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suzdin · 7 months

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Mad Max Phillips

(Vampire!Max Phillips x f!reader)

Summary: When trying to deliver a message to Max Phillips doesn’t go according to plan.

Warnings: no use of y/n but use of a nickname/pet name, violence/gore, blood kink, fingering, unprotected p in v (he’s dead it doesn’t matter), squirting, biting (obviously), kind of soft Max at one point

Notes: Basically wanted an excuse to write something about vampires to exercise my knowledge of vampire lore, that’s all really. Enjoy!

18+ MDNI

——

You aren’t sure what compels you to knock on the door to Max’s office. It’s after hours and you should be sitting in traffic by now, chugging down your third or fourth iced coffee of the day, mentally preparing yourself to go to the bar for St. Patrick’s Day celebrations with Alice and Tristan later. Not standing on the fifth floor, where you definitely don’t belong, with some name and phone number scrawled on a post-it note because asshole Max Phillips wouldn’t answer his goddamn phone.

You got the call right as you were about to clock out—a client called ManeGain that sells hair growth products for men. Needed to talk Max Phillips about their account. Fine, you thought. Last one of the day.

Let me direct your call, you’d told the voice on the phone. One moment.

You thought you were home free after that. That is until another call rolled through right as you were slinking into your purse and jacket, fingers hovering over the keyboard to log your hours for the day.

He isn’t answering and I need to talk to him immediately. Please see to it he gets my message, the voice said.

You’re under no obligation to hand deliver messages. Your job is to man the front desk, answer and route phone calls to the appropriate recipients. Direct visitors to the bathroom down the hall. Be a smiling face—or not—as people you barely recognize wash past you and into the building for a long and exhausting 9 to 5 in corporate America.

You had a vague idea of what Max looked like. By and large, he ignored you. As if you weren’t really there. Which was fine by you; the less interaction you had to endure throughout the day, the better.

So you aren’t sure why you’re here, on this empty floor crammed full of cubicles by yourself, hand delivering a message to a man you couldn’t care less about right now. Especially after hearing what sounded like screams as you stepped off the elevator into the hall; and especially after said screams had fallen stagnant and the only other noise audible to you is the crescendo of your own breath as it warbles out of your chest.

You rap your knuckles softly against the door, a lingering sense of dread snaking its way up your spine. “Mr. Phillips? I’m from downstairs. From the lobby? I have a message for you from a Jim Hicks with ManeGain?“

You wait patiently and you’re met with silence so heavy your ears ring. Not even the creak of an office chair or the tapping of fingers on a keyboard can be heard. Perhaps Max has already gone home for the day? You don’t recall seeing him, but it’s possible you missed him in the rush to complete your end of day tasks.

Now that you think about it, you don’t remember seeing him much at all lately.

You could just stick the note to his door and be done with it. After all, it isn’t your job to play delivery person. You’ve done more than is necessary already.

But there’s a persistent intuition rising in your throat that something is off. That something is wrong—you’re sure you’d heard screams. What if Max is hurt? What if you could help him?

The smart thing to do would be to call 911 and vacate yourself back to the safety of the lobby while you wait for emergency services to arrive. But if Max or someone else is injured, they may only have precious few seconds to live, so if you could just check that everything is alright first for your own peace of mind…

As you raise your hand to knock a second time, the door abruptly whooshes open in front of you, an arm shooting forward to hook around your neck and snatch you into the confines of the office, a second hand clapping over your mouth to dampen the horrified yelp that works its way up from your lungs. Your back collides harshly into the door as someone you can’t see spins you, pinning you between themselves and the wood. This all happens within fractions of a second.

At first you think you’ve lost your vision; the room is black as pitch and you can’t even make out the edges of the space around you, much less whoever is inches from your face. Once your vision adjusts, you pick up on the faint blinking glow of a modem against the wall; aside from that, you’re completely blind, your other senses going into overtime.

The first thing you notice is the smell. A thick coppery tang, it almost seems to cake the inside of your nasal passage, overburdening your senses. You think you know what it is—it can’t be though, right? Why would it be?—but you can’t be sure without your sight.

And then you hear something…dripping. Whatever it is, it isn’t far. Few feet, maybe. It seems to be low, which means the source of the sound isn’t coming from the ceiling, where you would suspect. Possibly a desk. Perhaps someone spilled a drink?

Everything happens quickly, within split seconds of one another, and it’s only then you’re acutely aware you’re still being pinned by a faceless assailant, and that whoever it is is breathing against your neck, their breath rife with the same copper stench of the surrounding room. You make a pathetic, mewling sound, your muscles pulled tighter than a snare drum over your trembling frame.

“I can hear the blood coursing through your veins,” murmurs the phantom voice. Then, a dark chuckle. “Fear makes it taste better. Lucky for you, I just fed.”

You feel a shift in your bodies as he manipulates you into a position more advantageous for him, lining his pelvis up with yours. You feel the hard pressure of his erection prodding at your center, dragging your seam through your thin leggings. You relinquish a small sound, one that sounds more gratuitous than you intend it to be, your core throbbing at the sensation in spite of—or perhaps as a consequence of—the spikes of fear and adrenaline currently threading their way through you.

“Did someone like that?” the voice chuckles. You feel the sharp hook of his nose press against the flesh of your neck, skimming along your pulse point. He groans salaciously and rolls his hips against yours, your own utterance of pleasure reverberating your lungs and dying in the meat of the palm still clamped over your mouth. Fuck, this shouldn’t feel good, it shouldn’t, it shouldn’t, but it does—

—it’s the fear, you think. Your mind is trying to help you cope by flooding your body with endorphins. That has to be it. It must be…

“I can smell your blood, sweetheart. Smells so fucking sweet and intoxicating,” he asserts, his tone heady and full of longing. “Never smelled any like yours before. What is your blood type?”

His hand moves away from your mouth, sliding down to circle the underside of your jaw. “Make a sound and I’ll snap your neck like a toothpick,” he warns. Max knows he isn’t above fucking a corpse. Hell, he is a corpse.

You could scream now if you wanted, and you most definitely should. But in spite of yourself, you don’t. You know as well as anyone there’s no one in the building who can save you. And even if there were, they’d never make it in time; the firm press of his hand against your jawbone confirms your suspicion that his threat is anything but idle. You vaguely remember your crisis training and know that compliance is key to survival in hostage situations, if that’s what this is.

“AB negative,” you answer, your voice quavering. Hot tears collecting along the rims of your eyes. “R-rarest… rarest blood type,” you finish.

Max grins and pulls back to study your face. Unlike you, he doesn’t need light to see, his supernatural senses honed now that he’s grown accustomed to using them. He recognizes you as the pretty face from downstairs, the first and last he used to see every work day. Although not so much lately; not since the shift and that pesky allergy to sunlight that would render him to a pile of ash if he tempted it.

“Excellent,” he croons, licking a slow stripe along your neck, simultaneously drunk on the blood in his belly that is making his head swim, and the way he can feel your artery pulsing under his tongue.

“Maybe I’ll have a taste anyway. Always room for dessert, right?” His hand travels from your jaw to the curve of your waist, then to your thigh, where he grabs your leg to hitch it up against him, slinking you around himself so he can deepen the angle of his erection against your core. He needs to be inside you sooner than later, the high of his recent kill making him insatiable.

You let out a sob. It isn’t exactly loud and you hope it isn’t enough to get you killed, but you can’t help it, panic now taking the wheel. A taste of what? Your blood? Does he think he’s a fucking vampire?

You’re definitely the kind of weird girl to believe such things—vampires, aliens, ghosts and the lot. But now that it actually appears to be happening, you’re paralyzed with disbelief, your heart telling you there’s no other logical explanation, but your brain not wanting to accept.

“Shhhh, shhh. Quiet now. I’m going to turn on the light so you can see. And again, you will not make a sound. Right?” he implores.

“R-right,” you mumble, your tongue feeling like a dead lump of flesh in your mouth. “W-won’t make a sound,” you promise.

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, flicking on the switch that you discover is only inches from where your head meets the door, reminding you that you could have turned it on at any point yourself.

You bring a hand up to shield your eyes from the onslaught of luminescence and Max does the same, his eyes far more sensitive than your own. You adjust faster than he does, your gaze already pointed at his chest as your hand lowers, and the first thing you notice is the smattering of blood adorning his suit, staining his white dress shirt. He’s wearing a green tie for Saint Patrick’s Day and you can’t help but think grimly that it looks like some sort of macabre version of Christmas.

Only after you gather your bearings do you allow yourself to look around fully and what you’re met with is nothing short of a horror show. A lifeless man is draped across Max’s desk, both arms displaced from his body, tendrils of sinew dangling gracelessly from the sockets where his arms should be. A gaping chasm decorates his chest which is devoid of a heart as far as you can tell. A smaller but similar impression is found in the stem of the man’s neck, which you deduce is the source of the dripping you heard, the shape and jagged edges of the wound indicative that Max took more than a generous bite out of him.

Rivulets of blood stream down the sides of the desk, collecting in a puddle which is still slowly spreading dark vermillion across the tiled floor. You inhale sharply, your tears flowing freely, thinking to yourself how you’ve never seen this much blood in your entire life. How you may be next.

You will yourself to look at the man’s face. You recognize him from earlier when he’d come up to you in the lobby to ask for directions to Max’s office. His eyes are glazed open in a perpetual loop of his final moments, his jaw slack, mouth ajar in a silent scream. Your stomach turns and you release another sob that you’ve been holding in your chest, but you don’t dare make any other sounds lest Max rips you asunder.

You find one arm on the floor next to the desk, your gaze pulling directly to it. Your eyes search with urgency for the second one, as there are very few places it could possibly be, but you don’t find it on visual inspection alone.

Max forces your visage back to his, black and endless as they scrutinize you. His face is streaked in blood, a goatee of red flowing down from his curved lips, which is splayed into a tilted smirk. You sniffle, your chest shuddering with effort as you attempt to collect your breath and your faculties.

“He wanted to pull his account from our company,” Max explains with a shrug, waving a hand dismissively. “There were some…choice words exchanged. Things escalated. I was hungry. It worked out.”

Max drags you backwards, twirling you toward the wall opposite the door as he releases you, turning the lock behind him. You swallow, dread hammering hard in your chest, doing all you can to regulate your pulse rate but easily failing, pinpricks of sweat breaking out on your skin.

You’ll make it through this. You’ll make it out alive. You won’t end up another meal for this… vampire, incubus, deranged cannibal. Whatever he is.

He steps forward, slipping out of his jacket and waistcoat, discarding them in the bin in the corner. They’re ruined, anyway.

“Fear makes…everything better,” Max intones, giving you a cursory once over as he licks his lips. “On both sides.”

He begins rolling up his sleeves on each arm, pinning them at the elbow, revealing a twin set of thick, toned forearms. His tie is last, which he removes deftly, stepping closer to you to loop it around your neck. You shrink away, or try to, your backside bumping against a cabinet. Max laughs when he effectively corners you again, your mingled scents driving him to madness, threatening to turn him into some sort of savage beast; he can smell the fear being excreted from your adrenal gland, the heady arousal pooling amid your thighs, the invigorating scent of blood pulsing in your veins. It’s enough to make any vampire crazy.

He cinches the tie around your neck, wrapping the other end around his fist. He knows he could use his mind control powers to will you into submission, but there’s no sport in that. No challenge. He prefers when it feels more like a game of cat and mouse and so far, you were being plenty acquiescent, stunned into submission like a timid little dormouse. He can’t help but wonder what you’d let him do to you. How far you would go.

He pulls you against him using the necktie for leverage, causing you to stumble into his chest. He can feel how hard your nipples are underneath your green blouse. You hate how much your body is betraying you right now.

“Taste,” Max quietly commands, lifting his fingers to your lips, the digits still slick with the drying blood of his victim. You whimper and shake your head, tilting away from him.

“N-no, please,” you beg. “Anything but that.”

“Anything? That’s a dangerous proposition, dollface,” Max tuts, smirking crookedly.

“I don’t think I c-can,” you reiterate, shaking like a leaf in his grasp. “I can’t.”

“Sure you can. It’s easy. And it tastes fucking amazing.” He places his fingers against your soft lips. “Open. Now.”

You ultimately resign yourself, knowing you shouldn’t fight him. You’ve seen what he can do—did do—the last thing you need is to antagonize him further. Your lips part softly for him and his fingers delve into your mouth, pressing down against your tongue.

You note the distinct coppery tang of blood right away and it makes you gag, sending you into an inadvertent coughing fit, your own hands pushing Max’s away before you’re aware you’re even doing so, more tears crowding your eyes. If it was your own blood or Max’s, you’re sure you could handle it. But knowing where it came from is enough to make you want to wretch. And you almost do.

Max chuckles, shaking his head at how easily you succumb to your pathetic human morals. “Not good?” he asks.

“Tastes like…rusty pennies,” you spit, swiping at your tongue in anguish to get the taste out of your mouth. In your peripheral, you can almost see the dead man’s eyes watching you. Rightfully judging you.

Max grins, musing over how easily he can make you fall apart, but satisfied that he got you to try, which is good enough for him. For now, at least. “Suit yourself. More for me,” he says with a flourish of his shoulders, licking the remnants of blood from his fingers. “Tastes like the best fucking drink I’ve ever had. I bet you taste even better, though.”

He’s pushing into you again, tightening the tie a few more inches until it’s just barely flush against your throat. His words go straight to your core, his nostrils flaring when he smells more arousal creeping into your panties.

His hand coils tighter around the other end of the necktie, a wry grin playing on his features. He studies you, memorizing all the different shades of your eyes; the curvature of your lips, of your soft cheeks. “I should make you my pet. Would you like that? Being a pet for a vampire?” he asks, his free hand cupping your cheek. “I would like that.”

You attempt a nod. You don’t dare say no. Part of you thinks you would like it, though. But the killing? The constant slew of bodies? You aren’t sure you could get used to that.

“That’s what I thought,” Max muses with a small puff of air from his lips, his opposite hand traversing the curves of your body at a agonizingly leisurely pace.

His hand finds your sex, fingers stroking along your folds through the cloth of your leggings. He can feel you’re soaked through already. His mouth dips to your neck, tongue trailing your pulse point, eager to taste you, but allotting you ample time to get used to the feeling of him there. His teeth tease across your pebbled skin, but he doesn’t clamp down yet, his vampire canines still tucked away for now.

He notices the way your muscles tense and your heart flutters each time his teeth graze, anticipating being bitten, being fed on. He wishes he hadn’t already gorged himself on some jerkoff right before you showed yourself at his door—you would have made a far more delicious meal than this guy. Not that he would have given you the same treatment. Unlike the corpse still cooling on his desk, he’d rather keep you around for future feedings and other forays.

“My pet likes this, doesn’t she?” he coos, nipping at the delicate intersection of your neck and shoulder with his human teeth, causing you to jump. He chuckles. “Relax, baby.”

There’s a sudden tight pull in your lungs, an inexplicable rush of air, and you start to panic when it feels like you can’t breathe, the oxygen punched out of your lungs. Everything goes static and you almost black out, the edges of the room slowly blotting away but then quickly coming back into focus, and you feel an inexplicable chill roll up your spine as a blast of cold air stings your skin.

There are two fingers tapping at your entrance and you look down in time to see Max’s thick digits sinking deep into you, all the way down to the meat of his hand. It occurs to you that you’re completely naked, your clothes discarded into a hasty pile on the floor. You look at Max with a quizzical expression, but before he can answer, your head is rolling back to brush the wall as he furls said fingers inside of you, slowly pumping, a moan departing your lips.

“Super speed. Comes in handy sometimes,” Max explains with a low chortle. “You get used to it.”

If there were any doubts before that Max could be a vampire, you definitely have none now. Unless you’re going insane, which is a very real possibility at this point, there is no other logical explanation for how expeditiously he was able to get you undressed.

He continues to fuck you slowly with his fingers, watching the way your expression transitions from horror to pleasure, your mouth dropping open in a small “O”.

He can tell by your scent that you haven’t been with any other men recently, indicating that you most likely don’t have a regular suitor in your life. He would be right, your last boyfriend out of the picture for several months now. That’s a good thing, because Max doesn’t do competition.

“Would you like to know the other ways it’s useful? My super speed?” Max questions, curving his fingers into a spot that makes your body roll into an arch against him.

“Y-yeah,” you stutter. “Please.”

It’s fucked that you’re enjoying this. Max is a killer who’s cloaked in another man’s blood. Said man wasn’t particularly kind to you—was in fact, curt and rude—but that doesn’t mean he deserved such a fate.

Whatever conflict you’re currently having over the whole ordeal hastily disperses when it’s almost like Max switches on a vibrator between your legs, the edges of his arm blurring away, an exquisite tingle pooling amid your thighs, spreading through your abdomen.

Max doesn’t use his advanced speed often as it takes a lot out of him to do so. Vampires were not as invulnerable as everyone perceived them to be, so he only used it when it was its most advantageous, such as now.

Your head droops forward to rest on his shoulder, blood and all, biting back a moan between your teeth. You think he’s probably even better than your vibrator back home, as you can’t recall something ever making you feel this good.

He lifts your eyes back to him and bites down against the side of your neck—once again only human teeth, which still hurt by all accounts—your muscles clamping down around him with a whimper. You feel the familiar stirring growing low in your core, and you know your orgasm is not far off.

“Max—“

“That’s it, sweetheart. Quiet now. Cum for me. Cum for me, but don’t make a sound.”

His eyes are dark, brow pushed down into a stern line. They bore holes straight through your soul, unmoving from your face as he watches you. You close your eyes to concentrate on the impending orgasm and he snaps the tie against your neck, making you gasp, bringing you back to the present.

“Don’t take your eyes off of me.”

His thumb finds your clit, anchoring itself there and that does it, the coil inside of you unfurling, euphoria peaking as you struggle to keep your sounds to a lower pitch.

And then a not-so-recognizable sensation overtakes you and you’re suddenly gushing around his fingers, your eyes going wide with shock as you realize what is happening, knowing you’ve never done that before, you never knew it was something you could do.

“Messy little thing,” Max muses, fingers slipping free with another rush of fluids that trickle down your inner thigh.

Mind somewhat foggy now with over exertion, he can’t help but think how much it was worth it as he tastes you on his fingers.

He hikes your leg up once more, wrapping it around his waist like a belt as he undoes his pants, pulling himself free. His cock springs forward, rock hard and twitching eagerly, flaring red at the tip, more than ready to bury himself in your depths.

You can’t stop your eyes from wandering and you marvel at his size, swallowing in anticipation of it, but your gaze quickly whips back to his when he tugs harshly on the tie.

“Eyes stay up here, dollface.”

He swipes the head of his shaft through your folds, gathering your slick. He admires the cluster of stars you have tattooed on your inner thigh, dragging a thumb over it. An impulsive thing you did as soon as you turned eighteen simply because you could.

You notice as you watch him that Max also has a tattoo—a small bullseye no bigger than a dime on the side of his left hand.

“My pet needs a new name,” he hums as he aligns himself with your entrance. “How about Star? Would you like that?”

You nod in affirmation. “S-star, yes. I like it.”

Max grins. That wide, self-important grin retained from his former self, blood still staining his lips and chin. “Good. Because if you’re a good little pet, that is what you will be. My Star.”

He starts to push into you, slow at first so you get used to the stretch of him, and then snapping forward the last inch or so, sinking until his hips slot against yours. He lets out a groan that sounds almost demonic in its ardor, causing your heart to skip a beat or several.

“I can…hear your blood…moving. Fucking hot,” he growls.

The first thing you notice about Max as he begins thrusting inside of you is how cold he feels. Not ice cold, but for sure not the warm bodies you’re used to sharing yourself with. Oddly enough, you kind of like it.

You wrap one hand around his neck to steady yourself as he ruts into you. He isn’t going any faster than you’re used to, but that’s probably for the best. If he went even half as fast as he did with his arm, he might actually rip you in half.

You’re the first human Max has been with since the change. He missed it, the warmth of it. Sex with other vampires was too cold, both physically and psychologically, too cunning and dispassionate. He much prefers this, the warmth of your skin sinking into his, making him feel almost like his mortal self again; your little moans and mewls of passion bringing out the monster in him.

You have to hide your face in his chest to muffle all the various sounds of being fucked you’re making, which he surprisingly lets you do without retribution this time, each thrust of his hips jerking you halfway up the wall, the cloth of his nice dress shirt damp from blood, not sweat. Strangely enough, there is no sweat aside from your own, his skin smooth as porcelain.

He slants his hips to deepen the angle inside of you, causing you to whimper louder than intended, his hand tightening around your hip, bruising. If not for the previous expenditure of his energy and the fact he was going easier on you than usual, he could do this all night and then some. You’re making him absolutely ravenous and his self-control not to taste you is waning by the minute.

He pins you in place with the span of his body, increasing the speed and power of his thrusts, and within seconds your walls start to clamp around him, another orgasm building low in your belly.

“That’s it, Star. Cum for me. Cum on my cock,” he beckons.

His face tilts to your neck, aquiline nose nuzzling in the small hollow at the back of your jaw, the soft area that bridges your neck and throat. Grazing his teeth over the warmth of your skin, the heat of your pulsating artery.

The feel of his teeth dragging your skin, teasing, testing, making you clench, and then you’re cumming again with a muted whimper lost in the wide breadth of his chest. You feel his mouth part against your skin as you come undone, a sharp pain suddenly blooming hot in the muscle of your neck.

You feel liquid pooling in the dip of your collarbone, and you realize that Max is feeding on you, sharp canines sinking deep into your neck, tongue laving across your skin with a deep, guttural groan as he feasts upon you. The sounds he’s making are lascivious and lewd, sending a fresh new wave of arousal through you despite your panic, amplifying your orgasm.

Lips still locked to your neck as he feeds, Max’s hips stutter and then draw to a halt when he begins to spill himself inside of you, unable to fully contain himself now that he’s gotten a taste, an unholy, inhuman roar erupting from him so terrifying in its potency that you nearly scream.

Max pulls his face away, lips dark and shiny with a fresh coat of blood as he looks down at you, half-cocked grin playing there. There’s something unsettlingly alluring about it.

You begin to sob softly, you can’t help it, your adrenaline and endorphins dwindling now that all is said and done.

“Shhhh, my Star. It’s okay. You’re okay. You did so well for me,” he consoles, tracing your cheek with the back of his hand.

You see his fangs now, which you’re positive weren’t there before, sharp and pointed and slicked in red. He pricks a finger on one of them and squeezes it, blood beading at the end of his fingertip. He smears it over the punctures in your neck, and you feel a small tickle as they close up almost instantaneously.

And then you see his teeth retract, not dissimilar to a cat’s claws. There one second and gone the next.

He leans forward to clean up any remaining traces of blood, gently pulling you off of him. “See? Good as new,” he says with a wink.

“W-what do I do now?” you ask with a tremble in your voice. You start fidgeting with the tie to see if he’ll let you take it off. He cocks his head curiously.

“You stay with me,” he explains. “You’ll live with me. I’ll take fabulous care of you, my pet, don’t worry.”

“C-can I take this off?”

He shrugs. “Sure.”

You take it off and hand it to him, although it’s stained beyond usefulness, so he tosses it to the floor. He bends to gather your clothes, meticulously redressing you, placing a small kiss to your neck where he fed.

“You taste so fucking good, Star,” he pines with a stretch, sucking air through his teeth. “Best I’ve ever tasted. Now that I’ve had you, I’ll never be sated.”

He wraps his arms around your torso in an uncharacteristically tender embrace, skimming his lips along the shell of your ear. “Sleep, now,” he whispers, and you slip away just like that, Max lowering your now-limp body to the floor as he tucks his discarded jacket under your neck.

——

When you wake up—you don’t know how many minutes or hours later—Max is standing over you. Your eyes dart about the room and the man’s body and every trace of him is gone, as if he never existed. Max offers you a hand to help you up and you take it.

“What time is it?” you ask.

“Just before sunrise. It’s too late to leave. You can call in today and I’ll keep you hidden in my office.”

You frown. Calling in after St. Paddy’s Day isn’t a good look, but what other choice do you have? You just hope you don’t lose your job.

“Okay,” you reply, nodding your head in confirmation. “And at the end of the day?”

“We wait until sun down,” Max begins with a grin, “and then we go home.”

#pedro pascal #writing #romance #smut #author #fanfic #pedro fanfic #dark romance #max phillips #bloodsucking bastards #vampire fiction

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servants-hall · 4 months

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All Creatures Great and Small: Samuel West on his Yorkshire heritage, meeting his fellow cast members and finding Siegfried

All Creatures Great and Small actor Samuel West talks to Stephanie Smith about his Yorkshire heritage, first meeting his fellow cast members – and finding Siegfried Farnon.

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If there is a magic formula for making a hit TV drama series in the 21st century, All Creatures Great and Small has bottled and then gift-wrapped it. Values are key and, says Samuel West, the upcoming Christmas Special spreads a much-needed message of decency and kindness.

“It’s about people coming together in difficulty, to support each other, at a time when so many terrible things are happening in the world,” he says. “It’s got absent friends, people who are missing, people who won’t ever come back, just like life.”

Samuel plays Siegfried Farnon, the Yorkshire Dales vet with a short fuse and a huge heart. It is a role that he has more than made his own, even for those who remember Robert Hardy in the original BBC series that ran from 1978 to 1990.

Samuel West and Peter Wright in All Creatures Great and Small Meets The Yorkshire Vet. Photo: Channel 5

The “new” Channel 5 adaptation launched amid a pandemic-crippled UK back in September 2020, coinciding with the 50th anniversary of the publication of If Only They Could Talk, the first of the James Herriot bestsellers penned by Thirsk vet James Alfred “Alf” Wight. There have now been four TV series made (and we are talking to mark the release of a DVD box set of them).

All Creatures has been a great success for Channel 5, with viewing figures for the fourth season peaking at 3.7million. Samuel saw the show’s potential from the off. “I was already thinking about Channel 5 as a good place, because they had given up Big Brother and so they had to fill about 250 hours a year of schedule, and they started filling it with drama, which was delightful.”

When approached to play Siegfried, he was already a respected actor, with a rich and varied career mingling theatre, TV and film, radio and voiceover work. Nominated in 1993 for a BAFTA for Howards End, his film credits also include Jane Eyre, Van Helsing and Notting Hill, while his TV work includes the BBC’s Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell (filmed in York in 2015), Waking the Dead, Any Human Heart, Slow Horses, The Crown, Small Axe and four series of Mr Selfridge. He was artistic director of Sheffield Theatres from 2005 to 2007.

He learned that Golden Globe and BAFTA award-winning production company Playground was making the new All Creatures. “I had just finished watching Playground’s Wolf Hall, which I had adored, and that period stuff is hard to get right, and expensive to do well,” he says.

The treatment he was sent included a back story about Siegfried, written by lead writer, Ben Vanstone. “It was beautiful,” says Samuel. “Almost sort of Chekhovian in its detail and the cables that ran through the man. They had set a lot of things in this past that had made him layered, and I realised, just from thinking about the man, and looking at the books and remembering Robert Hardy’s performance in the 1970s, that he was going to need a lot of playing. It was going to need vocal and physical size. But I thought, if I am on the right track and I know where I am coming from, I think I’m quite good casting.”

He met Nicholas Ralph (James Herriot), Rachel Shenton (Helen) and Callum Woodhouse (Tristan) on the train from Leeds to Skipton for a couple of days’ rehearsal. Samuel says: “At the end of the journey, I thought, what lovely people, and at the end of the rehearsal, I thought, this ensemble really works, and then they cast Anna Madeley and she was the icing on the cake that was already rising.”

Siegfried is often spotted reading The Yorkshire Post. “Quite right, too,” says Samuel. “ I also love the paper. I think your editorials are sometimes some of the most sensible things I read all week.”

In this series, Siegfried is a widower, a detail not in the Herriot novels but echoing the life of the real man who inspired the character, Donald Sinclair, whose first wife, Evelyn, died of tuberculosis. He was married to his second wife for 53 years. She was called Audrey, which just happens to be the lesser heard name of Anna Madeley’s character, Mrs Hall.

Samuel discovered more about Donald Sinclair when he teamed up with real-life vet Peter Wright while making the programme All Creatures Great and Small Meets The Yorkshire Vet, which airs on Channel 5 just before the All Creatures Christmas Special on December 21. He also visited The World of James Herriot with Alf Wight’s children, Jim Wight and Rosie Page, and has incorporated into Siegfried’s portrayal some of the details they passed on. “My father says, do as much research as you can because, even if only 10 per cent is useful, the more you do, the bigger the 10 per cent is. Except he says I say that.”

Samuel’s father, actor Timothy West, is Bradford-born. Family legend has it that Timothy’s father (actor Lockwood West, known as Harry) was on tour there at the time. “It's not true,” says Samuel. What actually happened was, in pre-NHS days, he and his wife, Olive, also an actor, had been told of an inexpensive maternity home up in Yorkshire. Samuel says: “They were playing in Eastbourne at the time. She went by train to Bradford, had the baby, and Harry continued to do eight shows a week.”

Samuel - who has two daughters, aged nine and six, with his partner, the playwright Laura Wade - plans to save the All Creatures Christmas special to watch with his father and mother, fellow actor Prunella Scales. “My father, in particular, is quite cross that he’s not in it, but he can’t be in everything,” he says. “And we would have to be related - we look increasingly like each other.”

The All Creatures Great and Christmas 2023 episode will be broadcast on December 21, at 9pm in the UK on Channel 5 and My5.

#all creatures great and small #acgas 2020 #acgas spoilers #acgas interviews #acgas s4 #samuel west #siegfried farnon

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meetmyothersouls · 1 year

Text

Darling Death

A collaboration with @sufferingstarlight

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4

Warnings: toxic male behavior, talks and mentions of death and dying, cemetery, not proof read

Chapter 5 - Day 5

"So, grim reapers can cook too? Let me add that to the list of random abilities you seem to possess," I said as I took in the array of food on the dining room table. Bacon, eggs, oatmeal. "You made pancakes too?"

"Actually, they're crepes." He seemed proud of himself, but also the slightest bit timid, like he wanted to make sure everything was to my liking. He stood in the entry way as I took a seat. I filled my plate with three glorious pieces of bacon, a hearty scoop of eggs and two of the crepes-not-pancakes.

"I gotta say," I said, as I shoveled a fork full of the stuff into my mouth. "Pancakes are better." I looked up, my cheeks stuffed with food. Timothee stood there, staring at me, a hint of a smile plastered on his face and I realized he looked more like he was lost in thought...and maybe admiring me. He quickly realized I noticed shook his head, as if erasing the expression from ever existing.

"Are you not gonna eat?" I asked, suddenly feeling embarrassed about the amount of food I had on my plate.

"I don't really need to eat," Timothee said, shrugging. "But I'll sit with you."

I watched him as he walked effortlessly to the table, if I didn't hear the slightest clack of his shoes on my hardwood floor, I would have assumed he was floating. He pulled out a chair and took a seat.

"Lemme guess, grim reapers feed off of a portion of the dead's souls, giving them sustenance until the next victim they reap passes?"

"Yes, actually."

My eyes snapped up, meeting his. There was a mixture of seriousness and amusement in them, and it was a mixture that made my stomach flip in a way that I wasn't expecting. This time I shook my head and scooped up the rest of my food with my fork.

"You're fucking weird, man. Speaking of, I've got work today and a date tomorrow, so would you mind keeping the gloomy stalker show to a minimum? I can't have another outburst like I did the other day. Josie is already sick of my shit as it is."

When he didn't respond I looked back over at him. His hands were in white knuckled fists on the table, if he were holding a glass, I'm sure it would have shattered into a million pieces. His dark hair curled over his eyes, so this time I couldn't make out their demeanor, though if it matched his fists, it wasn't a good sign.

"A date? Really Y/n?" Timothee finally said.

"Uhm, yeah? Why is there some rule that bars me from going on a date before I die?"

"No, but maybe I should make one," he said under his breath.

"What was that?" I asked, hearing every word he'd said. Was he jealous? All he was supposed to be here for was collecting my soul.

"Nothing. Is this date with a boyfriend?"

"Not that it's any of your business," I said even though the thought of Tristan and I being more than just friends almost made my breakfast come back up. "He's an old friend that's liked me for at least a decade. Last week, before you showed up, I agreed to give him a chance over dinner and a movie."

"So, there's no boyfriend?"

"Why do you care?" I pretended to be annoyed.

He smirked at my tone, and even though the fact that he seemed so interested in my love life, or lack thereof, should have bothered me, it did the exact opposite.

"I don't. It's just that sometimes the goodbyes are messy when there's a lover involved, so you might not want to make him any promises on this 'date'." He put the last word in finger quotes.

The rest of that day went by shockingly quick and uneventful, though Timothee couldn't resist a casual jump scare or two. He'd walk behind me, unknown to anyone else and run a finger across the back of my neck or blow into my ear. Each tease made me want him to push me against a wall again, run his nose against my neck and breath my 'underworldly' scent in. And weirdly enough, I started to like the sound of that.

Darling, you smell like the underworld.

Day 5

I slid on my strappy black dress, the one I pretty much reserved for dates, disappointed that Timothee wasn't around to see it on me. I hadn't seen much of him, which was weird considering I couldn't get rid of him lately. I tried to push away that feeling. The feeling of missing someone you have no right to. The empty chest feeling that is only cured by one person's presence.

The only thing I didn't like about that dress was how much it showed. It wasn't as revealing as it could be, but it still showed the one part of me I always tried to cover. My collar bones. It wasn't that they were bad, they were actually quite nice. It was the dark, swirling birthmark staining my skin on my left collar bone. I'd tried everything from makeup and concealers, that eventually just melted off of it. To removal that even lasers couldn't touch. It was just...a part of me. Every time I wore this dress, I watched as my date's eyes travel down to it. Normally, I'd wear a cardigan to cover it up, but with mine and Tristan's fifteen years of friendship, he saw it before.

I made my way to the semi-fancy Italian restaurant, already limping in the heels I shouldn't have worn. It wasn't until I walked inside and met Tristan at the table, he already reserved for us, that Timothee took a seat. Right next to Tristan. I wasn't unaware to Timothee's eyes sweeping over my body. The last few days he'd only seen me in casual clothes, nothing this fancy. Then I saw it. His eyes locked on my birthmark.

I shot him a look, the irritation evident in my eyes and face. Tristan looked in the direction of Timothee, a confused look on his face, but, of course, couldn't see him. Tritan looked around the room, wondering who I could be giving this look of disdain to. Little did he know he was sitting right next to him.

"Thanks for giving me this chance," Tristain said.

I hid my cringe. Why did he make it seem like he was interviewing for a job.

"We've been friends forever, Tris, why wouldn't I give you a chance."

Beside Tristan, Timothee rolled his eyes. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, watching me in amusement.

Tristan perked up at my answer, hope filling his eyes. Timothee pushed out his bottom lip into a pout shook his head in mock sadness. Then I remembered what he said the day before. Don't make any promises. So instead, I just smiled at him.

We placed our orders and drank our drinks awkwardly while we waited. I hated how strange this felt, even if Timothee wasn't sitting in between us, Tristan and I had dinner together many times, why did he have to make something as causal as eating food together feel so different this time.

"So, y/n," Tristan said, breaking my train of thought. "I've been thinking and, I really think you should open up a bit."

Timothee made a face of mock shock and put an index finger to his mouth in thought.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, not able to hide the slight attitude brewing inside of me.

"It means I know you like me. And for some reason you won't let me in. So, I think tonight is the night that that happens."

"Let you in? Wha the fu-"

Sensing the mood, the waiter approached with our plates and politely placed them in front of us and walked away without asking any questions.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" I finished my sentence.

"It means that this is the way the rest of tonight is going to go: we're going to eat this food, and I'm going to pay for it. Then we're going to go to the movie you picked out at 8, which I am also paying for, then you're going to take me to your house and we're going to do what I say from that point on."

I was shocked into silence, my mouth hanging open in disbelief. I'd known Tristan for fifteen years and he'd never once acted this way. I looked over at Timothee and I almost wished I hadn't. His face was almost dark with rage. His eyes normally a greenish-blue color was now completely black. His furrowed and close to his eyes and he worked his jaw in a way that I'd only seen people do before a fight. Then, he stood up, the chair behind him fell to the ground causing Tristan and a few people in the surrounding area to gasp. Our waiter came over and picked up the chair and whispered a polite and confused "I'm sorry." Timothee made his way to the front of the restaurant and slid out of the door once a busboy held it open for a older couple to come in. And suddenly, I felt a lot less safe without him sitting at the table with me. This new side of Tristan seemed sinister.

Tristan shoveled a ravioli into his mouth, glaring at me. "Are you not going to eat?"

"I'm not hungry," I said through my teeth.

The door opened again, and I heard the sound of a familiar voice. I turned around and there he was, Timothee. My grim reaper. I didn't hide the smile on my face, I couldn't help it. This time it was clear everyone in the room could see him. I watched as he spoke in a whisper to the busboy at the door. Timothee glanced in my direction and winked. Then the busboy looked over at us and nodded. Instant relief flooded my entire being.

I wasn't sure how he was able to change so quickly, but he was now wearing a very expensive looking suit, all black with small accents of red and a pin attached to the collar that was none other than a scythe. The entire restaurant quieted and watched as he walked, in seemingly slow motion, to our table. All eyes, including mine and including Tristan's were on him. The busboy followed behind and quickly pulled out the chair that Timothee was sitting in moments before.

"Y/n," Timothee greeted me, pulling my hand into his and kissing the top of it. Already, I felt my core turn molten. His lips felt like fire and ice on my skin.

"Who is this man?" Tristain said, disgusted.

"You must be Tristain," Timothee said extending a hand. When Tristain didn't take it, he elegantly curled his fingers into a first. "I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you, but it's unfortunately the exact opposite. Tell me, does it bring you pleasure to try and take advantage of women, or do you do it because your dick is small?"

I snorted and spat out some of my drink. I could see Timothe's smirk forming along his profile.

"Excuse you?"

"What do they call that these days? Small dick energy?"

I covered my mouth with my palm, resisting the urge to laugh.

"Who are you?"

"I'm a...close friend of y/n's." Timothee said, putting an emphasis on the word close that made me bite my lip.

"Wow, I've waited all this time for you to give me a chance y/n and you just take in some twink off the street?"

"Tristain!"

Timothee shrugged, "I've been called worse." Then he leaned in closer, luckily the rest of the restaurant went back to their food and conversations. "Allow me to tell you how the rest of tonight is going to go..." Timothee's gaze hardened and instantly Tristan's eyes glossed over, his mouth hung open, and he was transfixed on Timothee, as if he was being hypnotized. "You're going to get up from here and you're going to leave."

"I was just about to leave, yeah," Tristan said calmly.

"And when you leave, you will not contact y/n again."

"Who?"

"Good, good," Timothee praised and selfishly I wished it was me he was praising instead. Then, he took a fistful of Tristans shirt and pulled him closer, "and if you do," Timothee spoke so softly I could barely hear what he said. "I will kill you myself. And trust me, you don't want to see what kind of death a reaper is capable of."

Tristan nodded and stood up and waved. "Enjoy your meal," he said as he made his way to the door. I watched until he left, waited a few minutes to be sure he wouldn't reappear and turned back around. Timothee was already sitting in his seat.

"Will he be, okay?" I asked.

"You still care about that?"

"I mean I don't want him to die on the way home. He seemed out of it."

"Unfortunately, he'll be fine."

The waiter stopped by and took away Tristan's plate. Timothee nodded politely and focused back on me.

"You don't own me you know," I said, in a voice that should have sounded headstrong but was anything but. As time went on it seemed more and more to me like that's exactly what I wanted. "You're just here to collect my soul."

"Technically, I do. I am sent here to watch you, look over you until your time is up. I am meant to protect you. Though, this situation is unlike one I have ever encountered."

"How do you mean?" I asked.

"You should eat," Timothee said, changing the subject. "Eat your dinner, and I'll take you to that movie."

"Okay, but you have to keep talking."

Timothee nodded. Only resuming the conversation once I scooped a bite of lasagna into my mouth.

"Most of the souls, at least everyone I've collected have not been able to see me. I wasn't expecting it to have this type of effect on me."

I swallowed my lasagna hard as he said the words.

"I don't own you. No," he started, then reached out and brushed my hair away from my collar bone. He let his finger graze my birthmark. I shudderd at the touch. "But I'd like to. Very much."

Fuck.

He scooted up, his chest flush against his side of the table and one of knees made their way in between my legs. He dropped a long arm beneath the table and slid his palm up my leg. I dropped my fork. "I wish I could be the blood that traveled through your veins, the air that you breath into your lungs." His index finger grazed my core through my panties and I jumped, hypersensitive to the touch. My plate clanging against the table, my glass tipping over.

"Can we go?" I pleaded.

"Eat your food. All of it."

I started to protest.

"Or do I need to feed it to you?"

I shoveled in the rest of my lasagna and downed my entire diet coke. My skin tingling as Timothee gave me small touches under the table. We walked out moments later, my knees weak. Timothee laced an arm around my waist, holding my up and against him. His temperature freezing against my hot skin. We began walking in the direction of the movie theater, but somehow between soft touches and him pressing his nose into my hair we strayed off the path.

"Look!" I said, pointing to a cemetery. "Let's go in there."

"What about your movie," Timothee called after me.

"It's already 8:35, it's already started."

"I loathe cemeteries," Timothee groaned.

"What!?" I pulled his cold hand into mine and drug him into the foggy gates of the local cemetery. "A grim reaper scared of a graveyard!? This is where the bodies of all those souls you take go!"

"I didn't say I was scared. I just don't like them."

"Why?" I teased. It was getting dark, the cemetery would close soon, but for some reason I felt compelled to go in there. Like I needed to be there. "If you're scared say you're scared." I climbed upon a stone bench next to a large oak tree. Timothee stood in front of me and for the first time I was eye level with him. Then it hit me. "I've got eight days to live." I said it out lout without even meaning to. "Eight days to live and...I've not even gotten the chance to live."

Timothee looked at me and maybe it was because we were eye level for the first time, but it seemed like he really saw me. "If it makes you feel any better," he said, taking my arms and draping them over his shoulders. He circled his around my waist, pulling my closer into him. He ducked his head slightly, running his nose along my chest, stopping at my birth mark. He kissed it lightly causing my back to arch. His touch there felt like dark magic and sin. "I wish it was anyone other than you."

"Why?"

"Because now that I know you exist, I don't want you to cease to."

And before his lips found mine, they hovered there, his cold breath swirling and mixing with my warm breath, becoming too intoxicating for me to pretend I didn't need him now. His lips skated across mine effortlessly, like a dance we'd practiced for eternity. My hands slid into his dark, curly hair. I wrapped my legs around his waist, earning a soft groan from him. He turned us around and sat on the bench. He kissed me like it was the first and last kiss he'd ever have. Like sadness and hope mixed together to form a melancholy war between life and death.

A kiss can change a human life. And that one did.

This has been a Sufferingsouls production

Tags: @dayafied @soulofendlessbook @fashphotolife @scentedkittenperfection @weasleytwinscumslut @timotheel0ver @mxciscastleintheair @marvelmaniac2000 @lovelyrocker @divine-1 @love-poems-only @starberry-cake @inlovewithphantasy @alexagirlie @misswestfall @softhecreator @livresjaunes @timmymyluv @inannamoon @harrys-thick-thighs @s-we-e-t-t-ea @timolaurence @its-schmackin-dude @justagirlwhoneedshelp @kteezy997 @sufferingstarlight @xoxoloverb @tropicalrozmajzl @iloveneilperry @syirnge @patronsaintofthetwinks @roseboysareprettier @onlyenoughiamweird

#timothee chalamet #timothée chalamet #writing #timothee chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet x you #timothee blurb #timothee chalamet imagine #timmy chalamet #dark!timothee #darling death #sufferingstarlight

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rowanwriting · 4 months

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— about;

hello, writeblr! my name is Rowan. I'm 32, bisexual, aro/acespec, nonbinary, transmasc (they/them), and an aspiring novelist. I'm also a part-time english undergrad and hopefully a future teacher.

I enjoy writing in quite a few genres, from contemporary romance to sci-fi to horror to fantasy, and I love trying new things in my work. my biggest challenge is actually finishing a wip, but I hope to get better at that with motivation from tumblr. I also enjoy dabbling in some fanfiction, especially when my original stories hit writer’s block.

please feel free to join me on other social media, linked below. I look forward to getting to know more people in the writeblr community!

—links;

about // wip page // twitter // instagram // wattpad // archive of our own // gaming twitter // spotify // pinterest // nanowrimo

— works in progress;

lost in death —

Cassidy Sullivan is dead.

He's been dead for five years, watching his girlfriend move on without him. He's been dead for ten years, watching his parents mourn. He's been dead for thirty years, as the world changes around him and he remains the same, in the small apartment he died in. He's been dead for fifty years, and everyone has forgotten him.

Tristan Kent is a psychic.

More of a curse than a blessing, their so-called gift has ruined their life. Unable to go to school or work, they eke out a meager existence be exploiting their abilities from a small metaphysical shop. They don't believe in most of the things they sell, neither gods nor demons nor angels, but they know that something must be real, else they wouldn't be haunted.

When a regular client of Tristan’s volunteers them for a local ghost hunting reality show on the extremely haunted Wentworth Street House, Tristan takes the job only for the money. They have no interest in proving the supernatural to be real — they already know that it is. But the presence that haunts the house is like none they’ve ever sensed before, and their not sure what to make of that, save to find out more.

As the reality show commences, the ten so-called psychics come to exorcise the house. Tristan must discover who is genuine, who is faking it, and whether to help Cassidy resist expulsion. But there is more to the Wentworth Street House than even Cassidy knows, and soon he’s the only thing between Tristan and a sinister force that has remained hidden from his sight all these years.

the kraken —

Fifteen years ago, the love of Marisolle’s young life was discovered and brutally executed by her father, the Prince-Regent, for crimes against the Crown. Hardening her heart, the princess swore never to love again.

Now queen in her own right, married, and with children of her own, Marisolle is content, if not happy. She rules well and is beloved by her people, and her country is more prosperous than ever. But there are enemies on the horizon, and Marisolle soon must seek desperate help if her rule is to survive.

Theovold left his home almost ten years ago to join the queen of Mavacia in an arranged marriage. He loves his children, and adores his wife, even as he feels the deep chasm between them, the pain of a love lost. But his attempts at wooing her may come to a stop when Mavacia is attacked, and a new man comes into her life.

Vincenze is a pirate, nothing more and nothing less. When the Queen of Mavacia offers him a Letter of Marque, permission to sail under her name and banner, in return for his aid in the coming war, he knows that he cannot run from his past any longer.

And as Marisolle, Theovold, and Vincenze come together to face their enemies, the Sea Witch watches, pieces falling into place.

the beyond —

The year is 2284. Humanity has long ago risen to the stars, joining a galactic community of ascended species. No longer alone in the universe, the Helios Accord brought the countries of Earth together into one united government, The Sol Federation.

Emelyn Kane is a washed up soldier, a mercenary working solo. Born far from Earth, she spends most of her time on her ship, going from job to job and trying not to think about how she ended up disgraced and discharged from the human military.

When her ship crash lands on an uncharted planet, Emelyn believes her life, such as it is, has ended. But the planet is life bearing, inhabited by a sentient species. And the indigenous people, the Vescai, have strange abilities — abilities that have kept their massive empire hidden from the rest of the universe.

Even when she gets used to life on the beautiful planet she is now stranded on, Emelyn knows that she is the last person who should be seen as a vanguard of humanity, let alone an ambassador for the entire ascended galaxy.

As the Vescai debate her very appearance on one of their planets, Emelyn must decide if she wished to remain with them, or allow them to wipe her memory or send her home. But her choice might be taken out of her hands, as she soon begins to develop the very abilities the Vescai treasure.

the prince of stars —

A cursed prince must find and kill the fallen star that foretold his doom before his twentieth birthday.

Prince Riavyn is born under a falling star, cursing both him and the realm he is one day meant to rule. If he is ever crowned king, he will bring war and ruin to his country. At least, so long as the star lives. Now nearing his nineteenth birthday, Riavyn is more determined to be king than ever, despite being removed from the line of succession by his mother, the queen.

His only chance to regain his standing in the royal family and redeem himself is to seek out the living star, and kill it before nightfall on his twentieth birthday, when the astromancers say the curse will become everlasting.

Along with the captain of his guard, Riavyn sets out to hunt the star down, knowing that it’s his only chance to become king. But the curse is more powerful than he knows, and breaking it might have consequences he never imagined.

A star is not meant to die, after all.

#writeblr #writeblr intro #writeblr introduction #writing community #writers of tumblr #wip intro #wip introduction #myintro #mywips #mine.

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jessicas-pi · 6 months

Text

more Medieval AU incorrect quotes, because you can't stop me

Korkie, talking about Ai-kel: Is he a friend of yours, Ahsoka? Ahsoka: Kind of? Not really. He's in my life and there's nothing I can do about it.

---

Ezra: Apparently, it was Rude™ of us to pitch in our two cents on a conversation we happened to overhear, despite agreeing with them. Sabine: On an unrelated note, we are no longer allowed in the wall passages.

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Ahsoka: Well, well, well, if it isn’t the consequences of my actions.

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Merrin: Arson? Oh, you mean "crime brûlée".

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Adenn: You're violent. Skira: Yeah but I'm also short and that's adorable.

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Ahsoka: I'm a firm believer in "if you're going to fail, you might as well fail spectacularly."

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Ezra: Hey, do you wanna know a secret? Zeb: No. Ezra: Okay. Zeb: Zeb: Do you smell smoke? Ezra: The secret is that my curtains are on fire.

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Ahsoka: Why don’t people find me attractive when I bite my lip? Barriss: What do you look like when you bite your lip? Ahsoka: *bites lip* Barriss: ...Have you considered biting your bottom lip instead?

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Caleb: How's the most beautiful person in the palace~? Hera: I don't know, how are you~? Caleb, flustered: I- Ahsoka, from across the room: I'm doing great, thanks!

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Cal: Omega, Merrin, I’ve left letters telling your guardians not to worry— Merrin: She won’t. Cal: that you’re safe— Merrin: That’ll just depress her. Cal: —and you’ll see them in a few weeks. Omega: Do we have to?

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Ezra (on his trip to Mandalore): I came out here to have a good time and I'm honestly feeling so attacked right now!

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Sabine: Do you ever get pre-annoyed? Like you already know someone is going to fill you with rage? Tristan: What? No, I— Carthage: *enters room* Sabine: *jaw clenches*

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Ventress, referring to Cal and Omega: Those two are fools. Merrin: Yes, but they’re my fools.

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Hera: Yes, I'm adopting Ezra and you cowards can't tell me no!

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Ahsoka and Ai-kel: *making loud, shouty gorilla sounds at each other in the middle of the hallway* Bail Organa: Rex, exhausted: The royal delegation from Alderaan is here, Princess.

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Cal: What's the signal when something goes wrong? Omega: We scream bloody murder. Merrin: ...That'll work.

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Ezra: Okay, how do I look? Be honest. Sabine: There’s no critic more honest than a young child! Jacen, how does he look? Jacen: Bad.

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Omega: I don’t think our death ray is working. I’m standing right in it, and I’m not dead yet.

#incorrect quotes #star wars medieval au #more nonsense with jessica

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steve0discusses · 5 months

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S5 Ep 50: Tristan Hates Horses, I Think

Been a while! Tumblr’s annoying as hell changes to the text editor took a lot of wind out of my sails, ngl. It had some problems they're resolving as they go, but it was really annoying to use and to edit if you write any amount of youknow……words….

And I was talking to a friend about this, and they were like “have you tried writing it in google docs and copy pasting it after?” And I happily realized when you copy paste from google docs, it also copies the PICTURES. This has literally saved hours of my life, y'all. It has turned something that was so frustrating I didn't want to open tumblr again into something that is no longer an obstacle so I can write once more!

So lets travel to Yugi’s brain, where Tristan desperately has to make up for all the work he hasn’t done because he was just a wee tiny bit possessed.

It may be hard to pick up where Tristan is on this picture, and I hope I recorded it somewhere in OBS like 2 months ago when I finished the series because it was such a funny animation, but hot damn this boy has hops.

And you can see him there on the ground in the bottom left corner, that isn’t a rock, that’s Tristan having toppled a man with his bare hands, a man who had a sword and was sitting on an armored horse.

Can you believe this guy ran for school president? And then lost and humbly became the janitor?

Meanwhile, Joey discovered magic.

Confirmation that duel disks are made out of old tank parts.

Realizing for the first time that magic exists, they decide to peace out.

Back in the real world, Mokuba and Roland don’t know where the hell Seto went. Which is weird, I figured Seto would at least leave a note or a text message or…anything…but apparently even if he did, he just disappeared at some point down in Marik’s old living room.

So Roland and Mokuba decided that in order to find him, they would have to take a massive Boeing 747 to find their lost child.

Some kids have a motorcycle, some kids have a scooter, Mokuba just wants the most boring ass big commercial plane that is meant to sit a couple hundred people in an awkward way. That’s what Mokuba wants.

Just Mokuba things.

My bro who edits these for me wrote in huge ass letters "ROLAND SIGHTING" While saying "ROLAND ROLAND ROLAND" so I want y'all to know how much we appreciate a good Roland in this house.

Speaking of, I know it's like season 5 but...who is the other guy? He wears funny sunglasses but I have never heard his name, not once.

But this is when the plane was filled with heavenly light.

They begin to see the fight happening between Seto Kaiba (the OG Seto, the one that is cool and isn’t depressed because his not-wife died) and Bakura (who is now Zorc). Don’t ask me how the time stuff works, and why we see it now of all the times in human history, and right over Egypt in the sky. Don’t ask me why.

I assume it’s time compression shenanigans, just like FF8, so maybe it’s just every moment in time is able to see this UFO in the sky, but overall, it’s here because it looks cool. The fact that this right here is actually not a physical place, but is actually a figment of Yugi’s imagination shaped by Pharaoh’s botchy memories--is neither here nor there. Instead, it’s everywhere.

Seto is unimpressed by this, because he knows how science and timelines should work, and this wouldn’t pass Kaiba Corp inspection.

Back at the yellow palace made of cheese and mario blocks, Pharaoh is still knocked out from that time he summed all 3 dragons last episode, which to me feels like just eons ago.

But it’s OK, he’s fine now.

Typically he’d be dead, because his dragons died on the battlefield and their life force is connected to their monsters. But not only is Pharaoh 1.) already dead and 2.) the author of this universe and cannot die or this universe ceases to exist he’s 3.) got the puzzle, which means he can’t actually perma die, unlike everyone else in his court who is perma-gone.

He is not surprised by what is currently happening in Egypt’s downtown strip.

This is probably every day in Domino. Every day Seto Kaiba wakes up everyone in town with his three-headed dragon princess just because he can. Hell, Seto was doing this fight with Bakura on the top towers of Domino just this morning (or last morning…not sure if time passes in real life the same way it does in puzzle life)

The audacity of Yami right now, the one moment Yugi isn’t there to scream about ledges, this boy is leaping joyfully off that ledge.

He fuses with the dragon which gives him this familiar outfit.

I thiiiiink it’s the same outfit as Alexander season? I’ll be real with you though, I don’t really want to look it up. Either way, good to see the return of putting on a ton of armor in a card game, I don't think we've seen it Canonically since that one time Joey did it against Valon, and ever since then, Joey kind of forgot it was a thing he can just do.

But unlike Joey, Yami doesn’t take the opportunity to punch Zorc in the face, instead he just loses yet another time.

This time he didn’t even pass out, he barely even died. This is progress, truly.

But as Zorc is powering up the peepee missile to fire in Yami’s face (what a way to die!), Shadi has decided to inform us why he’s been stalking these kids for this entire show.

So there’s two ways to read this. 1.) Shadi was Hassan the entire time but had to go back in time from this moment in order to do it or 2.) Shadi possessed the power of Hassan last second so Yami could avoid death one final time.

Both of these explanations don’t fully make sense to me, I’ll be honest, because in order to know that he’ll be needed in the first place, Shadi had to know that Yami would die at this particular moment--a moment that is a different timeline than has ever existed before.

So really, Shadi was just going by a hunch. He was like “I dunno, I’ll see how this goes.” which is more in line with the Shadi we know and love.

Is it a crying shame that Shadi, who has been with us for so many seasons, and it so integral to this show had such an unceremonious death? Yeah. I feel like I didn’t quite get the closure I wanted but I’m also sort of confused as to…what happened. But I’ll leave it there because apparently we get more Shadi content in Dark Side of Dimensions.

Anyway, I have no idea if these images will even fit into a post with how how tumbler does posts nowadays, and I'll be real I had to re upload the last bit of it, which I suspect was over 15 images???? Not sure??? but we found a workaround! google docs works!

Also, Seto didn’t die today! Instead it was Shadi! For a SECOND time!

I cannot believe how freakin lucky Mana is, this girl is still kicking and if Mana survives everything I am…going to be astonished, that’s what. Mana secretly OP, who knew?

And always you can read the rest of these here

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/yugioh/chrono

if I turn it into a link it doesn't work right because the text editor is really, really bad. I hate it a lot. But uh...feel free to copy paste it until I can get links to cooperate.

#yugioh #photo recap #yugi muto #joey wheeler #seto kaiba #tristan taylor #ygo #bakura #yu gi oh #yami muto #S5 #Shadi

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zorria · 11 months

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I wasnt sure how to go about answering this because you said you wanted your name hidden so I hope this is okay lol 🥺❤️

But anyways in my opinion I don’t see it as Nakaba putting Percy on this pedestal and saying fuck you to Tristan at least not in my eyes

It’s just More so the fact that the demons love Percy because percy saved the dying demons when he was a baby from the behemoth so they ended up seeing him as their savior and treating him like one of their own

Now with Tristan it’s different because the demons hate Tristan and are racist towards him because he’s half goddess and as Gawain said in the beginning of the arc some demons still hold a grudge for what happened in the holy war. Now this doesn’t condone them being racist and hurtful and straight up threatening to kill Tristan just because he’s half goddess like that’s actually fucked up cause like what the hell he can’t control that, that’s not what I’m saying but what I am saying is them acting like that is in my opinion In character.

The way Tristan reacts to this situation is also In character in my opinion because it starts to bring out his self conscious side and makes him start to have doubts and leads to him feeling like he’s not even worthy to be in the demon realm at all and it’s understandable why he would only want to visit the demon realm once thanks to how they treated him

The reason I say it’s not Nakaba putting Percy on a pedestal is because he’s not actively using it as a way to pin Percy against Tristan it’s just more so the fact they both had to different experiences while Percy is loved by the demons Tristan is not

But I can definitely see the demons coming around towards Tristan once he shows them how powerful he is and by helping save the demon realm

Now as for the rest of what you said in my opinion zeldris didn’t just immediately shoot down chions idea of them using Tristan’s Saint coat to protect them what he said was

That while yes they may get some protection with Tristan’s Saint coat it won’t be enough to withstand the negative force of the behemoths negative energy. So mainly he was just saying they can use it it just isn’t an affective means to get to the behemoth. At least that’s how I see it

And as for the demons loving Percy and them seeing him as someone who can do no wrong well that has at least some what of a reason

As zeldris said in this chapter the demons owe their lives to Percy because he was the one who saved them in the first place they quite literally would not be alive without him. So them not blaming Percy when they should and yes I agree they probably should’ve been a little mad cause wtf lol snd maybe not let him off Scott free it’s understandable why they don’t blame Percy because if not for him In the first place they would already be dead

So to them being sealed is a worthy Sacrifice because Percy already saved them once before so that’s why they aren’t all that mad which is a little strange cause like again tf but makes sense

Now as for why zeldris and the others aren’t mad like Nasiens it’s mainly because as much as they should be angry and upset it won’t realistically get them anywhere it won’t help fix their situation so as like Tristan Said they’ll just have to leave it up to faith and let things unfold but until then they can worry about what they can change right now which is the behemoth situation

And well as for Nasiens being mad that’s still valid as fuck because Percy quit literally betrayed him when he told Percy not heal that chaos knight and still healed her anyways without thinking of the consequences so him being mad this chapter is very much valid in my opinion he’s still hurt

But yeah this is just my opinion sorry if it’s long as fuck I just had to break stuff up in parts ❤️

#nanatsu no taizai #seven deadly sins #nnt manga #nnt #sds #tristan #percival #zeldris #mokushiroku no yonkishi #four knights of the apocalypse

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winterlogysblog · 1 year

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4KOTA FANFIC

Special

Written after Chapter 101

I'm back from the dead HAHAHA. Enjoy the fic ;)

---

Move forward. They have to move forward. Even when Jade just died and they are still mourning, they have to move forward.

The atmosphere has changed significantly, it seems as though the group went back to page one, where everybody is wary of each other, only sticking to the people they are already with.

The group stopped once again at a village to get something to eat. Percival and the others shared a table with Lancelot and Gawain while Isolde, Chion, and Tristan are on their own.

"Excuse me." Tristan stood up and proceeded to go outside of the tavern they are in.

"Sir Tristan."

"I'm fine, you two stay here and eat. I want to be alone for a while." Tristan replied with a smile.

------

After their meal, Chion being the person that he is decided to follow Tristan to wherever he may be and Isolde simply followed him.

They found the white-haired prince sitting on top of a rock facing a girl with pink hair. The duo can't hear what they are talking about, Chion was about to use his magic to spy on what they are saying when the girl wrapped her arms around Tristan, hugging him.

Chion and Isolde gasped in horror.

"Who does she think she is being that close to Sir Tristan," Chion growled.

It might be because of their distance from them but it took a while for Isolde to notice the pair of yellow wings protruding from the girl's back. She's a fairy.

------

"It's not your fault, don't blame yourself for what happened."

"But I could've... I could've prevented it, only if I." Tristan trembled in her embrace.

"Tri-Tri, you're friend wouldn't appreciate it if you beat yourself up like this." She spoke, letting him go and using her thumb to wipe the tears off his face. "A good friend would not let his death be in vain, it's never good to focus all your energy on blaming yourself or someone and thinking about what you could've done to prevent it. Trust me, I've seen it firsthand, it's not pleasant."

Tristan smiled for the first time that day. "Thanks, Tioreh."

"No problem, you should go to your friends now, they seem worried."

"Huh?"

"They've been spying on us." Tioreh chuckled, pointing down at Chion and Isolde.

------

She's special, Isolde thought.

This Tioreh, Tristan said that she's a childhood friend just like Lancelot but why and how is this her first time meeting her? She's tall as well, almost as tall as she, and Tristan are extremely comfortable with her, so comfortable. She's special and it made her feel jealous.

When Tristan came back to then his aura seemed a lot more lively, a lot more positive.

She's envious of her closeness with him. How casual she is when talking to him, and that nickname. Tri-Tri. It makes her want to punch a wall or something.

She wants to be her.

------

She's different, they're different.

Tioreh and Lancelot, for some apart reason, are incredibly close and Chion has no idea why. Tristan said they were childhood friends but he never saw them back when they were children.

Lancelot was appointed as a knight and he knows that his father is one of the Seven Deadly Sins but he doesn't know anything beyond that and he doesn't matter because he could care less. But this Tioreh, she's new, he never saw her before.

Their closeness infuriates him. Tristan is his cousin first, and his prince later. Out of everyone he's supposed to be the closest to him. But these two, are special.

He's envious of how they can easily tease one another, how easily they can be this close even after Tristan says he hasn't seen her in over a year.

He wants to have that closeness with him.

Why can't he have it?

------

"We have to go, are you coming with us Tioreh?" Tristan asked.

"I'm on my way there anyway so why not." Tioreh giggled. "I'll be going with Percival and the others."

"Why? What's your business over at the Fairy King's Forest?" Chion growled at her.

"Why? What's wrong about going home?" Tioreh giggled.

------

"Lancey, I don't like that emo-looking bitch boy one bit." Tioreh scowled.

"Trust me, you're not the only one."

#4kota #four knights of the apocalypse #nanatsu no taizai #nnt #seven deadly sins #seven deadly sins sequel #mokushiroku no yon kishi #mokushiroku no yonkishi #nnt fanfic #4kota fanfic #Tristan #Isolde #Chion #Tioreh

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andreal831 · 5 months

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Depiction of Jayley in The Great War

This is going to have spoilers for my fic, The Great War, up to the most recent chapter 28 (both parts on WP). Do not read if you are not caught up.

I have not been shy that my fic has a haylijah endgame. If you follow me on anything, you know they are my favorite ship in the entire TVDU. I've also been fairly obvious with my feelings on Jackson in the show. That being said, I've also always prefaced conversations surrounding Jackson by saying most of my reasons for not liking Jackson are for lack of screen time and lack of development.

I started writing The Great War because I felt like most of the characters' development gets ruined at some point and I wanted to fix it. This includes for Jackson.

Many of you were surprised that I didn't have Jackson die by Tristan like he did in the show, but I felt like that was incredibly unfair to his character. It made his character's entire purpose just an obstacle for haylijah and when it wasn't needed anymore, they killed him off. I hated that they did it to Gia and I didn't want to do it to Jackson. Their characters deserved more than that.

I think Jackson had the potential to be a good complex character. We are watching a show where most of the characters are easily described as morally grey if not straight-up villains. Jackson's character should have been the opposite of that. We see in TVD the evil vamps are balanced out by Bonnie. We don't really have a good balance out in the first couple of seasons of TO, not until Vincent becomes a main character. I think Jackson was meant to be this character but Nathan Parsons had other projects going so he couldn't be in the show as much as he needed to be.

Nathan Parsons' schedule left me feeling like Jackson was an absentee character. He is really only present in the realm of the wolves, leaving Hayley to broker peace with the other factions by herself. He never felt like the alpha of the pack to me. He let Oliver take over the pack, let Klaus manipulate him, didn't even notice Aiden betraying him, didn't stop the witches from turning the kids, etc.

When I write, I try to keep the characters from the show in the back of my head. The two biggest moments I think of for Jackson that I feel define his character are:

One, when he didn't even check in on Hayley after she died and lost her baby. This was also while the pack was being taken over by the witches. I couldn't even wrap my head around how he just abandoned her and the pack. They needed to give him more of a backstory as to why he did that. Hayley had to go track him down and he made an offhanded comment about her death and the baby showing that he did know it happened. This is just poor writing, not even due to scheduling conflicts since there was already a time jump. They could have easily said Jackson had come to check on Hayley and she turned him away. It just felt like he had no interest in Hayley or Hope outside of what they could do for him and the pack.

Two, when Jackson threw a fit that no one was at Oliver's funeral. Oliver had betrayed the whole pack, was the reason Hayley's child was "dead," why Eve was dead, why the pack was under the control of witches, and why the pack had to send their children away. I wouldn't have been at the funeral either. He was mad at the pack for not showing up, but he hardly even showed up to save Oliver's life. Hayley, who again, lost her life and child because of Oliver, attempted to save his life on her own and tried to be there for him. Jackson couldn't even manage to thank her for the efforts she was making to the pack.

I have tried to keep the characters very similar to how they are depicted in the show and I've gotten some mixed reviews on the characterization of Jackson. I think I've kept him relatively similar to what we saw in the show. But I know everyone perceives characters differently. I personally didn't see him as a strong alpha or a great husband to Hayley. But I also didn't see Hayley as a great wife in return. Mainly because they were never meant to be romantic. The unification was a political arrangement that was forced to be romantic. They were also in their very early twenties at the time with little life experience. Hayley had been in and out of foster care, never seeing a healthy relationship. Jackson had spent his entire adult life as a wolf, never learning how to be an adult. Of course they struggled to communicate.

Jackson would have been such a neat character to explore how this all has impacted his growth. He essentially would have mentally been frozen at the age he turned into a wolf because of the Crescent curse. His backstory was completely missing. We don't know how he was turned, where his parents are, how he grew up, etc. A lot of the reasons people love Jackson are based on headcanon of his past or of how he treated people off screen (which is usually headcanon).

Some people have realized that I've been giving Jackson more of a backstory in my fic. Not a whole bunch because he's very much a side character. But even in the conversations with Hayley or Hayley's inner thoughts are meant to give Jackson much more understanding than the show offered.

I don't think he should be a hated character, there are much worse characters on the show. But at the same time, I always perceived him as a kind of entitled, immature character who needs a lot of development. So that's how he is being depicted at the moment in my story. But again, character development is possible for everyone.

I wanted to explain the reasoning for how Jayley and Jackson are depicted in my fic. I tried very hard to give them a better ending than the show, but I do think they needed to end and would have even if Jackson hadn't died. After all, I didn't think it was fair to either of them to be in a forced relationship.

#the great war #the great war wp #long live the mikaelsons #tvdu #the originals #jackson kenner #hayley marshall #jackson x hayley #jayley #tvd fic #ao3 #ao3fic #ao3 fanfic #tvd fanfiction

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crimsonlyinglilly · 13 days

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Day 18 Broken Glass

For day 18 of whumpril

Familiar faces, Set episode 10 of season 3 Originals, follows after this days 16, 18 and 27 of febuwhump.

Elijah deals with the consequences of his own overconfident and underestimation of Tristan.

Hayley and Jackson happen to time their talk at a bad time but manage catch Elijah before he does something drastic

Warnings for self harm and discussion of drug use, withdrawal and self harm.

----

It was a good thing Elijah was familiar to muscle aches, from his episodes and gymnastics or his problem would have been noticeable during their confirmation to deal with Tristan. He wouldn’t want Tristan going into the dark with the belief he won anymore than Elijah wanted him to.

Yes Elias had loved him, but to Elijah he was nothing and would be forgotten.

He just needed to get through this, the after effects that Tristan likely hadn’t even thought for or planned.

Elijah didn’t like his reflection, he had gotten used to the fact it was never the right face looking back at him, too old, too young, black eyes and a wide smile or blood covered, this time it looked like he felt tired and fragile.

With his hair a mess from the way he had been pulling at it, he looked like an addict jonesing for a fix.

It wasn’t completely wrong.

Klaus was away helping Cami, Freya had human hearing and should hear it and Sage had gone out for the night after making him promise to stay inside. He’d complain about her protectiveness but he brought her back for this reason and then foolishly went off alone, placed himself back into Tristan's hands and ended up reliving his last two lives at the same time.

Dealing with the itch under his skin he hadn’t had to deal with for decades and hoped he never would again.

So he shattered the mirror, uncaring of the sound it would make or the broken glass that was going to cut him.

If he fell back into old habits he'd be dead within weeks OD-ing the moment he got high enough to forget his current body didn’t have years of build up endurance.

It made it better, easier to ignore the burning itching under his skin when he could focus on the burning stinging cuts now decorating his hand. The ache from his chest and the ghost of a feeling of Tristan’s hand in his chest had long faded.

He had hoped dealing with Tristan would chase away the lingering consequences of his brief return to Elias, knowing Tristan was trapped.

It hadn’t.

He had barely had a taste of his once addiction, Tristan wanting to use his time with his pet in other ways, and yet the hunger for it was back.

He had already healed those bitemarks and bruises but removing them had just left him with the withdrawal.

The burning itch, the need, the skin crawling.

He wasn’t a desperate run away on the street anymore, looking for a way to first escape his nightmares and the black eyed monster in his reflection and then the memories of what he did to earn the money for his habit.

He was Elijah Mikaelson, one of the original vampires, currently a witch that had power others would flinch from.

Reminding himself of that didn’t get rid of the crawling under his skin, the trembling that was trying to take over his limbs..

He swallowed as he eyed the broken glass in the sink, red staining white.

Before he could reach it the door slammed against the wall and two hands settled on his arm.

He pulled his eyes away from the remains of the broken mirror and his blood staining them and the sink to look at intruders.

Hayley and Jackson stared at him in horror, anger and concern.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, smiling at them as if nothing was wrong as the words came out calm and controlled.

Surely the married couple should be at home comforting each other at the pain and near loss they had suffered today, because of Elijah’s first sired, the grudge he had created and the personal army he had also made for Tristan to use.

“We came here to talk to you.” Jackson explained as Hayley seemed speechless as she took him in, Elijah shifted his shoulders slightly, as he realised what a mess he likely looked like, the movement caused Jackson to release his arm but Hayley just pulled it closer to her examining his glass littered skin..

“What do you think you were doing?” Hayley snapped pulling him from the sink, Jackson followed as she pulled him from the bathroom..

Elijah was at a loss, first in how to explain his actions that wouldn’t worry her more or sound so obviously a lie and second why she was here, so instead of speaking he stayed quiet.

She pushed him to sit on the bed, sending Jackson a look over Elijah’s head that he couldn’t muster the strength to try to read before she vanished back into the bathroom, returning with his first aid kit.

“I’m not going to ask you to heal that.” she told him as she ignored the collection of healing plants and pulled out the rest of the tools. “You don’t really look in the head space.”

“I’ve already healed the rest of the damage” he told her realising as he struggled to focus on either of them she was right about his head space, his skin was crawling and his attempt to control his jitteriness had failed as he noticed he couldn’t stop the way his legs were bouncing.

“Tristan got into your head.” Hayley said more likely to herself as she treated his hand, plucking out shards of broken glass.

“He trapped me in my own head.” he replied, as he switched his glaze between Hayley and Jackson, he wasn’t sure what to say, why they were here or how to convince them he was fine and that they didn’t need to bother themselves, he rarely struggled with knowing the right words to get what he wanted but now he was useless.

Neither of them should be stuck dealing with Elijah as he failed to keep control of himself, he was a thousand years old he could deal with memories of a damaged teenager.

Apparently not.

“You want to tell us what happened between the pair of you?” Jackson’s voice broke the silence that had grown and Elijah looked up from where he had lost himself watching Hayley work on her hand to be surprised that Jackson was sitting on the bed beside him instead of standing.

Was he really that unaware? He had never been so careless around Mr M- Tristan.

“He was my first s-” he winced as Hayley pulled a partially deeply embedded piece of glass free.

“We got that,” Hayley interrupted him, bringing his attention back to her “that doesn’t explain why you followed him into the warehouse.” ‘or why he kissed you’ Elijah thinks she also wants to ask.

“I’m guessing it happened sometime since you lost your original body.” Jackson added as Elijah stared at Hayley.

Elijah thought about correcting him that he hasn’t lost his original body, it was downstairs besides his sibling’s coffins but instead gave them the answer they were after, the sooner he said it the sooner they could move on and never think of that life.

“Tristan found a messed up teenager on the streets and had him for about a year. He wanted his pet to love him and he got what he wanted.” it was easier to explain as if Elias was another person, to put some distance between them, like Elijah didn’t remember desperate for his praise, as if he couldn’t feel his own happiness at Tristan’s gentle touch.

“You loved him.” she almost choked of those words, stopping her work to stare at him,in horror-pity-disgust, Elijah couldn’t tell.

“Elias did.” He tried to correct them but even his own voice was shaky and unsure.

“Stockholm syndrome.” Jackson mused leaning closer to Elijah to see Hayley better perhaps, Elijah couldn’t help but melt into him, warm-solid-real, better than the strange floaty feeling he had started to feel besides the itch under his skin.

Some small part of him noticed the way Jackson froze for a moment but that part was quickly losing against the hunger and need for a fix.

“He’s gone now.” He shrugged, already tired of any more talk of Tristan. “these no need to pay him anymore, mind.”

“Then what was this about? you hurt yourself.” Hayley asked as she finished taping down the bandage.

“A distraction.” the answer escaped him before he realised how bad it would sound if he expanded on it.

“What?” she asked

“I needed a distraction.” he offered instead of what she really wanted, he couldn’t admit what he was, that even after a whole new life he was still a desperate addict.

“And cutting up your hand and arm was what you chose?” she said incredulously. Elijah stared at his bandaged hand not looking at either of them as he chewed the inside of his lip to stop himself from adding anything else, he could feel the weight of Hayley’s stare but she made no move to let go of his hand and with Jacskon at his side it was nice, not to be alone.

“You're shaking” Jackson’s words distracted him and Hayley from wordless standoff, any words he had stalled on his tongue as Jackson spoke again. “Withdrawal?”

Elijah glared at his other hand, the one not held by Hayley, that had joined his legs, moving without his permission.

“From what?” Hayley asked, he didn’t look up from her hand moved from his wrist to carefully curled around his bandaged own. “Elijah.” she called, ducking her head into his view to catch his eyes.

It was Hayley’s tone and the way she looked at him that had him giving in, the lack of judgement.

“Heroin.” he admitted, it wasn’t much, more likely Tristan had given it to him out of amusement than true attempt to harm but it had brought his memories of Elias’s withdrawal with it and while his body didn’t really need it his mind thought they did.

There was a growl from Hayley.

“He drugged you.” Jackson spoke, while his tone didn’t carry any feeling Elijah looked between them to notice a growing yellow colour to their eyes

“It wasn’t much,” he tried to reassure them. “give it a few hours and it will pass.”

“A few hours.” Hayley echoed.

Elijah shifted slightly leaning away from Jackson and then violently shuddering at the sudden chill that sinks deep into his bones.

“What did you want to talk about?” he asked looking between the two, the sooner they spoke the sooner they could leave and no longer waste their time on him failing.

“Not while you're like this.” Jackson said quickly, Elijah looked up to meet the other’s eyes, finding himself closer than he had expected.

“My mind is clear, it’s just my body’s reactions.” he countered, his mind was mostly clear, he admitted to himself as found he couldn’t remember when he had returned to leaning against Jackson’s side.

“So you need some sleep and you'll be free of this in the morning?” Hayley queried, forcing him to look back to her.

He nodded, not at all surprised as Hayley pulled him up and started to help him into the bed, he allowed her, too tired to bother trying to argue, relieved he had thought to change out of his suit earlier for a looser set of clothes.

He was a little surprised when Jackson and her didn’t leave once Elijah let her man handle him into his own bed.

“We came to talk about our relationship.” Jackson explained, Elijah blinked perhaps he was wrong and his mind was affected because the words were not making sense.

Relationship, ‘our’ as in the three of them, he was in love with Hayley which he thinks she might return, but she was married and loved Jackson, he remembered her screams in the warehouse, the fact that it had broken through to the nightmare he was trapped within his mind.

Jackson loved Hayley.

Elijah's reluctant admiration and attraction towards Jackson was one sided.

So he wasn’t sure where they were getting with the ‘our’.

“Yeah.” Jackson nodded at Elijah’s silence, “ so we’ll talk about it after you’ve slept this off.”

“Easier said than done.” He couldn't help but argue slightly, being left alone with this feeling and his own thoughts was the last thing he wanted or needed.

He wouldn’t undo Hayley’s care and work binding his hand but once they left he could find another way to distinct his body's nerves and heal it with magic in the morning once the worst of it had passed.

Hayley and Jackson looked at each other in silent communication. Elijah had to accept he really did need sleep as he found himself again unable to read a thing that passed between them, normally he was better at this.

“Well you're not going to be alone.” Hayley told him and Elijah couldn’t stop his audible noise of confusion as both of them started undressing slightly to join him in the bed.

Maybe Tristan had given him more than he thought, as he watched in stunned silence as the bed shifted and he found himself between the married couple.

His bed wasn’t too small, it was twice the size of his bed back in mystic falls and yet he still found himself sandwiched between the two, one of Hayley’s hands reaching out to entwine with his bandaged one as the over reached over him to hold Jackson’s.

He felt Jackson’s other arm move to rest above their heads, nothing was making much sense to Elijah as he laid in the quiet, but the feeling of both of the either side of him was working as a much better distraction than the cuts had as he couldn’t feel the itching under his skin.

He closed his eyes and decided to stop thinking. Hopefully in the morning he could think clearer and he could understand what was going on.

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