#last prompt series

[benevolenterrancy]

(Unseen Academicals, Terry Pratchett) I think Shang Qinghua and Ponder Stibbons should have tea and compare notes about somehow accumulating so much behind-the-scenes power by doing menial jobs no one else wants that they could basically run the show if they wanted...

meanwhile we have Shen "meh good enough" Qingqiu

[ethosiab]

agony

[veinsfullofstars]

💋 MetaDede Week 2024 Day 2: First Kiss 💋

(ID: Kirby series fanart of King Dedede and Meta Knight standing on a balcony - the latter on the railing - overlooking a late-evening sky, painted in the gold-pink-purple tones of sunset and speckled with stars high above. Turned to face his knight, DDD boldly takes his hand and plants a small kiss on the back of it, eyes shut and cheeks dusted in pink. MK looks up at his king with soft fondness, a hand over his heart, a blush of his own glowing through his mask. Above them against the starry sky, a low-opacity, sepia-toned memory can be seen. Meta - teenaged and maskless with nearly-grown wings, wearing plain steel pauldrons and white gloves; and DDD - teenaged and acne-plagued, wearing an oversized red-and-orange hoodie and a maroon beanie. In a fit of last-second courage, Meta grabs his friend by the front of his hoodie and yanks him down, shutting his eyes and blushing fiercely as he plants a hasty kiss - their first! - on his cheek. DDD leans over unsteadily on one foot, an arm thrown back for balance, his pimply face bright red, his eyes wide with surprise and touched with heart-shaped shines. END ID.)

Previous Day | Next Day | Prompt List (made by @/mtddweek)

Started 08/05/24, finished 08/10/24. | Childhood Friends AU Masterpost

[tunastime]

UM UM UM “staying up until midnight to talk” with SEN or DBHC ethubs or docsuma

Or “pull me closer,” with dbhc docsuma :floshed:

Okay skitters away

staying up until midnight to talk (919 words) (x) (:3c)

Etho’s hands follow a practiced rhythm. He isn’t sure how they wouldn’t, with every wire and mechanism and gear in his body perfectly calibrated to move with precision and within expectation. He certainly fails, and jerks, and stutters, and falls, but base programming, movements that fell perfectly into subroutines he couldn’t even begin to trace, even if Xisuma showed him the exact steps? Of course they were perfect. And of course he never faltered.

The sand beneath him offers a much needed cushioning from the hard, winter dirt, despite the fact that the sun provides little warmth to the air around them in the snow fort. The sky is so blue it makes his eyes strain to look at—and maybe it would hurt, if he knew how it was supposed to feel.

Instead, Etho watches patches of sky blue in the silver-warped reflection of his sword, faint flickers of enchantment pulsing out from the hilt where the hastily carved runes sit. He runs the sharpening stone against the blade’s flat edge, careful not to nick the silicon of his fingers as he scrapes it across, again, and again. Practiced, careful, calculated rhythm. So much so that he doesn’t even register the sounds of shuffling a few paces away until Bdubs’ voice cuts through the silence.

“Etho,” he says, voice all rough around the edges like he were hungry for something more than just company. Etho keeps sharpening, just for a moment, before he chances a glance over.

Bdubs leans at the wooden fence, leaning his weight into the flimsily-set posts. He grins like nothing in the world could bother him. The characteristic dark brown of his eyes flickers with red, with that same hunger. Etho hates it. Which is odd. Because he really doesn’t feel strongly about much of anything, and disgust is an emotion very foreign to him, and he’s beginning to think the slight grinding in his chest is a problem Xisuma might need to diagnose when he gets back. It feels wrong. Because he knows he likes Bdubs just fine. He trusts him just enough. But that look.

Bdubs is still watching him, eyeing the sword in his hand with a gaze he can’t place, let alone read. Better give him an answer.

“Bdubs,” he says calmly, tilting his head to the side.

“You thought anymore about my offer?”

Etho makes a sound like a hum, mimicking the sound of turning the idea over in his head. He stands, setting his whetstone next to the cold embers of last night’s fire. The pot and cups still rest in the dirt, as cold as the rest of their surroundings. The sword stays in his hand.

(In the back of his mind, a memory surfaces. In it, Etho lies in the night-damp grass in clothes that still smell a bit like gunpowder, but not enough to notice unless you got real close. Bdubs is somewhere to his immediate left, still speaking, haloed in the glow of lanterns and lights of a shop. One of them at least. Within the clarity of memory, Etho can pinpoint that it’s Tango’s shop. Bdubs doesn’t live far from here. He isn’t sure when waiting for Tango to restock candles turned into tell Etho all about the extra additions to your base and your journey to find all the perfect horses for the Horse Course that you both just wrapped up, or into tell Bdubs all about how empty the mountain is, and how interesting this new game sounds, and how you hope you both find somewhere cool to base. Because you’ve already told him that you’re teaming up. But it does, and in this same space, the sky is full of bright white stars and a sliver of a moon that's starting to peek into the sky. Bdubs yawns.)

“The one from last night?” Etho asks, coming to with the sword heavy in his hand. He pushes the point into the soft sand until it hits hard earth and starts to give.

“You don’t gotta keep this fence, Etho…” Bdubs sighs, leaning his head into his palm. Etho folds his arms across his chest, splays one hand as he shrugs.

“Seems like the best way to settle this, ‘Dubs.”

“You could join me. Could always still join me,” Bdubs tries. “Just a quick one-two stab! Easy!”

“I can’t do that,” Etho says, shaking his head. “You know that.”

Bdubs sighs again, dramatic, deflating over the fence as Etho’s rejection stands firm. The thirium in his chest feels like it’s been flash frozen and has only started to dethaw, cold in his hands and feet, up his shins and to his elbows. He rolls his shoulders in, cupping each hand around each opposite elbow. There’s a little warmth to be found in the action with no fans kicking on to compensate.

“Well,” Bdubs says, drumming on the wooden beam between the two fence posts. “If you ever change your mind.”

He watches Etho for a moment, that familiar look coming to his eyes, as if it were trying to eclipse the haze of red Bdubs looks at him through, as if it were trying to expand his tunnel vision by just a fraction of an inch. Just as Etho notices, it’s snuffed, and the easy, careful look is replaced by an indifference Etho doesn’t think he enjoys. He still isn’t sure how much he knows for certain. He shrugs, barely a movement at all. Better say something.

“I won’t,” he says.

Bdubs huffs and turns away.

[venomhoundfanworks]

Hazbin Hotel - Alastor Scenario Dump

One of my friends requested I make more of these, so I guess I'm doing a series. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Like before these are just a bunch of story ideas I've had pop into my head that I have no plans to use. Feel free to use them, just link back/credit me and slap me with a tag because I wanna see what you write!! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Contents/WARNINGS: ANGST; stalking; abuse of Alastor's shadows; heavily implied voyeurism and other creepy shit; (most of these warnings are for the last prompt so if your bothered by any of this, just skip that one) Actual brainrot below the cut; Not beta read we die like men -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Ringing Hollow ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

Basic idea is that Alastor ends up caving to Charlie/the hotel and getting a cellphone. Everyone insists he needs it in case there is an "emergency", especially after the whole Exterminator attack on the hotel.

So he relents. As much as Alastor hates to admit it; they are right. But he isnt going to get any of that smartphone crap. Alastor opts to get himself an actual flipphone. (Angel Dust questions how Alastor even managed to find the piece of junk) Its only for emergencies. He should barely be using it, if at all.

But things change one day when Alastor gets several messages from an unknown number thinking he is their close friend. Alastor does end up telling them that they have the wrong number, but you know, being Alastor, he has to tease them relentlessly first.

They actually end up talking for a bit. Both of them find the situation incredibly entertaining and surprisingly like each other's sense of humor. The reader ends up asking who they actually texted. Alastor panics a bit. He doesn't want to just tell some stranger that they just messaged the radio demon of all people.

No matter the case, Alastor doesn't want to give his real name. So he wracks his brain for something that wont give him away. He cant just use Al, that's too obvious. Wait... Alastor-Al-A...A... A-nonymous? Anon? Yeah. Anon could work.

(This is Alastor's own line of thinking of how he 'came up' with the name. The boomer has no idea this is actually a common internet pseudonym because I doubt he has ever touched a computer)

Anyway, Alastor ends up telling the reader to call him Anon. The two of them end up talking alot. The rest of the hotel finds it rather comical to see the radio demon on his phone texting someone with a grin on his face.

Alastor actually gets pretty fast at texting with his stupid flipphone. Eventually, under Angel's suggestion, Alastor does end up "upgrading" to one of those phones with the slide out keyboard. He still draws the line at smartphone.

But everyone finds the whole thing rather adorable. Charlie always giggles to Vaggie about how soft his eyes get whenever he sees a new text from the reader. Rosie teases him nonstop about his 'paramour' and ends up suggesting that Alastor try to meet them in person.

At the first thought of it, Alastor's stomach drops. He still hasn't actually told them who he is. But the more he thinks about it, the more Alastor thinks a meeting between them is inevitable. He has never felt this way about anyone before; and he needs to deal with it one way or another.

So Alastor arranges an in person meetup. However, he STILL doesn't actually tell the reader who he is. He plans it as a surprise. The purpose of this is twofold; Alastor thinks this will be a wonderful surprise (he is the fantastic radio demon after all!), and it will serve as a test to see if the reader actually likes him.

The secret third reason is that Alastor is actually scared of what the reader's reaction will be and is avoiding it until the ninth hour when he literally cannot anymore. But he would rather die then admit that.

The reader asks Alastor what he looks like and other, you know, obvious things they should know for when they meet. But Al dodges the questions and tells them that they will know everything and learn who he truly is when they finally meet.

Well the time comes. The reader shows up to the designated meeting place, a semi public location. Then they see him. The Radio Demon.

The reader's eyes meet his and they freeze in terror as he approaches them with a knowing, determined stride. They are mortified when Alastor kisses them on the back of the hand; calling them darling and confessing that he was the one who they had been talking to all along. 

The reader backs off, stuttering an apology and a half hearted excuse to leave before quickly running off. Alastor’s smile never wavers. But it can be seen in his eyes and the way his ears have flattened against his head that he had hoped for a better reaction.

Alastor makes his leave before he can embarrass himself further. When he goes to text an apology, his number has already been blocked. He swears he feels a foreign pain in his chest in that moment.

✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿

Mockingbird ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

Alastor begins fall in love with the reader. Driven by his strange feelings, he starts to compose little songs that he hums/sings to himself. The songs are inspired by the things he likes about them, things that make him think of the reader, and ways he sees their presence improving the hotel. 

There is even a special one dedicated specifically to their laughter. A tune that he made to resemble how melodic he finds it. 

Charlie and Vaggie start to notice Alastor singing to himself all the time. How his eyes soften and his smile turns wistful as he sings. Its how they realize that, holy shit, the guy has fallen in love.

They think that the songs are how Alastor is choosing to ‘deal’ with his feelings and that he is using them as an outlet. Not realizing he is composing them himself.

So other then like the weird love singing to himself there really aren't signs of Alastor having a crush, especially not one on you. So it kinda becomes like this big mystery that Charlie is determined to solve. Charlie holds a 'top secret meeting' and drags the rest of the hotel into it. Who has Alastor fallen for?? She will find out dangit.

I also have the image of at least one of the songs being composed entirely in French. So like Alastor finds the reader asleep at some point, maybe they fell asleep on him or they fell asleep somewhere out of exhaustion, but either way, Alastor ends up singing the song he composed for them while they sleep.

Alastor gently picks you up and cradles you to his chest. Singing all the while. He takes you to your room and tucks you in, singing the song as if it were a lullaby. The reader half wakes up at some point and hears him, but cant understand the words.

✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿

Chasing Shadows ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

Basically a really sweet girl checks into the hotel. Maybe she just has that southern belle vibe or reminds Alastor of his mama or whatever; but the point is he has an immediate soft spot for her. 

Anyway Alastor quickly picks up how guarded and almost paranoid she is. Her eyes always seem to be darting around or looking into the distance for something. Although she is quick to help others, she dashes anyone elses attempts to help her. Alastor finds it very odd.

Then Alastor’s shadows start reporting of ‘incidents’ happening around the hotel, mostly around the new guest. Her things going missing, gifts and letters being left outside her door if not outright in her room, and the one that pissed Alastor off the most was one of the shadows saying they even found a small camera had been placed in her room.

Alastor isnt stupid; he knows someone is stalking the poor girl. And he is seething. Part of it is anger and outrage at someone daring and succeeding at breaching his territory of the hotel, and the other half of his anger is at such a disgusting creature thinking that they are entitled to treat a woman this way. 

Alastor quickly puts more shadows around the new guest's room, having every entrance and exit watched for the intruder. Yet the stalker manages to slip by him again, leaving a bouquet of flowers as well as stealing a pair of undergarments. 

Alastor nearly kills the poor shadow that informs him of this. How could they let someone slip past them again??

You got the gist of how this story goes. Ive had this sitting in my ideas folder forever cause I love it alot but, realistically speaking, Im not going to write it. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ So either someone else can use it or you can just brainrot about it with me.

The big twist is the demon that is stalking the new guest has the power to turn into/manipulate cockroaches. That's how they are able to traverse the hotel so easily and undetected. 

Wasn't sure if I wanted to go all in on that and make him an actual roach boy or not. You could also make the demon a Jewel Wasp which is a bug known specifically for mind controlling cockroaches.

Since the stalker is cockroach themed, I also had the idea floating around that Niffty would be the one to finally catch them in the end.

I was picturing the relationship between the new guest and Alastor to be strictly platonic; with like big brother/dad protection vibes. Basically Alastor just wants to protect someone who he sees as a ‘lady’ from a disgusting man. Its his southern trauma kicking in hard

✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿

LINKS AND FURTHER READING ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

My Masterlist for my Other Work: >>HERE<<

AO3 Archive Link: >>HERE<<

[birrdies]

the ethics of the artifice day 1 of shep's hermitcraft character design event second / lighter version under the cut

[iamamythologicalcreature]

Carry On Countdown, Day 1: Creature

(Quotes from "Wayward Son" and "Any Way the Wind Blows" by @rainbowrowell)

My first ever @carryon-countdown! I immediately saw this image in my mind when I read the prompt for day 1.

[whumpdoyoumean]

Whumptober #24

A/N: This contains (fairly vague?) spoilers for season 4

xxx alternate prompt: no-holds-barred beatdown

River doesn't enjoy grocery shopping, especially not at the big chains. There are too many options and too many people, and they always play the same shit songs over the tinny speakers. He's recently gotten the urge to cook a proper meal, though – something he hasn't felt the desire to do since he made the decision to move the OB to the nursing home. Cooking was something he usually did at his granddad's house, for the two of them, and it feels weird to go through the trouble of shopping for and cooking a meal that only he's going to eat. But the last few weeks have been...difficult, and he thinks maybe this'll be good for him. And if it isn't, he can go back to eating takeaway.

He's browsing the pasta aisle when he hears someone shout, "Bertrand!" He glances up from the box of pappardelle he's holding and catches a glimpse of a man stalking down the same aisle he's in. He's huge and he looks pissed. Whoever Bertrand is, River feels bad for the poor bastard. And then he glances up again and realizes that the giant angry man is coming toward him.

"Oh, shit," River says, shoving the pappardelle back onto the shelf right as a fist flies into his face. It connects with his nose with a loud crunch and stars burst across his vision as the back of his head smacks against the shelf behind him. Blood gushes from his nose and his eyes are watering like crazy and he blinks rapidly, raising his hands as the man winds up again.

"Wait-" he begins, but it's like asking a tornado to stop and expecting it to listen.

The next blow is right to the solar plexus. It forces the air out of his lungs and paralyzes his diaphragm. Knowing what's happening, and that it's temporary, doesn't help the panic that comes with being unable to breathe. River's too focused on trying to inhale to offer any resistance when the man grabs him by the arms hard enough to bruise and throws him to the ground. People are starting to take notice, if the noises around him (gasps and murmurs and a loud shriek) are anything to go by.

The man doesn't seem to give a flying fuck.

He's on River in a second, straddling him, so that even when River's body remembers how to breathe again he can't draw a proper breath because of the weight on his torso. He throws his arms up in an attempt to protect his face, but the man grabs River's left arm and shoves it down, pinning it to the ground with his knee. There's a constant stream of angry words coming from the man's mouth, and it takes River a moment to recognize it as profanity-laden French.

French.

Bertrand.

His mind flashes back to the angry mob in Lavande. The men had wanted to kill him – or, had wanted to kill Bertrand, anyway. And now one of those men is here, in a Tesco in London, because of course he is.

Fuck.

River's been punched before, a lot. His balls still ache at the memory of the beating he'd taken at the hands of Duffy and Hobbs. But even in that instance, they'd practiced some restraint.

This man doesn't.

Blow after blow comes. He feels a gash open across his cheekbone, and immediate swelling. His teeth cut the inside of his cheek, filling his mouth with blood. He doesn't want to swallow it so he chokes on it instead, coughs and lets it spill from the corners of his mouth. I'm not him he wants to shout, but he can't. The man won't give him the chance. There's shouting now, and he hears words like stop and police and you're killing him repeated over and over by different voices.

Oh, god.

This man, whoever he is, is killing him.

River going to be beat to death by a Frenchman in the rice and pasta aisle of a Tesco.

And then, a familiar voice.

"What on earth are you doing?!"

The man stops, panting, and looks up at Catherine Standish. No one else has been brave enough to do anything but shout at him from afar, but now here she is, this older woman standing right in front of them in simple floral dress and sensible shoes and looking for all the world like a guardian angel.

"Pardon me, madam," the man says, breathing heavily, "but you do not know what this salaud has done to me. To my family."

"Who, River?"

The man frowns. He blinks. "Who is River?"

"Well, he is!" Catherine says, gesturing at River with the shopping basket in her hand. The man looks down at River, the frown deepening.

"I did try to tell you." The words are garbled by blood, and River forces his head to turn to one side so he can spit some of it out. Even that small movement is dizzying and he closes his eyes with a groan.

"But--" the Frenchman sputters.

"Bertrand is dead," River rasps. "You're welcome."

"Merde," the man swears. He runs his bloody-knuckled hands through his hair and climbs off of River, sitting back heavily. "I thought you were – I'm so sorry. Je suis désolée. I-I can help."

He reaches toward River and River can't help but flinch, wincing as the action sends little bursts of agony stabbing through his head.

"I think it'd be best if you left him alone," Catherine says, kneeling next to River, who has never felt more grateful and more embarrassed to see someone in his life. "There's an ambulance on the way, River."

River doesn't want to attempt a nod, so he lets out a small grunt of acknowledgment. "What're you doing here?" His words are starting to run together, and they come out slow and clumsy.

"I was buying some coffee for the office."

All River can think to say is, "Oh."

The office. God, Lamb is going to have a field day with this when he finds out. Roddy, too, and maybe even Shirley as well. Getting his arse kicked was bad enough, but having it saved by Catherine...He sighs, forcing his eyes (eye – the left one is swollen shut) open.

"Thank you, Catherine."

"Hm? Oh, that's alright. No need to thank me, River."

"I mean it," he slurs, and he feels a hand on his own.

"Don't try and speak," Catherine says, patting the back of his hand gently. "Just rest until the paramedics get here. It'll be alright."

The tenderness is almost enough to bring tears to River's eyes.

xxx

[ohraicodoll]

PUHLEASE bitter was SO GOOD!! you write angst so well it makes my chest hurt 😭 but what about what happens the next morning when joel decides to keep going with them 👀 how does feral reader react

Thank you all so much! I didn't expect people to really want a part 2! I really appreciate how everyone has really latched onto this character and want to see her react so feel free to always send requests my way! Here's part 2!

Bitter| Part 2 Joel Miller x f!Reader The Last of Us 4.7k Words/ 3rd POV Feral Reader Masterlist Summary: The morning after the blow out. Joel is gone. Part 1

Ellie was still asleep in her arms when she heard the door across the hall open. She listened with her heart in her throat and anger fresh in her blood as familiar footsteps entered the hallway, seemed to pause, then walk down the steps away before the front door shut. Joel was gone and the world seemed a little bit more bleak.

She didn’t go back to sleep, but laid there holding onto the young girl with her thoughts a swirling mess until dawn broke through the thin curtains. The two of them were silent, somber, getting their packs together and dressing again for the rough weather they would have to travel in. She had never liked the cold before and liked it even less now, but it almost seemed to match how she felt all over. She was a coal fire, burning deep in her core but frigid outside. Ellie’s bright disposition had dimmed drastically. There was no snark, not even any bitter comments about their missing companion. The night had broken her in a different way, grief and disappointment almost making her meek. When the knock sounded, Ellie’s tentative “come in” pierced the silence and her heart broke a little more for the girl. Tommy peeked in, looking over his new charge then catching her eye with hesitation. She knew Joel’s brother was cautious with her, hadn’t known how to take her presence and stares and the way she watched everything. But he tried to offer a small sympathetic smile, understanding pulling his lips that he wasn’t the brother they had come to be familiar with but were stuck with all the same. He led them out the way before pointing over to the stables where they would be mounting up for the journey. She kept her hand on Ellie’s pack the whole walk there through the still sleeping streets of Jackson, reassuring them both that they had each other. Even though she was stuck with someone she didn’t know, she was glad to be leaving Jackson and going back out there. Out there she knew how to survive, how to deal with everything. The small town was out of her element and she felt like everyone knew it, would watch her with accusatory eyes. 

Her thoughts tried not to stray to the man who had dumped them there. Found his brother and promptly got rid of them, brushing his hands of the burdens he’d had pushed onto him. If she focused on him, the anger would turn to hurt and hurt didn’t have a place outside the walls of safety. 

With a sigh, she followed Ellie into the stables only to stop short behind her as they reached the first stall.

Joel stood there, checking over a horse that had been prepped already with a saddle and bags. His eyes found hers, then Ellie’s, then his brother’s before going back to preparing the horse. The air was tense and suffocating, the weight of everything between them all occupying the space. She held her breath, clenched her teeth. “You came here to say goodbye or something?” Ellie bit out in anger. The words were mocking, but she could hear the almost underlying hope in them. For all he had said and done to hurt her, the girl wanted him to stay and choose her. “No,” Joel replied and she could see her shoulders fall in disappointment, but he continued, “I came here to steal one of these horses and go.” She wanted to scoff, but bit her tongue, jaw clenching so hard her teeth groaned. Tommy looked between them and shrugged to his brother, ever placating, “Well, I woulda gave you one.” Because Joel only ever had to ask and his brother would always give. At that Joel turned, patted the horse and looked at him with a sigh, “I know.” It was an acknowledgement that Tommy would always be there, always want his approval and love. There was a small smile, tinged in sadness, but Joel only sniffed and turned to the two girls that were his companions, “Anyway…that was thirty minutes ago and I guess…” The words were stilted, awkward, as if he didn’t know what to say but knew if he stopped the words wouldn’t come out at all. He sighed again and walked towards them, licking his lips and decidedly avoiding her eye contact. 

Swallowing, he pulled his bravado back off the floor and looked at Ellie, “You deserve a choice.”

Instantly, she could see Ellie’s eyes light up the moment the words were out in the open, that hope a bright shining beacon even as he continued, “I still think you’d be better off with Tommy-”

She nodded and shoved her bag into his hands quickly and with force, cutting him off with an enthusiastic, “Let’s go.”

He paused with his next words halfway on his tongue, frozen as she simply looked at him and brushed passed to the horse. “Okay,” the words were a hammer, cementing the decision and the path going forward. Joel stared at the empty spot where the girl once stood then his eyes flickered up finally to meet hers. She was stuck in between feeling that boiling anger from the night before and relief. He wasn’t leaving them behind, wasn’t abandoning them. All three were back together, but now she wasn’t sure how to feel.

It was easier to just hate him and never see him again than deal with this rift between them.

Tommy seemed to understand there was still something else at play beyond Joel’s decision. With a small smile, he nodded at them both before shrugging, “I better go get a second horse prepped for y'all. I’ll be back.” He gave his brother a pointed look, patting his shoulder, before quickly exiting further into the stables.

Joel swallowed, dark eyes meeting hers. Nervous. Joel Miller was nervous and she wanted to sink her teeth into that, use it to gain an upper hand because it was better than him making her feel unsure and lesser. He sighed for the thousandth time before calling back to Ellie, “We’ll be right back.” For once, the girl didn’t make a comment or ask for an explanation. She was sure some part of their conversation had been overheard from across the hall and Ellie didn’t protest giving them their space. Walking forward, he nodded to a spot a little bit away but she didn’t move. She didn’t want to be alone with him, didn’t want to talk about what had happened. Joel wasn’t leaving Ellie, that was her only concern. They didn’t have to get along to make this work. If anything, they’d proven that months before when both had hated each other vehemently. It’d only been sex. There were no hurt feelings, couldn’t be because feelings had never been involved. But she found herself turning around and moving, his hand hovering over her back as he guided her a distance away, and the sting of anger still coating her throat along with something that felt like pain. “Listen, last night-” “Don’t,” she hissed, surprised to feel herself slightly shaking and yanked away from him to put space between them, “I don’t need your morning after regret apologies. You said what you had to say and you’re right. My only point is to help Ellie and that’s it. There’s nothing else, we won’t be crossing that boundary line again.” “Red, stop,” he shook his head and took a step closer, wincing, “I- fuck, I didn’t mean-” She scoffed, baring her teeth, “Didn’t mean what? The part where you didn’t want me around? Where I was just a hole for you to fuck? Where you didn’t give a shit what happened to me?” She smiled bitterly, “There’s a long list, Tex, you’re gonna have to be specific.” His brow furrowed and hands went to his hips as he stared down at the ground, lips pressed tightly together. He seemed unable to get the right words out, mouth opening and closing in frustration. He’d never been good at hard discussions, especially about things like emotions, and whatever apology he had planned caught in his throat. So she pushed forward, fueled by the anger she felt burning in her chest and the urge to make herself or him hurt for no reason other than her bruised feelings needed to find a release, “You were right. I’m not Tess. I’m not anything. There is no happy ending for me. We get Ellie to the Fireflies, I make sure she’s safe, and then no one has to deal with me any longer. I’m out. She’s good with you but I’m not going to abandon her mid-journey.” The unspoken “unlike you tried to” settled into the space between them, a live wire. He frowned, teeth clench, and when his eyes met hers they seemed to plead, “I want to fix this.” Joel had to be the one to fix things, no matter how impossible. Protect, fix everyone’s problems, be the savior. But that wasn’t always possible. “You can’t fix everything,” she bit out and turned, walking away, trying to ignore the glimpse she had gotten of his hand reaching out to grab her wrist. _______________________________ She tried to focus that first day. 

It was like resettling into an old skin that was slightly too tight. Her eyes would track their surroundings, feel the motion of her horse underneath her, hand on the strap of her rifle but every now and then she would feel his gaze on her. Ellie quickly got back into the groove of being with them, much happier now that her favorite person was back with her. Her hands gripped his waist and she would send small smiles her way as if to say, “Look, he came back to us.” She tried not to openly frown so as to not dim the girl’s spirits and listened to them chat without much input. But it was hard to ignore how he looked over to her every so often, how he seemed more open and relaxed around the kid behind him, even answering whatever questions she had and not once telling her to shut up after her tenth pun. She tried to ignore how he seemed lighter, more at ease, even chuckling and smiling more. The Joel Miller riding the horse with Ellie at his back was different from the one the night before, proclaiming she wasn’t his daughter, that they were parting ways and that was that. And she wasn’t sure what to do with that knowledge. A decision seemed to have settled in his mind. What the question had been, she wasn’t sure, but he’d make a choice. The wall that had been so high, steel and concrete thick, and been so slow to come down and fast to resurrect was almost decimated completely. This was a glimpse of the Joel Miller that he had existed back in Texas and she wasn’t sure what to do with that. She felt more like a stranger than ever. When they stopped to make a fire and eat in the cover of some rocks, he didn’t argue about the smoke, about the placement of their sleeping mats with his in between theirs, and even served her himself, eyes unwavering as they met hers. Ellie wasn’t stupid, she knew that. She could tell the kid was quick to understand some of what had happened between them, what had been going on before Jackson, and that she wasn’t so quick to forgive as the kid was. Ellie was a soft spot for her, both of them, one the kid knew and manipulated often, but she was slower to trust others and it had taken months to let Joel in only for him to blow that up. She wasn’t sure when both the teenager and gruff man next to her had climbed under her skin, but they had and she wasn’t sure she liked it. It made losing so much harder, the thought of leaving them behind a tight knot in her throat. The problem was she wanted to forgive him. She wanted things to go back to how they were because it was so much less complicated. Yes, sex had been involved and even when it wasn’t, she often found herself wrapped around the man in their sleep, but denial was easy to hang on to. She clung to the excuses, like that they still hated each other or there was nothing there but raw need and a means to an end when it came to release. But she had liked the attention she had gotten, his hands on her body and lips on her skin. The late night chats about nothing that somehow meant everything. They’d handed over small pieces of themselves to each other, calling them junk when really they were treasures. He’d been a good southern boy, taking care of his brother. His favorite musician had been Johnny Cash and he’d worked his first job at fifteen so he could buy his own guitar. Little bits of Joel that had been castaway comments, but she’d kept them close to her chest. Now, with his eyes constantly on her, something in those dark irises, she wasn’t sure what to do with this kind of attention. She was used to Joel being on equal or higher footing and now it felt odd to have him almost silently pleading with her, asking for her grace. Like a supplicant asking for forgiveness. She went to sleep first if only to escape, saying she’d take second watch, and could feel his eyes on her as she slipped into darkness. 

When Ellie asked to use the rifle the next day, she expected to hear his usual grumbling in protest. She’d been given her pistol and that was as far as he’d ever let her use a weapon. But she watched now as Joel gave in, watched Ellie’s smile bloom into a huge grin as he told her he was going to teach her how to shoot it properly first. And she continued to watch in uncertainty as this new Joel made a target out of scrap material and walked far out, setting it up a good distance away in the small field they were crossing. The girl was giddy, practically bouncing on her heels, and kept looking to her in celebration. Ellie grinned wide at her as he did so, almost in amazement that he was giving in to her, and she had to smile back though her heart hurt at the childlike excitement. She knew this was Joel’s way of making things up to her. He was bonding with her, teaching her, like most fathers would. And she was unable to keep her eyes off the man as he walked back with an easy step. She sat on the ground a foot or two away from them as he showed her how to hold the rifle, load it, and aim down the scope. A toppled log served as their brace and they both bickered, tucked into each other closely, as he watched through binoculars and she flinched with each shot, bullets going wide. Ellie was stubborn and so desperately wanted to be a natural, wanted to prove herself to the man, thus leading to her blaming the faulty weapon. As time went on, their conversation loosened the tight knot inside her and she found herself relaxing and smiling at them. The thought floated that this must have been how Joel was like when he was a dad, staring down at Ellie with humor and ease.

When they switched and he shot the target centerpoint, she had to swallow a laugh at the dumb face he made at the girl and the wide eyed amazement Ellie tried to disguise. There was a sense of pride about him at that look, like in her eyes he had grown ten feet tall and was capable of anything.

As he turned to look at her, she knew she hadn’t stifled her smile fast enough. She got up and went to the horses, getting them ready to head back out, if only to hide for a bit.

This was a different Joel. Warm and sometimes gentle, patient and reasonable. But she was still the same, rough and sharp and broken edges.

Maybe leaving was for the best before she cut one of them.

Night fell again and they went through the same unwinding process. Ellie was talking in between bites of food, asking questions about what they used to do back in the day as if recognizing that there was no longer a barrier prohibiting it. At least when it came to Joel. She was still tight lipped, keeping the ugliness that was her own history away from the light conversation. She had already given enough of her story to the girl, the good parts, and didn’t want to stain her with the bad.

But Ellie was so smart sometimes and could see the unresolved tension. When the food was done and everything put away for the night, she feigned a yawn, arms stretching high above her head, “Man, I’m pooped. All that shooting really tired me out so I think I’m gonna turn in early. Night!”

And then she’d dragged her sleeping bag to the opposite side of the campfire flames, furthest back into the alcove they’d found, and turned her back on them to sleep. Distance. She’d given them distance to be alone together.

She sighed, feeling the pressing silence between them both now that Ellie’s presence was no longer acting as a buffer. The campfire and the night sky made them feel like they were in their own bubble, sitting at the edges of the light with the darkness at their backs. The small ridge they’d taken shelter in hid them but also trapped her there with him.

Before, she hadn’t ever been good at relationships or feelings. She’d been in her early twenties when the world fell to pieces and had been with Harry for six years. High school sweethearts. A romantic notion back then but now eye rolling in the current state of reality. She hadn’t gotten the chance to experience getting to know other men, to deal with anyone other than meek Harry.

Joel wasn’t him. Joel was all bristles and rough charm, dry humor and hard stares. And twenty years later, decades of being alone, she was even worse at people than before.

She didn’t know how to do this.

“Red-” “I’ll take the first watch,” she cut him off, standing quickly and grabbing the rifle from its spot, “You get some sleep.” She needed to get away from him, get away from his stare and the feeling of rage that was quickly falling away to showcase the pain it had been covering up. The reality of being alone with him, of him bringing up the argument, was a pressing weight that was threatening to suffocate her. It wasn’t anything she could fight. She couldn’t claw or bite or shoot or stab this feeling and needed to get away. But she’d forgotten. Joel was persistent. She would only be able to dodge him for so long when he was determined and that luck seemed to run out already. “Red, stop,” he was quick on her heels as they both walked a bit outside their camping spot, the fire casting faint orange light on their skin, “Please, I’m sorry-” His hand was on her wrist and she tried to shake him off, but couldn’t, “I don’t need your fucking apologies-” “Will you just fucking listen to me?”The pressure was too much, her breath thin rasps from her lungs as it all threatened to choke her. Jackson, the argument, this new easier Joel with his stares, Ellie’s happy smiles, and her like a looming storm cloud behind them. The pressure was mounting and mounting, tearing at her skin, stabbing her heart.

Then it finally erupted. She punched him. It was a quick, hard snap and her knuckles stung, but that anger inside her rose and rose and she couldn’t stop herself. She was hurt and like all wild animals when they were hurt, they lashed out. They were dangerous. Joel stumbled back a couple steps and released her wrist, eyes findings hers in the darkness, and his hand rose to touch his lip. Drops of blood sparkled in the distant firelight. “Starshine-” she swung again and this time met air as he leaned back, dodging. Again and again, she punched wildly, stance forgotten, frustration building as he moved out the way or she only managed to clip skin or clothes. The rifle she’d been holding had dropped to the ground forgotten. He caught her fist and held it in his grip tightly, grabbing her free wrist in his other hand and backing them up to the ridge wall until her back met stone. She bucked and fought against him, knees raising to kick and knee him until he pressed even closer to keep her from being able to lift them. “I- fuck, Red, stop. I’m sorry!” he hissed as she struggled against him like a trapped animal, “I am, I’m sorry for all of it.” “Fuck you,” she snarled in his face. “Come on-” he pleaded and the words were a sad sigh, wincing when she knocked against him particularly hard. “I hate you,” she growled and tugged against his hold, hands trapped between their chests and the heat and smell of him all around her. “I know,” he whispered back softly, remorse dripping into her skin. Everything was a mess inside her, lava filling her blood and bones, his fingers and touch scalding. She didn’t know what to do with everything bubbling inside, didn’t know what to do with herself, but it all felt like too much. This man had hurt her, had comforted her, had fought and raged against her and also raged for her and protected her. He’d left and come back and now she didn’t know how to deal with this version that looked at her with soft eyes and apologies. It was too much.  She needed a release so she took it. 

Her mouth smashed against his, bridging the space between them and catching him off guard. He quickly caught up and sank into her, kissing her back with equal force though not letting go of her. His blood was on her lips, on her tongue, and she dug her fingers into the fabric of his coat with a groan. She wanted to devour him, eat him whole and never let him go. It hurt being with him, never quite knowing how to operate, but the pain made her feel more alive than she’d had in a long time. Her skin hadn’t known touch in so long, lips cold and alone, that she wasn’t sure if she could go without his now and that made her angry. It made her desperate and those small few hours where she thought he’d left them had made her realize that hollowness was a possibility. Finally one of his hands let hers go, but she didn’t pull away. She didn’t take his relaxing as an opportunity to run. So he took that as permission to run his fingers through her hair, twisting the still freshly cleaned strands between them. She bit down on his lower lip, swallowing his groan, and when he opened his mouth her tongue found his. This wasn’t like the other times where it was nothing but gnashing teeth and tongue and lips, almost brutal and bordering on painful. He wanted her, she could feel it in the press of his hips against hers and the eagerness of his mouth, and was so gentle with her. While she took and took, he freely gave and let her take the charge. It wasn’t a battle, but a surrender. Her hand drifted, frustrated at his lack of fight, and went to his belt buckle before working to get it undone. She needed to feel him, to get him to fight and be aggressive and not be so fucking soft with her. It wasn’t something she was ready for, what him being this way towards her meant. But Joel paused, forehead against hers as he broke their kiss, whispering his protests, “Wait, hold on.” She didn’t want to stop because stopping meant talking and she felt rubbed raw, naked before him and the cavity of her chest ripped open. As her hands continued to underdo his belt, his hand came to rest on top of them, stilling her fingers. One hand in her hair, he used it to lift her chin up and meet his eyes, bringing them both back to awareness. His lip was still bleeding, some of it smeared across his chin and beard, eyes so dark in the firelight as he looked her over, “I…you aren’t nothing. Not to Ellie… and not to me.” He sighed, brow furrowed and she wondered if he could feel her shaking, “And…you aren’t Tess-” She pulled back, the name a wound with ripped open stitches, and tried to walk away but he stopped her, “Just wait.” With a hard frown, she whipped back to him, “Were you this bad at apologizing before the world ended or is this a new thing?” “I was bad before,” he huffed out frustrated and paused, the words stuck in his throat and like he was trying to force them out, “Sarah…my daughter used to get after me and feed me the words. I’ve never been good at it.” Pausing herself, the name of his kid felt big between them. An admission, an acknowledgement. He hadn’t ever talked about his kid, but here he was. It was enough to freeze her in place, keep her there and silent so he could continue.

“You aren’t…Tess and I don’t want you to be. You’re not a replacement,” Joel chewed on his lower lip, head bowed, “I like you how you are, rough edges and all, and I shouldn’t have said any of it. I’m sorry. I was angry and I thought you both would be safer with Tommy-” “I don’t care who I’m safer with,” she cut him off, surprised by the adamency behind her own words. “”Well I do,” his own reply was biting, not angry at her, but frustrated at her own lack of care, “I care if you’re safe, both of you. I thought you both would be better off without me and I was trying to pull away…only for you to try and claw me back. I was really fucking stupid and I know yesterday or tonight won’t make up for it.” His thumb caressed her cheekbone and she let out a shaky sigh, biting on the inside of her cheek as he continued softly, “But in the same way I need Ellie, I need you too.” Joel, at his core, was a builder. Before the world tanked, he’d worked with his hands because that’s what he could do. Fix things. That was how he operated. He wasn’t a master strategist, wasn’t a leader. He was good at figuring things out when needed and putting things right. And she could see how desperately he wanted to fix the damage between them. It was just a matter of if she wanted things to be fixed. And maybe she did, even though she knew the path they were going down was going to be so much more complicated. Fixing things also terrified her. “You’re right,” she replied hesitantly, “It doesn’t make up for it.” “I know-” “We’ve got a week until we reach the Fireflies and before I decide if I’m leaving. Guess you have time to work on it,” she let the statement hang along with that dangling hope of forgiveness. In truth, he didn’t have to work hard. If he kept smiling at her, kissing her, she was done for. It was the stubbornness and pain that was clinging on like the last vestiges of a war. She didn’t know if she would actually leave, if she could leave them both.  But they had a week at most to figure that out.

Joel pressed into her, forehead resting against her own once again. She could feel the relief flood him, the way his hands wrapped around her waist in thanks. And this time she didn’t fight him when his lips turned to meet her own, this time with gentleness instead of rage, a whispered apology in each kiss.

Maybe this new Joel wasn’t bad, wasn’t entirely different if he still wanted her.

_________________________________________________ Tag List:

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[zealouswitchwerewolf]

Time travel fix-it AU where everyone in the batfam came back from a dystopic future where the rest of the family died in some way so now they're back to try and fix it. Thing is each of them lived through different versions of the timeline and none of their catastrophes match. It would be really easy to figure out but they've decided to pretend nothing happened and act as if they're not from the future. They would also have noticed everyone else acting weird if they weren't so focused on hiding their own weirdness and dismissing the changes as "they must have been like that before and I don't remember".

It all ends with the Spider-Men pointing meme and the realization that they no longer know what's going to happen because they've changed it all without communicating so they don't know what the others did or if it undoes what they tried to prevent?

Now imagine if one of them wasn't from the future and was just watching it all develop in a 😐.

[chiropteracupola]

the 'smattering' of blood poll option for Teresa?

Kill, girl, kill!

[intermundia]

So the reason I love fanfiction is intertextuality. I love allusions to canon woven into a new narrative, and building in my mind the complex web of references that all contextualize each other. It's those links that add depth of meaning to a fanfic, metatextual weight to characters and locations. I think the better the transformative process of fanwork, the more of the original it carries inside, the denser and richer points of reference to the story on the other end. If you think of a canon fact as a color, the more vibrant the fanwork, the bigger thrill I get from it. It lights up more of my brain.

There's this thing I like to do where I will find a media property that I know nothing about but has a sufficient high quality body of work, obikin, geraskier, merthur, etc. I will read thousands of fanfics and build up a mental map of the series in my mind, noticing things referenced by multiple stories in different ways and trying to extrapolate back to an original event in the canon story. The more references to an event, the more specific and real it is, whereas other things referenced by one or two people exist in a quasi real state, smaller nodes in the network as it were. 

Once I've built up a robust mental map of a story, I will watch the series. I will watch the Clone Wars, the Witcher, Merlin, etc., and compare my expectations with the reality of the canon narratives. I will observe the ways in which fandom skewed the story via emphasis, or where it improved the story via giving interiority to characters in traumatic or intimate moments. Once I've finished watching the series, and have canon fixed in my mind, I reread all my favorite stories with a richer mental picture of each one, really savoring the work of the author in engaging with a story I love.

I genuinely think this is a sort of wish fulfillment from my time as a classicist where all we could do was build up a mental map of the extant texts, but there was no way to ‘watch the original’ as it where, no way to check how historians and poets transformed their experience. It's a guilty pleasure to apply the same conceptual mapping skills I learned for antiquity to pop culture, one degree removed from reality, but I enjoy it so much and spend way too much time doing it (when I should be writing). I wonder if other people do this though, it's kind of a tumblr ass hobby lmao

[veinsfullofstars]

👿 Kirbtober 2024 Day 6: Ancient 👿

(ID: Kirby series fanart of the Aeon Hero (Dark) glaring at the viewer with his dark feathered wings spread wide, holding his shield in one hand and gripping the handle of his lance in the other as he perches against it, the weapon driven diagonally into the ground in a large, spiderwebbing crack. Pinkish streams of liquid-like magic ooze upward from the fissure, lighting up his magenta-and-silver armor from below. Between his long platinum horns, a Heart Spear glows with halo-esque elegance. END ID.)

Previous Day | Next Day | Prompt List (made by @/paintpanic)

Started on 09/04/24, finished on 09/05/24. | Kirbtober 2023 Comp

[hermithermithermit]

I need to flex my writing fingers

While rewriting my WIP chapter. I need to play with the brain.

Send me 5-10 word Life Series prompts in my asks and I'll make something about the length of a drabble. No smut otherwise go wild. Also I do better with serious stuff but wouldn't be opposed to attempting something relatively cracky.

[moomoorare]

A wife to death, rebirth and mutilation. The axe's blade comes down and down again, a nightmare done, gone and then the light throws you on the dirt of a new world, fighting for your life and victor's cup yet again. Will you win?

Reblogs <3 are my best friends

[jollysnail4394]

Merry Grianmas, chat

Tomorrow it will start

Have fun