#it really does. I’m sick of people being shut down every time they point out bigotry and harm

[ziracona]

The huge amount of arguing going on between people about the impact of playing this terrible game is, while not an isolated or unusual event, a huge example of what a disservice it is to fiction to simplify positions to only either “Media doesn’t effect any behavior ever” or “Media utterly controls behavior.” Neither is a true statement, and if discourse hadn’t boiled down to the absolute worst polar opposite takes being ironclad flags of most people, shit like this would not happen on such a scale, at least from the people who you expected to be allies and hurt you most letting you down. It really needs to change.

[san8ny]

BETTER NOT TO SAY IT !

!: It’s cold and you’re two people. The rational thing to do is to cuddle..duh!

?: Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader - Fluff - Idiots that are borderline in-love with eachother trope.

“And you’re sure this will conserve body-heat?”

“Yep!”

Ellie sighs as she allows you to wrap your limbs around her battered up torso, both of you laid sprawled on the wooden floor of some abandoned cabin you happened to stumble upon while being chased by infected.

Silence consumes you two, the only thing heard being your slow and delayed breaths, likely so from the exhaustion of today’s events. “You’re warm.”

she chuckles at that, looking down at you. “I’m warm? I’m practically ice.”

You smile at the lighthearted remark, closing your eyes to sleep. While doing so, Ellie slightly tilts her head downwards, studying your face. It’s not the first time she’s seen you in this light, you emulate more of something to fight for than to fight with, still remembering how you were when you first arrived to Jackson. Sometimes, she gets slightly ticked off from your willingness to put trust in others so quickly, a trait she’d long abandoned during childhood. Could you blame her? However, she admires it too. It’s not everyday she has the prettiest of girls clinging to her side like she’s everything in the world all in one. Maybe it’s a twinge of a white-knight complex? That Ellie wants you to want her too. She wants you to need her.

Meanwhile, you lay there relaxed, the once cold night seemingly growing warmer as you press yourself more and more into Ellie, who doesn’t seem to deny you anything. You flutter your eyes a bit open to check if she’s also asleep, small smile stretching across your lips when you see she’s dozed off. You take note of every nook and cranny on her face, the slightest of bruisings on her nose bridge from some punches she took earlier, or the elongated faded scar stretching across her cheek. It takes everything in you not to, but you sweep a padded thumb lightly over it, light peachfuzz on her face oddly comforting when your digits come in contact with her fleshy cheek. You envied Ellie, you really did, but you also didn’t know if you’d want to be like her, or rather be with her. She was an anomaly you oh-so wanted to be around, but also rid yourself of. The thought of ever being away from her made you sick to your stomach and the thought alone scares you. She has you unknowingly wrapped around her finger.

The next morning, Ellie chooses between waking you up to fetch firewood or going herself. Peering down at where you lay, her bloodied sweater wrapped around you in slumber— she opts for the ladder. The morning sun feels nice on her skin as she opens the creaky door, checking back once more to see if you’re put. Once so, she leaves, shutting it behind her softly as she trudges out into the woods with the rusted axe she found on the patio slab.

Humorously, she returns back to the cabin with you still in what seems like a deep-sleep. Hell, she even kneels before you at one point to check your pulse if your snores weren’t a dead giveaway. Once she starts an amateur flame in the fireplace, she just returns to lay with you on the cold ground. She scoots closer to you, faces parallel to eachother as her gaze moves from your upper facial features to now, lower. Even in the worst of conditions, your lips somehow were the ones she sees herself only wanting to lock with. It feels perverse in nature to do this, and she definitely won’t do anything. She’d want you to be awake if she ever does kiss you, but she chooses to inspect your face closer— likely the closest she’ll ever get to be if she doesn’t man up.

You slowly open your eyes after some tossing and turning, yours now locked on Ellie’s.

It feels like pure white, is what you’d both say. It feels perfect— too perfect, infact.

“What’re you thinking about?” You whisper, eyes still heavily hooded with sleep, “Whatever you’re thinking about.” She whispers back, gently tucking stands of your hair back into that tattered hoodie of hers you adorn.

[springalwayscomes]

Closer (Teaser)

Read Closer here

Plot: To have each other close is something that you both always wanted, in a way or another. It’s just that… close is not close enough anymore for Jungkook.

Pairing: Jungkook x Y/n

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Domestic, Humor, Friends to Lovers

Wordcount: 27k

Author’s Note: Hello! I hope you’ll like this little teaser, I will publish the story on the 16 of July. I loved writing this, it was an emotional rollercoaster and I honestly can’t wait to post it. I really hope that you’ll like it🥺

If you want to be tagged in my taglist to read this work when it will come out and my others please let me know under this post or here! Also, asks and messages are always welcome, I would like to speak with you all from time to time!💜

Jungkook walked in on you using your vibrator as a microphone when you were nineteen, lipsynching as if your life depended on it. He had laughed so fucking loud that time that you still feel your ears grow red when you think about it. He has teased you for it from the moment it happened, still does it now.

Back then, it was so freaking hilarious he would bring it up every time you were too mad at him, to make you laugh it off and let go of the heavy atmosphere creating between you every time you used to fight as teenagers.

Five years afterwards, as of now, he still thinks about it from time to time. It makes him giggle when he’s in the middle of a meeting at work, when he has a stressful day, when he’s just laying in bed with his head empty. Usually, that would be the case. Now that you’re sitting on his couch with a bag of pop corns squished in your hands while the tv is playing though, is a new circumstance.

«What are you laughing at? You’re so loud» you wince at him, monotone and annoyed.

He licks his lips, shaking his head.

«Your vibrator still haunts me»

It takes you less than two seconds to realise what he’s talking about.

«You’re so annoying. Should I bring up the time you farted out loud in class too?»

«That’s not the same,» he laughs «I told you that I wasn’t feeling good but you insisted on going to class anyway»

«You didn’t go for three days straight-» you fight back, stopping yourself when the camera points on Park Seojun.

«Gosh, this man. I’m gonna marry him someday» you sigh dreamily. Jungkook snorts.

«Cause I was sick?» he opens the fridge.

«You drank with Jin the night before. You shouldn’t drink if you’re sick. Maybe that’s why you couldn’t hold it until class was over»

«You’re so noisy» he rummages through the shelves, finally finding the bowl of strawberries he was looking for.

«Want some?»

You quickly glance at him over the counter, pop corns stuffing your mouth full.

«No, thanks. I’m full with these»

He gets a spoon from the drawer, walking back to the sofa.

«The face you made when I walked in is still funnier than-»

«When you farted in front of the class?» you cut him off, trying to get some sense in his head.

«Hell, yeah» he laughs.

«You literally-»

«Okay, now stop!» you slap his ass before he gets a chance to sit down.

«Oh, yes keep going» he fakes a moan. You literally want to slap him hard enough to make him stop being an idiot, but you have to hold yourself back.

«Just shut up and let me see Park Seojun» you shake your head. Jungkook gets a spoonful of strawberries into his mouth, eyes falling on the screen and eyebrows pinched together.

It’s a Saturday, thanks God the both of you don’t work on weekends, so usually you both find yourself on the sofa, watching a movie or just messing around. You’ve known each other since you were sixteen, so to say that you’re pretty comfortable with each other is an understatement. Even when you first met him, the nineteen years old Jungkook never made you feel uneasy. You were inseparable. Best friends that used to sleep at each other’s place every three to four days because you were just used to it. It was natural, so natural that a lot of the people around you thought you were a couple. Back then, you would grimace and shake your head vividly, not even giving it a thought. Jungkook would laugh it off, heart beating loudly in his chest every time anyone made him imagine how it would’ve been.

«Do you still have it?» he asks, voice low as he stares at the screen.

«What?» you murmur. He doesn’t answer, his spoon scraping against the plastic of the bowl to get as much strawberries as he can into his mouth. He munches on them, gulping down and enjoying the sweet taste.

«That vibrator»

«Jungkook! What kind of question is that?» you stop the drama, his thigh getting hit by the remote.

«I was just asking!» he raises his hands as to make sure you understand he meant no harm, the bowl now sitting on his lap.

«Why would you ask that?» your tone makes his eyes smile first, as he always does. His eyes smile first, then his lips just follow.

«Why are you so sensitive about it? I won’t ask, but we both know you still use it» he gets up from the couch, getting to the sink to put the empty bawl inside.

«We say filthier things when we’re in bed!» he goes on from where he’s standing at. Your head is going to explode. It’s at times like this that you rethink about your life choices. From being sixteen and dumb, until you’re twenty four and ending up with sleeping with your best friend.

«In bed! Leave those for when we’re in bed!» you fight back, another pop corn getting shoved into your mouth.

«Okay,» he appears by your side «wanna go to bed so I can ask you?»

[ghostlyangels1204]

Soap the flower girl

Cont: I got his idea after seeing a TikTok of something similar to this, at that moment this was all I could think of omg. Soap is the perfect man istg, teeth-rotting sweetness. Brace yourselves.

You wrung your hands together, the sweat pilling there becoming exceedingly more uncomfortable as time passes. You had the whole day, hour to hour, minute to minute, mapped out in your mind. Every detail filed down to a fine pointed edge- not even a speck of dust could evade your wrath. Not today. Johnny had his fair share of missions for work, but this one was his biggest. The day he would legally bind the two of you, your promises exchanged with rings and sealed with a kiss.

Everything was perfect, your support network were all there- fawning over you, surrounding you with all the love you could possibly imagine, and then some. Johnny was in his own room, the three men he dedicated his life to for years, right there with him. But then, just as Johnny was hyping himself up, with Price and Gaz by his side, Ghost had walked into the room with less-than-ideal news. Johnny’s niece, the sweetest little girl you had ever met, had come down with a bad sickness bug from nursery and was currently stationed at home in bed. Needless to say- you didn’t have a flower girl.

“Ach’ shite…”, He huffed out, his hand finding its way to his face in a feeble attempt to soothe the contracted muscles. “Ay’e, what the hell am’ I gonnae do now? We get married in ten minutes!”

“Alright buddy, it’s just some flowers on the aisle. Bet no-one will even notice…” Ghost’s poor attempt at relaxing the sergeant resulted in two pairs of eyes from Price and Gaz being launched his way. He really wasn’t made for being a wedding planner.

Price turned back to him, a hand coming down to clasp his shoulder, “Right mate, let’s just get you downstairs yeah, and we’ll see if anyone fancies stepping in?” With a final pat on his back, they all moved downstairs as a unit, Johnny walking about ten paces faster than the rest.

In the time it took for everyone to be seated, people had asked around if anyone could step in. But to no avail, as all the other kids were either too shy or too stubborn to step in.

“Nah we need a flower girl… fuck,” The three men looked on in concern, convinced Johnny was about to drop dead from a heart attack right then and there. And they couldn’t leave you as a widow before you even married the man. “Johnny… its flowers… some petals that are more littering than decoration”, “Aye’ shut your trap LT, it matters okay! It might not matter to me or you, but it matters to them…”

Just as he was about to give up and face the loss, Johnny’s eyes widened. A flicker of light beaming in those baby blues that both relieved, and scared the other men around him. “AYE I’M A GENIUS!” He all but yelled out in joy, hands coming up to shake Ghost’s shoulders. “I’m not wearing a tutu Soap…”, “Shut up LT,” On any other day, Ghost would’ve reamed him for speaking to him like that- but he decided to give the man a day off. Just this once.

“Right, here’s the plan. Music- ON. Gaz, walk. Price, walk, Ghost, walk. All the bridesmaids, walk. Ring bearer, as long as he isn’t sniffling into a tissue too, WALK. And then me…” His smile was so wide his face could’ve split into two parts. They all looked baffled at each other, “Soap mate, that’s great but… that doesn’t solve your flower girl issue?”, “Wait and see Gazalicious… just you wait!” They watched as he ran off back into the building behind him, temporarily getting lost as he darted in one direction then came back sprinting in the other.

Gaz, Ghost and Price readied themselves behind the doors, waiting for the music to begin and to walk down the aisle themselves. “He doesn’t have any C4 on him does he?” Price whispered to Ghost, extremely concerned for his undisclosed, ‘genius’, solution. “Screened him, from his bags all the way down to his boxers… got nothin’ mate.”

The speakers scratched and the music began to play. Your bridesmaids surrounded you, ensuring everything about you looked as polished and perfect as you planned. Air filled your lungs as you took a deep breath, you were in no way nervous or doubtful in your decision. You just prayed you wouldn’t fall down that goddamn aisle.

You watched through tearful eyes as you saw the members of 141 each take their turn. Walking towards their positions towards the front of the ceremony. His best men.

All your bridesmaids followed, your maid of honor planting a kiss on your cheek for good luck, pinkies crossing together. “I hope you enjoy the surprise babe,” she giggles, and before you can ask, what the hell is that supposed to mean, she takes her turn. Surprise? What the hell?

All of a sudden, the music changes to something you hadn’t planned. Oh my god, it’s all going wrong. You cast a glance towards the start of the aisle, through a different door than you were at, where Johnny should be walking down. And then you spot him. Immaculately dressed in his tux, which he refused to let you get a sneak peek at if you didn’t let him see your dress. “It’s only fair, bonnie”. Not a strand of hair out of place- definitely Ghost’s work.

But, he’d added some accessories…

A pair of huge sunglasses frame his face with a basket of white and pink petals slung on his arm. He stands there, shoulders wide, serious look plastered on his face. He turns his head from one side, to the other, and starts to walk.

Ever so delicately, for a man of his size, he grasps pinches of petals before dashing them down the aisle. Sprinkling the flora down to his feet with the grace of a ballerina. Gleeful laughs erupt from your family and friends at this ‘surprise’. He’s even got the officiant laughing. With another handful of petals, he twirls around in place, before launching the flowers to his left side, and then some to his right. Petal after petal is scattered as he makes his way down towards the arch. The final handful is blown gently from his hand, into poor Ghost’s face. The lieutenant can’t help but laugh along with him, all his moodiness still intact. Johnny places the basket down, before turning around, and the four of them gather in a group hug, cackling away to themselves as cheering surrounds them.

Silently, without asking or worrying you, Johnny had fixed a problem you didn’t even realise you had. You’re about to marry the best man you’ve ever met, and you couldn’t be happier.

Word Count: 1129

[mixvyu]

Parfum d’étoile - episode three

scaramouche x reader smau

previous | masterlist | next

★—

Fast forward saturday :

You ran to the library, checking your phone every five seconds hoping that time would magically go backward and that you wouldn’t be late anymore (it sadly did not happen)

You rushed into the building and frantically looked around for the table that kazuha said he’d be waiting at. And when you spotted said table you were horrified to see that all four boys were seated with their laptops and notebooks open which mean that you would be the last one to arrive and would draw unnecessary attention.

The worst thing ever would be to have them annoyed at you and the thought of people not liking you made you sick.

You decided that eyeing the table from afar and overthinking would not result into anything good so you ended up swallowing your concerns and walking up to them .

"Hey! I’m sorry I’m a bit late"

"A bit?" Scaramouche scoffed and kazuha elbowed him in response "it’s okay we were just brainstorming ideas" the white and scarlet haired boy said with a smile

All the two other guys did was nod in response.

As if arriving late and making them have a bad impression of you wasn’t enough, the only available seat was next to Scaramouche.

You sat down reluctantly and opened your computer and notebook.

"Since there’s five chapters we should probably juste five different parts and every one get one. It’d be easier to work like that" Albedo said, not lifting his eyes from his macbook screen even once.

"Yeah but then that wouldn’t be a group project would it ? If everyone does their own thing without consulting the others then it’s more of a solo project" Heizou said, looking at the blonde who was still typing away.

You could see Scaramouche and Kazuha beside you, nodding along to the conversation while on their phone chatting with each other. If you got a little closer you could almost make up what their were typing

But the thought of them maybe discussing you for one reason or another had you freezing on the spot.

Kazuha suddenly shut his phone down and looked up

"Maybe we can divide ourselves into small groups, so it’d still be a group project but it would also be easier to manage!" He said enthusiastically. Scaramouche let out a groan at his friend’s words but Kazuha ignored him and continued "we could have two groups of two and albedo can work alone if he wants"

"Sound good to me" Albedo said as he looked up from his laptop for the first time in minutes

"So me and you and heizou and Y/N?" Scaramouche asked, eyes sparkly at the fact that he did not have to do this with other people

"Uh maybe you should work with Y/N and i’ll work with Heizou instead"

"What…? Why would i want to work with…" he gave you a dirty look before finishing his sentence "…that?"

You clutched onto your notebook at his words

"Kuni don’t be a dick"

"What? I’m just being honest she isn’t even-"

You got up violently before he could finish his sentence : you didn’t want to hear it. At all.

The guys in your group flinched and stared at you in shock and surprise and so did some people close to your table.

"Sorry it’s getting late, i need to go home i have homework for monday. See you around!"

"What was the point of coming in the first place" the purple haired guy added, still eyeing you up and down

You gathered your things quickly but, before you could walk out, you felt a warm hand softly grabbing your wrist

"Wait let me walk you home" the poet said with a soft smile and pity in his eyes

★—

"I’m really sorry about him. He doesn’t mean to be that condescending he’s just really stupid"

You snorted "Yeah. Yeah… I just… I don’t know why he hates me"

"He doesn’t hate you!" Kazuha answered almost immediately "He doesn’t hate you." He said again, with a calmer tone this time.

You finally looked up from the ground and gave kazuha a small smile

A comfortable silence installed itself for a few minutes before kazuha broke it once again

"You don’t really have to go home, do you?"

"No, i just wanted out"

"So since we both have free time, do you want to go grab a cup of coffee? There’s this really nice french café called Le club close-by : they have the best pastries ever, you have to try them"

"Yeah! That’d be a pleasure!"

★—

Extras!

The guys actually didn’t care about Y/N arriving late at all she jst overthinks a lot (she’s jst like me fr)

Kazuha is so boyfriend i need to make another smau abt him

The café is actually a real french café that’s not far from my school, it’s soooo good but also super expensive, it’s like 3.50€ for a muffin wtf

★彡 Taglist! [open] :

@gekkow @aemiko @veekoko @kichiyoshi @scaramouchelover4ever @sukunasrealgf @lxkeeeee @kunisblog @yukiipc @brfrtbrt @simpforsubmissivemen @featuredtofu

[artiststarme]

Win Some, Lose Some

Based on a prompt from @mysticcrownshipper. Thank you and I hope it meets your expectations! Please leave your thoughts in the comments.

~*~*~*~

Steve was pretty sure he was unlovable. It was the only reason that made sense as to why everyone always treated him like this. What about him made people feel the need to put him down in every conversation or ignore him completely? Neglect wasn’t a new feeling to Steve. No, he was all too used to being uncared for and left alone. He had been since his parents started leaving him for weeks at a time to go on business trips and vacations when he was nine. Neglect wasn’t new to him nor was the underappreciation and ignorance that was constantly present in the Party. Every person he talked to made him feel like an inconvenience and he was sick of it.

Robin was supposed to be his best friend, his platonic soulmate with a capital P, his ride or die. So why was she belittling him and downplaying his feelings every chance she could? Any time Steve wanted to vent about Eddie or talk about his feelings, she would shut it down. She’d tell him that Eddie was just new to relationships and that his feelings were misplaced. She made him feel the worst out of everyone in the Party because she was the one he expected to be on his side the most. Steve ignored it mostly because what else could he do? Call her on it and risk losing her completely? No, it was best to push down his ‘misplaced feelings’ and pretend to laugh when she put him down. It’s not like he didn’t have the practice.

The kids were just as awful as they always were, completely taking him for granted. They expected Steve to give up everything without giving anything back. He has a date with Eddie that night? They want him to drop it and give them a ride to the pool. He has a headache and doesn’t feel like doing anything? Who cares, they need him to watch their DnD campaign. Oh, he doesn’t have enough money for groceries that week? He has to have enough to give them some for the arcade though, right?

Eddie certainly wasn’t helping either. He was constantly neglecting their relationship and placing it as his lowest priority. Steve would go out of his way to make plans with him only for him to cancel last minute or neglect to show at all. He’d go without calling Steve for days, blow him off when he did something nice for him, and poke fun at Steve’s expense to make the others laugh. It was to the point where it wasn’t making just Steve uncomfortable but the Corroded Coffin boys as well. 

He thought he was hiding his hurt feelings pretty well but when Eddie said a comment that hit a little too close to home for him, Steve ducked out of his own dining room to smoke a cigarette he definitely didn’t need. When he heard his sliding door inch open, he hoped that it would be Eddie coming to apologize but it turned out to be a worried Jeff instead. 

“Hey man, you alright?” He asked him, his eyes glimmering in concern. 

“Yeah, man,” Steve nodded before taking a long drag. “It’s fine, he does that all the time. It’s cool.”

Jeff didn’t look convinced and narrowed his eyes at the half-burnt cigarette. “It’s not cool at all. Why are you smoking, I thought you quit?”

Steve sighed, “yeah well, I couldn’t kick it completely. It makes a good excuse for when I need a break. Plus, Wayne is a really bad role model and keeps buying an extra pack for me when he gets his. I don’t have the heart to tell him I’m thinking of quitting, he’d be crushed.”

“I get it.”

There was a moment of silence between the two of them when Jeff spoke again. “Hey, you want to hang out at band practice with the guys and I on Monday? Eddie won’t be there but you could just hang with us.”

“You want to hang out with me without Eddie? You guys don’t even like me.” Steve told him deadpan. 

“What? Yes we do! We think you’re cool and if you ever want to swing by, we’d love to have you. We need an unbiased judge for our music.”

Steve hummed, “okay, what time on Monday?”

“Um, I think eleven. AM, not PM. Just come and hang out with us in Gareth’s garage. His mom is making tuna salad for us,” Jeff added. 

“Well how could I ever resist tuna salad?” Steve laughed, it felt like a long time since he’s done that. 

Jeff pointed at him, “that’s what I’m saying! And ditch the cigarettes, you won’t need a break with us. We won’t treat you like that.”

Steve nodded as Jeff went back inside. It was nice to be invited somewhere without an ulterior motive. Steve found himself looking forward to Monday so he could just relax without having to fake a part. He was excited and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that way.

~*~*~*~

Word must have spread after that because suddenly, everyone outside of the main Party members wanted to hang out. The Corroded Coffin boys were teaching him how to play guitar and making him sing choruses alongside Jeff. Nancy was inviting Steve over for girl’s night to talk shit about Eddie and Robin. Murray was luring Steve to his bunker with promises of authentic Russian vodka and “sticking it to the man”, Steve didn’t accept that offer but he did appreciate it. Even Hopper and Joyce were inviting him out for milkshakes and basketball practice. 

Steve was having the most fun though with Phil and his new boyfriend Dio. Dio was a goth, twenty something with a sarcastic personality and a stupid sense of humor that complemented Phil’s. Just looking at him, Steve could tell that he and Phil shared a type (a fact often laughed at by Dio). It seemed they both went for alternative guys with shitty tastes in music. When Phil had first introduced the two, they had both been wary of one another; Steve because the guy looked like the type to stab his enemies and Dio because this preppy jock could out him and ruin his life. They soon found common ground however over their love of horror movies and Queen music. Now, Steve saw Dio as another older brother of sorts and couldn’t picture Phil with anyone else. 

 They invited him over biweekly for dinner and movie nights with horror films that left Steve itching with anxiety. But he was finally having fun. With all of the unexpected invites, he didn’t have any time to spend with the Party. Soon, he found out that that was intentional.  

He made a comment to Phil and Dio at one of their dinners that he hadn’t seen any of the Party in a while and that it almost seemed like he was avoiding them to hang out with other people. They both just looked at him blankly and Phil told him deadpan, “Well, duh. We made a plan to keep them away from you, we’re not going to make it easy on them. Now eat your green beans before they go cold.”

Steve just blinked at him. “What do you mean you made a plan? I’m confused.”

Dio gave Phil the side-eye and smiled a strained smile at Steve. “Alright look, we heard from your band friend that your other friends were being dumbasses and decided that they needed a time out. But you didn’t deserve to suffer so we made plans with you to keep you busy and to keep them away. Got it?”

No, Steve did not ‘get it’. 

“Why would you do that? That’s just how they are.”

Phil whipped his head up and almost knocked over his glass of chocolate milk in his haste to point a finger at Steve. “Excuse me?! They’ve been this way the whole time? Then why the hell are you friends with them?”

Steve blinked. “Because they want to be friends with me. It’s not like many people want to.”

Both Phil and Dio stared at him in sadness. They clearly didn’t see that coming. They looked at each other, back at Steve, then back at each other before Dio spoke. 

“We have to step it up then and really make them suffer. Here’s what we’re going to do, we’re going to make them jealous. If they haven’t realized that we’re trying to steal you already, they will soon enough. I’ll make the calls and we can really escalate things.”

“What the hell, um no. Let’s not do that? I just- what?” Steve stammered. 

“No, just trust me. We can make them really jealous with this plan. I’ve done it before, I’m a pro at getting revenge,” Dio smirked at him. 

Steve just stared at him and Phil nodded in agreement. 

“That’s true,” he said through a mouthful of green beans. “He’s gay and vengeful, that’s the worst kind. But remember, I’m an officer of the law so you have to keep it legal this time.”

“This time?!”

~*~*~*~

Dio wasn’t kidding about his revenge plan. He started coming around to Family Video on his lunch breaks in an attempt to confuse Eddie. He had the Corroded Coffin boys inviting Steve over almost daily and even Uncle Wayne taking him out for coffee and donuts. It was all Steve had ever wanted and deep down, he was a little sad that it had to be an act. 

Three weeks in though, the Party started to notice and it was all worth it. The kids came in to glare at the random goth weirdo that was monopolizing his time at work and complained to each other that their calls to the Harrington house were going unanswered. 

Robin was stuck working with Keith when Steve switched his shifts and her attempts to brag about Vickie went unanswered on the walkie. She couldn’t help but wonder where her best friend had gone or what had caused his absence. 

Eddie kept seeing Steve leave Gareth’s garage right as he got there and whenever he asked the guys, he got a disinterested, “yeah, we’re teaching him how to play the guitar. He was just stopping by.”

He reached a breaking point when he walked into Family Video to see a goth standing shoulder to shoulder with Steve in the horror section. Steve was smiling and nodding along to whatever the guy was saying and Eddie had had enough. 

“Hey! Who are you? Why are you standing so close to him huh? He’s taken!”

Steve just looked at him unimpressed. “Oh, are we still dating? I wasn’t sure considering you haven’t talked to me in three weeks.”

“What, three weeks? It hasn’t been that long. Even still, you’re going to go after a goth? What the fuck, Steve?” Eddie shook his head at him like Steve was in the wrong. 

“This is my brother’s boyfriend, Dio. We’re trying to pick out a movie that’s going to scare Phil. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Oh, um. Can we talk?” Eddie murmured, chagrined. 

“No, I don’t think we should. There’s literally nothing you could say to make me forgive any of you. You, Robin, and the kids have ignored me for weeks and I didn’t even do anything wrong. And now you’re jealous because I’m talking to a guy that’s not you? No.”

Eddie’s face dropped. “Are you, are you breaking up with me?”

Steve’s mouth twisted, this hadn’t been part of the original plan but it did feel right. “Yeah, I am.”

“Um, okay. I’m gonna, I'm gonna go,” Eddie whispered before darting out of the store. 

Steve sadly watched him leave as Dio just looked between him and the door. “Well goddamn, you broke up with him? The whole plan was for everyone to make him jealous so he treated you better. I didn’t know that you wanted to dump him.”

“I didn’t either. But these past few weeks have taught me that the Party really aren’t great friends to have. And Eddie isn’t really a good boyfriend. I don’t want to go back to how it was,” Steve murmured. His chest felt heavy with loss and he could feel a tension headache creeping in. 

“Hey, look at me,” Dio met his eyes and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You have to do what’s right for you and if that means cutting ties with toxic people, that’s what you have to do. There’s no shame in that.”

Steve nodded at him and broke away from his hold to get back to work. It was going to take some adjusting to losing the Party but it was the best thing for now. He’d been put down and mistreated too much by them to let them so easily off the hook once again. It was about time he put himself first, even if it meant losing the friends he’d thought he’d never lose.

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[ghostkingart]

OC tober 2024 - day 21 - prompt "your OC speaking up about their problems"

word count: 855

fandom: N/A. original work

author's note: prompt list and full post below the cut. I originally had much more planned for this prompt, like different OCs talking about their respective issues, but the day got busy, I got tired and I couldn't make it :((

“Why do you do this to yourself?”

Valeriy paused with the bottle halfway to his lips. He put it back down onto the table. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Mirza said.

“I don’t understand the question.”

“Yes, you do, but I’ll humor you for a second. What purpose does you getting shitfaced every other day serve? Is it just so that you don’t have to think about your responsibilities? Really? You’d rather do that than make actual change, which you are capable of doing? I thought that was it when I first met you, but no. It runs deeper than that. Why?”

After that rant, the two fell silent. Then, Valeriy chuckled, a low and raspy sound. “You give me too much credit.” He took a drink from the bottle, soon finding it empty. He raised his hand to call over the waitress. Out of nowhere, Mirza grabbed his hand and pulled it down.

“You don’t need any more,” Mirza said.

“Fuck off. And don’t touch me.” Valeriy wrung his hand free. However… He had this feeling that if he didn’t stop now, Mirza would get irrevocably furious with him. And, well, Valeriy wasn’t ready to lose this friendship yet.

“I’m good at reading people,” Mirza said after a pause. “And you’re bad at lying. Just answer the question.”

“You’re a real buzzkill, you know that,” Valeriy complained.

“Sure. Answer the question.”

“I don’t know! It makes me feel good, that’s all. You know alcohol can’t hurt me right? It’s extremely difficult for me to even get tipsy, let alone drink enough for it to be harmful. It’s a win-win situation, really. So, why do you care?”

“I know it can’t hurt you physically, but… you’re choosing an altered state of mind instead of being present. Why? What are you running from?”

“I don’t know,” Valeriy said.

“I think you do.”

Valeriy’s head was spinning. He didn’t usually get sick when he drank, but it did get to this point. “I like the buzz. I prefer it to… whatever goes on in my head when I’m not shitfaced. I can’t…” He trailed off. After a moment of thinking, he shook his head and decided to end it there.

“What happens in your head? Is it scary?” Mirza’s voice was closer now and Valeriy felt his presence, him leaning in across the table.

Valeriy leaned back. “Why are you doing this?”

“I want to help you.”

“Why?”

“Because—” Mirza huffed with frustration. “I—I care about you, dumbass! I don’t like seeing you like this. You are… so evidently miserable and it… hurts me.”

“You care too much,” Valeriy said. “About the wrong kind of person.”

“And what kind of a person is that?”

“One that can’t be fixed.”

“You can’t truly believe that.”

Valeriy glanced towards him. “I do.”

Mirza was quiet. Valeriy thought that he had won.

“Well… I’m not giving up on you.”

“Shut up,” Valeriy snapped. “And quit this pitiful display. I know you don’t mean a word of what you say. You’re just trying to satisfy your savior complex, so get off my back.”

“Is that what you’re scared of? That someone might actually care about you? That someone might see the good in you? You’re so terrified of the mere prospect of it that you’d rather live through a self-fulfilling prophecy of believing you’re a piece of shit and then acting like one. Is that why you’re trying to hurt me right now? Because you want to show me just how horrible you are? That I’m wasting my time believing in you? What, you’d rather you ditch me before you get attached and give me the power to leave?”

“Shut up!”

Patrons from several tables surrounding theirs turned their heads.

“Quiet,” Mirza said. “You know what? You’ve had the time to perfect your asshole act. You sure did fool me at first. But not anymore. You can spit all the venom you want, you won’t push me away.” He took a deep breath after saying all that.

Valeriy hated crying. He hated how terrible he was at controlling his emotions. This was precisely why he never let anyone close. Despite what others might think, despite what it might look like on the surface, once someone got close, it was very easy for Valeriy to be made to lose control. And he hated that, too.

He turned his head away, trying to subtly and quickly wiped his eyes as he cleared his throat. “You’re a fool.” It was a much softer insult than he could have handed out. He was giving up.

“I’m your fool,” Mirza said. “And you are mine. So… What happens when you’re alone and all is quiet?”

Valeriy needed to process Mirza’s words first, before he could respond. He suggested they talk somewhere else. He didn’t feel like letting the entire pub know everything that was on his mind.

They walked together towards the docks. Valeriy found that once he started talking, he could hardly stop. Mirza, meanwhile, proved to be an excellent listener. That night, for the first time, the two ended up in each other’s embrace.

[ducktracy]

anyone on twitter who labels themselves "cartoonist" is a red flag. nothing wrong with liking old cartoons. i love old cartoons. but every person who draws their art like them has aligned themselves with right wing views or associates with right wing people these past four years and excuses it with "they make valid points" or "they draw good" and im sick of it. do better.

this is such an egregiously ballsy attempt at bait that it isn’t even funny.. BUT IT IN FACT IS! because it’s the only reason i’m bothering to respond to this.

i’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt because i do think there are some good intentions somewhere. it’s certainly good to be aware of those spreading harmful ideas and thoughts, and that does need to be shut down. i appreciate you being cautious, and i get what you mean in that there is sometimes an overlap with how someone draws and what they associate with. it doesn’t sound like you’re very familiar with me or what i do and say. so, if i’m a complete stranger to you, then i can see where there would be wariness.

at the same time, there is this wonderful little idea in life about correlation not being causation. i would really appreciate it if you didn’t make incredibly baseless and harmful assumptions about me based on… how i draw and what i’m passionate about? there’s some awful strong verbiage in here. “every person” who is this every person? how does the label “cartoonist” exclusively tie to old cartoons? can you point in the direction where you find me liking, endorsing, or spreading right wing ideology? i get that i’m not exactly known for my role as a political blog, but i have to say that i don’t exactly appreciate the comparison to the same people who’ve called me a dyke all my life.

i am very passionate about the label of a “cartoonist”, which is why i’m choosing to take the bait and respond. i am a cartoonist. call me whatever you want. an artist. an illustrator. painter? animator? storyboard revisionist? a drawer, even! whatever. but i resonate especially with the connotations of a cartoonist—ones not created out of baseless accusations in an attempt to get attention.

there are people who try to steer others away from using the label cartoonist—this is the first argument for… this… that i’ve heard against it, but there’s a feeling that it’s “unprofessional” or “immature”. but that’s what i am! i love cartoons! i study cartoons! i draw cartoons! i make cartoons! cartoon is such a fun word. it’s innocent, it’s mischievous, it’s earnest. the push not to call oneself a cartoonist because it’s immature or unprofessional makes me all the more attached to it. because it’s what i do. it’s what i AM. cartoons dominate most aspects of my life, to an extent that most people would be like “…that doesn’t seem healthy.” and i do have enough support and other opportunities to keep me busy that keep me in the range of grass touching, thankfully! but cartoons have a deeply profound impact on my life and have since i was a young child. i embrace it especially now seeing as i am living a dream i never thought possible: working on one of the most beloved cartoons and pop culture iconoclasts period and hoping to inspire the kids watching today the same way i was inspired watching it years and years ago as an impressionable little child.

anyhoo. if you are actually sending this out of genuine intent and not just to stir the pot, then i’m at least hoping you’re just young and misinformed or your intentions are just misplaced. i don’t disagree that there are shitty people out there who probably do call themselves cartoonists, but a cartoonist is someone who draws cartoons. it’s not some sort of elusive dog whistle—not that i’m aware of, anyway. if you are indeed sending this in earnest, i appreciate you trying to be wary, but this is a very, very shallow mindset and baseless assumptions like these do more harm than good. i promise i’m more on your side than you think.

if you have a genuine issue with me or anything i say/do, then please send me a DM or ask off anon, because i’m always looking for ways to improve and reflect and be more aware as a person. i’m certainly not immune from criticism, and am always open for discussion. sending such a baseless ask on anon says to me that this isn’t necessarily the case here.

i hate getting sanctimonious and too serious, so i’ll end on a lighthearted note. this is the kind of stuff i draw. i’ve been listening obsessively to Mel Blanc as Porky Pig sing a song called “Giddyap Lazy Willie” for two days straight now. i promise i am not the threat that you think i am. look at how silly this is. it’s gonna be okay.

[brooklynislandgirl]

@wardogsong​

Tell Me No Questions... || Accepting 

It could have been something like '…hey kid, what are you doin'…' or '…Beth? Don't…' or maybe it was nothing at all, that he just appears on the rooftop of her building, tucked into the shadows with the only thing on him not blending into the shadows being his face. What was there some kind of Bat-signal that tells him someone, somewhere, is in trouble? Who does he think he is? She doesn't need an avenging angel. She needs peace and quiet to finish her bottle. To sink to its bottom, drown in tanins. Sink into dreamless sleep. If she's really lucky, if she's been really good, she doesn't wake up at all. He of all people should understand. But as she sits on the rail, the night breeze running fingers through her hair, he takes a few steps forward. Hand held up. Slow as a winter night. The way she'd approach a stray. For whatever reason that incenses her. A grater on her nerves rubbing her raw. She feels his voice more than she hears it. She picks at the pack of cigarettes beside her. Chooses one and pulls it out before she licks her lips. Sets the filtered end against them and flicks open the trench-style lighter. A zippo though the inscription on it can't really be made out clearly from where he's stopped. She holds it between the first joints of her index and middle fingers. Thumb pressed against the tips of ring and pinkie ones. A deep drag makes the cherry flare at the end. Two or three heartbeats and she's exhaling. The cough does two things. Speaks to how incredibly stale it is and that she's not even a smoker, no matter her actions. The other hand? She points her wine glass at him. Rim stained with her lip-balm. She makes a sound in the back of her throat. Neither laugh nor grunt nor sigh. A chimera of all three, maybe. "What? Like we're friends now, Frank? Like you care about me? Frank Castle's little broken bird. Always opens her door. Always dere wi' bandages and coffee and nevah aks f' any t'ing in return." She shakes her head and for a moment the world swirls around her in kalidescope. There's two, three, seven of him. At least he coalesces back into himself. Thank goodness, she can't manage just that one much less multiples. "Wha-what's wrong? Wi' me or everyt'ing else? Hope ya settle in cause dat's a long list-" He tells her not to do that. "Short lis' den. You wan me t' admit I'm a freak? Too late, you've benefit from dat bit of news. How you t'ink I keep you ~or anyone~ on dey feet? I drop out of med school before my las' year, an' even I don' believe I was evah dat good. People nowadays call it a lotta words, mos' of dem unkind. But me? Simple. Full of tru'd. I'm a witch. A darn good one too. I hear…I hear people's pain, dey bodies callin' out. Sicknesses growin' in dem. Poisons dey take. New life before dey fear to take tests. When dey soul is so tired, it's ready to lay down. Alla time, every day. Yours, even." Maybe Frank's the loudest. "An' for all dat? For everyone I was evah able to save? I couldn't do f' him." She taps the brass lighter with her nail. "I lived his las' moments, you know? Felt him fallin'. Could taste his terror, hear him screamin'. An den… not'ing. Called it an accident." Full air-quotes. "Afghanistan. You know. You're familiar wi' dat place. Dey sent home all da parts of him dey could find. His tags. His crucifix. His leg. It's all we could put in da family crypt, but dey nevah gave da details. Top secret Pararescue mission, wor'd a dozen posthumous medals. But my braddah was a good man. He was. He raise me. He was my bes' friend, my confidant, da oddah half of my soul. An' I couldn't…I no could do anyt'ing. How is…how is dat fair?" Her face twists. Lips pulled tight, eyes squeezing half shut. He's never seen them fully closed if he thinks about it long enough. Deep lines edge her eyes. Her lips. "O-or do you wan' me t' admit…I really am broken? Genius intellect… but chemically imbalanced. Eiddah too happy or too sad. Stupid an' dangerous an' sloppy, dey say. Bipolar. Pretty word for crazy. Dey say it's because of Turner syndrome. Goes hand in hand wi' weak heart. Short stature. Brittle bones. Late bloomin' an' early menopause, linked to da kine makes me incapable of havin' children…so da line dies wi' us, him an' me. An' mebbe…mebbe it's for da best. I can't fix me, Frank…an' neiddah can you…" She slips down off the edge of the building, and for a moment has to cling to the demi-wall so she doesn't fall flat on her face; she's had more of the bottle of syrah than she remembers.

"Jus'…jus' go home. Save yaself trouble jus' dis one time.."

[lubberjack]

Out of the Dark

03/07/2019, 00:13

Drowning in this desolate sea of emptiness, wandering the plains of a lonely desert, I begin to think to myself; what is living really worth? As these dark thoughts race through my mind, enveloping every nook and cranny, a painful sob escapes from somewhere deep within my chest accompanied with an all consuming ache. My breathing quickens, and I start to notice the dryness of my mouth. The tears soon follow, streaking down sideways on my face and staining my pillowcase. Here I am, alone. Lying on my bed, in this corner of my bedroom, my supposed safe space. The room is dark, with only the red flashing neon of the clock displaying 17:05. It must be broken, but I haven’t the energy to fix it. I want to be free. Suicidal isn’t the word to describe it. I’m just so sick and tired of being here. Wake up, go to school, go home, sleep, repeat. A never-ending cycle of being reminded that my existence, my purpose, is nothing but to become another cog in the machine. 

21/10/2021, 13:42

A throbbing pain emerges from the back of my head followed by the flurry of salty tears I failed to hold back. With silenced sobs escaping from every breath, I look around the classroom with tear-brimmed eyes, noticing my lack of attention. Still, it feels as though all eyes are on me. I can feel them burning a hole through the back of my head, worsening the pain. In a weak-willed attempt I shut my eyes to block the tears, blocking out the classroom’s commotion and the teachers’ own voice as well.

Years before, a hungry all consuming emptiness had burrowed itself deep in my heart, devouring every part of me it could at every moment in my life. Its parasitic nature taking everything and leaving nothing, transforming me into a shell of who I once was, only navigating my lifeless body through to its eventual conclusion.

I despise the person I’ve become. The hatred I feel towards the world, its people and what it does, it’s an itch I can never fully satisfy. Time will pass and I will continue to find more ways to hate the world. I hate the people I’m supposed to love for not seeing my suffering. 

The tears become uncontrollable and my sobs become more audible. This time, everyone’s noticed. My teacher, annoyed at how I’ve disrupted the lesson, only raises his voice to belittle my behaviour.

“Alex, are you paying attention?”

25/06/2024, 16:05

Sleep, wake, school, work, repeat. A ceaseless torture. Am I supposed to feel this way? Everywhere I go is a painful reminder of an existence which provides no value to its world. A reality where I am nothing. A boring dystopia. What is the point in my being?

“Hey, are you open?” A customer, whose trolley is filled to the brim of what seems to be his family’s weekly shopping, awaits patiently at the end of the register.

“Of course, let me help you.” I reply, the voice seemingly unfamiliar. A ceaseless torture, the circle of life.

[san8ny]

robber ellie falling in love with victim reader😭

Something.

?: tried experimenting with angst / Older!Divorced!Reader x Younger!Robber!Ellie / Bi!Reader

“and you decided on here of all places?” You ask for what seems like the hundredth time, cleaver in your hold waving in the air all too closely for Ellie’s liking.

“Fuck— yes, lady, like I said, I just get paid to do this shit.” She groans, struggling against the ropes you had her embraced in, “What kind of knots even are these?..”

“Now, i’ve never really had to use this up until now..”

She feels her eyes widen, color draining from her face at the implication, “Woah! H-hey, you wouldn’t need to. We can find a compromise—

“You tried stealing my father’s urn.

Ellie’s winces at the weight of your words, her soiled plan gone to waste, “I thought it was a regular vase.. but— but with that being said, I didn’t succeed so you don’t need to be so brutal! Eh?‘Whaddya say?”

You stare at her for a rather long time before taking the knife and inching it towards her,

Ellie’s entire body tenses up, teeth clenching and her eyes shutting to prep for her seemingly inevitable demise—

Instead, you lightly poke her chest with the knife experimentally, “You’ve got like, no boobs.”

“WHAT THE FUCK? O-oh my god, you’re a pervert..”

“You’re in my house.”

“THAT DOESN’T JUSTIFY IT!”

“Back on topic! Why my place?”

“Needed the cash, how else?” She spits, gaze still never meeting yours fully

“That bad?”

“Wouldn’t be robbing people if I didn’t, would I?” She snaps aggressively, though it was expected

“You know, you should be nicer to me.” You say, reaching over back for your knife threateningly. She seems to quiet down at that, relaxing her shoulders as she obediently nods,

“I think i’d rather you just call the police at this poin, lady..” Ellie whispers, not having the willpower to deal with your manical interrogations, “My dad is sick, alright? He’s on the verge of dying, and I need that money for his treatment. Content now?”

After a brief pause, you speak up,

“Tell you what, you give me proof of this.. and I might be graceful enough to do something for you.” You thumb her bangs, separating each strand to reveal the glistening beads of sweat that pool at her auburn hairline.

“Huh, why?” Her head raises at your all-too gracious proposal, what exactly were you playing at? Pay the person trying to rob you? It’s laughable.

“Well..” you tilt your head, “You’re interesting”

Eventually, you do let her go, informing her of an easier way out than she came in. However, a deep pit in her stomach tells her she’d had been safer with cops than with whatever you were.

The following week, she’s being put to absolute work once she’d validated her father’s bills with you— from scrubbing floors to literally helping you wash your hair in that stupidly huge bathtub you have— she wants to hate you. no, she does! She hates you with every fiber in her. So, why does she feel so strongly opposed to seeing you interact with your husband everytime he’s back from his job? Maybe she hates him too? Yeah, that must be! Ellie hates everything to do with you by proxy, including your husband.

“Have you ever considered marriage, Eleanor?” You ask out of the blue, politely cutting your steak as you two sit across from each other at the dinner table, your husband not being present, per usual, not like he ever is. “My name is Ellie, not..whatever that is.”

You grin at her response, “Aren’t you too old to be going by a nickname though? Especially one as infantile as Ellie? It sounds like a pet-name if i’m being honest.”

She feels a vein threatening to pop as she points her fork at you, “Well, it’s my name so either call me it or not.”

There it is. The way you stare at her even when she’s slightly out of line. It’s a mixture of both amusement and surprise. Like she was some sort of entertainment for you.

“Ellie it is.” You softly say, smiling as you chew your food.

She hates the way it rolls off your tongue smoothly, no sign of condescension in it despite your previous words.

She hates how she feels something else stirring other than supposed hatred.

The other time she’s noticed this odd-feeling of hers rear it’s ugly head, was when you two had visited a bath-house, you stripping with ease as you walk the small steps they have before relaxing into the steamy water. Ellie stands there awkwardly, watching as you let your hair-bun down, all stress exiting your body once the sensations of the water settle around you.

“Well, aren’t you joining me, Ellie?”

She bites her bottom lip in an anxious fashion, almost fighting herself whether or not she’d let herself get that close to you. Regardless, one overpowers the other so she, like you, quickly sheds her clothing, stepping into the pool experimentally, however, she maintains a moderate space inbetween you two, careful not to ever let her body even touch a bristle of hair on yours.

Facing across from you, she studies the way your eyes are closed, soft crows feet at the corners— you were only 31 as she learnt, and already seemed so tired of the life you lived, having to run an entire estate while your— fuck, she couldn’t even recall his name— husband, ran business elsewhere. Ellie saw and took care of you more than she’d ever seen him done. I mean, what did you even see in him— ..what is she saying?

At the realization, she turns her gaze away from your face, eyes instead busying themselves with the small ripples the water makes.

“You never answered my answer.”

She doesn’t seem to want to avert her gaze from the water just yet, but speaks, “I don’t answer alot of the questions you ask if you haven’t noticed.”

“So will you answer one if I ask now?”

“Why should I?” She scoffs at your bluntness, if she didn’t want to answer a question, it’s not like you’d force it out of her.

“I see.” You say, before standing up to dry yourself off with a towel. At this, Ellie seems alarmed. What happened? Why’d you leave so suddenly? Why— why does she seem to care recently more than she’d like?

A reasonable amount of time had passed since the bathhouse, and you seemed to forget about it reasonably quicker. Almost immediately, actually. Currently, you were hauled up in your study while Ellie sweeped the hallway flooring. Upon arrival to your door, she’s met with a quick ‘I’d like to be alone, thank you!’ She rolls her eyes, knocking again. When ignored again, she opts for a 3rd time, before you open the door in irritation, “What— Oh, it’s you, Ellie! Hello!”

“Yes, yes, it’s me, can I come in? I have to tidy up this room before I can clock it for the night.” She says briefly, attempting to enter the room before you block her way with a nervous smile, “I don’t think this room is obligatory, you can just skip it and leave.”

“Uh, no, I’d like to it now rather than have it pile up tomorrow.”

“That’s really not necessary, I mean it, i’ll clean it even.” You try one last time of persuasion. However, this earns you a blank state and an occasional eye-twitch.

Sighing, you step to the side, “If you insist..”

Ellie looks around as you return to your desk, massaging your temples as you seem focused on a slight-stack of documents. I mean, she hadn’t seen you this stressed since the time you were told the oak-tree in the grand-garden had to be cut down because the neighbors were complaining about it obstructing sunlight to their meek vegtable plants. You went though with it, with the help of Ellie’s shoulder and a couple of shirts she had to run through each time you soaked them with your tears.

“I thought you said you had an accountant for taxing?” she asks, dusting the bookshelves, “I do,” You say, biting the cap of your pen as you twirl yourself in the swivel-chair, “these are divorce papers.”

It’s almost like time itself stops when those words dawn on Ellie. You’re..divorcing whatshisname? It’s like a fever dream. Almost surreal. Sure, you two never seemed all that in-love but you had your moments like when you’d kiss his cheek before he departs for whatever country he had shit to do in, I mean, that’s..romantic, right?

“12 years i’ll never get back down the drain. This, is why I ask you if you’d ever marry. Could you ever dedicate your life to another for it to be wasted like this?” You snap your fingers to signify time, bitterly laughing at Ellie’s solemn expression, “Don’t look at me like that, I liked you better than the others because we mutually agreed not to pity eachother.”

There it is, that feeling she faces when these moments spring up on her.

It’s not pity, it’s more like understanding where you’re coming from— but that’d be sympathy. Ellie doesn’t feel quite sympathetic about it, I mean, rich people don’t exactly feel that anyways but, she wants you to be the exception. You’re not like whatever the bunch are. You don’t frequent country clubs and you don’t go seeking elaborate affairs to spice your life. You’re an unsatisfied woman.

“I was young, you know? When my family heard of the marriage, they immediately called me mentally unwell— his family? Even worse. Guess what they immediately came to as reasoning? Witchcraft. It’s comical, isn’t? Me using spells to make a man of all things want me. If I did that, i’d be with Christian Bale, I tell ‘ya! I should’ve taken my signs then when he wouldn’t defend me, but I chalked it up to his fear of confrontation. ” You share, sipping your tea, “Older Men do nothing but leech off your youth. Don’t be like me, Ellie.”

“I won’t.” She finally says, though her throat tightens up, making her voice extra quivery rather than the assertion she was going for.

“Oh dear, don’t tell me my cautionary tale scared you?”

“No! No! It didn’t. I was just wondering, does your rule .. also apply to women?”

A brow is raised in response to the question, “I’d say so, though it’s a more common practice among that accursed other gender.” You kid, smiling. Ellie’s lips slightly pull into their own smile, her worrying expression now relaxing when she thinks you hadn’t caught onto her words yet.

“Do you like older women?”

At that question, Ellie feels the embarrassment return double the amount, slightly ruffling her short hair as she feels the hotness reach her cheeks, “I’m indifferent.”

Ah.

You look out the window before looking at your ring, “I don’t suppose your answer is supposed to imply dual-affection?”

She sighs, continuing to sweep, “I only like women, miss.”

…

“I suppose a women as a lover would be nice.”

Ellie’s heart races at this, is..this an opening? What exactly were you trying to do by saying this?

“Have you ever been with one, Ellie?” You tease lightly

Oh, how she wished the ground would swallow her whole.

After a brief pausing to catch both her breath and recollection of thoughts “..No, ma’am.”

“Want me to be your first?”

How this turnt into many illustrious nights with Ellie warming your the bed had become something both of you couldn’t come with an answer for other transactional sex.

How scandalous would this be if it got out? A well known older, recent divorcee seeking comfort in the arms of her 20 something year old house-hand. It would only intensify rumors, not that you ever cared, but..

“I won’t let you ruin yourself.” You softly whisper, sweeping a light tucking of hair behind her ear, “You’re too sweet for your own good, Ellie..”

That night, while Ellie slumbers, you pull together her seemingly last paycheck, wads of cash together into an envelope that could easily total above 20,000 as you place them near her pillow.

When she does awake, she’s brought to the empty idea of you, slot next to her feeling cold and empty. Where did you go?

Instead of a verbal answer, she’s given one in the form of payment and a brief letter:

‘Will be enough for your father’s bill. Collect your stuff at once and leave.’

Even when she does leave— she says nothing, catching a glimpse of you sat on the stump of the old oak-tree in what seems to be deep thought.

As per usual, Ellie’s last to saying everything

“Anyone could have seen she wasn’t in the right of mind.” The elderly ladies exchange amongst themselves, “I just didn’t expect it to be in such bad taste. Nobody is going to buy that home.’

Ellie’s fingertips brush against the ‘SELLING HOME’ sign they’ve posted up, the other 20 she’s ran off with clearly not stopping the process of this house being sold.

How long has it been since you left her behind again?

[cracksofmtdoom]

Well nothing shocking here. It is 4 am and I’m up. Still got a bit of crack. Well not exactly but at least a hit or two. Yay!! It has now become nearly impossible to see any way out of this mess. Both of us are just doing the wrong thing over and over and over. I had really hoped that she could be strong enough to keep me from falling further. Be the rock that I really need. But she has instead followed me down this pit of failure and pain. It hurts me badly to see her in this state. It takes a heavy toll on her physically and mentally. She does not take proper care of herself. We have a void between us. The drugs cause the same goddamn problems each and every time. And the stress of having to come up with the money for this vile soulless cocksucker kills me. I hate him. But yet here I am yet again smoking his product. I am sick. I am an addict. I am powerless. I’m wasting the precious time that I should be spending with my son. Wow. I had typed a whole new sentence or two regarding the Hellicorn but it did not get saved somehow. Ok take 2.

Oh the countless times that I have failed. At sooo much for sooo long now. It needs to end. Period.

I have failed many. All of them ones whom I claim I love and care for. And yet almost each one them still, without question, genuinely love me. I am worthy of love. I am. I deserve to have a healthy happy productive meaningful life again. They are all pulling for me and want to see me happy, at peace, sober and alive again. I long for that. I have an absolutely incredible family that I am so very grateful, proud and blessed to be part of. We are all kinda fucked up in our own strange ways. But we are family. We look out for each other, take care of each other. Love and respect each other. It’s a beautiful thing. I shut them out, I fell victim to the family affliction of addiction. As my father, his father and his father’s father. It isn’t isolated to one side or the other, but I believe it is the Bartels bloodline which is more influential if that word makes sense. Anyway, it’s an awful soulless faceless monster which consumes all that was and is good in you. It is ugly. It is sick. It cares for nothing. It begins to kill the soul. I have to wonder after this much time lost and on a frantic pace, what remains of my soul…. I know that it’s still there. Battered, burned and broken. But there and desperately clinging to me. I need to let go. Enough is enough. I do want to feel alive again. Intermission

I do enjoy this font. Cursive writing is cool. It’s a dying thing though. They no longer teach it in school. No need when you don’t really have to write, typing being the majority of time

Strange little thought stream I guess. And I was just thinking of the fact that I have a lot of people to make amends with. To not let their continued love and support be in vain. I have long standing relationships that I would like to rekindle when possible. I have so many things I want and need to do and be to be the best possible father to B. I’ve been a terrible father and have let him down far too many times and missed out on a lot of important time and events in his life. He’s at a delicate point at this age. I was already on the wrong path by his age. I need to be there for him. Goddamn. How awful I am. This twisted mockery of me that is. There is good in me. I am a good person and deserve to love myself and those around me. To put this burden aside and stop the madness and the continuing suffering. I am a father and that is an awesome responsibility and a great privilege to have the opportunity to do good, to instill values and wisdom and praise and love the human being that you created and give him the best you possibly can and show him what a real father is like.

[cclearstars]

you changed my life entirely and now i cannot do anything about it. no matter what, i can no longer continue to make a family. want my silver lining? there isn’t one because we aren’t here together right now. why the fuck would i see anything good in this. everything changed for me and nothing changed for anyone else. i didn’t get to go through this and plan for the future out for embryos and all of that right after getting the most devastating news of my life… if i could just tell myself then and protected my heart, i could have lied to you and everyone and said that abortion is what i wanted too.. then everyone including you could have gone on with your lives. if i get an abortion maybe he will love me more. “if i get an abortion maybe he’s right and he’ll be with me because a kid would be forcing him to be a partner.” imagine feeling that while feeling your body changing…

but if i had lied and lied at least i would have been protecting someone else’s peace.. as i always do.

i grasp at straws and i am so used to being starved of love and attention. not recognized as a person, friend, or mother… i am so used to being used only when needed for something. i am so used to receiving nothing unless i’m giving physically. so at least if i give someone my body, they are paying attention to me as a human being for that short amount of time. otherwise, i don’t exist.. and that’s how it’s gone… over and over and over..

you can’t give me any understanding for that and that means there’s no chance for us? is that really how it should go down? i don’t think so but if i reach out, i’m the needy one who can’t respect anything. so, whatever, i’ll protect your peace and shut the fuck up. i’ll protect your peace and not send novels. i’ll protect your peace because i don’t want to be here anymore. i hate my life. everything i do makes me sick and i no longer have any sense of feeling loved from anyone. not even her. plenty of people grow up without parents are are okay. i’ve accepted that a memory is good enough at some point, and that does scare me. but living every day like i am right now it torture and i can’t do it anymore.

[apoapsis]

                    There’s always a deepset dissatisfaction in the lack of reactivity he receives from Sombra, something viscerally frustrating that coils within him when she calmly steps out of every line of antagonism he could throw her way. As far as SIEBREN was concerned, there was a degree of transparency in arguments; how the melting point of one’s temper would most often lead to brief utterances of truth. A refusal to meet his hostility without some degree of equal harshness often implied insincerity– something unequivocally on-par with Sombra’s track record. 

Her further remark of them both being caged only makes his feverish blood further boil beneath his glacial surface, a momentary flash of anger rendering the piece of solid steel clutched within his fingers to a crumpled clump of steel within his fist. What would she know of being caged? She wasn’t the one that had to ask someone to help her slip out of the facility unattended– what did she honestly understand about having others executing medical decisions for her under the implication that she was not lucid or coherent enough to answer for herself? The piece is looked over with a degree of disdain as she continues on, the astrophysicist’s back to her. “What does it fucking matter what a “date” is supposed to be?” We aren’t friends. “God, I already fucking told you what I would consider appealing– it was an analysis of your stupid fucking hypothetical, and here you are, extrapolating as if I’m the one begging you to take me somewhere.” It’s the way she can’t really contain the giggle; as if she's somehow won the argument purely as a result of not engaging him. it’s impossible to feel like she’s ever taking him seriously– and for that fucking matter, did anybody ever truly seem to take him seriously?

                    It’s been a life spent of people just…. fucking laughing at him.  

Whatever.

                    Just like everything else, he’ll shut it down.

It’s difficult to suppress it, to swallow it all down without choking– but he’s done it before, and he can do it as many times as it takes in this wretched, awful place. “-- Tch. Why would I bother? You’re obviously so preoccupied with your own little web of interests and SIGMA, what time is left over for me?” It’s jaded, but consigned– lacking the heat his temper carried from before, as the ruined piece is haphazardly chucked to a far-flung corner of his laboratory to remove it from his sight, before beginning to pick through the pile more calmly. He won’t comment on the inhumane aspect of his degradation, it makes him absolutely sick.

                    “... I don’t like to go anywhere, anyway, so I guess it really doesn’t matter.” SIEBREN mutters instead, dejectedly beginning to press another two pieces together to force them to knit together. “This place is… miserable– but it’s far more demoralizing for me to have to return here from outings. I... I truly don’t understand how SIGMA can seek to go outside so freely despite knowing that he will, inevitably, have to return to the abuse. I don’t want to enjoy anything that can be so easily removed from me.” Then again, he may just not know how to. 

“Everything is always so temporary– I can’t fucking stand it, Sombra.”

"Ay, Dios mio. You mean to tell me sometimes young people do human things like sex and alcohol? What is this world coming to." She doesn't even sound irritated, it's like distant and amused. It's very easy to push his buttons. Or, more accurately, to roll all over them by mistake. The hacker listens to all of that, her singular eyebrow arching more and more as his frustration seems to bubble out of him. For all his age, she supposes that being stuck in a prison for an extended period of time with just Sigma for company didn't do much for his social skills.

Fortunately, she didn't expect him to - and just as before, breezes right past his attempts to insult her. She gets the frustration. Her leash is longer than most.

"We're both in cages, viejo. Mine's just a little fancier." No need to delve into details, she isn't here to argue over who's got it worse. Says it gentle-like, even, after her eyebrow's arch abates and a more neutral expression settles on her features.

There's something of a giggle, and she's aware that it's probably not going to help the situation if she's giggling at his anger - it's just, sometimes she feels like she's in on this joke that nobody else is. "Viejo, you're the one that brought up impressing anybody," she reminds him - shit, it was her that told him it wouldn't be necessary in the first place. "And anyway, dates are supposed to be like, what both people want anyway. Right? Not like I'd bring you to a gay bar. Unless I wanted casualties, but that's what the Widow's for."

She just can't take her snippy friends anywhere unless it's like a fucking graveyard or something. They're so grim. Granted, so is she, but she's better at hiding it underneath a veneer of whatever emotion feels most appropriate. Lies on lies on lies. Her expression does soften, though, when his voice becomes gentler at the end. Like that bubble of frustration has popped and now he's a little more deflated after venting his frustration for all of his issues on her.

But she's pretty sure she's the best company available to him, outside of like... Widow. She can imagine them quietly and grumpily working alongside each other. It's kind of cute. "Yeah, the standard fare sucks. I did mean it when I told you I could cook for you, you know. Not all the time, obviously, I have my missions too. Seems kind of fucked up and inhumane to lock someone up and not give them anything that makes life worth living."

Does she take food weirdly seriously? Well, yes. And for all of his insensitivity, he's still an elder and he has no family to speak of (does Sigma count?). He should be taken care of, not shackled like this, but - she can't save him. She can't even save herself. She just tries to make it a little easier. Maybe then it would be worth everything she's had to do.

[crimeronan]

can you talk about chronic illness themes in greywaren pretty please I’m so curious what you thought about the conclusion or lack therof

i've had this in my inbox for weeks and keep thinking about it and like. on the one hand i want to answer on the other hand i don't enjoy spending a lot of time talking about things i don't like. but i think i've nailed down the broad shape of my grievances wrt chronic illness real quick, so here's this and moving on

i think the first 2/3rds of greywaren were perfectly suited in tone to what dreamer trilogy had set up and there were Really good questions raised about matthew and jordan and declan and ronan and hennessy, i also think hennessy's arc (and the ronanessy culmination) was the only one that felt like it actually followed through on the chronic illness themes that had been set up. i was very very interested in jordan's thing about the act of creation keeping her awake, there's some good metaphors about artist survival there, tho ymmv. i know a lot of people with chronic fatigue aren't fond of it bc making art is Tiring and sometimes you Cannot Do It but tbh what i didn't get from jordan i got fine from hennessy so. that's all fine. then the last few chapters of the book take a hard transition into "now i have to wrap this whole universe up prettily to avoid rude tweets" and that apparently meant not having any messiness on the page, which is a shame because complex nuanced messiness is where stiefvater's writing most thrives.

adam and ronan's resolution was boring they didn't fix any of the things that were a problem wrt ronan's chronic illness and adam's Everything, joining souls in space is stupid, they already KNEW they loved each other, the love was not the PROBLEM, the problem was that they were on fundamentally incompatible life paths and loving each other DOES NOT MAKE THOSE COMPATIBLE.

declan and matthew's resolution was nonexistent, i'm actually Very Okay with the whole "matthew walks home" plotline but i needed his POV of that journey and i needed WAY more on the page from declan at the end there and i needed WAY more than "i can be fine relying on you guys bc bryde told me i should" when declan's treatment of matthew up til then had shown NO indication that matthew can EVER trust him.

bryde is the sickest person in the series and his end was far too ambiguous for my taste, especially when up to that point he and matthew had been interrogating the EXACT themes i'd wanted to see about what it means to be a dream and to be this kind of chronically ill. like we were almost somewhere there and then we just dropped everything about.... everything.

meanwhile adam is torn apart on the astral for days and days and days but wakes up fine and then bam, we flip forward 4 years and he's normal and there's no indication of any potential issues even tho there were themes traced all the way back to cdth about him and hennessy having similar chronic illnesses (thru lace metaphor). the epilogue firmly establishes that everyone is Better and that they all have stuff Figured Out Now and while i like knowing where people end up, i don't like a resolution that boils down to "and now we never need to struggle again."

i did not like greywaren's takes (or lack thereof) on chronic illness because it felt like we can't exist in a "joyful comfort read" because chronic illness is Bad and the author wants to avoid nasty tweets about doing Bad Things to characters.

i want to know what greywaren would have been if its main purpose had been to carry thru the series themes instead of to make trc fandom shut up and feel pleased about their blorbos and move on. stief talked about how she had to do a lot of rewriting with the dreamer trilogy up through greywaren bc she was so angry about being sick and. i want the angry book. i want the drafts that weren't pared down and rearranged and cut apart and spliced together to appease every normie person who's never felt constant pain or fatigue a day in their lives. the first two books were for me and will always have been for me, they are The Most Personal Books I Have Ever Consumed, but in order for greywaren to be for me, it would have had to Not be for certain people, and. well.

greywaren is for everyone.

so. shrug emoji. i guess.

[simplysable]

Sick Resident Evil Lords and Their S/O Because I Crave Hurt/Comfort

Alcina Dimitrescu

She says that she’s fine, but she, in fact, is not

She and her daughters do the same thing when they’re sick so you could see through that facade in a heartbeat

She was a little flushed, hiding a sniffle, and drinking water instead of tea, wine, or coffee

“My darling, I’m telling you, I’m fine. Stop your fretting and let me work!”

Alcina tries to work, she really does, but you do Not let her

She’s angry with you? Too bad she’s getting bed rest

She’s missing an urgent meeting with Mother? Fuck off they can reschedule

Her daughters won’t leave her alone? They can get sick too for all you care you just need to keep them in one place so they 1.) don’t infect the household and 2.) get better successfully

“How could you tell I was sick? I hid it so well!”

“Alcina, love, you’re wearing a summer dress in winter while being covered in blankets, you’re flushed, and you feel like a furnace. You’re sick.”

“…Well say ‘I told you so’ already and get over here so I can smother you in sick affection.”

Donna Beneviento

She’s better at hiding it than Alcina, but you can still tell

Some of your medicinal herbs and tonics have gone missing, and Donna seems to be requesting you cook soup more often than anything else

Angie is also more docile, and you can hear her complaining from across the manor about a stuffed nose (even though she doesn’t breathe)

While she’s drinking tea or making a doll, you can hear her sniffles and sneezes

“Y/N, if you’re about to say something, you can shove it up your- ACHOO!”

At Angie’s extremely convincing message, you take matters into your own hands

You shut off the sanding machines, you hide the polish and the paint, you hide the screws and the bolts so Donna can’t make any more dolls

You drag her miserable self to bed while she holds Angie like a child’s toy

“I don’t need any help, my love. You don’t know how to heal me, even if it is just a cold.”

You couldn’t heal her her way, is what she meant

You knew this, so you paid a visit to the Duke

In a smiley face shopping bag he gave you was Benadryl, ibuprofen, Motrin, Advil, Vicks VapoRub, and every other over the counter drug you could buy

“Welcome to the world of twenty-first century medicine, Donna!”

Salvatore Moreau

He’s sick all the time, and he’s reassured you that at this point it’s normal for him to have a trash can at every door (just in case)

You didn’t like it, but he was right

You learned to not freak out when new piles of green acid-like substances showed up, but still, not a fan on your part

This was different, you could tell

Instead of vomiting, he was sneezing and blowing his nose constantly, coughing wetly and trying to hide it

“Darling, I’m fine, it’s just a result of the cadou. Mother can fix it at our next meeting.”

No she goddamn couldn’t it was cold season and Salvatore had obviously caught it

You don’t care if it was a “very important meeting” (it was just Mother Miranda mourning her kid and whining about needing a vessel), Sal was staying home

You slap a warm towel over his eyes, make a blanket cocoon, and make him wriggle in there

“Salvatore, I love you, and you’re sick. This is what sick people do to get better. I’ll be at the Duke’s to get some hot soup, you stay here, alright?”

With a grumble (and a smile) from him, you leave, but not before doing the “I’m watching you” move at him

He has no idea how he got so lucky

Karl Heisenberg

This idiot pushes himself so much that he simply chooses to ignore the fact that he’s sick

Either that or he has a Man Cold™️ and there is no in between (for the sake of fluff, I’m going with the first option)

In all honesty, you mistake him for a soldat at first because he’s so dead on his feet

You roll your eyes, grab any sharp object Heisenberg has lying around and prepare to McStab, but then you see the gleam in his glasses and put down the sharp thing

“Jesus, Heis, I was about to stab you! You look dead on your feet.”

At this point he is, but he doesn’t tell you that

You can see that for yourself

When he turns around, his eyes are red and puffy, and he’s paler than normal

He’s also shaking like a dog but you can’t tell because of how many layers he’s wearing

“You couldn’t stab me very well with a fork, hun. Nice try, though.”

You throw it at him and hold his hand, dragging him out of the hot factory area and bringing him to his room

He’s too hot and too cold at the same time, and he’s too tired to say no to being coddled

“Dumbass.”

You watch him while he sleeps and are always at his side, making sure he doesn’t get up and start working again

He pretends to hate it when he’s better, but he’s so touch starved he doesn’t protest to being coddled very much

Hope you liked the sickness, and I hope that you’re not sick reading this! If so, drink water. Also, at this moment, my requests are closed, but I’ll be going through my previous asks when quarantine eventually starts again. Hope you liked it, and stay safe!