#but you can’t say it’s fiction it’s fiction on ONLY the things you approve of

[buggyandthebartoclub]

Idk how to say this but it’s hypocritical to say it’s all fiction, no thought policing, etc etc when it’s about stuff you’re horny for but not for the things you’re not horny for.. In both writing and art..

*shrugs* idk some of y’all kinda give rules for thee not for me w it. Idk. Just reflecting on things

[thornhawthorne]

The thing about writing trans characters is that it is 100% guaranteed that at least a few trans people are going to be unhappy with whatever you write — not necessarily through any fault of your own, though that is certainly a possibility, but because there is such a dearth of trans representation in general.

Trans people are hungry and we’ve mostly been getting by on crumbs. I’m not saying that there are NO media with trans characters, but you have to admit that there are not a lot of really good things to read/watch/consume that have trans characters (and this is without getting into the question of whether or not those characters or the media they’re presented in cater to your particular tastes!)

^ This is usually the real problem. Certain genres and mediums have it worse, too! Think about how expensive it is to make movies or TV shows and how many people you have to get approval from and how many people need to be hired and paid to make one that makes it to cable, streaming services, or theaters, as an example.

Books and comics give us more to choose from in part because the barrier to pushing one out into the world is lower, though still not as much as I would like.

Personally, I want to make a TV show, but I can’t. So, I’m making the story into a comic that could maybe get adapted someday. This brings us close to my point:

Two of the protagonists (and many more of the side characters) in my current project are canonically trans. To some people, these two will be refreshing / the representation that they have been waiting to see for AGES. Those people will feel like they are being presented with a feast. To others, it will feel like being handed an empty plate and told to eat up. Those people are not wrong and I will not take it personally. The way that my writing makes them feel will be extremely real and undeniably valid.

What I want fellow writers to understand is that these feelings are not always going to be the fault of the individual author of the individual project that inspired these feelings (with the caveat that it does kind of suck when a new fictional trans person turns out to be exactly like all the other crumbs we’ve been forced to call a feast.) The people you make angry by breaking away from the norm could simply be mad because they’re used to feeling seen rather than because you've done something terrible.

People will be angry if a trans character is conventionally attractive or if they aren’t. They’ll be angry if you make the character pre-everything, non-op, HRT only, 10 years into a “do everything” transition, fat, thin, tall, short, etc. They’ll be angry if you make the character gay, straight, bi, pan, aro, ace -- I could keep going, but I won’t.

My point is that while you should definitely take the reasoning behind the anger your work may inspire into consideration and you should ABSOLUTELY remain critical of your own work if you want it to be the best it could possibly be...

You also have to be aware that you CANNOT please everyone, especially not with a single trans character in isolation, and you should not work yourself half to death trying to meet some imaginary guidelines of what “good” representation is, because it doesn’t exist.

"Good representation" means something different to everyone.

Also, someone already made basically what I was trying to express in this post but better and also in a single image:

[hees-mine]

𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 - 𝐥.𝐡𝐬

Pairing: heeseung ⚥ reader

Synopsis: After just spending a few days away from you, heeseung knows he can’t go much longer without needing to be with you every single waking moment of his life. He knows your relationship is considered wrong, but no one had to know, and he knew the perfect way to have you all to himself without any interferences.

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, stepbrother, stepcest, cursing, dirty talk, fluff.

If you're uncomfortable with step relationships, this is not for you, so please kindly click off. Also they are both consenting adults. This is a work of fiction.

Genre: 18+, smut, taboo relationship, minors do not interact!

WC: 2,934k

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE PART FOUR PART FIVE PART SIX PART SEVEN

Heeseung woke up early in the morning to leave your room, but when he saw you sleeping so peacefully, he couldn’t find it in him to leave your bed.

He smiled at you, stroking some hairs away from your face so he could see your beautiful face while you slept soundly. He traced his thumb over your cheek softly. “My princess,” he whispers and kisses your forehead lovingly.

His feelings for you were growing more and more by the day. There was only so much longer he could sneak around with you. He needed to be with you every second of the day, not just at night before bed.

He thinks of ways that he could have you all to himself, and an idea pops into his head what if you two just moved together? It’s not like you both weren’t old enough. What if he just used all his savings and got a little place for just the two of you? That way, you’d never have to sneak around ever again, and you could have playtime when and wherever.

Just the idea makes him excited, and he places little kisses all over your face to wake you up and tell you about his genius idea. “Morning bubs,” you whisper and slowly open your eyes, giggling softly when you feel him pressing soft kisses all over your neck and chest.

“Morning, sissy,” he hums against your neck and wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer to his naked chest. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, Bubba.” he smiles at your barely awake state and boops your precious nose.

“Princess, I was thinking of something,” he says after a minute or two. “And you can say no,” he gulps nervously before telling you about his idea.

“Hmm? What is it, big Bubba?” You stroke his chest softly and place a tiny kiss on his jawline, making him feel less nervous. His eyes flutter closed before he meets your worried gaze.

“I just…. I was thinking, what if we moved?” he pauses for a quick second before speaking again. “Like just the two of us, and that way, we can be together all the time.” he tucks your loose hair behind your ear, a feeling of anxiety bubbling in his stomach at the thought of you saying no to him.

“But Bubba, we’re together most of the time,” you say to him, completely confused about his sudden request.

He sighs and props himself up on his elbow, taking your small hand in his and holding it to his mouth to kiss it gently. “I know, but I mean all the time. If we move, we can play all the time, not just at night.” he strokes the back of your hand softly.

Your eyes gleam at the thought, and you already feel excited about spending even more time with him. “But why can’t we do it here?”

You’re so cute, he thinks to himself while he smiles softly. “Because princess, some people won’t approve of our relationship, our parents especially, so we can’t do it here 'cause it’s best if they don’t know about it,” he explains calmly.

“But Bubba, why?” He cups your cheek in his palm.

“Cause some may say we’re too close just to be siblings.” you nod your head, understanding what he’s saying sort of.

“But we’re not really siblings,” you say, slowly tilting your head to the side.

“I know,” he whispers. “But things are a little different for others, so that’s why I think it’s best for us to keep it a secret and just move on our own.”

“Okay! Bubba,” he feels his heart melt, a never-ending smile finding his lips as you engulf him in a hug like he’s your big teddy bear. “But we can still visit, right?”

“Of course!”

-

“Are you sure you’re ready for this son? You’re both so young.” you were all currently in the living room talking things over. heeseung had proposed the idea to your parents after talking things over with you.

“Hmm,” he nods. “I think it’ll be good, sissy thinks so, too” he smiles at you softly, and you nearly get lost in his dreamy eyes.

“He’s right. They aren’t exactly babies anymore, honey,” your mom says, seemingly approving of the idea. “Plus, she has her big brother. They’re like two peas in a pod. We have nothing to worry about,” she nudges her husband discreetly and whispers. “Plus, we can have more alone time.”

“Oh,” he smiles softly at her, taking her hand in his. “Dear, I suppose you’re right.” at the end of it all, you come to an agreement with the promise of that if anything happens, you’ll both move back in with your parents and of course, heeseung agrees even though he didn’t see anything wrong ever happening how could it when he finally had his princess all to himself?

-

It’s been a while since your guys talk, and today was officially moving day.

“Gonna be just you and me, princess.” heeseung lifted you up off your feet, spinning you around as you squealed in excitement. “Are you excited?” He smiles brightly at you.

“Yes, Bubba,” you say happily as you kick your feet in the air.

“Me too.” he quickly pecks your lips before setting you down so you can both finish packing.

When everything was concluded, your parents helped you both with your bags. “Call us when you arrive,” your mom says.

“I will!” You reply with a smile.

“And drive safe.” now it’s your dad's turn to chime in.

“I will, I promise.” heeseung smiles and puts a protective arm around you, making you feel warm and fuzzy inside.

“Come over on the holidays.”

“And call us every day.”

“Be good to each other.”

You both just chuckled at your parent's endless worrying before leaving the house and driving to the new place.

Finally, heeseung thinks as he holds your hand all the way there.

Now it was gonna be just you and him all the time, no distraction, no interruption, just the two of you alone sharing your endless love for each other without having to worry about any judgment from the outside world.

When you arrive, heeseung does all the unpacking so his princess doesn’t have to do any of the work, of course.

Box after box, and hours later, he was finally done setting everything up.

When he finished, you both ordered out, too exhausted from moving to cook. As you both ate dinner, you talked and went on and on about all the things you both wanted to do together in the new apartment, and you could easily see this becoming a daily routine for you as long as Big Bubba was with you you didn’t have a worry in the world.

After dinner, you cuddled on the couch that your parents had the movers bring in, and before you knew it, it was already midnight, and heeseung thinks time really does fly when you’re having fun. “Wanna get ready for bed?” Heeseung whispers softly, stroking your shoulder while back-hugging you on the sofa.

You hum in agreement, the both of you getting up and walking to the bedroom to call it a night for the first time at the new apartment.

As heeseung was collecting yours and his clothes, you stood there playing with your fingers near the corner of your room. “Something wrong, princess,” heeseung asks you, and you just shake your head back and forth.

He looks at you worriedly, thinking maybe you were having second thoughts about moving in with him, that is, until he sees you discreetly rubbing your legs together, and then it clicked with him he knew exactly what you wanted, and he can’t say he wasn’t waiting for this moment himself.

“Wanna play with big bubs” you mutter shyly.

“Princess, now that we’re all alone, you can call me whatever you like,” he encircles your waist, hugging you close to his body. “And from now on, whenever you’re feeling like this, just tell me you wanna have sex, okay?”

“Sex?” You tilt your head slightly. He always found you adorable when you did that.

“Yep,” he nods his head, and he kinda wants to scold his parents for keeping you so sheltered. You were far too innocent for your own good. That’s the only reason he started calling you sissy and having you call him Bubba in the first place because those were the only endearing names that your parents wouldn’t find suspicious, not to mention he couldn’t tell you it was called sex cause if that ever got out he’s sure his parents would have beat him black and blue if they knew he was having sex with their daughter and his “sister.”

“Okay,” you whisper and put your hands on his chest while he smiles down at you.

“So princess, what’s it gonna be?” He touches your forehead with his eager to hear what you want his new nickname to be.

“B-baby,” you stutter shyly. You always wanted to call him that when you heard your friends call their boyfriends like that, but you were far too embarrassed to tell him.

“You’re so cute.” he nudges his nose with yours, giving you a kiss on the cheek, which makes you duck your head down in his chest and hide from him. “Lay down on our bed, princess,” he tells you softly, heart thumping in his chest as he looks at you. You’re so beautiful, and you’re all just his, no one else’s.

His stare makes you feel shy, and even though it’s embarrassing for you to make eye contact with him, you just can’t pull your eyes away from his.

He slowly lifts his shirt up, pulling it over his head and tossing it on the ground. “Baby,” you say breathlessly as you watch him getting undressed.

He tries to play it cool when he hears you call him that for the first time in bed, but he can’t help the wide smile that covers his entire face as he rids himself of his jeans. “Call me that again,” he laughs while hovering above you on the bed, smiling at your flustered face.

“Baby,” you mutter, and he feels like he’s gonna have a heart attack.

Pecking your lips, he grins and leans back to grab the hem of your shirt and lift it over your head, revealing your bra-clad chest. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, and you can hear the love oozing in his voice.

“Thank you,” he bites on his lip, lowering his hands to your shorts and underwear, slipping them off your delicate frame.

“Of course, my princess” his eyebrows crease slightly as he gulps from the sight of your sticky cunt loving just how wet you get for him every single time you both make love.

Kicking off your bottoms, you instinctively sit up and unclip your bra, showing him your full breasts and hardened nipples. Once you toss your bra aside, you reach for the waist of his boxers, tugging them down as many times as you’ve done playtime with him. You know what to do next.

A gasp leaves your lips when you reveal his hard leaky cock, and the sight alone makes you whimper. You needed to feel him inside of you as soon as possible.

He leans over you, lowering himself to place a few wet kisses on your chest as he takes his boxers off the rest of the way and discards them on the floor.

He captures your tender lips in a hungry kiss, moaning into your mouth as he feels your hot tongue searing against his he rolls his hips dragging his length along your pussy, whimpering when his tip comes in contact with your entrance.

“Baby,” you breathe into his mouth, utterly breathless from how his mouth feels against yours.

“Mmm, I’m right here.” he guides your legs around his waist and then cups your hands together, holding them beside your head as he continually ruts against your dripping core.

“Want your cock inside” he groans into your mouth, kissing you more feverishly from your request.

He’s hesitant cause he hasn’t even prepped you yet, and though you’re literally dripping all over his dick and the bedsheets, the last thing he wants to end up doing is hurting his princess. “Yeah?” He whispers against your lips softly as you give him the slightest nod. “Okay, princess, gonna go nice and slow.” he kissed your forehead, angling his hips back until his tip was at your hole and very slowly pushing his tip in. “Fuck” he whimpers as soon as he feels you around him.

Mewling at the intrusion, you arch your back involuntarily, which causes him to go even deeper, making you cry out in pleasure. “Mmh baby,” you squeeze his hand's chest, rising and falling with each uneven breath you take as you feel his heart pounding against yours.

“Does it feel good, princess?” He asks as he buries his face in the side of your neck, licking and sucking on every inch that he could reach.

“Yes,” you sigh in pleasure, eyes rolling back in your head. “So big, so warm.” he takes that as his cue to fully penetrate you till he’s sheathed within your heat and every stroke feels better than the last you’re just so warm and wet that it makes his head spin.

“You’re making me feel so good, princess” his words sound like one drawn-out moan, barely coherent as he picks up his pace drilling your sweet spot over and over as his abdomen rubs on your throbbing clit. “Love you so much,” he whines in your ear, panting helplessly as he pumps your pussy till you’re shaking beneath him.

“Ah,” you attempted to respond but moaned instead cause he felt so deep and full inside you. “L-love you too,” he moans at your confession. It’s not like he hasn’t heard you say it before, but right now, it feels so much more intimate and intense than all the previous times.

“Wanna spend the rest of my life with you.” The sounds he made were ones that you’d never even heard before, and it made everything feel so much better. “Fill you up so you can give us a little family.” he’s not sure why the words are coming out of his mouth so easily, but it’s true he wants nothing more than to be with you for the rest of his life. “Want that princess? Want me to cum in you?” Placing a hand between your bodies, he rubs your clit the tight clench you give him makes him choke out a moan, eyes falling shut with the pleasure you give to him and only him.

“Yes baby, cum ins-side me, please” The warm feeling you’d become accustomed to spread throughout your lower body no matter how many times you felt it. It always took your breath away every single time. You just could never get enough of feeling his cock so deep in you.

“Kiss,” he breathes out, brain fuzzy and completely drained of everything but you.

Moaning into your mouth, he matches the pace of his thrusts with the quick circles he draws on your clit, and within no time, you’re both parting from the kiss, unfiltered moans escaping as you both get lost in the pleasure of your orgasms not worrying about how loud you’re both being as your fluids mix with each other.

You squeeze around him so tight that he’s almost forced to empty his balls deep in you as you clench and unclench around his thick cock milking him for all he’s worth and then some as you feel your insides hot and sticky with his cum he whimpers and whines incoherent sentences from how tight you feel your pussy was making him go completely dumb he was drunk off your silky cunt encasing his girth perfectly.

The feeling goes on and on, seemingly never-ending, while you both exchange sloppy wet kisses and for a moment, you feel like you’re going to pass out from the pleasure. Your brows crease together at the hot tingling sensation all over your body, and he feels it too, the warmth expanding in his abdomen as wet, slippery sounds fill up your guys' shared bedroom, followed by loud moans and deep grunts as he fills you up again with his thick seed coming back to back in record time.

Your other hand grips his bicep body, violently shaking as you feel another earth-shattering wave of euphoria enrapture you. “Love you, my princess,” he pants while kissing you, saliva spilling past both your swollen lips as you confessed to each other for the uncountable time tonight.

“I love you too, baby,” you moan softly while he slowly caresses your sensitive bud. He brings you down from your high, gently rolling his hips as his second orgasm turns into faint little throbs until his body finally calms down along with yours.

Once your heartbeats regulate, he pulls away from the kiss first, resting his forehead against yours with an exhausted chuckle, eyes full of nothing but fondness for you.

He cradles your cheek in his palm, and you quickly mimic his actions as he leans into your soft, loving touch.

As you look into his eyes, you can’t help but get lost in them, and you couldn’t wait to spend every waking moment of your life with him.

This was just the beginning of your guy's love story and the end of playtime.

Thanks for reading please reblog and leave feedback.

I’m tearing up 🥲 y’all it’s over this is the end 😞 I’m sad.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

I Won't Lose You

I've been told by all my friends who have played bg3 that durge runs should not be the first run of the game but here I am, doing just that. In my defense, I want to go around as a fictional dragonborn trying to kill most things and save scumming on dialogue choices for approval ratings.

Summary: The dark urge takes over when Astarion gets injured in battle. In the aftermath, you flee, afraid of what the others think of you now but Astarion goes after you to bring you back to camp and reassure you that nothing has changed.

When the arrow pierces through his shoulder, all you can see is red. Blood roars in your ears, a scream tears itself from your throat and you change. You become a different person, your legs move of their own accord, the dagger in your hand twirls and you stab downwards. Over and over again you stab, blood splattering all over you but you don’t care. You’re not thinking, everything is a blur except the one word that rings in your head.

Kill.

And so you kill, your dagger tearing into flesh and drawing blood with each sickening squelch. The metallic taste floods your tongue and you grin. You feel alive, powerful, invincible. No one can stop you, no one can take anything away from you ever again. Laughter bubbles within your chest, bursting forth as you stand there, head thrown back. Blood drips from your clothes onto the floor but you barely notice it. Euphoria thrums through your veins, you’ve killed the being who tried to take the only thing you have left from you. It feels wonderful.

You feel as though a weight has been lifted from your shoulders and raise your arms towards the sky, laughing all the while.

“Try it! Try and take him away from me!” You yell. “I’ll kill you all!”

Adrenaline rushes through your veins as the goblins flee in terror from the figure covered in blood. Your legs begin to move, feet pushing off the floor as you hunt them down, a wild gleeful look in your eyes. Your dagger slices through their skin, ripping open arteries, tearing off limbs and you only laugh harder at their screams of pain.

You slam your dagger into the neck of the goblin leader, crouching on its back as the body falls to the floor with a loud thud.

“No one can take him away from me,” you growl. “Not even the gods.”

You look up to see your companions’ various reactions, but the only one you really care about is Astarion’s. As you take a step towards him, reaching out with a bloody hand, he takes a step back, ruby eyes wide with horror. For a moment, all he can see is Cazador, drenched in blood with a grin so wide it stretches his face, and then he blinks and you’re standing in front of him, a look of hurt in your eyes.

Before your name can fall from his lips, you’re gone, running into the nearby forest. Everyone turns to look at him, the same question in their minds: what did he do?

Back in camp, Astarion tries to ignore the gnawing feeling in his chest as Shadowheart heals his injury. He can’t shake the look you gave him before running away, the fear that filled your gaze. He recognised the look, after all, it was the same as the one he wore as Cazador’s spawn – the look of despair.

“I’m going out for a walk,” he says and leaves the camp before anyone can say anything. In all honesty, he has no idea how to find you, all he knows is that he has to. He can’t leave you alone to fend for yourself, especially not in that condition of yours. Letting out a sigh, he makes his way back to the battle site. He can try starting from there, track the scent of your blood and hopefully find you before anything else does.

When he reaches the site, he notices a lone figure sitting by the bloodstained rubble, their knees hugged against their chest.

“Y/N,” he calls out. You look up, and then quickly look back down, curled even more into yourself. Astarion feels his undead heart ache at the sight of your current state. You’ve always been the life of the party – cheerful, upbeat, optimistic. He’s the one who is broody, sitting in the corner and staring at everyone else and yet here you are, sitting all alone in the cold night with no fire to keep you warm.

“May I inquire as to why you have stolen my role as the broody rogue?” He seats himself next to you whilst maintaining some distance. You keep silent, staring into the distance.

“Come now, darling. Let’s head back to camp, the others miss you dearly, not as much as they miss me of course but –”

“Leave.” Your voice wavers. When he doesn’t move, you repeat your words a little louder. “I said leave.”

“But why, darling? You’re clearly cold and hungry, the camp has both fire and food. Don’t tell me you plan on freezing to death while starving? It’s not a very comfortable way to go,” he tuts. “You should choose a better way of dying.”

“I deserve it,” you mutter. “After what I did.”

“After what you did? You killed the goblins and protected the weak, I don’t believe any of that is deserving of such a slow death.” Astarion attempts to lighten the mood but your face remains sullen.

“You know what I’m talking about. I saw it, the way you looked at me. You don’t want me anymore, you shouldn’t. I’m a monster.” Your voice cracks, tears sliding down your cheeks.

“That’s not the worst thing I’ve seen,” his voice drops to a whisper. “And my feelings for you haven’t changed in the slightest. I still want whatever it is that we have, this weird relationship of ours. Nothing will ever change my mind about it. Your appearance simply…reminded me of something I’d rather forget in that moment, but the situations couldn’t be more vastly different.”

Astarion reaches out with a hand, simply holding an upturned palm towards you. A simple gesture, but one filled with so much meaning between the two of you. You stare at it, a hand slowly reaching out before pulling back again when you see how bloodstained your hand is.

Seeing as you are still in no mood to talk, he continues. “Whenever Cazador was covered in blood, it tended to be my blood. Usually it was after he had finished torturing me for whatever sick reason he had and he would smile at me, asking if I would be his good pet. You were covered in goblin blood, vowing to kill anyone even the gods if they tried to harm me. You were protecting me, not harming me, and I am forever grateful for that.”

Astarion takes your bloodstained hand and presses it against his cheek, leaning into the warm feeling, “I need you, Y/N.”

You feel a fresh wave of tears prick at the corners of your eyes, biting your bottom lip to stop the cascade. He shifts closer to you and leans in, ready to pull away should you flinch but you remain still, looking him in the eye and so he wraps himself around you, holding you tightly.

The dam bursts open and you weep, clutching at his tunic. Ugly tears dampen his sleeve, ruining his perfect appearance but Astarion doesn’t care. He’d do anything for you, just like how you’d do anything for him. The vampire spawn rests a reassuring hand on the back of your head while the other rubs circles on your back as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear. Right now, only you matter, and if you needed a shoulder to cry on, he would be that shoulder.

“I can’t lose you,” you sob through the tears. “I’ve lost everything else already, I can’t lose you too. WIthout you, I…I don’t know what to do. You’re the only one who keeps me going.”

Astarion presses his lips to your head, closing his eyes as he takes in your sweet scent, “I can’t lose you either, Y/N, and I promise, we will remain by each other’s side forever.”

His words make you cry harder and you bury yourself into his chest, crying until you have nothing left to give and lie there panting, cries reduced to sniffles. Astarion kisses away the tears that remain on your cheek, lips lingering longer than necessary with each kiss before pressing his forehead against yours.

“All these years, I’ve always wondered if anyone would ever care about me to the point where they would do anything to protect me, and now I’ve found my answer in you,” he murmurs. “I couldn’t be happier knowing that you would choose me over everything else.”

“I love you too,” you whisper back. “Thank you, for accepting me after seeing what I really am.”

“Any time, dearest.” He continues to cradle you in his arms, gently swaying from side to side. As your eyelids begin to flutter shut, he decides that tonight, it can’t just be you who is vulnerable. You trust him enough to drop your guard to this extent around him, he wants to repay the favour.

“I had a nightmare about you, just the other night.” He gently pushes your hair out of your face, tracing your jawline. He’s been wanting to keep this a secret, afraid of scaring you but since you had challenged the gods themselves, perhaps a vampire wasn’t that scary in comparison.

“Did I look hot in it?”

Astarion blinks in surprise. Maybe he was rubbing off on you too much. Amusement colours his face as he gives your cheek a poke and pouts. “First you steal my role as the broody rogue in the party and now you try to take my place as the residential flirt?”

“It’s all your fault,” you huff good naturedly, folding your arms across your chest. “You’ve been a terrible influence on me.”

He smiles softly, giving you a peck on the lips, “I suppose I have. Although I must say, you have a long way to go before you can ever reach my level.”

“I can’t possibly put you out of a job, can I? Whatever will I do to keep my vampire lover around then?”

“You simply need to exist, darling. That is all.”

Your gaze softens and you press your lips against his, kissing him deeply.

“Do you want to talk about your nightmare?” You ask once you reluctantly break away from the kiss to breathe. He nods, swallowing hard.

“Cazador had you. He threatened to kill you unless I returned to him, threatened to turn you into one of his spawn just like me and make you suffer for an eternity while I watched. You swore and cursed at me, saying all this was my fault, that it was all because of me that you were now on the cusp of being turned into a vampire spawn, and I –” His fingers tremble. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“Star –”

“I hesitated! I thought about putting myself before you, and I –”

“I want you to do that.”

His eyes widen, “darling, you can’t possibly –”

“Star, you’ve spent far too long putting everyone before yourself. You need to start putting yourself before others from time to time, to stand up for yourself. I want you to live your own life, not someone else’s. And if Cazador ever comes for us, well I won’t let him separate us. We’ll have each other’s backs as we always do, and he won’t stand a chance.”

You say it with such certainty that Astarion almost believes you, but a nagging voice in the back of his head reminds him of how strong Cazador is. Yet, looking deep into your eyes and seeing your resolve, a small part of him dares to hope again. Maybe, he really could stand up against his master with you by his side. Maybe one day, he really could be free, but for now, he’s more than content to simply hold you in his arms, feeling your warm embrace and his undead heart soaring.

[harfanfare]

I like to think that romance with Idia widely differs depending on the time you’ve been in a romantic relationship.

1. “Just started dating” stage.

If you're reading Idia fanfiction, there is an 80% chance this is the stage your relationship is on.

Idia is… treating you like a very precious stranger. He's on his toes and seeks your approval in whatever he's doing. He is going to great lengths to understand the theory of dating and your hobbies - so you can maybe share even more interests - but won’t really act on anything.

He’s constantly surprised by every romantic move you make and you have numerous occasions to adore his cherry blush and various puckles of hair igniting with pink and red. He stutters a lot and can’t focus on anything in your presence.

Idia will outright reject any suggestions for bolder moves. He’s unprepared, and although guilt is eating him from the inside, he is not up to anything you two weren’t doing as friends. Well, maybe handholding, kissing, and cuddling get a (hard) pass, but you are the only one initiating these things.

He will try his best to reciprocate effort, though.

2. “Have been dating for a while” stage.

It’s an interphase between two very different stages, so he’s a funny mix: a very shy outsider and a cocky genius at the same time.

Gaming sessions will be the centre of your couple's time. Idia regularly invites you to his dorm, sometimes even on spontaneous sessions when a new event comes up or he has found a new game that looks very cool. You share snacks, drinks, and clothes (read: you have unwritten permission to claim his blouses).

This boy would be dead without you and Ortho, and with that knowledge, you make it your mission to (somehow) tidy up his room, buy some cosmetics, healthier food, etc. If you are up to organizing a “self-care evening”, he will be hesitant at first but will be looking forward to it after a while, with some older anime. (I like to think it would be a magical girl series like Sailor Moon, Tokyo Mew Mew or Chobits, or some shoujo).

In exchange, he might construct some little gadgets (maybe anime-themed?) for you, helps you get the merch you want, and supports you in your games.

At this point, he doesn’t weigh his words much. He’s still easy to fluster, but he comes with comebacks right away. The most flirty he gets on the phone when it’s late at night and you are using a chat to talk, especially when you are not in the same room. 3. Long-term relationship stage.

He knows you are doomed to him and shamelessly takes advantage of that.

He has no claims against calling you in the middle of the night to watch him sharing his screen when he pulls for a character he wants to get in the gacha system. He believes your presence brings him luck, so he must have you when he does crucial things!

Idia disses your taste in fictional men. Sometimes, he reads the dialogues out loud from the otome games you play. He may alter them, which can make you either huff or laugh. If you read or write fanfiction, he might read them too, giving you an out loud commentary on some fragments and asking you if you are that desperate for dates so you are sending fanfiction to inspire him. If you say yes, he will hum and return to whatever he was doing before, but he might plan something out that you will preferably be able to do in his room.

Chatroom with him and Ortho is quite calm, almost polite, but your private chatroom with Idia is the most chaotic one you’ve ever been. You learned to not leave your phone openly if you don’t want to explain some inside joke with a layered backstory. An app you use to chat with Idia is the one your screen time is counted on most, and writing with Idia is your guilty pleasure.

If you are interested in IT, he might program you an app or something to help you with it! He will give you the best feedback ever, and although it may be harsh, the last thing he wants is to discourage you from learning further.

On one anniversary of your dating, he will gift you this kind of couple bracelet which lights up if the other person touches it. He created them himself. When he receives signals throughout the day, he thinks of them as a promise from you, that no distance can sever your bond.

If you bring up some serious talk, you will be bullied with memes. It’s Idia’s coping mechanism. He will plan his future with you, don’t worry, but wait for him to muster up the courage to get on one knee and ask the question.

[thranduel]

i need people to actually stop and think logically when it comes to fictional characters. more specifically, when it comes to astarion.

it’s frustrating when people only talk about him in a sexual way and reduce him to “the hot sexy flirty vampire” or “the bear guy” (he was used as an EXAMPLE in a livestream, it’s not even canon in his lore) and view him as someone who “loves flirting and sleeping with people” when he does NOT. he canonically has sexual trauma, was forced to use his body to seduce people, got punished whenever he didn’t listen and is STILL suffering from ptsd after years of abuse and torture (already kinda spoke about this here).

it’s also frustrating when people hate on him and reduce him to “horrible evil heartless cruel annoying bastard” and act like you’re a shitty person if you like his character and must automatically agree with everything he’s done when you absolutely don’t?? he’s a FICTIONAL CHARACTER IN A FANTASY GAME, you can enjoy the complexity of his character and appreciate his character development while also acknowledging his flaws and not approve of every single thing he has ever done.

but before i continue, everyone should watch this scene. many people haven’t seen it because you have to pick very specific dialogue choices when astarion’s siblings approach you at camp. it’s brutal and heartbreaking but this is where he talks about what cazador did to him when he punished him for not listening to his orders. and yes, it’s bad. like really bad. this is just the first part, but the rest of it is more intense and it’s in the video:

“once - in the first decade of my slavery - i found a darling boy who i couldn’t bare to bring back to him. so i ran, instead of hurting that sweet man. after cazador caught me, the bastard sealed me, starving, inside a dusty tomb, all on my own, for an entire year”.

i wish people could actually just try to understand him and his backstory before reducing him to something he’s not. he’s not this one-dimensional “chaotic evil villain”. he’s not this “flirty sexy vampire red flag bad boy” he is SO much more than that. he is so complex and well-written and it’s so weird how people ignore it.

instead of constantly focusing on how he acts at the beginning of the game and saying “astarion is so mean and cruel what a horrible guy who doesn’t care about anyone but himself”, why can’t we talk about how he was forced into doing so many horrible things that he never wanted to do and how his master punished him every time he didn’t follow orders to the point where it utterly broke and destroyed him? he lost his freedom and bodily autonomy. he was forced to sleep with people and then lure them to tragic fates. imagine how sick, disgusted, guilty and horrible he felt all at once. it made him numb, empty, angry and scared even when he was far away from cazador, because that type of pain and trauma never leaves you. he was surrounded by cruelty for so many years that he responded with cruelty in many situations. he hated when people tried to be the hero or make false promises to save someone because no one ever saved him. no one even tried. he had no one and nothing. he was used to constant disappointment and loneliness. he was treated like an object rather than a person. of course he’s going to be bitter because of that. how can you seriously expect someone who only knew a world of cruelty to see sunshine and rainbows and be the sweetest person you’ve ever met? he’s upset, he’s angry, he’s hurt, he’s bitter. does that make every action of his okay? is it an excuse? absolutely not. and no one said that it is. his own life was being destroyed and he also destroyed others at the same time. it’s horrible. but everything cazador did to him explains why he became like that.

but the moment you actually start to treat him like a person, you can immediately see things start to change. that is literally the only thing he ever wanted. that’s why the scene you get after the drow interaction at moonrise is one of my absolute favourites. i know there’s a different version of that scene (if you don’t talk to the drow) where he instead admits he had a plan to seduce you but then fell for you, but the reason i prefer the drow one is because it feels really meaningful and important for his character in regards to consent and treating him like a person. like it’s just such an important conversation to have with him. obviously the other version is still really sweet when you think about the romantic aspect of your relationship and it’s nice to hear that he’s fallen in love and tells you that you deserve something real, because he’s never had those sort of feelings for anyone. it’s really beautiful. but i love how the drow version of the scene could actually work for both platonic and romantic relationships with him if that makes sense? it’s important to him because you made the decision to actually treat him like a person, defend him and allow him to make his OWN decisions (something he never had with cazador). he appreciated it so much that he decided to come up to you in the middle of the night and thank you, and then he felt comfortable enough to be vulnerable and open up to you.

at the start of act 3, you already start to see how much he’s changed. if you give an orphan child some food, he approves. when you first met him, he wouldn’t have. he probably would’ve felt bitter; angry to see someone stop for someone else when no one ever did for him. but because you showed him basic respect and kindness, he started to realise that there is good in this world and people do care. it’s not just evil and coldness and cruelty. he only believed there was because of how long he suffered with cazador. there is literally a scene where he tells you that no one has ever cared about him or been kind to him and that no one else has a heart like you. he starts to find safety and comfort in you. this is why it’s so beautiful to see how much he grows and changes and it also shows that he genuinely loves and cares for you too because he’s trying. he’s really trying. you are able to convince him that he can be better than cazador and he believes you after everything you’ve done to help him. it’s going to take a very long time for him to heal after everything he’s suffered, but the fact he has already started to try and be a better person is such a massive thing. obviously it doesn’t erase what he’s done in the past and it doesn’t automatically “fix” him, but the fact that he’s trying and he wants to be better tells you more than enough about him. i am so proud of his character development and growth and i really hope people start to understand him and appreciate him more.

[keepittoyourshelf]

Since the algorithm on my various socials thinks I actually want to see a ton of people simping over Rhys and ACOTAR, let’s get down to the bones of why that algorithm is fucked beyond all comprehension, shall we?

I’ve never hidden the fact that I’m pro-Tamlin, not in the sense that I approve of what he did, but from the place that I believe he’s worthy of forgiveness in the same way any of the men that SJM otherwise glorifies in her work is worthy of it for any of their transgressions.

I shouldn’t have to do a paint by numbers thing here to make this obvious, but based on the actual text written by SJM in her own words, Tamlin has objectively done nothing better or worse than Rhysand has.

The big complaint is his temper, of course, and pro-Rhysies love to bullshit about how the red flags were all over book 1 and SJM is such a master at foreshadowing.

He locked Feyre in a house against her will to protect her, when she clearly didn’t want to be caged. How is that any worse than Rhysand…drugging her and making her give him lap dances, in order to protect her, when she clearly didn’t want to be dancing naked in front of strangers?

Go on. I’ll wait for your rationalization.

Rhysand’s whole shtick was that he’s only playing the villain to keep Velaris (and only Velaris) safe…those fucks in the Hewn City can eat a bag of dicks, right? But tell me again how Tamlin is the really bad one for enforcing a tithe because it’s unfair to those who can’t afford it (fair point). But Rhysand chooses to save the one city in his court that has zero problems. Let’s let those that might already be suffering from poverty get kidnapped and tortured by a psychopath. That’s probably better than a tithe, right?

And let’s not forget how Tamlin mocked Feyre and Rhys at the High Lords meeting. While funny, it was in poor taste. At least Rhysand didn’t publicly mock Tamlin. He had the decency to do it privately when he went out of his way to go to a deeply troubled man’s house and, in the midst of an obvious mental health crisis, not only had the gall to ask for resources from a man that has no resources because his own wife fucking destroyed them out of spite, but proceeds to rub in his triumph over a man that has nothing left. Nothing to see there, right?

Even if you could ignore all of that (and you’d have to be willfully fucking thick to do so, which a lot of these people are), I shall leave you with Tamlin’s role as a spy for Hybern. That’s obviously supposed to be a real shock because TaMliN BaD at this point, so why would anyone believe him? It’s not like he had a really good explanation like Rhys gave when he murdered literal children and innocents just to ensure Amarantha didn’t know how noble he actually was. Right? RIGHT?! And it’s not like anyone would have a harder time believing someone who had played evil and done actually evil things for the “greater good” (a collectivist dog whistle if there ever was one) for fifty fucking years over the dude that suddenly goes bad after being a progressive and respected high lord for the same period of time? I mean, it’s not like we’re dealing with severe mental anguish and trauma here. That’s crazy talk.

Shadow Daddy does no wrong. Even when he does. Because reasons.

Those idiots on TikTok making stupid videos showing their bf’s being all shocked and I KNEW IT when Tamlin “turns” can chew glass along with all those dipshits selling mugs that say “Tamlin’s Tears” on Etsy right next to merch glorifying a man that literally gaslit his soulmate into believing that forced drunken naked lap dances were actually a good thing, when you think about it.

SJM isn’t a master of foreshadowing. She’s a sloppy writer of moderately entertaining fiction that has a kink for glorifying severely unhealthy behaviors without the benefit of a trigger warning.

Fuck off if you think that’s all okay and think that anyone that says Tamlin isn’t any worse comparatively is the crazy one. Projection is a real disorder. Look it up. Right after you order your 543rd Rhysand candle.

[concretecultist]

I need Folio smut. Maybe threesome with Folio and Noah🤤

hi!! hello!! i think i can make that happen sorry it took so long to get to this request! 🩵

please remember this is pure FICTION! please do not read if these are not the themes of your taste!

warnings: threesome, p in v, light praise kink, pet names, choking / sleeper hold, indication of developing a poly relationship

A/N: if you enjoy, please comment and reblog 🥰

-Berry🫐

Friends do this sort of thing right? Like… it’s totally normal that you’re sandwiched between your two best friends?

Even if it wasn’t normal, it felt right.

All of you were in sound mind and wanted this without a doubt.

Nick was biting anywhere his mouth could reach, he had his back to the headboard and you were in between his legs while Noah was on his belly in between yours.

“You’re doing so good, Petal,” Nick’s voice made its way through the noise that you and Noah were making, you were moaning louder than you ever have and Noah was humming at how good you were tasting.

Petal.

The name they coined for you because you were such a rare, beautiful flower to them. Any other time it was innocent, but hearing the way it rolls off his lips during this makes it sound like it was made for this situation.

“Nick, I can’t…,”

The both of them laughed as if you have some nerve.

“You can, you wanna know how we know?,” another bite to your neck had you crooning, “Because you’re on your second orgasm and if you couldn’t take it, you would have tapped out by now,”

Noah slipped two fingers inside and the noise of how wet you were was damn near embarrassing.

“She’s squeezing the fuck out of my fingers,” Noah laughed at you, and he wanted you know that he was laughing at you. He had to sit up that way he could just watch the way you fall apart thanks to him, he couldn’t help but add a third one, chuckling at the way your eyes rolled in the back of your head and the way your hands slap down on Nick’s thighs to ground yourself. But there was no amount grounding that could be done.

“You say you can’t but you’re creaming around my fingers, Petal,” his free hand comes to press down on your pelvis, adding the cherry on top by creating circular motions, you could feel the way his fingers came in contact with the ones that were on your mound, only being separated by a wall of flesh.

“Noah!,” you look at him as if to beg him to take it easy on you.

“Nuh uh,” he smirked, “You can be a good girl and cum for us again, can’t you? You know what, don’t answer that. I know you can. You’re almost there,”

Your breath trembled as the knot in your core was becoming too much. You don’t know what you were holding out on but you needed a push.

“Choke her,” Noah smiled, such a cheeky little bastard.

Nick moves his hand to your throat but Noah is quick to stop him.

“Not with your hand,” He instructed, “Use the carotid restraint. Nothing too crazy, just enough to make her dizzy. She’s holding out on us,”

Nick hummed in approval and wrapped his arm around your throat, putting you in a sleeper hold effortlessly. The pressure on the sides of your neck created a lightheaded sensation. You were seeing stars, you felt Noah’s fingers go deeper, Nick’s fingers teasing your nipples, it was heaven sent.

That’s what you needed.

“Gooood girl,” Nick whispered in your ear. You were such a mess. Eyes crossed, drooling, breasts spilling out over your tank top.

The noises between your legs were sloppy and soon you were lightly kicking your feet as you come around Noah’s fingers.

“Ohhhh… fuck!,” the knot finally snapped and you were shuddering under their hands.

Nick had removed his arm so that you could catch your breath, turning your face to his to capture your lips in a hungry kiss.

“You are such a good girl,”

How did you get here? Holy shit, how did you get here?!

“Need more,” you were grabbing at Noah’s shirt, pulling him in. You just needed to taste his lips. Kissing your friends this passionately is normal, right? Like you all just needed to blow off steam, it’s normal to blow off steam like this with your best friends?

“You taste so fucking good,” Noah groans, “Nick, switch me spots. Wanna hold her while you dig deep inside of her,”

His words had you in a frenzy and you were too dizzy to notice them effortlessly switch positions, moving you very softly as they switched.

Once Nick is in front of you, he’s holding your face gently in his hands and peppering kisses all over your face.

“Y’still wanna do this? Just say the word and we can stop, Petal,”

He was so sweet, even after just choking you the way he did, to push you off the edge and have you trembling in his grasp.

“I have nothing to say other than please fuck me,” your eyes fluttered as you look back into his, “I haven’t been taken care of in so long. Please take care of me, Nicky,”

“Christ,” you heard him say under his breath. When you say it like that, how can he say no? Your big shiny eyes, lip slightly poked out in a pout.

“Yeah man, take care of her. Make our pretty little Petal float” Noah is smirking against your neck as he leaves his own bite marks and kisses, fingers pinching at your nipples now.

“Please,” one of your hands reach behind you, tangled in Noah’s hair while the other reached for Nick’s. He held your hand as he lined himself up with you. He easily swallowed your moans as you cried out for him and he didn’t dare let go of your hand.

“Don’t hold back,” Noah instructed, “You’ve adored her for long enough and now you have her. Give it all to her,”

This was all so overwhelming. Nick’s strokes were long and slow and you have Noah in your ear telling him to practically fuck you up.

“And don’t you hold back either, Petal,” he kissed the shell of your ear, “I want to hear you. Let it out, unabashedly. Don’t hide those pretty moans from us,”

Nick has picked up his pace now and Noah’s large hands were keeping your thighs open.

“Nnnnniiiiick!,” you’d gone cross eyed, unable to catch your breath. He was knocking the wind out of you now and it was hard to keep your sanity.

“Petal, you feel so fucking good baby,” Nick was finding it hard to keep himself together. He’d hate to admit how many times he’s imagined this (honestly without Noah because Nick was greedy and wanted you to himself). Now that he was here, he was crumbling. He just wanted to make you feel good, wanted to give it to you the way you deserved.

And by the pretty sounds you were making, he was doing a pretty good job.

“Nick, don’t stop. You’re gonna make me cum,” it was almost humiliating how close you were already, “Oh no,” you were panting now.

“what’s wrong?,” Noah asked.

“It’s too soon!,” you whine, “I’m gonna fucking cum and it’s too soon,”

You wanted to stay like this forever. Noah massaging your thighs, rutting his hips against your back, kissing and biting all over your shoulders while Nick holds your hand, kissing your lips and cheeks and your forehead while driving his hips into you.

This is totally normal.

“Harder,” you plead, “Please, Nicky. Harder, harder, harder!!!,”

You watched as his eyes rolled while driving his hips to pound into you.

“Fuck, tell me where you want me, Petal. I need to know, you’ve got me so close,”

You move Noah’s hands so you can wrap your thighs around Nick.

“Inside me,” you rasp, “I need to feel all of you,”

“I’m gonna fucking cum,” You heard Noah grunt, his hips moving faster.

“Choke me,” you turn to Noah, pulling his head down for another quick sloppy kiss, you couldn’t get enough of his taste “I need it. Fucking choke me, please!,”

With glossy eyes you look back to Nick who was barely keeping it together. Noah snaked his arm around your neck like he advised Nick to do earlier. You feel the sweet embrace of the squeeze and everything was dialed to 100.

His other hand made its way between your legs to rub circles onto your clit. It was all too much. Nick deep inside of you, biting and kissing on your chest, Noah choking you, kissing your neck and cheek while his finger create a fast pace in the bundle of nerves between your legs.

You were about to burst into flames.

“Oh God, I love you two!,” the words slip out in a fucked out haze but you can’t bring yourself to care. With Nick’s hand squeezing yours and you in Noah’s lap while he holds you like this, it would make anyone fall in love.

Especially when the love was already there.

You didn’t catch the look they shared before you feel Noah smiling against your ear once more, “Oh, baby. We love you too,”

You had to bring Nick up to your lips, just needing to feel him on your lips once more before you fall apart for them.

“We’re gonna catch you, Petal. You can fall, baby,”

Noah’s whispered words made their way through the fog and you gave in. You couldn’t keep yourself together anymore.

You came with sob so loud it sounded like it came out of a porno.

“Fuckfuckfuck.. I… g-god!!!,”

“It’s okay,” Nick assured, kissing your trembling lips.

Him and Noah weren’t too far behind, chasing their own releases and falling apart together right after you. Noah’s arm now hanging loosely on your chest while Nick’s forehead was resting against yours.

Your sniffling caught their attention and they were untangling themselves to tend to you.

“What’s going on, Petal?,” Nick questioned, using a thumb to wipe your tears.

“That was… you two took s-such good care of me,”

“That’s our job,” He smirked, “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah? How’s a bath then movies and pizza sound?,”

You’re absentmindedly nodding your head, still in a daze at what just happened. Going through a rollercoaster like that with two of the most important people in your life was not something you expected to happen, despite it being a long desired dream.

“Will you two stay the night?,” you looked back and forth between them, eyes shining in a sort of shyness as it sets in that you told them you loved them. You usually do but… this … was different.

They diminished your worries though, both taking turns to kiss you and giving you reassuring smiles.

“Petal, we’re never gonna leave you,”

————

i haven’t written threesomes in a while so i hope you enjoyed this, anon!!🩵

[muffinsin]

Hello muffin tis i, deluded anon with another ask. Tw for ablism i think? I am autistic and get called slurs and mocked for it by my family n friends, such as the r word n whatnot. If theres any issues that cause me stress like putting the cutlery away- they are too loud and hurt my head. Or if my clothes and everything touching me burns n pricks me, being mute on occasions i get told to get a grip n to shut up- then told off later if i was in public. They treat other autistic people differently from me n reassure them that its ok n valid but its not ok for me to be like that. Anyways i dont really do people and am attached to my teddies n plushies- they have feelings. I always take the most care with them n i dont want them to be uncomfortable, they all call me delusional and a not right for loving my plushies (and fictional women)more than them.

So what would happen if the reader were to be autistic and a maid in the castle struggling with some certain tasks and the rest of the maids treating the reader like how ive been treated (if that makes sense. Idk if i’m making sense) so readers kind of like the laughing stock for them, unbeknownst to the sisters until some maid rips a teddy or comfort item.

How would the sisters react to this? I dont think theyd like it nor tolerate it due to cassandra being autistic and daniela having adhd.

I’m sorry this is such a long ask and quite frankly too much of a self centred one. I have no idea if this makes sense- i apologies sincerely if this makes you uncomfortable in any way. Please dont feel pressured to write this.

I can 100% see the rendition of lion king being played out with dani 😂 she would without a doubt try n blag her mother into making her sister make up for being mean to her, like forfeiting a maid to her.



Of course! I’m very curious about this ask tbh and hope I’ll do it justice :)

A few things first up under the cut, if anybody wants to skip to the start of the HCs, it’ll be marked for you😊

TW: ableism, bullying

Let’s get into this! :)

Masterlists

Tbh I’m hoping I’ll be able to get this right! I’m not autistic myself and am only going off what I’ve read here and experiences I’ve been told about by friends.

First thing I want to say hon, is that you are absolutely, 100% valid.

Nobody- and this includes you- deserves to be called slurs or treated wrongly for such reasons. There is no justification to it at all. To treat you differently while claiming to be accepting with others is awful, and I sincerely hope you will find people decent and good enough to accept you, friends especially :)

Also- plushie superiority honestly XP What are their names?👀 Have you got a fav? Or is it an I-love-them-all-equally- situation? Honestly, regarding what you’ve said about plushie love not being okay? I call bs on it. I find plushie love is one of the sweetest there is, even when I don’t have that many myself, I greatly treasure the few plushies I still have. Heck yeah XD

Is the autism and ADHD for Cassandra and Daniela canon? Or a HC?👀 I’ve never heard of it

(Lion king drabble mentioned: here)

Aight that’s it from me! This all probably made little sense, because ironically I cannot comfort at all, I suck at it in most cases, but I hope I still got the key points across somehow XD

Let’s get into it!

(Beginning of the ask)

Bela

She adores you, with all her heart

Bela loves you so much, each part of you

She tries her best to make life as comfortable as possible for you

Even if she can’t always relate to your struggles, she always attempts to ease them

The moment you open up about some of the things troubling you, Bela takes action

She takes special care to ensure the new uniforms are made of fabrics you approve and feel comfortable in, and orders them as soon as possible

Until their arrival, Bela has taken it upon herself to declare to everyone that you are not obliged to wear the old ones

Nobody dares to call you out for working in a shirt instead of the uniform, the order comes from Bela, after all, one of the highest of your superiors, right after Alcina

When the new uniforms are delivered, you can’t help but smile. They’re perfect!

Bela has the old ones disposed of, thrown someplace she can’t be bothered to know

Next, there are the tasks appointed to you

While she normally doesn’t get involved all that much in the staff’s business and shares a mutual respect with the grand chambermaid, she does interfere here

She requests that you are not given tasks in the kitchen as to not get overwhelmed by the loud noises

Nor does she wish for you to work anywhere near the basements

Of course, your lover would never allow you anywhere in the basements, even outside of work, even when she is lurking down there

It’s for safety purposes, most of all

Instead, you are usually appointed calmer places, such as the library or even the castle gardens or greenhouse at times

Bela is flustered whenever you remember to bring her a flower from the outside in winter

Aside from all these things, Bela is your shoulder to cry on, and your pillar to lean on

She never fails to reassure you how much she loves you, and how things you consider as flaws are endearing to her

She knows, sometimes you tend to be quiet, if not entirely mute

After a quick check in whether you’re all right, and you reassure her, she smiles widely

Bela treasures such silence, really

She enjoys to spend time with you, and sometimes silence is just what she needs

After all, the castle can be loud already, especially to her

Wrestling her screaming, kicking and bickering younger sisters all day and night often gives her a migraine

She loves simply cuddling in bed or sitting together, reading together or simply relaxing

Bela doesn’t mind your quietness, and she can easily either make conversation by monologing, or bask in it, even go as far as to close her eyes

She finds these moments precious

She knows nearly everything about you- all except one thing

Life among the staff

Bela doesn’t know of the torment you face, not quite

She doesn’t notice your anxiety when they make fun of you, doesn’t know about how uncomfortable you become when they poke you for fun

She doesn’t know an old uniform has been retrieved from the storage and switched with yours specifically merely to amuse the other staff members

You grit your teeth at the wrong fabric on you, the uncomfortable one that feels entirely too heavy and scratchy

No matter how much you search for the new uniform, it’s hidden far away beyond your grasp

Only when all your duties are done can your change out of it and back into your normal clothing, just in time for Bela to finish work and greet you with a warm smile

You don’t dare tell her, too worried what the other maids will do

After all, Bela can’t dispose of them all

Then there’s the noises…

How often you are brought to the edge of feeling overstimulated and overwhelmed when maids laugh and mock you, forks and knives in their hands as they slap them together

Like sticks hitting a drum, maybe

You are not oblivious to their laughter as you bury your head in your brown teddy bear and fluffy, blue arm sized blanket

Soon, you are indirectly appointed to the kitchens

Not by the grand chambermaid, nor by Bela

You feel uncomfortable at the hands grabbing you by the arms and leading you there

Their reasoning? If you don’t clean up, maidens will be hurt, and it will be your fault

Aside from this, with more hurt maidens and their panic increasing, so will the stress your girlfriend will have to face over trying to manage the castle

They know of your love for Bela, and often use it to have you do things you dislike

Such as picking up all the silverware from the wet sink, drying it in a towel of a texture you dislike, and putting them in the drawers

Their laughter and mockery rings out behind you while you’re made to finish their work

Still, as torturous as all of this is, their newest stunt is incomparable to it

As you find yourself hugging your stuffed bear yet again and cry into its fur at the loud laughter around you, you suddenly feel it tugged from you

Naturally, you try to hold on

Slurs are thrown at you. Mockery

You hear a particular loud cry, a maid calling you a baby, just before you’re suddenly sent back on the bed

You’re holding your teddy- as is the maid tugging it

Tears well up in your eyes as you hold its body, your eyes scanning the unattached leg now dropped to the floor

You feel someone snap their fingers right next to your ear and jump

More laughter

The women around you laugh and mock as you sink to the floor, your teddy and blanket held tight to you as you attempt to grasp the leg

It’s kicked in the corner of the room, and more laughter rings out when you crawl after it quickly

More harsh name calling, until eventually you grasp it

Unsurprisingly, you can’t just push it back on

You aren’t sure how much time passes until your girlfriend finds you

You aren’t even sure when you wandered off to Bela’s room. It’s as if your feet just automatically carried you to your safe place

She immediately swarms to you, her hands hovering by your arms

With a nod of your head, reassuring her it’s okay, she touches you

She immediately feels the change of fabric of your uniform. She knows, this isn’t the right one

Still, golden eyes set on the damaged teddy bear in your hands

Again, she waits for your permission before she pulls you on her lap, knowing you’re so distraught now

She grasps your hands and dries your tears, and gently holds the leg one one hand, the remaining teddy in her other

“He’s broken”, you sob, and Bela is quick to assure you

“Damaged, my dove, not broken”

She promises, she can fix your friend

And true to her word, she does

Urging you to change, she allows you to search her closet for anything that suits you

You watch with wide, hopeful eyes as she takes a sewing kid from one of her many shelves

Thankfully, your beautiful girlfriend enjoys branching out and learning so many new skills…

You watch with wonder as she adds stuffing back into the leg, and even allows you to pick a color to stitch it back together in

Dressed comfortably in her larger clothing and holding onto her pillows and your blue blanket, you watch as slowly, but surely, your friend’s leg is reattached

“He’s on bed rest now, you know”, she teases, hoping to bring a smile to your face

Bela portrays this picture of calmness for you, but rest assured, the moment she knows you’re completely calm and happy again, she will personally see to it that such actions are punished

She demands to know what has been going on with the staff, and offers you your own room, should you not want to move into hers

Bela smiles in self satisfaction as she hand picks the new recruits for cadou experiments, hunts, and, of course, Cassandra’s birthday presents ;)

Cassandra

She cares a lot about you, and is incredibly protective of you

Cassandra tries her best to make you comfortable

She knows, her fast, often dangerous and hectic movements can intimidate or scare away most. She doesn’t want that to happen with you

While Cassandra isn’t the best at listening, she takes in all you say whenever you are made uncomfortable by something

Such as the clanging of her weapons when she carelessly drops them all on a big pile

Her heart breaks a little when you cover your ears at the loud noise caused by metal hitting metal

Was she a dog, her ears would droop down

Instead, she immediately apologizes and tries to still the rocking blades

She makes sure not to clank them against one another again, instead is careful to place them down one by one

She grins widely whenever this earns her a kiss and a smile of yours

Her efforts are certainly not dismissed and ignored!

Then, there’s of course your like and dislike towards certain sensations

She can’t help but giggle when you fall into her bed the first time you touch it

She has all the perfect fabrics!

Cassandra is very picky as it comes to them, too

Her dress is tight, but soft

It doesn’t scratch along her skin and isn’t too soft to make her feel droopy. It’s just perfect to her

Her bed equals this

Soft, satin sheets she likes, and a few large pillows. Not too much, just enough for her to sleep comfortably

You love wearing her clothing. It’s perfect and doesn’t irritate your skin

In return, Cassandra doesn’t mind lending it to you, even if you don’t quite fit into it

All her clothing is custom made, such as Alcina’s dresses and the typical black dresses all three sisters like to wear

The crafter? None other than the famous other Lady of the village

Cassandra makes it a point to ask Donna for clothing made in your size. In return, she is ready to send across a few of the castle’s finest cooking ingredients

It’s working out well, and often she likes to surprise you with a new clothing item of your choice, made of a fabric of your choice

Cassandra doesn’t care for fabrics, merely the feel of them

She allows you to take charge whenever it comes to picking the right ones out

In the beginning, you worry Cassandra will mind your occasional silence

You’re all too happy to notice: she doesn’t

Cassandra talks often, but isn’t quite one for conversation

She likes monologuing, knowing you’re listening to her as she rants about her hunts and her sisters

She doesn’t take your silence as disrespect, though at times randomly reminds herself to check in whether you’d like her to keep talking or stay silent as well for some peace and quiet

She likes to bask in such silence sometimes, to have her head on your lap and play with a few of her flies while you stroke her soft hair

Another thing she’s surprised you by is regarding your stuffed animals

While she hasn’t quite got the connection to them you have, she respects it

Though, she will not allow all of them in her bed. She wants that space all to herself

Still, she is mindful to keep a corner of the bed empty for your stuffed animals, and only growls playfully when you shower them in love, subtly reminding you to place a kiss to her forehead, too

She can’t help but be a little clingy sometimes, after all

Cassandra doesn’t fault you for preferring plushies to humans. She isn’t exactly a fan of them either and rather sees them as nuisances or means to an end, after all

All except you. You’re her precious little human

And Cassandra wants to keep you safe at all times

Yet, there are things even she cannot seem to keep you safe from

Such as the staff members

You know, Cassandra doesn’t get involved with the maiden’s affairs unless to drag one to the basement

She is therefore unaware of the pokes and laughter that follow you sometimes

The slurs whispered your way… you know Cassandra would have their heads for it, yet you can’t seem to bring yourself to tell her

And they know it all too well

Your heart hurts when they talk to you, and in time, you know the only reason for this are dares

Dares, from one maid to another, to talk to you

Entertainment, as they chat and mock you subtly, trying to see how long it takes you to notice

You try to brush it off. To not let it bother you

Cassandra surely wouldn’t let it bother her! She seems so powerful…

Their words regarding this sting. How she could be with someone like you

When you’re allowing them to walk all over you

Some freak, as they say

Their words haunt you hours later even, when your shifts end and you’re cuddled up against Cassandra as she monologues about this and that while showing you her newest dagger

Then, there’s the little stuffed turtle you like to keep in your pocket

It helps you stay calm sometimes, even with the uniform being scratchy and uncomfortable

Often they laugh as they snatch your turtle from you, instead throw her through the air, right above your outstretched hands as you attempt to catch your precious friend

All other stuffed animals are kept safe in Cassandra’s room. All but this one

No one would dare venture into her territory merely to taunt you

No maid is this foolish

You gasp when the turtle is thrown yet again, high in the air in the main hall, right above your hands even as you jump to reach it

Your eyes widen when your precious stuffed animal lands right in the fireplace

Thankfully, not a lit one. It’s summer, thankfully, and the castle is warm enough as it is

But it’s hot, and dirty, and smears black dust and ashes all over the green fur

“Freak”, they taunt as they pass you, crying and attempting to wipe the dirt off

Cassandra finds you easily, having heard your fast heartbeat indicating your panic attack even from the basement

You can merely look up at her as she kneels down, her gloves easily pulled down by her teeth as she holds the little turtle

She’s very careful no blood is smeared on it or you, and opts for staying a little distant upon realising she’s covered in it nearly from head to toe

You don’t seem to mind, you can only look at the turtle, impossibly small in Cassandra’s large hands as strong fingers rub over the dirt gently

A stain remains, and you smile watery. A battle wound, maybe?

The thought comforts you only slightly

You suppose, a scar, a battle wound, wouldn’t be the worst thing…Cassandra has them, after all, scars littering her backside from challenging fights

She won, in the end

Upon demanding what happened, and hearing your tale, Cassandra sees red

She wipes the back of her hand against her lips to clean her bloodied lips, then presses a small kiss to your forehead before she swarms off

In the days to come, plenty examples are maid

Maidens are set free only to be dragged back screaming and badly hurt, begging for forgiveness as they are killed in front of the others

Others are immediately dragged to the basement

And the remaining two that have started it all, are devoured alive in front of the rest of the staff, Cassandra’s warning screamed from their lips

Never, never, will she allow someone to mistreat you again

She keeps a close eye on you, and often opts for having a few flies buzzing around you when you aren’t with her

Daniela

Daniela is a hyper little thing, full of energy and love that she wants to shower you in

She’s very clingy with you, but also incredibly perceptive

More so than her other two sisters, even

She picks up on your slight grimace when it’s dinner time and the rattling of silverware irritates your ears

Without having to tell her, Daniela is more delicate in her movements with her fork and knife- she was the main source of this noise after all, smacking them together because she is generally too energetic to sit still

Instead, she merely swarms around excitedly and annoys her sisters until the food is served

She also notices- you don’t like every clothing item she has to offer

Some just- don’t take your pick, and at first she is a little hurt

She doesn’t understand why, and worries you might think she has horrible taste

Or perhaps don’t want to wear a gift of hers altogether

Daniela tends to overthink fast, and quickly becomes a little hesitant to shower you in gifts when you don’t seem too happy with the two dresses she’s brought you

While she is all for comfort, Daniela doesn’t mind scratchiness of her gowns

Being put in so many of them for balls and events hosted by Alcina, she has learned to ignore the urge to scratch and the annoying itch caused by scratchy sleeves

Overall, she still loves gowns, and isn’t bothered by differences in textures

When you explain to her that you feel differently about this, it’s a little difficult for her to understand

However, Daniela cares about you, and if you tell her this fabric is bad fabric, she’ll tear it to pieces for you, as though you’re her fair maiden and she is the knight protecting you from the fierce dragon!

She often makes slashing noises as she does though, a little too invested in her fantasies

You don’t mind

You think her creativity and fantasy endearing, even

Daniela is curious, though. Often she will randomly swarm to you to ask whether something is good or bad, just out of curiosity, and maybe because she’s turned it into a game

She wants to see if she is getting better at telling what is good and what isn’t, so her surprises and gifts for you are ones you can actually enjoy

She brings you fabrics of gowns and shirts, food and drinks, and even once a very grumpy Bela to question whether her sister feels bad too

She claims she does, with a large, shit eating grin on her face, and you smile as her laughter is heard through the halls when she is chased down for such behaviour, likely made to sit and listen to another lecture of the blonde should she be caught

You find, you look forward to hearing Daniela complain about it

While Daniela can be very loud and hyper at times, and often enough you join in, she doesn’t mind times you’re quiet either

She had no trouble at all leading a conversation, either monologuing or talking for so long and so fast, there’s no way for anybody else to join in anyway

Often, when she notices you’re in a quieter mood, she’ll take control of the conversation until the other person leaves

In return, she only expects a smile, and a kiss to her face

Yet, as much as Daniela dotes on you and coddles you, there are others who are not as sweet

Others, who do not make you feel as welcome

Others, who dare make you feel as though you aren’t normal. Not “right”

The maidens at Castle Dimitrescu can be ruthless, sometimes, especially to outsiders

Being Daniela’s partner has made you an outsider

And having autism has made you their target

They thread carefully at first, knowing you are not only under Daniela’s protection, but by this also under Bela and Cassandra’s

Should they hurt you, it hurts Daniela, after all. Alas, you have three murderous fly women on your side

However…what they don’t know…

It starts off with a group of four who take, seemingly, immense pleasure in taunting you

Their hatred comes from being small minded, and jealous, yet knowing this does nothing to help you

They don’t understand- how come you get to wear a different uniform than them?!

How come you never have to clean up the table and wash the dishes and silverware?

How come you get to work in quiet, reserved locations and get to take so many breaks, while they are to work near the entrance to the dungeons, the screams of their fellow fallen maids taunting them

How come they fear for their life, and you never need to?

You are a target by far too soon

You often find yourself crying and hiding at your bed as they laugh and bicker about, silently wishing Daniela opts for a random visit and slays them all

She doesn’t, and won’t. She isn’t allowed into the maid quarters

Their shrill laughter and loud voices hurt your ears, and as you find yourself clutching one of the stuffed animals not tucked away in Daniela’s room- a grey, knit bear- they laugh even more

Soon, you are titled as a baby and inhuman for your affection towards the stuffed animal

You feel fear shoot through you whenever you don’t find him sitting at your pillow

Often, they wave the teddy in front of you, snickering and commanding this and that

They’re playing God, and for moments you feel as though they are the predators of this castle

With the wish to receive your stuffed animal again, you clean their beds and bring their plates, silverware and cups to the kitchens after supper

Usually, you receive your bear again

Not yet this time, it seems

“Go and get it, if you dare” they snicker as they throw it down the stairs to the basement

You gulp. You know, you aren’t supposed to go down there

No maid is, but especially you

Even Daniela has forbidden you from stepping in the cellars

You shudder at the memory of her truthful description upon being asked what lies down there. Monsters with swords and sickles, mold and blood, pain and the reek of the dead, corpses and torture chambers

But…your bear

You venture down as they snicker, and jump when the door clasps shut behind you

As tears sprint to your eyes, you hear a lock. No going back now, either way

You gulp at the loud whimpers and cries, and the distant screams and groans of the undead

It’s dark, and you can barely make a thing out

You jump when you hear a loud gasp from one of the cells and a hand reaches through the bars, as though to reach you

Immediately, you keep on running

More hands shoot out, some grazing your arm and dirtying your uniform, others mere inches away from your skin

You nearly trip a few times, the floor stony and littered with buckets, thrown over tables and chairs, dull knives and what not

It’s so dark, so that you can barely make out your own hands and the ones reaching for you

You shriek as a body bag drops in front of you, immediately taking off to run another direction

Again, you scream, when you run into something

A monster?! It’s so dark you-

“Uh-“

You blink at Cassandra’s voice, and upon opening your eyes, you find golden ones staring down at you

She seems almost unsure. You aren’t supposed to be in the basements, and were you anybody else, she would have already dug her sickle into you and called you a foolish prey for running right to her

But…you’re Daniela’s

You jump at a second gasp, and whine when another pair of golden eyes sets on you

Thankfully, these do not belong to Bela Dimitrescu. You recognize the light green colour shining through gold in them

Daniela!

She gasps when you run into her, quickly adjusting her hand so you don’t run right into the scalpel you can’t see in the dark

Immediately, her shock is covered by concern when she smells the fear surrounding you

She demands to know what you’re doing her, even if she feels flustered upon thinking you might have missed her and wanted to see her bad enough to venture into the cellars

Upon opening up about the bear, you feel her grasp your hand tightly

She promises, she’s going to find it with you

You nod shakily as Cassandra grins, having just received a reason to go upstairs and cause some more trouble along the maidens

With a lit torch held tightly in Daniela’s hand, it’s by far easier to navigate the dim basement

You realise the hands reaching out were maids, now backed far in the corner of their cells to avoid Daniela’s gaze

But the redhead doesn’t mind them. She is focused on finding your bear

And find him she does, after a while of searching

You nearly whimper when she holds it up between two fingers, the fabric soaked in blood and dirt and a rat having already started to eat away at its side

She hugs you tightly as she explains, it must be disposed of

It’s a major health risk by now, having been exposed to the mold of the basement and who knows what else

You spend the next couple of days entirely in her bed, cuddled up under the covers and crying your heart out between your other stuffed animals

At last, Daniela enters, a nervous smile on her face

You notice her hand behind her back, and lift your head curiously

“So, I know it’s not the same, but I told Bela what happened and asked her to fix it…”, she trails off

You can’t help but smile and cry as she pulls her hand to the front, a bear, knit nearly perfectly and in the exact same colour as yours, sitting in her palm

“She’s actually really good at this stuff. I made her make me an octopus. I named her Sally”

[azdoine]

Who Cares If It's Worth The Candle?

Three days ago I wrote an article on some recent rational stories. I had not read any fiction of this kind since the days of Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres, and, since I con­stantly heard animated discussions of the merits of the rational writers, I was curious to see what they were like today. The specimens I tried I found disappointing, and I made some rather derogatory remarks in connec­tion with my impressions of the genre in general. To my surprise, this brought me letters of protest in a volume and of a passionate earnestness which had hardly been elicited even by my occasional criticisms of Dath Ilan. Of the thirty-nine letters that have reached me, only seven approve my strictures. The writers of almost all the others seem deeply offended and shocked, and they all say almost exactly the same thing: that I had simply not read the right novels and that I would surely have a different opinion if I would only try this or that author recommended by the correspondent. In many of these letters there was a note of asperity, and one lady went so far as to declare that she would never read my articles again unless I were prepared to reconsider my position. In the meantime, furthermore, a number of other writers have published articles defending the rational story: Alexander Wales, Scott Alexander, Eneasz Brodski and Daystar Eld have all had something to say on the subject—nor has the um­brageous Eliezer Yudkowsky failed to raise his voice.

Overwhelmed by so much insistence, I at last wrote my correspondents that I would try to correct any in­justice by undertaking to read some of the authors that had received the most recommendations and taking the whole matter up again. The writer that my correspondents were most nearly unanimous in putting at the top was Mister Domagoj Kurmaić, who was pressed upon me by eighteen people, and the book of his that eight of them were sure I could not fail to enjoy was a time loop caper called Mother of Learning. Well, I set out to read Mother of Learning in the hope of tasting some novel excitement, and I declare that it seems to me one of the dullest books I have ever en­countered in any field. The first part of it is all about magic as it is practiced in university and contains a lot of information of the kind that you might expect to find in an encyclopedia article on tabletop role-playing-games. I skipped a good deal of this, and found myself skipping, also, a large section of the conversations between conventional scholastic characters: “Oh, here’s Xvim with the coursework. People may say what they like about coursework, but it does go on all through the quarter and make a backdrop,” etc. There was also a dreadful stock student of the undiagnosed autistic kind, with the embarrassing name of Zorian Kazinski, and, although he was the focal character of the novel, being Mister Domagoj Kurmaić’s version of the necessary Phil Connors prisoner, I had to skip a good deal of him too. In the meantime, I was losing the story, which had not got a firm grip on my attention, but I went back and picked it up and steadfastly pushed through to the end, and there I discovered that the whole point was that phenomenal arcane power can’t fix a broken family or mend estranged relationships. Not a bad idea for a character piece, and O. Henry would have known how to dramatize it in an entertaining tale of five thousand words, but Mister Kurmaić had not hesitated to pad it out to a book of seven hundred thousand, contriving one of those hackneyed cock-and-bull stories where the protagonist’s disability is a secret power, and larding the whole thing with details of training arcs, bits of quaint lore from OSR monster manuals, and the awful whimsical patter of worldbuilding.

I had often heard people say that Domagoj Kurmaić wrote well, and I felt that my correspondents had been playing him as their literary ace. But, really, he does not write very well: it is simply that he is more con­sciously literary than most of the other rational-story writers and that he thus attracts attention in a field which is mostly on a sub-literary level. In any serious department of fiction, his writing would not appear to have any distinction at all. Yet, commonplace in this re­spect though he is, he gives an impression of brilliant talent if we put him beside Mister Wertifloke, whose The Waves Arisen was also suggested by several corre­spondents. Mister Yudkowsky has put himself on record as be­lieving that Mister Wertifloke, as well as Mister Walker and Mister Solguard, writes his novels in "excellent prose," and this throws for me a good deal of light on Mr. Yudkowsky’s opinions as a critic. I hadn't quite realized before, though I had noted his own rather messy style, to what degree he was insensitive to writing. I do not see how it is possible for anyone with a feeling for words to describe the unap­petizing sawdust which Mister Wertifloke has poured into his pages as "excellent prose" or as prose at all except in the sense that distinguishes prose from verse. And here again the book is mostly padding. There is the notion that unregulated use of power would lead to climate disaster and the collapse of modern civilization, but this is embedded in the dialogue and doings of a lot of self-replicating warrior-magicians who are even more tedious than those of Mother of Learning.

The enthusiastic reader of rational stories will indig­nantly object at this point that I am reading for the wrong things: that I ought not to be expecting good writing, characterization, human interest or even atmos­phere. He is right, of course, though I was not fully aware of it till I attempted Project Lawful, con­sidered by connoisseurs one of the best books of two of the masters of this school. This tale I found completely unreadable. The story and the writing both showed a surface so wooden and dead that I could not keep my mind on the page. How can you care about liberating those damned who have never really been put in torment, because the writer hasn't any ability of even the most ordinary kind to persuade you to see them or feel them? How can you probe the the depths of the characters who surround the protagonist, because they are all simply fodder for dramatic irony? It was then that I understood that a true connoisseur of this fiction must be able to suspend the demands of his imagination and literary taste and take the thing as an intellectual widget. But how you arrive at that state of mind is what I do not understand.

In the light of this revelation, I feel that it is probably irrelevant to mention that I enjoyed The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere, by Lurina, more than the novels of any of these luminaries. There is a tinge of black magic that gives it a little of the interest of a horror story, and the author has a virtuosity at playing with alternative hypotheses that makes this trick of rational fiction more amusing than it usually is. I want, however, to take up certain points made by some of the above-mentioned articles. Mr. Munchkin informs the non-expert that the rational novel is a kind of game in which the reader of a given story, in order to play properly his hand, should bring his full attention to the stage. Common sense, it seems, is insufficient: the reader must be versed with Bayesian statistics, game theory, artificial intelligence, theory of mind, and modal realism. This may be true, but I shall never qualify. I would rather read golden age detective fiction, which at least does not involve the consumption of hundreds of ill-written blog posts.

An argument leveled by my interlocutors is that contemporary genre fiction has become so vapid, so abstracted or mass-market, that the public have had to take to the rational story as the only department of fiction where verisimilitude survives. This seems to me to involve two fallacies. On the one hand, it is surely not true that “the common authors of today” - to quote Ms. Neocalico - “have often,” in contrast to the authors of the past, “little or no story to tell,” that “they have allowed themselves to be persuaded that continuity is no consideration.” It is true, of course, that urban fantasy and comics - which, I suppose, must be accounted the emptiest going - have their various modern ways of boring and playing tricks on the reader. But how about the dreadful fanon and reinterpretations that one has to get over in HPMOR? The soft-serve science in Worm? The Deus Ex Machina of Unsong, in which the villain surrenders his cause? Is there anything in first-rate popular fiction quite so gratuitous as these longueurs? Even Rowling and Gaiman do certainly have stories to tell, and they have organized their works with an intensity which has been relatively rare in genre fiction and which, to my mind, more than makes up for the occasional arbitrariness of their narratives.

On the other hand, it seems to me—for reasons sug­gested above—a fantastic misrepresentation to say that the average rational story is an example of good story-telling. The gift for telling stories is uncommon, like other artistic gifts, and the only one of this group of writers—the writers my correspondents have praised—who seems to me to possess it to any degree is Mr. Alexander Wales. Worth the Candle is the only one of these books that I have read all of and read with enjoyment. But Wales, though in the community he’s lauded as a master, does not really belong to this school of rationalist fiction. What he writes is a work of portal fantasy which has less in common with Yudkowsky than with Stephen Donaldson and Michael Ende - the highbrow isekai which has substituted the blue text of numbers going up for the invisible backdrop of psychodrama. It is not simply a question here of a puzzle which has been put together but of an experience conveyed to the reader, the wonder and terror of an otherworld that is continually revealed in all its varied and unlikely forms. To write such a novel successfully you must be able to invent character and incident and to generate atmosphere, and all this Mr. Wales can do. It was only when I got to the end that I felt my old rational-story depression descending upon me again - because here again, as is so often the case, the explanation of the ontological mystery, when it comes, isn’t interesting enough. It fails to justify the excitement produced by the elaborate buildup of picturesque and sinister happenings, and one cannot help feeling cheated.

My experience with this second batch of novels has, therefore, been even more disillusioning than my expe­rience with the first, and my final conclusion is that the reading of rational stories is simply a kind of vice that, for silliness and minor harmfulness, ranks somewhere be­tween LitRPG and xianxia. This conclusion seems borne out by the violence of the letters I have been receiving. Rational-story readers feel guilty, they are habitually on the defensive, and all their talk about "well-written" fanfics is simply an excuse for their vice, like the reasons that the alcoholic can always pro­duce for a drink. One of the letters I have had shows the addict in his frankest and most shameless phase. This lady begins by pretending, like the others, to guide me in my choice, but she breaks down and tells the whole dreadful truth. Though she has read, she says, hundreds of rational stories, "it is surprising," she finally con­fesses, "how few I would recommend to another. However, a poor rational story is better than none at all. Try again. With a little better luck, you'll find one you admire and enjoy. Then you, too, may be a rationalist."

This letter has made my blood run cold: so the opium smoker tells the novice not to mind if the first pipe makes him sick; and I fall back for reassurance on the valiant little band of my readers who sympathize with my views on the subject. One of these tells me that I have underestimated both the badness of rational stories themselves and the lax mental habits of those who en­joy them. The worst of it is, he says, that the true addict, half the time, never even learns how to be less wrong. The addict reads not to find anything out but merely to get the mild stimulation of a few shows of wits and of the suspense itself of waiting until the protagonist takes over the world. That this strategy of conquest is nothing at all and does not really explain how to systematically win does not matter to such a reader. He has learned from his long indulgence how to connive with the author in the swindle: he does not pay any real attention when the disappointment occurs, he does not think back and check the chain of reasoning, he simply closes the tab and starts another.

To rational-story addicts, then, I say: Please do not write me any more letters telling me that I have not read the right books. And to the seven correspondents who are with me and who in some cases have thanked me for helping them to liberate themselves from a habit which they recognized as wasteful of time and degrading to the intellect but into which they had been bullied by convention and the portentously performed hijacking of Greg Egan and Charles Stross—to these staunch and pure spirits I say: Friends, we represent a minority, but Literature is on our side. With so many fine web novels to be read, so much to be studied and known, there is no need to bore ourselves with this rubbish. And with the URL shortage pressing on all publication and many first-rate writers forced out of the top 100 on Royal Road, we shall do well to discourage the squandering of this wordcount that might be put to better use.

[wrestlersownmyheart]

Hi. I love your stories. I have an idea for a ficlet. I would love one where Randy Orton and the reader go to a haunted house and he protects the reader from all the Scary things

Aww thank you so much sis! Hope you enjoy what I did! 🙂

Title: Haunted House Pairing: Randy Orton X Reader Summary: You and Randy decide to visit a Haunted House on Halloween night and you get so spooked he has to protect you. Disclaimers: I own nothing or anyone associated or affiliated with WWE. I own only the original characters. This is just a fictional story that came from my imagination. Content/Trigger Warnings: None. Just fluff and an attempt at comedy.

NOTE: I have never done a Haunted House before, so bear with me. I hope I did this correctly.

Haunted House

“I don’t know about this,” you said, taking Randy Orton’s large hand. “I’ve never been in a haunted house before, Randy.”

“Oh, come on, Y/N,” Randy coaxed, his bright blue eyes flashing. “It’ll be fun. Besides, you can’t go to a Halloween carnival without visiting the haunted house.”

You were both dressed up for Halloween as Han Solo and Princess Leia from the Return of the Jedi. Your costume was complete with the golden bikini and a super long clip in braid.

“Yeah but they say this house is actually haunted,” you argued. “Like, for real. That’s like deciding to pay the Amityville house a visit! Are you crazy??”

Randy chuckled, and brought your hand to his mouth, kissing it softly. “Why so scared? I’ll protect you.”

“I don’t doubt you’d try,” you replied, “But how are you going to protect me from a ghost, or worse, a poltergeist?”

He chuckled again and led you up the walkway toward the house. “It’ll be fine. If it gets too bad, we’ll find the nearest emergency exit and leave. Deal?”

You nodded reluctantly, “O-okay.”

You went through the, what used to be, white gate of the picket fence which framed the large yard and walked toward the front door. A small group of teenage girls were behind you, already giggling hysterically. 

“Somehow, I think if we’re stuck in front of them the whole time, I’m gonna be ready to climb the walls before this is over,” you remarked, with a roll of your eyes.

“Don’t worry, they’ll be more quiet when they get scared,” Randy chuckled deviously. “And I can always scare them worse than this house would.”

You nodded your agreement with a soft hum of approval.

He was telling the truth. Randy was an insanely attractive man, but he could definitely turn into a scary lunatic when he wanted to–usually when he was wrestling or filming a segment for the WWE.

You stepped up to the first step of the porch, and–

“ROAAAR!!” A Freddy Krueger leapt out from behind the open front door.

At the same time, you jumped out of your skin and your hand shot to your chest as the teenagers squealed, and Randy laughed aloud.

“This is gonna be fun,” he exclaimed.

“If you say so,” you said under your breath.

You both stepped into the house, followed by the annoying teenage girls, and you were already cringing when a goblin flew by your face, shrieking in laughter, it’s ragged clothing brushing across your cheek.

“It’s just a bunch of jump-scares,” you griped to Randy. “Can’t we just forget about this?”

“Once you enter, you don’t exit,” came the killer’s voice from the Scream films. Right behind you. You turned and immediately screamed at seeing Ghostface run at you.

“How the heck did he hear me,” you demanded. “I wasn’t talking that loud. Randy, this is freaky.”

“Relax, babe, it’s just part of the show,” Randy said, leading you forward. “I won’t let anything touch you.”

“Okay,” you agreed reluctantly, letting him take your hand and lead you further into the house.

You both turned down a hallway and immediately heard a door slam in the near distance followed by a woman’s scream. You couldn’t decide if it was sound effects or if the “for real” haunted house was beginning to show its true colors.

That thought nearly sent you into a panic. “Randy, I really want out of here. Please.”

“Okay, baby, we can leave,” Randy said, turning you toward the way you’d just come. He affectionately squeezed your shoulders. “We’ll go back out the front door since we already know what is lurking there.”

You nodded as he led you, and you immediately felt bad. “I’m sorry. I know you wanted to do this.”

“No worries, babe. It’s not a big deal. I just thought since you’d never been to one that it’d be fun for you. If it’s scaring you that bad I don’t want you to do it either.”

“Sir,” an authoritative voice said from behind the two of you. You turned and saw that “Freddy Krueger” was acting as hall monitor, so to speak. “Sir, you’re not allowed to leave back through the front door. I’m afraid you have to go through the remaining haunted house to get to the actual exit.

“Please,” you started. “I’m freaked out and I just want out of here.”

“There’s only a couple of hallways to get through ma`am.”

It was surreal for Freddy Krueger to be speaking so politely to you. But polite or not you wanted out of this house and you wanted out now.

“I don’t care. I’m not going and you can’t make me,” you said feeling childish, but nonetheless justified.

“Ma`am…”

“Look, Freddy,” Randy started sarcastically, popping his knuckles and clearly losing his patience. “We’re going out the front door. If you don’t like that, I don’t think there’s a lot you can do about it.”

“I can stop you from going through the door.”

Freddy was getting pretty snarky.

“And I can slap the taste out of your pizza-faced mouth,” you said in retaliation.

“Now listen,” Freddy started, pointing his finger blade at you. “I-”

“Don’t you dare point that blade at me,” you cried indignantly. You let loose and slapped him across the face.

“HEY!” Freddy was suddenly angry and latched onto your arm with his gloved hand. 

“OW,” You cried, as the metal of the glove dug into your skin. The blades were thankfully dulled down to where it didn’t actually cut you, but it still hurt.

“Okay, that’s it,” Randy said a second before driving his fist into Freddy’s face. 

Freddy was down for the count.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Randy said, taking your hand and heading for the front door.

You both hurried through the door and were instantly out in the cool night air.

“Thank you, baby,” you said softly as you walked away from the house and headed out of the carnival toward Randy’s car.

“No one's gonna put their hands on you on my watch,” he said, as he walked you to the passenger’s side of the large SUV. “No one.”

He opened the door for you and helped you into the seat, before gently closing the door again. Then he was jogging around to the driver’s side and getting in himself.

“I love you, Randy.”

He looked over at you and smiled. “I love you too.” His dimples appeared then. “In fact I was going to do this after the haunted house, but Freddy screwed it up,” he chuckled, pulling a velvet box out of his costume’s pocket. He opened the box to reveal a diamond ring. “Y/N… Would you marry me?”

“Oh my God, Randy! Yes!” You squealed the words and latched onto him kissing him passionately. “Yes,” you said again, as he placed the ring on your finger.

“I’m glad.” He said, reaching over and kissing you softly. “You’ve just made me the happiest man on earth.” He started the car as you admired your ring.

“And you’ve made me the happiest woman on earth,” you replied, gazing at him. “Let’s go home and celebrate,” he said with a wink.

THE END

If you want on my tag list, just ask! 😃

Tagging:

@oreillystolemyheart @lookalivesunshine-x @shortyiceheart @vebner37 @claymorexpunisher @kalliravenne @swamptrashwithasideofsass @beardedbarba @emisrose @sweetpea-1970 @sassymox @pikapuff-316 @heavymetalgirl420 @bigpsychicbagelauthor @darktammy @waywardwrestlewritingwaif @sultryfandoms @blondekel77 @demonqueen29 @amariemoore @letsgivethisonemoreshot @thelastemzy @springgirlwaiting4fall @vampirepixi @wwenhlimagines @louisianalady @swthrt890 @librathepheonix13 @justanerdwholikestoread @kiwiedge @ironshamelessyouth @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore @moonwolfdemonprincess21 @moxkindagirl @jstarr86 @oliviasinematic @southerngirl41 @claymoresofinfamy23

[citrusses]

burn it all down (it doesn't have to be like this) drarry reclist 💣

aka the wizarding world is canonically so fucked up, what if we destroyed every system it upholds? (and then kissed?)

This list was inspired by Lots of Feelings about the midterm elections/government/systems of oppression etc. These five fics explore (in very different ways) how power corrupts, how unchecked stagnancy in social norms enables injustice, and the many forms resistance can take (mind the tags on them, most are quite heavy). I love them all. Related: VOTE IF YOU CAN, WHEN YOU CAN, EVERY YEAR.

By the Grace by @letteredlettered (T, 140k)

Once a war was won, it should stay won. Once one made progress, one should stay ahead. Instead, twenty years later, the losers were all coming back, the losses were being lost again.

A perfect fic about the refusal of systems of power to change, and the courage of individuals to change in spite of them. Both Draco and Harry force themselves to grow radically and painfully in this story. While Draco’s evolution is loud and public, Harry’s is quiet and internal, and the story sets these narratives of their personal journeys against the broader shifts of magical society to posit that if individuals can evolve, maybe the rest of the world can, too.

The Beauty of Thestrals and Other Unseen Things by @writcraft (E, 63k)

Harry stares at Hermione. “You can’t send people to Azkaban for kissing.” “I’m not sending people to Azkaban for kissing,” Hermione replies, tartly. “You are.”

One of my favorite things about fiction, and fanfiction in particular, is that authors can eradicate the prejudices of our world in fantasy. If magic can be real, why shouldn't it eliminate hate?

But fiction can also hold up a mirror to the ugliness that exists in the world in which we live. Hate and homophobia are distressingly present this fic — and because of that, it feels so grounded in the world that was Harry Potter, where any explicit references to queerness happened off page, long after the books were written. This fic is set in a world where queer people are forced to exist on the margins and invisible. But it can be cathartic to take that repressive world and insist within it on the existence and the humanity of those it tries to ignore and erase. The Beauty of Thestrals does that masterfully. I wept reading this, it's painful but it's beautiful. A Young Radical's Guide to Love by @blamebrampton (T, 66k)

“I told you she was guilty,” Weasley said. “Innocent people don’t run.” “Yes they do,” said Potter, before Draco could get his voice to move past his outrage. “They run all the time if they’re frightened, and we are frightening. She’s not a threat, Percy, she’s not even a source of information about actual threats. You know I disagree with this policy and I don’t see the benefit in it.”

Such a well-paced, thrilling and moving story about the performance of justice versus actual justice, and the easy slide into authoritarianism to which democratic institutions (and "the good guys") are susceptible. Plus, I am absolutely WEAK for Harry and Draco (and friends!) against the world. any day now by @oknowkiss (E, 17k)

“Look,” Potter begins, voice low. “I know you think I’m an idiot, but I do notice things actually, and I don’t think this whole–” he flutters his hands in the air, searching for a word, “-- experiment is benefiting anyone. At least not anyone except the Minister. Did you know his approval rating jumped fifteen points after this place opened?” 

It's got Drarry AND a condemnation of the criminal justice system AND a Feelings Puppet, need I say more? Draco has been interred in a "reform" program for Death Eaters, and, like in every panopticon before it, those surveyed are used and abused in service of those in power. Draco is forced to learn, once again, that there are no good choices, only those you can live with. Harry, once again, tries to fix everything himself. It's sexy, it's angsty, and it has the gall to be so fucking funny while it rips your chest open and stomps on your heart.

Modern Love by @tackytigerfic (E, 61k)

“There are over two thousand magical citizens of this country who have pledged to relinquish their magic in protest at the draconian and unjust policies of the magical government. But of course if Harry Potter doesn’t get it—” and here she does a cruelly accurate impression of Harry, which he thinks is a bit unnecessary “—then of course it can’t be worth doing.”

Hey it's pretty messed up that wizards can live for hundreds of years and have seemingly infinite resources but ignore non-magical people and let them, like, die en masse, huh? Draco thinks so! This fic is so soft and lovely, but it also will make you think about the power of protest, self-forgiveness, and sacrifice.

[grumfield]

more than antis i think it's because of people like you that 2ha is so hated. some proshippers love to reduce erha to just the s/e/xuaI as/sau/It. "erha is about a guy who keeps his master as a s/ex sIave mmmm delicious" when its so much more than that? and no im not trying to deny the blatant eroticization of noncon or the fact that meatbun clearly has a fetish or sanitize 2ha. but along with all this, she still narratively takes the responsibility to emphasize thoroughly how brutal, horrifying and undeserving was what happened to chu wanning. mo ran loathes himself for it as well. but deranged people like you will reduce it to & endorse the s/e/x/uaI a/ssauI/t. but then again, proshippers like you must be too desensitized to such portrayals because that's probably all or most of what you guys consume. 

Lmao. Lol, even.

Reduce it? It *is* it. “I’m not trying to deny the blatant eroticism”/“I’m not denying that meatbun has a fetish” YES YOU ARE!! YOU ARE, DAWG? Did you even read the book? Did you just not pay attention to the main themes especially with Mo Ran’s entire character??? You can’t pick and choose what you do and don’t approve of from this story, just like you can’t have Mo Ran without having TXJ. They’re one and the same.

Meatbun relishes those tropes and content she writes just as much as she meditates on it and encourages the audience should do the same.

I’ve been here since 2019 I don’t give a fuck I’ve seen it all I got doxxed for this story. What pisses me off to absolutely no end is that this take comes from this complete inability to acknowledge that a story can be multiple things at once or have dialogue about something meaningful while still being indulgent and campy and scratch some kink itch, and that people can’t be the same about it. 2ha is just as much of an extremely classic set of “smexy dubcon yaoizz” with all the facets of that genre and trope as it is a thought piece on those tropes, and it’s expected that you engage with it on that level.

2ha is the teacher student time travel sex slave yaoi. I’m the first to say it’s also more than that but I’m emphasizing ALSO. Denying that denies what it is and denies the meaning you can extrapolate from it. It’s special to me because it’s one of the more interesting explorations of consent and desire and is unique it that because it goes absolutely whole ham with the tropes and then rips the rug out from under you rather than simply deconstructing them. It’s the “yes and” of fictional consent discussions.

I mean there’s the very baseline “chu wanning consent/desire” plotline but then it hits you with the exploration of mo ran and consent and what happened to him in general, about the relationship between poverty and desire/consent, about empathy and consent, and more, and like holy shit this is SO BALLER and literally ONLY WORKS. ONLY WORKS if it also functions on a baseline surface level as dubcon yaoi because a dubcon yaoi serves as the ultimate framework for exploring the complications, and grey areas of consent and desire.

Anyways. My flippancy when discussing some parts of the story is not from some fundamental misunderstanding of the plot, it comes from a complete understanding of it. Go watch Bluey or smth if you can’t handle talking about Yaoi like it’s Yaoi

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

My journey through gender equality advocacy has been one of two starkly different halves.

When I tell people about my support of women, I do so to more or less exclusive approval and applause. The stories of standing up to cat callers and to confronting misogynists are warmly welcomed; my time spent homeless in London raising money for vulnerable women, a proud feather in my hat.

And whilst it’s not why I did these things, I can’t help but noticed how it’s made me socially, intellectually and dare I say it, sexually, more attractive.

Then I move onto part two. I’ll talk about boys failing in school, the unique criminalisation of gay men historically, the abysmal male life expectency, or the abused men shut out from refuges, and suddenly the situation changes.

The environment runs cold, smiles are wiped from faces, and nodding heads grow stiff.

Often outage and condemnation follows. To them I’ve fallen down some kind of rabbit hole. My views are problematic. Ignorant. And somehow misogynistic.

People, even my own family, will protest and leave the room. “King of the Incels!” or “Z List Jordan Peterson” I am called. I’m always left wondering why I am the subject of such colourful language, for simply making my views consistent and my compassion complete?

And so the transformation is complete. The face of compassion, warmth and approval, has become the face of ignorance, coldness and stupidity.

It is, in my eyes, the ugly side of equality.

The male side; of snails and puppy dog tails, of lazy and obtuse catchphrases and victim blaming mentality. Toxic this, and patriarchy that, and privilege sprinted on top. Yawn.

So how has your journey into the ugly side of equality played out?

And why do so many progressives forsake their own beliefs, compassion and virtue so quickly?

--

Sources:

Telegraph Article: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/education/2018/11/16/boys-left-fail-school-attempts-help-earn-wrath-feminists-says/

Dr Farrell Protest: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YiRasOrIoYQ

[1]: https://www.theguardian.com/education/2021/aug/13/girls-overtake-boys-in-a-level-and-gcse-maths-so-are-they-smarter

==

The activists don't care about this. They don't care about people. They care only about imposing their ideology onto everyone. You can tell from the girl who says "feminist spaces" should be used to talk about mental health. You're not allowed to talk about any real issue or problem without applying their corrupt, fraudulent ideological framework, in order to produce false, ideologically acceptable answers. Such as that suicide is caused by "the patriarchy" or "toxic masculinity." They'll literally attempt to stop you and call you a bigot if you try.

This is analogous to how believers will say that famine or disease are the result of "sin" or are "god's punishment," rather than non-fictional, actual real-world causes.

P.S. I absolutely detest how quasi-therapeutic language like "spaces" has leaked out into the everyday language of these ideologues.

[fbfh]

husband!kit walker x reader hcs

wc: 900

genre: fluff, domestic bliss

warnings: kit being adorable, optional mention of reader having a bad family, kit standing up for you, kit is a good husband and head over heels for you

song rec: be my baby - the ronettes

a/n: I LOVE THIS MAN!!!! I LOVE HIM!!!!!!! AWOOGA!!!!!! also I actually rested and it only took two days and I feel literally reborn???? I should do that more often lol

@yesv01

Honestly I can’t even start with dating headcanons

Kit Walker is such pure raw husband material that if you get within six feet of him a diamond ring appears on your finger

He’s a simple man really

He just wants to do a good job at some honest work to provide for you

Come home to your cozy house you share

Kiss you on the lips and dance around your kitchen while dinner cooks

Maybe a couple of rugrats running around 

You know that tiktok audio of “you can pick anyone fictional to be your husband but divorce is never an option” “I COULD GO INTO HEAVY DETAIL. AND I WILL.”

It’s Kit

That’s literally Kit

If you need a fake husband 

Or a temporary husband 

Don’t choose Kit

Bc he will treat you so fucking well

You’ll get way way way too attached

To get this out of the way

I hate to see Kit in distress or pain

But dear god does he look hot when he is

Anyway back to happy Kit

Which is all the time bc he is so so happy around you

I’ve said it before I’ll say it again, this man’s full name is Kit “that’s my wife!” (proceeds to knock someone out swiftly with one punch) Walker

He starts every morning by waking up smiling

Because he gets to wake up next to you

He looks at you, all sun soaked in the morning light, and he can’t believe he gets to live another day with a living dream come true like you

Then he wakes you up with kisses

So so so many kisses

Sometimes other things but that’s another story (and not for the sfw hcs)

This man knows everything about you

He knows how you like your coffee or tea or whatever, your favorite food, your favorite songs for kitchen dancing

He knows everything you love and hate

Yk the “excuse me! he asked for no pickles >:(“ meme

That’s Kit

Kit will (very politely bc he’s kind and understands how hard it is to work jobs that involve the general public bc of all the assholes that come through the garage) fix your order if someone gets it wrong

When someone asks if he’s your boyfriend he’ll happily and proudly correct them that he’s actually your husband

He doesn’t do the thing where he holds up his hand and points to his ring but he will pull you close and wrap his arms around you 

And most likely kiss you in front of the person

God I haven’t brought up The Look in a while

But Kit Walker CONSTANTLY looks at you with The Look 

Like all the goddamn time 

He’s not racist, probably an ally, and definitely a feminist

And he loves you so so much

God he’s such a catch

Once your friends spend a few minutes around him they start to realize that too

Or anyone really

You’re usually met with “wow where did you dig him up?? Where did you find him?? How do I get one??” 

Feel free to say you met at the mental hospital bc no one can tell if you’re joking or not

And he is literally perfect to bring as your date to holiday parties and family events

I mean he’s your husband so why wouldn’t he be your date

But no matter how hectic or crazy family stuff gets, he can totally handle it

He’s the perfect buffer

He’s so naturally smooth and likable and charming 

Everyone in your life that meets him totally approves

I mean all they have to do is see the way he looks at you

No one can deny that

If your family is really bad

Or generally not someone you want to be around

Kit will defend the HELL out of you

He’s not scared of confrontation, especially if it’s on your behalf 

And he is not scared to counter any underhanded comments with “Now, what did you mean by that?”

Will not let it go

He’s not going to let anyone talk shit about his spouse, his love, his sweetheart 

Especially the people that should have your back

It’s so interesting to watch because even when he’s confronting someone and defending you and telling people off for thinking they can treat you like that

It still doesn’t make him feel scary or less gentle than you know he is

And he is so so gentle with you

He says I love you all the time

With every touch

Every kiss

Every look and act of service

He’s saying it

He tells you how much he loves you all the time

Because how can he not??

You’re the most knockout dynamite dreamboat he could ever hope to be around 

He doesn’t know how he got you to fall for him back 

How he got you to love him

(he absolutely swept you off your feet)

But he’s just so glad that you do

He knows you inside and out

He knows everything about you

And he loves all of it

And you know everything about him

And you love him right back

Because you guys really are a match made in heaven

[howaboutcastiel]

The Regular Surprise (Jake Lockley)

Content Warning: Major Self-Harm Themes, Su*cidal Ideation, PLEASE proceed with caution

Summary: The OC is a waitress at a retro diner on the outskirts of the city. Life is hard and she’s struggling to cope with everything, plagued by depression and self-destructive tendencies. On the night of a big town festival, she reaches her breaking point. A familiar face at an unfamiliar time may just be her last hope. (Based on a request. Asker wishes to remain anonymous.)

Content: Angst with some resolution, substance abuse, verbal abuse (yum), extreme language. I don’t know how to describe this fic other than to say it's dark, sad, and cathartic for a select few. Fictional festival based on the one I used to go to as a kid. 

Word Count: 7.0k

An Author’s Note: Please PLEASE do not read this if there’s even a chance it could be triggering to you. I have plenty of other content that you could read instead, and there’s loads of other talented writers on here that you can go and support as well. Stay safe <3

I woke up way too early.

Not that that’s out of the ordinary. I served breakfast at the diner three days a week. Today was one of them. My alarm went off at 5:00, ripping me from my sleep with absolutely no gentleness. My head was pounding, of course, but I couldn’t complain about that because it was my own choice to drink half a bottle of bourbon the night before. Honestly, all things considered, I was holding my liquor pretty well. Didn’t even feel sick. 

But I did feel tired.

There’s nothing fulfilling about working at a diner at six in the morning. Sure, there are a few cheery regulars that keep you in mind, ask you about your folks and if your home loan got approved, or whatever. But they can also be so grating. When are you having kids? You’d be much better off if you found a nice man. Say, are you coming to work high? Most waitresses are on drugs, right? I can’t tip today, hope you don’t mind. We’re friends, aren’t we?

Then there’s the tourists. Grabbing breakfast on their way in or out of town, their kids screaming because they’re up too damn early and we don’t sell chocolate milk. Or the honeymooners who stuff themselves in one side of the booth, sharing their waffles with one fork. Give me a fucking break. 

But when I walked into work that morning, there was one familiar face that didn’t entirely make me want to rip off my own skin. He wasn’t exactly a regular. He’d show up every morning for several days in a row, then we wouldn’t see him for weeks on end. More often than not, he wore a grey or brown flat cap and on particularly dreary mornings you could hear him whispering to himself, sometimes in Spanish. My manager had told me once to refer to him as “Mr. Lockley.” Not sure exactly why, he didn’t seem that much older than me, but she was adamant. So that’s what he was called. 

Today was a double shift. I worked from 6-10, and then again from 5 until we closed at 9 o’clock. It wouldn’t have been too much of a big deal—more hours means more money, right?—save for the fact that the annual Cherry Blossom festival happened to be that night, and I really didn’t want to miss it. I’d technically have a bit of time to catch the end after my shift, but the sun would already be set and the biggest vendors and entertainers would have dipped by then. Plus, tired and drunk festivalgoers would be pestering me for some cheese fries for the whole night, and we were definitely going to run out sometime after 7 p.m.

“Morning, sugar.” Mr. Lockley put on a sleazy grin as I came to take his order. Don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t one of those perverts that said rude things to his waitresses, but he had a mouth on him. A severely unfiltered one. “What’s the special today?”

“You get a piece of toast for free if you order eggs.” My owner didn’t do specials. Everyone was struggling to make ends meet around here, and creative marketing was far down on the list for a desolate joint like this. Every Tuesday was free toast, though. But that’s only because the truck came in on Wednesdays and everything in stock was going stale. 

“Okay, I’ll do that, then. Two scrambled and some coffee if you have it.” He gave a tired smile, though he seemed very awake considering the time. I’d never given much thought to what he might do for work. He was so cryptic anyway, there was too much to wonder about. “And uhh… do you have turkey bacon?”

“Sorry, honey. Just regular.” He didn’t have his hat on today; I noticed for the first time that he had quite curly hair. It almost didn’t match his face, which was so contorted by stress and lack of sleep that it certainly made him look older than he was. Like I said, though, he was barely older than me, maybe ten years at most. There was no grey in his hair, but there was a bit peeking out of his stubbly beard. Don’t get distracted. He was asking for turkey bacon?

“Scratch that then, sweetheart. I don’t do regular.” He unfolded his newspaper, sliding his knuckle along his lips as he read. I wrote his order down.

“Eggs and toast, then. And coffee, coming right up.” 

I pretended not to notice him staring at my ass as I walked back toward the kitchen. I know I said that he wasn’t a pervert, but he was still a man. They tend to look, and I try not to dwell on it in this line of work so long as I don’t feel unsafe. I slid the ticket to Bernie, the cook. He gave me a familiar smile. He was too old to be working still, but like I said, we’re trying to make ends meet. 

The mug shook in my hand a bit as I poured the coffee for Mr. Lockley. At this ungodly hour, there weren’t too many other customers, and my coworker had already taken care of most of them. There wasn’t even a manager in yet; the owner, David, wouldn’t be here for a while. The lazy shit showed up whenever he wanted to. I brought the man his coffee. 

“Thanks, sugar.” His smile was kind of offputting, not in a creepy way. He just seemed kinda unhinged. He took a sip, hissing at the heat. “¡Carajo!”

He swallowed hard, obviously having burnt his tongue. Mr. Lockley seemed embarrassed that I had seen that. He tried to distract me.

“You going to the festival tonight?” Why was I even still standing here?

“Uhh, yeah. I’d planned on it.” Now I know, you’re not supposed to tell the customers what you’re doing when you get off work. What if they’re some kind of stalker, right? But honestly, if Mr. Lockley had wanted to kidnap me or something, he’d had multiple months to decide that already. So forgive me for my vulnerable honesty. “How about you?”

“I’ll be around. But I got work tonight, so no dice.” 

I don’t really remember that much of my morning shift. I had enough coffee and ibuprofen to keep the hangover at bay, but it was still the crack of dawn. Even by 10, I would have rather been in bed. But that was also largely unrelated to my shift. I spent a lot of time wishing I was still in bed. 

I spent a lot of time wishing I wasn’t anywhere at all. 

Of course, I was having a rough time, you know? I was a fucking waitress in my twenties, with no solid plan to get ahead and I was borderline an alcoholic. Life was just so damn exhausting. My family was no help, not that I would dare ask them for help. It takes a village to raise a child, but at the end of the day, no one in the village wants to take responsibility for the fucked up way that the kid turned out. They want to take credit when money’s tight though, and they can ask the kid to spare some of her paychecks because “hey, I fucking raised you, didn’t I?”

Yeah, no. I was going at this alone. And it was eating me alive. 

On this day, I was teetering on the edge. I’d struggled with self-destructive action for most of my life. There was no one around to teach me a healthier way to deal with shit. I didn’t have the money for a habit like cigarettes or drugs; plus, I’d seen enough of the horrors of addiction through my folks. The alcoholism was an accidental thing. It had started in high school, and who was I to turn down the sleazy attention of older boys who liked to party? It was attention, and I needed that. 

I didn’t see Mr. Lockley leave. I was too busy with the morning rush of all those nine-to-five people. He’d left his newspaper on the table alongside his empty plate, but at least he’d been nice enough to fold it back so that I didn’t have to. By this time, David had gotten around to coming in. What a fucking asshole, that guy. I hated the thought of making a profit for him, but I was doing all I could. Looking ahead for better days.

Except I wasn’t looking ahead. 

When I say that that day was bad, I mean it from the bottom of my heart. I was about three minor inconveniences from putting a pistol in my mouth or taking a handful of Bernie’s blood pressure pills. Everything was so overwhelming as my own ambitions were underwhelming. Seriously, it was a fucking dreadful day, and I was just unhinged enough that it could have easily been my last. It very nearly was, too. 

I was less than a half-hour from my shifts end when last night’s bourbon caught back up to me. I was carrying plates for a table of four, two snot-nosed kids and their wealthy grandparents on some god-forsaken vacation. Someone had spilled their drink in the floor with out telling any of the staff, and I couldn’t see it for the food in my hands. Luckily I didn’t drop the whole thing, but the grandpa’s meal was a goner as soon as my foot hit the water. 

He seemed a little more upset than was necessary; entitled boomer thinks its cute to yell at the wait staff. I just kind of stood there and took it, numb to being berated by customers at this point. It wasn’t that that made the first strike, though it did start there. No, it was fucking David’s reaction to the whole experience. 

“You fucking watch where you’re walking.” He was spitting at me in the back room. “Gonna keep losing money by working your clumsy ass here. Don’t think I’m gonna forget how often you show up off your game.” 

That wasn’t fair and he knew it. I never showed up to work drunk, even if I desperately wanted to. He couldn’t hold against me what I did on my own time off. I did have some respect for my job, though admittedly not much. I knew I couldn’t afford to be fired right now. 

“I don’t want to see those goddamn tears.” Of course I’m gonna cry. You’re tearing me a new one. “Wipe that shit off your face. I swear to God, you fuck up again tonight and you’re out of a job. You hear me?”

I knew he wasn’t gonna fire me, but I nodded. He needed the help, and with his attitude it was unlikely he could hire a new waitress to replace me in a timely manner. He let me off my shift after that—I don’t think he could stand to see my face anymore. So I sauntered off to my car, not even saying bye to Bernie, and certainly not stopping to ask if that table needed anything else. 

See, this is where I knew it was bad. I would have seven hours before returning for my shift. I should have done something really therapeutic, like treat myself at a coffee shop or gone window shopping at an antique store. But I couldn’t be bothered to do that. I shut myself into my car, not bothering to turn on the radio or even the AC. For a little while I didn’t turn on the engine, I just let myself continue to cry until no tears were left. I was really so goddamn tired.

I know that I shouldn’t have done what I did next, but like I said, I was never taught better. That excuse only goes so far, doesn’t it? Either way, I did what I did and I gotta own up to that. When I couldn’t use alcohol to numb myself—say, because I had another shift to stay sober for—I would simply amplify the pain. It wasn’t logical, really, but it made me feel like I was in control. If the world was gonna hurt me, at the very least, I could do it better. 

So that’s what I did. 

Like I said, I don’t smoke. The smell alone is so offputting to me and I can’t support the habit in this economy. But I did have a lighter in my car. You know, the one that comes in the little charging port thing? I don’t know exactly where I got it, maybe it came with car when I bought the damn thing. Regardless, it was perfect for this. I knew that. It wasn’t the first time that I’d done it. 

I had a little line of scars right above my waist. A nasty habit, I know, but it’s better than shooting heroin I guess. It was the same concept as drugs; it fucked with my hormones in just the right way, gave me an adrenaline rush. So I pressed the little lighter into the skin right across from my belly button. It hurt like shit. Of course it did. 

And then I did it again. I don’t know exactly how many times, but I remember that it made me feel better. No, it decidedly made me feel worse, but at least I was feeling something. Also, my headache was magically gone. Either that or my brain just wouldn’t allow me to process both at the same time. 

I sat there for a while. Then I got a fucking call from David. 

“I need you to switch shifts with Miranda.” He didn’t ask. He just told. 

“Why?”

“Just do what I say. She’s got a family emergency or something. I need you to come in at three. You’re off at seven.”

Maybe the day wasn’t so shit after all. I could make it to the festival for sure, now. I was hell-bent on a candy apple at least, as well as one of those plates of fried Oreos. I didn’t care that they would probably make me feel like shit. 

Well, then. That brought seven hours of free time down to five. What to do? Go back to my apartment I guess. So I did. I didn’t do much else, just used my time to make myself lunch, pay some bills and do some dishes that my roommate had left in the sink. The time went by pretty fast from there. Except for when my mother called. It went painfully slowly for that. 

I could already tell when I got back to the diner that the shift wasn’t going to end well. Strike one had hit me like a fucking train. I would say that the second was already halfway struck, just from the rain that followed me up to the door. It was gonna clear out by sunset, though. The festival was going to be dry. And warm. 

David looked as annoyed as ever to be blessed with my presence, but he didn’t say anything to me as I clocked in. Three is one of those weird hours where hardly anyone is there. If anyone, a few teenagers would stop by on their way home from school. Or camp. Or wherever. 

The monotony wasn’t good for me. Even if the seating area was empty, David forbade me from being on my phone. Just one of those things, don’t look like a piece of shit while you’re on the job. Doesn’t matter who sees. 

Strike two happened suddenly. Around 6, some dirty executive thought he was being funny and pinched my ass. I don’t put up with that shit. I politely told him to leave. Well, as polite as could be reasonable. 

“Awe, I’m just poking fun, sweet thing. Say, what time you get out of here?” His teeth were yellow and gross. He was with some buddies from work who thought he was the funniest person in the room. I wasn’t impressed. 

“I don’t disclose that information.” He frowned. His eyes were bloodshot, but not in a drunk way. A different kind of way. It was scary. “Now I need you to leave. We don’t tolerate physical harassment here.”

“Harassment? Now you’re being shy on me? I can’t help you look so good, sweetheart.”

God help me for what I’m about to do. 

“Dave!” I yelled just loud enough to startle the man closest to me. His friends shut up real fast as David walked into the room, pissed as all hell that I’d bothered him. The pig wasn’t amused. 

“There’s no need for that, sugar.” He grimaced at David and patronizingly scoffed at me. 

“What’s the problem here, sir?” David put on his customer service voice with absolutely no intent of keeping it on. As shitty as he was, he didn’t fuck around with creeps. I tried to steady my breath. 

“This man grabbed me under my skirt. And he refuses to leave.” I didn’t have to look Dave in the eye for this. Thank God for that, at the very least. The ugly man’s friends looked like deer in headlights, but he just looked smug. 

“Yeah, no. Get the fuck out.” That’s what I thought. 

“You’re gonna talk to a customer like that?” The man was shocked that another guy would dare call him out like that. What an absolute fucking pig. 

“You’re not a customer anymore. Get out. All of you, as a matter of fact.” Save for Bernie and himself, everyone who worked under David was a young woman. He’d gotten used to sending perverts on their way, and he’d walk me to my car if he absolutely had to, but he wouldn’t be happy about it. 

He wasn’t happy about losing the business, either. Even if the people leaving were the scum of the earth. He side-eyed me for the remainder of my shift, as if I’d somehow tried on purpose to seduce the man. 

And then we make it to strike three. 

It’s a goddamn lucky thing that I don’t own a gun. Or sleeping pills. Or anything else I could overdose on. But do not get me fucking wrong, I was determined by the end of the night, as tragic as that sounds. 

My shift ended and there was no sign of the men, so David didn’t bother to stick around. He wanted to see the festival, too, and he never stayed until closing anyway. It was dusk when I got outside. There was enough light to see, but not enough to feel safe. 

And my fucking car wouldn’t start. 

I started sobbing on the spot. Visceral, ugly, snotty crying that made it hard to breathe in. It was the second time today that I had cried in my car. It was my absolute breaking point. I was a mess. An illogical mess. 

I punched the steering wheel until I was sure I had bruised my hand. After that, I held my head in my hands until the tears were all gone. Not because I felt better, but because there wasn’t anything left. The headache was back now, by the way. There was no way in hell that I was walking from here. I wasn’t going to the festival either. 

I wasn’t going anywhere. 

I was so done. Really, truly done. Realistically, I don’t think I would have done anything to hurt myself—in the permanent way, I mean. But the thought was at the forefront of my mind. Images flashed through my head. How would I do it? Would it be quick? I wasn’t thinking logically. I was struggling to think at all. 

Okay, here’s what I need to do. It’s too fucking far and cold for me to walk back home. I’m gonna call a cab. 

Cab’s didn’t stop too often near the diner. I wasn’t in the city-center, but I was close enough that they would find their way there every half hour or so. At least, that was what I thought. In reality, there happened to be a cab right then and there. It was parked on the other side of the block. 

I waved it down, noticing a silhouette in the front seat. Maybe he was on his break? I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I had wiped the tears and other stuff from my face, but the aggression of the sobs had left me a complete wreck. My head was pounding, my tongue was stiff and dry. My stomach still burned. 

The cabby pulled over to me. 

I checked the window just to make sure that it wasn’t some kidnapping scheme. That’s not unheard of, and with my luck that’d be the cab that found me. Sure enough, though, the cab was registered legitimately. I sighed in relief as I opened the door. 

“Where to?” He met my eyes in the mirror, but I didn’t look back at him. That is, until he turned his head to me. “You having car trouble or something?”

I knew the face staring back at me. This was not in my plan for the night. I didn’t know how to feel. 

“Yeah, I am.” He looked just as confused as me. He was wearing his hat now. I noted that. “I didn’t know you were a cabby, Mr. Lockley.”

“Call me Jake.” He was still turned to look at me. I felt myself blushing at the way he was peering into me. “Now, come on. Where to?”

“My apartment. I guess.” I gave the address. This was unexpected, but it didn’t change anything. It was a weird feeling, though. Vulnerable. I felt ashamed to be involving him in my shitty, self-destructive night. At the time, what I was half-convinced was my last one.

“I thought you were going to the festival, señorita.” He looked prettier in the fading light. I couldn’t see the circles under his eyes. 

“Change of plans.” He furrowed his brow, but turned back toward the front. He didn’t start the meter. 

“This one’s on me, yeah?” It almost sounded like pity. That’s great, I really wanted that. 

“No, Jake. I can’t accept that. I’ll pay.” There’s that line in that Alanis Morissette song, right? A free ride when you’re already late. That’s kind of what this was like. Was the universe trying to stop me, or trying to mock me?

“¡tonterías! If you can’t afford a tow truck, I doubt you can afford a cab ride.” Okay. Mocking me, for sure. 

“Don’t rub it in.”

“This one’s on me.” He repeated, slower. Then he put the car into drive. Fine, work for free. That doesn’t change my night. It doesn’t matter anyway. 

If I had more sense in my head, I would have seen that he noticed how dreadful I was. My mascara had run, not completely wiped away to the best of my ability. My shirt was untucked, my hair was a mess, and the crescent moons on my palms were leaking blood. Not that I’d noticed that. I had spiraling tunnel vision. 

What was I going to do when I got home? The thoughts were jumbled and racing through my mind, but I was too exhausted to catch all of them. I was crawling in my skin, half-convinced that I was possessed or something, but I also felt numb. The kind of calm you feel when you have nothing to lose. 

I didn’t own a gun. There weren’t any pills. There wasn’t any rope. But there were… kitchen knives? None of the thoughts stuck around too long, they just played themselves on a loop, attacking my brain. 

“You seemed excited about that festival. What’s keeping you?” His voice rang in my ears. My head was hurting so bad. 

“I’m just tired.” I lied. I couldn’t tell that he saw right through that. He was too observant for his own good. I pulled my flask from the bottom of my purse.

Yeah, I know. This was certainly a wrong move. Jake Lockley was upset by this, for sure.

“Hey, no open bottles in my cab.” I hadn’t even gotten the damn thing to my lips. I thought I’d try to be cute with him.

“It’s not a bottle. It’s a flask.” I downed a swig before shutting the lid.

“Put it away.” Whatever, man. I pushed it back down in my purse, not hiding the way I rolled my eyes at him before doing it. The calm was warping into something else, but I didn’t know what. The possessed feeling wasn’t going away, though. 

“You worked a long shift today, huh? Considering I saw you here at the crack of dawn.” Why was he trying to make small talk? Just leave me alone. You and the rest of the world, leave me alone. 

“Wasn’t here the whole day. Opening shift and closing one, supposed to be anyway.” I just mumbled the first words in my brain. He was asking a lot of me in this state.

“The diner closes at nine.”

“Like I said, supposed to be.” Why did he know that the diner closes at nine? That’s a weird thing to remember, especially for someone who only shows up for breakfast. Maybe it’s a cab driver thing. They know the open and close of places around. 

“It’s a little early for you to turn in, then. Why don’t I drive you on to the festival and let you have some fun?” You’re overstepping, Mr. Lockley. 

“I said to take me home.”

“So you can do what exactly? Drink alone?” I was starting to feel uneasy. I’d never made small talk with this man beyond when he ordered his food. Now he was flirting with me? Or calling me out? I didn’t exactly know. Weirdly enough, I felt safe, but I also felt exposed. 

“That’s none of your business.” We were almost at my apartment. He slowed to a stop, not yet close enough for me to get out of the car. He looked angry. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m not sure I should let you leave.” He didn’t say it in a creepy way. I know that’s hard to believe. How could he say that and it not be creepy, right? But I immediately knew what he meant.

“You gonna kidnap me then?” I didn’t have the energy for this. And it wasn’t any of his business anyway. 

“That depends. Will that keep you alive?”

“Okay. I think you’re being dramatic.”

“Am I?” He couldn’t possibly know what was in my head. I hadn’t even made the decision yet myself. This man was way outside of bounds here, but I couldn’t prove him wrong. We stared at each other for a long time. 

“Let me take you to the festival.” Why did he care so much about this? About me?

“Why does it matter to you?” Just leave me alone. Just leave me alone. Just leave me alone. I don’t want to be here. 

“I have a conscience, you know.” He talked to me like a dad might. That really made me feel bad. “I can’t drop you off here if I think you’re in danger. I can’t live with that.”

“Why do you care? I’m a stranger to you.”

“Just come to the festival with me.” Jake’s eyes were pleading. That instantly made him look younger. A lot younger. Child-like. 

God damn him.

“Fine. Don’t do anything weird, though. I have pepper spray.” That was a lie. I did not. 

Cherry blossoms lined the street where the vendors were parked. I could smell the carnival food before we even got to the point of the roadblock. Jake Lockley parked the car, coming around to open my door for me. 

“Wait, aren’t you on duty or something?” He took my hand to help me up. What a gentleman. I think I should feel thankful for that. If only I could be bothered to feel.

“I drive a cab. I can work when I want.” He put his arm around my waist for support and I tried to conceal how his hand set me on fire as it touched my burns. I couldn’t be bothered to hate the gesture, though. It was the sweetest touch I had felt in a long time. I’m pretty sure he was only holding on to keep me from making a run for it. Jake was convinced I was a danger to myself.

The street lights illuminated his face in a new way. He looked a lot more vulnerable in the dim crowd, but he held himself with confidence. I got the feeling that I was safe with him. I noticed now that he was wearing gloves. That made sense for a cab driver, right? They had crescent moons on them, little white shapes right on the knuckles, disturbing the black of the leather. What an odd little thing. 

“Is there something, in particular, that you want to see?” He led me down the street with his hand barely grazing my side, but I was firmly in his grasp. The lights were too bright. The crowd was too noisy. I couldn’t concentrate.

“I always get a caramel apple.” I tried to search my brain for what I’d normally be doing here. I was elated before, right? There had to be some ideas floating around in there somewhere. It was hard to find any, though. 

“Okay. Let’s get one, then.” For all it was worth, I could have been drunk. I’d had the one swig of booze, but my state of mind was far gone regardless of that. That was probably a good thing. I couldn’t make any rash decisions if I couldn’t think at all. I turned my head to him as we made our way through the swarm of people. 

Why was he so concerned? Sure, he knew me from the diner, but I meant nothing to him. Just some waitress in the background of his life. He could have just dumped me at my place and let whatever was going to happen go ahead. But he didn’t, and I couldn’t understand why.

“Two caramel apples, thanks.” I heard him say to one of the vendors, but I was so out of it. I reached for my wallet, but he swatted my hand away. That’s on him, too, I guess. I kept my eyes on his face.

He was a fairly short man. Not that there was a problem with that, I had just expected him to be tall. Mr. Lockley had the energy of someone with a bigger physical presence. He was some kind of tan, maybe Mexican? He spoke Spanish, I knew that. He must be some kind of Latino, then, I guessed. I didn’t really dwell on that thought, but he was pretty, whatever he was. 

Yeah. He was pretty. His face was pretty, his curls were pretty, his muscles were pretty, and these thoughts were those of a deeply tired, not-thinking-straight woman. I felt warm at the idea that he was my arm candy tonight. Even if he was holding me against my will so that I didn’t try to off myself. 

I don’t think he liked that I was staring. He handed me my apple and ushered me over to the tent-covered benches that were set up for people who wanted to eat sitting down. There was music coming from the stage nearby. Not good music, but it was live music, which was something. He paid it no mind. 

“How are you feeling?” Jake had that same child-like look from before. Was he that worried about me? I let my mouth continue to act before my brain, as it had gotten me this far. 

“I don’t know. The music sucks, though.” I took a very large bite of my apple. I kept talking, even with the food in my mouth. “You’re kinda rude, y’know. What kinda cab driver gets to pick the rider’s destination? That seems… abnormal.”

“The kind that’s not taking your shit. Look me in the eye and say you weren’t going to hurt yourself.” What a nosy motherfucker. 

“Maybe I was. What does that have to do with you?” He kind of blushed when I said that, which made me feel powerful. I made Mr. Lockley blush. 

“You think I could live with myself if I dropped you off knowing I could have stopped you from that?” 

“I don’t know. You’d have gotten over it. I’m just a waitress.”

“No you’re not.” He blushed even deeper, taking a bite of his own caramel apple. I was stuffing my face, the sugar making me feel better as it took away some of the cloudiness. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well… you’ve served me breakfast a hundred times.” Even he didn’t seem convinced by that answer. I scowled at him.

“Yeah. That still makes me just a waitress.” It was amusing to see him stumble on his words. As the sugar reached my head, it brought energy elsewhere, too. Particularly to my aching stomach. 

“Can you just not act disposable for one second? You’ve got to mean something to someone.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Yeah. I really don’t think that’s true.” He took a patronizing bite. How that was possible, I’m not sure. “I’d surely miss your pretty face over my coffee.”

“Someone else can serve you coffee.” I was kind of getting pissed because he cared. Why did he get to care when I didn’t?

“I don’t think I want that, though.” This was pointless. I just wanted to go home, still. Though I was beginning to want something else, too. I tried to distract him. 

“What else is there to do here?” I hadn’t thought that one out. The festival had lots of vendors, but it seemed a lot less vibrant than I’d imagined it would be. 

“Dunno. You want me to win you a stuffed animal?” Now there’s a thought. 

“I’d certainly like to see you try.”

I learned a lot of swear words in Spanish over the next half-hour. More than would ever be useful, that’s for sure. But the man did it. It cost him three times what the stuffed monkey should have cost, but he did it. I found myself giggling at the way he so clearly felt he was above the rigged dart-throwing game. He was giggling, too, in between the swears. I don’t think he’d played a carnival game in a long time. 

He did that thing where you talk to the stuffed animal like it’s a person. I don’t know if he thought it would be funny or if he was pissed about spending so much money on the game. Whatever the reason for it, I was entertained.

“You are more trouble than you’re worth, pequeño.” He stuck his pointer finger into the belly of the toy, a playfully stern look on his face. “You’re not even that cute.”

“He’s the one I wanted, though.” I took the monkey out of Jake’s gloved hand. Really, what was up with the gloves? The plush toy felt cheap in my grasp, but he was meaningful. “What should I name him?”

“el cabrón,” Jake muttered under his breath, grinning. I didn’t know that word, but from the cheeky tone in his voice I had to go with no on that one. 

You know how they say that adrenaline drains everything from your body? I didn’t know it, but that was what was happening here. I’d gone through so many emotions through the day, and so many cups of coffee, too. The devastating tiredness had plagued me from the cab ride to the apple truck, and now there was exhausted giddyness. When I say that I could have been drunk, that’s truly the most accurate description. They say sleep deprivation mimics inebriation. By that metric, I was nearly at the black-out stage. 

I was holding on to him like a little girl as we walked back to the cab. There was an unspoken agreement, I guess, as he saw how fucking tired I must be. He had to be pretty tired, too. The sky was totally dark at this point, and both of us had been awake since before the sun had come up this morning. 

“Why don’t you sit in the front, cariño?” He asked me gently. I followed his request, hopping in the front seat as he opened the door for me. Jake was still treating me like something fragile. I didn’t really have the frame of mind to realize that I was. There were just isolated thoughts swimming around.

We took the entire ride in silence. I guess there wasn’t much that either of us really had to say. I ran my hand along the thread of the monkey toy; I had decided to name him Button because of his eyes. I don’t know. Drunk thoughts. The thread felt soothing under my skin. 

He turned off the engine when he got to my drive. I raised by eyebrow at him, but he had one of those looks like it wasn’t really up for debate. My tongue felt like it was stuck in my throat.

Jake didn’t take my hand or open the door for me this time. He just let me lead the way up the steps with the keys in my hand. I know I should have felt more uncomfortable about the whole thing than I actually did. My roommate wasn’t there; I don’t know where she was gone to. We only lived together for the money. We didn’t make conversation that much. 

“Do you want something to drink?” I mumbled at him as he followed me through the door. At least I had done the dishes, so the place wasn’t a total wreck. My roommate’s cat meowed angrily at me as we made out way into the living room. She probably hadn’t fed him all day. Jake’s eyes lit up at the sight.

“Who’s this little princesa?” He bent down to scratch the cat’s head, swooping him up into his arms. The little bastard drank in the attention. 

“Artichoke. He belongs to my roomy.” I plopped onto the couch. I would feed him before bed. Not right now, I was too tired. 

“My bad, man. Eres el gato más bonito que he visto.” Jake’s lips parted over his teeth, his eyes crinkled in a wide smile. Arty was purring under his touch. I’d never seen such a soft smile on Mr. Lockley’s face.

I was starting to really like this man. Sure, I’d seen him lots of times before, but it was so impersonal and he was normally much cruder in the way he spoke. I guess I’d given him a good scare. My mind was out of spiralling thoughts, but the chaos lingered in spite of the absence of self-destructing tendencies. He sat down beside me, and Arty leapt off the couch. 

I thought of one thing that might make me feel better. Might make me feel something. 

I fucking tackled that poor man. I smashed my lips into his, pushing my weight over top of him. My hands found their way to his hair. He was shocked for a second, then he reciprocated for another before pulling back altogether. His grip was surprisingly strong, and suddenly I was separated from him. 

“Don’t do that.” He didn’t look angry at me, but he did dawn a look of disappointment. I fucking hated that look. Jake’s arm held me away from him. 

“Why not? I know how much you stare at me when you come by to eat.” It was true. He never hid how he ogled at me. Like I said, severely unfiltered. That didn’t mean he was a bad man. 

“You’re not in your right mind. I didn’t come here for that.” I winced as he stood up off of the couch, tugging off his gloves. His face and neck were bright red. He threw the gloves on the kitchen counter, right beside my bottle of whiskey. 

“Consider it payment for the ride.” I reached my hand out to him, signalling him to come back. He just stared down at me. “It’s not like I’m drunk.”

“But you’re not thinking straight.” He ventured into the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water. He poured me one, too, and I noticed his fingers tense against the cold of the glass. Jake walked over to me and handed the cup down to my hands, which I was noticing by now were very weak with exhaustion. I took a sip, carefully. 

“What are you here for then?” I don’t know exactly what I wanted him to say. He was there, though, and that mattered a lot. He really didn’t have to be there. 

“I don’t know. I want to make sure you’re safe.” I couldn’t fault him for that. He’d given me a free ride, bought me dinner, won me a prize, and then he’d endured my unwanted advances. It would have been quite rude of me after that to repay him by hurting myself. 

“How long are you gonna stay?”

“Until I’m sure.”

And that’s what he did.