#THIS ISN'T CALEB HATE I CAN SEE YOU TYPING

[daes0]

[M] Chapter 12: "Come back to bed."

Rafayel and all the ways he says he l̶̯̞̱̬̘̜̗̏͒̂̐̈͋̍̓ô̶̡͙̤̻̐̓͑̚͝v̴͕͖̙̦̩͚͓̠̌̄͂͒͜ȇ̵̪̆͐̒̈́͠s̶̬̬̼͆͛̚ you.

Pairing: {Rafayel x Reader}

Rating: {Explicit} {Sexual Content}

Word Count: {1.9k words, 20.5k for entire work}

liar liar lover

The world keeps turning. Linkon City is afraid. It's just a gunshot wound.

You're fine. Right?

You just need to keep hunting.

Your time away has given you regrets. Why did you hesitate? What are morals in front of a killer? You're a hunter. Your body is expendable. You just need to keep the people you love safe. That's your purpose. Your only purpose.

Your stepbrother Caleb had told you to be careful, to value yourself over the title of Deepspace Hunter. To get home safe, above all else. You had nodded your head to appease him at the time. You disagree now. You're nothing if you're not a hunter. You're nothing if you don't keep the people you love safe.

Why did you hesitate?

You cannot rest when that incessant thought keeps circling around your head.

You are too kind. The answer is violence. That's what your training was for. To kill without mercy, to attack wanderers and to not think twice. The soulless creatures, lost in bloodthirst, waiting for another human to consume. You'd been taught a lot about them, about their anatomy and where they're weakest, about their behavior and patterns. You were told not to view them as animals, as they are not. They are creatures of cruelty and violence. Their existence begets more violence.

You had seen your comrade fall, but found out after you'd woken up that they'd died from a wound to the neck. He had choked on his own blood and flesh, drowning and gasping. How did you not notice? How did you not hear his cries, see his outstretched hand towards you, feel his desperation?

Delusion. There wasn't much known about this particular evol. It was rare, too rare that it hadn't been studied yet. An illusion type that can completely overwhelm its targets, so long as that target isn't a wanderer. Almost ready-made for a killer.

Killer. That existence begets more violence.

You want to be a killer.

Want.

How pathetic is that, to want?

(Why did you hesitate?)

You want to rid the world of the one that threatens your beloved. If you could face her again, you promised yourself not to hesitate. Given the chance, the opportunity-

You don't want to kill. You want to be a killer. You want to lose control, no hesitation, no humanity. Face the consequences later. 

You shouldn't have been surprised when the hunters disagreed in keeping you on this case.

~

You can't help but pace back and forth across your apartment. You keep finding new ways to be annoyed over this situation, over being put on temporary rest.

"I can't believe Nero snitched on me."

Rafayel's eyes move back and forth, following you. He's sat on the couch, his arms crossed, and he's both concerned and amused. "To be fair, it's probably for the best."

Rafayel was being investigated as an official suspect who might be working with the art killer. It didn't matter that you argued he was likely a future target. Your friendship and romantic feelings for him put you as a risky hunter, and therefore Nero found it necessary to report that you should be taken off the case.

This had happened before your confrontation with the presumed killer, but the fact that she managed to escape while you were there had been the final nail in the coffin. It wasn't your fault, and yet your captains acted like it was.

Your wounds in combination with you admitting that you were friends and lovers with Rafayel ended up with you on rest until further notice.

You had asked if you could come back to the art killer case after, and as much as you hated the answer, you weren't surprised that Captain Jenna had said no.

"I was the main hunter on the case- they can't just remove me over a few bruises."

Still, you can still be mad about it.

Rafayel watches you, waiting for you to calm down. "And a gunshot wound. I understand where you're coming from, but there's definitely a gunshot wound on your shoulder."

You move your arm, and Rafayel tries to stop you in time but you ignore him. Instead, you try to flex your arm in an attempt to show you're fine, but it aggravates the wound and you wince in pain.

"See?" he huffs, both annoyed and concerned.

"Okay, point taken," you say as you hold onto your shoulder, gripping it together. "I might need new bandages." You bite your bottom lip, trying to keep the pounding scream from coming out.

Rafayel gets up and goes and grabs the first aid kit. "I think you might be too close to the case," he says when he comes back.

"Am not," you argue, eyes still closed as you try to hold on for dear life.

He approaches you with fresh bandages. You try to let go of your arm, but it sends a new jolt of red hot pain and it's everything you can do to not scream.

Rafayel huffs again, turns to grab a blanket off the couch and rolls it up. He holds the rolled-up blanket in front of you.

You blink up at him through teary confusion.

"Bite it," he orders. "With all your might. It'll make you feel better while I redo your bandages."

So you do, and you untense your arm as best as you can while Rafayel unties your bloodied bandages and sprays the wound with antibacterial medicine. He re-ties the bandages around your shoulder and bicep.

Meanwhile, you're biting the blanket so hard you might as well be ripping it.

Rafayel leaves for a split second before coming back with painkillers and a bottle of water.

"Here," he says as he takes back the blanket and gives you your saving grace in the form of medication.

You take it without much fuss. "Thank you," you say after a moment.

"It'll take some time to work, especially if you move your arm again like that," he chastises with a pointed glare. "But it'll help."

"I'm just mad," you admit, trying to untense your muscles. "I'm stuck in bed rest when I could be helping. That woman was obviously the art killer, but for some reason she wanted to have a fair fight with me instead of shooting like she did with everyone else. She knows who I am. I can use that against her."

"You're gonna provoke your wound again," Rafayel says as he flicks your forehead.

~

You wake up to an incessant beeping. You immediately stand up by the bed, ready to get everything in order so you're not late for work. Then you remember.

You turn towards your nightstand to see your alarm, beeping against the early morning. You shut the alarm, gripping it in your hand. You want to throw it across the room in your sudden anger, but you manage to put it down instead.

Rafayel calls out to you.

"I fucking hate this," you curse, already pacing again.

"Come back to bed, baby," Rafayel says, rubbing the sleep off his eyes.

You're about to snap at him, to take out all your frustrations out on him, but the moment you turn to look at him, the anger starts to melt away. It's Rafayel. You don't want to hurt Rafayel.

You lay back down, still in a bad mood, and your shoulder hurts but you can't bring yourself to care.

"Did you forget to turn off your alarm?" Rafayel asks beside you.

You glance at him and nod.

Rafayel hugs you, his bare chest against your back, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head. "Hey, it's okay."

You turn around and hug him back. "Do you know what Captain Jenna told me when I kept asking to be put back on the case?" Your voice is muffled against the crook of Rafayel's neck.

"No, what did she say?"

"That I can't be trusted." You bury your face further into his skin, breathing him in. "That if I was willing to hide the fact that I personally knew a suspect, that I couldn't be trusted with this."

Rafayel hums against your hair, whispering to calm you down. "I'm sorry, _____."

"It's not like I pretended that I didn't know you," you continue. "Nero and Tara have known for a long time. You came into my work that one time, for fucks sake. Why are they blaming me?"

"I'm sorry," he mumbles again.

"It's not you," you say after a moment. "It's them. The captains refuse to see it from my perspective. I'm their best bet for the art killer. I mean, fuck, she hesitated, Rafayel. The killer hesitated. She knows who I was. I don't know why, but she knows. I don't have a single memory of this person and yet she knew me. That can be used against her. And I could predict her delusions! Still, I guess they think that I know her too. That I might work with her instead of against her."

"You're going to agitate your wound again," Rafayel says, looking over to your shoulder.

You sigh. "I need a distraction."

"Do you want to watch something?"

"No," you say, biting your lip. "Can you go down on me?"

"To distract you?" he asks to confirm, a smile in his words.

You lean in and kiss him, rough and needy.

You pull back, satisfied. "Put that pretty mouth to work."

Rafayel's smile widens, and then he's lowering himself on you, pressing kisses against your skin, lower and lower. His kisses skip over where you need him, and he opens up your legs and slots himself in between them.

He trails soft kisses on the inside of your thighs, savoring your little whines as you beg him to go further, until finally he stops.

"You're so beautiful," he says against your thigh, his breath chaste against the space in between. "So, so beautiful."

You put a hand over his head, playing with his hair for a moment before pushing him down. "Eat me," you almost beg.

"With pleasure," he smiles before delving deeper.

His tongue traces your pussy, licking stripes between the middle up to your clit. You shudder at the feeling, and he licks again, this time harder, smashing his tongue against your bundle of nerves.

You can't help the moan that escapes your lips.

Rafayel smiles against you, his tongue swiping up and down your clit. He presses his mouth against it and sucks in, your pearl delicate against his lips. You feel a quick surge of pleasure, and you can hear yourself asking for more.

He flattens his tongue against you, lowering his tongue to your hole and tasting your juices before bringing it back up. The wet feeling pressed against you, tender and gentle, isn't enough.

You press your hand against his head, your nails lightly scratching as you push him down. You lift your hips up, desperate and needy.

Rafayel does more in turn, pressing his tongue against you in a quick flicking motion. He switches to smooth circles that trace over your clit, and you squirm underneath him.

You feel that sweet sense of pleasure get closer. "Rafayel, I'm close-"

He redoubles his efforts, making it so that anything that comes out of your mouth is an incoherent set of words.

It's almost too much now, overwhelming, before your vision turns white. You come, clenching against the air, quivering.

Rafayel slows down, his tongue a gentler lover now as he rides you out through your orgasm.

Finally, you pull him up and Rafayel detaches from you.

"You're amazing," you can't help but say as you pant, your breath heavy.

He smiles sheepishly, pressing a kiss against your collarbone before laying back down.

Sleep finds you quickly after that. In his arms, you feel all your worries vanish. You feel safe.

(You won't hesitate.)

END OF CHAPTER 12

[captainmera]

I'm reading your Caleb fic and actually losing my mind over how good and fitting his characterization feels, how well you put the seeds of becoming a bad person in Philip without making him Evil Child and instead make it feel like a natural progression, how everyone's so NUANCED, the historical accuracy, EVELYNS CHARACTERIZATION!!! God!!! I love all of this!!!! (Also the closeted bi Caleb.)

Thank you! :D

Yes, I'm having fun crafting Caleb specifically with Philip turning into the guy Luz meets in canon, and eventually Belos, in mind.

I asked myself: Who the hell raised this dude!? :l And out came my version of Caleb, lol.

And yes, I don't think Philip was a bad kid. I think he became a bad person. Like most people who grow up, things happen and.. You know.

When you look at an adult who is angry, cruel and hateful, you seldom see their whole story. You see them for who they are right now and their unjustifiable actions and behaviours.

Caleb isn't a great parent. He's a good brother, not a half-bad provider, but parent? Not really. He was a kid when he raised his brother, and nobody taught him how to do it right. His outlet for frustrations and feeling helpless allowed him to cognitively dissonance himself from his cruel actions as a witch hunter.

We have no control. There is both freedom and imprisonment in knowing we are powerless to the chaos of hindsight. The endless human toiling of reminiscing in the "what ifs" of life will curse us all to an early doom.

The acceptance of no control, strangely, gives you more control and peace of mind. Sometimes, you can do everything right and it still goes wrong. Sometimes you do everything wrong and things turn out fine!

Doesn't mean people are blameless. Knowing the cause of something doesn't excuse the action or the choices you made.

But recognising that you made choices at the time based on what you knew and believed to be right - does give insight to things. What to do with that insight is up to each and every person.

Evelyn I'm enjoying quite a lot. Because she's not mentally ill like Caleb, who's depressed and suicidal. A character doesn't have to be unwell to be interesting. People have emotions and struggles anyhow. She's a nice person, she means well; she's a perfect example of someone who is just benefit-of-doubt enough to walk into dangerous spaces in good faith. Which puts her in situations Caleb must interfere with, lest she gets found out as a witch.

They save each other, in a way. :)

Caleb closeted bisexuality is a source of great delight to write a sub-plot for. Caleb, v.s. his ideas of what makes a man, is a fun field to dance on. He has been fed a lot of self-destructive ideas that he tries to live up to.

And Evelyn's nonchalant self-expression is also a great delight to write. She's carefree to the point people mistake her for an airhead and kind of stupid. Which isn't true, she just trust in that there is good in people until proven otherwise, and she tries her best to not let those experiences discourage her from new relationships. I like exploring that strange box that often occurs with her personality type - as though being kind and gentle is somehow dumb or naive.

BUT YEAH, Theyre very fun to write! :)

[utilitycaster]

i feel like for the critical role trauma thing i HAVE to ask about caleb even if that’s a subject that’s been talked to death. i’m also super interested in your thoughts on Yasha in this conversation

The thing about Caleb is he is very visibly not okay from the get-go. He has a mechanical penalty to killing humanoids with fire which we see very early on. Then his backstory came out pretty much in full quite early as well. And before I continue, I want to stress: I really love Caleb as a character. I think his story is fantastic. He is hands down my favorite Liam character. He is complicated and difficult and sympathetic and heartbreaking.

He also garnered some of the most unbelievably toxic type 2 (ie, "um he is traumatized and can do no wrong?") fans I've seen in my LIFE, and many of them were also mixed with the "there's only room for one traumatized person in this d&d party and therefore whoever fits my idea of What Trauma Looks Like and/or whoever I personally project onto the most is the winner." I'm talking people actually getting on my posts and saying "why haven't the Nein stopped all the pesky adventuring and world-saving they're doing and taken him to Duasad Keef (an NPC only mentioned in the EGTW at the time, ie, post hiatus when the plot pretty quickly went to Eiselcross and stayed there, whose methods of therapy would actually probably be triggering for Caleb and who was probably well out of their paygrade and frankly unlikely of anyone else in the party to have heard of)." Those people have largely left because they hated that Caleb decided the best revenge was doing what he could to heal and living well and ensuring no one in the future would suffer as he had, rather than murdering the entire assembly and presumably dying in the process, but man, they left a mark.

There's definitely his detractors too, and I have no patience for the "ewwww sadboy attention hog" people, many of whom were either of the "I am feeling uncomfortable when we are not about Beau?" variety or that bizarre cohort of people who just fucking hate Liam for reasons I have never been able to fathom, but I'm not going to lie, as someone who likes Caleb a lot, the fandom response was rough because there was definitely a noticeable faction who really just did not accept the idea that basically everyone in the Nein had some degree of trauma. The High Richter Heist is a great example. Fjord holds Caleb at swordpoint for deviating from the plan. We later learn that while Caleb is acting from his trauma (trying to collect as many books as possible to achieve the purpose that is frankly his main reason for living at that time), Fjord is just as much acting from his (was very recently betrayed by Sabian deviating from the plan in an all hands on deck situation, stabbing him, and blowing up the ship leaving everyone, Fjord included, to drown). The infamous Bowlgate, not long after, is also a similar case of Beau and Caleb's respective traumas clashing. It's why Campaign 2 is so good, but man, it really is a litmus test if someone's like "actually Caleb is objectively 100% right in either of these situations;" you know you're dealing with either an idiot or someone who can't conceive of the possibility that trauma isn't a competition that Caleb has obviously won.

So, with that, Yasha: I think Yasha is tough for a few reasons. The first is that she wasn't around a lot early on, so while we learned the basics of her backstory in episode 46 we simply didn't see how she reacted in all situations. The second is that the fandom is specifically really fucking bonkers about people whose romantic partners die young; see again how people were like "see? Orym would be happier dead with Will!" like that isn't the kind of statement anyone with a brain would be MORTIFIED to say. So there was some of that with Yasha. I think the extent of what happened with Obann came up in a pretty dense arc and only got unpacked after the fact (and once Ashley was at the table regularly). And finally, Yasha got a lot of hate from shippers that was not strictly related to her trauma but did sometimes include it. So she's an interesting case of "trauma not so much ignored as frequently misconstrued or taken in bad faith to support interpretations barely related to Yasha herself, compounded by the fact that you had to read between the lines to understand her trauma in the first place."

[heymacy]

hi! i haven’t seen mickeyless seasons so i wanted to ask if ian ever has issues about being bipolar like he did with mickey? like him breaking up in s5 for not wanting to see mickey hurt and s10 when he asks if he’s crazy for wanting to be with him! i think i read somewhere that caleb? maybe had a talk about self love or whatever to ian but that dude was horrendous ( not that trevor was best for what ive seen ) so im not sure that counts ahah

hi anon!

yes, ian grappling with his disorder is a very very big theme throughout seasons 6, 7, 8, and 9. in fact i would argue that aside from him becoming an EMT, the bipolar storyline is his most significant one (i typed out my response and it got very long so i'm going to put it below the cut 💛)

in s6 he is fresh off of the diagnosis, the breakup, and coping with mickey going to prison (and he was definitely trying to cope, he still loved him and seeing someone you love locked up is immeasurably hard. i feel like we don't talk about this enough). he feels very aimless and it isn't until an incident (he's a bystander to a car crash and rescues a woman from a burning vehicle) that he finds his new path (becoming an EMT, which he does by the end of s6). caleb was absolutely awful in so many ways but the one good thing he did do was encourage and support ian in finding a new life path, which is the only credit i will give him. there's also a deleted scene in s6 that is so, so important re: understanding how mentally ill people are viewed and treated in society and of course ian's monologue about how he's good at his job because of his illness, which is one of my favorite scenes in the entire show.

in s7, he's getting healthy again and taking his meds, but it isn't without struggle. there's a very poignant and important scene (part one, part two) with lip where he expresses his struggles with his disorder and how hard it is for him to cope with taking his meds and listening to the warning signs for episodes (he was behaving in ways akin to a hypomanic episode/showing signs of slipping into an episode just before the conversation happens). by the end of the season, after he leaves mickey at the border, he's still relatively stable, but the emotional triggers of leaving mickey behind + monica's death start to take a toll on him, which we see in s8. there's also the trevor of it all in s7, but that's a whole other issue. trevor did not have a positive impact on ian's self-esteem whatsoever and even went so far as to demand ian forgive monica and "move on" after knowing 0.1% of the history between the two of them. that scene in particular makes me unfathomably angry and i just know it was deeply, deeply triggering for ian to hear that from someone he cared about.

in s8, we have the gay jesus storyline, which i absolutely detest and hate to discuss, but it's part of his story and it needs to be acknowledged. he's taken advantage of a lot this season, propelled towards some sort of fucked up end goal with very little control over his circumstances, and it quickly spirals out of control. while the writers never explicitly state that ian is hypo/manic during this season, you can watch the progression happen if you pay close enough attention. despite not being given a lot to work with, cameron did a great job at playing the nuances of bipolar disorder this season, showing ian's descent into hypo/mania as the gay jesus movement grows and warps.

in s9, he's in prison for the first time and is noticeably manic. after being released, he starts seeking out meaning and purpose in religion. eventually he's forced to face the consequences of his actions and pleads not guilty to arson by reason of insanity, not only defying the wishes of the gay jesus followers (they feared him going public with his diagnosis and pleading insanity would delegitimize the movement) but also finally choosing to really acknowledge his disorder, reckon with it, and make peace with it, in a strange sort of way. it's a very important and pivotal moment for his character and cameron absolutely delivers during his plea monologue.

if you've see s10 you know how his self-worth takes a hit regarding the marriage storyline, and how he's so terrified of marrying mickey because 1) he doesn't know if he's capable of being a good partner because he doesn't feel like he had good examples of healthy marriage standards growing up and 2) he isn't sure mickey knows what he's signing up for re: his disorder and everything it entails. which, of course, is not the case, because mickey doesn't love him in spite of his disorder, he loves him completely, and his disorder is just a part of that. he wants all of him, always, and that's a huge plot point in s10 and s11 ("i gotta worry, you're my husband" scene my absolute beloved).

anyway. the short answer is that yes, ian spends a lot of time grappling with his disorder and the realities of life as a bipolar human. he deals with issues regarding his self-worth, his purpose, and his relationships. speaking as a bipolar individual, i can say with absolute certainty that coming to terms with your diagnosis is a long, arduous process that takes many years and a lot of commitment to achieve. it's not easy, and though the writers dropped the ball on a LOT of storylines in the show, they did a pretty damn good job of showing how hard it is to cope and live with the realities of bipolar disorder and everything that entails.

if you ever want to see more of his journey, gallavichscenes on youtube has playlists of all of ian's scenes in season 6, season 7, season 8, and season 9. i highly recommend watching the show in its entirety but if you don't want to do that, i recommend at the very least watching the rest of ian's storyline. it colors so much of his story and mickey's and it's hard to fully comprehend the extent of their relationship without understanding that storyline. i hope this answered your question! sending tons and tons of love 💛

[maborobaku]

My thoughts for the characters after all of the promo drops thus far:

Axel: She's definitely got this whole Action Girl thing going on and that is a yes. Her design is pretty nice too.

Bowie: Yeah I just can't hate his design. Confirmed/Hinted as one of the LGBTQ+ characters. I'm just hoping he isn't too much of a stereotype. Also Bowie and Emma friendship?

Caleb: There are 2 things I noticed about him since promotional material came out. First off: He has a similar archetype like Justin (and Alejandro) which is attracting most people in their cast, however I don't see him being a villain/antagonist like those 2 (Bowie fawning over him led to speculation on them being one of the predicted LGBTQ+ couples). Another thing being that he was only seen in 2/3 of the Italian trailers and was AWOL in both Boomerang trailers, leading to many early boot predictions.

Chase: Just based on looks alone he gives off the "normal, nice guy that'll likely get involved in a romantic plot" vibe and there has been a few predictions that he and Priya might be a couple. Also, not a comparison but I cannot help but notice that their signature colors are similar to Mike and Zoey.

Damien: Out of all the male characters he's got the best design in my opinion. I also took notice he seems to have a mustache (not something usually seen on contestants). Also if I can assume that he spoke in the 30 second trailer (The "WHY?!") ... man sounds just like Ryan and I'm fine with that since Ryan was funny.

Emma: She looks a bit like Bridgette and Carrie fused together but with a more preppy sense of fashion (Which is so funny since I don't think Kristin will voice her). Although I've seen theories that she could be a "Bitch in Sheep's Clothing" type villain could be interesting.

Julia: Initially I didn't really have any strong feelings but I can thank the promos for changing my mind and I'm excited. Also her voice sounds just like how I imagined (She sounds kinda like a valley girl). Could be an influencer.

Millie: I wish I had something to say on her because her design is adorable but it looks like her and Priya could be close.

MK: I like how casual her own design is. Now I've been seeing 2 predictions on her and that's between a main character type or an early boot just judging by the 30 second promo. Also her scream reminded me of Amy/Sammy/Taylor.

Nichelle: She looks like a queen (her hair is top tier), my favorite by far. She's clearly a top prediction for a villain but I've also seen predictions for her to be an early if not a pre-merge boot. Now I'm really excited to see her dynamic with Julia.

Priya: I know many predicted she'd be a shy and reserved nice girl but her interaction with Chase says otherwise (and was funny).

Raj and Wayne: Putting these 2 together since the flyer did as well and they are adorable. They're another prediction for a likely LGBTQ+ ship (Not something I'd rule out).

Ripper: I've seen many predictions on whether his character will be a Noah type (snarky asshole type) or Owen (comic relief type) and I'm definitely seeing it lean towards the latter.

Scary Girl: I love her and her energy (from what's been seen so far)! Her color palette is definitely a top 10. Her voice is cute too and seems to suit her from what was heard from her.

Zee: You know I actually like his design, he gives off a laidback vibe. I remember seeing that there would be an amputee character and I did take notice of his leg in the trailer (He wasn't someone I guessed).

[scrapyardboyfriends]

Caught up on today's episode.

It's much more bearable to watch without the stupid blue tone thoughts and repeated shots of that car rolling. Haha. And no terrible single dramatic music beats.

I do like Caleb and Nicky being included in the Faith stuff. I still don't really understand how he and Cain got on such good terms but I prefer it that way. I like Cain having a relationship with him.

It was nice to see Gabby actually get to acknowledge that she was friends with Liv. Too bad Jacob's stuck in next week's block sleeping with Victoria and couldn't acknowledge his friendship with her too. Haha. Sigh.

I really don't understand what they're trying to do with Amit long term. Like is he going to stick around and be a real presence in the village. Because he didn't actually kill Rishi so I don't feel like he's all of a sudden going to go down the serial killer route or something. I feel like the village could use a good longer term low key villain. Maybe someone who actually could give Kim a run for her money business wise. Maybe he can buy the HOP from Gabby and turn it into something better so that his son isn't working for a 21 year old anymore. And if his wife is dead, maybe Kim can cheat on Will with him. Haha. Sorry, I just really hate Will and Kim together.

The Lydia stuff was fine. I liked Rhona's scenes with her. I still just hate that they're doing yet another rape story. Just...nothing about this feels new or interesting. It feels like they're just going through the motions. It just feels like bits and pieces of all of the other stories stuck together. So even if the scenes are decent, it just feels stale, which this type of story shouldn't feel like. And yet...here we are. Because they've done too many of them over the years.

As for Aaron...well. Haha. Did they always have that couch in the portacabin? Because I don't remember seeing it before. Robert slept on the floor the last time he slept there. I was reading through twitter comments and ds board comments and there's just sooo much hatred for Aaron's attitude and his return in general and like...I didn't really want him to come back either but I haven't really minded his attitude that much. I do kind of enjoy him being terrible to Chas. And stealing money from the pub. I mean he was honest that he was taking it and they did take 30 grand from him so...you know. Kind of fair. As for the Paddy stuff, I mean you can see him calculating how to get rid of him and so he goes for the jugular. I was glad they at least mentioned Aaron's own suicide attempt and didn't ignore that. And I mean Paddy did lock him up too and threw the whole beating him up thing back in his face in front of Liv so...not that he deserved what Aaron said but I do still hold that grudge a bit.

Mostly, I just don't know where they go with him from here. Because it seemed like he was going to be like this for a while from the return interview stuff but you can already see him cracking and it only took a few words from Vinny to make him stay so like...how long is this realistically going to last? And once he does crack and properly grieve and do his inevitable apology tour, then what?

I just need them to give him a life again. So much of his character group has been stripped away, they need to replenish it. He needs a friend or friends. He needs some kind of relationship with his family. He needs a job, preferably one that we see. And he needs a purpose. I don't know, I just don't know that this rehash of everything that happened during the 50th anniversary is really going to cut it for long. So...

This is why Ryan needs to come back. Aaron needs his other half, he needs his story generator. Haha.

[loiswasadevil]

So do you have to have family troubles in order to acquiesce a devil's heart or can it be anything else? Also, Are there different types of hearts? Like, maybe someone can have a ghost heart or like if they feel emotionally dry a skeleton one. I think I have a vampire heart because I hate firetruck red but I love darker red tones, but I could be wrong since I don't know how devil hearts or the possibility of other hearts work. They may not be real I just wanted to ask you, maybe Peter griffin junior has a specters heart.... wow lots to think about. Unrelated, but have you Ever played sonic adventure 2? I think you'd like the story, Eggman is soooo evil but well written. I think if you have a devils heart.... then he has a evils heart.... lots to think of....

Yes I believe the Hatred of her Family is what is consistent in having a Devils Heart Since I've noticed Mine and Lois' And that is what links us. Maybe there are different kinds of hearts I get a lot of genuine asks about things like "angel's heart" and so on, But what is unique to a Devils Heart is having Catalysts which unlocks it. I think the specific Color of a Devils HEart doesnt matter I use purple to represent my emotions. You are free to have your "skeletons Heart" and "Vampires Heart"...... I am not sure if Peter JR has a "Specters heart", I don't know what that is or implies. But Peter Jr isn't kin either. And no i don't play video games, Though I have watched Sonic X with caleb And he says there were arcs that follow the story of That game I believe. Eggman is a Funny Character And i don't think he has a Devils Heart because we don't see anything about his Family at all, Perhaps Shadow has one Because of the Hatred of his Peers, Being used by Eggman and Rogue and GUN, and his Trauma with Maria, But I'm not sure about any Devil Hearts in the Sonic Series since For me a Devils Heart is unique To Lois Griffin.

[soletlunasims]

Ares and Luke sit down. And have a face to face conversation. Ares learns that Luke is a very good listener. Not that Xaidin isn't a good listener as well. He's an amazing listener but he's also kind of daft.

Luke: "So what is it? What has you so preoccupied that you, Ares Palette, are getting distracted by the task at hand? We both know that isn't like you."

Ares looks out the window, out at the city lights that are starting to flood the quickly darkening sky.

Ares: "I'm scared."

Luke: "of?"

Ares: "myself."

Luke: "What about yourself?"

Ares: "I'm scared I'm going to fuck up again. I'm going to lose sight of the important things and really fuck things up for myself. But the problem is. I don't know what I'm fucking up or how I get to that point. I guess, I really don't know what I want in life. I can't have it all but I'm terrible at keeping the things I actually want...."

Luke raises an eyebrow.

Luke: "Tell me about your fiancee."

Ares: "What about him. He's wonderful. He would do anything to make me happy. He's.... The perfect guy. The ideal partner....ugh."

Luke: "You resent him."

Ares is taken aback: "What?"

Luke: "He's perfect. He treats you like a queen and you resent him for it. He makes you feel like you have to stay within the confines of your relationship because he's the ideal guy. Takes your feelings into consideration at all times. Buys you gifts for anything you accomplish or when you're feeling upset. You feel confined. Sound about right?"

Ares: " Ah... Yeah. All of that.... How did you pin point it so exactly?"

Luke: "I have been around the block far too many times with this. Women can be that kind of 'bend over backwards' type as well. I attract them."

Ares: "Then you probably also know-"

She's cut off

Luke: " That there's that one that got away? Because out of 100 there's always that one who proves you wrong. The ones who start to fight back but when they do it's always to get rid of you. Because, to them, you ruined their lives. Or at least a good chunk of it."

Ares clicks her tongue: "Are you sure you didn't major in psychology?"

Luke laughs: "mmmm no. Experience can take you as a far as a diploma a lot of times."

Ares: "Well... You're spot on.... Ugh. What am I gonna do about this wedding? I hate planning it. I wanna give Xaidin what he wants but.... Watcher, I hate the whole process...."

Luke: "Another, less savory, piece of advice is. Don't care so much and do what you want. Don't sacrifice your mental health for anybody else. Reclaim your soul to be yours and yours alone."

Ares realized that not only did Luke have great listening skills but he also had experience. And he was willing to tell Ares what she needed to hear, not what she wanted. That was the difference between him and Xaidin.

Ares: "Thank you.... For all of the good advice. The talk... Really, everything. I should get home, though. I have a flight to Tartosa early for cake tasting. Ridiculous, I know but Xaidin insists that they have the best cakes there... The 'Land of Love' he calls it."

They start to head towards the door.

Luke: "You are spoiled, Miss Palette. Taking a flight for a day trip to taste wedding cakes. Most women would die to experience even a sliver of your life, once. They'll never know what it truly like."

Ares turns to him: "What are you saying?"

Luke: "Just that, my door is always open if you need to talk, okay?"

Ares: "Ditto....."

She feels herself blush. Luke notices.

Luke: "For the time being, you have a fiancee to get home to."

Ares nods: "I had a good day hanging out with you. It was a good break from the stress."

Luke shows her out.

*Note: Ares glows because she's an alien (in case we forgot) but the way I think about it in my save is that nobody can really see here glow. They would have to be extremely perceptive, like, psychic levels of perceptive. Sensitive to auras, really. The only people that know she is an alien are Caleb, Chip (deceased) and Gunnar. My game says otherwise but we pretend. Xaidin doesn't know because Ares has gotten so used to and good at her disguise that she is practically human in all but name.

[daturanerium]

let’s give beau the spotlight for a hot minute.

so this ep is going to be.....pretty heavy. i think we can all agree on that. most likely there’s going to be some falling out between the empire kids--bowlgate 2.0, anyone? people have already done a shit ton of meta on caleb and his choices and feelings right now, but I haven’t seen much on my girl beau so here’s her point of view (from what i can gather from the last couple eps and talks) 

quick disclaimer: I agree caleb made a good decision in giving up the beacon! beau, however, has a lot of reason to be angry with him (and the rest of the party) about it. that’s what i’m going to be talking about. 

let’s start at the beginning. beau met up with her mentor darion, who she thought had been injured or dead. darion is a huge role model for beau, and also the only person who takes beau seriously and believes in her. as a result, beau takes what darion says to heart. Darion tells her a lot of important things when they meet up, but something that really stuck out to both beau and i was “don’t get too close.” beau hesitates, then responds with, “i haven’t.” both us as the viewers and (presumably) beau know that’s a lie. she doesn’t agree with darion’s lone wolf view of life, shown when a minute later she asks darion about naming her birds. upon first viewing it looks like a joke question (and maybe it was and i’m just reading into this too much!) but i see it as a deeper question in disguise: why not let people in? they may surprise you. darion shuts that down pretty quick (“I named a bird once and it flew away from me. that’s why I don’t name my birds.”), but beau is still left feeling conflicted. mix that conversation with darion’s earlier ALL KRICKS ARE EVIL mentality that beau so heavily disagreed with that she openly calls them out on it--we’ve got a solid recipe for some Angsty Conflicting Feelings. on the one hand, beau and darion are very close and beau looks up to and respects them like no other authority figure. she’s constantly trying to prove that darion trusting her was not a bad move, and will do a lot to impress them. on the other hand, beau is starting to realize that darion might not be as good as they claim, or that at least their judgement is clouded heavily by prejudice and hatred. that is something beau doesn’t want to be a part of. so does she continue with her training with darion and hopefully get the praise, recognition, and belonging she’s always wanted? or does she allow herself to get close to the m9 and leave darion’s flawed teaching behind? her oldest mentor or her new friends--it’s a tough choice. (and a pretty great parallel to caleb’s story, which, as an avid empire kids fan, fascinates me to no end. but that’s different meta lmao)

now, the fight in the well. i’m not going to get into this too heavily because i feel like most of it is pretty simple to figure out. beau had some pretty great moments in there. when caleb first gets possessed, her first reaction is to grab his hand and ask if she has to kill him. hello???? juicy. she made a promise to keep caleb in check, and this was a strong reminder of that. later, when yasha is the one to get possessed, it’s beau that gets her out of it (YOU. ARE IN. A TOXIC. RELATIONSHIP!) with both caleb and caduceus down. and it’s beau that rips the heart straight out of the beast’s chest. this fight was beau’s reminder that she’s ride or die for these people--she’s attached. we don’t really know, but it could be a point where she started to make up her mind on her inner conflict between darion and the m9. 

and then, last episode. oh boy. things start off okay (hello everyone that beaujester scene with the other traveler follower was fantastic), but everything turns to shit pretty quickly with the whole...….slave thing. that was about the only thing on talks marisha talked about openly--beau hated that, and for good reason. fjord and jester hop on the slaveholder train a little too quickly for her comfort, with fjord pushing her in the mud for no good reason and jester literally using her as a footstool. meta-wise, we’re aware that the majority of this was done as a joke by laura and travis, but it still happened in canon and beau was not enjoying it in the least. her only real comfort here was that caleb was equally as uncomfortable as her the whole time--at least he’s on her side here. because the way she sees it, the people she’s (presumably) decided to stick with only pretend to respect her. when given the chance, they’ll step all over her just like everyone has before. and that really sucks. 

okay, now what everyone’s waiting for: the Moment, the last twenty minutes of the episode, and what will maybe happen tonight. caleb, in a panic, pulls out their hail mary: the beacon, or the dodecahedron. he presents it to the bright queen, saying that while he is from the empire, he is certainly no friend of the empire. good for him! we love character growth! even though that was probably less character growth and more of a desperate, last minute play to save his friends’ lives. the problem is, caleb was only speaking for himself here. beauregard is a member of the cobalt soul, which, although technically neutral in this war, have spies everywhere. they’re well known for their collection of knowledge as well as their espionage. specifically, beau is an expositor, which is apparently tasked with “pursuing the secrets and evils of the world and exposing them to the light.” when the bright queen and her court find out that beau is a part of not only the cobalt soul but the expositors, chances are pretty high that she’ll at the very least be kept a close eye on. more likely, she’ll be confined to a certain area and interrogated pretty heavily, maybe even locked up. we don’t know a lot about the bright queen’s court or the xhorassian government, but we can assume they don’t take well to potential spies. 

now, we as watchers have had two weeks to think about this whole scenario. what went well and what went wrong. but beau has had all of six seconds. and beau, as we know, can be a little quick to jump to conclusions. so when caleb hands over the beacon, her first thought isn’t thank god. it’s more along the lines of holy fuck i’m going to be outed as a spy and killed. caleb, in her eyes, made another rash decision for the whole party that could get her in some serious trouble. we also have to keep in mind that beau is still under the impression that caleb’s only with the party for protection. during their infamous “don’t go” moment, caleb responds with (paraphrased) “i’ll consider it”. to us, that him not wanting to admit he cares for them. for beau, who tends to view conversations from a very surface-level perspective, sees it as nothing more than exactly what he said--noncommittal. so when he pulls out the beacon here and only mentions himself when talking to the bright queen, i think it’s reasonable for her to think that he’s only doing it to save his own hide. she’s had some good, soft moments with him, but as far as she can tell they’re pretty one-sided. 

so, tl;dr:

beau was having conflicting feelings on darion’s teachings and wasn’t sure weather she should continue getting close with the m9 or follow darion’s advice to please her

during the crazy-ass battle in the well, beau was reminded that she loves the people she’s with and is ride or die for them. it can be assumed that she made her decision to stay close to her friends

last episode, the gross slavery thing made her realize that the people she chose to stay with don’t respect her

caleb handing over the beacon (and the rest of the party putting her in a position in front of the queen of xhorass to begin with) could put beau in a really difficult position, since she’s an expositor of the cobalt soul and Potential Spy Material

during caleb and beau’s inevitable fallout tonight she’ll probably call him selfish, and while we know that isn’t true, we should also make sure to view the situation from beau’s perspective and understand that it’s a pretty justifiable conclusion based on her background, history with caleb, and current situation

tonight’s gonna be crazy, folks. things are going to be said. things are going to happen. this is a major turning point for all of the charaters and their story, and everyone’s feeling tense and conflicted. we love some good drama and inter-party conflict, but let’s try not to pick sides too heavily on this one. 

[cher-writes]

Silver Screen / Silver Pole | Robert Sheehan x Reader (18+)

Summary: A night of celebration in a LA strip club takes an interesting and unexpected turn when a contrarian actor winds up offending the wrong stripper. But night is long and the possibilities are endless, where will it take them?

Word Count: 7.3k

CW: Mention of sexual harassment, Consensual slapping, NSFW smut

A/N: This one is surprisingly not bloody at all and the smut isn't wild either so like most everyone can read it. Although it's emotionally very heavy. So, get ready to feel some shit. Hopefully you'll enjoy.

Special thanks to @crisis-of-joy for being there for me the whole month I took to complete this emotionally taxing fic and also for being my kind beta reader & editor.

Burning on it’s way down, the third glass of whiskey finally gave her some life she desperately needed. Deafening music throbbed throughout her veins, drowning the club in the background. She wanted to drown with it too but she couldn’t, she was there to work and rent for the month was already due. The fourth glass was on the verge of meeting with her bitter mouth when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t drink so much, you’ll trip on the stage,” Coco practically shouted in her ear. Coco was the only friend she had in that goddamn place and It wasn’t a very rare occurrence that Coco had to drag her blackout drunk body out of the club. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say she had a problem. Considering that she was already on her third strike of the month and the third drink of the night, Coco knew better than to let her get drunk this early.

 “I can’t stay here and be sober at the same time,” she shouted back at Coco, “especially after...nevermind,” but decided against talking about it and instead focused her energy on finishing the fourth glass, which was gone just as quickly as the words stopped coming out of her mouth.

 She could read the concern on Coco's face and sense the questions brewing behind it as Coco spoke up, “I want to know what the fuck is up with you but I have to go now, Caleb came home from school hours ago, it’s pretty late and I have to cook him dinner.”

“What happened to Larry? Can’t he take care of the kid? He’s fucking jobless anyway.”

“He got in a bad fight again. I can barely afford Caleb’s school fees and now the medical bills.”

“If only you had divorced him, you wouldn’t need to worry about it.”

“And if only you had been less violent towards customers, you wouldn’t be on the verge of getting fired. But, here we are.”

She furrowed her brows at this sudden sharp stab of truth by Coco and dealt with it the only way she knew how to, by ordering another drink. Coco crossed her arms letting out a deep sigh and said, “Look, I'm only trying to help you, (y/n). Sam wanted me to go up. You see that group seating in the fifth VIP booth? Up there. They are celebs and celebrating something so, ya know, good money. I said no cause, as I said I gotta go home, but I convinced him to let you go up there. It was hard given your recent less-than-favorable behavior, but I managed to.” Coco snatched the already empty glass from her hand and continued, “So stop drinking, go up there and get that money. And for the love of God, behave yourself or this might be your last night here.”

Giving her hand a quick but tight squeeze, Coco got up then soon after disappeared into the crowd. She thought to herself about how a last night there wouldn’t be so bad if she could afford it, and wanted another drink immediately to kill that thought, but Coco's words haunted her ears. She looked over her shoulder to see three men sitting in the booth, laughing.

------------

Her head was in a violent swirl, vision blurry. She was way too drunk to be spinning around the pole, but she had an audience to entertain and had no one but herself to blame.

When you walked around your house wearin' my sky blue Lacoste, the song was thudding against her skull. Pulling herself together, she counted every second, waiting for the song to end. She could feel the eyes on her, sticking to every bit of her, just as invasive as it was the very first day yet, she couldn’t care less. She had to live through it if she wanted the money and she needed the money if she wanted to live. The room was dancing circles around her as the tips came flying in, she kept counting the seconds, sliding down the pole, and your knee socks.

------------

She was swaying dangerously on her way down from the stage. If the song didn’t end when it did, she would have thrown up without a shadow of a doubt. At that point, she didn’t even know how or what she danced, only the awful sickness in her stomach let her know that it was more than she could take.

She needed to chat up the men, try and convince them to buy a champagne room before the next song came on, which she feared was way too soon for her liking. Nevertheless she tried to steady herself but the big glass platforms messed with her earnest efforts, nausea kicking her in the stomach once again, letting her know of her limits. 

She didn’t ever really look at the men who sat in front of her, leering at her, they all looked the same, smelt the same and talked the same. So she followed the same old routine, bending down just enough to give them a view up her tits. Pressing her arms closer, she slurred, “What are we celebrating, gentlemen?”

 She absolutely hated how she sounded pandering to men, two pitches higher. “My friend over here landed a role in a Spielberg film!” the middle one spoke up and pointed to the one sitting on the right side. The one in question grinned in response and repulsion licked the back of her neck at the sight of that. Yet she needed to please him, “That’s amazing! I’m sure I’ll be seeing your face on the billboards everyday now while driving,” she said and fantasized about having enough money to burn down all the billboards in LA and maybe LA with it too.

 “Hell yeah you will!” the one in the middle spoke up and broke her reverie so she pretended he was supporting her fantasy instead. “Oh please! Speak for yourself!” the one on the right perked up in his seat and continued, “He’s literally working with Fincher AND he got engaged!”. The one in the middle gave a revolting smirk at the very humble revelation of his accomplishment and it was enough to turn her stomach or maybe it was the alcohol, she couldn’t really decipher.

 “Oh really?” she looked at the man, tilted her head and said, “And you came to a stripclub to celebrate your engagement?”, her face deadpan. Notes of contempt stuck out like thorns from her voice, making her sound way more intense than she intended to.

 He tensed up visibly at her sudden razor-edged tone and, even though she didn't want to, she had to ease the situation. I can’t piss off these bastards again, she kept repeating to herself like a mantra. “Boys will be boys!” she said, not being able to think of something better that wasn’t inherently insulting, and laughed the most disgusting laugh of her life. If she could she would pour gasoline down her throat just for uttering those words.

 She couldn’t bear to linger at that conversation point anymore so she turned her attention to the man sitting on the far left. He looked distant and foreign, staring but not really looking at her. There was a peculiar absence behind his distinct green eyes, which she would even call beautiful under different circumstances. And that, something about that absence, made her want to zero in on him.

“And what about you? Did you win an Oscar or something?” mockery ringed clear in her voice, which brought his attention back to the presence. Startled slightly, he straightened his posture while saying, “No, not really... not yet at least,” he smiled sheepishly and continued, “I’m just here with them”.

“Come to think about it, I’ve never really seen you anywhere,” she said without thinking too much. In fact, she didn’t really pay enough attention to how he looked to recognize him even if she did. 

Something intense flashed his eyes for a brief second. She couldn’t quite put her fingers on what it was but she could feel the energy shift very quickly between them.

“Oh I’ve been in things but I’d be surprised if you did see any of them,” his voice now stripped of the delicacy it previously held. She could feel the air between them getting unusually heavy, his words penetrating through her skin a bit too effortlessly, a bit too swiftly that it was unsettling.   

“And why exactly would you be surprised?”

“You know...cause people like you don’t usually watch the kind of films I do.”

“What do you mean by ‘people like me?’”

“You know...people of your...stature,” he trailed off. Blood rushed the back of her neck as soon as the words hit her ears. She could feel her vision burning, a hot wave washed the crown of her skull, something unruly building at the base of her being. Clenching her jaw so as not to let it take over her, she said, “Stature huh? Fancy! I reckon from your accent that, wherever the hell you’re from, people get a kick out of looking down on others with such wispy language.”

 She could sense the same unruly substance dancing behind his chest, but he was far better at keeping it on a leash.

“I wasn’t looking down upon you. What I was merely getting at is that some people aren’t cut for apprehending particular types of films,” he sounded snarky but calm, the type of calm that’s tainted with scorn, which only sent ripples of rage down her ribs.

  “Oh so you think just because I’m a stripper by profession that I wouldn’t understand your low-budget dumb indie movies?” she was getting visibly worked up now. Traces of her seductive posture vanished long ago but there was a new hostile energy flowing through her stance.

“I didn’t say that -”

“No, of course you didn’t say that, you only meant that. You meant what you think and every one of you think that we aren’t people with brains and emotions. No, no, we’re just sacks of meat to ogle at in exchange of money, and then grope when you can’t keep it in your pants.”

“I think you're trying to put words in my mouth, this is -”

“God! you think you’re fucking better than me, don’t you? You contrarian little shit!” she could feel it in her bones. She knew what was coming. There were people behind, or maybe beside, her, trying to talk to her, probably. She could hear no one, not even the previously unbearable blaring music. She had tunnel vision and it was fixed on him. The air she breathed chafed her nose. Her nerves thumped as her heart leapt at irregular rapid intervals.

  “Excuse me! but i neve -” he said as his body went alert. Posture anticipating something violent, flight or fight.

  “You think you're better than me because I'm a stripper and you got enough money to buy me?” her voice was icy as she spoke, “You LA people are all the fucking same. You get a little money in your pockets and you think you own the world and anyone who isn’t jerking off to your pretentious bullshit isn’t worthy enough to deserve basic fucking decency. Huh is that it?” she quickly jumped on top of him, straddling him.

He was frozen under her as she leaned in and murmured, “Well then allow me to show you”, she pulled away, her left hand clutching his shoulder as right fist rose the air, “HOW FUCKING BETTER THAN ME YOU ARE!” then her fist crashed on the side of his mouth with all the force she could muster, releasing a knot built in her chest since she checked in with the manager in the evening. Hot, sweltering adrenaline was coursing through her veins.

 The impact resulted in him burying his face in his right shoulder so she grabbed a fistful of his hair and forced him to face her. His lips were starting to swell up so she decided to help it. His eyes went blank as her fist met his face once more.

 Involuntarily, her hand was raising in the air again when she felt a strong pull from behind. The security guard, twice her size, yanked her away from him. People gathered around them staring at her, the music stopped to her relief. The guard twisted her arms behind her back, enough to leave bruises that’ll sting for days to come. She couldn't move, her sight went hazy yet she felt this strange cool serenity soothe her tensed muscles. His friends were crowding him, probably consoling him. She could neither hear them nor make out their faces from her almost closed eyelids. She was pretty sure she was falling asleep in the guard’s painful hold until she heard a certain voice and the hair at the back of her neck stood up. 

“What the fuck! She’s at it AGAIN? Sir, I'm so sorry -” Sam, the manager’s voice pierced her ears as he rushed into the booth. As he was talking to them, commotion rose in the background. She could feel blind rage beating with every thump of her heart. If it wasn’t for the guard holding her in place, she would have skinned him alive by now. She was struggling to free herself when Sam turned to her and said, “You! That’s it!” pointing his left index at her. “I’ve had just about enough of your drunkass assaulting fine gentlemen. You’re fired. Get out right now! And be grateful we’re not reporting you to the police.”

Suddenly everything went quiet in her head. She smiled, nothing behind her gaze. Grinning ear to ear like a maniac, she said, “I’m fired? Aww what’s gonna happen to you now Sam?”. She cooed, ''Whose tits and ass are you gonna grab from now on? Stella? I wonder if she’ll compare to me though.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Sam almost hissed at her.

“Ohhh right! Of course, you don’t know what I’m talking about,” she said while still tussling with whatever little strength she had left to loosen herself from the guard’s excruciating grip. “You don’t know anything about how you sexually harassed me day after day, how your disgusting, slimy little hands grabbed my body against my will at every chance that you got. You knew how much I need the money from this job and you used that against me to keep me silent, threatening to fire me every time I made even a sound. But guess what fucker? I’m fired now! And I’m gonna tell everyone about HOW YOU TRIED TO -”

“Take her to the staff room!” Sam cut her off, “NOW!” And, as soon as the words left Sam's mouth, the guard put his palm over her mouth and started dragging her back. The hand over her mouth muffled her screams and she glanced at the man, now with swollen lips, looking at her with eyes filled with, what looked like, concern.

As she was getting dragged, she finally managed to sink her teeth into the guard’s palm resulting in him withdrawing his hand just enough to give her a small window of time to scream at Sam: “YOU MOTHERFUCKER I’LL BE BACK AND I’LL PEEL THE SKIN OFF OF YOUR SCALP FUCKING SON OF A BITCH I’LL -” Before she could finish, her voice got cut off again and she faded into the dimly lit passageway at the back of the floor.

------------

The cherry of her fifth cigarette shone brightly in the shivering cold as the smoke drifted up in the air and sluggishly faded away. Mouth agape, her eyes meticulously followed the faint trails left after their disappearance. She wondered where they went, where she’ll go. If it wasn’t this late, and the water wasn’t so cold, maybe she could have gone for a swim in the ocean. If the water wasn’t so cold maybe she would have let it swallow her even. She was calculating the probable temperature of the hypothetical water she’d marry someday when the sound of slow approaching footsteps entered her field of perception. She would have preferred to ignore it but the, somehow already familiar, voice spoke up, “Hey erm...” and left her no choice but to look. And there he was, the foreign man with the swollen lip, looking culpable. There were distinct imprints of guilt in his voice as he continued, “I saw you across the parking lot…um I was actually just leaving with my friends,” he pointed at a black Mercedes parked at the far end of the lot. “They’re waiting in the car anyway so I decided -”

“So you decided now that she’s fired from being a stripper, she's probably a hooker! Lemme go ask the price she’s selling at,” her gestures and voice was comical, “you know, dude if you’ve got a kink of getting beaten up non-consensually then you’re really good at getting it cause I might just be up for round two.”

He stared at her for a good few seconds with a perplexed face, as if trying to process her stream of logic. When he started speaking, he sounded genuinely hurt, “No! Jesus Christ I came to apologize. Can you just not be defensive for one second? I’m not a monster ya know!”

His sincerity caught her off guard. She had about five thousand ways of dealing with assholes prepared and ready to go but an actually decent person? Now that was rocky territory for her.

“Well, uh, that’s a first. Go ahead I guess?” she shrugged her shoulders.

“I apologize for saying what I said back in the club. I shouldn’t have insinuated that you aren’t intelligent enough to understand my films just because of your choice of profession. It was really shitty of me to say that, and nothing can justify it either. And I feel like I caused you to be fired, that’s also weighing heavily on my soul and I don't know how to make it up to you. Just, I hope that you can forgive me and, again, I apologize, earnestly. Please tell me how I can make it up to you,” he said and looked at her with a rueful expression.

She was at a loss of words. It had been years since anyone apologized to her, let alone that sincerely. After a considerable amount of silence, she gathered her fragmented thoughts and spoke up, “Whoa, whoa man, chill. You didn’t murder my family or anything so calm down,” she held up her open palms, the cigarette almost at it’s end. “Apology accepted, okay? And don’t feel bad, I would have been fired sooner or later given my questionable behavior ever since I joined, so it’s not on your conscience. And I’m sorry too,” her index and middle finger holding the cigarette gestured at his lips, “for, um, punching you so let’s call it an even.”

“Okay,” he nodded, “yeah okay,” sounding clearly more relaxed than before.

“You know it’s a miracle how long it took for me to get fired,” she mused, “oh no it wasn’t a miracle it was sexual harassment, ah I see now. Wonder what Sam saw in me though that was worth not firing me for this long even though I pulled so much shit,” she took a long drag of her weary cigarette. “Maybe I've got a talent for getting harassed or something...who knows?”

His face tensed up again as he said, “That’s...not right,” eyes pooling with the same worried look as before.

“I was joking, chill. Humor is an excellent way to deal with most everything really, especially trauma.”

“I am sorry for what you had to go through, it’s gut-wrenching. Can’t you lodge a complaint to the police?”

“Going to the pigs? As a sex worker? Who just got fired for being drunk and punching a man in front of many eye witnesses? Now that was humor, you’re quite good at it actually.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Besides, that’s like one of the first things you gotta learn to put up with if you’re working in this business. As unfair and grim as it is, men, no actually, people don’t see sex workers as human beings and I’m just too obstinate to accept that simple fact, or maybe too much of a pussy, depending on where one’s priorities lie.”

“I…don’t know what to say.”

“There is nothing to say.”

 It was just setting in for her how beautiful he actually was. His crestfallen face was graced by two stunning green eyes, lush unruly curls sticking to his forehead, sharp jawline kissed with a  scruffy goatee and the swollen lip throwing off the symmetry just right to make him look captivating, to say the least. In the chilly December ambience his face was a soothing sight to her eyes, his sweet voice kind to her drudging ears, his presence warm to her existence. And she wanted to hold onto the warmth, just for a bit longer.

   “You said you wanted to make it up to me, right?” she said as the cigarette fell on the ground then died out under the crushing embrace of her cruel heels.                         

------------

“Well I'm Ro -” he said leaning against the passenger seat window, sitting half facing her.

“If you’re trying to say your name then don’t,” she cut him off quickly without averting her gaze from the road.

“Why?” he asked, staring at her intently yet without any emotion in particular.

“‘Cause it doesn’t matter. It’s better if we don’t know each other’s name. Names individualize people and that’s not necessary for tonight,” she answered nonchalantly as the neon lights of a passing by road sign illuminated her face and then faded into the past just as nonchalantly. 

“Okay.”

She could feel his eyes on her, but it didn’t bother her, it wasn’t tainted. There was this unusual tranquility in the atmosphere of the car, this obscure but consistent serene rhythm. She felt a bizarre comfort in his presence and she could drive like this forever, on a never-ending road spiraling towards heaven or winding down pandemonium or just dissolving into the ether, with him sitting lazily on the side.

    “Do you ever feel like that?” he spoke up absentmindedly, breaking into her almost fever dream.

“Huh?”

“The song, I feel like that often.”

She didn’t realize the radio was on, playing at quite a significant volume. She wondered if he had turned it on at some point and how long she was driving for without being present mentally.

This place will be the end of me. Take me out, LA. Take me out of LA, the voice from the radio filled the car to the brim.

 “I don’t feel like that, I know that. I know I'll die here, kinda intrinsically...do you hate this place?”

“No, not hate. I just feel like I don't fit in here. It’s the way of life, it’s quite significantly different to what I was used to. The people and the city, it all feels hollow sometimes and every now and then i catch myself yearning for what I left behind me.”

“I see. Beautiful people and their beautiful problems.”

    Silence fell in the car again. Except for the voice through the radio, Well this place is never what it seems.

 “You don’t have to make small talk, you know. I'm fine with silence,” she said, finally looking at him for a brief second.

“Oh I know,” he was looking right into her eyes, unruffled. “I wasn’t making small talk, I just wanted to talk to you. That’s all.”

------------

The bleak fluorescent tube above buzzed in solidarity as the fatigued clock on the chipped convenience store wall dragged its hands and finally managed to tick at 2 am. The attendant was leaning on the counter, trying not to fall asleep when her voice echoed in the store: “$20 on pump 2.”

“I’ll pay”, he cut in, reaching for his wallet. “Okayyy...” she replied, narrowing her eyes at his benevolence and looked around the store which was significantly emptier that other nights. She closed her eyes for a second and the memories flashed behind her lids. She used to come here frequently, around this time, with someone when everything in her world was right, just right enough for her to not to seek out falling stars every night and wish for death over and over again. When she opened her eyes a shiny pack of Parliaments caught her gaze and she quickly gestured behind the counter, “Since you’re paying, can I get a pack of those also?”

“Sure”

“I remember surviving on those alone while writing my thesis papers,” she said wistfully, “good times.”

“You went to college?”

“University actually, but yeah.”

“Good lord.”

“But I had to drop out so I couldn’t complete my Master’s in Biochemistry.”

“Why?”

“Life.”

“I flunked out my first year of college so you did way more than I did in that regard.”

“Welp, look where that got me.”

“Don’t say that!”

“What?” she scoffed.

“Anything else?” the attendant interjected, visibly tired and clearly annoyed at their conversation.

She swiftly grabbed a lighter, “Can I get this too?”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

“That’ll be all,” she tossed the lighter towards the attendant and continued, “You’re clearly doing way better than me in life.”

“Are you being sarcastic?” he replied, raising an eyebrow.

“No. I meant that seriously. I’m the one who fucked up my life and that’s a fact. Say, how did you know what you wanted to do?”

“That’ll be $30”, the attendant interjected again.

“I don’t know. I started acting as a kid and it just seemed right. It’s all I've known really and I can't see myself as anything else,” he said as he passed the money to the attendant.

“I envy that.”

“I do sometimes ponder what I would have been if not an actor.”

“Wondering too much isn’t good,” she grabbed the goods and shoved them in her coat pocket, “It might make someone into me.”

She stopped right before the glass door, pulled the lighter out and flicked it on, “I’ll use it later,” she leaned in close to him with a frivolous smirk and whispered, “to burn this city down.”

He chuckled at her sudden gaiety, “I’d gladly assist.”

Pushing the door open, she continued as he followed behind her, “Did you see the way that dude rolled his eyes to you? He definitely thought you were with a blabbering hooker and to be honest, my make up probably didn’t help either. Oh well it's not like -” her voice slowly evaporated into the gloomy gas-station lights. 

------------

“So beautiful,” he said with awe looking over the vast and apparently endless ocean which the full, eternal moon bathed with its silver glory.

She clutched at her coat sleeves as the chilly wind sent shivers down her body and said, “I know right? I’ve always found the sea to be peaceful during this time of the night.”

“It’s lovely, I’ve never been to this beach before.”

“It’s my favorite spot actually, I used to come here pretty often,” melancholia dripping from her voice. She paused for a little while as if going over a mental checklist and said, “let’s go sit down there,” and pointed towards a vague place in the distance. 

They walked down the beach for a bit side by side, knuckles occasionally brushing against each other’s, making them want to hold hands, feel the warmth of another being. But the hesitance of the yet to be known, the uncertainty of a nameless stranger clouded their minds and prevented them from reaching out.

She stopped, sat down and gestured to him to do the same by tapping the cold sand beside her. He sat a bit too far for her liking so she huddled up closer to him saying, “You blaze right?”

“Sure.”

“Cool,” she said, taking out a small bag from an inside pocket of her coat, “keep an eye out for me while I roll it.”

They sat in silence as she rolled a joint meticulously. The waves kept crashing on the shore as if fulfilling some ancient duty. Wind rustled through the empty beach. Sand glimmered sporadically under the warm light of the moon, creating a transcendental atmosphere.

He sighed and thought out loud, interrupting the intoxicating stillness of the night, “Where do we go from here?”

“Other than plotting the murder of Sam, I don’t know about me,” she replied without looking up from the task at hand, “Don’t really wanna think about it tonight. That’s why I took you along with me. I wanted someone to keep me distracted from my thoughts and I had no one to go to...then you came to apologize, like my knight in shining armor.”

He smiled wryly and said, “I see.”

“What about you? What are you gonna do about your not fitting in or what was it?”

“I don’t know either. I just miss my people. I’m not meant for here, I think.”

“So can’t you go back there? To your home I assume?”

“I can...”

“Then go. Why the fuck would you stick around if you had the option to go back?”

“Maybe.”

“Huh! I wish I had a home to go back to too.”

She could see him from the corner of her eyes, clenching his knees tight with his fingers at her words, bringing them closer to his chest. She looked up to see him staring at her with his big, beautiful, hurt-puppy eyes.

“Did that make you sad or something?” she asked, almost amused. 

“Yeah...yeah it did.”

His apparent empathy for a literal stranger who also punched him not so long ago struck her as odd and oddly enticing. He looked unreal to her in the strange moonlight, as if a remote but vivid memory. She felt as though if she reached out and touched him, he’d turn to dust and drift off with the wind. Those intense eyes and his fey beauty were getting too much for her to bear so she averted her gaze towards the ocean and said, “There’s no use for your or anyone’s sadness. You see, sadness changes nothing. Unless you can start a capital R revolution tomorrow, everything will be the same. It’ll be the same day with slight variations over and over again, things will repeat and go on and on and on until one day humanity just goes poof somehow and then the universe will go on as if we never even happened. There’s no significance of our lives, there’s no point in feeling sad about anything in this set up. One must always imagine Sisyphus happy.”

“That’s quite pessimistic, isn’t it?”

“Kinda absurdist actually, but It’s hard not to be pessimistic or defensive, when you have to lead a life like mine.”

“I understand.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do, “Glamour Boy,’” she said, licking the rolling paper.

He put his hand over his chest and feigned being hurt which made her laugh; a clear, hearty laughter. The beach echoed with a faint sound of the laughter of two stray souls as he joined in.

The joint hanged from her lips, sensual and reckless like an erotic magazine model, burning bright as she took a long drawn-out drag.

“Say, do you think the water is cold?” she said, passing the joint to him.

He took in a drag, inhaling some of her used up smoke with it too, tasting her cheap but obscenely sweet fruity lip gloss at the filter tip, “Yeah...very much so”.

She huddled up even closer to feel the heat of his body as he passed the joint back to her. Taking in another drag, she leisurely put her head on his shoulder.

The sedating smoke sank into their lungs as the sand anchored them from floating off in the elating static of the enveloping darkness.

------------

“Is this it?” she said, pulling up to a posh apartment complex, something she wouldn’t be able to afford even after paying off her debts. 

“Yeah, that’s me,” he replied absently and unbuckled his seatbelt. 

She was looking ahead at the road, expecting him to get out of the car, but he sat in silence. She looked at him and saw him laid back on the seat as if being consumed by it, tracing the edge of the left air vent softly with his fingers. He sighed and said, still looking at his busy fingers: “I feel strange and fucking awful.”

“It happens sometimes after coming down a high.”

“It’ll be a pain in the arse going to bed feeling like this.”

“I know,” her eyes travelled down the flow of his posture, giving birth to an urge of some aboriginal origin in her loins, “but you don’t have to.” 

He turned his head towards her slowly, lethargy clear in his slow breathing pattern, “What do you mean?”

“Push your seat back.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

He furrowed his brows, alarmed by her sudden gratuitous command. He looked at her; motionless as if not even breathing awaiting his compliance and her eyes glinted with expectancy. He pushed his seat back, as far as it could go then parted his lips to say something but before the words could get out, she virtually jumped on top then sat astride him.

 A deathly stillness engrossed the car as her previous bellicose energy returned to the atmosphere, only this time rather ardent in nature. His heart, instantaneously racing, almost audible to her. 

“You know,” she said taking off her top, “dopamine is a hormone and neurotransmitter that’s an important part of your brain’s reward system, and it can elevate your mood and make you feel really good.”

Eyes wide with surprise, he struggled to keep his gaze fixed on her face as she unbuttoned his shirt. Her fingertips snaked up and down his smooth chest as if caressing a sumptuous painting one is not allowed to touch. She felt his taut muscle tighten at her touch, veins kindled with a hot rush pulsing under. Burying her face in the hollow of his neck, she felt the heat of his body as she pressed her chest against his. His breathing picked up it’s pace even more at the contact with her flushed skin.

“Do you ever get lonely?” she spoke up letting her lips skim over his bare shoulder.

“Terribly,” his voice breathy as he placed his hands on her hips hesitantly, not possessively, but affectionately.

“I do too.”

“What do we do about it?”

“Maybe we don’t do anything.”

“Maybe.” he said resting his right cheek against her head, “or maybe we keep each other company.”

“But for how long?”

“However long we need to.”

A mirthless laugh rippled from her lips then through his skin. She pulled back to look him in the eyes, curious green mixed with an unfamiliar kind of sorrow, a sorrow too costly for her. “Lust and attraction shut off the prefrontal cortex of the brain, which includes rational behavior,” she said, knocking softly on his temple.

“Makes sense.”

Cupping his face, she stroked his swollen lips with her rough thumbs, making him wince in response. The purple bruise steadily forming on the side of his mouth marred his flawless complexion yet his allure only enhanced. Her thumb rubbed on the bruise with reckless abandon, his flinches testifying to that. Withdrawing her hands from his face, she left a light peck on the bruise and said, “Slap me.”

“What?”

“Slap me, come on, I'm giving you a chance to get back at me for earlier.”

“No!”

“Prude!”

“Hey! I just don’t want to hurt you, especially not as revenge or what not,” he sounded genuinely offended.

She leaned in, “But I want to get hurt, silly,” her lips ghosting over his as she whispered, “Endorphins are our body’s natural pain reducer and it so happens to increase when we engage in reward-producing activities, such as eating, working out, or having sex.” She pulled away and continued, “So hit me. Hard.” His adam’s apple bobbed up then down as he searched at her face, as if trying to find some sort of sign. His fingers dug in her hips, indicating the upcoming crude impact. Her palms laid flat against his chest as his left hand rose then crashed against her face. Her fingers curled in response as she gasped weakly, eyes shut closed but the tensity clear in the lines on her eyelids and forehead. 

“Ah... that was good,” she said as if talking to herself, caressing her cheek. When she opened her eyes, she found him staring with uncertain eyes, the doubt readable in the way he bit his lips. 

“Just like that, once more,” her firm voice ringed in the vehicle. His hand cruelly collided once again with her face, leaving her face warm and red. 

“Good boy,” she cooed as the sharp sting eddied on her cheek and then through her whole body, easing her off some unknown yet intrinsic discomfort. Her chest pounded in sync to his as she spoke up, “Do it for me once again, won’t you?”

Pressing his teeth even deeper into his lips, he struck her once again, with as much strength as he had. A white light flashed before her eyes, her ears ringed as she sat in silence for a bit. When her vision became clear, she held his face between her palms. Leaning closer, she rested her temple against his and murmured, “Such a good boy.”

Sweat dripped down as her nose grazed up the side of his neck, she could feel him growing hard through his pants. She buried her face in his curls and breathed in. He smelt sugary, sweet to the extent of almost making her nauseous. She whispered against his ear, “You’ve got a boner...it turned you on this much to hurt me?”

“It’s, um, n-not really that part it’s the -” he stammered in embarrassment.

 “Ugh men,” she cut him off and rolled her eyes playfully. “But since we’ve got a situation at hand, and you’ve been so good to me, I think you deserve some relief for yourself,” she said, tugging at his waistband. To which he responded eagerly, elevating his hips just enough so she could slip his pants off as much as possible. His head sank back into the headrest as her hands wrapped around his cock. Her hand gilded up and down his length as her other hand ran through his hair, pulling lightly. Resting his forehead on her shoulder, he quivered and moaned softly as she lovingly yet mercilessly worked on him. His breath hitched sharply as she stroked the tip of his cock with her thumb, making him groan and twitch under her touch. She was about to pick up the pace when he grabbed her wrist abruptly. “Wait!” he rasped, “I wanna...feel you.”

He panted, trying to catch his breath and said, “Let’s take this inside, there might be people around.”

“Why? Are you afraid of getting photographed with a hooker by the paparazzi, Mr. Actor?"

“No”, he answered, the same hurt as earlier could be heard in his voice, the type of hurt when one is misunderstood by someone they love, “I just - I just want it to be nice.”

“Let’s not make it too nice lest you fall in love with me,” she said sternly. “Besides, you should be more concerned about getting STDs. There should be some condoms in the glove box and also tissues for later.”

He brought his face closer to hers, looked at her lips and said, “You’ve got such a mean mouth, you know that?”

“And you like it?”

“Perhaps”, he replied then kissed her, deeply. Holding her face in his head, he bit her lips which made her moan in his mouth. After running out of breath she pulled away, still tasting his saliva on her tongue as he reached behind her and rifled through the glove compartment. Having found what he wanted, he turned on the radio then returned his focus to her; she was hiking up her dress and awkwardly slipping off her panties in the short space.

Heavy bass filled the car, I wanna be your vacuum cleaner breathing in your dust, as the sky started to light up with shades of azure and tangerine. Her tongue blended with his as she took his cock in her. Their bodies pressed and flushed against each other as a steady rhythm flowed through them. Her nails scratched his nape, as he kissed her neck, nibbling at her collarbone. Her head shot back as he thrust up into her, frantic and keen. His groans muffled in her chest, her moans melting into his hair as their hips clashed against one another.

Maybe I just wanna be yours.

I wanna be yours.

------------   

The sparkling rays of the breaking dawn illuminated his face as he cleaned himself off and got dressed. She marveled from the driver’s seat at the magnificence of the sight of him in afterglow. There was something in him, something innate, that made him stand out from anyone she ever came across. He was made for the screen, he was made to shine, and she wondered whether or not he’ll remember her afterwards. It was for the better if he didn’t, she thought to herself, as this was probably one of the lowest points in his life, while that night was most definitely one of the highlights of hers. The sheer dichotomy was glaring at her soul when he spoke up, bringing her attention back to the present, “I was wondering if you’d like to -”

“Look if you want my name or number, then that’s just not gonna happen,” she said with a sigh, “It’s the oxytocin flooding your brain. Increased levels of oxytocin facilitate attachment and bonding and shit so, like, don’t be fooled.”

“But it’s not that, I feel a connection between us...something I haven’t felt with anyone here before.”

He averted his eyes from her and looked out the window. His hand lingered on the door handle for a second before he stepped out of the car. Turning his back towards the car, he walked into the apartment complex, without saying anything further. Her foot pressed on the accelerator, as the car drove past the buildings. A Parliament washed out the leftover taste of him in her mouth as she rolled down the window to let the nauseously sweet scent dissipate into the cold morning air. 

“It is that. Believe me, I know. There is nothing between us. Whatever connection you feel is your hormones doing bullshit things.”

“You’re just evading me”

“I’m not. I do actually know. Okay, for instance you feel really tired and sleepy right now, right?”

“Yeah”

“That’s the parasympathetic nervous system down-regulating your body and a shit load of vasopressin coursing through you”

“But that could also be because we stayed up all night and got high and just had sex”

“Why don’t you understand? It’s all chemicals, everything! There is nothing called love and whatever the fuck people feel is just their chemicals doing somersaults. There is nothing between us, we don’t know each other. There can be nothing either, look at the circumstances. People like you shouldn’t have to do anything with people like me unless it requires a monetary transaction.”

“But i can help, with whatever you’re dealing with”, he said reaching to place his hand over hers, “we can help each other”

“and what exactly do you think i’m dealing with?, she asked, withdrawing her hand, eyes narrowed at him.

“I don’t know yet”

“Exactly. You don’t know anything. I’m not some sad little girl who went to college then got depressed but in a sexy way so maybe she did drugs or whatever and dropped out and now strips for fucking aesthetic reasons probably. No honey, I’m involved with shit that can drag you down faster than a meth withdrawal and my life is a living testimony of that, take my word for it. So, go get some rest. Sleep out your saviour complex and live out your promising life when you wake up.”

[ravenquingvax]

Okay but I just imagined Vax and Caleb meeting at a bar and talking about their own personal crush/relationship issues over red wine;

"I fell for a shop keep I flirted with to get discounts then I broke his heart when I decided he deserved better, only to struggle with staying away."

"Ja, well my ex boyfriend and my ex girlfriend are both evil wizards who work for my evil former wizard teacher and abuser and I know nothing good can come from interacting with them but also they're really hot. Oh, I also burned them during a meltdown I had after murdering my own parents."

"I had a habit of playfully flirting with my friends and accidentally developing real feelings for them later on."

"Me and a late friend had a really weird love/hate relationship but he died before it could be properly explored."

"Before I died I was dating a druid who is like the equivalent of a queen or princess but hates being called as such, she can morph into different types of animals and she loved that I could temporarily grow wings and fly around for a bit."

"I have feelings for someone who follows a fake God and is already seeing somebody else, her false god has also alluded to having murdered a man."

"Oh yeah? Have you ever been attracted to the Vampire and Necromancer couple who murdered most of your sister's husband's family?"

"I currently crush on a war criminal who betrayed me."

In case it isn't obvious, they hook up afterwards before going their separate ways.

And the next time they unload their relationship troubles onto somebody else they both end up mentioning a pretty stranger who had told them about their own relationship troubles before they hooked up together for the night.

[osamiiya]

Pairing: Tendou Satori x Reader

Type of fic: Angst (But make it like, the middle to end)

TW// Death, panic, slight panic attack

Summary: Tendou's in love, and he'll stay in love, because, how could he forget you?

A/n I'm back baby, also I cried while writing this so good luck 🤩

Songs I listened to while writing: Love Like You (Caleb Hyles) , Be my Mistake (The 1975) , Mr Loverman (Ricky Montgomery), Lonely (Noah Cyrus), She used to be mine (Jessie Mueller), Before you go (Lewis Capaldi)

"Satori~" Tendou turns around, grin only growing as he hears your sing song voice call from around the corner.

He watched with bated breath, letting out a soft sigh and a heartwarming smile, as he holds out his hands and pulls you into his chest. Taking a deep inhale and exhale.

"How did you sleep?" His grin is soft, and those who've only seen a sinister smile on his face from volleyball would be surprised at how full of love and adoration it held. Truly, Tendou's paradise from the rest of the world, a breath of fresh air from those who found him creepy or weird.

No, you weren't like them. Ever since the beginning you were always the first to jump in to defend Tendou, who had just started to shrug off the looks and whispers of those around him.

"The best sleep I've ever had."

"Yeah?" Tendou sways the two of you in his arms slightly, his tall and thin frame trying it's best to keep you warm from the fall air.

"I had a nightmare." Tendou hums, clearly not worried about it.

"You did?" Tendou's heart squeezes in a way he can't describe as you look up at him with innocent eyes.

"Yeah, your bus was in a car crash." He hums, chills running down his back as remembers the rush of feelings that accompanied the dream.

"Well, I'm here now, besides it's just a dream." Too engrossed in his conversation with you, Tendou isn't aware of the worried look Semi sends him and then Ushijima.

But before he can formally say anything, Ushijima interrupts him.

"He'll be ok. He always is."

---

Tendou's absolutely sure that the looks he's gotten from people in the halls have passed just staring because he was weird looking, there was some underlying message in the stares now, something he couldn't decode.

"Don't mind them Satori." You tug on his uniform blazer, marching ahead of him slightly, eager to get to the convenience store.

"You know y/n. Eating ice cream in the winter leads to all sorts of bad things." Tendou leans over you as you pick out an ice cream from the ice chest, hands coming to your hips and subconsciously rubbing circles into the uniform fabric as he pretends to compare the different ice cream types, as if he wouldn't get the same ice bar he always got.

Tendou's eyes sparkle with happiness as you pick out a new flavour, turning over your shoulder to smile and show him the ice cream you picked.

As always, Tendou pays. Something about how you can repay him later, maybe when a manga he really wants comes out.

"Satori, do you want to try?" There's a mischievous smirk playing at your lips as you hold out the ice cream. After stopping on a park bench, not to far away from the school, the two of you just couldn't wait to have the slowly melting ice creams.

Instead of licking the ice cream as you expected him to do, Tendou leaned over and planted a kiss on your lips, humming as he pulled back and licked his tongue over his lips, smirking at your bewildered expression.

"Tendou." Ushijima's curt voice pulls both of your attentions away from eachother and to the stoic boy above you.

"Ushiwaka, sorry we didn't get you an ice cream. You don't like them anyways, but I did get you..." Tendou trails off, rummaging through the white plastic bag you had acquired at the store, a polite smile on the underplayed college student's face.

Tendou lets out an 'Ah ha!' as he procures the mint chocolate flavoured protein bar you've seen Ushijima eat during practice before.

Ushijima takes it from Tendou's outstretched hand, a polite and curt thank you as he sits next to Tendou.

"We were about to talk about the literature project." Tendou hums, sending you a wink and taking a careful bite of his ice cream.

"Tendou, y/n is gone." It's like ripping off a bandaid, it hurt to see his best friend push himself deeper into a fantasy he created of his own imagination.

"Silly Ushiwaka, they're right-" Tendou's stomach drops as he turns and sees you with a sad smile spread over your features, eyes glassy.

"No, they're- Ushiwaka they're right here." Tendou's confused, was this a prank?

"Tendou, y/n's bus was in a very bad accident, and they didn't make it out of the hospital." Tendou lets out a dry and nervous laugh.

"No, that was my nightmare last night, there's no way..." Tendou's blood runs cold and his hands are shaking.

'Not my Y/n. He's talking about the wrong Y/n.' Tendou's thoughts are too quick for him to keep up with, quick breaths coming out in short bursts.

Words are trapped in his throat as he looks between you and Ushijima. Ushijima's face uncharacteristically full of pity, and your's sad, a tear rolling down your cheek.

"Ushijima I think I need a minute." Ushijima nods at Tendou's serious voice, on the verge of breaking, and gets up, walking a good distance away.

"You're gone?" Tendou's hands are shaking as his voice cracks, wanting to reach out to you.

"Satori, listen to me ok? I love you. Don't ever forget that." A tear rolls down Tendou's face as his thoughts become clearer by the second.

What was once incomprehensible static in his head taking the shape of a word, then two, until they formed a sentence.

'Y/ns gone.'

A sob claws it's way out of Tendou's mouth, and he feels like he's in elementary school again.

"Make sure you don't give Goshiki too much of a hard time ok? He's always trying to impress you guys." Both of your hands are on Tendou's face at this point, and it scares him that he can't feel you, your warmth gone, your presence hanging on by a thread.

"Always eat enough ok? I know you don't have a big appetite, but don't get sick while I'm gone ok? Don't skip out on your meals, please." There's tears running down your face, and Tendou finally notices how you're not really there, tears falling quickly, like rain on the bench.

"You're not here?"

You stop wiping his tears away, giving him a sad smile and a kiss on the cheek.

"I'm at Tokyo Cemetery, darling." A bone shattering shiver rolls through Tendou as he lets out another sob.

"You can't go, I need you." Tendou's shaking, trying to suppress a scream in pain, his body overflowing with realizing and pain.

"You've been in denial Satori." You wipe his tears and leave a kiss on his cheek, and it kills Tendou inside because he can almost feel it. He wants to feel it. Tendou wants to feel your lips on his cheeks.

"Be good ok? Remember how we were going to go to Paris? Take my memory there, take me around Paris using that photo in your wallet. Kiss me goodnight, don't forget me." Your voice is strained and Tendou can't breathe.

"You hear me Satori? Don't forget me, ok?"

"Ok." He manages, it comes out forced , and very much real. A contrast to the life he's continued to live with you in his head, his body and mind now painfully aware that he'd been walking around like a husk of his last self, his mind entertaining the hope and the denial that, you y/n, were still alive. And Tendou could kiss you, and hold your hand, and see you in his jersey one last time.

'Y/ns gone.' And with that Tendou's back to the reality he hates, where you're gone. Tendou can't breathe and his mind feels like it's a tape recorder on 3x speed.

His heart is beating and his hands are grabbing for something to ground him. Seeing his best friend break apart, Ushijima speeds over, taking big steps and allowing Tendou to grip tightly to his shirt, sobbing loudly.

"I didn't get to say goodbye." He chokes out, burying his head into Ushijima's stomach, letting out a yell of pain and heartbreak.

Ushijima feels his heart constrict at the demonstration of his best friend's pain, the red haired boy screaming into his maroon shirt, soaking through the fabric as he rests his hand on Tendou's head, rubbing it in a way he's seen you do it before.

"I loved them and I couldn't say goodbye." Tendou screams, voice raw and filled to the brim with pain, lanky body shaking violently.

"I didn't get to kiss them one last time. I didn't get to tell them I loved them. I never got to take them to Paris like we planned. I never got to give them my volleyball jersey and see them in the stands, cheering for me one last time."

Tendou and Ushijima stay like that for what seems like hours, Tendou buried in his best friend's embrace, needing to be grounded from his raging thoughts.

"I loved them Ushiwaka." Tendou whispers, no longer shaking, voice and eyes hollow.

"I know Tendou." Ushijima tried his best to sound gentle, he knows that Tendou needs it.

"I didn't get to say goodbye." Tendou's like a broken record as Ushijima helps him get off the park bench, plastic bag filled with two uneaten melted ice creams picked up and thrown out.

"We were going to see the eiffle tower." Tendou whispers from his bunk above Ushijima's.

Body heavy with exhaustion, he's about to sleep when he sits up suddenly, hands panicked as he searches for something.

"Tendou?" Came Ushijima's voice from the below bunk.

"My wallet, where's my wallet?" He's stammering and his voice is raw from sobbing and his hands are shaking as he looks.

"Tendou." Comes Ushijima's calm voice as he gently hands Tendou the wallet.

Immediately Tendou opens it, digging through to find the picture he's sure he kept in there.

Pulling it out, he smiles gently, all run out of tears, as he brings the photo shakily to his lips, kissing the photo gently and smiling, looking into your eyes, frozen in time, no idea of the future, just pure happiness.

"Goodnight, my paradise."

---

Permanent Taglist

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[utilitycaster]

I can't speak for anyone else but the thing about the Mighty Nein depiction criticisms is that, in and of itself, this is tiny and inconsequential and it is on some level very silly it's a hot topic of discussion. But it also manages to hit nearly everything that frustrates me in fandom.

It's about the belief that fanon is better simply because it is fanon. It's about people saying "haha, I rub my grubby hands on the canon" and then become furious when people look at what they've made - something sticky, sweaty, jam-covered, and crumpled - and choose to walk past it.

It's about how people will claim that fix-it-fics are always better, actually, because isn't it always better when they recover? And then when a show actually shows recovery, in far more depth than most depictions have room to offer, and it's realistic, which is to say, nonlinear and messy, detailed and unglamorous, they hate it.

It's about how Fjord and Jester's dying plants mean unhappiness (and a specific type of unhappiness no less) but Beau, Yasha, and Caleb's thriving plants don't mean happiness. It's about being able to fabricate paragraphs in favor of what you always wanted from a single blink, a glance, a word, the cast's physical appearance in an episode they did not explicitly dress up for; but when the story says in blunt, direct terms that the color of this character's hair is a direct reflection of the state of their mind, rejecting it for the aesthetic. It's about complaining that it's not that deep when the depth says something you don't like, and then turning around and digging as far as you personally need to support a pre-existing belief.

It's about how when Caduceus was shown with his pink hair fading, there was an almost gleefully morbid speculation of "is he dying? oh god I hope he both is and isn't dying, I want the thrill of unresolved angst but if he actually dies I will throw a fit." And then the answer was actually both deeply mundane and also fascinating with regards to his character arc, and suddenly no one wanted to talk about it. It's about a detestation for showing the incremental yet fractal nature of life. It's about wanting everything to be a tentpole blockbuster Save-The-Cat just-the-hits carbon copy formula while simultaneously claiming it would be more original and interesting to do so.

It's about thinking of media not as entertainment or even meaning, but simply as a vehicle of representation and how the show you already watch must become all things to you. Sure! Would be cool to have more US Southern Accents in fantasy! But that isn't Fjord's story, and indeed, the banality of the accent is the point. It's okay to want a southern accent; but there is this irrational demand in fandom that whatever you're already watching provide everything, instead of taking the frankly very minimal effort to branch out and find something else that does.

It's about how so many people don't want a story; they want a snapshot. They want one single moment in time, one where the people in their ship kiss; where their favorite character receives a frozen instant of catharsis; the inhale just before the life-altering decision, endlessly teetering on the precipice of corruption. But there's no understanding of how to make the story that is actually happening reach that point, and no understanding of what happens when the characters pull away from the kiss, wipe away their tears, make the choice, and keep moving forward.

It's about simultaneously treating characters as real people: that death is never justified, that tragedy is always terrible; and then turning around and screaming at the characters when they act as though, within the story, they have agency. They can live - they must live - but only if they dance on your command. It's about the complete reverse and scornful rejection of how one must see characters if you want to actually say anything worth saying in fiction, as tools of a narrative and yet also rich and real and able to move on their own even when you're not looking.

It's about wanting mirrors and never windows; it's about a profound inability to surrender control and actually listen to what someone who is not exactly you has to say, yet telling yourself this is diversity; it's about potential energy that never once becomes kinetic; it's about style with no substance; it's glossy, and it's hollow, and I am so tired of all of it.

[theoriginalladya]

WIP Wednesday

Since for the past three days or so I've been lost to SIMS 3, having created Caleb, Kaidan, Tadhg and Niamh in that game, This week's WIP Wednesday snippet is something from an original fic idea I've had for years but the characters have been poking at me for the past week to change things up. I think I may have shared this bit ages ago in its original concept, but here it is revitalized.

(under cut for those who don't care to read)

Concept: present day main character with a 'supernatural' type power that helps him solve murders. Said powers drove him from his home in Mountjoy, Kansas when he was eighteen but he's been back home when his older brother, the only family member that had stayed in touch with him, is murdered and he teams up with his brothers best friend and detective on the local police force to figure out who killed his brother. Main characters Morgan McLeod (his POV) and Iain Hawthorne.

“What if I asked you to stay…for me?”

Only two people in my life have ever really caught me by surprise.  David, bless him, was one.  It shouldn’t come as any real surprise Iain is the other one, I suppose, but right now, right here, it does. 

It’s only when tiny pinpricks of black darken my vision I realize I’ve been holding my breath.  “Um... Why?”  My voice warbles slightly and I pull my lower lip between my teeth, worrying it back and forth.  It’s a nervous gesture from my days as a shy teen, gone in recent years, but apparently not forgotten.  “Why would you want me to stay?” 

I need to know the answer, because I swear, if he says something like, ‘we work well together,’ I’m going to call on all those years of karate lessons to knock him on his ass, cop or not!

Slowly, he turns to face me.  This close, I don’t miss the hint of pink darkening his cheeks.  I swallow tightly and nearly jump when one of his hands catches mine.  His eyes – the most enticing moss green I’ve ever seen and that have haunted my memories for years – flicker with some sort of emotion that I can’t quite define.  But his hand is warm, and his voice is steady when he does speak.  The only shaking I notice is a slight tremor in his hand.  Or is it mine?

God, I hate this! When it comes to dealing with dead bodies, I can see their last moments, understand what they felt, figure out which way to direct an investigation based on all of that. But the living? At best, I am horrible at reading the emotions of anyone still breathing, especially in situations directly concerning me.  But there is something there in Iain's expression, something I recognize instinctively, and my stomach flips.

It feels suspiciously like hope... 

“Is it too corny if I say I think we are good together?”

I blink and frown.  Dammit! Irritation laces my words as I demand, “Is that your modern-day equivalent of, ‘we work well together?’”

His smile is sorrowful, but he doesn’t laugh.  That something, anyway.  “Look, Morgan, things between us have been awkward over the years.  I know that.  I’ll own it.”  His sigh is heavy, remorseful.  “Call it stupidity or obliviousness; whatever the case, we lost too many years where we could have been close…time we will never get back.”

My chest tightens again as he speaks.  “I’m not a seventeen-year-old with his first crush anymore, Iain.”  To this day, I’ve always wondered if he ever knew how I felt back then.  Sounds like he might have.  But what does that really change now?

Absolutely nothing.

“Look, Iain, I –” “Mountjoy will never have the draw of a big city like New York,” Iain says, cutting me off, “and if you are truly well and done with us…well, there isn't much I can do about it. Nothing I will say will convince you. I know that, I accept it. I won’t say I like it much, but I’ll respect it.”

[robin-in-a-hoodie]

I think you guys are over thinking it. Oliver just wasn't as well written and the later to season of TBS weren't as good as the first. Plus the actor just wasn't as vocally attractive so Oliver didn't get the hot voice treatment. We also don't get as many pathetic or tender moments. The dude is always bickering with others. I think only his talk with Caleb was nice all around. Plus the show does not act like he is autistic if very often just frames him as a jerk and characters react as such.

You know what. You can't reply to this anonymously anymore. Might as well debate, since my day is ruined anyway. You can't respond and i hope you hate it ❤️

Oliver is well written. His trauma is realistic, his struggle with himself is realistic, his backstory is interesting and makes sense with the man we have now. He's a well written well developed character. You can dislike him, but that doesn't make him badly written, it just makes him not your cup of tea.

Attractive is a personal thing, i find him way nicer to listen to then Damian, that's not a legitimate argument.

Also if you listened to tama and tct and think you don't get a lot of moments that are intimate and soft enough to get to know him, i think your hearing comprehension is bad. He's clearly veryuch an intricate deep character, he does more than just "bickering with everyone", it's just not immediate because he's a bit guarded.

As for coding, coding is, at the end, always a debate. I'm not autistic, but i have multiple autistic friends that say that he feels like he's coded as such, and they explained it well enough and i see their point. If you feel like he isn't it's like feeling that mother gothal isn't coded Jewish, like, most Jewish people i know agree that she is, but at the end of the day coding isn't a solid thing. If you think he's just a not nice character, good for you, i literally don't care, but the problem is that when people talk about why they don't like him they decide to mention traits that autistic people recognise in themselves to criticize. It's not "he's not really my type of character so i don't like him" it's always "he's bad at understanding situations and comes across as not very skilled socially and i don't like that" and shit of that nature. You do understand that, don't you? The show frames his as someone who doesn't always understand the social situation he's in, and occasionally doesn't care to understand it, but also as an inherently kind (if flawed) man.

[thelaurenshippen]

So,,, not to be a biology nerd turned English major on main, but have you put into any thought into how genetics play into atypicalness? I'm thinking the atypical gene has got to be Autosomal Recessive, but I want so much more information.... Are there two genes for physical vs. neural powers? How is it possible that Joan isn't atypical but Mark is but neither of their parents is atypical, Alice and Caleb are both atypical and neither of THEIR parents are atypical, and Chloe's mom is atypical as well?? ***Disgruntled mumbling in Nerd*** please omg do you have thoughts

I do have *some* thoughts! Most of it is based on a “the genetics of Harry Potter” panel I went to by this science fandom guy at DragonCon YEARS ago and basically I just ripped that system - 

two Atypical parents = likely Atypical kids, probably of all the same type (see: the Atkinsons (pre-order SOME FARAWAY PLACE now!) 

one Atypical parent = 50/50 shot of Atypical kids (Chloe)

Atypical grandparents = hello recessive gene that appears in later gens? (see: The Michaels, in my headcanon at least)

and then there’s the kind of ~magic~ side of things where an Atypical can essentially just be a gene mutation in a completely non-Atypical family (Sam, Mark, Damien). the reverse can happen too, where Atypical families don’t have Atypical kids (kind of like Muggle-born vs. Squib, yes I hate that this is my reference point now)

this is all to say: I am NOT a geneticist or biology nerd, so while I do think about where a particular Atypical may have gotten their ability, and what kind of ability they have (the Atkinsons are all neurological, same with Chloe and her mom, but Caleb-Alice are a weird mix bc in my head their dad’s parents were a mix as well) most of it is hand-wave-y “sometimes Atypicals just appear!” thinking