#Asinine Process

[pebblezone]

She was Twelve I don’t care how mature she was she’s going to feel emotions

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Blanket! I went a little Blanket Crazy this year, for holiday gifting purposes, but I ALSO discovered that I adore mitered squares as the Most Supreme Of All Ways To Produce Blankets Out Of Squares (perfect tiny dopamine hits! join as you go! no seaming! hardly any counting! easy to read! so satisfying!)

I didn’t really have a pattern for this, just made up squares and sizing with my heart, because it was for someone who believes Bigger is Better when it comes to blankets. I went until I was out of yarn, minus the one (1) hat that I can probably make from leftovers--yet another yarn chicken victory for me!

[other-peoples-coats]

waiting for something to process at work, and like. file compatibility in the gffa must be a bitch of a thing.

[iirulancorrino]

This is a passage from The Grimkes describing an incident of racial violence in 1830s Philadelphia. Reading that people were worried about black people getting too much power and starting to oppress whites decades before slavery was over made me feel like I was having a brain aneurysm, but in a way it’s comforting to know that almost none of the things that bigots say to try to impede progress are new.

[queercatboyrights]

anyone got any tips on getting art industry jobs w/o a college degree bc holy fuck this shit is horrendous /oAo;\

[asstrongasyouthink]

im drunk on the power of these aita polls. i feel like i finally got jury duty but it's on judge judy

[genderqueerdykes]

i was asked recently to describe what my experience is as a trans man with visible facial hair who dresses very femme and wears makeup whenever i go out. i thought this was a good question, since i don't think i've ever discussed my experience with this. i know public restrooms are a huge source of stress for a lot of trans people, they're stressful for me at times as well, which is why i try to avoid them when possible.

i will say that i am lucky enough to not have a bad experience using public restrooms. it might be because im rather physically intimidating, having a lot of muscle tissue and not being particularly short, it's hard to say. generally, i use the men's room, even if i'm in a dress or skirt. i don't make eye contact or particularly even look in the direction of other people using the restroom, which i find makes it easier.

looking nervous and making eye contact can, for whatever reason, threaten cisgender people and i'm not sure why. public restrooms are stressful for everyone, not just trans folk. i will use the women's bathroom if the men's bathroom is full, or disgusting, but that happens very rarely. i have also had no issues with using the women's restrooms. even when i lived in Missouri which is a red state, I didn't seem to have issues because I walked in and out with confidence and ignored whoever else was in or around the restroom with me

long hair generally isn't an issue from what I've observed because a lot of men nowadays are wearing their hair long. generally speaking, the voice is one of the most gendered part of us and I have no idea why, but it helps to keep any comments or conversation to an absolute minimum- having no conversations or interactions is ideal. if someone says "excuse me" or something to that effect, nod or shrug or respond with body language instead of verbal language.

i would say utilizing the masks we use for covid is one of your best shots at making the experience a lot less stressful. covering up any potential facial hair, a strong jaw, etc. can help a lot with people minding their own business. this is not to say that if you just mind your business and try to avoid other people that they won't react. but i find the process goes smoother whenever you have something that can obscure part of your face (I'd say even putting your hood up if you have one could help in a pinch).

if someone does decide to cause problems: leave the restroom as quickly as possible. pull out your phone and make it look like you are calling for help (or actually call for help). people who start trying to cause problems generally do not want witnesses. do not confront them or attempt to correct them about your gender. this will only make them angrier. do not let them corner you. slip out from beside them if you have to. do not push or touch them unless they have grabbed, pushed or hit you first.

tell staff of the location you are at that someone is being belligerent in the restrooms- if you don't want to mention it's due to transphobia, you don't have to. but if you feel the location is accepting enough, please do, because that can get you help right away. if you live in an area that's not as progressive, just refer to how violent the person is being and skip the gender talk.

i feel like this isn't super informative, but i hope it helps some folks out there. i know how stressful this can be and it can't be avoided all the time. the best we can do is try to do our best to avoid confrontation altogether, and when it happens, get witnesses and support as quickly as you can. i hate that we have to tell each other these things just to use the bathroom in public. it's asinine. but i hope this helps at least one person

[charmandabear]

Office Hours - Chapter Ten

Summary:

It's bowling time! You and the gang get a little closer over this highly unsexy game. Definitely no sexy things will happen in this chapter. No, don't look at the tags. Stop, what are you doing.

Pairing: Astarion/f!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4.3k

Tags/Warnings: thigh riding, dry humping, rough kisses, fantasies of bondage, cumming in pants, vampire bites/blood drinking, conversations about academic research, semi-public semi-sex

So I didn't actually mean to wait a week and a half between posting chapter 10 on AO3 and posting it here, but as a result, I can tell you that the un-beta'd chapter 11 is now up on my Kofi! You can read it for free, or you can wait until it's fully edited on AO3. Up to you, guy.

As always, @zipzoomzaria is responsible for the devastatingly handsome professor in the banner.

Read on AO3 ~ Masterlist

Admittedly, you kind of delight in the look on Astarion’s face as you cross the threshold into the bowling alley. His nose wrinkles while his eyes dart around the space, cataloging everything from the stained black and neon rainbow carpet, to the bored employee sitting in front of rows and rows of dirty rental shoes, to the group of noisy teengers eating nachos covered with a thick liquid cheese.

He lets out a low growl and you giggle, almost giddy at the evening ahead of you. There is absolutely no chance in hell you’ll be able to do anything even remotely sexual in this environment. You grab his hand and drag him over to the shoe rental.

“Hi, can I get a 7 ½?” you ask the employee, and they languidly pull their chin off their hand and turn around to grab the shoes.  Astarion hovers behind you, still uncomfortably taking everything in. You take the shoes from the employee and drop them in front of you, stepping out of your flats and into the bowling shoes.

“Ugh, gods, I don't know why you insist on taking part in this,” he says with a sneer, well within earshot of the employee, whose eyes have already started to glaze back over. “It’s not enough to put your fingers into a grease-coated ball, you choose to play dress up with a hundred other people’s feet?”

“I mean I wouldn’t choose to, I just have to if I want to actually do the bowling part of it,” you tell him as you wiggle your ankle to get the shoe to settle.

“Sorry, what?”

You had been waiting for this moment and you try to hide your glee as you say, “Yeah, you have to rent special shoes so you don’t fuck up the floor.”

His face remains frozen for a moment in a look of utter disgust as he processes what you said. “So you’re telling me,” he drawls, waving his finger like a disgruntled valley girl, “that in order to play this asinine game that you’re making me play, I must pay money to let my feet bask in the foot sweat residue of several hundred strangers?”

“You also have to leave your shoes with them while they’re rented,” you add, handing your flats over to the employee, who slips them in the cubby whence they retrieved your rental shoes. Astarion splutters incoherently.

“That’s it, you’ve lost me, this was a very cute idea but I am absolut–” You grab his hand as he starts storming away and pull him back towards the rental counter.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun, I promise!” You grasp his hand in both of yours, an exaggerated gesture of a pleading child. “Just do it for me, please?”

He scowls at your beaming face for a moment before rolling his eyes and approaching the counter again.

“I’ll take a 9 ½,” he grumbles through gritted teeth. The employee continues to display an almost impressive amount of apathy as they grab the requested size. Astarion makes a show of his disgust as he takes off his patent leather oxfords and puts on the grubby shoes that were presumably red and blue at one point. 

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” he mutters out of the side of his mouth and your grin widens.

“You absolutely will not,” you tease. He stands suddenly, closer than you had realized, and looms over you.

“Would you like to test that theory?” he hums in a low voice, and your breath catches in your throat. He turns away from your reddening face with a smug sense of satisfaction as he hands his shoes to the employee. He starts to walk away when their voice interrupts him.

“Sir, you need to pay for those,” they call out halfheartedly. He turns around to you, just staring back innocently.

“Oh, I’m paying,” he confirms blankly, and you shrug.

“You’re the one with tenure, you make more than me,” you state matter-of-factly. He scowls again but doesn’t protest, and instead just taps his phone on the pin pad.

You scan the lanes to see if you can spot any of your friends. Gale sees you and waves you over to where he and Wyll are sitting together stiffly. Shadowheart and Karlach aren’t here yet. 

“Hello, there,” he calls, grateful to see faces he recognizes. A paper boat of fries sits on the table between them, along with two plastic cups of water.

“Any word from Karlach?” you ask Wyll, leaning over the hard plastic bench to grab a fry.

“She apologized, she said they’d be here soon,” he replies, glancing at the text from her.

“Took them longer to get ready than they expected,” you say with a grin, and Wyll clears his throat, cheeks darkening slightly.

“Oh Tav, have you caught up with If Books?” Gale asks you, taking off his glasses to clean them with his knit sweater vest.

“Yes, I couldn’t stop listening to it,” you reply enthusiastically, “some episodes have been very illuminating.” You cast a quick glance at Astarion and he petulantly shoves his hands into his pockets and shuffles his feet. “But it’s so hard waiting for each new one,” you add, and Gale nods.

“Yes, and they’ve switched from a bimonthly schedule to a monthly schedule, so the wait is even longer,” he agrees.

“What’s up, fuckers?” Karlach’s voice booms across the lanes and Astarion mutters, “Oh thank the gods,” under his breath. Shadowheart and Karlach saunter over, Karlach double fisting pitchers of a pale amber beer. She puts them down onto the table, only one of them sloshing beer over the edge. Shadowheart narrows her eyes at Astarion, sizing him up.

“Shade, this is Astarion, Astarion, this is my best friend Shadowheart,” you awkwardly introduce them to try to cut the tension as early as possible.

“Yes, I’m aware,” Shadowheart says with disdain, looking down her nose at Astarion. “I’ve heard plenty about you.”

“Only the best, I’m sure,” he lobs back. “Funny, I don’t think she’s mentioned you.” You shoot Astarion a dirty look as Shadowheart’s eyebrows disappear into her bangs. You can tell that she’s unaccustomed to sparring with someone who has as much snark as her, but the verdict is still out on whether or not it’s a good thing.

Oblivious to the heated standoff behind her, Karlach types away at the console, putting in slightly wrong initials for everyone and giggling maniacally as she does. In order, the names say ASS, TAV, CAR, SAD, GIL, and WIL.

“Soldier over here’s lucky, her name is already three letters,” she laughs and winks at you. Astarion fiddles with the roll of his sleeve and looks at the ball return with apprehension.

“I suppose my ‘ass’ is first?” He hits Karlach with the look over the glasses and she throws her head back, cackling like a hyena. 

“Good on ya, Cardigan, there’s a sense of humor under that mop after all.” She kicks the toe of her red and white shoe at him from where she’s sitting, but he dodges out of the way. He walks up to the ball return and shudders before he decides on one, visibly gagging as he picks it up.

“Okay you drama queen, we get it, it’s gross,” you laugh at him, “now just knock as many pins down as you can, okay?”

“That much would seem obvious,” he smirks, and walks up to the edge of the lane. He glances back at you one last time, almost as if he’s assessing if you’re really worth the humiliation, before throwing the ball down the lane. It glides towards the pins in a smooth straight line before crashing into their pyramid, knocking over all but one. He stares at the lone pin in shock as you and Karlach whoop at him.

“Hey, you might actually be good at this game after all!” you shout as he walks back to the bench, looking just a little more pleased with himself. He’s about to sit down when you stop him, saying, “No, you get two frames.” He looks back down at the end of the lane just in time to see the mechanical arm sweep away the fallen pins and leave the remaining one standing. He makes a dramatic show of sighing heavily and picks up the ball again. He approaches the lane, calculates the pathing, and throws the ball. It knocks down the last pin.

“Okay Ancunín, comin’ in hot with the spare!” Karlach laughs and he puffs his chest slightly at the compliment. “I think you might need a better nickname than Cardigan.”

“Gods please, I’ll take anything,” he begs, and you stand up to grab a ball.

“Perhaps Dr. Bowling?” Wyll pipes up, and Gale adds, “A doctorate in Bowling Studies with a concentration in spares and strikes?” Astarion’s scowl is icy, but even you can tell he’s having fun.

“I’ve spoken too quickly,” he says, gritting his teeth.

You find that the six of you get along quite well. The conversation is easy and light as you cycle through your turns, laughs flowing between you as freely as the terrible watery beer.  

You take a gulp from your plastic cup, your legs draped over Astarion’s lap as Gale takes his turn. Astarion scoffs at the smell.

“Nine hells, how can you possibly drink that piss?” He turns his face away from the yellowish liquid. 

“I don’t know, I have low standards for myself?” you answer with a shrug. 

Shadowheart lets out a high pitch giggle. “Clearly, considering you’re dating him,” she snickers, and Astarion fixes her with a playfully snide look.

“Big talk coming from someone who needs aloe vera after a romantic evening,” he retorts with pursed lips. Shadowheart tries to suppress a smile – talking shit is her love language.

“At least she and I agree to it prior,” she says coolly, and Astarion goes even paler than usual. He shoots you a nervous glance, a sort of are we allowed to joke about that? But you laugh and take another sip of your beer, surreptitiously rubbing the back of his hand resting on your knee in assurance.

You’re enjoying watching Shadowheart and Karlach navigate the awkward early stages of the relationship. Shadowheart has her hands clasped around her knee, bent in front of her as her foot rests on the plastic bench. Karlach’s arm is draped across the back of the bench, leaving enough plausible deniability as to whether or not her arm is actually around Shadowheart. You suspect by the end of the evening, it’ll be less ambiguous.

“So tell me, Gale,” Wyll asks as Gale waits by the ball return. “I’ve never met a wizard with a PhD, what was your research in?”

“I’m so glad you asked, because I think you in particular would find use of it,” he responds enthusiastically. “It was in ethical uses of high powered spells. There’s a stigma around mortals chasing too much power, but I feel very strongly that some spells simply have no downside.”

Astarion quirks an eyebrow, his hand absentmindedly playing with the ends of your hair.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for someone who’s power hungry, Dekarios,” he says with a smirk, and Gale emphatically shakes his head.

“No, the power isn’t for me, it’s for– well, hold on.” He quickly grabs his ball from the return and throws it down the lane. It hits the gutter within seconds.

“Too bad!” Karlach calls, her arm slipping ever so slightly around Shadowheart’s shoulders a bit more.

“It’s fine. Anyway.” Gale is quick to return to the benches, excited to talk about his research. “I strongly feel that Globe of Invulnerability, Heal, and Heroes’ Feast simply have no downside. We should implement systems in which they can be used for the greater good.” 

“Fascinating. Do doctors not already use Heal in hospitals?” Wyll muses, then turns to Shadowheart as he stands to take his turn. “Shadowheart, you’re a cleric of Selûne, you must use Heal all the time.”

Shadowheart shakes her head. “We’re not permitted to use anything more powerful than Mass Cure Wounds, and even then it’s only in the most dire situations, like war zones. I don’t even know how to perform it.”

“See, this is precisely what I’m saying! Imagine all the good that we could do if there were more medical professionals who knew Mass Cure Wounds and Heal.” Gale gesticulates wildly with his almost empty cup of beer. 

“Heroes’ Feast could end world hunger in a matter of minutes!” Wyll nearly shouts from the lane right before he bowls his second frame, almost as excited as Gale.

“Yes!” Gale returns the excitement and then downs the last sip of his beer. “In fact, I think many of these high level spells are outlawed in some countries without even considering how they might impact our society.”

“Hey Ass, you’re up,” Wyll calls, heading back to the bench. 

“Darling, could you move your legs?” he asks you, his tone saccharine. You make a show of deliberating, holding your finger to your chin.

“Hmmm, I’m not sure. Wyll, who’s winning right now?” you call out to him and he speaks through the fry in his mouth.

“Ashtarion,” he mumbles.

“Yeah, I don’t think I will move,” you smirk obstinately, pushing your calves down into his lap. He raises his eyebrows at your challenge, peering at you over his glasses. He grabs your ankles and sharply turns you in your seat, his rough handling sending a subtle jolt through your core.

“Don’t pick a fight you can’t win, love,” he hums, his lips barely brushing against yours. He stands and turns towards the lane, leaving you slightly breathless. Karlach and Shadowheart titter at your dazed expression, the distance between them having all but disappeared.

Astarion gets yet another strike, and you briefly wonder how this English academic got so dexterous before remembering the feel of his long smooth fingers working inside you. You blink several times to banish the needlessly dirty thought as he turns around with an insufferably pompous look on his face, his newly discovered talent feeding his already overinflated ego. You try to play it cool as you stand and walk toward the ball return, but he blocks your body with his. You look up at him and he runs his knuckle up the front of your throat, stopping it right under your chin.

“Don’t choke,” he purrs and you press your lips together tightly to prevent an embarrassing noise from escaping. You shake your hair over your ears to cover how red they’ve become, but you’re certain your cheeks still give you away. You grab a ball and throw it down the lane, hardly aware of how many pins it knocks down. You stare into the ball return with glazed eyes as you watch your pink ball slide out of its mouth. You grab it, barely registering the shouts of encouragement from the others, and throw it down the lane as quickly as you can. You turn around before seeing the outcome of the frame, your mind occupied by one solitary thought.

“Excuse me, I’m going to run to the restroom,” you mumble, wrapping around behind the plastic benches as Karlach stands to take her turn. As discreetly as possible, you run your fingers across Astarion’s shoulders as you pass behind him. If you’re lucky, he’ll get the hint. If not… well, you need to take a breather anyway.

You duck into the hallway branching off the main lanes and settle yourself behind an ancient payphone. You have no idea if it’s meant to be kitschy and retro or simply a relic of a bygone era. You take a deep breath as you try to clear your head.

It didn't take long for Astarion to swing around the corner, grabbing your face in his hands and pushing you up against the wood-paneled wall. His lips are hard on yours and his fingers tangle in your hair – a roughness you’re all too happy to accept. You grasp at his lower waist, pulling his body further into yours. Your lips pop open as a small moan escapes when his knee slides up between your legs, pressing against your already aching mound.

“I thought this was meant to dampen our appetites,” he murmurs through breathless kisses. You clutch the back of his head as you grind down wantonly on his thigh.

“It’s not my fault you get fucking hot when you’re competitive, ah–” you swallow the moan as he slides his chilled hands up the back of your shirt, pressing into the dip just above your ass.

“I take it you like seeing me win?” You can feel his lips smiling against your earlobe, and you let out a small squeak when he gives it a gentle nip.

“I like seeing you cocky,” you groan, desperately chasing the friction that his thigh provides. He chuckles and pushes his leg up further into you, causing you to grunt through your teeth and pull on his hair as you try to keep the obscene noises that he’s tearing from you under control.

“Tell me how else you like me,” he rasps, and you can feel his erection pressing against your thigh. 

“I like it when you’re domineering,” your voice cracks as you continue to roll your hips against him. “I like when you tell me what to do. I like it when you’re just a little mean but even more when you tell me I’m a good girl.”

His hips buck against you and you shift on top of his leg, trying to relieve your own throbbing cunt while rubbing your leg against the bulge in his pants. His lips are still on your ear and he lets out a hissing breath when you lightly brush against his cock.

“You are my good girl, don’t stop.” His breath is cool against your skin and he runs the tip of his tongue along the shell of your ear, pulling a deep shudder from you. You can already feel how wet he’s made you, and if he keeps this up you might just come undone.

“I want you to put your hand around my throat when you fuck me,” you whine, your slick folds sliding against each other as he grinds his thigh into you. “I want you to put me in a collar and hold the leash tight and tell me I’m yours.” The fantasy is pouring out of you at this point. You’re hardly aware of your surroundings, all that matters is you and Astarion.

You can tell your words are affecting him, too. The rutting of his hips grow frantic and you tighten your hand in his hair and you can feel that familiar spiraling heat blooming out from your core.

“Gods, Astarion, I’m–” you mewl, fully riding his leg at this point. “Please bite me, I want you to bite me, I’m begging–” The moment his fangs sink into your flesh you come, your hand pressed tight over your mouth to muffle the sound, your hips stuttering with each rippling wave of pleasure. As he takes long dragging sips of your blood he makes barely audible whimpers into your neck, his hips still thrusting into your thigh. You bring your hands to his ear, gently pinching his velvety lobe between your fingers.

“Fuck, come for me Astarion,” you whisper into his hair, and it’s enough. He inhales sharply through his nose, teeth still latched onto your neck, and the rest of him stills, save a few subtle jerks of his hips as he spills inside his pants. You let out a breathy chuckle as you card your fingers through his hair affectionately. He pulls away from your neck and you’re blessed with one of your favorite sights – his lips slightly bloody, his eyes wild and frenzied, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. You kiss him, lapping up the metallic droplets from his lips, and he lets out a shuddering breath.

“I do so love it when you do that, you know,” he sighs, and you stifle a giggle.

“Make you come in your pants?” you tease.

“No– well, yes, I mean– I mean no!” he stammers, uncharacteristically flustered, and you hum with approval. “No, when you kiss me just after I’ve fed on you. It makes me feel… closer to you, I suppose.”

“Plus I bet it’s, like, really sexy,” you joke, skating over his sincerity, afraid of what you might accidentally say in response. You’re so not ready to write a check that you can’t cash.

“Yes, it is,” he murmurs and kisses you again, unphased by your deflection.

As though an impenetrable barrier had been lifted, someone rounds the corner to head to the bathroom and the two of you straighten up like you didn’t just dry hump like a couple of horny teenagers. You try to tidy your appearances, but there’s no accounting for the noticeable stain on the front of Astarion’s pants. He pinches the bridge of his nose, his glasses sliding up onto his forehead.

“I can’t believe you… ugh. I can’t be seen by the others like this.” He sighs deeply, the consequences of both of your actions finally catching up to him. You bite your lip guiltily, then suddenly gasp, recalling the machine you’ve seen in hundreds of restrooms throughout your life but never had any use for.

“Do you have a quarter?” you ask him frantically, and he stares at you, completely flummoxed.

“No, who carries cash anymore? What, why do–” You’re gone before he can finish his sentence, dashing around the corner to find Shadowheart. Karlach sees you first, and her face lights up as she waves her whole arm at you.

“Hey, we were just about to send out a search party,” she laughs as you round the corner of the benches.

“Itoldthemnotto,” Gale adds quickly, and you appreciate that he learned his lesson from last time. Shadowheart strides up to you and grabs your chin, pulling it to the side to expose your neck.

“Ugh, Tav, you shouldn’t drive when you’re like this,” she groans. “Te absolvo.” She flicks your forehead as she casts the spell and you flinch before a sheepish grin slides onto your face. 

“Hey, where’s Astarion?” Karlach asks, making like she’s going to head towards the bathrooms to look for him. You grab her arm before she can get too far.

“No no, don’t worry about that,” you speak frenetically, “Does anyone have a quarter?”

“Who even carries cash anymore?” Karlach asks with a bemused face, but Shadowheart glowers at you.

“Why, what do you need it for?” she asks through gritted teeth.

“Don’t worry about it,” you mumble, and she rolls her eyes. She grabs her purse and pulls out a sleek black leather wallet embossed with a crescent moon. “I only have ones,” she says, and you yank the bill out of her hand.

“That’s fine thanks love you be right back.” You take off with her dollar and make a beeline for the change machine near the arcade. After several attempts to flatten the bill enough for the machine to accept it, you hear four clangs as the quarters drop into the metal tray. You quickly scoop them out and run back to the hallway outside the bathrooms where poor Astarion is pretending to talk on the payphone.

“Where in the sweet hells did you go?” he hisses, and you finally get a good look at his appearance. His hair is still slightly disheveled, and he’s untucked his shirt to let it hang over the wet spot on the front of his trousers. You don’t answer him, but rather grab his wrist and duck into the women’s restroom that is, thankfully, empty.

You turn to the metal machine hanging off the wall that dispenses three invaluable items for a bowling alley bathroom: tampons, condoms, and scrolls of prestidigitation. You drop a quarter into the slot above the third item, crank the knob, and out falls a tightly rolled scroll.

“They’re usually for mothers to clean up after they’re done changing their baby’s diaper,” you say, nodding your head towards the plastic baby changing station. “But clearly they have other uses. Infame.” You recite the spell’s incantation and the scroll vanishes along with the stain on Astarion’s pants. He lets out a sigh of relief.

“Thank the Gods.” He unbuckles his belt and begins to tuck his shirt back into his pants. “You owe me,” he adds wryly.

“Um excuse me, who just traipsed all over just to hunt down a goddamn quarter so you could clean up after yourself?” you pout and he slides his hands around your waist.

“But who’s responsible for getting me into this mess in the first place?” he hums in a low voice, brushing his lips against yours. You’re about to melt into his kiss when suddenly the door to the restroom opens and a bewildered looking halfling walks in. You and Astarion spring apart and he quickly redoes his belt buckle. You embarrassedly shuffle out the door without a word.

The two of you reemerge to see all of your friends waiting impatiently by the shoe rental. Your and Astarion’s shoes have already been removed from their cubbies and the employee is just waiting for you to return the bowling shoes. The two of you jog over, and Shadowheart rolls her eyes as you approach.

“Fucking degenerates,” she mutters under her breath, grabbing Karlach’s hand and storming out the door.

[writer-by-the-sea]

Can I ask for a gender neutral drabble request about farmer feeling insecure and asking Elliott if he thinks they’re sexy and he admits to thinking about them when he touches himself? 🥺

“Have you ever just felt so unattractive that you don’t even think a turtle would be interested in you?”

Elliot startled beside me, I forgot that we hadn’t spoken in a few minutes… Or was it more than an hour now? I wasn’t sure. We would often hang out at the beach together after Elliott finished his yoga for the day. I’ve even joined him a few times, but honestly I stretch enough getting eggs out from under the chickens little bums that I couldn’t bare to do one more damn ‘triangle downward pose’ even if I wanted to.

“In your defense,” Elliot began. “I don’t believe turtles can be sexually attracted to humans.”

I snorted. Of course he would reply with the facts. And it was a silly question to begin with, the man looked like a bronze god sitting next to me. Shirtless and wearing those god damn red shorts that have me drooling in my sleep. “Never mind,” I replied with a laugh. “It was a dumb question—“

“No, it wasn’t.” Elliott’s voice was firm as he stared at me, his frown actually making me feel bad for even asking. “And, for the record, you’re very good looking.”

Um.

What?

I said nothing and just stared back at him, his eyes soft and caring as he gazed back at me. He had a single elbow propped on his knee, smiling now as he watched me— waiting for me to say something, anything in reply.

“I think about you,” Elliot said before I could manage to mumble out literally anything. “As in, when I’m in bed, or in the shower…” He paused, pressing his lips together as he thought to himself. “In the bathroom at the pub once, it was the day you walked in after being at the mines and the monsters tore half your clothes off...”

Hang on.

WHAT.

I held my hand up, stopping him from continuing and shook my head as I tried to process what the hell he was saying. He thought of me? In the shower? In bed? At the pub? What the hell did that even mean—

“I cum so easily when I think of you.”

Well there’s my answer.

Elliott was so relaxed as he spoke, shrugging after he just dropped a bomb on me as if it was nothing at all. “You’re very good looking, I never saw myself fantasying about the only farmer in town. However, it’s become a daily event now.”

“Elliott,” I paused. How does one even reply to this? Sure, the question I asked may have been a been asinine— but! To reply, and to reply so causally. “Ar you— are you saying to jerk off to me?”

“Everyday, yes.”

I dropped myself into the sand, uncaring anymore about the hot sand as it burned the back of my neck and arms, my hair was going to be a real bitch to wash later but I couldn’t even think about that right now. Elliott, the hottest guy in town, who writes poems and short stories with ease, who does yoga on the beach, who laughs with me at Gus’ pub, who is actually a dork that’s obsessed with Star Wars—

Jerks off to me.

Every. Single. Day.

Elliott laid down beside me on his side, worry painted all over his gorgeous face. “Farmer? Do you want me to stop?”

I laughed, just amazed at the entire situation. “No, you don’t… no.”

“Thank goodness,” Elliot said with a sigh and rolled to his back. “I don’t think I would have been able to stop. Especially after today.”

“Elliott,” I said and sat up, looking down at him with narrowed eyes. “What on earth would have happened today that would make it any harder to stop?”

“Well—“

I gestured down to myself. “I stink like chickens, my jeans were so beat up I cut them into shorts, I’m wearing an old hole filled white tank top— none of this,” I took a beat to gesture to myself one again. “Would give you the material needed to jerk off to.”

“Your shirt is absolutely soaked from the swim you took earlier, I can see your nipples.”

….

I looked down and groaned. “Elliot!”

“They’re very sexy nipples.”

And I could die.

[faeskiss]

A DANGEROUS GAME

Zaros x reader!

It’s been weeks since the trials have begun, life has constantly been dragging me down, it just gets harder and harder, every trial is more difficult and draining than the last

Having the throne is MY birthright, no ruler in Serulla has had to fight for it since a millennia, so WHY me? Sometimes, I just want to get away from it all, to run away, and never look back, but I can’t do that, I’d never do that to my mother and I CERTAINLY won’t let Zaros win so easily

I can’t believe there was a time where I pined over him like a naïve, halfwit being, that sort of behaviour was certainly not appropriate for a dignified, future regnant like me, but I have since corrected myself

I won’t tolerate his constant brawling or his scorn insults anymore, I have let him throw cruel insults my way many times before , ignoring his contempt on purpose, letting it go, for I have to uphold my family’s name so I certainly should not be seen going around engaging in useless disputes

But if he strikes again, it might just get ugly, and the nobles might just have a new scandal to talk about for the rest of eternity

I am currently standing in the corner of the ballroom, it’s become my favourite spot these days, a corner, but I fear I simply don’t have it in me to fake smiles and engage in asinine chatter with these duplicitous people tonight

the party is in full swing, people are dancing and getting drunk on wine and mindless gossip, yes another day, another party, "a well deserved break” as my mother likes to call it

I take another sip of my drink, that’s when I notice Zaros joking and laughing with a group of nobles, he then proceeds to give them the most charming smile I have ever seen, he used to smile at me like that…all.the.time, he's been doing this all night, dancing, mingling with every single person at this party except for me…….not that I care, I'd rather stay far, far away from him

a sudden wave of unease washes through me, why is he smiling at random people when he hasn’t even approached me all night? Am I really THAT uninteresting and repulsive to him? I thought he hated all nobles with a surging passion? So why is he smiling and laughing with them and NOT me?

Oh god, I sound like an obsessed lovefool, but seeing him be so affectionate and content with other people, well to put it lightly stings…..a bit, there was once a time in our lives where we were completely, inseparable, that in itself feels like a lifetime ago but it still hurts to reminisce …..is it…possible…that I’m jealous….right now?

I shake my head vehemently, no no no no, no it can’t be, it’s just the champagne getting to my head, I quickly put my glass down on the table near me, not liking the way the intoxicant is making me think, perhaps I just need to distract myself

I roam around the ballroom till I find my mother talking to the judges of the trials, reluctantly, I join in the conversation, they are talking about all the progress so far, oh god, why are they talking about the trials at a party that is meant to be a break FROM the trials…

“How are you liking the party my dear” my mother asks

“It’s lovely, thank you for organising it” I reply with a faint smile

“And how’s Zaros? Is he having fun?” she asks

I wouldn’t know cause he hasn’t spoken a word to me all night, but from the looks of it, he’s having a fucking blast

“I’m sure he’s enjoying himself as well” I say

I stand near the group, pretending to listen earnestly, but I can’t stop stealing glances at Zaros, the way he dances, his constant laughter, his soft smile, he just looks so happy, at this point my eyes are practically locked on him, that is until he catches me peering at him

Horrified, I abruptly turn away, so much so I’m pretty sure I strained my neck in the process

“Are you okay earis? You look a bit rattled” one of the judges asks me

“Oh no, no, no I’m perfectly fine, just a bit overwhelmed, you know how draining these parties can be” I reply awkwardly

The song ends and so does the dance with it, the sound of clapping and laughter echoes through the ballroom

“If you’re feeling tired please don’t hesitate to go and rest, you’re probably already exhausted from the stress of the trials, I

want you to feel your best and healthiest my love” says my mother as she gives me a warm smile

“You’re right, I should probably retire for the night, thank you for understanding” I say quite tiredly

“Well then, it’s been an enjoyable day but I must go and rest, it was a pleasure spending time with you all and I hope you all had a wonderful evening, good night!” I bid goodbye to the group and start to make my way out

I am almost out of the room when I suddenly feel someone grab a hold of my arm

confused and quite shocked at the sudden gesture, I turn swiftly, and when I do I am met with those familiar, piercing green eyes staring right into mine, mischief gleaming in them

“And where do you think you’re going?” asks Zaros in a low, strict tone

“I just feel a bit tired, so I thought I’d end the night early, why? Do you have a problem with that too” I reply, an unexpected irritation plaguing my voice

“Tired already? You haven’t even danced, my, my, you of all people should know that it’s rude for a royal to not engage with the party thrown by their own family, it’s not a good look on your part” he says with a stupid, sly smirk on his face

“Shouldn’t my disgrace only add to your elation?” I ask with all the heartlessness my voice can muster

“Oh trust me it does” he says with a stupid laugh as if I’ve shared an intriguing jest

“How about you quit your baseless play and tell me what you want, I have better places to be” I sneer

“What like your room?" he says with that same stupid laughter

"Well I was originally coming over to ask you to dance with me, but I got distracted by your cold demeanour, so back to what I actually approached you for, would you be so kind as to join me for a dance?” he asks

“I’m not sure if you’ve always been this stupid or it’s the wine talking, why would I dance with you after your constant jabs? I don’t care, leave me alone” I hiss

“Alright then, let’s make this a little more interesting, take it as a challenge, I challenge you to dance with me, if you refuse, you lose, and I’ll win, like always” he says with a hint of mischief in his voice

“Oh fuck you, as if I’ll fall for your stupid trick” I scoff

“Alright then, off to bed with you, loser” he replies in a slow mocking manner….

I can feel my anger, hot and red, slowly flaming up inside of me, I know I shouldn’t fall for his trap, but I can’t let him have this, not after all his constant insults, I’ll take this opportunity to fuck with his brain a little, two can play this game

“Fine, I’ll dance with you, but only.one.song” I say in a strict manner

“That’s more like it” he replies with that same stupid smirk

He offers me his hand, I have no choice but to take it, we make our way to the middle of the floor and suddenly everyone starts to gape in our direction, how could they not? two rivals sharing a dance is certainly a sight to keenly watch….

The music is rather slow and soulful, the kind you'd play at a wedding for couples to dance to….I can't believe I have to dance with him to such a song

He slowly encircles my waist with his arm, and grabs one of my hands, intertwining our fingers, my free hand resting on one of his shoulders, this form is rather intimate and it makes me blush a bit…..this is so embarrassing, we slowly start moving, it's nothing fancy and I mostly follow his lead

"God your form is utterly terrible tonight, certainly the worst out of anyone I've danced with so far at this party" he mocks

"Do you ever stop running your fucking mouth? WHY did you even ask me to dance with you?" I ask in frustration

"Oh please lighten up, I'm just messing with you, learn to take a joke for once" he replies in a annoyed manner

I roll my eyes and swallow my anger, I want to get back at him but I'm scared to cause a scene, people expect a certain grace and courtesy from me than him, I think I'd rather live up to that

He twirls and dips me once, I am aware of all the times his hands brush against my skin, gentle and subtle, there's a certain unexpected sincerity in his touch, it's alive with vulnerability and tenderness, something I definitely don't expect from him

he dips me again, and as I come up, he traces his fingers down my back and pulls me in, my chest flutters in response, what the hell is he doing? I suddenly realise the swift shift in the atmosphere between us, I instantly notice exactly HOW close he is to me right now, oh this is dangerous, so very dangerous

"Zaros what the hell are you doing? You're way too close!" I whisper to him frantically

"I am as close as I need to be" he says in a low, soft and magnetic tone

He suddenly turns me so that my back faces him, my mind is reeling and whirling with a million thoughts "as close as I need to be" what does that even mean? Is this one of his tricks to torture me? I should've never accepted his proposal, I should've just gone to sleep

That’s when I suddenly feel his voice sneak into my ears, I can feel my heartbeat quickening by the second, I can feel his warmth creeping up on me, it’s all such a feverish daze…

"By the way, don't think I forgot your constant stares in my direction earlier, do I really look that ravishing tonight?" he says, his voice is laced with reckless yearning and temptation so deep….I think I might drown in it if I’m not careful

“Don’t flatter yourself” I say with restraint

“I thought we promised to never lie to each other, hmm?” he replies

I stay silent, not really knowing how to respond

“Well one of us needs to be honest here, I think, you’re the most alluring being to grace these palace walls….dare I say this world? Sometimes I lie awake at night, thinking of those torturous lips of yours, what they would feel like against my own, to feel your skin melt under my touch, it’s funny actually, I’ve had partners before, but none of them have left me as lovelorn as you”

I try to speak, but my mouth fails me, I try to think but it’s like I’m paralysed, I am completely and utterly under his mercy,

The song is nearing it’s end and so is my composure, the only thing my mind can register is his agonizingly tempting voice and the scandalous words it whispers that are both, making me want to die of shame and kiss him till I forget my own name

"wh-where is all this coming from, I thought you loathed me?" I ask in a shaky voice

"Contempt and desire can co-exist, they're similar emotions in a way, both will make you go insane for the person you feel them towards and who wouldn't go insane for you" he says as he lifts my chin, his thumb lightly traces my lower lip, my body shudders in response to his touch, I've completely forgotten that people might be staring at us, but I couldn't care less, I can only hope that people are drunk out of their minds to even notice us, his hand travels back to my waist but this time his grip is tighter, we stare into each other's eyes for the rest of the dance, both unable to act on our heart's true desire for there is way too much at stake

After one last turn, the song ends and so does the dance

"We still have a lot to figure out, you and I, I can't believe I'm saying this but…..I quite enjoyed the dance and I certainly look forward to-"

I suddenly feel his soft,warm lips on my cheek, my world stops, the kiss is soft and gentle, empty of vain or ill intent, just a pure kiss that one might share with their lover, the crowd around us gasps in shock and disbelief, but all I can focus on is the shameless yet charming smile on his lips, it's the same smile my eyes have been dying to see for the past eight years, and for the first time in a long time

my heart skips a beat

[mirandasidefics]

But Home is Nowhere-Chapter 8

Pairing(s): Lucien x Plus Size Reader, Azriel X Plus Size Reader, and Ruhn Danaan x Plus Size Reader

Part 8 Summary: Lucien senses something is wrong with Reader and seeks out Rhysand. The High Lord feels the magic of the Horn and the pair race off to the Prison. Rhysand gives a warning. Later Azriel and Reader have a much overdue conversation, but it doesn't go as planned. Maybe a line has been crossed...

Word Count: 5.2K

Warning(s): Feelings of hopelessness, physical violence/torture, emotional abuse, tiptoeing around boundaries, Az and Reader ain't nice to each other.

A/N: THANK YOU SO MUCH TO MY BETA READERS! I felt like this chapter was taking forever to write. I completely rewrote half of this chapter and initially planned for a good conversation between Reader and Azriel. However, once I started writing they had other plans...I worry that Az is too out of character. Italics are inner monologue or flashback.

Series Masterlist

Previous: Chapter 7

Lucien paced back and forth needing to expel the energy that was building up inside him. His morning had started just fine, heading downstairs to the town house kitchen while (Y/N) slept. He hadn’t expected to come across Rhysand’s petite second in command. Perhaps the former ancient being was now technically third with Feyre taking on more actual leadership duties. Amren had been looking for the Shadowsinger, when she came upon him cooking breakfast for himself and (Y/N). Clearly taking the opportunity to make her personal opinion on his relationship with the human known. The short conversation that followed riled him more than he liked and all he wanted to do was process the topic with the very person that was its focus. However, his friend was now at the mercy of Bryce and Nesta for whatever asinine experiment that the redhead surely concocted.

She hadn’t even been gone for an hour and already Lucien felt that he was going to wear a hole in the area rug in front of their…her bed. He willed himself to ignore the slip. Even though he slept in it every night he spent in Velaris, his own apartment long forgotten, this was her room. Everything in here belonged to her… except his mechanical eye zoned in on the second toothbrush in the ensuite bath.

“Shit,” He quickly looked around the room, finally taking note of his scattered clothing. A shirt was tossed across the back of the vanity chair and the cuff from pair of breeches poked out from under her nightdress in the dirty clothes basket. He sat back down at the foot of the plush mattress. The top side of the heavy feather down duvet was cold to the touch. The bedroom window was wide open to allow the autumn air to cool the room. He was well aware that she enjoyed the cold air surrounding her as she snuggled into the warmth of her bed. He had to admit that he found peace in seeing her relaxed features when he joined her in the bed’s cozy embrace. Maybe that imp was right. Maybe he had become too wrapped up in caring for…her nightmares to realize that a line had been crossed.

Lucien flopped back onto the bed, arm slung over his eyes to block out the mid-morning sun. Vanilla and honey wafted over his nostrils, his human companion’s scent was thankfully the primary one still lingering in the sheets. He took a few deep breaths trying to will the restless energy away when he felt his heart rate suddenly spike. In a rush he sat up and looked around, almost expecting to see an unknown threat at the threshold to the room. He peered out into the hall, the town house completely silent save for Hunt’s deep slumbering breaths down the hall. Panic set into his bones. With a quick flourish he produced a scrape of paper and pen and scribbled a message to Rhysand. He wasn’t entirely sure if daemati would be aware of any mental attempts to reach out to him, so pen and paper it was. Another quick flick and the paper vanished. Within seconds the High Lord was standing before him.

“Elaine is fine, she just set out to do some shopping with Nyx. Feyre couldn’t wait any longer for (Y/N),” Rhysand’s voice strained to sound indifferent, but he was clearly irritated that he had been summoned. “Where is she by the way? It’s unlike her to be late.” Lucien had the good sense to keep his face as neutral as possible. It wasn’t surprising to find out that the High Lord wasn’t privy to his sister in law’s little excursion. But it was unlike (Y/N) to allow herself to be kept late from her time as Nyx’s governess. However, before he had the chance to respond a ripple of power washed over the High Lord.

“There’s an intruder in the Night Court,” His eyes flashed as darkness began to curl around him.

“(Y/N),” Lucien was instantly breathless. Something was wrong with (Y/N)…

“She’s at the Prison,” Rhysand grabbed Lucien’s wrist and before he could object the pair had winnowed away.

Wind whipped around as what Lucien could only assume was the Prison entrance loomed before them. The trio of females was nowhere in sight. His heart was racing and an uneasy feeling sunk to the bottom of his stomach. He looked around for any sign of life, but the island proved to be just as desolate as he expected. Without a word Rhysand took off in a sprint up the left slope. Lucien’s worry had him following. 

Halfway up the steep mountain face, they found them. (Y/N) was on the ground, tears streaming down her cheeks and a silent cry that the wind had surely carried away. He could practically feel the pain that radiated off her. His own heart lurched, pushing his feet towards her before he could think otherwise. 

“It’s okay, sweet girl,” He called on the magic of his fire to quickly warm his skin, arms slipping around her frame. “You’ve got time to cry. I’m right here.” Her sobs tugged at something in his chest. What had happened to cause his friend such pain? She curled into him, gripping at his tunic. He pulled her closer after a heart wrenching wail pierced the air. 

Lucien glanced over to where Rhysand was berating Nesta and Bryce. He was only able to catch parts of the one-sided conversation, his focus on the human woman he was holding. From what he gathered, Bryce attempted to open a portal. He continued to rub along (Y/N)’s back as she continued to cry. Whatever Bryce had used, the magic must be volatile for Rhysand to be this pissed. Naturally, neither of the Fae females appeared to be fazed by his irritation. Lucien was debating on winnowing you back to the townhouse while Rhysand continued his tirade, but the next words that came out of the High Lord’s mouth made his muscles freeze. 

“We cannot risk the Horn falling into Koschei’s hands! Do NOT use it again!”

You didn’t know how long you cried into Lucien’s broad chest. What was surely mere minutes that passed by felt like hours. Despite Lucien’s warmth surrounding you, the frozen tracks of tears bit at your cheeks. You were vaguely aware of Rhysand’s voice as it bellowed and fought to be heard over the roaring of the wind. Or was that overwhelming desolate wail your own voice? He wasn’t yelling at you, of that much you were certain. No, in this instance you were the very picture of the frightened, fragile, and pathetic human girl he surly wanted you to be. Still, you clung onto Lucien as if your very life depended on it; depended on him and the warmth he always willingly provided you. A gust of wind tousled loose strands of hair. Stubby fingers wrapped tightly into fists around the lose fabric of his tunic. You didn’t want to feel this way. The toll that the loneliness and isolation from those that you loved had fully revealed itself.

Like the hidden cave entrance of the Prison, what you thought was just a small crack was really a wide cavern. The small glimmer of hope that the horn illuminated had been ripped away. You felt a familiar emptiness creep its way towards your heart. Slowly the tears came to a halt and you took several steadying breaths. Numb. You had to become numb again. You couldn’t dwell on this failed attempt. With your eyes closed, you focused on the warmth of Lucien’s embrace.

You focused on the image of the black void and the emptiness and hopelessness that the failed portal to your world conjured inside you, and then pictured yourself stuffing it into a little cardboard moving box. Each push of the memory into the box was accompanied by an exhale. You could feel his warm hands on your face, wiping away the tears. The soothing touch helping to ground you. Once the entire memory was inside the box and sealed, you pictured setting the box to the side, along with all of your other awful memories, and opened your eyes. Your vision was flooded with a loving radiance that seemed to shine from Lucien’s sharp features. Your own personal sun bringing warmth and life to your iced over existence.

You had to fight the sudden and surprising urge to reaching out to him. To caress his face and bring it closer to yours. To…you stopped yourself from finishing the thought and blinked rapidly. His mechanical eye whirred, the pupil narrowing as he looked over you. The slight furrow to his brow showing his confusion. At what you weren’t sure as you did your best to mask over your features. You plastered a weak smile onto your lips before he helped you to stand. The sensation of pins of needles slowly washed up from your toes to your knee cap, encircling your calf muscle as the blood rushed back towards the frozen limbs.

“Can you take me back to the townhouse?” Lucien’s hand was warm within your own. “Please?”

“Of course, love.” He wrapped his arm around your waist, and in a instant the two of you were back in your bedroom.

The rest of your day went by in a haze. Lucien winnowed you back to the townhouse so you could change out of the Illyrian leathers. The afternoon weather was vastly different in Velaris compared to the mountain of the Prison. After a quick shower, you opted to put on a short flowy forest green dress. You were grateful for the breezy fabric as you moved about the kitchen in the River House. You and Elain spent most of the day with Nyx and preparing for the family dinner that Rhysand had invited you to join as some type of apology for this morning’s events. You told him that it wasn’t necessary as he had nothing to do with Bryce and Nesta’s decisions, but he insisted. You had been to a few of the Inner Circle’s family dinners, but you were certain that the invitation was mainly for Nyx’s benefit. The fact that you had been roped into helping make the meal took away from any sense of sincerity of inclusion that Rhysand may have intended.

However, keeping busy with dinner prep helped to ensure that your mind didn’t linger on the hopelessness that threated to still pull you under. You kept your focus on the tasks that Elain assigned you, such as kneading and rolling out the dough for bread and a batch of chocolate chip cookies. Nyx somehow ended up covered in flour, but you didn’t mind having to be the one to clean him up. Or at least you would have been had Azriel not entered the space.

Your back stiffened as he voiced a soft greeting to you. You had hoped that was going to be the end of your interaction as he engaged in a whispered conversation with Elain. You focused your attention on Nyx, brushing flour from his clothing so it didn’t sprinkle on the floor as he made his way to the bathroom. You felt a set of eyes on you and your muscles tensed even more. Without having to look you knew that Azriel was looking watching you and Nyx. The child looked over your shoulders, a smile spreading over his features as he gave a little wave to the Shadowsinger behind you. You had to repress the urge to shudder or show any level of discomfort. You knew that Azriel was just waiting to talk to you.

“Alright little one, let’s go upstairs to get you changed,” You moved to lift Nyx so that you could easily carry him. However, before you could Elain squeezed in between you.

“I’ll take him if you can get the bread out of the oven,” You stood, body ridged in front of the counter, as she picked up the small child. You looked between her and Azriel, a grateful smile on his features. Immediately you knew that they’d conspired against you. You couldn’t do this, not after what you already experienced today. You couldn’t be left alone with him and didn’t want to be forced to have any type of conversation.

What does one even say to the person that caused such physical and emotional damage? Did he want to talk about that weird interaction this morning? If so, that could wait. What was there to talk about anyway really? It was a fluke. Reaching for one of the towels you took a deep breath. You were too emotionally exhausted to deal with him, or really anyone for that matter. You just wanted to return to your room. Return to the warmth of your bed and the male that-

“Hi,” Azriel stood on the opposite side of the oven. The thought was cut off by the soft tenor that slithered over you.

“Hi,” Your response was short as you leaned over and opened the oven door. The hot dry air felt like sand blasting against your eyes, your glasses doing nothing to protect them from the heat.

“Could we-”

“I can’t do this with you right now Azriel,” You tried your best to set the cast iron skillet gently on the stove top. The metal clanging loudly as you nearly dropped it from the heat that rapidly soaked through the towel you used to pull it out of the oven. He cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry to hear about what happened at the Prison earlier today,” Azriel’s voice was low. You briefly wondered how he had even heard about the failed portal and then remembered his shadow singing abilities and his position in the court. Of course, Azriel would have easily found out.

“I said not now,” He ignored you and took a step closer. You chanced a glance towards the door swaying on its hinges. Elain having just left in a rush, confirming all the more that she was assisting Azriel in finally cornering you. And perhaps she wasn’t too happy about it either if the force of which the door continued to swing was any indication. His multitude of attempts to speak to you outside of the flight time to and from your training over the past couple months had been unsuccessful thus far.

You were forced to have that contact with him, and while this morning’s behavior would give anyone on the outside a reason to believe you two were close, the fact was that there was still a lot of tension between the two of you. And with today’s events bringing up emotions you hadn’t fully processed, you were already drained. You didn’t have the energy to deal with anything he may have to say to you. And anything he had to say could wait until the morning.

“Then when? I’ve been trying to talk to you for months (Y/N),” He took another tentative step towards you. You took a step back, wringing the towel in your hands. A shadow curled over his shoulder as if it too expected an answer. The dark memory of those same shadows flashed in front of you. You were at least grateful for the fact that you weren’t trembling, well not yet anyway. Perhaps the forced proximity was helping and the interaction this morning wasn’t just some weird fluke.

“You had the opportunity to talk to me this morning,” You slung the towel over your shoulder and steeled your nerves before finally meeting his hazel gaze. “And what the hell was with you this morning?” His brows furrowed. “The Apple? And the Koala comment. I didn’t even know those existed here.” You clarified. The edges of his lips twitched, but he merely shrugged in response.

“It relieved some of the tension did it not?” You could tell he was fighting back a smirk.

“Tension? You think that…” No jokes like this wasn’t his style. With the forced proximity, you had been able to observe how he interacted with others. His sense of humor was drier, much like your own. So, who told him to joke like this? “Do you honestly think that pretending things are just fine…that jokes will magically make everything better?”

“No,” He sighed. “I know that they won’t, but they can help with creating an opening for an apology. It’s the apology- a proper apology that may help get us off the wrong foot we started on.” You were silent. You honestly never expected to receive an apology from him. You had acknowledged long ago that he was following the orders of his High Lord. Was that who was pulling his strings now? The ever obedient Azriel, performing his duties to his court in keeping his loved ones safe by making sure there was no threat from you. While you recognized that he may not have enjoyed his task, how could you expect him to apologize for…doing his job. You certainly hadn’t ever apologized for doing yours. Furthermore, it wasn’t like his words alone would take away the invisible scars of the trauma your time with him caused.

“I want to apologize for…well mainly for how…the situation that…” You scoffed. This most certainly wasn’t a genuine apology. He couldn’t even say it. He couldn’t even say two simple words let alone ever admit the extent of what he did to you in that cell. You shook your head at the way he continued to fumble over his words before you resumed your task of finding a knife to slice the bread cooling on the stove top.

“Just stop,” You took the bread knife out of the block, a metallic ting ringing through the near empty kitchen. His voice trailed off and one of his shadows curled around your wrist. You yelped as the cold of the shadow practically burned your skin. The knife in your hand now clanking against the stone floor.

“I’m sorry,” Azriel stooped down to pick up the object. You desperately tried to control your breaths. You couldn’t tell if the heavy feeling on your chest was from the rising panic that the shadow conjured or the ire of him being able to say those words so easily for something that didn’t matter. A simple accident, such as dropping a knife, was nothing to apologize for, but torture and abuse certainly was.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N),” He whispered, handing you the knife. “For so many things.” After taking the knife from his scared hands, all you could do was blink. Everything fell silent. You were certain that those in the dining room had gone quiet so as to try and listen into your conversation. You really didn’t want to have this conversation. Mainly because you had no idea how to respond. It had been a year and you still didn’t know how to really move on. While most nights were now nightmare free, you believed that was only because you weren’t always alone in your bed. How could you trust anyone that couldn’t see you were still do dependent on the presence of another to just be normal? For it was when you were alone that the memories haunted you.

You turned the wash basin’s tap allowing the water to pelt against the metal of the knife. Each drop appeared to move in slow motion as they struck the blade. Hopefully the sound of the rushing water would be clue enough for him to end the conversation. Instead, out of your peripherals, you caught him leaning his hip against the side of the basin. His head tilted to try and look at your face. Your hands began to shake so you did your best to busy them with the needless task of cleaning the blade.

“Did you-”

 “I appreciate the effort it took to apologize, Azriel,” You took in a deep steadying breath. “But I’m not in a place where I can easily forgive you. Not just yet.” You recognized that at least that much needed to be said. ‘Acknowledge the apology, even though it is like a farce. You are not obligated to accept it. You don’t owe this male anything. It is Rhysand’s order that forces you to be close to him. Not his own desire to make things right.’ You had to actively fight against the images that started to creep up into your mind.

“I didn’t expect you to,” He countered. “I know healing from trauma takes time and you needed space.”

“And yet you cornered me in the kitchen, completely ignoring my telling you I didn’t want to have this conversation,” You turned the knife over in your hands, letting the now soaked cloth wipe down the blade. Your eyes had long ago left his, focusing on the task in front of you.

“You should have let me come to you-”

“Would you?” His voice took on a slight edge making your heartbeat tick up a few paces. You tried not to remember the last time you heard that tone, but the echoes of his demands resounded through you. ‘ANSWER ME!’ Your body flinched at the memory of an invisible slash across your forearm. You nearly dropped the knife a second time.

“How am I supposed to know when to approach you or when you will be ready to start healing?” You whipped your head towards the male and you felt the spark of your ire ignite. Unfortunately, the anger did nothing to dispel the fear.

“You will know when I tell you,” Your own seething voice was soft. “And my healing is not your, nor anyone else’s responsibility. It is mine. Alone.” Your felt the muscle in your jaw tick as you worked to keep your breath steady. Instead it just felt shallow from the heaviness that coated your chest.

‘STOP LYING!’ Another phantom shout and the heaviness threatened to constrict your airway altogether. It had been a while since the memories of his torture interrupted your waking thoughts. This was the longest you had been left alone with him in a year. The flights to and from the House of Wind never allowed for conversation. If you were to get through this dinner, you needed the memories to go back in their box.

“Have you told that to your Autumn Lord?” His voice held a quiet venom that you had become all too familiar with. One you were certain that his family knew nothing about. “Or do you just enjoy flaunting having another female’s mate in your bed?” Red filled your vision as it tunneled down and a high pitch tone washed over you. You barely registered the feeling of the knife as you flipped it in your hands. The point of the blade creating a dent in the skin under his chin. A thin line of crimson liquid slowly dripped down along the sharp edge.

“Lucien is my friend,” You spat. “Do not talk about him like he is some dishonorable fiend.” 

“Good to see your training is paying off,” Azriel’s smile was dangerous. “You actually managed to cut me.”

“So much for an apology,” You scoffed pulling the knife away. “You’re still just as cruel as you were in that cell.” Azriel took a quick step back, just as the door swung back open. The middle Archeron sister briskly making her away over towards you. The pin drop of blood was now gone from his chin, leaving only the tension in the air between you and the male. Her eyes trailed over the Shadowsinger as she walked by. If you didn’t know any better, you would have sworn that they had their own telepathic communication from the brief look before she plastered a smile on her pink lips.

“Everything is ready,” Elain’s clear and steady voice cut right through the heavy atmosphere. Her smile slowly putting you at ease, allowing you to feel comfortable enough to set down the knife. You and Elain got along quite surprisingly, but there was something strained in her smile towards you. Did she know? Did she put Azriel up to confronting you about her mate and where he slept? You felt your gut twist at the fact that if she knew and felt like she couldn’t say anything to you directly…fuck. You needed to have a talk with Lucien. Though, that talk would have to wait until after this stupid dinner.

Your conversation with Azriel just fueled your doubt and you didn’t want to be here. Maybe you could convince Rhysand to let you go home. It should be a relief to him anyway. You were not considered family to any of them. You were the hired help, no more and no less. Being Nyx’s nanny gave you some type of purpose anyway. There really wasn’t anything else for you to do in this court while you waited to hear if Helion would allow you to step foot into the Day Court. All you could do was wait.

“Ewain!” The kitchen door slammed open with a surprising force, nearly knocking back into the toddler as he chased after his aunt on his tip toes. He rounded the corner of the center island workspace, large bright violet eyes lighting up when he saw you. The child squealed, forgetting his Aunt entirely and made a beeline directly for you. Arms stretched out and up as he continued to run. Nyx reminded you so much of your own nephew, right down to the dark black curls and tan completion. Honestly the only physical difference was the eye color and bat wings that the little one running towards you possessed. You fought back the tears as you scooped him up into your arms.

“Hello my little one,” You cooed before showering him in a flurry of kisses to his now clean chubby cheeks. “Let’s go eat, shall we?” Thankful for the distraction, you carried Nyx out of the kitchen without even a second glance at the male that still very much frightened you.

            A shadow slithered along Azriel’s forearm before winding its way up yours. The bitter cold that the shadow left in its wake burned into your bones. Pain shot down your spine as the shadow wrapped around your throat. The pressure just enough to slow down your ragged breaths. At least that was the intention. Your panicked mind just forced your body to take in shallow gasps. Torn between wanting to get as much air as possible in one instance verse knowing that oxygen needed to be conserved. It didn’t matter though. The darkness around your vision sunk in, your eyes fluttering closed. A soft clicking of the tongue in admonishment. Followed by a sharp pain to your side, the pain seeped into a burn that spread along your entire oblique. You screamed and sobbed. The shadow at your throat slowly twined its way up and around your ear. The whisper soft caress almost that of a lover. That was until the voices started. The voices you always heard in the back of your mind. Worthless, Disgusting, Unloved, Unwanted, Pathetic. The words swirled around you, growing louder with each passing second.

‘You are nothing. So just share your secrets.’

‘Yes, spill them alongside your blood.’

‘Worthless.’

‘Disgusting.’ You tried to shake the swirling voices away, but your head was just so heavy.

 ‘Unloved.’

‘Unwanted.’ You tried to cry, but nothing escaped the darkness those shadows brought.

‘Pathetic.’

‘She’s going to die.’

‘Just die.’

“Will you answer me! Please!” How could you speak though? It wasn’t going to matter what you said, it would only tighten the noose already viciously wrapped around your neck. You didn’t know what else to say.

“(Y/N)! Please!”

 “(Y/N)?” Feyre’s concerned voice cut through the memory. Your body flinched against your will as she gently placed her hand on your arm. You blinked against the brightness of the dining room. You hadn’t even realized the memory complete over took you in the middle of a conversation. You carefully glanced up along the table, each pair of eyes looking at you. You couldn’t determine which sets held genuine concern. Rhysand and Azriel were the only ones that appeared to be complete unaffected by your dissociation. However, you quickly realized they had been having their own mental conversation after the flecks of green returned to the Shadow Singer’s iris.

“S-Sorry,” You tried to cover up the crack in your voice. “It’s been a long day.”

“Then perhaps it would be a good idea for you to take tomorrow off after all?” You had previously told the High Lady that a day off to process would not be necessary. That you were happy to be with Nyx and being with him was enough. But given the looks you were getting from the entirety of the Night Court’s Inner Circle, maybe you should be grateful and take her up on the offer.

“Perhaps,” You mumbled. Your gaze traveled back to the toddler you sat next to. The child smiled, not a care in the world or knowledge of the horror that it held. He banged on the table next to his plate, crumbs lifting into the air briefly. You let out a soft laugh and pushed the darkness from your mind. You took the napkin that had been on your lap, the child’s own being on the floor, and dipped it in your water glass. You quickly cleaned up the juice from the roast that lined his lips and kissed the child’s forehead.

“You’re right,” After placing the dirty napkin on the table you pushed your chair out and stood. You moved Nyx’s highchair out, his arms immediately lifting up in anticipation of being picked up.

“Before you leave,” Rhysand’s voice was smooth. “Helion has agreed to meet you. Next week you’ll go to the Day Court. Az-” The High Lord paused and you were certain that it had to do with the fear that locked onto your body. “Lucien…and Mor will accompany you.” After a beat you managed to dip your head in acknowledgement. You picked up Nyx from his seat, allowing Feyre to give him a kiss before carrying him over to his father. Rhysand gave the child his own kiss before tapping him on the nose. The energy of the male was so different when interacting with his son. It always surprised you. Nevertheless, Nyx said his good byes to all at the table before you took him upstairs.

Back in your world you had helped your own nephew plenty of times in getting ready for bed. Each night with him was hell on Earth and a never-ending fight until he finally passed out from whatever tantrum he threw. Nyx’s bedtime routine was the exact opposite. He enjoyed every minute of his bath and didn’t fight against you when you washed his hair or told him it was time to get out. He enjoyed picking out his own pajamas, and he absolutely loved his stories and your songs. Tonight, he practically begged for a combination of story and song. So, you wracked your brain for a story that would fit the bill while still sending the child off to sleep.

“Alright then little one,” You sat on his bed, back against the headboard. “Cuddle close. I’m going to tell you another story about the two sisters from Arendelle. In this story, Elsa explores an enchanted forest and finds the truth of her powers from the river, Ahtohallan.” Nyx clapped in excitement as you dramatically cleared your throat. Smiling down at the child, you began to sing.

Where the North wind meets the sea…  

Next: Chapter 9 (Part 1)-Coming Soon

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[vitanithepure]

Can we talk about Gale again? And Mystra, one last time? Or at least let me vent? I know it seems like I can't shut up about it, but deal with me this one last time?

It's a long one, an fervent one, and possibly the last one on their relationship because there isn't much to tell for me after this. I just want to lay it to rest on my part, it's too emotionally draining, but I wanted to do this.

Spoilers for them ahead.

It was some time ago I did the talk with Mystra and Gale as an origin character and I needed some time to process this and gather my thoughts. Because I was left reeling with how personal it felt for me and I hated seeing that to bo honest, even though I think whoever did write this scene did it... very well. I feel a lot of thought went into it, so even though it does touch a delicate subject it does it as tastefully as possible.

Okay, let's begin with a real banger.

Why? This will forever read as "I gave you a solution, explain yourself why you didn't die when I asked you to." for me. What kind of messed up question is that to ask someone?

But can I say how there is absolutely no wrong anwser to that asinine question? You can roleplay however you wish, but none of them are bad anwsers. Some of them are more heartbreaking then the others, but none are in any way making excuses. There is nothing to excuse and I'm glad whoever wrote this dialogue recognized this.

I chose the "I have someone else to live for" one here, because I felt that Gale, at this point, really found that special someone, be it a friend or lover, to live for. It's gut-wrenching that he needed someone to keep him alive in the first place, but this is what having an abusive ex does to you.

But the other choices here? All of them fair. She absolutely had no right to ask that of him, no matter the crime, that's just a fucked up thing to expect.

Being afraid to die? Valid, this shouldn't be put up to question.

Two last ones? Pure gold. I treat the fourth one as a direct jab at her own teachings, on how all magic needs to be preserved and studied? It's like him saying "Hey, I did what you expected and now your mad?".

The very last one is poetic justice. "I owe you nothing." and if that were me this would be the absolute end of this discussion. Mic drop, I'm out of here.

And okay, I did take he self-pity route with "I let you down." here becuase this is what I believe is closest to how "canon" Gale feels about this. That's the most heartbreaking thing about it, that he believes he was not worth enough before and is even less now and doesn't deserve love, of any kind.

What are the other options? Well, all in character and each seems like a valid way for Gale to feel. But me, the player, who is fortunate to know some meta knowledge? Oh boy.

"I was a danger to you." No you weren't. She is the goddess of magic, one of the most powerful out here. She is magic. All you could do is make her day worse.

"I disobeyed you." Yeah, you did. And she sentenced you to a slow death for it.

"You were threatened." Eh, not really. But what comes after that statement? "You realised you couldn't control me."? Yes, that is the only thing she felt threatened about - loosing control.

"Our relationship bored you. The orb was just an excuse to end it." I mean... maybe? Not enough is known about it but seeing how all reincarnations of Mystra are fickle lovers at best I would say it's a possibility. Even if it is just his ego speaking here - damn, what a way to end a relationship.

She has the audacity to tell him "he only thought of himself". Pot calling the kettle much?

Oooh, but I love what we can say here. The amout of vicious call outs here is superb.

We get to call out how much of a control freak she is. Then we can say how out of place was her punishment. Because I feel like it was a fucking equivalent of throwing a child into a dark cellar for breaking your favorite cup, while all they wanted to do was wash it for you. That is how imbalanced this whole thing is and I'm not taking criticism on that.

We also get to straight up ask what was the lesson if she never let him know what he really did and left him without means to make things right?

Then my favorite. Straight up ask her how many lives was she willing to sacrifice to get rid of the problem?

And last but not least - call her out on her lies. That's what she did. Why? I don't know. Was she afraid? Possibly, because the Karsite Weave + Crown of Karsus combo could potentially threaten her. Potentially, because as we saw in one of the Gale endings, she has no problem with just getting rid of a newly ascended god wielding them. That leads me to believe she is not afraid of loosing power as much as just being rivaled with. The indignity she has to suffer, truly.

Hit a nail on the head here. Who cares about mortals, if they live or die and in how many droves? Competition comes knocking, so all gloves are off. And that is what I believe to be the crux of the matter. Mystra wants to remove the Absolute (because that's the new upstart god breaking the status quo), the orb containing he rival Weave, the Crown which threatens her rule over magic all in one swoop. Oh, and that one guy who tries too hard and refuses to die. No biggie. Who cares, she has a line of followers who would replace her Chosen at any given time.

I'm a salty bitch over the fact we can't keep the Crown of Karsus, but instead of using it - just hide it away again. Stablize Gale's Karsite Weave and keep that thing around, hidden away. Let her sweat over the idea someone else might find it one day and rival her rule.

I know I'm way too emotional about it, but like I said, it's very personal - I been there, done that, and never recovered in full after it. I'll die defending anyone and any pixels who are struggling with their self-worth and trying to get over an emotionally abusive relationships.

"Be the better person, die saving the world and I'll 'forgive' you." Fuck. You.

And a bonus, for those of you who stuck around till the end, because I was totally naming the screens and yelling at my monitor while doing this.

[littlejuicebox]

Midnight Chimes 2 / Three years

Background: I plan for this to be a series based off the premise/epilogue from my piece "Midnight Chimes." I’ve changed the character from GN to F because… well, I’m F and I have an easier time writing from that angle. Additionally, I gave Tav a different name... I wanted to give her an identity of her own, I suppose. As a disclaimer, she is a Great Old One Warlock, and I am learning about this class as I go, so it may not exactly follow lore.

Summary: You and Astarion have met before, though you think it meant more to you than it did to him. You are an apothecary shop owner that has recently gained some mysterious Warlock powers; Astarion is, in your eyes, a rake that you wouldn’t trust as far as you can throw him. You two run into one another again after the nautiloid crash.

Pairing: Astarion x F!Reader Warlock.

Word Count: 1,292

-----

He’s got a blade to your neck.

A blade. To your neck.

The bastard doesn’t recognize you at all, does he?

“And you! Keep your distance. No need for this to get messy.” The pale elf warns your companion, Gale, an amiable wizard you’d pulled out of a strange portal not more than a half hour ago.

“Couldn’t agree more. But if you use that knife, I will incinerate you.” Gale responds, surprisingly calm for the situation at hand. Perhaps there’s more to the wizard than meets the eye; if you weren’t stuck with your jugular millimeters from a sharp dagger, you would’ve laughed.

Astarion is distracted by your companion, countering his warning with some asinine threat of his own.

Yes, you unfortunately know the elf's name. He’d frequented your parents’ tavern for years when you worked there as a server in your twenties, and then you two had a pleasant conversation in that same tavern – what was it, three? – three years back. He’d meandered in after being banned for years, while you were on Midwinter holiday visiting your family.

You’d thought it had been a meet-cute, but the rake never did write to your apothecary shop address, in the end. He’d had you fooled, for a moment, but your initial impressions had been correct. It was probably nothing to him. You ultimately figured Astarion had been a rake through and through, and you hadn’t been an easy lay, so he’d dismissed you and decimated your pride in the process.

Bastard.

You supposed the chance encounter had meant more to you than it had him, though you wouldn’t dare to admit you waited for a letter for far too long. Months of checking the post with a glimmer of hope in your lonely heart… how pitiful, honestly.

You feel your patron laugh in amusement… if the celestial being can laugh, or perhaps that’s just the way they translate it to you. They must think this run-in is entertaining… for all you know, they orchestrated it. Hadn’t they been the reason you felt pushed to leave your apothecary shop in the hands of your assistant and travel to Baldur’s Gate, intending to visit your parents on a whim? 

You’d never done an impromptu trip to Baldur's Gate in the all the years you’d been gone. But then you bought that blasted ring with the strange cosmic stone at the antique shop, slipped it on your pinky, and suddenly your mind was not your own. Deep in the recesses of your psyche, something else lurked. Something ancient and unfathomable… you didn’t even know if the thing had a name. And every once in a while, it would compel you to perform an action with nearly obsessive thoughts and visions.

Nothing would stop the psychic barrage apart from acting in the being's interest, not even removing the ring because... well, you couldn't. It was stuck on your pinky. And you weren’t about to maim yourself by chopping off your own finger.

Then, almost unbelievably, you had been kidnapped, infected with a parasite and placed in the path of the insufferable rake, yet again. And now this arrogant elf has a blade pressed to your “darling” neck.

The beautiful bastard even has the gall to wear a knock off of the cologne sample that had been attached to your business card all those years ago. Bergamot, rosemary… and is that brandy?

You had to admit it was a close duplication, but not quite as good as yours. You laugh at the ludicrousness of it all, and the elf’s attention jerks back to you. You must be crazy to be laughing in the face of such a threat… but perhaps you are crazy, after all.

“Don’t recognize me, Astarion? Can’t say I’m surprised.” 

Astarion’s eyes narrow at you. You can see him trying to place your face, scanning it for something familiar, even though the dagger is still pressed flush against your jugular.

“You may not remember me, but I remember you,” You start, and the celestial being in your mind chuckles again, flashing a memory from three years back, when you’d said the exact same thing to this elf in your parents’ tavern. Gods, were you cursed to remember him for all eternity while the rake forgot you after every run in?

“My name is Demi. Demitria?”

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The cold sharpness of the dagger against your neck is starting to make you nervous.

“We met at my parents’ tavern in Baldur's Gate? The Drunken Dragon?”

Astarion is still staring at you suspiciously, tightly gripping the dagger as he searches his memories for any sign of you. You can tell he doesn’t believe you. Gods damn this elf! He didn’t remember you one bit and you’d thought of him more than you’d ever admit to anyone.

Suddenly a sharp sensation ripples through your mind, connecting you to the pale elf’s. At first you think this is a strange trick from your patron, but then you realize it’s something caused by the parasite. You feel its sickening wriggles behind your skull.

It’s the same memory flashing through two perspectives; the night you two met. You see Astarion enter and feel your wary judgment of him, he sees you in a corner booth and you pick up on something predatory about his nature – damn rake – as he sits next to you. You are annoyed by him; he is entertained and intrigued by you.

The conversation ensues and both of you are thoroughly enjoying yourselves, until the bell tower chimes and then – fear, gut-wrenching, all-consuming fear in Astarion’s mind. You two say your goodbyes and then he’s bursting out the door, down the alley, running, panicking, searching for something, someone–

“Agh what the hells!” The silver-haired rake shouts, dropping his dagger and clutching his head in his hands. 

You take the opportunity to roll away and stand up on your own two feet. You get a sense that your patron is protecting you from some of the parasite’s abilities, since you aren’t wriggling in pain on the ground like Astarion… it seems they don’t like another alien entity vying for control of your mind. Gale is swiftly by your side, hands filling with colorful waves of magical energy; you snatch the dagger from the earth. 

When the vision is over, Astarion is blinking up at you. He glosses over your face one more time and then you see it… recognition. The man quickly scrambles to his feet, now unarmed, and splays his hands wide in a signal of truce.

“My sincerest apologies, Demetria. I’m not good with faces; I meet a lot of people, darling, and well, many of you humans look quite similar. I trust we can put this entire misunderstanding behind us?” The silver-haired elf murmurs, flashing you his signature, alluring smile. It must work on nearly everyone.

The gall. The absolute fucking gall.

You want to say no, to laugh in his face; part of you considers stabbing him, just for kicks. But then there is your patron, once again, compelling you to say yes. You have the inexplicable feeling that if you don’t, something terrible will happen to your parents. Why does the entity always make you feel like something will happen to them if you don’t follow these ridiculous urges? What would happen if you didn’t? Are you willing to risk it?

Your jaw locks up as you try to fight back the words, you look to Gale hoping the wizard will say no on your behalf.

“I will leave the matter of this decision to you, Demetria. You were the one with the blade to your neck.” The human man responds with a kindly, relaxed air. How unbothered can one person be, in the face of a parasite and a stab-happy rogue?

Damn the geniality of this wizard. 

“Fine,” You manage to choke out, and you feel the cosmic entity’s hold on your psyche relax. You spin the blade in your hand and return it to its owner, pressing the hilt into his outstretched palm. “But anymore of your bullshit, Astarion, and both Gale and I will blast you into the hells.” 

Astarion grins, all vulpine and pomp, before wrapping his hand around the dagger. He gives the weapon a few spins between his fingers before sheathing the blade on his thigh, “Cross my heart, I’ll behave myself. Seems we have a mutual interest of returning to Baldur’s Gate, and we will need all the allies we can get, after all.” 

“Yes… seems that way.” You agree reluctantly, before sighing and turning to continue your journey along the beach. You and Gale had been scrounging up supplies before you two were rudely interrupted by the rake. 

Fate is a cruel, cruel mistress. And you’re beginning to believe your patron might be even crueler. 

[mwolf0epsilon]

Sometimes being in the SW Fandom is about diving into the annals of the internet researching the most obscure tidbit of batshit insane Canon or EU Lore imaginable to man (which is honestly my favorite thing to do because people have done some pretty insanely funny things with this universe and characters). But for the majority of the time, being in the SW Fandom is also watching people repeat a cycle of asinine arguments that make an absolute ass out of them for the worst possible reasons.

So here's a quick reminder of past arguments to be mindful of and always consider, when you see something in the tags that makes you wrinkle your nose at:

Everyone has something they like or dislike about the overall universe and story. Be it the Original Trilogy, the Prequels, the Sequels, the Animated series, the Live-Action series, EU stuff, Novels, etc. No one is above or below anyone else just because they don't love the entirety of the universe and/or the direction the current writers are taking it.

Canon can be a good baseline for your own creative purposes. You don't have to love it (because yes the whole thing can be inconsistent as hell), but don't get to a point in your fanfic/AU world-building where you vehemently deny that canon is an actual thing. This goes hand in hand with your personal depiction of characters vs someone else's depictions. Reading comprehension and the creative process depend on perspective and how you process the information you're given, so it's only normal that no two person's idea of a character is the same. But saying that your headcanons are how the characters should be written by everyone is not gonna do you any favors in the long run, because it's not up to you to decide on that. Don't forget Blorbo's actual roots and what it took to get him where you took him, but don't try to force someone else to accept the journey you orchestrated for them!

No one's OC should be put on a pedestal. It's good that people feel comfortable enough to play Barbies with each other's OCs in roleplay sessions, or even add a cameo in a fic to a character of a friend and/or artist/writer they admire from a distance. Hell, the fact many people are passionate about someone else's little fella/s is great! But the moment someone's OC becomes an object of obsession within a Fandom community, things can go a little wrong... It stops being fun to be in that kind of space that goes from welcoming OC discussions to suddenly shunning new people in favor of someone's Ultimate Blorbo who now has a Cult Following and should be written into every fanfic ever.

No one is evil for lacking knowledge or self-awareness of certain grievances that people rightfully have with the source material. The SW Fandom has always had a long-standing issue with racial stereotyping, whitewashing, cultural appropriation, sexism and many other equally serious topics that have been more eloquently explained in posts made by people much more eloquent and qualified than I am or ever will be. However, one must recognize that not everyone who joins the Fandom is immediately aware of these things. Especially the younger generations that have either not been exposed to these concepts due to one reason or another (upbringing, biased educational curriculum, etc), or because they were simply never in a position where they could delve into these topics with someone knowledgeable on them (some experiences simply aren't universal, especially if you come from a more privileged family). For the most part, SW is just a silly sci-fi universe that is nothing more than a simple means of escapism or dumb fun. Not everyone is going to study it under a microscope or go through it with a fine comb. That said, another important thing to remember is to listen to those who know their stuff and that have had personal grievances with any of the topics above. You can be excused for lack of knowledge, but you cannot be excused for purposefully ignoring the voices of those who provide you said knowledge for free if you go searching.

This is kinda returning to the second and previous topics, but I really need to put emphasis on this: If you're going to cling to certain design choices with an iron first and incorporate them into your personal ideas/headcanons, please always consider how it SOUNDS when you say characters that are written with basis on real POC people/communities are much better/superior if they have phenotypical trait expressions that are not present (or considered rare/atypical) in their real world basis. This is a CONSISTENT problem I have seen crop up specifically within the Clone Wars and Bad Batch sides of the fandom, especially when talking about Rex (who is a blond) and Clone Force 99 (who do not look like standard clones). Always remember: The problem isn't that Rex can't be naturally blond (genetics can be unpredictable and we really don't have an extensive look into the cloning process), the problem is the way some people think he'd be inferior in some way if he were a bottle blond who chose to distinguish himself (almost as if having darker skin, darker hair and darker eyes is somehow worse than having lighter skin, lighter hair or lighter eyes.. How curious isn't it?). Needless to say, I don't think I need to elaborate further on why CF99's "desirable mutations" giving them considerably lighter skin and less ethnic features, while also making their most POC presenting member look and sometimes act like a moronic brute (something which this Fandom pushes further by infantilizing him relentlessly), is a bit of a red flag...

Star Wars has always been political. It is literally in the name and in the meat of the writing. The entire thing is basically a political and social critique presented in a sci-fi/fantasy wrapper, with colorful plasma swords, cool spaceships, and kickass explosion bow on top. You cannot separate the political conversation from the universe's overall lore, and trying to do so makes you look foolish. Disney may have taken creative liberties with some of its shows, but at the end of the day they can't ever eliminate what the Original Trilogies and even the Prequels tried to tell us about. With that said, complaining about how some of the new shows are "too Woke" or PC is the equivalent of saying you read Romeo and Juliet and that the story is relationship goals. You might need to revisit the original material.

For the love of god if you don't like something, don't go after someone who does, it's not worth it. Sometimes the best thing you can do is either filter something you actively dislike/that makes you feel uncomfortable, or simply unfollow/block whoever is repeatedly bringing it onto your doorstep. And you also have no real obligation to explain your decision to block someone, especially if they hound you for questions. Rule of thumb: Don't like something? That's perfectly fine and valid. Take the steps to make yourself comfortable then, but don't go out of your way to be a royal asshole to someone else just because they themselves enjoy it. This encompasses things from anti-jedi demonization, actual ethnic cleansing in canon, siding with personifications of alt-right extremists, proshipping apologism, etc. The block button was added to this hellsite for a reason. Use it.

Sometimes you can't change someone else's opinions on a matter and that is perfectly fine. Just don't start a feud. People come and go, and their opinions vary (we're all individuals with out own perspectives and unique experiences after all), but getting up in arms every time someone either refuses to yield in a long-winded argument, or continuously tries to shove their unsolicited opinions/advice onto you, or even makes incredibly uncomfortable/forward/gross comments that they definitely shouldn't be saying to a complete stranger on the internet, is kind of pointless and will drain you of energy faster than you can say Death Star. You're not the lesser person for walking away from a lost cause. It's ultimately not your job or responsibility to fix/better someone else. Especially if they don't want to change.

[danieldrivesfast]

The amount of absolutely asinine takes, parasocial bullshit, bad information, and smooth-brain babbling on this hellsite is WILD today.

You don't fucking know these people. You don't even listen to them when they actually speak. You don't have the ability to process context clues or feel empathy. You have no concept of how F1 works and talking louder than others who do doesn't change that. You don't understand the difference between factual, objective criticism and being disgusting. You will prop up any lie to further your agenda even if it's easily disproven. You are nasty, cruel, and hateful because you think it makes you a better fan or somehow superior when it actually makes you a shitty person who deserves nothing but the worst. That person you stan would hate you.

At this point, I don't know if most of this fandom is too young to have experience with how facts, jobs, adults, and the real world work or if they're just stupid, ugly people. It's not fucking normal how y'all act. I'd take a bar full of liquored up men before I'd ever want to spend a minute talking racing with most of you. Jesus Christ.

[wondercourse]

something that sucks about discovering the possibility of being mixed-origin is that it directly ties me to syscourse in most people's minds if i choose to talk about it online (which i am lol).

it shouldn't. i should be allowed to navigate this outside of the lens of syscourse. to one side, i am now the enemy; to the other, i am now an ally. i can't just be.

honestly thank god i'm in therapy because it's such a "hey man how's it going" thing. she wants to focus on what's actually important in this process as we slowly transition from phase 1 to phase 2 (she doesn't refer to it with phasic language but funny enough her philosophy lines up with it so). she doesn't care about origin! she just wants to aid in my recovery.

not so on the internet! i have to fit into a box, and being put in that box shuts me out of so many things. the quoigenic label automatically categorizes me in the minds of many and that drives me up a wall, especially as someone who Doesn't Like The Labels.

fortunately, outside of setting boundaries and being frustrated by this realization, this doesn't have that negative of an effect on me like it would've as a teenager. random people's preconceived notions about me don't define my identity, i do.

i just think it's wild that i even needed to realize this at all. that something as simple as changing my label—even with the possibility of still being totally traumagenic—creates narratives in people's minds. i'm a faker. i don't have trauma. i'm a poor, misguided traumagenic system that got dragged into pro-endo rhetoric. i'm this. i'm that.

like that's weird. and i think what bothers me about it is that for a lot of people who may perceive me, there's morality attached to that. i'm bad now or i'm good now. and while i think that both sides of this suck, the worst thing is that in the eyes of some, i have attached a term to myself that makes me less than, and that says "fakeclaiming/suicide baiting/harassing this person is okay".

again, i'm in a spot where i recognize that this doesn't ACTUALLY define my morality—identifying as quoigenic is morally neutral—nor does it make it okay for people to treat me like shit for it, but it's just like...what? like idk i'm just recognizing and acknowledging how asinine that is in general.

anyway, i hope this appropriate for the sysconversation tag. just wanted to talk about that because i was thinking about it in the context of the choice to keep this account separate from my other blog because of this. i'm okay, just befuddled.