#i've found that my account is cursed with having many posts with a lot of outreach so i don't think a dni would even be feasible for me

[uncanny-tranny]

Do you have a dni? /gen

If not can you read mine and make sure I am okay to interact with you?/gen

I'll be honest, my DNI is my blocklist, haha. As long as people are respectful and follow the general idea of "do not tolerate intolerance," then I, for one, am generally okay with them

I'll be honest, I personally think I'm well within your own boundaries, but that's something I'm not always comfortable with being the final say on.

[familyvideostevie]

the meaning of it all

joel miller x reader

summary: Joel Miller, of all people, teaches you to ask for help. 

word count: 13.6k

warnings: jackson au, post part i, joel and ellie worked it out! joel is soft! language, violence, fluff, learning to accept help and love.

a/n: this fic is a soft joel (think part ii joel but make it two years into jackson because he and ellie resolved everything <3) and a reader who is much more me than i've written before. i hope you like it! thank you again to @strangerfreaks who held my hand through this, i owe you my life.

___

Luck. God damned old-fashioned thank-fuck-for-that luck has kept you alive since the world ended. Deep festering rage and a near-constant state of fear have helped. But every bullet you've found, every undamaged can of food, every shot that landed in the right place so you were the last one standing -- that's all luck. Or a curse, depending on the day. Depending on how you're feeling about it all.

And Jackson? That's the biggest stroke of luck you've had in twenty years. A single woman on her own with plenty of working years left and no obvious red flags was probably a no-brainer for the community to take in but you feel like you've finally made it. After two decades of violence and horror and pain, you fucking made it somewhere safe.

You spend as much time as you can making sure everyone knows how grateful you are. You don't have any special skills, not really. You can shoot well enough, cook well enough, clean well enough. Young enough when all the shit went down that you don't have a trade or any work experience, you just go wherever they need someone in town.

Keeping busy means you're bone-tired most nights. Exhausted sleep means fewer nightmares, less time to wander the halls of your very nice but much too-big-for-you-home and miss everything you've lost. But picking up shifts wherever you can also means you don't meet many people beyond hellos and exchanging names. Farming is easy and you get to work with a lot of the kids in town, daycare much the same. You're lousy with power tools but you're able to carry materials wherever they're needed. Cooking is easy when it's stew for hundreds of people and doing dishes is even fun when someone turns on the radio. You're making it work.

Patrol is...patrol. You're able, so you're on the roster. It's not that you hate it, not exactly. Going outside the walls makes you feel like you're someone else. You slip back into the mask of fear and anger, the one that kept you alive for so long. And the worst part is it's comfortable. 

You've done the training runs, the group patrols for three months. Infected still freak you out a little but you're smart enough to be more scared of people. All of the senior patrol members have cleared you for paired patrols and today is your first one.

Tommy meets you at the stables to check-in.

You don't really have any friends, though everyone is perfectly nice to you, but Tommy and Maria are probably as close as it gets.  You figure they take a shine to newcomers like you, ones who come in alone, maybe to keep an eye on them as much as anything else. But they've both got a smile and kind word for you whenever you see them, always asking if you need anything. You always tell them no, you're fine, thank you.

"You ready?" Tommy says. "I've had them pull Apollo for you." You pat yourself one more time to make sure you have everything. Pistol on your thigh, knife at your hip, pack secure on your back. Hat and gloves tucked into your jacket pocket to account for the wind on the trails.

"I think so," you tell him. You blow a raspberry at your horse and he blows back, nudging your shoulder with his nose.

"After this, pretty sure you'll have done every job there is to do in this town. Pullin' crops, plantin' crops, cookin' crops. Kids, the library, cleanin', buildin' that ramp at Lenore's last month. You've been here, what, six months? And you've done it all."

It should make you feel good that he's noticed. It does, but only a little. You still feel like you could work every day for the rest of your life and not repay what he and this town have given you. To make up for the things you've done on the road.

"I'm the best floater in Jackson," you joke instead. Smiling makes people like you. You haven't had much cause to smile in recent years so you're still getting used to the urge. Tommy scoffs. "I don't do important council stuff like you and Maria, though."

He ignores that. "Y'know, pretty sure they call that a jack-of-all-trades. A real Ren-ai-ssance woman." You try to come up with a retort, eyes wandering to the patrol assignment board. Your name is under ELK CREEK and under it is --

"Quit harassin' her."  Tommy rolls his eyes and flips off whoever comes up behind you. You turn around and see a man you know of but have never actually met.

"Joel," Tommy says. "I believe this is called havin' a conversation. You ever tried it?"

"Funny," Joel replies. He nods at you. "You my partner today?"

"Seems so." You introduce yourself, Apollo's warm breath at your back.

"Joel Miller," he says back.

You're a little intimidated, truth be told. You know him by reputation mostly. Tommy's big brother who came to town a few years ago with a little girl. They're both pretty much everywhere. Joel fixing houses and talking to kids in the street, going on patrols and always bringing back extra for whoever needs it. Ellie galloping around town with other teenagers and bringing home the biggest game. You've handed her books a few times at the library, too, seen her bright eyes and infectious energy underneath teenage angst that transcends even an apocalypse. And you've seen them together, heads down in the dining hall or pressed closed walking down the street -- heard rumors about why they came here, how they came here, too -- and one thing is clear to you: the Millers are beloved. By this town and by each other.

It's a miracle all its own in this fucked up world.

"You two ain't met yet?" Tommy says, pointing at the space between you. You snap out of your thoughts. "You've been here long enough to have met everyone by now."

"Guess not," you say with a wry smile. The younger Miller is too polite to call you out for not having a single friend in that time period, either.

"Well, here we are," Joel says. "Gonna keep us here forever, Tommy? Or can we do our job?"

Tommy claps him on the shoulder and winks at you. "Tone down the asshole for her first paired patrol, yeah?"

Joel snorts. He grabs a horse that was already tacked for him and leads it out of the stable. You follow with Apollo. The patrol coordinator hands out rifles and reminds everyone of the rules.

You hop on your horse. "You ready?" Joel asks, startling you a bit. "We'll gallop to the mouth of the river and then start patrollin'."

Something in you relaxes a bit at his clear confidence in you to handle yourself. You know you're with him for a reason -- he's one of the best. That, or maybe he just doesn't give a shit. Somehow you think it's the former.

You follow him up the hill outside the gates and through the tree line. The noise of the Outside is different than that of Jackson. Birdsong, snapping branches and dry brush under your horse, the wind rippling down the hill. You take a deep breath through your nose and feel a part of you come alive. It's funny how a world so beautiful can be so deadly.

Joel gallops a little ahead of you, strong and steady. You watch him, think about what you know. He's older than you, that much is obvious. Greying hair curling around his ears, lines on his face from more than just a stressful life. But he's strong, good at what he does. Those rumors come back to the front of your mind. How he and Ellie showed up, half-starved and bloody. How he and Tommy are the most famed patrol duo for Infected kills and otherwise. It makes you feel safe. It makes you want to learn from him. It makes you want to know more.

And he's got kind eyes. Somehow, he's got kind eyes.

"Alright," Joel calls back to you. "Route starts here." He slows his horse and you pull up beside him. He shifts in his saddle and turns his face to you. "Now, I know this is your first pair," he says. "I won't order you around or nothin' but my main piece of advice is that everyone has a different patrol style. Know how to adapt."

You dig your gloves out of your pockets and wiggle them on. Joel watches before his eyes snap back to yours. "Noted." You honestly didn't think he'd talk this much. "And let me guess. Yours is patrol in silence?" You punctuate the nervous quip with a smile.

Joel snorts. "Nah," he says. "Unless you're Max. Can't stand that fucker."

It startles a laugh out of you and any ice you'd imagined breaks for good. Max is one of the middle-aged men who probably would have been a lawyer or a politician based on the way he likes the sound of his own voice.

"Now," Joel says. "You done this route before?" His knuckles are a little red but he doesn't put on any gloves.

"Twice, I think. First log book in that old station, right?" Joel nods. "Second in the town?" He nods again.

"Color me impressed." His mouth tugs up at the corner into something you might call a smile. You try not to look too pleased with yourself. "Some of the dipshits on the roster don't even remember that much."

It feels like you've passed a test. His praise makes you feel nice. Noticed. Not something you often seek but you know yourself well enough to admit that you'd like a little more of it. Even if it's from a man you just met.

"Not that hard," you say softly. Joel looks at you for a moment longer before clicking his teeth. His horse starts to walk. You signal to Apollo to follow.

The patrol goes off without a hitch. Joel signs the log book in the station and you sign it in the tower. He lets you snipe two runners that he spots and doesn't scold you when you take three tries on the second one.

"Settlin' in okay?" he asks once you've rounded the town one last time and started back towards Jackson. "Six months, Tommy said?"

Despite his earlier words, you haven't chatted much this patrol. While you'd like to know more about him, want to get him to smile at you again, you're really just enjoying being out here with someone else, knowing that you're safe. That you've got somewhere to go back to.

"It's nice," you sigh. "I never imagined I'd find a place like this."

You really should pick up the pace to get back to town but he doesn't seem to be in any hurry.

"I know the feelin'," he murmurs. "Ellie'n me slept on the floor for a good two weeks at the start. Been two years and some nights I don't take my boots off."

"What a fucking life, huh?" That earns you a wry smile. "Having a house is...strange. All of the hinges squeak and I --"

"The hinges squeak?" You look over at him and Joel's brows are furrowed.

"Oh, I mean, it's no big deal --" You stumble over apologies. You don't want him to think you're complaining about a home his brother gave you when he sure as shit didn't have to.

Joel taps his thumb on the pommel of his saddle. "Can get that fixed, y'know."

You didn't know, actually. "Really?"

Now he looks at you like you're a little stupid. "Ain't you the one hauling shit to people's houses when they need a hand?"

He has a point and you hate it. It never occurred to you to ask for someone to come fix your hinges. They're just hinges, for fuck's sake. Other people have holes in their floorboards or leaks or need new rooms for family members. You're just...you.

Joel sighs. It feels like you've disappointed him and it swirls in your gut. "I'll take a look at it this week."

Your neck cracks audibly with how quickly you look up at him. "What? No, Joel, you don't have to --"

He says your name in a tone that you know means no arguing. "I know I don't have to. I offered."

"You don't even know me!" The words fly from your mouth before you can stop them.

He brings his horse to a full stop so quick you almost run into him.

"Look," he says. His gaze holds yours. Wow, he really can be intimidating when he wants to be. You can only imagine the things he's done, the things he's capable of. Anyone who has made it this long has blood on their hands. You've washed it from your own skin plenty of times. And yet, you feel completely safe. And you know that you'll probably do whatever he tells you. "I know how it can be."

Your gut swirls. "You don't know what I've been through," you say softly. It's not a jibe, it's just the truth. No one knows because you've told no one because it doesn't matter. You're here now.

"I've been alive for a while longer than you," he continues. "I've seen the world, just as you have. I've been out here. I was out here for a long, long time." He runs a hand through his beard, fiddles with his broken watch in what looks like reflex. "I know how hard it is to ask. To get back to something that makes any damn sense. But you can if you try."

The words linger in the chill around you. He's right, obviously. He's so fucking right that you want to be mad. You haven't asked for anything because you don't want to fracture the good thing you've got. Don't want to be too much, to be a burden they can't support, to make people think you don't deserve to be in Jackson. All things that don't make any fucking sense, not really, but you can't stop them. It's just how you're wired.

"So I'm comin' over this week to fix those hinges. Alright?"

"Alright." Something in Joel softens when you agree.

"Good," he says. "Good."

You finish the patrol in comfortable silence. All told it's been nice. To talk to someone, to feel like they give a shit about you even for just a few hours. You have no doubt Joel will be over to fix your hinges but you figure it'll fizzle out after that -- it always does. You don't know how to ask someone to stick around, anyway. But even this little bit of him will have been worth it.

Something both loosens and tightens in your chest when you get back to Jackson and through the gates. Goodbye beautiful, horrible outside world, hello safety, community, home. It's a trade-off. You and Joel hop off your horses and return your rifles. You're about to hand Apollo off to be brushed and returned to the stables when you feel a hand on your shoulder.

Joel says your name and you turn around.

"Good job today," he says softly. "Not too excitin' of a patrol, but you're good out there."

You blink owlishly. "I-- thanks," you manage. "Maybe we'll get to go out again as a pair." You're showing your hand but you can't help it. You want more of whatever this was.

Joel's mouth pulls up at one corner. "Maybe."

___

Two days later you drag yourself out of the house for community breakfast. Most mornings you're out the door and at your work detail for the day before you can pop over but you don't have anything assigned today. It's a rare respite and it has you antsy. You don't remember how to be idle, aren't any good at it. Sitting in your empty house means your mind might wander to the thoughts you try very hard to keep at bay. The loneliness, the regret, the fear. The loss. It's always there and you've gotten better at dealing with it after so many years but some days you really just wish you could talk about it to someone, could just bitch and moan about how fucking awful this life can be.

But everyone is carrying their own shit and you don't need to add to it. You don't want anyone to have to carry yours, too.

Breakfast is quiet this morning. You settle at a table with your toast and your eggs and your potatoes and smile back at anyone who smiles at you but no one sits with you. If they did you don't know what you'd say.

But then the air changes. Your neck feels a little hot and you slowly look around until you see what's caused it -- Joel and Ellie are here. He's already looking at you when you meet his eyes and he smiles a little, a half-moon curve of his mouth, and nods. You wave.

Ellie waves back, which you don't expect. She says something to Joel and he frowns, rolls his eyes. She punches him in the arm and he flips her off and grabs two plates, starts to fill them. You smile down at your own food.

"Man, are the potatoes that fucking good today?"

You look up and find Ellie in front of you. You're pretty sure she's 16 or thereabouts, still growing into herself based on the way she shifts on her feet. Her right forearm has the outline of something floral. She notices you looking at it and crosses her arms, looking unimpressed. Ah, teenagers.

"Pretty okay," you tell her. "I don't know if we've met yet --"

"We kinda have," she interrupts. "I know your name and you know mine, so. And you're at the library sometimes when I check shit out."

This still does not explain why she's over here talking to you. You can see Joel in the breakfast line still, glancing over his shoulder every so often to see if she's still in the room. You try not to catch his gaze because you're a little afraid of what Ellie might read in it.

"Can I do something for you, Ellie?" you ask, not unkindly. She scrunches up her nose and then sighs.

"Joel told me not to bother you but I wanted to ask if you could look out for a book for me. At the library." Her words get faster as she reaches the end of her sentence. She takes a look at you, sees that you're not telling her to fuck off, or something, and keeps talking. Some book about the history of comics or something.

"Oh," you say. You feel a rush of affection for her and the fact that she can hold the record for headshots on a group patrol and still want to read about something she loves in her free time. "Yeah, I'll look for you. I don't have a library shift until tomorrow but I'll look and put it aside if I find it for you."

Ellie tugs on her fingers. "Don't you need to write it down or something?"

You smile at her. "No, I'll remember." You recite the title and author she just told you back to her and it seems to satisfy her. It's like a switch is flipped -- her earnest expression morphs into something you can only call mischief.

"So Joel's coming over to fix your doors, or whatever," she says. "How'd you crack him?"

"I--what?"

"You patrol with him once and he's coming over to your house," she says. "It took him like, weeks to laugh at one of my jokes. And I'm fucking funny!"

You have no idea what to say to that. Patrol with Joel was your first time talking to him and while he's a bit intimidating, sure, he never came off as anything other than...good. But you'd bet he wasn't always that way in this world. Maybe this girl in front of you had something to do with it.

And honestly, you're sure he just feels a little bad for you. He's nice enough to worry, to make sure everyone in town can do their part and you'll take what you can get even if it's temporary attention.

Part of you knows Ellie is just giving you a hard time because she's a teenager and you're kind of connected to the guy who looks after her so you're fair game, too. But she's talking to you like she wants to which is throwing you for a loop. And you're realizing it's been a long time since you actually wanted someone to like you. Well, Joel aside.

"You want to tell me one?" you ask. She looks surprised and then delighted.

"Oh, fuck yeah. Okay, let me think." You take another bite of your breakfast. "Okay, okay, I got it. What did the mermaid wear to her math class?"

You give it a few seconds before you shrug. Ellie grins. "An algae-bra."

Your laugh makes her grin bigger. "See? Fucking hilarious." She holds out her hand for a high five and you oblige. "Anyway, Joel's gonna come over tomorrow, I think. Seriously, dude, I don't know how you did it. He never used to be this nice!" She looks over her shoulder at the man in question. He's sitting down at another table. "He's getting soft."

Her voice is fond and you're pretty sure she doesn't notice. "You should go eat your breakfast, Ellie," you tell her.

She sighs like the weight of the world is on her shoulders. "Yeah, I'm fucking hungry. Let me know if you find that book!"

"I will," you call after her. You can't help but watch as she barrels back to her table with Joel and immediately makes an attempt at his bacon. He fends her off with his fork before surrendering a piece with a scowl.

He looks up and catches your eye again. You stand with your tray and nod at him, turning around before you can see his expression. Stupid, so stupid to be caught looking like that. But you can't help it -- looking at the love still alive in this shitty world and wondering what it feels like.

___

You run into Joel on your walk home from the next day's shift at the library. You spent probably far too much of it looking for the book Ellie wanted but it was worth it because you've got it tucked under your arm. It feels like a small miracle but you're not one to question it.

Maybe it's the good mood you're in, but when you see Joel from behind you call out his name. He doesn't stop walking but turns his head like he heard something. When he spots you he does stop, waiting for you to catch up.

"Hi," you say, suddenly a little less brave.

"Howdy," he replies, amused. "I'm headed your way."

"You --" He lifts a toolbox you now realize he's carrying. "Oh, right. Hinges."

"I can come by another day if it's not a good time."

Joel could knock on your door in the middle of the night and it would be a good time. "No, ah. Now's good." He motions for you to lead the way even though he clearly knew where he was going. He must have asked Tommy.

It seems like everyone waves as you two head for your street. They call out Joel's name and he knows pretty much everyone. You feel a little self-conscious being seen with him like this -- you, pretty much a nobody in town through your own doing and Joel, beloved by all.

It doesn't stop until you're almost at your door. "You're popular," you say, trying to make it sound teasing. Instead, it sounds awed.

Joel runs his free hand through his beard. "Don't remind me," he grumbles. "Can't go for a walk without a damn conversation."

You pull out your keys and unlock the front door. There are plenty of people in Jackson who don't lock their doors but you can't shake the need. "Sounds difficult."

He chuckles and you feel it zing up your spine. It's nice to make him laugh. "Yeah, yeah. S'pose it's nice." The front door opens with a creak and you look at him sheepishly. His eyebrows touch his hairline. "They all like that?"

You nod. Joel whistles. "Christ," he says. "Alright." He follows you into the house. You try not to think about what he sees. You've tried to make it your own, just a little. Posters you traded for, books you've collected. You cleaned the whole thing top to bottom when you moved in but somehow it still looks a little un-lived in. You're working on it.

"Don't let me bother you," Joel says, getting on one knee with a grunt and prying open his box. "Probably need 'bout an hour to get 'em all. I'll holler when I'm done."

That's your cue to busy yourself with something, anything, but you don't want to. You want to talk to him, to watch him do whatever he's going to do, to soak up this time with Joel before he walks out the door and you go back to being acquaintances.

"What are you going to use?" you ask. He looks up, a little surprised, before pulling out a spray bottle and a rag. He shakes it at you.

"It's some sorta homemade shit one of the younger guys cooked up," Joel says. Somehow he manages to sound self-deprecating, like he thinks he should've thought of it first. "I think it's...soap? And cleanin' stuff? Fuck, I don't know." He huffs a laugh. "I know it works, though. Back in the day we'd use shit you could buy on the shelf." He stands with a grunt. "You old enough to know that?"

That gets you to laugh. "Yeah, Joel," you say. "I'm old enough to remember the hardware store."

His gaze feels a little different than before, like he's allowing himself to look. "Hmm," is all he says. "I'll just --"

You don't know how to justify shadowing him as he oils your hinges -- there's a joke there's somewhere -- so you don't. You grab a book from the shelf and settle on your couch and try your best to read but your mind wanders.

It's pretty clear that you have a crush on Joel. You've spent one patrol with the guy but somehow he's gotten under your skin. It's inconvenient but also...nice? A crush at the end of the world. The fact that you can still feel something so sweet, so juvenile after all you've seen and all you've done is almost laughable. And it's not like it's going to go anywhere -- you're sure Joel thinks you're too young for him, too green, and he's probably tripping over admirers in town. But you can let it be something to keep your days interesting until it fades.

It was hard enough to love yourself before the world ended for reasons anyone could understand. Societal pressures, stupid comparisons, things that don't matter at all now. Who has time to think about being loved when you're constantly faced with death? Feeling desired, feeling loved, feeling looked after isn't exactly top of mind. You're not even sure you remember how. You put one foot in front of the other and that's enough.

But wouldn't it be nice to be on the receiving end of affection from a man like Joel?

"All finished." You startle and realize you haven't turned a single page of your book. If Joel notices he doesn't say. He wipes his hands on a rag and eyes you. "Pretty sure I got all the doors."

You hop up from the couch and try to find your words. "I -- that's -- you're --"

"Thank you will do just fine," he says with a smirk. He tucks the rag in his back pocket and crosses his arms, leaning against the wall.

"Let me cook for you," you blurt out instead. "In exchange." You can make a few things fairly decently and making him something is another excuse to talk to him like this, to be on the receiving end of those eyes. "I can make chili. Does Ellie like chili?"

"Don't have to do that," he says kindly. "Helpin' you ain't a business deal. S'what people do here." He stands straight and heads for your front door, picking up his toolbox on the way.

"Joel," you say, snagging his sleeve with your fingers. You pull them back quickly and grab the book you brought home, holding it out for him. "Ellie asked me to look for this. Could you give it to her?"

He looks at the book the same way he looks at his kid. It's tenderness so raw you look away. "I will," he says softly. He tucks the book under his arm like precious cargo. "Thank you for findin' it for her." He clears his throat and looks at you, smirk back in place. "Wasn't so bad, was it?" he asks. You don't follow. "Havin' someone help you," he adds.

Your face feels hot. "I'll still cook for you," you say, opening the door. He shakes his head.

"You let me know if you need anythin' else, alright?" A quick smile and he's down the steps and back into the street, strolling back to his own home.

"I will." You say it to yourself and almost mean it.

___

You patrol a few more times over the next month but never get paired up with Joel. If you were a little braver you'd ask Tommy or the kid he's training to take over the schedule to put you two together but you don't. Instead, you wave at Ellie when you see her, nod at Joel from the other side of rooms where he's always talking to someone else. You let yourself enjoy the way your heart picks up at the sight of him and the thrill you feel after he smiles at you. It's a nice change to the boring, lonely routine you had before.

The doors in your house open and close silently.

Being outside is fine. You don't like it any more or any less, it just is what it is. Life at the end of the world continues on.

Until you have a bad patrol.

It's no one's fault and no one gets bit. You and your partner, Astrid, are tailing a buck that's wandering along your route. If you can shoot it you can load it on one of your horses and ride back together on the other. Winter is on its way and any extra meat helps.

You follow protocol. You're lining the deer up through the scope while she keeps watch. Just as you prepare to pull the trigger you feel it -- the pull of your gut telling you something isn't right. That feeling has kept you alive all these years so you lower the rifle and turn to Astrid just in time to see a stalker lunge out of the brush.

Its broken and jagged nails catch your shoulders and you go down hard enough to bruise. You can't hear anything over its snarls and the blood pounding in your ears but you do your fucking best. You wedge your forearm under its chin and try like hell to keep its mouth away from you. Your other hand somehow makes it to your belt and unsheathes your hunting knife and in one swift movement, you shove it into the soft jaw of the infected. Hot blood spurts over your face and you keep your mouth closed, shoving the corpse off you.

A gunshot has you whirling around and scooping up the rifle. You've got it ready to fire but you only find Astrid standing over a stalker corpse of her own, forehead bleeding and revolver smoking.

"You clean?" you ask her, eyes on her forehead. She nods.

"Shoved me into some thorns. You?"

"Yeah. Can we go home now?"

Your hands don't shake until you get back to Jackson. They tremble when you wash the blood from your face, your hair. You wish for just a second that you had someone to hold them, someone to tell you it's alright. Someone to talk to about how shitty your day was and how scared you were and how sometimes this life is so fucking exhausting and just when you think you're safe you're reminded that no one is safe anymore.

Maybe this is the kind of thing Joel was talking about. Asking for help.

The thought fades quickly. You can deal with this. You're just out of practice. You just got comfortable.

You go to bed as early as you can bear, closing your eyes and hoping for dreamless sleep.

You could only be so lucky.

You're no stranger to nightmares. Hell, who isn't? Usually, it's the same old shit -- people you've lost, fucked up things you've done, horrors you've seen. You know how to deal with it.

But this is the first time in a while you've got new nightmare fuel. The hot, rancid breath of the stalker and the agonizing sound of its moans. Your own choked gasps as you try with all of your strength to keep its rotting teeth away from you. Unlike reality, your dreams don't allow you to grab a hold of your knife and instead, you feel it take a chunk out of your neck, hot blood splattering your face and you have to just lie there as it bites and bites and bites --

You jolt upright with a small gasp. Necessity has taught you to wake silently.

"Fuck," you say to the empty room. No way you're going back to sleep after that. You swing your legs over the side of your bed and put your head in your hands. "Breathe. Breathe."

The sky is black through your windows. You have no idea what time it is but you stand before the lingering panic can take hold and make things worse. Fresh air will get the iron smell out of your nose. You dress in the dark in more layers than necessary but you want to stop shaking.

Jackson at night is quiet but there are always a few people around, always someone else who can't sleep. The sky is clear and the moon is bright and it smells like woodsmoke and the unique earthy feel of the valley. This is your home. So long as you have this you can get through it.

Your feet take you through the streets of houses, most of the windows dark. Just another lap around town and then you'll go home, try to sleep again.

Then you hear something. The gentle strum of an acoustic guitar weaving with the night air like a dream. A song from before, a song you recognize but don't know the name of, don't know the words. You wrap your arms around yourself and follow the sound down Rancher Street. If you find whoever is playing it you'll wave and walk slowly home.

Your breath catches in your throat when you see whose house it is. Joel is on the porch, rocking slowly and head leaning back, eyes closed as he strums. How did you not know he played guitar? It only makes sense that the hands that are capable of such violence can also make something beautiful. He can ruffle Ellie's hair and pull the trigger and fix your doors and do this.

Something in your chest tightens.

Joel's eyes open and land on you immediately. You realize how it looks -- you standing in front of his house in the middle of the night, watching him. But he stops his playing and calls out your name.

"Hey, you alright?" he says. You hover between taking a step forward and a step back.

"Couldn't sleep."

He shakes his head. "Can't hear ya," he says. "C'mere."

Step forward it is. Up the stairs and onto the porch that creaks a little under your boots. There's only one chair and a small table with a lantern on it. Wind chimes dangle over the railing and you drag your hand through them on instinct like a child with a toy.

"Sorry," you say softly.

"Only got one chair," Joel says. He's got one boot resting on his knee, guitar slung across his lap. He looks tired. "I'll go get another --"

You wave him off. "No, please," you say. "I'll stand. I'm too antsy to sit, anyway." If you sit down in a chair next to Joel Miller you might never get up.

He frowns but settles back into his seat. "You alright?" he asks again.

His gaze is a little too much. You feel silly all of a sudden, not sure how you got here. A fucking nightmare? God, you're ridiculous. You cross your arms and lean back on the railing and look anywhere but him.

"Couldn't sleep." Joel hums.

"Heard that one before."

He strums some more and you relax again despite yourself. "Sounds nice. Do you play a lot?"

"Sometimes," he says. "Old habit."

"It's a nice one. Better than walking the streets in the dark." Your tone is harsher than you mean it to be and Joel frowns.

"It's safe to," he says, as though your wellbeing is his personal concern. "Bit cold, though."

"Why are you out here then?" You're frustrated with yourself and taking it out on him just a little bit. The smell of blood fills your nostrils again and you press your fingertips into your crossed arms, hard, and close your eyes. Your breath stutters in your chest.

"Nightmares," Joel says wryly. There's some shifting, the scrape of wood on wood and you open your eyes. His are fixated on your fingers and you stop squeezing. The guitar is now leaning up against the house and he's got his elbows on his knees like he's about to ask you a serious question. The lantern light makes his hair look darker, less silver, but it also makes the lines on his face look deeper. You wonder what kind of shit he's seen. What things he has nightmares about.

"Had this conversation with Ellie a million times," he huffs, rubs his hand through his beard in what you now consider a familiar gesture. "You don't need to talk if you don't want to. But can't hurt."

Is he asking you to talk about your nightmare? Does he actually want to know? Do you know how to talk about it?

"I take it you're a fountain of emotional sharing, huh?" Again, the misplaced frustration. You don't know how to turn it off.

His eyes flash but he just leans back in his chair and shrugs. "Depends on the day."

The low-level hum of your infatuation with him flares and your traitorous brain bats it down right away. You want to see all sides that he can offer you, want to make him frustrated and angry just to see if that'll make him sick of you.

You run your hand through the wind chimes again, watching your fingers move through the air. You remember what the knife felt like in your hand, the way the blood was hot as it dripped down your wrist and onto your face.

"Tough patrol," you say. "Messiest since I got here." Joel says nothing and you don't look at him. "I...it was fine. We got jumped by some stalkers and it was fine but...close. And I -- I didn't realize how badly I wanted to come back here until then. How badly I wanted to go home at the end of it. Does that make sense?"

You finally look up and Joel's knuckles are white on the arms of his chair. When he sees you looking he crosses his arms. "Sure," he says, clears his throat.

The urge to try to explain more is overwhelming. "I mean, we've all done fucked up shit. I've been up to my elbows in infected guts and still come out on top and slept like a rock the night after. And all of a sudden I can't fucking handle a stalker getting in my face. It's like I've never had to get my hands dirty before and what if it means I'm going to fuck up next time --"

"Hey," Joel says firmly. You feel a hand on your forearm and realize you've been pacing, arms flailing as you rambled. He gives it a squeeze and then releases you. "Feel like I gotta say fuck now to catch up with you."

A wet chuckle works its way out of you. Where did that come from? Are you about to cry? On the porch of the man you have a stupid, stupid crush on? This is embarrassing. And his touch. People touch you all the time, all things considered. A tap on patrol indicating silence, a hand on your arm to get your attention, to brace you as you lift something. Children in town who don't know the horrors outside the walls give affection freely. Hell, Joel touched your shoulder after your patrol. You're not touch starved but you feel like no one has touched you with tenderness and meant it in years.

"Sorry."

Joel tuts. "C'mon," he says. "I asked."

"I don't think I feel any better."

He stands and grunts as he does so. He's so much closer than before, so close you can smell what you can only describe as Joel: wood shavings and gunpowder, laundry soap and leather. It's a little dizzying. He leans on the railing next to you.

"Bet when you go back to bed you won't dream," he says. "Usually what happens."

"Here you are again," you sigh. "Helping me out. I promise I get on just fine on my own."

"I know," he says. His eyes are warm and so, so deep. "Don't have to, though."

Joel, for all his kindness and popularity in town, is a man just like any other. A person who has seen and done shit that no one should have to see and do. You know he's got his fair share of secrets, of things he won't talk about. You all do. You know he can be unflinching and maybe even cruel, dangerous and deadly. Whatever is happening here -- this openness, this desire of his to help you out -- is hard won. You think about what Ellie said and let yourself have a dangerous thought: maybe he's this way with you because he wants to be.

You sway into him just a little before catching yourself and standing up straight. "I should go try that dreamless sleep," you say softly. "And you should, too." It does not escape your notice that you haven't talked about Joel's nightmares, whatever they are. You don't think he'd be that open. A piece of you imagines a world where you ask and he answers.

"I might," he says. Neither of you move.

That small piece of you would stay here all night. That small piece of you tries for the next best thing.

"Will you let me cook for you now?" you ask. It sounds a little desperate to your own ears. "Please?"

"Persistent, ain't you?" He taps his closed fist on the railing once, twice. "Well, if it's that important to you. Chili, you said?"

"I can have it done by sundown tomorrow. I'm on greenhouses but we always finish early. You can come by and get it. I'll do enough for you and Ellie for a few days." You're rambling but finally he's going to let you do something for him. Hinges, nightmares, it's too much. Maybe you can somehow cook out this affection for him, get rid of it with your own hands if you try hard enough.

"Alright," Joel says. He puts his hand on your shoulder lightly and squeezes once. You feel it all the way down to your toes. "Now get outta this damn cold."

He doesn't offer to walk you home. You'd say no if he did. You need the time to sort out the mess in your mind. You give him the most earnest smile you can manage and he watches from his porch until you turn out of sight.

__

Joel is on your mind all day. More so than usual, which is saying a lot. The crush has turned into something...more. Something that makes you hope and that something is dangerous. It's just setting yourself up to be hurt through no fault of Joel's when it goes nowhere. Because why would he be thinking about you?

"You're smiley today," Dina says. She's a sweet girl and you're paired together on greenhouse shift today. She's always got a story to tell about plants she and her sister saw in New Mexico or some weird mushroom she found on group patrol. You love how positive she is and you try to absorb some.

"Am I?" you say lightly.

She tugs on one more cucumber, putting it in your shared basket before wiping her face. She gets dirt on her nose. It makes her look young. "Got big plans?"

Your face feels hot. "Just cooking for a...friend." It's the first time you've said that out loud. It's probably true, right? Acquaintance, at least. Joel is important to you and it's taken an alarmingly short amount of time for it to solidify. That's just how the world works these days -- you never know how much time you have so everything moves faster. You care harder despite years of proof that nothing good comes of it. You can't help it. You were made to leak love like an open wound.

"A friend," Dina teases. Teenagers. You remember that she's friends with Ellie and it's very possible she knows exactly what you're talking about but she's too kind to say anything more.

"Yep," you say, popping the p. "Do I have to start teasing you about Jesse or are you going to cut me some slack?"

"Well, hey," she laughs. "I think it's nice to be excited about something. You're so serious all the time."

"Am not," you mutter.

Something you appreciate about Dina is that despite her age she knows when to leave it. "Whatever you say," she says primly.

Once work is over and you're back home the cooking goes quick. You focus just enough considering you want this to actually be good and for Joel and Ellie to like it. It's thank you chili, it's you are important to me chili, it's I want to see you every day for the rest of my life chili.

Well. It's thank you at the very least.

And food, especially in this world, means something extra. There's enough to go around in Jackson, more than enough, but anyone taking the time to fix something with their own hands means more. You know how different a meal can taste when someone makes it with care.

And to say you care is a bit of an understatement.

The chili is simmering and you're about to start on the dishes when there's a knock on the door.

"Shit," you say. You wipe your hands on a towel and pad down the hall in socked feet. When you open it you find Joel bathed in the golden light of the sunset. His hands are tucked in his pockets, the collar of his coat turned up to protect his neck from the chill that's settled in for the season. His face softens at the sight of you but his shoulders are still tight. Is he...nervous? No, you're projecting.

Here he is on your doorstep again. If you're not careful you'll get used to him being there.

"Sorry for bein' a bit early," he says at the same time you say, "I was just thinking about you ."

The tension melts out of him and he smirks like a man with a secret. "That so?"

Your eyes are wide as you find your words. Hopefully ones that aren't embarrassing. "Come in," you say. "I'm letting the heat out."

He follows you to the kitchen. "Smells good," he says.

"It's not quite done yet but that's a good sign, I guess." You stir the pot before rolling up your sleeves and taking your spot in front of the sink. "Sorry it's a bit of a mess, I was about to start on this --"

"Now I know you ain't about to do all that yourself," Joel drawls. It's a syrupy tone you haven't heard from him, not really. Is he...flirting with you?

"I...what?"

"Scoot," Joel says. He steps beside you in front of the sink and gently bumps your hip with his. "Seriously."

"Joel--"

"Does it look like I'm kiddin'?"

He keeps his eyes on yours as he shrugs off his jacket, tosses it on this island, and rolls his shirtsleeves up to his elbow. You look away from him so you can watch.

"This is getting ridiculous," you tell him even as you hop up to sit on the counter closest to the sink so you can see his face. He turns on the tap and starts on the various things in the sink even though some of them are clearly not from cooking tonight. "You'll be sick of this chili before I can pay you back."

"I told you it ain't like that," he scolds. "So quit it."

There's no real bite to his tone but you do as he says all the same. You kick your feet out a few times and do your best not to stare but fail miserably. The fall sunlight seems to have followed him into your house, pinkish-golden beams falling across his face. You can see a triangle of chest at the top of his shirt, a few dark curls teasing the hair on him. The scar on the bridge of his nose is much harsher up close, much deeper than the countless other ones that dot his forehead, his temples. He doesn't look as tired today. Maybe he got some sleep after all.

So did you. You didn't dream.

"How was your day?" you ask. Joel's eyes flick up to yours for just a breath before he looks back down at his task. His mouth pulls up at the corner.

"Fine," he says. "Had to fix the water heater at Ellie's place."

A piece of hair falls in his face and you shove your palms under your thighs so you don't brush it back.

You tap his denim-clad thigh with your socked foot, almost like a compromise with yourself when it comes to touching him. "And that took all day?" Damn, are you the one flirting now?

Joel seems amused in a grumpy way. "Well, no," he says. The faucet is on so he speaks a little louder. "Did some house chores. Worked on a guitar. Took a nap."

The image of Joel sprawled out on a couch is clear as day. You bet he looks relaxed in his sleep, the lines on his face not as pronounced, his breathing steady and even.

"Busy day," you say softly. He's about to say more, lips parted to ask about your day, maybe, but you're not about to admit that you spent all day thinking about him so you keep talking before he can. "Does Ellie like living in the garage?"

"Think so," he says. "She spends a night in the house every so often but I think she likes havin' her own space. S'important to me to give her that."

This is uncharted territory. You desperately don't want to step in shit, to somehow make him bring his walls back up. Everyone is protective of the things they love in this world and for good reason and you're pretty sure there is nothing and no one Joel loves more than Ellie.

"She's a good kid," you offer. "Everyone in town loves her."

Joel smiles down at his hands, that soft, raw smile you've seen a few times when talking about her. It makes your chest ache. "She is," he admits. "Pain in my ass, too."

You want so badly to ask him the details. How did they meet? How did they get here? How did they become so devoted to one another? And what happened in the last twenty years to get him to right now, washing dishes in your kitchen?

But you haven't earned that stuff yet. Maybe you never will.

"Does she like Jackson?" You remember what he said about them settling in, sleeping in the living room with their shoes on. You imagine he kept watch for weeks, maybe months, before deciding it was safe.

He nods. "S'good for her to have friends. And havin' school is good for her. She's real smart." He clears his throat. "And you? D'you like it?"

"Well, I like it much better now that my hinges don't squeak."

Joel laughs. "I'll bet you do." He's almost done, everything from your chili-making washed and set aside to dry. He's doing your dishes from breakfast but shows no signs of stopping."Do you cook like this a lot?

Your brows furrow. "I-- no, actually," you admit. "It's just me, so. Not worth putting in the effort that often."

He turns off the tap and grabs a towel and starts to dry. You should offer to help but you feel frozen to the counter. If you get any closer to him you might snap. His jaw is tight.

"When Ellie and I --" he stops, takes a moment to focus on the bowl in his hands. Joel, you've noticed, doesn't tend to say things he doesn't mean, at least not to you. It's like he knows that every word counts in a life as unpredictable as this. "We had a bit of a rough patch last year and we didn't talk for a while. I was damn near eatin' canned veggies on days Tommy didn't drag me to the community meals." He sighs and sets the bowl on the counter ever so gently. Violence and tenderness go hand in hand with him. "Just didn't have it in myself to try cookin' if she wasn't there to eat it."

It's the most vulnerable thing he's said. He keeps doing this -- offering you pieces of himself that you want to hold close, that make you think maybe he wants you to know him.

"Joel--"

"I guess what I'm sayin' is it's easier to take care of yourself when you're also takin' care of people who matter to you. That make sense?"

"Yeah," you breathe. "It does."

The whole scene is so...domestic that your chest aches. Joel in your kitchen doing your dishes. He's helping you yet again but this feels different. It feels like he wants to be here, talking to you. It feels real.

He finishes his task and dries his hands on a faded towel. You hop down from the counter to check the chili. "Should be done," you say. "Do you want to try it? Make sure it's worth it?"

"Oh, it's worth it," he mutters. You work to keep your face neutral. What does that mean? "Sure."

You pull a spoon from the drawer and while it would make more sense to just hand it to him you don't. Instead, you dip it into the steaming liquid and hold it out for him, your other hand cupped underneath to catch any spill. Joel stares at your offering for a few seconds and you wonder if he can hear your heart beating.

Then Joel reaches out slowly like he's afraid you'll bolt if he goes too fast, and lightly wraps his hand around your wrist. It's the first time he's touched you skin to skin and you know immediately that it's a mistake.

You'll never stop wanting him now.

His palm is warm, callused fingertips pressing gently into your skin and he tugs, bringing the spoon -- and you -- closer to his mouth. Everything moves in slow motion for a few moments and it's like you are the only two people in the world. Your kitchen fades and it's just Joel. His lips part and he slides the spoon into his mouth at the same time as his thumb strokes the inside skin of your wrist.

It's very possible that you gasp a little.

He closes his eyes and you're torn between watching his face and his throat as he swallows. You could look at him forever, you think, and never get enough. The set of his brow, the hard line of his jaw. Lines around his eyes and mouth from years of terror and violence but also from laughter and smiles. You want to learn every inch of him if he'll let you.

"Christ," Joel says. His eyes fly open and find yours. "That's good. That's real good."

"You're just saying that," you say weakly. He hasn't let go of your wrist and his thumb strokes once again. You wonder if you realize he's doing it.

Something in his face changes, something so small that you only notice because you're watching. It feels like he has decided something and you wish you knew him well enough to say what. You dare to hope it has to do with you.

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm a good liar but I ain't just sayin' that."

Sweetheart. It echoes in your ears, burrows its way into your chest and takes root.

You're so fucked.

But there's something in Joel's gaze, in the brush of his thumb across your skin, in the fact he's just done all of your dishes and talked to you like he wants to be here that gives your traitorous heart some ground to stand on.

You send him home with as many glass containers of chili as he'll take. He argues that you won't have enough for yourself and manages to convince you to keep a few. You don't tell him that what you really want is to sit next to him at a table and eat it, knees bumping under the wood and his smile making your empty house feel warm.

"Tell Ellie I say hi," you say once he's out your door and on the porch. "And let me know if she likes it."

"Will do," Joel says. You hug your arms around yourself against the chill. He frowns slightly.

You wonder if he'd touch you if his hands weren't full.

"And thank you for--"

He shakes his head. "Not acceptin' thanks," he chides. "Not from you."

You don't know what to say to that. Joel seems to realize he's rendered you speechless, not for the first time, and nods his head before heading home.

"See you around, Joel," you call after him. It sounds half like a question and half like a wish.

He turns. "Countin' on it."

___

You do see him around but not as much as you'd like. Things pick up around town before the seasons can change and send Wyoming into winter. You find yourself in the kitchen most days helping seal jars for the community food stores, hands chapped from the hot water and heart light when you think about Joel. He nods at you from across the dining hall, opens the door of the library when you're going in and he's coming out, and tells Ellie to tell you how good the chili was when you share a shift at the stables.

"Fucking amazing," she says.

You sleep fairly well, going to bed each night with a little bit of lightness in your heart that you allow because why not? There's no way out short of Joel telling you to fuck off and you don't think that'll happen. If only you could get over yourself a little more and actually do something about it.

As much as you want to keep telling yourself that this -- glances across rooms, smiles from a distance, memories of his hand on your skin -- is enough, you're not sure that it is. The force of your want is destabilizing considering the most that's happened is maybe a little bit of flirting. But maybe this is you taking his direction to ask for...no help, not exactly, but to ask for something. To ask for him.

Today you're going on patrol. You decide as you mount your horse that you're going to ask Joel if he wants to get a drink when you get back. You want to talk to him again, let him under your skin a little more. Maybe tell him some things about yourself. Sometimes he's milling around the gate or on wall duty but you don't see him as you and your partner -- a fairly new kid in his twenties -- take your rifles and head out. You're on an easy route today, just clearing out the town over the hill and the highway exits near Jackson. Shouldn't take you more than a few hours.

It goes to shit fairly quickly.

The kid -- Conner? Charlie? You can't remember -- is rambling about the infected he's killed for some reason when you realize something isn't quite right. You can't hear any birds. Apollo snorts and it sounds panicked. You motion for the kid to stop talking but he either ignores you or doesn't see.

He sure shuts up when the clicker bursts out of a house to your left. Apollo startles and rears at the moment you reach for your gun and you can't grab hold in time.

You go flying, bouncing off a rusted-out car and landing hard on the broken pavement of the street with a popping sound. There is a pain in your shoulder so intense your vision whites out. The kid is shouting, the clicker is making that awful sound, but then you hear two gunshots and nothing else.

"Holy fuck," he says, rushing over to you. "Fuck, are you okay?"

Well, for a talker, this kid a good shot.

"Get the -- horse --" You roll onto your back with a groan and he grabs Apollo and settles him.

"What happened?"

You stare up at the sky, blue turning purple. It'll be sunset soon and you very well might be fucked if this is what you think it is.

"I think my shoulder popped out," you say through gritted teeth. Your head doesn't hurt like you smacked it and your side is only a little sore. Maybe some bruised ribs. Your hands are scraped, blood beading on the heels of your palms. "Help me up."

"Holy shit." He helps you sit up and then stand, your left arm hanging limp at your side. You hiss through your teeth as it gets jostled and lean heavily on the car. "You don't look so good," he says. "Can you ride? We should only be a half hour out of town."

"I...don't think so." You're pretty sure you'll pass out from the pain and this kid doesn't look like he can handle that. You don't want to fuck up the joint any more than you have to. "You're going to have to go back and bring someone to set it for me, okay?"

"But the rules say --"

"I know what the fucking rules say," you snap. Don't let your partner out of your sight. Your shoulder is throbbing and you might cry but not until this kid is on his way back to town. "That's why you're going to go as fast as you can, alright?"

"We should at least clear a building first so you can --"

"No time," you say, looking at the sky. "If we want to be back before nightfall you need to go now. I'll handle myself."

You really should know his name. He sets his jaw in a move that reminds you of Joel which causes a pang in your chest so intense you want to rub it away. "I'll clear that garage, okay?" He points behind you and before you can stop him he runs towards it with his gun out.

Lucky for both of you it's clear. You take Apollo inside and slump against the wall, pistol in your hand. The kid closes the garage door behind him and you hear the clop of his horse as he gallops away.

"Fuck," you say into the empty room. It's dusty and full of cobwebs and not much else. Empty metal shelves, a rusted-out lawn mower, some tarps so ratted they're useless. Apollo snorts. "Not your fault, buddy."

Death has been nipping at your heels for twenty years now. You've always expected it. And you're fairly certain you won't die out here. Maybe end up spending a night on this floor, having to walk yourself back to Jackson tomorrow morning. But you can't help the fear that rises in your throat. You know how an injury like this means so much more in this world. You won't be able to work for weeks. You won't be able to patrol, to pull your weight.

You're going to need a lot of help.

You close your eyes against the stinging tears and thud your head against the wall.

The pain dulls the embarrassment you feel when you catch yourself thinking of Joel. You wish he was here. If you'd been on patrol together this wouldn't have happened. You wonder what he's going to think of this.

What you'd really like is for him to hold you and tell you it'll be alright.

A few tears slip down your nose. Apollo noses at your knee.

There are no windows so you don't know how much time has passed. You start to question if this was the right call. Maybe you could have made it back on horseback, or at the very least slung across the back of Apollo like a sack of flour, arm be damned.

Your traitorous brain is about to remind you of all the things that go bump in the night out here when you hear something. 

Someone is calling your name. Yelling it.

"Here!" you scream. Apollo whinnies. "I'm here!" You have no idea if they can hear you. You press your good shoulder into the wall behind you and try to push yourself to your feet but just as you do the garage door is hauled open and there stands --

Joel.

A sob bursts from your throat and you will yourself to pull it together. Behind him the sky is much more orange than it was when you first sat down.

Joel's eyes look you up and down once before cataloging the space and locking on some milk crates. He stacks two of them.

"Sit," he says. His voice is tight.

"Joel --"

"Sit."

You do as he says. He kneels at your feet and rummages around in his bag. His horse stands munching on some overgrown grass on the driveway. Did he come alone?

"How are you here --"

Joel cuts you off with a glare. His eyes are blazing, jaw grinding as he holds out a length of bandage.

"Hold this." He stands and his knees crack. "Kid said it's your shoulder. Anything else?"

The throb is still deep, still intense, but his arrival almost made you forget all about it. You shake your head.

"Didn't hit your head? Crack ribs? Nothin' like that?"

"No, I don't think so --"

"Need you to sit up straight," he says. There's no warmth in his tone but it's a little softer now that he's taken stock of the situation. "I ain't gonna lie to you, this is going to hurt like hell." He digs in his pocket for something and pulls out a square of leather. "Need you to bite down on this."

He squats so that you're just about face to face and holds out the leather. It feels like being in your kitchen, you holding out the spoon and fighting your desire to touch him. Except this time he won't look you in the eye. You open your mouth and he gently places it between your teeth, thumb catching the corner of your lips and trailing along the edge of your chin before he pulls away and stands up.

"I'm going to reset it on three, alright? Bite down hard on that." He finally meets your gaze and you nod and close your eyes. He puts one hand on your shoulder and the other on your wrist and you wince even though you feel incredibly safe in his hands. "Alright. One...two --"

Joel jerks your arm up and around before he hits three and you barely hear it pop back into place because, as he said, it hurts like hell. You bite down hard on the leather which also serves to muffle your scream.

Someone is talking to you."I know, baby, I know. Good job, you did a good job."

You open your eyes and wipe away a few tears with one hand and pull the leather from your teeth. Joel looks pained but his face snaps back to neutral when he sees you watching. His eyes narrow.

"Where did that come from?" He gently grabs your wrist and looks at your palm and you both find it bloody. "Got it on your face."

"Scraped my hands when I fell," you say hoarsely. He clicks his tongue.

"Give me that bandage." You don't even get a chance to hand it to him because he plucks it from your lap. "Gonna make this into a sling for this arm. Try not to move it much. Then we'll clean those hands and head home. Get you to the clinic for some meds." He gently positions your arm, which hurts a lot less than before but is still throbbing, and ties a sling so it's bent close to your chest. You can feel his breath on your neck as he does the knot.

And then he's back crouching in front of you.

Joel Miller on his knees for you so many times in one day makes you a little dizzy. Or maybe that's the adrenaline.

"Are you angry with me?" you ask softly as he wipes clean your palms and cheek with firm touches. The muscle in his jaw twitches again and his hands freeze for a split second.

"No," he says. "I ain't mad at you. I just can't believe the fuckin' kid left you here."

"I told him to."

"Can't believe that either. You know better."

"It's fine, Joel," you say. "It doesn't matter. I would have just walked back in the morning if no one came --"

He pulls his hands away and tosses the rag to the floor. "Damnit, it does matter," he curses. "'Course it fuckin' matters. Cut that shit out."

Now you're confused. It sure seems like he's angry with you. "Joel, I don't understand --"

His hands cradle your face and the protest dies in your throat. "You matter to me," he says thickly. His eyes are wide but his stare is steady. "Ain't it fuckin' obvious?" Anger and desperation are dripping from his words. "It matters."

For one long second you think he's going to kiss you. Now that might kill you.

You wrap one hand around his wrist and lean into his palm. A thousand thoughts swirl in your head but you focus on one. Joel is here which means you're safe. Joel is here which means he's going to take care of you. Joel is here. Joel is here. Joel is here.

"Oh," you breathe. You turn your face in his palm and press your lips to the center of it. His breath hitches and it feels like something big between you shifts, slots into place. "Okay," you say against his skin.

He pulls his hands away and stands. He works his jaw a few times before shouldering his pack and holding out his hand. "Let's go home," he says.

You stand with his help. "I think you'll need to help me get on my horse."

"Not a fuckin' chance," he growls but you can still see tenderness in his eyes. "Can't hold on well enough with one arm. We're ridin' together."

This Joel is one you haven't seen. But this is what you wanted, right? You want to see every part of him. Something molten and heavy sits in your stomach at how tense he is, how his hands remain gentle despite his harsh words. How he just told you that you matter to him. Maybe this is all a dream.

He helps you on his horse and then gets on behind you, tying Apollo's reigns to his so you won't lose him. He wraps one arm right around your stomach, mindful of your arm.

"Ain't gonna be comfortable," he says in your ear. "But it'll be over quick."

You lean back into him. Hell, it's all on the table now. If your arm is going to hurt you might as well enjoy your time pressed against him.

"Oh, I don't know," you say. "This isn't so bad." He snorts and snaps the reigns.

He talks low and steady in your ears as you gallop, his palm firm on your abdomen to keep you as still as possible though it's a hopeless venture. Your shoulder aches, sends sharp tendrils of pain through your entire arm with every stride.

He tells you that he was on the wall when your partner came back alone. That he knew something was wrong with you as soon as the kid came into view. He'd seen the patrol assignments and knew you were paired together. Kid didn't know what flag to use to signal his approach because you're not supposed to leave behind your partner.

Joel tells you how he hopped down from the wall and asked the kid where exactly he left you. Demanded to know how hurt you were, if you'd been bit. He was on a horse before anyone else could get their shit together, told them to get Tommy and have the clinic ready for you. Started hollering your name as soon as he got to the street, rifle ready for any infected to show up.

"Damn miracle when you yelled back," he says just as Jackson comes into view. You're sweating and dizzy from the pain, practically all of your weight slumped back into his chest. "Almost there, sweetheart. Doin' real good."

The rest of it is a blur. Joel takes you to the clinic where he becomes increasingly agitated that he set your shoulder wrong until one of the staff says he did it just fine. They give you a real sling and one painkiller to take if you hurt really bad, despite some harsh words from Joel in an attempt to get you more.

"Don't move it above your head for two weeks. Keep the sling on for that time, too. Ice it today, start moving it back and forth a few times in a few days. You got someone to help you for a bit?"

Before you can open her mouth Joel answer for you.

"Yes." The nurse hides her amusement well. She lets you go. Joel keeps his hand on your back as he walks you to your house.

You stop him when you get to your front door. "Joel --"

"If you're about to argue with me, so help me God, I'll --"

"I was going to ask if you need to go check on Ellie." You pull out your keys and after a second hold them out for him. Maybe letting Joel help you is helping him, too. You can handle that. You think.

"Told Tommy to when I left. I'll go home once we get you settled."

We.

"Okay," you say softly. He unlocks the door and motions for you to go in. You sit gingerly on the couch and Joel brings you a glass of water.

And then he paces. He looks at the books on your shelf without seeing them and rubs his thumb against his first two fingers over and over. And all of a sudden he won't look at you.

"Joel, sit down or something," you grumble. "You're making me nervous."

He stops. "Fine." His tone has a bit of bite to it that makes you close your eyes. There's an armchair in the room but he sits next to you instead. He presses his knee to yours, almost in apology.

The adrenaline has faded by now and all you feel is the ache of your shoulder and ribs and rawness of your palms and heart. The shoulder hurts like hell but in a way all of this hurts deeper, harder than that. In the way you know love, or the beginning of it, can hurt.

You sniffle.

Truth is you're overwhelmed. By what happened, by Joel coming to get you and saying all that shit. By him touching you, by him being here, by your own heart beating so quickly at his nearness. Even though you dared hope he felt something close to your affection for him it's a shock to realize he cares about you because you're you, not just because he's a good man. You've always wanted love that came from a place of purpose, which feels selfish on the best of days. You should just accept whatever kindness comes your way in this cruel world.

But, fuck, you've always wanted to feel chosen. Like you matter.

And you do. Right here, you do. From his own lips he's said you do.

You don't even realize you're crying until Joel curses softly and one wide, warm palm is on your face again.

"What's wrong? You hurtin'?" His thumb swipes at your tears. "Talk to me."

"I'm fine." You press your face into his shoulder and he holds you, hand soft on the back of your head. "I'm just -- I'm just really glad you're here, Joel."

"Course I'm here," he says into your hair. "C'mere."

There's nowhere for you to go considering you're already pressed against him. But his arms come around you fully, mindful of your shoulder, and your fingers fist in his shirt.

You should be embarrassed. On the scale of fucked up shit that's happened to you, today is remarkably low. But you let yourself have this. You breathe him in and let him hold you.

"I was going to ask you to get a drink tonight," you mumble. His chest vibrates with laughter.

"That so?" he says. His hand rubs up and down your spine. "Reckon I'd say yes."

You pull back just enough to see his face. This close you can see how his eyes have a bit of gold in them. "Really?" Even with proof of his affection right in front of you it's a little hard to believe.

"Am I readin' this wrong?" he asks. "It's okay if I am--"

"No," you say quickly. "No, you're not."

"Thought so." His lips pull up at the corner just a bit. "But, still. You've had a real rough day, and --"

"Joel," you breathe. You free your good arm from your embrace and put your hand on his jaw. He's touched you plenty today and you want to give it a try yourself. His face is warm, his beard gently rubbing against your skin. His eyes flutter close for a breath before he opens them wide and leans into your hand just a little.

"Alright," he says softly. Then he says your name, just once, ever so tenderly. It sounds like a prayer.

Joel Miller kisses you in the middle of your living room. Despite the affection you've been nursing for him over the last little while you never allowed yourself to imagine what it would be like to kiss him.

It's like this: the first press of his lips is soft like he thinks you'll pull away. When you don't he takes your lower lip between his and presses a little harder. Your hand slides into his hair and he palms your hip with one of his and cups your face with the other. His tongue traces the seam of your lips and you open for him, let him lick into your mouth. You sigh into it and tug on his hair just a little. Joel makes a sound deep in his throat and then pulls away.

You're both breathing heavier than before, both smiling. Joel presses his lips to your forehead, your temple. He holds you against him and you breathe against the skin of his neck.

"Will you let me take care of you?" he says into your hair.

"For my sake or yours?"

You think he'll laugh but he just breathes. "Both," he says. "Hell, you know what's goin' on here. I showed my hand. Been showin' it." He pulls away so you can see the honesty in his face. "I told you in as many damn words as I know how."

He did. He did and you make yourself believe it. Love in this life is worth holding on with both hands. Whatever this is, whatever this is going to become, you want it. You want to let this man continue to teach you to ask for help. You want to learn from him, maybe teach him a few things of your own.

You want to love him. You think you could sooner rather than later.

You trace the line of his brow, run your fingertip over the scar on the bridge of his nose.

"Can you kiss me again?" you ask.

"What a fuckin' question," he says. "C'mere."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

[necronomeconomicism]

I've been accused of not being a Jew a lot on this website. By Zionists, of course, so I don't address it. This morning I got such an accusation from someone who seems, at least uninvolved? I don't want to reblog because its off topic for the original post.

What's interesting to me about the reply is conjecture about the Shema and religion and respect. It should be obvious I am not a religious Jew. More than that I am extremely irreverent. In general and in my relationship to Jewishness. When I wrote this

my message was iconoclastic and deeply personal, perhaps too personal for social media, honestly. It is also poorly written! I don't know Hebrew well, nobody in my family really does. I am an American Jew and this is pretty common. I don't have a Hebrew keyboard either because why would I? So the Hebrew is copy pasted. I did not do so without intention or context or double checking to make sure it looked right. The intention and context however is personal enough that the meaning can't consistently translate well.

I learned the Shema prayer when I was younger, but did not internalize a real translation of it. For me my frame of reference for Israel was English. This is a problem because Israel is a very very loaded word. In the prayer, as I understand it most would say Israel is supposed to mean the People of Israel, as in the Jews in general. A responsible reading of the Shema would separate out the State of Israel from the People of Israel, and I was not taught responsibly, I was taught by American Zionists. The background idea was that Zionism and Judaism were linked, to be actually Jewish you had to be Zionist, and when you believe that, the People of Israel starts to mean the People of the State of Israel. People who we were, even in America, because there was only one place we could ever really belong.

Throughout my childhood nobody bothered to correct that understanding of Israel. That monstrous conflation in the many ways it arises in Zionism is much of what I attacked in that post, and what I decried in my curse. The prayer even is addressing, it says "Hear", its meant for ears, and so in my curse I perverted this. Because what does the Shema mean to the person saying it? What does it mean for it to be received? Where do the thoughts and feelings of the speaker go when this prayer delivers them? This comes across better when the word Israel is read as multifaceted. When the whole curse is read as poetry rather than literally. Because, by one interpretation, the curse is basically "Hear me Jews, you should all die" which is obviously not what I meant.

If I had a better understanding or mastery of Hebrew I might have found a way to convey that better. Instead I just posted that part of the Shema out as I remembered it looking in the book. So I'm going to edit it, removing the Hebrew characters, leaving some notes and a fundraising link, and then pin that on my blog.

All of that is just explanation of the curse and not a direct response to anything in particular. This is.

Me and my mother have had to avoid neo nazis in an Arizona gas station. I've been bullied for my hair. I've hidden bacon at the back of the fridge to look better to visiting relatives. I have been sat down and given first hand account by my grandfather what it was like to flee Nazi Germany to China as a child and run directly into the Japanese invasion. Then years later completely fell out with him over his Zionism and now struggle to maintain a relationship with my grandmother.

The literal meaning of Israel is "one who struggles with G-d" and I've struggled with God plenty enough to be included in the People of Israel. My experience with the culture and languages and faith is no less valid than any other Jews' experience. Neither is my choice to wield the Shema as a weapon any less sacred than another Jews' choice to make it their last breath. I am not confused, or lost, or fake. I know exactly where I stand, what I stand for, and why.

[zyoswift]

౨ৎ Introduction. 🌷

i honestly just need somewhere to yap about my drs and shifting.

Hello! I'm Liz (she/her), I'm 18 years old (aug 7 2006), and I have been on my shifting journey since october 2020. I haven't had a fully grounded shift yet but I've had really interesting experiences that I might share at some point.

I wanted to start a tumblr a while ago but it's sooooooo confusing to me because I always only ever used it passively for fanfics lol. I saw a lot of people move over here from tiktok because of the ban and, well, I'm british but I felt left out and wanted to keep up with some people from shiftok. I also want shifter friends :(

I am new to using tumblr consistently so I will probably make some mistakes but I'm trying 😭

I have a pinterest account where I have some of my dr boards public, I spend way too much time on them and they are very special to me <3 Pinterest is the main place where I script!!

I LOVE Taylor Swift, like I am genuinely in love with that woman in a bad bad way. If you don't like the concept of shifting for people who are real in this reality, then my account will not be for you - she is my s/o in a lot of my realities. #wuhluhwuh

I do believe in permashifting and I will end up doing that eventually, I will also make a post for my views on permashifting and why I personally believe in it.

🌷🦊 MAIN DRS -

(scripted drs and/or ones that i am most focused on)

౨ৎ DREAMLAND DR (basically just a waiting room dr but i don't like using the term personally. this is like my home base, it's where i will return to between my other realities)

౨ৎ FAME DR (my favourite 💗 it's the one i have scripted the most for because it's just so fun, i'm in love)

౨ৎ BETTER CR (this started off as a uni dr but i implemented too much of my cr to it, so it is now a better cr and i luv ittt. i will still maybe call it my uni dr sometimes just bc it's easier in my brain)

౨ৎ OUAT DR (omfg.... so as soon as i heard about shifting, i immediately knew i wanted to shift here, my first ever script was for ouat <333. ouat will forever hold a special place in my heart and i will always have a special connection with this reality even tho i don't focus on it as much, loml)

౨ৎ VAMPIRE DR (i watched the first episode of what we do in the shadows and immediately knew what i had to do... nadja you will be mine)

౨ৎ HOGWARTS DR (as a lot of us did, i found out about shifting through dracotok and the 'he pushed me down the stairs' times...... i've had many different hogwarts scripts through the years and i've changed a lot since my first one but i love the one i have rn - it's a mix of golden trio era and hogwarts legacy)

౨ৎ SINGER DR (i actually have 2 but i will probably just focus on my main)

౨ৎ KPOP GIRL GROUP DR (i'm not superrr focused on this one and i haven't scripted a lot of it, but whenever i get hyperfixated on it again it will be very known)

౨ৎ GENSHIN IMPACT DR (unfortunately i became obsessed with this dumbass fucking game in 2021 and i don't really play anymore but i still have love for my dr and beidou)

౨ৎ FANTASY DR (this one is barely scripted i'm ngl, i just want to be a princess)

🌷🦊 OTHER DRS -

(drs that i haven't scripted at all, but i'm interested in and want to shift to eventually)

౨ৎ OUAT ENCHANTED FOREST (my main is set after the curse in storybrooke)

౨ৎ MONSTER HIGH

౨ৎ UK LOVE ISLAND (tbh i get hyperfixated on it whenever i watch it and i just want ekin su)

౨ৎ OTHER HOGWARTS DRS (my main is slytherin but i also want to experience the other houses, mainly hufflepuff)

౨ৎ SKYRIM

౨ৎ TRAVEL YOUTUBER (lowkey i am considering this in my uni/better cr so idk)

I will probably add more to my list 😭 And I will try and figure out how to make posts with links to posts about different drs blah blah blah.

And well, I had a STREAMER DR which was my main for a few years but umm..... a lot of the people turned out to be not good people, especially the person I was wanting to shift for (w*lbur), and I have also changed and grown and figured out a lot about myself since then. So I mightttt make another script but I'm honestly not that interested in many streamers other than the ones I used to like so idk idk. Grateful for it in ways, but also glad that era is over lmao. I have toyed with the idea of just keeping it and scripting out the awful things these people have done but, idk it just doesn't feel right and even if I did do that I wouldn't post about it just out of respect and my desire to be perceived as normal. It was also a very unhealthy time for me lol (it's not funny).

gif from pinterest

[leportraitducadavre]

I just found your account and I really like a lot of what you have to say about the naruto series, and your opinions and reasoning are really interesting to read! When it comes to naruto and female characterization I have a lot of strong thoughts, and your posts about the topic say a lot of what i feel better than I think I could myself, so thanks for sharing. I was reading through some of your posts and got really curious as to what your stance is on itachi, and particularly his actions pertaining to sasuke. It’s something I think about quite a bit as I have really mixed feelings about the whole thing (story of my life as a naruto fan lol) and I would love to hear your thoughts on itachi if it is something you’d be interested in talking about :) I really like that your analyses are very rooted in unbiased observations of the series itself, and I’m curious what your thoughts are, even if they’re brief!

Oh my dearest, you started with the question, lol.

There's no easy way to encompass all of my thoughts in one single post, as I have many things to say about his character and his fandom in particular, those who have followed me for a while know the number of words I've dedicated to him.

I'll link here my most "important" post about him for you to read if you wish, you've reminded me to update my pinned post with these links, so thank you for that.

Also, thank you for your words.

Can Itachi's character be fixed? Spoiler alert: It's the fandom's perception of him that should change, not his character.

My response to the perception of some Itachi stans. (and a non-serious take)

The Curse of Hatred - or a poorly constructed theory based on bias.

About Itachi, his fandom, and moral standpoints.

Have fun reading!

[cabezadeperro]

7, 10, 16, aaaaaaaaaand 64 from the “get to know your fic writer” ask meme!

hi!!!!! thanks for sending these ♥️✨

7. How do you choose which POV to write from?

it depends! there are a few characters whose POV i really enjoy, and those are the characters i always end up writing stuff for. but then sometimes i like changing it up, just to make it harder/more challenging for myself, and then there's also an element of. spite. (for example: i think there're enough fics written from obi-wan's POV in this fandom.) and i usually also take into account what will be the best and most effective option depending on what i want to do with the story/what i want to make people feel.

10. Cltr+f "blinks" on your WIP & copy paste the first sentence/paragraph that comes up

The kid blinks, and her smile wavers. She glances at Rex, quicksilver quick, and then she sets her shoulders and lifts her chin, and she’s cute, in an undercooked, spiky way—Rex stood no chance.

you've found the Baby Ahsoka of Luck!!!! congrats!!!!!!!

16. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Share one of them?

i am writing the codex persuasion au (very slowly--i've had a very busy summer). i also have a bunch of shorter projects in my wips folder: a very cursed/problematic codywan idea i don't know if i'll actually get to writing, a post order 66 codyfox/codyquinlan/foxquinlan fic, a bunch of not-sequels/spin-offs for other projects, the not-actually-kenfetti soulmates au. and the prompts, of course.

i want to write more cal/boba short stories, but the big project i think i'm going to focus on After the persuasion au is the last kenfetti fic--i miss them and it's a lot of fun. it's an soulmates au with a twist, kind of. canon divergence (jaster doesn't die, jango is rescued from the slaver a couple years after getting captured), it takes place during the satine mission and it respects jango and obi-wan's canon age difference. it's not actually kenfetti, and i think it's more lighthearted than my usual fare. i'm very excited.

64. Something you love to see in smut.

i do love it when they're in character (with all that implies) 😶 also: make it! visceral!!! tell me how and what they feel!!! not just what they see! there are five senses! use them!

get to know your fic writer ask meme

[fatedstrands]

Rules

About the Mun!

Hi! My name Is Whisper, I'm a non binary kind of gender presenting fluid alter-human mess. I live in Aussieland but am alive often during UK time. My sleep is all over the place despite this so be patient. PERSONAL BLOGS NOT CONNECTED TO RP ACCOUNTS DNI! IF THE THREAD ISN'T YOURS, PLEASE DON'T REBLOG IT! THANK YOU!

I have a lot of #trauma but most things don't usually bother me. As Trigun is a HEAVILY triggering universe, I will write many things including but not limited to; Violence, body horror, horror themes, manipulation, abuse (though I will NOT write sexual abuse) but things like narcissistic abuse, child abuse/neglect, medical experimentation, homosexuality, drug abuse/alcoholism. NSFW scenes can be found on @fatedsinners. ABUSE TO ME WILL NOT BE TOLERATED! If you're gonna try to start stuff, please just leave. This is a fun and safe space, don't ruin it. ALL ART WILL BE TAGGED as either t//Wifey Arts for art done by @inkksuna who's given permission for me to post or Art//The Mun's Works for stuff I myself have done.

NOW THE RP THINGS!

Mun =/= Muse - period. No if ands or buts. I WILL INTERACT WITH DUPES GIMMIE GIMMIE! MAGIC ANONS ARE ALWAYS WELCOME! Each one will be marked with 'curse//---' of the curse My Legato is HEAVILY CANON DIVERGENT so please respect the laws of their lives as I have written them. If my muses inspire you, if my headcannons make you go 'I like that' please feel free to take them on as your own! I love to inspire and add onto others' own creativity. No God-Modding/Info-Modding/Power Gaming. Set up the attacks, and of course I can't dodge them all, but allow me to decide the damage and success of the hit. We are all the DM's of our own muses and no one else's. If you want to do an action to my muse ASK ME IN DMS AND WE CAN SUSS IT OUT! I love to do this!

Do not harass me for replies and do not try to guilt trip or otherwise emotionally manipulate me in anything at all, such as OOC chats, vagueblogging, tags, or IC threads. THIS BEING SAID! I WRITE A LOT AND FAST! You have no obligation to reply as fast or match the length. As long as it's more than a one liner (unless it's something crack related) I can work with it. I cannot do one liners well at all so EXPECT PARAGRAPHS BECAUSE I AM INVESTED!

I will turn asks I'm interested in being threads into a thread whilst @ing you, there is NO OBLIGATION to respond. If the ask is left as an ask, you can dm me to request it as a thread, otherwise I consider it finished.

Please tag our threads with the URL 'fatedstrands' for my main and 'fatedsinners' for NSFW.

If you have a problem with me, please come to me and tell me. I want to know when I've done something wrong so I can learn and grow if I can. If you're a new blog, I will not write with you unless you have some sort of information, about and age of mun. If it's our first interaction, please don't open with anything that's sexual or means a presumed relationship. It makes me uncomfortable. I prefer to find out ideas or baselines of threads but also don't hesitate to just yeet yourself in, just be prepared for a 20 roll of the die to see what chaos you've called upon yourself! Whilst I AM open to AU's OC's will need information on them for me to feel comfortable and any thread MUST have been spoken about in DMs first. Multimuse blogs are welcome and SOME crossovers are okay if I know what's happening, who the other muse is OR we've discussed it in DMs.

NOW THE SPICY THINGS!

WILL NOT WRITE SMUT WITH ANYONE UNDER 21 BOTH MUN AND MUSE RESPECTIVELY! I've made mistakes as a teen and know how it can affect someone and I refuse to put that on anyone else. It's to protect me and you. If you're under 21, please just walk away. I am a shipping WHORE! there are some ships I auto yes to, like MillionsSummers and WolfSummers. Just be warned, my Legato is different so please check my summary thread for the verses. Whilst these are auto yes please still talk to me about the ship so we can define the small things as I love those. ALL SHIPS ARE THEIR OWN UNIVERSE! No one fight over my muses love unless we've agreed to it in DMs LET ME MAKE THIS ABUNDANTLY CLEAR BECAUSE APPARENTLY IT'S NOT CLEAR ENOUGH! I DO NOT SHIP PLANTCEST!

[sukibenders]

You and those two little bitter betty Edwina stan accounts “Kate was badly written 😤🤬😡🤢🤮” yet she’s one of the most loved, obsessed over, written about, talked about character on this show (the root of y’all’s problem with her lrt). Y’all just don’t like her, can’t bear that other people do and are incapable of keeping her out of your stinky ugly spiteful mean girl mouths. It be three dumb bitches telling each other exactly.

I don't know if you've heard, because it does happen in many fandoms, but a character can be beloved in many forms and still have the writers fumble their storyline or arc a little (eg. Bonnie from TVD, even though I love her as a character). Again, because this concept seems new to you, you can critique a character's actions and still enjoy them. Think about it, and I really want you to think: do you actually believe that Kate, who raised Edwina and read her fairytales and placed this idea of love in her head, would continue to go through with a wedding between her sister and Anthony, after he told her plain as day that he would not love her [Edwina] and would only think of Kate throughout, do you really think that Kate, putting aside her newly discovered feelings (bc she states that she hadn't realized her own by this point), would continue to push for a doomed wedding? It does not make sense, the show just wanted to keep unnecessary drama. But if you view that as something that Kate would do, then by all means, say that you understand her character more and just leave. It seems to be tricky for you, to critique and like a character at the same time, so if you can't do that and want to continue to be blissful about things, then do so and get off my page. Also, if I found Kate to be the "root of my problems" (nice choice of pulling something out of nowhere anon *hint: sarcasm*) then why would I constantly point out how she was done dirty in her own season, whether from promotional marketing or the way her storyline was changed (this is largely bc of the Featherington plot)? Why would I complain about her not having any storyline about how the loss of her parents impacted her? Like all these things I've talked about, and yet from the looks of it, since you seem to stalk my page, you couldn't find any of these multiple post but yet think you know everything about me from only one that also involves Edwina. Go off, I guess.

While Kate is a beloved character, she does have toxic fans, as any fictional character would and it definitely isn't her fault (largely because she is fictional, and also because, if she were real, probably wouldn't agree with some of you guys either tbh), and you would be the case in point. It's very funny that you come here through anon to attack me for something that, prior to the last statement above, isn't true or was simply contrived because you can't accept that a character can be liked and criticized, but sure, I'm the problem. You referring to me and other blogs, who I assume you've probably also filled their inboxes with hate---unless you have something better to do (I don't believe so) who also enjoy BOTH (bc you miss it a lot) Edwina AND Kate as "ugly, spiteful and mean" as well as "dumb bitches" but yet, sure, I'm the problem. I don't know, it's really seems as if you're the toxic one because at least I have the decency to not be a dick to others anonymously when, if there was a problem, I'd talk it up with them face to face (or where they can see my blog). But this seems like a common theme that you, and others like you, can't grasp, but yet myself and other Edwina fans, whose, again, pages you stalk but still come up short with information, flood our inboxes with hate and hurtful words.

What was it that you said again? Using the same words that you did in these regards, "It's like three dumb bitches telling each other exactly." Now, again, had you come here respectfully to talk and, I don't know, maybe not curse at me, we could of had a civil conversation where respect was shown both ways. However, I don't condone bullying actual people nor referring to myself or others as "bitches" and then being expected to give you anything cordial. I give what you give back. But still, have a nice day.

[aceofwhump]

Thank you so much for replying. And I absolutely love how organized you are, your blog is a whump goldmine and that fic list is a godsend! Thank you so much for being so helpful and welcoming!

Can I ask something? Is it weird to lay in bed and imagine whump scenarios for your favorite characters for hours on end? And also, is it weird to do it for shows that aren't dramas? Like comedies and stuff? I'm embarrassed to admit this but my whole fanfiction.net account is full of Big Time Rush whump (the show, not the band themselves; I never want harm to come to real people), and I'm worried that's not normal. I've also been on a major Jason Ritter kick lately and most of his roles are wholesome comedy stuff but I still imagine it.

Maybe I am a freak, I don't know. I've just never had anyone to talk about this stuff with, I've always pretended it didn't exist in me, but it does and it's kind of scary. What if I'm a bad person?

Hello! I'm glad you found it helpful! I love being organized lol. I'm glad it can come to help people :D

First of all, I know you sent in another message after this and I wanted to tell you that you have absolutely NOTHING to be embarrassed about!!! Nothing at all!! And you can send me any message you want and as many messages as you want! I promise you it is not a bother at all!! I really hope it was okay for me to still answer this message because I really wanted you to know this. If you want me to answer something privately please let me know or if you want me to delete this I absolutely can do that but you really don’t have anything to be embarrassed about. Whatever makes you feel most comfortable is fine by me. My private messages are also open if you'd prefer that.

Everything you ask about in your message here are all 100% normal. In fact everything you mentioned are all things we all do and all do often and have done ever since we were kids. Myself and many many others here in the whump community actually imagine whumpy stories to go to bed by ALL THE TIME! It's my favorite way to go to sleep lol. I have created whole worlds in my head as my one little bedtime stories. Nothing weird about that at all. It's also very normal to imagine whumpy stuff for non dramas. We tend to lament the fact that there is never any good whump for those kinds of things. I can't tell you the amount of times I've gone to fanfic hoping to find whump for comedy shows like The Office, Parks and Rec and Brooklyn Nine Nine and when I was little I'd do it for Nickelodeon shows all the time. One of my first forays into whump was looking for fanfic for Cardcaptor Sakura. That's all completely normal! Also, Jason Ritter is amazing and he whumps so good and I wish he had more whump in some of his more comedic roles. You have good taste in whumpees!

You are not a freak! I'm gonna repeat that okay? YOU ARE NOT A FREAK! You are not a bad person! I promise you, you are not! There are sooooo many people who are right there with you including myself! And they way you feel about whump and the feelings you are feeling are normal and valid as well. I think all at times feel bad about it, think we're bad people, or feel guilty especially when we first get into it. But enjoying whump doesn't make you or any of us bad. In my experience bad people would never ever question if they were bad. The fact that you care about that at all tells me you are a good person. And this community, one that loves seeing fictional people in pain, is the most kind and lovely and considerate group of people I have ever met in my life.

I've made a post about some of the many reasons why we like whump that you might find interesting. There are a whole lot of reasons why we enjoy it and all of them are valid. You can find it here: https://aceofwhump.tumblr.com/post/654657831980728320/im-just-curious-why-are-you-so-interested-in

Oh my god and that all got very long and I do apologize for being long winded (my curse lol i can't shut up) but my dear you among friends here. This is a lovely group of people full of kind, creative, understanding people who just enjoy a very specific genre of fiction. It’s okay if you feel weird about it. It’s okay if you don’t like that you enjoy whump. Everything you’re feeling is valid . But you are not bad or a freak or anything like that. My inbox and many many others are always open if you want to talk. Don’t be embarrassed or nervous. We love to talk about whump :)

[sessrin-eternity2]

Yashahime Ep 36 English Dub

Part 1

Sesshomaru, Rin, Setsuna, Jaken, Moroha, Takechiyo, Hisui, Kohaku

Kyaaaaah! I love David so much! He done a great job with Sesshomaru! As did the rest of the cast for their characters. I love and admire this scene of how fast Sesshomaru is flying to save his wife's life, he isn't wasting no time, he is speed flying! Lol, Jaken struggling as he's hanging onto his Mokomoko is really funny to me.

Ouch... the way Rin weakly mentions Towa and Setsuna's names.... (ノ﹏ヽ) I'll cry all night, I never heard Rin speak in such a weaken voice before.

Jaken assuming Sesshomaru was flying fast to grant Rin's dying wish... Nooooo! Omgoshy don't! Why would you even say or think that Jaken?! (つ﹏<。)

It looks like Sesshomaru was having some trouble finding his daughters, it may had been the fact that Towa and Setsuna were in their human forms for a whole night or the fact they used that hand cream all night. Lol, poor guy. Well, the ogres did Sesshomaru a favor by talking about their plot, he overheard them and changed direction without even hesitating.

Yet again, Jaken has spilled the tea on Sesshomaru's actions... aww! He wasn't giving up on his wife Rin, he never wants to lose her, she is his everything. And now thanks to the official interview, we found Rin is Sesshomaru's heart. 💜 She is apart of him and his reasoning for living, it's just so beautiful! If he had of lost Rin forever from the silver scale curse or anything, it would probably straight up kill Sesshomaru, literally. That's like, pretty much saying he would die without her existence.( ˃̣̣̥ω˂̣̣̥ ) This man is in love! Rin is his soulmate.

Lots of Antis were so angry that Sesshomaru didn't do what Rin wanted him to do, they made up such ridiculous stuff about him having her imprisoned in the tree of ages... No, they just wanted her to die, they said many times while trashing Rin as a character. They just ticked off their theory didn't come true about if Rin dies, Kagura will be living through her from now on.

(I hate Kagura now thanks to them...hopefully it's temporary since I do in fact ship her with Adult Kohaku, I find them being a good positive ship, so it should be temporary since I'm still hyped about drawing them together one day. Anyway, I use to only like her as a character, I felt bad for her because all she truly wanted was freedom, she got it but in the most sad and tragic way. But then Antis with their horrible obsession with SessKagu had to destroy her character for me... They've put me and great fans and artists through a lot heck. (SessKagu in my opinion is one of the most Toxic ships ever... I had to block all of it's tags, especially blocked Kagura's too. And I'll be honest, I don't see Sesshomaru and Rin being with other people. I'm completely against seeing them with other characters as a ship but I never go harassing people, I just simply ignore it, block or mute because I find blocking some people or accounts is too harsh, especially if they aren't an Anti. I just prefer blocking Antis to keep them away me and so I can't see their posts anywhere. Plus, it's discouraging for my inspiration to see them with someone else other than each other, I've met a few artists and fans who feel the same way, so it's always best to feed your inspiration and not the stuff that discourage it.) So yes, Antis got mad at Sesshomaru for this, it was ridiculous. He didn't want his wife to die and also Rin didn't want to die either, she cried when Sesshomaru had to cut the dream butterfly to help Setsuna out with mastering her weapon. She knew what was gonna happen once that was done... The silver scales would start to cover her whole body until she rot away. Sesshomaru is and will always be a wonderful husband. ♡️

Aww, Moroha is just too gosh darn cute! And she even sounds concerned of her Aunt Rin, it's very sweet, she loves her family so much.

Lol, Kohaku is a Sesshomaru fanboy. He was probably cheering on the inside to see Sesshomaru after all these years, you can actually hear the excitement in his voice and he wanted to fight beside him, it's cute!

Sesshomaru is not showing favoritism in Setsuna by going to her first, this was a bad misinterpretation. He loves both his baby girls very much and probably wants these hardships to end as soon as possible so he and Rin can finally be with them. I'm sure he's curious of how to be a father to them and still needs his beloved's guidance and influences to help him understand it. The concern in his voice and the way he closed his eyes, worrying about Towa... really makes my heart melt on how caring he is, he has came a long way, I'm very proud of him. ♡(.◜ω◝.)♡ He's a great father in his own way. I always love how softly he speaks to his daughters, he's gentle and patient, it's beautiful. He truly knew Setsuna is the only key to calm Towa. And wow, I could hear the tension in his voice when he was taking out the ogres, he's definitely under a lot pressure with all the situations going on.

Part 2 ↓️

[brett-is-afraid]

I wish I didn't have to pretend I wasn't a shipper of controversial ships like Schlattbur. Like man, I got so many good headcanons, and so many crack headcanons. So many. But people go after friends and I've had friends collab with me so it's not only my name I have to protect.

But also, I got the most crazy comment on my fanfic, like literally insane, and I can't post it online for clout cuz then I'd have to out my alt.

Someone was responding to "their kitten" in my comment section and called themselves their "little jozz jar, jizz bucket (your) jizzy wizzy" and I have been scarred for life.

It wasn't even on my Schlattbur fics with cursed themes...it was on the more relatively less weird DNF.

I'm sorry that you have to go through all that, I understand how it can be sometimes. Have you considered making a side account or something just for those kinds of pairings? Back when I was still nervous about posting for this fandom, I made an ao3 specifically for this kind of stuff. And that helped my confidence a lot. Or consider posting it anonymously? You can always remove the anonymous label if you ever feel comfortable doing so.

If you do, I'd also recommend turning on comment moderation. I've found people are less likely to give you shit if they can't just post it freely.

And I know it isn't the same and a totally different issue, but you can always share your ideas here! I'd love to see them and I'm sure everyone else would if you'd like to share. :)

[billyhargrove-imagines]

Kindred Outsiders: Pt. 1

Pairings: Billy Hargrove x OC

Warnings: Cursing

Word Count: 2374

A/N: Hello! This story was originally posted on my fanfiction.com account but I decided to bring it to tumblr as well :) Anyhow, this story is going to take place in the beginning of summer & will later lead up to the events starting in the beginning of season 3. Gif used isn’t mine. Enjoy!

-

Indiana is…different.

I moved out here merely two weeks ago from Los Angeles, California. My father died from a plane crash over a month ago. He was on his way home from a business trip. My mother, on the other hand, isn't in the picture because she passed away from cancer 5 years ago. I was 15 years old at the time.

I couldn't stand being alone in my father's mansion any longer. It just wasn't the same without him. It caused me nothing but pain having to enter a home where I am not greeted a simple 'hello' from my father. Dinners were always lonely so I ended up resorting to going out with friends almost every night for dinner, followed by drinking at home from my father's in-home bar.

When it came around to bedtime, I felt a pit in my stomach whenever I passed my father's office and didn't see the light shining under the crack of the door. He always worked in his office late.

One day I made a bold move by giving my aunt Joyce a call and moved in with her in Indiana a month after the incident. Aunt Joyce is my father's sister.

Her small house is nothing compared to mine and lacked the useless amenities I was used to. But I didn't care. Living here so far with her, Will and Jonathan was much better than living back in California all alone. Sure, I had friends but it doesn't compare to family.

Since I am an only child of my parents, I inherited all of their money. I also made a selfless decision and paid off my aunt's mortgage. When I told her the news, I was thanked with a slap across the face followed by a tight hug. She never wanted any handouts from my parents in the past and still doesn't til this day.

It is 1pm and I just clocked out for my short shift at this clothing store in the starcourt mall. Yes, I have a great amount of money in my bank account, but I still wanted to keep myself occupied by working a part time job. I didn't want to just sit on my ass all day. Especially since I still don't know what I want to do for my career. I am 20 years old and time is ticking, but I don't want to waste my time and money on schooling when I don't know what the hell I want to do yet.

After every shift I've been stopping by the ice cream shop, Scoops Ahoy and I always see the same duo, Steve and Robin. I've become quite acquainted with them and I learned so far that they're fresh out of high school.

"Let me guess, rocky road?" Steve said with a grin.

"You know me too well, Steve." I replied with a smile, stretching my arm out to hand him cash.

"God Steve. Just ask her out already." Robin added, rolling her eyes playfully and crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned against the back counter.

"Can you not?" Steve snapped his head at Robin, cheeks flushed red.

"Very funny, Robin." I let out a chuckle and waved goodbye to the duo as I licked my delicious ice cream on my way out.

As usual, I took my time walking through the mall. I wanted to make sure I finished my ice cream before I arrived to my car and headed home. A variety of families, couples and friends seemed to be enjoying their shopping trips. Though word on the news is that many local business owners are enraged about the mall being built due to losing business.

A familiar female voice snapped me out of my thoughts. "Hi Victoria!" Aria, my eccentric coworker greeted me, her shoulder-length blonde hair bouncing as she kept up to my steps.

"Hey Aria, I thought you're off today?" I asked, still enjoying my ice cream.

"Yeah I was just shopping around for a gift for my mom's birthday next week." She briefly lifted the shopping bag in her hand. "Did you just get off or are you on lunch?"

"Um, I just got off."

"Yay! I'm going to the pool after this. Join me so I'm not alone!" She suggested. "There's also this hot hot hot lifeguard they hired last week. I went to school with him!"

"Okay sure. But I'm not really into that."

"Come on, Victoria." Aria groaned. "I know you don't have any plans today."

"No I meant the hot lifeguard or whatever. Not into that." I gave a dismissive wave of my hand before taking a generous lick of my ice cream.

"Oh. You're into girls? So sorry. I didn't know."

I snorted in amusement, but internally I was rolling my eyes at her. She's always been quick to make assumptions.

"No no no. I like boys." I made known. "I just don't care to drool over a piece of meat. But I'm down to take a dip in the pool."

"Oh! Okay. Sorry. Sorry again."

"It's fine Aria," I dragged. "I'm gonna go home and change out of this and I'll meet you there."

"Yay! Okay bye!" Aria shouted with glee before going our separate ways. She sure can be annoyingly hyper sometimes, but she's the only real girlfriend I've made here so far. Robin is always working and when she is off, she's always busy doing god knows what.

Like clockwork, my ice cream was finished off before I made it outside to my car. Or should I say my late father's black 1984 Porsche 911. It's quite showy for someone who now lives in Indiana, but this car was my father's baby. I'm never letting go of this.

The Rubberband Man by The Spinners blasted on my stereo as I drove to Aunt Joyce's house. Music from the 70s has always stuck with me. On my face are my favorite pair of black aviator sunglasses.

After a moment of driving down the familiar roads, I pull into the front of my aunt's house. I take the keys out of the ignition, remove my aviators, hop out of my car and enter the non vacant home. "Hey Jonathan." I greeted my cousin who is watching television on the couch with a full plate and fork in his hands.

"Hey there, Vic. You're home early." He said with a full mouth. I hummed in response before scurrying to my bedroom.

I searched through my dresser drawers until I found the perfect bikini for my mood, which is a two piece. I paired my black cheeky bottoms with a neon green strapless top. After quickly peeling off my work attire and slipping into my bikini, I made sure to at least cover up my ass cheeks with denim shorts before throwing on a pair of sandals.

Now I am out the door, tossing my bag of pool essentials in the passenger seat and making sure not to forget my aviators. The sun is at its peak and I am ready to cool off.

Minutes later I pull into the parking lot of the community pool for the first time since moving down here. I've driven past it plenty of times but never had the need to go yet until Aria randomly invited me.

Exiting my car with my bag under my arm and my aviators on, I hear various sounds at a short distance of people enjoying themselves in the water.

The sun is beaming down at me as I'm making my way through the gate, glancing around until I find Aria. "Victoria! Hey!" She shouted with glee, waving her hand. I found her lying on the pool lounger.

"Hey Aria." I greeted, placing my bag on the ground.

"Go on in the pool if you want. I'm waiting for him to show up for his shift. It should be any moment now!"

"Really?" Sitting down at the foot of the empty pool lounger, I shook my head at Aria in disapproval.

She scoffed. "Oh don't give me that look, Victoria." I shook my head at her, dropping my shorts and tossing it in my bag.

Aria let out a gasp out of the blue, sitting up straight. "Speaking of Billy. There he is!"

"Where?" I asked, casually pulling a flask out of my bag. I'm not an alcoholic and I don't plan to get plastered, but a little buzz is well deserved.

Aria doesn't respond. Instead, I scan my surroundings until I spotted the only male lifeguard walking the grounds to my left. He is tastefully shirtless, wearing red swim shorts, a whistle necklace and brown aviator shades. His dirty blonde hair is styled into a mullet, which surprisingly fits his face perfectly.

Billy's head snapped my direction as I'm taking a swig out of my whiskey filled flask. I couldn't tell if he was directly looking at me due to the shades masking his eyes, but all of the women's eyes were on him. And by the swagger of his steps, I can tell he's reveling in it.

"Eh." I shrugged my shoulders, once Billy passed me and sat comfortably in the lifeguard chair. "He's alright." I lied.

From his perfectly tanned skin to his flawlessly sculpted muscles, it's as if his body was made by angels. Even from a distance, I could see that his plump lips could lose any woman in his kiss. But no, I had to feign being unimpressed because a man that looks like that is bad news for me.

"Are you freaking kidding me?" She briskly pulled her sunglasses off, shooting me a look of disgust.

"Are your sunglasses blinding you?"

I snorted. "Nope. I can see perfectly clear."

"Ugh! If you think that Billy Hargrove is just alright, then I don't even want to know what kind of men you consider perfect." Aria mentioned seriously to me as she laid back and placed her sunglasses back on.

"Don't care. I'm going for a dip." I threw my flask back inside my bag before rising to my feet towards the pool to swim a few laps.

Stroking through the water, there is no one alive who can stop me. It's a moment like this that makes me miss the beaches in California. But I close my eyes and lose myself, pretending that's exactly where I am.

Unaware how long I've been swimming to and fro, I do one more lap before I take a break and reward myself with another sip of whiskey.

As I am motioning out of the water and my feet are planted onto the cement, a deep, male voice captures my attention. "Here."

I look and it is the stud himself, Billy Hargrove handing me a towel. "Oh thanks." I accepted with a soft smile, almost hesitant because I have a towel in my bag but I didn't want to seem rude.

I begin pat drying my long, black hair with the towel and begin sauntering towards my designated pool lounger, but Billy halts me, "Hey sweetheart." I spun around to face him with furrowed brows. "What's your name?" He asked, removing his glasses to reveal his annoyingly beautiful, blue eyes.

"Victoria. And you?" I asked even though I already know.

"The name's Billy." He said, randomly placing a piece of gum in his mouth which caused me to catch a glance at his lips, then to his abs and back to his eyes. I swear I saw the corner of his lip quirk up when he caught me. "Nice to meet ya Victoria."

"You too Billy." The sun was so hot that I didn't even need to dry off my body anymore. Instead, I threw the towel over my shoulder.

"Am I mistaken or is this your first time here?" He asked, smacking his gum as he's indiscreetly giving me an elevator look.

"No you're right." Before Billy had the chance to speak any further, I pointed behind him towards the pool. "Hey, I think there's a kid drowning over there."

Just as I predicted, he cautiously looked over his shoulder and that's when I made a beeline towards my pool lounger next to Aria.

"You. Dumb. Bitch." Aria remarked with obvious displeasure as I'm searching for my flask. "I can't be friends with you anymore."

"What now, Aria?"

"Billy the hottie was obviously into you and you blew it! Ugh, the things I'd do to be in your shoes right now."

"Oh please. He's just another pretty boy that wants one thing." I implied before taking a sip. "Go over there and talk to him yourself then." Flickering my eyes, I am now seeing that Billy's back on his lifeguard chair.

"Um no. If Billy wants somebody, Billy always makes the first move. Do I look like I want to embarrass myself right now?"

"If you say so." I said, readjusting the pool lounger so that it was flat and I lied on my stomach, using my arms as a makeshift pillow. "Can you rub sunscreen on me and wake me up in 30. I'm taking a nap."

Being the good friend that she is, Aria stole the sunscreen from my bag and did as I asked. She knows I'd do the same for her.

"I know you can't see right now," she started after a minute of no words exchanged, "but he's looking over here. Probably at your ass." She paused. "I wouldn't blame him though."

She's right. I do have a nice ass.

"Billy can stare all he wants. What do I care?" I uttered lazily, eyes closed and ready to sleep.

"You're insane! If I can't have him, then can you have him for me? And tell me if it is big!" She whisper shouted, rubbing the last bit of sunscreen needed on me.

"Im not having sex with anyone, Aria. Especially not him. I'm taking my nap now."

Billy is just another handsome face with a Calvin Klein body which doesn't impress me because it seems like he's used to getting any woman he wants. But I'm not any other woman, so he can use that charm on the next one for all I care.

[witchcraftingboop]

Further Insight on Briar's Recent Discourse & Prim's Apparent Grooming of Younger, Newer Witches

It was suggested to me that instead of making one long post (which I was genuinely sorry for creating in the moment as well), that I should offer the second half in a separate one so that it is easier to share and harder to simply ignore as a wall of text.

Here is the link to the first half of the current JBird and Briar discourse floating around. I highly encourage everyone involved in the Witchblr community to review both posts and not just this final addition. 

Regarding Prim stirring the pot, I actually do have proof of that on my page somewhere if you wouldn't mind my sending it to you? The person I reblogged it from, Mahi, also received death threats from Prim when they were only 16 and Prim was 20 (I can't ask him to share that though because Prim has since used her following to drive him off of Tumblr and he's still fairly [and justifiably] sensitive about it.)

Regarding Briar's statements more specifically though, I can see where the confusion is coming from. After the "in France" part, she's just defining a relevant term (hence the use of "irrelevant details) and then giving an explanation of how she came to be so knowledgeable about that term/concept. I wouldn't say she's calling Prim's activism an "irrelevant detail," but pointing out how Prim uses it as a shield against backlash whenever another blog (not just tradcrafters) calls out her platform. I don't expect you to fully understand or see what I mean when I say that, of course. Because you are still new, and these are habits I've observed of hers from nearly a year of following their interactions. I would, however, like to point out that Briar doesn't say anything racist about Prim and does not once bring up her race. In fact, I think if you read her entire post and not just point 3 as Prim has it cropped out in all of her mentions of it, you would see more fully the depth and amount of frustration Briar is trying to express. Similarly, Briar never threatened to dox Prim. She has, in fact, repeatedly tried to point out that Prim should be protecting her online information and be more aware of how to stop others from finding out about her private life/situation. These statements, however, have since been warped by Prim and her followers to come off as a threat on her life. Briar's statements above aren't a threat of doxxing. She's never once posted Prim's personal information or told others to find it or use it in any way. She has, however, searched for Taglocks on Prim, something witches especially are known to look for. In that search she found more than she was even looking for, despite trying to tell Prim repeatedly to stop being so open online with the information she posts about herself. Doxxing though is not racist. It is something used by them, sure, but it is not inherently racist.

Additionally, Prim has raised money, sure, but I still have not seen any actual receipts as to her *actually* donating it to any public or private organizations. This, for me, is highly suspect. In reality, we still have no idea where that money is. Whereas with Briar, she took no money in for a couple days on her readings and instead merely asked that those requesting a reading first submit proof of donation to an organization linked in the post. She raised substantial money for the BLM movement, but no one seems to want to bring that up in all of their "she's a racist" discourse. Also, the observation that someone is misleading or gaslighting their following is not racist. Just because she said Prim was recently using her BLM reblogs & promotions to do it *this time* still does not make it racist. Questionable wording is just something the reader disagrees with, in my opinion, and should be addressed as such.

I'm not going to lie, I do feel a little frustrated at this point. I was really hoping to come to you and see that you had concrete proof to offer that Briar is a racist. I do understand that you have your own reasons for feeding into the assumptions and twisted outlooks already taken on Briar's words, but I don't have enough energy in me to fully swallow my tongue on this one. I really do hope that you at least consider what I've said here. I'm not sure what I can say at this point because all of the information I've read from you thus far has been purely conjecture or assumptions or just "not feeling right" about the wordings on a single post. A racist, from my perspective, is not something I would ever feel comfortable calling someone off of this lack of evidence.

I understand it is hard to separate preconceived notions from your mind when reading through the words of others, but I really do miss when you were more open to the words of others. If I could ask one thing of you, it'd be to please try to read Briar's post again but from the perspective of seeing it how it was meant to be: a witch who has been on the butt end of Prim's harassment for going on three years now. She is tired of the wild accusations and constantly having to defend herself, and even when she supplied her proof a couple years ago, no one wanted to hear her. She has, largely, given up on being heard, and now screams into what feels like a void when attacked.

Proof of Prim stirring the pot that I offered: An example of Prim actively seeking out the community and trying to stir the pot with an already dealt with situation that had passed over a year ago.

A direct source that I offered as further proof of what has occurred already: This is one from the account mentioned before who was directly involved with the previous discord server where the Trio incident took place a couple years back.

[A Reply.] I think, to be fair, I saw your comments on her previous posts through your main, and with how much aggression you packed into those messages, I don't necessarily blame her for deciding not to engage with your private messages. As I've said, she's very used to people attacking her like that, and in her mind, unfortunately, you've probably been added to the list of aggressive people ready to fling the blame at her rather than look at the situation as a whole. I do apologize for the way her post may have made you feel, but I think it's also important to remember the potentially aggressive things you left on her page (I'm not saying you meant to come off that way, but even I couldn't help but read that way). Also, regarding the ask, it's no small secret that the occultists of the tradcraft group are skilled and well-versed in hexes and curses. When reading her posts about how she may respond to further antagonism on Prim's part, I see a fully realized occultist wielding their most well kept and trained weapon: baneful magic. I'm sure Prim herself also understands that the "threat on her life" she's saying she's so afraid of, isn't a physical threat, but a metaphysical one. She has repeatedly and continually tried to drag these people through the mud, and now that they're refusing to just sit back and be canceled, she's afraid. She knows how strong their magic is, and they aren't shy about it 🤷‍♀️

[A Reply.] No, I completely understand where you're coming from. I, personally, have seen your willingness to talk things through, despite how aggressive you can come off at times in the things you say, so I think that's why I was genuinely so surprised to see your comments on some of her posts. But I do think her response and refusal to further directly engage with you is warranted and her right. Unfortunately, it is hard to tell who is genuinely open to talking and who is just trying to bait and add to the problem. And with how aggressive your comments were, 8 honestly think she most likely was responding from a place of "oh look another young Prim follower here to bait and berate me." I don't think she looks down on you for your age, but her views are likely a reflection of the fact that a lot of 18yos follow Prim and have openly harassed her without even asking for her input on the matter.

At this point, I would like to talk about the second half of the title of this particular post. Grooming. This is a very serious allegation against Prim that I have not spoken on previously because I had no proof that it was happening. With this person's permission, I would like to share how exactly they wound up fighting Prim's battles for her.

I will note: I am highly disgusted by what follows.

[A Reply.] Oh no! You cannot fault yourself for this! Prim is a known manipulator, and the fact that she was able to make you somehow think this is part of your being "gullible and naive" is just testament to the fact that she's gotten wayyy too good at what she does. This is in no way your fault or because of some fault within you. Practiced manipulators are cunning and dangerous even to the best of us. It was unfortunate that she chose you, but her twisting you around is in no way a bad reflection on you as a person!

I've chosen to include my reply to this person rather than our continued discussion because of how personal and involved our conversation turned. I've included it to show, as well, that grooming others to fight your battles is (though this should go without saying) NEVER OKAY. Prim has shown her true colors, in my opinion, and while I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt time and time again, I simply cannot permit myself to ignore the harm and damage she's inflicted on not only the tradcraft community, but also this innocent group of friends. A group who that has hitherto dedicated their time to sussing out predators, terfs, nazis, and racists. A group that should never have had to deal with being gaslit and manipulated by a well-known and respected blogger on this platform.

I cannot reiterate enough how sorry and deeply shocked I am at the information this person has brought to my attention. I am still stunned by Prim's activities and unable to fathom how many other potential individuals are out there being groomed to support and fight for her cause. I am sorry to the Witchblr community as a whole. I feel as if I have sat by and watched as Witchblr has been manipulated and am therefore complacent in the damage and needless hurt that has been allowed to spread throughout our community. I am just so very, very sorry.

I will be taking a couple days off of Tumblr because of this, as I feel as if I need space and time to think, but my inbox is always open and I am always available to speak with others on my return.

[sirgigglesda1st]

I have gotten in the habit of reblogging things I've found and how they have inspired me to create my own things!

I play a lot of Dungeons and Dragons, and sometimes simply seeing art is a great catalyst to jumpstart an entire story arc or campaign!

For instance, simply seeing a few art pieces depicting "Aspects of Madness", I wanted to create an entire campaign around them. Sadly, I was new to Tumblr and didn't know how to properly reblog art or search for that artist, so if anyone knows who drew these, PLEASE let me know! They are very talented and have inspired an entire world for me and my players, and while we didn't get a chance to finish exploring that world, is was one of the most engaging environments my players have ever been a part of. An environment created simply from coming across these pictures.

While also speaking of art, I already have another pinned post on my blog shouting their praise for inspiration, but I absolutely loved @filibusterfrog plague doctor's! They inspired me to create a whole faction for players to play that impacted other games I was running (also detailed in the pinned post for anyone interested on running multiple parties in the same world fairly easily). Huge thanks to them and also check out their comic on Webtoons!

And finally, huge shout out to @dailyadventureprompts for, well, making adventure prompts daily. They create story arcs, character portfolios, villains, allies, random encounters, and more! They helped jumpstart my campaign with their arc about KIA, a rogue city-development AI that secretly plans a series of great heists and explosive start to any campaign!

Also, I want to thank @rpgtoons for many things. Their SpellCo steampunk contraptions inspired cities and NPC's the players absolutely adored! Though surprisingly the greatest thing my players enjoyed was their mini game of crab racing. I stuck their paper minis on the table, explained the very simple rules, and watched as my players had an absolute blast playing with crabs for about 2+ hours.

Lastly, I want to thank @thescryingeye. They're one of the first RPG accounts I found on here, and while they seem to have stopped posting, they have some truly wonderful items that my players enjoy!

Oh! And speaking of items, @the-griffons-saddlebag is a well-known resource for those, and for good reason! Some awesome items with cool lore, as well as really neat cursed stuff during the spooky months! My players fell in love with the "Hat of Omnomnosis" until it got incinerated in a dragon fire (along with the character wearing it, but the party mourned the hat more).

Sorry if this turned into a random shoutout section or something, but I want these artists to know they are appreciated and their work is inspiring others. For me, I consider my work a success if it inspires someone else to create something, whether it be fanart or something of their own creation.

And again, if anyone knows who drew those madness aspects, PLEASE let me know so I can follow them and properly give them credit! They deserve it!

Okay reblog if you’re an artist who STRONGLY PREFERS reblogs with commentary

People are apparently under the impression that reblogging someone’s art and adding a comment is frowned upon and that can’t possibly be true, every artist I know of sees a reblog-comment as like the ultimate definitive reward for their hard work.

Obviously don’t feel bad for NOT adding a comment if you’re shy or just don’t know what to say, but if there’s something you would like to say about a drawing you’ve liked enough to reblog, I’m pretty sure most artists crave hearing it.

[onemattwolf]

One thing I've been thinking about lately is all those things from my childhood that just don't exist anymore, and how that'll happen more and more as I age.

My parents have gone through that: sometimes when we take our family trips to Michigan to see my mom's family, we'll swing by one of the many places my mom lived growing up and discover the house has been torn down.

My Dad often reminiscences on how Toronto has changed since his childhood, like the brickyard grounds now being super cleaned up and a tourist destination when in his childhood it was still a working brick quarry. Which, with the era being the era it was, my dad and his friends/siblings would sometimes sneak in there to play. When taking visits to Cuba, we often try and visit his okd family home, which, while still standing, it's been in a state of disrepair that I know makes my Dad sad. He was so little when his family left: I find those early memories are things we grip on to the hardest. Having them feel tainted once revisiting, or, having them be gone completely, can really be a hard thing.

For me, all the houses I've lived in so far are still standing, and a lot of places I used to frequent as a kid are still there, though they may look different now.

My local mall no long has the giant statue of the hands holding an egg (for some reason; honestly the statue itself was super cool, but... Why an egg?), and for a reason I can never understand, they removed the staircase going to the second floor and now only have an escalator and an elevator.

But, the mall still stands, and it pretty much has been stuck in time since the renovation. Sure, the zeller's was replaced with a Wal-Mart, and some of the stores have changed, but, walking in their still feels like stepping into the past. And, as I enjoy nostalgia, I highly appreciate the consistency. I can still get my socks at the same stand, I can get the same food in the food-court. It's nice.

But then there's the little things that have seemingly completely disappeared with time.

There's a candy that my family used to buy a fair amount at one point as it was labeled as being the healthy version of starburst, and I think my mom was trying to curb my sister's sweet tooth. Suddenly, it just disappeared.

Granted, after I ate too much of them and threw up we had to stop buying them since even the sight would make me nauseous—same reason I still can't eat starbursts, they look too similar. It's also the reason I can't eat tolberone or minestrone soup... The really lesson here is, I needed to learn moderation, on top of not eating things I enjoyed while I have a stomach bug.

But then, they were literally just gone one day, even taking account when we stopped buying them.

A few years back I did some digging, and I eventually found some article or news report saying there'd been some kind of recall? I don't remember for sure. Either that, or the company went out of business. I tried finding the same article mire recently, but the information itself seems to have also been lost to time. It doesn't help that I can't remember the candy's name anymore, as well as there being less information on Canadian-only things in general.

Another thing that's disappeared that I wish I could find again, this time due to the ditty still being stuck in my head for my whole life since: there used to be a TV ad that'd air regularly on local channels for my Dad's old school bus company. The tune was so infectious, no wonder I can't lose it.

It was just these kids spelling out the name of the company, but they actually got kids that can sign properly for the part. L-a-i-d l-a-w, Laidlaw! I dunno, I really liked it, i'd sign with the commercial every time.

Unfortunately, I can't find it anywhere. And, even my brother who has the best memory in the family (me being number 2) doesn't remember it. It's the same story with this bumper on YTV back in the early 2000's (they were short little clips filmed to fill in the gaps between the main programming, in the era before having a bunch of product commercials to fill that space like today). It was my favourite one: it had a bunch of barn animals "playing" instruments to the tune of this classical piece that I can't recall the name of. I liked it since instead of using puppets or something for the closeups, they actually trained the animals to touch the instruments which made it a lot more realistic. I appreciated things like that in childhood.

Ye... I know pointless post is pointless, but I feel like ya'll are pretty used to that by now. Either it's a way too personal vent post (which I rather folks not comment on if I'm being honest?), Or, it's something completely silly and/or non-important.

Below the cut I am once again going to post the most cursed thing from TV from my childhood, along with something I'm very glad still exists.

Enjoy!!

[witchmums]

Hey witch mums!! I'm having some trouble getting over some trauma involving one of my exes. I've cleansed my room and my wardrobe, but every once in a while I'll think about the incidents and my whole day will be thrown off. Any tips for preventing and/or feeling better after the fact?? This morning I used a spell during my morning run which helped some, but I'm looking for more ideas!!

Oh hunny...

I’m so sorry that you have to deal with this. My heart aches for anyone who has to go through this. I have walked that road, and before I say anything else, know that I am walking with you as you recover. Reach out any time.

First, I want to suggest if you haven’t already, to see someone. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder has a lot of different looks. And if memories of incidents are enough to throw off your day, then from my perspective, that’s enough to warrant even just a one time chat with a therapist to get some coping tools specific to you.

Healing from trauma is a journey. It’s been almost sixteen years since my ex last laid a hand on me. And I would say I’m 99% recovered. There are still things I encounter (particularly images in TV shows and movies which feature assault on women) that bring my past to mind. But now, so removed from all that has happened, I’m able to recognize it for the memory it is, and then put it back in the recesses of my memory.

When something brings a memory to mind, be gentle with yourself. Self care that particularly reminds you of your worth is very healing. I would take long baths, do my hair, paint my nails, and experiment with make up. Anything I could think of to physically reinforce the idea that I had more worth than my ex would have me believe.

I’m not sure how far removed you are from the relationship, how long it’s been. It can take time, and time is what it needs in many cases. However I found putting a distinct line in the sand between the abuse and where I was now to be very helpful. 

Once I was out of the hospital I cursed my ex. And if you would like some help or guidance for something along those lines, you can DM me @madamehearthwitch and we can talk about it

But however you accomplish it, doing something tangible to remind your heart and your brain that you are not in that situation anymore can be very healing.

My co witchmum @estfortis suggested a spell for dealing with bullies to another of our family that might be something you could use.

Put in as much detail as you can about what they did and how it made you feel, and while you write, pull up as much of those hard emotions as you can handle. The hurt, the anger, whatever you were feeling while it was happening - pull that up, and channel it directly into the letter.

Pour out so much emotion that by the time you are done writing, you feel empty. (Like I said - it’s a taxing process!). Now, fold up each piece of paper and write the offending bully’s name on it, then seal it - bind it with string, or pour candle wax over it, or even just masking tape over the whole thing. Whatever you have available. As you seal it, you can speak some words, something to the effect of, “[Name] I bind your actions to the past. No longer may they hurt me.” After you have completed this, then burn each one in turn. As each letter burns, say “[Name], your actions are of the past. You may hurt me no more, I am free from your grasp.” As the letters burn, visualize the pain and anger being burned away and the actions being dissolved in the smoke.

After you have completed the ritual, scatter or dispose of the ashes so that you no longer have any connection to the bullying events. Then, take a ritual bath to cleanse and replenish your own energy. If you can, add it some epsom salts or sea salt, essential oils such as lavender or rose (for calming and self-love) or perhaps a sachet of chamomile and/or lavender. As you soak, let your body relax as the herbs soothe your senses and fill you up with a calm and serene energy. Afterwards, use a gentle lotion to symbolically heal your old wounds (add a drop or two of essential oils, if you like) and then rest with a cup of tea and perhaps a bit of chocolate to feed your soul.

I have done similar spells for a variety of hurts and found it exceedingly helpful.

The last thing I want to say is that it’s okay to dig into feelings of sadness. You don’t have to go from being abused to being the happiest, most cheerful person in the blink of an eye. If there are days or times when you want or need to lie on the couch, eat chocolate, and binge watch some Netflix... do it.

There comes a time when you gotta pick yourself up and get shit done. But sometimes I think in our society that puts such pressure on people to just get over it, we forget to honor our pain and give ourselves room to heal from emotional trauma. When we’re physically sick, we curl up in blankets and let our bodies heal. When we’ve been abused we need at least as much compassion for ourselves.

Find the balance that works well for you

This has been a really long post, but I felt like it was a topic that needed particular attention.

And I want to tell anyone who is now or has been in an abusive relationship that we love you. We, your Witch Mums, have your back. And you can reach out to us either through anon asks, or DMs to our personal accounts if you need to talk. We cannot (and will not) function or take the place as therapists, but we can be there to remind you that you are valued.

We love you Your Witch Mums