Sleight of hand, but it’s Astarion “innocently” standing beside you with his fingers, unnoticed by the others, easing between your thighs to stroke the length of your cunt.
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still extremely funny to me that the US media coverage of the discourse over whether or not violent video games make people violent completely dried up roughly 2-3 years before graphics started getting advanced enough to simulate some truly heinous-looking shit and the edgy series that were at the center of the original controversy just got edgier. it's just crazy i mean neurodivergent to think about how the original Wolfenstein games, wherein all of the gore on the disc combined could fit in a 64x64 pixel square, caused significantly more media outrage than the modern ones that open with you tying a Nazi to a chair and then chainsawing his head off while he begs for mercy in full 144FPS 1440p 3D
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Andrew isn’t heartless, I think we all know it by now but I’m going to say it again.
Andrew isn’t heartless, Andrew is hurt. Andrew has been breaking apart since he was seven years old, and he’s been shown time and time again that feelings won’t change a thing. When he said ‘please’ and it did nothing. When he saw bruises and tears from Aaron but she’s my mother and she loves me and it’s okay Andrew, it’s okay it doesn’t even hurt. When those men found his cousin, his caring and soft cousin, and they hurt him. They hurt him and Aaron’s pleading did nothing but Andrew’s fists sure as hell did.
Andrew isn’t heartless, but he’s almost convinced himself that he is. Twelve years of hiding it all has dulled things, his meds blanketing them where his feigned indifference doesn’t.
And then.
And then he sees a boy with dark hair and a darker past. And there’s a flicker, a little push under the apathy that swaddles his mind.
And another push when he meets eyes the blue of a glacier.
Another when the rabbit becomes the wolf for the world to see.
Another. Another. Another.
And he feels the slab of concrete he’s laid over his emotions start to crack, feels the little fissures as they spread with every new secret he learns about this boy who is so much more than he thought.
And he chalks it up to the medicine, the little pills that change his world so drastically.
But the meds are long gone and there’s still a boy, now with hair like a flame, and he still feels the pushing and cracking and crumbling.
Only it goes so much faster with the medicine gone.
A shove when the boy threw himself in the line of fire for Andrew’s sake.
A deep fissure when his phone rings because the boy chose not to run.
A million bits of debris falling with every kiss, but no he doesn’t want this, he can’t feel this because that means he has to feel everything else but he can’t bring himself to stop, he thinks maybe making himself stop when they both want it might actually kill him.
Cracks and pushes and blue blue blue eyes and letting go of a promise and then-
And then a dirty duffle bag full of equipment, an abandoned phone with a message saying 0, and the slab of concrete crumbles all at once like was never even there.
And Andrew feels it all, feels his heart shatter which should be impossible because he thought it was in enough tiny shards already but there it is and he might not be able to survive it and Neil is gone Neil is gone Neil is gonegonegonegone
And maybe this is what grief feels like, because Andrew didn’t know this boy a year ago but now the thought of being without him is more than he can possibly bear and-
A phone call, and suddenly Neil’s three hours away.
Two hours.
One.
And they’re in the same city but the distance is still too far.
Fifty feet.
Ten.
Five.
One.
And- there.
Andrew isn’t heartless. Andrew isn’t heartless, because his heart is a boy with fiery hair and a personality to match. His heart is a pair of eyes like ice chips that saw through it all, saw down to the very core of Andrew and didn’t flinch. His heart is Neil Abram Josten, and maybe that’s not entirely true but Neil helped him find it again.
Andrew isn’t heartless. He’s not even close.
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