#//this community has been bone dry for years

[pedgito]

𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐘 | Joel Miller x reader

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summary | you've got an issue and joel's willing to solve it. after all, what are neighbors for?

author's note | this was a prompt from a meet-weird thing i saw ages ago that was originally supposed to be javi, but jo (@undercoverpena) gave me the beautiful idea of making it joel and it spurred this monster.

content warning | established friendship, caught during sex, does the apocalypse having working appliances? probably not, but for the sake of this fic distend belief i beg. oral (eating out from the back), unprotected piv, subtly cocky!joel miller, he's a good ass neighbor, okay?, unbeta'd.

word count — 5.6k

Joel’s fixed this damn machine seven times, convincing himself every time that it was the last time. Shocker, it wasn’t. This time didn’t even last a month. He’s desperate now.

He would usually haul the load all the way to the communal laundry house closer to the group of joined townhomes that housed most of the younger adults—the spry and bright-faced ones who sprung up at the mention of patrol or work, any prospect of toting a gun around with any sense of leadership. They were eager, he couldn’t say the same for himself.

He was old, weathered—years of routine he had created to get the job done and get the hell home.

And truthfully, as he tapped the wrench against the metal machine, chin tucked into his palm as he scratched at his beard, he almost complied with the idea that he would just have to tough it out. Scrounging for parts was nearly impossible—dumb luck, really. In the past several years they’ve picked this town clean, bone-dry.

He’s elbow deep inside the barrel of the dryer when he hears the knock at his door, bumping his head against the rim of it as he exits and cursing under his breath as he pushes to stand, joints creaking and popping in disapproval. 

He can smell you before he sees you, the familiar scent of fresh-baked goods following you everywhere—Joel couldn’t feel guilt for being one of the folks addicted to your cooking. 

Grains had been hard to come by since the epidemic hit, everything was tainted on a global level. It took years and years of Jackson growing its own stock of wheat for things like pie or a nice, gooey cinnamon roll to even be plausible anymore. But, they were managing well so far.

“Saved ‘em for you and Ellie,” You tell him, a small plate of still hot brownies covered with parchment paper, dawning that trademark smile that Joel has come to love, tapping his fingers against the door frame as he passes the plate off to a quickly approaching Ellie.

“Girl’s got the nose of a basset hound,” Joel looks on in amused bewilderment as Ellie throws a mouth-stuffed thanks over her shoulder, “sorry ‘bout her.”

You wave her off whole-heartedly, taking in his sweaty appearance and casual attire. You were used to him in jeans and thick flannels, not a graphic tee and pair of sleep pants. He’s almost always dressed like he had to run at a moment's notice, you weren’t even sure he owned anything different until now.

“Everything good?” You question him, a small laugh escaping your throat.

“Damn washer and dryer is out again,” Joel explains, throwing a hand vaguely over his shoulder.

“Both of them this time?” You ask, “Damn.”

“I can fix ‘em, just a matter of finding the right parts,” Joel tells you, “ looks like I’m gonna have to hand wash again.”

Joel was a friend. You helped friends. It seemed like a no-brainer really, opening your mouth without thinking it through, the kindness tumbling out despite yourself.

“Oh, you’re welcome to load yours up at mine,” You offer and Joel looks immediately apprehensive, the southern charm and well-mannered tone gearing to creep up on you.

“Now, I don’t mean to make you feel like you have to—”

“Joel, I wouldn’t offer it if I didn’t feel comfortable with it,” You remind him, “seriously—anytime, just try and bring your own detergent—and for the love of god, empty your pockets before you put ‘em in.”

Joel chuckles tiredly at that, rolling his eyes as he nods in agreement.

“Got it, of course, sweetheart.”

“I leave an extra key under the rug, so if I’m ever not home just come in,” Given that Joel was Tommy’s brother, you knew he wouldn’t be up to any trouble, “sound good?”

“Yep. Anytime—just make myself at home.” Joel confirms and you nod with an even wider smile, waving a pleasant goodbye as you trailed down the stairs and made your way to the house you inhabited next door.

Right, anytime.

Unfortunately, Joel took that a little too literally.

-

Joel managed to scrounge up the courage a day later, tumbling into his house on tired legs after a lengthy patrol up at the cabin lookout, scooping the basket up in his arms and heading out his front door, taking the short walk to your house.

The lights were off, but that wasn’t unusual. Joel knew you liked to stay late nights in the town’s mess hall, often working on prep for the following morning to make the load a little lighter and sleep in a while longer, so when he fishes under the doormat for the key he thinks nothing of it.

And as the door swings open, it is still fairly quiet. Though, he can hear your own dryer running upstairs. He’s got the layout down too, having shared more than a few nightcaps with you. Friend to friend and nothing more, even if you had always felt a little more strongly toward being affectionate. A hug or a kiss on the cheek from time to time, he never pushed you away. Joel never seemed like the type of man who openly showed affection, even toward a friend. But, he was good, reliable–most of the time.

He reaches the stairs with trepidation as the sounds grow louder and part of him wonders if by some uncanny coincidence your dryer might be growling and rumbling on its own final leg. 

The moment his hand reaches that doorknob and turns he realizes he’s made a mistake.

He’s caught you at a…bad time. Head thrown back with your mouth hung wide, whatever noise you’re making was mostly drowned out by the nagging sound of the dryer as it tore through the spin cycle but he hears the tailend of it, a soft moan of pleasure from the man who’s buried inside of you right now, both of you naked from the waist down but your breasts on full display with your shirt tucked under your neck.

“Benny?” Joel asks, slightly amused.

You lift your head at the sound and spot him, your feet nearly slipping out from under you as you scramble to push Benny away, who perks with an even more perplexed, “Joel?”

“Goddamn it, Joel,” You curse behind gritted teeth, furiously readjusting yourself, pulling your sweats back on and over your ass and your shirt down, “What are you doing here?”

Joel looks down at the basket still clinging to his hip before back up at you, wordlessly.

You sigh through your nose with a tight lipped frown, cheeks puffing out as you brushed your fingers through your hair and down—Benny was still scrambling to redress behind you, unable to pull his gaze away from Joel.

“Benny?” Joel mouths at you quietly, eyebrows raised curiously.

You walk toward the now open door slowly as Benny buttons his pants and you shoot Joel daggers with your stern gaze.

Cut it out.

Joel smirks slightly, cheek dimpling with the action as he side-steps Benny, who leans around you and kisses your cheek—it was a kind gesture but given the situation, in horrible taste. You force a polite smile and once Benny is a far enough distance you hit Joel firmly in the arm as he passes by you and into the laundry room.

You walk Benny to the door with a million thoughts racing through your head, offering a distracted goodbye before you’re locking the door and racing back upstairs with determined footsteps and Joel has already loaded his clothes in the washer, turning the knob to set the load size and time.

“Benny?” He echoes his earlier questions, “Really?”

“What? Are you judging me?”

“No—just, that kid’s had quite an obsession with you for some time now. Just…surprised is all.”

Your lips pull together in a disapproving but nonchalant frown, taking his words for the bullshit they are.

“When I said anytime that did not extend to the middle of the night, Joel.”

“You’re usually still at work,” He supplies—and really, he’s not wrong, “M’sorry. I mean that.”

“Well, now I’ve gotta deal with the fact you’ve seen me naked,” You cross your arms over your chest and lean against the doorframe and Joel’s eyes track you for a moment, smiling with amusement at the thought.

“What? You want a fair trade?” Joel teases, “‘Cause, darlin’. I don’t mind—but it was an accident. Besides, ain’t nothin’ I haven’t seen before.”

He means it in a broader sense, but you can’t help the eye roll it induces. 

“No, no,” You chew at your bottom lip, watching Joel place the empty basket on top of the washer, “I can finish that up if you want to get some sleep. I know you had a long patrol today.”

“Oh, did you?”

He’s teasing you.

“Don’t push it, old man,” Joel shakes his head at that jab and chuckles, “Ellie clued me in when she picked up some sandwiches for her and Dina earlier.

He’s not going to pass on the offer, though. He nods, rubbing a hand over his tired face.

“Jesus—just…Benny?” Joel reiterates again, “Didn’t think the kid had it in ‘em.”

“Out,” You say with an over-pronunciation as you drag his slow and progressive steps further out of your laundry room and into the hall, “or you’re off my dessert list for a month, Miller.”

Joel smiles at you knowingly, “You wouldn’t dare,” He retorts, knowing you too well.

You wouldn’t make him suffer like that. Or Ellie, who wouldn’t hesitate to murder Joel if he robbed her of that pleasure. Not literally…but, she would carry a few choice words for him.

“Seriously, though, thank you,” He nods, leaning down to press a kiss into the crown of your head—an often familiar gesture when you parted after a long night of nonsensical talk and a couple glasses of wine or whiskey, depending on how hard the day had been, “I appreciate it, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, yeah—”

“And I do apologize for…not knocking and showin’ up at such a weird time.”

You shrug, “You’re forgiven. Just…don’t give Benny a hard time. He’s a good guy.”

“You’ve got my word, darlin’.”

Joel was determined to be on his best behavior, clearly.

-

It takes Joel a couple weeks to find the parts he needs and luckily there are no more run-ins on your midnight sex-scapades, still feeling the embarrassment from the first one. Joel doesn’t even seem to remember it after a couple days, thankfully. He was bypassing it for your own benefit, truthfully. And you knew that.

Selfishly, you're glad to have your appliances back to yourself. 

They’re good, solid, reliable—until they aren’t.

Your washer shits itself mid-load and you can hear it from downstairs. A loud screeching noise before an even louder pop that has you groaning loudly because you know. You can feel it.

You can’t even bring yourself to go check, peering through the window of your kitchen and catching a fresh pot of coffee in the house across from yours, a man coming into view and his stark white shirt contrasting the black coffee cup in his hands. He catches you out of the corner of his eye and looks at you with a quizzical amusement, smile tugging at his face.

Joel was always up before the sun rose, so with the sun just creeping into the sky you’re sure that’s his third or fourth cup of coffee. He reaches over his sink and fiddles with the latch on his window before heaving it up, watching as you struggled to do that same but eventually managed.

“You run outta coffee again?” He asks, sipping at the bitter, black coffee in his mug.

“No,” You reply quickly, slightly exasperated as you chew at your bottom lip, debating how to pop the question and feeling nervous under Joel’s intense gaze, curiously wondering if he’s still picturing you naked. He’s never explicitly mentioned it since, but you have caught him in the act.

Wandering eyes, gazes catching when your back is turned for half a second as you bend down or move in a way that exposes too much skin.

“My washer broke,” You cut to the chase and Joel chuckles at how comical it is, in hindsight.

Was this karma? It was definitely karma. 

You’ve never asked Joel for anything—despite your often bouts of kindness toward him you never expected anything in return, not even a favor.

“Doors open,” Joel nods toward his front door out of view, an invitation like you offered him.

You didn’t even hesitate, pushing the window close and bounding up the stairs.

-

You’re already loading your things into his washer before he appears around the corner, peeking his head in, coffee cup still in hand as he takes a few more steps and leans against the wall beside the washing machine and your eyes glance at him briefly before you continue moving the clothes, watching him watch you from behind the rim of his mug.

“I can start them and come back,” You tell him, “so I won’t be lingering around here all day.”

“No Benny?”

You stand up as you close the washer, deadpan stare pointed in his direction.

“You can be such a nosy neighbor, you know that?”

Joel shrugs, a smug smile covered behind his sip of coffee.

“It was just a few times. Besides he’s…too much for me.”

You turn the dial to start the load and it rumbles to life with a simple press of a button.

“You wanna talk about it?”

It wasn’t completely unnatural for you two—you knew quite a bit about Joel now: his life before, his work, his daughter…all things that come with trust and time. He’s waited patiently for you and you’ve given him peeks into your life, but nothing like this.

“It’s a long story, Joel.”

“Got time,” He smiles slightly, “I’ll go grab you a cup of coffee—sit down.”

You look around briefly, not a chair in sight. So, you raise yourself up just enough that you can slide your ass over the top of the washer, bare feet dangling off the floor and you wait, the subtle and quiet shake from the beginning of the load process keeping the awkward silence at bay.

Joel turns the corner a few minutes later with your cup, made up just to your liking and you nod with a gentle smile, taking the cup from his hand and allowing yourself a few generous sips.

“So—that night, you caught us,” You can laugh at the instances now, so you do in a soft, clipped manner, “it wasn’t the first—it had been a month by that point and he just caught me by surprise, showed up that night and things just got a little out of hand.”

Joel’s eyebrows raise in interest but he urges you to continue, leaning against the wall in front of you now, resting his mug on the shelf just above his head as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“He’s a good guy, don’t get me wrong—but I don’t do serious…I can’t, now with how things are. And I know a lot of people think the opposite, seize the moment and all that shit,” You sigh, a deep and heavy sound that expands and releases from your chest, “he was already talking about moving in, the idea of us having kids—so that night I just tried to distract him.”

“With sex? Seems a little…counter-productive, don’t you think?”

“Don’t judge me, Joel,” You warn him but it’s edged with a playfulness that Joel recognizes. You didn’t have a mean, deceptive bone in your body and Joel knew that from the first conversation he had with you.

“I needed him to shut up,” You groan at the thought of the conversation as it replays in your mind, “I’m trying to wash my clothes, he’s talking to me about babies. I do not want kids, Joel. Ever. At least none that are biologically mine. Who would want to bring a kid into this world?”

Well…Tommy. The thought comes to you after the words have already left your mouth and your heart sinks into your stomach, looking at Joel apologetically.

“Sweetheart, don’t even try to apologize. Ain’t nothing wrong with it.”

“It makes me sound horrible, I know but—”

“I’ve done my time—it’s none of my business how others choose to live. Besides, I’m pushing sixty, I don’t have to worry about all that…sorry, I’m not trying to be crude here.”

You nod knowingly with a smirk tugging at your lips, taking another sip of coffee before handing the mug off for him to place it next to his own, ready to slide off of the washer before Joel interjects with another question that catches you off guard.

“He treat you right, at least?”

You tilt your head with that same knowing smirk, pushing Joel away at his hip with your foot as he leans up from his position against the wall—Joel’s never flirted, always promptly skirted around the issue and went about it more gentlemanly. He’s not abrasive and straightforward like most of the men in Jackson, but damn did he know how to make you feel special.

Undivided attention, constant subtle compliments, giving up some much-needed sleep for a simple late night drink with you—part of you was too terrified to make your own move and make it clear just how badly you wanted just a small taste of him.

You’ve heard whispering, minimal talk from a few of the women in town. Joel didn’t often make his rounds but when he did, he left an impression. And you had every right to be jealous, because with him standing in front of you now—you knew it would be easy to say no and he would fix you right up, finally crossing that line that he’s been carefully dancing around for a few years.

“He’s a bit…timid,” You shrug, “and he doesn’t really…”

The air lingers and the side of Joel’s mouth pulls up—you don’t have to say it.

“Joel, don’t do that,” You shove at his shoulder as he approaches you, his hands pressing into the contraption you’re on, curled around the metal, “—he’s just…eager, but not in a good way.”

There’s a glint in Joel’s eye that leads you to believe he’s not thinking about Benny’s less than experienced sex life, feeling the sudden jitteriness from the coffee as your chest rises with a deep, shaky breath and Joel eyes the time over your shoulder.

Forty-five minutes and some change, plus the time to dry because Joel already knows you aren’t going to trouble yourself with walking the damp laundry through this cold, muggy weather.

“So, no then?” Joel asks.

He could have treated you better, sure. But, he wasn’t the worst.

But, the way Joel is staring at you knows makes everything and everyone dull in comparison.

You shake your head in agreement, chewing at the inside of your bottom lip as your hands fall to your lap, his hands ncreasingly closer to the tights covering your legs, suddenly feeling his thumb graze your hip. You both glance down at the action and your breathing halts, watching as his right hand slowly engulfs your thigh, fingers digging into the soft material and dimpling your skin underneath, his thumb only a few centimeters from dipping into the inside of your thigh.

They part on their own, welcoming Joel in wordlessly and his left hand echoes the other. His face is level with your own, staring down at your lips briefly before meeting your eyes and you’ve seen that look before—the adoration when he thought you weren’t watching, secretly you had become good at catching those glances, but Joel wasn’t trying to hide it now.

And it quickly dawns on you in the moment—he was jealous. Of Benny. Or really, any man that had come before him. But, he was using him as the scapegoat.

Honestly, you couldn’t even care.

“You want someone to treat you right?” He speaks softly and if you weren’t so close you wouldn’t have heard him, “I got you, sweetheart. I swear.”

He’s not looking at you anymore, eyes dragging down the bridge of your nose to your lips again. But, you are looking at him, flooded with that tricky feeling that creeps up on you when you want things you know you shouldn’t.

“Joel, I told you—I don’t do serious,” And you hold your breath for the response, wondering if that would send this moment crumbling to dust, but Joel doesn’t miss a step.

“Good for you,” Joel dotes, “neither do I.”

Then he’s on you, the press of his lips in a heated kiss sends you tumbling back, caught by the warm slide of his palm over your back to pull you in, throwing your arms over his shoulders as he pulls back briefly, just enough for you to open your mouth to speak, but his tongue finds its way inside and the words fade away.

Just friendly, my ass—you think.

If you had known he kissed like this—you would’ve jumped at the opportunity months ago; a night spent drinking too many glasses of wine and laughing over some movie far before your time, but not his. 

He was so entranced, giving you all the details, but you couldn’t help giggling over it, too touchy to be considered friendly.

You’d both cut it short quickly when Ellie popped in halfway through the movie, and beyond that, it never grew.

Until now.

“Sweet,” Joel notes with a subtle smile, his hand dwarfing the size of your neck as his fingers wrapped around the column of your throat, holding you firmly in place as he maneuvered you toward and away from the kiss as he pleased, swallowing every tiny moan that escaped your lips when his other hand squeezed at your thigh just a little too hard.

“All that sugar,” In your coffee, the taste lingering on your lips and he licks around them teasingly, pulling away briefly to look at you, your eyebrows raising in question as the gears turn in his head, “—you still with me?”

“I’m just wonderin’ if you’re okay with this,” Joel speaks candidly, his eyes trained on his thumb as it rubs against the middle of your throat, traveling up under your chin and tipping your head up slightly, watching as you swallowed, “before I take this further, jus’ need to know.”

You nod jerkily, not even a second of hesitation. 

“You would have known the moment you kissed me, Joel.”

In turn, Joel nods slowly before he speaks, stealing the air from your chest.

“Alright then, pull these down for me,” He tugs gently at the material clinging to your thighs before both of his hands find the spot behind your knees and tug until your feet hit the floor, “and push that pretty little ass out for me.”

The absurdity of this language on his tongue makes you giggle but abide in an instant, struggling slightly as the material bunches at your ankles and Joel helps you the rest of the way, tossing your pants aside before he’s kneeling despite how his body protests, too eager to give you a taste of the pleasure you deserve and he’s grabbing the cheeks of your ass and squeezing them between his hands before he’s leaning up to bite playful at the soft flesh.

He groans quietly against your skin, the press of his aquiline nose against your ass as his fingers fold around the string of your underwear and pull, dropping them down to your ankles and off and then his tongue is flat against the seam of your cunt, gasping as you fall forward and your own fingers clawing against nothing.

“Joel!” You squeak out as his fingers dig hard into your ass, forcing you up on your tiptoes as devours, licking into your cunt as it quivers around his tongue. 

Your hand pressed against the wall in front of you to keep your chest from hitting the washer, feeling your pussy tighten around the finger that enters alongside his expert tongue, a soft groan erupting out of him from behind you. That smug motherfucker was attempting a teasing huh under his breath as he busied himself with the task of eating you out from the back and you couldn’t even think straight. 

‘C’mon, baby,” He coos between his alternating licks and slurps of the heady slick that dripped from your cunt, “come all over my mouth, let me taste that sugar.”

It’s absurd, the way he’s speaking to you now. Your eyes squeeze shut as his thumb finds your clit amongst the chaos of his tongue and fingers, face heating up at how noisy your cunt sounded over the dull shake of the washer and Joel’s satisfied moans, occasionally massaging at the back of your thigh when your legs shake with the creeping feeling of your impending orgasm.

“Oh,” You squeal, reaching behind you to dig your fingers into his hair, panting out in desperation, “—fuck, don’t stop! Joel, right—right there,” and then glance you take back at him, his eyes peeking open from his position below, on his knees and dutiful to you and you alone, well…

It sends you tumbling over the edge as his thumb rubs over your clit quickly, soothing you through the aftermath as he laps up the mess you’ve made all over yourself, dragging his tongue along the inside of your thigh because if you knew anything about Joel, he didn’t waste a meal. 

And you were just about the finest he’s tasted.

You clear your throat as you rest your feet flat on the floor, feeling the faint quake in your legs as Joel rises slowly, forcing you to swallow down a giggle as he winces and he can see it on your face.

“Worth it,” He excuses himself, “don’t look at me like that.”

“No old man jokes?” You sound sad and Joel can’t believe it.

He shakes his head.

But, the smile that breaks out on your face quickly diminishes any comeback he has.

You begin to push him away with a hand gripped in his shirt, carefully avoiding the obvious bulge in his sweats as you reach for your tights, ready to redress and drop to your own knees as a favor but his fingers are wrapping around your wrist, pulling your attention back to him.

“I meant it,” Joel tells you, tilting his head to catch your gaze.

You smile wide and tilt your head to mirror him, “I think you proved your point—Benny is a pathetic man who doesn’t know how to make me come, blah blah…”

“My job ain’t done if you’re still thinkin’ about him, darlin’.”

His eyebrows raise in challenge.

Okay, you’re game.

Wordlessly you allow the hands at your hip that guide you toward the front of the joined appliances, his fingers sliding under your top until you get the hint to pull it off, your breasts bouncing free from the shirt—the few bras you had were already in the wash, big deal.

Joel chuckles and stops for a moment, admiring the sight of your breasts for the second time that month, albeit more openly this time. He reaches forward and rubs his thumb along your nipple, watching the nub harden under his touch and you bite at your bottom lip, eye fluttering closed at how sensitive they were to touch, something other men never took the time to notice.

“You like that?” Joel asks with a creeping grin.

You nod, watching as he squeezed your tits in his hands, showing your nipples ample attention as he circled them with his thumb before leaning down slightly and swiping his tongue over the hardened nubs, sucking your breast into his mouth and his eyes peer up, gauging your reaction which quickly developed from a soft giggle to a loud moan.

“Clothes,” You breath out, “off—if you still have a point to prove.”

A point that you wanted proven. Hard.

Joel pulls away and yanks his shirt over his head, allowing you an unobscured view of the mix of muscled shoulders and his softened stomach, running your hand over the patch of hair at the center of his chest and down, right along his hips until his own fingers hook around the fabric and pull his sweats and boxers down in one motion, his cock catching against the edge of his waistband before it bobs back up toward his stomach.

You find yourself smiling despite yourself, forgetting for a moment that Joel was standing there and watching you, feeling your mouth water at the sight of him hard and leaking at how just getting a small taste of you had turned him on that much, precum leaking slowly from the tip and he wraps his hand around himself, other hand tapping at your chin to drag your attention back up to his face, reminding you he was still there.

“Got somethin’ on your mind, sweetheart?”

You shake your head furiously, “No, no—no, nothing. Just, uh—”

“I’ll start slow,” He tells you and with the size of him, thick and girthy in ways you’ve only imagined or pictured in your head, it’s daunting, “are you still alright with all of this?”

Your face softens and you nod, appreciating the repeated check-ins, the need for confirmation, but it pulls at your heart as you wonder why he feels the need to ask so much. As if he was fearful you would change your mind on a dime—Joel was fine with that, but he was more worried about the change in dynamic. Thankfully, you were determined for that not to be the case.

“I’m pretty tough,” You shrug, a playful smile gracing your face.

Joel nods absently as his fingers drag along your waist before catching behind your knee and pulling it up over his hip, both of your eyes dragging down to his cock as he tugged at himself a few times, his brow furrowed as he spread your lips apart with the head, dipping his hips down slightly to catch against your hole before he pushes in slow, one solid stroke that steals the sound from your throat and transfers to his own. Joel groans out softly as he pushes into you, his hands gravitating toward your face and wrapping around the sides of your neck, tilting your head back to mouth at your skin, his tongue dragging along your collarbone before sucking and nipping gently at your skin.

“Don’t I know it,” Joel responds after a while, “find something to hold onto.”

Your soft giggle of excitement shoots down to your core and your fingers wrap around the edges of the washer and Joel pulls back swiftly before he’s snapping his hips back into you before repeating the process several times, the jolt of the machine hitting the concrete wall behind you drowned out by your loud moans, quickly swallowed up by Joel’s lips as he pulls your mouth to his, breathing into it with every sharp snap of his hips.

“Harder,” You beg, biting at his bottom lip as he groans, using his fingers intertwined into the hair at the nape of your neck now to pull your head back and he pulls his hips back quick, bottoming himself out inside of you so forcefully you feel like your legs might give out, his cock rubbing against your already too sensitive g-spot and continuously finding a way to bring you closer and closer to the edge, “fuck—yes, yes. Joel, oh my god—”

“Yeah,” Joel goads you, his eyes drawn closed as he tries to keep his own orgasm at bay, “give it to me, baby—wanna watch you make a mess on my cock, alright?”

Easy, you laugh airily and feel the instinctive squeeze of your walls around Joel’s cock as he pulls your face to his, foreheads pressed against each other as he angles his hips back and slams into you one last time before you come undone, head falling back in a similar position to how he caught you a few weeks ago, this time for him. 

Your grab for his shoulders suddenly, blunt fingernails digging into his skin and he takes a few harsh breaths through his nose before he’s pulling out, hand grasping his cock as he jerked himself a few seconds before he comes in thick, short spurts against your stomach, squeezing at the head of his cock as he drags it through the mess he’s made.

His expression is nothing short of mesmerizing, mouth hung open just enough that his tongue can drag over his bottom lip before his teeth are taking its place, eyes drawn to your skin.

Wordlessly, he pulls away on his own pair of shaky legs as he reaches for his wrinkled, worn shirt and brings it to your stomach, cleaning up the mess with a faint smile on his face.

“You know, I think it might take me a bit to fix my washer,” You tease, “so—I might be over here bothering you for a while.”

Joel peers up at you, his head still tucked down as he wiped at your stomach.

“Fine with me.”

Then he’s peering over your shoulder, watching as the washer time inched toward zero, dinging behind you. You turn around, letting your leg fall from his hip finally, ass brush against him in the process and Joel can’t help the way his eyes refuse to leave the sight of it.

Only feeling slightly guilty when you catch him this time, not giving him the pass you usually do.

“We’ve still got about an hour left if I dry them here,” You tell him, “anything else you wanna prove?”

Joel’s tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek, eyes dragging up toward the upper level of his house before flicking back toward you, a smile plastered on your face.

“I can think of a few things.”

divider creds: @/cafekitsune

[venusandsaturnsrings]

The school year finally ended... I hate college SO much :( but I am alive!! I beg for some crumbs of thoughts on Sunday... -chubby darling anon who is very much alive and finally got a mitsuri scale figure <3

putting all of my other fics, blurbs, and asks on PAUSE for this!! congrats!! no more school foorrr… 3ish months!! after dropping out of uni, i’ve been finally considering going back myself for phlebotomy!! canadas health situation is lack lustre rn and the course is less than one year + paid practicum + immediate job placement which is kinda sweet… CONGRATS ON THE FIGURE TOO!! i recently (like a month and a half ago) procured the hatsune miku jirai kei subculture fashion figure and i cannot stress how pretty she is <3 sits on my pc right now bc my shelves are full… ANYWAYS… love you!!

includes: silly sunday hcs, potential story spoilers, maybe ooc im still feeling him out, praise, degradation, riding crops, his hands…, and gender neutral reader!!

very poignantly the hopeless romantic type. he’s always functioned as a ‘singularity’ of sorts and over the years developed a certain fondness of it, even if it hurts. it’s worth noting he vividly reminds me of the line ‘i miss the comfort in being sad,’ from nirvanas ‘Frances Farmer Will Have Her Revenge on Seattle.’ he’s the type of partner to always be stuck in that self-absorbed martyr mindset a little bit.

pragmatic to a fault. Sunday is deeply a skeptic, take his departure from the harmony in favour of the order, as an example. it’s cool because it means you’ll never have to worry about any technicalities but it also means he has a hard time letting go of control or being spontaneous.

very into more subtle romantic gestures and an absolute gentleman. you’ll have flowers at your door at least once a week and he makes sure to take all of your preferences into consideration when planning dates (he will be the one planning). keeps his hand on your lower back most of the time, the waist is far too scandalous!!

not a big texter. he prefers speaking face to face and will call if he can’t come see you. that said, he’ll make sure to like or respond to all of the silly pictures and messages you send, even if it’s a dry ‘haha’ or just a heart. occasionally, you’ll find that he’s sent you a letter, ask about and he’ll shrug and say he simply wanted something more heartfelt if he’s to communicate written. he’s got a special stamp to seal the ones he sends you.

grabs your phone when you go to show him something. no explanation i just feel it in my bones.

although he’s no singer, he’s still a classically trained musician. i imagine he was taught the violin but went on to learn his preferred instrument, the harp, himself. he’s a bit shy about playing so rather than asking, just wait until he thinks it’s late and you’re not around to hear; he’s got quite the set of fingers.

…speaking of fingers, my bread and butter, he’s beyond skilled with playing you. while he enjoys getting down to business, getting to leisurely spread you open and thrum against all your nerves gets him going. could spend hours having you laid out, in his lap, on the floor, wherever, just gently coaxing you open, wet, and pliant for himself.

off of that, he likes you best worn down to soft edges and weak desperation. getting to play the saviour, making you come undone, has him stiff in his pants.

lots of sweet praise and subtle degradation. things like, “you want to be good for me, don’t you my sweet?,” or, “now, now, don’t get greedy on me. be patient, silly thing, and i’ll appease all of your foolish whims,” annddd, “come now, you’ve been so well for me, angel, don’t ruin that with any useless whines.”

he’s not one for being too harsh against you but push the right buttons and you’ll get a ‘dumb’ or ‘stupid’ here and there. Sunday doesn’t curse but he knows his way around how to make you feel inferior and looked down upon.

he likes the power play of staying fully and pristinely clothed while your completely nude, save for maybe a pretty collar he’s got you belled with. if you’re real trouble, say maybe a no good criminal causing problems on Penacony and once arrested you’re at his disposal and oh so pretty, he’ll find a nice muzzle to fix you with.

strikes, no pun intended, me as the type to have an affinity for riding crops over anything else for punishments. you’ll get the same sugarcoated degradation while he comments on how you’re not even good enough to be so close to his gloved hand that he just must use the crop!! (he likes the pretty bruises it leaves).

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐀𝐬 𝐈𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐬 - 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫'𝐬 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐝

pairing: pre outbreak!joel miller x f!reader, one sided tommy miller x f!reader

series summary: After your grandfather’s passing, you find yourself moving into his home in Texas. You meet the Millers; Tommy, his older brother Joel and his daughter Sarah. With time, you and Tommy become close friends and Sarah visits you often. But Joel…Joel keeps his distance. The reason for this is due to one crucial fact you don’t know but he does; Tommy has a crush on you. Which means you’re off limits no matter what. But as your own feelings for Joel grow, things start to get more and more complicated.

word count: 2.6k

chapter summary: you decide to host a New Year's party and when Joel shows up soaked to the bone thanks to the rain, you lead him to the bathroom to dry him up.

warnings: piv, secret relationship, dirty talk, joel getting really creative with the shower head

a/n: let's just consider this little fic an alternative version of the question "what if the outbreak didn't happen plus tommy still doesn't know about you and joel" Normally he would learn before outbreak day no matter if the outbreak happens or not but I wanted to keep the sneaking around bit for this one soooo

I would also like to thank everyone who has been following the story! Every comment is precious to me and I appreciate it more than you realize. I'm so happy people are still enjoying it, I have big plans for this series and I will be finishing it spring time. I hope the new year brings you all peace and happiness, happy new year everyone!

**divider by the talented @saradika-graphics xx

Rain washes away everything. It washes away the dirt of the street, rejuvenates the drying trees, makes the grass greener. In Austin rain truly is a blessing. Every living thing hungers for it. To you, it symbolizes the new beginnings and the losses. You half listen to the chatter between Olivia and Tommy as you peek out the window, smooth drops cascading down the surface. For some, the rain wasn’t an ideal weather to have during New Year’s, but to you, it only made the atmosphere cozier. 

The crowded party buzzes around you, people laughing, dancing, and sharing stories. You can't help but notice familiar faces from the community seamlessly mingling with Tommy and Olivia's friends, since you were still relatively new you didn’t know many people other than neighbors and asked them to invite people. The room echoes with the joy of New Year's Eve.

It’s been a painful yet surprising year, to say the least. The loss of your grandfather, the unexpected move, the journey to find yourself. . . all of it had been a bit much, a bit daunting. However, as your mind drifts off to the new room in the old house you realize that some things are truly different. You have people who care about you now. You have the Miller’s, Olivia, your art. All in all, it had also been an amazing year. 

The thought makes guilt gnaw at your insides. Tommy still doesn’t know about you and Joel, you were supposed to tell him. . .Joel was supposed to tell him but alas neither of you found the courage to come clean. The past couple of months had been so blissful with him. Neither of you wanted to give that up. 

The faint smell of cinnamon reaches your nose and you find yourself smiling even though you’re only slightly worried. 

Joel’s late. 

“He’s fine,” you hear Tommy whine, turning around you see him rolling his eyes. “He’s a big boy, sweetheart. He’ll be okay in a little bit of rain.” 

Big boy, indeed. 

“Where is he anyway?” Olivia asks, stuffing her mouth full of crackers. 

“He went to drop off Sarah—and there’s plenty of food, you’re not off to war you know. You can eat one at a time.” 

Olivia slapped Tommy’s shoulder and took a seat next to him, “Bit weird she’s not gonna be here with us.” 

“Sarah’s been beggin’ Joel for months. Finally, he caved when she pulled the ‘you know how hard it’s been for me to make friends’ card. Poor man didn’t stand a chance.” 

“So,” you continue, sitting across from them. “They spent Christmas together, just the two of them. That was Joel’s deal. And she’s doing her own laundry for two months.” 

“Damn, I hope the party is worth it.” Olivia gives you a mischievous grin, her eyes lighting up as they meet your gaze. "You know," she starts, leaning in slightly, "I have this friend, Jake. . .” 

You cut her off, "I'm good, Liv. I'm not looking for anything right now."

"Oh, come on! He's sweet, handsome, and he's got a great sense of humor. You two would hit it off."

Your gaze quickly shifts between Tommy and Olivia. His expression tightens ever so slightly, and you catch the subtle change. Olivia, oblivious, or at least choosing to be, continues.

"Just imagine it. A romantic date, a nice dinner, maybe a movie... He’ll treat you right and if he doesn’t I’ll break his arms."

"Liv, really, I appreciate it, but I'm not ready for that kind of thing. Besides, I'm pretty content with how things are right now."

Olivia narrows her eyes. "It’s been a year, you’re ready for one date. Trust me." Then, much to your horror, she turns to Tommy and gestures to you. “Back me up Tommy, isn’t she ready?” 

Tommy clears his throat, looking uncomfortable as ever. He parts his lips and worry knots itself deep in your stomach. 

Luckily, you’re saved by a slightly drunk woman you don’t recognize and let out a break of relief. She situates herself next to Tommy, throwing a hand over his broad shoulder, she pulls him close and whispers something in his ear, fingers playfılly dancing over the fabric of his shirt. Olivia rolls her eyes but honestly, you’re happy and grateful for the distraction. 

You’re saved a second time when the door opens, the sudden sound of rain drawing your attention. You smile instinctively upon seeing Joel, which is a bit rude you figure, because he looks miserable. His leather jacket is dripping, hair sticking to his forehead. Just how hard was it pouring outside? Must’ve picked up when you, Olivia, and Tommy were chatting along. 

Joel, with dropped shoulders and head, spots Tommy first and then you. He makes his way, the defeated walk making him look like a teenager. Tommy bursts out laughing when he sees his older brother, the sound deepens the furrow between Joel’s brows. 

“You look like shit!” Tommy says and you notice Olivia desperately trying to hide her laughter behind her palm. 

“It’s rainin’ cats and dogs you jackass.” Your eyes move up gradually up his body. The rain had darkened the color of his shirt, the flimsy fabric sticking to the planes of his chest. Heat rises to your cheeks. “Is there anythin’ I can burrow sweet tea? Maybe somethin’ that August left behind?” 

“What?” you clear your throat, blinking, you meet his gaze. His knowing smile is enough to set fire between your legs. “Sorry didn’t quite catch that.” 

“Shirt,” he says, lips curling. “Unless you want me drippin’ all over your couch, somethin’ dry would be nice.” He raises a brow when you continue to stare at him, dazed. “Maybe your brother left behind somethin’?” 

Oh god, he’s spelling every word slow and careful meaning he definitely knows you’ve been ogling him. You get up quickly, ignoring the proximity between your bodies, you’d expected him to take a step back but he was as still as stone. You’re like an open book, hopefully, the pretty lady perched next to Tommy is enough to distract him. 

“Yeah, sure,” you answer, breathing a bit heavily. You don’t need to say anything else as you begin to part the crowd, leading him upstairs to the bathroom. You can feel him right behind you, the heat radiating off of him warming your back. 

Finally reaching the bathroom, you push him inside and quickly close the door, leaning against it, you let out a breath. 

However, you don’t get to breathe in when you feel a pair of lips against your own. You shudder as his soaked chest presses against yours, hands cupping your waist, Joel guides your hips towards him. He’s hard as a rock. He swallows the soft voices climbing up your throat and grinds roughly against you. 

“Fuck, honey,” he rasps, dragging his lips to your cheek. “You really know how to get a man goin’.” 

“I didn’t even do anything.” 

“You starin’ at me like you’re about to devour me ain’t nothin’.” he nips at your neck, your body burning at the sharpness. “I’ve missed you too.” 

“Don’t remember saying that,” you tease and thread your finger through the wet locks. “You’re cold.”

“You should warm me up then.” 

You slip your hands under his shirt, not missing the way he shudders against you. He brings his lips back up, only an inch away, but refuses to close the distance. You keep stroking him. Warm palms moving up and down against cold and damp skin. Joel’s forehead drops onto yours. 

“You do realize there’s a party going on outside right? A part that includes your brother, who we are keeping us a secret from.” 

“For someone worried about the crowd you’re doin’ a whole lot to tempt me, darlin’.” he kisses your jaw. “You look beautiful by the way.” 

You’re happy to hear that because he was the only reason why you decided to wear a low-cut shimmering silver dress. You had also opted to wear an almost sheer pair of black stockings underneath, giving your legs a lovely glow.  

“Why thank you, kind sir.” 

“I love it when you call me sir,” he groans and presses harder against you. Your eyes flutter closed but despite it, you can feel his gaze taking in the bathroom. “You fancied up the place quite a bit.” 

A hoarse laughter escapes your throat, “You should thank the crowd downstairs for the fancy towels and the smell of vanilla.” 

“You know. . . now that I’m thinkin’ about it it ain’t fair I’m the only one wet.” 

“Believe me, Joel, I am soaking wet.” 

“That’s not what I meant sunshine,” he gives you a lopsided smile before tugging you towards the tub. “Come’re.”

You wordlessly follow him into the porcelain, your curiosity piqued. His fingertips trace up your waist and find the hidden zipper, slowly, he tugs it down, the sound of it inaudible from the beating of your heart. The dress pools under your knees and your gaze is fixed on him as you step out of the soft fabric. While you’re taking in the sight of his hair curling on his forehead, he takes in the sight of the soft contours of your body. He presses a soft kiss against your stomach, a shudder crawls up your spine. 

“Turn around.” He orders, voice dropping to a whisper. 

“What about my stockings?” 

“I’ll take care of’em.” 

You brace your hand against the wall, sticking your ass out, you smile when you hear the hitch of his breath. His knuckles follow the curve of your spine and a second later you hear a loud rip. 

“Joel—“

“I’ll get you new ones.” You feel him reaching up and at the same time, he slides your panties to the side. He hums. “You are wet.”

“Told you so.”

You hear a soft click, you’re barely able to register the sound as he begins to dip between your folds and stroke. Somehow your brain whispers to you that he’s adjusting the pressure of the shower head. “What are you doing back there?” 

“Remember when you told me how much you enjoyed the different settings when I changed the pipes and the shower head?” You honestly didn’t. “Well, I haven’t, darlin’.” 

He turns on the water, away from you thankfully, but you still tense at how cold it is as it gathers at the bottoms of your feet. 

“I know baby, I know. It’ll get warmer soon.” 

And it does. Your body relaxes, the subtle warmth prompting the arch of your back. Joel gently pushes your legs apart, pushing the shower head between your legs directly onto your—

“Oh god—Joel, fuck—“

“Such a filthy mouth for such a good girl,” he says into your ear. “Bet you’ve done this before sweetheart.” 

You had, well. . . You tried. But it hadn’t felt as good at this. A single forceful stream of insistent water massages your clit. The arousal that pulses between your legs is washed away down your thighs. Without even realizing you start to hold your breath and embarrassingly enough you roll your hips. 

You need more. You need him. 

Your legs part wider, trembling as you try to tell him but instead of sentences needy whimpers echo from your throat. You feel his smile on the back of your neck, teeth scraping your warm skin every time your hips twitch. He starts moving the showerhead and your entire body goes numb. It’s so much but so little at the same time. 

“You’re being loud, sweetheart.” You shake your head, trying desperately to bite back the moans. “But maybe you like the idea of our friends hearing how needy you get for me.” 

You clench at the words, nails scraping against the smooth surface of the wall. 

“Please. . .” 

“Please what?” 

Damn him. 

“Fuck me,” you gasp out. “Fuck me please—I’m. . . I’m going insane.” As if to demonstrate your words, you grind down until the shower head spreads your folds, a groan reverberating in your throat as the water fills every inch. “Just fuck me, give me your cock.” 

“What if I say I want you to come like this?” 

You don’t even think as you answer, “I’ll cry.” 

He stills like the calm before the storm then bursts out laughing. Some logical part of your brain is urging you to shush him, remind him that people might hear but you can’t when he sounds so joyful. His deep voice full of life. 

“Fine, sweet tea, you win. Wouldn’t want you to cry durin’ New Year’s.” 

Joel turns off the water and you turn, facing him as he does. His eyes widen when you cup his cheeks, he’s so warm now, so soft from the steam. “Let’s head to my bedroom,” you mutter. “Auggie’s spare clothes are there anyway.” 

His hands softly land on your hips, thumbs moving over the waistband of your stockings. “You sure?” 

“I want to see you when you bury yourself into me.” 

That’s all he needs to hear before dragging you out of the bathroom. You both hurry, the sound of the party still lively downstairs. Luckily your bedroom is close to the bathroom so there isn’t much risk as you follow him out half naked, your sparkling dress in hand. 

As soon as you both enter the bedroom, his lips are on yours, pushing you towards the bed until the back of your knees hits the edge and you fall. He follows your dive, his weight pleasant on top of you. 

Feeling numb with want, you quickly tug his shirt off of him, and his hands fumble with his belt. Joel doesn’t even bother to take his pants off completely. He frees himself with one hand and pushes in without a word. You both moan, mouths inches apart from each other. Neither of you breaks away from the eye contact. It’s so intimate like this. Your cheeks burning at how naked you feel having him witness the parting of your lips, the flutter of your gaze. 

You feel so full, so complete. The slow drag of his cock making you see starts every time he presses forward, brushing against something devastating inside you with every move. Tears gather in your lashes and he kisses them away. Then he drags his lips down to your neck, sucking at nipping. Your breath catches in your throat, your back arching as you clench around him. He groans into your skin, thrusts becoming shallow and quick. 

“I’m not gonna last, honey,” he rasps. “Tell me where.” 

Just as he says that his hand slides between your bodies, finding your throbbing clit. He draws quick circles, your muscles constricting immediately. At the very last second Joel covers your mouth with his own, muffling your cry as you gush around him, insides twitching and pulsing. He swallows the sounds hungrily. “Where?” he growls against your lips. 

“On my pussy,” you gasp. “Want to feel you there.” 

He tugs at your bottom lip with his teeth before moving away, you spread your legs further, pushing yourself apart with two fingers. Your mouth waters at the sight of him. His hand wrapped tightly around his cock as he strokes himself. It doesn’t take him long to come undone. Your eyes roll when you feel it. The vicious spurt of his come, the way it drips. It feels like it lasts forever. He comes and comes and comes— painting you with his seed. 

When he’s done, he slips his softening cock back inside, pushing himself deeper into you. You both whimper in unison, and he nuzzles the crook of your neck.  You begin to play with the ends of his hair, nails scratching the back of his neck. 

“Happy New Year, Joel.” 

“Happy New Year, sweet tea.” 

[pokemonshelterstories]

this might be a little long so bear with me.

I have a Xatu called Tokko (for the sound he makes when he clicks his beak on his favorite plastic cup) who I raised since he was a Natu. Over the years Tokko has done strange things since he's evolved into a Xatu, ranging from expected Xatu behaviors - like standing on the roof of my apartment complex or in my backyard once we moved and intently observing the sun, meditating for tens of hours at a time, to less expected but aligned to partner Pokémon behaviors like using Psycho Shift to steal my colds and high fevers, using Rain Dance to create a localized storm when he didn't want me going to work and (psychically?) turning down the TV when it's too loud for me while he's indulging in nature documentaries and old movies.

I happen to work as a court reporter. I trained for a long time to properly use my stenotype and as it happens, Tokko came into my life around the time I was finishing up my prep for my certificate course to properly enter the profession. Since, Tokko has known that my stenotype is invaluable to my job. I've been professionally doing this for years now, and Tokko has been observing me more and more since I started going at it in real court cases. He's even started insisting on coming to court with me after an incident with a particularly irate defendant, for which I was thankfully issued a permit. He now flanks me basically at all times in court, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, he's calm, typically meditates and does nothing or simply observes the proceedings. He even teleported my stenotype repair kit from home to me so I can fix it up before recess ended.

Then last week happened. You'll understand why I'm anon now. I woke up to a rainstorm that morning, an obviously manufactured one when I looked out the window and saw the neighbor's house dry as bone. Tokko was just doing his usual bit of standing at the window and staring out at the rain like he's in a 60s album cover, but this is typical for him not wanting me to go to work, so I just gave him a pat on the head and told him bills don't pay themselves. As I'm sitting down with my freshly made instant espresso, Tokko suddenly teleports my stenograph onto the table in front of me, then slowly, ominously floats over and intently stares at it, like he wants me to read it. I take a paper out of it and am mortified by what I see; a perfect, court-procedure conscious record of a trial. To my knowledge, Xatu are known to be highly intelligent when properly raised and educated and I spared little expense in doing that. What scared me was that the record was of a case that hasn't been seen in court. It was for a case due in two days. Tokko probably sensed that I was scared by this and immediately started doing his little apology dance that he usually does when he knocks something over.

Timestamps, notes about witness behavior, down to the exact wording in the evidence used to prove the defendant's innocence, all appearing multiple times, all of it flawlessly written out with only an occasional grammatical mistake. And lo and behold, two days later it all plays out exactly as reported by Tokko.

What do I do. What CAN I do? Do I just keep this a secret forever? I'm not gonna experiment with future sight and I'm not very keen on punishing Tokko for what he probably only thought was helping me with work! I already communicated to him that using my stenograph without asking is rude, so hopefully he won't be giving me early morning heart palpitations anymore, but he's been insisting on trying to use the Stenograph more and more often, he seems very taken by it. I don't know if it's a toy to him now, like some Incineroar might steal home appliances they like and hold onto them just because, so taking the implications into account, would taking the stenograph away from him be like depriving him of enrichment? He only seems to want to use it when it's on, and he pretty much only seems to type out future things.

Any advice MORE THAN welcome

please

//hey so i think this is a REALLY cool story you've come up with and you've captured some really interesting vibes! unfortunately, it also goes against established worldbuilding i have for charlie. a xatu just doesn't have the cognitive capability to do this from her perspective. i do think it's a really neat idea to pursue and i didn't want to have charlie reply and just dismiss it for not being something that would happen, but you might want to send it to another pokemonirl blog where pokemon have that kind of ability.

as a reminder, please read the faq before sending an ask! it'll help make sure that whatever you send is something charlie can answer

[exhuastedpigeon]

Tease Tidbit Tuesday

I have been sick and crampy and PMSy the last like six days, but today I woke up and feel like a whole new human.

Here's a snippet from my Eddie goes to confession fic. I restarted it after the last episode and I am very please so far with it, even if it's extremely introspective and I'm kind of using it as my own therapy.

The front doors to the church are heavy and when he opens them and steps inside he’s suddenly 5 attending his youngest sister's baptism. It’s important, that’s what Abuela says as she sits with him in a pew at the front of the church, the scent of incense that is no longer burning making him sneeze.  And he’s 8 taking his first communication and not really understanding what it means, only that it’s important. That eating this stale, dry cracker is supposed to change something inside of him, but he doesn’t feel different.  And he’s 13 the Bishop is dipping his thumb in the oddly sweet smelling chrism and saying “be sealed with the gift of the Holy Spirit” and Eddie is saying Amen. This is the moment where he’s supposed to be choosing to commit himself to God, but he didn’t have a choice of being here, not really.  And he’s 18, freshly graduated from high school watching as Shannon walks down the aisle toward him in a hand-me-down wedding dress, the bump of her stomach just barely starting to show. His suit is too big and too small at the same time. The smell of sale church air, of dying flowers and decades of prayers breathed out to a god Eddie isn’t sure exists feeling like a vice around his neck.  And he’s 26 carrying the casket of the only woman he's ever loved, the smell of burning frankincense tickling his nose and prickling at his eyes even though he hasn’t cried, not since the hospital.  And he’s also 31 standing in the doorway of an empty church that he’s never been to before but has somehow been in a hundred, maybe a thousand times. Because that’s the thing about catholicism - it never really leaves you. It burrows deep, into the very marrow of your bones and leeches the life out of you if you let it.  It riddles you with guilt for sins you haven’t committed. It tells you that you were born a sinner and you’ll die a sinner and every moment in between should be spent in penance. That unless you follow the church’s teaching exactly you’re condemned to an afterlife in hell. That anyone who doesn’t accept the church is condemned even if they’re the best person to ever exist. It doesn’t leave you - it chokes you and makes you hate yourself. It’s made Eddie feel like less than for his entire life and when he takes in the first lungful of air he can taste thirty some years of guilt on his tongue.

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any anyone else who wants to share!

[uncharismatic-fauna]

Say Hi to the Spotted Hyena

The spotted hyena is also known, perhaps most famously, as the laughing hyena (Crocuta crocuta). This species once ranged throughout Eurasia, but following the end of the Ice Age was restricted to sub-Saharan Africa. Today they can be found in many types of dry, open habitat, including savannah, semi-desert, and mountain forests. At times, the spotted hyena may also enter urban areas in search of food.

Unlike other hyenas, Crocuta crotuta is a predator, not a scavenger. They most commonly prey on wildebeast, but they may also hunt zebra, gazelles, Cape buffalo, and warthog. In addition, desperate times may cause packs to hunt on more dangerous prey such as young hippopotamus, giraffe, and rhinoceros. Spotted hyenas have incredible endurance, reaching speeds of 60 km/hr (37 mph); a single chase can last over 24 km (14 miles). When live prey is scarce, the laughing hyena can also turn to carrion, as well as snakes and ostrich eggs. In turn, this species may be killed by lions, though this may be motivated more by competition than prey drive.

Spotted hyena females are typically larger than males, weighing 44.5–67.6 kg (98–149 lb) to the males' 40.5–69.2 kg (89.3–153 lb). The height range for both sexes lies between 70–91.5 cm (27.6–36.0 in). In addition, female laughing hyena are somewhat famous for their masculinated genetalia; the clitoris is enlarged, resembling a penis, and is accompanied by sacs filled with fibrous tissue that resemble a scrotum. As the name implies, the coat is light brown with darker spots over most of the body. Because the species has such a wide diet, it has was is considered to be the strongest in relation to size of any mammal. The bite force is stronger than that of a brown bear, and can exert a force of 4,500 newtons-- enough to crush bone.

The laughing hyena is a highly social animal, and individuals live in communities up to 80 strong; size largely depends on prey availability and whether or not the group migrates. A clan territory can be anywhere from 40 km (24 mi) to 1000 (621mi) squared. Females dominate the males, and a pack is usually led by a matriarch. Hierarchies are strictly enforced, and positions are primarily inherited through birth and transferred through death. In addition, one's rank is maintained and recognized through social alliances and their contributions to the clan rather than size or dominance displays. The entirety of the clan comes together most often when defending a territory, gathering at the communal den, or at a kill; however, these kills are more commonly produced from smaller offshoots of the clan.

Crocuta crotuta can breed year-round, though mating is at its peak during the wet season from April to June. Members of both sexes pair indiscriminately with multiple mates, both within their clan and without. To offer himself, the male performs a mating ritual in which he lowers himself to the ground before the female, and retreats if any aggression is shown. Once impregnated, the female carries for about 110 days before giving birth to two cubs-- three is fairly rare. Weaning takes another 14 to 18 months, during which time cubs learn to hunt and defend the clan, as well as establish their place in the social hierarchy. Sootted hyenas reach maturity at about 3 years old, and can live an average of 12 years in the wild, though individuals as old as 25 have been recorded.

Conservation status: The spotted hyena has been determined Least Concern by the IUCN. However, outside protected areas the population is declining due to deforestation and hunting as a nuisance species.

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Photos

Augusto Bila

Elise Pianegonda

Evie Davidian

Art Wolfe

[asterkurayami]

PSA: for doll collectors.

If you shop on Aliexpress I would 100% think about it before shopping from: Junru Toy Store ID number 1101415336. At the very least demand photos before purchasing anything. Don't make my mistake.

This experience with Moldy Mizi has been a nightmare.

1) The seller: "oh no the mold must've happened in transit." If this was the case the entire package would have been moldy. But this was 10 days in transit, only the doll and doll box were damaged, it was bone dry, and the mold had already eaten into the hands.

2) My suggestions were a $20 body that the seller can buy and send to me. Or a $30 refund so I can buy a different body available to me.

The seller: I can give you a coupon of $20 towards a future purchase.

I'm not done with the current problem and they think I'm dropping another triple digits $$$ in the near future?

:/

The platform is willing to do a full return/refund OR partial refund from an agreed upon amount dependant on verbal agreement with the seller through messages.

A return sounds great! Then there's the problem of "refund upon reciept." I've been burned too many times before to expect to get my money back after sending an object into the ether. To add to the return conundrum, this item is from maybe 6 years ago and I have not seen it listed anywhere but this store.

Judging by seller communication the wise option is to just process a return. So I'm going to choose the unwise option and keep her. (I might start calling her Blight)

I know these are first world problems. That doesn't make feeling cheated any less unpleasant.

[littleeyesofpallas]

At this point I've basically long since run dry on Bleach funfacts, certainly out of any that have any real weight in the broader readings of the series. But I do have one not-so-fun fact still left up my sleeve --a real dead end nothing contribution... So buckle up, I guess? I apologize in advance if this ends up, like, I dunno, spoiling the aesthetic(?) for anyone. Feel free to just ignore this and move on if you're touchy about keeping your obsessive fandom experiences squeaky clean.

So, I noted back when I was combing thru Quincy terms, that it felt a little less than comfy that in addition to the general n*zi aesthetics Juugram's official title was in fact "Sternritter Grand Master" which felt, at the time, like an unfortunate coincidence that it would fall in line with the naming scheme of the K*K's nonsense titles like Grand Wizard/Grand Dragon, Grand Cyclops, Grand Magi and various other ridiculous sounding occultist LARPer horseshit they've cycled thru over the past century+. But I just kinda left it at that and didn't think to dig any deeper,

But then I was reminded that in the early days of the K*K one of their stated goals was to establish a white supremacist "country" inside the united states, and as they dabbled in this insurgency fantasy, they dubbed this goal of a secret, second, white nation within the confines of the USA, their "Invisible Empire"...

And although the word we hear throughout the TYBW arc is the German Wändenreich[ヴァンデンライヒ] from Wänden:“Walls” and Reich:“Empire/Realm,” the Japanese meaning underlying that term is [見えざる帝国]: “Unseen/Invisible Empire.”

In fact the white robed and hoods tradition stemmed from what were initially petty pranks(although they escalated very quickly in seriousness and danger) in which they would menace black communities and abolitionists by pretending to be the ghosts of dead confederates. In this capacity the imagery and language around them also evoked an "Army of Ghosts."

And although it was never properly addressed, there was always this vague issue of the Quincy's ages... Those with clear backgrounds like Juugram and Bazz-B seem impossibly old. And we see that As Nodt is recruited on what appears to be his deathbed --in a hospital, on life support and in fear of dying, with a bible on his bedside as if ready to be read his last rites-- and of course the Quincy genocide of 200 years prior.

And tangential to this, we see the brief, if mostly pointless, return of the three dead Fullbringers --Ginjo, Tsukishima, and Giriko-- who all seem to have retained their memories and powers across the borders of life and death. (We won't ask about how or why their fullbring items are still usable) Is it safe to speculate then that the Quincy are in fact a literal Army of Ghosts? It explains how they're able to go toe to toe with the shinigami in ways Uryuu's initial explanations of their skills would've suggested wasn't possible. (i.e. that they were describes as being regular flesh and bone humans and only their weapons are actually supernatural, and thus they are not capable of particularly extraordinary physical feats, or blessed with any superhuman durability.) And it also sort of makes more sense that rather than being a bunch of flesh and blood humans who survived losing the war, somehow spiritized themselves to get into the afterlife, and then hid for 999 years, that they could have just been humans who died first and were recruited as ghosts, having been spirited away into the shadow realm. Or Quincy that died with the full intent of reuniting as ghosts, having some kind of assurance that they would retain their memories and powers.

I like the former over the latter though, as it means the Ishida family really were the last living Quincy. But I do like the morbid idea of Yhwach commanding his army, Jamestown style, to kill themselves as the first step to them going to heaven. Only in this case the kingdom of god as they imagine it has to be fought for because the shinigami are already have a whole society there and need to be driven out first.

There is also a lot of "Knight" and "White Knight" imagery and titles evoked in the K*K's long history, and while that's absolutely vague enough to be handwaved on its own, it's definitely not not adjacent to all this....

(This has nothing to do with anything I just had already slapped the uniforms pic together and wanted to use it somewhere)

So to sort of loosely review everything going on with the Quincy....

Catholic inverted priest frocks, crosses, silver and exorcisms, holy eucharist angel wings&halo final forms, blood eucharist schrift, conversion based recruitment policies, the whole "one kingdom under god" shtick, miracle baby son of god christ figure, explicit mention of monotheism

but then also 5 pointed crosses/stars and pentagrams,

victims of a genocide with a dr.mengele nemesis, YHWACH-v-YHWH

inverted Hugo Boss uniforms, german themed attacks, skills and tools, crosses again, explicitly evoking the Schutzstaffel with Yhwach's royal guard, and nonsense blood purity eugenics b.s.... weirdly not touched upon "black sun" or swastika imagery tied to Ichigo

For some reason a few loose threads of what appear to be Loius XIV and his sun god apollo fixation, purifying light and sun and stars motifs

YHWACH having big Backbeard energy, the literal evocation of Backbeard, being a western ghost army

and now these mismatched crumbs of what appear to be deliberate K*K references: ghost army, invisible empire, grandmaster, etc...

Like... I don't think this makes them worse, or paints Kubo as some kind of crackpot racist --in case my stance on his use of n*zi imagery didn't make that clear-- but like... I don't know what to make of it honestly... It's as inconsequential to the actual message or plot as anything else, including the n*zi stuff, but it just feels weird knowing it's there? Just sorta loitering around in the background?? Also the Quincy are just such a bizarre clusterfuck of unfocused nonsense ""themes"" with like zero actual content just in general. Given everything that's in that slurry I think that might be for the better? Because any coherent message drawn from all of these influences probably couldn't have been any good...

[phoenixyfriend]

rexsoka 41

SEND ME A SHIP AND A NUMBER AND I’LL WRITE A SHORT FIC

ghost/living person au

This ask is from May 9, 2023, which is eleven months ago. I don't remember what I was planning for it, but here's what I did get done, which I've crossposted to AO3.

--------

Ahsoka has been doing ghost services for about five years.

It's is the term she usually goes for, at least. "Ghost hunting" sounds amateurish, and "spiritual worker" or "exorcist" tends to draw in the religious types. 

"Ghost services" still isn't great, but she's had more luck with it than others.

It's not bad work. She runs into some interesting people. She gets to call up her brothers pretty often, since the professional community isn't exactly huge. She can make her own schedule, mostly, and she gives her accountant migraines when tax season rolls around. Her job isn't the easiest to classify, as far as types of self-employment go. She thinks they're sticking with something like 'spiritual advisor' or whatever right now.

Ahsoka's not too concerned about it herself.

Coruscant is a big city, and an old one. That means there's a lot going on, as far as ghostly activities go, even if most have either settled into a pattern or long since moved on to greyer pastures.

Not all of them, of course.

--

The military cemetery is very... perfunctory. The grass is not dry, nor is it cropped short by daily mowing. It isn't quite overgrown, but it's as often crabgrass as not; nobody minds, so long as it's not long enough to hide ticks.

The air is brisk and smells of sea salt, and the sky a patchy, pale grey. The stones are almost uniformly of white sandstone or granite, with only a rare few exceptions, and neatly laid out in as close to a grid as the low, rolling hills allow. Some of the graves are from centuries ago. Some are only a few months old.

Ahsoka isn't the only one that visits regularly, with a thermos of hot soup and a brown bag of whatever her eldest brother had dropped off as 'leftovers' in a misguided worry that she can't feed herself now that she's on her own.

(She's twenty-six. She is more than capable of cooking when she wants to. She is also not ashamed to take advantage of Obi-Wan's kindness.)

She makes her way to the bench, and settles herself and her bag. She spreads her lunch across her lap, uncaring of the chances that crumbs will land in the the dip of her skirts between her knees. They wash easy.

Only a few sips into her hot broth, and three bites into Obi-Wan's sandwich, a presence arrives.

Chilly in a way that reaches the bones better than it touches the skin, Rex places a hand onto her shoulder and leans over. "Thought you said you were going to be on a job?"

"Hello to you too, dear."

He laughs and steps through the bench to settle in beside her. He's mostly mastered the art of acting around objects as if they are real to him, and most people wouldn't even notice the bits of his pants fabric that are dipping into the bench instead of resting against it.

They'd notice that he's translucent and blue-ish and faintly glowing, but a girl can't win them all.

[merp-blerp]

My Gaylor Journey: A Year Later 🌈

So, I posted about my Gaylor opinions a year ago today, my first (intentional) post about Gaylor after properly looking into the community for the first time and eventually joining it. I can't believe it's been that long, Jesus! Feels both too long and yet too short of a time. Well, I want to commemorate that; hopefully, I'll make sense, as there's so much I feel and want to say. I don't think I'll ever truly get it all out of me. But here:

I've enjoyed my time here so much! This period has been surprisingly influential for me. For one thing, I've gained some lovely mutuals! I've never had so many before, so it's new, but I enjoy you all. You guys are so kind, smart, and welcoming!

I've also learned so much about queerness, the queer experience, and queer history that I just never would've known before. And I was already very into queer history before. I adore how I listen to Taylor's music now. "Wrong" interpretation or not, looking at her music from a queer lens is so interesting and so easy. I had looked at it from a queer perspective before, but it was more through my eyes. How could this song relate to me and my queerness? Never in regards to the possibility of Taylor's. It's crazy to remember being younger, listening to her music, and getting queer vibes, but assuming I was projecting. Nice to know I was never alone in my thoughts. Looking at the potential real muses is fun, but just daring to look at things another way has been fulfilling alone. I had no clue I could get more connected with Taylor's work, but somehow this community has proven me wrong.

Being here has also saved me from a lot of worrying probably. The Swiftie community since Joe ended whatever he had with Taylor has been very much so changed since I discovered it in 2018, so while I have nothing against nice Swifties, I'm glad I mostly stick to the Gaylor side of things these days. This fandom's less crowded and I like experiencing Tay's art this way. Being a fan shouldn't feel so crazy. Not too long ago, I was having a conversation with one of my college mentors, who's a Swiftie, the day after TTPD was announced, I believe. We were both excited and I spouted out several watered-down versions of Gaylor theories (can never be too careful who you Gaylor in front of), cutting out the gay parts, and what I thought they meant for what TTPD was expected to be; theories like the burning lover house symbolizing "a new phase of her career" starting with TTPD, or white symbolizing rebirth, blah, blah, you know. And absolutely no offense to my mentor, she's lovely, but I was a bit gobsmacked when her theories only had to do with Joe. It was so... bare-bones. Dry. Boring. Don't you wonder what this means for Taylor herself, not just some boy she may or may not be dunking on? She also had so much seemingly incorrect info about the Toe narrative, saying Joe has a music career (he doesn't???) and that Taylor herself confirmed, word of mouth, that she cheated on Joe, which definitely would not be very characteristically "cryptic and Machiavellian" of her to just confirm like that. Just saying it would not be how she tells us a detail like that. I didn't realize people truly thought she cheated till that conversation. They were just very hard to believe things, whether or not you believe in Gaylor or mainstream narratives. She said a lot of her theories came from TikTok, so misinformation isn't shocking in the slightest; people rarely give good sources over there, so if you find someone who does they seem to be a needle in a haystack, sadly. But that conversation reminded me just how much things have changed, both in me and the fandom. Having fresh relationship drama for the first time in 6 years made some Swifties feral and I'm glad I'm not in it. Getting swept up in that shit is easy and I fear I could've if it weren't for jumping ship in time. As Taylor's signaling gets louder and louder again, possibly gearing up for another coming-out attempt, I think I joined just in time. The goddess of timing found me beguiling, I guess.

It just makes me sad that for these types of fans, Taylor's music and craft aren't about her anymore, but about the guys. It's so weird to see fans introduce new Swifties by going over all the supposed muses instead of talking about her and how this song or album communicates her emotions about a situation. They are deeply missing out. Even when I was only in the general fandom, despite my jokes about the boys, I ultimately thought Taylor was the most important factor in her songs. And it seemed like others thought that too, until all this new Joe-Travis-drama eclipsed that. Or till some bad new fans came in just for the drama and to hop on the more trendy version of "loving" her that's going on now. Or maybe I was in my own bubble and it's always been like this. She was never simply "Mrs. Alwyn" and she's not "Mrs. Kelce" or even "Mrs. Kloss" and it's strange to see her get called that as if she's not TAYLOR FUCKING SWIFT. That's not enough? Maybe I'm taking it too seriously or literally, but it feels so wrong to boil her down to just that. I get where it comes from, Taylor's music appeals to the hopeless romantics such as myself, but there's more to Taylor, us, and life than just romance and being someone's "spouse".

Many Swifties rightfully criticize the media for only focusing on Taylor's alleged love life, but some of them hypocritically do the exact same thing, only I'd argue it's worse because they seem to think they're entitled to do so because they're fans or feel like her friends. We don't know Taylor. I don't know Taylor. If she's openly talking about her album(s)/re-record(s) and the craft behind creating it, or her emotional journey creating it, maybe don't yell out to her face about some trivial thing connecting to whoever you think the muse is (looking at you TIFF 2022—I'll never be over that). I'm glad Taylor seems to recognize this behavior and has at least tried to remind fans of the distance between herself and them in recent years; I mean, compare the songs she wrote for fans years ago like "Long Live" and "The Archer" vs "Dear Reader" and potentially "You're Losing me" and "But Daddy I Love Him" if you interpret them that way. They're all wonderful, but more recent songs remind us that she's a stranger to us as opposed to just talking about how grateful she is for us (which I'm sure she still is). I've mentioned in the past that I think this is part of why the TV eras beyond the Red TV era and promo for TTPD have been so laid back in comparison; she doesn't want fans getting way too into "defending" her from [insert "ex-boyfriend" here] like they did during Red TV's release, so she's making it less "exciting". 1989 TV didn't even get music videos. She's never dignified invasive questions with a response to interviewers, so why would she for some fan(s)? You aren't any more special or any less of a stranger to her than those interviewers were. None of us are, including Gaylors (that's why we can't out her, strangers can't out strangers with only pure speculation).

I find it interesting to see how differently the two sides of this fandom treat the potential ex-muses of songs. In the general fandom, there's a lot of animosity, where swifties love to joke about hating or destroying whomever (and I'm chill with jokes), but sometimes it goes way too far. Many Swifties hate most potential exes, exceptions being people like Harry Styles or Taylor Lautner because they have their own fandoms that tend to overlap with Taylor's. But Gaylors rarely do the exact same with exes. Potential exes aren't brought up unless necessary and I've never seen anyone even jokingly hate anyone purely because they are an ex and therefore bad; it might be around, but the fact that I can't find it nearly as easily is something. We'll hold ex-muses (and Taylor) accountable for potential mishaps in past relationships and that's it. Say what you will about Gaylors, but I've never heard of any Gaylors sending someone like Dianna Agron death threats like some Swifties have done with John Mayer.

One huge thing I was not expecting when joining this fandom was becoming slightly disillusioned by the Swiftie title. Don't get me wrong, I'm fine with being called that, as I know that's what I am ultimately and it's not terrible to be a Swiftie inherently by any means. But being opened up to the deep homophobia, bullying, and even doxxing in the Hetlor community has really made me feel odd lumping myself in with "Swifties", as they still call themselves, at times. I don't know how I never stumbled across it when in the general fandom, at least not that I can recall (I feel like I would if I did). From what I gather, Swifties have a rep for being a pretty sweet fandom, and many people are, but I can't help but feel sour about it sometimes after seeing what I've seen from some Swifties. I hope one day the homophobia and just basic vitriol with these types of fans can be lightened up by a cultural shift or something. Way too many people are unaware of the layers of the conversation about outing, closeting, speculation, etc. I myself wasn't before entering the Gaylor fandom and I'm glad I am now. I knew lots of history, but didn't properly apply it to how we can see things now. It's very odd, almost embarrassing, looking at some of my old Swiftie posts now, especially ones about Joe and Gaylors, because I don't feel that way anymore. I was never hateful, but I had some wrong ideas. I guess I'll keep them up though, in order to be honest with myself and anyone who wants to maybe dig into my blog. Plus there's not actually anything to be too embarrassed about from what I remember, it's just a very "in my head" type of thing. I'm glad I'm not as emotionally invested in Taylor's supposed exes anymore. Even when it comes to Karlie as an LSK, I'd be fine if Kaylor was broken up or never together. Surprised and maybe a little sad, but I expect to be okay if that were to be a revelation. It feels much healthier.

I even suspect that being here has helped me with accepting my own queerness further, and I thought I had fully done that already. I guess internal acceptance is a forever journey, at least for me. I came out to my grandparents mid last year and early this year, something I was planning on delaying till I went away to college (I'm doing college virtually for now). I think this community helped me.

I deeply wish that both sides of Taylor's fandom could come together, hear each other, and co-exist. I hate that Gaylors are so vilified for simply suggesting a random lady might be queer as if seeing potential hints of queerness in other people and pondering their sexuality hasn't always existed in queer culture and continues to prevail. We still see primarily femme sapphics ask how they can signal that they're queer without saying so, much like what Taylor might be doing with her hairpins and games. Why is it wrong to be on the other end of that interaction, seeing and acknowledging the signals? In my personal opinion, I think it's at least a bit homophobic in and of itself to say that queer people must come out in a loud, upfront, obvious-to-straights way in order to be seen as queer, otherwise they are forcibly slated as the default of straight. Yes, some people have a boundary about speculation, and that should 100% be respected for those folks, but Taylor specifically has set no such boundary as of me typing this out. Why still force her into the straight box when she's never plainly said she's straight, always toeing the line no pun intended, not giving any clear answers for now, which she doesn't owe. Honestly, I feel like it's more likely that if she were straight she would have such an issue saying plainly; straight people don't coyly tiptoe around saying they're straight like that, but that's just my perspective. When the discourse around speculation is brought up, I often see people say something along the lines of, "Well, I wouldn't want someone to speculate on me," and that's completely fine to feel, but that's your boundary. Not everyone feels that way. Some want to be seen without a definitive word out of their mouth beforehand. This is coming from someone who, when offline, sometimes gets a bit internally antsy when people inform me they could tell my lesbian-ness with or without me intending to signal, though not offended. Yet I also sometimes hate to tell people in verbal words. It can be exhausting, not in just a scary way, but in the sense that it can be akin to explaining that you breathe; being queer just comes so naturally for me because it is natural, so explaining gets tiresome, especially since straights never have to. For me, and in general, speculation is not as black and white as "you should never do it" or "you should always do it". You shouldn't cross people's boundaries, but you shouldn't assume people's boundaries either; that can be just as wrong and dangerous.

Gaylors and Swifties are the same fandom, so why can't we act like it, even when we disagree?

Everyone and everything I've involved myself in here has been so enriching and even if all the Gaylor theories were somehow proven wrong, I wouldn't regret my time here. It's meant too much to me. I'm very grateful and excited to see how this progresses for me. I can't find enough words to express it.

To any rude Hetlors out there, I hope you find it in your heart to treat others with kindness instead of throwing shade at those you simply don't understand/agree with. If you're going to hurt others, I don't want anything to do with you. Kindly leave for both our peace of mind.

To the vast majority of you who have been wonderful, welcoming, and kind, especially the ones who were here before I entered the Gaylor fandom, and didn't leave after, I love you all. You can stay. ♥

🩷❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜

[persephonememes]

* (  STICK SEASON FOREVER BY NOAH KAHAN /  SENTENCE PROMPTS.

These may have been edited for clarity or length or to better apply for roleplaying.

" how you been? "

" what does it mean? "

" i am stuck between my anger and the blame that i can't face "

" i miss the way you laugh "

" but you know how it gets out here "

" you got all my love "

" if you need me dear, i'm the same as i was "

" it's all okay, there ain't a drop of bad blood "

" i just hope that your scars heal "

" i was scared to death "

" i'll never let you go "

" i don't get much sleep most nights "

" i'm seeing you in every dream "

" i'll love you when the oceans dry "

" i'll love you when the rivers freeze "

" don't you know there's a coffin buried under the garden "

" i'm in the process of clearing out cobwebs "

" someday i'm gonna be somebody people want "

" it's been a long year "

" would we survive in a horror movie? "

" i wanna love you 'till we're food for the worms to eat "

" i know every route in this county "

" i'll tell you where not to speed "

" honey, come over "

" no one will tempt you, we know you got sober "

" it's yours if you want it "

" i've been ready for you to come home "

" i didn't think to ask you where you'd gone "

" why'd you go? "

" i haven't drank in six months on the dot "

" don't you find it strange that you just went ahead and carried on? "

" the last time i drank i was face down passed out there on your lawn "

" are we all just pulling you down? "

" remember telling me that you thought you were cursed? "

" love is fast asleep on a dirt road with your head on my shoulder "

" those things I miss but know are never coming back "

" if i was empty space and you were formless shape we'd fit "

" i'm still angry at my parents for what their parents did to them "

" i know there are worse ways to stay alive "

" why is pain so damn impatient? "

" the last that i heard you were down in new orleans "

" i worry for you. you worry for me. "

" it's fine if we know we won't change "

" i'm leaving this town "

" i know that you're fearing the end "

" i only tell truth when I'm sure that I'm lying "

" how have you been and are you bored yet? "

" time moves so damn slow "

" i stopped caring about a month ago since then it's been smooth sailing "

" i would leave if only i could find a reason "

" i got dreams but i can't make myself believe them "

" i don't want to say goodbye "

" i'm still here with you "

" for a minute the world seems so simple "

" who was i to watch you wilt? "

" i promise to be there this time "

" i'm naming the stars in the sky after you "

" i'm remembering i promised to forget you now "

" it's all the same, anyways "

" i ain't proud of all the punches that i've thrown "

" i gave your name as my emergency phone call "

" i'd die for you "

" why do you do this to yourself? "

" this place had a heartbeat in its day "

" it just ain't that simple, it never was "

" we'll drink to new year's "

" i'm not ready to let go yet "

" now the weight of the world ain't so bad "

" i saw the end, it looks just like the middle "

" who am I to complain? "

" now the pain's different. it still exists, it just escapes different. "

" don't you cancel any plans "

" all lights turned off can be turned on "

" i'll drive all night "

" don't be discouraged "

" i've been exactly where you are "

" if you could see yourself like this, you'd have never tried it "

" won't you stay with me? "

" i even gave up driving after nightfall "

" i'm ain't angry at you, love "

" i'll be waiting for you "

" we spent so long just getting by "

" i'm not a city girl "

" it still has a lot of meaning to me because i grew up there "

" it's a small community of people that really look out for each other "

" last time i was in the back of a cop car, i fell in love "

" it's all the same anyway "

" let's drive for no reason "

" honey, it's starting to storm "

" i won't be alone for the rest of my life "

" i broke a bone that never healed in my hand "

" so when i hold you close, i might loosen my grip. but i won't ever let you go. "

" but i won't ever let you go "

" remember when we called the cops 'cause you got too high and you got scared? "

" could you imagine that? "

" i'm running out of tears to cry "

" maybe something's changing me "

" you love me and i don't know why "

" i only call you once a week "

" does it bite at your edges? "

" do you lie awake restless? "

" this town's the same as you left it "

" your page was blank, but i read it "

" i stare out that hallowed ocean as if to pick a fight "

" for the dreams my old man dreamt for me, lay on the other side "

" we're overdue for a revival "

" we spent so long just getting by "

" who the hell likes living just to die? "

[bigdsgirl]

Thoughts on LND Episode 8

spoilers ahead! and screams! because ya know. this damn show.

"do you really not know? from morning until night, from child hood until now, it's been my fate and my task" - bye, i am going to combust now

the piano music has me rolling, i'm sorry lol

love that he is giving her time, especially after just shocking her with that announcement lol

the birthday card with no note. jfc. and the REPEAT GIFT??? omfg. i have so many feelings. and he goes back to the hospital!! oh it hurts!

the flashback at the pool -- oh she liked him first. "the feelings are still so vivid" - hate to say it but i think they never left babe.

his panic has me fucking cackling. "it was good, I did great" YES YOU DID BABY!!!!!!

alright the knife to head transition was kind of sick. i loved it.

throw the rock queen i dare you. NO YOU GO DO IT!!!!

I am just going feral waiting for them to open them at the same time - PUHLEAAASE! ugh boo.

aw momma & son moment - oh shit you are pretending to FORGET. SIR. oh this some bullshit. just communicate!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

THE TIE! THE TIE! AHHHHHHHHH. no don't give it back, just keep it <3 let's start our shrine to him.

oh god mom thinks it's the ex but you would be WRONG!

HE WANTED TOI BE BURIED IN IT?????????????? WITH THE BLOOD??? BYEALKDKJAGKDFGJALFKGJAG

this girl just does not know how to respond, she is flustered as fuck and i love it

pick an expiration date to decide how much time she has lol and he is like PERISHABLE GOODS PLEASE I WANT YOU NOW!

hearts thumping let's gooooooooooooooo (and of course she bolts)

bahah this man gets sassed by the staff (i love it! you tell him!)

okay sir let's do the special! lets go! and of course we gotta start with his fave paramedic <3

the push ups oh girl, I am the same, we are just poor girls weak for our man

not the showing how they met please nooooooooo (or how mama imagines it?? lol)

i want this ex to GO AWAY PLEASE. idc what's happening, leave them alone! now!

her dad just standing right in front the CLEAR DOOR, in front of her and she doesn't see, god i love kdramas

ONLY 11 DAYS???? Girl, it's 11 days too many, just kiss him, <3

oh goodness, mom and dad got things to say. and i am sat for it!

"I don't want her to be a failure and live like me" well fuck that's a sucker punch. yikes.

these two men are hilarious i love that they are just such a mess together <3

"soaked in my feelings of inferiority" well holy fuck sir. "well mine is bone dry" OP--

dad acting like a 3-year old with his "why"

awww shit, i was hoping to see him be drunk with her. ugh instead we just got hung over.

teeeheee flash back of the drunk daddios! hehe!!

the mountain stfu, this is the humor i need in life -- phenomenal, oscar worthy performance

the way this son rolls is just like my middle brother lol, the amount of times he has tried to get family members to try crypto, oh sirrr. i am with you seok-ryu!

oh the hole in the heart, the babying. my goodness. "see if you can treat your sick child that way" --> look i know what's coming and fuck that hurts.

seung-hyo you DOG, "there are 10 days left"

also sir, where do you get your work bag from? I need it <3

tae-hui!!!! baby girl!!! ily.

ugh ruined. freaking ex-poophead is here.

look i get it, they were cute its all cute. but it's the wrong person, so I don't care.

okay they be laying it on thick with the digestive health shit - i know what's happening and i do not like it.

omfg her shock that he told her! he told seok-ryu how he felt!

okay look sir, the way your hands be clasped? the suit? the watch? it is a felony and you need to be taken to jail. it looks too damn good.

tae-hui, her outfit. ma'am the woman you are.

wait shit. i just realized -- she said she doesn't drink if I remember right? or am I wrong.

oh babe while are you pulling out so much cash. oh no oh no. mom is finding out about the cooking class. i am not excited for this.

WAIT BABE DONT TRASH EM!!! give them to me. no don't waste them!

omg the bag, not the bag. oh no. not mom.

omg yay! they are interacting <3 i love it! NO WAIT NO ITS A RUSE WHY IS MOM DOING THIS.

the eldest daughter in me is fucking quaking. I hated this growing up. the expectations. the disappointment for finding out something she loves that isn't what they want. omg.

oh i am so glad he is here stepping up for her. thank god.

this fucking hurts. oh lord. my heart is shattering for her.

he immediately goes after her, my heart, my heart. oh it's breaking.

he has a spot to comfort someone in case something happened. STOP IT WAS FOR HER.

I am having worries. every time he is a few steps behind, i worry that he has to follow her in death too (i don't want this to happen but fuck the gut is so sure)

he offered his kitchen for her!!!! ah!!!!!! hell yeah hell yeah!

he just cannot take his eyes off of her. and the nine days left, you TURD I LOVE IT.

it's observation day!!! me when I see them together like this:

oh my man look good in the uniform! <3 and they gave him a locker too??? how nice of them!!!

i freaking love the alarm music they use. the best thing ever.

oh wait. oh wait girl you gonna eat the side dishes??? hehe i love that. ope moment over. wait. he is being nice ish..... ish............ the joys of marriage lol.

oh no, oh no. is he asking for a divorce???? oh NO.

oh goodie, i hope the man is not allergic to bees. HAHAHAHAHAHAH. oh he might be. oh he is lol.

paramedics are the backbone, i always have such immense respect for them.

i also need to get this off my chest working in healthcare/public health -- never in a MILLION YEARS would a hospital actually allow the possible legal risk of having the man help with these calls. okay, now im back to la la land.

love the posters in the background of all the dramas 😭

the popcorn -- omfg. no no sir don't you dare. i will combust.

fuck he did.

girl why you pause. why you be like this what is happening. oh god it's him. and of course he is a new client. of course!

the way my man seung-hyo be acting like a child with the ex here. i am eating this shit up.

LOL of course he needs to leave leaving the two together.

THAT'S RIGHT YOU TELL HIM THAT HE HAS COMPETITION!!!!

lol me - both get out, leave my girl to cook. these two are too much, i'm cackling.

THE POPCORN YES GIRL. he is so happy about this, he is just lapping it up. and same king. same. "have some" you MENACE.

lol this man is gonna faint it's so much work. YAY CELEBRATORY DINNER! lol the bladder infection, brother TMI!!!!

"we end up dating each other" man is gonna become a paramedic to make sure he and mo-eum are gonna be together forever and no one can come between them 🤭🤭🤭

BAHAHAHAHA THE MUDFLATS MAN RETURNS!!!!!!!! I am SCREAMING!!!!!! they both just panic. wait no hold hands down there, pls <3

wait shit girl, you don't look good. girly no.

oh damn oh damn. seok-ryu. i get it but oh. oh it hurts so bad.

oh sweetie no. oh i get it, my hear hurts for you.

the WAY I KNEW - his and her secret. oh my.

now i must wait FOR MY BABIES TO RETURN.

and i will be sobbing <3

[ask-codeearasure]

The Outer Realms --- Chapter 6

<-[Previous Chapter]

[Next Chapter]->

—-----

Chapter Six:

Conversations

—----

“I am constantly trying to communicate something incommunicable, to explain something inexplicable, to tell about something I only feel in my bones and which can only be experienced in those bones. Basically it is nothing other than this fear we have so often talked about, but fear spread to everything, fear of the greatest as of the smallest, fear, paralyzing fear of pronouncing a word, although this fear may not only be fear but also a longing for something greater than all that is fearful.”

― Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena

—-

There were many things that Ink could admit to himself. Many. Many he didn’t like to acknowledge but had to in order to keep up his work that was his survival. Many that he had no problems with. But this… This was a problem to the highest degree. A degree he’d say he feared if fear was an emotion he had no choice but to have. But he didn’t have emotions quite like everyone else. He didn’t have emotions, not without his paints.

Ink had to admit this when he finally found Error. His Error.

“The creators are a dying species.” Ink said sitting down next to Error.

“I figured. It's about time.” Error huffed. The portal he used to watch Undernovella from was nothing but static. “It tore itself apart before anything got good.”

“Someone that looked a lot like you showed up and,..” Ink shook his head, he didn’t see the logic of anything anymore. “My paints are running dry. I can’t… feel much of anything anymore without risking draining the rest of them.”

Error rolled his eyelights. “It was bound to happen. How many anomalies tore themselves apart over the years… It wasn’t like they stood a chance against themselves. It’s why I’ve stopped to watch instead.”

“I just don’t know why…” Ink mumbled, “Every creation was so different and fascinating, then many creators abandoned them, then the AUs became repetitive or strange copies of those first ones, and then they just… stopped. I've been trying to keep Dream from noticing because with so little AUs—”

“Nightmare would have an easier time finding him?” Error huffed.

“Mmhm…” Ink solemnly nodded, then pulled his knees to his chest. “Got any idea why the creators did all this?”

Error shook his head, “Nah, but I do have a small theory.”

“What's that?”

“Infighting.” Error said simply, “They've been arguing with each other, fighting for control over the AUs, so the initial creator would be attacked, chased out, and those who take control think they can do a better job only to find they're already doing a sucky job.”

“That is so… illogical though.” Ink stated, burying his head into his knees.

“It’s foolish, all of this was destined to be destroyed one way or another.” Error laid down onto the ground, “You, me, everything here, even Dream and Nightmare themselves are destined to all fail in everything we did. Destruction and nothingness are inevitable.”

“There has to be a way to get everything back to the way it was before…” Ink said. “But… I can’t–”

“You're gonna drive yourself crazy thinking about it.” Error said bluntly, “In the state you’re in now, you either take what's left of those paints you have left and make it worse, or you will yourself to act without them. Either way, squidhead, it's a lose-lose situation..”

Ink shook his head. He knew Error was right. He didn’t have much else left. He looked at his scarf and read many of the things he wrote down. Warnings for himself, travel diaries, list of people’s names, fun activities, definitions of words. Why emotions were important. Why he had to fight for the creators. “I don’t want to become a husk.”

“And I’d rather not die.” Error sat up, “But it’s not like we have a choice in the matter.”

“Why would the creators do this?” Ink asked.

“Hell if I know.” Error shrugged, “It’s not like you can convince them. It’s not like we can stop them. It could be a dominance thing, or a power trip, who knows.”

There was a long silence between the destroyer and painter, only for Ink to suddenly ask, “What is it like?”

“Hm?”

“Having emotions. What is it like having it, naturally?”

Error seemed surprised by the question, he thought about it as he stared into what used to be Undernovella, “It depends. Sometimes I envy you, wishing I didn’t feel anything. Other times, it can be euphoric. Heaven.” he turned to Ink, “The best way I can put it for you is, it can be painful, like every bone being broken for no reason. Other times, it can be those days where you are able to just lay down on the softest bed you can think of. Every joint relaxing and resting. No pain. Just comfort.”

Ink nodded, “That sounds complicated… Wonderful, but complicated.”

“It is.”

“Do you think the creators know what they're doing?” Ink asked.

Error hummed in thought for a second before nodding, “Yes and no.”

“So there could be a chance they’re hurting each other?”

“I wouldn't call it a chance, Ink, they've been doing it since day one,” Error stated in a fit of manic giggling.

Ink gave him a blank look. “But none of this makes sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“Every single AU has the exact same message,” Ink stated, “Every single one opposes genocide and murder. And yet… Yet the creators did all of this.” he gestured to the space around them, “They are destroying everything, hurting themselves and each other. Why?”

Ink looked to Error for an answer but the glitch didn’t say anything. He couldn’t.

The creators were killing off their own species, destroying each other the same way the player did in every single genocide route, every other neutral route, as they were the ones with the worst outcomes for each AU. Horrortale, Dusttale, and Something New, they all showed the destruction they caused. But the creators had learned nothing. Even Error’s story was not something that was generally processed as it was supposed to, but it was understood that it was tragic and destructive nonetheless.

“Every universe holds the same morals, but the creators themselves never learned from them.” Ink held his head and curled up and mumbled, “I’m going to die, and there is nothing I can do…”

Error glared. Not at Ink, but at the pain his friend had to carry. He was tempted to reach out to Ink, knowing that the artist, in his possible last moments, would appreciate the gesture, but he knew neither of them could handle such a thing. Not now. Error put a hand to his scarf and just fidgeted with it.

He knew Ink loved the creators, admired them. But they didn’t give a shit. They never did.

—-------------------------

Dream had been walking through the multiverse for an unknown amount of time. Only after he had had his breakdown had he realized Undyne could have heard everything, given she placed cameras all over the Underground and he had the camera pin on him.

What could be done was nothing. He felt himself weakening, perhaps rotting more and more as he was becoming delirious. He could barely stay walking. But of course he’d trip and fall to the ground.

He laid there and felt his consciousness start fleeting. Coming in and out of consciousness he could see a purple blur, smokey and calming. He caught the faint smell of apples and lavender.

–

Dream jolted up, panting, clutching his chest as if trying to grab at his soul. He looked around to see a rather sparkling room. There was a wall of glass to his left where he could see countless galaxies and stars. It was almost a comforting sight. The room had several glowing grassy plants, there was a table with medical equipment, several golden arrows and glowing gold apples and bags filled with some sort of glittering substance. He looked at his arm finding an IV drip that had the same substance coming down from the IV bag.

The bed he was on was beyond comfortable, he would stay there forever if he could.

He was about to rip the IV out of himself but before he could after sitting up there was a loud shhhhkt! sound.

“Ah! You’re awake, I was worried you were going to stay dormant for a while longer!” said the stranger.

They were very tall and had on a silky orange cloak, having the hood up.The cloak itself – rather the fabric of it had galaxies and stars in them, moving constantly like the very window that looked out into space itself. They looked to be the Papyrus of this AU. With the light blue scarf tied to his arm it was easy to tell he lost his Sans.

“You feeling alright, kiddo?” the stranger asked.

“Um… yeah…” Dream nodded, “I…” he couldn’t find his words.

“Look just relax, I already know about your situation.'' The stranger said with a small smile, “Your name is Dream, you were shot with a venom coated bullet, and because of that, you need positivity to survive because your aura and life is what give stories and universes positive emotions. The moment you die, we all do.”

“How did you know?” Dream asked. He was just a little bit creeped out, but figured the stranger had good intentions.

The stranger frowned, “Izanagi told me. He was the one with the mask and kimono that was there that day. You don’t have to worry about your job, the source of the arrows that are giving off the positive energy is going around doing your job for you. I’ll go get you something to eat.”

“I uh–”

“My name? I’m sure you can guess, but my friends call me Occultatum.”

Occultatum…

That man was something, that's for sure.

He didn’t return to the glowing room for a short while, when he did he had an entire breakfast platter with him, with orange juice to wash it all down. He put the platter on a hovering table for Dream. “Take your time, I don’t want you getting sick.”

“Thank you…” Dream mumbled, “I… I don’t know what else to say.”

Occultatum smiled, “Then don’t say anything.”

Dream had to admit the man was a wonderful cook. The eggs, bacon, pancakes, and even the hashbrowns were all cooked to perfection. However, Dream knew that feeling that he was getting from Occult.

Nostalgia.

Occult wasn’t here, mentally. No. He was looking at Dream, the same way every single Papyrus outcode saw him.

As a Sans.

He wasn't Sans though. Not really. Not even to a small degree. The only thing he and every Sans in the multiverse shared was a similar appearance. But he could also feel a bit of regret and understanding. Occult knew what he was seeing wasn’t something real. When he finished, Occult teleported the dishes somewhere else and moved the table. “Alright, now I have to do a bit of a check up on you.”

Dream got a bit worried. “I’m sorry, I can’t stay here–”

“Yes, you can.” Occult insisted.

“I can't.”

“...” Occult glanced at him in a deadpanned fashion. He went over to the table with all the arrows and strange apples, “We have everything under control for you. You can stay here long enough to heal up. After all, the only thing that can take on the job of the guardian of positivity is another being of positivity… relatively speaking, that is.”

Occult started breaking the arrows into little pieces, then crushed them up in a mortar and pestle. Dream leaned to the side to get a better view at what his host was doing. He had sensed a source of concentrated positivity once he woke up, but didn’t think it would be tied to leftover remnants of his arrows. Or… were those his arrows? He didn’t think anyone would collect them- not when the only person they could hurt was Nightmare. The apples were the most suspicious part, unless they were ordinary yellow apples. Careful not to tug on the IV, Dream scooted to the side of the bed closest to the table. He could swing his legs over the edge, but the bed itself was still too comfy for him to consider getting off just yet. “May I ask what those apples are for?”

“They’re pure positive desires collected from humans from another AU.” Occultatum said, “The person currently substituting for you was the one who donated them. He’s the one helping keep you alive.” he tossed one gently to Dream, “He also gave us the arrows. Apparently, Izanagi and his little friend group stole as many of his arrows as they could to make those weapons to attack that brother of yours.”

Dream stared down at the apple in his hands, but no part of him desired to take a bite. He hadn’t eaten an apple in centuries- not since the incident, and not since he was freed from his stone prison. But still, he could feel the positivity beaming from the apples, both on the table and the one he was holding. They were so similar to the ones he remembered, but also not at all. And if he were to go off what Occultatum was telling him, these were created by someone similar to himself, positivity powers and all. Maybe this was good. Perhaps he wouldn’t be alone in supporting the multiverse from this point onward. Maybe he’d have help in getting his brother back- but this sounded too good to be true, almost wishful thinking. If there was someone else like him out there, why didn’t they show up earlier? How were they faring on their own? Was Nightmare hunting them down too, and Dream was too occupied to realize they existed? Could he meet them?

“What’s with that look?” Occult asked, smirking, “Curious about him?”

Dream nodded cautiously.

“His name is Dream Morabito, he’s not much of a guardian like yourself,” Occult shrugged, “He’s more like… someone that helps people process things in their sleep. His job relies on it, not giving the multiverse a consistent source of happiness. Nightmare DeVille, his… rival of some sort, I guess, does the same thing, but with nightmares and negative desires.”

“So he just… collects desires…?”

“He eats them.” Occult stated, “His AU is literally starving him and DeVille, something about a law there, Morabito has been collecting from other worlds–”

“Why haven’t I seen him before? Why haven’t I heard about him before this?”

Occult gave him an odd look, “Well we’re in the outermost realms, you’re from the inner circle, of course you wouldn’t hear anything about him, or any of us. I mean, how are you going to hear about an AU where a Sans lives in a military state with Ice Magic and guns? Where in the Multiverse are you going to hear about an AU where Monsters live in space for so long our blood coagulates and glows purple?” he snickered, “I mean don’t be ridiculous, the innermost realms are all more alike. The further out you go, the less alike they are.”

Dream let his body flop against the pillows to his left, going over this new information with a kind of shock he didn’t think he’d experience again, the basic ‘huh’ kind of shock. He fiddled with the apple’s stem, then slowly breathed in and let it out the same way. So, there are outermost realms and innermost realms. He is most familiar with the innermost, and the outermost are farther away. It was so simple a concept, but how come he was learning this information only now? Considering his ties to Ink, whose role is to help creators with all their creations and even directed Dream to a few once or twice, did he keep this information to himself? Why? Dream was certain he could have given the outermost realms the same aid he did the innermost ones. “Does Ink know about this?”

Occult shook his head, “I have no idea who that is.”

“You don’t?” Dream asked. He couldn’t sense any sign that the man was lying. “Do you know anyone with a paint brush and likes helping people make universes?” Okay, maybe not the best wording, but he hoped Occultatum knew what he was referring to. Ink used to talk a lot about his work, before he started closing himself off. Dream’s concern for him grew with each passing day he was gone.

Occult genuinely thought before grimacing, “Sort of, we call him Sketch. He’s an emotionless creature. I don’t even think the word monster applies to him in any way. He can use potions to feel emotions, but even then he actively refuses to take them. He stays at Asylumtale, though. And even then, he’s far too busy keeping Digital Klezmir from destroying AUs, but there's little else I know because… well…”

Hate wasn’t a strong enough word. He continued working on the arrows and medicine, crushing the arrows to dust almost violently. Before that moment, it was instantly obvious to Dream that whoever this Sketch person is, Occultatum loathed him.

“Onto a different subject,” Occult with an eerie calmness, “You need to rest. If I let you leave, I’ll never hear the end of it from Doctor Toriel. She’d probably lock me back in the asylum just to make sure I’m not stupid enough to let you go.” he grumbled under his breath a “Stars knows she did that when I left Cy home alone for an entire day…”

Dream didn’t dare ask who Cy was. There was a knock on the large door to the room.

Occult used magic to open it only for a wave of negativity to practically explode off of him. It was Izanagi, who was holding a bundle of scrolls, and looked like he was ready to run as far away at the drop of a hat.

A long silence between the two followed.

Izanagi was almost shaking as he spoke, “Ohayō gozaimasu, Occultatum-Senpai, Dream-sama.” he fiddled with the scrolls, “I… um… I have those scrolls I mentioned, and um… I um… I bought food…. Not-... um…”

He left them. The door shutting.

Occult glared at the door.

If Occult simply loathed Sketch, he absolutely detested Izanagi’s very existence at least twelve times over. Dream flinched at how intensely hostile Occultatum’s emotional state became in that moment, and how it only continued to intensify as each second ticked by after seeing that other skeleton.

Dream subconsciously squeezed the apple in his grasp, inching further towards the border of the bed. “Are you okay? You’re distressed…”

Occult glanced at Dream before sighing, “Never. Not with that guy around… But a deal is a deal.” He got out a cellphone and quickly typed into it, before saying, “By the way, we’re trying to find a way to figure out where the signal to your little camera is going.”

“Oh,” Dream mumbled, “That goes to an Underswap timeline.”

“They friends of yours?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright.” Occult sighed, “I’m going to make sure that waste of space doesn’t destroy anything. Toriel should be here in a bit. If you want to go in there, the IV drip can be rolled around, just… don’t tear it out or else you want to be forced back into this room violently – Toriel doesn’t have much patience.”

Occult hurried out of the room. The door opened and shut very quickly. Through the door and walls he could hear yelling. The most Dream could pick up was “You better not pull anything.” and “One fuck up and I’ll toss you into the blackhole!”.

Dream sat there with the apple, the negativity was able to be felt from the two monsters but the IV drip seemed to numb it, now that he thought about it. Like a constant sort of listless, soft positivity, like a heavy blanket wrapped around him, shielding his body from harsh winds. The apple itself was like a hot coal in such a situation. 

For the first time in weeks, he finally had a semblance of comfort, a fragile sense of peace. But now that he had it, he couldn’t help but think of his friends. Ink was still missing in action, last he could check. He knew Carrot, Blueberry, Undyne, and Edge more than likely hated to see him go, and were apprehensive for the next time he showed up. Dream sighed, placed the apple on the closest side table, and tucked himself into bed again, laying back so he could stare at the galaxies shining through the transparent ceiling. There was no doubt this… Outertale? Outerswap? Was an impressively beautiful reality, but at the same time, was nothing like the usual space-themed AUs he was used to visiting, and Dream realized he was obsessed with the sight. For a few minutes, he’s okay with this.

When he shut his eyes, Dream picked up on the dripping of his IV, the cybernetic buzzing of the technology and lighting, and the near-silent swaying of the plants near the foot of his bed. As much as he wanted to believe Occultatum that he didn’t need to do anything but rest while in his care, Dream wasn’t used to not doing anything. There was always something that needed attention, even things that didn’t include Nightmare or Killer, or any mode of danger whatsoever.

Dream sat up again, taking in his new surroundings again. It was in no way dull, and the trinkets on the shelves against the wall piqued his interest. He carefully slipped out of bed, minding the IV and the baggy clothing he found himself in, and made his way to the shelf at his left, ignoring the dizziness and slight nausea his body’s movement caused. 

He damn near tripped on the sleeves of the pajamas he was in as he limped over to the shelf. He found many different trinkets there. The closest one was a crystal ball that showed a universe inside of it, constantly spinning ever so gently. Sadly though, the center of the universe was a big black dot, a black hole slowly eating everything that dared to come near it. Putting it back, he found a small picture of Occultatum and a Sans that was probably from the same AU as him – his brother. They were in front of a small building holding a small plaque that was hard to read because of the slight glare, but Dream could catch the words Celestial Guard on it with a messy signature that started with the letter ‘U’; could have been signed by Undyne. It must’ve been the day this Sans was able to join the Royal Guard.

There was a small pain in Dream’s soul. He related deeply to Occultatum’s grief.

He sighed, moving over to the desk with all the apples and arrows. He still found it hard to believe that there was another version of himself— or a close equivalent to one. He picked up an arrow to admire its design. The arrows themselves weren’t made of pure light or energy, rather completely solidified positivity compounded into a physical magic form, like his own. Even the feathers that were at the end of the arrows themselves were made the same way, just softened to keep the arrows flying straight and true. A part of him distantly wondered if he could do that same ‘venom’ thing that this Dream Morabito could do. Would it make his job of getting his brother back easier? What if he tricked Nightmare into eating one of these Positive Desire Apples? He wasn't sure if that would work.

In fact, he doubted it.

He doubted it so much.

[srorgana1]

Invocation

Paring: Vampire Kylo/Hunter Rey

Warnings: Dark Themes (apporaching Dead Dove, you have been warned), Supernatural/Paranormal, Blood, Violence, Gore, Death, NSFW 18+, Sexual Content, Psychological and Physical Torture, Kidnapping, Hatred towards organized religion, Pain, Major/Minor character death/injury, Demonic Possession

Chapter One

“Another” he says as he stares out the frosted window. The goblet is quickly refilled by deft hands. He doesn’t need to look at them to know they have bowed in his direction and scampered away. He sighs as he lifts his glass, allowing the warm liquid to run down his dry throat.

He can feel it working already. The life force rejuvenating his own. He can taste their joys and fears within as he savors it like notes of a fine wine. This man got too close. Wrong place at the wrong time. He had to be taken out not to raise suspicion among the working class. It couldn’t be known he was one of the monsters they feared above all.

He sighed again, placing the empty goblet down and began to pace. He was bored. He undid his tie and placed it on the side of his desk, his phone and tablet alight with notifications and emails. He shook his head, already annoyed at himself for letting his head of household be off for a week.

He paces to the large marble fireplace, the flames warming his cold dead bones. Staring into the fire, he takes off his ring playing with it idly as he tries to think. What has he done wrong to feel this way?

The emptiness is gnawing at him like a disease. He has everything he could ever want. He has enough land and wealth that he doesn't have to lift a finger for at least another 400 years or at least until the current banking system changes again.

But therein lies the problem. If he were any other man he would be content, but his warrior blood calls for action. He can sate it with a hunt or two but it comes back even faster still. He has been stagnant for too long.

He pulls at his long raven locks in frustration. He will not let himself rot in luxury like others he knows. They sit on their various thrones of power, getting fat and lax, wholly consumed by vapid worldly pleasures. He has seen it over and over. They ascent, they indulge, they wallow, they die. Over and over again.

Lucky for those unfortunate souls, they get to move on. He is not so lucky. He was cursed to walk this plane for eternity, never able to move on - forced to watch this miserable world shift and change. He curses himself once again for being so naïve in his youth.

He hears the sound of wood cracking which pulls him from his spiraling thoughts. He looks to see his hand gripping the decorative arm of a Rococo style armchair as it splinters in his grasp.

He lets go and unclenches his other fist. The symbol of his choice and curse glints up at him, unblemished even after being assaulted by his supernatural strength. Placing the ring back on his finger, he sulks to his desk relegating himself to his fate for the evening.

He quickly sends emails and finalizes payroll as the snow falls harder. Even though his castle has all the modern luxuries, he prefers to work like in the old times. The amber light from the candles and fireplace flicker in the darkness as he ignores emails from The Council, delating them instantly. He moves onto his physical mail, surprised to see a letter from a long time associate. His eyes alight as he reads the words.

…There have been rumors within the community of a rise of another Hunter organization. AXS has claimed they have heard of similar disappearances in some of the other affiliated groups but The Council has not confirmed this, but you know how secretive they are. I fear this could be related to recent political changes and the acknowledgement of the existence of our kind…

Interesting. There hasn’t been a legit Hunter organization since the Catholic Church’s last attempt in what was it…16th or 17th century? He smiles at the memory of him and the others infiltrating and taking them down from the inside. He can hear the echoes of the screams and useless prayers as the Devil’s Elite took them out one by one.

Yes, this may be what he was searching for. One last adventure before he relegates himself to the life before him. He rings for his butler for a carafe of his finest Bordeaux as he dips his pen into the inkwell.

Vicrul,

This sounds intriguing. I will prepare to travel to assist in your investigation.

Kylo Ren

He smiles as he focuses, the paper disappearing from his hands as the butler arrives. “Call Huxley to return” he says “I have received a notice that needs attending to.” The man nods as he finishes pouring the wine. “Will do sir”. He can feel something stirring within as he takes a sip. Oh yes, this will be a grand adventure indeed.

[sytokun]

Watching the Spider-verse crunch discussion going on in relation to RWBY and the whole #GreenlightVolume10 thing has been interesting to say the least.

Of course, there's many fucked up people who don't care about the crunch, and even endorse it since ATSV did so well; but from what I've seen, most people have been sympathetic and acknowleged that waiting for the third movie to be finished in due time and treating the workers well is far better than rushing the conclusion to what could be one of the greatest animated film trilogies of the decade.

You make your best work when you don't have the gut-curling dread of unemployment and impossible deadlines hanging like a sword over your head. ASTV could have been even more amazing without the crunch.

Good God, if only we had voices this loud in the RWBY fandom. If only the RWBY fandom's loudest voices were the ones who advocate for ethical treatment above everything else, and not the ones pushing to get more RWBY content made above everything else, fighting tooth and nail and lining the parasitic company's pockets to see their beloved franchise continue, regardless of who would be ground to dust to make it happen.

I've seen many animators and artists saying they worked on shows most people look down on like Big Mouth and Mulan, and saying those productions treated them far better and they felt way better working on them, in spite of the end quality of the product. It made me at least respect the work more, because even if it was disliked, at least the people making it didn't have to suffer making it, or even gained much from it.

But with RWBY, it's a lose-lose game. The show's writing and animation quality is fleeting at best -- certainly nowhere near the level of Spider-verse. Its great moments are always undermined by the absolute worst writing decisions and character derailment in modern fiction. Outside of its core fandom, RWBY is the fucking laughing stock of the greater anime community and this is sheer fact. Nobody takes it seriously and every Tuesday a RWBY fan is going around picking fights with other anime communities or with other RWBY fans. I love RWBY but it does no favours for its own reputation at all.

If the workers making RWBY were treated well, I could care less how many Volumes they make and their quality, or how much of a laughing stock it is. But this is Rooster fucking Teeth we're talking about. Do you really think if they cared about RWBY's quality, they'd wipe out their entire animation department all at once after V9? This means every Volume's production is a literal coin-flip because there's no time to build a functioning team there with established lead animators.

So you guys want to bleed these animators and artists dry, just to get the same mediocre product anyway? Rooster Teeth had 2 years to perfect the script of Volume 9 to the finest detail and still somehow took a page out of GEN: Lock's universally hated suicide plot for their climax. We had the goodwill to give them 2 years to make V9 the best it could be, and they took that goodwill to cut episodes from it and go make the JL crossover movie instead. And even if we still get the same mediocre product, we fucking know like 80% of everyone who's worked on it are going to be crunched to the bone and left without a job afterwards, so there's not even the comfort of the staff having a good work experience or stable employment from it.

Every single thing I liked about Volume 9's action scenes, environments or characters, I have to live with the fact that the person responsible for it may never return to RWBY's production to keep making it better. There was a fight animator you really loved? Too bad! RT didn't find them valuable enough so they went elsewhere to offer their skills to Trigun: Stampede or Spider-verse instead. Oops! Those animated stories ended up doing really well are are praised for their amazing animation! Sucks that we didn't keep them around for RWBY, huh?

So, why the fuck is the fandom fighting so hard for Volume 10 then? Certainly it's not for the now non-existent animators occupying their empty offices, which as we speak Rooster Teeth is clamouring to fill job openings for. I wish the RWBY fandom knows that by pushing for Volume 10 just out of sheer stubborn attachment, they are not on the good side here, and never will be. No amount of emotional music and stellar fights are going to justify knowingly putting animators through the grindstone for another year or more, only to be tossed out until they are needed again.

You think I like this either? I really fucking don't. I believe RWBY deserves to see itself through to the end. I love its cast and world and want more people to give it a chance, if only to properly understand what they're dismissing. But real people are the cost here.

I don't care how "complicated" or nuanced you think it is because you have some imaginary box of who you think in CRWBY are good or not, or what scraps of representation you think people's livelihoods are worth ruining over -- it really is not. Either the workers are going to be sacrificed on the altar of your attachment to a fictional show, their mental health and compensation only a secondary concern, or you think that this shit is evil and should never be allowed to fucking happen.

And if the Spider-verse situation hasn't made that line clear already, then I seriously ask you to reevaluate whatever sliver of humanity you have remaining.

[millenari]

To you, what’s the key belief or beliefs in cats? I just really like your takes

Hmmm, key belief(s) as in, the beliefs that are woven through the media itself and are communicated to the (human) audience, or key beliefs as in, the beliefs the characters themselves hold, like the Cat Religion(TM)?

in terms of the media: I have a lot of thoughts about Cats and how it dwells so much on the concept of cycles. The Jellicle Ball happens once a year, in a cycle. The cat chosen for the Choice is reborn into a new life, a new cycle. The main song, Memory, is about dwelling on the happiness you once had and using it to motivate you through current hard times, another cycle. There's a particular back-and-forth through the whole play of the old versus the young, not just for Griz and her memories, but also in the cast. Jenny's song -about how she's hardworking and motherly and worthy of respect- is followed by Tugger the rebel being Young Dumb and Sexy. Jerrie and Teazer's playful acrobatic song is followed by the respectful duet that honors Deuteronomy as the oldest cat in the tribe. Back and forth, another cycle. The cats who reach out to Griz out of compassion are all young, and the ones that pull them away are all old. Throughout the play there's this almost tension between the young and the old, and it ends with Memory, where a young cat (the youngest maybe) and an old cat come together to teach the whole tribe a lesson about compassion and forgiveness.

A lot of Cats fans don't like Moments of Happiness much, but it's one of my favorite Cats songs. The lyrics are kind of dense, and they're not taken from any of TSE's cutesy cat poems, they're from one of his more serious pieces, The Dry Salvages, which discusses the cyclic nature of humanity and life and death.

Where is there an end of it, the soundless wailing, The silent withering of autumn flowers Dropping their petals and remaining motionless; Where is there an end to the drifting wreckage, The prayer of the bone on the beach, the unprayable Prayer at the calamitous annunciation? There is no end, but addition

(He must've been fun at parties, but to be fair I think anyone who lived through world war I and II was probably also like this).

Deuteronomy's lyrics from the Dry Salvages are taken from the middle-ish, and that section has a lot to do with age and experience and how they change how a person looks at things.

It seems, as one becomes older, That the past has another pattern, and ceases to be a mere sequence— Or even development: the latter a partial fallacy Encouraged by superficial notions of evolution, Which becomes, in the popular mind, a means of disowning the past.

Which is obviously super relevant to Deuteronomy, Resident Old As Shit Man™. I could go on about this poem & MoH for forever (But I Wont), but I think it has a lot to do with these themes in Cats of aging and dying and living again, and passing on your experiences to the younger people along the way. tldr:

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No wait actually I have more to say about Cats and The Dry Salvages. The whole poem is basically TSE going on and on about how life is cyclic and there's no real forward progress and humanity is fighting a losing war against nature and ourselves, and death is inevitable, etc etc. But it actually ends on a positive note

[For most of us] Who are only undefeated Because we have gone on trying; We, content at the last If our temporal reversion nourish (Not too far from the yew-tree) The life of significant soil.

Essentially this last bit is kind of saying 'the only reason humanity hasn't been 'defeated' by now is because we keep trying and living despite all the cyclic hardship and inevitability we face'. And the only way we can truly content ourselves is by 'nourishing' 'the life of significant soil'.

Of course there's interpretation there but that last bit makes me think of children. Maybe our lives don't mean anything and maybe humanity is caught in a cycle of violence and death but even with how temporary our lives truly are, we can still tend to something that'll outlast us, we can still tend to our communities and our children.

And that really ties into Cats and how Cats doesn't even really have much of a plot- because the plot isn't the point. The point, any dedicated Cats fan will tell you, is watching the silly little cat people interact and live with each other. The point is the relationships between these characters and how they're acted out on the stage/screen. There's no single overarching metaphor at hand here, or some 1:1 message that everything you see in Cats is working towards. It's just a bunch of characters living their lives, on an important holiday for them.

It's kind of the same thing for humanity in general. What is the point of life? Most of us are just... people. We have no grand purpose or Destiny™ we're working towards, we're just going to live our lives, unremarkable and mundane. But that doesn't mean that our lives have no point. Because, even if we haven't really consciously thought about it before, most of us do know deep down that the goal/purpose of our lives is to tend to and contribute to the communities we live in. It's what humans (and cats) do.

& idk I feel like that's really beautiful and meaningful for Cats in its own way? Sometimes all life has gotta be is sucking and fucking and taking care of each other along the way. Sometimes all life has to be is having a good time with those you love. Sometimes all life has to be is sitting down to watch a silly cat musical with catchy songs and fun dances.

And given that Cats made billions of dollars and broke all sorts of records, I feel like that's an idea that resonated with a lot of people, at least on some level.

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And now all of that said. Look at this. Look at fucking this. 'Munkustraps snickerdoodles'. Why do I always find the weirdest shit when searching for Cats images on google.