#but very little autonomy in the books

[pynkhues]

How do you think the show will depict Armand and Lestat’s relationship? I used to think that the theatre box scene was made up because well, Armand is obviously distorting a lot of stuff. But since Armand was already exposed as a liar this season I don’t think they’re going to have him be exposed again for lying abt something major in s3? I’m also curious if they’re going to keep Armand’s Lestat obsession

Hey! It's an interesting area to think about, especially because I think there are a lot of truths in Armand's story (taking Nicki to bait Lestat out, Lestat's role in the destruction of the Children of Satan cult, Lestat giving Armand and the coven the theatre, his and Lestat's mutual attraction), but there's already lies threaded through that it sounds like the show's planning for (most notably, of course, Gabrielle being omitted, Lestat playing Harlequin instead of Lelio and, of course, Lestat and Armand having had sex).

I talked about it in more detail here (and included the passage from the book), but I actually think them not having consumated their relationship + the one time they tried, Lestat being massively triggered with memories of Magnus, is too important to Lestat's arc at that point of the story to lose?

I could be wrong, of course, but given the way Rolin's talked about the trauma Lestat carries with him, and the weight of that particular scene as both a trigger point for trauma and one where Lestat explodes violently, I feel it'll probably be adapted?

It also feeds I think into this touchstone that the show's been exploring already of victim-survivors of sexual violence (Claudia, Lestat and Armand) all treating each other pretty badly and refusing to engage with the fact that trauma might inform the other's action. I've written about this before, but Lestat weaponising Claudia's rape, while Claudia casts doubt on Lestat's, and Armand diminishes Lestat's in 2.03 is all pretty pointed to me and opens up a really interesting dialogue in how trauma isn't a ticket to compassion when it comes to other people experiencing similar horrors.

So yeah, I don't know! I do think they're going to be insane about each other, haha, and I think there was genuinely a lot of truth in Armand's retelling, but I think there was a lot that was deliberately mm, curated too.

[kiirschtein-archive]

⋆ 「 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐦𝐢’𝐬 (𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞) 𝐦𝐨𝐦. 」 ⋆

feat. — toji fushiguro x f!reader, kid!megumi

word count. — 1.4k

content. — sfw, non-sorcerer au, established relationship (marriage), mostly just fluffy domestic stuff, reader is addressed as ‘mom/mama/mommy,’ toji’s kind of a bad parent but he’s working on it, brief mention of toji smoking (cigarettes), overprotective!toji, very minor suggestive themes (from toji 🙄 he’s a walking cw/tw)

notes. — idk. this has been incessantly on my brain pretty much from the moment i  woke up today, even to the point where i was writing half of this at  the laundromat lmao. mother’s day yesterday had me feeling some type of way, so here have some fun headcanons from a strange eldest daughter!!!! (i might end up doing a set of these for gojo x reader too 🤔)

⋆ 「 — he’s not your biological son, but you’ve been around since you started seeing toji when megumi was still a baby. but now, a few years later, you might as well be his real mother. you certainly act like it and feel like it, so toji gladly initiates the conversation about official adoption. it just makes sense. you eventually explain the situation to megumi as best as you can simply so that he doesn't grow up thinking he was lied to or anything of the sort, but as far as he's concerned, you're his mom whether it's by blood or not.

⋆ 「 — and oh, megumi’s a mama’s boy. i imagine he’s just a little bit of a healthier kid vs. canon given the better family situation, but he’s still always a bit of a grumpy baby, appreciating his autonomy and trying to be as self-sufficient and mature as he can be. but he’ll most certainly run to you when he needs help, is truly hurt, or just needing a bit of comfort. you’ve always treated him so softly and kindly with understanding, so he honestly feels more comfortable coming to you most of the time instead of his dad.

⋆ 「 — he likes the way you organize the bookshelf in his room or fold and sort his clothes in special little ways. he gets upset any time toji tries to put a book back in the wrong place or can’t figure out where his damn socks are. gumi will scowl and say, “that’s not where it goes.” or go deadpan and be like, “mom always keeps the socks in the bottom drawer.” disappointed that his father can’t even remember. toji just grumbles and says, “your mama’s gonna ruin you.”

⋆ 「 — has called you 'mom' basically since he was old enough, but don't let him fool you. megumi will drop the big boy act and come out with 'mama' or 'mommy' when something's wrong or he's really excited. he'll come to you with quiet tears and sniffles, a little ashamed that he's crying, but present to you a scraped elbow, "mama... it hurts." you clean up the scrape and explain to him the little medical details in a somewhat understandable way to help him focus on something besides the pain, and you tell him that it'll be okay, and that it's alright to cry. or on the flip-side, you and toji take him to the zoo, little gumi on his dad's shoulders, and he gasps and points excitedly, "look, mommy! look at the big elephant!" and it feels incredible to see him be so spirited.

⋆ 「 — along the lines of the art from this post and the thought i had about it earlier, just imagine that you're at some event (maybe like a birthday party or something), and toji's been hauling megumi around. they're both so over it at this point and are like 'please get me out of this' so as soon as toji walks past the obnoxious inflatable bouncy house, he smirks and just YEETS that kid inside without a second thought. after regaining his breath, megumi just looks at his father with the most EVIL little scowl as other kids bounce around him with smiles. by the look on that child's face you could've swore that his father had just done him the ultimate betrayal.

so gumi slides out and hurriedly makes his way over to where you're sitting off to the side, quietly climbing into your lap for a little bit of solace. he wiggles in close to your chest and you tuck him under your chin with a ‘come here, sweetpea,’ rocking slowly and humming something soft because he always seems to like it when you do.

toji comes over and you look at him through narrowed eyes. "kids are supposed to like shit like that," he says.

"you know he likes when things are more quiet," you respond, and toji rolls his eyes at how you seemingly spoil your son.

"just thought it might be good for him to try and get along with the other brats." toji tries to cover up the fact that he tossed his kid for the sheer personal enjoyment of it.

you huff in disbelief. "oh, like you get along so well with everyone?"

he scoffs and moves in behind you, leaning down to place a kiss on your neck. "i get along with you," he says almost suggestively.

you just keep stroking megumi's hair and give the top of his head a gentle kiss. "yeah, well not today," you say, shooting a smug, resolute smile towards your husband, ultimately taking his son's side.

⋆ 「 — outside of his alone time, megumi would honestly much rather be with you instead of other children. toji thinks it's probably unhealthy and you're inclined to agree, but you also don't want to force megumi into situations that will just make him miserable. so, when appropriate, you don't mind at all pacing around with him in your arms or have him walk next to you (maybe holding your hand if he’s not in a ‘big boy’ mood), teaching him about the things you see in the woods, the park, or even the museum. when toji's not away working, he'll join too because it admittedly makes his heart feel soft to watch you two together. it always has, because you've been doing this with megumi since he was a baby. it never gets old. if it wasn't already so difficult trying to figure out how to do things right by his son, he'd want you to give him even more babies.

⋆ 「 — megumi likes doing things with his dad sometimes too, though. toji tries his best to do it right and watch both his mouth and his temper. you like seeing them getting along, even if it's just quietly watching tv or a movie (probably a cartoon where toji gets kind of into and will ask the occasional question like "why does that one stupid chick keep doing that?" and megumi just shrugs like, "i dunno. she is pretty dumb.") or playing ball outside because gumi's starting to show some athleticism. but you have to remind toji that he can't always be so rough or competitive with games because megumi is literally a child.

⋆ 「 — toji can also be way too overprotective of you two at times. you'll be out and about and he'll just be wearing such an intimidating expression as he walks behind you both, on the lookout for anyone who might want to cause trouble or take the wrong sort of glance at his wife. he'll even snap at people for walking too close or like cutting in line or something petty, and you have to tell him stop acting like an attack dog and looking like the grim reaper because dear god you're literally just having lunch at the park. even at his age, megumi's just eating his ice cream and looking at his dad with his little baby deadpan expression and thinking "this man really needs to take a chill pill." other times he can be more relaxed, however, obviously confident in his ability to protect you. it depends on his mood. but that still doesn’t stop him from being embarrassing and going off on people in public if something happens.

⋆ 「 — you also know all of gumi’s favorite meals and snacks. it’s yet another one of those things where, if his dad does it wrong, megumi expresses a disappointment beyond his years. toji will be making and packing his son’s school lunch just as instructed by the notes you gave him, but it’s by no means as neat and meticulous as when you do it. toji’s got a cigarette hanging out of his mouth with furrowed, concentrating brows, his free hand shakily reaching for a cup of fresh coffee, and megumi’s standing there with his little backpack, criticizing his father the entire time. “mom doesn’t do it like that,” he says.

“well mom ain’t here right now. and it doesn’t matter how the sandwich is cut, is still tastes the damn same.”

gumi doesn’t even physically react, still wearing the same neutral expression, just waiting for his dad to hurry up. “mom says you shouldn’t smoke. and she also says not to use bad words.”

toji scoffs and then smirks. “well mommy uses all sorts of bad words you don’t even know about when her and daddy have play time.”

megumi’s already almost late for school and can barely feel his feet from how tight his dad tied his shoelaces. he also asks you later about “play time,” and you want to absolutely murder your husband over it.

[girlkisser13]

dating five hargreeves would include

• five loves having deep conversations with you. whether it’s about time travel theories, existential questions, or complex mathematical problems, he enjoys engaging with someone who can keep up with his sharp mind.

• he values his alone time, but he also cherishes moments spent with you. he’d find simple yet meaningful ways to connect, like sharing a quiet cup of coffee together, reading in comfortable silence, or taking walks where you can just be yourselves.

• five has a sharp tongue and a sarcastic sense of humor, and he’d love it if you could match his wit. you’d exchange playful banter regularly, and he’d find your quick comebacks refreshing. it’s his way of showing affection and enjoying your company.

• while five might not be overly affectionate in front of others, when you're alone, he lets his guard down. he'd be more open to holding hands, giving you quick kisses, and showing that soft side he usually keeps hidden.

• LITTLE SPOON FIVE>>>

• after being alone for so long, he begins to develop separation anxiety when the two of you have to part ways, so he’ll always kiss you before you have to leave him.

• five has been through a lot, which makes him wary of trusting people. it would take time for him to fully open up, but once he does, you’d know that he trusts you completely. your relationship would be built on mutual respect and understanding.

• he’s not one for grand romantic gestures, but when he gives gifts, they have thought behind them. it could be something practical that he knows you need or a book he thinks you’d love, showing that he pays attention to your interests.

• five would value your opinion and input, especially when dealing with complex issues. he’d appreciate having someone he could brainstorm with, whether it’s about a mission or a personal dilemma, making you a true partner in every sense.

• while he might not be the best cook, five enjoys the act of making food with you. it’s a way for him to relax and focus on something simple and grounding. expect a lot of sarcastic commentary in the kitchen, especially if something goes wrong.

• five might not admit it openly, but he’d enjoy binge-watching tv shows with you, especially if they have complex plots or time travel themes. he’d probably have a lot to say about the inaccuracies in time travel depictions, making watching these shows an entertaining experience.

• despite his sarcasm, five retains some old-fashioned manners, likely from his upbringing and time spent in different eras. he’d open doors for you, offer his arm when walking together, and use polite language, making you feel respected and cherished.

• he is very protective, but not in an overbearing way. he respects your autonomy and knows you can handle yourself. however, if he senses genuine danger, he’ll step in without hesitation, often with a cool, calculating demeanor to handle the situation.

• five enjoys the quiet solace of bookstores, finding comfort in the smell of old books and the peace they provide. you’d often go on dates to local bookstores, spending hours browsing the shelves and discussing your favorite reads.

• this man is the DEFINITION of touch starved.

• when the two of you are alone, he likes to hold you in his arms with your head resting on his chest. he just likes to know that you’re always there.

• five’s humor can be dark and dry, reflecting his life experiences. while it might catch others off guard, you’ve come to appreciate this aspect of him. it’s his way of coping with the world, and you know how to respond with your own brand of humor.

• he struggles with opening up emotionally due to his past, but when he does, it’s very genuine. he’d share his fears, hopes, and the weight of the things he’s seen, creating a deep emotional bond that strengthens your relationship.

• he is used to being alone and might need his own space from time to time to think and recharge. he appreciates that you give him the freedom to have his alone time, knowing that it’s not about you but rather his way of coping with everything.

• once five becomes more comfortable and confident in his abilities, he might take you on small time jumps for fun. these trips would be carefully planned, giving you both a chance to experience different eras together, even if just for a few moments.

• over time, you help him overcome his ptsd and comfort him through his nightmares. <33

[vexwerewolf]

I’m suddenly getting swathes of Lancer hate across my feed… Has something happened in the fandom? “Union is ______ how could they paint them as even remotely good. They allow _____, and I hate the devs they are ______. The whole thing is just 40k with communist veneer”.

Like am I taking crazy pills…? I thought that all of the problems were literally like right there on the tin “we are a utopia in progress! We will obtain it by any means possible even if it means being everything we say we are not/fighting against. As the player you decide what is right. How much will you ignore for someone else’s idea of utopia?” Like doesn’t it mean all the tools to actually change are there and that is the HOPE aspect of all of this?

(Sorry if this in incoherent grammar is a weak point and I pulled something in my back simply standing up. Now I am sad and crook backed in spasmodic pain)

This isn't an argument I feel super enthusiastic about stepping into, because it gets the most annoying sort of people in your mentions eager to maliciously misrepresent what you say.

However, yeah, there are some pretty terrible readings of Union floating around. I'd invoke "media literacy" because think that a lot of this comes from people not really holistically engaging with the fictional future history of Lancer, but also from a sort of dogmatic purism that requires future societies to be flawless, else they're irredeemable.

It is important to note that ThirdComm is the direct descendant of two highly imperfect societies. FirstComm was formed as a response to the Three Great Traumas of discovering the Massif Vaults (and thus that they were the inheritors of a fallen world), the wars over the Massif Vaults, and the discovery of the lost colonies, all of which collectively showed humanity how close it had come to total extinction.

FirstComm decided that it had a responsibility to ensure that humanity never risked extinction again. It manifested this by trying to colonize every habitable planet it could find, pumping out ship after ship to seed the cosmos with as much human life as it possibly could. This led to problems when it encountered civilizations like the Karrakin Federation and the Aun, who had been carrying humanity's torch just fine by themselves, thank you very much.

SecComm was an Anthrochauvinist fascist state. The book defines it thusly:

We can see a lot of Anthrochauvinist historical romanticism in the mech naming schemes of Harrison Armory, SSC and IPS-N - the fact that Harrison Armory names its mechs after great military leaders of pre-Fall Earth history, IPS-N does the same with naval figures, and SSC uses the names of Earth animals. Even the GMS Everest is named for a mountain on Earth. It's very Cradle-centric.

Anthrochauvinism was, to be clear, largely just an excuse for colonialism and hegemony. Atrocities could easily be justified under by stating that whoever they're being committed against were a threat to the Continuance of Humanity - a term that SecComm got to define.

It's also at this point that we have to zoom in from broad sociopolitical points to address one very specific piece of history: the New Prosperity Agreement. This was signed to prevent the outbreak of a Second Union-Karrakin War, and mandated that the Karrakin Houses would maintain privileged levels of autonomy within Union, and that they would be granted colonial rights to the entire Dawnline Shore. This agreement, struck in 3007u, basically defines much of the current political situation today.

ThirdComm was a final and inevitable reaction to the atrocities, abuses and excesses of SecComm. The unspeakable horrors of Hercynia were the spark, but I need to stress how little Hercynia actually mattered in the larger Revolution - at the start of NRfaW, it's explicitly stated that almost nobody in the galaxy even knows where it is, let alone what happened there. The Revolution was a generalized response to SecComm's tyranny, with no single rallying cry.

The Revolution might also have failed entirely, but for a critical error by Harrison Armory: pissing off the Karrakin Trade Baronies. After getting kicked off Cradle, the Anthrochauvinist Party organised a fleet at Ras Shamra to try and retake Cradle. Simultaneously, however, they were attempting to secure protectorate agreements to steal worlds in the Dawnline Shore out from under the KTB. Putting these two together and making five, the KTB assumed that the fleet was pointed at Karrakis, and started the First Interest War.

The First Interest War initially favoured the KTB. They smashed the fleet above Ras Shamra and simultaneously conquered the moon of Creighton in the Dawnline Shore. However, they underestimated just how ruthless Harrison I was - he "retook" Creighton by relativistic bombardment, and then conquered four of the 12 worlds of the Dawnline Shore with mechanised chassis, a technology the KTB had not adopted and had no counter for.

To prevent further loss of life, Union was eventually forced to broker a peace agreement that saw Harrison I handing himself over to Union justice in return for Harrison Armory's continued sovereignty, and the KTB joining Union as a full member state.

So, with that historical context out of the way, let me get to the second part of this absurd essay I'm writing.

Third Committee Union isn't a civilization that arose from whole cloth. It's shaped by five thousand years of Union history, six thousand years of post-Fall history, and six thousand years of pre-Fall history before that. It is, ultimately, an extremely well-thought-out and well-worldbuilt fictional polity, in that all of its imperfections come from traceable root causes in its history.

Why does ThirdComm permit the abuses of the KTB? Because to stop them, it would likely have to go to war, and such a war would butcher billions. Worse, to do so, it would probably have to ally with Harrison Armory and make horrific concessions.

Why does ThirdComm permit the expansionism and cryptochauvinism of the Armory? Because to stop them, it would likely have to go to war, and such a war would butcher billions. Worse, to do so, it would probably have to ally with the KTB and make horrific concessions.

Nobody in CentComm likes that Harrison Armory are empire-building expansionists. Nobody in CentComm likes that the KTB has a hereditary nobility and enforces blockades against planets that rebel against it. The problem is that ThirdComm is, in historical terms, still relatively new. They've been around five hundred years, and compared to the 1600 years that SecComm was around and the 2800 years FirstComm existed for, that's not very much.

ThirdComm is attempting to decouple itself from the Cradle-first politics of its predecessor, and to amend the many, many atrocities committed in the name of Humanity. It is not easy to do any of these things. SecComm was defined almost entirely by the fact that if it didn't like what you were doing, it would send in the military as a first response. Every time ThirdComm chooses to do the same, its legitimacy erodes, because the mission of ThirdComm is to prove that diverse, vibrant and compassionate human civilization can exist without devolving into war and bloodshed. ThirdComm always tries diplomacy as a first response because if it doesn't, millions of people could die.

[shelfperson]

while i see where some if it comes from, i feel like way more people took “as a former sex slave, armand is disgusted by teenage daniel’s sexual behavior” from the torture scene and not “daniel has been prostituting himself for drugs presumably for years, and armand both relates to and is repulsed by daniel as a form of projection” and i think that’s extremely fascinating.

like it’s a very consistent vampire trait that they only really get up in arms about social issues that affected them in their mortal life, and even then only when it would directly affect them now. i.e, claudia and louis being aware of and condemning racism but not really caring about european nazism despite very real parallels.

and there is. a big difference. between the ultimately consensual gross misogyny of the paper bag incident and armand being sold to a brothel as a child, then kept as a rich man’s catamite experiencing regular sexual assult.

AND armand is a man who does not experience that kind of day-to-day indignity. those are completely separate circumstances and armand doesn’t give any reaction to the memory aside from what it means for daniel. in fact, that remark has very little to do with how armand feels and everything to do with daniel’s lifelong feelings of guilt for constantly being a fucking asshole.

and the vampire armand, specifically, is not a creature prone to sympathizing with people who share his struggles anyway. especially not strangers he doesn’t know. look at the way he treats claudia, specifically. she’s in a spot similar to him, both growing up and now. constantly robbed of agency, both infantilized and adultified depending on what’s convenient, and in the books of course they’re both child vampires. and he doesn’t offer her any compassion whatsoever because he’s the type of person to take his suffering out on others and reenact his trauma with himself in marius’s place.

like mr. i-constantly-mind-control-my-lover, duchess of unsafe bdsm practices, is not offended by daniel’s understanding (or lack thereof) of power dynamics or safe and respectful sex. he’s throwing the boy across the kitchen because he doesn’t understand what makes danny special when, despite all similarities, he himself is not.

edit: i went into a whole rant in the reblogs about the importance of sexuality and sexual autonomy and sexual perversion as a theme in this show if any one interested

[milaswriting]

Update. — 3rd October 2024

Well, helloo. If you're following me and reading this then...you must really hate me for my lack of activity on this blog. I apologise for that. Doing a masters degree really kicks my ass, and leaves me with no time to write. But Golden has never been dead or abandoned, it's very much always at the forefront of my mind.

And, for that pure reason, I know it's a story I haven't been 1,000% happy with so the story is going through some major changes. Probably, the first is that it's being rewritten. A (somewhat) new plot written with whole new software—we're making the move to Twine.

My reasoning; I've spent over a year learning the coding which makes me want to rip my hair out. I get to have a lot more ownership over my work, the customisation options are stellar, and you guys will get to read it for free.

The reasons for rewriting has been because I want to fix the cringey writing from when the story's first demo was released. It's mostly from the earlier chapters, but then the thought of plot changes came to me and I wanted to implement those. Realistically, the majority of what's being rewritten is what I had planned for book two—so I'm just bringing that forward. I'll update the synopsis closer to the release of this rewrite.

The changes (which can be subject to change): I'm getting rid of the university idea (though you can still choose careers that are related to those degrees from the options that'll be given) (e.g., if you liked the nursing student option, then your MC can work as a nurse). I'm thinking that the MC will already know about the supernatural world to some extent—there'll still be a lot of suspense and mystery and things to unravel, that was always going to remain. And, in this rewrite, my thought is that the MC and the gang will be working at a multi-agency organisation — called The Everbrook — where the aim is to bridge the gap between humans and supernaturals. To make the world run smoothly, so to speak.

The ROs are the exact same! No changes to that—the only change is that them and the mc will somewhat know of each other already. The genre is the same. MC is still as they are, a Lehsian socialite with a pretty (yet peculiar) birthmark. The parents will have much, much less of a role, but they'll still be mentioned here and there.

This seems like a load of word vomit, but I feel like these changes will improve the story. I'm hoping that it'll make MC less of a spare part in the story, allowing them to have more autonomy in the supernatural universe, especially with their enhanced skillset.

I've done the customisation in terms of the UI layout for Twine already, and it should be mobile friendly too. With that done, I've started writing and I'm a few thousand words in. A lot of what I've written in the ChoiceScript version can still be used, but also getting back into writing a story from scratch is something I'm looking forward to.

I feel like this is a bittersweet thing because yay to a new and better story, but also the time it's going to take to get it out. I'll debate whether to release the whole ten chapters, or do a few chapters at a time, like splitting it up into chunks (releasing three chapters now, and three chapters later on).

Another reason as to why I've taken so long to mention this, other than learning code and the rewrite, is just the whole process of this being a little nerve-wracking. The whole thought of a rewrite of something I've put so much effort into is scary, but it'll be worth it.

I'll accept any questions you've got, and I'll create an FAQ regarding all of this too. But, most importantly, you're in the loop of how this is progressing. I really appreciate everyone's kind words about this story: loving the ros, re-reading it, still sticking by my writing—it means a lot. So, thank you and I hope the future of this story is what you want and more.

PLANS.

Finish introductory scenes.

Finish chapter one.

WORD COUNT.

2.2k (rewrite)

[leth-writes]

Some thoughts about Tim and the Batfam

SUMMARY: just thinking about Tim and the batfam

WARNINGS: 18+ as always on my blog, though the work is safe for work. Typical yandere shenanigans. HEAVY discussion of drugging and taking away of autonomy.

MASTERLIST: https://www.tumblr.com/leth-writes/757800060720496640/requests-open?source=share 

Requests are open!

Tim is a really interesting person, in general. I’m just obsessed with the idea of him drugging a darling, just keeping them all pliant and sleepy and curled up in his bed, even if he’s platonic. 

He spends a lot of time just…watching you, whether that be through cameras or in real life.

You never find the cameras, even though you know they’re there. If you asked him, he wouldn’t deny it. Why would he? There’s nothing you could do about it, and he honestly doesn’t trust your opinions on your own safety. Tim views you as quite innocent and naive, and that’s part of why he spends so much time building a little cocoon in the bed for you to curl up in, your soft snuffles just barely moving the light sheet he’s laid around you.

Just. UGH. I think at first he’d drug your food.

But you start noticing, and you start avoiding food. This sets the rest of the batfam off; is TIm not taking care of you properly?!

(They sometimes talk about you like a pet. It’s weird. You’ve learned not to mention it.)

In response, you’re tied down with soft satin straps and drugged out of your mind through an IV. You’re on an all-liquid diet, practically seeing stars. Tim doesn’t need you conscious or coherent, just safe from harm, after all.

I could even see him putting you in a temporary coma, at least until the heat from your kidnapping dies down. 

I can’t get  over the idea of you just. Trusting him so much, so naively, and he’s just. Fucking drugging your hot chocolate to get you to the manor, he knows if he doesn’t then Jason will and Jason won’t be as gentle about it.

UGH just imagine him doing those exercises every day with you to keep your muscles from atrophying AGHHHH

You wake up afterwards, it’s dark and your mouth is dry. You try to sit up- and you can’t. You’re too weak, too tired from the still-present drugs coursing through your veins. It’s then you see a bright flash, illuminating the corner and it’s FUCKING TIM JUST STANDING THERE

He uses his best camera, just dedicates it to pictures of you, creates an album.

He shows it to everyone else, they’re all cooing and aweing and you’re just sitting there like HELLO PLEASE LET ME LEAVE 🙁

Eventually he might even give you a bit of a choice. You can eat the food, or you can get an injection. When you take the injection you lose an entire day of time, and who knows what the FUCK happened? (nothing, Tim just. Spent most of the day working, occasionally taking the time to brush a hand over your face, just gently tracing your features.)

The others start to get annoyed Tim’s hogging you, and he gets you a wheelchair. You’re too weak, too drugged to be able to move yourself around, and he somehow manages to put some sort of thing on the wheels that lock if you try to go out the door. Like the fucking Grocery Carts.

He starts wheeling you around, letting you see the garden and the birds and Batcow. You spend a lot of time in the library with Alfred the cat curled in your lap, purring as you try to follow the plot of a simple book, your eyes too blurry to see the words properly.

Jason’ll read to you, he likes the bonding time. Plus, your eyes can’t really focus on anyone’s face too long, so he doesn’t have to worry about you being scared by the scars ripped into his skin by his death.

Cass’ll roll you into her studio, prop you against the wall, and just do a stunning routine. Unfortunately you can’t see it very well, and you clap really slowly because your hands feel like they’re filled with lead. She appreciates the effort.

Dick eventually takes over your stretches, though he does sometimes have to fight Bruce for the right. Both love helping you gently stretch out your limbs, admiring the shaking that only comes from intense effort. You’re cute, like a newborn lamb.

It’s infuriating watching Dick do all these complicated moves, while you can barely lift your head, but oh well, they’re so happy you’re here!!

Damian treats you like a younger sibling, even though you’re significantly older than him. He adores having this position of power over you, and abuses it to spend most of his time with you just. Showing you his animals. Titus is practically your emotional support dog at this point, and he trains Ace to be your guard dog.

Bruce loves having you curled up in the office, snoring slightly on the couch, as he slowly wades his way through work. He’ll throw a blanket over you, even as you whimper and shy away from the food he’s hand-feeding you. You aren’t allowed to feed yourself anymore, hell you can barely lift your hand to your mouth.

You eventually get used to spending all your time just. Hanging around, sleeping and letting everyone else do everything for you.

[little-star-library]

Headcanons: Little things that would make Astarion fall harder for you

The way that you ultimately decided to trust him after he fed from you for the first time was shocking to him because no one else has ever done that before, let alone standing up for him when your other traveling companions were wary and suspicious of him from the beginning; and rightfully so in his opinion. But you were there as a peacemaker not only for him, but for everyone because you were all in this mess together and you vowed to help everyone however you could.

How you were so willing to offer him your blood as opposed to him hunting other animals and creatures for the majority of his diet was a true blessing to him, even if he won’t outright admit it at first. You knew of his past and couldn’t begin to imagine how awful it must have been to be living off of what little blood he could get from eating rats and you wanted him to have a more pleasant and palatable experience while feeding, especially when it came to life-barren areas such as the Shadow Cursed Lands and the Underdark where living creatures were scarce.

Over time as you traveled together, you would notice that Astarion always seemed to have a book in hand and reading in his spare time. And because of this, you would try your best to find other books and dusty old tomes during your exploits and do your best to sneak them into his tent when he wasn’t looking. It didn’t take him very long to figure out who the culprit was since you were “beyond helpless” when it came to being stealthy, but it brought a spark of joy within him every time he found a new book lying upon his bedroll, secretly being elated to see what new books you’ve found for him.

He’s not really sure when this started to happen, but any time you would make eye contact with him across the way while in camp, you would stop whatever you were occupied with and cheekily wave hello at him with a big grin on your face. He thought it was childish at first, but he eventually returned the action and wave back because he found you to be too adorable to ignore if you chose to give him that sort of attention. And ever since then, it’s become a regular occurrence for the two of you to share that funny little moment and wave at each other like the goofballs you are.

Upon learning that Astarion doesn’t have a reflection, your offer to be his mirror and described how you saw him not just physically, but how you saw him as his own person with his own personality and sense of humor and little quirks was both illuminating and disturbing to say the least. He hasn’t been able to see his own face in over two hundred years and yet you somehow find a way to describe his facial features so perfectly and he’s never felt more seen than in that moment.

And if you were inclined to be “artistically gifted”, you would no doubt be able to draw his portrait as a little gift. He was completely awestruck by your craftsmanship in the small drawing that you tore out of your sketchbook, not totally convinced in your words when you said it was a portrait of him. You told him that it was just a sketch and nothing that special, but to him it was the most thoughtful thing anyone could ever give him so that he could look upon his face once again.

When you defended Astarion for his bodily autonomy while being confronted by Araj was when he realized that there were good people in the world and he was grateful to have found one as genuine and kindhearted as you. He’s never had any say over what happened in his life since becoming a vampire and to have someone by his side to protect him helped him immensely in realizing that he is his own person and has free reign in the choices he makes.

It may not have been such a big impact to others, but when you hugged him for the first time after he confessed his feelings toward you, Astarion couldn’t recall the last time someone held him within their arms without eluding to some form of sexual intimacy and from then on he couldn’t get enough of it. He enjoys basking in the warmth of your embrace and breathing in your scent and you let him hold you for as long as he wants, when secretly neither one of you ever want to let go and each hug seems to be prolonged even further than the last.

When there’s a pause from the chaotic turmoil in your travels, you and Astarion like to steal away from camp and watch the sunset and gossip about the other companions and their silly antics with a couple of bottles of wine in tow, sharing stories and making each other laugh all through the night.

Anytime that you come across any chests while scavenging for goods, you both have a habit of putting up a bet to see who can pick the locks the fastest and whoever wins gets first dibs on anything shiny or valuable. He knows that he’s obviously more experienced with thieves’ tools and could easily run you for your money, but “out of the goodness of his undead heart”, he’ll slow down on purpose sometimes just so he can see the smile you give him when you show off your winnings.

Astarion takes full advantage of any opportunity you offer to cuddle with him. Because of his past encounters with other people, he’s never had the chance to put any effort into getting closer to anyone other than his usual encounters and he thought there really was no reason to anyway given the fact that he already knew how most of those encounters ended. But with you, it was simply just for the sake of cuddling with each other without being led on to something more sexual in nature. It was a breath of fresh air to experience something so different, but also a little confusing to him. However, when he would lay his head atop your chest and snuggle close to you and listen to the resounding beating of your heart in the comfort of your arms while you comb your fingers through his hair, time stands still so the two of you can escape the world for just a moment and he melts on the inside; unequivocally content to just let his guard down and know that he was safe with you.

Whenever you kiss him, it’s simply just for a kiss. There’s no hidden agenda behind every one you give him unless he wanted something more and you’re more than happy to go at his pace whenever he’s ready, but he’ll never turn you down when you ask if you can kiss him. Sometimes they’re sweet and affectionate and other times they’re full of love and longing. But his favorites are when you kiss him on the cheek and boop his nose, giving him a wink before continuing your journey on the road; or when you smother his face in kisses all over until he turns into a giggling mess and pushes you off in a playful manner. He’ll never outright admit that he enjoys being given that sort of affection in front of the others, but you know he does anyways.

Two words: back rubs. He’s never felt comfortable with someone touching his back due to the marred scars that are engraved across his skin, but once he trusts you enough he reluctantly accepts your request to give him a back rub and massage his sore muscles after a long day of running around and fighting any enemies that came across your path. Your touch is ever so gentle and soft as you work out the annoying kinks and he turns to putty in your hands, occasionally letting out little sighs and moans when you hit a tender spot that just feels so good when you knead at the tense sinew of his back, almost to the point where he begins purring like a cat and leaning into your touch.

You know that Astarion tends to favor the finer things in life since he hasn’t had much to begin with under Cazador’s reign, so you took it upon yourself to look out for anything he might like. It started out small with rings you’d find on a corpse or a fancy bottle of wine that was stowed away in the tavern of the Shadow Cursed Lands. But then you would go out of your way to take him to a tailor’s shop with all of the extra gold you had stored away for special occasions and let him try on anything that took to his liking, putting on a little fashion show just for you so you could shower him with compliments.

He may have thought it to be irritating at first, but he loves when you tell him all your little jokes and puns so you could cheer him up when he was in a sour mood. He especially enjoys your irreverent impressions of Gale with his long-winded monologues and hand puppets orchestrating the never ending bickering between Shadowheart and Lae’zel behind their backs and it’s difficult to keep himself from keeling over with laughter so he doesn’t give you away.

When you’re being overly flirtatious and sharing cheesy pick up lines with each other. He finds it hilarious when the others groan in unison at your sickly affections you dote on him and it only encourages him to keep playing along.

When you reassure him that you want to be with him for more than just his body and his looks. He’s spent more than enough time with people who only used him for a one night stand and he’s grown self-conscious about actually being in a relationship with someone because he’s never experienced it. He thinks that you deserve someone who can give you more than just a quick fling since that’s all he knows, but you don’t mind telling him why you chose to be with him whenever he has doubts about himself and that there’s no pressure to have sex until he’s ready or not at all, that you’re willing to help him with whatever he needs so he can be just as happy to be with himself as you are to be with him.

[whore-era]

infatuation - part 1

☁︎ delinquent!ellie williams x preppyfem!reader, enemies to lovers trope ☁︎ smut, angst, tiny bit of fluff ☁︎ summary: don’t let your boyfriend stop you from finding your girlfriend.  ☁︎ warnings: 18+ only. kissing, fingering & oral (r!recieving), masturbation, mentions of weed and smoking weed, mentions relationships w/ men, feelings, kinda mean ellie but then shes nice again, arguing and yelling kinda (let me know if i miss any more necessary warnings ty baes) ☁︎ a/n: i wrote this in like one day. hope u all enjoy this fic as much as i enjoyed writing it! ya nasties ;) ☁︎ word count: 4,347 ☁︎ 1/2 - part 2

you swore to yourself you’d never let yourself get involved with the university’s infamous delinquent— ellie williams. but you should’ve known that’d be hard to avoid, knowing she was just in reach as your roommate’s best friend. 

ellie was always, and i mean always, there in your dorm. either chilling with dina, talking with dina, or, much to your disliking, smoking with dina. 

ever since you ran into her on the first day of dorm move-in, she was constantly there, bickering with you, poking at you, and judging you for every little thing you did. 

ellie had this image of you; an image of this perfect, high maintenance, always put-together, prissy, goody-two-shoes. it was far from the truth, well, kind of. 

you did pride yourself on being one of the smartest girls on campus, and being very active in numerous extracurriculars at school. you were in the student body, the recycling club, the campus book club, the health club, the cooking club— you were just in a lot of clubs. 

but it would be an understatement to say that ellie williams is everything opposite of you. she was on the other side of the spectrum you were on. 

ellie williams was aggressive, a smartass, foulmouthed, risky, and usually up to trouble. always going to the dean’s office for a fight she probably started. the only reason why she hadn’t been kicked out from campus was because her stepdad is the dean's brother. don’t get yourself wrong, she was brilliant being an engineering major. but she was always doing something she wasn’t supposed to as if it fueled her drive.

you unlocked the door to your dorm, greeted with a fog of smoke. hacking out a cough, you switch on the lights, “dina!! what’d i tell you?” you lecture, stomping over towards the window to open it, “if you’re gonna smoke in here, at least open the window!”

“sorry, roomie,” dina coughed out, “we were just hotboxing.” 

you turned towards the pair, criss-crossed on dina’s bed, and furrow your brows, “what? hotboxing?” 

“yea, you know, smoking weed ’til the room fills up with smoke, so the high is more enhanced.” dina explained, you tilted your head to the side, still not fully comprehending whatever hotboxing was. 

the brunette girl leaned against the wall, giving you a smirk. “c’mon, dee. don’t waste your breath explaining,” ellie retorted, “i’m sure lil miss perfect here never smoked or drank before.” 

you scoffed, crossing your arms, “for your information, i have drank before.”

“oh yea? when was the last time, princess?” god, you hated that nickname. you hated the way it made you red in the cheeks. 

“….at church.” you muttered quietly, sending ellie and dina into a fit of laughter. 

“did you hear that, dee? at church! she said the last time she drank alcohol was at church!” ellie let out a boisterous laugh, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. 

“good one, princess.”

you huffed, rolled your eyes, and rummaged around your side of the room to search for what you were looking for in the first place.

was it so wrong for you to not drink or smoke weed? you didn’t think negatively about anyone who used it, but you just didn’t feel comfortable using something that had such an effect on you. you wanted autonomy over your body at all times. 

bingo. you found the cropped white baby tee you wanted to change into, finding it more comfortable than the scratchy sweater you had on currently. turning away from the chatter of dina and ellie, you lifted the sweater above your head, tossed it in your laundry bag, and slipped into the more fitted and more comfortable white tee. 

standing in front of your mirror, you checked your outfit. you thought a simple t-shirt and black yoga pants were cute enough to hang out with jacob in. you fixed your hair, and looked up at the corner of your mirror, your eyes meeting green ones. 

ellie bit her lip, watching the beautiful yet stubborn girl in front of her. she couldn’t tear her eyes away from you. you just looked so goddamn beautiful. she couldn’t help but take a peek at the way your bare back curved or how soft your skin looked as your sweater slid off your body. ellie definitely didn’t complain about the yoga pants either and how they hugged your ass and thighs in all the right places. 

knowing she was staring at you, you hiked your yoga pants higher and bent over a little, reapplying your favorite shimmering lipgloss in the mirror. you weren’t sure what came over you, but the feeling of knowing ellie was watching you, gave you butterflies in your belly. 

you see her smirk and break eye contact with you. picking up your backpack and your ‘Organic Chemistry 101’ textbook, you bid dina a goodbye. 

“i’ll be back later tonight dina, don’t wait up for me.” you said, slipping your shoes on. 

ellie cleared her throat, “where you headed off to?” 

“pi kappa alpha frat.” you met ellie’s eyes. they looked disappointed, but then quickly rolled to the side, masking whatever sadness you thought you saw.

“hm, i see,” ellie commented, “gonna go blow some frat dude’s cock, huh?”

you groaned, “ugh, no, idiot. i’m just gonna go study.” 

“mhm, whatever you say, princess.” you open the door and leave, hearing the sound of dina yelling ‘be safe’ right before you left. 

walking down the corridor, you thought to yourself ‘jacob isn’t that bad’. i mean, you both aren’t in a relationship by any means. you would describe it as ‘situationship’. jacob was nice, funny sometimes, cute, had a nice body, and was cool. him as a boyfriend though? you weren’t sure about that. he was good company, provided mediocre sex, and was nice to talk to, well, usually he’d talk about hockey and you’d listen. but that’s beside the point. you’re content with this situation, right? 

-

walking back to your dorm from what was probably the worst sex of your life was, quite frankly, embarrassing. you spend time changing into a cute outfit, fixing your makeup, and spritzing on a little bit of your favorite expensive perfume to show up to this dude’s room with him reeking of sweat and ham. you were disappointed, to say the least.

yet, you stayed anyways, unsure of what even compelled you to do that. you stayed for the company, and that company starts rubbing on your ass and tits not even 5 minutes into the netflix show. eventually, you give in, feeling in the mood from a little making out, and you were met with 3 thrusts and cum on your stomach. 

needless to say, you left in a hurry. currently cuddled under your pink duvet with your earphones on, you end up scrolling about on instagram, tapping to like and swiping up to comment on your friends posts. 

while aimlessly scrolling, a picture from @e.williams pops up on your timeline. you study her picture in fascination.

it was a mirror picture of her in the gym, she had her hair up in her usual half-up half-down style with a tight tank top accentuating her physique as she was flexing her arms. gosh, how could someone so annoying be so gorgeous? your eyes trail to her arms and hands. and so fine? you double-tap on the picture, looking at it for a second more before scrolling past to the next post. 

your phone vibrates, and you check the notification from your instagram dm’s.

@e.williams: you checking me out or something ??

you scoff, heat rising to your cheeks. luckily, ellie wasn’t here to see that, or else you would’ve never heard the end of it. you type back.

in ur dreams idiot 

you lay in bed closing your eyes, and somehow, your mind drifts off to that annoying green-eyed girl.

your mind goes to the way she looks at you when she thinks you don’t notice, or how even though she comments on everything you do, she’s so attentive about it. your mind plays in your head the way she calls you those stupid nicknames, and as much as you claim to hate them, you can’t deny the way it makes your heart flutter. 

then, your mind floats to the corner of your brain that you keep locked away. you think about the way ellie bites her lip when she gets anxious, how better her lips would feel pressed onto yours. you think about the way she flexes her arms and hands, wondering how they would feel stroking your most intimate parts. 

you find your hand inside your panties. luckily, dina was in the communal showers, doing her 25-step skincare routine. knowing you had the time, your hand goes down to your wet heat, rubbing your clit in slow circles. 

you close your eyes, picturing her in your head, imagining her fingers working on you instead. you think about how perfect she’d look above you, looking down at you with adoring eyes. you knew she’d take good care of you. you suppress the need to moan by biting down on the duvet. 

even when she wasn’t here, ellie had a way of drawing out unrecognizable responses from you. your finger still rubbing circles on your clit, an orgasm began to bubble in your stomach. you picked up the pace, legs beginning to shake, “fuck, ellie..” you manage to moan out as you finish on your fingers. 

gosh, what was this girl doing to me?

-

it was saturday night and you had managed to get another date with jacob. you rejected him at first, but he was very persistent and promised ‘mind-blowing sex’ and takeout from one of the best restaurants in town. you obliged, clearly in it only for the takeout. 

you thought it’d be a good idea to hang out with him. his hockey stories distracted you from the real person you had your mind stuck on, ellie. 

you thought about her all the time, it gave you a migraine. you couldn’t look her in the eyes anymore without feeling nervous. luckily, you managed to avoid her all week, hanging out at one of your good friend’s dorm room ’til you knew the coast was clear. 

you didn’t let yourself think about what it would be like being in a relationship with ellie williams. she didn’t like you at all, not in that way anyway. she’d probably make some comment like ‘hell would freeze over before i even look at you like that’. the two of you together would be a recipe for disaster. you literally despised each other. 

smoothing down your dress, you smiled at the mirror in satisfaction. you went over to your desk and sat down, getting ready to apply some light makeup.

hearing the door open and close, you assumed it was dina.

“damn, who died?”

your head turns and meets those stupid green eyes and that stupid smirk adorned with those stupid freckles that make your stupid heart race a little faster. god, you were so stupid. 

“ha ha, very funny,” you snapped, “what are you doing here, anyways?”

“dina doesn’t get off work for a couple of hours and i didn’t have jackshit to do, so i thought i would wait for her here,” ellie plops down on dina’s bed.

“hell, no. get out,” you demanded, pointing to the door. you really just wanted her to leave so you could let go of the breath you’ve been holding. it made you anxious being alone with her and the fact that she wore that stupid blue button-up that made her look so good didn’t make anything better either. 

“chill out, princess,” ellie said leaning back against dina’s head board, “you won’t even notice i’m here.” 

you huffed in frustration, trying to hide the crimson creeping up on your cheeks. you proceeded to get your mind off the brunette by continuing your makeup, intently dabbing your concealer in, and carefully curling your lashes. you pat your face gently with some powder and brush out your brows, once in a while looking to the side of your mirror, catching ellie looking at you before she quickly looks away, pretending to be on her phone.

“gettin’ all dolled up for your lil’ boyfriend?” she asks dryly, still looking down at her phone. 

“wouldn’t you like to know?” 

“please, do enlighten me, princess.” you swallow hard, “i’ll have you know that i’m going out with jacob anderson tonight.” 

“no fucking way, is that the shithead you’re seeing from pi kappa alpha?” she says, surprised with wide eyes.

“mhm,” you hummed in confirmation, still rummaging in your makeup.

“why am i even surprised, you did always gravitate towards the assholes.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”, you paused and raised a brow. 

“you go for assholes,” she stated, “do i need to spell it out for you?”

“jacob is not an asshole, he’s really nice.” you muttered, patting on some blush. “he’s hell of a lot nicer than you.” 

okay, you knew that was a lie. but you had to think of a way to get her off your back.

“m’yeah, i highly doubt that. he’s a fucking tool,” she says nonchalantly, “where’s he even taking you anyways?”

“he asked me to meet up with him at the frat house, we’re gonna watch netflix and eat takeout and stuff,” you admit. 

“you fuckin’ with me?” ellie looks surprised and almost pissed. 

“no, why would i?”

“are you serious? it’s pouring rain outside and he asked you to come over,” she points out, “the asshole didn’t even have the decency to come over here and walk with you himself.”

your eyes look out the window, barely registering the pitter-patter of the rain hitting your window. you didn’t even know it was raining and you wore a dress. your mind was so consumed with classes, ellie, clubs, ellie, student body, ellie, and ellie. the small details just flew right over your head.

you stay silent, and she just gives you a look. a look you couldn’t decipher.

“you’re a real piece of work, y’know that?” ellie retorts, crossing her arms. jesus, why did she have to look so good like that?

“what’d i do this time? please, share with the class.” you say, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“you just go for guys who treat you like garbage or who’re way out of your league.” she argues, “they’re either too stupid or don’t give a fuck about you.” ouch. that kind of stung.

you close your eyes, waiting before answering back at her, “can you stop it?! just for once. stop judging every single thing i do.” you yell, exasperated.

ellie’s eyes widen and she lets out a laugh, which sets you off even more.

“you think this is funny? you always make some snide comment about me. i’m too high maintenance, i’m a teacher’s pet, i’m spoiled, i go after horrible guys—“ 

“because you do!” she yells back.

“and why do you care, ellie?!” you yell, becoming out of breath, partly due to the hard pounding of your heartbeat in your chest, “why do you care so much?

she goes silent. 

“god, you infuriate me, ellie williams.” you breathe out. you felt almost as if fire was igniting inside of you and your slow breaths were releasing the smoke. you close your eyes, attempting to calm down before opening them again and putting on the last finishing touches on your makeup. as you stand up grabbing your purse, and you hear ellie let out a heavy sigh. 

“you’re seriously still gonna go out with that fucking frat bro prick jacob anderson? after everything i said?” she snarks, “i thought girls like you were supposed to be smart.” 

“yea, as a matter of fact. i am still going,” you give her a mocking smile.

“why? so, he can fuck you missionary in the dark while he finishes in 3 seconds?” she lets out a harsh laugh, “how fucking romantic.” 

“again, why do you even care? you don’t even like me,” you counter, her head spins in your direction.

“who told you that?” ellie appeared angry, her eyes sharp and a serious tone in her voice.

“no one that matters.” 

there’s a pregnant pause in the air as if she’s hesitating to say something. 

“well, whoever the fuck they are, they’re wrong.” she confessed, her voice wavering.

“what do you mean?”

she sighs in frustration, running a hand through her hair before standing up in front of you. 

“i’m infatuated with you.” 

“huh?” you manage to croak out in shock. did you hear her correctly?

“yea. you heard me. i’m infatuated with you. you fucking consume every corner of my mind. every capacity of my being.” she comes closer to you, backing you up against the door, “you drive me absolutely insane.”

“then why do you treat me like this?” you ask, looking up at her with big, curious eyes. ellie’s eyes soften at you.

“because— i hate seeing you go on dates with those dicks who don’t deserve you. i hate seeing the way you dress in those short-ass fucking dresses and skirts for them. i hate knowing that they don’t even make you feel good. i hate that you waste your time on those assholes instead of—,” she breathes, “—instead of me.” 

you look at her, searching for any sign of doubt in her face. nothing. no. she couldn’t do this. she couldn’t spring this on you. she couldn’t act one way to you for months and then tell you something different the next.

“so what? you think you deserve me? you deserve my attention?” you snap ungraciously.

“as a matter of fact, yes. yes i do.” she whispers, getting closer to you. “you and i both know it,” her breath fans your face, “i’d make you feel better than any of those assholes could.”

you shift uncomfortably in your spot, pulling your eyes away from hers. 

“i can give you everything you deserve. i can give you everything you want.” she swears. “i can make your pussy feel so, so good, baby,” you can feel your wetness pool in your panties. 

“can make you whimper and moan,” ellie suddenly grabs you by the bare flesh underneath your ass, her warm hands hoisting you up and wrapping your legs around her waist. 

“jus’ give me a chance to show you.” she whispers lowly. you smash your lips onto hers, your hands holding onto the nape of her neck. you knew this was probably a bad idea, but god, the way her tongue felt in your mouth felt ungodly. her tongue rubbed against yours, exploring your mouth like it was something she was destined to do. 

walking towards your bed, your frame still wrapped up around her, she bent down to lay you on your bed. ellie pulled away from your lips and looked down at you, scattering gentle kisses below your jawline towards your neck, your legs still firmly wrapped around her figure.

with your eyes closed, savoring the feeling of her lips all over your neck, you attempted to put an end to this. “el, we can’t,” you nearly moan out.

“why? ‘cause of jacob?” ellie lets out an amused laugh, before pressing her lips against the weak spot of your neck, sucking on it. 

another moan vibrates through you, “god, ellie,” you let out meekly. 

“tell me to stop,” she commands, her lips moving to suck on the spot above your collarbone, the tip of her tongue gliding against your skin. don’t stop. 

“tell me that i’m wrong,” ellie murmured, “that i don’t deserve you.” you deserve me.

her fingers lift up the hem of your dress, exposing your stomach. her lips pepper sloppy kisses against the supple skin of your stomach, “tell me you don’t want me,” i want you, “that you don’t feel the same for me.” i do feel the same for you. 

“tell me, baby,” ellie kisses in the space between your breasts, “tell me you’re not mine.” 

your heart was beating in and out of your chest. this was it. this was your chance. getting an opportunity to be with ellie williams was a once-in-a-lifetime offer, and you weren’t passing up your dream girl. 

you grab her face, lifting her lips up to yours. “i’m yours, ellie,” you cooed, “i’m all yours.” 

leaning her forehead against yours, her lips curled into a smile, before pressing onto yours one more time. her warm hands rubbed against the skin on your waist, exploring every inch of warm, flesh. you whined against her mouth, wanting more. you needed more. you needed her. 

ellie’s hands trailed upwards, lifting the dress off you and discarding it somewhere in your room. she took this opportunity to pull away from you for a second, her eyes grazing your body. ellie found it hard to believe she was in this situation, with you underneath her, nearly naked and looking angelic. she took a mental picture of this moment, never wanting to forget how you looked at her— with love.

her fingers went behind you to unclasp your bra, letting it fall and tossing it to the side.

“fuck, you’re so beautiful,” she whispered, “you’re beyond anything i could’ve dreamt of.” 

your stomach erupted in butterflies, flushed at this newfound sweet side to ellie. her mouth placed sloppy kisses on your chest, sucking on the soft skin and leaving maroon-colored marks as a reminder of where she had been and where she belongs. 

she took your breast in her mouth, letting her tongue wrap around your hardened nipple. “oh my god, ellie,” you hissed. she smirked up at you, letting one of her hands massage and pinch on the other nipple.

“please, ellie,” you begged, “touch me, please.” 

she let out a sickening chuckle, the heat of her mouth fanning your skin, sending shivers up your spine. 

“where, sweet girl?” she said bringing her lips down to suck on your nipple again, “use your words.”

you bucked your hips up, “please, el, touch my pussy. pretty please.” you breathe out.

“ah, ah, ah, can’t hear you, baby.” she mocked, pulling her lips away from your now sensitive nipples.

“ellie, please,” you whined out, “i want you to touch my pussy. please.” 

she smirks, satisfied with where she has you. “that’s my good girl. how obedient, hm?”

she stands up, still in between your legs, and pulls your body to the edge of the mattress. her hands go to the waistband of your panties, using her fingers to ever-so-slowly peel them off of you. she was intentionally moving agonizingly slow. her hands caressed your inner thighs and calves, finally chucking your panties somewhere on the floor. 

“fuck, i’ve been waiting so long to do this,” ellie said, crouching down on the floor in front of you. you could feel her hot breath against your pussy, and you couldn’t bear it any longer. 

“please, i need you, el,” you beg, hoping for some relief. her hands lifted your thighs and placed them on her shoulders, her lips pressing soft kisses in between your thighs. she presses a kiss against your inner thigh, on your pussy lips, and then finally on your clit. 

ellie works slow and patiently, using her fingers to steadily spread your pussy lips apart and gather your wetness with her tongue. she uses one finger and inserts it inside you, eliciting a gasp from your lips. 

you throw your head back, “oh my god, ellie, yes,” you moan out, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

“look at you, getting what you want, you spoiled girl,” she mutters against your pussy, before putting her lips on your clit again, sucking on your sensitive core. her finger pumping in and out of you easily, the slick sound of your wetness reverberating throughout the room.

“you taste so fucking good, baby,” ellie hums against you, slurping up every drop of your juices. she adds a second finger, stretching you out a bit, but still sliding in and out of you with ease. 

her tongue flicking against your clit combined with her fingers fucking you was enough to almost send you over the edge, you cover your mouth with your hand, suppressing a loud moan that was tempted to come out.

“no, let me hear you, sweet girl,” ellie orders, “let everyone in this whole goddamn hall hear how good i’m fingerfucking you right now.”

you let your hand drop to your side, relishing in the ecstasy, and letting out a moan you were holding back.

“that’s my girl.” 

you hear your phone ring, knowing it’s jacob, probably wondering why you haven’t shown up by now. but here you were, with ellie, knuckles deep inside your pussy. 

she grabs your phone from the nightstand with her free hand, while the other is picking up the pace with her fingers, eliciting another moan from your parted lips, “hey fucker, leave a message. she’s busy right now.” 

you should’ve scolded her about how she answered your phone, but right now, any consequences you thought about vanished as she continued licking circles against your swollen clit while simultaneously curling her fingers up inside your leaking hole. 

“el—“ you barely choked out, “m’gonna— gonna—“

she kept the same pace, not for a second slowing down, “you gonna cum, baby? huh? you gonna cum for me?” 

you nodded weakly, clenching your pussy around her fingers and tightening your thighs around her head. 

“go ‘head, angel,” her pace never misses a beat, “show me who you belong to.”

your back arches off the mattress and you cry out, riding out your orgasm and letting your juices flow out of you. 

after cleaning your thighs with a wet wipe and towel, ellie comes up to hover above your face, planting a tender kiss on your lips. 

“is it too late to ask you to be my girlfriend?” she asks, letting out a sincere laugh. 

“i thought we already established this, idiot.” 

read part 2 here

[joelmillerisapunk]

Howdy Honey II. Beautiful Mess

Series Masterlist * Masterlist * Wordcount 6.6K

Summary: Joel grapples with his frustration and fear after you push him away

Warnings: the fluff before the smut! Some angst and mentions of loss

Notes: Thank you for the long wait for this chapter. Getting back into it with these two has been so much fun! I am very excited for the next chapter heheh. I can foresee three more chapters, which I will hopefully have out at a decent pace. Ty @evolnoomym for reading this over ♏️🌙

You

The first rays of morning light filter through the gauzy curtains, casting a warm glow across the living room. The ranch outside is waking up, the sounds of hooves and rustling hay mingling with the birds' early songs, but inside, there is a stillness. The air is cool, soft, and peaceful before the day fully begins. You lay on the couch, the blanket Joel brought you tucked snugly beneath your chin, feeling the comforting weight of it. The soft fabric smells faintly like him—like the dust and leather of the ranch, with a hint of something deeper you can't quite place. Your body aches from the injury, a constant reminder of your fragility, but the blanket is a small luxury, an oasis of warmth amid the discomfort.

The potted plant in the corner catches your eye as its leaves flutter in the breeze coming through the open window. The subtle movement is a welcome distraction, drawing your focus away from the twinges of pain in your side, from the dull ache that’s become your constant companion. It's not the worst pain you’ve felt in your life, but right now, in the stillness of the room, it feels like the only thing that matters. You wish you were in your own bed, in the comfort of your familiar space. You can almost picture it—your room upstairs, the soft quilts, the shelves filled with books you've collected over the years. But the reality of your situation makes that impossible. The mere thought of climbing the stairs sends another sharp wave of pain through your body, reminding you that independence is a luxury right now, not a reality. You’ve always been fiercely independent—too proud, maybe, to admit when you need help. The idea of relying on Joel, especially now, when every moment around him seems to stir something inside you, feels almost too much to bear. When you were healthy, those stairs were nothing. You could run up them without thinking twice, bounding up two steps at a time. Now, the idea of even attempting it is enough to make your chest tighten, a reminder that things have changed. You can’t ignore it.

Joel has offered more than once to carry you up to your room, insisting that you’d be more comfortable in your own bed. But each time, you've turned him down. It’s not because you don’t trust him. You know he’s kind, that he genuinely wants to help, but the thought of him lifting you, of feeling his strong arms around you... it stirs something in you—something complicated. It's not just physical pain you need to recover from. There’s a tangle of emotions you can't unravel yet, especially not with Joel so close. Instead, you remain on the couch in the living room, finding comfort in its familiar layout. The space is small, but it feels like everything you need is within reach. The kitchen is just a few steps away, and the thought of being able to grab something to eat or drink without too much effort is a small but significant source of relief. You don't have to ask anyone for help every time you need something. The books and movies you've scattered around the room are close enough that you can slip into another world with little more than a turn of your hand. There’s something reassuring about having everything within arm's reach, a reminder that you still have some control, some autonomy, even if your body doesn’t quite feel like your own right now.

But perhaps the most comforting part of this setup is Joel—always nearby. You know he’s there, moving around the ranch just out of sight, yet still within earshot. You can hear the faint sounds of him tending to the animals, the creak of the barn doors, the rustle of hay and boots on the dirt. It's not quite company, but it's enough. If something were to go wrong—if the pain in your side flared up again or you needed assistance in a way you couldn’t manage—Joel would be there in an instant. The thought of him close by, ready to step in, is both a comfort and a quiet reminder of how much you rely on him these days. You tell yourself that you don’t need him, but there's an undeniable warmth that settles in your chest knowing he’s just a room away. Still, the idea of needing help from him, especially in such a vulnerable state, stirs something deeper in you. Something that makes your heart flutter unexpectedly, a feeling that you can’t quite define. It’s easier this way—on the couch, within your little bubble of semi-independence, where your emotions can stay tucked away, just like the soft blanket Joel brought you.

You glance over at the cover of one of his daughter’s western novels, the title catching your eye. There's something about it that piques your curiosity, stirring questions you hadn’t meant to ask. Who is she, this daughter of his? Was she older? And then, the question that sits uncomfortably in your mind: Is Joel married—or was he? You’ve never seen a wedding band on his finger, never heard him speak about a wife. The mystery about him lingers, unresolved. You know you should be resting, but your mind refuses to settle. You shift slightly, adjusting the blanket as you try to distract yourself. Your eyes drift back to the book on the table—a well-worn copy of Lonesome Dove, its spine cracked and pages dog-eared. Something about the worn edges calls to you. It's a link to the world you grew up in, a reminder of the ranch life, of the toughness and independence that runs through your veins. You never could quite leave the ranch, even when you tried. You reach for the book, your fingers brushing against the paper's texture, the act of holding it feeling almost like coming home. You open the cover to the first page, the familiar scent of ink and aged paper filling your senses. As you dive into the world of Gus McCrae and Woodrow Call, the stories of cowboys and cattle drives pull you in. You’re captivated by Gus and Woodrow—two men bound by their pasts but so different in their approach to life.

As you read, you find yourself identifying with Lorena Wood, Gus's girlfriend. Her fight for her place in the world, her refusal to let others define her, resonates with you deeply. The scene where she insists on joining the cattle drive despite the objections of the men speaks to something inside you. The words, “I ain’t afraid of a little hard work,” echo in your mind, a mantra of defiance that you wish you could adopt fully. You can’t be weak. You won’t be.

"Dreamin’ is free, Lorena," Gus says to her, his voice a mix of wisdom and weariness. "It don’t cost nothin' extra to dream good dreams."

The words settle over you, and for a moment, you close your eyes. You think of Joel—his gruffness, his strength, the way he moves through the ranch with a quiet intensity. He’s always there, a steady presence in your life. You can’t help but wonder what kind of man he was before, what dreams he once had, what kind of life he led. Your thoughts drift, pulled back into the story before you can get too lost in them. The sun climbs higher in the sky, its light streaming through the windows, warm now, settling into the room. You glance at the book beside you and set it aside with a small sense of pride. You've made it through several chapters without letting your mind wander too much.

Your side aches more now from sitting too long, and you know it’s time to try standing. It’s been too long since you felt any sense of control over your own body. You push the blanket back, and slowly, you swing your legs over the side of the couch. The room tilts slightly as you plant your feet on the floor, and you take a steadying breath, trying to ignore the sharp twinge in your side. You hate this. Hate feeling weak. Hate needing help. But you can’t let that stop you. You refuse to let it define you. You're determined to regain some independence, to show Joel that you're not just some fragile thing that needs constant watching over.

You push yourself up, wincing as another wave of pain stabs through your ribs. The movement is slow, deliberate. Each step feels like an accomplishment, even as the pain pulses beneath the surface. You make it to the kitchen, though you're panting by the time you reach the counter. You grip it for support, feeling the cool edge beneath your fingertips. The simple act of pouring yourself a glass of water feels like a triumph.

Then you hear the creak of the front door. You don’t have to look to know it’s Joel. The sound of his boots on the floor, the low murmur of his voice as he moves about the ranch—it's all so familiar now. You hear him pause, then step into the kitchen. His eyes widen when he sees you standing there, gripping the counter like it’s your lifeline.

"Well, look at you," he says, a note of surprise and admiration in his voice. "You're up and about."

You offer him a small, self-conscious smile, glad he’s not rushing to fuss over you. "I thought it was time," you say softly, setting the glass of water down with careful movements. "I can't just lie on the couch all day."

Joel chuckles, his gaze sweeping over you with that same intensity that sends a warm flutter through your chest. He steps closer, cautious. "Reckon not," he agrees, voice low. His eyes linger on you, and you can't tell if it's concern or something else. "But don’t go pushin’ yourself too hard now."

"I’m fine," you insist, a little too quickly. "But you look like you’ve been at it all morning. Would you like something to drink?" You try to sound casual, but the offer feels like an excuse to keep him there, a way to ease the tension building between you.

"S’alright, I can get it," he says, but his voice is strained, tired. He wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, a visible sign of the work he's been doing.

Before he can protest, you start toward the fridge. "Shut up," you say with a teasing smile. "I got it. Iced tea, right?"

He chuckles softly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "That’d be perfect, darlin’."

The fridge door opens with a soft creak, and you pour the tea, the cool liquid filling the glass with a satisfying sound. The simple act requires more focus than it should, but you take your time, savoring the moment of normalcy. You hand him the glass, your fingers brushing his ever so briefly. The touch is light, fleeting, but it sends an unexpected jolt through you, a spark that neither of you can ignore. For a moment, you both stand there, neither of you speaking, as if waiting for something to break the silence. His gaze flickers to the floor, then back to you, and he clears his throat, taking a small step back.

"Thanks," he says, his voice steady but low, and his eyes meet yours briefly before he raises the glass in a small salute. He drinks deeply, closing his eyes as the cool tea washes over him.

"You're welcome," you reply, your voice quieter than usual. You busy yourself with straightening up the kitchen, your hands shaking slightly as you try to ground yourself in the mundane. But even in the simple act of tidying, you can feel his gaze on you, the weight of it making you feel exposed in a way you can't quite understand.

"You’ve found some use for the blanket and books, I see," Joel says, his voice soft, but you catch the hint of something more in it, something like pride.

"They've been a good distraction," you answer, a little more casually than you feel. "I'm curious about your daughter’s books. She’s got good taste."

At the mention of his daughter, Joel’s face softens, a wistful look crossing his features. "She always did love a good story," he says, his voice quiet, distant. "Used to read to her every night when she was little. We'd get lost in all sorts of adventures together.”

The conversation takes a quiet but significant turn, pulling you both into uncharted emotional territory. You sense it the moment Joel’s expression softens at your question, his guarded demeanor cracking just enough to let a sliver of vulnerability through. It feels fragile, like holding a bird in your hands, its rapid heartbeat thrumming beneath your fingers. You tread carefully, hoping not to press too hard but unwilling to let the moment pass unacknowledged. "What’s her name?" you ask gently, your voice soft but steady. You’re careful, wanting to open the door without forcing him through it.

He hesitates for just a breath before answering, his lips curving into a small, wistful smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "Sarah," he says, his voice tinged with warmth and something deeper—something bittersweet. "Named after my grandmother. She is—" His voice catches, the present tense faltering mid-sentence like a misstep on uneven ground. "She was a special kid."

The weight of that single word, was, hangs in the air between you like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples of meaning outward. It cuts through the small warmth his smile brought, replacing it with a heaviness that settles deep in your chest. Your heart clenches, the realization landing like a blow. You try to keep your voice steady, though your stomach twists. "Was?" you venture cautiously, the single syllable feeling heavier than it should.

Joel’s expression shifts immediately—his jaw tightening, his eyes narrowing just slightly as if bracing for an impact. You see the pain flash through him, raw and unguarded, before he wrestles it back under control. For a moment, you think he won’t answer, that he’ll shut you out completely. But then he takes a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling with the effort, and when he speaks, his voice is quiet and steady, though it trembles at the edges. "Sarah passed away a few years back." The words are spoken simply, but their weight is unmistakable, each syllable heavy with grief he’s learned to carry in silence.

The room feels smaller suddenly, the air thinner. You struggle to find something to say, some way to acknowledge the enormity of what he’s shared without reducing it to a hollow platitude. "Joel, I’m so sorry," you finally manage, your voice barely above a whisper. The sincerity in your words is palpable, your own troubles momentarily forgotten in the face of his loss.

Joel nods, his gaze distant, focused on something you can’t see. He doesn’t brush off your condolences or wave them away as you might have expected. Instead, he accepts them with a quiet grace that’s heartbreaking in its simplicity. "S’been tough," he admits, his voice low, almost a murmur. "But you find a way to keep goin’. Life doesn’t stop, even when you wish it would."

His words linger in the air, stark and unvarnished, and you feel the ache in them like a bruise pressed too hard. There’s no bitterness in his tone, no anger—just a quiet resignation, a weariness that feels like it’s etched into his very being. You wonder how often he’s spoken these words, if at all, or if he’s kept them locked away until now. Your gaze drifts to his hands—strong, calloused, and steady even now, despite the weight he carries. You reach out before you can think better of it, your fingers brushing against his forearm in a gesture that feels both small and monumental. "I can’t imagine," you say softly, your words feeling inadequate but heartfelt. "I’m sorry you had to go through that."

Joel looks down at your hand, his gaze lingering there for a moment before he lifts his eyes to meet yours. There’s something in his expression that makes your breath catch—a flicker of gratitude, of recognition, and something else you can’t quite name. "Thank you," he says simply, his voice rough but sincere. He shifts slightly, covering your hand with his own. The warmth of his touch is startling, grounding, and you’re acutely aware of how solid he feels, how present. "For listening," he continues, his voice softening. "I don’t... I don’t talk about Sarah much. It’s hard, you know?" His eyes hold yours, and you see the weight of the years he’s carried this pain, the quiet strength it’s taken to keep moving forward.

You nod, unable to look away. "I think you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for," you say quietly, the words slipping out before you can second-guess them. "Just... holding onto her memory like that. Letting her still be a part of you."

His brow furrows slightly, his gaze searching yours as if he’s trying to decide whether to accept your words. "Don’t feel strong most days," he admits after a pause, his voice so low you almost miss it. "Just feel tired."

The honesty in his words makes your chest tighten, and you press your hand against his arm just a little more firmly, as if to anchor him. "Maybe that’s what strength is," you offer, your voice soft but unwavering. "Getting up every day, even when it feels impossible. Carrying her with you, even when it hurts."

Joel doesn’t respond immediately, but you see something shift in his expression—something almost imperceptible but deeply significant. He exhales slowly, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction, and when he finally speaks, his voice is quieter than before. "Maybe," he murmurs, the word more of a concession than a conviction.For a long moment, neither of you says anything. The silence is heavy but not uncomfortable, filled with the weight of everything left unsaid. You let it linger, sensing that Joel needs this space, this moment of quiet connection. When he finally releases your hand, moving his arm slightly,  the warmth of his skin lingers, a quiet reminder of the moment you’ve shared. "Thank you darlin’," he says again, his voice steady but soft. There’s something in his eyes now—something lighter, as if the act of sharing, of being heard, has eased the weight he carries, if only a little. "Means more than you know."

—-------

As you prepare to settle onto the couch for the night, the creak of the wooden floor under Joel’s boots pulls your attention. Before you can process what’s happening, he’s beside you, scooping you into his arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The warmth of his hands against you and the solid strength of his hold leave you momentarily breathless.

"What are you doing?" you protest weakly, though your body betrays you by instinctively wrapping an arm around his shoulders for balance.

He doesn’t stop moving, his tone gruff but resolute. "Takin’ you to your room. You’ll be more comfortable there, and it’s about time you used it again." You start to protest again, murmuring something about being too heavy, but he only huffs. "You think this is the first time I’ve carried someone? You’re fine. Quit fussin’."

Before you know it, he’s carrying you up the stairs, each step steady and sure despite the burden you’re sure you must be. The faint scent of leather and woodsmoke clings to him, grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected. When he reaches the top, the hallway stretches ahead, dimly lit and quiet except for the faint creak of the floorboards beneath his boots.

Your bedroom door creaks as he nudges it open with his foot. The room feels foreign, almost untouched since your injuries—a time capsule of your life before everything fell apart. Joel sets you down on the bed with a gentleness that belies his rough exterior, his hands lingering briefly to ensure you’re steady before he pulls away.

"There," he says, adjusting the covers around you with meticulous care that makes your chest ache. "Now you get some rest. I’ll be right downstairs if you need anything."

You watch him turn, the broad slope of his shoulders framed by the faint hallway light. A sudden unease wells up in your chest, irrational and overwhelming. The thought of being alone in this room, in this moment, feels unbearable. The words leave your lips before you can stop them.

"Joel, wait."

He stops in the doorway, his silhouette pausing against the light. "What is it, darlin’?" His voice is calm, but there’s an edge of concern beneath it.

Your fingers grip the edge of the blanket as you force yourself to speak. "Could you... stay? Just for a little while. Until I fall asleep."

For a moment, he’s quiet, the furrow of his brow barely visible in the shadows. He looks at you like he’s weighing something heavy, something he’s not sure he can carry. But then he nods, his voice softer when he speaks. "Yeah. I can do that."

He grabs a chair from the corner of the room, pulling it close to the bed and settling into it with a quiet sigh. The room feels smaller now, his presence filling the space in a way that should be comforting, and yet... you feel the weight of it pressing against you.

Joel sits silently, his hands resting on his knees, the flickering light from the bedside lamp casting deep shadows across his face. His gaze flicks toward you occasionally, careful and guarded, as if afraid to linger too long. You watch him through half-closed eyes, noting the subtle lines etched into his features—lines of exhaustion, loss, and something else you can’t quite place. There’s a tension in his posture, a quiet restraint that makes your chest tighten.

"Joel," you say softly, the quiet sound of his name pulling his gaze to yours. He raises an eyebrow, waiting, but the words you wanted to say catch in your throat. What could you even say? Thank him for his kindness? For caring when you’d tried so hard to convince yourself you didn’t need it. Instead, you settle on something you instantly regret. "You don’t have to stay, you know. I’ll be fine."

His expression shifts, the corners of his mouth tightening ever so slightly. For a moment, he doesn’t respond, but when he does, his voice is quieter, almost unreadable. "If that’s what you want."

You open your mouth to correct yourself, to say something that might soften the blow, but the words don’t come. Joel stands, his movements slow and deliberate, as if giving you time to change your mind. You don’t.

"Goodnight, then," he says, his tone even, though there’s a weight behind the words that you can’t ignore. Joel stands, the chair groaning slightly as he pushes it back. He doesn’t move hurriedly, but there’s a deliberateness in his movements that makes your chest tighten. The air between you feels heavier, laced with something unspoken, something you’re not ready to name. And then he’s gone. You stare at the ceiling, your heart heavy with regret, the words you wish you’d said echoing in your mind.

"Stay. Please stay."

But you didn’t. Instead, you let him walk away, the distance between you growing not just physically but emotionally. The warmth of his presence lingers faintly, like the scent of his leather and woodsmoke, but it isn’t enough to fill the void. The ache in your ribs pales in comparison to the one in your chest. You lay there, staring at the ceiling, what was this feeling that had taken root inside you? It wasn’t just gratitude anymore—it was something else, something harder to define. You’d always prided yourself on not needing anyone, but Joel had a way of making that wall crumble, brick by brick. It was confusing. Maybe you were reading too much into it. Or maybe... maybe you were just afraid to hope again. But the way he’d left, the quiet disappointment in his eyes—it made you feel small, stupid even. What were you so afraid of? You hated yourself for pushing him away when all he’d ever done was try to be there for you. But it was too late now. The door was closed, and so, it seemed, was he.

The room is dark, save for the faint glow of the moonlight spilling in through the curtains. You hadn’t noticed Joel still standing there, silent as a shadow. He lingers by the doorway, his silhouette sharp against the dim light. He’s watching you, his brow furrowed, torn between staying and leaving.

“Why do you do this to yourself?” he mutters, more to himself than you.

You turn your head slightly, startled. You thought he'd left. His gaze meets yours for a moment, but the weight of it is too much to hold. You look away, biting the inside of your cheek. “I’m fine,” you say, your voice tight and unconvincing.

Joel lets out a low scoff, shaking his head. “Fine,” he repeats bitterly. “That your favorite word or somethin’?” His boots barely make a sound as he crosses the room, sitting back down on the chair beside your bed. His presence is overwhelming, filling the small space like a storm cloud about to break. You feel the heat of him, as you try to keep your breathing steady. “I know what you're doin',” he says quietly, his tone softer now. “Pushin' me away. But you don’t have to.”

You close your eyes, willing the tears to stay put. His words are gentle, but they cut deep, peeling back the layers you worked so hard to hide behind. You struggle for words, your breath uneven. "I... I don’t know how to do this," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "Letting someone—letting you—"  

 "You don’t have to know," he says quietly. "You just gotta let me in."  

His voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it now, like he's fighting against his own limits, his patience fraying. You want to reach for him, to let yourself lean into him, but the weight of your own walls is too heavy. You want to let go, but something inside you holds you back, paralyzes you with fear. Fear of what letting him in might mean. Your throat tightens as you try to form the words, but nothing comes. His gaze sharpens, but he doesn’t push you—he waits. The tension hangs thick in the air, heavy with unspoken thoughts. But the longer he waits, the more it seems like he’s losing the battle inside himself.

You finally meet his eyes again, but it’s like something’s shifted. There’s still care there, but it’s mixed with frustration, something raw and real. He stands, his movements slow but resolute. "You can’t keep doing this," he says, his voice low but intense. "I can’t keep doing this. You want me to stay, and then... then you push me away.”

His words strike you like a physical blow, the sting of truth cutting through the silence. You don’t know what to say, your heart pounding in your chest, but nothing feels right. The space between you is growing, and you’re helpless to stop it.

The chair scrapes against the floor as he moves it back, the sound harsh in the heavy silence. His words strike you like a physical blow, the sting of truth cutting through the silence. You don’t know what to say, your heart pounding in your chest, but nothing feels right. The space between you is growing, and you’re helpless to stop it. 

He moves toward the door, the floor creaking beneath his boots, and you want to scream—to tell him to stay, to tell him you’re not fine, but the words are lodged in your throat, like you’re choking on your own fear.

You sit up in bed, your breath shallow, but you don’t call out. You don’t stop him.

Joel pauses at the doorway, his back to you. For a long moment, it seems like he might turn around, like he might say something else, something to bridge the gap between you. But he doesn’t. He just stands there, his shoulders stiff, his head slightly bowed as though he’s already made his peace with walking away.

Finally, his voice breaks the silence. "You need anything, you holler. I’ll hear ya."

And then the door clicks softly shut behind him.

You sit there, staring at the empty space where he was, the weight of his words still pressing down on you. Your fingers curl around the blanket, but it offers no comfort. Your mind races, a mess of emotions, regret, and frustration. You want to call him back, but it feels like it’s too late.

The room is silent once more, and the emptiness is suffocating. You close your eyes, your chest aching, and for the first time in a long while, you realize how alone you truly are..

Joel

The soft glow of the kitchen light spills across the empty room as Joel leans against the counter, nursing a cup of coffee he doesn’t really want or need at this hour. He stares into the dark liquid, his thoughts elsewhere, running over the events of the evening like a song stuck on repeat.

He shouldn’t feel disappointed. You’d made it clear you didn’t want him there, and he respected that. Hell, he’d been in your shoes before—pushing people away because it felt safer. He couldn’t blame you for it. But that didn’t make the sting of it any easier to shake.

Joel sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. He’d seen the hesitation in your eyes, the conflict. He’d wanted to tell you it was okay, that he’d wait as long as you needed. But the truth was, he wasn’t sure how long he could wait. Every moment he spent with you, every quiet exchange and fleeting touch—it all felt like it was building toward something he wasn’t sure either of you were ready for. "Should’ve known better," he mutters under his breath, his voice barely audible over the hum of the fridge. But even as he says it, he knows he’d do it all over again—because for you, he would wait.

The coffee in Joel’s mug has gone cold by the time he finally pushes himself off the counter and trudges to the living room. He sits heavily on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees as he stares at the darkened television screen. Sleep isn’t coming—not after the way the evening ended.

He rubs a hand down his face, trying to shake off the frustration welling in his chest. It wasn’t your fault, not really. Joel knows that better than anyone. But the way you’d looked at him, the way you’d pulled back, it felt like a door slamming shut in his face. Like he was stupid for even hoping.

“Should’ve just stayed downstairs, fuck sakes,” he mutters to himself. He knows better than to get too close, to expect anything. It’s not fair to you, not when you’ve got enough to deal with. And yet, here he is, hoping like a damn fool.

The faint creak of the floor above reminds him you’re still there, probably lying awake just like he is. Joel shakes his head, dragging a heavy quilt over himself as he stretches out on the couch. Tomorrow, he decides, he’ll keep his distance. Let you come to him if you want.

But the hollow ache in his chest says that might never happen.

—

The next morning the shutting of the door pulls Joel from a restless sleep. He stretches, his back protesting the hours spent on the couch, and grumbles as he sits up. The smell of coffee drifts through the house, but it’s faint—like someone turned the pot off before it finished brewing. Joel frowns. He knows you’re still stiff from your injuries, and the thought of you moving around too much sets him on edge. He stands, rubbing a hand over his face, and heads toward the kitchen.

The sight of the empty space only deepens his unease. The coffee pot is half-full, a mug sitting beside it untouched. He glances out the window, his gut twisting when he spots you trudging toward the barn, determination in every step.

“What the hell are you doin’ now?” he mutters, already grabbing his jacket as he steps outside.

The morning air bites at his skin, but Joel barely notices as he closes the distance to the barn. By the time he reaches the open doors, you’re already climbing onto the tractor, one hand on the seat and the other gripping the wheel.

“Hey!” Joel’s voice echoes sharply in the quiet.

You freeze, your head whipping around to face him. “What?” you ask, your voice defensive, though there’s a flicker of guilt in your eyes.

Joel’s chest tightens, but he doesn’t let it show. “What the hell do you think you’re doin’?”

Your brow furrows, and you straighten your shoulders, your stubbornness flaring to life. “I’m trying to help. You’ve been doing everything, and I thought—”

“You thought wrong.” His tone is sharper than he intends, but the sight of you on the tractor—the very image of Sarah in her last moments—sends a cold wave of fear crashing over him.

You bristle at his words, swinging your legs over the side of the tractor to face him fully. “Excuse me? I’m not a kid, Joel. I can handle this.”

“No, you can’t,” he snaps, his voice louder now. “You don’t even know how to work that damn thing, and you’re in no shape to be tryin’!”

Your eyes narrow, hurt flashing across your face before you mask it with anger. “I’m just trying to pull my weight, Joel. I’m not some burden you have to carry! And yes I can fucking drive the tractor.”

Joel steps closer, his fists clenched at his sides. “You think this is about you bein’ a burden? Dammit, I don’t care about that! I care about you not gettin’ yourself killed because you’re too damn stubborn to listen!”

The words hang in the air, heavy and sharp. Joel’s breathing is uneven, his chest rising and falling as he fights to keep the memories at bay. Sarah’s laughter, the hum of the tractor’s engine, the sickening sound of it tipping over—it’s all there, clawing at the edges of his mind.

But he doesn’t tell you. He can’t.

Instead, he swallows hard and steps back, his jaw tightening. “Just… don’t do this,” he says, his voice quieter but no less firm.

You stare at him, confusion and hurt written all over your face. “Why are you acting like this?” you ask, your tone softer now, but Joel shakes his head.

Joel’s chest tightens, and the fight in his voice only deepens. “Doesn’t matter,” he mutters, but you’re not about to let him brush this off.

“Why the hell not?” You step off the tractor, your foot hitting the ground with a thud, your breath a sharp inhale from the pain and ragged in the cold air. “You’re acting like I’m a damn liability—like I can’t handle myself. You think I want to sit around doing nothing while you work yourself to the bone?”

Joel shakes his head, his eyes dark with frustration. “That ain’t it, and you know it. You think I want to be overprotective? You think I don’t see you fightin’ through every goddamn thing just to prove you’re not weak? I get it, alright? But this—this isn’t the way to do it.”

“You don’t get it,” you snap back, your voice growing more desperate. “I don’t need your pity, Joel. I don’t need you to hold my hand or protect me like I’m some fragile thing you have to save. I’m fine. I can do this.”

“You’re not fine!” Joel’s voice cracks, his patience running thin, and the raw emotion behind it makes you pause, your anger faltering for just a second. He steps closer to you, his face inches away. “You’re not fine, and I’m not gonna sit here and watch you hurt yourself just because you’re too damn proud to accept help.”

Your ribs ache as you take a step back, your hands trembling at your sides. His words, his proximity—they feel like they’re suffocating you, pulling you into a place you don’t want to go. But you can’t stop yourself. “I don’t need help,” you mutter, though the words come out unconvincing, jagged.

Joel’s gaze softens, and for a brief moment, it’s like you’re both standing in some kind of fragile truce. But it doesn’t last. The distance between you, emotional and physical, feels too heavy to bear, and Joel moves in again. His voice is quieter now, but there’s a deep, aching sincerity in it. “I don’t want you to need help. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

You swallow hard, your chest tightening with something you don’t know how to name. It’s the space between your stubbornness and his care, the tension of wanting to push him away but knowing deep down that you can’t. You want to break, to let go, but you won’t—can’t—show him how much you’re falling apart.

You both stand there in the cold, the world around you feeling distant, like it’s no longer real. And then, before you can stop yourself, you say something that takes both of you by surprise. “Why do you care so damn much?” Your voice cracks as you finally let the wall down, the question raw and vulnerable.

Joel’s eyes darken, his breath catching at the depth of the question. He looks at you, really looks at you, and there’s a long silence that stretches between you, thick with everything unspoken. Then, his lips curl slightly, the ghost of a sad smile on his face, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“I’ve been where you are,” he says, his voice low. “I’ve lost too much. And I’m not gonna lose anyone else... not like this.”

You don’t know what to say to that. For a moment, your anger falters, replaced with something deeper, something you can’t hide anymore.

Before you realize what’s happening, you’re the one reaching for him, your good hand finding his shirt, pulling him toward you. He hesitates for a second—his body tense, unsure—but then he moves, just like you knew he would. The kiss is sudden, urgent, and the world tilts with it. Your ribs protest, but you don’t care. His hands cradle your face, his lips pressing against yours, rough but soft, like he’s trying to steady himself just as much as you are.

Your heart races in your chest, the ache in your ribs fading as the heat of him seeps into your skin. For a brief, fleeting moment, everything else stops. The fight, the stubbornness, the fear—it all disappears in the space between your mouths. It’s like he’s holding you together, like you’re finally letting him do the one thing he’s been begging you for - to let him in.

When you break away, it’s slow, your breath ragged, but neither of you moves far. You’re still close—too close—and yet, somehow, it feels right. Joel’s forehead rests against yours, his breath warm on your skin. He doesn’t speak at first, just keeps you there, close enough to feel the weight of his every breath. Finally, he whispers, his voice hoarse. “You’re not alone, you know that?”

You nod, the words too hard to say, but the truth of them sits heavy between you. And for the first time in what feels like forever, you believe it.

Taglist @akah565 @anoverwhelmingdin @brittmb115 @hannah9921 @maried01

@mermaidgirl30 @red-red-rogue @wintersquirrel

[pynkhues]

You write such great Louis meta that I was curious about your opinion on something. I’m not sure if you’ve written something about this before or not so if you have please disregard!

The show is very clear with us since the first episode that Louis is capable of violence against those he loves most obviously including Paul and Lestat. But I also see a connecting thread with Louis conflating/connecting sex and violence as well. The scene at Antoinette’s is the most obvious but when I started thinking about it, it seems like this is a common thing for him. The murders in the park in Paris, where he’s seeing dreamstat. The 128 boys in SF. Maybe his relationship with Armand, even. Maybe with Jonah, where he was biting his own arm to keep from killing him (probably also because of hunger so I’m less sure about that one, or maybe that’s part of it too).

I started thinking about this reading analyses of the long face lyrics and people’s confusion about Lestat calling himself piano and Louis forte. And on the one hand I’m like *shrug* maybe it’s not that deep or it’s meant to irritate Louis- and on the other I’m like welllll Louis does kind of come at him aggressively sometimes, so maybe this is Lestat’s actual pov.

Thank you for your kind words, anon! And yeah, I definitely see what you mean and agree. I’m not sure if it’s necessarily the conflation of violence and sex themselves, but I do think an enormous part of Louis’ character is about the repression of self until that self explodes violently out of him. To me, it’s ultimately that that feeds into Louis’ complex relationship with power and control which is often reflected in exertions of physical autonomy, both over his own body and the bodies of other people (and not even just sexually – a huge part of his relationship with Claudia is in his platonic dominion over her body, from having Lestat make her for him in the first place, to trying to control what she eats, what she wears and, most significantly, her role within the family unit [her transition to sister is, after all, just a placation. Dreamstat proves that, just as the coven calling her a feminine denouement of his name ‘Baby Lulu’ is. She is always her father’s daughter]).

Louis’ repression vs Louis’ oppression

One of the most interesting changes that the show has made is in changing Louis’ race, and while there has plenty said about that, the shift from the book as a purely repressed character, to one who’s repression is fueled by racial and societal oppression has elevated not just the character, but the show. Louis’ limitations aren’t just the ones he internalizes anymore, they’re externalized – when we meet him, he hasn’t picked a role as he has in the book, it’s been a role forced upon him by the era, the city and the systemic structures in place around him. He has to play the tough pimp down in the Black brothels he himself runs to cement his social power there, but he also has to play subservient, placating, and second-class to white society to gain any social power there.

The result is Louis represses different parts of himself as a result of oppression twice over – he’s repressing the softer, loving parts of himself working the part of Storyville he has power in, while repressing the harder, more ruthless parts of himself working the part of Storyville he doesn’t, to say nothing of having to repress his queerness in a religious household and a homophobic society. I think this makes him a melting pot in more ways than one, because it makes his authentic self hard even for him to identify within himself. He spends so much of his time code switching and repressing different parts of himself, yes, to survive, but also to advance which I think is a less talked about part of his character.

Like, Louis’ not just a survivor of his situation, he’s an ambitious man who seeks to elevate his social position and gain social power. I do think that’s partially borne out of the implied fall from grace his father had, and being pushed into the role of family patriarch at a pretty young age, and his singular rage at being locked out of NOLA’s upper echelons in the 1910s through 40s, but I also think it’s just a vital part of his character. Louis’ a social climber first, and a capitalist second! It’s one of the things that I find most interesting about him, and I love that the show leant into it with Louis actually gaining social power through his relationship with Lestat, even if it doesn’t always look like it (i.e. him having to play Black employee to his white husband at the opera).

Louis leverages that social power (and Lestat’s whiteness) to allow first professional advancement through the acquisition of The Fair Play Saloon – both his biggest competitor and a symbol of the white society he was locked out of, and turning it into The Azaelia, but also I’d argue the perception of personal advancement through having Lestat make him a child, something he also believed that he was locked out of as a gay man. Claudia's not just self-affirmant to Louis, but a symbol of achievement over society in the same way The Azaelia was, and I don’t think it’s a coincidence that she was born out of the death of it.

Okay, but what’s that got to do with body autonomy, sex and violence?

Yes! Right! Get back on track, Sophie, haha. Look, both Louis’ survival and advancement are really determined by his ability to control himself and choose what to be and when. Like I said above, he has to repress different parts of himself to be able to work different parts of society, and I do think there’s a resentment of the fact that he has to do that at all. He can’t float through life authentically because he’s not granted the same privilege of straight, white men, and even when he has someone who passes for that on his arm, he’s still limited in how he’s able to wield Lestat’s social power out of the house in that particular era.

That – understandably! – stokes an enormous amount of feeling. Yes, rage is a big one, but I also think grief and hurt and sheer weight, and Louis as a character tends to repress all of that too. He struggles to self-manage his emotions because he’s never been allowed the space to, and even when Lestat tries to give him that space, Lestat has exactly 0% capacity to understand him. Louis and Lestat are very, very different characters from very, very different eras and countries, and I think fundamentally don’t understand each other, despite loving each other deeply, and in a lot of ways, that’s probably part of the appeal for them.

Louis though I think does view managing his emotions as intrinsically linked to controlling himself / his body, which comes to this point that Louis presents himself as a very cerebral character, but he’s not really. He might talk a lot, read a lot, enjoy art a lot, but Louis’ always been both practical and physical. How he handles himself, how he processes trauma, how he hides from himself and others, hell, how he enjoys himself isn’t necessarily something he thinks about, it’s something he does, and usually does with his or somebody else’s body.

He hides his sexuality using Miss Lily's body, he represses his vampirism with an animal diet, he combats feelings of powerlessness, boredom, malaise with exertions of power, pleasure, comfort over and with other people’s bodies, whether that’s making Lestat turn Claudia (an exertion of power not just over Claudia, but Lestat too), the scene at Antoinette’s (significantly being after an enormous loss of power with Lestat’s act of abuse), murdering Lestat at the Mardi Gras Ball (and saving him / grabbing Claudia too), depending on Claudia for his own happiness in Europe, grabbing Santiago’s tongue at the restaurant, his D/s relationship with Armand and using Armand’s body to perform power over the Coven, the murder of the coven and Alderman Fenwick to process trauma and oppression, the 128 boys in San Francisco with Armand waiting at home, the rocks in his ankles, the comfort of the embrace in the reunion with Lestat. Hell, even the interview becomes a physical act given the way he flies Daniel out and then weaponises his Parkinson's against him.

We spend so much time with Louis playing passive as he narrates the events of his life in Dubai that I think it can be easy to overlook how physical he actually is as a character, and the importance bodily autonomy plays in his connection to himself and his connection to others. The fact that that can and does manifest aggressively / violently sometimes (particularly after periods of feeling powerless, traumatised or overwhelmed) is absolutely a part of that, but even beyond that, I think he does have a real physical vocabulary that he often tries to depict as more cerebral because I think it makes him feel more in control of himself.  

So yeah, I think you're right in that Lestat thinking Louis' forte probably is pretty accurate to how Lestat sees him.

[shinesurge]

Webcomic rings run by people within the community are cool and you should support them

I've been loudly struggling a little bit with corporate webcomic Stuff lately so I want to mention something positive to balance it out: webrings run by small groups of creators earnestly trying to support each other are slowly making a comeback and I for one am delighted.

If you weren't around for them in the before times, webrings were just some folks who hang out a lot who feature each other on their websites. That's literally it lmao. There's generally no money involved and it only really functions the way it's supposed to if people have control over their own websites AND genuinely want to participate and get excited about other folks' work, which means the practice has pretty well fallen by the wayside over the years in webcomic culture given. Everything. In the rare event someone decides to do something like this it's usually in the form of a link list somewhere on their website; this doesn't usually indicate any sort of mutual support, it's just a list of what the creator is reading themselves.

A webring, though, is an official banner or hub that people gather under intentionally where each member is more or less on equal footing. It's essentially the concept of "a rising tide lifts all boats" put into practice, each creator brings their own audience to the table in a passive, opt-in sort of way that's different from working for a publisher since there isn't necessarily a Top Spot or a paycheck everyone's vying for, and individuals retain autonomy over both their own work and how (if) they promote each other. You're all at your own tables in an artist alley rather than fighting over the table in the front of the book store, essentially.

I have two rings and one collective for you today!

Webcomic Ring was brought to my attention AGES ago by Holly, one of the artists featured there, and I might have brought it up at some point but I'm doing it again lmao. This is exactly the kind of thing you ought to be looking for; a small group of enthusiastic folks having a good time making their weird little comics. You probably haven't heard of much in the catalog, that's PERFECT in the context of webcomics that's where the GOOD SHIT is. Finding something like this is A Gift go dig around in the longboxes for a while.

Then a few people have pointed me in the direction of the KNIFEBEETLE collective and that's neat too! Most of the comics there are already fairly well-known, but the vibes are excellent and I haven't seen a lot of talk about the collective /itself/ outside folks already in the know. I think it's important for this sort of thing to be more visible to folks who aren't terminally steeped in webcomic culture already so here I am telling you about it. You were probably reading several of these before I suggested it, but that's how a webring works! For it to do its job you should take those bigger creators' tacit recommendation of the less popular titles as a sign to go read something new and strange. Wild, I know these are practices held over from the old internet, but I think we should try and bring them back.

Lastly, I want to mention Spiderforest, which is a collective (slightly different from a webring) BUT still a very cool project readers starved for new stuff should pay attention to.

You've probably seen Spiderforest kicking around for a long time already; they're wonderful and have always been an overall positive force in the community in my experience. They really focus on building up a community, and especially welcoming newcomers and helping them get their feet under them. Full disclosure, I've been asked to apply by a few different folks over the years and the only reason I never did is I don't have the ability to participate in their forums and such as frequently as they want their creators to; it's a very good system (from my outside perspective) that might contribute to the community staying mostly healthy in ways that art communities usually don't and I appreciate it a lot!

ANYWAYS that's all I got for now, just trying to balance out some bad feelings I've been having by talking about some good stuff. Please go binge an archive this week.

[sapphic-agent]

So. I finally read this fuckass comic that's been talked about again recently. I'd only ever heard about it before so I decided to check it out. I'm gonna go through some of the pages and give my two cents because why not?

I'm not gonna lie to you guys, I don't get how Katara is "out of character" here. This is very reminiscent of Book 1 Katara, who was playful and teasing and immature and acted like, y'know, a kid. I know Bryke might have you thinking otherwise, but she shouldn't baby Aang all the time.

Especially because he is supposed to be practicing and just... isn't doing it. This was her way of lightheartedly trying to motivate him, which I think is pretty on brand for her.

You could make the argument that Katara is being dismissive here, but honestly? The subject clearly makes her uncomfortable. She was kissed (without consent) before a major battle by someone she saw as a friend. Of course she was uncomfortable. She has every right to not want to talk about or acknowledge it.

Calling that out of character is not doing Kataang shippers any favors when the most common criticism against them is their tendency to brush aside Katara's autonomy.

(At first when I saw this panel, I thought maybe she was being a little abrasive towards him. But... She's the same way with Toph in The Runaway. This isn't behavior that came out of nowhere. Why is it that it's only a problem when it comes to Aang?)

I guess a better question here is, is Aang out of character? For me, it's actually yes and no.

I think they made him overly mopey. Like yes, he's had his moments in the show, but drawing hearts in the dirt? What kind of shit is this??

Not to mention his weird little monologue inside the rock ("Who's really playing games here, Katara?" Are you actually serious, Bryke? Idc what anyone says, those words would never leave Aang's mouth). It feels like a bid to make him more sympathetic so that the reader feels bad for him. I'm fine labeling that OOC.

However...

Do I think Aang would purposely physically hurt Katara? No. Do I think Aang would get so caught up in his emotions that he stops being mindful of himself and his surroundings? Well.

Both times you could label an accident. But both times resulted from Aang being careless and being unable to regulate himself. Now, you could make the argument that this is OOC because Aang learned and developed past this point. And I would agree, if we were talking about Book 2 Aang or even mid to late Book 1 Aang.

But honestly, character regression is very on point for Book 3 Aang. Especially post DOBS. Most of you already know about my beef with Book 3 Aang, so I won't get into that.

Now, I do think that Aang would be a little more apologetic and guilty considering how regretful he was in Book 1. But him prioritizing his own feelings instead of how he affected her? Completely on-brand. In EIP he was upset about how he messed up his chances with Katara, not that he kissed her without consent and upset her.

But even if this couldn't fit Katara and Aang as characters, even if they were outlandishly OOC and completely different from the characters we knew, that doesn't really matter. This comic is official and canon. Just like the comics where Aang ignores her in favor of his weird fanclub and she swallows her hurt and puts up with it. Just like LOK where Aang is a neglectful father and Katara is a mild mannered housewife.

You can dislike this comic and criticize its portrayals all you want. But it's still canon. You can't ignore canon, especially when your main argument for Kataang being better than Zutara is that it's canon

[twistedminutia]

Diasomnia and Selfishness vs Selflessness

Rereading some of Book 7, and it occurs to me how much Lilia, Mallues, and Silver share in their reasons behind their actions, or how they construe their actions as selfless as opposed to selfish.

We’ll start with Lilia, who kicks this whole thing off. Lilia’s initial action is him leaving. First, analyzing the action, it’s extremely abrupt. Lilia gives no prelude, minimal explanation, and doesn’t even seem to acknowledge that it’s sad. He gives no time for anyone to prepare and, in a matter of days, he’s entirely ready to depart his family, possibly for good.

Now, from the perspective of everyone else in Diasomnia, this is devastating, especially for Malleus and Silver who both were at least partially raised by Lilia. His actions are selfish bordering on callous. But for Lilia? These actions are selfless. Lilia isn’t trying to abandon them. He’s trying to spare them. To Lilia, having the people he cares for watch him wither away and die, having to be reliant on them, having to be a burden- he’s trying to spare them that. He doesn’t even want to show sadness, since that might make things harder.

Lilia is attempting to be selfless- he’s trying to minimize the impact of his departure and reduce grief. But by doing so, he’s inadvertently being selfish. By not sharing his sadness, he’s pressuring everyone else to hide their own feelings. By pulling away so quickly, he’s not allowing others to process the loss. By refusing to allow anyone to come with him, he’s taking away a relationship everyone who cares for him. For Lilia, he’s trying to be selfless, but he’s really being selfish- prioritizing his own comfort at the quick loss over what would be better for everyone.

Malleus does something very similar. He characterizes what he’s doing in the dreams as a good thing- a gift. Something he is selflessly giving to everyone. And it’s possible he even believes this. He truly thinks he’s sparing people from pain and suffering.

But he’s still being selfish. He didn’t ask if people wanted this, and, at the end of the day, he didn’t do this because he came to the conclusion on his own. He came to the conclusion because Lilia was leaving and he wanted to stop it. Malleus is trying to use his power to help, but his motives are, at the end of the day, selfish.

And then Silver. People might be protesting he’s never done anything like the other two, but he’s got shades of this as well. Silver’s moment comes when he learns his identity: he’s the son of the Dawn Knight, the person who killed Malleus’ mother. Lilia spared and adopted him, despite considering killing him.

This is the point where Silver plunges into the darkness and considers letting it take him. He frames this action as selfless- he doesn’t deserve his loving family after what his relatives did to them, so he will take himself out of their lives.

But this action is still ultimately selfish, in the same way Lilia’s action is. He’s still denying the people that love him their autonomy (insisting they could not love him when they clearly very much do) and he is also behaving selfishly in regard to their mission- going into the darkness traps Sebek, Yuu, and Grim in the dream and stops them from reaching Malleus, who both needs their help and needs to be stopped. It’s not a malicious selfishness, but it’s there nonetheless.

And then there’s Sebek, who doesn’t engage in any of this nonsense and is more than willing to call people out on it! He calls Silver out, and I’m willing to bet he’ll call Lilia and Malleus out on it as well when we get those confrontations. He breaks the Diasomnia pattern, and does so by being fully and utterly honest with who he is and what he wants.

It should also be noted that Lilia helped raise Malleus and entirely raised Silver, so that plays a part in their tendencies. All in all, the juxtaposition between selfishness and selflessness in Diasomnia is fascinating, and I hope this was an interesting little reflection on how it comes up in the game!

[iz-star]

About Dr Zayne and Dawnbreaker's ethics.

Something that kinda irks me a little when ppl talk about Dr Zayne and Dawnbreaker, it's when they make it look like they're totally different people.

"Dr Zayne would never kill someone where Dawnbreaker wouldn't hesitate..."

It's not as simple as that, honestly. Dawnbreaker is just a severe depressed Dr Zayne. His morals aren't some kind of "twisted" ethic bc he kills ppl for the greater good and not out of pleasure.

He has the exact same views than Dr Zayne, actually: "It's better to die with clarity than living as a walking corpse"

Remember that Zayne doesn't stop Tobias from choosing to die instead of looking for a cure for his Protocore syndrome, even tho Zayne is the most desperate person on earth to save people (His medic of the artic anecdote makes it crystal clear). Despite his own beliefs, he will always respect the patient's autonomy over their own body and life.

Actually, Zayne defines his ethics as Doctor as "Respecting life and patient's choices".

Georgie's mom looked for Dawnbreaker to kill her bc she knew she was going to turn into a monster and he could help her. DB Zayne is not a Doctor but still does his best to try to fix the world he lives in the same way Dr Zayne does or tries to lessen the damage at the very least. It is even said in his anecdotes that the police and media try to hide the fact that being exposed to Protocore energy/ Metaflux for long periods of time is what is making ppl to turn into wanderers. Considering that Protocore technology is highly profitable in LADS world, nobody would give up on it the same way we haven't given upon oil.

Dawnbreaker it's literally Zayne living the consecuences of the status quo and capitalism. Something that Dr Zayne does too at rejecting immortality and accepting death as the natural result of living.

I've previously talked about this, but in Master of Fate myth it is mentioned that Zayne's role is of a siming, and according to chinese mythology, it's a deity with more of a bureocratic job than anything else (Just look at the way he dedicated his time to those bamboo books). He decides who gets to have a long life and who gets to have a short span of life in order to keep the balance of destiny and probably the reason he had to get rid off of MC since she was a "variable".

And as Foreseer, he loses the jurisdiction of allocating human life span and fate but still watches over them.

The concept of Zayne's character as a whole is this balance of life and death. I wouldn't be surprised if later on they reference yin and yang through him, in traditional chinese medicine, it is said that sickness comes from the unbalance of ying and yang.

In this case, it's true that Dr Zayne and Dawnbreaker look like opposites -the Guardian Angel and the Grim Reaper. But in reality, they're two sides of the same coin and complement each other. Dr Zayne has the possibility to save lifes bc he's a doctor. Dawnbreaker has the possibility to help people to die bc he's an assasin. There's both light and darkness in both of them.

Dr Zayne wouldn't kill ppl just bc he wanted too. The same goes for Dawnbreaker. And just as William asked Zayne to kill him, DB too, killed Georgie's mom and probably his step father out of mercy. And so the same goes for the rest of people. And just as Dr Zayne saves ppl with his hands, Dawnbreaker does too at avoiding any casualties caused by wanderers (which is his main purpose after all)

Dr Zayne is good, he has no bounty like the other guys and he hasn't committed crimes but that doesn't make him any less attractive at all and most important, it doesn't make him naïve. I would say it's totally the opposite, since it seriously takes strength to remain kind in an unfair world.

[Nedless to say that the other guys are lot older than him bc he was cursed to reincarnate and find MC just to watch her die and sacrifice himself to save her].

I think this rant of mine comes from the fact that lately I've read several ppl saying that Dawnbreaker is far more interesting to them that Dr Zayne. I suppose this opinion comes from all the possibilities of what is like to be with Dawnbreaker who is a gloomy Zayne and someone who also lives in totally different circumstances. And I mean, at the end of the day, it's a valid opinion.

But my point here is: they're actually not that different from one another if you look closely. (Dr Zayne also shares his fair amount of depression before MC).

Foreseer, Master of Fate, Dr Zayne and Dawnbreaker are all Zayne after all and I think it's important to highlight that most of them live their life as a means to an end for the greater good. Astra once said that Zayne was his tool and in all his lifes, Zayne has always worked his ass off for other people.

No wonder why as a doctor he respects ppl's autonomy over their lifes. It's MC the one who makes him being a bit more selfish.

Honestly, I could write an essay about this to explain it more properly but I'm so sleepy rn, I might consider it later but don't really trust it. If you've read all of this, wow. Thank you!!

[shakingparadigm]

no one’s talking about that half-naked alien petting till and i am both glad but also haunted by that. please tell me that wasn’t implying what i think it is. till has gone through wayyy too much and i will literally sob if it turns out he’s gone through this too

I had a post drafted about that but I didn't know how to feel about posting it at first. I'm just gonna reiterate it here though.

The entire first verse of ROUND 6 was actually pretty uncomfortable to watch, at least for me. I genuinely thought we were going to delve into that territory, you know. And I wouldn't put it past VIVINOS of all people to do it. The dim lighting, alcohol bottles, the very familiar environment of private rooms and drunk cruelty, it all resembles certain acts and situations that are unfortunately common within the performance industry. ALIEN STAGE obviously emphasizes the horrific aspects of stardom and could be read as a commentary on that kind of culture as a whole (constant performativity, lack of autonomy, performers as objects possessed by those of higher power, literal cutthroat competition, etc.), so exploring the topic of assault isn't unlikely, especially when it's so prevalent in that kind of fame. Still, I was jarred when I first watched the video.

The way that they handled Till was upsettingly familiar to me. It was slightly easier to bypass when Urak was simply shoving him via telekinesis. But a group of large, drunk aliens violently putting their hands on him, grabbing him by the neck and bending him on the table (it was at this point I began to feel a bit squeamish), it became a little too real? For me at least. And then there's your main point, the assaulting alien that was clothed in the scene before is now naked in the next, save for the open, unbuttoned shirt. And Till is on the ground next to him, his hair carded through and scratched by giant hands. Till is disheveled and sweating. It seems this was the lowest point of his night, seeing as how he dreams up an angelic apparition of Mizi. An escape, a salvation. Someone that could offer him a soft, gentle respite to balm the pain of his abuse. The way he desperately reaches out, shaking and exhausted, it's painful.

I know it's not explicitly shown in the video. It's not implied in posts (although from what I hear, there's traces of something similar in the Anakt Kit book), but you can't deny the thoughts that the imagery brings to mind, especially when said imagery is so vivid and visceral. I won't claim that this is the absolute message the team was trying to convey, nor that this is the correct way to perceive that scene, just that the pieces leading to this interpretation are there. VIVINOS videos are meticulously crafted, and the whole collection deals with disturbing concepts and topics. If they wanted to imply something, they'd know how to do it. Anyway, the first scenes struck a chord in me, to say the least.