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bookskeepers · 3 months ago

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a little bit of love ◆ chapter one

content warnings: mentions of violence/gore, mentions of cheating, probably not how South Korean court works (i got my information from a guide called 'An overview of the criminal law system in South Korea' which was on... canada's government website)?, mentions of penises, trauma !, woo jinchul IS in this chapter

word count: 2,363

author's note: heh...? reader rlly said "oops"

taglist: none yet ! leave an ask / comment to be added

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The police had appeared on your friend's doorstep the next day. When she opened the door, they simply mentioned that they were there for you and that they determined your location based on eyewitness reports. They didn't tell your friend what the crime was, instead opting to push past her and arrest you in the kitchen.

You'd've been foolish if you hadn't known this was coming; through the haze of your memories, you distinctly recalled mutilating your ex-boyfriend somehow. And, unfortunately for you, your ex-boyfriend was someone of mild importance in your neighborhood, so the police moved faster than usual to get you.

The actual investigation against you hadn't lasted very long -- they sat you down in a small, tiled room to ask you questions about your supposed motive. You could tell from their phrasing that they were already convinced you were guilty of whatever crime they were informed of, since each question was pointed and guiding.

After that, the trial itself was relatively short; you hadn't opted for a jury trial, so the decision was made by a judge. You had been detained in between the investigation and trial, cited to be "unfit to return to civil life" due to your apparent awakening and lack of control over your abilities. Your lawyer did most of the speaking for you, as your evidence was presented orally. There were only four separate court sessions total despite you having confessed to the crime, since the circumstances made the entire thing more nuanced.

When word first got out, it made national news -- it's not every day that a newly awakened hunter loses control of themselves and injures someone else unintentionally, especially not in a situation like yours. As a result, you lost your job due to the sudden criminal charges looming over your head. However, you and your ex-boyfriend's fifteen seconds of fame soon faded as the case progressed. The internet was full of arguments about who was in the right, with most people on your side since you were cheated on and abused. Your personal life was aired in every sense of the word, making you feel more like an animal in a cage than a human, and it felt like the entire world knew anything there was to know about your life by the time the trial was over.

The judge had deemed you guilty, but had given you a fairly light punishment given the scenario itself: you were to perform community service under the Hunter's Association. More specifically, you were to assist the Surveillance Team in something-or-other. You hadn't been paying close attention to the specifics, overwhelmed by relief that you weren't going to spend your life behind bars.

The same could not be said for your ex-boyfriend, however -- he lost his guild contract due to his mistreatment of you and was hospitalized for quite a bit to ensure his newly grown penis (courtesy of an A-rank healer) was working as intended. You had heard through the grapevine that it was extremely malfunctional, and you had taken a private moment of glee in response.

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The verdict had been delivered two weeks ago. Now, you stand in front of a mirror in your friend's apartment, dressed in the best business-casual attire you own. A loose white button-up, a pair of black leggings, and a crepe blazer that dangles over your frame. You find yourself once again grateful that your friend had agreed to host you until you were able to find your own place, despite it all. You make a mental note to buy her lunch later, thankful that you were able to save while you were stuck in that awful relationship. After all, your hunter ex-boyfriend had insisted on paying for everything to appear more "masculine" to whoever may have been watching, whatever that meant.

You take a deep breath, inhaling through your nose and exhaling through your mouth, straightening your blazer before pulling your bag over your shoulder. As you make your way out of the spare room and into the entryway of the apartment, you stop by the door to slip on a pair of low wedges to complete your outfit. You leave your slippers by the shoerack.

It doesn't take you long to reach the main building of the Hunter's Association. Upon your arrival, someone at the front desk whisks you away to a different building across the street, telling you that you need to be evaluated before your community service can actually begin.

You spend a good chunk of the morning waiting in the queues, trying to maintain an air of patience while you ignore the stares aimed at you. While you may have faded from national headlines, your verdict had been public and the case itself had been considered "juicy" for lack of a better term. It wasn't difficult to put two and two together to figure out who you were.

Right before noon, your name is called and you shuffle into the evaluation room. The giant sphere in the middle intimidates you, and you feel a pit of dread begin to form in your stomach when the attendant instructs you to place your hand on the surface of it. Some brainwashed part of you whispers that you hope you're not an E-rank, despite knowing that's impossible; you were able to harm your C-rank ex-boyfriend, after all. It's only when the attendant lets out a soft sound of surprise that you look up at her with a tilted head, a questioning look in your eyes.

"You're an A-rank," she says with a bright smile, and you wonder if they're trained to deliver all news with that expression. "In fact, you're on the upper end of the spectrum! Congratulations on your new rank." She gestures you over to her so you can look at the screen dictating your power levels. The graphs and images don't mean anything to you, however, so you decide to take her at face value.

"An A-rank?" you echo, confusion lacing itself in your tone. "That's... wow. I didn't think..." You trail off, struggling to get the words out.

The attendant seems unbothered. "If you're lucky, maybe you'll get scouted by a major guild!"

Her optimism sinks its claws into you, and you give her a weak smile. "I don't think that'll happen," you say earnestly. You've never heard of anyone with a criminal record being recruited by one of the big five. Besides, you have a stint with the Hunter's Association that has to be completed before you can even consider guild recruitment.

You thank the attendant for her time and head out, picking up your Hunter ID on your way out. You retrace your steps, crossing the street once more and re-entering the Hunter's Association HQ. The individual behind the desk herds you into an elevator this time, pressing the button for a floor higher up in the building. Soft music fills the tense, awkward silence between the two of you as the elevator ascends.

The muzak doesn't do much to quiet your thoughts, which are currently spiralling out of control. Ever since the incident, you had been trying to make sense of these sudden new powers, trying to see if you ever felt the sensations of those abilities manifesting since then. Simply put, the answer was no. In the past several months, there had been no itch in your fingertips, no sparks of red-hot rage. To be quite honest, you aren't even completely sure how awakening works -- you honestly think there should be more incidents similar to yours, because how often do people awaken with perfect control over their abilities? How did people even learn how to use them?

As if the universe itself is trying to answer your question, the elevator dings softly and the doors slide open to reveal a long hallway. You can faintly hear bustling and ringing phones off to your left, and you suppose that's where one of those huge offices with cubicles is. The secretary gestures for you to follow as they lead you down the long hallway, past the door you're sure leads to those cubicles. There are two rights and three lefts on your route, and you're working on memorizing them before the secretary stops in front of a door that matches all the other doors you've seen thus far.

"You can wait in here," they say, albeit not unkindly. They open the door with one hand, and you can feel their eyes on you as you walk inside.

It's a fairly average-looking personal office; there's a mahogany desk in the center, with giant windows as the backdrop. A swivel chair sits behind the desk, along with a neat stack of papers next to a monitor and keyboard. Several meters in front of the desk are two sofas across from each other with a coffee table in between. The walls that aren't windows are lined with tall bookcases, and closer inspection reveals that most of the books are about hunting, raids, and mana. The other few are fantasy novels and science fiction novels, which comes to you as a mild surprise.

The secretary closes the door behind you with a soft click, and you take the time to inspect the room some more. On the desk, there's a silver placard with the name "WOO JINCHUL" written in bold letters on it. The handwriting on the paperwork is extremely organized, as if whoever wrote it took extra time to ensure it's legible. The monitor isn't displaying a screensaver and the PC it's attached to is hidden out of view, but the rim of the screen has several sticky notes detailing important dates hanging from it.

You run your fingers along the placard, feeling the grooves of the letters. The metal is cool to the touch, and your hand comes away completely free of dust. You're beginning to form an image in your mind of this Woo Jinchul when the door suddenly opens rather loudly without warning, frightening you.

In your state of panic, your mind flashes back to the times your ex-boyfriend would do the same, usually with the intent to shout at you or worse. The itching in your fingers suddenly returns full force, and you find yourself firing off another one of those airblades at the newcomer. You let out a strangled "watch out," thinking about how you're about to have yet another criminal charge on your once-perfect-now-ruined record.

To your relief -- and perhaps shock -- the newcomer makes a slashing motion with their hand, and the incoming attack dissipates. Your knees suddenly collapse beneath you, the fear coursing through your veins too much to bear. It takes you several long, silent minutes to calm yourself. Once you succeed, you cringe at how awful of a first impression you just made on this individual.

"Better?" the person asks, tone polite and plain. The voice is deep and masculine, pleasing to your brain.

You blink a few times, taking the time to actually look at him. He's tall, clad in a black suit, and his blondish-orangeish hair is slicked back save for one curl that rests against his forehead. He's too far away for you to determine the exact color of his eyes, but from your vantage point you can see that they're on the darker end. His frame is broad, and something about the way he stands suggests years of experience at doing whatever it is he does. He also exudes a slightly intimidating aura, made worse by your embarrassing interaction just now.

"Um, yes, thank you, sorry," you manage to say, although your voice is not much louder than a mumble.

The man makes a show of dusting himself off before striding across the room and sitting on one of the sofas. He gestures to the couch opposite him. "Sit."

You pick yourself off the ground, wincing at the pain in your knees, and obey his command. Now that you're closer to him, you can tell that his eyes are a shade of violet. Pretty.

You swallow the lump in your throat, willing your voice to be louder this time. "I'm really sorry about that," you begin. "The door... startled me, and I don't have the best control ov--"

He holds up one finger, and you find yourself stopping mid-sentence. "Don't worry about it. I've dealt with worse." He leans forward, reaching his hand out over the coffee table. "Let me formally introduce myself. My name is Woo Jinchul, and I'll be your... case worker, for lack of a better word."

"Case... worker?" you echo, confusion laced in your tone.

"I'll be the one overseeing your community service," he clarifies. "I'm the Chief Investigator of the Hunter Association's Surveillance Team."

You blink, all these words making sense separately but not together. "So... that means...?"

Jinchul raises an eyebrow at you, perhaps the first sign of emotion he's outwardly displayed since stepping foot in the room. He slowly retracts his hand once he realizes you're probably not going to shake it. "It means my team and I keep an eye on hunters and investigate raid-related incidents when necessary."

You nod, things finally clicking into place. "I'm guessing I'll be helping you do that?" you finally say.

"Eventually. Firstly, I'm going to help you control your abilities. Then we'll see about fieldwork."

You note that he has a very straight-to-the-point way of talking, and he excels at keeping his voice even to ensure it doesn't betray his internal feelings. In fact, you can't actually get a read on how he might feel about this whole situation, as he's been nothing but polite yet somewhat cold during your entire brief interaction. Nothing about the way he's acted thus far suggests he's repulsed by you, at least.

"That's good, at least. Maybe this way I won't accidentally kill anyone for opening a door loudly," you joke.

The silence that follows your words is deafening. You find yourself wishing that there were at least crickets in the room, as their chirps would be more responsive to your comedy than Jinchul is.

After a bit, he just lets out a small sigh. "I look forward to working with you, Ms. Sun."

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grandmother-goblin · 11 months ago

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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!

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x female tav #astarion fanfic

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aritsukemo · 5 months ago

Note

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

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skaldish · 1 year ago

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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.

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pages-and-1nk · 2 months ago

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Hey so can we stop normalizing people stealing content and posting it somewhere else without talking to the creator first?

I love posting my ideas on tumblr, I love sharing my thoughts with a community, but holy fuck I keep having people repost my content- things I plan to turn into fics- without talking to me. No you can’t turn the ideas I come up with into fics without giving me ANY form of credit. No you cannot steal my content and repost it onto tiktok without AT LEAST GIVING ME THE COURTESY OF A DM.

I am perfectly fine with others reposting my shit, but I would like you to reach out to me so I can communicate that if someone in the comments asks “should I write a fic?” You say “the original poster is writing one :)” instead of needing me to do damage control, so one of my WIP in my drafts doesn’t get stolen.

It’s really frustrating, and makes me want to stop posting my thoughts/potential scenarios on tumblr- in fear they’ll get stolen. I do this stuff for fun, please stop taking that from me so you can get a shit tone of likes and comments off my work :)

#marauders #marauders fandom #marauders era #regulus black #dead gay wizards from the 70s #jegulus #this is stupid #this is a personal boundary #stop taking my content

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deadbeatbirdmom · 3 months ago

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Happy Valentine's Day my fellow RWBY fans. This should be a day focused on love. Which is why I'm going to talk about something that's been troubling me for a while. This isn't about any single post, and I'm not singling anyone out. I'd put this under a read more cut but I think it's important enough not to do that. Scroll down for TLDR and a poll.

One of the common courtesies of tumblr etiquette is: don't tag hate with things like a ship tag or character tag. Or should be common, but let's face it, it's more like uncommon.

A good chunk of tumblr users who I end up blocking are those who post hate in tags like the 'Bumbleby' tag, or 'Yang Xiao Long' tag (it'd be the 'RWBY' tag too, but I don't often go there and rarely post in it). No, it's not toxic to block people, it's how you control your tumblr experience. It's how I avoid seeing hate, or try to.

But there are some tumblr users who I don't want to block but also end up putting hate in the tags: some of my fellow fans. It's not intended the same way as those who do it out of spite, but the end result is the same: your fellow fans end up seeing stuff they might prefer not to.

There's another rule, an old one that predates tumblr: don't feed the trolls. Don't give them attention. Please delete anon hate rather than answer it, although I definitely understand how trolling trolls can be fun. Just please don't tag it with the main tags or you'll do the anon's work for them if it's hate about a ship or character.

I see all too much fan art around that gets far less engagement than posts trying to fight back against hate (and unfortunately share the hate at the same time, especially when it's something from elsewhere like reddit or twitter). If you like the art, don't only hit that heart button, reblog it too!

RWBY fandom isn't dead, but we do need to do our part to encourage artists to make and share more art. Likes alone don't help the art get in front of more fans. I don't think everyone looks in the tags to find art, some will rely on those they follow reblogging art. This goes for sharing fic too! And giving fic writers comments (and kudos on AO3).

This is an appeal to keep negativity out of the main tags. I'm not saying you can't post whatever you want, just when it comes to tagging: please spare a thought for your fellow fans who are incredibly tired of negativity. If all else fails, maybe include a tag that can be added to filters? 'Wasps' for posts about Bumbleby hate, maybe?

I don't know about anyone else, but if I wanted to see hate and get angry, I'd be on twitter or reddit. I check tags here on tumblr to find fan art, and to see fellow fans talking about how much they love RWBY and its characters and ships, and find interesting theories and analysis.

I'm also not entirely sure how tumblr works with followed tags and words mentioned in posts. Do untagged posts still show up if the word appears in the post? Does that mean breaking the word with a backslash or something to avoid it showing up? I don't know, perhaps something to consider.

TLDR: please don't feed the trolls and don't tag hate with main tags. Show RWBY fan artists and fic writers some love and reblog their posts, and comment on fics!

One last thing: a poll to find out if I'm an outlier and posting hate is actually normal in this post-twitter world.

#Bumbleby #RWBY

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klausysworld · 1 year ago

Text

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.

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spicyspiders · 2 years ago

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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.

#x male reader #141 x reader #task force 141 x reader #ghost x male reader #simon riley x male reader #soap x male reader #gaz x male reader #john price x male reader #johnny mactavish x male reader #task force 141 x male reader

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cheez-the-clown · 2 months ago

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You're so interested in makeup and aesthetics and being cute... So why do you keep making yourself so ugly??? Maybe it's just because you can't control your eating. But it seems counterintuitive; no one can see any of your efforts because your fat is the first thing they see. And you know all those Internet people encouraging you are only being nice. Or else why don't they get fat? Because nobody wants fat. So gross and smelly. Fat is the first thing everybody notices about you. Even the nicest people. In fact many will go out of their way to be nice and encouraging BECAUSE you're fat

Wow, you took time out of your day to write me a whole essay, so I'm going to do you the same courtesy.

For starters, I'm gorgeous and I'm so sorry that your hideousness pushes you to harass teenage girls online, that's true ugliness babes. I do love makeup, it's an art form and something that I'm quite proficient in, and my efforts are recognized by those that matter.

I eat because food tastes good and I love myself, so I allow myself to eat things that make me, and my tummy happy. I also eat because my body is not for show, it's a well-oiled machine that needs fuel.

I'm a big girl, tall and so strong so I need all that fuel and energy so that I can kick ass and strut around in my glittery heels, stomping on cunts like you who think their opinions on my body has any actual effect on me other than to make me feel hotter, because I never feel hotter than when I'm pissing people off.

Normally I'd give joke around, say something along the lines of fuck you, your dad and your mom but I'm dignifying this with a response because you pissed me off, and because I need all the other big girls out there who might see this to read what I'm about to say.

You are beautiful and gorgeous, cute and hot and oh so lovable, just like me, and you should exist and show off all your loveliness in spite of the fuckfaces out there who say you should starve yourself to fit their beauty standards.

#<3 #😘✌️

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writing-for-life · 1 year ago

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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…

#fandom problems #fandom entitlement #fandom stuff #squicks #vs #triggers #tagging #being grossed out or strongly disliking is uncomfortable #but it’s not the same as being triggered

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rewatching-sam-and-dean · 5 months ago

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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.)

#supernatural #Sam Winchester #Castiel #Season 9 #SPN Meta #Sam and Castiel #Arguments against Sam getting all the blame all the time #my thoughts / rants #Castiel Critical #Dean Winchester #mentions

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