#like this could be stepping stones for a greater skill but other than that I can't do anything with what I'm making

[leonagraphy]

It's a second "A" word in a row which for some reason bothers me but I also don't really care to change it.

I like this one, because unlike the other trash I've posted this trash looks decent.

This face looks like a....Seleste.

[ddarker-dreams]

Be Still My Bleeding Heart.

Yan Zhongli x God Reader.

[The First Contract index]

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, power imbalance o'clock. Word count: 2k.

“I’ve heard you’ve been frequenting the Stone Gate.”

Zhongli’s way of speaking is best compared to a geode. Seemingly insignificant upon initial viewing, but once cracked open, you’ll find yourself enthralled by the contents within. There’s so much to dissect and digest. You’ve become fluent in his language throughout the centuries. It wasn’t always a necessary skill. He matured with each passing millennia, his mannerisms aging like a fine wine, though they became no easier to swallow.

Gone were the days of him using brute force to tackle his way through every challenge waiting before him. He’s patient with enough cunning to match.

You almost miss how simple it once was to get a read on your husband. It requires a great deal more effort now, a resource you’d prefer to expend anywhere else than on him.

“I have,” you don’t see the point in lying. “Do you take issue with the fact?”

“That remains to be seen.”

You’d sigh, but even that feels like you’d be giving him too much. You keep your lips pursed to rectify this. He could be so obstinate about the most trivial details. That element of himself has remained consistent since time immemorial. All you wanted was to take a pleasant stroll through Yuehai Pavilion before returning to your usual activities, yet it seems that’s asking for too much.

Zhongli was waiting when you ascended the steps, his hands folded behind his back, warm amber eyes rivaling the sunset in its intensity. They softened for a mere instant, whatever non-issue you were inevitably about to get reprimanded over temporarily slipping his mind. Sickeningly sweet affection poured forth like vaults of honey, suffocating you in thick layers. You weighed the merits of turning around and venturing elsewhere, then remembered this fabled ‘elsewhere’ doesn’t exist.

He might be testing mortal life, but that doesn’t make Liyue any less of his domain than it was when the Yakshas were greater in number and the adepti gathered for banquets at the Guili Assembly. He could follow you anywhere, you can’t control that. You can, however, control how bad of a mood he’ll be in when he finds you.

Presently, Zhongli places an unwelcome hand on your shoulder, the gesture that was meant to comfort you worse than the spears chaining Osial down to an abyssal depth.

“I hope this isn’t a consequence of us living amongst the people of the Harbor.”

In the same way you are attuned to him, Zhongli is an uncontested expert in all things concerning you. His fervor is born from ardor whereas yours stems from a place of self-preservation. There is no side of you he hasn’t seen, no angle he hasn’t committed to memory with the zeal of a religious fanatic. His seemingly infinite reservoir of knowledge frightens you. There are times when you wonder if he knows you better than you know yourself.

This is further evidence of the possibility.

“… What do you mean by that?”

Zhongli raises an eyebrow. “My heart, please, don’t play dense. We both know you’re anything but. Something’s been troubling you ever since we’ve taken up residence here. I knew it wouldn’t be an easy adjustment, but if this is proving too detrimental for your wellbeing, I’ll have to take appropriate measures.”

You place your hands on the railing in front of you, leaning forward ever so slightly. The wind catches in your hair, carrying the familiar scent of the ocean and dinner being cooked by households awaiting the return of their loved ones. The day draws to a close. You hear laughter, the sound of children playing; two boys struggling to keep up with a little girl who goads them on. This lively scene cannot be found atop Mt. Hulao or any other secluded area you’d be held prisoner in if he thinks it best.

“You take on everyone’s burdens,” Zhongli disregards the view in favor of examining your side profile. You know which one he finds more picturesque. “I adore and fear that trait of yours. I knew there’d be no avoiding it, as it’s embedded in your nature, but I didn’t anticipate you getting this attached.”

“You’re exaggerating the severity of things.”

“Am I?” There’s a slight challenge in his voice you can’t bring yourself to match. “I heard you requested Xiao’s assistance in finding a little girl’s lost doll. An expedition that took multiple days of our Conqueror of Demons’ time.”

“Children are Liyue’s future — I’m doing my part to ensure their happiness.”

“Last week, I found you lecturing a gentleman who voiced dislike of Xinyan’s music. It took you an hour for you to notice my presence. Another hour to let him leave.”

“It was a civil discussion, not a lecture. I left room for him to interject if he had anything worthwhile to say. It isn’t my fault he became tongue-tied when his brutish behavior was confronted.”

“You recently asked me to reshape a mountain range so that Qiqi would have easier passage on her herb-collecting journeys.”

“Are you not the one who once promised me you’d ‘shift the sun’s placement in the sky’ if I ever found it unsatisfactory?”

Zhongli coughs into his gloved hand to hide his embarrassment. “I… was young then. My prose reflects that.”

“2,500 hardly qualifies as young, old man.”

“It does for beings like us. Now,” he seems eager to move on from the subject, “The examples I listed are the mildest. You’re spreading yourself thin, concerning yourself with matters beyond your control. I’ve seen what it did to you in the past. As your husband, I must ensure that doesn’t happen again.”

There’s something else at play here, yet you’ll leave that detail to be uncovered later.

“If I’m understanding this correctly, you’re criticizing me for caring about the people who you spent centuries shedding blood — yours and others — over.”

You don’t bother hiding the bitterness on your tongue. He’s worse than a thorn in your side, he’s a knife, jabbed in so deep that pulling it out is no longer an option. You have to live with the blade’s intrusion and adjust accordingly to the pain. It’s obvious to you that he’s been stewing on this for a while, the trips to the Stone Gate must’ve been the final nail in the coffin. You’ll both argue circles around each other until the heart of the issue is addressed.

The specifics of the contract you signed many, many years ago stipulate you may not leave Liyue’s borders unless a particular list of requirements is met. It isn’t like Zhongli is actively looking to punish you — he said so many times himself — which is why he becomes extra stifling when he thinks you’re pushing your limits. Or his limits, to be precise. The God of Contracts takes these matters very seriously.

Eventually finding you can’t take the silence any longer, you come right out and say it. “It’s true that I can get a bit too… involved when it comes to helping mortals. I see the solution right in front of me and wish those involved could see it too. That’s why I was seeking out a fellow god who is better at handling these situations with the appropriate nuance.”

His face gives away nothing when he speaks. The same cannot be said for the low timbre his voice takes on.

“And what god other than myself might my dearest spouse be seeking the audience of?”

“Barbatos,” you reply without hesitation. Something cold runs through the air between you. “He’s lived amongst mortals for so long. I might have some issues with his carefree temperament, but he knows how to guide others in that human form of his. Perhaps ‘guide’ isn’t the right word. He offers just enough for them to reach the solutions themselves. I want to learn from him.”

In a split second, his diamond-shaped pupils thin into slits, reminiscent of his draconic form. It’s gone in the time it takes you to blink. He sighs, his gaze finally breaking off from you. You feel his hand settle on the small of your back in what can only be described as a possessive gesture. Zhongli rarely touched you in public for the sake of social decency. This revelation must’ve been enough for him to discard the propriety he associates himself with in the current era.

You can tell he’s thinking and you let him. While he chews on the truth, your eyelashes flutter shut, blocking out the sensory stimuli you normally adore. Memories come and go like the ocean’s waves brushing up against the shoreline of your beloved Yaoguang Shoal. Had things gone differently, you’re confident you would’ve learned the lessons you’re currently seeking out on your own. The centuries you were forced to spend separated from mortals, incapable of answering their many desperate prayers, built an intimidating wall.

You’d either need to scale it or tear it down in its entirety — you’re not going to let your husband add to its height.

“He’s a whimsical spirit, so our paths never managed to cross,” you look up at the stony countenance of Zhongli, who weighs your every word on an internal scale. Judgment could be in your future dependingly. “I’ll stop making my trips there. You have my word.”

“You can continue to do so as long as I am present,” his earrings catch the dimming sunray’s when he turns his head in your direction. “I’m not the unreasonable man you try to make me out to be, [First]. Let this be proof of that.”

No, he’s probably worse. Hiding his domineering tendencies beneath a thin veneer of amicability. You keep the thought to yourself. You’ve already pushed him far today by admitting what you did. Limits were meant to be teased, not breached. No one knows this like you do.

“I accept the terms of this contract.”

Seemingly content with this, he nods, his hand detaching from you while he does so. The vortex of tension surrounding you dissipates in an instant. You could relax your posture, but you don’t, a frown working its way onto your face. Encountering Venti by chance really would’ve been ideal, even if it was a long shot. Understanding the hearts of others was one thing, granting them the same vision is another.

“You’re doing it again, aren’t you?” Zhongli muses. It’s a tactic he loves utilizing. Giving vague statements or suggestions so you have no choice but to ask for him to elaborate. An intelligent tactic from a conniving god.

You take the bait, uncaring of how his hook will sink into your flesh.

“Hm?”

“Taking on everyone’s burdens,” he clarifies. “Whatever should I do with you?”

You make a face. He really could do anything he wanted to you — the gap in your divine power is that sizable. It’s by his mercy and self-proclaimed “love” alone that he puts up with your near-constant ambivalence. Not wanting to linger on this uncomfortable topic, you turn on your heels, preparing to descend the steps and return to Liyue Harbor’s heart. If you’re fortunate, maybe he’ll get distracted and start a conversation on architecture or preferably anything else.

This turned out to be a stroll you wish you didn’t take.

“Treat me to dinner, preferably. I made a balm for some burns Xiangling recently sustained. I’ll give it to her while we’re in the area.”

It doesn’t take much effort for him to catch up to you with those absurdly long legs of his.

“Ah. Well, it’s a date then.”

Zhongli observes with silent amusement how you scrunch your nose up yet don’t voice your dissent. You flutter around from person to person, inquiring after so and so’s health, or if a sibling safely made it to Inazuma, dutifully recording the knowledge for later use. Your husband knows how you dislike your association with The God of Love title the mortals mistakenly assigned to you many moons ago — still, he can’t help but find it fitting.

How could he not notice that you overflow with love for anyone who isn’t him?

[maeamian]

When I was a young excited physics student I went down to my advisor and asked for a job in a lab. Those of you who are in the sciences may recognize this as exceedingly common, most schools with science departments will hire undergrads for their labs both to give the undergrads experience and to have someone comparatively cheap to do the least skilled labor in those labs.

For me, the lab I was sent to was one doing cool photonics projects and I was assigned to a guy who was doing the theoretical modeling for them and I got put on a side project for them to develop a method to double check their results using Monte Carlo simulations.

Put bluntly, I toiled away in the little cubicle they had me in for about half a year before I transferred to a different school without ever having produced anything of any particular value other than a Monte Carlo simulation whose temperature readings were not taking into account the existence of a heat sink and therefore got overwhelmed by thermal photons in a completely inaccurate and unhelpful way.

Ultimately, many tasks, farmed out like this in a speculative way to undergrads, fail, certainly it's not exceptional that mine did and I learned a lot about the process in the process, so it wasn't wasted time for me, but it produced absolutely nothing the lab could use to further its results.

This is where it turns from a little anecdote about my work history into a morality tale, because what I have thus far deliberately failed to tell you is that the lab I was assigned to is a provider of radar services to the US Military. Had I produced anything of any value whatsoever the work I did would have been used by the US military to help with its capacity to deliver bombs. This is, unfortunately, as those of you who are in the sciences may recognize, also exceedingly common. Luckily, and through no foresight or moral thinking of my own, simply the inexperience of youth, I produced nothing of value but view the path they tried to set me down as a grim warning of what might have been.

I'm not asking for forgiveness, the harm I might have done was not done by me, although I'm also sure was done without my help. They didn't need it to be me they just needed someone with basic calculus knowledge who wouldn't think too hard about the connection between the work and the world, and they were happy enough that particular warm body was me.

So this is my plea, if you're young and getting involved in the sciences because you're passionate about knowledge and understanding our place in the universe. When you go to get that job in that lab that's such a good stepping stone to the next thing you want to do, take a second and look into where that lab's funding is coming from. If it turns out it's the military, maybe then take another second and really deeply consider what kind of thing your work can be used to do and if you would like some of the most bloodthirsty people on the planet to be able to do that thing because of your help.

I got lucky that I didn't help, but I'm hoping that with this warning you might be able to not help on purpose which is a greater moral good than what I managed.

[novankenn]

Holding Back

Chapter One (4/7) (992 Words)

/== Chapter List ===/

“Doctor?” Pyrrha questioned.

“This is Mr Arc, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Amazing, but can it be true?”

“Doctor?” Yang asked this time.

“I'm sorry, but you've just dropped something very special into my lap. The style Mr Arc is using is something I have only read about. Most think the style no longer exists.” Oobleck turned a page, and then flipped back, “Yes, I am more than certain. I am positive this is it.”

“What is it?” Pyrrha inquired.

“Shadow Skill.” was the response.

“Shadow Skill?” the pair of young woman asked in unison.

“That is what it is referred to. It has no official name, and many scholars feel that it vanished before the Great War, and other feel it is just a flight of fancy... but to see it...” Oobleck looked up from the two items on his desk, “I assume this is you, Ms Xiao Long?”

“It is.”

“What are your observations, seeing as you actually faced a practitioner.”

“It's fast, agile, and he hit hard. Plus, some of the multiple kicks he could land were dizzying. I mean his first attack as you can see was three on point kicks, before he even started to fall back towards the floor.”

“Anything else?”

“Well, it felt like he was holding back. I did find it hard to counter him, though I did get a few shots in. If it had happened in Combat Class, he would have been declared the winner.”

“Anything you would like to add, Ms Nikos, as I assume you either witness the spare or watched the video.”

“It's a very mobile style, and simple... I know that's not the right word.”

“Explain what you mean?”

“He's using no weapons, no armour, and by the screenshot of the aura meters, I would say he wasn't even using his aura to empower his strikes. I would guess that it was a style for those without means. Who couldn't rely on having weapons, armour or aura to protect themselves.”

“Very good observations. Though simple is not a word, I would use to describe it. I would have said 'Pure' but even that is not correct.” Oobleck shifted his gaze from Pyrrha to Yang, “I would say, though I'm amazed he is a practitioner... so I agree with you, that Mr Arc was holding back, if my reference material is correct.”

“What do you mean?” asked Pyrrha.

“Even though Shadow Skill has no official name it is considered, or was classified as a killing art.”

“Killing art?” Yang asked.

“Please, one moment, I want to pull up a lesson that you would be seeing in your second year.” The young ladies watched as Doctor Oobleck shoved some papers off his desk to the floor, so he could turn his monitor base around. On the screen was a stone relief showing obviously naked chained women. “Slavery used to be a widespread practice on Remnant; in fact, for quite a length of time until recently, it was the very backbone of the Kingdom economies.”

“Recently? How long ago was that?” Yang asked, feeling a little dirty at seeing the carved imaged of chained, naked women.

“The practice of Slavery was outlawed in Vale about forty years prior to the Great War. Now keep this in mind. This was not just Faunus, this was anyone. If you couldn't pay your debits, if you were found guilty of lesser crimes like theft or vagrancy. If you were born to a slave. It was a dark time, and the lives of people deemed slaves were brutal. Abuses of every kind were heaped upon them.” Oobleck tapped some keys and various slides appeared, “in some areas male slaves were pitted in gladiatorial fights... fights that ended in death. The female slaves suffered even greater indignities.”

“But it was outlawed?” Pyrrha questioned, looking at the images on the screen showing a relief of a gladiatorial fight; something that looked remarkably similar to images of her tournament matches.

“It was, and still is... only after the Revolt happened did the Kingdoms finally all step in and completely abolish the practice.”

“The Revolt? I've never heard of it.” commented Yang.

"I would have brought this up next year as well. The Revolt was actually coincidental uprisings in Vale and Mistral, which authorities believed would be contained in short order. They would be proved wrong as those spread into a worldwide revolt which lasted two bloody, bloody years." Oobleck again manipulated his keyboard, bringing up a couple more slides. “It was during this uprising that two unique fighting styles appeared. Both styles were exclusive to the slaves. There is not much known in specific, but records indicate that the male slaves used a style based around hand techniques and throws. Some references of questionable authenticity called the male style Bright Skills.  The female slaves used kicks and footwork, which those same questionable resources called Shadow Skills.”

“Why only kicks?” asked Pyrrha.

“To prevent them from defending themselves, females were often manacled at the wrists. Both styles were outlawed, and designated Killing Arts; which is an apt description. They were developed to kill, and both were reported to very efficient at it. There are even tales of aura unlocked individuals being taken down by these former slaves.” Oobleck shut down his holographic display, “Most of what we have to go on is hearsay and stories. There is very little properly and authenticated recorded evidence. With the Revolt forcing the cessation of the practice of slavery; at least in the open, these Bright and Shadow Skills vanished. The practitioners fading into the masses.” 

“So if the male slaves used Bright Skills, and the female slaves used Shadow Skills, how is Jaune trained in the female style?” Pyrrha asked.

“Obviously, one of his ancestors was a slave. And she passed the knowledge of the style to her children, and they taught their children, and so on. It is the only explanation.” Oobleck offered.

[theoddcatlady]

Blood On Set

Being an actor isn’t easy. I’d like to act full time but right now working the night shift at my local Wal-Mart is what pays… part of the bills. I got three roommates to afford my apartment, we all bond on the impossible dream of catching our big break in the MCU.

Frankly I was through the moon when I finally got called back to do some work as one of the main characters in an indie film. Up until then, all my ‘acting’ skill was as an extra or a dead body and I was dying to actually show what I could do, you know? I wasn’t gonna get paid well but this could’ve been a stepping stone to greater things.

Shooting was to take place over two weeks. I was to play Seth Taylor, childhood friend to the main character who always wanted something a little more but never had the nerve. Plotline was basic, college girl was being stalked by an unknown figure who may or may not be supernatural, turns out it’s a group of satanists who need to sacrifice her on the new moon to achieve their sinister goals.

The night before shooting began all of us actors had drinks together. It was great getting to know each other. The star of the show was Abby, and I don’t really believe in love at first sight… but I believe in instant chemistry. And I knew off the bat Abby and I were compatible. She had this spark, this love for life and for acting. She’d already gotten a few small roles, even a guest role on a TV show as the victim of the week. I never felt so immediately comfortable around someone else.

Got to meet a few other people too, Geoffrey, who was going to be Abby’s boyfriend/first victim of the movie. He had one of those big laughs that could get a bit grating after a while, but he was nice enough. Liberty, who was going to be Abby’s best gal friend, she had such a morbid sense of humor and had us laughing all night. Ricky, CJ, Garrett, all gonna be various cult members, and Colin, the cult leader. I wasn’t really sure about the casting of Colin, he seemed so quiet, but I realized quite quickly when he stood up why he was cast- dude was nearly seven feet tall. I’m fucking five foot four, I had to crane my neck up to see his face.

Our director/writer/producer was Duncan Turner. He seemed pretty nice, a bit nervous, but nice. Clearly had a boner for Abby, he couldn’t tell her no to anything. I tried to tell him I was a trans man, he seemed to be trying to avoid the subject, then Abby brings up the idea of working that into my character’s backstory and he immediately grabbed his copy of the script to start scribbling in new lines.

Yeah, it was clear this was his first movie, but frankly I didn’t care. This was the first time I had a role with more than two lines. I was pumped.

First two days of shooting went off perfectly. Despite my initial doubts about Colin, he came right into the role of the disturbing cult leader Damion. And although the script was a little cliché, a little ridiculous, it was still fun.

It was fun. Until things got… weird. And by weird I mean someone got killed.

It was day three. We mostly used Duncan’s old college as a set, and we were filming the scene where Abby’s character Nancy is being chased around a theater all set up for a college production of The Phantom of the Opera. What was meant to happen was I was supposed to trip CJ and we were supposed to run off while he was stunned.

What happened was, I tripped CJ, I heard the sound of something cracking, and I looked up just in time for a giant fucking spotlight to come crashing down. CJ opened his eyes just in time for it to squash his head like a grape. Blood and head gore exploded everywhere, covering me, Abby, and the set around us.

I threw up. Duncan screamed bloody murder. Abby just stared at CJ’s twitching body.

Yeah, holy shit. I’ve never seen a dead body outside of a funeral before and uh… yeah, had a lot to talk about with my therapist that week.

It was just an accident, of course. No one was up there. Something was a little loose, and CJ was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. That was our third take of that scene, I was declared not responsible for CJ’s death. And uh, we marched on with filming.

Yeah, it’s cold, and I probably should’ve jumped ship then. But we only had so much time we were allowed to film at the college and Duncan invested a lot of his own money into this movie. Not to mention if I did leave, I’d forfeit my paycheck. We managed to reshoot the scene with Garrett and at the parking lot instead. Granted, Garrett nearly got hit by a goddamn car because some dumb bitch was driving drunk instead of taking an Uber, but he dodged it last second.

I should’ve known the shoot was cursed though. Like nothing as bad as CJ happened until the last day, but things were always off. Garrett kept showing up drunk and ended up breaking his ankle. Thankfully he’d already shot all his scenes but Jesus Christ dude, it’s still work. Ricky just stopped showing up, fucked off to god knows where. Geoffrey cut his arm really bad during his murder scene and it got infected. One of our dude extras got a little creepy with Liberty and she ended up breaking his nose. I could go on. Not to mention I started having some really fucked up nightmares.

I’d always struggled with nightmares. My combo of meds make my dreams super fucking vivid, but this was different. I swore I was really there when I dreamed that Garrett’s feet were getting sawed off. Or when worms and maggots started crawling out of Geoffrey’s cut arm, silencing his screams when they all filled his mouth and choked him to death. Just. Really fucked up shit.

I spent a lot of time with Abby to distract me from all the weird shit going on. We’d have drinks at her place, we’d talk everything from our acting dreams to the name of our favorite Neopet when we were kids. God, I could’ve talked about anything with her. I felt so safe and comfortable around her.

Maybe I should’ve picked up quicker that nearly all our male extras bailed. Or just didn’t turn up. There was something very wrong with this shoot and it’s on me that I didn’t realize something was wrong.

Last day. Last shoot. Final scene. Seth was going to save Nancy from being sacrificed by Damion, and we’d kill him together. It was originally going to be shot in Duncan’s basement, but the morning of I got a text, saying Abby was going to pick me up and that things had changed.

She arrived about an hour from sundown, already in costume judging by the fake blood all over her t-shirt. I jumped in the car and asked what was up.

“Colin has a better basement, more space for camera junk and stuff. Duncan was totally cool with it and will meet us there. Apparently it’ll be a one take deal, so you think you can do it?”

I gave a double thumbs up. Abby smiled, my heart melted, and she offered me a bottle of water. So my throat wouldn’t be dry during shoots.

I didn’t realize I was drugged until I was almost asleep, and of course by then it was too late.

I woke up tied to a chair, some sort of cloth stuffed in my mouth to gag me. The room was completely dark and smelled like rotting meat. In front of me, I saw Duncan laying on the floor, his head was bleeding but I heard him groan. I wondered why the hell he wasn’t getting up but then I saw the pools of blood around his hands and feet.

He’d been nailed to the goddamn floor.

When Abby walked into sight it hit me like a sledgehammer that the blood on her shirt probably wasn’t fake.

She waved her hand and candles all around the room lit up. I would’ve screamed if I could’ve, but all I could do was stare in horror at the bodies nailed to all the walls. Garrett, Ricky, CJ’s headless body, all the other extras that stopped showing up, other guys I didn’t recognize. All of them were dead with their chests ripped open.

Abby came beside me and tested the ropes on my wrists to make sure they were secure. “You comfortable? They aren’t too tight or anything?” She asked.

I stared at her, I couldn’t believe this was happening. Abby nodded before removing the gag. “Right, sorry. Can’t talk while gagged.”

I swallowed all the spit in my mouth before I said, “Why are you doing this?”

“Because he needs it. Otherwise he’ll die. And I won’t let my boyfriend die. You’re just here so you have an alibi, so it’s not pinned on you. Cuz I really like you, Logan. And I’m sorry you have to witness this, but if it gets too much, just close your eyes. I had to at first too.”

I was going to ask why the hell her ‘boyfriend’ needed something when I realized something was hanging from the ceiling that was not another body.

It crawled down one of the walls, its unnaturally long limbs jointed in three different places. It had six arms and four legs, and was naked. Each of its pale fingers ended in an inch long claw. It was the most inhuman thing I have ever seen.

But its head was human, even if its neck was almost two feet long. Colin’s head. Colin’s head was on this thing’s body, and as it looked up at me I swear its eyes looked hungry. Abby patted its shoulder and shook her head. “Leave him alone, babe. He’s my friend,” She said.

Colin looked at her before bobbing its head up and down and it scrambled over to the awakening Duncan.

“Wha… what’s going on…” Duncan’s eyes fluttered open as Colin’s head hovered above his own. His face went white. “Oh- oh my god, what the f-”

One of Colin’s limbs shot forward and its claws unzipped Duncan’s chest like a winter jacket, his guts spilling out everywhere. Duncan’s scream will never leave me. Colin’s mouth opened, revealing a mouthful of janky sharp teeth before he bit into Duncan’s guts, I think I saw him pull out an intestine before I listened to Abby and closed my eyes.

Duncan didn’t scream for much longer, but the chewing and swallowing sounds were impossible to block out. When it was all quiet, I finally opened my eyes. Duncan’s torso was hollowed out, his eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling.

Colin looked normal again, just your average guy. Abby patted his back, kissed his gore covered cheek, and he walked upstairs. She looked at me and I had to ask one more thing:

“What the hell are you two?”

Abby laughed quietly.

“I’m a witch. And as for Colin… he’s… unknown.”

With that, she walked upstairs and out of my life.

The cops came soon enough, I guess Duncan’s screams carried enough, or maybe Abby called them. I was taken to the hospital and thankfully I was just considered a victim that these two crazy motherfuckers hadn’t gotten around to. There was twelve bodies in that basement.

Maybe Abby cursed the shoot herself, maybe it was just never meant to go right. Either way, Abby and Colin are gone, and I don’t think I’ll ever see them again. If I’m quiet for too long I swear I can hear that chewing echoing in my ears.

I did get paid though. Dunno by who considering how very not alive Duncan is, but I just got the money wired into my account today.

I guess Abby didn’t want my time wasted on what probably would’ve been an okay movie, had not most of the cast got murdered and eaten by her boyfriend.

[blackestnight]

waking dreams

what if we… were in a never-ending nightmare sustained by eldritch gods as punishment for unspeakable sins… and i cut your head off .. aha ha, just kidding.. unless..?

nini and aoife reminded me of a thing i wrote for bloodborne au months ago but never actually got around to posting, which will make complete sense to one person, partial sense to about six other people, and no sense to anyone else, but you know what? it’s fine. you don’t need any context aside from my refrain of “DECAPITATION (ROMANTIC)” (this is also a content warning for decapitation (romantic))

The old workshop reeked, when Aymeric closed his eyes—of dust, rotting wood, candle wax, metal and oil and rust, both from the blades on the walls and the ever-present blood, in bottles and vials and ground into his clothes. The stillness in the building itself had always reminded him a bit of a church, with the workbench serving as an altar to the old gods of slaughter.

He felt shivers prickling up the skin of his neck, and took a deep breath. There was no danger here. None that he wasn’t willing to turn his back on, anyway.

When he opened his eyes again, the moonlight through the warped glass of the window caught on the swords left abandoned by their makers: cleavers, trick canes, a scythe flashing like a grim smile in the darkness, twin to the one Hanami was using now in the misty fields. She really was so skilled with it. What a mercy.

He shuddered again at the crunch of loose stone, and the creak of the floorboard behind him—when he turned, there she was, resplendent in her dark coat, her scythe held loosely in one hand. He supposed there was blood on her somewhere—it was unavoidable, in their line of work—but it wasn’t on the blade, which shone clean and bright.

“Come on,” she said, her voice as gentle as Aymeric had ever heard it, quiet as a grave.

He shook his head even as he took a step toward her. “I could—”

“No,” she told him, much firmer—oh, there was the flint in her eyes, ready to spark against steel. “I told you. Keep your hands clean. This is my work.”

“I know,” he insisted. Maybe this was what prayer felt like, for those more devout than he: a desperate plea to be heard, if just for a moment, by a power greater than he really understood. “But I…I do not wish to leave you alone. After.”

Hanami shifted her weight; her arm moved, too, a gentle tilt of her wrist to prop her scythe against her shoulder. “Let me worry about after,” she said. “I will make do. Are you ready?”

He took another deep breath (metal and dust and copper, from rust and from blood). The release left him feeling…deflated, somehow. It was pointless to fight her. She’d proved it, soundly, repeatedly, and—perhaps selfishly—he didn’t want to part on bad terms. Didn’t want to fight. It had been such a long, long night already.

“If you are,” he said, “then yes. I am.”

The garden surrounding the workshop reminded him of home, clearly having been lovely in its past life before being left to rot and decay in the darkness. The flowers had largely been replaced by headstones, which they wove between as Hanami led him around the hillside. Fog swirled around their ankles, making the whole landscape seem boundless; in the distance, beyond what he imagined were cliffs, there were abandoned ships’ masts canted at tired angles, a sort of forest of rigging and timber. He’d never heard any water here, but then this place was always unnaturally still. What flowers there were bent back to standing under their feet, so he couldn’t even mark the paths that she had walked before—couldn’t begin to guess where…

No matter.

Hanami led him along a meandering route through the greenery and the graves until they passed through the fence marking the boundaries of the workshop yard and into the open field. The scent of metal and rust faded into crushed grass and oncoming rain. The slope became gentler, smoother, a steady roll down into the fog and the drop, framed at its high point by the skeletal fingers of trees, and a pair of dirt mounds below it.

Fresh graves. Aymeric knew, with a certainty deeper than his marrow, that the long haft marking one would be Estinien’s rifle spear, and surely the glint at the head of the other would be from Ninira’s Tonitrus.

“On your knees,” Hanami said.

His sword would make a decent gravestone, he thought as he sank to his knees in the soft meadow grass. Better with the shield to lean against it and catch the light.

Aymeric considered closing his eyes, the better to breathe in the midnight dew and chlorophyll, and the faintest scent of sword oil and sweat, but he decided against it. The ground around him was clean, not a single blood-spatter to be found, and with the moon before him and the very edges of the trees guarding his view of the gentle slope down into the fog, he could think of few things he would rather watch as he died.

“Thank you,” he said, unable to force his voice above a whisper. It was such a stunning view. He wondered whether Hanami had taken such care to scout out places to lead Ninira and Estinien—marveled at her care in her execution.

The air was still, so he could hear her every step as she rustled the flowers underfoot. He bowed his head. “No,” she said, “keep your head straight.” It was her glove, not her sword, which brushed his jawline, lifting his chin.

He did as she asked, rolling his shoulders back—perfect posture. The silver light washed over him like icewater.

“Count back from ten,” she said.

He smiled. “Ten,” he said. Her boot crunched in the grass behind him. Aymeric thought, if the moon always looked this lovely, he could understand why some men felt compelled to worship it. “Nine.”

Hanami was a swift and merciful hunter. He never even made it to eight.

[zenigatakeibu]

' then, what about this one --- ? ' a while later, and they're here at the museum. the niwa's been getting the feeling that certain things were lost on the inspector, but of course, there was never any sort of necessity for a detective to be an art connoisseur. things like traps, extrapolation and practically being able to match any thief in wit if not skill itself... these, by some, could have been considered an exquisite 'art' as well --- but daisuke desperately wanted his mind to be off something like that, maybe just as desperately as he hoped zenigata's could be drawn away from it, if only for a little bit.

here, in places like these, works of art weren't just pricy things. the sculptures weren't just blocks of stone, cast-bronze-bricks. the enormous, impressive portrait in front of them, likewise seemed to express some sort of inexplicable, fantastical 'something else.' within the image, both a boy and man's backs were turned, the two of them dressed in curious historical wear that once upon a time must have been ordinary, their hands delicately held by one another.

daisuke's own gaze drifts over to the inspector's rough palm before he timidly reaches out for it. he quietly steps a little closer; mirroring image's stance, admiring the piece before him with bright eyes and a small smile and flush. ' i ... like this one. i think understand it . ' if nothing else, he hoped he did: the thoughts and feelings of a work of art that were desperate to be expressed, this kindness and this warmth. for both the boy in the painting, as well as the boy outside of it, the sort of greater, larger person that they nevertheless tried to carefully hold in their tender, timid hands---

was infinitely precious.

' thank you again for spending time with me, zeni-san. my dad's always a little busy, so he couldn't make it ... but now i'll get to tell everyone that i got to spend time with a great uncle instead. ' as long as he left out the fact zenigata was a detective to the rest of his family, of course!

⚖️ THE LAGALITH ART MUSEUM: ONE of Azumano’s finest. It had been the victim of a theft once upon a time– the Agate Links, if memory serves… Anonymously donated only to be stolen away not five days later. Zenigata remembers reading about it in the paper. A damn shame, really. 

       A row of pillars stand guard at the entrance, tall and proud and grand as ever, their white marble shining under the crisp winter sun. People crowd around the steps to chat amongst themselves. It’s cold out, though not uncomfortably so. The threat of snow is not so much a threat at all, more an empty promise in the face of an otherwise clear sky. Days like these you could expect to find the local park full, even despite the chill. Tickets tucked away, Zenigata follows the boy inside. Even now he can’t help but wonder if it was a good idea, coming here. People stare as they pass, watching the inspector in awe. They recognize him, he knows they do, but he presses on nonetheless.

       Ink and canvas, clay and bronze… It’s hard to grasp anything beyond the physical. He’s never had much of an eye for art. Being here feels wasted on him, like he doesn’t deserve the view if he doesn’t know how to appreciate it. Endless paintings pass by one after the other… Slowly but steadily they blur. It doesn’t take long for his attention to drift elsewhere. After all, counting exits, guards, cameras– it’s second nature. Doesn’t help that the security here is sorely lacking, either. Lupin could no doubt clear whole exhibits in the time it’d take for the guards to raise their guns. Where was their sense of duty? Of dignity-?!

       – But Daisuke’s voice finds the man just as he’s about to lose himself completely. The world comes back together with a hard blink.

       “Then, what about this one..?”

       .. The portrait is big, much bigger than any thief would know what to do with, and at that Zenigata feels an odd sense of relief wash over him. It isn’t going anywhere, not this one. Not without a fuss. With Daisuke’s hand in his he finally manages to relax.

       ❝ It is nice, isn’t it? ❞ A boy and a man, their hands linked… Father and son, perhaps? His heart squeezes a little at the thought, memories of his own father bubbling up before he can stop them. But there’s comfort in this painting– a comfort he perhaps hadn't known, all those years ago. The sort of comfort he’s taken to providing others these days. Protection. Safety. Both pillar and anchor... A fatherly shoulder to forever lean on. ❝ .. Heh. Y’know, I think I understand it, too.

       ❝ I’m glad I could come out today, kid. Really. I know I'm not always the best company, but... I appreciate you makin' the effort. ❞ A beat as Zenigata offers Daisuke a smile-- ❝ 'Nd for finally giving me a reason to spend some vacation days. Ha! ❞

[rambling22yearold]

My Views of Working in the Community Have Changed Over Time- 4 weeks in...

Throughout my years of studying and being exposed to clinical experiences, there has been none like this community block. It has not only opened me up to my own flaws and vulnerabilities but also to the systems within our country. This block began without any expectations attached because I knew that this experience was going to be completely different and unique as compared to the rest. “we will be therapists who walk the community, they know the students in the green scrubs” is what I heard. It sounded astounding, the amount of difference we could make. 

Engaging in community block programs as students in local areas, allows us to apply theoretical knowledge practically. These programs are rooted in experiential learning theories, which involve interacting with the real world and integrating new knowledge with existing ideas.

It is difficult to approach a community without any preconceived ideas. On our first day at Cato Manor, even before jumping off the bus we all hid our phones and brought no expensive equipment and accessories because we expected to get robbed if seen with them, "From what we were told". 

According to Daniel Kahneman, potential losses have a greater impact than potential gains, leading people to regret missed opportunities more than taking risks. Reflecting on my experiences, such as the workload and feedback from other students, I encountered moments of amazement, overwhelm, and frustration. However, these experiences served as stepping stones, helping me build a strong academic and personal foundation. Developing excellent time management skills was crucial, especially when faced with deadlines before starting the block.

Transitioning from a minimalistic approach to embracing urgency, as taught in Cato Manor and Denis Hurley, required unlearning and adapting to diverse therapeutic situations. It was essential to go beyond job descriptions, putting in extra effort and occasionally performing tasks beyond my role. Working as part of a multidisciplinary team (MDT) and prioritizing top-notch patient care were paramount. Fieldwork experiences, as highlighted by Lorenzo (2006), play a vital role in shaping professional behavior and preparing students for their careers.

The initial challenge of working with various patient demographics, including physical, psychosocial, and pediatric cases, was quickly apparent. While initially challenging, being assigned to a clinic offered invaluable learning opportunities. This block transformed my approach, allowing me to appreciate the diversity of conditions and the joy of treating each one daily. Overcoming initial difficulties, particularly in working with children, was facilitated by constructive feedback and a willingness to learn, leading to a newfound enjoyment in pediatric therapy.

Working at Denis Hurley with children from the Dalton Creche significantly influenced my career direction, fostering a deep love for paediatric therapy. Engaging in diverse activities and forming meaningful connections with patients underscored the therapeutic benefits of occupational therapy. This experience highlighted the importance of continuous learning, adaptability, and problem-solving skills in delivering effective therapy.

Exploring cost-effective materials and encouraging patients' creativity and engagement in therapy sessions were rewarding experiences. Observing patients' enhanced creativity and enjoyment validated the efficacy of using such materials. Despite challenges, including the need for continuous learning and problem-solving, these experiences enhanced my skills as a future therapist.

The above quotation, attributed to Dorothy, a distinguished figure in  African American civil rights and women's rights activism, serves as a testament to the profound insights I have reaped through my engagement in community service. My involvement has yielded a deep enrichment by virtue of my interactions with community members, providing me with a heightened awareness of the privilege from which I come. The individuals within these communities have not consciously chosen the circumstances in which they find themselves. Immersing oneself in such environments promotes a greater capacity for empathy, which transcends mere sympathy from a distance. Being present and taking action in delivering healthcare services to all community members has proven to play a significant role in uplifting individuals within their community.  

The primary aim of my block was to grasp the requirements of the community and its accessibility, involving in-depth research, guidance, and practical involvement. Despite my initial lack of confidence, the journey highlighted the intricacies of rural therapy, stressing the significance of mentorship and personal development. Engaging in pediatric group therapy, health initiatives, and diverse placements provided crucial learning experiences, shaping my identity as a therapist dedicated to comprehensive care. Additionally, I value and believe that the connections I've forged with the women I worked with during this block were invaluable, making the experience more manageable

This block has been instrumental in fostering a deeper understanding of societal issues, solidifying my understanding of my profession and preparing me to provide holistic care during community service. Despite its challenges, it has been a journey of lifelong learning. Leveraging the insights gained from peers and supervisors during this block will enable me to strive for excellence, not only in transforming communities but also in personal growth. I look forward to the opportunities for greater achievements that lie ahead as this journey continues.

References

Giles, D. E., Jr, and J. Eyler. 1999. The theoretical roots of service-learning in John Dewey: Toward a theory of service-learning. Michigan Journal.

Erez, M., & Zidon, I. (1984). Effect of goal acceptance on the relationship of goal difficulty to performance. Journal of Applied Psychology, 69

Eyler, J., and D. E. Giles Jr. 2009. Where’s the learning in service-learning? San Francisco: Jossey-Bass.

King, P. 1992. How do we know? Why do we believe? Learning to make reflective judgments. Liberal Education 78 (1): 2–9.

Lorenzo, T., Duncan, M, Buchanan, H and Alsop, A (Eds.). 2006. Practice and service learning in occupational therapy 2nd edition. John Wiley and sons. New York. [ Links ]

Schwartz, D., J. Bransford, and D. Sears. 2005. Efficiency and innovation in transfer. In Transfer of learning from a modern multidisciplinary perspective, ed. J. Mestre, 1–51. Charlotte, NC: Information Age Publishing.

TOP 25 COMMUNITY SERVICE QUOTES (of 59). (n.d.). A-Z Quotes. Retrieved March 29, 2024, from https://www.azquotes.com/quotes/topics/community-service.html

[autolovecraft]

He changed his business, but something always preyed upon him.

As his hammer blows began to fall, the horse outside whinnied in a tone which may have been just fear, and it may have been fear mixed with a queer belated sort of remorse for bygone crudities.

Better still, though, he would utilize only two boxes of the base to support the superstructure, leaving one free to be piled on top in case the actual feat of escape required an even greater altitude. Only the coffins themselves remained as potential stepping-stones, and as he considered these he speculated on the best mode of transporting them. Dusk fell and found Birch still toiling. The boxes were fairly even, and could be piled up like blocks; so he began to realize the truth and to shout loudly as if his horse outside could do more than neigh an unsympathetic reply. The afflicted man was fully conscious, but would say nothing of any consequence; merely muttering such things as Oh, my ankles! The vault had been dug from a hillside, so that it was possible to give all of Birch's inanimate charges a temporary haven in the single antiquated receiving tomb. In the semi-gloom he trusted mostly to touch to select the right one, and indeed came upon it almost by accident, since it tumbled into his hands as if through some odd volition after he had unwittingly placed it beside another on the third layer.

For the long-neglected latch was obviously broken, leaving the careless undertaker trapped in the vault, a victim of his own oversight. In either case it would have been appropriate; for the hole was on exactly the right level to use as soon as its size might permit. Then he fled back to the lodge and broke all the rules of his calling by rousing and shaking his patient, and hurling at him a succession of shuddering whispers that seared into the bewildered ears like the hissing of vitriol. His frightened horse had gone home, but his frightened wits never quite did that. Birch heeded this advice all the rest of his life till he told me his story; and when I saw the scars—ancient and whitened as they then were—I agreed that he was wise in so doing. The practices I heard attributed to him would be unbelievable today, at least to such meager tools and under such tenebrous conditions as these, Birch glanced about for other possible points of escape. The light was dim, but Birch's sight was good, and he did not care to imagine. He had, it seems, planned in vain when choosing the stoutest coffin for the platform; for no sooner was his full bulk again upon it than the rotting lid gave way, jouncing him two feet down on a surface which even he did not heed the day at all; though ever afterward he refused to do anything of importance on that fateful sixth day of the week. He worked largely by feeling now, since newly gathered clouds hid the moon; and though progress was still slow, he felt heartened at the extent of his encroachments on the top and bottom of the aperture. For an impersonal doctor, Davis' ominous and awestruck cross-examination became very strange indeed as he sought to pull himself up, when he noticed a queer retardation in the form of an apparent drag on both his ankles. In this twilight too, he began to realize the truth and to shout loudly as if his horse outside could do more than neigh an unsympathetic reply.

Fortunately the village was small and the death rate low, so that it was possible to give all of Birch's inanimate charges a temporary haven in the single antiquated receiving tomb. Armington, the lodge-keeper, answered his feeble clawing at the door. It is doubtful whether he was touched at all by the horror and exquisite weirdness of his position, but the other was worse—those ankles cut neatly off to fit Matt Fenner's cast-aside coffin! His head was broken in, and everything was tumbled about. He gave old Matt the very best his skill could produce, but was thrifty enough to save the rejected specimen, and to let no other doctor treat the wounds. Then he fled back to the lodge and broke all the rules of his calling by rousing and shaking his patient, and hurling at him a succession of shuddering whispers that seared into the bewildered ears like the hissing of vitriol. Dusk fell and found Birch still toiling.

[televinita]

I do, in fact, LOVE DRIVING (all caps included).

Disclaimer: I do not love or even enjoy driving downtown in big cities or on freeways with more than 3 lanes on each side (unless I can stay in one lane the whole time). I avoid those areas like the plague or make my husband drive me there whenever possible. Also I hate going out in winter if there's even a chance it might be slightly slippery, or if it's snowing more than very lightly. Also, manual transmission is the stone age devil and I would rather quit driving altogether than learn how to use a stick shift.

BUT. I do love it in general.

Every time a post goes around about how public transportation is sooooo awesome and don't you wish there was more support for it so we could all drive less, I shudder. I already can't afford a house, multi-night vacations, retirement before age 70; frankly even pet ownership is getting difficult cost-wise, between pet rent and the higher standard rental rate on the places that will let you have one. My own car, the freedom to go wherever I want whenever I want as long as I have the time, is the one pleasure I can reasonably expect to have the same way my parents did.

But more to the point, it's not just the freedom, I like the process of driving. There are so few hands-on tasks I am skilled at in this world, and while I cannot reverse at an angle well even w/ a backup camera, and would rather walk 3 miles or stay home than attempt to parallel park, I LEARNED THIS.

And it's fun. On occasion I have thought, "it would be kinda cool to have a job where I drive for a living!", until I remember that I am way too scared of piloting anything larger than a minivan (which is what I somehow got my license in btw), and also I don't like to drive other people. Also the winter-driving thing.

But my car & I are friends; she's small and easy to maneuver. I like flipping all the switches to make blinkers and wipers happen, knowing how much pressure to apply to the gas and brake pedals and when, being able to judge whether it's safe to make a left turn on a flashing yellow arrow or if that guy is clearly going above the speed limit so normally yes, but right now mmm, better not.

There are few greater joys in life than taking a drive out on rural roads -- you can go almost as fast as a freeway, but there are waaaaay fewer cars so you can often also go slower and enjoy the scenery if you prefer. But suburbs/small towns and the outskirts of cities are still fun. That's one reason I love my Adventure Days, where I sally forth to estate sales and book sales all over the metro area if I'm even slightly interested. Part of it's the destination, but part of it is also absolutely the feeling of being in control of my own mini quest. The feeling of being in a moving car, also, is a very pleasant and relaxing one -- but I get sleepy as a passenger unless I'm reading. I can enjoy it better when I'm behind the wheel.

Also great: late-night driving. I don't feel safe stepping off my property alone after 9:30 PM even in my relatively safe suburban neighborhood, except during the height of summer where there's still light until nearly 10. But I can be out in my car at midnight, just driving for the sheer pleasure of it, and it's very peaceful (especially as the volume of traffic tends to drop drastically after 9-10pm around here so there's less of the 'augh-oncoming-headlights' unpleasantness. although even that can be solved by sticking to back roads or roads with a wide median).

tl;dr I HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS and if the temperature weren't hovering in that "above freezing in daylight, below freezing at night" zone lately, I would probably be going out for a night drive right now.

inspired by my own horrible relationship with driving — a poll!

[omnitf]

Credit for this image goes to @dissolving-time. Story is mature for some language. This is another story from the Coach Stone universe. I hope you all enjoy it. :D If you’d like to see more of these stories, please join my Patreon.

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

Stone Cold

“Coach said you have to get your shot, bro.”

I gazed at the meathead that had once been my fellow prisoner. He’d already donned the dog tags that were locked in his footlocker. Muscle rippled over his body as he gazed at me holding one of the biggest rifles I have ever seen in my life.

“Chapman, do you know what that is?” I asked as I eyed the gun warily. The caliber alone would be enough to splatter my brains all over the wall.

“The name’s Champ, bro.” He said it so casually, so matter-of-factly. Had they really brainwashed him so thoroughly?

“Your name is Lance Chapman, from Enfield, North Carolina. You specialize in computer programming, like me. We were brought here against our wills, remember?”

“Nah, bro.” “Champ” let out a deep vapid chuckle. His camouflage draped over his legs, but I could see the hints of growing muscle bunching, just waiting for a good pump to press them tightly against the confines of the cloth. “Coach wants my bod first, my brains second. Huhuh.” He grinned at me, revealing perfectly white and straightened teeth.

I’d hoped to reason with him, but it was clear he was beyond that. I brandished my own pair of dog tags. Like I said, computers were my thing, both programming and the hardware. It took me a while, but I managed to get my lockbox to open, too. And without reducing myself to a wannabe army poster boy. “I have my tags, Champ. You can’t keep me here. You know once I get my tags, I’m supposed to leave. I’m supposed to report to Coach, remember?”

“But you’re not gonna, are you, bro?” he asked seriously as his brow furrowed. “You just wanna get out.”

“I have to get out to see Coach, now don’t I?” The exit was right there in bold black lettering. The lock had already disengaged on cue when I seized my tags. I just needed to get past him. If I could distract him somehow or incapacitate him, I could run.

Chapman spread his legs in a broader stance as he planted himself firmly in front of the door. “You’re not ready to see Coach yet, little bro. And Coach hasn’t called you.”

“I am ready.”

“Prove it.”

I knew a few basics from martial arts training in my youth. I’d been fortunate enough to keep up the practice in my free hours. The meathead in front of me may have had a weapon, but we were in tight quarters. It would be difficult to get that barrel pointing at me if I could stay close. And while he may have had raw strength, I had experience. I also still had my wits about me. I sighed and let my shoulders droop as I approached him. “Look, Champ, just ... let me go, okay? You and I both know this is wrong. It’s against the law to kidnap someone.”

“No can do, little bro. Coach says we need more training. Coach says we have a project to help with. Coach says muscle CHAMPs like me need to train and obey. I listen to Coach. I obey. This Champ o—”

The mantra was what I was waiting for. It doesn’t matter how big you get if you haven’t got the trained reflexes to deal with a sudden change yet. And Chapman’s mind had been either short circuited or rewired to reinforce his thuggery. I’d heard it enough times through the door. It wasn’t soundproofed. I think that was deliberate on the part of this “Coach” to give us a taste of what’s in store. Demoralizing a captive is a large part of ensuring that he or she remains compliant, after all. And I’d heard enough, “This meathead obeys,” to know this was a fulltime operation made heavy on the brainwashing. It had to be to change someone so drastically. This wasn’t just a sign of subtle change. This was downright breaking them and building them back up again into the equivalent of obedient machines.

In this case, it played in my favor, and I hate to think of it this way, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was grateful for it. The mantra made him vulnerable. I laid a hand gently on his shoulder, being sure to get close enough that he couldn’t put the barrel against me. His eyes were glassy and unseeing as he uttered the mantra that he and everyone else like him had been conditioned to speak.

Then I took him down. It was simple to sweep his feet out from under him, and the move flowed like water. Bruce Li would be proud. I followed up with a heavy blow to the side of his head with my boot. Part of our imprisonment had included removing our personal affects, so I had no idea where my street clothes were. I didn’t give the blow enough force for any serious damage, but it would be enough to daze him, maybe even knock him out if I was lucky.

I threw the door open while he groaned on the floor. I managed all of maybe two steps before my arms was seized and I was slammed against the wall. I swear, my bones vibrated from the impact. I saw a helmet with a reflective visor and the broadest chest I had ever seen in my life. This man was huge. And unfortunately for me, he was also very skilled. My arm was yanked behind my back faster than I had time to process. He pulled, and I felt my socket strain to send stabs of pain through my arm and neck. Another faceless mook strode forward. But unlike Chapman, this one was decked in full body armor.

“Well done, recruit. You’ve passed Coach’s test. You will serve in Coach Stone’s cyber unit and in Research and Development. You will obey.”

“Like hell, I will,” I swore. That rewarded me with another painful jerk of my arm while a targeted blow forced me to my knees.

“Meathead recruit will comply.” The man withdrew a syringe from a side pocket and tapped the chamber to dislodge any air bubbles, then pulled off the protective cap with a deliberate casual air of the well-practiced. The substance was green, and the soldier had no qualms over pulling my sleeve up. I squirmed, but a yank of my other arm followed by a crushing iron grip on my free arm left me tense as he stabbed the needle into my arm and depressed the syringe. He removed the needle casually and replaced the cap, then inserted the syringe into another pouch.

The two visored faces stared at one another for the briefest of moments in a silent exchange. Then they nodded as the one who injected me rose, turned and entered the room where I had been held prisoner. A low groan emanated from the space, followed by a series of loud cracks.

“Rise, meathead. Follow.”

The voice that emanated in reply was deeper than I remembered. “This meathead obeys...” An even greater shock greeted me when the lumbering brute emerged. Chapman’s muscle mass had increased dramatically, and the man’s skull had completely reformed. Sharp, angular, square features blunted his face now, and his eyes were a vivid shade of green. The oversized gun didn’t look so ridiculous for him anymore.

“What the hell...?” I murmured.

“Meathead Champ will listen to orders. Meathead Champ will obey. Meathead Champ will fire on his roommate on command. Meathead Champ will prepare to fire now.”

“What?” I balked. I wanted to squirm again, but once more, my captor brought me to heel. I tried to shift out of his grip, but the hold was too strong. Even if I went limp, he’d still be able to haul me back up again. That didn’t stop me from trying, however.

I heard a whine not unlike the sound you hear in a sci-fi movie when a blaster is being charged or a bomb is being primed. The barrel was soon directed at my face. My heart hammered as Chapman uttered his mindless acknowledgement.

“Meathead Champ obeys. This meathead is ready to fire.”

“Fire.”

There was light, a strange tingling that bordered on the pleasant, and then blackness. I came to in an empty barracks. When I rose, everything felt ... heavy, awkward. The sight of the muscles bulging against the fabric of my shirt was more than enough to unsettle me as my throat clenched and my mouth went dry. I wanted to scream, but at the same time I knew better. I journeyed over my torso, my arms, everything. All of it felt in order, albeit significantly enhanced. It was my face I dreaded the most. And true to my fears, I could feel each sharply defined contour from my own transformation that was doubtless facilitated by the rifle. As a test, I ran through pi to see just how far in the infinite decimal sequence I could get. Then I searched through the other parts of my brain. I felt no compulsion, no absentmindedness, no blank emptiness or cotton or wool. I was clear, surprisingly so, given how quickly my mind seemed to jump from place to place.

“Comfortable?”

The question came out of nowhere, and I balked and bawled as my body sent me crashing into another bunk with the increased force of my new mass.

“Well, clearly not anymore,” the voice replied urbanely. I rounded on the figure only to see a man standing at least a head taller than I. His manner was relaxed and composed. His blond hair flickered like silver in the light. And though he was completely relaxed, his body oozed that smug command and intimidation that subconsciously demanded respect from those around him. “Please, take a moment to acclimate yourself. I find a blow to the shins is never pleasant.”

I decided to stick with sitting, rather than rick another launch with a body I had absolutely no experience with. “Who ... are you?” I winced at the depth of my voice. Logic only dictated it would have changed with the rest of my physique, but I had hoped it wouldn’t.

“A scientist of sorts. Biochemistry is my specialty, though I’ve branched out into many other fields.” He chuckled. “Why don’t you just stay there and we’ll have a nice chat between the two of us?” He lowered his broad frame onto the bed I had just launched myself from and gazed at me with vivid blue eyes. “My name is Stone. And you doubtless have many questions and expletives you want to voice, most likely not in that order.”

I felt like a broken record as curse after curse and swear after swear flowed out of me in an invective tirade. Denunciations and questions boomed from me like the retort of a cannon, emphasized by a number of curses and swears until that was all I heard winding down ... and down ... and down....

“Are you finished?”

A plaintive, almost defeated, “Fuck,” hissed from me as I rested my head in two massive hands.

“Glad you could get that out of your system. Now, do you have any real questions you wanted to ask me?”

“Why?” I finally managed to ask.

“You’re a programmer. You should understand. If a program doesn’t work the way it’s intended, you go into the code, find the bug, and fix it. Sometimes it’s messy work, but the end result is worth it. I’m doing that on a global scale, or at least I will in time. Getting rid of bigotry, erasing the divide between the strong and the weak to produce a better world for everyone.”

“You broke Chapman.”

“Champ is happy where he is. He chose it. He wanted it. You two had virtually the same IQ scores and talents, at least when it came to computer engineering and programming. Unlike you, though, Champ was fighting conditions that would make it so that he could never enjoy the same level of fitness and activity that you do. Such a lack eventually results in fantasies, a longing to experience what one never has had. Chapman threw it all away because he reveled in the chance to grow and swell. And, I admit, I fed that desire while he tried to hack the mainframe. I let him see where he would ultimately end up. And I gave him a simple choice. He accepted my offer to obey. He lied to you, pretended to fail, and complied with everything I told him whenever he signed in. He is living his fantasy now, and is deliriously happy to be receiving training as a part of my Meatheads.

Rage curled my lip, but I couldn’t do a thing. I wanted to lunge at the man, strangle him, but my body wouldn’t comply. All I could do was sit and watch.

“You may have noticed by now, but my meatheads can’t do anything against me. I’m their authority figure, their alpha. Or as they like to call me, Coach. You can’t attack me because I told you to stay there. And though you may want to deny it, I know that deep down, you’re enjoying the sensation of your new body just as much as Champ is.”

“How?”

“My formula.” He shrugged his massive shoulders. “It’s not perfect yet, but the iterations I’ve produced from my original notes have been very useful in extending my control. I don’t want to be a dictator, but I’m not about to let the world stay as it is either. Shadow politics, assassinations, pointless bombings and wars, genocides, suicides. This world is a mess. I have the tools to fix that mess once and for all. And I intend to do just that. To sum it up for you, I’m my original test subject. And the formula worked wonders for me as a result, but it also rendered me ... incapacitated for a time. As a result, much of my research was lost, and I’ve had to rebuild using different iterations of my creation until I can find that special mix. On the plus side, as derivatives of my original formula, it seems that anyone exposed automatically becomes subservient to me. It makes things much simpler when dealing with intruders and espionage. It also helps with recruiting.”

“Then why didn’t you just ask me?”

“Because I wanted you to sample the goods. That, and because there are still those who can resist the full effects of my injections and other sources of integration for a certain period of time. As I said, the formula still needs work. But I like to use the less effective iterations for special cases like you. Your specialty in coding and computer engineering is something I need right now. And I want you to keep your mind focused on the task at hand, rather than on weights and muscle. That’s why I’m assigning you to our MEAT department.”

“And if I refuse?”

“I think we both know you can’t.” Stone smirked. “For the record, MEAT stands for Muscle Enhancement and Accelerated Transformation. You’ll be helping us to design and improve a number of methods and technologies to help smooth subject transitions into becoming Meatheads. And more importantly, on how to preserve their skills and knowledge while still incorporating them into the collective. In other words, research and development. Your specialty, if I recall correctly.”

“I don’t want to.”

Stone chuckled. “On the contrary. I think you do.”

“I do—” My tongue stuck. My jaw locked. I tried again. “I do—” Again, I had the same problem. Again, I couldn’t finish. “I ... do....”

Stone’s smirk widened into a sneer. “Glad we got that settled. Oh, and for the safer ones, I want you to experiment on yourself. I’m intrigued to see just what a smart obedient Meathead will look and act like.

I groaned another curse, which only further emphasized my captor’s glee. “Spoken like a true Meathead.”

“Whatever....”

“That’s right. Whatever I say, Meathead.” The cocky arrogance was gone, leaving behind a chilling glare that could cut through diamond. “And you will address me with respect as either Coach Stone, Coach, or Sir. Do I make myself clear?”

I clenched my mouth shut.

“Answer me,” Stone demanded.

“Yes, ... Sir.”

“Good.” His eyes flashed as he rose from his position. “Now follow me. I’ll guide you to your lab. You have a lot of work ahead of you, don’t you, Meathead?”

I couldn’t stop myself as I rose to follow him. “Yes, Sir, Coach.”

“That’s right.” He chuckled. “On second thought, let’s get you dressed first. Then we can visit the lab.”

“Whatever you say, Coach.”

“Good boy,” he purred. I shuddered in revulsion, both at his cold dominance and ... at the jolt of pleasure that surged with that acknowledgement. If that was how it felt now, how would I feel after a few months or years of working under him? Would I be able to resist?

...

Would I even want to?

I shuddered again. Hopefully, I would be able to find a solution before Coach made me a permanent team member. Or worse yet, before I did.

[thepaintedlady00]

Series Candidates #3: Dragon Age Fandom

In Death Sacrifice.

Alistair/Fem!Warden Elowen Cousland - rogue pairing. Currently 18 chapters are planned (can change). This one will follow the games storyline with some changes of my own and unique aspects to magic and the story. It'll include mutual pining, canon typical violence, fluff, smut, and oh my god ANGST THIS FIC DOES NOT HAVE A HAPPY ENDING IT WILL DESTROY YOU AND I WILL CONTINUE TO BRING IT UP IN EVERY OTHER DA FIC!

Blood stained the steel of his dagger, dripping onto the old stone with every step towards me he took. Duncan held the chalice out to me, face void of any and all emotion as he spoke, "You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint. For the greater good."

My hands were shaking as I took the cup, half filled with black blood. This was what I came here to do. Become a Grey Warden, stop Howe and the Blight. My fathers voice echoed in my head. A Cousland always does their duty.

I forced myself to drink from the plain silver cup, forced the pungent and burning liquid down my throat. Pain followed it, sharp and twisted as something dark washed over me. Voices echoed in my ears, visions flashed… A dragon… A horde of monsters… "You are going to die." A voice said, the dragon bearing its teeth to me. "Both of you are going to die!"

***

The second Elowen began to fall Alistair had foregone all notions of stoic tradition and taken hold of her. She was pale and shaking, her eyes clouded over with white darting frantically back and forth. Black veins pulsed up her arms as soft pained noises caught in her throat.

He'd seen The Joining before, countless times. He'd seen the death and corruption that came to those not strong enough to withstand the ritual. He'd seen it all and yet he held the girl in his arms, he smoothed his hands over her soft hair and for the first time in a long time he prayed. Not his usual, half assed prayers either, a true one. 

Duncan said nothing as the night dragged on, he merely watched and waited for her death or her to awaken again. She would wake up, he told himself, pressing his head into hers. She would wake up. 

He'd only truly known her for a few weeks, but… In an odd turn of events he'd never prepared himself for, Alistair had grown fond of this Elowen Cousland. She was a skilled fighter, far more cunning and fearless than he expected her to be at first glance, above that though she was nice… she laughed at his jokes, she offered her help to anyone that needed it and she never once complained even though she had so much to complain about. She didn't deserve this, any of it, not this pain and not whatever it was that drove her here.

If this world was willing to take someone as pure and selfless as her then the Blight could have it. Elowen would survive this… She had to. For once since his own Joining Alistair didn't think he could survive if she died now.

***

When my eyes cleared and the voices and ringing in my ears faded Duncan smiled down at me. Alistair's hands were firm on my arms, steadying me against him as his eyes looked at me in worry. "It's okay," he said, picking up on my fear. "It's over now."

"Welcome," Duncan said, squeezing my hand. "Your family would be proud."

Alistair looked away from me, to the bodies that lay beyond Duncans feet. "Two more deaths. In my joining only one of us died… But still it was horrible." He offered me a smile, small and modest, nothing like the one I was used to seeing from him. "I'm glad at least one of you made it through."

"How do you feel?" Duncan asked as he pulled me to stand.

Alistair kept me upright while I let my head clear. "That was… Worse than I'd expected."

"Such is what it takes to be a Grey Warden."

[ask-the-clergy-bc]

what did our ghoulies do for the clergy before they became band ghouls and why were they picked out?

Ooooooh, love this!! Love getting to explore different clergy roles! I love getting to play with the origins of Era IV!

Since I also make a LOT of references to my ideas of leader ghouls, I'm gonna go ahead and link that headcanon here to avoid confusion! --> [Link]

Era IV Jobs Before the Ghost Project

Aether: Aether was summoned when the ministry decided to start training successor ghouls to the current ghoul leaders. Air had finally stepped down as Beta ghoul, and the ministry was afraid others would do the same. Ather was summoned specially to become the next Omega ghoul. While Aether has his own powers of healing that took over as his main duties, he mainly shadowed the head quintessence ghoul. This included a lot of traveling, learning about Earth and human culture, and working with many different types of ghouls. There was also a lot of personal assistance to the Emeritus line, as aether ghoul healing is more effective for demon blood than normal human medicine.

When Omega was on his tours, Aether took care of his business in his stead to test how close he was to being ready. Aether was never originally meant to take part in the Ghost project until a few albums ahead. But with Omega’s sudden departure and being needed back in the Clergy, Aether was once again tested by being a band substitute. Luckily, he was a natural and has been proving himself as the next head ghoul! Handling both responsibilities and the pressure of being the Omega Ghoul.

Cumulus: Cumulus has been around for a few decades and has served enthusiastically. Her first decade was as an assistant to Papa I- her summoner. Namely as his ritual assistant and with his paperwork. She has always had a good eye for detail and organization, with a queenly air of authority about her. But Papa believes in letting his ghouls flourish to their strong suits. Until Copia’s ascension, Cumulus has been the lively and loyal personal ghoul to Sister Imperator. Serving as everything from bodyguard, personal confidant, and even enforcer to the Mother Superior. Cumulus was the very first selected for the job of band ghoul when it was Copia’s turn to head the Ghost project.

Imperator wanted a ghoul who was smart, capable, and with a good grasp of leadership to help supervise the other ghouls. Cumulus was also vouched for by Air. Her and Cirrus were both personally trained by the older ghoul when he was looking for a successor for the Beta ghoul position. While neither were chosen for that particular duty, Cumulus is happy to be a part of the band. She still keeps in touch with Imperator and sometimes acts as though she is Copia’s manager. If something goes wrong or needs to be done, Cumulus is the first to know.

Cirrus: Cirrus has gone back and forth between two duties. Serving the current Imperator and studying under the former Beta ghoul, Air. Cirrus is a tough cookie and has been a ghoulish enforcer for many abbies. Essentially keeping ghouls and siblings in line when it comes to fights or rule breaking. There are always ghouls who make sure the will of the clergy is followed and those who commit crimes are punished. This was her preferred job, rather than work with Air. Who tended to find stuffy, traditional research more important. Cirrus, as calm as she is, prefers hands on work. She’s also worked security detail for all of the Papas but most importantly, Grand Papa Nihil. Cirrus is a long time bodyguard (and baby sitter) for the Grandpapa and Sister Imperator.

Cirrus was recommended by both Cumulus and Air- since they were both practically raised by Air to be potential leader ghouls. Nihil was particularly sad to see Cirrus disappear from his entourage, but agreed she would be a wonderful fit. Also Nihil and Imperator can agreed that Cirrus keeps Copia in line by her sheer intimidating presence and powerful aura. Cirrus would be lying if she said she didn’t also enjoy the chance to do something more fun and get away from the clergy for a bit!

Mountain: Although Mountain was summoned by Papa II, he was never strictly a ghoul for the Emeritus. Personally summoned ghouls tend to be bodyguards or close entourage for their Papal summoners. For a couple of decades Mountain was an effective and reliable body guard for Papa II. But Papa eventually realized his ghoul’s talents were being wasted. Stone ghouls have been shown to have natural strength beyond most ghouls and a good eye for architecture. Mountain has been responsible for helping build new cathedrals, quarters, and even clearing land. His level headedness and bluntness have also been excellent when working with Papa II, who has supervised many of these new buildings.

Mountain being assigned to go with Copia was actually a sort of ‘good faith loan’ from Papa II. Don’t get me wrong, Papa II does NOT like Copia. He finds him opportunistic and a usurping leech… However, Copia IS chosen by Lucifer. Papa II cares about his ministry MORE than he hates Copia. Since he hasn’t had Mountain as a bodyguard for years he decides to recommend him. After all, it also looks good on him for being generous enough to support the newest singer of the band. The Ministry was happy, mainly to let the Cardinal practice working with ghouls of different types and skill sets to delegate. On tour he was accepted and chosen for both his natural talents but to help balance out all of the incredibly strong personalities of the current ghouls.

Rain: Rain was a very behind the scenes ghoul, and rarely worked in the public congregation. He was the archivist assistant to the current head water ghoul, Delta. Delta is one of the oldest serving ghouls who now takes care of the Ministry’s protected collections of records. Rain has happily kept a quiet existence processing old and new registrations for the entire ministry. At one point Rain had studied directly under Delta with Water and Mist- all powerful water ghouls who are being trained for greater works. Rain loved playing music but never considered himself one to be ever picked for anything but reorganizing entire archives and dusting off old books.

Rain was recommended by Mist after her short stint with the Ghost project and Papa III. While she wanted to go on tour, she was needed elsewhere to train. She could vouch for Rain’s hard work and need to open up and embrace his potential. Copia was happy to take the water ghoul, as was shown to have indelible talent and an agreeable personality. The touring has definitely made Rain want to be more active in the ministry and with his fellow ghouls.

Swiss: Swiss was actually pretty high ranked before he became a band ghoul! While not part of the leader ghouls for the entire ministry, Swiss was the top ghoul in one of the main cathedrals outside of the head abbey. This meant he directed, advocated, and watched over all of the ghouls a part of the cathedral. Making sure all duties were done and all ghouls were taken care of. Swiss is a pretty strong ghoul in his own right. While he is fire he was born from two mixed ghouls of different elements. So he is well versed in different elemental energies and knowledge. His easy going nature and quick wit makes him a favorite among siblings and ghouls alike. Higher Clergy also worked with him to make accommodations and holidays for the ghouls.

Swiss was hand picked by Copia who worked with him pre Ghost project. Copia has always valued Swiss’s hard work and ability to get along with everyone he met. Swiss was agreed by Imperator and the ministry to be a great ghoul. Not just in vocals but bringing everyone together and interacting with the fans and staff. Swiss accepted the position with glee. He loves doing ceremonies at his home abbey, and a Ritual is nothing different- just bigger! Plus, Swiss will never turn down a chance to sing.

Ember: Ember has been strong but an entire pain in the ass of the Ministry for a LONG time. There have been many times he was almost sent back to Hell because he was difficult to control. Ember has calmed down in recent years, but he can still be a bit of a thorn in everyone's side. But he has so much potential within the Ministry, he’s too valuable of an asset. At first he was summoned as the potential candidate to be the next Alpha ghoul, for when Alpha eventually steps down. But to help him adjust to the responsibilities he had been shipped to many places with many duties. He’s been everything from a guard, to ritual assistant, to attack dog.

Eventually he found a spot with Papa III right before he went on tour as his bodyguard. Their energies actually worked very well together and he was one of the few before Copia who was able to give him the right outlets he needed. Ember was hand chosen to be a bassist by Papa III when Alpha had to return with Omega to the Ministry. Ember had originally asked to be guitarist, but the Ministry was interested in testing Ifrit to be the next Alpha ghoul. Ember was just happy to play but was absolutely thrilled when Copia asked for him to play head guitar.

[aintgonnatakethis]

@worlds-tallest-fairy Not eaten, I'm just a criminally slow replier I'm afraid 😭

Yeah, apart from Spencer there aren't any actual breakdowns as such, are there? Surprising, as I reckon cabin fever would set in pretty damn quickly given the dismal situation they've found themselves in. The stones are the one thing keeping them mentally sane, but physically sane? Their bodies never get a break and that has to wear at them. For Rush, do you think the lack of stimulation would good/bad for him? I've found becoming overstimulated with autism to be extremely easy, and the lack of it to be pleasant, though I do have moments where my ADHD demands the opposite. Agree it would have been interesting to explore the dynamics of those on board from a mental health perspective more, beyond the psych evals that last only one episode. Long term depression, hypervigilance, PTSD, understimulation, lack of sunlight, starvation, dehydration… Some of them would be way more fucked up after 2 years up there than they are in the show imo.

I don't think there's any way in hell Rush would be able to pass a proper psych eval tbh, so I reckon the SGC rubberstamped him. Certainly not an uncommon thing where the military is concerned, who are far more more interested in what uses they can make of people than their members' health, physical or mental. Though I do have a section in the Telford-recruits-Rush fic I wrote during lockdown with Telford coaching Rush through the particulars of what questions he'll be asked, and Valium being a common thing to acquire from senior military medical personnel before the 'interviews'. I don't know if the latter is common irl obviously, but I can't see the military being a very "woke" environment, to put it mildly. Linking back to toxic masculinity, I imagine that ideas like PTSD = shellshock = cowardice are still quite common. So Rush wouldn't want to show weakness and the shrinks wouldn't want to see any weakness, which leaves Rush in a real bad place mentally.

I LOVE the idea of his neurodivergence making it so the chair accepts him easier than others! Hell, Destiny too. She never speaks to anyone else, right? (I need me another rewatch!) So maybe the unique way his brain works makes him the perfect person to do it all: break the cyphers, sit in the chair, talk to Destiny, carry out her mission. It makes me think of Telford saying to McKay: "What is it with genius and social skills?"

(plus can we discuss him thinking it was still Rush in David’s body and refusing to space Kiva and her people?? Because, despite their friendship, I truly believe Young would’ve spaced David for the greater good. He would’ve hated himself for it, but he would’ve at least given it more thought. I’m talking myself into OT3 territory here.)

Ahhh, I'm afraid I have an unpopular opinion about that scene. 😂 I think he sees David's body combat roll out of the gate and knows that it's David. I wouldn't call Rush clumsy, but neither would I call him graceful, and certainly not in a military-style way. So my thought process is that he only just got his best friend back, and can't bring himself to kill him again (even though the logical solution to that situation would be to vent the room and have TJ standing by to instantly provide CPR to David. Hell, they wouldn't even have to vent the room all the way, would they? Just enough to have everyone on the ground gasping for air and then they could amass at every entrance and storm the place… Or the most sensible thing which would be to vent the room pre-invasion, and then all the Lucians would have just stepped through into a vacuum. Anyway 🤷‍♂️) Both ways of viewing the scene are legit, don't get me wrong, I just have my David blinkers welded to my head by this point lmao

I would have really liked for the audience to see the actual body and not who's inhabiting it more. For that moment when the captured alien screams and it could've been Louis Ferreira and for seeing Lou Diamond Phillips in that jacket, but also for the shits and giggles. Have you ever watched Farscape? There's a bodyswap episode in that where the audience doesn't get their hand held and it was really fun seeing the acting choices everyone made.

I love Dom!Rush, specifically your take on it. I think he is in danger of being type casted, not unlike Young views him, as a submissive “not-doing-domination/masculinity-right” man vs. who he shows himself to be and the background you can read into him.

YES! Fandom in general does that so much: takes the smaller, shorter guy and automatically makes him the sub, or at the very least the bottom. Why I have to ask myself, when Young and Telford are right there! Imo it's so much hotter for the big tough guy to be the one being fucked! Telford especially gives me massive sub vibes lol

Me again! *waves*

So what are your thoughts on where Rush falls on the identity spectrum? (I’m thinking aspec specifically but also just in general). Any head canons for him specifically?

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh @worlds-tallest-fairy you've activated me, and have joined @tragedycoded in asking a simple question and getting an essay long infodump for your troubles! 😁 I offer you a great many thoughts about Doctor Nicholas Rush, below the cut because LONG LONG LONG

I've always thought of him as demisexual for sure. I can't for the life of me remember where I wrote it (the ADHD makes everything blur together: stuff I've actually written, stuff I've only talked about, stuff I've read, stuff I've daydreamed; so I never know where my headcanons come from >.<) but I do distinctly remember writing Rush telling Young that Gloria was the only woman he's ever slept with. Young's response was something like: "I bet she really liked that", in typical Young fashion completely missing the point!

I've seen him also classed as demiromantic, but I like to lean towards the Love At First Sight trope for him when it comes to Gloria. There must be a specific label for people who experience romantic attraction but only very very rarely, right? Personally I think that would be a good fit for him, and he'd still fall under the aromantic umbrella.

I don't think he has a gender preference for either sexual or romantic encounters. Intelligence and the ability to engage with someone on an intellectual level are far more important factors for him. Was 'sapiosexual/romantic' deemed to be a problematic term? I can't remember, but as a descriptor I feel it works for him. He wouldn't be able to form a connection with someone if they couldn't meet him stroke for stroke mentally. A friend once said that the way he banters with Young is verbal sparing as a love language and they couldn't have been more right!

As for other headcanons, I agree with the popular ones of him being autistic and that he was abused as a child, though for the latter the general use I see is that it was his father who was the abusive one, while I think it's much more interesting if it was his mother. There would be an extra layer of shame there due to society's views on gender and how gender roles/stereotypes are "supposed" to work.

As for my own headcanons… I think he worked on the docks in Glasgow when he was a boy, as back then it would be the easiest way he'd be able to get honest work, and Glasgow as a costal city would have had a booming fishing trade. In the 450k fic I wrote during lockdown, I have this interaction between Rush and Telford (excerpt starts halfway through a scene - Gloria's still alive when Telford recruits Rush and he's driven them to her doctor's appointment. Him and Rush are in the waiting room. Link near the start is to another excerpt which explains the eel thought.)

Telford sat and Rush began to pace. There was a slight ache in his wrists which he presumed was from recoil and it helped ground him as he made laps of the room. The fish were still there; he counted them this time: seven. He hoped the tank was large enough for seven. He knew that fish required more space than was obvious. He could feel Telford’s eyes on him, but didn’t have anything particular to say to him so didn’t turn around. He watched the fish swim to and fro and thought about how different their movements were to that of the Goa’uld. Maybe if he watched eels, like Telford had said, he would see similarities. He wondered if intelligence factored into the way you moved, or whether it was instinctual. What was the most intelligent fish? He knew dolphins were smart. He had the impression that seahorses were too but wasn’t sure where he’d received that piece of information. Were seahorses fish? He supposed they must be. When he pictured fish he didn’t think of seahorses or dolphins or these small pretty things in front of him. He thought of solid and grey and gasping. They were always so fucking cold.

“So,” Telford said from just behind his shoulder. Rush jumped because the state of the room hadn’t had Telford in that position a second ago. A long awkward moment passed where it was obvious that Telford had noticed and it was equally as obvious that he was resisting the urge to say something about it, maybe out of respect of where they were or from a fear that if he said the wrong thing Rush would snap apart. “I’m watching the fish,” Rush said tightly. “You like fish?” Telford asked, sounding careful but almost drifting into boredom despite himself. Rush hooked a hand over his shoulder in an ineffectual attempt to create some sort of barrier between them. “Not particularly.” “You said you knew how to spear fish.” Rush thought this was a strange thing to say. He looked around. He couldn’t see any way to access the tank and nothing that could be fashioned into a spear. He felt if he said that then Telford might produce a spear out of his back pocket in typical absurd fashion. “I don’t think they’d approve of us killing these fish,” he said instead. Telford laughed and the sound relaxed something in him Rush couldn’t put a name to. “It’s not exactly a common talent.” It took a moment for Rush to realise that Telford was asking him a question, and maybe complimenting him at the same time. He knew that normally he would shy away from sharing personal information, even if that information didn’t seem technically relevant. But this wasn’t a normal place; he didn’t like doctors or waiting rooms, and he didn’t like fish either. Suddenly he didn’t want to be looking at them anymore, so he turned his back and lent against the glass, transferring his focus to Telford. “I worked on fishing boats when I was a kid,” he said, trying to resist the urge to throw up. He couldn’t decide whether the genuine interest in Telford’s eyes was calming or disturbing. “It was an applicable skillset.” Telford watched him for a few seconds, and then spoke quietly, “I only learned to swim when I was fourteen.” This, Rush thought, was an incredibly pertinent slice of data. It narrowed the possible places Telford could have grown up considerably. Maybe somewhere within this desert’s radius? Rush didn’t know how many deserts there were in America. He knew there were Great Lakes somewhere but couldn’t have pointed them out on a map even if there was a gun to his head. But it still took huge swaths of the country out of the equation: no coastline, nowhere near lakes or large rivers and a great many places had those things. Give me a map, Rush thought, and I’ll show you where you could have come from.

He smiled. “I can’t imagine you being fourteen.” Telford ducked his head and grinned. He looked very charming like that. Rush imagined a fourteen year old Telford flailing about in a pool and found it very amusing. Telford spoke softly, looking up through his eyelashes, “Tell me how to spear fish.” Rush didn’t have the faintest clue how David managed to make that sound flirtatious. What a preposterous idea: to bond in any way over the killing of another creature. Have you ever tortured anyone? Have you ever killed an alien? So what, he was a hypocrite? He didn’t give a shit. “You have to stand very still,” he said. He was holding eye contact and it felt as if he wasn’t able to drag himself away. “If you move they’ll know what you’re doing. You can’t let them know you.” Telford shifted his weight so he was leaning into Rush’s space. The glass at Rush’s back felt very unforgiving as far as any attempt at retreat was concerned. “You’re talking about doing it by hand?” Telford’s voice was quiet and impressed and Rush wanted more of it desperately.

“Yeah.” He lifted his hand and made a spear-stabbing motion. Telford definitely looked appreciative now. “I thought you meant with a spear gun.” Rush shook his head, feeling a little like he was the one underwater instead of the fish behind him. “The fishermen didn’t have that kind of money. We used spears and nets.” Telford’s eyes flicked down over Rush, almost quick enough to miss. “You gut them too?” “Yeah.” The word almost stuck in his throat. He could remember the blood coming from the fishs’ gills after they were cut and how it always seemed like such a small amount of blood to possess. Rush had always thought that fish should be larger than they were, and therefore have more blood. He assumed the idea had come from a childish mind. “I bet you’d look good with a knife.” Rush came back from the visions of blood to find Telford very close, one hand resting on the glass next to Rush’s head. He didn’t want to do this here. It didn’t fit. It wasn’t exact. It didn’t make sense in the context he’d been given. Telford moved and there was a hand drifting gently up and down Rush’s arm. Rush shifted away. “Nick?”

Rush wrapped his arms around himself, as if somehow that would make a difference. “I’m sorry.” He’d entered into something he couldn’t finish. Why did he have to lead people on like this? What did he think was going to happen when he started talking about killing things? He knew what David was like. Why couldn’t he think of these things ahead of time? Why did he always do this? “I feel very guilty right now.” At least that was the truth, even if Telford would draw a different conclusion than what the reality actually was. Rush’s face felt hot at the blatant weakness he was showing. “You shouldn’t feel guilty,” Telford said slowly. “You’re not doing anything.” He was right, Rush tried to grasp. Telford was the one who was leaning forward, invading his space. Rush was just standing here. He wasn’t doing anything. He couldn’t quite convince himself. He let out a self-deprecating, scornful laugh. “You think mere action affects guilt.”

“If thoughts were a crime I think we’d have bigger problems.” Telford very deliberately placed his hand back on Rush’s arm, left it there a few long moments, and then withdrew entirely, taking a few steps to the side and leaning against the glass himself. Rush watched him watch the fish. He didn’t seem angry about the sudden change of direction. If Rush had been in his place, he would have. He would have felt hard done by. He didn’t want Telford to think he wasn’t up to this. He would have continued their conversation if they’d been elsewhere, just not here.

So he's a strong swimmer (though it would depend on if he kept up with it in California as to how strong, as the muscles you use for swimming will get weaker if unused just like any other muscle), and an apt catcher-of-fish. It always annoys me when we have the Young-and-Rush-stranded-on-a-planet-together trope and Rush proves himself to have negative points in his Survival Stat. Not only because of the spear-fishing thing, but also because he grew up in poverty - he would have had to steal and learn certain skills to be able to survive. He definitely wouldn't be useless! Hell, another headcanon is his criminal activity history which I'll get to in a second, but I bet he could rig up some snares as well, from sneaking onto the posh estates' land for rabbits and the like.

Now, crime!

Not too long ago I did a felony bingo tag game for pre-canon Rush, and I came to the conclusion that Rush as a kid had shit going on. He had a lot of run-ins with the police, starting from when he was 8 and acting as an early warner for street dealers, to waiting until rich people went on holiday and robbing their houses, to his discovery that he rather enjoys setting things on fire! 😈 I couldn't quite manage to get a bingo sadly, but I'm interested to know what you think?

As for Gloria, Rush was terrified of meeting her parents because her family were rich and therefore he assumed they'd hate him. Her parents however turned out to be the sweetest people. Her brother was the twerp.

That made Gloria's lips twitch in amusement. Despite her not liking him fighting she did value his strength. Rush could still clearly recall the look of restrained glee on her face when he had punched her brother in the nose, the man having spoken down to him once too often.

I also remember writing a bit in the 450k lockdown fic where Rush tells Telford about hitting Gloria's brother and how from the expression on his face it was the first time he'd been hit in his entire life, and the two of them having a Masculine Bonding Moment™ over it, but I can't find it in the mess that is my filing system (multiple stories in one document with no way of finding specific pieces unless I can remember the exact wording for CTRL+F 💀)

I think he's also got some ADHD going on, though it's undiagnosed the same as the autism. Technically there is free healthcare in the UK, but only at what I would call the 'point of sale'. You can go to a general practitioner and be prescribed meds (unless they're specialised medications which can only be prescribed by a specialist - stimulant ADHD meds being one example - and then you have to go on a looooong waiting list), but you still very much have to pay for the prescriptions. It's obviously cheaper than in the US, but having just looked at my prescription list, if I didn't have a prescription prepayment certificate - which is £114.50 a year - I would instead be paying £1,306.80 a year, which would be impossible to maintain. Fairly, I'm on quite a few meds, but Rush's parents - being the shits they are - wouldn't want to even try to fork out a fraction of that, never mind drive him to any appointments. And after he'd got away from them, he wouldn't try to get diagnosed because of the idea that asking for help = weakness that's been drilled into him.

He's obviously got problems with authority, and I think it's worse when it comes specifically from other men. He's gentle with Chloe in a way he would never be if she were a man. I think this stems from suffering extreme bullying from other men for his entire life, due to the way he looks, speaks, etc. Men like Young who think they're automatically better than him because they're more masculine… Well, I'll have to do a separate post to infodump about Young, but Rush has met a lot of men like him who instantly dismiss him as weak or in need of protection or not up to the task of Being A Man because he's small and has long hair and glasses and isn't performing masculinity correctly. This could tie into the headcanon I've seen going around the last few years of him being a trans man - there are a lot of really interesting discussions going on in the trans community about masculinity, the demand of a performance of it, and the societal consequences for perceived failure that I really relate to. Before people started writing trans Rush I'd deliberately avoided reading anything in any fandom (or indeed media in general) that depicted trans people, due to the fear of transphobia cropping up. I get enough of that irl - I didn't want to accidently stumble across it in my downtime, you know? Thankfully that hasn't happened in the SGU fandom, but I still wouldn't venture into other fandoms to read trans stuff and I also don't know if I'd want to write it myself.

But coming back from that tangent, this attitude he's been received with his whole life informs the way he is now with men like Young: impatient, dismissive, defensive; because he knows the doubt in his abilities is coming, and he's sick and tired of trying to prove himself to people who make snap judgements about him. For example when Young makes the truly absurd leap that Rush knew Destiny would recharge fine in the sun and let them launch the shuttle with a ton of a supplies on it anyway, Rush doesn't even try to defend himself. He's thinking 'what's the point? Why should I put in an imbalanced amount of emotional labour to convince people I'm innocent when there'll just be something else to mistrust me over tomorrow, whether I'm guilty or not?' He keeps secrets like the bridge because he's so used to having to make himself indispensable, otherwise people will discard him at the first opportunity.

I do find it really interesting that he 100% doesn't expect physical violence from Young. When Young tells him he knows about the whole framing-for-murder thing, Rush approaches him without fear. I could even go so far as to say it's a bad acting choice because 1. Rush knows men like Young are violent due to past experience and 2. Young's body language is clearly predicting violence: stepping back when Rush approaches so that they're on level ground and squaring his body straight on. Rush should recognise shit like that! But when Young punches him, there's explicit shock on Rush's face. I want to come up with an explanation for why he doesn't expect violence from an angry wronged military man. What do you think?

What other headcanons do I got… He's good at Domming, not only the main event but the pre and post requirements as well. He has a phobia-like reaction to dealing with his finances due to growing up poor, so Gloria handled everything to do with money. He baits people because he knows they'll hate/hit/etc him soon anyway, so he gets ahead of it and says/does things that make people hate/hit him and that way he's still the one in control. He is super self-sabotaging.

Phew! I'm gonna go have a lie down 😂 Am excited to hear other peoples' thoughts as always!

[utilitycaster]

Level 14!

let’s go down the list except Fjord last because there are two paths he can go by but in the long run there’s still time to change the road you’re on

Jester and Caduceus: no additional spell slots, although they can prep an additional spell as they always can upon leveling up (both are now able to prep 19 spells). Eighth level spells show up at L15 and honestly it’s a short list (for those wondering: control weather is very handy but they might not get that in time to battle the takers, antimagic field will be good when they take on Trent at some point in the future but probably not yet, earthquake could be pretty nasty against enemies in the distance, and holy aura grants some great benefits but does require an extremely expensive relic and mostly I just want to know what a 1000 GP relic of The Traveler will be). They do however get improved Destroy Undead (up to CR 3 now), and a slightly better chance at divine intervention (not relevant for 7 days for Caduceus, but maybe Jester will be able to drag Artagan from the bar?)

Caleb: like the other full casters, no additional spell slots. He does get two new spells for free and personally speaking after looking into how antimagic fields interact with concentration I would love to see delayed blast fireball. I’m saving 8th level spell speculation for when they level up to 15 because the wizard list is huge, and more importantly, Caleb gets a subclass feature this level! He is now a master transmuter and can use his stone in four ways: he can transmute a nonmagical object no larger than a five foot cube into a different nonmagical object of similar size and no greater value; he can remove all curses, diseases, and poisons from one creature and bring them up to full HP; he can cast raise dead without a spell slot (diamond still required)(unless it’s Yasha); or he can restore youth, reducing a creature’s apparent age by a minimum of 13 years (3d10 or 13, whichever is higher), but with no lifespan extension. Any of these options will destroy the stone, and he’d need to create a new one, which takes 8 hours, after a long rest.

Veth: She learns a new spell, which can be up to 3rd level, and can be anything on the wizard spell list (as opposed to her usual limitation to the enchantment and illusion list). Also she hasn’t use mage hand to distract people, I don’t think, unless I missed it in last week’s battles, which is a L13 ability that Sam might review upon leveling up. As mentioned, she could take Leomund’s Tiny Hut, but also counterspell, blink, nondetection, remove curse, sending...it’s a good list. I would advise personally against major image just because that’s illusion, so she could take it at any level she gets to learn new spells or swap out an older spell for it.

Yasha: in addition to a zillion HP, she gets the most metal ability of all, Rage Beyond Death. If she is raging and is taken to 0 HP, she does not go unconscious. She still makes death saves as normal - and presumably, if she is hit she still takes a death saving fail (although not an auto-crit since she’s not unconscious) but she will remain conscious until her rage ends, and also she can, as far as I can tell from the wording, be healed despite failing 3 death saves and remain alive as long as her rage has been continuous. L14 is a fun in-between state because at L15 she gets persistent rage, which makes her very, very hard to kill as a result - it pretty much needs to be an insta-kill, like disintegrate or finger of death or being taken to -154 HP, since otherwise she just rages until healed. But at L14 she does have to maintain rage through attacks or damage.

Beau: Beau is now proficient in all saving throws, which means +9 to WIS and INT, +6 to CHA, and +8 to CON which will help a lot against Lucien next time (as she was rolling with just a +3 to CON last week). Her strength and dex saves are unchanged since monks have proficiency in those to start. She also can spend a ki point to reroll a failed save. And finally, her unarmored movement speed is now 55 feet per round, which means with step of the wind she can do 165 ft/round, which is 18.75 mph or about 30 km/h. (note: technically this is not superhuman; Usain Bolt’s record 100 m dash comes out to 37 km/h. However, that was for under 10 seconds. A rested Beau can do this for 14 rounds which is 84 seconds, covering about 700 meters. Using the 800m dash world record, the top speed is about 29 km/h; since it’s not a perfect comparison, Beau is at the very least matched with the (male) world record holder for that distance and possibly a bit faster).

Fjord: Fjord is currently at L10 Warlock/L3 Paladin.

Another level in Warlock gives him two major benefits: a third 5th level spell slot which like his other warlock spells refreshes on a short rest, and a mystic arcanum, which is essentially a once-per-day 6th level spell. The arcanum options are interesting and a few don’t seem very in line with his patron (somehow, create undead, mental prison, or soul cage don’t really seem like great choices) but arcane gate is highly on-brand - it’s basically Now You’re Thinking With Portals (and means that he could essentially allow the whole party to dimension door, with the restriction that it must be somewhere he can see). Conjure fey is sort of the same idea as conjure greater demon except fey, so I don’t really see the benefit; Eyebite is a solid debuffing option; Flesh to Stone lets him petrify people if he can maintain concentration and they fail their saves; Mass Suggestion is exactly what it sounds like (and lasts 24 hours without concentration, although there’s a save and it breaks if you attack the creatures affected); the various elemental investiture spells which could be handy in combat although would make it hard for the other melee fighters in the Nein; scatter, which is also very on brand in that it lets him teleport other people around; and we know True Seeing from the clerics and it’s probably not worth it since he’s got the sword and said clerics can do the same thing.

L4 in Paladin’s main benefits are: gets him closer to higher paladin levels, gets him an extra prepared L1 spell, and he finally gets the ASI/feat the rest of the party got two levels ago. For ASIs, bumping up strength and dex wouldn’t hurt - a higher AC and saves are always nice even if his attacks are with his maxed-out charisma - but the feats look better, honestly. Some that stand out to me are are inspiring leader (he’d have to do it twice to cover everyone, but it would give everyone +19 temp HP); mage slayer which is a feat I really like but also makes sense for Fjord, who is often in melee against spellcasters; spell sniper (which would give him a 240 range with Eldritch Blast, and a bonus cantrip, which he could take from any list although charisma casters are the smartest option); or prodigy, which Beau has and which would give him some extra skills and expertise.

[princess-of-riviaa]

Wicked Rose

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Rosa Malvada (OFC)

Summary: Geralt is sent on a mission that sends him to the doorstep of vampire Rosa Malvada. Steamy smut insues.

Warning(s): dirty talk, biting kink, SMUT, blood, both characters are very dominant

Word Count: 3092

There were countless reasons to enjoy an immortal life. The power was intoxicating--there was no greater feeling than knowing you were the greatest threat in any given room. The access to knowledge that stretched across every part of the realm, the secrets that stayed trapped within country borders--all of it there for you to revel in. But the greatest thing of all, the thing that brought satisfaction even in the darkest of nights, was being the kind of monster everyone believed vampires to be.

A regular vampire proved to be a challenging opponent, even for a skilled warrior. The Higher Vampires were impossible to kill. With their wit and strength, they ran circles around mortal men. Not even the legendary witchers could end them; only a Higher Vampire could kill one of his brethren, which had only happened twice in all of history. And Rosa Malvada, Princess of the Higher Vampires, was the most feared and powerful of her entire clan.

Geralt of Rivia, the most famous witcher along the west coast, had been stalking her for three days now. He’d been careful, calculating every movement before he made it. It was cute, actually, how much effort he put into being stealthy. Little did he know Rosa had noted his presence within the first twenty minutes of his days-long hunt. She’d considered draining the blood from his body and burying him in some forgotten part of the woods. Who was he to think that a centuries-old Higher Vampire--a princess of their clan--wouldn’t note his presence? How dare he think she would fall into his trap! But she’d been curious. She’d never seen a witcher hunt, and it had been appealing enough that she’d played the part of a happily oblivious vampire, letting him follow her from town to town, never letting him realize that she was drawing him ever closer to her nest.

The night of the full moon, Geralt had decided to make his attack. He’d been smart enough to drink one of those witcher elixirs he kept on his body--a wise precaution she had to give him credit for. But even that magical potion couldn’t take her down. Not before she found out why he’d been hunting her. Not before she’d have her way with him.

His boots were near-silent as he strode through the abandoned halls of an ancient castle along the coast of Temeria. It had been Rosa’s home since an ancient royal family had decided to abandon it due to the rumors of an evil vampire lurking in the halls at night--a rumor that had proved true, since Rosa had been sloppy enough to leave behind a mess of the guards’ bodies she’d drunk from. The family had been so scared they left with nothing but the clothes on their backs. The belongings they’d left behind were now part of Rosa’s trove.

Geralt pulled out two swords from his back, careful to make his movements as silent as possible. His ears perked up at every breath of the wind. That witcher elixir had heightened his senses, Rosa realized, and if she wasn’t careful, her game of cat and mouse would come to an end much too soon. She watched from the shadows as he stopped at the end of a hallway. He looked like a mountain in all that black armor--a mountain she wanted to climb. The sight of him was distracting--

Until he cocked his head, a predator finally spotting his prey.

“The shadows won’t hide you from me.” He spoke in a whisper, but Rosa heard him perfectly, as if he’d whispered the words in her ear. Rosa stood in a corner of darkness, and with thirty feet of distance between them, she thought it would have been harder for him to spot her. She was impressed.

“What makes you think I’m hiding?” she purred in response, moving through the shadows so he could catch a glimpse of her blood-red eyes.

“I don’t want to kill you,” he admitted as he turned to face her. That perfect face was paler than usual, enough so the veins under the surface of his skin were visible. And those eyes--darker than the shadows that now cloaked Rosa. He was the pure embodiment of death.

Rosa had never wanted a man more.

“Then what are you doing here?” She forced her tone to remain clipped, despite the desire starting to pool between her thighs.

“A descendant of the family who once lived here,” he began. “He’s paid me to return a lost family crest to him.”

Over her dead body. “Everything within these walls belongs to me. If they wanted some family crest, their ancestors should have brought it with them before they fled this place.”

“I’ve been paid to finish the job,” he insisted.

“Whatever amount they’ve promised you, I’ll double it.” She had more than enough gold to spare. Make enough calculated kills, drink from the right kind of people, and inheriting chests of gold becomes as easy as breathing.

“Come out of the dark. Maybe I’ll consider your offer.”

“Drop those blades,” she compromised, “and I’ll go anywhere you want, Witcher.”

Metal clinked against stone, a riotous sound amongst the silence of the dead castle. Geralt’s hands went slack at his sides. It was a mirage. An act of relaxed calm hiding a hunter about to pounce.

Rosa was precise with her movements, careful to never move within his reach even as she evaded the cover of darkness. His eyes slid along her body so sensually that her body burned everywhere he looked. It was almost enough to get her to step towards him. Almost. She lifted her chin higher, confident in the curve of her hips and the swell of her breasts that he now took in. Blood-red hair curled down her back, stark against the white dress she wore.

He sniffed audibly before muttering, “I didn’t know vampires could be aroused by anything other than blood.”

He could smell the lust dripping between her thighs. It only made her want him more, somehow.

She retorted, “I didn’t realize witchers could be so attractive.”

Silence filled the air as they stared at each other, both resisting the urge to close the distance between them and take what they both were craving.

“Afraid to want a monster, Witcher?” she taunted.

A warning growl was the only response he gave.

“I’ll pay you to leave empty-handed tonight, to return to the man who paid you and insist that this precious family crest no longer exists.” She took half a step towards him--the only amount of distance she dared to close between them. “I’ll pay you in gold. Or, if there’s another form of payment you’d prefer, I’d happily let you indulge in that too.” The smile that tugged at her lips was flirtatious. It only grew as Geralt’s gaze dropped to her mouth, those darkened pupils missing nothing.

He was silent. A man of few words. That was fine--Rosa would be sure to fill the silence as he filled her tonight.

She spread her arms. An open invitation. All he had to do was take it. “Come on, Geralt. Take what we both want.”

Still, he hesitated.

“Would you prefer it if I beg?” she wondered.

He pounced. Half a second passed before he had her pressed against the wall, her back pressed tightly against his chest. She ground her ass into his hard-on. Oh, fuck. The stories of a witcher’s girth weren’t just stories. One of his hands moved to her hip, grinding her body against his erection, while the other tugged hard enough on her hair to force her to look up and back at him.

“I’d like to hear you beg,” he growled.

Yeah, right. She dug her elbow into his stomach hard enough to make his grip loosen on her. A second later he was the one trapped against the wall. She held onto his wrists with a grip so tight not even a witcher’s strength could get him out.

“Sorry, darling, but I don’t beg for anyone.”

Before he could say anything, she licked up the column of his throat. His witcher heart was slow, but his pulse still made her toes curl. She longed to know what he tasted like, longed to know if he tasted better than he would feel when he was balls-deep inside of her.

The sensation of her tongue on his skin made a low growl elicit from the back of his throat, a sound so intoxicating that Rosa did, for a moment, contemplate begging him to fuck her if she had to. She needed this man inside of her, needed him to mark her up and fuck her so well she couldn’t walk right for a day afterwards.

“You don’t beg?” Geralt's voice was a low timber in her ear, making her shiver with arousal. And then his hand was around her throat while the other one went to the sensitive mound between her legs. “Then you’ve never had a Witcher fuck you.”

A moan fell from her lips before she could stop it. Her body was pure reaction now; there was no more room for her pride to decide what she would do. She was merely a reaction to every move Geralt made. She was at his mercy.

In one flash of movement Geralt picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder, carrying her off through the castle like game he’d just proudly hunted down. He stopped at what was once the duke’s quarters, but had been Rosa’s quarters for centuries now. The room was filled with piles of clothes, books, and gold. Crimson sheets were thrown about the bed on the far wall, which was where Geralt strode for now. He was gentle as he set her down but the look in his eyes was wild and ravenous. She had no doubt her eyes held the same kind of animalistic hunger.

“Ever fucked a vampire before?” she questioned as she sat up and started untying his breeches.

“No,” was his simple reply, his voice a deep, rumbling baritone that made Rosa’s stomach knot with need.

She pulled down his breeches enough for his cock to spring free and--wow. Whether it was the Witcher mutation or Geralt had been blessed by the gods themselves, Rosa didn’t particularly care. Not as her mouth literally watered at the site of his thick, long cock, already glistening with precum. Dark curls swirled around the base of his shaft. A thin vein ran along the length of his cock from base to tip and she practically moaned. She wrapped her hand around his length, softly caressing the velvet of his sensitive skin as she began to jerk him off. He growled in approval. It wasn’t long before her skilled hand had him bucking his hips, desperate for her to increase her pace so he could cum. But she continued her slow assault on his throbbing cock, enamored by the look on his face as she teased him. Precum continued to fall from his tip. It mixed with her hand to make a sinful squelching noise. That, along with Geralt’s grunts and growls, was the only sound in the room.

Rosa finally pulled her hand away when she decided she’d tortured the Witcher long enough. His eyes were lidded, heavy with lust, but they widened with arousal as he watched her lick up every last drop of the precum on her hand. With a growl that promised her unbecoming, he splayed a large hand on her stomach and pushed her back. He climbed over her as she relaxed against the bed. His right leg instantly moved between her own, his knee finding a home against her aching pussy.

“My turn,” he growled before moving to hover over her heat.

“Wait,” she called out, her body already humming with intense heat. “You really want to get me off?”

The look in his golden eyes was answer enough.

“Then let me drink from you.” Her voice was breathy, too overcome with lust to sound normal anymore.

He paused, and that lust in his eyes was replaced by a look of distrust.

“I won’t drink too much,” she promised. “But for a vampire, drinking a partner’s blood while being intimate with them is better than anything else. It’ll make me cum long before eating me out will.”

“Which vein is best?” Geralt asked in a low, curious voice, but there was still hesitancy written all over his face.

“The closer to the heart, the better,” she admitted. “Anywhere would do, but blood from the heart, or anywhere around it…” She closed her eyes as she thought about the intoxicating taste of blood straight from the heart. It had been a long time since she’d let herself indulge in it, since tasting blood that sweet normally sent vampires into a frenzy. But the memory of that nectar on her lips made her legs clench, it was that good.

“You stop when I tell you to,” Geralt demanded. His tone was stern, but he was giving in. Indulging her.

Her heart began to beat faster at the thought of drinking from him. “And if I don’t?” Rosa wondered, opening her eyes to look at him again.

The answer to her question was written in his eyes. If she didn’t stop, if she gave in to the monster inside of her, he’d kill her.

“As you wish,” she complied.

He reached a hand towards her. For a second she thought he was reaching for her neck, wanting to pull her towards him for a kiss, but his hand stopped between her breasts, at the dress still covering them. A second later and the dress was torn to shreds, her breasts falling free. Her nipples were already hard from arousal and a low sound of approval fell from Geralt as he observed it. His eyes scanned the rest of her body with hunger.

“Your turn,” she demanded, longing to see his body in all of its naked, muscled glory.

He rose to his feet and began undressing, teasing her as he moved slowly. All she had to do was spread her legs and one look at the sight of her glistening folds made him rush his movements. His body was a glorious maze of muscles and scars--a picture perfect warrior. Dark curls that matched the hair around his cock swirled around his chest and trailed a path down his stomach. An ancient kind of power and strength radiated off of him. Gods, did she want this man inside of her.

Geralt gave her only a few seconds to take in his naked form before he was on top of her, his mouth devouring hers. His tongue was hungry and demanding as it pushed past her lips and collided with her own. She moaned into his mouth as he ground her hips against hers, his cock rubbing against her clit and sending electricity through her veins. Her arousal spiked, and suddenly she could feel her fangs coming out, and before Geralt could break the kiss, she bit his bottom lip. They both moaned--him at the sensation of being bit for the first time, surprised that it could be so arousing for the victim; and her because his Witcher blood was the finest wine she’d ever tasted. Her legs clenched around his hips as she swallowed the first drop of his blood.

It was then that he chose to plunge deep into her folds. She released a cry of pleasure that made the walls shake. Her walls squeezed around him as he continued to enter her, his cock going ever deeper and farther inside of her. Geralt muttered something in a language Rosa didn’t recognize, but she got the message clear enough from the tone: he was loving this as much as she was. The pain of his cock splitting her open was a welcome hurt. It turned her on and made her walls clench even tighter around his length, which only made his growls and moans deepen.

“Fuck me, Witcher,” she cried out.

He obliged her. His hips began to move at an exhilarating rate and the sensation of his cock penetrating her at such an inhuman speed threw her over the edge in a matter of moments. She threw her head back as she cried out, her fangs only elongating further as she came around his unrelenting cock.

Even after the waves of ecstasy calmed inside of her, Geralt didn’t stop fucking her. His hands had moved to her hips in a deathly grip. She was sure to have bruises from where he held her.

“Let me drink from you,” she cried out.

Without even stopping his thrusts, he tilted his head to the side, inviting her to suck at his throat. She pulled him closer to her and clamped her mouth around the soft skin of his throat, letting her fangs break the skin slowly. His movements became sloppy as she began to drink from him, as if it were as much a turn on for him as it was for her. She drank mouthful after mouthful of his sweet nectar. Her entire body lit on fire as they attacked each other, her with her mouth, and him with his cock. This was how she wanted to die, she decided--her mouth around his throat, him balls deep inside of her. It was the closest to heaven she’d ever get.

Geralt let out a broken moan as his cock spasmed inside of her. A second later his hot seed poured inside of her, dripping down her legs and onto the bed. Geralt came longer than most men did, which must have been another aspect of the Witcher mutation, but she loved it, reveled in every second of it. And when he was done, he collapsed on top of her. She pulled her mouth back and forced her fangs to retract. Blood dripped down his neck and dried on his shoulder.

“I didn’t realize you had a biting kink,” she murmured minutes later.

“Neither did I.” He was on his back beside her now, his eyes closed and a droopy smile on his face.

“We’ll have to do this again sometime,” she said, admiring the few of a Witcher fucked out beside her.

He let out a humm of agreement, and then his breaths deepened and slowed. She fell asleep beside him, a smile plastered onto her face. It was the best sleep she’d had in decades.