#what else might my loved ones know about me after years of being incapable of shutting up

[skecherss]

one of the worst ways of all time to be Perceived is when you've sorta assumed that the other person has willfully ignored everything about you for the whole time you've known each other. and then they casually drop some crucial knowledge that you think you've guarded in your heart like some secret idol and it feels like your flesh has been stripped. from the bone.

[morgana-ren]

I DONT KNOW IF YOU WRITE FULL FICS BUT IF YOU DO PLEASE WIRTE ONE ABOUT TGAT LAST ASK.

Just about Astarion sitting in his throne of sorts, in the palace, with tav sitting in his lap. He’s bored, tav sits there- dissociating and wishing they were anywhere else. He asks them if they’d like to do something fun and they say something like “Only if you do my lord” and he saddens some, expecting them to come up with something fun like they used to but they can’t think of anything that he would approve of them doing after so many years of breaking them down and he realizes it’s gotten so dull because tav was the person that brightened his life

"Awfully dull today, hmm? How would you like to do something fun, my love?"

It's an oh-so rare quiet day in the Crimson Palace, and his favorite source of amusement sits placidly on his lap, silent as the grave and still atop him. Content as he is in the peaceful quiet with solely her company, he'd spend the day with her doing– well, something, surely. It’s been a while since they’ve had any time to themselves to truly enjoy each other’s company alone. In fact, he cannot recall the last time with any distinct accuracy.

It seems so terribly long since they've had any time to themselves. Being a Lord keeps you awfully busy.

In a tender moment, he reaches forward to brush a stray strand of hair out of her face and behind her ear with a long, pale finger. She doesn’t react save a slight instinctual flicker of her lashes. Not a hint of expression on her face. He expects her to lean into his touch as she used to and is almost shocked when she does not.

Odd, he thinks. She hardly even seems to notice anything at all.

It’s almost like she isn’t entirely present.

Still, before he can chastise her, she responds to his bid for her attention.

"If that is your wish, my lord,” She responds to his question, lifeless and monotone. Perfectly obedient, just as befits her, and yet—

He frowns, just a little. It irks him, but now that he thinks about it, he cannot recall the last time he saw enthusiasm on her face– or much of anything at all aside from the blank, hollow mask she has now. Completely impassive and unresponsive in a cruel sort of practiced indifference. 

He studies her for a moment and comes to the conclusion that it reminds him of the robots they found in that strange tower in the Underdark so long ago. Programmed to respond to the right things and make the right moves, but utterly incapable of acting on her own whims. Eternally awaiting instruction. 

Empty. Robotic. Precise and yet disingenuous somehow. Eerily so.

Has she been like this before? Has he simply not noticed?

Perhaps she just needs to awaken a little more. It was such a long night, and he had kept her remarkably busy. She must be exhausted, but surely, she will perk up. She always does. 

Doesn’t she?

“Come, darling. What would you like to do?” He jostles his knees, dandling her on his legs like one might a small, particularly grumpy child. She bumps up and down, only reaching to steady herself on the sides of his throne. 

“Whatever would please you would please me, my lord.”

He groans, rolling his red eyes, a very sudden burst of irritation bubbling in his gut. Always with the My lord, My lord, scraping and bowing like some sort of indentured serf. Proper respect is important, of course, but for the first time in a while— longer than he can honestly think back on, to be honest— they are entirely alone. He is her Lord, yes, but she knew him by another name once– did know him by another name. She knows better than to tease him in front of his vassals but surely—

He can’t remember the last time she said his name. 

His real name. 

How long since he has truly sat by her side and talked with her? Spent time with her? He's been so busy, laying plans and waste, conquering and shedding blood of those who oppose him. The Lord Tyrant, come to rule over his dominion of Eternal Night. She is always by his side, never straying and yet— 

(“I love you, Little Star,” She’d laugh, planting a chaste kiss on the tip of his nose, which would promptly crinkle in annoyance. 

“I’m not ‘Little Star,’ and I’ll never understand why you insist on calling me that.” 

“That’s what your name means, doesn’t it? Little Star? Or perhaps Little Starlight– I don’t really remember.”

“Then why make that my pet name?" He rolls his eyes, annoyed at the use of his own childish moniker that follows him like a shadow to anyone who speaks even a lick of his native language. "Of all the things your brilliant little mind can concoct, you give me a child’s handle? I’m strong, dashing, capable, handsome, fearsome– but instead you choose that absurdity” 

“Because you’re my little star!” And she would smile so brightly that it seemed impossible in the darkness, and he could not help but smile himself. “My light in the darkness. My Astarion, for as long as you want to be. And I love you.” 

His expression would soften once again and he would simply sigh, pulling her close to kiss her temple. The night was cold, but she was so impossibly warm against him, somehow fitting perfectly in his lap and into his heart, where she’d wormed her way in against his own will. The dim firelight reflects in her eyes as she tells him again that she loves him forever if he’ll have her, and he can think of nothing he’d desire more than to ride out the endless night of eternity with her here on his lap, cradled close.)

Something gnaws at him. Something raw and edged with a vicious sort of misery he’d done so well to avoid in ages. He cannot place it but as he looks at her, his stomach is as a dark, abyssal pit, circling and swelling like a maelstrom. 

Something is wrong.

He cannot place the negative emotion, and so he does as he always does now, making the strange yearning her responsibility to soothe. 

He lashes out at her. 

“I’m growing bored,” He says with a cold, cruel edge to his voice. “You know how much I dislike boredom, don't you, darling?"

What he seeks is a reaction. A sudden spark of life from within her. For her to grab his hand and take him to do— to do something. Surely—

And yet, with a motion so fluid that it implies an aged and practiced skill, she slides from his lap down to her knees before him, reaching towards the laces of his breeches. There is nothing behind her eyes as she extends her hand forward to unlace him, hardly even seeing him. Nothing at all. 

“What are you doing?” He slaps her hands away, scowling down at her, taken back by her brashness. 

“You said you were bored, my Lord.”

“And why would you think–” 

Because that is what he’d taught her. 

That her body was built for his amusement; his temple to defile at will. Because of the cold nights in the castle after so many years where he would reach for her, and she would quiver and shake her head with eyes rimmed red and puffy and beg to be left untouched and yet he would speak the words without thinking and she would bend for him any way he wished. 

Because even as she would obey, she would cry and turn away, and he would give it little thought until one night the crying and protesting simply stopped. He thought she had learned. Made peace with her duties and loyalty to him and what it entailed. Mayhaps she had come to realize that her theatrics had little impact on him and surely, he wasn’t so wretched to her now that these waterworks were necessary. His touch could not repulse her so that her weeping was remotely acceptable. She loves him, surely she—

Because he would command her until she would kneel, and so now, she kneels without command.

He sighs, breathing the fire from his lungs, reaching down to pull her back up into his lap. She does not respond, only obeys in kind to his guiding instruction as he settles her back down on his legs. He finds a semblance of patience from within himself which is a strange and unusual feeling, mustering it up to once again ask:

“My dear, what is it that you would like to do?” 

Her head cocks. She does not understand. 

"What would you enjoy? If you had the freedom to do anything, what might it be?"

It takes a moment, but for the first time, a reaction: Confusion. It is slow to take hold but becomes blaringly apparent as it does. It is not as if she doesn’t know the answer, but almost as if she doesn’t understand the question. 

“Whatever you would like to do, my Lo–”

“No, no, darling. What is it you would like to do?” He impresses, harsher this time, and she flinches, recoiling from… something. 

From him.  

If her heart was still capable of beating, he'd be able to hear the way it pumps into overdrive. As it stands, he cannot, but he is aware no less. Her scent changes entirely around him to something that has his brows furrowing. Shortness of breath, dilating pupils, hands beginning to quake— Adrenaline. Steel-edged anxiety. As if this is not a question at all, but rather a test and she does not know the answer, and failure means his displeasure and his displeasure means–

"I— What would you—" She hard-swallows, harrowed by the open-endedness of the question. "—I want what—"

("Come to the meadow with me, Asto," She would grab his hand with a mischievous smile when their compatriots were fast asleep, tugging him up from the comfort of his bedroll. "I want you to come with me."

"It's late, darling. Wouldn't you rather come here and lie with me?" He would try to tug her back down playfully, but would fall against her aggressive temerity, being pulled to his feet through her sheer will. She would stifle her giggling with a hand as she guided him past their slumbering companions, through the tree line and deep into the forest. 

"Come on, lazy boy, come! Come with me!"

"Well, I'm trying to—"

She would hush him and yank him by the wrist, out into the field where he'd first had her, down once more into a bed of wildflowers and long grass. Her melodic laugh like a strange song as she yanks him to the ground despite his weak protests until she would lie her head on his chest and trace gentle patterns on his white shirt against his flexed chest. 

"We don't have to come all the way out here to make love, darling—" He would move to try to kiss her, but she would adamantly press her head against his torso, insisting he stay down in the dirt with her. 

"I'm not trying to seduce you," She would giggle, pointing at the star-spangled sky. "I want to lie under the stars with you." 

"But… why?"

"Because I know we'll have eternity to do it, but it's my favorite moon tonight and it reminded me of you."

He squints, struggling to find anything different about it at all. "I don't notice anything, darling. It looks very much like the moon we see every night." 

"It's so full and bright! Look at the rays!" She holds her hand out as if to cradle a silvery moonbeam in her palm. "It reminds me of the color of your hair." 

She reaches over him to delicately pluck something from the grass, tucking it gingerly behind his ear after she does so. "These poppies are the same beautiful deep red of your eyes in the moonlight. I feel safe here; home, with you. I just wanted to enjoy it for a moment. Just the two of us."

He would wrap his arms around her waist, squeezing so tightly that she would gasp and worm about, trying to return the favor, and yet he would not relent. 

"I want you to feel safe with me," he would whisper into her hair, desperately trying to memorize the scent of it, as if expecting Bhaal himself to come and steal her from his frantic embrace. "Now and forever, I want to feel home in your arms, with you.")

He thinks, for a moment, to return to that meadow, and that perhaps his love— the one he remembers— will return to him. As if her ghost still lingers there, trapped and waiting to be rescued. 

He can’t. 

It is not a meadow any longer, but a battlefield, not unlike the vile destruction left in Ketheric's wake at Raithewait; another one in a million places sacrificed in his conquest for glory, littered with bodies and bones. A graveyard tribute to his power, scorched soil and dead grass. No flowers bloom there anymore— there is nowhere for them to bloom between the suffocating aura of death. 

All that is left is a beautiful memory buried beneath a river of dried blood, and you cannot water flowers with dried blood or wean them on bone dust. That meadow is one moment suspended in time as trapped in amber, impossible to claw free from its temporal prison. He cannot remember the last time he saw that jovial smile she had saved just for him in that damned meadow. 

He cannot recall the last time she said the words "I love you" and cried his name as a preternaturally beautiful siren song without being commanded. 

He frowns, feeling something strange and haunting in his chest. Something viciously clawing up his throat as he looks at her: at her empty red eyes that were once the most beautiful color, full of love and life when she looked upon him; at her contorted expression that used to be as radiant as the sun and he could have sworn that her light could have sustained him through the dark, miserable nights of his eternal curse if only she was by his side; at the frailty of her body that almost seems to creak and break beneath his weight. 

"My love, look at me."

And she does, if not by command, then by instinct. 

"Smile for me, will you? Can you do that for me?" 

And she does, her lips turning upward and raising to reveal two sharp teeth— and nothing more. It's uncanny and revolting and wrong. There is nothing behind her eyes, nothing at all. No light, no life, and certainly no love. 

He used to be able to see himself in her eyes. How her heart sang for him, cheeks blossoming with blood at the sight of him. He could hear her heart rabbit behind her ribs, her hands quaking with excitement to touch him even in the most innocent of ways. Through her eyes, he found his own value— his own worth— and finally began to understand that he deserved love; he deserved happiness. She had healed him, giving almost all of herself to do it, selflessly and without asking for anything in return even as he despised himself and refused his own agency—

And she stares at him now with soulless eyes, he is left to wonder if he has taken too much from her in his quest to take everything. Wonders if she will ever be that lovestruck, moon-eyed girl again, wanting nothing more than to lie under the moonlit meadow with him. If she will ever kiss his eyelids as a delicate butterfly and whisper eternity in his ear. If she will ever feel safe and home and loved around him again in his embrace–

Save she is no longer quaking with anticipation at his touch, but trembling from fear, lost and terrified at the posing of a simple question. Her scent is foreign even as it is familiar and he cannot recall when it began to change. There is something in her eyes that haunts him, and though he can see himself within him, what stares back is not him. A terrible realization rakes knives down his soul, a gaping maw threatening to swallow him whole. A tightening in his lungs, and even as he does not breathe, he does not believe he could even if he tried. 

“Darling?” 

“Yes, my Lord?” 

Her face is impassive once more. Perfect porcelain expression. Not a crack in the mask. Not a wrinkle in the facade. Practiced day in and day out until it becomes real. He remembers it well.

How long has it been? How long since he has looked at her? Truly looked at her? Spoken to her? Told her he loved her? 

Showed her he loves her?

When was the last day he did not command from her that which she begged not to willingly give?

He cannot remember. He cannot recall. 

He demanded and she had no choice but to give. More and more and more. He drained her dry and now where was once his sacred oasis, there is nothing at all. No matter how long he looks, there is never a flicker of anything in her glassy eyes. 

He wonders if even as he has gotten everything he has ever wanted, he lost the one thing he needed. 

It paralyzes him. For the first time in an ageless eternity, he feels something: Panic. 

Even his endless power cannot bring her back. His beloved is dead, and he has killed her. Upon him sits a pretty corpse, empty and devoid of all that made her her. A doll with her face. A doll with barely even that. 

Her laugh, her smile. Her passion and desire and love. The tenderness inside of her and the warmth she once held. Everything that pulled him from his shell and showed him how to love once more. He bloomed in her light– and then snuffed it out entirely. 

How long has it been? How long has she been gone?

Though she may be undying, he realizes with horror akin to a dawning sun that she is gone– and has been for some time. 

“You seem stressed, my Lord? How can I make you happy again?”

Second part of the story HERE

[its-time-to-write]

three times ‘cause i’ve waited my whole life

I am apparently incapable of writing anything short. This has no plot. I think the only warnings are like swearing and innuendo. It is literally just Jamie and the reader being in love. I cannot stress enough how little plot this has. Enjoy.

three times ‘cause I’ve waited my whole life It’s one of Richmond’s biggest games. They’re facing Man City on their turf, an away game, and it’s a big deal.

It’s not important in that it really matters to their status in the premier league, but important because it’s Man City. Jamie has thrown himself completely into training, so you rarely see him except to eat dinner and then fall asleep, his arms around your waist as you watch tv, fingers combing through his hair. He’s awake before you are, but as soon as you hear him switch on the bathroom light, you make your way downstairs to make him breakfast. The team nutritionist had a strict diet for him, one modified by Roy to account for all the extra training. You rub sleep from your eyes as you brew a pot of tea, waiting for Jamie to come downstairs.

Arms snake around you as you wait at the stove for the tea.“You don’t have to do this,” Jamie says, kissing your neck. You smile and reach back to him.

“I know,” you reply, “It’s just the only time I really get to see you.”

Jamie pulls away and turns you around. You see that he’s frowning.

“I haven’t been a good boyfriend recently, have I?” he asks.

You smile, lacing your arms around his neck. “Jamie. This is just a part of life. You have a big game, you disappear for a while, I miss you and I adjust. You finish, win or lose, and we’re back. I knew what I was signing up for.”

He puts his hands on your wrists. “Yeah, but, like, we’re supposed to be talking to each other and shit. And I’m so tired all the time that I can’t think of anything to say. I also’ve been a shit listener. Can’t even remember what we talked about yesterday.”

You sigh, move his hands back to your waist, and then reach up to smooth the furrow in his brow.

“Remember when I had all that extra work last month and ended up working 60 hours a week because of everything that had to be done? I was up late every night, and all you did was bring me food and kiss me, then you left me alone. I think the longest we were together was when you let me sit with my legs on your lap for two hours. I didn’t hear you complaining.”

“Yeah but-”

You cut him off: “Jamie. It’s just life right now. It’s not forever. It’s ok.”

He looks like he has more to say, but is interrupted by the kettle whistling. You give him a quick kiss and then point to his breakfast on the counter. You sit on the kitchen island while he eats, with your head on his shoulder until Roy comes.

—

Here’s the thing; no one knows you and Jamie are together. Sure, Roy knows. But Jamie loves Roy. Keeley knows. But Jamie said you’d love Keeley. (You did). Ted and Beard know, but only because they saw you two walking around the Richmond green late, late at night. (What they were doing on the Richmond green that late is beyond you, but hey). It wasn’t long after that that Jamie put a picture of you two up in his locker, so then all of AFC Richmond knew. But you weren’t public public. You had yet to show up in a tabloid or be seen with Jamie at a game or public event. You went to his games, absolutely, but you stayed in the stands, not the box.

He always got you a spot as close to the field as possible, but you would always meet up with Keeley and Rebecca after games to rendezvous somewhere else later. 

You don’t mind. It doesn’t feel like Jamie is ashamed of you, especially because the people he cares about know. But you also know that you can handle it, and if he wants to go public and kiss you in the stands after a win, you would be ok with that. (You might be more than ok with that).

But as it is, no one knows about you. He knows where you stand on it, so the ball’s in his court. It’s been a year of this, but you just wonder how long it’s going to last.

—

Finally, finally it’s the week of the game. You had been staying in Manchester with Jamie’s mum, which was absolutely terrifying at first. It was not your first time meeting her, just your first time staying with her without Jamie present. You left a day before the team, so when they arrived Jamie sneaked away to come visit. You are sitting in comfortable silence on his mum’s porch looking up at the night sky, when he turns to you and says, “do you love me?”

You’re taken a little aback. “What kind of question is that?” you say. “Of course I love you.”

Jamie’s forehead is all scrunched up again, like it was that early morning. “What if I fucked my leg so badly I could never play football again?”

You laugh. “Not sure if you’ve noticed babe, but I’m not really a big football person. I’m more of a you person, so I guess there’s some overlap.”

Jamie is still weirdly nervous. “What if I play football till I’m forty, and you barely see me like it’s been? What if I’m always on the road and always training and all we get are dinners and shitty 3am breakfasts?”

He’s removed his arm from your shoulders at this point and you shiver, puffing out a breath into the cold air. He notices without saying a word and drapes his jacket around you.

“Jamie,” you reply slowly, trying to formulate your thoughts, “where is this all coming from? You know I love you. We’ve been together for a year, and this has never been an issue before.” As you’re speaking, you’re seized by a sudden, terrible thought: “Are you breaking up with me?”

The words tumble out so fast, you’re not sure he hears you until he’s looking at you, aghast. 

“No, are you breaking up with me?”

“No!” you reply. “But you’re acting all weird, and we’ve been together for an entire year and that’s the longest you’ve dated anyone and I just thought that maybe this was your way of letting me know gently that you’re over me.”

Your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest.

Jamie breathes out a sigh of relief. “Oh. No. I’m not ending things. I want to be with you forever. I just get all freaked out in me head before games like this, and it’s been fuckin weird coming home, and I just want to win, you know, so that way all this time away is worth it.” He pulls you close to him again and you can feel his heartbeat slowing down to a normal pace, in sync with your own. 

You sit there till his mum comes out to remind him that it’s time to go get some rest, and it’s not until you’re half asleep in Jamie’s childhood bed that your mind replays his words:

I want to be with you forever.

—

It’s game day. You send Jamie a quick love you! text and then slip into your Jamie Tartt jersey. It’s from one of his old kits so it’s a little worn, but you always put it into his laundry pile so it comes out of the wash smelling like him. It’s not something anyone would notice, but you know, and it makes you smile. You get to be in the stands and know that Jamie Tartt loves you and you love him, and at the end of the day he’s the one you get to hold. You give yourself a shake, and open your phone to figure out where you’re meeting Keeley.

—

“And Richmond wins, 3-2 with a smashing goal by number 9 himself, Jamie Tartt!”

You’re screaming and jumping in the stands, overwhelmed by the fact that we won, we won, we won! The Richmond team are piling onto each other, Dani on Isaac’s back, Sam and Jan Maas jumping up and down like kids. You lose sight of Jamie in the mix.

“Well Arlo, it looks like Richmond has once again, exceeded all of our low expectations.”

“That’s right Chris, all thanks to Jamie Tartt’s brilliant goal. Looks like he’s having a good time celebrating with the Richmond lads. Wonder what they’ll get up to tonight? But what’s this? It looks like Tartt has broken away from his teammates and is running to the stands! He’s stopped in front of a fan and it looks like he is kissing a very lucky Richmond fan full on the mouth!”

“Have you ever been so caught up in a moment that you’ve made out with a stranger, Arlo?”

“Can’t say that I have, Chris. Can’t say that I have.”

It all happens so fast, that you don’t even know how to process it. One moment you can’t find Jamie and the next he is leaping over the stands, catching you in his arms, and kissing you in front of the whole stadium as if no one else is around. When you finally pull away, breathless, he takes your hand and helps you hop over the wall onto the pitch. Not usually allowed, but you suppose they’ll let it slide for football’s golden boy. AFC Richmond has caught up to Jamie, and you’re all on the field, screaming your heads off out of the sheer joy of winning.

—

“You’re coming tonight, yeah?” Isaac asks you as you wait for Jamie by the team bus. It’s the day after the Man City game, and you’re back in Richmond with a plan to hit the town yet again, as though the night before wasn’t enough for them. (You actually wouldn’t know, because you were in a very nice hotel room with a certain striker).

“Yeah, you know the only reason we invited him anywhere is in the hopes that you’ll finally be able come along,” Colin adds.

Any story of Richmond’s win had a somewhat fuzzy picture attached of Jamie kissing you in the stands with some variation of the title “Tartt’s mystery girl.”

You laugh. “Yes, we’ll be there. It’ll be nice to actually be out and about with you guys. Family dinners are fun, but there’s more to life.”

Once you found out that Jamie’s whole team knew you existed, you made him invite them over for dinner once a month. It’s one of your favorite things, especially because they all bring food to share. When it’s warm you do pool parties and when it’s cold you play bracket uno. It was nice to meet Jamie’s family, whether he’ll admit that’s what they are or not.

“You ready, babe?” Jamie asks as he slings his arm around you.

“BYE TED!” you yell. “Ok. Now I’m ready.”

— 

Sam closed his restaurant special for you all, and turned it into like a private club. You say like because it is, at its core, a restaurant. However, under Isaac’s supervision and creative design, he apparently has transformed Ola’s through rearranged furniture, dimmed lighting, and music into a place where AFC Richmond can celebrate their win without feeling crowded by strangers. You’re secretly grateful, because clubs are not really your scene. You’ll get all dressed up, sure, but you never know what to do with yourself once you’re there. 

Speaking of getting dressed up, you were feeling yourself. You had a light blue mini dress, with an asymmetrical neckline and a single puffed sleeve. It was more a-line than bodycon, but hey. You like a little bit of a twirl when you spin. Your absolute favorite part though was that you were wearing two-inch silver block heels, with straps around your ankles. The dress plus the shoes made your legs look magical. 

You and Jamie are in the bathroom getting ready, you fixing your makeup and him fixing his hair. He half-turns to you and points to his hair with a questioning look. “Lookin’ good,” you smile, and he smiles back.

“Oh, babe,” he says, tweaking his hair one final time, “I left my sunglasses back at the locker room, and I was wonderin’ if you’d be ok getting them with me before we head to the party? I just don’t want Bumbercatch stealing them.”

“Why would Bumbercatch steal them?” you ask.

Jamie shrugs. “Something about ‘no name, fair game.’ That’s how Jan Maas lost his favorite socks.” 

You shudder. Why Bumbercatch would want Jan Maas’ dirty old socks, you have no idea. They must be really amazing.

You reply, “Yeah sure, I hate being too early to things anyway,” as Jamie absentmindedly kisses you on the forehead with a “thanks babe,” as he heads downstairs.

—

You don’t live far from the Richmond pitch, so you’re walking across the dark parking lot in no time.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Jamie says.

He’s swinging your hands as you walk. He looks nice, the sleeves of his cream shirt rolled up. Nice pants, nice shoes. Nice ass. 

“Yeah, of course,” you say, momentarily distracted by the fact that this man is going to get laid tonight. 

“No, I mean you’re always down for what-fuckin-ever, and you just let things bounce off you. And you like me, for my personality for some fucking reason? And I think about you all the time, when I’m gone or when, like, I have early training with Roy. And you make laugh because you stopped being afraid to be yourself around me. I just like you. And I meant what I said the other day, I do want to be with you forever. Not to freak you out or whatever.”

He’s stopped right at the doors and he looks so uncomfortable and earnest in a way that you’ve never seen before.

“I’m not freaked out, Jaim,” you say. “I love you, and you know I’m in it to win it with you. Now, let’s get those sunglasses and for the love of god, please don’t act this weird tonight.”

This elicits a chuckle, and he nods in concession. “Alright. Let’s go.”

The halls are dark and quiet as you walk to the Richmond locker room. It smells clean, for once. Like lavender. There’s a faint glow coming from the doors and Jamie pushes open the doors to the most magical thing you have ever seen.

There are candles on the benches and twinkle lights strung across the lockers. There’s a bouquet of flowers in the middle of the room and as you turn to Jamie, awestuck look on your face, you see him kneeling behind you, small black box in hand.

“Jamie,” you say.

“Yes, love,” he replies.

“What are you doing.” It’s a statement, not a question, and it comes out more wobbly than you’d care to admit.

He cracks a smile. “Eh, I hope it’s pretty obvious what I’m doing.”

You can feel a fucking tear forming in your eye and you will it to go away. You refuse to have streaky foundation.

“Love of my life,” Jamie begins.

“Yes,” you say.

“Oi, you’ve gotta let me finish.”

“Right, sorry, as you were.” You think your face is going to split in half with the size of your smile.

He takes a breath then continues, “there’s no one else I’d rather have shitty 3am breakfasts with, no one else I’d rather beat at MarioKart, and no one else I’d rather do life with. Will you m-”

He’s cut of by you kissing him like you have never kissed him before. After a moment, he pulls away and asks, “Is that a yes?”

You can’t help it, the furrow in his brow gets you every time so you laugh and reply, “Of course it’s a yes, you dummy!”

Jamie smiles and then yells, “Lads, she said yes!” and the blinds go up from the coaches office as the entire AFC Richmond team storms into the locker room. Dani and Richard are spraying champagne in the air as people hug you and slap Jamie on the back. 

You find his hand amid the chaos and squeeze it. 

“Can’t believe I were so nervous about this,” he says into your ear.

“Can’t believe you think you beat me at MarioKart,” you respond.

“Oi, we are not getting into this again-”

“There’s only one way to settle this.”

Jamie looks at you, then to all your friends celebrating, then back to you. “Think they’ll even notice we’re gone?”

You shake my head. “Nah,” you say, “let’s get out of here.”

Jamie smiles at me as you slip through six different lynx scents out the door. “You’re going down, Mrs. Tartt.”

“Only one of us is going down tonight, Mr. Tartt, and I can assure you it is not me!”

“You can say that again.” Jamie sticks out his tongue and wiggles his eyebrows at you, and your laughter echoes up into the night sky.

[writersrkive]

hi!! i just read your spencer fic about telling him not to shut up. i specifically loved the fact that the reader’s first language isn’t english, i feel like the majority of the fandom doesn’t have english as their first language.

could you write something where the reader’s first language isn’t english and they’re having trouble with their paperwork because people tend to use a lot of difficult words, and spencer notices it and helps them out? maybe reader often stays late to finish working because they need to read sentences multiple times to fully understand them?

if you don’t feel like writing this feel free to skip or write anything else <3

(it’s getting late for me here but i look forward to reading more of your work when i come back from work tomorrow :)

have a good day!!

A little help never hurts | Spencer Reid

summary: Paperwork days are hell, especially for you, since English isn't your first language. You don't say anything to any of your coworkers because you're afraid they will see you as incapable of doing your work, but one genius boy might have been looking at you a lot and definitely notices something is wrong. He is determined to help you. An extra help never hurts, right?

genre: fluff, comfort

pairing: early seasons!Spencer Reid x bau!reader

warnings: English isn't reader's first language, mention of reader being from another country (I think that's all, but let me know!)

a/n: Omg, my second request! I loved the idea, thanks! I hope you like it rebel-ezra (does this notify you when I answer your inbox or do I have to tag people when it's not anon? lol, sorry). I'm excited to see how much you enjoy this one, and I'm sorry if it's not as good as you expected. English isn't my first language, please be kind <3.

Happy New Year, reader! I hope you can get distracted a little with this fic if, if you need to. You did it! Next year we have more people, places and things to know, hugs!

important: Are you guys interested in being in a Criminal Mind's tag list for my fics? If that's the case, let me know in the comments, please. I might be doing one if there's enough people.

Masterlist Spanish ver. On Wattpad (coming soon)

The feeling of pressure on your head and the emptiness of your stomach has stressed you since a few hours ago. You didn't have anything to eat since the doughnut and cup of coffee that García offered you in the morning when she arrived. But you weren't close to going home.

Paperwork was always a pain in the ass, but especially for the poor newest member of the BAU. Why is that? Well, your mother language wasn't English, and of course you had a good level —otherwise you wouldn't have the opportunity to study and work in the U.S.A.—, but the documents were too formal and technical given the seriousness of the issues being discussed.

“Shit.” You whispered, typing a new confusing and complicated word on your computer for the third time in an hour.

“Hey, do you want to go to my place after work? Tonight seems like a free night, if duty doesn't call.” Emily had approached you with a warm smile, knowing that paperwork was never easy.

“Thanks, Em. But I think tonight I'm going home to rest. It's been a long week.” But you gave that answer because at that point, it was routine to stay way later than your workmates.

Spencer was coming back from the bathroom, ready to take his stuff and go home. It was really late, so he thought he was the only one besides Hotch in the office. However, he saw you at your desk: your head resting on a dictionary, the computer next to you and several post-it notes stuck in the drawers of your desk.

He called your name twice, but of course the sleep you were immersed in did not allow you to hear it. Footsteps were heard in the darkness. There were just a few desk lamps on, that's why he was able to see your peaceful expression. He touched your shoulder slightly and when you opened your eyes, all you saw was a shy smile.

“Reid, what's wrong?” You asked, feeling your head throbbing.

“Are you okay? You fell asleep.” He whispered.

“Oh… Yeah… I'm okay.”

“Are you sure? You seem pretty tired. It's late so maybe you should go home”

“Don't worry. I have work to get done anyway.” You sighed, remembering how you still had to review a quarter of documents.

“What? But you have been working on this for hours.”

His comment made you blush. Of course you haven't told anyone how hard it was to review every document twice or even thrice to be sure that you didn't misunderstand or mistranslate anything. Somehow you felt that if anyone knew they would criticize or mock you. Not that you thought about your coworkers being mean, but through your journey of learning another language and moving from your country, you met all kinds of people. Also, you didn't want to be seen as weak or incapable of doing your job.

“Today was just a lot, that's all.”

“You usually work quickly, though I think I know what's going on. You keep a dictionary on your desk and usually carry a pocket version in your backpack, the days when you leave work late are paperwork days and you usually close the translator tab on your computer as soon as someone approaches your desk.” He explained looking around your stuff as if he was analyzing everything. “Is it about the language?”

“Yes, yes it is, okay? There, I said it!” Your frustrated tone made Spencer realise how tired you were about the situation. You didn't even try to deny it, you just hid your face around your arms, leaning on your desk —as if you were recreating the position he found you asleep previously—.

“Hey, but what's wrong with that?” He asked softly.

“What do you mean ‘what's wrong with that'? I'm supposed to understand everything that is on the documents, but I become slower because I have to verify and translate information that I don't understand because it is a more technical language.” The words were audible enough to him even though your face was still hidden.

“Do you realize English isn't your first language, right?” He tried to get you to look at him, but it didn't work. “Everyone in this work has difficulties when it comes to other languages. You don't have to feel bad because it's happening to you.”

“Does it happen to you?” Your shy eyes met his.

“Not really.” He answered with a hint of a cocky smile.

“See?”

“Well, I didn't say anything about me, you were the one who asked. Besides, I'm trying to be more sociable.” His comment made you chuckle slightly, but that chuckle became a laugh when you repeated what he said in your mind. “You are really funny, do you know that?”

“A-Am I?” The way you were looking at him, with a tired, yet cute, expression and a little smile, made his heart skip a beat.

“Yeah…”

“Well, I can also be of great help at work. Let me help you with the files.”

“It's not necessary.”

“It is. You need to rest, so let me get started while you go to the machine for something to eat. A little help never hurts.” He whispered, already taking the documents.

“Fine.”

A few minutes later you returned with an open package of cookies. You stopped for a moment, admiring the furrowed eyebrows of the genius boy who was reading the files with a lot of attention. Then you realized how fortunate you were for having coworkers like him. Or maybe was he himself the one who was so amazing that you would never get tired of working with him.

“Agent. Can I talk with you for a second?” Hotch's voice welcomed you the next morning.

Spencer's view followed your figure to the boss’ office and that didn't go unnoticed by his best friend.

“Pretty boy had fun yesterday?” Derek teased.

“What?”

“You know… Penelope said that last night Hotch wasn't the only one who left work late. You and our new colleague had a date at work?” His strong arm embraced the other's shoulders.

“N-No! I thought we were the only ones… No! Nothing happened!” Spencer struggled to say.

“Reid, can we talk?” Your voice made him turn around. He just hoped you weren't angry.

“What is it? Is everything alright?” He asked when both of you walked into an empty hallway.

“Actually, yes. Apparently Hotch received a request from the team's genius profiler to work with me on my paperwork days. So, you are having trouble concentrating on the files because of some headaches and need someone to work with?” As you spoke your tone of voice slowly reflected, with a mocking tone, that you knew perfectly well why Spencer had spoken to Hotch.

“Am… Yeah. Headaches are the worst.” He whispered looking to the floor.

“Thanks, Spence.” You said with sincere gratitude. Spencer looked at you again and felt a weight lift off his shoulders when he realized that you weren't mad at him.

“Sure. Whatever you need, I'm here for you… as coworkers, of course!” His voice got a little higher when he clarified immediately.

You were about to walk past him to return with the others, but then he spoke again. “Do you think maybe we can go and have coffee on a free day? I mean, I can help you with the words that are difficult for you. And, actually, I was thinking that I might need help with your language too. We can help each other, you know?” He gulped.

“Sure. A little help never hurts.” You smiled and walked away hiding a smile while Spencer was left alone, standing in the middle of the hallway, unable to believe that he had just asked you out. “Hotch is gonna kill me if he finds out…”

[sabine-smitten-obviously]

Good Omens - December reads part #2- fanfics recs 🤓🩷🎄

I ´ve decided to write a short summary each month about the books i read. I need this to let go of the stories, its a nice way of saying good-bye to them and to spread the love to the authors and to you. 🩷

I only read finished stories and rarely one-shots. You will find no WIPs in here, as i really like to dive deep into the plot and i keep losing track of WIPs. Also you will only find happy or at least hopeful endings here - i couldn´t handle anything else.

Also i try to find every author here on tumblr to link-to, but sadly some times i am out of luck. If you happen to know them, please tell them, write to me in the comments or DM me and i will update the post!

Ratings in ()

Multichapter Fanfics

Devour (E) by @tastymoves

Human AU. Ok, look here. I started with That´s what happens when you sign on the line - thinking it is a completed fic of 4 chapters. Turns out it actually stops kind of midst-story, because its a whole series. So i had to keep going through and read all the other (10!) fics to get the whole series, right? Crowley is in search of a professional dom and Aziraphale is not whom he would have chosen but very much who he needs. The stories are mostly about them having sessions in one or another way, their relational development is only a background-telling. Consists of 10 fics with timeline and another 10 oneshots with no clear timeline. Smut:Plot-Ratio = 90:10!

The Angel´s Gambit (T) by @dragonfire42

Crowley questions his angel, why he has a chessgame put up in his shop. So Aziraphale tells him, that he plays chess with Death. And why. A tale through their shared history. And an explanation, just to why Crowley slept as much as he did.

Artwork by @theeinkibus

Artist in residence (E) by @caedmonfaith

Human AU. Crowley is a famous glasblower and has a 1 year residency at the Ineffable Museum. Aziraphale is a shy preservationist with a secret crush on Crowley. They meet and the rest is ineffable. Besides the typical plot there is a great part dedicated to dealing with anxiety and neurodiversity. This was very informative for me and i will have to take a deeper dive on ND too.

Most funny quote: "Pardon me, sir, but I think you might have lost your halo." 😇😅

Seriously, @caedmonfaith is an incredible writer, everything they put out there is just a safe read. Go ahead and if you like her work just hit the subscribe-button to be on the safe side.

Beyond Understanding and Incapable of Being Put Into Words (E) by @beet-feet

After the end of S2, Crowley stays in the bookshop - more or less just to keep him occupied. When Aziraphale shows up months later, they talk - but not only. And it has consequences ... A little bit of angst, a little bit of smut and a little bit of plot - nicely put together. Mind the tags!

Most funny quote: "Someone help me, there are two of them, he thought to himself as he stood in the doorway to the kitchen shaking his head." 😅

Call me, my Dear (E) by @MimiRay

AU, though not only human. Aziraphale is a priest in a small town. One dark night on his way home he stumbles upon a starved and frozen creature and takes it in. Unbeknownst to him, Crowley is an incubus - a demon that feeds on sex. At least usually. But the priest has a secret on his own, too. As the walls are quite thin, it doesn´t take Crowley long to detect it.

A soft and hot and somehow still tender story.

Most touching quote: "Immortal or not, he was, after all, a human at heart." 🩷

Drive me to the moon (E) by @captainblou

Human AU, Crowley is a rally driver and Aziraphale is a professional dancer. For a charity event they get to drive a rally together. Wouldn´t be any problem, if they would like each other. Which they don´t. Enemies to friends to lovers-story you really can dive in to. 🤓 What i really liked about it: Crowley has a vulv🩷 but wears a binder and goes by he/him. Gave me a lot to think.

Caramel delight (E) by @ajconstantine

Human AU. Crowley is happy, when his shitty neighbours finally move. He is even more happy, when he sees his new neighbour moving in. It is only polite to welcome him with a glass of homemade caramel sauce, right? Or to show him the best restaurants nearby or how to cook the sauce himself. Lucky for him, Aziraphale has an other strength than cooking ... 😅

I just tumbled upon this author but will definitely read more of her/him/them!

Oneshots

All i need, darling, is a life in your shape (G) by @mortuarybees

Set after S1, the angel and the demon find themselves spending more an more time together. But what does it mean? Aziraphale wonders.

A nice and possibly acurate story about them getting together. Christmas and only-one-bed-trope included! 🎄😅

Remember us just like this forever (E) by @HazelSage

A while after they saved the world, the demon wants a baby. Aziraphale books a holiday at a beautiful resort for them. Sun, Sand and S🍆. More tender than expected!

So that´s the next 9 fanfics and makes 22 so far this month. I don´t like it when the list gets too long, therefore i will post a part #3.

My lovely co-readers, GO-lovers and ineffable loves - have a wonderfull christmas-time! Keep your hearts and minds safe🎄🩷🤗

[kingly-court]

Fun fact: while I can't deny the comedic potential it implies and some ships that derive from this are very fun, I hate hate hate the implications that Gideon's parents don't love each other/one or both of them are unfaithful. Therefore, while nobody asked me to, mostly to comfort myself, I present

Stupid Bud Gleeful x Mrs Gleeful headcanons!

I like to think that her name is Clara because of that one commercial, but I'll use Karen because you seem to like that variant more.

We shall begin.

They actually talk a lot between each other, we just never get to see it on-screen because their usual convos are not relevant to the plot.

Karen was never really talkative actually, but Bud just tries to get her to chat sometimes because he thinks it might prevent amnesia from progressing. (It is heavily implied that the poor lady is Like That because she got her memory erased many times before)

Post-canon he actually got her to a neurologist and she's getting treatment. Recovery for the win.

Karen steals blankets. Bud kicks in his sleep. No matter where, when, or how, every morning Bud wakes up without a blanket and Karen wakes up on the floor. They're okay with it though.

Bud: "do u like stars"? Karen: "ya, theyre cool" (/ref)

Bud can actually scoop her up like a kitten because she's shorter and he does it whenever he can. She unironically likes being held, so she doesn't mind.

When Karen can't fix her emotional turmoil by vacuuming, she tries to fix it by Sleeping For Way Too Many Hours For A Human. When she does that, Bud doesn't interfere, but tries to get her something nice or write her a comforting message he leaves on the nightstand.

Bud cooks because he doesn't trust Karen with sharp objects. There is thankfully no experience to connect with that, he just doesn't think a person who is not completely mentally okay should be allowed near them. Gideon isn't allowed to have anything sharp either for the same reason.

Karen can randomly remember some fact about Bud that he mentioned literal years ago. It creeps him out /not neg.

Bud likes to play with her hair. Sometimes he braids it to calm down, which works well for both of them.

Literally incapable of sleeping apart.

Bud's parents weren't very fond of Karen but he Literally Did Not Care about their opinion. Still doesn't.

Bud has been looking for her during Weirdmageddon. Almost got caught multiple times because he kept trying to find her. Tried to find Gideon too, but after failing assumed that he stayed somewhere in the prison for safety (he didn't believe it one bit but tried to convince himself of that to stay calm)

Bud literally just kept Karen in a less than 3 ft distance after Weirdmageddon for at least a week because he was pretty terrified of losing her. Sometimes just walked through the house holding Gideon with one arm with Karen over his other shoulder. (Gideon's aversion to touch softened a bit for the first 2 days after weirdmageddon or so due to shock, then he came back to hissing if Bud tried that /lh)

They literally just cried in each other's arms the night after weirdmageddon ended. Grown people. /aff

Really lovey dovey post canon. Gideon pretends that he thinks it's cringe but actually he's really relieved and thankful for it because he has some deep seated paranoia that his mental issues Fucked Up The Relationship Between His Parents and knowing that they love each other still helps him sleep at night.

There was definitely something else but I forgot.

I hope you enjoy these!

“I hope you enjoy these!” Anon casually says, sliding the most personally made post to make me unbelievably happy waking up in the morning, including the fact they even switched around a non-canon character name to a personal HC (oh my god??)

-NO BUT FOR REAL OH MY GOD, I do enjoy this so much, because we’re on the same page. I really do think Bud and his wife just don’t have enough screentime to explore what a complicated relationship that whole household experience must’ve turned it into.

(I too am drawn the ships going the opposite way could produce, but also I’m polyam and 90% of the fandom jokes about polycules so I do a lot of my stuff in that sorta context anyways. I have the weirdest Vee/V polyam setup in the past with some of my other, less canon focused Gleeful work that I even have a playlist on spotify for akdbkdnfd.)

BUT YES YES ALL OF THIS YES. I’m gonna hit some of these beat for beat under the cut because I’m fucking obsessed. BE WARY OF ANY MISTAKES/TYPOS, I’m mobile-bound and typing this out like that.

(The two do talk quite a lot.) YES. We’re not gonna see 100% of their dynamic, with the Gleefuls being such minor supporting characters and Gideon still just being a minor antagonist. (They’re basically narratively treated like Gideon’s little henchmen.) They talk all the time behind the scenes.

(Karen has always been a bit quiet.) “Bookish” is always a word I sorta mentally described Karen with. Always the sort of quiet wallflower types. But that’s not bad!! She’s sorta the polar opposite and balancing force the more social, chatter-box, quick-talking used car salesman Buddy Gleeful.

(Above, cont. The Amnesia) And oh god, the amnesia… I can see him doing so much to try and keep it from progressing to badly or to far. And sitting down and trying to chat with her, good god my HEART.

(Post canon) POST CANON RECOVERY. OUGH. It’s always so important to me that he gets her some sort of help. She’s clearly been suffering. I always personally think her and Bud are co-tandem using the memory gun on themselves, though Bud less so, and seeing her take the downturn she did was heart breaking. He helps her get help in a few different ways, both medical and social support.

(Blankets and Kicking) OH YOU KNOW YOU’RE IN IT WHEN YOU GET TO THIS SORTA HC /SUPER POSITIVE. I love this sorta dynamic as someone who’s had a couple different pretty similar setups kahdksbd. I like to think Bud is pretty cuddly, and goodness is this appreciated any time except for late spring and all through summer.

(Bud likes to pick her up). YES. YESSSS. You can’t hear me cackling but I am, I LIVE to play with Bud’s height. My man is a literal Giant. I know heights in the show are inconsistent but he is so consistently Massive it’s so fun. Hold your wife soft and gentle like a cat 🥹

(Sleeping to cope) Oh as someone with Chronic Fatigue and other issues that cause coma-like sleep patterns, Buddy is the goal sort of guy. I imagine in this sorta case it’s suggestible to also probably leaves things like bottles of water and easy to digest snacks to get her sugar back normalized, because god waking up after that sorta sleep makes you feel like a zombie.

(Cooking, sharps) HE JUST CARES ABOUT THEM I’M GONNA LOSE MY MIND. It makes sense to try and lee them away from unnecessary threats like that, no matter the history of anything they’re both in pretty fragile or volatile states and need that extra boundary.

(Randomly remember fact) Oh that sort of stuff is so sweet I’m?? Especially considering her state with the memory gun involved it’s bound to be such a sweet thing to hear.

(Hair, Have to be in the same bed) NO BUT YOU GET IT. The physical closeness is necessary. It’s probably so grounding for both of them to be around the other, and doing things like that just makes it better. The hair braiding is so sweet oh my lord… And you know these two have to have one of those like big-and-tall California King beds, with how big Bud is aksbjbd

(Bud’s Parents) The vibe here is so good I’m,, The sheer love of one’s wife transcends all sometimes, legitimately and completely.

(Looking for them, weirdmagedon) I’M WASTING AWAY /POSITIVE. Losing them during the literal apocalypse must’ve been so damn stressful. And almost getting caught several times looking for his wife I’m actually sobbing. They’re his whole life and he has no idea if they’re safe at all, and with the state his wife is in and how unstable Gideon is it’s bound to be so terrifying… The sense of loss there is so sad, man D:

(Holding onto them, Crying,Post-Weirdmagedon) YES YES YES YESSSS. Has to keep them close, has to express how hard it was and just sit and cry and hold his wife - just because this was so stressful on all of them. And I don’t doubt that neither of them is complaining. BUT ALSO GODS THE DETAIL WITH GIDEON, I’M SHATTERED. That boy deserves to recover and get hugs and cuddles from his pa again :(

(Lovey-dovey, Post-Canon) Unironically, kids pretending to be grossed out and cringing at their parents but are secretly so glad they’re doing Good is my fucking favorite. You don’t see it much but when you do it hits so damn well. And here it hits especially hard. The kid probably blames himself for so much, and this is a huge weight off his lil ol’ shoulders - even if it shouldn’t be there in the first place. It’s comforting,,

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #228

Brain Curds are lightly edited daily writing - usually flash fiction and sometimes terrible on purpose.

I awoke with a start from yet another of those dreams. Those dreams, unyielding, in which he is with me. I have always hated those dreams.

Whether I find myself in a diner, or a grocery store, or strolling about my home town, he is always there, whether overtly or lingering in the shadows, hiding beneath the mask of someone else. He relishes being an unwelcome guest in my subconscious, drawing me to his flying monkeys and wannabes.

Long since incapable of finding pure love, I lay alone in my bed, groggy, having slept the night before to the sounds of YouTube on autoplay. Perhaps the only white noise worse than silence. My eyelids are heavy with the burden of lost rest, never to be clawed back from the unmerciful crawl of time.

I force myself out of bed and peek through the curtains. Orange-tinted storm clouds fill the sky. It must be Halloween. I yawn and head for the kitchen to boil a kettle.

I pour my cup of tea when suddenly the doorbell rings. What time is it? I ask myself, to which I reply, time to get a watch. The microwave clock reads half-past four PM. I suppose I slept in.

I look through the peephole and don’t see anyone. I figure it might be neighborhood children playing a prank, but it could be a package I ordered and forgot about. I unlock the door and open it, but it takes a moment to register what I see: my father, in the flesh.

I rub my eyes. This can’t be happening, this can’t be real - but when I open them again he still stands before me. He’s not supposed to be here, not even in my dreams. I pinch my arm, I bite my tongue, but nothing seems to wake me up. I am already awake.

“Trick or treat!” He says, holding out his arms, waiting for a hug.

“How did you find this address?”

“It’s almost my birthday! Didn’t you want to see me?”

“No. You aren’t welcome here. Please leave.”

I close the door but he sticks his foot in it, the sole of his open-toed shoe only barely damping the hit. He doesn’t flinch.

He pushes the door back open and leans inside. “Do you know what it took to get here? I’m not going back.”

Part of me is afraid of what he’ll do if I let him in, but the other part is afraid of what he’ll do if I try to keep him out. That’s the part that wins the argument. I open the door again.

“I’ll make dinner.” He says, as he looks around inside, scoping out a place to turn into a nest. He sets his backpack down on the couch, and I can smell sulfur on it from all the way over here by the entrance.

“I just woke up, actually, so dinner seems premature.”

“Fine,” he says. “I’ll make pancakes for dinner. You’ll love them, I promise.”

This is an uncharacteristic sort of compromise from him, and I get to wondering if this really is my father. After all, I haven’t seen him in five years, and he seems to look exactly as I remember him. The thing is, I’m not sure I remember what he looked like last time I was in the same room with him. He almost looks more like he does in that photo I keep stashed away at the bottom of a drawer, the one we took when I was ten. He doesn’t act much like I thought he did, either, but I suppose I haven’t known him for some time. Maybe he changed?

We stopped talking for the obvious reasons (those are the ones I can tell people who ask): he didn’t support me going to college, or my transition, or any of my passions beyond making him happy. But there were also the less obvious reasons: The chill I felt down my spine when we were alone, a sense of unease to hear his voice, fear when he was even slightly angry. The little reminders of childhood that I’ve learned draw me to other people who end up hurting me. Battle-worn red flags of heritage.

My teenage memories are molded swiss cheese, incomplete and green with envy of the children who were allowed to grow up without a father like him. Whether their father was a good man or a dead man or both, they were better off. I knew even then that the most I had to look forward to was writing and delivering the eulogy.

And now here he was, a trespasser in my home, standing at the stove, burning vegetable oil onto my carbon steel pan. The fishy stench of it chokes my uvula. I want to vomit. He always told me he’d haunt me after he died and here he was, haunting me not only in my dreams but in waking life as a shambling zombie of a parent that never was.

Was… was he?

I ran to my computer and checked the local obituaries of my home town. I scrambled to find anything, anything from the past year, then the past two, desperately searching my brain at the same time to try to recall when it was that via text he threatened (no - ‘promised’) to keep his death a secret from my mother and I. Then I came across the name. There it was, the obituary.

He was presumed dead on his birthday four years ago. The body was never found. There was no service. Nobody would have come anyway. And something - be it a mischievous fae or a demon or the man himself - was piloting his decaying body to make a pancake dinner.

He pushed open the bedroom door and presented the plate. “I hope you like them. I made them with love.”

“I’m not hungry,” I replied, sick to my stomach at the mere suggestion of more of what he called love.

He looked at my monitor and the smile melted off his face. “I keep my promises.”

Please comment, reblog, like, and follow if you enjoyed - I'd love to know what you think! Happy Halloween!

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not telling my best friend I basically want to spend the rest of my life with her?

(This is long, I'm sorry, I'm incapable of shortly summarizing things)

Ok. So. I (26NB/FTM) am not in love with my best friend (25F), I'm ace and either aro or demiromantic (honestly not sure anymore). But I do love her as much as I can love anyone, probably. To the extent that I would want to be in a committed relationship (qpr I guess) with her and genuinely want to spend the rest of my life with her.

The thing is, she's neither aro nor ace and has only recently (last year) started overcoming fears and anxiety enough that she's gone on dates and wants to try having a relationship. It wasn't easy for her to get to this point and her anxiety is still a major thing she deals with, especially now trying to have a relationship. I know she doesn't love me romantically (not that I would particularly want her to) bc I'm firmly in the friend category and she's said that she can't fall in love with friends (though, again, I don't… want her to be in love me? Since I'm not in love with her either).

I want her to have these experiences. We're both still young and while I just don't need or want anything in that regard, I know it's different for her and in a way it's her finally being able to be herself, live for herself and do what she wants (she had a rough childhood and was basically the one raising her little brother). So, I really do want her to have these experiences and I'm not really jealous either bc I know I'm still more important to her ("bros before hoes" and all that, even if the hoes are guys lol). Though I have to admit it's recently been getting harder being genuinely happy for her when things go well with dates and I suppose I'm a little worried how things will be a few years down the line.

But we're very close. We've been friends for 8 years and best friends for almost as long. We tell each other everything. She's the most important person in my life and I'm the most important person in hers. We get mistaken for a couple constantly, at this point I'm pretty sure everyone in our families has at some point thought we're together. My mum basically treats her like a daughter; she's spent the last 3 Christmases with my family. Besides her brother, I'm the only person she truly cares about who she doesn't get anxious about. The reason I'm going to be moving back home after uni is because she still lives in the area; if she lived somewhere else I'd move there (that's not me being one-sidedly codependent btw, she would absolutely do the same). The jokes about how we need to die at the same time bc neither of us would want to live on alone are really only partly jokes.

Now, here's (finally) where I might be an asshole: When we were in school our friend group consisted of four guys, me and her. All the guys had a crush on her, though some she only found out about later. My best friend, at the time, identified as a lesbian (it's bi probably now). The guys knew that. Now this one guy she only found out about last year at a class reunion (I wasn't there) and he was being all weird about how he'd seen all the times they went to the movies together as dates etc. She thought they were jokingly calling those 'dates', we all did. Again, he knew she identified as gay and never actually said anything about being in love with her. He was also giving off incel-y vibes when she talked with him at the class reunion, so there's that.

We talked about that and well, I kinda admitted that there'd been a moment yeaaaaars ago (like 5?6?) where I felt myself fall in love with her and mentally went 'nope, nope, nope, not doing that (falling in love my best friend) again' and then… it didn't happen. Don't know how that worked. Either way, she made me promise if I ever did actually fall in love with her, that I would tell her. We were laughing about it but I know she was serious about that.

I don't plan on telling her though. I meaaaan I'm not in love with her, technically, which yes, I know, she would probably mean this too. But I know that, at least at this point in time, she doesn't want the same things I want and I want her to have these experiences of dating guys and being in a (allo) relationship etc. I don't want our relationship right now to change either and I know she would try to be considerate and I don't need or want that. I don't want her to overthink what she can or can't tell me, I don't mind hearing her talk about the guys she's dating and I want her to still come to me with everything. I know how she works, I've been basically managing her anxiety for years (genuinely do not mind that before anyone comes talking to me about boundaries) and I know I'm one of the few people in her life who try to let her come to her own conclusions/decisions instead of telling her what they think is right and/or what she should do (she's very easily influenced unfortunately and while I do tell her my opinions if she asks for them, I always try to let her come to her own conclusions first). I don't want her to lose all that. I don't want her to suddenly be anxious about me either, that is genuinely the last thing I would ever want.

TLDR: My best friend made me promise her that I would tell her if I fell in love with her, which I'm technically not, but I do want to spend the rest of my life with her & would want to be in a (queerplatonic) committed relationship with her. I don't want to tell her bc I know it's not what she wants, at least right now, and I want her to make her own experiences and I don't want our relationship to change with this.

AITA for not telling her I would want to be in a (queerplatonic) relationship with her?

What are these acronyms?

[freestylegenius]

I can’t help you.

I am seriously wondering if I can even help myself anymore.

I am alone, anonymous and naked (at a soul level that is), navigating what appears to be a crisis in midlife.

I was let go from two jobs in one year and can’t seem to land a 3rd interview at any company, regardless of my experience or qualifications. This is after a 30 year career of landing every single job I ever pursued.

I don’t have any family left. Any family members I had healthy relationships with have since passed on and only the toxic ones remain, and we are no-contact. I’m one of those cycle-breakers. It sounds more fun than it is. I chose to not have a family of my own because I didn’t want to recreate whatever dynamic I came from. I am best with pets, without which I probably wouldn’t still be here.

I don’t have any followers here and have few friends in real life. Those I do have just feel like polite acquaintances with whom I can never be my full self with. I am one of the female versions of ‘too much,’ but we all know that ‘too much’ only comes in female flavor don’t we?

Now at the age of 52 I feel rejected from any space I am trying to be in. Might my perspective be skewed? Probably. I do know that trauma and depression can impact one’s outlook, but I can’t help but notice again and again that I am not wanted here, there or anywhere.

I feel broken. That whatever made me successful before doesn’t work anymore. Like the game changed over night. How does one navigate the experience of previously being sought-after, revered and well-paid only to be rejected across the board, both socially and professionally just a few years later?

Where do I go from here? I would love to create my own thing but how do you reinvent yourself and create something from scratch when you have never created anything?

How do you foster your own vision when you have spent 30 years selling someone else’s vision? All I have ever done is chase revenue. My skills are herding cats and negotiating deals. For that, all I have to show for it is a deep-seated feeling of emptiness and a house I can no longer afford to keep.

Now a decade from retirement, I find myself on the precipice of losing everything while inexplicably unable to get myself to do anything about it. I am deeply disillusioned with this game of corporate cruelty and late-stage capitalism and seem to be in a functional freeze that I am now finally just emerging from, slowly.

I don’t know if I can do this anymore. My life is falling apart before my eyes and yet I feel incapable of helping myself. I watch my bank account dwindle towards nothing as if I am simply watching a movie instead of my actual life that I am blowing up in real-time by being a passive observer.

I don’t have health insurance, I am living on credit cards which are almost maxed out and my unemployment benefits run out in two weeks. Next month I will have to tap my anemic 401K just to survive. I don’t know how I am going to keep my house that I was planning to retire in as the mortgage is too high to recover in rent. My previous credit score of 820 is in the wind of better days.

So here I am. To call myself out on whatever shit is fucking up my life. Obviously I’m part of the problem. My entire life is in disarray so it must be me. So let’s figure it out. Nothing is working so let’s put it out on the Internet. What could possibly go wrong?

I commit to documenting the journey, whether it continues on this downward spiral or (please baby jesus) turns into epic rise from the ashes. I know nobody is here and may not ever show up. That’s ok. I may not even allow comments because I’m terrified at how mean the internet can be.

But I will be here. I will show up for myself. And I will keep doing it until I walk myself thru this.

If you want to follow along I could use a friend.

[sarnai4]

The (Dis)Agreeable

I'm not sure if this is a hot take or not, but it goes against some of the things implied in the series (spoilers for RTTE). I don't think Oswald the Agreeable was a good father.

The show paints him as this peaceful, friendly man who never wanted wars and loved his kids. Sounds great, but I find contradicting evidence in the episodes.

There is something to be said about young Dagur's conduct with people. I get it that he's got probably a cocktail of mental illnesses, but that doesn't mean that he's incapable of acting in nonviolent ways. We see him do just that later. So, why was he not told as a kid, "No, don't try to drown your friends. That's mean and dangerous. Don't put people in cages and feed them cod heads." etc.? I feel like the first part at least was never told to him because he didn't act like him almost drowning Hiccup was in fact a scary experience for the younger Viking. Not saying that Oswald needed to watch his every move, but Dagur isn't a shy person. He's noticeable. If he's doing something (assuming his goal isn't to be sneaky, which it didn't seem to be with that drowning attempt), you're going to see/feel/hear him. Why not just sit him down and explain what's right and wrong? Dagur recalls being told to not do things like chase chickens and have axes, but I'm not sure if there's really a reason given behind it vs just knowing that his father didn't want him to do that.

And then there's Ansson. If you've read my previous post, you know I think he's at least 8 years older than Dagur. That makes me wonder where Oswald was during all that. This begins tying into another point. His relationship with Dagur must have been pretty bad if the other Berserkers actually thought Dagur killed him. Aside from the implausibility of Hiccup being able to, if he said he killed Stoick, people would be shocked because they know the two Vikings care about one another. No one seemed to bat an eye with this. "Dagur killed his old man? Yeah, figured that was just a matter of time." What were their interactions like if something so violent just made sense? To address a counterargument, maybe they just believed this because of Dagur being who he is. Fair, but here is the major issue: they never should have been able to think Dagur killed Oswald.

Where did Oswald go? We know he shipwrecked on Vanaheim, but where was he headed and why? Clearly, Dagur wasn't with him if he got lost out on sea. Dagur also didn't know where he was. No one else did either. Therefore, it implies that Oswald left home without telling anyone. I doubt this was to sign a treaty since that was stated that he'd bring Dagur along and I'm assuming the other Berserkers would know. So, why did Oswald suddenly leave without telling anyone where he was going? As both a father and chief, that's irresponsible. They have 50k soldiers, so who knows how many overall Vikings they have when you take into account kids, the elderly, and whoever just wasn't a soldier? Oswald left Dagur with all of these people. It's obvious that the boy wasn't ready. We saw how well that first year of being a chief went. At least, I'd expect him to tell someone, but no one knew. This sounds like he didn't just go out, he left. Oswald left and had no intention of coming back.

Then, you have "The Search for Oswald...and Chicken." There are a few things which are said here hat bother me. The letter itself was strange since Oswald mentioned Dagur protecting Heather even though she was a small child when she was lost and given the annual nature of the treaty visits, Oswald would have left long after she was missing. I think this is just a case of a plot hole that no one caught, but if we make it canonical, it's him fantasizing about his preferred life. He might have gone mad on that island. I can think of no other reason for him to write a letter about and to the daughter he'd no longer had on their home for years. Along that line of thinking, I doubt we can trust that his positive words to his son were genuine as opposed to being due to his false memories. Even in another part of the letter, it's sad because he mentions Dagur growing out of his "crazy, destructive" phase/stage. Dagur sort of gives a sheepish smile and it's played as a joke, but that's really sad. His son is mentally ill and he's just hoping he grows out of it like it's a papier-mache phase.

But what's the saddest part to me is Dagur's thoughts and beliefs regarding his father. After the corpse is found, Hiccup says, "He loved you" and Dagur responds, "I guess we'll never know." That is heartbreaking to me. Hiccup could have said, "He'd forgive you" or "He'd understand" and I would accept Dagur's words. That would be fine. With someone dead, you have no way of truly knowing if they'd understand why you did something or if they'd agree. That said, you should know that someone loves you. It's not something you should need to confirm when the person in question is a parent. I know this happens in real life, but a healthy parent-child bond should have both parties know, "Yeah, they love me. Even if we disagree, we love each other." Dagur makes it explicitly clear that he and Oswald don't have that type of relationship since he didn't know if Oswald loved him.

Therefore, between not being a teacher or protector in Dagur's childhood, having a relationship that feasibly could have ended in patricide, abandoning his son to lead tens of thousands of Vikings, believing his mental state was a temporary inconvenience, and not making letting it be known that he was loved, I believe that Oswald might have been agreeable, but he also was a bad father.

[the-remarkable-redway-simp]

1000 words of simping over Redway? I am all ears. (Please spend some of those words on his hair? Pretty Please?)

First off: anon, ILY

Secondly: I DM'd the author to find out their preferred method of citation and they said APA so, behold, my masterpiece:

Simping for Redway: an essay of slightly less than 1000 words

E.M. Anderson, the writer of THE REMARKABLE RETIREMENT OF EDNA FISHER alleges that Redway, the villain of said novel, is not meant to be simped for. I dispute that and allege that while it may not have been the author's intention, the text supports that he is simpable. In this essay I will provide cited sources from the text of the book that will prove he is indeed simpable.

(Goes without saying, now, but SPOILERS FOR THE REMARKABLE RETIREMENT OF EDNA FISHER BELOW, PROCEED WITH CAUTION)

First, anon asked for me to go on about his hair, so I will. I’ll dedicate this paragraph to appearance in general, actually, since E.M. also stubbornly insists they didn’t intend for him to be attractive. However, I would contend that anyone who is described as having “reddish hair, shot through with silver… pulled into a short ponytail.” (Anderson, p. 294) is, objectively speaking, at least a little bit attractive. Now, I have to admit I have a liking for red hair, to the point where I spent an inadvisable amount of money on dyeing my hair red between the years of 2015 and 2017, to the point where my nickname those years was, in fact, Red. Because apparently the most defining aspect of my personality was my hair. Now the most defining aspect of my personality might be my simping for Redway, to the point where I’m spending my Sunday night writing an essay about simping for Redway. Maybe I should’ve just dyed my hair again, might’ve been a smarter choice, but anyway, to carry on: while I will admit that having a weakness for red hair prejudices me toward simping for him, which is why I will carry on with further evidence of why Redway is lowkey hot. In the very first scene he’s seen in, he is described as having “blue eyes that were unfairly piercing” (Anderson, p. 37). The author even goes as far as to say “humans weren’t supposed to have such eyes” (Anderson, p. 37). It is therefore my contention that it is entirely understandable that Redway is objectively good-looking.

However, lest I be accused of being shallow, I will move into my real reason for simping: this man is incredibly secretly soft. I would allege that E.M. Anderson is incapable of writing a character who isn’t, on some level, incredibly secretly soft, but since I don’t have time for a rundown of every character in every published and unpublished work they’ve written, I’ll focus on Redway. For example, he raised his favourite dragon, Copernicus, from an egg, and no matter how cranky he gets he has a soft spot for that dragon, even allowing him to lay with “his massive head in Red's lap” (Anderson, p. 143). What’s cuter and more simpable than someone who loves animals? I, for one, am a cat person, and dragons in this book are basically massive cats. Who hasn’t had their cat lay on their lap and refuse to move regardless of what you want, truly.

Now, you may be asking, what else is so cute about this guy besides the dragon thing? Maybe you hate animals and feel like he’d be more simpable if he did too (in which case, are you okay?). Well, he’s also an anxious babygirl who needs snuggles to sleep; after a nightmare, while sharing a bed with another character (Shira, who is honestly worthy of her own essay), he “curled around her athletic form, burying his face in her curls” (Anderson, p. 140). I mean, come on, he’s so sad and anxious! And that’s not even going into the deep spoiler territory of why he’s so anxious, although I will say that ties back into how he loves dragons, and honestly if E.M. didn’t intend for people to simp for him they really shouldn’t have given him such a sad backstory, so that’s on them, really.

He's also useful! How many men do you know who help with chores, but Red can not only carve “rooms and hallways into (the mountain) by magic” (Anderson, p. 40), he also peels potatoes with magic. He might be a villain, but hey, at least he doesn’t do the whole weaponized incompetence thing to make women do all the work for him. 

There is a lot more I could say, but I already spoiler-warning-ed once, and anything more I can say would go into ruining-the-ending territory, which I don’t feel comfortable doing until the book is out for at least a year because that ending really hits you right in the feels if you don’t see it coming. 

To conclude, I allege based on both appearance and pathetic anxiety levels, Redway is objectively simpable and that should be accepted by more people.

Works Cited

Anderson, E.M. (2023). The Remarkable Retirement of Edna Fisher. Hansen House. Kindle Edition.

[my-autism-adhd-blog]

Hi there, and thanks for giving me a lifetime of validation and confidence in my neurotype to keep pushing through it all.

I'm a writer. I always have been. I love writing, and it's the only thing I consider myself to be legitimately good at. Linguistics is one of my special interests. I love the flow of a grammatically correct English sentence.

Anyway, I have major executive function issues. Specifically with starting tasks. So I already find it hard to sit down and write. But I find it even harder to continue the progress I make in anything. After enough minimal effort, my brain decides it hates this activity and everything related to it, and inside a single hour I'll go from obsessing over a creative task to being indifferent or repulsed by it. But the *feeling* of knowing I had just been so passionate about it a second ago remains. I end up putting myself into a depressive episode every time I try to be creative in any regard.

I've played D&D with my friend group for years, and I've wanted to run my own campaign for a while. But not only does my inability to start completely destroy my progress in worldbuilding and planning, but I can't organize my thoughts at all. I've tried mindmapping and charting and notebooks and binders. When I'm trying to organize my campaign in any way, I revert into this dramatically incapable person. My brain just instantly fogs and clouds, and I don't know how to visually plot my system and lore that helps me in any actual way. But I *love* worldbuilding with a passion. Even when I don't want to engage in it, I am still absolutely fascinated at creating a world from my own brain. Especially one my friends can play in. Yet in this moment, I can't mentally be bothered to do any of it, and I'm subsequently depressed.

I never saw myself ADHD since I aligned with autism so intensely. I still don't find myself relating to ADHD very often. It's also hard enough for me to accept I'm autistic because I feel like an imposter every other hour. My question for you is, how do I overcome this? How do I overcome myself? How can I enjoy an activity I literally love, and continue to enjoy it? These are loaded questions, and of course you'd have to know me personally to answer this the right way. But I just want to know if there's anything I can do about myself. How do I ignite a flame in myself that doesn't burn out in 10 minutes? Moreover, are there any tools available online that help autistic or ADHD or just neurodivergent people focus, plot, plan, and organize in a very visual way? My latest attempt was to find an AI assistant that I can verbally speak with or text, who would do the plotting for me, and ask the questions for me, and I'd just insert my thoughts and ideas. I can't find what I'm looking for. It all feels so hopeless. I can't even amount to a personal desire. I feel this has to do more with depression than anything else, but I'm new to the neurodivergent community at large, as I've mostly dealt with my struggles on my own accord, and learned through books. Maybe there's a billion tools and strategies I've never heard of before. My mind was blown 80 trillion times since downloading Tumblr regarding my mental health, so it's worth asking a profound community member like yourself.

Sorry for the essay, I'm incapable of shortening my thoughts. If I don't type it all out the way I see it in my head, it'll be an itch I can't scratch for the rest of the day. If you do have any advice or recommendations, I would be so grateful. But I'm grateful for your engagement with the community already. You're just awesome.

Thanks for the empowerment and understanding you give me every time I open this app. You're changing people's lives, and that's real.

Cheers ❤️

Hi there,

This was somewhat hard to digest, but I’ll do my best to help.

I couldn’t find much. But I did find one article that lists some ways that might help with executive dysfunction and writing. This excerpt is going to be long, so I apologize in advance:

Executive dysfunction is a term used to describe weaknesses in the cognitive process that organizes thoughts and activities, prioritizes tasks, manages time efficiently, and makes decisions. It’s common in certain disorders, such as Depression, ADHD, and autism. Executive function skills are used to establish structures and strategies and to determine the actions required to move a project forward. So for those of us who struggle with executive dysfunction, dedicating ourselves to a project could get quite overwhelming. Here are some little tips and tricks I’ve compiled throughout my experience.

How to start:

Task initiation is one of the biggest struggles when dealing with executive dysfunction. This is especially hard with writing, since you need time to muster the energy needed to jump into your story. Here are some tips:

1. Start a 1-3 minute timer and force yourself to write something, anything, before it ends. The words that come out don’t matter. You can just write, “I don’t know.” The point is to force yourself into the writing zone.

2. Leave bread crumbs for yourself at the end of each writing session to make picking up where you left off easier. For example, stop in the middle of a sentence or thought, so the next time you write you won’t have to tackle something completely new.  You just have to finish that incomplete thought and continue from there. You could also leave some notes about what happens next, cutting down thinking time in your next session.

3. Try free writing. This is a great way to get those creative juices flowing with minimal effort. Free writing alleviates the pressure of writing something good. Spend a few minutes writing about anything, like your day or a frustrated ramble about your story. It’s like a warm up before your writing session.

How to keep going:

So you’ve started your writing session. How do you keep writing? Most importantly, how do you keep working on your project?  When struggling with executive dysfunction, the regular “set a schedule” approach doesn’t tend to work.

1. Scale down your goal if your big, overarching goal for your project is overwhelming. Try changing your goal to something more manageable and short term. For example, try writing 500 words a day. This might make it less likely for you to lose steam half way through.

2. Try writing sprints if daily goals aren’t working. Instead of hitting a certain word count, you’re setting a timer and writing for its entire duration

3. Don’t feel bad for needing external motivation. Will promising yourself a pizza after you hit your goal motivate you to write? By all means, do so. Maybe you just need a friend to ask you if you’ve written at the end of the day. Find out what motivates you.

4. Find a writing buddy. This can be someone who can sit down and write at the same time to hold you accountable. Or it can be a critique partner that expects you to turn in something by a certain deadline.

5. Try something new. This is one of the best ways to combat how constraining and overwhelming your writing might feel. It’s okay to lose interest in your project for awhile and try something new. Unless you’re racing to meet a deadline, you have no obligation to keep working on a project that isn’t working for you. Setting a project aside doesn’t mean giving up on it. You might only need some time away from it before you are able to finish it.

Trying something new could also mean changing where or how you write. Usually write at home? Try a coffee shop. Do you usually type? Try hand writing. It might or might not work for you. But change could be quite refreshing for your mind.

6. Write whenever you can. Sometimes the urge to write comes while you’re waiting for lunch to heat up, or right before you go to bed. Motivation can be hard to find with executive dysfunction, and designated writing times don’t always work. Have something on hand you can easily pull out to write with to take advantage of these moments. Jotting down a hundred words as you’re waiting for dinner to cool might not seem like much, but it’s still words contributed to your word count.

Some of these tips might work for you. Some might not. Writing successfully is mostly about finding what works and running with it. These are things I found helpful when I embarked on my first novel and I hope it would at least give you some ideas.

The link to the full article will be below:

If that doesn’t help, I did find this Reddit thread that might have some helpful tips.

Reddit Post

I’m sorry that I couldn’t find anyone else or anything visual. Many sources focused on younger children. So it hard to find resources for older teens and adults.

Maybe some of my followers can give some tips/advice?

If you’d like, we can talk personally so I can try to help. I have an associates degree in English if that means anything. Lol.

Anyway, thank you for the inbox. I hope you have a wonderful day/night. ❤️

[perseephoneee]

This might seem kind of odd, but how about a Kai one-shot where the British male reader is the infamous serial killer Jack the Ripper? Reader became a vampire in the Whitechapel District in the 1800’s and went on a killing spree, eventually being given the nickname Jack the Ripper. Fast forward a few decades, and he’s presumed dead because nobody knew he was a vampire. When some random witches find out he’s alive, he’s sent to the 1994 prison world as punishment for his crimes. He meets Kai, and they become boyfriends. This takes place before Damon and Bonnie get to the 1994 prison world. 

answering this as a headcanon bc a fic idea is not coming to me right now but I LOVE THIS CONCEPT??!

so you're a vampire (obviously), and like a lot of vampires, morality kind of becomes iffy for you

i mean why not? you're immortal. you can't be killed easily. and humans are just oh so delightful to mess with.

and "messing with them" is what you end up doing, to the point where in your hometown of Whitechapel District 1800's, they start calling you Jack the Ripper.

your crimes are infamous, you're the OG of most serial killers, and frankly you're proud of it.

you had nothing else to do with your time, so why not become famous? even if it was for murdering folks.

APPARENTLY THOUGH some people didn't like that (those people you found to suck the life out of things, no pun intended)

so when the Gemini coven heard that you migrated to their side of town, they set to make sure you wouldn't hurt anyone again.

of course, you still managed to snag a few before they whisked you away ;)

where did you go? a fucking prison world. what a joke.

enter kai parker.

your first thoughts of him? he talks too much. wayyy too much.

but also, he's a totally sociopath. physically incapable of feeling guilt (a walking DSM example). so on that ground, you kind of bond.

and through that bond, you start to actually tolerate his presence a little more. why? because he's cute, and agrees with you, something you haven't experienced in centuries.

when did you fall in love? when you both shared the same atrocious act you both committed.

"I killed my family, and let my sister escape for some reason. Maybe I felt slightly bad, but not really…it just didn’t feel–” “Poetic?” you answer, the whiskey an icy flame on your tongue as you take a sip. Kai turned to look at you with a slight grin on his face, as if, for the first time, someone heard his thoughts and truly understood them. “I get it. I killed my family after they figured out what I was doing. I thought I was doing them a favor, saving them from the world and it’s messed up morals.” “Mine just never liked me,” Kai huffed, sitting up and grabbing some discarded snack he left on the table. You were lounging around someone’s living room, a fire blistering in the darkness. “Being a siphon makes you an outcast for the good ol’ Geminis.” “Fuck the Geminis,” you laugh, turning towards your companion. “They just didn’t get the chance to hear your eloquent sense of humor.” “Finally admitting I have a sense of humor,” Kai said, throwing a chip in his mouth. “You’re growing soft on me.” “For you? Anything.”

You kissed for the first time that night by the fire, and it was the first time you’ve felt anything. 

You’ve felt glee, anger, and satisfaction but never pure happiness at the person next to you. 

Despite Kai never experiencing complete forms of love, he appreciated you all the same and was open to it. Decades spent in a prison world, made him finally okay with opening up to someone. 

It made you wish that Kai had been there all those years ago when you were first turned, because how could you have missed out on your perfect person all this time? The first person to see you and not be ashamed of what you’ve done or what you believe, to just support you wholeheartedly. 

You made a vow to never let go of him, no matter the stakes. 

So when good ol’ Damon and Bonnie finally show up, you know that you’ll hijack their ride with Kai no matter the cost. You weren’t leaving him behind.

[aprillikesthings]

I ignored my notes for a few days, and in the meantime enough assholes have reblogged my one big post about queer love that I've turned off reblogs for now.

I've been called a biphobe, a homophobe, it's been tagged "conversion therapy" (which is upsetting, also what part of my post implied it was a thing we could do oN PURPOSE), I've been blamed for all kinds of weird shit???

The one that always pisses me off is the "well she's from Portland what do you expect"

nearly everyone who lives here moved here from somewhere else, it's hilarious that people who think they know enough about Portland to write off my experiences don't know that

I spent my entire childhood living on/near US military bases with a dad who was incredibly, godawfully homophobic until after I was in high school when he finally chilled on it a little (....because he was no longer in the military)

Anyway I've played wack-a-mole blocking the terfs in my notes for a bit, might do some more later, but for now at least I've put a freeze on the post, you assholes are why we can't have nice things

Also in general I am tired of dealing with people willfully misunderstanding a post I wrote in a hurry a year and a half ago when I was happy that I expected to get like tWELVE NOTES, MAX

And also I know I've said it before but it does always make me laugh how predictable these dipshits are--it's no shock to me that terfs are incapable of wrapping their minds around other people's experiences being different from their own, but yes, my orientation changed on me, it wasn't a thing I did on purpose, and given the amount of confusion and angst I felt about it at the time it's wild to have people read one (1) post I made and think they know my sexual orientation better than I do

[sylvaridreams]

1, 5, and 15 for whoever you want 👀

OH BOY (i did not forget this. forgetting is the post killer. forgetting is the little death that makes me not post.) ask game!

I'll do these for my little orange freak... Auru...

1-- Where did they grow up/spend their early years?

In the Grove for a short time, where he met Alba and Meisi. Auruim didn't stay there long before enlisting in the Vigil, and from there he was at Vigil Keep until the events in the Maguuma Wastes unfolded and Camp Resolve was build up. He felt from early on that he was too weak, incapable of keeping up with the other two, and after being attacked in the Vigil Keep, his confidence further tanked and he verged on being discharged from the Vigil entirely. Darlio is the only reason he managed to hang on and make it through the join the Pact in the wastes.

And then of course none of this really matters much, he was blighted within a few months of waking up from the dream anyway.

5-- How do they feel about their family? Chosen and/or biological?

I guess you could argue he's "biologically" related to all the other sylvari, with whom he feels a deep divide and a vast disconnect. He knows he's not one of them and can't return to that life. He knows that it doesn't matter whether or not he tries to be like them, that there will always be a cold, if polite rejection to his otherness. I think this contributes to him othering himself further; i.e., since he feels like he can't be one of them no matter what he does, he'll behave opposite to their behaviors and values to create a wider disconnect and a sharper contrast.

Alba, Meisi, Canach at this point, Bourbon at this point, Deidre, Venasis and Darlio-- those are the people he cares about. I think their bonds are complex -- Auruim is not nice by nature, he has trouble being kind even when he wants to be, he can't get words out unless they're cruel and hurtful, he can't communicate what he wants from people without lashing out at them. He loves each of these people but he's not good at showing it and might never be. But he does love them. They know he does.

I think things with him and Alba have been the absolute rockiest out of everyone, because he and Alba really do love one another and always have, but Auruim had no one else to blame for sending him into the jungle for four years and then leaving him suffering in a lab for six months after, and the two of them have directly conflicting communication styles and understandings of a lot of things. I think there will just always been tension and stress in their relationship which will probably never go away, if only because Auruim can't articulate what he means or how he feels without hurting Alba. I could just go into Auru's history with and feelings about people forever but. That's what Icebrood Saga rewrite is for isn't it....

15-- Are they more avoidant or confrontational?

Confrontational. But... Auruim is the type to get really angry about something, charge headfirst into confrontation completely unprepared, be unable to vocalize what his position is, get really really really upset, cry his eyes out and break things and blame the other person for everything, and then require a lot of cooldown time before he can get to the point of it all. (100% conflicts with super avoidant Alba for whom problems just don't exist as long as he doesn't look straight at them.) Basically, Auru is confrontational in a way that gets nothing resolved.

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

hi, i wanted to get any kind of input or opinion because i think theres something really wrong with me. ive always been obsessed with labels and terms to identify myself, always switching them around and finding a new one regularly to base myself off of. right now at least i have no actual sense of identity and its very possible i could just be reaching because i tend to do that a lot but i dont remember a time where i genuinely had a hold on who i was, aside from when i had a really unhealthy obsession with one singular person for about 2 years. my entire life and mental state revolved around them during that time and to be honest, even though we arent on speaking terms anymore, still seeing them on socials messes me up pretty often.

anyway, the main issue is that i dont really know who i am or who i even want to be. i cant even really keep a name/nickname to go buy for longer than a few months only because i know it inconveniences the people around me (however few there are now). and thats another thing! im really iffy about making connections with people now because a lot about it makes me uncomfortable, like the responsibility and having to deal with another person all the time. i know that sounds really shitty, but i feel like i spent all my love ill ever have on that one person for two years and now that its gone, its never coming back. im still very lonely now but the thought of trying to fix that is really uncomfortable to me. its not that im incapable of making friends, its that after a while ill kind of get tired of them? something about consistency makes me restless and i know its shitty because im a really up and down kind of friend, like recently ive only been talking to people when i feel like it, which is one big reason i dont want to make friends and put people through that.

back to the labels and identity thing. its always kind of been there, but recently the urge to cling to some sort of label or answer for my behavior and thoughts and feelings has been so strong that i almost wish i was genuinely delusional or something. or just that something was seriously wrong with me, just so that i have something new and big to cling to. i know thats bad and unhealthy but i dont know how else to function. ive been thinking recently that i have a lot of narcissistic traits, or at least self centered tendencies. i always operate like im the main character. i always do things with the thought in mind that there will be no negative outcomes for me, and if there so happens to be one, then ill somehow weasel my way out of it. i think that everything will always go well for me, which is weird because it very much has not in the past. a lot of bad things have happened to me, but in a weird fucked up kind of way im glad they did. because now i have some sort of trauma to cling to and roll into my identity. but the flaw in that is that i need a new one every so often. i cycle through different traumas and disorders and sexualities and genders and names and everything that i really, genuinely dont know who i am. and thats why i think somethings wrong with me. because what normal person thinks and operates like this? i dont know if i fully described the reality of my situation, or if im just saying that because i want it to seem worse, but thats about it. sorry for the long ask. i hope you can get around to answering

Hi anon,

I think to some degree its okay to like labels, as they can provide us a sense of structure and being able to name things can give a lot of people comfort. It's also okay to change your identity, as identities are fluid and naturally change over time. You're allowed to change your identity as many times as you want because it's literally yours to dictate, you know?

However, there are many different possibilities as to why you may be experiencing this frequent shift in identity. While I can help explain what these possibilites might be, it is crucial to consult with a mental health professional for an accurate assessment and diagnosis.

One of the possibilities is that you could have some narcissistic tendencies, as from my understanding of NPD, it's about basically trying to regain control of feeling worthless or helpless by constructing a reality of grandiosity that can be incredibly fragile (please correct me if I'm wrong).

Also in the realm of personality disorders, the idea of having "identity disturbance" and "unhealthy obsessions" with someone is characteristic of BPD. Identity disturbance, also sometimes called identity diffusion, is described as an "incoherence, or inconsistency in a person's sense of identity. This could mean that a person's goals, beliefs, and actions are constantly changing. It could also be that the person takes on personality traits of people around them, as they struggle to have and maintain their own identity." Of course, you can experience identity disturbance without BPD, but it's still a common experience among pwBPD.

Another possibility is tired to when you said "i cycle through different traumas and disorders and sexualities and genders and names and everything that i really, genuinely don't know who i am" as it reminded me of how a system might experience their identity, especially if they don't realize they're a system. This is not me saying you're definitely a system, but the possibility of plurality could be something to explore further as well.

Ultimately, this could be something to explore further with the guidance and mediation of a mental health professional such as a therapist, who can work with you to identify more concretely why you may be experiencing these things. They can also help you navigate these feelings and provide guidance tailored to your specific needs.

It's important to practice self-care and be gentle with yourself as you navigate your identity. Please know that it's okay to take your time and embrace the journey of self-discovery. If anyone has any additional insights or suggestions, feel free to add on. Otherwise, I hope I could help, and please let us know if you need anything.

-Bun