#the one I tortured myself over for literal years

[rawliverandcigarettes]

As they passed from iron to a lush carpet Shlee understood; he was built for escape —everything in his DNA honed for evasion. Why did any of the T’selvis ever think they could keep him from the stars.

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✨ READ HALFWAY HOME'S CHAPTER 18 HERE! ✨

(MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER. PLEASE CHECK THE TAGS AND STAY SAFE.)

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The night Shlee hatches in the trunk of a skycar, an asari watches and cries. She promises he will survive, at all and every cost. Shlee believes her. He stomachs the resentment of his alien sisters forced into hiding with him, and dreams about the stars. But the Milky Way is vast, swirling; painfully interwoven. And when Shlee begins to wonder who he is, who he should be, and what secrets keep this fragile galaxy from splitting apart, perhaps it’s already too late.

(this story is complete; new chapters will be published every Thursday!)

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Link to my Ao3

Link to Story Presentation Post

Link to the Trigger Warning List

[centrally-unplanned]

The thing about morality is that it only matters when it's real. Discussions of rules or norms for what is right or wrong are almost always, at some level, illusions, approximating reality and guiding decisions in an uncertain world - which does not make them useless, just contextual. Profaning god in your bedroom can never be “wrong” - there is no one to hear you, no one to be hurt by it. You can only show something is really wrong from the intentions of the actions and their results.

So with that out of the way, lets talk about Knives Chau - and specifically, how the comic vs the anime handled that part of the story.

Scott Pilgrim vs The Reification of Dating a High Schooler

There is an extremely pervasive meme in Scott Pilgrim discourse that our titular Scott is a scumbag. Our returning whipping boy the Kotaku article loves this idea, describing Scott’s “detestable behavior” and wondering “was it too subtle the first time about Scott being an absolute shitbag?”. There is this viral headline screenshot from an interview floating around right now riding that same line:

Which is, of course, pretty much false. Its up to you in the end, “shitbag” is a subjective description, but the story just isn’t about events that would be described that way. Its the story of a guy getting over an awful ex, hurting some people, then meeting a new person, and realizing step-by-step what it takes to be their partner and levelling up as a person each time he does. He starts off broken, and Ramona of course is just as broken - getting better is their mutual arc. And its fundamentally about relationship drama - those stakes don’t make you a scumbag lol, just clueless, unless you are terminally online and don’t know what real stakes are.

I will let O’Malley get the last word in with his quote the writer of that interview is hilariously trying to torture into his headline:

There's a bit of, like, young people see Scott Pilgrim a certain way, and, you know, there's a lot of, like, 18-19-year-old fans that are really judgmental of the character. They're like, "Oh, he's a bad person. I would never do that." But I always tell them, like, get back to me when you're 25 or 30, tell me how your 20s went. Were you a bad person? Everyone has to make choices and do things in life that maybe they're not going to be proud of later.

Scott is a scumbag the way everyone is - you yourself will likely commit similar sins; that at least seems to be the authorial intent, and I agree with it.

So how does dating Knives Chau slot into this?

Despite the memes, age, in fact, is just a number - two consenting people dating does not a sin make. The reason dating underage people is bad is because of its consequences, not the categorical imperative. So what are the consequences of dating Knives Chau in the comic?

Knives is, as a consequence of dating a guy who is simply via his age able to appear so much cooler than her peers to her, absolutely obsessed with Scott. She worships his band:

She starts aping his taste in music and interests; she slots herself into his circle of friends, who don’t relate to her, even after their breakup (often drinking her way through it):

She totally spirals after he cheats on her and leaves her, blaming everyone but him; she is wounded and hurt for months, a year, over a relationship that lasted weeks:

Knives Chau is a literal poster child for why you should not date a high schooler. She is, at every turn, emotionally not ready to date someone who is not at her own level of social development, and is deeply affected by it. It is, sometimes, played for laughs - that is the nature of the comic, everything is played for laughs, but I would have given it a bit more dramatic space myself - but over the course of the story Scott himself realizes how much of an ass he was to her, and how he didn’t take what happened seriously.

The reason I view this with charity is what Scott did to lead to this - he met a cute girl on the bus! He was deeply hurt and kind of numb in life, and found someone who was safe and easy to talk to. He never attempts to kiss her (she starts trying to kiss him which he repeatedly rejects) they don’t even hold hands, and it lasted a few weeks. He knew deep down, pretty much immediately, it was fake:

Then he met an actual person he liked, and with some browbeating from Wallace agreed to break up with her, but chickened out for a day. Then the next day he decides to break up with her, and she drops the L bomb before he can, so he instantly ends it. It is really awkward for everyone involved.

Pushing off an awkward and uncomfortable conversation resulting from a dumb decision you made on a whim for a week - god I relate to that, that’s everyone! If you think it isn’t you I think you're lying. Its why this relationship is so interesting in the comic - Scott is always one step removed from it, putting it at abeyance, and the fact that something so minor to him is so destructive to her is a really good portrait of how these kinds of things happen. Its so easy to hurt someone when you don’t even know what the stakes are, and when its coming not from malice, but from weakness. Its a very good portrayal of a bad relationship because its bad in a relatable way, even if as a story is a bit more dramatic than is typical. And its a great portrayal of how fraught age gaps can be - this bad relationship is part of what makes the comic a good story.

But its 2023, we don’t give a shit about any of that anymore!

O’Malley in the same interview discusses the cultural shift around these kind of relationships:

I felt like in this day and age, I had to provide clarity on that [relationship]. Because when I wrote the first books, I took it for granted that people would understand that dating a high schooler was a bad thing. But on the internet, in this day and age, people are like, "He's dating a high schooler. That's terrible!" Like, that's pretty much what I say on page 1 of the book. But I try to spell it out a little bit more this time.

He isn’t telling the full story though - it was bad in 2004, but not bad the way it is today. Its dubiousness was mitigated by its frequency; people were doing this kind of shit all the time. Scott Pilgrim is a bass guitarist in an indie band; fucking groupies is like built into the cover charge. Half the problem Scott has in dating Knives is that she is the wrong kind of 17-year-old - had Scott met her at 1 am in the aftermath of a Born Ruffian’s concert at the Whippet Lounge knocking down shots off the back of her fake ID, no one would have even noticed. Hell, no one does notice; there is someone who actually makes out with a drunk 17-year-old Knives Chau in the comic Scott Pilgrim, and isn’t Scott Pilgrim:

No one cares about Kim’s inebriated petting session here; that is 10% because she is a Girl and Girls Can’t Be Predators, 40% because she isn’t the main character, and 50% because Kim Pine’s dating history is not a useful proxy battleground for GamerGate-adjacent nerd culture wars in ~2014; but that is road that goes directly to hell, so let's veer back.

The point, of course, is that in 2004 this is a crime flecked with normality, something your friend would do and you would maybe just cock an eyebrow at:

Its not that in discourse today - it is radically more condemned. It is not a contextual sin, but an original sin. It underwent a process I am calling reification - where it goes from being just a shifting descriptor of reality, to a thing in itself, with a defined (reified) meaning. And to be clear, that is in a lot ways on net a good thing? The reality is that, despite everyone’s protestations, there are today thousands of 17-year-olds taking the L line out to a gig at the Brooklyn Steel and going down on a 25-year-old guy they just met in a back alley off Frost St who swears he’s a “drummer in a sick new band” that played here “just last week”, he promises, and she is having a great time, bragging to her friends about how hot his tattoo was, and then shipping herself off to Cornell next year to start on her pre-med track with barely a memory. But for every dozen of those, there is at least one person who is deeply, deeply hurt, a Knives Chau who never deserved this. The rest can have a slightly worse time, its probably worth it.

That does not make it a categorical imperative, though - the reification has masked that truth. The crime comes from the context - those other girls aren’t victims, they would laugh at you for suggesting they were. But in 2023, Scott Pilgrim Takes Off is no longer concerned with context. It is telling you, right to your face, that Scott is a bad dude. Over and over and over - jokes from the Evil League about “wow, I thought we were evil”, its not subtle.

Yet meanwhile, Knives Chau is, like, fine? She dates Scott, is totally into him, and then literally in the middle of his funeral forgets about him for Envy crashing it:

Picks up the bass and has yuri-inflected playtime with Kim the literal next day:

And less than a week later is pitching an off-broadway musical adaption of Scott’s life to a billionaire Matthew Patel - I can’t explain that okay, I’m as confused as you are.

She is mad at Scott, sure, but she is over it in a matter of days. Hell, notice how she was already a fan of the Clash at Demonhead now? There is no scene of Scott introducing her to his kind of music. He didn’t change her. By the end she is a member of his band and they are totally chill:

This is, again, about a week or two later.

Knives is not an important character in this show, way less than in the original, this is no grand sin. But I still find it very interesting: O’Malley is wrong. He “spells it out” way less in this version when it comes to the actual consequences of Scott’s actions. Everyone’s verbal condemnations are substitutes to replace the real damage his actions dealt in the comic. Scott is a better person this time, in a world that has universally agreed he is worse (still not a good move ofc). Even Scott’s moment of apology to Knives about their dating is so tepid its almost Straussian:

Its ‘frowned upon’…which is not the same thing as saying it was wrong! I don’t think this is intentional, its just funny, but its a nice capstone nevertheless.

And it had to be this way, not just for media in general, but for Scott Pilgrim in particular. Not only are sexual crimes far more reified today, but Scott Pilgrim’s sin of dating a high schooler is reified as well - its the first piece of discourse everyone encounters about it. Its the ur-debate of the franchise. The idea of actively engaging on this point, and digging deeper into it…its too hot, too controversial. Way better to shy away from it, disown it. The discourse wrote this part of the script over the course of a decade; its not something the creatives had any say in.

Honestly they should have just gone all the way - just make Knives 19. Then how tepid it is wouldn’t be a distraction anymore. Scott can just be an asshole for cheating on her, that would work fine. If you aren’t going to commit to the reality of these things, you shouldn’t bother with it at all.

[graveyardcuddles]

I'm thinking about Astarion again and how actually amazing it is that he managed to hold onto as much of himself as he did after having had everything about his identity and sense of self systematically stripped away from him. And how it's even more incredible he managed to do so without even getting to look at himself at all in all that time.

We know his trauma cut him off from his ability to trance and therefore his ability to recall memories from before he was turned. What must it be like to have nothing? Not even happy memories to look back on? A spawn. A dead thing to be used as his master sees fit. Tortured by Cazador and Godey. Starved to the point of constant hunger pain. Forced to use his body and sexuality to seduce people who sometimes not only disgusted him but who would sometimes even hurt him...AND through all of this, this whole nightmare, he can't even see his own face. Even his own perception of himself is stolen from him.

I've gone through some horribly low points in life. Points where I've felt like I was literally losing my mind or about to end it all. And sometimes in those moments, I just had to stare at myself in the mirror, look myself in the eye and literally talk myself down. There have been times where my mental state was so bad and my perception of reality so warped I HAD to look at my own reflection in the mirror to remind myself I was still real.

Astarion remembers so little of his face that he can't remember if he ever had a mole on his cheek or not. He can't remember the color of his own EYES. For as much as fans talk about the angst of him not being able to remember his own eyes I don't know if any of us could even imagine forgetting oneself so completely that such a defining physical characteristic is lost to memory. It's difficult to imagine as beings with limited lifespans. And imagine the added torment of being forced to use your looks to survive all while never being able to actually see yourself. (This is why I can't help but feel a bit annoyed when people say things like "Well it's a GOOD thing he can't see himself, can you imagine how annoying he would be?" Like sorry you find 'petty vanity' annoying, it still doesn't mean he deserved to have his sense of self-perception stripped away).

So much of him was killed in the process over those two hundred years of abuse and neglect in order to survive. I think it's fair to say Astarion likely wasn't a saint before he was turned by Cazador but we do know at one point there WAS a kind, sympathetic part of himself that took pity on that young man he spared. A part that I'm sure had to be killed in order for Astarion to survive and remain sane. And in ALL that time there was never once any moment where he could look at himself in the mirror and tell himself that he was still himself.

He lost everything, even the memory of his own eye color. But he wouldn't allow himself to be lost completely. He still talked back. Still screamed the loudest when tortured. Still held onto his anger, his rage his burning desire for revenge. And when he gets the opportunity to take his freedom he fucking LEAPS for it. He is so bound and determined to STAY free once he is free he would literally rather die than go back to Cazador. He's a survivor above all else and I love him so much.

[itsclydebitches]

Though I adore the dynamic myself, it struck me as odd a few months back that fans were taking a "Monster loved for the first time" approach to Astarion. Part of the allure of a vampire (for me anyway) is the act of transformation; the horror and tragedy of having lost who you were before—including all those everyday, human experiences. There were debates about precisely how old Astarion was when he died and at the same time fans were screaming over him having his first hug, his first real romance, this is the first time someone has helped him without ulterior motives, etc. and I'm going, "How is that possible?" This is an elf who lived a life before being turned, even if it was short compared to what his race would normally experience. Astarion had a family. He had a job! Yet the fandom (and to an extent the game as well) treats Astarion as more of a Phantom-esque character: deemed monstrous from birth and blindsided by the simplest acts of love because he was denied them from the get-go.

Of course, it's easy enough to read everything through the lens of slavery and torture. Sure, Astarion had all this at one point but it's been so long and his life as a vampire has been so unimaginably torturous that it's eclipsed those earlier experiences. I get that... but time as the answer still didn't fully convince me.

Not until I started romancing him and hit this line:

"I... I don't know. I can't remember."

This is in response to asking Astarion what color his eyes were before they turned red. Can we just sit with that for a moment? He doesn't remember the color of his eyes. This line was a game changer for me because I can't even CONCEPTUALIZE that. Mirrors appear to be pretty common in Faerûn—it's not like this is a setting devoid of all modern inventions and Astarion, as a member of the upper class, absolutely would have had access to various ornate mirrors like the one he starts this scene with—so what does it take to make you completely forget such an ingrained bit of knowledge about yourself? 200 years as a dehumanized slave, obviously. Still, my mind continues to trip over the idea. I have blue eyes. That's a fact I've known since I had any real sense of self. If my eyes were to suddenly change tomorrow I can't imagine forgetting that they were originally blue. Even if I'd put it from my mind for an extended period of time I'd expect the very pointed question, "What color were they before?" would fire some old synapses and drag the information back. Obviously none of us have any idea what 200 years would do to a human brain (or, you know, an elf's) but it still feels firmly in the real of impossibility that I could ever completely forget something like that.

Yet Astarion has and this line more than anything else has sold me on his Baby Monster Loved For The First Time characterization, both in-game and in the fandom. He acts like he's never been hugged before? Of course he does! The guy can't remember his eye color and you think he's going to recall any probably-treated-as-casual-and-thus-didn't-solidify-as-significant-memories hugs while alive? When was the last time you were hugged? I'm not sure. I know I HAVE hugged recently but was the last one with family over Thanksgiving? Did I give my friend a brief side-hug before we parted? I'm lucky in that hugs are such a normalized part of my life that I don't give them much thought... which means that if you were to suddenly enslave me and keep me isolated for 200 years, yeah, I'd probably forget what they feel like too. Or that I ever had any at all.

(Self-hatred is going to play hell with memory too. Once you feel like you don't deserve something and it's continually denied to you it's easier to convince yourself you never had it to begin with.)

So yeah, Astarion acts like someone who was always the monster because he has, on a literal canonical level, forgotten what it was like to be anything else. Which just sets his relationship with Tav into such angsty, terrifying focus. Here's someone who has lost his previous identity. He (rightfully) despises the identity Cazador forced on him. Even if he didn't, Astarion is now miles away, the tattered remains of his self threatened by ceremorphosis. He stares into a mirror knowing he'll never see anything, but doing it anyway because he needs to figure out who he is—and that's precisely where most of us would start. What do I look like? What do others see when they see me? Is that the person I want to be?

Then Tav offers to be his mirror, just like they offered to sketch out the poem on his back. How exquisitely horrible for Astarion. He's being given precisely what he wants but he's in NO position to take it. All his sense of self placed in the hands of another? Asking, "Who am I?" and hearing, "I'll tell you. I'll be the keeper of that knowledge"? That's a far more intimate, potentially destructive power than anything else Astarion is looking to get his hands on AND he's trying to manipulate YOU at this point in the story! It just makes me crazy because Astarion is desperate to figure out who he is, but circumstances have ensured that, at this point in time, he needs to put his trust in someone else to begin answering that question... and the one thing he does know about himself is that he's a manipulative, mistrustful rogue who's only out to keep himself safe. Allowing someone else to take the reins with his identity (again) is probably the least safe thing he could possibly think of.

It's this messy tragic loop that yes, Astarion is working to break by the end of the game (depending on your choices) but in Act 1? Goddamn. No wonder he's trying desperately to maintain control of this relationship. No wonder—despite his best efforts—he's still undone by the simplest acts of kindness.

[ghostlychief]

Don’t Blame Me

Pairing: MW2 Ghost x f!reader

Summary: They say love makes you crazy, so can they really blame you?

Warnings: mentions of blood, knife usage (stabbing, stabbing people’s eyes, eyes being ripped out of socket); mentions of combat fighting; hints of torture and injuries from torture; typical MW2 lore

NSFW, MINORS DNI: blowjob, fingering, eating pussy; missionary; creampie; aftercare

WC: 7k+ (IK IT’S LONG)

A/N: hello hello! here is the long awaited ghost fic that’s been in development for quite awhile. Thank you so much for participating in my pole, and i hope you enjoy!!! I really let myself indulge in more of the gore this time around, so please read with caution if that kind of content bothers you.

ENJOY🫶🏻🖤

--

You didn’t know blood could be this thick.

But, as you cut through the swarm of your opponents, you really don’t care how much of it gets on your clothes, seeps into your crevasses, and splashes on your face. No, you really don’t give a shit. Your only objective is to get to Ghost, and quickly.

All you see is red, literally.

Before you even fully process what you’re doing, the knife in your hand has already sunk into a neck, blood spurting everywhere, drenching you further.  You carry on, the one person you’re trying to reach at the forefront of your mind.

Should you have felt some remorse for the lives you ended? Probably, but it was like you brain was turned off. Actually, no, that’s incorrect. It was like your brain was wired differently, like it was wired to focus on one thing and one thing only: retrieve Ghost.

You can’t recall when you two got separated, or when he got captured in your last mission. All you remember is the pain you felt when you noticed he’d been taken.

You could blame yourself for his capture, but you decided to turn your fury towards someone else rather than yourself. You realized over the years that self-loathing wasn’t very efficient. It tends to waste time.

It was easy after all; it’s not hard to hold contempt towards the people that stole your lover away from you.

This was their doing. I’m only showing them the consequences of their actions.

It’s what you had to tell yourself. Otherwise, you didn’t see how you were going to come out of this alive. You had to redirect your rage, your frenzy. You had to channel it through your veins, making sure it heated you, and coursed through in a way that burned.

It had to be this way. It was the only way to help you be relentless against your opponents.

You were pretty proud of your knife skills; it was your favorite weapon after all. You always made sure to carry at least two with you at all times.

Today, you strapped on four and you were lucky, since you lost your first two about ten minutes ago. They were no doubt lodged into someone lying on the ground, pierced through their eye. That was your sweet spot, never failing you to effectively take down your opposition.

By this point, it felt like you had sliced your way through a hundred men and yet you still haven’t reached the door of the facility Ghost was being held in. Hope was on the horizon though because you could faintly make out the top of the door frame, which egged you on further. Your muscles worked tirelessly as your arms continued to swing at the men attacking you.

Occasionally, you would move your arms in a quick jabbing motion, repeatedly stabbing the opponent in the stomach and then you would land one last finally blow to their eye, your signature move some would say.

One of the downsides of this move was that sometimes, it took a lot of strength to pull your knife back out of the eye (hence your missing knives), which resulted in pulling their eyeball clear and out of its socket.

Not the best outcome of this tactic, but it is what it is.

Unfortunately, for your last victim, this very thing happened. You were thankful when his screams died down quickly.

You had a moment to catch your breath, hanging your head, quivering hands resting on your upper thighs. You looked up just in time to see someone charging at you, yelling, and with their own knives in their hands.

You noticed that they were the only one alive left outside.

One more. I can take care of him.

You swiftly moved to the side, but could hear the whisp of his blade cutting through the air. That was no good- he got too close.

Time to fix that.

Since you were so deft in your knife wielding ability, you also had a knack of being light on your feet and quick. Something that certainly benefited you.

While the man was no doubt taller and heavier than you, you were faster and anticipated his movements with ease. Sooner than later he too was on the ground, finished, with a sliver blade in his left eye, your red hand-grip the only thing you could see sticking out of his head.

You decided to leave it there, as a parting gift of course.

That’s where you got your nickname, Red Eye, seeing that your weapon of choice was wrapped in a blood-red grip that blended in with the blood that seeped out of your victims’ eye sockets. You thought the nickname was silly at first, but you just grew to accept it over the years. What can you say, you like the fancifulness of it every once in a while.

While you always had reputation, this name made your reputation grow into something almost bigger. While your peers and opponents knew you as the women with the red soaked blades, this name gave you a more, how should you put it?

Eerie reputation.

After stepping over your last remaining victim, you finally reach the double doors, leading into the building Ghost is being held captured in.

Before you entered though, you heard a voice through your comms. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Red Eye.”

Fuck me.

You hear Soap over the comms, “Wait for backup. We’re detecting three bodies via heat signatures”

You let out a groan, but made sure that your comms didn’t pick up on that.

“We don’t have time for that. I need to engage now.”

“You will do no such thing.” You hear Price’s voice cut through, stopping you from opening the doors.

“It’s a miracle you made it this far without any back up. Don’t test my patience.”

Ok, so you may have left without anyone knowing and got a two-hour head start before the rest of your team caught up to your location.

It’s just- they were taking, what it seemed like, forever to develop a plan to get your boyfriend out of captivity. You get it, logistics need to be air tight. But this was Ghost, Simon. Your Simon out there.

You knew he could handle what was given to him, but that didn’t ease any worry or hurt left in your heart, and it made you see red with anger.

That’s how your more or less ended up here, alone, slicing through about 30 men all by yourself. Not the smartest move you admit, but you had to get to Simon. You knew his time was running down, like a sand timer, each minute gone left him more perilous than before.

You were definitely going to get your ass kicked tomorrow at debrief.

You were just about to go in, thinking to hell with listening to orders, when you hear at least two sets of feet jogging across the gravel.

“Jesus, Red Eye. Leave any for the rest of us?”

You just roll your eyes at Soap, ignoring his comment. “C’mon guys, we need to hurry. Let’s take the last of the fuckers out and get Ghost back home.”

“Roger that.”

You go in first taking point, Soap and Kӧnig flanking you.

This time around, you have your handgun out, but your knife is safely held with your left hand, resting on the underside of the muzzle.

The hallway is dark, but it’s to your advantage. You think you see a light source coming from the hallway on the left that you’re coming up to, so you raise your left hand and point in that direction, signaling to Soap and Kӧnig.

This is where you come across the first person.

We must be close.

You let Kӧnig take him out. He comes up swiftly behind him and locks an arm around the man’s throat. First knocking him out, but then ultimately, finishing the job.

You three continue down the long corridor. They seem to go on forever. Sweat drips down your temple, and you hastily swipe it away, not wanting anything to obstruct your vision.

As you come closer to the end of the hallway, you start to hear something.

You raise your hand to signal Soap and Kӧnig to stop, and turn around so they can see you raise your pointer finger up to your lips.

You listen for the sound again, and you realize what it is this time.

Your blood runs cold, and goosebumps form on your arms, freezing you in place as you listen to the deafening sound that doesn’t seem to stop.

Ghost is screaming.

You don’t think you’ve ever heard him be this loud, let alone sound so full of pain. You have to pull it together though, you’re almost to him.

You continue on, making a right this time, and Ghost’s screams become louder. It’s good and bad of course. Good because he’s near you and you’re close, bad because he hasn’t stopped screaming.

You wonder how long this has been going on for.

You feel a heavy weight float down your chest, that takes its resting place in your heart. You find it hard to breath, and it takes every fiber in your being not to go into full panic mode.

You get closer and closer to the room Ghost is in, but you don’t hear him anymore. There is no one outside guarding, so the remaining two people must be inside with him.

Your stomach churns over.

You hadn’t realized it, but you fell behind both Soap and Kӧnig, but without a beat, they took your spot at point, leading you to the door.

They bust in first and immediately go after the two men that were standing by Ghost, who is strapped to a chair. It’s your job to get Ghost free of his confines.

But when you look at him, you freeze all over again.

He’s slumped in the chair, hands and feet bound by thick ropes that are no doubt leaving crude burns in his skin.

His pants have rips and holes in them and from further examination, you realize it’s from cigarette burns and cuts from blades.

You can’t see any damage on his arms but you’re worried what his shirt is hiding on his torso. You realize he’s slumped because he’s knocked out cold, probably from a concussion. But you know he’s alive because you see the slight rise and fall of his chest. It’s ever so faint, but it’s there.

You look around the room and notice a medium size table with different kinds of weapons and tools splayed out along the length of the table. You notice some have dried blood on them, while other tools are still dripping red. Rags litter the table as well. They’re dirty and also have traces of lingering blood.

Once again, you feel the embers burning through you, and you feel like you’re about to explode into a fury of rage.

You turn towards the two men that Soap and Kӧnig took down.

The two bodies lie on the floor and before you realize what you’re doing, you crouching over the first man, and with your blade, you start stabbing both of his eyes, switching on and off between the left and right. While you do this, a blood curdling scream leaves your lips.

It’s both terrifying and heartbreaking; a fine line dances between the two.

You snarl at the now eyeless man before you crawl your way over to his counterpart and release the same anger and revenge onto him. Your screech never faltering.

You don’t realize what you’re doing until you feel strong arms come up behind you and lift you off the dead man.

You start fighting their hold and it’s then when you start crying, your scream turning into a sob. The exhaustion finally getting to you.

“We got him. He’s going to be ok; it’s going to be ok.”

That’s the last thing you hear before everything goes black.

--

When you wake, you notice you’re lying on something soft. When you come to, you realize you’re on a bed, under a thin layer of covers and your head rests on a firm pillow.

You squint because the lights are overly bright but when they adjust, you notice the infamous florescent glow, meaning, you’re in the medical ward of the base.

You sit up, and you notice no aches or pains outside of your regular soreness you felt after fighting for an extended period of time. Your head also hurts, but you don’t really care.

You want to know where Simon is.

You notice a nurse a few feet away and you wave her over.

“Excuse me, but why am I in here?”

She gives you a tight-lipped smile. If you didn’t know any better, you would say that she’s nervous. She fidgets with her hands before answering you.

“Well miss, you fainted on your last mission. They brought you here to be examined.”

She moves over to the end of your bed and takes out the clipboard that resided in the pocket.

“Here, let’s see.” She looks over your paper before looking back at you, still with a trace of uneasiness.

“Seems like everything is OK. Your vitals are normal, and you have no major injuries, just some light bruising on your arms and hands. You are welcome to leave when you want.”

You glance down and notice the light purple that spans across your knuckles.

Before she can scurry away, you ask, “Wait, where are they keeping Ghost?” You shake your head, “I mean, Simon Riley.”

A look of pity crosses her face before she answers, “He’s in Ward C miss; the intensive care unit.”

She leaves before you can ask her anything else.

What the fuck was her problem?

You jump out of your bed, but immediately regret that decision when your head starts to throb right above your left eye.

Now is not the time for a migraine.

You make sure you have all of your belongings before you rush over to Ward C. Right before you are about to enter through the doorway, Price comes through and stops you with a hand placed on your shoulder.

He looks down at you – you’re really getting tired of being the shortest on the team- and squeezes your shoulder gently.

“Before you go in there, guns-a-blazing, he’s doing ok, alright?”

You just stare up at him and nod. Although it was good to hear Simon was doing ok, whatever the hell that meant, you still had so much anger left in you. So much you were hoping that just the sight of Simon healing would help quell you.

You walk past Price, a determined spring in your step, ready to be reunited with Simon. It’s been so long since you’ve last seen him.

Three weeks.

Three weeks he was gone, and you thought he was never coming back.

The intensive care unit is unusually empty so it’s not hard to find which bed Simon is occupying.

You quietly walk up to the side of the bed, and you are finally by his side.  

“You don’t have to tiptoe around me bug, I’m awake.”

Simon’s voice startles you and your head turns towards his. You notice his left arm is in a sling but a lazy smile graces his lips.

If you weren’t in a medical facility on base, out in the open to the prying eyes of the public, you would have immediately burst out crying just at the sound of his voice.

Instead, you let out a breathy, “I thought I lost you.”

Unlike Simon, your face has no hint of happiness. Your lips are slightly turned down, quivering and your eyes start to well up with tears, but you will them not to drop.

Your hands are balled up in fists but you bring yourself back down. You are here for him after all; it’s not the other way around.

You slowly unclench your fists and then gingerly sit down on the side of Simon’s bed, right at his hip.

That’s when you bring your hand up to trace down the side of his face, feeling the familiar stubble that never fails to tickle you when he kisses you.

Your hand comes back up to rub his cheek and you say again, “I thought I lost you, Simon.”

He brings his hand up to cup yours that still rests on his face. “I know, I know. But I’m here, and I’m ok.”

“Are you though?” You can’t fight it anymore, the tears stream down your face, their streaks burning your skin.

His hand that was resting on yours comes up to rub your head. “Promise.”

After that, you and Simon laid in his hospital bed for the remainder of the day. He fell in and out of sleep, but you were just thankful he was alive and breathing next to you.

--

It’s been about three weeks since Simon’s been back. He’s out of his sling and most of his bruises and wounds have healed. Expect for the deeper lacerations on his thighs. He also has some scarring from the cigarette butts. But over all, you would say he’s doing pretty alright, all things considered.

You’re both currently on base, since you needed to attend multiple meetings today, and you’re eating lunch in the cafeteria.

“So, I heard you went kind of, feral, when you came to rescue me.” Simon has an innocent look on his face, but you see him trying to hid his shit eating grin.

You narrow your eyes at him, “And who did you hear that from?”

He just shrugs nonchalantly, “No one in particular.”

You scoff. Fucking Soap.

You knew he must have told someone, if not Simon himself. He was quite the gossiper.

What a fucker.

“Well, did you want me to ask them to be friends?”

Simon lets out a low laugh. “That would have been funny.” You look up at him and see his eyes are lit with amusement.

You let out a sigh, but a ghost of a smile dances across your lips. You know he’s feeling better since he’s joking around.

--

Another three weeks has passed and you find yourself in the typical meeting room. The one you all use before a mission. That means this will be your last debrief before you jet off to where ever the location is in a few days.

The meeting goes well up until the part where Price says “And Ghost, you will wait here at the rendezvous point.”

You interrupt him, “Wait what?”

The room goes silent as you stare down Price.

“There’s no way Simon is going on this mission. Nope. Not happening.”

“Well, y/n, you don’t really have a say in this. Do you?”

The trace of condescendence has you short circuiting but you keep your cool. You glare at Price, “If Simon’s going on this mission, then count me out.” You don’t notice the slip of his name. Usually at work you call Simon Ghost or LT, but never Simon.

You storm out of the room and head back to your desk to gather your things to leave.

You hear someone lightly jogging behind you, and you have a hunch about who it is that followed you out.

You feel a hand softly grab your elbow and you hear Simon plead, “Wait.”

You sigh and turn around. Looking up at him you confess, “Look, I need to cool off for a bit. We can talk at home, ok?”

You see Simon contemplate whether to let you go or not, but he just gives you a curt nod. He gives your arm a gentle squeeze where his hand still rests, “Ok, see you at home.” --

You basically scowl your whole way home. Listen, you know you have some slight anger issues, but you’re working on it.

You get home after the long day and quickly make way to the shower, needing to feel the hot water run down your head and back. That will calm me, you think.

Once you step out of the shower, you already feel better. You’re clean, and you smell like your favorite soap. You change and do your normal routine after a shower then head to the kitchen to make yourself a warm cup of tea.

Evening tea is one of your favorite treats and it always seems to quell your nerves. Because that’s what you are right now, nervous.

You don’t want to fight with Simon, no, not at all. But you can’t help but feel frustrated at Price, and subsequently him, for deciding that he’s ready to go back in the field. Because from your perspective he’s not. Hell, it’s barley been a month and a half, and you think he needs more time to cope with what happened to him.

Sure, he’s seeing the base’s therapist, and he’s doing everything he can to keep his physical body healthy, yet you can’t help but the ball of worry that has formed in the pit of your stomach, fester. Something keeps nagging at you, and you don’t know what it is.

You just don’t understand how Simon can bounce back so quickly.

Luckily you didn’t have to wait too long for Simon to get home. And when he does, you find yourself perking up on the couch when you hear him come through the door.

He lets out a soft “Hey,” in which you respond just as softly back.

“I’m going to go shower and wash up, but then we can talk, yeah?”

You give him a nod, but also confirm, “Sure, that sounds good.”

His shower felt like eternity, but you know you only feel this way because you’re on edge. Again, you don’t want to fight with him. You just, you love him so much, you can’t stand to lose him again. No, it can’t happen again.

You hear soft footsteps on the tile as Simon makes his way through the kitchen to the living room where you’re still seated on the couch.

You look up at him before he sits down and grant him a quiet smile, and reach out your hand to his. His large hand grasps yours in his, and his thumb traces your knuckles. He then sits down next to you, and now his fingers are tracing over yours, relaxing you just a smidge.

You can feel his warmth radiating off of you instantly, and it takes ever thing in you to not glue yourself to his side.

You both slightly turn to each other, and funnily enough you each say “So,” at the same time.

You giggle and he lets out a low chuckle that makes your insides swarm. You miss him.

“You go first, bug.” The hand that has been tracing yours pulls you closer to him, and he embraces you in a warm hug as you both sit on the couch.

Before you start, you simply just bask in Simon’s embrace, not wanting to let go just yet. You begrudgingly pull away, but still keep your fingers connected in their little dance.

“I’m sorry for storming out today at our meeting. That was unprofessional, and uncalled for, but I just don’t see why you have to go on our next mission.”

“Aren’t you still hurting from what happened to you on the last one? I guess I just don’t understand why you want to go back in the field so soon.”

There’s a pause before you add, “How do you know you’re ready to go back?”

One thing you appreciate about Simon is that he never interrupts you, and he always lets you finish your complete thought before adding his.

When he can tell you’re done, he sighs and says, “Because, y/n, that’s what we’re trained for.”

“I wouldn’t have this job if I couldn’t put the pieces back together after every mission.”

You guess that makes sense, but you’re still concerned about him.

“Listen, I get that, I really do. I guess what I want to make sure of is that you’re actually doing ok and that you’re working through whatever happened to you.”

He’s told you the gist of what happened, and he confides in you whenever he feels like he needs the extra support, but you know that there are some things he’s still hiding. Which, you’re not going to push him to tell you, but you hope at some point he does.

He gives you a slight smile, “That’s why I love you. You’re always looking out for me, and I appreciate it so much, but I’m really doing fine, ok?”

He shifts so he’s leaning in closer to you, and now it’s his turn to cup your jaw with his hand. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, and you nod at his answer. “I love you too.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

You grant him a smile in return and then he pulls you in for a kiss.

--

The kiss deepens and before you know it, you’re straddling his lap, one leg on either side of his thick torso. You’re a mess as you straddle him, and you wrap your arms around his neck, wanting to be closer to him, if even possible.

He wraps his arms around you and subconsciously pulls you closer to him. His large hands span across your back as he holds you close to him. Your center brushes against his you let out a moan when you feel this contact. You run your hands down his neck and shoulders, feeling the taught muscles underneath his black t-shirt. As you rock your hips against his, you hear him let out a moan, which only eggs you on further.

“Fuck, y/n. Keep doing that again.” His hands travel down to hold you hips, almost as if he’s trying to help you move against him.

Your hands move in tandem and they come to rest at the base of his t-shirt, your fingers playing with the hem. You’re itching to take it off of him, and he seems to understand what you want, because he pauses kissing you to help you take off his shirt.

Now shirtless, you bring your hands up to his shoulders and then trail them slowly down his torso, nails ever so slightly scraping against his skin. You can feel each ridge and bump from his abs before your reach the hem of his sweatpants. Your fingers graze over his happy trail before you start toying with his sweats.

You run one finger along the hem of his grey sweats, then ever so slightly, your finger enters his pants, you run your finger under his sweatpants. You’re teasing him, and you can tell he’s getting antsy by the way he shifts as your finger runs along the band of his briefs.

As you continue to tease him, you trail or lips over his chest. Your lips wrap around one of his nipples, the unpierced one, and you softly bite him before you run your tongue over his nipple, suckling.

He moans out a gentle “Fuck,” and one of his hands comes up to grasp your hair.

You move over to his other nipple, the pierced one to be exact, and you once again softly bite him then suck. You make sure to spend your time here because you know this is one of Simon’s favorite thing during foreplay. Once he’s taken care of there, you continue to trail your lips down his abdomen, and now you’re finally at his center.

You get off his lap and sit on the floor in-between his spread legs. You place your hands right above his knees, and you look up at him with your swollen lips.

“You’re going to be good for me tonight, right?” You rub your thumbs in soft circles on his legs, waiting for his answer.

You see him gulp as he looks down at you, and then his lips quirk, in a smirk.

“What do you say?” Your hands stop their ministrations and you tilt your head, understanding what he wanted.

“Please.”

His smirk deepens, “Good girl.”

At his greenlight, you come up on your knees so that you can reach him better. Your trail the hem on his sweatpants one last time before you start pulling them down off his hips, making sure that his briefs come off too. He lifts his butt to help you, and now you’ve successfully taken his pants and underwear off.

You greedily take in the size of him. His dick is hard and slightly curved as it lays against his stomach. You wrap your hand around him, he’s so thick that your hand doesn’t close around it the whole way. You pump him slowly, as you look at him. His eyes are blown out and he leans his head back against the couch. You smile at him before you lower yourself. You link one strip up his dick, making him squirm underneath you. You then you bring up your hand to start pumping him. As your hand moves up and down, your lips come up to kiss the to crown of his dick.

You look up at him again, locking eyes and then wrap your lips around him. Once your lips make contact, he lets out a low moan. You continue to sink down on him. You move your head up and down, trying to adjust to his size. The part of his dick that you can’t fit into your mouth, you cover with your hand, pumping him up and down.

Your hair falls around you, and at this, Simon carefully takes your hair into one hand, putting it into a makeshift ponytail.

“Fuck, baby that feels so good.”

You continue to suck on him, hollowing out your cheeks. You know he’s close when you see his abs start to clench and his legs start to stiffen.

The moans he lets out has your getting wetter and wetter by the minute, and you squirm, trying to ease some of the pent-up tension you’re feeling.

Your unoccupied hand comes down to play with his balls, gently squeezing them and that is what does him in. He lets out a louder groan and you feel his warm come shoot down your throat.

You keep your mouth on him, cleaning him up before you slowly take yourself off him. You wipe your lips with the back of your hand and you sit back on your heels, smiling at him.

He runs a hand through his hair, and lets out a low chuckle.

“Damn, you really did a number on me there.” You laugh yourself and you come up to the couch, sitting beside him so you can turn his head to give him a lingering kiss.

You give him a few pecks, “What can I say, I’m good at what I do.” Your eyes are bright as you look at him, and his hold the same amount of affection and adoration.

His low voice cuts through you, “Now it’s my turn to make you feel good, alright?”

You give him a brief nod, “Please.”

He pulls you back into him, and then starts to push you back so you’re lying on the couch under him. He’s kissing you frantically now, his tongue entering your mouth.

“Take your pants off for me, would you?” His hands make their way to take your shirt off, and while he does that, you slip out of your shorts, underwear gone with them.

“Thank you, baby.”

He keeps kissing you as his hand comes down to your center. He first cups you, and then brings his pointer finger to rub against your clit. As his pointer is stimulating your clit, his middle and ring finger run along your slit, gathering up all the wetness that formed over the course of the last half hour.

You see him bring his coated fingers up to you. “Taste for me,” he breathes. And without any hesitation, you suck on his fingers, tasting yourself, making sure to look at Simon while you lick his fingers. He watches you with fire in his eyes.

“Good girl.”

You’ll never get tired of hearing him call you that.

He brings his hand back down to your pussy and then enters two fingers in you, stretching you out deliciously. You whine as his fingers enter you; they feel so good inside you.

Luckily for you, your boyfriend has quite large hands, which equated to long, thick fingers, and he always knew what to do with them.

He starts picking up the pace, and the squelching sound his fingers make is deafening, and the only thing you can focus on as they move in and out of you.

You didn’t even have to ask before he’s adding in a third. You feel yourself clench around him, and you’re already losing your mind and he hasn’t even properly fucked you yet.

He’s hitting you right in your sweet spot, and your hands come up to hold him by the shoulders. He moves down ever just a hair, and you’re not sure why until he lowers his head. He spits, and then connects his lips with your clit, moving his tongue around your sensitive bud.

The addition to his lips on your clit has you seeing stars and you start to feel that familiar build up. You tumble over the edge, a bright warmness spreading through you.

Simon removes his lips and fingers from you and you’re both panting heavily. He’s bracing himself with one arm as he looks down at you.

Your hair is messily strewn across the couch behind you, and your eyes are bright. Your chest moves up and down as you try and catch your breath. You smile up at him, this time your teeth showing.

He gives you a peck on your lips. “How was that?”

You sigh, “Amazing.”

Another kiss is pressed on your lips and you can faintly taste yourself on him.

“I want to properly fuck you, and that can’t be done on the couch. Bedroom, yeah?”

You nod up at Simon acquiescing to his suggestion.

“Alright, up you go then.”

He swiftly pulls you up and off the couch into his arms. You squeal at the sudden movement but it turns into giggles as Simon carries you bridal style to the bedroom.

“Wow, my night in shining armor.” You lazily loop your hands around his neck as he leads you both to the room. He just laughs at your statement.

Once there, he gently deposits you on the bed, and wastes no time picking up where you left off.

He crawls on top of you and starts to kiss you up your stomach and chest, finally reaching your mouth. His kiss leaves you burning, and your hands eagerly reach for him, pulling him down further into you.

You wrap your legs around his torso, and feel his dick brush up against your center, hard once again.

He pulls away to look at you, eyes connecting. “Do you need any more prep?” He brings a hand up to brush away some of the flyway hairs that covered your face. His hand lingers, cupping your head, and his thumb brushes your cheek in a soothing back and forth motion.

Smiling you answer, “No, I’m good.”

“Ok.”

Bracing himself above you, his hand trails down to grasp his dick. He gives it a few pumps before running it along your slits, and lightly taps it on your overly sensitive clit.

He then slowly guides it into you, the stretch much bigger than what his fingers could offer. You both let out a sigh as he fully sinks into you, eyes connecting at this very moment. Once he’s fully inside, he gives you some time to adjust, his hand moving to hold your hips, thumb moving in circles.

“You okay?” He asks, looking down at you. You look up at him, “Yeah, I’m good, you can start moving.”

At your consent for him to move, he does just that. He pulls his hips back before he pushes them back into you. He starts off with a steady pace, not too fast, not too slow. You’re surprised he’s not pounding into you relentlessly like he usually does. This time his thrusts are much more calculated, calm, like he’s got all the time in the world. The slower drag of him against your walls makes you roll your eyes back, reveling in the feeling of him.

It’s only him, that’s all you can think about, all you can feel. You let go of the heaviness you’ve been feeling to focus on being with him now. It’s not hard, he makes you feel like you’re floating anyways.

Your fingers run down his face, down his shoulders, taking in as much as you can of him. Then you run your hand down his tattooed arm, mapping the intricate details of his tattoos and running over the protruding veins due to him propping himself up. Simon watches you as you run your hand across him.

He gives you a particular harsher thrust, eyes trained on you when you moan and clutch his arm a harder. He picks up the pace just a little, loving the way you look beneath him, taking his cock so well.  

“Fuck. Right there, baby,” you breathe. He hits that same spot again, but this time you move up the bed a little from the force of his hips. Your breasts jiggle as you shift up the bed and Simon’s eyes are travel to your chest. He brings his hand up to up one of them, rolling his thumb over your nipple. Simon keeps this faster rhythm with his hips, slamming into your now quivering pussy, showing you no mercy as he pounds into you with force.

His thrusts are powerful that leave the breath knocked out of you.

He removes his hand from your breast to wrap it around your leg. He positions your leg so it’s resting on his shoulder, now giving him a new angle into you. This position allows you to feel him move even deeper inside you, now feeling the tip of his dick hit your cervix, which makes you whine. His thrusts continue their hard motions, but his pace starts to slow down.

Simon’s hips start to falter a little bit in their smooth rhythm, a telltale sign he’s close. At his praising, you unconsciously clench around him, making him breathe out a silent curse as his hand tightens on your leg that is propped up on his shoulder.

“Si, I’m close,” you whine. You feel so full, so consumed by all things Simon, the only thing you can focus on is him and the building orgasm that threatens to spill over.

“Me too.” Simon removes his hand that’s been propping your leg up and moves it down to your clit, and starts to rub slow circles on the bud, making you squirm. You bring your leg down from his shoulder to wrap it around his torso once again pulling him closer to you. You drag your hands down and up his back as his thumb continues to abuse your clit. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

With a few more thrusts from Simon and the quick movements of his finger on your clit, you feel the coil in you snap, and it snaps hard. Your orgasm washes over you, a blinding white light that makes you feel like you’re going to pass out, and you call out his name one last time.

Your eyes squeeze shut and you see stars, as your pussy clamps down hard on Simon’s dick. He’s a moaning mess above you as he feels your orgasm that’s traveling through your body, your walls contracting around him.

He curses out a soft “fuck baby” and then he’s following just a hair behind you, traveling over his precipice as well, emptying inside of you. You feel his come paint your walls as your pussy continues to clench around him, as you ride out your second orgasm of the night.

He collapses on top of you but is careful not to crush you completely. You’re breathing heavy as you both come down from your highs, both sweaty messes.

He lifts his head to look at you. There’s a soft smile on his face and you smile back.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, bug.”

Your smile falters, “I never want you to leave me like that ever again. Got it?” Your voice is firm, but there’s an underlying trace of tenderness. Your hand comes up to push his hair back, waiting for his answer.

“Never.”

“Good.” You pull him back down to you for a kiss.

He slowly peels himself off of you and whispers out, “Wait here.”

You lay on your back, legs bent as you wait for Simon’s return. When you hear him entering the bedroom, you slightly sit up and you notice a washcloth in one of his hands.

He kneels back on the bed and gingerly pries your legs open so he can clean you up. He delicately starts wiping your center, his first few strokes making you writhe due to oversensitivity. His hand rests tenderly on your knee, thumb stroking back and forth as he wipes you clean. He must have run the washcloth under hot water because it’s wet and feels warm against your skin.

When he’s done, he pecks the inside of your knee and gets up off the bed to go throw the washcloth in the hamper. When he returns to you, he’s in his boxers, and he has a t-shirt in his hand.

“For you, my lady.” You laugh at him and take his shirt, pulling the soft material over your body.

You both clamber under the covers, and are now wrapped up in Simon’s arms.

There’s no place you’d rather be right now, and you’re so thankful the universe allowed you another chance to be with him like this.

If he didn’t make his way back to you, you don’t even know what you would have done. Probably would have gone mental, but who could really blame you?

[alpaca-clouds]

Why all most vampires are depressed

A few days ago, there was a bit of a discussion on one of the Castlevania discord servers, because I said that Dracula was suicidal before Lisa came to the castle in the first place. The first reaction was: "Oh, with you all vampires are suicidal!" To which I could not help but reply: "Well, yeah. Kinda. At least very depressed."

Let me explain: Vampires still have a brain and a nervous system. As such it stands to reason that they can be traumatized. (As our beloved vampire spawn above so readily demonstrates in BG3.)

Now, most vampires are not Astarion, who gets turned and then literally tortured for 200 years. But in most worlds we see that have vampire characters (compared to vampires as mindless monsters) we still have at least some sort of conflicts happening between vampires and their sires. We also have a lot of conflicts happening between vampires and vampires and humans. Not to mention, that most vampires will have to kill at some point or another.

And here is the thing: Our nervous system tends to collect trauma. Even the small traumas. It is how you get CPTSD instead of just normal ass PTSD. And if you live hundreds of years, well, you get a lot more chances to experience small and medium traumas. It does not have to be this one big trauma (though the chances are obviously also bigger for that), it can just be a lot of small stuff collecting over time.

Almost all worlds we see with vampires, the vampire culture tends to be one that values strength shown through violence. We also see vampire culture being one of politics, where if not literal backstabbing, there is at least social backstabbing going on. Which both are things that would easily lead to trauma. And then there is just the fact that vampires drink from humans, and might kill some of them. And, well... Killing people usually also traumatizes the killer.

You get where I am going I hope.

And additionally to that there is the other part of being immortal: You gonna see most people you ever cared about die. Scratch that: You are gonna see your CULTURE DIE. The world is constantly changing. Cultures change. Some cultures die out. You are still around, but the world around you is no longer the world you grew up in. That, too, is traumatizing.

This is also something I think will still be addressed in Olrox in future seasons of Castlevania: Nocturne. Because he saw his culture being killed. Yeah, the man is traumatized, what do you think?

So, yeah. When I write vampires, they usually are traumatized, depressed, and not rarely have some suicidal ideations. Because I feel it is only realistic. You just cannot live that long and not be traumatized af.

And, yeah. Just look at Dracula in Castlevania. Do you think a person, who started out in a mentally good place, goes from "my wife is dead" to "yeah, kill all humans, before all the vampires (including myself) will starve to death"?

But also... It makes for interesting stories. Because there is just a powerful statement behind a character going from "I am sad, the world is hurting me" to "I want to live".

Which is why I just love Astarion's story so much. That boy deserves to have a nice life now. To heal. And find stuff he likes doing.

It is also why I love writing my version of Striga the way I do. Because she is traumatized as fuck, but she also decided that if she gives into it, the people who have hurt her, would have won. So, instead she lives and finds the good things in her life, and she helps others.

[tkaulitzlvr]

I request more Tom angst (sorry if your getting tired of them ^^) Tom finds out that the girl he really likes has a crush on Bill. Maybe no happy ending?

UNREQUITED - T. KAULITZ

synopsis: tom finally builds up the courage to tell you how he feels after years of being silently in love with you, only to find out your heart is waiting for somebody else.

content: angst

a/n: i will neverrrr get tired of angst omg, i never normally write bad endings they make me too sad, and i never write from tom’s point of view so i hope this is okay since it’s like my first time doing it, hope you enjoy!!

she was perfect. every single thing about her, from her deep blue eyes, big and inviting, to her long brunette hair, sweeping downwards to her lower back, somehow always managing to make it look flawless. her lips, plump and pink, always coated with the same lipgloss, my mind wanting to do nothing more than kiss them, feel them against mine. her body, crafted by god himself, complimenting her with the most perfect curves, every single part of her almost too faultless to be real. her beauty was mesmerising, literally leaving me breathless, ever since i first saw her. even when she swore she looked a mess - to me, she was the most beautiful girl i had ever laid eyes on.

it wasn’t just her physical appearance that i had fallen in love with. her personality enticed me more and more each day. she was kind, with one of the best sense of humours that i had ever witnessed, the two of us often sitting for hours together, laughing at things that other people might find dumb, but any words that left her mouth were like music to me, the most carefully crafted melody to ever grace my ears. her smile, able to make me feel completely content, no matter how shitty i had felt before, because she could make me forget it all, making it something of the past, like my sadness was never there in the first place. she was selfless, willing to do whatever it took for the people she loved. and she did love me, just not in the same way that i loved her.

at first, i tried to get over her, not even daring to confess the way i felt, completely afraid of ruining what we already had, because being friends with her, even if it meant that i tortured myself doing so, was a million times better than throwing away what we had for the sake of my own feelings, which i knew could never be reciprocated, not even wasting my breath by asking her. she was out of my league, deserving of somebody way better than me, someone who could give her the attention she was worthy of.

it was different before i became famous. i could spend as much time with her as i wanted. but now, i was constantly touring, and i would go weeks without seeing her, understanding that a relationship just wouldn’t be right. so i kept my feelings to myself, hoping that they would fade if i slept with other girls, taking my mind off of her. but they didn’t. they only worsened my feelings as i would close my eyes, imagining that the girl i was with was her, knowing that it would be the closest i could ever get to being her’s. and it killed me, knowing that i loved her, and i could never bring her to love me back. so many girls fell at my feet, unbeknownst to the fact that i had my heart in somebody else’s hands - they were just too oblivious to realise it. i was convinced that i would feel this way forever, despite me being only thirteen when we first met, i knew that i wouldn’t be able to love somebody the way that i loved her.

and i was right. now, six years later, my heart still throbs at the sight of her, wishing that i could call her mine. though our friendship is stronger than ever, it isn’t enough for me anymore. we have grown up, young adults now. i have grown much taller, losing my light brown dreadlocks, replacing them with jet black braids. and she has grown, but in different ways. she has matured, turning into a smart and beautiful woman. yet the way i felt towards her hasn’t changed - not in the slightest. for the first time ever, confessing my feelings is crossing my mind, my heart running ahead of my conscience and telling me that i should.

“i think she likes you.” bill shrugs, his body spread across the couch in the living room of our hotel room. we were on tour, having one more show to perform the next day in italy before we would return back home - this being the first time i would see her in over a month.

“really?” i ask, shocked at his answer and how casually he says it, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.

“mhm.” he begins, shoving another candy in his mouth, chewing and swallowing it before continuing. “i mean, she’s the closest with you out of the four of us. you guys are inseparable, you have been since we were what, fourteen?”

“yeah but, she’s never given me a reason to believe she likes me more than a friend. after all these years, absolutely nothing. it’s driving me insane!” i sigh, grabbing the pillow next to me and digging my face into it, annoyed at how calmly bill is speaking about the whole thing.

“then tell her! you can’t expect her to be psychic, i didn’t even know you had liked her for this long until you told me. you don’t really make it obvious.” he laughs, shaking his head as i blush slightly. “i can’t believe my brother is in love!”

“fuck off, this is serious!” i groan, throwing the pillow at him as he laughs even harder. “what if she doesn’t like me back, and i ruin our friendship? i’ll never be able to forgive myself.”

“tom literally every girl on the planet likes you. i don’t think she’s any different, especially ‘cause she actually knows you, the real you, not just the version the tabloids see.” he says, becoming a little more serious now. “you need to stop being such a pussy and tell her, before it’s too late.”

“you’re right.” i nod, the decision finally being made, my mind willing to risk what we already have, unable to hide it anymore.

“i always am.” bill shrugs, smirking when i roll my eyes at him.

“so then loverboy, how was your tour? how many girls did you fuck this time, hm? can i count it on both hands or does that not even cover like, half of it?” she laughs, her body sprawled out on her bed as i sit in her desk chair, spinning around on it slowly, a cheesy grin appearing on my face.

“i’m not that bad!” i defend, shaking my head. “i do other things beside hook up with girls you know.”

“mhm, sure you do, i’m sure hot famous rockstars have way more hobbies.” she smiles, another laugh erupting from her mouth.

my eyes study her features, getting lost in them immediately. her hair is sprawled around her on the bed, still soft and perfectly styled, the ends curled slightly. her skin is smooth, a single mole on her upper cheek, another small one above her lip. her eyes are half open, showing a part of the beautiful ocean blue within them that i had fallen in love with. her lips are curved upwards into a smile, two dimples forming on her cheeks, this one of the first things i ever noticed about her.

“tom? tommm?”

i am snapped from my trance as she waves her hand in my face, laughing at the way i blink rapidly, my cheeks flushing red as i realise that she has caught me staring at her.

“you good? i thought i’d lost you there for a second.” she jokes, now laid on her front, her legs bent upwards as her thighs are in the air, head resting in her hands which are now propped up on the bed.

she awaits my response and, my heart moving ahead of my mind, i blurt something out before i can take it back. “can i talk to you?”

my question comes out more uncertain than i had anticipated, the room falling silent as her eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“why did you get so serious all of a sudden? did someone die or something? did you get some girl pregnant? i told you to use protection.” she laughs, her smile slowly fading as she sees that i am not laughing with her. “tom, what’s up, you’re scaring me.”

she sits up on the edge of her bed, crossing her legs and scanning my expression.

“no! no nothing like that.” i force a smile, easing her nerves. yet i am unable to make eye contact with her, looking towards the ground as i fiddle with the material of my t-shirt.

“then what’s up with you?” she asks, becoming increasingly concerned.

the words are stuck in my throat, holding me back as my mouth becomes dry, unable to spit out the three simple words. my mouth hangs open, no noise escaping from it. she stands up, walking closer to me and putting a hand on my shoulder in an attempt to comfort me, but it only worsens my nerves.

“seriously, is everything okay? i don’t wanna go all soppy on you, you know i hate that shit, but you can talk to me, you know that.” she says, stepping backwards a little and folding her arms.

“i like you.” i finally blurt out, looking upwards as her eyes widen, shock taking over her entire expression.

“what?” is all that she can muster, her eyes frantically scanning mine for any hint that this is another prank of mine.

“i’m in love with you. i have been since we were thirteen.” i confess, mumbling the last part and looking back downwards, unable to look at her face any longer, my stomach sinking as she stays silent.

the silence is louder than ever, tension so thick that it is almost visible, none of us daring to say anything as my mind is working overtime, wondering what the fuck i was thinking, my gut always telling me that she had never felt the same way. part of me wants to blame bill for convincing me to tell her, but the other part, the more irrational side, tells me that that would be stupid, none of this bill’s fault no matter how hard i search for someone else to blame.

“tom i-” she begins as i look upwards, her eyes glossy with tears, a couple beginning to roll down her cheeks. “fuck, i didn’t want to tell you like this.”

“tell me what?” i ask, panicking even more than i had been before, somehow fearing that her rejecting me isn’t even going to be the worst part.

“before i say this, i just- shit. i just wanna say that im so sorry, and i never ever wanted to hurt you. you’re my best friend and i-”

“what are you talking about?” i mutter, my own eyes welling up slowly.

“i like somebody else.”

those four words crash down on me, hitting me with more force than a bus would, the pain far worse, impact far heavier as my breath gets stuck in my throat, feeling as if my heart has been ripped out of my chest. i can no longer stop the tears as they cascade down my face, with her now sobbing as she realises how much she has hurt me, wether she meant to or not.

“who?” i manage to say, looking into her eyes. the answer would only hurt me more, but i wanted to know the truth, maybe it would help me get over her, or maybe that was the denial within me talking.

i wish i had never asked.

“tom you don’t need to know that, i’ve caused you enough upset-”

“just tell me.” i interrupt, feeling numb to the pain suddenly, wanting to get the answer out of the way. my face is emotionless, the only giveaway of my heartache being the tears which silently fall from my bloodshot eyes.

she pauses, pursing her lips together as the tears continue to fall, breaking eye contact for the first time, looking downwards, a look of guilt washing over her face, not even needing to look into her eyes to see it. the way she refuses to look at me gives me the silent giveaway that i should have just stayed curious.

“bill.”

my lips part, mouth dropping open as i pray that i had misheard her, that my ears had deceived me, and that i didn’t just hear her confess that she likes my brother, not me.

“tom please i’m so so sorry. i don’t wanna lose what we already have-” she begins, but i shake my head, staying silent and quickly exiting the room, running down the stairs as she calls after me. i ignore her pleas, opening her front door and slamming it shut, rushing to my car and hitting the wheel harshly, resting my head against it and beginning to sob, feeling like a complete idiot for confessing, knowing that i was way too delusional to ever think i had a chance.

now, i can take my anger out on bill, feeling such an inexplicable rage towards him, blaming him for this entire thing, the way he humiliated me, made me think i have a chance. in that moment, it wouldn’t have surprised me if he already knew she wanted him, not me, using it as a way to spite me even more. my eyes are blurry, tears blocking part of my vision as i turn my keys into the ignition, taking one last look at her house and driving away.

“how did it go? did she feel the same way?” bill says once i enter our house, quickly rushing over to me, stopping in his tracks once he sees my face, red and filled with rage, my eyes bloodshot, hands balled into fists.

“fuck off. you knew that she liked you, didn’t you, hm? you wanted to see me get fucking humiliated, you selfish piece of shit!” i shout, repeatedly pushing him, using more strength each time my hands collide with his chest, his back hitting the wall with a thud.

“can you calm down! what are you even saying?” bill shouts over me, grabbing both of my arms and holding me back as i desperately scramble to hit him harder, wanting to show him the pain he has caused me, knowing that no matter how violent i get, his wounds won’t even scratch the surface of my broken heart.

“she fucking likes you, now just fuck off and leave me alone.” i mutter, my chest heaving up and down as i back away, storming towards my bedroom and ignoring his confused shouts behind me, slamming the door with a thud. i collapse onto my bed, unable to hold back the sobs as i realise that i have lost her, no one left to blame as i have taken all my frustration out on bill, completely despising him, knowing that i will envy him for the rest of my life, willing to give anything to be in his position. he could live a million lifetimes and still never be deserving of someone like her.

she loves me, but she will always love him more.

requests are open! keep sending them in!!

[yournowheregirl]

remember when i said this was gonna be 5 parts? psych! it’s gonna be six parts of the secret-dolly-parton-fan eddie munson saga (thanks again for all the love on this fic & a special thanks to @gothbat99 and @legitcookie for listening to my rambling about this part 🥰)

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 5] [part 6 + complete on ao3]

part 4: i will always love you

Eddie never thought himself to be an overthinker. 

In fact, during the majority of his life a lot of people assumed he didn't think at all considering the way he flunked senior year twice (He got there in the end, though). But lately - well, actually ever since Pat swore up and down Steve isn’t as straight as Eddie originally thought - Eddie’s brain has been running at a hundred miles an hour.

More specifically, Pat’s words have been echoing through his mind, haunting him, torturing him, every time he hangs out with Steve.

“Hey man, that shirt looks really great on you.” Steve says one day when Eddie shows up at Family Video wearing a red henley. It’s an old shirt he found earlier that week when Wayne forced him to clean out his closet, a little tight but it still fit so Eddie decided to keep it.

“What, this old thing?” Eddie scoffs, playing with the frayed hem of the shirt.

“Yeah, it’s… it suits you. Looks nice.” Steve smiles. 

“Thanks.” Eddie replies. His smile is tight, in the hopes that he doesn’t give away the swarm of butterflies currently residing in his stomach.

But are ya sure that boy’s straight?

“Wait, what’s happening again?” Steve asks one night during Will’s latest Hellfire campaign. 

It’s the first time in literal years that Eddie’s been playing a character instead of DM’ing and so far, he’s been very impressed with Will replacing him. Though his story lines can be a little too detailed at times, which makes it hard for Steve - who hasn’t been there during every D&D night - to keep up. 

So, Eddie explains it to him. He’s patient, keeping his voice low so the others won’t overhear and carefully watches Steve connect the dots. Watches how that cute little frown in between his eyebrows slowly fades away and is replaced with a soft smile. 

“Which brings us here, to the Rotting Grove and now we gotta wait until Dustin’s character makes a decision.” Eddie says finally, but Steve stays quiet. He’s still looking at Eddie, eyes wide with wonder, maybe he still doesn’t understand the plot just yet. “Sorry, did I go too fast? You want me to start again?”

“No, no, I got it.” Steve shakes his head, smiling. “Thanks for explaining it, though. You’re a great story teller, Eddie.” He says, bumping their shoulders together but never pulling away.

Steve stays glued to Eddie’s side throughout the rest of the night, whispering the occasional question or snarky comment in his ear, sending a chill down Eddie’s spine every time he feels Steve’s lips brush against his skin.

But are ya sure that boy’s straight?

“You really gotta be more careful.” Steve says sternly one afternoon, after Eddie has fallen face-first onto the ground during one of Max’ skateboarding lessons, leaving him with a nasty graze on his cheek. 

“I was being- fucking Christ, Steve.” Eddie hisses as Steve dabs a washcloth against Eddie’s bloodied cheek. “Will you stop that? That hurts like hell.”

Steve ignores his protests, rolling his eyes. “An infection hurts even more, so just stay still, will you?”

His hand, big and warm, finds Eddie’s hip, holding him still against the bathroom counter, as Eddie tries to think of literally anything that’ll stop his blood from going south because this not the place or time to pop a boner right now. Which somehow results in him being particularly mopey to Steve.

“I can take care of myself y’know? Been doin’ it all my life.” He grunts when Steve slowly removes the washcloth. 

“I know you can.” Steve replies softly. “But sometimes it’s nice to have someone taking care of you for a change.”

He runs his thumb over Eddie’s cheek, wiping away the last of the blood before placing his his hand on Eddie’s jaw, turning his face to see if there are any wounds to be taken care of. When Steve nods, obviously proud of his work, Eddie almost wants to go out there and trip another time, just to feel Steve’s hands on his skin again. 

“Besides, you need someone around here who actually knows first aid. God forbid something happens to that pretty face of yours.” Steve smirks, before patting Eddie’s chest and walking out of the bathroom, leaving Eddie speechless for the first time in his life.

But are ya sure that boy’s straight?

Pat’s words keep getting louder and louder in his mind to the point that it’s the only thing Eddie can think about. He overanalyzes every single one of Steve’s movements, every word that rolls off his tongue, every glance sent his way, to the point that he swears he’s going insane.

Because the more he starts thinking about it, the more Pat might actually be right and isn’t that the most terrifying thing in the wold?

-xxx-

“Dude, will you stop that?”

Eddie looks up from where he was mindlessly staring out the window and glares at Dustin, who glares right back at him. “What?”

“Your leg.” Dustin pokes him in said leg, the one that’s been bouncing uncontrollably for the past few minutes. “It’s fucking annoying.”

Dustin’s been at the Munson trailer since early afternoon, figuring out the perfect songs to  put on the mixtape he’s mailing Suzie for their anniversary. Eddie had felt honored that Dustin came to him, rather than the so-called leading expert on romance (Steve) but now his patience is wearing thin. 

Don’t get him wrong, he loves the squirt with all his heart, but Dustin’s been contemplating between two very similar songs for thirty minutes now and his indecisiveness is starting to get on Eddie’s nerves.

“Maybe if you hurried the fuck up, my leg wouldn’t be shakin’ Henderson.” Eddie retorts. “C’mon, hurry up, will ya? I got places to go, people to meet.”

Dustin snorts. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“You know, going out to the woods to deal doesn’t exactly count as Friday evening plans.” Dustin says.

“Hey!” Eddie protests. “You know I don’t do that shit anymore, not with those shady government assholes watching my every move.” He sighs, fiddling with the rings on his fingers. “But if you must know, me and Steve are having a movie night at his place and you know how huffy he gets when I’m late.”

That’s not entirely true. Sure, Eddie’s going over to the Harrington house tonight and sure they’re gonna watch a movie, but it’s also the night that Eddie decided to finally make a move on Steve. And maybe, if everything goes right, tonight will be the night that he finds the guts to Steve how he feels.

Which is why Dustin needs to get a move on because he really needs those extra few hours to contemplate his existence, have a panic attack, talk himself down from said panic attack and figure out what he’s going to wear.

“Okay, now I know you’re lying.” Dustin says, looking anything but impressed with Eddie.

“What? I ain’t lying, Henderson.” Eddie frowns. He grabs the VHS tape from the coffee table and waves it in Dustin’s face. “See, I got the movie and everything.”

“Yeah, well, you must have gotten the days mixed up.” Dustin shrugs. “Steve’s got a date tonight.”

“Yeah, right.” Eddie says, rolling his eyes at Dustin and ignoring the way his heart is starting to beat a little faster out of sheer panic. “Steve hasn’t been on a date since he broke up with Emily. And even if he has a date, I doubt he would’ve planned it at the same time as our movie night.”

“Well sorry to burst your bubble, but I know for a fact that Steve’s got a date tonight because he told me.” Dustin’s tone is bordering on condescending but Eddie doesn’t even have energy to tell him off right now because what the fuck? What does Dustin mean by that? And maybe more importantly, why did Steve leave Eddie in the dark about all this?

A heavy feeling settles down in his stomach, but he can’t let Dustin see his inner turmoil so he goes with indifference instead. “Pff, sure he did.”

“I saw him buy roses, Eddie! They were red too and that’s like, a dead giveaway for romance!” Dustin declares. “And when I talked to him about it he got this… weird, mushy look in his eye, which by the way gross, and said something about making tonight special and shit. Which again, gross, but if that doesn’t scream romantic evening to me, then I don’t know what is!”

Slowly, as Dustin’s words are starting to sink in, the heavy feeling grows stronger and stronger until Eddie feels his stomach drop.

Steve’s going on a date. 

Steve’s going on a date and just ditches Eddie without saying a word.

Steve’s going on a date with someone who isn’t Eddie.

Steve’s going on a date which means Pat was wrong.

“Get out.” Eddie says, voice on edge.

“Geez, didn’t know you’d get so upset. It’s just a cancelled movie night, I’m sure Steve-”

“Out!” Eddie exclaims, his tone way harsher than it needs to be. It obviously affects Dustin, who flinches at his words, but Eddie doesn’t care. Well, he does but he’ll apologize to Dustin later, once he starts to feel normal about all of this. 

Dustin quietly packs his stuff, mumbling something under his breath as Eddie just stands there, frozen. Eyes glued to the coffee stain on the carpet, mind reeling with thoughts of Steve ditching him for some date he didn’t even tell him about. 

He hears Dustin say a quiet goodbye but he stays there for a good few minutes before he finally snaps out of his trance and grabs the keys to the van from the kitchen counter. He doesn’t even see the dark clouds forming in the sky, he just gets in the van and drives. 

-xxx-

Rain is still pouring down when Eddie arrives at the Off-Road. Not that he really cares about the weather right now, he’s got other things on his mind. He pulls his leather jacket over his head and jogs over to the entrance, only to find the door closed and the lights off.

Great. Like his day couldn’t get any worse.

Eddie slumps down on the porch in front of the bar, not caring that he’s sitting on wet wood or that the wind is blowing the raindrops right in his face. The rain is actually pretty nice right now, hiding the tears that are slowly rolling down his cheek.

Crying over Steve motherfuckin’ Harrington. That’s a new low, even for him.

And the thing is, any other time Eddie could’ve dealt with Steve getting another date. Yeah, it’d probably hurt like a bitch and Eddie would’ve been sulking for a day or two, but he would’ve been fine. It would’ve been just another Emily situation, just another reminder that Steve would never been his.

But Steve keeping him in the dark about his date, Steve just flat-out cancelling their movie night without even telling him, after weeks of, let’s be honest, low-key flirting? That somehow hurts even more. It just feels like Steve doesn’t really care about him, like Steve’s using him like a fucking Kleenex - use once, then throw away when it’s no longer useful.

The thoughts in his head are so loud, so overwhelming, that he doesn’t even hear a pick-up truck stopping a few steps from him. Doesn’t hear the hushed voices or the wet sounds of footsteps through the mud.

“Ed? Whatcha doin’ here kid?”

Eddie looks up from where he had been staring at his feet, only to find Pat and Tish standing in front of him, huddled together underneath an umbrella. The worried looks on both their faces makes Eddie just cry even harder.

“Oh honey.” Tish says softly. “Let’s get you inside, okay?”

Pat and Tish lead him inside and up the stairs that lead to the apartment above the bar. It’s small, but cozy and feels like a home, with little trinkets and old photos scattered just about everywhere. Pat firmly plants Eddie down at the kitchen table and hands him a couple of towels as his tears slowly start to fade. He hadn’t even realized how cold he was until Pat throws a woolen blanket over his shoulders and Tish puts down a pot of hot chamomile tea.

“So…” Pat says as she sits down across from him at the kitchen table. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Eddie sniffs, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “It’s stupid.”

“We’ll be the judge of that.” Pat says sternly, though her eyes are soft. “Now tell us what happened.”

And Eddie just spills everything. How Pat’s advice has been haunting him, how he’s been overanalyzing every of Steve’s moves, how he was so sure that Steve liked him back, only to be tossed aside without a care. He tears up again a few times and it’s so embarrassing he wants to be buried alive, even with Pat and Tish just listening and telling him it’s okay.

Once he’s done, he just feels empty - no more tears to cry, no more words to say, just an empty, hollow feeling where his heart used to be. 

“Eddie, I’m so sorry, honey.” Tish sighs as she pours him another cup of tea. He’s not usually a tea drinker but he’s had two cups already - he swears Tish put some kind of crack in it, rather than sugar cubes. “For what it’s worth, he doesn’t deserve you. Not if he treats like you like, pardon my French, dogshit.”

Hearing Tish swear, while she’s generally so prim and proper, makes Eddie laugh, even through his dried-up tears. “Thanks, Tish.” He sighs, slouches down in his chair and looks up at the wooden ceiling. “But I guess this was good, in some twisted, fucked up way. Just the slap in the face I needed.”

“What’d you mean?” Pat frowns.

“It’s just… I been running after him like some lovesick puppy even though I know he’ll never feel the same.” Eddie says. “And it’s not doing me any good, now is it? Guess this is a sign that it’s time for me to move on.”

He knows he said that before, back when Steve started dating Emily, and even though it clearly didn’t work out the way he wanted to, Eddie has to make it work now. He has to say goodbye to Steve because he’s not so sure his poor heart’ll survive if he doesn’t.

And he knows exactly how he’s going to do just that.

Eddie jumps up from the table and races downstairs, ignoring Pat and Tish’s confused noises as they follow him. He fumbles with the lights for a moment but as soon as the lights are partially on, Eddie walks up to the podium, grabs the guitar off the wall and sits down on the stool that has become so familiar to him.

The bar is silent because of course it is and for a second Eddie just wants to laugh at how weird this whole situation - singing in a bar just to process his dumb feelings, even with no audience around (well, there’s an audience if you count Pat, Tish and the wind howling outside). But he has to do this, needs to do this, audience be damned. 

His hands are shaking, hesitating to play the first few chords. It’s not like he doesn’t know the song, in fact he knows it by heart and played it plenty of times, But he never actually sang the words, too scared what’ll mean if he’ll say them out loud. 

“If I, should stay… I would only be in your way. So, I’ll go but I’ll know, I’ll think of you each step of the way.” Eddie sing softly, voice already wavering because he was right for not singing this song before - it fucking hurts. “And I… will always love you.”

Eddie’s voice echoes through the empty bar, causing to sound more hollow than it already is. A shiver runs up his spine when he feels a cool breeze of wind - the wind must’ve flung the door open. Eddie doesn’t look up, closes his eyes instead and lets the music take him.

“Bittersweet memories, that’s all I’m taking with me.” He hears Pat and Tish whispering to another, can’t really see them from where they’re standing in the dark but their hushed voices sound tense. Not that Eddie’s really listening, it’s all background noise as he continues strumming his guitar. 

“Goodbye, please don’t cry. We both know…” Eddie chokes on his on voice, the words hitting a little too close to home. He takes a deep breath and tries again, refusing to shed anymore tears. “We both know that I’m not what you need.”

“Eddie?”

Someone’s calling out his name. A familiar voice. A way too familiar voice. 

Steve’s voice.

But that can’t be. Steve’s doesn’t knows he’s here. Steve’s too busy wooing his goddamn date with those goddamn roses.

It’s just in his head. It’s just his mind playing tricks on him. He just needs to finish this song and then this fake Steve will disappear and-

“And I… will always love you. I will always-” 

“Eddie, please.”

Eddie stops playing as a shadow washes over him, a figure blocking the spotlight. He squints, trying to identify whether it’s Pat or Tish who interrupted him, only to find that it’s neither of them

Because there, with floppy wet hair plastered to his face and a thoroughly soaked pink button-down and blue jeans, stands the one person Eddie had run away from in the first place.

Steve.

tag list (there are so many of you now omg ily):

@cheatghost @henderdads @unclewaynemunson @goblin-eddie @trikigirl271 @alienace @fandomcartographer @stevethehairington @blank1eboi @this-earlobe-is-naked @fruitandbubbles @courtjestermunson @steveisabicon @stereoteleversion @wrenisflying @spectrum-spectre @hotluncheddie @punkharringtxn @remislupinsthevoiceofgod @panicatthediaz @thegingervulcan @sharkruption @goodolefashionedloverboi @thelastwalkingsoul @undreamingscatworld @starrystevie @magipemuseum @mightbeasleep @corrodedcoughin @linkydinky06 @hardboiledeggs @gamerdano @limpingpenguin @blackpanzy @piningapple @teelagurl558 @theokatz @moonlightmirrorball @milf-harrington @raisedbylibrarians @eddiemunsonswife @catateme9 @stranger-poets-society

[yawntu]

The Times We Win

A/N: There’s not enough out there for the literal sexiest man in the whole franchise. Do I have to do everything myself? DO I? Second person pov isn’t my cup of tea but he deserves sm more hype. You’re work with Mo’at as a shamans apprentice or something and he admires you a lot but you act all tough because of it. Also i’m delusional and in my silly little mind he’s alive him and Jake are buddies even if he doesn’t like admitting it <333333333333 I know this man aggressively spoils the people in his life u can’t tell me you would not be a queen in his presence. Vague mention of bestie Jake Sully who has made you a definition of a gremlin.

pairing(s): Tsu’Tey te Rongloa Atey’itan x Fem!Reader

word count: 6k

warnings: NSFW MDNI, I am going to an unimaginable hell. Overstim, Sub/dom aspects, Unprotected (be safe y’all), Established Relationship, Oral (fem!receiving), Fingering, P in V, Praise / degradation, Usually soft ish dom Tsu’tey turned a little mean has my heat, He just wants you to not act like a hooligan and behave you’re better then that, He’s going to torture you and tease you a little bit tho, Tsu’Tey is obsessed with you, Slight non/con if you squint, Saw someone do queue stuff and had to commit to it, Squirting, Breeding, Vague waterworks if you squint, Slight dacryphilla, Impact play, He’s a little mean in this one but, Slightest hint of Daddy kink at the end but he can’t help wanting you full of his kids <3, if you notice anything else pls lmk, we were both cringing writing this /jk

na’vi glossary: kelku- home, tswin/kuru- queue, yawntutsyìp: darling, Nga yawne lu oer - I love you, paskalin: honey, yawntu: beloved, sempu : daddy

A lot of things no longer made sense to Tsu’tey. He had spent a majority of his teenage years with the sole focus of being Ole’eytkan, and defeating the twatute. All he was was a warrior, always ready to fight. After a series of events outside of his control he lost his first love, reigned as Ol’eytkan briefly and then willingly gave the honor to the uniltìrantokx. Granted he had accepted the man as a brother and even sided with him when his parents had done the unthinkable- that did not mean that the way his life turned out did not often confuse him. 

So all he could do was preoccupy himself with you. Your soft thighs are thrown over his own, a stark contrast between soft and ridged. He could not help but tense his outstretched legs under the weight of your straddle. For his intimidating stature, Tsu’tey’s fingertips are lithe against the cerulean skin of your back. Your arms are thrown haphazardly over his broad shoulders that have started purpling due to being out under the sun daily. You twirl the loose hair at the end of his braids, occasionally caressing the stubble on the side of his head. 

You had been perched on his legs like this for what could have only been an hour. Tongues sloppily slotting against each other, teeth clicking ever so slightly on occasion. Kissing him has left you dizzy every single time despite how long you have found a home in each other. Seeing the normally coy and aloof man so passionately present sent jitters up your spine right to the base of your pleasantly throbbing kuru. 

He had finally given you a scintilla of what you desired when his thumbs gently grazed the swell of your breasts. He doesn’t miss the way your body jolts up in his lap, or the way your ears draw forward, tensing your forehead that rests against his own. Finally drawn out of your distracted kiss hazed day dream, and once again fully focused on him. Twitchy like a yerik before he’d impale it with an arrow. 

You had to nearly whine to get him to toy with your breasts- drop your body weight down into him and give him little choice but to entertain you. Letting your weight push the fat of your breast into his empty hands. One large hand massages your breast while the other reaches behind you to untie the intricate halter of your jewel beaded top. 

You try desperately to pull back- to watch his fingers finally twiddle with the soft azure of your right nipple, yet he’d catch you in another kiss not long after you pulled away. Not allowing you to watch the powerful and rugged hands- that had no doubt done the most of the work in bringing home the talioang that had just fed the village- smoothly rub against your nipple. His right hand finds your stomach, palming the warmth. It made his tail flick, knowing he provided for you. He didn’t so much care for filling the stomachs of the rest of the village- no, he was far more interested in what else he could fill yours with. 

How can he think of anything else when you are practically trembling on his lap. Sighing into his mouth as his calloused hands slid past your svelte waist to grip a handful of the hips he loved so dearly, hands embarrassingly growing clammy at the feeling of the skin bunching between his fingers. 

“‘Su’tey…” 

How can he think straight when you slur over his name? When your tail is flicking so pretty between his legs, the tuft of whipsy hair tickling his calf. It is too hot out for you to add this much heat to the atmosphere of the home you built together. 

“Are you alright, sevin?” 

You had not moved back from where your lips were ghosting each other, so he was privileged with feeling the apples of your full cheeks rising at the compliment. 

“Oh? I’m pretty now? What happened to being a skxawng?” 

Ahhh. That’s right. He remembered now. How displeased he was with you. You were a skxawng. An absolute fucking moron. He had to restrain himself when his large palm cradles the back of your head, wrapping around your kuru, pulling you back softly so your eyes are trained up at the ceiling of your tent, tsmisnrr illuminating your soft features. He feels the sharp angle of your nails grace down the braid of his own kuru, finally releasing some of the deep rooted tension at the base of his skull. The seconds of bliss do not halt the attitude laced quip from falling from his lips,

“Why do you always have to ruin everything. I forgot you were a vonvä,” 

His hiss barely falls past his subulated teeth. And now that your head is trained back he can finally run his nose down the nape of your neck. You can’t even say that he’s kissing it. His mouth is no longer dry and leaves a messy trail of his saliva all over your pulse. Maybe he was right. You were always a dick head. No discipline. Just a mischievous little fuck that he prayed would stay out of trouble while he was out providing for you. Yet you never did. Could he blame you? Your world was peaceful now, almost too peaceful. After growing up war torn he was sure you felt every bit of anxious energy he still felt himself. Unlike you however he had an outlet in hunting. Though you serviced the village well, and were adored by many, your work did not give you an outlet to release all of that turbulent energy. So you found yourself meddling. Your quips were usually funny, and you amused him, but he was aware that you knew how to get under peoples skin. Even worse- you thought it was funny. 

He was grateful for Jake, really they were the best of friends now. Though Tsu’tey would never admit it he had finally found comfort in feeling like a younger brother, he genuinely enjoyed the time they spent together. However, Jake encouraged your bad behavior. Teaching you English curses, or how to flip the middle finger at argumentative Na’vi while you were meant to be helping them. He supposes if you were just a forager or cook then perhaps he could excuse the attitude you walked around with. You worked under Mo’at though, not just as a healer, but to be a shaman. A holy woman. Despite a respectable title you had fucking punched a man. Salt to the earth, you had flipped him off after. You were small for your kind, an incapable (unwilling; you’re compassionate you’d tell him) of killing a bug kind of girl training to be a peaceful shaman, and yet you were hitting men. To prove a point; to win whatever overblown argument you had decided you’d be the winner of. Hitting men when he wasn’t there to save you from the recoil. 

He owes Ki’ani for defusing the situation in his absence (which was an extra annoyance to him as one of his students had filled the role he was meant for). All for you to sit on his lap, giggling that he called you an asshole. Utterly bemused that he of all people would be grumpy over a brawl. 

“Ah, I remember why I don’t hang out with you hunters. Vulgar hooligans. And i’m meant to be better than that,” 

There was an air of superiority in your voice that he thought didn’t suit what he was about to make of you. The snooty little angle of your head to the side, smirked lip caught on your sharp teeth. You only acted so tough around the village because you knew he would get you out of any predicament you had managed to get into during the hours he was away. Relinquishing his Olo'eyktan duties after surviving the war meant the only dedication left in his heart was you. It has spoiled you really, and it was all his fault. 

“You don’t hang out with hunters ‘cause the only thing you know how to do right is irritate me,”

He loosens the grip on your kuru, sliding his hands down your shoulders and ribs once more so he could squish your full breasts together, allowing him to finally run the moistened muscle of his tongue across the swell of your right breast. He had not realized how wet his mouth had grown until his teeth began to graze the flesh. 

He knows you are mad above him. Irritated that he had sat stoically though dinner in a silent rage just to have you follow him home to be teased for what you believed was far too long. Undoubtedly, even more irritated now that he had just called you annoying. Your hips jut forward when he runs his teeth over your purpling nipple though you are unable to slide up his extended legs due to the grip he held on your breasts. He smiles against them- amused that you had become so worked up that your chest was beginning to flush. If he wasn’t so irate he’d have spent more time kissing the blush that crept across your chest. 

“You seem very friendly for someone who’s vexed by my existence,” 

You still have that stupid tone of ascendancy to your voice, and it works at pulling him out of his lustful haze. Your eyes trailed down to your saliva covered breasts that he has occupied himself with sucking soft bruises on. He knows what you’re doing. Being annoying on purpose so he gives in and pays attention to you. 

He hasn’t meant to neglect you. Eywa knows he would never want anything less. He had responsibilities though. The warmest season would end sooner rather than later, and Tsu’tey was far too busy helping prepare- which meant you would have been in the village without him to keep that big brain of yours occupied. He doesn’t acknowledge your quip, and you quickly realize it’s to punish you. He does not like the tone of your voice, and he wouldn’t entertain the impish attempt to continue to rile him up, instead he’d continue to lick and kiss at your assaulted chest. 

But you always poked the palulukan, even before he had claimed you. So he shouldn’t have been surprised when your hips wriggled forward again in an attempt to flush against his, arching your back to slide to your goal. You’re embarrassed by the feeling of the moistened fabric finally making contact with him, but you are shameless at the feeling of slotting up against him. You try to look down, to see where you meet but his torso and head, that had slid up to the crook of your neck as you moved forward kept you from gazing upon where he stood at attention for you. You could feel the speared tip that has grown past the confines of his tweng, leaking violently against his stomach now that your own body pushed against it. 

His resolve breaks only momentarily as his face falls to hide in your neck as his eyebrows furrow. He had to leave sloppy open mouthed kisses on your mandible to distract himself from purring at the contact of your heat. It felt like ages ago he made you sit on his lap. Plants are now glowing outside, and your body is beginning to clam up and tremble. You are embarrassed when your nails dig into his shoulders as leverage to try and grind yourself forward. Anything to end this impasse with your imposing mate, the weight of his presence right next to your deprived cunt sending you into a haze of mania-inducing desire. 

He knows he’s cruel when his hand wraps around the base of your tail, pulling you backwards off of him, the round of your ass once again finding their perch above his knees. He almost feels bad when your eyes are wide and watery, staring at him in disbelief.

“Baby please, this is cruel,”

He snorts at the term of endearment. He hadn’t been called a baby since he was one. No one would dare call him such a name- yet here you were. He could tell you were indignant, but you still found it in your heart to speak softly to him. He can only smile up at you, fangs poking into the pout of his bottom lip; it’s a patronizing hint of a smirk that makes a whining hiss fall from your kiss swollen lips. You feel the pad of his thumb caress the puckered ring under your tail, sliding under the thong of your tweng as a response. 

“Why should I touch that cute cunt of yours, huh?” 

He whispers against your lips, kissing you quickly and softly. Your ears pull back against your head, and your tail wraps across his calf, the end thudding against him rhythmically. Your stomach flutters at his words, partially because he had been too quiet up until this point.

“Tsu’tey- you’re being mean to me,”

You whine like a petulant child, nose crinkling and fangs baring ever so slightly. Like a cornered animal caught in a carefully laid trap he can see you weigh your options- trying to figure out what you can do to break him. To win. 

“You are mean to me,” his answer isn’t a quip like yours was, there’s an aftershock of a scold in his voice. You can’t help but break your gaze. 

In response to your sudden shyness he releases your tail and begins to roll the spheres of your ass in slow circles while slowly squishing them together then pulling them back apart. His nimble fingers would slide under the waist of your tweng to pull it up, snagging it against the thin sensitive skin under your tail, and wedging the delicate woven linen between the lips of your pussy. He relishes in the sloppy sound of your lips plopping together against his intrusions and you’re whimpering breaths. 

“All day I go out and take care of all the things you need, and all you do to repay me is get yourself into trouble.” 

You are embarrassed that he is scolding you while you’re dripping onto his lap, and you thank Eywa most of the village is still preoccupied with eating and festivities as to not hear the reprimand in your mates horsed yet honeyed voice from the inside of your home. You could have gotten a little rowdy, but you do nothing in comparison to the trouble he and his friends could occasionally get into. You can’t bring yourself to argue your case though. All you can do is look up at his sulfuric eyes, your own gaze knitted together in embarrassment. You finally were at a loss for words, and found it hard to look into his sharp eyes- slitted down at you, almost disappointed. But you know this is what he wants. You try fixing your gaze at the crinkle of his nose but you can’t help but fall on his plump lips. You realize you have to speak before he can tease you for your piteous attempts. 

“I said I was sorry before dinner,”

It’s pathetic when you plead for him, and he’s so glad no one can hear it from the safety of your own kelku. No one else deserves to hear this side of you. Only he gets to hear your pleas reverberate off the walls just to bounce back to his ears. 

“That was nice of you,” you finally breathe a sigh of relief thinking he’ll give in, lay you on your back and drill into you at speeds only the best warrior in the clan could achieve, “I do not forgive you,” 

Your stomach drops at his words, yet there’s a quip in his voice that puts your aching heart at ease- at least he’s not actually upset with you. Not really. Just half upset. Just upset enough to make your night long. He can tell you were worried he was truly mad at you for a second, afraid you had fallen from grace in his eyes. So he quickly lays a chase kiss to the crown of your head, running his thumbs under your waterline. He finally looks down to see the reflection of the slick you have left across his muscular thighs, and admires the dark front of his tweng. He didn’t care about anything that went on outside of your chambers. The only thing that was real to Tsu’tey is how wet his pussy gets for him. 

The sob that falls from your lips and the pleading “baby please” that falls from your lips as his hand dances to your kuru again makes him chuckle. You were the baby, useless and needy and loud. So loud. Especially loud when his hand once again wrapped around it, guiding you down so your pudgy round cheek fell flush against the woven matt of your bed. You laid across his lap now, stomach flat against his legs while he held your face to the floor. It strains your eyeballs to glance sideways to look up at him, the throbbing of your eye sockets the first round of pain you’d feel tonight. 

“Tsu’tey please, I said I was sorry. I mean it,” your tail flicks as your bare nipples rub against the fibers of the mat. 

You were flushed over the feeling of the position you were in. Yet you could only be thankful for the breeze that entered your home. The dry breeze is no doubt an indication of a coming storm but you didn’t care. Now that you were on the floor however, you could finally begin to cool off. You liked to think you were smarter than Tsu’tey (and he usually let you believe this wildly inaccurate statement) but you would accept he was smarter in this moment as he had the foresight to leave a small sliver of the tented flap open. Thankfully the breeze it let in had kept the floor cold despite the heavy haze of summer heat and arousal clinging to the air of your home. 

Your salvation is short-lived when his fingers dance across the braid of your kuru. He’s pushed the long terraces of your half loose hair above your head to expose your upper back and neck, and you’re sure you looked like a wildly unkempt beast out of the forest he spent his days in. He runs his hand down the braid to the fluffy end which makes you huff against the floor, balling your fist over your face. He tuts when your tail wraps around the hand that’s holding the now exposed nerves above you, keeping him from moving his hand (and in conjunction the exposed tswin tendrils) freely. 

“C’mon, do not start that,” 

He still has to be patient with you. You’re not ready for him to use you the way he wants yet. And he can see your wet clumpy eyelashes and it can’t help the pinch at his heart. He watches the tip of your tail tremble, but you don’t move quick enough for his liking. He hates to force your hand but you were so bullheaded that sometimes you just needed a nudge in the right direction. So he hunches forward over you, face meeting his hand to lay a soft kiss at the exposed nerves. 

You all but howl at this, and he watches your legs clench and tremble over his lap. His tail is wagging rhythmically behind him and had he not been torturing you already you’d have called him out for his lack of bodily control (and his tails assault against your already perfectly fluffed nice pillows). 

He had found success in his silent intentions however. You weren’t tense now at least. Finally enjoying the feeling of the tendrils grazing over his tongue, and you even sat well behaved in his lap while he untied the knot of your twang, letting the cold breeze finally touch your bare cunt. It only increased the hot ache between your legs, and added to the embarrassing drip from between your legs- but you couldn’t be bothered to focus too long on it because at least he was finally touching you in some way. 

“Nga yawne lu oer,” you cry to him as you feel a palm grip the pliant skin of your ass spreading you apart. 

Perhaps he’d think you were endearing and let you off of the hook like he often did. Yet with your tail wrapped around the hand holding your kuru up to his mouth there was nothing stopping him from staring down at your swollen pussy, and it only spurs him on more. He knows he’s being terribly mean to you but he also knows that you enjoy it. Despite your drawn back ears and furrowed brows your cheeks are still pulled up into a grin. 

He huffs at the sight and you can feel it shoot across your skull at the cool contact with your wildling flowing tendrils. It was a welcome distraction once his left hand rises and falls against your ass. You finally release your tails grip on his other hand, letting it fall limp against his torso. 

“I’m sorry. Please-“ you don’t even get to finish before there’s another sharp slap to your other cheek. It’s hard to feel any of the pain when he’s tongue fucking your nervous system however, and he knows this. 

“I know what you want, yawntutsyìp. You’ll get it when I am finished,” 

You try to focus on the wall of your home while his palm spanks down against you. Try to focus on the feeling of his dripping cock against your tummy in embarrassment while he mumbles something about how if you liked hitting people you could take it back. You couldn’t help but strain your eyes to glimpse at him. His stupid little smile while the tendrils of your tswin dance across the area surrounding his lips, desperately looking for his to connect to. You want to bite the stupid smirk off of his face for torturing you like this but the sight of his slightly cocked head and his hooded eyes trained directly on you invoke mercy in your tortured little heart. After a final stinging slap to your wet folds he becomes more interested in soothingly gripping your ass. You huff slightly each time he would trail his fingertips across your folds haphazardly, knowing that anything louder would have resulted in another smack. 

“Nga yawne lu oer,” he finally whispers back.

It’s silent enough that you can hear the strain in his voice. You never understood how he held such great equanimity in these situations- especially when you could hear the desperation in his voice- see it in his eyes. Though you’re wet, frustrated and becoming increasingly aware of the sting on the skin of your ass you could fall asleep with him right now. Comforted by the fact that someone had not only known you, but loved you so intensely. And with the way he was so softly caressing your folds you couldn’t help but feel soothed in his lap. At least that’s what you thought until he taps his fingers against your cunt again, the dull pop echoing in the silent room. 

“Tey,” you bark, eyes shooting open, jolting slightly, “you’re going to kill me,”

“Never,” he bends rather uncomfortably to kiss your spine, “C’mon paskalin, spin ‘round for me,” 

His hand did not leave your kuru, not since he had grabbed its end. You surprisingly have a fight left in you; enough at least to make a coquettish show of sitting up on your knees for him, and sitting yourself between his legs. You are finally faced with the state of your mate, and your tweng that he was now tossing away from your nest of linen and pillows neither of you had made when you left this morning. 

You can’t help but cringe at the state he has put you in- he’s still clothed and you’re naked, and you’ve left a mess on him despite barely being touched. How could you be so absolutely absorbed in him? You should have chosen someone less attractive. Or someone who didn’t kiss you as sweetly as he did, so sweetly that you can sit back on the heels of your feet and the warmth of your stinging bottom didn’t bother you. Instead your thumbs run over his handsome strong cheeks, grinning at him. 

“Are you alright?” 

You don’t get to answer because he spins you around forcing you to crane your body to continue looking at him. He sounds as sweet as he kisses you. He’s so sincere in his asking that the “Find out,” that falls from your lips sounds mean in comparison. It’s not your fault you’re snippy, to think he’s left you unconnected to him since the early hours of the morning is criminal. 

Tsu’tey is never forceful with you, he doesn’t need to use force. Eywa knows with his 9’2 form and dangerous muscles he could push you forward into an arch. Yet, Tsu’tey had a natural air of authority that left you winded. It didn’t matter how stubborn you felt, when he looked down at you and began guiding you gently with his hand that was it- with a fluttery stomach you would do it. 

He would love you even if you were the hissing spoiled monster you would pretend to be. But he can’t help the fact that he loves you the most when you behave for him. The pretty show you made of laying down for him and grant him the bliss of being face to face with your sloppy, pretty pussy was surely the best behaved you had been all day so he ought to tell you-

“That’s my good girl,” he finally connects your tswin to his with no warning. Finally the cool rush shoots up your skull, casting over your face in a tantalizing buzz. For a split second the air in your nose wasn’t yours, and the throbbing across your skin did not belong to you. 

He pulls your arch back by your tail, laying a chase kiss on your folds, the cruel overstimulation of an almost simultaneous assault on the most sensitive parts of your exhausted body. At least he’s merciful to not pick on you for the groan that escapes your lips. It’s almost unbecoming of you, guttural and feral. It’s quickly replaced with a squeal when he begins to lick up your folds. You can only press your cheek to his calf, and clutch your fingers around his leg while he assaults your cunt with his tongue.

“Fuck,” 

He learned the word from Jake, and said it entirely too much now. Practically mumbling curses as he shoves his face impossibly deep into you. If you didn’t feel moist and sticky before it’s only accumulating at an alarming pace now. Tsu’tey is sloppy with it, unlike everything he does Tsu’tey can’t keep that composer once he’s actually face to face with his pussy. He enjoys fucking his spit into you with the pointed end of his tongue until it twitches and you start to drip back out into his mouth. He can’t stop himself from angling your hips with one of his large hands, while the other hikes you up higher by the tail which gives him the luxury of wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking, wanting to swallow as much of the yovu sweetness of your cunt as you’d allow him to. 

You can’t say you feel bad for the mess you leave anymore, not when you can’t even bring yourself to moan about how good you feel. And your dazed heavy breathing wasn’t enough sound for Tsu’tey. You had made his day long, he was going to make your night longer. Unbearably long like the pointer and middle finger that slides into your silk folds with no resistance. He figured he could have used all three and you wouldn’t have complained too much, and now that he himself can feel the dull thud of his fingertips against the spongy wall of your cunt he wouldn’t stop. He moves so quickly, embarrassingly so as he can feel what you’re feeling, he knows how to ruin you and you can no longer hide your lack of resolve. 

“‘Tey I wanna cum,” 

Your voice is cracking as you huff out, biting into his calf whilst he speeds his intrusion up. What an embarrassing position. If anyone walked into the door of your home the first sight they’d be greeted with would be Tsu’tey sitting straight up against the walls that met the corner of your comfort ridden bed, legs lazily outspread caging you on your stomach, back arched right in front of his face while he watched your sloppy cunt take his fingers, often leaning down to lick, suck, and kiss wherever he can. 

“Ya?” He finally removes his mouth from you, still pistoling his two fingers at speeds you thought were sacrilegious, “You wanna cum on my face?” 

It’s embarrassing when you squeal, even more embarrassing when his third finger finally slides in. Between yanking you back by your tail onto his assaulting fingers, and the heavy panting of his breath fanning across your swollen lips you can’t help but orgasm. Hips jutting forward and ruining your rhythm. An act which should have annoyed him further, however, when his pretty lady is nice enough to squirt all over his face he can’t help the love sick moan that rips through his chest, 

“Ya that’s my baby, all you’re good for,” 

It leaves his mouth as his fingers start to slow down, you weren’t even holding yourself up anymore, chest pressed firmly into the floor while he held your hips in the air. Too busy breathing as your heart skips in your chest to hold your own body weight. There is still embarrassingly loud and slopping wet noises coming from you as his fingers had never stopped slowly finger fucking you. 

By the lack of any discernible sound around your expertly woven home you knew others had heard you at some point and decided to avoid the area around your home all together. You couldn’t give your mate anything in all of Pandora that could get him to care. 

You reach your soft hand between your legs to grab at his wrist, digging your nails into him and he can’t help the twitch of his cock at the sting. He sharply scissors the two fingers that now preoccupied themselves in slowly keeping you stretched open as he preoccupied himself with the sight of you. 

“Stop- stop looking- you’re embarrassing,”

“Ya you should be embarrassed, you should see the mess you have made,” 

You can hear the smile in his voice and you can’t stop the mewl that falls from your lips at the way he teases you. You don’t need to see the mess to know it’s there, the back of your legs are uncomfortably wet, and your leaking cunt is throbbing. You know he watched everything you had to show him greedily. That everytime you connect to him for the next week you’ll get the view of you squirting for him pushed to the front of your mind as if it was your own memory. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, only for him to lay a chaste kiss to you one more time, you can feel the smile on his face.

He knows neither of you mean this, it’s almost silly that you both put on this charade. He still thinks it’s cute you are at least still polite enough to apologize. It doesn’t save you from the quick grab of your leg and hip. It’s surprising how gently you land on your back, considering the speed he flips you over at. You don’t yelp because it hurts, but because it startles you. One second you were looking at the wall, the next you’re on your back, gazing up to meet the exhilarated eyes of Tsu’tey. And now that you can see him without straining your eye sockets you want nothing more than to cum again. 

You’re sprawled out on your back, and he is above you perched up on his knees now- looming over you as if he had just shot an arrow into you- as if he was your last shadow. You can’t help but clench around nothing, missing the stretch of his fingers so terribly at this moment. Fingers that are now untying the far thicker fabric of his tweng. Not that it’s hiding much of anything at this point. He’d grown past it, tip flushed indigo and leaking violently. It looks like he had probably came once already without you noticing, had he really made you that oblivious?

He falls forward on his hands once he’s done, and your eyes snap up to meet his. He lacks his usual authoritative aura in this moment, his pupils dopey and wide as his form engulfs you. If feral was an unbecoming look on you, Tsu’teys wide lovesick eyes was unbecoming for him. He’d lie and blame it on your neurolink- he’s only a love drunk fool this way- but he more often than not felt this way. You in some mystical way had bewitched him in his entirety. He doesn’t kiss you, opting to rub his face into the crook of your neck, to feel you. 

“You’re not sorry, this is what you wanted,” 

His smile is huge against you. You can feel his cut cheekbones rising as you try to peek between your forms. You don’t think you’d ever get used to seeing him above you. You can’t help but tense at the sight of him. He hates himself when your jolt of genuine panic shoots down his own spine and his cock twitches. After all of this time he still intimidated you. How could he not? At nine foot two, it was fair to assume Tsu’tey’s cock was nothing if not admirable. He had been a talking point amongst women on many occasions, you and your friends had surely spoken about the older boy before you had mated. You knew however that any girlish gossip had been an understatement. His ears twitch forward as his props himself back up slightly, 

“No answer for me, huh? Jus’ going to stare dumb at my cock?” 

He spoke too regally for the nasty words that fell out of his mouth. He’s quick to kiss the pouty lips you give him as your eyes slit and your brow furrows, you’re small “Shut up,” only fuel to edge him on. It’s cute; you’re already spent by him. You of all people don’t have a quip of an answer for him. You barely even complain when his right palm meets behind your knee, sliding your leg over his shoulder as he posture’s up on his knees slightly. You start to sit up on your elbows when you feel the dull- plap, plap, plap- of him smacking the tip of himself against your clit. You watch his body jolt along with you as he could feel how his intrusion made you feel and though the pleasurable stinging of the intrusion subdued you, it seemed to only spur Tsu’tey on more. 

Your body moves without you really thinking, trying to slide yourself backwards, further away from the man and the puddle you’ve been laying in. A desperate attempt to keep his hips away from yours. 

“Nuh- uh,” he’s quick to sush you, grabbing your fleshy hips and dragging your weeping cunt back towards him, “Why are you running away from your cock, huh?”

He’s rubbing himself between your folds, catching on your still swollen clit and relishing in the feeling of your muscles spasming. The liquid that escapes doesn’t bother you anymore, but you watch it begin to coat his lower stomach. Skin sticking uncomfortably. 

“It doesn’t fit,” you’re dramatic, and he’s sure to remind you. 

“It fits every time,” He finally snags the hole, and feels the coil of your stomach tighten in his own. So pleased with your reaction he can’t stop his moan. Finally what he’s wanted all fucking day.

“I’ll make it fit, shh, there you go yawntu,” 

He is large enough that he can sit on his knees, one hand next to your head, supporting his weight while he hunches over you. He could have been mean and made you suffer through a tight and slow stretch, or he could mess with you one final time. Could he really waste such a slick state? No. Not when his pretty pussy was begging for the weight of him. You all but scream at the quick trust of his full-lengthen intrusion, and he can’t help but whine at the feeling of finally being seethed inside of his mate, as well as enduring the delicious feelings you were. He was confident you didn’t even acknowledge the neurolink at this time, too busy stupid over how good he’s made you feel. 

“Tsu’tey,” and you're grasping at the bottom of his own stomach, pushing your palms into him as he slowly pulls out, pushing back in as far as your hands would allow him. 

There’s already a milky ring accumulating at his base and he’s barely moved. He does not thrust haphazardly, yet the control he possesses is finite. You can feel him bubbling on the edge of ferocity as the muscles of his lower stomach twitch under your fingertips. He is not a man that blushes often but the sight of your watery, wide, and ever so wondrous eyes has his neck and chest flushing deeply as well. You don’t think you’ve ever seen his ears so purple. 

“Oh fuck! Eywa!” The kick up of pace has you forgetting your previous adoration, too distracted with his face to notice he had propped himself up on the balls of his feet as to better his angle.

Though you couldn’t deny the ache in your cunt at the weight of his girth or the tightening of your stomach due to another impending orgasm it couldn’t be something you focused on. This wasn’t really painful. Pressure perhaps- but none of that mattered over the electrifying buzz that had begun to grow so intense that your lungs felt locked. 

Are you filthy for watching the assault on your cunt as he grabs your right thigh with a huff, forcing your leg to slot comfortably on his shoulder? Now that you had one leg hitched over his broad shoulders you both had an unimpeded view of his cock disappearing into you only to bulge the skin above your pelvis at the force of his obtrusion. Once he moves his weight off of his freed hand to meet your clitoris you can’t help but relax deeper into his thrusts. 

The spray of liquid that follows and shoots up covering your reddening chests enunciated the slapping sound echoing between your bodies. You weren’t even sure if you were cumming anymore or your overstimulated cunt was just releasing everything it could for him, 

“See baby. Always take care of you,” 

His face is rubbing against yours, as he reaches down to hold your tsaheylu. Running his thumb across where the two braids meet. He relishes in the feeling as one of your hands grab at his head, gripping the braids of his hair while he drilled into you. 

“Y-you’re so good. Tsu-“ You cut yourself off at his words in regards to running your own fingers over your abused clit-

“Did you ask to touch my pussy?” 

Though there’s a snarl in the voice of the man whose face is mushed up against yours his thrusts become more powerful. 

“Tsu’tey please- for Ewyas sake you’ve made your point,” the squeal is in your throat as you continue to rub- he never stopped you and you had never implored self control before, this is not the time to start. 

“Please, I want to cum on your cock so bad,” 

You finally look into his blown out eyes now. There’s barely any yellow to be seen. Just the messy appearance of your reflection in his huge pupils. You can feel something snap in him as you suddenly feel both of your legs get pinned down against your torso. It almost knocks the wind out of you, the feeling of being moved so suddenly. Folded in such a demanding way and then your guts getting drilled into by the man above you. Of course your hand doesn’t falter though- he had been treating you like a whore he should expect you to act like one. 

“Look how fucking wet you are,” He starts, it’s a dangerous whisper, “You’re gonna make another mess for Sempu?” 

It’s embarrassing. The fact that the only words to leave your mouth after his vulgarities are a very pretty “Oh Eywa,” followed by your doey eyes rolling into the back of your pretty head. Daddy. You had called him it before but something about his blown out eyes locked onto your own as if he can see nothing else but you, letting the title fall off his own swollen lips had you reeling, hips trying to jerk under his assault, hand jerking messy, tight, circles on your own clit. 

You don’t even know if you squirt this time, too busy alternating between clenching though your orgasm and pushing down, listening to his guttural moaning in your ear as he once again hunches down over you a little more. 

“Fuck, please ‘s too much. Sempu please, w-want you-” You don’t even know what you want. You’re too busy spasming on his cock. 

Praying maybe he’ll pop out for a second so you can catch your breath. Despite your newest orgasm Tsu’tey does not stop his assault. Only now more of his body weight falls into you. Using the momentum to drill deeper into you. It’s too much, your feelings on top of the tight painful pit in his stomach. He wants to cum so badly. 

“Let me cum in you,” it’s almost a beg, almost a plea to you. He needed to hear from you that you were satisfied. That he could breed you full and you’d finally be satisfied with all he does for you. 

You cup both of his cheeks in your now unused hands, and despite the ache in your contorted body you can’t help the wave of relaxation that teases you when you make eye contact, 

“Want your cum so bad, Sempu,” 

It’s embarrassing really. The way you two talk to each other like this. You would cringe at the idea of these words coming from anyone else, but you can’t help but be addicted to the sound of desperation that rises out of the both of you. 

“Fuck please breed me,” 

Though you’re choked up, at least you can speak. You are almost positive he’s brain dead when you feel his hips jerk up into you deeper then his previous thrusts. When he pushes you legs down further you’re shocked at the feeling of him grinding the head of his cock against what you could only assume was your cervix. He did not seem to care so much for your shock though, returning to sitting up more so he could watch the bulge of your stomach. 

“Ya fuck, my sweet girl,” the breathy pants against your face results in a tight clench of your lower stomach, yet with a whine you keep your legs open for him,

“Fuck baby- jus’ lay there and take it for me, there’s my good girl.” 

It’s not long before his thrusts go from a calculated assault on your g-spot to an erratic chase for his own high. It almost surprises you- the animalistic pace of his thrusts against you. The way he pulls himself nearly all the way out just to slam into you, forcing the slick skin of his pelvis to grind against your far too stimulated clit. It’s why you don’t feel bad for the hand that reaches up to wrap around the base of his kuru. You could have came when you feel the way his stomach tightens when you apply pressure to him. You feel the jolt the action sends through him- and you have never been more thankful (yet felt such disdain) to Eywa for tsaheylu. Eyes rolling into the back of your head at the mind thudding euphoria you felt. 

“Look at me. Baby look at me when Sempu cums in you,” 

He’s prettiest when he whines. Despite the honorific title there is little that defines Tsu’tey as the dominant one right now. Anyone could tell he was completely at the mercy of your slicken folds. He couldn’t even remember why he was mad at you by the time he had flooded you, using his large hands to pull the plush of your hips flush against him. Unable to control the need to be as deep as possible. 

He’s purring when he notices the way your eyes light up at the feeling of him overstuffing you with his cum. Loud rumbles that you can feel vibrate against you as he lets your legs finally drop and lays flat against the floor. 

“Are you okay, my love?” Your closing eyes are being kissed, as he travels to any exposed skin he can get to, while moving as little as possible.

“I win,” your eyes don’t even open as you mumble. Too busy caressing his sweaty back that was most likely torn up from the assault of your nails. All that there was left to do was breath and enjoy the warmth of laying safely under him. Proud of the turn of events. 

Now that you weren’t actively engaged in each other the humidity of the sex stained kelku wasn't enough to keep you warm. Not with the eclipse breeze creeping through the opened flap. 

You turn your head to see your mate, forehead pressed to the mat, eyes closed, catching his own breath- yet there’s a large cheshire grin on his exertion blushed face. 

“Ya whatever. I give you everything you could want, what mate would I be if my little love suffered one night without making a sloppy mess all over me,”

        His attempt at teasing makes you laugh, occupying yourself with kissing his cheek and lingering there a minute. Ignoring the way the fat of his cheek squished under your kiss. The bubbly,

“Ya, hopefully you gave me the baby I want this time,” would have broken the resolve of Ewyas most pious. 

The roll of his hips deeper into you in hopes to plug you full makes your toes curl. He can’t help but say a silent prayer to anything that would listen that you’d be round and full soon. Tsu’tey also can’t help the fact that the feeling of your tight walls twitching and fluttering against him make him throb with a whole new need. The assault of his rolling hips is unwavering. Both completely enchanted by the uncomfortable sting of over stimulation. He could cease his slow drawn out movements that reward his ears with the sloppy echo of his cum being fucked right up into your womb where it belonged. Tsu’tey could stop and clean you up and let you fall blissfully to sleep while he held you. 

Or he could make sure you don’t roll out from under him without a deserving prize in your womb.

[ffc1cb]

new art blog

the short version:

1. i made a new art blog: @cbge;

2. @ffc1cb will stay up as an archive.

the long version:

hi everyone. this announcement is somewhat late, since the blog in question has been up for a few months now, and i’ve already started posting art on it. the reason it took me so long to “reveal” it is because i’ve been trying to figure out whether a new blog is something i actually want, or if it's just me throwing darts at a board, trying to make myself feel better somehow.

i don’t know when precisely it all started, but ever since sometime last year i’ve been going through a hard time, both emotionally and creatively. i’m not sure whether being depressed is what made art harder, or art becoming harder is what made me depressed (a bit of both, i think), but lately, drawing has been a struggle. 

i’ve found myself having less and less energy for art, and this lack of energy resulted in poorer quality of drawings, which resulted in me feeling like i’m getting worse at it, despite my efforts. i knew i could make good art, art that i’m proud of - i’ve done so countless times before, - but somehow it felt like i just couldn’t anymore, like my hands forgot how to. nothing looked right. 

i’ve been trying to experiment. i’ve learned some new things, tried this and that - it was enlightening, to say the least, and even though i kind of liked how it looked, it made me feel a sense of displacement. i was at odds with myself, my art, and how i felt about it, when previously i was always in sync. i was making art, yes, and it looked nice, but it felt like it wasn’t mine.

i suppose part of it was also the growing lack of engagement, and i don’t mean likes and reblogs - i never particularly cared about those. they are all just numbers to me; dry and impersonal. what i’m talking about is actual, human interactions: personal thoughts in tags, asks, replies, etc. a conversation. 

i don’t mean to sound “old” or anything, but i remember when talking to artists online was more commonplace. my wife tells me it’s because the internet culture has changed over the years, that people have become more reclusive, less willing to be open with their thoughts, and she's probably right, but in my slump i find it hard to believe. somehow it feels like it’s my fault for being less “engaging”, for seeming unapproachable or perhaps intimidating. maybe it’s “just a skill issue”, maybe it’s because i have stopped churning out fanart for popular fandoms, maybe it’s because i refuse to torture myself emotionally by having an art account on twitter (i can’t fucking stand the place anymore; i still post nsfw art there, but only because it’s literally one of the only places on the internet that allows you to do so. i miss when you could post female presenting tits on tumblr).

i have always, ever since i started posting art on the internet back in 2012, done it for human connection. i wanted to talk to people, and have people talk to me. i wanted to inspire people with my art, and i wanted to bring them comfort. i wanted to elicit an emotional response, and have people tell me about it. it was one of the main reasons i drew in the first place; having lost that, i’ve been struggling to stay passionate about making art.

i miss being a small artist on the internet during the 2010s. i remember when i could make a post going, “hey everyone, how are you all doing today?” and it would not seem weird to people in the slightest. it is just me? does anyone else feel that way? am i too deep in my own head? the internet feels so unwelcoming nowadays, especially to artists. we are all just content machines; people scroll by our stuff, or maybe look at it for half a second and leave a like before scrolling away. i know it’s unfair to demand people’s attention, especially now when our lives are already so overwhelmed by everything - no one has the energy to pay closer attention; i myself am not immune to mindless scrolling. but it feels bad. i wish we were all sincere and enthusiastic again.

anyway (sorry for rambling. i hope i haven’t bored you to death), you might want to say, okay, but how is making a new art blog on a “dying” social platform going to help with any of that? the truth is, i don’t know. i just felt like i needed a change. 

i’ve been running this blog since 2016 (that’s almost 8 full years!). i feel incredibly attached to it, but at the same time, i feel it weighing me down. 

there are people who followed me years ago for one specific thing, still expecting me to post about said thing (i still find it mindboggling that some people follow artists for a specific fandom only, but that is a whole other matter for a whole other post that i will never write). a third, if not half, of my following are probably dead blogs. and with my current struggle with trying to regain the joy i once felt for making art, looking back at all the art i’ve done over the years makes me feel tired. i still love it all; it’s all very dear to me. i’m proud of it; looking at it makes me mourn my younger and more passionate self.

so i’ve decided to make a new blog, where i will let myself post whatever i want, in whatever stage of donness i feel like. maybe it will help me, somehow. maybe it won’t. but if you care about my art, if you want to keep following me on my artistic journey, i welcome you to join me there. similarly, feel free not to - no hard feelings.

thank you everyone for your support over the years; it matters a lot to me. i’m not planning to delete or private this blog; it will stay up, and i will still be reachable on here. i will still answer asks, if there will be any. i’m just not planning to post any art here anymore. this is it for my dear old friend ffc1cb.

i can be found in other places:

@cbge, as mentioned earlier,

@k0nstanta, an art blog dedicated solely to my wife and i’s ocs,

@inquisimail, a dragon age ask blog that has become my dragon age sideblog in general,

and multiple other blogs, none of which are art related, but feel free to ask, if you’re curious.

thank you very much for reading all of this. i hope you have a wonderful day.

[rnelodyy]

I cannot get over how Obsessed Belos is with Caleb. It’s SO wild, and the deeper you dig the sadder and more disturbing it becomes.

Like,,, Caleb was literally all he had growing up. Their parents were gone, they were (presumably) homeless, they were two street rats trying their best to make it on their own. Caleb was the older sibling, so the weight of caring for Philip fell on his shoulders, even though he was just a kid himself.

And considering the motif of coping through stories (Luz finding comfort in Azura after her dad’s death, Hunter finding comfort in Cosmic Frontier while trying to cope with the fact that he’s a clone), I wouldn’t be surprised if Caleb tried to do something similar for Philip. From Belos’s memories, we can see they used to play pretend a LOT. It’s a lot less scary for a young child if they believe they’re going on wild and wacky adventures than to know the truth – that they’re homeless orphans, moving into a community that regularly hangs people for witchcraft, with Caleb having to do hard labor to afford food and housing and sending his brother to school, while having to sacrifice his own education and skip meals so Philip doesn’t need to go hungry.

Caleb used stories to shield Philip from the worst of their life, which blinded Philip to just how bad his brother was suffering. To Philip, life in Gravesfield was good, but it was only good because of how much Caleb was sacrificing for him.

So when Caleb met Evelyn, of course he took the chance to escape his shitty life. It may have even been a situation like Luz, where he only expected to be gone for a short time, and either returned to find Philip gone, or ended up being trapped on the Isles for longer than he’d anticipated.

Philip, meanwhile, is fucking Losing It. Caleb was his whole world, and now he's just gone, spirited away by an evil witch just like those stories they’d been playing out their whole lives. It may even be a situation like King, where Caleb knew he wasn’t being truthful with the witch hunter stories, but Philip genuinely believed them all.

So Philip goes into the Demon Realm, determined to rescue his brother. He’s practiced this, he’s trained for this, he just needs to find Caleb, save him from whatever tortures that witch has been inflicting on him, open up a portal back to Gravesfield, and everything will go back to normal. So he travels, he meets witches, he kills them, he either gets cursed or discovers that eating Palismen gives him funny powers, so he keeps doing that.

And then, after years of searching, he finds Caleb. Not chained up in a dungeon, or turned into a frog, or a shambling husk of his former self, but free. Happier and healthier than Philip has ever seen him. 

Philip tries to grab Caleb and leave with him, but Caleb refuses. The witch who lured him away is his wife now. He’s got a house and a job and a kid on the way. He’s got a Palisman, this stupid fucking red bird that follows him everywhere. Caleb’s good here. He’s not leaving.

And I think Philip just fucking loses it at that point. What do you MEAN you’re not leaving?! We were adventurers! We were gonna be witch hunters together! We were going to do everything together! Did she do something to you? Did you just hate me that much? 

Caleb tries to de-escalate, but eventually loses his temper himself. We weren’t adventurers, we were street rats! I was working so YOU could go to school, I was starving myself so YOU wouldn’t have to, I sacrificed EVERYTHING so you’d have a chance at life! You’re old enough to handle yourself now, it’s time to grow up and let me live my own life!

Phil’s not having it. There’s a fight, someone draws a knife, and… we all know how that one ends.

Fast-forward a bit. Philip, now alone and stranded on the Isles, has latched onto the stories he and Caleb used to play pretend with. He’s going to make them come true. He’s going to kill every witch in one fell swoop, become Witch Hunter General, and he’s going to do all of it with his brother by his side.

So he asks for the Collector’s help, and together, they make a Grimwalker.

Philip decides that this is his chance. He can raise this new Caleb properly, make sure that his brother isn’t swayed by the evils of witchcraft again. The new Caleb doesn’t look exactly the same but it’s fine. Having him back is good enough.

And then the new Caleb betrays him too.

Maybe he befriended some witches, maybe he tried to learn magic, maybe he had some reservations about the whole genocide plan. Either way, this Caleb has gone the same way as the first. 

So Philip kills him, and starts over with a new Grimwalker. This time he’s gonna get it right. This Caleb is gonna be the one.

But he’s not. He betrays Philip again. So Philip starts over again, tightening the leash this time. New-new-new Caleb can’t leave his sight, isn’t allowed to talk to people without Philip there, because it’s dangerous. But strict parents make sneaky children, and Philip catches new-new-new Caleb making out with a secret witch partner behind his back.

Philip realizes he needs to change his approach. Caleb isn’t listening to him? Well, he’ll make him listen. He makes the next one younger, establishes himself as an authority figure (dad feels too personal, so uncle it is), and makes himself the focal point of this new Caleb’s life. Continuing to call him Caleb feels weird, especially since there’s such a significant age difference between them now, so he gives this one a new name.

They’re going to be witch hunters, so he names the new one Hunter. It’s hilarious when you think about it.

And so the cycle continues. Hunter is born, grows up, rebels, and is killed. Over and over and over again. Philip grows numb to it at this point – he’s already killed dozens of them, and he doesn’t see them as individuals anyway. To him, it’s like a game, resetting and starting over from the last checkpoint to really, really get everything right this time.

He adopts his new identity as Belos, and lets Hunter believe it too. He preaches to towns, pulls more and more power towards himself, with Hunter by his side, his Golden Guard, the most perfect version of Caleb he can make.

They keep betraying him though, so with each iteration, the leash gets tighter. The Hunters become more and more isolated, Belos’s power over them greater and greater. Step out of line and be beaten, show disrespect and be verbally abused, betray him (which can be anything from actively trying to stop his plans to making a friend he didn’t approve of) and be killed, replaced with another Grimwalker.

Belos becomes Emperor of the Isles, and his Grimwalkers become his right hand men, answering only to him. Caleb by his side, just like he’d always wanted. Never mind that the Grimwalkers are nothing like Caleb now – they’re submissive, desperate for affection and attention. They’re afraid of Belos, but cling to him all the same, because he’s all they have. He’s made sure of that.

A few years before the Day of Unity, the culmination of his life's work, Hunter betrays him again. Belos got too lenient, allowed him to take on a student, and now he’s got all sorts of weird ideas in his head again. So he starts over, and this time, he makes sure that Hunter will stay pure and obedient until the Day of Unity.

No contact with the other scouts. No scroll, no crystal ball, no leaving the castle unless it’s for a mission. Keep the number of missions to a minimum, make him associate getting missions with good behavior. Monitor his training, monitor what he studies, keep him safe under lock and key. Make him desperate to please, never quite give him what he needs so he keeps clinging to you for more.

And it works. For a while. At least, until literally a week before the Day of Unity, Hunter shows up in Philip’s mind. And I mean, Philip doesn’t necessarily want to ruin this one, but he’s always liked testing loyalty. He can make another Grimwalker after the Day of Unity if this one fails.

And fail Hunter does, except… he doesn’t die. He escapes. Goes on the run.

Philip tries to get him back, sends out search parties and everything, but Hunter doesn’t turn up, and he’s got other priorities now. It’s fine, Hunter’s got a sigil. He’ll die during the Day of Unity anyway.

And then he fucking shows up to stop him! Him, a gaggle of witch kids, and Luz the Human, and they nearly fight Philip to a standstill! They nearly get the better of him! Philip tries to guilt trip Hunter back to his side – surely he doesn’t want to hurt his beloved uncle – but then what does he see? That Fucking Bird. Caleb’s bird. This one’s DEFINITELY gone too far now, murder mode it is.

But then oops, the Collector gets freed, Philip gets splattered against a wall, and the Draining Spell ends. 

However, Phil’s not dead, somehow. He manages to shift his consciousness to one glob of goop that lands on Hunter, and rides along to the human realm, determined to salvage the dumpster fire this whole thing has become.

He gains back strength, spies on the kids, watches as Hunter does boring child stuff that’s absolutely nothing like how Caleb acted, until… Hunter finds a bit of his goop, and like a dumbass, sticks his finger into it. And Philip, who by now has gotten the hang of this whole Venom-stuff, crawls inside a wound, and into Hunter’s bloodstream.

And as he grows in strength, he realizes. This is it. This is the culmination of everything. Hunter isn’t Caleb, but dammit, he’s close enough. Philip can save him now, save him from these witches who have been a terrible influence on him, he can finally, finally complete his great work, with his brother by his side.

So when he gets strong enough, he takes over. Consumes whatever energy Hunter had stored in fat cells and his magic heart and uses it to power himself, growing himself throughout the kid’s whole body. Taking him over. 

He’s finally united with Caleb again, he can finally finish what he started. Never mind that Hunter doesn’t want this. Never mind that Hunter fucking hates him for what he did. Never mind that Hunter isn’t Caleb, never mind that Caleb would never, ever have wanted this, never mind that Philip is now the corrupting force, it does. Not. Matter. 

And then “Caleb” betrays him again. Because of fucking course he does. Philip literally fucking invaded his body like a parasite and made him kill his own Palisman with his bare hands, and he expected Hunter to just fucking lie down and take it? To let him do whatever? He robbed Hunter of his childhood, of his autonomy, of his personhood, and he expected the kid to not just accept it, but be grateful for it?

Well... Yeah. That’s how far gone he is. That’s how far removed from reality Philip has become. “Caleb” isn’t even a person to him anymore, “Caleb” is some kind of personification of his childhood nostalgia that he keeps trying to bring back into the flesh. And it’s not gonna work, because nobody could ever fill that role. Even the original Caleb wouldn’t be able to fill that role – in fact, that’s why Philip stuck a knife in his chest in the first place!

He’s lost EVERYTHING. He’s killed his own brother, he’s reduced himself to a parasitic goop monster that’s no longer living yet unable to die, the plan he’s spent 400 years working on blew up in his face, the realm he spent so long fighting for has moved on without him, and his latest attempt to create a new Caleb to comfort him not only rejected him, but actively despises him now. No fucking wonder he’s gone even more batshit insane.

I don’t know where the story is gonna go from here. Philip is still obviously trying to carry out his genocide, and Hunter is on the fucking war path now, so I have zero doubt that there’s going to be some sort of clash between those two. Hunter now also presumably has access to Flapjack’s memories, so him gaining memories of Caleb is also not out of the question. 

Either way, Philip’s just gonna become Even More Not Normal about his brother, and I for one cannot wait.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Weaponize anything

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)  

Alien: Is that a sword on your back? Human: Why yes it is. Alien: How stupid are you? Alien: We have literal laser guns, and you think a sword will stop us? Human: Normally no. Human: But that was until we put lasers on these as well. Alien: Wait, what? Human: *Rushes alien with space laser sword* ----------------------

Alien: What is that lump of metal in your hand? Human: A weapon. Alien: What kind of weapon? Human: Sonic. Alien: You use sound as a weapon? Human: And a torture device some times. Alien: What? Human: Trust me. Human: If I play the baby shark song fifty times you’ll be begging me for death. ------------------------- Alien: Do I even want to know? Human: Lightning cannon. Human: It shoots random streaks of concentrated electricity in the direction you point it in. Alien: Wouldn’t that make it highly inaccurate? Human: When you fire a weapon this cool does it really matter if you hit what you want? Alien: Yes. Alien: Yes it does. ----------------------------

Human: Want to see my magnet gun? Alien: What could possibly be deadly about a magnet? Human: *Points it at random nearby alien and fires it.* *Target alien begins convulsing violently as all the microscopic metal fragments in their body are ripped out and pool together in a ball of gore* Human: I like to call it the “Therapy Gun” myself, because once you use it you just know you’re going to need some serious treatments to get over these mental scars. ---------------------------

Alien: Did your sword just twitch? Human: Huh? Oh yeah. Human: *Pulls out sword* Human: I made this by forging sentient metal into a blade. Alien: Sentient metal? Human: We ran into these rock like aliens a while ago and one of them was made literally of metal. Human: So I used a shard of them to forge this blade. Alien: Is it also sentient? Human: Not sure. Human: Although when I hold it I can hear a voice in my head telling me to kill everyone. Alien: I think you’ve had enough fun with the magic death sword. ------------------ Alien: Please stop inventing weapons. Human: But we just made time altering ammunition. Alien: Oh gods. Human: By using some unstable particles, when you get hit by these it’ll reverse age you backwards by a random amount. Human: One second you’ll be fighting a thousand year old matriarch and the next you’ll be watching a child break their collarbone when the weapon recoil damn near takes their arm off. Alien: I’m not even surprised at this point…. Human: Really? Guess we aren’t trying hard enough. Alien: Wait, NO! --------------- Alien: Our weapons are useless! Alien: We fire at those ghostly beings but our bullets just pass right through them! Human: Use these. *Tosses custom made weapon* Human: They fire concentrated energy beams at randomized frequencies, meaning that the entities won’t have time to alter their bodies fast enough to allow the projectiles through them without causing damage. Alien: Why do you have these on hand? Human: You’d be surprised how often we’ve had to kill ghosts on our home planet the same way. Alien: Your people have killed….ghosts? Human: Well, some people wanted to humanly capture and release them so we had to do that for a while. Human: They had a catchy theme song and logo. -------------------- Human: Fire in the hole! *Chucks grenade* Aliens: *Braces for explosion* *No explosion* Alien: What kind of grenade was that? Human: Pheromone grenade. Alien: What do those do? *Hears loud screaming coming from enemy and alien looks up* *Enemy are covered in swarming insects that are slowly devouring them* Human: Mostly provide nightmare fuel or a crazy weekend in vegas depending on the strain. -------------------------- Alien: I see the enemy are very afraid of that new cannon you brought. Alien: What does it fire exactly? Human: *Shrugs* Depleted uranium canisters mostly. Alien: What in florps name!?! Human: I know, right? Human: Either the sheer kinetic force will kill them, or the still radioactive shrapnel that’ll cover them after these canisters burst against their target. Alien: Are you not concerned about the horrific environmental damage you are doing? Human crew: *Looks at each other and shrugs* Human: It’s not our planet.

[karshown]

❧ REPEATED -- FORGET ME NOT

➻Summary ' after messing around with Satoru Gojo for a while, he was originally supposed to be nothing but someone meant for your enjoyment & entertainment. You were the one that established that with him, he was of course fine with the whole idea since he wasnt looking forward to a nagging girlfriend regardless. Until the end of whatever you two had was over, you gained feelings and began to treat you guys as messing with each other as something more than it truly was, which it wasn't, he noticed it too. Which was his cue to dip & leave, he more than likely got the last laugh & the last bit of enjoyment, it wasnt till after that you realized you were pregnant with a literal human copy of Satoru. Down to his very eyes.

______________ hoping to never meet him again especially because of how embarrassing of the way things ended, you practically became a whole different person without Satoru, it wasnt until 4 years ago that you stepped out of your shell once more. Until you had to go grab small things for your baby, his fourth birthday was coming up rather quickly than expected & you began to prepare for his small gathering party.

-The day of the party wasn't supposed to go the way it did, everyone knew the history you two had, so how and why was his smell lingering in the atmosphere, more importantly why was HE here?!

ALL CHARACTERS ARE ABOVE LEGAL AGE

-- SATORU lazily sat back into the cushion beneath him, nonchalantly blinking and staring at the woman in front of him whom he clearly had NO genuine feelings towards. Eventually he stopped paying attention to her going on and on about the same thing, it felt like an everyday argument that they had, but they had both known that they were nothing but barely a situation. It was quite obvious that Satoru didn't care at all about having a relationship with her & most definitely wanted nothing more to do with her, all she was good for and all he wanted was HER BODY.

Her curves & the way her hips swayed what was really intriguing to him, what he really wanted and desired of course he wouldn't tell her that directly, but he definitely said it indirectly only sparing her feelings here and there. He was so blunt about how he felt so there was no actual way that she was so fucking oblivious. The smell of the paints in the art room and the constant repetition of sentences that she kept spitting out drove Satoru to the final breaking point, it was all or never.

"Look I can't keep torturing myself like this, its stressing me out honestly lets just end it." Satoru blurted out unexpectedly, he clearly didn't mean to as he went stiff after saying that. Sooner than later he thanked himself, silently patting himself on the back, the weight of his chest lifted the second he finally told her how he felt.

The room went dead silent, a moment of realization hit her, the look on her face was truly priceless enough to make cold hearted Satoru let out a giggle.. maybe even a loud laugh. Anything that doesnt have to do with him he doesnt bother to even stress himself to care. He continued to relax & even get more comfortable as he sat on the soft cushion a smirk soon replaced his blank expression.

He began to tap his foot as he assumed their one-sided argument and situationship was officially over as soon as she began to tear up. She had nothing else to say to him, all she could do was simply stare, so deep into thought that she hadn't realized that he was leaving the room. Just stunned. The moment the door slid shut after Satoru left was when she snapped back into reality by the loud tap of the side of the door and the wall connecting.

After that, things were awkward.

_____ ONE WEEK AFTER .

"Don't bother inviting Y/N, shes liable to not even show like usual." Suguru commented on the list of people that were intially invited to a large graduation party that Satoru was hosting. The job of handling the invite list was given to Mei mei to control, she shrugged as she glided her eraser across the white sheet of paper a few times, which was completely covered with almost all of the names of students that attended the school.

Y/N didn't bother to make any associates after what had happened a week ago, she was quickly changed from someone who was loud and bubbly, never really sad to someone who became a background character. All she did was shrug, stare, and that was pretty much it. No one cared to talk to her nor did she care to ask for anyones number, she was a complete nobody.

❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦

"Satoru can go to hellllll!!!" Nobara at least goes on about how dirty I was done by Satoru almost every week, its like a daily unnecessary reminder of how embarrassed I was. The first time I brought up what happened between me and him she was nothing but furious, but soon enough it turned into laughs and giggles by both of us.

"Mmm s-satoru can go to he-" Juno quickly tried to repeat what Nobara had said, thankfully I cut him off with a swift motion of my hand.

"LOOK AT YOU, influencing Juno to follow after your bad decisions!" I soon gripped my temple & sucked my teeth, as it felt like I was taking care of two different babies. Juno soon began to lick my hand as I jerked my hand bac Nobara quickly jumped to her own defense.

"Hes a mini me, you just popped him out of ya big pompom!!" I crossed my arms in disbelief as Juno was unfazed by Nobaras choice of words. "Stop with your disgusting choice of words, I cant have my precious baby being flooded with such nonsense!" I rolled my eyes as I scooped Juno up into my arms gently, Nobara clearly ignored what I said as she swung the freezer door open, soon grabbing a new tub of strawberry ice cream to munch on.

"We literally have to begin setting up immediately, this party has to go ACCORDING to plan, no mistakes." I quickly darted an eye at Nobara since shes used to making slight mistakes, although she always covers it up, we cannot afford any mistakes & HEAVY on cannot AFFORD.

"Le calls Yujo" Nobara continued to stuff her face with strawberry ice cream as I tried to make out what she was saying. She soon swallowed the left over ice cream as she shivered from the sudden cold sensation. I plastered a look of confusion on my face as I waited for her to adjust.

"Ugh don't act like you couldnt tell what I was saying, lets call YUJIII!!" She ran to her phone as if that wasnt odd enough she began to dance like a complete idiot. Juno started to push and pull as he tried to free himself from my grasp, I let him go and immediately he ran over to Nobara and they had their own dancing session.

Nobara laughed as Juno mimicked her every move, She found Yujis contact as she facetimed him & bent down to entertain Juno with her weird hand gestures that shes been teaching him since he was one. Yuji answered the phone after two tries since hes a dnd warrior, & surprisingly enough he was with Megumi, even though all of us assumed that Megumi would end up never leaving his house or daring to step out.

"YUJIIIIII!!!" Nobara happily grinned as Yuji showed Megumi and him walking around, then directed the camera back to himself. "NOBARAAAAAA" Yuji returned the same energy back as Meguim rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"Come over to help us decorate, hmm!!" the second that Nobara said that the doorbell started to ring frantically. "ill get it." I already knew it was Yuji by checking the ring camera outside. He likes to stick his eye all up in the camera while Megumi just stands on the side as usual. Gosh they're complete opposites.

Of course Juno had to run over to the door, as soon as I unlocked the door and let Yuji as well as Megumi in, Juno made his presence known by greeting them both with his beautiful singing. "Megumiiii you are my favorite, Yujiiii I dont hate youuuuu," his strange choice of words made the song even more cuter, as those were some of the words he'd been recently taught. Yuji being yuji, he felt obviously hurt by Junos words as he was not his favorite, Yujis acting skills were to the tea as he began to fake like he was genuinely hurt by Juno. Yuji made a mess along the floors as he stepped into the house dragging the snow and dirt beneath his shoes. Megumi did different, instead he swiped each foot back and forth on the front door mat.

"Juno how could you!!" Yuji said as he fell to his knees onto the soft grey rug that Juno awkwardly stood on, Juno then copied Yuji as he fell to his knees as well. Megumi simply greeted Juno back by ruffling his few strands of grey hairs & white short, wavy locks as Juno smiled and giggled. Juno repeated the action on to Yuji instead, as he ran his small chubby fingers through Yujis short, wavy bright pink hair. Genuinely fascinated by his hair Juno began to aggressively grab at it, as he examined the deep features. Yuji allowed him to do so as he too examined some of Junos features, first his bright ocean blue eyes then, his newest onesie that showcased blue and white stripes on it, with a small white hood, but if the hood was actually on Junos head, it would cover up his eyes almost completely.

"Juno don't be too rough." I lightly scolded him as Yuji shooed me away with a hand gesture signaling that it was okay, I made my way back into the kitchen where Nobara was almost finished with the strawberry ice cream.

"Don't get too comfortable, WE HAVE TO DECORATE!!!" Nobara shouted as she seemed more excited than anyone to decorate, I would understand why, she loves decorating especially since its something shes truly good at. Everyone loves when Nobara decorates.

A few moments passed & before we even noticed it, Nobara had already gotten to decorating. I turned on music & started to actually help Nobara cautiously making sure to not get in her way just so she didnt try to physically ATTACK me.

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

The house was covered, almost everything had something laid on it, taped on it, or worse, glued on it.

Yuji sat back as he continued to drink more and more of the little bit of water bottles that I had left in the fridge, the most that he even accomplished was putting up the "Happy birthday Juno!" sign, & only that took every bit of strength and life he had left in him.

"We did pretty good" Megumi said as he placed his hands on his hips, admiring all of the work we'd done.

"You mean, I did pretty good." Nobara commenting on megumis previous statement as she had to take all of the praise or it wouldn't feel right, she wouldn't be okay with it. Megumi scoffed and rolled his eyes as Nobara continued to speak highly of her achievement.

"You two anger me sometimes," just then after saying that ONE thing I was shot two evil glares by both Megumi and Nobara at the same exact time.

"Whatever."

"Blame Megumi."

---------------------------- THE DAY OF.

December 8th, a day after Satoru Gojos birthday.

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

I finished everything before the exact time that all of the guests arrived, yesterday it had snowed like it usually does, every year. I set small gift bags on some of the tables for the other kids that would be arriving anytime now, Nobara finally made her grand entrance as she made her way down the stairs with her short orange hair in a slick high bun, with little hairs peeking out onto her forehead.

She decided on wearing a dress to match my bodysuit, we both wore a tight black outfit. Both having snug tight long sleeves.

"You look GORGEOUS!" Nobara squealed as almost as if she was a fangirl, a fan of me.

"YOU TOO OMGG!!" I returned the same genuine energy back as we jumped up and down like two high schooler girls just seeing each other once again after a long break. Nobara treated me as if i was her girlfriend, thats probably why I never bothered to find another after Satoru.

"Wait everyone will be here soon!" Nobara excitedly clapped as I dreaded the thought slightly, I wasn't too fond of more than a few people at a time, i'll manage though since originally this is what Juno begged for, even shedded a few small tears for.

Seconds passed before we heard various versions of knocks, before we knew it the front door swung open with more people than I imagined once they had realized that the door was unlocked. Everyone was lined up with a gift after another, only few of them with a mini version of themselves to attend with them though.

The kids quickly made themselves comfortable in the living room as they awaited for Junos arrival, he'd been taking his precious time in his room upstairs.

"Nobara i'll be back, i'm going to go check on Juno!" I shouted to Nobara as she raised the volume of the music, the adults all gathered around the kitchen, beginning to laugh and make various conversations and comments. I took that time to make my way to Junos room, wondering what was truly going on.

I stood in front of Junos door for a little before twisting the doorknob and peeking in.

"Juno.?" I called out.

"Yes mommy." his small voice replied as I pushed my way in gently, I slowly pushed my weight onto the door as it shut closed, my attention darted to Junos small frame sitting on his bed as he fidgeted with his tiny fingers, kicking his legs back and forth slightly as they hit the bed frame here and there.

"Whats wrong, baby?" I asked with deep concern in my voice, I sat next to him as the bed dipped.

"Are you scared?" Juno quickly turned his head away signaling that I was right, I sighed with slight relief at least it wasn't too major.

"Are you scared of the people downstairs or is it something deeper?" I cupped his small face in my hand as I massaged his chubby cheek with my thumb.

"What if they don't like me." I almost chuckled, who wouldn't like Juno, not even like, love. Juno's fun, and truthfully a perfect kid.

"Im sure they'd love you, baby!" a smile replaced the half frown on Junos face as his eyes lit up with excitement instead of worry.

"Want me to carry you down?"

"Noo mommy" Juno happily said as I stood up, he soon slid off his bed, I lightly fixed his shirt after as I examined his outfit to make sure it was neat, his favorite character was Leonardo from 'Teenage mutant Ninja Turtles', which ironically was one of the closest characters to his father, which was also the theme of the party aswell as the entire theme of his outfit, down to his very shoes.

I heard my name being called by Nobara loudly, before I made my way out of Junos room I signaled him to follow.

"Lets head downstairs, aunt Nobara is calling," I then made my way out of Junos room, and I hardly paid attention to what she was calling me for as I was more so focused on Juno, once I made it to the last step on the stairs I noticed a familiar smell.

Only a smell that Satoru had, his own personal smell lingered in my house for the first time. I felt disgusted, I turned my head and I was met with the man I swore up and down that I would never meet again.

There he was, standing in front of me with a black t shirt on, black sweats, black socks, at this point black everything! even his damn nike slides. Nobara took this as a chance to grab Juno as she seen my expression, blank to anger, within seconds.

I felt my stomach churning, I wanted to bomit right then and there. He naturally smirked at me, like this was okay.? Juno was obviously confused, on the fact that a random man showed up looking exactly like him & not just that, also how his own mother knew the man.

Everyone was too busy to pay attention to the tension between me and the man that stood before me, without another thought I grabbed his hand and as aggravated as I was, I wasn't going to make a scene at my sons party. I unlocked the backdoor to the large grassy field behind the house, then slid the thick tinted door closed.

"Why are you here." I yanked my hand back from Satoru as he sighed & crossed his arms over his toned chest.

"To see my son, & his mother that claims to hate me so bad, although we both know you've missed me." I scoffed, was this man serious? like dead serious or is he playing me in my face?

"Are you being completely fucking serious or?"

"Im being so serious."

"I can't, I hate you so bad." It was clear that Satoru was barely paying attention to my words, not in as much as a bad way but not necessarily in a good way.

"Why'd you hide him so long?" Satoru asked as if he didn't just literally spit bs.

"I had no way of contacting you, thats for one, then two does it not process in your head that I quite literally despise your entire existence? I don't want my, I mean our child to turn out like his piece of shit father." I blurted out, regretting some of the things I said but they had to be said, especially since I had been holding this back since forever.

"I want to apologize, I started this entire conversation off wrong, even this entire thing of meeting you again. We left off on bad terms because of me." Satoru genuinely said, this time with no sarcasm or anything. Almost as if he actually meant what he was saying? his usual smirk was replaced with a small frown as his hand rested along the nape of his neck, he refused eye contact with me as he directed his attention to the long grass.

Something in me encouraged me to leap into his arms and forgive him immediately, another part of me wanted to laugh in his face, as if he would never get a "i forgive you" out of me, ever.

"Give me a hug." I lowly sighed as I felt almost, bad for him. Without hesitation Satoru hurried to my grasp, picking me up in an instant as my legs swung around his waist, this wasn't anything more than a hug. He wanted it to be, I wasn't ready for bigger things than just this, even though I wrapped my arms around his neck, his large, rough hands snaked around my thighs and down to cup my butt in both hands.

"I honestly missed you, i apologize for me being childish, I mean more childish than I am now." Satoru whispered into my ear but in all honesty I missed him as well, I didn't allow myself to get close with any other man in a way that was more than a friendship because of how scarred I was by Satoru, this felt like closure.

Something i've been wanting, no needing.

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

[sgiandubh]

OK, I got it : Telegraph shitshow, anyone?

Oh, what the hell. I had no patience and couldn't picture myself fidgeting in a dull supermarket and ending up by forgetting half of the things on my list.

So, here it is, all of it.

Proof of buying:

Yeah, "between Outlander's seasons nine and 10'. See how accurate the girl who wrote it is? How about a cobbled something to address the real issues at stake, of which there are three (more on this, in my next post)?

LOL? LOL.

Anyway, there goes. Passages in bold are marked by me:

If anyone knows a thing or two about sex scenes, it’s Sam Heughan. Over the past decade, the 43-year-old Scottish star of Outlander, the cult-hit historical drama, has filmed hours of notoriously raunchy footage in his role as Jamie Fraser, the dashing 18th-­century Highland rebel, with his wife, Claire – a time-traveller from the 20th century, played by ­Caitríona Balfe.

Yet two years ago, Heughan, as one of the executive producers (with Balfe), introduced an intimacy co-ordinator to choreograph such scenes, which had been criticised by many as excessively violent.

“The industry’s completely changed since Outlander started,” Heughan says, sitting in a Soho bar on a visit to London from his home outside Glasgow. “Not just our show but also shows like Game of Thrones were very graphic, with no room for the imagination, in a way that’s quite jarring now. As young, keen actors, we were just expected to get naked and go at it. Caitríona and I formed a bond and trusted each other, but there were times when we were pushed too far.” He was especially troubled by a scene involving full-frontal nudity in ­season one, when Jamie was tortured and raped by his rival, Black Jack Randall (Tobias Menzies). “That really didn’t sit well.”

Everything changed following the MeToo scandal, leading ­Heughan to employ Vanessa Coffey to choreograph the sex scenes. “So now everyone knows what the boundaries are, like in a football or rugby match. It’s been so helpful and freeing, and it was because I didn’t want younger actors to go through what we’d gone through. Now, the scenes are sexually charged, but not gratuitous.”

Despite his heartthrob status, Heughan – who’s 6ft 2in, with the strapping physique his role necess­i­tates – is modest and thoughtful company. He also had Coffey enlisted to co-ordinate his latest pro­ject, Channel 4’s erotic thriller The Couple Next Door, filmed during the short break between Outlander’s seasons nine and 10, in which he plays Danny, a policeman living in a Leeds suburb in an open marriage with Becka (Jessica De Gouw).

“We didn’t want to make a salacious or seedy show about swingers,” Heughan says. “It’s about the psychology behind it – what is it to be in an open relationship where two characters love each other so much that they can invite people into that relationship? I think it’s possibly the greatest form of romance to allow your partner this, if it’s the itch they need to scratch. My character struggles with it.”

The couple’s (initially) strait-laced neighbours are played by Alfred Enoch and Eleanor Tom­linson, who in 2019 finished five seasons as Demelza in Poldark. With Outlander about to start ­filming its final season, she and Heughan compared notes on moving on from a huge, long-running costume drama.

“It’s emotional. For me, the prospect’s hugely bittersweet. It feels like getting out of an institution. Outlander’s like a family, it literally defines who I am.” After all, Heughan has created an empire of Outlander spin-offs, including books, television travelogues and his spirits brand, The Sassenach – named after Jamie’s nickname for the English Claire – not to mention his charity, My Peak Challenge, which has raised nearly £5 million to fund a variety of causes, including ­hunger relief and blood-cancer research. “I’m ready for new challenges, but also nervous about what it’s like in the real world,” he says.

Still, he felt now was the right time to wrap. “Outlander could have finished after the ninth season, but, personally, I felt we hadn’t quite got there. So now we have the problem of pushing the writers to do something that’s hopefully satisfying for the audience, but also exciting.” So Heughan doesn’t yet know how Outlander ends? “No idea, and it’s really tough because Diana [Gabaldon, the author on whose novels the series is based] has written so many books.”

The show has a vast international fanbase; VisitScotland has cited a 67 per cent rise in visits to the show’s locations, such as Culloden and Inverness. “I do feel like I’m an unofficial ambassador for Scotland, and sometimes I don’t think the show is given enough credit for what it’s done for Scottish tourism,” Heughan says. “I think the numbers are even bigger than they say, because reams of Americans are just making their own itineraries. Doune Castle’s numbers are up 800 per cent, it’s been completely renovated as a result.”

The show has also transformed the local film industry. “For 10 years, we’ve been employing ­people at over 200 Scottish locations, we’ve started an intern scheme, we’ve built a studio with five sound stages where there was nothing before. So it’s going to leave a legacy.”

The son of an artist single mother (his father walked out when he was a baby), Heughan spent his early childhood in the Borders, his teens in Edinburgh, before studying at Glasgow’s Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama, where his mentor was third-year student James McAvoy.

Having worked in London and Los Angeles, Heughan fell back in love with Scotland when he was cast in Outlander. Initially against independence, filming the first ­season in the run-up to the 2016 ­referendum transformed him into a vocal advocate. “Scottish politics right now is a bit of a mess, which is a shame, but maybe they’ll find a new rallying cry. We’re a great wee country with amazing resources, most of which are controlled by the British. Similar small European countries have great identities.”

Initially, Heughan is hesitant to discuss the issue, aware taking either side will provoke a social-media backlash, but then he decides: “Why can’t actors have opi­n­ions? The problem is you have to come down on one side, there is no room for deb­ate. Everything has be­come so aggressive and then social-media algo­rithms mean you only get to see one side of the argument.”

He had his fingers burnt when last month he signed an open letter from Artists for Palestine UK, alongside the likes of Tilda Swinton and Steve Coogan, which accused the Government of “aiding and abetting” Israeli war crimes, but failed to condemn Hamas’s terrorism. The following day, Heughan rescinded, saying he hadn’t “fully understood” what he was signing.

“I was maybe naively calling for peace, which is what we all want, but, unfortunately, that situation is so complex, I can’t understand it all,” he says now. “As an actor, you have a platform, but if you put your thoughts out there, you upset ­people, but you’re also damned if you don’t say anything.”

Heughan’s taking time to navigate a potential post-Outlander career path. “I’m a workaholic, but I have to be discerning. Whatever I do next, I have to feel really passionate about.” Possible plans include directing and exploring a different side to Scotland than misty heather and bagpipes. “I think that underbelly you see in [Ian Rankin’s] Rebus and Irvine Welsh is very interesting, there are still pockets that are very hard and gritty.”

Back in 2005, he auditioned for James Bond in Casino Royale – the role that eventually went to Daniel Craig. Now, there’s a new vacancy. “I’ll throw my hat in the ring,” he says, grinning. “I’d be a brilliant Bond, I’m good at action and I’d bring a lot of ­emotional intelligence.”

There might even be space for a personal life. Heughan’s mystified by “facts” he reads about his private life online. “There’s so much ­nonsense that’s completely false – apparently, I have a daughter. News to me!” he says, flushing. The truth, he says, is that Outlander leaves no time for relationships.

“It’s insane hours and takes over everything. Caitríona’s carved out a beautiful family for herself that she protects very well, but I’ve seen how hard it is for her to do that. I want a cat, but I’m too scared even for that, how would I look after it? One day, maybe,” Heughan says, dreamily.

The Couple Next Door begins on Channel 4 on Monday 27 November at 9pm; stream all episodes from this date

[captain-mj]

Fruit and Cinnamon

Reread it while sober instead of high and fucking hated it, rewrote the whole thing sober, still not that happy with it, but hope you guys like this version better <3

Ghost stalked through silently the bar silently. His footsteps are quiet, but there was the faint sound of tinkling as his weapons bumped against each other. A soft sigh came from his mouth as he looked at all of the dead bodies. 

What a tragedy. 

Their bodies had been shredded. Not a single body had more than two limbs attached. Many looked like simple chunks of meat rather than an actual person. 

He stepped over them and continued on to look around. 

A radio was playing. Some heavy metal that he didn’t recognize. 

Out of the shadows, twisting and turning, body contorting in ways that would drive a human to madness, a woman emerged. She was wrapped in draping fabrics with blood dripping down it. Blood pulled around her. 

“Hello, Ghost.”

“Hello, Farah.” He responded, smiling. “How are you?”

There was a fire in her eyes. Literally. Slowly, it died back down and she looked very human. “You might want to change. Metal armor fell out of place about two hundreds years ago.”

Ghost frowned at her. “Seriously? You not suggesting the fabric you’re wearing…”

“Cotton t-shirt and cargo pants. The military uses them and they have many pockets!” Farah showed Ghost who found them… inadequate. Not the pockets. Pockets were fine. The fabric itself seemed inefficient. 

“What if a human gets stabbed on the battlefield?”

‘Weapons have changed. But we shall discuss it later. Alex plans to follow soon.” She stepped forward, leaving bloody footprints. “Need help?”

“No, I think I’ll stay in my ar-” 

Farah waved her hand and the clothes rippled and rolled into something more like what Farah herself was wearing. Ghost immediately felt displeased as he added a mask to it. “You’re welcome.” She called as she looked back, smiling. 

Ghost scoffed and stepped away from her to continue to investigate the bar. “What did the men do to make you so angry?”

Farah sighed. “The normal sins of human men.”

Ghost wasn’t sure what exactly they did, but he knew enough to know they deserved it. He touched the radio, recognizing the vague functions of it. “This is new.” 

Ghost hummed softly and closed his eyes to continue listening to the sound. It wasn’t his favorite, too chaotic sounding. Reminded him just a little too much of hell. 

He turned it off and looked at all the puddles of blood. Broken and destroyed bodies. 

One of them had a jacket on it with several patches. Ghost quickly ripped it off his body, ignoring when his arms detached and he had to pull them out. His new jacket was lovely. He stretched until his new human form popped and a shiver ran through him. 

Farah watched him as she fixed a drink. “Do you still only drink bourbon?”

“Scotch still tastes like dog piss.” Ghost caught the drink as she slid it over and lifted his mask to drink it. He rolled his shoulders. “Draw much attention to yourself?”

“Not that I could see. You?”

Ghost shook his head. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Nice to be out of Hell.” Farah commented. “Was so tired of the constant torture and the screaming and the blood. I mean it was good fun but the routine gets so boring.”

Ghost nodded in agreement and downed the rest of the shot. “Think I could get another drink?” He tilted his glass to show that it was empty. 

Farah laughed and teased him as she pretended to bartend, wiping the counter. “For my favorite customer? Yeah, sure.” She fixed him another drink. “I’m tired. Planning to find myself a place to sleep for a while. Then blend in. Go out and see things. Dance. Feel the sun. You?”

Ghost swirled his drink before downing it. “Fruit. Specifically a fig.”

“That’s it?” Farah smiled. “What about pleasures of the flesh? I remember you complaining quite a bit a decade ago about how hell doesn’t suit your taste.” There was a hint of teasing there. 

Ghost looked into the empty shot glass. “Nah. First, I’m going to eat a fig. Then a shower. Maybe not even in that order.”

“Simple man of simple pleasures I suppose.” Farah smiled. She sighed. “We should probably leave. We stay in the same place too long, trouble will come.”

“Always does. Alex coming around yet?”

“No. Got caught and sent back to the center. I’m planning on helping him along if I can.”

Ghost grinned. “Convince a cult to summon him. They’re easy to manipulate.”

Farah put all of the glasses away. “Not a bad idea. We’ll see where we end up.” She leaned over and put her hand on Ghost’s shoulder, watching him cringe before forcing himself to relax. His eyes flitted about, not meeting hers. “Keep in touch with me. Don’t get lost.”

Ghost nodded and watched her leave silently. He probably should ask questions. Get more information about this new world he found himself in. Instead, he finished off a bottle of bourbon. 

That was an awful idea. This new body he created didn’t exactly have an alcohol tolerance built up yet. 

As he walked around, he realized more and more that this whole body was… rather sensitive. Cold rain stuck to him instead of sliding off his metal armor like he was used to. The fabric on his body clung to him, only making it worse. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this cold. 

It made the hot water feel that much better. It took him a while to figure out how motels worked and rather than deal with the ordeal of booking one, he just broke in to one and disposed of the inhabitants. He stood in the hot water, luckily he understood how indoor plumbing works thanks to hell taking inspiration. The soap felt nice. The smell… delicious. Some form of vanilla. 

Ghost knew not to stay in one place. His very presence brought danger. Despite that, he still slept. The sheets were too inviting. Softness. Decadence. He couldn’t remember the last time fabric felt so nice against his skin. Hell was made of sherpa and rough rocks. 

When he woke up, he knew he had spent too much time there. Both by the way he fell well rested in a way that one could never properly achieve in hell, but also by his guest. 

A strange little scottish man with funny hair. He reminded him a tiny bit of the Vikings he met back in the day, but they wore braids in their hair and this man did not. 

Little mystery man raised his blade and held it out. “I suggest you leave this mortal plane quickly, demon.” 

Ghost felt a little insulted. Here he was, simply lounging in bed. Unknown to him, Johnny thought the bed looked like it had a bed bug infestation. It also clearly had whatever bedding came cheapest.

Ghost stood up, knowing just how imposing he was. This was not a random vessel that he was wearing, but instead the body he crafted himself to feel more comfortable in. He towered over this little human, going to a good 6’4 so he still looked human. His eyes and hands, the only features able to be seen, were all very carefully human. Yes, his nails were painted but for coolness, not for conspicuity. 

“No. Don’t think I will.”

Soap lifted his blade. 

Gazes met. 

Ghost’s eyes widened. Those eyes. 

He’d know those blue eyes anywhere. 

Soap?

Johnny tried to stab him and Ghost quickly stepped back. In his head, the music played. From the Baroque time period. A memory of a dance. 

They danced around each other. Blows going back and forth. 

Ghost hit him hard, watching him stumble in shock. As if he wasn’t prepared for Ghost to fight back. 

Ghost slashed at him. Viciously. How dare this man wear those eyes. 

Soap bared his teeth, both interlocked. Blow for blow. 

“I hope you rot in hell.”

Ghost lunged for him. “I plan on dragging you down there with me.”

Misstep. 

The blade went through him and Soap glimpsed what was behind the fleshy mask. A monster that wanted to devour him whole. 

He looked afraid. 

As Ghost felt himself tear apart, doomed to go straight back to hell to repeat it, he knew what he’d do. 

He’d find this man again and rip his eyes out. 

[bunni-v1]

Hi, so I guess I didn’t make this clear in my several posts about palestine. If you don’t stand for the freedom of Palestine and chose to be neutral or stand for Israel, unfollow me immediately.

If you’re neutral you’re okay with mass genocide. You have to understand that this conflict has been building for decades. Israel — Zionists, just to be specific, not all jewish people — has been slowly overtaking the land of Palestine and displacing the people from their land for decades.

Israel is fighting an unequal “war” against citizens. The only military power that the people of Palestine have are in Hamas, and the power Hamas has is small at that.

I do not stand with Hamas, by the way. I stand with the civilians of Palestine that are uninvolved and are being attacked for their ethnicity. What Hamas did was inexcusable, but what Israel is doing in response is a million times worse. They are overreacting, clearly.

They are deliberately attacking civilian areas knowing the cost of human life. They are aware that they are killing more children than Hamas militants and they do not care. They attacked residential areas, hospitals, and REFUGEE CAMPS.

What’s worse? The largest countries in the world (not all, but many, specifically in the west) are backing them. I’m ashamed to call myself American, I’m ashamed of my country and the people who lead it.

They are asking them to evacuate, knowing damn well that they cannot and are making it exceptionally hard to do so. They want them to be displaced so they can take over Gaza. They cut water and power and are actively weakening any support for survivors to get help.

I’m going to say it again, they attacked refugee camps. They attacked refugee camps.

Oh, also, the school year has been canceled because most of the children in Gaza are dead. Yep, you read that right. What children are not dead are seriously injured.

And, I get it. The propaganda that the IDF is using is incredibly successful, especially among those who are zionists or are less educated about this long going conflict. But, let’s look back at where this type of propaganda has been used before.

The dehumanization of an ethnic group to justify the senseless killing and prove that your race is superior or deserves something more. Where have we seen this before? I wonder? Perhaps… Nazi Germany?

Hitler quite literally used the exact same tactics that the IDF is using today. Are we blind? Did we not all learn about the horrific acts of Nazi Germany? That’s the ironic thing, isn’t it? History repeats itself, it’s just crazy that the group that was undergoing the torture is now the one doing it. At a different level, I suppose, but my point stands.

It is NOT that hard to see if you have even a BASIC understanding of war and war crimes. This is genocide. Israel is committing war crimes. On purpose.

Staying neutral on genocide is supporting it. So if you’re neutral, unfollow me. I’m not here to debate this.

I’m sure I missed a million things, there is so much historical context that needs to be explained that I can’t do in one single post. But my point stands.

I will never be okay with genocide, and I stand with Palestine. These people have suffered for far to long, and we are far too late to notice.