#done with excusing or Understanding why i am being treated the way i am

[bending-sickle]

done with saying “she’s being a bitch because she’s tired” or “she’s being a bitch because she’s stressed” or “she’s being a bitch because she’s sick”

like maybe she’s just being a bitch

[cathodic-clairvoyant]

There's a lot about discussion of hdwr that baffles me (not all discussion to be clear, because i do think there's a lot of good discussion about hdwr. But equally so are there the ones that make you wonder if you're reading the same story) and I think one that is especially annoying is the constant infantilization of miwa as this passive eternal victim. It drives me up a wall because this is quite literally an issue she's struggled with within the text of the story! She had an arc about how she dislikes how people treat her this way like towards the beginning of the story! And like even ignoring that, this story is about like nuanced and realistic portrayals of being in relationships and learning how to navigate them and so it's like what's the point if you're going to immediately reduce the characters to "the victim" and "the victimizers?" Is that even interesting? Is that a useful lens to look at interpersonal relationships?

[judaismandsuch]

An Open Letter to Dropout

@dropoutdottv I am disappointed in you.

I know that this will not change your policy, nor will you make a folloe up statement, as proportion wise the number of people you have lost from your last post, vs. the number of people you will lose should you make an apology and walk back the statement are not in any way the comparable.

But you have failed your Jewish audience.

A group of your viewers accused an openly and actively Jewish guest on one of your shows of being Zionist. Despite him not making any statements since the few days after October 7th.

So you made a statement, saying that no one you have had on identifies themselves as such. And that even if anyone did you would give them the room to grow, and learn, and repent from such a horrific view.

That you condemn the genocide. Which hasn't been found to be a genocide by the international court. Which has a death toll of combatants-to-civilians far less than even just the bombing of Dresden of WWII. An event can be horrific without being genocide. But calling it 'monstrous' or 'horrific' wouldn't have placated people.

Though I noticed that you haven't spoken about the genocide (or at least, wide spread persecution and inhumane treatment) of Uyghurs in China. But that may lead to you becoming completely banned in China. Which could impact your bottom line.

You will give more money to PCRF, and you encourage people to donate to UNRWA.

What is wrong with you?

What is it, that an accusation of 'Zionist', which can mean anything from "Israel exists now, and it no longer existing is bad" to the Kahanist definition, requires an immediate response and excuse?

You continue to recommend supporting UNRWA, despite documented proof that UNRWA members took part in October 7th.

In your first milque-toast response to your Discord's meltdown on the subject you supported JVP, and mentioned that there are several equally horrific events going on around the world.

But you haven't supported any of the other causes.

Several of them are far worse than what is happening in Gaza, but you haven't raised a cent for them.

You continue to tacitly support JVP, despite any affiliated Jew saying that they are clearly not Jewish. There practices show that they don't understand Judaism, and their founders and board of directors is mainly non-Jews. They have a page on ADL describing all the Antisemitic acts that they have done. But you still keep a pinned post in support of them.

Why aren't you fundraising for WCK? They do good work in Gaza, and unlike the rest of the groups you platformed, they haven't had a single accusation of association with Hamas.

But, you treat a baseless call of 'Zionist' as if it were a nearly credible call of 'Nazi'.

You make a post on this, the day before the American Election, but haven't even done a single 'go out to vote' post?

What is wrong with you?

Are you afraid that because @samreich is Jewish, if you don't get in front of demands that all obvious Jews you have on demonstrate their alliance with 'the cause', people will start to ask if Sam Reich is 'one of the good ones'?

To be clear, this isn't antisemitism.

This is performing for an audience that doesn't realise that a witch hunt for Jews, demanding that the Jews show that they are 'good jews' is in fact antisemitism.

This is focusing on one conflict to the exclusion of all others. Perhaps Myanmar and Sudan just aren't that important. Afterall, no one is talking about them.

Feeling the need to address baseless accusations thrown on obvious Jews that haven't performed well enough.

You have sent your message.

I am unwelcome.

I hope it was worth it

[roosterr]

white flag ✹ proglogue

note: can't believe i'm actually writing for ghost, yes he was the reason i got into cod, but i havent thought about him since like january lol. has this trope already been done? yes. am i doing it anyway? also yes.

pairing: ghost x gn!reader

wc: 2.2k

no use of y/n readers callsign is 'stingray'

summary: if there's one constant in your life, it's that ghost doesn't like you, so when your house burns down and you have no choice but to move in with him, it feels like your life is on a steady downhill spiral.

warnings: slowburn, some angst, your house burns down, ghost is mean, sort of enemies to friends to lovers

ao3

【next】

it's been almost a year since you'd joined the taskforce. nearly twelve months of gruelling hard work, and not for a single second had lieutenant ghost treated you with a shred of familiarity. at first, you thought he'd get over it, that he'd get past his obvious trust issues and warm up to you eventually, but you quickly gave up on that idea.

clearly, you'd been too optimistic.

which was unfortunate, considering how much you'd come to care for the prickly bastard, no matter how dismissive he was of you. it started slow; when you were first recruited, you held a great deal of respect for him because of his reputation, and you'd naively even looked forward to working with him. when you discovered his less than friendly demeanour, to say you were disheartened would be an understatement. he was withdrawn and stoic, never sparing you so much as a passing glance and a barked order,  whether you were in the field or not.

the other sergeants had assured you that he wasn't as cold as he comes across; soap and gaz both told you how he'd acted the same towards them when they first met – he was a lone wolf, not used to having to look out for teammates.

the more time you spent on missions with him, the more you saw of the person beneath the hard exterior. you saw how he seemed to know everyone's strengths and weaknesses, things you never would've picked up on. he always made sure the team had eaten, disguised as a gruff order to stay on your game. when he got angry, it would be because someone put themselves in danger, not because they screwed up the mission. you saw someone who'd been through hell and come out the other side swinging.

before, you'd respected ghost as a soldier and your superior, but now, after spending so much time with him, your perspective of him has changed. he intrigued you; he's quiet, introverted but not shy, more observant than you could imagine, and so closely guarded you wondered if he'd ever be able to open up. you'd only heard whispers of the things he'd been through in the past, so despite his obvious animosity towards you, you treated him with the respect you thought he deserved – like a person, and you'd hoped that with time, he could see you as more than just a soldier too. though he still didn't like you, you liked to think that the two of you have come to some sort of understanding.

and that leads you to your problem; you wanted to know him. every tiny crack in his facade made you more and more curious about the man behind the mask – about simon, rather than ghost, but from what you could tell, he didn't hold the same sentiment about you. where he would banter back and forth with the others over comms, he'd fall silent whenever you join in. every minute little mistake was amplified to him, you've lost count of the amount of times he's berated you for things he's excused for others. it made your heart ache that you just couldn't win with him, and you feared you'd never understand why.

but now, as you sit shivering with a shock blanket wrapped around your shoulders, watching the smouldering remains of what was your home in the middle of the night, freezing and exhausted, you'd never felt more hated.

you could hear them, ghost and the captain, talking in hushed voices a little ways down the road from where you sit. they probably think they're being subtle, discussing what to do with you like you're not even there, like every single one of your worldly possessions hadn't just gone up in smoke, but you hear them as if they're standing right in front of you.

"i wouldn't do this if there were any other options, simon."

"there are plenty of other options, just stick 'em in a hotel for god's sake."

"there's no hotels close enough to base – it'll only be temporary, 'till we can find 'em somewhere else."

"fuckin' hell, why cant they go with one of the others?"

"soap and gaz are already flatmates, you live alone and you're the closest to base. this is the only option that makes sense."

"i'm not fuckin' happy about this, price."

their profiles are momentarily illuminated by the blue lights from the fire engine parked nearby, allowing you for a second to see the withering glare ghost is sending your way, and all of a sudden the last couple hours of emotional distress is crashing down on you; his obvious distaste for you combined with the toll of watching your house literally burning down was too much for you all at once. you could feel the tears start to spill over again, but you can’t find the strength to stop them and just bring the shock blanket closer to your face. you’d lost everything, and even now he couldn’t find it in himself to feel an ounce of compassion for you? why can’t he care for you like he does the others? like you do for him?

as your watery gaze drops to the soot and ash covering your pyjamas, a voice sounds from beside you, the opposite direction from price and ghost. you don’t even realise you’re hyperventilating until they lay a hand on your shoulder and rub soothing circles into your back.

“hey– hey, it’s okay,” it’s gaz, you notice in the back of your mind, sitting on the curb next to you. you squeeze your eyes shut in an attempt to block out the world around you, and gaz brings you closer into his embrace. “you’ll be alright, we’ll get everything sorted, yeah?”

"i– i don't– i can't–" you try to speak, but you can't seem to form a coherent sentence through your sobbing.

"it's alright, just breathe for me." gaz hugs you tighter again, your head coming to rest on his shoulder as he consoles you. for a few minutes you stay like that, your breathing eventuslly returning to normal and the tears slowing to a stop.

price and ghost are still arguing, but you can't hear what they're saying anymore; probably for the best, if you had to listen to ghost complain about you for one more second you might really have a breakdown.

soap's voice cuts through the fog in your mind, "managed to find this, thought ya' might want it." you look up to find him crouching in front of you and holding out a slightly singed photo, a weak smile on his face. "frame's broken, but the picture's still mostly fine."

you take it from him, fingers grasping the card gently as you turn it around to look at the picture. it's from a few years ago, you and your friends from your previous unit, smiling into the camera as if you had no worries at all. staring at the ghosts of your friends starts you crying again, clutching the photo to your chest and leaning back into gaz's shoulder. if anything could've survived the blaze, you're grateful it was this. gaz rubs your arm sofly, whispering comforting words to you again.

you hear another set of footsteps approach and look up again to see price now standing in front of you as well. it's not exactly surprising, but ghost is nowhere to be seen.

"ambulance is here," price says, offering you a hand and pulling you to your feet when you take it. "i'll follow behind to the hospital, one of you two take their car to simon's."

you nod and retrieve your car keys from your jacket pocket, thankful you'd had the mind to grab it on your way out in your frantic state.

"I've got a bag in the boot, it's got some clothes in it." you mutter, handing the keys to soap, who smiles and gives you a pat on the shoulder.

"no bother, i'll grab it for ya." he says, and jogs off to where your car was parked, thankfully untouched out of reach of the fire. he returns not a minute layer carrying your duffle of emergency supplies, something you never thought would actually come in handy.

before you know it you're waving gaz and soap goodbye, the paramedics are guiding you to the back of the ambulance, and you're leaving what remains of your old home in the rear-view mirror.

✹✹✹

you hated hospitals. it was a fact, and it had been that way since you were a child, everything about them just made your skin crawl. perhaps you inherited the feeling from your mother; she always managed to bring up her distaste for the place whenever the topic arose. or, maybe you only hated them because they scared you.

either way, the relief you felt as you stepped out of the front door into the car park with price trailing behind you was palpable. he falls into step next to you as the two of you make your way over to where he parked, his keys jingling as he fishes them from his pocket.

"we're puttin' you up with simon for the time being, 'till we can get you somewhere else." his words make you wince; you already knew he was going to say that, but it didn't stop the anxiety from bubbling up in your chest.

"i heard." a beat of silence passes before you continue. "how long will that take?" you ask, climbing into the passenger seat and dropping your bag at your feet as price settles into the driver's side.

"i wouldn't get your hopes up. might be quicker to wait for 'em to rebuild your old place." he flashes you a smile, but you can't find it in yourself to return the gesture.

"right."

neither of you say another word as he starts the engine and pulls out of the car park. you turn to look out the window, watching the world go by, the quiet rambling of the radio serving as white noise in the background. it's the early hours of the morning now, the sun would be up in a few hours and you'd have to go back to work already – price did say you could have the day off, but honestly the last thing you wanted was to sit around all day with nothing to do but overthink.

after nearly ten minutes of trying to ignore it, the worry playing at your mind becomes too much to keep to yourself.

"you know he hates me, right?" you utter, half expecting price to ignore your question all together.

he clicks his tongue. "he doesn't hate you," price replies, and his voice sounds reassuring but it doesn't bring you much comfort.

"okay, well, he doesn't like me either." you turn your head to look at him, raising your brows. rolling to a stop at a red light, he meets your eyes and huffs.

"alright, he can be difficult–"

"really?"

"–but i promise you, he doesn't hate you." he says. you give him a disbelieving look, and he sighs, looking back to the road as the light turns green. "give him a chance, alright?"

"is he gonna give me a chance?" 

"he will." price says firmly, sparing you a look as he drives down the quiet road. "and if he doesn't, you'll knock some sense into him, eh?"

"sure…" you mutter, looking back out the window and falling back into silence. its only a few minutes until he's pulling over to the side of the road, outside the house number you know to be ghost's.

"sting," price calls out, stopping you as you reach for the door handle, "he'll come around, alright?"

"it's been a year, cap. i don't think he will." you reply, and before he can say anything else you open the door and step out into the night air, grabbing your bag from your feet before closing the door again. you give price a half-hearted wave as he pulls away again, before turning around and gazing up at your – temporary – new home.

it was nice, all things considered; a standard terrace on the end of the row, but the size has you wondering if there was even room for you to stay here. though it's not as if you have a choice. all the lights were off, which had you hopeful that you wouldn't run into ghost just yet.

you drag yourself to the front door, your eyes stinging from the effort of keeping them open, and twist the handle as quietly as possible, closing it behind you and cringing at the clunk it makes. thankfully ghost didn't hate you enough to lock you out for the night, something you actually wouldn't put past him considering how he feels about you.

there's a small side table in the entryway that catches your attention. on top of it sits your car keys – you make a mental note to thank soap in the morning – a new key, and a note. you pick up the paper, using the torch from your phone to examine the scratchy handwriting.

living room's yours. lock the door. – s

it's more than you expected from him. you sigh to yourself and pick up the other key, locking the door and shuffling into the small living room. the pull-out bed is made up for you, albeit quite messily, and you waste no time in dropping your stuff and laying your head down on the lumpy pillow.

with any luck, this arrangement wouldn't last long, but in the meantime you got the feeling you were in for a bumpy ride.

[romanarose]

The Ghost of You

Banner by my dear @commonmisery

Ghost!Joel Miller x fem!reader

TLOU 2 SPOILERS AHEAD! YOU"VE BEEN WARNED!

Join my taglist: Masterlist

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Summary: After moving into Jackson, you're put up in a house that hasn't been lived in for years. Soon, you realize you aren't alone. Can you help Joel move on to the next life to be with his daughter? Or will you keep him here selfishly with you?

Warnings: TLOU 2 SPOILERS, ghost!sex, mentions of violence and the things Joels done and what happened to him. bittersweet ending. Body marking and blood but it v consensual. It's loving.

A/N: This is my goodbye to writing Joel. I've made a few statements on thi before and if you've followed me for a while you know why. I won't rehash it. But I wanted to write this idea I had talking to @multiversed-daydreamer as my goodbye. i won't say it my last joel forever but it is for along time. all other series are cancelled. I am also just largely essening my writing for p-boys but I'll still be around witing frankie and javi and marcus sometimes. You never know. My main focus rn is logan howlett, triple frontier, and my original content

This is my love letter to the Joel fandom that has given me so much love and friendship

Looking for something similar? Brother by @macfrog is Tommy saying goodbye, and The Devil's Wife is devil!Joel, similar theme of halloween by @noxturnalnymph

8.5 words

It was cold. That was annoying. How you’d wandered your fucking way out to Wyoming, you’ll never understand. One minute you were in Florida complaining about the heat, now you were being treated for frostbite in your toes.

You’d arrived in Jackson last afternoon, nearly frozen to death and had been crashing in the clinic bed ever since. The doctor, a nice older man, took care of you and a few nurses checked in overnight, and today you were cleared to get settled. Word of mouth had told you Jackson was the place to go, a safe haven, a community where people actually take care of each other. Maria Miller, the town founder, had just left your room saying she’d be outside doing paperwork whenever you were ready for the short tour. You’d get the full spiel eventually, but right now the frostbite made walking a little hard. She'd just show you her office, the mess hall, a few quick essentials and then take your to your new home.

That was when you heard shouting outside the door. One voice was Maria, the other you didn’t recognize. It was hard to hear, but you listened in with your ear pressed to the door. 

“It’s been 3 years Tommy. I know this is difficult for you but-”

“You don’t know shit!”

“Excuse me? Who was there for you when you drowned your feelings in moonshine for years? Who took care of Walker while you went off on pointless revenge missions!”

“Don’t you bring him into this. Don’t fucking do that shit, Maria, you know I had too.”

A beat of silence. “You had to do whatever you had to do to deal with what happened. We forgive you, we took you back here and the whole town in glad for it. But Tommy… Jackson is growing. We need the space-”

“You never fucking liked him! You never wanted him around! I bet you’re glad-”

The shouting began to overlap each other, voices raising until you were uncomfortable enough with the man’s temper you grabbed your gun and opened the door, pointing it at him.

“Settle down there, cowboy. Ain’t nice to yell at a lady.”

*

The next few minutes were embarrassing, to say the least. Maria explained that Tommy was her ex-husband. She didn’t go into the argument, but she assured you, not without gratitude, that firstly she could handle herself, and second that Tommy wasn’t a threat.

After Tommy left with a pointed ‘fuck you’ in your direction, you turn back to find Maria rolling her eyes. 

“He’s a good man. I promise. Good dad, works hard, takes care of his people. He just gets… well, there’s some sore spots. C’mon let’s get you home. I bet you’re tired.”

Settled into the house that felt way too big for just you, your thoughts drift to the man. He was older, 50’s maybe? Dark brown hair with a few streaks of gray and tired lines around his eyes, but handsome. He was so angry, and angry at you. What the hell did you do? You hadn’t even been here a day! Fucking unreal. Men were men no matter where you went, but their temper tantrums never ceased to amaze you. 

The house was pretty empty. You’d been given a few furnishings, but the house was stripped of all character, certainly taking apart everything the previous owner had. Had the place been occupied since the world fell apart? Or had someone who lived here died? You wondered how. You wondered if they had family, or if the town was their family. 

The kitchen had kindly been stocked up pretty well, and you’d been given some toiletries so after eating, you enjoyed your first warm bath in a long time. Running water, and it was warm? Fantestic. You boiled a pan of water and tossed it into the tub for some extra heat just how you liked it.

In bed that night, that’s when things got weird. You felt a coldness wash over your body, a shiver you didn’t expect under the warm blankets. Then the window unlatched and flew open. You gasp, fearful at first, but then justify that since it’s on springs, the latch must’ve been not done right and just sprung open. No big deal. But then you felt a hand on your cheek and you froze.

It didn’t linger more than a second. The touch was fluid, but not wind, not air. There was a roughness to it, the distinct feeling of a large hand cupping your face… but you weren’t scared. Instead, you felt calmed. Relaxed.

It became routine, after a few weeks, you refused to go to sleep until you felt it, the touch of warmth on your face, and you felt safe. It didn’t take long for you to believe you had a ghost; after the cordyceps, ghosts were never far from disbelief, something you’d always been open to, but the question was who.

That would be answered soon enough. You could just ask, yeah, but you wanted to find out, in their own words. As the days progressed, you’d been given time to recover and adjust before working, so you spent a lot of time settling into your house. This was not without its encounters with the ghost. More and more, they seemed to get stronger, able to do more, communicate more. There were items shuffled around, bigger and bigger until the couch was moved.

“I don’t like it there.” You said out loud, pushing it back a few feet.

They moved it again.

“Come on, you’re being annoying.” You move, just for it to get moved back again.

You throw your hands up in the air. “Fine! At least be useful and carry the chair upstairs.” No response, no movement. “Dick.” A gust of wind through your hair and you giggle.

You scribble together a make-shift ouija board, a circle tied from some guitar string you found in a box the ghost knocked off a shelf that must’ve not been cleaned. 

Candles lit, you cross legged on the floor, you try to get information. Requests for the name came up empty, but the string moved to  “yes” when asked if they were a man.

“How old are you? Or- were you?”

5. 6.

“Old man.” You chuckle when wind brushes your hair. You’d learned this was his way of teasing.

“How did you die?”

D-o-n-t-g-o-g-o-l-f-i-n-g

“Don’t go golfing? What does that mean?”

No response.

“Was that a joke?”

Yes.

“Well, I don’t get it. You know that, right?”

Yes.

“Fine, don’t wanna talk about death I see. Fair enough, never been there myself but I heard it’s not fun. Uhhhhhh got any kids?”

2

“Go on.”

2 g-i-r-l-s. 1 d-e-a-d.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that… where is the other?”

I-d-o-n-t-k-n-o-w

“Shit, i’m sorry about that too. Must be confusing.” Not knowing where your daughter is must be hard. “Is your other daughter with you? In the afterlife I mean?”

e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g-i-s-d-a-r-k

That broke your heart. “Must be scary.”

Yes

Then, the string moved again.

N-e-w-t-o-p-i-c

a-b-o-u-t-y-o-u

For whatever reason, this makes you blush. You spend the evening telling him about yourself, sharing details and asking him the same. He didn’t like talking about his family, refused to answer any more questions. Wouldn’t say his name.

But it was the first time you’d been called beautiful over ouija board, you knew that much. 

Even after you began working, every evening you’d run home to spend time with this ghost of a man. The most people saw of you outside your day labor was a pop into the mess hall to take food home or the clinic as they checked you were recovering okay.

“Don’t see much of you.” The doctor commented. “You adjusting okay? I know it’s a lot to get used to.”

You blink in confusion. You were fine. Happy, even. Sure, you didn’t get to know anyone… but why would you? You did your part for the community, then you went home. Hell, you volunteered extra hours sometimes, picking up more than your fair share. You just didn’t want to get close, that’s all. People died, you’d learned that hard lesson early in life, and learned it over and over and over again. There was no point in making friends, falling in love. Not when it was all so fragile.

But you had your ghost man. He had already crossed that barrier, so there was nothing to fear. Nothing to lose.That night, you talked out loud to him about your day as you always did, he made little sounds knocking cabinets together or brushing a breeze on your skin to let you know he was listening. Sometimes winds rustled your hair when he thought you were funny. Then, the wind turned into a gust, and two firm hands pressed you down the hall, the message clear.

“Jesus! I’m going I’m going!” You follow the breeze bushing you. Fuck he was getting more powerful every day. Pushed to the kitchen, you’re face to face with the fridge.

“If this is a fat joke- hey!” Two distinct fingers pinched your cheek and you laughed. “Okay, tell me what you want!” A breeze, and you hear a fluttering between the fridge. When you bend down and dig around the dust bunnies, you find a piece of distinct photograph paper, and pull it out. On it was a picture of a man, 30’s, maybe 40’s if you were pushing it, his arm wrapped around a hung girl holding a trophy. They looked happy.

“Is this you?”

The picture ruffled in your hand. 

“And the girl, that your daughter?”

The pictures motion was repeated. This looked like it was from before, from long ago… you assumed the girl was the daughter that died.

“It’s so cute…” You traced the picture of your ghost, having a face but no name still. Your feel warm, a blush creeping around your skin and a deep heat settling in your stomach. He was handsome. You’d never really pictured him,, besides a few wandering thoughts here and there, but nothing stuck. You put his picture on your fridge.

At night, the image of his face danced in your head, unable to sleep. It was weird, this friendship you had with the ghost in your house, but you didn’t really care. There were worse things in this world, darker ways to cope. So what if a dead man made you happy, made you blush and grin and giggle. So what if he was the reason your hand was currently being shoved into your PJ’s. 

You’d be lying if you hadn’t touched yourself that first night, but this was the first night you pictured his body on your, his face, that beard…

“Are you watching me?” You asked, panting. That was a first too. You knew there was a possibility he watched, but you didn’t really care. Never had. Now, you hoped he did.

A pause.

Then, the liquid touch of a hand on your face. He was here. He was watching.

“Good.” You assure him, hoping he stays. “Want you to watch.” Your fingers begin to pump in your cunt, and you kick off the covers. So what if it was cold, you wanted him to see you. You thought about what it would be like to feel his face buried between your legs, what his voice sounds like, how he’d touch you-

“You can touch me, if you want. Not just my face.” It was a bold statement. Things with you and him had been friendly, close, a little flirty… but nothing so far had suggested more. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t. Maybe he just watched to watch. Maybe you embarrassed him and he left.

Then his touch landed on your face, slowly trailing down, down, until you could feel hands on your breasts. The slightest brush on lips ghost the shell of your ear, your cheek, and your heart swells. He wants to kiss you. 

“You can kiss me. It’s okay.” It wasn’t as strong a touch a his hands, but he ridgid texture of chapped lips touch yours, and ripples of pleasure flow throughout the erogenous zones on your body, far ore reach than two hands ever could. It tickles, and it feels fucking good.

“Wish you were here….” You mumble, still fucking yourself as hips bucked against yoru fingers, sopping wet sounds fill the quiet bedroom. “Never connected to anyone the way I have you.” A squeeze on your leg reassured you, and soon your tits were being messaged in a way clumsy human hands couldn’t do. It was like the rolling ocean crashing and waving and peaking on the tender flesh, a surreal experience to your touch-starved body.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m f-fuck, you’re gonna make me cum-”

Then you hear it, clear as day, sharp and quick against your ear.

“Joel.”

His name. You cry it out as your pussy clenches down on your fingers.

*

After that, ghost sex was something you and Joel regularly engaged in. He couldn’t really speak much still, usually only getting out one word. Generally it was ordering you to cum, sometimes a single word compliment slipped through with a southern accent.

“Beautiful.” He whispered as you lay in bed, satiated and panting.

He thought you were beautiful when you came.

There was never another reason to go anywhere outside of your home other than to work or get food, and more and more you just got groceries and worked with what you had. You liked cooking with him ,you didn’t want to be away.

Today, as you tried to make soup, you couldn’t help laugh as he managed to speak “More seasoning” and lift a fuck ton of herbs up and into the pot. At least he was a helpful ghost.

“You can just make it next time!”

You expect to feel your hair rustle, but instead his voice speaks.

“Tommy.”

Then a knock on the door. You were so startled (people never visited you) you almost didn’t answer. No one outside that door could be worth time away from Joel, but he pushed you to answer, a desperation in his actions that matched the tone he spoke the name.

When you answered, you would have shut the door if you weren’t curious about Joel’s reaction.

There stood the man who got in a shouting match with Maria. Oh, yeah, Tommy, that’s right. But why was he here? Tommy was tall, but his posture at the moment was sunken, sheepish. When he looked at you, pink dusted his tan skin. “Can I talk t’yuh?”

You narrow your eyes. “Sorry, but the last time we spoke you weren’t exactly polite enough for me to feel like welcoming you inside, and every time I’ve seen you, you give me dirty looks.”

He nods. “I understand, that’s why I uh… wanted t’explain myself. I shouldn’t’ve done that, but I was angry. Ain’t right, still…”

“What could I have possibly done to you?”

His eyes were large, brown, and wet. “This was uh… my brother’s house. He died 3 years ago.”

*

5 Minutes later, Tommy was sitting on the couch with you, cup of soup in hand. You hadn’t felt or heard Joel, but this was your chance. Some answers.

“Funny.” He pats the couch. “This was his. Was right here for years, never moved it.”

“It’s uh… a good spot. Now, I think you had some explaining to do?”

“Right…“ Tommy rubbed the back of his neck. “The house has been empty since he died. My wi- ex wife, I guess, kept it empty out of courtesy but she was right. It was time to move on.”

“Did he die in here?”

He shook his head. “No.”

Tommy explained it to you. The revenge that was enacted on his brother for saving the girl, Ellie. You wondered if that was his daughter he mentioned, but Tommy just referred to her as his kid. How the woman and their group killed him, Tommy saw his brother's head bashed in, brain matter on the walls. 

The golf joke still didn’t make sense, but you’d figure it out. You learned more about Joel too, that he was from Texas, that his daughter, Tommy niece, died on outbreak day. Joel’s birthday. Joel played the guitar, he liked to swim, was an overbearing brother and loving dad. He was married once. He learned to cook to get Sarah to eat veggies so he was pretty good at it. Was a good man. The best, the way Tommy spoke.

“I know it ain’t right the way I’ve treat’n yuh. And I know it’s not your fault. I just hadn’t been handling his death well, you know? Lost my wife, almost lost my son… I ain’t been the man he raised me to be. I now you don’t… do anything. In town. That’s probably my fault and I’m so-”

“You think I stay home because I’m avoiding you?” You nearly bark out a laugh, his eyes growing in confusion. “Brother, I ain’t scared of no man, if I wanted to go to the movie nights I would have!”

Tommy processes this information, sipping on the last of the soup broth. “Oh… I guess I just assumed...”

“Well, you know what they say about assuming. Make’s an ass out of you and me. Here, gimmie.” You take his mug, walking to the kitchen to rinse it and still giggling.

Tommy follows you. “Well I’m sorry! I guess I just figured, the time’n ‘n all.”

You throw a look over your shoulder. “I stay home because I like it here. Because I’ve been alone for years, so I’m fine with it.”

“But why not-” He stops in his tracks. “Where did you get that?”

You follow his line of view and realize your mistake. “Uh. I uh. I found that while cleaning the kitchen, by the fridge. I guess I thought it was nice, so I hung it up… why? Who is it?”

You knew the answer before he even spoke Joel’s name. You had to pretend to be surprised, but even worse, you knew what you needed to do.

“Keep it.” You say, pushing the picture closer to him, breaking you a bit. You had to hide every emotion, because there was no reason for you to have any attachment to it. He didn’t know what you and Joel shared with each other. Who he was to you. It didn’t matter, because Joel was his brother. The girl was his niece. He deserved the picture.

“That’s her. That’s Sarah.” Tommy continued, confirming your suspicions as his finger trailed over the girl. 

“She’s adorable.”

“Yeah… she was. Great kid too.”

Tommy helped you wash up the dishes from making soup, you and him talking more. He was nice when he wasn’t yelling. You could understand why he was so upset at the time, and you forgave it.

You told as much as he stood in your doorway. “I don’t hold it against you. I promise.”

He nods, smiling and looking more at ease. “Promise you’ll come to the next movie night, it’s tomorrow. It’ll be good for you, I promise.”

“What’s playing?‘

“Scream 2!”

You roll your eyes. “Not the first one?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Tommy says with a tease. “Is fucking scream 2 at the end of the world not enough for you?”

You shove him out of your door, laughing. “Fine! I’ll fucking come. But only to see Timothy Olyphant.”

You shut the door, and turn around still laughing. But what you see shocks you so bad, you’d have screamed if you didn’t cover your mouth.

It was Joel. Faint. Barely there. A dead eyed stare. Much older than the picture and his hair was longer. But it was him.

“Joel?” You say, tentatively walking towards him. He wasn’t looking at you, instead, he was looking at the door, unmoving, unblinking, unbreathing. Your hand passes through him and when his form dissipates, you fall to the ground and cry.

*

“Are you mad at me?” You ask. He was strangely quiet the rest of the day, only a few little touches here and there. No ghost sex that night. When you are getting out of work clothes and putting something warm on for the movie, you bring it up.

“No.”

“Well, you’ve hardly talked to me. Is it because I asked Tommy as those questions about you? I’m sorry, it’s just easier that way and I wanted to know what happened to you-”

“I miss him.”

Three whole words. 

“You’re getting stronger. Did you mean to appear to me yesterday?”

“You saw me?”

“Yeah, and I hear you really good now.” You grin. “I can’t believe you’re talking this much. Maybe I’ll skip the movie, I don’t wanna lose-”

“No. Go.” a brief pause. “Please.”

“Joel Miller,” You tease him. “Are you having me check on your baby brother?” He rustles your hair.

*

So, you started hanging around Tommy more. It started as filling Joel in on his life, but really, you liked being around Tommy. He was easy to talk to. 

You lay on your side in bed, trying to picture his face as you’d done every night for months as you talk to him. Joel’s voice was clear, fully communicating with you now. Every now and then you could see a glimpse of him in a mirror or the faint frozen picture of him standing somewhere, usually after Tommy was over. 

“Walker is doing really well.” You tell him about his nephew you’ve met a few times. For a few years, Tommy was barely around after Joel’s death, most of the time he was drunk. There was an incident several months ago where Tommy passed out of the couch and Walker tried to start the stove, resulting in a small kitchen fire, and Tommy effectively lost custody of his son. Not that family court existed here, but Tommy knew he couldn’t be there. This was shortly after you moved in, and was the reason Tommy finally got sober. Things were going better now, and he’s repairing that relationship.

“You met him?”

“Yeah, he’s quiet. But he’s very polite.” Tommy said he takes after Joel. Walker and Joel had been very close before he died, Tommy adored the little boy. The little boy in question was now 8, growing up.

He sighs. “Yeah, he was a good kid. I never had a son, figured raise’n Tommy was close enough. But when I was with him… Sometimes I think back to when Sarah died, how hard Tommy fought to keep her alive… yuh know, after she died I was just, I was drowning in my sadness. There was no room for Tommy’s grief, I guess. He’s stronger than I gave him credit for, because he was always there for me. If I had lost Walker… I dunno if I could have been that strong.”

A few days later, you invite Tommy and his son over for dinner, and as you stare at Walker eating his food and laughing you can see Joel. He’s no longer a still picture, he’s moving, and smiling, and laughing too. No one else can see or hear him.

But he looks right at you.

*

You can see him now, laying on the pillow beside you as the pair of you talk. Sometimes he’s tangible, hands touching your face and you can see his tan skin through your peripheral. Sometimes it’s more faint, like he’s using all his strength to be see and he can’t materialize his touch. You don’t know how it works, but you’re happy to see his face. Joel has kind eyes, a softness in a world of blood and violence.

“You're beautiful.” And it’s your voice whispering it to him, because he is. Every line on his face, the scar on his forehead, the tired darkness under his eyes as if an eternity to sleep wasn’t enough. Every little freckle you could map on his face on days he was more clear. It was perfect. It was him. 

A sadness crosses over those pools of brown. “I really don’t deserve you…” When you open your mouth to protest, he continues. “I’ve killed people.”

That wasn’t a shock. Who hasn’t? “I have too.”

But Joel shakes his head, curls staying in place as if gravity is now inconsequential, as if he’s frozen in time with a single lock on his forehead. “No, I’ve killed innocents. A lot. Me ‘n Tommy, before… and protect’n Ellie…”

You thought about this for a while, a chill of cold reminiscent of when he first came to you makes you shiver, but when you look at him, you don’t feel the repulsion you know he expects. “You kill children?”

“No.” He says firmly, a glimmer of sadness crossing his eyes. You didn’t think so, knowing he knew what that loss was. “But that don’t make it much better.”

“Did rape anyone? Kill people for fun? Get off on it?” 

Disgust mares his features. “No, never.”

You nod. “You kill any innocent people since coming to Jackson? Settling here?”

Again, a shake of his head doesn’t knock loose a single hair. “No, but before-”

“I’m not worried about before.” You voice is soft, and you tentatively reach a hand out to caress his face. His skin was soft, softer than a man in his 50’s would be, but that’s what happens when you aren’t fully there. “I don’t care about that. Really, I don’t. You deserve a second chance just as much as anyone does. The world out there-” You vaguely whisk your hand around. “Does things to us. As far as I’m concerned, as long as you’re not a rapist, didn’t kill kids, not one of those really, really bad people… I think you deserve to leave that all outside the gates of Jackson.”

His eyes soften, affection pooling with something more. “Thank you, darl’n I mean it. I wasn’t always forgiven in that life. Nice to know someone does in this one,”

Your heart aches for him, so you try to ease his pain. “Tommy forgives you, I know it. You heard how he talks about you.”

But he’s still distant. “Maybe. But maybe he just misses me. That’s different. Besides, there’s someone I know hasn’t.”

“Ellie?”

He nods. “She…. well, we just started talk’n, right before I died. Didn’t have the chance to find out if she ever would, you know? Now I never will.”

“She does, Joel. It’s been years, I know she does.”

But he didn’t believe you.

*

Joel’s words stuck with you, simmering in your head like the soups he helps you make. Today you were on patrol with a fairly quiet partner, so you had nothing left to do but think, think, think. Why did his words affect you so much? He was so stuck on forgiveness, even though he’d never know-

Oh.

That’s why he was trapped here, wasn’t it? Joel’s ghost remained behind because he didn’t have the closure he needed. Tommy and him had made up, but Joel died not knowing if Ellie ever did. Years of estrangement for taking her from the hospital, for saving her, for lying, and he wasn’t sorry, he told you himself. But he needed Ellie’s forgiveness. He needed to know Tommy didn’y hold resentment. He needed to know they were safe, that they were okay.

Joel couldn’t talk to Tommy. For some reason, you could hear him speak when Tommy was around, see him, but Tommy never reacted. Joel couldn’t even move things or create a breeze when he was around…

If Joel got what he needed, the forgiveness, the resolution he longed for, he could move on. You knew it. He was getting stronger every day, his appearance crystal clear, his touch more and more solid, less fluid than before. You wanted little more than to have him like that, as close to a real person as he could get, at your home you shared with him every single day, every hour, sleeping next to him, cooking with him, fucking him… part of your mind told you that you could do it.

But that wasn’t right. He’d be little more than a housewife, a sex doll, a captive. You could keep him there, to be your only friend outside of occasionally seeing his brother, the person who knew you best, someone always there to talk because what other options did he have? 

That wasn’t you. The rational part won out, and your knew what you had to do.

*

Tommy’s face was one of worry when you told him you’d seen the ghost of his brother. You’d spilled it all out, sparing the ghost sex details, but instead of shock, he just asked you if you ere okay.

“Yes! Tommy I’m fine-”

“I dunno, you’re kinda a weird person to begin with, see’n shit wouldn’t be that new-”

“Tommy!” You stand abruptly from his couch,  pulling at your hair. “I’m not seeing- I’m not hallucinating him! You don’t understand, I see him, I see him every fucking day that’s why I don’t go anywhere!”

A sympathetic look crossed his face. “Honey, maybe you’re seeing him because you’re alone every day.”

“I’M NOT CRAZY!!” You shout at him, and he softens. 

“I know, I know.” Tommy stands. “Maybe… maybe you should stay here a few days, maybe this is a yellow wallpaper situation, you gotta get fresh air, a new environment-” he reaches for your arm but you yank it away.

“Does the term ‘don’t go golf’n mean anything to you?”

Confusion crosses his face. “Not really, why?”

A deep breath. “He… I asked how he died, with a ouija board i made and he just said don’t go golfing. Never explained.”

Tommy’s skin paled, the freckles on his face a stark contrast against him. His face a deadly calm. “How did you know that.”

You can’t help but groan. “I told you, he-”

“ENOUGH GAMES!” The sudden shout shocks you, and you step back. Tommy must’ve realized he was scaring you, so he calmed down just a bit. “I’m serious. This isn’t fucking funny.”

Tears of frustration and sadness filled your heart, begging him to believe you. You didn’t think Tommy would hurt you, but the distress he was in was clear. “I wouldn’t joke about this… he- he said it was a joke I wouldn’t get, and I don’t. Tommy please, I’m being serious…”

Then, the realization dawned on him, clear as day. He believed you. “Holy shit. You’re telling the truth…”

“I am.” You sob. “Tommy I swear I’m telling the truth. He needs help, he’s trapped here… we need to help him…”

He was shaking. “C-can I see him?”

It broke your heart to say no. He can only appear to me, I think…He’s tired when you are over…“

Dizzy, Tommy sits down. “He was round… whenever I was over, wasn’t he? That’s why I always feel so calm there…”

You nod. “He calms me too. I don’t know how.” You join him on the couch again. “Tommy, what does don't go golfing mean?”

His face is buried in his hands, and you think he’s crying. It’s a lot, you know, it’ a lot to spring on someone, especially that he can’t hear or see him still, his own brother so close and yet so far. But you were doing this for him, so that he could move on, so that he could see his Sarah in the afterlife.

When Tommy finally looked up, his face and hands were soaking wet.

“He was killed with a golf club. We never told anyone about that.”

*

Joel stood behind you, clear and crystalline, his body practically human. He was cold, but he brought you comfort. “Something on your mind, darl’n?”

You don’t wanna lie to him, but you can’t tell him what’s happening, not yet. You want a few more days without this hanging over you both.

“Tommy left for a few weeks. Just worried.” You didn’t tell him he went to find Ellie, to go back to the farmhouse she lived in with Dina and see if she’s there, if Dina knows where she lives kows anything. To try and convince Ellie that this woman she’s never met his eeing her dad as a ghost and they need to help him move on. But hes gonna try.

A week later, the town was in a ruckus, Tommy returning to Jackson with the prodigal daughter, her girlfriend, and a little boy.

Turns out Ellie went back to Dina, begged for her back on hands and knees, and they’d been living alone out in the country for years raising JJ. They all looked good, healthy, happy… Ellie was skeptical but she agreed to come as a favor to Tommy. Everything was planned for tomorrow, but as you lay in bed with Joel for the last time, you can’t bring yourself to tell him.

You wanted one last night.

Joel kissed you, languid and soft, his hands roamed your naked and prone body and for the first time, you noticed something. A tent in his pants. A ghost had gotten an erection for you.

“Joel…” You moan, feeling him rutt against you.

“I know, I feel it too.” His voice is husky against your ear, and chills flow throughout your body as you realize what this means. Joel was firm, his body fully here and he was hard. Joel could fuck you.

He went feral after that, yanking down your PJ shorts so fast your barely had time to lift your hips, but it didn’t matter. You spread your legs to welcome to fingers the plumged into your body, absolutly dripping for the man laid beside you. Joel’s breath was hot, growling and grunting as e finger fucks you open, preparing you to take his cock for the first time. 

“You’re always s’fucking wet.” He says between sucking kisses on your neck. You didn’t care if he left hickies on you, you were just beyond ecstatic that he was strong enough to leave marks. You wanted him to be with you in some way permanently. “Been wish’n I could feel you since that first day, so sweet, so beautiful, always so ready for my touch.”

You paw at him, groping his body and trying to just get his massive form on top of you. “Need you.” You beg like a needy young thing, like you’d never been fucked properly before, like you needed to be filled and taken and ravaged. 

“I got yuh, darl’n…” Joel murmur, rolling over on top of you, his cock heavy- when had his clothes come off?

Knelt before your body, Joel was magnificent. His body was broad, thick, not quick as barrel chested as his brother, he held it more in the shoulders. Down his chest and stomach held scares, fat, and a trail of hair leading down, down, down to where his cock hung thick and leaking and cut. You forgot he was a ghost; he didn’t feel like one, he felt real. He felt here. Tears filled up in your eyes, and Joel leans over, his body covering yours in his cool skin. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” He asks in a gentle voice, thumbing away a stray tear. “I hope yuh ain’t scared’a me? Are yuh?”

You’ve never been more sure of saying no in your life. “Ain’t scared.” You whisper. “I just… I love you so much…” It wasn’t necessarily a lie. You did love him. But that wasn’t why you were crying, not really anyway. No, you cried because this was goodbye.

Joel’s eyes, black pupils swallowing the beautiful brown with lust, grew wet themselves as he smiles down at you. “I love you too. So damn much.”

Your nails did into his back, relishing in the firm, solid feel of him. This was real. He was real. “Fuck me, please. Make love to me. I want to feel you, really feel you…”

Plush lips kissed you as he slid inside, a wave of calm relaxed your body, allowing you to take his considerable length inside you. He was big, stretching you open slowly while you accommodate him. 

“Fuck, it’s like you’re made for me…” He moans in your ear, desperate like he’s falling apart at one stroke. But he doesn’t. When he fucks you, it’s with more vigor, more energy than you’ve ever felt from a living person, a slap of skin from his hips meeting your thighs, his balls heavy and slapping against your ass, his fingers digging, digging digging so deep inside as you wished he’d bruise you, wished he’d cut you open and crawl inside so he could never leave you, two souls as one. To know and to be known at the deepest level. Souls and bodies barred to each other. Nothing left to hide.

He couldn’t do that, so as Joel slammed his cock into you, you begged for something else. “Mark me.” You whimper, getting a reaction of confusion from your lover, so you take his hand and dig his nails into your tender hips. “I need to know this is real. All of it.” The tears come again when you can see him want to deny you. “This isn’t forever, you know this can’t before but I- Joel I need something to be forever! We can’t get married, you can’t leave me pictures or presents or- or kids, Joel, I need to be able to remember you.”

His movements slow. “Oh, pretty baby…” He murmurs lowly. “I’ll give anything if it means you can’t forget me.” he kisses you deeply, sucking in your tongue and before he pulls away he nips your lip. “Tell me to stop if it’s too much.”

But nothing of Joel could be too much.

A shape gasp as he dug into you, left hand bracing himself on the bed as he never stopped fucking you, rolls of pleasure coured your body like it had tha first night, swirling over your clit and dragging you screaming to the edge. And screaming you were.

“Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” You shout so loud you don’t care who hears you. Half the town thinks you’re fucking Tommy anyway. Don’t stop fucking you, don’t stop marking you, don’t, don’t, don’t go.

You could keep him to yourself. Tell Ellie and Tommy you lied, or that he went away and you can’t see him any more. Anything so that he doesn’t get what he needs, that he stays with you forever.

He’s impossibly deep inside, but in your leaking, dripping channel and into your hip. The cut of his nails goes further than they should go, but you don’t question it. Instead, you focus on the feeling of him marking your flesh, of him making your insides as his as he cums deep in your stomach. Your cunt pulses around him as your draw out whatever he’s filling you with, you don’t care. It’s him. 

“More, more” You cry into his shoulder, but he’s already slowing his thrusts.

“I’m as deep as I can go, baby…” He stays bottomed out inside you, but his hands withdrawal from your side as you come down. His bloody hand cups your face, dripping with your own warmth.

You sob against his cold skin, Joel wrapping you into a hug as the overwhelming emotion of what happened floods you, and it’s too much. You need more, but it’s not him deeper, not him scaring you, and not him filling you up.

It’s more time.

*

You wake up with blood on your face and your wounds cleaned and bandaged, with Joel’s body gone, as it usually is in the morning. It took until the afternoon for him to appear again.

“Sorry baby.” He apoligized, hugging you. “I dunno why I can’t control coming better.” He poked your side, and you knew he meant a double entendre but you didn’t have it in you to laugh.

“It’s okay. Last night used a lot. You probably needed to rest.”

“Yeah…” He touched the bandage he’d put on your hip with soft intent. “How you feel’n bout this?”

You smile. “Great. But Joel…” You turn around to face him, his face frowning with worry. “I gotta tell you something… I told Tommy about you…” Before he has a chance to ask questions, you spill it out. “And he went and found Ellie, she’s hear. I think… I think if you reconcile with her, with Tommy, once the air is cleared… you can move on.”

For a long moment, he stares at you, unmoving, unblinking, frozen as the picture that used to hang on your door. Then he speaks. “You know… that means I can’t see you again, right.”

Damn the tears the spring forth, damn the well of emotions overflowing your body, a trickle of a leak in the damn, then it cracks, and it all breaks. You begin to sob in his arms. “I know, I know… but it’s not right for me to keep you here! You- you said it’s dark, and you’re scared.”

“I ain’t scared when I’m with you…”

“But you won’t always be with me! I need to help you move on! It’s unnatural, it’s wrong, you need to be with Sarah, you need to be at peace knowing Sarah and Tommy love you, that they forgive you!”

He lets you cry, holding you close in strong arms as he realized what was happening. He’d see Ellie again. You were willing to give him up just so he could get his happy end.

His voice in your ear.

“Ellie.”

*

She was skeptical, understandingly. Pretty, short, in her 20’s with brown hair cropped into a pixie and looking annoyed. She sat next to Tommy with her arms crossed and practically glaring at you. 

“I’m gonna need more proof than some golf joke.”

“It was enough to get you here, wasn’t it?”

She rolled her eyes. “I owed Tommy for every fucking time he saved my damn life, that’s why I’m here.” She turned to her uncle. “We’re even, by the way.”

“Sure as shit are.” He sighs, then looks at you. “He here?” 

You gesture to the couch. “Yeah he’s sitting right- hey!”

Ellie swung her hand over where you said Joel was sitting, doing nothing but annoying Joel who tried in vein to smack her away, telling her to cut the shit.

“I don’t fucking feel anything.”

“That’s not how it works Ellie!” Tommy flicked her arm. “Relax.”

With a huff, she crossed her arms again. “Fine.”

Tommy looked to you, then to Joel, then back to you. “Tell her something only Joel would know.”

When you turn to Joel, he’s looking at Ellie with sadness. She looks different, a lot older, yet she’s still Ellie to him. He doesn’t turn to you. ‘David.’ He instructs, and you turn to her.

“Do you know a David?” And suddenly her skin blanches. Ever so slightly, she’s shaking, but then she turns to Tommy. “Did Joel fucking telling you that!?”

From beyond Tommy’s protests that he doesn’t know who Daivid is, did she mean David Turner, who was a local here, or David Sanchez, who died last month in a raid? Joel insists he’d never tell that to anyone, but Ellie can’t hear him.

You try to calm them. “He says he was someone you met after leaving Jackson the first time, that you did the right thing by killing him.”

“Yeah! I fucking did!”

“He says if he goes to hell, David is the first person he’s finding.”

She stops, information processing in her head that there was no way Joel wold have told whoever David was to Tommy. “David tried to rape me when I was 14.” She grits out. “I stabbed him to death and let his body burn up.”

Tommy turns to her, horrified but doesn’t speak.

You nod. “Good.”

And then, she sinks into the couch. “Whenever I had nightmares… Joel always told me David was the first person he’d find in hell. He was convinced he was going there.”

You chuckle. Yeah that sounds like Joel. “He loves you both very, very much… and the uncertainty is what’s keeping him here. I need to help him move on.” 

“So what? You’re some sort of fucking medium?”

“No, I’ve never had anything like this happen before but… He started appearing to me. Little touches, cold spots, breezes… then he started moving things, hearing his voice…. Now I can see him, he’s as clear as you are, honestly.”

Tommy speaks now. “He’s gotta know-” He tries to turn to where you said Joel was, but you can tell he’s struggling to talk to a brown cushion. “You gotta know we love you, don’t know? How can you doubt that?”

‘Tell him I do. But tell him… I don’t know if he forgives me.’

“Joel knows you both love him, but that’s not why he’s stuck. He needs to know you forgive him.”

Ellie is staring sone faced at a wall, but Tommy is looking down at his hands now, this seems easier. “Joel… those things we did… it’s been a long time. I was angry, yeah, I fucking hated you for a while but…” He shakes his head, silver streaks shimmering in the deep brown of his hair. “I got Walker now and… after he was born man, I think I got it. The things we did to survive… you were willing to do some of the worst shit out there, damning your own soul to save me. I’d do the same for my kid, if I needed to.”

‘But I shouldn’t have made you do any of it, Tommy.’

“Joel feels bad that he made you participate.”

“You didn’t make me do fuck’n shit, brother. I was a grown ass man, even if you still thought of me as a reckless teenager. I made my choices, and I understand why you made yours. You lost your baby, I know damn well you couldn’t take lose’n your brother either. I forgive you, but you also gotta forgive yourself, brother.”

Ellie pipes up. “I get it too, Joel. I told you that night, I didn’t know if I could forgive you… telling you I couldn’t… but… UUGHHHH!” She slumps down, covering her face. “Joel I was angry! I was angry and I was stupid but I was a teenager! I was just- just a kid who had these grand schemes of changing the world! But we don’t know if it could’ve worked. But I forgive you, Joel. I was always gonna forgive you, even before you went and fucking left me! I don’t know why I had to do that, why i treated you the way I did-”

‘You were a teenager, that’s normal-’

“But I think about it, every single day I think about it and what I should've said and done better but I get it now. I don’t know what you’ve been told but I got my kid now. I know you’re old man brain is probably trying to work out how two women had a baby-”

Joel laughs, and so does Ellie.

“But it’s Jesse’s. Dina got pregnant before Jesse and her broke up and he… he died. But I’ve been raising him with her the last few years… She took me back… You ask me on the porch that night if she treats me good and Joel…” Ellie sighs, smiling. “She really does.”

‘Tell ‘er I’m glad. That I always liked her, and I wanna know the kids name.’

“Joel says he doesn’t blame you for being mad at him, or how you talked to him. He says he’s glad Dina and you are happy. What’s the babies name?”

Ellie grins, pride in her eyes. “The baby is almost 4 now. His name is JJ. Jesse Joel.”

Tear fill up Joel’s eyes, fatherly love overwhelming him and for a moment, you think how sweet this is, how nice. Then you notice he’s not as clear as he was before.

“Joel!” You rush to his side and take his hand, kneeling at the couch. “Joel, I think it worked… you’re fading…” You try to grip his hand, as if holding on tighter would keep him here with you, keep him ground in this world. Without him, you weren’t sure what you’d do with your life, who you’d talk to or confide in…. But you knew, you knew above all you’d miss him. There would never be another Joel.

‘Please-’ He sounds desperate now, scared even. ‘One more time, tell them I love them, I just- I love them so much fucking much.’

Through your sobs, you relay the message. “He needs you to know how much he loves you guys. He talks about you all the time, he- you’re everything to him.” You see Ellie and Tommy holding hands, Ellie crying and Tommy looking close. 

“We love you, Joel. All of us.” Ellie says, to nowhere in particular.

‘And the kids. Walker and- fuck I ain’t never met JJ but I love him too. If, if there’s a heaven I’m gonna…’ His words start to fade, but you know what he’s saying. His strength is going fast, Joel letting go and passing on, but even still his body shook. He was scared. If there was a heaven, Joel was going, but he wasn’t sure about that.

“He says he loves Walker and JJ, he’s gonna watch over them in heaven”

That breaks Tommy, who lets the tears come now as he takes your hand too, squeezing it tight.

You look up at your lover. “I love you, Joel. I’m always gonna love you, always gonna remember you. It’s gonna be okay, I promise you. We’re gonna be alright, we’re doing okay. You can let go now. It’s okay to let go. There’s no one left you need to protect.. we’re safe.”

Even though he’s fading away Joel looks into your eyes. He can’t speak, his strength fading, but it’s all communicated through those eyes that say so much. One last time, he cups your cheek, and the hand that isn’t holding Tommy’s brushes over the cold fingers, feeling liquid and unstable again. There’s fear in his eyes, mixed with that tender love, but then something changes in him.

Joel looks forward, past you, Tommy and Ellie and onto something else, something more. He smiles. ‘I see her’

All his fear his gone, and his face is peaceful.

For the final time, a breeze rustles your hair, and Tommy and Ellie see it.

Joel is gone, and all you can do is sob into his couch.

*

When it finally subsides you feel numb. Ellie and Tommy have joined you on the floor, the three of you talking about the experience you shared together, something no one will ever believe. 

“His last words were, ‘’I see her’....”

Tommy whispers Sarah’s name, and you nod. 

“He’s with her now. He’s a peace. I know a better place is a cliche, but…” Ellie wipes her tears. “We all know how much he missed her.”

Everyone nods solemnly, and for a while, you stay there, talking about Joel, memories and his jokes and his cooking. It was nice to share this secret with other, and suddenly you felt less alone in it. They believed your stories of the ghost in your walls, and they liked hearing the knew things he told you. You liked learning more of his past.

Eventually, everyone had to get back to their families. You were alone, but you didn’t feel lovely. Something had shifted, a closeness to Ellie and Tommy that didn’t scare you the way human connection used to. Maybe you would go to the mess hall, see some movies. Your patrol partner was quiet, but nice. Tommy was still around, and Ellie and Dina decided to pack up their things and return, wanting JJ to have friends. It was going to be okay, and as the sun set on the day, somehow you felt it rise on your life. A new, beautiful world of opportunities for friendship and love was out there.

You stared in the mirror, butt naked, feeling strangely open and vulnerable despite being alone for the first time in months.

It all felt surreal, something that seemed impossible, that went against every logical explanation.

But when you took off the bandage on your hip to change it, there they were, clear as day. 4 crescent fingernail cuts deep into your skin, something that would scar forever.

No matter what happened, you’d always carry these with you, proof that Joel and your love for him was real.

I cried pretty good writing tht end, knowing its my goodbye. I want yall to know I love each and every reader so so so so much. You mean the world to me. every kind word lives on in me forever. I hope you'll stay for my other writing, but if not, thats okay! I wih all of you the best.

Please be kinder to each other. the fanfic writers do this for free, they do not deserve the things they've experienced here. It is a beautiful world out there.

Trust me, it feels way better to send anon love rather than anon hate. I wont be writing tlou for a minute but ill return with a tommy series !!!!

follow @romana-after-dark for dark content and @riley-blue-byron for upcoming original works!

So long, and thanks for all the fish <3

reblogs are greatly appriciated, would make a nice send off <3

@princessanglophile @missladym1981 @goodwithcheese @dancinglotusbud @glitterymanboy @koshkaj-blog @sixhours @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @fandxmslxt69 @miraclesabound

[chosoisamalewife]

* Sees the angst tag in the masterlist * me: 😈

I request the finest dish of Sukuna and Male reader, with the drink being Angst. Sukuna had kept his Male servant around in the heian era and began to have a soft spot for him. But when he found a servant's dead body, he began to go mad. Now, the rest is up to you.

Sukuna x male!reader

A/N : I am a big angst lover so the moment I saw this request I squealed and instantly started writing

A/N : I gotten inspiration from the last of us opening for the death scene. Also Sukuna and reader had a special thing 😉😉 ALSO SUKUNA IS HEAVILY OOC

Sukuna wasn’t a kind man,well he wasn’t a man to begin with, he was a curse object that hated basically everything. He wasn’t kind at all, he was rough and mean. He was one thing that has zero weakness or so he thought. There was you he never understood why he adored you so much. You were a pesky human to him, a mere servant of his. However he couldn’t help but to be soft and patient with you. He felt pathetic every time he saw you smile, every time he saw your eyes and skin glowing in the sun light. The way you looked at everything with kind eyes, even him, a monstrous being. The way you trace the patterns all over his body, your fingertips grazing his skin gently like he was fragile glass as your soothing voice spoke. Oh your voice was something he could listen to always, it was one of a kind to him. He hated it but oh he couldn’t tell you to stop. You were a weakness to him and he hated, he hated everything about it, yet he couldn’t get rid of you.

He has even tried to, there has been many times he has thought about killing you. He has pictured it many times and many different ways, sometimes they come out of the blue. The other times is when you are sleeping peacefully next to him, his eyes starring at your resting face trailing them down looking at all the marks from him. He couldn’t help but to imagine ripping your heart out right then and there, doing the same thing you have done to him, making you feel the same pain.

You didn’t understand it either why he was so gentle to you. When you first became his servant he treated you like the other. He was cold and ruthless to you, the only person you saw he even remotely nice to was uruame. The first time that you saw something different from was when you bumped into by accident. The force of him basically knocked the breath out of your lungs. You just stared up at him with fear as he just stared down at you. You gotten on your knees "I'm sorry King. I must have been distracted I didn't see you." Your voice shook with fear. He reached one of his hands down offering it to you. You looked at him confused

"Are you gonna take it or what?" He asked without any emotion or tone to his voice. You put your hand in his helping you raise up. From there you saw him slowly began to soften. He knew the track you walked in the castle so he eventually start to intercept that track. He knew you liked to paint so he start to let you go outside to do that with his "supervision" of course. You had a favorite spot too, it was under a tree surrounded by flowers, so he had other servant set up a area for you there. He stood out there with you for the most of it he wanted to make sure you didn't run away. But that was just an excuse. He stood out there because of how peacefully you looked. He liked how you looked when you concentrate, he liked how your strong hands look holding the brush. He also did it to make sure that no one would disturb you.

One thing he hated more than how gentle you were, was the way you looked when you cry. Sukuna wasn’t a patient being which caused a lot of fights between the two of y’all. Sukuna never felt the need to apologize to anyone or anything but with you he just couldn’t help it. He felt the need to apologize especially after a bad one. Such as the recent one, he was sitting on his throne thinking of the way your eyes filled with tear before you stormed off. The way you yelled “If you are so tired of me then kill me! Do it already!”

He decided to ask uraume to make your favorite dishes as a act of him apologizing to you. When he brought the food up to your door. He could hear sniffling. He thought your were still upset so he put the tray on the floor and knocked gently on your door. "Y/N, I know you're probably still upset but here is some food. " That’s when he heard you say his name but it wasn't normal. It was odd like you were hurt. He opened the door to find you bleeding on the floor.

He ran to your body lying on the ground, the was a big gash from your chest to your torso. “Y/N, going to be okay.” He took you in his arms trying to pick you up which caused you to scream in pain. “ I know, I know but you have to let me. I have to get you help.” He tried again, your nails were digging into his skin as you screamed. “I know baby, I know.” Baby was a nickname that he has never used until now, it was always brat. He stood up half way before the grip you had on him let go and everything went silent. Your body fell limp in his arms. “Y/N” He sat down on the ground with your body cradle in his arms. He sat there just staring at the opened window. If he wasn’t late he could’ve caught that person, the thing that killed you. Or he could've killed it before it hurt you. The thing that took you from him. He’s going to hunt them but he doesn’t want to kill them. No, killing them would be to humane. He wants to torture them until their body can’t take it and give up.

He sits there for hours in the the silence of what use to be your lively room. What once was a room filled with laughter, talking, and other noises is now a room with nothing. The sound of the door opening interrupted his thought. He turned his head looking at the intruder, it was another servant. “My kin-“ the servant wasn’t even able to get the full word out before a slash went through his body. Uraume eventually came the fetch the body before leaving sukuna alone again. It began a repeated process of servants intruding to only be killed in a second

This went on for 3 days, your body started to decay but he didn’t move. He stayed there not caring about the decay or the smell. “Sukuna” Uraume opened the door gently. He stared at them with a look in his eyes that they have never seen before. Was it heartbreak, anger, madness that he didn’t want to let out. Simply because he didn’t want to disturb your resting body.

“I don’t want to fucking hear it.” He barked at them. They crouch in front of him leaving your body in between them.

“Sukuna, I think we should give him a proper burial. He doesn’t deserve to rot here.” He sat there for a second considering it. "Please" They pleaded with him hoping to get in his mind. He nodded slowly. "Where do you want to bury him"

"I know a place." Sukuna and Uraume put you in beautiful clothing before burying you along with your paint and brushes. Your favorite place became your resting place, under the tree surrounded by flowers.

For hours the quiet castle became home to thunderous yells the sound of things being thrown. No one even dared to ask Sukuna if he was okay, it was clear to what would happen. They would become like those painting of yours that he has ripped up. Those gorgeous painted vases shattered on the floor, he didn't care about the glass stabbing his feet. Everything reminded you of him and he wanted it all gone, it all destroyed and dead just like you. Sukuna's madness went as far as killing every other servant that met you. They knew that you were a weakness to him and he couldn't let them live. He made sure that only him and Uraume remembered you.

Over the course of centuries you began to fade into the back of his mind, a place that he will never tap back into. Those memories no longer had the same effect on him. They didn’t make him soft like they use to. They made him angry, viewing them as a time that he was weak. He even forgot that he was on a hunt looking for the person or curse that killed you. If anything he now wishes it was him that did it. He sees you as having a victory over him simply because he couldn't. You were his biggest regret and now you exist forvever in the back in his mind. You were like a thorn in his foot that he can never get out. No matter how much it annoyed him, it will always be there so he learned to ignore it.

[alotofpockets]

Celebrating you | Kyra Cooney-Cross

Pairing: Kyra Cooney-Cross x Reader

Summary: Celebrating Kyra's birthday.

A/n: Happy birthday to our one and only KCC! Thank you @totaly-obsessed for talking about this fic with me :)

Woso masterlist | Words: 1k

-----

You were busy making Kyra’s favourite breakfast, while she was still sound asleep in your bed. For Valentine’s Day yesterday you had gone out for dinner, so you thought you’d switch it up today, and put the focus on breakfast instead. It wasn’t long until you had the table filled with your girlfriend’s favourites, you checked everything over one last time, wanting everything to be perfect. It was your first time celebrating Kyra’s birthday since you started dating, as well as it had been your first Valentine’s day together yesterday. 

Once you had looked everything over, and were happy with the result, you heard Kyra starting to wake up in the other room. She was stretching her arms out when you walked into the room. “Good morning birthday girl.” You said as you sat down next to her. She smiled and moved her head into your lap, “Good morning.” Her raspy morning voice was like music to your ears, you just loved it so much. “I’ve made your favourites for breakfast.” Her eyes widened, “Hash browns, avocado toast, oh or vegemite on toast?” You smile knowing you have done right by her. “All of the above, my love.” When she realised that you had not made a favourite, but all of her favourites she was quick to get up, faster than you had ever seen her do before.

“Happy birthday, baby, I hope you like breakfast.” You say revealing the table to her. “It’s perfect, thank you.” She reached for your hand and dragged you to the table, not wanting to waste a single moment not enjoying the amazing food that you had made. “This is so good.” She says after every bite of a different dish that she tried, and it was warming your heart how thankful she was for the small gesture. 

The gesture might have seemed small in your eyes, but for Kyra it meant the absolute world. In previous relationships her birthday had just kind of passed by, the excuse being that it was Valentine’s Day the day before, and that was enough celebrating. They either didn’t want to spend money on gifts for separate days, or told her to choose for which one she wanted to do something. The two of you had spent yesterday exchanging gifts, spending time together, and going out for dinner, so Kyra didn’t expect anything today. 

It was when you pulled out a gift from the chair next to you, that her emotions got the best of her. You quickly place the present on the table, and stand up to comfort her. “What’s wrong, my love?” You wrap your arms around her, and rub your hands over her back soothingly. “You got me a gift.” With a slight furrow in your brow you respond. “Yes, of course. It’s your birthday.” You didn’t understand why she was surprised until she told you about how she had been treated in the past. 

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. How could they just ignore her birthday, and not find it worth it to celebrate things with her two days in a row. You would celebrate Kyra every single day of the year, for the rest of your life, without a second thought. 

Your hands move to cup her cheeks, and wipe away her tears. “Well, yesterday was about celebrating our love, and today is about celebrating you.” After kissing her on her forehead, you bring her in for another hug. “I love you, and I want to celebrate you in every way, always.” The smile was back on Kyra’s face, “Thank you, you are the best. I love you too.”

After she opened the gift that you got her, and told you how much she loved it, the two of you cleared the table. “So, I was thinking we could head back to your place, and spend the day there. How does that sound?” She smiles and nods, “As long as I’m spending my birthday with you, I am happy.”

After showering and changing out of your pyjamas, you drive the both of you over to her place. The drive was short, but you grasped every opportunity to have a car concert. Of course, Strawberry Kisses had to be the first song, and you both loudly sang along. 

When you got to her place, you grabbed the bags, and told her to walk ahead. She had no idea what was about to hit her, since you had been able to keep the secret well hidden, you were able to film her reaction. So, as you’re walking a few steps behind her, you take out your phone and start recording. 

Kyra opens the door, not suspecting a thing, when all of a sudden she hears “Surprise!”, and she is suddenly surrounded by confetti. She looks around to you with tears in her eyes, “You did all of this?” She looked truthly happy by the surprise, and that’s all you wished for. “It was my idea, but Mini helped set everything up.” Kyra goes around and hugs her friends. You wanted to give her a piece of home for her birthday, so you had invited Katrina, Clara, Harper, and Charli. 

You had bought all the decorations and dropped them off at Mini’s place a few days prior, so that Kyra wouldn’t accidentally find them. She was the one that put all the decorations up, and was the one picking up the cake you had pre-ordered, so today wouldn’t have been possible without her help. 

Hearing Harper sing happy birthday to Kyra was the most adorable thing ever, and your heart melted at the interactions between the two of them. You knew how important the people in this room were to her, and were so glad that they all lived in London now, so that they would be able to spend more time together. 

“How are you enjoying your birthday, my love?” You asked her while the two of you cleaned up the plates from the birthday cake. “It is honestly the best birthday ever, thank you so much for everything.” She walks closer to you and wraps her arms around you. “Thank you.” You hold her tight, “Of course, anything for you, my love.”

-----

💗 If you enjoyed this fic, please consider liking, commenting, and reblogging! You can also supporting me by leaving a tip 💗

[yeloenk]

i want to apologize more formally for answering the anon who gave me a false list of proshippers.

ever since making a post asking proshippers to please block me (i had some who were following me), people have been anonymously sending me some lists of proshippers/controversial people in the UTMV fandom.

i have answered a few, but only those that were calling out proshippers that have actually confirmed to be proshippers.

when i received this ask in particular, i just saw someone giving me a list with no ill-intent behind it. so, without giving much thought, i replied to the ask.

my intention with this was to let others know who to block/avoid; not to harass, witch-hunt, etc. i am aware that these kinds of lists can encourage this behavior, which i take responsibility for. i genuinely apologize for using my platform in this way—even if it was done unintentionally, it was still wrong of me to do.

this being said, i do NOT stand for harassment in any way, shape, or form. even if it is directed towards proshippers, that is no way to solve the real issue. proshippers need help, they do not need more reason to need help. purposefully going out of your way to stalk, bully, send threats, or ANYTHING of that nature is wrong.

i made my first apology in a panicked rush, once i saw people telling me that the anon was spreading misinformation. however, in that blog, i did not acknowledge how my actions could have harmed people listed (especially ones who were listed falsely).

if you were affected in any way by my response to this anon, i apologize personally to you. please know this was not my intent: even if you are a proshipper, my only thoughts regarding that ask was "hey! cool, a free blocklist."

everyone is human, and nobody should be treated this way. although i think proshippers are morally wrong, and need help/therapy, they are still real people behind the screen. real people affected by your actions: mine included. the best thing you can do in the situation of seeing a proshipper is blocking them instead of instigating interaction.

i will no longer be doing anything like this again now that i am taking into consideration that some people are using these lists as witch-hunt lists. i should have checked all of the names before replying, especially since the list included no proof whatsoever. in the future, i do promise to be mindful and very cautious when addressing topics like these, especially when it comes to checking facts.

i do hope i can be forgiven, but i understand if not. i understand my actions have consequences, and i understand i was in the wrong taking a hand in spreading false information and encouraging harassment.

the purpose of this apology is to acknowledge what i did wrong, learn from it, and move on. and, to clear up why i replied to the list. keep in mind that it is not an excuse for my actions, but a reason for them. i still made the choice to answer this ask and not at least clarify to block them instead of harassing them.

to the anon who sent that ask: do not spread false information, please. it only hurts those who are involved, nothing good comes out of it for either side.

one more thing i wish to add:

to the grown adults sending me asks, insulting me: what is wrong with you? i am a 16 year old. i am going to make mistakes. it's a part of life, a part of learning. if you seriously think you're doing good by being nasty to a kid on tumblr because of a stupid choice they made, you further strengthen my belief that proshippers need help.

there's also been people just blatantly insulting things about me that are unrelated to the situation as a whole? my art, for example. please stop.

i don't want my blog to be focused on drama, so i'm not going to post much at all about stuff like proshippers anymore. i'll probably just be sharing art for the most part.

[atinyniki]

dear (ex)lover.

group: stray kids !

pairing: idol!kim seungmin x f!reader

genre: pure angst, letter

warnings + additional info: seungmin is referred to as seungmin and min, seungmin was (and still is) a dick, seungmin is a player, seungmin led reader on, reader reminisces the past, reader blames seungmin for the downfall of their relationship (rightfully so), reader has past trauma from relationships, mentions of waiting till marriage, reader has body image issues, reader has been depressed, reader has trust issues, reader misses seungmin, just a really really sad angsty letter, intended lowercase, written in letter format.

authors note: okay. im so sorry for this... this is also not proofread. english is not my first language, so please excuse any grammatical or spelling errors. happy reading :)

wc: 1033

dear lover,

why don’t we talk anymore? i remember, you told me i was your best friend once. i remember, i was your best friend before i was your lover. i understand, your love for me is gone now, but weren’t we supposed to be friends? didn’t you tell me we could go back to the way it was? so why don’t you talk to me? why do you avoid my eyes when you see me? why do you ignore my texts?

why do you only speak to me when it’s convenient for you?

i remember when i first opened up to you, my love. i told you i didn’t fit in with the group. i didn't think you needed me, and i didn’t think the others did either. you told me you didn’t know you needed me until i was in your life. do you still need me? why did you love me like that if you were just going to ghost me in the end? we talked about so much. you bought me my wedding ring. i wore my heart on my sleeve for you. you gave me a promise ring. why did you break your promise? why did you write so many love letters to me, knowing that you were leaving in the end?

what did i do to be treated like this? i should have been better to you, right? it’s my fault, right? i had to have done something… right? what did i do? i can do better, i can. i can be a better friend, i promise. you were my first real friend. you held me when things were hard. i need you to hold me once more. you always did my hair all nice to distract me. i miss when you’d braid it. you even played with my stuffed animals with me. you were the first person who accepted me for me.

why don’t you like me anymore? why am i always the one to approach you? did you only speak to me because i spoke to you first? was this all one-sided and you only spoke to me because i annoyed you till you replied? i didn’t know. i didn’t know that i was being annoying. i didn’t realize it. i thought you wanted me too. i’ve been having nightmares again. you told me you’d be there. it’s funny, isn’t it? you promised you’d always be there, but now you’re the cause of them. you broke my trust. you fucked up, and i forgave you. again and again, i forgave you. i took you back for every mistake you made.

why did you take my heart for granted? why did you break me like this? am i unlovable? did you grow tired of me? could you not stand me anymore like the others? the boys told me what you said about me. what you said about my body. i know i don’t look the same anymore, but can’t you still love me? am i really all that different now? or maybe you just don’t want someone who rots in bed all day. yeah, they told me that part too. maybe you couldn’t deal with my past trauma. i’ve lost people in the past like i lost you before. you told me you wouldn’t leave me. not the way they did, at least. but you did. you left, and you ruined me in the process.

maybe i am unlovable. maybe this was meant to happen. was it for the better? did you mean it when you said you loved me those last nights we spent together? did you find it fun? breaking my heart? was it nice to watch me fall apart that night on my bedroom floor? was it fun to use my own pain against me? was it fun telling me it was my fault? did it take some of your guilt away?

i’m mad at you, still.

but a part of me still loves you. a part of me still wants to forgive you, and i don’t know why. i shouldn’t, i know. you don’t deserve my forgiveness. you don’t deserve anything i have to offer. but i still want to forgive you. i still want to love you like i used to. i still want to tell you that im here for you, and i still want to hold you while we fall asleep. i still want to brush away your tears, and i still want to do your skincare for you. but you’re fading away from my life. i don’t know the person i fell in love with anymore, because they aren’t you. i miss his sweet voice, and i miss his melting touch. i miss the sound of his heartbeat, and i miss his heart. but it’s always going to be you, isn’t it? it’s always been you. you’re the person i love most, but the feelings are fading away too. i want to keep them with me. i want to hold it all so tight that your love can’t escape anymore, but you’re gone. you’re gone, and you took my heart with you.

i’m sorry. was i not good enough for you? i wish i could have been the one for you. i don’t know if i’m allowed to say it, but i miss you, min. i miss our late night laughter, i miss our runs to the coffee shop. i miss the bond we had. where did it go? why am i the only one putting effort into this stupid friendship anymore? why do i always text first? why am i begging for you to love me again?

it’s stupid.

this is stupid.

you’re stupid.

i hate you.

i hate you for using me.

i hate you so much for ruining us.

i hate you for ruining what we had.

i hate you for ruining every memory with you.

i hate you for ruining me for anybody else.

you ruined me.

they’ll never be you.

no one will ever be you.

i hate you, kim seungmin.

i hate you.

i miss you.

i miss you, and i hate it.

i hate it.

i hate you.

i love you, your ex lover.

</3

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Silver Lining 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, speech impediment, bullying and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: silverfox!Bucky Barnes

Summary: You have an unpleasant encounter with an older man.

Note: I was going to add this to the bookstore au but realised Bucky is a side character in Steve's and not old so....

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You stand on the corner, head down, book in hand, right at the crux of the tall shelves. You squint at the pages, doing your best to block out the figures and noises all around you. You remind yourself it's okay to take up space when you need it.

As you close the book and slip it back onto the shelf, you slide out another, ignoring the lingering shadow, looming closer like a vulture. A year ago you would sidle away empty-handed to save yourself the awkward tension. Not anymore. You're done being a pushover.

As you check the price inside the book jacket, the customer nearest you clears his throat and coughs. You sense his impatience. He wants you to move. Too bad. Lisa, your therapist said it's okay to hold your ground. You'll be happy to report back that you did just that.

You keep the book, it's not a bad price, but you're looking for something a bit different. You keep browsing, the customer next to you edging ever nearer. You hold your breath, static in your ears as you fight the urge to retreat.

You deliberately take your time reading the next synopsis. The customer, a man, brushes his arm against yours as he reaches for a book. He clears his throat again as if to say ‘move!’

You refuse. You switch books again. You feel his proximity radiating towards you. You plant your feet, focusing on the words but not understanding a single one.

You give up. You tried. You made it that far but it's too much. He wins.

You set the book in your hand on top of the other and sidle away, pretending to peruse the shelves on your other side.

You turn to face the opposite shelves of books as he sighs. Loudly. You get it. You took up his precious time.

As you put your head down and grab another book, this one random, merely an excuse to peek over at him. Typical. Male, 50s, silver-haired, stocky but not out of shape. That certain type that is the scourge of any retail environment.

As if he can sense your sneaky glimpse, he peers over, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening. He looks back to the book in his hand and flips it over. He sets his feet wide, taking up at least twice as much room as you had.

You don't know why he gave you that look. This is a store open to the general public. People are going to get in the way. You just don't get why other people can't just chill out. Whatever, in twenty years when you're his age, you hope you're not a total asshole.

You leave the aisle, taking a deep breath as you break free of the tension. You stroll along the next lazily, taking your own advice as you calm down. Don't let him get to you. Like Lisa says, you can only control yourself and how you react.

You make a slow advance through the store like a Sherman take sneaking up on the Wehrmacht. Sure your references aren't the most relevant but you're not worried about entertaining anyone else. Love yourself first and all that.

You go to the counter and checkout, grabbing a cute koala pen before paying. You take the paper bag from the cashier with a thank you and tally up your spending. You could go for a treat without breaking the bank.

You sweep out the front doors, buttoning up the top of your coat as the winter greets you frigidly. You cross the lot to the cafe in the same plaza. Inside, the ambiance is warm and soft, the lights dimmed, the tables low, and the aromatic coffee wafting delightfully. You greet the barista with a slight stutter; you're still working on that.

"White hot chocolate," you order the season special.

"Would you like to make it candy cane?" The girl behind the till asks. "No extra cost."

"Hmmm, uh, s-sure! Why not? Tis the s-season, r-right?" You try to smile through your embarrassment. You get a little tongue tied. Well, a lot.

The door jangles loudly as you move towards the pick-up window. You bounce on your feet anxiously and catch yourself humming to the holiday music. You know this one. You know most of them but your family always made fun of you for that.

You admire the white Christmas tree set up by the window, not paying attention as voices mingle through the cafe. You sense someone behind you as they join the queue for pick-up. Maybe you'll stay in. You're in no hurry to go home. You're sure no one would miss you anyway.

"Dark roast," the barista sets out a cup of black coffee, "Bucky."

You try to move out of the way of the customer behind you only for them to move the same way. You knock into them before they can reach their coffee and they growl. You skirt back and face them.

"S-s-sorry, I didn't m-mean to," you stammer out, biting down as you recognise the stranger.

He scowls and grabs his coffee just as your name is called next along with your order. He puffs out a nasty scoff and eyes you. You raise your chin. You're not going to lose this one.

"Watch it," he warns as he steps past you and puts his cup down at the stand where they have the diary and sugar set out.

You roll your eyes and take your cup, going to the other end of the counter to grab a plastic lid. As you do, he mirrors you and his hand comes down on yours. You retracts, pulling free several lids as they fall over the counter. He huffs again.

"Hot chocolate," he mutters as he pops a lid onto the brim of his cup, "shoulda guessed."

You blink and frown, swallowing as your heartbeat picks up. Passive aggression, that's easy, that's woven into your genetics, but actual confrontation? That's another thing.

"W-what d-does that mean?" You challenge as you clean up the lids and put them back on the stack.

"Who goes to a cafe to get sugar?" He snorts, "I'd also guess the military books are for show too."

"Huh?" You scrunch your nose up. You don't need to explain yourself to this man.

"Leave the heavy lifting to the big boys, sweetie," he gives a trite smirk and turns on his heel, "and get some glasses."

You stare after him dumbfounded. What a grump. You get it, it's stressful being out in public but you hardly think you earned all that.

"W-well," you call out after him, not able to stop yourself as your heart surges, "m-maybe you should get g-glasses, old m-m-man!"

He stops right by the door. His shoulders square but he doesn't look back. He pushes outside and you're left to stand in the echo of your lame insult. You refuse to look around yourself, instead turning to flee into the customer bathroom. You'll hide there until the coast is clear.

[hydropyro]

Just read chapter 19 of Palmarosa by @not-poignant

Thinking about Raphael’s character, both in general, as the lore suggests, and as the author describes — and I think they write it well.

Consider devils are very animalistic. Intelligent, yes, but still very much animals.

If we consider

1. How devils eat (through the release of ‘life spark’ via torture/torment/pain) this better explains his sadistic nature beyond twisted satisfaction in the way humans experience it.

2. How devils reproduce : they don’t. They can, but they don’t have to, thus they don’t have an instinctual drive to. Thus, outside of incubi/succubi who eat sexual pleasure, devils are unlikely to actually feel a desire for sex that goes beyond their desire for any other pleasurable pastime. For example — it may be as pleasurable and fun for them as playing lanceboard (Yahtzee came to mind first, you should know). It is also great for manipulation as mortals need it on some basal, instinctual level.

3. Possessiveness allows survival. Do devils indulge? Yes. But souls are the currency of their life, and sadism is their food. Now I am no peta advocate and I grew up on a farm. To a devil like Raphael, his House of Hope is no different than a farm he manages. Seeking souls is as much a sport as it is necessary for his own survival, no differently than hunting is for mortals.

4. Egotistical and narcissistic. I do believe devils tend to fall in these categories, and I am not discounting Raphael from them. However, the scope is not as extreme as our POV makes it. If we consider the way he behaves as far as is necessary for his survival, everything beyond that is what becomes excessive — and there doesn’t appear to be much. Look at his hobbies — poetry, which he himself is happy to admit he’s not wonderful at — he is not as egotistical and narcissistic as a devil ought to be.

Now, he does have a ‘superiority complex’, but it is not undeserved. Devils like him (higher echelon like bone devils and pit fiends) make mortals look like livestock. Now I believe livestock should be treated well and respectfully — but consider that the opposite is what Raphael needs to survive. Not great, still, not forgivable, but understandable?

Maybe I’m psychoanalysing too much, but devils cannot be measured in the same way as mortals.

Yes, by mortal standards (which as a mortal is what I and we gauge morality by, so I’m not excusing any of Raphael’s behavior, merely satisfying my need to overanalyse and psychoanalyse) Raphael is possessive, sadistic, egotistical, and self-centered.

But when we break these traits down and consider why he behaves this way — he’s not different from Astarion. And he seems to be doing his best.

In Palmarosa Raphael is resource guarding, and the writing of such is well done. (Author has a puppy. Maybe it’s intentionally done, maybe it’s ’instinctive’).

I’ve tried to get friends to read Palmarosa but they’ve expressed that it gives them the ick at the thought of someone being as capable and driven toward cruelty as Cazador getting their hands on Astarion — and I get it

But Raphael isn’t like that in this fic. It’s not a ‘healthy’ arrangement, but given how devils must function, it’s as healthy as is possible. In fact, ((until the plot twist dun dun dun)) Raphael is actually giving to Astarion, in what way he can.

Can’t overthink a reason for it just yet.

Anyway, TL;DR, bravo @not-poignant

[qqueenofhades]

Once you get offline, Biden’s doing ok with everyone but Republicans and racists. Unfortunately, that’s a pretty big voting bloc, but it should be manageable. More unfortunately, Harris is. Not popular. With anyone. Like, we’re talking Dan “To not have a mind is being very wasteful” Quayle levels of dissing. You can blame some of it on sexism and racism, but enough women and people of color have jumped on the “Kamala’s letting The Team down” bandwagon that there’s got to be more to it than this. Any thoughts?

Yeah, uh, I don't think that's fair OR accurate, and deserves quite a bit more reflection and pushback than is implied here (since your question frames it as thinking there MUST be something wrong with her and invites me to expand on it). First off, I am not comfortable comparing the first female vice president (AND female VP of color) to empty suit Dan Quayle, and especially when there's such a disparity in their background, social perception, and accomplishments, not to mention their role in the administration. So:

"You can blame some of it on sexism and racism, but -- " Okay, but how much? Are we actually assigning a weight to that and taking it into consideration, or hand-waving it aside in search of the "real" cause? Online Leftists are already disposed to irrationally dislike Kamala because of the "she's a cop!!!" business that went around during the primaries, which was likewise inaccurate and misleading, but showed how women, especially women of color, are often treated in white leftist spaces (including by leftist-identifying women). That very much WAS down to sexism, racism, and perceiving her as "shrill" or "there's just something I don't like about her." Okay, what is that? WHAT is the thing you don't like about her? Would you notice it in a male politician? Would you critique it in a male politician? If the answer is any part unclear, this needs more work and is in fact reflective of that dynamic, whether or not anyone is aware of it or thinks that's the reason why.

No, seriously. If someone professes that they "just don't like" Kamala or "there's something about her that rubs me the wrong way" or whatever else, my immediate next question would be "Why? What don't you like about her?" And keep drilling down through whatever excuses about "unlikeability" or "personality" or whatever else is offered. If this can be persuasively articulated in a way that a) exposes a substantive policy reason, b) can be differentiated from what any male vice president or other person in her position would do or what should be expected of them, and c) isn't just about "offputting vibes," then sure, we can have a discussion about that. Otherwise, yeah. That's not convincing me that it's anything other than the constant, long-running, ever-present discomfort with seeing a powerful and accomplished woman of color, who started her career prosecuting sex criminals, was the first Black woman in the Senate, and is now the first female vice president, actually state her issues and own her role.

"Enough women and people of color have jumped on the 'Kamala Is Letting the Team Down' bandwagon that there must be -- " Really? Must there? First of all, it's damn near impossible to find any Online Leftist who's willing to give Biden accurate credit for his accomplishments -- see the "Biden is bad and uninspiring and anti-trans but we should I guess vote for him anyway" rhetoric which is the closest they can possibly get to acknowledging it. (None of which is actually true!) When that's the case with the top of the ticket, it's orders of magnitude easier to project that irrational dislike and distortion onto "shrill" or "dislikable" Kamala. So who are these "women and people of color" who don't like Kamala? Are they in the room with us right now? Do they actually care about/vote for the Democrats, support their policy accomplishments, and realistically understand the progress that's been made and what remains to be done, or do they want to use Kamala as yet another convenient stick to beat the Democrats (since they won't give them accurate credit to start with?)

Even if this was true, sexism and racism somehow magically wasn't a factor (which uh, it is not) and Kamala had some terrible personality defect that was unique to her and her alone and not any of the far worse vice presidents there have been in the last 20 years alone: what is this kind of question intended to accomplish? Are we supposed to fear that by voting for Biden, we might vote for Kamala as well? Well, she was on the ticket last time too, and they won the election. Don't know what else to tell you.

[cambria-writes]

Chapter 2: You're too old to be so shy

pairing: astarion x bard!f!reader word count: 5,395 warnings: swearing, mentions of sex and innuendos, implied past sexual abuse/assault, nothing explicitly mentioned, please let me know if anything else should be tagged

a/n: here it is! this has also been proofread twice! still writing chapter 3 but i'm mostly done. hoping to be upload chapter 3 this coming sunday. :)

though i'm still a little sick i am feeling much better!

Your camp is not suited for more than your traveling party. That much is made obvious as soon as the first few tieflings arrive once the sun has set and the stars have come out. 

Gale has been toiling away to prepare enough food for the sizable crowd you expected, and enlisted the help of both Wyll and Scratch—the latter to help gather kindling for the three fires the mad wizard has going on. As soon as you spot Mol, you immediately fix her a look that lets her know you expect impeccable behaviour, if only for tonight. The tiefling girl makes a show of crossing her heart and spitting on the ground. Not... a fantastic response, but at least you can spend an easier night knowing that the ringleader of a bunch of restless children won’t be up to her usual misdeeds. Probably.

As soon as you’ve redressed in your casual clothes, you’re scooped up by Zevlor, who insists on speaking to the entirety of the assembled crowd to sing your praises. When Alfira starts playing a gentle tune along with him, it becomes quite literal. Rolan conjures some pretty fireworks, Volo joins in with Zevlor’s off-key serenade.

It’s a mess, and, blessedly, Komira presses a bottle of some kind of alcohol in your hand.

“It’s one of our better bottles,” she says, conspiratorially, though how loudly she has to speak to be heard over everything else defeats the effort of being sneaky. “As thanks for helping our girl.”

You laugh a little, trying not to sound as uneasy as you feel. “You’ve already thanked me, though,” you say, pulling on the chain to show you are, in fact, wearing her locket. Komira’s face lights up.

“Oh, I didn’t think you’d wear it!” she exclaims, and you frown a little.

“Why wouldn’t I? It’s a pendant, it’s made to be worn.”

“Oh, well it’s such a small enchantment,” Komira says, rubbing at her collarbones. “I just—I had figured you might keep it to sell, you know?”

“Absolutely not,” you say, perhaps a little harshly. You try to soften your tone when you speak next when you see Komira’s taken aback. “I’m sorry, I meant to say that something like this can’t just be sold. The value this locket has isn’t just gold.”

She sighs, just a little, and nods. “Right, thank you. It’s just so strange to be...”

You nod in understanding. Respected, appreciated, treated like an equal; given their initial reception by Kagha and half the grove, you can see how she wouldn’t assume anyone else would have the best of interests.

You put a hand to her upper arm and try to smile in a way you hope is reassuring.

“Hey, no time to be sad or apprehensive. Your family have a long road ahead, you should have fun while you can.”

You and Komira part ways shortly after that. You fiddle with the locket’s chain as you fulfill your social expectations for the night. It’s exhausting; Zevlor catches you another three times during the night, and every time he seems even more intoxicated than the last. Lae’zel walks up to you and confesses just how arousing you are when you fight with blood on your face.

She is the first person whose advances you have to rebuff tonight.

You speak with Halsin, glad to see him among you. Your conversation is lovely and easy, until you try to convince him to mingle with the rest of you. The way he looks down at you—eyes half-lidded and a set to his jaw that you’ve become familiar with—makes you excuse yourself fairly quickly. That isn’t a conversation you feel like having with him, of all people.

Karlach excitedly tells you about Dammon and his offer to help the infernal engine roaring in her chest before showing off and making you try some of her... dance moves? Footwork? You’ve drunk most of the bottle Komira offered you, so you gladly follow and stumble along. You wish her a good night when you’re out of breath and move along.

Shadowheart and Wyll seem to be engaged in quite the debate. You watch them for a while, as Gale hands you a bowl of something that smells amazing, and pay them no mind when you realize they have no intent on murdering each other.

“Haven’t seen our pale friend in quite some time today,” Gale mentions while absent mindedly tossing some scraps behind him and into Scratch’s eager maw. “Oh, well, speak of the devil.”

You turn around to see Astarion emerging from his tent. He almost immediately snatches a bottle of wine from an unsuspecting, far-too-drunk Danis as he walks by.

“He escaped the grove the same time I did,” you say, distracted, following the vampire with your eyes until he settles under a mostly-bare tree, with his back against its bark. When you look back at Gale to say something else, he looks shocked. “What? You didn’t notice I left almost immediately after talking to Zevlor?”

“You left and didn’t tell anyone? On your own?”

You cringe, can tell that there’s a lecture coming on, and raise your hands in defense. “Look, I was covered in blood and gore and was profoundly adverse to socializing in that state. I think it’s perfectly normal and reasonable of me to excuse myself under those conditions.”

Gale fixes you a disapproving look but nods as he moves to spear a fish grilling over another fire. “Can’t hold that against you, I suppose. You would’ve smelled revolting after a few hours.”

“I’m glad you understand,” you reply dryly.

Gale sends you away once you’ve finished the grilled meat and vegetables he’s given you. You spend some time playing with Alfira as she sings, manage to rope Karlach into providing percussions by enthusiastically thumping on an overturned, probably-empty barrel. When everyone is well and enthralled, you discreetly leave your post by Alfira and let the tiefling continue the entertainment.

You begin to wander when your eyes catch the back of Astarion’s head. He’s speaking to one of the tiefling women—Pandirna, you think, pleased to see she’s still standing on her own two feet. She does, however, look very drunk and Astarion looks very uncomfortable. He doesn’t flinch when Pandirna puts a hand on his bicep and laughs, but he immediately looks like a coiled snake ready to strike. You look around quickly and wave down a tiefling who looks... well at least she looks slightly less drunk than Pandirna does, so she’ll do.

You approach tiefling and vampire with a smile. Pandirna immediately begins waving at you in large, exaggerated motions.

“Hey there,” you greet, taking her hand off Astarion’s arm and taking it into your own. “How about we get you something to eat?” When the woman you had waved down walks over, you quietly ask her to take Pandirna somewhere quiet to rest and get something in her stomach. Or... maybe empty her stomach, you’re not quite sure. You hear Astarion sigh behind you when the tiefling women are out of earshot.

“Thank you, the only thing worse than this wine are her drunken attempts at what she calls seduction.”

You can’t help the bark of laughter that leaves your mouth. No, you don’t suppose you would be terribly receptive to the inebriated stumblings of a group of people you hardly know, let alone have barely spoken more than a complete sentence to.

“I don’t suppose this means you have to come rescue me next time someone wants to declare their undying lust for me?”

Astarion snorts in his wine but otherwise doesn’t offer an answer. You motion for him to move, and lean your back against the same tree. Your shoulders are pressed together, and this is perhaps a little closer than you’d otherwise like to be to anyone, but with decent wine in your body and the small spark of satisfaction of a job well done, you find you don’t quite mind.

You especially don’t mind if Astarion doesn’t mind, and he seems quite content being next to you like this—or, at least, he doesn’t seem terribly bothered by it, which is as good a sign as any.

“You know,” he starts, looking out onto the revelry and taking a moment to look at another of Rolan’s firework displays. It’s... messier, this time. You think maybe he’s gotten into the wine, too. “I never pictured myself as a hero. Never thought I'd be the one they toast for saving so many lives. And now that I'm here...“

Astarion takes a swig of the wine bottle like he’s forgotten what’s in it and screws his face in disgust. “I hate it, this is awful.”

You bend over with your laughter, this time. When you manage to lift yourself back up straight, you feel your chest swell with a strange kind of pride in seeing Astarion smirk. Nothing toothy, condescending or rude about it.

“Oh come on! It can’t be that bad,” you breathe, brushing hair out of your face. “Think about all the goblins you got to kill.”

Astarion makes a show of thinking about it and tilts his head in agreement. “True. That was fun,” he says, taking another swig of the wine, before immediately pulling it away.

“Give me that you big baby,” you mutter, swiping the bottle from his hand and lifting the mouth to your lips.

Right, so it’s not amazing wine, but you’ve definitely had worse. You think for a second that it might make for great cooking wine when Astarion speaks up again.

“But what do I get for all my hard work? A pat on the head and vinegar for wine,” he grumbles, crossing his arms. “I’m just looking for a little more excitement,” he ads, and leans in closer to you after you bring the bottle down. “A little more fun.”

You realize you’re a little too drunk for this conversation, a little too late.

“Hm, right, fun,” you repeat, trying to glean what Astarion’s trying to say. “What.. kind of fun are we considering? Because I’d rather you not eviscerate anyone if it’s all the same to you.”

Astarion sighs, a long and weary sound, as he rolls his eyes.

“I’m not going to—sex, darling, passion? Fun? Have you heard of it?”

A strange and unpleasant sensation rises through your spine, balls in your throat, before heavily settling in your gut.

“Not with you, just to be clear,” Astarion adds quickly, and you think maybe he sees the dread in the bead of sweat that rolls down your temple, the way your knuckles are white around the wine bottle. “I mean—can you imagine? Urgh, no.”

He’s not convincing anyone. Even with... two? Three? Bottles of wine, you can hear the frantic overcompensation in his voice.

“No need to be mean about it, gods,” you answer more or less half-hartedly, taking another swig of the wine bottle. Which is empty. You groan and toss it somewhere behind you where it won’t get away.

“Oh don’t misunderstand me,” Astarion starts, turning to lean his shoulder on the tree to better look at you. Look down at you. You’re beginning to resent how tall everyone is in comparison to you. “If our circumstances were different...” he trails off. Begins to look you up and down in a way you think is meant to be appreciative, but his eyes eventually stop their roaming just above your chest.

“You say you wouldn’t sleep with me,” you bring your hand up to fiddle with the locket’s chain again. “But it lacks an awful amount of conviction if you’re just blatantly staring at my breasts.”

Astarion laughs quietly and turns back to lean against the tree and face the ongoing celebration. You want to ask what he was looking at, just now. It wasn’t you, you know that much. But you wonder which memory got pulled to the forefront of his mind. Wish you could pin it down and dissect it and remove all the necrotic tissues from it. Give it back cleansed, blessed and free from—

“Yes?” Astarion looks at you from the corner of his eye before looking back out at the party. You... hadn’t realized you were staring so intensely. Or how far away from you your thoughts had gotten. “If you keep staring at me like that, someone’s going to get the wrong idea.”

You exhale sharply through your nose—halfway between scoffing and laughing. There’s a retort burning the tip of your tongue, but it feels a little too sharp even to your dulled senses. You instead press your hands to your warm cheeks in an effort to cool them down. At least this much you can blame on the alcohol.

You turn back to ask something else—probably about what his plans for dinner are—but your thoughts are immediately knocked out of your head when you catch a glimpse of something against Astarion’s skin. His shirt has parted and billowed just enough, in just such as a way that you can see a braided leather cord. A very hastily braided leather cord you remember stringing a pendant on.

You take a deep breath to steady yourself. Astarion is a gods damned feral cat. You absolutely never know when he’ll react well to anything you do, especially if it’s anywhere remotely near the  domain of kindness. As far as you can figure, though he hasn’t gotten into any amount of depth of detail about it, his existence as a vampire hasn’t been the gentlest. You can’t say you understand, but you can begin to see why, after decades if not centuries of mistreatment, someone may be excessively apprehensive and wary of any perceived kind act.

It ignites something raw and furious in your wine and exhaustion-addled mind. Makes you want to consume every ounce of cruelty Astarion has ever been fed to replace it with something better. Not softer, you don’t think he’s fond of softness in anything but his clothing. But something brighter, warmer. Kinder.

“Darling, I think you need to go lay down,” Astarion says quietly, right next to your ear. So caught up in your own thoughts, you hadn’t noticed him leaning into you. You feel the rumble of his chuckle more than you hear it. When he pulls away, you can’t place his expression. Guarded, then. “Let me walk you back to—”

“No,” you shake your head before leaning it back against the tree and closing your eyes. “It’s going to be noisy here for a while still. No point lying down somewhere I can’t rest.”

“Oh, of course, now you develop high standards,” Astarion bemoans, but moves away from his spot and walks around to your other side. “So tell me, where were you planning to sleep for the night?”

You shrug and nod vaguely in the direction of the woods. “There’s a clearing somewhere in the woods. I’ll just... lie down and rest for a bit, until things die down.”

Astarion rolls his eyes again. “Alone? Drunk, with a murder cult nipping at our heels, frothing at the mouth?” You wrinkle your nose. Well, yes, of course it sounds bad when he says it like that. It doesn’t even occur to argue your state of inebriation. There’s another few seconds where he crosses his arm, taps the toe of his foot and looks around. You figure maybe he’s trying to find someone to pass you over to, but he doesn’t even make it halfway through scanning the camp before releasing a put-upon sigh.

“I suppose keeping watch while you have a cat nap can’t be much worse than looking over this bunch.” Astarion uncrosses his arms and, with a hand at your back, slowly begins to guide you toward the treeline.

“I still don’t see why I need a sitter,” you grumble, snatching a sloppily folded blanket off the back of a cart. You shrug your shoulders when Astarion raises a brow at you. You’ll just have to make sure to return it before they leave in the morning.

The clearing you’re led to is far enough from camp—and, consequently, far enough from the boisterous celebration—that you can’t hear the sound of Aldira’s lute anymore. You can’t even make out anything being shouted. Your shoulders drop when you let out a deep breath. Though the moon isn’t full, her light is bright, and feels like it washes your nerves and mends their fraying. You rush to the center of the clearing to unfold and lay the blanket on the soft, overgrown grass.

When you lay down, you carefully place your hands just below your chest, over your stomach. You hadn’t planned on sleeping or trancing, really. Just get some needed alone time. Some space to exist without having to worry about choosing your words perfectly or schooling your expression into collected confidence. You glance up at the moon and sigh, content, before closing your eyes.

“This is wonderful,” you breathe out. “Thank you, Astarion.”

You hear him pause as he moves to sit by your hip. He settles in rather quickly after that. “Yes, well,” he starts, with an air of detachment even you can tell is forced. “It wouldn’t do for our noble, valiant leader to be exhausted. I rather like my odds with you.”

You don’t hum or otherwise acknowledge what he’s said. His choice of words tickles at something in the back of your mind, but you’re not quite sure what. It’s strangely discomfiting all the same.

“Wyll and Lae’zel are perfectly capable of taking the helm,” you reply, adjusting your shoulders and settling deeper into the padded ground. “I’m not sure why they haven’t, honestly. Letting a bard lead should be a terrible idea.”

“And yet here we all remain,” Astarion replies back, but there’s a softness in his voice that does make you frown. When you open your eyes, you see that he’s sat, cross-legged, with his back to you. Offering you some kind of privacy. You close your eyes and try to smooth over your expression.

What a complicated man.

“Through sheer dumb luck, you mean.” You hear the sound of a page turning. You hadn’t even noticed Astarion had brought a book along. “If Shadowheart hadn’t happened to have that gith artifact, we’d all be illithid by now.”

“And yet you took her under your wing without knowing that of her.”

“Of course. She was conscious and in the same situation as I was. It would have been unconscionable to leave her in that pod.”

Astarion hums but doesn’t reply for a moment. Long enough for you to hear the sound of another page turning. “You gained a follower nonetheless.”

��She is not a—”

“You can deny it all you want, darling,” he interrupts you, and this time you lean up on your elbows when you open your eyes. Astarion’s gaze remains fixed on whatever he’s reading. “But as far as most of our... party is concerned, you’re the only reason any of us are still alive and in possession of our faculties. Of ourselves. We’d follow you into the fires of Avernus if you had a good enough reason to believe it would save us.”

You frown at the back of his head. You can’t tell if his last words were spoken with venom or reverence. You don’t know what to say to that, and so you say nothing at all. It’s high praise coming from someone with Astarion’s temperament; you don’t want to do or say anything that would tarnish that.

It’s also a heavy burden to lay at your feet.

“Best not to dwell on it, dear,” Astarion says, almost a whisper.

“Right,” you exhale sharply, slowly lowering yourself back down onto the blanketed ground. “Don’t dwell on the fact that everyone’s continued cooperation and therefore survival hinge upon my ability to make split-second decisions in the midst of the absolute worst conditions I’ve ever been in and have no idea how to deal with. No pressure, nothing to dwell on there.”

Astarion makes a sound that’s somewhere between a sigh and an annoyed groan. You hear him snap his book shut. He leans over to lay the book somewhere near your feet. He stays there for a moment, long enough for you to contemplate reaching out, but rights himself and turns around to face you before you can move. The look he fixes you makes you feel like a child being scolded, and you recoil from him accordingly.

“Hells, woman, have you ever relaxed a day in your life? Have you no idea how to decompress?” You open your mouth to answer—a rebuttal half-formed on the tip of your tongue—but Astarion waves you into silence. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. You are going to lie down like an obedient little pet, close your eyes, think of whatever saccharine, tooth-rotting thing brings you comfort, and you will rest.”

You feel your face warm at being called a ‘little pet’, but ultimately simply huff before closing your eyes. You fold your hands carefully over your stomach and do your best to think of ‘saccharine’ things.

When you actually decide to follow Astarion’s instructions, you try to think of the forest at the edge of your family’s property. The few nights a year when your whole family could get together and enjoy food, games and music. You think of Scratch, and of the small owlbear cub you’ve seen creeping around camp when it thinks no one else is watching. You think about how, a few nights ago, you were able to bathe in the cool water by the shore in bright moonlight.

You can’t help but to think that all these moments may be the last you ever get to experience those things. Selfishly, you wish that you could at least have someone familiar with you. A friend from your childhood, maybe, or a distant relative. You wonder if maybe even a past lover would be a comforting presence to you now.

You wince when you hear Astarion sigh heavily, yet again. You expect him to speak right away, but open your eyes when he remains silent. Even from where you lay, you can tell that he’s measuring his words.

“There is... something I can do to help,” Astarion starts, slowly, turning to face you. The look in his eyes as he peers down at you makes your stomach flip in a way you’re not sure is excitement or apprehension. “How do you feel, when I feed from you?”

Frightened, vulnerable and excited, is what you immediately think. You frown and bite the inside of your cheek while you take a few seconds to properly consider the question.

“Warm, at first,” you say, tilting your head back to look up at the sky. “Then cold. Light-headed, after a while. Everything feels lighter, I think. Like I’m floating.”

Astarion hums in acknowledgement. He leans over you, bracing a hand on the other side of your neck. You think you know where this is going.

“And how’s your head, like that?” You don’t expect the tadpole wriggling in your skull, and so you don’t think. You simply allow him into your mind. He does you the courtesy of aiming directly for a single set of memories; that first time he bit you.

You can almost feel Astarion recoil when he feels the terror and beginnings of resignation that licked at you that night. The shock after waking up with a man looming over you that hadn’t been after sex, and the immediately ensuing relief. Blood?, you remember thinking. That’s all?

You see Astarion again in your memories, and his bewildered expression in the face of your lack of anger makes sense, now. Your relief and near-amusement at the time make sense to him now, too. And then there was the bite, itself.

The pain wasn’t unlike what you’ve experienced with tattoos before. Sharp, at first, but eventually the pain fades. Your mind scrambles to hold onto the pain, because the intimacy of having a man with his fangs buried in your neck is perhaps just this side of too much to handle.

And then you feel your mind start to clear. If your thoughts had been a heavy fog, your progressive bloodless state lifts it. Leaves room for little else, in fact; there is Astarion’s heavy breathing beside your ear, his weight carefully kept just above your body, and the smell of brandy, rosemary and... another herb you can’t remember.

You wonder how it was for him. A fleeting thought, but it makes your tadpole squirm. You catch brief flashes of yourself from Astarion’s eyes before an unspeakable feeling floods you. Something like burning, but invigorating. Like the best meal you’ve ever had and the most restful night’s sleep, all sliding down your throat. Something else begins to burn, but Astarion pulls away from both you and the strange connection with a choked sound.

You struggle to catch your own breath, for many reasons.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” you begin to apologize, but when you look over at the vampire his eyes are round and glassy. It’s an expression so sincerely gobsmacked and floored that you can’t help but be shocked in turn.

“That... I saw myself. You—that was me.” Your concern at his sudden lack of eloquence tumbles around your head only for a second until you realize why he’s so shocked, and why, of all things, his own face is what he’s gleaned from your connection.

It makes sense that a man deprived of his own reflection for hundreds of years would be shocked to see it. “Yeah,” you say quietly, nod minutely. You bite the inside of your cheek and argue with yourself for a moment over whether or not you should continue. Looking at the tension in the rogue in front of you, you figure maybe a bit of humour wouldn’t be amiss. “Oh, don’t act so shocked. People tell you how breathtakingly handsome you are all the time.”

Astarion’s brow furrows just a bit, and he waves his hand. Again, he seems to be looking somewhere beyond you. “None of that is relevant,” he says, a bit harshly, and then remains quiet. You give a single nod and look away.

A few minutes pass by, and you’ve just closed your eyes when he speaks up again.

“I’m not fond of the score right now,” he says quietly, and when you open your eyes he’s determinedly looking away from you.

“Wasn’t aware we were keeping track of anything but magical items and smokepowder kegs,” you reply tentatively.

“You allowed me to drink your blood,” Astarion begins, and you catch him glancing over at you for a second, almost like he’s making sure you’re paying attention. “You’ve allowed me to see my own face, after two hundred years,” he continues, drumming his fingers on either of his thighs. “And you’ve let me remain among you despite what I am.”

“Well, hold on, that’s—”

“Please, spare me.” Astarion’s tone is a little drier and stings a little more, as he holds a hand up to quiet you. “You can say that it’s ‘just what’s done’ all you want, the vast majority of the world disagrees with you and acts accordingly.” His hands have stilled, instead gripping his thighs with white knuckles.

You can’t help but feel sheepish. That is, in fact, more or less what you would have replied with. This is simply how you’ve learned to treat people, if given half a chance. Even if the person reaching a hand out has a dagger hidden in the other. You can try and put on a face and say that bards can only write about people if they’re alive to do things to write about, but that’s never been your primary motivation.

“Rest,” Astarion says after a moment. Gentler, softer than before. “If we’re going to go find this... crèche, we’re going to need you to have your wits about you.”

You cease the fidgeting of your hands and flatted them against your ribs.

“Just make sure we’re back at camp when it dies down,” you request, settling deeper into the blanketed ground. “You can’t keep watch over me all night.”

Astarion scoffs. “Of course, dear.”

You feel hazy and heavy when Astarion rouses you. Rather than trance—rather than chancing being presented with things you didn’t want to quite think of yet—you’d chosen to sleep, for the first time in a long time. A light, pleasant and dreamless slumber that left you feeling almost drunk upon waking. Your bleary eyes can barely make out where you are or where you’re going as you walk, but you trust the firm pressure at your back guiding you.

You grab at Astarion’s arm before he turns to leave you at your tent.

“Did you, do you need to fee–to drink?,” you ask, stumbling over your words in an effort to speak them before your fatigue sweeps them away.

You think the look on his face is consideration; you recognize the shift in his gaze, the tension in his brow. You feel it on your own face often enough when put in a position to make any choice on behalf of your companions.

“Darling,” he starts slowly, pulling his arm away just enough to be able to grasp your hand. It feels pleasantly cool against your sleep-warmed skin. “You’ve let me have you not two nights ago.” You swallow thickly at the phrasing. “I’ll manage perfectly fine.”

You drop your eyes to your joined hands. “I’ll trust your judgment, then.”

When you raise your gaze back to Astarion, you’re finding he’s now contemplating your hand in his. He looks leagues away for a few seconds, and you wish you could ask him what he was thinking about it. Or, maybe it would be fairer to say you wish you could trust that you’d get a straight answer from him if you did.

So you stay quiet.

“I suppose a... sip couldn’t hurt.” Astarion moves forward, forcing you to take a step back, as he holds the fabric of your tent open for you. “Best to lay down.”

Your ears feel hot and itchy, and you feel your cheeks beginning to burn. It’s terrible enough to get some kind of excited about this, but the embarrassment you feel for it is almost worse.

You make quick work of making room for and laying on your bedroll—but not so quick as to look over-eager. Astarion kneels patiently by your side as you lay down and take a deep breath. It’s only when he’s barely a hair’s breadth away from your neck—his lips close enough to brush the skin there—that he speaks up.

“This will only hurt a little.”

It’s a lie, but at least it’s what you hope is a well meaning one. You carefully exhale and make sure to release the tension in your neck and shoulder as fangs pierce your neck. It always burns, more than just a pinch, and the initial feeling of intrusion is strange and uncomfortable.

And then the pain fades, slowly and then all at once, and you’re finally able to take a deep breath.

Astarion doesn’t linger long. You don’t think he’s had more than a few mouthfuls before pulling away, softly pressing a cool thumb to the small wounds. He wipes at the corners of his mouth with his free hand. Fingers smooth over your neck before he rights himself.

“Thank you,” Astarion says, and his tone, combined with half-lidded eyes, makes something run up your spine and settle at the base of your skull. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

And soon, it’s as though there was never anyone else with you in your tent. You don’t know what you should attribute your light-headedness to, or the strange rhythm your heart is drumming against your ribs. You think perhaps this is why you hadn’t let yourself genuinely sleep in so long. Your brain’s foggy, your body feels loose and light and your thoughts slip away from you like sand between your fingers.

You close your eyes against the sudden thought that you wish Astarion would have stayed, just a bit longer.

You exhale, deeply, almost a sigh, and you pretend that all your irrelevant, childish thoughts of vampires float away in the air, too.

Taglist

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[beanghostprincess]

Why do you think in shuggy break up Luffy would be on buggy side?

I think it's obvious, isn't it? The core purpose and inspiration of Luffy are dreams and freedom. Luffy's character quite literally is just about that (and more, but those are his main character traits). As the story progresses, we see him helping others, not because he wants to or because he's nice like that (he isn't. He is a fucking menace to society) but because those are the specific buttons you have to press for him to be empathetic or resentful. Luffy is pretty much a selfish person. He's not helping others just because he can, but because of the unfairness of the world or how they treat others. If he doesn't get along with you, he gives zero fucks about what happens to you UNLESS a dream or freedom is involved. Because it's not really about you, then, but about this precious concept he has of life and freedom and how everyone should be able to choose and live however they want. He isn't selfless but he does fight for what he thinks is right. And what Luffy perceives as something everybody should be able to have is both dreams and the freedom to achieve them. So, basically, Luffy is empathetic and helps if he likes you (basically if you're cool or show signs of being a nice person) or if there's something keeping you from being free.

Anyway, why am I telling you all of this? Because I think that, if Luffy knew about what really happened between Shanks and Buggy from Buggy's perspective, he'd side with Buggy without any hesitation. Well. Maybe a little hesitation. Maybe a ton of hesitation because of Shanks. Let me explain-

Let's just make a hypothetical situation in which the three of them are together and Shanks and Buggy start arguing about what happened that day. Yadda yadda yadda, it doesn't really have to make sense for me to explain this. The thing is, Buggy tells his side of the story, and Luffy hears it. I think his first reaction would be about Shanks. He would have SO many questions about his decision. "Why didn't you go for the One Piece right away, Shanks?! Why did you hesitate?! Why did you let Buggy run away and not run after him?!" Because, due to his impatient and overly protective nature (and abandonment issues, cof cof) of the ones he loves, Luffy would instantly ask himself these things. Because Luffy wouldn't have done it this way. Luffy wouldn't have hesitated. He makes impulsive decisions on the spot. If he wants something, he's gonna go take it. And if his best friend leaves without explaining anything (WATER FUCKING SEVEN) he's gonna run after them (STRONG WORLD!!!!!!!) and make them come back to him because he knows something's wrong (WHOLE CAKE ISLAND MY BELOVED). So I personally think he'd be defensive at first with Shanks and Shanks would look away with the most painful of stares and avoid Luffy's hurt eyes. You know when he gets angry at him for what happened to Uta because he can't understand anything and Shanks can't tell him what happened and Luffy has to learn to be mature and accept that sometimes he just won't understand/agree with some of Shanks' decisions? Well, that's him right now. Shanks tells him there was something deeper going on (because of fucking course Oda is gonna go full drama and turn Shanks' hesitation at the time into something extremely painful). Or maybe he just says they weren't ready yet and Luffy just has to understand that patience is a virtue (something that Shanks has actually been teaching him for a long time). Yadda yadda yadda, I think Luffy wouldn't be mad at Shanks for a long time but he wouldn't really truly get it. And besides, the Buggy thing has no excuse. He should've followed him. That's it. End of the discussion. Because that's Luffy's mentality and he'd rather starve to death than let his family go.

Then, I think Luffy would have mixed feelings about Buggy's POV. Because he doesn't understand it, but he gets the important stuff. He doesn't understand why Buggy wouldn't follow his dream even if he feels inferior. He could've just told Shanks. Or maybe just?? Idk. Not feel inferior in the first place (such good fucking advice from somebody like Luffy who gives zero fucks about that sort of thing). But I think he would remember Water 7, too? And Usopp in general? And also all the times he has felt weak and powerless? And I think he doesn't quite understand Buggy's reasons for staying in Shanks' shadow, and that makes him furious and angry at Buggy for giving up so easily, but he would also be kind of sad. I think he'd get the important stuff. Like. The simpler way to put it is that Luffy sees Buggy with this new POV and just sees somebody who lost his hope for X thing and gave up on his dream. The inferiority complex took away his freedom. In fact, the devil fruit and losing the map? That actually was what took away his freedom. Metaphorically and literally. And Luffy sees this and says "Well, it's never too late! You might be a coward and a whiny loser but nothing can take your dream away from you and I'm sure you'll make it! Cheering for you but not much because I'm the one who's gonna be King of the Pirates, but yeah! Good luck! You can do it!". And Buggy takes it as an insult, but I'm pretty sure Luffy would get serious about this at some point and say "Shanks should've run after you... But you were the one who gave up first. There's nothing stopping you now, though!". And... Turns out the damn kid is right?? And Buggy is never going to say that out loud but damn.

I think he'd get along with Buggy, then. Luffy would want to help him achieve his dream all he can. Or at least encourage him and see him as a fair opponent and enemy, which is the most respectful thing he can do as a pirate. He'd be on Buggy's side in the sense that "both parties were acting silly and stupid and should've done things differently but the world has treated Buggy poorly and that is unfair and Shanks should've been the one going after him instead of doing nothing" because he sees himself in Shanks' shoes and it just seems odd to him not to go after the ones you love when this happens.

And also, to put ALL OF THIS in an easier, simpler way: If we're talking about romance exclusively here. About an actual breakup and not just these two parting ways. I think Luffy would be on Buggy's side without hesitation because you don't let go of somebody you love that easily (he's having WCI flashback. Lusan moment. Or Water 7 Lusopp moment. Just choose whatever). Imagine explaining this to Luffy like "Shanks and Buggy had a huge fight about going after the One Piece and Shanks hesitated and Buggy ran away and they broke up" what do you expect him to say?????? Of course he would get angry at Shanks. Even if Shanks had his reasons, Luffy is just fundamentally different in some stuff, even if there are parallelisms between these two. They're different, and Luffy often doesn't agree with Shanks' decisions. Like letting Buggy break up with him. Luffy didn't go through Water 7 and WCI for him to not side with Buggy, honestly.

[stellas-et-abyssum-vincite]

5:56 PM ~ Kaveh

Summary: It feels like it has been ages since you've last seen Kaveh. When he finally returns, you have a few choice words for him.

Pairing: Kaveh X Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluffyish Drabble

Word Count: 581

Warning: A little hurt to comfort

Masterlist

A/N: In honor of another character banner event without Kaveh.

You were in the kitchen when you heard the front door open, alerting you that someone was home. With the way they sauntered in without a care in the world, told you exactly who was here. You scowled before wiping your hands on your apron and marching into the foyer.

There he was, smiling at you like you were the prettiest thing in the world, while you glared daggers back at him.

"Where have you been?" You snap. "No note? Gone in the middle of the night? Missing for weeks? You better have a good excuse or I'll throw you out of this house right here and now, I swear to it!"

Kaveh let out a breathy chuckle. "Come on, don't be like that, dearest! It wasn't that long."

"Not that long? Are you telling me two weeks isn't that long to you?" You bark back.

"In the grand scheme of things..." He mumbled. "But I'm back now! And isn't that what should really matter?"

His cocky attitude made your blood just boil. Marching over to him, you pound your fists against his biceps and chest. He didn't move as you continued to hit him. Instead he smiled and chuckled at your temper tantrum.

"Are you done yet, dearest?" He cooed, taking your face into his hands so you could look at him.

You scoff and push away from him. "I don't know why I even tried with you! You leave me here, all alone, sick with worry, before showing up and acting like what you did was no big deal! It is a big deal to me!"

He sighs and moves his hands so they're now holding yours. "You know I don't mean to make you worry..."

"Do I think so?" You shoot back, your words laced with venom. This time he flinches. You're being harsh, and you know it. But he needs to understand that when he pulls a stunt like this, there are consequences to his actions. And making you worry is the biggest one.

You sigh and your shoulders slump. "Kaveh, I love you so much. It just makes my heart sick when you treat my love like it's nothing. I don't care if you have to leave for weeks on end. I knew that coming into this relationship. But when you don't tell me..."

Your words get choked up in your throat. Images of what could've happened to him play in your mind. You bury your head into his chest and he cradles you close.

"You could have died." You whisper against him. "And I wouldn't have known. Something could have happened and I could be left waiting for years. I can't live like that. Please don't make me."

He gently shushed you, his hand petting the back of your head. "I'm sorry, dearest. Really, truly I am. I didn't mean to make you worry. I just thought it was for the best. I didn't want to make you worry, and it seems as though I have. I promise to be more open with you next time."

You sniff and look up into his big eyes. "You really promise?"

He made an X over his heart. "I swear on my life and my soul to you."

You give a breathy laugh and wipe your unshed tears. "You're going to be the death of me one day, I just know it."

Kaveh laughed and pulled you in close again. "I'll take that as a compliment then, dearest."

[helluva-dump]

Yeah I think I am officially done with the Helluva boss critical community… for good.

Before you guys flip your shit and accuse me of being a Stan, let me explain.

So I deleted my tumblr app and decided just to refreshen my mind and focus on other things. (Like my art, my own possible indie project, ect ) and being away for a while… it kind of made me realize how much of the critical community was becoming too much for my mental health.

Originally, I joined because season 2 disappointed with season 2, didn’t like how Vivziepop retconned things like the pilot, the possible workplace allegations, and of course… the fandom being super toxic as hell work promoting toxic positivity.

But holy shit…. Somehow the critical community is even worse than the fandom.

Like I swear nobody talks about what’s wrong with this community. I’ve seen blogs have such an unhealthy hatred to Viv where they post nonstop about her… it’s insane. Like when making account names “wah I hate Vivziepop”

Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t think all critical blogs act like this. I do in fact still follows few, only thing is the ones I follow don’t constantly whine and bitch all the time and actually do critique. And these reblogs I follow just do AUs, rewrites, and redesigns which to me I will always see as harmless fun since that’s what I wanna do.

As for the other half of criticals…. Hell, these people legit get mad and share screenshots making fun of fans with different opinions. Like, bruh, didn’t you guys get angry at stans for doing that to y’all? You guys are literally doing the exact same thing. And no I’m not talking about sharing screenshots of toxic fans that attack former employees and make excuses for a questionable workplace…. But like they’ll just mock fans that didn’t do anything bad.

I’m all for critiquing a fandom and there are Stans that have such an unhealthy parasocial relationships with Viv… but somehow I see people acting the same with their unhealthy hate obsession. Literally going through her IG and bitching and moaning…

Seeing people making assumptions about her and Gooseworks with the glitch x as well as Tracy just shows me how unhealthy this hate is becoming.

Yes, Viv and Tracy had a bit of a heated thing on Twitter. However, I don’t think it’s fair to assume she’s this evil evil hellspawn that’s plotting to destory glitch x. “She’s kissing ass to goodeworks with her fake smile” dude she’s probably a fan of their works, you really don’t know that.

Also, while I’m aware of the allegations concerning Salem (who I hope really recovers and they did really make this episode the best IMO)… it’s probably not fair to assume all employees get treated the same way… the only people that seem to know what went down are Erin, Ken, Salem, and Ashley Nicolas. Do I think the workplace abuse is possible? Yes, it’s why I haven’t bought any merch.

BUT the reason why I don’t like to discuss things like this is because half of the other stuff seems like flimsy evidence besides Salem’s vents. And I think it’s a bit risky to spread such misinformation and make assumptions. (One blog I’ve seen had so many anons sharing rumors and just go along with them which to me is dangerous…)

Like when the new episode aired, unlike everyone else, I actually loved it. This recent episode was so great it’s what I wanna see more of for Helluva boss. But eh… I noticed some haters bitch for the sake of it. Now, some of the critiques aren’t too bad, I did notice some flaws and I understand the concerns for salem. But like other half it’s just bitching for the sake of it…

Also I heard rumors how the deranged stalker fan of Fizz is a parody of critical blogs… tbh I highly doubt that because that trope always existed in cartoons (like Aggrestuko had one too) but considering a good chunk of “criticals” have a hate boner for viv, can you blame some fans for thinking that?

I really don’t like how the critical community became the anti community. Because not every critical person is an anti, I don’t even wanna fuck with that shit and I don’t ever wanna resort to that.

Hell, they drove one critical blog I loved away… over a bad miscommunication.🙃 and that blog was right, you don’t wanna make friends with this community with how some toxic people are.

Also I’ve been drawing a lot of Hazbin hotel stuff for my Heaven AU and it reminded me why I enjoyed Vivziepop’s ideas and stories so much. It somehow was helping me take edge away from my mental health.

I think it’s possible to still be a fan without labeling yourself as a stan or anti. That’s why I made this blog for. I was so worn out by the toxic positivity of the fandom, so this is my comfort space. But now I need to cut the critical community away since it’s now full of toxic negativity.

And as I said, I do plan to make an indie cartoon series and I feel like being part of this critical community is NOT gonna make me professional on my end. That being said, I don’t like Viv as she said things that rubbed me the wrong way BUT I’m not gonna let that kill my joy for Hazbin hotel.(and Helluva boss to an extent) I do think she has good ideas and they CAN work but she does need more writers than animators to help her execute them.

That’s why I’m only a bit more excited for Hazbin hotel lately

Now I’m not angry at anyone who followed me. I just wanna make some boundaries, and that being said, I’m still gonna critique both shows. However, I’m just gonna tag these posts as HH/HB critiques than HH/HB critical for now on. I feel like that’s more professional and more genuine if you wanna share opinions on stuff.

Just wanna get this off my chest, it’s what I wanted to express for a while.

And if fans come across this blog, don’t be afraid to interact I won’t bite. Everyone has their different opinions. I only have an issue with Stans that promote toxic positivity and dismiss employees that were treated badly is all.