#courtesy of things out of my control and people i love

[rewatching-sam-and-dean]

In Defence of Sam Winchester

(Or alternately titled)

Two Times Sam Actually Made Pretty Big Mistakes and Several Times When He Did Not (But was Blamed Anyway)

I have two sort of random thoughts on this scene, followed by a long-ass rant about Sam’s Alleged Screw-ups under the cut. This is me, so of course it got long.

1. “Sam, I want Gadreal to pay as much as you do, but nothing is worth losing you.”

Truth. Here we have one of the few times I can unreservedly agree with Castiel.

2. “Being human didn’t just change my view of food, it changed my view of you.”

I don’t ship on this show, both brothers are implied to be straight, and I don’t want to see either of them in a long term relationships while the other is around because it would just suck to be Sam or Dean’s significant other, as you’d always be a distant second to their brother.

But … if Castiel had to fall for one of the brothers (we are not discussing whatever that was in Despair), it should have been Sam. First, Sam treated him with a ton more courtesy, respect and forgiveness than Dean (and more than he ever deserved), and the arc could have been really compelling. Seeing an angel going from seeing Sam as an abomination, to protecting him for Dean’s sake, to protecting him for his Sam’s own sake, to learning to empathize and relate to Sam after being human himself, to loving him for overcoming his own flaws and guilt could have been pretty epic. Again, I’m fine with it not actually happening because Supernatural is not about romance for me, but they could have done something similar and made Sam and Cas' friendship more rich if they’d given them more screen time. There are moments where Sam and Cas are quite sweet with each other, just fond; meanwhile, Dean is cursing Cas out every other episode, and Cas is backstabbing Dean (and Sam) while they call each other friend. And Jared and Misha have good chemistry, so if Cas had to stick around longer than his character warranted, they should have had the characters who can relate to each other actually have opportunities to, well, relate more. And I don’t buy that line that Jared and Misha couldn’t get through a scene together because the gags and bloopers have to be exaggerated or no one could have gotten through scenes on set, and none of them would have gotten jobs after the show ended.

Anyway, on to what truly sparked this post..

3. “The only person who has screwed things up more consistently than you, is me.”

So, this is the part of the scene where my Sam and Cas interaction fondness evaporates. The basic statement is correct, Castiel has in fact “screwed things up” more than Sam, but the implication is that Sam is this constant screw-up, and with this I take issue. Much issue.

This scene is located in Season 9, a season where Sam has in fact not screwed up, but has rather been screwed over. Dean has screwed up here, you know, the other Winchester brother who makes mistakes but doesn’t get the “consistent” blame for it that Sam does by the show (or characters. Or many fans). This is not in anyway anti Dean, but both brothers screw up a lot and the Sam scapegoating is out of control.

On that note, when has Sam consistently screwed up (in a big way, not smaller things), with him solely responsible for doing the “screwing,” and when is it a result of actions outside of his control?

Season 1: Sam going to college was treated like he committed murder, when it was actually normal and justifiable thing to do, so I’m not counting that. Next, Sam discovered he’s been fed demon blood as a baby, so he’s monster adjacent. This is not something he did wrong, but was done to him. He also failed to kill Azazrl, but he did so because he couldn’t kill his own dad who was possessed at the time (especially with Dean begging him not to). No major failures or screw-ups here.

Season 2: Sam is possessed by a demon, who kills and attacks people while wearing his body. Sam didn’t chose this, but it is another thing that was done to him. Later, be gets killed (if you can call that screwing something up) because he showed compassion to another “Soecisl Child.” His reward for his goodness was being stabbed in the back. He didn’t screw anything up on a grad scale this season, but was too good.

Season 3: Sam fails to save Dean from his Demon Deal. Again, Sam didn’t make this deal, so Dean dying was his own fault (as sad and awful as it is). Sam could have saved Dean (we know this from Season. 4’s arc), but Dean would not let him work with Ruby to do so. Again, Dean died because of Dean, not Sam. Though, I will never forgive the show for not letting Sam save him here, it still isn’t a Sam scew-up.

Season 4: Ah, here is the major time that Sam did in fact screw up. Drinking the demon blood and trusting Ruby were no bueno (though she did do the work to make herself look trustworthy and Sam was mad with grief, he still fuckrd up). Then, his “greatest” mistake: he killed Lilith, freeing Lucifer from the cage and starting the apocalypse. This was a major screw up too, but he also didn’t know what was going to happen, and if he didn’t do it, Dean was planning to do the same, so I don’t think he deserved actual blame for killing a demon (without knowing the consequences), when everyone from angels to demons was suggesting she needed to die. My tally: 1.5 Sam screw-ups.

Season 5: All Sam does this whole Season is be honest, atone, redeem himself, and Save the world (with Dean’s help). Sam is perfect in Season 5. Fight me.

Season 6: Sam does a lot of bad shit: kills a lot of people, tries to dad-icide Bobby, brings the Campbells on screen by hunting with them (snd they suck), and hurts Dean pretty repeatedly. Except Sam, the real Sam, didn’t do any of these things by choice. “He lost his soul” which Dean even blmaes him for in Season 8, but that’s giving Sam too much agency in this problem. He didn’t “lose” his soul like he “lost his shoe.” No. His soul was left behind, deliberately or not, by Castiel (lead screw-up himself) to be tortured by Lucifer in the cage. Sam’s actions in Season 6 were not “just another Sam screw-up” because he didn’t actually do anything wrong because the Real Sam wasn’t even steering the ship. So, smy Soulless Sam mistakes in Season 6 are Castiel’s Fault.

Season 7: Sam goes insane. Even though some of the characters seems to blame Sam for this (or at least resent him for it), as though MHI are something for which we should blame the affected person, Sam is not to blame here. Having a bout of insanity after being tortured in hell for 150+ years is not a screw-up. It’s not an oopsie. It’s both reasonable and not Sam’s fault. It is in fact Castiel’s fault (again) for breaking Sam’ hell wall. So, much like last season, in Season 7, Sam even more so did nothing wrong. I really will fight you on that one.

Season 8: And here’s the crux of what Castiel was probably actually more directly referring to. Sam didn’t save Dean from Purgatory. He committed the cardinal sin of codependent brother husbands (I don’t ship, but I do call them this to amuse myself). He didn’t save Dean from Purgatory: he didn’t sell his soul; lose himself in grief, pursuit of revenge, or self-destruction (like in Mysety Spot or Season 4); or try to kill himself to make a deal to get this brother back. What a monster! Never mind that he didn’t know that Dean was in Purgatory at all, or that he thought he was doing what Dean would have wanted in case of his death, and try to live (like he told Dean to do when he sacrifices himself in Sean Sing).

If we need to count this as one of Sam’s big screw-ups (as opposed to weak and/or out of character writing), we are now at two major mistakes (or 2.5). Sam had “consistently” actively screwed things up on a large-Castiel-like scale twice in 9 seasons. The other screw-ups were because he was too good of a person or because someone else has done something to him that has lead to terrible consequences.

Actually, I guess we have to count Sam not closing the gates of hell, as if that would have worked out in our favour on this never ending tragedy of a show even if he’d done it. Still, I guess he didn’t “succeed” in dying on an errand thst probably would have backfired on the world anyway. But, in this case he actually would have succeeded (and did in the first 3 trials) if Dean hadn’t stopped him. Dean begged him not to complete the last trial so he wouldn't kill himsrlf, so if this is one of Sam’s screw-ups, it’s Dean’s too. And I’m not even inclined to count it as one because, as I said, it probably wouldn’t have had the resulted in anything good if the gates were closed. But, if I must add it, Sam’s tally is 3.5 large mistakes in 9 + years.

Castiel, you’re kind of an asshole.

(Before anyone comes at me, if you bother to read this far, I know Sam (and Dean, and everyone) makes lots of smaller mistakes, but for the purposes of my rebuttal to Castiel’s point, I’m only focused on big world-ending, or in other ways personally devastating, mistakes.)

[coughdropenjoyer]

.

[skrunksthatwunk]

found out that rascal's owner took him again while i was out, and he's probably not gonna be back since the semester's almost over. i don't even know if his owner's coming back next semester, if i'll ever see him again. if he'll ever see me again. why do they wait until im not around to do this? why do they never let me say goodbye to him?

[chikaras-garden]

IDK IF THIS FITS BUT PETAL HEAR ME OUT. EVIL TIM. I SAW ART OF HIM AS THE JOKER AND I AM UNABLE TO BE NORMAL (not that I ever was) but regardless of what Tim it is I need him to spit in my mouth an inhuman amount :/

This is fine and I’m so normal. Extremely normal.

tw dubcon, yandere if you squint? Sorry Cressie

You’re what broke him.

Well, not really, given that it was Joker—Batman’s Joker—who kidnapped Tim and made him into…

This.

Your Joker.

“Just sit still,” Tim murmurs as a cruel sort of courtesy, or maybe a fragment of who he once was is still there. After all, you’ve seen him do unspeakable things to other people, but those people aren’t you. You’re special. So special. That’s why he didn’t tie you up! That’s why you get food that looks like food instead of mystery-of-the-week!

That’s why you get this.

He leans his forehead against yours and exhales. If you close your eyes, you can pretend it’s the same Tim; miraculously, he still feels and smells the same. His heart still beats in the same rhythm. He still holds you like he knows every in and out of your body.

You want to love him still, but is he the same as he was?

“Open,” he says gently. “Do it for me, pretty girl.”

His thumb strokes your cheek just a little too hard, and you’re forced to open your mouth; he squeezes until your tongue lips out, then chuckles as you whimper and squirm.

“Shush,” he coos. “You want this. You’ll let me do anything I want to you, right?”

He makes it sound easy. Simple. He’s being so nice to you, so…safe.

You nod.

“Good girl,” he says before he kisses the tip of your nose. When he pulls away, a chuckle bubbles in his throat, then slips out as if he can’t control it. “Such a good girl. Hold still a little longer. Close your eyes.”

You obey, and then you feel it: a hot mess on your tongue that sends a violent shiver down your spine, all while Tim—your (ex?) boyfriend, your Joker—fills the room with his laughter.

[grandmother-goblin]

Savory and Sweet

Ao3 - Masterlist

Summary: After Astarion finally confesses to his attempted manipulations and his real feelings for Orakith, he realizes that she didn't respond as well as he had initially thought. And Astarion was not about to let their first night in a real relationship end on a sour note.

Relationships: Astarion x Female!Tav

Rating: Mature (for non-explicit sexual content)

Word Count: 4.1k

Tags: Fluff, humor, non-explicit sexual content, comfort, Gale makes a minor appearance.

The weight on Astarion’s conscious had finally lifted after he came clean to Orakith about, well, nearly everything. About how he had lied to her, about how he manipulated her feelings, how he tried to make her fall for him without falling for her, and how that spectacularly backfired.

If he was being completely honest, he had no idea how Orakith would respond to his confession. She was the sweet sort — innocent and a bit naive. She was the type to help people, cry over a sleeping fawn or baby bunny, and make flower crowns when they stopped for a rest.

She was also a sorceress whose favored spells involved fire and poison, so she wasn’t the kind of person Astarion wanted to needlessly upset. Though he didn’t think she would ever direct that sort of magical wrath toward him, experience told him to remain cautious.

Pissing off magic users was rarely a good idea. Especially ones who didn’t have the best control over said magic.

Oraktih had listened to his explanation as his slow, undead heart pounded like the living. Her eyes were wide but her expression was nearly unreadable — then again, Astarion always had a little trouble reading her. When he had said all that he needed to, she pulled him into an embrace that was so perfect and warm that he never wanted her to let go.

“I care about you, Astarion,” she had said as she buried her face in his shoulder. “You mean the world to me and I’m so happy to have you as part of my life.”

There had been something slightly off about her voice. It was sincere, Astarion had no doubts about that. But it had a certain edge to it that Orakith only got when something went disastrously wrong, or she was trying to stay positive and keep up morale as the world burned around them.

She sounded happy.

Too happy.

When she stepped out of the embrace, she gave him a watery smile as she linked her little finger around his. “Thank you for telling me.”

It seemed everything went as well as it could have gone: Orakith didn’t get angry with him, she didn’t end their relationship, she didn’t even accidentally light him on fire in a surge of magic.

In fact, she gave him the sweetest, lingering kiss on his cheek before bidding him goodnight.

So when he heard soft sniffles and shaky sobs coming from her tent nearly an hour later, that weight that had been lifted off his consciousness dropped directly onto his heart.

Shit.

He knew the sounds of someone trying to hide that they were crying all too well. The common courtesy under Cazador’s roof was simply to ignore whoever was upset. The spawn seldom had a moment of privacy, and they all broke down in tears at one point or another, and it was just easier to pretend it never happened because nothing could be done to make things better. Ignoring it was so deeply ingrained within him, Astarion nearly walked right past her tent simply out of habit.

If he had to take a wild guess, he could only assume Orakith’s tears had something to do with their conversation.

Astarion knelt beside the entrance of her tent, noting how golden tendrils of translucent magic tied the opening shut. “Orakith?” Astarion whispered tentatively. “Are you alright, my love?”

“I’m good.” Somehow, she managed to inject that falsely positive tone even through a stuffy nose.

She most certainly was not okay, considering how she decided to use her magic to effectively lock herself in her tent. “I can’t help but feel that, given our earlier conversation, you might be a bit upset with me.”

“I’m not upset with you,” she replied far too quickly.

“Darling.” Astarion tsked and shifted a little closer — close enough he could see her back turned toward him through the little slit in the entrance. “If you’re upset with me, I would really like to sort this out with you. Preferably sooner rather than later. Gods knows our friends are like vultures when it comes to any sort of… interpersonal issues.”

“Really, I’m okay.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re obviously not, so may I please come in?”

“I just need some sleep.”

“Orakith.”

Trees creaked and swayed in the midnight breeze. A lone sniffle penetrated the sounds of rushing water from the nearby river, but otherwise, she didn’t respond.

Astarion sighed and ran his hand through his hair. Part of him wanted to just crawl into her tent anyways, but he couldn’t with that magic keeping the tent sealed. It likely wouldn’t harm him, but he felt trying to dispel it and breaking into her tent was a bit too much even for him.

If she had wanted him to leave her alone, he trusted her to tell him — she had no problem doing so in the past. As much as hearing her cry tugged at his heartstrings, he would respect her decision. But she hadn’t asked him to leave, so he assumed that she just didn’t want to let him see her upset.

Which was a little ridiculous, when he thought about it. He had seen her cry before. Plenty of times, in fact. But most of those tears were the joyful sort — like when Scratch first showed up at their camp, or when Wyll made a joke at just the right moment, or when she found a trader who happened to sell her favorite cheese despite it being hard to come by.

An idea struck him and Astarion pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll be right back,” he said, and didn’t wait for a response as he made a beeline toward Gale’s tent.

Orakith had bought that trader’s entire supply of that particular cheese. Since it was more perishable than some of their other rations, Gale had offered her the use of a magic bag that he claimed would preserve the food for longer. Astarion hadn’t seen Orakith ask for the cheese since, so he assumed Gale still had it (provided that he didn’t eat it himself).

Softening his steps, Astarion crouched as he approached Gale’s tent. If he remembered correctly, Gale always kept his bags near the entrance of the tent, so all Astarion had to do was keep quiet as he —

“What are you doing?” Gale asked, a floating light above his book brightening with the question, casting an accusatory spotlight right on Astation’s face.

Damn. He was so caught up in trying to cheer up Orakith, he was only focused on getting the cheese from Gale’s pack without waking him up and never considered that Gale might not be asleep in the first place.

Astarion blinked at him.

Closing his book, Gale raised his brows in response like a teacher awaiting an explanation from a student as to why their homework was late.

“I missed you.”

Gale kicked at where Astarion’s knee pinned down the corner of his bedroll. “The real reason, Astarion.”

When the first couple of excuses that crossed his mind were somehow more ridiculous than the truth, Astarion sighed. “Orakith and I had a talk tonight and she’s a bit upset. Everything is fine, I think. I just wanted to bring her something to cheer her up and I know her favorite cheese is in your bag.”

Something about Gale’s expression softened. “Aww,” he said as an indulgent smile spread across his lips. “You really fancy her, don’t you?”

Astarion ran his hand through his hair impatiently. “Yes. Now give me the cheese. Please.”

A quiet chuckle shook Gale’s shoulders as he tugged the bag toward him, quickly finding a wedge of cheese that was wrapped in wax paper and about the size of his palm. “Here.”

“Just like that?” He carefully took the offering, half-expecting Gale to zap him the moment the wrapper touched his fingertips.

“Just like that,” Gale replied. “Besides, it’s not like it’s mine. Though, I would strongly suggest that you just ask me next time, hmm? But who am I to judge? Love can make fools of us all, and a bit of cheese is hardly the most foolish thing someone has tried to steal in the name of it. Believe me, I would know.”

Love. He wasn’t sure he would call it love, per say. His feelings toward Orakith certainly weren’t ones that he was familiar with, but it felt far too soon to call it ‘love.’

Hells, just a few hours ago he acknowledged out loud that his feelings were real. Love was far too much, but the thought of it didn’t fill him with disgust, envy, or apprehension.

It filled him with something like hope, and that was terrifying all on its own.

Astarion gave Gale a curt nod. “Thank you,” he said and he backed out of the tent as Gale bid him goodnight.

Well, that didn’t go as planned, but it certainly could have gone much worse.

Pushing that slightly awkward moment with Gale to the back of his mind, Astarion returned to Orakith’s tent. He knelt by the entrance and listened for a moment. There wasn’t any sniffling or crying, which was a good sign. Maybe? Or perhaps she had just fallen asleep during his brief absence. He tapped on the side of the tent, quietly rustling the fabric and said, “I’m back, darling.”

No answer.

So either she was ignoring him, or she had actually fallen asleep. If she was asleep, he certainly wasn’t above waking her up. After everything they talked about that night, he was not going to let her cry herself to sleep.

Not without at least trying to make things right.

“I, uhh.” Astarion glanced down at the wedge of cheese in his hand and furrowed his brow. “I brought you some cheese.”

There was a small snort of laughter from inside the tent. “You brought cheese?”

It wasn’t exactly the most traditional way to bribe someone, but it was the first thing that came to mind. It wasn’t exactly the most romantic gift either…

Perhaps he should have hunted down some flowers instead.

“Yes, and I had to talk to Gale to get it,” he replied, as if talking to the wizard was some torturous ordeal despite how he actually quite enjoyed Gale’s presence. Most of the time. “Now, may I please come in? I’d much prefer your company to his.”

“I’m not going to be the greatest company right now.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

He kept his tone light despite how his worries began to weigh him down. What if she changed her mind about him after she had had a bit more time to think? What if she couldn’t forgive him? What if her feelings for him couldn’t outweigh the pain he had caused her.

The entrance of the tent shimmered, and the anxiety balled up in his chest loosened as the magic keeping the opening sealed faded away. Not wasting another moment, Astarion crawled into the tent.

Inside, the only light came from a tiny dancing lights spell, each orb no bigger than a firefly. A faint amber glow and the moving shadows over soft furs and richly colored blankets gave the space a cozy yet magical feel to it. Crumpled up in the corner were the robes Orakith had been wearing earlier that evening.

Astarion frowned.

As long as he had known Orakith, she had some deeply ingrained habit to fold clothes. Or any sort of fabric. It came from years of working as a washerwoman, she had said. She found it soothing. He couldn’t even remember a time when Orakith hadn’t folded her clothes.

Or his clothes, for the matter.

Hells, even the first time they had had sex she ridiculously folded her clothes before she let him ravish her. It was probably the first time in decades that he had genuinely laughed with someone he was going to sleep with.

“Don’t judge me,” she said with poorly concealed mirth as his hand slipped around her waist from behind. “I don’t want my stuff to get wrinkled. I’ll get yours next.”

Astarion slowly kissed her neck, her pulse racing beneath his lips. His fingertips traced the firm contours of her abdomen. “A bit of rumpled clothing is all part of the fun.”

“Until you lose a sock.”

A laugh that was more like a smile passed his lips as Orakith carefully tossed her folded trousers atop her other clothes. His hand ventured lower, teasingly close to the heat between her legs without actually touching her there. “What’s a lost sock compared to getting lost in one another?”

“Cold toes, for one,” she said, seemingly unfazed by his wandering hands. “Where did you put your shirt? I’m folding it before — ”

She squeaked when he pulled her down on top of him, and then rolled her onto her back in the grass. Astarion pinned her hands above her head. “You really want to spend your time doing that when you could do something so much more — ” he delicately nipped at the corner of her jaw — “pleasurable.”

If she wanted to, she could easily escape his hold on her. Instead she laced her fingers through his, her eyes playful and bright beneath the light of the moon. “I think you’ll find it very pleasurable when you don’t have to wear a wrinkled shirt tomorrow morning.”

“Shh.” Astarion kissed down the column of her throat to her collarbone as she drew in a shaky breath. “Why don’t we just enjoy each other, hmm?”

She swallowed and nodded. “I’ll get them later.”

Astarion began to fold her clothes as the memory faded away. It wasn’t much, but it was a little something he could do for her. Or at the very least, it was one less thing she had to do for herself.

She kept her back turned toward him, still curled up in a fetal position, as he tucked the neatly folded garments in the corner of the tent. Not knowing the best place to put the cheese, he just set it on top of the pile since he didn’t expect it would stay there for very long.

“You didn’t have to do that for me,” she said stuffily.

“It was no trouble at all, my love.” Astarion crawled onto the empty space beside her on her bedroll, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off of her body.

As much as he wanted to lay down beside her and pull her against his chest, he remained sitting. Orakith normally liked being held, and he realized that he quite liked holding her in turn, but it didn’t feel like the right time for that. Instead, he placed a (hopefully) comforting hand on her bare shoulder and just watched her for a moment.

Soft golden light from her spell highlighted the ruby red and deep orange veins of color that blazed through her soft jade scales like flames through a prairie. Her iridescent sheen almost made it seem like her scales were always changing colors — so much so that many people couldn’t tell she was a green dragonborn at first glance. Most assumed that she was bronze or gold or copper due to the pigment granted by her draconic ancestry.

Yet when Astarion first saw her, he just thought she looked like a giant gecko.

Now whenever he looked at her his heart ached with a kind of affection he had one believed he could never feel again.

Prior to meeting Orakith, he had never given dragonborn much thought. There were only a handful of them in the city, and Cazador forbade his spawn from hunting them simply because dragonborn were so rare and people tended to keep close tabs on them. Or, at least, that was the reason Cazador gave — he probably just didn’t want to bite through a hide of scales.

For all the times he hadn’t paid attention to dragonborn before, he was certainly making it up now.

Astarion opened his mouth to say something, but found himself at a loss for words. Comforting someone who was upset, especially someone he cared about, was completely foreign territory. What in the Hells was he supposed to say? ‘There, there, I know you’re upset about me lying to you and manipulating you, but can you please stop crying because you’re making me feel even guiltier than I did before?’

Because that would go over so well.

Orakith’s arm shifted beneath his hand as she wiped at her face with the heel of her palm. “I’m sorry,” she said with a weak laugh, as if part of her was still trying to convince him that she was perfectly fine. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“I can hardly see you at all, my love.” In an attempt to get her to look at him, Astarion gently tugged at her shoulder. “Roll this way so I don’t have to have a conversation with the back of your skull.”

She shook her head. “My face is a mess.”

“I have a handkerchief. Now roll over.”

With a huff, and thankfully very little fight, she flopped onto her back. Draping her arm over her eyes, she gave out an exasperated and pathetic whine. “I feel like a big baby.”

“You are a big baby,” Astarion said as he retrieved the handkerchief Orakith had embroidered with his name and delicate purple asters and morning glories from his pocket, “but not for being upset about — well, what I think you’re upset about.”

The corner of her lips twitched into a smile but it quickly faded away. “I shouldn’t be upset at all. You just told me something huge and here I am, making it all about me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Astarion brought the handkerchief to her dampened cheek and gently nudged her arm aside as he dried her face. “This is about you too. And if you’re upset then I would be a piss-poor boyfriend if I just let you cry it out.”

The smile returned to her face, bigger than before, but this time it didn’t immediately fade away. Oraktih never showed her teeth when she smiled, even going so far as to cover her mouth when she laughed. She said she didn’t want to frighten people. But Astarion’s stomach did a funny little flip when he caught a glimpse of white in her smile.

As far as he knew, he was the only person she let herself smile in front of without hiding it. It was a little thing, but it felt special. It made him feel special.

Bright, wet, orange eyes, glowing like a warm hearth, looked up at him as he traced her sharp cheekbone with the handkerchief. “Boyfriend?”

“Partner, lover, your little love leech — pick your poison, darling,” he said as he blotted at her face more playfully.

A giggle bubbled from her throat, and the sound was enough to make him smile in turn. Even if she was a little upset with him, at least he could still make her laugh. And she didn’t feel the need to hide it either.

That had to count for something

As her laughter subsided, Astarion tucked the slightly damp handkerchief back in his pocket. He lifted her hand and pressed a lingering kiss to her knuckles, gazing into the fire of her eyes as he did.

“I mean it,” he said as they both sobered, the mood considerably lighter than it had been just a minute ago. “I want what we have to be something real.”

Orakith sighed and watched the little dancing lights twinkling above them. “I do too,” she replied. “I mean, it was always real to me. But looking back on our early relationship now, I should have known that you weren’t always serious. I feel like a bit of a fool. And embarrassed. After all, the only time men, especially men as handsome as you, paid me any mind was when they wanted a discount on laundry services.”

Her tone was lighthearted and playful, but he could hear the hurt buried beneath.

“I never thought I stood a chance with you,” she went on as she picked at something nonexistent on one of her claws, “but when you asked me to spend the night with you at the party… and you actually met up with me…. Gods, I was afraid I was dreaming. No one had ever wanted me like that before, and I liked you so much that I was afraid I was going to mess everything up.”

Her eyes flickered back to his. “You were my first everything. My first kiss. My first time…. I was so nervous I think I started folding clothes,” she added with a laugh.

“Hold on,” he said as he raised his brows, his heart sinking in his chest. “You never told me that I was your first.”

As if he needed to feel like even more of a jackass, he had to add taking her virginity while he was manipulating her to his list of crimes.

Gods, how had he not noticed? Perhaps it was because she docilely let him take the lead that night. If he had noticed any nervousness on her part, he must have passed it off as the typical bit of uncertainty that came with sleeping with someone new. Not that the entire experience was new to her.

Orakith gave a little shrug. “Some of the washerwomen said that being so inexperienced at my age might scare some men off,” she said as if being in her mid twenties made her some sort of spinster. “They’d think I was saving myself, or that maybe something was wrong with me. Baldur’s Gate is a human city and…. Well, more people look at dragonborn as more of a curiosity than a romantic prospect.”

Astarion laced his fingers with hers. “Almost feel sorry for the poor fools that missed out on knowing how incredible you are. Almost.”

She gazed up at him and gave his hand a little squeeze. “You really mean that?”

“Do you really think I would go through all this effort if I didn’t?” he said and gestured toward where the cheese sat on top of her clothes. “I’ve never met anyone who cares the way you do, and I was an idiot for not seeing that sooner.”

A fresh tear rolled down her face, and for a brief moment, Astarion thought he had said the wrong thing before a little smile pulled at her lips. Her eyes crinkled with such genuine affection that it made his heart ache.

Astarion wiped away the tear with his thumb. Then he laid down beside her, propping his head up with his hand, and tsked. “You really are a mess tonight, aren’t you?”

“I warned you,” Orakith replied and shifted downward so she could nuzzle her face against his chest. “I would have been fine by the morning. I just needed some time to process.”

He slipped his hand behind the delicate that framed her face and she gave a little sigh of contentment. “For what it’s worth, my oh-so-brilliant plan backfired long before we first spent the night together.”

The tip of her tail draped over his calves as she slung her arms around his torso, hugging him closer. “That does make me feel a little better. So does you being here.”

“I also brought you cheese,” he recalled and trapped her tail between his legs.

She giggled. “That also helped.”

The floating lights above them dimmed as a comfortable silence fell between them. Astarion idly traced the scales on her back as a sense of calm gently washed over him. The doubt that had been lingering in his mind faded away with each passing second.

“Stay with me tonight?” she asked quietly, her voice muffled against his shirt. “We don’t have to do anything, I just like waking up next to you.”

Though it was new to him, Astarion liked waking up next to her as well. It was a pleasant surprise to go to bed with someone and have them still be there in the morning. He wasn’t sure how many more nights he would get with her like this, and he wasn’t about to waste a single one.

Even so, he sighed as if she had asked him to complete some insurmountable task. He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead. “I can do that.”

---

Author's Note: Thank you for reading! Comments are always appreciated!

[aritsukemo]

HELLOOOOOO IT’S MEEEEEEEE

GENSHIN REQ FOR KAZUHA WITH A READER WHO’S SICK & THEY’RE CHILDHOOD BESTIES <33

THANKUTHANKUTHANKU IF U DO THIS I JS FNSKDNNDKSKSNDKSKSKDKSKX

LOVE UR WORKS BTW <333333‼️🥰💕💞

Sickly Hallucinations | Kaedehara Kazuha

Kazuha Kaedehara x Sick reader ( @nursedflowers / @kazusys )

Summary: After being bedridden for days, it seems that you have started to hallucinate the worse thing possible; your dead best friend.

Warnings: Reader is sick, and because of that, snot is mentioned in a sorta detailed way. Abstract descriptions ahead ( I don't know why I describe the simplest things the way I did.. ) Reader is also avid on believing they're hallucinating seeing and hearing Kazuha. ( Spoiler Alert, they're not ) A lot of crying and reader breakdown more than once, but there's a happy ending I swear! With all that said, you have been warned! <3

A/N: HERE IT IS NURSED, AFTER WAY TOO LONG OF MAKING YOU WAIT!! 😖 I'm sorry if this is not up to par. I had an idea going into this but completely lost it by the end so I'm sorry if it doesn't make sense or the ending seems suddenly or anything! I truly didn't mean for it to end up that way!

"This is so stupid!" A frustrated cry sounded throughout the bare room, bouncing off the walls—the metal swords on the wall in particular—and resonating throughout the ear canal's of a certain platinum blonde who was, partially, the reason for such anger.

"You almost had me there at the end. You truly are skilled with the blade, Y/n," He complimented politely. If anyone else was in the situation with the future leader of the prestigious Kaedehara Clan helping them up and blowing sweet words in their ear, they'd probably swoon, even with the rumors of their deteriorating fortune making one believe that his flowery words were for mere show. Even if it was true, none of that mattered to you. In fact, in the face of such petal-soft kindness, your blood boil over like a raging inferno.

But despite that, all you could muster to do to that soft face dressed in a gentle smile was a gruff at it and mumble, "Shush," to which your kind friend spared you the courtesy of giggling in your face and instead silently complied to your wish...only to immediately go against that wish seconds later.

"I mean it, truly. If it were a situation where you and I were fighting for real as enemies, for example, and stood forth one another wielding our blades for the sake of our own ideals, you surely would've bested me."

You found yourself frowning at his statement. Enemies? The thought immediately stained it's ink on your heart and made it clench from the poison. If something so obscene were to occur in some hell-filled alternate reality, you doubt you'd be able to lift your sword in his direction or even stare him in the eyes with hues darkened by hate. Not Kazuha. Not your dear friend who seemed to be the only one willing to befriend someone such as yourself—who's family was feared all across Inazuma due to built up rumors and fabrications people have thought up over the millennia.

..But you couldn't say that to him. Especially not after a defeat so embarrassing that your parents surely would turn their noses away from disappointment at your meek swordsmanship.

And so, you decided to play nonchalance and roll your eyes, mumbling out an uncaring, "Whatever.. As if that'd seriously happen."

"And what if it did?" He egged on as innocently as a little kid asking their parents how they were created. You found your mouth moving before your mind could process and filter your words, causing this aggressive affirmation to leave your throat.

"It wouldn't. I'd never let that happen."

"You can't control fate, Y/n. If me and you parted to walk different paths—" And you cut him off—something you've never once done to him before.

"It wouldn't happen! I'd strike down the Shogun myself before I'd even think of raising my sword to you for anything other than a friendly display of our swordwork!" And you pause, your face growing wide at the surprise of your own words. Kazuha's face seems to mirror yours, albeit he still managed to keep his expression civil and appropriate even when it started turning into a cherry blossom tree.

"..I feel the same way," He confesses sheepishly before his smile returns and he brings his finger to his lips and spoke in a lowered tone, "But, lets keep that amongst ourselves. 'Wouldn't want our parents carrying our words away, now would we?"

And to spare the little dignity you had remaining, you turn your face away—which was burning to the point of tingling—and nod your head.

"Ye- Yeah..whatever."

A gruff, nasally hack resonates from the depth of your chest, shooting itself up your congested throat and forcing itself outwards which caused a bit of that congestion to splatter into the tissue you had curled into your hands. As you came up for air, you glanced down only to immediately revert your gaze away from the snotty liquid—which was definitely not the color it was suppose to be—that had now coated the once clean tissue out of fear of throwing up the little bit of lunch the Traveler insisted you eat.

It had happened yet again. This counts the..what? Seventh, maybe ninth time you've daydreamed about the dead since you fell bedridden? It raises the question of why? Why is it that you're thinking about him now of all times? Why were these memories only now flooding your mind years after his death? Deep down, you knew the answers but chose—no, refused to acknowledge them. You've done that a lot since the day you found out he died. Maybe that's why this is happening at a random time such as this. Maybe it's simply because your mind and body has been weakened by this devilish illness.

Whatever it was, you hated it, and even more so you utterly despised your mind for bring him up after so many years just to make you suffer even more than you already are. You despised it for making you remember his face in such vivid detail. His laugh, his smile, his gorgeous rubies for eyes—all of it.

But, unfortunately, hating something doesn't make it go away. No matter how upset you get, your mind still makes it's way back to the cool touch of his hand caressing yours as he'd direct you on hard-to-master sword maneuvers. It went back to the peaceful warmth his hugs would bless you with whenever you snuck into his room during one of your sleepovers to cuddle after a nightmare you had.

It was all so stupid, you thought. More so now that it seems that your daydreams have turned into full blown hallucinations.

"You look worse for wear, my dear friend," His soothing voice, deepened from maturity, echoed in your ears. You closed your eyes and laid back down. If you didn't amuse it, the illusion would surely grow bored and go away.

Even with the plan in mind, it was difficult to follow through with your words. Upon hearing the familiar tune of his warm chuckle, you find yourself biting your lip. Even after so many years, it still sounds the same. It still holds that sense of tranquility that has brought you peace many times in your childhood.

..But you suppose the reason as to why makes sense. After all, many hallucinations are stemmed from the hallucinator's memories. Of course it'd sound the same as you'd remember it'd be.

"I'm sorry, did that upset you? Please believe me when I say I had no ill will behind my comment, dear. You still look as radiant as you did when we were kids."

Your lip is starting to bleed from how hard your digging your teeth into the supple skin. It stings, but the pain doesn't stop you from doing it. You can't stop. You need to distract yourself and not think about anything pertaining to him. That's the only way this delusion will—

You suck in a breath. One sharp, airy, and shaky and caused by the startling feeling of snowflakes falling upon your exposed skin. Though you pretended to not notice it, you found yourself shocked by the feeling of his fingertips freezing your once burning skin over just as it did when you were younger.

..But how was it possible? Hallucinations shouldn't feel so real, right?

"Y/n, can you look at me? I wish to cherish the sight of your face after being stripped of it for so long," The request came as a tender plea and you found your body conflicted upon hearing it. Part of you wanted so desperately to indulge in your delusions—to let it sweep you away and never bring you back—and yet the more reasonable part of you was screaming at you to do everything and anything but but listen. Your mind was at a bloody, cold war with itself and it thrashed your body every which way until it reacted by setting everything ablaze.

The heat shot up your body and in a desperate attempt to quell the uncomfortable feeling, you curled into yourself—curled away from the cooling touch—until your knees hit your chest. Your effort was quickly proven to be futile as the flames continued it's assault on your organs—your skin—where it went about scorching away every last drop of air in your lungs before finally reaching your face. It heated the already warm blood in your veins, causing them to singe your poor flesh. It soon became an unbearable wildfire that your mind couldn't put out no matter how much it drowned the flames in watered down thoughts—not cooling no matter how many tears were shed.

"Don't cry.." You felt it again. Against your will, you felt those snowy fingertips cool the firestorm that was running wild under your skin for just a moment as they wiped at your now wet face. Even worse when it's accompanied by warm words in your ear that told you, "You don't have to cry. Not anymore. I'm here.."

And in a moment of vulnerability, you unconsciously indulged in your delusions and began to scream, "No you're not!"

You suck in a sharp breath—and thick snot in the process—as you shakily repeat in a quieter tone, "No you're not.. You're dead. ..Kazuha is dead!"

"Kazuha is..what?"

Your dumbstruck utterance echoed through the ears of everyone at the table—that of which included your father, who's face only further sullened upon hearing it.

"Kazuha is..dead," He repeated, although it sounded as if he was forcing himself to. As if he couldn't believe the words coming out of his own mouth.

"He was trailed all throughout the city by samurai after his confrontation with the shogunate. When they finally cornered him, he drew his blade. I heard the battle was a hard one fought..but he..—"

"You're lying," You muttered.

"I'm not," Your father retorts before pausing and sucking in a breath, "Look, Y/n. I know that this is hard for you to accept deeming how close you two were, but—"

"You're lying," You repeat, this time much louder. As if your words had been turned up by a speaker, "..You're lying," You repeat. Shaking your head roughly to the point where your hair slips from behind your ears and falls messily down and around your face as a result. It was a silly thought, but it was as if your hair were trying to spare your pride, your dignity, by shielding your face from the onlookers that so happy to be your close family.

"Y/n, please.." Your mother stands to her feet, perfectly poised even at times like this, as she strides across the room and up to you. The haori and tail end of her kimono flows elegantly in her wake, making her look like some goddess walking along the sun—not that you cared to bear witness to any of that.

Her soft, smooth fingers—never once laid hands to a sword—slide along one shoulder to the edge of the other where she then pulls you close to her chest. She was even kind enough to rub circles into your back for a moment before whispering, "Don't do this.. Not here."

Her words were paper thin which quickly tore soon after she began speaking, proof that she was desperately trying to keep her own emotions in check herself..

But her shaky composure didn't register to you nor did her sincere words or genuine sadness. Your ear took in what she had said and your brain tore it apart and gave it an entirely new tone and overall meaning. One that was rather insincere in the face of your obviously grieving state. One that made it seem as if she didn't care for the news. Or rather, she cared more about saving face than anything else and that angered—no, infuriated you. Like a furnace with too much wood inside of it, a fire roared inside you and soon made your body unbearable hot.

Before you knew what you were doing, you had pushed your mother away with all your strength.

"Shut up! You don't get to tell me how to act in a time like this!" Your father and uncle immediately shot up. Racing over from where they once sat to your mother on the ground and helping her up like the damsel she was. Your father then turned to you, his eyes filling with his own fiery fury.

"Y/n! Control yourself! How you're acting right now is unfit of our name!" He commanded, and his words hit you like a ton of bricks to the face.

You just couldn't wrap your head around any of it. How your family stared on at you in shock as if you had just committed some heinous crime. How none of them had so much as a frown or a tear rolling down their cheek. How they're fussing at you as if your entire world didn't just fall apart over a few simple words.

You couldn't grasp how they managed to stay so composed when the world was beginning to turn grey before your eyes. You didn't understand it and that's what overwhelmed you more than anything else. It was all too much to handle. You felt like you had just been letting go to be swept away by a sea of flames. You couldn't decide whether you wanted to scream or sob. You couldn't decide on anything in that moment, in fact.

And so, you acted on the first thing your body could muster to accomplish and that was to run. Shooting up from your seat, you turned and bolted out of the room, ignoring your father screaming for you to come back..

Silence seeps into the room once again, chasing after the ghost of your echo until it took over the entire room once again. You waited, listening as best you can with your own thundering snivels drowning your ears like a river that was once blocked by a dam...but you heard nothing. You found yourself letting out a shaking sigh of relief as you realize that it was finally over. It seemed that the hallucination was finally gone.

Or so you thought.

"..Is that what you've been believing all this time?" That sigh of relief is immediately sucked back in through your stuffed nose. Along with the warm breaths against your ear, his icy touch returns, and this time, it had been lowered down to your waist.

You feel icicles dig into your flesh just hard enough that you're unable to remove them—which you suppose that, to the typical person, his grip would be near bone-crushing.

But again, it makes sense. It makes sense that he knows that you've gotten stronger over the years. It makes sense how he knows exactly how tightly to grab you without going to far and causing his touch to hurt. It makes sense because he isn't actually here. This is all in your head. Just your imagination..

It's just your imagination. It's just your imagination. It's just your imagination. It's just—

"I was trying to avoid this, but since I now know what taints your thoughts and prevents you from welcoming me into your arms with stride, I have no other choice.. Please, forgive my roughness this once."

Another gasp leaves you—a painful one that sliced through the depths of your achy, red, irritated throat in order to get out—as you're suddenly flipped on your back and pinned before you can fight back. Not knowing what else to do, your nails come up to desperately dig into the icebergs that envelope and cool your fiery cheeks.

"Y/n," He sings your name just as he did when you two were kids. It only makes the fire grow inside you, and ultimately, cause the dam inside you to burn over and allow water to seep through the gap made all over again.

The flurry of sadness is overwhelming, almost as overwhelming as how you felt when you first heard the news of his sudden and untimely death. That said, you were completely overwhelmed and found yourself begging, pleading with your hallucination, saying, "Stop.. Please go away.. He's gone. I've accepted that a long, long time ago so please—!"

"Y/n," Despite feeling as though you were falling, spinning, tumbling in the air, his voice easily made your landing feel soft and relieving, like pushing out a much needed breath you didn't know you were holding in, "Open your eyes and all will be made clear. You'll be at peace that way."

"No! I'm not going to! You can't make me!"

You refuse to let your mind trick you. You're not letting all that effort—all that work you put into building that dam over and over again—be for nothing!

You aren't opening your eyes. You can't..because if you do and he's not there, this fire inside you will turn into something untamable and the dam will crumble and never be able to be built again. Your mind would be a complete disaster that you wouldn't be able to reconstruct for at least a century or two.

After a while, you hear him sigh but you quickly force it out through one ear. Unfortunately as soon as you do that, his voice is shoved into your other ear once again.

"So stubborn.." His voice was vibrated by the chuckle that was weaved into it. It sounded so inviting, so addictive, but—against your subconscious will—you threw it out of your head as more of his florid words soon came to replace the ones lost, "It seems you truly haven't changed..mentally anyways."

The icebergs on your skin were, at last, removed from your face, but you were given little time to relish in your relief before you felt a weight lift off your body, your bedside dip, and those icy fingers make contact with your sensitive scalp.

"Having you in my arms like this brings me back," He said softly, "I remember...it would almost always rain whenever I visited your home and despite how often it happen, you'd always be petrified of the sounds the rain produced," You feel his fingers glide through your hair, separating the strands with his fingers with ease as he continued.

"After everyone went to sleep, you would always sneak into the guest room where I resided and I'd end up holding you just like this until you fell asleep," He then chuckles, and in doing so, puffs his breath against the shell of your ear, "Your parents would always get so upset about it, but that never stopped you from doing it. Nothing ever stopped you from doing as you pleased..so why allow your own fear to do so now?"

"Shut up—!" "You were the bravest person to me when we were kids, Y/n," He confessed, cutting you off, "You were just like your swordsmanship; no matter what you were taught otherwise, your blade always followed the same technique you created for yourself. It never changed, no matter the opponent or obstacle it faced."

"Shut up!" You yelled, yet it came out more of loud croak due to how hoarse your throat was at that point. You were like a scared little kid under the covers all over again. The only difference now was that it was harder to hide, at least in this moment with the ghost of your dead friend cuddling your backside and whispering nostalgia into your ears.

"You were strong. And you still are, I can tell even after all these years apart from you," He said, "So please, show me that bravery once again. Take the last step and look at me. Please.."

You don't know what happened. You had been so hellbent on doing the opposite of what he asked for this entire time only to obey at the last moment because of a slight tremor in his tone. You had been persuaded into obedience by a slight crack in his voice. A mere whimper. You had threw caution to the wind—at the risk of your mental and physical health—simply because of a past urge to comfort your best friend in his rare moment of weakness.

Your eyes twitched before your mind could process what you were doing. Eyes once sealed tightly by your tears—which were serving as your last line of defense at this point and your last chance to rethink this, flip back over, and continue to ignore the voice in your ear until sunrise—crack open, allowing the light of your to seep into your vision of who know how long of not being able to.

And when it finally happened, when you finally opened your eyes and were able to see the light again, you were reduced to hysteric sobs. It wasn't because you had been proven right though. It was even worse, you had been proven wrong. Kazuha laid right beside you alive and in the flesh. He looked just as he did all those years ago and you just couldn't bear the sight without breaking down.

At least now you can properly relish in the feeling of his touch—in the feeling of his arms caging around you—without feeling as though you were deluding yourself.

"You..dumb idiot.." You sniffled out as his grip on you tightened, "You big..dumb moron.. You had me thinking for so long.. I grieved over you..for so, so long.. I-"

"Shh, shh.." He shushed, his lips now tickling your forehead with his cool breath and fluttery words as he mumbles into your skin, "I'm sorry, my dear. I never meant to cause you such pain. Never. If I had the choice, I would've found you a long time ago.."

He mumbled other things as well, but you honestly could care less what he had to say at this point. Not even if he professed a hidden motive to end your life. You couldn't bring yourself to care about anything, not when you've finally been able to prove that dreadful thought you pushed in the very depths of your mind wrong. Not when such a heavy weight had been lifted off your shoulders. Not when the warmth that surrounds you has finally been confirmed to be from the one you had longed to see, feel, and reminisce with for literal ages.

The only thing you were listening to, at this point, was the thoughts telling you to stay like this in his arms and let his voice serenade you for an eternity.

Dividers were made by me, pictures used are from Pinterest, post formatting is inspired by @xxsabitoxx

[skaldish]

I'm about to give you all the single most powerful piece of advice that was ever told to me:

It is important to be a principled person.

This is more important than being a good person. But don't take this to mean I think we should be bad people.

The reason why "being principled" has more weight than "being good" is because the definition of "good" is arbitrary. It changes depending on who you ask, which means the standards of achieving goodness are always going to change and pose contradictions.

Principles are different. They are more actionable and concrete. Principles are ideas and concepts you personally value, in that you find them valuable to your lived experience. This makes them different than something like a commandment, because they're not a doctrine. Their source is your personality—who you are and the experiences that have shaped you—rather than your goals and ambitions alone.

To give an example, here are a few of my own principles:

I value self-sovereignty. I think it's a person's inherent right to be free of undue influence, and to act as agents of their own free will. (Not to be confused with acting with impunity; people have the right to experience the consequences of their own actions the same way they have the right to act upon their own free will.)

I value people. I show people courtesy as a baseline, even during arguments, until it becomes clear the other person simply wishes to engage in the spirit of hostility. And even then I don't really lash out—I just leave. At no point do I lose sight of the fact that the people I'm interacting with are as real as I am, who have feelings and complex lives the same as I do. This means I also really value trying to understand where people are coming from, and to look at things from their perspective, even if I don't agree with it.

I value being accurate, as opposed to being right. This has been a more rewarding approach for me, by comparison.

I value discernment. I want to know what things are, which means differentiating them from what I think they are from what they seem to be, and from what they are not. The reason why I practice discernment is due how I think—my brain understands things based on how they are, rather than based on what they are—but the reason why I value discernment is because it allows me to interact with the world in a much deeper way.

I value being a mammal. Life becomes easier when I (to quote another Tumblr post) let the mammal that is my body love what it loves. Fighting against this in the past proved to be a pointless and joyless endeavor.

I have more, but these are just the things that come to me off the top of my head. And keep in mind, these will likely change as I change as a person, because that is how principles work.

To be honest, I've never put much thought into whether other people should have the same principles as me; people have different personalities and lived experiences than I do, so it makes sense to me that we would all prioritize different things.

But what I do know is that I fundamentally disagree with people whose principles are antithetical to my own, principles like conquest (of self or other), conformity, purity, and controlling others. Whether or not someone realizes they're embodying these principles is another story, but in any case it's how I know who to avoid engaging with. This is regardless of someone's political alignment or identity.

In my opinion, thinking this way makes it easier to stay grounded in a rapidly-changing world, and to remain focused on what's actually important to you in the face of the unknown. It allows you to find stable ground within yourself.

[klausysworld]

Love…

Love is a dangerous game.

Love is a fickle thing.

Love is unpredictable.

Love is merciless.

Love can be both feared and desired.

Love can make a woman do such awful things.

Love can drive a woman mad.

It drove me mad. It made me do awful things. It made people scared and it made people excited. It made me merciless, unpredictable and dangerous but my love was never fickle and it never will be.

Not when it came down to Niklaus Mikaelson.

______________________________________________________________

It started off way before he arrived in town.

I grew up in Mystic Falls, one of the only witches in town alongside the Bennett family. When I was little, Sheila Bennet-Grams would always offer to babysit me from my mother. When I would play there with Bonnie my emotions would always get the better of me, objects would begin to float or catch fire. Grams would always pick me up and calm me down while telling me how powerful I would become.

She never mentioned magic to Bonnie, and I promised not to either even though we were so close. However my magic was something I had always been aware of and Grams said that finding control over it would be better than pretending it didn't exist.

Once I got a little older, she began to teach me things on other supernaturals. Starting with the Lockwood heritage and the basics of werewolves and then we went deeper, to Eenadu and how/why she created the species. Then a while later it was vampires. The basics first again and then the Originals, and Esther.

That was when I first heard of him; Klaus.

Grams spoke his name with such distaste but it stirred something inside me. She only told me the bast things, put a sinister spin on everything about them. So I had to do some digging myself.

He was just so damaged.

He was so broken, but so fixable.

He was just so loveable.

I knew he needed the doppelgänger so I convinced Bonnie that we should befriend Elena.

I knew he needed a werewolf so i befriended Matt through Elena which lead to befriending Tyler.

I knew he needed a vampire too but I didn't need to worry about that. I was certain that Katerina Petrova, Katherine Pierce, would pay the town a visit and death would follow her like the plague. She would either be my vampire or make me a vampire that I could give to Klaus.

And she did, just as predicted. So when I was sure that she had done everything for me: triggered Tylers 'curse', turned Caroline and collected the moonstone, I made my move in form of a letter.

It had taken a damn long time to find him. He moves, a lot. However, I too had made contacts over the last few years with other witches across the states and was able to pinpoint him.

And reach out.

..............................................................................................................................

Dear Niklaus Mikaelson,

We have yet to meet though I am certain that when we do you will be pleased. Come to where it all began for I have an opportunity for you to seize.

..........................................................................

It was simple but still cryptic enough to grab his attention. I sent it to him with my magic and patiently waited.

And planned.

Klaus would definitely want to create more hybrids. Which meant some sort of trip as soon as the ritual was over and his wolf was free. I also knew that he and Stefan were friends in the 1920s, courtesy of Gloria who was a witch I had met and remained in contact with who was also in communication with Klaus and helped me find the man.

So I was betting that he would find a way to take Stefan with him to find his hybrids and bring the ripper out of him, which would not be difficult. I remember when he had gone a little mad for human blood earlier in the year. It wouldn't take a lot to push him back over that line.

Now was a nervous when Katherine went missing which meant klaus was in town? Yes. But I was much more excited.

I could feel myself literally buzzing when I stepped into the Salvatore manor house, I could feel the magic rolling off of Alaric! I sat between him and Damon and I could feel my skin burning. Damon kept putting his hand on my knee to stop my legs bouncing, asked if I was on drugs a couple times too but didn't suspect too much. I hadn't revealed to everyone the amount I knew. Though Elijah knew that I was much more than I let on but I kinda wanted him to know.

Of course everyone knew I was a witch but they assumed I was an amateur, Bonnie knew I was better than I made out to be but still didn't know the extents of what I was now capable of. When you've been practicing magic since you were a small child your power ages with you, I knew that I'd only grow stronger. And so far I have.

I just hoped that he couldn't feel my magic as well as I could feel his. That was a silly thought. I knew that he couldn't, I had a spell to mask it.

Time went fast, one second I was sat next to him and the next he was walking out the door and Damon was asking what was wrong with me today. I got out of it and went home to my planning board.

I wondered how long it would take for him to know that it was I who sent him the letter. I wondered how he would react. I also wondered how he would be if I sent him another.

..............................................................................................................................

Dear Niklaus Mikaelson,

I see that you have arrived though not as I may have expected, Either way I hope you appreciate the ingredients that I have collected.

..............................................................................................................................

I sent it via my magic again, I knew that it would lay waiting for him when he returned from the decade dance. It meant I was far too excited the entire time. Though I did my best to keep my mouth shut around Alaric Klaus himself.

Even when he revealed his true identity I had to bite back my smile, instead I allowed him to pin me, toss me and harm me until he though he'd won. I couldn't reveal my powers, the truth behind my innocent mask. I needed him to think I was weak but still interesting enough.

Bonnie ended up 'sacrificing' herself. To be completely honest it made me mad. Of all the people he could have hurt he had to choose her. I wouldn't have cared if it was any one else but Bonnie was the only true friend I had made, she wasn't here for me to use or bargain with. I liked her and felt my skin burn with rage.

So I made a little spell to cause Klaus an extensive amount of pain .

I got over it of course but I needed him to understand my feelings. It's the only way we could work.

I was pissed off that he hadn't used my chosen ingredients. Damon saved Tyler and Caroline and Bonnie was saving Elena.

Still, I watched his ritual anyway from a distance, my eyes lighting up as I watched his bones snap and his wolf rush to the front of his mind. Elijah's eyes locked on mine for a split second, a slight nod from us both before he took his brother to a place in the woods.

After that I had to babysit Damon while he whined and shook in pain. When his fevers got too bad I would place a cooling spell over his body and transfer some of his pain to myself. Despite not being Damons biggest fan, he was the one I got along most with out of the little group that had formed. He had a sense of humour and wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty. Damon was no liar like most of the others and I admired that. Still, I did not trust him exactly but I didn't mind his company.

Eventually Katerina arrived, she did not look eager to see me however she delivered the cure as expected and revealed what I had assumed. Klaus had taken Stefan.

Unfortunately for Klaus, since finding him the first time, I was able to play a tracking spell on his soul. If I closed my eyes and chanted the right words I was able to find exactly where he was in the moment I did so. Which meant he received more letters.

They were always short and suggestive, never revealing quite how much I knew but just hinting at it. I knew it would annoy him, he would see it as child’s play but that's what made it all so amusing when I would whisper my spells and watch his jaw clench as he attempted to tear up the paper only for it to magically bind back together in mockery of his frustration.

It was when he arrived in Chicago that Gloria had me on the phone.

"I warn you child, he's been asking me to find out who's sending the notes. I wouldn't ever tell on you dear but you know how he becomes. Don't play with fire unless you plan to get burnt" she told me, her tone worried

"Thank you Gloria but you've always known I enjoy the burn. Even if he knows, I can contain him. I've been preparing." I murmur, as my fingers trace over the sketch of the cage I plan to create for him should it ever be necessary.

"Do be careful" she whispered, "They don't call him a beast for fun"

"I know" I hum "It's going to be wonderful" I stated, my mind picturng those golden eyes of his.

Gloria had to hang up when she heard Rebekah's voice nearing but messaged me an update later that day. Unfortunately I felt as her life was taken, by Katerina of all people though I couldn't be too surprised. Her obsession with Stefan never failed to shine through.

Not that I could judge.

Plus it worked in my favour. Klaus came back home.

I got to see him and senior prank night, he even grabbed my wrist. I asked if he just wanted to hold my hand which made him smirk and made my lower stomach implode.

He did in fact hold my hand.

Sure it was while he dragged me down a corridor but he held it all the same.

Then he started killing people and turned Tyler which made me happy. At least my werewolf was useful after all.

Eventually I got back home and went to bed, with Klaus still on my mind of course.

Things got much more interesting from then onward. Klaus was in town much more and always getting in everyones business. I both enjoyed it and loathed it.

It was lovely because it meant I got to talk to him, and because I knew so much about him already I was able to keep him entertained and talkative. Especially when it came to art. I had to research so many artists so that I could engage him in conversation for long periods of time. I convinced the others that it was to distract him while they did their stupid little plans but it was really just for me.

I still sent my letters but I was confident that he didn't know it was me. Somehow I had made him believe that I was brand knew to magic and practically hopeless which he apparently found 'cute'. Whether he meant it or not it still made me blush.

After a few months I had the cage made. It was doused in magic to ensure he couldn't ever escape and I had put in a bookshelf with books I knew he would enjoy as well as a sketch pad and an array of crayons. Pencils were a little risky as they had a point but I put in some blunt charcoal. I had vervain growing beside the cage and wolvebane on my bedroom windowsill. The cage was set up in my basement.

My mother never went down there, she still thinks it's all horiible down their. She also doesn't really practise magic anymore so she's basically a human and oblivious to my supernatural involvment.

Thanks to her unawareness I was able to go about things without even being that discreet. Even if she had picked up on it, she made no effort to intervene.

So I continued to indulge in my obsession.

It was mostly harmless, though my letters progressively became love letters. It was entertaining to watch his brows rise as he read the suggestive words, often now his fingers would trace over the lipstick print I had left in the bottom right corner. Occasionally I would wear the same shade around him, just to test my limits. Sometimes I would spray the paper with my perfume before sending it too.

Soon I began sending other things too, like a rose alongside the letter or a sugary beignet that I had made myself. Sometimes they would contain propofol or something similar. This, with a high enough dosage, would knock even the original hybrid out long enough for me to go on over. I would often sit down beside him on his bed, usually my fingers would stroke through his sweet curls and I would press a kiss to his cheek. Almost always leaving the same mark as I did on those letters and taking pride in the confusion that painted his gorgeous face when he would see it in the morning and wash off my mark.

There were a couple close calls where I had assumed him to be passed out only to find him waiting in his bed, then I would have to be more forceful with putting him to sleep. Often magic was involved and I would lay with him, stroking the area I had struck him with my power to soothe the sting away.

Since then I had noticed his glances over his shoulders as he walked and the way his fingers would nervously tap against his scotch glass. I couldn't deny the pleasant feeling that buzzed through me at the knowledge that I made him nervous, borderline afraid. He even went so far as to have one of his hybrids stand guard outside of his room when he slept. So I had to climb up through his window. It was a hassle really but it got easier each time I did so.

I found myself in his room pretty much every single night. Something about how he was when he slept was so peaceful and innocent that I couldn't help but crave it. It soothed something within me.

What was even better than watching him while he slept?

Finding a painting in his art room...of me!

It was beautifully done and looked just like a photo. If i hadn't touched it to feel the layers of paint then I wouldn't have known he created it. A true, genuine smile graced my lips when I held it and I couldn't help but go through all his sketch pads to find more.

My next love letter hinted toward the art but I think that he was beginning to over think the notes at this point. They were driving him a little mad.

I considered leaving him alone for a little while but then he started getting into trouble. Too much trouble. The kind that got him hurt and stabbed by white oak. The kind that had him ready to leave Mystic Falls.

So I had to start eliminating threats toward him.

I went as far as hospitalising Elena, making it look like natural causes so that the others would have to leave Klaus alone for a while.

I befriended Rebekah, started learning things about Klaus's childhood, the little things that meant so much to him. So I went home and hand carved him a wooden wolf and left it on top my letter.

Slowly, I think he began to have suspicions. Sometimes I catch him watching me with a very calculative look in his eye though he would break into a nervous smile and look away, often walking out the room entirely. I didn't like that.

He tried to distance himself but I wouldn't let him. I thought it was clear that he was mine by now. If he had figured it out then he should be happy and relaxed knowing that it's me, not tense and worried. What did he think I would do, really?

Didn't matter. Time went on.

Thanksgiving came and went, Christmas and then New Year. I always sent and received a present. The Mikaelsons actually threw a Christmas ball which I of course attended and I was able to bag multiiple dances with Klaus. I also danced with Elijah, he directly asked me if I was the one messing with his brothers head, we were whispering and I made a little spell so Klaus couldn't eavesdrop. I confirmed it without actually admitting it and made some little threats for if he should try to stop anything, after I left for home.

I continued with my visits, my growing friendships and my gifts. And then valentines day came around.

I had been contemplating whether I treat it any differently to every other day. I never had before however this time I had somebody to think of, somebody I loved.

So when I woke up, I decided that perhaps I'd at least go see Klaus today.

What I had not expected was a large bouquet of roses, bunched into the shape of a heart set on my dining room table with a typed note attached.

..............................................................................................................................

Dearest Y/N, I don't usually engage in human holidays however you've recently changed my perspective. I hope you don't think I've been oblivious to your advances, I'll admit they've been affective. Love Niklaus

..............................................................................................................................

The note made me smile. The rhyming scheme matched all my letters and this was all the confirmation I needed that he had accepted my feelings.

So I got dressed into a dress, the same deep red as the flowers he had gifted me with the eyeshadow and lipstick to match. I drove myself to his home and this time knocked on the door.

Klaus must have been waiting for he opened it as soon as my knuckles hit the wood and he was dressed to perfection. His blood red tie matched my dress as though he just knew and his hand held out for mine without a word being said. I nodded to him and held his hand, enjoying the way it caused my magic to ignite inside me.

I was lead inside to the area which was usually primarily empty and used for parties and events however it was down littered with rose petals. Fairy lights and candles lit the room and a little square table rest in the centre of the room covered by a white table cloth with two golden plates hidden by gold plate covers sat waiting to be revealed.

"Oh wow" I whispered quietly. This was most definitely not something I had thought of occurring. I heard Klaus clear his throat a little as he hesitantly slipped his hand round my waist causing my tummy to flutter pleasantly before he kept leading me over to the table. He proceeded to pull out my hair, waiting for me to sit and then carefully pushing me closer to the table before sitting opposite me.

"I do hope you'll enjoy the food though if you don't I can be sure to get you something else-" His voice began to speed up, I could see his nerves playing.

"That won't be necessary, I'll have what I'm given and I'll enjoy it" I state simply with a reassuring smile. He returned it and nodded quietly to himself as he lifted the cover off of his play and I did the same. Underneath was a beautifully cooked slice of beef wellington with potatoes and a few vegetables alongside and a sauce to go with.

"I was going to do starters as well but I didn't want you too be too full as I have more for us to eat later" he explained quietly.

"Later?" I question with the slight tilt of my head and he smiled.

"We have a lot to talk about" He answered and I hummed, lifting the wine glass to my lips and allowing the rich taste to please my tongue. I licked my lips clean, watching as his eyes followed my tongues movements as he sat a little straighter. "However," he began, clearing his throat again making a slither of amusement make its way to my face. "For the moment, I just want to have a valentines dinner with you, my questions will wait for after." He decided and I nod, happy with his arrangement.

"Very well" I agreed as I cut into my steak and pastry and popped a piece into my mouth, moaning at the flavour and locking my eyes onto his. His adams apple bobbed and his eyes darted to his plate making me grin.

Dinner was mostly small talk, a few flirty comments through desert before he took our empty plates out to the kitchen. I got up from my seat to follow him but he shook his head and asked that I stay while he cleaned. I agreed without resistance, if he wanted to do the dishes then I wouldn't object.

He was back in just a minute and holding his hand out for me to take again, which I did. Then I was brought upstairs which made me raise a brow, "Already huh?" I ask teasingly.

He glanced over his shoulder at me with a knowing look "Don't act like you don't spend nearly every night in my room" he replied making my eyes roll playfully.

He pulled me into his room and closed the door behind me. On the bed lay every single letter I had written him, I clicked my tongue as I looked over the generous pile and slowly glanced up at his face. His arms were folded over his chest and he had that look in his eyes that just told be to begin.

I smiled up at him and let out a little laugh "Right..." I muttered, "Well..., okay, can we sit for this?" I asked and he hummed, gesturing two chairs that we went to.

And then I started talking. A lot.

I went from the start, Grams. There was no point lying to the man, so I just laid it all out bare for him. From the first time I heard his name to the first time I was able to see his face to the first time we actually met, to now. It took hours of explaining and answering questions for silence to actually come around.

His expressions changed throughout the discussion, sometimes he looked a little confused, sometimes he even looked a little afraid but for the most part he just looked intrigued. When I was done and his questions stopped flowing, he leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling.

"You're crazy" He whispered and I felt my demeanour change, just as I went to snap his eyes went back to mine and a wide smile spread across his face. "You're so insane, I love it" he murmured before my face was in his hands and his lips were on mine.

I'll admit it took me by surprise so it took me a minute to react. Of course I kissed him back, would have been really dumb not to at this point.

His hands seemed to be everywhere all at once, every single nerve I owned stood on edge for him and my magic began to flow a little too fast than I was used to. Klaus pulled away, a chuckle leaving his lips making my eyes, which I didn't remember closing, open.

"You've set the curtains on fire sweetheart" he mumbled, stroking a few strands of hair behind my ear as I took a breathe and silently mended the curtains with my mind. A kiss was placed behind my ear and I breathed in deeply. "I can't believe you let me think you couldn't even light a candle when I met you" he muttered and he smiled.

"You let everyone think you were Alaric, so..." I trailed but he tutted.

"Ah, ah. Everyone except for you as it turns out so we are in no way even. You have been tormenting me, lying to me, watching me sleep..." he smirked and I rolled my eyes, "borderline assaulting me!" he exasperated and I dropped my head back with a sigh. His lips pressed to my neck in response and I hummed with a clenched jaw. "You do not like to be teased" he stated and my eyes flicked to him "I'm not mad" he told me but I didn't think he was anyway "your methods for my...affections have been questionable-"

"Well-" I interjected but he shook his head and kissed my lips again which was a seemingly affective way to keep me quiet but I liked it.

"But" he cut in "It has been incredibly sexy to watch you pull an unbelievable amount of power moves under everyone's noses, including my own. I look forward to seeing how many more moves you have" he whispered, his voice becoming progressively lower.

My gaze fixed on him, my eyes narrowed a little. Was he saying what he wanted to say or what I wanted to hear?

His hands slid down my sides to the backs of my thighs before he lifted me onto his lap, having me straddle him in his chair and causing my dress to ride up. My hands held onto his upper arms lightly, he looked back at me with the same calculative look I'm sure I was wearing. His head tilted to the side making my lips twitch, he looked cute like a confused pet.

"I don't take well to being played with" I tell him and he frowned.

"I'm not playing" he replied, his hand caressing my thigh in a way that made an unfamiliar warmth spread through me and I wasn't quite sure what to do with it. For some reason I had mapped out a plan for every scenario except for one where he actually showed the interest I wanted from him. "I wouldn't toy with you Y/n. Should I have wanted to harm you I would have just done so"

"You don't think I'm a threat?" I question and he furrowed his brows

"Do you want me to see you as a threat?" He asked confused and I hesitated, did I?

"Maybe?" I whispered, unsure and he huffed softly.

"You have been dancing around me for almost a year now, don’t you think it’s time we both give in?” He murmured and I stared at him. Slowly his hands brushed higher up my thighs and he pulled me closer on his lap making my heart pound. “Will you let yourself give in to me?” He asked as his fingertips grazed the thin material of my panties. “No more stalking or knocking me out…just be with me, you can sleep beside me…with me and I’ll give you everything you could ever want”

I hummed quietly and clenched my jaw as I felt and heard the elastic in my panties snap. His hand pulled the fabric away from my body and tucked them into his pocket as his eyes locked on mine. I shifted a little on his lap, my thigh clenching around him as I felt my pussy flutter against the erection that was pushing against his suit trousers.

“You have no idea how hard it was to figure out who you were” he muttered as he pushed my hips back and forth in a slow motion. I could feel my skin heating up as my sensitive flesh rubbed over his pants. “You drove me mad” he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear making a warm shiver slide down my spine.

A breathy moan fell from my lips as I felt his hips grind up against my bare pussy. “Do you remember that letter you wrote, you were practically begging me to fuck you” he reminded making my eyes shut, my lips parting as I moved my hips with his to receive the perfect amount of friction against my clit. “Do you know how many faceless dreams I’ve had of you? I had to guess what your pretty moans would sound like, how tight your cunt was, I need to see if my imagination was accurate” He practically purred against my neck.

I kept grinding myself on his crotch, panting softly to try catch my breath and my thoughts and his hands cupped my ass firmly. They brushed across the tops of my thighs before a finger was rubbing my clit making my hips thrust up and a moan to escape me.

My hands curled into his jacket, I always had the control in situations. I needed the power and the control yet I couldn’t even think about taking it right now. I just needed to chase that feeling.

I couldn’t help the choked sound that left me when a finger plunged its way inside of me. At this point my hips were rutting against his hand, my pussy surely dripping onto his pants but I couldn’t stop myself.

“Happy Valentine’s Day sweetheart” his voice cooed against my ear and I moaned aloud. Kisses burned into the top of my neck and base of my jaw, “I’m gonna fuck you against all of your little love letters” he mumbled and I cried out his name weakly.

Another finger stretched me open with my clit was rubbed ferociously making my hips stutter and thighs tremble with need.

His mouth captured mine as I felt my resistance snap. My body shook and my head felt light as my lips pushed against his with force. After he pulled back and let me catch my breath he lifted me up and dropped me onto his bed amongst all the notes I’d left him in the past.

His body knelt between my legs and his face hovered over mine as he brushed his nose against mine.

I think it was that moment that I knew:

Love would destroy us both.

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

No One Here Is Alone

Elks Chapter 2 Version 2.0

Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Female Reader Chapter Rating: T. (Nothing explicit for the first few chapters.) Chapter Summary: The man you've had a crush on since he showed up to Jackson just so happens to be your favorite student's caretaker.. and he just saw you do a brutal face plant in front of his home. Chapter Warnings: soft jackson joel, rumors still spread in the apocalypse, 2000's indie rock, interrupted sweet moment, cats in windows, there was only one umbrella, romance, Joel Miller making dinner, thigh paint, knee pillow Words: 4,500 Header courtesy of @saradika-graphics

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Masterlist Playlist

*** “Radio Cure” by Wilco. 

It's Monday evening, and you're standing nervously in front of Joel’s house, clutching your messenger bag brimming with art supplies. You take a deep breath to steady yourself, before giving the door three quick knocks.

Joel opens the door with a warm smile. “Hi, come on in.”

“Hey,” you reply, trying to keep your smile under control.

"Let me show you the room."

Joel leads you into his home to a makeshift studio just off the living room filled with various wood workings, half carved animals, shelves of tools, and a long work table. You'd never expect it, but Joel is an artist.

You love the space, it's so open and warm. Lived in and utilized, you're happy places like this can still exist in other people's homes. 

Your eyes fall on a couple of old guitars leaning against a wall.

“You play?” You ask, nodding towards them.

“Been playing almost my whole life. You?”

“Same, my guitar broke a few weeks ago,” you say with a hint of sadness. “There’s a big hole in the side now.”

“That’s rough. Your stereo and your guitar?”

“Afraid so. It’s very quiet in my home.”

“Those guitars are broken over there, but I just haven’t gotten around to fixing ‘em, I’m sure I could easily repair one for you.” 

“Joel, you— that’s very nice,” you say, touched but hesitant. “I wouldn’t ask you to do that for me.”

“No, s’okay, I like fixing things,” he insists with a reassuring smile. 

“Wish I could fix things,” you say with a nervous chuckle. “By the time I would be done, it’d be a pile of sawdust.”

A huff of air releases out of Joel’s mouth, his smile makes a dimple you’ve never noticed before appear. God, he’s gorgeous. “You’re funny. I can see why Ellie likes you.”

Heat creeps up your chest and settles into your cheeks. “So, Where would you like me to draw the mural?” you ask, using your question as a way to cut through the nervousness inside you. 

“Was thinking over on this wall with the window. I can see it from my chair in the living room.” 

You turn to examine the large, empty wall. You’re not sure if the cream hue is the original paint color or colored that way from age. It’s a perfect canvas.

“Good choice.” you say. “Do you want the whole wall?”

“The whole wall.”

“Just bluebells?” you clarify.

“Just bluebells.”

“Perfect.”

You pull the pencil from the chest pocket of your overalls, gently pressing it against the wall to sketch out the first bluebell. You can feel his eyes on you, his large body crowding the space behind you. You try to focus on your drawing, blocking out the sound of his breathing and the heat of his closeness.

Joel clears his throat. “I’ll just be in the kitchen making dinner. Did ya’ eat?”

“No,” you reply, glancing back at him. “But I can eat after I’m done here.”

“Have more than enough here for another person and Ellie’s at Dina’s tonight. You like pasta?”

“Of course I do,” you say with a smile. “I’d starve if I didn’t. Shelf stable.”

Joel chuckles, “I’ll be in the kitchen cooking. Just holler if you need anything. Help yourself to any of the supplies I have here.” You nod as Joel turns and strides down the hall.

“What a beautiful face, I have found in this place, That is circling all ‘round the sun, What a beautiful dream...”

The hairs on the back of your neck prickle as the music starts, breaking the hush that had settled in the room while you quietly sketched. For the past hour, the only sounds were Joel’s movements in the kitchen and the soft scratch of your pencil against the wall. Now, Joel is playing the mixed CD you had left there. Despite being all alone in his studio, you can’t help but grin. You tuck your pencil behind your ear and head to the kitchen to find Joel draining a pot of cooked pasta. 

You try not to stare at the way his biceps stretch the sleeves of his shirt or the way the steam floats into the air swirling around him, creating an almost dreamlike scene of domestic bliss.

“Neutral Milk Hotel,” you say from the doorway, rubbing your daisy pendant hanging against your neck.

“S’a pretty good song.” Joel replies, his gaze shifting from the pot to your pendant. 

“Thanks for putting it on, I missed hearing music.”

“When’d your player break?” Joel’s asks, his eyes still focused on your daisy pendant. 

“A little over a week ago. I lived without a stereo for close to fifteen years, all through my twenties in the QZ. My CD’s sat in a crate next to my bed all those years. I got used to them existing almost like photographs, circular snapshots of memories… silent and incapable of their original use,” you say, your voice trailing off as you remember.  “When I got here and walked into my house the first thing I saw was the small boombox on the shelf, I almost passed out when Maria told me it worked. It had to be repaired a few times and Gordon kept warning me that it wasn’t built to last. Took it to him the day after it broke for good and he let me know nothing could be done. I felt like I lost a limb.” 

“M’sorry,” Joel says as he begins to dish the pasta and sauce into two bowls.

“Thanks, I still have other things to fill up my time so it’s not as bad as I’m making it seem. I know it’s a luxury and I know I can live without it. It’s just… the noise kept me company, you know?” 

“I do,” Joel says, setting the bowls on the table, his eyes still locked on you. 

He watches you intently, as if he’s captivated by your presence. You’d be doing the same if you weren’t so nervous about him noticing. You sense Joel doesn’t care if you notice him watching.

You sit at his table, the orange glow of the sunset filters through the window, casting a soft light over everything. Coffee rings cover Joel’s wooden table top, a sign he probably never cleans up his mug until after he’s home in the evening. The smell of tomatoes, garlic, and onion from the bowl of pasta in front of you tantalizes you.

“This looks delicious,” you say, picking up your fork.

“Sauce was made by Maria, she takes pity on my kitchen skills and makes sure Ellie and I are well fed.” 

“She’s great,” you say through a bite. “So is Tommy.”

He nods in agreement. 

You both settle into a shared silence as you eat. 

A slow and haunting song begins to play, Joel looks up from his meal. “This is my favorite song on your CD.

“Cheer up, honey I hope you can,

There is something wrong with me,

My mind is filled with silvery stars”

“‘Radio Cure’ by Wilco.” you say, recognizing the song. “One of my favorite bands. My only CD of theirs is so scratched it no longer works… this is the only song I have now.” 

You lean back, closing your eyes, getting lost in the music, mouthing the lyrics silently. 

“S’beautiful,” Joel says softly as you open your eyes and find him watching you again. “...The song’s beautiful.”

Your heart skips a beat at the tenderness in his voice. So soft and deep, you wonder if he talks to anybody else this gently. 

“If you like it, keep my CD,” you offer. “You’ll get more use out of it than I will now.” 

“I’ll borrow it until you get a new CD player,” Joel says as he stands. “You’re welcome to come over and listen anytime. You can bring your other CD’s over if you want.”

“Really? I appreciate that,” your voice lifts with excitement.

“Glad to help.”

“I”m going to get back to drawing before it gets any darker,” you say, handing him your empty bowl. “I really enjoyed dinner, thank you.”

“Course,” he nods, taking the bowl from your hand and depositing it into the soapy water.

You return to the woodworking room, pick up your pencil, and continue delicately sketching flowers on his wall.

“It really, really, really could happen, Yes, it really, really, really could happen If the days they seem to fall through you Well, just let them go”

You hum along to your favorite Blur song, the eighth track on your CD.

“Did you want another light in here?” Joel’s deep voice startles you. You jump and turn to see him leaning against the doorway; you don’t know how long he’s been there. “S’getting dark in here.”

“Y-yeah, that would be great. I just want to finish up the first outline tonight.” 

Joel nods and heads over to the large cabinet in the corner, retrieving a work light as you turn back to your work. 

“This’ll help,” he says, grunting slightly as he bends over and plugs it in. “It’s lookin’ really nice so far.”

“Thanks,” you reply, still sketching. I love the process of beginning a large piece like this. It makes me so excited to think what it’ll look like when it’s all finished. Breaking it down into small steps, then seeing it all come together.”

“No wonder Ellie’s always so excited about art, when you put it all that way.” 

You nod without looking back at him, choosing to focus on your sketch.

“Just going to be in the living room reading my book. Lemme know if I can help,” he offers.

“Thanks.”

You hear him settle into his chair with a sigh. The chair he can sit in and look at your mural, the chair he can sit in and watch you work. Your insides twist as you feel like you’re being watched by him–you like it. 

You round each small petal making every flower perfect for Joel’s eyes.

Sometimes you hear a page turn in between tracks, sometimes you hear a sniff or a throat clear, you actually wish there wasn’t any music so you could only hear Joel.

“Okay,” you step back from the wall shaking out and stretching your overused hand and stretching your tired fingers. 

“Finished for the night?” Joel asks as he stands and walks into the room, eyes landing on the wall. “It’s really beautiful,” he says as he stares at your preliminary sketch.

“Thanks, there’s still a lot that has to be done, but I’m really happy with how it’s looking so far.” You back up to stand next to him. “When do you want me to come back?”

“I’ll be out on Patrol with Tommy until Wednesday night, Thursday work?”

“Thursday’s good. Same time?”

“Same time,” he confirms with a nod. “I’ll make dinner again.”

“You really don’t have to,” you reply, bending down to grab your bag.

“S’okay, I want to.” 

“Okay,” you say, stifling a yawn and blinking your tired eyes. 

Joel notices and grins slightly watching you. “Getting late for you, huh?” 

“Yeah, close to my bedtime,” you admit. 

He follows you to his door. “G’night,” he says, holding the door open. “See you Thursday.”

“Good luck on patrol,” you walk out the door and glance back at him, offering a small smile. “Good night.”

You feel Joel’s quiet, watchful gaze follow you as you leave his yard.  

Once you get home, you don’t bother changing out of your shirt when you crawl into bed. It smells like Joel’s home.

“Hey lady,” your friend Helen greets as she leans against the doorway of your classroom, interrupting your paper grading. 

You look up and give her a smile. “What’s up?”

“Thirsty Thursday at the Bison tomorrow, you in?” 

“Oh,” you pause, putting your pen down. “I can’t, I’m painting something for Joel Miller at his house.” 

Her eyebrows rise. “Joel Miller, Joel Miller?” 

“Yeah…” you nod.

She steps into your room, crossing her arms and smirks. “So, the rumors are true?”

“Rumors?” you ask.

“Grace said she saw you leaving his place late Monday night. Apparently, Joel stood and watched you walk home the whole way.”

You roll your eyes. “God this place is small, isn’t it?”

Helen laughs, her expression softening as she moves closer. “He nice to you?” Her protective side always shows when it comes to you. 

“I wouldn’t be doing this for him if he wasn’t.”

She nods. “Atta girl, I’ll leave you to it,” she knocks on your desk before leaving.

You’ve heard all of the rumors about Tommy Miller’s scary older brother. You’ve listened intently as people regaled tales of his violent past and whispered stories of his brutality. You heard the hush amongst the crowd whenever he’d walk into a room when he and Ellie first showed up. He’s supposedly a monster, and yet all you see are deep, soft brown eyes that crinkle at the corners when he smiles at you.

Thursday, you find yourself at Joel’s wearing your overalls again. Today, though, you’ve layered an oversized flannel for warmth, shielding yourself and your box of paints beneath an umbrella from the pouring rain. Before you can knock, Joel opens the door.

“Come in,” he says, grabbing your umbrella. “Was lookin’ for you so you didn’t get stuck in the rain.”

“Thanks, it’s awful out,” you reply, stepping inside and shrugging off your flannel. “How was patrol?” 

“Same as usual,” he says, taking your jacket and hanging it up on the hook over his coat.

“Well, that’s a good thing,” you say heading into his woodworking room and place your paints on the floor.

“That your book?” Joel nods to the faded black leather portfolio with tattered corners covered in faded stickers. 

“Yeah, I brought it over.”

“Haven’t seen something like that in years. Can I look at ‘em?”

“Go ahead,” you say smiling and handing it over to him. “Find something to play. It’s your stereo. Don’t tell me what you pick–I want to be surprised.” 

You love hearing the soft, familiar thud of the pages as Joel flips through it.

“Don’t recognize most of these names,” he murmurs.

“What kind of music do you like?” you ask as you unroll your brush holder, picking out what you’ll need.

“Rock, country… a little bit of blues.”

“Country? Really? How typical Texas of you.”

He chuckles. “Good country. Real country. Johnny Cash, Merle Haggard, ’n the like.”

“I stand corrected, Texas.”

He grunts in amusement while you begin laying out your paints on the countertop, carefully choosing your colors. 

“Found something,” Joel says.

“Can’t wait to hear what you pick,” you respond, pulling your palette out of your bag as he leaves the room. 

A bluesy rock guitar intro with a steady drumbeat begins to play as you mix emerald and olive tones together.

“Haven’t heard this one in over 20 years,” Joel says, re-entering the room. “Liked The Rolling Stones.” 

You kneel down on the floor to begin painting green stems. You move your brush and body slowly and smoothly, rising up to finish each stem tip. You feel Joel’s steady and attentive gaze follow you. 

“Never thought I’d see somebody paint like this again,” he says from the doorway.

“It’s my favorite thing to do,” your focus unwavering from the wall. 

“Can tell,” the gentleness of his voice causes your skin to prickle. “M’excited to see how it’ll look when it’s done.”

“Me too.”

You hear Joel take a deep breath and his footsteps shift. “I’m gonna go finish cleanin’ my guns,” he says with an exhale. “I’ll be in the dining room if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” you say, twisting your torso to look back at him with a smile. A large dollop of green paint falls from the paintbrush in your hand, plopping onto your exposed thigh. 

Joel’s eyes immediately drop to the spot, widening as you grab your paint stained rag and wipe the paint off. He clears his throat, his cheeks blush a subtle shade of red. “Uh, right. I’ll be in the dining room,” he repeats, turning quickly to stride away.

His hurried footsteps fade as they move into the next room. A small smile tugs at your lips and a rush of excitement blooms within you. 

You dip your brush back into the paint again, steadying your breath, and begin painting a new stem.

"S'pretty nasty out there, d’ya want that work light again? Sky’s turnin’ real dark,” Joel asks, interrupting your focus. 

“Yes, thank you,” you answer as your focus is still on the delicate petal you’re painting.

You hear Joel shuffle behind you to pull the light out, the same small grunt as earlier this week leaves his mouth when he bends over to plug it in. The light buzzes on, flooding the room and your painting with a bright white hue.

“You been kneeling on the floor like that for long?” he asks, concern lacing his voice. 

“Yep, it’s not so bad while down here,” you reply, still focused on your brushstrokes.

“Ya’ still have the hurt knees and you’re kneeling on the damn hardwood floor,” he mumbles under his breath as he leaves the room. 

You’ve gotten used to people not being concerned about such simple things like your personal comfort, Joel’s worry for you makes you feel a foreign feeling. 

He returns and holds a pillow out for you. “Here, grabbed ya’ this.”

“Oh, I’m okay, really,” you protest, “I don’t want to accidentally get paint on it.” 

“Don’t care, take it,” he insists.

You hesitate for a second before taking the pillow and slipping it underneath your already aching knees.

“Feels much better, thank you,” you say as you wiggle back and forth on the softness. 

“Welcome.” 

A long sigh escapes his lips, grabbing your attention. You glance up and meet his eyes– his hazel flecks glow in the light supplied by the work lamp. He sticks his tongue out to wet his supple lips, your eyes move to watch. He reaches a hand out, his thumb rests against your cheek, his fingers cradle your chin. 

Your breath hitches, lips parting as you inhale deeply, a chill takes over your whole body. The music from the stereo muffles. All that exists now in this moment is Joel’s touch. 

“Thank you again, for doin’ this for me,” he says, his voice low and tender. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout how nice it’s gonna be to look over and see this once it’s finished… reminding me of home.”

“O-of course Texas,” you stammer, your eyes still lingering on his mouth. 

“Mm,” he grunts, his head dipping with a slight nod. 

“L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L–” The music stutters.

“Shit, I forgot this song always does that,” you say as Joel’s hand retreats from your cheek. 

“I got it,” he says, quickly striding out of the room. 

“You just have to skip to the next track and it should work!” you call after him as your skin still tingles from where his hand had been moments ago silently cursing your scratched CD.  

The track changes, the interruption long gone, just like Joel’s touch. You return to painting, calming your body and emotions in the aftermath. You exhale slowly, trying to calm the flutter of nerves in your chest, grounding yourself back into the rhythm of painting. You don’t hear from him until well after the CD finishes and the house falls silent.

“Dinner’s ready,” he says, rapping his knuckles gently on the doorway, snapping you out of your trance. “You got a lot done—s’lookin’ real good.”

You glance over your shoulder at him, surprised by how much time has passed. The shared moment between you now feels long gone and distant.

“Thanks,” you say standing up and stretching, placing your paintbrush in the jar of water.

“Just come to the kitchen when you’re all done in here.” 

“Hope you like turkey and barley soup,” Joel says as you enter the kitchen. 

“Any soup makes me happy,” you reply with a smile.

“Good,” he places a bowl in front of you. “This one I actually made, Maria didn’t hafta take pity on me for this meal.”

It looks delicious and smells incredible. Joel’s taken the time to set the table tonight, a tattered cloth napkin folded neatly beneath a soup spoon, a glass of water to the side, you notice the coffee stains have been wiped up. 

You take a bite, the warm soup slides down your throat, perfect for a chilly rainy evening, it’s good. “Joel, this is… really, really delicious.”

His eyes soften. “I’m glad you like it, haven’t cooked for anybody ‘cept Ellie in years.” 

“You did boil me spaghetti earlier this week, remember?” you tease.

“Hmph,” he chuckles, “right.” 

The two of you eat in comfortable silence, your spoons against the bowls are the only sound. You should be nervous in this situation but the way Joel handles himself in front of you, as if he’s perfectly comfortable with you in his home makes your nerves settle.

You place your spoon down and sit back in your chair. “What was your favorite food before …everything?”

He thinks for a moment. “Don’t really know, maybe tamales? My mom used to make them every year for the holidays. I could eat six of them in one sitting.” 

“I loved tamales, too. God, I miss Mexican restaurants. You know, I just remembered margaritas. I used to always see people drink them when we’d get Mexican and I always thought that looked so cool. I never got to try one.” 

He watches you with that familiar expression, as if he could listen to you talk for hours, nodding along with a small smile. “What was your favorite food?” he asks.

“Fettuccine Alfredo, one hundred percent. My mom used to make it for me every year for my birthday. If we went to an Italian restaurant, it’s what I’d always order, definitely Fettuccine Alfredo.”

“Never had it, always just stuck to pouring a jar of Ragu over spaghetti or a frozen lasagna,” he says, a small grin on his face. 

“I miss those too. Anc cheese. I miss being able to have cheese whenever I wanted so much. The stuff we have now just isn’t the same.”

“Mm,” Joel nods, “kinda like the ice cream we have. Not the same, but good enough.”

“Isn’t that the motto of these times?” you say with a smirk. “‘Not the same but good enough.’”

“S’a good one,” Joel pauses, “you’re funny.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear feeling Joel’s eyes follow your movements as he gets up. 

You rise as well, grabbing your bowl to follow Joel over to the sink. He reaches for it, his fingers brushing against yours as he takes it from your hand. “I’ve got it,” he says, placing the dishes into the sink. “You seem to be almost finished in there.”

“Yeah, I think I only have a couple more hours of work left,” you say stretching your back. 

“Don’t want to keep you any longer tonight, know you got work tomorrow and know it’s a lot bein’ down on the floor like that for as long you were.” 

“Yeah, they’re aching,” you admit with a shy smile. “When do you want me to come and finish it?”

“Tomorrow at the same time, if you want.” 

“That works, might be a little late though–Fridays are always busy with the end of the school week.” 

“Course, take your time. I’ll be here.”

“Is it okay if I leave my things in the room? If not, that’s okay too I can take them ho–” 

“S’fine,” he interrupts gently, he places his hand against your back. “Don’t mind at all. I’ll walk you home, s’getting late and it’s still rainin’ pretty bad.” 

You protest. “No, I’ll be okay, I’ve walked through much worse.” 

“Don’t care.” he cuts you off as he grabs your flannel from the hook. “I’m walking you home, it’s pourin’.”

He holds your flannel open for you and offers a small nod. You step forward and slip your arms through the sleeves, the closeness sends goosebumps across your skin.

“Course,” Joel breathes out as you step away and grab your backpack.

“You really don’t have to—“

“Now, stop telling me I don’t have to,” he says, mild frustration tinging his voice as he shrugs on his jacket. “I want to.”

He opens the door and motions you to go ahead of him before grabbing your umbrella. 

“Don’t you have one as well?” you ask.

“Never got one. S’a nasty storm today, I think it’s going to be just as bad tomorrow.” 

You step out, the rain falls in a steady stream. “It’s good for the crops and the water reserves at least,” you shrug as Joel holds the umbrella above you. 

As you walk down the road, you notice the rain pelting Joel, his head and shoulders already damp as he holds the umbrella over you.

“There’s enough room for both of us under here, there’s no sense in you getting soaked,” you say, stepping closer to him.

He murmurs something under his breath–it sounds like “Y’sweet,” but the rain drowns out the sound. You almost think you imagined it. He adjusts the umbrella, moving it so that both of you are shielded from the rain.

The two of you walk towards your home, your bodies occasionally tapping against each other as Joel huddles over you. You wish you could slow down, elongate your time next to him, stay under the shelter of the umbrella and his body.

“That’s me, right there,” you say nodding towards your front door. 

“Y’got a cat?” Joel asks when he sees your cat Penny sitting on your windowsill backlit by your lamp.

“Yeah, two of them. You like cats?”

“Even if I did, couldn’t have ‘em. Allergic.”

“That’s a shame,” you reply with a shrug.

“Hm,” he grunts with a subtle smile.

Escaping the rain underneath the safety of the awning of your front porch, Joel closes your umbrella and hands it back to you as you tap your wet boots against your frayed welcome mat.

“Well, thanks for walking me home, I’ll see you tomorrow?” You say as you rest your back against your front door.

“Yeah,” Joel says, his eyes holding your attention for a moment longer than expected. “See you tomorrow.”

He turns and leaves your little yard, turning back around at your fencepost to give you a nod before continuing down the road in the dark rain. Joel Miller just walked you home.

No One Here Is Alone- Joel's Version

[spicyspiders]

Hello good sir, can I request 141 + Alejandro and König where the reader celebrates a certain amount of hears of sobriety from drugs?

Like the reader used to abuse substance because of something traumatic like a death of a loved one or smth like that and now they're celebrating getting out of that situation?

I'm currently 1 year sober from drugs and I'm just rlly happy :)

Love your posts btw ❤❤

Congratulations on your sobriety!

It’s been a while since you’ve felt like you have control over your body. You no longer dig for the bottle. The want is still there, but that’s all it is– a want, when at the beginning it felt like a need. Overall, it’s been a year. A long year, but a year. 

It’s been almost a year and a half since your friend died. The aftermath felt like darkness that you couldn’t find your way out of. Certain days can be harder than others, but you still haven’t reached for a bottle in a year. 

You went out and bought yourself something small after you left your house. You weren’t sure what you wanted to buy even after you arrived at the store. You made the decision when your eyes landed on the sweet treat. 

You knew of people that had parties to commemorate the accomplishment, but you were happy to pick up the individual cupcake to celebrate. The cupcake was small, all wrapped up in plastic and shining under the fluorescent light. Everything used to feel so heavy when you stopped drinking, even the smallest things like getting out of bed, but now, it all feels so small. 

You probably looked crazy walking up to the self-checkout holding a cupcake and smiling, but you felt happy. You thanked an employee on your way out the door, still smiling. 

“Have a good day,” they responded, sending a small smile of courtesy your way. 

“You too.” You walked out of the store and started the walk home. The small walk home. 

Your home wasn’t the way you left it when you got home. It was full of other bodies, talking and laughing, making their presence known from the moment you stepped in. 

“How’d you get in my house?” You asked the group when you walked to where they were in the living room, all of them sprawled out and comfortable. 

“We have a copy,” Soap responded nonchalantly. 

“We?”

Price walked over to where you stood in the entryway and clapped you on the shoulder in greeting, “just him,” Price clarified. 

“Ah,” you weren’t sure if that was any better. 

“What’re you doing here?”

“We know how important today is,” Price said. With his arm around your shoulder, he pulled you to the couch. When you were settled down, your body in between his and Simon’s, he squeezed your shoulder. “It’s been a year?” He asked. 

“Just about,” you responded softly, smiling down at the cupcake you still help, clutching it protectively to your chest. 

“We’re proud of you, you know that?” Your friend would be too,” you could hear the smile in Price’s voice. 

“Thank you. I’m proud of myself, too,” you were getting choked up, but still had the smile on your face. 

König and Gaz sat on your loveseat, their bodies squeezed together to try and fit in the small space. Soap sat near their legs, digging around in his pocket, both of the men on the couch watching him with furrowed brows. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat, suddenly feeling confusion instead of sadness, “is that my key?” You asked when Soap tossed the item on your coffee table. It nearly flew off, but landed just on the edge. 

“It’s the one I used to make my copy.”

“How many did you make?”

“Me, Simon, Price, Gaz, Rudy, Ale-” Soap listed off on his fingers, getting cut off by Gaz throwing a pillow in his face. 

“Do not forget about me,” König said, ignoring the glare Gaz sent his way. 

“He’s the only one that has one,” Ghost said. 

“Has one what?” Rudy asked, who had just walked in with Alejandro. 

“Nothing!” Soap said to the two of them then threw the pillow back at Gaz. 

“You have a key too?” You asked them both. 

“Of course we do,” they both said, coming in to settle down into the space like all the others were. 

You met them all days into your sobriety when you thought it would be better to be out of your house, away from the bottles you knew you still had to throw away. Soap had run into you, the group of men playing a game in the park you decided to take a walk in. It left you with a scar on your knee, which now had the cupcake resting on top of it. 

“Did you all just break into my house to watch television?” You asked after everything had quieted down.

“Soap did, but we didn’t,” Price responded, and laughed softly at the noise Soap squawked out in protest.

[writing-for-life]

Right, okay, I’ve thought long and hard whether to write this:

A squick (even a strong one) is not the same as a trigger.

Emotional discomfort, even emotional discomfort that leads to low-level physical symptoms like e.g. mild nausea, is not trauma. Unfortunately, TikTok pop psych has done nothing to help people understand the difference, because the trend to perceive (even strong) emotional discomfort as equivalent to a trauma response is worrying and neither helps people with nor without PTSD. I don’t wish it on anyone to actually find out the difference if they haven’t yet (disclaimer, since this is unfortunately necessary these days because everything gets misconstrued: I am not talking about individual experiences, because only you can know about those. I’m talking about wider trends in an often young audience with not enough background info to be able to tell apart sound medical/psychological info and viral BS created by “influencers” for some kind of personal gain).

What people in the current fandom spat want to have tagged as “triggers” are overwhelmingly squicks. And we’re probably all guilty of quickly saying “that triggered me”, myself included (and I’m a licensed psychotherapist, shame on me). It has become somewhat of a shorthand for “extremely annoyed or grossed out”. But when it gets used in the context of tagging, it’s good to remember that no one owes us a tag list the length of our arm just because we don’t like certain things. Even if we strongly dislike them.

And even on the occasion someone else’s yuck or yum is an actual trigger for us, it is impossible to cover for every possible trigger, because in theory, EVERYTHING has the possibility to trigger someone somewhere.

E.g., a certain smell in a supermarket holds the rare possibility of triggering someone, but do you see disclaimers at the supermarket door that say, “May smell of 484 different things, which are in detail [list of 484 things] and might be different tomorrow. Plus, we might have a customer today who smells of that perfume that brings up your triggering childhood memories. Or maybe we won’t, but just on the odd chance we do, we thought we’d rather cover it”.

There might be one person with a very specific trigger that does literally nothing to the vast majority of people. Do we expect everyone on Tumblr to tag for “eyebrows” or “white T-Shirt” because of that? How about that person just puts “eyebrows” or “white T-Shirt” in their content filter instead?

Do we really suggest to put that type of responsibility on creators? More importantly: Who are we protecting that way? All we do is put people into bubble wrap and shift responsibility for our mental wellbeing away from ourselves to others.

We are trying to tell other people what to do for our own comfort. That’s controlling.

If we’re squicked out by something, there is a simple solution: we can stop looking or reading. We can use content (not tag) filters. In the worst case, we can block. We don’t have to put that type of responsibility for our personal sensitivities on creators (or people who reblog, for that matter).

We can tag for certain things as a courtesy, I’m all for it. I love being able to filter out stuff I’m not into, and I sometimes wish people would tag better or not tag a certain way (getting ship tags for a ship you’re not into slapped on your character-metas is annoying 🤣). But I don’t die, neither does it cause me unbearable distress, if I see cows where I don’t expect them. Scroll past or block. And if I’m worried about mature topics like nudity or violence: Tumblr has a community label for mature themes you can (and in my view should) use if in doubt. Funnily enough, many people don’t do that though—maybe because they worry about reach?

Of course we should include content warnings where they are due, no one says we shouldn’t. It’s also fair if a creator doesn’t wish to do that beyond general warnings (no specifics) though because they might give away, say, major plot points that way. In that case, general disclaimers like “contains depictions of violence”, or whatever it might be individually, are a good idea. And if that’s not specific enough for us despite knowing that “violence” in general might also contain our personal trigger, we might need to make the decision not to read it to stay safe, but we shouldn’t have a go at the writer for not tagging very specific things that might be considered spoilers.

Long story short: If we assume people are “triggered” by werewolves with vulvas or non-human characters, it might be worth thinking about whether we’re just talking about squicks that very much fall into the category of “personal responsibility”. And there are plenty solutions to that at our end—we don’t need to put that on creators…

[lunarmoonanons]

Sequel to the cursed dragon w the reader older now up maybe fighting for rhaenyra to get the iron throne after viserys dies?

Dragon War

🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕

A little time after the death of Viserys, his dragon daughter tries to fight for her sister's right to the throne.

(this is just gonna be about they episode about the usurpation since we haven't see any fights between the sides yet.)

🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕

Masterlist

YN stayed in her room the day after the disastrous dinner with her sister and Alicents children. She wanted to go back to Dragonstone with her sister and await her newest niece’s arrival, but the pleas and begging from her father made her stay in Kings Landing for a fortnight. Though she hated her half brothers and her stepmother, she could never deny her father. Eventually she got bored and wanted to leave her room to find her father. But when she went to open her doors she found them locked and her unable to leave. 

“What is the meaning of this?!” YN demanded and pulled against her door. 

No one answered and she yanked against her door with all her might. Her abnormal strength, her dragon strength started to make the door splinter and bend. But she stopped when she noticed something strange she heard. YN looked out her window and noticed people being herded somewhere. 

Something was happening and she had to be smart. So she waited. She sat in her room, eye on the secret door that would lead to the passageways. YN’s mind raced at the possibilities of what was happening. Her father must’ve suffered some kind of stroke or debilitating medical thing. YN knew that Alicent and her family were plotting something and now that her father was incapacitated they were taking control of the Red Keep.

“Well they must need me for something. Probably to swear allegiance to some idiot. Well they have another thing coming, because I have no allegiance to anyone but Rhaenyra.” YN muttered to herself. 

After a good hour of pacing, the door to her room opened and Alicent entered. YN scowled and clenched her fists at the sight of her step mother. Alicent knew YN didn’t like her. Blaming her for not being the mother who birthed her, hating her for the treatment she gave Rhaenyra, hating her for giving birth to her awful half brothers and always taking their side, and for many other things. YN did not get along with her step mother, no matter how hard Alicent tried to bond with her as a babe and even now. Now YN watched as Alicent came into her room and tried to look kind. 

“I will do you some courtesy to explain yourself about the my treatment this morning. I will assume there is a good reason for it all.” YN demanded. 

“My dear regrets for your treatment princess.” Alicent said. 

YN looked at her face and knew the worst had passed. Her father wasn’t debilitated, he was gone. “Father…” Alicent said nothingas YN read her face. Not only was her father dead but the hightowers were usurping the throne from her sisters rightful claim. 

“And now you’re usurping the throne from my sister.” YN said, her brows furrowing.

“It was your father’s dying wish.”

“Oh and I’m sure only you got to hear it.” YN scoffed and crossed her arms. 

“You don’t have to believe it. Aegon will be king.” Alicent said. “I came here to ask for your support as I am going to ask Princess Rhaenys.” 

“Well you certainly are eager. Very bold of you, STEP mother.” YN bit. Her eyes burning into Alicent’s. 

“Your sister has allied herself with house Velaryon and what will it get you?” Alicent aksed. “Rhaenyra lies and has children with another man and you are still unmarried. She has had two husbands. It is she who grasps so tirelessly for the throne. And She who had left you here last.” 

“You certainly have a skewed view of what you think bothers me.” YN smiled sinisterly. 

“I loved your father but we both know your cousin Rhaenys should’ve been queen. She will come for our support don’t be on the losing side.” Alicent pleaded. 

“I will not be your puppet against my sister. You need the dragon princess on your side to legitimize your claim, but I will never support you.” YN smiled still. “You are truly pathetic asking my help. But you forget, my loyalty is with my sister not your hightower half 

Targaryens.”

YN stepped forward suddenly and grabbed Alicent’s wrist tightly, her hand unusually hot. Alicent tried to pull away but YN was stronger. Her Manic eyes bore into her stepmothers and scaded her immensely. Alicent had never seen this side of YN, she looked manic, slightly insane and bloodthirsty. 

“I am not afraid of war, you may think you have the advantage but Rhaenyra has me and I am stronger than a hundred of your men. I see through your desperate attempt here. You wish the throne for your house, for your father. But I will kill my kin before I see a hightower half breed on the throne.” YN whispered into Alicent’s ear and then harshly pushed her away. Alicent stumbling before leaving. 

YN laughed maniacally as she watched her step mother leave the room in a hurry. Her laughter stopped when she knew she was all alone. She couldn’t go out the secret passageway because she knew her secret ways would be watched.  So she waited. Day turned to night as she waited. Then she heard someone outside of her room. The door opened revealing ser Erryk holding a cloak and looking for her. 

“Come with me Princess.” He assured and YN quickly put on the cloak, coming to face with Rhaenys waiting outside. YN gave her a quick hug and they followed Ser Erryk. YN looked around the dark castle and watched Rhaenys for her reaction. They walked a while before finally making it out of the castle. Rhaenys asked for her dragon as the day broke. But hey were eventually swept up in a crowd that was being driven to the dragon pit. YN followed Rhaneys and kept a hand on her cloak. Her dragon wings were uncomfortably pressed down against her back and her hood just barely covered her horns. Eventually they made it into the dragon pit and underground. 

“What is the plan? You’re going to just fly Meleys out of here?” YN asked as she followed Rhaenys to her dragon. 

“We are leaving that is all. You are welcome to ride on Meleys’ back with me till we are in the air. Then I assume you can fly yourself?” Rhaenys explained and looked at YN. 

“You’re not going to attack them are you? YN asked. 

“I will not commit kinslaying. And I expect you to do the same.” Rhaneys got onto her dragon's back, YN followed and sat before her. 

Rhaenys commanded her dragon to go up. They crashed through the floor and broke through violently. People scattered and YN looked around for her half family. They faced them and YN scowled at their frightened faces. YN so desperately wanted to burn them. She hated them. She could end this war right here right now. But before she could jump down and do as she wished. Rhaenys held her close and whispered for her to calm down. YN obeyed. She did not want to be branded a kinslayer. So she sat back as the dragon screeched in their faces. 

They flew out of the pit. And into the sky. YN believing she made a mistake in sparing their lives.

🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕

Aegon at the sight of his sister who looks ready to murder him

[batsplat]

sampras tops generous agassi is insane LMAO. thank you for that lovely pt. 2 to the sampras/agassi rivalry essay!!!!!! i showed my friend your first post and she said, of agassi's biography quotes (specifically the "pete, always pete" motif): "OK THATS INSANE.... whys he writing like this is the song of Achilles or something. i could recognize him by touch alone core" andlksjfd and i found it very apt

please it's no trouble, I LOVE talking about them. and yes!! yes!! I LOVE how poetic about this stuff agassi is, how he really just like... gets the narrative appeal of sports, how he's so singularly capable of putting words to it. and how he talks about sampras! where he knows they're both alike in some fundamental ways, that there's something they've shared with each other that can never be erased... that sampras will always be part of his story, inescapable, inevitable. as always, pete. but also this fundamental feeling of separation. of alienation. of not being able to breach that divide

which is a PERFECT excuse to bring in perhaps my favourite interview agassi ever did, courtesy of der spiegel around the time of the release of the autobiography. it's quite extensive and the whole thing is very much worth a read. unsurprisingly given that it's a german magazine, a lot of attention is paid to agassi's relationship with steffi graf - and those bits are particularly sweet and sad

SPIEGEL: Both of you were drilled by fathers who wanted to control everything. Agassi: What is right is that both of us were in our fathers' hands. I told a lot of people that I hated tennis -- seriously and strongly hated it -- and they all tried to talk me out of it: "Ah, that is not right, Andre; in fact you love tennis, don't you?" Do you want to know what Stefanie said: "Don't we all?"

god.

there's also a fair bit about agassi's relationship with his father, so fair warning that those parts are all quite heavy. AND it's also very interesting on the actual writing process for the autobiography and how agassi's collaboration with moehringer came about. plus it takes some fun swings at chang and courier, for old time's sake. but to turn back to sampras, there's just something so striking about how agassi describes what it felt like playing tennis -

SPIEGEL: Mr. Agassi, is it possible for a happy person to win Wimbledon? Andre Agassi: For me, it's hard to imagine. SPIEGEL: Roger Federer seems to actually enjoy playing. Agassi: Yes, maybe. But, in my world, this is impossible. The maximum were short moments of peace during a match which we, the players, used to call "the Zone." But you couldn't plan it. It was never constant. And it went by very fast. SPIEGEL: Does a tennis professional have to be obsessed? Must there be some kind of trauma for him or her to be good? Agassi: While I was winning Wimbledon, I felt like I would die. I feared to fail; I feared embarrassment.

- and then later in the interview gives his thoughts on sampras -

SPIEGEL: For years, the rivalry between you and Pete Sampras was magical to a worldwide audience. Is there still a connection between the two of you? Agassi: There is a lot of respect. I believe that, without Pete, I would have won more and learned less. SPIEGEL: He appears to have been as driven as you were. He had to sleep in ice-cold rooms in total darkness. Was he obsessed or traumatized, as well? Agassi: We were all driven. And, of course, there is something strange about tennis: Egocentric and narcissistic behavior can win; torture and the isolation of players may lead you to the top. Pete and I shared our life and our fate; we were together all year long. But we were lonely. If there was not the net separating us, there was a wall.

and... yeah. "if there was not the net separating us, there was a wall". nyhhhhh this idea that to be a good tennis player, you need to embrace the worst aspects of yourself, that you need to make yourself suffer... egocentric, narcissistic - a sport of the tortured and the isolated... pete and I shared our life and our fate; we were together all year long. but we were lonely........ god. GOD. what more is there even to say!!

which is really agassi's gift, isn't it... putting words to the dark underbelly of the sport that everyone who's spent enough time in that world is aware of - but may never be forced to confront. tennis is hell, it can be one of the loneliest experiences imaginable - and so much of agassi's story is about attempting to stave off that fundamental horror. surrounding himself by as many people as possible, trying to live a real and full and loud life... because whenever he stepped on court he had to face The Horror once again. rivals who can share a life and a fate but can never truly understand each other, a net dividing the players that might as well be a wall... as always, pete - and as always, alone

[e-dubbc11]

Goodnight Sweet Prince

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Billy Russo x F! Reader

Warnings: Death, description of injuries, vomiting, crying, grief

Word Count: 2.8K-ish

Summary: After a night out, on your way home, there’s a horrific accident

A/N: Ok I’m just going to say I’m sorry right off the bat, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Based off of a conversation between my lovely lovely friend @ittybxttykxttytxtty if you’d like to read the conversation, check it out HERE There is a surprise at the end so I will do another author’s note at the end. This was very hard to write at times, I had to walk away from it and come back to it a few times. I know, I’m rambling again. I’m just gonna say I’m sorry again and forgive me but I hope you like it anyway. Oh and the song I listened to on repeat to put me in the right mindset was Storm by Lifehouse. I’ll link it at the end. ♥️

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

There wasn’t anything that could be done for the outcome to be different. You were living a real life nightmare over and over again, always starting and ending in the same place, never finding out what happened after the accident or how you were supposed to figure out how to break the time loop you were stuck in.

The scorched heart that beat inside your chest burned every time you had to watch that truck hit the patch of black ice. His strong hands had pushed you out of the way and you fell across the faded white lines of the crosswalk, toward the sidewalk, just as it hit him.

Choking on the icy winter air, you tried to get to him as people started to gather around. All other sounds had been blocked out, you couldn’t hear the pedestrians that were trying to ask you if you were ok. You could read their lips but there was no sound.

With your palms pressed firmly in place, you could feel the vibrations of the traffic along the cold cracked city streets before crawling on all fours through a sea of legs looking for him. You could finally hear the faded sounds of approaching sirens and see the blinking red emergency lights against the somber night sky.

Your heart sank into your feet when you finally saw him. The attempt to control his pain and shock was futile. He didn’t have to say anything because it was all over his face. He was scared, calling out your name over and over again through shuttering, halting breaths.

Bright red blood slowly dripped from the scrapes on his knuckles and trailed out of his mouth. His legs twisted to impossible angles; you knew they were broken.

The dialogue was always the same.

As you hovered above him, you tried to stifle your sobs as you gently scraped his scalp with your nails.

“BILLY!” You cried out.

He struggled to get his words out. Between labored breaths he managed to ask, “A-are y-you o-ok? T-tell me you’re ok!”

Cupping his cheek, you replied, “I’m ok, baby…I’m ok. They’re coming, Billy! Just hold on! Why did you do that?!!”

Billy tried to smile.

“I-I couldn’t l-let any…thing h-happen to m-my s-sweet girl.” He choked out before his eyes closed.

“Billy! Billy, open your eyes for me please! Don’t you dare leave me, Billy Russo!” You yelled, gripping and shaking his shoulders.

Just as his eyes slowly started to open, you were surrounded by a swarm of paramedics who whisked you away toward the ambulance. And as you struggled to get away from them and back to Billy, a warm white light would appear and take you to a happy memory of him like the day you met, the night of your first date, and the first time he told you he loved you.

These memories felt like dreams. You observed them from the outside, like you were a spectator watching your own life as it played out in front of you.

“She left me…she didn’t want me…she never did.” He had said softly.

You remembered that night vividly. That quiet night with nothing but the sound of the fire crackling and hissing in between the words the two of you exchanged. A mother had left her own child on the doorstep of a fire station with nothing but the clothes on his back, not bothering to look back as she walked away from him. She made a choice and she didn’t deserve any forgiveness for it you thought to yourself because you couldn’t get any words out.

You struggled to swallow as tears silently fell from your eyes and in a way, you felt sorry for her because she would never know that her son grew up to be probably the strongest person you had ever met.

Billy had pulled himself out of that gutter she had left him in. He defended his country as a marine, became a successful CEO of a company he started without help from anyone, and he was so much more than anyone ever got to see.

You were the only person he ever showed that side of himself to.

Even the warmth from the fire couldn’t keep you from shivering as you listened to his story. The words kept pouring out like blood from an open wound and his words left you stunned and unable to move.

There wasn’t anything you could say to take that pain away, to make the nightmares disappear, help him forget about the Ray of Hope group home, the bodies left behind in Afghanistan, or the pain he suffered from feeling unwanted and unloved for so long. But you could listen and be there for him whenever he needed you to and he loved you for that.

Your story wasn’t like Billy’s but it was still a painful one. The memories you had from when you were really young made you happy but as you got older into your pre-teen and teenage years, everything unraveled.

Your parents divorced, you had to leave the house you grew up in, and your mother even gave away your dog. She treated you like she didn’t want you, not going as far as Billy’s mother did but you felt just as he did…unwanted and unloved.

“What did she do to you?” Billy had asked.

Gazing at you fondly, his eyes were the color of freshly turned soil after the rain. His long fingers softly brushed across your knuckles as the heat from the fire warmed one side of his handsome face.

You swallowed hard before answering him, it was nothing like what he had been through, and it just sounded so marginal but you answered him anyway.

“She ignored me.” You replied with your voice cracking.

You didn’t want to cry but tears fell from your eyes anyway as you tried to look away from him, realizing how stupid it all sounded but he wouldn’t let you look away or down. Billy wanted your eyes on him.

The look in his eyes was understanding; they silently told you he would never do that to you and he would always be there to listen to you because, in a way, you were alike. The two of you had managed to find one another and he never wanted to let that go…and neither did you.

The broken fragments of your lives that you carried around never quite fit back into place, no matter how hard you tried to put them back. Those scars are forever; they never completely go away but you didn’t need those pieces anymore. The healing you did together helped to patch the holes inside that you thought might never be filled with love again.

Patiently, you had waited for someone to love you as Billy did, to love you for who you were and he had only wanted the same. Not for his money or his good looks but for someone to love him, to be patient with him, but also to put him in his place when he was wrong. He wasn’t used to that but he did whatever it took because, with your help, he liked the man he was becoming.

He felt…content.

And in an instant, everything changed. The cycle would start all over again. Truck…screeching tires…hitting the pavement…sirens and lights…blood…broken bones…hearing your name…flashes of light…a fond memory.

You couldn’t keep watching him get hit by that truck over and over again. It felt like moments of your life were being taken from you each time it happened but still you loved watching the wonderful memories and moments between you and Billy again like it was the first time it was happening.

Every emotion you had experienced in those memories, you felt again watching them unfold in front of your eyes. The butterflies in your stomach fluttered again watching him kiss you for the first time. And goosebumps peppered your skin every time his lips touched that spot on your neck you loved so much…you felt them all.

But no matter how hard you tried to prevent him from being hit, you couldn’t do it. The universe wouldn’t let you. The cruelty of it all, watching the worst moment of your life play over and over again like a broken record. The flashes of light would always happen before learning Billy’s fate but you needed to break the loop.

How were you going to do that?

Maybe? No, no that can’t be the answer. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t just let him die. “There has to be another way!” You thought.

The scent of tires and pavement mixed together burned into your sense of smell and left you sick with nausea as you tried to comfort him or ease his pain in any way you could. But it didn’t do any good. You could feel him slipping away as the obliterating pain you felt in your chest increased when the paramedics tore you away from his side.

The light came for you, ready to take you away to another memory but you didn’t let it. That’s when you realized that there was no other way to break the loop. Your body went numb, admitting to yourself that you had to let him go.

You had exhausted every option, tried everything, but the time loop kept going. The memories shown to you were all you were going to have left of him which was excruciating to think about.

You broke free from the paramedic’s strong grip and hurried back to him just as the other EMT’s were putting him on the stretcher.

You weren’t going to let him be alone.

No other words were exchanged inside the ambulance. With the oxygen mask over his face, his long fingers had laced with yours, he squeezed your hand periodically as the ambulance raced toward the hospital until his heart stopped beating and you heard the unmistakable sound of a flat line. His fingers went limp, his hand dropped away from yours as the EMT’s tried to revive him but he wasn’t coming back.

The tears came thick and fast as all noises dissipated like a heavy fog burning off over the ocean. A piece of you was gone, it had died along with him and that space in your heart that had been filled in with his love was empty once again.

The air inside suddenly became heavy and you struggled to breathe. As soon as the ambulance doors opened, you vomited onto the pavement in the parking lot and collapsed into the arms of one of the paramedics.

Before you blacked out, you heard him call out to you, “Miss! Can you hear me?!”

**********

Slowly, your eyes fluttered open, the bright lights above you stung as you waited for your vision to adjust to them. The voice you heard next to you was a familiar one.

“Hey sweetheart.” He said.

The voice was deep and gruff but soft. It could only be one person…Frank.

Frank Castle was Billy’s best friend. They served together and when Billy started Anvil, he had Frank come and work for him.

A hazy sense of sadness filled the room and after a moment of cold silence, you burst into tears, clawed at the sheets and tried to get out of bed.

“Y/n…no, no! What are ya doing, ya have to stay here. He’s gone, sweetheart.” Frank embraced you tightly and choked on his words. “He’s gone.”

Still trying to pull the cold sheets off your body, you cried, “He was all I had, Frank! He was all I…had!”

Frank squeezed you as hard as he could, held you in his arms as you cried while he tried not to and stroked your hair to try and soothe you but it didn’t do any good. You were heartbroken and numb as you sobbed against Frank’s shirt before passing out from shock once again.

The only person in the world who understood you, who you went to when you were having a bad day, or when you just needed someone to hug you in silence was stolen from you and he wasn’t coming back.

The only thing you felt was helplessness, lying in your hospital bed desperately trying to think of how you were going to move on with your life without him. You didn’t have anyone else, so what were you supposed to do now?

The weeks following Billy’s death all ran together in a blur. Frank and his wife, Maria, insisted you stay with them, but you couldn’t eat, or sleep, and when you did sleep, you were awakened by constant nightmares. Billy came to you in your dreams, they felt so real, his hands cupping your cheeks, lips colliding with yours, and his fingers tracing along the curves and hollows of your body.

Suddenly, his face was covered in cuts and blood and his life force grew fainter. You reached out but you couldn’t touch him. He slipped right through your fingers as he was just a vision, a figment of your imagination and then he disappeared.

Cold sweats and waves of nausea resulted in you vomiting up whatever food you had managed to eat. Maria became concerned when it would happen every time you tried to eat something so even though you told her you were fine, she brought you to the doctor anyway.

Sitting in the exam room, you said to her, “I told you, I’m fine. You don’t have to worry.”

“But I am worried.” She said. “You can’t keep anything down. That’s not good, y/n.”

It felt like they had kept you waiting in that room for days, so she just sat with you, talked, and comforted you. She knew how hard all of this had been on you.

Maria had become a really good friend to you after starting your relationship with Billy. She was so happy that he finally found someone that understood him, was patient with him, and had taught him how to be in a relationship. Some days were harder than others but she did her best to try and ease your pain.

“I know it hasn’t been that long y/n, but Frank and I, even the kids, would do anything to see you smile again.” Said Maria, as she laced her fingers with yours.

You tried to give her a slight smile but immediately your eyes welled up with tears and streaked down your cheeks.

“I see him everywhere I go, every time I close my eyes, he’s there but I can’t touch him. My hand just floats through him! It’s so hard without him, Maria!” You sobbed.

She held you tightly against her as she bit back her tears.

“I know it is…ssshh, ssshhh, I know it is. I know you miss him, we all do, but we are always here for you.” She said, choking on her words.

You remembered when your grandfather passed away. The nurses told you that hearing was the last sense to leave the body so he could still hear you even if you didn’t think he could. And you remembered that in the ambulance on your way to the hospital with Billy.

Before he squeezed your hand for the last time, you whispered in his ear how much you loved him and told him he was the best thing to ever happen to you.

Then he was gone and you knew he wasn’t coming back. He died knowing he was loved which is all he ever wanted but you didn’t know if you would ever be able to process your grief. Everything was difficult. Getting out of bed, eating, taking care of yourself. It was all so painful.

Maria was still holding onto you when the doctor knocked and walked through the door. She had a kind smile and was very aware of the ordeal you had been through so her tone of voice was very gentle.

“Hi there, y/n. I’d ask you how you’re doing but I know the answer to that but I think I know why you haven’t been able to keep any food down lately.” She said.

You and Maria looked at her, very interested in what she was about to say.

“Your bloodwork came back and, well…you’re pregnant y/n.” She said with a warm smile.

As those words echoed inside your head, you suddenly became lightheaded and you were thankful that Maria was holding onto you because you could feel yourself starting to lean off of the exam table.

“I’m…pregnant?” You questioned. “A-are y-you sure? How can that be? I was on birth control.”

She shrugged. “Well you know it’s not always 100% effective. We should schedule you for an ultrasound so we know how far along you are.”

Maria cracked a smile as her tears went from sad to happy.

“Oh my god…” She said, stunned.

“Oh my god…” You replied, in return.

Billy didn’t leave you all alone after all but how were you going to do it without him?

A/N #2: I’d love to continue this, explore her grief a little more, past times with Billy, maybe the birth of the baby? What do you think?

Tag List: @wheresthesunshinesblog @rafaelakelley @idaoftheburningmind @snowkestrel @fakehappy27 @music-indie-tv @fictional-hooman @kayhi808 @munsonownsmyass @gijos @celestialend @k-marzolf @nutmeg17 @rosaleenablack @vaguekayla @qu1etwolf @danzer8705 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf

Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @fluffyprettykitty @jvanilly @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @ittybxttykxttytxtty @russosafehaven @mrsbillyrusso

If you’d like to be added (or removed from) my tag list(s) for the ever so handsome Billy Russo, just let me know and thank you again for reading! 💕💕💕 If I tagged you but you didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again.

[brain-rot-central]

In Sonnet AA is just a more powerful Astarion or the ascension changed him drastically in some way?What do you make of Mephistophele's deal (or any deal with a devil in general)?

So... My interpretation of Astarion is that UA and AA both exist within him from the start.

Throughout the game we see the two sides of him warring for dominance. And tbh, he's kind of an asshole from the get. Like, he isn't a nice person. He's a jerk, but he learns compassion as the game goes on because someone (Tav/Durge) finally extended a hand to him. Someone finally sees him. It's the theory of "love breeds kindness" being displayed.

The ascension route his him choosing himself despite this, strictly out of fear of another being having control over him again and it exacerbates all of his worst qualities since he's delving deeper into his paranoia. He's walling himself off, basically. Regressing, which happens a lot with abuse victims.

And as much as he tries telling himself that the ascension "killed the weaker version of himself," all it really did is shove that part of him down beneath six feet of dirt. He never made peace with it so much as he views it as an embarrassment and a source of shame. But when it comes to Tav, that part of him screams the loudest. And he hates it, because it reminds him of how weak and vulnerable he felt.

Basically reminds him that the concept of love makes him uncomfortable because to love someone is to be vulnerable. You'll do and withstand things you normally wouldn't with other people. Love is an opportunity for you to be softer and to have someone hold you. That scares the shit out of him, because he's no longer totally in control. You essentially become a willing participant for the other person, and you hope that they'll continue to extend the same courtesy to you.

I also don't agree with the notion that just because he's ascended, he now suddenly knows everything. Nothing about the ascension changes what has already happened to him, or his experiences. He may put on an air as if it has, and the whole point of it is to distract you from the realization that he still doesn't know shit about being an ascended/true vampire (his first humanoid blood was the PC and that was literally like... one/two months ago).

The man has zero idea how to turn someone and it's probably a nerve-racking experience for him, which is why he becomes so personally offended if you refuse his offer to become his consort. Because in a way, it's him being vulnerable with you. He has no idea what he's doing but he's willing to try if it means you both get to spend eternity together. He's essentially proposing to you in the only way he knows how. He also doesn't know SHIT about any of his powers/abilities yet.

He's a little fledging vampire who's been given the keys to the Lamborghini, essentially. But heaven forbid anyone else see that.

I don't think he lost his soul in the deal. I think moreso he's riding an insane high of 1) finally being free of Cazador's influence and 2) no longer having the insatiable hunger that plagued him for 200 years. For the first time in two centuries his mind is completely clear and his own again.

But I do believe there are some trade-offs to the ascension. Like for instance, uncovering a werebat form if he's too emotionally charged/cannot control himself. I also hc that he eventually starts hearing the voices of those sacrificed during the ritual, especially if he delves too deeply into a dark path.

TL;DR: the UA/AA versions of Astarion exist from the beginning and I still think they exist post-ascension. Just with the ascension, he's letting the worst qualities of himself win. I don't see that as a permanent thing.

The deal with Mepho changes nothing about him on a personal level; he doesn't lose his soul in the deal but there are some consequences of the deal -- becoming grotesque and/or hearing voices of those sacrificed in the ritual. He feels good and it just reinforces the arrogant behavior he displayed early on, as it's a point of regression for his overall development.

[radish-lesbian]

i hope you find love for yourself someday. i hope that someday you wake up and you realize that there is more to life than hating other people for things that they cant control. i hope that you go outisde and smell the flowers. make a friend. talk to people. learn about things that dont make sense to you. i hope that you grow love in your heart someday. even for trans women. even for genderqueer people. even for men. even for people that don't fit in your boxes. you won't get love through hatred. but i hope upon hope that one day you'll learn to love living.

Refreshing ask, good to get one that’s not just “kys”. However it’s pretty condescending to assume that I don’t talk to people or go outside lol?

I also don’t hate any of the groups you listed. I just want people to not treat an oppressed group (women) poorly. My justified rage at injustice is not something I’ll ever silence. People have been telling women for centuries to shut up and not be mad at the crap hand they’ve been dealt. Thanks but no thanks, I’ll continue to demand change and demand that the people around me break out from misogynistic behavior patterns, both overt and covert. It may shock you, but I’m friends with many trans and genderqueer people as well as men.

Also, nobody ‘fits in my boxes’ because I don’t have boxes. I don’t believe gender is real. From my perspective, many trans ideologies are much more rigid categorizers than I’ll ever be, microlabeling every gender identity so you can find one “you fit” rather than recognizing that it’s an inherently false concept.

Relevant image courtesy of @femenaces :