#lovers lane. dead end.

[insomnya777]

boat boys coded

[piglinmyfeet]

For the fic ask game, I've only read Lovers Lane Is A Dead Lane and I feel like you have a lot of world building for that world.

Yeah the biggest world building piece I really enjoy is the magic system

The two types of magic users are Fae and Witches (gender neutral) and they are essentially able to do the same stuff but the biggest difference is the cost

Witches magic is learned and is shared with the things around them (that's one of my favourite parts of the story but it's totally unrelated to that a-plot with Joel and Grian so I plan to make a spin-off based on it), whereas Fae magic is innate and has a much bigger personal cost, however while Witches can share magic, Fae can take magic and while it can be technically taken from anyone, it's much more substantial when taken from another Fae (maybe we'll see both in the story 🤫 (i hate that emoji the eyes look stupid))

I don't know if I was supposed to answer this much or just say "yeah there's a lot of world building" tbh sorry if I did it wrong :(

[f1-stuff]

thank you @achraf-hakimi for tagging me! 😊

tag game rules: go on pinterest and type in "[your name] core aesthetic" and create a moodboard using the first nine images. you don't have to reveal what your name actually is!

tagging @c2-eh @unabashedlycasualangel @sainztander @nottiinrosso with absolutely no clue if you have already done it or want to do it! 😘

[bennitastisch]

when i dont watch the last episode of a show i like its not ending…. right? right?!?

[slitheringghost]

Voldemort Fic Recs

I meant to post this for hprecfest over four months ago, but uh... I didn't. More fic recs in Part 2 here and Part 3 here.

The Limits Of Perception by deslea (800 words, G)

Rec: A truly fantastic character study in few words.

He meets a different kind of falsehood at school. The Pure prize the collective. They put aside their individual interests and feelings, follow codes of honour designed to protect family and name. It is still lying, but at least it is lying for something better than one's own ends. This is a kind of hypocrisy that he can tolerate, he decides.

of all my demon spirits by slashmarks (Tom & Ginny, 1.7k, T)

Rec: Ginny writes to Tom after the events of CoS. Paints a detailed picture of Tom and Ginny's relationship, and it's a great character study of Tom in addition to Ginny.

But I think maybe you were lying when you said that I was boring and stupid after all. Do you remember when we talked about the last war and I didn’t understand how anybody could think muggles were animals, because even if I don’t really know any muggles we go into the village to get groceries and stuff all the time and Mrs. Hoof keeps sweets by the counter just to give them to kids like me? You teased me about being bought with candy, but then you said the Death Eaters had to decide muggles weren’t people in order to kill them, and that really most people do that all of the time, like with house elves and stuff. You said that it was because most people are hypocrites and can’t face their real choices, but I think maybe it’s something you do, too, Tom. Maybe I had to be a boring and stupid little girl because you were about to kill me.

a shade amidst the shadowy dead by slashmarks (Tom & Cassiopeia Black, 2.4k, T)

Rec: THE Voldemort backstory of all time - Bellatrix's great-aunt Cassiopeia Black, a lesbian Dark Lord with a Muggle lover, and Tom Riddle and Bellatrix's mutual teacher and Mother Figure (TM) who they're both grieving when they meet. AKA Bellamort's very own Bathilda Bagshot.

Circling around to the potions shelving, she stopped halfway, a small twitch of a half-smile disturbing her serene face. Tom had fallen asleep with his face in a book in the armchair between bookshelves. In a moment he would wake, hearing her move. He would politely pretend he had lost track of time, and she would politely pretend to believe him. Of course, she knew perfectly well he was sleeping in the lab all the time for the summer, and she knew why. The school-leaving age in muggle Britain was fourteen, and Tom had therefore been expected to leave the orphanage two years ago.

The Shack at the End of the Lane by Asenora (Tom & Merope, 4k, G)

Rec: Voldemort’s victims meet Merope in the afterlife. A wonderful concept.

One day, a second bedroom materialised in the shack. It had white-washed walls and a black-and-white tiled floor, and contained no furniture other than a rickety iron bedstead, a wardrobe, and a hard wooden chair. She opened the wardrobe, and found nothing in it except an empty shoebox. 'This place needs some cheer,' she thought, and was unsurprised when a set of paint pots appeared in front of her.

the serpent's tale has come undone by slashmarks (Bellatrix/Voldemort, 6.2k, E)

Rec: Fantastic Voldemort POV in a Bellamort getting together fic. Slashmarks' ability to write both Voldemort's hunger for connection and intimacy and his cruelty is so impressive.

Orion Black's idiocy would be his prize, in this case. He understood what he was seeing when he looked into Bellatrix Black's cool gray eyes and the mind beyond them. He would gratefully use what Orion Black had discarded or overlooked as essentially worthless; or at least, not worthy of his attention and maintenance. He knew that pureblood men were often idiots about women, but sometimes the boundless capacity for it in otherwise intelligent ones surprised him. - Moreover... He had wanted family as a student, he remembered that; something to replace the loss that had occurred at and before his birth, someone to claim him, someone who would defend his interests and give him something to defend. He had the Death Eaters as the closest possible thing now. The demands marriage would have made on him would not be... tenable.

endless nights took on my whole life by slashmarks (Bellatrix/Voldemort, Voldemort & Rodolphus, Bellatrix & Rodolphus, Sirius & Bellatrix, 12.4k, M)

Rec: My absolute favorite Tom Riddle POV. A HILARIOUS Voldemort and Rodolphus dynamic in addition to a wonderful Bellamort.

Bellatrix was a new experience for Tom, as something of a kindred spirit. Abraxas might be the closest thing Tom would admit to a brother, but he had no real patience for magical theory or interest in it beyond utilitarian concerns, and Reinhard was simply too nice a person, deep down, a condition even the Lestranges had never cured him of. Bellatrix, though, was capable of sharing everything for the first time: she could keep up with him intellectually, she was as fascinated by magic as him, and any squeamish bone had long ago been extracted. Best of all, she shared Tom Riddle's fervent loathing for every aspect of magical Britain's society and his desire to personally torture to death most of the Wizengamot, which Tom had always known better than to fully express even to Abraxas.

The Edge of Reality by deslea (Bellatrix/Voldemort, 4k, E)

Rec: Fascinating exploration of the Death Eater cult and initiation.

To ensure their continued loyalty, they must be given a new family and future, better than the one they have agreed to cast away. When this is achieved, in his experience, they will do virtually anything in his service. Their loyalty to old laws and values and connections is either severed, or so conditional as to be irrelevant. It is a delicate exercise, carried out with an intricate blend of Legilimency and plain old-fashioned manipulation. It is magic at its finest.

'The son and heir of nothing in particular by @artemisia-black (2.6k, M)

Rec: Beautifully written, and I love Tom's musings on London in this fic.

But unlike the damp which pervaded the orphanage in the depths of winter, this scent did not evoke desperation and destitution. It did not remind him of scratchy government-issued pinafores and the flavourless soups that the matron insisted warded off the flu.  No, this damp smelled different. It smelled of ancient, untapped magic. But most importantly, it smelled like home.

The Velveteen Rabbit by Asenora (Tom & Mrs. Cole, Tom & Merope, 3k, G)

Rec: A unique take on Mrs. Cole and Tom's relationship, and a heartbreaking young Tom.

It’s just about pride - when he’s hurt, when one of the bigger lads punches him in the face, he won’t give anyone the satisfaction of knowing. He just watches, his face completely unmoving, staring whoever's attacked him down until they're the one that's frightened, and then whirling off triumphantly, with his chin in the air. But, if you know where to look, you can find him a wee while later curled up in a corner of the orphanage where nobody usually goes, running his fingers over his black eye or bruised jaw like he could cure the injury by magic, muttering words of comfort to himself, telling himself he’s all he needs, and he’ll be alright, and he will always, always manage to survive.

My True Family: Voldemort and Family Connections by slashmarks (Meta, 3k)

Rec: Cheating ‘cause this isn’t a fic, but a must-read essay that challenges the idea of an inhuman Voldemort who can’t love.

Voldemort immediately knows how to lure Harry to the Department of Mysteries when curiosity isn't enough: a threat to Sirius Black will be enough, and it is. Sirius is not only Harry's only remaining magical family, but he represents a hope Tom Riddle once shared, and once was equally disappointed in: a magical guardian who would take either boy away from the muggle world and status as a friendless orphan.

In Place And Blood. by Lanna Michaels (Tom & Merope, 2.3k, G)

Rec: Tom raised by Merope still becomes Voldemort and this time his motivation is solely revenge on purebloods for his mother.

That night, for the first time, he shares a room with six other boys, five of them purebloods, and he wants to murder them where they sleep. He doesn't know how to do it, but he has ideas. They all deserve it. They deserve it for what they did to his mother. Purebloods had left his mother friendless, a disgrace, had thrown her out and left her to die and her son with her. Tom is going to make sure they live to regret it. Tom is going to make every one of them regret it.

if the sea were sand alone by Anonymous (Tom & Dumbledore, 12.8k, G)

Rec: A gorgeous and heartbreaking what-could-have-been for the Dumbledore and Tom relationship, the starting point being Slughorn comes to the orphanage to introduce the magical world to Tom instead of Dumbledore.

"I wanted to kill them," he said. "They left me there. All those years, and my father, and my grandparents, they left me there. The last thing my mother said to him was, 'What about the baby?' and the last thing he said to her--" He cut himself off. There was so much pain etched into his face that Albus shuffled off the bed, and, standing over him, pulled his head to his chest like he was still a small child. He had felt abandoned, once. It was a wound that had never truly healed, and it had taken him years to realize the extent of the damage.

More fic recs are in Part 2 of rec list here and Part 3 here.

[softpascalito]

I To Dig a Grave I Chapter 4 I

Summary: Twenty-one years after the outbreak, you come to Wyoming looking for something and end up in Jackson after a stranger saves your life.

But he doesn't stay a stranger.

Turns out Joel Miller is looking for something too. It feels like a fresh start. But when bad luck seems to follow you, Joel is the only one to turn to, forcing both of you to confront your feelings about your pasts- and each other.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 16k+ Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Age Difference, Smut, Explicit Content, Grief/Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Canon-Typical Violence, Chose not to use Archive Warnings, Tags to be added

AO3 LINK // Series Masterlist // Playlist

notes: thank you guys so much for all the love on the last chapter, sending all of you forehead smooches <3

this fic will deal with heavy topics. please note that it doesn't use archive warnings and tags will be added as we go in order to avoid spoilers. each chapter will have detailed warnings in the end notes on ao3.

Chapter 4 – The Note

‘I wish you goodness but I can’t be around to see it.’ — Unknown

You can't say if you've slept at all. Everything seems not inherently wrong, but unimportant. Your body keeps functioning on its own accord, no doubt using up all the reserves it can. But it functions surprisingly well, given the circumstances. You’re not throwing up anymore. Still, a trashcan is placed next to the bed. A glass of water and some tissues occupy the nightstand that usually sits empty, Joel only using the one on his side of the bed.

It’s a bittersweet reminder that you don’t belong here. It’s not your bed or your house, Joel is not yours. The things that are yours are undoubtedly being inspected by whoever Maria has tasked with investigating the situation. Kitchen drawers being rummaged through, notebooks for your classes being picked apart. Looking at a room and weighing whether or not it could’ve belonged to someone who wanted to leave.

You wonder whether or not they’ve found the letter yet. Considering where Lane could’ve placed it so that you wouldn’t see. It suddenly strikes you that she must have been gone when you woke up. That while you were tiptoeing around the bathroom and kitchen, trying to make no noise that could wake her, her bed was empty.

You avoid going further down that road. You don’t think you could stand it if she’d already been dead while you drank your coffee and pulled on your winter coat and flipped through books without a care in the world.

Life pretending that it was still as it had been the day before.

Joel got up a while ago, far too early if the darkness outside the windows is anything to go by. You felt the mattress dip and then rise as he disentangled himself from the sheets while you were giving no sign that you were awake and listened to the floorboards creak as he headed through the room and escaped into the hallway.

It takes you a solid ten minutes to convince your body to crawl out from under the warm covers, still radiating the smell you’ve come to associate with Joel, and pad over to the bathroom. You try hard not to look into the mirror. Of course, just like with everything else, you fail.

The face staring back at you carries dark circles, glassy eyes. The corners of your mouth are slightly cracked, no doubt from last night's intense heaving. But what strikes you most is that every part of your face seems rid of any emotion. There is no light in your eyes. They look just as dead as you imagine Lane’s to be.

You stare at your reflection until your eyes begin to burn. You try to remember to blink. To take a breath and then another and another. Nothing seems to work like it should.

Joel is in the kitchen when your feet carry you downstairs a few minutes later. He pretends to be very busy with the dishes, but you know he’s been waiting for you to wake up. He reaches for the checkered dish towel to wipe his hands before turning his full attention to you. He doesn’t look like he has slept much either. His salt-and-pepper hair is a tad messier than usual. It suddenly strikes you how much lighter it has become since you first met him.

“Hey,” he mumbles, standing in front of you a bit sheepishly. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. “Do you want to have breakfast?”

“Did they bring her letter yet?” You both speak at the same time and then fall quiet.

You can see his shoulders sinking a bit as he takes in your words and his tone sounds careful when he shakes his head. “Not yet. I'm sure they will, in a bit.”

His eyes are trained on your expression and you're close enough that you are certain he is seeing you the same way you saw the person in the mirror. Empty, lifeless. Dead.

“Do you want to go back to bed?” he asks tentatively but you immediately shake your head. 

“No, I won't be able to sleep anyway.”

Joel gives a small grumble at that, deep in his throat. It almost sounds like disappointment. “You didn't sleep?” 

You sigh a little, again shaking your head. “Maybe a bit. I'm not sure.” After a moment, you add, “My brain feels all weird today.”

He nods, slowly taking a step forward and wrapping an arm around you. “Your brain is allowed to feel a bit weird today, all things considered.” For a few moments, you both just stay like that, his hand trailing over your back, rubbing circles into the fabric of your shirt. His eyes fall to your legs, both noticeably banged up from your fall yesterday.

“Does it still hurt?” he mutters, tilting his head to get a better look. 

“It's just a scratch.” When Joel reaches out to touch the small band-aid he insisted on putting onto your knee last night, you take a step back, causing him to freeze in his tracks.

“I’m fine. I'll go and read.”

Joel gives you a few minutes by yourself before he follows you into the living room, placing two mugs of coffee and some crackers on the table before sitting down on the couch. You're curled up on the armchair, only a few steps away from the front door, occasionally casting a glance out of the window to your right. The darkness is slowly fading, dawn ruthlessly drawing closer.

You've picked up a book without really bothering to check what it is. The cover is made of cloth, the color slightly faded, but the texture feels intact. It's a comforting weight in your lap and an even better excuse to keep your eyes off Joel, hyperaware that he is still watching your every move.

You feel like you're back to square one, to the first time you stepped foot into his house. Being taken in and assessed, like a wounded animal. Checking the damage, weighing the options. Deciding whether or not it should be put out of its misery.

Joel leans forward a bit, reaching for a small piece of wood that sits among a few others on the table. Then, he gets out the whittling knife that he keeps in the pocket of his jeans and begins to chip away. 

Even with his eyes focused on the work in front of him, he can tell you're not really reading, your gaze unmoving. You haven't turned the page in at least ten minutes. But he knows not to push. He's content to sit here and wait by your side.

The silence during the next hours is only broken by the small sounds coming from Joel whittling. The small piece of wood he fetched before dawn has turned into the shape of an animal, continuously getting more clear as he works on it. You've put the book down an hour ago, giving up on pretending to read and instead just switching between staring at Joel's hands or into space.

You're certain it's the worst you've ever felt. Sitting and waiting, with the prospect of the letter of a dead girl being delivered today. The impatience drives you out of your seat, makes you pace, first in front of the fireplace, then behind the couch. Back and forth. You try counting the floorboards below you. There are twenty-seven, spanning through the entire room. You step on each one, avoiding the cracks in between. You sit back down. You curl up deeper into your armchair, staring out of the window.

You see him coming down the street before he sees you. When Tommy steps onto the porch, the door is already ajar, your form half hiding behind it. You don't notice the sad smile he sends you. Instead, your eyes are glued to the small paper envelope in his hand.

“Why don’t you come inside?” Joel says quietly from behind you, gently moving you to the side in order to let his brother enter. 

Tommy awkwardly stands in the small hallway for a moment before holding out the envelope. He clears his throat. “Reckon you’ve been waiting for this.” 

You nod automatically, taking the piece of paper from him with a gentle motion and then immediately clutching it to your chest. Tommy’s eyes fly from you to Joel, his eyebrow raising just a tiny bit. 

“Right,” Joel mutters, nodding into the direction of the kitchen. “Why don’t you grab some coffee?” You hear Tommy move further into the house while your fingers are caressing the envelope, staring at the letters on it that form your name.

“Do you want me to stay with you while you—” Joel gestures towards the letter. He watches your face closely as you shake your head. 

“No. I need to do this alone I think.”

“Okay. We’ll be right here if you need anything,” Joel mumbles quietly and reassuringly pats your back before he follows Tommy into the kitchen, leaving you standing in the hallway with a heavy feeling in your chest and the words of a dead girl in your hands.

***

You sit down on the bed, your entire body seemingly numb as you open the envelope and stare at the paper in your hands, filled with the smooth and playful handwriting you've come to recognize so easily.

I know you will not understand this,

You take a deep breath, trying to keep your hands from shaking so much that you can’t make out the words on the page. You already know what's coming and still you dread hearing the words in your head.

but I have decided to end my own life.

You stare at them for a moment. Trying to take them in, weighing them in your mind, trying to understand. But there is no understanding inside of you. Not for this.

I love you so incredibly much. I loved living with you and our time in Jackson was among the best I've had. I’m sorry to be the one to cut it short.

A dull pain throbs in your chest. You ignore it.

You deserve good things. But I know not many have been handed to you so far. I wish I could've been the one to give them to you.

Please do not blame yourself. This was my decision. I promise I’m at peace now.

Her words make you want to scream and cry and curl up into a ball and never speak to anyone ever again and do nothing but wait for Lane to come back. 

Instead, you just quietly hold the letter a little higher to avoid your tears staining the paper.

I know you came to Jackson looking for something. I really do hope you find it.

I wish you the most wonderful life.

I love you, forever.

Lane

***

“I don’t like this,” Joel mutters, his fingers anxiously tapping the counter he’s leaning on. His glance keeps wandering to the doorway, half expecting you to come running in at any moment and bury yourself in his arms. But there is no noise from upstairs, the only sounds in the old house being those of the clock on his kitchen wall and Tommy’s occasional small sighs.

“She shouldn't be alone,” he insists, unsure if he's actually talking to his brother or to himself.

“She's not alone, in a way,” Tommy says quietly. He's staring into his mug, clearly deep in thought as well. “In a way—” He shakes his head. “She's having her last moments with Lane.”

“Oh, gimme a break.” Joel groans, his right hand flying up to pinch his nose. “Do you realize how messed up that is? Leaving her a letter, with no chance to ever reply? The poor girl can’t sleep, she’s not eating—I ain’t trying to talk badly about Lane, god knows she was a sweet girl and I’m sure she had her issues—but she shouldn’t be putting ‘em on someone else just cause she feels like she can.”

At that, Tommy looks up, surveying his brother. All the softness has left his tone, replaced by a harshness that carries a tinge of accusation.

“Are you really the one to judge this?”

“Tommy-” Joel's voice has dropped a good bit too, making him sound like a growling dog. For a split moment, it feels like they’re back to their time before the QZ, back to the fights and the constant tension.

Joel drops his arm, waving his hand slightly. “This ain’t like that.”

“Bullshit.” Tommy gets up so suddenly that Joel startles slightly, but the younger Miller brother just gives a dry laugh and reaches to pour himself more coffee. “Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna hit you, old man.”

The quiet is broken by the small trickle of the coffee. Tommy glances towards Joel's mug to find it empty. “You want another cup?”

“Yes, please,” Joel mumbles, watching as Tommy pours the rest of the brown liquid into his mug. He places the kettle back on the stove before pausing.

“It is exactly like that, Joel. Now I ain’t saying I agree with what she did. But ‘t was her choice. Ain’t nothing we—” He nods towards the ceiling. “—or her can do about that.”

A small groan escapes Tommy’s lips as he sits back down at the kitchen table, stretching his legs. “Talking about it. How’s she been?”

Joel considers his words for a moment. “Bad. I don't know.” His gaze flies to the doorway again, each minute ticking by making him more restless.

“I talked to Maria this morning. Word should’ve reached everyone by now. The whole town is- they're in shock. Everyone’s devastated.” Tommy keeps his eyes on Joel as he takes a sip of his coffee, taking in his brother's silence.

“D’you think she knew? That Lane was gonna—” 

“No.” The answer shoots out of Joel's mouth before he can even consider it. Did you know? Or at least had an idea that something was happening under the surface? He hasn't even thought to ask, not with everything that's been going on.

“It’s just that, with this sort of thing, folks will ask questions—”

“Yeah, well, they won't be asking her any.” Joel suddenly feels like the room is much too small for him and Tommy. He’s dimly aware that this is technically not his job—that you're an adult and not his responsibility, that he should leave the decisions to you—but then he remembers the way you looked on his bathroom floor last night, dry heaving and sobbing so hard he was sure you were gonna pass out from the lack of oxygen.

“She ain’t ready for that.”

Tommy nods, finally averting his gaze. He knows this tone, the slight edge in it. It means there will be no further discussion and he's not keen to push for a fight in the current situation. He finishes his mug, draining it of the last drops.

“There's one more thing. Lane’s mother wants a proper burial. We've been talking to Eugene about it and—” He clicks his tongue a little as he shakes his head. “With the ground frozen over like that, there's no way to dig a grave.”

It's something Joel already should’ve considered. He's been around long enough to know these things, having dug more than enough graves himself. It was hard labor under the best of conditions. But plainy impossible during the Wyoming winter. 

He's not sure why, when he knows all this, Tommy’s words strike him so hard. The girl who hasn’t made it to twenty-six is not even gonna get a grave.

***

You probably should be breaking down. Screaming or sobbing, hell, maybe throwing up again. Surely your body shouldn’t be so still, quiet, small breaths entering your lungs. Surely you should've stopped breathing by now.

But the body is relentless. It will keep you alive as long as it can, despite the thoughts in your head and the grief that seems to spin a cocoon around you, cutting you off from the things that are right in front of you, making them seem miles and miles away.

You have no idea how long you’ve been sitting there when you stand up abruptly. You avoid reading the words again as you slip the letter back into its envelope and place it in the drawer of the nightstand Joel doesn't use.

You don't remember leaving the bedroom or walking down the wooden stairs. But somehow you're standing in the kitchen, with Joel kneeling in front of you. His right hand is intertwined with yours, his calloused fingers brushing past your knuckles and over the soft skin on the back of your hand. His thumb is gently massaging your palm, rubbing small circles into it.

You flinch a bit and, immediately, his features soften. “There you are. Can you hear me?” You manage a shaky nod.

“Good,” Joel praises quietly, still keeping up the circular motions on your skin. “You doin’ real good, darlin’. Now, do you know where you are?”

Your eyes leave him and fly around the room. Joel's kitchen looks exactly how you remember it, with the addition of two empty mugs standing next to the sink. You recognize the one with the owl painted on it as his. Maybe the other is yours, but you can’t recall drinking anything.

“Hm?” Joel hums quietly.

“We’re in your kitchen.” Relief floods Joel's face at that and he nods a little more eagerly. “That’s right. Think you can help me and sit down right there?” He jerks his head into the direction of the small table below the window and begins to move, very slowly pulling you along by your hand.

You pause just as you reach the table. “What time is it?”

Joel turns his head, squinting at the clock at the opposite wall. “Half past ten.” He tugs on your hand again. “Come on, sit down.”

But you are moving in the opposite direction, taking a step back. “I have to go and teach.”

Joel sighs but his voice stays patient. “Honey, you’re on leave, okay? You’re in no state to be teaching. Now come here.”

It’s the quiet, added “Please.” that makes you do as told.

A steaming mug is placed in front of you shortly after. “Made you some tea. Just be careful, ‘t’s still hot.” Your hands are close enough to feel the heat radiating off it and, slowly, you think you are coming back to yourself. Or rather, to the house you’re sitting in.

The cocoon is still there, so is the faulty wire. But they seem to hit you in waves rather than a constant state of anxiety. Somehow, that is worse. You could get used to a metaphorical limp, one that is a constant. But the waves make you feel like you’re drowning in them. If you could only take a deep breath before they come, fill your lungs with the air you need so urgently. But they hit you out of nowhere. You never see them coming.

Joel sighs a little, nudging the mug towards you. “Come on, at least try it.”

“I still have a mug of coffee in the living room,” you suddenly remember. You can’t recall whether or not you drank any of it.

“Honey, that was cold hours ago,” Joel says carefully. “The tea is still warm. Much better, right?”

You find that you can’t argue with that so you take a few, hesitant sips. The heat settles in your stomach. The tide is retreating. Breathing comes a little easier.

Maybe Joel feels the same or maybe he can just tell, somehow. But he too seems to relax a bit more as he watches you drink.

“It’s good,” you press out, craving words to fill the silence.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Not those words.

You shake your head and are incredibly thankful when Joel doesn’t push it this time. Still, you can tell that he looks troubled. “Want me to do some talking instead?”

“Okay,” you mumble, carefully taking another sip of your tea as you wait for him to speak.

“I talked to Tommy earlier, ‘bout some stuff regarding her—‘nd the next few days. Everyone’s been real sad. We thought it may be—” He cringes at the next word. “Nice to have a wake. Give people a chance to say goodbye and grieve before we bury her.” “Okay.”

He sighs, his eyes searching yours. He considers for a moment whether or not he should go on, explain that the burial can’t happen for a while, at least not with a body being put into the ground. Joel opens his mouth—and sees how much you seem to have aged in just a day.

He stays quiet.

Somehow, he gets you through the day. It’s late afternoon when a groan escapes Joel as he sits down on the couch. His back hurts and his head hurts and he is so goddamn tired. He hasn’t slept a second, having been too worried that you could wake up before him and sneak off.

He leans back into the soft fabric, stretching his legs slightly. You’re upstairs, taking a shower. Surely, it won’t hurt if he closes his eyes for just a minute.

***

It’s dark in the living room when Joel wakes again. The light that was streaming in through the windows earlier is gone and his heart rate instantly shoots up, the organ pumping wildly in his chest. He’s on his feet before his brain fully registers the situation. He moves quietly through the dark house, finding the kitchen and dining room empty.

He’s lucky that his left ear is turned towards the hallway when a small noise travels down the stairs. Joel reaches the landing of the upper floor with his revolver drawn. A trail of dim light falls through a crack in the door to his workshop.

Without making a noise, he pushes it open—and all tension immediately leaves his body. You’re perched on the stool he usually occupies, on the far corner of the tables that are arranged below the windows in an L-shape. The typewriter he’s been meaning to fix sits in front of you.

Joel tucks the gun back into his jeans as he opens the door further. The small creak, combined with the noise of footsteps, catches your attention and suddenly, Joel finds you turning towards him. He raises his hands slightly as he crosses the room. “Sorry. I fell asleep.”

“I know. I didn't want to wake you. You seemed really tired.” Joel stops right behind you, a small grumble escaping his throat as he strains his neck to see what you’re working on.

“You should wake me up,” he says quietly, his eyes wandering over the stack of paper and the tools scattered around the typewriter. “What are you doing?”

It's your turn to sigh, raising your shoulders a bit and letting them fall again after a moment. “I wanted to write a speech. For the service.” You can hear Joel swallow behind you.

“That's a nice idea. You sure you're up for it though?”

“Yeah, I’m—It’s okay. Or it would be, if this thing worked,” you groan, reaching for the screwdriver you’d put down when he joined you.

“Been meaning to fix it for a while. I can do it tomorrow if you like. Or now, if it’s urgent,” Joel mutters, taking another small step towards you, one hand placed on your back. He’s close enough that you can smell his body wash. His free hand, the one that had been closed around a gun less than a minute ago, moves over your shoulder and carefully pries the tool out of your hand.

“It’s late. You should get some sleep, at least.” It’s so caring that, again, you don’t find it in you to protest.

“Okay.”

A small, sad smile plays around Joel’s lips at that. He puts the screwdriver down, his form hovering above yours a split moment longer than necessary. Then, he leans forward and places a small kiss on the crown of your head.

“Come on. Off to bed.”

“Can I have a drink before we go?” If the question startles him, he doesn’t let it show.

“Yeah. Sure,” he says quietly. “Believe it or not, I was about to suggest that myself. You like whiskey, right?”

You’re content to find, half an hour later, that with your throat and belly warmed by the alcohol and the rest of your body warmed by Joel's form next to you, an arm draped around your shoulder as he pulls you into his chest, the waves that you could feel crashing in on you earlier seem to stay away. At least for the night.

if you enjoyed the chapter, please consider reblogging/sharing or commenting, i promise it will be the highlight of my day <3

[kanatamour]

hi tora!! another blog, another request from me~ today im hoping for headcanons "how do they act when they have a crush and how would they manage to confess" with nayuta, kanata, reo & hajun!! i don't know how many characters you do at the time, so if that's too much just nayuta & kanata are nice!! thank you so much hehe <3

THIS IS MY LOVE.

Because ‘I love you’ is written in every single one of his actions, but he needs to tell you properly.

ft. Yatonokami Nayuta, Yatonokami Kanata, Maruyama Reo, Hajun Yeon x gn! reader.

cw/genre: fluff, love confessions, some angst.

Hello, Jules, dear and thank you so much for sending in another request here ! I’m sorry this took a while, but I still hope you enjoy it and that it can make you smile <3 I ended up making it in time before the year ends, so happy new year !

ଓ YATONOKAMI NAYUTA

“You came along, and my heart smiled. So, get rid of those doubts, my love, I’ve been waiting for you.”

— With Nayuta, you realize he’s in love because of his smile.

— His usually apathetic, even melancholy expression, is replaced by an upwards curve to his lips, brimming in a sweetness that is hard to place.

— To anyone who deigns to observe where his iridescent eyes keep looking, they’d find you at the end of the lane.

— It is easy to see, when you two are together. His gaze is a little brighter, that difference that makes you discern dusk from dawn; he seems more energized, the lilt to his voice a tad more upbeat, particles of sundust shining in the words he addresses to you.

— And perhaps everyone notices, and Nayuta hopes you do too.

— And maybe you already have, but alas, fear seems to follow humans in crucial moments, confusing the heart, leading it through twisting alleys that echo the unsavory sounds of ‘what if’.

— What is it’s just all in your head. What if you’re overthinking and reading the signs the wrong way.

— The sighs he lets out, alone, in the dead on night are the unheard confirmation that his feelings for you are real.

— And yet, miles separate you, each of you lying on your side in the blue light of a faded moon.

— But, as they say, every cloud has a silver lining.

— Nayuta just will have to tell you directly, then.

— Or rather, show you.

— You find yourselves on the topmost floor of his secret hideout, the sun casting in coppery hues the thousands of piled up buildings below; a beautiful contradiction, how the slums had a beauty to them at golden hour.

— But so did your moments with Nayuta.

— You found him, the one you hold most dear. It didn’t matter if it was in a place this world had forgotten.

— Because you could never forget Yatonokami Nayuta.

— Nor the kiss he gives you when you turn towards him at the call of your name.

— You can taste the remaining sweetness of the popsicle he was just eating as his hands land on either side of you, stabilizing himself when he leans in further.

— And because there is no way your mind is making up the cool softness of his lips on yours, you kiss him back, hands cradling his cheeks, strands of silken moonshine reflected on puddles after the rain tickling your fingers.

— “Is it clear now, that I like you, my cute [Y/n]?” Nayuta utters, in the sunset lit instants between his kiss and the second one you initiate as an answer.

— You don’t trust your voice right now, so you’ll speak in the language lovers do when words are superfluous.

— And you can be sure, he’ll be asking for more.

ଓ YATONOKAMI KANATA

“Your petals were bloodied amidst the storm and you still shined. When I next realized, I was the thorns, and you, the only rose.”

— Kanata doesn’t know what is it he feels for you.

— And what’s more, he doesn’t know why.

— Weren’t you another one of those rich brats to begin with? It was your fault that day you were in trouble in the rain, being robbed by some troublemakers.

— And yet, the moment you resisted to give them your pocket money and one of the attacker’s hands closed around your wrist, something in Kanata snapped.

— He doesn’t know how, or the reason behind which he found himself throwing punches until those bastards were running away.

— But he knew he didn’t like the sight of the cut they somehow managed to land on your cheek.

— “Thank you for that, but are you okay?” You asked him, checking for bruises on your nameless savior.

— You are the one bleeding and yet, you ask him that.

— “You shouldn’t be here.” Kanata spats, turning away.

— “Wait! What’s your name?” You asked, running to catch up with him.

— He ‘tsks’. Why can’t he leave you alone in the rain? Why does the sight of blood running down a stranger’s face sit so wrong with him?

— Annoyed, he drapes his jacket over your head.

— “You don’t want to know.” Are the last words he tells you, before running off.

— You stand there, dumfounded, the boy’s hoodie shielding you from the rain.

— You’ll be back here tomorrow.

— The sky dyes in shades of peach and lavender, reminding you of the sweet scent of spring. Ironic, in such a cold evening, and even more so in this district.

— You have a feeling you’ll find him again, so you wait. His jacket is neatly folded over your lap, as a stray kitten rubs itself against your leg.

— Then you spot him. Short sleeved t-shirt on, hands buried deep in the pockets of his pants.

— “Put this on, at least!” You call, throwing him his jacket. “Catch!”

— Eyes not unlike the color of the sky widen at the sight of you again.

— “Thank you for yesterday, whatever your name is.” You softly tell the young man, reaching where he stands with the small cat in your arms.

— It meows at him. Extending one of its paws.

— “See? He wants to know your name too!” You pout, holding one of the kitten’s white paws in your hand.

— “Ugh fine! It’s Kanata, okay?”

— “Nice to meet you, Kanata.” You giggle, as the cat paws at your hero’s face.

— And somehow, the way you call his name… It’s pleasant, a sweet melody shining in a world of gray.

— He wants to see you again.

— So, next time, he’s the one to seek you out.

— You always meet at the same place; the street where the white kitten lives. Sometimes it goes home with Kanata, though, and others you bring him to your apartment.

— Time is fleeting, and days become months, with December snow fading to rays of February sun, auguring an early spring.

— And then one day, Kanata isn’t there.

— You wait, with your cat friend, who meows sadly at you, climbing on your lap when the first tears begin to fall.

— That evening you leave, matching cups of ramen left to the freeze of a lonely night.

— However, someone saw this hurtful scene.

— “Care to explain yourself?” Nayuta asks his brother, slamming the door behind him.

— Kanata turns slightly around. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

— “Oh, you… You know very well. Why didn’t you go today?”

— To which Kanata shrugs.

— “Fine. I hope you know they left crying.” His younger twin points out. “Will you just face your feelings and accept you’re in love and that they love you?”

— “That’s…” Kanata’s shoulders slump. “They deserve better…”

— “Silly!” His brother intercepts, with a soft flick to his forehead. “And what? They want you. So you better get it together and go find them now!”

— And well, for some reason, Kanata doesn’t need to be told twice.

— Luckily for him, a small friend is there to help.

— Following the kitty, they both manage to locate you.

— “[Y/n]! Wait!” The boy who saved you that night calls, putting a hand on your shoulder.

— “What do you want, Yatonokami?” You ask, tone cold, without turning around.

— It hurts him. The way he’s hurt you, the way you won’t face him, the way you use his last name instead.

— “I’m sorry. I just… I’m stupid, okay? I couldn’t come to terms with- the thing is- I… I… Oh, to hell with it! I like you, okay? And I just didn’t know how to act around you or what to do and I thought you deserved better and so I just stood you up and I messed up.”

— A chuckle is definitely not the answer he was expecting.

— “You are cute when you blush, Kanata.” You murmur, wiping away a stray tear, smiling sweetly at him.

— “I’m not-“ He starts, cheeks blooming in crimson roses.

— “I said it’s cute. You are cute.”

— Droplets of thin rain begin to fall.

— “I like you too, if that wasn’t obvious.” You softly say, with a kiss to his cheeks.

— Much like the night you met, rain surrounds you. This time, it’s his cheek that burns, not because an open wound, but because of the searing sensation of a kiss he won’t forget.

ଓ MARUYAMA REO

“What is the point for a rainbow to hide? Let’s write our love in the sky.”

— Reo is a cutie and he definitely has a way with flirting.

— So that’s exactly what he does.

— He is not shy about it in the slightest, often complimenting you on your new clothes, telling how sweet you are or giving you hugs out of nowhere.

— Of course, all of the above, always that you are comfortable; Reo is very cheerful, but he knows how to read your emotions and pick up what you like and dislike.

— And at first, you didn’t think much of it. Sure, he is very affectionate with you, but he is with everyone else too, right? It’s not like you are receiving special treatment.

— Which, in turn, frustrates Reo more.

— Is he doing something wrong? He’s being pretty obvious, right?

— Or maybe… you don’t feel the same way?

— No, no, no, he can’t fall into negativity.

— He has to take you to a nice date and tell you how he feels directly.

— So, he puts together some money he’s been saving and chooses his cutest outfit. This is a special occasion and he wants to make you happy.

— When you arrive at the accorded spot, Reo is already waiting for you.

— Sure, he is a sunshine, but you didn’t expect an amusement park date, seeming how he and his gang usually preferred to hang out at the ramen place.

— “Hello, [Y/n]!” He greets you, those eyes of his mirroring the sunset clouds lining the horizon. “I got cotton candy hehe. One for you and one for me!”

— You take the sweet treat from him, eyes sparkly at the delicious sugary scent wafting around you.

— “Woaah! It looks so tasty! You’re the best Reo…” You thank him.

— And maybe, just maybe, because this is a date, you leave a cotton candy kiss on his cheek, giggling at the pink remnants left behind.

— To which the boy grins mischievously, bringing his fingers to it and tasting the sugary treat.

— “Hmm… Your kiss was sweeter…” He ponders, as your cheeks heat up. “What if we repeat it, properly this time?”

— And at that moment, beneath the lighting of dusk and attractions, your lips touch for the first time; a memory written over cottony clouds in rosey glaze.

— “I love you, pretty.” Reo utters, nose brushing against yours, when he parts.

— “I love you too, Reo.” Are your words, before you initiate a second kiss.

— Little did you two know, Iori and the rest of the gang are looking from afar, proud of his youngest member (Suiseki is a little jealous, but that’s another story).

ଓ HAJUN YEON

“I’ll erase the piercing words that were etched into your soul that day.”

— This man’s way of flirting is teasing you (change my mind).

— With his fans, he is all smiles and charming phrases, but when he really loves you, you get to see a more… naughty side of him.

— When he teases you, he doesn’t do it out of malice, no.

— He’s been hurt in the past, and even if his infatuation with you grows by the day, a part of him is still afraid he’ll be discarded again.

— The words ‘you are not needed anymore’ still resound inside his mind, no matter how much he smiles or tries to look perfect on the outside.

— So he’s wary of diving into a new relationship.

— But at the same time, you are so lovely… The way you pout when he’s teasing you, or how you call him and wave at him whenever you see him at uni…

— Hajun would really like to spend more time with you.

— “You should.” Anne tells him, when they finally get Hajun to spill the beans. “I know you’re afraid to trust but… Isn’t it lonely, to keep the one you love at a distance?”

— It is, yes.

— It’s painful if he stays away. And the variant of getting hurt hangs in the air if he tries to get closer.

— But, as they say, ships were not made to stay at harbor.

— So he’ll take this chance and hope for the best.

— And for that, you know he’ll use his charm.

— A cute cafe date here; dinner at his place that he cooked himself using organic ingredients there; and of course, the occasional expensive gift you had been eyeing, mysteriously arriving at your doorstep.

— You like all of this, and especially, you like him.

— However, a part of you can’t help but wonder: what does he want with me? What does he get out of all of this?

— With those thoughts, you lie in bed, listening to his music in the new noise canceling headphones you’re sure he’s bought for you.

— You’re so not sleeping tonight. Maybe tomorrow you’ll ask him about what ‘ulterior’ motives he has.

— The model’s vibrant eyes widen slightly behind his glasses when you utter the question.

— “Why me, Hajun? What are you planning?”

— It hurts him. How it seems he’s not the only one with trust issues here.

— So that’s how you think of it. Some kind of twisted game he’s playing to get something out of you.

— “I’m serious here, Hajun.” You insist, tone stern, when all the answer he gives you are the subtle expressions of his face.

— And for once, he decides to be honest. No mask of perfection obscuring the words he next speaks.

— “Because I’ve fallen in love with you, [Y/n]. Because I was afraid to trust, to be left behind, thrown away. But then you came around. And I wanted to spend more time with you. This is no game, not one that I plan on ending anyway.” He whispers that last part to your ear, a knowing smile on his lips as he feels the heat on your cheeks.

— “Hajun… You… You mean that?”

— “More than anything.” He vows, placing a kiss to the back of your hand, the one adorned with the set of silver rings he gifted you, never once breaking eye contact.

— Your fingers slot in between his. You suppose it’s alright to let your heart take command and test the waters.

— After all, you can’t keep denying you’ve been in love with him since the beginning, too. You just never thought he’d end up reciprocating.

[deus-sema]

My dear Haladriels/Saurondriels,

I understand that we all here are very passionate about this ship of ours. But, as responsible and law abiding citizens of whichever country each of us belongs to, it is also our duty to weed out the bad apples in our midst who besmirch the good name of our community within the fandom.

Unlike the rest of us sensible and well meaning souls who know how to ship in a proper and decent manner, these notorious shippers have crossed all limits when it comes to delusion and their audacity knows no bounds. In the name of all that is good and just, they need to be called out.

Here are those individuals. If you come across them anywhere do NOT engage. They are beyond saving. Just block/report and move on. If it were upto me, I would have them jailed and locked away from civilized society but alas.

(1) Lost Cause #1

This guy is unbelievable for he comes up with the most outlandish headcanons about Sauron and Galadriel. He romanticizes the hell out of them and spends the entire day writing fluffy AUs where they end up happily ever after and have five kids or angsty ones where they pine for each other. Tch tch. I bet he doesn't know or understand anything about the books or the characters and is simply projecting onto Galadriel and trying to live his fantasy of fixing Sauron through her. It's okay if he wants to do that but then he starts acting like it's canon and it gets annoying. Someone please tell him Galadriel and Sauron aren't star crossed lovers.

(2) Lost Cause #2

Then there this dude who is legit dangerous. The first one was just an ignorant soul who romanticizes them whereas this one sexualizes the ship. Can you believe it?! He sexualizes the Lady Of Light and the Dark Lord. His fics are all porn and no plot. His fanart is blasphemous NSFW. He also prefers the ship when it involves dead dove, non con, stalking and obsession, all of which are supposed to be unhealthy, dangerous and illegal. I'm worried about his well being. If you ask me, like the other guy, he is projecting onto Galadriel too but instead of fixing the sexy bad boy, he wants to make Sauron worse. He,too, understands nothing about the books.

(3) Lost Cause #3

Last, but not the least, there is this guy who is.............hopeless. The other two shippers can still be rehabilitated with some time and effort but stay the fuck away from this one. He doesn't believe Sauron and Galadriel don't end up together. Those two live in AUs but for him, his AU is canon. He fully expects Sauron and Galadriel to ride off to the sunset together and won't let anyone stand in his way. Be it Amazon or the Tolkien Estate. As we waste time on social media, he is devising a means to travel back in time, hold Tolkien at gunpoint and force him to make Saurondriel endgame in the books.

Now, remember everyone. We are NOT like these shippers. We are good shipperses. Nice shipperses who stay in our lane. Sweet shipperses.

[best-iwtv-scene]

ROUND 1C, MATCH 5

Descriptions/Propaganda under the cut:

Charlie (1x04)

Claudia becomes besotted with a young carriage driver, named Charlie. After a date with the young human, the pair find a secluded area to hook up in the back of Charlie's carriage, Claudia copying what she saw on lover's lane. Claudia's urges, however, get the better of her and she unintentionally kills Charlie as she feeds from him. Distraught, and looking for comfort and help from her parents, she takes the body back to the Rue Royale but is met with Lestat's 'tough love', showing no sympathy for the young vampire. Louis clearly disagrees with Lestat's approach but stays quiet throughout the scene. Claudia is made to clean up after herself, and Lestat forces her to watch Charlie's burning body in the incinerator, believing that the girl needs to be taught a hard lesson, just as he was when he was younger. The final moment is scored by 'Charlie' by Daniel Hart, the emotive strings mimicking Claudia's intense emotions. "Stop squirming and watch. Remember this. His face as it melts. This is why we never get close to mortals. Because sooner or later they end up dead."

Propaganda:

No propaganda was submitted for this scene.

Claudeleine sentencing/execution (2x07)

As the trial comes to an end, the audience is given the decision of what Madeleine, Claudia and Louis's verdicts and sentences are. Madeleine, still dazed and confused from the coven's powers, stands at the centre of the stage and chooses to die with Claudia, rather than join the coven, "I am the vampire Madeleine Eparvier. And my immortal companion is Claudia. My coven is Claudia." Claudia, defiant and knowing what her sentence will be, threatens the audience, "If there is an afterlife, I'm going to come back and fucking kill all of you. And if there isn't an afterlife, I'm still going to find a way." The two vampires' execution is narrated by Armand in Dubai, his perspective giving their final moments a bit of distance, amplified by the sparse woodwind of "In Nomine Magni" by Daniel Hart. The two women cling to each other as a ray of sun beams down onto them, slowly burning them. Madeleine dies first, leaving Claudia alone, singing 'I Don't Like Windows' and screaming in pain, and, in her final moment, Claudia looks to Lestat behind her, looking for comfort in the only vampire left which she could consider family. The scene is a heartbreaking and deeply disturbing moment, the camera lingering on Claudia as she burns, not allowing the audience to look away. "And you could tell from the look on Lestat's face, the last thing she saw on Earth was him."

Propaganda:

IT GAVE ME THE HUGEST CHILLS AND LITERALLY DIDNT LET ME SLEEP IT WAS BEAUTIFUL

Submitted by @jameslongforjimshortforgabriel

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

🌈 Queer Books Coming Out in March 2024 🌈

🌈 Good afternoon, my bookish bats! Struggling to keep up with all the amazing queer books coming out this month? Here are a FEW of the stunning, diverse queer books you can add to your TBR before the year is over. Remember to #readqueerallyear! Happy reading!

[ Release dates may have changed. ]

❤️ Shift: A Memoir of Identity and Other Illusions - Penny Guisinger 🧡 Tempting Olivia - Clare Ashton 💛 Monilinia - Free Mints 💚 Guillaume - Aurora Dimitre 💙 The Marble Queen - Anna Kopp & Gabrielle Kari 💜 The Baker & the Bard - Fern Haught ❤️ Rainbow! - Sunny & Gloom 🧡 The Safe Zone - Amy Marsden 💛 The Weavers of Alamaxa - Hadeer Elsbai 💙 The No-Girlfriend Rule - Christen Randall 💜 A Different Kind of Brave by Lee Wind 🌈 Cirque du Slay - Rob Osler ❤️ Wizard’s Debt - Niranjan 🧡 One Last Breath - Ginny Myers Sain 💛 Nothing Special - Katie Cook 💚 I Feel Awful, Thanks - Lara Pickle 💙 The Tower - Flora Carr 💜 Be the Sea - Clara Ward ❤️ What Grows in the Dark - Jaq Evans 🧡 Heirs of Bone and Sea - Kay Adams 💛 The Haunting of Velkwood - Gwendolyn Kiste 💙 Thunder Song - Sasha taqwšəblu LaPointe 💜 Mona of the Manor - Armistead Maupin 🌈 Like Happiness - Ursula Villarreal-Moura

❤️ Ellipses - Vanessa Lawrence 🧡 Saint, Sorrow, Sinner - Freydís Moon 💛 Blood & Brujas - Mikayla D. Hornedo 💚 Infinity Kings - Adam Silvera 💙 Really Cute People - Markus Harwood-Jones 💜 How You Were Born - Kate Cayley ❤️ These Bodies Between Us - Sarah Van Name 🧡 Icarus - K. Ancrum 💛 The Emperor and the Endless Palace - Justinian Huang 💙 How Not to Date an Angel - Lana Kole 💜 Enemy Colours - R.M. Olson 🌈 Broken Parts Included - Alyson Root

❤️ Who's Afraid of Gender? - Judith Butler 🧡 The Duke’s Cowboy - Andrew Grey 💛 The Secret Something - Emily Wright 💚 Colstead & Andie - Olivia Janae 💙 Play It Again, Ma’am - Sienna Waters 💜 Love Is…? - K.J. Wrights ❤️ Welcome to Forever - Nathan Tavares 🧡 Just Another Epic Love Poem - Parisa Akhbari 💛 The Phoenix Bride - Natasha Siegel 💙 These Letters End in Tears - Musih Tedji Xaviere 💜 Truly Home - J.J. Hale 🌈 Monster Mixer - Robin Jo Margaret

❤️ The House of Hidden Meanings - RuPaul 🧡 Promised to the Queen - Barbara Winkes 💛 A Conclave of Crimson - Nicole Eigener & Beverley Lee 💚 A Hunt of Blood and Iron - Cara Nox 💙 The Fealty of Monsters - Ladz 💜 Ariel Crashes a Train - Olivia A. Cole ❤️ Those Beyond the Wall - Micaiah Johnson 🧡 Dancing Toward Stardust - Julia Underwood 💛 Heir to Dreams & Darkness - Ben Alderson 💙 Comet Cruise - Niska Morrow 💜 Dead Girls Walking - Sami Ellis 🌈 Blackout - Carlos E. Rivera

❤️ Monster Crush - Erin Ellie Franey 🧡 Blessed Water - Margot Douaihy 💛 These Fragile Graces, This Fugitive Heart - Izzy Wasserstein 💚 Kiss of Seduction - Rawnie Sabor 💙 Sunbringer - Hannah Kaner 💜 Evacuation to Love - C.A. Popovich ❤️ Sin - Brooke Matthews 🧡 Falls from Grace - Ruby Landers 💛 Lean in to Love - Catherine Lane 💙 A Small Apocalypse - Laura Chow Reeve 💜 Cascade Failure - L.M. Sagas 🌈 The Mars House - Natasha Pulley

❤️ All This Time - Sage Donnell 🧡 The Romance Lovers Book Club - MA Binfield 💛 View from the Top - Morgan Adams 💚 Number Call - Nagisa Furuya 💙 Crossing Bridges - Chelsey Lynford 💜 The Boyfriend Subscription - Steven Salvatore ❤️ Love the World or Get Killed Trying - Alvina Chamberland 🧡 Synthetic Sea - Franklyn S. Newton 💛 The Prince & His Stolen Groom - J.E. Ridge 💙 Chrysalis and Requiem - Quinton Li 💜 Where Sleeping Girls Lie - Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé 🌈 A Botanical Daughter - Noah Medlock

❤️ Wednesday Nights - by Donna Jay 🧡 The Woods All Black - Lee Mandelo 💛 Song of the Huntress - Lucy Holland 💚 Rainbow Black - Maggie Thrash 💙 Spirits & Sunflowers - A.D. Armistead & Austin Daniel 💜 Floating Hotel - Grace Curtis ❤️ Far From Camelot - Rylee Hale 🧡 This Way to Change - Jezz Chung 💛 Mexican Bird - Luis Lopez-Maldonado 💙 Android Affection: Unveiling - Beau Van Dalen 💜 Welcome to the Damned - Astraea Long 🌈 She Came for Blood - Darva Green

❤️ Cover Story - Rachel Lacey 🧡 The Poisons We Drink - Bethany Baptiste 💛 The Perfect Guy Doesn't Exist - Sophie Gonzales 💚 In Walked Trouble - Dana Hawkins 💙 Never Leave, Never Lie - Thea Verdone 💜 Guardian: Zhen Hun - Priest ❤️ All the World Beside - Garrard Conley 🧡 Rainbows, Unicorns, and Triangles - Jessica Kingsley Publishers 💛 The Feast Makers - H.A. Clarke 💙 Synthetic Sea - Franklyn S. Newton 💜 All the Painted Stars - Emma Denny 🌈 A Hard Sell - Jennifer Moffatt

[archivist-crow]

On this day:

JERSEY DEVIL

On January 19, 1909, New Jersey and Pennsylvania were terrorized by a creature with glowing eyes, a ram's head, curled horns, an elongated neck, short front legs, hind legs like a crane's ending in horse's hoofs, and batlike wings. Bloodcurdling cries came out of its mouth. At 2:30 a.m., Mr. and Mrs. Nelson Evans, awakened by a strange noise, looked out their window and watched the beast on their shed rooftop for ten minutes before Mr. Evans bravely chased it away.

During the week of January 16-23, over a thousand people in thirty different towns witnessed the Jersey Devil prowling down alleys, racing through yards, and flying through the sky. It was shot at by the police, doused with water by firemen, almost hit by a trolley car, and beaten with a broom by a woman who caught the monster with her dog in its grip. Hoof prints were found in many yards, on roofs, and up trees. Hunters organized a posse to track it, but the dogs refused to follow the scent. Farmers throughout the Delaware Valley found their chickens dead, but unmarked.

The Jersey Devil was supposedly born to a New Jersey woman in the mid-1700s. During the 1800s, naval hero Commodore Decatur was test firing cannon balls when the Jersey Devil flew across the sky. In 1927, a cab driver with a flat tire saw the devil land on the roof of his car. In 1953 a man saw it walking down the street, and in 1961 two couples in a lover's lane saw the beast smash in their car roof before it flew away along the treetops.

Text from: Almanac of the Infamous, the Incredible, and the Ignored by Juanita Rose Violins, published by Weiser Books, 2009

[piglinmyfeet]

Chapter 3 of Lovers Lane is a Dead End

I think this fic is becoming my official history procrastination work

(also thanks @/dayables for the ask about this fic, you really motivated me to finish off this chapter :D)

[quillkiller]

Revealing myself as that previous anon bc i was too bashful to show my face but ‘cold divorcecore’ is 100% how i see bartylus. They get slotted inti typical beloved/lover roles bc thats the easiest thing to do with barty but i just cant see them that way ig?? When Barty gets his obsessions, he doesn’t just devote himself to that person, he idolizes them. Like that is someone he aspires to be at the end of the day. And, even if Regulus is the heir to the House of Black, he is so obviously messy/imperfect/unenviable if you manage to get even a little close to him. Regulus would see Barty putting him on a pedestal as just another set of expectations he has to conform to, just another chore. And in turn, Barty would see his hesitation as a sign that Reg is ‘boring’ and ‘not worth it’. They just can’t fulfill the other’s emotional needs like that.

If they were together, it would be so they dont feel this constant gaping loneliness. But i dont think theres any emotional intimacy there, like at all.

this is so interesting….

to me the Biggest Thing about bartylus is that the emotional intimacy will always always be there, but it just simply isn’t enough, anyway. i have a hard time imagining them figuring out how to be good to each other in a way that the other needs and i don’t think they communicate very well. to me, the emotional intimacy has to be there in order for them to actually want to try. it’s an undeniable Thing between them, being childhood friends, bartys devotion, regulus’ loneliness, seeking comfort in each other because what else is there typa thing. they’re the typa couple that would break up while reg is crying and snotty and gross and clawing at barty while barty keeps a straight face to appear unaffected (<- for regs sake) and stare at him with dead eyes, disassociated, because the Love Was There. it just doesn’t mean it works. <- renn @velanavis made a crazy bartylus moodboard….. i think about it every day…..

like, they’re already teetering the line of platonic + they’re teenagers + they’re angsty and confused and the thing between them is There, but neither of them can necessarily figure out what that means. kind of like ’i like no one else but you, so we should be together’ but not having the resources to actually figure out a way to make it work. lane @sixlane made an INSANELY interesting bartylus post the other day about how the bartylus dynamic is dependant on regulus relationship with his brother and it made me CRAAAAZYYYYY.

but yeah i absolutely agree that they will always struggle to fulfill each other’s needs, and this is so interesting !!!!! thank you for sharing… i will be Pondering this for my future bartylus endeavours….

[nowgiveusakiss]

eddie munson rec masterlist - november 2022

“kiss of the knife” by @indouloureux 18+

“the pirate and the princess” by @mypoisonedvine 18+

jealous!eddie by @corrodedcorpses 18+

“i know you want to be a good boy” by @/corrodedcorpses 18+

“twilight zone” by @havecourage-darling

stealing eddie’s clothes by @sweetpeapod

“can’t you tell?” by @writingdumpster

“be a good girl and spread your legs” by @corrodedhawkins 18+

eddie keeps a photo of you in his van by @harrywavycurly

eddie’s nose scrunch by @ddejavvu

cowboy!eddie by @usedtobecooler 18+

“don’t you want be baby” by @/usedtobecooler 18+

period sex with eddie by @/usedtobecooler 18+

“domestic bliss” by @/ddejavvu

roan gets jealous of eddie by @luveline

halloween with roan and eddie by @/luveline

shy!reader x rockstar!eddie by @/luveline

vampire!eddie saying i love you by @/luveline

vampire!eddie startles you by @/luveline

“love bites” by @/luveline 18+

giving eddie a handjob by @wroteclassicaly 18+

“more than a friend” by @strangermarvelss 18+

professor!reader by @/mypoisonedvine 18+

helping eddie word his campaigns by @quinnsmunson

giving eddie a sloppy blowjob by @/indouloureux 18+

“the pain of letting you go” by @/strangermarvelss 18+

“would you kiss me in a crowded room?” by @robiin-buckley

wayne raising eddie by @munson-blurbs

eddie is a smoocher by @/ddejavvu

“easily” by @roanniom 18+

cockwarming eddie by @mantorokk-writes 18+

“simple rules” by @userquinn 18+

jealous!eddie by @littledemondani 18+

“one last time” by @/littledemondani 18+

“how the tables have turned” by @/littledemondani 18+

“hush, baby” by @/littledemondani 18+

making you recite his lyrics by @/littledemondani 18+

“say yes to heaven” by @lilacletter 18+

“hoping i’ll find (a glimpse of us)” by @inknopewetrust

“love is kinda crazy with a spooky little boy like you” by @punk-in-docs

just the tip with perv!eddie by @/quinnsmunson 18+

perv!eddie steals your panties by @/quinnsmunson 18+

“it’s your party and i’ll cry if i want to” by @carolmunson 18+

“potty training” by @queenimmadolla

“life’s no fun without a good scare” by @nyxoz 18+

eddie tries to make you squirt by @/usedtobecooler 18+

“love like blood” by @/punk-in-docs 18+

“rumour | part 2” by @msgexymunson 18+

“safe word” by @munsonsbaby 18+

“dirty dreaming” by @eddiethefreakkmunson 18+

“dead lover’s lane” by @chainsawmunson 18+

line cook eddie by @bewilderedbunny

eddie makes you squirt for the first time by @/userquinn 18+

insecure!reader sits on eddie’s face by @/ddejavvu 18+

“never kissed” by @forourmoons

“hold on” by @myobmaya

“your web, i’m caught” by @/punk-in-docs

“is it my body” by @/punk-in-docs

“power of suggestion” by @/punk-in-docs

“head over heels” by @/punk-in-docs

perv!eddie watching steve fuck you by @/usedtobecooler 18+

rockstar!eddie fingers you by @newlips 18+

“was it love or nicotine?” by @/punk-in-docs

“wolf men & secret heists” by @/punk-in-docs 18+

“don’t need telling twice” by @/punk-in-docs

“this is how it starts” by @/chainsawmunson 18+

“the yes policy” by @pinkrelish 18+

“boys on film” by @/corrodedcorpses 18+

daddy and princess masterlist by @/quinnsmunson 18+

“the end is near” by @pullhisteeth-archive 18+

sucking eddie’s balls for the first time by @sunflowersteves 18+

eddie solo session by @eddiemunsonsmum 18+

“love bites” by @loveshotzz 18+

“panda eyes” by @pullhisteeth-archive 18+

single parent!reader meets single parent!eddie by @/sweetpeapod

sound sensitive reader x rockstar!eddie by @/luveline

junie puts on a show by @/luveline

“alone, in my mind” by @/userquinn 18+

shower with eddie by @/userquinn 18+

lovesick!eddie by @/userquinn

spitting with eddie by @/userquinn 18+

bestfriend!eddie gives you a massage by @/userquinn 18+

“take it slow” by @/userquinn 18+

you catch eddie moaning your name by @/userquinn 18+

eddie knows you like him by @/userquinn 18+

brat!reader tries to get eddie’s attention by @/userquinn 18+

edging eddie by @/userquinn 18+

“dirty little secret” by @/userquinn 18+

dacryphilia with eddie by @/userquinn 18+

dad!eddie x babysitter!reader by @/userquinn 18+

older rockstar!eddie by @/userquinn 18+

how eddie is in bed by @/userquinn 18+

hatefucking eddie by @/userquinn 18+

calling eddie baby cow eyes by @/userquinn 18+

giving gifts to eddie by @/userquinn 18+

“don’t hang up | part 2” by @/userquinn 18+

*all recs will be tagged under eddie munson x reader*

[onstrangerthighs]

👑 After Billy encounters a demodog while on his way to pick up Max from a sleepover, Steve takes a walk to Cherry Lane with a flashlight to check on him, and it soon becomes an unintentional routine. Billy has yet to call him out on it, so Steve isn't sure if he knows (he does). Steve doesn't know how to bring up what he's seen through Billy's window. He's starting to understand what Billy meant when he said that he's no stranger to monsters. He also starts leaving a light on in his house to let Billy know he's always welcome. Steve may be facing a different kind of monster, but they're all the same in the end. They thrive in the dark and prey on the lonely. Billy won't be lonely anymore; he'll make sure of it.

📸Jonathan sees the bruises that Billy's jacket can't hide. He follows Billy whenever he can, like a friendly shadow. If Billy notices, he doesn't say anything. He does, however, walk around with a small smile and a pep in his step. He's a walking masterpiece that sticks out from the drab background plaguing everyone else in Hawkins.

🤝No one understands Billy better than Patrick and Jonathan when it comes to his life at Cherry Lane. They just get it. Patrick has a curfew, so he can't stay up late, and both Jonathan and Billy have work, but they find a way to meet up whenever they can. Patrick and Billy are partners in lab and in pranks. Patrick calls Neil regularly, pretending to be a scorned ex-lover. Billy calls Patrick Senior at his job (accountant) just to annoy him. They're also on the basketball team together. Patrick secretly enjoys watching Billy get under Jason's skin. Jonathan occasionally stops by to watch them. Billy asks him if he wants to join the team. Jonathan looks at he and Patrick, all sweaty, and goes right back to his sketchbook.

📔Nancy meets Billy at the library every night at a certain time, so if he doesn't show then she'll know something is wrong. She also gives him Murray's address just in case he needs a place to go. She and Billy have a book club with Patrick and Eden, where they suggest different books to read every Wednesday. Sometimes they read to the little kids.

📢Heather covers for Billy at work if he can't come in. She'll stay with him at the pool after closing times. She helps him with his injuries and doesn't ask questions. When he's ready to talk, she'll be there. She switches shifts with him so he won't have to deal with Karen and the other creepy mothers.

🍍Argyle is always up for talking with Billy. Most of the time, it's just Argyle going on about the first thing that pops into his head. Billy chimes in whenever he feels like it. Argyle always has a story about annoying customers, and of course, everything is funnier when they're both high as hell.

🫧Carol lets Billy borrow her makeup. She takes him to the mall and they try on clothes together. Sometimes, they sit in his car, and she tells him he can let it all out.

🥋Tommy takes him to their favorite diner. Whenever Billy is filled with extra energy, Tommy lets him use his punching bag. They watch cartoons and throw chips at each other.

📣Chrissy fixes his hair into braids and ponytails. Billy reminds her that Neil doesn't like that, and she replies, "You want it. Do you really care what he wants? I don't." If he wants a hug, then she's more than happy to give him one (or three). Chrissy is also kind of a cuddle bug, and Billy is her favorite person to cuddle with because he's warm. They both talk shit about their parents. "Neil's mustache looks fake," or "Are you sure your mother's hair isn't a dead skunk?".

She drives Billy to her safe place, a hill under the stars. She says they can share it. She tries teaching him cheer routines and even gets out a uniform for him whenever they sneak into the gym. Patrick occasionally joins them to practice his free throws.

🍨Robin lets Billy into Scoops Ahoy, and they eat ice cream. They talk about crushes. They have inside jokes about their fellow classmates. Sometimes, Robin brings alcohol from her mother's stash and puts some in the ice cream for them to enjoy.

[revelisms]

Silco, Sevika and Jinx Headcanons (music ver 🎵)

Since my playlists are running rampant (and they're largely how I get a sense for writing character voices/actions/etc.), I thought it'd be fun to share a few HC tidbits via some tunes :-)

Silco — aka the Bloodshark, the Eye, Mr. Crime Boss himself; the man, the myth, the slippery bastard. Also clocking in with nearly 8+ hours worth of songs for this sack of bones...I am...side-eyeing myself. Anyway.

Foundation — Sunlit Grave, Saint Mesa

This basically kickstarted the playlist earworm, for him. At a high-level, this is the song I think of anytime I write him: it's dark, eerie, regal, persevering. I always get an image of someone sinking beneath the depths at the beginning, and clawing out of a deathly cage/prowling to a bloody pinnacle by the end. The lyrics themselves also capture a flavor of his character, as a dead man speaking to someone (potentially his killer and/or lover) who knew him before; who must choose to let go of their knowledge of who that dead man used to be. He is gone, irreparably changed, and he's not coming back—and he'll drag a kingdom to its knees, by the end. (Maybe it's what landed him in that grave, in the first place.)

Inner Voice — The Wondersmith and His Sons, Astronautalis

This gives a sense of past and present: a glimpse into the hard-cracked persona he'd built in the mines (which I associate with folksongs, especially of an English or Gaelic nature), twisted up into the sly, scheming charisma he harnessed as co-founder of the Lanes. For me, the song paints a potential tale of childhood (the lyrics tell of a family of swindlers, from which the narrator is the cleverest son) and a foreboding hint into the future (too much grease can break down a machine; for all their success, a brutal end is eminent). It also just feels like him—it's growly, arrogant, and jovial; drawling in some moments, and spit-fired in others.

On The Record — Time & Place, Queens of the Stone Age

In terms of what he'd actually listen to (of which I think he'd have a extensive range, to the point of his tastes skewing past eclectic into downright bizarre), this would fit easily between a swath of blaring industrial rock, crooning big band classics, jazz, folk-tunes, experimental funk, r&b, etc. It's got that flavor of 80s post-punk vocals that would be a staple in his sets, with a snappy flare in the instrumentals (something he'd nod his head or tap his pen to)—and, funnily enough, has a slight echo to Snakes (Vi's and Jayce's fightsong), which...oddly fits, given I see him and Vi as actually very similar, at their cores.

Sevika — aka the Lioness, the Teeth, "step on me and I'll thank you for it" Miss King. She's badassery in a gilded package, baby—but there's a tender spot under it all, if you squint.

Foundation — Little Girl Gone, CHINCHILLA

Another song that kickstarted the playlist earworm. This is a baseball bat to the gut with prowess, swagger and Try That Again energy—and the transition of the whisper to the drop just hhh. Gets me every time. This song is the battle anthem from a woman who's earned her armor (fittingly, working under a gangster)—test her patience, and she'll be wearing red on her sleeve; dare to cross her in a fight, and she'll drink you down like liquor. I can visualize a snappy two-punch brawl every time I hear this.

Inner Voice — Milk, BONES UK

Dipping into that tenderness here, with a stark note of ceaseless ambition, we've got this song—a reflection, a demand, a love letter, a hunger. There's so many layers folded into this: the desires of a self-made life to be everything and more their host yearns for it to be, even if, underneath it all, what they truly yearn for is belonging. This feels like a young, angry, cropped-hair and bloody-fisted Sevika fighting down the world—and an older self looking fondly, if a touch melancholically, back on it all.

On The Record — Know Better, Janelle Monáe

Put her on the aux, and she'll have the dancefloor congealing into a neon haze of sweat and glitter. The mix of the sax and the bassline here just thrums with her energy, to me: self-assured, watchful, slow-smirking. It's often the kind of tracks she reaches for, especially for a crowd; she's got a bold streak in her, and it doesn't take much to stir it to full display (come here now, stranger; gimme that sense of danger).

Jinx — aka the Loose Cannon, the Bombshell, everyone's favorite lil' gremlin. I tend to interpret her character in distinct "phases"—i.e., Powder, Jinx, and Jinx post-shimmer. These also factor into what I musically associate with her; each piece of her character feels very distinct.

Foundation — BLOODMONEY, Poppy

This is like...the Jinx song, to me. It's about distrust, sacrifice, self-identity, denial, rage, all wrapped up in a spiteful bow of religious allegories—a flash-cycle of whose opinion she worships, at any given moment (when nobody is watching, what do you believe?). It's also just a sensory meal with the sound design, and could even match up with soundbites of her voice so easily.

Inner Voice — Crimson, Skott

Take a stroll into Powder building Jinx's persona from the ashes. This is a haunting, beautiful song, with an undercurrent of something fight-eager, spiteful, and hopeful brewing beneath the surface. In the wake of tragedy, there's still a thread of strength; someone picking up the pieces while trying to find a path back to their own mind. I almost hear this as an apology and declaration of war, in turns, from Jinx to Vi.

On The Record — BOOM, Cassyette.

You know this little metalhead is listening to any splitzy mechanical tracks she can get her hands on (fuels the inventor muse, y'know?)—and I think she'd love this. I mean, c'mon. It's a song about explosions, told through a narrator saying how slipping into different mental spaces feels like a bomb waiting to blow. I could see her jamming to this on loop in her workshop while tinkering with a new flare gun. (Also, as a close runner up, I associate anything Djerv with her, given they were the artist for Get Jinxed—she'd probably have things like (We Don't) Hang No More always on the gramophone, singing to it word for word.)