#*tosses phoenix into the void*

[iersei]

Can I get uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Feenie wright?

[GET A SKETCH REQUEST BY: VOTING GLENN CLOSE HERE + BONUS POINTS FOR VOTING FOR NICKY AND GABLE HERE]

i was told to make the levels of sopping wet pathetic "yes", so:

here's the pathetic version and the pathetic sopping wet version <3

[i-hug-exploder-shanks]

Hiii!!! :3

Can I request a ficlet for O14? I really like the stories you write for them, and I have a prompt I want to see you make!!!

Anything at all just make something where Osiris is needlessly embarrassed by Saint!!! It'll be so cute!!

Oh no. Saint absolutely adores flustering Osiris so there are so many options! A cheeky surprise kiss somewhere semi-public, a cheesy pet name used in front of Ikora/the vanguard, Saint just being his golden retriever level enthusiastic self and complimenting his partner in a situation where it draws extra attention to Osiris... Hmmm. What to choose?

Osiris crossed his arms as he leaned against a wall near the edge of the arena where Saint was tossing around another titan he recognized as the young Daffyd. Watching Saint use his shield to catch the other Titan's Fist of Havoc and shut him down before bashing him in the face with the same shield did bring a small smirk to his lips. Daffyd was a good person and a talented guardian so Osiris wasn't surprised Saint had taken him under his wing, but he had a feeling he knew the real reason for the training.

"He lasted a half second longer this time but I still don't think he'd best Lord Shaxx in a 1v1." He said stepping out and Saint smiled at him while Daffyd's ghost healed his bloodied face.

"Osiris, my love! I am so glad you came! Young Daffyd here wants advice on how to woo his warlock love and I figured a practical demonstration was in order." Saint said and before Osiris could ask what that meant he was being scooped off his feet and up into Saint's arms as if he weighed nothing.

"You see, Warlocks are often on the smaller size. They like to be scooped and held, but you must be careful not to squish them too much. Hold them gentle like bord." Saint announced to the delighted younger titan whole Osiris' face burned and he started to demand to be put down.

Saint ignored him.

"If your warlock is fiesty like mine then they will not stay settled for long, you will have to move quickly to transport them to the date you have set up. If they try to float away, usually you can keep them in place better like this..." Saint shifted his now spitting and threatening partner over his shoulder with a hand firmly on his ass, void suppressing any attempts Osiris made to try to set him on fire.

A quick jog had Osiris being seated at a picnic table that had been set up with a rather romantic looking display nearby where he glared at Saint with bright golden light in his eyes promising violence the moment the titan was even a inch off his guard.

Daffyd was openly snickering at this point, clearly loving the show. "Scoop, hold gentle, transport quickly... I understand. How do you keep them from setting you on fire or striking you with a million volts of electricity after you get them to the date?" He asked grinning and brushing some of his messy hair from his face.

"Ah, you must distract them! Warlocks cannot resist a puzzle like cats cannot resist a ball of yarn. Or you can just do something like this..." Saint directed and as Osiris opened his mouth to ask just how many crayons he had eaten that morning Saint knelt down in front of him on one knee and took Osiris' hand in both of his, violet eyes peering up at him with such intensity it stole any words right out of his mouth and left his throat feeling dry.

"Where you have flown, I have chased you and where I was lost you have found me. We have danced around each other for eternities yet every moment I see you the happiness and love I feel is like the first moment I realized my feelings all over again. Not even the most devoted of your cultists could ever compare to the adoration I have for you. Osiris, Phoenix of the Dark Ages and light of my life, will you marry me?" Saint asked while Osiris' face turned more and more red and the perception of anything outside the two of them vanished.

"Saint... Did you plan this?" Osiris choked out once he remembered how to use words again but Saint wasn't put off by the deflection.

"I did. Daffyd helped. As did Ikora and the Young Wolf and your new apprentice Lenore. They are waiting to either congratulate us or comfort us depending on your answer." Saint said waiting patiently as ever and Osiris' finally gave in.

"I suppose I will do you the honor of allowing you to call yourself my husband. You did go to all this effort." He said and Saint beamed at him and gently took a strip of violet fabric from his armor and tied it around Osiris' wrist over his sunbracers in a way that felt more intimate than any ring would have.

"Thank you. For indulging me in this and for giving me a chance all those years ago." Saint told him and finally stood to gently bonk their foreheads together and then kiss him.

The kiss started getting a little heated until a throat being cleared drew Osiris back to the moment and he hid his face in Saint's shoulder in embarrassment that he had forgotten Daffyd was still standing right there.

"I'm going to go share the good news with the others! Maybe go home before trying to undress each other, but yeah... Congratulations!" He said a little awkwardly before bolting, arc energy sparking from his heels as he ran away making Osiris laugh a little.

"We aren't that bad are we?" Osiris asked but Saint scooped him up again.

"Not yet but I think I will be happy to accept his suggestion this time. We should celebrate but we can take the wine and food home with us if you want." He offered and Osiris grinned.

"I think that's wise because you're still in trouble for grabbing my ass like that." He said the flames in his eyes returning but this time with a different sort of fire.

[ask-gadzooks]

@asktwilighteclipse Battle, Turn 3:

KNIGHT’S TURN

Phoenix flies over to help the unicorn in the corner, Who’s hiding under her own hooves.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” The unicorn yelps as another spell is launched at Nat. “I’ll tell you whatever you want, just please, get me out of here!” Phoenix grits his teeth for a second before grabbing her hoof. “Come on, this way.”

@nox-lunarwing hits her opponent with a blow from the butt of her spear. Zooks, after getting his bearings, is able to scratch out a rune on an errant stone and toss it at the earth pony attacking Gad. On contact, the rune and the cultist it hits both disappear into a black void. Gad, Taking advantage of the sudden opening, flaps his wings and dives for the cult’s leader, kicking him in the face!

The unicorn spits out a tooth. “Brave of you, bird, but foolish. You’re impossibly outnumbered.”

Soon Afterward, Gad  notices more cultists, who have been waiting in the wings for a target. Namely, him.

On the east end of the battlefield, Ice, Light Piece and Night tangle with their own opponents, followed closely by Tounge Twister, ( @gm-scoots ) who tangles with the downed cultist’s purse strings for a moment before obtaining a hefty sum of 10 Bits. Nice find!

CULTIST’S TURN

Nat blocks a few hits from the cultist before her, but takes a burn from one of the unicorns behind.

A Pegasus Cultist dives for Gad. He’s able to dodge out of the way of his hooves, but soon afterward he takes a burn from one of the unicorns in the back. With his trap sprung, The Cultist with the fragment casually retreats behind his followers.

Ice and Knight are beginning to have trouble with their cultists, both taking hits from their opponents.

Finally, as Phoenix finishes escorting the unicorn behind allied lines, He gets a look at Zooks, and suddenly he sees red. How dare Zooks pretend to be one of them when he put the world at risk? How dare he run free while he ought to be rotting in a dungeon, or perhaps... a grave.

Nat senses Phoenix’s change in demeanor. “Phoenix! It’s not the time! Concentrate on the enemy!” Phoenix looks back at her. His eyes are glowing red with the light of some insidious enchantment.

“I am.” He says with barely contained rage.

[dranna]

contents: description of body horror(?) how you call it, description of mutated creature (aka Voldemort), Writing exercise: Voldemort

a/n: I haven’t read all the books and I’m not planning to do so. I got through till order of the phoenix and it was already a battle on my side. I hate the books and Harry’s character, I’m sorry. So if there is something not making sense canon vise here or any of my future writings, that’s why.

One of the things that always strikes me as odd, that Voldy isn’t that scary(?) or gruesome as the main villain of the story. Based on the things we learn about him, we never see much of his actions. I think his character would’ve been more interesting if we see more horror fuel stuff from him … or just him to do anything .I also imagine him looking more reptile like and terrifying.

English is still not my first language

drawing is by me :D

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An eerie feeling froze the blood in the participants' veins, as they heard the sound of naked feet tapping on the dark, marble floors. The patting was mixed with the sound of skales flowing on the shiny surface, omitting a low hissing ring.

The Malfoy manor was silent, even more so than usual. An unnatural stillness covered the building from top to bottom. It felt like the house was sick to its bone, trying to sweat its uninvited guests out.

This stillness was thick like fog, and was silently screaming into their ears.

The halls were dark, only illuminated by flowing candles, which lended the naked legged creature an even more haunted look. It was a stretch to call that being a man, because he wasn’t. Not anymore. He tossed away his humanity long ago, when the first part of his soul got torn out from his chest and shoved into an object.

Killing, consuming, ruling.

More power, more fear in hearts, more torment in minds.

The Dark Lord was walking slowly towards his ‘throne’ at the end of the long, gloomy table.

His cold figure casted a long shadow on the dark void of the floor, making it look even more ghostly.

He appeared as a mutated skeleton in the huge chair, swallowed by the fabric of his long, inky cape. His spider-leg-fingers lacked any meat or muscle, there was only paper thin stretched skin on the bones. As their gaze anxiously traveled up on skinny arms and on clothing, they saw a wretched neck first, not leaving anything to imagination. Every artery was bulging out, mercilessly working to keep the creature amongst the living, fueled by dark magic. The veins created an uneven surface of his porcelain skin, sticking out then diving back into bones.

When their eyes got used to the view of their horrific embroidery, they met with The Eyes. They sat deep in the dark holes of the reptile skull. They were glowing with a reddish light and burning with an icy flame. They lacked any kind of warmth that illuminated the orbs of men, they rather hid well contained violence and the enjoyment of other’s pain. His pupils were two lines as if a snake, cutting the red irises in half. Their look was hard and cruel, expanding in a cat-like manner when seeing something innocent breaking.

The shape of his skull tossed away the resemblance of a human’s, it borrowed the build of a reptile. If possible, the skin became even whiter and thinner than on the hands, in some places forming skale like growth around the eyes and mouth. The flesh of his nose has rotted away, leaving two empty holes in its place. The jaw extended, became longer and wider, bearing many shark-like teeth, with 4 huge fangs. The tongue became long and V shaped, having the ability to smell for prey.

There he sat at the long table, Nagini twirling around his neck and hissing something into his elf-like ears, smiling spine chillingly at his audience.

“Malfoy, why don’t you introduce me to your son?”

The voice that broke the silence was low, almost a whisper, but ran through the hall clearly. It was a strict sound, not tolerating anything but full obey of its orders.

The scarlet irises turned towards a young man, with shiny blond hair, pale face and big, gray eyes. He was wearing nothing but black which made his nervous paleness sickly.

“Perfect” - hissed the Lord while rotted away lips twitched into a terrifying smile, showing his huge sharp teeth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tagging: @giosnape

[thequeenofthewinter]

Work-in-Progress Wednesday

Slowly but surely I am typing away at my computer. However, I'm also currently grading 490283 billion exams and essays as it's the last week before break...so my sanity is suffering severely. Have a chunk of what I am currently working on. I'm just tossing this out into the Void. I love seeing what other's write, but I don't want to put any pressure. @oblivions-dawn @blossom-adventures @sneaksandsweets @rose-like-the-phoenix @nerevar-quote-and-star @elder-dragon-reposes I am also inevitably forgetting someone. If I haven't tagged you, it's not that I don't love you but that my brain is currently in a state akin to Swiss cheese.

“When was the last time you were out like this in public?” Dahlia turns to Ulfric as her traveling boots splash in a suspicious puddle of liquid in the middle of Riften’s street.

As they walk through the murky city, the smell of rotting fish, refuse, and something strangely sweet yet herbal, assails their noses. All of this is a reminder to Dahlia as to why she doesn’t frequent this place more than she has to. She sighs as her foot falls into yet another hole and she seriously contemplates why she agreed to leave Windhelm to begin with.

However, the one thing she can say for the city is that it certainly has a lot of personality. The further they get from the entrance, the livelier the population becomes, and while most leave them to their own business, there are still some whose eyes follow the well-dressed couple as they make their way into the main square.

Ladies and gentlemen alike call out to them both, trying to entice them in with the promise of a pleasurable evening in the red district as they pass Haelga’s Bunkhouse.

Dahlia's face turns bright snowberry red as she shivers at the offerings and pretends she doesn’t hear them.

“It’s been a while since I have visited the other Holds on political business.” Ulfric finally answers with a quirk of his lips. His wife’s response to the “ladies of the night” is entertaining to him. He wonders if he might tease her about that later.

Eventually, they dump out into the marketplace, and Dahlia spots Brynjolf peddling his usual dubious wares. 

What even in Oblivion is Falmer Blood Elixir anyway? 

[nvrcmplt]

Upon a stage, he stood with a mask ornament that resembled the red feathered head crest of a bird. It’s beak stretched over the face of the dancer, hiding eyes and nose, but not the lips that were painted red. Skin sun kissed, hair void of shade, hands poised elegantly through elaborate shades of fire on cloth, fingertips tipped in golden claws that rested against the lines of his fan. Ribbons of red and orange hung to the floor, morose draping over it along with his ankle dressage, golden hair ornaments and just overall, everything this dancer wore.

It was silent, the world at a cease point of time but it suddenly inhaled.

His body moved, a foot moved swiftly to step before the other, toes spreading out over earth, balancing himself as his jewelry jingled once, igniting eyes with awe. Another movement sharp, that caused material worn to lift in slow motion, billowing in the air as he twisted sharply, changing arms to have them both across his face, left hand above head, the right parallel to his shoulder.

Then the music began.

His body moved with swift and sharp movements that made his clothing seem like naught but liquid over long limbs. Lips never parted, painted almost glued shut, but movements gained speed, twisting, twirling, fanning the Earth that brushed grass to dance. The taste of heat would tickle the tongue of anything watching but it wasn’t over, no, the movements became stronger, faster, sharper - more and more and more.

Burning within a passion that was almost inhuman as the being draped in the colors of a Phoenix danced in a ring of sacred rope, music from band settled in seiza, offerings held in stands, glistening like gold in the light of flickering lanterns, those that were suddenly consumed in wild flames.

The dancer’s ring of movements, left sparks of orange in green, over and over and over until they too turned ablaze. The swinging material of hanging ribbons from limbs and joints caught on, burning up, as the dancer twirled, twisted and flipped with the grace of the Gods. Fans were tossed, spinning fire wheels with its winds and ribbons, dancing themselves before they were caught within twists and turns, the mask animating in the flickering flames, as those lips beneath finally parted only to release a stream of flames as head tilted down, poising arms high, arching arcs of clothing to form wings. Legs twisted to hide one behind the other, kicking up draped ribbons to form its tail feathers.

A Phoenix Dance; burning as they stood in the middle of an controlled ablaze. To the eyes of Humanity, it was pyrotechnics, until the phoenix that wore his own dancing garments, shredded the clothing worn. Revealing gold beneath, silk and weaved materials that melted through cotton and fibers made from human hands. Mask shattered to reveal the face of an youthful Deity - smiling within an almost drunken joy to prance, dance and perform for his own accord.

Lashes of snow fluttered apart, sparking with flames as crimson optics thinned with softened ease to stare upon the face of one, staring at him so hard. Wings of two, spread far beyond the reaches of technology that moment, and tail feathers parted, fanning from behind garment wearing youth to form a sun almost complete from orange feathers.

Jiyuna, stared upon his worshippers, he took in their awe, their faith and returned it with proof. A hand rose to lips, covering grin, instead bowing upon flames burning nothing else but where Jiyuna’s feet stood and with a grace unfathomable to some, he bowed in the grace of others. His fire, a message of faith, of love, of devotion and gratefulness…

He was still alive.

Thanks to them all.

[ariel-gremlinzkeep]

This needs updated

ToaF AU Introduction 

Okay. I suck at these kinda things so bear w/ me, lmao. 

Long Story Short:

Turts of a Feather is my canon divergence AU that is mainly based on ROTTMNT w/ bits & pieces of other iterations & OC shit tossed in. 

I suppose the easiest way to describe it is, take the Hamatos, throw them in a mixer w/ more found fam, heaps of trauma, loads of familial love, & hit max speed. Yay~

~☆~

🔗Links🔗

ToaF on Tumblr ToaF on AO3

~☆~

Long story summarized-ish:

The biggest divergence goes back to when Drax first made the Ooze & the fact his initial concoction was Empyrean free. Instead it utilized the Mystic ability of a nigh extinct class of Yōkai, a relation to the Phoenix. A rather small percentage of the female population can produce a powerful transmutation substance they call the Krókos or Yolk. Said substance can be used by the Krókos-Foréas (Yolk-Bearer) to transform any animal into a Krókos-Polemist (Yolk-Warrior). The catch being that the Yolk can only be used once in their lives.

 A young Draxum happens upon not one but three of the rare Yōkai. The quad band together to escape their current circumstances, growing close & forming a new clan. 

When Drax learns about the Mystic ability of his partners he hatches a plan of science & alchemy to make a combined Yolk that could be used for more than the three times normally allotted by their Yōkai ability. The trio agree, wanting nothing more than to be a part of a large clan all their own.

But when ambition, pride, & fear cloud the intentions of Draxum a disagreement blooms between himself & the rest of the Niwatori. The wives wanted a family, he wanted an army. Something that the three refuse to be a part of. 

Nettie, the science-then-alchemy to his alchemy-then-science is the one to find out about his true intention. Refusing to listen to his excuses as she sets about to destroy their hard work, swearing that no baby of hers would be raised as a child soldier. A massive fight erupts, resulting in Draxum accidentally blinding her in one eye, she retaliating by severing one of his fingers. 

In the end the other 2 find them, stopping Nettie from killing their former lover & leaving him amongst the broken remains of the life they had built. The Niwatori believing the Ooze to have been destroyed.

But little did either party know that each had managed to salvage a small sample. Each going on to use it in far different ways. Drax would go on to use Empyrean based on his portion, increasing his batch & making careful plans on how best to use the precious material. The Niwatori wives stealing an egg & using the small vial to have a child of their own.

One year after changing the formula to a concoction of his own DNA & Empyrian Drax finally finds the last piece to his puzzle in the form of Lou Jitsu. Battle Nexus Champion. But Drax's lofty plans go awry. Culminating in Lou Jitsu fleeing the imploding lab with the four young turtles who bore his genetics, that of the warring warrior scientist, & those of 3 very jaded, unaware Zoí-Pouliá.

From there Lou goes through several hardships & trials, suffering from not only his mutation but the void of losing his former life yet again. Thankfully along the way he collects a band of kindred spirits, a pair of fellow Nexus veterans & an Undead who knew all about having to toss aside former lives to be free. With his trio of newly claimed siblings the Hamato clan grew, the lot of them striving to give the children the peaceful & safe life that they had wished for in their youth.

But life has a way of always shafting the Hamatos. Hardships & chaos kept needling its way to the family, building their strength but also adding to their traumas. The clan keeps moving forward, always fighting alongside their own. 

 気をつけて。勇気を出してください。私たちのクランに戻ります。

Kiwotsukete. Yūkiwodashite kudasai. Watashitachi no Kuran ni modorimasu.

Take care. Be brave. Return to our clan.

It didn't matter what happened to the outside world, family above all. All that Splinter ever wanted was for his children, his entire claimed family, to get back safe & sound. But life was set on making that a lofty goal. One that may not be achievable.

[minubell]

Mmm here's a Oneshot of the consequences of Mairon telling Khamul to make sure Angmar doesn't leave the cell in chapter 21 of Tides of War and a look into their absolutely dysfunctional... romance? Can we even call it that?

Two songs for this one: Judas (Lady Gaga) and Phoenix (Fall Out Boy)

In the Belly of the Alcarondas

Despite the fact Angmar’s blow was nowhere near his eyes, Khamul’s vision goes stark white.

It swarms to a flurry of grey to the sound of a pitiful squeaking noise, like the cry of a rat but drawn out and more strangled. There is a terrible burning pain in his chest like he is drowning, but when he tries to breathe in again the pain does not recede and that squeaky, almost whistling noise returns.

Oh.

That’s him making that noise, isn’t it?

“-amul?”

He coughs and it hurts, and the dark crawls back in. His hands shift, fingernails digging into the floor that is suddenly beneath him, as if he might find some salvation between the boards. He doesn’t remember falling over, but it must have happened since that is where he lays now.

Everything is burning.

“Khamul?” a voice calls, but it sounds too distant to focus on over the weight on his chest.

He wheezes in a sharp breath, and for as much as it feels too shallow it does help banish the black from the edges of his vision. It swarms back the moment he exhales, but on the next whistling breath it retreats once more. He tries to breathe in more deeply, to free himself from the void entirely, but he barely moves before pain suddenly laces through his chest. His throat catches, and if he were still standing the pain would surely bring him to his knees. He is already lying upon the ground though, and with nowhere to go and words failing him, Khamul can only whine softly with his next shaking exhale.

Lesson learned. Shallow breathing only.

Bit by bit, inch by inch, he reclaims his sight from the darkness. It returns in a swarm of colors that slowly condense into real, physical objects. Brown. The wooden hull of the ship. Orange. The light of the torches in the hall. Blue. Dyed fur.

Black. Angmar’s eyes.

Khamul cracks his knuckles across Angmar’s teeth. He’s not sure where he finds the sudden strength to move, but the need for retribution apparently can replace the need for air. Either way, Angmar’s head snaps to the side and his body lurches to follow, the punch knocking him out of Khamul’s personal space. He is not certain what inspired Angmar to crouch over him in such a way, but right now Khamul just needs Angmar to get away from him.

Khamul manages to roll onto his side, an action that makes him shudder with pain. One elbow is planted below him, propping his chest up slightly, while his other hand is splayed out against the floor, bracing himself slightly from rolling over completely onto his stomach. He sucks in a few more shallow, whistling breaths, fighting against the burning that accompanies each one. He can’t… he just can’t catch his breath.

Angmar’s face shifts back into his view. He’s on his knees nearby, well out of Khamul’s striking range. Blood dribbles from the corner of his mouth, and a cruel, vindictive part of Khamul’s mind twists victoriously.

This is hardly the first time he and Angmar have exchanged blows. It is a part of the game that they play. Khamul twists and sharpens his words until Angmar is enraged enough to throw punches, at which point Khamul skitters away to safety. There have been moments, however, where he is too slow. Where Angmar manages to get a free hit before Khamul can run off. There have been moments outside of these games where Angmar decides to toss him into a lake in an attempt to teach him to swim, and Khamul returns the favor by pushing Angmar down the stairs in an attempt to teach him to fly.

So yes. Angmar has struck him before. Khamul usually does not strike back, at least not with his fists. Perhaps that is why Khamul’s reaction to being dragged off of the top of the Black Gates and crushed under Angmar’s knees was so.. subdued. It still felt like part of their game.

This is different.

Khamul might actually die here.

“Khamul?” Angmar calls softly, again, and one of his front teeth is chipped slightly, probably where Khamul’s ring slammed into it. Good. He deserves that as well. Angmar’s mouth continues to move, but Khamul is not certain if he is just wordlessly mouthing something or actually saying something and Khamul simply cannot hear it.

Khamul curls his legs up towards his chest defensively and shifts his shoulders and arches his back to hide his chest more from view. It sends a roaring pain racing across his skin and the next wheezing breath hurts far more than it should, but he knows better than to leave weaknesses exposed. Khamul draws in another sharp, painful breath, and when he exhales he tries to make that strange whistling noise at least sound disapproving. All he gets for it is darkness scrambling in the corners of his gaze again.

When his vision returns again, Angmar’s face is mere inches from his. Khamul jerks back, only to find he cannot. Somehow he has ended up lying on his back upon the floor again, wheezing pitifully, Angmar hovering over him. There is a hand on Khamul’s cheek that he instantly takes offense to, and before his vision has even completely cleared he throws another punch.

The gem embedded on his ring catches on the skin just below Angmar’s eye and tears a harsh, red line across one side of his face before his fist clips off of Angmar’s nose. Blood wells up across the wound near instantly, but Angmar barely responds. He is just leaning over Khamul, knees on either side of Khamul’s hips, one hand planted on the floor next to Khamul’s face, the other holding Khamul’s cheek.

He’s boxed in.

Khamul tries to hiss on his next exhale, anything to get Angmar off of him, but before he can even make a sound he is already breathing in again. Then out, then in again in short, shallow gasps, and even though he’s breathing quickly the dark is returning, eating away at the corners of his gaze, which makes no sense at all.

“Breathe, Khamul,” Angmar barks at him, and maybe Angmar cannot see either, because Khamul is obviously already doing that. In fact, he’d like to maybe not breathe as much, because despite the fact each breath is shallow, each one still sends pain dancing across his chest. A few drops of blood drip from Angmar’s cheek onto Khamul’s, but he can barely feel the sensation over the pain. “Shhh,” Angmar tries again, after a few seconds, like Khamul is one of Uvatha’s damned horses. He even moves his hand from Khamul’s cheek to Khamul’s forehead, running his fingers gently over Khamul’s skin and then into Khamul’s hair.

Oh, Angmar is very lucky Khamul lacks the strength to move right now, because he deserves the knee to the gut Khamul would like to give him.

Angmar’s hand cycles through Khamul’s hair a few more times in a way that is probably meant to be soothing but just makes Khamul want to fight before Angmar shifts, leaning backwards on his knees, and suddenly his face his not so close to Khamul’s anymore. Lovely. Fantastic, even. Hopefully next he’ll stand up and banish himself to a corner so Khamul can wheeze himself to death in peace.

Only in the next moment Angmar’s hand is on Khamul’s chest, directly over the spot where Angmar had punched him earlier, and Khamul jerks sharply when his entire chest erupts with pain. Angmar barely touched him, yet it is far worse than any pain he has felt so far. His next breathe comes out as a low whine, yet Angmar only recoils briefly before setting his hand back down on Khamul’s chest once more, reigniting the flame.

“Be still, Khamul,” Angmar orders sternly. Then, more softly, “this should work.”

Well, that is not very reassuring.

Khamul can feel his skin crawl with a familiar sensation as Angmar begins to sing. It is a deep, rumbling sort of song that seems unnaturally quiet compared to how Angmar usually sings. Normally there is wind and power behind Angmar’s magic that is palpable in the air, but here there is none. Perhaps that is because this is the first time Angmar has sung a song of calm, of comfort, of relief. Or, at least, this is the first time Khamul has ever heard him do so.

Blooming out from Angmar’s hand is a remarkably cold sensation that sinks into Khamul’s skin and makes him shiver. It is absolutely freezing, to the point of almost being uncomfortable, but wherever it spreads across his chest the pain turns numb. It is not gone entirely, no. But Khamul can feel his rapid, shallow breaths begin to ease into something slightly slower and deeper.

It is not a song of healing. Neither of them are trained in such a thing. Despite the fact Angmar is more than willing to push boundaries into realms of new magic, Khamul is grateful his first attempt at actual healing is not here and now. So while Khamul does feel like he can finally catch his breath, he still wheezes with each one.

The problem has not been fixed. He merely does not feel it any more.

“There,” Angmar grumbles after he has finished singing. He removes his hand from Khamul’s chest a moment later. As soon as he does, Khamul can feel the tightness in his chest return. It is not unbearable yet, but it is clear the results of the song will not linger long. He is going to need to figure out something else.

Perhaps he should have take his lord up on that offer for healing.

“Does it still hurt?” Angmar asks, and Khamul groans in response, dragging his own hands across the floor until he is able to gently touch his own chest with his fingers.

He is very grateful that the pain is still dulled. Even with the lingering effects of the spell there is still pain, but it is far less than the agony he felt trying to desperately breathe. Still, Khamul is reasonably certain his ribs should not crunch when he pushes on them.

“Yes,” Khamul hisses softly, the first words he has said since Angmar punched him, letting his hands relax and just splay out defensively over his own chest. He can tell speaking is going to be difficult, since even just the one word left him feeling breathless again. “If they were not broken before,” he adds, and pauses to catch his breath before adding, “they are now.”

“Why would your ribs have been broken before?” Angmar growls. He glances back, towards the door to the prison, already clearly blaming their captors for Khamul’s injuries. As if the fault for this did not start and end with him alone.

“Fell on me,” Khamul replies, and does not bother leaving out the accusation in his tone. It is not as if he has done anything to hide his condition from Angmar since they plummeted from the Black Gates together. Does Angmar think he simply enjoys resting all day, hardly moving, complaining constantly?

He probably does, actually.

It takes Angmar a few seconds to piece together Khamul’s words. Likely because he had to omit the you from you fell on me in an attempt to fit it all into one breath, and Angmar is an idiot.

“You were fine before,” Angmar huffs, but his words are marginally softer. Barely. It is only because Khamul has known Angmar for hundreds of years that he is able to pick up on the shift in tone.

“Wasn’t,” Khamul wheezes softly. “You are just blind.”

“I did not realize.”

“I know.” Khamul may recognize the closest thing to remorse Angmar has ever felt, the closest to an apology Angmar has ever given him, but that does not mean he is going to let him go easily. Khamul is still lying on the floor injured with Angmar still crouched over him. Khamul is still the one who has to deal with the consequences of this. “You are stupid too.”

“Khamul.”

“Ugly as well,” Khamul adds with a whistling cough, and the song is well and truly wearing off now because it sets his chest aflame. He grimaces, closes his eyes, and tries to breathe steadily.

“Are you finished?” Angmar asks, and there is annoyance creeping back into his voice.

“Are you going to hit me again?” Khamul asks, immediately seeking the lowest blow he can find. Angmar falls silent, giving Khamul the opportunity to recoup the lost air spent trying to say more than three words at a time. He can hear Angmar shift slightly above him, but he frankly does not care if he had somehow managed to hurt Angmar’s feelings with his words when he has to deal with physical injuries-

Something gently presses against his forehead, and Khamul opens his eyes instinctively.

“You are insufferable,” Angmar grows as he leans backwards slightly so Khamul can see his face and not just his neck, his harsh words in sharp contrast to the kiss he just laid upon Khamul’s forehead.

“Your beard is prickly,” Khamul complains, because expressing feelings always made him break out in hives.

“I hate you,” Angmar grumbles, hunching forward and letting his head press against the floorboards beside Khamul’s, close enough that Angmar’s beard that Khamul just complained of tickles his ear slightly. He does not completely lean against Khamul, instead arching his back slightly so his weight is not against Khamul’s chest, but his hands do gently cradle Khamul’s sides like he is some fragile thing.

At least Angmar has the sense to not try to kiss him properly right now. That may very well be the kiss of death for him right now.

He feels the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as Angmar begins to sing once more, almost directly into his ear. This is only a temporary solution. Angmar cannot continue to ease Khamul’s pain with song, he will need actual healing at some point. He will not complain in the meantime, however. If Angmar wishes to lose his voice trying to keep Khamul comfortable, that is his choice.

“I know,” Khamul sighs, staring at the wooden ceiling above them as the ship rocks gently in the morning waves.

The pain begins to recede back into numbness.

[arpuki]

A love letter to nobody

To never be fully seen is a pain undying, an ache, a solitude in the midst of a crowd, an isolation in some moments truly unbearable.

In the essence of freedom we find the space for individuality, but sometimes the uniqueness of ourselves is not from our own intent, but imposed on us by the forces of our childhoods, from trauma, from neuroatypicality, from a hundred other fractures in normality that separate us just a little more from the easily understood.

How do we face this reality, that being understood in a complete way will never occur? DO we, in fact, face this?

Physically and mentally we have millennia of self-protective instincts wired into our DNA. Without hearing the inner voices of other species, we can only surmise that we are the most dangerously reflective of the animal kingdom.

But it is not hopeless - I type this, pausing, knowing that I cannot with certainty claim that I, or that you, or that anyone will find themselves a shining moment within the universe where they feel truly seen by someone.

But I can hope.

It's tiring, feeling so disjointed from the human experience at times.

The call of a secluded, hidden cabin so far from civilization it is not reachable by vehicle has a certain charm. Perhaps it is the thought that it might be less lonely to not be reminded daily of the chasm between oneself and what others see. Unseen in a crowd is the most lonely of locations.

If the screams, the cries, the many puddles of tears could shift a soul to an adjacent universe that was just a bit kinder, we would probably not have as many stories as we do.

It isn't the emotional roller-coaster that can truly tear us up. It's the words, the poetry that gives us a window into a world we were born for but can never reach.

When you find a home in a book, but cannot ever make that home real. Can we not be killed by wholesomeness, murdered by joy? How can we keep that keening to ourselves when we see what could be.

It breaks loose, that grief, the anger, the betrayal that we will never be more than the slightest shadow of what we could be. The music left unsung, the notes unwritten, the dances never lived, the ideals unrealized, the fire smothered within us.

Anger. Hoarse from screaming at the void. Hoarse from cursing the lot chaos cast our world.

Where can we glimpse once more the full slice of our humanity, of our beautiful selves, when there is neither space nor color nor context?

Why do we cling to these visions of despairing beauty, knowing how the universal grit and despair permeates?

Is it hope that we may stumble upon someone who can See? Who has crossed enough of the same bridges, bled of the same wounds, strived alike and yet lives, learns, breathes, wakes, sleeps, and connects?

Fascinated as we are by impossible odds, we forget that the dice never actually rest, re-tossed as they are every moment. It bears remembering that unlikelihood and sheer possibility battle for the dreams of every child even after they are grown.

And sometimes, we rage.

Sometimes, we cry.

Sometimes, we scream.

Sometimes we know the dreams are dead.

Sometimes we know they can never be.

Sometimes it matters only for a moment, because hope, the phoenix, gives us new ones so we can continue to breathe, to live, to strive, to fight, to eat, to sleep, to conquer apathy and death.

And so we dream yet again, during the very funeral of our hopes.

[milesdadworth]

a quick dad-dotter sketch to wind down tonight

[phoxnixrising]

@professor-goodwitch​

Phoenix came up from bhind Glynda and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face into the crook of her neck. He said nothing - he simply stood there embracing his wife.

[dalekofchaos]

What would you say are the biggest mistakes Mass Effect 3 made?

Okay this is going to be a long one, but these would be the biggest mistakes ME3 ever made in my opinion

Choosing Cerberus over The Reapers. The thing that annoyed me most about ME3 is the fact that Harbinger is not the main threat. The Illusive Man is. Harbinger has been built up as the big bad since ME2. "YOU HAVE FAILED. WE WILL FIND ANOTHER WAY." He says as he discards the Collectors. Then his speech to Shepard as the base blows up. "Human, you've changed nothing. Your species has the attention of those infinitely your greater. That which you know as Reapers are your salvation through destruction. You will surrender your potential against the growing void. We return, and you will rise. We are the harbinger of your perfection. We will bring your species into harmony with our own. Your species will be raised to a new existence. We are the beginning, you will be the end. Prepare for our domination. Prepare for our coming." Then in Arrival, he came pretty damn close to unleashing quick subjugation and harvest upon an unprepared galaxy. Upon Shepard foiling his plans. "Shepard. You have become an annoyance. You fight against inevitability. Dust struggling against cosmic winds. This seems a victory to you. A star system sacrificed. But even now, your greatest civilizations are doomed to fall. Your leaders will beg to serve us. Know this as you die in vain: Your time will come. Your species will fall. Prepare yourselves for the Arrival." The perfect final villain right? Unfortunately, Cerberus was more focused on than The Reapers. My problem with Cerberus and no Harbinger is Too many Cerberus, too few Reaper forces in plot. We fight Cerberus more often than the reapers. Hardly any boss fight and the one with Reaper Destroyer on Rannoch was more an interactive movie than fight. During the Horizon mission in Mass Effect 2, Harbinger was solidified as the Big Bad. It was menacing and ominous, with just the right amount of annoying. It taunted us throughout the game, telling us how insignificant we were, and how our actions were pointless. It was willing to posses drones through the Collector General to fight us personally, and when we killed the host, it tossed them aside. Harbinger even gave the typical “You haven’t seen the last of me!” villain rant. It made any fire fight frustrating, and that made me want to kill it even more; I hated Harbinger. Many games fail to do that. Harbinger was an enemy which I looked forward to defeating. I had the desire to annihilate. In Mass Effect 3, I got a codex entry and a cameo. Harbinger just swoops in at the last second and blows my friends and I to hell(and lets the Normandy save them), then flies off. Personally, I would have loved to hear Harbinger’s menacing monologue, it drove me on. I would have felt a deeper motivation to take the fight back to Earth if it told me how much destruction the Reapers were causing, how many lives were lost. I felt cheated when I got to the final mission, only to suddenly realize it was largely absent from the game. Harbinger has been replaced. Replaced by the Illusive Man and Kai Leng. The former is an old acquaintance, albeit one now controlled by the Reapers. The latter is a space ninja from a terrible book. What would've been amazing is if Harbinger IS the Catalyst. Harbinger taunts and haunts Shepard throughout the game He uses the memory of that child to haunt Shepard as a symbol of humanity lost. After Shepard activates the Crucible. Harbinger appears. He explains to why and how The Reapers were made. the AI Leviathan created to solve the equation is Harbinger all along, Harbinger manipulated The Leviathan into giving it Reaper form and birth at first it did what it commanded and what they asked of it was to look at the dark energy building up which back then was only an anomaly that Leviathan was concerned with but then the first harvest began and Harbinger and The Reapers were born. Funny enough, Leviathan reminds me so much of FMA:Brotherhood. The Intelligence tricked Leviathan to create the Reaper is very similar to how the Dwarf in the flask became Father. So what I think should have happened is it would've been revealed that Harbinger is the AI that convinced the Leviathan that harvest was the only way to survive and justifies the harvests not because organics and synthetics can't coexist, but because of the dark matter crisis. Throughout the game we would have more confrontations with Harbinger. Have him "ASSUME CONTROL" during fights. Give us a voiced confrontation between Shepard and Harbinger. Make it clear that Harbinger chose The Illusive Man and convinced him of together they could uplift and empower humanity over the lesser races. The Illusive Man is to Harbinger, as what Saren was for Soverign. Then the Crucible will grant us the choice to Destroy or Control The Reapers or Harvest this cycle to survive the Dark Matter crisis. You could either. Destroy Harbinger and The Reapers, while the united races would discover a way to stop the dark matter problem. Give in to Harbinger to harvest humanity to save the galaxy. Control The Reapers to stop the harvesting and to work together to stop the dark matter crisis.

Choosing to have a smaller crew than ME2 and focusing solely on the ME1 characters and screwing over or ignoring the ME2 crew, especially romancing Jack, Miranda and Thane. If it were up to me, this is what my ideal ME3 line up would be Ashley/Kaidan EDI Garrus Liara Tali Javik Jack Miranda Thane(EA forgot about him and simply chose to kill him off, I think Thane could’ve rejoined the crew and even had a mission where we find a cure for Thane and Kolyat) Grunt Mordin(you'll see how later) Legion(You'll see later) Balak or any Batarian Squadmember. Ideally it would be someone who survived the Bahak system or even a Batarian freedom fighter who puts his people’s survival over the pride and prejudices of the Hegemony. His sole goal is to liberate Khar'shan and save his people. But for a more memorable person, Balak would be the squad member. I would make killing Balak not an option. The last high ranking officer in the Hegemony. Instead of causing deaths on the Citadel, he seeks Shepard out. It’s an enemy of my enemy is my friend. Over time, Balak would show remorse for his past actions as a terrorist and for the Hegemony’s past. Shepard and Balak learns to overcome their differences and see each other as friend and works together to destroy the Reapers. We would get a Priority Khar’shan where we could liberate the planet and the Batarians would be in a fighting force.

Keeping James alive. I like James, but he added absolutely nothing to the game. We already had an Alliance character. Ashley Williams/Kaidan Alenko. James should have been the Jenkins/Wilson of the game. He should have died in the crash to take out Eva and Ashley/Kaidan should have been with us from beginning to end. James is a character we barely know. We’ve waited a long ass time to see Ashley/Kaidan and it was downright disappointing that neither Ashley nor Kaidan did not get to interact with Garrus on Priority Palaven and Wrex during Priority S’Urkesh.

Mirandafying Ashley Williams. Mirandafying Ashley Williams for Mass Effect 3 was shallow and unnecessary. Wearing loose and long hair and skimpy clothing? Ashley Williams is a by the books soldier. She would not look like this. She would not grow her hair or let it down like this. I mean, it’s not that they changed her face so much, but they just tried too hard with the makeup, hair and outfit. Ashley didn’t need to be model-sexy and run around in heels and showing cleavage. She was already sexy as hell in her own way. All they needed to do was give her the Alliance Crewmen outfit as her casual look and the Phoenix Armor and the current Alliance type armor she was given in ME3, as well as a unique Spectre armor. It's not just the shallow Mirandafying. It's the fact that Ashley has little to no interactions. Ashley barely has any interactions in the game. Compared to Kaidan, Ashley is not interactable. I don't like that Ashley barely has any interactions and just feels...hollow. Ashley should have crew moments with Joker, Adams, Ashley at the monument mourning those who died with the original Normandy, Liara, Tali and Garrus. Was it so much to ask for simple interactions? And really, Ashley in the first game had a personality, Ashley in ME3 feels hollow.

Choosing Diana Allers over Emily Wong and Khalisah al-Jilani. Emily and Khalisah are two reporters we actually know and respect. They earned their place on the Normandy. Emily reported on crime and traffic controllers. Khalisah gave us hard hitting questions and actually cared about reporting on what the fuck was going on in the galaxy. They earned their place on the Normandy as far as I'm concerned. Compare that to Diana Allers. What has Diana Allers done to deserve a spot on the Normandy? Nothing. They created the Battlespace to make her seem like a hip and cool Alliance News Correspondent. Allers looked, weird and she just comes off as annoying and she's a waste of space on the Normandy when we could've had a whole new or returning squad member. God, I WISH Javik could throw her out the fucking airlock. You had TWO perfectly great reporter characters and you did jackshit for any of them. Just so you could have an excuse to hire Jessica Chobot.

Not letting us see Tali's face on Rannoch. Legendary Edition fixed the mistake by finally showing us Tali's face, but it's still exclusive to Shali romancers. What should have happened was we see Tali's face when she unmasks on Rannoch. If we don't romance her, she unmasks and gives us a smile. If we romance her we see her face and kiss her. Something simple like that. It would've been great to see

Not having the ME2 squad members join in on the Citadel DLC. I mean for fuck's sake, it's like they want us to know "fuck you, ME1 squadmembers only" Again, why? Why wasn’t Jack, Miranda, Grunt, Samara, Jacob, Zaeed and Kasumi not added? If we romanced Jack or Miranda, why didn't they come to save us when we were being hunted? Why not REALLY making it feel like Team Hammerhead by actually adding the ME2 Squad members to the Citadel DLC before the party? There was no reason why you couldn't include the ME2 squad members in the Citadel DLC

Making Cerberus the villains instead of uneasy allies, when The Batarians were the perfect allies for The Reapers. This might just be me but I think Cerberus should have been on our side in ME3 and The Batarians should have been fighting for The Reapers. Makes sense Cerberus has just been a rouge organization doing what the job no matter what the cost(even if the cost is atrocities) and instead of indoctrinating themselves they could of studied it to make themselves immune to indoctrination and The Illusive Man's goal was to use any means necessary in order to destroy The Reapers. I also like the idea that you know you can't trust him, but he does get results. The Council and The Alliance are desperate, so they accept a partnership with Cerberus. The Batarians have always held a grudge against The Alliance, The Council and would have wanted revenge for Bahak/ Viper Nebula. The fact that there are no consequences for what we had to do in Arrival from The Batarians just doesn't make any sense and you'd think this would give The Batarians the motive to turn to The Reapers. Hell in the Terra Nova DLC in Mass Effect 1 it seemed to me that Balak was already indoctrinated and Balak’s revelation of the “Batarian rebellion” makes it seem like they would be the perfect tools for The Reapers. Balak will be the new Saren figure. If you killed Balak, then The Reapers would just bring him back. The first act of war for the Batarians was the destruction of the Viper Nebula, so their retaliation was killing Udina. Prior to the Reaper invasion of Earth, Udina would go to Omega to make peace talks with Aria. The Batarians attack and gain control of Omega, Aria is ousted(but saved by General Petrovsky) and Udina is executed live for the galaxy to see. Because of Udina's execution and Anderson leading the resistance on Earth. The Illusive Man is now the Human Councilor. Miranda and Kai Leng would be squad members. Depending on if you gave TIM the Collector Base or destroyed it, he will either keep you in the dark or help you at every turn. Just think of the Cerberus War Assets Cerberus Scientists General Oleg Petrovsky Collector Base Cerberus Fighters Cerberus Phantoms Cerberus Engineers Project Phoenix We would get a big mission to deal with the Batarians, Priority:Khar'shan. If you do not deal with the Batarians, there will be major casualties. However half of the Batarian forces are not indoctrinated and just want to end the mistakes of their government and live. Balak wants to kill the rebellion of his people. Ironic. Somehow Balak has placed enough bombs on the planet to destroy everyone who is resisting Reaper indoctrination. We can either. Talk Balak out of it. Telling him to resist and fight for your people(which WOULD gain Balak as an ally) or talk Balak into killing himself. Or the true Renegade option is to kill Balak and order a strike that wipes out the Batarian forces, but sacrificing the Batarian Rebellion. By the time we get to Priority Earth everyone is on the same page and united against the true threat, The Reapers. And it is Harbinger who is the final boss

Not having Maelon be there with Mordin in ME3. This isn't really a problem, but I had a thought. If we spared Maelon and kept Maelon's data for the cure. Maelon should have been on board to help Mordin with the cure. If we warn Mordin and Maelon about the sabotage, then Maelon would choose to sacrifice himself to save Mordin. And after that, Mordin would choose to join Shepard's crew.

Legion's "death" is pointless. He....is software. He could easily copy and paste The Reaper code without sacrificing himself in the same manner when he was broadcasting the Reaper signal to all Geth. Or he could've disseminated himself after he made a copy and transfer that copy over to his platform. I just get the feeling that they didn't want to keep Mordin, Thane or Legion alive....for reasons.

[pochiperpe90]

Points of view – The Interview: Luca Marinelli

How do you approach your characters. 

Sometimes I also wonder how I get to the character. For “Non essere cattivo”, I had a very detailed script and a fascinating director at my disposal, so I didn't struggle to relate. It was a very brave script for the way it dealt with reality. At first my auditions went in the direction of Vittorio's character but also knowing the figure of Cesare, more than once I thought I would like to play him. I saw the auditions of others and I stopped to think how I could have done Cesare. Then at a certain point I remember that Claudio looked at Valerio and told him that it would be better to reverse the roles, to let me try Cesare, and so it went. When I read the script of “Lo chiamavano Jeeg Robot”, the first thing that struck me, besides the courageous imagination, was to understand how a film of this kind could be made. 

In the first part of your career, you brought an image of introverted and staid youth to the screen. Was this a choice. 

Absolutely not. Or rather yes, it was the choice of those who met me first. Perhaps a part of my personality has been seen that could best marry the characters in question. It happened both in “La solitudine dei numeri primi” by Saverio Costanzo and later with Virzì in "Tutti i santi giorni", then it can be said that with Casare of “Non essere cattivo” and the Zingaro of “Lo chiamavano Jeeg Robot” I was allowed to turn things around slightly, to play a character who had a disposition and behavior that was completely the opposite of what I had faced previously. 

What do you remember about your debut with Saverio Costanzo. 

He was my initiation into cinema, I came from the Academy and I had no idea what it was like to work on a set. The best memory, in addition to the experience of the film with him and Alba, is the first meeting, the first audition, where I really understood that I strongly wanted to work with him and that if this had happened I would have ended up in the hands of a great author. 

With that film you found yourself in the main competition of the Venice Film Festival. What memories do you have of that first time at the lido. 

Of a huge confusion and a big headache. We were tossed around from one interview to another and not only that, because the worst thing was always answering the same questions, and I was terribly worried not to make the situation even more boring for the machine operator, who never changed, and I don't think could take it longer to hear the same phrases over and over. Fortunately, Alba was there as well and saved me in more than one interview. The experience helped me because the following times I knew slightly more what I was going through and how to manage situations and keep stress at bay. Or maybe not yet, it's a long way. 

I noticed that when you talk about your job you do it using the verb “to play” (giocare). Is it a coincidence or the choice has a precise meaning. 

Perhaps it’s not a coincidence that in English the term recite is said precisely in this way because in my opinion to play, or the French jouez, represents the feeling of freedom and fun that is inherent in the job I do, better. As far as I'm concerned, the moment of the take is when the actor has to stop thinking, abandon worries, to be able to bring out the energy of his character. He has to play with the same seriousness and commitment with which a child does. I remember a piece of advice from Carlo Cecchi on the fact that in acting counts listening and the here and now. Being actively present to oneself and to others at that exact moment.

You have a method for achieving this condition. 

If someone asked me something about technique, I wouldn't know what to answer, apart from listening. On the set of Andrea Molaioli's film in which I am the father of the young protagonist, the actor who plays him, Ludovico, who is really good, full of talent and very smart, once asked me what was the technique to make the best of the character, and the only thing I felt able to advise him was to try to be present in that moment and then to let go, listen and not think about the rest. 

But I imagine that there are also practical aspects in the preparation that precedes the start of filming. 

As for me, I try to prepare as much as I can before arriving on set because at the start of the shoot it would be good to be ready. But not everything happens automatically, in the sense that you can’t always find the character immediately. However, I have always been lucky enough to have more or less long periods of rehearsal before starting a film. I remember this moment with Saverio and Alba, where we spent weeks among us and also with the kids who would have played us as children, to try the various scenes and to create a union and harmony between the characters. The same happened with Paolo Virzì, Thony and I, more than once we gather, facing the script, to clarify all the passages and moments of the scenes. 

And how did things go with Claudio Caligari. 

The same thing also happened with Claudio even though the illness made everything more complicated for him. He asked us to change our bodies, to participate in the auditions of the other actors. This allowed all of us, the cast, to integrate and develop a unity of purpose and a truly rare familiarity. So in front of the camera it seemed to me that the gang, to which Cesare and Vittorio belonged, was really part of my life, that it wasn’t hard to pass from Luca to Cesare, because I had found him. And always to identify with the environment of the story, I preferred a house in Ostia, and Alessandro often came to me from Rome to spend time between the two of us. Claudio, in addition to having reading meetings together, also showed us films that were a source of inspiration for him for this film, such as “Accattone” by Pier Paolo Pasolini, “Rocco e i suoi fratelli” by Luchino Visconti and “Mean Sreet” by Martin Scorsese.

Instead, I wanted to ask you what happens between takes, for example when you come home after a day of work. You stay inside the character as it happens to Daniel Day Lewis, or you put it aside and think of something else like Marcello Mastroianni did. 

I try to disconnect from the set. I try. I go home and try to do something else, but the last thought before falling asleep always goes to the next day's work plan and I leave myself a few minutes for the memory and concentration useful for tomorrow and then I close my eyes.  

We asked Roberta Mattei and we ask you too. During the processing you were aware of the exceptional nature of what you were doing. 

Yes. Let me explain: I saw with my own eyes that what was happening was exceptional, a man who was dying wanted to give his latest work to the public, to his audience, to his people, to people. This has no equal for me. Don't think about yourself in such a situation but about others.

Then it was the turn of Lo chiamavano Jeeg Robot. 

I shot Jeeg Robot in March 2014, and therefore before “Non essere cattivo”. The fact that Mainetti's film is only coming out now is due to the long post-production period necessary to assemble the shot with the special effects present in the film. 

Here as well it was an interpretation and a character who completely overturns the transparent and pristine image of the first part of your career. 

To make Jeeg Robot we had to convince each other, Gabriele Mainetti and I, about my success in the character. I pushed him towards a theatricality and Gabriele towards a real madness, a pure pain. In the end, I think we have found the right amount. 

The construction of the Zingaro was already very clear in the writing and it was up to us, however, to find its true aspect. 

Guiding him is this crazy and boundless ego, and the obsession with having to leave a mark. The Zingaro's eccentricity is partly reflected in his look, halfway between a rock star and a suburban bully. For the costumes and make-up we were inspired by the great rock icons. We dared in some choices, such as the black coat with pink leopard lining that characterize the wardrobe. For the aspects related to the way of performing, his model was Anna Oxa and in particular the video of her at Sanremo, when she sings “Un’emozione da poco”. 

In part you have already answered, but I wanted to know how you choose to accept the proposals that are made to you and if you have any foreclosures towards television, or more generally towards commercial cinema. 

I choose the proposals on the basis of love at first sight that must happen with the film, with its screenplay. Then figure out who will be leading the film, meet the director. I don't have any kind of foreclosure, let's say that if I don't like something I don't do it and if I like it I do. And it doesn't matter if it's cinema or television. 

As a spectator what is the cinema you love. 

I like films that have something to say and that I also choose based on who directed and starred in it. Usually when they ask me to name some titles I have a void. Think that the same thing happened to me also during the audition to enter the experimental center, when Lina Wertmuller asked me the title of a film I had seen recently. I was struck by a cosmic void and instead of naming her an authoritative and important film I left her stunned by citing Batman, I think Nolan's first, still a good film, but I still had Wertmuller in front of me... But to go back to what you asked me, I tell you that in general I always like to watch films that come from Sundance, of which I remember, for example “Like Crazy”, which I found disarmingly beautiful, the films of P.T. Anderson, Wes Anderson, the Cohen, there are many, and among the Italians those played by Alba Rohrwacher, Valerio Mastandrea, Elio Germano, Kim Rossi Stuart and directed by Alice Rohrwacher, Costanzo, Virzì, Sorrentino, Garrone, Salvatores. Without forgetting those of the great Joaquin Phoenix. But in reality I look at everything, let's say that I try not to lose anything of these. 

Despite the certificates of esteem you have received for your performances, the impression is that of an understatement that almost seems not to be aware of what you have achieved so far as an actor. 

Whenever I see a film of mine I always think there is something I could have done better. But basically I'm happy with what I've done so far. Having said that, I think that the films alone should be enough to explain everything and that the interviews don’t add anything new to what there was to say before making them. But when I am in the dance, when I need to promote, I am committed to doing it in the best possible way. I strongly think that in life and at work it’s important to demonstrate that you know how to do and not to show at all costs that you do.

DREAMINGCINEMA

Just wanted to translate this old interview for the non-italian’s fans ^^ (sorry for my English)

[cargopantsman]

Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here

Trigger warnings: All of them, because I am lazy. Also none of this is sensical.

Utter, hyper-caffeinated brain noise.

The problem with the concept of a "sense of self" is it already tries to concretize an amorphous abstract. It makes us want to point at some thing and say "Well... that's me." Whether it is a set of ideals that we try to live by, a set of activities that brings us a sense of joy or fulfillment, or, gods forbid, and entirely different and other person that "completes us."

I've always had an affinity for trickster figures and shapeshifters. The wearers of masks, the truthful liars, the artisans of duality, yada, yada. Since I was a child my first instinct has always been to blend in. If into the background, great, but if need be, if I needed to blend into the social fabric around me, I could do that too. To throw this into the high school backdrop; I wasn't a social butterfly, I was shy as could be, but I got along with the jocks, the goths, the nerds, the art freaks, the band kids, the preps, the whatever. Where ever I was I could fake that I belonged there. I was comfortable drifting in between worlds. (Looking back, I could have caused a lot more chaos with the information I was privy to at the time...[Oh, there's a constant point. I'm good at keeping secrets, keeping confidence. I'll lie my ass off to keep a secret.]) Does any of that really help drive a sense of self though? When your natural instinct is to mirror, to blend, to fade? When your point of pride is walking into a room unnoticed and, even better, leaving a party unseen? Does being a ghost count as an identity?

"Expression of Will" comes to mind... what does that mean? Ok, so some abstract thing is inside of you and you manifest it objectly outwardly. I was an artist. I made images in my head and "kind of" manifest them on paper. Some times people see that paper...  I was a writer... images in my head "became" words and some people saw that. I combined them into comics. Some people Saw that. Is that a lasting affect? Maybe the fights I've been into?! That time in 2nd grade someone was picking on a friend and I laid them out... the time in 8th grade someone was picking on me and clocked them down. Or in high school when someone decided to start some rumors and I held them up by their throat in the air until they turned blue? That was an inward thing that manifested outwardly. Nevermind good or bad, but was any of that... me?

Hmm. The beast. The primal... come back to that later.

"Expression of Will," "Expression of Will," "Expression of Will" ... What the fuck even is "Will"? Is this why philosophers get their heads so far up their ass? Is it a desire? The will to live.... living requires eating and the amount of times I forget to even do that... Maybe been looking at the phrase all wrong...

Will to Live (noun) It isn't a thing.

Will (verb) to (preposition) Live (verb)

Why does that sound better?

Desire to Live (noun)

Desire (verb) to (preposition) Live (verb)

Okay, that feels better even, but still... Sense of self, will, desire, expressions thereof. Are these just the aimless desires and wills? The fleeting flights of frivolous fancies festering forlornly in frontal cortices?

The self with the will can direct the desires towards living. "Get in the fucking robot Shinji!" "I don't wanna"

The (ghost) with the (strength) can direct the (impulses) towards (being). Getting too close to a concept of a soul on that one huh?

Forget self. It's a useless moniker right now. There is no self. It's just this mind alone for the first time in its entire life. (Not alone alone, there are friends, but they've learned more about me in the past two weeks than the past 6 years so...) "What did they learn?" asked the projection of self that defines itself by interactions with other.

I thought we were forgetting self.... not an option really. Sentience is a bitch like that. But they've learned I'll put up with a lot of bullshit under the guise of strength and integrity when I should've callously called this whole thing ages ago. That I can shut myself down completely in the interest of bodily-self preservation. (Not Self-self preservation, fuck the English language). What did I sacrifice? What did I shut down?

Everything.

That is less than helpful.

The Beast. Vince. Your Shadow.

My Shadow...

What do you desire?

Blood in the cut, tears in their eyes, power over someone that wants that power over them...

Do you want that? I don't want it, I just need it. No... I want it.

Is that all you are? A sadist? An animal?

Maybe... probably not though. A caretaker, and a sparring partner. A trickster and a shapeshifter. A crafter whose tools are destruction.

Next problem, grandeur. Mythologizing everything. But how to see a thing if you don't blow it up/magnify it?

You lack a sense of self because no one ever tested your sense of self. No one actually fought you for who you are. To find out who you are. The ex didn't. An old friend did until she got scared by what she found there.

You don't want to be yourself because it's not nice is it? You were raised to be nice.

College. I controlled the group. Never hit anyone after high school aside from set matches in classes or sparring for funsies. They all saw my eyes and stopped if they were getting out of hand.

The Dom-Friend.

Don't use the d-word on me.

Destroyer? Yeah, that one's fine. That one fits. He says as he carelessly tosses lit matches around his entire life. Can we bring up the phoenix or is that too grandiose? Why shouldn't it be grandiose? We spend every day of our lives going through the same kind of tedious bullshit all the time why not make our inner lives a bit bigger, a bit richer?

A bit darker.

Why do you want them to bleed? Hurt and comfort. That's a big theme, a trope if you will. Why not have both at the same? Why not let her think that I'm about to kill her but let her rest in the trust that I won't? Why not let me think that I'm about to break her while believing she is the most precious thing in the world?

Caretaker. A caretaker kills all the time. Tearing out weeds, uprooting the prized plant to move it to a better place for its growth.

Growth.

The self isn't going to be found just in ones self... not in another either. No, the self has to be found in everything. The things one wants to run to and run from. The soul (oops) is formed by what it crashes into right? The mind recoils from traumas races towards panaceas, why not, if one can, flip the polarity on the two. Bring the darkness screaming into the light so you can see it, bring the light quivering into the darkness so it can loose its terrifying brillance. Balance in all things right?

You're not a very positive person, they say. No... I'm not. It lashes out in bad ways sometimes, sure. Control, control, you must learn control. But being negative isn't bad. Not if you can grow from it. No plant can survive the sun for 24 hours. Trees sleep in the winter. We sleep, we heal, we grow.

Self-Destruction!! That's a fun one... seven fucking months downing a bottle of whisky a night. Whooo boy. Do Not Recommend.

Got a nice stay in the underworld though and trudged up a lot of shit. Now I'm sitting here with my ears ringing because I finally hit the personal limit on Monsters and my brain is overclocked enough I can finally see shit at 4 angles at the same time. I am a god damned quantum supercomputer of emotions right now.

Faith and faithlessness are the same thing. Have faith, trust the future, don't expect anything, don't plan your now for your future. Sounds sadly like live in the moment type bullshit, but life is weird and people are complex. Shifting drifting clueless animals that want to be safe but don't want to get stuck in anothers arms even when there is one whose arms are so safe.

The damage runs deep... and two people with damage running that deep. Hmm. How much healing can falling do? The other just puts a bandage over a puncture wound and both try to ignore it, but then the blood gets pumping, the heart pounds and poisons surge to the surface. It's neither one's fault really. Life is a trial of knives and we don't always have time or concern to tend the wounds properly. There's always something else that needs to be taken care of first.

Divorce is a helluva drug. It is maddening, the freedom to finally to be yourself is line having the lineart stripped off, there is a terrifying infinity in front of you and the only thing to do for awhile is melt. Let the slings and arrows just pierce and sink in. Anyone else tries to push the sludge of you into a shape might get hurt when they find the arrows. I want to go absolutely feral in a way. In a way the whole COVID mess is keeping me under lock and key so I'm just prowling around the empty house like I always have been, but now there's some sense... of purpose.

I'm raging against any depression, the executive dysfunction is going to have a talking to. The sense of self is going to be found in stripping this house down to bare walls and making a blank canvas. Bring everything down, ruin it all, start again.

My self is emptiness, it always has been. I can be anything, but I should be wary of ever wanting to be something. (My career options are AWESOME). But this is a different emptiness than before. Before I pulled the trigger and splattered the brains of the marriage across the floor I was just a void, and inky black pit of nothingness. Somehow, having the Shadow rise up and finally start getting along with the rest of me, the emptiness isn't.... void. It's just nascent possibility and that shouldn't scare me.

It does, of course, terrify me. First time in 40 years being legitimately alone is terrifying, should have done this kinda thing when I was 20, but... I was an idiot back then (60 year old me laughs from the future). But I think I can get a grip on the concept that "I" don't exist, but I'm real... ever changing ever dynamic, not who I was while I was married, but a mix of the me before, a angry beast now, and something yet unseen in the future.

[cheese-ception]

Icy Shell

Darlings,  kindly forgive the initial angst - I promise the fluff that follows in the second half makes up for it tenfold.

Beta-tested on my dear @masamune-archive​ Tagging @tsubaki3192​ and @spanish-aguacate​, because I can and because it’s Levi time, you two, woo! Please, enjoy ♡ pairing: Leviathan (Obey Me!) x reader warnings: angst (to fluff) word count: 2004

Nothing seemed to make sense anymore and it wasn't fair. Leviathan's trembling fingers ran through his hair, still damp from the the shower he took earlier, purple strands glistening with stray droplets of water. Hours have passed him by as he struggled to pull himself together, pacing through his room anxiously, an agonized scowl twisting his features.

His eyes were glossed over, dark circles underneath them matching the shadows in his mind. He cursed profusely, tripping over one of the countless boxes littering the floor. Tears streamed down his cheeks, their wet trails almost painful in their descent, stinging his skin with merciless salt. He did not even bother to wipe them away, the last fragments of his focus set on a completely different kind of torment.

He picked up one of the boxes, tracing its edges with his chilled fingers, only to put it away again, carefully but without any real care at the same time.

The world was utterly joyless, a mere replica of what it used to be before the two of them met.

Before she filled his heart with all these strange feelings, causing him to become apathetic to the very things that used to keep him going.

Now none of them really mattered, regardless of how hard he tried.

Each time he ordered new merch, he lost interest before it even arrived.

Whatever game he played failed to entertain him.

Any show would have been better if she was there to watch it with him, leaving him feeling even more lonely and miserable.

He used to look forward to escaping social gatherings, to being alone in his room, able to enjoy the peace and quiet, far from the noise and the judgemental stares of all the normies he was forced to keep in touch with.

But not anymore.

Nothing made sense and it was all her fault.

Or was it, really? How many times had she asked to hang out together? How many times had she smiled at him, eyes sparkling with excitement, lips shiny with her cherry chapstick, upturned in the most endearing of smiles?

A smile that made him feel like his heart would cease beating if he didn't stop looking, so dazzling and brilliant that it made my shy away almost instantly.

He struggled hard not to give that feeling a name, afraid that if he did, the spell would break and she would finally realise he didn't deserve any of it, that she was better off sharing it with someone else, someone more worthy. He slid to the floor, hugging his knees tight to his chest, the war within him so intense that it easily put the whole celestial debacle to shame. Or at least that's certainly how it felt while his nails pierced his skin, setting themselves deep into the flesh of his forearms, crimson staining his white sleeves.

Days turned into weeks and he refused to leave his room, opening the door only when Asmodeus brought him food.

Sometimes not even then, leaving it grow cold at the doorstep, letting hunger gnaw at his insides in a desperate attempt to distract him from the void food couldn't fill.

It was better this way.

If he stayed away long enough, these feelings would eventually disappear. Surely he wouldn't suffer forever and she probably didn't even notice.

He was a nobody after all.

Nobody to be missed. He curled into himself in his tub, cradling a pillow to his chest and closed his eyes, ready to let the world disappear behind his weary eyelids and drift away to another restless sleep.

But even that wasn't meant to be as a soft knock sounded against the door, disturbing his attempt at disconnecting from reality.

“Go away, Asmo, I am not hungry!” he snarled, tossing around in a fruitless attempt at getting comfortable again.

He was met with silence, interrupted only by the soft click of the lock as the door opened slowly. Light spilling inside in harsh rays, Leviathan groaned, diving underneath the blanket where he sat still, pulling it over his head like a make-shift hoodie.

The floor creaked and he blinked fast, desperately trying to adjust his sight to the unwelcome luminosity but then the door closed again, shrouding everything in blissful darkness.

He sighed, relief spreading through him until he realised that his visitor didn't actually leave. Either that, or his nightmares came true and he was finally going crazy.

After all, he couldn't very well distinguish dreams from reality at this point and maybe he was just dreaming.

Why else would she be in there after all? “Levi?” a voice rang and his throat tightened, emotions flooding into him, threatening to suffocate him on the very spot.

He peered from underneath his blanket, trying to establish if it was really happening, not trusting his own voice enough to reply just yet.

“Are you okay?” Another sentence cut through the air, straight into his heart as he finally realised she was really there.

Her tone was filled with worry and he forced out a quiet hum, unsure just how to verbalize a proper response. “You have been away for a while, so I came here to check on you. I hope you do not mind too much. I know you probably did not want to see me, but I had to make sure you were alright,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper, trailing off into an awkward silence. He didn't know what to say. There was so much he wished he had the courage to tell her but words failed to form and he opened his mouth to speak several times, only to close it again right after.

He felt something warm touch his arm and he shivered, torn between flinching away and remaining as he was, letting the warmth seep into his gelid body, devoid of any of his own heat within. It was like being kissed by the sun after a long winter and he decided to stay still, letting some of the frost that settled on him dissolve, even if only for a moment.

Daring to look up, he searched her face, pale in the dim light of Henry's fish tank, wearing an expression so sincere it made his grip on the blanket tighten, moved by the intensity of the moment as the realisation hit him.

She really cared. For him, out of all the beings in the three realms combined.

She chose to seek him when he wanted to make it easy on her.

When he wanted to make her life better by removing himself from it.

“You don't have to say anything if you don't want to, but would it be okay if I hugged you?” she inquired, leaving him stunned for a few moments before he nodded, apprehension pulling at the last string that held him together. He thought he would fall apart right there in front of her, the frantic beating of his heart causing his blood to race, further melting his icy shell as he leaned forward tentatively.

For a fleeting moment he saw her smile, the very smile that shattered his heart and now pieced it back together, the sight of it making it soar like a phoenix born anew.

He held his breath, terrified that he misheard or that she was only teasing, ever so difficult to be convinced that anything pleasant could actually ever take place with him as a part of the equation. Doubt tugged at his mind, dismay threatening to settle in while he steeled himself, arms unfolded and raised in front of him somewhat awkwardly, waiting for her next move.

Suddenly her slender frame collided with his and it was as if he ascended back to heaven. Her scent enveloped him in its fruity sweetness, her chest pressed against his, delicate arms winding around him, patting his back affectionately.

It was entirely too much, yet somehow not enough and he choked back a whimper, sinking his teeth into his lower lip to silence himself instead.

Levi whined at the loss of the sensation when she eventually drew away, much too soon for his liking, even though he wouldn't openly admit it.

She took both of his hands in hers, giving them a little squeeze and he realised they were no longer cold at all. He closed his eyes, happiness spreading through him like a wildfire, the sparks of his love burning so bright and vivid that he nearly couldn't take it.

“I really missed you,” she chimed, loosening her grip on his hands, giving him space to retreat if he chose to do so.

“I am not quite sure what happened, but suddenly you were gone and it was like a part of me was missing too. Sorry if it sounds weird, but it's just not the same without you around, you know?”

“You really mean that?” he rasped, voice strained and hoarse, a mix of hope and insecurity filling it with equal share.

“Of course, why would I say it if I didn't mean it, silly?” she retorted, flashing him yet another smile and his last icy wall melted away.

Pulling her back to him, he let go of the previous hesitation, eager to feel more of what he spend so long denying himself, flustered and overstimulated but more content than he has ever been.

His trust was not easy to earn, but he decided to believe her and silence the nagging voices in his head for once. For her. And perhaps for himself too.

Her fingers combed through his hair, untangling the unruly tresses while her nails drew intricate patterns over his scalp, soothing yet enticing at the same time. He let out a sigh, nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck and she pulled him even closer, until he could feel her heartbeat mirroring his own in their silent race without a winner, invigorating beyond description. He felt more alive than ever before, her name dying on his lips while he carefully stroked her back in turn. He wished he could take back all the time he had wasted, thinking himself a fool for avoiding her when it was so strikingly obvious that what he really craved was the exact opposite of that.

Every second spent with her was sacred and he realised it now.

He didn't have to hide. Not anymore.

She brushed his fringe away, kissing his exposed forehead, gentle fingers attempting to tuck the silky strands away, failing tremendously. His hair cascaded back into its place, stubborn, just like himself. Levi chuckled and she kissed him again, this time on top of the messy purple layers, rewarded by a soft gasp.

“Do you still remember when you once asked me what my greatest fear was and I wasn't sure what to reply?” she inquired, snapping him out of the momentary daze.

He nodded, patiently waiting for her to continue.

Her hand slid to his cheek, gently stroking his flustered face as she took a deep breath before carrying on.

“I did not yet know then, but what really scares me is the thought of living in a world untouched by your presence, Levi. Please don't disappear on me like that again.” He met her gaze, reluctant and skittish at first, but soon grinning so hard the tips of his usually hidden fangs were on full display. He was grateful, for her but also for the fact that he somehow managed to retain his human form. He was certain that if his tail had manifested, there would be nothing he could do to prevent it from wagging. His cheeks burned even brighter than before, eyes flickering with newly found zeal. He continued smiling, extending a pinky to her with poorly concealed enthusiasm, focusing hard on pushing back the scales that begged to sprout across the sides of his hand while he held it out in her direction. “I won’t, I promise!” ________ Masterlist

[a-dorin]

celebrating with you | kylo ren

word count: 1,497

warnings: nsfw, pet names, smut, dominance kink, praise kink, choking 

a/n: this was a request from @beccybecks13 ! i hope it’s not too late! enjoy :) 

prompt: it’s your birthday, and you happen to be spending it all alone in your quarters. however, a knock on your door shows that there’s one person who wants to celebrate with you. 

darkness fell over your quarters, your quiet sobs echoing off the walls. a half-eaten pastry sat on your nightstand, a gift from one of your coworkers. it was a sweet gesture, but wasn’t enough to fill the void in your heart as you sat on your bed, knees curled against your chest, tears streaming down your cheeks. 

you were hurt. you had every right to be. after all, who celebrates your friend’s birthday without inviting the special somebody? your friends were more than likely celebrating in the mess hall, drinking till they fell over. although you weren’t a huge fan of blacking out, you wouldn’t have minded laughing right along with them, making memories. 

it didn’t help that two of your closest friends, phoenix and bubba, were out on a mission, assigned by none other than kylo ren himself. the supreme leader was cruel in that manner, as bubba and phoenix informed you this morning they were not able to spend the special day with you. they wouldn’t be back for a few days, so it wasn’t like you all could celebrate tomorrow, either. 

a soft knock on your day snapped you out of your thoughts, intrigue replacing the despair. it was well past ten o’clock, so there were not many first order employees roaming the halls. slipping off your matress, you padded over to the doors. 

they slid open, and your breath hitched in your throat, heart skipping a beat. before you, stood the commander of the first order. he was donned in a plain lack tunic, along with black pants, the same thick, military boots on his feet. his arms were folded across his chest, biceps sculpted by the fabric. the most fascinating aspect was that his helmet was nowhere in sight. his brown eyes gleamed in the light, lips soft and pink. 

“c-commander,” you stammered, struggling to regain composure, “g-good evening. i was not expecting you.”

“i know,” he rumbled, eyes scanning your puffy eyes and swollen lips, “you’re crying. why are you crying?”

“u-um it’s nothing,” you wiped your eyes desperately, “it’s nothing i promise.”

“whatever you say,” he snorted, “i swung by to um, deliver this package from yo-988 and yw-382.”

your eyes drifted down towards the tiny package in the commander’s hand, the box tiny in comparison to his hand, “oh, thank you!”

“er, you’re welcome,” kylo cleared his throat, “would you mind some company?”

“company?” you blinked.

“you still have a couple hours left to celebrate your birthday, don’t you?” he arched a dark brow, “or was i too late in delivering your gift?”

you shook your head slightly, “no, it’s still my birthday. please, come in.”

taking a step back, you allowed kylo into your quarters, the doors closing behind him. the commander’s eyes scanned the room, taking in the sight of your stone grey walls, and drably colored furniture, “this is quite the small space.”

“it’s what is typical assigned to all engineers, maintenance, medical, and lower level soldiers,” you muttered, “sorry about the lack of decor. i’m moving out soon.”

“to where?” he inquired. 

“i’m being promoted to lead medic when it comes to the intensive care unit,” you sat on your bed, picking at a string on your comforter. 

“that’s quite the feat,” kylo remarked, his voice warm. 

kylo sat next to you, blush spreading through your cheeks as your thigh brushed his. you swallowed, pondering about his true intentions. surely he didn’t just come over to deliver a present from phoenix and bubba. surely there had to be more behind this visit. 

“your thoughts are quite loud,” a smirk plastered kylo’s face, “i know every single thing you’re thinking about. there’s no need to hide from me.”

“then why did you come to my quarters?” you bit your lip, anticipating his response.

“perhaps i wanted to show you how i celebrate a birthday,” kylo leaned in so that his face was inches away from yours, “or is that not allowed?”

“i-it’s allowed,” you yelped, your cheeks burning. 

“that’s what i thought,” kylo chuckled softly, “how about you lay down on the bed hmm? so i can really admire your body.”

“o-okay,” you obeyed his order, your back hitting the mattress. 

“that’s a good girl,” kylo’s arms were on either side of you now, pinning you to the bed, “is this too direct of a gesture?”

“what do you mean?” 

“is this too much of a birthday present?” kylo’s lips were practically brushing against yours. 

“not at all,” you breathed.

his lips slammed into yours, the taste sweet like strawberries. you whined, parting your lips so that he could have access. he growled, the kisses becoming needier and needier by the second. teeth gnashed against yours, the action sending ripples of euphoria washing over you. in no way had you expected the events of the night to unfold like this. 

kylo sucked on your bottom lip, your hands roaming all over his chest, clutching the fabric. his mouth departed from yours, trailing from your jawline, down to your neck. soft whimpers tumbled from your lips as he nipped at your skin, leaving deep purple lovebites. the temperature of the room skyrocketed, and you knew that you needed to discard your clothes as soon as possible.

“how about you take this off for me?” kylo’s voice was low, edged with lust as he tugged on your tunic, “please.”

sitting up momentarily, you threw off the tunic, casting it to the floor. kylo mirrored your action, pulling off his own tunic. your eyes widened at the sight of him shirtless, his muscles defined, rippling with his every move. kylo’s eyes darkened at the sight of your breasts, nipples pearled from the air of the room. he pushed you back onto the mattress, mouth latching onto a nipple. you squirmed, moaning, bucking your hips against his. 

“how badly do you want it?” he demanded, his fingers wrapping around your throat, “how badly do you need me?”

“i need you kylo,” you whispered, “i need you to take me.”

“that’s a good girl,” he purred, “i’ll make you see the stars.”

his hands tugged on the waistband of your pants, wasting no time. your breath hitched in your throat as his fingers slipped between your folds, his eyes taking in the sight of your juices as they coated his fingers. he licked your juices, tasting them.

“you taste heavenly.”

“i’m glad you think so,” your breathing became more ragged as he discarded his last piece of clothing, his cock springing free. 

his member was quite large in size. it was hard, throbbing and aching, precum glistening on the tip. not only was it long, but there was some girth as well. kylo’s hand glided down his shaft, practically panting, “i’m going to fuck the shit out of you.”

“do it then,” you challenged, your tone defiant. 

“oh i will,” kylo matched your energy, gripping your throat once, “i will.”

he lined his cock at your dripping hole, going slow, feeling every inch of your walls wrap around his member as he entered you. throwing your head back on the pillow, you gritted your teeth, your walls expanding around his size. he was going to split you into two. you just knew it. 

“keep taking it,” kylo murmured in your ear, “keep taking it like the good girl you are.”

“fuck,” you cursed, pleasure washing over you as he thrusted into you. 

his strokes picked up intensity, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room as he fucked you. the pleasure was overwhelming, tears blurring your vision as you felt his tip hit your g-spot as his entire cock filled you up. kylo’s teeth were gritted, jaw clenched, marveling in the sight of you below him. it was beautiful. oh so beautiful. you were his. and only his. 

kylo didn’t hold back, his hand connected on your throat as he fucked you mercilessly, murmuring sweet nothings in your ear. once his thumb met your clit, you knew you were going to come undone, nerves bundling together in your abdomen. 

“kylo,” you panted, “i’m going to cum.”

“cum,” he commanded, “cum like a good girl. soak my cock with it.”

your climax came, your orgasm rippling through your body. your toes curled, jaw slack. stars bursted in your vision, your chest heaving. kylo didn’t hold up much longer, filling you up with his cum, panting. 

“i’ll clean you up,” he murmured, shifting his body off yours.

he wobbled off the bed, padding towards your refresher. moments later, he came back, a warm rag in his grasp. he cleaned you up, along with himself, before tossing the rag in the laundry bin. once he was finished, he slid into bed beside you, wrapping you in his embrace. 

“i hope that was a good birthday present.”

“it was the best,” you giggled, pressing a soft kiss to his chest.

without a doubt, it was a birthday to remember. for many years to come.