#But. This is the Day. The Day knows it's illusory and is just a play of the Sun who is one of millions of stars and therefore is in million

[blackvahana]

I really do just need to get over the fact that my stuff is going to drive people mad

I had to actively stop working with the DAY because the wide open reality of being the Dreamer being incarnated into like millions of people at once, incompréhensible unimportant and yet all important, was like... its not good for navigating reality. It's still at the back of my brain where I've had that experience and... I mean for some reason it's more unsettling than nondualist Shaivism stuff is. All Are One Being is somehow more normal than Dreamer stuff but anyway

That was like... the one time I really scared Hermes when I woke him up as DAY and you know I think that's fair first of all and second of all... indicative that if I can scare gods then my existence is just going to scare people who aren't gods nor on the path to godhood

Anyway. These creatures definitely have been trying to tell me they're moving towards Dreamer things. Should've known! Should've seen it coming with Lev throwing Kos back at me but I don't associate bb Dream stuff with what I call Dream stuff irl, I associate bb Dream stuff with nondualist Shaivism-esque stuff... Anyway. Guess I now associate the two

Because. really. they're feeding on impulses... I hope that they'll be gentle. I hope that they won't be as raw and rip-tide-esque as the Tree of Madness and my usual Madness energy but I don't... think they're very Madness heavy actually. They're. very quietly something else in an obvious way. probably Day lmfao. yeah. They are aren't they

[youremyheaven]

Rahu & Ketu: Abuse & Addiction

TW: drug overdose, death, suicide, abuse, childhood abuse

Nodal influence can be very destabilising and intoxicating. They're opposites but as they say the extremes of anything is a meeting point for it's opposite, so Rahu & Ketu share many similarities.

Rahu & Ketu are both shadow planets, Rahu is the head whereas Ketu is the tail. This in itself reveals much about the nature of the two. Rahu is over immersed in the world whereas Ketu is completely cut off from it.

When I say Rahu is over immersed/over stimulated, I don't mean they're profoundly connected to reality, I mean the opposite, they're deeply immersed in Maya/illusion that they often have no sense of reality. Rahu is the head, imagine if you lived in your head all the time? You'd be in your own la la land, disconnected from what is actually happening around you. This is Rahu energy. Without your body, you cannot use your senses, you cannot fully feel alive or experience reality. Rahu being the head means you're cut off from what is "real". You only live in your head and what happens in your head is very subjective and completely illusory.

They are so deeply immersed in an illusory world. This can manifest as substance addiction, video gaming, fame, material success, internet addiction, overly obsessed with "binging" content, maladaptive daydreaming etc, any experience that disconnects you from what is "real" and immerses you in something that feels very real but isn't real. Both Rahu and Ketu people suffer from addiction, Claire had mentioned that Nodal influence can make someone prone to addiction but why Rahu and Ketu are addicted tend to be very different. Rahu is overstimulated, they always need more of everything. There are people who spend 10 hours a day just watching YouTube videos or IG reels or whatever, that's because they need that much stimulation, since they live in their heads. Their minds need that kind of fodder to thrive off of. Once you start using any kind of substance, your brain builds a tolerance for it and you have to start using higher and higher doses to get the same high. When a Rahu native accumulates wealth, they start indulging in it but nothing is ever enough. They never feel "full", they don't have that fuse in their brain that flares up and says "this is enough". Basically they never know when to stop, they just keep going and going and going with anything they immerse themselves in. People play video games for 3-4 days straight without leaving their game set up. They don't ever feel satisfied. This is scary because "feeling full" is our brain's way of asking us to stop. Without that mechanism, we would overindulge and overdo everything which is what these natives do.

This is also why relationships are so tricky for Nodal people. They give too much and immerse themselves to the point where it's detrimental to the relationship. You either feel like you're losing part of yourself to it or the other person feels like you're consuming their energy too much (which makes them feel drained). Moderation does not exist for Nodal people either they're completely detached or they're completely obsessed.

Its similar to Jupiter energy in the sense that Jupiter is also very expansive and has the ability to immerse itself in everything and give so much but Jupiter has other principles that firmly ground it in reality as it is not a shadow planet like Rahu. It is not suspended in an illusion, Jupiter natives give so much or do so much because they have the internal space to do so, not out of a tendency to immerse themselves in Maya/illusion. Jupiter is the opposite, they see through Maya and find it hard to consciously part take in it.

Taylor Swift- Ardra Moon

She works harder than anybody in the biz. Her concerts are like 3 hours long and she does like 40-50 shows on average. She's ALWAYS doing THE most. She releases a new album every 2 years or so, has other projects etc this is a positive manifestation of Rahu energy because it allows you to be deeply immersed in your craft and your world but it also means you live in a bubble and you are cut off from "real life".

Ketu is the tail, it is cut off from reality and feels profoundly disconnected to reality. It is hard for these natives to feel like they relate to anything. This is why Ketuvians struggle with addiction. They use substances because they want to feel something, want to feel tethered, want to feel connected. They have to use higher doses because it helps them feel heightened emotions when they usually don't feel anything at all.

Ketu is connected to spirituality because natives who feel disconnected from the real world to this extent find it easier to immerse themselves in the occult and in esoterica. It is more abstract and requires you to think non-logically, i.e, experientially, but this is something Ketuvians have a hard time with, they themselves feel very "abstract" or like they aren't real or don't exist, so while they're intrinsically drawn to the esoteric, they feel untethered/ungrounded by immersing themselves in it too much. They need something they can cling to, they need something solid that they can attach themselves to.

All Rahuvian nakshatras belong to the Shudra caste, specifically the Butcher caste, this is very interesting because Shudra is the lowest caste (Mleccha is "outcaste" which means it exists outside the system entirely), to be Rahuvian means to operate on the lowest level. Butchers have to slaughter meat to make a living, that is unpleasant and brutal work, and only if they are disconnected from it can they keep doing it. They cannot be too focused on what they actually do because then it will be hard for them to do their tasks. They're not repulsed by it because they're disconnected from it.

2/3 Ketuvian naks are also Shudra caste whereas Ashwini is the only Ketu nak that is upper caste as it is a Vaishya nak.

(table by me hehe)

Rahuvian naks are found in all 3 ganas (Swati is deva gana, Ardra is manushya gana, Shatabhisha is rakshasa gana)

2/3 Ketuvian naks are Rakshasa gana (Mula, Magha) with only Ashwini being a Deva gana nak

I feel like Ketuvians are always made to feel like the bad guy / people villainize them a lot. They're the "ugly ducklings" who have to "win" approval as they're never accepted for who they are.

Rahu needs to immerse itself in something because its sensory perception is limited and they need to really indulge to grasp what is "real". Its very common for people with heavy Rahuvian or Rahu in a malefic placement to experience hallucinations or feel like their grip on reality is very thin.

Ketu has nothing perceive with at all. Its like being completely lost in the shadows or the dark. There's no perception taking place at all, it makes the natives inwardly drawn because its truly hard for them to absorb from their surroundings unlike Rahu which absorbs easily and fully. Rahu is over immersed whereas Ketu lacks immersion at all.

Lets look at the yoni animals of Rahu & Ketu naks respectively

Rahu: Ardra -dog yoni, Shatabhisha- horse yoni, Swati-buffalo yoni

Ketu: Magha-rat yoni, Mula- dog yoni, Ashwini-horse yoni

one common theme is that all these animals are abused, mistreated and exploited

(rats are the go to animal for lab testing, dogs are valued for their loyalty and are at the mercy of their owners, horses are made to endure so much labour, buffalos are farm animals)

all of these animals are also associated with dirt/filth in some way or another which is perhaps why people with Nodal influence often have a dishevelled appearance. They're bad at taking care of themselves.

Both horse yoni & dog yoni are divided among Rahu & Ketu naks whereas the yoni consort for Swati is Hasta (Moon ruled) and Magha is Purvaphalguni (Venus ruled).

Horses are very strong but very fragile animals. They start walking almost immediately after birth, they sleep standing up but they require a lot of attention and care as their health tends to be very fragile. Even though horses are associated with working hard, its not exactly innately part of their nature, it's just that they've been domesticated into being that way. It represents a very powerful active energy, as horses can be highly temperamental and unpredictable.

Dog yoni on the other hand, makes a person very needy and eager to please others. Dogs depend on the affection of their owners and without it they feel unhappy. Both these nakshatras have obsessive tendencies and a people pleasing nature. They're also two nakshatras who endure abuse the most.

I've noticed that a lot of people tend to have both nodes in their chart and I wonder what its like to house such contradictions. On one hand you're extremely involved, on the other, you're supremely detached.

The entertainment industry is one where people with Nodal influence really thrive but also often, self-destruct themselves. Its immensely hard to balance these energies since Rahu heightens whatever is in it, the way Jupiter expands whatever it touches. Both planets make you feel manic but in different ways.

Addiction is the result of an overactive nervous system and a coping mechanism. Ketu feels cut off from society/life/the world so in order to feel connected, it over indulges. Rahu needs something that will help them fully lose themselves, idk if I'm explaining it properly but you know how the best movies you've watched are the ones where you feel like you were in them experiencing those things with the characters? Its like that

There is an unhappy pattern of Rahu & Ketu influenced people being abused, I have especially noted this among child actors but also others.

Taylor Momsen- Swati Moon

Her parents signed her up with Ford Modeling when she was just 2 years old. "No 2-year-old wants to be working, but I had no choice. My whole life, I was in and out of school. I didn't have friends. I was working constantly and I didn't have a real life."

This theme of not experiencing "real life" or reality is very prominent in the lives of Rahuvian and Ketuvian people. It can be interpreted in many ways according to the context but there is always a sense of being deprived of what was "normal" or "real" as a result of which these natives had to live in their imagination or indulge in other things.

Like the child star who worked their whole life playing other people (acting is very Rahuvian) or the loner kid who spends all their time immersed in movies or video games because that feels more "real" to them.

Fame is also an inherently Rahuvian experience bc it's an illusion & a prison.

Judy Garland- Ardra Rising, Mula Moon

She was emotionally abused and controlled by her mother who got her addicted to drugs by the time she was a teenager. She was also sexually abused by the studio executives she worked with. Judy had a very tough life.

Aaron Carter, Ardra Moon, Mula Rising

Aaron Carter claimed that as a teen musician, his family spent $500 million of his money on 15 houses and 30 cars. He claimed that when his parents sold the houses, he didn't get a cut of the profits. He also alleged that his dad shot a .44 magnum near his ear — which resulted in him going 70% deaf in one ear — to force him into signing a $256,000 check.

Being heavily tattooed (more examples at the end of this post) is also a very Nodal thing to do.

He unfortunately passed away in 2022 from an accidental drug overdose. This is also a very unfortunate pattern among Nodal celebrities.

Macaulay Culkin- Shatabhisha Moon, Magha Sun & Mercury

 Macaulay Culkin's father Kit managed him during his childhood career. Macaulay has shared that his father was controlling and had him on a very busy filming schedule in the early '90s. He added his father made him stay up every night to study the lines he would have to say the next day. Macaulay asserted that his father was "such a crazy person" that he forced him to do SNL without cue cards when he hosted the show at 11 years old. Macaulay has explained that he felt his father was jealous of him because “everything he tried to do in his life I excelled at before I was 10 years old.”When Macaulay stopped acting after his 1994 movie Richie Rich, he told his parents, “I’m done, guys — hope you all made your money because there is no more coming from me.”His parents were never married and after he stopped acting, his mother filed for custody. Macaulay ended up taking his parents to court to stop them from controlling his $17 million in earnings. Since then, he and his father have been estranged.

I feel like the "child star gone wild" is a trope meant specifically for Nodal people

Keke Palmer, Magha Sun & Mercury, Mula Moon

Palmer shared on IG:

"Due to traveling and scheduling both of my parents had to stop working to support my career and be present for my three siblings, leaving me with the financial responsibility around age 12. Which I took great pride in because I knew what it would do for generations to come and a huge blessing that I could even help out. However it caused me a lot of pain because I essentially had to abandon my childhood feelings and desires, becoming like a parentalized child, which is something some of you can probably relate to in your own way. This was something that I have had to continuously work through because I am grateful but often feel like.. I missed “IT”. Life can be such a tragic comedy because how funny is it.. that now becoming an actual parent, and the responsibility I’ve always carried being more valid now than ever, has in fact given me the chance to feel what it’s like to be a kid again, I get a chance to explore a lot of the things I missed out on with my son, His freedom is like, the most priceless gift to me. He is already teaching me so much, it’s like he awakened the little me inside that I thought was long gone."

Ketu dominance = being your own parent, being neglected by your family or having to be your parent's parent.

Michael Jackson, Magha Sun & Mercury, Shatabhisha Rising

From a young age Jackson was physically and mentally abused by his father, enduring incessant rehearsals, whippings and name-calling. Jackson's abuse as a child affected him throughout his grown life. reading about the lives of the Jackson siblings and how severely they were all abused is very perspective altering and sad

Mary Kate & Ashley Olsen, Magha Moon, Ashlesha Rising (inc the ashlesha placement bc its another nak often subject to control and abuse)

“With what we were doing in business when we were younger, I don’t think it ever felt like we were actresses,” Mary-Kate “Because we spend so much more of our time not in front of the cameras, building a brand. Ashley agreed, saying: “I always looked at myself, even as a kid, as a business woman.” Mary-Kate said she wouldn't wish her childhood on anyone, and said she felt like a "monkey performer." 

they quit acting in the mid 2000s and rarely make public appearances and god only knows what they endured in the business bc neither of them will talk about it.

Sarah Michelle Geller, Ashwini Sun conjunct Ketu, Shatabhisha Moon

Sarah herself enjoyed the path she'd ended up on, she has rules in place for her own daughter. Recalling the "industry abuses" she experienced as a teenager in Hollywood, she said she hoped she'd "set up a safety net for these actors that I didn't have," but that she and husband Freddie Prinze Jr. have "rules in place" that mean daughter Charlotte "can't be in front of a camera until she graduates high school."

Kylie Jenner, Swati Moon

Kylie started appearing on her family's reality show when she was 10

In 2016, she told her sister Kim in an episode of the show: "I feel like I've had anxiety for too long. I feel too much, I care too much, I read too much. Some people are born for this life and some people aren’t. I just know I’m not supposed to be famous.” in an old IG post she said: "I’m proud of myself, my heart, and my strength. Growing up in the light with a million eyes on you just isn’t normal. I’ve lost friends along the way and I’ve lost myself too sometimes. My first tattoo was 'sanity' to remind myself everyday to keep it. I’ve struggled with anxiety my whole young adult life." "I know I don't want to be famous forever. There's gonna be a time where I feel comfortable, I'm at a good place in my life, and I just stop."

Natalie Wood, Ashwini Moon

The late Natalie Wood was forced into acting by her mother, Maria, who missed her chance to become a performer and instead focussed her efforts on pushing her daughters to stardom.

While young Natalie had a natural talent for performing, it seemed that her reason for going to movie sets was more to please her mother than to quench any desire of her own. 

Bella Thorne, Mula Moon

"I was sexually abused and physically growing up from the day I can remember till I was 14. When I finally had the courage to lock my door at night and sit by it. All damn night." She has also stated that she only started acting as a child to support her family.

Drew Barrymore, Shatabhisha Sun

 Drew's mother took her to clubs and allowed her access to drugs and alcohol, ultimately leading to her institutionalization at the age of 13, and emancipating herself at 14. Drew described fame at such a young age as "a recipe for disaster."

Edith Piaf, Mula Sun & Mercury, Magha Mars

Born in Paris practically on the streets, she struggled from day one, the daughter of street performers. The mother, a singer, eventually abandoned both Edith and her father for a solo career. Piaf spent her youth entertaining passers-by, receiving little formal education in the process. She often accompanied her father's acrobat street act with her singing and at various times was forced to live with various relatives, in alleys or in cheap hotels. An aborted love affair left her with a baby girl at age 17, but little Marcelle died of meningitis at 2 years old. Devastated, Piaf returned to the streets she knew, now performing solo. Her fortunes finally changed when an impresario, Louis Leplee, mesmerized by what he heard, offered the starving but talented urchin a contract. He alone was responsible for taking her off the streets at age 20 and changing her name from Edith Gassion to "La Mome Piaf" (or "Kid Sparrow"). Piaf grew in status entertaining in elegant cafés and cabarets and became a singing sensation amid the chic French society with her throbbing vocals and raw, emotional power. From 1936, Piaf recorded many albums and eventually became one of the highest paid stars in the world.

Later in life she became an addict and died in poverty at the age of 47.

Brittany Murphy, Swati Moon & Venus

she was a child star who was managed by her controlling mom. she battled with eating disorders and drug addiction. rip britt.

Justin Bieber, Shatabhisha Sun conjunct Saturn

Justin shot to fame at a very young age and was severely exploited by his management/everybody around him

Now here are some heavily tatted celebs and their placements

L to R

Rihanna- Shatabhisha Sun

Paris Jackson- Ardra Moon

Cheryl Cole- Ardra Sun & Mars, Shatabhisha Moon

Demi Lovato- Magha Sun

Jungkook- Magha Moon, Mula Rising

Ruby Rose- Swati Rising

Machine Gun Kelly- Ashwini Sun

The 27 club refers to a phenomenon where several musicians have died by age 27, many from an overdose. Unfortunately many of them have Nodal influence.

Brian Jones- Shatabhisha Sun

Jimi Hendrix- Mula Rising

Amy Winehouse- Mula Moon

Kurt Cobain- Shatabhisha Sun, Ardra Moon,

Janis Joplin- Ardra Moon, Mula Mars, Asc conjunct Ketu (in Dhanishta)

Jim Morrison- Ketu conjunct Rising (in Shravana)

several other celebrities who have died from overdoses also tend to have prominent Nodal influence

John Belushi- Mula Rising

Phillip Seymour Hoffman- Mercury in Ardra 2h, Mars conjunct Ketu in Swati

Prince- Shatabhisha Moon, Ketu in Ashwini

Whitney Houston- Shatabhisha Rising

River Phoenix- Magha Sun conjunct Ketu, Swati Ascendant conjunct Jupiter

Elvis Presley- Shatabhisha Moon

Margaux Hemingway- Ashwini Rising

Nodal planets are shadow planets and it can be very difficult for these natives to manage this energy as it is energy without a source, Rahu & Ketu don't have physical form or existence, that is a lot of uncontrolled energy to possess within yourself. Many people turn to spirituality and other esoteric sources and good Rahu & Ketu influence is vital and necessary to study or gain access to gnosis, study astrology or other occult matters but when this energy is imbalanced in their chart, these natives are more prone to self-destruction than any other planetary dominance simply because the unbridled energy is impossible to contain and requires some kind of coping mechanism. I have dated several Nodal men and they all dealt with varying degrees of addiction to varying substances and they all spoke about "wanting to feel more real" or how "nothing feels solid". I will try to focus on the positive manifestations of the Nodes on a future post.

thanks for reading<333

[arealtrashact]

Mind if I ask if there was anything that led you to cast the characters as the specific animals you did for the Saw zodiac piece?? Like I KNOW you had to work with the animals within the Chinese zodiac, but...why the goat for Kramer, the monkey for Amanda, and so forth??? Was it based on birthdays or character traits, or something like that??

I really like that piece and I want to give u a platform to talk about it more lmao

Like you said, my choices were limited to the animals within the zodiac. It was a fun little challenge mixing and matching each animal to a character that I felt suited them (personality-wise in some cases, appearance-wise in others.) More under the cut, for those interested.

Amanda (Monkey) - Jumps between mischievously playful and sadistically cruel. In possession of ten clever little fingers, perfect for rigging traps…

John (Goat) - Stubborn + stoutly adheres to his beliefs. Sporting a pair of curving horns that play into the spiral motif very nicely. Enjoys playing God and doling out punishment, much like a certain other horn-ed fellow who spends his days disciplining ‘sinners’. 

Jill (Sow) - Seemed like an easy choice considering the Tuck family’s pig farm. I also wanted to call back to Gideon and what could have been.

Hoffman (Tiger) - Large, imposing and solitary. (Almost) always one step ahead. Tigers having illusory eyes on the backs of their ears to throw off stalking predators feels extremely Hoffman to me. Getting the jump on him is nearly impossible. Nearly. 

Strahm (Dog) - Not just any dog, a GSD. Sharp as a whip, wary as a watchman. Commonly used by law enforcement. Loyal to those he considers friends, aloof and standoffish to just about everybody else...

Cecilia (Dragon) - Much like a dragon, Cecilia would be right at home curled atop a mountain of treasure. Even what she promises / advertises seems mythical - the kind of miracle that only exists within a fantasy...

Logan (Ox) - ‘It’s cause you’re always in that damn BARN.’ A farm animal through and through. He's John’s heir apparent, a faint outline of him, complete with a similarly horned silhouette.

Lawrence (Rabbit) - Larry was one of the ‘lucky’ ones, and what's more lucky than a rabbit's foot? ( Do you think he carries his severed foot around on his keys in this AU ? )

Adam (Rat) - I mean…

Schenk (Snake) - People will probably assume that I picked a snake because he’s ‘deceitful’ (I actually think his rage was justified. ACAB.) but I actually just wanted to incorporate spirals onto him in an organic way. Snakes, with their intricate scale patterns, allowed me to do just that.

Who’s left? Zep Hindle screams 'chicken' to me and Lynn has beautiful flowing hair that lends itself perfectly to a horsey.

🤙

[irisreality]

WAKE TF UP MY DARLING!

so a little story about my progress so far

hey, it all started when I discovered the shiftok in 2019, but It was full of limiting beliefs so I quickly switched to the law of attraction, full of limiting beliefs too, ngl tho I manifested many things (my dad becoming more likable, good grades, pretty face, curvy body, lovely friends, SPs ..etc) but I was always greedy for more I wanted my life to be litt perfect, in 2022 I went back to shifting but I was full of limiting beliefs and continuity wasn't my favorite thing lol, lately I discovered LOA and the Non-dualism and istg that was a huuuuuge shifting in my mind and life in general like? so after diving kind of deep into those concepts I want to share some of my ideas, feel free to discuss it and give me your povs :

fist of all ain't nothing but you in this world, and by "you" I'm not referring to your human vessel or your mind, I'm referring to your "I AM" being, and the confusion you get when you want to believe in this came because you saw yourself from the pov of the human character, not the pure consciousness you are.

second of all, you're not this character or your desired character okay? when you think you are one of them you bond yourself and you create the illusory separation between them both, they're not separate from you yet you're not both of them, you observe them but you choose to identify with just ONE of them, my dear.

"you can't serve two masters" Neville Goddard. In order to have your desired life you gotta give up on this character and start identifying with your desired life or character, what that means in the LOA is simply dwell in the state of your desired reality (I really don't like calling in it a reality cuz its not but whatever) so the only validation the only source the only reality that exists is your imagination. once you start really applying this you'll start observing this reality as nothing but "an old story and a dream" lol litt as it is and problems and bad thoughts etc won't bother u anymore.

when you react to something you decrease and attach it more to your reality, stop giving things the validation and the power they crave, it's a character and a dream you just forgot this.

you don't create anything, everything is already finished and created and inside of you, you have to decide and assume that thing and start identifying with it my little star.

LOA and non-dualism are two concepts that serve you, LOA focuses on your characters and desires more, and Nondualism comes when you really get sick of playing this game and stimulation, when you finally want peace, in the middle of your journey if you really know how to mix them up together in a wise way, you'll become unbreakable and you'll save so much time and power. I'm still discovering things day by day, but I started to decide and identify with my desired reality, I want to discover what's beyond this character, ill keep u updated guys. Adios, I love you so much my dear stars. promise me to keep trying no matter what! It's litt your life xoxo.

[critrolesideblog]

This is foolish. Essek took a deep breath in and out through his nose to calm his nerves, making sure to keep his face calm. Foolish, foolish, foolish.

A thunderous explosion shook the stone streets, and Essek's hand was at the components pouch at his waist, fast as light, as . . .

Another volley of fireworks lit up the Hupperdook sky and a jubilant roar went up among the townsfolk milling about in the street. Vendors selling silk flowers, colorful banners on sticks, firecrackers, street food, and beer shouted their wares as they moved through the crowd. A crowd that Essek, clad in a paper-thin illusion, stood largely head and shoulders above. A Kryn man walking through the heart of Dwendalian industry. Foolish.

Foolish... and a little thrilling, knowing, as he did, that the prize of a warm welcome and an evening with friends awaited him at the end of this foolish, foolish gauntlet.

At last, he located his destination and pulled open the door to be met with a rush of warmth and noise. It was, if possible, louder inside the tavern than outside. There were musicians playing a lively tune in the far back. It was a popular tune apparently, judging by the sheer number of patrons turning merrily in the center of the dance floor, and there in the middle of them, sticking out like two bright planets in a sky full of stars, was Caleb and Jester. They spun around each other maddeningly, dizzyingly, laughing all the while.

"There you are! We were beginning to wonder if you'd gotten lost."

Fjord was in front of him suddenly, clapping him on the shoulder. It was disconcerting to be recognized so quickly, even if he had told Jester the nature of his disguise ahead of time: a tiefling, with skin, hair, and freckles the same shade of blue as Jester's. His illusory horns looped back, following closely along the curve of his skull and back out again in the place where his real ears were. The face was modeled a bit on Kingsley, and his eyes he had left their usual lilac.

"Ah, well, there were some shifty individuals in Jrusar that I thought might be on my tail, but -- aaAAah!"

Fjord's arms were around him, pulling him into the swirling mass of bodies.

"Let's get them off your tail then, shall we?"

Essek fell into position with decades of courtly practice, as Fjord took the lead, glancing around for openings in the crowd and guiding them through. Essek glanced around as well, trying to get the gist of the dance.

"I-- I am afraid I do not know this one."

"And would the Shadowhand do a dance he did not know?!" Fjord asked, dipping his voice low, eyebrow raised, peering at him with great melodrama. "The spies are confused already!"

Essek ducked his head down as he suppressed a snort of laughter. When he looked back up, Fjord was peering over his shoulder intently, eyebrows and chin raising slightly, as if nodding assent to someone. Essek turned his head to see who he was looking at, but at that moment, Fjord turned them both quickly. Essek narrowed his eyes at him.

"What are you up to?"

Fjord grinned, mischievously. "Just returning a favor."

And with that, Essek found himself being spun away from Fjord, through the crowd, and into the arms of one, Caleb Widogast.

Caleb's face was at turns surprised, confused, and delighted, as his eyes took in Essek's strangely-familiar face and then met his very familiar eyes. He threw his head back as he laughed joyously, pulling Essek close, and Essek could hear Jester and Fjord cackling victoriously over the din in the distance. He relaxed into Caleb's closer-than-proper dance hold, feeling the nerves of the day fade away as they made a lazy loop around the dance floor.

"It is good to see you, Caleb Widogast," he murmured, when Caleb's Lucidian blue eyes met his again.

"You as well, my dear. I'm glad you could make it."

"As am I." He glanced over Caleb's shoulder and spied Jester and Fjord at the edge of the dance floor, grinning, murmuring to each other. Jester's gaze caught his, and she waggled her eyebrows at him. "Fjord mentioned something about 'returning a favor.' Do you know what that was about?" Caleb's eyebrows rose, and as they turned again, he peered over Essek's shoulder toward the edge of the dance floor as well.

"Ah, I will explain later," he said with a small smile, and then leaned in to whisper in Essek's ear. "I think they are talking about us." The feel of his breath against his ear sent a shiver down Essek's spine.

"Well, then, let us give them something to talk about."

The music crashed into a raucous finale as Essek took the lead, pulling Caleb closer still. There was an instant of surprise on Caleb's face before Essek spun them a final, sharp turn and dipped him backwards as he leaned down and kissed him.

A chorus of wolf whistles and cat calls erupted from a particularly rowdy table at the side of the dance floor, full of familiar voices. He could feel Caleb laughing against his mouth as a warm hand pressed gently against the back of his neck, and for a moment, all was right with the world.

Fjord's voice called out over the din.

"You're welcome!"

[chickenparm]

Fusillade (Wanderer/f!Reader)

written for @illusory-torrent ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡ – ✧)

---

It was a favor for a friend to let the Wanderer find himself while meandering with you. Two sets of eyes are better than one, and what's lost isn't so difficult to locate if you know where to look.

AO3 Link

Wanderer/f!Reader(not the Traveler) 4,954 Words - NSFW Vaginal sex, mild breast-play, mild dacryphilia, unrequited(?) love confession, sharin' a bed-ish.

---

When first meeting the Traveler, they’d been fresh-faced and ready to face the world. Learning their story had been a shock, but not one that you weren’t welcoming toward. Mondstadt was as good a jumping-off point as any, and after a few days together you wished them luck in all their future endeavors as you parted ways. 

In Liyue, they’d been a little more harrowed, a little more hardened. “A lot of things have happened since we’ve met up!” Paimon had explained in lieu of the Traveler’s own words, and you provided a sympathetic shoulder for the two to lean on as you made camp together in the countryside of the Land of Geo. And if they looked a little happier after spending some time talking and laughing with you, then that works just fine, you think. 

Unfortunately, in Inazuma, the two of you were only able to cross paths briefly. With the removal of the Sakoku Decree, it meant you were allowed into the country, and they were allowed out. There’s a certain air about the two - less so Paimon - that leaves you wondering exactly what happened behind the closed borders of Inazuma. 

You find out, much to your chagrin. 

It isn’t until a few months have passed and you’ve meandered your way to Sumeru that you once more meet your good friends - ones you’ve sorely missed. Of course, another catastrophe was narrowly avoided thanks to their intervention, and Paimon was more than pleased to fill in the gaps while you shared a lunch with the two of them at some cafe you can’t quite pronounce the name of. 

In the middle of laughter at something Paimon has said, a shadow casts over the table - similar to an umbrella blocking out the sun. It’s not quite so, rather the wide brim of an ornate hat as a figure approaches the three of you with a carefully neutral expression. First he looks at the Traveler, then briefly at Paimon, before looking to you. 

Before you can even think about introducing yourself, his interest turns back to the Traveler. “Lesser Lord Kusanali sent me to fetch you. Something has come up.”

“Is it urgent?” You know the Traveler is asking only because this means the two of you will part ways once again. Violet eyes dart to you, tensing for just a moment as a thought seems to cross his mind. The neutrality cracks only a little, and he almost looks interested in your presence. It must be an enigma, that you’d be important enough for the Traveler to put off meeting with the Dendro Archon for a little while longer. 

The male moves, placing one hand on his hip as he gives the Traveler an slightly admonishing look. “Maybe I should have been more specific. Something’s come up about that important information you’ve been wandering all over for? Surely that’s not something you want to put off more than necessary. Even for a… friend.”

With a jerk of his chin, he emphasizes that you are the Traveler’s friend in question. Obvious enough, but if he feels the need to make things clear, then who are you to tell him it’s unnecessary?

After a moment of deliberation, and an apologetic expression toward you, the Traveler drops enough mora for all three meals onto the table. “Sorry, this really is important, then. Will you be around the city for a little longer? I’d like to catch up some more.”

“I’m heading out tomorrow morning, but I’ll be around the country - I’m sure you could hunt me down if you really wanted. It’s not like I hide from you.” You lean on your elbows with a grin, pleased at both the prospect of meeting your friends once more, as well as having your meal so graciously paid for. 

The Traveler and Paimon leave with a wave, and the newcomer only gives you an unreadable look over his shoulder as they leave. Only when they round a corner do those eyes finally give you some peace.

---

You do end up leaving before the Traveler can seek you out again. A trip down to Port Ormos takes a few days thanks to a love of meandering, and how easily distracted you are by every little sight and sound of Sumeru. It’s a beautiful country, and you find yourself quickly enamored with it, despite the persistent heat and humidity. 

After you get your fill of Port Ormos, your trip back up to the city proper is a little longer. It’s nearly a month after your first meeting with the Traveler in Sumeru that the second one comes around. Paimon is with someone named Collei, apparently, leaving you and the Traveler to sit in the grassy hilltops surrounding the city with boxes of takeout settled between you. 

The conversation is easy at first, and then almost as if the entire purpose of this meeting was for something a little more heavy, the subject changes as quickly as you can blink. The Traveler has poor skills in segueing topics from one to another, it seems. 

Picking at the biryani in their lap, golden eyes don’t lift to meet yours as they ask, “Do you remember that guy from last time? With the big hat?”

“He’s not easy to forget, that’s for sure. What about him?”

And then it comes tumbling out. Who he is, what he is, and the biggest puzzle piece of all - why the Traveler is bringing any of this up. “You’re staying in the country for a while longer, aren’t you? Do you think it would be possible to have him tag along with you for a while?”

And there it is. Really, you have no reason to say no, beyond simply not knowing who this guy is. But the Traveler seems to trust him, and you trust the Traveler, so logically you can trust him, right? It’s not the most sound conclusion, but it’s the only one that makes sense, so you bob your head in a nod and laugh at the way the Traveler’s shoulders seem to sag in relief. 

The Traveler is leaving for the desert on an extended trip soon, and the Wanderer - Traveler’s name for him, and yours now, too - was staunchly against the idea of traipsing about in the desert despite being largely unaffected by the traits that make it harsh. 

“I’d rather take a dip in a volcano,” is what he apparently told the Traveler. And while the Wanderer was interested in taking some time for himself, away from the Dendro Archon and away from all the reminders of things you haven’t been made privy to, he doesn’t want to do so in a place he hates. That’s understandable - you plan on steering clear of the desert, yourself. 

And all of these situations are what lead you to this - following a well-worn road North out of Sumeru City, a silent Wanderer at your side as your steps fall into an odd sort of synchronization. Whether he is matching your stride on purpose, or if it’s a subconscious thing, you almost find it comforting. 

From the Traveler’s descriptions, you expect him to be sharp and barbed, but he’s been… oddly polite, if not just a little standoffish. When you explain that you have no destination in mind, he doesn’t seem put off, and when you fall into old habits of becoming distracted, he doesn’t complain when those distractions take you off the path. 

At least, at first. 

Eventually, as the day wears on, it seems as if he grows more comfortable. As you push through the afternoon, his voice grabs your attention. “You should take a break, you know.”

“Hm?” Your steps falter a little as you’re brought out of your wandering thoughts. Absently you answer him, more focused on pulling the lenses from your face to rub a smudge off on your shirt - sweat doesn’t cooperate with glasses, unfortunately. “I don’t really need one.”

“The issue with fatigue in humans is once you start feeling it, it’s difficult to stop. Take a break before you’re tired, so you don’t injure yourself,” Wanderer explains. Just like one would explain that the sky is blue, or that Dendro Visions are green, or that there are a multitude of subtleties that differentiate the two of you when it comes to physical composition. 

The Wanderer isn’t human, but he looks an awful lot like one, and you’ve forgotten until now about that important fact. Beyond that, there isn’t much you know about him, and it’s with a bit of slyness that you try to strike a deal. “I’ll take a break on one condition. Every fifteen minutes of break time, you answer a question of mine.”

And he laughs. It isn’t necessarily cheerful, but it does pull his lips up into a smile that seems unpracticed. Or, perhaps it is practiced, but never in this sort of context. Despite lingering cynicism, he answers, “You could have asked without a break - it’s not like I’m hiding anything. But I’ll accept. Now sit down.”

Once you’re settled in the grass, just off the road and out of the way of any other travelers that might come along, the Wanderer sits next to you with his legs crossed, elbow on his knee, cheek on his palm. “Ask away.”

“Oh, no.” Immediately you deny, stretching your legs out in front of you as you lean back onto your hands. “I’m saving those for while we walk. You dictate the length of the break based on how many questions you feel like answering. I think that’s pretty fair.”

A huff of air leaves him, making his shoulders jolt. It could’ve been amusement, disbelief, or maybe even both, judging by his tone. “That’s how it’s going to be, huh? Fine.”

The sun above is warm on your skin, despite the sweat that just won’t wick away thanks to the humidity. You turn your face skywards, observing the clouds and completely missing the way his head tilts just enough to look at you out of the corner of his eye, calculating and quiet. At least, at first you miss it, but the sensation of eyes on you is impossible to ignore after enough time. 

“Something on my face?”

“Sunburn, if you’re not careful.” Sharp words, but softened by the actual meaning.

With an airy wave toward your bag sitting in the grass, you explain, “I picked up a recipe in Liyue for some balm that helps protect against the sun. I’ll be just fine, don’t worry so much.”

“I’m not worried.” Wanderer responds so quickly that it completely defeats the purpose of his denial. His mouth sets in a line as his brows furrow in irritation that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It would just be annoying to listen to you complaining about your face hurting.”

“Mhm.” Is your response as your eyes close and you wait for him to decide that break time is over. It takes longer than you expect for him to get to his feet, and then almost as an afterthought, reach his hand out to help you up. When he looks surprised that you accept it, you don’t remark on that. 

Maybe the astonishment will wear off with your time together. 

---

“I don’t need to sleep.” Wanderer tells you one day, as the two of you are setting up your tent for the night. When you brought up that he sleeps outside rather than in said tent, he gives you that answer quite easily. “But I can, if I wanted.”

“Don’t you want to? Sounds awfully boring to never dream.” You ask, using the heel of your booted foot to push the last stake into the ground, securing the rain cover to ensure you stay dry in the storm that’s rolling in rather quickly.

There’s no fire to be set up, not while it’s about to rain, so once the shelter is pitched you climb inside and hold the flap open. As he turns around, he starts to speak but then trails off. “That’s two ques..tions…”

Wanderer hesitates. In his eyes, it must be odd - an enclosed room, with someone he likely doesn’t quite trust. But then he looks at you from beneath the brim of his hat, conflicted for only a moment before pulling it off his head and stepping into the tent you offered him. 

It doesn’t take long for the raindrops to begin falling, rolling off the waxed canvas and leaving the two of you safe and dry. Not necessarily warm, but you wrap up in your bedroll’s blanket as soon as the two of you settle in the small tent.  

There’s no extra bedding - he hadn’t brought any, and you’re not about to offer your own when he doesn’t seem to care. As you lay down for the night, he sits with his back to you, cross-legged and leaning back on his hands as he stares at the darkening forest through the mesh of the tent’s doorway. 

That’s the sight you drift off to as you carefully set your glasses to the side and out of the way. A smudge of deep blue and white, the gentle chiming of his vision as he mindlessly runs his fingers along the ornament and feather. It’s almost like a lullaby.

And that lullaby is a stark difference to the smacking of raindrops hitting harder against the tent cover, the thunder rolling above, and the surprising chill in the air thanks to the change in temperature combined with high humidity. You hadn’t realized you were shivering until you woke up to the rustling of your blanket being carefully untucked. 

Immediately, you ask, “What’re you doin’?”

“That’s a third question.” Wanderer murmurs, voice low as if he doesn’t want to wake you further. “You’re shivering so hard you’re going to attract a tiger - they’ll think you’re a wounded animal.”

“M’not-”

“Yeah you are. A wounded animal would make less noise. Just go back to sleep.”

The blanket shifts, and your seal from the chilled air is broken just long enough for another body to fill the small amount of space behind you. Squinting into the dark over your shoulder, you're met with violet eyes telling you silently not to say a word. But so far, you've never really been bothered by any of his threats, and you're not planning on starting now. 

If he's going to give an inch, you're going to try and take a mile. So you shift back, aligning your spine with the way the front of his body curves. It's deceptively easy to slot your back to his chest and glean some of the little warmth he gives off. 

Wanderer's chest expands as if he's going to say something, then he holds it back. Rain drowns out the sound of your quiet breaths, your muscles tensed in anticipation for what his next move might be. It's the one you expect the least, but should be most logical. 

Tentatively, his arm snakes around your waist in a quiet acceptance of how his little idea has unfolded. It's thin, but strong enough that he holds you to him with minimal effort. And despite how obviously nervous he is about it all, it doesn't lessen the effect of comfort and warmth he's providing. 

"Thank you, Wanderer."

"Please don't make this weird." His answer is blunt. "I'm not doing this for you."

"It's not like there's anyone else here." Your voice is thickened by your interrupted sleep, and your eyes turn wearily to the dim roof of the tent, occasionally lit by lightning. Wanderer's breath hits the back of your neck as he makes a huff of amusement. 

"I just don't want to drag your body back when you attract some stray crocodile to eat you with all your shivering. The Traveler would never forgive me. And their floating companion would be unbearable."

"Mhm… you're cuddling me because it makes your life easier then? Why didn't you say so?"

The arm around your waist tightens. Wanderer stammers for a moment before letting out an outraged tsk. "That's not-!...You know what? Fine, believe what you want."

And silence falls. Your eyelids droop, your thoughts slow, and you try to ignore the way you're still cold at the front, despite Wanderer's warmth at your back. The sluggish notion barely crosses your mind before he picks up on it and the flat of his hand presses against your stomach. Through the thin material of your shirt, the warmth from his palm seeps through. 

Despite telling you pointedly to go to sleep, he seems almost hellbent on causing problems for you each time you nudge at the threshold of your dreams. When your breathing slows, his thumb starts to slowly move back and forth, just beneath your ribs. And when you get used to that, his whole hand moves instead, caressing circles against your skin that finally have you asking once more, "What are you doing?"

"I don't know." And he means that - he'd hardly admit to ignorance, especially over his own actions. "Want me to stop?"

And what a loaded question that is. Because you certainly don't want him to, but you also don't know where this is going. It's hardly appropriate when his hand raises a little higher, growing dangerously close to the unspoken line about to be crossed. 

Almost as if on autopilot, your brain making the decision subconsciously when your mouth takes a little too long, you say, "No. I don't."

The sensation doesn't register in your mind for a split second. It's only after he lingers do you realize that he's lifted his hand further and cupped one of your breasts in his palm with a tentative squeeze. The two of you pause; you in stunned silence, him in quiet anticipation for what you'll do. 

As your tension starts to release, he gives another experimental squeeze, dragging his palm just enough to rub the fabric against your hardening nipple. A little laugh leaves him, high and breathy, and he murmurs, "You like this, don't you?"

"Don't sound surprised-!" You cut off as his fingers pinch and roll, your voice cracking before you can rein it in. With a spark of annoyance, you rock your hips back and find satisfaction in how he falters. "Ngh-... it's not as if you're not enjoying it, too."

Wanderer's arousal digs into your backside, growing more persistent as you repeat that movement with precision. In return, you get a sharp pinch that makes you whine under your breath. It feels like you've given him a victory, and he gives your chest one more squeeze before taking the prize he feels he's won. 

"On your back." He directs, pulling away enough for you to follow his direction. With both hands, he shoves your shirt to your collarbone, your breasts falling free for only a moment before his mouth catches one, his hand on the other. 

Instinctively, your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him close enough that he couldn't pull away even if he wanted to. With a sharp suck, he takes your nipple into his mouth, rolling his tongue over it in rhythmic motions that match the movement of his fingers on the other. He’s barely even breathing, but rather working himself up into a fervency where maintaining the illusion of being human is pushed away in favor of single-minded desire.

When he gets too rough, you tug his hair, and he lessens the pressure. If he’s lingering too long on one side, a subtle push of his head moves him easily to the other. And all the while, his hips slot against yours, grinding messily as if friction between the two of you is an afterthought compared to how the taste of your skin is making his eyes flutter shut so prettily. His eyelashes brush against high cheekbones, and you fight the urge to sweep your thumb across to see if they’re as soft as they look. 

Instead, you card your fingers through his hair and wonder how it stays so smooth despite how careless you’ve been with it up to this point. In spite of how nice this all feels, it just isn’t enough. And if he’s going to go this far, you’d rather he just go all the way and be done with playing around. 

With a sharp tug, you pull him away from your skin and he looks ruined. Eyes glassy despite his laser-focus on your face, lips swollen, wetness across his lips from how reckless he’d been so far. Before he can question you, your voice comes out - a lower pitch than usual, breathless but still demanding. “I need more, Wanderer.”

Simple enough to fulfill, you think, but his lips twist into a smile that’s almost wry as he answers, “If you hadn’t interrupted me-”

“You know what I mean.” Any annoyance that might have been effective is lessened by the way he’s warmed your cheeks and slickened your skin with his saliva, his fingers still rolling one of your nipples idly. Like he’s not interested in it, like he hadn’t been nipping and sucking and biting you with the sort of abandon belonging to a man starved. 

Starved for attention, affection, simple contact… You’re not quite sure. Maybe it doesn’t matter, in the long run - any of those would be solved if he just stopped fooling around. 

Wanderer does know what you mean, and his tongue darts out to sweep the lingering wetness from his lips before he lifts off you, shrugging enough of the blankets away that there’s room to rather neatly roll yourself once more. From below you, he looks just as pretty as above. Hair against the pillow you’d just been leaning against, skin lit up by the occasional flash of lightning through the trees above, hands digging into the outsides of your thighs as you straddle his lap.

Inhaling sharply, as if he just remembered that perhaps unnatural stillness of a being that doesn’t need oxygen might be unsettling, he takes in the sight of you in the same manner of admiration you’d been giving him. It’ll make more sense in the morning, when the storm has passed and the cover of darkness isn’t enough to hide rational thought. 

Pressing his fingers against your plush skin, leaving little oval marks of red in his yearning, he murmurs, “Take it, then. If you want more, make me give it to you.”

And oh, does that do something inside of you. Setting your stomach afire with a need you don’t bother to control, Wanderer’s challenge is met with your hands on his shoulders, and a slow roll of your hips that wipes the attitude off his face in one smooth movement. 

Arching himself to meet you halfway, he chases the feeling of your heat against his hardness greedily. For someone that wants you to take, he seems awfully eager to give.

But he demanded that you take what you want, that you make him give it to you, so you leverage yourself away to shimmy out of your shorts as quickly as you can. Depriving yourself of his body heat for such a short time shouldn’t feel as desolate as it does, but by the time you return it feels as if those few seconds were the equivalent of a lifetime. 

Despite your partial nudity, you really only give enough effort to reach between your bodies and pull him free. While he’s attempted to seem detached - both in this tent and outside, where the world exists despite feeling as if it’s been reduced to only these four canvas walls - Wanderer’s eyes positively glow with a saccharine sort of longing that threatens to pull you in if you stare at it a little too long, a little too willing.

The first stretch of his cock brings you pause. It’s been too long, certainly for you, maybe for him with how his fingertips grab as your thighs all over again, as if he were searching for something to ground himself in this exact moment. You don’t blame him, gripping his shoulders just as hard; bracing yourself against him, pushing him down into the mess of a blanket at his back. 

“Y-you’re so-!” Spitefully, you cut off his words by sinking just a little further, taking a little more inside. Wanderer learns his lesson, relegating the use of his voice to what could only be considered a whine as you move at your pace, not his. Little by little, agonizingly slow until he has nothing more to give and you’re seated fully on his cock. 

You’re far from unaffected, but a need to maintain the upper hand keeps your face tuned to amusement as you watch the emotions flicker across his face. A great many of them you’re unfamiliar with, but perhaps he’ll give you a chance to learn them after this encounter. Maybe this won’t be the last. 

Finally, he looks at you through cracked eyelids, desperation coloring his voice as he pleads for you to take him. Wanderer tries to spin it as an order, but there can be no authority when he sounds so ruined from simply being inside you - no movement beyond the subconscious way you tighten around him for your own pleasure. 

Taking the smallest amount of pity - and growing impatient with your own teasing - you rock your hips forward, then back, and take note of how his head falls back enough to show the pretty line of his unmarred throat, usually so hidden by the high collar of his clothing. With a shaking exhale, pleased by both the sight beneath you and the sensations inside, you ask, “Does it feel good? You look overwhelmed…”

“I-I’m not, it’s just-...” Wanderer trails off, face twisting in a grimace as you repeat your movements, setting a slow and rhythmic pace that could be enough if either of you had the patience to maintain it. The smallest whine precedes his words, “You feel so good, I don’t think I can… I can’t-”

“You can.” You urge, reaching for his hand on your thigh to pry it loose, bringing it to the apex of your thighs with a purpose he clumsily realizes. Just the thought of having him - normally so composed and closed-off - completely pulled to pieces like this has you thrilled in ways you haven’t managed to feel before. 

That, paired with the obscene feeling of being perfectly filled by him, has you close enough that even if he’s a bit too overwhelmed to be precise with the movements of his fingers, you’re inching closer and closer to what feels like a monolith on the horizon. Swallowing around a moan threatening to tumble free, you turn it into words, “I’m so close, j-just a little more. You’re so good, so good, so-”

“Please,” his begging is hoarse as he tries to match your movements, tries to match the pleasure you’re giving him with offerings of his own, “let me feel you, please.”

Another inhale from him, like something is just on the tip of his tongue, but it dies as you tilt back a little. The change is what you need, the last bit to complement the succession of feelings in every sense of the word, and Wanderer gets exactly what he begs for as you find your release at his behest. 

Your hands lessen their grip on his shoulders as you abandon pinning him in favor of prolonging what you’ve found, and like the snapping of a leash he abandons any sense of submitting to you in favor of gripping your hips and jerking himself sharply upward into you. The sound of surprise you make is undignified at best, downright lewd at its most basic, and that only seems to spur him on as he takes on a short-lived viciousness stemming from unresolved desperation. 

One hand snatches yours, bringing it to his mouth to press a sloppy kiss to your palm - a sudden intimacy just before he takes your fingers past his lips and onto his tongue. A wrecked sound tears from his throat as his tongue twists between your fingers and his teeth graze at your knuckles before biting down with enough force to almost be painful.

By the time you’re coming down, he’s taken your place - pistoning with long, sharp thrusts that are short-lived. The two of you danced on the edge as it was, and he’s freely able to throw himself off of it with reckless abandon and his back arching in such a beautiful curve. His tongue stills, but you’ve gained enough faculties back to drag the pads of your fingers along his taste buds, dangerously close to the back of his tongue where it would make him gag. 

In that moment, his eyes open enough to look at you as he murmurs around your fingers that he loves you. 

Maybe he does, at that moment when the entirety of existence loses its deeper meaning, perhaps Wanderer does feel something strong enough that it could be confused for love. But as you pull your fingers from his mouth and fall to his side, head over his chest where no heart beats, you wonder how he’d justify it if you brought it up in the morning. 

You won’t - and he won’t either, even though he says it the next time, and the one following, each growing more frantic as if he were desperate for you to return the favor. If you do, it won’t be in the throes of passion - you want to mean it. It’ll be said in the sunlight, maybe even spoken with a nonchalance he doesn’t expect. 

His expression of surprise would be rather pretty, you think.

[spookiesmausoleum]

❛ 𝐀𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐏𝐬𝐲𝐜𝐡𝐨 ❜ 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

Here's some quotes from "American Psycho" with a few content warnings just due to the subject matter of the movie even if I did try to avoid certain quotes: Drugs , Murder , Psychosis , Cursing , Violence

"Most importantly, we have to promote general social concern and less materialism in young people."

"I'm into, uh, well, murders and executions, mostly."

"Well, most guys I know who are in Mergers and Acquisitions really don't like it."

"There is an idea of a [name]; some kind of abstraction. But there is no real me: only an entity, something illusory. And though I can hide my cold gaze, and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable... I simply am not there."

"My pain is constant and sharp, and I do not hope for a better world for anyone. In fact, I want my pain to be inflicted on others."

"I want no one to escape. But even after admitting this, there is no catharsis; my punishment continues to elude me, and I gain no deeper knowledge of myself."

"Not if you want to keep your spleen."

"My need to engage in homicidal behavior on a massive scale cannot be corrected but, uh, I have no other way to fulfill my needs."

"I don't think we should see each other any more."

"But your friends are my friends and my friends are your friends. I really don't think it would work."

"I know that your friends are my friends and, uh... I've thought about that. You can have 'em."

"Did you know that Whitney Houston's debut LP, called simply Whitney Houston had 4 number one singles on it?"

"You actually listen to Whitney Houston? You own a Whitney Houston CD? More than one?"

"You have a really nice place here, [name]. How much did you pay for it?"

"Well, actually, that's none of your business, [name]. But I can assure you, it certainly wasn't cheap."

"Let's see [name]'s card."

"Look at that subtle off-white coloring. The tasteful thickness of it. Oh, my God. It even has a watermark."

"Is something wrong, [name]? You're sweating."

"It's a fucking milligram of sweetener. I want to get high off this, not sprinkle it on my fucking oatmeal."

"Will you keep it down? I'm trying to do drugs!"

"[Name] has mistaken me for this dickhead [other name]."

"It's impossible in this world we live in to empathize with others, we can always empathize with ourselves."

"When I get to [name]'s place, I use the keys I took from his pocket. There is a moment of sheer panic when I realize that [name]'s apartment overlooks the park and is obviously more expensive than mine."

"I have all the characteristics of a human being: blood, flesh, skin, hair; but not a single, clear, identifiable emotion, except for greed and disgust."

"Something horrible is happening inside of me and I don't know why."

"My nightly bloodlust has overflown into my days. I feel lethal, on the verge of frenzy."

"I think my mask of sanity is about to slip."

"Then maybe we shouldn't go out to dinner. I wouldn't want you to lose your willpower."

"That's okay. I'm not very good at controlling it anyway."

"No—I’m in touch with humanity. [name], I’m sorry, I just uh—you’re not terribly important to me."

"What’s that?"

"Duct tape. I need it for—taping something."

"Pumpkin, you’re dating the biggest dickweed in New York. Pumpkin, you’re dating a tumbling, tumbling dickweed."

"I think if you stay, something bad will happen. I think I might hurt you. You don’t want to get hurt, do you?"

"I want to stab you to death, and then play around with your blood."

"If you don’t shut your fucking mouth, I will kill you."

"Now, [name], listen. Listen very, very carefully—I killed [name], and I liked it."

"Make someone happy. Have you ever wanted to?"

"I guess you could say I just want to have a meaningful relationship with someone special."

"I know my behavior can be—erratic sometimes."

"You hate that job anyway. I don’t see why you just don’t quit."

"Because I want to fit in."

"I’m leaving. I’ve assessed the situation, and I’m going."

"Hey, I’m a child of divorce, gimme a break!"

"Oh, that? Just mulling over business problems, examining opportunities, exchanging rumors, spreading gossip."

"Your father practically owns the company. You can do anything you like, silly."

"God—I guess I was probably returning videotapes."

"I need to return some videotapes."

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Good wife

Part 2 of Princess

Sihtric x reader

Authors note: initially intended as a Part 2 of Princess, but can also be read as a stand alone fic. This is my attempt for a happy ending for my little princess and I think I managed pretty good 😉

And before you start asking, I know I am not following the poll 🙈. I was carried away by the impression that Part 2 of Princess will win anyway and continued writing even before the poll was over. The modern!Sihtric smut request will follow next week, I promise 😅

My biggest and warmest thanks to awesome @arcielee for agreeing to beta read this fic and for all your comments and suggestions! You are incredibly talented writer! The way you play with words and conjure incredibly vivid descriptions make me awe each time anew.

Warnings: 18+, angst (you probably have noticed by now, I simply can't without it🤨), forced marriage, abuse, domestic violence, smut, revenge, blood

Summary: you return to Winchester for your father's King Alfred's funeral just to discover that Sihtric hasn't kept his promise.

Word Count: 4,966

Princess

It's early morning, and the sun is poised to rise above the horizon as you move silently through the corridors of the still-sleeping palace. Your dress glides over the worn steps with a light hush being the only sound disturbing the peacefulness of the new day rising. Upon reaching the garden, you effortlessly locate your favourite secluded spot – a stone pew  in the far corner, partially concealed by an ivy-covered wall and a sprawling bird cherry flower bush. You recall how it bloomed exceptionally early in spring, its inimitably sweet fragrance making you almost dizzy. It’s a scent of your happier days, and you inhale deeply, hoping to infuse every cell of your being with its essence. 

You settle down, embracing the calmness of the moment. A few birds are singing a praise to the sun, its golden fingers slowly stretching to brush the world awake. A gentle breeze frolics in the branches of the trees, adding to the calm beauty of the morning. You're aware that this tranquillity is illusory, yet you cling to it, you need this moment of calmness and silence to gather your thoughts.

The King is dead. Your father, King Alfred, is dead. You still haven’t had a chance to grasp the whole gravity of it. Wessex now stands vulnerable as never before with Cnut and his army preparing to invade, Aethelred of Mercia dreaming about restoring Mercia’s glory and your husband Ethelwold secretly seeking to sever ties with Wessex and secure his claim to East Anglian throne. Politics. You hate politics. Nevertheless, you are not blind and you are definitely not obtuse; the shifts in power and allegiances are impossible to ignore. 

You feel anger slowly unfurling within you, making your cheeks blush. Your fingers impulsively shred into small pieces the flower you had just plucked. You can't change anything and your helplessness suffocates you. You're nobody, a mere toy bestowed upon your husband to secure an alliance. This is exactly how he treats you – as a doll that gets retrieved from its box to showcase during special events, to be mistreated and locked away thereafter. There is nothing even close to love or mutual respect in your marriage. You’re his property, and he delights in ascertaining himself of it, evidenced by the concealed bruises and scratches beneath your dress’s long sleeves and high collar. Coward as he is, he's avoided striking your face – possibly fearing that would cause scrutiny from others, perhaps even your father. You catch yourself thinking that this might change now, that your father is dead. Although you are not sure he would have interfered anyway.

Led by a silly sense of duty to your land and your father, you’ve endured five years of this arranged marriage with a man that revolted you in every aspect, bearing mistreatment and humiliation. And what had it brought? Nothing. Your brother is weak and dependent on the support of his ealdorman. Will he manage to assert himself as the king? You haven't seen him all those five years. He has changed a lot, grown up and matured, but will it be enough? At least he had braved to disobey your mother, aligning with Lord Uhtred. His words and the way he spoke justice, keeping up the pardon your father had given Uhtred on his deathbed, ignited a flicker of hope in you. First hesitant and insecure, he had managed to seize control over the gathered crowd, including the ealdormen, and even the queen, whose authority seemed to prevail from the very beginning. Your brother steps into daunting shoes, but his first step was promising, you rethink the events of the previous day.

Your heart quickens its pace, and a wave of embarrassment begins to rise from your neck, tinting your cheeks with an even more intense shade of red than the preceding anger as the memory you try to suppress emerges. 

He was there. You had seen him. Keeping himself in the shadows, leaning against an aged wagon with his hand resting on the shoulders of a young girl with plain features and dark hair, Sihtric watched in anticipation the scene transpiring before the palace entrance. Five years have passed since you appeared at his doorstep, head over heels in love with the handsome warrior, hoping for his feelings to mirror yours. 

The memory of that night when you willingly gave yourself to him remained untarnished; you have never regretted it. His tender, hesitant confession of love, the gentleness of his touch, the tenderness with which he had made love to you that night, and his eagerness and care to please and satisfy you, aware that it was to be your sole night together, were imprinted in your mind forever. You clung to these sweet memories with all your strength, them becoming your refuge, your shield against the day after and all the other days that followed, when your half-drunk newlywed husband flung you onto the bed, barking at you to disrobe. Undoing his breeches and letting them half down, he flipped you over to your belly, pulled you up to your knees, spread your legs, and placed his hard, dripping cock at your entrance.

“I will teach you now to be a good wife, princess. I am your husband, and you are to obey me. Do you understand? You are mine and only mine. Don’t you ever forget that,” he hissed, leaning closer to your ear, grabbing your hips with both hands and without any warning, forced himself into you in one single motion until the very end of his rigid length. 

You screamed out in pain, tears welling up in your eyes, to which he just started relentlessly thrusting into you, his groans of satisfaction echoing in your mind. Too drunk and consumed by chasing his own pleasure, he didn’t even notice you clutching a tiny pouch in your hand, blood reddening your fingers and your dress, as you squeezed it and hastily wiped your fingers against your thighs, faking the loss of your virginity. 

A chill crawls up your spine as these memories flood back. Why did you remember this? Wasn’t it torturous enough to witness Sihtric holding that young and pretty woman in his hands? He had promised to wait for you, a promise you never demanded, knowing how impossible and foolish it was. Yet, Sihtric’s earnest tone and self-assuredness as he made that promise, made you believe him. The notion that someone out there truly loved you, cared for you, recalled you and eagerly waited for you had become the light that guided you through your existence. It made the days bearable and warmed you when your husband's cruelty and neglect threatened to extinguish your will to live. 

Now the fragile and ridiculous illusion you had clung to for all these years lay shattered into thousand shards. You shouldn’t have come to Winchester. If only you hadn’t seen it with your own eyes, you could have still preserved that naive dream. When Edward pronounced his verdict and the crowd erupted in cheers as he embraced Uhtred, you glimpsed the satisfied smile on Sihtric's lips. He playfully ruffled the girl's hair, and she nestled closer to him, her eyes gleaming with admiration. Unable to bear the sight, you turned abruptly, a heavy weight settling in your chest like a ballast stone, threatening to suffocate you. In that fleeting last moment, your eyes locked with Sihtric’s, surprise flickering across his face, followed by a glimmer of recognition before you managed to flee back into the palace. Your fairy tale had ended abruptly, leaving you with nothing more than bittersweet memories of that single night, when you felt genuinely loved, cherished, and valued. 

Tears start rolling down your cheeks, leaving a glistening trace behind them. All you can do is to hide your face in your hands, permitting yourself to cry out all the pent-up despair that accumulated over five years of abuse and humiliation. Your magical wand, capable of summoning light and dispelling darkness is gone, leaving you drowning into a bleak, frigid expanse of misery and hopelessness. 

The sun had already risen when sudden voices startle you from your melancholy. The palace has awakened to a new busy day, and you can clearly distinguish the voices of your mother and sister calling your name.

Of course, the feasting this evening! There will be a war council summoned by Edward to discuss how to deal with Cnut and his army, followed by a feast. Not that you anticipated it, but you obviously did not have much choice as your husband was invited to both and expected you to accompany him. Still taunted by the lingering thoughts and memories, you reluctantly rise from the pew  and head towards the palace, hastily wiping away your tears before anyone can see them.

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

 It is quite late already when you finally manage to bring up enough composure to get dressed. You had complained about a heavy headache to your husband, hoping he would agree to leave you alone in the chambers.

“Don’t be foolish and dress yourself,” is the response you get as he leaves for the council, which is supposed to start earlier.

You slow down as you reach the staircase, pausing to survey the hall beneath you. You see your mother and sister engaged in a lively conversation, sitting at the high end of the long table. Strangely you find your husband discussing something with Aethelred  – your sister’s  spouse – whom you know he can’t bear and despises deeply for being Alfred’s puppy – as he loves to call him.

Vultures start circling a carrion, Edward needs to be cautious in choosing whom to trust. I must speak with him later, you think to yourself.

And then your gaze lands on him. Your fingers clutch the railing with a desperate grip as you steady yourself, feeling your legs tremble, threatening to buckle beneath you. 

At the far end of the hall, alongside Lord Uhtred, stands Sihtric. His hands envelop an ale mug, his gaze fixed downwards, hovering between the table and the floor, concern and seriousness in his expression. Your breathing fastens as you strive to regain your composure; your knuckles whiten as you continue to clutch the railing. And as much as you try, you can’t force yourself to look away. He is still so handsome. Everything about him makes your heart pound faster and your breath twitch – his tall and robust frame with his black, curly hair braided on the top, but falling to his shoulders in the back. His strong jawline, the scars tracing his forehead and right cheek, his muscular arms covered by the long sleeves of his leather jerking decorated with gold and silver armbands. 

You can still recall these strong arms holding you tightly against his chest, his fingers tenderly raking through your hair. The memory is so vivid in your mind that you almost moan in longing. A captivating mixture of confidence, calmness, and strength emanates from him with the same intensity as when you first met. There is not enough strength within you to descend to the hall and confront him in a dignified manner, there is only one escape for you – to turn back and run to your chambers. Even if it means enduring your disappointed husband’s wrath later, you prefer it a thousand times to the possibility that you would need to speak with Sihtric, now that you are aware he is no longer yours. With the last remnants of your willpower, you force yourself to let go of the railing and want to turn away, your eyes casting one final lingering glance at your former lover as Sihtric lifts his eyes, his gaze meeting yours.

You are frozen, trapped by an invisible spider web that is restraining all your movements, paralysed by the intensive gaze of his big, expressive eyes that are scanning you from head to heels. There is something in his eyes, a lingering mix of confusion, sadness, and some hint of anxiety. Why is he looking so at you? He must be happy; you remember the gleam of happiness he directed to the girl in his arms.

“My dear wife, I am so glad to see you’re feeling better and could join us,” you hear the voice of your husband and in this very moment his ever so repelling voice sounds like a salvation to you. He beams at you, arms stretched as though you were the love of his life, like he has been desperately waiting for. Slowly, you manage to shift your gaze toward him forcing a smile to appear on your lips. Descending the stairs, you extend your arms toward him until you’re by his side and he clasps your hands, lifting your palms to his lips for a kiss.

“What a perfect couple,” you smirk inwardly. You have never understood this masquerade. Why all this pretence to be the loving and caring husband, only to let all his fury on you behind the closed doors?

You can still feel Sihtric’s gaze on you, his eyes drilling into your back as he observes your happy reunion with your husband. You spend the whole evening meticulously avoiding Sihtric. You notice him trying to approach you several times, but you anticipate his every move by hurriedly engaging in conversations with your mother or tugging your sister’s arm, leading her to follow you into another part of the hall away from Sihtric. You accept all invitations to dance, fully aware this will earn you additional scorn from your husband later.

At some point you see Lord Uhtred rising from his seat and striding toward your brother. There is a short conversation between them; Uhtred bows his head respectfully and nods toward Sihtric to follow him. They both leave the hall, and a sigh of relief escapes you. This is finally over. Absentmindedly you wave away the young ealdorman advancing you with a request to dance and head out of the hall, casting a stealthy glance at your husband. He is drunk beyond imaginable. Sitting in his place of the most honoured guests next to your mother, he struggles to keep his eyes open. With his ale mug still in his hand, his face droops onto the plate before him. A knowing smile graces your lips. His love for ale has actually made the last years more bearable, as he was often too drunk in the evenings to force himself upon you or to be able to hurt you. You head to the garden, to the very same place you sneaked out this morning; this will always remain your happy place, even if this morning turned out more sorrowful than you had anticipated.

You lower yourself on the stone pew and breathe in the sweet, intoxicating smell of the flowers, your gaze marvelling at the intricate maze of ivy covering the back wall. Lost in your thoughts you almost jump at the sound of an all-too- familiar voice.

“Good evening, my lady,” Sihtric greets you, obstructing the only way out between the wall and the bird cherry flower bush. “I am sorry if I scared you,” he quickly adds, noticing your wide eyes and face losing its colour.

“Good evening, Sihtric,” you manage to mumble, a heavy sigh escaping your lips.

The silence between you both hangs heavy in the air as nobody dares to speak, your gazes scanning each other with an awkward intensity. You rise from the pew and make a step toward Sihtric trying to side-track him. His hand reaches out, gets hold of yours and lets go of you instantly as if burned.

“I am sorry, I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. Your marriage seems to be very happy, my lady. I’m very glad to see it,” he murmurs, stepping closer, obliterating your attempt to escape. His breath is heavy and itching as his gaze locks with yours, an inexplicably sad and painful look in his eyes. His hand rises as if wanting to cup your jaw but lowers again, not daring to touch you, his uncertainty palpable. He is so close that you can feel his breath vibrating on your skin. His proximity suffocates you, his scent mingling with the aroma of the flowers, making your head spin with dizziness. In the moon's faint glow, his handsome face appears almost timeless, surreal. You are drawn to it, incapable of averting your eyes. His enigmatic, mismatched eyes scan your features full of awe and a hint of something that could be sweet longing, although you know it is not. 

You want to touch him, to caress his cheeks and let your fingers tangle in his dark hair, but instead you gather all your inner strength and utter, “Yes, indeed, as happy as yours I presume. Are you married to that lovely girl?”

“Married? Which girl?” Sihtric's genuine surprise momentarily throws you off, but in the next instant you discard your silly hopefulness. You can’t ignore what you saw. What does he want from you anyway?

“Sihtric, please, there is no need for pretence. Spare me the courtesy. I saw you yesterday before the palace. I don’t blame you. I understand. It’s been five long years. I never truly expected you to keep that promise,” your words tumble out in such a rush, you are surprised of yourself, “I just… I…” you can’t finish your saying, your voice breaking, tears welling up in your eyes. 

This is more than you can endure and with your face in your hands, you storm past him, pushing completely thunderstruck Sihtric aside. It’s unbearable. Your feelings for him are unaltered. You run. You thought you knew the garden as your own pocket, but in the weird moonlight everything looks different. You turn left and then right as you hope to be heading to the palace entrance just to find yourself facing the wall again. Tears roll down your cheeks obscuring your vision and making it even more difficult to navigate through the narrow passages as you feel yourself colliding with a muscular frame, strong arms enveloping your waist, pulling you against a broad chest. You can’t see anything, but the scent of the body you are pressed tightly against is so familiar that you have no doubts who is holding you.

“Let go of me!” you struggle against the firm embrace, “What do you want from me?” you shout, desperation evident in your voice as you can’t control yourself anymore.

“Please, calm down, my little princess. My love, just let me explain,” Sihtric’s voice is just a gentle flurry against the tempest of your ever-growing anger, but something in his tone makes you hold your breath, leading to a short pause in your frantic struggle against his embrace.

“What is there to explain? That you got tired of waiting? That you’re just a man …? That there is no hope anyway… I know, I understand… It was never meant to be…” your sobs become uncontrollable at this point, and you resume your futile attempts to break free from Sihtric’s hold, which gets only tighter in return.

“Please, listen to me. The girl you saw, it’s Uhtred’s daughter, Stiorra. She was terrified that Uhtred would be expelled again, forced to be an outlaw once more with no home, no hope and no man to follow him. I love her as my own child. I held her to assure that whatever happens I will never leave Uhtred. We are bound, we are brothers. And we were both just happy and relieved when Edward acknowledged Alfred’s pardon. That’s all. Since that night five years ago, there has never been another in my life. My little princess, my love, do you hear me? I love only you. Nothing will ever change that,” Sihtric’s voice remains a mere whisper against your ear as you let every word slowly sink into your consciousness. Can it be true? You want to believe him, you feel each and every cell in your body screaming in longing for his touch, telling you to cease your needless struggle and melt into his embrace if only for this one single short moment. It’s only your common sense that tries to object, whispering in the background that it does not matter. It will not change anything. You are bound to another forever. You can never be his. Why torture yourself and him? It’s time to let go. For his sake and for your own. You can’t live in a dream all your life. 

Sihtric’s embrace does not loosen, and your struggle gradually loses its intensity as you surrender to the burning need coursing through you. You let your body absorb the warmth, memorising this embrace for the future. One of his arms drifts from your waist to your hair, as his gentle caresses soothe you.

“Every single day and night, I’ve dreamed of holding you again,” Sihtric murmurs, his lips brushing your hair as your face rests on his chest, your tears soaking his fine leather armour.

“My silly little princess, I thought myself the happiest man alive when I saw you yesterday. But you wouldn’t even look at me. I thought you regretted our past, that you wanted nothing more to do with me. I simply couldn’t accept it just like that, I needed to hear it from you. Can’t you see what you do to me? I practically begged Uhtred to take me with him to that damned council,” Sihtric continues, his words lullabying all your fears and concerns. There is nothing else in this world for you, just the sweet sound of his voice, and you don’t care what the morning will bring. Tonight you want to be with him, you want to feel loved again, you want to be his.

 “Can you just take me away from here? Please, Sihtric,” you lift your head, and your pleading gaze meets Sihtric’s eyes.

“Princess, believe me, I don’t want to let go of you. But your husband is probably searching for you. Allow me to guide you to the entrance,” you hear his words, yet you sense desire consuming him, his arms refusing to let go, wrapping even tighter around you and pulling you closer. He can’t bear to let go of you, the same as you can’t let go of him.

“My husband is drunk and sleeps, his ugly face buried in the leftovers on his own plate,” you hiss with deep disgust in your voice, and Sihtric stiffens in astonishment as you grasp his hand and start pulling him towards the other end of the garden.

“Come with me. I’ll show you how I got out of the palace last time,” your voice is suddenly resolute and confident. Something has changed deep inside you. You have always silently let your life be predetermined by others, and have accepted your fate without questioning it. Except for that one single night, when for the first time you seized control and made a decision you never regretted. And now, you want to feel it again – the power to be able to choose, to make your own decisions. Good or bad, time will tell, but these will be your choices and you will atone for them. You are so sick of just watching life go by, of not partaking. It might have been easier to submit, blaming others for your suffering, but you can’t do it anymore. And with that thought, a surge of newfound power courses through you. 

You find the small concealed side door, trembling fingers gripping the handle; a squeak, and it yields. Your first step into the night feels like stepping into a new life, a fresh destiny. Sihtric follows you, his hand holding yours in a steady and tight grip, and you smile at him as you look back into his mismatched eyes. Once outside the palace walls, Sihtric leads you through the narrow town streets to the same tavern he stayed in previously. You climb the steps to his chamber, the doors close behind you and his hands and lips are upon you. His kisses, initially tender and soft, soon grow feverish and urgent. Desperate fingers rend at clothing, eager to get rid of layers that separate your heated bodies. 

As soon as the last piece of clothing has fallen to the ground, Sihtric grabs your thighs, pulling you up, and you follow his movement, wrapping your legs around his waist and letting him effortlessly carry you over to the bed. He sits down with you straddling him. 

Your lips trail down his jaw to his neck, so greedy, so hungry. Your fingers tangle in his braided hair, pulling hard on them as you allow yourself to immerse in the arousal, building up in your lower stomach and quickly taking you over. You lean back and your hips start moving against Sihtric’s body rubbing your clit against him, your pussy aching in anticipation. Holding you with one arm around your waist, Sihtric’s hand reaches down, and you feel his fingers rubbing at your clit, parting your folds, and sliding inside your soaked pussy.

“Gods, how wet you are,” he grunts against your skin, his already hard and leaking cock is the wordless confirmation that he burns with the same overwhelming desire as you. His lips travel around your breasts, covering them with wet open-mouthed kisses and sucking at your hard nipples.

“I need you. Now,” you moan, and your hand takes hold of his throbbing length, placing it at your wet entrance. A loud groan of relief and satisfaction escapes you both as you lower yourself on Sihtric’s cock, taking him in completely, to the very end of his shaft, instantly starting to move against it. 

His hands land on your buttocks, helping you to push yourself deeper against his pelvis, but allowing you to determine the pace of your movements, which grow faster with each thrust. A loud moan vibrates deep in Sihtric’s throat as your pussy clench around him and your thrusts get frenzied, almost hysterical, your climax building up unstoppably fast and intense.

“Oh my god, Sihtric! I am close … I …” your head snaps back and your nails dig into Sihtric’s flesh as you come with a loud scream, your body twitching and your walls spasming around his cock. 

His hands grab your waist and start moving you up and down, not letting you stop, his hips pushing up against you deeper, faster, just a few more thrusts and he follows you with a heavy moan, his breath panting. Your shivering body collapses against his and he wraps his arms around you, steadying, holding, caressing you. You remain in each other’s embrace, savouring the sweet aftermath of your peaks, before he gently lowers you on the bed next to him. His fingers trace the contours of your figure, and suddenly his eyes widen in astonishment as he notices the bruises of varying colour on your skin – some fading, faint, and pale, while others in intense shades of blue and violet.

“Gods, what is this?” he breathes, his voice quivering, “Who did this to you?” His hands cup your chin, raising your head to meet his gaze. There is no need for an answer; a pained growl escapes his lips as he pulls you into his embrace, burying his face in your neck.

“I’m so sorry, my love,” he murmurs, almost inaudibly, “I should never have let you go. I’ll kill that wretched bastard with my bare hands. Let them hang me for it, but you’re not going back to him.”

“I am not leaving this time,” you whisper, your fingers threading through his hair. “But that bastard is mine. Promise me.”

Sihtric lifts his head, gazing into your eyes, disbelief plainly written on his face, but the certainty in your gaze is unwavering.

“Whatever you wish, my little princess. As long as you are finally mine,” Sihtric whispers, a broad smile gracing his lips as he wonders silently what he's done to earn the favour of the gods, to have his wildest dream come true.

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

“Are you sure about this?” Sihtric cups your face with both hands, his eyes questioning yours.

“More than anything else,” you reply.

“He’s all yours, my love. Do you want me to stay?”

“No, this is between him and me,” you respond, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. Sihtric nods, steps aside, and heads toward the door, opening you the view on a man’s frame sprawled on the bed, his hands and legs tightly tied to the grid, a gag obstructing his mouth and muffling all sounds and attempts to scream. He looks at you with eyes widened in fear, struggling against the ropes with all his strength. His head starts shaking vehemently as he sees you drawing a dagger and walking slowly toward him. You lift your dress and climb the bed, straddling him.

“I will teach you now to be a good husband, my dear,” you murmur into his ear.

—----------------------------------------------- 

With a heavy breath, you shut the door behind you. Your eyes are wide, your hands smeared with blood, clutching bloodied dagger against your chest. Sihtric waits outside, and as you stagger towards him, your legs wobbly, he catches you in his arms. He doesn't utter a word, merely enfolding your trembling shoulders and pulling you close in a firm embrace.

 “Is he dead?” he finally inquires.

“He lives, but he’ll never be able to hurt anybody, the way he hurt me,” you reply with a quiver in your voice. “I must speak with my brother,” you add, wiping your hands on your dress.

“I am here with you. No matter what comes, we’ll face it together,” Sihtric leans in to kiss you and squeezes your hand encouragingly.

Princess

[callistoe]

For that one person who wanted to see Fay's backstory info,,,,

Name: Fay Race: Sylvari Pronouns: He/They Age: 10 Years old Class: Virtuoso Affiliation: None to speak of. Likes: Music, adventure, and the crisp moonlight! Dislikes: Strict rule-followers, authority, creative restriction. Skills: Extremely skilled at sleight of hand and acrobatics. For a man made of bark, he's more flexible than most flesh-and-blood people! His background is primarily in parlor tricks - some using the magic he employs as a Mesmer, but many just being simple fingerwork and misdirection. He's also a skilled musician, never being far from his lute, which he's named Luna. Like most Virtuosos, Fay conjures illusory blades when he gets into a scrap. He moves fluidly through combat, dodging and weaving through enemies effortlessly as if following the steps to a dance. Backstory: Fayanas was a Sylvari much like any other for the first few years of his life. He awakened immediately with an interest in music, and pursued a contemplative, wholesome life. He spent his days playing music and collecting paltry gifts from passersby in The Grove - meeting no shortage of friends, mentors, and sweethearts along the way. On the third anniversary of his awakening, however, Fayanas had a very bad day. One moment he was eating, drinking, and being merry - The next, he was standing above the bodies of two Sylvari who were celebrating the occasion with him. One of them bludgeoned to death; the other cleft in twain, one of her arms snapped like a branch overburdened by a cold night's snowfall. Fayanas looked down and saw a knife plunged into his side - It had only gotten a bit of superfluous bark, thankfully. It was Mordremoth. The call had briefly taken control of him, apparently spurring him to the senseless slaughter of the two people he had been spending his evening with. Were they also affected? Was this self defense? Fayanas would never have the luxury of answer. He would only have the night's silence, and the miraculous recovery of his senses to comfort him that night. The following night, Fayanas disappeared from the Grove. His compatriots would likely forgive him. They would say it wasn't his fault. He would never believe them, if they tried. From that day on, he set off to explore the rest of Tyria on a journey of self-discovery under the name Fay. The shock of his brief lapse to Mordremoth gave way to time, of course - though the scars would never quite go away. He rediscovered his love of music, passing the time by playing his lute on the street for tips. He'd also picked up tips from the many vagabonds he came across and became an exceptionally skilled pickpocket, and a bit of a con artist. Years ago, Fayanas likely wouldn't approve of many of the things he'd eventually get up to. But that's alright - nobility and chivalry were for those close to the Dream. He doesn't deserve that anymore. Personality: Fay is, for all intents and purposes, the chillest guy on the planet. Or, at least, that's what he'd like you to believe when you speak with him. He's always a step ahead, or at the very least knows how to SEEM that way. The truth is, he lives in constant fear. Fear of losing control again, fear of mortality, and fear that he will simply always be lesser than others, on the whole. He covers this fear up with unwavering passion for craft, in both combat and his music. When that doesn't apply, he puts on a benevolent yet apathetic front. He always offers a smile and a bit of small talk, but never at the cost of showing real vulnerability.

[whirld-of-color]

previous update

(plaintext: You won't succeed.)

The voice reverberates around the train, bouncing off of the metal walls and echoing back in a chorus of voices- some low, some high. Two are screaming.

Bright orange graffiti scrawls itself across the windows behind them- the words the figure across from him just said, as if in a mimicry of subtitling. As soon as they're written, they disappear again, vanishing like illusory spots in Purple's eyes. He fumbles for his tape recorder, switching it on after a momentary struggle.

"Who- do you know me? What are you talking about, what do you want?"

Ah.

The light cupped in their hands wavers as they fidget.

I'm... Orange. You can call me Orange.

I don't know you, but... I can guess your story. I've seen it enough times before.

I was one iteration of it.

Orange tilts their head consideringly at Purple.

No one has ever succeeded on the quest you're embarking on. I suggest you turn back.

"I can't. I- I'm not leaving her there."

I thought you would say that.

You won't succeed. You drag them. Her. Out of the ground, and she'll never be the same. The dead aren't meant to come back.

Mine begged me to let them die, at the end. I had to kill them myself.

It isn't worth it. Turn back.

Purple flinches.

"I know. I- I know, okay? You know I can't turn back."

Orange sighs, rattling the train.

I do.

...Alright, then.

Orange sounds so, so tired.

Let's make a bet. Let's... play a game.

Here are the wagers: I bet your dead- that is, in this case... Orchid. You bet something important to you- if you don't have anything left to bet, that's your life.

...

Orchid. Hm.

She's...not dead or alive enough to...

I... what did you do...?

A terrified silence.

If you make it back to this station with Orchid in three days, you can bring her fully back to life and keep whatever you bet. She'll be free. If you don't, I take both for myself, and she dies for good. Back to the ground.

"I... okay. Okay, I."

"Okay, I... alright. Alright."

Purple nods to himself and opens up his backpack with shaking hands, getting up and crossing the distance to Orange. He hands the backpack to them.

Within is every tape Purple's recorded after he left the house- there must be around fifty or more of them, all crammed in together. As Purple speaks, he finds his gaze darting away from Orange's not-face. Anything is better than that... emptiness.

"I... I'd like to trade these. They're... important to me. It's- they're... like, my voice. Like- if-"

"They're... I- I'm trading my voice, it's just- not the one in my throat."

Oh.

Wait, why are you... oh.

Hehe. That's... clever. I have to say.

"Is that... good?"

The phrasing is clever, is all.

Maybe not... I don't think you know what you're trading here, or you wouldn't have bothered. But that's as good a way to get around it as any. Maybe if...

Orange shrugs again, zipping up the backpack.

A voice is more than enough. The fact that it's only recorded, well... I'm not keeping score.

Right.

The train stops with an ear-piercing screech as Orange pushes the backpack over to Purple.

We have a deal, then?

Purple nods, pulling the tapes close to his chest as the train doors slide open.

"Yeah- yeah, we... we do."

Alright. This is your stop. Once you step out of the station, your timer starts. Make the most of it, will you?

And... remember.

(plaintext: The house always wins.)

-----

(masterpost link!)

(ah, writing. for the record, the colored text dotted throughout is pretty much just to put emphasis on certain words, there's no deeper meaning.)

(also, "the house always wins" is a dumbass pun. im aware it's a dumbass pun. just. fucking roll with it okay. i have to get my kicks from somewhere)

[lutiaslayton]

Professor Layton and the Eternal Diva

ＰＡＲＴ　１９

〚ＦＩＲＳＴ〛〚ＰＲＥＶ〛〚ＮＥＸＴ〛

Disclaimer: This is a fan-translation for the Japan-exclusive novellisation of the movie Professor Layton and the Eternal Diva. The original novel was written by Aya Matsui under the supervision of Akihiro Hino, and belongs to Level-5.

This translation only aims to be a pleasant read for non-Japanese fans, nothing more: I made a few deliberate changes while translating in order to get the writing style closer to what is usually found in English fanfictions, as the Japanese storytelling can sometimes be different than what we are used to.

── London・Present

＊ Reunion

After Janice’s voice faded away, I remained pensive for a while.

Three years ago.

The moment I met her, I was left in awe.

She was a beautiful woman, much older than me…

But at that time, was it Melina that left such a big impression on me?

Or was it Janice…?

This is one of the puzzles that I have yet to solve.

This had been my first adventure with the professor, and it was a very special one for me.

‘Mr Future Gentleman’

I thought I had just heard her voice again.

“Look, Luke.”

The professor’s voice brought me back to myself. He had two tickets to the ‘Eternal Kingdom’ opera in hand.

It really was just like that time from three years ago.

Though of course, the name of the venue on the ticket was not the ‘Crown Petone’ this time.

Mr Whistler’s face came to my mind.

According to Inspector Grosky, he sometimes plays the piano in prison, bringing tears to the eyes of his fellow inmates.

I heard through the grapevine that Captain O’Donnell and Mr Marco Brock have hit it off since the incident, and often travel together.

Amelia is currently studying abroad at a foreign university.

The letter I received the other day said that she was still very grateful that the professor and I had attended her grandfather’s funeral.

Nina sometimes comes to visit us here, at Gressenheller. She has a very good memory and studies very hard, and I think she might be admitted to college before me…

But I won’t lose to her. Look out for the Future Gentleman and puzzle master, Nina!

Oh, that’s right, Mr Starbuck and Mrs Raidley had their wedding just the other day. The gossip magazines made it a really big deal.

And I’m currently reading Annie Dretche’s latest mystery. I’m so excited, I can’t stop reading it!

Annie once told me that she has been writing mysteries much faster than before for the sake of Mr Bargland. That way, he would have something to read while he spends his spare time at the hospital…

And then…

There was a knock at the door. Who could it be? Perhaps a client for some new exciting mystery to solve.

The professor and I got up from our chairs at the same time and headed for the entrance.

But as soon as I opened the door, my heart skipped a beat.

“Janice…”

I was dazzled by her smile. It looked just like the one I had seen three years ago…

　⇚　　　　　　　↛

And this completes the fan-translation of the official Eternal Diva novel, everyone! Man, this sure was something. A lot of work, a lot of tears and sweat, a lot of good surprises. Who knows what the future has in store for us now!

...Hm? What's that? Another novel? Let's see...We've seen a lot of blue lately, perhaps a change of colour would do us all some good. How about green? Green sounds nice, right?

Yup. Illusory Forest it is, baby. See y'all next week for a brand new adventure, and one that most of you never have gotten to experience before at that 👀

Oh, also, I'm just going to say before we let Ambrosia go back to its eternal sleep: this thing has followed me up until the very end of my PhD. I defended my thesis, like. TODAY. Just A FEW HOURS AGO.

At the exact time this post is coming out, I am likely going to still be stuck at the lab managing the mini-quiches for the party or something of the like, hahaha. So... yeah, I guess I'm a doctor now? In theoretical chemistry, that is. Yay? Yeah, let's go with yay :D

(and I hope that future me won't happen to be told a random "actually no ur work sucks you failed lol" on that very day and the party prevents me from editing this post in order to bring the bad news, that'd be awkward lmao)

[reestallized]

pasting this from my notes app

One day, there was a Zorua.

This Zorua has just left a city after stealing food and items from there.

The Zorua seems to have a friend, which is a Drifloon. They play a game with one of the Zorua's items, by throwing around a Poké Ball.

The Zorua accidentally flings the Poké Ball at their friend, confining them inside.

The Zorua gets confused and nervous, so it takes the Poké Ball to its den. Its parent doesn't seem to know what to do with the ball.

A day later, the Zorua, ball in their mane, heads out to the city.

But by unknown circumstances, it's turned into a human. A young boy. He appears to be nine or so.

Confused, he wanders around the city, noticing that his illusory capabilities have vanished.

An adult of some sort finds the boy, and asks him about his family. He doesn't answer, with the sudden transformation having affected his memory. The adult keeps him with them, treating him as family. He and his Drifloon partner have been living a happy life so far.

Six years later, it's the night before the boy's birthday. He puts his phone and Drifloon's ball in his pockets before going to sleep, unaware of what will happen next.

Suddenly he wakes up in a strange, dark realm....

[cosmicmote]

Rainy Day Sentience #'s 68 and 71

somewhere along the way Orwell wrote that all art is propaganda. he also wrote on auto-hypnosis, how people live their lives in a state and are brought to love it, big brother at least.

I've been pondering again lately on the passage from the larger sutra and how the human realm doesn't seem all that higher than the animal and lower realms, hells included. not that there is any higher or lower, better or worse, realistically, to be divided into here. this gets easier to see once one reaches a shore. on that note, one is an abominable and illusory concept as well, it would be better deprecated than clung to. but anyways, as it says, all is bent on doing evil and we as a species, in taken human forms get all the violence with a tall abundance of hubris added in, often at godly(or goddessly) levels. the middle path, it is called. the hubris is part of what makes for a bigger drop into hell realms once all is done, it's not just the pleasures and seekings with ostensibly fewer sufferings. fear gets to be its own form of glamor, also. we could say it all never ends, even when it's broken down. as an old soul who's ready to depart, lessons learned and unlearned, nembutsu has its appeals -- both as a get out of jail free card and an acknowledgement that we can do "better": but only with other power and conducive lands elsewhere, whatever the pre-arranged seating. it is often stated that love is all we have and need, but it gets so strangely defined -- fathoming itself into stupidity and back, without so much as an effort. hold on. there is no life here without conflict, or friction more precisely, that's part of how samsara works too. of course enlightenment is rare, countless lifetimes spent in what amount to garbled dream states. some people know they play their parts, without knowing. when vision is 360, their is no hindsight, is there.

[35] The Buddha said, "The first evil is this. Devas, humans and lesser beings, including even those that crawl, are bent on doing evil. There is no being that is not. The strong subdue the weak; all inflict serious injuries and kill each other, all devour their prey. Not knowing how to do good, they commit evil and do outrageous and unruly deeds. Later, they receive retribution, [276a] it is natural that they should be destined to evil realms. Demigods keep records of offenders' acts and make sure that they are punished. That is why some are poor and destitute, corrupt, beggarly, lonely, deaf, dumb, blind, stupid, wicked, physically handicapped, deranged, or subnormal. But others are honorable, noble, wealthy, intelligent, or clever. This is the result of good and meritorious acts of benevolence and the performance of their duties to their parents in past lives. ~ Larger Sutra: https://web.mit.edu/stclair/www/larger.html - Hisao Inagaki translation

the earth as a planet has its own karma it goes through as well, and cycles, and kali yuga has its own seasonal weathers. then there's the solar system too; so on and so forth it goes, cascading. in some ways things are looking up from here, but it's only because I know there are other shoes about to drop, if not this year then next. it's a repeating world war on the surface, but underneath and above it's a coming of age where you won't let go of the old. it won't lead to good times for many ahead, but I'm not heavily invested or even bought into it to start with, so.. and I wish we could speak more concisely but that's not how this all works here either, there are forces who make sure of that.

many words and sounds are empty shells and others are fertile seeds, growing various things - we can see which is which, more often than not. empty sea shells and the spirals that lead to them are their own little worlds, aren't they? Ezra Pound wrote of milkweed, the sustenance as to enter arcanum, and he wasn't wrong there either.

the painting above was created using Black Ink, G'mic, and Corel Painter, with additional photograph layered in. where do red bull and monster drinks fit? they don't, really.

graphic and words ©spacetree 2024

[ww2yaoi]

tagged by @oatflatwhite for the favourite line tag game. thanks for the tag <3

share a favourite line that you've read/written that impacted you. I will also do both because I can

Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around - nobody big, I mean - except me. And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff - I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it's crazy, but that's the only thing I'd really like to be.

the catcher in the rye, j.d. salinger

David merely hums and buries himself further into Joe’s body, like he can make a home in his abdomen, settle deep and sleep soundly surrounded by Joe and only Joe. Sometimes when David touches him, it feels so fleeting, like he’s mountain air rushing through David’s splayed fingers, rarified and illusory. It’s a cogent reminder that Joe can’t be held onto, not by David, not for very long. Yet, here he is now, slight but warm like a certain slant of sun through the window blinds. Are you here for me? David wants to ask. Have I been waiting all this time for you?

untitled webgott fic

I tag @babe-heffron, @youcalledmebabe and anyone else who wants to do this <3

[kimkimberhelen]

Gene Cousineau: “Little Sally Reed from Joplin, Missouri. What do you want?”

Sally Reed: “To be an actress … it’s all I ever wanted in the whole world.”

This quick exchange introduces Barry’s audience to Sally (Sarah Goldberg) in the series premiere. Her passionate, teary plea rings normally at first glance; she’s a small-town girl with wide-eyed Hollywood dreams. Aw, shucks. Over four seasons, HBO’s grim comedy ingeniously peels back layers to unveil Sally’s discombobulating, deeply human personality. Her unlikable traits—selfish, gravely insecure, a knack for walking over people (including seemingly naive aspiring actor Barry Block)—remain intact as the show nears its end.

By now, though, we know these qualities stem from a marred past: a rotten home life, previous spousal abuse, and a gnawing lack of confidence she desperately wants to cover up. Barry rarely excuses her entitled behavior but slowly sheds light on how her illusory front is a coping mechanism. No wonder she makes the short-lived Joplin as an outlet to process her tragedies. What’s worse? She barely gets time to exist in the world she creates after working hard to achieve it. As it turns out, Sally is the ultimate portrait of trauma in Bill Hader and Alec Berg’s stellar series, which wraps on May 28.

Sally Reed was probably never going to have a happy ending. It’s not because she prioritizes her lofty career ambitions, pushing away anything that gets in the way. Goldberg plays Sally’s goals with such enthusiasm it usually borders on mania, even when she’s sympathetic. It’s a shame she hasn’t won an Emmy for her wrenching yet funny performance. Remember her season two monologue when Barry (Hader) auditions for Jay Roach? Or her season three “entitled fucking cunt” breakdown in the elevator that Natalie (D’Arcy Carden) shares with the world, leading to her downfall? But the professional blinders Sally’s had on for most of Barry’s run is what limits her in the end.

As if her traumatic history wasn’t enough, her entanglement with Barry Berkman worsens everything. He breezes into her life one fine day, drawn into her safe space, when he catches her rehearsing outside Gene’s (Henry Winkler) studio while on a mission. Barry finds solace in it, attracted to the idea of shedding his skin to inhabit somebody who doesn’t have PTSD or a laundry list of crimes. It’s enough to get him hoping for a fresh start. That’s also what Sally hoped for when she moved to Los Angeles after finally leaving her abusive husband, Sam (Joe Massingill).

Season four delves into why Sally deserved to leave her Joplin jail. Sam isn’t the only reason. Her mother is dismissive, flat-out refusing to believe her ex abused Sally, nor does she care that her daughter’s boyfriend is arrested for murder in L.A. “Big whoop” isn’t exactly the expected maternal reaction, and her nice-guy father doesn’t have anything valuable to add, either. It’s clear from the final season’s early episodes that Sally doesn’t have anyone—anyone except for an imprisoned Barry. Her admittance to him in this season’s “bestest place on earth,” that she feels safest with him, is a devastating reality chec

Hader and Goldberg, sitting feet away, separated by a glass barrier, deliver a potent performance in a scene that sells their toxic attachment. She can write all the one-act plays and TV shows she wants, but Barry’s grievously absorbed her identity just when you (and everyone around her) thought she was free of it. Their confrontation in jail is a turning point for the show’s final installments. Her shaky confession sets Barry’s brain aflame. He teams up with the FBI, makes an enemy out of NoHo Hank (Anthony Carrigan), and escapes prison during a shootout. Ultimately, it launches a new life for the duo in the middle of a barren landscape where they don new identities and shed their skins. Just like the dream, huh?

Barry’s final season jumps eight years ahead with a full picture in episode five, “tricky legacies.” It glimpses into the dreary monotony of Barry and Sally, who go by Clark and Emily now. They shield their child from the real world. It doesn’t mean Sally’s not seething under Emily’s mask. Her pain follows her because she chose to give up the one thing that mattered: her acting dream. Having experienced a shitty upbringing, she passes along the intergenerational trauma to John by parenting similarly to her mom—indifferent, indignant, and inebriated. She doesn’t know where to start nurturing.

It’s not like Barry’s childhood was a prize, so neither of them is good at this, but Sally is on a whole other level. She drops alcohol in his juice to put him to sleep, serves up burnt lunches, and generally wrestles with how to love this human being she gave birth to. In Sally’s expressions, Goldberg displays a tangible aversion to motherhood, a full-bodied disdain for the life they’re responsible for creating. So yes, in a twisted way, she’s a copy of her parent now. It’s a full circle.

Everyone on Barry is haunted by their actions, especially with the time jump, so Sally isn’t an exception, of course. Barry wreaked absolute havoc. Gene lost Janice Moss (Paula Newsome), ruined his legacy, and now reappears to chase fame again. As seen in episode six, “the wizard,” Hank has grown a successful business, but had to kill the love of his life to do it. Fuches’ (Stephen Root) friendship with Barry turns sour as he morphs into the Raven. Yet, Sally’s regression is agonizing because she was a lick away from gaining everything she wanted. Instead, she ponders torturing her network boss, kills a man in self-defense, and runs back home, only for everything to crumble again. All this while witnessing Oscar winner Sian Heder work with her mentee, Kristen (Ellyn Jameson), and watching Natalie soar.

Now, she’s drunk and being tortured (note Hader’s prolific direction in “the wizard”) as a man in a ski mask figure shakes up their trailer home. She’s permanently haunted. Janice’s father has captured her partner, and all she can do is call him repeatedly, begging him to come back. With two episodes of Barry remaining, Sally is left alone in her cage to care for John. Does she head back to her hometown to complete the cycle? Or will she return to the city of dreams to find Barry and maybe accomplish the only thing she wants to be in this world? Either way, Sally might not realize it, but she’s already played the role of a lifetime now. It’s wish fulfillment in the worst and most tragic possible way.

[nerdkiller]

Something funny about khanpella is that Capella has 0 clue that she's a doll and not a real human person but Khan is fully aware the entire time that he's not just a doll, but he's in a play, perhaps even the fact that he's in a game, just a work of media among others. So his final discussion with the Haruspex re: the role he will play is very literal; he's playing the role that Capella's (but really the game's authors) imagined for him, a role like his father's, just like he plays the role of Khan, but there's never been any decision involved; it happens regardless and he knows how it will happen in every possible ending, which is why even if you screw up the quest it still happens, & you never end up telling Capella that the proposal part didn't work out because that impacts nothing—the only real difference made is if you complete the quest he'll be gone by Day 12 so you can't even speak to him about what he'll be doing with his life because he stops existing entirely, because there is an idea of a Khan Pathologic, some kind of abstraction, but there is no real me, only an entity, something illusory, and though I can hide my cold gaze and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable: I simply am not there.