#i'm still not going to like [redacted] but my judgment of them at the beginning or end of the story isn't the deciding factor

[omgkalyppso]

there's this "viral?" tw/eet i keep seeing in my circles about how you shouldn't judge a character based on how they are at the beginning of a story but instead how they are at the end and i have to say somewhere that while this is a nice sentiment (i guess???) that it's useless because however anyone judges "a character" has no influence on how YOU interact with that character or its medium AND that character is not a fucking person who can or should be judged on that kind of metric to begin with and no one needs to judge a character based on anything!! its material. its story. its context. are what matter. was that an effective villain? was that a compelling element to the journey? was that a fun and whacky wild ride from start to finish? please have some fun with your stories and your faves! and don't worry about whether they are going to be unproblematic by the end of their experience!

[hunterwritesstuff]

"Mama's cooking!" Alastor and OC oneshot

So like, this is a comfort fic I made for myself bc I'm trying to repair my relationship with food/trying to get better with eating and I was doing great for almost two weeks, but then I slipped up and felt terrible. This is based off of my experiences and feelings duringmy time trying to improve my relationship with food. Everyone's experience is different. Some things may be OOC, but I don't care. I needed comfort and this is the product of that. Mind the TWs at the start, but if you read, I hope you enjoy!

Also, Ebony and Alastor aren't a romantic ship, rather a QPR one. Please respect that.

Fic is under the cut to be safe.

Tws: Eating troubles, zoning out, self-induced-shame, not being in-touch with reality, character being too tired to cook, and implied past abuse. Read carefully.

(Ebony's POV)

I laid there motionless on the couch, my eyes focused on nothing, my ears barely focused on the music coming from my headphones.

It’s just noise.

I feel my breathing begin to pick up. I missed my time to get breakfast again.

I feel the shame bubbling in my gut, but I don’t have the energy to react. Not now.

I barely notice people passing in and out of the room, whether they are Angel, Husk, Niffty, or Charlie, I pay them no heed, just give a hollow “have a good day”.

I can’t give more of a response than that. I feel hollow. I feel shameful. I feel tired. I feel hungry.

But I don’t have energy to get up. I don’t have energy to cook. I consider taking a nap, but I also don’t want to risk anything.

What would I risk? I don’t know. I live in constant paranoia that something will happen if I let my guard down for one second.

I could get up. I could do things. I just don’t have the motivation to.

Then I hear a familiar sound.

Click. Click. Click. 

Then I see a familiar fair of legs in front of me, wearing corduroy pinstripe pants.

“Alastor.” I say flatly. “What do you want?”

I’m still barely able to make out sounds due to how zoned out of everything I am, but I can tell he says something before walking off. 

Of course my platonic partner leaves me. I would too, if I could.

I hear something akin to pots and pans clattering, but assume he just sorted the pots and pans in the kitchen again due to habit.

That was about when I zoned out pretty much completely again.

About an hour later after stewing in my thoughts for that period of time, I get thrown back to reality by a familiar smell.

A smell that reminds me of singing in the kitchen, of a woman named [REDACTED], of a woman embracing me in a warm hug to tell me it’d be okay, of happier days, days where I was away from my family, of days where I went unharmed for a good period of time.

I find myself getting up off the couch and walking to the kitchen, slowly leaning in.

I hear him humming. Humming one of those old songs I would always hear in the kitchen.

Oh.

I was crying, now.

He must have heard me come in because I soon found him staring at me, wearing not his usual ear-to-ear smile, but a more…genuine one.

A patient smile.

A smaller one.

A pitying one.

No.

It wasn’t pity.

It was understanding.

If it was pity, I would have started to scream at him, yell at him how I did not need any person’s pity.

But I did not. 

We did not exchange any words, we did not say anything, we just exchanged a silent glance.

Then he gently grabbed my shoulder and led me to a table. I did not fight him. I did not understand why I did not fight him, but I did not.

He sat me down at a table and told me to wait a moment. I could hear better now, as I was more in-touch with reality, but it still sounded muffled.

I waited a few moments, and he came out with a bowl. It smelled amazing. It smelled like home.

Then I looked up and saw him smiling at me again.

It was a kind smile.

Not the kind that reached his ears, but just enough to be seen as kind, seen as patient, seen as understanding, seen as non-judgemental.

“Go ahead, dear. It’s all for you, no guilt, no judgment. Just so you can have something to eat without any fear.” He said softly.

“...What if the others come back and stare?” I ask, trying to not let my emotions leak into my voice.

“I told them to leave the hotel for a few hours. They understood. You have a while before anyone comes back. And if you’re still hungry after that first bowl, there’s more in the kitchen.” Alastor answered calmly.

I nod, slowly eating before my pace quickens. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Alastor wanted to say something, but he did not say it.

He did not want to hurt my feelings.

“...your mama’s cooking did always get me to eat.” I say softly, able to read Alastor’s mind.

“What can I say? Her jambalaya’s so good it nearly killed her!” He chuckled.

That felt weird to hear. He usually let out a full laugh. He did not usually chuckle. And the laugh was usually performative.

“Good enough to raise the dead for a bowl or two.” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

“And it sometimes did!” Alastor laughed.

I allow myself a chuckle. I can let down my walls around him.

“Thanks, Al.” I smile finally.

“No trouble, Ebony, my dear. Always here to help.” He smiled, returning to his usual smile. “No need to worry about judgment either, I know how hard this is for you.”

I smile, silently thanking him. 

“I think I’m gonna grab some more.”