#it was fine and i think it was just me being pedantic

[steaksex]

Ohhhhh im gonna be a pervert forever <- did a little meditation thingamajig in an app i got and the meditation itself was not super helpful just bc of the basis it used BUT. I twitched and got hard when the meditation told me i was doing well. I love being NORMAL !!!!!!

[icewindandboringhorror]

examining a seemingly normal image only to slowly realize the clear signs of AI generated art.... i know what you are... you cannot hide your true nature from me... go back where you came from... out of my sight with haste, wretched and vile husk

[letteredlettered]

Went to a panel about slash fanfic at a con. Moderator said, "Welcome to the panel about erotica." The words "slash" and "erotica" were used interchangeably throughout. Panel was great.

There was a Q&A at the end so I raised my hand and said these terms seemed conflated. Moderator explained she'd run this panel for 10 years and it started out being about slash but drifted into erotica and she never changed the name. (She also said she was glad I brought it up and would keep it in mind for the future of the panel.) The guy on the panel who writes original m/f erotica said that slash and what he writes are basically the same thing. I said I had no complaints about the name of the panel or the panelists, I was just curious about what slash meant to them, and whether slash by necessity had to include sex scenes to be considered slash.

Two panelists answered that slash was romance between men but usually had sex. Eventually one of them did make clear that slash didn't have to have sex but that it was what they wanted to read. Another panelist said that to them slash really just meant dude romance but people wouldn't read their fic unless there was sex so they felt they had to put sex scenes in.

Person came up to me after the panel. Said they felt I didn't get my question answered. Then they explained that since the 70s, 'slash' has been used to mean m slash m romance, meaning explicit and sexual. Then they said it sounded like what I wanted to ask about was shipping. They explained to me that shipping is just wanting the characters to be together but slash meant sex. They explained that since the invention of AO3, people had begun to use the ampersand to mean the fic had two characters who were friends and that the slash was used to denote ships, but even though that punctuation just meant romance, the word "slash" in the last twenty years had become synonymous with explicit fic. I explained I had been in fandom longer than twenty years and this was not necessarily my experience. They said, "Bye!"

Though they seemed confused as to whether what they personally defined as slash had been mainstream since the 70s or since the last twenty years (the person was 24), they were well-meaning. The panel was great. I'd recommend it to anyone, though I'm not stating the name of the con here because I don't want anyone involved to feel this is really a critique of the panel itself. The moderator in particular was superb.

I think that this conversation just brought up a whole lot of feelings for me. I think it bothers me that people still think that all fanfic is smutty, that all slash requires porn, and that all fic must have porn in order to be read. I am familiar with this conflation and feel perfectly fine going to a panel that I think is about slash fic and finding out it's about erotic lit, some of which is fanfic. After all, I like both, and I recognize that fandom mushes these things together and teasing them out into separate strands isn't something everyone--or possibly even most fans--have any interest in. I recognize that I am pedantic to a degree that most people find uninteresting.

I have a little bit more of a problem with the idea that slash is "basically the same" as het, but this was said by only one of the panelists. If your panel is actually about straight up erotica and not slash, then the problem is just the name of the panel.

What I found the most frustrating, however, is that whenever I have this conversation, I feel like the default assumption most of my interlocutors begin AND end with is this: smut is why we're here. And I just don't understand that. Away Childish Things has 44,800 kudos, and it has no smut in it. My next most kudosed fic has almost 15,000 kudos and tons of smut. My next most kudosed fic has almost 14,000 kudos and it doesn't even have a kiss.

I'm not talking about kudos to show off how many I have, or because I think kudos make a point about quality of a fic. They have nothing to do with quality. But they do have to do with popularity, and the truth is, sex doesn't sell. It's something else. It's not good writing. It's not a great plot. It's not in-character characterization. IT'S SOMETHING ELSE. What is it?

I've had people say to me, "Well, you're lettered; it works differently for you." DOES IT??? Maybe they meant that because enough people know me as fic author, people will read my fic anyway, but let me tell you, it's always been this way for me, long before my fic was really popular. The ones with smut did not get more praise and attention. The ones that PEOPLE LIKED got more praise and attention. Do people like fic that has smut in it more than fic without smut? Some of the time! Does there have to be smut for people to like it? NO.

Have I had people tell me they didn't want to read something I wrote because it didn't have smut? YES. But the point I'm trying to make is, there are people who want to read fic that doesn't have smut in it. THEY are your audience for the fic you want to write that doesn't have smut in it. Fic does not have to have smut to be fic; it doesn't have to have smut to be read.

I think part of the reason I get so upset about it is that slash as we know it today didn't just emerge because some people weren't getting to read smut and they wanted to. It emerged because women and queer people and other marginalized communities were not getting to see what they wanted to in mainstream media. They weren't getting sex scenes, but they also weren't getting queer content, they weren't getting stories about sensitive men that defied patriarchal stereotypes of male toxicity; they weren't getting stories about disabled folks and people of color and folks who are into kink and folks who have different lifestyles. To reduce fanfic to porn is to remove the rich history of why it exists and who it exists for.

I asked earlier what makes a fic popular, and to me, it's exactly this. It's when you read a thing and you feel, "this is really satisfying to my id in a way that I am not getting from mainstream media." And sometimes what is satisfying to your id is very horny anal sex. Other times what is satisfying to your id is Bucky Barnes getting a blanket and facing his trauma. Sometimes it's Harry Potter being trans. Sometimes it's Naruto and Sasuke getting to just hold hands as the sun sets. I have no idea who those two people are but boy howdy do I know they just fucking need to hold hands.

But the other reason I get so upset about it is I'm so fucking tired of reading a great fic that devolves into mediocre mechanical porn that is there due to the collective brainwashing that states that this is the ONLY reason ALL of us are here.

Discuss.

[scramratz]

So, I tried reading some articles but really feel like I'm not getting the full/real story. But why is being a hotep a bad thing? It seems like excessive pride in one's unknown/imagined origins but I could be really missing what's between the lines here.

On paper, it's fine, but in practice, hotep ideology promotes a lot of conspiracy thinking, homophobia, transphobia, misogyny, and often antisemitism. These are just a few things I've heard or been told by hoteps

"It's unnatural for black women to have periods. Black women didn't have periods until they started eating pork"

Being gay isn't natural for black people. It's a white concept that's used to emasculate black men

There's a hollywood conspiracy to put black men in drag as a form of degradation ritual

The media and the banks are controlled by Jewish people

That just off the top of my head. My mom was just straight-up racist towards Asians, didn't "believe" there were Natives Americans (natives are also African in her world, which if you wanna be pedantic isn't technically false), jews have never be persecuted, Egypt was a homogeneous culture with no connection to other countries like Greece, interracial dating and marrage is bad, and being gay/trans is white people shit. Also she'd call me melanin deficient (which is hilarious in a vacuum) despite being the reason I'm mixed

[lily-alphonse]

Sebastian's Age

Ok please excuse me while I get autistically pedantic about this but I do not believe Sebastian is 2 years older than Maru. How would that even happen? He’s not 20. He’s not 22. Sebastian is 26.

FOLLOW ME OK LETS GO FOR A WALK.

Canon Facts:

Maru is his half-sister

Demetrius does not have a single line of dialogue about Sebastian

Sebastian has only negative things to say about his step father

Sebastian and Robin have no lines about a biological father

Are you telling me that Sebastian was raised by this man from infancy? He was raised from infancy, with this man as his only father figure, with Maru as his sister very close in age, and has no relationship with either of them?

Is it technically possible? Yes, I will give you that! But it is far less likely. Especially in fictive works, we have to consider the more likely scenario.

The more likely scenario being: Demetrius entered Sebastian’s life when he was old enough to reject him as a father figure. At the earliest, I would say seven years old. But even that feels young? The average seven year old will WANT a father figure unless something goes terribly wrong (which I headcanon it does, but thats another post). Then, a year or so later, Maru was born.

By my conservative calculations that puts Maru at 18 and Sebastian at 26 for the events of the game. And it makes sense! A 26 year old could absolutely be working as a freelance software developer, AND still live at home.

A 26 year old man can be emo. What would be stopping him, he works freelance and everything? Maybe you think he’s younger because of the band, but again, can’t someone be in a band at 26? He is a working adult with a hobby.

I guess if you really hated Demetrius you could headcanon that Demetrius refused to see Sebastian as his son, and then that would excuse how he could be younger and still not have a relationship with him. But you'd have to also assume Robin was a pretty lackluster mom to get married to a man who refused to even try to love her baby.

Maybe you'd excuse it as them having had a falling out. Maybe there was a time when they did see each other as family, and the relationship fell apart. Okay, I think you'd still have to do some mental gymnastics to explain how Robin had a baby with one man and then another baby with a different man almost immediately. Maybe if Sebastian was the product of a one-night stand, and Demetrius was fine taking in a woman and her newborn baby. But again that feels like more of a stretch to me.

DISCLAIMER: Im open to everyone having their own headcanons, its just odd to me how prevailing fanon has him at ~22 and Maru 20 when that does not make sense to me considering the family dynamic

Am I missing something? Do you agree? If you have an alternate explanation I will be checking reblogs of this post

[manstrans]

I agree with a lot of "fiction is just fiction" takes but you know I don't think it's said enough that like, there are a few lines that probably shouldn't be crossed, by which I mean bigotry. like, maybe it's the autism but I think it's weird to go back and forth between "all fiction is fine it's not real" and "south park is extremely bigoted and has set back progress against bigotry which is bad"

idk to me it's the same as how swear words can be offensive to some people but are ultimately just words, while slurs are also offensive but more than just words, they're tools of oppression

idk I just think there's a difference between like, someone's weird kink and stereotyping minorities. I mean obviously there's more nuance than that (who's writing this? what purpose does it serve? is it meant to be subversive?) and maybe I'm being pedantic but like. just my thoughts

[avelera]

Thinking about the lovely “New Inn Through the Ages” post by @virgo-dream in terms of alternatives to the popular “Hob built the New Inn for Dream after the missed 1989 meeting” headcanon.

- Quick disclaimer, this headcanon always mildly (and irrationally, this is fandom after all) irked me because to my pedantic, archaeology-obsessed ass, the New Inn was obviously visually at least 200 years old just based on the brick work so “built” never really worked, at most Hob could have purchased or renovated it if it was in response to 1989. To some that’s splitting hairs but what can I say, I never pretended to be rational about dumb history stuff.

- THAT SAID, it would be kind of interesting if Hob does own the New Inn but not necessarily since 1989, but even earlier. It could even be interesting for him to have built the New Inn in truth but back in the 1700s when the building was actually built.

- Hob appears not just comfortable at the White Horse in its 1889 but at the very least a regular. He recognizes Lou on sight and names her immediately, he knows her nickname at the establishment. This familiarity doesn’t track if this is his first time at the White Horse since 1789.

- After 1689, Hob appears to have opted to buy out a private room for them for their discussion, perhaps in response to his return in fortunes but also perhaps based on the memory of being nearly thrown out in 1689 and interrupted by Shaxberd in 1589. The guy is learning how to better manage their encounters. So it stands to reason that after they were interrupted by Constantine in 1789 as a result of her paying off the proprietor, that Hob would simply buy out the inn for 1889.

- Hob owning the White Horse in 1889 actually rather tracks with his familiarity with Lushing Lou and the fact that he’s so at ease there and clearly arrived well before Dream. He speaks to Lou with authority and is dressed with signs of at least middle class prosperity. Being the owner of the White Horse tracks with that level of prosperity shown, nothing flashy, after all it’s in a bad part of town these days.

- Thing is, Hob has a mind for business as we see in numerous instances at the centennial meetings. As a result, to me, it wholly tracks that he wouldn’t stop at buying the White Horse, he’d also purchase a few neighboring taverns and inns once he got a hang of the business. (Consolidation of neighborhood pubs under mega corporation ownership in the 1990s is its own interesting side note on this because again, I’m a history nerd.) The New Inn is presented as so close to the White Horse that a graffiti arrow is enough to point it out. That’s very close indeed.

- SO, I think from this it’s reasonable to say that Hob could very well have owned the New Inn as part of one of his business ventures since the 19th century or earlier, perhaps even as a result of the 1789 meeting and “Finding another pub”, perhaps even building the New Inn then in truth either before or after the meeting as an alternative in case another lunatic Constantine shows up. It’s so close by he might have hoped he could persuade Dream with its proximity.

- Right then, if that’s true, why can’t Hob save the White Horse?

- Perhaps after 1889 he simply sold his ownership stake in it. Heartbroken and angry at himself, especially if he’d provided all these contingencies like the New Inn in case of interruptions or other disasters, he might have just felt as much like a fool as in 1589 when he tried to provide a fine meal. Probably best to just give up and stop trying to control matters, since look where that got him.

- So he sells the White Horse. But the other inns don’t have the same emotional stake and business is business, so he sets those up with a “family trust” to keep running, lending the building out to different managers, etc. and simply carries on.

- Cue his look of devastation in 1989 upon learning the White Horse is going to shut down. If he once owned it, it might be a particular gut punch to know he could have prevented this if he hadn’t let his bitterness get the better of him. Despite his best efforts, he can’t prevent it from being condemned.

- LUCKILY he still had his own business interests nearby in the form of those pubs he built or bought centuries ago. He dusts off his paperwork around the New Inn and reassumes direct management (or at least, his nephew does in a few years). The 1789 “nearby pub” contingency might just pay off in the 21st century, who knows? And it worked!

And there you have it. My take on how Hob could have built the New Inn starting from its actual original construction. Very fun to consider too when you check out Virgo’s post and discover that a Mr. Hobert did indeed own it at one point ;)

[wisteriagoesvroom]

gax + corporate/law vibes + ‘The powerpoint was steadily taking over their relationship, something that Max was not willing to stand for.’

gax?? gax!!

power (you make some points): a gax ficlet

rated m, ~1.2k words now also readable on ao3

author babble:

bear in mind i wrote this before i knew more about the Gax Lore i.e. karting together, actually being nice to each other blablabla. you could also just retrofit the vibes and hopefully they still work. anyways!

will throw this up on ao3 when i’m not sitting bleary eyed in an airport

————

If there was one thing that Max Verstappen wouldn’t tolerate, it was George Russell having the monopoly on good PowerPoint presentations. Max had won all four years of debate in College, as well as the dubious title of “most radical deployment of Google Slides templates” at his MBA, and he was not about to be usurped by the other guy in his department who actually knew how to use an animate transition.

“You missed an indent there.” Max says, pointing at the monitor. Yellow and red lights wink at them from the outside, as if to say: you’re both in your mid-twenties, quit wasting it on a computer screen at 11pm on a Wednesday, maybe?

Max is not staring, very determined not to look at his teammate’s facial expression. But George is almost certainly rolling his eyes right now.

“Was coming back to that, alright?” George huffs back. Max is very professional most of the time. But something about how wound up George is, how insanely pedantic he is about everything from semicolons to coffee cup placement for the Directors to taking insanely detailed minutes that nobody except Max reads after the meetings – well. What is it that Nietschze once said? We hate in others what we most identify with about ourselves. Or was that from Twitter? Max does not really use Twitter except to look at Bloomberg News updates and cat videos, so he does not know. And anyway Nietzsche never made a six figure salary.

“It would just be easier if you would let me do it.” Max says.

“Fuck right off, mate.”

“Oh, wouldn’t you like me to.”

“Not now.”

“Just share the link to this. I’ll do it.”

“We agreed to take turns on this.”

“Yes, Russell. But sometimes, the rules are meant to be bent.”

George swivels his chair to Max, then. Fully attempts to pin him with his gaze, commencing an awkward stare-off that lasts way too many seconds and makes Max once again realise that George’s eyes remind him of the expensive fish tank he saw at the Partners’ sushi dinner once. Max doesn’t think those same fish were the ones they ended up eating. But he does remember that dinner because it was the one where the Partners had dangled the promise of a huge promotion if they could help carry the company merger across the line successfully. The problem is, there was only one spot.

George’s distracting aquatic orbitals aside, fortunately, Max (i) never backs down, and (ii) has been told that he has the dead-eyed emotional stare of a robot missing an empathy software upgrade sometimes.

And clearly, the powerpoint was steadily taking over their relationship, something that Max was not willing to stand for.

Max leans back in his chair, stance all mock-relaxed. “Do you want to be out of here before midnight, or not?”

“We’re expensing the Ubers either way, so it doesn’t make a difference to me, mate.”

Fine. If George is so hyperfocused on The Tasks that he’s forgotten the fun part of being Questionably Close Coworkers, so be it.

Max deploys the nuclear option.

He sticks his leg out, nudging the toe of his Pradas onto George’s slacks. And strokes his foot halfway up to a sensitive point on George’s thigh. Max may even flutter his lashes a little.

To his credit, George does not react. Merely swings his eyes like a lamp to Max’s face again. His hand does, however, goes still on the mouse.

“What exactly are you doing?”

“I don’t know.” Max feigns. He knows that George hates, more than anything, anyone getting dirt on his precious Ralph Laurens. But at least he has his attention now. “Was hoping we could move onto the more fun part of the typical evening activities. Maybe.”

“We shouldn’t be doing that again anyway.”

“George.”

“What?”

“That is not what you said the last, hm, fourteen times that we have done this, eh?”

“Who’s counting?”

“I thought you were the most careful of rule followers and data analysis, knapperd.”

George is a human being, but Max is almost certain the other man shakes himself like he’s preening right now.

“Well. It’s what the team likes me for, and it’s what I’ll keep doing.”

“Oh yes. Surely we must keep in mind the team. And the shareholders. They are very important.”

“Quite.”

“But should we tell them that you like it so much, George. When I do this.” Max says. Rising up, fully crowding George in, hands gripping the cool handles of the computer chair. Leaning in to nibble the side of George’s neck.

George swallows. Max watches his throat move.

Next, Max mouths the words onto the side of George’s jaw, stubble prickling his mouth. “And this.”

The click of the mouse continues steadily as Max moves his mouth to the shell of George’s ear. “And let’s not forget. This.”

Max tilts George’s face up fully, then. George’s face is flushed, eyes sparkling, all surprise at the sudden change of pace, but eager, too.

When Max seals his lips over George’s, George groans, and his hands shoot up to Max’s waist immediately. It doesn’t feel quite like winning a deal or a pitch does for Max, but the completion comes pretty damn close.

Max sweeps his tongue into George’s mouth. George opens willingly, like he always does. In the back of Max’s logical brain, a warning sign blares that the computer chair may not be able to support the weight of them both – because they spend a lot of time pretending they don’t work out together at the gym but Max knows exactly what George’s deadlift PB is and it’s pretty damn high for a scrawny looking dude.

And despite the keening protest of said chair, the two of them are both lost to it now. Max jams one knee between George’s legs, George nibbles hungrily at Max’s lower lip, Max thrusts his hips all needy, and maybe if Max is nice about it George might suck him off under the table, and–

Outlook chimes again.

“Blasted piece of shit.” George says, breaking away. His hands go still at Max’s waist. “Why we’re using G-Suite and Microsoft Office at the same time I will never know.”

George squeezes his eyes shut, as if making himself stop this is causing him physical pain. Maybe it’s that or the workflow incompatibility when George tries to move his custom Excel-Trello gantts into a third party API.

And Max won’t lie. He kind of likes it when George gets so irritated about these things. When he cares a bit too much. Because what is Max but exactly like that, too.

“Hazards of a merger, I guess. But without that, I would never have met you, no?”

George makes a noise like he knows what Max means. The other man straightens his shirt collar, and Max runs a hand through his hair. He’s been growing it out lately, because George had made a passing comment at the bathroom sink once about it looking good.

Sleeping with the person competing for the same Chief of Staff position is possibly the worst decision he could’ve made, and Max once dyed his hair platinum blonde. But, they’re stuck here together. Hell is a slightly more tolerable place when Satan’s right hand man looks this good. And knows his coffee order without asking.

Besides. Max is not bothered. He knows that the promotion is his. This is just a minor plot inconvenience.

Later, they will expense the uber back to George’s place, where Max will put his mouth on George’s arse, and give him a practical demonstration of the three different ways he’s learned to elicit pleasure from the male prostate.

George will whimper and whine the whole way through it, and after they’re both sated, they’ll both roll over to check their emails, barely concealing their smiles. They will pretend that what’s happening between them could be as clean as their zero-email inboxes. As if their connection is not violently seeping through containment.

All in the name of team bonding. For the firm. Yes.

(Or this is what they tell themselves, to maintain the illusion, anyway.)

[integra1127grimmreaper]

Should Probably Leave (Joel Miller)

Joel Miller Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Warning: fluff, implied smut, angst

Summary: After being Sarah's babysitter for the past ten years, Joel and you finally act upon your feelings for one another but your chance at a good life pushes Joel to make sacrifice it all. Inspired by - Chris Stapleton's - You Should Probably Leave.

"So, officially part of the workin' class..." a very familiar voice drawls out from behind, causing you to turn around with a broad smile.

"Hey, Joel... thought we weren't comin'."

Joel audibly scoffs, "miss my favorite person's graduation party...? Never", giving you a playful wink then.

You roll your eyes at his words, "favorite person? Only because I've babysat your kid for cheap for the past ten years."

Joel presses a hand to his chest in pretend offense, "ya wound me, Sweetheart."

With another eyeroll, you softly chuckle at him, "where's Sarah?"

"Out back, with the rest of the kids" he nods his head in the direction, "she'll come round to pester ya soon 'nuff."

"Guess she don't need me much anymore now she's a teenager..." you remark disheartened as you think of the once four-year-old little girl that used to cling to like a barnacle.

"Nah, ya still her best friend" Joel attempts to cheer you up.

You respond with a weak smirk, shrugging, "if ya say so."

"Ahem..." Joel clears his throat, awkwardly scratching the back of his head, "got ya a lil graduation gift."

"Really...?" you stare at him in starry-eyed disbelief.

"It's at the house though" he nervously chuckles, "wanted to give it to ya in private, without makin' a fuss"; referring to the house filled with people.

"No-fuss-Miller..." you giggle at his explanation and his chuckles along, nodding.

"Yeah. Come round later and I'll give to ya?"

"Sure thing, Miller" you broadly smile in agreement.

The interaction between Joel and you end when your mother calls you over to talk to someone and you leave Joel to head over to them. What you didn't notice though; was the look of yearning on his face as you walked away from him.

"Hi there..." you smile at Joel when he opens the door for you.

"Hey, c'mon in" Joel flashes you a dimpled smile, stepping aside to allow you entrance.

"Sarah home?" you enquire at how quiet the house was.

"Nope. Sleepover at a friend's" Joel responds, shutting the door.

"Was hopin' we'd do a movie night" you plop onto the couch with a disappointed sigh.

"Sorry to disappoint ya, hun..." Joel plops down next to you, a small gift box in hand.

"That my gift?" you eagerly eye it.

"Ain't we an eager beaver...?" Joel teasingly bobs his head from side to side, handing it over to you then.

"Don't start with me, Miller..." you shoot him a glare, lips twitching in amusement as you open the box.

"Oh my gosh, Joel!" you stared open mouthed at the silver pedant necklace.

Joel shyly smirks at your reaction, "it's a Celtic infinity knot cross. Symbolizes everlastin' love, friendship an loyalty, least what the guy at the jeweler said..."

Your heart couldn't help but skip a beat at the mention of everlasting love. Could he possibly feel the same as you? Then again, he mentioned friendship, so it was only wishful thinking on your side as always. Joel had never once shown any interest you and you were quite sure he never would.

"Want me to put it on for ya?" Joel enquires, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"Sure" you hastily move your hair out the way for him to put on.

"Perfect..." Joel remarks, admiring the pedant resting on your chest.

Reaching up to touch it, your stared starry-eyed at him, "it's beautiful, Joel... thank you."

Joel silently returns the stare; you were absolutely breathtaking, and he wanted to kiss you more than anything at that moment. Knowing that it was quite impossible but not wanting you to leave just yet, Joel offers up something he had never before.

"If ya still keen on the movie night, I don't mind still doin' it... that is, if ya fine with it."

Ecstatic at his offer but not wanting to seem too eager, you teasingly act taken aback, "ya really prepared to sit through a chick flick just to keep me company, Miller?"

Joel scoffs, rolling his eyes at your remark, "as if I ain't done it every time Sarah an ya have a movie night..."

"She always falls asleep halfway through..." you chuckle, nodding in agreement.

"Then ya forced to sit through the rest of it with just my ol' ass for company" Joel drawls in response.

"Ya ain't old..." you scoff, lightly slapping his arm in protest.

"If ya say so" Joel utters out under his breath, giving his head a little shake then, "so, what torture ya got for me this evenin'?"

Reaching for your bag, you flash him a sly smirk, "actually brought two, one to watch with Sarah an one you would enjoy, for after she fell asleep..."

"Really?" Joel's eyes widen in excited interest, "whataya got?"

Taking the DVD out, you playfully wave it in front of his face.

"Oooo... that's one of my favorites!" Joel gasps, snatches it out of your hands in excitement.

"I know" you chuckle in response, "thought I'd repay ya for all the times ya were to finish watchin' all those chick flicks with me."

"Ya a doll!" Joel comment, causing you to lightly blush at his words.

"No problem..."

"This calls for snacks an some drinks, don't cha think?" Joel enthusiastically jumps up from the couch scampering towards the kitchen whilst you shook your head, giggling in amusement.

*

I know it ain't all that late But you should probably leave

And I recognize that look in your eyes Yeah, you should probably leave

'Cause I know you and you know mech And we both know where this is gonna lead You want me to say that I want you to stay So you should probably leave Yeah, you should probably leave

As interesting as the movie was, you found Joel to be way more; sneaking side-eye peeks at him every time you took a sip your drink.

What you didn't know was; that Joel was quite aware of what you were doing, making it extremely difficult for him to fight the urge to just give in and kiss you. As much as he wanted to, Joel knew it was impossible, you were everything could possibly want a woman; smart, fun, strong, and most importantly; you cared deeply for his daughter. Even though you were only twelve years older than Sarah, you were the closes thing to a mother figure she had ever known. Although it seemed that she wasn't fazed by the possibility of you moving away, Joel knew his daughter well enough to know that the girl was shattered by it. You were the most constant woman in her life and soon you would be leaving, it wasn't far off to believe that the girl felt that she was losing her second chance at having a mother. Sarah never knew her real mother, so there wasn't much to miss about her. But you... you were part of her life for the past ten years and that meant the loss of you would hurt far more.

Sarah wasn't the only one being torn apart by the realization though, Joel was too. He wanted more than anything to keep you by their sides, yet he knew it was impossible. You were still young, had your entire life ahead of you, was just about to start the career of your dreams, unlike him. He was washout and old, a father to a teenager and he knew it would be selfish of him to ask you to stay with them. You had your own life to live, even if it meant breaking his and Sarah's hearts in the process.

*

There's still time for you to finish your wine Then you should probably leave And it's hard to resist, alright, just one kiss Then you should probably leave

'Cause I know you and you know me And we both know where this is gonna lead You want me to say that I want you to stay So you should probably leave Yeah, you should probably leave

Like a devil on my shoulder, you keep whisperin' in my ear

And it's gettin' kinda hard for me to do the right thing here I wanna do the right thing, baby

As the movie continued, Joel was finding it more difficult to keep his need for you suppressed, especially when you lean into him to rest your head against his shoulder. Lost in the moment and as if it was the most natural reaction, Joel absentmindedly places his arm around you, pulling you closer to his side.

Attempting your best to hide a satisfied smirk, you begin playing with the taut material of his t-shirt spanning across his middle.

"Whataya doing...?" Joe's voice calls you out.

"Er... nothing" you slowly retreat your hand, but Joel stops it.

"Now why don't I believe ya, Sweetheart...?"

"Don't know what ya mean" you murmur, feeling put on the spot as you attempt to pull away from him.

"Nuh-uh..." Joel quickly responds, gripping your chin to look him in the eyes, "ya know exactly what I mean."

"Joel..." you softly plea, tears of frustration prickling your eyes.

"Jesus..." Joel mutters out at the needy look in your eyes. Not able to any further deny either of you of what you both desperately wanted, Joel's head tips down to capture your lips in a gentle kiss.

Letting out a soft whimper, you reach up to bury your fingers in the back of Joel's hair; allowing him the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth and deepen the kiss.

"Just as sweet as I thought ya would taste..." Joel slur against your lips.

"Less talkin', more kissin'..." you grumble out, causing Joel to chuckle as he pulls you into his lap.

"I got ya, Sweetheart..."

The kiss becomes more heated then as Joel's hands travel up your dress to grip at of your bottom. Letting out an approving at the contact and feeling the swell of Joel's erection beneath, you slowly began grinding down onto it. Breathing out a deep moan, Joel's grip on you tightens as he assists by rocking you against his clothed member.

Breaking from the kiss for some air, Joel rests his forehead against yours, "wanna take this to the bedroom?"

You against him once with a soft whine, "please..."

*

Sun on your skin, 6 am And I been watchin' you sleep And honey, I'm so afraid you're gonna wake up and say That you should probably leave

'Cause I know you and you know me And we both know where this is gonna lead I want you to stay, but you'll probably say That you should probably leave

Yeah, you should probably leave Oh, you should probably leave

Joel silently stared at your beautiful features as you laid sleeping draped over him, you were absolutely magnificent, and he still couldn't believe that last night had happened. He felt like the happiest man alive at that moment, yet he knew the feeling would be short-lived and it was killing him to have to attempt it. You could never be his, not the way he wanted you to be, not when you had so much potential ahead of you.

He wished that last night had never ended and that this morning had never come. Joel knew he had to let you go and live your life, even it meant breaking both your hearts to do so.

NXT

[x-other-souled-x]

No. Nope.

Using language that systems may also use in a medical setting to describe their expereinces and go through treatment is not appropriation. Full stop.

There is no culture being exploited, unless you want to argue that the medical-industrial complex is a closed culture somehow.

Which I have definitely seen posts saying something dangerously close to this, and I urge you to not base your entire sense of self on the guys making money off of you. Even if they're helping, there's intentional siphoning of money from poor patients.

Secondly, language is a tool used to communicate. Words exist as "bodies" to a concept, and sometimes this concept is interpreted a little differently from person to person. There are a lot of words that mean several different things depending on the context. The most important thing is the setting which they're used in. A good ammount of medical terms are also words that are used by laymen in other contexts, meaning something different.

A system is a group of interrelated parts working together as a whole.

An Operating System (OS) is a system of code and software that tells the hardware what to do in order to make your computer run. There's agricultural systems, government systems, the solar system itself. Are these things appropriating the medical-industrial complex by existing as parts that make one whole thing work?

And before anyone splits hairs about this, I am not equating human life to computers or the government. These are examples of things that are literally defined AS SYSTEMS. The main takeaway you should be having here is that system is a broad term with many many applications outside of the medical-industrial complex. That one institution does not own the word nor the concept of being multiple parts (headmates/alters/whatever) working together.

The concept still exists and system still is a word outside of a medical context.

In other words, people would have eventually came to the conclusion of calling themselves systems regardless of if it was used in a medical context or not. It's not hard to put 2 and 2 together, to see parallels in concepts and expereinces and decide those words work just fine. Thank you for coming to my TEDtalk.

This is a post online, made by a trauma-formed system. I'm not going to have the time and foresight to cover every little nuance, and I don't care to be pedantic and pick apart small case instances. At the end of the day, this does not actually matter to how I live my life, how I get therapy, how we as a system have to work together. Endos using terms that are also used in a medical setting (but also used outside of medical settings) is not harmful to me in any way. And quite frankly, I think anti-endo witchunting has done more damage to us as a system trying to figure out how to navigate life than any endo friendly post has. I'm not arguing semantics, I'm going to go live my life and go outside and do my job and pay my bills like everyone else.

All this discourse around stealing terms and what you can and can't call yourself is so seriously unimportant in the grand scheme of things. You all sound so comfy and privileged to be worried about something so trivial as a word or three that is used in multiple contexts accross human language.

[acti-veg]

My pet peeve is those posts that say things like "animals are not food or clothes or entertainment!!" because like, yeah they are and that's the problem? Saying things like that is just inviting carnists to say "yes they are". The point of veganism is that they SHOULDN'T be. I understand what they're trying to say, but I think it's better to say that animals shouldn't be those things, or that they deserve to not be those things. I don't know, it's just something that bothers me a little.

If it bothers you personally I think that is totally fine. Pet peeves are completely personal and your reasoning for it is sound. I just wouldn’t agree that vegans shouldn’t say this as a matter of policy on this basis alone, as I’d find that a bit pedantic to be honest.

I think the spirit of the statement is clear, that animals are not merely food, or entertainment, and should instead be viewed as the sentient, intelligent beings that they are. Anti-vegans know exactly what we’re saying, they are misinterpreting on purpose, and they do that about just about anything we say, no matter how much time we spend making sure all our speech is technically accurate as possible.

[revasserium]

Hello, hello! I would like to request a drabble with Leona Kingscholar and the prompt, "after a gunshot wound" + fem! reader, please. Make the ending happy, please. I can't stand sad endings.😥 Thanks!

reqs are open :) @savanaclaw1996

after a gunshot wound (mafia!au for my 31 days of aus)

leona; 2,147 words; angst w/ a happy ending bc... u just said that the end had to be happy, right? lol; also cw for blood and guns

clean hands.

no one would mistake him for a murderer, not by the soft of his hands, the tenderness of palms, but as he tears off his ruined gloves with his teeth, the blood still warm and dripping even as it coagulates against his skin, he wonders what the world might think if only they knew the truth — that being a prince to a dying empire also means courting death.

and he has never been one to fuss over keeping his own hands clean.

unlikely savoir.

if you were to ask him why he saved you, why you of all people, leona doesn’t think he’d be able to find an answer. because the answer — the true answer — is far too pedantic: that his body moved before his mind could catch up. that before he really knew what he was doing, he was already at your side.

“this… isn’t how things are supposed to go —” you cough, feeling the pain ricochet through your whole body from the base of your spine, the side of your waist wrapped in layers and layers of bandages.

“yeah, i know,” he says, one leg propped on the other, his hair twisted in a hasty braid, tossed over his far shoulder. he’s cleaning a gun — one of his favorites, an old smith and wesson 29 — wiping down the sides and the handle with a meticulousness that people would never usually associate him with.

“daddy always said —”

“— that if you needed more than six shots to kill someone… you’d probably end up dead first,” leona finishes, a smirk quirking his lips as his hands pause over the glinting metallic barrel. “i remember… he taught me too.”

you sigh and lay back on the pristine white sheets, staring up at the hospital’s linoleum ceiling.

“do you miss him?” you ask, not really looking at him.

“what kinda question is that?” he asks, and his voice is a low, seismic rumble, almost too quiet to hear.

“it… you should’ve… i mean —” your words catch in your throat and your hand shoots up to cover your mouth, almost dislodging the iv hooked up to the back. leona tuts before gently tugging your hand back down.

“i should’ve saved him? bullshit — he’d kill me himself if he got outta there and you didn’t.”

“but —”

“shh… don’t think about that… you need to rest.”

you’re vaguely aware of the buzzing warmth spreading through your limbs from your right arm before your eyes fall shut and your breathing evens out once more.

by the door, ruggie cocks his head.

“when’re you gonna tell her, boss?”

leona slates him a dark look, “when she’s ready to hear it.”

not where but when.

“mr. kingscholar, back again today?”

“yes, room —”

“i know the one, sir. uhm… it’s just —”

the nurse purses her lips, her eyes flickering from leona’s deadpan face to the room down the hall, the lights always kept low, the blinds always drawn.

“just say it already.”

the nurse jumps at leona’s voice, but she swallows and nods.

“it’s almost been… a whole year now… don’t you think we should move her to the longterm ward? the rooms are bigger up there — and there’s more natural light — i’m sure she would —”

“no. that one’s fine. and… she can’t be moved.”

he doesn’t look up as the nurse nods tersely, watching as he makes his way to the end of the hallway, the last door on the right. he takes a breath as he stands in the doorway, his eyes catching on your sleeping form.

he pulls a revolver from his pocket, drops into the seat next to you, turns down the dial for your sleeping drugs, and slowly starts to clean.

when you wake up this time, your eyes are a little bit clearer, but your gaze is still unfocused when they land on him.

“l-leona? wh-what happened?”

“you were shot,” he says, matter of fact as he turns his eyes back to his gun.

“yeah… i feel that. but… where… when…” you frown, trying to feel along the side of your body where the bandages are. they feel stiff, and somehow, the pain is too far away. leona tuts as he tugs your hand away.

“don’t mess with your bandages — you’ll never heal properly that way.”

you purse your lips as your hand goes slack in his.

“you got… new gloves.”

“huh? yeah — course i did. i couldn’t keep my old ones.”

you nod, letting your head fall back onto the pillows, staring up at the barren landscape of the hospital room ceiling.

“leona…?”

“hm?”

“i… i want to go home.”

leona goes still, his whole body feeling like a wound spring, his stomach clenching inside him as he stares at the gun in his hands. he has to curl his fingers into his palm to stop himself from shaking.

“ye-yeah. we’ll get you home. i promise.”

“when?” you ask, turning towards him, your eyes wide and hopeful.

he casts you a smile, and somehow, even after all this, it’s the bravest thing he’s ever had to do.

“soon.”

time warp.

“you can’t keep doing this.”

“the fuck i can’t.”

“boss — it’s not fair —”

“don’t talk to me about fair —”

ruggie winces as leona’s fist smacks into the punching bag, nearly knocking it completely sideways as he lets out a frustrated snarl, ripping off his boxing gloves.

ruggie takes a deep breath, “it’s been almost two years. the hospital bills alone are getting insane —”

“so what? it’s not like we’re strapped for cash —”

“but how’s this doing either of you any good? i mean —”

“oh, you think i want this? you think i enjoy this fifty first dates shit? this… this — weird, time-warp where every time i go to see her i’ve gotta pretend that — that everything’s just happened? that i’m not the reason she’s in that bed to begin with?!”

leona’s chest is heaving by the time he finishes, his face pushed up against ruggie’s almost nose to nose. and still, ruggie steels himself to hold his ground.

“you’re not the real reason she’s in that bed.”

“i was the one who shot her!”

“you were the one who saved her.”

leona shakes his head, sinking his now-bare fist into the punching bag once more. ruggie chews on his bottom lip, resisting the urge to turn tail and run. but he’s had enough running for a lifetime — this at least, is something he needs to do.

“she — she deserves to know,” he says.

but leona only swallows and shakes his head.

“i… i don’t know how to tell her.” and it’s the first time that he’s admitted it to himself, out loud at least. and even the words are crippling — the breath seeps from him as he sinks down against the wall, letting his head thunk back, his hair falling loose from it’s haphazard ponytail.

“well…” ruggie says, joining him on the ground, casting his eyes up as well, a light grin pulling at his lips, “you start with one word, and then the next… and then sometime after that, it should get easier.”

and try as he might, leona can’t help the laugh that stumbles up and out of his throat — torn from him almost like ripping off a scab, leaving him feeling red and raw and restless. he shakes his head, letting his shoulder bump against ruggie’s.

“you’re a shit best friend.”

ruggie smiles, “and you’re a shit boss. but hey — we can’t have everything, can we?”

the first time.

and the next time he goes to see you, he tells himself that it’s the last time he’ll do this. but when he walks into your room, it’s to find you already awake, staring up at the ceiling. when he breaches the threshold of the room, your eyes slide over to settle on him, and a faint smile graces your lips.

“hey you.”

leona blinks.

“uh — h-hey… did the sleep drugs wear off?” he can feel his heartbeat thrumming a too-quick baseline at the back of his throat and he wonders if one of the nurses had screwed up your daily doses of anesthesia.

“they must’ve… what time is it?” you look around for a clock in the room. there isn’t one but leona looks around with you.

“not that late,” he says, dropping into the chair next to your bed, “are you… hungry?”

“starved,” you say, laughing as you try to sit up and he reaches out to wrap an arm around your shoulders. you’d never been fragile, not even when you were a tiny little girl, but just now beneath his hands, he laments at how breakable you seem.

“i dunno if you’d like any of the hospital food but… i could try paging for one of the nurses.”

“no, it’s okay. the only good stuff at a hospital is the jello anyway.”

leona laughs, nodding as he props you up on a pile of pillows, sitting back and staring at you in mixed awe and trepidation. it’s the most he’s heard you say in… god — years? years. and he can’t help marveling at the sound of your voice, just as sure and strong as it’s always been. he used to jam a finger in his ears and yell that you were too loud but now, he thinks he’d like nothing more than to fall asleep to it, just to hear it and hear it and keep on hearing it.

“then… how about we get outta here later and i take you to a proper dinner?”

your smile is sweet and just on the other side of teasing.

“leona kingscholar. are you asking me on a date?”

he sighs, shaking his head, pressing his thumb and forefinger to the top of his nosebridge as he pinches.

“yeah — sure, if that’s what you want to think.”

you regard him for a moment before you drop your gaze to the back of your hand, the iv needle still taped firmly in place.

“i’m… not quite sure what to think… i mean — what’s a girl supposed to think of a guy who’s been lying to her for the past two years?”

leona feels his whole body go cold, but you’re still smiling as you look at him, your hands folded neatly in your lap. so, he forces himself to move, to lean forward and reach for your hands, and when you don’t stop him, he doesn’t question why your touch feels a little bit like salvation. why you’ve always kind of felt like that to him.

“i — i’m sorry.”

“i know… i know you are,” you reach up to tug at the ends of his hair, “it’s gotten way longer y’know… it’s one of the things that gave it away.”

he laughs, the sound both helpless and mercifully light as it spills from him.

“shit… i should’ve known it’d be the hair. you always were so damn obsessed with it.”

and when he looks up, it’s to find your cheeks tinted with a color he hasn’t seen in two long years and it takes everything inside him not to reach out and press his palm to it, to reach out and catch it, to save it and cup it close to his chest like a firefly’s dying light.

“can you blame me? you’ve got gorgeous hair,” you say, even now running your fingers through it and he lets himself sink to the sanctity of your touch.

“so… i guess i owe you an explanation,” he says, finally looking up as your hand drops and he bites down the urge to grab it and press it back to the side of his face, to kiss at the patch just inside your wrist.

“yes, that’d be nice,” you say, your voice as casual as it is light, and he knows, even before he starts speaking that he is forgiven, and it’s all he could’ve ever, ever hoped and prayed for.

you, alive; him, forgiven.

and, given those circumstances, he thinks that he really has no other reason to keep on deflecting anyways. so, leona takes a deep breath and tries to remember ruggie’s words — one word, and then the next —

“so two years ago… your dad came to tell me that there was going to be a coup…”

[lucienne-thee-librarian]

Okay but also because I'm a pedantic bitch...in relation to that post I just reblogged explaining part of gay-on-gay bigotry...what if some people are just assholes who happen to be gay, or bi or trans? And they're all for oppression or just plain cruelty as long as it's aimed at other people? Like that's also something to consider.

I don't actually think, any longer, that "internalized self-hate projected outward and also suppressed envy for someone who's doing and being all the things you were convinced into not allowing yourself" is...all there is to this phenonemon. And I wish we'd stop fixating on that quite so much just because we want to be frankly, nicer than some of these people have ever deserved. It's always more satisfying on some level, to imagine your enemies as Tortured deep inside (whether it's because you feel a bit malicious or you just want to believe that there's a way to reach out and heal them with kindness.) than to admit that Sometimes They're Just a Shithead.

Now, do I think that complex can be a big part of it? Oh yeah. And of COURSE, different people have different motivations in different amounts and yadda yadda yadda. No group of people, ethnic, gender, political or otherwise is a Monolith. (For one thing, when it comes to these Pick-Me Gay/Trans pundits and Influencers, money and clout should never be left out as an explanation. Just saying.) But that's the point, isn't it? Any ONE explanation can't explain them all completely.

Tbh, I think we need to consider some people are just bullies who happened to be born not cis or straight. And even if they were bullied at one point for their identity, they learned absolutely nothing from the experience except Don't Be On the Social Reject Side. So they moved their thinking just enough that "woman who likes women" "man who likes men" "I just happened o want to be a woman instead, or a man instead despite how I was born" could be put in the Safe category and they fight for that. Everyone else though, is still fair game and even a fair target. Some people don't just want power to escape oppression and live their lives in peace, they WANT to BE the ones oppressing. Like, do we ACTUALLY understand that LGBT people are humans too and that that includes the bad side?

It tracks a lot better too, when you consider that a lot of people like the masc4masc gays are openly racist and fatphobic. "No fems" Yes but also "No fats. No Asians." Christ, I could think of countless examples of white thin (and sometimes but not necessary cis) queer people doing that sort of thing. I'm sure y'all can too. This idea of some poor lost soul Tormented by Self Hate and Envy of the Freedom of Others doesn't do shit to explain that. Like, even if the two things coexist and they can, it doesn't explain that part.

I honestly just think the uglier but more accurate truth is that lot of queer people aren't all Hashtag Gay or Trans Rights or aren't Liberal out of any sense of justice AT ALL but only self-interest. Being an activist because you're a member of an oppressed group is like, entirely normal and fine of course BUT it becomes real clear when someone's framework of ethics and politics is PURELY "I think me (and people I personally like and approve of) being oppressed is bad" and literally not one inch deeper.

You can tell because if it was deeper, why would they find it so easy to turn around to a fellow queer/trans person to jeer at and humiliate and throw them under the bus if they think they're a Deadweight to the group by being a Weirdo I Don't Want to Stand Next to, Eww...or if they just don't personally like them? Why have you clearly spent absolutely no time unpacking any of the prejudice and biases around gender sexuality (or GOD FORBID race) that society throws at you.. at least no more time than it takes to rationalize yourself out of the category of Should Be Destroyed and Oppressed?

We are not immune from this sort of terminally self-interested activism. I just feel like we'd get a lot further as a society, as a community, if sometimes our analysis of bullies and assholes didn't fixate on finding some deep pain and trauma inside them, to explain their actions in a way that makes them look more tortured and less malicious (even if we say, even mean, that it's not supposed to be an excuse). Sometimes people are just racist, or fatphobic. Sometimes lesbians or gay men or bi or trans people just want to be judgmental bullies too.

Sometimes the reality isn't Tragic Villain Backstory. Sometimes, its just a selfish, deeply pathetic person refusing to become any less, because it's easier not to; even if you had a unique chance to see how the other side lives, a chance your straight cis bully peers didn't get by virtue of their identities.

[randomlywanderingmoth]

FANSERVANT: Caster of Blessings

(picture created in picrew)

SERVANT CLASS: "Are- are you seriously asking that? Go back up the header and read that again." ALTERNATIVE NAMES: Kat. "Kat for the English speakers. Phonetically sounds like Cat. Yes I'm human, these are just a funny blessing." Neko-chan. "Neko-chan for the Japanese speakers, cuz Neko means Cat, heheh." Emma. "Wait, how the heck do you know that? I mean- it IS my name, and I don't mind you using it, but… that's the name of my Pseudo half… I mean, I guess if you're referring to the very normal human me, then that's fine I guess?"

TRUE NAME: "- woah woah woah hold on a hot minute here, I was gonna do a whole song and dance! Lemme have this!" True Name information presently sealed. "Thank you, dossier."

===

"Anyway, let's rip the band-aid off now, I'm a Pseudo-Servant. To make an extraordinarily long story short, I was a Master in a Grail War, and Caster was my Servant. A whole buncha buncha stuff happened, and I ended up inheriting her Saint Graph. Obviously, I didn't have the cat-ears or cat-tail prior to inheriting my Saint Graph. Don't worry about them too much."

"Oh- oh right, I should give a long-form description of what my deal is. Anyway, I'm the Caster of Blessings. I was gonna be cagey and tell you to call me Kat, but since the dossier blew my cover yeah you can call me Emma. I'm a hedge mage- was a hedge mage- that got tangled up in a Grail War. I ended up summoning the original Caster of Blessings, the one that wouldn't have been a Pseudo-Servant. We bonded, as people do, and I learned that she… didn't exactly like being the Caster of Blessings. It almost didn't matter, except that it turned out I was also compatible to hold that Saint Graph."

"Anyway, at one point… well, my memories are a jumble. I blame either the Throne or the Kaleidoscope, maybe both, but either she gave it to me after taking a fatal wound to let me keep being in the Grail War because she found my wish beautiful, or I took a fatal wound and she sacrificed her life to infuse me with her Saint Graph so I could survive, or I ended up waking up to my own potential as a Mage and we won the Grail and her half of the wishes on the Grail was to let go of her Saint Graph and it peeled off her and stuck to me… I'm rambling, sorry. Presumably, every path in the Kaleidoscope that lead to me becoming the Pseudo-Servant holding her Saint Graph merged, hence my jumbled memories. Presumably there's also memories in there of me being the Caster of Blessings that I summoned, but I'm thankful to be deprived of those memories in this summoning- I don't need that existential recursive headache, please and thanks."

"As the bearer of her Saint Graph, I incidentally also inherited her memories. And, lemme tell ya, I get why she wanted to leave. How many years, decades, centuries, millennia, do you think you could spend, trying to help people? How long can you work, in- I was gonna say in a Sisyphean effort, but even Sisyphus would object to this. I remembered all of it. All the effort, to try to help Humanity. To fix the mess I made- er, she made. Erm- disregard that."

"Anyway, as the Caster of Blessings, her job was as the name implies. To travel the world, to impart blessings unto humanity. To help fix the problems of the people, then to flee when they learned those problems were, on some level, her fault in the first place. Before you ask, no, her legend will never make mention of any of this, I wouldn't be saying it all if I thought it would."

"Anyway, she traveled, as you do, blessed people, as she could, and learned that… well, it's remarkably difficult to permanently quash the darker natures of humanity. She would say impossible, but I've a pedantic mindset to say it technically isn't impossible. But anyway. To give humans wealth is to invite greed, to give them talent is to rouse envy. Attempting to reconcile conflict only planted grudges to incite further outrage. Perhaps none of those in the moment, but given time, good things seem reluctant to ever last. The apple will always find its way to rot in the end."

"Eventually, she gave up. Because of course she did. Because you can say that, after seeing every attempt to help people crumble and fail, you would still keep trying, but immortality does not typically include immortal determination and willpower. Those are still very mortal, and, trust me, after thousands of years your resolve would also falter."

"One day, though, she met someone. Or, someone met her… the memories are difficult here. That someone didn't want to be remembered, if I had to guess- but anyway. They suggested a simple idea to her. The living person can retire, and her ever unending self-appointed task can be left to her memories. Engrave her existence on the Throne of Heroes."

"… she had the tiniest sliver of resolve left, and it was enough to do this final deed. To leave her task to a Saint Graph. But the Ghost Liner who held that Saint Graph, for a time, was her. Her memories, given form. Still uncontent. Still left to meekly tend the ever-turning nature of humanity."

"And then she was summoned to a silly Grail War by a silly girl with silly aspirations that were barely alive. And that silly girl wanted… so many things. And the Caster of Blessings had one more blessing that she hadn't ever given before, not in this way."

"And so, the original Caster of Blessings took her final retirement, and her erstwhile Master was stepped up to the line. The Pseudo-Servant, Caster of Blessings. That's me."

PARAMETERS:

Strength: E+ "… what's with that look? I'm a Caster. Base STR is what you get." Endurance: D+ "Wow, even as a Caster I have better than base Endurance. Neat." Agility: C+ "I know I have cat motifs going on but I am also a Caster. Be glad you got this." Mana: A+ "Don't be fooled, I can actually blow through my mana supply in a real hurry if I mismanage it." Luck: B- "My luck is actually pretty okay. That malus? I have a faint-but-constant urge to Test My Luck, and you don't need a bad luck streak to get screwed over, you just need one really bad hit." Noble Phantasm: EX "Okay so we can get back to this if I ever I pull out my True Name but even without it, the Noble Phantasm that I DO make regular use of is also still EX rank. It's pretty buckwild."

SKILLS:

"Now, disclaimer, I'm not giving you the proper names of my Skills. Those are sealed up along with my True Name. Don't worry, you'll still get an idea of my deal from the listed."

Item Construction (B+ Rank): "My primary Magecraft allows me to command, manipulate, and reinforce thread and fabric essentially at will. You'd be surprised how strong and durable cotton yarn is when reinforced by such high level Magecraft. It's a point of note, I can't just use straight fabric like shirts or jackets, but if I can unravel the yarn from like a scarf, I always have a weapon. And yes, the stuff I make is quantifiably powerful. Cool magic swords and axes, suits of armor? As long as I have enough thread, sure. The original Caster of Blessings was a lot more deft with this, but I'm capable enough in my own right."

Territory Creation (A- Rank): "I'm also able to delineate and define a 'home' territory, making it my Workshop- and it's a pretty ridiculously powerful Workshop at that, Temple-grade. The only issue, aside from the ritual to delineate that Temple, is that I can only denote one 'home' at a time. Make a new one? Old one stops being a Temple. Pretty sure there's some mythology somewhere about cats being protectors of homes. That's my excuse for now, anyway."

Presence Concealment (B+ Rank): "Ever seen a cat get sneaky? Yeah, I can do that pretty good. What's funny is, even if I get into a fight, if I just put a bit of mana into maintaining my concealment, I don't lose ranks after entering combat like standard Presence Concealment! Ever tried fighting someone your mind refuses to stick to? It's buckwild."

Golden Rule (C Rank): "Ah, erm… quick come up with something- right, y'know those Japanese lucky cats? Maneki-Neko? Sure, this is totally based on that. Anyway, it's not that I have cash, it's that I have, let's say, a remarkable talent for falling into wealth as needed."

Natural Body (A Rank): "Neat, huh? I get pluses to my STR, END, and AGI stats cuz of this, and my body is way more fit than it was when I was alive! Bonus, hostile effects that would negatively impact those stats don't work unless they can bypass this skill! No half measures were taken in the creation of the Caster of Blessings, and that sure as heck is reflected in this skill!"

Clairvoyance (A- Rank): "A byproduct of my Noble Phantasm, my eyes can even theoretically perceive the future if I try! The, uh, the minus is because… I'll take the blame on this, pretty sure original Caster never had this problem, but I'm not as good at controlling it. I can restrain it, and I can use Mystic Eye Killers on it to basically turn it off so it isn't quite so distracting, but… I'll be honest, I give full props to all the Servants who can use a skill like this on the fly, no problem. Clairvoyance is not nearly the free win that I used to think it was."

Divinity (B Rank): "Oh if I didn't have this it'd be real freakin' funny when I started passing around blessings like candy. The only reason I'm not A Rank is because my Saint Graph doesn't make it to god level, and both the original and I take serious umbrage with that. I mean, after everything she's done, hasn't she earned the right to return to- ah, sorry, nearly spilled the beans there, eheheh."

NOBLE PHANTASM:

Fatal Curiosity: Mystic Eyes of Observation

"Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. That's the whole phrase, by the way. Bet you've only heard the first half, heheh."

"Anyway, my eyes are capable of completely deconstructing the information presented to it in nearly any situation. A single glance and I can fully discern anything about anyone. Presence Concealment, True Name Concealment, Illusions, and similar effects basically mean nothing to me. I can read off nearly everything about any Servant or similar hostile in a matter of seconds. True Name, Parameters, Favorite Ice Cream Flavor, Skills, Fears and Weaknesses, Noble Phantasms, so on and so forth. It's a matter of seconds and not instantly because I need a bit to process and filter out the junk data from the tasty stuff, but the more mana I pump into it the faster the processing goes. At full power, yeah, it's basically instant."

"Speaking of stuff I can process instantly, the moment I see any sort of hostile action- an attack, a directed curse, a trap, or so on, my Mystic Eyes will instantly process and provide autonomous countermeasures. Oh, and bonus? If it's Magecraft, my Eyes will reverse-engineer it basically automatically. As in, if I see Magecraft used, I can use it too. Sadly, I can't take the information from previous summonings, and it's only the information of my Pseudo-Servant self, so I don't have all of humanity's Magecraft at my fingertips, but it's still a whole lotta lot to work with."

"Oh- that all does take a bit of a toll on mana, but even at rest my Eyes are constantly processing information- just at a slower rate than near-instant. At rest I could tell you the weak spots in the local construction or geography, I could autonomously counter minor Magecraft, I can even read minds. Or- rather, I have to. The Eyes never fully power down. It's… rather distracting at times, so I wear the glasses to turn it off when it's not needed."

"No secrets, no deceptions, nothing may be hidden from my eyes. Let us bear witness, together, to what happens next- FATAL CURIOSITY."

[hochmvt]

Welcome back to your favorite horror podcast '𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒'. I'm your host Isaiah, this is episode 152 and I'm so glad you joined me on this beautiful day. I hope you're doing fantastic and ain't suffering from the current heat as much as I do. Recording this in the middle of nowhere – but … what else is new –, today we're following the story of Violet and Hunter, a happily married couple from the midwest. Or … so it seems. After Hunter noticed some changes in his wife's behavior, the couple's true love for one another was tested. What happens if the person you thought you knew in and out starts to act erratic? What if you discover new sides to them you're not only unfamiliar with but also scared by? How well can you know a person, despite being married to them for years? Before we dive into the topic of truly knowing people and the seemingly harmless multifacetedness of "love", as always: thank you for tuning in.

Alright ! Welcome back, welcome back! As I said before, I'm so glad you joined me on this fine day. I saw you guys' posts on Reddit wishing my mom well and I'm glad to say, that your little affirmations worked wonders. She's feeling on top of her game again and was touched by your compassion, so she thinks you aren't just weird internet people anymore – then she thought about signing up for Reddit herself and I kinda talked her out of it. Luckily. That being said, enough of the chit chat and let's get right into it.

I stumbled across Hunter's story approximately two weeks after the first 'incident'. See, I'm not necessarily much into this entire married couple kinda thing (to be honest with you, in the beginning it kinda sounded like they just needed some couple's therapy and I was about to brush it away) but this one eventually felt like something more serious. When I met up with Hunter, this poor fella looked like he hadn't slept for weeks. We were supposed to meet at a Diner closeby to the motel he stayed at. I got there a little late, stood outside, smoking a cigarette and watched the people inside. It was hard to miss him. He sat at the counter, looking like one of those guys at 3AM in any old dive bar, thinking about what to tell their wife when, where and why the 'Only two pints, hun, I promise' - pledge was broken.

To be honest with you, after what he told me, the only medicine that would've worked with Hunter was Jaegermeister – and in that moment I was convinced that I am the funniest person on planet earth – but I didn't make the joke in front of him.  Violet was your typical girl next-door ; rather modest, pedantic, however she was kind and thoughtful. Pulling pranks or dicking around wasn't something in her repertoire – contrary to Hunter. Frankly, both of them seemed kinda contradictory from what Hunter had told me. Two weeks prior, Violet had returned from a trip to her sister's place down in Parks, close to the Kansas' border. What Hunter had noticed upon her return in the middle of the night was her frizzy, tangled hair, her tired eyes and terse behavior, but he didn't think much of it. After all, she just arrived from a four hour drive in the middle of the night, so she headed to take a shower before going to bed. 

Isaiah's phone rang. In the middle of recording. Who on earth dares to call at 3AM in the morning? All of his friends knew where he was, they usually checked the time zones, if they decided to give him a call (which rarely ever happened, none of them was really fond about talking on the phone). Upon sorting his thoughts, he realized what n̸̡̢͍̯̤̥̞̼̦̭͈͇͇͚̭̠̜͈̘͇̤̯͕̉͗̃́̑̓͑̊́̊͐͆̒̿́̈͌̓̽̚̕̕͜à̷͕̤̳̪̩̪̫̳̺͉̗̈̊̍͐̀̀͑̀͗̿͠ͅm̸̡̡̨̨̛̭͓̦̺̼͉̣̯̲̖͔͖̟̙͈̜̞͔̙̗͈̺̳̼̬̞̞̮̙̥̼̝̄͌͂͌̍͌̾̓̓͑́͋̇̀̂̓̂͛͋̓̈́̂͑̑̍͒͒͂́͛̀̈́̂͑͂̂̉̉͘̕̚̕͘͝͝e̴̡͖̼̦̗̝̪̙̰͖̯̟̲̳̠͇̥̿̈̀̈́͑̏̈̏̀̌̏̊̈́ had popped up on the screen; his heart dropped, his hands felt clammy. C̷̨̛̪͎̩̣̫̮̰͈͛̈́͋̾̔̌͛̿̀̄̕͜͝ͅͅa̵̻̳͔̜͓̠̙̤̖͈̲͋̽̊̅̇́͗̒͑̆͒̇̔̅̑͂̒̆̇̏͐̍͘͜͝͝r̵̨̡̨̧̢̡̧̛̗̭̤̗͖̝͕͈̠͚̹͓̫͔͚̫̫͈̱̦̦̱͇͙̖͎̬̘̬̪̫̣̪͉͈̹̮͓̟̅̑̅̓̓̽̄̃͂̎̀̆̐̒̐̍̈́̏͒̐͌̂̾̚̚͜͜͝͝ṱ̷͔̰̮͉̭̳͙̣̫̥͉̻̝̠͈̭̼̦̩̯̰͙̩͎̳̱̺̞̖̺̬̹̃͜ͅę̸̨̻͙̯̦̲͕̟͎̰̬̼̝̪͙̫͉̗̜͔̞̳̻̪͕̳͔̗͎̤͕̖̙̬̮̼̳̗̺͋̏̃̓̍̆̃̇̎͝͝ͅͅr̸̨̹̩̮̤̙̗͎͕̬͛̉͗̓͊͊̅̆̈́͂͌͛̄̓̐̍̋̚̕̚͠. He hasn't called in ages. 

They were teenagers back then, Isaiah had no idea how to approach him, a̶̛̛̟̯̼̩̟̣͎̺͇̼̼̥̳̮͓̐̓̓̑̽͊͗͑̇̂̾͗͐͑͋̀͗̾̋͊̓͊̀̆̾̓͛́̈́̽͒̇͐̂͐̌̇͘͘̕͘͘̕̚͝͠f̸̳̠̩͈̣̗̜̹̘͔̣͖͔͓̟̠̝̖̦͙̖̤̫̖͍͉͖̓̌̐ͅţ̶̡̰̤̗͎̪̘̦̪͈̦̝̮̙̩̤͚͍̥̟̜͍͓͍͇͔̜̝͕͖̳̎͆̿̌͒́̂͊̽̂͒̉͂̐̽̓̋̽̚͜͝͠e̷̡͍͚̞̣͍̯̼͈͕̥͈̭̯̪͈͙͔̤̬͌̈́̀͑̐̃̆͒̃̂͌̈́̀̍̐̈́̈́͂̃̐̍̎̓̂̔̎͒̆̒͌́͗͛̏͛̈́͂̃̀͊̏̊͂̚͝͝͝͝͝r̵̨̧̙̻̳͕͎̻͇͚̦͓͓̭̦̰͎͇͉͚͎̜̓́͐͑͛͗̿̎͊͂̄̆͋͑͊̆̔̽́̃̆̓̂͊̿̂̅̎͂̌̏̒̐̍́͐͌̎̈́́̋́́̂̚̕̚͝͝͠ͅ ̴̢̧͇͖̪͎͎̾̑̀̎̑́̿̆̆͛͐́̋̈́̃͂́̀̈́̑̅̍͒̍̀͋̓̓̽͘̚͝͠w̸̡̖̟̲̯̩̋̈́̈́̉́̏̓̅̎̿̀̇͐̓̽̀̀́͑̀͆̎̓͗̍͛̋́̓̑̐͛͘h̵̛̉̐̀̐̐͗̾̽̑̎̓́̔̇̑́̽̋̊̈̔̀́͊͌͘̕͘͠��̧̧̧̡̢͖̝͓̞̻̩̺̺͍̯͓̥̻͉̭̪͇̝̥̖̦͍̠̤̫͇͓͉̜͚̙͔̪̱̰̘̘͘a̵̧̡̨̡̧̛̛̛̺̳̙͚̖̜͎͖̗̗̭͔̝̗̺̪͓̠̖̬͍̺͚̖̻̬͙̩̖̭̫͈̞̫̯̗̙͙̲̯̫̥̯̒̌̋͛̄͊̈̄̓͒̂̐͗̋̃͂͊́͐̈́́̎̈̀̒̽̐͛̏̐̌́̈́͂̊͂̇̾́̊̋͗̕͜͠ͅt̴̡̛͉̙͎̹̘̭̙͕̝̠̖̮̤̬̭̯̺̻̞̣̻̤̱̟͇̩̮͈̦̩͇̹̞̜̜̤͇͎͙͓̠̋̌̏̓̽͛͋̆̏̏̉̓͌̍̀̈́͆͘͜͜͜͝ ̷̨̡̢̛̛̟͚̳̝͍̞̬̖͙̳̯̼̯͔͙͙̩̻̤͍͕͉̠͍̠̣̞̤̺̘̞̪̦͍̯̻̗̮̤̮̗͉̣̊̈́̈́͒͊̔̈́͆̓̑̏̿̆̄̂̿͒̒̌́̏͌͛̒̆́̕̚͜͝ͅͅh̵̩̦͔̅̐̐̀̊̀̃̊́̅͗̂̂̍͂̓́͑̒̑̎̎̓̑̋��̣a̸̧̢̡̤͔̣̰̲̣̳͚̟͇̜͚̯͂̽̏̌̀̀̉̅̏̀̉͌̎́̋͐̑̿͒̄̑͗͐̊͊̓̽͘͜͝͠ͅͅḑ̸̢̡̞̖̳̳͉͎̱̣͚͙͇̣̤͔̦̼͉̤̹̙̆̈̎͗̀́́̂̍̄͐̃̈́̓̊̂̀̏͆͗̋͠͝ ̴͓̞̬̗͓̳̼̖̠͎̭̖͕͚͍̼̘̤̞̥̏̈́̄̑͐͒̆̏͊̌͌͜ẖ̷̛͎̌̆̋̾̃̍̍͂́̃͌͒̒̊̄̿̆͗̏̇̃͌͒̿̃͂̄́̎̆͐̎̍̍͛͘͘͠͝a̴̢̨̨̧̡̡̧̛̛͇̟̲͎͎͚̣̤̫͈͍͓̠̲̲͙̱̩͙̲̮͈̯̫̹͙̝͇̬͚͇̩̮͙̖͍̥̦̣͌̄̐̋͐͗̃̃́̈̀̽͒̈́̀̅̍͆̉͌͊́̽̓̕̕̚͘͝͝͝͠ͅp̶̧̥͈͓̠̹̲͍͉̜̟͉̱̯͍͉̙͎̩̬̝̟̳͇͍̖̪̽͒͜ͅp̵̡̨̧̡̡̛̲̘̙̙̤̺̭̖̫̜͔̠͉̤͓̼͕̬̲̘̝̣͓̘̱̺̮̱̰̼̻͇̣̪͎̞̮̱͙͔̫͒̈́̔̋̐̓̏̔̃̃̾͌̀̋̋́̍̾́̊͛̒̈́̒̽́͌̔́̃̔̅̉̒̚͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͠͝ę̸̢̳̰̱̤͚̙̬̱̖̤̣̲̰͍̥̮̙̌͆̅̔̾̓̑̓̔̈́́͑̊͂̌͊̓̍͗́̎̀̈́͗̒̓͗̀̀̚͘͠͝ń̶̢̛̛͕̖̰͉̗̙̩̣͚͎͔̺̔̾̎̽̂̊̄̉̅͗͐̈́̀̊̉͘͝͝ȇ̷̢̢̡̡̬̲̗̺̻̼̮̹̯̟̻͈̠̥̥̫̖͙̖͉̠̼̘̝̹̙̳͖͍̝̫̝̝̮̱̙͈̱̰͔̪̲̓̽̕͘͜͝ͅd̸͓̥̭̥́͊̀͋̏̈̒̅̀̀́͋͗̈̍͆̐̒̂̒́̀́̂͌̍̌́̍̔͋̔̔̈́́͐͌̓̚̕͝. It felt weird talking to him – seeing him again after all these years. As if his face had changed throughout the years, but instead of the nature of the natural human process of aging, it felt– ơ̶̢͙̙͕͍̹͌͗͋͐̀̎͑̀͋̓̌̎̀̌̅̃̒͋͆̾̃̅̾̇͆͐̉̑̔̇̓̉͘͝͝͠͠͝͝t̴̨̛̘̮̦̫̮͉̙̪͕͎̟̆̒̃͑̓͐̌̑̏̆̆͌̅͊͑̿̇̎̎͘͘͜h̸̗̜̱͌̄͗̍̑̀̍̒e̴̛̱̣̳̰̭̟̱͙͔̼͕̭͖̠̣̣̙̙̘̰͈̗̮͈̲̹͖͔̻̣̪͖͆͆͋̓͑͂́̀͗̂̐̄̄̓͝͝ŗ̶̡̨̧̡̧̡̡̧̨͇̟̩̭̯̞̜͇͎̜̫̯̘͇̝͚͚̻̗͓̯̙̟͇̭̝͈̘̦̭̮̘̽͗͊͐͂̋͗̓̐̃̆̀̔̄͛̆͛̽͂̒͆̀̏̏͒͌̌̋̉͊̉͛͐̊́̈͂̀̎̈́̿̿̏̑͘̚̕͘͜͜w̵̡̧͈̼͇̘̭̪̱̻̼̭͙̠͉͙̥̩̳̭͈̼͆̈͂̍͂̉́͑̕͜͜ͅǫ̷̨̨̩̺̼̮̩̗͈̳̘͔̞͈̗̺̩̦̩͙̫̦̮̤̠̞̗͔̞̥̳̠͎͚͈̯̦͎̭̞̠̭̿͌̏̿͋͗̈́̒̓̏͆͋̉̇̉̆͊́̌̌̒̏͐̇̇̍̀̌̐͌̿́̃̅̚͘͘̕͜͜͜͠͠͝͠͝͠͝ͅŗ̸̨̡̧̛̼̰͔͉̻͖̗̞͎͙͓̙̞̦͙̻̰̳͔̱͈͌̎̈́̈̽̐̔͂͛͋͛̍͛̐́͛̋̄͊͂̑̃̓̋̍̇̏̈́͋̾̔̀̽̋̉̏͆̇͋̈̉͑̏̉͜͝͠ͅl̷̢̧̢̧̢̛̛̫̼͙͚̬̖̭̞̖̲̠̱͇̙̺̜͇̳̟̯͓̩͔̩͒̓̀̾̅͊̏͗̆̃̃͐̋̔͛͌̈̉̈͒͐̎̔̃̿̃̾̇̎̅͒͋̐̏̄̕̕̕͜͜͠͠͝d̷̢̨̛̛̛͍͚̣̮̻̹͕̫͕̻̥͔̯̰͚̞̳̙͈̟͎͔̞̜̻̙̳̜̗̠̬̲͎̖̝̭͍̠̑̿́͊͐̈́͆̇͌̂͆̓̋̿̈́̐͛́͐̿̒́̐̕̕͘̕͜͜͠͝͝ļ̶̨̢̡̛̬͎̗͚̥͍̞͔̦̰̘̱̼̞̰̣̪͔͈͚͌̊̾̐̽̓͛̇̅̇͊̆́̃͛̄̂́̾̓̆͂͊̉̎̃͘̚͝y̴̨̢̡̗͉̭͔̳͎̜̩͓̱͉̬̱̬̗̗̮̬̥͕͕̺̹̻͇͒͗̔͗̀̃̓̅̀̀͗͆͑͗. Fuck, he sighed, his gaze fixed on the screen. He shifted his weight slightly, fingers tapping on the back of his phone. He felt uneasy, jumpy even; probably due to the lack of sleep from the night before. Isaiah rejected the call and decided to text him instead: 'Gonna call you back asap. Currently working.'

Two days later, after coming back from a long night of meeting up with his colleagues, having drinks, talking about manly things such as sports, monstertrucks and tits, Hunter was slightly drunk. Thus he had the same sensation all of us have, when we had one or fourteen drinks too many: He was hungry and in desperate need for something good. Eating in the kitchen, minding his business, he let his gaze wander until his eyes focused, locking upon familiar features at the end of the hallway. Violet was peeking at him from around the corner, only her eyes visible, wide open, almost unnatural looking, the rest of her body hidden behind the wall. Upon trying to focus and rubbing his eyes, she was gone. All he heard were fast footsteps stealing away from the hallway. It didn't sound like someone was running though, more like an animal fleeing from the intruder of their natural habitat. However, we know  the more our vision declines, the more frequently hallucinations occur. And I told you about how scientists were able to demonstrate that these hallucinations originate in the same brain regions where actual perceptions are processed – and not in the areas where images that arise from our imagination are created. This explains why so many people believe their hallucinations to be real – and yet, Hunter thought he was drunk and his mind played tricks on him. Speaking of your mind's playing tricks on you: Do those hear strange noises at night sometimes that keep you awake? Not the voices in your head, but your neighbors having the time of their lives, the police out and about on duty or the 826th party down the road? 

When nighttime brings unsettling sounds that make your heart race, the new earplugs from HUSH are your answer. Constructed with high-density memory foam, they effectively block out the eerie noises, letting you rest easy and help you fight your sleep paralysis demons easily. Ideal for those who are sensitive to sound, you'll find yourself sleeping through the night all safe and sound. Visit hush.com and use the promo code 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 for 15% off your first purchase. Thank you HUSH for sponsoring this episode and thank you for the countless nights you helped me sleep through.

Violet seemed off after that. She rarely spoke, sometimes it felt like she stared right through her husband. On other days, he caught her just staring at him. Smiling. As if she was daydreaming about something. Her smile felt uncanny, he told me, you know, like these AI generated pictures or– robots even! Upon asking her if she was alright, she always nodded her head and continued the things she was working on. There were nights Hunter laid awake at night, Violet missing from her side of the bed. Whereas to me that sounds like an open invitation to sleep in my favorite position of them all – the spread eagle – things wouldn't be half as unsettling if it wasn't for the noises. Again, fast footsteps, too fast for anything humanoid.

So we waited. I told Hunter it was fine with me if he caught up on some sleep and I'd keep vigil, to convince myself what was going on. I mean, if she was truly visiting him every night, indifferent to where he was staying, why should she stop now? The first two hours were rather uneventful. My trusty Switch was keeping me company, I had insanely good runs playing 'The Binding Of Isaac' – until I heard a noise. It sounded like a knock but– I mean, Hunter never told me that Violet seemed like the girl to knock per se. If she truly lost her mind and was out for– revenge? A night of fun? Why on earth would she knock? I checked the door, stood outside for a while, shining my flashlight into the very far corners of the property, gaze wandering from the vending machine, to every car in the lot, even to the adjacent rooms. Nothing. There was no one there. 

Heading back inside, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Hunter had told me Violet had watched him sleep from time to time, standing outside the window, her breath on the window, but even as I checked, still, no one's there. Getting back into the game and my trusty Switch, minutes passed until– 

Cutting the recording a second time, he listened more attentively to his surroundings. There was a rustle, but wasn't there something else? Was that a whisper? His phone buzzed again, recieving an answer from the same person who tried to call him earlier.  Ǐ̷̧̢̧͍̺͔̪̭͎̳̥͚̳̥̬͎͕̹̝̺̮̟̈̅̽͆͗̂̉̋̓̃́'̶̨̡̡̧̧̨̧̢̞͙̖̤̙̤̱̗̣̙͖̘͍͖͔̹̬̯̤̻͇͈͉̖̻̞̩͉͖̗̮̬͖̭͈̦̙̳̘̯̈́̀͆̀̐̉̓̅̓̅̓̔̄̈́͊͋͘̚ͅͅv̷̼͈̥̯̜͕͆̔̄̇͑̚e̷̢̡̩͖̣͇̯̮͎͖̼̲̤̯̜̠͓͕̝̤̬̜̤̥̺͎̗͙̮͈̅̉̈̔͆̏̔̃̍͛͑͆͌̌̇̌̃̿͌̋̓̊̓͊̋͒͋̋͑̾̑͐́̒̿̍͆͘͠͝ ̶̫̝̯̜̫̙̐̀f̸̨̨̨̢̨̳̟̖̻̙̖͓͍͕͓̣͔̞̩͉͔̫͎̭̼̜͇͎͙͇̳̤̝̩̻̝̩͖̜̖̯̩̩͆̏̍̀̀̑̅̀̌̋̉͛̄̈̀̃͗̐̈̌͋͒͐̅̀̒̕͘͝ͅǫ̶̢̢̡̧̛̛̫̞̞̖̯͇͚̭̮͖̈́͐̈́̊̏͆̈̋̃͐̎͛̏͌͆̆̀̇͌͛̐̌͋̉͑̿́̈́̚͘̚̚͘̕͝͠͝͠ͅu̷̧̧͙͚͚̟̞̜͖̲̦͈̠̘̥̳̠̜̻̮̙̳͊̾̔͆̾͌̄͗́̆͆͆̀͐͋̃͌͛̑͗̉͒͐̊͗̎͐̎̃̈́̔͐̌̄̽̃̂͒̾̐͑́̈́͘͘͜͠͠͠ņ̴̨̢̝̗̹͖̗̳̪̙̳̱̳̠̥̯̖͍͕̘̥̝̫̤̲̣̠̺̤́̈́̀̚͝͠d̷̢̨̡̨̘̜͉̙̖́͛̍̿̍̆̓̂̏̋͗̀̈́̈́̽̉̍̄͗̾͑͊̽̿́̒̔̋͑̀͐͆͒̌̋͐́̎̃̀̿̓̕̕͘͘̚͝͝ͅͅ ̸̧̢̣̝̞͕̪̫̤̯̣͕̯̖̹̩̬̥̪͉̮̺͇̥͓̼̼̙̫̠̌ͅͅͅͅÿ̷̛̪͍̾̎̋̇̎̆̂̿̔̈̍̐̉͛̂͆̽̈̒̈́͗̅̋́͊̈̄̐̚ö̴̞́̋̊̊̃̔̇̀͑̈́͋̏̔̾̓̀͐̃͛̄̾̏̾̉̉͋̊̒͂̈̽͛͋̑̕͘̕̕̕͝u̶̧̢̠̦̝̙̖̦̺͍̲̱͍̥̘̺̥͓̫̮̗͐͊̊͒̅̆̽̆̆̽́̋̇́̾͌̓̅̿́̉͒̉̽̎̉́̊͘͘̚͘͠.̵̛̛̛̭͓̂̍̿̅̽͊̎̿̍̈̅̑̀͋̐͆̇̇̅̇̋̂͊̀́̈͂̾̊͌̈́͆̅̄̍̔̕̚̚̕̚͝͠͝ ̸̢̧̨̧̯̠̖̯̟̳̳̩̪̦̮̲͕͉͕́͛̅̎̓͂̈̓̓̑͆̔̃̓́́͝ͅͅ:̸̧̢̡̢͍̠̹̳̗̣̱̳̻͎̩̪̫͎͕͇̭̱̥͍͚̦̞̯̩̭͓̠͙̉͐̍̋̽̒͐)̶̢̬̦͔̼͉̹̪̮̖̜̣̱̩̜̠̮̖̤͉̤̠͚̘̻̳͚̪͙̬͎̰͍͔̯̦̳̿̈͋͂̏̎̈́̾͑̈̓̏̓̓̋̀́̔͘͜͜͠͠ͅ

I heard a noise. Like an animal pacing, but it sounded uncomfortably close. There was nothing outside, I checked the room Hunter was sleeping in but there was nothing. When I turned around, I saw a set of widened eyes, peeking at me from the bottom of the doorframe from the hallway. The light was reflecting in her– its eyes, like a predator lurking in the shadows, ready to hunts its prey. A long strand of dark hair was falling across her forehead, she moved her head slightly, tilted it. As if she was irritated, yet amused by the sight of me. I mean, I've seen my fair share of weird shit and read a lot about the 'power of imagination', but I assure you: This ain't fucking it. Violet's head started to rise, she seemed to get up as I stood there frozen in the doorframe across the hallway. Her hair was moving with her. It took me some time to realize that she wasn't necessarily getting up, but instead she seemed to crawl on the wall, finally positioning herself at the upper edge of the doorframe. Her hair was now dangling, pointing towards the floor, her face more visible. That was the moment I realized what Hunter had meant with the uncanny smile. Violet's features seemed off, it reminded me of Alternates, her smile seemed forced, too wide, all of her teeth were showing. Her eyes wide, reflective, like a deer in headlights. Until she vanished.

Again: Fast footsteps. Then silence.

Hunter woke up from the noise. He asked me if I was alright, standing in the doorframe, too stunned to move. Frozen. That's when I saw her again, unblinking, reflective eyes and grinning wide. She saw him, knew he was there and that's all she needed to know. All she needed to see. He was her prey, I was an irrelevant obstacle and no greater threat. She was peeking at the both of us, focusing Hunter, scuttling slowly towards us on all fours, leaving her cranny from behind the kitchen counter. Her movement seemed otherwoldly, bending her joints and body parts inhumanly, putting her legs in front of her arms when she moved. Both of us must've thought that her smile couldn't get any wider, but we were mistaken. This was her definition of fun. And trust me when I say that it wasn't mine.  Violet stopped again, tilting her head to the side. 

Again: Fast footsteps as she approached us, grinning even wider. Until we shut the door. As we both pressed against it, all we could feel, in between fast breaths and paralyzed by fear, was the intense, loud banging against the door. Relentlessly hammering against the wood, trying to force her way in, we kept the door shut with all we had. For twenty-seven minutes. Again, fast footsteps. ⸻ Then silence.

  ©redits⸻ heavily inspired by this story (please read it, it's fantastic!) and ofc the final scenes of the masterpiece that is ari aster's »hereditary«)  

[tauforged]

that’s the one thing my supervisor does that genuinely pisses me off is she does not own a car and hardly ever drives bcs she relies on public transport and/or walking, which is fine and honestly good for her i envy her, but at the SAME TIME it infuriates me because im the only person in my department that drives in and she wants me to text her with a heads up if im going to be late. which is fine except most of the time i leave the house at a reasonable time and then get stuck in traffic for ages and i hate taking my eyes off the road, but even after explaining to her that i’ve already gotten pulled over and yelled at once while trying to text her that im running late, she still wants me to find a way to communicate with her. like i understand why and i DO agree that the statie that pulled me over for sending a three word text message while at a full stop in traffic that hadn’t moved more than an inch in five minutes was just being pedantic and looking for someone to yell at, fact of the matter is that i was still technically breaking the law and i WILL get ticketed one of these days if i get caught again. and she’s so used to taking the train in that i don’t think she really gets that unless i go out of my way to pull over and put the car in park im technically texting and driving -_-