#ghost guitar battle

[gatorbites-imagines]

Hobie x deadpool reader or spider reader

Hobie Brown x Deadpool male reader

Headcanons

I love Deadpool, who doesn’t love Deadpool? I tried to think of what Deadpool would be like in Hobies’ earth, and I just feel like he would kinda just be the same as always, except maybe with a metal aesthetic. And any chance to work my favorite music into stuff? I’m taking it.

You were Deadpool, and had been Deadpool for a long time. In the beginning it had just been your musician and artist name. Much of your music was different types of metal, with lyrics focused on judging the system and pointing fingers at its corruption.

Of course, a lot of people hated your music, but there was also those who loved it. One of them being Hobie Brown. Even before he became spiderman, hed always been a very righteous person with strong opinions about corruption and capitalism, so finding an artist who shared his views was great.

That was until you got a little too popular and stepped on the wrong people’s toes with your music and art. When you started pointing fingers at Osborn and his wild corruption, those against you grew more and more violent.

And at one of your biggest concerts to date, one that offered all the proceeds to those in need, you were assassinated right on stage. Theories would go around saying it was Osborn wanting to get rid of you, and telling everyone what would happen if they crossed him.

Panic consumed the arena after you were shot right on stage, and in the panic your body was whisked away. Deadpool became an icon in the anarchist circle, as one of the first to stand up against suppression and never back down no matter what.

Time would pass, Hobie would become Spiderman, and he would fight people like Osborn, even killing the guy with his guitar in the end.

But even after killing Osborn, the world was still in disarray, meaning a lot of work had to be done. So, when someone who went by Deadpool started popping up in stories and rumors, it caught people’s attention.

It was assumed you were just a fan, who wanted to use the legendary name of Deadpool to spread your message, or maybe the honor the original Deadpool. That was until people met you though.

You had the same clothes, only now wearing a mask. Your boots, your jacket, your spikes, and patches, even your guitar, you had it all. And on closer inspection, true fans could see it was the real thing.

You were almost like a ghost of the past, stories would go around that you were the angered spirit of the musician Deadpool, having crawled out of hell to wreak havoc on the upper class and tear out the roots of capitalism.

Hobie would want to meet you of course, you were like his hero and biggest inspiration. The first time you two would meet would be during a fight of some sort, and you’d chuck your guitar across the battlefield to nail a corrupt cop in the head before they could get a lucky shot at Hobie.

After that you two became close like two peas in a pod. Hobie would never treat you like you were someone above him, even though he had admired you for years, because he doesn’t believe in treating celebrities like gods.

Soon Deadpool and Spiderman being spotted together was a common sight, and so was seeing spiderman swing around with Deadpool in his arms or hanging on his back like a koala.

You never really take off your mask in the beginning, but when you do Hobie learns why you keep it on. You have a large scar taking up part of your head where the bullet had blown your head apart all that time ago.

You had apparently always been a mutant with a light healing factor, which had kept you alive, but you had been whisked away from Osborn researchers who wanted to use your healing factor. But in the end, they’d simply boosted your powers and you became pretty much unkillable.

This leads to you taking most of the hits during battle, since you can easily take it, anything you lose will just grow back. That doesn’t stop Hobie from worrying though, because seeing someone get their arm sliced off is pretty extreme.

Your first kiss is something you’d only have with a version of Deadpool. Hobie would be carrying your head after it’s been sliced off, and you would be asking him for a kiss and blowing him kisses from where hes carrying your head.

Now, anyone normal wouldn’t do what Hobie does, but Hobie doesn’t like to fit the mold. So, he would lift your severed but still living head and kiss you on the lips. Cue a make out until your body stumbles over and you can get your head back on.

You two never actually put a label to what you are, because that’s not the type of person you two are. But you two are pretty much dating now. You move into an apartment together, and sleep in the same bed at night, and kiss whenever you want.

Spiderman and Deadpool pretty much become icons in your community, for standing up towards oppression, and also being two hot guys who hold concerts after fights.

[susiephone]

gregory house is the man the myth the legend. he’s a genius. he’s babygirl. he’s in his 40s. he has no friends. he has one friend. he has NO friends. he has coworkers and a friend he’s in a constant battle of wits and wills with. he has a pet rat he almost kills with mad science and loves more than life itself. he has a guitar. his guitar got kidnapped. multiple people have tried to murder him in his own workplace. he’s mentally ill he’s the sanest man alive he’s unhinged. he has committed multiple murders technically depending on your definition of murder. he supports murder. he’s a misogynist who supports women. he’s broken up multiple marriages one of which was his own. his dad isn’t his dad. he rides a motorcycle he bought during a midlife crisis. everyone is obsessed with him. two of his best friends are terminally ill. he has NO friends. he and his best friend want to fuck but that’d be way too normal for them. he drove a car into a house. he’s forced his employees to break into countless houses and dig up at least one grave. at least two ghosts have haunted him personally. and he’s bisexual.

[simplyghosting]

Aaaaah gotcha

…

OH. Now that slaps. 👏👏👏

Deadwood for the music recs :)

(I’m assuming this is the name of a band, so that’s what I searched 👍)

Looks like a metal band? Can’t understand what they’re saying lol. The drummer is going to town, though. Not my personal cup, but I used to listen to a bit of metal back in high school, so I get it

[breannasfluff]

“Don’t you know when to cut a show short?” Danny phases through the roof and crosses his arms, glaring at Ember. The rockstar is currently smacking the walkie-talkie, before growling and throwing it off the roof.

“If it isn’t the local dipstick,” she starts, spinning to face him. Her fingers go for her guitar, turning the knob. “Why can’t you–”

She cuts off, staring.

Danny stares back, then glances down at himself. “What, do I have something on my face?”

“Yeah, actually. Who gave you a shiner?”

Oh…right. His eye. Unprompted, he prods lightly at the bruised skin. It’s still a bit swollen around his eye, even in ghost form. “None of your business,” he finally spits.

“Babypop, are you getting hurt off the clock?”

“Off the–Ember, what do you think I do when you aren’t around? I fight ghosts! That means property damage, falling buildings, ectoguns–the works.”

Rather than get riled up, Ember slings her guitar back over her shoulder and comes closer. “Ghosts don’t get black eyes.”

“Wasn’t a ghost,” Danny mumbles, relaxing out of a battle stance. “Now, are you going to go back to the Ghost Zone quietly or is this going to be a fight? I’ve got another class starting and I can’t afford more F’s.”

Ember opens her mouth, closes it, and cocks her head to stare at him. “Are there bullies at this school?”

“Er–yeah?” Danny is thrown by the non-sequitur. 

The rockstar only nods and lifts higher into the air. “See you later, dipstick.” With that, she vanishes back in the direction of the Ghost Portal at Fentonworks.

Danny is left standing on the roof, waiting for the adrenaline to fade from the non-battle. “Well, that was…something.” Maybe he’ll make it to his next class in time after all.

Read the rest here

[eksvaized]

What if, in an alternate universe, instead of being battle-hardened men, TF141 was a famous band? I know it’s a silly thought, but I can’t get it out of my mind.

In my mind, Kyle would definitely be the lead vocalist, who once in a while picks up a guitar. Like, his charm is literally irresistible, and he has this unique quality of being able to carry even the most awkward interviews: he always has the perfect timing, knowing exactly when to joke, when to lightly shade other artists, and when to not-so subtly flirt with an attractive interviewer.

Unlike his bandmates, Kyle also tends to steer clear of trouble, avoiding the drama and controversy that so often follows other bands. His biggest scandal to date, if it can be considered one, was a rumour about his escapades during the band’s tour across America. He supposedly slept with 50 different women, each one from a different state.

And while it was indeed a big deal for such news to erupt within the music industry, it didn’t come as a complete surprise, given Kyle’s reputation as a notorious flirt.

Johnny — a bass player. No doubts about that. When he’s performing during concerts, he becomes a force of nature, a whirlwind of chaotic energy that doesn’t seem to understand the concept of slowing down or taking a break. He’s constantly on the move and bouncing around from one side to another. At times, he’ll dive off the stage to interact with fans, often leaving his signature on some over-excited female’s cleavage. Other times, he can be seen on his knees, utterly lost in the rhythm of the music, grinding to its beat with his eyes closed as if in a trance—this is the most calm he can be during a gig.

Apart from his musical talents and electric stage presence, Johnny has another talent - a knack for attracting attention, particularly from the media. His face graces the pages of magazines on a weekly basis—an occurrence that he insists is accidental rather than intentional. However, Johnny is notoriously outspoken—he has never been one to hold back his tongue or shy away from expressing his opinions, regardless of how they might be received. And so, while refreshing, his candidness often lands him in hot water, especially when his remarks come across as controversial.

Price, Price, Price. Definitely a band manager, and not because I think he couldn’t keep up with the guys. Oh no, that’s not it. It’s just that in my head, I can picture him standing in the unlit corner of the backstage, a lit cigar dangling between his fingers as he counts money. Every so often, he nonchalantly tucks some bills under his belt. He thinks he deserves some extra cash because, yet again, he had to clean up the mess that Johnny made.

What did Johnny do? Apparently, he decided to wear a kilt onstage. The choice of attire wasn’t the issue itself. The problem arose from his decision to go commando, wearing no briefs underneath. Price obviously had to execute some serious damage control and pay off literally everyone who came to see the band. Otherwise, the pictures of Johnny’s dick would have flooded the internet the second people left the venue.

And then there’s Riley, who dominates the drums. Like, just imagine him on the stage, drops of sweat forming on his furrowed brow as he immerses himself in the rhythm. His shirt is discarded, tossed aside as heat radiates off him in palpable waves, and his blond hair is in disheveled from the constant, frenzied head banging — literally every woman’s wet dream.

Sadly, even if you wanted to, you couldn’t stalk him on social media and drool over his shirtless pictures because all of his accounts are set to private. And because of how secretive he is about his personal life—unlike Kyle or Johnny, who don’t mind talking in interviews and sharing some details about what they get up to—the media has nicknamed Simon a Ghost.

Further contributing to his elusive image is a running joke among fans and media that the band doesn’t actually consist of three members, but is instead a duo of Kyle and Johnny. This is primarily because Simon seldom appears at public events. Even when a promotional interview is arranged for an upcoming tour or album, he tries to avoid attending by using every possible excuse, only to be eventually forced into it by Price.

What about you, though? Well, the answer to the question is obvious. You’re definitely a fan, but not the crazy stalker type. You just buy all their albums, follow them on every social media platform, and occasionally watch an interview or two, so you could gawk at how handsome all of them are.

So, when the news broke that they were having a concert in a city near you, you didn’t hesitate for a second. You purchased a ticket almost immediately, a thrill of anticipation coursing through you at the thought of watching them perform live. And the actual concert? It was the most fun you’d had in a long time. Even the fact that you went alone didn’t dampen your mood.

However, probably the part of the night that sent your heart racing, that made it beat the fastest, was an unexpected turn of events. You somehow, almost miraculously, managed to find yourself in the band’s tour bus. You were there, with Kyle’s hand lightly resting on your lower back, as he introduced you to the guys - Johnny, Price, and even Simon.

His exit left a strange silence, and your mind began to race; Price’s behavior seemed to confirm the rumors that had been circulating about Kyle might be true.

Price, to your surprise, did not seem taken aback by your arrival. He extended a hand towards you, the shake firm and lingering just a tad bit longer than necessary. His gaze then shifted over your shoulder, landing on Kyle and giving him a warning look before he excused himself to step outside.

Next, you were introduced to Johnny, whose demeanor was almost as tactile as Kyle’s, if not more so. He greeted you with a bear-like hug that almost crushed your ribs, squeezing the air out of your lungs. His wide grin was so broad it seemed almost idiotic. After releasing you from the embrace, Johnny leaned in close to Kyle, whispering something barely audible yet unmistakably complimentary, something that sounded suspiciously like ‘this one’s stunning’, before giving Kyle a hearty, brotherly clap on the back. You did your best to brush off Johnny’s remark, to dismiss it from your mind for fear of your face betraying your embarrassment by turning a bright shade of red.

Simon was sitting near the tiny window that allowed the soft glow of the moonlight to filter in. His long legs were spread wide in a display of relaxed confidence, and one arm was nonchalantly tossed over the leather couch’s backrest. He had yet to utter a single word. Which he did when Kyle mentioned you were here because you fancied a picture with them. This caught Simon’s attention.

At that point, the only thing keeping you standing straight was Kyle’s hand on your back. You knew, deep down, that you should decline this offer. Your mind was practically shouting at you to return to your rented motel room, reminding you of the early train you had to catch the following morning.

Simon turned to look at you, and you had no choice but to avert your gaze because it literally felt like he was undressing you with his eyes, as his lips curled into a sly, almost predatory smirk. “How about something better?” He suggested, his voice filled with a teasing lilt. “Have a drink with us.”

But how could you possibly refuse such an offer from your favourite band? Especially when you found yourself living the dream of every fan girl out there.

It was too tempting to resist.

[itsallmouthwashing]

Tulpar- Band AU, Character descriptions

I cannot draw- so have some written descriptions and tidbits about the members of Tulpar! I'm planning more bullet points tomorrow but contemplating how much I want to give away ;)

It's very late, I want to add more but I also want to get these OUT! I have much much more planned so don't worry all the details will come out

Bullet Points here

ANYA

Our goth bhaddie

Mid-short black hair, undyed (a NATURAL goth queen)

Usually with purple eyeshadow and black lipstick. Her makeup isnt too intricate, but sometimes she likes to do a classic goth look (white foundation, black EVERYWHERE, the works) when she’s feeling fancy. Later when their band goes much more hardcore, she rocks the look more often. It makes her feel powerful and confident on stage!

YES she has Doc Martens. NO she doesn't wear them. They make her FEET HURT!!!

Still likes jogging! Is that jog to the nearest Burger King? Sometimes! 

Her first tattoo is the one she gets with the crew when Tulpar gets signed :)

Has her ears and her bottom lip pierced. She plays with her lip piercing when she’s studying

She picked up bass at 12 

Does Daisuke’s and Curly’s makeup sometimes :)

Perfer’s purple nail polish :)

DAISUKE

I put in my Ghost Adventure’s AU that Dai would have dyed his hair pink or purple, so this barbie has pink hair :) He’s got a purple fringe :) Probably short-- think about base game Sims 4 short emo hair-- that one!

Loves to paint his and the crews nails, especially for concerts! It happens so often that it becomes ritual and start times will go over if they aren't finished in time. Daisuke WILL get this hand right and the fans WILL understand (they always do!)

Loves to pair undershirts with his collection of Hawaiian shirts. Of course, his pink hibiscus is a staple, but so is the mesh/fishnet unders he puts on when he starts to transition to an alternative style. 

picked up drums around 15, but got really focused on it and mastered them fairly quickly before they went pro

Prefers his nail polish to match with his shirt that day!

JIMMY

Does not have dyed hair either, but he likes to keep it long-ish. It hides his face better but also gets in the way when he doesn't want it to. 

Had a battle jacket, but the sleeves got damaged when he hosted a bonfire and he did not pay attention to the fucking bonfire. That's alright though, he turned into a battle vest!

Overall more of a grunge aesthetic/style

YES his crust pants are REAL stop ASKING HIM !! 

Songwriting has been a part of him since he was little. it was his way to vent, a way to cope, a way to be in control of the narrative

Didn't know when he was younger, but Jimmy has perfect pitch. When he figures this out, he boasts about it in his guitar classes

Buuuuuut it just means the other kids asked him to turn their guitars. That stopped very quickly after he smashed someone's guitar.

Picked up guitar when he was 8. His dad was going to throw it out, but little Jimmy insisted he keep it and that he would find someone who would buy it off of him. Maybe a teacher at school or something.

But instead go buying it from him, a teacher sits him down and teaches him how to play. He gets so lost in it, he begs the teacher to keep it here and teach him more after school. That teacher also teaches him how to write music!

Learns how to do makeup because he’s jealous of Anya- always touching his face so gently to fix his makeup. Quickly learns that all he can really do is his own eyeliner, and even then it’s mid

He’s trying though! (when Jimmy clams the fuck down he eventually goes to Anya and asks her to teach him. They have a nice bonding moment. (the worms demand more, so more there will be- here when I post)

Prefers black nail polish, demands he does it himself (Curly convinces him to let Dai do with Jimmy can't get his hands to stop shaking before a concert. Dai continues to do them after)

Bracelets and chains out the waazoo. When he warms up enough, he lets the band borrow some for shows. (Dai does attempt to actually steal one at some point. Jimmy breaks his nose over it (The worms have plans, you’ll find out why!)

Will! It! Boof! Welcome to Jimmy’s favorite game show! Can it be smoked? He’s fucking got it baybeeee!!

That is to say, he smokes cigarettes, vapes, weed, carts, dabs- yeah man. At least the things that wont get him in serious trouble with the law (at least… not for a little bit…) 

CURLY

The oldest of the group, beside Swansea when he makes his appearance. 

Mid-short blond hair, also undyed. He does get a perm sometimes. When Jimmy does missing, he has a full breakdown and dyes his hair black, but that's later that's later thatslaterthatdlater

Has snakebites and an eyebrow piercing 

Nipple piercings WHO SAID THAT 

When the band goes pro, Pony Express records demands the front man have a certain image because thats what’s hot with audiences and they need to bring in as much revenue as possible with their first album or they get dropped 

Picked up guitar freshman year of high school when he was accidentally enrolled in a guitar class. Some kid said he had perfect pitch, and Curly thought he would be the perfect person to ask about turning his guitar

Only he misunderstood. Though he asked him to tune it for him- Maybe he heard someone ask him about that earlier? He took the guitar with a smile, then smashed It to the ground like he was killing a bug.

The end of freshman year, just before the final for the class, some kid came up to him to tell him his instrument was out of tune. and that he could show him if he'd like. So he doesn't get bumped a letter grade, ya know?

The kid tunes it- just in time, because Grant's name was just called from the now empty class room.

Sophomore year, Curly is enrolled in a choir class, where he discovers his love and talent for singing. Sometimes when he does solos in the classroom, he feels someone watching him from the window in the door.

Prefers yellow nail polish! He loves the contrast of his nails against his outfit since he’s usually in all back 

Wears mostly suits. It's what his parents put him in growing up, so he has a ton and they just feel natural. Does it hurt when Jimmy convinces him to rip them up for a concert? Only a little ;-; Does it make the audience go wild? Only a lot :) 

Wears Jimmy’s chains way before the rest of Tulpar have access to them 

SWANSEA

Tulapr’s manager before and after they get signed with Pony Express Records. 

Usually wears a track suit or something, very casual around the crew. After they get signed though, hes always dressing in P.E records merch, ad later Tulpar merch when PER authorizes it!

Keeping his backstory mostly the same, his struggle with addiction does come into play with the story I have in mind 

Used to be really into the punk scene. If you loook really close, you can see the holes from his snakebites and brow bars. No one can see it, but he also used to have a septum piercing. 

He has a stash of his old clothes on the bus when Tulpar is tour-ready! He also becomes the resident seamstress if a costume rips or malfunctions :)

[the-kr8tor]

Thank you for voting for the name Octobie! Now for the themes! I've combed through every single suggestion you gave me and categorised all of them into 12 themes.

So what I'm gonna do is post the 12 (right here) and from that 12 the 5 most top voted will move up for another poll until the top 3 wins! (Reasons/ and where I got the themes from your suggestions are listed below the poll/cut. W/ brief descriptions also)

Note: Theme names aren't finalized but the meanings will still be the same. (They'll have a cooler name once they get picked!)

Wondering why there will only be three themes? Well the third week theme is called wild card where anything goes! So if your chosen theme doesn't win you can always wait for the third week of octobie to come around and you can do whatever you want in that week as long as Hobie's in it!

Fantasy— fairy! Hobie, Dragon tamer! Hobie/Dragon rider! Hobie, Mythical creature, Sailor/Pirate! Hobie x deity! R, Time-looped historian! Hobie, fae, Mermaid. (Literally anything to do with the fantasy genre)

Halloween- Cloak Hobie, Witch R & familiar! Hobie, Witch! R and demon! Hobie, accidental summoning, pumpkin, Demon! Hobie and angel! R, death reaper! Hobie and target! R, vampire! R and human Hobie, serial killer! Hobie and detective! R, zombie! Hobie, pirates, thriller! Hobie, (anything spooky or scary!)

Eras swap/ through the decades- Modern! Hobie x 1970s! r, modern au, 1800s, different au Hobies meet and different au readers meet, aged up meet cute (they meet in their 60s), decades, (time is the main gist of it, whether it's hobie through the years or some decade specific scenario)

Music- guitar, record play, music lessons, backstage, concerts, rival bands/musicians, band practice, battle of the bands, (anything that has to do with music!)

Comfort- stray cats, nicknames, arts and crafts, london tings, hate the am (mornings), flowers, cats, snow, cozy/chilling at home, library, favourite au/trope, cottage core, (anything that wakes the butterflies in your stomach or makes you feel the ooeygoeey feeling fluff!)

Anarchy- ACAB, battle vests, protest, punk. (Anything that Hobie would be proud of doing)

Slice of life/ family life- swing date, the twins, first dance, just cozy things, cozy/chilling at home, morning/nighy routine, handsy, date day/night, meet cute, sick day, childhood friends. (Cozy or family related!)

Crossover- villains and/Vs heroes, magical girl! Hobie, tokyo ghoul au, DC Crossover, Hobie meeting batman, android! Hobie and human r, baldur's gate 3 au, hobie and mutant x-men! R, hobie and deadpool!, deadpool! Hobie, gambit! Hobie, ghost rider! hobie, spy family au, nightcrawler! Hobie (whether it's a video game, anime or a different genre of comic, that goes here!)

Medieval- royalty, royal! R and rebel! Hobie, (anything that makes you sing the game of thrones opening lol)

Villain au- black cat! Hobie, deadpool! Hobie, mystique! Hobie, prowler! Hobie x villain! r (evil! Hobie? Evil! Hobie! Or any au pertaining to villainy!)

Movie mashup- scream killer! Hobie and caller! R, freaky friday/body swap, rom-com, will they/won't they?, swan lake au, mad hatter! Hobie, phantom of the opera au, the greatest showman au, avatar au, (general movie au or theatre au)

Runway ready- patches, runway, hair, piercings, braids, dress up/ fashion show, draw in your style. (Fashun!)

[nesaluvstherecoms]

𝐆𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐱.

ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ʀᴇᴄᴏᴍ ᴄᴏʟᴏɴᴇʟ ᴍɪʟᴇꜱ Qᴜᴀʀɪᴛᴄʜ x ʀᴇᴄᴏᴍ ᴍᴀᴊᴏʀ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀʟ ꜰᴇᴍ. ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Sickness, mentions of vomiting, Miles and Lyle being a bit sexist?, mentions of death in battle, descriptions of dead Recombinant bodies, fowl language.

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ʟɪɴᴋ

。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟖: 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡

“Ya know…. Ya ain’t had ta tell ‘er.”

Toddy’s voice comes out softly, her tone filled with sadness that she tries conceal, coming from her small form on the folded bed. Her delicate fingers gently move over the strings of the guitar that’s resting on her lap, testing the notes and tightening them as needed. Meanwhile the male Recom watches carefully from the doorway, his Na’vi eyes cascading over the beautiful human girl, her figure tiny in contrast to his as she remains sat up on the medical wing bed, with her back leaning against the raised cushions behind her.

“They hadn’t refrigerated your insulin properly again, had they?” Henry replies instead, ignoring her statement as his dark pupils follow the woman’s gorgeous face, paler than usual. By looking at her, he can tell what has happened. She throws up for hours on end if the insulin she takes for her diabetes has gone bad, her body forcing her to expel out everything and anything that’s in her stomach during those hours. It drains her body of any strength in her muscles, and she becomes as pale as a ghost, ending her up in the medical wing each time.

Hearing that, Toddy’s dark brown eyes hood over either in sadness or disappointment, the Recom can’t tell.

“Yeah…” She whispers softly, before adjusting the position of the acoustic guitar to rest against her thin body so she can start playing it. Soon, the gentle notes of the music fill the cold medical room, bouncing softly against the dull colored walls. Henry watches as a small smile forms on Toddy’s plump, scarred lips, the music comforting to her. Her wavy blond hair falls forward on her shoulders as she leans onto her guitar, her long fingers stroking the strings expertly.

“I know how to hold a grudge.

I can send a bridge up in smoke.

An’ I can't count the people I've let down, the hearts I've broke.

You ain't gotta dig too deep.

If ya wanna find some dirt on me.

But I'm learnin’ who you've been.

Ain't who you've gotta be.

It's gonna be an uphill climb.

Aw honey, I won't lie.”

Henry listens to the girl’s beautiful voice as she sings her comfort song, the melody of her tone immediately calming his racing mind as well, his tail no longer stiff and now slowly flicking from side to side behind him. He remains silent, just watching her from the doorway while he sips some carbon dioxide from his Recom Breather, mesmerized, as she seems to momentarily forget her troubles while she continues, her angelic voice steady and controlled despite what her body has been enduring for the day.

“I ain't no angel.

I still got a few more dances with the devil.

I'm cleanin' up ma act, little by little.

I'm gettin’ there.

I can finally stand the man in the mirror I see.

I ain't as good as I'm gonna get.

But I'm better than I used ta be.”

The melody from her guitar continues as her nimble fingers dance upon the strings, accompanying her singing voice. She soon closes her eyes, focusing her mind on nothing but the notes that are coming from the instrument.

The Recom uncrosses his muscular tattooed arms and slowly walks over to the hospital bed she’s sitting up on, careful not to hit his head on the ceiling, before sitting down at the end of her bed, by her feet. He then rests his elbows on top of the military knee pads strapped to his legs, before turning to look at her, his tail flicking once behind him, draped over the bed and falling on the other side.

“She had a right to know, Toddy. Sometimes, people need to prepare for the death of someone, emotionally.” He explains to her softly, addressing her earlier statement. The girl doesn’t answer. Instead she continues playing the song on her guitar, her elegant fingers not stopping their beautiful strokes upon the strings.

“I've pinned a lot of demons to the ground.

Got a few old habits left.

But there's still one or two I might need you to help me get.

Standin' in the rain so long has left me with a little rust.

But put some faith in me.

And someday you'll see.

There's a diamond under all this dust.

I ain't no angel.

I still got a few more dances with the devil.

I'm cleanin' up ma act, little by little.

I'm gettin’ there.

I can finally stand the man in the mirror I see.

I ain't as good as I'm gonna get.

But I'm better than I used ta be.

I ain't no angel.

I still got a few more dances with the devil.

I'm cleanin' up ma act, little by little.

I'm gettin’ there.

I can finally stand the man in the mirror I see.

I ain't as good as I'm gonna get.

But I'm better than I used ta be.”

She finishes her angelic singing, accompanying it with a bit more music from her guitar as she beautifully plays the end notes. After a few more seconds, her movements halt, the music dissipating with her hand hovering over the instrument. Silence falls. Then she speaks.

“She don’ care about ma death. She don’ know me that way. Ya didn’ have ta tell ‘er. Now she gon’ treat me differently.” She replies as she raises her voice slightly at him, her pretty eyes, thickened by contact lenses, mirroring the sadness in her tone. Henry frowns, his cropped ears folding back at her words.

“Why would you say that?” He asks, his eyes looking at the tiny human’s beautiful face. A shiny coat of tears forms on the girl’s waterline, wetting her long lashes.

“It’s the truth.” She chokes out, her soothing voice running out near the end of her sentence. The Recom’s frown deepens, his brain working to figure out why the hell she would even think this way. He leans towards her, his upper body weight shifting to his left elbow, as his amber eyes focus on her tearing up, human form.

“Toddy, do you know how many people on this base get to spend time with Y/N?”

The girl raises her head at that, her pretty, wet eyes, looking over curiously at the large Recom sat at the end of her bed. Henry’s frown then falters, slowly turning into a soft smile.

“None.” He says, his own eyes looking over at her gently. “Not me. Not our team. Not even Captain Keller. Yes, we do interact with her, and yes, we all care about her and she cares about us, but Y/N is a loner. She doesn’t like showing people anything else than her commander side. And there’s no one else who she prefers to spend more time with besides her and herself. Meanwhile only some months in, and she has already been friendly with you since you met. Joined you in one of your direhorse riding afternoons, and rode one herself no less! Do you know how many times I have begged her to even come check out the botanical labs’ gardens with me? And you got her to do that, form a neural bond for the first time AND ride a direhorse in less than two hours!”

Toddy giggles sweetly at Henry’s enthusiastic and amazed expression, lowering her head to look down at her guitar with a beautiful smile. The Recom tilts his head at her reaction, a gentle smile of his own on his lips as his cropped ears slightly tilt back. He slowly reaches towards her, placing a comforting hand on her thin but firm right shoulder. She looks up at him, her doe eyes staring into his amber ones.

“Besides, she keeps coming back to you. If it was anyone else, she wouldn’t have even spared them a glance. You’re more special to her than you think, Toddy.” He tells her gently, squeezing her shoulder. A small smile forms on Toddy’s plump lips, her cheeks blushing lightly in a beautiful soft red.

“I… I didn’ know that.” She whispers softly, looking down. Henry gives her a gentle smile, before shifting in place, going back to leaning with his elbows on his knees. He takes a moment to take a sip of carbon dioxide, the gas feeling like pure relief in his lungs as they expand to receive it. His ears twitch for a moment, while his wrapped tail flicks once behind him.

“Tell you what. In two weeks, Y/N has two days off. Courtesy of Ardmore since she has done an amazing job throughout these months. Why don’t you take her to that special spot in the forest? The one where you go to when you want to escape the world?”

Toddy’s dark brown eyes light up at the idea, as she immediately raises her head to look up at Henry. Her heart starts pounding in her chest, and she clutches the instrument on her lap.

“D’ya think she’d come with me?” She asks, a certain glint in her pupils, clearly excited but unsure about it. The handsome Recom soldier smiles sweetly at her, leaning over to gently brush a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

“It wouldn’t hurt to try now, would it?”

“What’s this?” Y/N asks with a raised brow, staring down at the slim stack of printed papers that the large man in front of her just passive-aggressively put down on her desk, right in front of her.

“The report you requested, ma’am.” Miles replies, an almost irritated tone in his raspy voice as he speaks. Y/N takes a good look down at the thin stack of papers on her desk, before raising her eyes to look up at him instead, one of her elegant brows remaining arched.

“And you finished, this early? It’s only been two weeks.” She more states than asks before lowering her eyes down again. “Paper? Really? Where are we, the 20th century? Where did you even find it?” She adds, gripping a corner of one of the white pages to tug at it in annoyance. Miles purses his lips, his eyes following the movement of her elegant hand, encased in a fine, black tactical glove.

“It’s an important report. It ain’t worth risking havin’ it in a database where other people can access it.” He replies, moving his head to look over at her face. But that answer does not seem to impress Y/N.

“You do realize we have the most secure database in the entire Universe, right?” She states back, raising her head to look up at him like he’s slow.

At that, Miles’ tail twitches behind him in annoyance. He takes a moment to reach below his neck and pick up his Recom Breather mask, bringing it up to his face for a sip.

“I don’t understand why you’re makin’ such a fuss out of this.” He replies, looking back at her more intensively now, as the first tingles of irritation creep on his blue skin. Upon receiving that response, Y/N’s sharp eyes narrow down at him.

“Watch your mouth.” She warns calmly but firmly with her ears slightly folding back, before her right gloved hand slides the stack forward on the smooth, polished surface of the desk, towards him.

“Remake this.” She then orders, staring down at the papers, before her pupils move up to his face again. “And next time when you’re finished, I want it in my datapad. I don’t want you storming into my office again for insignificant matters like this. I don’t care how you remember things being done around here, but it’s been fourteen years and things have changed. How can you call yourself a Colonel and not even be able to write a report correctly?” Y/N then adds in annoyance, not missing how Miles’ eyes narrow down at her as she gives her verdict.

“You want me to remake it? Ya ain’t even spare it a glance.” He retaliates as he tilts his chin down, his deep voice laced with slowly flaring up anger.

“I don’t need to.” Y/N replies back, continuing to stare up at him as she remains seated on her desk. “I know it’s not good enough. It’s approximately five pages long. And considering how much you fucked up at the Three Brothers alone, it should be at least twenty pages long.”

“Twenty pages?! Ya want me to write twenty pages on what I did wrong? Are you kidding me?! Do ya know how much twenty pages is?!” Miles’ voice raises in tone, his brows furrowing deeply at the woman in front of him, still sat comfortably on her spacious office desk.

“Is that a problem?” Y/N replies, her own tone now lowering dangerously, her sharp saffron eyes narrowing at his large form, pinning him. Her gloved hands clasp together on the surface of her desk, slim fingers intertwining.

Miles’ jaw clenches tightly, his masseter muscles contracting at the sides of his handsome face as his long tail twitches behind him in agitation. Now he remembers why he disliked her so much that day of the meeting. He hates how she speaks to him. All high and mighty in her comfortable chair, sitting in one of the most luxurious offices in the entire base, treating him like another rogue soldier, like a pest she can’t seem to get rid of. She seems to think she’s better than him, way above him in every single aspect. Well not by a fucking long shot. He earned his rank, honorably, while she was handed hers like candy. She has no right to even let her eyes look down on him like that. What the hell was Ardmore even thinking, making this spoiled bitch Major General?

But somewhat, he is used to the constant reminders of his failed mission by now. The most prominent being how the Deja Blu dorms are completely empty, with only him and Lyle occupying the space. The laughter and chatter of his team and Spider doesn’t fill the halls anymore, doesn’t comfort him, doesn’t snap him out of the void when he’s thinking. When he’s in his room, alone, questioning his identity, his purpose. It’s just quiet. Dead quiet.

His large, veiny hand reaches forward, gripping the thin stack of papers firmly, and picking it up from her desk.

“No, ma’am. No problem. I’ll remake it.” He replies in a low tone, his deep voice now smooth and controlled again. He makes eye contact with her one last time, his pupils lingering a bit more than they should on hers and her beautiful eyelashes, before saluting her briefly out of respect and turning on his heel to walk out of her office, long tail flicking behind him. His heavy combat boots thud on the hardwood floor as he walks out, the sound filling the large, otherwise silent space. When the sliding door finally closes behind his tall, muscular frame, Y/N brings her gloved hands up to rub her temples, elbows resting on her desk as she sighs heavily.

“God, he’s insufferable.”

。。。

The metal door slides closed behind Miles with a click. As soon as he’s in the clear, his fists clench, the report easily bunching up, the paper crumpling to a crisp in his left hand. He stands in the hallway outside her office, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. His right hand moves up, soon his long fingers running through the short strands of his black hair, out of habit. They’re longer than he remembers. Looks like he needs a trim. How long has it been since the last one? Weeks? No, months.

He’ll have Lyle do that later. The man might be bald but he’s good with a trimmer. The corners of Miles’ lips curl up a bit as a memory suddenly resurfaces at the thought, his cropped ears twitching in amusement. Lyle might be good with a trimmer but he never got to cut those god awful dreadlocks from Spider’s head. He even chased him around multiple times, going from suggesting - to threatening- to practically begging Spider to let him give him a haircut, insisting that his hairstyle was borderline a biohazard and a breeding ground for fleas. But the boy never faltered, instead flipped him off each time while cursing at him, sometimes in English, sometimes in Na’vi, telling him that he’d rather have this hairstyle than look like a striped blue ballsack. Miles lets out a soft huff of amusement at the memory, his problems momentarily forgotten, before his smile soon falls again, and his piercing stare hardens, the light in his amber eyes draining completely in a flash at a new memory.

“Son… come with me.”

He reaches out towards the boy, his palm open, waiting for him to grab on. He pants hard, his lungs still burning painfully from almost drowning to death in the icy waters of the sea, as the metallic tang of fresh blood lingers heavily in his mouth. His banshee lets out a heavy grunt, its neck vibrating, as it senses its owner’s state, beaten and battered to a pulp.

Spider also pants, his stripe-painted chest heaving up and down with each breath, the fresh cut from that animal woman’s blade now deeply engraved upon the human’s flesh. Miles’ eyes are vulnerable, pleading, just wanting the boy to come to him, like a father yearning for his son’s warmth, and Spider has never seen something alike. He hesitates for a second, hypnotized at the sight, at the desperation in the man’s pupils, before his brown eyes soon harden through the oxygen mask at the Recombinant, filling with anger, resentment. He leans forward just slightly to hiss threateningly at the man, as best as a human can, before forcefully throwing upon the rock below them the yellow rescue vest that he used to pull him out of the water. He turns, turning his back towards the Recom, then he jumps. The cold water splashes, foaming at the surface, and just like that, the boy is gone. His boy is gone. Miles’ amber eyes immediately sadden deeply, staring at the ripples on the surface as they disrupt the waves of the sea, splashing forcefully against the shore.

“Spider!” He calls out, letting out a final breath of desperation. He has no other choice but to quickly gather himself, and turns to climb on the saddle of his banshee, his chest now weighing painfully from the inside.

Miles lets his eyes squeeze shut for a moment, trying to calm down his heart that seems to have started beating rapidly at the memory. He brings his Recom Breather mask up, and takes a few deep breaths, clearing his mind. Soon enough, his eyelids lift again, his demeanor returning to normal, as if nothing ever happened. He can’t think about that. At least not right now. He has a bigger problem.

He lowers his head down, his sharp eyes falling on the thin stack crunched up in a death grip in his left fist. He takes in an annoyed breath, shaking his head in disbelief before exhaling through his feline nose with a sigh.

“Goddamnit. She gets under my skin like no one else.” He mutters to himself, before his boots move from their spot on the hallway floor, and he starts heading for his own office, his heavy footsteps echoing through the empty hallway.

Lyle Wainfleet knows what it feels like to be watched. Especially in the bitter forests of Pandora, where all kinds of eerie, alien creatures keep their multiple pairs of eyes on him every breath he takes, their ears moving in rhythm with the crunch of every leaf or plant that he steps on. He knows what it feels like to be the center of attention in a mission, where human soldiers keep their focus on him, taking in his actions in the battlefield, some looking for guidance, while the rest look to judge. He knows what it feels like to have the natives watch him, yellow Na’vi eyes following him in fear as he moves while others following in hatred, their black pupils filled with the desire for blood, to hunt him down, kill him. He knows what it feels like to have Quaritch’s sharp, intense gaze on him when he’s given an order, ensuring that his team lieutenant and his right hand man completes it flawlessly to the last word. And let him tell you, the sheer pressure in the Colonel’s crushing stare is enough to make the toughest of men cry.

However, none of the experiences above seem to have been quite like the one he’s experiencing right now…

“God, he’s so bald.”

“Is he just like that or does he shave it? I mean his neural whip is covered by hair.”

“That’s just an odd fuckin’ combination, innit?”

“Wot is he even doin’? Bloke’s been at it fer forte minutes already.”

“God, give me patience…” Lyle mutters annoyed and under his breath, the heel of his gloved palm pushing the freshly reloaded clip of the handgun he’s holding into the magazine, its click ringing through the artillery room. He tries to tune out the voices of the four large Recom men behind him, instead focusing on the task at hand as he grabs the next pistol out of the pile of guns on the table, before carefully dismantling it for cleaning.

After the clusterfuckery of a mission at The Three Brothers, Quaritch has been busy twenty four-seven with the punishments laid onto him by the Major General. The training has proven to be hard on him, especially since Second Lieutenant Jones insists on engaging him for prolonged hours every day, straining every last one of his muscles to the point of exhaustion. Apparently, General L/N was not happy with his report either, as Lyle learned later on that day when Miles came back to the dorms around midnight, after having locked himself in his office all afternoon, trying to redo the document to her standards. He was huffing and cursing under his breath, calling the General all the names in the book, and Lyle doesn’t blame him. This is just excessive at this point. She is blowing this completely out of proportion, acting like Quaritch killed those men by his own hand. I mean what does she expect? This is war, of course things will go south sometimes. But this is just making things more complicated. Lyle huffs. Women. Always so damn dramatic for nothing.

But after Quaritch was given his reprimands, Lyle didn’t escape unscathed either. The General’s right hand man, Captain Keller, took it upon himself to hold Lyle responsible too. In his words: “For enabling an officer to act against rules and regulations, and aiding him in unauthorized war conduct.”. And for this, he gave Quaritch’s right hand man a whopping four months of weaponry maintenance and cleaning duty, along with discharging him from his position until the Colonel is given back his privileges.

Lyle’s jaw tightens in dissatisfaction as that conversation starts replaying in his head. It’s not like he could’ve done anything besides following his Colonel’s orders, it’s his job after all. With Lyle being his team lieutenant, then what Quaritch says goes, and who is Lyle to defy orders? I mean, Quaritch’s punishment was fair to some degree because some of the fault was his, but of course somebody had to share the blame. Still, to Lyle, this whole ordeal is just bullshit blown out of proportion. Punishing Quaritch for something that was ultimately out of his control, and then going after his trusted aide for good measure? How were they supposed to know that the mission would turn out that way? How were they supposed to know that suddenly the tulkun that had never in years been aggressive towards them, would suddenly bellyflop their shit when they had just gained the upper hand? So every time a mission fails, people get punished for it around here? Is this what the RDA has become? A bigoted hierarchy?

Lyle had tried arguing with the Captain, but Keller had immediately shut him down, making it clear that his opinion was worthless in the matter. And now, Lyle sits in the artillery room, taking care of the weapons for the lower raking soldiers, while four of General L/N’s men stand a few feet away, judging him from the distance. The embarrassing part is that he’s not even taking care of Recom weapons, but just the regular ones, used by your everyday RDA soldier. The reason for this apparently was that ALPHA have their own artillery man, some German Recom, who they trust most with their guns and equipment, and would never let anyone else touch their stuff besides him. It’s a tedious and thankless task for Lyle, but he pushes through, reminding himself that he could have it worse. Like the Colonel.

However, the chatter of the four men behind him is slowly getting on his nerves more and more as days go by. They’re always somehow there, judging every single move he makes, watching him like hawks. And it’s incredibly frustrating. In a military environment like the RDA, hierarchy is king and these men are slowly pushing him further down the ladder, putting him at a great disadvantage. He also has learned their names by now, hearing soldiers salute them and all. First Lieutenant Fernando Álvarez, Sergeant Major Diego Silva, Master Sergeant Oscar Bailey, and First Sergeant Scott McCaskill. They’re all already higher in rank than him, but no higher officer has ever been on his ass like this. Especially Álvarez. He’s the worst. A complete ass if you will. He’s arrogant, loud mouthed, aggressive, and has a tendency to want to humiliate Lyle in front of lower rank soldiers. He never misses a single opportunity to insult or belittle him, making snide remarks and condescending jabs at Lyle’s expense, and seems to take great pleasure in seeing the other Recom struggle with cleaning duty specifically. The tasks Álvarez assigns him are no better. They’re endless. Routine. Degrading. He assigns him to clean the artillery and training rooms regularly, help the weapon technicians with taking care of the gun and missile systems in the Armor Bay, and sends him to clean the sloppy mess of Na’vi arrows and mud caked on the vehicles that come back from the battlefield. It’s constant tiring work, over and over again, and just when Lyle thinks he’s done, Álvarez is right on his ass piling more exhausting physical tasks and checking on “calvo’s” work.

But what can Lyle do? Álvarez is L/N’s third in command, his orders are practically law. His authority and skill in the battlefield are said to be unmatched, he’s a bully by nature, and while Second Lieutenant Jones torments the recruits coming from Earth and makes them cry, Álvarez has made multiple of them piss themselves. Nevertheless, the man is an insufferable prick whose favorite pastime seems to be tormenting Lyle, and reminding him of his place in the chain of command at every opportunity he gets. At least that’s Lyle’s perception of him.

The three other Recombinants are annoying, but not as bad. Sergeant Major Silva is the only one out of the bunch that’s tolerable. He doesn’t really bother Lyle, except for the occasional jabs when Álvarez spurs him on. But sometimes he comes by when Lyle is working, and like a cat giving you a dead bird it just killed and thinking it’s a gift, he hands Lyle some form of equipment that would make the task at hand easier for him. He does this discreetly and doesn’t really speak to Lyle when he does it, just stares at him, holding out his hand and waiting for Lyle to grab the tool. Actually in some form of way, it reminds Lyle of Lopez. Friendly bullying him in front of others, then being nice to him one on one.

Lyle’s brows then furrow at that thought. No. What is he thinking? These pricks don’t even come close to his old comrades.

He actually hasn’t met the rest of General L/N’s team yet. Well at least up close. Because they were all there the day of the meeting after the failed mission, and they’re always moving around base like rats.

Lyle takes a deep breath as he puts away the freshly prepped gun he just handled, placing it nicely by the rows of other firearms he has taken care of in the past hour. He slides his chair back just enough to arch his back and lift his toned arms to stretch upwards, the joints in his spine popping while his tail raises in an arch behind him. The Recom lets out a sigh of satisfaction as he straightens his back again, his broad shoulders relaxing, and takes a blank look around. The smell of gun oil and cleaner is practically imbedded in his sensitive feline nose by now, and he squeezes his eyes shut briefly. He can still hear the chatter of the four men behind him, but it seems like they aren’t paying attention to him anymore, rather focused on their own conversation amongst each other. Lyle then stands up from the chair he was sitting, his long legs feeling sluggish as he supports his body’s weight on them. Some fresh air would actually do him good, he hasn’t had his break since starting work that morning. A can of cold beer wouldn’t hurt either. He doesn’t ponder too much on that thought, and within seconds he’s already heading out the room before Álvarez can notice, the metal doors sliding shut behind his broad frame.

。。。

The base’s large bar is the only location in Bridgehead where everyone unites together, whether that be military, scientists, scouts, Avatar or Recombinant, or any other division within the RDA. It’s the one spot where everyone can come together after a grueling workday in Pandora, and have a drink or two to calm their nerves and ease their muscles. The place itself is quite large, with rounded tables, booths and lights, which have a lit cozy orange hue during the day, and a dim purple durning the night. And as most people on base, Lyle is no stranger to this place either.

Quaritch and his team used to come here quite often after missions. They all would sit at the largest booth in the corner and order food and drinks, while reminiscing about the past and usually celebrating their accomplished missions. They even brought Spider with them a couple of times, watching as the human boy shoveled food in his mouth while the Recoms laughed in amusement and spurred him on. Meanwhile Quaritch’s brow would twitch each time as he stared at the bill, going higher and higher with every item that the boy devoured.

But now, Lyle is sitting alone on a bar stool, recalling these happy memories of his now dead comrades, as he waits with slumped shoulders for the bartender to finish pouring his beer. His jaw is clenched, his long tail flicking gently behind him, while he blankly stares down at the wooden surface of the bar where he has rested his elbows on.

“Rough day?” The human bartender asks with a polite smile as he puts down the Recom sized beer mug in front of Lyle.

“Like hell.” The Recombinant replies, immediately grabbing the handle of the mug to lift it to his lips and take a large gulp. The cold alcohol flows down his throat nicely, quenching his thirst and cooling down the heat in his chest. He sets it down on the surface of the bar with a satisfied exhale, his tail flicking behind him in appreciation.

“Start me a tab.” He then murmurs, his voice low and raspy, as the bartender moves to the screen of his tab system to do as instructed.

Lyle lets his eyelids close, his large hand sliding over to the beer mug again. His long fingers grip the cold handle, bringing it up as this time he takes a normal sip, just trying to enjoy his drink and the few moments of peace he has managed to acquire. He sets the mug down gently, the glass thudding as it comes in contact with the wooden surface of the bar. The Recom keeps his eyes closed as he continues leaning on his elbows in front of him, his tail moving behind him gently. His breathing is soft, ears folded back lightly as he takes his time to try and unravel his thoughts.

It’s been about a month since the battle at The Three Brothers. Lyle hasn’t had much time to himself, to process anything that’s happened. He’s been so busy during the day, and just exhausted during the night that he hasn’t even had time to think let alone mourn his comrades. Yet some nights, after he has closed his eyes and laid beneath his sheets, he sees them… in his dreams.

First he finds himself submerged in the icy waters of the sea, where he almost lost his chance to life again. He swims desperately, trying to not let his head sink beneath the surface, but the raging waves make it hard for him to stay afloat. His arms and legs burn, the muscles beneath his blue skin begging for some relief as he continues using them mercilessly to survive. He finally reaches the shore, gasping for a breath and coughing out salty water, his hands desperately gripping the rock beneath him for support. And then he turns his head, blinking rapidly to squeeze the water away from his pupils. But as his vision clears, the sight before him makes his water filled stomach drop, his heart pounding harder in his chest. He finds Lopez and Ja there, on the shore, their uniforms drenched. They’re both laying on their backs, with an arrow deeply lodged in Lopez’s chest as his now soulless eyes stare at Lyle, mouth slightly agape. Next to him, Ja’s own eyes are closed, his head turned towards Lopez, his body unharmed. He looks calm, like he’s in deep slumber but his chest isn’t moving, and he isn’t showing any signs of life. Lyle flinches, his eyes staring into Lopez’s, his breathing getting more and more rapid. And for a moment everything around him stops.

Other times he’s still on the ship. He quickly replaces the clip of his Recom M69-AR, lodging a new one into the magazine as he takes position to start shooting again. He hides behind a pile of discarded tulkun hunting machinery, trying to listen through the chaos of the ship burning and turning over. And then he hears something. He clutches his long gun, droplets of sweat mix with the sea water on his skin, as he takes sharp inhales. His chest heaves, his ears ring, but he must push forward, he must survive. Immediately he jumps into action, pointing his firearm at the source of the sound.

His blood then runs cold.

A spear is skewered right through Prager’s chest, the Recom laying on his side with the head of the weapon having come out of his back, crimson blood pooling beneath him. Zdinarsk’s lifeless body lays just a few feet away from him, fingers still clutching her long gun, with one arrow lodged deeply in her left side. An open wound is visible through her right eye, past her eye socket and into her brain, as it gushes out blood from the second arrow having been yanked off after fatally hitting her. Her other eye is open, her mouth slightly agape, as she stares blankly into the void while the surface of the pooling crimson beneath her head reflects the scorching flames around them. Lyle’s own eyes burn, a thin coat of wetness forming on his waterlines. He wants to rush over to the both of them, try to do something, anything. But he can’t. He’s frozen in place. He can’t move. He tries to turn and call out to Mansk, but he’s nowhere to be seen, no sounds coming from his side of the moon-pool either, only silence. Lyle then presses his throat comm, desperately trying to connect to Miles but the line goes dead, no reply from his Colonel. The Recom then lowers his hand slowly, his fingers sliding over the long gun in his other hand, clutching the cold metal. He’s all alone now.

Lyle takes another sip from his beer, trying to drink the memory of the nightmares away as he swallows thickly. He places the mug down, his jaw settling tight as he lowers his head again.

He hadn’t actually seen them in the ship. He was too focused on fighting and they each were spread through the moon-pool. Their bodies were only recovered about two days later, a miracle they were even found really. Wainfleet and Quaritch were called in later to pay their tributes one last time before they took their bodies away. That’s when he saw them, in that sterile medical room, the scent of antiseptic filling his nose and the white lights above making everything look so unnatural. It wasn’t his first time in that room. He had been there before, after their first altercation with Sully and his bitch, where Fike, Walker, Zhang, Warren and Brown had lost their lives. He had been there with what was left of his team, the same team who now found themselves in the same room, but on the opposite side.

The doctors had pulled back the white sheets covering them one by one, just enough for the two still living Recoms to be able to see their faces. They all looked so peaceful, so calm, like they were just sleeping soundly, with Zdinarsk’s right eye sewed shut and patched up as she rested, her other eye closed peacefully. But their faces were unnaturally pale, and for a moment Lyle had become nauseous as his pupils took in the grimy blue their skin had turned. He had immediately moved his eyes to Miles, who on the other hand had no expression on his face. He was just staring blankly at them with his jaw firm, his sharp eyes moving over each one separately, while the pathologists described to them their causes of death after having performed the needed autopsies. Then the two remaining Recombinants had paid their tributes and left without another word, turning their backs to the corpses of their comrades, never to see them again. After that, it was never brought up between Lyle and Miles. Not that they even see each other often anymore, especially last week during a particular couple of days. Miles had locked himself in his room every night for three nights, doing God knows what, while Lyle would catch the scent of something on him as he passed through the hall to get to the shower. He’s not quite sure what it was, he just knows that it smelled good… a bit too good in fact, as it was mixed with Miles’ natural scent…

Lyle swallows down thickly the last of the alcohol, setting down the now empty beer mug, as he motions for the bartender to come over again.

“Make me a Black Russian. And double the vodka.” He grumbles, his voice low. The bartender opens his mouth to say something about not being allowed to serve highly alcoholic drinks to soldiers on duty, a rule the Recom knows too well, but Lyle shoots him a glare and he immediately flinches, moving to comply. Despite their usually friendly behavior, Recombinants are still absolutely terrifying to humans, and the poor guy behind the counter doesn’t seem to want to test the large Na’vi’s patience, especially not today.

As the new drink gets put in front of him, Lyle immediately takes it, bringing it up to his lips. The cold coffee liquor mixed with double the usual vodka burns his tongue and his throat so nicely as he swallows it down, his brows furrowing lightly in satisfaction before the glass gets set back on the table. The Recom soldier then takes a deep breath, his brain returning to sifting through the thoughts in his head.

It’s not always nightmares. Sometimes he’s just hanging out with them, having a calm conversation as they finish some sort of task at hand. He sees them as they run through the lushness of Pandora, playfully trying to push each other off vines and branches, his mind probably recalling their training with Spider in the rainforest, bringing those memories into his dreams. He joins them as they all fly through the colorful skies on their banshees, yelling and laughing like kids as they try to do tricks midair, while Quaritch who always rides in front of the group snaps back at them to stop behaving like reckless idiots.

Lyle swallows another gulp of the strong drink, his large hand tense as he settles the glass down gently. He doesn’t know why, but since that day at The Three Brothers, he has felt the constant need to want to talk to Miles. Whether he wants to admit it or not, this whole ordeal is slowly eating at him from the inside, and Miles’ silence on it is not making things any better. They haven’t shared more than a few sentences since the day of the meeting, not even after having seen their teammates’ lifeless bodies. Lyle usually comes home earlier than the Colonel. He sits in the shared living room and just stares at the ceiling, the same thoughts roaming his head over and over again until he falls asleep on the couch. He then gets woken up a few hours later from the sound of Miles returning from training, or from being locked in his own office all afternoon. They exchange a few words, a bit of bland chatter, before Quaritch heads to shower, and immediately after; falls asleep exhausted on his own bed with the towel still wrapped around his trim waist, snoring throughout the night. Lyle is then left to drink himself to sleep to try and silence out the thoughts in his head, sipping from a stash of whiskey bottles he paid quite a coin to get, that he keeps hidden in his room.

And it’s the same thing, over and over again, for an entire month now, as nothing has changed. Lyle doesn’t know why he’s feeling like this. These weird emotions are foreign and highly unusual for him. He never dwells on the deaths of the people around him, he’s a Marine after all, his skin is thick and tough. But for some reason this time it seems to have left a bigger impact on him than he would’ve liked, much bigger. Something is bothering him from the inside, and he can’t even identify what it is exactly. He just knows there’s an emptiness in his chest; he’s feeling lost, stranded… alone.

“Hi, can I have a tall glass of sweet tea please, iced?”

“Of course Toddy.”

Lyle’s ears perk up at the feminine voice a few seats away from him on the bar. It catches him off guard for a moment, because he hadn’t noticed or heard anyone come near. As the bartender moves over to prepare the requested drink, the Recom lifts his lowered head, turning it to curiously take a look at the owner of the voice.

His jaw drops to the floor. About two seats away from him is the most drop dead gorgeous Na’vi woman he has ever seen in his entire fucking life, sitting with one of her elbows leaning leisurely on top of the wooden surface of the bar as she waits for her drink. Lyle’s breath gets stuck right in his throat, his tail starting to flick rapidly in fast strokes behind him as he stares at her like a deer caught in headlights. Her black hair looks silky soft and smooth, tied back into a low ponytail that includes the long braid of her neural whip. A small hairpiece, which has hand crafted beads and a bunch of long feathers, sits on the right part of her head, above her long right ear. Her face is absolutely gorgeous; with elegant soft arched eyebrows, long lashes, plump pink lips, beautiful doe eyes and a feline nose in a shade of soft pink that Lyle has never seen in a Na’vi before. Holy fuck, he’s come across plenty of beautiful women before in his life, but this girl takes the entire cake and more.

He immediately darts his eyes down to check her out. Her body has the usual appearance of a Na’vi woman, very thin, toned and elegant. The top she is wearing is dark blue with a thick dodger blue stripe on both sides that forms half a circle, with black utility straps which have been sewed on to the rest of the fabric, the entire piece hugging her upper body so well, leaving the perfect opening for her collarbones and cleavage. The lieutenant’s mouth waters as his amber eyes follow a silver gothic cross necklace, from the base of her thin neck where she has a black choker on with a tiny viperwolf charm, to right above her cleavage. He swallows thickly, then lets his eyes travel further down, looking past the black modular shooters belt where she has strapped multiple pouches and a gun holster to, to stare at her long, toned legs. Fuck, she’s got a nice ass. Those black pants are doing wonders for her-

“Here you go, Toddy. Would you like me to start you a tab?” The bartender asks as he sets down the tall glass full of sweet iced tea in front of her. She gives him a gorgeous smile, her five elegant fingers wrapping around the item.

“No, that’s not necessary. How much do I owe you, Clint?” She replies as she takes out her personal datapad from her belt. The guy behind the counter takes a look at the receipt.

“Ah, that would be-“

“I got it.”

Those words left Lyle faster than he could think about them, his amber eyes darting to the bartender.

“Put it on my tab.”

The guy turns to look at him for a moment but then complies, putting the order in the requested tab in the system, before giving them both a smile and moving away to continue what he was doing before. The girl then puts her datapad back into one of the pouches of her belt, her gorgeous eyes moving over Lyle’s face.

“Thank you.” She says with a beautiful smile, and Lyle nearly breaks his tail by subconsciously slamming it down on the bar stool he’s sitting on. He clears his throat, ignoring the pain in the appendage behind him and swallowing down thickly.

“You’re welcome.” He replies with a charming smile of his own, before turning to his own drink in front of him. He makes short work of it as he lifts the glass, swallowing what’s left of it down with a single gulp, and sets it in front of him again. The woman also turns to her drink, taking a small, relaxed sip. Her brows furrow in satisfaction as the incredibly sweet drink fills her tastebuds, her own tail flicking behind her slowly in approval. Lyle watches her through the corner of his eye as she swallows, his amber eyes running over her pink plump lips, now wet from the drink. He gulps thickly, his Adam’s apple moving as he forces down the saliva that seems to have rushed again in his mouth.

“I didn’t know they made ladies as pretty as you ‘round here.” He says with a smile, turning his head to look over at her directly. The girl chuckles sweetly in response, the sound immediately prickling goosebumps on Lyle’s striped, blue skin, as her ears fold back shyly.

“Yeah well… the scientists try their best with the Avatars.” She replies, bringing the glass to her plump lips again to take a sip. Lyle chuckles at her words, his head tilting as he looks at her.

“What’s your name, buttercup?”

The girl puts the glass down gently, before also turning her head to look at him directly, her beautiful doe eyes staring into his.

“Williams. Toddy Williams.”

Lyle's pupils glint with interest as Toddy introduces herself to him, her voice soft and pleasant in his cropped ears. So she’s an Avatar. He can’t help but feel his tail involuntarily flick at the sound of her name. He takes a moment to bring the mask of his Recom Breather up, sipping some carbon dioxide.

“Toddy." He repeats slowly, lowering the mask from his face, his voice raspy as he tests the feel of her name on his tongue. It suits her well, he decides, warm and friendly, just like the woman sitting beside him.

"That's a pretty name, buttercup." He says, his lips curving into a charming smile. “What department are you a part of?”

Toddy takes a nice sip of her sweet tea before answering.

“Science department, Scouts division.” She replies, her tail flicking slowly behind her as she tilts her head. “What about you? I think I’ve seen you around actually, with Colonel Quaritch?”

Lyle chuckles, his ears perking up at the mention of Quaritch. Of course she's seen him with the Colonel, almost everyone in Bridgehead knows who he is.

“Yeah, you've got it. I'm SecOps, one of the Colonel's men."

He leans back slightly, motioning for the bartender to come over and make him another drink. He feels his tail thump on the stool once, his eyes turning back to her pretty face.

“My name’s Lyle. Lyle Wainfleet.”

Toddy smiles back, her own long tail flicking once behind her as she brings her CO2 breathing mask up to take a sip.

“Lyle…” She repeats, the way his name rolls off her tongue making Lyle’s tail shiver.

“So you’re one of General L/N’s men then?” She adds, her ears perking up in interest as she turns her pretty saffron eyes to look at him.

Lyle’s own ears fold back at the mention of the Major General, and he clears his throat, his pupils darting to the bartender who sets a glass of whiskey on the rocks in front of him.

“Ahah… yeah technically. I mean, I have never worked directly under her but, she is one of my commanders.” He replies, lifting the cold glass of whiskey to take a sip from it, while he misses how Toddy’s enthusiasm seems to fade at his answer. “So, Scouts division, huh? What’s that?”

Toddy slowly leans back, giving herself room to place one leg over the other, and Lyle can’t help but watch transfixed as her toned thighs press against each other.

“We’re environment experts who go out into the wild to gather requested samples for research or medicine.” The Avatar replies, bringing her glass of sweet tea up to her lips to take a nice sip, her throat bobbing as she swallows down the cold drink.

Lyle's eyes rake over her form, his gaze lingering a little too long on the way her throat moves as she swallows. He's sure she has noticed the way his eyes roam by now, but he doesn't really care. She's absolutely gorgeous, and he can't help but openly admire her.

"So you spend a lot of time out there in the bush, huh?" He asks as he lifts the whiskey glass to his lips, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity. "You ain’t afraid of running into any trouble? A pretty lady like you, all alone in the forest?"

Toddy shrugs, setting her own glass down on the surface of the bar counter as she leans forward more comfortably.

“Not really. It’s my job to roam around the forest, I know what I’m doing. As long as I keep a low profile and follow Eywa’s order of life, there’s really not much danger for me out there.”

Lyle’s ears immediately fold back at that. He nods once, cringing internally as she mentions the “Eywa” entity that every delusional native believes so hard in. He swallows down another sip from his drink, trying to ignore how her acknowledgment of the “deity” as if it was a real thing just turned him off immensely. Sometimes he forgets how delusional science chicks are. But it’s been too long, and he needs a piece of that ass, so just a small quirk be damned. He clears his throat, shifting slightly in his seat.

"Yeah, Eywa, whatever." He says, his voice a bit dismissive. "But still, there's a lot of nasty creatures out there. And those natives ain't exactly friendly either."

He takes a larger swig of his drink, his eyes moving down to wander once again over her pressed thighs. Toddy’s own pupils move over the ice cubes that peak over the surface of her sweet drink, not paying the same attention as before to the man beside her.

“The natives aren’t friendly because we’ve dug up their dead to run experiments on them, obliterated their homes, slaughtered their animals, created Avatars which are frighteningly uncanny to them, blown them up, tortured them, burned their forests, and an ongoing list of other crimes against them which I’m sure would be insanely illegal back on Earth. So, I wouldn’t be friendly to us either.” The Avatar replies, the tone in her voice calm despite her sharp words.

Lyle's tail flicks irritably behind him at Toddy’s answer, his amber eyes narrowing slightly. He's heard this spiel from the scientists and the bleeding heart hippies many times before, and every time it makes him roll his eyes to the back of his fucking skull. He takes another swig of his drink to resist the urge to bite back at her, his brows now furrowed lightly in dissatisfaction.

"You really believe all that bullshit, huh?" He growls lowly as he sets his drink down. "You think the Na’vi are all innocent little angels, and it's all our fault? Well, we’ve tried, sweetheart. We’ve tried making peace with them a million times before. We gave them medicine, equipment, technology, we built them schools, taught them English, all that shit. And they repaid us by lighting up our machines, with people still inside. The RDA is here to develop this planet, to make it habitable and useful for humans. That's our mission. And if some monkeys get in the way, well, that's just collateral damage."

At his last sentence, Toddy’s head snaps over at him, her pretty eyes now narrowed dangerously as she pins him down with an angry stare.

“Collateral damage?! Really?!” She exclaims, her grip tightening around the tall glass of sweet tea in her hand. “Ya think that the lives of innocent people who you and yer fellow brute head folks have fucked over fer decades are just collateral damage?”

Lyle scoffs in annoyance at her outburst, also taken aback by the sudden southern accent she just spewed as his ears fold back in irritation. The grip he has on the whiskey glass also tightens dangerously, his tail lashing angrily behind him. He's never been one to shy away from confrontation, and he's not about to back down now.

“Innocent people? They’re savages, buttercup." He scoffs, leaning towards her slightly as he speaks. “We’re bringing them civilization, order. We're doing more for them than their primitive beliefs ever could. And if they can't handle it, well, that's not our problem."

Toddy’s eyes narrow tenfold, her own long tail now lashing behind her rapidly. She leans back slightly in her seat, taking a moment to calm herself down by bringing her carbon dioxide mask up to take a sip.

“Ya really haven’t comprehended the circumstances of yer own situation, have ya?” She replies as she lowers the mask, her tone still irritated but much calmer than before. “Tell me, do ya really believe that the RDA gives a single fuck about’cha and yer kind, Lyle?”

Lyle is half taken aback by that question, and half irritated beyond measure. Why must this happen to him right now? He just wanted to get laid once after such a long time, goddamnit. Why does she have to be so attractive but so stubborn and opinionated at the same time? He glares at her as his ears flatten against his skull, his brows furrowing, the idea that the RDA doesn't care about him and the other Recom soldiers hitting a bit too close to home for comfort.

"What kind of dumb ass question is that?" He replies, his voice rising slightly in disbelief. "Of course they do. They went through the effort and expense of making us Recombinants. I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for the RDA. They gave me life, a purpose. They literally brought me back from the dead. Yeah, we do part of their dirty work, but they give us everything we need; food, shelter, clothes, technology, medicine, equipment, a future. I don’t know what the hell you’re implying but I’m not gonna sit here and listen to any anti-corporate, hippie bullshit you have to say.”

Something dies in Toddy’s eyes at his response. She shakes her head slowly in disappointment, her stomach churning in disgust at his answer as she grabs her drink to take a final, angry gulp. The Avatar then sets the now empty glass down with a rough thud, the ice inside clinging within the object.

“They’re probably gonna put a bullet right between your eyebrows as soon as the greater mission is accomplished.” She replies as her beautiful amber eyes stare down at the melting ice with a hint of foreboding, her voice low and accent gone again, her tone filled with dismay. “They’re creating a future for humans, not for you. Even if they do leave you alive, the world they will create will be unlivable for the Na’vi, including your kind. You and the rest of the Recombinants are just expensive weapons to them, nothing more. But you’re all either too fucking dumb or blind to see that.”

With that, the Avatar woman hops off the bar stool she was sitting on, her black Tactical Side Zip boots thudding on the polished wooden floor of the place as she begins walking away, her tail flicking behind her slowly. Lyle watches her, his heart suddenly pounding, his stomach churning uncomfortably with a feeling that he can’t identify.

“And yet, you wear an RDA badge.” He speaks out at her with a hint of irritation, his amber eyes narrowed and glued on the back of her head.

Toddy stops on her tracks at that. She remains still for a few moments, her tail flicking behind her rapidly. But she doesn’t turn, doesn’t say anything else. She then just continues forward, until she’s out of the bar and her form is no longer in Lyle’s field of vision, leaving him alone once again.

“Damnit.” The Recom grunts as he turns back around towards the counter, grabbing his drink angrily and downing what’s left of it with a single gulp. He slams the glass down on the counter, almost breaking it, before calling the bartender over to pay the tab. His ears stay pinned back as he pulls out his datapad, tapping it against the payment device, holding it there until the transaction is complete.

Every word she said, he wants to dismiss as bullshit. As tree-hugging hippie crap, as lies. But there's something in her words that gnaws at him, a sense of unease, of doubt that he hasn't felt in a long time. It makes his stomach churn, his heart pounding in his chest uncomfortably; the same feeling he’s been having for a month since his entire team were killed bubbling again in the pit of his core. And despite the anger and frustration he feels, there's a small part of him that can’t understand why her words have gotten under his skin so easily, why her opinion seems to matter more than he wants to admit.

He hops off his seat, giving the bartender one last nod of acknowledgment, before turning around and walking away. His heavy steps thud on the wooden floor as he leaves, cropped ears relaxing while his long tail starts flicking slowly behind him. Fuck this shit, he thinks as he takes an aggressive sip of carbon dioxide from his Recom Breather. There’s no time for such crap, he needs to go back to work before Álvarez is on his ass again.

“Come in.”

The massive doors of the conference room slide open, letting Miles’ large form pass through. He steps inside, sharp amber eyes scanning the place intently to find the woman he came here for.

The main conference room of the Admin Zone is the largest one out of all in Bridgehead, placed on the highest floor of the tallest building. It’s reserved for important meetings between the top members of the chain of command; usually Ardmore, L/N, their men, corporate officials, and head shareholders. The room is massive, as it was built in consideration of the Recoms’ sizes, made out entirely of expensive Italian wooden panels, the walls adorned with royal style framed oil paintings and accent spotlights. A lush red carpet decorates the entire floor, where upon it rests a massive oak conference table with exactly twenty cushioned chairs, all enlightened brightly by a large semi flush ceiling light. Another much smaller oak table faces the room from the right side of the doors, set upon a lifted platform where seven other cushioned seats are placed, seats reserved only for the highest in authority. From the current military personnel on base, this includes only Ardmore, Y/N, and also would include the Lieutenant General who’s still on his way to the extrasolar moon. The five other seats are meant for the people who own the RDA as a whole, who are supposed to arrive only after General Ardmore has succeeded in her greater mission and has fully colonized Pandora, that’s why this table has never been used. Yet. On the opposite wall on the other side of the room, a large panel touch screen is placed, the surface now black as the device was turned off before Miles stepped in.

The Recom’s eyes find the woman he’s searching for, her smaller form standing in front of the wall made out of glass windows, opposite the sliding doors and facing the entire view of Bridgehead as eclipse has just fallen. He takes a few steps closer to her, letting his long legs carry him as he watches her wrapped tail flick behind her slowly, until he’s an appropriate distance away.

“General L/N.” He greets firmly, his blunt fingertips pressed against his right temple as he salutes her. Y/N turns around slowly from watching the view of Bridgehead, her elbows bent as she holds with both hands a crystal glass filled with ice and a drink of some sorts. Her beautiful eyes land on him, dark pupils focusing on the features of his handsome face and for a moment, something twists in the pit of Miles’ stomach. He swallows thickly.

“At ease.” She says calmly, motioning with her head towards him for him to relax. “You wanted to see me, Colonel?”

Miles nods, lowering his muscular arm, as he grabs the mask of his Recom Breather and brings it up to his face. He had indeed asked to see her. She has just finished an important meeting with the heads of the other departments, and Quaritch was waiting outside for her agenda to open up until now. He lowers the mask after having taken a filling sip of CO2, and clears his throat before addressing her.

“Did you receive my reflection report, ma’am?” He asks, his voice low and raspy as usual as his amber eyes search her beautiful face for an answer. Y/N lowers her own pupils to stare blankly at the carpeted floor, still not facing him properly as the right half of her body remains facing the windows.

“I did.” She replies, her tail flicking once behind her, as her ears tilt back slightly. Miles nods, waiting for her to continue. But after some moments of silence he raises his brows, looking at her expectingly.

“Well… did ya read it?”

The Major General nods slowly in response, her pupils trailing over one of the oil paintings in the room. Now that Miles notices, she looks tired… her pretty eyes half lidded as they roam anywhere but on him.

“I did. You didn’t do a great job, but for what you wrote it wasn’t half bad.” Y/N replies, taking a slow sip of her drink, stopping for a few seconds to let it flow down her throat before she parts her lips to speak again.

“I want you to remake it.”

As soon as that sentence leaves her mouth, Miles’ brows furrow deeply, his eyes immediately darting to pin on her form, before he takes a slow, calculated step forward.

“Excuse me?” He asks, lowering his head to stare at her fully, his deep voice firm, yet filled with disbelief, as if he can’t comprehend what she just said. But Y/N doesn’t falter.

“I know you’re not hard of hearing. Remake it. You did good on what you wrote, but you still missed a lot. I can name you at least seven other rules that you broke that you haven’t included in your report.” She replies, sparing him one single glance as she speaks, before turning her head towards the windows again.

Miles’ jaw clenches tightly, his sharp amber eyes now glaring daggers at her. This shit again?! No. It happened once, he tolerated it. This time, he won’t.

“Are you serious?" He speaks up, frustration clear in his voice. "Why the hell are you being like this? I spent weeks on it, writing every goddamn detail in that report like you asked me to, and now you're tellin’ me it's still not good enough?" He takes a step closer to her, his large frame tensing as his eyes narrow in irritation, the frustration from what he has endured for almost five weeks now slowly starting to boil over. "Is it some sort of sick game yer playing? Ya wanna see how much you can push me before I snap? Do you enjoy this? Makin’ me run around like a damn lapdog, undergoing training with a psychotic Brit, and write and rewrite the same thing over and over again for your amusement?"

Y/N now turns her head towards him, her features falling serious, beautiful amber eyes pinning up on him through long black lashes.

“Well, what did you think? That you could just mess up however you wanted and then get by with just a slap on the wrist? Is that what you think this is? That you can do whatever the hell you want without any consequences just because you hold the rank of Colonel, and you carry the identity and experience of someone who called the shots fourteen years ago? Well, that’s not happening. Not as long as you’re under my command. You fucked up. Badly. Because of you we lost countless lives. Lives of our soldiers. Our people. Deaths that could’ve been prevented easily. And much more. Not only that, but you went right ahead and started a war with the sea clans. Someone amongst my ranks who is supposed to be my right hand, and who is the Colonel of the organization saving humanity, should know what mistakes he did and how he should’ve acted, so that they don’t repeat. I didn’t give you the task of that report for nothing. And you didn’t do it well. How can I trust you to lead my soldiers when you can’t even identify your own errors? So if I tell you to remake that report because it’s not up to my liking, then that’s what the fuck you’re gonna do. Period point blank.”

Quaritch takes one step closer at her response, his head lowering down to focus his sharp eyesight on her shorter form, cropped ears folded back against his head. His broad shoulders are now tense, so are his muscular arms.

“Do you think this is a game, General? You think I enjoy wasting my time on this bullshit?" He finally snaps, his voice low and cold. "Just because you hold a higher rank doesn't mean you can treat me like I'm your goddamn puppet." He steps even closer, his chest now nearly touching the edge of her left shoulder as he glares down at her. “I’ve been out there, fighting for this company, for humanity, and you’re in here askin’ me to write a fucking novel on why I did what I had to do. I've fought my way through hell and back. I've bled, and sweated, and worked my ass off for the RDA, way before you were even handed that shiny new title. I’m good at my job, you damn well know that. And ya talk to me as if I'm some rookie who just stepped foot in this place yesterday. While you're in here, playin’ General with rules and regulations.” His voice then lowers in irritation, but remains firm. “You know, showing some respect wouldn’t hurt. I’m only one goddamn rank below you.”

Y/N takes a slow sip from the crystal glass in her hand, now unbothered yet again, taking her time to swallow down leisurely before replying.

“You’ll have my respect when you’ve earned it. And at the pace you’re going, that day is getting further and further away.” She replies, not even sparing him a glance as she turns to continue watching the night view of Bridgehead. “Besides even if I did, where would it even go? Straight into the never ending pit in your heart, filled with fragile ego?”

Quaritch’s lips press into a thin line at her response. His eyes glare daggers at the side of Y/N’s beautiful face, as she sips from the crystal glass in her hand. Swallowing down, her soft lips purse momentarily as the cold liquid flows down her throat, and she continues.

“You’re lucky you still have your life, let alone your rank after all the shit you’ve pulled right in front of my face for months.”

She finally turns her head towards him again, her saffron eyes focusing firmly into his own, her stare pricking surprisingly pleasant goosebumps upon Miles’ skin.

“Keep fucking up and that too will be taken away from you.”

Quaritch clenches his jaw tightly, a cold wave flowing down his veins, breathing now intensifying with the anger that is starting to flare up in him.

“Is that a threat, General?”

“It’s a promise.“

Miles’ teeth grit as he listens to her speak in that calm, infuriating tone yet again. His large fists clench at his sides, thick veins bulging in slowly piling up anger. He sneers down at her, his cropped ears folding back.

“That so? Well let me tell you the reality of that, General. You can’t take my rank or my life away from me even if you wanted to. You’re second in command, with Ardmore’s boot still up yer ass you cannot make a decision like that even if your life depended on it, and you know that. But if by some miracle you did; I am a pillar of this organization, I have more experience and expertise in this goddamn death trap of a moon than you or any of your ass-kissing men have combined. I've been doing this longer than you've been fuckin’ alive, and I know what I'm doin’. I am your most valuable soldier, deny it as much as ya want, and “getting rid” of me will do nothing but shove your head ten feet deep into the cold, wet mud of Pandora, General. So go ahead, “get rid” of me. Let’s see how well that works out for ya.”

An amused chuckle comes from the base of Y/N’s throat at his words, her head tilting slightly. Her ears raise up and her tail swishes behind her, slowly, as if to add to his irritation. She turns around, walking towards the conference table, to place the cold crystal glass upon its polished wooden surface, the object chiming with a clack as it makes contact. She then slowly, makes her way back, steps long and calm as she returns, this time facing him. Miles’ eyes follow her movements, his breathing heavier as she steps in front of him, raising her head to look up at his handsome face. She then speaks, gloved hands clasped behind her back, resting above the very base of her long, wrapped tail.

“You haven’t grasped the gravity of the situation you’re in, have you?” Y/N starts, her smooth voice calm, yet ice cold. “I don’t know where you constantly find the audacity, but let me check your fragile fucking ego for a moment, Colonel. You are certainly not my most valuable soldier. That would be my Captain; John Keller, who is currently trying to fix the sloppy mess of dead bodies and horrid damage you did to the sourcing of our most profitable and precious material, while you were trying to assassinate a single target that’s twice your age; lives with savages and that still beat you into a pulp. Adding on to that; while you were spending months running around the forest, barefoot, riding wild animals, learning Na’vi and bonding with nature like you’re fucking Pocahontas, I was breaking my back in the front lines, wiping out entire clans with natives’ arrows sticking up my ass. That earned me more respect from Ardmore alone than you’ve ever had in your entire fucking life from all of your troops combined. Yeah, that’s right, I’ve been out there too. But how would you know that when you haven’t even stepped foot properly on base for months? And guess what; not only can I take away your rank and even your life, but I can skin you alive, torture you to death and wipe your entire existence from this Universe, to the point that God himself will have to crawl into the deepest, darkest hellholes of Pandora’s asscrack to find the endless ditch of insecurity that is your soul. And on top of that, not only would I not be affected in the slightest, but Ardmore would fucking praise me for it. So let me rephrase in case your slow, infant brain still hasn’t grasped it yet; you are not a valuable soldier, you are a failed experiment. You had your chance to prove that you’re someone, that you’re the commander that our people deserve; and you failed, miserably. Now you’re gonna spend the rest of this war bending over while I shove my fist up your ass; and you’re gonna enjoy it.”

Quaritch’s lips press tightly into that thin line again, as his sharp eyes widen to glare daggers at the woman in front of him. The veins in his neck pop out with the sheer amount of force that he is using to clench his jaw and ball up his fists at his sides, his frustration mounting tenfold, muscles shaking. For a moment, he's speechless, completely taken back by the sheer audaciousness, the sheer disrespect in her words, her tone. Nobody, NOBODY has ever had the balls to speak to him like that in his entire fucking life. And coming from a woman no less; from this stuck-up, arrogant, condescending bitch of a woman, it's all the more infuriating. Who the fuck does this whore think she is?!

“Is that right?” He more states than asks, his voice filled with pure venom as he nods his head once towards her, as if to give her one last chance to take whatever the fuck she said back. But she doesn’t budge. Not even one bit.

“You bet your striped, blue ass.”

Quaritch’s stare upon her turns deadly, maintaining the icy, poisonous glare between them for a few more seconds, before his right foot then slides backwards, and slowly he puts a bit of distance between the two of them. His fists remain balled up tightly, large muscular arms and broad shoulders tense, feeling the adrenaline course through his flared veins; the urge to retaliate with a fiery temperament threatening to overtake his judgement. His whole frame seems taunt, shaking lightly, his muscles ready to snap like rubber stretched too tight. It takes all of his physical and mental strength to restrain himself from pouncing on her and slamming her bitch ass against the large glass windows that she finds so fucking interesting to look at. But Miles knows better. Y/N’s own expression dares him to challenge her with set eyes and a firm jaw, prodding him to fuck around and find out if he dares and Quaritch takes the deepest breath of his life to ground himself before he does something that he will later on immensely regret. He squeezes his eyes shut briefly, turning his entire body away from her for a few seconds, and taking his time to bring his Recom Breather mask up, calming himself down. After some moments of tense silence he puts the breather down and turns towards her again, having found the mental state and energy to speak to her without committing a number of consecutive, insanely illegal actions.

"You want a long report? Fine. I'll give ya a long report. But don't you dare question my methods or my experience ever again. You want to know why I did what I did? Why I spent months in the forest, tryna live like a savage? Because it worked. Because despite the failed mission, I got one step closer to understanding our enemy, and I got most of the job done with what little was given to me, before every odd turned against us. I did my duty, and I did it well. Something you seem to have forgotten how to do, General.”

He gets close to her again, his large form towering over hers with amber eyes holding piercing venom, getting all up in her space with no care.

"You know, you're damn lucky you outrank me," He growls, his voice low and laced with disdain. "Otherwise, we wouldn't be havin’ this little discussion. Not even close. I didn't spend over three decades in the Marines to be treated like some rookie recruit by a spoiled brat, General.”

After a few seconds of poisonous eye contact, he then pulls back again, long legs dragging his body to create distance from her. Having gotten so close, her scent lingers in his nose and he can’t quite figure out why it smells familiar, but for the moment he’s too tense and irritated to pay attention to details. And if Y/N has something in her mind, she doesn’t express it. Instead she stares at him unamused, with half lidded eyes, before slowly she turns, going back to facing the large conference room windows. Quaritch watches her for a few more seconds, his long tail flicking rapidly side to side behind him in agitation. When silence fills the space, he gives her a slow nod and then a firm salute just out of procedure, before turning on his heel and starting to walk away without another word, fury still coursing through his bulging veins. His heavy footsteps echo through the dim conference room, bouncing off the pristine walls as he leaves without waiting for her dismissal. Just as the doors of the entrance slide open for his large, barely contained seething frame to pass through, Y/N’s calm yet cold voice is heard again behind him, entering the eardrums of his heated cropped ears.

“You’re in my house now. Don’t forget that again.”

He halts in his tracks, his large fists balling at his sides, and he doesn’t turn around, his broad muscular back still facing her direction. But Y/N does turn her head, her sharp yet beautiful amber eyes staring at him over the carrier plate utility strap on her shoulder as she continues speaking.

“I was nice, just this once. Next time, I won’t be.”

The doors then slide closed behind Miles.

Title explanation:

Spit and Polish - Extreme individual or collective military neatness, extreme devotion to the minutiae of traditional military procedures or ceremonies; from spit-polishing boots and dress shoes. In this case it describes exactly how Miles sees Y/N throughout the entire chapter; as this procedure freak and rule obsessed General who never considers or leaves room for things being done outside of the book.

End of chapter notes:

The song that Toddy sings in the beginning: Better Than I Used to Be by Tim McGraw

Also poor Lyle, he got cockblocked so hard. R.I.P to his chances to get sum. (︶︹︺) <\3

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ

[claitea]

do you all wanna hear random pokemon worldbuilding headcanons i've had written down for a while but never really had an excuse to talk about. of course you do here you go

you know how pikachu in the anime says "pikapi" when it refers to ash bc it sounds like satoshi? a lot of pokemon do that. the only ones i've thought of so far are volo's togepi calling him "toto" and emmet's archeops calling him "che-ar-che" (kudari)

my in-game explanation for dex cuts only starting to happen in swsh is that more regulations were put in place to prevent invasive species, after alola's current problem with alolan rattata. you Can have cross-region pokemon still, but you can't release them outside a region they're not native to, you cant breed them, no freeroaming. protag characters arent traveling out of their region so they only use the pokemon available to them

pokemon journeys are a very integral part of the society! its seen as a coming of age thing by most, However, it's never mandatory, and you can go on one at any point in your life. it can be as long or short as you want, you can have a goal from the start or you can just wing it. its not even always about battling, some people do it for contests or just making friends and seeing sights. its not a strongly defined thing

since its such an important part of the world theres immense support for it! its why pokemon centers are free and you can even stay at them overnight in little hotel rooms attached to them specially made for travelers. the gym circuit's purpose is a good progression tracker for people who want to go that route, an easy way to sequentially explore the entire region while battling its best trainers

the poke balls found in the overworld with items in them are specifically left by other people as treats and aid for traveling trainers. its also why people just give you free stuff just for talking to them

"sinnohan form" is technically an acceptable term for hisuian pokemon, but people are so used to calling them hisuian pokemon bc thats how it was written in early dexes and carried over, that not a lot of people call them sinnohan actually

speaking of. sinnoh nowadays has a much higher population of dark type unovan zorua :)

the way rotom work is that they slot their sparkplug body into something in order to possess it. newer appliances make it harder for them to do so. thats why the rotom catalog is a thing now - people have made rotom specific appliances that are easy to possess and are battle resistant

zoroark have photographic memory to produce realistic illusions with. hisuian zoroark mostly do not retain this - most ghost-types born from the death of something else have memory issues especially about their past life - but what they Can do is pull memories directly from their victim's minds and construct more tailored illusions out of that

meloetta also never forgets a song or dance that it hears. when it performs, it can transmit its memories of instrumentals played for it to its listeners. so when you hear guitar play when encountering it in the terarium, thats completely diegetic

when testing a trainer to see if they're worthy of catching it, or when its already captured, legendary pokemon actively hold back in battle. its simply a game mechanic that every legendaries' stats arent like 10000 in every stat. a genuine no holds barred precipice blades would reduce your garchomp to dust. in battles where the pokemon is Actively trying to kill you like eternamax eternatus, your pokemon should be trying their best to dodge every single attack and the huge damage they do sustain is from being Grazed. its extremely rare for anyone to see a legendary pokemon's true power

battling and the use of poke balls simply never caught on in fiore, almia and oblivia. they've historically always been extremely close with pokemon, unlike regions like hisui where people started off scared of them. so, proving yourself with a battle and using poke balls to befriend a pokemon was never necessary

^ the lack of poke balls in those regions did once cause a major issue, where people from abroad realized befriended pokemon counted as "wild" still, so they could easily steal them. this is part of why the ranger union was established, and also why pokemon can let themselves out of poke balls when they wish. its a safety measure. ranger bases can manually tag a pokemon to prevent others poke balls from working on them

the ranger union of fiore, almia and oblivia is completely different to the rangers of the mainline regions, but they find merit in their different ways of handling pokemon so they sometimes swap members

i have several thoughts about the different pros and cons of battling and poke balls vs capture stylers:

poke balls need to constantly be replaced, but a styler is a one-time purchase that a ranger can use for years

mainline region rangers do battles, but that wouldn't work if, for example, the pokemon was already injured and weakening it further to get it to stay in a poke ball would cause it unecessary stress or be dangerous. union rangers calm pokemon by getting them to trust them via styler, but this just becomes dangerous if the pokemon is particularly aggressive.

poke balls are great for transporting a pokemon, keeping it isolated if, say, they have to take an aggressive pokemon through a busy city. but, they wont work on pokemon that have already been captured with a ball. stylers cannot undo a capture, but they can encourage a pokemon to leave a dangerous person and come with the ranger

[arctichotch]

the cod boys at the eras tour ✨

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish:

this man might actually be more excited for the show than you are.

he’s made his own friendship bracelets, handed some out on base. he would never mention it, but he saw ghost wearing his while training rookies.

a dedicated swiftie, knows the setlist off by heart. makes a list of surprise songs he wants.

only listened to taylor for you, but fell in love with her. wants to buy the poster from your show.

maybe tears up a little seeing how happy it makes you and loves that you guys can share this together.

beyond fascinated at the pyro during bad blood. maybe you shouldn’t tell him about the picture you sent to ghost of johnny eying up all the fire.

won’t take any mocking that he’s a taylor swift fan. that’s his singer and he will defend her to the death (not literally but close enough)

Simon “Ghost” Riley:

less into her and more reluctant to attend the show with you. doesn’t understand why you wouldn’t want to go with a friend instead of him. he doesn’t think he’d fit in.

definitely the tall ass boyfriend who blocks people’s view and feels bad about it.

allows you to jazz up a balaclava of his for the show. he normally wouldn’t wear one in public, but he doesn’t exactly feel comfortable in a crowd of thousands, especially with his scars. doesn’t want to scare kids (:()

listens to you talk for hours about taylor swift. anytime you guys are driving together, she’s playing.

wouldn’t consider himself a swiftie, but he knows his stuff. you saw him swaying at times and vibing to shake it off at the show.

you love any reference to ghosts in her songs, even though they’re mostly extremely depressing, because that’s your man!!!!

one of the best nights of his life, but he’d never admit that.

thinks the tortured poets department is one of the best albums ever made. listens to it constantly when he’s away from you.

John Price:

this dude is old!!! he’s not really that old, but acts a lot older than he is! so he honestly doesn’t have a clue who this “taylor swift” is when you two first get together.

boy, does he know her now.

honestly, a swiftie. he can’t deny it. she has some bangers.

cheered you on when you were in the ticketmaster battle to get tickets, not letting on that he was also in the queue on base with his own code. ended up surprising you with the tickets after your attempts failed. will never forget the look on your face.

(he definitely also had selfish reasons trying to get tickets. he just has to go!)

loves it. i mean he doesn’t look like he’s in the eras tour spirit but inside he’s feeling it. looks like someone’s grumpy scary dad, but also knows a solid 80% of the words.

he was big into rock and metal type bands when he was younger. went to tons of shows as a teenager before enlisting. this was his favourite he’s ever seen.

can’t stop admiring the technical aspects. finds it all fascinating. thinks he could’ve been a roadie in another life.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick:

now this man has been a swiftie since before you two got together. teardrops on my guitar was his jam in secondary school.

glad he can be open with you about how much he enjoys taylor swift when you are together.

you both compiled a comprehensive list when trying to get tickets. with who was going to try for what shows, budgets, codes, dates, times. it reminded him of a mission brief. almost with the same stakes.

you ended up getting tickets for 3 shows across the UK.

had the best time at all of them. would go another 18 times if he could. kept noticing things at each show that he hadn’t seen before and you both kept pointing different cool things out to each other.

definitely one of the best summers of his life, and he got to do it with the love of his life by his side.

cried when the kids got brought up for the 22 hat.

[captain-hawks]

How about more band!au jean??? maybe post-show andrenaline rush sexy times or something?

ghosts of you and me

jean kirstein x f!reader

you weren't exactly planning on fucking your musician ex-boyfriend in the backseat of his jeep in the parking lot of a concert venue months after your painful breakup. and yet—

wc: 1.9k

18+

c: smut (with feelings!), band!au jean, exes to lovers, car sex, unprotected p in v, creampie, tattooed!jean, jean’s big dick

“Jean,” you whine, fingers tightly grasping the headrest for purchase, the plastic seat belt clip digging into your knee. 

The car creaks and groans, and Jean’s mouth is hot and wet against the tender juncture between your shoulder and neck, fingers splayed across your lower back. You tell yourself it’s the adrenaline—the way the stifling air in the backseat of Jean’s shitty old Jeep feels like an overworked rubber band that’s about to snap. 

It’s nothing more than muscle memory—the way the divots of your spine intimately remember the steady pressure of his fingertips along each notch. 

It’s a reflex—the way you reach up to rake a hand through his messy brown hair, revelling in the way his breath hitches beneath your touch. The answering stutter of your heartbeat in kind.

It’s—

“I missed this,” he shudders, every ounce of his wrecked tone thrashing helplessly, ruthlessly against your ribcage.

You missed it, too. 

Even if you shouldn’t.

—

“Thanks for coming out tonight, everyone.”

The final guitar chords crackle over the amp as the band's set comes to an end, the drums petering out while the bright, colorful lights flooding the stage slowly fade into darkness. Turning toward the bar, you slide onto a stool while the crowd bursts into excited murmurs. Cool air wafts into the humid room from the double doors at the entrance as people begin to disperse and make their way outside.

And despite the fact that the continuous rush of amplified sound is no longer vibrating throughout the room, your heart hasn’t quite gotten the memo as it dances an unsteady beat in your chest.

The bartender slides you a cup of water, and it’s halfway to your lips when a voice beside you interrupts, “Can I get you something stronger?”

You don’t immediately respond, taking a slow sip before looking over the rim of the glass at the man sitting in the stool beside yours. Though you’ve never met him, you’re fairly certain he was in one of the opening bands.

“I’m good, thanks.”

He quirks a brow, seemingly a little taken aback that his messy auburn hair and boyish grin aren’t enough to garner more of your attention. 

“You sure?” he asks.

“She’s said she’s good,” an all-too familiar voice cuts in from behind you, a little rough after being poured into a microphone for the past forty minutes but settling deep in your gut all the same, and the weight of an arm settles around your shoulders.

The man’s eyes widen a little as he takes in the sight of the tall man you know is standing there, and he murmurs an awkward apology before seeing himself out, leaving his half-full drink behind. 

Leaning your head back against the warmth of a solid chest, you look up and meet Jean Kirstein’s gaze. “Maybe he just wanted to see if I could get him backstage to meet the headliner.”

He snorts, “That’s what you think?”

“The lead singer’s pretty hot,” you shrug, like this banter between yourself and Jean is still considered normal. 

Like you didn’t break up six months ago.

Like this wound isn’t still fresh.

Like your skin isn’t ignited, set aflame, burning helplessly beneath his touch.

As you turn around to face him fully, Jean casually leans against the bar, and you do your best not to allow yourself the privilege of roving your eyes over the fresh tattoo nestled in the crook of his elbow, the bold colors standing out amongst the existing sleeve covering the expanse of his arm. The trails and lines of ink are slick with sweat, and it’s a battle in and of itself to try and forget all the paths your fingers and mouth have traced across them.

All the ways those designs have been pressed flush against your skin, slick with sweat for an entirely different reason.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Jean says carefully, referring to the text he’d sent you last week with a screenshot of an email confirming you were on the guest list for his band’s first hometown show in months. 

The first text he’d sent you in just as long. 

You’re still not sure what possessed you to, given that Jean’s unforgiving, tiring tour schedule was the crux of your breakup in the first place. 

“I didn’t think I was going to either.” Inhaling slowly, you slide off of the stool. “I should go.”

Jean’s eyes track the movement of your keys now clasped in your hand. “Can I walk you to your car?”

--

Foolishly, you thought this might give you closure—watching Jean sing and yell and trail his fingers along his guitar strings beneath the blazing stage lights from your place at the back of the room. You thought you would know you both made the right choice when you looked at him and no longer felt a sharp, stabbing ache of what once was. 

But the moment he stepped onto the stage and drug a hand through his messy hair, the light catching on the stupid green woven bracelet you snugly tied onto his wrist two summers ago, all the air left your lungs in a rush as a dizzy feeling poured over you.

And now you’re straddling Jean in the backseat of the same goddamn car you shared your first kiss in, the same car he bent you over the hood of on a balmy summer evening parked right on the beach beside the crashing waves, the same car you fucking cried your eyes out in when you realized this wasn’t going to work anymore.

The same car you slammed the passenger door of and didn’t turn back, not even when Jean’s headlights sat idle at the curb long after you stumbled into your apartment.

You could blame him for the way his hand ghosted over your wrist as you slid your car key into the lock on the door handle, his intake of breath audible as his chest brushed against your back, lips buried in your hair as he murmured, “I’m sorry.”

You want to blame him for the way every nerve ending in your body was set alight, the way you were helpless to stop your body’s need to sink into his embrace.

But as your fingers carded upward through the back of his hair—

As a soft little groan rumbled in his throat, his thumb inadvertently stroking your hip through the fabric of your dress—

The trajectory was inevitable, the desperate crash of his mouth against yours, his lips setting every scattered thread of longing ablaze. 

Fog coats the windows of Jean’s car, the opaque swirls of white leaving little to the imagination as the dull glow of the parking lot lights illuminates his lust-blown pupils. Yet you can’t bring yourself to care, not when you’re choking down a whimper at the feeling of his cock sliding horizontally along your slick folds.

One strap of your sundress falls down under the careful tug of Jean’s finger, your bra following, and there’s a reverent sound spilling from his lips as he leans forward to mouth at the breast now exposed to him. He lightly drags his teeth over your peaked nipple, the way he knows will make you squirm and moan, and there’s a rumble of satisfaction in his throat as you arch into his touch and shamelessly grind against his shaft.

Looking up at you, he exhales, his breath hot against your spit-soaked skin. “I don’t have a—”

“I’m still on the pill if you’re—”

“There hasn’t been anyone else.”

His admission hangs heavily in the air between you, your heart fumbling in turn with the words as they repeat in your head.

“But we don’t have to…” he trails off, giving you an out if you want it.

As if you’re not still head over fucking heels.

“Jean, please,” you whisper, past the point of caring about the pathetic way your voice breaks midway through.

He cups your face in both hands, a thumb swiping away the tear sliding down your cheek as he leans in to kiss you softly, tongue flitting across your lower lip. 

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs, low and rough. “I’ll give you anything.”

Him.

This.

Everything.

“Fuck me,” you plead.

Jean’s fucked you plenty, and yet even the memory of it pales in comparison to the feeling of him nudging the head of his cock at your entrance, the stretch of his shaft sinking into your tight, soaked cunt to the hilt.

His mouth finds yours again in a messy kiss, both of his hands gripping your waist as he groans into your mouth. “Were you this wet all night?”

You’d be lying if you denied the way your thighs clenched together as Jean tucked his guitar pick between his teeth, callused fingertips deftly working along the strings.

It was embarrassing, the wet patch you could feel forming in your panties as you found yourself lost in the gravelly tone of Jean’s vocals against the mic, your thoughts betraying you with memories of that voice lost between your thighs as he mouthed at your cunt.

“What do you think?” you gasp as he lifts you from his lap just enough to start fucking up into you.

He kisses you again, tongue sliding against yours like he’s fucking your mouth now, too, and it’s so hot and messy that he groans at the feeling of your pussy clenching down on him in turn, a line of spit hanging between your mouths when he pulls back to nip at your swollen bottom lip. 

“I almost called off the show as soon as I spotted you in the back wearing this fucking dress,” he grunts, one hand sliding up your side and grasping your breasts. 

Jean’s dick is so big, it would be borderline painful if the walls of your cunt weren’t intimately familiar with accommodating this euphoric push and drag. You’re already drunk on it—the feeling of being stuffed so goddamn full again. Of the feverish, intense pleasure that comes from riding his cock, your tits bouncing with each jerk of his hips, another fresh wave of sticky arousal leaking out of you. 

“So fucking wet,” he moans appreciatively, hotly mouthing at your neck, fingers digging even harder into your hipbones as the sopping squelch of your cunt is amplified with each thrust. 

There’s a surging, trembling need in the growing sloppy desperation of his length pounding into you, the increasingly strangled way you’re choking out his name and begging him to fuck you harder, harder like some fucked up, filthy prayer. You’re both too keyed up for this to last any longer, not when Jean’s fucking you this deep—like he wants to make sure your pussy will never forget the feeling of his cock buried inside of you. 

And Jean knows you’re close, it’s clear that he remembers how you start to sound like you’re about to cry as you whimper with the white-hot pleasure of your impending climax.

“Come for me,” Jean heaves against your throat, teeth dragging against your sensitive skin. “Come all over my cock.”

You’re lost in the sweeping downpour of pleasure that explodes inside of you, your cunt pulsing and dripping as your walls flutter and contract around Jean’s shaft, every muscle in your body quivering with an overload of ecstasy.

Watching you fall apart sends Jean hurtling toward the edge, your panting, needy plea of, “Inside,” his final undoing as he chokes out a gasp and plunges in hard one last time before emptying himself inside of you, hot, thick cum spilling deep in your cunt.

And despite all this reasons this shouldn’t work, didn’t work, can’t work, won’t fucking work—you don’t care.

Not right now.

Not when your ears are still ringing with the desperate, choked out moan of your name on Jean’s lips as he came.

(Not when you swear you can feel something wet dripping on your skin as he shudders, his face buried against your collarbone.)

[wtfyangjungwon]

call out my name.

member : lee heeseung

au : rockstarboyfriend!heeseung x rockstarpartner!reader

warnings : suggestive content , jealousy , use of the word " slut", suggestive smut , fluff, gn pronouns, non-proofread, no capitals intended

summary : heeseung and you were both in the same band, and it was the battle of the bands. the lead singer of the opposing band took it upon himself to flirt with you and heeseung did not like it one bit.

STORY UNDER CUT!

battle of the bands. a very important event for you and heeseung. the band, which consisted of you, heeseung, jake, jay and jungwon, had signed up for this battle, with an off chance of winning a record deal with ROCKHYBE Ent. you were the bassist of the band while heeseung was lead singer ; jake on the drums, jay on lead guitar and jungwon as the keyboardist.

the opposing group, ATLANTIC , has been a group your band has been going against for months. taken gigs, taken photo shoots , they did everything in their power to try and hurt the band's career.

ORANGE BLOOD, your band, has been given many chances to get a record deal but ATLANTIC would always take it.

heeseung was doing some warmups in the dressing room, while you tuned up your bass and fixed your clothes and your makeup. you noticed that your boyfriend was nervous, so you got up and set your bass down on the couch, moving towards him. you stand inbetween his legs ( as he was sat on the counter of the makeup desk) , and you placed your hands on his shoulders. " hee, everything will be okay. we got this. you got this. just do what you always do. " he looked up at you with big doe eyes and placed his hands on your waist. " i'm just nervous. i can't stand to lose them again. " he states and looks down.

you placed your index finger and thumb on his chin, lifting his face up. " you're amazing, my love. don't worry too much. " the man in front of you smiles and places a hand on the side of your neck and pulls you down, his lips meeting your own. it was a sweet kiss until his hand traveled down your body and to your waist, gripping it gently , his fingertips prodding into your skin.

the kiss quickly got heated, hands roaming everywhere. heeseung was about to slip his fingers into your shirt before a loud cough sounded from the other side of the room. you two pulled away from each other and looked into the direction of the cough. there stood jungwon, awkwardly looking at the two of you.

" it's time to go on stage. " he diverted his eyes from the two of you and left the room. you looked at heeseung with a smile and nodded.

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

after ORANGE BLOOD performed their set , the ending of their song, One in a Billion , sounded throughout the room. after the last note ended, you guys bowed to the crowd and walked off stage. heeseung's arm was around your waist and he held you close. you both were in the midst of talking about how hungry you were and trying to discuss what you both wanted after the event was over, just as the lead singer of ATLANTIC , yeonjun, walked up towards you two.

he had a sly smirk on his face and his eyes were immediately glued to you, his black hair falling in front of his face. " so she can play. the fingers look like they work wonders." the male said and looked you up and down. he then looked heeseung straight in the eyes and said, " too bad i can't have you at the moment. maybe i will see what those fingers can do, during the after party. " yeonjun smirked and shifted his eyes towards you. " see ya, sweet girl. " yeonjun then walked off towards his dressing room.

heeseung dug his fingers into your side and he bit down hard on his bottom lip. he grabbed your wrist and dragged you to the dressing room. he locked the door behind you and pinned you against the door. his breath ghosted your lips, and his thumb dragging across your bottom lip.

his eyes darted to your lips before crashing his lips into yours into a heated kiss. your lips molded perfectly together, like you were made for each other. his slender fingers wrapped around your neck, squeezing lightly, earning a small whimper from you.

he pulled away from you and looked at you with jealous, lust filled eyes. he kept his hand wrapped around your neck as your hands gripped his shirt. you both were breathing heavily and you looked up at him, smirking slightly.

" were you jealous, heeseung? " his name rolled off the tip of your tongue. he pulled you closer by your neck and his eyes searched your face.

" i'm going to fuck you endlessly against this wall and on every single piece of furniture in this room. you think you're slick? are you trying to be a slut?" he says and grits his teeth, as your smirk widened.

" you were jealous. "

" i'm going to make you call out my name so that everyone in this building knows who you belong to. scream it."

[itslouisan]

((@leticiachaos on twitter))

Time for Q!Tallulah headcannons!!

Fair warning: this post has mentions of depression, abandonment issues, trust issues, poor living conditions; all of the mentions of Wilbur are ONLY mentions to his character not the real person.

• Due to her abandonment and trust issues, Tallulah created a tough and cold exterior not opening herself to anything new, but, if you manage to break the shell, she's sweet, caring, loyal, nice, creative, the loveliest egg possible

• She likes Richas, but has jealousy, after all he came AFTER her and still has most of the island around him and ADOPTING HIM??? While SHE had to ground herself to an empty promise of a returning loving father and feeling alone most of the time "without" a "real" family to comfort her.

• Due to her time in the attic Tallulah developed anemia due to not having for a long time the necessary nutrients and surviving off of dirt.

• She hates the smell of moss, dirt and related things despite loving botany due to her time in the attic

Black: depression, extreme anger, sorrow or loneliness, it's her way of expressing she's REALLY not feeling okay

• When she finally accepted Wilbur would never come back or be the father she wished and dreamt of, she cut her hair that was long since "hair holds memories", painted her hair black since Missa is Philza's partner and is more of a father to her than Wilbur could ever be and she was tired of holding herself to a small memory instead of accepting change and happiness

• Can't really vent not because her family wouldn't listen, but because of her trust issues and before having to be the "cute innocent girl who's there for everyone" she didn't have the space to vent and put her emotions first

• She was tired of her original red beanie matching Wilbur, it was too dirty and old, deciding to pick a purple one who matched her and a few mushroom hats to express her emotions

• Each color of mushroom represent an emotion (in canon I think she only had black and purple, but I expanded it considering there's a lot more patterns and colors of mushrooms, especially in a sort of magic island)

purple: neutral, calm, it's the regular she wears all the time

Pink: love, happiness, she's feeling creative or excited over something, possibly wanting or doing stims

Blue: shows more of "little" sadness, not strong enough to be depression or despair, but just enough to show it, also can mean fear.

Red: anger, hate.

• Due to her autism, she carries a pair of headphones ALL the time as well as stim toys, comfort objects or plushies, a sketchbook she writes and draws what she's feeling to better communicate it.

• She can play maracas, flute, piano, guitar (acoustic), kalimba.

• Big fan of musicals and history, in late nights she likes to listen to Philza's stories of the old times and Chay loves his battle stories, so they share this cozy moment

• In the beginning she could only see ghosts, but with time she could see the deities. She can see and feel their emotions but can't talk with them much, she mainly can see Mumza and Rose, Rose in the sanctuary where her power is centered and stronger, Mumza all around her dad (Phil >:) ) and every time she's with the crows.

• Knows flower language to write better letters to everyone, adding a deeper meaning, sometimes saying secret stuff through the flowers and as an extra giving pretty flowers

• Tallulah sometimes paints her nails with Phil and Chayanne, every week with a different design

• When Missa is home back from his journeys, Tallulah sees how exhausted her dad is, so she speaks in spanish (their native languages) and makes him some food or brings fruit

• Before she officially forgot Wilbur whenever she would come with other residents and her siblings, Tallulah sometimes felt weak, abandoned, left behind, after all, ALL the others had their parents, had close connections, she hated it but couldn't help but feel jealous, in these situations Phil and Chayanne always reassured her the best they could that they would never leave her and that she wouldn't go back to the attic.

• Makes bracelets for her close family, always wearing one with PxTxC on her left hand (Philza, Chayanne and Tallulah), in the right one she has a TxCxR (Tallulah, Richas, Chayanne) or it could be TxCxP (Tallulah, Chayanne, Pomme) after all she doesn't hate Richas, she hates that he's immature and acts "entitled" and dramatic over his issues, but still tries her best to be a good sister to him, also loves pomme a lot!! Considering Pomme her bestie

Reminder: Tallulah is just a child in rp, children don't know how to control their emotions and in situations of abandonment, neglect and lack of a trusting bond with a caretaker, children can struggle even more with emotions, care, jealousy, trust, self-esteem etc, so don't call Tallulah "selfish" or "spoiled" she has every right to be that way after what she's been through

• Due to her depression,sometimes Tallulah can't take care of herself, spending days or weeks in bed or just not feeling like going out, or when she does she doesn't show much interest, in these cases Phil and Chayanne always cooked some nice food and drinks, went to the nests, and chatted and comforted her

• She became a great fighter after the events of pre-purgatory and purgatory, she NEEDED a tough exterior since she was without Chayanne, and that time worsened her depression severely

[sylveonechidna]

Well, I watched Sonic in Movie 3 and I want to discuss some scenes. Attention!!!! NEXT, THERE WILL BE SPOILERS OF SOME SCENES FROM SONIC MOVIE 3, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!

I just recently watched Sonic Movie 3, and I want to say that the movie is not bad. The plot begins with the race of Sonic's team, which was actually a decoy. As soon as Sonic realizes that he has been tricked, he returns back to the camp. Even though it's his birthday or Arrival on Earth, they celebrate such a day with Tom and Maddie until the GUN plane arrives. And here I will stop, I don't want to spoiler the whole movie for you and discuss the references, namely: - A reference to the Biolizard in the show "Beware of the alien freak". -A reference to Shadow, namely the hedgehog solo game "Shadow Hedgehog": Shadow teleportation from the original games. Chaos Spear and throw them at robots, just like in the original games. And Chaos control in a scene with a loaded Eclipse Cannon. -References to Chao Garden, and Chao themselves, both ordinary Chao. -A reference to the movie Detective Pikachu, when Tails is mistakenly called Pikachu because of the color of his coat. -A reference to Escape From the City. Maria played it on guitar for Shadow. -Reference to Super Forms and Live and Learn. -A reference to the location of Prison Island from Sonic Adventures 2. -A reference to the motorcycle scene and Shadow's gun from his solo game. -A reference to the manga and anime film Akira. -A reference to Knuckles' fear of ghosts from Sonic Adventures. -A reference to the Origin Shadow and the Eclipse Cannon. -A reference to the Beatles music group. -A reference to the original Robotnik costume in the games. -References to Amy Rose and Metal Sonic in the post-credits scene. These are not all references, but there are a lot of them. I can't mention them all, but believe me, the movie is worth finding them all. And now I want to talk about the scenes, and what scenes made me get into a cringe state, and some of the disadvantages of what the film needs: A scene with Gerald's battle against Eggman, who fought as a praying Mantis and a Scorpion. This scene feels superfluous, and it feels very strained, which makes you want to close your eyes and not see this scene. The only thing that can be played is that this scene feels superficial and like a buffoonery that would be better cut out, like Gerald's death from the usual Sonic needle strike in his soft part. The next point is a small timekeeping, and Shadow's relationship with Maria is criminally small (perhaps this will be revealed in his spinoff, but their relationship and strong friendship are criminally small). That's all I wanted to say about the cons. My final rating of the film, as I said, is 7.5 out of 10, and my opinion has not changed upon re-viewing.

[katyawriteswhump]

love me so bad (steddie microfic)

Steve wishes Eddie would play rough sometimes. Eddie figures out what Steve actually wants.

For @steddiemicrofic April prompt, Fool. Rating: E. CW: spanking, foreplay, light D/s, barely negotiated kink. WC: 454. Tags: aftercare, hurt/comfort, (slightly) sub Steve, (slightly) dom Eddie.

…

Sometimes, mused Steve, my badass metalhead boyfriend is waaaay too soft on me.

He was splayed, naked and ass-upward, across Eddie’s lap, while Eddie prepared to ease slicked fingers inside him. Steve peeped back, lashes fluttering: “Remember when some douchebag cut your guitar strings? Might’ve been me.”

Eddie’s warmly stroking fingers slid away. “Before eighth-grade talent show? Christ, you made a total fool of me.”

Steve shivered, weirdly empty. Too late for regrets. “What ya gonna do?”

“Then, I’d have punched your bratty lights out.”

“In your dreams! And now?” Eddie skimmed his palm over Steve’s rear. Fuck me roughly into our lumpy bed! Pleeeeease? Instead, Eddie sharply spanked him. “Ow!”

“Can’t handle it, big boy?”

Steve mentally shrugged. “Bring it on.”

Eddie spanked him again. And again. Steve gasped, battling healthy urges to roll away. Wtf?

“Dreamed ’bout this forever,” husked Eddie, “while you waggled your slutty ass at me.”

Slap.

Steve swallowed a squeak. Should’ve seen this coming, Harrington. Still, as he squirmed, a delicious glow saturated his skin. Sandwiched between Eddie's hard thighs and those skilled hands, Steve felt wanted, cherished. Plus the sizzling pained-pleasure kinda turned him on.

Till tears blurred his vision. “Jesus… Ow!”

“I’d luuuurve you to beg for mercy, but my arm aches like a bitch.”

“My butt stings like a bitch.”

“Poooooor Stevie.”

Eddie smoothed Steve’s burning flesh, stooping to chase the pain away with dustings of moist breath, gentle love-bites that set Steve trembling, crying unashamedly. His tears, like his smarting skin, felt too damn good. Eddie soon cuddled Steve against him, petted his hair, traced knuckles along his cheekbone. Steve nestled his head beneath Eddie’s chin, curled into his lap and… melted.  

Christ, did he know I’d come apart like this?

Steve sniffled. Their breaths fell into sync. Steve absorbed Eddie’s heartbeat. His own chest ached.

When Eddie made love to him, Steve whined, cursed and totally dug how Eddie pummelled into his abused ass. Everything was awesome until…

“I’m forgiven?” asked Steve, later, as they sprawled, entangled and boneless.

“For dinging my guitar? Yup. Years ago.” Eddie yawned. “Robin told me. Also, how you were the one who slipped premium-brand strings into my locker for years after.”

“Oh.” Should he be pissed? Nah. Steve sighed and melted back toward that happy mush.

“Great timing to spill.” Eddie pecked the tip of Steve’s nose. “Angling for a spanking, huh, Baby?”

Wasn’t actually! I should make YOU squirm so bad for this.

Apart from… Steve had enjoyed it. Steve had needed it. Particularly the snuggling after. Kinda wanted to go again. More fool me.

“I hate you.” Steve’s lips ghosted dreamily against the love of his life’s demon tatt. “You’re too fucking perfect for me.”

[cityofmeliora]

transcript: The Summoning + Sister Imperator's speeches

in chronological order:

LINCOPIA, OTROGOTHIA MAY 20, 2015 SISTER IMPERATOR: Brothers and Sisters, you know why you are here tonight. This Ministry is now seven years into The Ghost Project. Seven long years of work. Two Papas, two albums, one gold. These are indeed some respectable numbers, but let me give you some others. Churches opened: zero. Governments toppled: zero. World leaders converted to the cause: zero. You call yourselves salesmen? Masterminds? You have done shit! And don't blame the music. The music is the very manifestation of His Dark Majesty. And don't blame this fine merchandise! It's a disgrace! Papa 2 has been let go. He is a miserable, wounded, and bitter old man, and he is washed up! But let's look forward now. This is a new piece of music. And these are your new masks. And this is Papa 2's brother. He is a full 3 months younger. This man will take the band further than any of us could ever have imagined. I present to you now… Papa Emeritus III! The Summoning (part 1)

LINCOPIA, OTROGOTHIA AUGUST 10, 2015 The clergy has convened. The time for invocation has come. SISTER IMPERATOR: Brothers and Sisters, I realize the difficulty to get this message to you. It has become more dangerous than ever before to speak aloud our dark truths. But do not be dismayed. Papa Emeritus III knows of your commitment. But he needs more from you than this squirreling in secret, these whispers underground. It's time to act! In cities around the globe, his flock will be called. You will hear the call, like the voice of a siren, a temptation in your heart that can only be fulfilled by witnessing the ascension. And its music will rattle the hearts of the sleeping. You will gather in the rains of Seattle on August 18th, in the drought-stricken heat of Los Angeles on August 20th, in the lysergic deserts of Phoenix on August 21st, in the humid metropolis of Baltimore on August 22nd, and in the crowded streets of Brooklyn on August 23rd. You will meet in the record shops, where the authorities would never think to look! There is no master, there is only The Path. There is no destination, there are only winding steps. When the guitars are tuned and the Ghouls begin their invocations, there is only one thing left to do: shake off your slack social media chains, your cheap hunger for scandal and rumor! When the first chord is struck, you will turn to your neighbor next to you in the flesh, put your arm around them, and take back your humanity! You have already fallen! Hell is here! The time for ascension is now. The Summoning II: Unholy / Unplugged Tour (August 10, 2015)

Lincopia, Otrogothia August 11, 2015 The battle for Philadelphia SISTER IMPERATOR: Children of Philadelphia. You are a special city. We have been pleased with growing unrest and incivility toward Frankie's visit next month. And we were especially pleased to register a sold-out concert on the same day Frankie would be blathering to the minions. But we also sensed a growing unrest amongst the church, especially the particular amount of attention they began paying the Ghost concert. We were ready to persevere in the name of the unholy, and to allow the dark side of Philadelphia to shine through while Frankie was in town. But this morning, we received this dispatch, a letter informing us that Ghost fans will not be able to use public transportation, park their cars near the venue, or even get the Ghost entourage close enough to load in their instruments of persuasion. So, children of Philadelphia, and in fact, children of the world, we regret to inform you that in the hopes to ensure each and every Ghost fan can attend the show, we've decided to move the Philadelphia concert at Union Transfer to Tuesday, September 29th. Concession is sometimes hard. Our quest to topple the church will be won across many battles. We thank you. The Summoning III: The Battle For Philadelphia

Lincopia, Otrogothia August 21, 2015 The arrival SISTER IMPERATOR: It has arrived! Some of you did not believe the new Papa would be able to cast a shadow as wide and as far as his great predecessor. Your faithlessness is now dust in my mouth. You should be on your knees humbling yourselves before what has been accomplished here! All you need to do is look outside. Look at the graffiti on the walls, look at the lights illuminated at night, where once there was only darkness. Mothers will whisper warnings to their children: the false prophets will wail from their hallowed churches and in underground hovels like these, across the world. Our legion will rise. But listen closely, now. There isn't much time. There is one thing you must know. [Ladies and gentlemen, I have summoned you all here. And now, I bring you Ghost!] [SAME SPEECH GIVEN AT UNHOLY / UNPLUGGED IN LA] The Summoning IV: The Arrival || Unholy / Unplugged - Los Angeles, California, USA (August 21, 2015)

SISTER IMPERATOR: Welcome! Welcome, my faithful brothers and sisters! Your presence here is proof of your commitment. If you are unsure, cast off your doubts now. There is no turning back. The rite you're about to witness is but one small but essential movement in our spiritual revolution. We prayed, and he has arrived! But! But! He will demand more of you! He will need to hear from the abyss of your hearts that you are ready. His is a voice of the pit and the pinnacle! His Nameless Ghouls are the music of the [UNINTELLIGIBLE] but your holy noise is the key! You must cry out his name! Say it with me now: PAPA EMERITUS! AGAIN! AGAIN! AGAIN! Very good. Shh! Shh! Shhhhhh! Listen. Do you hear it? Do you? It's the terrible sound of the ignorant– the mistrust and anger of the masses. The world is unstable and they have lost their balance. But we, here together, are the new foundation. we are the shape of things to come! There's not much time. We won't be able to do the required incantation. We must let the music do the summoning. My brethren, my brethren, bow your heads and raise your horns to pierce the veil of heaven, so the skies will be torn asunder! And Papa may fall into our midst! Now is the moment. Now, there is no other. Papa Emeritus III! Ghost! Ghost is here! Los Angeles, CA, USA (October 26, 2015)

EARLIER TODAY LINCOPIA, OTROGOTHIA THE CLERGY HAS ADJOURNED. AND THE NAMELESS GHOULS ARE SUMMONED. SISTER IMPERATOR: I think you all know why you have been summoned here. It's time to re-assess, to take stock of your failures. It started with a vision: you were all standing before me, hoodwinked and bound with both caddy and shack! I led you each toward a coffin, where you were made to lie down. The lids were closed, and one by one, I placed a level on the top to make sure you were still and cold in the darkness. Iron nails fell from my hands and scattered like leaves around my feet. I know that behind your masks, you are smirking at me, proud of your trivial accomplishments. Let's see what you have really done to topple the spires and the men who hurdle around their false god. No… Oh, yes. [LAUGHING] The industry has noted our good works with their trinket. And as a result, our message is carried further and wider. But do we take such trinkets as sacrament and the measure of true accomplishment? No! We don't need their approval. The truth of our work is not measured by awards and nods from the establishment. Can someone say "two in a row now", from the Swedish academy? It is still only a drop in the dark water of our mission. Sit still! Stop staring! Have you heard enough of the list of your petty dreams laid bare? Are there any among you who can say you can bear witness to the signs of the coming change? I see more of the same slumbering dreamers sleepwalking to their glass-and-brick towers, bowing at the feet of their priests and their false gods. I have here letters from your followers, demanding that we explain why nothing has changed. They have made their own sacrifices. But what have you done? How will you answer them? By holding up your golden gramophone? Is this the change you promised? Is this the sign of a new age? It is nothing! It is another false idol. It is time to answer for your failures. This is going to take some time, so I would prepare yourselves. Pray to your Dark Gods that you can handle what is to come. "NEXT: ARE YOU READY? LET'S DISCUSS THE MISSION, MAN" The Summoning V: The Square And Hammer (September 13, 2016)

"Later that day…" LINCOPIA, OTROGOTHIA The proceedings intensify. SISTER IMPERATOR: I expect no more interruptions. You had your chance to defend yourselves. Without your guitar and drums, you are are mere acolytes, not the grand missionary men you were trained to be. You want to be equal to your Papa? Ha! But all you can do is [UNINTELLIGIBLE] your own egos, waxing nostalgia about your petty sins. Well let's see what you have really done. You have sat for insipid interviews, answering insipid questions, afraid to reveal your true undertaking. You wear your masks for the press, but your masks were never intended to simply hide your faces– they are the visage of The Gods, and you mock them with your senseless orgies and trysts. Even your depravities are dull! I would like you to turn to exhibit one. Look at all the places you have been, all the cities you have made a mark on. But the rain has washed it all away… like the piss of a dog! Why are believers still living in secret, spinning your records in their parents' basements? Why have you not led them into the murky light of His shadow? You are supposed to lead. It is your task. Your task! To lead! I think you're afraid of real change. Let's take a breath. I think I understand the problem. You think Papa's words should be enough. But then you misunderstand the nature of true power. Papa is not a mouthpiece for the Dark Divinity. He is not a pawn. He is a mediator. He is the path. His way is the truth and the darkness! And you– you are his apostles. And yet, you deny, you deny! And so I charge you with deceit and with letting good people falter! The very people who believed in you. Your doubt sows their own. I charge you with dereliction of duty! For the harrowing initiation you have been through, I would charge you with treason! The Summoning VI: The Proceedings Intensify

"Days later…" Lincopia, Otrogothia Fatigue and apathy have set in. SISTER IMPERATOR: Despite your weakness, and your cowardliness, your failures, I still believe in you. And I believe in you because I have seen the future! I have already been witness to three transfigurations, and each time I can see that we are closer to the final glory, and I have seen you rise to the occasion each time. So can you do it again? Huh? Hmm? Do you see this [UNINTELLIGIBLE], this haunted servitor of our Dark Father asking for nothing while it does its simple tasks? You see it and all think, "Our instruments are far greater than that old broom!" But they are not! They are merely tools to do His great work! Sometimes, yes, you're genius, with the tools you have been given. I have attended your rites, watched you claim souls of thousands, of your strings, your skin, your masterful use of electricity. I, too, have been moved to tears as I stood before you as the music reached a sort of… transessence. This is why I believe. After all we have been through in these past few days, all the shames laid bare, are you ready to start anew? The new coming is about to begin. Will you take up your instruments? Will you be able to commit to the utter annihilation of all this is false? All that is greed? All that is staid and conformist and empty? Hm? Then rise. Rise!!!! Now! I give you another chance at transformation. But you must beg. You must demand to be sacrificed! You must prostrate your hearts while you stand tall in the dark, for the fourth incarnation of Papa will guide us. But we need faith now. Swear to me that my faith in you is not in vain. Swear to me now in His Unholy Name. Say it now after me, say it loud enough to shatter the windows of the world's lies. Say "I am ready! I am ready! I am ready!!!!" The Summoning VII: Believe This