#Ghosting

[clown-paradise]

POV: you install two Herobrine mods

HAHAHSDAJHA this drawing is a bit cringe but ... i love having both from the fog and end of herobrine mods together :3 aaaand i thought it'd be silly to draw TWO of them

[kvirzz]

its like it brings my peace back

[andimhome]

really feeling the "arent you tired of being nice? NO!!!! Im tired of everyone else being mean!!!!" post

[worthless-mess]

[bitchycunt]

People be like "I really enjoy talking to you" then ghosts you the next day

[magnolia-sthoughts]

[cheeseatlantic]

A GHOST OF YOUR PAST

He’s standing by the door, his frame silhouetted against the faint light spilling in from the hallway. His mask is still on, but you can feel the weight of his gaze, heavy and conflicted. He hasn’t moved for what feels like an eternity, his hand hovering over the strap of his vest like he’s debating whether to take it off or leave.

“Say something,” you plead, your voice barely above a whisper. It cracks on the last syllable, and you hate how vulnerable it sounds.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he finally responds, his voice muffled and distant behind the mask.

“I want you to tell me the truth,” you say, standing now, your bare feet sinking into the worn carpet as you take a hesitant step toward him. “I want you to stop running from it.”

“I’m not running.” The words come out sharp, defensive, but he doesn’t look at you. His hand falls to his side, limp, like he doesn’t even believe himself.

“Yes, you are,” you shoot back, your voice rising with the frustration that’s been building for months. “You run every time it gets too real. Every time I ask for more than you think you can give.”

He stiffens, his shoulders squaring as if he’s bracing for a blow. “Maybe I don’t have anything left to give.”

The admission stings, but you refuse to back down. “That’s not true. You just won’t let yourself believe you’re capable of more. You’ve convinced yourself that you’re too broken to be loved, but Simon, I love you. Isn’t that enough for you to try?”

His breath hitches, the sound barely audible, but you catch it. He shakes his head, his gloved hands curling into fists at his sides. “You shouldn’t have to try so hard. You shouldn’t have to fix me.”

You close the distance between you, your hands trembling as you reach for his mask. He doesn’t stop you, but he doesn’t help either, standing perfectly still as you lift it off his face. When his features are finally revealed, your chest aches at the pain etched into every line, every scar.

“I don’t want to fix you,” you say softly, your hands trembling as you cup his face. “I just want you to let me love you. But you’re making it impossible.”

His eyes, so dark and guarded, meet yours. “You don’t understand,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper now. “If I let you in, if I give you everything… and you leave… it’ll destroy me.”

The words hang between you, raw and jagged, and you realize that this is the truth he’s been hiding all along. He’s not afraid of loving you, he’s afraid of losing you.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say, your voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill. “But Simon, if you keep shutting me out, you’ll lose me anyway.”

He closes his eyes, his brow furrowing as if he’s trying to push the world away. “I don’t know how to stop,” he murmurs, his voice breaking.

Your hands drop from his face, the weight of his words sinking into you. You step back, needing the space to breathe, to process the wall he’s still refusing to let you through. “Then maybe you don’t want to,” you whisper, your voice hollow.

His eyes snap open, panic flashing across his features. “That’s not what I meant—”

“But it’s what it feels like,” you interrupt, your chest tightening as the tears finally spill over. “I can’t keep begging you to choose me, Simon. I can’t keep bleeding for someone who won’t even try to stop the bleeding themselves.”

His jaw tightens, his hands twitching like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t know how. “I do choose you,” he says, desperation lacing every word. “I just… I don’t know how to make this work.”

You nod, your throat tight as you take another step back. “Then figure it out. Because I can’t do this alone anymore.”

The silence that follows is deafening, the only sound the steady rhythm of the rain against the window. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, and for the first time, you wonder if he ever will.

“I love you, Simon,” you say, your voice breaking as you turn away. “But love isn’t enough if you don’t want to fight for it.”

You don’t look back as you leave the room, the echo of his silence following you down the hall. And as the door closes behind you, you realize that this time, you’re the one who’s walking away.

oh yeah

[ihateadulthood]

[satanicbratt]

[conservethis]

Do y’all wanna see a ghost?

It’s the ghost of binder clips past!

[story-box]

STATIC ON THE LINE

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader | Eddie Munson x Y/N

Summary: Eddie ghosted you to “set you free”—so you came home to ruin his pity party and remind him you're nobody's damsel.

—

You should have set his trailer on fire.

Okay, maybe not literally — arson was still technically illegal — but metaphorically?

Oh, absolutely.

Because if Eddie Munson thought he could ghost you like some coward in a metal band who suddenly decided he was too emotionally fragile to answer a letter, then he clearly forgot who he was dating.

You had written twenty-one letters. Twenty-one. Plus, three postcards you thought were charming and a freaking cassette mix you made with actual effort and very questionable transitions. ("Careless Whisper" into Black Sabbath — sue you, you were emotional.)

And what did you get in return?

Silence.

Avoidance.

The occasional 'your letter was received' from Wayne when you called the Munson trailer, followed by an uncomfortable pause like the old man wanted to say more but wouldn’t.

You had tried to be patient. Really. You reminded yourself that Eddie wasn’t exactly known for healthy coping mechanisms.

But there’s only so much you can take before you start imagining exactly how hard youmee going to throw that shoebox full of unsent letters at his stupid, beautiful, stubborn head.

Because here’s the thing: You didn’t fall in love with him because he had perfect grades or a five-year plan. You fell in love with the idiot who played Dio songs like they were sacred texts, who gave voices to dungeon monsters and talked about fate like it was something he could fight.

And now? Now he was playing tragic martyr like it was some noble sacrifice.

You stared at your phone, hanging up on the wall. Again. Like it might magically spring to life with his voice on the other end.

It didn’t.

Instead, you whispered to no one, "If you think you're protecting me, Eddie Munson, you're dumber than that time you tried to climb my dorm window and got stuck halfway like a stray cat."

Maybe it was time to come home for a weekend.

And maybe it was time to make some noise…

. . .

The trailer looks smaller than you remember. Maybe it’s the winter light — flat and grey, like everything’s been dulled down without you here. Or maybe it’s just Eddie.

Because he’s standing in the doorway, sleep-creased and shoeless, hair a mess, looking like regret and cheap weed had a baby and named it "avoidant behavior."

You cross your arms and lean against your car, giving him the kind of look that says: Go ahead. Explain yourself. I’ll wait. Probably won’t believe you, but I’ll wait.

He blinks like he thinks you’re a hallucination. Which, fair. You did show up unannounced, in your Friday jeans and a pissed-off aura that could probably kill a small god.

“Holy shit,” he says.

“That’s all you’ve got?” you ask. “‘Holy shit’? After ignoring me for three months?”

He rubs the back of his neck. Classic. You’d almost missed that stupid nervous tic.

Almost.

“I thought you were… I don’t know. Gone.”

You laugh — sharp, not sweet. “Yeah. That tends to happen when someone stops answering your letters, calls, telepathic pleas—should I go on?”

His mouth opens like he wants to defend himself. Then closes again, like he realizes there is no defense. And honestly? Good. Let him stew. Let him feel the way your chest has felt every time you checked the mailbox and found nothing but silence.

“I didn’t know what to say,” he finally mutters.

You throw your hands up. “Try anything. ‘Hey, I suck at feelings, give me a minute’? ‘Sorry I’m an emotionally constipated disaster’? Even a postcard that just says ‘still alive’ would’ve been better than radio silence.”

He flinches. You almost feel bad.

Almost.

But then he says, voice low and stupidly sincere, “I thought if I let you go, you’d move on. Meet someone better. Someone who doesn’t live in a trailer and get held back and—”

“Oh my god, shut up,” you groan. “You don’t get to martyr yourself and act like you’re doing me a favor. I’m not some romcom character who blossoms without the sad boy weighing her down. I chose you, you idiot.”

He stares at you, like maybe he didn’t quite believe it until you said it out loud. Like he’s terrified hope might be real.

You step closer. Close enough that he can see the tear line in your eyeliner and the months of unsent anger burning just behind your eyes.

“If you ever ghost me again,” you whisper, “I will break into your room, steal your favorite guitar, and replace all your good vinyls with Barry Manilow."

He chokes on a laugh.

You almost kiss him right then. Almost. But he has to earn that.

So instead, you say, “Now let me in before I freeze out here. We’re not done talking.”

[tourmaline-sys]

Conversation from week ago

X: theriantrophy is an involuntary identity as animal on non-physical level.

Me: therianthropy can be physical

X: NO! It can't be! Therians don't think they are animals!

Me: you know that identifying as means that you think that in some way you are animal? And not every physical therian experience delusions of turning into animal and even if they do, you are ableist by excluding them or even häting/härrässing. I simply see myself as cat, so I am cat and I don't like being percieved as human, I would prefer to be seen as cat. I am not hurting anyone by my identity.

Oh and I forgot to mention. Physical therians were always in community, other therians watered down definition to be accepted by haters (it won't work)

X: *no response*

Can we normalise not ghosting anyone after you don't have any arguments left? Please, it is anoying. It happened to me many times.

[slavicbabydoll7]

[magnolia-sthoughts]

[4uarterlife]

🐚 ⌇ You disappeared for a moment ..

You disappeared like a faint ghost. ⌇ 🌊