during a storm that were created by said monster. (you can google Demon's Souls Storm King for an idea what the monster look like.)

Oh gosh. I've been wracking my brain wondering how to do this, because honestly I don't think I'm good at writing fight scenes. But... alright, I'll give it a crack, I guess.

The wind howled almost deafeningly and heavy sheets of rain buffeted down on the Riders, soaking them to the bone even through their armors and undersuit. Thunder crashed and lightning flashed across the dark, whirling clouds.

And in the center of it all- in the eye of the storm- was a winged, angel-like creature claiming to be the god of storms himself, unleashing his wrath upon humanity for forgetting the old ways, or some shit like that.

He whipped up the storm with a golden staff that seemed to create the storm clouds from thin air. The storm he conjured was so large, it covered not only the Greater Tokyo area, but also the nearby cities of Fuuto and Zawame. Reports had stated that, at the rate rain was falling, the cities would be flooded by several meters in as little as an hour.

God or not, though, the Riders were there to stop him. Which proved rather challenging- the wind blew so strongly, that anyone who tried to simply fly up to the so-called god was simply blown away. Any attacks from the ground were similarly redirected by the wind.

"Well... you guys got any ideas?"

"We gotta get that staff away from him somehow..." Shinnosuke muttered. "If we get it away from him, it might just stop the storm..."

"And how do you propose we take it from him if we can't even get it away from him?" W's right half asked, the corresponding eye glowing as he spoke.

"...Hey Haruto. Where's that ring of yours? The one you use to get your doughnuts?" the left half questioned.

"I do not use it to get doughnuts." Haruto insisted, but picked the ring out from where they hung on his belt. "...Wait, do you want me to just... yoink it from him?"

"Well, what else do you propose we do, then?" Sento asked. "Have Pinkie's boyfriend steal it?"

"Don't give him any ideas," Tsukasa warned. "And Gaim help us if he somehow gets storm-god powers."

"...Where the heck is Kouta-san, anyway? Couldn't he just do his Fruit Jesus thing on this guy?" Sougo questioned.

Emu sighed. "Haruto, just... yoink it already, please?" he requested exasperatedly. "We gotta beat this guy before he sinks the town and then some..."

"Oh, right!"

Sure enough, once divested of his staff, the wind and the rain stopped, the monster found himself powerless and completely vulnerable. And though he remained floating in the eye of the storm, without gale-force winds pushing them around or blowing their attacks back, it didn't take much to dispatch the god. Just a handful or so Rider Kicks.

"Well. That wasn't much fun at all." Takeru pouted, shaking off the water from his parka-hoodie. "I feel water in some weird places..."

"Aw, but Takeru! It's not that often we get to fight together! It's always more fun to fight with your buds!"

Eiji chuckled, shaking his head and patting his kouhai's shoulder. "Never change, Gentaro-kun."

Suddenly, a bright flash of light burst out of nowhere, and out of it stumbled Kouta, in full Fruit Jesus regalia. "What's happened? What's this I heard about a big storm?"

"YOU'RE LATE!" accused half the Riders present.

"...I'm sorry?" Kouta said, shrinking back. "I was on different planet, give me a break!"

#kamen rider #ask #gnr2012

[hutchhitched]

What You Deserve, What You Need, What You Want

Written by: @hutchhitched​

Prompt 109: Dialogue prompt: “I deserve better than this!” [submitted by @xerxia31]

Ratings/Warnings: E

A/N: I’m continuing to post the nine @everlarkficexchange prompts I took and then sat on throughout the early months of the pandemic. This is the seventh of the nine. Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy. Huge thanks to @javistg for understanding the delays. Better get myself in gear to finish the last two before the next round starts!

  “I deserve better than this!”

 Katniss nods and pats her sister on the back. “You do, and you should say it.”

 “I just did. You clearly weren’t listening.”

 Prim grins at her sister, and they continue scrubbing the walls of the house Prim and her husband just purchased. Katniss really can’t believe her little sister is married, especially at the young age of 22, but Prim has always been the one who’s gotten what she wants while Katniss…

 Well, if anyone deserves better than this, Katniss thinks it might be her.

 “When’s your husband getting here? I thought he wasn’t going to make us do all the work. That’s clearly not the case as evidenced by my arm that’s about to fall off.”

 Letting her limb drop, Katniss sits down heavily on the hardwood floor. It’s stripped and rough, ready for a good sanding and polish to make it glow like new. Right now, though, it’s rather anemic looking with blonde wood that seems old and faded. Or maybe that’s just how Katniss feels about herself. Old and faded, always in the shadow of her baby sister who everyone’s continuously adored and coddled.

 It’s not that Prim’s ever taken advantage of it either. She’s as sweet and kind and generous as they come. It’s just the phenomenon that things have a tendency of working out for the younger Everdeen sibling that Katniss would envy if she didn’t love her sister so much. Still, she’s tired—drained from working hard and scraping by, exhausted from the mental toll of keeping everything together for so long when she shouldn’t have had to, and weary from hoping and wishing and being disappointed repeatedly. It sucks, and it’s not fair, but that’s reality for Katniss and Prim Everdeen.

 Except Prim isn’t an Everdeen anymore. She’s married now with her husband’s name, and Katniss is the lonely older sister who hasn’t dated anyone for the past six years. If she sees one more person look at her with pity, she might have to scream.

 “Ah, there’s my gorgeous husband now,” Prim says, her face beaming at the sight of her man. “Hey, honey. Missed you.”

 “Missed you, too,” comes the reply, and Katniss cringes as she climbs to her feet. It’s not her ex-boyfriend, but it’s close enough. Rory Hawthorne is the spitting image of his handsome older brother who happens to be the last man Katniss let get her naked. It’s been an embarrassingly long time since she’s gone to bed with someone. She’s hurtling headlong into her sexual prime, and nothing. Not a potential to be found.

 “Well, if it isn’t Catnip Everdeen! As I live and breathe.”

 Katniss turns slowly to see Gale Hawthorne standing in the door, framed by sunlight and looking like a moody Greek god. Her body betrays her, and she can feel her reaction course through her veins. She forces herself to play nice and nods in his direction.

 “Oh, come on,” he teases. “I can’t get a hug and a kiss from an old flame and my current sister-in-law? We’re family now. Where’s the love?”

 Katniss stands woodenly as Gale embraces her and kisses her on the cheek. It’s awkward as hell, but Gale’s never been able to read the room well when he’s already made up his mind. She tenses as a ruckus sounds outside, and it’s not long before a handful of men pour into the house. They’re all tall and varying stages of broad, and every one of them is dressed as some version of a cool-kid-construction-worker.

 “What are you? Part of a new boy band? Performing covers for the Village People?”

 Rory steps between them. “Hey! Truce. This is my house, and you’re upsetting my wife. Knock it off.”

 All the men hoot and holler, catcalling Gale and, by extension, her except for one who slinks along the outside of the room. He seems embarrassed by the toxic masculinity, and he brushes his hair off his forehead in a riot of ashy blonde curls. Katniss likes him immediately.

 “And I deserve that,” Katniss says in a stage whisper to her sister as she nods her head. “Who’s he, and why haven’t I been introduced?”

 Prim calls to the room. “Calm yourselves, boys. Meet my sister, Katniss. Katniss, these are the guys. You know Gale, and these three are Thom and Darius and Rye. The one over there is Rye’s brother Peeta. He’s the well-behaved one. Maybe you can help him today. You don’t deserve any of these other guys. They’ll only make you question your life choices and swear off men for good.”

 Katniss waves at them all, showing her annoyance at their behavior in her tight smile. Giving each of them a wide berth, she crosses the room and approaches Peeta. “Nice to meet you,” she says, and he flashes her a smile that, in tandem with his cerulean blue eyes, makes her knees weak. Oh yes, she definitely deserves better, and he just might be it.

 “Nice to meet you, too, Katniss,” he answers in a voice that makes her want to strip down and let him have his way with her. His voice isn’t just sexy; it’s absolutely scandalous.

 She swallows her arousal and asks as casually as she can, “You need any help? I hear you’re the only one here who won’t sexualize me.”

 He chuckles, and she contemplates selling her soul to the devil for a shot with him. She’s never been attracted to someone this intensely in such a short amount of time. It’s actually quite unnerving for someone like her who’s fairly shy and quiet and aloof.

 “Well, I can’t promise I won’t fall for you by the end of the day, but I’ll do my best.” When he winks at her, she vows to make it happen. She has no idea how, but she’s got a few hours to figure it out.

 They spend the afternoon together sanding and painting. If she brushes against him multiple times, he doesn’t seem to mind. When he brackets her in his arms as she holds a section of drywall, she leans back against him. His chest is hard behind her, and she breathes in his scent. He’s a glorious combination of clean sweat and cinnamon from what must be his aftershave. He laughs at her jokes and entertains her with stories of his own. She’s never been great at making friends, but it’s so easy with him. At one point, she catches Prim’s eye as the afternoon slides into evening, and her sister winks at her.

 As the sun sets, things wind down. One by one, Rory and Prim’s friends say goodbye and make their respective exits. Gale seems to want to linger, but Rory and Prim remind him they’re spending the night at his place and insist they need showers before they treat him to dinner. He’s not very happy about it, but her ex-boyfriend leaves after giving her a suspicious look that makes her want to stick out her tongue at him. Katniss promises to lock the door behind her when she leaves, and then she and Peeta are alone with the house quiet around them. There’s a sudden strain between them that makes her squirm. After the ease of the day, the isolation is a little awkward, so she figures she might as well ease the tension with a lame joke.

 “Well, now that we’re alone…” Peeta chuckles and gives her a lopsided grin. She worries her knees will give out as the power of it hits her, so she leans heavily against the newly spackled section of the wall.

 “I had a really nice time working with you. When Rory asked me to help today, I didn’t think—” He breaks off and ducks his head as his face and neck redden.

 Laughing at his bashfulness, she asks, “You didn’t think what? You’re awfully cute with pink cheeks, by the way, so you might as well go ahead and tell me.”

 “I didn’t think I’d be matched up with someone so pretty.” She ducks her head, not used to flattery. “I just had a really, really good day. I was due for one or two of those. Really needed it.”

 “Well, I’m glad I could give you what you needed.”

 The air’s charged with electricity, and she raises her eyes to look at him. His are hooded, pupils dilated, as he stares at her. She has the sudden realization that she’s alone with someone she barely knows, and he’s looking at her like she’s a snack for him to devour.

 “I wonder,” he says, his voice dropping an octave. “I wonder if you could.”

 “If I could what?”

 This isn’t supposed to happen to her. She’s never been this lucky in anything and definitely not this fortunate in relationships. Yet, somehow, he’s here with her and seems to want what she’s just realizing might be possible. He walks toward her slowly, licking his lips as he does, and stops so close that she can feel his body heat.

 “If you could give me what I really need.”

 Her throat’s dry, and she gives a tiny squeak when she tries to speak. He lifts his hand to brush away the stray tendrils of hair that escaped from her braid as they worked. His fingertips sweep lightly across her cheek, and his thumb strokes along her bottom lip. She wants to suck on it.

 “I thought you promised not to fall for me.”

 “Oh, no,” he argued. “In fact, I think I promised exactly the opposite—that I couldn’t promise not to. Now, the question remains. Can you?”

 “Give you what you really need?”

 “And will you?”

 “I’d like to try,” she whispers. “I really would.”

 “I think you’re the type that really tries.” His voice is husky and deep, and she shivers when his breath ghosts across her neck. “In fact, I think you’re the kind of woman who believes in trying multiple times until she’s sure everyone is perfectly satisfied. Am I right?”

 Katniss squeaks again, unable to answer right away. He strokes her arm slowly, brushing up and down and grazing the side of her breast. She’s positive he knows exactly what he’s doing to her.

 “Satisfaction’s the goal,” she finally croaks.

 He crushes into her then, his body full and tight against hers as he pushes her into the wall and kisses her like a man possessed. His mouth is hot and wet and perfect. His tongue sweeps along hers, massages and plundering so deeply she can only gasp and respond in kind. He’s everywhere—his scent, his arms and hands and chest, his soft moans catching in the back of his throat, heat leaching from his skin. It’s too much and not nearly enough. It’s overwhelming, but she wants every speck of it.

 There’s an old couch in the back room, and Peeta lifts her up, wrapping her legs around his waist, and carries her to it. He lays her out on it without breaking the kiss and settles in between her legs. Bucking upward, she whimpers at the friction. He’s solid and heavy, and she basks in the weight. Anxiety bleeds from her, and she sighs into the kiss.

 “Katniss,” he whispers, her word a sermon of longing and awe.

 “I don’t ever do this,” she answers, her eyes closed and breath uneven. When he makes a move to pull back, she threads her fingers through his hair. “No, don’t stop.”

 Peeta grunts in response and sucks the spot at the hinge of her jaw. His hands are all over her. Long fingers, massive palms, and blunt fingernails that knead, warming her skin and pushing her closer to the edge. He rucks up her shirt, and she shivers as he slides down her body and laves at the skin there. When his hand runs up the bare skin of her inner thigh, she moans lustily and considers begging him for more.

 “Take this off,” he requests, his tone polite and gentle, but there’s an underlying authority that makes her want to obey. He helps her to upright and watches as she tugs her tank top over her head. When’s she free, he caresses her torso before reaching behind her to unlatch her bra. Squirming under his scrutiny, she’s vulnerable, but he takes care as he fiddles with her waistband and then shoves her shorts down her legs. She’s left with nothing but a scrap of peach silk between her legs. “You have no idea the effect you have, do you? No clue how crazy you drove me all day today in your little bitty clothes. Are you a tease, Katniss, or are you that unaware how beautiful you are?”

 “I’m not—”

 “You are, and tonight you get what you deserve. What you need. What you want so much you don’t even know how to say it, but I know because I want it, too.”

 His hand is between her legs, his fingers brushing aside the fabric, his thumb pressing on her clit, his palm cupping her heat. She can’t think, and that’s exactly what she wants. She deserves to feel good; she needs someone to help with that, and she wants it to be him.

 “Please.” The word echoes in the air between them, shimmering with longing.

 His face is between her legs, buried in her pussy, licking and sucking at her swollen lips. She twists under him, desperate to get away at the same time she wants to grind into his mouth and let him make her break. She cries out, overwhelmed at how quickly she’s wet. Her shins are on his shoulders, her legs bent so he can lick deeper into her, and she can’t do anything but enjoy it. She’s helpless to resist him, not that she’d want to try.

 She doesn’t. He’s too good at it. His mouth is fire, devouring her like it’s his only job—to be put on earth and eat her out. Not only doesn’t she last, it’s shockingly fast. When he curls his tongue into her and then sucks her clit so hard she sees stars, she arches and allows warm honey to ooze through her. Thrashing under him, she doesn’t try to stay quiet or still. There’s no way when he’s so good at this anyway. When she melts into the cushions, he sits up and grins at her with a wet chin and a dangerous glint in his eyes.

 “These panties are completely ruined,” he murmurs and tears them in two. When she groans, he pulls them free and trails them over her heated skin. “You feel that? Sopping wet. That’s all you, sweetheart. All of that wetness is you telling me how good I make you feel. I bet we can both keep going, though. Don’t you think?”

 She doesn’t trust herself to speak, so she merely nods and then watches in appreciation as he unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it over his shoulders. Miles of smooth, honeyed pink skin is bared for her, and she licks her lips eagerly. He stands and unbuckles his belt, putting on a show for her. Cheeky and a tiny bit cocky, he shifts his hips until he springs free. He’s hard and long and thick and ready, and she wants it.

 “Flip over,” he says. “Get up on your hands and knees.”

 She does, quivering in anticipation and hisses when he spreads her cheeks and rubs his cock against her. It’s torture not being able to see him, but she can hear the tear of a foil packet before he’s pressing against her, his blunt head probing her entrance. Impatient, she rears back, but he holds her hips firmly, easing into her and stretching her around him.

 “Such a tight little pussy,” he grunts. “Perfect, and so fucking wet. Tell me what you want, sweetheart. Tell me everything. Let me give it to you. Take what you deserve.”

 She wails his name. She needs him inside, and he has to move. He has to. She’s going to die if he doesn’t. She’s never been good at dirty talk, but he pushes a button that lets it pour forth. Her requests are filthy, lewd, and debased, but he fulfills every single request.

 She can’t remember the last time someone fucked her quite like this, but that’s what this is. He’s in charge, and she’s merely along for the ride. He thrusts upward and lifts her knees off the couch with every stroke. Scrambling for purchase, she clings to the back of the couch. It’s rough and dirty and quick, and she screams when he reaches around and rubs her clit furiously. Her arms give, and he holds her aloft as he slams into her repeatedly.

 She crests another wave when he finally comes, pouring into the condom while her walls grip and flutter around him. They fall into a tangled heap with him slumped over her. Sweaty and panting for breath, she can’t move. He’s still inside her, hot and spent but not quite soft. She never wants him to move again.

 “You never do this, huh?” he finally groans. “You sure seem to know what you’re doing.”

 Katniss giggles, the action so unfamiliar that it startles her for a minute. But then she’s laughing, filled with mirth and relief and something that seems a little bit like hope. He joins her, his baritone melding with her treble tone to form a glorious harmony. Finally, she regains control and shifts her head so she can kiss his forehead gently.

 “You’re right, and you should say it.”

 “Can I get your number? I’d kinda like to see if you know how to date. I bet you’d be really good at that, too.”

 Katniss grins and sighs with happiness. “I can give you my number, but you don’t need it to ask me on a date. Just do it. I’ll say yes.”

 Peeta grins lazily and strokes her back. He trails his lips across her cheek to her mouth and kisses her softly. “Will you go out with me?”

 “Yes,” she answers firmly. “Is tonight too soon?”

 “Tonight can’t get here soon enough.”

#everlarkficexchange #springtime edition 2020 #prompt 109 #everlark fanfiction #everlark #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #what you deserve what you need

[btsmosphere]

Blessing and a Curse | PJM

~summary: You are the unlukiest person you know. Park Jimin seems to be the exception to the rule. But when strange dreams start haunting you, Jimin begins to piece together the events that have followed you your whole life...

~word count: 12.7k (anyone know if this is too long for a oneshot haha)

~college!au, magic!au, fluff, angst

~Warnings: nightmares, house fire, knife injury and blood, mentioned homophobia/biphobia, swearing

~a/n: happy (almost) halloween! welcome to my new oneshot, I really hope you enjoy it! -if you’re worried about the warnings, all except the nightmares happen near the end and are probably skippable, but if you might be triggered then please be on the safe side and save this for later 💜this story isn’t primarily about those things, it’s about jimin and yn being cute hehe

In the darkness of the room, only one face is visible. A woman with age-worn skin is looking at you.

She is talking.

She is: you can see it in the way her mouth moves, but she is articulating without sound.

Your ears are plugged with water, you can hear it in the way it rumbles. Maybe that same water is what is drowning out everything else, blurring the edges of this scene. Yes, the room is dark, but surely something is in the shadows.

Why would she be here alone?

There is a fire: of that you are sure. Nothing else would light the lady’s face in a scarlet glow, deepening her wrinkles until they seem carved of wood. Only her continued movement shatters this illusion.

In the glimmering light, her eyebrows sink in the middle, fixing you with a stare.

She is approaching.

Her eyes are all you can see, a flame visible within them and they rush to you. The heat of fire is no longer merely imagined. No, you feel it crawling over you as you watch her mouth move without sound.

It can’t be water around you, because you can’t move. Fire can’t survive in water. But here it is, pinning you down, smothering you.

Maybe you are dying.

She is talking.

The woman with age-worn skin is looking at you. Only one face is visible in the darkness of the room.

The room was still dark. Something was different, you thought vaguely as you blinked.

And then suddenly, everything was different.

No face is visible.

You can hear: you cough, and the sound of it reaching your ears startles you. No water, then.

More evidence of this is the fact you can see, even in the dark, the glow that fights its way around your curtain from the street lamp outside illuminating your bedroom. You can move.

You certainly aren’t dying.

That’s a relief.

Morning comes, the streetlamp has turned off and you pay no mind to the dream hovering just out of your memory’s reach. Plenty like that have come before, and plenty will follow.

Anyway, it’s just a dream.

Now, you are more preoccupied with checking and double checking your bag. Your laptop, notebooks and folders are in there. First aid kit, check. Pencil case, check. Five memory sticks, check.

On your way to campus, you dodged a ladder leaning against a house and walked right into the path of a van splashing muddy water up your jeans. Sighing, you pulled out some tissues to dry it off as best you could, backing into a wall to get out of the splash zone again.

Of course, you backed into a pile of dog poo.

Scowling, you scraped the bottom of your shoe furiously against the pavement and hurried on.

Today was one of the rare occasions when Yoongi had arrived before you. On any normal Monday morning, he would slink in after about half an hour into class, but there he sat in the entrance hall, looking blearily round at you and licking his lips as he set his coffee down.

However, your attention was drawn away by the boy sitting with him.

Park Jimin.

As you slid into the third seat at the table, you widened your eyes at Yoongi, hoping to convey your panic.

“Hey, I was just going to grab a coffee, would you like one?” Jimin smiled at you, standing.

You swallowed, quickly turning back to him.

“Oh-um, er, no, I- it’s okay. Thank you.”

“Okay,” he smiled sweetly again and walked across to the little bar across the space.

“God, just let him buy you a coffee,” Yoongi groaned, “or do you really expect anything to happen if you never say yes?”

“They always give me shit coffee here,” you sighed, glancing back at Jimin waiting in the queue.

“You say that about everywhere,” Yoongi said. He let his head fall into his hand so it covered half his face.

“That’s because it’s true!” you protested, but he had heard it before. “What are you doing here anyway? You look half asleep.”

“Jimin dragged me,” he mumbled into his palm.

“Woe is you,” you laughed, slumping back on your seat and swinging your feet. You had given up tipping your chair long ago.

When Jimin came back, it was only to scoop up his bag before heading off to his class. That was the most you ever seemed to talk to him, as much as you would like to get to know him more. Being flatmates with your closest friend in your department saw him at plenty of the same parties, but you were too scared to approach him.

Something would go wrong.

With you, it always did. Yoongi said you were just a pessimist, which held a lot of weight coming from him.

Class went smoothly. A pen had leaked in your pencil case, and promptly ran out of ink when you tried to use it, but other than that, you came out unscathed.

It wasn’t until that afternoon that the wind picked up.

After a long day of classes, you parted ways with Yoongi to go to the library, while he left for basketball practise. Tugging your scarf tighter around you, you fought against the weather on the short walk between buildings.

On reaching your refuge, you tiptoed through the rows of books to the study area. Luckily, one last spot was left by the window, where you could see the grey clouds rolling by, the odd leaf whisking past and the branches tugged by the wind.

Smile spreading over your face, you marched towards it, setting your things down. But the moment you sat, the chair’s back leg buckled, a snap resounding through the silent space and drawing glares from the other students.

Mentally cursing, you pulled yourself up and settled for the most hidden table you could find. Sure, you could handle the dust and the flickering light in this corner.

To be fair, you did get a good amount of studying done, satisfied by the time you pulled on your scarf again and set off home.

The few trees dotted around campus creaked in the gale when you passed them. Head down against the wind, you pressed on, not looking up until you heard a familiar voice. What they were saying wasn’t quite audible, but you would recognise it anywhere. Maybe your little crush was getting a little out of hand.

Looking around, you saw Jimin with a couple of friends coming out of the gym across the courtyard.

Okay, he hadn’t seen you yet. Maybe he wasn’t coming this way?

No such luck.

Their voices drew closer, so you picked up the pace, digging your face deeper into the wool around your neck. Park Jimin was behind you, no big deal. Just don’t embarrass yourself.

But the moment you took a deep breath, a scraping sound came from above you. Frowning, you looked up distractedly. There it came again, a gravelly noise somewhere overhead. This time, though, it didn’t stop, only growing louder, and there-!

A shape, sliding off the roof, right over your head. In the blink of an eye, you scrambled to move, but your feet were caught and you tripped, inelegantly face-planting the ground as a smashing sound deafened you.

A stinging pain flared in your calf.

“Oh my god! Y/N?”

From your front-seat view of the floor, you groaned, taking a moment to close your eyes. This couldn’t be happening. Inhaling, you finally pushed yourself up to sit just as Jimin rushed up to you, his two friends close behind. Forcing a grimace, you tried to ignore your burning face as he knelt down, discarding his bag.

There, right beside your leg, lay a cracked roof tile.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, bending your leg to get a closer look. The source of the pain showed itself; your jeans were torn, a deep graze on your skin underneath where the tile must have caught you.

Beside you, Jimin’s hands hovered, twitching as he debated what to do. He watched as you twisted your ankle experimentally and winced.

“You should go to the doctor,” he told you. He was right, too. At least there was one on campus that you could hopefully reach on an injured leg-

“I’ll take you, come on,” he pushed his bag into his friend’s arms and threw yours over his own shoulder. Before you could utter a word, his shoulder was under your arm, helping you stand.

“Thank you,” you spluttered, “I-I think it should be fine though-“

Right on cue, you stood on you bad foot, which instantly gave way as you choked back a cry.

“It’s just twisted!” you exclaimed, though your full weight was pretty much weighing down on Jimin.

“Best to get it checked,” one of his friends chimed in, clapping you on the shoulder as he set off walking in the direction of the health centre.

Sighing, you gave in and allowed Jimin to help as you hobbled next to him.

“That’s Hoseok,” he said, smiling again, “and that’s Tae.”

Holding up a hand, Tae bobbed his head at you with a grin.

“Hi,” you panted.

It was likely that your attempt to return a smile failed, with the bugging pain in your ankle. Either way, Tae had turned back around now, walking beside Hoseok just ahead of you two. Before long, you had resorted to hopping. It wasn’t efficient.

“Would it be better…” Jimin said, “I mean, I could- I think I should carry you.”

Managing a weak smile, you slowed beside him. Maybe you didn’t have to go far, but it felt like a marathon at the moment.

Eyes creasing in his own smile, Jimin gently let go of your arm and stepped in front of you, crouching to let you put your arms around his neck. Surely he would be able to feel your heart hammering at your ribs, pressed up against his back like this?

If he did, he didn’t let on.

Sliding his arms behind your knees, he scooped you up and you were off at a much more reasonable speed this time.

“Tae!” he yelled.

When the black-haired boy turned around, Jimin tossed him your bag.

By some miracle, you heart had chilled out by the time you entered the doctor’s reception. Maybe a short trip on someone’s back had healing effects in itself.

You were handed an ice pack and some paperwork and told to wait. Taehyung and Hoseok said they would leave you to it, but Jimin assured you he could stay. And who were you to turn him down? This wasn’t coffee.

The silence was companiable as you sat side by side, Jimin sitting forward, elbows on his thighs while you put your feet up on a chair he had dragged over. He didn’t speak until you had nearly finished writing.

“Maybe you could sue the college,” he joked, gently nudging you with his elbow.

Laughing, you signed off the last box quickly before setting the form down and giving him your full attention.

“Thanks for staying, you didn’t have to,” you squeezed out a smile.

“Don’t worry,” he assured, “I’m just glad you’re not more hurt. It was crazy, what happened.”

“Believe it or not, that’s not the first time that’s happened to me,” you admitted. A small laugh brushed by your lips.

At your words, Jimin turned to you fully, bringing his chin off his hands. For a moment he only stared with his eyebrows raised, smile faltering, unsure if you were kidding.

“You’re being serious?”

You grimaced.

“A roof tile fell on you? More than once?”

“What are the chances, right?” you sighed, “But yeah. I’m definitely the most accident-prone person I know.”

“At least you managed to get out of the way… I thought it was going to hit your head or something,” Jimin looked genuinely terrified. You were sure your heart melted as he said this with his big eyes and such sincerity.

“If by getting out of the way you mean falling on my face,” you smiled softly.

Thankfully, he saw the funny side and laughed along with you, shaking his head and sitting back. You were glad the worry had left his face.

Only one other person sat in the waiting room, a mother holding a small baby, who now turned around to glare at the pair of you, although were only laughing quietly. Either way, you both closed your mouths, noticing her child was asleep.

A screaming baby was not something you wanted to add to this situation.

“So… what do you study?” you muttered after the woman turned back around in her chair.

“Protective magic,” Jimin dazzled you again with his smile, “it’s my second year now.”

“Same,” you replied, “well, as in, I’m in second year too, but I’m not gifted. I’m doing literature.”

“With Yoongi, right?”

“Oh, yeah, of course you knew that,” you laughed, but you were cringing inside. Time to change topic. “But, umm, what’s your favourite part of your course?”

Magic was definitely fascinating to you, even though you weren’t gifted with powers and therefore were unable to study it. Less than half the population had magic, so it was just your luck to be in the boring majority.

“I’m enjoying studying curses,” Jimin was saying, “last year was mainly the basics, warding and stuff like that, so it’s nice to do something more interesting.”

“It sounds really cool,” you agreed, “I’m so jealous, I didn’t get any of my first-choice modules.”

Just as Jimin opened his mouth to respond, a doctor called your name.

“Ah,” Jimin stood, raising his hand to alert the doctor you were there as you struggled to your feet. “Do you want me to come in with you?”

“If that’s okay?”

Gladly accepting his arm for the second time that day, you let Jimin help you over to the doctor and followed her down the hallway to her office. As she checked you over, Jimin sat patiently behind you. Your frequent glances at him were definitely less surreptitious than you intended, but he didn’t seem to mind, smiling reassuringly when you caught his eye.

In the end, she bandaged up the graze and ordered you to avoid using your ankle as much as you could for a couple of days. You had just avoided spraining it, so it would be fine.

“How are you getting home?” she asked you, not looking at you as she typed up her notes.

“Oh, uh-“ you stuttered. You hadn’t thought of that. Walking all the way home would be too far when you could barely make the walk from the waiting room.

“-I’m driving her,” Jimin spoke.

Snapping your mouth shut, you stared round at him.

“Excellent,” the doctor smiled before you could say anything. She spun back to you in her chair, “that should be all. Remember to rest it, I’m sure your friend will help you out.”

Quietly smiling and thanking her, you hobbled out beside Jimin. Outside the door, he lifted you onto his back again for the short walk to the parking lot.

By car, your house was barely ten minutes away, but you chatted some more to Jimin. As he reached your street and you pointed out where he could stop, you were startled by how fast it seemed. You found yourself not wanting him to leave.

Who knew that completely embarrassing yourself in front of your crush could end up to be a good thing?

To your delight, he insisted on piggy-backing you up the stairs as well, somehow not even breaking a sweat, and waited with you at the door as you slid the key in.

“KOOK!” you yelled as you pushed the door open, but to your surprise, he had already left his room and was walking down the hall towards you.

On seeing Jimin next to you, arm around your waist, he stopped abruptly and his eyes widened. But then his eyes travelled down to your leg, bandage poking from the bottom of your jeans, and he relaxed.

“This is Jimin,” you offered, hopping over the threshold as Kook approached again, quick to slide his arm around your other side.

“Hi,” he nodded at Jimin, “thanks.”

Jimin, who let you go as it became clear Kook could take it from here, handed over your bag as well.

“Good to meet you,” he beamed, “see you, Y/N.”

From your position propped up against your roommate, you waved at him. Too soon he was gone, door falling shut behind him.

“is that the Jimin?” Jungkook stage-whispered.

“Yes…” you sighed, hiding your face in his shoulder and ignoring his excited eyes.

“Come on,” you felt the rumble of his laughter through you as he pushed you off him and pulled you down the corridor, “Jin-hyung! Y/N hurt herself again!”

“Kook…” you grumbled in vain.

The moment he dropped you ungracefully onto the sofa, Jin hurried in, already clutching a first aid bag. Seeing his concerned face, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“It’s okay, I already went to the doctor.”

“Aish,” he moaned, “how do you manage to get hurt so much?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” you whined, “really.”

You met his eyes as he ditched the medical kit by the sofa. Sighing, he gave you a smile which you returned. You knew he worried too much.

“She was probably distracted,” Jungkook piped up from behind the kitchen counter which divided your space. The warning look you shot him wasn’t enough to quiet him though, you could see the mischievous grin on his face.

“Jeon Jungkook-” you hissed.

“-making doe-eyes at Jim- ow!”

“Y/N!” Jin cried, snatching you and Jungkook’s attention, “give me that.”

Marching across the space, he scooped up the book you had launched at the younger boy and tucked it under his arm. Then a smile slid onto his face, letting the two of you relax. He wasn’t really mad.

“So Jimin?” he grinned.

Shoving a cushion over your face, you groaned, Jin’s laughter loud in your ears.

Yoongi offered to drive you into college before you had even told him you were injured. Jimin must have told him what happened when he got home.

What you didn’t expect was to see your saviour again this early in the morning. You looked a mess in all honesty, hair messy and most lazy clothes shoved on to accommodate your bandaged leg. Sleep hadn’t been on your side last night, and the dream had come again, but until now you didn’t care.

Now, as Jimin gave up shotgun for you with a radiant smile, you regretted your lie in.

“Are you definitely okay to walk?” he eyed you worriedly as you limped over to them.

After the inevitable teasing last night, Jin and Jungkook had cooked for you and let you pick a film so you could keep you leg up with ice. As a result it did feel much better, and you told him as much.

“I’m glad,” Jimin smiled.

You were too busy smiling back to catch Yoongi rolling his eyes.

The room was dark… the old woman was looking at you…

As the fire danced and flickered below her, she spoke to you, but you were still deaf to her words.

Come to think of it, she looked like she was shouting.

Had you upset her?

A hand entered your vision, the woman’s hand, gnarled with age and dappled with firelight.

She was reaching out…

No.

She was pointing at you.

“Y/N! Hey!”

Your whole body jolted as a foot hit your leg. It took a moment for the pain to even register as you blinked, head falling off the hand it rested on.

As you looked up, opening your mouth to complain, your eyes met with Yoongi’s. He had a strange expression on his face.

Frowning, you looked around. The lecture was still going on.

“Sorry,” you whispered, “didn’t sleep well.”

Turning away from Yoongi, you found a group of boys behind you quickly tearing their eyes away. Their snickering whispers followed you even when you turned your back on them. But though you hunched over your work, fully intent on achieving tunnel-vision to your notebook, Yoongi didn’t share your intention.

“Hey,” he murmured, digging his knee into your leg until you acknowledged him. You were greeted with the same piercing stare from before. “You okay?”

Shoulders slumping, you sighed.

“Yeah…”

“You don’t look so good.”

“Thanks Yoongi,” you rolled your eyes at his bluntness, “just tired-“

“You were dreaming,” he informed you.

You blinked.

“Sorry?”

“You were kind of… twitching,” he grimaced, “that’s why they were laughing at you. Was it a nightmare?”

Blankly staring back at him, you tried to recall your dream. Once you were awake, it always left your mind like sand through a sieve, but when you thought about it…

“It’s just a dream I keep having,” you shook your head, “it’s why I couldn’t get much sleep last night.”

His eyebrows creased, but the sudden commotion that rumbled into life around you told you class was over. And you had missed most of it. Just your luck.

Sluggishly, you packed your things away. Just as you slung your bag over one shoulder, your phone buzzed in your pocket. Slipping it out as you pushed your chair in with your thigh, you saw two messages from Yoongi.

Pictures of his lecture notes.

Fondly smiling, you looked to your friend as he shut his book and slid his own things into his bag.

As usual, Yoongi walked with you after classes were done. Except today, when you parted ways, he made you promise to meet him in time to drive home. Usually you would spend longer in the library, but you could easily check out something to work on at home.

Yoongi’s earlier lecture notes mentioned some extra reading, so you decided to go and find the books to make up for being unconscious during the class itself.

Heading towards the classics section once you were inside, you heard Jimin before you saw him.

A loud thump made you wince, evidently the sound of a fallen book. Unable to help your curiosity, you leaned around the corner to the aisle it came from.

There, Jimin’s blond hair was just visible over a mound of books balanced in his arms, some tucked under his elbows, and a couple more trapped between his hip and the bookshelves.

“Jimin?”

You were already striding towards him, hurriedly grabbing for the books in the most precarious position.

“Thank you,” a muffled voice reached your ears as Jimin was finally able to step away from the shelf without fear of dropping any more.

“Um… what are you doing?” you asked incredulously as you hastily shoved the books onto a shelf, soon reaching out to start dismantling the pile in his arms.

“I had spare credits,” he spoke as you removed the books that blocked out his face, “so I’ve ended up taking Mythology of Magic. I thought I should do some reading…”

Laughing, you turned over the book in your hand. Woozle the Warlock and other stories.

“And you didn’t want to be any more selective?”

As you tugged the books from under his arm, Jimin looked down at his shuffling feet.

“I’ve never had to read fiction for my course, so I don’t really know where to start.”

“Well, I took that module last year,” you smiled, “trust me, there are a few books Professor Bang really relies on, but other than that there aren’t too many you should know.”

“Really?”

Jimin’s eyes were so hopeful. His smile had returned, and you were happy you could give him a positive answer.

“Would you like me to help you?” you ventured.

His enthusiastic nod made your heart leap.

“Right, well-“ you turned to the shelves to scan for the books you needed, absently pushing a couple more books onto a random shelf. Jimin followed suit, now having his hands free enough to make use of them.

“Jimin?”

The book you had just laid eyes on was lost as you jumped around, finding one of the librarians at the end of the shelves.

“Joon! Y/N’s gonna help me with Mythology!” Jimin greeted the man enthusiastically, but his eagerness was not returned.

“What’s going on?” the man called Joon asked.

Guiltily glancing at the shelves Jimin had pillaged, it became clear they were nowhere near orderly anymore.

“Jimin, this is going to take me ages, you know I have a date tonight!” Joon was busy complaining.

“Sorry Joon,” Jimin sighed, “do you want me to sort it?”

“Please. I’ll come and check you’re doing it right in a while,” Joon agreed, “Y/N will just have to help you later.”

“Sorry,” you piped up, looking at Jimin, “Yoongi’s giving me a lift home.”

“Then you can come to ours!” Joon startled you by clapping his hands together. He looked thrilled, but you were still confused.

“Ah, sorry Y/N,” Jimin said, “this is Namjoon. He lives with me and Yoongi.”

“Oh! Nice to meet you,” you said.

“You too,” Namjoon smiled, “I best get back to work.”

Before he left, he sent a dimpled smirk over to Jimin.

“Do you want some help?” you asked Jimin, the two of you staring at the mess of books, a couple still lying on the floor.

“No, please go and sit down,” he told you, “the doctor told you to rest.”

He was right, so you gave in.

Later on, you glanced at the clock. You didn’t want to be late for Yoongi when he was being so nice to you. Fifteen minutes were left, luckily, so you turned back to your work.

Next time you checked, fifteen minutes were left.

Wait.

That was the same as last time!

Now you thought about it, it might have said the same time when you checked it before that too.

Oh no.

Scrambling for your phone, you saw you were already more than five minutes late. As quick as humanly possible, you rammed everything into your bag and fled. You still had to check out Jimin’s books, so you dashed across to the machines to take them out.

Toe tapping on the ground, you waited behind the guy already using the last monitor, praying Yoongi wouldn’t be mad. You decided to send him a quick text.

You: On my way, sorry :)

Yoongi: Be quick

Just then, the man in front of you turned around, setting off briskly away from the station with coffee in hand. There was only one problem. You were in the way.

He crashed into you before you had even looked up, and warm liquid was already seeping through your top.

In your shock, your phone fell from your hand, straight into the puddle of coffee on the floor. Both of you just stood there for a second, mouths agape.

“Oh my gosh, sorry!” you garbled, at the same moment as he pushed past you, muttering something about standing in the way. Perfect.

Looking down at the bundle of books in your arms, it was clear they were ruined. Coffee was dripping off them, the edges of the pages already brown. Taking a breath, you bent down to retrieve your phone, not bothering to check it just yet. You had to get to Yoongi first.

In the end, you checked the books out anyway, knowing you might be able to tell your tragic tale to your new acquaintance Namjoon, thinking perhaps he could get you out of a fine.

Stepping outside, you were soon greeted with Jimin coming around the corner.

“Y/N! Yoongi sent me to go and fetch you- what happened?” he had stopped in his tracks. You didn’t have to be a genius to know your top was ruined, coffee clinging uncomfortably to your skin from the saturated fabric.

“Some guy spilled coffee on me,” you explained, carrying on towards the parking lot, “and my phone, and the books…”

Looking to the side to check he was following, you jumped. Jimin’s head had disappeared into his sweater as he pulled it over his head, shirt riding up as he did so. When he emerged you snapped your head away.

You tried to reject the hoodie as he held it out to you, knowing you would soak it through with coffee as well, but he insisted. It was black after all, it wouldn’t show up, and people were staring at you. Since you usually left campus later, it was busier than you were accustomed to.

Eventually taking the proffered jumper, you basked in its softness, thanking him with a smile.

Since you went home to study with Jimin, Jungkook and Jin had been insufferable, knowing about your crush. You told them they were lucky you loved them already, or you would kick them out.

Not if they kicked you out first, they said.

You laughed and told them you could just move in with Jimin. Needless to say, that made it worse.

In all fairness, you spent a lot of time with Jimin now. You regretted being too scared to ever talk to him before, since you actually got on really well. Helping him study had been fun, and you had been over more times since then, for studying but also for dinner and movie nights that Namjoon and Yoongi loved to crash.

You discovered all of them wanted to go to the Halloween festival, just like you.

October was halfway done, and that meant the excitement was well and truly underway. Every year on the weekend of Halloween, there was a festival just outside the city with music, haunted houses, campfires and ghost stories. And, of course, plenty of beer. Everyone wanted to go.

That week, you sat down with your own flatmates to put your names in for the festival. Due to its popularity among students, the festival always picked its attendees at random.

Since things were going well with Jimin, you had shed your pessimistic mindset a little. Maybe things didn’t always go wrong when you were around.

But then you didn’t get tickets.

And of course, Jungkook and Jin did.

You were more disappointed than you were when the same thing happened last year. For once, you had actually had your hopes up.

At least they were as sad about it as you. And it meant they went out on a dedicated shopping trip to get you a load of candy; it made both parties feel a bit better about you being left alone at the weekend.

When you had last spoken to Jimin about the festival, you found out he had gone last year. The next time you saw him after the bad news came at the weekend, you walked into uni to find him alone at the table you usually shared with Yoongi.

“Hey,” he smiled, “Yoongi’s just getting coffee.”

“Ah,” you nodded knowingly. You were quite happy to have Jimin to yourself for the moment.

It was only when Yoongi came back with two coffees that you sensed something was up. He never bought coffee for other people. Eyebrows furrowed, you watched as he set one down in front of Jimin.

Eager to take a sip, neither boy noticed you staring at them with something akin to horror until they rose from the rims of their cups.

“What’s going on?” you demanded when you caught Jimin’s eye.

“Sympathy coffee,” Jimin chuckled, “I didn’t get Halloween tickets.”

“Oh no, that sucks,” you sighed, “I didn’t either.”

“Hey, that could be good!” Jimin placed his drink down, “we could do something on Halloween instead?”

“Okay!” you agreed, “movies or something?”

“Great, let’s do it,” Jimin grinned, “beats sitting inside getting jealous of Joon and Yoongi.”

And so it was agreed, and you found yourself walking over to Jimin’s house on Halloween. Any other Saturday night, the city’s streets would be thrumming with life, groups of students holding each other up as they stumbled out, already drunk.

Today, though, it seemed like the entire student population was on the other side of town except you.

Mind wandering to your friends, you wondered how the festival was. Next year was your final chance to go. You hoped you could. They would probably be trekking through the horror maze, before dark so Jin wouldn’t get too scared. Or maybe Jungkook had got out his guitar for the campfire circle. You wondered what kinds of sugary food they would fill themselves with.

It was a nice evening for whatever was going on, being unusually warm for this time of year. You hadn’t even needed a coat to go out.

Jin’s cooking was sorely missed especially; you were something of a disaster on your own given your clumsiness. You swore you did exactly what the recipe said, but every time without fail, something went wrong.

Reaching Jimin’s, you happily let thoughts of what you were missing slide. Your bad luck had afforded you good fortune this time around, and you were determined to make the most of it.

Inside, you emptied all the snacks you had brought out of your bag and stared at the mountain you had collectively built on the coffee table.

“I guess we had better get started,” you laughed.

“We’re never going to eat all that!” Jimin laughed, flopping down on the sofa.

Sitting as well, you picked up your first chocolate and sent him a smirk.

“Challenge accepted.”

As anyone could have predicted, you failed the challenge. Before the first film had even ended, you slumped against Jimin with a groan, stomach threatening to burst. His melodic laugh filled your ears. You only groaned more, staring at the empty wrappers surrounding you before closing your eyes.

What you didn’t expect was for Jimin to reach his arm around you.

Eyes snapping open again, you saw his hands pulling your blanket up, but his arm didn’t move away. Well, perhaps your optimistic eating habits had landed you something good, after all.

The film ended, but you didn’t move away. Nor did he push you off.

“What next?” he looked down at you.

You found yourself a lot closer to his face than you were prepared for when you looked up at him, head pulling away from its place on his shoulder.

“Horror film?” you suggested with a small smile once you had recovered.

He threw his head back and laughed, but he did pick up the remote and start scrolling through the horror films.

“This should be fun,” he smiled, shaking his head slightly.

It was.

Well, maybe not the ghosts and blood and murderers and jumpscares.

But it sure was fun when Jimin clutched you in both of his arms, or when you pressed closer to him to hide your face away in his chest. When he screamed and grabbed at you, hiding his face away in the top of your head, you swore your heart stopped for a moment.

“We are not watching a horror film next time,” Jimin decreed afterwards, “or ever again!”

“Next Halloween?” you laughed.

He rolled his eyes.

“Maybe.”

Your grin wasn’t because he agreed with you. It was because he thought you would be with each other again next Halloween.

Reluctantly, the two of you untangled yourselves from the blankets. On your way out, you told him to keep the candy, and that you could never look at another one again.

“Sure,” he smirked, “text me when you get home okay.”

“Will do, thanks.”

After a beat, you stepped back through the doorway and gave him a quick hug. Wrapping his arms around you in return, he laughed.

“Don’t have nightmares!”

“No promises!” you laughed, waving at him as you walked away.

By this time it was dark, but your route back was along main roads, so you weren’t worried. However, you had barely reached the end of Jimin’s road before you felt flecks of drizzle dotting your face.

You picked up the pace, but there was still a while to go. You were never going to outrun the rain.

It wasn’t the first time you had been caught out by a storm, but it made it no more enjoyable. Halfway home, the rain was hammering down, stinging your cheeks with the force it fell. The sky above was a solid mass of cloud, regularly disturbed by thunder.

You were most certainly alone on the streets now, everyone having retreated inside. You just had to push on a little longer, and then you could have a hot shower and warm up in your pyjamas with a hot chocolate.

Cursing yourself for not bringing a coat earlier, you hugged yourself as you marched against the rain which was now dripping down your face, hair plastered to your cheeks.

On reaching your apartment, you broke into a run. Stopping outside the door, you fished for your keys in your pocket.

Nothing.

Chest tightening, you quickly pushed your hand into your other pocket. Your phone was still there, but no keys. Quickly, you patted your jeans to no success. Your bag was just as empty. Where were your keys?

Ever since the coffee incident in the library, your phone had never been quite the same, but you nearly cried in relief when you clicked the power button and it flashed on.

Leaning your head over to shield it from the worst of the rain, although you were also dripping onto it, your cold fingers fumbled to your contacts until you reached Jimin. No one else you knew was in the city.

Pressing call, you held the device to your ear, dial tone beeping over the drumming of the rain.

The tone cut off, and you waited to hear Jimin’s voice.

But it didn’t come.

“Hello?” you spoke.

No reply.

On pulling the phone from your ear, you stared at a dark screen. This time, when you pressed the power button, it was unresponsive.

Great.

Begrudgingly turning around, you sighed heavily. You fingers were already draining themselves of feeling, every inch of your jumper soaked.

But then, a couple of streets further, you spotted something glittering by the pavement. Your keyring!

Dashing towards it, you didn’t care when your fingers scraped against the cold metal of a drain, grabbing your keys as soon as you could. But when you held them up, you could only stare.

You were definitely the unluckiest person you knew.

The keyring charm itself was intact, but the same could not be said for the mangled metal that hung off it, which had been snapped. No key remained.

Looking back to the ground where you had collected it, you could only see dark tarmac. No key. And below the drain your keyring had been lying on was a torrent of rushing water from the storm.

You were well and truly fucked, only one option left.

Your third journey that night down the roads to Jimin’s was significantly less enjoyable than before. Even your shoes were soaked now and you were shivering from head to toe. It really wasn’t the way you wanted Jimin to see you, looking like a rat that had crawled up from the gutter, but you had nowhere else to go.

Finally reaching Jimin’s road, you were surprised to see his door fly open when you were still halfway down the street, spilling yellow light into the dark. You frowned even more when you saw him step out, wrapped in a raincoat, practically tripping down his own steps before looking around.

Closer now, you were able to catch his attention as you approached. He only stared at you, his adorable face the very picture of shock, before he ran up to you.

“Y/N oh my god! The moment this storm started I got worried, and when I saw a missed call from you I didn’t know what to do! What happened? Are you alright?”

“C-cold,” you said through chattering teeth.

“Shit, yeah, let’s get you back inside,” he grabbed your hand and pulled you with him. If only you could feel where his hand held yours.

Just across the threshold, you held back, knowing you were already soaking the ground.

“Y/N, you’re freezing, please come in,” Jimin pulled you into the living room, not that you could resist when you felt the warmth of his house greet you.

Realising you hadn’t even removed your shoes, you bent to undo your waterlogged laces, but your fingers were uncooperative.

“Here,” Jimin knelt too. You watched as his fingers deftly released your laces, and you let him slide your shoes off. His face was flushed, slightly damp too from his short trip outside.

“You’re soaked,” he murmured, sitting back and reaching for you jumper.

Together, you peeled the garment off you, heavy with water.

“I’ll get you some clothes,” he said firmly, “you’re staying here.”

Beyond the window, the rain had not let up.

“Okay.”

Making quick work of the rest of your clothes in the bathroom, you left them in a pile on the shower floor. Jimin had luckily left a towel on the radiator. Wrapped up in the warm fluff, you barely wanted to move, but eventually Jimin’s clothes, folded on the floor, tempted you enough.

Emerging fully dressed in the too-big clothes, you found Jimin stumbling down the stairs. Or rather, a moving pile of blankets.

“Any better?” his eyes peeked over the top, making it impossible for you not to laugh.

“Yeah, thanks.”

Following him into the living room, you stepped over the wet patches you had created as Jimin dropped the blankets onto the sofa.

“So what happened?” he clambered into the makeshift nest, patting the blankets beside him for you to follow suit.

“My keys found their way down a storm drain,” you sighed, “but I didn’t notice until I got home. And then my phone gave up.”

You let out a dry laugh. It really was ridiculous how the world seemed to be against you.

“Would hot chocolate make it better?”

Your eyes and mouth grew simultaneously and Jimin laughed loudly, head flopping back and soft hair falling away from his face. Anyone would have thought he had just given you a bag of lottery winnings by the way you looked at him.

“Yes, I take it?” he giggled.

Maybe the world was against you, but Jimin was the one thing that made everything better. Sitting next to him surrounded by blankets and sipping cocoa could only be made better if you weren’t just sitting next to him.

As if to prove his place as your personal saviour, Jimin soon snuggled closer to you.

After a few minutes of his head on your shoulder, your arm around him, you whispered into his hair.

“Maybe tonight was lucky in the end.”

“Hmm?” he twisted to look at you and your heart softened even more when you saw his eyes were barely open. Smiling giddily, you pulled back to look at him.

“I just always thought bad things happened to me. But it’s not so bad ending up here with you.”

A hand scrubbed over his face in an effort to wake up a little more. Embarrassment already began to encroach as you watched his mouth opening and closing. Had you said too much?

And then he shuffled closer, all those thoughts dissipating like dandelion seeds as his hand brushed your cheek. His lips lay in a peaceful smile, and you couldn’t take your eyes away as he silently shuffled closer.

“Yeah?” he breathed.

“Yeah,” you nodded, sound barely leaving your mouth.

Then his lips met yours.

It wasn’t forceful, quite the opposite. The kind of kiss that made you lean in for more, sweet and lingering, erasing any memory of what existed outside of it. Now his soft touch felt so real, so present and so… Jimin.

Hands ghosted across skin, hungry but tentative.

Time got lost around you as you gave in, indulging in each other until you lay on top of him, breathless as you paused. His eyes were smiling. He was always smiling.

Unable to believe Park Jimin kissed you, wanted you too, you stared at him, trying to soak it all in.

Another laugh passed his lips, joy overflowing. His arms tightened around your waist, squeezing you tightly against his chest, and a kiss was pressed to your forehead.

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

You had to look back at his face then, just to check those words had actually passed his lips.

“Yes!”

The room was familiar, even though it was dark. Nothing could be seen but you knew you had been here before.

The woman had not moved. Was she still angry?

For the first time, the fire shows itself as more than just a glimmer lighting the wisened face. No, it is there, bright and dancing.

Taunting.

You can’t look away but it burns your eyes. That is not all it burns.

The woman’s hand reaches out, engulfed in the fire, and suddenly your silence bursts.

The fire is deafening, cracking like a monster walking on bones, roaring in its pain. Maybe the darkness is the smoke. It gets in your eyes, but you still can’t look away, can’t blink, and beyond the red beast, the woman in still there, voice finally loud and strong, surfacing in the brief moments through the blazing fire.

You can’t understand her.

But you understand she is not a friend. You know from the way her hand rises from the fire unscathed. She must be a friend to the fire, but the fire is hurting you.

You can’t move.

You can’t look away.

Smoke is in your lungs, fire clings to your skin.

You can’t scream but you need to, you need to get out of here, but no one knows you’re here, you don’t even know where here is, or how you got here, but it hurts, and she only wants to hurt you more, and-

Someone is shouting but it’s not her this time and it cuts through the fire. Then it stops and you fall back, darkness and blinding fire side by side-

“Y/N!”

Hands on your shoulder. The room is dark. Where is the smoke? Breath judders in and out of your throat. You cough. The hands draw back. The fire is gone too.

A dim light flicks on and Jimin looks at you. Propped on his elbow, he looks down at you where you lie on the pillow, other hand coming up to stroke down your face. You were used to waking up like this, alone, but now he was there and all you wanted was his warmth.

When you dived towards him, he folded you in his arms, holding you close as you breathed in his safety.

“You okay?” he spoke into the stillness.

At first, you nodded into his chest. Then you thought he might want a bit more detail about why you had woken him in the middle of the night, so you lifted your head. Nose-to-nose on the pillow, you explained.

“It’s this dream I keep having,” you whispered, “I always forget about it after, but it keeps coming back. It was… different, today.”

“What happens in the dream?” a delicate crease formed between Jimin eyebrows.

“I’m in a dark room…” your eyes wandered to the air by his ear as you tried to picture it, “there’s this woman there. And she’s always saying something, but I can never hear. And there’s a fire. Today she made the fire grow, and I could hear her for once, but I still didn’t understand what she was saying.”

“Strange…” he murmured.

“I know,” you sighed, shuffling closer to him under the duvet, “but let’s go back to sleep.”

“Not until I kiss you better,” he smirked, voice still husky with sleep as he rolled you over and planted more perfect kisses to your lips.

Quickly circling your arms and legs around him, you eagerly reciprocated. Your bodies fit together so well, both defying sleep as the kisses continued between your smiling mouths until the dream was well and truly gone from your mind.

In the morning, your phone seemed to have resurrected itself from where it was charging at the wall, and it decided to announce this loudly to Jimin’s entire apartment. Both stirring at the same time when the ringtone blasted across the room, you extricated yourselves from each other.

Jimin reached across for his own phone, groaning when he saw that it was already eleven and promptly flopping back onto the bed. You, on the other hand, abandoned the comfort of the warm bed in favour of making whoever was calling shut up.

However, just as you reached your phone, it fell silent anyway.

Opening it and scrolling through the notifications, you found it was Jungkook who had phoned. You had used Jimin’s phone to text them in the end yesterday, and they said they would come back from the festival early to let you in, so you supposed he was back.

Taking it off charge, you opened Jungkook’s messages, of which there were several from last night.

Before you could read them, though, Jimin’s ringtone started up. Looking up, you admired his muscular back as he twisted to pick it up.

“It’s Jin,” he frowned, looking to you.

Sitting back on the bed, you just shrugged.

“Hello?” Jimin greeted.

He was leaning back on one arm, but as he listened to whatever Jin was saying, he sat forwards, face growing serious.

“O-okay, yeah,” he said.

Startling you, he pushed the covers aside and pulled his wardrobe open, one hand still occupied with the phone. When he had pulled out a random pair of jeans and a shirt, he turned to you. He crossed the room rapidly, holding out the phone for you to take.

You stared between his face and the phone, then shook yourself and hurriedly took it.

“Jin?”

“Y/N, we just got back… I think you should probably come here.”

“Okay, we can come soon, what’s going on?”

“Um, well…” for a moment your heart froze as he paused, fearing what might be wrong. Jungkook could be heard faintly in the background.

“Are you still there? Jin?”

“There was a fire.”

Now it was your turn to be silent. You were aware that your boyfriend was undressing right behind you, but all you could do was sit still.

“What?” you choked.

“Listen, don’t worry, it’s going to be okay-“

“How bad?”

Another pause from Jin, and you knew he didn’t want to say.

“Most of the apartment is fine, it’s just your room…” you heard the soft creak of your sofa as he sat heavily, “just come here, okay? We’ll sort something out.”

“Y-yeah. See you soon.”

Shakily, you stood. Jimin was fully dressed, car keys already in hand.

It was exactly like Jin had said, but that still didn’t make it any better.

You knocked on the door, greeted with a lingering hug from Jin. He always gave those kind of hugs, like he was trying to hold you together with his own arms. From the outside, your place looked the same, but you could already see black streaks on the wall as you looked down the corridor, where Jungkook nervously licked and bit his lip alternately.

Yoongi and Namjoon were also there, trying very hard to blend into the wall. They took the first chance they could to join Jimin by the door as you stepped past them all towards your room.

Black seeped around the edges of your door. You felt numb as you pushed against it, swinging it open to reveal an unrecognisable space. Everything was completely ravaged by the fire, curtains hanging from the pole in rags, dark debris covering the floor and furniture stained darker than it was ever meant to be.

Your feet disturbed the dust of what was once yours, carrying you further into the wreckage.

Until a hand landed on your shoulder, you simply stood, paralysed. But then Jimin was next to you and you broke into his arms.

“The firefighters were here this morning when we got back,” Jin said, “they told us a candle set fire to your curtain and it started from there.”

You nodded.

That’s all you had been doing for a while since the lot of you had camped out in the living room back at Jimin’s. You had been huddled against him ever since as your flatmates made calls to the landlord, insurance, repair services and so on.

It wasn’t too severely damaged.

That’s what the general consensus was, and you could go back to living there after a couple of days unless any complications were found as they cleaned up the house. But for you, it was different. It was your stuff that had burned.

Even the photos in the hallway that burned, the only victims of the flames that had escaped your room, were all of you. For the thousandth time, you questioned if someone out there really hated you so much.

At least your friends didn’t.

They hadn’t expected anything of you, letting you stay silent and sorting everything out. Now that all anyone could do was wait, a lazy day was declared and the blankets made a return appearance.

Jimin invited his friends Tae and Hoseok, who were apparently also friends with his flatmates, and Jin went shopping with Namjoon, insisting on cooking later.

You had to admit, being surrounded by Jimin and your friends did lift your spirits. Taehyung and Jungkook had instantly hit it off, goofing around as crap TV played in the background. All the sweets you had failed to eat the night before came in especially useful for such a big group.

Jin’s food was excellent as always, and you had recovered enough by dinner time to notice something different about your friend.

“Did you see my messages last night?” Jungkook whispered, digging his elbow into you. You squealed, but he shushed you, looking around at the others.

It was getting dark, and you had all piled together for a film (not horror).

When the others’ eyes left you, you glared at your youngest friend.

“I didn’t. What is it?”

Beside you, Jimin’s arm tightened around your waist as he leaned forwards, resting his chin on your shoulder to hear Jungkook too.

“Yeah Kook, what is it?” he chuckled.

“Jin-hyung was on date!” Kook’s big eyes sparkled with excitement as you sat forward with a start, evicting Jimin from his spot on your shoulder.

“What?!” you whisper-shouted.

“I know!”

Spluttering for something to say, you grabbed Kook’s hands as you both bounced up and down on the sofa, Jimin hiding laughter behind his hand at the two of you.

“Who was it? How did you find out? Did he like them? Ohmygod!” you rambled.

Jungkook laughed, but supressed it quickly, smile full to bursting as he leaned forwards, barely containing himself.

“Namjoon-hyung,” he whispered.

Now Jimin’s eyes bulged from his head along with you.

“Oh my god.”

Satisfied with your reactions, Jungkook giggled as you and Jimin exchanged looks.

“Hush, you lot. And I would be careful – Jin and I are not the only ones who seem to have got up to something this weekend.”

Three pairs of wide eyes turned towards Namjoon, who was right beside Jungkook. He simply snorted a laugh, dimples making an appearance as he turned back to the film without another word.

You stayed quiet after that.

Jimin had to admit, your pessimism seemed to be justified.

From a roof tile falling on you, people spilling coffee on you, your keys vanishing mysteriously on the very night your apartment caught fire, unlucky would be an understatement. Now he sat in the library, mind drifting back to all the time he had known you.

The first time you had come round to study, he remembered staring in surprise at all your memory sticks. You kept so many on you, as well as saving your work onto enough clouds to make a storm, on top of keeping notes on paper.

Perhaps you weren’t just disorganised as you claimed. In fact, you seemed extremely organised, but you insisted your documents went missing all the time.

He placed down another book on the growing pile beside him, pulling the next one out.

When he had taken you back to your room after the fire, he sadly placed a row of charred pot plants in a bin bag. They were all dead anyway, you had said, I can never keep them alive.

Yoongi had come to the library too, under the guise of studying. If studying consisted of forcing Namjoon to let him into the staff room for unlimited coffee, then he was being very productive.

But when Jimin confessed his fears, Yoongi had also told him about you dreaming in class.

Only a few passing paragraphs had struck him as relevant so far in his quest for research, and the sky was already dimming outside. Only a couple more books sat on his left side, the books he hadn’t read yet. Sighing in defeat, he placed yet another book across to the right and pulled the largest tome yet over to him.

This one didn’t look like it had been touched in years, leather binding groaning as he heaved it open, coughing at the dust that spewed from its pages. But finally, he saw something promising in the contents.

Turning the yellowed pages, he reached his destination, instantly knowing from the illustrations that this was it. A full moon, just like the one outside the library window. A wilted plant. A spider-web of swirling black smoke.

Eyes devouring the words on the page, he eventually sat back. For a moment, he looked at the thin air in front of him, swallowing hard.

Then he sprung into action, pulling out his phone and snapping photos of the book. It shut heavily in another cloud of dust, and then it was away on the shelf and Jimin’s thumb was hovering over your contact as he rushed to his flatmates at the desk.

“I’ve found it!”

Namjoon mumbled something that sounded a lot like finally as Yoongi turned away from him towards Jimin. He was already calling you, wanting to meet up to share his findings.

The ringtone stopped, and he opened his mouth to greet you, only for your voicemail to speak first.

Brow creasing, he pulled his phone away and hung up, pressing call again.

Nothing.

“What is it?” Yoongi asked, but Jimin was looking past him. The moon hung so innocently in the sky, but Jimin’s veins were turning to ice.

“We have to go. Now.”

The week following such an eventful Halloween had been a blur. You were pretty sure tonight was the first time you had been alone since that night.

Jungkook was at home with his family for his brother’s birthday, Jin working late at the restaurant.

Jimin had been working in the library all day with his flatmates too, leaving you at your newly repaired house all by yourself. As per a yearly tradition, Jin had salvaged some pumpkins from his work that were due to be thrown out when pumpkin pie left the menu, but you were the only one around to carve them at the moment.

But you were bored. And there were plenty, too many if you were honest, and you were always terrible, so it wouldn’t hurt to practise before Jimin had to witness your shocking pumpkin art skills.

And this was how you ended up in the middle of a storm of pumpkin innards in your kitchen, wonky face leering from the unfortunate vegetable behind you as you looked around at the mess.

Having already slipped over once on the orange goo, you decided cleaning up took priority over improving your artistry. Setting the knife down, you bent down and scooped up the largest clump, a few seeds falling from your hands as you shuffled over to the bin on your knees.

Pushing your hair behind your ear and leaving a sticky orange clump while you were at it, you leaned across to another patch, right at the base of the counter.

But as you stretched out your fingers, a shape fell down your vision. Before you could even blink, you felt a sharp, stabbing pain in your arm as metal clattered to the tile.

Recoiling, you were met with bright red. The knife that had leapt from the side was the sharpest one in the kitchen, Jin’s pride and joy. Where it had hit your arm, aided by gravity, it had easily sliced into your skin which now spewed blood at an alarming rate as you jumped up, eyes glued to the injury.

Bandages. Clean it. Stop the blood.

Minor first aid had been drilled into your head since you were younger, given all the scrapes and bruises you accumulated. But now, as red spattered onto your kitchen floor, you couldn’t seem to remember the order to do things.

Where were the bandages anyway?

No, clean it. Yes.

Ripping your eyes away, you clutched the edge of the sink as you stuck your arm under running water. It burned like fire into your cut.

Snatching your arm back, you watched the pale red splash up the edges of the sink, now falling onto the counter too. Shit. Clamping your other hand over the injury, you squeezed it and hissed in pain just as the room wobbled around you.

Scratch all this. You needed to lie down.

Eyes set on the sofa, you stepped towards it, but you never made it that far.

In the brightness of the room, only one face is visible. A woman with age-worn skin is looking at you.

She is talking.

Fire blazes all around her, throwing her face into light, nearly erasing the wrinkles that cling to her.

She is louder than the fire, words you do not recognise spilling from her lips. You’ve heard this kind of thing before, though, and you know she is gifted. Her words carry the distinct sound of the language of magic.

Though you do not understand it, you know she is not a friend.

But her words change.

Within the hostile words, there is one you know. A name.

But it isn’t yours. Why are you here if she wants Eunji? Eunji is your grandmother’s name.

Before you can ask, the fire stops burning. Silence returns.

In the darkness of the room, only one face is visible. She is lit by moonlight.

“Why are we in such a hurry anyway?” Yoongi eyed his friend in the passenger seat as he chewed his lip, looking back at his phone for the third time in a minute.

“Something bad might have happened.”

Resurfacing from his blank phone screen, Jimin watched the light turn to green, relieved when Yoongi pulled away much too fast.

When they pulled up outside your building, Jimin had already thrown his seatbelt off, jumping out before Yoongi had even turned the car off. Frowning, he followed his friend as he ran to the door, nearly beating it down with the force of his knocks.

No one answered.

He had thought you could be just napping, missing the phone calls. Letting your phone die was a special talent of yours, anyway.

But no one could sleep through the racket Jimin was making.

Joining Jimin at the door, he looked around. Since you had been locked out, Jin had given in and had a spare key made to ‘save you from yourself’. Picking up a pot plant from the doorstep, Yoongi revealed the key, which Jimin instantly dived for.

“Y/N?” Jimin was running up the hallway.

Yoongi heard him gasp before he had reached the corner himself, but it made him speed up.

It was a good thing Jimin had panicked. Because there you were, out cold on the kitchen floor, blood flowing from your arm and a knife stained red lying nearby.

Yoongi already had his phone to his ear as Jimin crashed to his knees next to you, crying out your name and pulling you onto his knees. No response came. Looking wildly around him, he grabbed for a towel, rolling it up and pressing it into your arm where the blood still seeped out.

He barely heard Yoongi talking behind him as he swallowed down the lump in his throat, free hand cupping your face, running his thumb shakily across your cheekbone.

The paramedics didn’t arrive for too long. Then he blinked and they were everywhere, hands pulling him back away from you. You got lost in the water warping his vision.

But you would be okay.

That was what they said, but he could barely believe it when he walked into your hospital room at last, greeted with your eyes, awake and alive. Your sheepish smile, embarrassed at another mishap.

It felt like air had entered his lungs for the first time since it all left him when he had seen you on the floor some hours ago.

“Thank god,” he choked when his face was finally pressed into your hair, arms holding so tight you weren’t sure you would ever escape. Not that you would complain about that.

His lips found yours desperately, telling you how much he cared, how much he worried. Eyes fluttering shut, you returned the embrace, reveling in the feeling.

A cough startled you apart.

“Get a room,” Jin complained. It didn’t quite have the same effect when his smile wouldn’t leave his face.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, we are in a room,” you retorted.

Nonetheless, Jimin stepped back and let Jin hug you. Yoongi followed not far behind with a carrier of coffee for everyone. Jungkook had already called you, just before they all arrived, promising bucketloads of junk food when he came back.

“I thought I banned you from my good knives,” Jin fixed you with a stare as he sat down.

You avoided his gaze.

“The others weren’t strong enough for the pumpkin,” you muttered, aware of how stupid it sounded.

He just sighed.

“I’m just glad Jimin turned up when he did,” Jin squeezed Jimin’s knee, “how did you know to come anyway?”

“Well…” Jimin shuffled in his seat, “I sort of found something out…”

Looking to the other occupants in the room, you found their gazes just as blank as yours.

“What do you mean?”

Tugging his chair a little closer, Jimin reached out for your hand, enclosing it in his.

“I was doing some research. We all know you’re clumsy, unlucky and bad things happen to you a lot-“

“Thanks Jimin,” you said drily, eyebrows climbing your face.

“No, no! I still l- you know what I mean,” he sighed after you burst out laughing at his panic, “no, but seriously Y/N, I don’t think it’s a coincidence. I study curses, and all the signs are there. Dreams, bad luck, unlikely accidents. I found a book, there was this illustration about a particular curse, it matched the scorch marks from the fire at your place exactly. It’s an old curse, elders used it to wish ill fortune on a family line, and it relies on moon magic. And tonight was a full moon, and this happened, so…”

Staring back at your boyfriend, you were glad for the grounding presence of his hand. You hadn’t understood all of what he said, not knowing anything about magic yourself, but it was clear what he thought.

You were cursed.

“But-but my family aren’t cursed,” you spoke quietly, “you said it was a family curse-”

“A family line curse,” he explained, “it only affects one person, but it’s a curse bestowed on someone else in your family. Sometimes people want to hurt a loved one of the one they curse, not the enemy themselves.”

“That’s horrible,” you whispered.

“I know,” Jimin said, “and that’s why we need to break it. I’m sure I’m right about this, it all fits. I can show you the book I found, if you want.”

Nodding, you looked at your lap.

“How do we break it?”

“That’s a little more tricky…” Jimin admitted, pushing a hand through his hair, “we need to find out who cast it in the first place. That way we can unwork exactly what was done, since it’s a highly personal curse.”

“My grandma,” you muttered.

“Sorry?”

“I think it was my grandma.”

You eyes met Jimin’s. Greeted with his full attention, you took a breath and elaborated.

“I had another dream… or, at least, I think it was a dream. It was while I was passed out. It was the same as before, but, well, it was quite different actually. But the woman, she definitely said my grandma’s name.”

“Then you’re probably right,” Jimin squeezed your hand, “shall we give her a call?”

As the dial tone bleeped in your ear, you looked around at your friends. Although Yoongi had dozed off in his chair, Jin was giving you an encouraging smile. When your eyes met, he gave you a thumbs up. Grinning, you leaned back into Jimin’s arms where he sat on the bed behind you.

“Hello?” your grandpa’s voice finally greeted you.

“Oh, hi, grandpa, it’s me,” you smiled.

“Hello sweetie! How are you?” he asked, “your dad told us you had an accident today.”

“Yes, I’m fine thank you. I was wondering if I could talk to grandma?”

“Ah, sorry love, she’s out at the moment. Bad luck.”

Not funny grandpa. Bad luck was the exact thing you were trying to shake off.

“Okay,” you sighed, “maybe she could phone me when she gets back?”

“Hold on,” your grandpa’s voice grew more distant. In the distance, a door clicked. “I think that’s her now. I’ll get her.”

Suddenly, his yell of ‘EUNJIII!’ made you jump, hurriedly jerking away from your phone.

“Hello dear?” your grandma’s voice crackled across and you deemed it safe to return the device to your ear.

“Hi grandma. I have something I have to ask you.”

“Of course,” you could practically hear her smiling, but you felt yourself growing hot. How were you meant to breach such a subject?

“Um, were you ever, I mean, how-“ a deep breath, “are you cursed?”

Wow. Real tactful, you scolded yourself mentally.

“Oh!” you grandma laughed on the other line, “I see, dear. Any reason you’re asking.”

“Um, just, that, maybe, I might be sort of… cursed, too,” you winced.

“I mean, you are quite unlucky…” she gave an awkward laugh, but offered nothing more.

“Grandma,” you begged, “please tell me.”

She sighed.

“Okay. Yes, I was cursed. I never believed it though, but ever since you came along, I started to see the truth. Your grandpa knows all this too, but I never thought it would be so bad.”

“But we can break it grandma,” you encouraged, “it can be broken if we know why it was cast in the first place.”

“You can really break it?”

“Yes, grandma.”

“I’m so sorry, I never knew anything about all this magic, I just thought… well, I can tell you what happened.

“Y/N, the thing is... I’m bisexual. And when I was your age, I had a girlfriend. When her mother found out, she was very angry. Back then, people weren’t accepting like they are now, and she wouldn’t tolerate us being together. They were from a community of magic and she blamed me for ‘leading her daughter astray’, and tried to curse me, saying I would feel her pain when I had a daughter of my own.”

“Oh,” you breathed. That made sense. Your grandma only had one child, your father. So… “I’m the next daughter in the family.”

“Yes, my dear,” your grandma sighed, “so you see why I never believed her. She was just a hateful old woman, and when your dad was fine, I thought the curse wasn’t real. I’m so sorry Y/N.”

“It’s okay, grandma,” you told her, “I still love you very much. We will break it. Thank you for telling me.”

Magic in real life was nothing like what you had seen on TV. Well, you were doing a different kind, you supposed.

Jimin had a massive book on the floor in front of him, a row of dried plants beside him. Eyeing them, you took deep breaths. Jimin’s explanation hadn’t really made sense to you, so you just planned to go with whatever the process was.

You had understood one thing, however.

“Homophobic piece of shit curse,” you grumbled, picking aggressively at the floorboards. “This would be so much better if I had to kiss a girl, just to stick it to that woman.”

Smile tugging at his lips, Jimin looked up at you.

“Do you not want to kiss me?”

“Of course I want to kiss you, idiot,” you rolled your eyes, “I’m just saying.”

Chuckling, Jimin bent back over his book.

“Well, I think we’re ready. Then you never have to kiss me again.”

“No, Jimin!” you gasped, “I want to kiss you plenty!”

“Come here then,” he laughed.

Giggling, you walked to him and knelt in front of him, returning to the gorgeous familiarity of his kiss, his hands tantalising on your waist.

“Okay,” he panted, eventually drawing back, “that was a good practise. Time to do it for real. Are you ready?”

Nodding, you climbed off him and sat, mirroring his position cross-legged on the floor. At his reassuring smile, you closed your eyes.

You felt his soft palm rest on your forehead, and he murmured something. Though it was incomprehensible to you, it did stir something in you. Though your eyes were closed, your retinas seemed flooded with golden light, while something churned low in your stomach.

The hand stayed in place as the scent of lavender engulfed you, one of the plants Jimin had prepared. He spoke again.

Suddenly, the light flashed and disappeared, the world sinking into darkness.

One face is visible.

You know her, you have been here before, and she is still talking.

But now the smoke in the room is visible, light grey tendrils rising from burning lavender. There is no fire. The woman’s voice changes then.

The language of magic continues, but Jimin’s voice is sounding through the room, and another smell meets you, a herb you do not know.

You stay there for a while. Although you do not move, you are sure you could if you wanted. You aren’t in danger here anymore.

Her hand raises. She has done that before, but this time there is no threat. You are sure of it. You know it from the way light pools in her palm, warm, innocent, inviting.

You cannot look away.

Maybe you are floating. Something is pulling at you, and suddenly you gasp, tasting the herbs in the air. It feels like something is moving inside you. You clutch your chest, feeling something curling around your heart, fighting, and then it is rising and you are choking on it.

Maybe you are dying.

Gasping and spluttering, you find no air. But something finds you. A kiss like home, sweet against your lips, and when they pull away, air spills in.

A whisper by your ears, so close the breath moves your hair.

“Open your eyes.”

The room is light, and one face is visible. Jimin smiles.

“It worked!”

Tackling your boyfriend to the floor in a hug, you press your face into his chest. You couldn’t believe it. It was really gone!

“How do you feel?” he laughed.

“Great! Amazing! Perfect!” you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face, “I could do anything! I can have plants without killing them now, right! Jin might let me in the kitchen! Oh my god, I’m going to win a video game against Jungkook!”

Ecstatic, you watched Jimin laughing hysterically under you, joy written all over his face. It suited him.

Maybe now the curse was gone, you could do anything, but there was one thing you wanted more than all that.

“I love you,” you whispered, leaning down to kiss him.

Please please please reblog if you liked it, sharing my work really helps me out! Thank you for reading💜

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