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millerscoffee · 1 year

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dancing is a dangerous game | part one

you're a bandit like me, eyes full of stars.

5.5k | joel miller x f!reader

masterlist

rating: 18+ MDNI

tw: brief mentions of using your body for trading purposes, you shoot at joel miller????, light dub-con but that goes away quickly

warnings: post-outbreak au. no ellie. angsty smut, semi-dom!reader and dom!joel so that's fun, power struggle, age gap (joel is 56, reader is late 20s or early 30s), enemies to lovers, voyeurism (f watching m), masturbation (m and f), pet names/degrading names (baby, honey, darlin', brat, bitch, slut, etc.), dirty talk, choking, oral (m receiving), fingering, spanking, p in v (unprotected - wrap it up folks), joel is mean but not unkind. no use of y/n.

summary: inspired by "cowboy by me" by our lord and savior taylor swift. this is a post-outbreak world and joel has his own land. think bill, but a little less... deranged. kind of. you essentially are a raider, but make it fashion. when you stalk joel's cabin for the third day, that's when you get interrogated by none other than joel miller himself.

A/N: hi, i'm bee! this is my first fic on tumblr, and my first stab at this whole stratosphere. longtime listener; first time caller 💅. i was ALSO inspired by an ask i saw on @swiftispunk's page (hi! i love your writing sm??) and kinda just... ran with it. i honestly wasn't anticipating writing stuff during the outbreak, so i apologise if it's not quite right. imagine me living during that time with a tube of lipgloss and one (1) bullet in my pocket just in case. this... may be a series. i don't know yet. see ya! enjoy!!!

The first time you meet Joel Miller is down the barrel of your gun.

You can hear your father's voice telling you 'Back out, girl. Don't get too big for your britches.' Look where that got him. His ashes against your chest in a makeshift pendant necklace, buried by your clothes.

Still, you listen.

"It don't have to be like this," you drawl with index over the trigger guard. You've heard of him. Joel Miller. He's notorious, and even though you've kept to yourself most of your life, his name still roamed throughout the abandoned towns you passed. Someone always owed him, and he always owed somebody.

Your dad would've been older than him, but not by much. You knew of the world before this, was just a little thing. Still, you heard stories undulate from your father's southern voice that mostly left you bored on long days searching for food or shelter. You'd give anything to hear them now.

Part of you died when he did.

You were young when the outbreak happened. Resourceful, your father made it work in raising you. Taught you how to fend for yourself, rely on no one. Which was no easy feat considering how unbelievably stubborn you were. Were? Are.

Maybe he loved you. Maybe it was the chip on his shoulder. The kind of anguish that comes from not being able to give your mother the same kind of life. A promise to her.

Yes, you were young when the outbreak happened, but flashbacks of her getting attacked by a clicker burn you alive at night.

"Y'er on my land." A gruff voice calls you back to reality. Few words for someone who held your life in his hands. His own gun pointing back at you. Of course it would be.

"I was just passin' through." The lie flies through your teeth. You had been circling the place from a reasonable distance for a few days now. Scoping out when this man in front of you was his busiest, when he patrolled, when he slept. This was a heist situation, no doubt about it.

"Bullshit. This s'the third fuckin' time I seen you 'round here. And it's y'er last."

Shit. Fucking shit.

Your eyes dart to the side, really trying to pattern a plan in escaping but your breathing would say otherwise as calm and collected as it was.

In any other situation, you wouldn't be so willing to comply, but considering he's got you cornered and his gun is quite literally cocked and ready to go – you're not exactly in the position to make hasty decisions.

Goddammit if there wasn't something about him that made you nervous.

"Listen. Just was lookin' for somewhere to sleep. It's fuckin' cold and your stables look warm." Your head tilts in the direction of a lone horse's home in a bed of hay, and you're not fully lying. It's not that you have set up camp by any means, but you've noticed.

"We could trade. You give me y'er ammo, and I g–"

"You give me your cock, I get it. You really could be more original." You were used to this. Bartering, some might call it. Living out here on your own was dangerous, and running into men who wanted to use your body in order to get supplies wasn't that uncommon. If they were that kind, even. You'd heard the horror stories.

Albeit, most of these men met your gun in the end. Enabling you acquire their supplies, keep all yours, and your dignity. Win/win.

"...I give you the pleasure of livin' another day. Really? Y'think it's that easy?"

There was something in the way Joel says this that makes you grateful for the jacket you're wearing. Goosebumps prickle your skin, bile creeping up your throat and you will it back down again. Y'think it's that easy? As if he thought you wanted it.

If circumstances were different, you'd be rubbing the crimson off your cheeks. Flashing him a sheepish grin in an attempt to resolve whatever misunderstanding there was... but this wasn't the environment to elicit such conversation.

And you weren't that type of person to begin with.

Instead, your index sweeps from guard to trigger when you fire off at his leg. Hasty decisions be damned. You're quicker than him, so why're you tryin' to save him? You're a 'shoot to kill' type of person, and as the bullet grazes past his calf – part of you wishes you had.

Because not only did your bullet not make contact, Joel gets worse. You two lock eyes. His rifle is thrown over his shoulder as he grunts and walks perfectly fine over to you – despite the way his eyebrows knit together, jaw ticked. Was that a grin? Do something, anything – run.

Joel grips the nape of your neck, and you yelp in surprise.

Who the fuck does this man think he is?

His large hand eclipses your wrist as he maneuvers the gun from your hand. The action makes you writhe in pain, and it sends a shiver down your spine to know he's only using an ounce of his power.

You dig your elbow into his ribs despite him stronger than you. Stomping, kicking, punching anything you can find.

"What the fu–"

"Little girl, you picked the wrong one." His breath edges at the shell of your ear, and every sign should be pointing for you to hate this, but it almost feels familiar. Like yourself. It's only then when you worry.

---

You don't realise it, but Joel is pushing you inside his cabin. Keeping your head in direction of the ground, thud of the door heard somewhere behind you.

"You want to be treated like a big girl? Get these fuckin' pants off."

"What... what? No I'm fuckin' not–"

Joel chews up the space between you when he pushes you to the nearest wall. Your back at his chest, a cheek flush against the cabin's support.

Pine, tobacco, and whiskey fill your senses and you bite back the urge to whimper. He wouldn't see you like that.

"You're not? That why you were watchin' me jerk off last night? 'Cuz you don't wanna give it up?"

That alone makes blood creep up your neck and spill over your cheeks. You have to squeeze your legs together to quell the ache.

It was lonely on your own.

Most nights were spent half asleep on a cold, hard surface. Tired and hungry more days than not. You don't remember the last time you got a hot meal, much less been touched. So when you heard Joel's low grunts coming from the window (a window from a cabin you don't know quite yet that he built with his own hands) you become intrigued.

It's in this moment you're certain it must have been the rustling of branches just outside his room. You remember it happening last night, cursing to yourself for making noise. His fist stalled around the girth of his fat cock before spilling his seed over his stomach. As if that is what caused him to come.

It makes sense now, and it equally causes you to become dizzy and filled with rage. You bite your bottom lip, unable to think of a response.

"Mouthy thing ain't got much to say now. Now c'mon. I ain't taking these off you, doin' it y'erself." More of a warning, Joel lets up on his grip on you, but you're defenseless. No weapons, no pack. He's got your world in his hands.

With the newly found space between the two of you, you turn around – back of your head against the wall as your eyes find the other set for, perhaps, the first time. And they're deep. Deeper than you were aware of. Dark, impossibly round. Wrinkles reside on the sides of them, and if you knew any better, you wouldn't admit they were doing something to you.

But not only are you stubborn, you're too forthright to beat around the bush.

"I shot at you, and you want my cunt? You must be lonelier than I a–"

"Now."

Your words don't match your actions as your hands fall by your sides. Fingers play with zipper of your old, faded jeans that have seen better days.

You can't help but snicker an awkward laugh from how he's just watching you. Insecurities rise when you realise you're not laughing at him, but more his eyes on you. How intense it feels suddenly. He wants this. Wants you.

His eyes draw impatiently, broad frame leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed.

"Ain't got all day. Still considerin' your death."

His arms. Bulging through the fabric of his shirt, his body was built in a way that you could tell he worked with his hands... maybe in his past life, too. Throat dry, you shimmy out of your pants until you're left in your cotton panties.

Ones that you are becoming more aware the condition of. A small pool of wetness forming at the core of you clings to the fabric.

"Top, too."

Is that? It is. Your eyes wander down to see the growing bulge in Joel's pants. Not even the hem of his flannel could hide it. Sure, you'd seen it in its full form the night before, but that was with distance and without the heat rising between the two of you.

You bite your lip without hesitation, pulling the layers of jacket and a handful of tops onto the ground until you're bare. The cool air passes over your nipples and wills them into stiff peaks.

"Ain't you somethin', baby."

That's the first time Joel Miller draws a shaky exhale out of you. All from a single sentence.

When Joel steps over to you, that calm and collected breath is nowhere to be found. Your chest rises and falls at a random pattern, feeling more and more naked by the second as his clothes are completely kept on his body. A purposeful tactic.

He bends down to collect your clothes along with everything else that yours, and you are truly at his will. So busy on the precipice of pleasure that you don't even think about trying to get away.

"Stay."

"Ain't a dog." You glare, standing with your legs brushing together.

"Then quit actin' like a bitch. And quit movin', I'm gettin' to you."

It shuts you up quick, jaw snapping shut. You're certain if he told that to anyone else they'd be reduced to tears, but you can take it. It coils a heat inside the pit of your stomach that you've never felt. Causes your clit to feel as if it's on fire from the need to touch it.

Joel turns on his heel to walk away and it's as if you're able to breathe fresh air from the humidity he brings. You notice he's putting your things and his rifle away on his kitchen counter before coming back to you. He must really trust his ability to keep everything out like that.

Then again, have you even moved in the last five minutes?

The last thing he is, is worried.

You're able to look around, if only for a moment. Though, is it really looking? Your adrenaline is pumping, pupils blown from the fact that not only are you in the house you'd been stalking... you're about to fuck the man in it. And you almost tried to kill him. You definitely didn't miss on purpose. Couldn't have.

All the same, the cabin was nice, and you could take in briefly the light wood – old and weathered. A record player in the corner beside a guitar. This stuff could get you a lot in return, but for whatever reason that doesn't even cross your mind. Maybe your heart beating in your ears is a handy distraction to keep you walking the line.

Your eyes track the rugged man instead.

---

"Here's how this is gonna go," he announces, coming back to you and not phased that you haven't moved a muscle. "You are gonna take your ass over there on the couch. You're gonna make me come, then you're gonna go. Understand?"

"Well... I guess it is that easy."

Your bratty mouth getting you in trouble again. As if you're in the position to say anything. Naked as you are.

---

Joel's jaw ticks forward in a way that makes you feel fear, yet there's a direct correlation between it and the slick gathering between your folds. The same wide hand that gripped the nape of your neck wraps around the front of your throat while he pushes you against the wall, and your shoulders slump – all but folding instantly.

His mouth is inches from yours, forcing you to look him in the eyes.

"Listen here. I've been real kind to you. Coulda killed ya day one, tryin' to steal my shit like that. Was gonna be real kind in where I fucked ya, too. Now we're gonna fix that mouth a'yours and fast. Knees. Now." You soon come to know this isn't a suggestion. It's not even a warning. It is what's happening.

It's in the way Joel's hands guide you down onto your knees. He goes for his belt and you hear and see that distinct clang of metal untangle before your very senses. Your mouth waters instantly, teetering into fully giving into this struggle of power.

Joel's hands are calloused. You can tell he takes care of them, but that doesn't hide the wear and tear. Specifically on his fingertips. They grip your jaw roughly, and you choke back a moan as your mouth hangs open pliantly from this. Every nerve ending buzzing to be touched.

"Where'd that bratty girl go, huh? You done bein' big and bad – wanna be a slut, don’tcha?"

Your eyelash splay along your cheeks as you nod, and you feel his grip tighten, tugging your chin up higher.

"Look at me. You want this cock? I need your words. Tell me you wanna be a slut."

You're not sure when it happens, but hot tears run down your cheeks as everything comes to a head. Your body is trembling with raw desire right at your fingertips, just within reach. You can't hold back anymore, it physically hurts to.

"I wanna be a slut for this cock... please."

"Fuck, even a please. Oughta eat you out for that, sugar. Maybe next time."

Your brain is swimming at the thought. Next time?

With his free hand, Joel sets his cock free from his jeans, giving a satisfying smack to his abdomen quickly. No need for another piece of fabric keeping him from getting what he wants as you soon take note he isn't wearing boxers.

There's no denying what you're met with as you get to view it from this close. Joel Miller has a pretty cock. There's a soft, but bulging vein on the underside to match how big and thick it is. The rosy tip greets you, and it's the first time you get to see how much you've turned him on.

Your mouth is drooling while it's pried open and meets the tip of him. A moan from you is instantaneous, yet feels so distant from yourself, it doesn't affect you until much later. The taste of his precum coats your tongue as he slips past your lips and it's all you can experience. Your moans slip in and out of the sloshing sounds of your mouth. Keeping your hands by your sides, you don't tempt to touch him in fear he would pull away, so instead you twirl your tongue around his leaking head. Bob your head up and down in a slow, but sultry rhythm that causes him curse under his breath. He's not stoic above you, he's reacting.

He's clawing for every last bit of the upper hand.

"S'a lot, innit, babygirl? That's alright, you can take it." It's then you can sense Joel's guard slipping. Could be the fact that your mouth is suctioned perfectly around the length of his cock, but his voice gets damn sweeter the longer you go like this. His hips also have no problem in thrusting shallowly every now and then to knock the drool off of your dripping chin.

Even if you could form a thought, you don't know you would.

His fingers tangle in your hair, pulling it out of your face as you maintain eye contact. Intuitive in your approach, he told you to look at him earlier, so maybe he likes it? The groans filling the room lead you to believe you are correct. It feels so removed from who you were moments before: snickering because his gaze felt intimidating. Now, his pupils are blown as they pour into yours and his neck hangs back when your mouth makes those pretty, sloppy popping noises – testing your gag reflexes as you will them to relax.

It's way more intimate than anything you've ever done with anyone you've ever been with, and this stranger is pulling it out of you. Within the mess your brain is in, you remind yourself if you want to stop you can, and not a bit of you does.

The hot tears that were once down your cheeks swell in your eyes once more, but this time from the sheer size of him. You moan vibration after vibration against him, shifting and pushing your cunt against your calf, thigh – anything to feel some sort of friction.

He lets out a growl when he notices you, "Honey, if it's that bad, touch yourself." If your cheeks weren't red before, they are now.

It's him calling you out, slight embarrassingly, but not letting up with his hips. It's the way the embarrassment builds the fire in the pit of your belly. It's your hand pushing inside your panties at the sound of his command. And it's you practically choking on his cock from the gasp you let out through your nose – stunned at how wet you are.

Your fingertips barely brush over your clit when you notice the slick collecting, bubbling right at the very top of your slit and slutty moans fall out of you. Your eyelids droop as you try to keep your gaze up to Joel, but the way your fingertips roll over the hood of your clit in satisfying circles sends you over the edge way quicker than you anticipate.

"Shit, baby. Just like that. You filthy thing, can't hold off another minute longer, can ya? Need it right fuckin' now."

The sound of Joel's deep voice looms overhead as you come completely undone.

Unable to stop yourself, the suction on his cock pops free for a moment. Your moans hitting the air as your eyes roll back. Your body rushing to find each wave of pleasure roll off your back. Joel's cock still nestled in your mouth, but his hips still. "Goddamn, look at that little slut come out. Such a needy fuckin' kitten."

When Joel makes sure you've ridden it out, he pulls his cock from your mouth. Your body feels weak despite how eager your mind is now, face-to-face with Joel's cock, you watch as his scarred hand glides your saliva over his length entirely. It puts you in a trance, quickly getting out of it when he taps his cock against your cheek. "Pretty kitten want this? C'mon."

If your moans felt foreign to you, you don't even know what to do with yourself at the twinge of a grin that spreads on your face. The sheer audacity of his taps right against your fucking cheek. Orgasm-drunk, you shuffle to your feet and Joel has no problem in tossing you – finally – to the couch.

Your back is to him while the front of your body brackets the width of his couch, arms hunched over the back of it, knees dig into the cushions. You're grateful for the lack of eye contact in this position as it gives you a moment to press your face into your bicep, an attempt to collect yourself. But all of it obsolete when you sense Joel's presence at your ass.

His body heat unmistakable to miss. You bite at your own skin, neck craning to behind you to watch him.

"Shit, darlin', look at you. Ass up like this like y'er in fuckin' heat for me." You whine at the fact his clothes are still mostly on, and you know he must be sweating underneath them, but he won't give it to you like that. Not yet, 'maybe next time'. "You know I can't go any further 'til you get a spankin'. Need to be punished for tryin' to hurt me like that. For tryin' to take my things. Ain't right. Need you to learn your lesson."

Where are you? A part of you knows this is a tactic. That Joel is lulling you into a position you can't say no to. It already shows itself in how you're splayed on his couch. Yet, you can't find the person you were before you stepped into the cabin. Not yet, not like this. You nod weakly, and Joel swipes the cotton undies down to your thighs so quickly the rush of air cools the heat of your folds. A flutter runs through you.

"Count. To ten. If you don't, we start over. Say, yes sir."

"Y-yes... sir. Yes sir."

A searing, mind-numbing spank wallops over your ass and it causes your hips to jut forward. Whimper hitting the top of your throat, you almost, almost, forget to count. Everything in your senses distracting you from completing the simplest tasks such as fucking counting.

"O-one." Another. "Twooo." And again. "Th-three!"

You start sniffling by the third smack of his wide hand, and you hear mocking sniffs behind your head. "Aww, pretty baby can't take the hurt she tries to give to others? That must be really tough. Y'heart's bleedin' all over my couch, honey."

Your cheeks burn, you really feel sorry for what you've done. Or at least, what you were planning to do.

The next spank leaves a welt of Joel's handprint across your skin. "FOUR!" Your body begins to feel weak, sliding against the couch, you know talking back is useless as you silent tears stream into your arm.

There are six more blinding slaps to your ass by the time he's done with you, and you feel him pull back when he's through. You imagine him wringing his palms, the roughness of them. You begin to wonder if that's how they got to be so weathered, and pretend not to be weirded out by the ache of jealousy.

"Y'know for somebody whinin' the whole time, your pussy is just droolin' from that," any narrative you wandered off with disappears in its replacement of Joel's fingers gathering slick between your folds. No announcement, just go. It was just within reach, feeling him inside you. You ride the shudder your body makes, licking your lips as you realise the unspoken rule is free and you can speak. "N-need it. Need your cock, please... please." "Need it, and you don't even know my name?" His index and middle finger waste no time in pressing into your aching core. Sounds of your wailing mix with his words as he lurches over, lip close to your ear. "Or maybe you do already."

"Please, please, please," your fingertips grip for the worn fabric of his couch while your hips that try to jut back are quickly halted by his other palm, a strong stopper at the base of your spine. "Not 'til you tell me my name." "I-I don't know. I don't know it, I swear." Joel's thick fingers slip completely out of you and you mewl pathetically, pussy clenching around nothing and he can see every last detail of it behind you. "Last fuckin' time, better tell me the truth." "It's Joel," you cry, hips pushing back against the resistance as much as possible. Anything to be filled again. "Joel. Joel. Joel. I was... I was– I don't know anybody. Not with anybody, I swear! Joel, I swear. Please! Just grew up hearin' your name. I swear on my life, Joel, please! I know I lied, didn't think you'd believe me."

You don't know why you're begging like your life depends on it, but your pleasure surely does, and there's a longer pause than you want lingering behind you. As if you can palpably feel Joel contemplating whether you're being truthful or not. But if there's one thing about you, aside from this moment in this compromising position: you don't answer to anybody.

Joel's cock bottoming out inside of you at the drop of a hat is confirmation enough that he believes you.

And you not only wail, but scream at the stretch and irresistible contact that punches you straight to your gut – right where you can feel the tip of him. Half-moon prints dig into your hips by his short fingernails when he grabs ahold of you and you're on your forearms, head hanging between your shoulders. Your panties keep your thighs straying too far apart if there is such a thing.

"This what you wanted when you watched me?" Joel grips your torso now, pulling you closer to him as you become more upright, his cock more accessible to the spongy spot inside of you and your nipples stand erect, eyes rolling back as it takes all of you not to rest your head back against his shoulder, and you fail. Hard. Your occiput makes contact with his shoulder. Joel brushes your hair back to the side, lips graze but never fully touches the column of your neck. "Thought about this tight cunt last night. Left the window open on purpose, but you knew that already, didn't you, pretty girl? Clever little thing and so fuckin' dirty."

Joel's hand snakes around the front of you, spreading your folds as he dives his fingers over your glossed-over clit your wetness claimed and that sends a whine off of your depraved lips. "That's it, honey. Show me what this cock does to ya. Makes you downright brainless from how well you take it." While his skilled fingers, toy with your clit, the other set of digits graze over your breasts on their way up to your mouth. You take them inside the warmth of your wet mouth easily, rolling your tongue over the digits until you can only focus on the white hot pleasure beginning to boil over. You keep his fingers between your teeth, a faint realisation that you can taste yourself on them. That's what does it.

His hips are relentless as they pound into you, the repetitious slaps of his skin against yours, of his balls tapping your cunt again and again sends you into a place that he knows you're approaching when you tighten and pulse.

"Y'know how tight and wet you feel around me, darlin'? Never had a fuckin' cunt like this. Let it out, let it out, just like you wanna. Just like you did last night around your fingers. Nothin' like this cock though, and you know it now, don't you? Oh, fuck yeah– thaaat's it. Look at you." "Joel... Joel!!!" Joel talks you through it, sending your body diving off the cliff that is your second orgasm. The undeniable gush of your fluids around his cock. His name stays stuck at the your tongue, the constant thud of it vibrates your lungs.

It starts at the attention on your clit. The raw bundle of nerves send signals outward as it spreads down your legs, up your stomach, to your nipples and down your spine. Your brain feels effervescent, toes curl, and it comes back again right to your heart. Your beating heart, wild, and every moan, whimper, scream that comes from you sounds like it is from someone else's chest. But it's yours, and you know that when you start to feel hazy, unable to hold yourself up anymore.

"Good for my cock after all. Ain't ya, baby? Shit."

Your torso leans forward while your cheek rests on the top of your hand that's gripped on Joel's couch, and your body is relaxed and fucked. Comfortably silent, just the way Joel would want you. His cock slips out of you, unable to stop the slew of grunts and groans that acts as an anchor to keep you from slipping under. You lick your lips, looking back at him with a nod, unable to stay silent for long. That struggle of power coming back for vengeance. "That's right. Come all over this ass you ruined. See those handprints? Dirty fucking man, you just met me. Show me how much you enjoyed doing that."

That's as far as you get when you feel the heavy streams of his hot, white come rope over your skin, and for someone who is no position to be smug, you sure do have a shit-eating grin on your face. Pure, and the simplest thing the two of you accomplish.

Joel shakes his head, shallow breaths become him as he staggers back and you pretend not to notice. "Gonna kill me, kid."

"Almost did."

---

You don't know why, but neither of you hold the promise of you leaving right away. You linger, both of you half naked and spent. You take your time cleaning yourself off, slipping your clothes back on. Day becoming night.

You tiptoe into the living room where Joel is unfurled on his couch. His eyes are closed, the back of his head inches away from where the two of you just had sex.

Planning your goodbye, you sit at the edge of the couch cushion, knowing he wasn't really asleep. Just restin' his eyes.

"I am sorry...," you finally say into the dimly lit room, pangs of annoyance fizz at your tongue for even apologising. For shooting him, for trying to steal from him. All of it.

It's not his fault. It's just how you are.

This is dichotomous in relation to your eyes. They're bleary when a yawn pulls deep from within you. As if rest had been climbing up to the surface this entire time.

"Maybe you should be apologisin' 'bout your shitty aim. Could teach you a thing or two." Joel's eyes remained closed, arms crossed. If you could let yourself experience this, you would notice how soft he looks in this moment. Instead, your stomach is recoils in fight or flight.

You're glad he can't see you swallow the knot in your throat.

There was no magical solution for your life, and a part of you wishes you hadn't chosen his cabin to raid. You wish you hadn't met him, because now you could feel yourself want to notice the small things in him. Already.

You felt it dangerous to let anything that close to you.

You scoff to play it off, giving his chest a light shove and very accidentally getting lost in the light landscape of hairs that resides at the top of his flannel. "I could teach you a thing or two." A pathetic response for a pathetically spent human.

"We could both teach each other," he resigns and you're grateful he doesn't point out your lack of wit for how worn out he's made you. Perhaps the smugness settles in the things he doesn't say. Really, it's in what Joel spouts off next that throws you upside down.

"S'why you should stay. One month. That's it."

"Excuse me?"

"Didn't stuttered," your eyes roll and somehow, despite Joel's own being shut, he tuts his teeth. "Don't roll your eyes at me, little girl. You need a place to sleep. Besides, I could use an extra set of hands. Way I see it, best offer you've had in a while. Got a shelf life, though. Don't like to wait."

A part of you is suspicious, and if this man didn't make sure you orgasmed twice, you would suspect yourself to be dead within a matter of minutes.

There's something true about him, though. You're unwilling to look at it directly, but you trust him.

"Fine."

"Gonna need clearer confirmation, darlin'. Really need you to want this if you're gonna stay with me." He knew exactly where to press.

"Fuck, I shoulda killed you when I had the chance. I want to stay with you. One month." You try to ignore the grit between your teeth as speak, but your shoulders eventually soften. And you really do mean it. It's just... you're hardened from years of misplaced trust.

Your hand goes to the pendant around your neck subconsciously.

Joel either doesn't notice, or gives you the space.

You're grateful either way.

"That's that, then."

If anyone could understand the concept, it's Joel.

"That's that."

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller #tlou fic #by bee #dancing is a dangerous game

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tenpintsofsundrop · 1 year

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Fanfiction Etiquette 101

(Things You Didn't Know You Need To Know)

So, I have seen some discussions about these things on my dashboard, and I know some people are new to tumblr and new to fanfiction in general, so I decided to put this list together in case it might help people. And this stuff goes for all fandoms, no matter what type of fanfiction to write and post.

Also fyi, this post is mostly for people who write and post fanfiction.

1: Putting A Readmore/Cut On Fanfiction

So a 'readmore' (also known as a 'cut') is the ability to put the body of your fanfiction under a cut off link so that people's dashboards are not clogged up by long sprawling paragraphs of text. This is also helpful if your fic contains smut and people don't want to be subjected to smut - people have to click through to keep reading sensitive topics.

The button for it looks like this on desktop:

And this bar of options comes up on desktop when you hit 'enter' on a blank line.

And it looks like this on mobile:

Tumblr put it permanently into the hotbar of options so that it's easier for people to put a readmore on their posts on mobile.

Once you have inputted it, it comes up as a light grey jagged line, showing you where your text cuts off in the main post aka what text is visible before the cut and what's not.

And generally, I think it's a good idea to put the readmore after the first paragraph of your fic, or after the description/summary.

I have noticed that some people put it in after several paragraphs for a longer fic, but I think to make fics easier to reblog, you could put it closer to the top. And even if you're writing smut blurbs, you should put it close to the top to keep smut concealed in case people don't want to read or see smut.

If you don't use a readmore, people are less likely to reblog your fic because they don't want to put a long text wall on other people's dashboards.

2: Using (Stolen) Gifs As Fanfiction Covers

I have seen some discussion about using gifs from google, and people putting a gif that they have downloaded and simply writing under it 'this gif is not mine, please DM me if it's your and I will give you credit'.

It's generally established among gif makers that downloading random gifs and putting them on your fanfiction is bad etiquette. Those are considered stolen gifs.

Even if you say it's not yours and offer to give credit, any gif you repost that is not yours is considered a stolen gif.

Fanfiction writers and gif makers need to work together, not against each other. Reblog gif sets you like, and don't download random gifs, no matter what the source is.

The best way to use gifs as fanfiction covers is to make them yourself or to use the tumblr integrated gif search system.

The gif search system is in the same hot bar as the readmore, labelled under 'gif'.

When you pull it up and click on it, you type in the name of the character you are looking for, and then you can scroll through the results. You can click on a gif to add it to your post, and remove it if you don't like it. So you can try out different gifs to find the right fit of what you're looking for.

And when you find what you're looking for and put it on your post, it automatically credits the gifmaker.

And the credit appears like this. And the name of the gifmaker can be clicked and then it takes you to their blog, so you can see who made the gif. This is a much better way to use gifs, because if someone likes a gif they see on your fic post, they can click through to the original gifmaker and reblog it.

Alternatively, using stills from the show/piece of media you're fanfic is about is a great way to avoid using stolen gifs.

2.5: Using Flashing Gifs On Fanfiction

I have noticed that a lot of people use flashing dividers for their fics, and they don't tag it with a flashing warning (#flashing gif or something similar) and they don't see this as a problem.

Using a flashing gif in fanfiction without a warning can negatively affect disabled readers. Not just people with photosensitive seizures, but people with migraines and different types of eye issues.

3: Using Coloured Text For Fanfiction

Speaking of accessibility issues, I have noticed that many people (especially people new to tumblr/new to fanfiction) use Tumblr's coloured text option to differentiate characters in fanfiction - assigning one colour per character with dialogue.

Some people also just use coloured text for the whole body of their fics, just making it straight up unreadable for disabled people.

Using coloured text in fanfiction makes it inaccessible because certain types of colour blindness makes it unreliable to see on a white background, and bright colours can cause eye strain for different types of disabilities.

It is kinder to use the traditional black text for the body of your fic, and any important information (like the content warnings, DNI criteria, etc).

4: Putting Thorough Content Warnings On Fanfiction

Speaking of content warnings - I could (and probably should) make an entire post about this topic alone, because many writers (both new and old) are severely lacking in this department.

Content warnings are supposed to be more for just smut - and if you do have smut in your fic, you should put warnings for that, instead of just releasing for fic into the wild with no warnings at all. Content warnings are supposed to be for anything that could be potentially triggering for a reader - phobias and fears, sensitive topics, uncomfortable or fear-inducing situations, and kinks and nsfw topics.

Tbh I think not enough people put warnings for alcohol and alcohol consumption in their fics, because alcohol is far too normalized to most people, but again - I could probably make a whole post just about content warnings in fanfiction. Basically: if you think your post could be triggering to someone with an addiction or in addiction recovery (or triggering to a sober person who doesn't want to read about drugs or alcohol) - then include those things in the content warnings.

Fanfiction is about informed consent.

People need to be better informed about what the content of your fic is before they consent to reading it. Also, if you're worried about the warnings being too detailed and giving away 'spoilers' for your fic, then you're probably worried about the wrong thing. And you can just put a warning at the very top that says "the content warnings of this fic contain spoilers for the plot of the fic" and let people make their choice if they want to skip the content warnings or not.

Please, write about all the dark or sensitive topics that you want, but just put detailed warnings on your fic so people can be informed about it before reading your fic.

People always appreciate thorough warnings, and they are more likely to read your fic if they are fully informed before clicking into the body of it.

4.5: (Not) Censoring Content Warnings

Tumblr is not tiktok. (Same goes for posting fics on AO3, but this post is mostly about Tumblr fics.) On Tumblr you can say/spell out any word you want without your post being suppressed or taken down - suicide, kill, murder, fuck, abortion, hell, porn, tits, cumshot, etc.

So that means that when you're writing out the content warnings of a fic, you should write them out fully, rather than putting slang or alluding to the topics in a fic. (Again, informed consent.) Rather than saying 'this fic contains SA', say: 'this fic contains sexual assault' or 'this fic contains rape'.

I saw someone using the term 'unalive' in the content warnings of their fic, and tbh, that's what inspired me to make this whole post.

If you're not mature enough to spell out all the topics in the content warnings of the post, you're not mature enough to be writing and posting about those topics.

Also, try not to use terms that need to be looked up/implicit terms. Certain terms for kinks (like dacryphilia or somnophilia) might lead a person to google those terms and find things they don't want to see. So instead of using those terms, just say 'crying kink' or 'sleeping kink' instead, so that everything is spelled out plainly.

...

This is all I can think of for now. Basically, just be kind to others when posting fics. Be kind to gif makers, disabled readers, and anyone from your fandom who might have an interest in your fic! Be safe and have fun writing! <3

#sundrop speaks #fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you

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gok1bvri72 · 1 year

Text

♠️♥️《《°•~ WARNINGS ~•°》》♥️♠️

The following work will include name calling, wishing harm onto others, wishing others to inflict harm upon themselves, mass spamming, targeted harassment, social media spamming, eluding to struggles with stress vomiting, Lyney sharing similar experiences, trauma (mostly on Lyney's part) bonding, and sorta vague mentions of past attempts at su!c!de. If any of these things may trigger you, please do not proceed.

♠️-Lyney with a reader who is being spammed on social media by old friends of theirs wishing harm upon them-♠️

♥️《《STORY IS SET IN......MODERN AU_》》♥️

♠️》》STORY IS......NOT PROOF READ_《《♠️

♥️《《STORY IS......ANGST TO COMFORT/FLUFF》》♥️

I myself have been getting spammed in my dms by an old friend of mine who just will not leave me alone and keeps coming in with alts T-T This is a way for me to cope.... I tried to keep reader as gn as possible! Please tell me if I made a mistake T-T

Your hands were shaking as you read the previews of the messages on the screen of your phone. You didn't even want to click on them.

'You dumb ass fucking wh... '

'Go suck a cock you whine...'

'Quit being such an attent... '

The little number icons on the apps kept getting bigger as the notification sound on your phone kept going off.

'Bling! Bling! Bling! BlingBlingBlingBlingBling!'

You wanted to chuck your phone outside. The noise was terrible. You never thought you it would make you feel so sick to your stomach.

(('Why are they dog piling me??? What did I do???'))

You thought to yourself,

(('A-Attention seeker? Whore?? Faker?'))

More and more foul words piled up on the screen, one after another. Tears welled up in your eyes as your hands shook. The keychain you so lovingly clipped to your phone clicked up against it's case.

The halls of your school were empty at the moment, but it felt more stressful than it ever had when it was full right now. The only sounds you could hear were the sounds of your twitter getting spammed, you snap getting spammed, your youtube, your tumblr, your instagram, your discord-

'Bling! BlingBling! Bling! BlingBlingBlingBling!'

'LISTEN HEAR YOU CUN...'

'With all due respect you ...'

'GO DIE IN A FUCKING H...'

'Nobody wants to talk to ...'

'Just take a swan dive off...'

(("Hey is everything alright?"))

One of the exchange students... you could tell by his heavy accent. His name was Lyney, right? He came from France with his siblings a few months back. You guys talked from time to time, you were never really close enough to be considered friends though. You must've not noticed him approaching because of your tunnel visioning.

(("Y-Yeah. I'll be fine, thanks."))

You lied. He wasn't your friend so you shouldn't bother him with your issues. He saw right through you though.

(("If it were nothing would you be crying?"))

Your phone went off again, this time your pinterest. The sounds began to flood your ears again.

(("I'm just fine really! It's no big deal."))

You reasoned, you didn't need to drag someone who hardly knew you into your personal problems. It was none of his responsibility.

(("Someone is spamming your social media accounts, correct? Perhaps... a group of people you used to associate with?"))

You gulped, were you really that easy to read??

(("It's only an educated guess though! I promise I'm not stalking your accounts or anything-"))

Lyney fumbled, his face grew a light pink out of embarrassment.

(("Don't worry it's fine. And yeah, you're right. But it's fine! I can just block them and move on."))

The blonde frowned, his lavender eyes filled with almost a sort of sympathy or empathy. You weren't sure.

(("That doesn't mean the damage hasn't been done. I'm sure no matter what you may had done it shouldn't warrant... well... that."))

He referred to the constant pinging of your phone, gesturing to the device in your hand. Nervously you hid it behind you back, sweat forming on your brow.

(("It's fine really Lyney! I'm fine."))

You smiled nervously and shifted, that feeling of anxiety in your stomach only bubbling worse and worse. It felt like you were going to throw up again.

(("I suppose I shouldn't press it out of you, but if you ever need someone to talk to I'll always be here, okay? Even if it takes some time, I'll still wait."))

Silence settled in, even the sounds from your phone began to cease for a moment. The two of you simply stood there for a while in an awkward quietness. You began to process what he said.

Was this a joke? Was this a cruel prank sent to you by one of your old friends? Was this supposed to be more punishment for a crime you weren't even aware that you committed?

Tears began to bubble up at the rims of your eyes again and pour over, like a child's toy tea cup being filled beyond capacity. Sobs began to softly shake your chest, you were so done with all of this.

These people surrounding you calling you toxic, saying you were over stepping boundaries they never even set, yelling at you no matter how many times you apologise, saying they will stay with you no matter what then running away when your true self becomes too much for them to bare. You wanted to know what was so wrong with you so you could stop pushing people to this point unknowingly. You wanted them to tell you want you did wrong. You were sick of not knowing how to stop any of this.

A pair of warm arms embraced you, pulling you into a soft hug. Surprise filled your eyes as Lyney began to stroke the back of your head gently. You felt a lack of malice behind his intentions, only a genuine want to help. But you were still scared. Scared that maybe you would become close then push him away somehow too.

(("There's nothing wrong with you. You're just yourself and not what they wanted you to be. That's a feeling I know all too well."))

He began,

(("But if they aren't willing to accept you for who you really are, then they were never friends with you in the first place."

You furrowed your brows, something didn't make sense.

(("H-How did you know who was spamming me and why?"))

Lyney sweat dropped, breaking the hug to awkwardly scratch the back of his head.

(("I overheard them planning to spam you at cheer practice... that blonde guy with glasses isn't very good at keeping his voice quiet."))

You tilted your head in confusion,

(("Why come find me to comfort me though?"))

Lyney opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. Shutting it again, he furrowed his own brows in thought, piecing together a sentence in his head.

(("Whenever something bad like this happens to me, it sucks to only be surrounded by negative thoughts and it easy to spiral. Only hearing bad things about yourself, you began to believe them. When you hear someone tell you to do something over and over, you feel inclined to do it and sometimes... you actually... do... do it."))

(("You mean you-?"))

(("Yeah. I'm glad it failed though."))

You and Lyney sat in the hallway infront of your locker for a long while, not speaking very much. You two went from practically strangers to knowing some very personal stuff about one another in the span of about 10 minutes so it was a lot to process. The blonde spoke up again though.

(("If you ever have thoughts like that... maybe call me instead? I'd hate if I lost a classmate to that."))

You nodded as Lyney opened his phone to show you his number. You began to type it to your contacts as more notifications flooded you screen again. Lyney's eyebrows furrowed as he read the previews of them in disgust.

(("Such primitive language."))

He said, clicking his tongue in distaste. You simply swiped them off your screen as quickly as you could each time.

(("Do you like cats?"))

You asked,

(("Hm? Yes my sister and I love them! We actually own a few! Mine is named Rosseland."))

He replied enthusiastically. With a smirk you set his contact photo to a picture of a cat that just tasted broccoli much to his dismay.

(("Why such an atrocious image?? Is that what you think of me? Is my fashion that outlandish??"))

You shook your head,

(("That's the face you made when you saw the messages they sent me."))

Lyney sighed dramatically,

(("At least save me with a decent name!"))

Much to his horror though, when he looked down he saw you had saved him as "flagrant cat man" as you snickered obnoxiously.

(("Oh come on! Fine I shall name you something JUST as distasteful!"))

Looking at your phone number he furiously typed it in. A few moments had passed and he then asked you a question.

(("Do you also like cats?"))

You gave an "mhm" in response as he snickered evily. Flipping his phone around proudly, you were saved as "Impolite Feline of Dookishburg" with an image of a bawling cat.

(("Uhhh why that image?"))

You asked, perplexed.

(("Why that was the face you were making earlier of course!"))

He teased,

(("Is my crying face really that ugly!!))

He nodded dramatically with a sigh,

(("I daresay it is comparable to that of a banshee's tear stained face!"))

You playfully smacked his arm as you two began to laugh merrily. Perhaps things were going to get better. Maybe you shouldn't worry about those jerks anymore, after all, you found a real friend in the young man sitting next to you. Things aren't going to get better immediately, but that doesn't mean they won't ever get better. In times these, you can only press forward, but now you feel comfort in knowing you won't be alone.

(("Hey, do you wanna meet my sister and brother?"))

(("Sure!"))

#lyney x reader #genshin lyney #lyney #soft lyney #adelita writes #lyney comfort #lyney angst #lyney fluff

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goodluckdetective · 7 months

Text

TUMBLR VERSION

FIC: SLEEPING GIANTS 1/2

Ship: Durge/Astarion

Fandom: BG3

Warnings: Canon typical violence and gore

Rating: M

AO3

Summary:

Astarion earns his freedom covered in Cazador’s blood. The Former Chosen of Bhaal earns their freedom drowning in their own. A look at two different aftermaths of breaking free.

Notes:

Hello and welcome to whatever this is. Like one part “the horror of being controlled and falling in love with someone who knows that same horror” one part “you can kill the puppeteer but the scars from the strings don’t leave as soon as you cut them” one part “the game doesn’t have time for a long introspection after these two big scenes but that’s why fanfic writers exist” and one part “uses durge and Astarion as character foils and enjoys the light bouncing back and forth.” The background ships are very background which is why they aren’t in the main tags. The title comes from the Crane Wives Song of the same name. This is two chapters but each can be read on their own. The second chapter I'm aiming to have up in like two weeks max? (I also want to shoutout edelgarfield's series "cardinal, sunrise, morning star" which gave me the idea to do the Urge sections in second person. It's fantastic and you should read it.)

FIC BELOW:

Ever since Rune heard the name Cazador Starr, they’d thought about killing him.

It was a nice use of channeling the Urge when it got bad, turning the desire to tear and maim onto a worthy target. Rune had pictured casting hold monster to hold the man in place while they’d cast lightning bolt right between Starr’s eyes. They’d considered using insect plague and watching as bugs tore the man apart piece by piece as he screamed for death that wouldn’t come. Once they’d learned how to cast Daylight, they’d smiled at the mental image of forcing the vampire lord to stick his head directly into the sphere.

Like Rune’s other urges, they resisted acting on them (though they did relish casting Daylight right in front of Starr’s face). But that resistance was only so Astarion could get the kill instead. It was his to have; Rune was not going to take it from him unless they were asked to.

(If Astarion had died, if you had failed to get him free before the dark ritual completed, then Cazador Starr would be dead by your hand. You would ensure he lived long enough to know the agony he deserved. You’d kept Bonedaughter’s notes about what she’d done to you, back in Moonrise. One could get very clever with torture when someone refused to die. You thought of taking inspiration from the kennels, when you’d looked at the history of your lover’s suffering and saw potential instead-)

Rune pushed the thought out of their head and shook off the sneer that started to creep across their face. They had to keep it together, keep the Urge under lock and key. Astarion, who was currently covered in the blood of his 200 year nightmare, could not afford for Rune to lose it.

They watched as Astarion wept on the stone tiles, wanting to embrace him but knowing it might not be wanted. Instead, they stepped close enough so if Astarion desired, he could easily reach out and touch them. They didn’t get a chance to see what he would choose because the rest of Astarion’s siblings came to greet them. As the matter of settling the spawn was resolved and the fate of the Gur’s children revealed, Rune spoke only to clarify events and back up whatever Astarion decided. It wasn’t until they made it out of the palace that they said anything somewhat resembling an order, and even then, they chose each word with care.

“We can call it a day after this if people need it,” Rune said, looking at Astarion. Everyone needed the rest, they were all exhausted, but Rune would not force such a thing. Should Astarion wish to keep going, Rune would send Shadowheart and Karlach back to camp before sharing a list of tasks that were mostly errands, but essential ones; buying potions, collecting materials. Things Astarion could do with shaky hands and an unsteady step. He wasn’t physically hurt, Shadowheart had ensured that. Should Astarion need to keep busy, to put off the part of the day where he could sit down and take it all in, then Rune would ensure he had it.

Rune was well practiced quieting their own loud thoughts with busywork.

Astarion agreed to the rest, and Rune mentally filled away their list of busy tasks for later. Instead, the party headed back to the Elfsong where they had decided to set up camp ever since Astarion’s siblings tried to drag him back. It wasn’t as good as a private residence, but vampires would still need to be invited into their rooms should they wish to enter, and that was far better security than the open air. With Cazador dead, they could save some coin by camping outside again, but Rune knew Astarion would want some privacy, and that was better obtained in their shared rooms.

As they approached the Elfsong, Rune took a look at their partner. Astarion had put his armor back on, but he was still drenched in blood. That would draw some attention, even in a place used to mercenaries.

Back in the mansion, between freeing the spawn and running into the Gur, Rune had handed him each piece of armor after Astarion asked for them. They watched as Astarion struggled to secure the clasps and resisted the urge to help, knowing they needed Astarion to ask for their assistance first, less they bring back memories Astarion wished he could forget.

“Shadowheart, Karlach, go ahead,” Rune said. Karlach tilted her head, and when Rune nodded, she grabbed Shadowheart’s shoulder. They departed inside the tavern, Karlach pulling the door behind her so it didn’t slam shut. Astarion didn’t even notice them leave. Frankly, he didn’t seem to notice anything at all, a wide eyed blank expression to his face that Rune was horribly familiar with. Rune reached for the clasps on their cloak and released it from their armor, before holding it out to Astarion. He turned to look at them, but that vacant expression was still there, like he was looking through Rune rather than at them.

“To hide the blood a bit, until we get to our rooms,” Rune explained, lifting the cloak higher. “So people don’t stare.” They would have cast invisibility on him, but they’d burned through most of their energy entering the mansion and fighting Cazador. If they knew it wouldn’t upset Astarion later, they would overextend themselves and cast it anyway.

(You cast far more spells than you should have, hoping for a brief glimpse of fear on Cazador’s face when your lightning bolt tore through his assembled minions. You’d hoped he knew what you were, you saw the book in his chambers after all; he’d been reading about Bhalspawn. Would he know what he’d brought down upon himself, for treating Astarion as a stain on his shoe? Would he realize you were the most dangerous thing in his manor turned tomb? )

Astarion’s gaze sharped and he took a quick breath in, like he’d been rapidly thrust back into his body from wherever he’d mentally gone. Rune forced themself away from the Urge in tandem. He took the cloak and wrapped it around himself, putting up the hood. It was a little large on him, Rune was taller than the vampire by half a foot, but in these circumstances, that was ideal. Rune heard him mumble something that sounded like a thank you.

He didn’t need to thank them: not for this. Rune held out a hand, should Astarion want to grab it, and when he didn’t, lowered it without comment.

“Let’s go straight to the room. Follow me.”

The Elfsong was loud and boisterous at this hour, people settling in for the evening. A bard played a jaunty tune on their fiddle on one of the stages and Rune briefly wanted to smash their instrument for daring to be so cheerful. No one paid them much mind as they went directly to the stairs and headed up to the rooms on the second floor. The room to the main suite was open and Rune glanced at everyone as they walked inside. Everyone else was crammed inside the small space, almost comically so, paying attention to Shadowheart who was talking in a low whisper. Likely explaining what happened in the depths of the Starr palace.

Rune walked past the group, shaking their head at everyone inside before Astarion followed behind them. Their room was close to the entrance and Rune closed the door behind Astarion as soon as he was inside.

“Alright, we’re here.” Rune took a look at the tiny room and their gaze went instantly to the wooden bathtub in the far right corner. It was an extra cost to obtain at the Elfsong, but given everyone hadn’t had a proper bath in weeks, it was worth the coin. Rune didn’t really get much out of baths, they didn’t find the way of bathing relaxing with the Urge constantly humming in the background, but they understood how it might be appealing to someone who didn’t deal with their particular affliction. They turned back to Astarion. He wasn’t quite looking through everything anymore, but he still seemed lost, his gaze darting all over the room.

“If you want, I can run you a bath. For the blood.” Rune regretted the addition as soon as it left their mouth. What else would the bath be for? Stupid, stupid. “Would you like that?”

Astarion snapped his head up to look at them. When he spoke, his tone was as sharp as his fangs. “I can run my own bath, I’m not an invalid.”

Rune expected this at some point; the deflection, the attempt to hide away his own wounds by lashing out at others. They didn’t take the bait, instead focusing on their main point.

“That’s not an answer.”

The fight drained out of Astarion in an instant. His shoulders drooped, a sigh escaping his lips. He looked so very tired.

“Yes, you may,” he said and with that, Rune got to work.

The wooden tubs at the Elfsong were enchanted, which Rune suspected was why they had such a high rental price. By activating the cantrips on the side, one could fill or empty the tub with water without going to the task of bringing water up from the kitchen. Heating said water was another matter, and for that, Rune’s magical powers would suffice. They stuck their hand into the water once it filled the tub and cast Prestidigitation. Steam came off the top of the surface, not hot enough to burn but enough to be pleasant, and they removed their hand, wiping off the excess water onto their robes. When they turned to Astarion, he’d already peeled himself out of his armor, but his smallclothes remained. Rune gestured to the tub.

“Alright, it should be fine.” They got back onto their feet and took a step away from the tub. “I can wait outside if you want, or go downstairs.”

Rune would prefer to stay, if this was their decision to make. Not to gaze at Astarion’s body, but to be able to remind themselves that he was alive, that the ritual had failed.

There was a moment, back at the manor, when Rune thought it was all over. When they’d looked to their side to see Astarion gone, suddenly across the room in the same hellish bindings as his fellow spawn. In that instant, before Astarion screamed at them to free him, they’d feared the ritual was done, that Cazador had succeeded. That all that would remain of a man who responded to their heritage with empathy and stole them extra ink for their journal was their memories and the cruel visage of Cazador Starr.

No, Rune would rather stay. Here, they could easily remind themselves how things had actually gone. But should Astarion want them to go, they would. They would walk downstairs, order a pint of ale, and rely on their faulty memory to remind them.

Astarion walked over to the tub and poked the surface of the water. It rippled, and he looked down in it, like he thought he could see his own reflection if he waited long enough. After a moment, he looked back to Rune.

“Stay?”

Rune nodded and went to pull over a chair to sit in as Astarion fully undressed and got in the water. Before they sat down, they grabbed Astarion’s armor and pulled it over to the chair. After they were seated, they got started casting prestidigitation on Astarion’s armor. The blood came off easily enough and when they were done, they looked up at the vampire. Astarion was sitting in the tub, knees curled up to his chest, and wiping blood off his arms. It turned the water a light pink.

“Want me to talk or no?” Rune offered, noting a distant look creeping back into Astarion’s eyes.

“Talk. Please not about-“ Astarion cut off, shuddering. “Anything else.”

Rune wracked their brain for an appropriate topic. Anything related to the Gortash, Bhaal or the Elder Brain was a bad idea. Magical theory could work, Rune was picking up a bit from Gale, but they would rather not bore Astarion to death. After some consideration between choosing one of Volo’s stories to mock (potentially fun, but then they’d have to go to the effort to remember one of his stories) or Rune’s thoughts on the decor of the Elfsong (alright, but Shar’s temple and the Goblin’s base had set the bar low), they finally stumbled upon something with potential.

“I’ve been trying to convince Gale to let me be his wingman if he decides he wants to get back out there,” Rune mused. They knew they had the perfect topic when Astarion snorted, bubbles coming up on the tub. The conversation of Gale’s post-Mystra rebound was a topic of the camp, and for good reason; Gale seemed to have finally realized his former relationship with the Goddess wasn’t a healthy one. Recently Wyll saw him trying to flirt with another wizard from Sorcerous Sundries, use of illusions included. Given the amount of dark topics that dominated camp these days, the party had jumped to gossip over such low stakes.

Gale thankfully didn’t mind and appeared a combination of amused and touched by their collective interest in his happiness. He’d indulged them by offering to consider letting one of them play wingman and Lae’zel, Wyll and Rune had all jumped at the opportunity. Wyll had offered because he was deeply enamored with true love and romance. Rune had offered because they hated Mystra.

Lae’zel had offered because Astarion bribed her with a nice amount of gold pieces to throw her hat in the ring. That, and she was determined to prove that her direct “I want to taste you” approach did actually work on more than just Shadowheart.

“So far, he seems to be favoring Wyll’s pitch,” Rune continued, leaning back in the chair. It felt nice to relax somewhat. They hadn’t realized how tense they’d been sitting until then. “He wants to take Gale to a local bar favored by mages around here, which I will admit, isn’t a bad idea.”

Astarion hummed. He was no longer curled into a ball, instead scrubbing away the blood on his torso.

“But if I can convince Karlach to tell me where she used to go after working out, I think I might manage to change his mind.” Convincing Karlach to do so would be difficult, Rune thought, as she was unofficially on Wyll’s team. But Rune wasn’t above bribery and they’d managed to loot a rather shiny greataxe that they thought might loosen her lips.

“You think he’s looking for someone muscular?”

“Did you hear what he said about “invigorating stimulation” back when we were fighting those goblins? If he’s looking for that kind of “stimulation” then Karlach’s old haunts are the best bet.”

Astarion chuckled and Rune hid their grin by ducking their head down. It wasn’t his full laugh, Rune didn’t expect to hear that after the day he’d had, but Gods it was nice to see him smile and mean it.

They continued like that, talking about other silly gossip, until Astarion was done. Rune threw him a towel and watched his eyebrows raise as he pressed his hand into the fabric.

“Did you warm this towel?”

Rune had, using prestidigitation a few seconds earlier. They’d gotten the idea from Wyll, who back at Last Light, had given out freshly warm blankets to those they’d freed from Moonrise Towers after their prison break. Rune took note of how the prisoners seemed to relax as they touched the warm fabric. Interesting how such small comforts still provided solace after such terrible cruelty.

“Too much?”

Astarion was already wrapping it around himself. “No, it’s perfect.” He shifted his weight from one foot to another and looked to Rune with a conflicted expression. “I need some time to think.”

Rune got up and headed towards the door. Astarion had gone through a lot today and Rune knew what it was like to have a lot on the mind. “No problem. I’ll be around if you need me. You can use the tadpole if it’s an emergency.”

Astarion relaxed and nodded once. Satisfied he would call for them if needed, Rune left the room and closed the door behind them. The rest of their companions were still in the main suite living space and they all turned to Rune as they left. They’d clearly been hovering; the book in Gale’s lap was one Rune knew he already read twice over and if Lae’zel kept sharpening that dagger, it might chip.

Rune adored them all. Despite all their respective burdens, all of them were happy to make a detour to take down Cazador. It was the same with saving Wyll’s father or helping Shadowheart find her parents or potentially breaking into Hell for Lae’zel. They all cared.

If this was what having a family felt, like no wonder people were so found of theirs.

“How’s Fangs?” Karlach asked, fiddling her thumbs together. Rune walked forward and shrugged.

“Processing; he asked for some time alone. Now,” they reached into their pockets and pulled out their journal, opening it up to where they kept a ribbon as a bookmark. “Let’s talk about supplies and inventory.”

The resounding groan from the rest of the party was a welcome sign of normalcy.

__________

After an hour and a half of debating what to sell and what to keep, shortly followed by dinner, Rune headed downstairs to the first floor of the tavern. They would have normally stuck to the rooms, content with the company, but they couldn’t stop looking at the door to their own room and fretting about the vampire inside. So to alleviate their temptation to hover, they instead put their journal back in their pocket, grabbed one of their lighter bags, and decided to try some of the Elfsong’s famous ale.

They walked to the bar and took a seat, gesturing to the bartender and ordered said ale, which the bartender dutifully delivered moments later. After taking a sip, Rune closed their eyes, and took in the noise of the tavern. It was nice, they thought, to sometimes be surrounded by the hum of life. They could hear two men arguing about a business deal away from the bar. Somewhere to their left, a woman was flirting with someone and if the lack of response was any indication, failing rather miserably at it. The sound of a lute warming up to play rang from the stage where the bard was seated.

( You knew so many ways strings could be used for more interesting means. Garrotting, tying up prey, even cutting flesh if held tight enough. )

Rune kept drinking. The Urge was always there, and the more they focused on it, the worse it would get. It was best to just acknowledge its presence like an unwelcome houseguest and continue on with everything. They took another sip of their ale, trying to pinpoint the flavor. It tasted a little floral. Karlach was right; it was rather good compared to what they’d had on the road.

(I t would be so easy to kill everyone here. You could do it in an instant. Circle of Death is such a fantastic spell for wrecking ruin in such cramped spaces.)

The bard started a new song and Rune tapped their foot along to the beat, trying to work out some restless energy. After another sip of ale, they decided the drink, while not the best they’d ever had, was quite the deal for the price. Rune wondered if the food was as good; maybe Gale could take a day off cooking duty. Then again, the chef had said something about rats in the basement.

( That would be the best way to do it. You could go to the basement. No one would be able to see you cast down there, no one would even think to cast Counterspell.)

Sure, they could do that, but they weren’t going to, so they weren’t going to focus on it. They just had to-

( How do you know what you’re going to do? Remember Alfira? )

Rune gripped the glass of ale tighter as they placed it back onto the counter. The tavern seemed louder now, more crowded. The bard’s song, a jaunty little tune meant for dancing, picked up the pace.

( Did you know Circle of Death has a thirty feet effect radius? If you cast it just at ceiling level, you could get the second story too. You could even spare the rats ).

Was the bard’s lute off pitch when they started? It didn’t seem like that earlier. It was likely in their head,

( Your companions would be struck too. You wouldn’t likely kill them all but you’d kill the weaker ones for sure. Though wasn’t everyone weak compared to you, a child of a God ?)

It felt hotter in the tavern too. Rune felt someone brush past them, and went stock still, their eyes still closed. They could feel sparks coming off their hand not holding the ale. It would be so easy to reach out and shock anyone who passed by.

( How ironic would it be, for the sad little spawn, finally free of his master, to die as the rats scurried alive and well below. )

Rune’s eyes flew open and they stood up so fast that the chair behind them fell to the ground. A few people turned to look at them. Even the bard ceased playing, noticing the minor commotion. The bartender faced them, brows furrowed in a mix of alarm and concern.

(How concerned would they be, if they knew what you truly were?)

Rune left the ale unfinished, threw a tip for the bartender and made towards the stairs, paying no attention to anyone who tried to stop them. They did not halt at the second floor, instead heading straight for the windows at the end of the hall. It was twilight now, and Rune was thankful for it as they opened the latch.

Rune climbed out the windows and onto the roof. The roof was safer than the tavern, the most accessible collateral damage local pigeons. The Urge did not stop its issessant blathering as they made their way onto the shingles, but it did become less loud in the cool air.

They managed to find a spot to sit that was not entirely uncomfortable and pulled out their journal from their pocket. Journaling was grounding, a way to focus on anything but the Urge whispering in their ear. Next, they grabbed a piece of charcoal from their bag that they keep wrapped in cloth to keep it from staining everything. In the section of their journal where they kept unfinished tasks, they crossed off “help A. kill C.S if he wants” with more force than what was needed. Unlike most of their “to do” list, it was surrounded by completed tasks, as Rune wrote it down back even before the Tiefling party at the Grove.

Astarion knew Rune kept a journal, everyone did, but Rune hadn’t told him how early they’d decided to help him eliminate the Vampire Lord. They were worried he’d chalk it up to nothing but affection for his act, and Rune wasn’t sure they’d be able to fully convince him otherwise. To be fair, affection had played a factor, though it was affection for Astarion’s understanding of their own bloodlust and mystery novels rather than his honeyed lines. But a much larger part was that when Rune learned that spawn had to follow every order their sire gave them, helpless to fight back, they felt a murderous rage that had nothing to do with the Urge.

I cannot let that happen to anyone else , Rune had thought back then, even though they could not place where the feeling had come from. I refuse. And they’d written down their commitment to do as such before Astarion had even considered killing Cazador as something that could be accomplished.

Even now, while they’d mostly helped kill Cazador because Astarion wanted to, there was a part of them that was delighted to help because Cazador was a puppeteer that could be beaten. If Rune couldn’t free themselves from the God of Murder, at least they could free Astarion from his own bonds.

They felt guilty for that feeling, even if it was a small thing. A drop in an ocean of guilt really. They were lucky they hadn’t drowned.

They looked at the other tasks on their list. There were some they could easily handle now; crushing materials for potions, reading a book they’d gotten that they hoped might provide some insight into Karlach’s eternal engine, organizing a backlog of spell scrolls they’d picked up. Their next big task kept drawing their attention, and they ran their thumb past “save Duke Ravenguard” and watched the charcoal smear. It would have to be soon if they wanted any chance of finding him alive. And that would require making an enemy of Gortash.

Rune didn’t care about making an enemy of Gortash exactly. It was more the complications that came with it that troubled them. Gortash knew more about who Rune used to be than Rune themselves and that made him dangerous. Would Rune’s plans still work as intended if Gortash devoted himself fully to thwarting them? Would he seek to complicate the lives of Rune’s friends by allying with the Sharrans or sending his Steel Watch to torment the refugees? Gortash knew enough about Rune to somewhat predict them even with their changes in personality, but Rune still knew less about him than Karlach did.

Rune knew Gortash stayed his hand out of fondness for who Rune used to be (as well as hatred of Orin). Should Rune truly disrupt his plans, he would discard that fondness for a person who was, if Rune was lucky, gone. All that would be left from Gortash was rage that Rune remained wearing his friend’s face.

Friend was probably not the right word, Rune thought, shuddering. They didn’t think Gortash and their former self were capable of love, but they absolutely had been fucking. If Rune asked, Gortash could probably tell them what scars they’d obtained since they vanished, maybe even how Rune got them, and when he died, he would know the history of Rune’s body more than themselves.

Well, that was a nauseating thought. Best not to think about that one, especially given that Rune’s current partner was a floor below reeling what might be one of the most traumatic days of his life. Rune could unpack that properly once they were free of the tadpoles. And helped Shadowheart find her parents. And found a solution to Karlach’s engine and-

Well, eventually. Just not now.

Instead of thinking more about the current Archduke, Rune instead began dividing up tasks for the next day. Wyll would have to come with Rune while they investigated leads for his father, and Karlach would be good to have on hand should they get dire news. Everything Rune knew about comforting people was learned from watching Wyll, and they could use Karlach’s help if news about the man’s father was tragic. They would also be a good pair to help Rune to dig up more about Orin’s murder plot, given their knowledge of the city. If Astarion was up for it, he’d be an excellent addition as well; otherwise, Jaerhia’s would be an good choice. While they were off doing that, Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Gale could continue looking for leads on where the Temple of Bhaal might be located. Orin had promised Rune that Halsin would be safe as long as Rune focused their ire on Gortash, but Rune was not going to place their trust in their murderous sibling.

They’d made that mistake once, back when they were something cruel. They would not make it again.

A half an hour must have passed before Rune heard someone else scramble onto the window below. They prepared a cast of ray of frost until they saw white curls poke out over the edge of the roof. Rune closed their journal and set it on their lap.

“Up here.”

“I knew you’d be roosting somewhere,” Astarion said, as he leapt onto the shingles with grace Rune rather envied. “Tavern too noisy for your scheming?”

Astarion knew Rune could plan just fine surrounded by outside noise; he’d seen them plan in their camp, after all. They wouldn’t be surprised if he’d learned about their swift exit from the main floor himself. He sat down next to them and looked at their lap where the journal was seated.

“Are you ever going to let me take a look inside that thing?”

Astarion absolutely had looked inside Rune’s journal before, this they both knew. They’d caught him at it early on in their journey a few times, though he’d quit early on. At the time, Rune thought it might be due to the Alfria incident making him more cautious, but in retrospect, he’d likely stopped peeking when he realized Rune wrote down notes to self and supply lists, not secrets to stealing their heart.

Rune was curious to why he’d want to look at it now. Astarion had already stolen their heart quite thoroughly. He had to know that surely.

“It’s just lists and reminders. You know that. I don’t think you’d find it all that interesting.”

Astarion moved closer to Rune, so their thighs were touching. He leaned over their shoulder. “Still no drawings in the margins?”

Rune looked down at the journal and flipped it open to a section where the corner had a red stain. They held it up, showing Astarion the selected page which was covered in blood. There were a dozen of smeared illegible drawings made by shaking fingers on the parchment, like a disturbing finger painting. When Rune looked over the top of the journal to view Astarion, he looked flummoxed.

“Is that supposed to be a small intestine?”

Rune peered over the top of the journal and took in the spot Astarion was looking at. They supposed it looked a little like intestines, though it could also be just a shaky line or a blood trail. It was hard to tell.

“I don’t know if it’s supposed to be anything at all.”

Rune would have torn out the page entirely, but at the time it’d been a clue of whatever might be wrong with them. When they’d woken up with stinging fingertips covered with their own blood, they’d scribbled the date at the top of the page like it was a regular entry. It was a bit comical, how different their neat handwriting was to the gore on the page.

“I suppose we can cross off artist as a potential future career path,” Astarion said, leaning his forearms back against the roof so he could lean back a little. His body was too tense for the position to look relaxing, but he wasn’t trying to fake ease, which Rune took as a promising sign. “Planning out our marching orders for tomorrow?”

“A little. Depends on what you’re up for.”

“You know I’m up for everything darling.”

“Astarion,” Rune said, voice firm. They knew that voice for what it was: an act. If Astarion wanted to brush off everything in front of the others, Rune wouldn’t stop him. But they wouldn’t allow him to do the same when they were alone.

Rune had their own performances memorized: the devoted Absolute cultist, the brave hero, the playful clueless sorcerer. Astarion knew them all, he’d seen Rune throw on each persona when the moment required it, then drop it as soon as they were back in camp. If Rune put down their mask, they expected Astarion to do the same.

Astarion’s shoulders slumped. He leaned back, looking up at the setting sun and held out his hand, like he was trying to cup the horizon in his grasp.

“That first day, after the crash,” Astarion said, keeping his hand where it was. “I thought the sun would be the death of me. 200 years of shit and the moment I was free of Cazador, I was going to meet my end by a sunbeam.” He let out a dark chuckle and lowered his hand, having it lay back by his side. “Seemed like Gods’ usual cruel brand of humor.”

Rune kept quiet, waiting for him to continue.

“Imagine my surprise when everything played out otherwise. Here I was, free of Cazador, able to walk in the sun, two things I thought I’d never have again.” He held out his hands wide, then gestured to Rune. “It seemed too good to be true. And of course, it was, once you came along and told me that the very thing that gave me what I wanted was also going to cause me to sprout tentacles in a handful of days. So when I heard about the Rite, it seemed like the perfect solution. Sure, I could have taken over the Cult myself, but that seemed like a lot of responsibility and frankly, more work than it was cut out for. I mean, did you see all the paperwork on Thorm’s desk? I’d never see the sunlight again if I had to read through all that.”

Rune felt a flash of rage pulse through them at the mention of Throm but ignored it. Now was not the time. They instead directed their entire focus on Astarion.

“It was my chance to have it all. The sun, my freedom, and Cazador dead at my hands.” Astarion waved a hand, gesturing like he was throwing something aside. “Sure, it would come at the cost of my so-called siblings, but they would have done the same thing to me. Might as well put them out of their misery. I’d be doing them a favor.” He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around his legs, placing his chin on his knees. The setting sun cast light onto the bottom of his face, just under his eyes. “And yet-”

Rune could guess what stayed Astarion’s hand in the end. They’d watched as Astarion stared at cages of spawn in horror, noticed how he’d wanted to look away from all that pain and suffering. Rune was the one who’d forced him to meet it head on, to look them in the eyes and admit the truth of the matter; that Astarion could very well do this, but he’d have to do so knowing he was throwing away people, not the already dead and buried. People who could have been Rune, if things were different.

(He wouldn't have been able to kill you. He could have tried, but you would have killed him first before you stepped a foot in that manor. Maybe even tore out his fangs as a prize.)

“I couldn’t do it. I had everything in front of me, and I couldn’t do it.”

“You wouldn’t still be yourself if you did,” Rune said. They remembered listening to the skull tell the story of Cazador before he was a Vampire Lord, how much his story as spawn echoed Astarion’s. Rune doubted the man was ever truly soft of heart, but he at least had some capacity for feeling other than his own ego. For Cazador to have changed so much turning into a true vampire spoke volumes; hells only knew how much Astarion might change were he to become something even more than that.

“Probably,” Astarion admitted. He scowled, kicking one of the shingles under his foot. “But I wouldn’t be like this either. Afraid he’s going to pop out of the shadows and drag me back there at any moment.”He sat up straight all of the sudden, irritation leaking into his tone. “He’s dead. I killed him myself. So why do I still feel like this?”

“Because it all still happened, maybe? Like my headaches-“ Rune ran their fingers through their hair. They could feel the scar that stretched from behind their ear to the center of their forehead. Back when they crashed it was visible given their buzz of hair. Now it wasn’t too noticeable now that Rune’s hair had grown out from patchwork to a pixie, but Rune could never forget it was there.

Astarion had Cazador to thank for his own back. Rune noticed the vampire took care to not wear items that gave anyone a glimpse of the scarring there. Cazador’s death would not erase that contract nor the memory of it being carved there. Even if Astarion both wished otherwise.

“Even though the wound might physically have healed, that doesn’t mean it still doesn’t hurt,” Rune said, finishing their thought.

Astarion turned away, snarling. “So what, I’m stuck with him forever, even while he rots?”

Sometimes Astarion could be purposefully obtuse. “That wasn’t my point.”

“And what was it then?”

Rune was good with words when it came to strangers. Strangers they never had to see again, strangers never got to realize that Rune had spotted what they wanted to hear or inferred the role they wanted Rune to play. Rune didn’t have to think much about the interaction other than how to get what they wanted.

With friends, with people Rune cared for, words were harder. Because with them, words could do far more damage if thrown around loosely. The wrong thing to say, the wrong tone and one could cause damage as deep as a knife wound.

Rune was so tired of hurting people they didn’t want to.

“That you shouldn’t tear yourself apart because you haven’t healed from 200 years of shit overnight,” they settled on. Astarion was looking at them again, red eyes trained on Rune’s face. “You’re so hard on yourself, sometimes,”Astarion began to open his mouth but Rune pressed on, determined to finish the thought. “And I know I’m one to talk, but Astarion, you managed to kill a vampire lord today. You gave thousands the chance to make a new life. You gave the gur their children back.”

“That I helped take in the first place-“

“Okay, well if that’s true-“ Frustration burned through Rune and they pointed their finger in Astarion’s chest. Astarion almost fell back in surprise, Rune rarely got visibly angry. Rune would have tried to reign in the emotion but they needed Astarion to understand this, they needed him to believe them. They reached into their bag for the dagger everyone insisted they keep on them, and pushed it sheathed into Astarion’s hands. Astarion looked at them like they’d lost their mind.

“You should rightfully take your revenge given my father tried to have me tear you limb from limb.” Rune sat back on the roof, and held their arms out wide. Astarion was still staring at them, the dagger held limply in his hands like he’d never wielded one before. “Well?”

“You weren’t yourself.” His voice was a whisper.

“And you were?”

“That’s not fair-“

“Isn't it?" Rune reached forward and plucked the dagger out of Astarion’s grasp. "Astarion, you cannot entirely hold yourself to what you did under Cazador’s control! You did a lot of good today. And yes, I know, how dare I accuse you of goodness, but this day could have ended very differently and it didn’t.” They placed the dagger back into their bag. “Give yourself some credit for that.”

“Are you sure you don’t deserve that credit instead?”

“No.” Rune was resolute. “I told you what I thought but I was willing to follow your lead. And you led us here,” They shrugged.

“To an inn where we’re crammed into one suite and must scramble onto the roof for some privacy.”

Rune shrugged. The sun was almost gone now and with it the horizon turned a beautiful violet. The night wasn’t so bad, when it arrived with such a sight. “Who cares? You’re here. That’s all I need.”

Astarion looked at them for a long moment, eyes wide before he reached forward, grabbed the front of their tunic, and pulled them in for a kiss. It was sweet but not soft and Rune smiled into it, feeling some of the fear from earlier in the day finally slip from their mind.

They knew Astarion had worried when he’d confessed he’d like to stop having sex and slow things down, but frankly, Rune hadn’t minded. They didn’t remember much of their own history, but they doubted the former leader of the Cultist of Bhaal was one for kissing on rooftops with zero intention of losing clothing in the endeavor. At best, Rune’s previous life had consisted of getting off and offing people, no feeling required. While they would have agreed to Astarion’s request regardless, it didn’t hurt that Rune felt like something like this was something new to them too. Something nice.

Rune broke the kiss for air, then dove back in for another. This one was more brief, just a quick press of lips, but Gods it was lovely. When they broke apart, they were almost giddy with affection. They placed their head on his shoulder and chuckled into Astarion’s collar bone, feeling him let out of a puff of air that ruffled their hair. He wrapped his arms around their back, pulling them in closer.

“How in the Gods’ name can you be so casually charming?”

“You know which God, we had a talk about it and everything.”

“You are an absurd human being.”

Rune pulled back to look him in the face. Astarion was smiling now, properly smiling and they felt so very warm despite the cool night air. With a teasing smile, they leaned in, just out of reach for another kiss. “But you like me though.”

“A terrible lapse in judgment on my part,” Astarion got up, and held out his hand towards Rune. “Come’on love, let’s get to bed.”

Rune looked up at him. They were rather tired. However, as nice sharing a bed was, Rune wasn’t sure it was a good idea after today given Rune’s nightmares. Their fits had gotten worse as they got closer to the city, and now that they were inside the walls properly, they woke up multiple times a night in a cold sweat. It wasn’t exactly the best atmosphere for an elf to trance.

“If you want to be alone I can go bunk with Gale?” When it came to shared sleeping arrangements, Gale tended to be the best choice simply because he was rather used to sharing space with insomniacs after years of studying at Blackstaff. Rune could toss and turn on their bedroll all they wanted, and Gale would sleep it off just fine.

(There would be a fight over who “got” the bed, this Rune knew. Gale would insist Rune take it for having the basic human decency of not asking him to blow himself up, and Rune would insist Gale take it because Gale complained about his knees already, and Rune had slept in far worse places. Rune expected fully to win, but not without a debate).

“Tell Gale to get his own sorcerer. It can be part of your wingman proposal,” Astarion wiggled his fingers. “I know you don’t sleep well, love. I am aware of what I’m signing up for.”

Rune took his hand and let Astarion help him to their feet. When they were standing, Astarion lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss to the back of Rune’s palm. Rune could feel the flush that appeared on their cheeks.

“Thank you,” he said. Rune wasn’t sure if it was for helping him kill Cazador, the bath, the talk on the roof or all three. Rune shook their head.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I don’t have to do anything. And I want to thank you anyway.” Astarion tightened his grip on their hands and looked Rune right in the eye. “And I meant what I said yesterday; We will see you free of Bhaal. Freedom won’t be truly sweet until you’re no longer under his thumb.”

Rune’s stomach twisted, their throat tightening. He meant it, Rune could tell. This wasn’t intended as an empty promise or sweet words to assure Rune’s nerves. If it was possible to unshackle Rune from their father’s influence, Astarion would see it done.

For both their sakes, Rune desperately hoped it was possible at all. They had their doubts but maybe Astarion’s hope would be enough for the both of them.

Astarion lowered their joined hands and tugged Rune towards the edge of the roof where the windowsill was. “Now come on, sorcerers need their beauty sleep.”

Rune followed him. As they climbed into bed later, Rune curling around the trancing vampire, they closed their eyes and hoped that they could find a way to keep this, the Gods be dammned.

#iz writes #bg3 durge #durge #astarion x durge #durgestarion #bg3 fic #bg3 #dark urge

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god-of-hurmanur · 3 months

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A Warning About RainbowDelicArtz/JeannieHobbes

DISCLAIMERS:

1. This post is not being made to instigate mass harassment or spread false information about this individual. I do not, and never will, condone harassing other people, it solves nothing. The purpose of my post is to warn others and stop someone else from getting hurt. Due to Dakota's disturbing history with children especially, I feel it is important for the public to be aware of her presence and know she is to be avoided.

2. Any claims made against Dakota should be considered allegations until tried in a court of law. As is the law of the land, Dakota should be considered guilty until proven innocent.

3. Dakota, if you're reading this, I would like you to keep this sentiment in mind; I do not want you to harm yourself or take your own life. As stated previously, I do not condone any harassment sent your way. What I want is for you to permanently leave the Internet and seek therapy.

@/rainbowdelicartz, also known previously as JeannieHobbes on DeviantArt, is a digital artist on Tumblr mostly involved in the My Little Pony and Child's Play communities. She currently possesses two other Tumblr accounts (@/rainbowdelicgalore and @/rainbowdelicsunshine) as well as profiles on ArtFight (@/RainbowDelic) and Toyhouse (@/RainbowDelicArtz).

This was someone I was associated with for many years on and off, but in time I have realized that Dakota has done scummy things. She is extremely manipulative and have shown concerning behavior with children especially in the past. While I cannot provide more information on that front, I can at least prove to that this is Dakota's new profile.

To begin, below is an exchange the two of us shared on Discord. Most of this conversation is not extremely relevant, but the important takeaways here are that I redesigned two of their old My Little Pony characters, Neopolatan Truffle and Can-Dee, who were associated with one of my own OCs, Star Shimmer.

Below are the original references of said OCs from the JeannieHobbes account.

Also included are pictures drawn with these two and Star (my own OC mentioned above), as well as a mention of Star and my old DeviantArt account (the platform where I originally met Dakota).

I acknowledge that little will likely come of this post. However, Dakota is someone I feel is dangerous enough to warrant flagging her current platform. As I have made painfully clear, do not harass her. Just spread the word and stay away.

And if you are by some awful chance someone who has been victimized by Dakota, you are free to reach out to me. You deserve to be heard and your story matters.

#warning post #jeanniehobbes #rainbowdelicartz

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thewayhelooksatyou · 4 months

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The Way He Looks at You Series B. II:V Cal Kestis Week Bonus Content: In Another Life Chapter V: Of Course It's You

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Chapter Summary

Tumblr celebrated Cal Kestis Week, I used the dialogue prompts for each chapter. This chapter uses: "Of course it's you."

This mini series is what life could have looked like if Reader (lovingly nicknamed "Light" by Cal) had never lost her memory in the final battle of 'The Way He Looks at You'. Rating: 18+ Words: 1.2K Trigger Warnings: Suicidal Thoughts Inquisitor Cal x Reader/OC

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Weeks pass as Cal lives his typical life as the Thirteenth Brother. It’s the same as his life before Light. The very same life that was driving him mad. Though he pushes a majority of his feelings away, the bitterness in losing her eats at him. It mostly comes out in his work, a few stormtroopers have lost their lives to his temper.

But at night, when he sleeps in the bed that still smells like her, he should really wash the sheets, he cries. There is no relief from the pain of being away from the woman who is saving him from the life that consumes him. Everything feels wrong.

Some nights he considers ending his own life. But despite ending their relationship, he cannot end their chances of rekindling so permanently. So instead, he pays her bills, sends credits, and stays away from her. He can at least show that she still loves her. He just can’t be with her.

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After months of keeping up the routine of his new and old life, Cal can take no more. He wakes in the middle of the night, unable to fall back asleep. All he can think about is Light. He is drawn to her, and his mind will not allow him to spend another moment away from her. It is clawing at the inside of his skull to get back to her. So he does the only thing he can think of. He packs.

Very little of his possessions matter, no more than one bag. He looks around his quarters once more, ensuring nothing of hers was left behind. Cal exits the two sets of doors, stepping into the dark and empty hallways of the tower.

He walks with purpose, resisting the urge to break into a sprint. He only stops moving when he hears the telltale click of a door being closed. He whips his head around, unsure if the door was nearby, or simply echoing from another hallway. Too many seconds pass, his heart pounding in his ears, making it difficult to hear. When no further noise or movement follow, Cal resumes his mission, though the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Once outside the tower, Cal sprints to his Scythe, anxious to get into the sky before someone notices his strange behavior. He tenses as the ship roars to life, hoping the raging winds will disguise the noise. The ship lifts into the air, and it appears that Cal has escaped without question.

As he flies, he thinks over the implications of leaving the Empire. He will be hunted down, but not right away. There will probably be time before his absence is noticed. He can’t lead his Brothers and Sisters to Light by going to her. Instead, he will need to throw them off the scent. It would be wise to leave a trail elsewhere.

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To his dismay, Cal spends another month wreaking havoc across other parts of the galaxy, ensuring his face is seen and there are survivors to tell the tale. He goes as far as to stage his own death, force choking an innocent with his appearance and dressing the poor man in his old uniform before dropping the body into a trash compactor.

He abandons his Scythe, buying a smaller and more common transport. The salesman doesn’t question the credits placed in his palm by a man dressed in completely normal civilian clothes, which may or may not have belonged to the man laying in a compactor.

He boards the new and unimpressive ship, pulling his lightsaber from his bag. Cal can’t bring himself to abandon the lightsaber, too fearful of being unarmed if his plan doesn’t work. He takes off into the sky, ready to finally see the love of his life, his Light.

After far too long, Cal touches down and runs to the house where she is living. His focus is so narrow he misses the Force aura of another. Swinging open the door to see a wide eyed Light, backed against a corner while Fifth Brother picks at his nails on their couch.

Fifth perks up. “Thirteenth!”

Cal reaches for his lightsaber. “Of course it’s you. How did you find me?”

Fifth remains seated, grinning at the ex-Inquisitor. “I saw you the night you abandoned the Empire. Watched the murders on the news, quite the spectacle.”

“How did you know she lives here?”

“Oh yes! I followed you, when you came to visit her months ago. I assumed you would be back once you were done trying to prove your presence elsewhere. And I was right!”

Fifth sneers, rising from the couch. Cal wraps his fingers around the hilt of his lightsaber, preparing to fight to the death after his betrayal. Fifth doesn’t do the same, instead wandering around the living room. It’s been more decorated since the last time Cal was here. Books and nicknacks strewn about in a tasteful manner.

Cal speaks through clenched teeth. “What do you want?”

Fifth pays no mind to Cal’s raised hackles. “We are friends, I told you before.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t want much, only your continued friendship.”

Cal lets out a short laugh.

Fifth finally meets his eye. “I suppose I should tell you that I’ve been instructed to hunt and kill you.”

“I assumed.”

Fifth reaches for his lightsaber, grasping it and setting it on the coffee table. “But we’re friends, and you know I cannot go back empty-handed.”

Cal tenses, looking to Light once, then back to the threat.

“I don’t want the girl, but I need proof of killing you.”

“What do you mean?”

“A body part should do. I’m sure they’d prefer your head, but I can make do with a hand. I’m quite good at spinning a tale to suit my cause.”

Cal relaxes his arm, but his back feels tight. “Why would you help me?”

Fifth sighs. “How many times must I say we’re friends? You’re making me look pathetic. I do not wish for the only man I hold any respect for to be eliminated from the galaxy. I’ll help you, and in exchange, I’m sure I will need your help someday.”

There is a long silence. Fifth waits for Cal’s agreement to the bargain. He doesn’t need to tell Cal the only other option.

Cal holds out his left hand. “I agree to your terms.”

Fifth looks at the hand, picking up his own lightsaber. “You must remove it yourself, Cal.”

One nod, then a stern look at Light. “Go upstairs, now.”

She scurries off, preferring to not have to witness his mutilation. Cal activates the bright red blade of his saber, raising it into the air. He can see the excitement in Fifth’s eyes. A quick pry into the Inquisitor’s mind tells him that Fifth is not using this to weaken him. He will take the hand and leave.

With a yell, Cal brings the blade down, removing his hand at the wrist from the rest of his arm. The pain is excruciating, his brain firing the same way it did when he was first tortured into becoming an Inquisitor. It makes sense, unbearable pain to get in, unbearable pain to get out.

Cal drops to his knees, deactivating the humming blade as Fifth steps forward and picks up the hand, tucking it into his cloak. “Nice doing business with you. Enjoy your life…what was your name again?”

Cal grunts. “Cal Kestis.”

Fifth smiles, but it doesn’t feel friendly. “I’ll see you around, Cal Kestis.”

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Need to Rant with Others Who Have Read This Story?

Join My DiscordIt's free! Members get updates, sneak peaks, bonus content, events, and countdowns to new chapters. We'd love to have you, even if you just lurk!

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Love/Like/Hate What You Read?

Comment (please!) on AO3 or Blogger Anonymous/Comment/Message/Reblog on Tumblr Compliments feed me Constructive Criticism improves me

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#calkestisweek2024 #ckw2024 #jedi survivor #jedi fallen order #inquisitor cal kestis

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thefandomenchantress · 2 months

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Intro!

I realized I’ve had an account here for quite a long time, but never thought to make an intro. So here it is!

———

About Me:

-You can call me Enchantress (Ena for short)!

-I use she/her pronouns but defaulting to they/them is okay, too.

-While I am old enough to be watching DRDT, (16+), I’m still a minor! So please keep that in mind while interacting with me.

-I’m on the Aro spectrum, still figuring out exactly what kind of microlabel I’d prefer or if I want one.

-I’m an INFP, for all you Myers-Briggs fans.

-I like reading, writing, and drawing! I’m a bit new to posting art, but people have been really nice so hopefully I can keep doing so in the future.

-I usually get obsessed with one character in particular when I like a piece of media, and right now that’s DRDT and by extension Ace Markey. If you want to ask me questions about him, know for certain that I will answer and answer with plenty of enthusiasm haha.

About This Account:

-I post mostly DRDT-related things, specifically Ace Markey-related things. Though I do have a few other pieces of media I may post about from time to time.

-On that note, I often post theories or general thoughts, but from time to time I’ll also post writing and art. If you want to see more of my writing, I have an ao3 account of the same name as this account.

-There’s going to be a lot of death-related topics on this account, considering what I’m interested in. I may also get into some darker stuff, but will always do my best to add any trigger or content warnings! If I ever don’t do so properly, feel free to tell me.

Boundaries:

-I don’t have many, but don’t call me slurs or be generally rude, please. I’m not most skilled socially and will take insults to heart if I don’t know you well enough.

-I also have medical-based phobias (specifically a needle phobia), so I’d prefer you not send me asks that go in-depth about that kind of thing. Though I’m not sure why someone would do that, haha.

-While I am a massive multishipper who will ship almost anyone with my favorite character, emphasis on almost. Proship-y stuff like a child x adult or inc*st are not appreciated here, so don’t send me stuff like that.

———

And that’s about it! If you have any (non-invasive) questions about me or my account, feel free to ask!

And remember to live laugh love Ace Markey.

(Art from the official DRDT tumblr account)

#intro post

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radi0activesmile · 8 months

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Under the cut you will find a (somewhat disjointed) essay about my take on the Husk & Alastor scene from episode 5.

The working title is What Alastor did was not okay; however, I do not believe this one scene should be used to describe his typical behavior.

This is not an Alastor did nothing wrong post or a post where I try to make excuses / defend his behavior so I can still feel good about myself while writing him / enjoying him as a character.

I am very much aware that Alastor is, by no means, a good person.

Before you click, keep in mind these are my opinions and my takes. If you see things differently, that's fine. If you want to discuss them, that's also fine, as long as we're all civil adults about this.

Content warning: Racism.

First off, this post was mostly inspired by the peoplf of Twitter shrieking: OMG VIV MADE OUR TUMBLR SEXY MAN JUST AS BAD AS VALENTINO.

Well: They're all in Hell. They are not good people. We can stand around all day discussing if one crime against another person is worse than the other for various reasons, but that's not the purpose of this post.

Now, if you want to scream that Alastor is as physically abusive as Valentino because we saw him do this one thing one time, I disagree, not because I think he's a good person, but because that's just not his style.

Alastor has shown he gets what he wants through convincing people to do what he wants more so than physically forcing them. He said in episode 1 he can make others do as he wills, but we haven't seen him do it. We have seen him offer exchanges rather than force his will on them.

Example: Alastor wanted no part in interacting with television, but rather than demand or force Vaggie to stop trying to make a tv commercial (or to make a radio commercial) he offered her a deal: He'll help if he isn't asked to work with televisions anymore.

Viv once said Alastor is aromantic in the sense that he 'loves himself more than he could ever love anyone else.' The man has an ego, and we saw from his reaction to Carmilla saying she didn't care where he'd been that people not catering to that ego bothers him a lot. And she seems to be the norm rather than the exception. The only people who have acted... 'appropriately' to his return have been; Vox, for having a complete tantrum over it; Vaggie, for treating him like such a threat, and... maybe Pentious.

So, The Radio Demon's been walking around with a chip on his shoulder for five months when two things happen rapid fire:

Lucifer, King of Hell shows up, and (after hugging his daughter and petting some animals) what's the first thing he does?

Finds something Alastor changed and says it's bad, and then starts dismissing him as someone very insignificant. He even hints that the hotel has a good name until he realizes the name was Alastor's idea, and then insults it, and it's that It's a bad idea if it came from you that stomped on his nerve enough to make him say fuck you.

Honestly, at first I thought it was a warning sign that he was about to snap when he said fuck, since he so rarely swears, but he also said pissy in Stayed Gone, and his voice actor admits he did not know Alastor not swearing was a thing.

But swearing or no, Luci's clearly getting under his skin, and that might be because it's something he experienced in life.

Lest we forget, Alastor is mixed race. Born around 1900. In the south.

When he was alive and conducting his radio show, no one would be able to tell his race. There were likely incidents where he said something on the radio that got a positive reaction from people calling in, only to say something similar outside of his radio station and be dismissed because he's... this is tumblr so I'm going to say not white.

When he told Vaggie this face was made for radio that... might have been something a co-worker or a boss said to him in life. Yes, that's a looot of speculation on my part, but considering the time period... and the fact that he seems to say it with some amount of distain.

Alastor also seems to feel very strongly about found family vs blood family, which makes a lot of sense since same sex couples were made illegal in Louisiana (in order to protect white purity or something, I believe that's how the article phrased it?) So, if his father was in his life at all, it wasn't much. For someone who made fun of Charlie for having daddy issues, he looks to be projecting some daddy issues of his own.

Both feelings that are probably exacerbated by someone who actually knew him at the time in his life when he was looked down on and thought of as inferior just... busting right through the front door.

Ps, his eyes narrowing when Mimzy says the word mixed got my attention. Sure, maybe he's just annoyed his friend is so excited to see Lucifer, and, yes, I know she's saying mixed in reference to Lucifer being royalty BUT. He shuts his eyes when she says that word exactly.

I could go on about the racist undertones in the busboy comment and Lucifer's pure angelic power and other friends lines but. Let's talk about Mimzy.

Alastor has been putting up with this woman for over ninety years. He knows why she's here. He's already feeling insulted (both from five months of his ego getting drop kicked and Lucifer's actual insults) and now Husk stops him to tell him to tell him something he already knows.

Viv once said Alastor snaps his neck or breaks his back in order to unsettle people so they'll leave him alone / stop touching him, so if the fuck you wasn't the sign that he was about to snap, him breaking his neck when Husk called out was prooobably the sign that he was about to snap.

Now, yes, you and I both know Husk's just trying to give him a heads up, but Mr. Wounded pride over here seems to be take it like Husk thinks Alastor's too stupid to catch on.

Theeeen...

When Alastor says he can handle it, who in their right minds would cross me (the big, powerful, terrifying radio demon everyone has forgotten I am) Husk.... tells the truth.

A lot of people will try to cross him. He's been gone. They've forgotten him. Vox and Pentious have already tried to cross him, and there were probably more in that five month timeskip. Husk also said no one knows why (except him. Apparently he knows. Meaning Alastor either trusted him enough to let him in on this secret or he was there to witness whatever went down.)

I couldn't read if Husk was implying Alastor tell the others where he went or just trying to remind him his name isn't enough to frighten people anymore. Either way, Alastor cuts him off pretty suddenly because it's evident anyone else knowing is not something he even wants to entertain.

We saw in episode 3 how twitchy he gets when Zestial hints at wanting to know,

(his shifty eyes are too fast for me to catch with a screen grab but that's very telling that he's annoyed / uncomfortable... or Zestial's onto something with that holy arms comment. The fact that Alastor turns away from him when he says this line is also telling to me.)

So, Alastor does what we've seen Alastor do in the past when he's tried to show his power over someone: He gets in their face, touches them, and says things that he knows will bother the person. He's either trying to change the subject from his own powerlessness to Husk's... or just make Husk so angry that Husk doesn't follow him.

And then Husk... does what most in this situation would do: He throws it back.

And Alastor, with his chipped shoulder from five months of being dismissed and disrespected for the last five months, and whatever bad memories / feelings of inferiority Mimzy and Lucifer are stirring up, snaps, and makes one last desperate grab to remind himself that he's powerful, and that, despite being on a leash, despite being owned (like his grandparents likely were) he still has power over something. A once powerful overlord, in fact.

There may have also been some anger / broken trust if Alastor told Husk what was really going on and he thought Husk was threatening to tell the others... maybe.

Now. Does any of that make what Alastor did okay? No. No it does not (then again, they're in Hell. A lot of what they do isn't okay) but I think the people crying out that Alastor is a serial abuser who treats Husk like Valentino treats Angel based on this ONE scene might be jumping the gun a little.

Husk's shocked expression tells me he wasn't expecting that reaction. We saw in the pilot that Alastor usually takes Husk pushing him, defying him, and telling him to fuck off in stride...and just makes Alastor annoy him more.

Also, Husk was okay enough just a few minutes later to stand like ten feet away from Alastor, eat popcorn, and watch him tell off Mimzy (who I could type up a whole ass other essay about.) So... yes, he was shaking in the moment, so, maybe he knows he pushed the trigger button and that, now that Al's gotten to remind everyone why I am here, blow off some steam, feel powerful, and remind everyone what a big bad threat he is, he's going to go back to just being a pain in Husk's ass.

So... calm down please, Twitter.

#⛤My Work Became MUNdane ⛤ - out of character #⛤ Inside of Every Demon is a Lost Cause ⛤ - Musings #I have so many feelings about this episode #this is only maybe half of them

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ricksanchezbignaturals · 1 year

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↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓ daily click for palestine ↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓

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tldr: this is my main blog so there's all kinds of crap here. mostly rick and morty and some other hyperfixations. i don't get to pick what the autism latches onto, luv.

original posts are tagged #my nonsense and art is @space-enbies-inc. when i rb posts i tag the shows/games and characters involved. i don't trigger tag anything at the moment, but feel free to ask if you want something tagged. general blanket content warning (and some other shit) under the cut.

last updated july 2024

content warning: nothing extreme enough to piss off tumblr, but there is very suggestive art and general "horny about that old man" vibes. uncensored slurs (usually ones about lgbt+ people), discussions or depictions of homophobia, transphobia, fatphobia, ableism, racism, classism, sexism, and probably some other bigotries tbh. canon typical content (like gore, death, incest jokes because rnm cannot help themselves). loads loads loads of mental health things, suicide, self harm, smoking/drinking/drug use and addiction, depression, anxiety, eating disorders, body dysmorphia, ocd, adhd, autism, overstimulation, meltdowns, dissociation, gender dysphoria, and maybe some other stuff that's not coming to mind? idk for sure.

basically if it happens in rick and morty, bojack horseman, or disco elysium, it can show up on this blog.

i do not ship rick and morty together but a lot of ship art just looks like regular fanart if you don't know any better so it's possible that ive reblogged r1ck0rty before without realizing, apologies if that's the case.

i do ship jerrick and rickcest and like to reblog that kind of stuff. i don't consider those ships to be incestuous but i know that some people do so i figured id give you a heads up.

☆fandom stuff☆

~rick and morty~

~smiling friends~

~gravity falls~

~cyberpunk 2077~

~disco elysium~

~solar opposites~

~king of the hill~

~bob's burgers~

~seinfeld~

~bojack horseman~

☆bio pt2 ig☆

im a 21 year old west virginian.

queer in gender and orientation. what way specifically? who fuckin knows, but im 3 years on testosterone baybeeee!

when i complain about libs that's because im a leftist, not conservative. im sure that's obvious from the everything about me, but ngl i didn't know there was a difference between liberal and leftist till i was like 19 so im certainly not gonna judge people who get that confused.

but yeah, that's all i got for now. asks and dms are open, you're welcome to just drop in my messages and start a conversation about our shared interests or whatever. im no therapist but if you need someone to listen or commiserate in mentally ill solidarity, im here.

🩵🩷🤍🩷🩵

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laura-the-locust · 1 year

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I've been doing some thinking about xenophobia, and the limits of tolerance. For the purposes of this post, I'll define xenophobia based on its etymology: it is the fear/distate/hate of otherness.

I have broadened the scope of the definition, because in the end racism, queerphobia, ableism, and many others boil down to one basic concept: "someone is existing in a way that's foreign, and I don't like it."

[The rest under the cutoff, this balooned into an essay]

What is interesting to me, is that there are lots of people who recognize the issue with xenophobia, only to turn around and do it to somebody else. From people who loathe racism, but are homophobes, through LGB folk, to queer people who are disgusted by polyamory. In the end, it seems that they value tolerance, but only up to a point, and the difference is mostly where that border lies.

And on every layer,* there'll be people who point out the similarities: poly people are otherized in the same way trans people are, who are otherized in the same way non-straight people are, et cetera. Because, again, it's all the same thing. Different people have different cutoff points for what they are willing to tolerate.

Or is it really tolerance? Or merely sticking out for yourself? Internalised whatever-phobia aside, a trans man isn't reluctantly allowing for the existence of trans people, he is trans, and has a vested interest in trans rights.

Tolerance is, at least to me, when you don't participate/are something, and maybe it even disgusts you, but you allow for other people to do/be it. For example: my dad is straight, and thinks I'll go to hell for being gay, but he tolerates it, and doesn't bitch and moan that gay people ought to be thrown in jail. He doesn't tolerate me being a trans woman, so he thinks I'm gay when I'm with a guy, and deadnames me.

In my opinion, tolerance requires you do not like the thing you are tolerating. Another example is how one responds to "cringy" behaviour. Are you part of the mob that makes the weird kid from a tiktok the Twitter's main character for the day, or do you simply cringe, shrug, and move on? The latter is tolerance. And the best thing, is that tolerance can be learned! You can train yourself to walk away, even if internally something disgusts you.

So let's bring up the "weird kids" you may have come across on the internet, especially on Tumblr: Xenogender people. Otherkin. Tulpamancers.

A warning light just lit in some of you's heads. "Is she gonna defend them?" First of all, you are the person this post is about and aimed towards, glad you're still around. Second of all, yes and no. Well, yes to xenogenders.

My point is, is that those communities are one of the most controversial, at least from what I saw in the little echo chamber in which I live. I don't really seek them out, they just pop up occasionally when I use the web. But I have seen tons of ridicule come their way, from people at any stage of the tolerance ladder.*

(For this next part, I will assume we all believe xenophobia to be unethical. If you do not, consider this: if punishing Otherness is okay, or even desired, unfortunately for you, you and everyone you love are Other in some way to the Majority. Yes, yes they are. Bigots are extremely good at finding differences to hate, it's their whole thing. Good luck.)

So let's go over what some of those criticisms are:

"Those people believe in something that's unproven, or provably incorrect!" Okay, reddit atheist (not ad hominem, just an insult). While I find the project of encouraging rationality to be important, being wrong isn't a crime, nor should it be. The only circumstances where ignorance should be forcefully fought against, is when it causes the ignorant to do harm. You know, like thinking gay sex causes AIDS.

"But those people are harmful!" Are they? Or does their existence simply make you uncomfortable? You know, like some people don't want black folks around their neighborhood. As stated previously, lack of tolerance is a skill issue on your part.

"But they are harming themselves!" Aha! A valid concern! Let's stop here for a moment.

This sort of starts another topic: what should be the limits of tolerance? Because "being weird" isn't it. Harming others is obviously not to be tolerated.** But with harming of the self, we are going into autonomy territory.

First of, bodily autonomy is, broadly speaking, good. Pursuit of freedom is one of my axioms, and if you think maximizing freedom is not desirable, I cannot have a conversation with you.

But what, if any, should its limits be? Self harm is bad, right? But... why? Well, physical self harm can and often does follow the same mechanism as an addiction, especially when used as a coping mechanism. This means escalation, which may result in permanent injury (which lowers quality of life) or even death (the utility of which is zero at best)(Yes, I am a utilitarian).

Okay, so if self delusion doesn't result in bodily harming yourself or others, it's fine, right? Sure, it's upsetting to think that someone is wrong on the internet, but is it really worth fighting over?

I'd argue that every time you go to someone that has "ghe/ghem | I am the reincarnation of Winston Churchill's cat" in their bio and tell them about how much they are not that, and reincarnation isn't real, or whatever, you are actually doing more harm. That catkin is not changing their mind. Do you honestly think that you are the first person that informed them that gheir views do not find evidence in objective reality? Obviously not! Ghe heard that already most of the times ghe spoke about it to anyone outside gheir community! And all you're doing is adding on to a pile of hate that gathers dust in gheir inbox, and possibly pushes ghem one step closer to doing something really inadvisable, even suicide.

"So what, delusions are okay, as long as you don't harm anyone?" Delusions are something one should work through with one's therapist, not with a NEET*** from Utah who has his own religious trauma he should be dealing with instead.

In conclusion: leave "weird people" alone, don't yuck other's yum if it doesn't influence you, and get a therapist. We all need one these days.

Footnotes:

*People don't always support minorities according to the steps I've laid out, but they usually do. Your non-binary mutual probably isn't racist.

**the specifics on when violence is permissible are a whole doctorate thesis on their own, but the general sentiment stands. Violence usually results in suffering, which is axiomatically bad.

***not hating on NEETs, I'm one myself. But you wouldn't have enough time to hate on christians on reddit if you had a job.

#trans #queer #mental health #in this essay i will #xenophobia #racism #queerphobia #transphobia #otherkin #neopronouns #cringe culture is ableist #ableism #polyamory #this is the most tags I've ever used but this shit is long already so whatever

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darkestrellar · 2 years

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KNOWING YOUR PARTNER WELL CAN POTENTIALLY MAKE WRITING TOGETHER A LOT EASIER. ( REPOST DO NOT REBLOG ! )

○ name: Jak! ○ pronouns: they/them, or he/him is okay too ○ preference of communication: Tumblr IMs or Discord are both okay! ○ name of muse(s): "Svern" is the one most people know him by. ○ experience/how long (months/years?): Coming up to 3 years on Tumblr next year. Written rp about 6 years...? Rp in the broadest sense... a lot longer... ○ platforms you’ve used: Tumblr, Discord, Google Docs, Wikia forums, 16personalities forums. Also LARP as a kid which I mostly have to mention because that's pretty much where my bases came from. Yeah. ○ best experience: I'm not sure I'd say I have a specific "best" one. Whenever I enjoy it, that's a good experience I'm having. Maybe one day. ○ rp pet peeves / dealbreakers: I aspire to be chill because I don't like being stressed and I don't want to stress anyone else. There are things that have annoyed me, though. One is when someone keeps changing their information or losing interest and abandoning things, especially after we've plotted toward something or I've gotten invested in it. It's wasted a lot of my time and mental energy before because people just lose interest (and don't tell me until I've been waiting for them to come back to it for a while) or just keep changing things without much warning which means things needed to be worked out again over and over. I also dislike it when I repeatedly try to interact with someone (e.g. send asks, messages, reply on posts) and they never or barely respond to any of it (while continuing to engage other people very quickly and enthusiastically - this doesn't apply if you're just Slow across the board, I get that). Again, I have a limited amount of energy, sometimes crunching stuff out of my brain is like squeezing water from rocks, this takes and wastes my energy. Do I exist? If you make me feel like I don't exist, I won't like you. ○ plots or memes: Both are good, or a mix! Plotting can make answering memes easier though. I work better when I have more context or background information to draw on. I face the same difficulty with both in I can be slow to come up with ideas. ○ long or short replies: Both! I like writing a lot sometimes, especially when there's a lot of inner monologue to go through. I like inner monologuing a lot. ○ best time to write: It depends on the amount of distraction around me and how well I feel. Often it works out to be later in the day, sometimes the afternoon, often late at night. The less background noise, and the less people around me who are doing things and talking, the better. Unfortunately right now I'm very easily distracted, and certain people in my house talking easily puts me on edge. ○ are you like your muse(s): There are some specific traits of mine I have imparted to Svern, some more and some less intentionally. In him they are greatly exaggerated. Other than that, considering what he's like. I don't think so. I hope not. I do wish I had his self-confidence and ability to not give a shit though.

tagged by @dynamoprotocol!

#point your finger and deny (dash games)

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vintagetvstars · 2 months

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Submission Rules

Propaganda

Propaganda must be from within our tournaments time period of 1950 to 2004. Please don’t send us any modern pictures as we won’t be able to use them.

Movie propaganda is NOT allowed unless it was specifically a made for TV movie. We are a vintage TV focused blog. We won’t be able to use any propaganda that is obviously from someone’s movie career. Only made for TV movies are admissible.

Musical Theater and other Musical performances are only allowed for demonstration of musical talent. Clips shouldn’t be overly long and we only allow one or two examples per-star. They also must be from with our time period.

For video propaganda please try to keep things around 6 minutes in length or shorter. We watch everything that is sent in so we can add any necessary content warnings so please try to keep it a reasonable length so we can get things out in a timely manner.

Propaganda for shows that are only partially eligible must be shown to be from within the eligible seasons. If we can’t easily tell which season it’s from we won’t post it. If it’s a mix of things and some are from later seasons we generally will not post it.

Propaganda must be from when a star is confirmed 18 years or older. If we can’t confirm it with near certainty then we will not post it!

No Cartoon performances please. If a star also did voice work please only include their live action performances for propaganda.

No explicit propaganda please. While we personally have no issue with NSFW propaganda, we are beholden to tumblrs rules so please don’t send us anything that violates their content policies. We won’t post anything that might put our blog at risk.

No negative propaganda please! This is about how hot these vintage TV stars are, not how good they were as a person. It’s fine to include aspects about their personal life in propaganda but please try to keep it mostly focused on why this makes them attractive as a person. We won’t be posting anything that is hateful or overly negative. Though you are certainly welcome to do your own research and judge them on their values and actions if you wish. This includes adding negative additions to the post/comments/tags! You are responsible for doing your own research, keep the negativity and politics off of our posts please!

TV Star Submissions (not currently open)

Only stars in TV shows that aired between 1950 and 2004 are considered sufficiently vintage and therefore eligible.

Stars have to have been either a lead in a show or successfully arguably leading material (as an example someone who was never a lead but had many reoccurring guest star spots on a series).

Stars and shows from anywhere around the world are all welcome in the tournament.

Stars that are primarily known for playing themselves in reality based and nonfiction shows are not eligible. This tournament is about celebrating hot actors and actresses so anyone who falls outside this will be excluded from this bracket. Some allowances have been made for iconic hosts of fictional TV series.

Only live action TV stars are eligible. We love cartoons and vocal performances but this is focused on who is the hottest so we need to actually see them on screen to be eligible.

We hope this doesn’t need to be said but please submit only human performers over the age of 18. If they started work before becoming an adult please only include their work from when they became an adult.

#vintage tv stars poll #breaking news #todays news

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frostbite-the-bat · 9 months

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OK this time I wad a less pleasant dream

Warning for mentions of gore and animal harm

- in my dream I heard from mole that someone made a funny pacesetter.exe game using Mario 64 for some reason so I downloaded it but when we tried running it, it didn't work

I continued on my life then, and did my art and other things... Until my computer began acting weird and slow and so I restarted it. The internet has been acting weird in the dream beforehand too but that's unrelated - I went on my switch to play games but then I saw my screen light up and I see my wallpaper has changed

I walk over and it's text saying that my computer is being watched and hacked by devs of the game and that I'm dumb for downloading it - and for me to appease them I have to put Toontown fanart into one of the folders in the game files

I go through the files and there's many gore images, mostly of dead animals. I get to the folders without images and I make a text file and start typing, and here's what I remember typing:

"Hello, I am Guzma / Cathal, but I'm mostly known as Frostbite-The-Bat in the community. (Can't remember) I apologize for whatever I've done that has angered you. Please inform me of any other ways I can appease you -"

And I get cut off and windows start moving around and my cursor starts being hard to control. Another text file opens up and text starts appearing that I don't remember but it was very memey and jokey and clearly tried intimidating me. They used fonts and ominous messages - but I saw these were trolls who do this for fun and so I joined in, hoping that'll get me on their side.

"Oh, and you'll type THAT using the halloween font, right?"

"yeah right"

And then we both began fucking around with the fonts for a while, seeing that a lot of them even morphed into images that'd overlay the whole text. Some were more weird, like a foot frozen in ice and some little animal on an Ai generated green colored torso in a dentists office

Once I had more control again, I continue typing in my own text post:

"I am only typing this formally now, believe me I don't speak like this often. I don't have anything to offer aside from art due to my living conditions. Please, from one TTCC fan to another, what can I do to stop you from hacking my computer?"

Some time then passes and I hear a voice, which sounded Exactly like snapcube Eggman showing me things in a presentation with various drawings - supposedly the images of animals they had were from the group who made this game

"so yknow those machines that exist to make those flavored burgers. you put a soda in the bottom and it squeezes it and it then goes up. WELL SO WE THOUGHT what if we put a chicken in there? and so we did. and when we did it SQUISHED IT and all the organs went up, and the skin and the bones remained on the bottom where it crushes those cans! then yknow how it poops out the soda can remains? it did so with the chick, too, it looked really gross. we read something online that chicks can survive with one drop of water and so we injected it with water in the forehead. then, it slowly got up! with no blood or anything, it was loving again! this was it can grow it all back and we can repeat the process without buying any new animals!"

And the machine looked like this on the presentation:

It then began showing the baby chick in detail, and I was getting really uneasy and so I woke up.

I have in fact overslept my alarm even if it literally fucking blares VINE BOOM SOUND EFFECT. also about my prev post I would be delighted to get The Fabled Ibuprofen We Love On Tumblr for my ouchies however I AM not getting up oh gooedudddgb hbhhhghhgjjjhjhjhjhmhnnjhh

Considering this dream was about Pacesetter I nerd to fill you in on the inside joke that, anytime I'm going through The Monthly Horrors, I call it "I'VE TURNED INTO PACESETTER" so that's that

I'm very glad it was real because getting hacked live like that is genuinely so fucking scary

#Guzma's dream journal

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lilartifex · 1 year

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Ink and Fictober 2023 Day #4: "Do you even know what this means?"

Inktober Prompt #4: Dodge

Rating: G

Warnings: None

Fandom: Original Work

Character/s: Bunch o' random superhero + villain OCs made solely for this story.

Additional Tags: Superheroes, Villains, OCs, Attempt at Humor, Comedy, Based on a Tumblr Post (which I now cannot find :') )

Summary: Everyone just has one of those days. You know, those days where everything just gets weirder and weirder and your luck gets worse and worse. In this case, it means a trio of villains-who-aren't-really-villains and a pair of superheroes whose Corporate office decides they want to try out a new strategy. This goes about as well as most Corporate plans when the head honchos have never actually had their feet on the ground.

Quick Note: This is probably the closest thing to crack-writing that I’ve ever written. I have six assignments due over about four weeks. Let me have my goofy story. :3

___

People become villains for all kinds of reasons.

Sometimes it’s for monetary gain. Sometimes it’s to stick it to the man. But sometimes, it’s because of a deep-rooted trauma through years of mistreatment, scorn or abuse at the hands of a cruel world that deserves to burn for eternity for what it has done.

And then sometimes it’s just because it’s fun. And a way to cause chaos when nothing seems to be going right for you, so you’re out to make it everyone else’s problem.

That was mostly what motivated Miss Behave. The city called her a villain. She preferred the term vigilante.

See, most people, if they had superpowers at all, just had these basic little quirks that made everyday life a tiny bit easier. Maybe they could carry twenty shopping bags at a time. Maybe they could run at fifty kilometres per hour and were efficient at daily coffee runs. Maybe they had just enough telepathic strength to stop their hot tea from spilling onto the person beside them and avoid the awkward apologies and social interaction that followed.

Miss Behave didn’t have that. Instead, she was cursed with continuous bad luck, which could only be curbed by redirecting it onto someone else. In school or at work that wasn’t too bad. She could make her lazy coworker deal with all the worst customers, or make her least-favourite teachers’ technology throw a fit all day.

But when she got to university, she found it hard to redirect her powers onto anyone. Her fellow classmates were suffering the same way she was, her lecturers were actually really decent people, and she didn’t have the heart to torture her already-stressed-out coworkers who were, more often than not, in the same boat as her.

So, she decided to redirect it onto people who made the world a crummier place by donning a costume and skipping along buildings on her nights off. It wasn’t her fault that she just so happened to accidentally do it to a few local superheroes who had now convinced the media that she was a menace. They just got in the way and then had their super-suits turn bright pink in the wash. They should’ve been more careful.

Now though, Miss Behave was certain that she mustn’t have been using her powers enough because tonight she and her little team were facing two new superheroes whom they’d never seen before. And on a Monday night, too.

“GEEZ! Freaky, watch where you throw that thing!” screeched her teammate, Brain Freeze.

Their other teammate, The Freak (AKA, “Freaky”) launched another brick at his assailant. “Oi! Do you have any idea how hard it is to control Gorilla arms?” he shouted back. “These things weigh a tonne!”

Miss Behave rolled her eyes.

Freaky could shapeshift, which, in itself was a pretty unusual ability. But when it was coupled with the fact that he could only shapeshift parts of his body and had pretty poor balance even without it, there’s little wonder he was kicked out of the Hero Program. Meanwhile, Brain Freeze could, well, freeze stuff. A pretty minor power, until he sneezed. And considering his almost constant allergies, life wasn’t exactly easy for him either.

The two heroes they were facing were a mentor-sidekick duo dressed in matching reds, oranges and yellows. Brain Freeze and Freaky were doing battle with the mentor, a tall guy called ‘Sunflare’. Miss Behave was facing off on her own against the sidekick, a brunette called Redflame. The names were kind of a giveaway to their powers, but she hadn’t actually seen either of them use them yet. The fight so far had been completely physical. And, other than the heroes’ initial introductions, strangely silent.

Miss Behave glanced up and noticed a small awning above them. It was weighed down with water that had accumulated during the afternoon showers, creating a dip right above where Redflame was standing. Redflame. Water.

Miss Behave shrugged. Easy enough.

She knocked the hero on her backside and concentrated, squishing her face into what Freaky called her ‘About To Mess Crap Up’ face. There was a nasty tearing sound and the awning above Redflame tore open, as if it had been waiting for a while and chosen this moment to inconveniently give way. Which it pretty much had.

Miss Behave grinned as Redflame glanced up sharply, realising the danger she was in. Then she raised a hand and the water just - stopped. It floated above her in mid-air like some sort of freakish bubble.

Redflame froze, realising what she’d done. “Oh, heck.”

Miss Behave recognised that voice. And those powers. “Wait a minute,” she cried in disbelief, “That you under there, Wavelet?”

Redflame hesitated. “Uh… no?”

Miss Behave was only vaguely aware of her teammates’ shouts as they were hurtled out of the way by a wave of water behind her. She was too busy staring at her nemesis in absolute bewilderment.

“It is!” she gawked. “What the Hell? So he must be -”

“Riptide,” came a deep, sour voice behind her. She whirled around, fist flying, but the older hero caught her wrist easily. Now that she was much closer, Miss Behave wondered why on Earth none of them had recognised the pair before. They were two of the most prominent heroes in the city and the only ones she and her teammates fought regularly. True, they were both dressed in completely opposite aesthetics and had different names, but still.

God, she was an awful nemesis. Even the fact that he had disarmed both her teammates and now had her in his iron grip couldn’t shake off her surprise.

“Why?” she managed, staring at him with wide eyes. “I just… WHY?”

“New strategy from the High Ups,” said Redflame - Wavelet - before her mentor could chime in. She’d always been talkative, even for a superhero. “They got it in their heads that we should give rebranding a go. Try and make ourselves out to be the opposite of what we actually are.”

“... Okay, I can see that,” said Miss Behave slowly, “But why?” At this point, she figured that the more she kept them talking, the more chance there was of her teammates getting their act together and getting her out of this mess. Also, she did genuinely want to know what was going on.

“To confuse our enemies,” said Wavelet monotonously, as if she was repeating memorised lines from a script.

Miss Behave had no idea what to say to that. But she had to keep talking, so she said the only thing she could think of, “Er… good for you guys, I guess?”

“‘Good for you guys’?” Riptide burst out. “Do you even know what this means?”

Mis Behave was taken aback by the normally calm hero’s outburst. “Um…”

“It means,” exclaimed Riptide with the air of someone who’d been waiting all day to complain, “That people expect me to set things on fire. With my WATER powers.”

Before she could reply, there was a shout from the street down below.

“Sunflare!” cried a shrill voice. “Sunflare, help! Brain Freeze’s blasts trapped my car in ice!” Miss Behave had a vague recollection of one of her friend’s stray blasts landing down there somewhere. “You need to get rid of it! My taxes pay your wages, you know!”

“AND WHAT THE HELL D’YOU EXPECT ME TO DO ABOUT IT?” roared Riptide. “THAW IT OUT SLOWLY WITH LUKEWARM WATER?”

Miss Behave gawked at him.

“He’s… having a day,” explained Wavelet apologetically.

“Right - Wave - uh - Redflame,” growled Riptide, hastily correcting himself, “You deal with this one. I’ll sort out… that.” He spun Miss Behave around and disappeared over the building, sliding down what she assumed must be a PVC pipe.

And that left Miss Behave and Wavelet staring at eachother.

“So…” Miss Behave began awkwardly. “Bad day at the office?”

Wavelet glared at her. “Oh come on! As if you don’t already know!”

Miss Behave blinked. “What?”

“You!” Wavelet flapped her hand at her. “You and your little… Bad Luck powers. You did this to us last time, didn’t you? Cursed us with your… thing.”

“Me? I didn’t do this.” Miss Behave’s day was just getting weirder and weirder. What the heck were they putting in superheroes’ diets these days? Unfiltered drugs or something? “Why would I curse you for something you did on - when was our last battle?”

“Wednesday.”

“Wednesday! Seriously.” Miss Behave shook her head. “You two are annoying, but you’re not THAT annoying.”

Wavelet stared at her. “But I - we thought all this was happening because of you!” she cried helplessly. “And we figured we were sent out to fight you because you’d used your powers or something to manipulate the Patrol Roster so you could gloat at us about your dastardly evil plans for the city and then world domination!”

“... You’ve really overthought this, haven’t you?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

Miss Behave sighed and shrugged apologetically. “Yeah, sorry my dude, but that just happens. Corporate be like that sometimes.”

The sidekick stared at her for a moment longer. “You mean we could’ve just pulled a sickie and let someone else fall for the ‘swapping personas’ thing?”

“Yep.”

“Ughhhhhhhhh,” Wavelet moaned dramatically. She glanced down at her mentor, who was still trying to explain to a Karen that no, he could not thaw out an entire car with lukewarm water in under five minutes, and yes, the Superhero Initiative would be sure to cover all costs for the damages.

Miss Behave took the opportunity to glance over her shoulder, where her teammates were starting to get to their feet with a lot of grumbling and groaning. They had a lecture tomorrow, Miss Behave realised, and she hadn’t done the readings.

“You know,” Wavelet said hesitantly, “I think it’s safe to say we’re all just done with today. If I take him-” She jerked a thumb at her mentor below “-home, will you three call it an early night too?”

“Yeah,” said Miss Behave, thinking of her readings, “We will. We’re kinda done too.”

“M’kay, good.” Wavelet hesitated. “But don’t think we’ll let you off next time,” she added quickly. “This is just a one-time thing. Next time we’re back to fighting and there won’t be any breaks. We’re gonna actually arrest you.”

“Sure you will,” yawned Miss Behave absently. “Like you have every other time.”

Wavelet scrunched her nose but didn’t reply. With a last weary wave, she summoned a small stream of water from the air around her and slid down to collect her mentor.

Brain Freeze and Freaky finally managed to pull themselves to their feet and made their way over to Miss Behave. They had clearly heard everything. And they were arguing, as usual.

“I’m just saying,” said Brain Freeze as they approached, “That it wouldn’t be too bad a strategy. Nobody would be able to keep track of their powers and guess their weaknesses until they actually saw them in action. No point in giving away vital information in the very word people use to identify you, is there?”

“It would only last until people started seeing their powers in action,” Freaky reminded him. “Then it wouldn’t matter what they were called. Everyone would know it’s the opposite.”

“They could change their names and appearances regularly,” reasoned Brain Freeze.

“Yeah, but the branding, Brain, think about the branding,” argued Freaky. “How would anyone franchise them if they did that?”

“C’mon guys,” Miss Behave moaned. “I’ve had enough tonight. And I’ve got readings to do. Let’s just go home.”

༝ ˚ ｡⟡ ｡ ˚ ༝

Down below, Wavelet had convinced Riptide that they were done for the night and that the Initiative probably wouldn’t mind if they called in and said their new ‘strategy’ was a bust. She’d reassured him that the villains had managed to escape tonight, although it might be a while before they tried anything again.

He’d managed to calm the Karen down enough for the pair of them to slip off, but as they were about to go Wavelet caught the sound of voices drifting down from the rooftop above. She paused to listen.

“Yeah, I’m done too,” came The Freak’s voice. “Pizza at my place?”

“I’m just saying, it’s not a half-bad plan!” That was Brain Freeze. “Better than how I got MY name, anyway.”

A snort. “Brain, you chugged an entire Macca’s slushie and then got a two-minute brain freeze.” Miss Behave. Wavelet’s ears perked up. “If that isn’t deserving of a name, I don’t know what is.”

“I hate you guys.”

Wavelet listened as their footsteps slowly moved away, before turning to catch up with her mentor.

As she fell into step with him, she had to duck her head to hide her grin.

#fictober23 #writing #creative writing #writing challenge #inktober #inktober23 #inktober2023 #fictober #fictober event #oc #superhero #villain #attempted comedy

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