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rootedinrevisions · 2 months ago

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Too Late: Part 3 (Final Part)

SUMMARY: You find yourself at a crossroads, reflecting on your fears and the love that once defined your relationship with Tyler. After a heartfelt conversation with your mother, you reach out to Tyler, who agrees to meet, unsure of what to expect. What begins as a casual meal at the local diner evolves into a candid, emotional discussion where both of you confront your past mistakes, vulnerabilities, and hopes for the future. As walls come down and trust begins to rebuild, an unspoken connection blossoms once more.

OTHER PARTS: PART 1 I PART 2

A/N: Thank you all so much for the support this story/series has received! This is the third and final part of the story that I have planned. I hope you guys enjoy it! xx

WARNINGS: None really. Mentions of past trust issues (what happened in the 1st part)

WORD COUNT: 7.2k

TAG LIST: IN COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added!

The last of the plates clinked as Tyler set it into the drying rack. His hands moved automatically, a practiced rhythm that mirrored yours as you worked side by side in the kitchen. The early morning sunlight streamed through the window above the sink, casting soft golden streaks across the countertop. The silence between you was no longer heavy or awkward. Instead, it felt easy, almost peaceful—an unspoken truce forged over breakfast and stolen moments.

You rinsed the final dish, turning it over in your hands to ensure it was spotless before passing it to Tyler. He dried it with deliberate care, his fingers brushing the edges of the plate before placing it neatly in the cupboard. Neither of you spoke, but the weight of unspoken words lingered between you, quiet but persistent.

When the dishes were done, Tyler folded the towel and hung it neatly on the oven handle. “I can drive you over to your mom’s if you want,” he offered, his voice low but steady. “So you can grab your car.”

You nodded, wiping your damp hands on the front of your jeans. “Yeah… thanks.”

The drive to your house passed in near silence, the faint hum of the truck’s engine the only sound between you. Tyler kept his eyes on the road, one hand resting casually on the wheel, the other draped across the armrest. You found yourself stealing glances at him, your gaze lingering on the set of his jaw and the way the morning light danced across his profile.

It wasn’t until Tyler pulled into the driveway of your mom’s house and shifted the truck into park that you realized how tightly you’d been gripping your seatbelt. The familiar sight of the front porch with its white railing and your mom’s potted plants brought a strange mix of comfort and unease. You stared at the door, your stomach twisting with a sudden, inexplicable knot of anxiety.

Your thoughts drifted to your mom. The doctors had said they’d call if there was any change, and there hadn’t been. No news is good news, you reminded yourself, but the knot in your stomach refused to loosen. Something about stepping into that house, uncertain whether your mom was going to make it, left you frozen with hesitation.

“You okay?” Tyler’s voice was quiet, but it carried enough concern to pull you out of your thoughts.

You blinked and glanced over at him. His steady gaze was on you, his brows slightly furrowed as he tried to read your expression.

You took a deep breath, nodding once. “Yeah,” you said, but the tightness in your voice betrayed you.

Tyler didn’t look convinced.

Your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your sleeve as you stared back at the house. After a moment, you turned to him again, your voice barely above a whisper. “Would you... come inside with me? I don’t really want to be alone in there right now.”

The words hung in the air, and you braced yourself for some kind of resistance. But Tyler just nodded, his expression softening. “Of course.”

He turned the truck off and climbed out, waiting for you to join him before the two of you walked to the front door together. You unlocked it and stepped inside, the familiar creak of the floorboards under your feet stirring a wave of memories. Tyler lingered just inside the doorway, his hands shoved into his jean pockets as his eyes scanned the room.

“I’ll be right here,” he said gently.

You gave him a small, grateful smile. “Thanks.”

Climbing the stairs to your old bedroom felt surreal, like stepping back into a time capsule. The walls were still painted the same pale yellow you’d chosen in high school, and the mismatched furniture you’d left behind was exactly where it had always been.

You grabbed a pair of jeans and a T-shirt from the dresser, quickly changing out of the borrowed clothes. After running a brush through your hair, you tied it back into a ponytail, staring at your reflection in the mirror. You looked tired—more tired than you wanted to admit—but there was no time to dwell on that now.

When you made your way back downstairs, Tyler was still standing by the door, just as he’d said. His hands were tucked into his pockets, his shoulders relaxed, but his eyes were fixed on the floor as if lost in thought.

“Ready?” he asked as you approached, his voice quiet but steady.

You nodded, offering a faint smile. “Yeah.”

He held the door open for you as you stepped outside, the morning air crisp against your skin. Something about his presence steadied the unease still twisting in your chest. For now, it was enough.

The two of you stepped outside, and you locked the house behind you. Tyler was already back at his truck, standing by the driver’s side door. His hand rested on the handle, but instead of climbing in, he turned to look at you.

There was something hesitant in his expression, like he was trying to muster up the right words but couldn’t quite find them. His lips parted slightly, but he didn’t speak.

You took a deep breath, hugging your arms across your chest as the morning air nipped at your skin. You wouldn’t admit it out loud, but having Tyler at the hospital yesterday had been comforting. He’d been a steady presence in a moment when everything felt like it was spiraling. And the thought of walking back into that hospital room alone right now made your chest tighten.

Your dad’s last update replayed in your mind. The earliest he could get there would be later tonight. He’d been out of town on business when the accident happened and was scrambling to book last-minute flights and make the long journey back.

You hesitated, the rational part of your brain warning you this was a bad idea. But you couldn’t help it. You glanced over at Tyler.

“Would you…” You paused, swallowing hard. “Would you come sit with me at the hospital? Just until my dad gets there?”

You braced yourself for some kind of resistance, but Tyler didn’t even hesitate. He nodded without a second thought. “Of course.”

Relief flooded through you, and though you tried to hide it, you were pretty sure he saw it in your face. You climbed into the truck, and Tyler started the engine, pulling out of the driveway. The hum of the tires on the pavement filled the quiet between you, but this silence felt different—less heavy, more comfortable.

When you reached the hospital, Tyler parked and cut the engine. You both made your way through the sliding glass doors and up the elevator to your mom’s room. As you reached the floor, Tyler slowed his steps, glancing at the small waiting area near the elevators.

“Do you want me to wait out here?” he asked, his voice quiet and careful, as if he didn’t want to overstep.

You hesitated, looking back toward the hallway that led to your mom’s room. For a moment, the idea of walking in alone made your stomach churn.

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “You can come in.”

Tyler nodded, falling into step beside you as you walked down the hall. His hand brushed yours briefly—not intentional, just the way the two of you moved in tandem—and the fleeting contact sent a strange mix of comfort and nerves through you.

When you reached your mom’s room, you hesitated again, your hand hovering over the door handle. Tyler didn’t say anything, but his presence at your side was enough to make you feel steady.

You and Tyler stepped into the room, the soft hum of machines filling the air. Your mom’s eyes fluttered open at the sound of the door, and when she saw you, a tired but genuine smile spread across her face.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she said, her voice soft but steady.

You moved to her bedside, leaning down to give her a gentle hug. As you embraced her, you felt her gaze shift over your shoulder.

“Tyler,” she said warmly, catching sight of him lingering near the door. “Come in, honey. Don’t just stand there.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tyler replied, nodding as he stepped further into the room.

He seemed hesitant, unsure of how much space to take up. After a moment, he settled into a chair in the corner, his broad frame somehow making the small hospital chair look even smaller.

You pulled a chair closer to your mom’s bed, taking her hand in yours. Her skin was cool and fragile beneath your fingers, but her grip was surprisingly strong.

For a while, the room was filled with quiet conversation between you and your mom. You told her about the house, reassured her that everything was in order, and avoided bringing up anything that might worry her further. Tyler stayed silent, his presence steady but unobtrusive, watching the two of you with a quiet attentiveness.

When the nurses came in to administer pain medicine, your mom began to fade into drowsiness. You smoothed her blanket over her, watching as her breathing evened out and her eyes fluttered shut. The room grew quiet again, a stillness settling over everything.

You glanced over at Tyler. He’d leaned back in his chair, his phone in hand, occasionally responding to a text or scrolling through something. But for the most part, he just sat there, a calming presence you hadn’t realized you’d needed.

Hours passed in that comfortable silence. At some point, you noticed Tyler’s head start to dip forward, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He crossed his arms over his chest, his head tilting slightly as he drifted off to sleep.

It was around then that your mom stirred. You turned your attention back to her as she opened her eyes and smiled at you.

“How are you holding up, sweetheart?” she asked softly, her voice still a little groggy.

You hesitated before nodding. “I’m okay,” you said, though the words didn’t feel entirely convincing.

Your mom glanced past you, her smile growing a little wider when she saw Tyler sleeping in the corner. “Are you two talking again?” she asked, her tone light but curious.

You sighed, shaking your head. “Not really. He’s just… trying to help right now.”

Your mom let out a quiet laugh, her eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and knowing. “Which one of you is being stubborn?”

You frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She raised an eyebrow, the kind of expression only a mother could manage, equal parts teasing and serious. “I mean, Tyler’s here, isn’t he? Sitting in a hospital room with you for hours, even though you two aren’t together anymore.” She tilted her head slightly, studying your face. “That boy cares about you. He always has.”

You shook your head, the frustration bubbling to the surface. “Mom, you’re forgetting why we broke up in the first place. He was never around. He missed birthdays, holidays… even our anniversary once. How do you think that made me feel?”

Your mom sighed, her expression softening. “I know it hurt, sweetheart. I know it did. But have you ever thought about why he worked so much? Why he was gone so often?”

You frowned, crossing your arms. “Because his job was more important than I was.”

“No,” she said firmly, her tone gentle but unwavering. “Because he wanted to give you the world. Tyler would do anything to make you happy, and the way he thought he could do that was by working hard and making sure you had everything you could ever want.”

You started to argue, but she held up a hand.

“He wasn’t gone because he didn’t care,” she continued. “He was gone because he cared too much. That YouTube channel, the storm chasing—it’s how he made his money. It’s how he provided for the two of you. Do you know how many times he called me, asking what he could do to make things better for you? How many times he worried he wasn’t enough for you?”

Her words hit like a punch to the chest. You opened your mouth to respond but found yourself at a loss.

“I’m not saying he was perfect,” she said softly. “And I’m not saying it didn’t hurt you when he missed things. But he wasn’t doing it to hurt you. He was doing it because he thought it was the best way to take care of you. And maybe he didn’t always get it right, but his heart was in the right place.”

You looked down at your hands, her words circling in your mind.

“Don’t let fear or pride keep you from giving him another chance, sweetheart,” she said gently. “People make mistakes. They grow. And from what I’ve seen, that boy would do anything to make things right with you.”

You glanced over at Tyler, still asleep in the chair, his head tilted at an awkward angle. Despite everything, his presence here—just being here—had been more comforting than you’d expected.

Your mom gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Sometimes love means letting go of the hurt and giving someone the chance to show you they’ve changed.”

* * * * *

Over the next few days, Tyler proved to be a steady presence in ways you hadn’t expected. It started with small gestures—things that felt almost too thoughtful to be coincidental.

The first time, it was coffee. You’d barely slept the night before, tossing and turning as you worried about your mom, your dad still trying to make it home, and the ever-present weight of Tyler being sort of back in your life. You’d shown up at the hospital bleary-eyed and running on fumes, only to find Tyler already there, leaning casually against the wall outside your mom’s room.

“Morning,” he’d said, holding out a cup of your favorite coffee. “Figured you could use this.”

You’d blinked at him, caught off guard. “How’d you—”

“You’ve been ordering the same thing since I met you,” he said with a small smile.

The warmth that spread through you at his thoughtfulness was immediate, but you tamped it down, nodding as you took the cup from his hand. “Thanks,” you mumbled, avoiding his eyes.

But that wasn’t the only time.

The next day, you’d mentioned offhandedly that you needed to grab a few groceries before heading back to the hospital. By the time you made it to the store after your visit, Tyler was already there, leaning against his truck in the parking lot with a bag in hand.

“Saved you a trip,” he’d said simply, handing you the groceries you needed.

“Tyler,” you started, a mixture of gratitude and frustration bubbling to the surface. “You didn’t have to—”

“I know,” he interrupted, his tone calm and even. “But I wanted to.”

And then there were the texts.

How’s your mom doing today?Did you get some rest last night?Let me know if you need anything.

They came consistently, never pushy but always there, like a quiet reminder that you didn’t have to go through this alone.

At first, you told yourself it didn’t mean anything—that he was just being polite, trying to make up for the past. But the more it happened, the harder it became to ignore.

One evening, after another long day at the hospital, you found yourself sitting on the edge of your bed, Tyler’s latest text lighting up your phone.

Did you eat today?

You stared at the screen, your chest tightening. He wasn’t asking out of obligation. He wasn’t trying to win points. He was just… there. Consistent.

It felt foreign—this version of Tyler who wasn’t promising the moon and stars but showing up in small, meaningful ways instead.

You typed out a quick reply, trying to keep it casual. Yeah, grabbed something at the cafeteria. Thanks for checking in.

His response came almost immediately. Good. You need anything?

You hesitated, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Part of you wanted to tell him no, to keep him at arm’s length where it felt safe. But another part of you—the part that had started noticing the way he remembered your coffee order, the way he didn’t hesitate to pick up groceries, the way his presence made the weight on your shoulders feel a little lighter—wanted to say yes.

Instead, you settled on something in between. I’m good. Thanks, though.

You set your phone down, your emotions swirling in a way that felt impossible to untangle. You could see the effort he was making, the consistency you once doubted in him. And yet, the fear of repeating past mistakes loomed large, a wall you weren’t sure you were ready to let down.

As you lay back on your bed, staring at the ceiling, you couldn’t help but wonder: Could you let yourself trust him again? Or was holding back the only way to keep from getting hurt?

The answer felt as distant and elusive as ever, but one thing was clear—Tyler wasn’t going anywhere. And that scared you as much as it comforted you.

* * * * *

You weren’t sure what had compelled you to say yes when Tyler offered to have you over for a few hours. Maybe it was his reasoning—that you needed a break after days at the hospital. Maybe it was the fact that your dad was finally back, sitting with your mom as she started to regain her strength. Or maybe, deep down, you knew you wanted to be here, in his space, no matter how much it scared you.

Tyler’s house was just as you remembered—cozy, and filled with small touches that made it unmistakably his. The scent of cedarwood lingered faintly in the air, and the shelves were dotted with framed photos and little souvenirs from his storm-chasing adventures.

“Make yourself at home,” he’d said, heading into the kitchen to grab drinks. “I’ll be right back.”

You wandered aimlessly, trying to ignore the familiar warmth that settled over you. It felt too easy to picture yourself here again, and that thought sent a pang of unease through you.

As you drifted toward the small desk in the corner of the living room, something caught your eye. The drawer was slightly ajar, and within it, a glint of gold and a small velvet box peeked out. Your curiosity got the better of you, and before you knew it, you were reaching for it.

When you opened the box, your breath caught.

It was the ring. The family ring. The delicate gold band with the intricate etching you’d admired since you were a little girl. The one your mom always said she’d pass down when the time was right.

Your fingers trembled as you held it, a dozen emotions colliding in your chest—shock, confusion, hurt. You didn’t hear Tyler’s footsteps until he was already in the doorway.

He froze when he saw you, his expression unreadable.

“What…” Your voice came out in a whisper, shaking as much as your hands. “How do you have this?”

Tyler ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. “I—” He stopped, as if weighing his words. “I didn’t think you’d find that.”

“That’s not an answer.” You looked up at him, your voice sharper now. “How do you have this? This is my family’s ring. My grandmother’s ring.”

Tyler’s jaw tightened. For a moment, you thought he might deflect or brush it off, but then he sighed, leaning against the doorframe.

“I had it because… I was going to ask you,” he admitted quietly. “Before we broke up.”

The room felt like it tilted beneath you. “You… what?”

“I’d talked to your parents. Asked for their blessing,” he continued, his voice steady but softer now. “Your mom gave me the ring. She said it was tradition, that it would mean something to you. And I thought—” He swallowed hard. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I loved you enough to want to make you mine forever.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest. “Tyler… why didn’t you tell me?”

His brows furrowed, his frustration evident. “How was I supposed to bring that up? ‘Hey, by the way, I was planning to propose before you ripped my heart out’? It wasn’t exactly the kind of conversation we were having when you left.”

Your chest tightened at the bitterness in his tone. “I didn’t just leave for no reason, Tyler. You were never there. You were always off chasing storms or working on the channel. I felt like I was just… waiting for you to choose me over everything else.”

Tyler’s expression hardened, but his voice didn’t rise. “I wasn’t gone because I didn’t care. I was gone because I was trying to build something for us. To give you the life you deserved. Do you think I wanted to spend all that time away from you?”

“You could’ve told me that!” you shot back, your voice cracking. “Instead, you just kept pushing forward like I was supposed to read your mind. How was I supposed to know you were doing it for me when you never said anything?”

“I thought you knew!” he countered, his voice finally rising. “I thought you understood. I thought what we had was strong enough to get through it. But instead, you walked away without even giving me a chance to explain.”

The room felt unbearably small, the air thick with unspoken pain. Tyler took a step closer, his eyes locking with yours.

“I didn’t know how to fight for someone who had already made it clear she didn’t want me,” he said quietly, the vulnerability in his voice cutting through the tension.

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. The emotions swirling inside you—anger, hurt, regret—left you feeling raw and exposed.

Tyler reached for the ring, picking it up from where it rested on the desk. He held it out to you, his hand steady despite the tension in his jaw.

“Take it,” he said, his voice tight with emotion. “It’s yours anyway. Keep it, or take it back to your mom’s—I shouldn’t have it anymore.”

You stared at the ring, your heart pounding in your chest. The weight of his words, the pain in his eyes, the ring that symbolized everything you’d lost and didn’t know if you could get back—it was all too much.

“I can’t do-,” you whispered, stepping back. “I… I need time to think.”

Tyler’s hand lowered, and for a moment, he looked like he might argue. But then he nodded, slipping the ring back into the box and tucking it away in the drawer.

The argument had left you both emotionally drained, the air in the room thick with all the things unsaid. Tyler had retreated, stepping out of the room and leaving you alone with the silence. You could hear his footsteps as he made his way out the front door and onto the porch. After that, there was only the quiet hum of the house around you. It felt like a heavy kind of stillness—almost suffocating in its weight.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the drawer where the ring had been returned, now hidden away again. Your fingers reached out, pulling open the drawer and picking up the box. You didn’t open the box or look at the ring. You just quietly put the box into your purse. You told yourself you’d give it back to your mom.

Tyler’s house had always held a special place in your heart. The old farmhouse, weathered but sturdy, had been his dream long before you moved in. He’d poured himself into this place, building it up, making it his own. His grandparents’ house, the land that had been in his family for generations—he’d often told you how much it meant to him. The memories of the two of you walking through the fields, sitting on the porch at dusk, talking about the future… it was all a part of him. And yet, it didn’t feel like home in the way it used to. Not anymore.

You’d moved here together once, a promise of a new chapter, a future side by side. And in many ways, it had been your home. A place where you’d shared laughter, arguments, and everything in between. But now, as you stood in the familiar space, everything felt different.

You moved through the house slowly, almost instinctively, as if searching for something—some sign that the past could be healed, that the love you once had could still be found in the cracks of this place. But every room seemed to hold its own kind of sadness, a reminder of what had been lost.

When you reached the kitchen, you ran your hand over the counter, feeling the familiar grooves of the old wood. This was where you used to stand while Tyler cooked dinner, teasing him about his “experimental” dishes, laughing at how he always burned something. He’d smile and tell you that’s why he had you, to make sure you guys didn’t starve. Then he’d pull you into a kiss, the kind of kiss that made you forget about everything else. The kind of kiss that made you feel like nothing could ever tear you apart.

But then, as you stood by the window, your gaze naturally fell outside. The view from here was familiar, the long stretch of land with the barn at the far edge of the property.

And that’s when you saw him. Tyler.

He was standing outside by the old barn, the sleeves of his flannel shirt rolled up, the axe gripped firmly in his hands. You watched, your heart dropping a little in your chest. He was splitting wood—heavy, deliberate swings with a rhythm that seemed almost mechanical. You had seen him do this before. It was his way of working out whatever was on his mind, his way of channeling anger or frustration. It was a pattern you knew all too well, one that had been there even before you left.

When he split wood like this, you knew better than to interrupt. It was his space, his time, his way of dealing with things. He didn’t want anyone there. He didn’t want to talk. It was his silent, solitary method of pushing everything down, of pretending that the world around him didn’t hurt.

You felt a sharp pang in your chest as you watched him swing the axe, each strike carrying the weight of things unsaid. Your eyes burned slightly, the tears you hadn’t realized were threatening to fall welling up.

The sight of him like this—the man you still cared about, the man who had been so much a part of your life—hurt in a way you hadn’t prepared for. You’d hoped that seeing him here, in this space, would make things clearer. But instead, it made you question everything.

Was this your fault? Was he out there, splitting wood because of you? Because of the things you’d said, the things you’d walked away from?

You could almost feel the tension in his every movement, the frustration he was releasing with each swing. He wasn’t angry at the wood. He was angry at everything that had happened between you two—at the distance that had grown, at the things left unsaid. He was angry at himself for not being able to fix it, and maybe, just maybe, angry at you for walking away.

You stood there for a long time, your fingers gripping the edge of the counter, your breath shallow. You wanted to go outside, wanted to talk to him, to ask him to stop. But you knew better. You’d learned that lesson a long time ago. When Tyler was like this, the best thing you could do was give him space. He would come to you when he was ready. But that didn’t make it any easier to watch.

You blinked, trying to clear your eyes, but the image of him out there—alone, working through his pain in silence—stayed with you, heavy and haunting.

You sighed, picking up your bag and making your way to the door. As you stepped out into the cool afternoon air, the weight of the ring seemed to grow heavier in your bag. Walking down the front steps, you couldn’t shake the feeling that everything you had with Tyler was still there, just waiting for you to reach out and claim it. But you were scared. Scared of reopening old wounds, scared of trusting again, scared of letting yourself believe that it could work out this time.

As you drove away from the house, the ring resting silently in your bag, you couldn’t help but think about what Tyler had said. For the first time, you started to wonder if you’d been too afraid to face your feelings for him.

* * * * *

The house was quiet when you finally got back to your parents’ place, the weight of the past few days pressing down on you. The hours spent at the hospital, the conversations with your mom, the raw argument with Tyler—it all swirled in your mind, and you couldn’t seem to escape the echoes of the past.

You were sitting in the living room now, curled up in the old armchair. The dim light from the lamp beside you cast long shadows on the walls, and the soft hum of the refrigerator was the only sound in the house. Your mind was running through everything that had happened. Your mom’s voice rang in your head, reminding you that you were likely pushing Tyler away because you were afraid of getting hurt again. But even as you replayed her words, it was hard to shake the feeling of uncertainty.

It wasn’t love you were lacking. That much was clear to you. The memories of your time together—both the good and the bad—flooded your thoughts, and the love you once shared was still there, even if it was buried under layers of hurt. You could still feel the way your heart had raced when Tyler kissed you, the way he had held you close on the coldest nights. You had loved him with everything you had, and a part of you still did. But now? Now, it felt like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, too scared to take the leap, too unsure of where it might lead.

Your thoughts drifted to the last few days—Tyler’s quiet presence when you needed him, the way he had shown up, consistently and without hesitation. He brought you coffee when you needed it most, offered to run errands, texted you just to check in. Every little thing he did was a reminder of the person he had become, the one who wanted to be there for you, no matter how hard it might have been for him.

You couldn’t ignore the changes. He wasn’t the same as he had been before. He’d made mistakes, but he’d also shown you that he was willing to work on himself. The way he had apologized, the way he had acknowledged his faults—it was all part of the healing process.

And yet, even now, as you sat there in the silence, your heart was heavy. You were scared to trust again. Scared to believe that this time, things would be different. The fear of repeating past mistakes loomed over you, a constant companion in your thoughts. How could you know for sure that Tyler wouldn’t hurt you again?

You thought back to the day you broke up—how Tyler had tried so hard to be what you needed but had failed, leaving you to feel abandoned. You remembered the words he said, the frustration in his voice as he admitted he didn’t know how to fix things. But now, you knew he was trying. He wasn’t perfect, but he was showing you he cared in a way that mattered.

Maybe it wasn’t about being perfect. Maybe it was about being willing to try. And for the first time in a long while, you started to wonder if you were ready to take the risk.

As you sat there, you felt the weight of the ring in your pocket, still a physical reminder of what could have been. The family ring. The one Tyler had almost given you. He’d wanted to give you everything, to make you his forever. It stung, thinking about how close he had been to doing that, and how you had walked away before you could even see what might have been.

But maybe now was the time to face what had been left unsaid. Maybe now was the time to acknowledge that you weren’t as afraid of him as you were of what it would mean to trust him again. Maybe it was time to stop holding onto the past and to start letting yourself heal, to start letting him back in.

Your thoughts lingered there for a moment, wondering where things might go if you took that next step, if you allowed yourself to be vulnerable enough to take the chance on him again.

* * * * *

You took a deep breath, staring at the screen of your phone, your finger hovering over the “Send” button. You’d thought about this moment a hundred times, but now that it was here, the weight of it was almost too much.

Tyler. You hadn’t really spoken since that painful argument over the ring. But something in you had shifted. The clarity that came after your reflection—the understanding that your hesitation wasn’t about love, but about trust—had led you to this point. You weren’t ready to give up on him, not yet. You needed to talk, to lay everything out, and to figure out if there was a way forward.

With one last deep breath, you typed out a quick message: Can we talk?

You stared at it for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest, and then hit send.

The response came a few minutes later, fast and blunt: Sure. What about?

You hesitated, your mind racing. Can you meet me?

There was a long pause before his reply. You could almost feel his hesitation through the screen: Why can’t we talk now?

You chewed on your bottom lip, heart racing again. I just think we need to talk in person.

Okay. Where?

You agreed on a quiet spot at a local diner, one you used to go to together when things were easier. The diner was just as you remembered it—faded red booths, a flickering neon sign in the window, and the faint smell of coffee and fried food hanging in the air. It had been weeks since you’d sat here with Tyler, sharing laughs over milkshakes and fries. Now, as you pushed open the door, the memories hit you like a wave, bittersweet and unrelenting.

Tyler was already there, seated in the far corner by the window. His back was to you, his shoulders hunched slightly as he stared out at the parking lot. He didn’t look tense—just tired, like someone who had long since stopped hoping for something he knew wasn’t coming.

When he turned at the sound of your footsteps, his expression softened, and he offered a small, polite smile.

“Hey,” he said, standing as you approached the booth.

“Hey,” you replied, sliding into the seat across from him.

“Thanks for meeting me,” you added, unsure of how to start.

Tyler waved a hand dismissively. “Of course. Everything okay? Is this about your mom or... something else?”

You hesitated, caught off guard by his assumption. He thought this was about your mom—or maybe something unrelated entirely. You realized he hadn’t even considered that this might be about him. That hit you harder than you expected.

“No, she’s fine,” you said quickly. “It’s not about her.”

A waitress appeared with two menus, setting them down before taking your drink orders. Once she walked away, Tyler leaned back in his seat, his arms crossed loosely. “So, what’s on your mind?”

You traced the edge of the menu with your finger, searching for the right words. “I’ve just... been thinking a lot lately,” you started, your voice steady but quiet. “About everything. About us.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly, but he didn’t speak right away. When he did, his tone was careful, like he didn’t want to assume too much. “Us?”

You nodded, meeting his gaze. “Yeah. Us.”

For the first time, you saw a flicker of something in his expression—hope, maybe, though he tried to mask it. “Okay,” he said slowly, leaning forward now, his elbows resting on the table. “I’m listening.”

You took a deep breath, your hands fidgeting in your lap. “I’ve been thinking about why I’ve been so hesitant... why I haven’t been able to just move on or figure out what I want. And I realized it’s not because I don’t care about you. It’s not because I don’t... love you.”

Tyler’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he just stared at you, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right.

“It’s because I’m scared,” you continued, pushing through the lump in your throat. “I’m scared of trusting you again. Of getting hurt again. And I know that’s not fair to you, because you’ve done so much to show me you’ve changed. But it’s the truth.”

Tyler leaned back slightly, his hands dropping to the table. His voice, when he spoke, was soft but firm. “I can’t blame you for being scared,” he said. “I don’t. And if I could go back and change the way I handled things back then, I would in a heartbeat. But I can’t. All I can do is try to show you now that I’m not that guy anymore.”

You nodded, your heart pounding. “I see that,” you admitted. “And I want to believe it. I do. But this is going to take time, Tyler. If we do this—if we try again—I need to know we’re on the same page.”

“Of course,” he said quickly, his voice full of sincerity. “Whatever you need. Time, space, anything.”

The words hit you with a mix of relief and fear, but you pushed past it, meeting his gaze. “I need honesty. Communication. Consistency. If I’m going to trust you again, I need to know you’re not going to disappear or pull away.”

Tyler reached across the table, his hand stopping just short of yours, as if waiting for permission. When you didn’t pull away, he covered your hand with his, his touch warm and steady.

“You have my word,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere. Not this time.”

The vulnerability in his voice broke something open inside you, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—this could work.

“I’m willing to try,” you said softly, your voice trembling just enough to give you away. “But we have to start over. From scratch. No rushing, no expectations. We figure this out one step at a time.”

Tyler’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile, the kind that reached his eyes. “One step at a time,” he echoed.

The conversation between you and Tyler drifted into lighter topics as the waitress returned to take your order. You both opted for the diner’s signature cheeseburgers, a choice that made Tyler chuckle.

“Some things never change,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You always did love their fries.”

“And you always managed to steal half of them,” you shot back, a teasing smile tugging at your lips.

“Guilty as charged,” he admitted, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

For a while, it felt easy—almost normal. The tension that had weighed so heavily at the start of the conversation seemed to fade as you reminisced about old times. Tyler told you about the farm and the projects he’d been working on, and you found yourself laughing at his stories about the chickens escaping their pen and wreaking havoc in the garden.

When the food arrived, Tyler immediately reached across the table and snagged one of your fries, grinning mischievously as he popped it into his mouth.

“Really?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Consider it interest,” he said with a wink.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling.

As the meal wound down, the check arrived, and Tyler reached for it without hesitation.

“Oh, no you don’t,” you said, grabbing for the small black folder.

“I got it,” Tyler said firmly, holding it just out of your reach.

“Tyler, I can pay for mine,” you insisted, leaning across the table in a futile attempt to snatch it.

He shook his head, his grin widening. “You can get the next one.”

“Next one?” you echoed, your cheeks flushing slightly.

He froze for a split second, realizing what he’d said. But instead of backtracking, he leaned forward, his expression softening. “Yeah. Next one.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you didn’t argue. Tyler slid his card into the folder and handed it to the waitress, who returned moments later with a receipt for him to sign.

As you stepped outside into the cool evening air, the world felt quieter. The neon sign buzzed faintly above you, casting a soft glow on the sidewalk.

Tyler walked beside you, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. You fell into step together, the sound of your footsteps the only noise between you.

When you reached your car, you paused, turning to face him. He stopped too, standing so close that you could feel the warmth radiating from him despite the chill in the air.

“Thanks for dinner,” you said softly.

“Anytime,” he replied, his voice low and steady.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, Tyler reached out, his fingers brushing against yours before curling gently around your hand.

The simple gesture sent a warmth through you that you hadn’t felt in years. You squeezed his hand, your heart swelling at the unspoken promise in his touch.

As you started to pull away, Tyler hesitated. His other hand lifted, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch lingered for just a moment longer than necessary, and when his eyes met yours, they were filled with something quiet and certain.

“Can I—” he started, his voice catching, but you didn’t let him finish.

Instead, you leaned in, closing the distance between you, and pressed your lips to his.

The kiss was soft, tentative at first, as if you were both testing the waters. But as Tyler tilted his head, his free hand moving gently to your waist, it deepened just enough to make your heart race.

When you finally pulled back, your faces were still close, your breath mingling in the cool night air. Tyler’s eyes searched yours, his expression a mixture of wonder and relief.

“Drive safe,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, though it carried the weight of so much more.

“You too,” you replied, your voice steady even as your heart threatened to beat out of your chest.

As you climbed into your car and drove away, you couldn’t stop glancing in the rearview mirror. Tyler stood there on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, watching until your taillights disappeared into the night.

For the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel quite so uncertain.

#Tyler Owens #Tyler Owens x reader #Tyler Owens x you #Tyler Owens Fic #Tyler Owens Fanfic #Tyler Owens Fanfiction #Tyler Owens Angst

249 notes · View notes

wholoveseggs · 8 months ago

Note

Hi! I just wanted to tell you that I love your stories. They are just so incredible. Every day I hope for some new post from you, it makes my day every time so much better!

I also wanted to try and request something. Elijah x Reader were they are maybe best friends and she is recovering from an abusive relationship and he finds it out. The end is up to you. Thank you so much!

I apologize for spelling mistakes, english is not my first language.

Perfect Messes

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

After a difficult relationship that left you struggling to rebuild your life, you reconnect with an old friend who helps you rediscover what true love feels like.

♡♡ Thanks for the request beautiful anon! sorry it took so long. This one was a bit personal for me... so I wanted to do it right ~xoxo♡♡

5.6k words - Warnings: smutt, so much fluff, little bit of angst, vague mentions of abuse, panic attack, white knight Elijah {my fav}, soft and romantic, lots of friendly banter {in bed}, Elijah being protective && slow dancing...

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

Trying to fix my tags! I re-added all of you, and now you will be posted at the top! If you no longer wished to be tagged just shoot me a DM {I won't be offended} xoxo~

@gorgeouslydangerous @starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibes @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @spideysbabe @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

@sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @sekaishell

@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson @b1tchy

The restaurant Elijah picked out was so typically him; small, quiet, and dimly lit.

He always preferred the atmosphere of these little hole-in-the-wall restaurants to the more popular ones that were always packed. It made him feel like he was part of an exclusive club that only a few knew about, and that's how he liked it.

It had been almost two years since you had seen him, but judging by his choice of restaurants, not much had changed. He was still a kind and intelligent man, preferring to observe before acting, with an impeccable taste in all things.

He was, by all means, a gentleman. He had always treated you with respect, always listened when you had a problem and would give you advice. Solid, reliable, sweet Elijah.

But for you, everything had changed, your world had tilted and flipped on its axis, and you couldn't tell if you were right side up anymore.

You looked nervously out the window, you didn't like sitting next to it. Anyone could see you and take advantage. You subconsciously picked at your nails, a habit you had developed recently. Your therapist had told you that the trauma of your past would manifest in strange ways. She was right, but knowing the why didn't change the fact that you couldn't stop doing it.

Elijah had been uncharacteristically quiet since he sat down across from you, studying you. You didn't like it, firstly because it made you feel like a bit of a zoo animal, and secondly, because he was likely noticing things you had been hoping to keep hidden.

He watched you glance out the window again and again, could see the little scars and flecks of blood around your cuticles, could hear the way your heart would race when someone walked too close to your table. His once carefree and bubbly friend had become a scared rabbit, flinching at loud noises and sudden movements.

The worst part was that you seemed so resigned to your fate, like this was your life now. It broke his heart.

You didn't like the awkward silence that had settled between the two of you. You fidgeted with the napkin in your lap, refusing to make eye contact. The two of you had once been such close friends, you would laugh and joke together for hours, but that had changed, and not for the better.

You could tell that he knew. The way he was looking at you, his brow furrowed in concern, his eyes darting to every new scar that was visible, he knew. It made you feel this deep, unending shame that had been haunting you from the first day you ex had laid a hand on you.

You frowned and turned away. Maybe this wasn't a good idea. You wondered what he would think of you now, and if he would hate the person you've become.

"What made you reach out?" He asked, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

You swallowed a bit of food you were picking at and paused. "I guess I was just ready to start living again," you said, and you took a sip of water.

"You weren't living?" He asked.

"I was surviving," you answered.

He frowned and reached across the table, and his hand wrapped around yours. You stiffened, then relaxed, his touch warm and comforting.

"Well I'm glad you're back," he said with a smile.

You nodded and tried to smile, but you couldn't help the tears that filled your eyes. His eyes widened and he let go of your hand. It was always the unexpected, simple words that made you fall apart.

"Oh no, please don't cry. What's wrong?" He asked.

"I'm sorry. I'm just glad to see you," you said.

You took a shaky breath and tried to get yourself under control. You felt a piece of fabric being placed in your hand, it was his handkerchief, a simple white piece of fabric with a green ‘EM’ embroidered in the corner.

"There is nothing to be sorry for, darling," he said.

You smiled a little and dabbed your eyes, you missed the way he would call you darling, or love, or sweetheart. It had been so long.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" He asked.

He was watching you carefully, his dark eyes studying you as if he could pick apart every thought in your head. You had forgotten how intimidating his stare could be.

You sighed and looked at the ceiling, and you tried to find the words. "I made a mistake, and I'm still recovering from it."

"Recovering?" He asked.

His eyes flickered to the scars on your arms, and the ones that were peeking out from under your shirt collar. He thought that he already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from you.

You closed your eyes, the pain in your chest growing stronger. "You remember that guy I started seeing? Not long before we lost touch."

"I do."

"Well, we weren't a good match, and he wasn't the greatest guy." You said, and you fiddled with the edge of his handkerchief.

"He hurt you."

It was a statement, not a question, and his expression was grim. You nodded and wiped the tear that slid down your cheek. You weren't sure if you were ready to have this conversation, and you hated that he had figured it out on his own.

"Yes," you whispered, the shame filling your body again.

He was silent for a long moment, and you mustered up the courage to look at him. You expected to see pity or disgust, but his eyes were calm.

"It wasn't your fault," he said.

"That's what everyone says," you said a little too sharply, the bitterness clear in your voice.

"Why don't you believe it?" He asked.

You shook your head and wiped the tears from your cheeks. You hated the way you cried when you were stressed, it always made you feel weak.

"My father would beat Niklaus so fiercely that he couldn't leave his bed for days. I always blamed myself. Who was I, if I could not protect him from harm?" He said.

Your heart hurt for him, for the pain that had been so deeply ingrained in him. He never talked about his childhood. He told you it was a long time ago and didn't bother him anymore, but you could see the truth in his eyes. It would always hurt, and it had left him with deep scars.

"It took me a long time to learn that some people will hurt us, no matter what we do," he continued, reaching out to hold your hand again. "They will tell you that you are to blame, that the abuse is a consequence of your behavior, and it is not. Do not ever forget that."

You nodded, and a small smile graced your lips. His hand was warm in yours, and his touch was gentle.

"My father was treated poorly by his father, and his father before that. And the cycle continues. Broken people don't know any other way," he said.

He brushed his thumb across the back of your hand and gave you a reassuring smile.

"It takes enormous strength not to continue the cycle. To not place your pain on the shoulders of others. To recognize the harm and end it with you." He finished, his voice was low and his words were gentle.

You wiped the tears and nodded. He was right. You didn't deserve what happened to you, and you didn't have to carry that weight on your own. These were things you told yourself before, but it was hard for you to truly believe them.

"I don't know if I'm capable of that sort of strength," you said, and you sniffed.

"Oh my dear, you're already stronger than you know," he said.

You didn't feel strong, in fact you felt rather weak and small. You were tired, and broken.

He smiled, and his thumb rubbed soft circles on your wrist. "As cliche as it sounds, it truly just takes time. On the bad days you just need to remind yourself of that," he said.

You nodded, the words sinking into your soul, and you clung to the hope that they offered. You didn't realize how much you needed to hear that.

"I should have called sooner. I missed you," you said, and you smiled, your eyes meeting his.

"I missed you, too."

Your ex had manipulated you into cutting contact with most of your friends, and you didn't realize how much you relied on those connections until it was gone. But with Elijah, it felt like no time had passed at all. You were so grateful to have him back.

It had been a few weeks since you had reconnected with Elijah, and he was a constant in your life now. He would come by almost everyday and visit with you. He would bring you coffee or lunch, or simply sit and talk for hours. He would listen, and he would tell stories of his travels, and it made your heart so happy.

You always had a soft little crush on him, and having him back in your life made those feelings intensify. But dating wasn't something you were ready for, the idea of being intimate with anyone made you feel anxious. Your ex had made even sex a violent thing, and that was a wound you weren't ready to reopen.

And you didn't know if Elijah was interested. He was so caring, and thoughtful, and you wondered if he saw you as anything more than a friend.

It was raining outside, and you were heading home from your therapy session. You were trying to keep the umbrella above you, but it kept blowing inside out, and the wind and rain were making it difficult.

As you approached your door, you could see something attached to the doorknob. You pulled the item off and inspected it. It was a single rose, tied with a note.

You opened the door and headed to the kitchen, your wet coat and shoes discarded in the entryway. You wondered who the rose was from, a small part of you hoping it was Elijah.

You peeled open the note and read it, panic immediately filled your body. The rose and note had fallen out of your hands, and were scattered across the kitchen floor.

A picture had fallen out of the note, it was an image of you and your ex, you were asleep and wearing a nightgown. The note read, "I miss nights like this. I'll be waiting."

It was him, he had found you.

Your body went numb and you immediately fled out of your apartment, not bothering to put on your shoes or coat, leaving the front door wide open.

You had done everything to hide from him, changed your job, your phone number, moved apartments.

You could feel the panic building inside of you, the walls closing in around you. The rain was cold and the wind was harsh, but you didn't notice, didn't care. All you wanted was to get away, to hide.

You just kept running until the panic made your knees give out and you collapsed in a small alcove between two buildings.

Your hands shook as you pulled out your phone, and dialed the last number you called.

"Hello?" Elijah answered.

You didn't have the words to answer him, and the sob that tore out of your throat was loud and desperate. You could barely get the words out, the fear, panic and humiliation making it nearly impossible.

"Where are you?" He asked, his voice was hard, and he sounded like he was already on the move.

"I...I'm sorry..." You choked out, tears streaming down your face.

"Turn on your location, I'll come get you," he said.

You could hear his car start, and you heard a voice in the background, likely his brother Klaus.

"Please hurry," you said, the panic making you feel sick.

"I'm on my way. Everything is going to be okay."

His voice was calm and steady in the storm of panic. You could hear the screeching of his tires as they took off.

You sat and listened to the sounds of his car, the rain pounding against the roof, the sound of his breathing. Klaus was driving, and you could hear his muffled accent in the background.

"Do not hang up, alright?" Elijah said, his voice was firm.

You nodded, though he couldn't see you, and tried to focus on his breathing, using the sound to keep yourself grounded.

"Tell me three things you see," he said softly.

"Three things?"

"Yes, anything you can see. Three things."

You looked around the little alcove, there were two benches, the ground was damp, and a little trash can.

"I...uhh.. two benches, a trash can, and a sign," you said, your voice sounded foreign and strange to you.

"Good, that's good. Now three things you hear."

"The rain, the traffic and... and you. You're still there?" You asked, your voice full of confusion.

You felt lightheaded and cold, the rain now fully soaked through your clothes.

"Of course I'm still here," he said.

You could hear the sounds of the city, and the sound of his tires as he turned a corner.

"Now three things you feel."

You felt the cold pavement beneath you, the water dripping off your hair and onto your skin, and the panic clawing at your throat.

"I feel the pavement, the water, a-and… and…," you said, your breath was starting to quicken.

"You're doing great, darling," he said softly.

Your chest felt tight, and it was getting harder to breathe. You felt like you were dying, your heart beating so fast you thought it might burst.

"I can't breathe," you whimpered, your free hand clutching your chest.

The sound of tires screeching to a halt made you flinch, and the line disconnected. You could hear footsteps pounding against the pavement, and then you felt two warm hands scooping under your arms.

"It's me, darling. You're safe," he said, and he lifted you to your feet, then he picked you up and started carrying you.

You clung to him, burying your face into his neck, breathing in his scent. He carried you over to his car, and placed you gently in the back seat. He removed his coat and wrapped it around you, then climbed in after you. His hands were running through your hair and wiping the tears off your face.

"Take a deep breath with me, darling. You're okay," he said.

His hands were resting on your waist, and he pulled you close, your chest pressing against his. He took a deep breath, and you did the same. The pressure of his body against yours helped calm you, and the sound of his heartbeat helped ground you.

"Good, just like that," he said softly, his eyes watching your face carefully.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, letting you relax into his touch. His fingers combed through your hair, and his other hand rubbed your back soothingly.

"I've got you," he whispered, his breath fanning across your cheek.

The panic slowly subsided, replaced with utter exhaustion. Your eyes grew heavy and you rested your head against his shoulder, and you closed your eyes.

"Thank you," you whispered, the sleep already claiming you.

"No need, I will always be there for you," he said.

His voice was like a promise, one you knew he would keep. He held you close, his arms a safe and warm place, and soon sleep took over.

Elijah had invited you to move into the compound for a while. You were grateful for his offer, and his family had been nothing but kind to you. All of them understood, and were supportive, and had promised to help protect you.

It had been a few weeks since your panic attack, and you were still trying to piece yourself back together. Your ex had been found, and Klaus had ensured that he would never hurt anyone ever again. But it didn't stop the fear that crept up your spine when you were alone.

You were sitting in Elijah's room, reading a book while he worked. You had taken to spending a lot of time in his company, and he didn't seem to mind. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it as well.

There was soft classical music playing on the radio, and the soft yellow lights of the many candles made the room feel cozy. You glanced over at Elijah, his head was bent and he was looking over some papers.

The two of you had fallen back into the easy banter that had once defined your relationship, and you were grateful for him.

"Are you hungry? I could go get us some dinner," he said, and his voice pulled you out of the book you were reading.

You looked up at him and shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips. He looked extra good today, dressed in a simple button down and dress pants. You had noticed him looking at you quite a bit as well, and it made your stomach flip every time.

"I'm fine, thank you," you said, and you smiled at him.

You liked that he was always thinking about you, and it was sweet. But you couldn't deny the feelings that had started to develop for him, and it made the butterflies in your stomach flutter every time he looked at you. You wanted to be intimate with someone again, to feel love the way you once did. To not let all the trauma and pain define the rest of your life.

Elijah put down his pen and gave you a small smile. "You've been staring at me for the past fifteen minutes."

Your face flushed and you looked away, embarrassed at being caught. You weren't sure if you were ready to admit your feelings, or if he even felt the same.

"Sorry, I was just thinking," you said, and you looked back at him, meeting his eyes.

He had stood up and walked over to the couch you were sitting on, reaching out his hand to you.

"Come on, let's get some air," he said.

You stood up and took his hand, and he led you out of his room and to the balcony. The sky was dark and the stars were out, and you could see the moon peeking out behind the clouds.

The air was cool and the breeze was gentle, and you breathed in the fresh night air. Elijah stood next to you, his hand still holding yours, and you were glad that he didn't let go.

"Dance with me?" He asked, and his voice was soft.

You smiled and nodded, and he pulled you into his arms, the two of you swaying slowly to the music that drifted in from inside.

His gaze was intense, but gentle. And his smile was soft. He twirled you, and pulled you back in close. Your breathing slowed, and a smile grew on your face.

He was a talented dancer, and he made sure you didn't make a fool of yourself. It was an excellent distraction, and it was easy to forget about all the horrible things when you were with him.

The two of you danced until the song ended, and his hands were on your waist. You were both laughing, and his eyes were brighter than usual. You were suddenly acutely aware of how close he was.

"Thank you," you said softly, your eyes meeting his, he was looking at you with such tenderness that it made your heart race.

"I've wanted to tell you something," he began, and he reached out and brushed a piece of hair behind your ear.

"What is it?" You asked, the anticipation making your stomach do flips.

"I want you to know, I'll never let anyone hurt you. Not ever again," he said, and his words were sincere.

You smiled, and you reached up and touched his cheek. He had been your rock, and a constant source of strength and comfort.

"I know," you said, and his eyes were so full of emotion.

"I mean it," he said, and he placed his forehead against yours. "You will always be safe with me," he whispered, and his nose touched yours.

Your eyes closed and you let out a sigh. The butterflies in your stomach were fluttering wildly, and your heart was pounding in your chest.

"You've become so important to me," he said softly. "You're my best friend, and... I can't lose you again," he said.

A moment passed, and you could feel the tension building. The air around you felt charged, and you could feel his breath on your lips.

You closed the distance between the two of you, pressing your lips against his. His lips were soft and his hands were gentle. He held you close, the two of you lost in the kiss. It was passionate, and full of all the love and adoration that had grown over the last few months.

You had imagined kissing him before, and it was just as perfect as you thought it would be. You couldn't think straight, and the only thing that mattered was him.

"Is this okay?" He asked as he pulled away, and rested his forehead against yours, his eyes filled with wonder.

You were both out of breath, and a small smirk formed on his lips.

"You're really good at that," you said, and you smiled up at him.

He chuckled and gave you a crooked grin. Then he kissed you again, and his hands moved down to the small of your back, pulling you closer. You melted into him, the kiss deepening, and you felt a familiar warmth spread through your body.

"Elijah, I don't know if I'm ready to... It's been a long time since..." You stammered, the thoughts in your mind a mess, the vulnerability made your skin flush.

He gave you a long look, his hands rubbing small circles on your sides. "Then we'll go slow," he said, taking your hand and leading you back into his room. "Very, very, slow," he whispered, a glint in his eye.

You wanted him, but you were scared, and he could sense it. You needed him to take the lead, to guide you.

"We can stop anytime, just say the word," he said, his voice soft.

He stepped away and sat down on the bed, reaching his hand out to you. You took it, and he pulled you into his lap. His hands moved to your hips, and he kissed you again, slow and sweet.

Your body was responding, reawakening after being long dormant. It was a strange feeling, but a welcome one.

You began to tug at the buttons of his shirt, as his hands slid underneath your blouse, caressing your bare skin. You managed to undo most of the buttons, and pushed his shirt off his shoulders.

You had always found him attractive, but seeing him like this was something else entirely. He had a chiseled chest, and toned arms. Your fingers traced his muscles, and they twitched under your touch.

"Like what you see?" He teased, and a smug smile spread across his face.

"You don't need me to say it, do you?" You replied, a sly grin appearing on your lips.

"I could use a reminder," he said, his eyes sparkling.

You giggled, and the sound surprised you. "Fine, yes, you're attractive... really, really attractive," you said, and the smile on his face grew.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear that," he said, and his hands slid higher up your shirt, his thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts.

"Someone's a little full of themselves," you teased, your hands moving up his chest.

His mouth moved to the hollow of your throat, and he nipped at the delicate skin, eliciting a small gasp from you.

"I've heard stories," you continued, your breath catching in your throat.

"Oh yeah?" He hummed, slowly unbuttoning your blouse, kissing each inch of newly exposed skin.

"Kol's a chatty drunk," you said, and your smile turned mischievous. "He said that you're really, really, good at this sort of thing."

"Is that right?" He murmured, and his hands were now cupping your breasts, his thumbs brushing your nipples through the fabric.

"That's what I heard," you gasped, your back arching into his touch.

"It's a bit weird that he knows anything about my skills," he said, and you could hear the amusement in his voice.

"Not if the rumors are true," you replied, and you ground your hips against his.

"Well what do you think?" He teased, his lips trailing down to your breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth.

You moaned, one of his hands was pressed into your lower back, slowly moving your hips. The other was kneading your breast, his mouth sucking and licking at the sensitive bud.

"I...," you started, and you paused, trying to formulate a coherent thought. "I don't think he was wrong..." You managed.

He chuckled, and then his hand slid into your pants, his fingers finding your clit. He began to rub slow, firm circles, and a strangled moan escaped your lips.

"Do you want me to stop?" He asked, and his hand slowed, the pressure making you gasp.

"Don't you dare," you groaned, and his lips returned to yours.

His mouth was hot, and his tongue was insistent. His fingers moved faster, and his other hand was holding your back, supporting you as you arched into him. Your hands were tangled in his hair, and your breath was coming in short gasps.

"That's it," he murmured, and his voice was husky.

Your eyes were closed, and the sensations were overwhelming. Your toes curled and your fingers dug into his shoulders, and you cried out as the waves of pleasure crashed over you.

He hummed in approval, his fingers still rubbing slow circles, drawing out your release. You trembled in his arms, burying your face in his shoulder.

"Wow," you said breathlessly, kissing his neck softly.

"Good, wow?" He asked, and his tone was light and playful.

"So good, wow," you said, and you giggled, the euphoria making you feel giddy.

He leaned back on to the bed, bringing you with him, making you laugh. The two of you fumbled awkwardly, giggling as you tried to move up the bed. He ended up on top of you, his elbows supporting his weight.

"It's nice to hear you laugh again," he said, and his eyes were full of adoration.

"You're a good distraction," you said, and you grinned.

"I plan on being much more than a distraction," he said, his hands running along your sides.

You smiled up at him, and he leaned down and kissed you, the passion returning. You ran your hands over his chest, your fingers tracing the hard planes of muscle.

"Tell me if it gets too much," he whispered.

You nodded, and his mouth moved down to your neck, nipping and sucking. He slowly removed the rest of your clothes, his lips never leaving your skin.

"I can't believe we are doing this," you said, undoing his belt and pants. "I didn't think... I mean I hoped, but never thought..."

He chuckled, and kicked his pants off. "I know the feeling," he said, and his eyes were twinkling.

"I'm glad you didn't give up on me," you said, and your tone was serious.

He looked at you for a long moment, his gaze searching.

"Never," he said, and he pressed his lips to yours, a hand moving down your thigh and lifting your leg over his hip.

You moaned into his mouth as you felt his cock bump against your wetness. You knew he would be gentle and loving, but there was still a hint of fear and trepidation.

"I'm going to make love to you now," he said, and his voice was soft, his eyes looking at you tenderly.

Your face turned scarlet, and a deep flush appeared on his cheeks. It was the first time you had ever seen him embarrassed. It was so charming, and it reminded you why you fell for him in the first place.

"Was that not the right thing to say?" He asked, and the nervous laugh he let out was adorable.

"No, no, it was very..." you started, but couldn't finish.

"It was very what?" He asked, the amusement back in his tone.

"Romantic," you managed, and a grin formed on your lips. "It's not something I'm used to," you said, and a pained look flashed across his face.

"He didn't treat you the way he should have," Elijah said, and his eyes were dark.

"It's okay," you said, and you cupped his cheek, giving him a soft smile. "I have you now, and that's all that matters."

His lips met yours, and his cock pressed against your entrance.

"Ready?" He asked, and his voice was husky.

You nodded, and he slowly entered you, letting out a groan. It had been so long since you had been intimate with someone, and it felt incredible. He moved his hips, setting a slow pace, gauging your response to his movements.

"I love you," he groaned, gently placing his forehead against yours.

His words and eyes were sincere, but your response caught in your throat. His movements were slow and sensual, causing you to moan into his mouth, your hips gently rocking to meet his.

"You don't have to say it back, I just want you to know," he whispered, his lips brushing yours.

A tear slid down your cheek, and he kissed it away, noticing the way you were struggling with your emotions.

"I will keep you safe, and love you for as long as you let me," he promised, his eyes glossy.

The two of you continued moving together, the emotions and sensations heightened by his words. He was gentle and loving, and the way he was looking at you made your heart swell.

You were both lost in the pleasure, and the world fell away, only the two of you left. He held you close, his body moving with yours, and the intimacy of the act made you feel complete.

"Eli-" you moaned, the words unable to leave your mouth.

"I know," he said, running his fingers through your hair and giving you a kiss that made your head spin.

Your kisses grew messy as you both got close to the edge, panting against each other. You tried to tell him how good he made you feel, how much you loved him too, but all that came out was a plea. Your face buried in the crook of his neck as your back arched, and your legs started to shake.

"You're alright," he murmured in your ear, holding you tightly as your walls clenched around him.

Your breath left you, and he gripped you as he chased his own release. He lifted you off the bed, pulling you up so you could ride him as he held you to his chest.

Your toes curled and another wave of bliss hit you, a wanton moan escaping you. Your name sounded so good rolling off his lips, and he followed you, groaning as he found his release.

You held each other, him slowly lowering you back to the bed, not daring to pull away or let you go. You were slightly dizzy and felt like you were floating, and it was the best feeling in the world.

"Damn, you're good," you breathed, and a satisfied grin formed on his lips.

He kissed your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

"I know, just ask Kol..." he joked, and a giggle escaped your lips.

"Please stop talking about Kol," you laughed, and he gave you a sheepish smile.

"You brought him up first," he said, and his smile turned crooked.

You playfully slapped his shoulder and he laughed, looking absolutely elated that he made you smile.

"I love you too," you blurted, feeling too happy and overwhelmed with emotion to wait to tell him.

His grin grew, and he rolled on his side, bringing you with him. He grabbed the blanket and pulled it over you, and you sunk into the warm embrace.

"This feels nice," you said, sighing in content.

"Yeah, it does," he replied, a smile in his voice.

You cuddled for a while, and he lazily drew circles on your skin, his touch soothing and comforting.

"You know I'm a mess right? Prone to panic attacks, have nightmares, and am constantly looking over my shoulder," you said, and the worry that he didn't understand what he was getting into was clear.

"Stop it," he said, his tone gentle, and his arms tightened around you. "You aren't allowed to put yourself down in front of me," he said, and he kissed your forehead

You nodded, and he stroked your cheek, wiping away a tear that you hadn't realized had fallen.

"It's okay to be a mess, I'm a mess too," he said with a soft laugh. "Even though I hide it well," he added.

"You're not a mess, you're perfect," you said, and his smile turned sad.

"Hardly, but I appreciate the sentiment," he replied, and he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

"We can be messes together then, how's that sound?" You asked, and the small smile he gave you made your heart skip a beat.

He kissed you, slow and sweet, and a happy sigh escaped your lips.

"Together.”

#elijah mikaelson #klaus mikaelson #the originals #the vampire diaries #vampire diaries #tvdu #elijah mikaelson smut #elijah mikaelson imagine #elijah mikealson imagine #elijah mikealson #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikealson x reader #tvd #the vampire diaries x you #the vampire diaries x reader #the vampire diares imagine #the vampire diaries imagine #the originals imagine

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roadkillxd · 2 years ago

Note

Thank you for replying! I just wanted to make sure I wasn't breaking any rules that could make you uncomfortable. As for the request I was thinking of alpha alejandro vargas (if you don't write for him then ghost is perfectly fine) x omega ftm reader (they are already married/dating) where reader also works in the forces (air force) but is from a different country (preferably pakistani) alejandro sees someone flirting with the reader but reader doesn't notices it and talks to the person normally, which makes alejandro jealous and it turns into smut (consensual) with softdom alejandro with touch deprivation (basically alejandro not touching the reader and using toys) and over stimulation with aftercare. I'm sorry if this is confusing or too specific, if you don't feel like writing it then it's cool. I hope you are having a good day/night.

-🦝

Ok, Alejandro is a new beloved now, thank you. He's going on the list. Full stop I'm not Pakistani nor do I have any knowledge of the language. I tried my best to convert the Urdu script to the Roman alphabet for non-Pakistani reading ease too, so forgive me if anything is off—and feel free to DM me if you're a native speaker to correct me! That goes for any foreign language I write in!

Alejandro x FTM!Reader ↪ 1711 words — 18+ / SMUT.

Content tags — trans male submissive (pakistani) omega reader, cis male dominant alpha Alejandro, crying, a/b/o dynamic, mention of claiming, unsafe sex, bondage, mention of breeding, jealousy, mild man-handling, subspace, probably bad Spanish and Urdu, overstimulation, established relationship, penetrative sex, vaginal sex, sex toys.

Ever since the Los Vaqueros took their base back from the Shadows, you’ve requested station on base to help them rebuild from the damage left behind following the siege, a request that Laswell honored, pulling favors to get you leave from your home taskforce.

The 141 had pulled you back into work not too long ago, operating as a personal pilot and borderline escort for Alejandro in hopes of keeping their alliance and their only non-cartel tainted relationship to Las Almas safe.

Alejandro hadn’t been super thrilled about having a babysitter. He could handle himself, and he had Rudy.

Things changed when Ghost slid him your file and he got to see your face for the first time, paper clipped to the corner of the manilla file. He changed his mind very quickly then. He likes to remind you about it, too, just to see you fluster.

He’s watching you over his shoulder now, pretending to focus on the blueprints in front of him as you carefully weld the deformed metal of a jet, having taken a few stray bullets to the wing. You’re in that tight sage green jumpsuit that he loves so much, the safety harness you’re wearing hugging your thighs and pecs in all the right places.

But he’s not the only one who notices, some private sauntering on over to you like Alejandro isn’t right there. His nostrils flare as he watches you push up your welding mask, greeting them happily. Maybe you know him, or maybe you’re just so sweet that it makes Alejandro’s stomach burn hot and flutter.

He doesn’t need to hear what the private’s saying to know he’s flirting—watching how he leans into your space, puts a hand on your arm, looks up and down your body while you barely notice any of it. Friendly, you just think he’s being friendly.

“You’re leaking,” Rudy’s voice comes from beside Alejandro, nasally as he pinches his nose shut, startling Alejandro from his stupor.

Alejandro grimaces, catching a whiff of his pheromones pouring off of him. Mine, mine, mine, mine.

“Sorry, alero,” he murmurs. Rudolfo’s gaze trails over to you and the private.

“You’d think they would know better by now…”

“You’d think,” Alejandro growls. Rudy eyes the man warily, nose still pinched.

“Why don’t you go… spend some time together,” Rudy says, “I can take over here.”

Alejandro sighs, looking down at the untouched blueprints. You’d asked him to mark down damage to each one so you could keep track of it. There’s only one mark on the paper.

“I owe you,” he finally says, giving Rudy a pat on the shoulder before heading your way.

“Más bien, el soldado raso me debe,” Rudolfo mutters, turning to the workbench.

You turn to Alejandro as he approaches you, smiling. You lean up to give him a quick peck on the lips, and the second you step back Private Pérez is skittering away and out of the hangar.

You raise a brow, then catch a whiff of the scent pouring off of Alejandro, strong eucalyptus and cedar that almost burns your nose but makes you feel foggy at the same time.

“Did something happen?” You ask, pressing a hand to his cheek. He nuzzles into it, eyes closing with a smile as he turns to press a wet kiss to your palm.

He reaches up and takes your hand in his, intertwining your fingers.

“Come with me,” he says low and smokey, his tone making your core drip.

You nod and he smiles, tugging you along behind him as you follow dumbly, brain slowly letting his scent overtake you. You can feel slick gathering between your thighs, and while you’re sure everyone you pass can smell it, you know they wouldn’t dare say a word, not with Alejandro's hand in yours.

He’s on you the second you reach his quarters, lips rough and biting against yours, hands grasping at your hips and pushing you hard against the door as it slams shut. You gasp against his mouth and he grins all sharp and wolfish, the outline of his cock hard and rubbing along your thigh.

You tangle your hands in his slick hair as he trails nibbling kisses down your throat, undoing your jumpsuit as he goes, baring your chest to him. He growls and licks a stripe over your nipple, making you moan as he sucks it harshly, his stubble scratching at your pec.

He moves to the other, giving it the same rough treatment before pulling away, guiding you backward until the back of your knees collide with the bed and you topple onto it. You scramble to grab at him again, wanting to pull him into another searing kiss, only for him to catch your wrists and pin you back down to the bed.

“Alejandro—” you whine, squirming.

“What’s your word, amor?” He purrs, transferring both of your wrists into one of his big hands, your brain already too dazed to focus on what his other one is doing.

“Cowboy,” you breathe, trying to rock down onto his leg he keeps purposefully just out of reach. He smiles again, and you hear the sound of metal clinking before you feel it cold and hard around one wrist, looping through the bedpost, and then the other wrist.

You whimper, feeling his hands skate featherlight down your body, touch so faint you’d think you were imagining it if your eyes were closed.

“Te desean,” Alejandro says, voice low, touch trailing just around your clothed core, the fabric dark and soaked through with your slick, “pero no pueden tenerte.”

You don’t remember closing your eyes, but they snap open at the sound of fabric ripping, a shiver running through your body as Alejandro tears your jumpsuit at the crotch. He’s lucky you packed more.

You can see the wand resting against the dip of his knee, assuming he got it from the drawer the same time he grabbed the handcuffs. You squirm in anticipation, mouth hanging open as the toy comes to life, the soft buzzing filling your senses.

You jolt as he presses the head to your swollen nipple, holding it there so faintly it’s somehow more overwhelming than if he pressed it down. You moan loud and desperate, hips bucking as he watches with rapt attention, drinking you in. His cock is hard and dripping, knot already curiously swelling at the base as he takes in the sight before him.

He trails the wand down, down your sternum, your tummy, down to the mound just above your small, swollen cock. You make a pained noise, trying to shift enough for the vibrator to slip down against the pulsing nub.

“Alejandro, meri jaan,” you cry, brain so overwhelmed with pheromones and base instinct to be bred. He can smell it on you, knot nearly full without having even entered you, nevermind touched himself, “please, pyar—touch me, touch me!”

“You’re so beautiful,” he purrs, voice thick and raspy like he’s struggling to get the words out past the haze of lust, “handsome boy, mi chico guapo. Tell me how you say it.”

The cogs in your brain churn, a full minute passing before you can piece the words together through your moans and cries.

“Mera khobsorat larka,” you gasp.

He smiles, open mouthed and sweating, looking down at you with such adoration, such possession.

“Mera khobsorat larka,” he repeats, and pushes the wand hard against your cocklet. You keen, back arching as an orgasm rocks through you, whole body shivering up and down as your eyes roll back.

The intense vibrations carry you through it, milking your body of its pleasure—it quickly becomes too much. He doesn’t move it away, circling your nub with it, the overstimulation making you shake, tears streaming down your face. You thrash against the handcuffs, booted feet planting on his chest in both an attempt to close your legs and push him away.

“Your word, nene,” he urges, his hand held steady against your core.

You shake your head, biting your lip. You can hear the gravelly, satisfied trill emit from deep in his chest, finally flicking the toy off. Your hips immediately crash back down onto the bed, your whole body going limp as you try to catch your breath. You barely get a moment before you feel his slick, slightly tapered cock sliding between your folds before catching on your hole, pressing in with one sharp movement of his hips.

You croak on a moan, mouth hanging open dumbly, wrists feeling sore. You’re not fully aware at this point, body floating and mind so, so foggy with instinct. Alejandro feels so good inside of you, his thick cock stretching your hole open as he fucks into you slow and steady, yet with a force you can only attribute to his jealousy.

He doesn’t knot you—doesn’t want to push your body to that point without the proper preparation. He instead buries to the bulb and wraps his fist around it, squeezing hard to simulate your tight little hole clenching down around him.

The sound starts as a guttural growl before growing into a loud, moaning shout as he fills you with his cum, indistinguishable from the slick you’re leaking onto the sheets.

He pants against your scent gland as you both come down, scraping his teeth across the swollen flesh to make you shiver—not quite owned yet but close, you’ll be his when the time is right.

You catch your breath and hiccup, letting out a shaky, heart-wrenching noise caught between a sob and a whimper, pulling hard against the cuffs. Alejandro’s immediately on you, somehow steady hands unlocking them to free your wrists.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he murmurs, almost cooing as you grab for him, wrapping your arms over his shoulder and around his neck, trying to bury your face against him. He skates his hands over your body, attempting to soothe your shivering as you come down from your headspace.

#modern warfare #modern warefare 2 #alejandro vargas #alejandro x reader #trans male reader #smut #mine

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lovedinapastlife · 3 years ago

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Rec List

Hey. It’s me. Sunlit Garden on AO3. If you would like to find a bughead fic, beta, be long-term groomed with positive feedback and helpfulness, then have your self-confidence chipped away, be isolated from other support systems, be negged, insulted, and emotionally harassed/toyed with to output to her idea of perfection -- or find someone who did this to others and will most likely weasel their way into doing it again -- I recommend none other than jandjsalmon, the gal who runs theblueandgoldoffice - a handy fic-finding website.

I made a prior post about my personal experience but apparently not everyone knew it was her because I didn’t name her specifically. Hopefully, this is the last post I’ll ever make about her. A lot of wonderful people reached out with similar experiences or sympathy but I’ve also seen some continue to interact with her or rec her as someone to follow. Now, I’m putting it in the tags. Her name is out there. If I see her on rec lists, at least I know the info is out there that she abused me and others and whoever posted didn’t want to deal with having to deal with her bullshit of her harassing them or they think I’m a liar. I have nothing to lose in this fandom or to gain by outing her. I’m doing it because I don’t want her to be introduced to new waves of authors/readers/people will trust her without protecting themselves or doing something to protect others. Unfortunately, me and the victims I talked to did not feel comfortable sharing how much she hurt us with each other until she’d done a fair amount of damage, and we were all trying to make it work with her until we hit a breaking point.

As a reminder... this is just a potential scenario based on past experience.

If you do become mutuals, and she thinks you have an ounce of fandom fame or MIGHT post things she likes if she bugs you enough, she might make you aesthetics, reblog, comment, buddy up to your friends to get closer to you, find out and exploit your insecurities or mental illness, notably withdraw support to prove a point if you like something she doesn’t or even show love for another person who doesn’t love her, keep records of your convos, show them to other people, vague post about you (sometimes even going so far as to message you without you even asking to make sure you know ‘oh it wasn’t about you’ to rub salt in that wound), let her husband talk shit about and to you even when on good terms with her, and try to get involved in your personal life to be your (only) best friend and support system... only to tell you you are nothing without her, people rely on her for recs and she can turn the tides on fandom favorites, you should not write original works because original romance is “disgusting” YA is “immature” and no one likes your work and your mind is too fucked up to be productive without her. No one will love you or have time for you like her.

She will insist you include scenes even if you don’t want them there, then try to claim she helped write your fic in the comments of it when all she did was tell you to add something you already wrote and deleted back in, though she did comment on the doc and talk through your million ideas and pick her favorite OF YOUR OWN IDEAS and help with grammar. She will also tell you at least one of your fics is disgusting and berate you to the point of not wanting to post it, especially if it shows Betty even slightly interested in someone besides Jughead at some point in her life, claiming “that’s not her!” but OOC or Jughead with past/current partners is no problem... and she will be very apologetic to have to tell you and make you feel bad, but brag in DMs of her friends that she “made you change your mind” and “taught you how to think” if you eventually cave and adjust something. Conversations become drags where you agree with what she says just to avoid confrontations and meltdowns sometimes.

If you talk to her and try to rebuild your friendship or set boundaries, she will either lash out or apologize and be good for a few days until she can find a reason to turn on you again. When you distance yourself for protection or make new friends, she will harass you in DMs asking why you unfollowed (even if it’s a tumblr glitch) or followed so and so, why you did or didn’t like something, tell you how awful everyone except her is, and try to get you to talk shit about your own friends when you know she’s talking shit about you, too.

Oh and if you compliment her on something you’re considered good at that she’s insecure about (prompted or unprompted), be prepared to be called a fake liar and a judgmental bitch in general for having an opinion -- yes, even if it’s positive, so imagine how fun it was to disagree on something neither of us even made.

She is not a neutral party when it comes to abuse and harassments either. Despite being very anti-cheating, she stoutly defends the Sprouse brothers despite multiple women and outlets coming forward claiming they cheated on or abused their partners, claiming the sources are “crazy” or “jealous” or “unprofessional.” I have some pretty ironic in retrospect screenshots someone sent me of some of her rants but I won’t post them publicly here. What Jandy told me of her former victims was that they blocked her for no reason. She was nothing but supportive of them and they got too big for their britches and had other friends and abandoned her. I’m sure she says similar if not worse things about me for calling her out and cutting her off.

So yeah, it will be uncomfortable to unfollow, ghost, and/or block her. It might even be inconvenient because of the service she provides to this fandom. But please keep in mind that even the slight fear/dread of her shadow-banning or harassing you is a sign that she’s affected you, too.

If you really miss that one extra comment per chapter, hit me up. I’ve got a lot going on but I’ll make an exception for people who need that extra support as long as I can. For additional support, please see local and online organizations to talk to a professional or volunteer trained to help with emotional abuse, toxicity, depressive, or anxious thoughts like therealdepressionproject. Good luck and have a wonderful day.

#Riverdale fandom negativity #bughead fandom negativity #cw: abuse #jandjsalmon

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clumsyclifford · 3 years ago

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OPENING LINES GAME!

hey guys i saw this tag game and i thought it looked cool so i’m stealing it and starting it in this corner of tumblr :)

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories. (If you have less than 20, just list them all!) See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Tag some people to play the next round!

soooo........here we go, in backwards chronological order:

1. you’re my whole house

Petunia is whining when Calum gets home.

2. crack a smile, stay a while (am i holding for applause?)

Frankly, hosting an open mic in the Student Theatre is a little presumptuous, if Calum’s honest.

3. cut through the static

It starts, as all the greatest modern love stories do, with a DM.

4. no road home

Yellow lines race past.

5. talking shit is cheap (and we talk a lot of it)

“Okay I need you to answer without thinking about it, just say whatever your gut tells you is right,” Michael says as he opens the door.

6. it’s a real do-nothing day

For the first thirty seconds of Niall’s day, everything is wonderful.

7. i’ve been wishing i could breathe underwater

Everything is fine until they get in the water.

8. something to prove (nothing to lose)

There are different degrees of tour bus boredom, but Harry is quite sure playing board games is the highest degree.

9. rebuild, restart (right where we are)

It's taped to the frame of his desktop when he sits down.

10. make the same mistakes ‘til the morning breaks

Calum’s a little drunk.

11. i got a radar for trouble (and you’re a renegade)

For someone who spends so much time hiding in shadows, Jack is unusually wary of them.

12. a change of heart and a silver lining

Calum might be the sole financial benefactor of Bake Station.

13. route our way on maps of stars

Jack is never going to forgive Alex for kissing both Peyton and Baz before his own fucking boyfriend.

14. you seem so damn familiar (technically, this is only this high up in my recent works because i kept updating it, so in fairness i’m going to use the opening line of the last chapter for this one)

According to Jack’s sticky notes, today is January 13th, and Alex is finally in the home stretch.

15. situation overload (do it for baltimore)

“Just go, dude.”

16. i don’t want you to hurt your heart (it can’t be healed by shooting stars)

There's a glow through the tent wall.

17. friends, lovers, or nothing (we’ll never be the in-between)

(22:48) Alex: hey

18. our best years are yet to come (thanks for choosing me)

“We’re not marrying him, Calum,” says Michael, who obviously doesn’t get it.

19. you are my glitter and my gloom (i am so numb without you)

No one can find Alex.

20. we can be pirates

Turns out it’s not the best idea in the world to give a plastic sword to a seven-year-old girl.

the last one lmaoooo i’m glad there’s at least a fair amount of variety among these! across all dimensions! i think “we’re not marrying him, calum” is definitely up there for the best of these. also i clearly enjoy making blanket “everything” statements with my opening lines (the very first line of yssdf is “everything hurts” as well) so that’s something to know i guess, lol.

anyway! this was fun i’m gonna tag a bunch of writer friends now @kaleidoscopeminds @reveriesofawriter @burstingsunrise @cringeycal @igarbagecannoteven @tirednotflirting @allsassnoclass @ashtcnirwin @lifewasradical and hey @calumsclifford if you happen to drop by tumblr and see this you might have fun with this one!! okay love you guys goodbye again

#tag games #you have to admit this is a fun concept #and a NEW one #i have french in half an hour wheeeeeeeee #then im going to make matzah bri i hope #i think it should be matzah bry technically but i refuse to spell it that way #i like bri better it's just more fun to spell it that way #stuff

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mischiefandi · 4 years ago

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Musical Monday - 15.02.21

-> @siriusly-harry asked: Harry styles fine line & Harry Potter :) <3

Tastes like strawberries On a summer evenin' And it sounds just like a song I want more berries And that summer feelin' It's so wonderful and warm

Some of Harry’s best memories are from summer afternoons spent at the Burrow. Part of the reason why is because he’s been welcomed in a loud but loving household, giving him a sense of family he’d never felt before those summer afternoons. The other reason is Ginny. She’s so cool, and thrilling. She’s the sun setting, leaving behind a trail of pink and orange. She’s the smell of fresh lemonade and grass. She emits a brilliant warmth and he can’t get enough of it.

I don't wanna be alone When it ends Don't wanna let you know I don't wanna be alone But I, I can feel it take a hold

Ron has always loved Hermione, just like she’s always loved him. However, it’s much easier to ignore the feeling rather than embrace it. Love is scary because when you care about something, it makes it that much harder to lose. It takes a lot of time and many battles, but Ron finally ends up understanding that that fear is precisely why he should go back to her. She’s a beacon of light guiding him, and he knows he can face anything if he’s by her side.

Walk in your rainbow paradise Strawberry lipstick state of mind I get so lost inside your eyes Would you believe it?

Luna is a dreamer. Life is filled with tiny little delights and noticing them is in her nature. She falls in love with every wondrous thing that crosses her path. She has the very rare talent of seeing something special in anything and everything. Luna is essentially exactly like the pink sunglasses she wears; you slip them on and everything comes in bursts of colour. Anyone would be blind not to see rainbows when catching the gleam in her eye.

Sunflowers Sometimes Keep it sweet in your memory I was just tongue-tied, I don't wanna make you feel bad But I've been trying hard not to talk to you Sunflower

Bravery is one of Neville’s best qualities. He’s fundamentally good and more than willing to prove himself in times of turmoil. He’s a fierce friend and a loyal protector. Because he is human, he also has his weaknesses, the biggest one being himself. He has so much love to give, but the fear of being rejected makes him retreat slowly when that special someone approaches him. He trips over his words, and loses all control, but it all comes from a place of insecurity. He knows it is brave to stand up for his loved ones, but he has yet to learn that sometimes it takes even more courage to stand up for yourself. He’s getting there.

Forget what I said It's not what I meant And I can't take it back I can't unpack the baggage you left. What am I now? What am I now? What if I'm someone I don't want around?

Love has made Cho suffer more than most, especially at such a young age. She’s in a constant state of inner conflict, like she’s at war with herself. She doesn’t know if her feelings are valid, or whether or not they make her a bad person. It’s not easy losing someone you love, but letting yourself move on is even harder. Cho has said things she regrets to the people she cares about, and she wonders if she’ll ever be able to take those words back. What she fails to realise is that she is strong enough to rebuild what’s been broken, and her grief doesn’t make her damaged or unworthy. She will find love again.

I was away And I'm just an arrogant son of a bitch Who can't admit when he's sorry. Don't call me baby again You got your reasons I know that you're tryna be friends

Fred is impulsive and his emotions often cloud his judgment. He’s passionate and cocky, he’s the definition of a playful smirk, but his pride gets in the way when he’s upset about something. It makes it very difficult for him to apologise to the people he cares about, even when he knows he’s in the wrong. However his qualities outweigh his flaws, and because he is a good person at heart, he knows when to give the other person space and time. Even though he's too proud to admit just yet, he’ll always be there.

Test of my patience There's things that we'll never know You sunshine, you temptress My hand's at risk, I fold. Crisp trepidation I'll try to shake this soon

George and Lee have always been mates, friends, companions, partners, but there’s always been something more, tucked away safely between bright red bed covers and tentative fingers. It’s a rare feeling, hiding in plain sight, but it makes the lines blur and spill into a pool of uncertainty. What these young lovers have yet to learn is that affection as pure as the one they share deserves to grow out in the open. It isn’t wrong, thus it shouldn’t have to be treated like a shameful little secret. Both boys deserve honesty and clarity, but more importantly, they both deserve happiness together.

He takes a boat out Imagines just sailing away And not telling his mates He wouldn't know what to say. She She lives in daydreams with me She's the first one that I see

Draco is searching for something. He’s always felt lost, drifting in his family’s direction because that seems like the easiest way to go. As he grows, he starts to realise that this way might seem easier, but it isn’t in the slightest. He dreams of something better, another path he could choose, where he would eventually meet someone who sees him for the man he wants to be. In order for that to happen, he needs to let go of his family’s expectations, and he needs to work on himself. He needs to repair the damage he has caused, and find it in within himself to become a better man. No one can do that for him.

A/N: this was a more Love oriented version of Musical Monday but hopefully you like it! <3 I probably will focus more on matching one specific character to one song next time, but because the theme was love, i couldn’t not mention ships haha. I know George x Lee may seem super random but i read it somewhere once and now they’re canon in my head! Hope u guys enjoyed this Musical Monday, I had a lot of fun working on this! thank you @siriusly-harry for your request, i've added your other one to the list !

tagging everyone in my taglist and mutuals for today but i won’t do it next time so pls make sure to add yourself to the taglist if u want to be tagged next time!!

@stiles-o-dylan24 @duskholland @mersuperwholocked-lowlife@r0s3mm @redstringlovers @captainbuckyyy12 @soincredible@behind-my-hazeleyes27 @cheesecakes-randomshitz@traveleraroundsworld@alwaysforever73 @thelittlestkitsune@glaimtruelovealways@texaskitten30 @abitofeverythinggg @alwaysforever73@hcomet28 @thegirlwhoimagined @cherriesanwine@decaffeinated--fangirl @shutupstyless @x-give-em-hell-kid-x@teen--marvel @soincredible @behind-my-hazeleyes27@bibliophilewednesday @jazminebrightxx @cheesecakes-randomshitz @traveleraroundsworld@perrytheplatypus11 @stixnstripesworld @masterofbluff@drakewalker04 @superapplepie @apatheticanvas67482@theamazingtomholland @earthlyholland @siriusly-harry @solstilla@mrscutiefandobhaz @mrs-mitch-rapp93 @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @isaiahjesus ->

you won’t be tagged anymore unless you’ve added yourself to the Musical Monday taglist here <3

if you any requests, please don’t hesitate to send them in through my askbox! anon is always on, and i’d love to hear your requests! if you have any questions about the concept, be sure to check out this post. if you still have a question, you can def send me a dm or shoot me an ask :)

See you on Monday 01.03.21 (Ron Weasley’s birthday btw haha) at 8 pm CET (= UTC+1) / 7 pm GMT(= UTC) / 2 pm EST (= UTC-5) / 11 am PST (= UTC-8)

#musical monday #harry potter #ginny weasley #hermione granger #ronald weasley #fred weasley #george weasley #lee jordan #luna lovegood #neville longbottom #draco malfoy #hp #v writes

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silverypurple-rosedlions · 5 years ago

Note

I've got two questions! [One is to the Purple Rose: Since it looks like you're an infamous group of killers (psychotic mafia group?), do you have any enemies, and could you name them?] [Two is to the Admin: how are you? uwu]

Admin has allowed all members of The Purpose Rose to answer any questions received.

?????: We're allowed out for asks? Sweet! Look at this!

?!?: Surprise, surprise. The hyungs were right. It's really... Different.

Jeonghan: We've got an ask, boys. Let's not stray too far.

Joshua: *reading ask*...hm.

??: Can we answer this one truthfully?

?: I don't think so. Why should we? What if they take this information and go willy nilly with it? What if they rat us out?

???: We don't have much to offer, honestly. And we have Jeonghan hyung back. They won't touch us when Boss is here. Anyways, it's not like they're on here in general.

????: You never know. Maybe they are.

Jeonghan: I highly doubt it. Those bastards won't show their faces to us again after what they did. Anyways, we've got the upper hand. So, we can answer and say whatever the hell we want. Now, stop making this longer than it should be.

Everyone: Sorry.

Jeonghan: Right then. In honesty, we've made more than thousands of enemies. We run like mafias, but we're nothing but psychotic men creating havoc for the hell of it, but we've got brains. We don't care for money or true power. What we want is blood, revenge, and chaos.

Jeonghan: But. We do have a specific enemy... Enemies, to be exact. This group is more sophisticated, strict, and straightforward. They get the job done quickly, and had been our allies, at first. But they're nothing but dicks for abandoning the Purple Rose during my absence. While my group suffered, trying to regain supplies, care for themselves, find a new base, and out run cops, THEY decided that THEY would LOAD UP and RUN LIKE FUCKING COWARDS, while my group had to go through scraps and rebuild on their OWN.

???: Uh oh...

??: Blue eyes- Guys. BlUe EyEs- He's gone blue eyes!

?????: Back up everyone. *Keeping the group back* Jisoo hyung!

Jeonghan: FUNNY how they PROMISED they'd assist my group NO MATTER how severely scattered they were, and WHAT did they do? LEAVE! I RETURNED TO MY GROUP ONE YEAR LATER TO FIND THEM IN HORRIBLE CONDITION, AND THEY COULD HAVE-

Joshua: *hugs Jeonghan from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder* Jeonghan, that's enough. It's in the past now, and we're doing better with your return. We'll see them again, and when we do, we'll return the gesture, won't we?

Jeonghan: Jisoo-

Joshua: Won't we? *turns Jeonghan to face him*

Jeonghan:...

Joshua: Let's sit down for a bit, and move on from the topic. Boys?

?: Ah! Uh... Yes. Right. The group is on our list to return their "kind" gesture. It's been some time we have seen them, but, the search isn't over. I hope that satisfies your curiosity.

Admin/Moon: Oh dear... Oh! Uh, I'm doing well. Thanks for asking. ^^; I hope you're doing well too.

Tags (if you don't want to be tagged in any of my posts, please dm me so I know and I will remove, or dm me if you also want to be tagged):

🌺 @yourlocal-kitten @aikihades @sophie-svt-13 @waitingwhispers60 @seventeen-chatbot @kpop-shelter @m00n-purplerose-chatbot (this account will be mentioned later on) @hyunjinhwngs (I don't know if you and mango want to be tagged on this, but let me know if you want me to remove the tag) @yangomangos

#seventeen #svt #svt jeonghan #kpop #svt joshua #the purple rose #seventeen carat #seventeen chatbot #chatbots?#chatbot #the purple rose answers #insane!jeonghan #insane!joshua #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #ask response

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xenbiology · 4 years ago

Text

ABOUT

Hello! My name is Professor Alem; though you may simply call me Alem or Professor! My pronouns are they/them. I’m a biologist and author who studies and breeds Xen fauna and their history and relationship with humans. I mainly deal with headcrabs and their domestication, and have even bred a few new types myself! This picture is of me and Paz, a new pattern I am working on :)

I created this blog because I wish to share the information and make it more widely accessible to a human audience, and to answer any questions you all may have on my work!

- ALEM

FAQ

So... what is this blog?

This is a Half-Life based askblog that takes place 200 years after the ending of Half-Life 2, and follows my headcanons of Xen biology! It’s is designed so you can send in questions, which will be answered ‘in character’ by Alem, a vortigaunt scientist. It’s also to keep track of any headcrab characters people might have made/adopted.

If you’re familiar with Professor Peach, it’s something sort of like that. Basically, you’re allowed to send in questions that are responded to by Professor Alem, a vortiguant biologist, as if you were a character in the setting. You’re also welcome to send in ‘ooc’ questions as well though!

I also just reblog a bunch of art and posts revolving around xen biology, as well as some memes and such.

This blog is intended to be 16+ because it might contain some upsetting or potentially NSFW content, but all in a biological format (discussions of animal abuse, art of meat/dissections, discussion of breeding behavior and anatomy, etc). Everything will be tagged generously. There won’t be any condoning of mentioned behavior, and no explicit porn or heavily NSFW images.

If you need anything tagged that I didn’t, please let me know.

So is this a roleplay blog?

Er... not exactly. It’s more of an in-character ask blog. But if you have a similar blog, I wouldn’t be opposed to interacting.

Am I allowed to use these headcanons?

Yes, go ahead! I would be thrilled to see anyone using any of these, or even something based off of these. You’re allowed to mix and match and change anything you want for your own personal use. You’re free to make OCs or characters based on any of this stuff too! Make a headcrab! Make a scientist! Go crazy go stupid!

Am I allowed to do fanart / fanworks of _____?

Yes!!!! You’re 100% welcome to draw (or write about, or.. whatever) Alem, any of Alem’s crabs, your own takes on anything or any biology, or just. Anything from or inspired by this blog! I would love to see it!

If you do, please DM it to me- I don’t check my email often, and don’t see @’s! I don’t mind at all!

Who’s the mod?

Hello! My name is Rhi / Bees / Toad, and I’m the mod here behind Prof. Alem! My pronouns are they/them, please. I’m 21, neurodivergent, nonbinary, and going to college for zoology babey!

I run this blog because I think headcrabs are neat, and I love to worldbuild, especially when it comes to biology! You might recognize some of my art and ideas from my other blogs, listed below.

Main || @toadsong

Half Life / HLVRAI Sideblog || @black-mesa-slut-voice

Art Sideblog || @bees-draws

If you have any questions for me, feel free to send in an ask! Please specify that it’s either directly to me or OOC however, so I know not to answer as Alem!

What exactly is the setting here?

As I mentioned, this blog takes place 200 years after the events of Half-life 2. It sort of... diverges a bit from canon there, since we never got a full conclusion to the story, but this world is working under the assumption that the resistance managed to drive off the Combine from earth, and humanity started to rebuild... but now has alien neighbors and creatures.

Vortigaunts are seen as normal residents and have just as many rights as humans, and it’s not uncommon for them to mingle together as complete equals. Though vortigaunts didn’t used to have names, they must at least legally choose a name to put on paperwork; and many vorts choose to use it for the ease of humans around them, since they’re not tapped into the vortessence.

A lot of animals are extinct in this universe due to the Combine, which is part of why aliens as pets and livestock is much more common. There’s also several new and synthetic species created in the absence of some, which were made by humanity thanks to leftover Combine knowledge.

Technology is roughly in the modern-day level, though some knowledge is more advanced than today’s thanks to leftover Combine tech, and some knowledge is less advanced or lost completely thanks to the destruction of information databases by the Combine. But roughly 2020′s level tech!

Where’s Gordon/Barney/Alyx/etc?

Unfortunately, despite the tech advances, immortality hasn’t been invented yet, and most people can’t live for 200+ years. They’re long passed by now... though the vortigaunts never truly let them be forgotten. Thanks to the vortessent hivemind, Alem knows them just as well as any other vortigaunt knew them. You’re welcome to ask them questions, though they may not be comfortable answering. I have lots of headcanons on them as well, which I might sprinkle in, lol.

RULES

Do not interact with this blog if you’re a bigot. This means do not interact if you’re LGBT+phobic of any kind, antisemetic, a nazi, anti-blm, pro-cop/’blue lives matter’, racist, ‘pro-ship’/pedo/MAP, etc. This includes transphobia, biphobia, and panphobia. If you’re nasty you know who you are. Get outta here!

On that note- despite the warning above, this blog will not particpiate in any political discussion or drama. I simply do not want nasty people interacting with this blog. If you want to discuss anything, at the very least, go to my main/sideblogs. The exception of this is if I reblog something from a nasty person/source- I try to do a brief check of who I reblog from, but sometimes I’m tired or lazy. If you notice content come from a questionable blog, let me know, and I’ll remove it!

Please try not to send in overly explicit or horny questions. Though this blog may discuss mature themes, such as discussions of breeding behavior and anatomy, it’s not going to be horny in nature.

Be aware that if your question is ‘in character’, Alem may refuse to answer it. Unless you’re a recurring person or someone they feel comfortable with, don’t send anything overly weird or personal. Alem is a professional, and is always more than happy to share things they know (sometimes too much), but even they have a line they won’t cross sometimes. On the other hand, even if Alem might not answer it, I probably will! I love to answer questions, even more than Alem :D

#ooc

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alleiradayne · 6 years ago

Photo

Here In My Car

Summary: Wherever they go, wherever the road takes them, they'll be home. Square Filled: Home Warnings/Tags: Angst, fluff, Baby POV Characters/Pairings: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Mary Winchester (mentioned), John Winchester (mentioned), Sal Moriarty (mentioned). Word Count: 647 A/N: For @spnbromentbingo. Thanks for beta’ing @atc74. :) Song: Cars by Gary Newman, covered by Fear Factory

Dean sat a hell of a lot like John when he drove. Right hand on my wheel, left elbow on the arm of the door, and a casual lean towards the window, Dean fit that bench seat like a leather glove. Not that Sam felt any less familiar when he slid in to drive. But he felt distinctly different than his brother. And his dad. Hell, he even felt different than Mary. That boy always sat a little lighter, ready to run with one foot out the door, waiting for his chance.

And for a while, he had. I missed him those years he was away. Something about his touch completed the family. Sure, John and Dean took good care of me. But Sam wore his heart on his sleeves. He showed me the rare, raw side of his family the others hid. He often talked when he thought no one listened. I did. I was always there for him when nobody else could be. I had been there for all of them when they felt they had nothing left, alone in a cruel world bereft of mercy. After Mary… damn, those boys deserved better.

But now that I think about it, they did something pretty fucking extraordinary considering their circumstances. Most folks bury their dead and move on. But not the Winchesters. No, they did the exact opposite. With nothing to put in the ground and vengeance in their hearts, they set out on a mission, a burden that they would carry on well into their adult lives. I wish John had been around to see them fight the good fight to the end. He would have been so proud.

I'm honored to have known such an incredible family. Honored doesn't really do it justice. Humbled. And yet, deified at the same time. I wouldn't be where I am today were it not for them. I couldn't have hoped for better caretakers. I rolled off the line to silence. I don't remember who first started me, or who first sold me. I don’t remember Sal much, either. I don’t remember who brought me to that used lot where a stranger—a stranger that looked an awful lot like Dean—convinced John to buy me.

I do remember that first day with John, though. And meeting Mary. She came ‘round eventually. I don’t blame her for not being all that crazy about me to start. But it didn’t take long. She fell in love with me, too. Just like John.

Most of all I remember those boys. After Mary and then John, Dean and Sam did their best by me. And through all the scrapes and scratches, crashes and rebuilds, I’m still here. Because of them. Green army men, Legos, engravings, the whole lot, I’m still me. I’ve loved them since the day they were each born and hope to see them through to the end of their time. And with the two of them taking care of me all my years, I think I’ll make it through another hundred thousand miles before the block needs a fourth overhaul. That is, if Sam doesn’t get us t-boned again. I jest. Sort of.

When the rear passenger door opened and Sam slumped into the backseat, I hoped he found comfort there. And when Dean crawled into the front, sprawled out as best he could, I hoped he found a little more rest than usual. It appeared they’d had another rough night. Bruises, sore spots, and a few bloody cuts sapped them of any energy they had left. But they were home, safe and sound, with me.

“G’nite, bitch,” Dean said as he rolled to his side, his coat bunched beneath his head against the door.

Sam smiled as he leaned back, head resting on the sill. “’Nite, jerk.”

At least they were home. Safe and sound.

With me.

The Whole Thang:

@atc74 @hannahindie @bevans87 @meganwinchester1999 @plaided-ani-on-hiatus @oneshoeshort @jonogueira @andkatiethings @elfinmox @wonderfulworldofwinchester @princessofthefandomrealm @just-another-busyfangirl @jmekitchens @81mysteriouslyme @dolphincliffs @seenashwrite @canadianspnhunter @meowmeow-motherfucker @depressed-moose-78

Sam’s Sasstresses:

@morganas-pendragons

Dean’s Dames:

@supernatural-jackles

Reblogs and feedback are awesome. If you want in on the tags, send me an ask or a DM!

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN BROMENT BINGO MASTER LIST

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN MASTER LIST

#alleiradayne writes #spn fanfic #spnbromentbingo #spnbromentbingo2019 #bromentbingo

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nitroxylin · 7 years ago

Text

A Collection of (Not So) Nitoral Opinions and Questions regarding dungeonmemester’s TOF

DISCLAIMER: Opinions from this collection might not match those of yours. I’m in no way a game designer, I just read rulebooks and sometimes play and run games of roleplaying variety.

Not that I’m doing RPG reviews, and not that I know how to make them right, but here’s a curious example that’s being posted as teasers and musings: Project TOF by @dungeonmemester, also known as @wearenecromancers. A homebrew project? On my dash? My reaction is more likely than you think, and so I present this set of opinions on various parts of this project, organized by posts I react to.

GENERAL GOALS (the post)

[THAT POST IS DEEMED OUTDATED BY ITS AUTHOR. OPINIONS AND QUESTIONS ABOUT IT MIGHT BE OUTDATED AS WELL]

Good old attempts to fix D&D once more.

High degree of character customization that rewards players for taking the time to learn more about the system

This one is definitely going to be tricky (you can accidentally repeat the ivory tower design of 3.pf with options designed to be bad), especially if you’re also listing this:

Easy to play in practice, not just on paper

Given that the project is based on 3.pf and 5e, it should be noted that these systems definitely are not easy to play with their inconsistent mechanics and lots of stuff to be aware of.

Individual characters are not good at everything, and probably have flaws/things they’re bad at - not just things they’re good at and thing’s they’re average at

I’d like to dispute that, but I’m afraid that I don’t have enough knowledge and experience to explain my position. I can presume that this point is aimed first and foremost at almighty casters and similar archetypes – correct me if I’m wrong here.

Don’t hide all the cool stuff behind irl years worth of play time, let the game be cool now - things where made to be enjoyed

Now this one is absolutely right, and I fully support that notion. If a player wants to play a char who can do A Thing, that char should be able to do That Thing from the get-go (yes, this includes level 1, if we imply level-based progression). An example - magic-wielding knights are not an uncommon archetype, yet in 5e you need at least two (if multiclassing) or three (if taking the Eldritch Knight route) levels for that. This obviously reduces variety.

Make medieval fantasy less Euro-centric

I don’t oppose de-eurocentrizing fantasy, but I have concerns whether it’s truly medieval in anything but outward appearance; however, I might be unable to explain that position further, especially given that this point and its subpoints are less about system design and more about worldbuilding.

Challenge the Tolkienesque norms of contemporary medieval fantasy

(another unexplainable opinion of mine: it’s far more D&Desque than it is Tolkienesque; again, this is worldbuilding and thus not directly tied to systems, but I should probably note that just taking species known from D&D and rebuilding them into versions specific for your game’s default setting isn’t exactly challenging the norms - especially if we take gnomes, who were made kinda popular with D&D; you’re just replacing one set of assumptions with another set)

Make a transparent system that is easy to add balanced new content to, as the ins-and-outs are readily available to DMs who want to make new classes, creatures, spells, etc.

This might seem like a solution to inadequate variety... if you’re used to classes and other prepackaged character building blocks. While class-based systems have some advantages in form of players being able to skim their options and just pick a package of abilities, be it class, race, or anything else, they often cannot support concepts that aren’t prewritten as classes (or anything else) – and this issue should be taken into consideration. You can make guidelines for making new stuff, but going away from strict 3.pf/5e-style classes might help even better, like Stars Without Number (Revised)-style broad classes or charbuilding of generic systems without classes and levels.

[OUTDATED PORTION ENDS]

HIGH FANTASY AND ITS POWER LEVELS (the post)

A repost of an interesting observation by @prokopetz that hopefully represents the TOF’s designer’s views too. Going equally big whether the char in question casts magic spells openly, forges weapons, or is just very, very good at fighting is a thing I can get behind. (And yes, 4e tried to fix that (not without results), and people were angry enough to spawn Pathfinder - maybe some of those who play 3.pf play it not despite this issue, but because of it?) ASKING FOR OPINIONS ON 3.PF and 5E (http://dungeonmemester.tumblr.com/post/163834841809/project-tof-dd-edition-reviews; for some reason, Tumblr doesn’t allow me to embed this link)

Asking people about their experience with systems the developers are trying to fix is definitely good. That said, I should probably respond to this post with a separate reblog.

KAIJU CREATURE TYPE (http://dungeonmemester.tumblr.com/post/164012592174/i-cant-believe-i-didnt-think-to-add-a-kaiju; same as above - seems like Tumblr has a limit on embedded links)

Is that type really needed though? Fantasy has its own giant monsters of various sorts, it has dragons. Tarrasques as some weird singular unkillable creatures surely seem like a D&D invention.

ON SPECIES AND DIVERSITY, pt. 2 (http://dungeonmemester.tumblr.com/post/164200250854/why-diversity-is-good-for-dd-from-a-mechanical)

I’m singling this one out for its mechanical considerations. Having characteristics not set in stone (”all X are like this, no exceptions”) is definitely better than the approach of 3.pf (and 5e, to a lesser degree). Some of the listed elven features, however, are still based on D&D stereotypes, but I hope this would be fixed.

ON SPECIES AND DIVERSITY, pt. 3 (http://dungeonmemester.tumblr.com/post/164203248404/why-diversity-is-good-for-dd-from-a-mechanical)

In a class-based game with significant reliance on characteristics (which D&D is), being able to combine any class with any species and not be penalized for that choice is definitely good, but there is one more thing to consider: minmaxers are still going to pick the best species for their class statwise, and being best for them is having bonuses to that class’ core characteristic, be it Int for wizards or anything else; not having penalties is good for them, but not good enough as having bonuses.

With such ties of required characteristics and classes that make use of them, I present an option that might seem insane: drop any stat modifications from species; instead of that, just give classes the exact stats they need.

ON CULTURAL DIFFERENCES (http://dungeonmemester.tumblr.com/post/164807722979/more-on-writing-the-sentient-creatures-of-your)

This post (which, for some reasons, doesn’t come up by tag in its author’s blog) raises a completely valid point, which I’m not arguing with, and also further defines the project’s approach as “species are for biological traits, culture comes separately“. That said, it’s weird to see an optional species trait of longbow proficiency (doesn’t sound as a biological trait, does it?) in the writeup for elves. I hope this would be fixed as well.

Looking outside D&D would certainly help; Stars Without Number (especially its Revised version) treats background as a thing completely separate from your biology, which can give you stat-ups and skills that might directly help your role or become useful secondary abilities - and I’m not even suggesting classless and levelless generic systems!

ON ALIGNMENT (http://dungeonmemester.tumblr.com/post/164320489559/re-working-alignment-for-project-tof-is-getting)

Given the eternal wars around D&D alignments, I would like to see your reasoning on keeping it as a concept in general (also, alignments and other cosmic forces of similar scale definitely are setting assumptions).

ON ENCOUNTERS PER DAY (http://dungeonmemester.tumblr.com/post/164641801274/encounters-per-day)

“Recent statistics show that more and more DM’s are running story-driven campaigns with only one or two of what Matthew Colville aptly describes as “set-piece battles” per day. His Reddit post aligns with a lot of my own thoughts around the rise of narrative-driven entertainment and the consequential fall of old-school, combat-driven D&D.” (Tumblr seems to have a limit on certain tags per post. Hmm.)

This looks like something I would like to discuss further, but not with my current knowledge and experience. However, this point...

“This will most likely involve re-working how magic and spells-per-day work. I’d also like to avoid the pitfall that 4th edition D&D fell into, where the classes where balanced simply because they were basically all just re-skinned wizards. While mechanical balance across a variety of games is important to me, it is also important that each class be unique.”

...raises a question from me; what do you mean by saying that all classes of 4e were wizards? Because of activated abilities for everyone? Because of limiting their daily use (again, nobody calls 3.pf barbarians with their rage X times per day wizards, not does anyone call 5e battlemasters wizards, although their superiority dice are limited too)? And what makes you think that classes of 4e are not unique?

ON TOOLS OF VIOLENCE (http://dungeonmemester.tumblr.com/post/165206628533/weapons-damage-balance)

This approach is simplistic and definitely viable, but if you’d like to hear about alternatives, OGL-based Legend RPG has absolutely every weapon set deal the same baseline damage; the differences come from qualities (and players definitely can pick enough qualities for their chars’ weapons) and pure flavor (the rulebook explicitly says that your char can be fighting with a sword... or with two swords... or with twenty swords at once - just pick qualities that represent your view on how it works).

ON WHAT GAMEPLAY TOF IS FOR (http://dungeonmemester.tumblr.com/post/165214104839/gameplay)

The aim to make the system fitting for story-driven games is understandable, given that nearly everyone tries to fit some plot, but D&D has perhaps too many assumptions that inevitably inject combat and dungeon crawling in games on it (and if you somehow end up without it, why even play D&D? there are other systems that do stuff besides combat and dungeon crawling far better). If you’re going to base your system on D&D (and you seem to be going to), please, take this into consideration. For more examples, you can check Fate (Core or Accelerated) and/or other narrative-focused systems (which FFG SW RPGs are not, even though they have a somewhat bigger narrative focus than D&D has and mechanics to support on-the-fly story progression and twists), if you haven’t done so already. And yes, people try to make D&D do stuff that isn’t supported by it; this means that they need to be shown other systems that might suit their needs better - for many, D&D is THE RPG with no alternatives imaginable.

ON LIFESPANS AND MEASUREMENTS (http://dungeonmemester.tumblr.com/post/165214307634/hey-when-its-not-past-midnight-on-a-sunday-night)

Regarding lifespans - have you ever experienced a D&D-based game (a module, a campaign, any length) where lifespans mattered as a gameplay factor? If so, please specify; in most cases, lifespans aren’t a balancing factor in any way and are just a flavor feature.

Regarding measurements - if you’re speaking tradition, then you can’t truly ask hobbyists to switch to anything (the lonely grave of 4e.jpg); an episode of their unwillingness to switch resulted in Pathfinder, and its upcoming second edition might become a victim to the same doom. Also, imperial measurements are widespread in tabletop gaming because of a single major reason: authors and publishers of the field’s cornerstone games (D&D and Warhammer) were American and British respectively. Feel free to write your game on metric, most of the world uses it.

ON ASSUMPTIONS (http://dungeonmemester.tumblr.com/post/165230006029/gameplay)

and

ON TYPES OF MAGIC (http://dungeonmemester.tumblr.com/post/171399156842/magic-in-project-tof)

and

ON GNOMES AND ASSUMPTIONS

(http://dungeonmemester.tumblr.com/post/172633204994/wearenecromancers-i-can-think-of-a-few-gniches)

Yes, I’m still concerned. The project seems to take out one set of assumptions... to replace it with another set, and this sounds like a problem. You say that you want to make less setting assumptions, yet you write halflings as rabbit-based three-eyed creatures (I’ve seen something like that in your blog, correct me if I’m wrong), plan to have cosmic force-style alignments, and your definitions of rangers’ and paladins’ and warlocks’ and other classes’ abilities and flavor seem identical to (or very closely based on) those of D&D - that’s already a lot of assumptions about a given TOF-based campaign setting a GM could use, and more restrictive ones at that. Checking some systems that are less constrained in charbuilding blocks than D&D (especially the generic ones, where you can easily build your own elves and halflings) might help.

If any opinion or passage from this post seems unnecessarily aggressive, please comment and explain why. Feel free to comment anything else, I’ve started this post specially for civil discussions.

P.S. Holy gosh. Tumblr really can’t digest large posts.

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