#it DOES NOT mean you have the same experience

[galaxythreads]

Also not to take away from this point because yes, good, but -

The line "you're not the only monster on the team" is delivered with important precontext. The only reason Natasha says it is because Bruce is saying that he can't give her a normal life and he's wondering what kind of happiness he could even provide for her. The idea of companionship alone being enough didn't occur to him at all, so he immediately leaps to - kids. She wants kids. That's what couples do. They raise a family. We are standing in a house full of children. He thinks that a white picket fence and 2.5 kids will make Natasha happy and that's the one thing he can't give her, and that makes him feel monstrous, because he feels so outside of the realm of "normal" adult behavior. He's Hulk. He breaks things, he doesn't create them. He's a monster simply by his nature now, a result of what was done to him.

Natasha recongizes this immediately and cuts to the chase by saying she can't have kids either. The white picket fence and 2.5 kids isn't the point here. Bruce is. Natasha then also explains about her surgery, an equal violation of her bodily autonomy and says, carefully, "you think you're the only monster on the team?"

She does not mean, genuinely, that they're both monsters because they can't have kids. It's because they can't have the same level of "normal" that it seems everyone wants around them. They can't have Clint's life. Not to the same extent. Natasha says this to reassure Bruce that the kids are not the point, but also to reach out and reassure him that he's not alone.

Natasha and Bruce can't have that "normal," and they both feel removed from society to an extent for unrelated reasons, and the only interaction they have with it is when they kill. It does make them feel monstrous. Especially with the added context that both Natasha and Bruce in the course of MCU make it clear they do want bio kids. Doesn't mean they can't adopt but it wasn't their first choice and they're allowed to want bio kids and grieve that they can't have that.

Like the thing is - Natasha is a very important piece of AoU, and when you look at it, Bruce is more her love interest than the other way around. But the important thing to remember is that narratively, they're not just love interests. They have discussions and relationships with other characters. If you remove them from the story it falls apart. Is their relationship a good part of AoU? No, I wouldn't say so. It's not the best written, the chemistry was awkward and disjointed, but this scene has never bothered me, because the layers to it are incredible.

Natasha could also equally mean that because of the lack of bodily autonomy, it made killing easier. It made everything easier. (What is everything, Natasha????) You think you're the only monster on the team? I don't feel anything when I kill. When I perform graphic acts of violence. You've been upset about hulk for the last day, but I don't share that level of guilt. We're the same Bruce. We're the same were the same. Why do you think I picked you? You make me feel seen because you know what it's like to have your bodily rights taken away. You make me feel like a person not just an experiment with a skillset. I can't have kids and I can never be normal but neither can you and we can share that grief together

Marvel women, written by men: 🧍‍♀️I can’t have babies 👶🏻😫😢 I’m a monster 😢😢 yes this is the deepest my backstory can get btw 😉😨 isn’t it harrowing 😱

Marvel women, written by women: I will subject an entire town to my will if it means the chance to see you again. I will drink my grief, knowing I am damned and that I cannot protect you, and will still sing out my heart to crowds of thousands in the hopes they will keep you safe when I’m gone. I crave power so intensely that it has overpowered any sense of loyalty to anyone, and I will betray again and again and again, but I will still be wounded when you betray me because it was you. It was you.

[jeongin-lvr]

need him so bad I mean what hahahahah I’m normal tw. virgin fem reader, oral fem receiving, kai is obsessed with ur thighs and tummy, lots of praise.

When Kai discovered that you were a virgin he was genuinely surprised. What do you mean such a pretty girl like you wasn’t experienced? Kai had accepted long ago that seeing how gorgeous you were you’d probably had more experience than him; but finding out you were the inexperienced one in this relationship was a shock to say the least. Now, Kai’s number one goal was to make you feel as comfortable as possible with him… and maybe also give you the best orgasm ever!!

“Baby, you look so pretty right now,” Kai pressed kisses into your skin, his hands tightening around your wrists at the side of your head. His prominent nose poked at your skin, brushing over where his previous kisses were laid. He was so gentle, his touch feeling so comforting as nerves wrecked your insides. “Kai.. m’ nervous,” You whispered, making the boy pull his head back, shaggy blue hair tickling your forehead as he gazed down at you; his stare was full of love. Eyes a deep shade of brown that felt so warm, so comforting to see. Kai’s touch tickled down your arms, then your waist before he gave you a gentle squeeze, feather light touches making your breath hitch, “We can stop whenever you want, Angel.”

Your heart swelled, bottom lip tucking between your teeth, “K-keep going…” Kai’s never seen you so shy. So cute and soft spoken as your eyes darted between his fingers and his pretty face. His eyes were so soft, irises the color of chewy caramel and lips a pretty pixie pink. His lips curled into a happy smile at your words, his touches traveling down your waist as your words gave him the permission and confidence to continue.

“Nobody’s touch my pretty girl here, hm?” Kai asked already knowing the answer; the thrill of just hearing you say it was enough for him. His fingertips brushed over the hem of your panties, already clad in just his shirt and underwear. You meekly nodded, “You’re the first.” And something about that statement had Kai so riled up. His eyes creased from how prominent his smile was, nose scrunching as he did so. You took notice and your cheeks felt another wave of heat rush to them.

“Yeah? Pretty baby letting me have her?” Kai hummed with that same pretty grin; he looked almost proud of himself, slowly trickling his hand down your front, finding their way to the core of your pussy and pressing down hard. Through the cloth you could feel him, his digits a breath away, teasing you through the thin material. You stared at his movements, lips twitching as a slow burn of pleasure filled your body. In that moment you thought to yourself how lucky you were to have Kai as your first… the boy who adored you touching you in the best way.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, a soft moan slipping past your lips. Kai’s smile only grew at the sound, reassuring him that he was doing just as you pleased. The pads of his fingers came to your clit, circling the little bundle of nerves in slow, circular motions. He looked at you, inches from your lips as he spoke, “Does that feel good, baby? Need you to tell me.”

“Mhm, so good,” You whispered, your upper lip gently touching his as you spoke, “Kai… mm, more.” Kai nodded, his pointer and middle finger hooking under the fabric and pulling it to the side, showcasing how wet you were for his eyes only. Kai beamed for the umpteenth time, “Look at this pretty little pussy… you’re so perfect…” He praised, the sound of his voice sending vibrations down your spine and to your toes. Kai took notice of the slight shudder in your movements, chuckling, “You like when I praise you?”

You shyly nodded. Beneath him, you looked so cute. Your eyes wide as you took in the sight of him— the feeling of his warm body pressing into you from above. How his hands touched you and his breath hit your burning skin. The absolutely carnal desire you had for him only grew the lore comfortable he made you. You were lucky it was him; your Kai.

Kai ogled at your pussy, his index finger swiping up and down your folds meticulously and pulling out meek whines from your lips. The look in his eyes was dangerous; his tongue flickered over his lower lip before speaking.

“Can I have a taste, Angel?” Kai asked, voice cautious and slow as his palms rubbed the back of your bare thighs. You immediately flushed as he said this, your core tightening and your eyes widening in embarrassment. Kai waited patiently for your response, tilting his head as his hands squeezed the fat of your thighs.

Your lips fell wide, an eager nod telling him you needed more. Though, he wanted to hear your little voice. “What’s that, baby? I need words.”

Kai was making you lose your mind. All your pent up feelings and need bubbling over. A small whine falling past your lips. “Mm, Kai— please, please need you. Need you so badly!” Your thighs threatened to close around his head as if to keep him jailed there, right where you need him. Right between your plush thighs.

Kai parted his lips, instantly meeting your warm, wet pussy. Lips mumbling against your heat, sending waves of delectable pleasure, “Oh, fuck, you’re so sweet, baby. My sweet, pretty girl.”

Kai swallows every drop of your wetness, lips puckering and sucking hard on your precious clit, leaving it swollen and a wet sheen draping over your thighs. Every inch of you felt overwhelmed; you have never felt such pleasure. And the fact that it was Kai delivering such pleasure to you was the best part of it. It had you inching toward your orgasm quicker than you were able to comprehend. Your fingertips dug into his scalp, softly mewling his name as your hips rose to meet his tongue.

You peered down at your boyfriend, meeting his gaze and smile… pretty lips decorated with your slick. The sight sent a shiver down your back, tummy tightening at the sight, teetering on the edge of release. Then his fingers prodded at your hole, swirling nicely along your rim. Suddenly slipping into your pussy, every knuckle dragging over your walls with the most lovely amount of pressure; ultimately, your eyes rolled back and an intense orgasm gushed out of you, creaming over his fingers and tongue with guttural moans. But Kai was relentless, continuing to lap up at your sensitive folds. The only thing that stopped him being your grip on his soft hair, gripping his head backward.

“Kai— it hurts,” You whined, chest heaving, “It’s too much-“ Kai groaned at your tugging, peaking up at you with a sheepish green, “Sorry, baby… but, shit, you’re so perfect.” Kai mumbled, pressing fleeting kisses onto your aching clit. Every inch of you was on fire under his watchful gaze. He smiled, “I think you can take a little bit more, yeah?”

[kisakis-boyfriend]

The 🎃 reminded me of Chuuya from Bsd so I’ve come to req a double-body scenario where there’s two of you and one of him

Hc style pretty please bc I need to hear your juicy thoughts 😓

Pairings: Chuuya x male reader

Warnings: Male!reader, dom/top!reader, sub/bottom!Chuuya, cloning(?), choking, rough sex, double penetration, spit roasting, shenanigans, a bit of fluff, dubious Halloween magic(???)

Oh dear, this is something neither one of you expected… Chuuya was now staring at two of his darling boyfriend…s.

“What do you mean "you don't know"?!”

“I mean I don't have a clue where he came from! I was getting dressed for the Halloween party and when I went to check my costume in the mirror, he appeared behind me!”

Chuuya is on high alert at first, but your clone seems harmless. If anything, he's just as confused as you are.

He asks the doppelganger all sorts of questions trying to figure out what has happened. None of which proves useful, since none of you have an answer for this situation.

After exhausting all other options, you come to an agreement: he can stay in your apartment until you figure something out.

……It does not take very long for things to get steamy 💀

Chuuya's a true whore at heart, and having double the boyfriend (which means double your cock 😳) entices him to experiment rather quickly~

He finds that he really enjoys sitting in between you and the doppelganger — deeply kissing both versions of you while his hands fondle each of your dicks, respectively.

Good lord, does Chuuya practically demand that you wreck his holes.

He becomes addicted to two perfectly identical cocks stretching his little hole every other night~~

Also loves being folded in half and using his special ability to pull your cock farther inside of him, then doing the same thing when you switch out with your clone. And with just enough time in between, you can keep repeating this until cum is gushing out of your sweet boyfriend 😙

Chuuya's ass has never been more sore, but he's still smiling and clinging on to you when it's all over.

Begs to be choked by both of you constantly. Chuuya has a massive choking kink, and now there're four hands available to wrap around his lovely throat~

He likes to choke you too, so he's excited to try choking your clone while he rides his dick, while you choke Chuuya and squeeze your cock inside of his hole simultaneously 🧡

Of course you're going to spit roast your dearly beloved as well.

Seeing Chuuya gagging on your doppelganger's fat cock while yours is drilling into his sloppy hole? That's the meaning of life right there 😍

Strangely enough, this doppelganger does have all of your memories, so he knows Chuuya's preferences. This weirds both you and Chuuya out though, it's not easy to get used to.

You'll wake up to breakfast already on the table—all of your and Chuuya's favorites. Chores completed perfectly when you're away at work. Those domestic kinds of things.

This also means that you and your clone can push Chuuya's buttons twice as much now 💀

Chuuya is NOT amused.

Teasing him from two different directions or persuading him to let you shirk your responsibilities on a lazy day.

He loves your voice, truly, but this is just too much!

Aftercare becomes twice as cuddly now. You and your double like to sandwich Chuuya in bed and kiss all over him.

Double the praise as Chuuya's about to drift off to sleep.

Double the massages after he gets home from work.

Double the pampering when you're taking a bath (which all three of you have tried to squeeze into before…it doesn't quite work though… 😐)

Overall, this clone of yours has had a positive influence on the relationship. And, at this point, you're not too worried about why he came to be or when he's leaving.

[unhingedangstaddict]

The bucktommy mpreg brainrot is so real wtf. I never thought in a million years I'd write an mpreg fic and well,,,

Here's my latest wip

Tommy was sitting on the bathroom floor next to the toliet again, crying for no reason again. He was so sick of the spontaneous crying and worse he didn’t even know why he was crying. Tommy had cried after the break-up, but he’d mostly stopped after two-ish weeks. He was sick of feeling the way he’d felt all week- horrifically nauseous and tired no matter how much he slept.

Tommy was so caught up in his wallowing and his crying that he didn’t hear Lucy enter the house, didn’t notice her standing in the doorway to the ensuite. He only noticed her when she set a plastic bag from a drug store down at his feet.

Tommy sniffled and looked up at Lucy. “I’m starting to regret giving you a key.” He wiped the tears off his cheeks.

“Is it really so terrible having someone look out for you?” Lucy crossed her arms.

Tommy was quiet.

“Thought so.” Lucy nodded.

Tommy curiously reached for the bag and looked inside.

“First time ever for me, the women's version of something was cheaper than the mens version. It’s the exact same thing, just different colored packaging.” Lucy said nonchalantly.

Tommy hardly registered what Lucy was saying as he plucked the box out of the bag. A three pack of pregnancy tests. In an instant it felt like his world had been flipped on it’s axis.

There was no way this was actually happening, but if he was- if Lucy was right about this, it would make sense. The headaches, the fatigue, the random crying, the nausea and vomiting- morning sickness. Now that Tommy thought about it, it seemed like his sense of smell had maybe been heightened the last week or so too.

“If I’m way out of line here Tommy, just tell me, it’s fine. I’ll keep ‘em for next time I have a scare.” Lucy offered.

Tommy swallowed thickly. His mind and heart were racing. This couldn’t be happening.

“Tommy?” Lucy prompted.

“I don’t know.” Tommy said quietly. Clearly Lucy had been thinking about this at least since they were on the phone not that long ago. Her suggestion to drink something made even more sense now. Tommy couldn’t believe this was his life.

“What- what do you mean you don’t know?” Lucy asked.

“I never uh, I never got tested to see if I’m a carrier.” Tommy couldn't take his eyes off the box of pregnancy tests.

“You’re joking right?” Lucy sounded shocked or maybe even pissed.

Tommy shook his head.

“How could you be so irresponsible?” Lucy questioned. “You- I can’t believe you never got tested. I can understand not getting tested as a kid with your dad being the way he is but Tommy, you’re- you sleep with men! How could you not get tested?”

Tommy spoke with a monotone voice, head clearly elsewhere. “Parents never bothered. Then I was in denial about being gay and thought I could make myself fall in love with a woman. Then it didn’t matter because I was never serious enough to ditch condoms. Then it didn’t matter when I was serious enough to ditch condoms because I was almost exclusively the top and I was too old. The thought never even crossed my mind in all the time I was with Evan.”

“Oh my god Tommy.” Lucy mumbled.

“I know.” Tommy swallowed thickly. “I guess I have to take one of these now, huh?”

“I’d recommend all three, actually.” Lucy told him. “These things aren’t the most reliable, always a chance of false negatives or positives, so it’s best to take more than one test but if you take two and get two different results then you won’t feel any better or worse than you did before taking them, until you take another. So three at once.”

“Sounds like you know from experience.” Tommy looked up at Lucy.

“I’m a woman who does not exclusively sleep with other women.” Lucy shrugged.

Lucy left the bathroom so Tommy could take the tests, and as soon as he was finished he set them on the counter, opened the door for Lucy, started a timer, and sat back down on the floor again, not confident that he wasn’t going to throw up again at any moment.

Lucy came in and sat next to Tommy on the floor. Just by looking at him she could tell he wasn’t in the mood to talk and for the time being she knew everything she needed to know. Tommy hadn’t even thought about the possibility of this so Lucy was certain that Tommy had no idea what he’d want to do about it- if Tommy was pregnant it was undoubtedly Evan’s, and Tommy was scared and heartbroken right now. Instead of talking Lucy just took his hand and held onto it.

Three minutes felt like an eternity, and if it wasn’t for Lucy holding onto Tommy’s hand, he was sure he would’ve completely lost his grip on reality. He distantly heard the timer on his phone going off, followed by Lucy giving his hand a squeeze. Tommy stopped the timer. He couldn’t look at the tests. He couldn’t move. “Can you look?” He rasped.

“Of course.” Lucy said gently. She stood, not letting go of Tommy’s hand and looked at the tests on the counter. There were two visual tests and one digital test with a weeks along indicator.

The visual tests both showed plus signs, meaning the tests were positive.

The digital test read ‘Pregnant 3+’, meaning three or more weeks along.

“Luce?” Tommy’s grip on her hand tightened.

“Positive.” Lucy told him.

“All of them?” Tommy wondered.

“All three.” Lucy nodded.

Tommy nodded slowly. “Okay.” He whispered as tears stung his eyes and quickly began to fall.

Lucy squeezed Tommy’s hand and returned to her spot on the floor next to him.

Tommy pulled his knees to his chest, rested the arm that wasn’t holding Lucy’s hand on his knees, put his head down, and sobbed for so many reasons it felt like there wasn’t even a reason to be crying at all.

[blindsideofthemoon]

Forgiveness does not mean denying harm happened or putting yourself/people in the same situation again. It's about un-hooking yourself from the past. You don't have to carry proof of what happened in your every day anxieties. If you were on the abused side, you and your suffering don't have to be proof that thing happened. Let the harm be in the past and let yourself grow. Other people don't have to grow with you or wait for you to grow (other people don't have to forgive you), but OP is literally talking about how to grow and become a better person when they talk about forgiveness.

If you haven't purposefully unhooked yourself from an experience, it will sound silly or fake or like you're trying to get away from it. Just try telling your brain something like "thanks for the reminder that is important, AND I don't have to take this whole thing with me" the next couple times you're close to re-living an experience. And after you've tried that then come back to shit talk forgiveness if you still want to

the thing is, if your younger self was a bigot or an abuser, u can't make people forgive you. but you still gotta forgive yourself, like that's non-negotiable, dude. that happens before u can even ask the question of earning forgiveness from anyone lese

[xalygatorx]

A Case of the Slumps | Alastor x Depressed!GN!Reader

Summary: It seems you've brought your brain chemistry down to Hell with you. Figures.

Warnings/Tags: Hurt/Comfort, depression and related symptoms/thoughts (obvi), cinnamon roll Charlie, Angel gives you a Xanax but you don't take it, platonic Alastor with a hint of possible unspoken romantic feelings, unexplained cause of death, present tense for some reason, reader is gender neutral

A/N: Crosspost of a recent oneshot from my AO3 because I figured if I'm in a slump, someone else probably is too. x

Sometimes it was a thought. Sometimes it was the time of year or the weather, when Hell's crimson sky was kept dark for long periods of time by an uptick of brimstone in the atmosphere or the lingering storm clouds after an acidic downpour. Sometimes it was a memory. A song. A smell.

Sometimes it was seemingly nothing at all.

Just like when you were alive, your now-dead brain hasn't lost its particular quality of liking to work against itself. It's impossible to say whether it's a continued chemical imbalance—that'd be likely right? If demons can do drugs, then clearly there's still something to brain chemistry in Hell—or if death took a snapshot of your self and your mind as they were in life.

It doesn't really matter what it is either because it still affects you just the same. And because you haven't had a depressive episode yet post-mortem, you haven't done any of the legwork you had to do in life on your own to figure out what's "wrong" with you, who might hear you and listen, and what medication(s) works.

So when it does hit, it hits like a tidal wave no one else can see. The wave itself, anyway—everyone can see you drowning.

That first slump isn't kind enough to hit in the morning when you can sleep in—or rather stare with dead eyes at the wall, bundled under your duvet and blankets as you put off the day passing by around you. No, that first slump hits in the middle of one of Charlie's exercises, one that you were enthusiastic about participating in just an hour ago. What happened?

You know. This feeling is an old friend you'd hoped to never meet again.

Charlie doesn't though, not right away. After you excuse yourself by means of referencing a stomachache you only kind of have—and only from the emptiness pooling in your gut and humming in your chest���she catches up to you in the hallway.

"Hey!" she chirps, leaning around to look at you when you stop but don't turn around. If anything, you curl further into yourself. She doesn't notice though—the only ones who would notice your change are the ones who know to look for it. Charlie, bless her heart, doesn't have that earthly world experience yet. "Do you want us to wait up for you or…?"

"Oh, uh, no," you stammer out, yearning for a big hoodie to comfortably drown in or a cup of tea, the idea of which sounds lovely but you don't even like tea. Everything that would normally feel like a treat sounds stressful or unappetizing, leaving you uncertain about what exactly you're meant to be doing. That's when the lethargy hits hardest. "I don't feel well, so I'm just gonna rest for a while."

Charlie's brow scrunches. You can tell she's about to argue that you'll never get into Heaven if you don't stick to the exercises and something akin to a sudden flash of anger roils in your chest, kicking the dead gray weight of apathy in the teeth. Because how dare she question your commitment, your hopes, your dreams, because you're walking away this one time?

But if this is like life, if this can happen again now, how many more times will it happen? Is it over for you?

Something clicks behind her eyes though as she watches your face. You don't know this, of course, but she's seen the same look on Vaggie's face before. Primarily right after they found each other—Vaggie also fell into a pit of her own pain and trauma, a victim of her new normal until the new normal became preferable.

And, on those days, Vaggie didn't always want to be with Charlie. At some point, Charlie had to learn that it often had nothing to do with her when that happened, too. It helped her understand her father better, too, in the end. She'd needed to reach out to him, but she'd had to let Vaggie come to her when she was ready. Both were valid approaches for different people.

She decides to trust that you'll make it clear to her what you need when you're ready.

"Okay," she says and her kind voice spears your anger with guilt, killing it instantly. You were always good at that, weren't you? Pushing away the people who care. "You have my number. You have everyone's number—well, everyone with a phone anyway. Just let us know if you need something. Anything. Okay?"

You clench your teeth to hold back the burn of tears working its way up your throat. "Okay. Thanks, Charlie," you say and it comes out as sincerely as you mean it, which is good. At least something's gone right today.

"Would you like a hug?" Charlie offers, starting to hold out her arms and then hesitating when she wonders if that could feel like she was pressuring you.

You think about it and decide it's worth a try. "Sure," you say and you step into her arms. She runs even hotter than the other sinners you've met, being Hellborn. It's like cozying up just a couple inches too close to a fireplace, but it doesn't burn. She just feels like the hearth in the place that's swiftly become your home.

She doesn't let go before you're ready, but the second she feels you shift to step back, she lets her arms drop. She gives you a little wave before scampering back down the hall to resume the exercise in the lobby, leaving you to resume your trek to the elevator.

Once you're in the elevator and you've tapped the button for your floor, you fall back against the wall of the lift and run your hands down your face, sighing into your palms.

What you wouldn't give for an on-paper, calculable test that you could fill out and hand to a doctor or psychologist or someone who could tell you with complete certainty what's wrong with your brain and how to fix or endure it. Not only so you could feel better, but so you wouldn't be such a burden to your new friends, your found family. What good were you like this?

(The reality is that the group downstairs is mildly concerned, but otherwise just fine. Charlie can manage the exercise through sheer optimism alone and she has enough bandwidth to do that and be available to you as your friend whenever you need something.

A couple of the others noticed your deflated exit, perhaps because they've once been through similar episodes, and are either just hoping you feel better or trying to come up with some nice gesture to make whenever they see you next. Everything you're worried about or sure you've messed up is a product of your dopamine-deficient brain.)

You pass Angel in the hall on your way to your room as he's heading out for work and he, of course, knows that look. He just hasn't seen it on you before. He offers you a many-armed hug and what he tells you is a Xanax, telling you to text him if you need anything or just want to talk and he'll check on you whenever he's freed from the studio next.

You appreciate his offers and agree to all of it, except the unwrapped, unlabeled pill, which you get rid of once you're in your room. You trust Angel, but you're too paranoid about making whatever you're feeling worse. You barely knew how to deal with it in life, what's it going to be like in Hell?

A stretched-out old hoodie is procured from your closet and you tug it on, smoothing your hair back down as you amble toward the bed. You burrow under the blankets and try to sleep, but of course it doesn't come. You're not tired, after all. You're not even sad. There's just nothing where there's meant to be something, anything in your chest.

Hours pass and, even though you're not helping yourself by lying curled on your side and staring at the wall, you're listless. You can't talk yourself into getting up or getting something to eat. It's even hard to convince yourself to look at your phone, maybe because you've heard it buzz a few times with texts likely asking how you're doing. You don't want to answer them until it's a good answer. Until you can say you're doing better. Anything else is a disappointment, surely, for all involved.

Someone's knuckles rapping against your door makes you jolt, but you sink back into that unsteady feeling of mentally treading water instead of answering. They'll go away if they think you're sleeping. It's probably Charlie anyway, maybe checking on you ahead of dinner. Was it really almost dinnertime?

That was enough to motivate you to extract one arm from beneath the duvet, extend your hand to your phone, and tap the screen to wake it up. It was after dinner. Time was a construct and someone was still at the door, knocking more sharply now.

You bundle your arm back under the bedding, keeping your back to the door. Charlie wasn't that hard of a knocker, so maybe she'd sent Vaggie up to check on you? Husk tended to pound on doors with the side of his fist (and not come near any potentially weepy situation with a ten-foot pole), so it probably wasn't him. It might be Angel, you supposed. Short studio session, if so. Perhaps Pen, but the source of the noise was too high up to be Niffty. She'd barge on in anyway…

"My dear, I can hear you moving around in there, you know," the Radio Demon's voice informs you through the door and your heart nearly stops a second time.

Not Alastor, you sigh inwardly, covering your face in your hands again and trying not to groan lest he hear that, too.

It wasn't that you disliked Alastor. In fact, that wasn't the case at all. You'd been a bit scared of him at first, sure, when you'd initially crossed the threshold of the Hazbin Hotel and who could blame you? He was an imposing figure, someone you'd heard of within days of falling into Hell despite his seven-year sabbatical from the Pentagram.

He was also a prominent public figure from his radio show. That was how you'd first tried to get to know him a little better—you'd started tuning into his broadcasts, getting better at predicting the shrill screams of the souls he tore apart just before they blared through your speakers. You still missed them on occasion and would violently jolt upward from wherever you were sitting or lying while listening, floundering for the volume dial and usually finding it well after you needed it.

Alastor had spotted you do exactly that once during a prerecorded broadcast and, after he'd run the gambit of jokes he could make at your expense, the barrier that had existed between you two since your arrival started to come down. And while the jarring screams hadn't stopped, your radio's volume would inexplicably drop on its own ahead of them from then on. You couldn't come up with any explanation for this that didn't include Alastor's influence, but what may have been a kindness on the Radio Demon's part was directly rivaled by his then-new penchant for bursting out of the speakers in a swirl of shadow to scare you, himself, and ask you for feedback on the day's stories.

Those interruptions had become short bouts of small talk in the hall, a couple of cooperative efforts to cook the crew a delicious dinner, him holding doors for you whenever you happened to be traversing the hotel in the same direction… Little things. Lots of little things that had ended up with you considering him a friend, but who knew how he felt. He probably just thought you were amusing. What made it even worse was that you were beginning to suspect the extra pitter-patter of your heart whenever he showed up was no longer adrenaline anticipating him scaring you, but butterflies.

You poor thing. You weren't sure you could've picked a more surefire way to make a fool of yourself.

"I'm not decent," you finally say in an attempt to deter him, wincing a little at the hoarse quality of your voice. You'd only cried a little during your time in your room that day, but you'd cried hard. Partially in an effort to exorcise some of the bad feelings you were harboring, but it hadn't helped much.

"Well! Under all those blankets, I wouldn't even know, now would I!"

You squeak as you startle so much from hearing his staticky voice right behind your head that you end up in a heap on the floor between the wall and your bed.

By the time you untangle yourself from the duvet and pop your head out of the heap, he's maneuvered himself to the edge of the mattress and is peering over it while lying on his barely existent stomach. A thin, but amused smile curls his lips as his legs idly kick behind him like he's a high school girl at a sleepover.

"Was that necessary?" you ask, any amount of riling up he'd done with his sudden entrance falling away from you as your slump saps it of its vigor in one go.

Alastor's brows rise into his fringe, clearly a little caught off-guard. You can understand why—you usually either laugh or, if he gets you badly enough, clutch your chest and scold him for nearly causing your second death via a heart attack.

He tilts his head at you as his eyes narrow and you can't tell if he's confused or zeroing in on his prey. Honestly, in your current condition, you can't get yourself to care. Maybe he'll put you out of your misery for your cheek.

"Mm, I deemed it so," Alastor says, his luminous red eyes blinking down at you as he leans forward ever-so slightly. He's clearly on edge and you digest this as a display of annoyance, but he's concerned (and doesn't like that he's concerned). He's never seen you like this. "Are you ill, cher? It's quite unlike you to miss dinner."

"In a matter of speaking," you allow as you stand up, brush yourself off, and gather up your duvet into a large wad in your arms. You maneuver it back onto the bed and into a sort of nest you can return to, careful not to jostle or accidentally touch Alastor as he remains partially prone across the foot of the bed and watches you work. Mindful of how little he likely knows about mental health, given his time period, you explain in a few words, "My brain is sick."

He blinks, not sure what to make of what you've said. "Your…brain?" he repeats uncertainly. "How so?" Alastor also deems himself "sick in the head," but he's fairly certain that his brand of insanity isn't what you're referring to in yourself.

You nestle into the duvet, missing how his eyes soften a touch at how small you look right now. You take a deep breath and let it huff out as you force yourself to look at him. If he just wants to torment you a bit, this will expedite him getting it out of his system so you can go back to your staring contest with the wall. If he's not just here to make fun of you…well, then that would be surprising.

"I have depression," you finally admit and you wonder when the last time was that you said those words out loud. Even in life, it was a rare moment when you'd be met with someone who was worth explaining yourself to—most people either didn't understand because they'd never been through it themselves or because they didn't want to understand. Over time, you'd just given up trying to be honest about your struggles because being demeaned or invalidated for them just made you feel worse.

"A what now?" Alastor asks, cocking one brow as he turns to lie on his side with his head propped against one hand. His fluffy ears twitch a little but stay upright, alert, and turned in your direction.

"It's a mood, uh…ailment," you explain, thinking he might not know what a "disorder" is either. You're not familiar enough with what terms people would've used to refer to mental health in his time, so you're overcareful with the words you choose. "My brain chemistry wasn't right in life—my body didn't produce enough of the chemicals that make us feel happy, so I'd get into really bad slumps. Exhausted, sad, sometimes just numb slumps. Apparently that came down here with me, too."

"So…you're in a 'slump'?" he repeats slowly, testing the word you'd used on his tongue.

In moments like this, you find him unbearably cute—from his twitchy ears made restless by the rate of his thoughts to his wide, considering eyes as he tries to absorb what you're telling him. He's a very good listener when he's not in the middle of a bit.

"Yes," you tell him and he relaxes slightly at the confirmation. "I feel dead inside, honestly. Which is funny to say now that I'm actually dead, but it's just… I just don't feel much of anything. Or I do and it just feels empty and hollow. That's kind of worse than feeling sad."

He hums and offers, "A smile is our greatest weapon, dear. We've discussed this."

"Not against this, it's not," you sigh, just waiting now for him to get frustrated or bored with you. "I'm not trying to be difficult, Al, I swear. It's just… I can't fake what I'm feeling. I've tried! I wish I could mask half as well as you can, but it's hard. It takes energy I just don't have in times like this."

Alastor evaluates you with a glance and asks, "Then what is your weapon of choice against these…slumps?"

You tug against the seam of the duvet wrapped around you, all nervous fidgeting. "I never really figured anything out," you admit and it feels like a failure. It feels like because you can't offer him a solution to your problem, your problem must not be a problem. You remember so many exasperated faces looking back at you at times you'd admit the very same. He just looks at you though, clearly thinking. "Sometimes just waiting for it to pass was the answer. I was on medication for it at one point, but it never helped very much. I know I need to eat, but I just feel a bit nauseous when I think about food."

"Then food should be on the docket, certainly, but perhaps not just yet," he muses, sitting up as he continues to regard you. "What else?"

You throw your hands up helplessly. "I'm not sure. I'm sorry," you say. "Maybe I need to go hug Charlie again or something, that didn't fix anything earlier, but it didn't hurt."

Alastor scoffs. "Is my comfort not up to your standards, dear?" he needles you, his tone confident even as his smile wavers slightly.

You blink and shake your head even as you scramble to try and understand what he's implying. "Of course not," you quickly say. "I just… You don't have to do that kind of stuff, you know? I know it's uncomfortable for you and I'd never want to make you uncomfortable."

He chuckles and a mischievous smirk overtakes his features as he leans in and pulls you toward him via the duvet, taking an indulgent look at the blush reddening your face before he tightens the blanket cocoon around you and adds his arms to the equation after. You get the hint not to take your arms out and touch him and you're not even sure you could if you wanted to. You're frozen in place, comically close to a deer in headlights, and you can feel the heat inflaming your cheeks.

It's nice to feel something for the moment.

"Um… Alastor?" you ask, stopped from looking up at him when his pointed chin settles against the crown of your head. "You… Why?"

"Why, what?" he asks, but it's just to put off answering and you have some inkling that this might be the case despite his casual tone.

"Why are you doing this?" you ask, embarrassed by how vulnerable you sound to yourself.

"I can't have you sat here in one of your 'slumps' by yourself, darling," he mused, one of his hands absently tracing over your back.

It takes a lot for you to not lean into the touch, but you're terrified of scaring him off. You're also terrified of overthinking this though, especially as he settles in around you, his larger body usually used to intimidate and tower over others making you feel oddly safe. Then again, even in his most antagonistic moments with you, have you ever felt in danger?

"Why not?" you ask softly.

"You ask a surprising number of questions over something so simple as this," Alastor notes and his words cause a puff of warm breath to stir your hair. You shiver a little and he chuckles.

"But it's not simple for you," you murmur, letting yourself relax a bit as he impatiently tugs you closer to fit you against his chest. He's certainly not as gentle as Charlie, but you imagine he's far less practiced in this sort of thing than she is. It hits you harder because you know he's trying. And perhaps because you—silly, silly you—have a tragic little crush on the Radio Demon. "And… Well, I appreciate it. That's all."

Alastor hums and admits, "It's simpler than expected. And not unwelcome." You feel his chin shift against your crown, like he might be looking down at you, as he asks, "Is it helpful? Or is dear Charlotte's attention still preferable?"

You have to bite your lips a little to keep from smirking—that sort of tone can only indicate that he's jealous. Once again, you find him unbearably cute and it'll likely one day lead to your second untimely demise once he realizes how you feel.

"Yes, it's helpful. And preferable," you confess and you can almost feel his chest puff with pride. "This is really nice. Thank you."

"You're most welcome, dear," he says, glancing down and watching you cave to fatigue and fall asleep as he feels your weight settle further into his chest.

Alastor chuckles and gives you time to fully settle into a more restful state before he shifts your body around and situates you on your bed. He'd first considered staying, but figures having something for you to eat at the ready when you wake is a better use of his time. At least that's the reason he gives himself to go.

The truth is he can't remember the last time he honest to goodness comforted someone. There's a tickle in the back of his brain, a voice asking if he's losing his edge. Asking if you'll see him now as less than he is, which (in his mind) is a sadistic, cannibalistic overlord and nothing more.

He can't deny though that he's savoring the lingering warmth from your body on his coat. And, as much as he doesn't understand these "slumps" or the depression you referenced, he didn't like seeing you look so sad.

And he supposes if he must occasionally soften his sharp edges a bit to help keep his favorite guest present and smiling, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.

[cecilioque]

[Aloha 'Oe]

More Comics>>

Rest of the comic below. Contains spoilers and sad.

The story has been something I've worked on for 2 years now. From the beginning it was a conversation with myself as I tried to navigate through the rock bottom of my life. But at the end of the day the Lani story is but scribbles on a page; however, if you look closer and let yourself ponder you'll notice that there is something there. Something relatable and maybe painful to acknowledge. It is a deeply sad and mortal concept of existence and the fear of the future. But more importantly, it is a celebration of what it means to live. It is a look at what it means to be alive and how we find meaning for ourselves. It is learning to enjoy the journey we so commonly call "life".

There is but one ending for us all. We cannot escape the passage of time and we cannot always control the circumstances and conditions we live in. So then, what is the purpose then if we are unable to control our own lives?

The purpose is that we lived and we continue to live. Through all the good and all the bad. All the pain and sorrow that will join us til the end. It is discovering the beauty and importance of "the moment". Enjoying the journey as it comes. We can all hope for a brighter future and happier days, but if we only hope for the future while being stuck in the past, we will never understand what it truly means to be alive.

That is what Lani's story was always about. To love the temporary is hard, but love is not temporary. Seasons will change and people come and go, change will happen. But learning to love life and to live it is a wonderful experience filled with unforgettable moments and people. Even in what seems the bleakest of times, you will find even small bits of happiness around you. How beautiful it is to be alive in the same era as your friends and loved ones.

So now you know, this is Lani's story and her journey...this is everyone's journey. The comic is not over, but will you continue to enjoy the experience of it assuming how you think it will end? There is still much to experience and learn. So, does this story have more or less value now that you know it will inevitably end?

[dicipher]

I think an interesting idea- considering some people argue that there isn't much romance in homicipher, is that this game IS full of love, just not traditional kinds. Variety! Woo!

"Unconditional love, simply put, is love without strings attached. It's love you offer freely. You don't base it on what someone does for you in return. You simply love them and want nothing more than their happiness."

"Someone is said to be suffering from delusional love disorder when they feel that that their feelings of love are reciprocated, despite glaring evidence of this being not true. People with delusional love disorder often feel that other people are in love with them."

"A love-hate relationship means that you hold both positive and negative feelings toward something. In the case of relationships, a person with a love-hate relationship with their partner both loves and hates something(s) about said relationship. These feelings can be both simultaneous or alternating — someone might go from loving to hating their partner very quickly, or experience a complicated mix of both at all times."

"One-sided love, also known as unrequited love, occurs when one person has romantic feelings for another who does not reciprocate those feelings. This situation can arise in various contexts, including friendships, crushes, or even long-term relationships where one partner may not feel the same way." (Note: this refers to the player's love, not his)

"Caring, on the other hand, can be seen as a broader concept that encompasses concern, empathy, and a willingness to support and help someone. While love is often seen as a more intense and emotional state, caring can be a more practical and action-oriented expression of concern for someone's welfare." (Note: custodial as in, in charge of someone. Like a caretaker, parent, etc)

"Ludus is playful, noncommittal love. Ludus covers things like flirting, seduction, and casual sex. Ludus means “play” or “game” in Latin, and that pretty much explains what ludus is: love as a game. When it comes to ludus, a person is not looking for a committed relationship."

"Conditional love is often characterized by the idea that affection and support are given based on specific conditions being met (eg, behavior, achievements, or circumstances)." (Note: Gap's love is ironically, transactional)

"Platonic love is a type of love in which sexual desire or romantic features are nonexistent or have been suppressed, sublimated, or purgated, but it means more than simple friendship" (extra: "Self-love is a state of appreciation for oneself that grows from actions that support our physical, psychological and spiritual growth. Self-love means having a high regard for your own well-being and happiness. Self-love means taking care of your own needs and not sacrificing your well-being to please others."

"Childish/child-like love is blind. It buys love and doesn't hesitate to manipulate in order to do so. Childish love tends to control and hang onto and therefore doesn't set us or the people we love free." "Selfish love in a relationship is when one prioritizes their own desires and needs over their partner's. It often involves manipulating or expecting the relationship to cater primarily to one's own comfort and goals."

[bakedbakermom]

actually, yeah, it is the same. because it's all PRETEND. no one is getting hurt. it's all pictures in someone's head. it's all pictures in your head. thoughts can't hurt you. THOUGHTS CAN'T HURT YOU.

exploring darker themes through fiction is and always has been absolutely, completely, 100% a-okay. if i write about murder, does that mean i am a murderer or that i condone murder in real life? if i write about torture, does that mean i love it and want it to happen? of fucking course not. but i'm using the medium of fiction to talk about it because there is some aspect of it i am trying to understand or process or express.

writing about rape, incest, pedophilia, etc is - and i want you to really hear me here - no different. yeah, these are things that happen in real life and cause real actual harm. and yeah, if you have experienced these things, you should probably be extra cautious reading about them. (i have. i am.) this is why ao3 has tags and why your browser has a back button.

take charge of your fucking experience and stop blaming others for *checks notes* putting together words in an order you don't like.

you don't have to read anything you don't want to. no one is going to clockwork orange you about it. "don't like, don't read" used to be rule #1 of fanfic and i cannot for the life of me understand why that has fallen out of the popular lexicon.

on god i do not give a single shit about what two fictional characters do, regardless of their age, relationship, gender, whatever. why? BECAUSE THEY ARE NOT REAL.

you know what is real? the victim of rape who finds catharsis reading about their blorbo surviving, and realizing they can survive too. the victim of incest, who perhaps didn't realize or couldn't name what was happening to them, who read something that helped them find a voice. the victim of paedophilia who found the strength to process their experience through a (safe, not-real) medium, reframing what happened to them on their terms.

and also, let's not forget the end of the original post. "two girls kissing" is every bit as depraved and horrid to some people as rape and incest, and if we allow censorship of one, it will - always, demonstrably, repeatedly throughout both world and internet history - lead to the banning of the rest.

it's all valid. it's all fiction. grow the fuck up.

saying ao3 needs to censor certain content is like saying a museum can't have still life art that includes strawberries because you don't like them.

these are not real strawberries. you do not have to, and in fact cannot, eat them. no one with a strawberry allergy will be harmed by looking at them. no migrant workers were exploited in the picking of these strawberries. there were no questionable farming practices or negative environmental impacts from growing or transporting them.

because - and i cannot stress this enough - they are not real strawberries.

if you don't like strawberries, you don't have to look at the paintings. in fact, you can get a map of the museum that lists what works are in what rooms and just. not go in there. if you see one by mistake, you can look away. just keep walking. there's plenty of other stuff to see.

yes, real strawberries can cause real quantifiable harm to real people.

but again. these are not real strawberries.

you may have whatever feelings you like about strawberries, and so can i. you can draw and write about whatever fruit floats your boat, and so can i, even if that happens to be strawberries. and we can hang our art side by side in the same gallery, provided you understand that my strawberries are not about you (and your kumquats are, shocker, not about me) and that - and this is true - neither are real.

and when the fascists break down the doors and grab all the strawberry paintings and heap them in the street and set them on fire, please know that they are coming for your kumquats next.

so if you want a place where you can show off your beautiful kumquat art safely, you're gonna have to tolerate having some strawberries in the next room.

and that's okay. because the strawberries aren't real.

[meanbossart]

re: Vellioth as the stepfather its interesting bc stepfathers n media (and irl but limiting myself to tropes here) hav the practical role and obligations we tend to ascribe to fathers ie providing money and protection and being the head of the household, but do not share a blood tie to the child in question. and it is seen as magnanimous for a man to "take on the duty" of providing ofr the children of the woman he's with, rather than duty. This shifts also means that implicitly the stepchild should be grateful for this new patriarch in their life, which is complicated because most often this stepfather occupies a place of control. In cazador's caze i feel like bc there was no father to speak of, his resentment of vellioth as The Stepfather had more to do with intruding and vying for attention from the woman they both love, rather than usurping the OG father. Come to think of it, having no experience with a father figure before vellioth probably made the shift to a patriarch that more jarring. And considering that he positions himself s the Father of his spawns, he probably modelled a lot on Vellioth (or in antithesis of).

ultimately velloith did what stepchildren often fear secretly most: intruding, appropriating, and evnetually the destruction of the family unit as it was

I might not have expressed myself super well in that reply- I was comparing Vellioth to a step father in the same way people loosely compare Cazador to a patriarch/abusive partner. I certainly didn't mean it to be literal - neither in the comic I referenced or in my personal headcanon (which are functionally identical) does Vellioth ever actually inhabit the role of a surrogate dad in Cazador's life. Rather, that is the perception that he's vaguely trying to sell to others to maintain the ruse.

I clear this up because I am (personally) not of the belief that Vellioth and Cazador ever had a relationship outside of the dynamics of master and slave, which might be a little more simple than you were hoping for, based on this ask (unless I'm misreading, in that case ignore me LOL)

But if we're speaking strictly in allegory - yes. Vellioth makes for a specially juicy satire of a step-father who intrudes, disrupts, and yet overvalues themselves for doing the least on the basis of being there by choice rather than obligation (keeping Cazador alive as a spawn when he could have just killed him off) but I don't think any part of him is doing that under the false pretense of charity - he only wants to keep Cazador around to hurt him, because that would hurt his mother.

(Something I also neglected to say is that in De Rerum Natura ((not spelled out in the comic explicitly, but stated so as a headcanon of the very smart and handsome author)) Cazador was never meant to become a vampire. That was a fate his mother very much did not want for him.)

And, perhaps, every vampire lord harbors a little self-destructive desire. If you don't invest a non-negligible amount of time and energy into making ONE particular guy super mad at you, who is ever going to finally put you out of your misery after all!

EITHER WAY this image you sent me is still very good and thank you for sending it LOL (art by @barbatusart)

[corazondebeskar-reads]

fall, with you: part four - thanksgiving

Joel Miller x gn! reader

main masterlist |mini-series masterlist | prev

words: 2.3k

summary: the new world may be hell, but you still have things to be thankful for.

warnings: pre- and post-outbreak, death, cordyceps, loss, grief, outbreak day, fluff weaponized for angst

note: anything in italics is either during or post outbreak. everything else is pre-outbreak. this story is not told chronologically and skips around a lot. i'm experimenting for fun.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

Nate finds you exactly where he thought he would. In the kitchen of your new home, packing your backpack. 

“No,” he says bluntly. “Nope. Nuh-uh.”

You turn on your heel and stare at him. “It’s not up to you.”

“Was he abusive?” 

You’d fine back to packing and freeze to look up at him again. “No. God, no.”

“So what was it? Cheated? Ran over your dog?”

“No, it wasn’t anything. It’s none of your fucking business.”

“Oh, fuck you,” he spits, knocking your bag off the table. 

You sneer. It’s not the first time you’ve butted heads like this. Neither of you has a great trauma response, given the whole apocalypse thing. “I decide where we go,” you snarl. “You don’t.”

“Not this time. Not when we’re finally somewhere safe. Somewhere normal. I have never questioned you, I’ve never even complained. Just followed you across the goddamn country. But unless you have a good fucking reason, like he’s some psycho ex—“

“He was the love of my fucking life,” you snap.

“I mean it, sugar. I know it seems like I’m bein’ impulsive but I swear I got a ring waitin’ back home,” Joel said, thumb stroking your cheek as his hand cradled your face, thick fingers warm and gentle against it. “I ain’t ever been more serious. You’re the love of my fuckin’ life. Say yes, baby. Marry me.”

“What’ll Sarah say?” You blurt. 

He grins, crooked and fond. “See, that’s what I mean.” He kisses you, slow and tender, and you melt into it, almost forgetting why you’re sitting on the ground in tears to begin with. 

“Whaddya say, sugar? You gonna be mine? Gonna make us a family?”

As if you could say anything else. “Yeah, Joel,” you murmur, “I’ll marry you. Of course I will.” You wait a beat. “You really got a ring back home?”

“Sure do. Whole speech planned out ‘n shit, too. But I couldn’t fuckin’ wait anymore.”

You let out a shaky laugh, a crooked grin of your own. “Y’ain’t supposed to get me gifts on your birthday.”

He puts on a fake pout. “You’re my gift, baby,” he says, lip twitching as he fights the smirk. 

You shove him away playfully. “Gross. You old sap.”

He laughs, head tipped back. “What can I say? It’s all for you, sugar.” 

You’re horrified to find tears burning in the corner of your eyes. “It doesn’t matter,” you mutter. 

But he’s right. He’s right, he’s right, he’s right. You can’t drag him back out into the wilderness, to another failing QZ, to inevitable death. This is a town, a community, a home.

A chill is just starting to settle over Jackson, the hint of a frost in the early morn, when Tommy Miller turns up on your porch. 

You open the door after several beats of insistent knocking, and the man stands there in the flesh and blood, looking just the same but twenty years and a lifetime older. 

“Does my brother know you’re here?” he says, eyes as wide as the early November moon.

“Who’re you? Does my brother know you’re here?” 

You let out a strangled cry and spun around, sponge raised as if it would frighten the intruder. But you recognize him from the photos all around the house and relax, grimacing as soapy suds drip down your arm. “Nah, I like to break into houses and do the dishes,” you drawl. “You must be Tommy.” You introduce yourself and realization dawns on his face. 

You fumble for a towel to dry your hand before proffering it. He takes it and matches your firm handshake before scratching the back of his neck, looking sheepishly to the side in a mirror of his older brother.

You can’t say anything. Your mouth gapes open, but nothing comes out. It really is him. Not that you really doubted it, because the evidence was kind of indisputable, but there he is. The man that was to be your brother in law getting mud all over your porch. 

Finally, you just shake your head, stepping aside to let him in the house. 

He comes in and starts pacing, tracking clods around the living room. 

“Tommy Miller, you take your goddamn shoes off in my house,” you scold.

He freezes and looks up at you. “Jesus Christ,” he whispers, and suddenly you’re being smothered, stifled in the bulk of his jacket as he wraps his arms around you. “ Jesus Christ.”

Nate chooses that moment to clomp down the stairs like a herd of horses. “Is that him? Damn, he’s not your type at all.” 

You start to laugh. It sneaks up on you, silent at first, shoulders shaking, until it’s bubbling out of you. Maybe it’s a little hysterical, but you’re allowed, you think.

There’s a plan. Tommy insists. As much as you’d like to pretend you can avoid running into Joel, the fact is that this town is small and collaborative. You can’t avoid anyone. 

So. There’s a plan.

Tommy breaks the news to him gently at their weekly dinner. Ellie comes by later to swap comics with Nate and reports that Joel had stood up and left, bypassing his jacket and going straight out the door. No expression, no words, nothing. 

It could have been worse. You expect fully that he doesn’t want to see you, doesn’t want any reminders of before. Of Sarah. And truth be told, you’re not that thrilled to have been forcibly dragged down memory lane, either. 

But Tommy’s a persistent bastard, and so it happens anyway. He calls your name, flagging you down as you stand with your tray in the mess hall, looking for a seat. The man sitting across from him whips around, head turning so fast you can almost hear his neck crack. 

Where Tommy Miller has grown into the apocalypse with relative ease, the same cannot be said of his brother. Joel wears each year, each loss, each kill in the lines of his face, the cold of his eyes, the set of his jaw. You stare for a moment into the hazel eyes that used to crinkle with laugh lines, that used to darken with hunger in the deep night, that used to be your safe space. 

But there’s none of that now. The wrinkles on his face speak of more stress than a human body should reasonably endure. His eyes darken with something so anachronous to your Joel that you can’t even identify the feeling. And there’s no mistaking them for anything soft or safe. The lips that used to map every inch of your body are twisted in a scowl.

You don’t realize your hands are shaking until your drink spills, knocking you out of his thrall. Abandoning your tray on the nearest surface, you bolt. 

Born and raised in QZs, it became painfully apparent that Nate was terrified of animals. And seeing how that wasn’t really sustainable in a town like this, you’ve taken to slowly introducing him to the fluffier, nicer critters. But now it’s time. 

You’ve got to teach him to ride.

Horses are the worst. They’re big and tall and wrong , he says, like someone was trying to put them together and kept messing up but was too lazy to fix it. “And they know too much,” he adds, standing four feet away as you saddle up the gentlest mare in the stable. 

You snort. “The fuck does that mean?”

“Look at their eyes. Their cold, dead eyes. They know things. Secrets.” 

You roll your eyes. “Sure. They know secrets. My dad’s horse knew a secret,” you say with a conspiratorial grin. “He used to wait until my daddy turned his back and then he’d pick up his Coke between his big teeth and throw his head back.”

Nate stops in his fretting. “Your dad’s horse drank Coke?” 

“Yep. Little conniving sneak, he was. Absolute troublemaker. But Penny here ain’t gonna give you a lick of trouble.”

It’s not long before he’s comfortable in the saddle, if not thrilled about it. When you finally join him on horseback, you’re a little more nervous than you want to admit. It’s been twenty years, after all. 

But it feels familiar. “Just like riding a bike,” you mutter. 

“Maybe I’m not the expert since I’ve never been on a bike, but like logistically, this has to be very different,” Nate says. 

After your ride, you send him off while you untack and groom the horses. You’ve hung up the reins and are reaching for a brush when someone else’s hand bumps yours. “Oh, sorry,” you start instinctively and recoil when Joel pulls his gloved hand back sharply. 

It’s too much, in the little tack room, this close, this distant. 

Joel’s eyes on you, taking you in and trying to parse the you now from the you then.

Joel’s eyes on you, roaming, craving.

Joel’s beard scratching against his glove as he rubs his chin.

Joel’s beard scratching against your belly on his way down.

Joel, with you, in a barn, sweaty after a long ride, bundled up against the creeping winter. 

Joel, with you, in a barn, sweaty after a long ride, bundled up against the creeping winter.

Your head is spinning. You take a staggering step back, wavering.

You wake up on a cot in the clinic.

Nate’s sat in a chair by your side, picking at his nail beds and trying not to look worried. He relaxes minutely before getting pissed when you confess to the doctor that you haven’t been eating much. You don’t keep much at home, nobody really does, and you’ve been avoiding the mess hall for reasons that you don’t need to say out loud. 

They let you go with a scolding about the dangers of doing activities without proper nutrition, like you don’t know that, like you haven’t been starving in the wasteland like the rest of them at some point.

Tommy stops by with a frankly absurd amount of soup. “Heard you had a little fall today,” he says. 

“Whole town know I’m a klutz now?” you joke half-heartedly.

He gives you a look. “Nah. A big grumpy birdie told me.”

You cringe. 

“Look,” he says with a sigh. “Come by our place for the harvest, okay?”

“Come ‘round our place for Thanksgiving,” Joel says. 

“I can’t intrude,” you protest.

“Ain’t intruding on anything, baby. We want you there. But I gotta warn you, we do things a little different. It ain’t your regular Thanksgiving fixins, okay?”

“What?”

“We’re doin’ a harvest dinner. Kinda like Thanksgiving. There’ll be a lunch at the mess on Thursday but we’re havin’ family ‘round that night.” He sees you open your mouth and keeps going, ignoring you. “I don’t want to hear it. And just so you know, he suggested the invite. So.” 

And then Tommy leaves you with more questions and more soup than you know what to do with.

On Thursday, you drag your sorry ass to the mess hall for the lunch, determined to give Nate another holiday experience. You didn’t need to work yourself up, though, as Joel is nowhere in sight.

You wish you had thought earlier to ask what to bring, but it’s been a long time since you’ve dined at someone else’s table, and food ain’t been for sharing in just as many years.

“What should I bring, if it ain’t traditional?”

He thinks for a moment. He wants to tell you to bring your sexy self and nothin’ more but he knows you won’t go for it. “Bring popcorn,” he says finally.

You had. And you do. Cooked on the stove the old-fashioned way. It’s a risk, god, you know it’s a risk. But you walk into Tommy’s house with a heaping bowl of lightly buttered popcorn.

You walk into Joel’s house with a heaping bowl of butter-laden, salty popcorn, and Sarah cheers. She takes a handful before retreating deeper into the house where Tommy is setting the table and Joel is in the kitchen, hard at work over the… toaster. There’s a stack of buttered toast on a platter beside him and he’s adding to the pile. 

“Hey, sugar,” he says, pulling you by the waist into his space, chasing your lips with a kiss. “Thanks for bringin’ the popcorn. Ain’t Thanksgiving without it.”

“If you say so,” you say. “Where do you want it?”

“On the table is fine,” he says.

It takes you a minute, as you stand in Joel’s dining room, staring at the eccentric assortment of what can loosely be defined as dinner. There are a few bowls out, overflowing not with stuffing or mashed potatoes or casserole. No, there’s little pretzel twists and what looks like candy. You set the popcorn down in an empty spot and it unlocks in your brain with a snap.

You turn on your heel and go back in the kitchen. For a moment, you’re distracted by the scene in front of you. Joel and Sarah are delicately swirling whipped cream in excess atop strawberry ice cream, taking turns squirting some in their mouths in between and then scolding one another playfully.

“Are we having a Charlie Brown Thanksgiving?” you ask.

Sarah beams. “I told you she’d get it,” she tells her dad. 

Joel opens the door at Tommy and Maria’s. He looks down at the bowl in your hands, and you suddenly think you’ve made a terrible mistake. There’s a taut, hefty silence where you’re both just staring at the bowl.

He moves, both hands up toward you in a jerky, sudden motion that has you flinching back. It doesn’t deter him. It was like the action was pressed behind a coil and now that it snapped, he can’t stop. Newton’s Law, and all that.

His rough, calloused palms engulf either side of your face, his chapped lips smashing against your unexpecting ones. Your heart could be halfway to Dallas by sundown with how fast it’s galloping in your chest. It only takes a moment before your hands are on him, too.

“C’mon, not over the popcorn,” Nate gripes, snatching the bowl away and going inside to find Ellie, leaving you in Joel’s embrace.

the end

[radical-revolution]

William Shakespeare

The minstrel

After some time you learn the difference, the subtle difference between giving a hand and fettering a soul; And you learn that to love doesn't mean to support yourself, and that company doesn't always mean security. And you learn that kisses are not contracts and that gifts are not promises. And you start to accept your loss with your head up and eyes straight ahead, with the grace of a grown-up, not the sadness of a child. You learn to build the roads of today, because tomorrow's land is too unknown to make plans and the future usually falls from nowhere. After a while you learn that the sun burns if you expose yourself to it for very long. And you learn that it doesn’t matter how much you care, some people just don’t. And you accept that it doesn’t matter how good someone can be, they will hurt you once in a while and you have to forgive them for that. And you learn that talking can be a relief to emotional pain. You learn that it takes years to build trust and just seconds to destroy it, and you can do things in a second that you will regret for the rest of your life… You learn that friendship continuous to grow even with the distance and that what matters is not what you have in life, but who you are in life. And you learn that you don’t have to change friends if you understand that friends change, and you realize that you and your friend can do nothing or everything and still have good times together. And you learn that the people you care the most are taken away from you too fast, that is why we should always say caring things to those we love, because it might be the last time we see them… And you learn that you shouldn’t compare yourself to others, but to the best you can become. You learn that it takes a long time for you to become the person you want to be, and that life is too short. And you learn that it doesn't matter where you've already gotten to, but where you are going, and if you don't know where you're going, anywhere will do. You learn that either you control your acts or they will control you, and that being flexible doesn't mean you are being weak, or that you don't have a personality, for no matter how delicate and fragile a situation is, there are always two sides of it. And you learn that heroes are those that did only what was necessary... You learn that patience requires a lot of practice. You find out that sometimes the person that you expect to kick you when you fall, is one of the few that will help you up. You learn that maturity is about what kind of experiences you’ve had and what you’ve learned from them, not how many birthdays you have already celebrated. You learn that there's more of your parents in you than you suppose. You learn that you should never tell a child that dreams are foolishness, few things are so humiliating that it would be a tragedy if he believed that. You learn that when you are angry you have the right to be angry, but that does not give you the right to be cruel. You learn that just because someone doesn't love you the way you want to be loved, it doesn't mean that the person doesn't know how to love, and s/he loves you as much as s/he can, because there are people who love you, but simply don't know how to show it. You learn that being forgiven is never enough, sometimes you have to learn to forgive yourself. You learn that with the same harshness that you judge, you someday, will be condemned. You learn that no matter how many pieces your heart was broken into, the world doesn't stop so you can fix it. You learn that you cannot go back in time, so you have to take care of your garden and not wait for someone to bring you flowers. And you learn you can really bear it, that you're really strong and that you can go farther than you think, and that life has a value and you have a value before life! And you learn that our doubts are disloyal and that makes us lose what we could achieve, if it weren’t for the fear of trying.

***

[folkdances]

in the trilogy, character pairs were a lot of the time set in bringing someone back from the dead or generally playing with the dead and the undead and the alive. this was the case with mia/maya in aa1, mimi/ini and adrian/celeste in aa2 (edgeworth/franziska as well to a certain degree), and of course in aa3 it was iris/dahlia, but also godot/diego, and obviously there was a lot more going on but this is a recurring thing that ace attorney does. it works with the turnabout theme, reviving the dead and reviving dead cases, and it works with phoenix's literal name. that's why i think it's really cool that that doesn't happen in aa4. aa4 is a really grounded game and isn't super interested in telling these literally 'magical' stories. the feys were magic, but trucy and troupe gramarye are magicians who work with practical things, illusion and obfuscation.

of course it is implied that trucy and apollo's perception ability is magical in nature, but i don't think it is ever outright stated that it is the same way it is confirmed that the feys possess unique magical powers. and because aa4 is so grounded and so invested in telling this particular story about corruption in every meaning of the term, it does its character contrasts with characters being "moral" and being "immoral" in the sense that the lines between these two labels are very blurry.

there is the contrast of kristoph/klavier, obviously — klavier is the good one because he can accept defeat in the name of truth, because he strives to find the truth and, when he realizes that what he is pushing for is not the right thing, will stop pushing for that thing, whereas kristoph is driven by his own pride and ego. it gets more complicated when you shift your focus towards, for example, phoenix (attorney)/phoenix (father). trilogy phoenix is naive and loyal and has these searing convictions (not that apollo doesn't), but he regularly puts people on pedestals and himself in positions to be betrayed. it is difficult for him to accept that his judgement of a person might have been faulty we see this thinking in turnabout goodbyes and in farewell, my turnabout and in bridge to the turnabout.

disbarred phoenix has lost that naivete because of the sheer amount of time that has passed, yes, but also because of the breadth of the "betrayal" he suffered. we know that disbarred phoenix wright is still a "good person", but he is more willing to get his hands dirty, is more willing to lie and omit and yeah, cheat.

there is the example of lamiroir/machi, in which lamiroir is portrayed as being a very innocent and tragic figure and for a good portion of the case, we sort of believe that machi has taken advantage of her innocence to a certain degree. the main parallel is of course that of kristoph/phoenix, but i think it is so interesting how phoenix dips a hand into the same methods kristoph used with the bloody ace — a less drastic and "evil" play, yes, but one from the same book nonetheless.

back to what i said about dying cases and turnabout, that's what a lot of the trilogy cases, every single one almost, focused on. the end-message is always one of rebirth and reinvigoration — two examples so you know what i'm talking about: in turnabout goodbyes, phoenix's revelation of the truth by bringing dl-6 back from the 'dead' is what starts edgeworth's journey towards becoming a different person. in rise from the ashes, his highlighting the detective's work in bringing sl-9 back from the dead is what frees the skye sisters and allows lana to experience a "new lease on life". this repeats over and over again. these are very classic endings. but in aa4, what's highlighted is the exact oppposite: corruption.

kristoph starts off as a very cool and collected person (in the player's eyes) and his descent into paranoia and greed and egotism is revealed to us across the past and present. we see apollo start off in turnabout trump as a different person than who he becomes by the end of turnabout succession; he doesn't become a bad person, but he's been through enough that he develops a sheen of pessimism while still remaining recognizably apollo, so brash and convinced and caught in the pursuit of justice, a corruption, yes, but less drastic. i already covered the change phoenix undergoes. trucy goes from being an element of zak's tricks to conducting tricks of her own (page vs ace). lamiroir has undergone a sort of breakdown of identity. wocky's slowly dying. even the clients we defend vary so deeply from the clients of the trilogy in that their innocence is already cast in doubt when apollo defends them because they've already gotten their hands dirty or are societally deemed 'shady characters'. in the first case, the client is a disgraced and disbarred lawyer. in the second, a gangster part of a violent mob. in the third, a seemingly innocent child is revealed to be a smuggler. and of course behind it all there is the legal system, already dark and corrupt in phoenix's time, now twisted so far out of shape that it is a miracle any cases are won at all. and that's also why i think making the prosecutor apollo goes up against (klavier) be a very just person works out amazingly.

not sure how to really end this but tl;dr apollo justice is an amazing game that plays with themes in a very different way from the trilogy and i love it!

[cyrintheum]

Introducing Strohl as an ESFJ! + ARGUMENT WHY HE IS ESFJ

Hello everyone, It’s really jarring how much intuitive bias PDB has. Just because he leads in a group and has a plan doesn’t automatically mean he’s an ENFJ. If he has Ni-Se in his stack, then where’s the desire of his to have a grand plan on his country and even some Se sensory pleasures like blade-riding? He is obviously Si-Ne since he internalizes memorable moments in the past, him being eloquent with his words, and he even comes back with witty jokes and comebacks. I also made this new and improved argument with the help of my friends in order to properly present my argument better and more concisely.

WARNING: MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD.

I’m gonna cut through the chase here. It's already obvious that he is a Fe dom, so I won’t try to flesh out that part here. I’m gonna explain Si and Ne on this part.

Introverted Sensing (Si): Here’s the important part. His bond mostly focuses on trying to rebuild his past hometown, and he constantly tries to relive the events that transpired through it. He also wants to build a future where everyone gets their ruined cities rebuilt, since he does not want them to happen ever again. In a way, Si thinks about the past, but not just the past. It considers the past as a factor, and also thinks about the future due to the past. Ni is more of an unconscious effort seeing the future due to current happenings. Next, he constantly brings up his parents' teachings on doing laundry, cooking, and even honing your swords. This highlights his familiarity with traditional values his parents imposed on him. A Ni user is more likely to be rebellious with traditional teachings, due to it being one of the most stubborn cognitive functions. 

When going to Brilehaven, you are met with him reminiscing on his childhood in that city. "My parents took me once when I was a boy. I remember the day we arrived, and waking up to the smell of the ocean.” “The place was crowded beyond belief. Everything was so different from our hometown in the countryside.” Another thing, in one of his bonds, Strohl vividly remembers how he met Will, as well as the time where he mentioned that, “The roads were so rough we could hardly keep our arses on our seats, but there you were, reading a book of all things.”

According to Emma Jung’s description of introverted sensation, Si absorbs every single detail of the sensory experiences outside them. It’s like a person whom you’ve told a joke about in the morning, and they will still laugh about it in the night. Those lines show that every single detail of him internalizing sensory experiences into his internal self, attaching personal sentiments due to his parents when they were going to Port Brilehaven, not just remembering the past. This also applies to the time where he remembered travelling alongside Will in the carriage.

In comparison to an ENFJ, Ni is a function that relies on the unconscious. It produces unconscious images imaging the future that pertain to what’s happening right now. They are also big-picture thinkers who have a singular plan at hand. Think about Louis who is an ENTJ. He has a grand plan of turning everyone into humans for the sake of equality. In comparison to Strohl, he is more focused on trying to rebuild his past glory and the old ruined cities, instead of making a long-term plan that revolutionizes the whole country.

At the end of the game, he reminisces about meeting Will in the recruitment center, and he states that he still sees the same about him. There’s just a lot of moments in the game where he constantly uses Si without even trying hard to remember about his past events whether it is about his traumas or not. An ENFJ would literally try harder to internalize and imagine the inner sensations that they experienced, since they have trickster Si. Their Ni-Se would push those away to make plans for the future.

Extroverted Intuition (Ne):

He came up with the idea that they should bring a person’s head instead of a monster when he knew that there are bounties that are people too. Everyone else had the same idea when he thought out of the box. Based on his past knowledge, he inferred that bounties also include criminals, hence he proposed the idea of bringing a head of a criminal in the competition to sway the audience. Another moment when he noticed that the Drakodios negated the protective magla by associating it with the king’s magic. He already knew that fact, and his intuition was triggered by external objects in reality that was happening at the moment. He even tested the lance and said that this changes everything about the situation.

In one quest, he wants to see what other possibilities the ring has by urging Will to wear it, since he remembered that the ring has a sketchy backstory. Based on Carl Jung, extroverted intuition always seeks new possibilities through seeking on what can be done in an object. It looks out for opportunities that can be done. An Ni user would just assume automatically that the ring shouldn’t be worn due to its dubious history.

Aside from the serious things he does with Ne, he also likes to reply with comebacks and make jokes about things that a Ni-Se user would have a harder time conjuring up with.

Conclusion:

So here’s the thing, Strohl doesn’t even try hard to remember his past experiences, as he constantly makes references about his past, while they’re just doing the most mundane tasks at hand. An ENFJ would be more likely to talk about the future since Ni is their auxiliary function. Literally when even doing the laundry he just casually brings up how much he is a master of laundry, as well as mentioning his parents phrases and values in it. His goals have also changed in his bond, as well as having trouble realizing his own ideals. This signals that he has trickster Ni in his stack, since he doesn’t think about his long-term goals. This concludes my argument for him. I will add more comments if I continue to find more evidence of him being an ESFJ.

References:

Wikipedia. (2024, November, 3). Jungian cognitive functions. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jungian_cognitive_functions

Sharp, D. (1987). PERSONALITY TYPES: Jung’s Model of Typology. Wayback Machine. https://web.archive.org/web/20190722141945/http://innercitybooks.net/pdf/books/personalitytypes.pdf

[snitchbo]

Hey thanks for doing that government analysis! Idk much abt government structure so writing around that was proving kinda difficult n your thing rlly helped

I do have a question though, if someone was planning on writing something that might poke some holes or point out flaws in the system, what do you think are some things that might be considered? And if those things were to be changed how do you think that might affect how the system works as a whole?

(ik for sure the way it works realistically doesnt particularly account for things outside of moving up, like disability, lack off skill or straight up disinterest. despite being a commune the general societal norm seems pretty individualistic, not to mention the dictator bordering on godlike despite their only requirement being "good at parkour" seems like itd be bound to cause problems; see: evil parkour champion and the glass legend, etc)

Thanks ^^

Hello tysm for the ask this message made my day! Id love to talk about this more!

My main gripe with the way Parkour Civilization government is structured is the rigid hierarchies, in a place where your skill level determines everything in life, you'd expect there be more room to grow and oppurtunities to ascend. Having the levels where everyone is surrounded by people of similar skill sets and pretty much never being able to experience what a higher skill set even looks like is just used to keep people in line with their groups and not know how to reach higher.

I think the overall idea of being divided based on merit is fine. it's the lack of intermingling or education about the other layers and how to get better that should be changed. I mean, as seen in the pro layer, people aimlessly build parkour courses to try and train for the master level, and they never quite get it.

The divided structure also easily makes room for classism, even if all layers were given the same food, materials, and housing, the fact the lower levels simply dont have access to basic knowledge about the extent of parkour (again, the thing their entire society is based off of) keeps them dumbed down, and hinders them from excelling, while the master level has access to the knowledge and practice of so much more parkour. The education difference makes an easy opening for classism and bullying to occur between layers ( which in Parkour Civilization, actually does happen as seen with how the pros treat the noobs, and how the masters even bully eachother based on how they parkour, which again is a sign of upbringing and education. )

[8-evil-annoying-catboys]

that’s a fair point. i’m envisioning something of a gift economy, so for example your table could be made to your specifications by someone who just, has the skills and materials necessary to do so, because you need a table and they can provide that, with no exchange necessary. i’m not necessarily thinking of mass-produced, well, anything—at most, artisans could spend their time making as many unique tables (or whatever) as they want and people would still be able to browse their stock. my point is that there would be little use for money if everyone was willing to give freely, and all of us would have more freedom to put personality, or our heart and soul or whatever, into whatever it is we’re each good at making, if we were more focused on providing for ourselves and the people nearest us as needed, instead of being focused on making money.

either way, money or no money, we can and should all agree on one thing: wealth inequality needs to go, and by any means necessary, if we want even a small chance at reducing the amount of suffering and evil in the world. money could stay or go, depending on what a free and equitable society would look like.

i definitely doubt money would be phased out in my lifetime, tbh, even if inequality was no more right now immediately, but i also doubt it would still exist for, say, 7 generations out from the death of wealth inequality. i think that the longer society went without inequality, the less people would really expect or even need something in return for providing goods and services, but i could certainly be wrong. i have no experience with that kind of society to say anything about it with certainty, we all can only pose hypotheticals.

maybe i simply give too many people the benefit of the doubt, since i personally would not care about getting anything in return for something i don’t need (like a table i made because i like and am good at making tables, or clothes/blankets i crocheted to have something to do) if i did not need anything i didn’t have, or if i could trust that my needs would be met by others around me with a similar indifference to being paid back.

fairness is certainly subjective, and in a world where i didn’t have to have money to buy food and water and to rent a home, i would see taking items off my hands that i don’t need, that are just taking up space in my home as a fair trade: my items for just the space in my home that is required to store them. and i say this as someone who grows food and crochets clothes and blankets, so i do know the work it takes to make necessary goods. it is also vital to have space to store those goods in order to keep a clean house, and sometimes you just want to make a pair of gloves even though you already have a ton of them and don’t need or have the space for more.

not everyone has the same attitude as me, but i do wonder if the attitude that everything must be paid back with something material and tangible is simply inherent to some people, or if it is cultivated by growing up in a society which requires trade for everything and does not allow everyone’s needs to be met. but that’s a question with no firm answer ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

and ultimately, the continued existence or gradual phasing-out of money is kind of besides the point anyway, since money isn’t the problem, wealth and power dynamics are. either vision for society would still be ideal, as long as everyone has their needs met and no one gets to live a ridiculously lavish life that is inaccessible to everyone else

I don't think that money is actually the root of all evil like if we got rid of money there would still be stuff to hoard inequality still existed before the invention of money

Money is quite a useful tool for doing business with people you don't know. And real billionaires don't just have a gigantic Scrooge McDuck sized pile of coins they're sitting on. They're hoarding housing, the means of production, imaginary value taken out in investment. This system would be just as bad if we were all paid out in quantities of rice or something.