#i said i think a monster might kill me at this point

[cathrhea]

Okay this ship is a tad tough to propaganda for given that it's not completely headcanon but also not completely canon. Some of this stuff is just kinda inferred because these two don't ever really interact? Catherine just talks about Rhea a lot and Rhea doesn't really talk about or interact with Catherine much. I've shipped with less though!

Let's start with basics. They're both arguably bisexual. Rhea can enter a marriage with either gender of byleth, and Catherine has multiple romantic endings with men while simultaneously being in love with Rhea.

Multiple of Catherine's endings, even when she's married to someone else, have her leaving the church and retiring to Zanado with Rhea. She has one ending where she stays at the church, at that's with Byleth who has avatar privilege. Without Rhea, she pretty much always starts traveling the world. Rhea is the only reason she stays at the church.

In her S support with Byleth that she's a servant of Rhea, not the church. Whether Rhea is alive or not, she admits she's lost. Rhea means the world to her to say the least. This is because when Catherine was a student, her life was saved by Rhea. She was nearly killed by monsters, and Rhea took her "muddied, bloodied body into her arms (Byleth A support, 2019)…" She saved her life again after Rhea took her in once she had to flee Faerghus, thanks to a false regicide accusation. It's pretty clear why Catherine loves Rhea.

Her death quote asks Byleth to save her. She has an advice box where she mentions she's getting used to her absence, and hates it. She's assumes that Rhea doesn't feel nearly as strongly, as shown in her explore dialogue where she sadly says "Lady Rhea's not waiting for me, I know, no matter how much I might wish she were. She's waiting for you (Byleth) (Explore Chapter 21 AM, 2019)." Despite this for better or worse, she's still devoted to her. The only thing she refuses to do for her is die, which I'm not sure if she ever elaborates on. I assume it's because if she did, she couldn't serve her anymore.

Let's talk from Rhea's perspective. Rhea is said to be very lonely despite being surrounded by her followers. She also says she has no friends she can fully trust. Thanks to her past, she keeps everyone at arm's length. That doesn't mean she doesn't care about them. She also says she'd love to have lunch with the students, but is scared of being a bother. She's a lot more socially awkward than she seems.

So to have someone who has so much undying faith in her most likely means a lot. Rhea is probably aware of Catherine's crush, but she may be unaware of how deep it goes. Or she believes that if Catherine knew the truth, she'd abandon her considering that Rhea does have issues with that. It's a shame that the route that truly shows Catherine's loyalty, Crimson Flower, Rhea is beyond the point of really caring about what others think of her.

When Catherine finds out about the Immaculate one, she isn't horrified. She isn't upset. Her only concern is ending her love's suffering. Rhea needs someone who really and truly has her back, who won't judge her, and Catherine does.

Rhea's kindness and patience is something that Catherine needs in a partner. Catherine doesn't seem to think too highly of herself, she just puts her faith in Rhea. Rhea clearly trusts Catherine given that she lets her use a relic, aka one of her dead people, despite that Catherine doesn't really believe in the seiros faith. I feel Rhea does think highly of Catherine, but again she keeps everyone at arm's length. When they retreat to Zanado, Rhea can let her hair down and truly show how much she means to her.

Again much of this is headcanon, but most fe ships are. I think these two have a lot more potential than they're given credit for to have a fluffy relationship. It doesn't have to be toxic or one sided. Rhea clearly appreciates Catherine, it's just how far it goes that is up for debate. I do wish we got to hear more of how Rhea feels about Catherine, but that's what fanon is for. These two are super sweet in my opinion, and if we ever return to Fodlan I hope we can see more interactions between them. Also butch x femme dynamic slaps.

rhea x catherine

FE: Should they kiss?

Rhea x Catherine

[thedreadvampy]

sometimes I forget that my experience has been. um. not 'your experiences are not universal' vibes but more like 'your experiences are EXTREMELY atypical'

[skeletalheartattack]

About that tag in the commentary...I definitely agree with you there. Like sure MAYBE (a very big maybe) Frieza and Zarbon do have a chummy moment in good days. But people forget at the end of the day, it's all conditional, especially in Frieza's hands. Idk Zarbon's possible prince status could have leverage that, but he's no bestie to Frieza.

honestly you took the words out of my mouth, that's basically how i see their relationship.

everyone seems pretty scared working under Frieza, and rightfully so, and i can honestly see Zarbon feeling the same way, atleast when he's the one having to watch after Vegeta after beating him unconscious. like, him being higher up in Frieza's force only gets him so much i think.

i think you can really feel Zarbons panic after Vegeta escapes, and i feel like it even clouds his mind when battling Vegeta for the last time, because if he doesn't do something about, then Zarbon's on the chopping block... though i definitely have a feeling that even if Zarbon had succeeded in taking care of Vegeta, that things still wouldn't end well for my man.

that said. i kinda wish there was more lore for Zarbon, since the only extra lore we get from him are games and spinoff movies, and it's hard to really know what's true to the actual series, given some movies don't fit anywhere in Dragon Ball's timeline.

[gutsby]

Abstaining Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: The only thing worse than an anti-sex retreat is an anti-sex retreat with your former fuckbuddy and dad’s best friend. Especially when sharing one cabin.

Warnings: 18+. IF HE AIN’T GRAYIN’ I AIN’T STAYIN’ 🗣️ [Age gap]. Unprotected p-in-v. Forced proximity. Joel making you fuck just his middle finger when he’s mad. Daddy kink. Overstimulation. First-time squirting. Angst.

Translations: ���Don’t piss down my back & tell me it’s raining’ is a fun Southern phrase for, ‘Cut the bullshit’ or ‘Don’t lie.’

Sequel to Waiting Game & Hating Game (last rhyme I swear)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

October 26, 2024

Dear Joel,

Roses are red,

We’re a couple of sluts,

Abstinence camp is awful,

I miss you rearranging my guts.

You were just about to put your pen back down to paper and add the finishing touch, signing an equally lascivious farewell, when the letter was snatched out of your hands. A tyrant in khaki capris and an artichoke-colored polo eyed over your words with a pointed look and frowned.

“Letters to the boyfriend have to be G-rated,” Marlene said, crumpling the thing in her fist before chucking it.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you returned shortly. Then, “That was actually meant for my dad’s friend.”

You sat tight a moment as the dots came to connect in the woman’s parochial and prudish mind—waiting for the wince of disgust to twitch at the corners of her eyes when she put two and two together. Once it did, you grinned. Even when she plucked the pen out of your hand and told you to sit outside, if you can’t participate in this one simple activity, you smiled bigger and strolled at a comfortable pace out the canteen door.

Anti-sex ‘summer camp’ wasn’t bad at all when you didn’t give a fuck what your counselors told you to do.

It was ridiculous, really. Absurd. Tommy Miller catching you sucking his brother’s dick under the table at your father’s birthday dinner, losing his shit with you both, then threatening to tell your dad everything if you didn’t agree to this stupid retreat and stop seeing each other. You’d barely been trapped in the shithole for twenty-four hours, and you already knew this angle wouldn’t work.

What many of your fellow campers affectionately called the ‘Firefly Fuck-Free Zone’ or the ‘Federal Dickriding Response Agency’ (F.E.D.R.A.) was in fact a secluded enclave south of Austin where khaki-clad monsters forced you to reckon with your sexual urges like one might treat a mutated strain of the Cordyceps fungus. You weren’t meant to keep them for long, and if you did, someone like Marlene would surely shame you for it.

Frankly, Tommy was dumb as shit if he thought this anti-boinking boot camp would have an effect on either one of you—Joel wouldn’t ever bang you again after what happened that night, but it wouldn’t be because of some arts and crafts bullshit he did out on a FEDRA ranch.

He just didn’t want your dad to find out and kill him.

That was a fair concern to have. You didn’t blame him.

Presently, you kicked your feet up on the porch outside the cafeteria, where the rest of the group was finishing up letters to their loved ones—this latest activity was meant to be ‘making amends’ to the people in your life—and you tipped your head back to survey the landscape.

Nothing but sweetgrass and gently rolling hills as far as the eye could see. Somewhere across the plains there was another cluster of cabins, though you couldn’t quite see it, and someplace within that minuscule cluster, you knew there was a middle-aged man. Dark grey eyebrows furrowed in concentration and chest heaving gently. Likely hunched over an old oak desk about five sizes too small for his frame as he gripped a pen and scribbled:

Dear Tommy,

Fuck you, you fucking fuck.

Sincerely,

Joel

You grinned again just thinking about it.

If anyone had a reason to be ticked off and terrified, it was Joel. And you, you guessed. You still hadn’t gotten your period—but that wasn’t due for another few days.

For now, you’d settled on worrying yourself over what would happen after the retreat had ended; what would you and Joel do once you went back to school? What would become of his life back in Austin with a supremely pissed off brother and a best friend who didn’t know his kid had been fooling around with a man twice her age?

Silently, you thanked your lucky stars Joel’s part of the camp was kept separate from yours, because you didn’t think you’d be able to keep a straight face if you saw him.

The whole thing was sickening, if not slightly funny.

You slipped Joel’s old pack of American Spirits out of your boot and fished in your back pocket for a lighter.

Then you crammed both back when you heard a boom:

“LAKESIDE GUIDED MEDITATION STARTS IN FIVE.”

The tinny intercom rang a deafening pitch in your ears. You clamped a palm over the left side of your head and winced, having forgotten this exercise in mindfulness was supposed to be the last event to wrap up your day. You just wanted to slink back up to your cabin and sleep. Or eat. Or slip your fingers between your aching legs and indulge in some much-needed Joel Miller reminiscing.

Then you recalled how masturbation was also off limits to all would-be sexaholic campers—if there was any time to sneak off and get busy by yourself while your counselors were otherwise occupied, now would be it.

Just as you cast a glance over your shoulder to see if a stealthy exit was even possible, a voice trilled overhead.

“On your feet, skank.”

You looked back fast, and damn did Tess look smug.

Your bunkmate crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorframe, seeming to feel your thoughts before they’d even been fully processed.

“If you skip meditation, I think Marlene’s gonna take you behind the rec and shoot you in the head,” she added.

“How kind.”

“Yeah? Certain death?”

“Better than the dick deprivation,” you grumbled, only half-kidding as you dragged yourself back to your feet.

Theresa Servopoulos was no avid fan of penis herself—she much preferred women when she had her pick of it—but she grinned all the same and clapped a comforting hand over your shoulder before the two of you started walking down the mess hall’s front steps. Then she only laughed a little bit when you almost ate shit treading down the winding rocky trail to the lake and cursed your present lack of intercourse for causing your clumsiness.

“You realize it’s only been, like…a day, right?” she said.

“Might as well be a million,” you muttered, “I feel like I’m never getting laid again.”

“Oh?”

Tess gripped your elbow when a root protruding from the path nearly sent you flying again. She tried not to smile.

“Well…my fake brother’s mad at me for going behind his back and fucking his brother,” you explained, coolly.

Stupidly.

“Wait—you fucked your brother?!”

That stopped Tess in her tracks. The two of you were approaching the cusp of a clearing, just feet away from where the forest gave way to the shoreline of the lake. Folks were already congregating at the water’s edge.

“Any day now, ladies,” Marlene called through cupped hands. Tess was still regarding you with eyes the size of saucers as you traipsed across the way to that voice.

“Not my brother,” you hissed.

“You said your brother’s brother. That makes this guy your brother, too,” Tess whispered—still far too loud.

“Not my actual brother, he’s just— fuck—”

Suddenly, two scraps of red fabric were catapulted in your direction. Tess caught one. You caught the other.

“Tie ‘em over your eyes.” Marlene ordered.

“The fuck?” you mumbled, but ventured nothing more as you were ushered to join the group sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of you. Everyone else was tying bandanas around their eyes like all of this was normal.

“Another trust exercise,” Tess’s voice was low as you dropped your asses one after the other on the sand. Speaking like a seasoned veteran of the anti-sex retreat, she helped you get yours on and shot you one last ‘You-better-not-have-actually-fucked-your-sibling’ look before letting you help her secure her blindfold, too.

Just as Marlene began describing in great detail what this blind, guided meditation in self-love and elemental trust was meant to look like, your friend opted to give voice to her concerns the second the opportunity arose.

Still seated side-by-side, still blind, Tess leaned over.

“Please tell me you’re not here for bangin’ your brother.”

You had to stifle a laugh.

“I am not.”

“Then explain, Cersei!”

Just then, a throat cleared behind you. Evidently another camp counselor at your rear was telling you, wordlessly, to shut the fuck up and listen to the instructions. You and Tess just scooted closer and lowered your voices.

“So this guy, Tommy…he’s been like a big brother to me for years. Worked with my dad and always had my back for the wild shit I did back in high school,” you began.

“Uh-huh.”

“His big brother, Joel, is like…old as shit, but wildly hot.”

“Dangerous combo.”

“And Joel’s my dad’s best friend. Drove me back from college over fall break when he was visiting Boston, we took a little motel detour on the road trip home, and bam—” You snapped your fingers for effect, “We fuck, right?”

“Right.”

“—imagine you’re standing at the edge of a waterfall—”

Marlene couldn’t be serious with this hippy dippy shit. You tuned out the rest of what she said and continued:

“It’s incredible. But the condom busts open at the end—”

“Oh shit.”

“—deep breath in…and release…and again, we—”

“Freak the fuck out, right? I’m poppin’ Plan B like candy.”

“As you should.”

“—hold that breath in right there—”

“A week later, me and Joel hook up at my dad’s birthday party. Only we fuck up, ‘cause Tommy catches us, and—”

This time, the counselor who’d cleared their throat to shut you up took to nudging you both in the back with the toe of their shoe. You straightened up, tilted your head back, and scowled at them through your blindfold.

“Do you mind?” you said, turning in place but unable to see anything behind you. You imagined whoever had just butted in on your conversation was probably frowning. They said nothing in return, just huffed like a child.

“Anyway.” You pivoted back to Tess, “Tommy flips his lid, tells us he’s gonna snitch on us to my dad if we keep fucking around like that, and then he…sends us here.”

You heard your friend fight back a chuckle beside you.

“And abstinence camp is supposed to cure you of this awful disease? Wanting to fuck daddy’s best friend?”

Oddly, you wanted to giggle too. You weren’t sure what was so funny, or why Tess’s tone made you want to say something equally out of pocket and lewd, but then you were leaning over before you could even think twice:

“That old man’s dick is like a fuckin’ drug, dude.”

You wished you could’ve seen her face when you said it. But you didn’t need to catch a single glimpse to know she was grinning big and dumb when she whispered,

“Prehistoric cock must’ve been pretty nice, huh?”

You choked. She snorted. You returned, next, shortly,

“Best senior citizen schlong I’ve had in my life.”

You weren’t sure which one of you burst out laughing first. Maybe Tess. Probably you. Either way, both of your sides were splitting in seconds, as the ridiculous and just marginally offensive descriptors for Joel’s dick trembled at the tips of your tongues. You felt like a teenager again, telling your friend your filthiest desires for the DILF-next-door—except this time, you’d actually fucked him. Small perks to seeking out middle-aged men in your twenties. You had to clamp your hand over your mouth to rein in the peals of laughter as Tess wheezed quietly beside you.

Then you felt hands.

Two palms under your armpits, yanking you up.

You stumbled back, graceless and still staving off half a laugh as your back struck the counselor’s chest.

“Just…take her back up.” You heard a female’s voice to your left, low and not sounding particularly amused.

Take you where? Was this the part where Marlene dragged you behind the rec and shot you in the head?

About damn time.

Whoever had grabbed you grunted in acknowledgment. You swayed in their arms, trying to regain better footing, but the grip tightened up in a second and thrust you sideways. You staggered, cursing your captor.

“Fucker,” you hissed.

Fucker said nothing.

Their hands slipped from your pits to one of your wrists, leading you away from the lake in long strides. You were moving so fast you scarcely had the chance to pull the blindfold back, so you just kept walking. Marching.

“Can you slow the fuck down, please?”

You imagined the face of the person leading you forward might’ve twisted in a scowl. Their lips didn’t stir, though.

In a matter of minutes, your feet were crunching on the flat, gravelly terrain you knew to lay under the cabins. This person was leading you back. Likely to throw you off to your room in the next several moments—but not before ripping you a new one for disrupting the peace back down at the lake. You weren’t stoked to hear it.

“Alright, just—” You tripped as you were led up the rickety steps, cursing again, “—just leave me right here.”

A set of knuckles at your spine thrust you forward.

“No? Okay. Fine. Whatever.”

You shook your head as you entered the cabin and heard footsteps follow you in. It occurred to you then that now was probably a good time to take off the blindfold.

Before you could, though, it was ripped off for you.

“Pack your shit.”

Dude.

You spun on your heels.

“DUDE!”

Your eyes moved up the very khaki shorts you despised, the puke-colored polo, the neatly embroidered camp logo, and a nametag strangely labeled ‘Lucien Flores.’ Everything in the ensemble screamed ‘camp counselor.’ But the face above it—it wasn’t one of their own at all.

It was far too lax. Fresh with an easy, shit-eating grin.

“Sweetheart—”

He started to speak, only to get the wind knocked out of his chest when you threw your arms around him.

The barrage of kisses came without you ever really intending to place them at all. You were just so stunned, practically overcome with joy to see Joel Miller in all his ruggedly handsome glory, then confused. What was he doing here, and why was he dressed head-to-toe as a counselor? And why were you so into that on him?

You doubted you could even ask the questions, and he was barely more able to answer the longer you stayed latched to his neck, kissing him everywhere your mouth could get to. You’d just stood on tip-toes to press your lips to his when you realized he wasn’t reaching back.

His hands hung limply at his sides. Still, he smiled.

“Abstinence camp ain’t taught ya much, has it?”

You parted your lips to drag your teeth along the grey-spattered scruff on his cheek—biting but not quite. Begging him to kiss you back, grab your ass, anything to quell this anguish twisting low in your stomach at the lack of contact. Joel didn’t seem keen on answering to it.

“I’ve learned plenty, Miller,” you panted against his jaw, before moving below it to sink into the skin of his neck, “Lemme show you all the stuff FEDRA told us not to do.”

Yes, you sounded desperate. No, you didn’t really care. You were much too busy fiddling with the front of Joel’s shorts to concern yourself with anything but his cock. It made it all the more gut-wrenchingly horrific and disconcerting when you felt his hands push yours away.

“No,” Joel said, simply. Then, nodding to your luggage at the foot of your bunk, “Pack your stuff, sweets. C’mon.”

He was seriously trying to break you out?

You admired the cojones on the man, but you wanted to fuck real quick to get it out of your system. Needed it.

“Joel, I—” You swallowed thickly, shaking your head.

What your mouth couldn’t finish, your eyes said clear as day: I want you to take me right here. Quick and dirty. But, again, Joel seemed completely impervious to your pleas. Almost callous in the face of such a desperate request made from your eyes to his. He moved over toward your suitcase when you didn’t want to budge.

Luckily for you, you’d never unpacked. All that was left were the clothes on your back and a water bottle on the nightstand. Joel grabbed the latter and turned around to snag the suitcase on his way to the door, when he was met with you. Obstructing his path and frowning a little.

“Joel?” You raised a brow.

“Mm?”

The man in front of you straightened up, rolling a nonexistent kink from his neck before regarding you.

His gaze was alarmingly sedate.

“Y’know, you’ve got quite the knack for makin’ shit difficult—”

“Just a quickie, Miller—”

“I ain’t fuckin’ you here!”

The sudden boom of his voice should’ve startled you. But then a broad, warm palm came to rest on your shoulder, and Joel’s expression dropped immediately. There was still a tightness to it, somewhere deep within, and you couldn’t quite work out why he seemed so…off.

Then you caught sight of something steely in his gaze.

It just might’ve clicked if Joel didn’t reach for your face and elucidate things for you himself, eyes narrowing.

“I know my old man dick is like a fuckin’ drug and all…”

Shit.

Cheeks squished between his two big hands, you had only to stare. And blink. And silently regret being so loud when you were talking to Tess before. It didn’t look good.

“Joel—”

“No, no, my senile brain must be mistaken—it was actually that prehistoric cock that did it for ya.”

Your face heated with shame. You blinked again.

But just as you tried to shake your head between Joel’s hands, he pressed his palms tighter and drew you closer.

“Senior. citizen. schlong?” he intoned, painfully slow.

“Joel, I just—”

“Need to fuck someone your own age, it sounds like.”

The man in front of you released your face just as fast as he’d grabbed it, and when he stepped back, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of desperation. That wasn’t what you’d meant! It sounded so puerile and cruel coming out of his lips like this, but you had to tell him it was a joke.

“It was a joke.”

No time to mince words now.

“Real fuckin’ comedic genius,” Joel snorted.

He rolled his eyes and tried to sidestep you, but you mirrored the movement. When your hands flew to his chest to keep him from moving, please, just listen to me, Joel, he pretended not to hear it, or feel it, against him.

“Alright. Enough,” he muttered, “‘S’time to go home.”

“No!”

“No?”

“No.”

For the first time, you saw Joel’s nostrils flare. You pressed into his sternum again, hoping to hold him in place so you could explain yourself, but it seemed he wasn’t planning on staying stationary. Joel dropped to your bunk—or Tess’s, technically—and situated himself comfortably on the bed before shooting you a look. You barely had had a moment’s time to contemplate your next move when he yanked you onto the cot with him.

Joel didn’t try to kiss you. He didn’t attempt to remove one article of clothing from your body or his. He just sat there, staring, while you straddled his hips staring back.

“If you wanna fuck me so bad, go right ahead,” he said, motioning indistinctly in front of him, “Be my guest.”

When you stilled, he added, “That is all y’want, right?”

With your palms laying flat on his chest and a head full of conflicting thoughts—you did want to bang him, obviously, but not before you’d gotten a chance to set things straight, not when he was looking at you like this—you chewed your bottom lip. Certainly you couldn’t continue while Joel still believed you were embarrassed by his age, his lips downturned and humorless as ever.

“C’mon,” he tried again, a touch more venom laced in his words as he spoke, “Show me how much ya want it.”

You needed time to think.

“Why are you…dressed like this?” you said, stalling.

But Joel wouldn’t be kind enough to give you that time.

“Stole the uniform so I could sneak out and over here and get you out. Are we gonna fuck now or what?”

His hands moved over your own to guide them to his lower half, just above where your clothed core was touching his. Your fingers moved mechanically, almost reluctantly, to undo the button and zip of his shorts.

Was that a flash of hurt you saw in his eyes?

You’d never been good at this communication bullshit. Neither had Joel. The two of you would probably just have sex now to hash out your feelings, as was par for the course for a pair of emotionally stunted individuals. It still pained you to see him look at you like that, though.

“Tess and me were just kidding, baby.”

You palmed the bulge in his boxers and heard him grunt. When you nudged his cock out of the fabric to stroke him, his eyes fluttered shut and he sucked in a breath.

“I would never say those things to hurt you,” you added.

“Didn’t hurt me none,” Joel returned instantly. Then, feeling you flick the pad of your thumb over the head of his cock, he exhaled and held his face firm in place. Like he didn’t want you to see the effect you had on him.

You let go of his cock to take off your socks and shoes. Then your top. Then your shorts. Then you slid down his body a little, unsure if this was the time to be trying something new. Or even doing this kind of stuff at all.

At first, you just sort of lowered yourself to Joel’s groin, his dick resting comfortably between your tits. Then you started to move, and your hands were cupping either side of your breasts to push inward on his member. Before you even fully knew what you were doing, you were squeezing Joel’s dick with the soft, supple flesh and stroking him gently. Gaze glued to him all the while.

His eyes cracked open to catch you watching him. Evidently, Joel couldn’t contain all of his reactions, because he audibly groaned when you got going.

Sliding your tits up and down his shaft, feeling him pulse between them. Sensing a warmth pool in your own lower half but being too focused, and slightly ashamed, to act. You just wanted to make Joel feel good, even if your words weren’t able to do the trick with apologizing.

“Come here,” you beckoned him with just one finger as you slid off the bed, to the floor. Joel sat up, and you kneeled obediently between his legs. The two of you shared a tense, sexless look for a second before you lowered yourself back down and resumed the position.

This time, Joel could—and did—stir his hips to create some friction between your tits. His brow pinched inward with a muted concentration, and you wanted to say it looked handsome on him, that you were sorry for saying those stupid things to Tess and making him doubt your affection for him, but you kept your mouth shut. You had to remind yourself that emotions had no place between two needy, unfeeling people who just wanted to fuck.

Maybe that was how it should’ve been from the start.

But watching Joel’s face twist and contort in pleasure nearly wiped the thought clean out of your brain forever.

You felt many things for him, whether you liked it or not.

You really wished you hadn’t said the things you’d said.

Joel braced his hands at the edge of the bed on either side of him, hips working a steady pace to fuck your tits. He was staring mostly at the spot where the head of his cock was poking up through your cleavage with each thrust, entranced by the sight, and in a second, a full-throated moan was fighting its way out of his chest. He spit in his hand and paused to smear the stuff on his shaft, on your tits. Spit again and rubbed even harder.

Seeing him so cold and detached, you wanted to apologize again. Maybe beg him to say something kind.

Instead, you mumbled, “I love it when you fuck my tits.”

Joel scarcely acknowledged the remark, just letting you work yourself over him, meet his shallow thrusts, look sweet and wait patiently for him to cum all over you. When it seemed he might be ready to do it, though, Joel withdrew from you the next second and moved back on the bed. He pulled you into his lap, straddling again, but this time situated over the side of the bed—him sitting up, you perched on the flat, sturdy expanse of his thighs facing him. In the space between your bodies, Joel slid a quiet and almost careless hand to your heat, flicking the sheer fabric of your panties to the side in one go.

The moment his fingers made contact, you flinched.

It wasn’t that you were opposed to his touch, you just felt unfairly balanced in this situation. Joel appeared so stoic; you, a complete and utter wreck. Fighting fifteen different emotions at once and feeling unusually vulnerable spread open to him now, you almost didn’t register what he was doing—or what his hand might find.

Joel’s groan brought you back, though. When he rubbed his knuckles over the seam of your cunt and practically choked out twice his lung’s capacity, you had to look.

Aloof as he tried to be, the man’s desire was painted all over his expression. And his crotch. And his hand.

Well, actually, that last bit of arousal was yours.

“Fuckin’ soakin’ me, sweetie,” Joel breathed.

You perked up at the term of endearment. Watching one glistening fist of his make its way back and forth against your body, smearing sticky wet pleasure all over your mound and your folds, you found yourself gnawing your lip once more, this time for entirely different reasons.

Joel seemed to soften—even if only for a glaring carnal need, you didn’t care. You sank into this gentler touch.

“Khakis kinda suit you, Miller,” you said, off-handed.

Really, Joel looked almost as comical as he was sexy in that camp counselor getup: tan shorts stretched tight over even tanner legs, polyester top sitting pretty on wide, hulking shoulders, that silly stitched logo for the camp emblazoned over his left pec, and, of course, the nametag that didn’t belong to him but to Lucien. The whole thing was so alien to his lumberjack-chic demeanor that he nearly seemed boyish. Endearing. Some spearmint-scented hottie you might’ve had a crush on at camp years ago. You couldn’t help but smile.

Joel tried not to hold your gaze for too long.

“Don’t go pissin’ down my back and tell me it’s rainin’.”

When he slid one finger to your entrance, you tensed again, but smiled just the same and let out a breath. You felt him prod at the warm, wet skin and thumb at your clit, and something told you that he’d wanted to grin too.

“I’m serious,” you said, “Scout’s hon—ohfuckfuckfuck.”

Joel pushed one finger inside you. In spite of the ease with which he slipped between your walls, that gentle sensation made it wonderfully snug. He gripped your hip and started moving his single digit in and out, and in spite of yourself, you squirmed a bit. Joel never failed to call you out for doing that; today would be no different.

“Easy, sweet pea,” he hummed when you jumped again.

But you couldn’t help it. Your hands quickly anchored themselves to Joel’s shoulders, your legs spread wider, and your hips started stirring—bucking, really—against each teasing touch. It was still just one thick finger of his.

You glanced down and saw that it was his middle finger, in particular. The double meaning wasn’t lost on you.

“Another,” you pleaded.

“Nuh-uh.”

“You’re a mean ol— mean man.” You tried to correct course when you felt a mention of ‘old’ slip back into your vernacular, and inwardly, you cringed at your words.

Joel had already heard it. He cocked one eyebrow.

“Mean ol’ man?” he scoffed, still fingerfucking you softly. When you bucked against it, he nodded as if to say ‘fair enough.’

Then, before you could chime in, he nodded some more.

His expression was hard.

“Fuck my hand,” he said.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

You weren’t quite sure what he meant for you to do. When he nodded a third time, the gesture was accompanied by a quick dart of his eyes to the place where your cunt was being penetrated by his one finger. He curled the finger inward, and when you twitched at the hot throb of pleasure that followed, he grunted.

Fuck my hand.

Nails still searing tiny half-moons into his shoulders, you acted more out of impulse than by command. The look from Joel sure didn’t hurt, though. The second you started rolling your hips, he nodded again. Holding onto his praises for now and simply showing approbation.

“Like that,” he murmured.

All you were doing was rocking back and forth over his finger, whimpers percolating quietly in your chest, but the act alone made you feel desperate. And Joel smug.

It was like he wanted to see you getting off to this one, comparatively smaller part of him without being filled. Bucking plaintively to find that fullness and coming back empty every time. Your whimpers turned into whines.

“Need more,” you keened.

“Yeah?” Joel replied gently.

“Yeah.”

A beat, then:

“Tough shit.”

But he said it so goddamn sweet you had to do a double take to make sure you’d heard him correctly. When you met Joel’s eyes, you saw a hint of amusement lingering behind them. Then he squeezed your hip again and started helping you move into his hand, up and down.

“Only givin’ more fingers to good girls, y’hear?” he said.

“What about your cock?” You couldn’t help it.

Joel just breathed out through his nose. In a second, he went from camp counselor to disapproving father figure.

“Greedy little thing, ain’t ya?”

That was all he needed to say, but the firm plunge of his middle finger certainly put a finer point on it. He curled the digit again and, upon grazing that spongy surface inside you, saw another desperate plea in your eyes.

And pleasure.

The pleasure ran almost as intense as the desperation.

Your head fell back when Joel got to making those ‘come hither’ motions again and again, thumb circling your clit, eyes trained on your figure with a marked concern. Like the prospect of not drawing an orgasm out of you in the next two minutes might very well ruin the man’s night.

“‘S’alright, honey,” Joel said quietly.

Then, finding your gaze when your head tilted back,

“Be a good girl and let go for me. Let go for daddy, hm?”

Fortunately for him, that one low hum and another flick of his middle finger and thumb were all you needed to find your release. You came on his hand with a sharp, pitiful cry and a ‘Fuckthatfeelssogooddaddyplease,’ hips working feverishly against his hand as you rode out your high. The sight of you bouncing up and down on his open palm and the way your eyes rolled back, begging him to fuck you full of his cock next, felt wildly obscene.

Joel loved obscene. Needed obscene. Hot. Febrile. Raw.

He nodded again.

Before you’d even descended fully from those staggering heights, his finger was moving too—joined by two more. Joel stuffed his index and ring fingers inside your still-pulsing hole and pretended not to hear your soft cry.

After all, you’d asked for more before. Joel was just sating your desire; your overwrought body would be fine.

“Joel,” you hissed, seizing his wrist.

“Too much?” he returned.

You tried to verbalize some answer but were cut short by a punishing stretch—all three fingers plunging in and out of your sensitive, drooling cunt and making it full of him.

“Too soon?” he tried again.

“I—”

“Too fast?”

“N—”

“Too…old?” Joel pressed after a beat.

There was an air of feigned condescension in his tone as he took on a faster pace gliding his thick, calloused fingers between your walls. You might’ve screamed if you hadn’t found your forehead pressed to his and the warmth of his irises boring into yours while he did it all. At this distance, you could discern a trace of hurt again. Something needing to be soothed inside Joel Miller.

You rutted your hips and shook your head, skull still stuck to his as you did so. Whimpers coming low.

“I didn’t…mean it,” you managed at length.

“What? That I’m ‘old as shit but wildly hot’?”

Joel wedged his fingers straight down to the knuckle and nearly tore a shriek out of your body. His eyes were surprisingly soft. Making sure your pleasure was all there.

“Hyperbole,” you choked, voice hoarse.

Then your jaw grew lax when a hand cupped your chin. All you wanted to do was melt into Joel, but you sensed something brewing again behind those honeyed eyes. Blinking was all you could do to keep your composure.

“You’re right, darlin’,” Joel said, “I am too old for you.”

Right after a clench in your tummy, a hurried word leapt up to your tongue, ‘NO!’ and you had to swallow a moan to keep from succumbing to the pleasure Joel was bringing with his fingers. Sandwiched between two orgasms was no time for a serious argument to take place, but there you were, fighting against it anyway.

“N-No,” you stammered. Stupid.

“I am.” His voice came softer somehow, more resigned.

When outright rejection of the claim seemed futile, you tried to pivot. Climax still closing in as fast as ever.

“I don’t care about that,” you hissed, exhaling hard when the first ripples of bliss crept up toward your stomach.

Joel watched you with careful eyes.

“Yeah? And Tess?”

“Joel—”

“Or Tommy.”

“I don’t—”

“Everyone else?”

Almost against your will, those minuscule ripples turned to waves of full-blown euphoria, and then you were clenching again on Joel’s hand and crying out in climax. You willed your gaze not to stray from his, but it was tough. Especially when the eyes beneath your own seemed so fucking morose and removed from you.

Don’t do this to me, Miller. Don’t do it, don’t do it.

In the wake of what should’ve been consummate satisfaction, you found yourself retreating to a place more akin to starvation—suddenly eager to get your mouth over his and start kissing, tonguing, and scraping your teeth like you’d missed out on a full week’s worth of meals. Feeling selfish but also uncertain how else to proceed—was Joel Miller breaking up with you here?

You couldn’t be sure, because he kissed you back. Joel kissed you and cupped your cheeks, then chased your frame all the way down to the coarse, scratchy sheets of the bed, where he was quick to climb on top of you.

Hell, it seemed breathing was too tough to accomplish with your frenzied pace and the continuous stream of open-mouthed kisses placed anywhere and everywhere. A groan from Joel trembled between your lips as you helped him get his shorts and boxers the rest of the way down his legs—all but dragging them with your heels—and he tightened a fist in your hair when they were off.

“I shouldn’t’a come here,” he mumbled.

“But you did,” you panted.

Both of you got lost in another onslaught of kisses, and you tried not to sigh. Joel was still battling something.

Even as he peeled your panties off and lined himself up with your entrance, he seemed resolved to stay quiet. Holding your gaze and not saying what had to be said.

He was a lot like you in that way.

You kept kissing him anyway.

The events that followed seemed to you little more than fleeting, happy scenes from a film you’d always wanted to see—an eager Joel, a caring Joel, an I-don’t-think-I’m-physically-capable-of-holding-you-any-closer Joel. The weight of his cock a welcome friend and the kisses somehow far too intimate to be considered friendly at all. You’d almost forgotten you were at a camp designed to prevent this very thing from happening between two stupid, impulsive people like you, and you didn’t care.

All you knew was a yawning stretch—that aching, empty void filled to perfection by Joel’s member—and the shockwaves of pleasure that vibrated in bands all the way down to the balls of your feet. You felt safe and secure caged between two muscular arms, and you reveled in a warmth that spanned every inch of your body touching his. The weight suffocating and somehow not oppressive; Joel cradled your head to make sure of it.

“Ain’t…hurtin’ ya, am I?” he said when you winced.

You shook your head against his sweaty palms to say that he wasn’t; you were just adjusting. He scanned your face for any trace of insincerity but found nothing.

In this tender position, your brain was ready to burst—whether from guilt, shame, ruthless self-loathing, or a sobering sense of closeness, you weren’t sure. All four seemed to form the impetus for the words that came next, which were soft, repeated apologies against Joel’s mouth. He swallowed each one without a second thought.

“Quit sayin’ it,” he rasped, low.

“I’m sorry, Joel, I’m sorr—”

Soft lips again. ‘S’okay, honey.’

You weren’t sure why, but your face felt extra hot.

Joel pressed his thumbs on either side of it while he kissed you and went deeper. Then he squeezed even more, and your breath hitched quietly in your throat.

Aw, shit, he could probably feel your heart running amok in your chest and thrumming like crazy right now.

“Ain’t nothin’—” Joel paused to send one measured thrust along your cervix, “—to be sorry for. Nothin’.”

Your legs tightened at his sides when his hips started to snap in quick, stuttered motions, desperate for more friction and depth. He got both, and he groaned feeling you tighten around him as he filled your cunt to the brim. The silky warmth of your walls drawing him in was almost too much, and every now and then he’d have to slow to mutter some, ‘’S’fuckin’ chokin’ me, honey, ya feel that?’ or ‘This pussy’s just made to take me, huh?’

Joel asked like he actually needed the reassurance. As if the slick, dripping arousal coating his length and the sounds of your whimpers mixed in with those wet slaps weren’t enough—as if he had to have deeper consolation.

He was splitting you open and looked guilty as he did it.

Still shaking with each thrust, you helped him slide his shirt over his head and bring him bare, chest-to-chest with you. You couldn’t ignore the tension any longer.

“Joel, I fuckin’ love— I need you inside,” you managed.

“You do?”

“Uh-huh.”

His face softened.

“‘S’mine, isn’t it?”

He said it so fast you couldn’t make out if it were really a question or a simple statement of fact. His balls routinely smacking your ass, eyes searching yours, always gentle.

“Say that you’re mine.”

No, Joel—don’t do that, don’t say it like that.

Your visceral reaction was to recoil. You couldn’t because he had you pinned, but damn did you want to—not him, not this, not now, Joel, why would you fucking say that?

The look in his eyes now surpassed the hurt from before. It was open and aching, even as he drilled your body in two at a near-ruthless pace. Asking you so sincerely.

The obstinacy inside you was almost laughable. Damn near sent your head spinning in a fit of hysterics at how much you wanted to say but wouldn’t; how much you sensed lay waiting to fly off Joel’s tongue but couldn’t. If you were any more emotionally pent-up you might’ve ruptured a blood vessel and lost all ability to think.

It didn’t help that you were both about to cum.

Or that Joel’s right hand was fumbling for your clit.

His expression was steady as ever when you jumped, made a whining noise below him, and grabbed his wrist. You looked down to where your bodies were joined and got a dizzying glimpse of that sight: cunt swallowing Joel’s cock repeatedly, pleasure pooling between your two bodies, then a digit at that little bundle of nerves.

He kissed your hairline and hummed.

“C’mon, pretty girl. Whose pussy is this?”

His thrusts sped up, along with his thumb.

“Don’t.” Not an answer but a warning: tread lightly, Joel.

He kissed your forehead again. And again. For a second you thought he might stay that way until you both came, but then his lips were finding yours, mumbling softly,

“Say no one’s gonna fuck you but me.”

“But—”

“None of those pencil-dick douchebag Delta Sigma whatever-the-fuck ya call ‘ems—” Joel continued, unfazed, “—not your lab partner, not your hallmate—”

His cock was gliding in and out of you at a punishing pace now. Wonderfully slick with sounds obscenely piercing to your ears. You could feel Joel digging in the depths of your tight, throbbing cunt, could see his expression contort with much the same pleasure you were experiencing yourself, and could very well smell the faint aroma of American Spirits still staining his breath. Joel Miller was a sick fuck for what he was doing to you, and he knew it. You nipped at his lower lip in between tender kisses and quietly-spoken words, and whimpered.

“—not your TAs, not your professors—” he pressed on.

You opened your mouth to let a lewd moan escape when Joel lifted his hand to shove a thumb inside. Instinctively, you sucked the whole thing straight down to the knuckle.

“Nobody but me, y’hear that?” Afforded better leverage with his finger wedged between your teeth, he shook your head a little as he fucked you. Watched you bob and nod a wordless ‘yes’ in doe-eyed complaisance while his cock drove shockwaves of pleasure straight through you.

He rubbed his thumb back and forth, and you let him.

You drooled all over that man’s finger like it might’ve been supplying oxygen to your lungs, and when Joel leaned in and said, ‘Ya like that, sweet pea?’, you answered in the affirmative. Or at least as close as you could get while Joel was filling up his two favorite holes.

Your orgasm was maybe two strokes away from shattering bones, it seemed. Now was his chance.

Swiftly, Joel retracted his touch just far enough to drag a string of saliva out of your mouth—then deliver a taut but gentle slap to your cheek. The soft thwack, combined with the sounds your bodies were making down below, served only to elevate the pornographic pitch of your moan:

“Joel!”

“That’s right.”

Joel’s mouth hovered an inch over yours, half-smirking, as if waiting to suck the words clean off of your lips. You whined when his thrusts got quicker and the mouth that was grinning got to kissing your own again. Talking dirty, too.

“Show me who this cunt belongs to. Say it,” he grunted.

You clenched, kissed him back, were just barely aware of the words you were trying to form when you stuttered some unintelligible, ‘Y-Y—ohfuckdaddyjustlikethatoh—’

Oh.

Your eyes widened to Joel’s, and before you could even begin to process what was happening to your body, his name just snapped off your tongue like a shot. A shriek. Some blissfully half-strangled moan that Joel captured between his teeth as he fucked you into the mattress and held your body tight to his own. His palm was wet.

Your legs were wet.

The soft, heaving juncture between your bodies was wet.

You were only dimly aware of the sensation as you dug your heels in Joel’s back and let out a series of cries and moans, but then that fluttering feeling inside made you flinch. A pulsing between your thighs and a…warmth.

You were still blinking through a post-euphoric haze when you felt a soft heat simmer and sink within you.

Did Joel just…cum inside you? Again?

“You dumb motherfucker,” you hissed without hesitation.

You’d just managed to shove him away—not far, but away—when you scrambled into a sitting position and slapped a hand over your stomach. Expecting to feel a churning and an awful pinch as you came to make out some vague sensation of Joel’s seed painting your insides, you were surprised when you didn’t get it at all.

In point of fact, Joel had just sprayed a full Jackson Pollock onto your stomach and was blinking, still fisting his cock as you quickly made your way back to your feet.

Where was that wetness coming from?

You stood and stared down at your stomach. Your legs. The translucent, trickling something that had paved a clear path between your thighs and all over Joel’s front. It didn’t make sense, unless—

“You fuckin’ squirted!” Joel cheered.

Your first instinct was to make a face.

That shit only happened in poorly produced pornos and movies based on books by Colleen Hoover, not real-life human beings. What the hell was this man on about?

“Be fucking serious,” you scowled, reaching for a stray shirt on the floor. Before realizing it was even yours, you hastily swiped several big globs of Joel’s cum with it. Your face grew even more enflamed, and yourself, oddly…ashamed. You couldn’t quite make sense of why Joel was grinning so big, or why you felt so embarrassed by what appeared to be a natural bodily function, but you suspected it probably had something to do with the state of sex education in Texas. Those fuckers definitely skipped squirting in favor of abstinence-only rhetoric.

Still weird. Still gross. You wished Joel would stop smiling.

“Lose the look or I’ll slap that fuckin’ grey off your head.”

Admittedly, neither aftercare nor communication was your métier. You started throwing on clothes, annoyed.

Meanwhile, Joel was swiping moisture off his abdomen three thick fingers at a time and wiggling the residue up for you to see—‘All it is is a sign of good lovin’, sweets, ain’t nothin’a be ashamed of!’—and you gave him just one finger in return. You were sliding your shorts up your legs and attempting to scrap the jizz off your FEDRA top when Joel started shrugging on his stolen clothes, too.

Your back was turned to him, eyes scanning the almost too-calm outdoors through the window a minute later, when you felt an arm snake close around your waist.

“Tastes a little like honey,” Joel crooned in your ear, doubtlessly smirking as he swayed you, “Only sweeter.”

You rolled your eyes. No cunt tasted like a honeycomb.

And you tried to say as much when he stroked over the strip of exposed skin between your shorts and the hem of your shirt, squeezing you tighter, but Joel was too good. He spidered a teasing touch over your tummy and yanked you back into his chest when you squealed and tried to break free. Then your sides, your ribcage, your shoulder blades—anyplace Joel could tickle, he tried to—and most spots, you were squeamish as hell. You clamped a hand over your half-open, giggling mouth, and when you felt him flip you around, you didn’t protest.

Suddenly, Joel’s hands were on either side of your face. He wasn’t smiling quite so big anymore but nevertheless maintained a kind glint behind his eyes. They were soft.

“‘M’sorry,” he said.

Then, pausing as if to consider his words, he said,

“You did great.”

He stopped again to press a kiss on the tip of your nose.

“So good.”

When he saw another smile twitch at the corners of your lips, as though asking him for more, he kissed those too.

“If that was your first time with…that…I’m, uh…”

“What?”

Another beat. Another stupid, stubbled grin.

“The luckiest…senior citizen sonovabitch, I guess.”

At the tail end of that, and once Joel had punctuated his sentence with another tender peck, you met his gaze again. Somehow, it had only gotten softer. His thumbs were searing the gentlest of imprints in the apples of your cheeks, his breaths were even and warm, and if you hadn’t known any better, you might’ve thought the man was contemplating saying something else to you then.

He didn’t.

The bridge to an old Billy Joel song made sure of that.

“And when she’s walkin’, she’s lookin’ so f-i-i-i-ine.”

You heard gravel crunch outside the cabin.

“And when she’s talkin’, she’ll say that she’s m-i-i-i-ine.”

Footsteps bounding up the half-rotted, cedar steps.

“She’ll say I’m not so tough just because I’m in love wi—SHIT.”

Tess’s face went blank the second the door swung open.

Thankfully, both of you were clothed. You and Joel leapt apart like she’d just caught you in doggy, though. And Tess looked like she might’ve seen an asscheek or two with the way she was staring at you both, letting the screen door slam shut, and a wordless ‘what-the-fuck’ caught somewhere in the tepid air between you three.

You stared at Tess, and Tess stared at you. Joel peered over her shoulder for the arrival of any more onlookers or folks just wanting to sing ‘Uptown Girl’ in your general vicinity. Fortunately, no one else appeared behind her.

But Tess looked awestruck enough for fifty people. She blinked and visibly swallowed as her gaze shifted to Joel.

“So FEDRA does dick appointments now?” she hissed.

“No!”

“I’m not—”

“He’s from the other camp.”

“You’re shitting me. Absolutely shitting me right now.”

You brought both hands to your face in a stifling, quiet desperation, unsure what to do. Joel just blinked back.

“I’m—we’re—” he started.

“Fucking!” Tess bit back, “You are so fucking. Raw.”

She wasn’t wrong. Her sixth sense for knowing who was having clandestine sex in her bed was kind of insane.

But, where you expected a look of horror to crawl into those taut, too-smart-for-her-own-good features, you found your bunkmate starting to raise her eyebrows.

Then laugh.

Tess threw her head back and laughed because she thought you were boinking a FEDRA camp counselor.

Joel shared a similar look of surprise but didn’t laugh.

“Yeah, I’m uh…J—” Again, he made as if to speak, to introduce himself, but Tess cut him off. About to wheeze.

“Lucien Flores, you dirty dog!” she cackled.

Joel glanced down at his nametag, started to shake his head, and probably didn’t anticipate Tess smacking him on the shoulder in a semi-congratulatory sort of way. Given a little more muscle to the playful punch, she just might’ve knocked him over. Joel was then trying to pry the pin off his polo just as you stepped closer to her.

“Tess, he’s…” You considered spilling the beans en masse but quickly decided against it. You’d have to stick to the barest of bones if you had any hope of escaping this place. So, resuming, you squeezed her arm and just said:

“Flores is gonna bust us out. Get your shit and we’ll go.”

Theresa Servopoulos didn’t need to be told twice.

And when she scrambled over to her sex-stricken bunk, inquired with a hurried but patently grossed out expression about who the fuck had wet the bed while she was gone, Joel didn’t hesitate—he said it was him.

“FEDRA man with a piss kink. I like you already, Lucien.”

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Too Much (Little Sister Version)

Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by @redbird-tf

Synopsis: you have nightmares of dying like Mary, and you start to get really clingy with Dean.

It started out in a subtle way. Your first nightmare had been vague, and though it had jarred you, it wasn’t enough to curb your day-to-day activities…much.

“I’m going for a supply run.” Dean’s words had you looking up from the homework you’d been working on. “We’re out of beer…and food.”

“I’ll come.” You were on your feet before the words even left your mouth.

“It’s just a quick run,” Dean argued. “Don’t you have homework?”

“It can wait,” you insisted, already on your way to the Impala. “Let’s go!”

Of course it would be Dean—it had always been Dean. Sure, he had his anger issues and his bad moments. He drank too much and he isolated himself when he was upset. But he always came back; when Sam was at Stanford, when dad disappeared, it was always you and Dean.

So when you started having nightmares about burning on the ceiling, Dean was who you turned to.

Scary things shouldn’t phase you anymore, not after all you’d seen. But this was different. Your whole life you’d heard “what happened to mom.” Never any specifics—it was always, “the demon killed mom,” or “what the demon did to Mary.” Nobody ever gave you any details; they always said you didn’t need to know.

So when you snuck into Dean’s room in the bunker and stole dad’s journal, you were in for a surprise.

The pages you’d read had been stuck together—it didn’t look like anyone had read them—and it took you a moment to peel them apart.

I went to visit a shrink today—I thought he might be a vampire. I went in undercover, booked myself an appointment. I figured out pretty quickly that he wasn’t a monster, but I didn’t leave. It sounds stupid, but I actually talked to him. Told him about Mary. Well, as much as I could tell, which is more than I’ve told anyone. Point is, he told me to write down what happened to her. Every detail I could remember. I don’t like thinking about her…but maybe he was right. Little Sammy asked about Mary just the other day, and I yelled at him. I still feel bad…it’s not his fault, he’s just a kid. Maybe this is the only way I’ll be able to talk about her, but maybe that’ll be enough to keep me from going off on the kids. So here goes…

And John had laid out every gory detail of that night, and you’d read the whole thing. You’d always thought it would be better knowing; that it would somehow bring you some extra closure to know how your mother’s final moments went. You were wrong.

And so came the nightmares. The first one was fuzzy and indistinct; a fire, the sound of screaming. But it was enough to have you going with Dean whenever he left the bunker.

The second one was more vivid. It was also when you realized that it wasn’t your mother you were dreaming about—it was you.

It was so real—you felt the demon’s powers slashing open your stomach, you felt your body lifting off the floor…

But the worst part was the heat. It stung your eyes and sizzled against your blood and seared your skin. You tried to scream, but the smoke choked you and stopped your voice. You struggled to inhale, coughing on the smoke and crying at the pain that lit up every nerve ending.

The bright light of the fire left first, then slowly afterwards the pain. But you were still choking and gasping for breath when you sat up in your bed.

“Dean,” you whimpered, the lone word echoing through your empty room. You weren’t quite used to the bunker yet—you were so used to the motels, where your brothers were right next to you at all times. Most of the time it was annoying, but right now…

You threw your covers off you, finally getting a hold of your runaway breathing as you padded barefoot towards your door. You couldn’t stay in this room—it was this room that you’d dreamt of, this ceiling that you’d burned on.

You flung your door open and started down the hall, but you only got halfway to Dean’s room before you stopped. You couldn’t go to him like this, a tear-streaked mess in the middle of the night; he would know something was wrong, and then you’d have to talk about it.

You couldn’t talk about it.

A bang from the kitchen stole your attention and your breath, your mind wandering towards images of a yellow-eyed intruder. You tip-toed to the kitchen, peaking around the corner and breathing easily when you saw Dean rummaging in the fridge for a beer.

You slipped into the kitchen, heading straight for Dean.

“You’re up early,” he greeted, stiffening in surprise when you wrapped your arms around him. “Hey, something wrong?”

“No,” you mumbled, your voice muffled by his shirt. “Good morning,” you added lamely as you pulled away, as if the greeting would explain away the hug.

“Yeah, mornin.” Dean shrugged, choosing to ignore your strange behavior. “Couldn’t sleep? It’s only 5.”

It was later than you’d thought.

“Not really,” you said. “Can we make breakfast?” You weren’t hungry, but you’d take any excuse to keep Dean close.

“Only if you get the bacon,” Dean said with a grin.

“I think we’re out,” you answered.

“Unacceptable,” Dean decided. “You start on the pancakes, I’ll make a run.”

“Wait! Um…” you wracked your brain for an excuse. “Um, the pancakes can wait, I’ll go with you.”

Dean squinted ever so slightly as he stared you down—that was twice in a week that you wanted to go with him to the store without a good reason.

“You sure you’re ok?” He asked.

“Yeah, just…I want some fresh air.”

“Alright.” You both knew he didn’t believe you, but neither of you brought it up again.

You felt pathetic as you trailed behind Dean, but the idea of sitting around the empty bunker alone until he got back or Sam woke up…

You just couldn’t do it. You couldn’t feel safe anymore, not even in your own home, without Dean around.

You sat just a little closer to Dean than you normally would once you got into the Impala, sitting towards the middle of the seat even though the right side was empty. You felt Dean watching you from the corner of his eye, but to your relief he didn’t say anything.

…

“Ok, so how many pounds do we want?” You held a brand of bacon in each hand, eyeing them both. When Dean didn’t respond to your question, you turned around to find the cart there, but no Dean. “Dean?” You glanced up and down the aisle, but he wasn’t in sight. You threw both bacon packages into the cart and ran down the aisle, going down the row and looking frantically down every aisle you passed. Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing.

You rubbed a hand against your chest when your next breath wouldn’t go through your tightened wind pipe. You tried to take deep breaths, but each one was less satisfying than the last. Once you reached the last aisle with still no Dean, you turned around and started back the way you came, hoping that he was down an aisle on the other side of the store.

“Dean? Dean!” You were calling his name, but you could barely even hear your winded and squeaky voice in the vast emptiness of the store, so you knew there was no way Dean could.

You passed the aisle with your cart and kept going, looking down the first, then the second…

“Dean!” You rushed forward, flinging yourself into Dean’s surprised embrace.

“Hey, what happened?” Dean was stiff and alert, whipping his head around to see what had spooked you.

“I couldn’t find you,” you whimpered, tightening your arms around Dean’s midsection. “I-I didn’t know where you went. Don’t do that to me!”

“Ok, ok hey I’m sorry,” Dean soothed, pulling away and kneeling down, brushing your hair out of your face so he could see you. “C’mon, what’s going on with you? What’s got you so spooked?”

You didn’t answer—you just launched yourself forwards and wrapped your arms around Dean’s neck, burrowing your head against his shoulder.

“Don’t leave me,” you pleaded.

“Ok, ok.” Dean held you closely, rubbing your back. “Ok I’m right here kiddo. Let’s get out of here, ok? Let’s go home.”

…

You held Dean’s hand in vice grip on the way out to the car, but he didn’t comment on it. He waited until you were safely bundled into the Impala to speak again.

“Kid, you need to tell me what’s going on here.”

“I’m fine,” you mumbled. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Dean glanced at you, but he didn’t speak again.

…

You were feeling lucky for most of the day—Sam and Dean spent the morning going through books in the library, so you were able to do your homework right next to Dean without warranting worry or attention.

“Check this out.” Sam’s words to Dean had you looking up curiously while Sam turned his computer around. “Looks like a case in town.”

Your heart dropped to your toes—you were too young to hunt, so a hunt in town meant that you sat in the bunker while the boys were out.

They spent the next twenty minutes talking about the case before they got ready to head out. Dean was throwing guns in a bag in his room when you went to find him.

“We’ll be back tonight,” Dean promised. “But if we find the thing that’s killing these people, it might not be until late, so don’t wait up ok?”

“Can’t I come?” Your tug on Dean’s sleeve stopped his movements.

“You know you can’t,” he said. “What’s going on with you? And don’t say nothing, because I know something’s wrong.”

“I just don’t want you to go,” you said. “Please De? Please don’t leave me here alone.”

“You’re not gonna tell me what’s going on?” Dean asked.

You shook your head.

“Then I have no choice.” Dean sighed. “People are dying, and you can’t come. I have to go.” Dean zipped up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “We’ll be back before tomorrow.”

“Dean—“ you reached out for your big brother, but in one stride he was out of your reach, then to the door, then he was gone.

…

You were trying to read the same page over and over, but the words were swimming around the page, blurred by the tears in your eyes and the shaking in your hands that had the pages fluttering. You looked up for the millionth time, a deep pit in your stomach convincing you each time that the yellow eyes demon would be standing in your doorway, waiting to kill you.

You dropped the book on your desk with a thud, finally giving up on homework—you wouldn’t get anything done until Dean was home, you just couldn’t focus.

You picked up your headphones and slipped them over your head, but you found that not being able to hear your surroundings made your anxiety even worse, and the soothing notes of your favorite song did nothing to help for once. You tried turning on the tv, but you found that you couldn’t look away from the door for more than a few seconds before you started to get scared again.

Finally you couldn’t take it anymore—you closed your room door, your bathroom, and even your closet; open doors just had your imagination running away with images of yellow eyes coming to kill you.

You burrowed yourself under the covers and tried to force yourself to sleep. Hour after hour you convinced yourself that you’d just never be able to sleep, but you didn’t have anything else to do but keep trying, so you didn’t move.

You were still laying there when the door opened.

“Hey sweetheart,” Dean greeted. You smiled at him, and he smiled back for a second before the smile faded. “Me and Sammy have another case—we’re gonna be gone a while, ok?”

“No, wait!” You tried to get up to stop Dean, but you couldn’t move. “Dean, don’t go! Dean don’t leave!”

He was already out the door, and in his place stood Azazel, pale yellow eyes glowing in the darkness.

“Dean!” You screamed, but it was too late; your pajamas were already soaked in blood coming from a painful gash across your stomach. You whimpered, finally able to move as you wrapped your arms around the wound as if you could protect yourself. You couldn’t.

You were sobbing as your body lifted off the ground, your stomach lurching as you went from wall to ceiling. There was no warning spark, or small flame—you were just suddenly and completely engulfed in flames, your hair burning and your skin scorched. You were still screaming when Dean came running back into the room.

“Dean,” you whimpered. “Dean no!”

Yellow eyes had a knife in his hand, and he turned it on your big brother in an instant. As the fire burned around you, you watched as Dean got stabbed again and again and again…

You woke up screaming. The fire was gone, and so was the pain, but you couldn’t even tell. Your eyes couldn’t take in a single detail of the room—they were blurry and unfocused from sleep. Your brain couldn’t decipher what parts of your dream were real and what weren’t. You sobbed out short and shaky breaths, and your cries were just starting to fade into whimpers when you heard it; the loud thunk of the bunker door closing.

Your fears and your crying returned full force, and you were gasping for breath as you felt around for any kind of weapon.

He’s coming he’s coming he’s coming he’s coming…

It was like all you could see was Azazel as you heard footsteps echoing down the hallway. You wanted to do what Dean always did—push his fear down, throw away his emotions, and just fight—but you couldn’t. You couldn’t catch your breath, you couldn’t stop sobbing, and you couldn’t find your gun.

When your door handle started to turn, you thought you were going to pass out. Your already-unsatisfying breath caught in your throat, and with the lack of breath came black spots at the edges of your vision.

You forced a single deep breath in and out—you couldn’t be unconscious when the demon came to kill you, you couldn’t be that helpless. You had to fight, even though you would lose.

The door swung open, and you were still gasping for breath and grappling for any kind of weapon when—

When Dean walked in.

“Dean!” You were off the bed and in your brother’s arms before he had a chance to speak.

“Hey, hey what’s going on?” Dean’s arms tightened around you when he heard you sobbing and felt you shaking. “Baby what happened?”

“Don’t leave me,” you begged between sobs. “Don’t leave me De, don’t leave me.”

“Ok, ok I’m not going anywhere,” Dean promised. “N/N I’m right here.”

“What’s going on?” Sam walked into the room, staring at his siblings with concern.

“I…I think we’re ok here,” Dean decided, carrying you to your bed. “You should go bandage that cut, I’ve got her.” When Sam hesitated, Dean assured him, “I’ve got her Sam.”

Sam finally left, and Dean climbed up on your bed, settling you into his lap when you wouldn’t let your vice grip around his neck go.

“I need you to talk to me,” Dean pleaded. “I need to know what’s going on, what this is.”

“There was fire,” you whimpered, your tears soaking Dean’s shirt. “There was fire, and it burned everywhere, and I was bleeding and I was on the ceiling, and-and yellow eyes stabbed you, and—“

“Whoa, whoa, slow down.” Dean started to rock you back and forth subconsciously. “Hey, how do you know about all that stuff.”

“I’m sorry.” You were sobbing again. “I know I wasn’t supposed to, but I read his journal and he wrote down everything and I thought it would help but…but now I can’t stop dreaming about it. I’m so—I’m so scared, De. All the time.”

“Shh, shh you’re ok,” Dean soothed, his hand cradling the back of your head. “I’ve got you sweetheart, I’m right here. Listen,” Dean tried to pull away so he could look at you, but you just tightened your grip. “Ok. I used to have nightmares about mom, too. All the time. I still get them sometimes.”

“You do?” You sniffled. “What do you do about them?”

“Well now it’s easier, because we killed yellow eyes. He’s gone, N/N. Nobody’s ever gonna die like mom did again, especially not you. You know that, right?”

“The dreams feel so real,” you answered.

“I know, I know they do. But they’re not. And I’m gonna help you through this, but kiddo, I can’t be around all the time, you know that. I’ve got a job to do.”

“O—ok,” you sniffled. “I can do better.”

“But I’m still gonna be here when you need me. I promise.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I need you right now.”

Dean’s arms squeezed impossibly tighter around you.

“Then I’m here for you.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe @wayward-impala83 @whump-loverz

[ineffectualdemon]

I've been thinking about it

And I don't think what's needed to actually fix Shen Jiu and Yue Qingyuan's relationship is Yue Qingyuan confessing why he didn't make it in time unless it was immediately when they met at the conference

Because that's not what sets Shen Jiu on his path.

What set Shen Jiu down the road he traveled and ruined all his interpersonal relationships was that he briefly wished Yue Qingyuan had died rather then forgot him

And he was so horrified by having that thought that he decided he was born rotten and was a monster from birth. Because only a monster would think like that.

Some people were rotten from birth. Shen Jiu thought of himself in exactly this way - someone vile and poisonous from the start. Because, at that instant, he came to a crystal -clear realization:

That he's rather have met a Yue Qi who'd died in some unknown corner, his remains unsightly and forgotten, then a Yue Qingyuan who was elegant and powerful, his prospects and future boundless."

SVSSS English translation Vol 4 Pg 95

Later when Yue Qingyuan talks to Shen Jiu in the water prison they have this moment:

"Has Shidi ever considered that, if you hadn't treated Luo Binghe like that in the beginning, everything that unfolded today would never have happened?"

Shen Qingqiu burst into laughter. "Why does Zhangmen-shixiong say such ludicrous things? What's happened has happened! I've already 'considered' it hundreds and thousands of times! There is no 'if', no 'in the beginning' —there was never any chance of redemption!"

SVSSS English translation Vol 4 Pg 111

He doesn't see this going in any other way because how could it if he was "rotten from birth" he was always a monster in his mind so to him suggesting there were other options is silly.

When he sees how this breaks Yue Qingyuan's heart he accepts that Yue Qingyuan had done all he could and any debt had long been repaid. But it's what he says next that really says a lot about himself

"You should go," said Shen Qingqiu. "I'll tell you this: Even if all of this could be redone from the beginning, in the end, the conclusion would remain the same. My heart is full of malice, my insides hatred and resentment. Today Luo Binghe wishes for me to die horribly, and I have only myself to blame."

SVSSS English translation Vol 4 Pg 112

He's saying it this way to push Yue Qingyuan to give up on him. Shen Jiu knows he's been cruel and abusive and feels he earned his fate. Which of course he would. He killed his own abusers with his own two hands. He understands Luo Binghe's motivations and reasons and doesn't see how it could have gone any different.

Because he sees himself as an inherent monster from birth and he was projecting that same monstrosity onto Luo Binghe from the beginning.

Yue Qingyuan confessing wouldn't have fixed their relationship unless it had been in the first instant when they met again. If he had said "I was too late" instead of "Qi-ge let you down" that might have changed things. But once Shen Jiu thinks he would have preferred Yue Qi to have died then become Yue Qingyuan and soar above him Shen Jiu was doomed.

The only way to fix their relationship from that point is for Shen Jiu to confess and confront the fact that the person he is angry with and hates is himself and that he's trying to push Yue Qingyuan away for that reason.

Unfortunately in PIDW canon he was only able to do this in the water prison and he still tried to push away Yue Qingyuan (who offered to let Shen Jiu kill him??? I had forgotten that bit) to save him from Luo Binghe.

I was thinking about this because I remembered a post that someone wrote about Shen Qingqiu getting truth serumed but it exposing his real feelings not like hidden identities. Like he insults Airplane and then says "I actually enjoy your company and your writing when you focus on your world building and plot but I had how you squander your potential."

And that was obviously talking about Shen Yuan

But I think that sort of thing would actually fix a lot of Shen Jiu's interpersonal relationships but he'd be mad as hell about it. Again it would have to happen before Luo Binghe hit the sect but if he could voice and confront those self beliefs then there is the slightest chance he could be persuaded that he's wrong by the right person

But yes. The thing about Shen Jiu is by the time Luo Binghe meets him he is well and truly a monster. But he's a monster because he decided he was one inherently and that he was incapable of changing that fact about himself.

Shen Jiu was right. Going back wouldn't have changed anything because Shen Jiu doesn't believe himself capable of change.

Something would have to break through that self hatred and make him believe he can be better. That he doesn't have to live like that.

And Yue Qingyuan confessing wouldn't do that. It would just make the self hatred worse.

[nyacat39]

Hate her as well <3

I hate her <3

[actuallyprobablyafaerie]

list of things that made me scream in pjo episode 3

Percy picking grover because he trusts him not to betray him!!! THEY ARE BEST FRIENDS OK

Luke still comes off as so likable and inconspicuous that whole convo he had with percy and the shoes i just

GROVER AND THE CONSENSUS SONG I CANT

annabeth staring at the different flavors of candy in the gas station and not being able to pick and just buying all of them. Thats the annabeth we deserve

ANNABETHS KNIFE APPEARANCE ALERT and a fury is IMMEDIATELY killed

uncle ferdinand foreshadowing……………

When annabeth and percy start arguing in the woods and grover tries to change the subject by talking about his uncle and they both completely ignore him. I LOVE GROVER SO MUCH

the bickering in this episode is ON POINT by the way

like the stuff theyre arguing about makes sense. Yes i would be concerned about those things too

ESPECIALLY since theres such a focus put on trust (esp after percy learns that someone is going to betray him) and percy and annabeth are arguing about stuff theyve lied or havent told each other about???? Sorry that might be skipping ahead a bit but GOD is that the good stuff

i love that they changed how the three of them ended up going into auntie em’s because before it was a little concerning that none of them figured out it was medusa. Plus having a fury outside just adds to the tension a perfect amount i think, because it really traps them in there

all the discussion about the gods and what medusa talks to percy about in the kitchen - YES MAKE ME HATE THEM!! All of this is adding up to lukes motivations making so much sense in the end

ALSO!! Them harkening back to sallys line in the first episode when she tells percy that not all heroes look like heroes and not all monsters look like monsters - they brought it back so perfectly. Percy wanting to trust medusa because of what his mom said, medusa calling Poseidon a monster, ALL OF IT is so good

When theyre down in the basement and grover puts on the shoes and then just fucking. Flies away and disappears into the darkness yelling a little. and annabeth and percy just kind of helplessly watch him go before being like - welp i guess that plans not working. That was peak comedy

them using annabeths hat on medusa and then using it to kill alecto THEY WERE SO SMART FOR THAT!!! Also percy just the invisible severed head was a hilarious concept to me

when percy suggests burying the hat in the ground with the hat on to make sure no one bad finds it and annabeth just!!! Agrees!!! And then grover has to be like no that hats important to her its a gift from her mother!!! And then percys like well we’ll find another solution then. That whole scene was good yes i liked that

also annabeth revealing that grover was her protector too and percy asks about it and grover just changes the subject and doesnt answer. He is the KING of avoidance

also grover finally interrupting annabeth and percy when they start fighting and giving his whole speech about getting along. That wouldve felt a little cheesy and preachy and out of place from anyone else but considering grover tried to get them to sing the consensus song a few hours earlier i fully believe that he would say that

I AM IMPERTINENT

Why the fuck wasnt there a lin manuel maranda jumpscare warning. I couldve used one of those

but actually all the jokes in this episode were so on point. Like percy calling drachmas chuckie cheese tokens. And him arguing about voting on the bus. Anyways

10/10 episode i will be rewatching like eight times before next tuesday.

[kamospeach]

said you wanna hurt me now, you can't hurt me now .ᐟ

plot: trueform!sukuna wouldn't dare touch her, one of his most prized posession, his first ever concubine

content warning: plussize!reader, death (ofc), reader is obsessed, yandere thoughts, blood, size kink, virgin, oral f! + m!receiving, tummy fucking, 69?, monster fucking, cock warming

peachy's yap: wc 2.6k.ᐟ im a sucker for soft sukuna. trueform sukuna is 9ft but i did 8ft for this. reader is a tad bit crazy too ngl. sukuna is not telling you he loves you unless he's about to die, sorry♡. this might need a pt.2🌚

"sit and stay quiet this time, please." sukuna pleaded with you, but the sparkle in your eye told him everything he needed to know. you didn't get called into the throne room often for the hearings, and today was your lucky day.

he killed two concubines last night for trying to escape. no one else was able to take his brutal killings like you meaning he had no choice but to have you accompany him. he would rather not have to kill another concubine for throwing up on his robe.

"ryooo." you whined as he gave you a pointed glare, not wanting the other concubine on the other side of the throne to hear the nickname you have for him. "kunaaa." you giggle as he huffs at your unseriousness.

"act like you've got some type of sense, brat," he says, pleading with you for the second time today. he sat on his throne, waiting for the first person to come in. the day had only just started and sukuna had just about enough of this.

being one of sukuna's concubines was fun when it wasn't your job. you had always loved sukuna even when your father gifted you to him 10 years ago. all the women had come and gone yet you still stayed by his side.

despite being there all those years sukuna still refused to have sex with you. at first, you thought it was your body but he was never afraid to be touchy. then you thought it was your face but he always told you how beautiful you were.

you thought it was his anger, that you reminded him too much of his father. since he’s the one who made the deal of you becoming his concubine. yet the words he whispers to you are sweet and his caresses are gentle.

you frowned thinking of it all over again, your mind ran in circles like this at least 4 times a day. he was the only thing that inhabited your mind, to be honest. even under these unbearable circumstances, you refused to leave sukuna. you loved him and that much was obvious.

“g…good morning my king! i was wondering in exchange for my daughter as your concubine will you bless me with enough money to replant my fields.” the older man squeaked, bringing out his daughter. she looked about  21 or 22 she was pretty, ‘i’d kill her’ you thought to yourself

“yes, i require new concubines anyway. get out,” he says as the man nods rapidly walking to Uraume who gives the man a wad of cash. the new concubine smiled wide looking around the throne room.

“may i sit at your feet my king,” she asked looking up at sukuna with her big doe eyes. you wonder how she’d sound screaming for her life. you zoned out not even hearing sukuna's response to the girl. you shake that thought from your head as sukuna taps your shoulder. you turned to look at him and he looked almost bored.

“sit on my lap so she can sit there,” he instructed you and you eagerly nodded. standing up you sat on sukuna’s lap, his robes doing nothing to hide the growing erection. acting oblivious you reached down to ‘see what that feeling was’. only to be met with a sharp glare from sukuna.

“what?” you smiled innocently feeling not one but two cocks? your eyes widened and sukuna’s glare and frown turned into a menacing smirk.

“look here woman if you turn around and be nice, i’ll reward you,” he whispered in your ear, placing a soft kiss on the bend of your neck. you figured like always the reward would be him inviting you to spend the night in his chambers. or a new robe or allowing you to match with him for once.

although you knew the reward wasn't exactly what you wanted you still obliged. facing forward and trying your best to not roll your eyes or laugh at the people sukuna killed. sukuna huffed and puffed louder as more and more people came in.

"kuna?" you whispered, turning around while uraume cleaned up the blood. you knew you had at least ten minutes before the next person came in.

"what?" he said, throwing his head back in exhaustion. it was going on for the third hour and he was beat. the other concubine you didn't care to remember her name didn't dare look his way while the newest one stared at him.

"can i help you?" you asked and he looked down at you with furrowed brows not sure what you meant. noticing his confused look you nodding down between the two of you. where sukuna's twin cocks were now pressed against his stomach. "i won't be obvious or loud i promise." you pleaded.

"aren't you a virgin?" he whispered back and you nodded looking away.

"y...you've never touched me." you look into his eyes and he was floored really. not once in the 10 years had you ever stuttered before sukuna. nor whispered out of fear or even flinched when he yelled at you.

"it's a lot to explain." he said shaking his head, noticing they were getting closer and closer to being done. "you sure you want to do this?"

"yes i want to please you," you say and he nods slowly as you open the lower part of his robe to pull out both of his cocks. it was like nothing you'd seen before, it wasn't like you'd seen many anyways. his top dick is smaller than the bottom but just as girthy.

"just take the bottom one," he tells you and you oblige pulling up your robe. you smirked glancing at the newest concubine who still stared at the both of you.

you had used your fingers plenty of times but this stretch was different. you slid down inch by inch slowly adjusting to sukuna. you bit back your moans being quiet just like you promised. sukuna's breathing was ragged and his hands gripped your hips.

once you were fully flushed on his cock you covered everything just in time for the next person to come in. you stayed steady as more and more people came in begging for things. sukuna noticed how your soppy cunt clenched around him in arousal when he killed someone. or how when he sometimes spoke your hips made the littlest of movement.

he was saving you for the right moment when he was ready to settle down. he knew once he had you that every other concubine would be sent off to his best friend Toji. he wasn't ready to focus on just you, mentally he was still young. he wanted to be mature when he finally decided to take your virginity.

but how could he turn down his most prized possession of what she wanted? he wouldn't dare tell you no or put tears in your eyes if it wasn't from pleasure. so he did what he had always wanted to do.

it was now going on the fifth hour and you had already came twice around sukuna. he had filled you up once just from your clenching and unclenching.

"that was the last of them my king." uraume informed sukuna who wasted no time pulling you off him. making sure you both were fixed to not draw attention to the slick sliding down your leg.

"you're all dismissed." he rushed out grabbing you like you weighed nothing like always. he threw you over his shoulder and it looked as if you were far off the ground. remembering sukuna was 8 feet tall and realizing he had never picked you up before.

you looked up at uraume who laughed at you being carried away. the other concubines frowning since he never did anything with you. you smiled to yourself not only did he want you, but you made him cum once already.

once you were at his chamber door your feet kicked in excitement. he opened the door and walked to the bed he placed you down on your feet and you frowned. he laughed at your face, his bed itself was almost as tall as you.

you looked up at sukuna, your head only going a little past his hip. you weren't super tall but you weren't short either yet his brooding height never intimidated you until today.

"this doesn't get funnier," you said frowning at sukuna who just continued to laugh at you. every time you spend the night here he places you down in front of the bed knowing you couldn't get on yourself.

"it does..." he smiled brightly and butterflies erupted in your stomach. whenever sukuna did smile, which was rare, it made your heart warm. you hadn't seen a smile that bright since his 17th birthday hours before his father was murdered.

he didn't say anything else and lifted you with one hand. he got on the bed and placed you in his lap. he looked at you before his hands trailed up your thigh. he removed the robe from your body staring at you.

"is something wrong?" you asked and he swallowed deeply. he leaned up kissing you feverishly, roughly squeezing your thighs. his sharp nails lightly piercing your skin the pain didn't even bother you.

all you could think about was sukuna's lips as your hands wrapped around his neck. although most people see his four arms as scary, you loved the way all four wrapped around you. two hands resting on your thighs and the other two gripping your waist. your fingers ran across his undercut massaging his neck.

you follow suit helping him take off his robe next. you both look at each other in silence, not much needing to be said. he lifted you and turned you around your legs barely being able to straddle his wide body. you were confused until you felt a wet lick on your dripping cunt.

"kuna..." you moaned out falling forward and resting your hand on your thigh. "y...you could've warned me," you whined as his tongue played at your entrance and lapped at your juices. your body trembled from the pleasure, this was new for you and it wasn't what you expected. did you know about his second and third mouth? of course you did, you knew everything about sukuna. but did you expect him to use them during sex? hell no.

"you taste so good... do y'like how that feels?" he asked helping you grind your hips on his abs. you let out a long whine while vigorously nodding your head not able to speak. "come on tell your kuna how good he makes you feel." he cooed and you threw your head back as his tongue pushed in your cunt.

"fuck... kuna you make me feel sooo good...hah so, so..." you trail off as one of sukuna’s hands grab yours placing it around his top cock.

"think you can make my other cock cum just as much as earlier?" he asked referring to his bottom cock cumming in your womb in the throne room. you nod wanting to please him and didn't want to disappoint.

"i've never done this before," you admitted and he nodded already knowing that.

"spit on it." he instructed as you let spit dribble out of your mouth onto his tip. "now stroke it a few times... juuuust like that yeahhh." he moaned out thrusting into your hand. "now put that big mouth on it." he joked and you scoffed still following instructions. weirdly enough you felt like you knew what to do. so you did what you thought was right and that was put his dick all the way down your throat.

sukuna moaned out two hands still on you guiding your hips over his tongue. you came up again not really sure what to do anymore. then your mind went back to what the other concubine, another one you couldn't remember, told you.

'sukuna likes when you move your head fast and play with his balls'

'hollow your cheeks'

'use your tongue here and there. absolutely NO teeth.'

you mustered up all the courage you had and did as instructed. hollowing your cheeks you quickly bobbed your head up and down on his cock. you hummed around him as his tongue still penetrated your insides. you felt it explore you and lick all around your walls while occasionally pushing on that spongy spot.

"hah... i thought you said this was your first time brat," he grumbled as you made sure your teeth didn't touch him. you pulled off abruptly swirling your tongue around his tip before taking him all the way down your throat again. you reached out for his balls massaging them as sukuna grunted bucking his hips into your mouth. "you didn't lie to me did you?"he leaned forward grabbing you by your curls pulling your mouth from around him. he used your hair to turn your head to look at him.

"i'd never lie to you, one of the concubines told me what you liked," you admitted and he hummed in satisfaction letting your hair go. he leaned back and smacked your ass cheek signaling you to get back to work. and you did just that sucking him off while you played with his balls rolling them in your hand. you came up for air letting out a loud moan. "kuna i'm c...close." you stuttered still pumping his cock and he moaned.

"me too keep going," he said as you obeyed still vigorously bobbing your head. you couldn't take it anymore and had to come up for air. his tongue was continuously bullying that spongey spot making it too hard to even continue with your task of pleasuring him. the most you could do for him was continue to stroke him while your breath was rigid.

"i'm cumming." you squealed as your body shook in pleasure and sukuna hummed.

"a little faster n 'm right behind you," he tells you and you milk him faster like he asked. his cock twitched in your hand and you licked from his base to his tip just as his hot white cum shot on his thighs and mostly on your face.

"mmm." you hummed at his taste shivering as his tongue removed itself from your tight hole. his large arms grabbed you pulling you to sit next to him. he reached to his bedside table grabbed a handkerchief and wiped your face and his thigh. "can i sleep here for now?" you asked and he nodded as you laid on his chest.

"you could just move in here with me," he says in an almost shy(?) tone.

"like live in your chambers?" you asked in shock as he nodded his head slowly. his eyes darted around your face as if he was looking for some type of expression showing you were into that idea.

"yes is that not something you want? i'll send all the concubines to toji's! he'll be glad to have them, he's been begging for riko." he exclaimed and you laughed at his frantic state. 'who's riko?' you thought to yourself but ended up just shrugging it off. "i'll even marry you. do you want to get married?"

"wait kuna calm down." you laugh as his chest rises and falls rapidly. "let this sink in okay? i'll move into your chambers and you can keep the concubines here for now. once we both decide on the right time to get married then you can send them away." you smiled trying to be reasonable and he nodded agreeing with your plan.

"yeah okay, that'll work." he nods trying to act nonchalant as if he didn't try to marry you after the first time.

"i love you kuna," you say looking up at him through your lashes and he grunts.

"yeah."

[sugar-grigri]

How about an analysis of Dunmeshi's latest episode?

What I find really interesting, and episode 17 made me realize it, is the extent to which Laios and Shuro are the opposite of what they portray, even worse: the image they might portray is actually that of the other.

Let me explain :

How does Shuro see Laios ? As someone stubborn and thoughtless, disconnected from reality to the point of using black magic to resurrect his little sister.

We know that Shuro would have made the same choice, which shows that even if he tries to deny it, there is a point of connection between them.

The key to these similarities and differences is Falin.

What Shuro loves about Falin is the tenderness in her every gesture, her compassion and understanding of every creature, and her smile.

When he sees this monster kill in cold blood, he realizes the extent to which he has lost his loved one, which is why he chooses to kill her to free his soul, thinking he has lost her.

But what Shuro doesn't realize is that he's exactly what he's blaming Laios for: he's stubborn and reckless, not realizing the danger and sacrifices his teammates are making for the sake of this mission.

He's also disconnected from reality, not caring about himself, his hunger or his fatigue.

Above all, and this is very interesting, Laios had said that he hadn't perceived that Shuro couldn't stand him because he was so happy to have him as a friend, that he hadn't detected any of these signals.

Shuro shares this blindness

Shuro repeats that this monster is not Falin, yet he sees her as such, to the point of embarrassment when the monster removes her blouse.

And that's the opposite of Laios, who sees his sister as the monster she is

Like the chimera Falin has become, he sees his little sister calling him and this super-cool monster.

He's the one with his feet firmly on the ground, he's the one who really cares about his team, taking care of himself and those around him through balanced meals.

The one who understands that Falin has many vital points, rather than allowing himself to be overwhelmed by despair, is Laios.

So when Shuro hits Laios, in reality he's not hitting a man who differs from him, he's hitting his own flaws, and his own failure in the situation.

This failure he projects onto Laios, a man brimming with flaws.

Not only does Laios reason with him, but if Shuro ends up taking the wiser path, it's also because he's literally fought against himself.

But it all goes even further!

Shuro realized his feelings, or rather how unique Falin was in her tenderness and altruism, towards every being, even the smallest.

But what set this whole cycle in motion was Falin's self-sacrifice, her own death.

Laios and Marcille are responsible for what follows, but they are not responsible for everything, as Shuro tries to believe.

Shuro refuses the truth

So he doesn't see Falin

He couldn't accept that her tenderness had led to his death

Nor that her tenderness gave way to extreme coldness and indifference

He won't accept his own blindness

So he hits Laios and his extreme sincerity that irritates him so much

Shuro can't see anything in the darkness of this dungeon, he's the one who's lost his footing so he has to get back up again

Laios has accepted to see everything, even the unavowable, the forbidden, the pain.

What Shuro sees in Falin is love

In Laios, what he sees is the truth

In reality, Laios has only told part of the truth; he is the other half.

But if he goes back up, it's not to abandon Falin, Shuro has to face reality, the truth, that Laios was the only one who could save his beloved. It was by fighting that he finally put his trust in Laios. And finally became a friend

[signanothername]

@meloveanimeforreal7604 your ask glitched so I’m answering with a screenshot chchch

I actually have my own thoughts on their stats and how they changed under Nightmare

Killer is actually canonically shown to have 99999 LV, but later, Rahaf stated people can choose whichever LV they wanted for him, so it’s basically up for interpretation

Murder is canonically mostly at 19 LV, in some timelines, he reaches 20 LV

Horror has never been given a canon LV as far as I know (correct me if I’m wrong)

That being said, in my lil version of Nightmare, he has a “no killing unless necessary” rule, but generally, Nightmare can be a bit lenient if MTT resort to killing as long as it does not affect the negativity in a bad way

As in, if killing someone results in the negativity decreasing, than Nightmare would be pissed, but say if a monster was part of a family and their death resulted in a negativity increase due to their family’s grief, then Nightmare lets it slide

Nightmare only orders MTT not to go overboard with killing, his orders are usually within “Kill as many as necessary to generate a sufficient amount of negativity, otherwise, torture or terrorize”

Murder never ever kills anyone, nor does he tortures anyone, he usually hopes Nightmare would simply assign him a supply run job (which doesn’t always happen) and so if he were to do anything to help with negativity, he resorts to terrorizing only, as in just scaring people by blasting his gaster blaster in random directions, etc, but he never kills or tortures, these people are not part of his own AU, he has no business here, it causes him a lot of problems with Nightmare, but Murder prefers to deal with Nightmare’s abuse than live with more blood on his hands than necessary (I think you can already guess that Murder would deal with forced killing at some point no? >:) )

His stats are very Undertale like, they still follow the same formula and are pretty much uncorrupted, whenever anyone checks him, they get the exact same stats as you’d see in game, his LV stays on 19

Horror would simply follow Nightmare’s orders usually, sometimes during a bad mood swing he might end up killing people, but still stays within the limits of Nightmare’s rules, Horror is generally more responsible for torturing than killing, he’s sadistic af and finds joy in the screams of mercy when people plead for their lives (he might or might not cope with the rage brewing inside him from having to deal with Nightmare and his abuse by turning that rage to sadistic joy when torturing innocents)

His stats are semi-corrupted, his HP doesn’t show up at all, that is because Horror is technically already dead, from his head injury, therefore, his HP can no longer reflect him, his stats simply finds difficulty to assign a number to him, I like to think his LV is somewhere in the middle, not as high as Murder’s but not low either, but it definitely increased a few points after he started working under Nightmare

Killer doesn’t kill unless ordered to, he just tortures and terrorizes, he’s generally apathetic to people’s screams for mercy, only doing his job like the good killing machine he is, at stage 2, he does find his job “fun” but in a way that’s more thrilling to his restless dissociative mind and body then any actual joy, he’s curious and fascinated, not happy, he can’t latch onto his emotions at stage 2 anyway, but I think it’s clear that he carries so much guilt for it that’s only apparent when at stage 1

Killer’s stats are extremely messed up, they no longer truly reflect him at all, his stats are like a corrupted file, it isn’t working as it should be, his HP, AT and DF keep glitching and changing constantly, unable to truly settle on one single number, his 99999 LV would be the closest thing to “consistent” in reflection to him, but even then, it’s corrupted, glitching like the rest but still stays at 99999 LV

His LV doesn’t truly reflect his level of violence, but rather, his soul’s unnatural state, his Determination is way too excessive and his code is way too messed up

An HP can show you that it’s at 1, but no matter how much he’s hit he doesn’t die, or it could show you that it’s at 99 and he dies from one hit

In short, his stats aren’t to be taken on face value as they no longer truly reflect him beyond showing how messed up his state is

Nightmare doesn’t kill unless necessary or when he deems it in his interest, or in some cases, when anger takes the better of him, he finds sadistic joy in the misery of others and a sense of power that he just loves feeling, it makes him feel untouchable, unreachable, undeniably invincible, and by extension, it eases the constant fear of everything and everyone around him (something he’s in denial of)

Nightmare simply put, has no stats, he can be checked, but his stats are never going to be shown, he’s too much of an outcode for his stats to truly show anymore, not to mention, his state of being a semi-god, but the further someone is disconnected from their home, the more likely their stats aren’t going to show or be corrupted when shown, Nightmare falls under the “not shown” category (Killer’s stats’ corruption is also enhanced by his disconnection from his world)

[whyareyoulookingatmelikethat]

twisted sprout x distractor reader x twisted cosmo?

bonus points if reader's a little overly cocky and gets Got (maybe we get like. kidnapped or something. whatever you think would fit best in the getting got category [: )

...no this isn't inspired by me doing stupid stuff while distracting and getting punished for it. why would you think that noo /j

[20]: In The End

Not much to say right now. Not in the best mood after something happened, but I still hope you enjoy.

You were known as the chaotic one of the group.

Reckless, mischievous, you name it.

Honestly, no one really knew why you were the distractor, but they just went along with it because who else did they have to distract?

So here you were, skipping your way along the dark halls, your mood completely cheerful despite the disturbing sounds of the monsters chasing you.

The smile on your face was as bright as it would be on a sunny day, strangely enough.

You weren't one to strategize either. The instant you found a speed candy on the floor? Eat it in an instant.

Chocolate bars? Sounds good! Bottles of pop? Sure thing! No saving whatsoever.

You were literally the embodiment of idiotic.

And you liked it.

What was wrong about being stupid? Everyone is, so might as well come to terms with it.

You giggled, rounding the corner and making a U-turn around the twisteds.

Some say you’re confusing. Some say you’re drunk. Some say you’re crazy. (Which you are, but focus!)

You had the most positive,(Yes, even more positive than Poppy) yet deranged look on your situation, is what people said.

You didn’t care if there were monsters chasing you. You didn’t care if you were possibly going to die soon. After all, if you're going to go out, might as well have a little fun while doing so!

No you weren’t suicidal, just…you tried to make the best of your situation.

Was this place causing you to go insane? Probably. Who wouldn’t, after seeing their friends die in front of them one by one?

Ah, you remember now. Vee being mauled by Twisted Pebble, Boxten’s bones being crushed by Twisted Goob’s grip, Astro being killed by…well, Twisted Astro. Or who you like to call, the leech.

Their deaths were so traumatizing, you say with absolutely no emotion whatsoever, like you’re being sarcastic, but you’re not.

What reason would you have to be?

You didn’t really hate anyone here, not Vee or Glisten with their pride, Rodger with his nosiness, or even Shrimpo with his yelling. He had good reason to be bitter.

You heard a screech behind you, a warning. With practiced grace, you twirled around the easily avoidable tendril sprouting up from the floor, not even staining your shoes with the black ichor.

As you skipped on, avoiding a swipe of a smaller black claw, you wondered how the twisteds were even dumber than you, to the point they would just run around in circles after you and not even cut through the middle. They also wouldn’t jump or step over obstacles, nor knock them aside. They reminded you of homing missiles, but worse.

They acted as if a bean bag was a brick wall, and it was funny, yet extremely confusing. It bugged you to the point of insanity.(Not really, you're still sane but you know)

So you entertained the thought that maybe they were all blind. Their eyes were blood-red, so it would make sense that their vision is messed up, but that doesn’t explain how the amalgamation that was once a sweet and loving dog could now see you across half the entire floor, but couldn’t see you over a colorful kids table, despite towering over you.

It didn’t make any sense. It was like every single obstacle ever was an invisible wall for them. And you thought you were dumb…

You hummed, breaking out of your train of thought. Your eyes widened as you came face to face with a wall, smacking straight into it.

You could feel a headache beginning to form as you fell backwards towards the ground, hitting your head on the painfully hard concrete. You could hear the slightest crack and you cried out, immediately curling yourself up and hands shooting up to your head.

It…felt warm. Weirdly warm, and sticky.

Oh.

You already knew what it was.

You pressed down hard on your scalp as the twisteds closed in on you. You’d go out quick, at least.

The only thing you saw before it was all gone was two blurry faces staring down at you, hissing and groaning filling the air.

[the-irreverend]

The Inferno Theory: The Chara Theory to End All Chara Theories

Here we are! Nine years of Undertale. And seeing how Chara is heavily associated with the number 9 (AND THAT TOBY FOX FINALLY TALKED ABOUT THEM), I can't think of a better way to celebrate the occasion than by dedicating this 5000-word-long theory about them? Y'all remember when people used to make long-ass theories about Chara? Yeah, they're coming back with a vengeance! To say I have a colossal hyperfixation is a massive understatement. No character in all of fiction has had a bigger impact on my life than this little rose-cheeked, cocoa-addicted freak. I’ve been a Chara fan for as long as I’ve been an Undertale fan, and you can bet that my understanding of them has changed a lot since. And now I have the pleasure of sharing said understandings with y’all!

Once upon a time, there was an aroace autistic who, like most of y’all, had a very unhealthy obsession with Undertale. And unlike most of you, he thought the Genocide Route was really fun. Most fans talk about how unhappy they felt killing everyone, but for me, I felt like a polar bear at a baby harp seal convention. I got a disturbing level of happiness out of turning everyone to dust. Hell, the only unhappiness I felt was when I couldn’t turn Monster Kid to dust.

Oh well, at least I got a good consolation prize!

I was one sadistic son of a gun, and so I was even more delighted to find out I had a secret admirer/partner-in-crime and that they joined in on the fun because I was such a goshdarn inspiration to them. Not wishing to disappoint my self-appointed partner, I erased the world without a second thought, eagerly awaiting what we might get to do together.

So you can guess I was pretty taken aback when, instead of a warm welcome, they started lecturing me about how I couldn’t accept the world’s destruction and that I was the one fully responsible for it (even though they were eager to take credit for it earlier). I didn’t think much of it at first. Initially, I just thought that they were just irritated that I was undoing what we had worked so hard to accomplish.

But as this game taught me time after time, you should never trust your first impressions. Those first impressions would crumble to dust when they said this.

To say I was completely baffled is an understatement. Why the hell would this prepubescent genocidal maniac be so obsessed over whether or not I think I’m above consequences? So obsessed to the point they would tell me to go to hell if I told them no? It was at that moment I realized there was something more to this character than meets the eye. But for a long time, I couldn’t seem to figure out what that something was. And it didn’t seem like anyone could figure that out either.

I’m very much a veteran of the fan wars that have emerged surrounding Chara. In fact, one might even say I am a deserter of sorts, as I am a former member of the Chara Defence Squad, Offense Squad, and Neutralist Squad. But I’m not gonna be a stuck-up and say everyone’s a canon-ignoring idiot except for me and that I’m the only one who knows what Toby Fox intended Chara to be. Even though I ended up with a very different take than yours (and will certainly argue why it’s the best), I owe you all your discussions a huge debt, and I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t gotten invested in your interpretations, to begin with. Not to mention that, contrary to what some may argue, you’ve made some valid points to complement them.

And while the debate that resulted from Chara’s ambiguous morality has led to a lot of controversy and even toxicity, it has also been a source of some FANTASTIC CONTENT. Like seriously, would we have gotten those badass renditions of Stronger Than You if no one thought Chara was an awful person? Would we have gotten Man on the Internet’s beautiful rendition of Star if no one thought Chara was a good person (turned awful)?

It would be utter hypocrisy for me to ask of you to approach me and my arguments (or anyone who accepts them) with understanding and good faith only to then not do the same to anyone who doesn’t agree with me. In this theory, I will definitely argue why some points made about Chara are flawed; points that you might hold yourself. But that doesn’t automatically mean that you (or your takes) are intellectually or morally inferior to mine. And besides, I’m not Toby Fox.

So with that said, why did I eventually came to disagree with pretty much everyone about Chara? Because, one way or another, I couldn’t find a take that clicked with me personally as I felt there were various inconsistencies and issues holding them back. I looked at YouTube videos, subreddits, Tumblr essays, Twitter threads, and even forums on the Steam Community. But I couldn’t really find what I thought were satisfactory answers to the questions I had about Chara’s motivations, role in the game, and relationship with the player.

And then, one day, I found those answers. It all happened when I asked myself: “What if Chara didn’t turn against me… because they were always against me from the start?!”

I don’t mean that Chara only saw you as a means to an end. I mean that YOU were the end. What if Chara didn’t use you so they could screw over the monsters but they used the monsters so they could screw over YOU.

You probably think I’m insane, don’t you? And you’re right! I AM INSANE! AND SO IS THIS WHOLE DAMN THEORY!!! But somehow, someway, it just works!! And I’ll show you why and how!!!

What you are about to read is the culmination of six years of reading and critiquing Chara takes and theories of every kind and quality, whether it be Judgement Boy’s Who is the Real Villain of Undertale to Wandydoodles’ Oblivion Theory. Six years of examining the arguments and counterarguments of Chara defenders, offenders, and neutralists alike. Six years of looking in every corner of the UTDR fandom. From the tranquil lands of Quora. To the dark recesses of Reddit. To the intellectual wastelands of Twitter. To the fiery hellsite of Tumblr. So, without further ado, get ready for some of the most pure, unadulterated, high-octane, universe-collapsing neurodivergence you’ve ever seen in your life!!!!!

Part 1: The demonic heritage of the "demon who comes when people call its name".

Have you ever had one of those moments where you’ve asked yourself, “What the actual hell is this guy talking about?” I bet you’re having that moment right now. Everything about their character post-death, including their motives, their methods, and their relationship with you, is perfectly reflected in one of their most famous (or rather infamous) lines:

When most people hear the word demon, the first thing that comes to mind is a being made of pure evil whose only purpose in life is to destroy all things good in the world. Right?

Well, yes, but actually, no. It’s a little more complicated than that. To argue that Chara is a demon because they’re simply “an evil little twerp that enjoys being evil” doesn’t do them or their role in Undertale justice (although that hasn’t stopped people from trying to argue that). To understand why calling themselves a demon is EXTREMELY important, we need to dive into the wonderful (and totally not controversial) world of religious beliefs!

In ancient and modern religions, demons are a little more complex than just ethereal jackasses with a vendetta against virtue and righteousness. Though they vary from faith to faith, most demons have a specific set of qualities and tropes that make them integral to whatever faith they’re in. You also see these demonic qualities in fiction that’s derived or inspired by religions, and since Undertale’s lore and worldbuilding have a heavy emphasis on the spiritual and divine, you can see them in Chara. Since Undertale is a game of “Western” origin, you can definitely see they share qualities that are all too familiar with devils of “Western” religions. In classic devil fashion, they target those with weak integrities or suspect morals; they tempt you with the promise of fulfilling your desires at your and everyone else’s expense; they’re able to control your body as you grow their power through your sins, and hell, they even do the thing where they make a deal for your soul. Also...

But though it's evident that Chara encourages you to do “evil,” THEY THEMSELVES are not responsible for it. Yes, Chara encouraged you to kill, but YOU are the one who acted on those encouragements. In fact, YOU are the one who encouraged THEM to help you out! They walked down the dark path with you, but you didn’t really give them anywhere else they could walk. You had all the power and every chance to turn back and no reason to keep walking. And yet you persisted.

But that does beg the question, why did you walk it at all? What could possibly inspire you to give all of these characters happiness, satisfaction, and peace and then rip it all away? Because you decided that giving everyone the most satisfying ending was not satisfying enough for you. Because there was more that you could experience for yourself, even if it meant making everyone else experience something absolutely horrific. It wasn’t enough for you to fill the glass only halfway. You needed to fill it to the brim. You wanted to reach the absolute. Even if doing the Genocide Run was a bad experience for you, you CANNOT deny it was a fulfilling one. And Chara knows it, too. It ain’t exactly a coincidence that fulfillment and fullness are recurring motifs in Chara’s character.

Like all demons, Chara is able to tempt the wicked and sinful by targeting our greatest weaknesses and deficiencies. It’s no different from how Succubi and Incubi target those who succumb to the sin of lust. That’s why you won’t go after my aroace ass anytime soon. But I digress.

But Chara doesn't just tempt us by exploiting our need to fill the glass to the brim but also because of how they exploit the satisfaction we get from watching it fill up, that is to say, the satisfaction that comes from trying to achieve fulfillment.

We humans are addicted to progression as much as we are to completion, and in an RPG like Undertale, the satisfaction of progression comes in the form of NUMBERS. Not just the numbers that flash on the screen when you battle enemies but also the ones that go up when you finish said enemies off, whether it be your hit points, experience points, and so on. And Undertale isn’t any ordinary RPG; it’s one where its RPG elements are interwoven into the fabric of the game’s universe. Because of that, Chara is able to use these elements in their world to influence those outside of it.

But Chara does not just influence us through the numbers that increase but also the ones that decrease. That’s why the first thing they do when we reach Snowdin is give us a tally. 

It’s not just there to measure progress. It’s also there to incentivize us to keep progressing. It gives us a small dose of satisfaction that’s enough to distract us from the mundanity and misery of the murder run, like a loading bar on a loading screen. And just like with loading screens, the farther it progresses, the harder it gets to turn away. Why would you want all the lives you’ve taken and the stats you’ve gained to amount to nothing? Why would you want to hit reset and go through those brutal fights with Sans and Undyne again? You can’t empty out the glass, not when you’re that much closer to filling it to the brim. Speaking of Sans and Undyne, it’s quite interesting that even though they barely know you, they know exactly why you won’t take your foot off the pedal, so to speak.

But that’s not the only thing driving you, isn’t it? Chara knows that there was something else that was spurning you along. Something more powerful and more dangerous than your addiction to progression and completion: PRIDE. 

Perhaps the real reason you kept giving in to sin until it was far too late was because you didn’t think it would be too late. You didn’t hold back because you thought you would be able to go back. You thought you could just absolve your sins with the press of a button like you did in countless worlds before. You thought you could dive in, touch the bottom, and come back out of the water. But what were you getting into? How deep would you have gone? And would you have gone in if you knew you couldn’t possibly return? You know you wouldn’t. And Chara knows it, too. That brings us back to the dialogue I showed you at the beginning of this theory. The one said changed everything I knew about this character, and I firmly believe that this is the MOST important line of dialogue in the entire franchise.

PART 2: THE PART WHERE I (PRETEND TO) DESTROY 9 YEARS OF ESTABLISHED FANON!

When I say that that little blurb about being above consequences is ABSOLUTELY ESSENTIAL, I do not say that lightly. It isn’t just important to Chara's character, but the game of Undertale as a whole! Anyone who’s serious about Chara’s character should never take this for granted because Chara sure as hell does not.

It’s not just our refusal to accept the world’s destruction that’s a huge-ass deal to Chara; it’s the arrogance and complacency that accompanies it, rooted in the position and privileges we have as the player. It matters to them so much that they’re willing to completely forgo bartering for our soul (which they say they want) if we don’t admit that we have that belief!

And yet, despite Chara taking this subject so seriously, the people who are analyzing their character ironically don’t. Generally speaking, most people simply brush this line off as nothing more than something they do to help them on their quest to achieve their goals. So, with that said, let’s talk about what those supposed goals actually are.

In all my years of reading and assessing countless Chara theories and interpretations, I’ve discovered that everyone actually agrees on what Chara's goals are. They just can’t agree on why they want them. Said goals are A) reach the absolute, B) max out their numbers/power, C) erase the world, and/or D) eradicate all monsters. But what if it’s actually the other way around? What if those things were the means to an end rather than the ends themselves?

What if the true goal of the “demon who comes when people call its name” was just like that of the demons of old: not to be your partner in crime, but to torment and punish you for your crimes? To make you face CONSEQUENCES!

I’m not making this argument simply because it makes Chara look more badass (though I think it totally does, lol). I firmly believe that Undertale’s post-Genocide content is written so that Chara’s character can only make sense if that was Chara’s goal from start to finish. Because if Chara’s endgame was any of those four I mentioned earlier, their character kinda falls apart because they're awfully inconsistent about fulfilling them. And those inconsistencies are evident in the Second Geno Ending.

Discrepancy 1) They say they will “appear time and time again” to help us “eradicate the enemy and become strong,” and yet they call us perverted for eradicating everyone time and time again.

You can argue that they didn’t want us to recreate the world in the first place and just move on to another world, but if so, why let us come back at all? And if it’s to get our soul, why do they keep around this world after we have it? This leads us to...

Discrepancy 2) They tell us to ERASE the world and move on to the next, and yet they allow us to restore it without a hitch after we give them our SOUL, seeing how there’s no black void when we start the game again.

If Chara was powerless to stop us from coming back, this wouldn’t be such a big deal. But they CLEARLY DEMONSTRATE that they’re able to stop the player from restoring the world, as seen in the first post-genocide ending. And yet they don’t use this power after the first time the world is erased (WHICH YOU WOULD THINK THEY WOULD WANT TO USE SINCE THEY WANT TO ERASE THE WORLD AND MOVE ON TO ANOTHER)! Seeing how the world is back again without us doing anything makes the restoration of the world like something that Chara CHOSE ON THEIR OWN VOLITION. And what makes this all the more damning is...

Discrepancy 3) They tell us they’re down bad for increasing our ATK, DEF, EXP, and LV to the max and erasing the world and everyone in it, and yet they TELL US TO DEVIATE FROM THE ONLY ROUTE THAT ACCOMPLISHES THAT (which, as stated before, they call us perverse for doing it again).

So, let me get something straight. You tell us you want to ”eradicate the enemy” and “ erase this pointless world,” and yet not only are you allowing us to undo all of that, you want us to do something INSTEAD OF THAT??? It’s funny how you lecture us about how we cannot accept the world’s destruction BECAUSE, APPARENTLY, YOU WON’T EITHER!!!!! Also, before I forget...

Discrepancy 4)

WHAT KIND OF MISANTHROPE DEDICATES THEIR WHOLE LIFE TO WIPING OUT HUMANITY, GETS GIFT-WRAPPED A CHANCE TO DO THAT, AND THEN JUST PASSES IT UP?!?!?!

On behalf of misanthropes everywhere, I am DEEPLY disappointed in you!

So it doesn’t matter if you believe Chara is always evil, good, or detached from morality entirely. Because Chara has the same goal across all versions, they all succumb to the same inconsistencies!

Funny how most people see them as this embodiment of the addictive nature of levelling up and consuming everything in a piece of media and all that jazz WHEN THEY SEEM TO CASUALLY GIVE UP ON IT!!!!!!

And if you argue they want a Soulless Pacifist Run when they suggest “another path,” then ask yourself, what does that give them that a Genocide Run doesn’t? Keep in mind, aside from a scribbled-out photograph, we don’t see how many monsters or humans they killed besides the main characters or how much power and stats they gained from it. And it’s not like we see them erase the world afterward since only the genocide run has that infamous wall of red 9s. Not to mention, the genocide run is the most secure way of accomplishing their goals since they have the backing of the player. Not only that, but it’s also the safest and most efficient way to erase everyone and increase stats to the fullest, and we all know how Chara feels about efficiency.

So Chara has no reason to pick the Soulless pacifist ending over the Genocide Run if they want to achieve their end of increasing numbers and consuming the world… unless those things were a means to an end rather than ends themselves.

Indeed it is coming together! That’s the other reason their statement, “You think you’re above consequences,” is so damn important! They’re not telling us why we sinned, but it reveals they intend to make us suffer for those sins, and how.

That’s why Chara is seemingly so inconsistent about erasing the world. Because it was never about the world. It was all about YOU.

[SIDE NOTE: I’m sure many of you will point out that if Chara wanted us to get a Soulless ending in this world, then why would they encourage us to “move on to the next?” I don’t think this is too big an issue for two reasons. First, this line is meant to emphasize that, like all demons, Chara is inescapable and that no matter what world you go to (within their own universe), Chara will always follow you now that you’ve unleashed them. Second, because their goal concerns us and not the world they’re a part of, their character avoids the aforementioned inconsistencies that hamper the other Chara theories much more severely, in my opinion.]

Part 3: Contrapasso

Now I’m sure some of y’all might think that Chara doesn’t need to yearn for our torment to achieve the impact of the Soulless ending and that just because Chara is a demon doesn’t automatically mean they need to screw us over. You are right in that not everyone who makes a Faustian Bargain needs to have malicious intentions toward the people they’re taking advantage of (Kuybey from Madoka Magica is a great example of that). But Chara does need it! Not only does it make their character more narratively cohesive, but also makes their character more thematically impactful. And it’s more in tune with their demonic nature for them to want to torment us.

Because demons represent something more terrifying than evil itself. They represent the terrible price of embracing it, a price that all evildoers fear more than anything, and that all demons want seek to inflict upon us. Like most demons, Chara isn’t encouraging us to sin to fill the emptiness in our soul (or even their own). They did it to perpetuate that torturously empty and unfulfilled state for all eternity, a state which even themselves now endure.

Now, you’ve probably noticed that I’ve talked a lot about the themes of fulfillment and emptiness, and it’s for a good reason since those themes are heavily featured in Undertale. I mean, how could it not? Because concepts of demons, hell, and sins (which are explicitly mentioned in the game) are deeply intertwined with the concept of emptiness. The theologian Thomas Aquinas once defined evil as not a presence but as an absence (of that which is good). Darkness is the absence of light; war is the absence of peace; bigotry is the absence of tolerance; pride is the absence of humility, etc. You see this reflected in not just Christian theology but also fiction as a whole, as a lot of villains are motivated by a desire to obtain something that they believe can’t be without. Whether it be wealth, status, recognition, power, the death of an individual, or even just sadistic pleasure.

Since demons are beings that are inseparable from evil itself, the life of a demon is forever cursed by unceasing and unbearable emptiness. Hell, the word damnation originated from the Latin word damnum, which literally means loss! They’re not exactly partying in hell while your immortal soul is being slow-roasted for eternity. They’re burning in that lake of fire and brimstone along with you! They can’t end their damnation, not because they don’t want to but because they simply can’t. They’re fated to be bereft of the satisfaction or fulfillment found in Heaven or Earth, a fate that is worse than death in every sense of the word, especially since they can’t experience death anymore. Because of that, a demon embodies what is perhaps the most terrifying form of evil of all: not one rooted in a desire to rid the emptiness and unfulfillment within themselves, but a desire to inflict them upon others. Because as a wise philosopher once said:

We see this horrific state of mutually assured suffering everywhere across fiction. From goofy, lighthearted tokusatsu's...

...to nightmarish sci-fi dystopias...

...to a little indie game made 9 years ago.

Oh yeah. Don’t think I was gonna talk about emptiness without mentioning everyone’s favourite homicidal fauna-turned-flora, especially not with lines like this.

Take one to know one! And it can’t be a coincidence that the game emphasizes the theme of emptiness when giving the spotlight to the three characters that have committed the most “evil”: Flowey/Asriel, Chara, and YOU.

Quite the unholy trinity going on here, eh? It truly is fascinating how the emptiness led us to work with each other to exterminate all monsters. And it’s also interesting how the unique kind of emptiness we have eventually led us to work against each other. Whether it be Flowey wishing to preserve his sentimentality for his long-gone sibling, us players wanting to maintain our (perverted) sentimentality for the world of Undertale, or Chara weaponizing these sentimentalities to exact their misanthropic hatred.

Remember how I said that Chara was a lousy misanthrope because they keep letting us bring back the humans they wanted annihilated when they were alive? That does make them a lousy misanthrope… unless their misanthropy found a higher priority target: YOU!!!!! Chara’s desire to torment us didn’t come out of thin air. The same hatred that drove them to wipe out the humans of their world years ago is the same hatred that’s driving them to get at the humans of our world, even if it means destroying those who once embraced them. And now, that hatred is more potent and destructive than ever before, so much so that it’s no wonder Toriel was able to feel it when she endured that fatal blow after the Geno Run began.

Do you think witnessing what soullessness did to sweet little Asriel wasn’t already terrifying and tragic enough? Just try to imagine what it could‘ve done to a vengeful, traumatized, chocolate-addicted problem child so consumed by hatred that they poisoned themselves just for a chance to wipe out their own kind. All of that hatred of humanity is still alive and well, and now it has no humanity to hold it back. 

And what could be a more fitting target for a MISANTHROPE that calls themselves a DEMON… than a HUMAN that wants to play GOD?

After all, the only thing demons love more than tormenting mortals is warring with Gods.

Why else do you think that Chara winks right at you if we make Frisk stay with Toriel? Because that’s who the Soulless Ending was meant for. It’s when they’re finally able to unleash all that animosity and hatred that’s been lurking behind that smile ever since we killed everyone in the Ruins. It’s the moment that they’ve been patiently waiting for because they knew that’s when it would hit you the hardest.

And what makes the Soulless Pacifist Ending very special compared to other “bad endings” isn’t simply because they destroy those we pretend to care about (may I remind you that you did do the genocide run, after all). But they destroy something much more valuable to us as the players: OUR OMNIPOTENCE. Chara doesn’t destroy people for the sake of destroying them. But because in doing so they destroy our arrogant belief that nothing could possibly challenge the invisibility and invulnerability we players take for granted.

It's all too human that those with the most power are the least willing to lose it (or even take responsibility for it). And in a world where we should have absolute power, we thought there would be no consequences for abusing it. So what could be a more fitting and frightful punishment than having to actually face them? Missing out on the best ending in a video game is one thing. But to forever lose the power to achieve it ever again?! Now that’s terrifying!

Throughout myth, legend, and religion, sinners are often punished in a way befitting of the sin they’ve committed. In Greek Mythology, Tantalus was damned for trying to feed the Gods the flesh of his murdered son with eternal hunger and thirst despite being within arm’s reach of water and food. In Dante’s Inferno, those who succumb to wrath are forever doomed to fight each other in a river of mud. And since Undertale is no stranger to concepts such as hell, sins, and demons, you can damn well be sure that there’s going to be damnation fitting for the sins that drove you to complete the genocide run.

You completed the Genocide Run because you believed ending their lives would be fulfilling. Now, you can no longer get any fulfillment out of saving their lives.

I mean, where else can you get your precious fulfillment? Those paltry neutral endings? They only offer a fraction of what the pacifist ending offered. And the genocide ending has been drained of its satisfaction like the pacifist! Would you do all that tedious grinding and brutal boss fights just to hear your so-called “partner” lecture you again on perverted sentimentality and say you should choose another path, even though there’s nothing that they could offer? Of course not. In the end, you’re just like poor Tantalus agonizing in the pits of Tartarus, feeling the water vanish from his hands just before it touches his lips.

The ultimate triumph of Chara isn’t making you suffer a total defeat, but perhaps something much worse to you as a gamer: a pyrrhic victory. It’s like having a Twinkie that's been drained of the creamy center. Everything is still there except the thing you treasure most. You’re damned to play a challenge forever deprived of any and all fulfillment you once got from it, a satisfying journey that will always be doomed to reach a dissatisfying destination.

In the end, Chara leaves you with the world exactly as they described it the first time they met you face-to-face: POINTLESS.

You can have the world exactly as it was before (and the people within it). But in the end, Chara will always have the last laugh.

Figuratively and literally.

Welcome to hell!

Part 4: Why Consequences Matter

Woooooo!!! Man, that was quite the read, wasn’t it? And yeah, I wasn't kidding when I said this is going to be autistic as all hell! I don’t doubt you have a lot of thoughts in your mind, and then you’re gonna share them by the time you’re finished reading this post. Some of you might think this is the Chara theory to end Chara theories. Some of you believe that this is the worst thing that has happened to this fandom since Sebastian Wolff. Some of y’all, I’m whitewashing them because I argue they’re driven by a desire to punish the wicked by any means necessary. Some will think I’m demonizing them because I say that they’re, well, a demon. 

[SIDE NOTE: Just so I don’t miscommunicate what I believe about Chara’s morality, here are some key points to take away from this theory. A) Chara sought to make you pay for the evil you committed. In fact, the idea that the Soulless Ending is Chara punishing our sins has been around for a while, especially by those who think Chara was “corrupted. B) However, in this theory, Chara's actions are all done with the intent of accomplishing that goal. This means that Chara was aware of what they were doing, they wanted to do it, and that THEY KNEW IT WAS EVIL. C) But you still have to remember that Chara is also A LITERAL CHILD. And D) They’re a child who endured a great deal of hardship (and possibly trauma), which made them so embittered and vengeful. Also, E) Remember that they’re also soulless, just like Asriel when he was Flowey.]

But I think most of you were gonna look at this interpretation of Chara and feel the same thing that I have about most of yours: a take that’s not without issues, but not without a fair bit of interesting points.

But regardless of what you think of this theory overall, there’s one thing I won’t leave up for debate: I deeply treasure Chara’s character. Not just because I think they’re fun, cool, or interesting but also because I firmly believe they’re invaluable Undertale. And yet, at the same time, I think they’re severely undervalued by the fandom. And who can blame them?

The characters of Undertale speak very little of Chara, and Chara speaks for themselves even less. But just like Johan Liebert from the anime Monster, even though they’re not seen too often, they still manage to exert a massive presence and impact within Undertale’s narrative. And that presence is made all the more impactful because they perfectly represent the themes of the narrative: and that theme is CONSEQUENCES, or more accurately, the CONSEQUENCES OF VIOLENCE.

From the violence that drove Chara to climb Mt Ebott to the violence their brother Asriel inflicted in hopes of being with them forever. From something as grand as a war between two civilizations to something as small as dismembering a snowman. Everywhere you look, you will see that violence (and its repercussions) haunts the story and characters of Undertale. But what makes Undertale stand out from other media that tackles this subject is that it’s not just an integral part of its narrative but also its metanarrative. The most ingenious way it does this is by giving meaning to the actions/mechanics that we take for granted, specifically monster encounters.

Our Lord and Saviour Toby Fox said it best:

Because the monsters of Undetale are treated as something more than just enemies to be killed, there are going to be consequences for choosing to kill them away. Some argue that it goes too far in how it admonishes you for killing even a single monster, even to the point of being preachy (I’m looking at you, ScottFalco, but that’s a response for another day).

That argument is deeply flawed because it fails to account for the fact that without these ramifications, the game’s themes would be rendered null and void. The last thing that a game with a narrative centred around the consequences of violence can afford to do is afford you the luxury of avoiding them. And that principle especially applies if you dare to choose nothing BUT violence. //////If you were to bring them all back as if nothing happened, then your decision to commit genocide would be completely meaningless, which would totally disservice Undertale themes regarding violence. There needs to be consequences. LASTING CONSEQUENCES. Undertale can’t drive home its messages and them without lasting consequences. Undertale can’t deliver those consequences without Chara in the driver’s seat. And Chara’s character can only be at their most narratively cohesive and thematically impactful if seeking to make us suffer consequences was their intended destination.

Regardless of whatever detail about Chara you’re discussing or what side of the discussion you’re on, one thing is very clear: they’re absolutely essential to Undertale in the same way that Mephistopheles is essential to Faust, the Cenobites are essential to Hellraiser, and Kuybey is essential to Madoka Magica. And they’re the only ones with the means, motives, and deep-seated misanthropy to hold this whole damn game together.

Sans is right. We deserve to be burning in hell for what we did to those poor monsters. And I can't think of anyone more qualified to have us humans “burning in hell” than a self-proclaimed demon with a seething hatred of humanity.

And how fitting is it that the skeleton who judges our sins is followed by a human child who punishes us for them?

BUT HEY, THAT'S JUST A THEORY!

A CHARA THEORY!

THANKS FOR READING!

[meanbossart]

LORE ASK COMPILATION: "Still not banging Halsin, Squid Games, Sun King, Failing at love quizzes, Bottoms, Tops, and Cats" Edition

He didn't, Halsin wasnt around for act 3, too busy healing land and saving ghost children or something!

THANK YOU/I'M SORRY, I'm surprised there isn't more Bhaalist Dark Urge/Spawn Astarion stuff out there. Don't get me wrong, I love a good evil power couple, but who can resist the good ol'heartbreak of a vicious unending cycle brought on by your own senselessness!

That wasn't something I was interested in previously just because acquiring the slayer form isn't part of his canon, but I've been looking at enough fromsoft games' monster designs that I might be a little inspired to try LOL

Also I am just a fan of the canon design and never before thought it needed altering. But I'll let it cook ;)

God damn it.

DU drow was VERY antagonizing towards the emperor since the moment he dropped the facade, which made the attempt ESPECIALLY hilarious - that poor guy is so, so lonely.

I don't recall the exact wording in-game, but once the emperor took his shiny squid pecs out and shot his shot, DU drow recoiled and called him disgusting. After having the visions of Stelmane forced upon him to make whatever baffling point the emperor was trying to make, DU drow smugly asserted that he had finally let the mask slip and their very terrible date ended with the Emperor enforcing their reluctant need for one another, for the time being.

In-prose, that would honestly be pretty much it. DU drow would have reacted with absolute revulsion at the prospect of being hit on by a mindflayer, and taken the Emperor's (miscalculated) moment of lashed-out vulnerability as a win - as proof that he was exactly as duplicitous as he always assumed the Emperor to be.

I can assure everyone that I am as entertained by the thought as the rest of you and it is in the cards for future art, I just have... So many prompts... I have at least 5 different mini-comics I want to make, BESIDES singular pieces, BESIDES the fanfic... I wish I had more time and more hands.

But DU drow's unlikely semi-success as a parental figure is hilarious to me. I think about it constantly.

I haven't entertained that thought much because its antithetical to DU drow's character. Whether "good" or evil, he wouldn't allow Astarion to ascend because of his fear of no longer being needed and his reluctance to watch his partner be consumed by out-sourced power and changed into something he despises. Realistically, in a world where Astarion is allowed to ascend they could only break up and inevitably kill each other soon after.

That said, I am fascinated by the Sun King and the implications that path has for his character. So far that is an arc that I can only really see Astarion taking on alone, though - that might change in the future, might not. We'll see!

IF I CAN MAKE IT NOT ENTIRELY MISERABLE, I JUST MIGHT.

He got 2 out of 3 questions wrong - which is to say he was way too honest and Astarion didn't like that.

Except for the "when is he the happiest" question, which he correctly answered with "when he's neck deep in gore".

This is not even a lore-embelishment, this is actually how that scene went for me and I cackled about it for ages.

He would love to get tied up for old-times' sake. I doubt he knows much about fancy knots but Astarion might (though I might be in a minority that doubts his enforced "sex life" was actually that interesting at all.)

Thank you so much!

You are mostly correct. Bhaalist drow, both pre and post tadpole would be much more keen on the idea of having people around who fulfill their every desire - EXCEPT for killing. That is a joy they take on for themselves.

"Canon" DU drow values his independence a lot, on the other hand. He's neutral on the idea of slavery (what a sentence) and wouldn't be opposed to temporary servicing, but the idea of having someone around waiting for orders doesn't attract him at all, or at least would get on his nerves quick. He much preffers to do things himself and makes sure that other people see how much he does not need assistance.

The answer is yes, basically LOL.

DU drow both adores and despises Sceleritas presence and he doesn't know why. It very much reflects the type of relationship they used to have prior to DU drow's memory loss, and it's one of those things that he has conflicting feelings about but not any context for them.

I sadly doubt that the boys would become parents during Shadowheart's lifetime (it's for the best, they have a lot of work to do before I would trust them not to drop a baby), but honestly she strikes me as really liking kids as long as she doesn't have to, well, have them LOL.

And thank you so much for enjoying them and humoring me!

I think it is less about bottoming-topping and more about enjoying a more submissive role during sex, as well as in other scenarios. He believes that giving control away is, in a way, a show of devotion that goes both ways - his own for the willingness to do so, and his partner's for not taking advantage of it despite his wanting them to do so.

With one-night-stands (which he occasionally had pre-tadpole) he would still bottom without any of the submissiveness. This is because he didn't have the capacity to understand what it was about bottoming that attracted him, and led him to feeling constantly unfulfilled and frustrated (he just isn't build for no-strings-attatched type of arrangements, lol.)

This means that he really could operate either way depending on the partner as long as he got that fix of docility, whether it be from the bottom or top.

I think of Astarion as being similarly versatile but leaning more in the opposite direction when it comes to power-dynamics - though it being less about dominance itself and more about being pampered and catered to - and, of course, getting to do what he wants. Though he's willing to try most things a partner is particularly enthusiastic for just to see how he feels about it.

That said with DU drow he does prefer to top for a plethora of reasons.

I didn't have this piece of lore thought-up at the time, but I should have made them look like the lady he lost his virginity to.

Him and Astarion were gobbling those things up until the emperor reveal, then they both quit it cold-turkey after DU drow stomped the astral-tadpole dead (and back then you didn't have to roll any dice to do it, because otherwise we would have weird veiny DU drow to deal with for sure because he would NOT have suceeded that save.)

DU drow's feelings towards animals is a constant in every iteration of his character. They are organic little pieces of art wandering about the world that act upon their own laws and regulations, ones which humanoids aren't privy to - except for when they intrude into that world through magic and try to understand it through their overly-complicated systems and concepts. If a cat made the temple it's home, it can stay.

[novaursa]

A Lion's Folly (to let go)

- Summary: A story where a lion falls for the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, you.

- Pairing: stark!reader/Jaime Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: the hopeful

- Next part: the feast

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @butterflygxril @lordofthunderthr @mrsnms @itisjustwhatitis

The Sept of Baelor was heavy with silence, the kind that seemed to seep into the bones and weigh down the soul. The flickering candlelight cast specters on the marble walls, illuminating the somber faces of the Seven carved in stone above. At the center of the Sept, Joffrey Baratheon’s body lay on a slab of white marble, his golden crown resting beside him. His once-smirking face was now cold and lifeless, his lips tinged with blue.

Jaime stood a few steps away from the bier, his gaze fixed on his son—no, the king. He forced himself to think of Joffrey as the king, as he had always been told to. But the boy lying there wasn’t just the king. He was also the child of his and Cersei’s forbidden union, the boy who had grown into something monstrous under their watch.

Cersei stood at the head of the bier, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her knuckles white. Her golden hair fell loose around her shoulders, and her face was pale, her lips pressed into a thin line as she stared at her son’s lifeless form.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said finally, her voice low but cutting. She didn’t turn to look at him, her gaze fixed on Joffrey’s face.

“This is my place as much as it is yours,” Jaime replied, his tone calm but firm.

Cersei let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Your place? You abandoned your place the moment you left the Kingsguard. The moment you decided that she was more important than us.”

Jaime tensed, his jaw tightening. “Don’t do this, Cersei.”

“Do what?” she snapped, finally turning to face him. Her green eyes blazed with fury, and the grief etched into her face only made her anger more potent. “Speak the truth? If you had been where you were supposed to be, if you had done your duty, Joffrey would still be alive.”

He stared at her, unflinching. “You don’t know that.”

“Don’t I?” Cersei hissed, stepping closer. “You left us, Jaime. You left me. For what? For her? For some pathetic notion of redemption? You’ve betrayed everything we were for a Stark—a Stark, of all people!”

“This isn’t about her,” Jaime said, his voice rising slightly.

“Isn’t it?” Cersei shot back. “You think I didn’t see the way you couldn't keep your gaze away from her? And now, you’ve abandoned everything we’ve built for her. You’ve made yourself weak.”

Jaime took a step closer, his golden hand glinting in the candlelight as he pointed it toward her. “You don’t get to blame this on me, Cersei. Not this time.”

“Why not?” she demanded, her voice cracking. “Everything else is your fault. Why not this too?”

“Because Joffrey wasn’t killed because I left the Kingsguard,” Jaime said firmly, his voice cold. “He was killed because he was a monster. And that wasn’t my doing, Cersei. That was ours.”

The words hit her like a slap, and for a moment, Cersei was silent, her chest heaving with the effort to contain her rage. Her eyes darted to Joffrey’s body, and for a fleeting moment, her face crumpled with grief. But she quickly masked it, turning her fury back on Jaime.

“You’re a coward,” she spat. “You’ve always been a coward, hiding behind that armor of yours. But now? Now you don’t even have that. You’re just a broken man clinging to a girl who will never love you.”

Jaime’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze steady as he met her glare. “And what does that make you, Cersei? A queen who’s lost her kingdom, her son, and her grip on reality? Blame me all you want, but it won’t bring him back. And it won’t change the fact that you’ve destroyed everything you’ve touched.”

The words hung heavy in the air, the silence between them thick and suffocating. For a moment, it seemed as though Cersei might strike him, her hands trembling at her sides. But instead, she turned away, her shoulders trembling as she faced Joffrey’s body once more.

“You don’t understand,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve never understood what it’s like to be powerless. To watch everything you love slip through your fingers.”

Jaime took a step closer, his voice softer now. “I understand more than you think.”

Cersei didn’t respond, her gaze fixed on Joffrey’s lifeless face. The room felt colder, the weight of grief and anger pressing down on them both.

After a long moment, Jaime turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the vast space of the Sept. The golden hand at his side felt heavier than ever, a constant reminder of the things he had lost—and the things he was still trying to hold on to.

But as he stepped into the fading light of the afternoon, Jaime couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of clarity. Cersei’s accusations stung, but they no longer cut as deeply as they once had. The strings that had bound him to her for so long were fraying, and he was beginning to see the shape of a life beyond her—a life he wasn’t sure he deserved, but one he couldn’t stop himself from wanting.

And for the first time, he didn’t look back.

The dungeons of the Red Keep were damp and suffocating, the air thick with the stench of mildew and decay. Jaime descended the steps slowly, his hand brushing against the rough stone railing as he made his way toward his brother’s cell.

He hadn’t wanted to come here. Seeing Tyrion like this felt wrong, unjust, and it stirred something bitter in his chest. But he had to see him, to hear from the man himself what had truly happened at Joffrey’s wedding.

When Jaime reached the iron bars of Tyrion’s cell, his brother was seated on a crude wooden bench, his hands resting casually on his knees. Despite his predicament, Tyrion looked remarkably composed, his eyes gleaming in the low light.

“Ah, brother,” Tyrion said, his voice dripping with mock cheerfulness as he leaned back against the wall. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit? Come to see the family disgrace wallowing in filth?”

Jaime ignored the jab, his expression neutral as he stepped closer. “I came to see how you’re holding up.”

Tyrion let out a short, bitter laugh. “Oh, splendidly, thank you. The accommodations are as luxurious as ever, and the company…” He gestured to the empty space around him. “…absolutely riveting.”

Jaime’s lips twitched into a faint smirk despite himself. “You’ve always had a way of making the best of things.”

“Ah, yes,” Tyrion said with a flourish. “A talent I inherited from our dear father, no doubt. Speaking of whom, I hear he’s been busy planning your grand wedding.”

Jaime stiffened slightly, but Tyrion pressed on, his voice laced with mock sincerity. “I must apologize, brother. It seems I won’t be able to attend. A shame, really. I’m sure Tywin’s been dreaming of this day for years—his golden son marrying the last Stark. A union to secure the North further and stroke his ego all at once. How wonderful.”

Jaime sighed, running a hand through his hair. “This isn’t what I wanted, Tyrion. Not like this.”

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, his tone softening slightly. “No? Then what do you want, Jaime? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re letting Father pull your strings just as easily as he pulls mine, now that you accepted to be his heir.”

Jaime’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. “This isn’t about me. Or you. It’s about what’s best for the realm.”

For her. But the words stopped in Jaime's throat.

“The realm,” Tyrion repeated with a bitter chuckle. “Yes, of course. Father’s favorite excuse. Tell me, Jaime, do you really believe that? Are you just trying to convince yourself that you’re still the honorable one in this family? Or are you are still pretending not to have feelings for the daughter of late Eddard Stark?”

Jaime didn’t respond immediately, his gaze dropping to the floor. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. “You didn’t poison Joffrey.”

Tyrion’s smirk faded, his expression hardening. “No. I didn’t.”

“And neither did Sansa,” Jaime added, meeting his brother’s gaze.

Tyrion leaned forward slightly, his sharp eyes narrowing. “You’re certain of that?”

Jaime nodded. “She’s gone. Disappeared from the Keep after the feast. If she were guilty, she wouldn’t have fled without a word. Someone helped her escape.”

Tyrion exhaled slowly, leaning back against the wall once more. “Gone, you say. I suppose that’s for the best. She’s safer away from here, away from Cersei.”

Jaime frowned, stepping closer to the bars. “Tyrion… who do you think did this?”

Tyrion let out a low, bitter laugh. “Oh, take your pick, brother. The list of people who wanted Joffrey dead is long and distinguished. Perhaps we should start with his dear, grieving mother. Or maybe his loving grandsire, who saw him more as a liability than an asset.”

Jaime’s frown deepened, but he said nothing.

“Don’t look so shocked, Jaime,” Tyrion said, his voice softening. “You’ve always known what this family is capable of. You just never wanted to admit it.”

For a moment, Jaime felt the weight of those words settle heavily on his shoulders. Tyrion’s accusations weren’t entirely baseless, but Jaime couldn’t bring himself to believe that Cersei or Tywin would stoop to something like this—not with Joffrey, at least.

“I’ll find out the truth,” Jaime said finally, his voice firm. “And I’ll make sure you’re not punished for something you didn’t do.”

Tyrion tilted his head, a faint smile playing at his lips. “Ah, the noble Jaime Lannister. Always trying to do the right thing, even when it’s too late. But thank you, brother. For whatever that’s worth.”

Jaime nodded, turning to leave, but Tyrion called after him.

“And Jaime?”

He paused, glancing back.

“If you ever figure out what you actually want, I hope it’s worth the trouble you’re going through for it.”

Jaime didn’t respond, his footsteps echoing softly as he made his way back up the stairs, the weight of his brother’s words lingering with him long after he’d left the dungeons.

The room was small and dimly lit, a faint haze of smoke curling in the air from a nearby lantern. The soft shuffle of cards broke the quiet, followed by the occasional clink of a goblet against the wooden table. You sat across from Bronn, your expression unreadable as you studied your hand. Jaime sat beside you, his golden hand resting heavily on the table, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as he watched the game unfold.

Bronn leaned back in his chair, his usual swagger on full display as he swirled the wine in his goblet. “Not bad, Stark,” he drawled, glancing at you over the rim. “But I wouldn’t get too comfortable. I’ve been known to wipe out entire armies at this game.”

You didn’t even look up, your tone dry as you placed a card on the table. “That’s funny. I didn’t know armies played cards.”

Jaime chuckled softly, earning a stern glance from Bronn. “Careful, Lannister,” Bronn warned, though his grin betrayed his amusement. “Your little bride-to-be’s got a sharp tongue.”

You finally looked up, fixing Bronn with a withering stare. “And you’ve got a big mouth. Pity neither one will win you this game.”

Bronn blinked, clearly caught off guard. He opened his mouth to retort, but no words came out, leaving him uncharacteristically speechless. Jaime leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the exchange as his smirk widened.

“Well, this is new,” Jaime said, glancing at Bronn. “You’ve actually managed to render him silent.”

Bronn recovered quickly, raising his goblet in mock salute. “Well done, my lady. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“I didn’t think you had the ability to think at all,” you replied smoothly, placing another card on the table. “Seems we’re both full of surprises.”

Jaime laughed, shaking his head as he reached for his own goblet. “You’re wasting your time, Bronn. She’s not easily impressed.”

“Clearly,” Bronn muttered, his gaze narrowing at you before turning to Jaime. “I’ve got to say, you’ve got strange taste in women, Lannister.”

Jaime’s smirk faltered slightly, though he recovered quickly, his tone casual. “And yet here you are, sitting across from her, trying to win her favor.”

“I’m just here for the game,” Bronn said, raising his hands defensively. “And the wine. The rest is just entertainment.”

You rolled your eyes, returning your focus to your cards. “If this is your idea of entertainment, I pity the company you keep.”

Bronn barked a laugh, leaning forward as he placed his cards on the table. “I like her,” he said to Jaime. “She’s got fire.”

Jaime glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, his smirk softening into something almost fond. “She certainly does,” he said quietly.

You caught the look and frowned, shifting in your seat as you addressed him. “What am I doing here anyway with the two of you? Don’t you have better things to do than sit in a smoky room losing at cards?”

Jaime leaned forward to met your gaze. “Father’s orders,” he said simply. “He wants me to keep an eye on you. Especially after what happened to Joffrey.”

You snorted, shaking your head as you placed another card on the table. “Of course. Tywin Lannister, ever the vigilant warden. Tell me, does he think I poisoned Joffrey as well, or am I just a convenient excuse for his paranoia?”

Jaime’s smirk returned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I wouldn’t take it personally. He’s paranoid about everyone.”

Bronn laughed again, pouring himself more wine. “Well, if you’re stuck with him, Stark, you might as well make the best of it. Could be worse, you know.”

“Could it?” you replied, raising an eyebrow as you glanced between the two of them. “I’m not so sure.”

Bronn opened his mouth to reply, but you held up a hand, cutting him off. “And before you say anything, yes, it could be worse. I could be married to you.”

Jaime nearly choked on his wine, coughing as he laughed. Bronn stared at you for a moment before shaking his head, a wide grin spreading across his face. “You’re brutal, Stark. I’ll give you that.”

“I try,” you replied with a faint smirk, turning back to your cards.

The game continued, the banter flowing easily between the three of you. Despite yourself, you felt a small flicker of amusement at Jaime’s exasperation and Bronn’s failed attempts to rattle you. For a moment, the weight of your circumstances seemed a little lighter, though you knew it wouldn’t last.

But for now, you allowed yourself to enjoy the rare reprieve, even if it came at the expense of the two men seated across from you.

The mood in the room shifted subtly as Jaime leaned back in his chair, the smirk on his face fading into something more contemplative. He swirled the wine in his goblet absently. After a moment, he cleared his throat, drawing your attention.

“There’s something else,” Jaime said, his tone unusually subdued.

You placed your cards down, leveling him with a skeptical look. “Let me guess—another Lannister edict I’m meant to obey without question?”

He quirked an eyebrow, his lips twitching faintly. “You’re not entirely wrong. Tywin has started preparations for a feast.”

Your frown deepened. “A feast? For what? Joffrey’s funeral was hardly three days ago.”

Jaime hesitated, his gaze flicking briefly to Bronn, who raised an eyebrow in silent curiosity. “For our betrothal,” Jaime said finally.

The words hung in the air like an unwelcome specter, the weight of them pressing down on the room. You stared at him, your expression caught between disbelief and anger.

“A betrothal feast?” you repeated, your voice steady. “So soon after Joffrey’s death? Is your father so eager to celebrate while the rest of the city mourns?”

Jaime sighed, setting his goblet down with a faint clink. “You know my father. He doesn’t waste time on sentiment. This is about securing alliances, appearances, and ensuring the realm sees stability.”

Bronn leaned forward, his grin faint but amused. “He’s not wrong, Stark. Lannisters don’t dawdle, especially when it comes to marriage. They’ve already got a new king to crown, too—young Tommen. And you’d best believe they’re moving quickly to tie up every loose end.”

You folded your arms, your gaze narrowing at Jaime. “Tommen’s to be crowned already?”

Jaime nodded, his expression guarded. “Soon. Father’s made it clear that there’s no time to waste. The realm needs a king, and Tommen…” He hesitated, his voice softening. “Tommen’s a good boy. He’ll be a better king than Joffrey ever was.”

Bronn chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Not a high bar to clear, is it? And then there’s Margaery. The queen widowed twice over but still determined as ever to keep her crown.”

You turned to Bronn, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Bronn smirked, gesturing vaguely. “Oh, she’s not wasting time, that one. Already making eyes at the little king, I hear. Determined to go three for three in royal husbands.”

Jaime shot him a warning look. “That’s enough, Bronn.”

“What?” Bronn said, shrugging. “I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking. The Tyrells didn’t come all this way to leave empty-handed. Margaery’s no fool—she’ll do whatever it takes to secure her position.”

You snorted softly, leaning back in your chair. “Of course she will. And why not? It seems to be the way of things in King’s Landing—scheming, marrying, and killing your way to the top.”

Jaime’s jaw tightened, though he didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reached for his goblet, taking a slow sip before speaking. “It’s not always like this,” he said quietly. “Or at least, it shouldn’t be.”

You glanced at him, noting the faint shadow of regret in his eyes. “And yet, here we are,” you said pointedly.

The room fell into an uneasy silence, the weight of the conversation settling over the three of you. Bronn broke the tension with a low chuckle, leaning forward again.

“Well, Stark,” he said, his tone light but teasing. “Looks like you’re in for quite the celebration. A grand feast, a shiny new betrothal, and a front-row seat to all the madness this city has to offer. Should be fun.”

You gave him a withering look, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “I can hardly wait.”

Jaime sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Bronn, maybe you should focus on the cards instead of stirring the pot.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Bronn quipped, tossing a card onto the table with a grin.

You shook your head, returning your attention to the game, though your thoughts lingered on Jaime’s words. The idea of a feast in your honor felt absurd, especially with the weight of recent events pressing down on the city.

Still, a small, defiant part of you wondered how much chaos you could cause before Tywin Lannister’s perfectly laid plans unraveled.

The corridors of the Red Keep were quiet as Jaime escorted you back to your chambers. His steps were unhurried, his demeanor unusually light. He walked beside you, his golden hand resting casually at his side, and every now and then, he glanced your way with a faint smirk.

“You know,” Jaime said, breaking the silence, “I should probably be careful around Bronn.”

You raised an eyebrow, not bothering to look at him. “Why is that?”

“Because he might try to steal you away,” Jaime replied, his tone laced with amusement. “He seemed quite taken with you during that game. I’ve never seen him so… speechless.”

You scoffed, your tone dry. “Bronn isn’t the type to ‘steal’ anything unless it’s worth a considerable amount of gold. I assure you, I’m far from his idea of treasure.”

Jaime chuckled softly, his smirk widening. “I wouldn’t be so sure. You’ve got a way of leaving an impression, whether you mean to or not.”

You rolled your eyes, your voice laced with irritation. “If this is your idea of flattery, Lannister, it’s as unimpressive as your swordsmanship with your left hand.”

He placed a hand over his chest in mock offense, the gesture only accentuated by his golden prosthetic. “You wound me, my lady. And here I thought we were finally getting along.”

“Getting along?” you repeated, giving him a sidelong glance. “Let’s not get carried away. Tolerating your presence is a far cry from liking it.”

Jaime laughed, the sound softer and more genuine than you expected. “Tolerating is a start. I’ll take what I can get.”

You didn’t reply, your gaze fixed ahead as the corridor stretched into shadows. Despite yourself, you couldn’t entirely ignore the faint warmth in his tone, the way his usual sharpness had softened around the edges. It was… disarming, and you hated that it unsettled you.

When you finally reached your chambers, two Lannister guards were already posted outside, their expressions stoic as they stood at attention. Jaime slowed to a stop, turning to face you fully as you approached the door.

“Well,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I suppose this is where I leave you for the night.”

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow. “How gallant of you.”

Jaime smirked faintly, stepping closer, his gaze lingering on you in a way that made your stomach twist—not entirely unpleasantly, though you refused to admit it. “You know,” he said, his tone softer, almost hesitant, “you surprised me tonight.”

You frowned slightly, your guard instinctively rising. “How so?”

“You didn’t bite my head off as much as I expected,” he said with a faint chuckle. “I might even dare to say you enjoyed yourself, if only a little.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, your tone sharp. “Don’t mistake tolerance for enjoyment, Jaime. This doesn’t mean I’m agreeing to entertain this farce willingly.”

His smirk faltered slightly, though his gaze remained steady. “I know,” he said simply, his voice quieter now. “But… it’s nice to see you without your walls up, even if it’s just for a moment.”

Your chest tightened, the unexpected sincerity in his tone catching you off guard. For a fleeting second, you thought you saw something raw in his eyes—something vulnerable. But you quickly pushed the thought aside, straightening your posture.

“Don’t read too much into it,” you said curtly, stepping toward the door.

Jaime nodded, stepping back as you reached for the handle. “Goodnight, Y/N,” he said softly.

You paused, glancing back at him briefly before opening the door. “Goodnight, Jaime,” you replied, though your tone was more neutral than warm.

As the door closed behind you, Jaime stood there for a moment. Despite your words, despite your warning, he couldn’t help but feel the faintest flicker of hope.

It wasn’t much. But it was enough.

The chambers Jaime now called his own were vast and ornate, the sort of luxury befitting the heir to Casterly Rock. Yet, as he lay awake in the massive bed, staring at the carved canopy above him, the grandeur felt hollow. The gold-threaded curtains, the fine linens, and the roaring fire in the hearth offered no comfort.

His golden hand rested on his chest, its cold, unyielding weight a stark reminder of what he’d lost. The stump where his hand used to be ached faintly, a dull throb that seemed to echo the turmoil in his mind. He flexed his left hand absently, as though trying to remind himself that he was still whole in some way.

Jaime sighed, turning his head to look at the window. Moonlight streamed through the glass, casting pale patterns on the stone floor. The city beyond was quiet, but his thoughts were anything but.

He’d spent his entire life as Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, the golden lion of Casterly Rock. The son who had defied his father’s wishes, who had stood at the side of kings and queens, wielding his sword with confidence and precision. He’d been many things, but he had never imagined himself as this: a lord, a husband.

The thought made his stomach twist.

Jaime had never wanted to be Lord of Casterly Rock. That role had always been Tywin’s, looming over him like a shadow, the unrelenting standard against which he’d always been measured. And now, with Tywin’s decree, the title was his to inherit. He would oversee the Westerlands, the mines, the bannermen. He would bear the weight of the lion’s legacy, a burden he had spent most of his life avoiding.

But it wasn’t just the title or the lands that haunted him. It was the marriage.

You.

Jaime turned onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow as he stared into the flames of the hearth. He thought of your wit, your unyielding defiance, the fire in your eyes that never seemed to dim. You were nothing like the women he’d grown up around—nothing like Cersei.

And that was what unsettled him most of all.

Cersei had been his constant, his twin, his other half. Their bond had been unbreakable—or so he’d thought. But now, as he lay in this unfamiliar bed, he found himself thinking less of her and more of you. He still wasn't sure what he felt. But it was something, something he couldn’t quite name.

He thought of the way you’d looked at him earlier, your eyes full of anger and defiance. Even now, you refused to yield, to let him in. And yet, there had been moments—fleeting, fragile moments—where your guard had slipped, and he had seen something else. Something softer.

Could he truly be a husband? The idea felt foreign, almost laughable. Jaime Lannister, the husband. Jaime Lannister, the father. He let out a humorless chuckle, running a hand through his hair.

The door creaked open slightly, and Jaime turned his head, his muscles tensing. A servant stepped inside, bowing deeply before speaking.

“My lord,” the servant said quietly. “Do you require anything before the night’s end?”

Jaime shook his head, his tone curt. “No. Leave me.”

The servant bowed again and retreated, the door clicking softly shut behind them.

Jaime leaned back against the pillows, exhaling slowly. The silence of the room was oppressive, pressing down on him like a physical weight.

For years, he had lived without thought for the future, content to be the sword at someone else’s side. Now, the future loomed before him, uncertain and vast. He thought of Casterly Rock, the sprawling fortress he had left behind so many years ago. He thought of his father, of Tywin’s cold, calculating gaze as he handed down orders that would shape the rest of Jaime’s life.

And he thought of you.

The fire crackled softly in the hearth as Jaime closed his eyes, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Jaime Lannister dared himself to wonder if there might be something beyond the Kingslayer. Something worth fighting for.

[theeoriginals]

“It was- not love at first sight, but familiarity. Like, oh, it’s you.” With Klaus or Elijah please! Something to make me feel better while I do this awful assignment 🥲

deep breaths | elijah mikaelson

pairing: elijah mikaelson x reader (no y/n!)

warnings: noneeee this is just sweet

author’s note: i wrote this at work on my phone just now so sorry if it’s not the best <3

The thing is, Elijah Mikaelson has lived many, many lives. He has had so many names, faces, stories, and voices he can hardly remember them all at this point. That, he supposes, is just part of the curse of immortality. Esther likely didn’t think that far ahead out of her grief when she turned them all into monsters. She didn’t think to consider that she wasn’t saving herself anymore loss, she was cursing her children, leading them to damnation and then blaming them for what she did.

Elijah would likely live another thousand years before he was able to fully comprehend all of the tangled, contradictory emotions that came with vampirism. A gift and a curse, like most things.

What he could for certain say was that he’s loved just as much as he’s hated. He would even argue that you can’t possibly know what it means to hate someone unless you loved them before, unless you still loved them. And although he believed that, he was not someone to give second chances often. At least not to anyone besides his siblings— though that was a different beast altogether.

Elijah knew that even if he hated someone, someone else could love that person just as much. He’d seen it often enough, felt betrayal in his gut like a stake to the heart.

Love, in all of its glory, was not often kind to Elijah.

So whenever his siblings found it necessary to tease him for being so uptight and closed off, he did nothing more than roll his eyes, because it was much easier than telling them that he was scared. Truly, deeply, in his ancient bones, he was scared. Not of love itself, but of the continuously growing sense that he would never truly find real love. And perhaps it was entirely too human of him to think that way, and perhaps it made him weak to some, but Elijah knows that his brothers and sisters more than anyone crave love just as much as he does. He knows they feel it just as deeply as he does, that want in their bones that rushed through their blood, the want for someone to just come in and never leave.

It’s hard to find that when you outlive most people. Harder than one might think, even if you fall in love with an immortal being. It’s not just that he’ll outlive most everyone he could fall in love with, either. It’s that every time it seems he’s done it, he’s fallen in love even knowing it won’t last but letting it happen anyway, it doesn’t— it doesn’t fill that void inside of him.

It doesn’t flood his mind and his body, it doesn’t fill him with life, it doesn’t make him want to breathe.

Elijah doesn’t have to breathe, but he wants someone to make him feel like he has to.

For the past thousand years he’s fought and won and lost, and he’s done his best to keep his family alive despite everything they do to drive him insane, despite the fact that they try to kill each other more than anyone else. He has been holding his breath for a thousand years, fighting and fighting and fighting. He wants to exhale.

He can’t explain this to his siblings. They would understand, he knows, but it’s something he’s never said out loud to himself let alone anyone else. Saying it out loud makes it real, and he can’t— he can’t admit it. When you are drowning, when you are holding your breath, you don’t realize you’re drowning for a long time. And the moment that you do, you realize that you can’t breathe and suddenly you’re gasping for air and you’ve all but killed yourself.

Elijah can’t admit that he’s drowning.

He sighs loudly, and it’s not an exhale and it doesn’t lift that weight off of his shoulders. It’s an expression of his annoyance with his siblings, because this far into their collective immortality, all they live for is getting on each other’s nerves.

And here at Rousseau’s is the last place he wants to entertain their petulance. You never know who could be listening, and Elijah really doesn’t want anyone less than favorable to hear about his love life, or lack thereof.

“I wish you’d just bring someone home to meet us at least once!”

“I wish I could go out and have a drink without being harassed by you people,” Elijah says moodily.

Rebekah pushes her bottom lip out in a pout and widens her eyes in a way that has always gotten her anything she wants from anyone ever. Elijah is, in fact, very aware that he and his brothers have worked overtime in making her as ridiculously spoiled and entitled as she is and yet he still manages to be surprised when she behaves like this.

“We aren’t harassing you, Elijah, we want you to be happy. Is that so wrong?”

He sighs again and closes his eyes for a moment before opening them again and fixing them on Rebekah and Klaus. “It’s not wrong. But I don’t know what you expect me to do about my lack of prospects, it’s not like the perfect person can be conjured at whim.”

Klaus lifts a finger and Elijah knows that he’s going to say something ridiculous before he even speaks. The gleam in his eye never bodes well for anyone. “I bet we could find a witch to do just that. We could compile all of your wants and desires in a partner and get a witch to mix it all together for you. Problem solved, Elijah has a soulmate!”

Elijah gives his brother a deadpan look. “Is this witch Victor Frankenstein?”

Rebekah snorts in amusement, and Elijah dutifully ignores it.

“Be creative, Elijah! Open your mind,” Klaus swipes an arm out dramatically, sloshing his drink over the side of his glass, splashing a few drops of bourbon onto Elijah’s suit jacket.

Elijah’s lip curls in distaste and he gives his brother a look of disdain that goes ignored.

“I have an open mind, what I don’t have is an open schedule,”

“You are not as busy as you like to believe,” Rebekah drawls out, finishing off her own drink. “Your life will never change if you don’t go out and do something different! You’ll be stagnant forever, and I do mean forever, brother,”

“I will never be stagnant with your dramatics, Rebekah,”

She rolls her eyes at his avoidant response. “Your love life is stagnant. I don’t even think stagnant is the proper word, it is downright nonexistent. It is extinct.”

“Thank you, Rebekah,”

“Even if you have a sleazy, completely forgettable one night stand, you need to do something. You’re constantly dealing with us, you need to focus on yourself!”

Elijah pours the rest of his bourbon down his throat, barely tasting it as he swallows. “Maybe if you did less idiotic things that I have to deal with I’d have a more active love life. And truly, I’m not sure why I’m being lectured when you two are the furthest thing from romantically successful.”

“I have a child, I’m plenty romantically successful!”

“She was conceived during a drunken one night stand with a werewolf who is now married to someone else.”

“The details don’t matter, I have a child to show for it. I have a father’s wisdom now, you should listen to me!”

Elijah raises an eyebrow. “Unfortunately, I am not part dog and therefore am actually incapable of reproducing much like you thought you were. And considering the trials and tribulations we went through with Hope, I can’t imagine I’d have any better luck in my own venture to fatherhood.”

“You’re being purposefully obtuse,”

“That doesn’t sound like me,” Elijah simpers, gesturing to the bartender for another round for them.

“I have a challenge,” Rebekah cuts in before Klaus can continue their bickering, and Elijah narrows his eyes at the determined gleam in her eyes.

“I don’t like this,”

Rebekah dismisses him with a flutter of her fingers. “The next person to walk through that door, I want you to go and talk to them. You don’t have to have a one night stand, you absolute prude, but you need to speak to someone that you’re not related to, and that isn’t trying to kill you.”

“Rebekah—”

“I don’t want to hear it. Just do this one thing for me, for your darling little sister,”

“My darling little sister—”

“Shut up, look! Someone’s walking inside, get ready to go be your charming self,”

Elijah groans and turns to look at the door as it opens and someone walks through. He sighs again, weighted, empty, scared.

When he lifts his gaze, though, he finds a woman. He takes her in— eyes, nose, lips, hair— and thinks beautiful.

The bar is as crowded as ever, no breaks in sight for the bartenders and waiters, and he’s tucked away at a table with Klaus and Rebekah in the back corner because they are particularly antisocial and Klaus really just wanted to use this outing as a way to remind everyone that they are still here, and that New Orleans is still theirs. The exit is across the room, Elijah has not paid much attention to the distance at all, and yet now.

Now, the crowd of people in between him and the door is frozen and endless. Elijah’s standing before he realizes, and it feels like he’s stepping around the people frozen mid-laugh, mid-drink, mid-bite, because the world has stopped just long enough for him to cross the room.

He parts the crowd and stops before her, eyes roaming over her face. Committing it to memory and vowing to keep it there for the rest of his eternal years.

She looks at him with a smile, blinking at him slowly like she’s got all the time in the world. There’s a necklace sitting on her chest that has a familiar blue stone hanging off of it and he inhales sharply.

He thinks vampire, perhaps a coincidence but things rarely are for him and it’s something new to think that she is immortal, too, of course more fragile than an Original but if she’s smart, and he knows that she is, he can feel it, then she’ll last just as long.

“Hi,” She speaks first, and the world starts up again, the noise comes back and people unfreeze. Now that he’s stood here before her, the world can keep spinning, but it had to wait— it just had to wait for him to catch up.

“Hello,” He responds quietly, too quiet for the bar, but she hears it anyway. “I’m Elijah.”

Her smile widens and she says, “I think I knew that already,” and then she tells him her name and Elijah repeats it for himself, and then for her, and then he turns it over in his head a hundred times over so it never gets lost.

She tilts her head slightly, looking up at him. “Were you trying to leave? Am I in your way?”

“No,” He responds quickly, almost rushed. “Not unless you’re leaving, too.”

She seems pleased at his response and the longer he looks in her eyes, he thinks he’s found a new favorite color.

“I’m not leaving,”

Elijah exhales, and the weight is gone, and the void is no more. And he thinks— oh.

There you are.