#a fairly sane list

[liodain]

WIP Game

[Rules: In a new post, post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it!]

Thanks @joz-yyh for the tag! 😊 My WIPS are predominantly F&F to nobody's surprise, but there are a few original works in there too that basically sit there not being written lmao. I am pretty normal with my titling though sorry (things would be lost to the gdocs void forever otherwise).

F&F:

shipwreck exploration [pirate days] 

engagement [post fate]

cup sharing [post fate]

scar worship/massage [post fate]

clifftop [pirate days]

desk graffiti [post fate]

muzzling & haircut [hugo/izod]

bastinado - pirate days [notes]

the crew go inland [notes]

Original:

how to destroy the world [wellspring]

sea of swords [wellspring]

untitled farm restoration

nothing fatal

apocalypse thieves [nano 2021]

Art:

holywater

inthebrine

jihane

izod_shouldtheyhaveatache

them

honouredguest

hugo_charactersheet

If you want to play consider yourself tagged 🥰

[zorilleerrant]

"why is Duke the sane one?"

okay real talk.

he's the newest and he needs time to catch up

[eff4freddie]

Touch | Part Six

Words: 5.8k

Just as you approach something resembling contentment, this broken world will exact its toll.

Warnings: smutty smut, trauma, grief, Joel hasn't come to terms with what happened in Salt Lake, Joel is bad at feelings, but pretty good with his hands. Minors DNI.

Part Five | Series Masterlist | Part Seven

You were busy again, the new table earning its keep almost immediately, and the ease that you moved around your treatment room, the way that you could bend without reaching over, push with your weight rather than your wrists, meant that you could concentrate more, heal more effectively. You hadn’t realised how much the clumsiness of the old dining table had been holding you back. Every day that you used it, you wanted to find a new way to thank Joel. Maybe even sometimes, with all of your clothes on.

Except that the idea also terrified you, in a way that you were struggling to really understand. The idea of him, of being naked with him, not that you really fully had been, of kissing him even, no that you had, was enough to send an absolute riot of butterflies careening through your guts and down into your legs, into your knees. The idea of him scared you, his reputation proceeded him, and you kept thinking of how wary Maria was, how protective Ellie seemed to be, how sweetly oblivious Tommy was most of the time which you were beginning to suspect was actually a choice. You wanted to pull them all into a room and forensically map out who the fuck Joel Miller actually was. You were aware you were thinking like a crazy person. You didn’t care.

Because then when he was with you, when you fell into his orbit, looked into his eyes, there was something heavier and realer and more tangible than your stupid, flighty, squawking fears. It worried you, that he made you into a different person when he was around you. You weren’t sure what that person was capable of getting up to, left to her own devices, but you had an inkling.

You knew that you were pushing him away, pushing it all away, because it scared you, but also it felt like the only sane thing to do, had kept you alive for years and years, had meant that when you lost people it hurt less, maybe. Being busy again, and fairly invested in maintaining your denial for as long as you could manage it, you got back to your usual routine of seeing the broken and weary people of Jackson early, before the work hours, and then steadily throughout the day. It afforded you the illusion of being sociable, of contributing to the community, without having to actually be in it. Without Ray and Marla, with Maria and Tommy wrapped up in the baby, with Joel being…Joel, you had collected a long list of clients and a dwindling list of friends. It could have made you sad if you thought about it, so you didn’t, and you were too busy anyway, and how could you be lonely with all these people in your house?

Besides which, in the quiet moments you could feel the tension in people, the uneasiness woven tight into the musculature of most of the residents you now saw. Not everyone knew Marla or Jacob or the others personally, not everyone even necessarily liked them, especially not fucking Jacob, but everyone had an investment in their safe and hopefully bountiful return.

To escape it, you went for long walks along the foreshore of Jackon’s lake at the bottom of the township, until the dying light forced you back. You were there, hands in the freezing water feeling out for flat stones you could warm in hot water and press into particularly assertive muscle knots, when you heard the yelling. You were up and sprinting, the twisty and icy path underneath you occasionally threatening to boot you into the snow, and if you’d had time to think about it you have marvelled at the difference in your reaction from Joel and Ellie’s homecoming to this one. The elation you felt at their return, the relief of it, not just for you and Marla and Ray, but for Jackon. For what it meant for this community. For your community.

Trying not to knock yourself out on the way to the gate meant that you didn’t initially notice the quiet. There was a smattering of people still out despite the cold, the encroaching darkness, but they weren’t rushing forward, weren’t really helping the returned residents, were in fact milling around, some just standing in quiet observance, and it occurred to you for a second that they were like onlookers at a funeral. You pushed forward into the crowd, trying to see past unmoving shoulders, past still bodies, moving towards the sounds of horses, of panting breaths you weren’t sure belonged to whom.

And then you arrived at the front, and you had a clear view. And you realised the panting breaths were your own.

There were only two horses, and only three riders. Marla at the reigns of one, Jacob slung over the back of her saddle, slumping over at an odd angle, his head rolled back in a way that you thought would really strain his cervical spine, until you realised he was tied to the horse, had been roped around Marla’s midsection, that he was nearly as pale as the snow around you, that he was very dead. The other rider stared, unblinking, into the distance and was eventually helped down and led to the infirmary, not ever having said a word.

Marla had seen you, had watched you fight your way to the front of the crowd, had searched you out. She was shivering, a splatter of blood across her chest and under her neck, and you couldn’t tell if it was hers or if it was Jacob’s or someone else’s entirely, and in that moment staring into her eyes you knew that it didn’t matter, that it would never matter, that whatever damage it was it had already been calculated, tallied, on a ledger somewhere none of you would ever be able to balance.

You motioned to a few of the men around you, gesturing to the ropes around Marla’s middle. ‘Cut him loose,’ you said, in a voice you didn’t recognise, and reached your arms up to hold Marla’s hand. You held it, limp and contrite in yours, while Jacob’s body was freed from hers. When he was lifted away she slumped forward, her back having held his weight for god knows how long, and you caught her, pulled her down from the horse on wobbling legs, let her crumple underneath you and set her down onto the pavement. Someone pulled a blanket over her shoulders and you held her in it, gripped her hard and tight and let her shake in your arms. You looked up into the eyes of Ray, who looked like he might throw up or pass out or both, and you pulled him down with you, wrapped him around her while he cried into her hairline, and you watched as the horses were led away.

‘Did you bring anything?’ someone asked from the crowd, quiet but hopeful, and you wanted to reach up and slap them for every moronic word they had dared speak into existence, had thought to utter in this sacred space of abject loss.

Marla never answered, and you squeezed her. She twisted in your arms to look up at you, an angry purple and yellow bruise forming having formed under her eye. You turned to Ray. ‘Help me get her to mine,’ you said.

--

You had the fire going, and you pushed your old armchair right up to it, folding Marla into it under a sea of blankets. Ray went to get something to bring her from the mess hall, something warming but easy to chew, and you perched beside her, slid down until her knees were in your lap and she was resting her head against the wing of the chair, and you stared, together, into the fire.

‘We barely made it back,’ she whispered, her voice dry, her lips chapped and windburned. You stayed still, not wanting to shake her, not wanting to do anything that might stop her from talking. ‘Rode through, all night. I wanted to bring him back, bring them all but I could only get him.’

‘Was it raiders?’ you asked, and she shook her head.

‘Both,’ she said, and you didn’t understand. ‘Raiders that had…kept a few clickers, had them locked up, had them uhhh…weaponised.’

You shuddered. ‘Like pets?’ you asked.

‘Like torture devices,’ she simply replied. You contemplated this for a second, couldn’t imagine it, the terror of being faced with that choice: raider or runner.

‘We got within a few hours of where we thought the pharmacy was,’ she went on, her voice catching. She continued to shake, her hands tremoring underneath the blanket, and you tried to tuck her in tighter, tried to warm her up. ‘We’d gone through a valley, ended up on the other side of a glade, it would have been so beautiful in the before times. We found a farmhouse, looked abandoned. Wasn’t.’

She was jiggling her foot and you put your hand out to hold it, feeling that her socks were wet. ‘By the time we realised they were already on us, were ready, had seen us coming.’

She looked at you, tears forming in her eyes. ‘They tried to lock us in the cage with them,’ she swallowed. ‘Jacob was really brave, fought them hard, stopped them from putting us in.’

If cold had gotten into her boots she must have been freezing, was risking losing a toe. You lifted the blankets to pull at her sock, putting your hand on her bare skin to warm it.

‘But one of them, two of them maybe, they got out,’ she continued. You held the ball of her foot in your hand, rubbing your thumb over the top of her foot in what you hoped were comforting little circles.

‘I just wanted to get him back here,’ she said, just as you felt it, a raised, rough ridge on her ankle, tendrils of heat snaking up her shin. You threw the blankets back, saw the bite there, the way the ropes of twisting fungus had already started their march up to her heart. You froze, your terrified eyes snapping to her wet, sorry, scared ones.

‘Don’t let Ray do it,’ she said.

--

It didn’t matter that you hadn’t been there before, you knew where it was. You wrapped on the door so hard you would later discover the skin on your knuckles had split. All you could hear was the ringing in your ears, your vision narrowed down to a pinprick, the look on Marla’s face so drawn, so scared, so resolute, imprinted on the inside of your eyelids. You kept wrapping, hopping from side to side, your tears mingling with the frigid air. You called for him on his front porch, your voice high and choking on the fear, on the grief in it.

He'd wrenched the door open, having pulled his boots on but not yet done up the laces, the furrow in his brow deep, his eyes wild when he clocked you, when he checked your six.

‘Jesus, are you? What is it?’ he spluttered, and you couldn’t let him finish, had to get the words out in case they poisoned you.

‘She’s bit, Joel,’ you spat out, watching his face fall.

‘Who, Ellie?’ he asked, panic rising in his voice, and you choked out a sob, shaking your head fiercely. He grabbed you by both shoulders, bending down to look you in the eye. You shook underneath him, wanted to launch yourself into his chest and bury yourself in it.

‘Marla,’ you said, shivering so hard your jaw was barely cooperating. ‘She came back bit.’

‘Where is she?’ he asked, and you told him. You’d locked her in your treatment room. She hadn’t turned yet, and you figured there was still an hour or two, maybe. The tremors you’d thought were the cold, shock.

‘Please, Joel,’ you said, and he was already heading back into the house to grab his rifle. Tears were streaming down your face now, your knees threatening to give. ‘Please be kind about it.’

He pulled you in, off his porch and into his living room. Set you down on the rug beside the fire.

‘I’ve got you,’ he said. ‘You stay here, you stay warm. You wait for me. You don’t come lookin’, you hear me?’

You nodded, and he shook his head at you. ‘Repeat it,’ he said.

‘I won’t come looking,’ you said, quiet and desperate like a child. He nodded, then, his rifle slung over his shoulder. You took a long breath in, felt the burn of it down your chest and into your lungs. Felt the electricity crackle between the two of you, arcing from his chest to yours through the air, let it fuel you for the next part.

--

The three of you had just left Chicago, two or so days into your trek towards Wyoming, to maybe find something better, to maybe find more of the same. Ray and Marla were ahead of you by about four paces, you deciding to hang back to let them chat. You could hear their murmurs, Ray’s giggle high and giddy when Marla made him laugh. You could imagine the two of them strolling down a sidewalk together, one hand holding their coffees with the other hand holding each other’s. You could see the golden light of the late afternoon in the trees, backlighting them as they chatted about their work, about their friends, about what movie they wanted to see on the weekend. You could imagine them going out for dinner of an evening, Marla resting her head on Ray’s shoulder as the sun set over the water, the two of them intertwined and suburban and blissfully, delightfully bored.

You were so lost in this reverie that you hadn’t realised they were talking to you until you nearly rammed into them, and you stopped to see them smiling, warmly at you.

‘You were a million miles away,’ Marla observed, and she reached out to pinch your arm.

‘Years,’ you said. ‘I was a million years away.’

--

 You sat with your legs folded underneath you on Joel’s floor, the fire warming your skin enough to remind you that you were alive. Your stomach ached, your chest burned, you rocked backwards and forwards and tucked your chin into your chest and sobbed, alternating between wiping your tears with the top of your shirt and just letting them fall onto the carpet.

You saw yourself as if you were floating outside your body, observed yourself get up on all fours and keen into the carpet, unleashing a wail unlike anything you’d ever heard. You thought, for a second, that this woman on the floor was unrecognisable, was barely human, scratching at the rug and trying to breathe through the sobs.

The night grew darker. The fire died down. You collapsed in on yourself, felt the last guide rope tethering you to the ground fail, and you slipped under, crouched on the floor with your forehead resting on your arms, your knees numb from the weight of pressing into the rug, your mind empty, time having stopped, the world having fallen off its axis. A small part of you observed in wonder at how much grief you could carry. A larger part, a wiser part, a part that had taken a back seat to let the banshee take the wheel for a while, knew that this was so much more than Marla. Knew that it was all of them, a ledger steeped in red.

In the darkness you became vaguely aware of footsteps, the sound of the fire being stoked, logs being added. Felt a blanket thrown over your shoulders, then warm hands on the small of your back guiding you, pulling you up and over to sit astride a warm body, a strong pair of legs. You wrapped your arms around him, clung to him like a koala to a Eucalypt, snuffled your tear-streaked face into his neck, into his shirt. He held you to him, a hand buried in your hair and cradling your skull in his palm, the other wrapped around your back, easing the fabric away and tucking under, to touch you, skin to skin. You heard whispers of words, mixed with your own sobs, your own gasps. He held you through all of it, on aching bones on the hard floor, until the crashing waves settled, until you finally washed ashore.

‘You don’t have a couch,’ you said, after a while, pulling your head up to observe the oddly sparse furniture arrangement. He snickered, leaning you back to brush the hair out of your eyes, away from your wet face.

You realised, after a moment, heat on your cheeks. ‘Oh,’ you said, simply. He gazed at you, watched you put two and two together, stood unshaken in all that he had sacrificed for you.

‘But where do you sit?’ you asked, and he nodded towards the old rocking chair he’d pulled in from the porch outside. You nodded your head, because it was perfect really, and because it made sense, and because you needed it to.

‘Is she gone?’ you asked, shifting on his lap to watch his face. He blinked slowly, nodded. You felt your face crumple, felt him tighten his hold on you. ‘Was it bad?’ you choked out, and he shook his head.

‘She was so brave,’ he said, gravelly voice just above a whisper. He reached out and cupped your face, wiped a tear away, held your gaze to him. ‘She was ready. She said when it was time.’

‘She didn’t…turn?’ you asked, clinging to his forearms now, letting him anchor you. He shook his head once more.

‘No, baby,’ he said, and you wanted to wrap yourself up in the sound of it, let it blanket you in warmth and quiet, burrow down into it and hibernate for the winter.

‘Thank you,’ you said, simply. He hummed in response, collecting a tear on his thumb and raising it to his lips, licking it clean. You gasped at the sight of it, his eyes never leaving yours, squirming on his lap, the sudden heat in your cunt catching you off guard. ‘Joel?’ you whispered, and he raised his eyebrows at you. ‘Are your legs numb?’ and he laughed then, because you had managed to surprise him, and after he caught his breath he sheepishly nodded. ‘Take me to bed, then,’ you said, climbing off him and extending a hand. You hauled him up, his knees creaking. For a moment the both of you stood, staring at each other in the light of the fire. You felt breathless with need for him, your head swimming, the sadness shifting just enough to let the heat in, the want. ‘Up the stairs,’ he told you. You slipped your hand into his paw.

--

Joel’s bedroom was sparse, the walnut oak bed pressed up against the wall, a stack of books on the floor beneath a bare lamp, a guitar in the corner. His scent was all over the sheets, all over the clothes strewn around the floor. You pressed yourself against him in the hope that you would absorb some of it into your cotton.

The moment you crossed the threshold his hands were on you, pulling your clothes from you like they had personally insulted him, shucking your jeans off your hips and pulling your panties down with them until you were bare, standing before him at the foot of his bed. He took a step back and you watched his face as his gaze devoured you, the heat of it so scorching that you could swear you could feel his fingers on you even standing three feet away. You trembled from the cold air and the intensity of it, and he saw in your face, read in you that you wanted to turn away from it, from the intimacy of it.

‘Don’t,’ he all but whispered, coming towards you and running his hands up on the outside of your arms. ‘Don’t be shy, not now,’ he said. He slipped a hand behind your back and his knees between yours, pushing you gently onto the bed behind you, laid his body over you and nipped at the skin behind your ear. You pulled at his flannel, trying to claw it from him without even unbuttoning it, groaning in frustration when the garment held fast. He snickered, his little lopsided grin, as he pulled it away.

You lifted yourself up on one arm, bringing the other to cradle him to you, licks and nibbles to his collar bone, to the patches of hair on his chin. His brought his hands to your breasts, pebbled the nipple with his fingers while he pushed and rolled them, squeezed them together just to watch them bounce. He was hard and heavy between your legs, still covered in his jeans, and you lifted shaking fingers to his belt buckle. He froze, a sharp intake of breath between his teeth, as he watched you. You faltered, worried for a second you had read it all wrong, that he was going to push you from him, that he had seen something in you, that you had revealed something wrong and gnarled.

‘Do you…should I?’ you stuttered, and he came to his senses again, his brow creasing when he saw you were floundering.

‘Oh, my sweet girl,’ he said, and you thought it would be kinder if he just set you on fire at that point, ‘darlin’ I was just awed for a second, that somethin’ as gorgeous as you would want a man like me. An old man like me.’

You felt the relief wash over you, your pulse quickening now but not from fear. ‘Seasoned,’ you grinned, bringing him back down to you, pulling him on top of you as his hands helped yours to free him, push his jeans over his hips. ‘Worn in,’ you went on, and he grinned at your little game. ‘Fine wine,’ you finished, and he snickered again.

‘Vinegar,’ he said, and you pushed his head down to your chest, fed him your breast, let him lave at your nipple while you gasped and clutched at his hair.

‘Experienced,’ you whimpered, and he huffed out a warm laugh into your breastbone. You wanted to unlock your ribs, swing them open like an ancient garden gate, and capture it there for safe keeping.

Free, now, the two of you naked and lying together on top of his blanket, the sheets rumpling underneath you as you rutted against each other. He reached a hand down to cup your sex, groaning when he felt how wet he had made you, how you were dripping for him. You gasped as he ran his fingers up and over your slit, gently teasing your lips apart, testing you, teasing you. You rolled your hips, trying to snare him, trying to slide him inside, but he worked against you, zigged when you zagged, and your frustrated little gasps delighted him.

‘Joel,’ you groaned, your voice tight across your chest, not enough air in your lungs to properly scold him. He ignored you, instead lifting his lips to his fingers and sampling a little taste. You watched him, eyes wide as his fell shut at the taste of you.

‘So sweet,’ he said, almost to himself, before he opened his eyes as if he just remembered you were there. ‘Here, baby,’ he said, and he fed yourself to you, his fingers sliding over your tongue as you suckled at them, his hot breath on your face as he watched you, pupils dark in the half-light of his lamp, sweat forming on his brow.

When you had sucked them clean he lowered them again, slipped them inside you, bending down to rest his ear on your mouth when you began to pant, to whimper.

‘Show me,’ he said, pulling your hand to your cunt and watching as you began slow, lazy circles around your clit. He furrowed his brow, pushed off you and down to watch properly, lifted a leg to prop you open, planting your foot on the mattress beneath you to open you wide and obscene in front of him. You blushed, moved to cover your face with your hands, but he stopped and caught you, brought your fingers back to your core before he slipped inside again. You raised your head to look at him beneath you and you realised he was learning you, studying your movements to replicate them later, letting you teach him how to touch you so that you’d never have to do it alone again.

Your first orgasm hit you hard. Under his careful, studious gaze you felt yourself unravel, your legs shaking where he held you open, his hand grasping at your ankle to keep you from slamming shut. So lost in the feeling of it, of the blooming heat expanding out and into your belly, of the undulations of your cunt around his fingers, that you barely noticed him slip his fingers from you and slide to the ground beside the bed, pushing your legs into your chest and holding them there, pressing you in half all the better to ease his tongue into your cunt and lick up your spend, kitten licks at your sensitive clit before plunging his tongue into your hole, breathing hard through his nose and groaning, uttering filth in the base of his throat as he devoured you, wrung your second orgasm from you in a matter of minutes, rolling from side to side and head thrown back, hands tangled in his hair as his mouth rode you, as he stayed with you up to your peak and then over it, savouring and lapping at your come, rutting into the side of the bed as he let your thighs down to rest on his shoulders, your breath ragged and rippling with pleasure, hands clutching to the blanket to steady himself, to catch his breath.

He gazed at you in repose, ran his eyes over your sopping cunt up to your heaving belly, to the curve of the underside of your breast, the nipples straining into the cold air, and then up to your face, your head thrown back as you came down, as you squirmed from the overstimulation still coursing through you, as you let your hands drop beside you, sated and glorious in his worship of you.

You swallowed, your mouth, lips, throat dry. With shaky hands you reached for him, grabbed at the air above his shoulders, felt him shift and rise up to meet you, felt his weight blanketing you as you came back to yourself. With one hand in your hair and the other tracing your cheek, your jaw, you opened your eyes to stare into his, the desire carved hard and deep into his features.

‘Take it,’ you whispered, watching as his bottom lip quivered with need. ‘Please, Joel.’

He shifted his weight to one arm, reached down between you as you lifted your legs to bracket his hips, crossing your feet at the ankles behind his back. You felt him guide his cock to the weeping maw of your cunt.

‘Please,’ you whispered again, as you felt him slip inside you, the burn and the stretch and the force of him, so hard and pulsing as he parted you. He dropped his head, sighing, and you planted your lips to his brow, whimpered at the weight of his cock inside you, at the weight of the two of you finally, finally joined.

‘She’s tight, baby,’ he said, his brow creasing. He moved his hips, shoving further into you in one shot, and you gasped, grabbed at his shoulders, brought his eyes back to yours. He paused, gazing into your eyes, read the trepidation in them. ‘S’ok baby,’ he cooed, leaning down to place a kiss on your cheekbone. ‘You can do it,’ he encouraged, and you felt the warmth of his reassurance radiate down your thighs. ‘We can take our time,’ he said, languidly pulling back from you before gently, achingly, taking his place again. ‘Got all night for ya,’ he said, and you realised he had started to ramble, and that under his hot breath, on top of his blanket in his sparse bedroom lit only by his bedside lamp, in the cold Jackson night where the snow dampened all the noise, all the loss, all the sharp edges down, you never wanted him to stop whispering his filthy encouragement to you, never wanted him to stop easing his way into you, to the core of you, marking you where only he belonged.

‘Doin’ so good for me,’ he went on, his eyes closing on their own, lost in the grip of your cunt around him, in the heat of you. Finally he was fully seated, the warmth of his belly coming to rest upon yours. He settled there, reluctant to move, until you squirmed underneath him, caged whimpers escaping your throat. He opened his eyes, his lopsided grin appearing above you, as he planted a kiss on your hairline, gazed down at you as you stretched around him. He brought his hand down to cup your jaw again, held you there under his stare, as he withdrew his hips and eased back in again, pushing deeper into you that you gasped when he bottomed out, his eyes never leaving yours as your mouth dropped open in surprise at the feeling he was pulling from you, at the need and the ache of your cunt spread so open and wanting for him, at the way he was so effortlessly taking you apart, so calmly and so warmly unravelling you.

‘Too good,’ you complained, your brow saddling and jaw clenching, as you felt your cunt grip and release, grip and release. He cooed at you, revelling in your whimpers, gasped as you did, shared in your breath, made you submit to the divinity he was pushing you towards. This was how your third orgasm found you.

Locked in his gaze you could only lie beneath him, holding him to you by the shoulders and groaning as he pistoned in and out, watching his eyes slam shut as he was dragged under, submitted to the pull, his come washing the fear and the stress and the grief out of you, replacing it only with scorching heat, with a kind of pleasure indistinguishable from a greedy, pernicious want, with something that, in another life, you could have shaped into love. 

--

You lay, entwined together, under his blanket. Your head on his chest, ear to his heartbeat, you felt your body rise and fall as he breathed underneath you. You hadn’t wanted the night to end, hadn’t wanted to close your eyes and wake to the aftermath. Together you lay and watched the sunrise. Occasionally Joel ran his fingers up and down your arm to let you know he was still there.

‘Joel?’ you whispered, and he hummed in response. You kept your head down, listening to his pulse quicken as you spoke. ‘Canna ask you something?’ you said, jaw resting on his ribs.

‘Uhhuh,’ he said, but his fingers were stopped now, frozen in place on your shoulder.

‘Before, when we were…’ you trailed off, because even though hours before he had been eyelevel with your swollen, puffy cunt, now suddenly talking about it felt too intimate. ‘Before,’ you started again, ‘you said you didn’t think I’d want a man like you.’

‘An old man,’ he corrected, and you smiled.

‘Seasoned,’ you corrected, and he groaned, theatrically. ‘But you said a man like you, then an old man like you,’ you reminded him. He wasn’t laughing anymore, and you could feel the temperature in the room drop. ‘What did you mean?’ you ploughed on, because you were in it now.

He thought for a moment, swallowing hard. You shifted in his arms, looked up at him, saw the flicker of panic there, before he reset his features in stone. You pulled away from him in surprise, not having seen that look directed at you in weeks, not since the first time he had appeared reticent and sore at your door. Your stomach dropped.

‘I gotta check on the horses,’ he said, rolling you out of the way and moving to get up. You sat up with him, grabbing at his arm.

‘Joel,’ you said, trying to pull him back towards you, but so easily overpowered. He rolled his shoulder, shaking you off.

‘The two that came back, they need to be checked over. Waited for first light.’

‘Joel, I don’t understand what’s happening.’ He was standing, pacing around the room pulling his clothes back together, gathering yours and dropping them on the end of the bed. He stared at you, expectant, but you refused to move.

‘What kind of man did you mean, Joel?’ you pressed him, and he scoffed, pulling his jeans on and hastily doing up his shirt. He missed a few buttons, and in that moment you didn’t feel like helping him.

‘You know exactly what kind of man,’ he said.

You saw Maria’s tense shoulders when he came into her kitchen, bleeding. You saw her sitting in your kitchen as you held her feet to your chest, explaining how Tommy was different, how he had only wanted to impress his big brother.

Sort of dressed, he was now pacing, the morning light turning his skin a ghostly pale, and you thought for a moment he was haunting you. ‘You know exactly,’ he repeated. ‘Same reason you came running to me the second your friend needed killin’.’

You flinched like he’d slapped you, would have preferred if he had.

‘What kind of man, Joel?’ you asked, and he looked at you, then, tortured for a second before he wiped it away with his hand on his face.

‘A fuckin killer,’ he said, quiet and deathly in the chill of the morning.

You stared at him, heart racing. You were surprised and you also weren’t. You knew what this world demanded of people, the toll you had all paid for survival.

‘Infected?’ you asked, and he sighed, frustrated.

‘Don’t be so fuckin’ naïve,’ he said.

You remembered you were naked, but this was the first time he had really made you feel it, and you held the blanket to your chest, tight.

He wouldn’t look at you, staring instead out the window as Jackson woke.

‘I ain’t a good man,’ he said, quietly, and you shook your head.

‘I don’t believe that,’ you said, and he sneered at you then, picked up your clothes and threw them at you.

‘You don’t know shit about me,’ he said, and then he was gone. You listened as his heavy footsteps stomped down the stairs, the pause as he pulled his boots on, the slam of the door.

Taglist:

@orcasoul

@archofimagine

@hiroikegawa

@ilovejoel-andjavi

@giggly-otter

@harrysrosetatto

@Hjzghi-blog

@daddy-dins-girl

@kathaaaaaaa

[koiiiji]

wedding hc series

Sangho would like to see something simple and elegant on you, something not… too much, because don’t worry, your ring, necklace, bracelet, and heels would shine bright enough to scream how expensive it is. Sangho is man of few words when it comes to feelings, he rather show his love for you with engagement ring - when he proposed (not like you cared and paid attention) you noticed that there are no brand logo on the small box, later you will learn that this ring was custom made - Sangho went directly to the jeweler and chose stone himself. honestly it was huge act of love and care, he spent a lot of time out from his work just on visiting jewelers and having a look on millions of diamonds, just to came up with the one he gifted to you.

so fairly enough he left all wedding preparations to you, just letting you know his wishes for cake, some design thoughts and number of people who he wants to see in guest list from his side (Hwangyeon was in question and Aria cried on your wedding bc finally some sane person entered their family)

got idea from tiktok but i never liked their ideas and vibe so i came up with something by myself✨💗

and im too lazy and don’t have enough inspiration to write full fic🥹

let me know what character is next (lookism included!!)

[possibilistfanfiction]

do you have any funny or cute details about Bea(or avatrice) in your butch Bea universe that you haven't share yet?

(I'm definitely re-reading some of it to fight against this bad day I'm having)

hello i’m sry this is late! work has been busy 😵‍💫 i hope ur day improved or at least there’s been some better days since 🫶

hmm well bea is good at like… every outdoors activity she tries — she’s coordinated & strong & focused, so once she gets the body mechanics down she’s like. above average to Excellent fairly quickly. surfing, trail running, backcountry hiking, bouldering, trad climbing, skiing, etc. i am lazy & put them in socal since i am in socal lmao but for the majority of the year california really is just outdoor enthusiast paradise.

she started trying stuff bc ava was gone & she was so sad & when her cool friends from surfing were planning a trip to climb in joshua tree or some ppl she met on the pct were driving up to mammoth for an end of the season ski, it was all better to be moving outside in grief than it was to sit at home in an empty house.

i think that maybe she worries, when she’s alone surfing or on a long run along the cliffs, even just bouldering at the gym with her airpods in instead of hanging out w friends who are there — maybe she worries that ava would be disappointed in her, that this isn’t what ava meant by ‘live your life’ — quiet streams & long car rides into the piney forest in a practical small suv, listening to a podcast about architecture. it seems small, to be in the wild — the ocean, the woods, the mountains, the desert — & not grand; at least, she feels small. she worries ava wanted her to feel big.

but then ava comes back & bea has been keeping a list of all the places to show ava, all the things to do with her, the movement & the air that kept her just on this edge of sane. & of course ava is delighted by it all — the kid who cried on the beach when she saw stars? absolutely in love with the waves & the wind in the trees & the sunset on a big hammock on a hot night in the desert in the summer. it makes sense to ava & it is what she meant — settling into the texture of a life.

it’s good to feel small sometimes, yknow? she tells bea, when they’re eating sandwiches a few miles into a hike on the lost coast — ava refuses to camp, so they’re meeting friends later on. it’s good to feel small in a world that’s so big.

they make s’mores that night with their friends & it’s dark & beautiful; the sand & the sea & the sky are all wine-dark & quiet-loud; there are so many stars. it’s rainy & cold in the bay the next day & they sleep in & eat ramen & don’t leave their hotel room all day (ava’s request; if he had to hike ten miles he earned it tenfold). bea worried that a slow day might seem small too, but ava sinks into it just like everything else: rest & softness.

eventually bea gets more used to it, & better at letting it happen. in recovery from top surgery, the worst part is not being able to get outside for a while — but ava drives them both to the mountains & they sit on the balcony together while it snows. when ava can’t move as well, they sit in the warm sand by the beach & bea puts her hand on the small of her back when they walk in the cool surf. eventually bea’s shown ava every place she ached & then there’s the rest of the world left to explore.

[vivulapom]

cosmeretomb posting finally..

hello its me queen big dick of fiction mountain. ive descended from my glorious throne and will graciously give you the wonderful gift of gazing upon my story ideas. note that i care very little for how much of my choices actually make sense, only that they're cool and i like them.

ok listen this is a recycled idea borrowed from my cringe past self but listen. plot of tlt (there is a Guy who develops necromancy and then does A Murder and then resurrects all his friends and erases their memories to help clean up the mess he made in the first place. and then 10000 years later he gets some new guys , one of whom is an unbelievably sad traumatized lesbian) except yk set in the cosmere. shards as resurrection beasts. cognitive realm as the river. sixteen houses instead of nine. dalinar as the strangely paternal absent-when-needed fond of tea emperor

i have been undecided on who the lyctors are but tentatively there is (at least the living ones):

shana (w/ REDACTED as cavaliar) --- an oc :) formerly of the sixteenth house. technically you could call her the harrowhark equivalent but that's only partially accurate. she is The Main Character, also gets lobotomized, but instead of just replacing a single name she also loses her entire memory of everything that happened before she became a lyctor. at least it's better than being constantly in unbelievable amounts of emotional distress! probably. everyone is constantly trying to manipulative her to pursue their own goals and she's very confused all the time. so she's not doing the greatest as you can imagine

sylphrena (w/ kaladin as cavalier) --- extremely depressed self isolating recluse obsessed with figuring out what everything was like before the king undying's ascension. has a very uncomfortable feeling that dalinar isn't being entirely genuine but has no way to prove it

shallan (w/ REDACTED as cavalier) --- severely unstable murder lady. struggles to sort out her own thoughts, has exactly None support system (literally and figuratively), generally everyone else just tries to Stay Away From Her.

steris (w/ waxillium as cavalier) --- my autistic queen. i love her very dearly i only wish she wasn't attached to that horrible boring man (who would be better as a lesbian) waxillium. good thing he's dead. she's extremely obsessive and nitpicky and very very thorough. at least she's not actively murderous

elend (w/ vin as cavalier) --- somehow an actually somewhat sort of reasonable charismatic normal sane person? misses his wife very badly of course but by far the most approachable lyctor. does suffer from a bit of indecision and what is "fair" or not and etc however

possibly jasnah (w/ renarin) or raoden (w/ sarene) but possibly also dead. i will probably go over the dead lyctors another time (as well as the two other new lyctors besides shana, isyvweth and sova) i just need to actually finalize a list and iron out their personalities

the plot is fairly separated from tlt itself except in terms of premise and worldbuilding. every lyctor sort of has their own goals, shana is perpetually kept just a little bit out of the loop, and overall i plan for it to take a very different direction than tlt or any cosmere story

[dangermousie]

I really loved the first six episodes of AJTL. It feels adult in a way too few cdramas do nowadays. The protagonists are (sometimes sociopathic, weird) adults and the narrative is adult and the humor and darkness are both adult. Now, I don't mean this is some sort of meditation on the human condition like Royal Nirvana or NiF or Three Kingdoms, but the situations and characters are of a nature you wouldn't usually see in youth-oriented stuff nowadays - whether it's the fact that our FL just wants to ML for stud so she can have a baby with good genetics and no family ties or the fact that literally every politician in this is a complete scumbag.

I actually love that our FL isn't just the most terrifying mofo in the narrative full of killers but that she is a bona fide borderline sociopath who has no understanding of boundaries or proper behavior or consent or even any sort of flirtation let alone a deeper feeling. She's been a killer since childhood; what normal does she have? The fact that she's managed to have any sort of emotions left is a miracle.

So her deciding she needs a child because her benefactor told her she should as a dying wish and picking a sperm donor in our ML because he's suitable, all with about as much understanding of relationships as an alien - she doesn't want ML because she fancies him, she doesn't want a child to love. It's basically a weird duty thing. It all makes sense.

It's a wonderful gender reversal, with FL the goal-oriented, robotic psycho and ML going "but wait a minute, feelings, also no way, no how." His realization as to how crazy she is, is something else.

Look how she explains it, as if it's the most logical business transaction - your genetic material is great, you are not married so nobody will be hurt, if you die on this mission you will have someone to carry on your lineage, you are scheming so if a kid takes after you and is scheming, it's good. None of it will seduce a man in the least, let alone anything further. But I think in a way it's a weird mark of respect where she's not trying to lie but put all her cards on the table. But also - it shows how far from normal she is that she doesn't even realize how insane it sounds to anyone. He may be a spy but his life has been pretty different than hers; he's got friends and he had family - he is a fairly functional dude. She doesn't have any relationship, and the closest she had was weird stubs...

Like - she is acting like an alien...

Yeah, I don't think psychotic rose through the ranks assassins are big on consent.

She's bona fide nuts and I love that for once we have an unhinged FL. But one of the things I love so is that you slowly see her melt a little around the edges, if barely, because he keeps treating her as a proper lady however murdery and crazy she gets - she was an assassin and then she was a spy-whore, she's basically never been treated as a proper person instead of a tool, except possibly by the dowager and that was a long time ago. No wonder she gets drawn in - like she did by his decency in that rooftop speech scene. It's such a great reversal!

Like she genuinely doesn't get why he doesn't jump at the offer.

I really do love the ML who'd be the unhinged one in any other drama but here he's the sane one. And also his angry decency is mmmm.

I don't usually have fantasy casts for characters; there are very few exceptions - CGY and LYX for the mains of 2ha, Chen Kun for the ML of Dreamer in the Spring Boudoir, SZE for Prisoner of Beauty (alas), but LYN is on that short list - he's 100% my fan cast for Yuwu's Mo Xi and stuff like this gives me mad MX vibes:

I mean...

Anyway, this drama is awesome!

PS also the way secrets don't get dragged out. ML knows her true identity and we are long moving on to other stuff, hooray!

[via-the-cryptid]

so......if snow queen was with Simon during his adventure with fionna and cake, three things would happen

Fionna and cake are now added to the hord of children they keep adopting

Betty attempts to murder winter king who has mixed feelings for her

Betty vs candy queen fighting for the hand of simon

The last one is more of something I want to see for chaotic purposes

Fionna and Cake would go fairly differently in my AU, but the basic concept of ‘traversing the multiverse in search of a crown’ would be the same!

Fionna and Cake absolutely get adopted and added to The Collective alongside Marceline, Finn, Jake, and Gunther, who are all very happy to have new siblings (they WILL meet, I swear by the gods I don’t believe in that I will make them be friends). I feel like Fern and Flora are also added to this for some reason? But I have a separate thing for this AU regarding Fern so we won’t get into that right now.

yes, Snow Betty’s immediate reaction upon meeting Wrong Simon, as she calls him, is to try and throw down. which she wins because she’s fucking crazy and therefore has far less reservation in a fight than the guy who likes to think he’s sane. is Winter King still completely insane? yes of course! but Snow Betty is unhinged. she’s well aware that there’s something seriously wrong with her and she’s embracing it, and that is what makes her a bigger threat. plus, Winter King probably underestimates her due to 1. his apparent disregard for his own Betty (calling her ‘the dead one’), and 2. his disregard for people who act ‘crazy’, such as the Candy Queen. WK didn’t seem to think she was a threat until he was literally inches away from getting blended like the smoothie, so I could definitely see him not taking Snow Betty seriously until she’s got a pointed icicle a centimeter from his throat.

as for the third item on our lovely list, Candy Queen and Snow Betty would either mutually bond over their own Simons, ot they would both end up fighting over the superior one (ie, Candy Queen tries to snatch Magic Simon and Snow Betty is having none of it). I think they definitely throw down after Snow Betty has thoroughly curbstomped Winter King, so the fight with CQ is probably what leads to either Snow Betty or Magic Simon realizing ‘oh somebody’s offloading a curse onto you aren’t they’. after that they’re able to fix it with Magic Simon’s abilities (yes I know that seems beyond his scope of power, but the Fionna and Cake arc takes place after a Certain Other Event that I really need to make a post about at some point, which will explain the whole thing).

[endcant]

an incomplete list of things that are mundane but that i miss because i don't have access to them right now:

the foods i am allergic to now

dandelion tea

being part of a large team of people

making red bean paste

having a garden that isn't in pots on a balcony. it doesn't have to be big. i just miss the actual ground.

dancing without downstairs neighbors

sidewalks between me and almost anything i could ever want

getting somewhere early

having my own other place where i can lock things away and not just during work hours

being able to feel like i have a positive impact on people as regularly as i did at the tutoring center. but where else could i ever work that i can get profuse thank-yous every 15 minutes on the dot? with my skillset?

fishing with dad in california

bringing maple cookies to school friends in batches of 30

parking really far whenever i go anywhere and having a nice walk to and from my car

serving moms whiskey samples at noon on a sunday in a california grocery store

coffee and pumpkin jojos with my sister

walking a dog

feeding fish

the sierras

hot, dry, yellow landscapes

meeting someone else's older relatives every time i visit a friend's house.

feeling safe in a really big crowd of people

saving coffee for the security guard who would lock up at the art gallery i worked at for awhile. never got his name but i knew how he liked his coffee.

frequently meeting much older people who are currently attending community college and therefore are interested in learning new things

just having free agency to move around in much larger groups of people by myself in general (as a kid in california this experience was mandatory, as an adult in tennessee this experience costs a lot of money and also usually involves friends who expect me to stick with them the whole time)

piano with weighted keys

the scent of peach tea and wet dog at the same time

living in a room that was big enough for all of my earthly possessions and i never had to share that space with anybody and none of my stuff ever moved from where i expected it to be (thanks stephanie)

going to concerts in town

buying lots of books and having enough room to keep them all on shelves

when the creek's biodiversity wasn't obliterated by the city extending its gas pipelines to new developments

living somewhere WITH fences and WITHOUT "i will shoot you if you come onto my property" culture, both of which resulted in an overall better experience for Walkers

an incomplete list of things i have right now that i will miss if/when i do not have them later:

my roommates are incredibly generous and supportive and have helped a lot when ive had money problems

baldur is curled up on my keyboard and occasionally stands up, turns around and lays back down

both of my roommates laugh really loudly from their respective rooms at regular intervals

friend group chats are fairly active right now

the sound of cicadas is really relaxing

there were no dangerous storms for the past few days, so i have been able to go outside for basically any excuse

i have all the medications i need right now

i have my allergen-free spice mix that i can use anytime

i did a lot of laundry today and my back doesn't hurt. my back will hurt soon because i am about to do dishes, so i really have to enjoy this right now.

i am reading a library book about regional witchcraft right now. it is amazing. i will have to give it back, which is a little sad. i want to buy a copy one day when i have the money

i am not yet tired of the songs i am learning right now

all of my devices are currently functional

in general, my pain levels have been pretty bearable for the past month or so

our folding table is really helpful and not THAT bent yet

big lamp with daylight bulb keeps me sane

tall, thin, blessed candle that i got as a gift from a priestess will one day be used up or lost or broken

i have lots of art supplies right now

i have something specific to look forward to that is guaranteed to happen and that i can prepare for all i like in any way i want, but ultimately i'll still "succeed" in some basic way as long as i show up

there is a poem i want to memorize

[carrymelikeimcute]

Message in a Bottle

Lucius was fairly certain he was going to die in Blackbeard's cabin. It was actually worse. Somehow.

When he's dragged into the room which (wow, that's new, very sparse) he can't help but notice the bottles heaped in all the corners, rolling with the movement of the ship. Broken glass rattling between them. Even for pirates, that's a bit OTT. He wonders if the intervention banner went along with all the rest of Stede's stuff. Frenchie will be heartbroken if so. He spent ages on that.

Blackbeard dismisses Fang with a glare and forces Lucius over to a table with several fucking knives stabbed into it (bold choice, big statement) and points angrily down at a heap of reward posters, all depicting the same insane looking image of Blackbeard himself (Lucius has done better but he is so not going to admit that right now - he chooses life, thanks all the same).

"You read, yes?"

"Um...yeah," it comes it really squeaky. He coughs, attempts to sounds a little less like the stowaway mouse he is and repeats, in exactly the same voice, "Yes, I can do that."

One black-smeared finger stabs at the pages. "Then read."

"Uh...Reward, 400 dubloons...seems sort of low? Might be the economy, we're sort of behind the times out here, aren't we?"

"The back."

Lucius just stares.

"These, keep appearing, in our path - started fishing them out. I know what that is," he points at the picture. "I know what it means. But no one fucking does this - messages in bottles? What the fuck? I want to know what sort of...threat, this is. So. Read. The. Back."

Lucius flips the page over, prepared to be confronted by some overly wordy Navy drivel - seriously, none of them can swim but they've all got a fucking thesaurus? He's not really listening to himself as he starts reading, more focused on keeping Blackbeard in his peripheral vision as he paces the room.

"My Dearest Ed...ward..." Lucius stutters to a halt and swears he can actually feel himself leave his body as panic overtakes him, along with the urge to simply shriek.

"It doesn't...you're fucking lying," Blackbeard grabs him by the neck, choking off any attempts at defending himself.

"I'm...not..." he manages to wheeze, then pulls one of the posters towards him. "Look."

He watches Blackbeard's eyes dart between the shape of his name printed on the poster, 'Edward Teach' and the curling scrawl of his name on the back of the one beside it. He follows the letters with a finger - just when he thought picking snake meat off a beard was the most intimate thing he'd ever see.

As if he can't trust his legs anymore, the captain collapses into a chair and looks at the piles and piles of posters. Lucius is kind of impressed - if this is how many they've found God knows how many are still out there. He'd always found Captain Bonnet to be rather a slow penman actually. Though there's no question that it's his note. It's not just the handwriting, it's the gesture. Like something out of a story book - along with treasure maps.

"Do you...should I go on?" he asks, though he's already finished reading the first one (in his head obviously, he's not mad. He's probably the only sane person on board).

Blackbeard, not that he looks much like him anymore, which is making Lucius uneasy because that's how he got him last time, picks up one of the other pieces of parchment as if it's made of porcelain.

"Are they...all like that?"

"I'm going to guess, yeah," he says. "Be pretty surprising if he decided to switch it up with a to-do list for the ship. Or my very overdue performance evaluation, which...I'm still not sure what that would even entail."

One day, he's going to talk himself right onto a blade, he knows that, and not just in the slightly scarey roleplay way he's done with Izzy - but today Blackbeard - Edward - just puts his head in his hands. After a moment, Lucius reaches over and awkwardly pats him on the head.

"There's fuckin' hundreds of them," comes the muffled response.

"I know...he's so dramatic," he commiserates, feeling quite surreal. "Do you want me to get someone? Anyone? Literally anyone else? I'm just not ready to be this person for you right now...on account of the...attempted murder."

"Izzy. Get Izzy we need to head back."

Lucius doesn't sprint to the door, but he does scurry. Still, it's a scurry with a smile.

[antacidsnake]

I’m going to bed now but I just typed an essay trying to explain why I don’t particularly care if cute and sweet people stepped into the yellow brick road brightly painted minefield by streaming the wizard game.

I’m very disappointed in Zepla though bc she’s got a fairly large lgbt audience and she’s mad her friends have been getting called a bigot for streaming the wizard game, and it’s like… if it was over anything else I’d be inclined to kinda side with her bc I get it. If you step into something unexpected and you get a buncha seething hate mail then it hurts a lot and confuses you.

But

This hasn’t been unexpected. Everyone affected by jkr and her poison has been begging literally EVERYONE to not play it and has been listing the reasons why repeatedly. This isn’t something out of the blue, this is giving a bigot who happily proclaims her conservative views and donates to horrible politicians money. Almost literally directly as jkr gets royalties right off this shit stained nightmare.

Just… @zeplahq if you even see this, you’re generally a cool headed person from what I see in the videos and and vods, you’re usually against spiteful conduct and you seem pretty open to your lgbt+ and Jewish community members. I get that seeing your friends get hurt can make you bristle too bc I know not everyone on the internet cares about hurting people and wildly lashing out is wrong.

But giving that disgusting terf a platform is only going to lead to a ton of those “I’m glad Zepla supports ‘real’ women” folks. You’ve beaten savage and extreme raids in ffxiv ma’am I will not treat you like you’re an idiot. No sane person wants those conniving insidious pieces of shit replacing their community.

[frozenmoonshine]

Just a random thought but, I think that the sad fact that in the Character Book 1, Chifuyu is neither included in the Top 3 list of best boyfriends, nor the Top 3 list of best husbands is legitimately INSANE. I cannot imagine a better bf material than him in the verse! I mean, come on, the dude is loyal to a fault, romantic to a fault, caring, supportive, protective, brave, one of the rare sane ones, AND a cat person! (Also, fairly good-looking, gotta admit.) What more could anyone ask for?

Meanwhile, Baji, of all characters, is like, #1. Hello, excuse me?! A crazy pyromaniac who punches people randomly just because?! ...whose idea of solving conflict between his friends is to commit suicide?! o.O Just WTF

Disclaimer: I did not read the spin-off, and don't intend to, I'm talking solely about the canon TR, so if you wanna comment something along the lines of: "Well, yes, but in the spin-off... blahblah", please don't. Thank you.

[acurtist]

The luxury to be sad.

Too many people in this world are busy pretending that everything is alright.

Look happy, keep smiling, drown your sorrows in humor, don't fret, don't complain, be grateful, don't be sad....

Why?

Because sad people are seen as unhealthy, depression is treated as an abnormality, and loneliness is a personal failure.

Happiness is the only normal.

It's okay sometimes to not be okay. Feel overwhelmed. Have the urge to act out. Allow emotions to take over.

I guess it's more self-talk than advice.

It is burdensome when people keep looking at your life to give them hope. To keep them motivated, to give them a reason to believe in value of life.

No one should be charged with the sole responsibility of shouldering the burden of emotional well-being of others.

Make it, Give and Take or Leave.

People are inconsiderate, self-centered, and selfish. They will take, take, and take and then take some more while giving only nothing in return.

You are the only person responsible to keep yourself going on.

Not only will people not do anything good but they will also add to your burdens...

Exponentially so!

You are not allowed to catch a break, you are not allowed to question, and you are most certainly not allowed to ask:

* Just what the heck is going on here?

* What is this mess of weirdness?

* How did I got in the middle of an argument, I didn't knew I was a part of?

* Can you tell me what is happening?

No no no...NO! Literally the sky can fell on your head but you'll be expected to just remain calm, smile, and say: Nice weather today, right?

WRONG!

People should have realistic expectations for themselves and others. Ask yourself with painful honesty that:

* How much pressure can one person withstand before they finally snap?

* Is their reaction justified?

* What would I have done in their position?

* Did I do something to escalate the matter?

It's baffling that sometimes people just don't turn a blind eye and don't want to understand.

Deliberately so.

Sometimes, it's more convenient to find excuses to run away than reasons to stay.

I deal with people based on their perceived intelligence. If a fairly sane individual has a list of infinite excuses to push you away than support you.

Then It's best to believe them. The sooner one does the lesser they will suffer. There is no shortage of things to be miserable about.

If you must feel the urge to impose grief upon yourself then find something real. After all, it's easier to treat a wound that shows.

[god-has-entered-my-body]

what's your favourite 75 song!! and what other music do you listen to <333

outing myself as a fairly new fan here (started listening to them around late dec/early jan) so POTB was the first song i truly fell in love with!! No, seriously, i've played it 228 times in the span of six months it's been my baby ever since I discovered the guys.

As for fav 75 song(s), musically it has to be Give yourself a try/Frail state of mind/Undo. i just love those songs so so so much the production is golden. Lyrically, it's the either Tbp or, you guessed it, paris. As a songwriter and recovering addict both of those songs are raw and real for me, fell in love the moment I heard them.

But honestly i cant list off favourite songs just like that. Each and every song is an experience in and of itself, and i reckon lists/rankings simply don't do music any justice.

Other music i listen to? I can't really define my taste (trust me, i've tried) but i can tell you some of the records i've been into lately!!

All quiet on the eastern Esplanade - The Libertines Self titled - The Smiths First impressions of Earth - The Strokes The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess - Chappell Roan Die Bestie in Menschengestalt - Die Ärzte Who really cares - TV Girl Around the Fur - Deftones Brat - Charli XCX (vibrating waiting for it to drop omfg) and of course my baby: Aladdin Sane - David Bowie

Apart from that, a few smaller artists i really like atm are Paul Weber & Amélie Farren, srsly go check out their stuff!!

this is so unnecessarily long but it warms my heart that you lot care? makes me proper giddy i love you xx

[ramgirl-warlord]

Site-21 staff

Current list of high clearance staff employed at Site-21:

Dr. [Redacted] Heisenberg: Head of Recruitment and Director of Site-21, deceptively sweet and kind to new researchers, doctors, and d-class. Very harsh to D-Class subjects.

Dr. [Redacted] Clark: Dr. Clark is a quick witted individual with a mind for deciphering behaviors. Dr. Heisenberg's junior by 10 years, she strangely was Dr. Heisenberg's first pick for Site-21 when she was only a junior researcher

Dr. Eddie Fink: Dr. Clark's subordinate, Dr. Fink is a fairly timid Doctor who seemingly has the anomalous ability to survive off of caffeine alone (though this may just be a joke spread by everyone in the site due to never seeing Dr. Fink drink anything other than caffeinated beverages).

Dr. Riviera: Dr. Heisenberg's subordinate and one of her closes allies, Dr. Riviera the most chaotic of the bunch. Dr. Riviera has shown pyromanic tendencies many times before, leading to Site-21 to be coated with [Redacted]. Dr. Riviera is said to be dating Dr. Clark but the latter will never admit it, replying to all inquiries with "I am married to my job". Dr. Riviera is tasked with dispatching and decommissioning any anomalies whenever Dr. Heisenberg is unavailable.

Agent Ivan [Redacted]: Member of MTF Epsilon-9 "Fire Eaters" and site security, Agent Ivan is the site's more sane pyrotechnic specialist. Constantly donned in a pilot's gas mask, Ivan is a very intimidating operative. Agent Ivan and Dr. Heisenberg seemingly have history by the way they interact. Agent Ivan uses his free time to test out new incendiary agents.

Dr. Hansel "Hans the Assistant" Ackermann: One of the newer members of the site. Hans is Ivan's personal assistant or "personal twink" according to Fink. Hans knew Ivan before even knowing of the foundation, which was a better time according to him. He gained his burn scar and knowledge of the foundation after an incident he refuses to talk about. He has broken his bones a total of hundreds of times due to Ivan.

[sapphire-weapon]

Can you explain what you mean when you say that a lot of RE2's tragedies are a result of Leon's inexperience at the time? To me it just felt like my poor guy was just at the wrong place at the wrong time and non of it was in his control :(

So -- just to be clear, I specified RE2make for a reason in that post. RE2make made Leon far more culpable/liable in people's deaths than RE2 OG ever did. OG pretty much was wrong place/wrong time for the majority of things that happened to or around Leon, but RE2make was very different.

But as a disclaimer, I haven't played through RE2make myself since about 2020. I recently did a quick refresh of it by watching cutscenes on youtube, but that's not the same. So, as a result, this is hardly going to be a comprehensive list or explanation -- just things that I can think of off the top of my head right now.

Leon absolutely gets the manager of the gas station killed in the very, very beginning. He just stands there like a dipshit, not moving, not trying to help, while the dude is holding back a zombie -- and he becomes a complete and total distraction as a result, which gets the guy bitten. If Leon hadn't been there, or if he had actually idk HELPED in some way, that guy would've lived.

When Leon first arrives at the RPD and tries to save that one officer who's trying to crawl under a shutter away from zombies, Leon does what most normal people would do in that situation and tries to pull him to safety -- but that's what gets him killed. A more experienced Leon would've known to look under the shutter and shoot any zombies back there first before actually trying to put hands on the officer. We see him do things like this fairly frequently later in the series.

LEON IS THE SOLE REASON BEN BERTOLUCCI DIES IN RE2MAKE HOLY SHIT I COULD NOT BELIEVE THIS WHEN I SAW IT THE FIRST TIME LMAO In OG, Ben kind of just gets suckerpunched by Birkin through the wall and has a lil G-creature burst out of his chest Alien-style. In RE2make, there is a SIGNIFICANT WINDOW OF TIME in which both Ben and Leon hear Mr. X approaching, and Ben BEGS Leon to let him out of the cell, and Leon's actual fucking response is "I'd have to ask Chief Irons" because he's more concerned with following the rules than saving the life of a man who is CLEARLY a sitting duck about to be murdered.

Everything with Ada. Literally everything with Ada is because Leon's a fucking idiot who's Bad At Things in RE2make.

A more experienced Leon would've absolutely tried to save Annette Birkin, regardless of her involvement with Umbrella and the development of the G-virus -- because, at the end of the day, she's still a person. In OG, Annette is kind of an evil villain caricature, but RE2make humanized her a lot and turned her into a more tragic figure who's still sane and recognizes the horror of what's happened. But RE2make Leon is so completely fucking gobsmacked by the revelation that Ada was lying to him -- again, because he's a fucking idiot -- that he just leaves Annette not only to bleed out, but to throw herself more completely at her own death. This one's kind of iffy just because there was probably no way to save her even if he did try, but the fact that he was too emotionally stunned to do anything at all led her to a much worse fate than she probably would've had otherwise. She could have died with some dignity, as opposed to none at all.

And this is just off the top of my head. There's probably more. Like. Thank god Claire was there, because there's no way Sherry would've made it if it'd just been Leon on his own.