#anyway I’m having a very bad terrible awful not good time

[ashotofogdensoldfirewhiskey]

hinny prompts??? ooooh um maybe write something where harry is being a bit protective of ginny? hbp, post dh, whichever point in time you feel most inclined to write about!! thanks 😍😍😍

“You were right about Vanishing spells,” Ginny declares irritably, dumping her school bag onto the table Harry has secured for their study date in the library. “They’re a pain in my arse.”

“Ah,” Harry says, looking up from his essay with an expression of sympathy. “Bad lesson?”

Ginny throws herself into the chair opposite and scrunches her nose in distaste. “Awful. Might as well have been using one of Fred and George’s trick wands for all the good mine did, at least then I’d have had a laugh.”

“Did McGonagall set you extra homework?”

Ginny sits up rim-rod straight in her seat, makes her lips as thin as they can go, and adopts a lofty Scottish accent, “Miss Weasley,” she chides, in a passable impression of McGonagall. “An essay on the proper wand motion and theory behind Vanishing vertebrates to me by Tuesday.”

“Brutal,” Harry winces. “How many inches?”

“Two hundred and four. And once you’ve finished that, please use your newfound knowledge to Vanish the Chudley Cannons abysmal goal scoring problems, Fleur Delacour’s superiority complex, and Harry Potter’s penchant for danger. And then you can fling yourself from the Astronomy Tower for your trouble.”

Harry snorts loudly. “Oh, is that all?”

“I might just skip straight to the Astronomy Tower.”

“Efficient. Please don’t, though.”

“Honestly,” Ginny grumbles. “She set me fourteen inches. Fourteen! I’ve already got loads of Charms to do this weekend, I’m going to be in the library all–”

Ginny trails off, for Harry had turned in the middle of her rant to scowl rather hatefully at a group of fourth year Ravenclaw girls whispering at a nearby table. “Er, Harry?”

Harry turns back to her, but the scowl remains. “Sorry. Fourteen inches?”

“What’d they do to you?” Ginny jokes, jerking her head toward the girls’ table. They aren’t being particularly loud, and Harry isn’t typically one to become enraged by library volume etiquette.

“What?” Harry says quickly. “Nothing.”

Ginny grins. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“It’s nothing, honestly.”

“C’mon,” Ginny goads. “Were they trying to ask you about the Chosen One rubbish, or something?”

Harry shakes his head. “No. They… before you arrived, they were talking about you,” he says in a tone of combined incredulity and disgust.

“Ah.” Ginny sits back in her chair, utterly unsurprised. “What was it this time? That I’m spiking you with a Love Potion? Or that you’re only interested in me because I’m a tart? Or – ooh, my favorite is that I’m using you to usurp your position as Quidditch Captain. I think they might be onto something with that one, actually…”

Harry doesn’t even laugh at her joke as his expression approaches the realm of horror. “The Love Potion one but… People have been saying that other stuff about you? To you?”

Ginny shrugs unconcernedly. “Not to my face, but I’ve heard it, yeah. Dunno if you’ve noticed, Harry, but a lot of girls fancy you.”

Harry shrugs this off so quickly that Ginny can’t help the feeling of satisfaction and smug glee that sparks in her chest. “But that’s… that’s so fucked.”

“Well, yeah,” Ginny says, slightly amused by his naivety to the Hogwarts gossip mill. “I suppose. But honestly it’s all rubbish anyway, I don’t give a rat’s arse. Let them say what they want, they don’t know the real reason I’m with you - all your gold.”

Harry laughs despite himself, but the concern quickly returns. “But I don’t understand. Why would anyone think you’re spiking me with Love Potion?”

Ginny grins wickedly. “Dunno. Might want to tone down your infatuation with me. It’s very suspicious.”

Harry shakes his head as he lets out another reluctant laugh. “No, but I mean it. It’s… it’s mental,” Harry makes a gesture to her general person, like she’s meant to agree with something. 

“Yeah, I mean, obviously I’d never do that to anyone, let alone you–”

“No,” Harry interrupts. “Well, yeah. I bloody hope not, you’re not Romilda Vane,” he adds darkly. “But that’s not what– I just meant, why would anyone even assume that? Half the blokes at this school fancy you.” He gestures to her again, as though his point should be self-evident.

A heat blossoms over Ginny’s cheeks. “Half the blokes in this school do not fancy me,” she laughs. “You’ve been listening to my brothers.”

Harry stares at her like she’s the one who’s lost her gobstones. “No, I haven’t. But that’s beside the point. It’s just… insulting.”

“Doesn’t paint me in a particularly good light, no,” Ginny agrees, feeling like she’s missing something. “Rather creepy.”

Harry exhales in frustration. “I just meant, how can they honestly think that’s the only reason I’d fancy you? I mean… you’re…” He gestures to her again. 

If she’s meant to fill in those blanks, Harry is going to be disappointed. “I’m… what?”

Harry stares at her incredulously. “You’re… brilliant! You’re the best in the school at Quidditch, you’re always making everyone laugh, and well, you look like,” he gestures to her again, helplessly, “that.”

The heat has spread from her cheeks down to her chest. She might be on fire, actually. “Harry–”

“No, it’s… how can anyone honestly think that I wouldn’t fancy you? It’s really rude, actually, I don’t know why you’re not bothered.”

Ginny is struck quite dumb by this proclamation. A tingly, glowing warmth is radiating out from her glowing cheeks. Ginny supposes it shouldn’t feel so surprising - they’re together, and Ginny doesn’t think she’s alone in how quickly her feelings are escalating; on some level it comes with the territory that he’d think these things of her. But she had been totally unprepared for him to be so indignant – not about being the subject of baseless gossip yet again – but about the insinuation that Ginny would need any help in attracting his attention. 

“I don’t–” Ginny splutters. “Well, that’s– you really think all that?”

“That you’re brilliant at Quidditch?” Harry asks in disbelief. “That you’re funny and beautiful? I mean – yeah? You are.”

“I think you might’ve overdosed on that Love Potion I’ve been slipping you–”

Harry barks out a laugh again. “Come on. Honestly. Of course I think that. You must know that.”

She supposes she did know, but it’s quite a different matter to have him state it so baldly like this, like her brilliance is so wildly self-evident. Harry’s gone and released a jar of snitches in her stomach. 

“Well, clearly the rest of the school’s got a different opinion,” Ginny says, trying to disguise the way his words have impacted her. “Or perhaps you’re underselling your own appeal.”

Harry smirks, and Ginny might die. “Find me appealing, do you?”

“Obviously.”

“Glad my Love Potion’s worked.”

They grin stupidly at each other, and Ginny’s heart is thrumming in her chest. 

“I am sorry, though,” Harry says, his grin fading. “That people have been saying all that about you. I didn’t realize.”

“It’s fine,” Ginny says, waving her hand. “Honestly, they’ve done me a favor. Got you to admit how obsessed with me you are, didn’t they?”

“Didn’t realize I was hiding it,” Harry replies, casually delivering the fatal blow to Ginny’s composure. 

“That’s it,” Ginny announces, stuffing her Transfiguration book into her bag. “We’re done with the library.”

“But you haven’t even started–”

“Don’t tell McGonagall, then. Come on.”

Harry doesn’t need telling twice, as he packs up his things with admirable speed. 

They make their way to the Library exit, still grinning soppily at one another, and their path takes them past the table of Ravenclaws. As they’re passing, Ginny thinks she catches a snippet of their conversation, sees a tightening in Harry's jaw: “--so obvious, I bet she gets them from her brother’s joke shop–”

Suddenly, Ginny is being spun around on her heel. Before she has time to react, Harry kisses her, boldly, smack in the middle of the library. His hands come up to cup her face, and Ginny’s heart is hammering in her chest. After several moments, he pulls away, leaving Ginny feeling rather gobsmacked. 

She watches as he shoots a nasty scowl at the Ravenclaw girls, who are all staring in blatant shock. Satisfied, he takes Ginny’s hand again and continues their meandering path from the library, as though they’d experienced no interruption. 

“Er, Harry?” Ginny says, thoroughly gleeful. “Not complaining, or anything, but I’m not sure that helped with the whole Love Potion narrative. And it’s definitely not going to help me beat the tart allegations…”

Harry shoots her a sheepish look. “Fuck. Sorry. We’re both tarts, then.”

Ginny’s grin widens. “Oh really? I wish you’d told me sooner…”

[misasimagines]

all your fault / reader x Ren (Tokyo Debunker)

included characters: just ren!

rating: sfw

warnings: tsundere. dreaded there was only one bed trope. reader is forced to watch shakma.

What started as an innocent, “My door is always open,” offer to a tired, gaming withdrawing Ren became a habit you had no desire to break. You walked him back to your place after his shift at the diner and after your classes let out. He would sneak out of Jabberwock to bring a new terrible horror movie to watch. You would find an excuse to back out of plans so you would be able to be home when he would likely stop by.

It was almost starting to feel like he lived there.

You hopped up on your bed next to him, leaning up against the wall and settling in. “What are we watching tonight?”

He so rarely looked excited, but there was a mischievous, almost manic enthusiasm in his eyes, “Shakma.”

You stared at him. 

He set his laptop up on his legs and opened up the movie site.

“The movie with the killer monkey?” You ventured.

“Yes. It’s so bad.” He was giddy. In his own way.

Taking a deep breath, you pulled your blanket over your legs and accepted your fate. It wouldn’t be the first horrible, no good, very bad movie he’d made you watch.

The movie was worse than bad. The movie was so bad that the weather outside went from a cloudless night to a rolling thunderstorm. You jumped once at a particularly loud thunder clap and he had mocked you, asking if you were actually scared of the killer monkey.

“I’m not scared of the killer monkey,” you scoffed, “I’m scared of my shitty cathedral room getting flooded by the storm.”

Ren was too invested in the evil baboon killing med students to react with much nuance, “That would suck.”

The rest of the movie passed (thankfully, it seemed like it would never end) and Ren enjoyed every second of the awful film. You could appreciate his excitement, it was cute to see him so focused and invested. The light of the laptop screen flashed against his face, illuminating his eyes and accentuating his handsome features. Honestly, most of the movie you were imagining snuggling up to him, maybe using his shoulder as a pillow, and that’s what kept you from going completely insane from the terrible direction of the “plot.” You knew if you actually tried to do anything like that, he’d complain about harassment and whine until you apologized and it might just ruin everything you had with him.

You respected his boundaries, anyway, and knew that your fantasies would go unfulfilled. You were happy enough just being friends with him, getting to know about his bad taste in movies, opening whatever links he sent you to replenish his game stamina, and even starting a game or two yourself because he wanted the referral credits. Ah, the lengths you went to for this ungrateful boy.

The credits rolled and he pulled out his phone immediately, logging in to one of his mobile games to collect dailies. It must have been past midnight already. He was like a living alarm for you. You knew what hour it was based on him opening up whatever game on his phone, they all had different reset times, and this one was midnight.

Stretching your legs, you climbed up on your knees and leaned over his legs, bracing yourself against the foot-board to look out your window. The storm hadn’t let up, and you watched a torrent of rain rage against your window. The trees bowed outside from the sheer force of the wind and as you watched, a flash of lighting touched down, turning your room almost white from the brightness.

“What are you doing?” He asked, distracting you from your inspection.

Still bent over on your knees, you answered, “I don’t think the rain is going to let up.” You pushed yourself back and sat back down next to him.

If the laptop had a brighter color than black on the screen, you would have seen him blushing. For once, he was lucky, and the credits had given away to a black pause screen that kept you in the dark about his reaction. “Great,” he complained instead. “I’ll have to walk home in the dark and during a storm.”

You frowned, “Maybe it’ll be really bad for now, and then lessen up in a bit if you want to wait?”

He was quiet, and you knew he wasn’t doing anything important in the game since he just opened up the character menu, checked their stats, and then swiped to another one. He knew all of that information already by heart, he was just distracting himself and trying to appear casual. “Don’t you have an early morning tomorrow?”

You did, actually, and it surprised you he remembered it. Your surprise must have shown on your face, because he scowled at you before you could answer.

“Don’t look at me like that. I don’t ignore everything you say…” He pouted.

You bit back a smile, “Just 90% of it?” You teased.

“...40%.” He answered.

“Aw, so everything about how you really should treat Haru more nicely you ignore?” You poked his shoulder.

He turned his head away, “Now I’m ignoring you.”

You rolled your eyes with a smile and fell back onto your pillow, propping your knees up so you didn’t kick him. You were nice to him, even when he didn’t deserve it. “I do have an early morning tomorrow, but I don’t want you to drown out there or get struck by lightning or something, so I won’t kick you out.”

Ren set down his phone and steadied his laptop, more unnecessary movements to stall for time. 

“You don’t have to stay,” You promised him, softening your voice as to not startle him, “I have an umbrella somewhere around here if you’d be more comfortable going home.” It wasn’t your intention to push him or to try to break any boundaries he had very clearly set. Ren wasn’t a… touchy, emotional guy. He was stubborn, he was pessimistic, and he had a very small social battery. In the time you had known him, you knew he didn’t like casual touches, he didn’t respond well to verbal affection, and he could barely tolerate even calling you a friend. You understood these things and you would never want to put him in a situation where he felt obligated to put up with something that made him uncomfortable.

Another minute of silence passed, and you rolled to your side and prepared to search for that umbrella. He spoke up before you could stand fully, “You don’t expect me to sleep on the floor or something, do you?”

You bounced lightly back down on the bed. Did he really want to stay? “No…” but you only had the one bed.

He pushed his laptop further away from him, expression fully readable. He was uncertain, torn between the discomfort of walking home while the storm blew branches off of the trees and the discomfort of sleeping in a comparatively warm bed. With you. His friend who he couldn’t stop going to almost every day. Who he spent most of his time with, who didn’t run his social battery to empty, and who never tried to force him to do anything he didn’t want to do. You had just watched a truly despicable movie with him, not complaining, not nagging him to pick something else. You never asked for any kind of payment for your company and care. 

Would it really be that bad?

His cheeks flushed again at his own line of thinking and he looked out the window to avoid you seeing it. Your room was dark, only a few candles lighting up small radiuses around the room. You wouldn’t have even really been able to see it if he had stayed facing you. 

You thought carefully. You really didn’t want to send him out in the rain, and you were worried that he was going to do just that if you didn’t fix the situation quickly. What was one night on your own cold, rickety, dusty floor? It would just be one of the many things you dealt with for him,  “I don’t mind sleeping on the floor-”

He groaned, “Don’t be a martyr. It’s fine, we always sit on your bed to watch movies anyway. How different can it be?”

~~~

You took some time snuffing out your candles, changing into your most normal, modest, and not embarrassing pajamas possible. He had left a bag in your room one day that had a pair of spare joggers and a t-shirt from when he had to change last minute for work, and you had generously thrown them in with your laundry after he forgot them. One win for Ren tonight not having to sleep in jeans!

You thought it might be the only win, given the absolutely devastated look he had on his face staring down at your narrow bed.

He was not small, despite the closed off way he carried himself. His shoulders were relatively broad and his legs were long. You imagined that alone he’d feel squished in your bed. With you as well? He would be channeling the experience of a sardine. You considered again offering to sleep on your floor, but your sock-clad feet could feel the cold seeping in from the floorboards and you shuddered to think of sleeping down there.

“Wall side or door side?” You offered, trying to lighten the mood.

He frowned, “Wall side, so you don’t push me off onto the floor.” He climbed in, pulling the covers over him and keeping his face pointed at the wall. He fit exactly, with no room at the top or bottom to stretch out any further. 

You climbed in after him, plugging in your phone and blowing out the last candle on your nightstand before pulling the covers up. It felt strange. The weight of his body dipped your mattress in a way that you weren’t used to. The normally cold chill of your room seemed lessened with his additional body heat under the covers. You imagined the sensation of an invisible barrier between you two, keeping you from settling fully on your bed. One of your shoulders was resting on air.

There was silence in your room, cut only by the constant of the rain outside, the wind making your old walls moan and crack, and the occasional distant boom of thunder. It went on so long, you weren’t sure if he was already asleep or just determined to pretend to be. You were about to accept the crick you’d have in your neck when he spoke up.

“I can’t move over anymore than I already am,” he sounded annoyed, but the kind of annoyed he was when you brought him lunch and he was upset about you bringing a rice bowl instead of noodles. The kind of annoyed where he would have said thank you and been grateful, if only he weren’t cursed to be so terribly bratty.

“It’s fine! I can scoot over more,” you assured, sliding over a few more inches until you had to flex your arm to keep it from falling limp over the side of the bed.

Ren raised up on his elbow to inspect you and scowled, “You’re gonna fall off, so just-” he reached across you and grabbed your arm to pull you back up on the bed and froze.

His face turned red and you assumed yours matched from the scorching heat you felt in your cheeks. Ren was leaning over you, holding your arm, in the process of pulling you closer to him, and his face was closer to you than it ever had been. He could have lowered a few more inches and kissed you- If, big on the if, this situation were romantic and not potentially traumatizing for him. You hoped if he ever got this close to you it would be without an expression of such embarrassment and terror.

He dropped you and flipped over immediately, pulling the covers up to his ears and facing the wall, “Whatever, you can fall off if you're so determined to. I can't stop you.” 

You took a slow, careful breath to calm your racing heart. The feeling of his hand on your arm lingered until the draft stole it away. You scooted over just enough to fit on your own bed and responded, “I’ll try not to.” 

A few beats passed and he did not try to talk to you.

“Goodnight, Ren,” you mumbled, turning away from him and closing your eyes.

“...night…” he mumbled right back.

Ah, what a pair.

~~~

You started shivering in the middle of the night. He flopped over onto his back and glared at you. How was he ever going to sleep when you were shaking like a Chihuahua mere inches away from him?

“Cut it out,” he grumbled quietly.

You didn't respond and the pathetic shivers didn't cease. 

He pushed himself up and squinted at you in the darkness. The curtains were too translucent to keep out much moonlight, and he could see that your eyes were shut tight and you took slow, even breaths in your sleep. Ren frowned. It was cold here, it was no wonder that you were shivering so much.

He laid back down and stared at your ceiling. Did you spend every night like this? Whenever he left you to go home to Jabberwock, did you climb up into your rickety bed and freeze yourself to sleep? What a martyr. You should have demanded to live anywhere but a dusty, moth eaten cathedral.

He turned to look at you again.

But if you lived anywhere else, would he ever have been able to be here with you? If you lived with those nepotism babies in Frostheim, for example, he'd probably have to deal with Kaito and Luka hanging around all the time. Or worse, Jin demanding your presence at all hours of the night. He couldn't stand watching you disappear into that rich bastard’s room.

If you lived in Vagastrom, you'd what? Live in the trunk of some car and he'd have to hope no one tried to use that car in a monster truck rally before you got out of it?  Sinostra, if you didn't get eaten by Taiga, who knows where Romeo would keep you? And those ghouls in Mortkranken, who's to say they wouldn't do some freaky experiments on you?

Of course, this was not to even consider if you lived in Jabberwock. Even with you so close by, he'd never have a chance to actually be alone with you. Haru and Towa would take up all your time and you'd help out so much you'd been too tired to hang out with him. Not…not that he needed to be alone with you or anything. 

God. He sounded like such a creep even thinking that. If thought crimes were a thing, he'd be in prison. 

You continued pitifully shivering next to him, your hands curled up into fists you held close to your chest.

He pulled the sheets up to cover your hands, his fingers brushing against yours as he did so. You felt like ice, so much that he risked carefully touching you again to confirm. Yep. Prison. But also, were you going to die of frostbite in bed next to him? He could just groan to imagine that dweeb Ritsu finding a way to implicate him in your death. Or worse, charging a ridiculous fee to defend him in court. 

There was no way around it then. He scooted closer. He was only doing this to avoid the court fees. He tugged his pillow closer to yours. And it's not like you hadn't touched before. He laid down, slowly, until his chest was against your back. You'd hugged him once- well, you hugged his arm. Because you fell and grabbed onto him for balance. But it counted. Whatever.

Ren’s heart raced as he slowly wrapped an arm around you and placed a hand over your curled fists. It didn't mean anything. There wasn’t anything significant in the way your hands felt in his or how you somehow smelled like the most comforting thing he could imagine. He rested his head on his pillow and felt you slowly relax, your shivering dissipating as he warmed you up. It was like you were melting, your curled up form unwinding delicately until you fit against him like you belonged there.

He shut his eyes tightly and tried to keep from breathing too heavily and waking you up. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale- without meaning to, he started matching your rhythm. However awake and grumpy he felt moments before, now he felt like he could pass out and never wake up again. Just as long as you stayed there in bed with him…

No, there was no way. He'd just have to wake up before you did and never let you know he did this and then it would be like nothing ever happened. It didn't matter how good it felt or how there was a little sliver of his heart that ached to do this every night. He bit back a groan of annoyance. 

This was obviously your fault.

~~~

Sunlight filtered through your curtains, illuminating your room in a soft but insistently bright glow. Your phone alarm went off a few seconds later and you reached up to turn it off.

After the rough and cold start to the night, you felt certain you'd sleep horribly, but as you rubbed your eyes and stretched your legs, you thought you got the best night of sleep you'd had in a long time. You sat up in bed, pleasantly cozy and unable to keep a small smile off of your lips.

Ren was already up, shoving his night clothes into his bag.

“Good morning,” you managed mid yawn.

He made a noise at you.

“Sleep okay?” You asked, “Sorry if you were uncomfortable.” He seemed… off and you felt guilty that he had such a bad night when you felt so invigorated.

“It was fine…” he responded noncommittally before straightening up and throwing his backpack over his shoulder. 

You nodded, your good mood hanging by a thread. 

He gave you a look you didn't see as you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and pawed for your phone to check your texts. He wanted to tell you a number of things he couldn't even let himself think. So he just grabbed his things and made his way to the door as he checked his own phone. “I have a bunch of raids tonight back to back.” He announced.

“Hmm, okay,” You acknowledged.

He frowned. Invite him back.

You were too tired to get it.

“Ugh, I'll be back tonight. You're not busy, right?”

You shook your head.

He frowned again, opened the door, and stood in the doorway. There were so many ways to end this better. He turned to look at you, your covers puddled in your lap, your cheek baring the red crease mark of your pillow, your eyes still foggy with sleep. He could say anything, do anything better than just saying “bye” and closing the door behind him.

You smiled softly at him, “I'll see you tonight,”

His cheeks felt hot, “Yeah. Bye.” He stepped out and shut the door behind him, that picture of you sitting in bed and smiling at him burned in his brain. He'd be able to think of nothing else all day. Ren checked his weather app. More rain tonight.

He started off back towards Jabberwock. It would be too much of a hassle to grab an umbrella and you would freeze without him… he scowled at his own thoughts as he trudged home. This was really all your fault.

[thetriumphantpanda]

where have all the good men gone? | javier peña

Take The Weight Off His Shoulders - Chapter Three

Chapter Summary | A date, supposed to get your mind of Javier, goes terribly, and he's the only person you can think to call that will make anything better.

Chapter Warnings | Mutual pining, slow burn, sexual tension, flirting, alcohol consumption, protective!Javi, misogynistic comments (not from Javi), (1) man being a pushy douchebag (also not Javi), swearing, mentions of the drug trade - nothing else I can think of.

Pairing | dbf!Javier Peña x F!Reader

Word Count | 3k

Authors Note | I am truly having the most fun with these two and I hope you're enjoying their story so far! Things are definitely going to be heating up soon, so please hang in there, it'll be spectacular when they finally do get spicy with each other! If you're enjoying this then comments, asks and reblogs are my lifeblood and if you'd like to support me further, please consider a donation to my  Ko-Fi.

I no longer use taglists. Please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs to be notified of new updates.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi | Series Playlist

“I promise he’s good fun,” Liv’s voice speaks through the phone, cradled to your ear by your shoulder as you skim through your wardrobe, “Nice, and age appropriate.” She teases. 

“Shut up,” You grumble, still annoyed that you’ve allowed her to talk you into this at all, “This is still a terrible idea.” 

“You were the one complaining about Javier Peña being a bad idea,” She defends herself, “And you also could have said no, too late now.” 

You sigh because she’s right. You’ve been trying for the past week to convince yourself that finding someone else might make wanting Javier go away, even just a little bit. Someone your age, not entangled in your family dynamics, or at least you’re hoping anyway. Liv had suggested someone she knew from work, a nice boy, two years older than you, his head screwed on, a managerial position at work. Sensible. 

“I have no idea what to wear.” You groan down the phone, there are plenty of dresses you could choose, but somehow, it feels like this person you don’t know doesn’t deserve that of you. 

“Put those jeans on,” Liv speaks, crunching coming down the phone line, clearly she’s snacking like she always does, “The tight ones, makes your ass look phenomenal, and the lowest cut top you own.” 

“Liv,” You chastise, “I’ve never met him before, I’m not fucking him tonight.” 

“I didn’t suggest you did,” She chuckles, “Just give him a taste of what’s to come.” 

“Unbelievable,” You mutter, but follow her advice anyway, pulling out a shirt that cuts low, scooping out your jeans from the drawer, “Right, I gotta go and get ready, but if this is awful, you’re entirely to blame, okay?” 

“Hearing you loud and clear girl,” She chuckles, “Have fun and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” 

“Goodbye!” You chuckle, hanging up. 

It’s still light out, so you opt to walk to the bar in town. It’s not all that far, and the air has cooled enough by the time you leave that it doesn’t feel too stiflingly hot. The bar is not one you would have chosen, one of the more upmarket establishments in town. You wish you could go back to your normal dive bar, with its slightly sticky floor and the smell of fried food. You give him the benefit of the doubt though, maybe he’s just trying to impress you and you can’t fault him for that, can you? 

Liv told you he’d be sat at the bar in a blue shirt, and there’s only one person it can be when you get close enough, “Victor?” You ask, stood next to him. 

“The one and only,” He smiles at you, standing from the barstool to give you a hug, which you allow, “You look hot.” 

“Thanks,” You chuckle, sitting down on the stool next him, noticing a drink already there for you, it’s a cocktail, bright pink, and you know you’ll already hate it, and you do when you take a sip, wincing as the fruity blend moves down your throat, “Oh, it’s very sweet.” 

“I thought it was a safe option, most girls love this drink.” 

You’re tempted to make a comment about this clearly being his favourite place to bring his dates but you bite your tongue, working through the necessary small talk as you try and drink it as fast as you can so you can choose something you might actually enjoy. 

“So, Liv told me you’re a journalist,” He comments, sipping his glass of whiskey, “What kind of things do you write?” 

“I mainly cover news about the drug trade and how that affects the town.” You explain, taking the last sip of your drink, flagging the bartender down. 

“Pretty morbid,” He shrugs, ordering himself another whiskey as you opt for a margarita, “Surely a girl like you should be writing about fashion or something.” 

You scoff, “So I can’t write about things that are important to our town because I’m a woman?” 

“No, I don’t mean it like that,” He tries to backtrack, “Just that it’s intimidating, is all, might put people off,” He chuckles then, “Although not me, like my girls with a bit of personality.” 

You roll your eyes and don’t even try and hide it as you sip at your margarita, much better, you think. It carries on like that for another hour, Victor and his thinly veiled misogyny and his boring, surface level conversation. He tries at some point to put his hand on your knee, but you jerk away, moving so he can’t touch you. 

“You want another?” He asks when you finish your third drink, “The night is still young.”

“No thank you,” You say, trying to be as polite as possible, “I have work tomorrow so probably best to head home.” 

You try and insist that you pay for your part of the bill, but to his only credit, he insists on covering the tab but does then try and wrap his arm around your waist to walk you outside, which makes you want to hit him more than anything. 

You stand next to him on the pavement outside the bar as the doors close behind you. You can still hear everyone else talking inside, but you have no idea what to do. You want to go home, but it’s dark, and you know you’d told your dad that Victor would walk you home, but you don’t want to spend another minute in his company. 

“So, am I gonna get my goodnight kiss?” He asks, trying to take hold of your wrist to pull you into him. 

He’s stronger than you, so he does sort of succeed in pulling you into his body, but you manage to put your palm against his chest to push him back. 

“I don’t think so.” You cringe a little, trying to lean back as far as you can with his hand pulling your wrist. 

“You’re joking right?” He scoffs, “I paid for your drinks, try and be interested in what you said and you’re going to refuse me?” 

“Look, I don’t mean to be rude,” You speak, trying to talk the situation down, “I just don’t think this is gonna work.” 

“Don’t need to tell me,” He snaps, “Such a fucking tease turning up dressed like this, but you’re really just a prude.” 

“Oh fuck off man!” You try and push him again, succeeding in doing it enough for him to let go of your wrist so you can put some distance between you, “I don’t owe you shit.” 

“Forget it,” He turns around and walks away, leaving you on your own, “Probably would have been a shit lay anyway.” 

You’re tempted to call back but realise it’s not worth it, so you let him wander off, leaving you on the sidewalk on your own with no idea what to do now. You would walk home, but if your dad see’s you on your own, he’s going to kill you for being silly enough to walk home alone after dark, and then find Victor and kill him too for being a jerk. 

You slump against the brick wall of the bar, rooting through your bag, there’s enough cash to go back in and get a drink and try and calm down a little, then, your fingers brush against the card you’d slipped in there a few days ago. The name and the number, and the few coins in the bottom of your bag, draw you to the phone box at the end of the street. You’re putting the money in and dialing before you can convince yourself it’s a silly idea. 

He picks up on the third ring. 

“Peña.” It’s so formal. 

“Javi?” You ask, trying to keep your voice level, but ultimately failing. 

“Are you okay?” Is the first thing he asks, and he sounds frantic. 

“Y-yeah, I’m fine, I just-” God this seems so stupid now, mainly because you don’t want to admit you were on a date, you don’t want to make yourself seem unavailable to him, “I was on a date and it didn’t go well, he was meant to walk me home and well, I don’t want him to, but I don’t wanna call my dad.” 

“He hurt you?” He seems cross, protective even, which makes your tummy flutter. 

“N-no,” You sigh, “He got pushy when I wouldn’t kiss him but I’m fine.” 

You can hear him shuffling around on the other end of the phone, can hear the jangle of keys, “Where are you?” 

“I’m at the phone box at the end of Grant Street.” You say, you’re about to speak again when Javi beats you to it. 

“Stay there, go inside a store or something and wait for me, I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay?” 

“Okay,” You nod, like he can see you, “Javi?” 

“Yeah, querida?” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t you dare,” He scoffs, “Never apologise for needing my help, okay?” You can hear the sound of his truck engine in the background, “I gotta hang up to drive, but I’ll be there soon, promise.” 

“Okay,” You sniff, “Thank you.” 

You can hear the dial tone before he can reply, so you hang the receiver back up and head into the liquor store on the other side of the road. You smile at the clerk, who asks if you need anything, you shake your head, tell him you’re just waiting for someone and then spend the rest of the time looking out of the window. 

He’s parking up in a worryingly short amount of time, and as you walk from the store you worry that he put himself in danger driving so fast to get you. He’s opening his door and climbing down from the truck. As soon as you’re close enough, he’s got his hands on your shoulders, searching your face to make sure you’re alright. 

“I’m fine Javi, I promise,” You insist, holding gently to his arms, giving him a smile, “I’ve probably overreacted.” 

He lets his arm drops and signals for you to get into the truck, following swiftly, “If he made you uncomfortable it’s not an overreaction,” He speaks, turning the truck back on and pulling away, “He still around?” 

You shake your head, “I don’t think so.” 

“Good.” 

It makes you wonder if he means good because he won’t bother you anymore, or good because it means he won’t be tempted to do something about his blatant disrespect. You decide not to probe that one, but file it away for later. You’re driving down the street when your stomach grumbles, reminding you that you’ve not eaten since lunch. 

“You hungry?” 

“I could eat,” You mumble sheepishly, “I’m sure there’s something at home.” 

Javi nods, but drives straight past the turning he would need to take you home, driving straight on instead and turning off a little later. You’re about to ask where he’s taking you when he pulls into the parking lot at McDonalds. He parks up and tells you to stay where you are. 

You watch him as he walks away, perfectly broad back, shirt tucked into his jeans. He really is a vision in every way when you look at him. He’s striding back out a little while later, brown paper bag in one hand and a soda cup in the other. He passes them both to you as he climbs back into his seat. 

“What’s this?” You ask, taking a sip of the cold soda. 

“Cheeseburger, extra pickles and a Sprite with extra ice.” 

Yet again, he’s managed to amaze you with his observation skills. There was a time where he’d taken a trip with you and your parents, just a day out of town somewhere, and you’d stopped to get food on the way home, you’d made this exact order, turned to him and told him it was your favourite, and somehow he’d filed that away for right now, when you needed it the most. 

“Thank you.” You speak simply, reaching in for the burger, unwrapping it carefully before taking a bite. 

Javi can’t help but watch out of the side of his eye as you eat. God, you looked beautiful. Jeans that looked like they’d been painted onto your skin, showing off all those perfect parts of you. A shirt that was enticing without being too much. Fuck, he wanted to reach over, use his thumb to wipe away the tiny bit of sauce that had gathered in the corner of your mouth, push it into your mouth and let you lick it off his thumb. 

You ball up the wrapper your burger had come in once you’ve finished, dropping it into the paper bag, picking up the cup of soda to suck the Sprite through the straw, “You alright now?” He asks. 

You look at him, small, sad smile on your lips, “Just can’t help feeling there’s something wrong with me.” You shrug, offering him a sip of your drink which he declines. 

“What do you mean?” He asks, wanting to reach over to you, put a comforting hand on you, but deciding against it for now. 

You shrug a little, leaning your head back against the seat, “No-one ever looks at me in that way, I suppose,” You answer honestly, and he wants to tell you it isn’t true, that he thinks of you exactly like that, no matter how much he shouldn’t, “I’ve been with one guy in my whole life and I don’t think he ever really liked me, was only with me because I was the only one left out of my friends.” 

“Did he say that?” 

“He didn’t have to,” You shrug again, “He never really made an effort, never took me out, never really wanted to sleep with me much either, I guess I was just easy for him,” You say, “Convenient.” Is what you finish on. 

“It isn’t you,” Javi speaks, turning his head to look at you, resting it against his seat in much the same way you are, “First of all, college boys are always idiots, don’t let that be your base line,” You snort and turn your head to look at him now, “What did tonight’s idiot do?” 

You shake your head at him, “He was just a misogynistic asshole,” You add a shrug, “Apparently because I’m a woman I should write about fashion and not anything that actually matters.” 

Javi scoffs, because in his experience, women make the best journalists, quiet, unassuming but they always knew how to pull strings and get what they wanted and he doesn’t doubt you’re the same, “Take it as a compliment,” He offers, “Sometimes it’s best to intimidate boys, and the ones that you don’t?” He asks as a rhetorical question, “Those will be the men worth your time.”

You chuckle a bit, rolling your head on the headrest behind you to look back out of the front of the car, “You’re just saying this to make me feel better.” 

Javi reaches over, takes hold of your hand and gives it a slight squeeze before he’s letting it drop again, almost like he’s been burnt, like he knows he shouldn’t have done it, “I am saying it to make you feel better, that’s the whole point, but it’s true,” He shrugs a little in his seat, “Don’t feel like you’ve got to rush into that side of life either, you’re still young, there’s plenty of time for you.” 

You hum in agreement because you know he’s right, it’s what everyone always says to you in these circumstances, but somehow, coming from him, it means more. He’s older than you and although you’ve no doubt that he’s known plenty of women in his time, he’s in just the same predicament as you are. 

“Will you take me home?” You ask softly, “I’m tired.” 

He nods, starting up his car, pulling out of the parking lot and finally driving you back home. 

He pulls his truck up just down the street from your house, far enough away that your dad won’t be able to see, but close enough that he knows he’ll be able to sit and wait to watch you get in safely. He cuts the engine and turns to you, giving you a soft smile, trying to tell you that it’ll all be okay. 

“Thanks,” You speak softly, “For all this, made a shitty night not so bad in the end.” 

“Always,” He smiles back, “I mean it when I say you don’t ever need to worry about calling me.” 

“I know,” You smile, and he feels his heart swell at the sight, “Well, goodnight Javi.” 

He doesn’t really register what’s happening until it’s too late. You drag your body across the truck instead of moving to the door to open it and press a gentle kiss to his cheek. It would be innocent enough if it wasn’t for the fact your lips press into the skin just far enough away from his mouth so as not to cross a line, but not right in the middle of his cheek either. It’s the softest way he’s been touched in a long time, and he can feel himself wanting to grip onto you, smash his mouth to your own and finally scratch the itch that’s sitting under his skin. 

You pull away, but before you can open the door, he’s taking hold of your wrist and moving closer, pressing his own kiss to your cheek right back, further up your skin than you had done to him, but it’s a kiss to your skin none-the-less, one that floods his chest with hope, a feeling he hasn’t really felt in years. He keeps his mouth there probably for a little longer than he should, committing the feel of your skin on his mouth because he knows this is as far as he should push things, but he also knows that he now needs to know what the rest of your skin feels like under his mouth. 

He pulls away and when he looks at your eyes, all full of hope and want, the same look he’d seen countless times in Colombia, whether he was promising a visa or led next to someone in bed, and he knows he shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have encouraged these kinds of feelings, but he’s done it now, he can’t take it back, wouldn’t want to if he could either. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you, querida,” He says softly, “Nothing wrong with you at all.” 

[coherently-screaming]

I know Tumblr folks are very understanding and supportive of the WGA strike, which is super refreshing to see as a writer, but I have noticed that understanding absolutely does not translate into real life.

I’ve only talked to maybe ten people about the strike, but most of them have no clue about how terrifying and depressing this all is. Most of them understand after *I* explain it to them, but news outlets are failing to explain why this strike needs to work out for the writers guild and how awful the studios are. Most of them care more about movie and television delays than the effect this is going to have on writers now and in the future.

You want your shows and movies to come out? Okay, but do you want them to have a chance of being good? You want the late night talk shows back? Do you want them to be funny? Do you know anyone with a passion for writing? Do you want them to have a chance of surviving in their chosen career? Then support the WGA and stop complaining.

It’s really frustrating how undervalued writers are, and a lot of the time (I’m part of the problem here I will admit it) they get the most hate when in reality studios and show runners are truly the villains. Shitty shows aren’t always terrible because of bad writing, but because of what studios and show runners block the writers from including. Yet, writers get the hate and are barely making pennies at the same time.

And despite all of this people are still surprised that the WGA strike is lasting so long. It’s not the writers who are being stubborn, it’s the studios. Studios would rather pump garbage through an AI to save dimes and focus on quantity over quality, because that’s what they have decided is in their interest. It’s bullshit. An AI cannot compare to a group of humans, even if those humans are idiots, and with streaming becoming so incredibly popular over cable and satellite, writers, actors, and directors alike need to be properly accommodated for their work in new ways.

Anyway, fuck major studios, fuck capitalism (it’s the root of this issue), and fuck any hope that the people controlling the media could be half decent human beings.

WGA Strong.

[lavendermoonlitskies]

Hi.

It’s been a very intense week. I am a little embarrassed by the level at which I publicly freaked out on here about the possibility of losing this fandom, i.e. my happy place, and even more so how disgusted I am by that awful man’s actions, but I’m going to leave those posts up because they are genuinely how I feel and I do not want anyone to think I no longer care about what he has done.

I posted a lot about not wanting to lose this fandom space or the enjoyment out of watching this series, but with my head a little more clear, I want to make it known that victims of sexual assault getting justice for what has happened to them is always the number one priority. At best, NG took advantage of his authority to get what he wanted out of two women with their reluctant consent, traumatizing them in the process. I feel the way I feel about Good Omens, but if this results in season 3 being scrapped, then so be it. I will be upset (not at the victims, obviously), but life goes on and I will be fine.

I’ve done a lot of thinking in terms of fandom engagement, and the truth is, at this point in my life, this is how I get through the day. The fandom is talented, brilliant, funny, and at this point in time it’s too engrained in my daily routine to completely deprive myself of it so suddenly. I mentioned this in another post, but things in my life are really unsure at the moment and the constant anxiety about not being where I should be is terrible for my mental health.

Good Omens came into my life right around the time I needed it, it’s an escape. A fictional world for me to immerse myself in and 1) see myself in a disabled character whose disability is not only represented well, but celebrated in a way that I’ve never seen before on screen, and 2) imagine a happy ending for a couple of characters I’ve grown to love, during a time where I don’t know what my happy ending looks like. If I’m being completely honest, 90% of my engagement with it anyway is with fanfics, art and metas from fans.

As I’ve been kind of quietly lurking around people’s tumblrs and ao3’s, I started to realize that other fans are probably in the same mindset that I am, and I recognized that this fandom may be their happy place too and they don’t deserve to have that taken away over the actions of one man who isn’t even the sole author of the book, and is only one of many, many individuals involved in the production of the show. I had to sit with that and realize that holding myself to an entirely different standard is unfair, so I won’t. Nobody’s a bad person for drawing their favorite characters, or writing stories, or analyzing a relationship between two fictional characters in-depth in a tumblr post for other fans.

I don’t want to hurt anybody, I just want to be happy. That’s all.

[tinythiefalex]

Ouran's Giant Host Club Chapter 3

First Previous Next

Y'all strap in, everything's about to go to shit. /j

This one's a little shorter. To compensate, the next part will be out tomorrow, and that will be the end of episode one.

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

In all honesty, Haruhi’s first solo meeting wasn’t terrible. She stood on a table with three guests. The three giant girls were sweet, if a little overwhelming. They weren’t nearly as grabby with Haruhi as the other hosts were, but their non-stop questions were not a great upgrade.

Seemingly endless rounds of questions, cut-offs, and more questions, not to mention all of the fawning. 

“How do you get around?”

“Well, actually, Tamaki-”

“Who does the work in your house?”

“Oh, I do most of-”

“How do you do chores?”

“Like anyone else. My house is my siz-”

“Look at your little uniform! It’s so adorable!”

“Um, thank-”

Haruhi could barely get a few words out before they jumped to the next question. After what felt like an eternity of this, one of them asked “What are your hobbies?”

Haruhi waited a moment to see if one of the girls would interrupt her again. After a few seconds of nothing but wide, curious eyes staring down at her, she answered., “Well, I like to cook, my mother taught me. She was an amazing cook. When she went to the hospital, she left me all kinds of great recipes.” She could hear the giants’ quiet ‘aww’s over this answer, but chose to ignore the cooing. “It was fun to create each dish, especially when they turned out well. And it made me happy to see my dad enjoy it.” Haruhi smiled softly down to herself, “I’ve had a hard childhood, but,” she looked back up to the girls, seeing the awe in their eyes, “Dad and I have managed to make it through okay.”

As the questions started up again, Haruhi couldn’t quite understand why the girls seemed so interested in her. She wasn’t used to this much attention. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one with this question. From the corner of her eye, she could see Tamaki spying from his table. 

Tamaki listened intently from the background. Haruhi’s little voice was hard to make out from more than a few feet away, but he managed to fill in the gaps. He was honestly surprised by how eager the girls were to sit with the human again tomorrow. 

“How is he so popular?” Tamaki wondered to himself. The twins, having no guests at the moment, were sitting close by and answered, “Well, he’s a natural-” “-And anyway, it’s rare for people at this school to see a human up close, much less get to talk to one for this long.”

“Have you forgotten about me?” A feminine voice drew Tamaki’s attention back to his current guest; Ayanokoji.

Tamaki hummed. “Oh no, sorry princess. I’m just a little bit concerned about our newest host.” 

“Well that’s obvious, Tamaki,” she took a sip of her tea. Setting the cup down elegantly, she gave Tamaki a look. “You sure have been keeping an eye on him.”

Tamaki gave her a charming smile, “Of course, I have to,” He looked back at Haruhi’s table thoughtfully, “He’s so tiny, and he’s not used to being around giants. I just don’t want him to have a bad experience here. Not to mention, I’m training him to be a gentleman, like me.” Tamaki brushed a hand through his hair, looking back at Ayano. “Speaking of,” he held his hand out to the lady, smiling, “Why don’t we go check on our little friend?” 

The two giants got to Haruhi’s table just in time to hear her saying goodbye to her guests, “Goodbye, it was a pleasure to meet you!” she says with a smile and a little wave. The girls giggled as they walked away. 

Tamaki grinned wide at the sight and swept Haruhi up in his hands, squeezing her against his chest. “That was so cute!” he squealed as he spun around, “That air of bashfulness was very good! Super good! Amazingly good!” 

“S-Senpai!” Haruhi pushed at Tamaki’s fingers with all of her strength, but they didn’t budge. The spinning felt like being thrown onto a roller coaster without warning, and she did not like it. As she kicked and pushed at the giant’s hands and chest, she looked frantically around the room for an escape. The spinning was disorienting, and she struggled to see anything in the quickly-moving room, but she did spot something, or rather, someone.

Mori. 

Remembering how the especially-tall giant had helped her with Honey before, she decided to take the chance. She managed to squeeze a little arm between Tamaki’s huge fingers and reached out to Mori. Hoping her voice wouldn’t be muffled too much, she shouted,

“Mori-Senpai! Help me!”

Hearing this, Mori immediately rushed over, grabbing Tamaki and sweeping Haruhi into his hand. Haruhi took a moment to catch her breath as she was held gently in his open palm. Not ideal, but much better than the fists that she’s sadly getting used to.  

Tamaki stopped, surprised. “Uh, Mori-Senpai,” he said awkwardly, “you really didn’t need to go that far.” He reached out for Haruhi again. “C’mon little one!” Tamaki giggled, “let daddy give you a big hug!” (← quoted from the show! I didn’t come up with that! I’m not a freak lol!)

Mori curled his fingers around Haruhi a bit, just enough to shield her from Tamaki’s hands. 

Haruhi stood up in the hand, bracing herself against one of Mori’s fingers and scowling up at Tamaki. “Stop it! I’ve already got a dad, I don’t need another one!”

While the argument went on, Princess Ayanokoji sat to the side, glaring at the little human. 

Haruhi sighed and craned her neck to look up at Mori, “I think I need a moment to myself.”

Mori obediently let Haruhi back down at her table and walked off, dragging Tamaki behind him and slightly shaking the table beneath her with their steps. A short minute later, as Haruhi took a breath, she heard, and felt, giant footsteps coming up behind her. Expecting Tamaki again, she turned around to scold him, but froze at the sight of Ayanokoji staring down at her. “Oh, h-hello-”

Before Haruhi can finish greeting the giant, Ayano interrupts her. “I bet you love having Tamaki making you over and fawning over you.” Haruhi furrowed her eyebrows at the princess’s words as she continued, “It’s useless though, you’ll always be a second-class citizen.”

Ayano walks away, subtly bumping the table just hard enough to make Haruhi stumble.

I didn’t think there were bullies at this school. Haruhi thinks, brushing off her uniform, I guess they’re everywhere. 

The next day, as Tamaki carried Haruhi over to her assigned table, the human was surprised to see Ayanokoji sitting there. As Tamaki quickly greeted her and walked away, Haruhi smiled up at the giant, deciding to just try and get through this meeting as calmly as possible. 

Why would she request me when it’s so obvious she hates me? 

For the first while, the meeting went on as normal. Ayano spoke to Haruhi casually, if a little condescendingly, before it took a turn. 

“And you actually convinced Tamaki to be your chauffeur? How astonishing.” Ayano giggled softly. “You do realize he’s a blueblood and not a commoner, right? He’s far above dragging a little human like you around from room to room. The only reason he’s paying attention to you is because he wants to turn you into a gentleman. A polite little doll he can show off in his club” Haruhi turned away from her slightly, in thought. Ayano continued dismissively, “Don’t start thinking he cares about you just because he’s doting on you.” There. “He’s just-”

“Now I understand.” It was Haruhi’s turn to interrupt. “You’re jealous of me.”

She saw something in the giant’s eyes tighten. Then, Ayanokoji stood up, placed her hands delicately on the table, and, 

“Whoops.”

Ayano pushed the table over, sending everything on its service crashing down toward the floor. 

Everything, including Haruhi.

[xzaddyzanakinx]

Part two thoughts on an ani x bpd reader? Like, when things get that bad, does either of them wake the fuck up and realize things need to change? Remorse or guilt? The reader leaving? Ani leaving or falling into a self loathing hole, doing bad stuff again and again whether to himself or reader) and not taking care of himself?

It’s interesting to read some of your takes on BPD relationships, because I obviously have no idea what that’s like, but you do. You can make it seem very addicting, but also very terrifying and unhealthy, depending on which way the pendulum swings (I hope you take that as a compliment. Tone is hard through text. Lol. 😅).

I personally do not believe abuse is justified in any situation, whether you have a disorder or not. There’s lots of ways to deal with feelings without taking it out on someone else. On the other hand, I know some BPD’s have described feeling horrified with themselves after an episode like that, and so I’ve never really known just how much ‘control’ someone has in that moment. Either way, I still believe it’s the person’s responsibility to find a way to deal with it. Nobody deserves to be miserable around them just because they can’t handle something.

Anyway, I kind of went off on a rant. Apologies. Lol. My main request was for a part two of Ani x BPD reader! ❤️🫶✨

Not offended at all bby.

I think after I’m done with stalker!ani I’ll write a fic on this. Just cause so many people have asked about it.

100% BPD X BPD would be a terrible pairing. Coming from me as a bpd gal.

Now, personally, I’ve never physically abused anyone during an episode. But I HAVE done lots of property damage and I also broke my hand when I used a concrete wall as a punching bag. I split a wooden bat at the tip from whacking a fence once.

When it gets that bad, I don’t really remember what I said or did. I just feel really jittery, almost like an extreme caffeine high you know? (Imagine old cartoon character drinking coffee and their whole body vibrates, eyeballs and all)

But if it doesn’t get to that point, which it rarely does now that I’m medicated correctly and have a good support system, I IMMEDIATELY feel regret. Like horrible sorrow. Bpd means big feelings and when I feel regret, which isn’t often, it feels like I’m grieving a death that I’m to blame for.

For the smaller, more snappy or short outbursts:

My mouth works faster than the logical part of my brain that tells me not to say something mean.

Sometimes I catch myself in the middle of saying something awful and then I just have to finish it because the damage is done and I may as well spit it out. Then I’ll lock myself in the bathroom for an hour until I’ve hyped myself up enough to apologize, then I’ll go back to the bathroom until the big feelings from my apology die down. I’ll be quiet, basically selectively mute for the rest of the day and be super irritable.

It’s exhausting. But it’s even more exhausting to have to continually remind myself not to spew the first thing that pops into my head or not to chuck the bag of shredded cheese at the wall because I can’t get the ziploc to open.

It’s so stupid that something so small as getting my hairbrush stuck on a knot in my hair could set me off into a teeth gritting, foot stomp and shriek. Like wtf? That’s embarrassing. But it happens before I can even think about what I’m doing.

The best way I can describe it is: I’m a bratty toddler when it comes to emotional regulation.

But you’re so right tho, your illness doesn’t give you an excuse to be an ass. It just proves the person doesn’t want to put in the work to get better if they use it as a justifying reason.

BPD might cause my reactions, but I’m in charge of my actual actions. Sometimes it takes a long time for them to recognize that though. I’m an adult now, I’m medicated, I’ve spent my fair share of days in the loony bin. Looking back at my teenage self? It’s horrific and sad. For me and everyone around me back then.

[sadstrever]

i’m still 114lbs. i feel sick. yesterday was an awful day, i came home and had an out of body chew and spit session. i wish there was more research on this part of ed’s, or just more people who talked about it because i can’t be alone in this. i refuse to believe i’m the only sick person who does disgusting shit like this. anyways the reason why i call it an out of body experience is because it’s almost like binging-just without all the swallowing of food. i came home and immediately started doing it and filled up 1 and 1/2 2 liter bottles with food. i spent 5 hours doing this without even realizing and pretty much emptied out my whole families fridge. the guilt i felt afterwards was worse than a binge in my opinion. not only did i totally waste SO MUCH food, make a huge mess, ended up with disgusting bottles of mush in my room, i also have to face the consequences of my family coming home to an empty fridge. but when they got home they were happy that i “ate.” god i’m such a fucking piece of shit.

anyways after all that i took 4 laxatives to try and get the guilt of wasting the food out of me. i woke up in the morning today in terrible pain but still had to go to class, cuz what am i supposed to tell my parents? “yeah i haven’t eaten in almost a month and basically just threw all the food we have out in the trash and i also took 4 laxatives, can i please stay home tehe?” so i went to 1 class and ended up leaving because the pain was so excruciating. straight from class i went to the gym and somehow burnt 900 calories because i guess that’s what guilt does to me. i had to take the bus 2 hours home afterwards(bus delays and i went to a new further gym location this time), high out of my mind. i’m home now and my stomach hurts but the laxatives finally did their job. i don’t want to keep doing this. 4 years ago i said i’d recover and then i didn’t. since then i’ve forgotten about recovery (with the exception of a few random moments here and there that i block out immediately), i am so used to living in this fucking misery that i didn’t realize how abnormal my reality is. i don’t want to be a bad person anymore. but i can’t stop lol.

this is what bothers me about the girls who romanticize this disorder SO MUCH, when much of the time they haven’t realized how difficult it can become. i know i’ve done this, even now sometimes as a coping mechanism. but man, i’m sick of it.

i have a friend who writes poetry and she wrote a poem about eating disorders that make me so fucking angry. the thing is, i’ve known her for years and she’s always had the best relationship with food out of most of the people i know. she’s naturally pretty thin(not too thin but normal) and she’s very open about her struggles. i know every single one of her stories, i know she’s diagnosed with adhd. that’s HER disorder, that i don’t understand so i DONT write fucking POETRY about it. a few months ago she kind of forced me into opening up about my eating disorder. after i did, suddenly she started writing these stories about her eating disorder-very very very suspiciously similar to mine. i obviously didn’t tell her everything but i told her about how long this has been going on and just my emotions about it. seeing her start to adapt my fucking disorder into her poetry disgusted me. she glamorized the fuck out of it and made me feel so stupid for ever opening up about it. she’s naturally skinny so she got a bunch of support from our friend group from it and i’m just upset man. i’m sick of living in misery while other people can use the idea of living in pain for attention.

i promised my best friend that in 3 weeks i’ll go back to therapy and try my best to recover. it’s not true. man it’s never fucking true. it’s never fucking over. unlike ms.deep-poetry-girl i can’t just fucking write this and log off and then eat a good warm meal and talk to my parents without them mentioning my body. i can’t wake up tomorrow morning and hug them without worrying that they’re gonna feel my bones. i can’t wear shorts anymore without people noticing the bruises. i can’t go to school and keep my focus because i have nothing to feed my brain. i can’t let anyone get close because soon enough they’ll be just like YOU. OR they’ll hate me for not wanting to get better. i can’t love myself like you do because of the disgusting things i do each day. i can’t wake up thinner and suddenly stop hating myself. FUCK YOUUUUUUUU GOD IM SO SICK OF IT GOD. whatever im done. just sick and tired.

[plague-karm]

Different takes I have based on my interests and other miscellaneous things because I’m bored.

•Bill Cipher is never getting redeemed, ever, I adore his character but I can admit when my faves are horrible people. Oh and the way some people write the Handyman Bill au makes me REALLY uncomfortable as an abuse survivor. Why do some people write it like it’s the Pines family’s responsibility for Bill’s actions? Thats so fucked, especially with Ford (the ones where they basically shit talk Bill the entire time he’s at the Mystery Shack is funny as fuck though more of that please)

•The “Jax is an NPC” theory is boring and it would make him a lot less compelling as a character if that was the case

•You can still love Danganronpa and admit that the fanservice (ESPECIALLY the stuff with Mikan) is gross

•DNI lists will inevitably attract the people in those lists to harass and piss off whoever the account is and that’s why I don’t use them

•The original Monster flavour tastes like condensed piss and I will never understand the people who drink it when every other flavour soloes it by comparison

•The second half of the Death Note anime isn’t bad at all people were just too busy huffing on L copium to care, also, Mello was one of the best characters in the entire show

•Most of Killstar’s collaborations are terrible, the Monster High collection is one of the most disappointing things I’ve ever seen and it all looks so uninspired and bland (they saved themselves a bit with the second Gloomy Bear collab they did but most of the designs for their collabs are really tacky).

•Hear me outs are becoming incredibly sterilised, there’s a big difference between a hear me out and a character you find attractive

•Also, humans (both real and fictional) along with any Hellaverse characters do not count as hear me outs (to me anyway I’m not the hear me out police)

•Ultrakill will be seen as one of the greatest games of all time once it’s fully released, it is an absolute masterclass in immersion and presentation and the soundtrack is one of the best I’ve ever heard

•I like the DHMIS show a bit more than the web series

•Resellers need to be called out more, I’ll probably make a separate post talking about this more but it gets BAD. Not all of them are bad (especially on Vinted) but the overcharging in certain fandoms is insane (especially with Sanrio stuff it’s actually disgusting)

•Lloromannic have the potential to be some of the most popular Sanrio characters of all time but their potential goes nowhere

•Prima is one of the most misused Vocaloids of all time and it HURTS. When she’s used properly she sounds GORGEOUS but most people use her for pop stuff and she sounds awful there. Shes an OPERALOID, she’s meant for OPERA. Stop misusing her (I also don’t like any of her designs I’m sorry-)

•SeeU is also very underrated, Alone is one of my favourite Vocaloid songs it’s really vibey

•Monster High G3 is very overhated. There are still some designs I don’t like (Iris’ design hurts me, the character with the same body type as me gets the weakest outfit fuck 💀) but its representation is really good (Twyla not being shamed for needing headphones in loud spaces made me so happy)

•ROTTMNT’s version of Donatello is some of the best autism rep I’ve ever seen, I’ve never identified with an autistic character more than I have with him and the fact that the show’s in limbo makes me really upset

•Robo Fizz’ design > normal Fizz’ design

•I don’t care how many songs you give Stolas I will always see Octavia as the victim in that situation and the fact that the crew see her as a “cock block” pisses me off

•Phosphophyllite will go down as one of the greatest protagonists in recent memory, their story is heartbreaking and no one in that manga deserved a happy ending more than them

•Vinted is the best reseller app and it’s not even close

•I don’t care if Art The Clown never gets a backstory, he’s a silly little guy who kills people in horrific ways and I’m fine with that

•Making it a rule to not talk about certain fandoms on big Discord servers is fucking useless, an old autism server I was on went to shit when this happened, just ignore them and move on

•The addictive nature of Character AI needs to be talked about more, I’ve only began to realise how bad it is recently, it’s negatively affected my writing abilities, do NOT download it (especially if you’re mentally ill) you WILL get addicted to it and it isn’t fun. I’ve deleted it and I’m going to try to get into better habits, never again

• William Afton is an evil bastard and that’s okay, he never needed any redeemable traits and I really like that they’re making him do some Saturday morning cartoon level shit while also making him a threat (The Golden Bite in Into The Pit is as funny as it is horrific)

•I don’t care how many times the Fnaf games will try and gaslight me into seeing the Pinkypills Afton design as him, I will ALWAYS picture Matthew Lillard when thinking of this character (also I never want to see any Pinkypills or Ladyfiszi art in the games ever again they’re terrible people and they should’ve gotten fired years ago)

•Rage bait is the key factor in what made the internet a significantly more miserable place, start saying pizza with random fruit on is good again stop with the racist and misogynistic bullshit

•CaseOh being one of the most popular streamers right now brings me joy, in a time where so many male streamers are some of the most miserable and out of touch cunts in existence, having one of the most popular ones be a seemingly normal and chill guy is so refreshing

•I respect Illumination as a studio a lot more than others would think, in an age where horror stories are coming out surrounding every animation studio in existence, I have yet to hear one about Illumination. Do I like their movies? Not really (some of them are kind of fun and the Sing movies are guilty pleasures) but they seem a lot more ethical than other studios (also they’ve openly mocked AI that’s fucking awesome lmao)

•Murder Drones needed more episodes/time to explore certain ideas, that final episode felt like a SEASON finale, not a SERIES finale (no complaints about Cyn though I adore her)

•The art style change to Soul Eater to Soul Eater Not! Will go down as one of the biggest downgrades in history

Anyway that’s it I’m tired I’ll make another one of these when I feel like it I wanna go to bed

[animentality]

the fun thing about durgetash for me as far as definitely toxic ships go, is that gortash and durge, as individuals, are toxic. but the ship itself? not toxic at all in my take. because as horrible as they are as people, the love they have for each other is actually very genuine. everyone else in the world is dust under their boots except for each other. they truly respect each other and get along frighteningly well and listen to each other and support each other’s atrocities and so, if you ignore the screaming of their victims in the background, their relationship is actually kind of healthy.

to be fair: this is with my version of them in mind lol i know other people have spicer takes where they ARE actively toxic to each other and such, and those are fun too but ive gotten so into the version of them where they both just exude toxicity to everyone in their lives EXCEPT each other. it’s already a trope im very weak to but its especially crazy with them. its like they cancel each other out somehow lol

like i think it takes a while to get to that point of course, to build up actual trust enough to feel even slightly safe around each other, but once they open up to each other the affection-starvation just jumps out. and then despite everything they manage to actually be gentle with each other. and neither of them deserves gentleness of any sort, but they get it anyway, from each other.

so for me durgetash is “toxic” only by virtue of the individuals involved being horrible terrible people, and because they gleefully support each other’s evil plans, and not because of how they actually treat each other, which is actually the closest thing to “normal” either of them will ever experience (and it is still so, so far from “normal” lol)

but it’s still also nice to be in a ship where the discourse is so obvious we don’t even bother lol. yes gortash has a list of human rights abuses longer than he is tall. yes he’s gonna have an evil cuddle with his evil partner-in-crime in their evil bedroom after a long, hard day of being evil. and i’m gonna be thinking about it <3

Anon, you get me.

I think durgetash just works because...they are so blatantly evil.

Gortash tortured a bunch of people trying to figure out how tadpoles worked, and the evidence of his crimes is in the mindflayer colony beneath Moonrise and in the Steel Watch Foundry. His Steel Watch guards literally kill children and innocent families.

The Dark Urge mentions killing (eating?) a BABY. They have killed thousands. They eat human meat. They torture people.

They both started the entire plot by being total pieces of shit.

So what are you going to do?

Cancel them???

The game cancels them.

Gortash literally got cancelled so hard his brain popped.

The Dark Urge dies in most playthroughs. They only become redeemable by literally dying and becoming a new person. Plus their life is so fucking awful, that it almost cancels out how bad they are, because they're a vessel of Bhaal, who can either choose obedience or death.

They are both so outrageously evil, you can't even be outraged.

No one on the entire planet is defending either of them.

It almost defeats itself as an argument, like, you say Gortash is horrible, and I say yeah, man. You say, the Dark Urge is evil, and I say absolutely.

But that's kind of why...a relationship between the two of them IS so good, though.

Sure, there have always been villainous ships, but...something about these jagged creatures having a soft spot for one another...

It just works.

It's...it's taking two wretched beasts, and giving them something human to hold between their claws.

How can you support them being together, but how could you deny them this?

They're so horrible, they don't deserve love, but at the same time, seeing profoundly evil people are still capable of love, and humanity is inescapable, no matter how inhuman you are...

Hmmmm.

Yes.

The worse Dark Urge and Enver are, the better Durgetash comes.

That's the wonderful conundrum.

It's honestly such a SHIP, anon.

THE Ship.

[cloudyskiiees]

have you guys watched the good place? if you have oh boy do i have the total drama au for you.

more under the cut in case ppl haven’t seen the good place! (watch it with no spoilers it’s one of the best shows of all time, it’s on netflix!)

(the characters and relationships in the actual show do not line up with the placements of the tdi characters, sue me! they fit better this way :))

noah takes on eleanor’s role as the protagonist. he wakes up in “the good place” and realizes quickly “aw fuck i’m not supposed to be here” and goes a little mental about it for a while!!

heather is michael, because it makes sense in my head okay. she’s very excited to have to new way of torturing humans, and is angry as hell when she fails over and over again because noah keeps figuring out it’s actually the bad place. she’s even more mad when she eventually learns to care about the humans LOL

sierra is janet, making sense as the all knowing entity of the universe. the main sierra is a “good place” sierra, but there’s many different versions of her. she develops real feelings everytime she gets rebooted along with the neighborhood!

courtney is chidi, when she was alive she was a very good lawyer. she knows her stuff about morals and ethics and is the one to usually end up teaching and helping the others how to be good people (not to say she doenst have her own stuff wrong just like everyone else!)

alejandro is more of tahani, in which on earth he appeared to be a very good and generous person, but he’s also kinda a vain asshole. he has a lot of family problems and was raised in competition with his brother, but he’s also usually the first person noah goes to when he realizes he’s screwed since he knows he doesn’t belong.

gwen is jason! she’s definitely not nearly as stupid as he is, but i see her plot as needing to hide herself working well somehow. she wasn’t a terrible person but she wasn’t great either, and taking one look around she knows she definitely doesn’t belong there either. her and noah are both happy and horrified when they discover each other!

anyways this is definitely alenoah because i see them having the relationship that eleanor and chidi have because i want it. I WANT IT.

the first time noah figures out it’s the bad place, the first thing he can think of to write to give him any clue on what’s going on when his memory is rebooted, is “find alejandro”

and in parallel later in the show when alejandro gets his memory rebooted, because he spent his whole life trying to find some meaning in whatever his life was, where he seemed to have everything but nothing at all, and he writes to himself, “there is no meaning. but noah is the meaning.” like please i’m on the floor do you guys see my vision

anyways go watch the good place and then go watch total drama island i love tv shows so much

[seiya-starsniper]

For the flower prompts...

Calla Lily (it's my favourite flower) - Something at first sight.

I leave it to you to do any Sandman pairing you have an itch to write. 💜😊

Ooooooo this one is so appropriate for me as one of my fave fics I’ve written (not for this fandom) is called Calla Lillies 💖💖 I also added a little personalized twist on this, just for you 😘

Flower Prompt Game!

(Also, for anyone still wondering, I am in fact still accepting prompts! Gonna be a bit slow and answer one or two a day, but I’m so glad this has been such a hit!)

—---

When Morpheus Endless (and isn’t that the name of the century?) enters the coffee shop in a whirlwind of taut anxiety and indignant rage, Simon Snow does not even say hello, he merely takes up residence at the espresso machine to start preparing the most absurdly complex drink known to man.  

“Your man is here,” Penelope deadpans, and Simon rolls his eyes. Morpheus is not his man. He’s very nice to look at, yes, and he may or may not bear a striking resemblance to Simon’s hopelessly secret crush arch nemesis, but they’re too alike in temperament to be anything more than friends. But he can see where the confusion comes from. 

When he finishes making Morpheus’s regular order, he calls for his break and walks over, drink in hand, to the corner Morpheus and his terribly bad mood have taken up residence. 

“Bad day?” Simon asks, placing the absurdly sweet concoction down on the table where Morpheus has sprawled all his notebooks and laptop. He’s not looking at any of it though, more preoccupied with whatever social media scandal is happening on his phone.

“Cory left me,” Morpheus growls, tapping angrily at the screen. “For Alex Burgess. Who, as you recall, is currently still in a relationship with Paul Mcguire, the unfaithful bastard.” 

Simon has no idea who these people are besides Cory, who has come into the shop with Morpheus once. He doesn’t pay attention to the campus gossip. More specifically, the rich people campus gossip. Because Simon is here at the university on scholarship, working part time at the local coffee shop for a little extra spending money, and Morpheus is part of the very small, elite group of legacy family admissions. 

No one, not even Penelope, Simon’s best friend since childhood, understands why he and Morpheus get along so well. Simon knows it’s partially because he’s the only one willing to make Morpheus’s stupidly complicated order, and partially because they’re both grumpy bisexuals who fall in love too easily with the wrong people. 

“You were too good for him anyways,” Simon replies, plopping down into the chair next to Morpheus.

“Damn right I am,” Morpheus answers, picking up his coffee that is actually more syrup, sugar and milk than anything resembling coffee. And that was after Simon added four shots of espresso. He groans happily as he takes his first sip. “He was awful in bed anyways.”

Simon snorts. “Maybe you should try not dating rich assholes,” he offers.

“No? I should only pine for them hopelessly from across the rugby pitch?” Morpheus answers pointedly. 

“Wow, you’re lucky I’m on shift or I’d tip that sad excuse for coffee into your lap,” Simon bites back, feeling the familiar heat of anger rise up in him. Because of course Morpheus knew about Simon’s complicated feelings towards Baz. But he didn’t have to be an asshole about it just because he got dumped.

Morpheus sniffles. “These jeans are Gucci,” is all he says back, before taking another sip of his coffee and letting the subject drop. 

———————

Simon’s break is over before he knows it, and not a moment too soon. He and Penelope are swamped by the late-afternoon rush. Simon doesn’t know how so many people could be craving coffee this late in the day, but to each their own. Morpheus had ordered a second cup of his ungodly drink right before the rush hit, and it’s when he’s finishing up that drink and getting ready to leave that half the rugby team decides to walk into the cafe and ruin Simon’s day. 

“Snow,” Baz Pitch sneers at him when he gets to the counter to order. Simon rolls his eyes.

“Let me guess, black tea for the blackness in your soul?” he retorts, smirking when Baz’s face goes tight with annoyance.

“Ooooh, this guy’s got you down to a T,” a brunette answers, coming up from behind Baz and draping an arm over his shoulders.

“Shut up Hob,” Baz replies, rolling his eyes and shrugging his friend off before turning back to Simon. “And yes, black tea, but do try not to over-steep it this time Snow.”

“I’ll have a caramel latte,” the man called Hob adds, “with extra caramel syrup since Bazzy’s paying.”

“Hob I swear if you call me Bazzy one more time—”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll sue me for defamation somehow, hey, can I get a couple of cake pops too?” Hob answers all in one breath. Simon gets the impression the man is something like a golden retriever in human form. 

“Sure, anything for a friend of Bazzy's,” Simon chuckles before he turns to work on their order. He can practically feel Baz seething from behind him as he prepares their order. 

As he’s getting ready to prepare Hob’s latte, Simon catches Morpheus out of the corner of his eye approaching the counter, and he instinctively starts preparing a drink for him as well. Seriously, how the hell could Morpheus stomach one of these, let alone three in a single sitting?

“The line is behind me, Endless,” Simon hears Baz say. 

“Ah, that’s where you’re mistaken, Basil,” Morpheus replies smoothly. “There is no line when you’re the favorite.”

“Who the hell says you’re the favorite?” Baz snaps 

“I do,” Simon cuts in, bringing over the order, and making sure to hand Morpheus’s drink over first. He can just tell Baz is irrationally mad about the whole thing. “Unlike some other customers, Morpheus is a sweetheart.”

“Thank you, dear heart,” Morpheus practically coos at him before turning back to Baz and Hob and smirking. “The cake pops are quite good, by the way.”

“Good to know!” Hob answers cheerily. “Did you want one, by the way? Didn’t realize how large they were,” he adds holding one out. 

Morpheus looks taken aback, but accepts the cake pop with a meek thank you and then with their order complete, the rugby team starts making their way towards the exit. Morpheus stares after them as they leave, cake pop still in hand. 

“I think I’m in love,” Morpheus says once the cafe has totally emptied out.

“You’re what now?” Simon exclaims, then groans. “Please tell me this isn’t about the cake pop.”

“He has nice eyes,” Morpheus argues. “And if he tolerates Basil’s awful attitude, I’m practically a ray of sunshine in comparison.”

“You're not wrong,” Penelope cuts in, leaning her elbows down on the counter next to Simon. “And if Morpheus can get Hob, maybe he can help you get Baz, Si.”

“That is a terrible plan,” Simon says. “And anyways, Baz hates me.”

“It’s an excellent plan,” Morpheus replies. “And also, you’re an idiot. Basil was ready to stab me with my own fountain pen for touching you so casually.”

“He was not!” Simon squeaks.

“No, he definitely was, I’m with Morpheus here,” Penelope says. “Maybe you two should pretend to date and see how long it takes for Baz to crack.”

“Absolutely not,” Simon says at the same time Morpheus answers “That’s an excellent idea.”

Simon groans. 

“I don’t have a choice in the matter do I?” he asks.

“Not at all,” Morpheus replies, biting into the cake pop.

[blinddreams24]

Message

A Mermay Prompt

Masterlist

Prev / Next

“U-U-Ugh!” Complained the glitchy voice of your new companion. You were starting to understand why his name was Error. “Wh-Why did-d you ha-ha-have t-to nest-st s-so far away-ay-ay-ay?” It was like a broken record. You tried not to let it get to you but it was really annoying that every few minutes he’d complain like a fussy child. Big man baby ribbon eel.

“We’re Only One More Mile Away Error!” Blue chirped. He didn’t seem phased in the slightest by Error’s behavior. “Thank You For Agreeing To Come! It Really Means A Lot To Me!” He swam closer to Error but not close enough to touch. Error had been very strict about touch when you’d met him. So much so that he’d almost immediately attacked you even though you hadn’t even approached him. Blue had gotten between you and calmed Error with surprising speed. Error didn’t threaten you again after that.

“M-M-Mmh.” Error grumbled. “Wh-Whatever. You o-o-owe me-me f-f-for this-is.” He didn’t clarify what exactly Blue owed him. He also didn’t seem like the type ask favors of people, opting instead to get his own hands dirty.

Blue’s smile didn’t waver. “Of Course, Error! You Know I Love To Help!”

“Mhm-m-m.”

It was weird.

You could see the power in this beast. The way the water rippled and sharpened around him into silvery blue strings that whipped around in his agitation. The way Dream had immediately put Blue between him and Error before retreating back to his den, leaving you in Blue’s more than capable hands. The power blazing in his mismatched eyelights that made Nightmare’s cyan eye look tame. The way he didn’t hesitate in any decision because he was certain nothing could stop him anyways.

And yet he was easily calmed by your fellow dolphin siren.

Not completely calmed, Error still growled and hissed and was overall aggressive, he was just less likely to do anything rash while Blue was talking. Which encouraged you to keep Blue talking.

“So, uh…” You rubbed the back of your neck. “How are you both doing?” It felt dumb to ask, but you didn’t know either of these people really.

Blue chirruped. “I’m Doing Great! Thank You For Asking, Y/n! And How Are You? Does That Spot Still Itch?”

“Yeah, a little bit. But it’s not as bad as earlier. Thank you, by the way.”

“Of Course! I Am Always Glad To Help!”

“Wh-Wh-What a-are you ta-ta-talking about-out?” Error grouched, his brows furrowed at being left out of the conversation.

“Y/n Had A Suckerfish Stuck To Them And I Helped Them Get It Off.” Blue supplied.

Error laughed and his eyes locked onto you even though he was still talking to Blue. “A-A-Aww, Blue-ue-ue! Y-You c-c-could have-ave l-left it for a-a-a-a f-few min-min-minutes longer! I-I-I would-ld-ld h-have enjoy-joy-joyed th-that!”

Blue scowled sternly. “Error, We Don’t Leave People In Pain Just Because It’s Funny.”

“Y-Y-You don’t-t.” Error grinned, baring his sharp teeth.

Blue responded with a heavy hearted sigh. “Let’s Not. How Are You Doing, Error? Y/n Did Ask Both Of Us.” He turned the question on the destroyer curiously.

Error scoffed. “M-M-My peace-eace was int-interup-rup-rupted b-b-by two abom-ominations an-and an annoy-oy-oying dolphin-in. I’m ter-ter-terrible.”

“Aw, Thanks!” Blue whistled happily at the insult.

Okay. There was either something terribly wrong with these two or you were missing important information.

You had a feeling you wouldn’t get an answer to that.

“Y/n? Wait, Blue?!”

“Cross!” You and Blue chirped at the same time, turning toward the voice.

Cross caught sight of Error and hesitated as he came closer. “What are you doing here, Blue?” He asked, reaching out for your hand.

“Mweheheh!” Blue laughed. “I Am Here Because Y/n Invited Me! How Are You Doing, Cross?”

“Uh, I’m good, I guess. Y/n, what’s going on?” Cross’s tense gaze didn’t leave Error and the eel gave him a big toothy grin. He pulled you closer to himself.

You let him pull you. “So, you know how Killer got hyped up on positivity and Nightmare helped him balance out? And now Boss has been acting really tired?”

Cross’s brows scrunched together as he looked down at you. “…He has been really tired… but what does this have to do with Blue and Error?” His eyes shot back to the destroyer, who was starting to look annoyed.

Blue noticed Error’s frown. “Mweh! Would You Like To Answer That, Error?”

At the attention, Error relaxed and scoffed. “Y-Y-You t-tell him, B-B-Blue. I d-don’t care-are.” He crossed his arms and looked away.

“Of Course.” Blue smiled, as always, and turned to address Cross. “Y/n Had The Amazing Idea Of Inviting Me And Error Over To Help Nightmare Get Rid Of The Lingering Positivity In His Body. Dream Has Had A Similar Problem Before And Asked Me To Help As Well.”

Cross’s eyes darted between the three of you, more concerned than confused. He pulled you away. “I’d like to talk to y/n real quick.”

“Mweh! Of Course! We’ll Be Right Here When You’re Ready!” Blue chirped

“Sp-Sp-Speak f-for yourself-self.”

As Blue started entertaining Error, you and Cross took a sidebar. Cross pulled you around and held you by the shoulders.

“Y/n. What were you thinking? You left the pod and went to get Blue and Error all by yourself? Are you insane?” He snapped. You could see the worry behind his anger.

“I wasn’t alone. Dream helped me-.”

“That’s worse! Do you not remember what happened the other day?”

“I remember!” You shoved him away. “I’m the one that went through that! But Ink wasn’t there this time and Dream has only ever been nice to me. He just wants to fix things with Nightmare. Cross, he wants to help. Isn’t that a good thing?”

Cross hesitated and glanced back at your guests. “…Maybe. I’d say he has good intentions, but the guys… they won’t believe him for a second. He could just make things worse.”

“That’s why he’s not coming. Cross.” You pulled his focus back to you. “I brought Error and a message and I haven’t delivered either. Could you please help me?” You pleaded.

He glared at you, his eyelights dilating at you. “You’re ridiculous. Fine, I’ll help. I’ll let the guys know what’s going on. Just wait here and don’t do anything stupid.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll try. Be safe.”

Cross turned to your guests. “Blue, I will be leaving for a little while. Guard y/n, would you?” You punched Cross’s arm. You could take care of yourself!

Blue smiled. “I Will Help In Any Way I Can!” He chirped happily.

With that, Cross sped off for only a few minutes before returning with Dust. They escorted you and your guests into the trench while Error kept puffing up proudly and flashing his colors every time he glanced at Dust. Sure Dust wasn’t as pretty, but he didn’t have to rub it in.

You and Cross crested the edge of the trench first and you froze. Now that you knew, it was much easier to spot Nightmare’s exhaustion but you would have noticed anyways. The leviathan was laid out on the bottom of the trench, Killer circling his head and Horror worrying at his hand. Despite the worry from the boys, he had a comforting smile on his face as he tried to soothe them.

His eye was half-lidded.

“Boss.” Cross called carefully. “We brought help.”

Nightmare looked up and his eye caught on Error. The eel sneered at him, smug. Boss sighed. “I did not need help, Cross. I told you, nothing is wrong.”

“Y-Y-You look l-like a dying-ing st-st-starfish.” Error observed.

“Error!” Blue scolded.

“A-A-Am I wr-wrong??”

Ignoring the chaos that came with Error, you swam forward into the trench. Nightmare watched you swim all the way down. Killer and Horror didn’t acknowledge you in their worry.

“Nightmare,” You started. “I know you’re not okay. We know you’re not okay. Please let us help.”

Nightmare glanced between the four other sirens of the pod. He sighed. “If it will make you feel better.”

“Also, I have a message.”

Nightmare smirked at you. “Oh~? A message? From who?”

“From Dream.”

Everything stopped.

Killer, Horror, and Nightmare were staring at you with varying expressions of shock as Error cackled like a glitchy witch behind you.

“Y/n.” Killer said, tense. “You were talking to Dream?”

“Yes.” You responded boldly. “He’s been very helpful to me. He had a simple request, I said I’d do it.”

“Still.” Killer growled.

“Killer.” Nightmare warned. Killer backed off and swam down to join Horror. Nightmare looked back to you. “What is the message?”

“He said he wants to negotiate peace and I quote; ‘I swear on my apple I will let you have the first say.’ And said you can bring whoever.” You supplied. “Out in the dunes by Blue’s place.”

“What’s an apple?” Killer piped up.

“It’s a fruit on land. I don’t know why Dream was talking about it though. I’ve never seen or heard of an apple-like plant in the water.” You said, just as confused as Killer.

Nightmare hummed vaguely. “It’s not a normal apple. Y/n, did he set a date?”

“Uh… no. I think he wanted me to ask you.”

“Good. I will take time to recover and then I’d like you to be my messenger, y/n, to discuss a time to meet with my brother.”

“What?!?!” Yelled four sirens at once.

You smiled. “I’d love to, Nightmare.”

[etoilehistoire]

Dancing In the Firelight

The tiefling party. Featuring Xia, female human paladin. I've seen a few versions of the dialogue for this scene, so I picked one and then played fast-and-loose with it. This is furthering my agenda to let an asexual Astarion and asexual Tav romance each other without sex.

Astarion hated parties.

Or, well, no, that wasn’t true. Probably not, anyway. He’d hated Cazador’s parties, the ones he’d been forced to attend as eye candy and bait and spy, all rolled into one. And he hadn’t exactly had many invites since escaping to compare them to. But presumably, parties existed that he would enjoy. He’d almost certainly attended some before Cazador, and if he’d hated them, surely he’d remember that? So he probably didn’t hate all parties.

He hated this one, though.

Too many people, all of them simpering and thanking him for something he hadn’t wanted to do in the first place and still didn’t quite see the point of. Too hot. Too much noise. Terrible wine.

He grimaced and took another sip from the bottle he held. No, the wine was fine. A little dry for his liking – he preferred a touch of sweet – but perfectly serviceable. He was simply in a bad mood, and for reasons which had nothing to do with the wine and very little to do with the heat, the noise, or the people.

No, it was her.

Xia stood off to the side, sipping her own cup of wine and watching the festivities flow around her. Was she even enjoying herself? With that impassive face of hers, she could be judging them all for their frivolity and excess, or she could be having the time of her life, or anything in-between, and he’d never know.

And that was the rub. He was used to being able to read people.  His life had, after all, depended on it for quite some time. He was supposed to be the enigma, the one who hid his true intentions behind a faultless mask. Yet here she was, unreadable, and – worse – often giving the impression that she could see right through him.

The smart thing to do, the easy thing to do, would be to give up and make someone else his mark. Surely someone else in their little group would be more susceptible to his wiles – someone without her piercing stare or unsettling silences. But something in him rebelled. He wanted her.

Part of it was pragmatism. Paladins were the package deal, after all – a little magic, a little healing, and quite a lot of physical prowess. If he was going to go to all the trouble of manipulating someone into protecting him, why not go for the best? Part of it, he knew, stemmed from anger and a dark sort of humor. There would be something deliciously poetic in convincing someone so assured of their own righteousness to sleep with an undead creature like him, or to fight, not for innocence and valor, but for a bloodthirsty monster. But part of it, he wasn’t ashamed to admit to himself, was simply… pride. He’d never met a mortal he couldn’t charm or seduce if he set his mind to it, and it rankled that she’d resisted him for so long. There must be a way in, he was sure of it. Like picking a lock, it was just a question of figuring out where to apply pressure.

Well. No time like the present, perhaps. If she hated the party, maybe she’d be grateful for a distraction; if she was enjoying it, she’d be in a good mood. Either way, a festive atmosphere always lends itself to lowered inhibitions, and that could only help his cause. Taking another swig of (terrible)(fine, but too dry) wine to fortify him, he sauntered over.

“You know,” he said, sidling next to her, “I never pictured myself as a hero.” He glanced sideways to see how she reacted. “Never thought I’d be the one they’d toast for saving so many lives. And now that I’m here�� I hate it.” He made an exaggerated moue, aiming for the funnybone he knew she kept buried beneath all that armor. “This is awful.”

She raised one elegant eyebrow, her cool expression never changing. “My poor vampire,” she deadpanned, her tone dry as dust. “Forced to endure the adulation of the masses. Truly, none have suffered as you do.”

Even at his expense, her teasing delighted him – it was more of a reaction than he usually got. “Yes, thank you for your understanding and your boundless sympathy,” he shot back, sketching a florid bow. “I’m just saying. We put forth all that effort, killed all those goblins-"

“Which you enjoyed.”

“-Which I enjoyed, yes, but for what? Some empty words, a little music…” He waved his bottle for emphasis. “And vinegar for wine?”

A second eyebrow rose, joining the first. Oh, yes, that was definitely amusement, and he relished it. “You got vinegar? Pity. I’m enjoying mine.” She took a long, slow sip, her eyes never leaving his, and inwardly he rejoiced. She was flirting back, finally, he was sure of it. “Maybe you should speak to someone about it.”

“Maybe.” He met her stare, brazen and bold. “Or maybe I’m in the mood for something more intoxicating than wine.”

She tilted her head, exposing her neck in a way that could have been accidental but probably wasn’t. “You fed last night.”

He chuckled. “Not that either, you little minx.” He watched her eyes. When she didn’t immediately shut down at the endearment, he considered it tacit permission to keep going. Leaning in, he lowered his voice. “I was thinking… what if you and I made our own entertainment?”

She took another sip, visibly considering the idea. “Intriguing thought, vampire. Our own entertainment. Now, what might that consist of?” Her eyes danced. “Touching, perhaps?”

He tried to keep his glee from showing on his face. “Oh, almost certainly.”

She took a step closer. “And movement, maybe.”

He smirked. “I think we would move together wonderfully.”

Even closer now, invading his space, close enough to feel the heat of her skin. “Exertion. Sweat. The rhythm of two bodies working together.” Leaning in, she breathed into his ear, “Ecstasy.”

Holy shit. He’d been working on a theory that the pretty paladin might be a virgin – it would explain her reticence – but that no longer seemed likely. He didn’t know if it was the wine or the flush of victory loosening her up, but either way, he was going to take advantage of it.  “I believe we understand each other, yes.”

She set her glass down on the nearest available surface, then ran her fingers slowly down his arm. When she reached his hand, she took it gently, her face lightening with a rare, slow smile. “Agreed.”

Then she turned and began to walk away, tugging him gently to follow.

Wait, now? Not that he was opposed, but it was certainly more sudden than he had intended-

Until she stopped in front of the bonfire, just as the musicians struck up a new tune, and began to dance.

He groaned inwardly. Touch. Movement. Rhythm. Of course. She’d been playing him, and he fell for it.

She was… quite good, actually. He’d long noticed her grace in battle, how every movement flowed elegantly into the next. She was, it seemed, just as light on her feet without a sword in her hands, stepping and twirling in perfect time with the beat of the music. Others had noticed too, coming to watch and clapping along.

Well. Two could play at this game. He might not have her innate grace, but he hardly lacked for agility; the next time she extended a hand to him, he gave in and joined her.

It was a challenge at first. It wasn’t a dance he knew; it might not have been an established dance at all, might have simply been her own improvisation. After a few moments, though, he realized she was signaling her moves, if he paid attention. A step here meant a pass there; a pressure on his hand indicated a twirl, and so on. His body found the rhythm of it quickly enough, and soon it felt natural. Moving into each other’s space and back out again. Circling each other, making contact and breaking it off. Watching each other, to the point where no one else existed, to figure out where they would go next. Now and then he tried his own improvisations, using her own signals back at her to indicate what they should do next, and felt a thrill when she immediately responded to his suggestions.

He was, he realized with no small amount of surprise, having fun.

At one point it dawned on him that she was smiling – not just smiling, grinning. At him. That almost shocked him enough to fumble his steps – Xia, of the cold stares and rigid face, looking at him with such open, easy joy. He hadn’t thought of her as beautiful before. He did now.

The music ended with a flourish and so did the dance; she stepped back and dipped a deep, elaborate curtsey, and he responded with an equally overblown bow. As they stepped away someone offered them wine; Xia took a cup and handed the other to him, then wrapped her arm companionably around his waist as they headed back to a quieter part of the gathering.

Emboldened by her arm around him, Astarion smiled at her and was rewarded with another sunny grin, the corners of her dark eyes crinkling with what genuinely looked like affection. “So,” she said, breathless laughter in her voice, and snugged him closer for a moment. “Entertainment enough for you, vampire?”

He grinned back, letting himself enjoy the moment… but then, with a wash of cold, remembered it wasn’t enough. A night of dancing, no matter how fun, wouldn’t net him the loyalty he needed. He had to bind her to himself with something stronger, something she would crave. He had to.

Still… it wasn’t hopeless. She’d had her fun, teased him and won, and now… now her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling, her blood hot. He’d never have a better moment.

“Oh, of course,” he purred. “But was it enough for you? I think you know I was offering a different sort of entertainment.” He leaned in, pitching his voice low and smooth. “And, my dear, that offer still stands.”

Shit. Shit. It was the wrong move. He knows it – knows it as soon as he hears her sigh, so faint that non-vampiric ears would have missed it. Knows it as soon as he feels her arm loosen, snaking its way free from his waist.

What would it take? She liked him, he was sure of it now. It should have been easy. She was ripe for the picking, and yet every time he tried to pluck, she pulled back.

Like now. He watched as the light faded from her eyes, as the bright smile fell back into an exasperated smirk. She took his hand again, raised it to her lips, and kissed it gently.

Her lips were softer than he’d imagined.

“Good night, Star,” she said pointedly, dropping his hand, and turned.  Walked away.

Star. She’d never called him that before.

On the one hand, the evening was a bust. He’d thoroughly failed in his efforts, once again. He’d wasted his time, been beaten at his own game, and been made a fool of.

On the other hand, he was uncomfortably aware that he had enjoyed himself far more than he would have had his plan succeeded.

Watching her walk away, he took a sip of his wine. It was sweeter than  he remembered.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for abandoning my assistant at our new job?

I (22F) am a grocery store department manager and my assistant (26F) is my best friend. We previously worked at nice, low-volume, good work culture type store for a year and a half together while she was still a clerk. The notoriously horrible and constantly-falling-apart store down the street suddenly had two openings for our department for manager and assistant manager. She was definitely overqualified to become an assistant and I had good reports as the manager at this location, and thought we could work some magic on that place and really shape it up. So we made a plan, applied for the transfer and we were accepted. Once we started working there the department started performing amazingly and the people within the department were very happy with us as the new management crew.

Two issues - number 1 there is a store assistant manager who is racist, homophobic, and sexually harasses employees (she has 15+ HR complaints against her and it’s beyond me why corporate doesn’t fire her). She has targeted my assistant and within her first 5 days of working there, she wanted to call for a replacement, and called her lazy. I knew about this person before transferring but my assistant didn’t. I warned her beforehand and encouraged her to use the corporate HR hotline to report any and all behavior. (I have been a victim of this lady too, she asks me invasive sexual questions…)

Number 2 - I am now being worked 7 days a week, 10-12 hour days, and various start times anywhere between midnight and 1 pm. I’ll be off at 4 pm from a day shift, have to go back in at midnight, work midnight to noon, and then cover the evening call out by going in for another 2 hours from 4pm-6pm. Because I’m the manager, I can be worked like a dog but other people are not allowed to even stay an hour of overtime per week. My sleep deprivation has led me to faint, be hospitalized, miss doctors appointments, etc. All around awful. My store managers recognize that I’m suffering but due to corporate standards for scheduling, there is no escaping this, unless I want to make my poor assistant go through what I’m going through, which I refuse to allow another person to experience this.

I can’t take it anymore. I finally broke when I showed up to a scheduled overnight shift 2.5 hrs late due to pure exhaustion, and started having hallucinations on shift. Corporate surprised us at 8 am that day and gave my department a bad review, and I broke down in the middle of the sales floor in front of corporate, customers, and my store managers screaming “FUCK THIS I CAN’T FUCKING DO THIS ANYMORE.”

I was surprised that I wasn’t fired but store management was surprised that I didn’t walk out. I didn’t because I have rent to pay. But the incident finally made me realize that this store is hurting my health and I’ve decided to send applications out to other jobs. Stepping down within the company or transferring back to the old store is not an option because department head is not open and even if I stepped down, they’d still work me like a department manager because they know what work I’m capable of. I want something new, a fresh clean slate.

However my assistant very badly needed this pay raise and guaranteed full time contract. She wouldn’t leave. She has an upcoming wedding and needs to put food on the table for her child. She is my best friend outside of work and we’re very close. I would feel terrible abandoning her in an already shitty work situation that I dragged her into - it was my idea and my reference for her promotion. I made promises to take care of a certain portion of duties if she did another portion. If I left, it would be ALL on her, job of both assistant and manager either as an assistant or if she’s offered manager. Either way, that would be a worse schedule than what I’m going through right now. And she would have to deal with that terrible store assistant alone. Anyways, I’d be scared to lose her friendship if I left. But I can’t take it anymore. She recognizes that too, however, she’s sympathetic to the literal medical faults my schedule is causing.

I feel like it’s my fault that she got harassed in the first place, and I feel like it’s my fault that she’s now unhappy with her job. I don’t want to lose my best friend.

WIBTA for leaving my job?

What are these acronyms?

[offsidekineticist]

FINALLY

I mentioned in another post that I was going to split the next chapter into three chapters and...uh...I lied. It's Giliys's Terrible, Horrible, Awful, No Good, Very Bad Day, and splitting it into three parts just kind of messed with the flow. So, uh...sorry it's so long...

CW: Hurt people hurting people (dysfunctional/abusive family or relationship dynamics); problems eating; poor bedside manner; migraines; rotting body parts; use of a gendered slur; cops being jerks; mass casualty incident; loss of control/blackout; suicidal ideation; saying goodbye

What I Said Back In Brastlewark

Everything comes to a head the day Qweck returns to check on Thay’s hands. The day starts off miserably. The day before was one of Thay’s Bad Days, when he couldn’t manage the energy to leave the apartment, which meant he couldn’t eat all day because of the Stench. The night was also bad. He pretended to sleep, but by now you can tell the difference from the way he breathes–soft, shallow breaths when pretending, long and loud when asleep. 

Despite being hungry and exhausted, Thay forces himself out of bed at dawn. You’d rather he save his strength for later, so you can get him to someplace where he can eat, so you put a hand on his shoulder.

“Thay, I think it’s ok if you stay in bed–I think she’ll understand, on account of bein’ a healer–”

“I will not have her thinking I’m bedridden,” he snaps through grit teeth, swaying in place. He is unsteady on his feet, but he is standing. He looks around the apartment. “Where’s the incense?”

Your brow furrows in confusion. You had brought home some incense you swiped from Temple Hill the other day, hoping it would cover up the stench so Thay could eat at home. Turns out that layering two strong smells on top of each other just gives Thay migraines. “It’s in the cabinet, but why–?”

“Light some.”

You should know better. You should know better by now, but you argue with him anyway. “Uh…Is that really such a good idea, Thay? You’re already having a rough day, and last time–”

“Shut up and light the damn incense,” Thay snaps, even sharper than usual. You feel the fire in your chest, the whispers almost too quiet to make out–how dare he speak to you that way? How dare he tell you what to do, like you’re just–

Instinct takes over, pushing away the fire. Shame and guilt at having disappointed him replace the rage and indignation. “Of course. I’m sorry,” you say softly, bowing your head slightly as you retrieve the incense from the cabinet and put it in a bowl on the table to light. You can tell as soon as you’ve lit the incense that this was a bad idea: Thay’s skin goes from stone gray to ashy, and his jaw tightens as he’s determined not to be sick. But you don’t say anything. You don’t offer to put out the flame.

You help him dress, and then he settles down on the floor. “Fetch me my book?” he asks, and you retrieve his latest book from his bag. It’s one of the ones he got from Rivad, you’re pretty sure. He’s been reading through them near constantly since arriving in Kintargo, and it became even more intense once Qweck left. You think this book is about summoning circles, given the illustrations. Every time he reads it, you want to ask him to read out loud so you can follow along, but you know better.

You open the book to the bookmarked page and hold it up in your lap for him (“What do you think you’re doing?! You do not ever lay a book flat! You’ll break the spine!”), and you can immediately tell Thay is only pretending to read. His eyes are unfocused, staring straight into the book instead of moving back and forth across the page. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, and you realize he probably can’t read with that migraine of his. He’s just going through the motions so it will look like he’s reading it when Qweck arrives. He her to find him at the start of a cheery morning reading his book. He doesn’t want her to know how much he’s struggling. He doesn’t want anyone to know. 

(Except you. Everyone gets his best face except for you.)

It’s hard to judge how long the two of you sit there like that–you usually judge the passage of time by how many pages he’s asked you to turn–but eventually there's a knock at the door. Thay flinches at the noise with a slight whimper. You gently close the book and set it down on the floor in front of him as softly as you can before getting the door.

Qweck looks well, for the most part–less tired than she did last time you saw her. She’s paler than usual, but given how she’s covering her mouth and nose with her hand,  you can guess why.

"Why does half the city smell like rotting flesh?” she demands without preamble. 

“Nice to see you too, princess. Settled in so well to rich folk life that you forgot what the rest of us smell like, have ya?” you say, stepping aside so she can get into the apartment. Her ear twitches in frustration.

“We both know it didn’t smell like this before I left. What happened?”

"Fuck if I know, I just live here. You try asking the shiny jackdaws about it? Maybe they’ll care once someone from uptown asks.”

(The answer is that Hell doesn't let its holdings go without a fight. Hell is coming for Kintargo, and the birdbrains who “liberated” the city can’t fucking stop it.)

“Giliys, stop antagonizing our guest,” Thay says with false gentleness. When you turn to look at him, it’s all you can do not to gape, because there he is: it’s the old Thay, his mild disapproval of your antics evident in the way his bottom lip slightly juts out like a disappointed pout, but an affable twinkle in his eye assuring you he isn't angry. For a moment you're back in Brastlewark, and the last several months have all been a bad dream, and you have to remind yourself of the truth. Even knowing how skilled Thay is at disguising his feelings, it’s still shocking to see just how good he is at it.

Qweck stares at him a moment, and your heart sinks. She won’t see through it. She’ll think he’s doing great, and still nobody will know except you.

“Is that incense?” she asks.

"Helps cover the Stench,” Thay explains with a wry smile.

“And that isn't making things worse?” Queck asks.

"Hard to get much worse than corpse stench, isn't it?” Thay says with a chuckle as he stands up, and gods, the migraine must be bad because he actually winces. 

“It’s actually giving me a headache,” Qweck says. Thay slips for a moment, his expression freezing.

“Giliys!” He hisses.

“Yes, Thay,” you say as you hurry to put out the incense.

Recovering himself, Theo returns his attention to Qweck. “How shall we do this, Healer?”

Qweck looks at Thay suspiciously and then looks at you as you hurriedly smother the burning incense. Your eyes meet, and you search for any sign that she knows that this is an act. Any sign that she sees through this and knows how badly he’s struggling. 

The moment passes, and she returns her attention to Thay. “I just need something flat to rest your hand on. A stack of books will do.”

He grimaces at that before he puts back on the cheeriness. "Promise I won't leak blood or pus on the books?”

“Have you been leaking blood or pus?”

"No.”

"Then this won't change that. Where's the bag?”

"Here,” you say, holding up Thay's biggenlil bag. One by one, you take out books on infernal hierarchies and arcane geometry and the construction of summoning circles and whatever else the Order of the Rack deemed too subversive for public consumption until you've made a stack tall enough that Qweck won't have to bend over to reach Thay's hand while she works. She and Thay both settle by the stack of books, and she takes out a small pair of scissors to cut through the bandages she used to make her makeshift splints. 

Thay does a spectacular job of hiding it, but the tightness in his jaw is giving away the fact that this hurts. It doesn't stop him from making small talk or chuckling at Qweck's dry sense of humor.

Halfway through working on his second hand she decides she's had enough. "You don't have to pretend for me, Theo. It's alright if you're in pain.”

The expression freezes on his face. "Well, the last time I let you see how much pain I was in, you left, so you'll forgive me for being skeptical.”

Your heart sinks. She sees through him–at least enough to know his hands hurt–but it doesn’t matter. She’s not coming back.

Qweck’s face tightens. "I see,” she says, cutting off the last bandage. "Should I bother asking how they feel, or are you going to lie to me about that, too?”

He slowly opens and closes both hands, ignoring the barb. "It's fine,” he announces. He pauses before looking sheepishly at Qweck. "Genuinely, it's fine. My affect is not a deception, I just. I didn't want to be misunderstood.”

“Is that what you think happened last time? I just misunderstood because you didn't put on a performance for me?” Thay freezes, and you can see him struggling to find the correct answer through the pain. Qweck must see it too because she closes her eyes with a sigh. "Your hands have atrophied, and you're going to have to learn how to use them again. Giliys can show you where I'm staying. I want to see you twice a week for conditioning.”

“Twice a week–I'm sure that's unnecessary.”

"Of course you are. Wealdays and Stardays at noon. Don't waste my time by skipping.” She turns her attention to you. "Do you have any flayleaf you need me to measure out?”

“Forgot to pick up the new batch yesterday, so I'm going to take care of it today. Figured I'd stop by the cafe this afternoon,” you say.

(“Thay, I have to go–it's just for a couple of hours, but she's gonna be here tomorrow and I need to get the medicine before–”

“Please–please don't.”)

Qweck rolls her eyes. "Of course, because I couldn't possibly have had my own plans for the afternoon. Fine. I'll see you in a few hours.” She turns back to Thay. "I don't know why you're lying to your healer about your health, but I do know that your hands are not, and probably never will be, back to normal, so don't strain them by pretending they are.”

"It really isn't so–”

"Theoven,” she says sharply. "Your hands are holding together by a thread. Do not ignore the pain. If something aggravates it, you stop, and if that's too much for you, let me know, and I can save us all a lot of grief by just amputating now. Is that clear?” 

Theo nods but you can't tell how much of that got through to him. You hope he got it because otherwise you'll have to be the one enforcing this bit of doctor's orders, and judging by how he responds to your limiting his flayleaf dosage when he has a flare up, that won't be fun. Qweck, however, seems satisfied with that–or at least satisfied that if Thay loses his hands he won't be able to blame her. She picks up her doctor's bag and stands up.

"Well, if that's all, I'll be off.”

"It was wonderful to see you again,” Thay says, as if that can somehow salvage the situation.

"I'm glad. It would have been nice if I could have seen you too. Remember: Wealday at noon.”

It is only after the sound of her steps on the stairs has faded that Thay suddenly doubles over and lets out a half groan, half roar of pain that turns into violent but futile retching. You hurry to his side and, seeing that he's shaking and gasping for breath, you scoop him up in your arms and carry him back to the bed. It’s not hard; he is disturbingly light these days.

You gently lay him on the bed. You turn away, but he reaches out, with a hiss of pain, very weakly grabs your sleeve.

“Don't go,” he gasps.

You were just going to shutter the window. The light makes the migraines worse. You know it will be better for him if you go and come back–

–but he said no.

So you climb onto the bed, carefully shielding him from the sunlight from the window as best you can, gently stroking his hair as he whimpers and gasps in pain and he buries his face in your chest, and you wish he would just let you help him right.

It is early evening when Theo finally falls asleep and you're able to leave to find his medicine. You need to be quick–hell's influence is at its strongest after dark, so the less time you spend out at night, the better. The sun is almost touching the horizon line, ready to sink into the sea for the night when you leave the apartment. By the time you've arrived at the fisherman’s supply shop by the harbor, delivery in hand, the sun is gone.

You have to pound on the door three times before it opens.

“Shh!” hisses the dwarven tiefling at the door. You're pretty sure she gave you her name at some point, but you just call her Ears because of her huge, bat-like ears. She glares at you with beady eyes. “Are you insane being out after dark?” She ushers you inside.

“Shit don’t stop needing to be done just cuz the sun got lazy,” you snap. She laughs.

“All that halfling luck's gone to your head if you think you're not bullshitting. Good to see you, I guess. Was beginnin’ to think the guard got to ya,” the tiefling said, crossing her arms. “Them or the ghosts.”

“Yeah, well, they didn’t.” You set down the bloody bag on the counter, mood soured more than usual by the old 'halfling luck' line. “All three are in there.”

She opens the bag and immediately chokes on the stench. “Fuck–how long have you had these?”

“A couple days. Shit came up so I couldn't get to you right away. Didn’t realize they were rotting that bad.”

“How the fuck don’t you notice this?” She demands, still gagging.

“All of Redroof smells like that.”

“You poor bastards. Fuck.” She ties off the bag. “Drop it in the river on the way out, will ya? Gonna have to light some incense or something to get the smell out, shit.”

“Did you get me the good stuff this time?”

Ears’s tail flicks in irritation, and she rolls her eyes as she turns back towards the shelves behind her. “I did what I could. Best I could manage was more raw stuff.”

You grit your teeth, ignoring the heat in your chest. “That wasn't the deal.”

“No, the deal was you take care of my competition, and I do what I can. Look, you want the stuff so bad, you break into the castle and take it.”

You clench your teeth. Supplies are limited in Kintargo. Trade has been disrupted so that anything that relies on imports has become absurdly expensive. It's even worse when the goods in question are medical in nature–any medicines that can’t be easily brewed from local herbs are now kept and dispensed by the City of Kintargo. It was one thing to break into a mostly empty mansion and take a few of the less notable baubles; it would be another to break into the headquarters of the provincial military, the city guard, and the local hellknight order to take highly valued medicine.

(You could pull it off, you’re sure, but only if you weren’t planning on staying in the city after)

So instead you’re stuck knocking off petty criminals so a kid with delusions of grandeur and a connection in the docks can give you the stuff that's too shitty to sell to alchemists. You’re just able to wrestle down the heat in your chest when you see the size of the herb pouch Ears is holding.

“What the fuck–that’s nowhere near enough!”

“That's what I got. You have any idea how much that little bag is worth in this city right now?” She gets a sly look on her face. “Now, I might be willing to stick my neck out a little for a full-timer.”

There it is. Ever since she realized you were a professional and not just some goon with a knife, she’s been trying to get you to agree to being the lieutenant of her “crime empire” of pickpockets and muggers. “I’ll think about it.”

“You always say that.”

“I’m always thinking ‘bout it.”

“Aww, Lucky, I’m flattered! But I’m gonna need an answer soon. This is a lot of effort to go through for a man who won’t commit.”

The innuendo startles you, and without instinct to tamp it down the rage burns in your chest. How dare she try to ensnare you? How dare she mock you? How dare this waif, cursed with a speck of hellishness, mock the vessel of hell itself?

You force the fire down through sheer force of will. You ignore how the flames roar in fury, robbed of sustenance.

I am hungry, hellhound!

You snatch up the herb pouch out of her hand, ignoring the fire. “I’ll be by when I need more,” you snarl as you go to the door. She doesn’t resist, only grins smugly at you–she likes unsettling you, likes reminding you that there’s nowhere else to go.

The fire burns, and it takes all you have not to let it consume her for her insolence.

“Don’t forget the hands!” Ears shouts after you.

“Don't forget it yourself, you fucking pussy!” you shout over your shoulder before slamming the door behind you, holding the fire in your chest so it doesn’t spread. Once you're sure you're not going to catch fire, you take a deep breath and begin walking.

Qweck is staying with Laria Longroad, who runs the Long Roads Coffeehouse in the Villegre. The Villegre is Kintargo's university district, situated against the city's northern wall–on the opposite side of the city from Ears's supply shop. You don't exactly like having to cross a helltouched city at night, but you don't have much choice.

You never put much stock in the "lucky halfling" myth–you always figured that if you were really lucky, you wouldn't ever have been a slave–but considering you make it to the docks, catch the ferry across the river, and make it as far as Alabaster Academy without seeing any trouble, maybe there's something to it. The hair on the back of your neck is just starting to settle down when a shriek cuts through the air and rattles your bones. You flinch and cover your ears. You'd heard rumors about this–a phantom that screeches through the night, uttering oaths and curses in dark languages. You think it's Infernal that she's screaming, but you don’t understand the meaning. You don't know what the phantom–ghost–wraith–thing wants, but you don't intend to find out.

You sprint down the street, and you feel the warmth spread from your chest down towards your legs, driving you faster and faster. You will pay for that when you stop, when the fire won't die back down and hide in your chest anymore, but the creature's wails are in your ears, and you need to find shelter now.

You ignore the CLOSED sign in the window and barrel through the door. A halfling woman with fair hair–Laria Longroad–startles from her work cleaning the countertop and looks up.

“What the fuuu–oh! It’s you.” she says, eyes widening in surprise before she smiles like she’s happy to see you.

(Laria always smiles when she sees you. You have no fucking clue why. You’re just as much of a dick to her as you are to everyone else who isn’t Thay, but for some reason that doesn’t faze her.)

“Yeah, sorry to show up so late, I just gotta talk to Qweck about something,” you say.

"She said you might come around. But you're outta luck," Laria says, disappearing behind the counter again before walking around it to get to you. “Qweck’s gone to bed. Early sleeper, she is, but I suppose that’s t’be expected, what with her being Irorian and all.”

Shit. “Well, I guess I better go wake her up.” You move to walk towards the back, toward the stairs that you know lead to the apartment upstairs, but Laria steps in front of you.

“If you give me the medicine, I’ll see that she gets it and brings it to you tomorrow. She needs her rest. Today was rough on her.”

You huff at that. “Sure it was. She spent less than an hour with us. I think she can handle five minutes with me to get Thay’s pain down from excruciating to torturous.”

She doesn’t react right away. Then she reaches out and takes your arm. “Come sit down, Giliys. There’s something I’d like to talk with you about.”

You almost tell her to fuck off, but you’ve always had a soft spot for Laria. You knew her when she was first on the run after beating a slaver to death with her bare hands, and you got to watch her grow into the tiller she is today. She thinks you had something to do with that. Maybe you did; you did check in on her a lot when she was getting established in Kintargo. And you were maybe a little more honest than usual with her about your history when you caught her crying over the blood on her hands.

The point is, you never had a sister, but if you did you’d kinda hope she’d be like Laria. If Laria says she wants to talk to you, well, you gotta make sure the guilt isn’t getting to her (she’s not as used to it as you are, on account of being an all around better person than you). So you let her lead you to a table and you both sit down across from each other.

“Everything ok, Kid?” you ask.

“I should be asking you that,” she says. “We haven’t talked since you arrived, but from what Qweck has told me, you’ve been on a rough ride the last couple of months.”

You wave her off. “I’m fine. I’m not the one who got tortured for a month.”

“That doesn’t mean it hasn’t been hard.”

You shrug. “It is what it is. You said there was something you wanted to talk about?”

She hesitates before nodding. She's thinking through her words before she speaks, and that's not a good sign–Laria has never been afraid to speak her mind, at least not to you. “It’s funny," she says, looking over the shop. "Most days I’m used to it, but every now and then I stop and look around and think ‘this is my place. My shop. My home. I own this.’ And it’s just…for a second I don’t believe it. It’s like the Laria from before just popped into my body, and she just can’t grasp the idea of having any of this.”

You relax slightly. She just wants to talk about her feelings, and she's hesitating because they're about the Old Times. Nothing too bad, you just gotta listen and nod and not be a dick. “Yeah," you say with a nod, "yeah, I think I get what you mean. Not that I have a coffee shop or anything, but…yeah. I know that feeling.”

(You used to get that feeling when you’d visit Thay, when you’d sit on his couch with a mug of hot cocoa and realize you have a friend, that this beautiful, wonderful soul was your friend and chose to be your friend, even though you had proven to him from the moment you met that you didn’t deserve–)

“It gets me thinking, sometimes,” Laria continues. “Reminiscing, I guess you could say, about how I got here. Remember the first time you visited after I set up the shop?”

“The time you fucking poisoned me? Yeah, I remember that.”

She chuckles at that. She didn’t actually poison you, she just gave you a cup of coffee on the house, and that was how you learned that you fucking hate coffee. “I remember I mentioned I was thinking of hiring some folks to help out–another server or two. And I said I thought maybe it could be a way to help the slaves we freed. Give them a job, help them get on their feet and figure out who they want to be now that they’re free. And I remember you said something that stuck with me. You said not to make a server out of anyone still learning how to be free, cuz the customers will act like masters and make them forget they're free.”

“Yeah, I remember that, too.”

“And it's funny, because even all these years later, sometimes I catch myself falling into that–not often, but if it's been a busy few days, and I've got some cranky customers who haven't had their coffee yet, sometimes the old scars start aching, and I catch myself saying sorry to some snobby brat screaming at me in my own shop, you know?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s been a couple decades since the last time I had a real job–well, ok, I've never had a legit job, but, you know, a job with a boss–but yeah, I remember what that was like.”

She pauses for a long moment, and you begin to wonder if you’ve said something wrong. And then, disturbingly gently, she says, “It’s not just a job that can make us feel like that, though, is it?”

She's not here to talk about her feelings. There's something specific she's fishing for, and you don't like it. You can feel your expression harden. “Get to the point, Kid.”

She sighs. “I just want to make sure you haven’t forgotten that you're free. Because Qweck said some things that have me thinking that maybe you have.”

Your jaw almost drops.

“Ex-fucking-scuse me?!” you demand. “You–hold on. I–wow. Okay. So, just on the word of sheltered kid who lived in a cloister until a month ago, you’re accusing someone you’ve never met–someone, I will add, who has more goodness in his thumb than either of us have in our whole fucking bodies–you think he’s acting like a master cuz his ungrateful cunt of a daughter said so?”

“It’s not about him," Laria says, eyes wide. "It’s–”

“But it is! Of course it is! People don’t just forget they're free when they feel respected, do they? Not when they're decades removed from slavery. So she thinks he’s taking advantage of me? Of course she’d think that–she despises him!” You don’t notice your voice rising, or how it shapes itself towards the highborn Egorien of your youth. “As long as I’ve known her, all she’s ever had to say about him were backhanded comments about her guardian–never her father–her guardian, the collaborator, how he burned books for Thrune and was just as complicit as any hellknight. He took her in, raised her on his own, and she has nothing but contempt for him–and so she started pouring poison in your ear and you just believed her?!"

"That–that's not–"

"You did! You didn't even question it, you just accepted it as divine prophecy! But of course you did–she’s a pretty face, isn't she? She's someone new and exciting and we both know you–”

The phantom's wails cut through the air like a knife, and you hear her Infernal vows of vengeance against the adventurers who killed her.

You understand her.

The shock of it knocks you out of your tirade, and suddenly you realize you’re standing up, your chair overturned behind you. You tower menacingly over Laria, both hands on the table in front of you–hands flaring with sparks as smoke rises from under your palms and fingers. She stares at you in silent terror, right hand reaching for a dagger you taught her to keep in her bodice. It’s no use, though–the fire in your chest has spread through your body, and you know from the siege camp that a knife in your chest will just make things worse–

So you run. You bolt across the cafe out the door, Infernal words that you can understand pounding in your ears, trying to get her out, out, OUT! But still the woman wails and still you understand, and still the fire roars and demands escape because you promised.

The heat grows and grows in your chest and your hands and your feet, and you realize you need to get as far from people as possible because you can’t hold it in anymore and people will burn. You race towards Villegre Park–not even nobles are crazy enough to go for a walk in the park after dark.

You make it. With desperate effort, you make it to the center of the park–or close enough. You drop to your knees and wrap your arms around yourself. You feel the fire rising inside you. The scar on your chest glows red under the drawstrings of your shirt. You squeeze your eyes shut and clench your teeth with a growl and then, with all your might, you let go–

–and nothing happens.

You’re left panting and sweating from exertion and heat and emotion, but there is no relief. The fire in your chest still burns, still spreads and demands release.

I want my souls, hellhound.

You sit on the ground uselessly, shaking with anxious energy, feeling like you want to tear off your skin and escape the confines of your body. The fire burns without warmth, leaving you to shiver in the cold of the night even as your insides are consumed by an inferno.

It's hard to say how long you sit there, wrestling the hellfire under your control. It’s harder to say how long you would have remained were you not interrupted by someone grabbing your shirt collar and picking you up off the ground.

“And what’s your business here?” It’s a guard–two guards. One of them, a tiefling with curled horns, holds you up by your shirt, while the other, human by the look of them, searches you.

“Stop,” you grind out, while the fire roars in your ears.

“Hey now, what have we here?” the human guard says triumphantly, snatching the pouch of flayleaf from your belt. They open the bag and take a quick sniff. “Flayleaf–the actual leaf? Got ourselves a connoisseur, we do!”

“Fellas at the harbor must be doing a good job of keeping out the hard stuff if he’s resorting to that shit.” He drops you on the ground and puts his foot on your back before you can react. He bends over to handcuff you and he puts weight on your back, and–

And–

And it’s dawn. You’re not in the park anymore. You're still in the Villegre–you can see the academy's tower to the west–but you are on some street surrounded by smoldering ash. There are piles of ashes and scorch marks on the sides of buildings, and you suspect they form a trail that will lead you back to the park. You don't care to test that theory. You are covered in ash, your clothes are scorched, and your hands sting when you move them, burned with hellfire. The rage is gone. The flames are silent.

She is silent.

Maybe halflings are lucky–after all, you woke up. She lost grip on you–took too many souls at once–and while you don’t remember how you know this, you know she would never have let you go if she didn’t have to. You might have been lost forever if she hadn't gorged herself. You were lucky.

This has to end. You’ve kept her at bay for years, but that time is over. Next time she won’t let you go. Next time she’ll know better, and she’ll never wake up. She’s silent now, quieter than she’s been since you arrived in Kintargo, sleeping off the feast of the night before. If you’re going to end this, now’s your chance.

The sun is rising over the city. It makes the water shimmer, and it’s beautiful. It’s all beautiful. You wish you had seen it before. You wish you could see it after. You are glad you see it now.

You don’t remember the walk back to Redroof, your mind in a haze. This is the third time you’ve resolved to cut to the chase, but something about this feels different. It feels real this time. You hate that your last kill will be with that stupid decorative dagger you swiped from an idiot noble–you’ve sharpened it until it could do fucking surgery if you wanted, and it still cuts wrong. Maybe you just miss your old dagger. Maybe there’s only so much you can do with a weapon that wasn’t made to be used. Maybe you should throw yourself off the bridge like you planned when you first got here. Or maybe Qweck will agree to slit your throat for you.

You arrive, and Thay is awake. He looks at you in alarm. Right–you're badly burned, dressed in scorched clothes and covered with ash. "Gilly–what–"

"I'm dying,” you blurt out. Thay freezes. "Or–no. I need to die. The devil–I’m losing control. She’s been getting stronger since we got here, and I can’t–I can’t hold her back anymore, and someday soon she’s gonna take over and I won’t ever come back, and fuck if I know what she’ll do but she just burned a path through the Villegre and killed gods know how many people, so I know it won’t be anything fucking good. So…so I have to die.” Thay doesn't say a word. His face doesn't shift. So you do what you always do when you’re anxious about the silence: you keep going. "I thought you should know, so…y'know. You could patch things up with Qweck and make arrangements before–”

"No,” he says softly, almost keening.

“It'll be fine, Thay. She loves you, she'll–”

"I'm not losing you again!” It's an animalistic snarl, feral and harsh. The sheer intensity of it strikes you speechless for a moment before you find your words and carry on.

"You...you have to, Thay. It'll be alright–you don't need me. I haven't really been helping much, anyway. You'll be fine without me.”

"I won't!” he exclaims, and there’s a naked desperation in his expression you don’t recognize. “I won't be fine without you–how could you think–” He stops short, trying to collect himself. “I'm sorry–I know I've been awful, I'm trying, I swear, but it's just so hard, and it's not working, but I'm trying, I–please don't give up on me, Gilly, I won't survive it, please!” His expression shifts, and it takes a moment to quash the hope you feel when you realize he has an idea. “The contract–show me the contract! There must be a way to break it, there always is, and we can–”

“There’s no contract, Thay,” you answer wearily.

He seems to almost recoil in confusion. “No contract–as in you lost it?”

“As in there was never any contract. I just let her in, and she’s stayed ever since.”

“But–but that doesn’t make sense! What kind of devil–there has to be a contract, we just have to find it. It might take some time, but–”

“We don’t have time, Thay. She’s gonna wake up soon, and then she’ll want more souls.”

“Then give them to her! We live in Redroof, for Aroden's sake, surely you can find someone who won't be missed!”

It takes a moment for you to process–to understand what he wants you to do. When you understand, you have a moment of sickening clarity: there is something very wrong with Thay, and you've been making it worse. He’s been so twisted up inside that he’s starting to become like you. You need to leave for his sake as much as for the sake of the souls you'd have to reap to stay.

"I'm going to go tell Qweck,” you say as gently as you can, “so she knows to come see you. I don’t have much time, so I probably won’t be back before…yeah. I just want you to know…I’m so, so sorry for…for lying to you. For tricking you into helping me, and letting you think I maybe…might be….almost good somewhere deep fucking down. I’m so fucking sorry. And…And…” Oh, how these next words catch in your throat. “And I meant what I said back in Brastlewark. About why I couldn’t let you volunteer. I meant it. I fucking meant it, and if you don't believe anything else I’ve ever said–and I sure as shit haven’t given you much reason to–please, for the love of all that’s holy and good, please believe that.”

You allow yourself a moment–barely any time at all, just a moment–to look at him, and for this moment, and only this moment, you believe with all your heart that halflings are the luckiest of creatures, and you are the luckiest of halflings, because surely only the luckiest of the lucky ever behold beauty like this.

The moment passes. It's time to go. You hear his voice behind you, hear him sobbing, begging you to stay, but it's no use. You've already seen him for the last time. As much as you'd like to stay and stare at him forever, it's time to go.

You step out from the shade of the apartment into the brightness of your final day, and you don't look back.