#but if i were to be in a place where i cannot remove the anxiety i dont know what i would do

[raven-dor]

me and my husband

In which gwayne hightower is overprotective of his pregnant wife, and she begins to worry about the outcome of the birth

PAIRING: gwayne hightower x reader

WARNINGS: angst, anxiety, rough pregnancy, mentions of blood, arguing, fluff ending

WORD COUNT: 3.2k

AN: I read "chose me" by @entitled-fangirl and had to write something similar for gwayne!! this could also be read as part of the come back to me universe, but you do not have to read any other fic to understand the context!!

She watched from the dark hall, her heart fluttering as he leaned back, exposing his neck and upper chest. Pregnancy awoke a dangerous animal inside her, one that needed her husband near her at all times. 

Instead, he sat in his office. 

She could not blame him; it was hard work, taking care of Old Town in place of his uncle’s absence. Seeing as his cousin had died recently, Gwayne would stand to inherit the Hightower title, and he all but jumped at the chance to begin his training.

But as of late, it seemed as if she needed him more than he needed her. Mere thoughts seemed to drown out her happiness, every attempt to block them futile. The larger she grew, the closer she got to the inevitable. She cleared her throat, making herself known to her husband. 

“Gwayne?” He looked up, smiling brightly. 

“My love! You should be in bed.” He stood up, ushering her over to a cushion. She glared, letting him coddle her for now.

“I am not inept.” 

“I know, darling.” He knelt in front of her, kissing her hand gently. “But you also know that I cannot help but worry for you.” He caressed her stomach, whispering. “And how is our little one?” 

“You have no need to worry, I assure you. The Maesters say the babe is perfectly healthy; there is no cause for concern.”

“And you?” He kissed her hand once more. “How do you fare?”

She was taken aback by that question, avoiding the question. “Do not worry about me.” 

“That is my job as your husband.” He walked back to his desk, putting out the flickering candle. “And Maesters are not always correct.” 

“That is a rather skeptical view.” She grabbed the handles of the chair, pushing herself up. Gwayne glared. 

“Please ask for my aid next time you plan on standing.” 

“Shall I ask you to help me relieve myself as well?” She glared back. “I love you; you know that I do. But I am not a frail piece of straw. I will not break from a gust of wind.”

“You are carrying the future heir to the Hightower name, my dear.” 

Terms like that make her uneasy. That is all she heard all day. ‘Future heir,’ ‘Hightower name,’ ‘a boy.’ All phrases she had heard over a hundred times. She just wanted a moment of peace where she was not reminded how little she mattered in this situation. A tight smile graced her lips, and she lost all humor in her tone. “As I am constantly reminded.” 

He grabbed her hand, walking slowly out of the office. “All I ask is that you take care. If not for me, then for the sake of our child.” 

“I am careful.” She glared. “You know this. It’s not as if I go looking for things to hurt the babe. Do not treat me like a child to be watched over.” 

He rubbed a thumb over the back of her hand. “I do not mean to upset you-” 

“Well, you have.” She scoffed. “You have somehow managed to insult my care for your future line and my child in one blow. It is astonishing, truly. I applaud you.” 

“You know that was not my intention.” He shut their bedroom door, removing his shirt. Y/N tried to keep herself from blushing at the sight, but when he looked like that, it was hard to do. He knelt in front of her, holding both of her hands in his. “I am sorry.” 

She hummed, walking away and sitting in front of her vanity. “Yes, well, I suppose I forgive you.” 

He grinned. “I am glad of it.” 

The woods were peaceful, a nice retreat from the bustling of Old Town. Her velvet green dress dragging behind her. She hummed, closing her eyes and listening to the sound of the trees swaying. There was a lake nearby that she desperately wanted to swim in, and stare up into the sky of blue. Pushing the tall grass out of her way, the clearing stretched out before her, the lake at the center. She grinned, running down the hill with a newfound joy.

“Y/N? Where are you?” 

Her smile fell, remembering the whole reason she had even been ‘allowed’ to go on this excursion. He’d only let her go if he came along. She sighed, turning around and walking back up the hill. “Coming, my love.” 

The auburn-haired man smiled, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Where did you run off to?” 

“The clearing.” She traced shapes on his chest. “I was thinking, perhaps you could join me for a swim. It is a perfect day for it.” 

“I-” 

“My lord.” Their guard’s voice echoed through the forest. Y/N groaned, falling against her husband’s chest. Gwayne kissed the top of her head, smiling sympathetically. “Another time, I swear to you.” She sighed, nodding. A finger hooked under her chin, his eyes serious. “You look far too melancholy, my love.” 

“Well, perhaps if-” 

“My lord, I’m sorry, but it is most urgent.” 

Gwayne sighed, intertwining his hand with hers. “What is it?”

The Maester’s Wing was dim, with just a few candles keeping light. Gwayne had been summoned to settle a squabble between the townfolk, leaving Y/N to visit the old man herself. She tapped her foot, waiting for the Maester to ask her the questions she dreaded. But those questions never came. 

“My lady.” 

Y/N smiled, nodding. “Maester Jon, it is wonderful to see you.” She held her stomach. “Tell me, any developments my husband or I should be aware of?” 

“Unfortunately, yes, my lady.” He sat down. “It seems, from what we can tell so far, that the birth may result in a breach pregnancy.” Y/N’s blood ran cold, and she felt her breath catch. “A breach pregnancy may result in a choice needing to be made.” He leaned forward, a sympathetic look on his face. “Do you understand what this means, my lady?” 

She nodded, standing up quickly. “I do. Thank you, Maester Jon. I shall relay the news to my lord husband.”

She gave one last look at the dark corner before practically running out of the wing. She burst through the hall doors, dinner in full swing. There sat Gwayne, eyes drooping, visibly exhausted from his duties. 

Who was she to worry him anymore?

Y/N sat beside her husband, kissing his cheek. “How was your day, my love?” 

“Infinitely better, now that you are here.” He smiled. “How was the visit?” 

She took a large sip of her wine. “Well. All is well.” She grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly. “I love you.” 

He grinned, squeezing back. “I love you much more, my dear.” 

If he chose the babe, she knew she would surely die from heartbreak before she bled. She laughed, her eyes watering. “I do not think that is possible.” 

Since learning of the news, she’d been restless, barely sleeping and often waking before the sun. Its bright rays peeked through the curtains, hitting her skin. The warmth soothed her for a moment, but it was just that, a moment. 

The babe kicked harshly, a quiet groan leaving her. She stared at the ceiling, thinking that in just a few short weeks, she’d be giving birth in this very bed, staring at the same ceiling. 

It had always been described to her as horrible and painful beyond recognition. And now that she was carrying an heir, which could possibly be breach, she almost wished she could go back to when they first met and stop herself. When she didn’t have to worry about what she did or where she went, she could just be free. 

He would be pressured into choosing the child over her; she knew this. Sometimes, when the need for an heir was strong, women had been carelessly cut open, being left for dead. It had been done many times, most notably in her lifetime, by King Viserys. Rhaenyra had told her of his actions: how he’d carelessly cut Aemma open, and her mother bled out on the bed without ever getting to hold her babe. 

She looked over at her husband, fast asleep and dead to the world. His hair covered his eyes; his face was shoved into the pillow haphazardly. She giggled; he’d always slept like there was no tomorrow; it was heartwarming, to say the least. She leaned over, pushing the hair out of his face, kissing his forehead gently. 

 Rolling to her side, she quietly stood, careful not to wake him. Grabbing her robe from the wardrobe, she made her way to the dining hall, eager to eat something of actual sustenance. 

After learning of the news, she had picked at her dinner, telling Gwayne it was because the babe made her nauseous. 

In a way, it had. 

The smell of bacon and eggs flooded her senses, and she rounded the corner, the doors of the hall wide open. Greeting the occasional servant that passed by, she sat down, piling food onto her plate. 

“My lord.” Y/N looked up to see her husband stalking toward her, not even acknowledging the man who had greeted him. Odd, he normally slept as long as he could before starting his day. She smiled brightly. “Good morning, my love.” 

He raised his eyebrows. “Is it a good morning?” 

“Quite.” She tilted her head. “Why? Is something amiss?” 

He nodded, crossing his arms. “I awoke, and my wife was gone. Imagine my surprise.” 

She had felt horrible leaving him, and fighting would only give him more cause to choose the babe. “I am sorry if I scared you.” 

“You should be. And another-” He stopped, shock adorning his features. “You are sorry?” 

“I should have woken you. It was my mistake.” She pat the chair next to her. “Please, join me.” 

“I’m afraid I cannot. I have to meet with the steward this morning.” 

Her heart clenched. “I can join you if you’d like-” 

“It is not necessary. I will only bore you.” 

She murmured, reaching out to grab his hand. “You have never bored me.” 

“You are kind, but I’m sorry, I cannot be distracted.” He grabbed a plate, placing a biscuit and two pieces of bacon haphazardly.

She scoffed, glaring at her lord husband. “I did not realize I was such a distraction."

"Y/N...."

"Perhaps I should stay in my chambers for the remainder of my pregnancy. To keep you from further distraction.”

“That is not what I meant, and you know it.” 

She stood, her eyes cold. “I know nothing of the sort.” She looked over his shoulder, beckoning over a servant. “Please move my things into the adjoining room. I will be sleeping there-” 

Gwayne sat his plate down, looking at the servant. “Do not move her things.”  

“My lady?” The young girl looked frightened, scared that she was caught in the middle of their argument. 

Y/N sighed, dismissing the girl. “It is alright.” She walked away, yelling back at her husband. “I shall do it myself.” 

“Y/N!” Gwayne yelled, dropping his plate and running after her. “Come back here at once.” 

She ignored him, walking faster. The stairs proved to be a challenge, holding the railing tight. Gwayne placed a hand on her back. “Let me-” 

She flinched, pushing him back. “Don’t.” 

He mumbled. “You may hate me all you want after this.” 

“After what-” He hooked his arm under her legs, carrying her up the stairs. “Gwayne Hightower! You let me down right now!” 

The top of the stairs was a relief; she practically jumped out of his arms. She walked into their joint chambers, filling her trunk with things she would need. Gwayne sighed, watching from the doorway. “Will you please just-” 

“I will leave you to your devices, my lord. I hope your meetings prove well spent.” Dragging the trunk through the door, she slammed it in his face. 

That had been three days ago. They’d seen each other in the halls and at meals, but other than that, Y/N steered clear of her husband. For the better part of the day, he’d been in a meeting with the patrons of Old Town, or so she’d heard. Y/N took that as an opportunity, rushing out of the castle’s gates. Squealing, she cut through the tall grass once more, racing down the hill towards the lake. She threw her dress off, her petticoat barely revealing her modesty. Not that anyone would see, this part of the wood was only known by the family. 

The water did wonders for her nerves, cooling her skin. Her hair stretched out past her waist, flowing like the tall grass that surrounded this oasis. She floated for what seemed like hours; the babe had not stirred once. She hummed, rubbing her bump gently. “It is quite peaceful here, is it not?” 

A kick. 

Y/N grinned, her eyes tearing up. “Please, try your best to make this an easy birth. It would break my heart not to meet you. If that is the case, don’t worry. Your father’s a good man; he’ll raise you well.” 

No kick. 

She laughed. “Do not ignore your mother. It’s quite disrespectful.” 

A kick. 

“I miss him too, my love.” 

A voice broke through the silence. “Miss who exactly?” 

Y/N jumped, standing in the water. “My lord, I did not expect you-” 

“I was in a meeting when a guard informed me you were running out of the castle gates.” His face looked conflicted, but she didn’t want to address the fact that he most likely heard that whole ‘conversation,’ so she remained silent. “Is there something you wish to tell me?” 

So he had heard. She smiled, trying to act as if nothing was wrong. “I do not know what you are referring to, my lord.” 

“Stop.” Gwayne sighed. “You haven’t called me that since before we were engaged, and I do not wish for you to start again.” He stepped forward, extending his hand. “Please come out of the lake.” 

She walked past his hand to her dress, every attempt to retrieve it proving futile. “Here.” Gwayne knelt down, picking it up off the stump. “What would you have done if I hadn’t been here?” 

“I would have figured it out, thank you very much.” She glared, pulling the frock over her head. “Do you not have another meeting to attend, my lord?” 

“I canceled them.” He laughed, stepping forward. “After I heard my wife was running away from our home, I thought it best to tend to the matter myself.” 

“How wise of you.” Y/N crossed her arms. 

“Shall we go to bed?” 

“I am not tired.” She walked up the hill, leaving him behind. “Have a restful night, my lord.” 

She slammed her bedroom door shut, leaning against it. She was tired; she hated to admit it. But she wouldn’t have told him that. She walked over to the window, placing the bouquet she picked on the mantle. A reminder of the freedom she once had. A reminder of life before she faced death itself. 

A knock rang out. “May I come in?” 

She tensed. “If you must.” She faced the window, too scared to face him. If she looked at him, truly looked at him, she thought she would start crying. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” 

“I have to ask you something, and I want you to answer me honestly.”

She nodded, walking away from the window and placing her robe in her wardrobe. “Ask it then.” 

“Do you still love me?”

Her heart stopped. “I-” 

Gwayne stepped forward, wrapping a singular arm around her waist. He drew her in, his scent engulfing her senses. She fought herself not to fall for his spell, but as he leaned his head down, and his breath hitting her neck, she knew she would not last. “If you do not, speak it plainly because I- I cannot go on like this any longer.” 

She turned around in his arms, placing her arms on his chest. “I do not believe I could ever stop loving you. Trust me when I say this.” She smiled. “I’m afraid it’s terminal.” 

“Ah.” He let out a sigh of relief. “Then what is it that troubles you so?” 

“I do not know what you-” 

“I beg you, do not finish that sentence.” He tilted her chin up, worry in his eyes. “What ales you, my love?” 

“I am simply nervous.” She to be out of his arms. The longer she stayed in his embrace, the more compelled she felt to tell him. “It is nothing, I swear to you.”

He raised his eyebrows, pulling her hands from his chest and kissing them gently. “Please do not lie to me.”

“That night I visited the Maester, he told me something.” He nodded. “He said with the way the pregnancy is progressing, it is possible that the babe will be born breach.” Her voice grew quieter the longer she spoke. 

“That’s not all, is it?” 

She pushed out of his hold, walking to the other side of the room. “I’m so sorry, Gwayne. Truly, I am. Please forgive me-” a sob wrecked her body. “But I want to live. Please.” 

Gwayne shook his head. Where was this coming from? “Whatever are you talking about?” 

“I know I have been acting radical as of late, and I apologize, I just thought-” She hiccuped. “I thought it would make your choice easier.” 

“What choice, darling?” 

She whispered. “Between me and the babe.” 

“Why would I-” It dawned on him. Had she really been dealing with this all by herself? “Oh, my sweet girl. Why did you not tell me?” 

“I didn’t want to stress you any further.” She hugged herself. “Please, Gwayne. I swear I will give you another heir if this pregnancy-” She shivered. “Just don’t cut me. I beg you.” 

He dropped down in front of her, grabbing her hands in his. “Listen to me well. I could sire a hundred children, but you. You are one of a kind, and I will always choose you.” He kissed the back of her hands once more. “Irreplaceable. You must know this.” 

“Gwayne, no one is truly irreplaceable.” 

He stood, his eyes dark. “Do not say such things again. Swear it to me.” 

“I-” 

“Swear it, Y/N.” 

“I swear.” She whispered, cheeks red. “I swear to you.” 

He nodded, smiling lightly. “I’m sorry.” 

“For what?” 

“For coddling you.” He stepped closer, caressing her bump. “I am scared as well. My own mother had many a difficult pregnancy, and I would never forgive myself if something happened to you.” 

“I am sorry as well.” She placed a hand on his cheek. “I should have come to you with my worries. I did not want to burden to burden you. And I will make sure you have your heir. I promise you that.” 

“I do not care if the Hightower name crumbles away into nothingness. As long as you are content, I will be as well.” He leaned down, their foreheads touching. “There would be no point to this without you. I fear I could not do this if you were not by my side.” 

“You have been doing perfectly fine as of late.” She winced. "I truly am sorry.” 

“No more of that.” He whispered, staring at her lips. “May we please go to bed?” 

She nodded, knowing if she tried to speak that words would fail her. She lay on the bed beside him, tracing his freckles. “Sleep, my love.” He wrapped an arm around her waist. “I will be here when you wake, I promise.” 

[spacebarbarianweird]

Oooh! Chronic depression Tav sounds right up your alley! I'm also chronically depressed and I have a similar living condition (messy room, not the horrific torture) to Astarion. Maybe a Tav who can empathize with his messy tent and his depression?

Oh yes, this hits my alley! I was diagnosed with anxiety disorder and depression a while ago plus it seems like I had a severe depression when I was 12-19 years old (but I wasn't taken to any specialists back then).

TW: Anxiety and depression come in different forms, my therapists always told me that I have a weird skill to look absolutely normal meanwhile tests show signs of severe depression. I've based this headcanon on my own experience.

TW 2: A suicide attempt, depression.

Astarion x Depressed!Tav

Masterlist

Headcanons

You feel off.

Something was utterly wrong with you for the last few years.

You barely eat, sleep too much

Decision-making is difficult as fuck, and you just do what you are told to.

The time is slipping through your fingers and you sometimes realize it's already winter when it was summer a day ago.

You feel like drowning in the dark void.

Maybe you should just end everything? Because life will never get better.

The tadpole suppresses your condition.

You suddenly feel good. You feel strong. You feel alive.

And the Emperor is particularly adamant that you embrace the tadpole potential.ccepting the tadpole potential.

"Remember how bad you felt before? It will get worse if you deny the tadpole. Once it's gone, your mind will drown in darkness again. But accept my offer, and you will never suffer again."

You recognize familiar patterns in Astarion's behavior.

His inability to make decisions.

The mess he made of his tent.

The way he sometimes sits and stares in the distance not moving at all.

That he doesn't really read, staring at the papers with mindless eyes.

Or quickly turning pages without understanding what is written there.

Or an extreme degree of anhedonia. He cannot taste wine or food, his senses are dulled, and nothing brings him joy except blood and sex (both of which have been unavailable to him for centuries).

You want to accept the tadpole. You don't want to go back to where you were. He doesn't want to either.

But when you take the astral tadpole, Astarion knocks it out of your hands and smashes it.

"You're in no condition to make decisions like that, dear," he says, grabbing your arm.

Neither is he.

You fear to have the tadpole removed.

When it is gone, it's worse than you expected.

You can't move. Can't think. The void is killing you.

You don't want to talk to anyone. You can't do anything. The only thing you are capable of is to crawl into the inn and lie there like in a coffin.

It will never get better.

Maybe, you should just off yourself?

And Astarion's absence only proves your thoughts. He isn't there, he's left. He doesn't need a burden like you.

The relapse is so bad you decide to find a way to end things.

You choose a lonely place and takes a dagger out.

You greet death like an old friend.

Only to wake up under a starry night sky.

With a familiar skeleton-like figure close to you.

Withers brought you back. But why? And how did he…

Before you manage to say anything coherent, you feel strong hands around your waist and a familiar scent.

Astarion cries holding you.

"I shouldn't have left you, I shouldn't have... I am so sorry..."

He was ashamed of himself. Of his own relapse.

But he could never thought you would kill yourself.

These six monthes were difficult for him.

Yes, he was free. He could do whatever he wanted.

But he was lonely. He had nightmares. Breakdowns.

He started looking for you only to realize you were dead.

Finding Withers was his only hope.

And you are back. Back to him.

Astarion takes you away from Baldur's Gate to the places you've never been before.

Basically making you run faster than your darkness.

Together you learn how to enjoy things.

You basically ask each other "What can we do rn to make ourselves feel better?"

A swim in the lake? A bath in the inn? A new piece of garment? Just staying together in the tent?

You hold each other from slipping into the void.

Eventually, you are advised to start taking some medicine made by clerics.

You take it once a day and you feel better, almost the same way you felt with the tadpole.

You take the double shot because Astairon drinks your blood to get this medicine for himself.

You both don't feel yourself that miserable anymore. You both cry less.

You sleep better, Astarion doesn't have nightmares.

You are good. Both of you.

It doesn't mean the darkness won't come back - but you are both ready to meet it.

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96

[herstoryheaven]

Lando Norris x Reader: Racing Through Fear

Prompt: Y/n stands in the pouring rain among a crowd of Formula 1 fans. When Lando Norris' car crashes violently, Y/n doesn't hesitate to jump onto the track to save him. This act of bravery leads to the confession of hidden feelings.

Reader: Gender Neutral

Word count: 1840

Average reading time: 6 min 40 sec

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: This story contains intense scenes involving a race accident, resulting in injury and emotional distress. If you are sensitive to these topics, please read with care.

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Disclaimer: All events portrayed in my stories are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events is purely coincidental. Any actions or behaviours portrayed by the characters may differ from reality and cannot be connected to any actual person. This work is purely fictional and intended for entertainment purposes only.

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The rain was pouring down, drenching everything in sight. Y/n stood among the crowds of Formula 1 fans, her excitement mingled with an underlying layer of anxiety as the weather showed no signs of letting up. She pulled her raincoat tighter, shivering as the cold seeped through. The circuit was a mess, puddles forming everywhere, and the whispers of concern grew louder amongst the crowd.

"Is it even safe to race in this?" someone muttered nearby.

Despite the worried murmurs, the race went to a start. Engines roared to life, and the cars zoomed down the track, spraying water in their wake. Y/n's eyes were fixed on one car in particular, Lando Norris'. Her heart raced along with the cars, a mixture of pride and fear surging through her for her friend.

Several laps into the race, disaster struck. Lando's car hit a particularly treacherous patch of water, hydroplaning uncontrollably. Y/n's breath caught in her throat as she watched the car veer off course, crashing violently into the barrier. The collective gasp from the crowd was deafening.

Red flags waved, and the race paused. Panic surged through Y/n as she realized there was no communication from Lando’s car. The team's radio was down, and there were no marshals nearby to assist. Her gaze fixed on the small fire beginning to form at the back of the car.

Without thinking, she bolted from her spot, jumping over the barriers and sprinting onto the track. Rain floods her face, blurring her vision, but she is determent. The only thing that mattered was reaching Lando.

"Lando!" she shouted, skidding to a stop beside the wrecked car. "Can you move?"

Lando groaned, clutching his wrist. "I... I can't, my wrist..."

Y/n's hands trembled as she removed the steering wheel, her heart pounding wildly. "You have to get out, now! There's oil leaking and a fire starting. The car might explode!"

Lando's eyes widened in realization, and with Y/n's help, he managed to climb out of the car. Together, they ran, the adrenaline giving them a burst of speed. They barely made it over the barrier when the car exploded, the force of the blast knocking them to the ground.

Lando instinctively covered Y/n with his body, shielding her from the flying debris. They lay there for a moment, panting and shaking. When the danger passed, Lando helped her to her feet, his eyes scanning her for injuries.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice shaky, his eyes searching hers with intensity.

Y/n nodded, wiping a tear from her cheek. "Just a few scratches. What about you?"

"Just a sprained wrist, I think," he replied, wincing slightly.

Marshals finally arrived, ushering them both to the paddock for medical exams. Lando was checked first, and surprisingly, his injuries were minor. Meanwhile, Y/n tried to slip away, feeling out of place amongst the drivers and team members.

"Hey, where are you going?" Oscar called out, stopping her in her tracks. He jogged over, concern written all over his face.

Charles, Carlos, Max, and George quickly joined them, their expressions mirroring Oscar's worry. "Is Lando okay?" Charles asked, his voice tinged with urgency.

Y/n nodded, her voice steady despite the tremble in her hands. "He's fine, just a sprained wrist I heard."

"And what about you?" Max asked gently, his gaze lingering on her face with genuine concern. His normally sharp, competitive demeanor softened due to the day’s events.

"I'm fine, really," Y/n insisted, though her voice wavered slightly. She tried to smile, but the adrenaline was still coursing through her, making her feel unsteady.

George placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, his touch grounding. "Thank you for what you did. That was incredibly brave," he said, his voice filled with admiration.

Carlos stepped closer, his eyes warm and sincere. "You didn't hesitate for a second. That takes a lot of courage."

Y/n shrugged, feeling overwhelmed by their praise. "I just did what anyone would do. I couldn't just stand there and do nothing."

Oscar shook his head, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Not everyone would have had the guts to do what you did. You were amazing out there."

Charles nodded in agreement, a hint of a smile softening his features. "We all saw what happened. You saved Lando’s life."

Y/n felt a blush creep up her cheeks, the intensity of their gratitude and concern almost too much to bear. She had always admired these drivers from a distance, and now, here they were, complementing her for what she did.

Max took a step closer, his eyes searching hers. "You might not realize it, but you’re a hero today."

Before Y/n could respond, Lando emerged from the medical area, spotting her surrounded by the other drivers. His face lit up with relief and gratitude. He walked up to her, his eyes locking onto hers with a look of intense emotion. "Thank you," he said softly, his voice filled with sincerity.

Y/n shrugged again, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I couldn't just sit there and watch you possibly die."

Lando pulled her into a gentle hug, his warmth seeping into her cold, damp skin. "I owe you my life," he whispered into her ear, his breath hot against her neck. He pulled back slightly, noticing her soaked clothes and trembling hands. "Come on, let's get you into something dry."

The other drivers nodded, stepping back to give them space. "We'll catch up with you both later," George said with a reassuring smile.

He led her to the McLaren hospitality area, handing her his hoodie and a pair of women’s sweatpants he found. She changed quickly, feeling a warmth spread through her from the dry clothes and Lando's kindness.

The race was canceled due to the severe weather, and Y/n found herself sitting with Lando, talking quietly. She explained her actions, her voice trembling at the thought of what could have happened. Lando reached out, taking her hand in his, their fingers intertwining.

"Thank you for saving me," he said again, his thumb stroking her hand gently. "But promise me you'll never do something so reckless again."

Y/n managed a small smile, her heart fluttering at his touch. "Only if you promise not to be so reckless on the track."

He chuckled softly, squeezing her hand. "Deal."

As they sat together in the quiet of the McLaren hospitality area, the events of today but a distant memory. The adrenaline that had once coursed through their veins had settled into a serene calm. Lando's thumb traced gentle patterns on the back of Y/n's hand, anchoring them both in the moment.

"Y/n," Lando began softly, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her heart flutter, "I don't know how to thank you properly. What you did was beyond brave. You risked everything for me."

A blush crept up her cheeks as she glanced down at their intertwined hands. "I couldn't just stand by and do nothing. If your car had exploded and I just sat there and didn’t even try anything I would have never forgiven myself. I care too much about you to not have done anything."

Lando's heart swelled at her words, a warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with his dry clothes. He gently lifted her chin with his free hand, forcing her to meet his gaze. "I care about you too, more than I realized until today."

A shy smile played at Y/n's lips. "I guess it took a bit of chaos for us to see it."

Lando chuckled, the sound light and genuine. "A bit of chaos and a very brave heart." He leaned in closer, their foreheads nearly touching. "You know, when I was in that car, all I could think about was you. I didn't want to leave things unsaid."

Her breath hitched, and she whispered, "What do you mean?"

He paused, his eyes searching hers with a depth that made her heart skip a beat. "I mean that I've been falling for you for a while now, and today just made it crystal clear. I don't want to waste another moment not telling you how I feel."

Y/n's eyes glistened with tears, but this time they were tears of joy. "Lando, I feel the same way. Seeing you crash... it was the scariest moment of my life. I realized how much you mean to me."

Lando's smile was radiant, his face inching closer until their lips met in a tender, heartfelt kiss. The world outside seemed to disappear as they lost themselves in each other, the kiss deepening with every passing second. It was a kiss filled with unspoken promises and the relief of two longtime friends finally coming together.

When they finally pulled apart, both were breathless, their smiles wide and hearts full. Lando pressed his forehead against hers, his voice barely above a whisper. "I promise I'll be more careful out there. For you."

Y/n nodded, her fingers gently caressing his cheek. "And I promise I'll always be there for you, no matter what."

He hugged her tightly, as if afraid to let go. "You're incredible, you know that?"

She laughed softly, the sound like music to his ears. "I think we're both pretty incredible."

The rest of the drivers, who had been watching the tender moment from a respectful distance, approached them with wide grins and teasing remarks. Oscar clapped Lando on the back, chuckling. "Took you long enough, mate."

Charles nodded in agreement, a playful glint in his eyes. "We were starting to think we'd have to lock you two in a room together to get you to admit your feelings."

Max smirked, adding, "Looks like a bit of danger was just the push you both needed."

Y/n blushed again, but Lando just laughed, his arm securely around her waist. "Yeah, well, sometimes it takes nearly losing something to realize how much it means to you."

George grinned, giving Y/n a gentle pat on the shoulder. "We're glad you're okay. Both of you."

Carlos stepped forward, his expression sincere. "You both showed incredible bravery today. It's a story we'll be telling for years."

As the group shared in their relief and happiness, the bond between Y/n and Lando only grew stronger. They spent the rest of the day together, surrounded by friends who had become family. The rain outside eventually subsided, giving way to a clear, starry night.

Lando and Y/n found themselves alone again, sitting on a quiet balcony overlooking the now peaceful circuit. The air was cool, and Lando draped his arm around her waist, pulling her close.

"You know," he began, his voice soft, "this is just the beginning for us."

Y/n smiled, resting her head on his shoulder. "I know. And I can't wait to see where it takes us."

He kissed the top of her head, his heart full. "Neither can I."

Under the starlit sky, they sat in comfortable silence, knowing that whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together.

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[night-dazai]

Uhm, hey

I just recently came across your blog and I am amazed at your talent and Inlove with your writting style, If you don't mind, I want to request a Chuuya fanfic, where reader is babysitting for one of her friends/ she's playing with a kid, and chuuya sees her and suddenly gets baby fever!

-🌹(Can I be rose a non? If not 🪷?)

First and foremost "I AM SORRY " I have been not feeling too good and work has been hard for a while, I will soon start uploading.

Love you sure can be any flower you like 🌹, Rose this also got a little lot bigger than I wanted to 😅

Tags: smut, female reader, vagina sex, pussy slapping, rough sex.

[Chuuya would be an amazing father from my view and saw this picture on Pinterest and felt like must put this for this 😍]

“Aww come here “ you clapped your hands as the tiny blonde baby crawled to you while Gin stood next to you smiling through her mask and brightly rattling the toy “That a good baby “ you said lifting it while the child giggled at the way you lifted it high and low. 

When some clients made a request and for some reason, they had a kid or even if one of the members had a kid and could not leave them alone at home you and Gin were their caretakers. You could not do any work in port mafia cause you did not like it but that does not stop you from liking your boyfriend. 

All your life you have had a normal life, school, college and friends, part-time work, internship and so on. You love your boyfriend whom you met at the bar three years ago. 

He was always afraid to tell you about his profession thinking you might leave him but “ just because I cannot work in the mafia does not mean you should, but ..” you held his hand tightly as the string into the ocean blue eyes “ you won't get hurt and lave me right ?” you asked voice filled with worry and anxiety. 

Chuuya blinked “You are not scared ?” he asked when you shook your head. Not knowing what to do the man burst into laughter and hugged you (also the first time he had touched you in a month into your relationship ) “Never love never will I leave you “. 

Everyone in Port Mafia knew you and no one dared to touch you, you and Gin hit it off for being the youngest girls there. Now again you both were in Chuuya’s office playing with the baby “Y/n the meeting is over “ Gin said opening the door and peeking outside. 

“Ahh so soon, “ you said kind of disappointed, you have always liked babies and they were also naturally attracted to you. Rubbing your nose with the child you earned another giggle “Time to go to mommy “ you said and turned to see your boyfriend looking at you but his hat hid his expression “ Gin tell the boss I won't be able to come to work this weekend “ he muttered and left the place. 

Confused you stood there holding the child blinking while the kid played with your shirt “Is he doing something else, mission  ?” you asked going near Gin to give the child while she shook her head “Then what is he doing this weekend ?” the questions stood very big on your mind. 

For the past few days and you were sure it is almost a month now, chuuya has not been looking at you properly and has been buried in work and now this? You were not mad at him for working but he is not being with you, you did not need sex or anything just holding his hand or lying on his lap watching TV. But he always found reasons to say no “Not now love “and “I am in a call doll later okay “ he would not even look at you properly. 

Anxiety and fear started occupying your mind for the past few weeks “Is he bored? “ “Have I been too clingy he does not like me ?” and more thoughts kept playing in your head when you flinched hearing the sound of the doorbell ring. 

After having the cold dinner you sat in the hall waiting for Chuuya, waiting for the bell sound. The moment you heard it you dashed to the door “Chu!” you said. Not fully smiling but tired “Hey “ he said removing his shoes “I had dinner out and you can go sleep it would be better I have a little more work “ he said kissing your head while removing his hat and coat and hanging them in their respective hangers. 

Unable to keep your thoughts to yourself “Chu… please “ you said which almost came as a whisper holding his shirt end “Y/n?” he asked turning confused at your behaviour. But your face hung low looking at the floor tears at the cliff threatening to spill any second “You….you don't love me anymore ?” you asked collecting all the courage in your body.

But the moment the question left your lips you felt a numb body going loose, you left his shirt while the ginger head turned to you “ WHAT !” his voice was high panic and fear were felt in it. His hands grabbed yours and brought it near his face “Why.. Love why would get such a question “ he asked and when getting closer to you did he notice the tears running down your face? 

“Did someone tell her something ? “ he thought and hugged you pulling you to the couch he rubbed your back in soothing circles trying to calm you down “Talk to me please, why this sudden question? “ he asked. 

“You ..” you sobbed and spoke in broken terms and words “You…never see my face……sleep….no…avoid me…” you said and held his shirt in thigh fists. 

Hearing the reasons Chuuya could do nothing but feel guilty cause he did avoid you, he knew. He knew the moment he saw you in his office playing with the kid having your hair colour while the child called your mom and you answered it. All these should have been pure and lovely thoughts but this thought went straight to his cock.

Twitching he shifted in his pants, that night while making love to you all he could think about was how to remove the fucking condom and impregnate you. After that seeing you with a child or just seeing you got him thinking about a family but “Am I worth it ?” his thoughts haunted him. Blood, revenge, and violence were the world he lived in can he make sure you and the child were always safe? That the child will have a normal life what if he hurts the child, he still cannot control corruption without Dazai. 

Mind filled with all these thoughts he realised he had been avoiding you and making you anxious and now after explaining the reason he could not look at you straight in the eye as you stared at him without any expression. 

Cheeks flushing red, plagued with guilt and embarrassment he rubbed his head “ I am sorry I made you feel this way but I never meant to avoid you “ he said. 

After looking at him for one more second you started giggling for which he looked up at you confused and after seeing his expression you just burst out laughing more “So that's what it was “ you said wiping the tears from your face. 

Hugging him you sat on his lap, kissing his face, lips and neck you mumbled near his ear “Then fuck me till I am overflowing with your seed love “. Voice husky and low made him growl and shit while grabbing your hips firmly “Don't play love, you did not lis-” he could not finish his words as a moan left his lips with you sucking his neck “Forget everything, you need me and my pussy to make a baby “ your teeth on his chocker you pulled it and looked at him “ mark me as yours please “. 

Any thoughts of self-control left Chuuya’s body, guided by wild desire he lifted you as you wrapped your legs around his waist he walked you to your shared bedroom throwing you on the bed “Good thing I took the weekend off “ he said but the moment you heard this you stopped him “ what were you planning to do this weekend ?” you asked. 

He looked at you for a second, taking your hand and kissing the fingers “I wanted to take you out to make up for what I did but seems like I will be busy “ he said throwing his shirt to the side. 

It never seems to get old, his body is firm and looks like some chiselled sculpture “Chu..” you moaned as he wrapped his arms around your neck removing your shirt and night pants and throwing them to the side.

Kisses littering your lips, neck, and jaw, he sucked harshly at your collar bone and hearing you moan he felt satisfied “Open “ he said in a commanding tone making you nothing but wetter. 

, Lifting your legs and spreading them open you held it out for your lover as he sat back admiring it, tough thick fingers grazing your hole opening and clit “This is mine ?” he asked and when he did not get an answer a harsh slap landed on your cunt “ah !...chuu~” you moaned .

“Answer me love or else this hole get nothing, “ he said threatening now “Yes all yours …” you said flushing red with embarrassment “Good “ he rubbed circles on your sensitive bud and slowly inserted a finger as you clamped down hard on him “ relax, “ he said bending down to hold your head and kiss your head “ relax love “ this tone was much softer compared to previous slap and commands. 

After what seemed like a solid 2 hours but only 20 minutes had passed he had you flowing like a fountain “Please….” you said hands holding your legs trembling “Please fuck me …” you shouted as he pressed on your sweet spot again making your squirt on his hand. 

Shaking from the high you left your legs to fall, your hands could not keep it up “Hold on love, we are not done “ he said in a mocking tone seeing your dumb state “ have not even  fucked you with my cock, you cannot pass out on me “ he said subbing his dick on your bundle of nerves earning moans from you “ fuck me … please please” you were pleading. Ego, self-respect nothing mattered you wanted his cock and before you could talk again he slammed himself into yout gapping a wet hole in one thrust. 

Air out of your lungs eyes rolling back to your skull you arched your back and his hand holding your waist tightly which was sure to leave marks. His red strand of hair sticking to his forehead, hips ramming into your cunt at a harsh pace “Chuuya ~~ slow “ you mumbled but nothing seems to fall into his ears. 

Your raw hole, wet and tight had his mind going crazy “Make it white “ was all he could think of every time he saw your pink hole taking his dick in “Good girl keep it up “ he mumbled holding your head close still not slowing down or stopping. 

Cock twitched but your wet walls held him deliciously tight and he could never describe how good and heavenly it felt “Close love?” he asked panting like a dog. Trying to reach your inner place hitting your walls deeper and stronger with each thrust “it's good y/n …..feels good “ he mumbled 100% pussy drink now. 

You guys have never done it raw and he was sure to never do it with a condom again “Chuuya.. agh…close..” you whimpered. Pulling one of your hard nipples while his mouth latched on to the other “ cum on my cock love go on “ he said in such a sweet tone but it had a certain command to it for which your body reacted instantly creaming his cock.

Holding your breast he pulled himself up to look at you “These will produce milk for our child “ he said and pinched each bud making you moan trying to remove his hands. There were sore “Chu.. Enough, “ you said getting a slap on your thigh “I have not cum love, “ he said hands going down to your hard clit and rubbing it fast “No…nooo,” you said trying to pull his hand in vain. 

You could feel his cock twitching inside your wet walls but so was your stomach ready to release again “Chu…” you said holding his hand tightly as you came all over him again and he followed you pushing his dick deeper while cumming “intake all of me in “ he said making your jerk with surprise. 

Still cumming he kept thrusting “Goona keep this hole filled, “ he said holding both your hands and rutting again “Ahh! Enough please “ you cried but all fell on deaf ears and soon again he came and with one more harsh thrust he was sure to be touching your womb. 

Eyes wide tears spilling down your face, hands held captive your hole gapped collecting all his cum. 

His blue eyes did not leave the place where you both were connected he slowly pulled out, hot white cum spilling out a little as you lay twitching when he instantly shoved two fingers in “Not gonna let this go to waste “ he said while his other rubbed his hard on dick. 

Seeing him hard again instantly got you scared at this point “Chuuya  ..tired no more please “ you said pleading but all he did not smirk at your fucked out messed up state “Not if we are making a baby, we can take 2 mins to break to want water ?” he asked still pushing his cum inside your hole. 

Nodding you realised to never tempt Chuuuya with such things.

[rosellacwrites]

Healing Hands

summary: You’re facing something scary, but Steven helps you through it in more ways than one.

pairings: Doctor!Steven Grant x Reader (undescribed)

rating: nothing but fluff here, folks

warnings: sickfic, medical situation/discussion (brain surgery), flirting via infodump, post-anesthesia honesty

word count: 1.1k

author’s note: Written for the Moon Knight Spring Bingo @moonknight-events — entry #1 of hopefully many. Happy reading!

dividers by @firefly-graphics

“It’s definitely not cancer,” your neurologist had assured you. “Completely benign. But when it’s causing symptoms like this, it does need to come out, unfortunately.” Your face had fallen, and she’d looked at you sympathetically. “I’m going to refer you to the best surgeon I know,” she’d told you. “He’s — a bit odd, maybe, but he’s a genius. You’ll be in excellent hands.”

And now you’re here, waiting nervously to meet the man who’s going to be cutting into your brain, and it’s getting later and later and you’re about to run out screaming, when he walks through the door and smiles at you. And somehow, without anything having changed at all, you feel like you’ll be okay.

“Hello,” he says with a little wave, and oh God, he’s got a British accent, one of your known weak points, and deep brown eyes, another, and you absolutely cannot do this because it’s beyond inappropriate, but you’re melting anyway. “I’m Steven. Uh, Dr. Grant, that is. Dr. Steven Grant, with a V, and I’m probably not filling you with a lot of confidence here, am I?” He smiles ruefully, and that’s the third pillar knocked out from under you because he’s an adorable dork, and it all comes crumbling down. All you can do is stare at him as he comes closer and takes your hand in both of his and looks deep into your eyes. “But I promise you, I’m very good at what I do, and you’re going to be just fine.”

Steven — Dr. Grant, you have to remind yourself — spends a solid hour with you, patiently answering all your questions and making you wish you hadn’t turned down that 8 AM neuropsych class in college. Who knew the human brain was such a fascinating thing? Or is it only fascinating when you’re learning about it from a dark-eyed, sweet-voiced man?

“How big of a scar will I have?” you finally dare to ask him. You’ve been coping with the whole thing by focusing on the more minor aspects; whether or not that’s healthy is between you and your therapist, but this is the spot your anxiety’s decided to settle down and get comfy in.

A big grin lights up his face at your question, and he runs a hand through his disheveled curls, confirming how they got that way in the first place. “Absolutely nothing anyone will see,” he assures you. “I’ve had a good long look at your scans and there’s no reason at all we can’t do this the way we usually do these days. Do you happen to know much about Ancient Egypt?” The apparent non sequitur catches you by surprise, and you shake your head no. “It’s a bit of a — special interest of mine,” he says, smiling sheepishly, and you notice for the first time that his rumpled tie is patterned with hieroglyphics.

“What does it have to do with the surgery?”

“Right,” he says. “Your surgery. You won’t have a visible scar because we’re going to go up through your nose. I know it sounds unpleasant, but this really is the best way to do it. Better all round — minimizes the pain and the risk to you, and shortens the recovery process.” He grins at you, tilting his head. “And, back in Ancient Egypt, that’s how they removed the brains of those they were preparing for mummification — they’d go right up the nose, just like we’ll do. But fortunately, your brain’s going to stay right where it belongs, minus the little bit that’s causing you all the trouble.”

You can’t help laughing at his explanation. “That’s really helpful to know, actually. Thank you.”

“We try to be as non-invasive as possible.” His eyes twinkle, and you have a sudden urge to kiss the little creases around them. “We know you’ve got a life to get back to, after all.”

You start wondering about his life, then: there’s no ring on his finger, no happy family photos decorating his office wall. Maybe you’re imagining things, in your state, but you feel like he’s been holding eye contact with you just a little too long, leaning a little too close to you to point out something on his screen.

You don’t mind imagining that — not even a little bit.

And when the appointment’s finished, and he squeezes your hand and says he’ll see you again when it’s all over, you find yourself thinking about his hands, gentle and strong and capable.

For the first time in a long time, when you ask yourself what is WRONG with my BRAIN, you don’t mean it literally.

***

You’re still a bit groggy when Dr. Grant makes his post-surgery rounds. “Everything went brilliantly,” he tells you, squeezing your hand. He’s wearing a different Egyptian-themed tie this afternoon, one with little cats and ankhs, and it makes you smile. “No problems whatsoever, and you should have a smooth recovery, but once you’re home I want you to call me if you have any questions or concerns at all.”

The warmth of his hand and the last foggy wisps of anesthesia are suppressing your usual filter, and you blurt it out before you can stop yourself. “Can I call you even if I don’t? Like — for a date?”

The tips of his ears go red, and he clears his throat. “I — I’m flattered, really I am,” he says softly after a moment. “Immensely so. But… I can’t date a patient of mine. It’s not right, ethically, and I’d be in quite a lot of trouble with the hospital, and… and I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” You try to hide your disappointment, but you’re not doing a very good job of it.

He holds up a hand, a smile beginning to hover around the corner of his mouth. “But. What I was going to say is, you’ll have one more appointment with me in a few weeks, to follow up, and then you’ll officially be discharged back to your regular neurologist. She’ll handle all your care from then on.”

He’s waiting for you to cotton on, and you finally do. “Discharged — that means I won’t be your patient anymore, then?”

He dips his chin briefly in acknowledgment, and the smile turns into a boyish grin. “Nothing wrong with your brain,” he compliments you. “And I should know.”

“That’s good,” you murmur, suddenly feeling sleepy again. You settle back against your pillow and give him your most dazzling smile, or at least your best post-anesthesia approximation of one. “Wanna take you out after that, then. ‘S only fair — you’ve already been inside me.”

He chokes, and you fall asleep still smiling.

author’s note (yeah, you get two, suck it up): This is a piece of pure self-indulgence; last year, there was a point at which I thought I’d be facing the same surgery as Reader, and the idea of our lovely Steven as a doctor was a comfort to me. Fortunately, brain surgery was not required in my case, and this remained a fun thought until I dusted it off and wrote it up for the bingo event!

That said… while I was lucky, a very dear friend of mine was not, and I’m dedicating this to her. If you enjoyed reading this and you feel willing and able, please consider making a donation to the American Brain Tumor Association, or your local equivalent, to help fund research that aims to improve and extend the lives of people like S.

[livinggeekchic]

For #phreread2023 week 5, @laukisimp and I collaborated to analyze Hecate’s prophecy in Episode 69 “Moon Maiden” and decipher what it tells us about Lauren’s character development.

When Lauren visits the circus for the first time, she is pulled aside by Hecate (the fortuneteller) for a tarot reading. Lauren draws five cards: the two of swords, the five of cups, the tower, the ten of swords, and death. These cards foretell events that will take place over the next two seasons—and we believe the clues in Hecate’s words can be decoded to pinpoint specific moments in Lauren’s character growth arc, leading up to the moment she’s kidnapped in 158.

The two of swords represents the confusion we face when forced to make a difficult choice. Blindfolded, the woman cannot see the problem clearly and thus cannot find a solution. Throughout S2 and S3, we see that Lauren avoids facing hard truths. She knows that the people around her could be Phantom Scythe, but doesn’t want to believe it can be anyone close to her. She knows Kieran likely can tell her something about the kidnapped kids—about what happened to Dylan—but she’s too afraid to ask. She needs to remove the blindfold and allow herself to seek the answers to these questions. She needs to choose a path: continue to blindly chase the Phantom Scythe in her quest for revenge, or move on and live for the future?

The five of cups explains why she can’t make that choice: she’s too focused on the loss of her childhood friend, her perceived failure to save him and the others at Allendale (and in losing her rank, putting her even further from figuring out what happened), and the disappointment and guilt that she feels over what happened in her past. She is unable to let go and forgive herself, and thus, she cannot see the two standing cups: new opportunities and potential. She has the potential to help save Kieran, and the opportunity to do a lot of good for everyone who’s caught up in this war between the royals and the Phantom Scythe. In the episodes just prior to this, Lauren and Kieran visit Greychapel and discuss how poor the conditions are. Kieran states that while they’re trying to stop the terrorists in the Phantom Scythe, the revolution must happen. It’s possible that the “new opportunity” is Lauren joining Kieran in helping bring about this revolution.

In episode 75, titled Tumbling Tower, Sandman reveals that Lauren’s parents were apostles. This knowledge shakes her entire belief system. She thought that the Phantom Schythe was made up of monsters, and yet her parents were founding members. There is also a literal tower in this story—one that Sandman is currently locked in, as he’s writing Lauren a letter. Is it possible that there are more revelations to come? Ones that will bring Lauren’s existing goal, based on false premises, crashing down?

The destruction of the tower is necessary to clear out old mistruths and make way for something new. But how she handles that course of action depends on her reaction to the betrayal. The ten of swords: someone has stabbed her in the back. But it’s important to note that the sword series in tarot tells the story of a person who attempts to use the swords for faulty reasons, makes mistakes, tries to run from them, and ultimately suffers the pain of being stabbed by them. The story of someone who allows themselves to fall victim to that internal pressure. The swords are a weapon, and can have potential for destruction or good, depending on how they are wielded.

In episode 156, Lauren discovers that March has been lying to them. He’s led her coworkers into an ambush and Lauren herself is being pursued by PS members. Lauren didn’t want to consider that March might be PS; she dismissed Kieran’s questioning of March in episode 146, misinterpreting his statements about his family and the true criminals of Ardhalis.

In episode 158 she is pursued, chased into a warehouse where all of her anxieties and fears overwhelm her. She has been continually plagued by the guilt she feels about Allendale, and now she adds to that the losses that she fears are yet to come (images of a deceased Kieran, Kym, and Will coming to her mind). She is unable to wield the swords because of her continued avoidance of the truth. Blindfolded, she doesn’t want to face her suspicions about Dylan, and doesn't want to consider March as the betrayer. So she spirals, and all of her anxieties take over. They paralyze her in that warehouse, leading to her being knocked out and kidnapped. The title of Episode 158, Seething Sword, tells us that she has been dealt that final blow.

But like the death card, the end of one thing means a new beginning for another. She must learn to wield the swords instead of letting her trauma weigh her down. It’s a symbolic death, not a literal one. The old Lauren, the part of her that was driven by guilt and shame, needs to be buried so the new Lauren, freed of those shackles she’s carried for ten years, can instead look to the future.

And what might we see in the future? We know that Lauren is at a crossroads. The two of swords signifies that two equal and opposing forces are at war, and she is caught in the middle. She has been stuck between the PS and the government of Ardhalis. She wants to take down the PS, but she is increasingly finding that the APD isn’t the paragon of justice she thought it was. Similarly, the PS isn’t entirely evil; though their methods are, their goal is relatable. We believe that Lauren will choose her own path. She won’t side with either, and will instead forge her own way forward, alongside Kieran. Perhaps she will choose to forgo her detective rank and become a fugitive with Kieran—especially if his identity ends up becoming compromised. Perhaps she will support a revolution of the poor and mistreated against the royals who keep them in the dirt.

“He” is closer to her, more similar than she thinks. We believe this is a reference to the leader. She thinks he is hidden in the shadows, but it’s very likely that the leader is someone close to her, given the clues about her parents, the Snapdragon, and how the leader kept her alive all these years. Like Lauren, the leader has also lost people close to him and seeks revenge—against the royals for the massacre of the Snapdragon, for burying those truths along with their bodies.

Hecate mentions enemies, plural, and it’s true that Lauren has many enemies now. Not only those in the Phantom Scythe, but even within the APD, for what she’s doing as Lune. She needs to question those around her more: Stefan, Dakan, March—these people have all lied to her in the past, and yet she is too clouded by her intense focus on the Phantom Scythe to consider those around her. She must remove the blindfold, and it starts with letting go of the past.

Lauren’s obsession with Dylan is holding her back. She needs to accept the truth—that Dylan is dead, and there’s nothing else she can do for him. But that doesn’t mean all hope is lost. She can make a difference in Kieran’s life. She can save him from his cursed fate to kill and kill until he himself perishes. She can help him take down the leader. But in order to do this, she might have to set her privileged life aside. Only when she stops focusing on the past can she create a new future.

[stickyhunter]

Gue'vesa and the T'au Empire—rules for Imperium Maledictum

Want to play a human under the T'au or have a T'au Patron for that matter? Well hey I've got you covered!

Plain text version under the cut

T’au Faction

Gue’vesa

“Once got an ork square in his head with this pulse rifle, that’s how I became Gue’vesa’ui. Technology. It saves us all in the end.” —Shas’gue’vesa’ui Edyth Yorscht

The Gue’vesa are found in regions of the galaxy where words of the Emperor ring the most hollow, and where swathes of guardsmen were sent yet never brought home. To those souls, the T’au Empire, their leaders, and their technology, ensure safety and reliability. Gue’vesa are often descended from lost regiments of the Imperial Guard; deployed far too quickly, to establish beachheads that could never hold, left stranded in hostile territories, saved by the T’au. They may not feel much difference between governance of the Imperium and that of the T’au, yet the heavy thumb of anxiety lingers should the Imperium see their treachery in full.

For the most part, Gue’vesa are absorbed into the Fire Caste of the T’au, human helpers serving as yet more bodies that can be thrown at a problem - for some Gue’vesa it is a continuation of the Imperial Guard duty they once left behind. However, humans may receive a place amongst other castes, should their T’au masters recognise their skill in other fields: those born on forge worlds or trained to repair their vehicles in the Astra Militarum may be given a place in the Earth Caste, Administratum officers and regimental quartermasters find places among the Water Caste, and Imperial Naval crew may serve the Air Caste as envoys and ground crews, as the Kor rarely set foot on any planet.

Few, if any, are granted a duty serving the Aun—Celestial Caste—for such a role carries its own heavy burden of responsibility within the T’au Empire. Gue’vesa serving the Ethereals may have been zealots of a faith that long since failed them, now tasked with preaching the Greater Good that saved them, on orders of the Ethereal Supreme and the Ethereal High Council to all other Gue’vesa.

Despite millenia of holding xenocidal doctrine, the Imperium has its uses even for those who have strayed, for their lives are no less expendable than those of the loyal. Within the Imperium, the Gue’vesa may not interact with the Imperium’s authorities in the same way as others, being distrusted at minimum, though most often outright viewed as traitors, for any influence of or loyalty to Xenos is heretical. By contrast, some few souls may see the Gue’vesa in a more positive light, an indicator that the technology of the T’au can prove useful, or at the very least that uniting forces can thwart a worse threat.

How did you become a Gue’vesa? Were you born from those guardsmen, isolated and running out of supplies, found by the T’au? Did you seek your own freedom from the brutality of the Imperium? Maybe it started with the sight of a swift death held off by a fire warrior rather than an Imperial guardsman. How do you see the Imperium — do you hold it in any particular regard, based on your time with the T’au? What of those who are more removed from the Imperium than you, do you regard them with any more empathy than those under the Emperor's light do? Maybe you see camaraderie among humans and Xenos as a path forward, together as a united force, or it could be that even the thought of it hits you with the same unease that is usually sent your way. Regardless of your origin or thoughts on the Imperium, you trust that despite its galactic dominance, you have a duty to further the Greater Good, a duty that their antiquated faith in a dead god cannot dull.

Gue’vesa Benefits

You gain +5 Fellowship, +5 to either Toughness, Ballistic Skill, or Intelligence

You have 5 Advances to spend on Tech, Ranged, Intuition, Dexterity, Lore, and Discipline.

You gain the Greater Good Talent.

You gain +1 Influence with T’au Empire

You gain +1 Advance in Forbidden Knowledge - Linguistics (T’au) 

You gain a Knife, Survival Gear, an EMP Grenade, and a Pulse Pistol

You gain your choice of a Pulse Rifle, Pulse Blaster, or a Markerlight

Duty

You can choose one of the following duties to quickly create your character. Additionally, you have +1 Influence with the T’au, the Greater Good Talent, a Knife, Survival Gear, an EMP Grenade, and a Pulse Pistol.

Shas’gue’vesa (Fire Caste)

Your duty is to engage in ranged combat wielding T’au arms, a responsibility placed upon those trusted with weaponry akin to the Shas’saal—the T’au equivalent of cadets.

Characteristics: +5 Perception, +5 Ballistic Skill

Skill advances: Intuition (2), Reflexes (1), Ranged (2)

Equipment: A Markerlight and a Pulse Rifle

Fio’gue’vesa (Earth Caste)

Your duty is to ensure the running of machines, infrastructure, and the cultivation of food. Rough hands come with a pragmatic view on tasks and years spent maintaining technology.

Characteristics: +5 Intelligence, +5 Toughness

Skill advances: Logic (2), Tech (1), Fortitude (2)

Equipment: A Drone, a Drone Controller, and a Fusion Torch

Kor’gue’vesa (Air Caste)

Your duty is to deploy where the Kor T’au do not, being sent down onto planet surfaces as an envoy or ground crew for the T’au Navy.  

Characteristics: +5 Willpower, +5 Intelligence

Skill advances: Linguistics (2), Tech (1), Ranged (2)

Equipment: Dataslate and a Micro-Bead

Por’gue’vesa (Water Caste)

Your Duty is to flow and bind all living things via diplomacy, establishing trade routes, and accompanying others from the T’au Empire to secure a functioning society.

Characteristics: +5 Fellowship, +5 Willpower

Skill advances: Rapport (1), Linguistics (2), Discipline (2)

Equipment: Dataslate and a Writing Kit

Aun’gue’vesa (Celestial Caste)

Your Duty is to guide the others under the T’au Empire, a sovereignty among the ranks. T’au born Aun produce pheromones, giving them latent control over the other castes—while a Gue’vesa doesn’t have this, your true belief for the T’au Empire and all it stands for carries the same authority.

Characteristics: +5 Fellowship, +5 Intelligence

Skill advances: Linguistics (1), Lore (1), Logic (1), Rapport (2)

Equipment: Laud Hailer and a Micro-Bead

Talent — The Greater Good

Requirement: Can only be taken during character creation. You cannot have the Ignorance Is My Shield Talent.

The T’au Empire welcomes all species who don’t resist their expansion, for it serves the Greater Good. You gain +2 SL to any Test made to influence a member of the T’au Empire or +1 SL on Tests to influence Xenos.

T’au Technology

Gue’vesa are allowed a privilege few others are—access to pulse weapons created by the T’au. These weapons are not only deadly and reliable weapons, but a status of trust from the T’au Empire. Gue’vesa are to use what is given to them wisely and with care, for questions of their discipline and worthiness of service will be raised if they fail to do so.

Pulse Weapons

Examples: Pulse Pistol, Pulse Carbine

These weapons, while similar in some ways to the plasma weapons of the Imperium, are refined to the point of optimal functionality by the T’au. While usually seen in the hands of frontline Fire Warriors, they are often also entrusted to non-T’au auxiliaries, from Kroot to Gue’vesa.

Pulse weapons deal high damage and have the Penetrating Trait.

Grenades, Missiles, and Explosives

Weapon Trait—Haywire

When you use a weapon with the Haywire Trait to target a Zone within range and make a single Ballistics Skill (Ordnance or Thrown) Test, depending on whether the weapon is a Launcher or a thrown Grenade. There is a major disruption to all technology within the target Zone for the next Round, any Tech Tests suffer a -20 penalty.

All characters in the target Zone must make an opposed Reflexes (Dodge) Test versus the result of your Test. If you win the Opposed Test, the characters that fail become Deafened, any Augments they have Haywire for a number of Rounds equal to the difference in SL. This means that some characters in the target Zone may be affected more than others.

EMP Grenade

EMP Grenades are specifically designed to send out an electromagnetic pulse, disrupting or outright frying circuitry to a point of disuse.

EMP grenades make the target Zone go Haywire. If deployed successfully, any vulnerable electronics—dataslates, machinery, even augments—are momentarily disabled. This duration can be extended or shortened depending on the individual electronics, an eye augment may return to use before that of a console for example.

Weapon Modifications

Markerlight

A Markerlight is a laser used to pinpoint targets, giving its user an exact distance between the Markerlight and the target. Others (including the target) may notice an incredibly small blue dot, revealing the shooter’s presence should they know what this is.

While attached, a Markerlights user can make a Routine Ranged (+20) Test to mark the target for 1 round, any character making a ranged attack against the marked target gets +1 SL to the Ranged Attack Test. Targets can make an Opposed Dodge (Reflexes) Test to try and avoid the Markerlight.

Exotic*—All these items are Exotic within the Imperium. To obtain new versions of these items you must make contact with T’au Envoys.

Tools

T’au Drone

Much like the Servo-Skulls of the Imperium, T’au Drones (Kor’vesa in the T’au language) fill a similar role with one key difference: unlike Servo-Skulls, made with the minds of loyal adepts forever in service to the Emperor, T’au Drones exclusively make use of artificial intelligence rather than to pick apart the remains of those who’ve passed; a trait that inspires revulsion by Imperial doctrine that deems an use of so-called “abominable intelligence” as a grave heresy.

These disk-shaped drones carry equipment or technologies such as sensors. Drones can even wield T’au weaponry, though Gue’vesa are rarely equipped with weapon drones.

Additional Rules: A Drone hovers at roughly a foot above eye level and unless instructed otherwise keeps near its operator. Each Drone has a specific ability as described below:

Illuminator: The Drone has a plasma-fueled capacitor within itself that it can reveal and diffuse through thick glass. This acts as a glow globe or stablight (see Imperium Maledictum page 148).

Surveillance: The Drone is equipped with a singular video recorder, being used to subtlety record the movements of anyone or anything within the area, transmitting recordings to its operator’s Drone Controller.

Utility: The Drone has a mix of tools to aid in mechanical tasks, which acts as a combi-tool (see Imperium Maledictum page 146) for a character at Immediate range.

The quality of drones can vary the abilities of any implanted devices,or can have other effects such as it hovering erratically or drifting away from the character at times. Greater designs might anticipate their user’s needs, or be able to carry out more complex commands.

Drone Controller

A Drone Controller is an electronic device used to control the T’au Drone. These controllers are usually attached to the pauldrons or helms of T’au armour and battlesuits, but may be modified for handheld use.

Fusion Torch

A Fusion Torch is a T’au tool used with an intense beam created via nuclear fusion, making a short-ranged, high-powered cutting tool that not even the thickest metals can hold out on.

A Fusion Torch can be used in combination with Tech (Engineering) Tests to cut through solid objects such as bulkheads, vault doors, or walkways.

T’au and the Gue’vesa

“There’s much out there the T’au have faced. Many here would fear to face those threats. The Imperium still has much to learn.” —Hans Al'Scoth, Aun’gue’vesa’vres

The T’au Empire sits comfortably within the Ultima Segmentum, yet after a T’au Fortress Station bestowed the name T’olku El'Myam'thun—the Skystrider of the T’olku Sept—fell into a warp storm it was left dazed by stars it hadn’t glimpsed before. Clueless to the true workings of the warp, the station now lies in the Macharian Sector of Segmentum Pacificus far to the West of where it originally set off.

In the Macharian Sector

Having scanned the skies finding the pulsar stars that point thousands of light years to the east toward T’au—home—the T’au on the fortress station understood they were stranded. Bewildered by how they travelled such an extensive distance finding themselves within the Macharian Sector, their task now is to connect with the T’au Empire in some capacity, while also seeing this as a prime opportunity to invite more races into the Greater Good, and establish a T’au force within the western sections of the galaxy.

The Flow of Power

Within the T’au Empire the flow of power is simple: lower ranks answer to higher ones, answer to the highest rank, answer to the Ethereal Court, answer to the Ethereal Supreme. While the Ethereal council, who oversee all castes and aspects of expansion, is the governing body of the T’au; here in the Macharian sector the link to the highest part of the hierarchy, the elevated members of the council and the Aun’o, is severed. The Aun that were aboard the T’au Fortress Station maintain their leadership, unwavered by the uncertainty thrown upon all those onboard after such a leap through the warp.

Seat of Power

The Ethereal Supreme holds authority over the entirety of the T’au Empire, and fills a similar power role to that of the Emperor for the Imperium. This role, however, is passed down from one ruler to their protégé, for example Aun’Wei passing the role of Aun’o to Aun’Va. However here in the Macharian Sector the T’au answer to the highest ranking member of the Ethereal caste onboard the fortress station—Aun'Ui T'olku Vior'Vah, Prelate Farstone of the T'olku Sept. They do not act as a replacement for the Ethereal Supreme and Master of the Undying Spirit who resides within their home sector, but rather as a leader continuing the roles T’au have followed for millenia.

Whispers

Word from voidships far outside of the Macharian Sector have spoken of seeing more T’au Orbitals appearing within the region, maybe other T’au ships entered that same warp storm, being scattered much like those who found themselves here.

Patrons

As a Gue’vesa, your Patron is likely a servant of the T’au Empire, or, in a rare show of fragile trust between the T’au Empire and Imperium, you serve an Imperial Patron. 

T’au Patron

Your Patron is a member of the T’au Empire, seizing their chance in this new territory to establish a beachhead and secure alliances. Unknown to the everyday citizen of the Imperium, the T’au would appear to be just another Xenos threat, yet your Patron hopes with a helpful hand that Imperial systems will slowly come to see the higher truth of the Greater Good. The looming presence of the Imperium is ever in your Patron’s mind, forcing them into political engagements that are beyond complex.

Influence: Your Patron has +2 Influence with the T’au Empire.

Duty: Your Patron is either a Shas’o—A Fire Commander—or a Aun’saal—an Ethereal Lord.

Shas’o (Fire Commander)

Your Patron holds the highest rank within the T’au army, similar to that of a Commander. While many within the fire caste see this as the only way of leaving the T’au military aside from death, others seize it as an opportunity for control. Your Patron not only understands warfare, but has seen it up-close at a scale like few in the Fire Caste let alone the T'au Empire have been unfortunate enough to witness.

Free Boon: T’au Firepower

Your Patron is able to procure T’au weaponry with little interruption. You have Advantage on Availability Tests for T’au technology, T’au technology becomes 2 steps easier to obtain.

Aun’saal (Ethereal Lord)

Your Patron is a high-ranking T’au, a lord in their own right, and not one to mince words. Their word is law, and those words can prove inspirational. Your Patron is studious, knowing words can cut like a sword; and that negotiation is just as powerful as any gun.

Free Boon: Ethereal Caste

Your Patron’s rank within the T’au Empire allows them certain sway over all who are under them. Should it be needed, a message from your Patron can be shown to others who serve the T’au Empire. When you provide this message, you can choose to force anyone who is aware of the T’au to make a Hard (-20) Discipline (Composure) Test or capitulate to following any commands given to them. You may assume that anyone who shares a Faction with your Patron knows of their rank, while it is up to the GM who else is aware of it.

Anything marked with an * is listed below, all others listed are found within the Imperium Maledictum Core Book.

Boons

Auxilarist

Your Patron can call on a small squad of Kroot Mercenaries that can be found within the Macharian Sector. Once per mission, your Patron can put a number of Kroot Mercenaries (page 349) equal to the number of characters in the party under the party’s command for a day. The Kroot Mercenaries are under the control of the Gamemaster, and have been instructed to aid the party.

T’au Firepower

Your Patron is able to procure T’au weaponry with little interruption. You have Advantage on Availability Tests, T’au technology becomes 2 steps easier to obtain.

Fire Warrior Surplus

Your Patron is willing to equip you with surplus T’au Infantry supplies. You may start play with any one option from the list below. Additionally, you may spend a downtime Endeavour to claim an additional item.

A Pulse Pistol, a Pulse Rifle, or a Longshot Pulse Rifle.

3 EMP Grenades.

Any one piece of Xenos Mesh.

Either a Backpack, A Respirator, a set of Survival Gear, a Slip/Drop Harness, an Entrenching Tool, a Grapnel & Line, a Fusion Torch, or a Markerlight.

Water Caste Archive

Your Patron has collected strange and extensive knowledge of all who have joined the T’au and even those who have not. They are willing to give you access to this archive, potentially giving you information on your targets and enemies, and giving Advantage on Lore Tests.

Ethereal Caste

Your Patron’s rank within the T’au Empire allows them certain sway over all who are under them. Should it be needed, a message from your Patron can be shown to others who serve the T’au Empire. When you provide this message, you can choose to force anyone who is aware of the T’au to make a Hard (-20) Discipline (Composure) Test or capitulate to following any commands given to them. You may assume that anyone who shares a Faction with your Patron knows of their rank, while it is up to the GM who else is aware of it.

Rogue Travel

Rogue Traders: +1 Patron Influence

Your Patron has forged alliances with a Rogue Trader dynasty, and is able to arrange passage for you aboard one of their vessels. During each mission, you can undertake up to two voyages on the Rogue Traders’ vessel, including Interplanetary (Warp) travel, as well as hiding you from Imperial Authorities whilst aboard. Your accommodation and meals are of Standard Quality for a week, after which your Patron’s agreements do not cover the expense of further accommodation and rations.

Water Caste Envoy

Any one Faction: +1 Patron Influence

Once per adventure, your Patron gives you a direct line to a Por’el—a Water Caste Diplomat—granting you the right to an audience with a member of the Imperial nobility or high-ranking military on any world, with the Por’el joining you on mission, under orders of your patron to facilitate negotiation.

T’au Air Support

Your Patron can always secure you Good Quality Planetary travel on atmospheric craft. Additionally, once during a mission you can call in a focused air strike or close air support of either Imperium or T’au make, which can be resolved as three attacks of either Frag or Krak Missiles with a Ranged skill of 60. At the Gamemaster’s discretion at the exact nature of the air strike may change, for example a flyover from a Barracuda Class Fighter may consist of two attacks by Pulse Blasters and a single drop of an EMP Grenade and a Ranged skill of 60.

Liabilities

Redundant Observer

Your Patron wants to know exactly how you operate, and has entrusted a Drone to acquire that information. Your Patron deploys a Drone equipped with only a Video Recorder to document your exploits. These obsolete observers will occasionally hinder progress in missions by getting in the way, making noise, or otherwise bumbling around.

Background and Influence—T’au

If your Patron has positive Influence with the T’au they have likely worked alongside the T’au towards a common goal. They may have joined forces, organising a pushback on a Tyranid swarm, or perhaps some Gue’vesa aided the escape of your Patron from an oncoming Waaagh! of Orks, maybe the Patron themselves worked closely with the T’au.

If your Patron has negative Influence with the T’au they will likely have interfered with T’au plans, most likely through serving the imperium directly in conflict with the T’au, though may have had a more indirect effect such as preventing T’au technology being spread to the Gue’vesa within the sector, or maybe your Patron had some hand in warning a settlement the T’au originally targeted for the Greater Good.

Questions your players may inquire: Having a Gue’vesa character—or a T’au Patron for that matter—within a group raises more than a few questions. For example: “Why, in the Emperor’s name, would we ally with Xenos?” To which a number of reasons could be given or hidden from the players. Perhaps those further up the chain of command have allied with T’au within the sector to take out a common threat of Tyranids, Orks, or Drukhari. Maybe you are setting up a conflict with the T’au themselves later down the line; knowing your enemy always hits harder. Access to T’au technology may be another tempting reason to ally with them.

[ventique18]

Our Dirty Little Secret (2)

The second part of a MalleYuu smutfic. Part 1 link

General warnings: Malleus x Freeform Reader♀️, story told in his POV. Part of a smut series, so minors do not read this fic.

Chapter warnings: fellatio / blowjob, hemipenis

Content under the cut

"You see, I'm not human, darling."

I try to calm my breathing. As much bravado as I can display on any situation, I cannot control the frenzied thoughts that whirr in my brain. Do you understand what I am trying to insinuate? Should I continue with my intention? Or should I keep hiding it and claim I was merely dirty-talking? Would you accept me if you saw, or would you finally grow to fear me and distance yourself?

With every second that passes when you do not answer, my anxiety grows tenfold. I knew it. Perhaps I should put a stop to this.

"I jest--"

You remove my hand from your mouth to allow yourself to speak, "I know you're not joking," You start seriously and press a kiss to my palm, "It's alright."

Then, I see your hand travel underneath my robe and splay across my chest. You lean into me to rest on my shoulder and continue what you are saying, "Whatever monster cock you're still hiding there, I'll fit it inside me," A shy giggle, "or die trying."

A puff of laughter escapes me when I recoil in surprise at what you said, "Your choice of words never cease to amaze me.

"But thank you," I carry on. The scents of our hair mingle as I rub my cheek against the top of your head, "You are phenomenal at setting my anxiety at ease."

"That's one of the perks of being with me," You chuckle.

Silence naturally blankets itself between us. I breathe, you breathe, and your hand lazily floats south. You have your eyes closed as I observe you with half-lidded eyes. Then, your lips come to rest gently atop mine and I feel the words

I Love You

simmering beneath their surface. You speak them and touching as they are, my lips like marionettes are moved in time with each syllable. Your declaration becomes my proclamation without me ever having uttered a sound.

Then you reach the place I am begging to be touched. Gently, so gently, you part the robe open. A rush of thrill courses through my veins when the pads of your fingers lightly touch my phallus; curiosity seeping through from your skin to mine.

"You have two."

I open my eyes that I did not notice I inadvertently closed. I catch you leaning over my thighs; hair draping over and tickling my exposed stomach. You are studying my... unusual genitals intently.

"Yes," I reply with care, "But if this makes you uncomfortable..."

I'm not even able to complete my thought when my breath hitches at the sight of your eyes suddenly flickering to meet mine. There is a particular air about you-- a heavy hint of spice when you slowly blink as you push a lock of hair behind your ears. Some yet spill out. Watching them drape on my member stirs an odd excitement within me.

You delicately kneel on the ground. Gripping my thigh, you mutter, "It's sexy."

And a slow, calculated lick through both almost sends me teetering to the edge of my already-strained sanity. Yet I hold on as I do not wish to miss a single second of this view.

You palm the one close to my belly and nuzzle the other one with your cheek. The look you are wearing fascinates me; your eyes are unfocused and your mouth agape, as if you were in a trance. A deep pink blossoms on your face. The shaft still touching your cheek, you flick out your tongue and run the tip over my feverish skin.

"You are so," A popping kiss to the crown, "Hot."

And you take me inside your mouth.

I suck in air, then slowly exhale to try and even out my pumping heart. Before I could appeal to my brain to calm down, however, I make out the dangerous combination of your tight sucking and the pressure of your tongue rubbing up and down my phallus. Your hand does not neglect the other one. You grip onto me hard. With skilled fingers, you massage me exactly where I want you to when I want you to, teasingly loosening to run underneath my ridges, then coming back to my pleasant spot to stroke delightful circles. Darling, my darling, oh how you know how to make me sing.

My nails bury themselves in the mattress while I watch you heatedly. My fingers entwine in your hair as I guide you along my length. I hear an occasional gurgle and a choke, and I have half a mind to stop and check on you, but the other half was unfortunately far too gone and encouraged my hip to grind into your throat harder. Then soon, oh much too soon, I feel an incredible wave of ecstasy crashing onto my brain and filling it with an addictive blankness.

My claws press you down on my thighs. Jerking and shivering, I ride out my high on your tongue. And when I feel the last drop of my release spill, I lower my lips onto your head to give you a tender, appreciative kiss.

Slowly, I let you go. Slowly, you trail your lips up my length and release it with a pop. Slowly, your gaze shifts to mine. Slowly, I reach out to your face; thumb swiping languidly across your bottom lip before pressing down to open your mouth. When a few drops of my come drip from your tongue, I edge near your ear and whisper, "Swallow."

Suddenly I am a possessed man, for my hand wraps around your neck just to closely feel my essence flowing down your throat. Then a fingernail lightly sinks into your skin; marking a red line from your neck and resting on the dip of your clavicle. Is this passion, or is this sadistic perversion that overcomes me? I know not. Yet still I place a kiss to the edge of your mouth. I notice you turn your head to meet my kiss but I hold you in place with my other hand, for there is another reward that I wish to grant upon your needy self.

"I will taste you while you serve my other one. Come lay on me."

And I rest on the bed as I wait on you, eager to taste the ripened arousal you have been dripping on the floor.

Part 3 link

[mikhailwrites]

Waiting for Connection 6 / Ghost x Soap NerdAU

Ghost is retired and plays milsim videogame. Soap is still in the force and sometimes plays that same videogame...

Previous chapter | AO3

The London Underground during the rush hour is a particular kind of hell. Strangers squeeze together, trying their best not to step on each other’s feet or even look someone in the eye. Usually, they would stare at their cell phones, even if they had nothing to check or read, really. Ghost closes his eyes and tries to breathe through the discomfort and anxiety. It’s just a few stops, but it takes forever. Especially as more people pour in, a message repeated the thousandth time is broadcasted about minding the gap, followed by a “See something, say something” announcement. If he hears it one more time, Ghost swears, he will smash the speakers.

Should’ve taken the cab. If only it weren’t so bloody expensive. Just because Ghost has the money doesn’t mean he’s willing to pay stupid sums. He hates London. Absolutely and categorically. Too much noise, too much traffic, too costly, too many people.

The Blackfriars finally comes up, and Ghost squeezes through the people. The crowd carries him all the way to the surface, where he takes a lungful of fresh air. Or, well, air. Damp and smelling of exhaust fumes.

Thankfully, the pub’s not far, and Ghost is in no hurry. He strolls at a leisurely pace, avoiding main streets flooded by tourists and natives alike like the plague, using back alleys and narrow, dirty passages reeking of piss and stale lager, reminding him of home.

The pub he goes to is in one such back alley. It looks dirty and cheap, but once Ghost steps inside, it’s actually clean and nice. The furniture and design are dated in the right way to call it cosy. There are a lot of people, but it’s curiously quiet and as far as Ghost can tell, no tourists.

Ghost comes up to the bar. “I’ve got a reservation. Name’s Garrick,” he tells the woman, who checks something he cannot see before she nods and points to a small table in the corner. There’s already someone sitting there. The baseball cap is a dead giveaway.

“Fancy meeting you here, Lieutenant Garrick,” Ghost claps Gaz’s shoulder when he walks up to him as if they met by chance. Gaz jerks and turns around quickly. Gaz always had impeccable impulse control. Better than Ghost, for sure. If their places were switched, Simon would probably try to flip Gaz over the shoulder and onto the table. As it is, Ghost smiles as he removes the medical mask he wears in public and sits down. “So, how are you?”

 Kyle rolls his eyes but smirks. “Oh, cut the crap, Ghost, we both know you wouldn’t come to London to catch up with me.” Ghost takes a breath to object, but Kyle continues before he can speak up. “Or… not just to catch up with me. So, what is it? Need help getting rid of a body?”

Ghost snorts, and Gaz grins, catching a waiter’s eye and gesturing for two pints.

“No. But you’re right, I have a favour to ask,” Ghost admits. He was never one for beating around the bush. “Got a callsign, let’s see what can you tell me about it?”

“Bloody hell, Ghost, I don’t know every soldie…,”

Ghost doesn’t even let him finish. “Soap.”

Gaz promptly shuts up and stays silent for half a minute, precisely when their beers arrive. Ghost hands the waiter a ten-pound note. Gaz waits until the waiter retreats before he speaks up. “Right, I guess I do know about this one. How do you know him?”

“Coincidence, met him online,” Ghost answers truthfully.

“Online? Like a dating app or assassins for hire?” Gaz feigns shock but can barely keep it up.

“A video game, Gaz, Christ,” Ghost shakes his head as he takes the glass and downs half of it in one go.

“Alright, alright. Just taking the piss, mate. Seriously, though, there’s not much I can tell you.”

That’s a peculiar choice of words on Gaz’s side. He didn’t say he doesn’t know the lad; he said he can’t tell Ghost much. Meaning he knows a shit load but can’t speak about it. “I understand. I have some tips, so… just nod if I’m right?”

“Alright.”

“Sergeant?”

Gaz nods.

“Fits. I know he’s good, but is he more than good?”

Another nod.

“Marines?”

That gets a first shake.

“Not the Marines? Then that means he’s pretty daring, isn’t he?” he looks at Gaz expectantly. Gaz nods.

“Really? Interesting. One of yours?”

“Ghost,” Gaz warns.

“I know, had to try,” Ghost smiles.

Gaz sighs and shakes his head before his lips also curl in a smile. “What I can tell you is that he’s not only good at his job but a good man, too. I can see why you’d like him.”

“It’s not… we’re not…,” Ghost says hastily, panic clear in his voice.

“Relax, Simon,” Gaz says, taking a swing from his glass, “you’ve changed, you know...” When he sees the disagreement written all over Ghost’s face, he continues. “I think it’s good. You’re… you seem fine. Content.”

Ghost jerks a little at the sound of his name coming from Gaz. It took him months to get used to being called Simon, but for Gaz, he’s always been Ghost. Not anymore, apparently. It doesn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. Maybe Gaz is right. Simon has changed, and it’s not a bad thing.

“Guess I am,” Simon muses, looking around at all those civilians. Technically, he’s one, too, but in reality, there will always be the matter of his past etched into his very existence. He’s been a soldier for so long, but that’s not all he’s been.

Maybe it’s time he remembered.

[whollyjoly]

tag game

✨get to know me✨

thank you @xxluckystrike @panzershrike-pretz @luckynumber4 for the tags my loves 💕

- Name:

em! (although Occasional Cult Leader and Obsessed With Alton More are acceptable as well 😂)

- Pronouns:

she/her/hers!

- Star sign:

CRAB SIGN CRAB SIGN CRAB SIGN 🦀🦀🦀🦀🦀🦀🦀 ...no but actually im cancer sun cancer moon cancer mercury, the stars really said fuck you you're gonna be an emotional wreck and they were goddamn right

- # of siblings and fun facts about them (if you have any):

only child babyyyyyyyy ...well technically i have three step-sibs, but they are all older and were out of the house by the time our parents moved in together, so i never really? experienced sibling-ness with them?

- # of pets & their names:

my baby, my child, my little monster, the love of my life, my sweet cat BD-2 💕 she is an absolute fluffy menace, little miss priss, the queen of the castle, and im obsessed with her. nicknames include: Squeaky (cause she doesn't meow, she squeaks), Squeaks, The Squeaky One, The Lord Squeaketh (and The Lord Demandeth the Play), Shrimp Whiskers, Menace, Floof Creature, Angel Who Has Never Done Any Wrong, and Baby 🥰

- Fandoms:

lord i have been in so many fandoms over my many tumblr years...right now its full Band of Brothers hyperfixation season, but I'm watching M*A*S*H for the first time right now and slowly am falling into the rabbit hole also im a star wars girlie from way back (shoutout to all my old clone wars moots who were probably like "what the fuck" when i started posting about wwii men, sorry not sorry) also also: watcher, doctor who, star trek (tos mostly), chernobyl, and various other things, as a treat✨

- Favorite color:

im an olive green girlie, although deep purple has a special place in my heart!

- Favorite song:

holocene by bon iver ❤️ it's my all time favorite song, the song i listen to when my anxiety feels overwhelming, what i put on when i need to center myself and get out of my head. (someway, baby, it's part of me, apart from me)

- Favorite author (of anything readable - books, fanfics, zines, webtoons, whatever!):

sooooo my all-time fav book is Invisible Cites by Italo Calvino!! i am absolutely obsessed with the way he describes physical places and emotions, the metaphors and imagery and the way he describes the feeling a place or person can give you without actually describing it at all? it's both dreamlike and ethereal and grounded and real at the same time, and i just....love it so much. here's one of my favorite bits from the book:

Cities & The Sky [3] Those who arrive at Thekla can see little of the city, beyond the plank fences, the sackcloth screens, the scaffoldings, the metal armatures, the wooden catwalks hanging from ropes or surrounded by sawhorses, the ladders, the trestles. If you ask, "Why is Thekla's construction taking such a long time?" the inhabitants continue hoisting sacks, lowering leaded strings, moving long brushes up and down, as they answer, "So that its destruction cannot begin." And if asked whether they fear that, once the scaffoldings are removed, the city may begin to crumple and fall to pieces, they add hastily, in a whisper, "Not only the city." If, dissatisfied with the answers, someone puts his eye to a crack in a fence, he sees cranes pulling up other cranes, scaffoldings that embrace other scaffoldings, beams that prop up other beams. "What meaning does your construction have?" he asks. "What is the aim of a city under construction unless it is a city? Where is the plan you are following, the blueprint?" "We will show it to you as soon as the working day is over; we cannot interrupt our work now," they answer. Work stops at sunset. Darkness falls over the building site. The sky is filled with stars. "There is the blueprint," they say.

- Favorite fic type:

oh i will eat up...anything. literally anything. BUT if i had to pick, i have a special place in my heart for: soulmate AUs, angst with a happy ending, fake relationship AUs, hurt/comfort, time loops, magical realism AUs (particularly if canon-divergent), and the good old classic, fluffy modern AUs 💕

- Favorite Holiday:

i fucking...love christmastime okay?? i love the traditions my family has for it, like Short Feast on the winter solstice (where we eat Short Ribs and Short Grain Rice and Short Vegetables and Shortbread and put on our Short Pants and drink Short Bottles of Whiskey and go outside to Welcome the Coming of the Light, after the Longest Night of the Year), as well as finding/writing poems on Christmas Eve and walking to the large 600+ year old sequoia trees in our neighborhood to recite them and bring good energy to the new year, to watching It's A Wonderful Life every year. holidays and traditions are so much what you make of it, and i love the energy my family brings into it - nothing is precious, but everything is sacred.

- Do you have a partner (romantic, qpr, anything!)?:

ye, i have a bf!

- Hobbies:

i love to cross-stitch! it helps my adhd ass brain focus on things, so if ever im watching a show or listening to a podcast, i usually have a hoop in my hands. i also love board games - particularly social deception games! and of course - watching tv/movies, reading fic, consuming media, making moodboards, dreaming up fic ideas, and all the lovely things you see me talk about here on tumblr 💕

- Fun facts about you:

uhhhhhhhhhhhh i dont?? know if i have a fun fact?? about me??? OH WAIT okay this is for the bob fans out there - so i was visiting philly not all that long ago, and went to both front street and 17th street in south philly For Our Boys, bill and babe ❤️ and while i was there, i went into a bookstore that was right on s 17th street... and they had a SINGLE copy of bill and babe's book!! i got it of course, and it felt like it was absolutely meant to be!!

tagging, if you want!: @sweetxvanixlla @ronsparky @coco-bean-1218 @onlyyouexisthere @mutantmanifesto @samwinchesterslostshoe @ewipandora @blood-mocha-latte

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

I sort of hinted at this in my last post about how I've been framing conversations about masking with my autistic clients, but I kind of wanted to be more explicit about it here. I don't think what I'm about to say is exactly new or controversial to people, but maybe the way I lay it out will be helpful to someone.

A lot of what the mental health community and society at large sees as inherently autistic traits/symptoms has a fairly substantial overlap with trauma symptoms. The immediate disclaimer here is that I am in no way saying that this overlap makes those experiences NOT AUTISTIC, but rather, I'm saying that we likely have very little clinical understanding of what autistic symptoms and traits look like when they are not layered with trauma.

Trauma creates, removes, exaggerates, and minimizes. Or in the clinical language, there is a spectrum of positive (experiences added) symptoms and negatives (experiences removed) symptoms that come with trauma, in a variety of intensities. Finding a healthy baseline not influenced by trauma means finding someone who received support, accommodation, respect, and autonomy related to their unique existance thoroughly enough that they were able to be resilient against rare times when someone did not provide those things.

One of the clearest examples I can think of for how this comes into play for autistic people is with sensory distress. When there are sensory inputs in our lives that cause us clear pain, discomfort, distress, or other harm, ideally we would be able to find a way to move away from that input as quickly as possible in order to terminate the distress. However the vast majority of us have grown up being aware, for any number of reasons, that this is "not an option" and so instead we have developed strategies to endure intense physical and psychological distress. However, that distress rarely lessens with time. More often than not, it increases. Dissociation, maladaptive daydreaming, alienated interoception, and other psychologically distancing coping strategies become the primary way we avoid feeling that intense distress while we "endure" what causes it. This is an identical process to how such coping strategies develop in trauma cases. When there is intense psychological or physical distress that cannot be escaped but must simply be endured, the body-mind will self-alienate in order to survive. Same mechanism, different neurological origin, at least on the most technical basis.

There's a lot of places where we see this happen, this idea of the same mechanism occuring but under different parameters than it might for a neurotypical. The important thing to pay attention to about examples like the above is that there are some parts of it that are shared (the mechanism by which body-mind alienating symptoms develop and self-reinforce) and other parts that are at least somewhat unique to autism (sensory distress is not absent in neurotypical trauma cases but it tends to take on a different form/origin, and can often be reduced over time where autistic sensory distress rarely can). In the example I used it's fairly clear where the line is between trauma and neurotype. But in many other examples of "how autism presents" this is very much less obvious.

It's s a lot harder to tell for example where the line between trauma and neurotype falls for something like social anxiety. Social anxiety is a really clear part of autistic presentation. It's heavily featured in clinical conversations. But many autistic people I spoke to were not anxious until they became aware that there was something "wrong" with their behavior according to their peers and mentors. There has been some shift to the language of social deficits or difficulties instead, but this becomes highly contextual. We do not have social deficits or difficulties with each other at nearly the same rates as we do with neurotypicals. So if it's not inherently anxiety (because it often does not develop until later in life and sometimes does not develop at all), and it's not deficits or difficulties because we have no statistically significant interpersonal challenges with each other, than what is it?

This is where theory of mind comes in. The older, more controversial take is that autistic people lack ToM entirely. I'm going to be controversial myself and call that complete and utter bullshit. If anything, given how absolutely constant the psychological demand is on autistic people to make themselves capable of functioning within a neurotypical framework, we have a much stronger grasp of theory of mind than NTs. Realistically though, I suspect that theory of mind is something that everyone struggles with across neurotypes. I posit that within our given neurotype human beings are more or less able to understand and intuit how and why people think and do things. But once you encounter someone of a different neurotype than you, all bets are off. I have often described this as speaking to each other across languages. It's technically possible for two people to have a conversation where one of them is exclusively speaking Portuguese and the other is exclusively speaking Korean, but there's going to be detail and context that likely gets lost along the way, and miscommunication/mistranslation is far more likely to occur. Sometimes two people are trying to communicate across Portuguese and Spanish and it's way more consistently feasible, but then someone gets a little too comfortable and a small miscommunication gets blown waaaaay out of proportion.*

*Something I think is cool about this particular linguistic framework of cross-nuerotype interpersonal activity is that it creates the space for the idea of "learning to speak Autistic" or "learning to speak Allistic" in the same way that one learns to speak French or Japanese or Urdu. When we KNOW that we're speaking a new form of communication there's often a lot more room for compassion/assuming good faith when wires get crossed. I think that if we encourage the framework of cross-nuerotype interpersonal activity as a matter of learning new communication methodologies/types, we could potentially create a major shift towards destigmatization and inclusivity, as well as begin the work of strengthening cross-nuerotype theory of mind accessibility. If different nuerotypes have their own cultures within cultures, than learning how to engage with that culture openly and honestly becomes something that can be done through exposure, practice, and opening of the mind/deconstruction of rigid frameworks rather than a pathology that must be clinically taught how to interact with. If you don't need a professional to teach you how to appropriately interact with an autistic person than the barrier to entry of "being respectful/compassionate" is much more accessible to most, which makes socio-cultural changes easier to disseminate over widespread communities and groups.

My theory for the mechanism of social conflict/challenge that autistic people experience is essentially as follows:

Imagine that on the school yard playground all the children are assumed to be speaking Spanish, but some of the children are actually speaking Portuguese. None of the teachers speak Portuguese, only Spanish, and when something gets miscommunicated due to a language barrier, the teachers tell the Portuguese-speaking children that they are at fault because they said something hurtful in Spanish. The child insists they were speaking Portuguese and what they said was in no way hurtful, but the teacher tells them they're either lying or need to learn better manners because what they said was definitely Spanish and definitely hurtful. The child again repeats that they were speaking Portuguese and asks if they can be taught Spanish so that this can be avoided in future. The adult tells them thay they're speaking Spanish right now so that is unnecessary. This happens over and over again. Eventually the Portuguese speaking child starts to believe the adults because everyone else says the same thing. They continue speaking Portuguese to Spanish speakers and doing their best. They may even pick up some amount of Spanish along the way in order to do a better job communicating and expressing their needs. But sometimes they still get it wrong, and they can't predict when because they still don't really know how to speak Spanish effectively and no one around them seems to understand (or maybe even believe in) Portuguese. To the child, this environment becomes no different than an emotionally abusive home environment where an adult punishes unpredictably and routinely denies reality. They become more and more anxious about interacting with others as they struggle to develop a system of predicting the unpredictable. "Social anxiety" becomes a leading aspect of their presentation.

So here again we see that divide between the neurotype-specific origin of an autistic experience and the mechanism by which that experience is converted into a "common autistic presentation".

I spend a lot of time with my clients trying to figure out what their autism looks like for them when trauma is healed out of the equation. What is the difference for them between autistic and traumatized autistic? I often wonder what the diagnostic criteria would look like for ASD if we were able to effectively delineate between autism and autistic trauma. There are places where I feel like I know, spots where I have theories, and others where I honestly doubt I'll ever have a real concept of what it could look like. Part of this is that autistic people are, like neurotypical people, not a monolith. We are as diverse in our cognitive constellations as they are. It's impossible to say "this is what makes an autistic and anything different is Not Us" because brains just don't work like that. I mean sure there are trends and statistical likelihoods, but realistically, neurodiversity is truly infinite, and that means within shared experiences too.

I like thinking about this stuff though. It helps me to feel like maybe someday me and someone else can have a comprehensive and fulfilling conversation in unbroken Autistic without being afraid someone will get upset and tell us to stop.

[loopspoop]

More to come very soon.

……….

They had all been watching Lupin in silence for several minutes, but nothing had changed. It was pushing their nerves to the limits. Every second it looked like he would teeter over and fall asleep again. But he didn't.

Fujiko, driven mad by the wait, decided to distract herself by making some dinner. She was hungry anyways, and she was sure the boys were too. And maybe somehow it would help Lupin. As she entered the kitchen, she was unsurprised to see only noodles. But she would make the best of it.

Jigen had begun pacing the entire three rooms, quite annoying Fujiko whenever he passed by her. On his second round, however, he had noticed something on the floor that they had all missed before.

“Hey Goemon,” he lifted the item to show it off.

Goemon observed it for a moment while he walked over, “The car keys?”

“Must've been what he grabbed off the table. I guess he was gonna drive off without us.”

“Then it is a fortuitous thing that we were able to stop him. We should count ourselves lucky,” his arms already felt sore from the endeavor.

Jigen stuffed the keys into his pocket, hoping that it would keep Lupin away from them, “What even happened? Do you think he recognized Ol’ Pops?”

Goemon thought back for a moment, “Perhaps. I do not think so however. It did not quite seem like recognition to me.”

Jigen rose to his feet once more, “Have you ever seen him cry like that before?”

“I cannot say that I have. It was a hard sight to stomach.”

They heard a “hnn” from the other side of the room. A sound which they immediately recognized as Lupin. They ran over to the couch to investigate.

They found Lupin looking around the room, confused, and Zenigata right where they had left him, sitting on the floor next to the couch.

………

At the sound of Lupin coming back, Zenigata perked up. He had been lost in his thoughts so much that he had forgotten where he even was.

He could tell Lupin was still in a somewhat dazed state, but he determined there was enough awareness there in order to figure out what was going on. He slowly stood up from the floor, a difficult task at his age, and yet he always forgot.

He sat down on the coffee table, and felt Lupin focus on him, anxiety radiating.

“It's alright.”

The sentiment seemed to help somewhat. But only somewhat.

He wasn't exactly sure where to start. He had done this sort of thing in training, but that was far from genuine practice, and it had been decades since. And he never would have thought he would be using his knowledge on someone he knew so well. He decided it best to start with the basics.

“Do you know who I am? You can be honest if you don't.”

Lupin looked down at the couch, and Zenigata feared momentarily that he had passed out again, “No.”

“So why did you run away?”

“Something just told me to.”

Zenigata burst out laughing. Lupin returned a confused look, which made him feel a bit bad for it.

“Sorry. Sorry. It just seems like what I should've expected is all.”

Lupin chuckled awkwardly in response.

Now it was time for the hard parts. He motioned towards Lupin's bandage, “Can I take a look at that? I want to see how bad it is.”

“They already fixed it,” Lupin pointed at the others.

“Maybe. But I know a lot more than those knuckleheads. So I still want to take a look for myself.”

Lupin shrugged, “Alright.”

He took a place on the couch and unwrapped the bandage around Lupin's head. But as he did so, he noticed the heat emanating from Lupin. And now that he was closer, he noticed the dead tired look in his eyes, and how very large his pupils were.

As he removed the final pieces, he saw a large dark purple spot forming around the wound. He figured it made sense, but he wasn't sure if it made sense this long after the impact. Unless he had an impact that hard since. He was looking closer at it when, in the corner of his eye, he saw Lupin nodding off.

He gently slapped Lupin's face, “Hey, don't fall asleep on me. Not yet. I've got stuff I need to ask you.”

He placed his other hand on Lupin's shoulder. He was shivering. Zenigata wondered if it was from fear or the fever. This was adding up quite poorly, and he had only just started.

“Do you remember passing out over there?” He pointed in the general direction of the entrance.

Lupin looked hard at the door, as if concentrating with all of his might, “I think so.”

“How many times has that happened that you can remember?”

“Once or twice I think. I'm not sure. It feels all blurry. I've been really sleepy all day.”

“You've been sleeping a lot?”

“Yeah. Why?”

Zenigata thought about that. It wasn't good, almost worse than him just passing out.

Lupin started to get up from the couch. Zenigata took the hand he had on Lupin's shoulder and used it to pull him back down, “Where are you going?”

“I'm hungry. I want to get some of the food she's making over there. It smells delicious,” he sounded defeated, with the slightest hint of offense.

Jigen sat down in the chair and lit a cigarette.

Zenigata ignored him, and turned back to Lupin, “We'll get you some food in a minute, okay? I just need to do a few more things first. I want to make sure you're alright.”

He put on the best friendly smile he could in hopes that Lupin would cooperate, which was unlikely knowing him. But maybe this Lupin would. And luckily after only a bit of resistance for a moment, he relaxed under Zenigata's hold and leaned back into the couch.

Zenigata rose and pushed the coffee table to the side, “Alright. Since you're so keen on getting up right now, go walk over to that,” he pointed over to a large bookshelf that was on the wall opposite the couch.

Lupin glared at him.

Zenigata watched as Lupin got up from the couch and trudged over to the bookshelf. It was slow, very slow. And he was less walking and more shuffling and falling into each next step. Near the end, he began swaying as if he was already dizzy from walking only a few feet. And when he looked past Lupin, he saw Jigen and Goemon looking on in surprise, as if they hadn't seen him walk this whole time.

He had thought Lupin's run had looked somewhat off, but this was far worse. He wasn't even walking in a straight line.

Lupin collapsed back onto the couch.

………

Lupin’s out here being Lupin despite the head injury 😂😭

[soir-rouges-esprit]

xxix.a: Kingslayer, I wash my face with the water that slightly smelled, and had a slight discoloration, *Squeak* I turn the sink off while slowly raising my soaking head from the blood dried covered sink, to meet and stare at a reflection on the other side of a dirty and cracked oval ship mirror, attached to the wall via small rivets. Thousand-yard stare … as I look into my own eyes, I start to feel it … the fucking anxiety and fear that bellows from deep within, spreading all over my body, that impulsive muscle twitch to move and leave the situation … the same feeling you get when held underwater for too long … you know, when you begin to drown. I can't hear anything, but then, every sound starts to slightly amplify, second after second … the creaking metal … the leaky pipe … the buzzing of the single fucking fluorescent light, all getting slightly louder. I look myself up and down, I examine my body, when I hear … my voice? “Look at you … ffffFucking sore sight … ” *bzzzzzzzzzz* “God, it's all … Disgusting … this flesh, this amalgam … ” *BzZzZzZzZzZ* “You're a Monster! … No one could love this body of yours understand me? … you make me Sick, cut it out Cut It All Out … ” *BZZZZZZZZZZ* “FUCKING CUT IT CUT IT CUT IT!! KILL THIS FUCKING GROTESQUE FIGURE THIS HORRID SIGHT … FUCKING KILL YOURSE- ” *CRACK* I slammed my fist through the thin pain glass … silencing the voice … calming the sounds … I remove my hand from the hole in the mirror … clumps of glass and blood rain from my knuckles … there is nothing, no pain, just silence … … … I put my hands on my forehead as my head starts to race with questions, like a million little whispers all saying what they wished to in a cascade of neutral chaos grey space. Who was that? What was that? Why did he say that? Why was it my voice, did I say that? I wasn't in control, he wasn't in control, they weren't here, who were they? Are they me? no that cannot be. So familiar yet so far? Why can't I remember? … … … my head calms, I release my grasp on my head, and stare at the now cracked reflection once more … this time with a glare and grit teeth. I quench the rage, biting my bottom lip, then turn around and walk out of the bathroom, down the hall, and into … The Mechanical Horror … of which I spend hours in. Mechanical noises can be heard, as I turn a large wheel … *Row* *Row* *Row* *Ro-* FFFFUCK!! … This PIECE OF SHIT!!!. I grab the toolbox filled with tools of a weird shape and understanding, their function of which I had no idea, they were almost alien-like, I throw the box across the room, making a loud bang, sending the tools spread far across the grated floor. I walk off through the tight hallway past the wall of pipes and the amalgam of mechanical gears and strange boxes that lined the wall, through the small oval-like ship door … *Creak* *Creak* *Creak* with every step. Fucking place … this is exactly why I’m doing this, why can’t you all understand why this is Fucking happening. A drip of water from a leaking pipe drips down from the ceiling and splashes in my eye. AAGHHHHAHH FUCKIN HELL. I wipe my eye and keep moving up some steep grated steps to the next floor, walk down the many maze-like hallways, lit by emergency red lights, some dimmer and older than others clearly by their varying brightness. Where I eventually made it to the ship's bridge. I walk through the door, face as stern and pissed as ever, looking to my left … Mind … Fiddling his fucking thumbs looking at some LCD Screen lit up as it flashes the full rainbow of colors in front of his eyes … [To Be Continued]

[whentherewerebicycles]

hoo boy it’s Tuesday and what a week it’s been already. Pip was up all night demanding to be let out to hork down grass and then hork it back up again, so nobody in this house slept much 😩 I also started getting so anxious last night I was short of breath and then had those awful choking dreams where I wake up gasping for air, which I haven’t had for years. at one point I just woke up and sobbed for a while and then went right back to sleep. I feel a little better this morning but in general I think there may be something Not Right about my current levels of panic/dread/despair. like yes I have some reason to worry based on past experience but the intensity of the feelings is outside my normal range of emotional ups and downs. I have always been suuuper sensitive to anything that messes with my brain chemistry and I wonder if this is a “surge of new intense hormones” + “suddenly not being on the meds that have been regulating my brain chemistry for the past 12 years” kinda thing.

like if I step back from the anxiety and try to look at it objectively when I am calmer, I know:

my HCG numbers and rate of rise are at the very top end of the normal range, which is strongly associated in the literature with ongoing pregnancy and live birth

my numbers and rate of rise last time were NOT in the normal range and were in fact one of the fairly textbook patterns for an ectopic pregnancy

I am not experiencing any of the classic symptoms of miscarriage—no pain, no cramping, no bleeding

I have never been all that physically sensitive to HCG—the trigger shot has consistently just given me mild GI symptoms whereas other women experience full-on early pregnancy symptoms. last time my levels eventually reached 18,000 before the surgery (which is close to where I am right now) and I still was having zero symptoms. it seems possible my mild symptoms are not a Harbinger of Doom but are just my body not being that reactive to HCG. my mom says that in four healthy pregnancies she never had morning sickness or any really marked symptoms of pregnancy so maybe there’s a genetic basis to it

I can tell I’m ignoring the symptoms I am experiencing (or dismissing them as unimportant/meaningless) in favor of fixating on the ones I am not experiencing and according those the greatest significance. this feels like classic anxiety brain

having one ectopic increases your risk of having another one but as far as I can tell the odds are higher if they open the tube and then stitch it back up as opposed to removing it entirely. I know my right tube seemed to have a weird little kink in it that showed up in the HSG exam and that was indeed where the ectopic took place. my remaining tube is totally clear/open so there is no particular reason to think I will have a recurrent ectopic.

most women do not have access to this level of data about their pregnancies at six weeks! I need to remember it’s not normal to have so much information so early to obsess over. if I weren’t undergoing fertility treatments and had just gotten pregnant naturally I wouldn’t be going in for a first scan until 8-10 weeks and probably wouldn’t even know my HCG numbers. the intense levels of anxiety I am feeling are probably Brain Stuff gone awry but also I think are a product of having too much info too soon, which partly gives me the illusion of control but much more strongly makes me aware of how little control any of us have over this process. this entire journey has been about just the extreme agonies of waiting through long stretches of time where you literally cannot do anything to influence what is happening inside your body. that is a hard thing to do! and a hard thing to accept! I am doing the best I can in the circumstances I am in!

but also I can probably help myself out a bit by asking about SSRIs and/or cognitive behavioral therapy sigh

[thesecretmoss]

The messed up timeline of the Dear Evan Hansen film

Okay, so, disregarding all of the other things that are wrong with the Dear Evan Hansen film (e.g. removing anybody have a map and good for you), the thing that has been really annoying me recently how messed up the timeline is. What year is this film actually supposed to be set? The first stage performance of the show was in 2015, which would make sense for the year it is set: Connor and Evan supposedly communicate via emails, and once of the two main social medias you see being used is facebook, and while the popularity of both of these platforms was dwindling by 2015 (specifically in teenagers) they were still used and it would be feasable that they were using these. Case closed? not at all, because in one of the shots you see Evan stood in the school library and behind him you see John Green's book: turtles all the way down, which was released in 2017. From this, you may conclude that the film was set in either 2017 or 2018, which would make the use of facebook and email seem slightly odd, but not entirely. Usually, at least i have found, when schools are displaying young adult books they display the ones that are recent, ones that have come out in the past year or so. And example of this is that in my college, in 2021, there was a display of alice osemans loveless, which came out in 2020. it is not completely unreasonable to say that they could have displayed it in recent years, but i can at least say that i havent seen it in recent years on display. either way, this means that the film can absolutely not be set before 2017 (and i should say, the book is probably just placed there to reflect evans anxiety, which would make sense and i would have no problem with, if it weren't for the fact of their janked up timeline). So, it has to be sometime after 2017, given their emails and facebook, it really could not be too long after 2017 or else their use would just come across as utterly bizzare (which, to be fair, is not too surprising given that the average age of the teenagers in the film is about late tweenties), BUT -you will be unhappy to find out- the film physically cannot be set anytime before 2019!!!! Why? Because in the scene for the song 'you will be found' one of the characters can be seen recording Evan's speech with an iphone with THREE CAMERAS, and when was the first iphone with three cameras released? 2019. And I just have to wonder, in WHAT WORLD are teenagers, in 2019, using emails and facebook as their main forms of communication. It is just utterly ridiculous, 2019 is the year that tiktok started to rise in popularity, the year that instagram started to be the old app, so why are they using facebook and emails!? Of course you can't expect any better from a film where the teenagers are being played by thirty year olds and two of the best songs have been removed, but i do just find this timeline to be utterly, utterly, infuriating. Films need to stop trying to set old pieces of media in modern times. Of course it does work sometimes (heartstopper) but you have to adapt the original story, which was just not done at all, it would have been so much easier for them to just use older phones and have older books on display, but instead they just let it become an absolute mess. the end.

[defilerwyrm]

Hello, thanks so much for your last post! I hope this isn't insensitive, but I'd be really interested to know: What helped you get out of right wing ideology? Do you have any advice for helping people out? Thanks!

It was a combination of things over time.

This turned out to be pretty long so I’m gonna put it under a cut. CW for discussions of various forms of right-wing bigotry within.

a) In the midst of a LiveJournal slapfight, I said something that I absolutely in no way meant or even conceived as being misogynistic, but was clearly taken as such, and was chewed out for it. I went “Tap the brakes, what are you talking about?!” and the gal I was arguing with was kind enough (not nice, but kind) to lay it out for me. And I listened. That started me thinking.

b) I realized that the far right that I vaunted literally wants people like me (queer and disabled) dead. I spent a long time in denial about this, thinking I would be an exception somehow.

c) I dug more into the true nature of white pride groups and discovered that, far from an honorable community of people who are simply proud of their heritage, groups like the Aryan Brotherhood are actually murderous, hyperviolent gangs—in some cases, literal prison gangs—of drug dealers, domestic abusers, and straight-up racists, and I couldn’t reconcile that with my notions of honorable behavior.

d) I actually read Mein Kampf. At first it was mostly curiosity and a way to keep people from talking to me in public. Book 1 (the first half) you can kinda see where he’s coming from, wanting a strong, self-sustaining domestic economy, not relying overly on imports, etc; but Book 2 is where he goes completely off the fucking rails, just utterly batshit, and you can tell it’s coming not from a place of “I want to rebuild my homeland after we were devastated by the aftermath of WWI and the Great Depression” but rather “I have a raging hateboner for this specific group of people who had fuck-all to do with that devastation and will make up just the wildest shit to justify and proselytize that hate.” I didn’t have any strong opinions on Jewish folk then so it really whipped my head back. It’s one thing to learn, in the vague terms that my Texas public school education provided me, about the surface facts of the Holocaust, but I don’t think I had any clue what the depths of the vitriol that led to that horror looked like until I heard it from the horse’s mouth. C and D were the big things that showed me that “white pride” isn’t about finding joy in your heritage—it’s about harboring a deep, dark, hideous hatred for others’ heritage. I did not like that.

e) An element that only in recent years occurred to me, but I think an extremely important one: I did not have a right-wing community. All I had in the way of friends & associates were fairly apolitical, mostly queer people who looked the other way when it came to my horrific personal politics. I think I knew at the time that they were unpopular views (or at least, they were in at the turn of the century) and mostly kept them to myself. As I came to accept and understand my own queerness more deeply, as I lived within the poor queer community of my hometown, as I made friends with more and more diverse groups of people, I found things within myself to be proud of, and those close to me—the very people whom the far right still want dead—welcomed me, guided me, supported me. No one on the right was there for me that way. I didn’t have a cluster of far-right friends beating their noxious values back into my head at every turn. The community I had vs the community I didn’t have made it a lot damn easier to make that heel-face turn.

With all that in mind, I think I can offer two pieces of advice:

Understand that far-right ideology is fundamentally built on anxiety and insecurity. Racists, misogynists, homophobes etc latch onto their identities as white, men, straight etc because it’s something they did not have to work for/on and cannot be removed from them, so they hold up these intrinsic traits as things that make them “superior” to others despite evidence to the contrary. Look at how many out-of-shape, mediocre white men brag that they could win a tennis match against Serena or Venus Williams. They don’t think they’re good at tennis—and they are absolutely not going to go through the years of extremely challenging work and practice and dedication required to get that good—they think they’re superior because they’re white men, even though factually either of the Williams sisters would destroy them blindfolded. The reason they go out of their way to make these ridiculous claims is because they feel insecure that someone who isn’t white and a man is better than them at something. This is also what’s behind the whole “Oh they just chose/should choose the best person for the job”—they’re saying they don’t believe someone who isn’t an abled cishet white man COULD be the best person for the job, regardless of what the job is. I don’t think the answer to this is just to point out the innumerable amazing achievements of people of color, queer folk, disabled folk, etc, because they’ll just go “yeah well MY people did xyz.” They’re feeling insecure. What they need is something about themselves to be proud of that they, personally, accomplished: being a good woodworker, or a talented speaker, or a whiz at math, some skill they have worked to foster. What they need is a sense of confidence that their worth is not dependent on what they were born with/as. For me, learning to value myself for who I am and who I can choose to be helped me stop looking down on others for what they are and did not choose to be, because I no longer needed imaginary metrics of superiority and inferiority to prop up a lack of self-worth and an iceberg’s worth of self-loathing.

Separate them from their herd. Understand that many will choose the security of the familiar over the risk of the new. But familiarity does not breed contempt—it opens eyes. A LARGE part of far-right ideology is made up of lies and assumptions and outright ignorance. Don’t just dunk them into the deep end right away, but exposure therapy is the name of the game. It’s a lot easier to think of (for example) Black people as being inferior to you when you don’t freaking know any, or to think of trans people as just a niche category of porn if you’ve never actually talked—and LISTENED—to us. Understand that right-wing social circles are vicious, internecine places where everyone is frothing at the mouth to pull someone down the instant they misstep, and they will expect the same from a left-wing circle. “Well actually” might be your friend here, rather than rubbing their nose in every fuckup or shitty thing they say. The goal is to, you know, teach them how to care about other people, and you have to model that for them. Offer other ways of looking at things instead of just “no, that’s wrong.” This can be an arduous and painful process for everyone, but if their mind can be pried open, it will be worth it in the end.